“You do that. And you—we—need to take action soon, Kara. Very soon.” He reached into his rear jeans’ pocket and pulled out a card case. “I’m staying at the Magnolia Bed-and-Breakfast, but you can reach me on my cell phone.” He held out a card, and she took it, feeling as though she’d just grasped an activated hand grenade. “Even if I don’t hear from you,” he informed her, “I’ll be back in touch.”
He picked up his duster and strode to the door, which swung open as he approached. “One more thing.” He paused in the doorway, glanced back at her. “Check the autopsy report on Thornton.”
She had the sinking feeling she wouldn’t like what she found. “I intend to do that.”
He left then, the chill afternoon air drifting through the open doorway, not refreshing and soothing, but insidious, like a harbinger of evil. She stood there long moments after the sound of his car faded into the distance, too mentally battered to marshal her thoughts into any cohesive pattern.
Then she walked slowly to the door, closed it, and bolted it, before she finally looked at the card in her shaking hand. Society Magazine, Damien Morgan, Staff Writer. His cell number was listed at the bottom.
She wanted to scream. To knock things over and kick furniture. To grab Alex and Mac, and load their most important stuff into the truck and drive far from here. Far from this resurrecting nightmare of Belians, of madness and murder. Most of all, she wanted to be far from Damien Morgan and the unsettling memories he’d managed to raise, after she had so carefully packed them away.
But now she feared there was truly nowhere to hide. She couldn’t outrun the fact Alex was a Sentinel, or the possibility that his burgeoning power might be a signal to other Sentinels and Belians alike.
Another memory came out of nowhere, sucking her back to the vivid horror of Birmingham…
The state trooper held a terrified pregnant woman against him, his police-issue pistol pressed to her head. “Better show yourself real quick like, Wayman. Or I might get bored and send some more souls to your cursed One. Ah, there you are.”
He smiled broadly as Richard stepped from the shadows. “Throw down your weapons—all of them—Sentinel, or she dies.” He waited until Richard complied, tossing down both his gun and knife. Then, still smiling, he raised his own gun, aimed toward Richard, shot him…
No! Shoving the mental pictures away, Kara stared blindly around her living room, willing herself to focus on the here and now. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow Alex to develop his powers or attempt to use them. It was too dangerous. She had to find a way to hide his abilities, to help him shield himself.
Even with her determined resolutions, she still didn’t know what to do now, or how to extricate Alex and herself from any involvement with Damien Morgan.
Morgan was right about one thing. Hell truly was here on Earth.
* * * *
“I’m sorry, Dr. Cantrell, but we don’t have any records on a David Thornton,” the assistant medical examiner told Kara.
“There has to be a mistake. Mr. Thornton drowned six weeks ago. You must have some record on him.”
“I’m sorry, doctor, but there are no files here on anyone by that name. As far as I can tell, this office hasn’t done an autopsy on a Zorro resident in the past six months.”
Kara disconnected from the Travis County Medical Examiner’s Office and took a deep breath. There had to be an error somewhere. She picked up the phone receiver again and dialed the police station, requesting Tom Greer. “This is Kara Cantrell,” she said when he came on the line, then pushed forward without further preliminaries. “Did you order an autopsy on David Thornton?”
There was a pause before the police chief said, “Why are you asking about that, Dr. Cantrell?”
“Because I need the information for David’s medical records,” she lied. “Did you, or didn’t you, request an autopsy on him?”
“No, I did not.”
She didn’t want to believe what she’d just heard, but as the unrest churning inside her intensified, Damien Morgan’s scenario began to fall into place. “Why not?”
“I didn’t see the need,” Chief Greer’s gruff voice came back over the phone. “It was obvious David had drowned. The dang fool was always too darned stubborn to wear a life jacket and he never could swim worth a damn. The medical examiner’s office in Austin has a huge backlog right now, on account of those murders in Fredericksburg, and with the flu epidemic, and so many affected folks dying at home. There wasn’t any need to tie up David’s body and prolong his family’s grieving.”
