Brush of Shade (21 page)

Shade tried to
take my hand. I thrust it behind my back. Confusion widened his eyes and
softened the tension around his parted lips, making him look younger and
vulnerable. He moved to the end of the sofa and stood sideways to me with his
gaze on the front door. He cleared his throat and said in a flat voice,
“Although the depth of intimacy between us enhances my awareness and thus my
ability to protect and serve, I won’t demand that level of sacrifice from you.
This is a professional relationship between a guard and his
protectee
.”

“So it’s like
having a GPS strapped to my body twenty-four-seven? What if I’m with someone?”

“Olivia, stop
this. We can establish parameters,” Aunt Claire said, employing her mediating
tone.

I rounded on
her. “This would never have happened if you’d explained things to me. If I’d
come here prepared instead of thinking I was unstable, Shade wouldn’t have made
this awful choice.” I looked for Shade and discovered that he’d made a tactical
retreat to the hearth.

“See what I mean
about uncontrolled emotional displays,” Sister Willow said to Shade. “I cringe
to think of how this will affect you over the years. Pray you don’t bring shame
down upon our clan.”

“That’s it?
That’s all you’re concerned about? What about your grandson’s life?” I said, my
voice losing its respectful tone, despite Aunt Claire’s cautioning hand on my
arm. Sister Willow’s reply was lost beneath Shade’s angry current of words.

“Disagree with
my choice that’s fine, but don’t criticize Olivia. Have we grown so heartless
that our elders feel no remorse for condemning a shocked, grieving young woman
for her less than stoic face? Is it little wonder that Ethan made provisions to
safeguard his daughter from the valley? While we’ve enjoyed a safe, comfortable
life, we’ve forgotten the lessons of our past. Hardships plagued our people for
years. New alliances brought confusion. Through it all, we had the heart of our
people to sustain us. Bereft of family and home, Olivia is lost. Thrust into a
strange new world, she is scared and bewildered. Despite her anger towards me
and without regards to the responsibilities inherent in her position, she would
argue vehemently for my better interest as my friend, as the Pepperdine’s have
always done.”

Sister Willow
held up a weathered hand and Shade fell silent. “When the young must remind
their elders of their first lessons, it’s time to accept their wisdom. Olivia,
I judged and made assumptions without truly knowing what it is like to have
journeyed your path. If you would be so kind as to share, so I may grow?”

I sat up
straighter, my hands pressed to my chest. “You want to join with me? I’m
honored, but I’m a little tired.”

“You’re too
polite, young lady. Honored is far from what you’re feeling. Horrified,
embarrassed amongst other emotions would be far more accurate. I won’t pry
further than you can comfortably handle. Allow me to see us through the eyes of
one who has suddenly had to rewrite her past while struggling with an upended
present.”

“It appears
you’ve got the general sense already,” I replied, fairly certain that I wasn’t
ready for this encounter. It was different with Shade. I was comfortable with
him, where she was a stranger and rather intimidating. I preferred to keep my
thoughts to myself, thank you very much. All well and good except when destiny
pegged you to be the next warden for people who redefined the meaning of
privacy.

She smiled
encouragingly. “Scoot over so I may sit next to you on the sofa. When you’re
ready, place your hands on mine.”

My mouth went
dry. Aunt Claire nodded encouragingly while Shade appeared tense. I wondered if
he was still upset that his grandmother didn’t support his life choice. My
second option for his watchfulness had more to do with his claim that I’d
somehow retrieved one of his memories. At the moment, the latter of the two
choices caused me the greatest unease.

Given the heated
discussion flying back and forth in my living room a few minutes earlier, I
expected to feel residuals still in the emotions Sister Willow shared.
Tranquility seeped deeply into my being, easing months of burdensome tensions.
Who needed meditation or medications when you had access to this? For the third
time in the same day, I went limp.

“Thank you,” I
said airily.

“Claire, you
should’ve brought her to us. A body cannot heal properly in this desynchronized
state,” Sister Willow scolded.

“My niece had
too much to deal with already.”

“Had Ethan not
been so headstrong, the clan could’ve eased her stresses. No, don’t tense,
Olivia. May I try more?”

