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“Enough.” Meikoda held up a hand. A bolt of lightning shot out from her fingers, hissing and spitting like a welder’s torch.
Fala and Akando backed away, giving Meikoda a wide berth, a lesson Fala had learned within the first hour of having been dumped at Meikoda’s doorstep as a child. This was the angriest Fala had ever seen her grandmother.
“No more anger on this holy ground.” Meikoda leveled a scathing look at Akando. “We will perform the ceremony again when Fala is ready.”
Akando opened his mouth to protest, but when he looked at Meikoda he looked into the face of the high priestess, the Tsimshian, the Guardian of white magic, the most powerful shape-shifter on earth. He clamped his mouth closed. After a withering glance in Fala’s direction, he stormed away, his form melting into the darkness.
“All of you leave now.” Meikoda motioned to the council, and the women followed in Akando’s wake.
Now that they were alone, Meikoda’s annoyance melted within the folds of her wrinkled face. “Tell me now, Granddaughter. Will you ever be able to finish the ceremony?”
“I can’t force it,” Fala whispered back, wishing she could summon more than dislike for Akando. “I need some time.”
“You only have a week before the winter solstice and the Warrior Bear Maiden reaches her zenith.” Worry pulled at Meikoda’s brow as she pointed skyward.
Fala gazed up at the sky to glimpse the Warrior Bear Maiden. But that damn moon blocked the constellation. On a clear night, the seven brightest stars that sliced through the Maiden’s belly could be easily seen. Her people called this cluster of stars the Utsi Yonia, or Bear Mother’s Womb. It is the Big Dipper. Those seven stars were magical, and on the exact moment of the winter solstice, when Fala had lived four annual cycles of seven, or her twenty-eighth birthday, the Bear Maiden’s womb would open and the seven stars would form a conduit between heaven and earth, thus sanctifying her and transferring Meikoda’s power to Fala. This cyclic blessing would begin all over again when Fala married Akando and bore a female child. The thought of bearing a child and heaping such an enormous responsibility on her made Fala groan inside. It was an honor being the Tsimshian, but at the same time it was a curse.
As if Meikoda read Fala’s mind, she frowned, deepening the wrinkles in her brow. “And you know what will happen if you receive your powers and are not joined to Akando within twenty-four hours.”
“I know, I know.” Fala squeezed her eyes closed to shut out the world around her. It didn’t work. The oppressive heat of the fire and the cold air on the holy mound suddenly collided around her and pressed against her. She felt trapped by it as she said, “He’ll die.”
“Is that what you want?”
“It’s just that…he was never my choice.”
“Choice. Choice has nothing to do with it, and you know this.” She punctuated her next words with an angry poke at the air. “You were both born at the same instant. You know this binds your spirits and preordains your marriage to him. If you do not marry him, another Tsimshian will not be born. Would you reap those consequences upon the earth?”
Fala hated to think what would happen without a Tsimshian on Earth. The balance between good and evil would tip and the underworld would gain control. Innocent humans would suffer the most. “I know my duty,” Fala said with a touch of flint in her voice. “And I’ll do it, unlike my mother.”
At the mention of Fala’s mother, Meikoda seemed to age before Fala’s eyes. “Your mother always did what pleased her and thought of no one else.” She paused and appeared to be reliving something painful, then she spoke more to herself. “We’ll speak no more of her.”
Fala gulped hard as she stared at the woman whose blood ran in her veins, who had raised her, whom she loved and respected, and whose strength had supported everyone around her. She was the most formidable woman Fala had ever known, but Meikoda’s strength hadn’t been able to manage her only daughter. After Fala’s father had died twenty-three years ago, her mother had dumped Fala and her two younger sisters on Meikoda’s doorstep and left the tribe to never return. Fala knew Meikoda was not only experiencing the pain Fala had just given her by not finishing the ceremony, but also the failure of having lost a daughter.
“I’m sorry,” Fala said, her voice cracking as she untied the wedding robe and handed it to Meikoda. She wanted to say, Can’t you see I’m not like my mother? I’ve lived my whole life proving I’m nothing like her. I’d never turn my back on responsibility, or hurt those I loved, or leave three daughters in your care. Instead she remained silent.