“So you just released the body?” Kara clenched her pen, dread circling through her like a vulture over a cow carcass.
“I did. And there’s no reason to make a big deal over it,” Tom said evenly. “It was a judgment call, and I made it.”
“Who signed the death certificate?”
“Bill Sampson, the JP over in Johnson City. He’s worked with us many years, so it seemed easiest to let him do the paperwork.”
And it had also left Kara, who liked to do things by the book, out of the mix. She was the outsider, and a woman besides. She hung up the phone and stared blindly at the neat stack of lab reports on her desk.
She couldn’t believe the police chief hadn’t reported an unattended and potentially suspicious death, and that Bill Sampson had gone along with it. For one thing, the law demanded that Tom do so, and for another, as far as she knew, he had always followed correct protocol. Why had he deviated in this instance?
Unless he had been psychically influenced by a Belian…or…unless he had been possessed by the Belian.
Panic pressed down, threatening to suffocate her. She shoved back from the desk, almost tipping over her chair. Forcing her trembling legs to move, she paced back and forth, making herself take deep, steady breaths. It couldn’t be true. She still had no real evidence that Damien Morgan was right; only the ghosts of her past resurrecting all the old fears.
She was a physician, scientific and logical. Chief Greer’s reasoning made perfect sense. Why would anyone want to murder David Thornton? He’d been a genial, good ole boy, who’d lived in Zorro all his life and was liked by everyone. It was too preposterous.
Yet Kara found herself in the small alcove off her office, where her patient files were stored, spurred by Saturday’s confrontation with Morgan; particularly with one specific, horrifying aspect of the discussion.
“You’re not that naive, Kara…. Not all Belians enter the Earth through physical birth.”
“Possession.”
“Exactly. You probably also know such a thing is easier if the possessed person’s body or mind is weak.”
Those words reverberated through her, and Damien Morgan’s dark, chiseled face flashed into her mind. Forcing his vivid image away, Kara pulled David’s file, along with those of Tom Greer and some patients who had chronic health problems. She felt compelled to review them closely, while at the same time, she found herself praying that the suspicions beginning to take root were totally unfounded.
She didn’t know what she’d do if they weren’t.
* * * *
Dr. Kara Cantrell’s blue truck was parked on Johnson Avenue, in front of her office. It was 2:00 P.M. and hopefully she had afternoon appointments. Damien had plans that would go more smoothly without interference from Dr. Cantrell.
Not that he minded dealing with her. On the contrary, he found her fascinating. Few humans, conductors or otherwise, offered much resistance, but Kara Cantrell had been an intriguing blend of strength and defiance. Her inner light had glowed with a fierce vitally.
Physically, she wasn’t hard to look at, either. He saw her clearly in his mind, her hair a rich auburn color, cut in a classic style that fell, straight and smooth, to curve below her stubborn jaw line, framing a face that was strong, yet feminine. Her eyes, a shade that was not quite gray, but not quite blue, had that odd translucence that seemed common to true psychics and conductors (often one and
the same). Her complexion was the pale, creamy hue common to many true redheads, her nose was ordinary, and her mouth a little on the thin side, as if she kept it firmly compressed, finding little in life to smile about.
Hers wasn’t a striking beauty, but rather an understated attractiveness, with an appeal that was enhanced by her obvious intelligence and integrity.
Not that female conductors had to be beautiful to be effective. Why some women made good conductors and others didn’t was one of the universe’s mysteries.
One theory was that conductors were reincarnated souls of the wretched creatures who had been created in Atlantian experiments and enslaved by the Sons of Belial; and whom the enlightened Atlantians had tried to help. Perhaps that had created a karmic link between the rescued creatures and the Children of One, now facilitating conductors helping Sentinels track down the Sons of Belial, but not even the Sanctioned knew for sure.
