Dealers of Light

by Lara Nance

  Cara swallowed. “Yeah. If I don’t think about Emmie, Tom, and what happened to Marc I’m just super great fantastic.”

  Amber gave a sympathetic pout. “Ah, honey, I’m sorry so much happened to you yesterday. Bad enough thinking about all the…stuff with Marc. Thank God, it’s been a busy morning here which helped me not think about you-know-what.”

  “Let’s continue not thinking about it. I want to have a pleasant day off.” Cara finished her muffin and licked her fingers for the last few crumbs. Not thinking about things was a good solution, she decided. If you didn’t think about them, you didn’t have to deal with them. Perfect.

  Amber chuckled. “You can have another, you know.”

  “No, one is plenty. I was thinking about going to the salon for a massage.” She rolled her shoulders. “I think it would help my stress.” If she stayed really, really busy, everything would be fine.

  “That’s a good idea. I wish I had time to go with you, but a delivery from the farmer’s market is due soon. I can’t leave Susan here by herself.”

  Bells over the door tinkled as a few customers strolled in. Amber greeted them all by name. She placed her tea cup in the saucer and pointed to the book beside Cara. “Enjoy your book. I’ll be back after I help them.”

  Cara sipped her rose-hip tea and closed her eyes, savoring the spicy aroma. She melted into the comfy, old stuffed couch and sighed. The bells jingled again and she opened her eyes to see who’d entered. Her gaze met the stare of a tall, striking man. He paused in the doorway, ice-blue eyes boring into hers, his hand still on the doorknob. Those eyes mesmerized her, compelling her like a hypnotist’s might. Several seconds passed before he blinked a few times and turned his gaze to survey the rest of the store.

  She swallowed but her mouth had gone dry. A tingling sensation spread over her body. He stood so tall and commanding, the room shrunk in his presence. His stark raven hair sprouted up in a spiky crew cut. Black must be his favorite color: black T-shirt, black leather jacket, and black jeans with a silver belt. Even his shoes were black Italian loafers. He strode across the shop in her direction. Like a prowling panther, his powerful muscles shifted beneath his clothing. She sank back in her seat.

  He paused a few feet from her and raised both eyebrows. Then he redirected his path to the bookshelf and leaned forward with his hands behind him, scanning the titles. She let out the breath she’d been holding. His aristocratic bearing was at odds with the laid back, hippy style décor of the health food store and the typical patrons she encountered here. The man slowly made his way down the entire length of bookcase. As he passed behind the couch where Cara sat, the hairs stood up on the back of her neck, and she caught a whiff of his cologne—something dark, musky and exotic. Was that warmth coming from him?

  Amber returned and stood beside the sofa before he completed his search. Cara made rolling eye gestures toward the strange man behind her. She mouthed, “Do you know him?” Amber shook her head, frowning.

  The man reached the end of the bookcase and whirled about so abruptly Amber jumped.

  “H—h—hello. M—m—may I help you with anything?” Amber retreated a step.

  His brows came together over those cold eyes. He stared at her for a moment, angular features and high cheek bones highlighted by his slanting black brows. Then his grimace smoothed into a smile, lips a thin, sensual curved line. “I was wondering if you had any books about—” His blue eyes focused on Cara. “—crystals?”

  Cara’s fingers closed on the book beside her. What game was he playing? “This is a good one.” She rose and took a few steps, stretching her arm to hand the book to him, but, at the last moment, she dropped the book and gasped, backing up. Even from a few feet away she felt the heat of a powerful Dealer emanating from him. Hotter even than Alistair, the oldest of them all. She clasped her hand against her chest.

  The man’s smile vanished. He bent slowly, keeping his eyes on hers, and retrieved the book from the floor. “Ah, yes. Thank you,” he said without glancing at it.

  “Who are you?” Cara asked, breathless. Obviously, the man was a Light-dealer but one of enormous power. He must sense her as one, too. His presence here fascinated and terrified her at the same time. She’d never met anyone like him.