My heart jumped
to my throat.
Calm.
Sympathy.
Welcome. Joy. Sister Willow’s emotions, I realized, recognizing the progression
to a deeper connection. Thoughts, though, were a different matter. The idea of
being that exposed bordered on horrifying.

“I heard Mark
Cassidy blindsided you yesterday,” Sister Willow said in an easy-to-listen-to
conversational tone. “That must have been quite the shock.”

No kidding. It
was going to take time and some serious therapy to get over the horrible
feeling of immobility, Mr. Cassidy’s avid gaze boring into mine, and the
helplessness of being so near the brink of madness.
Compassion.
Outrage.
I recoiled. Reassurance deftly calmed.

“That was
sneaky,” I said as it hit me that she’d just experienced my memories. “Is it
always like that, easy access and no one the wiser?”

“You mean, can
we at will access your mind? A handful of us can, but we don’t. And no, it
isn’t easy especially if the Whisperer is consciously trying to keep secrets.
The Pact forbids connections without an invitation first. Only the warden has
the authority to override the Pact for the good of the people.”

Sister Willow’s
rough hands squeezed mine. “I realize your introduction to our community hasn’t
unfolded in the manner that your aunt intended. On behalf of our clan, I offer
the hope of a better tomorrow. There is one more matter that I’m loath to
pursue. If it weren’t so important, I wouldn’t put you through another remembrance.
My grandson is convinced that a Whisperer was involved in the death of your
parents. He believes the individual attempted an unsanctioned link with a
minor.”

“I think someone
touched my face.” I shuddered even under the influence of her calming presence
and melodic tones. “A haunting voice hides in those memories. It frightens me.
I don’t know if I can do this,” I admitted. A gentle puff of air skimmed my
cheeks.

“We are with
you. Nothing will harm you,” Shade reassured in that warm, melting voice that
saturated my being.

Fear?
Hormones?
Soul
Oath?
Don’t go there.

“I must warn
you, Olivia, that in order to get to the truth, it may be necessary for you to
be immersed so deeply into your memories, that it will be as real to you as
that night. Once I identify your assailant, I will confront him directly for my
answers,” Sister Willow said in a cold, hard voice that flashed across the
living room, stretching curtains away from their rods and batting the ends of
the roller blinds against the windows as though they sought escape.

I shrank against
my aunt’s side. Shade glided closer, took one look at my expression, and
stepped around the coffee table to resume his seat.

“Sorry, I needed
to release some emotional charge before deepening the joining.
Truly.
she
is her father’s
daughter. Don’t look worried, dear; I’ve survived decades of
joinings
with vibrant personalities. The stories I could
tell of your father’s training days,” Sister Willow said, smiling warmly at me.

“Is this
absolutely necessary?” Aunt Claire asked. “Every time Olivia relives that
night, it undoes so much of her progress.”

“Her first-hand
accounting is crucial for our investigation. Now that she is aware of our
abilities, we can help with the trauma. The choice though is hers.”

“Maybe this will
stop my nightmares,” I said to my aunt. Realistically, I’d settle for more
pieces of that night to fill in the gaps.

“Draw me into
the joining, so I can be there for her,” Aunt Claire said.

Nails clicked
against the marble top of the cane.

“I can handle
it,” Aunt Claire insisted.

Fingers slid
down the cane, stopping when they settled into the worn indentations in the
wood. Sister Willow circled her thumb over the dark spot that had been stained
by the oils from her skin. “Claire, don’t ask such a thing of me. If it wasn’t
imperative that we discover the truth of that night, I wouldn’t allow Olivia to
go through that horror.”

 “As the
acting warden, I can’t hide from the truth.”

“Ladies, if I
may offer a compromise? Shade said. “Allow me to act as a filter. I can blur
the gruesome details.”

“Grandson,
you’ve never applied yourself to this field. I must caution you that the
emotions released in a remembrance joining can disrupt the meditative state of
the best of us. Given the distasteful nature of what we will embrace, I expect
you to use common sense and withdraw before your emotions funnel into Olivia.
Understand this isn’t a healing journey for any of us. Our task dictates the
direction of my focus. We seek details necessary for the identification of
those responsible for murder. Endeavors of this nature require techniques that
took me years to master. Don’t attempt to force open a memory no matter what
you believe it will reveal. Finally, deeply personal moments such as those
surrounding Ethan’s passing belong to Olivia not the valley. Unless necessary
to our task, I ask you to give her privacy. Should at any moment it become too
much for Claire, I expect you to do your job no matter how much you desire the
truth.”

