by Lynde Lakes
Damon pointed to the card table he’d brought in for her. “Would you like something to eat or drink before you start?”
“No, thank you. I have an early dinner date when I finish here.” She wasted no time setting up her paraphernalia in the center of the table. When the black lace cloth and crystal in its lush burgundy cover were in place, she walked slowly over to the girls, bent down, and introduced herself. “I’m Auntie Nola,” she said, drawing two huge, peppermint lollipops from her bag. “We’re going to be great friends.”
Both girls smiled widely, deepening their dimples and nodded. Madam Nola handed them the treats and then began an Egyptian chant with a nursery-rhythm cadence. She withdrew a bottle of bubbles from her belt and sprayed the fragrant rainbow orbs around until they filled the room. The twins laughed and tried to catch them with tiny fists. The psychic twirled two times on her toes and then, with nimble fingers, slowly withdrew the velvet cloth from the crystal. The orb glowed and a full moon appeared. Suddenly, in the distance on a rock, posed two small howling wolves, one white as snow, the second black as onyx.
“Doggies,” the girls cried in delight.
Angela gasped. “Does that mean…” She was unable to say the words.
Damon hugged the girls tighter and kissed the tops of their heads. “When?” he asked, his voice husky.
Madam Nola frowned and shook her head. “I see no timetable. I only know the lingering curse on your beautiful daughters is not of immediate concern.”
Suddenly, the room filled with a whirling cacophony of whispers. Madam Nola listened intently, as though she understood the murmurs. The twins giggled and clapped their hands at the swishy sounds swirling around them.
Madam Nola put her hand to her right ear and listened intently. “The whispering spirits warn of a cloud of danger hanging over this mansion and your girls,” Madam Nola said finally in an ominous tone. “Keep them very close.”
Angela shuddered as an old familiar feeling rippled through her—that the walls had ears and the portraits had spying eyes.
Damon, still holding his daughters close, put his arm around Angela and then they both escorted Madam Nola to the door. When Angela tried to pull away, he tightened his hold on her. “Take care, Madam Nola, and keep in touch.”
“You do the same.” Her tone wavered. “This isn’t something to take lightly.”
Fighting self doubts and growing icy fears, he watched the psychic enter her purple VW bug and drive away. Damn, he couldn’t allow his worries to render him impudent. He had to remain strong, decisive. Damon drew Angela and his girls closer. “Honey, we’ll work this out.”
She looked up at him with liquid, glistening eyes. “How?”
“I’ll start by talking to Lazar. Here, take the girls.”
Before she could demand explanations he didn’t have, he kissed his wife and girls lightly, then dashed for the lab.
He heard her call out for him to wait, but time was running out.
He stepped into the lab. The blast of meat-locker coldness chilled his already icy bones.
Lazar was surrounded by labeled vials in varied sizes and shapes. Damon detected the smell of blood. “Time is running out, Lazar. I need something hopeful now on the serum we’re trying to develop.” He had to have it for his own sanity and to give Angela hope and something positive to cling to.
Lazar looked up and met Damon’s gaze, his piercing, ice-blue eyes probing. “Only that we’re closer than six months ago. Of course, success would be more certain if I could use blood from actual lycanthropes. The procedure is extremely dangerous and requires extracting three drops of blood from a morphed creature while in their wild form.”
Oh, dear God. One day, the girls will start morphing and will have the kind of blood Lazar needs. But Angela would never allow tests on their girls in any form, now or ever. He winced at the thought, but he’d have to weigh their suffering from the curse against the suffering required to escape it. “Since we don’t have any lycanthropes available, what’s our next best option?”
“We might achieve a measure of success on a pre-morphed individual who carries the cursed gene. Do you know anyone who fits that category?”
Damon frowned. “What do you think?”
“I think this project is close to your heart. And most likely, you know someone who is suffering from lycanthropy.”
“My interest in this project is purely profit.” The lie burned on his tongue. “With the high field expenditures and soaring costs of running this lab, I must see results.”
