Touched by Light

by Spangler, Catherine

  The voice grew stronger, cutting through the melee of noises, like a bullet ripping through flesh. Where was your One, your god, while she writhed in agony? it taunted. While she cried out to you to save her?

  Where was The One? Where? Where? The words echoed as if he were in a void.

  Help me! he tried to shout, but no words came out, only a guttural sound that couldn’t be coming from him. There was no response, only the odd hissing of the taunting voice. It snaked through him, wrapped around his decimated heart, slithered into his dying soul.

  And the Light went out.

  He would make them pay! Reaching out a hand toward the nearest blurred figures, he released the force of his pain.

  TWO

  JULIA walked into her house, both her leg and her head throbbing. To add to her misery, she didn’t even have a good alcohol buzz, much less the numbness of a drunken stupor. And didn’t she deserve—hadn’t she earned—that oblivion? Damned straight, she had. And damn Adam Masters for interfering.

  If not for him, she could be totally inebriated, blissfully unconcerned with William Bennett’s imminent release and the inexorable nightmare memories.

  She could also be totally unaware of her traitorous body; of the stirring sexual needs that had been absent these past twelve years. Needs that should be even further subjugated by the memories, but instead had flared to life the moment Adam sat next to her. The bastard.

  And maybe she could even forget the awful vision that had filled her mind when he took her hand and opened his energy to her—oh yes, she’d known exactly what he was doing. Images of chaos and pain and destruction had roared through her with a terrifying ferocity that would have knocked her off her feet—if she’d hadn’t been plastered against her car, compliments of Adam’s mental manipulations.

  The smug, arrogant, chauvinistic, overbearing, stubborn, infuriating bastard.

  And hadn’t it been fun dealing with the police and Miriam and the pub manager after Adam left? She should have pressed charges against him, should have started the process to issue some sort of restraining order against him. Except . . . she had attacked him, not the other way around.

  Remembering the blood pouring from Adam’s nose, the utterly calm and deliberate way he’d stared at her as he blotted it, as he shoved her against her car without lifting a finger, she felt a rush of guilt. She’d never been a violent person, had never hit anyone in her life—until today. That was Adam’s fault, too, another transgression to add to the long list of grievances against him.

  Still, she didn’t feel very proud of herself. Two wrongs never made a right. She went to the bathroom and got four ibuprofen tablets. She would have preferred the narcotic kick of Vicodin, although she rarely took it. But, ever practical, she reasoned that might not be a good idea since she’d had two drinks before Adam had butted in.

  After she’d bloodied him and dealt with the police, she’d aborted her plan to drink elsewhere and had come home. To a house that had been her haven these past years, but at this moment, felt more like a tomb.

  Stop it! she told herself. That was the shock, fear, and alcohol talking. She’d always been pragmatic and rational, steady and completely predictable. Dramatics had no place in her well-ordered life. Nor did self-pity.

  She got a glass of water, swallowed the ibuprofen, collected her purse and briefcase, and went to her study. Cataclysmic events notwithstanding, as long as she was sober, she might as well grade math papers.

  Plus she needed to call her sister, Marla—and later, her parents. They should know about William Bennett. Her cat, Sir Isaac, was curled on a stack of periodicals on her desk. He stirred when he saw her, stretching and coming to his feet with a high-pitched meow.

  He was a large, long-haired Siamese, a stray who’d taken up residence on Julia’s doorstep right after she’d returned from Dallas six months ago. Her sister had gotten a pregnancy and a gorgeous husband from the Dallas adventure, if you could call tracking down a maniac killer and suffering knife wounds an adventure; Julia had gotten a cat. She’d never been one for pets, but Sir Isaac had had other ideas.

  He padded across the desk and butted his head against her arm, demanding to be petted. “Hello, Ike,” she said, stroking him. “How was your day? Any phone calls informing you that a violent rapist was being released early from prison? Any visits from an obnoxious man with superhuman powers?”