Psychic ability was often present in conductors, but not always. There was no doubt in Damien’s mind that Kara was both psychic and a conductor. The connection with her had been undeniable. The minute he had stepped onto her porch on Saturday, Damien had felt the familiar flare of chemistry and sexual energy surging from the base chakras of his body.
It was fortunate he’d found her, because conductors weren’t all that common. It was even more fortunate that they matched so well, because putting a Sentinel and a conductor together didn’t automatically guarantee a powerful enough chemistry for conduction. It was like sex—some partners created potent heat together, some partners left each other cold.
Damien had connected with a few of the conductors he’d met—enough to get his job done. But he’d been pleasantly surprised to so readily find a conductor receptive to his particular energy, especially in rural Texas. And his and Kara’s connection was very powerful. He’d thought he’d gotten used to the one-two punch of lust and the ensuing hormonal rush over the years, had honed his control over his body to minimize the effects.
Yet he had experienced an immediate, primal response to Kara’s energy, his body reacting as if he were a green initiate rather than a seasoned Sentinel. He’d been grateful his duster hid his obvious physical arousal. Such a thing hadn’t happened to him in years, and while it was unacceptable, it was also proof positive that Kara was indeed a matched conductor, and a very powerful one at that, no matter how much she might deny it.
Even now, thinking about her sent a sexually charged rush through him. Startled, he mentally clamped down, focusing his thoughts with ruthless precision on the matter at hand. Kara Cantrell might have a surprising effect on him, but he had years of experience and discipline to fall back on. He would not—could not—ever allow himself to be affected by the conductors with whom he worked. Painful experience had taught him that, and it was his ironclad, unbreakable rule.
He would handle Kara’s resistance to helping him, and his unprecedented response to her—although he needed to rethink his approach. He wasn’t known for subtlety, and he realized his aggressive approach on Saturday had shaken her up and hadn’t been conducive to gaining her cooperation. But he’d deal with that later.
His immediate goal was to talk with the boy, to determine the extent of the boy’s powers, so he could report back to Adam, and a decision could be made regarding the boy’s future.
Damien didn’t know whether or not Kara normally picked up the boy from school, but he assumed that if she did, she would have alternate arrangements for the days she was tied up with patients. He’d called the elementary school earlier, and knew classes let out at two thirty, so he drove to the small red-brick building and parked half a block from the main entrance.
A battered school bus was already in front of the building, and several cars were parked behind it, although they appeared unoccupied. Most likely the small groups of women standing nearby, chatting among themselves, were the owners of those cars, and were visiting together while they waited for their children.
Damien settled back to observe and wait, his senses automatically flaring out to check for unusual psychic traces, but he found nothing out of the ordinary. The tinny sound of the school bell signaled the release of classes, and students began emerging from the building, dispersing to the bus and the cars, with a few trudging off on foot. There weren’t a large number of students; the Zorro population was around three thousand, and had only one elementary school. Damien readily spotted Alex.
Not only did he recognize the boy, with his mop of sandy hair and serious brown eyes, but Damien picked up the thread of power the child was subconsciously broadcasting. Although it was unlikely anyone or anything else could pick up on the faint broadcast, it still was not a good thing, and something that must be remedied quickly.
The boy got on the bus, and Damien waited until the bus pulled away from the school before following at a discreet distance, wondering if Alex would go to his mother’s office or a daycare of some sort. After quite a few drop-offs, the bus eventually turned on the road leading to Kara’s house, then stopped in front of her home.
The blue truck was not outside, and Damien was surprised that Kara would allow the boy to go to an empty house. But a young, Hispanic-looking woman came to the door. Alex greeted her with familiarity, and she smiled and ruffled his hair as they went inside.
Damien was undeterred by the presence of a strange woman, as he could usually manipulate human minds, unless the subject was especially strong willed. He waited a few moments for the bus to lumber out of sight, then pulled up in front of the house. He walked up to the door, knocked.
