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

by Catherine Spangler

  A county sheriff was unrolling yellow police tape, barricading the sidewalk in front of Jim’s. She caught glimpses of officers milling around in the back parking lot. Two Zorro officers stood in front of orange roadblocks that had been placed across the gravel drive leading to the parking lot. They were telling the bystanders to return to their homes and businesses, not that anyone was leaving.

  Kara recognized most of the bystanders. They either lived close to the tavern or had businesses on the square. She saw Sal, looking old and tired, his complexion ruddy from excitement. “I can’t go anywhere,” he was saying. “’Cause I found him. Saw his truck from the road and thought I’d better check it out.”

  “Who?” she asked hoarsely, cleared her throat. “Who was it, Sal?”

  Sal turned toward them. “It was Matt Brown.”

  “Matt. Oh, no.” She staggered back, felt Damien grasp her elbow.

  “Tell us what you saw,” he said.

  “I was coming in early to do some extra cleaning in the store, and stock the stuff that arrived yesterday. Since I live on the southern end of town, by the river, I always come past Jim’s—”

  “What did you see?” Damien interrupted, command edging his voice.

  “Well, I walked back there and thought the truck looked like the one belonging to Matt. I didn’t see anything else at first, ‘cause it was still dark and the truck was parked where I could only see the passenger side.” Sal paused, looking around as if he wanted to make sure he had everyone’s undivided attention, which he did. “When I walked around to the driver’s side, I saw Matt lying there. He was staring straight up, and his eyes were open, and he had a hole in the middle of his forehead. And a lot of blood was everywhere.”

  Just like her dream. Kara willed herself not to fall apart. Matt Brown had been young and vital, and from all appearances, a decent person. She felt Damien squeeze her arm, and didn’t know if he was warning her to be silent, or offering his strength.

  “Hey! Don’t you be talkin’ to that reporter!” Tom Greer came around the barricades and strode toward them. “Don’t be talkin’ to anyone until we have all the information from you.”

  He stopped and glared at Damien. “What are you doing here? The bed-and-breakfast is clear on the other side of town. No reason for you to be here.” His glare shifted to Kara. “Or you, either, doctor. There’s nothin’ you can do. Nothin’ anyone can do for poor Matt.”

  His gaze returned to Damien, and his eyes narrowed. “You know what, Morgan? The more I think about it, the stranger it is that you showed up here right after Matt’s body was discovered. You also showed up at Miz Burgess’s house, right after we found her. Mighty suspicious, if you ask me.”

  “I’m not a reporter, I am a crime writer, which seems to be a difficult concept for you to grasp, Chief.” Damien said. “Because I document crimes, I use a police scanner, which keeps me informed when something happens. I came when I heard the dispatchers and responding officers. Dr. Cantrell came because she’s a doctor and thought she might be able to help.”

  “All I know, Morgan, is that you’re a stranger in Zorro, with no apparent reason for being here. Do you have an alibi from about eleven last night until now?”

  Tom’s implied accusation sent a shock through Kara. “Now, see here, Chief—”

  “Excuse me, doctor, but I’m the one talking here. You carry a gun, Morgan?”

  Damien stared back at Tom steadily. “I do. And I have a permit to carry concealed.”

  “I’d like to see it.”

  Damien reached beneath his duster, pulled out his gun, and handed it to Tom. He also fished out his wallet and showed his permit.

  “I’ll need to have this gun tested,” the chief said, after studying the permit carefully. He gestured one of the officers over. “Bradley, give this man a receipt for his gun. It’s a—” he examined it, “Colt .45, semiautomatic…” He slid out the magazine. “Looks like a seven-round magazine, with seven cartridges in it—not that that means anything.”

  Kara felt a rapid rise of fury. “Chief Greer,” she said, ignoring the pressure of Damien’s hand on her arm. She was not about to let the chief accuse Damien when the real killer was out there somewhere. “I can vouch for Mr. Morgan’s whereabouts since early last evening.”

