Catherine Spangler - [Sentinel 02] - Touched By Fire (v5.0) (html) (7 page)

“All living things put off energy. As I explained earlier, a Sentinel can pick up the residual energy a Belian broadcasts. I don’t want to give you specific details yet, because I want to see what you can pick up. Come on.”

He urged her toward the structure, and apprehension began churning inside her, although she didn’t know why. The uneasiness grew stronger with each step closer, like a weight pressing down on her. She stopped, not wanting to go any farther.

Luke slid off his sunglasses, looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Something about that building bothers me.”

“Belian energy.” Triumph gleamed in his eyes. “You can sense it.”

She still wasn’t ready to tell him she’d been feeling emotions from those around her, with him being the odd exception, for the past eleven years. Nor did she like him thinking she was a conductor, even if she didn’t fully understand what that was. “It just looks creepy.”

“It’s all right.” He took her elbow, guided her forward. “The place is completely deserted. The Belian is long gone.”

Then why did she feel panicky as they approached the sagging porch? Why did it seem as if a horrifying darkness was eclipsing the sun? Out of nowhere, blackness descended on her. Surrounded her, a force so evil, it chilled her to the core.

Sensations of intense hatred mingled with visual flashes of a knife and blood, bits and pieces of . . . bodies.
Oh, God!
She struggled against the darkness, but the depravity wrapped around her. Tighter and tighter. Suffocating her, stealing her soul. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. She felt walls closing around her and fought to free herself.

“Marla! Marla, stop!”

She flailed wildly, hit something hard.

“It’s me, Luke. You’re safe. Nothing here can hurt you.
Marla
. Focus on
me
.”

Light illuminated the darkness and she blinked at the sudden sunshine, stared at the long, masculine fingers holding her upper arms. She managed to gulp in air, but when she tried to speak, a low, keening sound rose from her throat. Through the bloody mental images, she saw Luke’s concerned face.

The sense of horror continued to suffocate her. “It’s here. It’s still here!” she gasped.

“No. It’s not.”

Yet evil surrounded her. “I can feel it. I can see it . . . the blood, the bodies.” Spasms clenched her stomach. She struggled against Luke’s grasp. “I’m going to be sick. Let me go!”

He released her, and she staggered a step away before collapsing to her hands and knees and retching violently in the dirt. She was vaguely aware of his solid presence next to her, of his hand rubbing her back. When the heaving finally stopped, she sagged weakly beside him, mortified, but too spent to even apologize. He murmured something, but she couldn’t hear through the buzzing in her ears.

She didn’t protest when he swept her into his arms and carried her as if she were a small child to the motorcycle. He lowered her to the ground, eased her into a sitting position against the rear tire. Squatting beside her, he gripped her shoulders. “Take a deep breath.”

She did, and the buzzing receded.

“Take another breath.” He waited until she complied. “You okay now?”

Battling to maintain control, she nodded.

“Can you still feel it?”

Oh, yes.
The macabre visions were gone, but she still felt pure, unadulterated evil pressing on her. It felt like the monster emanating that evil knew who she was, and where to find her. “Yes,” she whispered, her throat raw. “Like it’s watching me.”

Luke kept one hand on her shoulder as he reached beneath the top of his shirt and pulled out a silver chain with a pink oval stone attached to it. He closed his fingers over the stone, began chanting in a beautiful language she didn’t recognize, at least not intellectually.

But the words and cadence touched her on a visceral level, sent a frission of awareness through her. She felt a surge of . . .
something
. . . like an electrical current or energy flare that surrounded them.

The evil receded, whipping away like it had been touched by fire.

Yet a dark residue lingered inside her, like the awful feeling experienced after a very bad nightmare, or that of a
real
, horrific memory. A renewed wave of nausea rolled through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself, afraid she’d be sick again.

Then warmth whispered through her, a soft touch of reassurance and a glowing light. She somehow knew it was coming from Luke, but she didn’t care that he was using his energy on her. She welcomed the light and warmth, reached for it fiercely, desperately and felt the darkness retreat completely.

But she knew, on a soul-deep level, it wasn’t gone for good. “What did you just do?”

“I shielded us. That broke your link with the Belian.”

“It appears that way.”

He shifted back, and she collapsed against the bike, unable to marshal any coherent thoughts. She watched as he dug out a bottle of water and a clean cloth from the bike’s rear storage compartment. He wet the cloth, stroked it over her hot face. Too exhausted to protest, she let him.

