A Song of Forgiveness Read online

  That was the first time I realized that anything that happened to me on the transitional plane could impact me on this plane. If I died there, I felt there would be a good chance I would die in reality. As much like a dream state as the next plane seemed, it was undeniably connected to my body and a hit to my spirit-self had a huge impact on my corporeal form.

  After a few minutes of this type of reflection, I declared it was bedtime, went to the kitchen, and put down the cat’s late dinner, then reinforced my spells. Even if I couldn’t say for certain they were working, they appeared to be. At least I hadn’t seen a shade in the house since I’d started doing them consistently. The one from two days earlier had been looking for a way in, but I’d covered all the possible openings into the house with protections. Nonetheless, I left a night light on downstairs as well as the one upstairs in the long balcony. I no longer liked the total darkness of my room.

  I changed for bed, then took a few more minutes to look up Nygard’s name. If I’d expected some profound meaning or clue to his personality, I was disappointed. It turned out to be a Scandinavian name meaning new home, although it was also a family name.

  I glanced over at the cat lying on my bed and grooming his fur and chuckled. “Hey, Ny, were you a Viking in a former life?”

  He paused in his grooming, blinked at me, then resumed without comment. Silly question, I guess. I’d heard that transmigration worked from animal to animal, but once a human, always a human. Then again, who really knew?

  I unlocked the drawer that held my gun, then went to sleep.

  I STOOD ON A BEACH along the coast. I recognized it. I’d been here before. A few feet away, a woman wearing a long skirt and a sun hat sat in the sand, knees pulled up and her arms resting on them as she gazed toward the gently rolling waters sliding up onto the sand. I walked over to join her, not surprised to find that I wore a pair of jeans rolled up to my knees and a loose-fitting tee shirt, my typical beach attire. Sitting down next to her, I said, “It’s been over a year.”

  Artesmia Mouradian turned her head enough to look at me. “Has it? Time flows differently for me.”

  “How so?”

  A gentle look touched her face as a small smile formed. “For one thing, it doesn’t really exist. Every day is just as I wish it. If I want it to be dark, it is. If I want light, I only need to think about it. If I want form, I seek it.”

  I squinted at her seeing the younger version of the old lady I’d met at her great-grandson’s wedding a year or so earlier. “I don’t understand.”

  “Our spirit is energy, Gillian, not a physical form. Time is a stream that we can step into at any point we wish. For instance, this beach is at the same moment it was when I last saw you.”

  While I sort of understood what she was saying, I was confused by it. “I think I get it. You can pick any moment you wish.”

  “I can. Time is a loop. Beginning of time, end of time—there is neither. It keeps looping and humanity springs within a portion of it.”

  “Then, you can time travel?” I asked with a touch of awe as I began to see the possibilities.

  “Not in the sense you’re thinking. But I didn’t come to talk about time. I wanted to talk to you.” She rose to her feet and reached for my hand.

  Spirit or no, her hand felt solid in mine and she helped pull me up with more strength than I’d expected. We began strolling down the beach, enjoying the feel of the wet sand on our bare feet and the touch of an ocean spray leaving a fine mist on us. I could almost taste the salt in the scent, along with the hint of the grass along the dunes.

  “I know you’re going through difficult times, dear. The challenges ahead seem insurmountable. You remember though that I told you that you have a special gift. Singing for funerals is part of it, but that’s not the ultimate purpose. Trust in yourself, your instincts, and in the divine plan for you. Do not fear what may come.”

  “Can you tell me what that might be? Because, candidly speaking, I’m terrified of the True Shades.”

  She shook her head. “I’m truly sorry, but I can’t tell you what is to come. I only know that you are strong enough and skilled enough for the task. And you are on the right path. Continue to seek others...”

  Her voice trailed off and her head cocked to one side as if she was listening to a voice somewhere. A moment later, she managed a small smile. “It seems I may be saying too much. You just need to know that you have all you need. Use all the tools and help being sent to you and don’t doubt yourself.”

