Touch of Lightning Read online

  As the questions arose, her image faded from his mind. He was dismayed to realize that not only had the spirit disappeared, but he had con­tinued walking into the forest. When Leonard glanced over his shoulder, all he could see was blackness.

  How far away was his camp? Could he find his way back?

  “My friends and I have been waiting for you.”

  Leonard let out a startled yelp and swung toward the sound of the childish voice. At first he couldn’t see anything, but then an eerie light began to glow beside a nearby tree.

  As the light brightened, Leonard’s mouth dropped open in shock. Beneath the tree sat a four or five-year-old girl dressed in a thin, white T-shirt and a pair of white panties. In her lap lay a baby rattlesnake, and she stroked its head as if it were a kitten.

  Behind her stood the spirit Indian, his body bowed over her as if protecting her from the cold. And perhaps he was, Leonard realized, because he couldn’t see any sign of goose flesh marring her skin.

  “Who are you?” he questioned in wonder.

  “Sarah,” she said, raising her gaze to his. “I am the new guardian.”

  As he found himself looking into her large, golden eyes, Leonard shook his head. But it wasn’t an act of denial. It was one of recognition. The spark was there, and he knew that she spoke the truth. She was the new guardian. He also knew instinctively that this child, whom he’d just envisioned as a beautiful young woman, would be more than the triangle’s guardian. She would be the one tasked to fight the curse Seamus Morpeth had cast upon his tribe nearly three hundred years ago.

  Part One

  Your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods,

  knowing good and evil.

  —The Holy Bible: Genesis 3:5

  Chapter 1

  Evil Resurrected

  Salem, Massachusetts—Present Day

  “SUPERCILIOUS BITCH!”

  As he spoke, archeologist John Butler III slammed down the telephone receiver and glared at the pictorial calendar tacked to the wall above the phone. The photograph was a trite rendition of the ocean, its waves ruthlessly battering a rocky shore. As much as he hated the unimaginative depiction, it was a good reflection of his life. He felt like those rocks, stuck in position while the world—or, more exactly, Dr. Lois Layton, the head of the archeology department—pummeled him.

  How could she do this to him? The dig in the Middle East was his! If it hadn’t been for his meticulous research, she wouldn’t even have known about the site. This was his discovery, his chance to finally make a name for himself. She wanted to take it away from him, just as everyone always took the prestige away from him. He had to make her change her mind, but how?

  “Calm down and think!” he ordered himself. He then drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he finally reached a measure of calmness, he walked to the window. As far as he was concerned, the scene outside was as insipid as an oceanic photograph. Acres of meadowland stretched before him, complete with witless, grazing sheep.

  His temper stirred at the sight. He shouldn’t be stuck on a deserted farm outside Salem, Massachusetts, supervising a half dozen under­graduate students, who were excavating what amounted to a garbage dump generated by the damn Pilgrims. He should be heading for what promised to be the biggest archeological discovery in fifty years!

  With a curse, he swung around and looked at the room. He’d seen more habitable slums. The old farmhouse hadn’t been lived in for ten years, but The Bitch hadn’t cared that it was filled with mice and bugs, that the roof leaked, the plumbing didn’t work, and portions of the building were structurally unsound.

  “You’re an archeologist. Be thankful you even have a roof over your head,” she’d told him in a maddeningly deprecating tone. “I’m not wasting money on a motel when the team can stay at the farmhouse for free. Make the best of it, or I’ll find someone else who will.”

  He’d known her threat was real, so he’d made the best of it by placing a plank of wood on two sawhorses to create a makeshift desk. A laptop computer sat in its center, surrounded by a half dozen buckets that caught the rain during downpours, which seemed to occur every other day.

  He continued his survey of the room. More makeshift tables were scattered throughout it to accommodate the findings from the dig. So far they’d uncovered nothing more than some potsherds and a few rotted pieces from wagon wheels. In a far corner lay his sleeping bag, which he rolled up tightly every morning to make sure that the bugs and mice stayed out of it.

  Yes, he had made the best of it, but now he wondered if he shouldn’t have told her to find someone else. If she had to talk to him face to face, she might not be able to deny him his rightful position as head of the Middle East team.

  As her words repeated in his mind, he ground his teeth. “You’re too volatile, John. This is an unstable area of the world and inappropriate behavior could endanger the lives of the entire team. I need someone who can maintain his composure at all times.”

  Her explanation had angered him, but her intonation had infuriated him. She’d sounded as if she were lecturing a recalcitrant child, and he knew that her attitude was fostered by his small stature. If he were six feet tall and built like a linebacker, she wouldn’t give a damn about his volatility. But even with heel lifts, he barely measured five-foot-seven, and years of weight lifting hadn’t added significant muscular bulk to his spare frame. If anything, it had made him look skinnier.

  He turned back to the window, bitterly deciding that it wasn’t his temper destroying his career. It was his appearance. She wanted someone who’d look good on television interviews and magazine covers. She wanted a Harrison Ford clone, and he didn’t fit the image of a rough-and- tumble Indiana Jones. He was a small man, and in the eyes of the world, a small man wasn’t a man at all.

