Merkaba, a supernatural suspense series (Walk the Right Road, Book 3) (3 page)

“That’s cool. It makes total sense. You know, I get vibes all the time, and I’ve learned to listen, too. You sound really in tune.” He stepped closer, and this time Alecia heard the warning in her head to step back. She did, her hand shaking as she held up her medicine bag.

“Don’t come any closer. I know exactly what you are.”

Chapter 7

She watched him with such fury—no, fear, as if she held a cross in front of her and was ready to take on the devil himself. But then, she was looking at him the same way that shaman down in San Pedro had. He too had cast Dan out. He’d done something to Dan that had him scurrying—running away was more like it, though he’d never admit it. The shaman had shaken his feathers, his beads, and yelled, “That all he is will be no more.” Dan had run because that man had put the fear of God into him. For the first time, a man—that shaman—had known and seen what Dan really was.

Ever since he was a little boy, he had known he was different. Growing up the way he did, in his family, he had pretended to be civilized. His mother had been alone with five children, and first his father and then grandfather had left. Everyone had only taken from him. He had starved as a little boy, eating out of garbage cans, and had sworn that he too would take from everyone so he’d never go without again. There was something about the power of taking from others. He couldn’t help himself. It was like a drug, so addictive. He couldn’t help hurting those he was supposed to care about. It just happened, and when they didn’t go away when he was through with them, well, that was when he’d really take them apart. Of course, not with his own hands, but by his puppets, the others who always acted for him. Women, especially, they could never resist helping him, and those that did especially loved hurting other women for him. What a sick bunch they were. But this dark beauty before him wasn’t buying any of it. He scrambled, trying to figure out where he’d slipped and where he’d given himself away.

“So, what tipped me off?”

She pulled something from her pouch, lit a match, and burned the leaf. Sage—he could smell the telltale scent. He stepped back. That was what the shaman had burned, too.

“Oh, I heard the warning,” she answered. “I listened. You see, I’m protected, being watched, and there are many here now, watching and helping with this wheel. They are both here in this physical world and gone, and they are walking the wheel as we speak. You’re destructive. You feign an interest I haven’t experienced before. You really are good. Let me guess—you saw me, and there was something about me you just had to have: my power. You’ve done everything you could to touch me so you could connect to me, but I won’t let you. I will not shake your hand. Don’t come near me. I’ve cast a circle of protection, and I’m sending love out to you because nothing bad can survive in love. Love does conquer all. I knew I’d face opposition and an attack, and here you are.”

That part threw him, because he hadn’t planned to stumble across her. But he had followed his instinct to come here that morning a week ago when he had first seen her, and he had listened to his instincts to hide, watch, and study her, to understand her and find her weaknesses, and she had many. Whether she knew it or not, she’d already exposed herself.

Chapter 8

When she opened her eyes, he was walking away. She glanced around, letting out a breath and mentally giving herself a pat on the back. She had done well; she was conquering that vacuum of dark energy that had tried to suck her down. That was exactly what he was. Any fool could see how desperately he had tried to connect with her, and he was a sly bugger, too. It was only through her power of will that she’d focused everything on being thankful. She had shut her eyes and run down the list:
I’m thankful for my health, for the chance to be here to build this medicine wheel, for the shoes on my feet, for the food I could afford to buy and eat this morning, for my self-esteem, for my parents and their love for me.
It was a mantra, but being grateful didn’t allow room for anything negative.

She had been taught this, and she had followed and learned from doing, seeing, and experiencing. These lessons had come not only in this past year but out of those woeful days after her mother had left. For five years, Alecia had truly believed it was her fault, even though her father had made her mother leave and refused to allow Harriet any access to their child. For five years, Alecia had believed she wasn’t loveable, and she kept this locked inside her heart, holding on to that pain as it slowly ate away. She never doubted her father’s love, not once. The man could be a pain in the ass, but Alecia knew without a doubt that he’d walk through fire for her.

