Bound by Blood (The Garner Witch Series) (17 page)

He stood and his lips tightened as he looked at the screen displaying the calendar of full moon dates. “And I don’t think I need to warn you all that June 26th is the next full moon, and it’s less than two weeks from now. We need to hurry.”

***

Things were never as easy as they appeared on television. In reality, tracking down the medical records of four different women in two states, and three different cities, was an exercise in persistence. Some of the victims moved around as frequently as I had growing up—guess that was part and parcel of being on the run. It took us until the end of the week before we had all of their medical files.

My life at the moment was a morass of contradictions: conflicting emotions, conflicting priorities and conflicting loyalties. On the one hand, I was grieving, the loss of my father, and the simultaneous discovery and loss of several family members, was taking its toll. On the other hand, I was implausibly content when I was with Nathan. The sadness was still there, but tolerable when he was around. The range of emotions was exhausting. 

My priorities and loyalties were being severely tested, as well. Years of dedication to the FBI, and I was technically breaking the law by withholding pertinent information to this investigation. Yet, at the same time, I couldn’t reveal the truth to them. The secrecy of our family heritage was imperative, and nothing demonstrated that fact more than nine murders. My grandmother, three of my aunts, four cousins and my mother were all murdered because of who they were. There was no way I was going to bring our legacy to light; it was too dangerous.

That weekend, we stayed in my family’s home and Nathan began the arduous task of training me in witchcraft and honing my abilities. He was a patient teacher, and much more knowledgeable than I’d expected.

Despite the seriousness behind the lessons, witchcraft was intriguing and, I had to admit, fun.  Magic, he explained, was all about the energy that exists in the universe. Witches with Akychi blood had the ability to manipulate that energy in an unnatural way. He utilized several books found in my grandmothers’ attic, three of them containing a family tree tracing our heritage all the way back before Christ to our original Akychi heir. The others contained spells and potions, which truthfully I found difficult to take seriously.

“Why am I suddenly picturing an old lady in a pointed cap cackling over a bubbling cauldron?” I asked, acerbically, when he showed me the book of potions.

He laughed and shook his head. “Brianna, is it so difficult to believe in the power of plants and herbs? Many of your medicines are derived from these very sources, yet you do not doubt their effectiveness.”

I flipped to a page, and rolled my eyes.“I suppose, but really—a truth potion?”

“I am sure you are familiar with a drug called sodium amytal, also known as truth serum. This is similar, only with less side effects, and it is unnecessary to introduce the potion into the blood stream. The potion need only make contact with the subjects’ skin. And, I might add, is a hundred times more effective.”

“So, basically, anyone could combine these ingredients and presto—truth potion. I find it hard to believe that people at large haven’t figured out this combination of ingredients.”

He heaved a dramatic sigh, though the action was undermined by his grin. “It wouldn’t matter if they did—you must be a witch for the potion to work. You have felt the energy that radiates from me?”

I nodded. “That is pure, unadulterated power. When a witch’s energy combines with the ingredients of a potion, whether it is a plant or an herb, your power enhances and essentially augments its properties a hundred fold. It is not possible for just any random person to achieve the same result.

“We can discuss this in length at a later time. Right now our priority must be to prepare you for the unbinding. Once your powers are no longer bound, the killer will be able to sense them if you do not learn to suppress it.”

“Nathan, I know how to raise a shield—trust me. With what I do for a living, I’ve had to learn.”

“You are efficient at erecting a shield, but you are simply blocking emotions from being able to reach you. What I will teach you is different.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Maybe for the purpose of your job it is sufficient, but to hide yourself from a supernatural creature, it is not enough. With your shields, you are blocking the outside world from reaching you, but you are not blocking yourself from the outside world.”

“Huh?” If he thought that convoluted explanation cleared things up he was wrong.

“Brianna, right now your powers are bound,so I do not feel anything coming from you—although, there have been occasions where you have attempted to read my emotions and I could feel your power. Your talent is like a muscle, and when you flex it, you give off a little charge—it would be comparable to a small static shock.” To illustrate his point, he touched me and a small zap shot into my hand.

