Nightwalker

by Connie Hall

  Skye swallowed hard, tears trailing down her cheeks. “Do you think they want to see me?”

  “I don’t know, but if you don’t face them, you’re missing out. Fala and Nina just got married. They’ll be starting a family one day. Grandmother acts like you don’t exist, but every day I see emptiness in her eyes, like a part of her is missing, and it hurts me to see her like that. You know she kept a picture of you, in spite of the old laws.”

  “She did?” Skye sounded surprised.

  “I found it when I came looking for you. Hid it in the old cedar chest in her room, under some quilts.”

  Skye looked as if she was picturing the cedar chest Takala had just described as she said, “That’s where I used to snoop for things when I was a kid.” A sad smile edged across her wet cheeks, and she wiped at the tears with the back of her hand. “She must hate me for what I did.” Skye sounded as if she hated herself for her weakness of so long ago.

  “How can you say that? Grandmother raised your children. Went against the laws and kept a picture of you, even though you’d been disowned. She wears the hollowness you left in her like a badge. She is getting old, too. I think she deserves to see you again and hear a thank-you, at least.”

  “But I’ve been abjured.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come it. Anyway, Fala is the leader of the council now, and Meikoda is a powerful member, and I doubt anyone will question their decisions.”

  For a moment, Skye looked torn. Years of uncertainty swirled in the blue depths of her eyes. Then she said, “Okay. I have to go to Washington and write a report on what I know about Raithe’s organization—”

  “I thought Raithe found out you were an agent. What can you tell them from your last report?”

  “That was over two months ago. He kept me prisoner in his den for a month.”

  “Something I don’t understand, but I’m grateful for, is why he didn’t just kill you when he found out.”

  “Ego. He wanted to rub me in Striker’s nose before he killed Striker. I’m sure my demise was not long behind Striker’s. By the way, I saw the brave thing you did by sending Katalinga to help me, with no concern for your own safety.”

  “Those crystals had made you weak. I knew—”

  “Stop making excuses. You saved me and Striker. You’re a brave young woman. No daughter of mine could be otherwise.”

  The proud tone in her mother’s voice and her smile struck a place in Takala’s heart. It swelled in her chest until she could hardly breathe. After a moment she said, “Yeah, the curse of Rainwater women.” Takala teased her with a smile.

  “Not a curse. An honor.”

  “Wow, that’s what Grandmother says all the time.” Takala felt goose bumps crawl down her arms. Their voices had sounded so much alike, she could have sworn the words had come directly from Meikoda’s mouth.

  “Rainwater women think alike. I’m just glad you came looking for me. Raithe’s empire will be going down now.”

  “All of it?”

  “Yes. He kept me tied inside the room where he held court. I know what businesses he owns and who runs them. It’s enough to destroy his web of evil.”

  “That should make Striker happy.” At the mention of Striker’s name, Takala felt that squeezing sensation in her chest, the lump in her throat closing in on her vocal cords, emotion grinding up from inside her. Then tears swam in her own eyes, but it wasn’t for the same reasons as her mother’s.

  Chapter 24

  “Takala…”

  Takala jumped, almost losing the toothbrush in her hand. The name had come unbidden directly into her mind, riding the waves of her synapses at will. It was as though Striker was inside her head, communicating directly with her. It wasn’t really speaking, more like a sensation of feeling, mostly fuzzy and vague. Like right now, she could feel something akin to hunger for her fading in and out.

  A shiver of yearning to go to him toyed with her, a powerful longing that she found impossible to control. She grabbed the sink and hung on, feeling light-headed, fighting the urge with her whole being.

  Another impression of what felt like disgust dropped on her like a grand piano. It left her cold inside. She panted and hung on to the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Toothpaste covered her mouth, and her eyes looked a little demented. She was on a winding road of emotion and she’d lost her bearings. How long would this connection last? Days? Weeks? Years?

