Spirit Bound (27 page)

“Then show me to them and give me a pass,” Stefan challenged, not willing to let it go. Lev may have accepted him as a brother, but he didn’t extend that trust to the women.

Lev studied his expression for a long time before he nodded again. “I’m going to say this one time, Stefan, and I hope you understand. I would do anything to keep Rikki and her sisters safe. Anything at all, so don’t betray my trust.”

Yeah. His little brother had grown up.

11

JUDITH
wasn’t asleep. Stefan could see her pacing in the room he knew to be her bedroom, passing back and forth in front of the bank of windows overlooking her star flower garden. The light behind her cast her image easily through the uncovered window. Behind the gates of the farm, the women thought themselves safe from predators, but there he was, crouched low, once again in the shadows, a phantom come alive.

The surge of anger he’d experienced at his brother no longer surprised him. He realized Judith had not only brought his emotions boiling to the surface after so many long years of suppressing them, but surrounded by her gardens and so close to her home, every emotion would be amplified. Judith might try to contain her spirit, but the element was too strong and energy pulsed around her home and spread like warm honey throughout her enormous gardens. He had a wild urge to climb up to Judith’s balcony and make certain she was too tired to do anything but sleep, with his body wrapped around hers.

The breeze coming off the ocean carried a hint of rain with it, along with the first fingers of fog creeping inland. Soft gray clouds drifted across the sky, slowly obscuring the moon and stars, as if drawing a thick veil over the night. Under his feet the earth pulsed in anticipation. Stefan felt it, that strong burst of energy, of joy, as if the ground exploded with excitement, and then seemed to settle into a throbbing rhythm. He’d never felt such a sensation before and he sank his fingers into the rich soil to enhance his ability to understand what was happening.

The air around him moved subtly, the breeze shifting slightly, enough to bring the clouds into position over the vast fields of vegetables and sweeping gardens of flowers. The air pulsed with power as well, a unique flow of energy that told him that breeze had been directed. He watched Judith as she came onto the balcony and stood at the railing, looking out over the farm as if drawn there by an unseen hand.

She raised her face to the clouds overhead, but didn’t move, obviously waiting for something. The wind tugged at her long hair and pressed her thin tank tight against her breasts, so that the material cupped the soft curves lovingly. Her flowing skirt moved gracefully around her long legs, lending her an utterly feminine mystique that took his breath away.

The rain began to fall over the flower garden softly, with a gentle, almost tender touch. It took a moment for him to hear the music in the drop, a clear pattern emerging, like a quiet symphony building slowly toward a crescendo. Judith wasn’t directing the rain, one of the other women was, but she was definitely boosting the power of that element, her hands graceful, palms up as she faced the farm.

Stefan’s breath caught in his throat. He was witnessing the combined power of elementals at work. The effect was shocking, mesmerizing and awe-inspiring all at once. He was used to psychic occurrences; every member of his family had natural talent. But this . . . this was a demonstration in the use of elements in everyday life for practical purposes.

Rikki, his brother’s wife, was a water element, and Stefan was certain she was the one directing the rain over various parts of the farm. One of Judith’s sisters no doubt was an air element and her light touch on the wind was masterful. The earth responded to another sister, earthworms churning, aerating the soil, working and thriving in the compost heap, welcoming the rain, answering the spirit binding the elements together from somewhere deep inside. The earth took the water deep beneath the soil, spreading it like veins running beneath the rich loam, carrying life-giving fluid to every plant. He felt the last element, fire, join the others, not with fire but as a bright flame driving their combined dream of a prosperous farm forward.

Water rained heavily in the forest, gently in the vegetable gardens and even more tenderly over the flowers, the chords of a weeping guitar. Through it all, the wind carried the sounds of a symphony, moving through the trees and gardens as the air element played the light notes of a flute. The drum of the fire element set the rhythm for all of them. The earth provided the melodic piano keys and Judith’s spirit acted as the conductor.

