Touched by Light

by Spangler, Catherine

  “I need a few minutes in my office,” she said, amazed at how steady her voice was. She bared her teeth in a feral smile at Adam. “You can go on—cousin. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind, waiting for you—cousin. When you’re done here, I’ll follow you back to your house, and we can load your things into my car for the trip.”

  The bastard had thought of everything. Seething, she started for her office. Adam wisely stepped out of her reach as she marched past him. He was also astute enough not to follow her. She entered her office, barely resisting the urge to slam the door. Sinking into her chair, she grabbed her head in utter frustration and thought about screaming. Of course she couldn’t do that either, so she settled for gritting her teeth until her jaw ached.

  Damn, damn, damn!

  She didn’t see a good way out of going to San Antonio, but she’d let Adam Masters know he had no true power over her. Never again would she give away her personal power. He could force her to go with him, but he couldn’t force her cooperation.

  If she decided to help him, it would be her decision—not his. Assuming he lived long enough, which didn’t have a high probability.

  HE woke up groggy and disoriented. Through blurry, gritty eyes, he scanned his surroundings, which were unfamiliar. He was in a cheap hotel room, sprawled on a polyester bedspread, an empty whiskey bottle near his pounding head. Where was he?

  He tried to get up, groaning as his head throbbed even more, and the room seemed to spin. Where . . . Susan . . . The realization hit him, as it did every time he gained consciousness. Susan was dead. The knowledge cramped his gut, clamped a relentless vise around his heart.

  He wanted that vise to squeeze harder, harder. To destroy his heart and end this eviscerating pain. But it never did. His cursed heart kept beating, forcing him to go on.

  He managed to sit up. He had no recollection of how he’d gotten here. Ignoring his aching head, he tried to concentrate, getting visual flashes of explosions, smoke, screaming people. What the—?

  You don’t know what you did, do you? a voice hissed in his mind. You would be shocked to know what you’re capable of. Of the violence that lurks inside you.

  “Stop!” he gasped, grabbing his head. “Who the hell are you?”

  Remember the fear emanating from the people? The screams? The blood? Beautiful, beautiful blood. Feel it calling to you.

  “No . . .” But he felt a dark stirring inside. He dragged his shaking hands in front of him. Stared at the filth and blood crusting them. God, what had he done?

  Susan is dead. Rotting in the ground. You will never see her again.

  “Shut up! Don’t talk about her!”

  Your grief is dragging you down. You’re a drunk and you’re weak.

  “Get the hell away from me!” He tried to scramble off the bed, staggered and fell to his knees.

  You’re far too weak. You’re no match for me.

  He felt the insidious undertow, tried to fight it. But it sucked him under, into the beckoning allure of the Darkness.

  Where the pain faded, replaced by rage and bloodlust.

  And power surged.

  FOUR

  MIRIAM knew Dr. Reynolds was usually in her office before her first class each day, so she decided to look for her there. She was nervous, and had absolutely no idea what she was going to say to her brilliant, practical professor.

  Well you see, Dr. Reynolds, I have psychic abilities, which I inherited from my Gypsy ancestors. Yeah, that should go over well in the logical, scientific camp.

  Miriam got off the elevator and hesitated, again asking herself why she should do this, risking a relationship with a professor she admired and respected, as well as a possible shot at a scholarship. Oh, right—her mental checklist reminded her.

  Point one: The Adam guy who approached Dr. Reynolds yesterday had a very strange aura that was all light.

  Point two: Reading the energies from Adam guy’s fifty-dollar bill indicated good battling great evil (and Miriam really needed to stop watching the Sci Fi Channel so much).

  Point three: She’d had disturbing dreams all night, with distorted images of Dr. Reynolds and Adam and some other guy Miriam had never seen before, and a dark, threatening presence that had scared the hell out of her.

  And most important was point four: Miriam’s every instinct was on full alert, and the inner voice that she listened to and trusted absolutely was telling her she had to do this. Whenever she ignored that voice, she regretted it. So . . .

