Touched by Darkness (24 page)

compiling a progress report for the Sanctioned.

When he got to the part about Alex, he sat back,

considering that aspect of this current assignment.

He'd never before been appointed a mentor to a

developing Sentinel; perhaps because most children

who needed a mentor had lost their Sentinel parent.

Damien had not only lost his Sentinel mother, but

his human father as well, in one vicious Belian act.

Even now, he had to work to keep the pain buried,

and maybe that's why the Sanctioned had never

marked him for mentor duty.

He'd had no siblings, so he had little experience

with kids. But damned if Alex wasn't getting to

him. The boy was incredibly bright, with a

mischievous grin that could probably melt the

strongest Atlantian alloy.

Alex's powers were strong and true, like a pure,

bright beacon against a murky Belian soul,

assuming the foul beings even had souls. The Law

of One said they did—that every being had a soul,

every being had the spark of The One inside them,

awaiting awakening and guidance. With Belians,

that spark had become enshrouded in a darkness

that was fed by violence and fear and chaos.

Nothing new there,
Damien thought. But his

growing fondness for the boy, and the previous

day's events, were a unique experience. He,

Damien, had actually played soccer yesterday. He

couldn't remember playing any game since he'd

been about ten, and certainly not with such

abandon.

And Kara—well, there was another aberration. It

was hard to tell for sure, because of the ever-

present chemistry that hummed between them, but

he felt a growing bond with her. She was a good

mother—firm but loving, devoted to her son. She

had spunk and personality, and a surprising sense

of humor.

He wasn't used to laughing, but he found himself

often doing just that when he was around her. He

also found himself looking forward to seeing her,

found himself waiting to hear the next quick-witted

remark she uttered. That type of bond wasn't a good

thing to allow, for myriad reasons.

At this point, there was nothing to be done but to

keep his emotional distance as much as possible.

He had to work closely with her; their

Sentinel/conductor link was the most precise and

most charged one he had ever experienced. He

might never again find such a good match.

The Belian he was tracking was quite possibly the

most powerful one he'd ever encountered. He could

request another conductor be sent to Zorro, but he

didn't believe the conduction results would be as

productive as they would with Kara. So he would

resist the human attraction, repressing the part of

him that was simply a man.

He finished the report and e-mailed it. It might

seem incongruous that a group of beings whose

roots could be traced back over thousands of years

so enthusiastically embraced the Internet age—

except that before Atlantis was destroyed, its

technology had far exceeded current Earth

technology. Coming back full circle, Damien

mused.

That done, he powered down his laptop and headed

out to find something to eat, since he only got

breakfast at the bed-and-breakfast. His room there

was nice enough, with a real fireplace, a tall four-

poster bed, and a huge claw-footed bathtub that

also had a shower. Belle Williams served a great

breakfast, and had quickly learned he ate a lot and

increased his portions.

He walked down a curving staircase carpeted in a

burgundy floral pattern, to a foyer that smelled

faintly of beeswax and potpourri. The stately old

mansion had once belonged to Samuel Williams,

the founder of Zorro, and the great-great

grandfather of Belle's husband. She was just

coming in from outside, juggling two Wal-Mart

bags. "Here, let me help you with those." Damien

commandeered the bags, and Belle gave him a

small smile.

She was an attractive woman, although she'd

passed middle age and was heading toward senior

status. She had honey blonde hair, fixed in a mid

length, full style that was probably the product of

the local hair salon. Her eyes were an alert blue

behind bifocal glasses; she was of average height,

with a thickening waistline and extremely generous

breasts.

Her one outstanding asset was her legs, which were

shapely and surprisingly youthful. Today she wore

a soft floral skirt, and stylish red pumps that

showed off her legs.

"Where do you want these?" he asked, hefting up

the bags.

"The kitchen," she said briskly. "I believe you

know the way."

"Sure do. It's my favorite room in the house." He

started through the antique-appointed dining room

to the swinging door into the kitchen.

"That's because you like what comes out of it," she

said, her footsteps echoing behind him. "I figured

I'd better stock up on more food to keep you fed.

And I have three new bookings next week, which is

unusual for this time of year. Probably want to see

if the fish are biting in the Blanco River." As they

entered the big, gleaming kitchen, she pointed to

the long, spotless tile counter. "Put the bags there."

Damien did, inhaling the pleasant scents of coffee,

cinnamon, and the ham steak and eggs he'd enjoyed

at breakfast. "Got any more to bring in?"

"Yes, and I'd thank you to get them from the truck.

I'm feeling a little under the weather." She began

unloading the groceries. "The dear Lord willing, I'll

be better soon."

He'd noticed she'd looked a little pale and tired the

past few days, but had been too distracted to give it

much thought. Now, however, his instincts kicked

into full alert. "What's wrong?"

"Oh," she paused, seemingly flustered, and then

waved a hand in the air. "Just a medical problem

needing regular treatment."

While he didn't like badgering or embarrassing

older ladies, he needed to know about any serious

medical conditions among the residents of Zorro. A

weakened body was the easiest point of entry for an

incorporeal Belian soul. Since Belians worked only

out of the four lower chakras, they didn't have the

ability to heal the bodies they possessed.