Meikoda’s eyes narrowed on Fala as if she were trying to search inside her, heal that part of Fala that belonged to her mother and wasn’t perfect. “If only humbling yourself could take care of this.” Meikoda sighed loudly. “But it will not keep you safe. You’ll be tested.”
Fala stiffened beneath the gaze. “How?”
“Darkness is drawn to the light of the Tsimshian powers.”
“I know that.”
“But, you do not know what Tumseneha—” Meikoda pronounced the name slowly, Tum-se-ne-ha, adding a certain element of well-deserved contempt to each syllable “—is capable of.”
Fala flinched at the name and felt a chill come over her. Everything in nature and magic had an opposite. White magic versus black magic. Male spirit versus female spirit. Yin versus yang. The Tsimshian’s dark counterpart was Tumseneha, the enemy of every Guardian who had come before her, and now he would be her enemy. “What do you mean?”
Meikoda said, “He will go to any lengths to take your powers and turn them to his own evil plans. Your life is in danger when you are away from the tribe and the elders.”
Fala’s face contorted as she thought of Tumseneha. How many times had she listened to her grandmother’s narratives about the legends of his evil, how he lured Tsimshians to their deaths, how the darkness loved him, how he bent it to his will? He was the object of her nightmares through her childhood and beyond. They had occurred with more frequency now that she was about to inherit her powers. She knew that each nightmare was a mental battle between them in some paranormal dimension, and she had been able to wake up before he hurt her. But the possibility that he could be roaming the earth again caused a wave of terror to shudder through her.
“I thought you banished him long ago,” she said.
“Yes, but he is strong. White magic can last but so long against the powers of darkness, and my powers have diminished over the years. I’m certain he knows that I weaken every day. He could already have escaped his bonds and be plotting to kill you and steal your powers.”
“Wouldn’t we know if he came back?”
Meikoda shook her head. “Not until he strikes. I’ve been praying about it, but have had no visions.”
“That means we’re safe, right?” Fala asked, her voice hopeful.
“It means I am an old vessel and cannot remain the Tsimshian for much longer. The Maiden Bear’s magic needs a new vessel.” She looked hard at Fala.
Fala knew the Tsimshian was a yoke the eldest female in her family had carried since the Dawning. The weight of it covered Meikoda’s face now like a snowdrift. She had shouldered her own responsibilities as well as her daughter’s for two generations, but not without cost. Age had weakened her and she looked tired, more than ready to relinquish the powers to Fala.
“I promise you, I’ll marry Akando and take my place.”
Meikoda lifted her head in a dismissive gesture as if the outcome was still in the balance. “I pray so, Granddaughter.” She reached up and cupped Fala’s chin.
Fala felt the leathered fingertips against her soft cheeks, the current of power flowing from them. She placed a hand over the warm, gnarled flesh and looked into her grandmother’s sad face. She felt a deep pang as she said, “I’ll be careful.”
Meikoda nodded to Fala and withdrew her hand. She reached inside her robe and pulled a leather thong holding a silver amulet from around her neck. “Take this. If Tumseneha is near, it will warn you.”
“What is it?”
“A guarded secret among Tsimshians, a gift from our ancestors and spirit guides. It will help keep you safe, but you must never speak of it or its power.”
Fala tried to place the ancient amulet back in Meikoda’s hand. “But you should keep it.”
Meikoda pulled back. “I am not his target. You need it more than I.”
Fala ran her thumb over the smooth edges of the Warrior Bear Maiden’s image. The mighty bear’s mouth gaped open, teeth bared, showing her spirit and power, an unstoppable force in nature like no other.
“Put it on and don’t take it off.” Meikoda pointed at Fala’s neck.
Fala slipped the amulet down inside her shirt. She could still feel the warmth from her grandmother’s body radiating from the metal. It suddenly felt like a hundred-pound rock weighing down her shoulders.
“Go, now. I pray you return to me.” Her words held a wealth of past disappointments and sorrows. She gave Fala her back.
Fala ran toward the path that would take her down the sacred mound, chest aching, feeling as if her heart might burst. The sad thing was that with each stride toward freedom, she felt lighter, freer. She couldn’t wait to get back to the normal life she’d established, even if it was for only a few days. She was a homicide detective and a good one. She’d much rather analyze a murder scene than take her grandmother’s place as the Guardian. Truth was she wasn’t ready to give up everything she’d worked so hard to accomplish. Life rarely allowed for wants and wishes, and she knew that soon she’d be bound to Akando and take up the yoke of the Tsimshian. The thing that hurt the most was that her grandmother had sensed the same weakness in Fala’s mother as she had sensed in Fala. I’ll prove her wrong once and for all, and she’ll finally believe I’m nothing like my mother.
Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt when the theme song from Phantom of the Opera startled her. She pulled her cell phone from her jean pocket and narrowed her eyes at the caller ID: Unknown Caller.
She decided not to answer as she hurried down the path. It rang again and kept ringing. Then a strange text message appeared in the cell phone window: Answer phone. Highly classified.
Was this the station trying to reach her? She said, “Hello.”
“Miss Rainwater?” A deep timbre floated her name, the kind of strong, velvety-edged cadence a radio announcer would kill to have.
Somewhere in that honeyed voice, she picked up on a Maine accent, his r’s at the end of her name turning into a ha sound: Rainwatah. “Who the devil is this?” she asked.
“Special Agent Stephen Winter.”
“Why are the feds calling me?”
“Actually, I’ve called your partner, too.”
“Wait a minute! Joe’s on leave. His wife just gave birth.”
“And now he’s back at work.”
A smart-ass and a nice voice. Bad mix. “What’s the case?”
“There’s been an—” he paused a beat “—unusual murder at Rock Creek Park. I need your expertise on the case. I’ve already cleared it with your captain, your chief and the mayor.”
Special Agent Winter not only worked fast, but he had clout in the District, too.
“You’re needed there ASAP.” It hadn’t been a polite command, but his baritone had wrapped the words in silken syllables and offered them up like sensual presents. “How soon can you make it to Rock Creek Park?”
“Two hours.”
“Where are you?”
What agency employed this nosey, bossy special agent? And why was he requesting her on this case? She looked forward to getting those answers. She ignored his question and asked, “Where’s the body?”
“Near the jogging trail next to the zoo. Know it?”
“Yeah.”
“Take the service entrance.”
“Okay, be there soon.”
Fala closed the phone, glad she had thrown in the last word. Now maybe she could clear her mind. It felt as if she had somehow been invaded by the hypnotic richness of Special Agent Winter’s voice. There was something strange about it, forbidden, beguiling, almost tangible. She looked forward to meeting this guy. In fact, she could think of nothing better than to be working. It might take her mind off of her impending marriage. Her grandmother’s disappointed face flashed in her mind, and she knew that had been wishful thinking.
Stephen Winter waved a hand over the cell phone on his desk and it hissed off in the emptiness of his office, not a typical government-issue space. Crystals covered the walls of the pyramid-shaped room, and clear, processed ectoplasm bubbled within the space between the crystals, lending the room an appearance that it was alive and moving. The pyramid acted like a cosmic generator and gathered power from the earth’s core, and a beam of pure energy glowed down from the pyramid’s apex. At the moment the beam was a soft blue, the full moon affecting its power source tonight. When the pyramid was fully charged, as it was now, an alkaloid smell seeped from the ectoplasm. Usually the air vents took care of the odor, but not tonight.
Stephen sniffed and wrinkled his nose. He leaned back in his desk chair, snapped his fingers and Billie Holiday’s sexy voice came from the computer speakers on his desk. He and Billie had a long-standing love affair.
He closed his eyes, meditated on Fala Rainwater and focused all his kinetic energy on her. He felt the narrow parameters of his powers, controlled by the blood-binding cloaking spell he was under. It allowed him one clear portal, a direct connection to Fala Rainwater’s mind. His ability to read other humans’ thoughts had all but faded, a consequence that couldn’t be rectified until the cloaking spell was broken. But he couldn’t break it until he was done with Fala Rainwater. An unavoidable catch-22.
The crystals in the office magnified his bond to Fala a hundredfold, and a mental image of her channeled directly into his mind. This was reality unfolding and he was right in the middle of it. Not a bad place to be at the moment.
His chest thrummed at the sight of her, total traffic-stopping gorgeous. Tight jeans curved along her long, thin legs. A royal-blue sweater fell down and hugged her thighs. The way it clung to her shapely breasts, she could definitely turn male heads. And that straight black hair, bound by a braid as thick as his wrist. It hung down to her waist. Several dark strands had been left to drape her face, the glass beads in them shimmering ivory, silver and blue in the moonlight. Her skin radiated a gorgeous burnt sienna. She should have been cited as a menace to mankind.
