was right. There was no one down there.
He tossed the torch to MacNeil and reached up. A moment later he was walking from the manor, but he remained uncertain and uneasy. He looked back.
The air inside the dark hall fluttered and beckoned. A woman’s fragrance suddenly enveloped him. And he heard her again. Royce…
He seized MacNeil, halting him. “Who is she? Where is she? What does she want an’ why does she call me by my English name?”
MacNeil stared. “She’s not here, lad.”
“Then where is she?” He did not, could not, understand. And he turned back, overcome. “I must find her.”
MacNeil took his arm, forestalling him. “Ye canna find her now. She’s in the future—yer future.”
CHAPTER ONE
South Hampton, New York—September 4, 2007
SHE STOOD NAKED at the window, aware of her lover’s deep, even breathing coming from the bed behind her. The Long Island night was blue-black and star-spangled, the moon full and bright, and she could hear the ocean’s rhythmic roar. A sea breeze caused the upholstered shades to knock softly against the windows. As she stood there, clouds gathered. She tensed.
The sky darkened. Shadows crossed the moon’s bright face, scarring it. The shutters began banging against the walls, almost frantically.
Allie stared at the moon, watching as it turned black.
She strained. And she felt evil intent forming.
Her pulse accelerated. She hurried across the room, about to step into her walk-in closet, when Brian stirred. He murmured, “Hey,” his tone drowsy
She smiled and swiftly returned to his side. “I’m starving. Want me to bring you some goodies from the kitchen?” She hated lying to him, but he would not understand.
He was snoring.
She waited a moment, impatience gnawing at her. One of her best friends was a whiz with spells, but Allie didn’t have any powers like that. It was unfortunate at times like these, when a sleeping spell would have been great. Reassured that he was deeply asleep, she quickly stepped into a black tank top, black cargo pants, and black Nikes, picking up a black backpack. She didn’t bother to open it; it was loaded and ready to go. As deftly as a cat burglar, the sleeping man now forgotten, she slipped out the window and climbed down the trellis, as if she’d done so a thousands times, which she had. Then she ran across the lawn to the driveway where she’d left her Mercedes SL560.
Allie jumped in, but didn’t turn the car on. She sat very still, focusing her sixth sense.
A shadow of darkness and death was gathering in the north.
She felt malice; she felt lust.
Allie turned the ignition, adrenaline flooding her. Aware that she couldn’t peel out of the driveway, because that would wake up the entire house, she focused on the gathering storm of violence, needing to pinpoint the location. She slowly cruised down the drive, the lust in the night intensifying. Allie felt its heart thudding, thick and strong, hot blood pulsing with evil carnal intent.
She turned onto the two-lane road and hit the gas. Rubber burned and screamed. She was going to save this vic. She drove by instinct, feeling the monster’s evil energy. She ran two stop signs. The damned monster had found its prey. She could feel it watching, about to pounce, to take, to kill. She was guessing both the predator and his or her victim were outside of one of the bars or restaurants on Highway 27. It was the weekend, and the nightspots were hopping.
A wave of pleasure began.
Allie cried out, because she could actually feel their sexual pleasure. It quickly began to escalate. Murder was always the outcome of these crimes of pleasure. The car ahead of her was obeying the speed limit and doing fortyfive. Allie stomped on the gas and veered dangerously past the car ahead of her—and narrowly by an oncoming truck. The truck driver blared his horn at her.
The pleasure became ecstasy, rapture. It flowed over Allie in waves—both victim and criminal were having orgasmic sex. It didn’t turn her on—it couldn’t. Her rage knew no bounds. It was going to be too late….
Allie sped into a parking lot adjacent a popular bar and restaurant overlooking the bay. Although the lot was full, she knew exactly where to drive.
In the back, far from the restaurant’s entrance, she saw them. A couple was in the throes of sex on the ground. And it wasn’t rape….
As she stared, the man turned his head in her direction, sensing her white power.
Allie jammed on the brakes and leapt from the car. As she did, she felt dark power exploding in the night. It was too damned late!
For it was blinding and briefly, her senses were diminished. It was hard to see and she could not feel the victim; all she could feel was the triumph of evil and death.
She stumbled as she reached for her backpack, pulling out a gun with a silencer. Then she turned, bracing herself as she aimed.
The man stood, smiling, blond and beautiful, his features perfect, like a movie star’s. In fact, for all she knew, he was a movie star. Dressed like a model in expensive trousers and a beautiful shirt, he hurled his black power at her.
Allie cocooned herself in her white light, but it was a healing light, so it didn’t do a lot. Instead she was slammed against the car so hard it felt as if he’d broken her back. She somehow lifted the gun and fired.
She was a good shot, but not after that kind of blow; still, she got him in the shoulder. Bad news was, he had so much power after taking the life from a victim that a shot wasn’t going to do much except cause a bit of inhuman bloodshed. He laughed at her and vanished into the stars.
She hoped his shoulder hurt like hell!
Allie reeled, still in pain from the blow. Then she flung the gun into the convertible’s backseat and staggered to the prone victim.
Her senses began to work. The night was still and dead—lifeless.
Allie knelt, knowing it was too late. Had the woman still been alive, she would feel a flicker of her life.
The vic lay unmoving on her back, clad in a pretty halter top and skirt, eyes sightless. Allie cried out, because she couldn’t be more than fifteen years old. It was not fair.
She was so tired of the malicious murders. For every human being she healed, there were hundreds of victims like this one, their lives stolen by the monsters who stalked the innocent in the night and then used that power to cause even more mayhem and death.
But there was no end in sight. Social commentators kept talking about the breakdown of modern society, how the murder rate was sky high—and ninety percent of all murders now were pleasure crimes. That is, the victims did not struggle. Somehow, they were seduced by complete strangers, and bodily fluids showed numerous orgasms. But the victims all died. As if old and feeble, their hearts simply stopped during intercourse.
But the