  She stopped, took both my hands in hers, then leaned forward, brushing a barely felt kiss against my forehead.

  And she disappeared.

  FIVE

  After I checked my computer for any questions from Gayle Trumbull or responses to my post on the group I’d joined, I caught up with Janna on Saturday morning. We went to the park for a run, something neither of us had done in a few weeks, although I’d been meaning to get back on track again.

  We jogged rather than actually running along the lake path. A thin layer of ice covered the water on this crisp morning, reminding us that winter was still in full force although we’d had a couple of spring-like days. I’d shed my jacket at my Jeep, but I still wore a thermal shirt and a sweatshirt along with my leggings and sweatpants. Janna was equally as well-insulated against the brisk mid-morning air. At least, the wind wasn’t blowing, which would have made this jog a lot more difficult.

  She pointed to a speed limit sign about a block from where we were. “Race you.”

  She didn’t wait for my answer but switched to an easy lope toward her target. Caught off guard, I pushed to a run to catch up with her. A breeze created by the motion whipped cold air against my nose and cheeks and I sucked in deep breaths. I felt invigorated. I’d been missing these runs and resolved to get back to them at least three times a week.

  I barely failed to catch Janna before we reached the designated marker and I stumbled past her after she’d stopped, bending over to catch her breath. As I strolled back to her, panting pretty hard myself, she looked up and said, “Whoa. Am I out of shape or what? That took way more effort than it should have.”

  “Same here. I need to get back to this. I still do a few daily exercises but I haven’t been running.”

  “Well, you have an excuse. You’ve been recovering from that nightmare of an expedition.”

  My mouth twisted in a crooked smirk at her word choice to refer to my excursions to the other side.

  She straightened and shook out her shoulders with a few twists. “My only excuse is a new job, but it’s really eating up my time. I thought being desk supervisor was time-consuming, but it’s nothing compared to this. There’s meetings, reports, projects, special events, and no paid overtime. I think it’s the equivalent of being a slave for a set salary. I thought it would ease up a little after New Year’s, but it seems there’s something to celebrate every couple of weeks and the casino doesn’t want to miss a bet.”

  Janna had accepted a job in the advertising department. She’d thought it would give her a basic nine-to-five job, but it seemed the special events required an on-site coordinator, so when those were running, she had to be there.

  “Maybe you should go back to the desk supervisor,” I suggested.

  “Can’t. Job’s been filled. Besides, I did get a decent raise at least. Hey, I have next weekend off. I know, a major miracle. Let’s go somewhere. How about the vineyards in Sacramento?” Her eyes sparkled with sudden enthusiasm.

  “I don’t know about that,” I said, thinking about everything I had going right now. But damn, I sure could use a break from the anxiety.

  “Come on. We could go down Saturday morning, spend the night and come back Sunday afternoon.” She grinned and added in a cajoling voice, “You know you want to do it.”

  “Maybe. Let me look at what I’ve got going and see if I can free up the weekend.” I didn’t need to look. I knew I’d planned to spend it doing pretty much what I was doing the rest of the
week, searching for more people to help and training with Gavin if he had time. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

  “Deal. Say yes.” She straightened, looked back toward our cars and said, “Slow jog back?”

  The requested questions from Trumbull had arrived in my e-mail when I got back. Fifteen of them. As I scanned through the list, I decided they weren’t too bad and I could definitely twist them in my favor. Now if she asked follow up questions to my answers, it could get tricky, but I felt I could handle it. One was a definite no answer or a complete skirt around. Probably better to divert on the answer than not say anything.

  I also had an interesting response to my post on the Day Shadows group. Four people had commented, but most were non-interesting or saying something similar about odd shadows. One was more definitive though. CaraG had replied that she’d seen shadows move, not just sway like a branch, but actually shifting positions when there was nothing to make it do that. It gave her the “jeebies”.

