The Darkness That Hunts
Chapter 11

The next morning I replace Divine’s note (somewhat crumpled buttucked neatly) atop the clothes Sandra’s pilfered for me. I face a grimdilemma. It’s most certainly a trap, like one of those no-win situations in anaction movie. Either I replace the “three” that Divine mentioned and thereby leadSandra to them, or I refuse and Sandra decides that torture is the answer.

Either way, it won’t end well for me.

I draw lavender-scented air deep into my lungs and try tofocus. Melissa’s even, methodic breathing surrounds me as my cabinmates and Isit crossed-legged on worn tatami mats in a room with bare walls the gaudycolor of a Mexican cantina.

Meditation. An hour-long exercise required of all CampGenki’s residents. I’m lucky to share mine with Melissa--at least one friendlyface--but with Sandra and the rest of my bunkmates, how am I to relax? Thebiweekly meditation drills are chances for us to reach deep into our psychicrecesses and unlock our sixth senses. I have no idea what mine is, and if Idid, I most certainly don’t want it unveiled before Andhakar’ssecond-in-command.

Her scarlet hair is pulled back and braided today. Her skinappears refreshed and dewy beneath the fluorescent lights. I can’t help butthink of her and Kamiron. Of her and Andhakar. As if sensing my thoughts, hereyes open. One blue and one green replace me across the circle of meditatinggirls. Sandra winks at me, a friendly smile curving her freshly glossed lips.

I cringe and hide behind my eyelids.

Peace.

Serenity.

Calm.

My breathing slows until it is hard to distinguish Mel’sbreathing from my own and gradually I sense a change. A sinking sensation. Mylimbs feel heavy and eventually I no longer sense them. Now weightless, asudden punch to my gut sends me falling down, down, down. A dark abyss. Staticbuzzes in my ears. And then . . .

Light blossoms around me but it is dimmer than the room’soverhead fluorescents and wobbles like candlelight. Slowly, Divine appearsdropping out of the shadows like a snowflake. I see first his wild sandy hairwith its braids and feathers. Next, a bare back framed by broad shoulders andriddled with scars. No expanse of flesh is unbroken. Tattoos curl up his spineand nuzzle the symbol of Andhakar that pulsates on the back of his neck.Divine’s lips move but the buzzing, staticy background noise distracts me andthe question is lost. My weightless body circles him, whirling and bobbinguntil Divine’s tangerine eyes force me to a stop.

“Looks. They looks.” His words are broken, fading in and outof the white noise. I struggle to understand the druid’s words. “Find three.Medium.”

The more I strain to hear, the more jumbled Divine’s messagebecomes. His eyes beg me to understand, to see the meaning behind the meaning.

I don’t.

“With you. There.” He continues.

“I understand they are here, but how do I replace the medium?” My voice sounds too loud. A cacophony ofout-of-placeness. I speak through a phone with poor reception.

“Channel . . . paper.”

I want to tell him this whole mess is insane, but as soon asI think that, the punching sensation is back and I am spiraling upward. My bodyseems to thrum with electricity and my senses flare out, touching nothing andyet I am aware of something much grander than I. An interconnectedness with allthings--

Something hot and rigid slams into me. An unknown forcelatches onto me, talons sinking into my brain. I scream. It’s as if someinvisible phantom is sitting on my chest and shredding my skull.

Fool of a girl! A masculine voice, soft and light asair, it resounds between my temples. Intimate and strangely familiar, I cannotrecall why the voice doesn’t startle me. Before I can continue puzzle over theoccurrence, the voice cracks, whip-like: Pushit out! Do not let it in your mind!

I scream again, my brain feeling like it’s peeling apart asthe force rips through the shields of my sanity. The masculine voice continuesto berate me as it braces against the brutal probe.

Push it out! The voice snarls, panic edging it now.Reject it!

The voice sends me the mental image of a shove and anauthoritative “No.” I latch onto the advice and heave, straining against theinvasion. I envision all my power, all my essence forming into an impregnableshield that encases and protects me.

“No!”

Screeching, I jerk awake--and replace myself prone on the floorwith Melissa’s nails digging into my arm. My head rings. My ears ring. Melstares at me wide-eyed and fearful. My senses slowly return. Sweat and heat andthe scratch of tatami. My body shivers uncontrollably. My heart labors. I hearthe hum of frantic voices but none make sense. I smell iron. I lift my hand tomy nose and replace it’s bleeding. My bunkmates stare at me in bewilderment.

All but Sandra.

She staggers to her feet, shaking hands clutching hertemples. She avoids looking at us. The door to the room opens and warm airladen with pine and earth scuttles inside. The door shuts and she is gone.

Mel drags me to the Edgar Cayce Infirmary where the nursehands me aspirin and allows me to lie down. My meditation instructor explainsthat I went into a catatonic state. Both the doctor and my instructor, whoseschooled, professional expressions are at odds with the gleaming excitement intheir eyes, force me to explain what I saw. Their styluses glide hungrilyacross expensive iPads. I am tested, prodded and examined for three hours. Withthe promise of a brain scan later, I am at last left to myself.

I sleep. I wake long enough to lie inside a large magnetthat I am told is a MRI scanner. Once the scientists and doctors get what theyneed, I sleep some more.

The next time I wake, it’s to hazel eyes.

While I sit up, Zakk pops the pull-tab on my can of Cokebefore handing it to me. I relish its fizzy bite and resist the urge to burp.Zakk passes me a paper sack and inside I replace the remnants from today’s dinner.Turkey sub on wheat. Apple. Potato salad in a cheap plastic container. Not themost appetizing meal, but I devour it.

