Touched by Darkness – An Urban Fantasy Romance (Book 1, The Sentinel Series)

by Catherine Spangler

  Kara faced two men, her hands clenched by her side, looking pale but determined. At the foot of the bed, two EMTs, a man and a woman, waited beside a raised gurney. Their black leather equipment cases sat on the floor, closed up, useless in the face of death. Everyone looked Damien’s way as he entered the room, letting go of the psychic trail for now. He’d come back later to study the crime and the energies.

  He recognized Chief Tom Greer, a weathered, middle-aged man with thinning, graying black hair and brown eyes. He was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and sported cowboy boots, and had a cowboy hat clutched in his left hand. Apparently he’d been off duty when the call came in.

  The police chief’s eyes narrowed when he saw Damien. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

  “I’m here to offer my assistance,” Damien said, moving to stand by Kara. He felt her tension, and maybe a tingling of relief, as she shot him a quick glance before returning her attention to Greer.

  “Well, you can just take yourself out of here,” the chief said. “We don’t need a reporter, and an outsider at that, snooping around at a time like this.”

  “I’m a writer, not a reporter. And I’m not here in an official capacity. I’m here because of my association with Dr. Cantrell.” Damien left it at that, and let them draw whatever conclusions they would. They’d better get used to him and Kara being together, because he intended they would be spending a lot of time with one another until the Belian was identified and Atlantian justice dispensed.

  “I don’t give a damn about your so-called association with the doctor,” Greer snapped. “I want you out of here now.”

  Her eyes wide, Kara stepped in front of Damien. “Chief Greer—”

  “Is this a crime scene?” Damien asked, taking her arm and moving her to the side.

  “Not at this time,” Greer said, placing his hand on his gun in an intimidating gesture. “Now get out.”

  “If there’s been no crime, then you can’t possibly object to my presence here.” Damien met Greer’s gaze squarely, although he was reluctant to use a mental push with the chief, because he didn’t trust the man, didn’t want to alert anyone or anything to his identity. “Unless, of course, you want me to air any suspicions I might have regarding Mrs. Burgess’s death in my magazine.”

  His face turning red at the implied threat, Greer took a step forward. “Now see here—”

  “Let it go, Tom,” said the other man. He was dressed in a dark wool suit, and was older, with a shock of white hair and a gray mustache and vivid blue eyes. “It doesn’t matter if this man is here, because this isn’t a crime scene.”

  “I don’t agree with you, Mr. Sampson,” Kara protested again. “I’m not convinced Doris died of natural causes.”

  Damien glanced at her sharply. She knew something, or had sensed something. Or perhaps her previous experiences with Belians had led her to the logical conclusion that this was the work of one.

  “But there’s no reason to believe that Mrs. Burgess met with foul play,” Sampson told her.

  “He’s right, Dr. Kara,” Greer said. “There’s no evidence of forced entry.”

  “The front door was unlocked when I got here.” Kara turned her attention to him. “I know Doris keeps her doors locked.”

  “She probably just forgot to lock it, then,” Greer replied. “As I said, there’s no indication the lock was tampered with. And there’s no sign of injury to the body—to Miz Burgess. She was an old woman—what? Seventy-eight, seventy-nine?”

  “Seventy-five,” Kara said. “And she was very healthy for her age. I just saw her on Monday.”

  “Seventy-five ain’t all that young. It’s not uncommon for an old person to die in their sleep,” the chief pointed out. “And Miz Burgess had diabetes. That tends to take some years off a person’s life.” He turned to the two EMTs. “Either of you see anything suspicious when you examined the body?”

  They shook their heads in the negative.

  Kara’s expression became more determined. “Think what you will. I still want an autopsy performed.”

  “It costs us almost two thousand dollars for every body we send to the medical examiner in Austin,” Greer argued. “That’s a lot of money, and our budget is limited, especially since we bought those new police cruisers.”

