Shadowed Page 3

  “You shouldn’t be helping that dog of a man,” Mehoo-Jimmy snapped. “All he does is take, take, take. Probably doesn’t even care that you’re working yourself away to nothing, trying to keep his worthless hide from being nailed to the nearest tree.”

  “Of course, he cares,” Nina protested. “He feels terrible about what he did. He just hasn’t been the same since Mom died. You know that.”

  “That was twelve years ago, Nina. The death of a loving spirit is a terrible thing, but you can’t use it as an excuse forever.”

  Mehoo-Jimmy was only saying what she herself had often thought, but Nina couldn’t help the surge of guilt she felt when hearing it spoken aloud. Her mother had begged her to take care of her father when she was dying, and Nina had done her best, though she was scarcely twelve at the time.

  Cooking and cleaning the house as well as doing her homework had been a heavy burden at such a young age, but somehow, she had managed. And no matter how much she might hate her father’s drinking and gambling, she could never forget all the good times. The way he and her mother would laugh and dance in the little kitchen to the tunes coming out of the scratchy old radio… The way her father with his charming Welsh accent and deep blue eyes—the one feature Nina had inherited from him—would tell silly jokes and tickle her mother until she laughed so hard she cried…

  “They were so in love,” she murmured, looking down at her hand again. “I guess…I can’t blame him for missing her so much.”

  “He had a problem with gambling fever a long time before he met your mother.” Mehoo-Jimmy sighed and put a withered hand to Nina’s cheek. “Just don’t work yourself to death for him, eecho. He’s had his life, and he used it badly—don’t let him take away yours too.”

  “He’s not,” Nina said a touch defensively.

  “Yes, he is.” Mehoo-Jimmy sounded sad. “Look at you—you’re halfway through your twenties, and you still have no house or family of your own. You ought to find a good man to love you—someone to cook my special fry bread for.”

  “You do make good fry bread,” Nina admitted, glad to change the subject. “I’d eat it all day if it wouldn’t go straight to my behind and hips.”

  Mehoo-Jimmy made a disgusted hmmph sound. “You’re too skinny as it is, eecho—you ought to be eating a whole plate of fry bread every day.”

  “The top of me, maybe. But this…” Nina patted her too-generous hips and ass. “This is never getting skinny, no matter what I do.”

  “Nothing wrong with having wide hips,” Mehoo-Jimmy said with certainty. “It shows you’re fertile. The right man will come along and want to put a baby between those hips.”

  “Mehoo!” Nina shook her head, laughing in embarrassment. Mehoo-Jimmy was known for speaking her mind, and she didn’t mince words. Half the time, Nina had no idea what she was going to say next.

  “It’s true,” her adopted grandmother insisted. “Just you wait and see.”

  “Well, I promise if I find a man who actually wants a girl with big hips and a wide behind, I’ll bring him home and feed him your fry bread—how about that?” she said.

  “Hmmph,” Mehoo-Jimmy said again, frowning. “I’ll believe it when I see it. You don’t have time to find a man with all the hard work you do.” She narrowed her eyes at Nina. “The best I can do is send out a prayer that the man will find you.”

  For some reason a shiver went down Nina’s spine. She thought again of the man in her dream, the one whose face was always shadowed.

  “Don’t do that, Mehoo,” she begged. “I’m fine just like I am, really.”

  “We’ll see.” The old lady turned her attention back to her half eaten burger. “We’ll just see.”

  “Well, right now, I see it’s time for me to go.” Nina glanced at her watch. Actually, it was past time. She hopped up and dropped another kiss on Mehoo-Jimmy’s wrinkled cheek. “Love you, Mehoo. I’ll see you later.”

  “Good-bye, eecho. Be well and safe. And thank you for lunch.” The old lady smiled and shooed away a cat before taking another bite of the burger with her big false teeth.

  Nina waved as she slid behind the wheel of her car. Time to go to her shift at Massage Envy, which would last until nine. She loved working at the museum, but it did make for some long days.