  “Please, accept my apologies. My name is Rolf Van Harding.” His smile broadened and his icy gaze softened. His gaze traveled over Cara, leaving her body a tingling mess.

  “You’ve never been here before.” Amber glanced between him and Cara.

  “No, I’m new in town. And you are?”

  “Well, um, my name is Amber. I own this store. This is my friend Cara.”

  “Very pleased to meet you both.” He gave a small bow, clicking his heels together. He turned the book over in his hands, scanning the cover. “Oh, this is not what I’m searching for. Sorry.” He handed it back to Cara and this time there was no radiating heat. “Forgive me for interrupting.” He executed another of his formal half-bows, and strode out the door.

  She and Amber turned to each other with mouths open then to the door where he’d departed. “What the—”

  “He’s a Light-dealer!” Amber put a hand over her mouth.

  “No kidding.” Cara ran her hands over her arms, now chilled with the absence of his heat. “He almost incinerated me from three feet.”

  Amber crossed to the door with Cara beside her and peered out, eyes scanning the parking lot. “He’s gone. Just gone. No car, nothing.”

  “He came here for something and didn’t expect to find other Light-dealers. He was startled when he saw me.” Cara scanned the front yard again. In the parking lot she saw only two cars, a bicycle and a tall telephone pole at the edge whose broken street light flickered on and off despite the bright sunshine.

  “I’m calling Tor.” Amber hurried to the checkout counter for her phone.

  Cara returned to the seating area. She flopped on the seat with an “Oof.” Her heartbeat raced and she put a hand to her chest. “Holy moly,” she said under her breath, taking slow, deep breaths to calm her pulse.

  A powerful Dealer and wow, what an extraordinarily handsome man. But there was something else—an electric disturbance of the atmosphere surrounding him. A disturbance exuding both danger and power which left her breathless.

  Amber returned after several minutes on the phone with Tor, her face pale, her green eyes wide. “There’s been another one.”

  “What?” Cara blinked, breaking out of Rolf’s spell. “What happened?”

  “Tor was on a call this morning—a homicide on the east end. They found a body in a dumpster, and he checked before the coroner got there. The poor man was completely empty of Light.”

  The news paralyzed Cara with horror. “A fresh body?”

  Amber nodded. “Less than twelve hours old, he thinks.”

  “Trauma?”

  “Nothing that should cause death—just signs of superficial torture like small, shallow, knife cuts.”

  “Crap.”

  “What are we going to do?” Amber fingered the jade cross she always wore at her throat.

  “Too many unexplained events are popping up related to Light-dealing. I should talk to Alistair. He’s the only one who might be able to unravel this mystery.” Cara gathered her pocketbook from the couch then hugged Amber.

  “Maybe you should stay here.” Amber crossed her arms over her chest. “What if Rolf Van Harding is out there waiting? He could be the killer. I can call Tor.”

  “He’s not out there. I’ll be fine.”

  “Honey, please be careful.”

  “You, too,” Cara said over her shoulder and headed out the door, sending the bell into a frenzy of clangs. Anxiety churned in her stomach, despite her reassurances to Amber. Another death, and now the appearance of this mystery Dealer—too much of a bizarre coincidence not to be connected. She might have just come face to face with a depraved killer. She shivered and hopped into her car, locking all the doors.

  Chapter Si
x

  Rolf stood at the corner of Duke and Freemason Streets. The chill of Taker evil nipped at his skin. He shuddered in a combination of revulsion and anticipation, then slowly turned his head to glance down the street. So much energy. There must be twelve, at least. Over every other sensation, a deeper, more sinister awareness hovered. Desmond. His old enemy.

  Careful to suppress the signature of his energy, Rolf moved along the street, his awareness at the highest level. He dared not risk being captured by this group. Everything about the situation puzzled him. His hunt for Takers usually involved two or three at most—rogue Dealers who turned to Taking and succumbed to the allure of evil. This was something different. Organized and purposeful.

