Touched by Darkness (2 page)

above the level of most six-year-olds. Even so, she

wouldn't let him play any of the fantasy games that

most young boys indulged in. No magic or

monsters. Those things too closely alluded to dark,

shadowy realms; to otherworld entities that were

very real and far more dangerous than any mythical

monsters, more terrifying than the average person

could even begin to conceive.

A chill shuddered down Kara's spine, but she

quickly shook it away. She had no more

involvement with the supernatural darkness, was

determined that their life from this point forward

would be normal. Except that Alex... She also

shook that thought away before it could fully

congeal.

Our life is normal,
she told herself fiercely. He
—

they—
were safe from such a possibility. She had

made sure of it, moving halfway across the country

to take up residence in Texas. She was fortunate

that she could use her medical skills anywhere.

And she liked the small town of Zorro, liked the

close-knit community, and the simple way of life.

She turned onto the main street of the town,

rumbling past the antique and second-hand shops,

home-style restaurants, hardware and feed stores, a

dress shop with dowdy, "mature woman" fashions

in the dusty display window. Traffic was sparse and

leisurely, matching the laid-back pace here.

Kara pulled into a parallel space in front of Sal's

Grocery and cut the engine. She reached over to

tousle Alex's thick brown hair. "Hey bud, we're

here."

He didn't look up from his game. "Just a minute,

Mom," he wheedled. "I'm about to score."

"Pause it," she advised. "I want to get our errands

done." She pulled the key from the ignition and

dropped it into her sweater pocket, then swung

open her door. "Come on."

She felt it the minute she climbed down from the

pickup. It assailed her, surrounding her like the

treacherous tentacles of a sea monster. Threatening,

suffocating.

The power.

She grabbed the top of the door, suddenly

struggling for breath.
No!
She was just imagining

it, still haunted by the terror of seven years ago.

Still raw from Richard, even now. No one in this

small west Texas town could wield such power.

Alex was too young, and
—
God willing
—
would

never learn to manifest it. She shouldn't have even

let herself think about it on the drive here. That was

the only possible reason she could be imagining the

sensation.

But the feeling persisted, furtive, horribly familiar.

The sensation of the power.
Adrenaline surged,

sending an awful tension through her body. She

slammed the door shut, leaned against the truck,

battling the beginnings of all-out panic. No, no...

no!

Her frantic denial didn't diminish the effect of her

pounding heart—or the insistent barrage of an

outside force. It was coming from across the street,

near Don Mason's feed store. Kara turned that

direction, determined to tame her runaway

imagination.

A man stood on the sidewalk in front of Mason's

Feed, tall, dark, unmoving. A long black duster

flapped around his jean-clad legs. The same breeze

blew his midnight hair around a sharp face with

chiseled features. His steady gaze fixed on Kara, an

all too familiar glow flaring into his eyes. No...

"Mom? What are you doing?"

She felt sweat trickling down between her breasts,

even though the day was chilly enough that she'd

worn a sweater over her shirt. The power was like

that, like an insidious fever that heated the blood,

destroyed balance and rational existence.

Reminiscent of hell.

"Mom!"

Still staring at the stranger, she saw his gaze shift

downward and to her left. Oh, God. Alex.

She looked at her son. He clutched her sweater,

concern on his thin face. Dark brown eyes, sandy

brown hair, and an expression so much like

Richard's, she wanted to cry
—
something she had

refused to do since about two weeks after his death.

Richard.
Her gaze snapped back up. The stranger

was striding toward them, staring intently at Alex.

The
power.
Here, in Zorro. Panic coalesced into

terror.

"Get in the truck!" she gasped, pulling Alex away

from the vehicle and jerking open the door. She

jammed her hand in her pocket, grabbing the keys.

"Get in! Now!"

He stared at her, obviously confused by her

irrational behavior. "But Mom
—
"

"Now!" she screamed, picking him up and heaving

him across the bench seat. She didn't give him time

to slide over, before she leaped in behind him. It

seemed like an eternity before she could right

herself from the sideways angle in which she

landed, while Alex wiggled out from beneath her.

She leaned out to grab the door. The stranger was

almost upon them, moving in steady strides. From

painful experience, she knew his seemingly

moderate speed was deceptive. Her heart battered

her rib cage. She fumbled the key into the ignition

as she swung the door shut.

The engine roared to life, the truck lurching

forward as she floored the gas before the gears had

fully engaged. The jolt snapped her head backward

painfully. For one horrible moment, she thought the

vehicle would stall. Frantically, she stomped the

gas pedal again. Tires shrieking, the truck shot

down the road, fishtailing and nearly crashing into

the right curb, before Kara spun the wheel and got

it under control.

She sped away, exhaust spewing out behind them.

She had to look. Was compelled to look. In her

rearview mirror, she saw the stranger, standing in

the road, watching them. Watching her. Watching

Alex. She began shaking uncontrollably.

And knew her bid for a normal life had just gone

up in smoke.

The terror pressed down on her, the memories

swirling through her frantic mind. Only she feared

memories weren't the only monsters she now faced.

But real flesh-and-blood demons.