“Better?” he asked. She managed a nod, and he handed her the water. “This might help.”

She rinsed out her mouth, leaning sideways to spit, and then gulped a few swallows. Still squatting, Luke returned his hands to her shoulders. “Are you going to be okay?”

She nodded again, and he settled onto the dirt next to her, stretching out his long legs. “I had no idea you were that sensitive, or I would never have brought you here. And I sure as hell would have shielded us before we went up to that shack. You should have told me, Marla.”

Told him what? That she was mentally unbalanced, and had been since the attack on Julia eleven years ago? Being able to feel the emotions of those around her was apparently a side effect of witnessing the assault, and possibly of the concussion she’d suffered when Julia’s attacker hit Marla on the head. Shivering despite the moderate temperature, she hunched into her jacket.

Luke made a frustrated sound. “At some point, you’re going to have to trust me. And you’re going to have to be honest with me. This Belian is dangerous enough without any other surprises broadsiding me.”

He wanted to talk about trust? She turned her head and just looked at him, but he got her message loud and clear.

“I am being completely honest with you now, I swear by The One,” he said. “I’m telling you everything. No games, Marla, no tricks. What you felt here today is just a taste of what we’re dealing with.”

That was
so
not what she wanted to hear. The worst of it was that she now believed Luke’s wild tale about Belians and Sentinels. She thought she’d experienced real hell eleven years ago. But this, this evil, easily rivaled it.

“Think you’re up to the ride back?” he asked. When she nodded, he stood and helped her up, holding on to her until her shaking legs held.

She didn’t look at the shack as they put on their helmets and got on the bike. She tried to keep her mind blank, to focus on Luke’s solid presence, on the aura of strength and protection that he emanated.

But, like a moth drawn to the flame, she couldn’t resist the urge to look back. Darkness hovered around the shack, the remnants of pure evil. And she felt like the fires of hell were touching her soul.

 

 

JULIA was at the downtown Houston Police Department on Monday morning. She’d called ahead to make sure Barbara Gray was in. Sergeant Gray, who had been the investigator on Julia’s case eleven years ago, was still with the force, and still with the Sex Crimes Unit, which ironically was part of the Homicide Division. Maybe that designation wasn’t really so strange, Julia thought, because parts of her had certainly been murdered that night—her naïveté, her faith in humankind, her future.

But her memories were alive and well. Standing in the front waiting area, she felt a disturbing sense of time collapsing on itself, as if her attack had happened only yesterday. The smell of coffee, the sound of ringing telephones and muted voices, the sense and feel of the station, were just as she remembered. A dignified aura of authority and law mingled with the lingering overtones of the grief and fear of victims and their families.

“Julia.” Barbara Gray came through a doorway leading to the back. “Good to see you. How have you been?”

She looked pretty much the same—a short, trim woman with sharp blue eyes and straight blond hair that stopped at her jawline. The blond shade was lighter now, the effects of encroaching gray, and there were a few more lines on the investigator’s face, but Julia would have known her anywhere.

Julia shook her hand. “I’ve been doing okay. And you?” “Good.” Barbara’s assessing gaze swept over her, taking in the cane. “Glad to see you on your own two feet. You look well.”

She didn’t add the ‘but,’ the fact both of them understood all too well—that there was never a complete recovery from what Julia had endured. Ever.

“Come on in here.” Barbara led the way to a small interview room with a round table and three chairs. “Have a seat.”

Julia set her cane to the side and painstakingly eased herself into a chair. Barbara sat across from her. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social call. What can I do for you?”

“I’m here about my sister.”

“Oh. It’s Marla, right? How is she doing?”

“I think something has happened to her.”

Barbara leaned forward, concern etched on her face. “What?”

Julia quickly explained the e-mail, how it sounded wrong, and that Marla would never act so impulsively.

Barbara considered the information. “Maybe her impulsive behavior has to do with this man she met. Sometimes people act out of character when love or lust is involved.”

“No,” Julia said firmly. “Marla hasn’t dated since . . . that night.”

“I see.” Barbara’s gaze was sympathetic. “That’s tough.” That was one of the things Julia had appreciated about the officer—her straightforward, honest manner. No lip service or flowery words of comfort, just the truth, tempered by a genuine compassion.

This woman had been Julia’s lifeline in a sea of madness, a calming presence in the ER immediately after the attack; a bedrock through the arrest, trial, and sentencing of William Bennett. Julia hadn’t even considered going to someone else about her sister.