“I understand the profit motive well,” Lazar said. “And I embrace it whole-heartedly. I’m experimenting with drops of wolf blood, herbs, and minute amounts of the healing properties carefully extracted from the earth sludge on your property.” A gleam lit up his icy blue eyes. “However, if what I suspect is true, there may be one more thing I can try.”
“What?”
“Let me think it through and I’ll have an outline of my plan ready for you within the week.
“Great. Thanks, Lazar. You won’t be sorry. Let’s make this thing happen.”
Damn it, he’d left without guarantees, but the determination he’d seen in Lazar’s eyes assured him the man would leave no stone unturned to find a cure.
Hugo’s mind clicked on like a light bulb when the luminous angel with muddy wings reached down into the murky depths and took his hand. “Come with me, Hugo. God has reserved a place for you in heaven.”
He shuddered, recalling the violent way he’d died. While in the vulnerable state of morphing, his stronger, evil brother, Reeves, leapt at him, locked sharp fangs onto his throat, and sucked the life out of him. And for all Hugo knew, Reeves was still out there.
“What happened after I died? Did anyone ever find me?”
The angel smiled. “Your half-brother, Damon, found you. He was still in his wolf state, so he and Angela’s wolf counterpart buried you in this cave while her ghostly spirit watched. Their great sadness should comfort your spirit and make you feel loved and willing to accept your fate.”
“How much time has passed since my murder?”
“Four years.”
He knew the rest, for those years he lay rotting in the ground until the earthquake shifted and changed the land. Suddenly, broiling, muddy liquid swirled around his half-morphed body and he felt the hot healing forces flow into him. He went through the torturous morphing stages and became a man again. A dead man. But so what? Alive, he hadn’t been much of a man anyway. His stomach knotted.
Then this angel touched him and he felt breath flow back into his lungs. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“Please, not yet. I sense that evil forces are closing in on Damon, and I vowed to my mother to protect him. My hunched back has kept me from being of much value to him or society so far. If I could just be allowed to achieve this one goal, it will give my birth meaning.”
“Your birth had meaning in God’s eyes. Never doubt that.” The angel looked thoughtful and then said, “But I understand your concern. There is a dark aura around Damon and his little family.”
“Family?” Hugo asked.
“Angela, his wife, bore him twin daughters.”
Of course, while he’d been dead, Damon had been busy living his life. “Twins? Are they affected by the curse?”
The angel looked at him with sad eyes, but rather than answering his question said, “You have valid reasons to be concerned about your brother and his family. I will leave you on Earth with the understanding that there is no guarantee God will hold your reservation.”
For a moment, Hugo watched the sunrise paint a metallic radiance across the purple mountain range to the east and then said, “I understand and accept the condition.”
She touched the hump on his back and said, “I heal this affliction in God’s name.” The hump disappeared and, with it, his pain. “Now you will be on equal footing with your brothers. But be careful, you’re still under the power of the family curse and at the m
ercy of the full moon.”
“I don’t wish to be disrespectful, or ask for more miracles after you’ve given me so many. But if you can make my hump disappear, why can’t you rid me of the curse?”
The angel smiled wistfully. “I can only heal things you can’t heal yourself—it’s in your power to escape the curse.”
“How?”
“Read the family journals and ask your brother, Damon.”
With that, the lovely creature shook the muck off her wings and disappeared into the golden glow of sunrise, leaving him in the muddy meadow with questions and a driving determination to get answers.
Hugo found an icy stream from a recent rainfall trickling down from Mt. Baldy, and gritting his teeth, he washed away every trace of the thick, gluey mud. He was shivering so hard his teeth chattered. He rubbed his arms vigorously, wishing he had some clothing or a blanket. The early morning sun gave little warmth, and the soft, forlorn howl of the breeze from the snow-capped mountains to the east chilled him to the bones.