“Claire will be
comforted,” Shade replied, but his worried eyes were upon my face.

Sister Willow
touched my hand. “Start by setting the scene.”

The only way I
could get the painful words out was by closing my eyes. “The car had flipped
several times. My left leg was being crushed. I had a concussion. It’s quite
the jumbled mess inside my head.”

“You saw
someone. He reached inside the car,” Sister Willow prompted when I hesitated.

While her mental
touch folded a blanket of reassurance across my wounded mind, the powerful pull
of her words latched hold to draw me into the memory. The details were sharper
than usual. That should make me happy. After all, I’d been searching for
answers for months. Just look and get it over with. No matter what Sister
Willow had said, the memory couldn’t be worse than the actual event. Dad was
stirring, his slurred voice calling for mom. Someone had knocked out the back
window. Where was he now?

***

“Ignore the
woman, she’s choking. She’s as good as dead,” a male voice said
dispassionately.

“Mom!”
A sob ripped out between my clenched lips. “Help her.
Please!”

Physical voices
intruded, overlaying memory with the present. Details smeared and words tangled
together.

“This goes
beyond cruel,” Aunt Claire cried.

“I can unveil
the truth she fears to view,” Sister Willow said firmly, yet kindly.

“Not at this
price,” Shade argued.

“Bring her out,”
Aunt Claire ordered.

Safety.
Calm.
I fought back, not
wanting what Sister Willow was offering. I was close to an answer. “I can do
this,” I said, straining to hold the memory in place. “I need to.”

“Together then,”
Sister Willow replied. “The hand is coming closer. Show me the scene. Let me
hear his voice.”

The authority
inherent in her voice shoved everything not related to her command to the
fringe of my awareness. Curtains parted, spilling light and sounds into a dark
place that made me shudder and cry out in terror.

The harsh glare
of the flashlight triggers mini explosions of pain that rocket around inside my
skull. I scrunch my eyes and swallow back the bile in my throat. I can make no
sense of what is happening to me.
Concussion?
Dying?
Something—I can’t see because of the light stabbing my eyes—smashes against the
windshield, cracking and shattering the glass beneath repetitive blows that
expose more of my face to the stiff, damp breeze. A word or two spoken in Dad’s
urgent voice penetrates my confusion. Dread freezes my chest. We have to
escape. I thrash back and forth, jabbing my side into metal, sobbing as I try
to pull my hands free.

“Get away from
me. Stop! It burns. I can’t . . . Dad!” I scream.

“Let her go.
She’s just a kid. She doesn’t know anything,” Dad pleads. “Don’t. Come at me
direct. No!”

For Dad I try to
be strong. One by one childhood memories are ripped open by words of pain that
spill, dissect, and toss aside bits of my life. Frustration that quickly turns
to anger prowls the recesses of my brain. Screams reverberate off metal. No
matter where in my life I go to hide, the sinister voice pounces, leaving me in
a maddened tangle that I must sort out or be caught.

Just a fraction
of a second ahead of the plundering voice, I tumble out of a memory of Danny
teaching me how to hold a baseball bat and into another random memory. Oh, God,
not this one. Before I can escape, the ruthless voice clamps hold and sucks me
in deeper. Danny’s dead.
Dead.
The shattering memory
keeps churning on the repeat cycle, killing me in pieces.

“Stop!
She doesn’t know anything. I’ll tell you what you
want. Just let her go,” dad yells.

 The
burning hand grips his face. I shriek, “No, don’t touch him.” I feel his body
clench and shudder, hammering my side into metal. Pain gouges and slices.
Frantic, I twist and tug to pull my arms free, scraping open cuts until sweat
bathes my body and spots dance before my eyes. Something inside the car shifts,
allowing me to slide my right hand free. But my hand doesn’t want to move quite
right. I stare at it, not comprehending. Pain curls about me, blanketing Dad’s
horrific moans.