Stefan’s heart joined the rhythm. If he tried to tell anyone else about this unique phenomenon, no one would believe him. It was the most beautiful, invigorating thing he’d ever witnessed—no,
experienced
. He was right there, drawn in by Judith’s powerful spirit. Stefan realized their combined dream wasn’t just about using the elements to make their farm prosper, it was the way all five elements wove a tight bond together, sustaining one another, sharing courage and commitment.

Sitting quietly and absorbing the energy, he felt the very subtle notes of a male woven through the water element and knew his brother had somehow merged with his wife while she drew the water from the clouds. Another female presence was there as well, one he nearly missed. The sixth sister was powerful in her own right, although there was a subtle difference. She was no element, yet she seemed to be a part of each of them. Lev had said she was difficult to figure out, and Stefan could understand why. With her touch, the wind moaned like a violin and danced through the trees, tugging playfully at leaves and kissing the bright flowers.

Around him, nature itself responded to the surging power, bathing in the pounding rhythms, owls flying in the drops of rain, circling above the tree tops while on the ground, fox and deer emerged from the forest as if drawn to participate. It was only then that Stefan realized he was absorbing the powerful energy into his own body. Every emotion multiplied and enhanced. He could feel strength running through his muscles as power poured into him in the same way the rain poured over the farm. Fast. Slow. Easy. Hard. He absorbed all elements, feeling each of the energies mixing with his own psychic talents.

Stefan flexed each muscle carefully before easing his way across the field of flowers, careful to stay on the narrow path so there would be no signs of his passing. He couldn’t afford to get too wet, not when he was going into Judith’s house. He didn’t want her to come across wet tracks on her cream-colored carpet. He moved around to the back of the house where the wild gardens of tall grasses and shrubs looked like a small jungle in the rain.

The entire lower floor was dark. It was more difficult to avoid the tall, bushy plants with leaves reaching out to capture prey. He slipped through them, taking care not to brush up against them. Leaving leaves or grass on her carpet would be every bit as bad as wet tracks. He bypassed the first and second studios, angling through the overgrown plants to reach the darkened French doors of the third studio.

Heavy drapes covered the doors, a big contrast to the other two much more inviting studios. Very carefully he put his palm an inch away from the outside of the glass, feeling the room. His warning system went crazy, every nerve, cell and muscle in his body shrinking back. His heart went crazy, accelerating, and his lungs burned for air. Even the hair on the back of his neck stood up. The power of the elements had amplified his natural radar, but even taking that into consideration, there was something extremely dangerous in that studio.

Stefan let his breath out slowly. What could she be hiding in this studio? The danger didn’t feel like treachery, or conspiracy. He passed his hand slowly over the door, a slow inch-by-inch inspection, paying particular attention to the frame. There were no hidden trip wires he could detect, nothing that would alert her to a break-in. He laid his palm over the lock, at first not touching the door handle. No heat came off the metal. He very lightly wrapped his hand around the knob. The lock responded to him, welcoming his touch, sliding open for him without a push. The door didn’t open.

He had never come across a lock that didn’t open at his will. Never. Security systems were nearly as easy. But even with another light push, the door didn’t open for him. Judith had double-locked this studio. She really didn’t want to chance anyone getting inside. His suspicious nature kicked into high gear. What in the hell could she be hiding from the world? From him?

He ran his hand once more along the frame of the door. At the bottom of the double doors he felt the slightest of resistances and knew he’d found the second lock. She had a floor lock. Ordinarily, it would be impossible to get around the lock without cutting the glass or going in through a window. He glanced at the bank of windows used strictly for ventilation. No one could slip inside those narrow openings. There were dozens of windows, long and narrow, opening to allow air through, but impossible for a child, let alone a grown man, to slip through. She’d planned this studio meticulously, making certain no one could get inside without her knowledge or consent.

He crouched low and laid his palm over that slight resistance. Patience mattered. Concentration and focus were essential. He felt familiar warmth travel down his arm and once again he flexed his fingers. His hand warmed, went perfectly still, hovering over the spot a moment before slowly descending to rest over the lower frame. Still the lock remained stubborn. Judith’s will was strong, at work here. Stefan pushed the thought away and focused wholly on the mechanics of the lock. It was a simple enough lock, but very effective. A small slider turned the metal clasp, preventing the door from movement. Once he “felt” the mechanism, he could maneuver it open.