“Ow.” I rubbed the spot with a smile since it didn’t really hurt.

“When we unbind your powers,” he continued, unfazed, “even without using your gift, that small static shock is going to feel more like a lightning bolt to anyone with supernatural abilities.” He noticed my worried expression and flashed a reassuring smile. And when he stroked his finger along the side of my cheek, my heart sprinted into action.

“That is why these lessons are so important,” he continued, as if he were oblivious to my reaction, which I knew he wasn’t. “I want you to try and read my emotions, but when you do it this time, I want you to simultaneously pull the static back into yourself so I cannot feel what you are doing. If you can master channeling my emotions without my awareness, then you will be ready for us to unbind your powers.”

“Okay. Let’s get started,” I proclaimed with steel determination.

By far, that was the most difficult lesson of the weekend, and when we finished the exercises, I was exhausted from the mental exertion. It was as if I was attempting to train mybody to stop blinking or breathing—a seemingly impossible task to stop, and something I’ve never really had to think about. I felt less worn out after hours of martial arts training. Just the thought of how tiring this would be when there was even more power to suppress made me want to crawl into bed and sleep.

Nathan assured me that eventually this too would become like second nature; it wouldn’t always be so depleting. Nonetheless, despite the difficulty, I was successful on one or two of my attempts. Once I got the feeling of it, it would just be a matter of practicing. 

Sunday he wanted to experiment with physical sensations, not just emotional. According to Nathan, he had never heard of another Empath with the ability to connect to physical stimuli such as pain or pleasure, only emotions.  He thought perhaps it was because I was a witch—not all Empaths were witches. In fact, most weren’t. It was also unheard of for an Empath to have the ability to shift those feelings onto another person. And since he discovered I had this ability, he’d believed this gift in particular could be tremendously useful...and not just in the bedroom.

After he had me establish a link with him, he experimented with inflicting physical pain to himself. Every time he cut, I felt it as if the pain were my own. He taught me to block the pain I channeled and send it back into him.It was like mirroring—I’d let it bounce off me like a reflection, and the sensation would double what he was feeling.

Throughout the weekend, I became increasingly adept at conducting both physical stimuli as well as emotional. Once I had the techniques grasped, he wanted to move on to something more complicated. His intention was to have me attempt to conjure pain from memory, rather than waiting until I picked it up from him. Then he wanted me to take the nebulous impressions, and give them substance inside him. 

Sitting comfortably with my eyes closed, he walked me through it. “Brianna, I want you to imagine something painful you remember experiencing—whether you felt it personally, or as an echo from someone else.” His voice was soothing, almost hypnotic. “Remember the pain and let your mind make it real. Can you feel it?”

“I think so...” I said, uncertainly. 

“Now, take that pain and force it into me, the same way you do when you mirror it, only this time, you are the source.”

His instructions were patiently hopeful. Still, nothing happened. “This isn’t going to work!” I blurted, frustrated withmy failed attempt. “I can’t just summon pain from memory—it’s too ambiguous.”

It was hard to cultivate this gift into something useful if I had nothing substantial to grasp, and I didn’t want to let him down.

No matter how many tantrums I had, Nathan remained calm and reassuring. He never let me quit, and he never once made me feel disappointed or like a failure. Maybe this just isn’t possible,” I said after hours of trying.

“Who says it is impossible? Most Empaths would tell you it is impossible to feel physical stimuli as well as emotional, yet you do. Most Empaths would tell you it is impossible to transfer what you channel onto someone else, yet you can do that, too. So, who says this is impossible? You must remember that in the practice of witchcraft, power is not enough. You must believe wholeheartedly in the outcome and your ability, otherwise it will not happen. It is as much about your will as your power.”

His encouragements were enough to keep me trying. My first attempts were unsuccessful, but by my third effort, Nathan crumpled from a short, but intense burst of pain. Once he recovered, he said it felt as if he was being consumed by fire, and though it only lasted seconds, it was excruciating. The small success gave me hope, and encouraged me to work harder to maintain it.