Now what? Hugo crouched nude in the bushes, praying it was really possible for him to achieve the seemingly overwhelming concept of assimilating back into the complex society of the living. He didn’t want to let the angel down. She had made the decision to leave him here and might get in trouble if he failed. Hugo, an avid reader in his past life, remembered a quote from Winston Churchill: “A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.” If he was to achieve this nearly impossible task, he must try to be an optimist, pump himself up, and put some steel into his backbone. Unfortunately, being resurrected from the dead brought a wealth of problems.
Remember, optimism, he scolded himself—this renewed condition could be the best thing that ever happened to him. His nude body looked better than it had since birth. He hadn’t seen his face, but the skin felt smooth and his jawline strong like Damon’s. Best of all, he had complete clarity of mind. But total recall came with a price—fear. His smile faded as the sharp awareness hit him—if Reeves was still out there, he was in grave danger.
The shrill jangling of a security alarm in the children’s room awakened Angela. Then she heard her little girls screaming.
“Damon!” Angela shouted as she jolted upright. A harsh beam of early sunlight fell on the empty spot where he was supposed to be. She threw her legs over the side of the bed, propelled herself to her bare feet, and ran to the girls’ room. She thrust the door open. Both tiny twin beds were empty!
“Valerie…Victoria!” Angela screamed over the still jangling security alarm. Her heart pounded wildly as she fought rising hysteria.
Suddenly, the alarm fell silent. She froze at the sound of a trembly, tearful little voice inside the closet calling, “Mommy.”
She yanked open the door and drew Victoria into her arms. “Oh my God, baby, are you all right?” she said, raining kisses on the child’s salty, tearstained face.
Victoria nodded. Her body was trembling.
Angela held her closer. “Honey, where’s Valerie?” She didn’t want to frighten Victoria, but she was unable to keep fear out of her tone.
Victoria pointed to the canvas bag on the floor. “Bad man had two bags. He put her in the other one.”
An ache rose in Angela’s chest. At least the heavy material had air holes, but not much air would get through such small ones. Angela started to tremble. It was crucial to keep her head. Carrying Victoria with her, she rushed to the phone. While she dialed 911 Damon charged into the room.
“Damon,” she shouted, “search the house and grounds. Someone kidnapped Valerie!”
He spun around and disappeared. In between answering the 911 interviewer’s questions, she kissed her little girl’s sweet face repeatedly.
She tried to think logically. It was all on camera. Whoever did this wouldn’t get away with it. But oh, dear God, her baby was gone, maybe in the hands of a madman…
Fifteen minutes later, Angela had set up the security tape and was about to review it when Damon rushed back into the room. He was sweating and his hair stood on end. “I couldn’t find Valerie or the kidnapper.” His words came out in breathless gasps. “I set up a search party. I’ll join the group as soon as I view the security tape. A good description will help us find her faster. After the police arrive, you can run it again for them.”
“I was just about to watch it,” she said, briefly going into his arms.
His sweat had the acrid odor of dread. His body was warm, his sweaty skin icy. He kissed Victoria and took her into his arms. Angela hated to part with her, even for a second.
When she ran the tape, it was obvious someone had tampered with the cameras. All that showed up was a shadowy figure grabbing both girls. While the kidnapper shoved the screaming Valerie into one of his two large canvas bags, Victoria kicked him in the shins, grabbed the second bag, and took off running. First, she leapt up on one of the twin beds, ran across it, and then crawled under the second one. The alarm kept jangling and Angela could see the outline of Valerie struggling to escape the bag. Tears filled her eyes. When the man turned away to get a better hold on the jerking, shifting bag, little Victoria slipped into the closet and eased the door closed. The man glanced around the room, swore, and then disappeared from view.
Damon kissed little Victoria again and said, “I’m proud of you, baby. You handled yourself just right.” Then he handed her back to Angela and darted out the door. But not before Angela saw the fluid glistening in his eyes.
“Don’t worry, honey. We’ll find her.”
Angela feared only a miracle would get her child back.