  Interesting description, I thought, and thanked her for her note, saying that it did sound peculiar and adding a “tell me more”. I didn’t volunteer that I had a pretty good idea what she’d seen, but I wanted to try to draw her out some. I just needed to figure the best way to do it—a public post or a private message to her.

  Thinking about it, I sent a message to Ferris and Digby asking if they were available around four to go over Trumbull’s questions and my answers with me. I wanted to be as prepared as possible and I wanted them to pose possible follow-up questions.

  After that, I settled down to compose my answers, writing them out so I knew exactly how I wanted to phrase them.

  Gavin stood behind me, his hand on my right shoulder and he pointed with his left one to a boulder about fifty feet away.

  “That’s your target, chica. I want you to use your palm flat toward it to cast the blast. It doesn’t need to be full force, just a shove.”

  He stepped back to the side, out of my reach, and pulled out his phone. “I’m going to record this so we can see what it does.”

  I nodded. I hadn’t actually done this kind of thing on demand and I wasn’t sure I could. I positioned myself as if I was throwing a baseball, pulled my arm back and cast with my fingers spread wide.

  Nothing. Not a spark.

  “It’s okay,” Gavin said. “Try again.”

  I repeated the motion, trying to emulate the way I’d thrown it at the first shade in my house. He was in the corner and I’d thrust my hand in front of me defensively, fingers out.

  Still nothing. What was I missing? What else did I need to do?

  Gavin walked over, slid his hand around the back of my neck, rubbing it. “Just relax. Maybe you’re too tense or trying too hard.”

  I took a deep breath, conjuring calming images, and tried to fling that blast out casually. Not so much as a sputter. I frowned, picked up a stone, and threw it in frustration.

  “Damn. Maybe I’m not tense enough,” I grumbled. “When I faced the shades, I’ve been frightened or really tense in hyperactive mode. Maybe fear propels it.”

  “Hmm, let’s try visualization,” he said as he stepped back away from me.

  “I have. I pictured the first shade I used it on. Nothing happened.”

  “Okay. You used it a few days ago. How did you do it?”

  I closed my eyes, calling the scene to mind. “I saw the demon on my house. I knew he was trying to get in and that made me angry. So, I coned my fingers, pointed them at it, and the light burst out in a streak toward him.” As I’d talked, I’d shaped my fingers in the same way and pointed them somewhere toward the general vicinity of the boulder. I barely opened my eyes to a squint when I unleashed it.

  A blast shot out toward the hills and an explosion of dust and pebbles followed. Coughing, Gavin and I both wiped at our eyes as the dust settled around us.

  “Whatever you did that time worked,” he said between coughs. He swiped his hand through his hair shaking out more dust.

  “I don’t know what I did differently,” I said, my voice rasping through the dust I’d inhaled. “The blast didn’t go very far though.”

  Looking at the impact area, it was barely half-way to the boulder and had managed about a three-foot-wide hole in the ground.

  “It’s okay. At least, you did it. Were you feeling anything in particular at the time?”

  “Yeah, I was aggravated all over again that it was on my roof.”

  A grin crossed his face. “So maybe you’re right. You can trigger it with emotions—anger, annoyance, fear. Something that pumps up the adrenalin and sparks the energy you need to make it happen.”

  “Great. I need fury to turn into a bad ass witch.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call you a witch, but that power is definitely a magical gift that was bestowed on you along with your psychometry and ability to travel to the next plane. I wonder what else you might be able to do.”

  “Too bad they didn’t come with an instruction manual, or even a parts list,” I complained. It may seem great to him, but I felt like I was lacking information about these so-called skills.

  “Let’s try this again. Use the cone shape once more and try to make it a harder cast.”

  Easy for him to say. I planted my feet, dredged up the annoyance again, positioned my hand and flung it toward the boulder. Another blast of light shot out and almost hit the target this time. The dirt blast didn’t quite make it back to us.