  She sighed wearily as she took a back road that led to South Tampa. The long hours had never bothered her before, but back when she first started her demanding schedule, she hadn’t been woken at least once a night by the dreams. And once she woke up, she couldn’t get back to sleep. Couldn’t get him out of her head.

  How much longer could she keep going like this with little to no sleep? And why couldn’t she stop having the dreams?

  Not for the first time, Nina wondered uneasily if something was wrong with her. Was she having some kind of mental breakdown? Going crazy?

  Of course I’m not going crazy, she denied to herself uneasily. Everything is going to be fine. I’m sure tonight I’ll be able to sleep without dreaming. Tonight will be the night the dreams finally end.

  But she didn’t believe it—not really. The man with the shadowed face was too real to just fade away like that. He wanted something from her—something Nina was afraid to give.

  But what?

  Chapter Three

  Sylvan frowned as he stared down at the male lying on his exam table. According to Saber, Reddix had collapsed with no warning. Saber had thought it might be due to exhaustion and truly, anyone seeing the dark circles and ragged appearance of the Touch Kindred warrior would say the same. But Sylvan’s tests, performed quickly and discretely while the male was unconscious, said otherwise. The RTS Reddix suffered from was extremely serious—obviously more so than even his best friend knew. Sylvan wondered if Reddix himself had any idea of his dire prognosis.

  He sighed and shook his head. Well, there would be time enough to tell him. In the mean time, he would let Reddix rest as long as he could. Not that the rest appeared to be doing him much good. As Sylvan watched, the big male body jerked and his eyes tracked restlessly under his lids. Was he registering the emotions of others even in his sleep? Or was he simply dreaming?

  There was no way to know…

  It took a long time to find the swamp witch’s hut. Hours of slogging through the putrid water coated in yellow and purple algae, pushing the low hanging branches and vines out of his way. Most of the vegetation on Tarsia was bright orange and yellow, colors that reflected the light of the planet’s red sun and hurt Reddix’s eyes, which were made more sensitive by his RTS. Still, at least he was away from the crowded city, away from the constant intrusive buzzing hum of emotion that always surrounded and invaded him.

  The fact that the rotten smell of decay, the fetid heat, and the stinging flies that kept buzzing around his hooded face were preferable to his own cozy home on the outskirts of the city told Reddix volumes about himself. The RTS really was getting worse. If he didn’t get a handle on it soon…

  But he refused to think about that. Up ahead, he saw a wooden shack with a wisp of purple smoke coming from its crooked chimney. That must be the place.

  Slogging through the blackish-purple mud, he came around to the front of the ramshackle place. But just as he was raising his hand to knock, a voice called his name.

  “Reddix…Reddix, son of Redan, second in command of the Clans of the Touch Kindred.”

  Reddix frowned. The voice seemed to have come from inside the shack, but he couldn’t feel any emotions coming from the low wooden structure.

  “Come in,” the voice, a low, feminine contralto continued. “Come in, I’ve been expecting you.”

  A shaft of unease pierced him. How could she be so close without him feeling her emotions? Generally when he was within twenty yards of a person, he began to feel what they felt as sensations against his skin. The closer he got or the more people there were, the more magnified the feelings. Touching intensified it even more, which was why Reddix went out of his way to keep his hands to himself.
He wasn’t touching her, but from the sound of her voice, the witch was just on the other side of the door. Why couldn’t he feel her?

  “All will be explained, Warrior. Don’t fear—step inside.”

  Despite his unease, Reddix had come too far to turn back. Slowly, he pushed the door open and stepped into the hut. It took a moment for his sunlight-dazzled eyes to adjust to the gloom, but what he saw surprised him.

  Sitting by herself on a rough wooden stool was a woman with long, white-blonde hair and piercing yellow eyes with strange, vertical pupils. She was wearing a flowing black gown, but despite her plain dress, she had lovely, delicate features and long white hands. On one of her fingers was a large ring with a dazzling pink jewel. It flickered in the firelight as she moved, stirring something in a large pot.

  “Who are you?” he asked suspiciously. “I’ve come to see Xandra.”

