The Light Who Shines Page 5

  Father O’Brennen says, “Now, I wasn’t in that room, and even if I had been, I wouldn’t have seen your soul drifting toward the Plane of Light and then reversing direction. Nor would I have seen healing magic flow through your father’s hands into your body, restoring your life. But you were dead, and now you are alive. That I would have seen. When your grandparents heard about this, they assumed it was greater evidence of the evil nature of gifts. But I don’t believe that a soul would be excused from the Plane of Light without our Father’s permission. I believe all gifts are from God, and I must assume that he approved of the use of your parents’ gifts on that day.”

  Father O’Brennen pauses for a moment and offers me some more cookies. I take them, mostly to keep myself busy while my brain processes all of this. This is more information than I’d ever heard about my parents, and I treasure every word.

  Then Father O’Brennen says, “That’s not the only reason why I feel gifts can be used with the blessing of God. What have you been told about the day your parents died?”

  I stand up, stretch, and walk to the window. I tell him, and my own words seem to echo hollowly in the kitchen as if in accord with the loneliness I feel inside. “I was told that a group of Dark Vampires came upon them in an alley when they were on their way home. I was told that they were killed in bloodlust.”

  “Yes, that is true, but that is not the whole tale.”

  I lean my back against the window and bow my head, unable to watch Father O’Brennen tell this story anymore because the emotions I feel are already too intense. “I’d like to know what you know.”

  Father O’Brennen asks, “Did you know you were with them that day?”

  “No,” I murmur. I’m almost beyond surprise at this point. I suppose I might be in a bit of shock.

  He continues with his tale—my tale, really. “You were barely three years old and wrapped in a carrier on your mother’s back. It was very cold that night, so she had thrown a blanket over your head. Your father had been caring for an elderly woman, and because of her age, your mother accompanied him. So there you all were, walking home late at night through an alley. When the Dark Vampires attacked your parents, they pushed your parents against some buildings in the alley. Your mother landed in a corner where two buildings joined, so you were protected from the impact. Your parents were dead in seconds, but the corner you were wedged in kept you out of sight for a moment. A Daylight Vampire who was hunting these Dark Vampires that night came upon the alley just as the Dark Vampires were feeding on your parents. You started crying, and one of the Dark Vampires stopped his feeding, pulled your mother away from the corner, and uncovered you.

  “The Daylight Vampire had just approached and was about to intercede when the entire alley filled with a bright light. The Dark Vampires shrunk from the light, and their skin sizzled and burned black as though touched by the sun. They tried to run away, but the one who had killed your mother was too close to the light and instantly turned to ash. The Daylight Vampire picked you up and brought you to me.”

  Father O’Brennen pauses for a moment and then drops the real bomb. “He told me that the bright light that drove the Dark Vampires off and killed one of them was emanating from inside of you.”

  I am astounded. I peer at him sharply to assess his truthfulness before remembering who he is. The tale is just so outrageous that I can hardly believe it.

  He forges on. “The light coming from you burnt the Dark Vampires like they burn when they touch holy ground or when they’re exposed to the sun. When Daylight Vampires give into bloodlust and become Dark Vampires, Lilith calls their soul to her, and their bodies are simply unholy shells of who they were. Lilith operates them like puppets filled with the endless need for blood and death. Since all good is gone from them and only evil remains, they cannot stand the touch of that which is pure, good, and holy. Your gift forced them back and even killed one of them. So I believe that your gift must be a gift from God.”

  “You think my aura holds my gift? And that’s what hurt and killed the Dark Vampires?”

  Father O’Brennen says, “I don’t believe that an aura is just some miscellaneous light wavering on the outside of your skin, Bluebell. I believe that an aura is the part of your soul that extends beyond the boundaries of your skin. I believe the light from your soul hurt and killed them.”

  I stand now and pace the kitchen in front of the window. So many thoughts are swirling in my mind. “But what of this Daylight Vampire who saved me? He wasn’t burned. So then it follows that Daylight Vampires aren’t evil, right?”