He felt the blood rush to his groin, heard the seashell roar of his pulse in his ears. He bounced his leg nervously. Up and down. Up and down. He rubbed the stubble on his chin until his skin felt raw, trying to control this purely carnal response. He might as well try not to breathe.
He couldn’t stop his growing erection, nor could he manage the images of her burned into his psyche: her sexy body in the shower, every inch of her soapy skin wet and glistening; the hue of her long hair as it turned coal black beneath the water. Her high-peaked nipples hardening into little nubs when she was cold and stepped out of the shower. The ritualistic way she secured the towel around her, carefully stuffing it into the hollow of her cleavage. How she cocked her wrist downward when she brushed her teeth and the goofy faces she made at the mirror. The slow agony of watching her dress every morning, and the bittersweet torture of watching her undress at night. Day and night, the torment never let up.
He knew how she took tiny bites and chewed her food. The torturous way she let chocolate linger in her mouth, sucking on it until it dissolved. He’d watched the exact way she slept, curled into a fetal ball. Since he’d come under the binding spell, her life was an open book for him, and he’d paid the ultimate price for reading it. Just this morning he’d dreamed about her, and he awakened aroused and wet, and had to take a cold shower. He hated that his weak human side couldn’t control this desire for her. Somehow he had to get a handle on it. Feelings of any kind were dangerous when tracking a target.
A frown tugged at his lips as he forced his attention back on Fala in present time. Fala, whose lithe coltish strides hurried down the heavily wooded path. He watched her long, slender legs in action, her stiff spine and bearing that of a proud warrior queen. He listened to her breath moving over her lips, heard the soft tread of her booted feet on frozen leaves. She was leaving Patomani sacred ground, alone, and…unmarried. Better and better.
Now for her thoughts. The moment he entered her mind, he slammed into what felt like a brick wall. What had happened on the sacred mound? His kinetic power hadn’t been able to penetrate the holy ground of Whitemags—underworld slang for practitioners of white magic. He’d had to wait until the ceremony concluded. Had the old shifter, Meikoda, cast a protection spell for her granddaughter? He could still see Fala but couldn’t read her thoughts. He cursed his luck.
Up until tonight, before the old Guardian had interfered, Fala had been a perfect subject for autosuggestion. He’d used her own disinclination for her chosen mate and added a few mental prods. It had been easy to give her suggestions that she couldn’t marry the guy, and she’d diligently responded to them with very little mental resistance. It had pleased him that she wasn’t in love with this Akando character. It would make his task easier.
He had to give her credit. Her instincts when it came to choosing a mate were better than that of the bringers of her white magic. At least she knew Akando was all wrong for her. Her life force gave off a white, flaming aura. Akando’s essence hardly made a blip on the male radar. She’d incinerate him and blow away the dust. Was there any man on Earth up to the task of marrying the next Guardian? For a moment he envisioned holding her hand. She wore a ceremonial wedding robe, the same one she’d worn to the hallowed mound, and Stephen was also wearing one—not in this life.
His fingers clenched into fists, and he felt his hands tremble as he forced the vision out of his head. The soothing sound of Billie’s voice washed over him before another unbidden memory surfaced. When he had dipped into Fala Rainwater’s psyche, he’d felt the love she held for her grandmother, sisters and her people. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced. Fala Rainwater didn’t just love on the surface. Her passion went soul deep, consumed her very essence, burned in her core. It had staggered him and sadly reminded him of his own brothers. He hadn’t wanted to ever connect with her on such an emotional level. Too late, the damage was done.
He forced the memory into the darker shadows of his mind. What was love anyway but a burden to be carried through eternity?
Nothing mattered to him at this moment but getting close to Fala Rainwater. Now the dynamics had changed. If he couldn’t read and control her thoughts, it would make his plan harder. Yet not impossible. He welcomed thwarting the old Guardian’s attempt to save her granddaughter. The old Whitemag was on her way out anyway. She weakened by the hour.
He’d discover the source of the magic that was blocking Fala’s mind from his control, then he’d destroy Fala Rainwater.
