The Nightwind's Woman

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “Tearmann,” he corrected, “and until we have a firm commitment from you, your signature on the dotted line, I can’t take you there. As for where it is, you can’t know. You will never know. That’s part of the deal. What you don’t know, you can’t reveal. The world has no need to know vampires and werewolves are real and living among them.”

  “All right, I’ll buy that much but what am I supposed to do if I do sign on?” she asked, feeling her heart pounding in her chest.

  “Take care of the human population and the operatives who reside at Tearmann. Handle routine exams and diagnosis for the creatures who live there,” he answered. “See to their medical and psychological needs.”

  “Operatives? You mean the otherworldly types?” she gasped.

  “Many of them were born right here on Earth so that’s misleading, but yes you will see to them as well.”

  “Without knowing anything about their physiology?” she demanded. “That would be irresponsible.”

  “There is extensive data on each species,” he told her. “You won’t be going in blind. There will be a learning curve, certainly, but just think of the astounding physiologies you will be studying.”

  “You keep saying operatives. What exactly does that mean?”

  “The entities who are assigned to us are there for a purpose—to patrol, control and discipline their own kind as well as run interference on other paranormal and supernatural entities that have made Earth their home. Sometimes it’s necessary for them to work together to bring a wrongdoer to justice and sometimes they are required to eliminate a problem if it cannot be solved any other way.”

  “You mean kill,” she said.

  “We prefer the word eliminate.”

  “I don’t believe in capital punishment,” she stated firmly.

  “Let me tell you about a mission that required four of our people to bring it to termination,” he said. “At each of the facilities, we have an Alpha agent, a Prime. At Baybridge, our operative is a Prime Reaper. At the Exchange, he is a Hell-Hound Prime Reaper. The difference being one is lupine and the other canine—a werewolf and a werehound respectively. At Tearmann, there are actually two Alphas. One is a Panthera Reaper, a werepanther, and the other is a Nightwind, a very powerful incubus demon. Historically, these four entities do not play nicely together. They are natural enemies but they were required to join forces to eradicate a nest of particularly nasty creatures called drochtáirs that had been found in Antarctica. Had those fiends not been dispatched many lives would have been lost and the infestation of the drochtáirs would have spread very quickly to each of the research facilities on Antarctica.”

  “You’re talking about the disappearances from Halley Station?” she inquired. At his nod, her brows drew together. “I read that was attributed to the researchers having fallen through the ice shelf, the bodies unrecoverable.”

  “Drochtáirs are blood fiends, Dr. Delaney, and when they bite, they drain their victims and those they do not devour, they infect with venom that turns the person into one of their kind. There are no such things as zombies—that is a creation of Hollywood based on a very old voodoo ritual. Drochtáirs are very real and very dangerous. Their victims become nothing more than reanimated corpses with a desire to feed on others. They are the true zombies of Hollywood fiction. The bodies of those infected in Antarctica could not be sent back to England. It was necessary for our operatives to incinerate them. The explanation of the researchers falling through the ice shelf is easier on their families than being told they were drained of blood then brought back to unlife and therefore had to be burned to a crisp.”

  Kenzi stared at him for a few moments then shook her head. “This is so far beyond my ability to absorb,” she said. “I’m having a hard time visualizing what you are saying.”

  “There really are fiends like wendigos, rougarous, ahuizotl, or drochtáirs out there running amok, feeding from the flesh of the living,” he told her. “And those beasts are infecting others and unless we eliminate them they will continue to do so until we have an epidemic similar to that in 28 Weeks Later or the Resident Evil fiction series. Would you like to see that happen?”

  “Those are movies,” she mumbled. “Pure fiction.”

  “Are they?” he countered. “Most fiction has some basis in fact.”

  She bit her lip, studying his expressionless face for a long time, searching his eyes for the truth of what he’d said. At last, she drew in a deep breath.

  “You said you were a Shadowlord. What is that?”