Sometimes the original soul inhabiting the body

remained, so the person retained their basic

personality, with only blips of erratic behavior that

might or might not be noticed.

Even if the original soul fled the onslaught of the

dark Belian soul, Belians were crafty and very

clever, often impersonating the human they took

over with amazing accuracy. They could maintain

normal behavior and mannerisms for long periods

of time, while secretly wrecking havoc on innocent

lives.

"Mrs. Williams, what is it you need treatment for?"

Damien persisted.

"Well, it's a little personal."

"Is it cancer?" he asked quietly.

She looked annoyed. "Well yes, if you must know

—" She hesitated, sighed. "Breast cancer. They

found it five months ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Are you undergoing

treatment?"

"Yes. My doctor recommended chemotherapy. We

did it for three months, then took a few weeks off.

We started another round last week, and it's making

me feel a little puny."

"I hope you have a full recovery," he said, eyeing

her hair and thinking it could very well be a wig.

His gaze wandered to her ample breasts and he

wondered if one might be a prosthesis. He'd be

researching breast cancer in the near future.

"Well." She nodded briskly. "Thank you. My

daughter Nancy takes me to Austin for the

treatments, and my doctors say the prognosis is

pretty good."

"I hope they're right. Let me get the rest of your

bags." Damien spent the next fifteen minutes

helping Belle put away her purchases, then

accepted her offer of a cup of coffee.

She'd been fairly reserved when he arrived ten days

ago, but had warmed up to him, becoming more

talkative. Now she piled some of her homemade

oatmeal cookies on an exquisite china plate, poured

them both coffee, and sat at the table with him.

"Did you know Doris Burgess?" he asked.

"Yes, I did. I've known her all my life. We saw each

other at church most every week." Belle shook her

head, stared at her coffee. "Such sad news, her

passing. She seemed to be in good health."

"Did you know she had diabetes?"

"Sure did. Probably what killed her."

"Why do you say that?" Damien asked.

"Well, havin' diabetes and havin' to take insulin

wears out a body. And Doris had been taking

insulin awhile. At least ten, maybe twelve years."

Belle considered. "I can't remember for sure."

So Doris's condition had apparently been common

knowledge.

"My Aunt Susan also had diabetes," Belle

continued.

"Did she? What happened to her?"

"She died in her sleep when she was sixty-two. The

doctors said her heart just stopped beating. Said

sometimes when a person has diabetes, the body

just gives out." She offered him the plate of

cookies. "Have another one."

"Thank you." He took a cookie, considered the fact

Belle had so much knowledge about diabetes.

"How much longer will you be staying in Zorro?"

she asked.

"A little while," he replied evasively. "I'm not sure

yet. I'm still working on several articles for my

magazine, and I need a quiet place to write. Your

bed-and-breakfast suits my purposes very well."

"Seems to me you'd be wanting to investigate those

murders in Fredericksburg. Nothing to write about

in Zorro."

"I don't know. I've learned that wherever there are

people, there's usually crime. Can you tell me

anything about past crimes in this area? Any

murders? Suspicious deaths?"

She chuckled. "Not really. But we do have some

colorful folks around here."

"Tell me about them," he invited, and they chatted

as they drank a second cup of coffee, and he

devoured the rest of the cookies.

Belle was a great source of information about the

citizens of Zorro, and he made several mental notes

on people he wanted to investigate more closely.

"Thanks for the coffee and the cookies, which were

great," he said thirty minutes later, taking his cup to

the sink and rinsing it out. "Any ideas on where I

should go for dinner?"

"You just ate an entire plateful of cookies!"

"That's just not enough for a growing boy like me."

Damien patted his flat midriff. "I need some meat

and potatoes."

"You and that appetite of yours. I don't know how

you stay in shape." Belle stared at him thoughtfully,

and he hoped his eating habits hadn't exposed him.

"Well, if you want something besides the Busy Bee,

which closes at eight on Sundays anyway, you can

head up 165. The Country Kitchen has good food

and stays open until nine, every day of the week."

"Thanks. I'll head out now. You have a good

evening." Damien went back upstairs to get his

duster and left the house.

He drove north on 165 and found The Country

Kitchen. He had some great chicken-fried steak

with mounds of mashed potatoes and gravy, and

flaky biscuits dripping in butter, then some

excellent home made apple pie, which he ordered

with Blue Bell ice cream. The ice cream reminded

him of the night before, sharing the dessert with

Alex.

Thinking back, he couldn't remember when he'd

last shared a meal with anyone other than another

Sentinel. Belle chatted with him a few minutes at

breakfast every morning, but then left him alone

with his food and a newspaper. Their visit in her

kitchen today had been unusual, but fairly brief and

impersonal.

Last night, however, he'd actually spent a social

evening with someone, had laughed out loud and

acted like a regular human being. Maybe that was

part of the attraction he felt toward Kara and Alex;

it appealed to the human side of him. But it was ill-