Chapter 2
When Fala reached the entrance to Rock Creek Park, she checked her watch. Close to three in the morning. Exactly two hours from the reservation in Manquin, Virginia, to downtown D.C. She’d taken Route 17 to Route 1, a shortcut that avoided Interstate I-95.
She stopped long enough to flash her gold shield at the uniformed officer blocking the entrance.
He waved her through.
She turned onto the service road that would take her deep into the park. Moonlight reflected in the car mirrors and hit her eyes. That oppressive moon had followed her all the way into downtown D.C., riding her rear window like a gray, shifting phantom, blocking out the stars and the sky, almost blinding in its intensity. There was a menacing, almost tactile feeling to it, as if she couldn’t escape it anywhere she went. Usually she loved to gaze at the moon. Tonight was different. The pull was so strong, she felt it tugging at her insides.
She squinted at the narrow service road ahead of her. The park lights cast a sickly, yellowish glow over the pavement, spraying dim yellow diamonds over the black tarmac. Thick trees lined the road and the path that ran beside it. Their heavy boughs touched the eerie gray shadows cast by the moon. Up ahead, she spotted the lights and a long line of police cars and vans.
Nothing like an active crime scene to jumpstart her adrenaline. She grimaced as she pulled in behind a cruiser and got out, coffee in hand. The metallic scent of blood made her fingers tighten on the cardboard tray. The dry, frigid night amplified the smell, fouling the atmosphere, the odor sticking in her nose like glue. Sometimes having heightened senses wasn’t all that fun.
The dead of winter usually brought a drop in outdoor homicides. Frosty air somehow cooled the cravings of the deranged. But from working homicide for two years, Fala knew that violence increased during full moons. A killer had waited in this park and stalked a victim. She glanced up at the moon, spreading across the sky like a huge dirigible, the intensity and coldness of its silver glow almost annihilating in all its alluring beauty. Had this moon drawn the killer outside, heedless of the weather?
A tiny shiver hummed through her as she strode down the jogging trail, frozen leaves and mulch crunching beneath her soft kid boots. Several dog handlers combed the woods around the trail, but the Labs refused to cooperate. They cowered and pulled at the leads as if they wanted to get away. Far away. The handlers tried to scold the animals into control but with no success. What was wrong with them?
She stepped over the yellow tape that sagged around the scene. Joe was bent over, looking at something on the ground, running a hand through his thick, short-cropped dark hair. Wrinkled jeans rippled his thickset legs, and the shirttail of a flannel shirt poked out beneath an Army-issue parka. She’d never seen Joe without a suit, his “uniform,” as he called it. He looked as if he’d just thrown on any old thing he could find and driven there, another sleep-deprived casualty of a colicky infant. That was another reason Fala feared marrying Akando. She wasn’t ready for motherhood yet.
Dr. Harris Bergman, one of the medical examiners for the District, didn’t look much better than Joe. He bent over beside him, touching something on the ground. Dr. B was a frustrated M.E. Panic attacks in the O.R. during medical school had forced a change in plans and everyone knew it. He wore the failure in a permanent scowl on his face. The comb-over did nothing to discourage the negative first impression he presented, but Fala had always been attracted to underdogs, and she liked Dr. B. He wore a down vest over his white lab coat. It bulged in the middle from too many stops at Dot’s French pastry shop adjacent to his office. He habitually pushed up the thick glasses on his nose while he explained something to Joe.
As Fala stepped near them, she caught the scent that was driving the dogs nuts. The odor of human blood couldn’t mask it; a rare predatory smell, the feral-beast trace of copper, sour urine, and ancient mystic woods. A paranormal smell.
The evil essence crawled along her senses like thousands of spiders. Supernatural beings left a lingering aura much like humans left a detectible scent. The stronger the being, the more powerful the aura, and this creature’s energy hummed inside her like an electric current. It raised the hairs on the back of her hand and forearm. Her fight-or-flight response took over. Her heart raced and her blood vessels constricted. She almost dropped the coffee cups in her hand.
She righted them and swallowed hard, squared her shoulders, and forced her feet into motion. She had to keep this to herself for now.
Joe saw her, motioned her over. “About time,” he said, helping himself to a cup. “Thanks. You read my mind.”
“Didn’t have to. It’s written all over your drooping eyes. So what have I missed?” she asked with her usual at-the-scene drollness. She’d learned a long time ago that a little levity was necessary when working with death day in and day out.