  “I am she.” She widened her slitted yellow eyes at him and laughed. “Yes, that’s me—the swamp witch. What? You thought all witches had to be old and ugly? Sorry to disappoint you, Reddix, my dear.”

  “I just thought…never mind.” He shook his head. “Why can’t I feel you? Your emotions…”

  “Ah yes, your RTS. Such a nasty affliction.” She shook her head and made a tsking sound. “As to that, you can’t feel me because I’m shielding myself. I can do that, you see, because I have a Touch sense myself—the same as any male of our Clans—and I’ve learned to use it.”

  “What?” Reddix frowned. “But a female can’t have the Touch Sense. That would be—”

  “Unnatural? Blasphemy? A crime against the Goddess and Nature?” Her slitted eyes flashed. “Yes, that was what your father said when they cast me out. Do you think I live out here by choice?”

  “I…don’t know.” Reddix shook his head. “But I thought…I heard you have powers.”

  “Oh, I do. Above and beyond my oh-so-unfeminine Touch Sense.” She smiled mockingly. “And fortunately for you, I’ll be happy to use them for your benefit.”

  Reddix frowned. “I thought it would be harder than that. Why would you want to help me, just like that?”

  “Because I feel for you, dear boy.” She put one long white hand to her bosom. Looking more closely, it almost seemed to Reddix that her fingers had extra joints. But that couldn’t be—could it?

  “I know all about you, you see,” the witch continued. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you for years—ever since you were diagnosed, in fact.”

  The skin between his shoulder blades began to crawl. The witch was lovely on the surface but there was something under her smooth, beautiful face that wasn’t right. Something as putrid as the swamp she lived in.

  “I should go.” He started to turn, but her words stopped him.

  “What a pity—going before you get your cure?”

  Slowly, Reddix turned back. “You can cure me? You can reverse my RTS?”

  “I can’t reverse it, and I can’t give you the ability to give a female the Deep Touch—let’s be perfectly clear about that—I don’t believe in false advertising.”

  “Then what can you do?” Reddix demanded.

  “My dear Reddix, I can mute it. I can make it so you never have to feel the emotions of anyone around you again.” She rose and came to stand before him. “Now wouldn’t that be a relief?”

  “I—”

  “Just imagine,” she continued, tapping him lightly on the chest with one long nail. “Having a conversation with another person without feeling their emotions crawl all over you like slugs. Their curiosity pricking you like a thousand needles, their contempt coating the back of your throat like vomit. Or if they’re female…” She reached up and threw his hood back, baring his face before Reddix could stop her. “My, my, yes…” She nodded approvingly. “I can only imagine what you feel when females look at you—you’re a pretty one, my warrior. Too pretty for one with a condition like yours. Is that why you did that to your face?” She reached up to brush his cheek with her fingertips, but Reddix jerked his head away.

  “Don’t touch me.” He took a step back and pulled the hood back into place.

  “But why, my dear Reddix? Surely you can’t feel my emotions no matter how lascivious they are—I told you I’m shielding.”

  “Shield all you want, just don’t touch me.”

  It was true he couldn’t feel the witch’s emotions but when she got close, he could sense they were there, barely held in check by the invisible barrier she had somehow erected between them. It was as though she was holding a bag of live vipers and the sides of it were bulging—he didn’t want to get bitten when it finally burst.

  “I came here for help—not to be mocked,” he said stiffly.

  “And as I said before, I’ll be happy to help you.” She smiled. “For a price.”

  This was more like what Reddix had expected. “Name it, witch,” he growled. “And I’ll tell you if I’m willing to pay.”

  “Oh, you’ll pay all right.” She smiled at him, her yellow eyes flashing again. “You’ll pay because you have no choice.”

  Reddix nodded. “I have a good amount of credit saved…”

  “I won’t be paid in coin or credit.” The witch’s red lips curved into a smile. “I want to be paid in blood.”

  Reddix held out a wrist without hesitation. “Take it.”