Once again, before he slid the French door open, he checked for an alarm system that would alert Judith that someone had invaded her secured studio. Using extreme caution, he turned the handle and opened the door. The heavy drapes, as black as midnight, blocked his view, but he could feel the blast of rage, an explosive energy that leapt toward him. Again, every cell in his body rebelled. He slipped inside and shut the door behind him, his pen light in his teeth, the only relief in the darkness of the room.

Stefan drew the drapes aside enough to allow him entrance. He found breathing difficult, the air so thick with rage it was impossible to draw a full breath. He moved the light around the room for a quick inspection to assure himself that he was alone, although his radar had already told him of that. Nevertheless, he always double–and triple-checked when it came to preparation and safety. Attention to detail, no matter how small, was the one thing that kept him alive over the years.

Every other room in Judith’s house was painted white or cream, a foil for the joyful colors she splashed through her home and into the walls. Here, there was only unrelenting darkness. True, there was a mural running from floor to ceiling, great, thick tree trunks, broken and shattered limbs that twisted grotesquely, creating the illusion of a dark, forbidding forest.

This was what she no longer allowed into her paintings. She kept her emotions compartmentalized. This was a room housing all destructive emotions. She didn’t realize one couldn’t possibly live the way she was trying. Darker emotions often got one through the most difficult circumstances. There was a balance to life and Judith had tried to get away from that balance fearing the darker side of her mind.

Even here, in this studio of rage, he could see the artist in her. Above his head the ceiling was painted in deep purples and swirling darker, nearly bloodred black slashes. The effect was astonishing. The ceiling looked as if it was weeping dark tears. Looking at it, he felt sorrow creeping into his heart, an insidious tendril of emotion winding its way into his mind. He pulled his gaze away from the fascinating montage of color and inspected the walls.

The colors were more mottled on the walls, great ropes, twisted into vines of hatred and anger. Sorrow dripped through the black forest of rage. The blood drops were more vivid, the knife slashing through the paint in quick bursts of anger, while that deep purple wept over all of it. Candles were on the tables and shelves, many burned down to nothing, the wax pooled around the bottoms of the candles, becoming part of the macabre atmosphere. A creepy oily smell permeated the room adding to the morbid, almost gruesome feeling emanating from the walls.

He was surrounded by her once again, her darkest moments, her most intimate, chilling thoughts. As joyful and bright as her kaleidoscope studio was, as beautiful and soothing as her painting studio, this was the complete and utter opposite, although, he found there was still a kind of beauty in the unrelenting darkness, mostly because no matter what her emotion, the artist that was Judith always came through.

“Oh,
moi padshii angel
, you’re so lost,” he murmured aloud.

Stefan knew he was a phantom, belonging to the shadows, but at least he knew exactly who he was and how he had gotten there. Judith didn’t trust herself—didn’t realize that by creating this place, she only reinforced her own belief that she was twisted. Five years of rage and sorrow were held suspended in one space. No one could stay in this room for any length of time without the unrelenting destructive emotions affecting them.

He stepped close to the painting she was working on, slowly removing the cover and shining his light over it. His breath stopped in his lungs. Something hard blocked his throat. This was Judith’s nightmare. The torture and death of her beloved brother. Jagged glass, tipped with dark blood, slashed angry lines through the canvas. Bold angry strokes with a broad brush, none of the fine little brushstrokes for this painting that he’d observed in all of her other works. The only real color was a bright, bold Japanese character. He knew it was her brother’s name painted over the rivers of blood and the broken, tormented body.

He peered closer and Judith’s eyes eerily stared back at him filled with a mixture of grief and anger. His own eyes burned and his gut churned. Shame and guilt descended over him, a heavy blanket weighing him down, nearly crushing his chest in the vicinity of his heart. Intellectually he knew he was feeling her emotions, the intensity she felt each time she gave into the concentrated, unrelenting sorrow and came into this room where she felt it was safe to allow her emotions free rein, to rework the painting.