Sunday evening, Nathan and I relaxed and enjoyed a nice quiet evening in his apartment. After our first weekend of training, we were beat, so we settled onto the couch and watched a movie.

We had spent the past few days immersed in lessons of magic and witchcraft.  In addition to that, we had our daily sparring matches. For a man who was so reluctant to spar with me initially, he was like a drill sergeant now. I think the discovery of another victim, coupled with the change in our relationship, intensified his anxiety. I could feel that he was terrified I would be the next victim, and he would do anything to prevent that outcome, even if it went against the ingrained chivalrous nature of his upbringing.

I knew he was concerned about my safety, but I appreciated that he didn’t become overprotective the way my father always had. Nathan understood that I needed to be independent, so rather than staunch that need, he threw himself wholeheartedly into training me. But, God, he was merciless. He wouldn’t allow me to give up, and he never relented.

After the chaotic and grueling weekend, I treasured the normalcy of such a simple thing as watching a movie and enjoying an ordinary couple activity. He was an extraordinary man, and not simply because he was a vampire, but also because he had a good sense of humor, was a fantastic cook, an amazing lover, and was willing to sit through a chick flick just to spend time with me. We’d settled on
Stepmother
, and I seriously doubted he was agreed because he was into Julia Roberts.

Reclining on the couch, I was lying with my back along his chest and his arms were tightly circled around me. He absently grazed my skin everywhere with his fingertips, making it difficult to concentrate on the film. Truthfully, I was thankful for the distraction. I was worried about embarrassing myself by crying when Susan Sarandon’s character said her goodbyes to her family when she was dying of cancer. That’s when my mind wandered and I started thinking about our first victim Sherri and her mother Susan.

“Oh, my God. I’m so stupid!” I jumped up off his lap.

Nathan stopped the movie, clearly amused by my spontaneous, and not so predictable, reaction to the scene. “I am curious to know why you suddenly doubt your intelligence so fervently.”

“Sherri’s mother had leukemia. You said she had a bone marrow transplant?”

“Yes, she did. The doctors tested Sherri, but she was not a match.”

“So, how did she find a match?” I asked eagerly.

“Luckily, they found her a donor from the bone marrow registry.”

“We’ve been gathering medical records all week looking for a needle in a haystack and it was right in front of my face the whole time. She was on the bone marrow registry, which could be how the killer found her and Susan. This could be the link we’ve been searching for.”

I started pacing back and forth, lost in my thoughts. “We need to find out who has access to information on the bone marrow registry, and how they search for a match. Given that Sherri was the first victim since my mother was killed and the family went into hiding, it could give us a clue about how to connect the other girls as well.”

The next morning I practically ran into Morrison’s office, excited by my epiphany. I was sure I was onto something with the bone marrow tests. I just had to prove it.

I started explaining my theory to Morrison while impatiently throwing a stack of Leslie Harpers’ medical files at him.

“Just start looking through the blood tests and see if Leslie had an HLA test done?” I ordered, hastily.

“What the hell is an HLA test?” he asked, opening the folder.

“An HLA test is a blood test that identifies human leukocytes antigen. Everyone has three sets of HLA giving us a total of six. To donate bone marrow you need a perfect six out of six match.”

“How the hell do you know that?” he asked me, cynically.

“I had a family member who had leukemia, so I researched bone marrow transplants.” It was the truth. He just didn’t need to know that the family member was Sherri’s mother, and the research was late last night. “We need to check each of the victims to see if they also had the HLA test done, and if so, cross-reference their results and see if they were on the bone marrow registry.”

“Do you think the killer somehow has access to the registry? If our victims are all on it, that could be how he discovered them,” he said, joining in my excitement.

“Morrison, do you mind continuing without me today. I have an appointment this afternoon and it’s important.” I didn’t want to tell him I was meeting with Nathan and his private investigator. She had just returned from out-of-town business, and I wanted to question her about how she found the victims.