  Father O’Brennen answers as though he has pondered this very question for untold hours. “My heart tells me no. I believe that Lilith has her mark on Daylight Vampires to entice them to do evil and give into their bloodlust. I don’t think that the Father will allow her to truly claim them until they actually do evil. Like all creatures that still have souls, they have the will to choose. It’s more difficult for them, and it takes more willpower, certainly. They can drink blood from people in a humane way by keeping their bloodlust under control and getting consent. I don’t believe it is a sin when the blood is freely given. After all, they require sustenance just as you and I do. It’s when they give into their bloodlust by killing during the process that they do evil. When they do give in to their bloodlust, they are choosing their path, just like you can choose your path and you could do evil or I could do evil.”

  I respond heatedly, “Well, it’s clearly unfair that they can’t die without Lilith claiming them. They have no chance to go to the Plane of Light. Their only choices are to live here endlessly, denying their bloodlust, or to give in and go to the Plane of Fire. They have to be good for so much longer than we do with so much greater temptation!”

  Father O’Brennen affirms my feelings. “I know,” he says. “I don’t have all the answers, Bluebell. I wish I did. Just remember that as long as Daylight Vampires are able to walk in the sun, they’re defying Lilith’s enticement, so in my opinion, all Daylight Vampires are to be respected in that regard.”

  Just when I feel good and angry at Father O’Brennen again for representing a God who gives inequitable graces, he goes and says something that makes me see him as human and fallible and wise all at the same time. I feel shame for my outburst now, and I think about what he said as I help him clean up our plates.

  As I bid him goodnight, I swallow back the heavy emotion I feel thickening my voice and glistening in my eyes. “Thank you, Father O’Brennen. Tonight you gave me more knowledge about my parents and my own history than I’ve ever had before.” He smiles at me and grips my forearms in a warm embrace. I turn and walk the short way home.

  Chapter 05

  Of Smoke and Shadow

  Bluebell Kildare: May 27, 2022, Red Ages

  I draw back the lilac shower curtain that surrounds my clawfoot tub and step out onto yesterday’s towel. Nuns aren’t exactly big on vanity, so I’m grateful they installed a mirror when they renovated the space. I take the corner of the towel I’m wearing and wipe the fog off the gold baroque mirror to brush my teeth. My teeth are smallish and straight, and I like to keep them a nice, bright white. My face is framed with dark brown hair that looks black when damp except for the one-inch wide blue lock that hangs from my forehead. It’s a pale blue, almost like a tinted white. When I was young, I tried to dye it dark brown like the rest of my hair, but the color wouldn’t take. It remained stubbornly blue. Sigh. At least it matches my eyes.

  My eyes are vivid blue, the color of bluebells, or so I’ve been told. I always thought that was why I was named Bluebell, not because I turned blue when I died at birth.

  As I assess my reflection, the bathroom light flashes on and off and on again. I hear a roll of thunder and wonder if the apartment will lose power today. A good storm is brewing. I shake off my ruefulness and decide to stick with the original story of my name. I glance at the birthmark on my shoulder in the mirror and release a deep sigh as I turn away. On my way to t
he bedroom, I peek out at the terrace and see an ominously dark sky dropping sheets of rain. Well, it’s going to be a dreary day.

  I enter my bedroom to dress. Calling it a “room” is perhaps giving it grander airs than it deserves. It’s more of a three-walled nook or an alcove for the bed. Sheer curtains do their best to separate it from the living room. It does have a nice, long closet running the length of one wall, which I barely fill with my meager wardrobe. My apartment is small, but it’s decorated nicely in bright jewel tones, and it’s my first real home.

  Sitting on the edge of the comforter, I start rubbing a mixture of coconut oil, lavender, and mint on my skin. I rarely wear make-up, so this is the whole of my beauty routine. My phone, which is still sitting on my nightstand, interrupts my calm with an annoying ring. I give it the evil eye, but it ignores me completely and keeps on ringing. I answer it begrudgingly with my oil-free left hand.

  “Hello?”

  “Blue? This is Jack.” His deep voice washes through me with all the richness of a fine brandy.

  “Jack, I know it’s you, on account of the fact that the phone says ‘Jack’ when you call. Plus now that I’ve been working for you for two years, I can finally remember the sound of your voice,” I tease.

