Mellizo Wolves (4 page)

Damon
rang the bell, setting off muted chimes, reminiscent of those often heard in
old England. Madam Nola appeared wearing a flowing rainbow robe in a delicate,
nearly transparent fabric. The silver and sparkling jewel-like pinwheel designs
woven over her breasts drew attention to the little woman’s bosomy figure. On
each padded shoulder, she had two magnificent white Cockatoos. Their hook-beaks
and claws looked sharp. A sudden guttural caw made Angela flinch.

“Don’t
let Ka and Ba frighten you,” Madam Nola said. “That was Ba’s way of saying
welcome.” The wily psychic’s hair was no longer in the sleek page-boy style
she’d worn at their first meeting. Instead, it was in a crown of platinum curls
with ruby and emerald crystals woven into each kinky strand. A couple of longer
wisps coiled around her ears like silver snakes. The psychic stepped aside,
seeming inches taller in her gold, spiky pumps. “Come in, Mr. and Mrs. Lamont.”

She waved
them in with a flourish of her child-sized arm and led them through an
entryway, past pictures of her dwarfed family tree, to a regular-sized table
covered with a small tapestry with wolves on it. Seeing the wolf decor caused
the fine hairs on the back of Angela’s neck to prickle. She’d forgotten that
wolves were also part of Madam Nola’s heritage.

“Congratulations
on your marriage and the coming births.” Madam Nola’s green eyes glistened with
what Angela felt was mischief and dancing dollar signs.

“Did my mom
call?”

“No. My
crystal ball told me about the pregnancy.” Madam Nola’s Egyptian made-up eyes
were a palate of dark smudges highlighted with blue, green, and silver.

But it
was their intensity that made Angela uneasy. “Then you know why we’re here?”

Madam
Nola nodded, looking wise and mysterious. “Of course. Would you like some red
goji-raspberry tea?”

“No,
thank you,” Angela said quickly before Damon could accept. The air was heavy
with jasmine incense and Angela found it difficult to breathe. This dark cavern
of a living room with its cloying scents and heavy, closed drapes gave her the
creeps. “Damon has to get back to work. So, if you could just answer a couple
of questions for us, we won’t take much of your time.”

Madam
Nola smiled. “You pay for an hour even if you don’t use all the time available
to you. And it’s dangerous to hurry the spirits.”

Damon
squeezed Angela’s hand as though to silence her. “Of course,” he said. “I’d
like to see what your crystal ball can reveal to us.”

“Good,”
Madam Nola said. She whispered something to her Cockatoos and, in a white
flutter of wings, they flew to twin circular swing-perches. From there, they
watched with beady eyes. Madam Nola gestured for Angela and Damon to take a
seat.

Angela
noted all the furniture in the house was small except the table and the three
chairs around it. Madam Nola brought a small stepping stool and climbed up. Her
chair had a booster seat on it.

She
wiggled around until comfortable, then touched something under the table and
the room darkened and more incense sprayed from a nearby plant. She removed the
velvet cover from the crystal ball sitting in the center of the table, muttered
some Egyptian gibberish, and floated her hands across the globe.

Suddenly,
a scene of the wild, hilly acreage behind the mansion filled the flashing orb.
It was followed by an image of a cross-section of the earth beneath the surface
of the ground. A center layer of mud, bones, and floating ash broiled in fury.
Without warning, a blob of muddy crud, shaped like the head and shoulders of an
ogre, shot up from the depths to its waist. They all flinched. It reached
toward Angela with slimy arms and claw-like fingers. “I don’t know what that
horrible creature is, but it isn’t why we came,” she said past the constriction
in her throat.

“The
crystal ball revealed the image to warn you. It’s prudent to trust the vision.
TV reports by experts confirm the problems in the ground behind your
mansion—those scientists claim the earthquake initiated ground-instability at
the foot of Mt. Baldy and it set off a chain of events that’s triggering
strange species to form in the stratum.” Madam Nola looked up with her luminous
emerald-green eyes and met Angela’s gaze with a frightening intensity. “That
ogre has fixated on you. In addition, there’s a new dark aura around you that’s
growing darker. Have you heard of the devil-chosen dead whose life force dwells
with them forever?”