  Squaring her shoulders, she strode toward Dr. Reynolds’ office. She glanced idly at the reception area as she passed it, did a double take. Adam guy was right there, with Tami.

  Oh, shit. Nearly stumbling, Miriam righted herself and scooted past the arched opening. Once on the other side, she leaned against the wall, her heart pounding. Catching her breath, she sidled back to risk a peek. Animated as usual, Tami was talking nonstop, and Adam’s dark, intense gaze was fixed on her. He didn’t appear to have seen Miriam.

  Even without using her sight, she could see he radiated power. The dark suit looked good on him, emphasizing his tall form and black hair and eyes. The diamond stud in his ear gave him a piratical air. She dropped her mental shields slightly, took in the glaring white light around him, and then hastily raised them again. How could he be surrounded by glowing light and yet feel so shadowy and dangerous?

  His presence here was further proof that he was involved with Dr. Reynolds in some way. Which meant Miriam’s inner voice was right, as usual. Edging backward, she hiked her backpack over her shoulder and quickly walked to Dr. Reynolds’ office.

  Outside the partly closed door, she took another deep breath and knocked. Nothing. The door was cracked and the lights were on. She knocked again.

  “If that’s you, Adam, go the hell away.”

  Very strange. Miriam opened the door a little farther. “Dr. Reynolds, it’s Miriam White.”

  “Oh, sorry. Please come in.”

  Dr. Reynolds sat in her chair, her face flushed, and her hair completely mussed. Her normally neat desk had books and papers stacked on it, and a large, flat-bottom briefcase was open by her chair.

  She waved Miriam in. “Sorry for the mess. What can I do for you?”

  Miriam looked around, sensing agitated energy scattered through the physical disorder. She’d never seen the professor or her office like this. “Are you okay, Dr. Reynolds?”

  “Oh, I’m just great,” Dr. Reynolds said, her voice strained. “I’m getting ready to go on a trip. What do you need?”

  Miriam sank into the visitor’s chair, swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m—uh—I’m somewhat . . . intuitive.”

  “Oh. Really?” Dr. Reynolds leaned back in her chair. “Must be a full moon or something causing all this woo-woo crap.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She waved her hand again. “Don’t mind me. This day has just been full of surprises. What about you being intuitive?”

  “Well, I am somewhat . . . psychic, although I know that probably sounds strange to you. But I can sense things sometimes. I’ve, uh, got some concerns about that Adam guy you were with yesterday.”

  “You and me both,” Dr. Reynolds muttered. “Actually, I don’t think you’re strange at all, Miriam. If anything, this is a good indication of your intelligence. Anyone in their right mind would have concerns about that ‘Adam guy.’ ”

  Oh, man, this was too weird. “You know he’s in the reception area?” Miriam asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes. Was he alive when you saw him?”

  “Uh, yes, he was.”

  “Damn. I knew it was too much to hope for a lightning bolt to strike him dead, especially inside Hoffman Hall.”

  “Dr. Reynolds, are you sure you’re okay?”

  She gave a mirthless laugh. “That’s relative, don’t you think? I’m alive. I’m healthy. Why let little things like early release programs, overbearing Sentinels, Aunt
Willie’s funeral, and a psychic sightseeing tour of San Antonio bother me?”

  Miriam tried to sort through the hodgepodge of odd things just thrown out. She settled on what seemed the safest—albeit unhappy—subject. “Your aunt died? I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t be. I didn’t know her at all.”

  Nor did the professor look grief stricken. She looked . . . angry. Miriam was even more confused. “I’m sorry, all the same. Like I said, I’m here because I felt I needed to warn you about Adam. I know this is even weirder, but I can see auras and—” She paused to see how her professor was taking this.

  “And his is black, right? Probably the same shade as his heart—assuming he has one.”

  Okay, so maybe Dr. Reynolds was having some sort of psychotic episode. Brilliant people were often known to have erratic mental health.