The boy opened the door, his eyes going very round when he saw Damien. Behind him, the dog went into a frenzy of barking. Damien quieted the animal with a mental command, turned his attention to the boy. “Hello, Alex. I’m sure you remember me.”
Still silent, the boy began backing away. He radiated a blend of fear and power, his Sentinel force even stronger because of that fear. Damien glanced into the house, didn’t see the Hispanic woman. He squatted down, grabbed Alex’s arm, felt his alarm spike wildly. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quickly, sending a burst of calming energy to the child. “I just want to talk to you. We can do that right here. Okay?”
Alex stared at him with wide, distrustful eyes. “My mother doesn’t like you. She wouldn’t want me to talk to you. I don’t like you, either.”
“You don’t have to like me, Alex. But it’s important that you talk to me, about your power. Do you know what I mean?”
The boy stood frozen, like a terrified rabbit trapped in a snare. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” Damien persisted. “Can you make things happen with your thoughts, Alex? Or by pointing at something?”
The boy stared at him mutely.
“Answer me, Alex. Can you?”
“M-my mother doesn’t like me to make things happen. I don’t do anything!”
“But you can, Alex, if you want to.”
The boy continued to stare at Damien, his dark eyes looking far older than his physical age. “You can do stuff, too,” Alex said finally. “That’s why you felt funny when you were here before.”
Damien grasped Alex’s other arm and leaned closer, his gaze boring into the child’s eyes. “Yes, I can. I’m a Sentinel. So are you.”
“What’s going on here?” came a shrill voice.
Damien looked up to find the Hispanic woman he’d seen earlier bearing down on them. He rose as she grabbed Alex and pulled him to her.
“Who are you?” she demanded, glaring at Damien. “What are you doing here?”
* * * *
Kara studied the file on Belle Williams, who was battling breast cancer. She tried to imagine the middle-aged Belle, who harbored a generous heart beneath her no-nonsense, businesslike exterior, murdering David Thornton. The chemotherapy treatments that Belle was undergoing in Austin had definitely weakened her, leaving her open to the possibility of possession by a Belian.
But quite a f
ew of Zorro’s residents had life-threatening conditions, and any one of them could be susceptible. Kara added Belle’s name to the list of possibilities and rubbed her aching temples. Closing Belle’s file, she reached for Sal’s chart just as the door tone chimed, indicating she had a visitor. Since she was the only one in the office, she put the chart back on the stack and went out to the reception area.
She felt a momentary flash of pleasure when she saw her visitor was Doris Burgess, and her smile was genuine. “Hello, Doris. What brings you here?”
Doris, a spry lady of seventy-five years of age, was Kara’s closest neighbor, as well as one of her favorite patients. She insisted on being addressed by her first name, refusing to surrender to encroaching age, or to the diabetes that had been diagnosed when she was sixty. She dressed very stylishly, drove a sporty car, and was computer savvy, with a lot of e-mail contacts. She was also a wonderful baker, and Alex loved to help her in her kitchen.
Doris glanced around the empty waiting area. “Where is everyone? Are you closed?”
“It was a light day, and I didn’t have any appointments this afternoon, so I let Bonnie and Susan go home.”
“I hope I’m not intruding. I know I don’t have an appointment, but I saw your truck outside and thought it might be all right to come by without one. I need medical advice.”
In the six years that Kara had been practicing medicine in Zorro, Doris had never dropped in without first making an appointment. A frisson of suspicion ran through Kara, knotting her body. Surely it wasn’t Doris who might be possessed. She and Kara crossed paths almost every day. Surely Kara would have sensed something. But even as she tried to rationalize her fear away, she knew better. A Belian could often shield itself from a Sentinel, who had far more powerful psychic abilities than any human.
“Dr. Kara, are you all right? Should I come back another time?”
Kara pushed her suspicions away—for now. She still had no real proof of Damien Morgan’s supposition. She needed to act as if everything was normal, for both herself and Alex.
Touched by Darkness – An Urban Fantasy Romance (Book 1, The Sentinel Series) Page 4