Angela
shook her head. An icy shiver slithered through her. Damon put his arm around
her shoulder. They exchanged glances. His face looked gray, his eyes worried.

Madam
Nola lowered her voice to a chilling whisper. “For the chosen evil ones,
everlasting life begins with a journey through the underworld. The ka, or life
force, leaves the body, followed by ba, or soul.”

Angela
gripped the chair arms and clung to reality with all of her might. This was
simply a part of the psychic’s show. She’d even named her Cockatoos after the
life force and soul. “What about our girls?” Angela asked, forcing herself to
stay on point.

“It’s too
early to tell anything significant about unborn souls. But the spirits suggest
the threat aimed at you may actually be revenge against Damon. You and Damon
are no longer alpha wolves, however, both of you have retained the alpha
characteristics. Two alphas leading a pack in the wilds works, but—” She
cleared her throat. “My point is, you must cling together and grow stronger to
fight the darkness.”

Angela
folded her arms across her breasts and held herself rigid to keep from running
out of the building screaming. She took a deep, fortifying breath. “But you
must tell me
something
about our unborn girls.” Was Madam Nola stalling
to extract more money? Angela frowned. She had to remember it was Madam Nola
who’d disposed of Reeves’ body and kept Damon out of jail. That alone was worth
her outrageous fees, so she mustn’t resent the mystic’s hunger for money. But
the wily dwarf straight-out scared her, and she definitely didn’t trust her.

Madam
Nola frowned. “You still don’t trust me, do you?” She looked at Angela long and
hard. “I forgive you, my dear. It takes some people longer than others to
accept the truth.” She switched her probing gaze to Damon. “Handle the
now.
Bigger
trouble will raise its ugly head soon enough.”

Damon
withdrew his arm from around Angela and leaned forward, his intense gaze
matching that of the cunning psychic’s. “What does that mean?”

Once
more, Madam Nola waved her hand across the crystal. Again, the images churned
in the ground. The muddy ogre opened its mouth and a stream of flaming ashes
tumbled out. Madam Nola paled. “I can’t tell you more today.”

Angela
shot out of her chair and placed her hands on her hips. “But you haven’t said
anything!”

“I’m
sorry, my dear. We’re delving into dangerous territory and an urgent darkness
is blocking the projections. Until your girls are born, I cannot tell you what
you want to know.”

Damon
stood and once more put his arm around Angela. Looking resigned, he asked,
“When should we come back to find out about our girls?” His deep monotone
tugged at Angela’s heart.

“Wait
until the first full moon after their third birthday for prime results. Until
then, even when the world comes crashing down around you and you get all bloody
diving for cover, love will boost your will, presence of mind, and strength to
survive. Build on what you have and strengthen it—or it may not last.

* * * *

Damon
didn’t start the car right away. He just sat there, inhaling Angela’s faint,
shower-fresh fragrance and empathizing with her disappointment while trying to
come to grips with his own. Shedding the curse was supposed to free him from
his torment. Now he had to wait to find out if he’d passed it on to his
daughters—and if so, exactly how the curse would manifest itself. If passed on,
would it be Angela’s yearly curse or his moon-controlled curse? In his family,
only the men were affected, in Angela’s, only the women. Could he count on
that? Combining curses may have changed things.
Damn. Damn. I must keep
Angela and my girls safe.

The dread
inside Damon deepened. He could feel the adrenaline surging. Was Reeves the
blob in the mud? Taking a few deep breaths, he struggled to control the blind
rage that threatened to explode as he recalled his brother’s attack on Angela
when she was helpless in the hospital. He forced himself to unclench his fist
and ease his hold on the steering wheel as he stared out into the deceivingly
innocent afternoon light. Even now he could sense evil lurking in the shadows.
Gooseflesh prickled along his spine. He had to come to grips with all of this.