  The chief raised a grizzly eyebrow. “Oh you can, can you?”

  “Kara, don’t—” Damien started, but she ignored him.

  “Yes, I can. He was with me all evening—and all night.” The murmur of voices reminded her she had an avid audience, and she looked around to see about ten Zorro citizens, most of them patients, staring at her as if she’d sprouted horns. Damn. That ought to make her the center of town gossip for awhile.

  “Well, now, that’s very interestin’,” Tom said. “I understand you also have a gun, Dr. Cantrell. Heard you bought it last week. I’d like to see that weapon.”

  He was acting like a class-A bastard, but she had nothing to hide. “Of course, Chief. But the gun is at home, because I don’t have my permit yet. Wouldn’t want to break the law, now, would we? I’ll bring it by later.” She forced herself to shut up then, before she said something she’d regret.

  “You do that, doctor.” Tom looked around at the gawkers, raised his voice. “None of you folks needs to be here. We’ve got a dead man, and crime scene people on the way, and all you’re doin’ is messing up possible evidence. Now get on home!” He turned back to Kara and Damien. “You two be sure to stay in town. I might want to question you later.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Damien said, his eyes glittering. “But I suggest you start your questioning with Luz Pérez. I saw her arguing with a man she called Matt Sunday night, in the tavern parking lot. If it’s the same Matt, she might know something.”

  Tom’s return stare was just as cold. “I’ll keep that in mind, Morgan.”

  “Come on Kara.” Damien turned and walked away.

  She followed, furious with both him and Tom Greer. Men and their pissing contests.

  He turned to look at the scene one more time, spoke in a low voice. “Too many people and too much activity to read the energy now, especially since we’re both under suspicion. I’ll have to come back after dark.”

  She’d already figured that out, but it wasn’t the main thing on her mind at the moment. “Why did you drag Luz into this?” she demanded when they were fully out of earshot. “She’s going to be devastated when she finds out Matt is dead.”

  “Unless she’s the Belian.” Damien unlocked the car.

  “You don’t know that!” Kara slid into her seat, slammed the door. “Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

  “Look, if she’s innocent, the police won’t find any evidence to link her to Brown’s murder. But there are some things about Luz that I find very suspicious.”

  “Like what?”

  Damien started the car, checked the mirror, and pulled out. “She’s got a chronic illness that weakens her physically, she drives a white Ford F-150—”

  “Sal drives a white Ford F-150, so does Tom Greer,” Kara said. “I know you’re looking at them. Sal was the one who found the body. Don’t murderers often return to the scene of the crime?”

  “They do sometimes. I am looking closely at both Sal and the chief, but Luz stands out more strongly. We know she and Matt were dating, and your dream showed that Matt knew his killer. He also used a Spanish phrase, right? Sunday night, I saw Matt hit Luz, and I saw how angry she got. I sensed some sort of power from her.”

  “Matt hit her?” Kara felt sick and shaky all over again. “I can’t believe that.”

  “He did, but he was drunk at the time. He might have treated her just fine when he was sober.”

  “It can’t be Luz.” Kara stared out the window, although she barely saw the scenery passing by. Her thoughts shifted to Matt, who’d come to her office a few times. He was a healthy young buck, and like most men, he didn’t visit a doctor very often. But he’d ne
eded the occasional stitches for minor wounds, and the required tetanus shot. He’d been handsome and charming, and her nurse and receptionist had been very attentive.

  Now he was dead.

  She hated herself at this moment. A young, vital life was snuffed out, and she could have done more to prevent it. “I’ll bet you think I’m a selfish bitch,” she said suddenly. And maybe I am.

  Damien shot her a surprised glance. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because if I’d had sex with you during the conductions, Matt Brown might still be alive. And there’s no telling who else is going to die before we catch this monster.”