  The desire part wasn’t so bad. It was the yearning to be with him that followed that was so hard to bear. But even worse was sensing his disgust, because she couldn’t tell if it was self-castigation for his own bloodlust or from desiring her physically or just plain aversion to her in general. After all, he had been up front about their relationship. She was the one who had wanted more. The old Takala hard at work.

  This was a nightmare. How could she forget him when they shared this bizarre connection? Had to have happened when he’d fed on her blood in the warehouse. She realized the toothpaste was beginning to sting her tongue and lips, and she spit it into the sink and rinsed out her mouth.

  She toweled her face and remembered when she first felt the strange perceptions over a week ago. She had hardly been able to believe they had been happening to her. She’d heard of the phenomenon before, but the truth was she didn’t know anyone who had been bitten by a vampire and lived. You just didn’t get close enough to vampires to find out the full extent of their powers. But she was living proof that the blood connection was real. Oh, joy!

  She checked out her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were huge, and her hand trembled as she fluffed the tawny curls hanging around her shoulders. She had to get a grip.

  She steadied her hand as she applied makeup, covering the dark circles under eyes. For days her sleep had been broken. She had been on edge, waiting, waiting for what? For Striker to call her. There, she admitted it. Not one word. Not a text message or email saying goodbye. Not a “How are you doing?” Or a warning about the emotional connection. Hadn’t their time together meant anything to him? She couldn’t forgive him for not saying goodbye. But why would he? She had only been caught in his revenge scheme. He probably didn’t care that he was making her life miserable.

  She frowned at the bathroom mirror as she drew eyeliner above and below her lashes, heavy enough to hide the discrepancy in her eye color. What was she doing? She had promised herself not to pine over another guy. Was she pining?

  Yes. Yes. Yes. She missed Striker’s grave, piercing looks, as if he could see down into her soul, his smooth, debonair way of charming every woman in a room, including her, the smell of his starched shirts and rum aftershave. She had taken to eating bags of butter-rum candy.

  Most of all she missed the way he kissed her and held her and that feeling of actually being with a man more powerful than she was, a man who knew her better than she knew herself. Yes, she missed him more than any man who had come and gone in her life.

  Takala felt someone behind her, and when she turned and saw an actual person, she dropped the eye pencil in her hand. It clattered down into the sink.

  “Good grief, you scared me,” she said to her grandmother.

  Meikoda was a petite woman, shrunken from age. The top of her gray hair only reached Takala’s shoulder. She might be of small stature, but Meikoda Rainwater had a strong, square chin and the proud, confident bearing of someone who knew her own power and was comfortable in her skin. She used to be the Guardian before Fala assumed the powers. She was still a commanding shaman in her own right, so formidable that people feared looking directly into her vibrant blue eyes, a Rainwater trait of which Takala was only graced with one.

  Meikoda’s wardrobe usually consisted of blue-jean skirts and gingham blouses, but today she was dressed to the nines, spiffed out in a royal blue silk pantsuit. She had braided her long gray hair and twisted it into a bun at the back of her head. She even wore a set of pearls around her neck. The most adorned Takala had ever seen her grandmother,
other than when she donned tribal gowns. But they were a whole different fashion statement.

  The wrinkles around Meikoda’s eyes and mouth stretched, revealing her eyes. Looking into them was like looking into a blue sphere of cut glass lit by the sun, magic and wisdom swirling in the depths. Takala knew better than to meet her grandmother’s gaze for too long, so she lowered her eyes out of respect.

  Meikoda took Takala’s measure for an uncomfortable moment. Then she raised a gnarled hand and placed it over Takala’s forehead—a gesture she’d done a million times, so it came naturally to her. “Something is wrong with you? I can feel it.”

  Takala felt the warm hand buzzing against her skin, the fizz of her grandmother’s magic making the hairs on her skin stand up. “Nothing is wrong.” Takala saw her grandmother catch the lie as it left her lips.

  Meikoda narrowed her eyes at Takala. “Granddaughter—” her voice turned stern “—I know you are keeping something from me.”

  Here we go. For this very reason, she had tried to maintain a safe distance from Meikoda since returning home. Takala didn’t want to explain what was happening to her. She just didn’t want to get into it with her grandmother, but it was too late.