  “There are four kinds of Shadowlord,” he replied. “Each is a mage with vast psychic abilities. The lowest level is Shadowlord then Deathlord and finally Ridge Lord. A Ridge Lord has immense powers and he is capable of fighting the most virulent forms of evil. Now we have the Gravelord and—as far as we know—there is only one of him. His psychic abilities are off the chart.”

  “Psychic abilities such as…?”

  “I am telethetic and telepathic. Do you know the difference?” When she shook her head, he explained that telethetic meant he could transmit thoughts and words over great distances. “I am retrocognitive, pyrokinetic, psychokinetic, clairvoyant and transvective.”

  “I know retrocognitive means able to see into the past, pyrokinetic is obvious, and psychokinetic must mean you can move objects with your mind, manipulate matter, space, time and energy. Everyone knows what clairvoyant means but I’m not familiar with transvective.”

  “I can levitate,” he said simply.

  She blinked. “Beg pardon?”

  “I can levitate,” he repeated then grinned. “Wanna see me do it?”

  “You betcha,” she said with a snort.

  He pushed to his feet, lowered his hands to his sides, his chin to his chest and took a deep breath. She saw his eyes were closed when he raised his head but he slowly opened them as his feet lifted from the floor.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Kenzi whispered, just barely refraining from crossing herself as the man before her rose almost all the way to the ceiling then floated from one side of the room to the other—a good foot between him and the carpet. As he slowly settled to his feet again, she whistled.

  “The Gravelord’s psi powers are stronger than mine and my brother’s, plus he can bilocate.” At her perplexed look, he explained it meant the Gravelord could be in two places at once.

  Kenzi stared at him in awe, never doubting it for a moment. “Well, alrighty then,” she said on a long breath.

  “Psi powers are nothing compared to the abilities of the creatures we deal with,” he said.

  “Such as?”

  “Imagine creatures that can shift from human form to avian, to lupine, to dragon,” he said so softly she had to strain to hear. “Imagine beings from worlds, from galaxies far beyond our own. Imagine spending time with them, learning of their cultures, of how they died and came back to life.”

  “Died?” she echoed, eyebrows shooting up.

  He sat on the edge of his chair, his eyes steady on hers.

  “Reapers, vampires, revenants, Nightwinds,” he said. “All died then returned, brought back by the Triune Goddess or the fallen angel Lilith to serve mankind, to atone for sins they committed in past lives. The Reapers come in three forms—one of which we only recently learned existed. They can shift to lupine, canine and feline shapes as well as bird when they need to take to the skies. They can walk among us in the full light of day but like their vampire and revenant cousins, need blood or Sustenance to thrive. They also require a daily injection of a drug called tenerse to keep from transitioning out of cycle—which is typically once a quarter.

  “Vampires have a limited span of time they can be in the sunlight before being harmed by the sun’s ultraviolet rays. Revenants cannot be in sunlight at all. Both can shift into dragon form.”

  “Not bats,” she said with a ghost of a smile.

  He chuckled. “I suppose they could if they wanted to but they prefer dragon form.”

&n
bsp; “And the Night people ones?”

  “Nightwinds,” he stated, “are incubi demons, very strong, very powerful and highly unpredictable. They serve the females of a blood-sworn family of witches. Occasionally one will appear who is not attached to a witch but he’s always looking for a connection to a human female. Those we keep an eagle eye on for demons are not a trustworthy bunch and their motives are generally suspect.”

  “Yet one helped you with the fiends in Antarctica,” she said.

  “He did but Randon Kayle is a different kettle of fish. As the Supervisor at Tearmann, I have worked with him for several years now but he is as much an enigma today as he was the first time I met him. I fear no mortal man or otherworldly creature but where Randon is concerned, I am careful to watch my back. I don’t trust him any further than I can see him.”

  “Sounds like a real winner,” she said.

  “He can be…difficult,” her host agreed.

  “Any others I should know about?” she asked.