It doesn’t lessen my headache.

“Time?”

“About a quarter ’til nine.”

I try to rub the tension out of my head and eyes, but thepain only continues its slow, persistent throb.

“Let me.” Zakk glides to me--how is it he is so graceful?Like a water nymph?--and his palms rest against my skin. Cool hands. Smooth andsoft and long. Liquid pours over me like a country brook and sweeps the painaway.

Zakk perches on the edge of my bed. “Heard you had aneventful afternoon.”

I snort and lean against my deflated pillows. The bluecotton sheets are rough against my paper-thin hospital gown and scarred legs.I’m startled to replace specks of blood dotting my collar. Zakk follows my gazeand his mouth form a tight line.

“Nosebleed.”

I hastily wipe at my nostrils, but feel no dried, crustyblood.

“Mel told us what happened.”

“Us?”

“The guys. They’ll probably drop in on you soon, but since Ihad to do some work here--my Readings--I thought I’d check up on you.” Zakkhesitates and then he speaks very quietly, as if afraid of being overheard eventhough we are the only ones in the room and the door is closed. “Can you tellme what you experienced?”

“Hard to explain. I don’t know what happened. I was tryingto meditate, then there was this falling sensation.” I hesitate. “DidHamilton--?”

“Yeah, I’m up to speed.”

Zakk listens as I recount in as much detail as I can myencounter with the druid and his message about the Three and the Medium. “Andthen there was this force that plowed into me. There was another voice, adifferent one, screaming at me to fight it, and then I . . . pushed it out, if that makes any sense.”

Zakk is on his feet in seconds. His loafers tread softly onthe linoleum floor as he paces beside my bed. “So Dace was right. Sounds like apsychic attack.”

“A what?”

“It’s when something tries to attack you mentally. Everyonehas psychic barriers in their mind--to varying degrees. Breach those shieldsand a person is opened.”

I gulp. “Opened for what?”

“To what.Possession. Manipulation. A number of things. Psychic attack is forbidden atGenki.”

“Does it matter how far away a person is?”

“It can be anyone, anywhere. Even sitting in the same room,although they’d show signs of the repelling--when you tossed them out.”

I think of her stumbling out of the room like a seasickcruise passenger. “Sandra was there with me.”

Zakk halts and a long finger tugs at his bottom lip. “Andshe is a psychic vampire.”

The overhead lights suddenly seem too bright. “But why riskit? She was so careful before.”

A halting knock stops our conversation. Zakk swings open thedoor and to my surprise, Kamiron, Hamilton, and Dace file into my room. Theother two I expect, but Kamiron’s presence is a mystery to me. We haven’tspoken since yesterday and he all but wrote me out of the will.

“So what’s the verdict, kiddo?” Dace plops down on my bed,making the mattress bounce and me along with it. I pull up my feet and prop mychin on my knees.

“I’ll be fine.”

Hamilton shuts the door and leans against it. Kamiron takesup the armchair in the corner. The gray walls are one shade lighter than hiseyes. He looks . . . well its hard to judge his expression. He looks at me, andyet not at me. As if I am the blue lamp on the table at his elbow.

“Do they know what happened?” Hamilton broaches.

Zakk and I exchange glances and I let him answer. “I heardnothing from the nurse or Doctor Millan, but after listening to Shari’s story,it’s pretty obvious it was a psychic attack.”

I shiver despite myself. I clench and unclench my hands,noticing the way my dark skin flows over and across my knuckles. The sheetsrustle with Dace’s shifting weight. For the first time I notice thepaper-clipped manila folders by his thigh. Had he already found something aboutThe Darkness-That-Hunts’ insignia? I want to ask him, but I don’t feelcomfortable inquiring with Kamiron in the room.

Dace coughs into his fist. “Wonder who would do such athing--and why.” Zakk keeps his expression neutral. I try for the same effectbut fail.

Surprisingly, it’s Kamiron who speaks. “Cut the crap, guys.”

Startled, I glance at him. He is glaring at me and I cannearly feel the anger seeping from him.

“What do you mean?”

“Quit the calming shit, Z,” Kamiron snarls, and Zakkimmediately backs off. “I know you guys are up to something and if Shari’sinvolved then I know it’s gotta be about that Hunter or whatever it is.”Kamiron swears again, dragging his fingers through his ink-black hair. “I can’tbelieve she got to you guys.”

They move to defend me, but I hold up my hand. “Why did youcome here?”

His eyes are steel. His lips glisten as his tongue dartsover them. “To replace out what you’re up to.”

“Are you a spy?”

He gapes at me and then his lips draw back into a sneer.“For who? ‘Andhakar?’”

“For Sandra.”

I motion for Dace to hand me his folders. Undoing the paperclips, I rifle through the information. Before Kamiron can say anything, I holdup the picture Dace’s printed out.

“Does Sandra have this mark on her body?”

Kamiron glances at the photo of The Darkness-That-Hunts’insignia. “Surely, you---”

“Yes, or no,” I demand, my eyes never abandoning his face.

Kamiron stands. Hamilton slides away from the door andwithout a word, Kamiron leaves.

I bite my lip and try to control my trembling hand. Thepaper shakes, making the brand of The Darkness-That-Hunts dance.

Dace turns from the open doorand lets out a hissing breath. “I think you’d better explain what’s going on,Shari.”