Blood Song

Copyright 2014 Lynda Hilburn

Digital Edition published by Lynda Hilburn at Smashwords 2014

Cover design by
Kim Killion

Digital formatting by
A Thirsty Mind Book Design

All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, may be reproduced in any form by any means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue

Titles

Excerpt:
Blood Therapy

Excerpt:
The Vampire Shrink

Meet Lynda Hilburn

Another cache of mutilated bodies was discovered by hikers today, buried in a shallow grave at the bottom of Cline Ravine, near the location of two previous sites. Specific details of the murders are being withheld from the public in order to assist in finding the killer or killers. A reliable source in the Sheriff’s Department tells
The Times
they have information only the perpetrator will know. As in the other cases, the bodies were found by visitors to the area. According to witness Dan Ogden, “We were walking back from our campsite, and wouldn’t have found the remains, except my buddy Jake tripped over a rock and slid down the side of the mountain. When we went to get him, we saw arms sticking out from the dirt. Lots of arms. At least ten dead people. It was gross, dude.” All possible resources have been mobilized to help police find the responsible parties. The victims have yet to be identified. No further information was available by press deadline. Check online for the latest updates.

“Awesome sound circle, Grace,” a dreadlocked woman said. “I’m so glad my friend talked me into coming. I’ve never heard anyone do what you can do.”

“Yeah.” A man wearing a kilt stretched his upper torso and sighed. “It was like your voice actually flowed through my body and gave me an inner massage. I was so relaxed I could barely get out of the chair when we were finished. Where’d you learn to sing like that?”

Grace smiled, locked the door to her studio, and then turned to the group of new attendees lingering on the sidewalk in front of the building. “Thanks. I don’t ever remember
not
being able to sing. It came naturally, like breathing. Even the healing aspects appeared without any help from me.”

And without any invitation. Lucky me.

“That really was an amazing experience,” said a tall man, dressed in a long, velvet cape and top hat. “My back hurt before we started, but now I feel great. I’d never heard of sound healing until I moved to Colorado. I looked you up online. You’re pretty famous. Why aren’t you living somewhere like New York or L.A., where you can make a bigger name for yourself?”

That’s the last thing I want...

“I
have
lived in both those cities,” Grace said, “and I made a lot of great musical contacts. But those places are too wild and crazy for me. I prefer small, quirky locations like Boulder, where I can keep a low profile and,” she laughed, “stay sane. I don’t really want to be on a national stage anymore. It’s exhausting.”
And risky.

“Is it true you can heal people with your voice by long distance, without even being near them?” a short, blond woman asked. “How does that work?”

They all stared, eyes wide.

“Yes, it’s true.” She grinned. Participants were always so curious about this aspect of sound healing. Even though she answered the same questions over and over again, she didn’t mind. She was glad people were interested. She liked sharing her passion. “I use my voice to heal over distances, but I don’t pretend to understand how or why it works. People have lots of different theories, mostly based on the idea that time and space are illusions. Some think it’s magic, but it feels pretty normal to me. As a matter of fact, I’m giving a lecture about sound healing at the university in a few weeks. If you want to attend, I can email you information.”

“Oh, yes! Please.” The woman clapped her hands with enthusiasm. The others echoed her.

They tightened their half-circle, as if they sensed her eagerness to leave.

“We’re heading over to grab a drink at the pub down the street,” Top Hat pointed. “Would you like to join us? It would be so cool to hang out with you. You could tell us some of your famous musician stories. And,” he shrugged, “maybe you shouldn’t walk home alone. Even in a small town like Boulder, women can’t be too careful. We can escort you back to your place afterward.” They all began speaking at once, trying to persuade her.

She looked into their sincere faces. It was the same every time. Everyone got so energized after participating in the sound circle that they tried to stretch the evening out as long as possible. She, on the other hand, yearned for peace, quiet and a glass of wine in her living room. After a session, solitude was crucial in order to recharge. Walking home through the quiet, tree-lined streets at the end of the evening had become a private pleasure.

A true introvert, she selfishly guarded her alone time. Of course, sometimes she envied her extroverted friends’ active social lives, but not enough to actually step out of her protective bubble. She definitely knew better than to do that.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve been going non-stop since early this morning. I’m ready to kick off my shoes and crawl into bed.” Purposefully, she rummaged through her shoulder bag and pulled out a small aerosol canister. “And there’s no reason to worry about me.” She raised the container. “I’ve got my trusty pepper spray. I’m armed and dangerous. My house is only a few blocks up the hill, and in all the time I’ve lived here, nobody’s ever bothered me.”

She caught herself before saying she’d never even encountered a mountain lion, though they were native to the area. It wouldn’t be wise to give her companions any more ideas about why she might need company—whether she wanted it or not. Nothing scary had ever happened to her during her walks in the foothills, fanged predators or otherwise.
Unfortunately, nothing exciting, either.

They continued their appeals for a few more seconds as she waved and started up the street before the group could foil her escape. “Have a good time at the pub. I’ll see you at the next sound circle.” She appreciated all her clients and circle members, but it had been a long week and it wasn’t over yet.

After a couple of minutes—certain that none of them had followed her—she slowed her pace, took a few deep breaths and let herself unwind. Retreating into nature was her favorite part of the day. The lingering tension in her shoulders began to ease.

The sidewalk rose in a gentle incline as she strolled, enjoying the fresh air and savoring the silence. When she reached a familiar dead end, the well-worn path to her neighborhood veered off into the foothills. She paused for a moment to take in the view, which never failed to dazzle her. Soaking in the ambiance, she gazed up in wonder. The full moon illuminated the peaks of the Rocky Mountains, outlining them in breathtaking detail against the star-studded tapestry of the night sky. Lights from the houses sprinkled across the canyon glittered like suspended fireflies in the magical darkness.

“What a beautiful spot,” she said aloud, as she continued on. “Beats the hell out of the crowded streets of New York and graffiti-covered buildings in L.A.” She’d talked to herself since childhood and had long ago given up worrying about any mental health implications of the behavior. “And this is the most beautiful hiding place I’ve found so far.”

The late summer air held a subtle hint of fall, and she fantasized about the Autumn Equinox sound ritual she’d be helping with again this year. As usual, the organizers had invited sound healers from all over the world to participate. They’d asked her to take a more visible leadership position, but she’d made excuses, saying she preferred to work in the background. No reason to borrow trouble.

Thinking about trouble triggered a memory of the handsome Brazilian musician she’d met at the Summer Solstice celebration in Rio several weeks earlier. Heat shimmered through her body.

Silvio
.

It was impossible not to smile at the vision.

He’d attended one of her sound healing demonstrations, and had waited to speak to her afterward to discuss the car accident that injured his hand. His doctors gave up on him, saying his recovery hadn’t progressed as expected and they were out of options. Silvio feared his guitar playing would never be the same again. While they chatted, he smiled at her with those amazing, full lips—displaying wicked dimples and beautiful white teeth—and raised his hand up in the air, flexing his fingers. He said her singing had taken away the pain and stiffness when nothing else had.

His gratitude gave her the same uncomfortable feeling she always got when people thanked her. She’d never made peace with accepting praise for something she wasn’t in charge of. Besides, she couldn’t take credit for the positive things without owning the negative, and she was beyond tired of thinking about the dark side of her abilities. Her voice often felt like an unwanted obligation she hadn’t signed up for, at least not consciously. Friends believed her talents came from a past life, which made her laugh. If that were true, she couldn’t imagine what awful thing she’d done in her past life to cause her double-edged sword in the present.

She’d gladly trade her unique pipes for a normal existence. Whatever
that
was.