  He returned his attention to the road. “I know I’ve pushed you on the sex, and I won’t deny that it might have given us a little more to work with. But it’s no guarantee the Belian can be identified quickly, and it still usually takes several sessions to get a sure identification. This is a very powerful Belian. Second-guessing what may or may not have worked is useless.” He looked at her again. “And, for the record, I don’t think you’re a bitch, or selfish.”

  She felt a flush of gratification that he wasn’t judging or blaming her, but that didn’t negate her feelings of guilt. Even the tiniest edge might bring them closer to the Belian’s identity.

  “Conduction sex might have helped.” She stared down at her hands and made the decision. With Alex safely out of the way, she was finally ready to fully engage in the battle. She would have to push away the painful memories of Richard. This was her town now, and she wasn’t going to let a Belian destroy it.

  She looked at Damien. “The next conduction will yield better results.”

  He turned sharply, met her gaze. “Meaning?”

  Her heart started pounding in her constricted chest. This is the right thing—the only thing—to do, she told herself.

  She forced a deep breath. “I’ll have sex with you.”

  * * * *

  Ah …the rush of a fresh kill, the power and glory of the blood. And all that wondrous energy from a young, vital life. The fear, the adrenaline—like the headiest of nectars. I should have drawn it out longer, made him beg for his life. The sniveling bastard. But it is enough. I can feel the strength of Belial coursing through my body, as pitiful a shell as it is. But I am becoming stronger, more powerful. Soon I will have a far better vehicle to represent the magnificence of Belial. I think I want an even younger, fresher life force for my next kill. Yes, younger…

  Glory to Belial, to the blood, and to the undefeatable power of the darkness.

  * * * *

  Alex liked his grandparents. They were kind of old, but they didn’t move slow like some old people did, and they exuded good energies. After they’d picked him up in Birmingham and driven back to Huntsville—not the place where the prison was—they’d taken him to dinner at a cool place called Ruby Tuesday.

  They talked about the things they were going to do with him—take him to the space museum, visit Guntersville Dam, look for arrowheads along the Tennessee River, and even a trip to Chattanooga to the aquarium. It all sounded iced.

  He knew he would enjoy all that stuff, but he was kinda worried about his mom and the bad stuff going on in Zorro. He didn’t like her staying back there with that Belian thing running around, although he wasn’t exactly sure what a Belian was.

  He was glad Mr. Morgan was with her, because Mr. Morgan had a lot of power. The power was something Alex didn’t understand completely, but he knew it was like magic and he believed it could fight evil. Maybe even defeat Darth Vader.

  He’d talked to his mom Tuesday and Wednesday, and she’d sounded okay. She just kept telling him to have fun. And he was, for the most part. He’d been okay until the ghost came to him Wednesday night. He was in bed, watching TV when the strange stuff started happening.

  Some books on the desk started moving around, and the pen on the little table by the bed lifted into the air, then fell to the floor. The light flickered, and he heard the same strange whispering he’d heard when the ghost came to his house last week. Then the TV started going on and off. It was freaky.

  Mr. Morgan had told him the ghost wouldn’t hurt him, and that he should listen to it, as long as he kept his shields up. But he was scared. He ran to his grandparents’ bedroom and crawled into their bed. They thought he’d had a bad dream and they let him sleep with them, which was cool, because they had a giant bed, and because the ghost didn’t come in there.

  But the problem was he knew the ghost probably wouldn’t go away. And he knew he couldn’t pretend to have a bad dream every night. He thought about it most of Thursday, and decided maybe he needed to talk to someone about the ghost. But he knew Grandma and Grandpa wouldn’t understand. Mom had told him they didn’t know about Sentinels or any of that stuff. There was one person he might be able to talk to, though.

  Alex walked to the front door, which was open. There was a glass storm door that kept the heat in. He stared across the street, at a small house that Grandma said had been empty until yesterday. Then a man had rented it, which surprised Grandma, she said because it had been empty for months. She also said she’d never seen anyone move in with so little stuff—just some things in the back of a small truck. The man also had a motorcycle. A really cool, big motorcycle with a lot of chrome and black.