Failing
to get answers was enough to drive even the most stable man mad. His letdown
wasn’t all he had to deal with. He had to face and make sense of his chilling
personal experience earlier that morning. Knowing state scientists would be
digging around in the hills behind his home, he’d dug up Hugo’s grave. His
intention had been to move the body to the graveyard on his property to protect
it from violation. But when he dug into the ground, there was only a hole full of
broiling mud, lending support to the possibility of the dead rising. And that
scared the hell out of him.

“What a
waste of time and money,” Angela finally said. “I must have been out of my
bloody mind to think Madam Nola could help us.”

Angela’s
choked voice and quivering lips told him she was on the verge of tears. He drew
her into his arms. When he felt her body trembling against his, an aching lump
formed in his throat. He kissed Angela’s forehead and took a fortifying breath.
He had a strong urge to tell her about Hugo’s missing body. But she already had
enough to deal with without heaping his hellish concerns and fears on her—and
it wouldn’t accomplish a thing. Not even make him feel better. “Don’t give up
on Madam Nola yet. Let’s stay strong and united like she suggested and see what
develops.”

Angela
glared up him. “But I expected answers. Today.” She sat silently a few more
minutes. “There’s something else I need to ask you about.”

He kissed
her forehead. “Ask away,” he said, relieved to escape a subject that presently
had no solution.

“What do
you know about the holes in the eyes of your parents’ portrait and the holes in
the wall behind it?”

Her
statement was so unexpected and so far from left field that he reeled from it.
“What are you talking about?”

“Are you
telling me you didn’t know about the holes or that someone was spying on us?”

“Are you
kidding? Of course I didn’t know.” He wondered who and why. The likely answer,
someone on his staff, wouldn’t make her feel better. He clenched his hands into
fists. This was another issue to investigate, prove, and then fire the guilty.

“Then you
don’t mind that I asked Kyle to fill the holes and re-paint.”

“Why
would I? It saves me the trouble.” He didn’t want to tromp on her confidence by
admitting he would’ve preferred to do it himself. He might have found evidence
to point to the guilty. Without evidence, it might take a little longer, but he
would locate the spy. And he planned to find out exactly what was behind that
wall. He’d heard of tunnels. But he thought they were located behind the
storage room just off the dungeon and had been sealed off. “Probably the holes
are something from the past and nothing to worry about.”

“If you
think that makes me feel safer, you’re wrong.”

He drew
her into his arms while trying to come to terms with his uneasiness and concern
about the dark world he’d drawn her into. Before he’d met her, he only wanted
to be left alone and hide his family’s past from the world. Now, much more was
at risk. He feared the cloak of danger seeping into their tumultuous
consciousness would send them into conflict with each other, themselves, and
their surroundings—and he didn’t know how to stop it.

Finding
Hugo’s empty grave was as unnerving as hell, but not as much as seeing that
open-mouthed ogre reaching for Angela. He tightened his hold on her soft, warm
body, feeling her vulnerability and aching to be her shield. The flaming ashes
tumbling out of that muddy mouth screamed that the blob was Reeves. His evil
half-brother had been burned to ashes and the area of turmoil was where Madam
Nola scattered them. Damn it. He’d think he was drudging up the impossible,
except deep in his gut he believed that, given time and the right
circumstances, nothing was impossible—not even the dead rising from ashes. Even
before Madam Nola mentioned it, he’d heard of the concept of the chosen dead
receiving a life force that would dwell with them forever—and the theory
terrified the hell out of him. What horrors were in store for his family if Reeves’s
life force remained with him forever? Damon tried to ignore the icy chill that
slithered down his back. He had to discover if his home still had unsealed
tunnels. And if it did, he had to seal them.

Angela
looked up at him with liquid moss-green eyes, shook off his hold, and escaped
his arms. “We went to Madam Nola for answers and left with nothing but more
questions.” Frustration rang in her words. She crossed her arms over her chest
and glared out the window like somehow the lack of answers was his fault.