  “Oh, we have a plethora of entities at Tearmann, Dr. Delaney.”

  Kenzi left her chair to pace, something she often did when trying to make a tough decision. Her eyes were on the sooty brown carpet, her hands in the pockets of her slacks. She made several traverses of the room before stopping at the door, twisting her head around to look at him.

  “You said vacations are paid and I could go anywhere in the world I like once a year.”

  “For a month, yes,” he replied. “All expenses paid plus a vacation stipend to use as you see fit.”

  “What’s to keep me from divulging where I work and what I do when I’m on vacation?” she queried.

  “Who would believe you if you did? You won’t be able to tell anyone the location of Tearmann anyway so you would run the risk of being locked up for being a raging nutcase. But let’s just say you did find someone to listen and take you seriously. How could you be sure they wouldn’t lock you away and try digging the information out of your brain? That might prove to be a very painful experience.”

  Kenzi shuddered. “Yeah, I imagine it would be.”

  “So, as you can see, it is to the benefit of our employees of the human persuasion to keep silent on the subject. One slip and you’re back here and you won’t be allowed to leave until it’s time for you to retire.”

  “Employees of the human persuasion?” she repeated.

  “Such measures aren’t needed for those who aren’t entirely human,” he reminded her. “Our lives depend on our ability not to divulge who and what we are.”

  She thought about that for a moment then cleared her throat.

  “Okay, what if I ask to go to Tearmann before I make up my mind?” she asked. “I want to take a look at the facility.” When he hesitated, she turned to face him. “You’re gonna wipe my mind anyway if I turn you down so what do you have to lose?”

  “True,” he said, nodding slowly.

  “I don’t buy pigs in a poke, Supervisor,” she said, using his title for the first time. “I want to know what I’m getting into.”

  “That’s understandable,” he agreed then called out to the receptionist again.

  Pearl Gillespie opened the door. “Yes sir?”

  “Is the chopper standing by?”

  The receptionist cast Kenzi a knowing look. “It is.”

  He stood. “Tell them we’re on our way, to go ahead and start the engine.”

  “Yes sir.” She came into the room, walked over to him, reached into her pocket and pulled out a vac-syringe.

  He walked over to Kenzi, extended his hand for her to precede him. “Shall we?”

  “What’s in the syringe?” she asked, sweeping her tongue over her upper lip. “I don’t like drugs.”

  “It’s a very powerful sedative called pairilis,” he replied. “I will administer it once we’re airborne. As I said, you cannot know where we are going.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” she said, eying the stainless-steel instrument with suspicion.

  “I’d be surprised if you had. It is not a drug engineered on our world but I assure you there will be no ill effects from the injection. You will fall asleep and when you wake, you will be at Tearmann.”

  “What if I am allergic to…?”

  “Not possible. Trust me, Doctor. I would never administer anything to you that might cause harm.”

  She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

  “You’ll be given the drug either way, Doctor,” he said, his face and eyes without expression.

  “Whether I want it or not,” she said in a defensive tone.

  He shrugged. “Either with the benefit of having seen Tearmann or not. It’s your choice.” He put the vac-syringe in the pocket of his suit coat. “What’s it to be?”

  She didn’t want to admit even to herself that she was dying to see this institute and the fantastical creatures he hinted resided there. A part of her was nervous as hell, scared beyond belief, worried she was getting into something that was more than just dangerous but the scientist in her was anxious to see for herself if what he’d said was real.

  “You’re sure you’re not a mad scientist who’ll suck my brains into a jar and keep my limbs in a box?” she asked.

  He smiled. “You never know. I just might.”

  Kenzi laughed nervously but she knew she’d already made up her mind. “Okay, but I’m warning you—I’m claustrophobic. I wouldn’t do well in a jar.”

  “So noted,” he said. “There is something I must tell you though.”

  She tensed, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the fly in the ointment. “And that is?”