“I know Marla wouldn’t have gone off like this, and certainly not without telling us about it,” she said. “It’s just not in character for her.”

“Have you been to her house yet?”

“Yes. I went last night, after I received the e-mail.”

“And?”

“She wasn’t there. Neither was her dog, which is another reason to be suspicious. I can’t imagine Marla taking Bryony to Mexico. If Marla was going anywhere, she’d have left Bry with me or Mom and Dad.”

Barbara frowned. “Was the house in disarray, or anything taken?”

“No.” Julia said, and then amended, “Well, maybe some of her toiletries were gone. I didn’t see her toothbrush, and her shampoo products were gone from the shower. But still, I know something is wrong.”

“Look,” Barbara said briskly. “It’s really hard to prove there might be . . .” She hesitated, appeared to reconsider her words. “. . . something wrong, as you say, especially when there are no signs to indicate it. And you did get an e-mail.”

“I know my sister,” Julia insisted. “And I know she would
never
change her plans and go off on a whim, much less without telling her family.”

“Then you need to file a missing persons report. Unfortunately, I can’t help you with that. You’ll have to go to the Missing Persons Unit, at our southeast substation on McKawa.” Barbara rose from her chair. “But I can call them and get you a contact there. And I’ll give you directions.”

“Thank you.” Julia slowly pushed herself up, grasped her cane. “For now, and for . . . then.”

Barbara turned at the door. “It’s my job. I just wish . . .” Her expression hardened. “I wish I could castrate every rapist out there and then let the bastards bleed to death.”

Julia felt the exact same way.

FIVE

LUKE knew he was pushing Marla too fast and too hard. She’d endured some shocks from his bumbled semiabduction and his blatant power display, not to mention learning about the existence of Sentinels and Belians. Then the situation at the shack had gone haywire, possibly putting her at risk, because there was a very real possibility the Belian had picked up on the link.

Damn!
Adam had warned him to proceed with caution, but he’d been too focused on a being that thought nothing of killing innocent children to follow correct protocol. And Marla was paying for it.

So in an effort to get things back on track and give her a chance to assimilate everything, he’d backed off for the rest of Sunday. He’d taken her back to the house, encouraged her to take a shower and relax for the rest of the day. They’d sat in the backyard and watched psycho dog’s antics. He’d grilled hamburgers on the cheap charcoal grill he’d picked up in Needville, and answered her occasional questions, but he didn’t volunteer any more than she asked for.

She’d appeared subdued, probably still feeling the effects of the Belian link. When she began wilting from fatigue and stress, it was a simple matter to convince her to turn in early, and then put her into a deep, dreamless sleep with a mild mental push.

But this morning, she was fully alert, and not at all malleable. She sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around her travel coffee mug (he still felt the need to hedge his bets, so the top was firmly screwed on it), and watched him cook breakfast. “You did something to make me sleep last night.”

He checked the French toast, began flipping it. “Yeah, I did.” He met her gaze. “You were exhausted and needed the rest.”

Her mouth tightened. “I asked you not to use that woo-woo stuff on me.”

He set the spatula down, leaned his hip against the counter. “I only do it when it’s necessary.”

“
Necessary?
More like abuse of power.”

“Deal with it.” He couldn’t resist grinning at her glare. “And get out some dishes while you’re at it.”

“Why don’t you just levitate them to the table?”

“Didn’t we just determine that I only manipulate energy when it’s necessary?”

“I think we actually determined you’re an egotistical tyrant.” She rose and went to the meager silverware collection lined up on a clean towel. “So you’re going to let me near the knives now?”

“Just the table knives. If you’re real good today, you might get to move on to steak knives.”

“Very funny,” she muttered.

He appreciated her obvious intelligence and quick wit. And he liked the way she looked—not a true beauty, but attractive, wholesome—with that wild mass of chestnut curls falling to her shoulders and those honey-colored eyes. She was dressed in jeans and an olive green sweater that set off her golden coloring. He also appreciated the fact that she wasn’t thin like so many women, that she had full, womanly curves. As a matter of fact, she had a really fine rear end.

The smell of something burning jolted his attention back to the stove, and he quickly started scooping up some over-browned French toast.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” Marla asked as she put the plates and silverware on the table. “If you need my help as badly as you say, then let’s do whatever it is, so I can get back to my life.”