Later, when Officer Haywood and his men arrived, they found no evidence of a breakin. “It looks like someone with access to the house took the child,” he said. After he watched the tape, his expression softened and he added, “We’ll put a tap on your phone. You may get a ransom call. And we’ll put out an all-points bulletin. We take kidnapping very seriously, especially when it’s a child.”
Hugo looked down at his nakedness. His first priority was to get clothes. A group of men left the mansion. He stayed hidden, not sure what to do. Then he saw the police come, search the area, and leave. He’d better make his move now while everyone was gone. He entered the hidden tunnel into the mansion’s inner walls he knew so well and slipped into Damon’s closet. He knew not to enter the bedroom. He’d seen the wiring for the security cameras. Quickly, he borrowed a pair of Damon’s jeans, a v-neck sweater, and a pair of soft boots. He preferred moccasins, but Damon didn’t have any. He dressed in haste. He wished he had some cash, but going to the safe in the den was too risky. When he left the closet and reentered the tunnel, he spied a dark figure carrying a huge canvas bag over his shoulder. Hugo caught a whiff of the strong scent of chloroform. Earlier, watching the men and police comb the area had suggested that something big was going on. Apparently, it was a robbery. Who was the thief, and what was he stealing? Hugo decided to follow him.
Skirting police and civilian search parties, he followed the wily thief to a cave. When he entered the dark, dank tunnels, it was easy to keep him in sight because the guy had a flashlight. Hugo was careful to stay in the shadows. Ahead, he saw what appeared to be flickering lantern light. When they approached a wider area with a raised stone platform that resembled a stage, he stopped and crouched behind a large boulder. He watched the thief meet with a taller man wearing field clothes. The lantern light gave him a better view of the thief. He had a slight build and wore western clothes and cowboy boots. The thief handed the bulging canvas bag to a taller man and, in return, received a thick, rubber-banded wad of cash. The man opened the bag and glanced inside. He frowned. “Where’s the other one?”
“She got away.”
The man grabbed the money back and divided it in half. “You’ll get the rest when the delivery is complete.”
“I can’t go in there again. They have alarms and cameras all over the place.”
“Can’t or won�
��t?”
“Both, damn it.”
“Then, I don’t really need you anymore,” the man said as he drew a gun and shot him right in the heart. The slight pop that echoed through the cave verified that the gun was equipped with a silencer.
The killer withdrew a glass vial and a syringe from a nearby backpack. Before Hugo understood what the bad guy was about to do, he reached into the bag, withdrew a tiny arm, and jabbed the syringe into a vein. The vial filled with blood.
Hugo froze, suddenly remembering that the man with the gun had asked, “Where’s the other one?” And the thief answered, “She got away.” The thief was no thief—he was a kidnapper. Hugo swallowed. And that was his little niece. Let her be alive.
While he debated the best way to get the child away from that killer without any further danger to her, the man stored the bag in a chest, locked it, grabbed the vial, and took off running toward the cave entrance.
Hugo didn’t wait to be certain the man was gone. His niece couldn’t breathe in there! He grabbed a big stone and busted the lock. He reached into the chest, opened the bag, and lifted the limp little girl of about three into his arms. She was breathing! He kissed her icy cheek. Poor baby, she was probably freezing in this damp cave. He grabbed up the discarded canvas, wrapped it warmly around her, and headed for the mansion. How would he explain that he was no longer dead? It was unexplainable. He had to stay out of sight. So how would he pull this return off without getting caught? If he got caught, he might be blamed for the kidnapping. And if he pulled this off, how would he prevent another kidnapping?
Earlier, he’d watched men in field gear gathering different species, probably for some kind of testing. Was this part of that? If so, why the gun, why the murder?
Minutes later, from the closet in Damon’s bedroom, Hugo heard voices in the adjacent room. One belonged to a small girl, the other to Angela. Dare he face Angela and risk telling her what happened? Without his hump and with his renewed skin, he probably wouldn’t look like himself. And if he did…she and Damon had buried him. He might scare her to death. He’d better not confront her.