  “If you sign on, there’s no turning back,” he said quietly. “Your involvement with the Consortium is for life. You can’t just quit. That isn’t permitted.”

  “Blood in, blood out,” she joked with a shiver.

  “Nothing like that,” he replied. “There are no provisions within the contract you sign that allows you to quit or us to fire you. Only death can void the contract.”

  “What if I decide I can’t do the job and refuse to work?”

  He shrugged. “You’ll be given another job within Tearmann. It might be as lowly as a maid but you won’t be allowed to leave us until you reach retirement age, which at the present time is sixty-five for females. There are no monetary provisions for disability or retirement, by the way.”

  Kenzi swallowed hard. “No gold watch or pension plan, either?” she asked.

  “We strongly suggest our employees save the majority of their pay and place it in a qualified annuity. What little expenses you occur—personal wants and needs, clothing, incidentals, etc.—won’t make a dent in your paycheck unless you go hog wild and splurge on a Lamborghini or the like.”

  “Not much chance of that,” she said. “I can’t drive a stick.”

  “When you retire, all memory of your time with us will be erased and false memories planted,” he continued.

  “That’s harsh,” she said.

  “It has to be that way, Doctor. For your safety as well as that of our operatives. Over the years you might have learned something—should it be revealed—that could pose a problem for us. That we cannot and will not allow.” He gave her a hard look. “Do you still want to take a look at Tearmann?”

  She took a steadying breath. “Yes,” she responded. “I do.”

  He nodded. “Good,” he said then started down the hall.

  “The Fog,” she said, falling into step beside him.

  The Supervisor glanced down at her. “Excuse me?”

  “You asked what my favorite horror movie was. It’s The Fog.”

  “The original or the remake?” he countered.

  “Puhlease!” she answered, rolling her eyes. “Adrianne Barbeau, Jamie Lee Curtis, her mama Janet Leigh, Hal Holbrook. The original, of course. That creeping mist, the music, the fear of the unseen—classic horror.”

  “I agree.”

  “What you can’t see won’t hurt you… It�
��ll kill you,” she quoted from the movie.

  “So true,” the Supervisor. “So very true.”

  Chapter Two

  She shouldn’t have been dreaming but she was. It was the same dream she’d had for years but this time it was more vivid—the colors brighter, the sounds sharper, the feeling of impending pleasure flowing over her like warm honey, his scent flooding her nostrils to set her juices flowing.

  As always, it began in the same way, beneath a gibbous moon hanging low in the ebon velvet sky. Streaks of pearly gray clouds moved languidly across the orb’s surface to cast rippling shadows upon the cobblestone pathway underfoot. The delicate aroma of night-blooming jasmine drifted on the soft, warm current wafting over her. Crickets chirped and across the silver-shot lake, a loon called to its mate.

  Fanning her palm along the feathery spikes of the blood-red astilbes growing to either side of the serpentine path, she smiled at the faint tickle against her flesh.

  Barefoot, she could feel the coolness of the stones beneath her soles as she moved along the pathway to the lattice-work gazebo in which she knew he would be waiting. She could hear the faint squeak of the rusted chains on the old wicker swing upon which he sat.

  Lifting the long hem of her white silk nightgown, she climbed the five deep wooden steps that led to the gazebo platform. The night air caressed her ankles and spiraled up her bare legs as she stopped just inside the structure and let the hem of her nightgown fall.

  He sat with his left arm stretched casually along the edge of the tall back of the swing and the fingers of other hand were curled around the chain. One knee was crooked, his bare foot planted on the white wicker seat while the other kept the swing moving in a slow arc.

  She never saw his face for in the shadowy interior of the gazebo, it was always in the dark. The whiteness of his hands and bare feet and the glowing amber of his steady gaze were accented by the long-sleeved black shirt and black pants he wore.

  The swing stopped moving.

  He removed his arm from the swing and extended his hand toward her.

  “Join me,” he said in that soft, throaty voice that sent ripples of pleasure through her lower belly.