Damien Morgan stared after the speeding truck,

noting the license plate, in case he met with any

resistance from the locals. Not that he expected to,

but he preferred to keep mind probes or

subconscious inducement to a minimum.

The surge of power he'd sensed when the blue

pickup had driven past him had taken him totally

by surprise. He watched the slender, auburn-haired

woman climb from the truck, thinking it came from

her. The power hadn't been very strong for a fully

evolved Sentinel, nor had it been shielded.

It took him a moment to realize the energy

emanated from the boy, which had been even more

of a shock. The
woman was obviously not one of

them, but the boy was. Yet there were no other

known Sentinels remotely close. They rarely

overlapped territories. Even so, Damien had sent

out a query before he left for Zorro, getting no

response. He had believed he was the only Sentinel

within miles.

Strange. A child with the power, left unattended,

without guidance. Unheard of. Unless... none of the

Sanctioned knew of his existence. And the

woman... she wasn't one of them, but she had

recognized Damien immediately. Only an initiate or

a conductor could have sensed shielded power.

Turning possibilities over in his mind, Damien

started toward Sal's Grocery. Since it was the only

grocery store in the vicinity, most of the town's

residents would shop there. The employees would

surely know the identities of the auburn-haired

woman and the boy.

Glancing around to be certain no one would see

him, he turned his palms upward, visualizing what

he wanted to manifest. A silk scarf whispered

across his skin, in a gold color that he knew would

complement the woman's coloring. He went up the

cracked cement steps to the store.

A chime tinkled when he opened the door. Inside it

was overly warm, but wonderful aromas permeated

the air: coffee, cookies, cinnamon and other spices.

A checkout area with an ancient cash register stood

in the right corner. Old-fashioned glass cases lined

the first fourth of the store, displaying meat and

cheese on one side; baked goods on the other.

Further down was a small produce section, then a

dairy case.

The limited floor space was crammed with shelves

piled with all sorts of goods. Toward the rear, tools

and work clothing hung on the walls, indicating

this was more of a general store than a grocery.

Damien walked down the right aisle, his booted

feet resounding on the wooden floor.

Halfway down, a man was stacking burlap bags of

flour against the wall. He glanced at Damien, then

took a closer look, apparently pegging him as an

outsider. The man straightened and stepped

forward. He was tall and gangly, with a gaunt face

weathered by years of hard work, and a shock of

white hair. He wore a blue and white plaid flannel

shirt, tucked carefully into faded work jeans.

Damien picked the man's identity from his mind.

He was Sal.

"Can I help ye find anything?" Sal asked in a gruff

voice with a strong country twang.

"You can help me find the owner of this scarf."

Damien held up the gold silk rectangle. "She

dropped it when she was getting into her truck.

Drove off before I could catch her. She was driving

a blue Chevy pickup. She had auburn hair and a

young boy was with her."

Sal's brow furrowed as he took the scarf in his

rough hands. "Well, now. Sure sounds like Dr.

Cantrell ye just described. But I can't see her

wearing nothing like this."

"Dr. Cantrell? Does she have a son?"

"Sure does. His name's Alex, and he's real bright."

Sal considered a moment. "I guess I'll keep this and

ask the doctor if it's hers the next time she comes

in. She shoulda been by, if she was in town this

morning. She usually does her shopping on

Saturdays."

"Does she?" Damien smoothly retrieved the scarf

before Sal could get a firm grip on it. "I'd rather

return it myself. Thank you, though."

A dull red suffused Sal's face. Damien detected

high blood pressure. "I woulda seen she got it."

"Oh, I'm sure you would have," Damien hastened

to assure the old man. He sent a small burst of

calming energy. "But since I'm now a resident of

Zorro, I'd rather give Dr. Cantrell the scarf myself.

It's a good way to meet a pretty woman, if you

know what I mean." He winked conspiratorially at

Sal. "Oh, unless she's married."

Sal didn't take the bait, instead giving Damien a

thorough once over. "New resident, eh? What line

of business are you in, Mr—?"

"Morgan. Damien Morgan." Damien extended his

hand, and Sal slowly accepted it with his own

callused hand. "I'm a crime writer for
Society

Magazine."

"A crime writer? Not much crime around here. Hey,

you investigating those murders over in

Fredericksburg? Naw, you'd be staying over there if

ye was."

There was more criminal activity in Zorro than the

old man could possibly know. "I don't really

investigate murders." Damien lied. "I leave that to

the authorities. I do write about them, though, and I

needed a quiet place to live, where I could find a

slower pace and focus on writing."

Sal considered this. "Zorro ought to be slow

enough for ye. Not much going on. Where you

staying?"

"The Magnolia Bed-and-Breakfast, for the time

being."

Sal nodded. "Belle Willams will take good of ye

there."

"So where can I find Dr. Cantrell?" Damien

persisted. "I'd like to meet her and return the scarf."

"Well, I don't give out other folks' addresses, not

without their say so. But you can catch Dr. Cantrell

at her clinic on Monday. She's usually in from nine

to four, and sometimes later, if she's needed. It's a