  Sir Isaac responded by trying to rub his entire body against her and almost falling off the desk. She moved in closer. “I didn’t think so. Lucky you. Want to trade places with me?” He gave her his cool, superior stare. Of course he didn’t; he was no fool.

  She set her purse and briefcase on the desk, eased herself into her chair. Sir Isaac got lowered to the floor. With an indignant meow, he meandered from the room. Julia fished her cell phone from her purse, remembered she’d turned it off after the phone call from the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. She had an absolute limit of one phone call like that, hopefully per lifetime, although zero was preferable.

  She clicked on the phone and saw that Marla had called three times. Guess the TDCJ had shared the good news with her, too. She dialed Marla’s number.

  Her younger sister picked up after one ring. “Jules, where have you been? I’ve been trying to get you all afternoon.”

  Caller ID was a wonderful thing. “I’m sorry. I had my phone turned off.” Julia felt a sudden tightening in her chest. “Marla, did you get a call from—”

  “From the system that’s supposed to uphold justice and theoretically protect the innocent? Yes, I did. The idiots.”

  Julia blew out a shaky breath. “Yeah, well, I can tell you it made my day.”

  “God, I can imagine. You want me to come over for a while?”

  Marla knew better than anyone what Julia was feeling, since she’d been there. She’d tried to come to Julia’s defense when William Bennett attacked, getting broken bones and a ruptured spleen for her efforts. Then she’d been forced to watch while he’d beaten and raped Julia. Great memories for sisters to share.

  “No. I’m fine,” Julia lied.

  “Like I believe that. Listen, I don’t mind coming over. It might be my last chance for a while. Somehow Adam found out about Bennett’s release, and he called Luke. Luke’s on his way back from Dallas as we speak. He probably won’t let me out of his sight once he gets here.”

  Julia had no doubt about that. Marla’s husband was a Sentinel, over six formidable feet of reincarnated Atlantian, pure testosterone and protective instincts. His purpose on Earth was to track down Belians and keep the innocent safe. He’d most likely chain Marla to his side once Bennett was released, not necessarily a bad thing. Julia didn’t hold out much hope that Luke would take out Bennett, though; Sentinels weren’t vigilantes unless Belians were involved.

  “No, really, I don’t need you to come over,” she said. Her sister was six months pregnant and had no business driving across Houston at night. “I’m going to have to deal with the fact that Bennett is loose in the world sooner or later. Besides, I’ve got my tomcats—the Beretta and Ike.”

  Marla gave an unladylike snort. “So Sir Isaac is now a killer attack cat?”

  Julia looked into the hallway, where Ike was sprawled on his back, paws in the air. “He’s getting there. Speaking of Adam, I saw him today.”

  “Oh, really? I didn’t know he was in Houston. Did he come by your office at the university?”

  “Actually, he tracked me down at the Red Lion Pub.”

  “Oh.” Marla paused, and Julia could almost feel her surprise—more probably shock. Julia never—okay, rarely—went to bars. “Well . . . That’s very interesting. Wasn’t the last time you saw Adam at the wedding?”

  “Yes, it was.” Then there had been three wonderful months without his irritating presence in her life.

  Julia had a sudden memory of Adam at Marla and Luke’s wedding and reception. He’d been very arresting in a dark gray pin-striped Armani suit and a maroon sil
k tie, the diamond in his ear catching the light. He’d also been incredibly annoying; his midnight gaze tracking Julia as she did her best to avoid him. Later, he’d been surprisingly graceful when he danced with Marla, and had charmed their unsuspecting parents.

  No, none of that. No positive thoughts about Adam Masters. He was a sneaky bastard and at the top of Julia’s persona non grata list. “I guess all good things must come to an end,” she muttered.

  “This is definitely a day for surprises,” Marla said. “What did Adam want?”

  “Oh the usual . . . that he needs me to help him. I’m the only one he knows who can do it, etc., etc. Something about a missing Sentinel.”

  “A missing Sentinel? Oh, man, that’s not good.”

  “Of course it’s not, and I’m really sorry about it. But then the jerk tried to force a vision on me, mentally slammed me against my car, and paralyzed my vocal chords—again.” And I probably broke his nose.