No, it was her mother who had taught her these lessons, last year, and that was why she was here now. At the time, Alecia hadn’t understood why Harriet had dragged her to meet her sponsor, why she had started to open up about her own childhood. A little each day, she’d teach her, share with her, give her a gift of stones, tobacco, an eagle feather. She taught her with kind words and love, and she spoke of the elders she hadn’t met but who were part of the circle. And then she spoke of the truth: Harriet was a recovering alcoholic. She had always drunk, since she was a teen, to drown out the voices of hate and degradation that had been weaved through every part of her. A lost soul, she had fled to Boston in her late teens and moved around from job to job for ten years before being hired on in the family bar owned by Patrick’s father. Patrick was a ruggedly handsome young lad who’d spotted Harriet from the first day, with her take-no-crap attitude and the chip on her shoulder.

He had dated and married her within the year, and along came Alecia six months later. Her mother had partied and drunk from the moment she stepped out of bed in the morning: a wine cooler, gin, vodka, whatever was available. Her father suspected a problem but ignored it until one day, when Alecia was eight, he came home from closing up the bar and found Harriet passed out, smoke billowing from the living room, the curtains ablaze from a candle she’d set too close to the dry cloth. Alecia had been asleep. Patrick carried his daughter and wife from the burning house, and the fire department arrived along with the fear of God. This had been his wakeup call. His wife, whom he loved dearly, had a very serious problem that had nearly killed their daughter, and up until then, he’d ignored it and become her enabler. So he tossed her out, and for five years Patrick had refused her drunken phone calls, her pleas to see her daughter, until she cleaned up and began her long road to recovery. Through those five years, Patrick had sheltered his daughter to the point that he hid the truth from her. Alecia knew her mother drank, but she had believed her mother didn’t love her enough to stop. Therefore, there had to have been something wrong with her.

Alecia tossed tobacco around the wheel again in thanks. Then she picked up a pebble at her toe and placed it between the east and south. It would represent an eight-year-old girl, and it would heal the hurt and abandonment she still carried with her.

She was done here for today, for this morning. She picked up her backpack and tossed it over her shoulder, but before she started to the path to hike back to her vehicle, she felt a worry niggle up her neck, and she had to shoo it away before she could take another step.
Stupid, stupid. Keep walking. He’s gone.
Of course he was gone, but she also knew that as fast as he left, he could return if she allowed fear back into her.

As she hiked back through the woods, her heart thudding with each step, her back damp with sweat and her eyes wide, she was positive he was lurking. She pressed her hand to her medicine bag, her protection, and hurried her stride to the parking lot where she had left her Jeep. Then she breathed a sigh of relief.

***

Alecia knew she had allowed her calm to drop when she ran into problem after problem. First she had gotten a flat tire when pulling onto the highway. Then the tow truck she called had charged her double what she expected, and, of course, to make it worse, she had reacted to it, ranting and screaming and calling the mechanic a thief. He was a short, overweight guy with tattoos covering both arms and small eyes that stared at her in a way that had a sick feeling squeezing her stomach. That was when she had stopped and stepped back, letting him change the tire. She had instantly reminded herself that she and she alone was the maker of her patterns. As she hopped back into her Jeep, she kept up her mantra as she drove away, back to her motel, where she could hide from everyone and pull herself together.

Chapter 9

Alecia parked in the near-empty lot of her motel. She clutched her keys and looped the backpack over her arm as she hopped out of the Jeep. As she rushed up the stairs, she didn’t realize how distracted she was until she stopped in her doorway and blinked once, twice, until she realized she didn’t have to open her door. It was already ajar.