  But the most interesting thing was that the man “felt” like Mr. Morgan did. He put off an energy that felt like the Sentinel power. Alex had watched him on Wednesday while he was moving in. Then he had carefully put out mental feelers, being sure his shields were up, and he hadn’t sensed anything dark or bad—just the same energy he picked up when he was around Mr. Morgan. He was fairly certain the man was a Sentinel.

  He knew he wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers, and he knew he had to be extra careful talking about Sentinel stuff. But he was afraid the ghost would come back tonight, and he really wanted to tell someone about it.

  Now it was getting late, and Grandma was fixing dinner—except she called it supper. Alex figured he needed to do something before it got dark. “Grandma,” he called, “can I go outside for a little while?”

  “Sure, sweetie,” she called back, sounding a lot like Mom, only older. “Put on a jacket, and don’t go far. Stay where I can see you. We’ll be eating in about twenty minutes.”

  “Okay.” He slipped on his jacket and pushed open the door and went down the steps. The man was in his driveway, drying off the motorcycle, which he’d just washed.

  Alex walked slowly down his grandparents’ driveway, studying the man, ready to bolt back to the house if he felt threatened. The man was big, like Mr. Morgan, but he had blond hair, which he tied back like Mr. Morgan, only it was longer, partway down his back. Alex took another step.

  The man glanced at him when Alex reached the end of the driveway, but then he squatted and returned to the drying. This close to him, Alex could really feel the flare of power. He checked it carefully and still couldn’t feel any darkness. He stood there a long time, debating whether or not to cross the street.

  “Are you going to stare all day, or are you going to say what you want to say?” the man said suddenly.

  Alex’s heart jumped in his chest, and he almost turned and ran—almost. “Hi,” he said uncertainly.

  “Hi, Alex.” The man sat back on his heels.

  “You know my name.” Alex wondered if this might be a trick.

  “I know a lot about you.”

  Alex found himself taking a step into the road. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Luke.” The man stood and dusted off his jeans. “If you’re coming over, I’d suggest you do it. I’m sure your mother has told you not to play in the street.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers, either.”

  “You’re talking to me, aren’t you?”

  “Well…yeah.”

  The man—Luke, like Luke Skywalker!—smiled real big. He didn’t seem as serious as Mr. Morgan. “So why are you making an exception and talk
ing to me?”

  “Because you don’t seem like a stranger. You have the power,” Alex blurted. Belatedly, it occurred to him that maybe he shouldn’t be talking about the power to anyone.

  Luke nodded. “Yeah, I do. You’re pretty good, to pick that up. So what do you think that means?”

  Alex considered, decided to take a chance. “I think you’re a Sentinel.”

  “The same as you?”

  He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, was he? “Uh, maybe,” he hedged.

  Luke laughed. “Good boy. You have to be very careful who you tell.” He bent down and picked up a container and started spreading a white paste on the motorcycle. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have this problem.” Alex took another tentative step.

  Luke gestured impatiently. “Look if you’re coming over, do it all at once. You can stand on the other side of the bike if you’re nervous about me. I promise I won’t bite.”

  “Sentinels bite?” Alex asked in amazement.

  Luke laughed again. “No. Well, at least not most of the time. That’s just an expression.”

  “Oh.” Alex decided to be brave—or at least pretend that he was. He walked across the street, stopping on the opposite side of the motorcycle from Luke.

  Luke went back to waxing the motorcycle. “So what’s going on?”

  “There’s this ghost…” Alex began.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Kara didn’t tell Damien she was going to see Luz before she went to her office. It had been enough of a battle to get him to allow her to drive herself. She realized it was probably foolhardy for her to even consider visiting Luz alone, in view of Damien’s suspicions and her own doubts—which she couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge. She did pocket her pepper spray, but knew it would offer little, if any, protection against a Belian.