  How nice of him to use the phone instead of the chimerator at this hour of the morning. Then again, maybe he thinks I look hideous before I’ve readied for work.

  “Blue,” Jack growls in warning, his voice becoming impossibly deeper, making my insides thrill at the tone.

  “Sorry,” I apologize, trying to suppress the image of his strong body from rising in my mind, “but you called me early. What can I help you with?” I suddenly notice that my right hand has begun to sensually massage the oil into my thigh. I shake my hand as if to erase the action. Bad hand! Oil and the sound of Jack’s voice do not mix.

  “The M.E. is ready to give his preliminary report,” Jack says.

  Suddenly my mood is brighter and I’m able to focus. “Great! I’ll head down there first thing. Actually, I’m glad you called. After the forensics team left yesterday, I found a piece of evidence at the scene. It’s an amulet with some sort of magical capabilities. I’ll hand it over to Gambino as soon as I can. The amulet has a piece of dark red thread caught in the clasp that matches a thread snagged on the boy’s fingernail. I checked with the bartender at the Cock and Bull Tap, and a guy wearing a cloak of the same color had just left as I entered.”

  Jack says, “Really?”

  “Really, and that is not all.” I relate to Jack the events that followed after I left the bar, and to say he is unhappy would be a gross understatement. As I finish the tale, Jack’s voice is thunderous.

  “Why didn’t you send an alert to me? Why am I only finding out about this now?”

  “Jack, you didn’t know any of the details of the case, and I knew Gambino couldn’t have gotten far. He was only gone five minutes.”

  Jack orders, “Next time, send an alert! Absolutely no excuses! Your safety is my responsibility, not Gambino’s!”

  I give Jack the only response I can possibly give. “Yes, Jack.”

  Jack is not finished yet. “Let me say this in a way that is absolutely clear. Anytime, ever, that you are shot at, the moment that you have cover, if not before, you must push the alert on your chimerator. Is that clear?”

  I swallow dryly. I know he’s right. “Yes, Jack,” I repeat.

  “Okay,” Jack says gruffly. “See what the M.E. has to say, and we’ll speak when you get into the office.” He hangs up abruptly.

  He really should learn how to properly end a call, but this is probably not the time to tell him so.

  I finish my modest beauty routine, comb my hair, and rifle through my dresser for some fresh underwear. I select a pair of bright fuchsia, French cut panties and a matching push-up bra, both decorated with tiny, black satin bows. I look at myself in the mirror and approve. My body is slim and long with modest curves, but curves enough. Maybe one day someone besides me will appreciate my lingerie. I frown at this thought as I hide my treasures with dark blue, straight leg jeans and a crew neck tee with a gray tone camouflage pattern. My outfit is finished off with boots, a black leather underbust vest, my gray pageboy cap, and, of course, my Glock and holster. My work clothes are dismally boring with the only exciting part remaining my secret.

  I grab an umbrella and bolt out the door. My boot heels click down three flights of stairs, reminding me I need to replace them with rubber soles. As I reach the marble tiled entryway, I’m stalled by a yellow sign blocking the door. “Caution! Wet paint,” it warns. Shoot, I have no time for this. I fly down the hall and out the back alley door.

  Not more than a few steps into the alley, I feel a presence behind me. As I whip my head around, I feel an iron clasp on my arm. I’m jerked backwards into the chest of a man. I catch just a glimpse of a black mask with two narrow eyeholes.

  I jerk my body forward in protest with my other hand reaching in back for my gun. A man’s voice scornfully laughs “too late” as he tosses my gun on the ground in front of me.

  I push violently backwards, then quickly pull forward, trying to break free from his grasp, but the cold edge of a blade at my neck stops me.

  “Be very still and very quiet, or I might enjoy myself too much,” a voice hisses in my ear.

  I immediately still my body, but my mind is racing. His left arm tightens across my chest like an iron band, keeping my arms still at my sides. Rain pours down on us, but I hardly feel it. I glance to the left and see he’s pulled me back into a corner so we can’t be seen from the street. To the right is the long alley, blocked on either side by a tall row of brick buildings. That way lies disaster. If I am to get free, I must go left toward the street.