  Takala took a deep breath and said, “Okay, remember me telling you about finding Mom?”

  Meikoda nodded.

  “Well, I left out the crucial part about Striker Dark.”

  “The vampire?” Meikoda said, her eyes sparkling like she was facing a foe.

  “Yes.” Takala went on to explain about letting Striker bite her to get his strength back.

  After the telling, Meikoda pursed her lips. “I see. You could have mentioned this earlier.”

  “I know.” Takala didn’t like the look she was seeing on her grandmother’s face and said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Let me see your wrist.”

  Takala had put on a thick silver bracelet that covered the two puncture holes, and she inched it up her arm.

  “Hmm!” Meikoda examined the wound, turning Takala’s wrist first one way then the other, prodding it with her finger. “Did you know you can tell a poisonous snakebite from a nonpoisonous by the bite marks? The nonpoisonous snake leaves an impression of the teeth. The viper leaves only two fang marks. Here we clearly have a poisonous bite, but a vampire’s venom is of a different ilk, much more dangerous. The wound is still red and puffy. This vampire has a powerful spirit. The blood connection to you cannot easily be broken. We shall have to summon the council for a combined magic spell. Fala is here now. She will join us. You will have your body back, do not worry.” She patted Takala’s forearm.

  Takala didn’t know if she wanted her body entirely to herself and Striker completely out of her life. This connection, as worrisome as it was, was all she had of him. And as much as she didn’t want to, she missed him with a kind of ache that made her feel depressed and hollow inside, like a part of her was missing. And it wasn’t that deprived, superficial need she used to have for guys, for Akando. This was something deeper, an honesty and warmth and sharing that she’d never experienced with anyone. Striker knew her too well. She felt raw and open with him, bared her soul with him. Her feelings for Striker went deeper, to a place that frightened her, for she knew he wasn’t capable of caring for anyone. Hadn’t he said that? Hadn’t he admitted to not knowing how it felt like to have human feelings, to be human?

  “Do not worry, my child, we will cure you…if you wish it?” Meikoda added the last four words with a heavy question in her voice.

  “What do you mean? I hate what’s happening to me.”

  “Do you?” Meikoda shot her a look that had always demanded total honesty from her grandchildren.

  Takala thought that over. “Okay, I hate some of the things I feel.”

  “They are not all unpleasant?”

  “No.”

  Meikoda smiled ruefully to herself.

  “What’s that grin for?”

  “Never mind,” Meikoda said. “You’ll be free of him soon.”

  “Great.” Takala heard the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. She quickly changed the uncomfortable subject. “I have to tell you, Grandmother, you’re looking mighty fine tonight. Dressed up for Mom?”

  A rare open expression swept over Meikoda’s face, one of uncertainty as she looked down at her suit. “Is it too much?”

  “No, just right.”

  “She’s late.” Excitement and annoyance stirred in Meikoda’s normally placid voice. “They’re all late.”

  “Oh, they’ll be here before seven.” Fala, Stephen, Nina and Kane hadn’t arrived yet. She knew Fala and Nina weren’t real keen on seeing Skye again. It had taken an hour of pleading on the phone to bring them to the reunion.

  Meikoda had gone all out and made roast beef, rolls, her famous lemon cake with butter-cream icing. She and Takala had spent two days cleaning and cooking to prepare for this special gathering. With a little persuasion from Meikoda and Takala, the elders had voted to allow Skye onto the reservation for this visit, a large concession for a member who had been deemed dead to her people—but Takala was certain Meikoda’s influence with the council of elders had brought it about.

  Takala hoped it was just the beginning of Skye’s reinstatement. But Skye would have to stand before the whole tribe and ask forgiveness from each member and those she had hurt in order to be invited back. And every member had to agree to forgive her. She would also have to give up something dear to her heart and bury it in the sacred prayer cave as an offering to the Maiden Bear. Then there would be much time spent in the prayer cave by the elders, and if the Maiden Bear accepted the offering, she would give an elder a vision with Skye’s new Patomani name. It would be as if Skye were reborn into the tribe and the Book of Life. No, Skye had a long road ahead of her before she was allowed back into the fold. This was a start, though.