  “Actually, his aura is white. Pure white light. It’s not a normal aura. Most people have a variety of colors around them.”

  Dr. Reynolds stared at her. “Fascinating. I’ve never given much thought to auras and what they might mean. So Adam’s aura is abnormal. That figures.”

  “It’s definitely unusual. And there’s more.”

  “There always is, where he’s concerned. What else?”

  “I think he might be involved with some sort of . . .” Miriam inhaled, then plunged in. “Dark forces. I know that sounds wacky.”

  “No, actually it doesn’t. While this discussion may not be scientifically based, I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

  “You do?”

  “Afraid so.” She started putting papers in the briefcase. “As a matter of fact, that’s why I’m going to San Antonio. That, and for a pretend funeral.”

  A pretend funeral? “I don’t understand.”

  Dr. Reynolds sighed. “Trust me, it’s best that you don’t know. I’ll be gone for a week, maybe more. Dr. Richards will be covering my math classes.”

  Oh, great. Richards was such a dork. Miriam could teach the class better than he could. But that wasn’t the issue right now. She mentally backtracked over the conversation. “Does your trip to San Antonio have anything to do with Adam?”

  “We’re going together. He thinks I can help him with a situation there. We’ll see about that.”

  “But what about you pulling a gun on him, and the dark images I’m sensing, and his strange aura?”

  Dr. Reynolds was silent a moment, then she leaned forward. “Listen, I must apologize. I’m not quite myself to day, and I’m talking off the top of my head. Don’t worry about Adam, or whatever dark images you might be picking up. It’s just a little problem he’s having, and he wants me to accompany him. Nothing you need to worry about.”

  She slid some books into the briefcase. “I do appreciate you sharing your concerns with me, and your willingness to disclose your abilities. Not everyone understands that sort of thing, so it took courage for you to do that.”

  “But, Dr. Reynolds—”

  “We’ll have to discuss it more when I get back,” she interjected firmly. “Until then, feel free to contact me if you have any problems with your courses. You do have my e-mail address, don’t you?”

  That information was on every class syllabus. Miriam nodded. “Yes.”

  “Let me give you my cell phone number as well, just in case.” The professor rattled it off as Miriam scribbled it on her backpack. Then Dr. Reynolds said, “I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to finish gathering what I need to take with me. Perhaps we can schedule a meeting after I return.”

  “Sure.” Effectively dismissed, Miriam stood, still not reassured. “Be careful. Have a safe trip.”

  “I’ll be fine, but thank you for your concern. Good-bye.”

  Miriam left reluctantly, opting to take the back stairs rather than go back by the reception area. Well . . . that whole thing with Dr. Reynolds had been very odd. Extremely out of character for the professor. Miriam didn’t feel very good about the outcome, either.

  Something was terribly wrong. And although her internal alarms were clamoring full force, she had no idea what to do about it.

  JULIA pulled into her garage, the door already lowering behind her car. Adam parked in the driveway and got out, taking his umbrella with him.

  He inhaled deeply. The local weather bureaus had given only a 20 percent chance of rain, but he was attuned to the natural forces, especially any form of water, and he could feel the moisture gathering. It would be raining shortly.

  He walked up the sidewalk to the front door. The beds fronting either side of the porch were immaculately maintained, with small, trimmed shrubs and pine bark covering the dirt.

  But there were no plants or flowers—no color to brighten up the yard or neat brick house. Much like Julia dressing plainly and not wearing makeup, as if she’d declared a moratorium on living life to the fullest twelve years ago. Adam was of the opinion she’d done just that.

  He rang the doorbell, heard it chime through the house. He waited, rang again. There was no sense of inside movement toward the door. Since he’d been behind Julia the entire way from the university, she knew very well who was ringing her doorbell. She simply wasn’t going to respond.

  Not that he blamed her—he’d definitely pulled a fast one on her today. He’d gone over that fine line he’d always insisted the Sentinels under him respect. But he also knew that in real life, situations weren’t always black or white. This particular scenario had a lot of gray—and a lot of potential to become extremely serious, with far-reaching consequences.