  I quickly assess my options. With my gun lying useless on the ground and my arms restrained, I have only my mind and my gift to aid me.

  I push out my sixth sense and physically flinch away as I feel the evilness of his soul, but the sharp prick of the knife slicing into the skin of my neck stops my forward movement. A small stream of blood trickles down my neck, intermingling with the rain. Lightning flashes, followed by the low rumble of thunder. I can feel that the man is high with excitement, enjoying his power over me.

  I whisper, “You don’t want to do this. I am a Homicide Inspector with the Supernatural Investigation Bureau. If you harm me, trust me, you will be hunted down.”

  I feel for his response, but the fear and surprise that I expect to rise up in him are woefully missing. He knows with certainty exactly who I am. My dread increases. This is no random attack.

  He chuckles. “Oh yes, I want to do this very bad, in fact, but you know what they say: business before pleasure.” The sick, seductive tone of his voice makes me cringe. He digs his fingers into my arm and demands, “Yesterday you investigated the scene of a crime. Tell me what you found, and then I’ll let you go.”

  Those are his words, but the malice I feel from him belies those words. He has no intention of letting me go.

  He presses the edge of the knife in a little harder. I feel my heart stutter as visions of his gruesome work on the boy’s body rise in my mind. I know exactly what he is capable of. I blink to flush away the vision, and out of the corner of my eye I see a flicker of movement in the shadows of the alley. Does he have a cohort? Or is it someone who might help me? Best to keep talking until the hidden is revealed.

  I know the man is referring to the amulet, so I purposely avoid giving him this information. I whisper, “We found the body of a boy who had been hit by a car and damaged severely. Was that your handiwork?”

  A sneering voice responds, “Yes, you are a genius. So clever...”

  I see shifting in the shadows along the buildings closer to me now. Whoever is there is trying to stay hidden, and the overcast sky is helping. If the man gets distracted, I could grab hold of his knife arm and twist it or get out of his grasp and run. I could wrench away and use my umbrella as a weapon. I fee
l my hands trembling at my sides with the force of my desire to fight. It’s almost unbearable to just stand here waiting at the mercy of a man who has none.

  I need to discern if the third party in this alley is friend or foe. I push my senses out, trying to penetrate the gloomy alley in the direction of the flitting shadow. I feel a wild, predatory rage coming from that direction. It feels both savage and extremely focused. Suddenly, I’m unsure of an imminent rescue and wonder if something more dangerous comes that way. I could alert my abductor to the danger and perhaps get free, or I could bide my time and hope to get away when the distraction arrives. Beads of sweat form around my hairline, blending with the rain as I war with my options.

  The masked man digs his nails cruelly into my arm, and I realize I missed something he just said. He repeats himself. “What of the amulet?”

  I lie, “I didn’t find an amulet.”

  He hisses and jerks me farther back into the corner. “I don’t believe you.”

  Just then, I see the shadow separate from the side of the building and shoot into the air right at us. The masked man sees it as well, and his grip on my arms relaxes. I feel the knife blade back away from my neck just a smidge. I lift my left hand to grab on to his forearm, pushing with all my might to further the distance between my skin and the knife blade while swinging my right arm back and ramming the metal point of my umbrella into what I hope is his gut. Letting go of the umbrella, I bring my right arm up to push his knife away. I feel him recoil from the umbrella impact. I twist my body away, gripping his forearm with both hands, then let go and spin out of reach.

  Time seems to move in slow motion, and the creature from the shadows appears suspended in the air over us. I see long claws and huge, gleaming fangs in a gaping, hungry mouth. The masked man brings the knife up to defend himself against the new threat. I see the glowing green eyes of the creature and hear a vicious snarl as its fangs wrap around the man’s knife arm.

  I am all but forgotten, so I turn, running toward my gun on the opposite side of the alley. When it’s safely in my hand, I pivot, turning it on the man–only he seems to have disappeared into thin air, leaving the creature to snap and snarl savagely at the empty space where he had been. Now that the creature has four clawed paws on the ground, I see that he is in fact an enormous gray wolf, and blood is seeping out of his side.