  “Dr. Butler?” said a hesitant female voice behind him.

  Startled, John spun away from the window and stared at the young woman standing in the doorway. With her lank brown hair and dull brown eyes, she had the vapid looks of a cow and a personality to match. Indeed, she was so unremarkable that he couldn’t even remember her name. The only reason he’d let her be on this project was that she was one of The Bitch’s pets.

  “Why aren’t you at the site?” he snapped, cursing himself when she eyed him fearfully. Dammit! He had to get a handle on his temper, or he would never make it to the Middle East.

  “Michael sent us back,” she said, a quaver in her voice. “Some­thing . . . weird is happening at the dig, and he doesn’t think it’s safe for us to be there.”

  John scowled at the mention of his nemesis, Michael Forest. The man wasn’t an archeologist, but a rich bastard who’d recently retired and turned his business empire over to his grandson. Then he’d made an obscenely large donation to the archeology department and persuaded The Bitch to let him work on a dig. Unfortunately, John had gotten stuck with him, and he’d come to despise the old man. Forest was constantly usurping his authority, and more than once they’d had words about it.

  Maybe that was why The Bitch had decided to keep him off the Middle East project. He’d bet the old man had complained about him, and with the kind of money Forest had, she’d take his word over John’s. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Forest was financing the Middle East excavation, and in exchange, he would be a part of the team. The son of a bitch would share in the fame, while John remained stuck in obscurity.

  “Dr. Butler?”

  The young woman’s anxious voice jerked him out of his angry speculation. He started to tell her to go tell Forest to go to hell. Luckily, his common sense surfaced. If Forest was behind The Bitch’s treachery, he couldn’t give him more ammunition.

  “What is this ‘weird something’ that’s going on?” he asked.

  A look of terror settled on her face. “Lightning.”

 
“Lightning?” he repeated, sure he’d misunderstood her. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. How could there be lightning?

  She nodded and began to wring her hands. “It’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  John arched a brow, unimpressed by her pronouncement. She looked like the type who’d be afraid of her own shadow. He opened his mouth to question her further, but she said, “Michael said you’re to come to the site immediately.”

  Forest’s dictatorial summons reignited his temper. He stalked past her, determined to have it out with Forest once and for all. It was time the old man understood that he may have been a captain of industry, but on this project, he was nothing more than a lackey. If it cost John the Middle East project, so be it. He was tired of being pushed around.

  When he arrived at the excavation site, however, all thoughts of confrontation disappeared and his mouth dropped open in shock. As he’d already noted, the sky was cloudless, but an intricately entwined wreath of lightning bolts hung above the pit they’d been excavating. The lightning circled so rapidly it made him dizzy. It also made no sound.

  He switched his gaze from the phenomenon to Michael Forest. He stood on the edge of the pit, staring up at the lightning with a rapt expression, unaware of John’s presence.

  Look at him, standing there like some god surveying his kingdom. Doesn’t that prove he’s the one behind The Bitch’s decision? He wants to destroy you. Are you going to stand by and let that happen?

  Hatred surged through John. Forest was at least thirty years his senior, but despite his shock of silver hair and the slight paunch that came with age, he looked more vibrant—more manly—than John ever had or ever would. And because of his bottomless coffers, Forest was buying his way into the world that John had fought tooth and nail to enter. Now the old goat wanted to take that world away from him.

  Stop him, and you will be rewarded. Remember, glory goes to those who protect themselves.

  The word “glory” vibrated through John. It was what he wanted— what he deserved—and people like Forest and The Bitch always stole it from him. Well, he was not going to take it from them any longer.

  He glanced around the site, confirming that they were alone, before leaning down and grabbing a shovel used to place discarded dirt from the pit into a pile. Then he crept up behind Forest, who continued to stare at the lightning as though hypnotized by it. John knew instinctively that that was exactly what was happening to the old man. He also knew he had to take care of him before the spell broke and he realized John was there.

  When John was a couple of feet behind Forest, he hefted the shovel into the air. Letting a lifetime of anger and frustration fuel him, he brought the shovel down on the back of Forest’s head. There was a satisfying crack of metal against bone, and Forest teetered for a moment before toppling into the pit. As he fell, John dropped the shovel and stepped into the same spot where Forest had stood.

  Staring down into the pit, he noted that the old man’s head was bent at such an angle that, when he’d fallen, he’d probably broken his neck. But broken neck or not, he was obviously dead.

  As the gravity of that hit him, a shiver of fear crept up John’s spine. “My God, what have I done?”

  Vengeance is thy right, and glory thy reward. Everything thou desireth will now be granted.

  As the words echoed in John’s mind, a lightning bolt broke free of the wreath and struck a spot near the center of the pit. Excitement stirred inside him. The lightning was showing him the way to his reward, and whatever lay buried at that spot would help him achieve his glory!

  He scrambled into the hole and hurried to where the lightning had hit. All he saw were clumps of earth, still muddy from a recent rain, but then a gleam of silver caught his eye. Dropping to his knees, he dug with his fingers until he uncovered a dirt-encrusted metal object about six inches in diameter.