What he needed was to perform a conduction with her. Just thinking about it sent a heated surge through his body, making him instantly hard. He’d worked with a lot of conductors, but this reaction was a first. One thing was certain—he wouldn’t have any trouble losing himself in her lush body.

He was actually looking forward to it, despite the psychic drain all Sentinels experienced during a conduction. He was so finely tuned to Marla, so sensitized to her conductor energy, he felt certain their physical union would blow the top of his head off.

“Let’s eat first,” he said, hoping she didn’t notice his aroused state. “Then I’ll explain conductions.”

Another blast of anticipation shot through him. While Marla might object to getting naked and down and dirty with a virtual stranger, the raw chemistry between them should be enough to convince her.

And it would bring him that much closer to catching the monster capable of murdering innocent children in cold blood.

 

 

HE stroked the pale yellow stick of Semtex like it was a lover. In the right hands—
his hands
—shaped by his brilliance and expertise, it would become an avenging weapon. No one could make a better bomb than he could. He’d been the smartest, the best, when he’d earned his physics degree at Cal Tech. No one had ever surpassed him, before or after.

He stroked the Semtex again. Even through his latex gloves he could feel its putty texture, its essence, its destructive
power
. He’d read that it was becoming harder to obtain, that its production and distribution was being tightly controlled by the Czech Republic government. But he was clever and capable, had the funds and had cultivated contacts in Europe. In exchange for small bits of his vast knowledge on bombs and weapons, he could get whatever he needed. Belial was impressed with his resourcefulness.

He slipped on his goggles and got to work. Around him lay the things he needed to create an instrument of retribution: blasting caps, fuses, black powder, flash bulbs, broken glass, nails, and a remote detonator. He never relied on a relay timer to ignite his creations. Besides, he wanted to watch the punishments.

To see the blood. To glory in it.

He already had his next target—a place that dispensed blasphemous information. In a few days, he’d be ready to implement the punishment. This time, even more transgressors would die. Justice, to those who refused to listen to the truth.

Belial would be pleased.

 

 

AFTER eating some delicious French toast that Marla was certain would go straight to her hips, she and Luke exchanged their coffee for iced tea, and settled outside in the backyard, in rusted metal patio chairs that had once been green. It was pleasant and not overly humid. Bryony was unusually mellow, and after an initial growl at Luke, settled down at Marla’s feet.

She leaned back, inhaled deeply and, for a moment, almost forgot where she was, and why. “Nice morning.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Luke had a beautiful voice, deep, rich, calming. She met his azure gaze. “I’d like to check in with my family today and let them know I’m okay.”

“That can be arranged. I’d prefer you e-mail them.”

Sure he would. “As opposed to me calling them and blurting out something to the effect of ‘A reincarnated Atlantian has kidnapped me and is forcing me to help him hunt Belians’?”

He grinned, which somehow made him look both California-surfer wholesome and impossibly sexy at the same time. “Directing what you say on the phone could be a problem. Best to avoid it.”

“Anyone ever pointed out you’re a control freak?”

“I’m just careful.” He drank some tea. “You have to be, when dealing with Belians.”

“I’m sure you tell that to all the women you kidnap.”

He leaned back, lazy indolence that she suspected could turn lethal in a New York second. “You’re the only who’s ever resisted me, babe.”

Yep. Definitely sexy. She forced herself to remain focused on the current topic. “Speaking of that, why me? I’m assuming you’ve worked with other conductors. Why couldn’t you use one of them?”

His expression turned serious. “I wish it were that easy. First off, there aren’t that many conductors that we know of. Second, not every conductor is a good match with every Sentinel. And right now, there aren’t any conductors available to work with me. I’ve already tried that route.”

“No dial-a-conductor service, huh?” Marla knew she was being flippant, but it was either that or freak. She could still feel the sense of evil that had nearly suffocated her yesterday, like a nightmare that continued to haunt long into the waking hours.

Luke remained serious. “No, there’s not. Besides that, very precise matches, like you and I have, are rare.”

The thought of being a precise match—whatever that meant—with Luke sent an unnerving warmth through her. “Great,” she muttered, willing her body to calm. “So I’m the cavalry.” She thought again about the evil that had touched her yesterday, and the warmth changed to a shiver. “About these conductions, what are they, exactly?”

“A conduction is a meditation ritual, for lack of a better way to describe it, between a Sentinel and a human conductor.”

“But aren’t you human, too?”

“I have a mortal, human body. But my spiritual makeup is different. A conductor, on the other hand, is always human. And always the opposite sex of the Sentinel.”