  He strolled along, keeping to the shadow of trees lining both sides of the street. Occasionally people passed him, but none glanced in his direction. He stopped across from a three-story brick townhouse. A rush of cold, putrid Taker essence assured him this was their residence. Tidal waves of disgust slammed into him and he clenched his hands into fists. Desmond’s pungent essence, though lingering, indicated he wasn’t currently present. A tall, lanky man stepped out the front door, and Rolf turned into the driveway of the opposite townhouse, disappearing behind a hedge.

  Huddled in the mass of leafy branches, Rolf waited while the man descended the steps to the street. A half dozen other men followed, piling into a van parked at the curb.

  An unaccustomed sliver of fear sliced into him. So many! More than he’d ever faced. But he had to take them on. Takers had to be destroyed no matter what.

  He glanced at the windows facing the street. Nothing moved in their dark depths and he sensed no other presence. The chill on his skin faded. He scurried across the road to the side of the house. He circled the structure, stopping at the first window to peer in, but no one stirred inside. Luckily, the tall hedges on the sides of the house hid him from view if any neighbors happened to be looking out their windows.

  He vaulted over the backyard fence and edged up to the sliding glass doors on the patio. Nothing. He tugged on the door handle and it slid open. What luck. He slipped inside and listened, but no sound of inhabitants reached him.

  The living room housed a traditional Queen Anne sofa, loveseat and wingchairs in deep blue. Thick, off-white carpet softened his steps when he crossed the floor to the walnut wood staircase opposite the front door, then ran up the carpeted steps. He paused on the landing at the top. To the left lay a sitting room with a focal round table surrounded by book cases and chairs. A two foot high gold statue sat in the center of the table, topped by a milky blue stone. The ancient carvings on the piece clashed with the other décor. Some ancient artifact of Desmond’s, no doubt.

  He passed the sitting room and found a door on the right. He paused, listening, but the house remained silent. The chill of Takers dulled to a mere irritating breath against his skin. With one hand, he pushed open the door a crack. No one inside. He entered and rotated in a slow circle. Elaborate computer equipment lined the left wall as well as the area beside the door. A corkboard covered most of the right wall, and a tall window claimed most of the wall opposite the door.

  He crossed to the corkboard and read names of cities on cards with sticky notes posted under each one listing people’s names and government or military positions. What the hell? If Desmond had Takers in all these cities he was planning some massive campaign never seen in the realm of Takers and Dealers.

  A burning dread hit Rolf’s gut and exploded.

  The click of a downstairs door echoed up the stairway. He froze. Two male voices following the click sent him into action. He strode to the window and slid the bottom half up. Muffled footsteps on the stairs sent him scrambling through the aperture. Feet balanced on the sill, he pushed the window closed, and grabbed the top of the shutter to inch away to the right, out of view through the glass panes.

  A cast iron gutter drain ran down the corner of the house about three feet away. He gritted his teeth and leapt, scraping his knuckles on the bricks as he grabbed it. He clung there for a second, his feet clawing the pipe for a foothold. Finally, the toe of his right shoe found a crack in the mortar and he managed to clamber down the drain pipe. The last couple feet he dropped, landing on his feet at the side of the house. Nothing moved above him at the window. He pushed through the tall hedge surrounding the house and hurried away.

  What he’d found sent dismay surging through him. One person would not be able to fight such an organized group with Desmond leading them. Sakhet was right, something big was coming, and he stood directly in its path.

  ###

  Cara drove to Old Dominion University. No classes today, which left the campus deserted save a few random students meandering about, enjoying the clear fall weather. The noontime sun warmed the air and the students took advantage, wearing shirts with sleeves rolled up and shorts.

  She pulled into the parking deck across from the Ted Constant Center coliseum and hurried up the street to the Batten Arts and Letters building where Alistair had his office. The aroma of disinfectant, old paint, and pipe tobacco hung heavy in the hallways leading to her friend’s office. Her sandals flopped on the tiles to echo along the empty passage.

  Cara passed three open doors yet encountered no one, the atmosphere eerily hushed. She glanced over her shoulder a couple times, unnerved by the quietness and quickened her steps. At the last door on the right, she stopped and knocked on the frame.