  “By law, unattended or suspicious deaths require an autopsy. Part of the same laws you’ve sworn to uphold. Just because you have the signature of a justice of the peace—” Kara paused and shot Sampson a hard look, alerting Damien to the man’s identity— “on the death certificate, doesn’t make it legal, or right.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Damien interjected, throwing in with her. It was actually to his advantage that people knew Doris had been murdered. If they were on the alert, it might be harder for a Belian to operate in their midst.

  “As a crime writer,” he continued, “I know the state laws better than most. Texas law requires an autopsy for all unattended deaths, unless there are special circumstances. If there’s any doubt in the matter, then I would suggest you err on the side of caution, and defer to the letter of the law.”

  “Damn it!” Greer slapped his hat against his thigh. “A sick old woman dies of natural causes in her sleep and you folks want to go and make a crime out of it—and spend the police department’s money.”

  “I’m not signing the death certificate without an autopsy,” Kara said. “Of course, Mr. Sampson has the authority to do it, but elections are coming up in, oh, eight months?” She stared pointedly at Sampson. “Aren’t you up for reelection, Mr. Sampson?”

  He made a sound of disgust. “Fine. Let’s keep this clean. Tom, request the autopsy, and let me know the results.” He turned toward the door. “I’m done here.”

  Greer gestured to the EMTs to load up the body and left behind Sampson. They prepared to move the gurney to the side of the bed.

  “Wait,” Kara said. “Just a minute, please.” She walked to the bed and stared at Doris a long moment, reaching out to stroke the stiff face. “Good-bye, my friend,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I doubted you.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the old woman’s forehead. Slowly, she stepped back, her grief and sadness tangible. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Come on.” Damien moved to her side and took her arm. “There’s nothing more we can do here.”

  “I know.” With a last glance at the body, she swiped a palm over her face and allowed him to lead her from the room and out of the house. In the living room talking to his officers, Chief Greer looked up and glared at them as they went by, but had nothing to say to them.

  The cold outside air hit them like a slap, but Damien found it refreshing, a welcome change from the oppressive stuffiness of the house and the smell of death, tainted with the stink of evil. Kara seemed uncertain in her direction, so he steered her toward her house, across the grass and away from the curious onlookers. Fortunately, Chief Greer had just come out on the porch, and the crowd’s attention focused on him.

  Damien maintained his hold on Kara’s arm as they walked. He could feel her tension. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, knowing words were never enough, yet all he could offer.

  “Sure.” She stared straight ahead, the thick fall of her hair framing her face.

  He couldn’t see her features. Like most small-town roads, Virginia Avenue had no street lights; the only illumination came from lighted windows, and the stars and nearly full moon above. She stumbled as they walked across the uneven yard, and he tightened his grip on her arm to steady her. “Where’s Alex?”

  “Oh, no! How could I have forgotten him? He’s with the Roberts family, on the other side of Doris. He took her cat over there.” She tried to twist back the way they had come. “I have to get him.”

  He tugged her forward. “Not right now. You need a little time to pull yourself together, and to decide what to tell him.”

  “No, I—” She dug in, turned to face him, her face a pale oval in the moonli
ght. “This is my fault. I dreamed about Doris’s murder last night. I should have done something.”

  Her words went through him like an electric shock. She had dreamed about the Belian crime? “Did you see the Belian’s face?”

  “No.” She pulled free of his grasp. “I didn’t even realize it was Doris in my dream, because I’d never been in the back of her house, and she was turned away in the bed. But I should have known. I should have known!”

  “There was no way you could know,” he said. “This is not your fault. Surely you realize that.”

  “When I had that dream vision last night, I knew what it was—that it would come true. And I didn’t do anything. Not a damned thing! I should have called the police, should have told someone.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “And all this time, Doris was just lying there, all alone.”

  She started toward her house. He followed, knowing she was suffering both grief and shock. He’d seen it enough times to recognize the signs. It didn’t matter how many powers he had, he couldn’t heal a wounded, grieving human spirit. He didn’t speak until they were on the porch and she was opening the front door.