  “Better. Stretch your arms and get the tension out of your muscles, then we’ll try it again.”

  Following his suggestion, I swung my arms in a circle, rotated them back and forth, then opened a water bottle and took a few sips. Using the power didn’t seem so hard when I’d been flinging it at the shades. On the other hand, the times I’d use in on this plane had been more difficult than on the interim plane, so maybe...

  My thoughts crashed there. Maybe what? I had more strength there? I was closer to the power source or my corporeal-self hindered my spirit self?

  I turned my eyes to Gavin. He was stretching the kinks out, swinging his arms over his head. His shirt pulled up to reveal his tightly muscled stomach and a slight dimple at his right hip. Still sexy. In some ways, that’s what he was to me. A sexy dream man from my younger days. I wasn’t sure I could see him in a lover, romantic partner light. I shook those thoughts aside.

  “What do you use to fight them?” I asked.

  He paused mid-stretch, then dropped his arms, swinging them across his middle. “The ones I encounter are here and they’re in human form. I sometimes run from them, like I did in Syria. Other times, I use judo or savate or some other fighting technique. I carry knives when I’m in the field.”

  “Have you killed one?”

  He glanced down at the sand, then brought his head up slowly to meet my eyes. “Once. Most of the time, it’s a matter of getting away from them. When they’re in human form, I don’t know if the bodies are constructs or if they’ve borrowed a body. I don’t want to kill someone who is simply an innocent without control of their own flesh.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” Of course, that made perfect sense. If the shades borrowed a body, then the soul would be pushed aside, likely rendered unconscious, while the ghoul used their shell. I shuddered at the thought. Would that be what they would do to me if they could access my body?

  I’d mentioned that to him once and he’d dismissed it. I called him on it. “Didn’t you say that they didn’t borrow the bodies?”

  “Yeah. Well, I’m not positive if they do or not, but if there’s a risk... Let’s get back to it,” Gavin said and motioned back toward the boulder. “Let’s try the open palm method again now that you know how to fire.”

  But it wasn’t that easy. I followed the same routine—focusing, gathering my anger, and throwing my hand forward with my palm open. Nothing happened. I scrubbed my hand across my face, set my feet, and repeated the motion. I was angry at myself for not being able to do this,
and I shoved my hand forward so hard it hurt my shoulder.

  Nothing.

  “I don’t understand. I’m angry and I’m putting as much energy as I can into it.” Aggravation made me shout it out. “Why isn’t it working?”

  Gavin’s shoulders slumped a bit, but he tried to keep a positive spin. “I think you’re trying too hard now. Or there’s something else blocking you.”

  I glared at him. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe you’re not quite convinced.”

  “Of course I am. I did it a couple of times, didn’t I?”

  He stepped in front of me, putting his hands on my upper arms, and staring into my face. “Don’t get upset about it. You have the ability and you can use it. It just takes a little time to develop it. You can’t make it work on demand until you absolutely know all the factors that go into it.”

  “I do know the factors.”

  “Then maybe you need to write them out, think about them, and figure out how you’re going to execute it each time. I think you might be missing something in your equation. Something that was there the times it worked.”

  I clenched my jaw. I wasn’t missing anything. I’d done exactly what I did the two times it worked. The only thing different was the way I’d held my hand. But the flat cast had worked before for me.

  Nonetheless, I formed my hand into a cone and tried to blast the rock again. Once again, nothing happened. I was missing something.

  Shit! I couldn’t even count on getting this right. So far, I’d used it instinctively when I was in danger, but I couldn’t manage it when I wasn’t in need of it. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to. I slumped against the side of Gavin’s truck and fought the tears of irritation that formed in my eyes. I felt like a failure.

  Gavin lifted my chin with his fingers, smoothing his thumb under my right eye. “Hey, chica. It’ll get better. Don’t be too hard on yourself. We’ll try again in a couple of days.”