  “What? What do you mean, again?”

  “Second time on the vocal chord thing. He did it in Dallas, too.”

  “Oh, that. Luke did that to me once. These guys really have an unfair advantage over us mere mortals. What about the forcing a vision and slamming you against the car?”

  “He didn’t really slam me, just shoved me firmly,” Julia admitted grudgingly, still feeling bad about Adam’s nose. “But he deliberately forced the vision on me. The first vision in Dallas was by accident, and the subsequent times he convinced me I had to do it for the good of humankind. This time was totally against my will.”

  “Sounds like something Adam might do, all right. He didn’t hurt you did he?”

  “No, not really.” Another guilty twinge. Darned if she wasn’t going to have to apologize to him the next time she saw him—which she suspected would be in the very near future.

  “Great,” Marla said. “So, did you see anything in the vision?”

  The so-called visions were something Julia had begun experiencing twelve years ago, after Bennett had attacked her. It was as if the assault had thrown a switch in her brain; she’d begun seeing things before they happened. Not a flood of events, but the occasional precognitive flash, usually about someone she knew.

  Then Adam had discovered that if he took her hand and channeled energy patterns he’d internalized, she could see a future event related to that particular energy.

  Adam said it was because she, like her sister, was a conductor, an opposite-sex human psychically wired to link with Sentinels and enhance their psychic tracking abilities when they were hunting Belians. Just like that, Julia had become a valuable commodity to the Sentinels in their search for a bomber terrorizing Texas.

  She’d helped catch the bomber, but she didn’t intend to spend her life “seeing” horrendous events and experiencing unimaginable evil. Nor did she want anything to do with Adam Masters and the unsettling sexual energies his presence stirred. She’d been sexually active before the attack, but since then had felt no desire to experience that type of intimacy with a man again—and most certainly not with Adam Masters.

  Besides, there were other conductors available and all too willing to help the Sentinels in their quest to dispatch evil Belians to Saturn for “rehabilitation.” Since conducting usually involved sex—incredible, mind-blowing sex, she was told—many conductors didn’t seem to mind the trade-offs.

  However, according to Adam, there weren’t a large number of conductors, plus a conductor had to be a specific match to a Sentinel’s energy. And wasn’t it wonderful that Julia just happened to be a precise match for him—an anomaly, because Sanctioned weren’t on Earth to perform conductions. Not.

  And not my problem, she tried to tell herself. She had her own demons to battle, even more so now that her attacker would soon be free.

  She returned her attention to Marla’s question. “What I saw in the vision wasn’t very specific. I think it was a theater of some sort, filled with people. It looked like they were rioting, or stampeding to get out. They were screaming, hitting, and trampling each other. But I don’t know where it was, or what set off the panic. It was just . . . chaos.” Still seeing the mayhem in her mind, she shivered.

  “Oh, well, that’s helpful.”

  Marla’s vintage sarcasm eased some of Julia’s tension. She smiled. “That’s me, all right. Helpful—a Girl Scout, through and through.”

  “So what are you going to do about Adam?”

  The tension returned. “I don’t know. But I’m sure I’ll be dealing with him tomorrow, or sometime soon. For tonight, I’m going to have a long soak in the tub, then go to bed.”

  “Good plan. When in doubt, hit the tub, and go heavy on the scented bath salts. Throw in a few drinks—oh wait, you’ve already been at the Red Lion. Maybe skip the drinks. You could eat chocolate instead, and you could sharpen the bottom of your cane—in case you need to stab Adam with it.”

  Julia laughed, allowing her body to relax. “I can always count on you to give me great advice.”

  “That’s what sisters are for.”

  “Of course.” Julia thought of how Marla had charged to her defense twelve years ago, of the horrendous injuries she’d sustained. “Thanks, sister. And, Marla, I’m so glad you have Luke and a baby on the way. You deserve to be happy.”

  “So do you. Jules, what happened wasn’t your fault. It’s time to stop blaming yourself. Time for you to be happy, too.”