Her heart thudded against the wire of her bra, which suddenly felt way too tight. Her hand was trembling when she touched the knob of the door, and she didn’t think as she pushed it open. Beads of sweat soaked her brow. She stepped inside and realized that her common sense had obviously taken a hike. But then, she’d always gone headfirst into trouble. She’d learned that from her dad, who was all too often tossing some drunken fool out of his bar. The bar in downtown Boston was a breeding ground for those who were really stupid, as they drowned their sorrows and civilized behavior until the darkness that lurked in each and every person’s shadow appeared, usually after the fourth or fifth shot of alcohol. That was why Alecia now stepped inside the room, gripping her backpack.

The door jerked open from the inside, throwing her off balance, and she landed on the rough brown carpet, skidding on her knees. She stared at rich Italian loafers and neatly pressed pants, and a large hand grabbed her arm and hauled her up, slamming the door shut. She stared up into large blue eyes that narrowed. He had the square jaw of a man who hadn’t shaved in a few days. His dark, curly hair was cut close, and he loomed over her. He grabbed her jaw and dug his thumb and finger in to the point that she wanted to scream. But that wouldn’t be smart, not with Brian. How the hell had he found her? Her heart thudded, and she found it difficult to breathe, so she forced herself to relax and said, “Get your hands off me.”

He tilted his head and grinned before releasing her. She didn’t run, though she was judging the distance to the door and whether she could make it. She licked her lips and didn’t take her eyes off him. He was still the same good-looking guy she’d met two years ago, loved and lived with until her father had chased him away.

But then, her father didn’t know the whole story. He had only seen the last time they fought, when she ended up in the emergency room with a busted lip, a broken nose, and a concussion.

“What are you doing in my room? How did you get in, anyway?” She frowned as he crossed his arms, flashing her his straight white teeth. It was a grin that used to melt her insides, but that had been before she really knew him.

“I talked to that cute maid out there. Told her you were my wife and I just flew in to surprise you. She was more than happy to open the door for a husband.”

Alecia planned on having a talk with the manager, if she could manage to get Brian out of here. “What do you want, Brian?”

He didn’t move away. In fact, as she took a step around him, he took a larger one, blocking her way. It was a slow, tense dance between two combatants, and neither would back down.

“I want you back. You know what we had together was good. We belong together, and I told you once that I wouldn’t let you go.” He reached up to touch her cheek.

She turned her head and stepped back, bumping the console. “I want you to leave now. We’re done. You slapped me one too many times, Brian.”

He sighed, and she could feel him tensing just the way he had when they were together. Then, she had gone out of her way not to provoke him, to tiptoe around him when he came home in one of his black moods. She could always tell, too, by the way he walked, digging into each step a little harder than needed, or the way he bunched his fists, or the way he ran his hands through his hair distractedly, or the way his shoulders became rigid as steel. The first time his hand had slipped out and clipped her cheek with his class ring, she was stunned. She had pressed her fingers to the small, swelling cut, and he had apologized profusely and grabbed a frozen bag of peas, holding them to her cheek. Then he’d said it was an accident, that he hadn’t meant to hit her, that he’d stuck his hand out in frustration and she must have moved and connected with it. She had wanted to believe him, so she made herself do so the first time, and she stuffed away her gnawing doubt. The next few times, she hid in shame, wondering what she had done wrong. The last time he hit her, she had lost her balance and fell, hitting her head on the coffee table. The emergency room nurse had recognized her, knowing her dad well from the bar he owned, and had called him. The next thing Alecia knew, her things had been moved back home and Brian was gone, but that was after her dad had stalked him and visited him with a baseball bat.

As she stood here now, feeling the beast contained only by a frayed string, she realized that at any moment he could lose it on her, punch her, slap her, kick her, or kill her. And her father wasn’t here to help her.

“I never meant any of that, Alecia. We were good together, you know that. In bed, wow, baby, there were sparks all over the place. You know that.” He slid his hand around the back of her neck to pull her towards him. He stepped in closer, and his thigh pressed against her, his chest, his stomach, so close that she could feel every part of him. His other hand softened, sliding down her arm, tracing circles in the small of her back.