  As he lifted it into his hands, another bolt of lightning broke free of the wreath and struck the object. John felt his body convulse from the ele­ctrified charge, and he screamed in agony as metal burned into his hands.

  He didn’t know how long he suffered from the excruciating pain. All he knew was that one moment he was sure he was going to die, and the next moment the pain had vanished.

  In its place came a flood of knowledge, and he suddenly knew secrets he shouldn’t have—couldn’t have—known. But he did know them, and their significance was profound.

  He shook his head in disbelief. He held a piece of an ancient talisman, which had been broken apart centuries ago. This piece had been buried, and the other pieces were taken away so the talisman couldn’t be made whole again. If he recovered the other two pieces, he would be the most powerful man in the world.

  “But how do I find the other pieces?” he asked in confusion, running his fingers over the circle. It was no longer encrusted with dirt but gleamed like newly polished silver. Delicately engraved symbols, unlike anything he’d ever seen, ringed its edge.

  All thou must know will be revealed. Now thou must escape, for others come.

  A nagging voice in the back of John’s mind said he was crazy. He was talking to a piece of metal, for God’s sake! Worse, he thought it was talking back.

  Uneasily, he glanced over his shoulder. When his gaze landed on Forest, he shuddered in both revulsion and fear. He’d just killed one of the richest men in the world, and even an insanity plea wouldn’t save him. He had to get out of here!

  With a mumbled curse, he leaped to his feet, hurried to the side of the pit, and scrambled out of it. When he saw a group of students approaching in the distance, he cursed again. Forest had told them to stay away, so why were they coming back?

  Recognizing that the question was moot, he ran toward an outlying stand of pines. He had no idea where he was going, but as panic tried to surface, an inner voice told him there was no reason to be afraid. The talisman would protect him, and it would tell him everything he needed to know.

  As he entered the woods, he burst into exhilarated laughter. He was finally going to have the glory he deserved, and no one would ever take it away from him again.

  Sanctuary, Pennsylvania

  Sebastian Moran warily studied the glowing silver triangle, linked to a delicate silver chain. The triangle measured about four inches long and three inches wide at the base. Both it and the chain were sealed in a small glass dome. The dome was in a glass display case filled with crystal and gem amulets.

  “How long has it been glowing like this?” he asked Shana Morland- Alden, the caretaker of the coven’s repository where the triangle was kept. She had summoned him, declaring that something “strange” was hap­pening. As the troubleshooter for the council of high priests, who ruled all the covens around the world, it was Sebastian’s job to handle unexplained phenomena.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “I haven’t been in here for several weeks. I wouldn’t have come in here today, except . . .”

  “Except what?” Sebastian demanded when she fell silent.

  She shook her head and frowned. “It was as if I felt an undercurrent of magical energy that I couldn’t pinpoint.”

  “And you hadn’t felt the energy before today?” When she shook her head again, he returned his attention to the triangle, disturbed by her answer. He’d felt the same undercurrent for nearly a month, and he also hadn’t been able to pinpoint it. Now he knew the source, but what was making the triangle glow? And why hadn’t Shana, who lived in the house, felt the energy before now?

  Because the triangle wants you.

  Sebastian started. Where had that thought come from?

  “What?” he said, looking at Shana, who had spoken at the same time the thought had arrived.

  “I said that unless you need me, I’m going upstairs to look for the journal that will tell us about the amulet.”

  “Fi
ne,” he murmured, resuming his inspection of the object. For an amulet, it was unusually plain. There were no gems attached to it, nor was there any engraving. Of course, there might be something engraved on its back, but he’d have to take the dome out of the display case to find out. Instinct told him that he should remove it only as a last resort.

  He turned to search the room for a reason for the triangle to glow. It was the first time he’d been in the repository, which was located in the center of Shana’s house, and he surveyed it curiously.

  The room was circular and a good twenty-five to thirty feet in dia­meter. A pentagram was built into the center of the floor, and a brick fireplace filled one wall. Scattered around the room were more display cases and tables cluttered with objects, ranging from crystals to weaponry and everything in between.

  He knew that some of the articles were sacrosanct, but most were stored here because they had been created under the Old Ways and involved the dark forces of nature. Sebastian recognized that it was an important safety measure to keep them here. More than two hundred years ago, the council of high priests had banned the practice of the Old Ways. Many of these objects could unleash dangerous powers that, without the knowledge of the Old Ways, the coven couldn’t control.

  He continued his survey of the repository. On the wall opposite the fireplace was a staircase. He let his gaze follow it upward to a balcony on the second-floor level, where he saw Shana searching through what appeared to be thousands of books in built-in bookcases. She was awash in a rainbow of colors. Where was the color coming from?

  Looking for the answer, he turned his attention to the staircase leading from the second-floor balcony to the third story level. It contained more display cases and tables. Finally, he raised his gaze to the ceiling, and he found the origin of the colors. The ceiling consisted of a stained-glass pentagram mirroring the one on the floor. Early-morning sunlight flowed through the glass, creating a dazzling show of vibrant hues. Was that what was making the triangle glow? Was it nothing more than a reflection of light?