“Why is that?”

“Because—” He hesitated, an unreadable expression on his face. “It has to do with chakra energies. Have you ever meditated?”

“No. Is it like praying?”

“Not exactly. In prayer, the participants are basically doing the talking, or sending out energy. In mediation, the participants are listening, or receiving energy.”

“Okay.” She nodded to show she understood so far. “So what is chakra energy?”

“Let’s start with the basics. The chakras are spiritual centers in the human body that correlate to both physical areas of the body and a specific color. For example, the fifth chakra corresponds to the thyroid and is represented by blue. The third chakra is the adrenals and yellow. There are seven chakras—four lower and earthbound, and three higher and spirit centered. They run in a straight line up through the body, from the pelvis to the top of the head—except for the seventh chakra, which is in the pituitary, and is lower than the sixth chakra.”

“What do they do?”

“Well . . .” He paused, considering. “They act as receptacles for energy. When they are engaged via meditation, energy flows in and upward through them, from bottom to top, then settles into a figure eight pattern, running through them repeatedly.”

“What does that energy do?”

“First off, you need to understand that whenever
anyone
—not just a Sentinel or conductor—meditates, these energies flow in and up through the centers. But with a Sentinel/conductor link, they’re greatly intensified. They set up a vibration very similar to the vibratory level of Belians, which only operate in the lower earth-based chakras. This creates a tremendous surge of energy that comes up through the lower four chakras and enhances the Belian’s psychic signature that the Sentinel has already gotten from the BCS.”

“Tell me again—what’s a BCS?”

“Sorry. I keep forgetting you’re not familiar with these things. BCS is shorthand for Belian crime scene.”

Marla was trying to follow him, but it was a lot of unfamiliar information. “You’ve mentioned that, but this is pretty much Greek to me.”

“I know it sounds complicated.” Luke set down his glass, shot Bryony a warning glare when she started for it, then returned his attention to Marla. “But it’s all about the energy, especially the initial surge in the base chakras.”

The way he was looking at her made her uneasy. “And what is that surge, exactly?”

“It goes back to your question about why matched Sentinels and conductors are always the opposite sex. The surge, which originates in the lowest base chakra, the gonads—relating to ovaries in a woman, testicles in a man—creates a powerful burst of sexual energy.” He paused, his intense gaze pinning her like a butterfly on a specimen board.

“Most conductions culminate with sexual intercourse, which creates the closest vibratory level to the Belian. When the Sentinel and conductor come together physically, it melds a link between their sixth chakra and third eye and provides the strongest possible magnification of the Belian’s psychic signature.”

The words
sexual intercourse
shrilled through her mind, sent her thoughts into a whirlwind. “What exactly are you saying?” But she already knew, and her heart began pounding.

Luke slid to the edge of his chair, leaned toward her. “What I’m saying, Marla, is that we will have sex during the conduction.”

 

 

MARLA stared at Luke, shock etched on her face. The sunlight danced on her hair, revealing red and golden strands mixed in with the rich chestnut curls. She looked none too happy.

“What did you just say?” she asked hoarsely.

Okay, so maybe he should have been less blunt. But it was a little late for diplomacy. “I said that we would have sex during the conduction.”

“A conduction involves sex?”

“I just told you that. That’s what makes it so effective. As I also said, the sexual surge sets up a vibration that mimics that of the Belian. The actual sex act locks in the pattern and magnifies the third eye link.”

She continued to stare at him, as all color leached from her face. “Then I can’t help you.”

That was a kick in the pants. He knew he wasn’t repulsive, knew the power of the attraction between them. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t do sex.”

“Look, I realize you don’t know me very well, and I’m sure you don’t fall into bed with every guy you meet. But this is a special situation, and necessary to—”

“No.”
She pulled back against the chair, her hands gripping the rusted arms. “The answer is
no
.”

She had a haunted look, and he wondered if some bastard had hurt or abused her in some way. That would explain her skittishness at the Red Lion on Friday night. “I’ll make it good for you, Marla. I swear I won’t hurt you.”

“You. Don’t. Understand.” She drew out each word as if she were unable to breathe. “I don’t do sex. Ever.”

He stared at her, trying to sort through what she was telling him.
“Ever?”

Her chest heaved. “That’s right.”

Something wasn’t clicking here. “Ever, as in . . .” He pondered her defensive posture and the path of the conversation. Jolted as the impossible occurred to him.
“Never?”