  “I am,” Julia protested. Happy in an “everything under complete control and strict order” kind of way. “You know I love teaching.”

  “There’s more to life than going to work every day, Jules. But we’ll have to talk about this later. I hear Luke’s motorcycle pulling into the garage. I’d better go. I love you. Call me tomorrow. We’ll talk about . . . the other situation—and come up with some kind of game plan. I still can’t believe they let that bastard out.”

  How could Julia keep forgetting she needed to deal with Bennett’s release? Adam had her so aggravated and distracted, he was diluting her focus on the real threat to her sanity. She firmly told herself that Adam didn’t even rate being a distraction.

  “I’ll call you,” she told Marla. “I love you, too.” She clicked off, sat there a moment. She was exhausted, but knew she was too wired to sleep.

  With a sigh, she pushed up from the chair and grabbed her cane. She started for her bedroom and the adjoining master bath, then turned and picked up her phone. Digging in her purse, she pulled out her Beretta. The phone and gun were both going into the bathroom with her. God, would she ever feel safe again?

  And, even though she’d had two bourbons earlier, she was also getting a glass of wine to drink while she was in the tub. No, null that. She was taking the entire bottle of merlot in with her.

  If she was going to experience hell on Earth, at least she’d be buzzed while she burned.

  THE hot water and Epsom salts eased her throbbing leg and aching muscles, but two glasses of merlot hadn’t done squat to take the edge off the fear or blur the memories. Lying back against the vinyl tub pillow decorated with a poodle print—a gift from Marla—Julia gave in to the tears, something she rarely allowed herself to do.

  Reynolds women were made up of stern stuff, always forged ahead in life, regardless of pain or hardship. But today’s events had been beyond even Julia’s stoic endurance. She clenched her eyes shut, felt the slow, hot slide of tears over her cheeks. Told herself it was a damned good thing that these ultraspecial days came along only once every twelve years or so.

  The faint stirring of the air, or maybe it was the hairs standing straight up on her exposed arm, jolted her to a state of hyperawareness. Something wasn’t right . . .

  “Good evening, Julia.”

  Her eyes shot open, but couldn’t quite focus. Feeling as if her heart had just become a battering ram against her chest wall, she came upright with a gasp.

  Adam sat on the closed commode with elegant indolence, his arm resting on the vanity.

 
“What—” Julia sputtered, her attention momentarily derailed by the wineglass slipping from her hand and smashing on the ceramic tile floor. A red stain spread across the beige surface.

  “We still need to talk,” Adam said.

  She’d never been a slow thinker, and she rapidly processed the facts. He’d broken into her home and into her bathroom—she knew she had locked that door. He’d invaded not only her privacy, but her personal space. All while she was naked, adding insult to injury.

  Sudden, blinding fury roared through her, obliterating sanity and reason. She was going to kill him.

  She jolted over the edge of the tub, reaching for the gun she’d laid nearby, but it skidded from her reach, as did the phone. She twisted toward her cane, which was propped by the tub; it levitated out of reach and drifted toward Adam.

  “You son of a bitch!” She got her hand around the neck of the merlot bottle, but it was wrenched away from her slippery fingers and scraped across the tile to him. All the while, he sat there, seemingly relaxed, as if he hadn’t just telekinetically moved four items.

  Her chest heaving, she stared at him, dark and dangerous in black slacks and a black silk shirt, his calm facade a deceptive cover for his merciless nature. His cool gaze swept over her, eyes burning with power and an alarming possessiveness. Her anger receded, giving way to a frission of fear and another, more feminine reaction. Oh, God, she was naked.

  She grabbed the shower curtain and yanked it as far forward as she could. Then she drew her knees toward her chest, ignoring the painful protest in her left leg. Mortification swept through her.

  “I think it’s a little late for that,” he drawled from the other side of the shower curtain.

  Her anger resurged, now indignant outrage. “You sorry, arrogant bastard!”

  He ignored her outburst. “We have a situation calling for extraordinary measures.”

  “Oh, this goes far beyond that. Stalking, paralyzing, breaking and entering—”