  “Not yours, my dear. The payment and, indeed, the cure you so desperately need, can only be made with the blood of another. The blood of one with a pure heart and healing hands.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know anyone like that.”

  “Not yet, you don’t.” The witch smiled knowingly. “But you will. You are going with a delegation to the Kindred Mother Ship to try and talk your good friend Saber out of his incestuous love, are you not?”

  Reddix frowned. “How do you know about that?” The fact that Saber had decided to marry a female from his own clan, thus committing incest in the eyes of the Touch Kindred, had been hushed up as much as possible.

  “Never you mind how I know. The point is, there is one such as I have mentioned on the planet the Mother Ship orbits. One whose blood can seal our deal and set you free.”

  “So you want me to find some innocent person and sacrifice them so that I can be free of my curse?” Reddix grated. “I may not have a Touch Sense, but I still have my honor.”

  “Oh honor. Who cares for that?” The witch made a dismissive motion. “Besides, what choice do you have? Think of the Clans and your darling little sister. Think of all the carnage if you fail to overcome your RTS and get that lovely young bride you’re going to take pregnant with an heir.”

  “You must have a bug or a spy—something—”

  “Never mind what I have.”

  Xandra walked back to the boiling pot and stirred the thin blue broth in it with one long finger, apparently heedless of the pain. “After all, it’s not like I’ll kill her, this innocent little flower you’re going to pluck. I just need some of her blood, and then you can return her if you like. Or keep her as a pet, I don’t care.” She shrugged.

  “But…” Reddix shook his head. “I’m told there are billions of people on that little world. How can I possibly find the right one?”

  The yellow eyes glinted pure gold for a moment. “How do Kindred usually find the right one for them? You’ll dream of her, of course. And when you go down to the surface, you’ll be drawn to her—like an iron filing drawn to a magnet.”

  “But how will I know for certain she’s the right one?”

  “When you find her, you’ll know.”

  “But how?” Reddix demanded.

  “You just will. But I’ll give you a test to be absolutely certain. Here, give me your arm.”

  Taking a step forward, Reddix thrust out his right arm.

  Xandra reached into the bubbling pot again and pulled out a small, writhing black speck. Before Reddix could protest, she dropped it onto the exposed skin on the inside of his wrist. There was a sharp piercing sensation f
or a moment, as though someone had driven a spike right through his flesh. Reddix grunted in pain and jerked away.

  The witch laughed.

  “I know—it stings, doesn’t it? Poor baby.”

  “What is it?” But looking down at his arm, he could already see the answer. “A lthss. What the hell? Why did you put this on me? These things are fucking parasites!”

  “That’s not just any lthss, my dear Reddix. It’s my pet—tied to me. Just call it a symbol of our agreement.” The witch smiled and nodded at the tiny black creature now embedded firmly in his skin. “When you find the girl—and you will find her, never fear—simply press her skin to yours in the spot where the lthss lives.”

  Reddix frowned. “I don’t touch skin to skin—ever.”

  She smiled. “Do it anyway. When you find her, press her hand or finger to the lthss. If she’s the right one, it will bite her. When it takes her blood, it will turn crimson and you’ll know.”

  “But if the lthss takes her blood, why do I have to bring her back? Why not just leave her where she is?” Reddix argued.

  “Still troubled at the prospect of kidnapping an innocent?” The witch shook her head. “Well, you’ll have to get over that. I need her blood, fresh and hot, right from the vein or your cure won’t work. Do you understand?”

  “But you won’t kill her? I won’t commit murder, not even to be free of this damn curse,” he growled.

  “She’ll be fine…probably.” The witch smiled smoothly. “Now you’d better run along, my dear Reddix. The lthss will only remain inactive until you find her and press her skin to it. Then you’ll have a few solar weeks to get back to me. If you take longer than that, it will begin to feed on you. And that wouldn’t be pleasant, now would it?”

  She was already herding him out the door, but Reddix wasn’t content to leave before he had all the answers.

  “Wait.” He frowned at her. “I still don’t know what’s in this for you. Why should you help me? Why is this girl’s blood so important to you?”