  “Alistair,” she said, breathless. The door stood open, and he sat at his desk with his long legs crossed, reading. He wore his habitual Saville Row type suit with a crisp white shirt. Bookcases lined the walls, filled with neatly arranged stacks of books and ancient artifacts he’d picked up while actively involved in archeological digs years ago.

  “Why, Cara, what a pleasant surprise.” He rose from his chair, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. “Here, take a seat, my dear.” He adjusted one of his side chairs closer to the desk. “All right, then?”

  “No, not all right. I had to come and tell you what’s happened. We need some answers, and you’re the one who can make sense of this ancient stuff.”

  Alistair’s brow wrinkled. He returned to his position behind the desk and rested one hand on an orderly stack of books beside a perfectly aligned pile of papers. The only other objects on the polished desktop were a few picture frames and an onyx obelisk paper-weight covered in hieroglyphics. “You seem a bit knackered, my dear.”

  “I am. I had all that drama yesterday, and today, Tor’s on patrol and found a body completely depleted of Light. He says the body is less than twelve hours gone. Something bad is going on.”

  Alistair replaced his spectacles and patted the thin gray hair on the sides of his head. He stared at her without answering, but his lips twitched nervously.

  “And that’s not all. While I was at Amber’s store, a man came in. He was so out of place. I can’t explain it exactly except to say it was like he was from another time, almost courtly. When I came within three feet of him, I felt intense heat radiating out.”

  At this last sentence, Alistair’s eyebrows shot up and came back down in a crashing frown. “Blast, he’s a Dealer.”

  “Oh, yeah. In a big, huge, enormously gigantic way.”

  “Sarcasm isn’t necessary. I get your point. What else did he say?”

  “Not much really. He asked about a book on crystals and, when I gave him one, said it wasn’t what he was looking for. He left abruptly, and we didn’t see a car or anything.”

  “Didn’t you ask him anything useful, such as where he came from?”

  “No. We were too shocked when he turned up out of the blue.”

  “A beastly development. I was hoping Tor’s conjecture was merely fancy.” Alistair rubbed his temples.

  “To say the least, I’m worried. What if that stranger is the one causing the deaths?”

  Alistair’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt it. He’d hardly chat you up then take off. But I really must gen up on
this. Now I believe what has occurred is more than just a few unexplained deaths.”

  “You do?” Her heart picked up its pace. She didn’t want to believe this was organized serial killings, done by people who dealt the Light as she did. Such a scenario was too horrible to imagine.

  “I need to go home. Most of my research on our kind is there.” He gathered his keys and a file spilling over with loose papers.

  She stood and put a hand on his arm. “Can’t you tell me anything?”

  “Not yet.”

  “This is all very frightening. What are we going to do?”

  “I’m not sure, and it’s best not to speculate.”

  “Please, speculation would be better than nothing.”

  “This may be worse than I imagined.” He stuffed the papers and folders into a leather briefcase.

  “Alistair!” Cara tugged on his sleeve. Fear of the unknown chilled her to the core. She needed answers.

  “I’ll call you later.” He rushed out the door and left her standing in his office with her mouth open.

  ###

  Cara and Dusty returned from a run and her cell rang. She slammed the door behind her, unhooked the leash, and grabbed the phone.

  “Cara? Alistair here.”

  “Yes? What’s going on?”

  “I’m on my way over. Call the others to meet us.”

  “Alistair—” The phone went dead. “Dammit.”

  The phone rang again. She was ready to give him a piece of her mind, but it was a text coming in from Shana.

  Marc had another one in the ER! WTF?

  She fell back in her comfy chair and Dusty came to lick her fingers where they dangled over the arm. Another one. What was out there killing people? She texted back: You and Marc come over now—prof on the way.

  Shana replied: Half-hour.

  She called Amber and gave her the message, and leaned back in the chair, her head spinning with thoughts of dead, tortured bodies. Mixed up in it all were images of Emmie, Marc’s white face, and Rolf Van Harding. At least all this drama kept her from feeling sorry for herself about the breakup with Tom. She snorted at the idea such distractions could have a silver lining.