  “Kara, listen to me.” He waited until she angled her head and met his gaze, tear trails glistening on her face. “Even if you’d known for sure it was Doris in the vision, by the time you had the dream, it was already too late to help her. The best way you can help her now is work with me to catch her killer. We’ve put this off longer than we should have. This thing is escalating, and we have to stop it. You must conduct for me.”

  She slowly turned toward him, anger flaring in her eyes. “You would use Doris’s death to your advantage. You bastard!”

  “Yeah, you’re right, I would. I would use anything to catch this Belian.”

  “And that’s all you care about, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter to you that an innocent woman is dead. That she probably had ten good years left, that she’s leaving behind three children and five grandchildren, who all adore her.”

  In his mind, he saw the pitiful, bent body of Doris Burgess. Any death of an innocent was unacceptable. He felt a chasm in his tightly held control, felt the simmering rage slip through.

  “Yes it matters,” he said fiercely. “God damn it, it matters! How do you think I feel, knowing there’s a monster within my reach, and if I don’t stop it, more innocents will die?”

  Fury ripped through him, and he whirled away, his fists clenched, needing to tear something apart. He settled for stomping down the steps and picking up a thick branch that had fallen off the nearby pecan tree. He snapped it like it was a twig, and hurled the pieces away. “I have to live with two murders already, knowing it’s my duty, my responsibility, to stop this monster, and that I’ve failed so far. And every day that goes by is more time for it to destroy someone else.”

  He kicked at another branch, set it flying. His chest heaved and he fought to bring himself under control. The red haze receded, but the frustration and knowledge that he was no closer to stopping this Belian continued to torment him. He raked his hands through his hair, vaguely aware of his leather binding falling off and the feel of hair flowing against his face.

  Damnation. Somehow Kara managed to get beneath his skin, to shake up his control. He looked up to find her standing mute on the porch, her eyes huge and dark as she stared at him.

  “And to know,” he continued, “that for every person who dies, others are devastated by the loss. That a human life touches many other lives, that one single violent action has an exponential ripple effect, the potential of causing pain on many levels.” As well he knew, from personal experience.

  He exhaled deeply, tossed his hair from his face, and mounted the steps to the porch, willing himself to calm. He felt his Sentinel persona returning, slipping into place like a weapon into a holster.

  “Yeah,” he said, his gaze locked with Kara’s. “I’m a bastard, all right. But, as The One is my witness, I will hunt down and destroy this Belian.”

  Her expression hardened. “Good.” She turned and went inside.

  He followed her to the kitchen, leaned against the counter while she telephoned Mary Roberts and told her she’d be over for Alex within the hour. Then she put two mugs of water in the microwave and dug out some tea bags. He’d have preferred coffee, and that laced with something with an alcoholic kick, but was willing to go with the flow, especially if it soothed Kara.

  She remained silent while she fixed the tea, and he welcomed the time to ensure his own emotions were again deeply buried. She was still pale, her eyes haunted, and her hands shaking slightly as she handed him his tea and then seated herself at the table. He slid into the chair next to her and waited for her to work through the trauma of the evening. He would still push for—insist on—a conduction, but he’d give her time to settle down first.

  She stared down at her mug. “Doris was my friend. And these past few days, I doubted her. I thought she might be the—” She shook her head, looked him, tears glinting in her eyes. “I thought she might be possessed. How could I think such a thing?”

  “Because anything is possible with a Belian, especially one this strong. It could have possessed any number of bodies. Old or sick people are easier targets. Your logic was sound.”

  She dropped her gaze back to her tea. “I know that, but still.”

  Chaos, doubt, suspicion, hatred, despair. Belians had that effect on everything around them. They were the spawn of Belial, may his soul burn in the Fires.

  He leaned forward. “What can you tell me about your dream?”

  She relayed what she’d dreamed, methodically and with an astonishing amount of detail, although her voice shook at times. He was amazed at how closely her vision resembled the psychic picture he’d “seen” at Doris’s house.