  Still, Julia wasn’t exactly a willing participant, and she was being dragged into the thick of it, with her life being disrupted in the process. William Bennett’s release would have created a certain amount of upheaval, however, without Adam’s presence.

  Concluding she wasn’t coming to the door, Adam held his palm toward the double dead bolts, willed them to turn. He gestured the door open. He stepped into the neat tiled foyer, closed the door behind him, and hooked his umbrella over the knob. The long-haired Siamese was lolling in the hallway, but when he saw Adam, he sprang up and trotted toward him with a welcoming meow.

  At least someone was happy to see him. He leaned down to give the cat a few strokes, then used a mental command to send him on his way. Flaring out his senses, Adam located Julia in her bedroom. He strode to her room, pausing in the open doorway.

  She was in the walk-in closet, struggling to heave a suitcase off a high shelf. He noted that her purse was on the bed, hopefully with her gun still inside it, reducing the chances of him being used for target practice.

  He moved to the closet. “Let me get that,” he offered, getting an elbow shoved into his midriff for his trouble.

  “Get out,” she snapped.

  Ignoring the discomfort—she’d used a surprising amount of force—he took down the suitcase. “Where do you want this?”

  She yanked it away from him, a murderous glint in her eyes. “I don’t think it’s anatomically possible to put it where I want it.”

  He accepted her anger, as well as the fact that he was the cause. Opted to work around it—for now. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “You can go to the kitchen, get my sharpest knife, and impale yourself upon it.”

  Avoidance didn’t seem to be working. “I think I’ll pass on that. Perhaps we should have it out now and clear the air. It appears you need to vent.”

  “What I need is my life back. For you to go away, and leave me the hell alone!” She pushed past him and limped toward the bed, dragging the suitcase behind her.

  He followed, keeping a watchful eye on her purse. “Julia, you know that’s not going to happen. At least not until we’ve had a chance to find Matt.”

  “Then by all means, let’s get to San Antonio as quickly as possible. The sooner I can get you out of my life, the better.” She heaved the suitcase on the bed, raked him with the crystal-sharp gaze that he felt certain could put the fear of God in her students. “You can wait
in the living room while I pack.”

  “I’ll do that.” In the interest of keeping things manageable, he weighed confiscating the purse against enduring her ire. But if he couldn’t hold his own against one very angry math professor and her purse and gun, he might as well leave his physical body and return to the ethereal plane. Julia would certainly like that, but he wasn’t close to calling it quits on this lifetime. Besides, he enjoyed the challenge she presented.

  So he left her to packing and settled into the wingback chair in the living room. The cat immediately jumped into his lap and began purring. Stroking him absently, Adam took out his cell phone and made some calls. The first was to his secretary—actually she preferred to be called an administrative assistant—but old habits died hard.

  Although they inhabited mortal bodies, Sentinels lived longer than regular humans, assuming they didn’t get killed, and Sanctioned lived even longer than Sentinels did. Adam was considerably older than he looked, and through the years and changing times, he had had to readjust his vocabulary.

  He told Cheryl he would be handling some business in San Antonio, and asked her to make reservations for him and Julia. After leaving her with instructions for dealing with various projects and possibilities, he called Luke Paxton. Luke was one of his best Sentinels, and just happened to be married to Julia’s sister.

  Both Marla and Julia were strong conductors, a discovery that had alerted Adam to the startling possibility that there could be hereditary links between conductors.

  Up until then, the birth of human conductors had appeared to be a purely random phenomenon. Conductors were able to psychically link with Sentinels and enhance their tracking abilities, so they provided crucial assistance in hunting down Belians. Since there were only a small number of known conductors, even less of conductors who were precise matches to individual Sentinels, any knowledge that could help Sanctioned and Sentinels locate conductors was vital.

  It was becoming even more important in light of the fact that the Belian population appeared to be increasing, while less Sentinels were being born. They needed every possible advantage in the ongoing war against the Darkness.