  Takala could sense how nervous Meikoda was about the whole thing. Meikoda’s dignity usually gave her an unflappable composure, but today she was a switchboard of nerves and uncertainty.

  Oddly, Takala felt good about the reunion. She’d spoken to Skye several times since talking her into coming home. One way or the other it would all work out.

  Meikoda tilted her head to the side, that familiar finely honed look that said she was sensing something way beyond Takala’s grasp. “Company is coming, and it is not my prodigal daughter or your sisters.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Someone for you.”

  “Who?”

  Meikoda left without replying and headed for the front door to intercept their visitor.

  Takala grew suddenly on edge. Was it Striker? She checked herself out in the mirror. She’d curled her hair and let it wave around her shoulders, glistening dark and light gold. She wore a reserved striped black peasant sweater that fell just below her shoulders and black slacks and high heels. She had on just the right amount of makeup, covering the dark circles. Her eyes were wide with excitement and glistening, green and blue. But she’d used shiny mauve eye shadow and dark liner, which dulled down the inconsistency. Her appearance was as good as it got. She couldn’t quell the excitement stirring in her belly as she hurried to see who had arrived.

  Striker found himself holed up in his office. It was a pretty big space, considering the federal money crunch. Twenty by twenty, a retractable window to keep the sun out, a sleek modern desk with special crystal-powered monitors that he used to communicate with everyone who worked at B.O.S.P. His command center, the bridge of his Starship Enterprise. All he had to do was think of an employee or department and it popped up on the screen. To be so connected to the world, why did he feel so alone in it? In all his extensive life, he had never felt so destitute and isolated.

  Yes, he had his job with B.O.S.P., and that had fulfilled him for over half a century, since Roosevelt had acknowledged that the supernatural world could become a real threat to national security without monitoring and had established B.O.S.P. During Striker’s long run as directo
r, he had seen a lot of administrations come and go, some bad, some good, and he’d always done his duty, lived for his job, kept his mind centered on his work and finding Raithe. Oddly, Raithe had been the measure for Striker’s own moral compass, and it had helped him control his cravings. Maybe that was what was wrong with him: he didn’t know how to live without a foil. Or was it something else entirely?

  He paced across the floor and hit a button. Part of the wall slid aside, revealing a hidden window. His office was on a concealed second floor of B.O.S.P. headquarters, and he could see for blocks.

  He looked across the street-lit lawn of his office toward Michigan Avenue. He had designed the B.O.S.P. office building himself. It was a Parthenon replica, replete with granite stone sides and huge white Doric columns. The sign on the drive proclaimed Library of the Divine Spirit. His brainchild. From the street it looked like an obscure and rarely used religious research library, part of the local Catholic University campus. The cover had kept the B.O.S.P. headquarters hidden since its inception.

  The shadows from the streetlights seemed to form an image of Takala’s face on the lawn. That’s how it was. He saw her everywhere. In everything.

  He turned around and crossed the floor in the opposite direction, and her features appeared in the leaves of the philodendron plant on his desk.

  He groaned aloud, the sound echoing through his office like the whimper of a sad dog. Pathetic. That’s what he had become. A pathetic, mooning calf. The wrinkles in his brow furrowed so deep his forehead hurt. He reached the credenza, absently changed directions, and paced down the length of his office. His life had been so ordered, so straightforward. Work. More work. Searching for Raithe. Meeting with O’Malley, denying the vampire cravings that were so innate, desensitizing himself to life. All of that had worked until Takala.

  She had resurrected the human side of him that he’d lost so long ago, the part of him that had died with his parents and Calliope. He had thought it was lost to him forever. Then Takala arrived, dredging up memories of Calliope, her multicolored eyes and same invincible spirit. Brave and loyal to a fault, that had been his baby sister. Always there for him. Qualities he’d seen and admired in Takala.