  “What do you think was in the syringe?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She thought about it a moment. “It could have been insulin. An insulin overdose would be fairly quick acting and could produce symptoms of heart failure. A needle mark in her arm wouldn’t be suspicious, because she is—was— Oh, God.” Her voice broke again, and she took a deep breath before continuing. “Doris was diabetic and took insulin injections.”

  “So that would be a logical way to take her out, and if that proves to be the case, then the Belian wants the deaths to look accidental—for now,” Damien mused. “It also means it knew Doris well enough to know she took insulin, and how to get around her house.”

  “Which reinforces the theory about the Belian possessing the body of someone who lives in Zorro,” Kara said. “I didn’t want to believe it.”

  “But it sure looks that way.” Damien noted the time. “I’m going back to Doris’s house later tonight. I didn’t have a chance to gather all the information, but I suspect it’s going to be very close to your vision.”

  “Oh, it will be.” She gripped her mug, her knuckles white. “My cursed dreams are accurate right down to every bloody detail.”

  “Kara, you should have called me immediately when you found the bod—Doris. You knew, or suspected, the Belian had killed her. You also know it’s very important that I scan a Belian crime scene as soon as possible.”

  “I didn’t think.” She stared sightlessly at the opposite wall. “I couldn’t think of anything, except how she looked, lying there in that bed. Then…I grabbed my phone, and it was an automatic reflex to dial 9-1-1. It was all I could manage.”

  “I know it was hard. But it’s crucial that I know right away if anything else happens. Is that your phone?” He pointed to the leather case clipped on her belt, and she nodded. “Let me have it a moment.”

  She unclipped it and handed it to him without comment, watched as he entered his mobile number into her directory, then handed the phone back to her. “My number is in there now, and if anything happens, I want you to call me first. Don’t call anyone else until you talk to me. Understand?”

  “Sure, whatever,” she said dully.

&
nbsp; They sat in silence a few moments, Damien mulling over how to convince her to cooperate on a conduction, without having to use coercion. Suddenly she turned toward him, determination firing her gaze. “I’m not going to let Doris’s death go unchallenged. And I’m not going to let this—this thing hurt anyone else. I’ll help you track this monster.”

  He came to full attention. “You’ll conduct for me.”

  She held up a warning hand. “Only on one condition.”

  “And that is?”

  “There will be no physical intimacy. No unnecessary touching, no kissing, and no sex.”

  He started to protest. Sexual intercourse created the most powerful conduction and would be more effective with this strong Belian. But he saw the resolve on Kara’s face, knew her past experiences as a conductor had put her through hell. She wouldn’t capitulate. He was lucky he wouldn’t have to go against the Sentinel code of honor and force her. He’d take what he could get.

  “All right,” he said. “We’ll do it tonight.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kara stared down at her son. He was sprawled on her bed, one hand tangled in Mac’s fur. Both were sound asleep, courtesy of a mental push from Damien. She hadn’t been wild about that, but knew Alex was too wound up to sleep. She told him Doris had died in her sleep and hadn’t suffered any pain—probably true, although it glossed over the fact Doris had been murdered.

  Alex had still been upset and clingy, and worried that now Doris’s ghost would join that of the other ghost and come to their house. Which Kara supposed was a disturbingly real possibility, given the way things had gone lately.

  She felt a brush of heated energy behind her, knew Damien was there. Apprehension and physical awareness swept through her. She leaned down to smooth Alex’s hair and kiss his cheek before she straightened and faced Damien. He had returned to Doris’s house to finish examining the crime scene, while she calmed and fed Alex, and got him ready for bed. Damien returned in time to send boy and dog into a deep slumber, assuring her they wouldn’t awaken during the conduction.

  Now he stood there, waiting for her, the unspoken expectation hanging between them like a pending execution. He was dressed differently tonight. She had been surprised to see him in full business attire when he’d shed his duster earlier—an expensively cut black suit that made him look even bigger, his shoulders even wider. With it, he wore a white shirt and bloodred tie. He told her he had some official business earlier in Fredericksburg, and sometimes his work required a suit.