Touch No Evil Page 5

  If we all make it through this, if we halt this final prophesied battle, I vow to get through to my mother, break down the walls of secrecy and mental anguish, and liberate the tortured woman within. Yes, she’s still alive. And no, she’s not doing well.

  As a kid, with the loss of my dad, and ultimately my mom, I allowed Simms to fill in somewhat as a father figure. I once saw him as a man with my best interests at heart. He came across as warm and caring. Maybe not loving, but he often listened to me in earnest. He hugged me when I was hurt or sad. He dried my tears with his monogrammed handkerchief, which he always kept clean, and ready for my crying eyes. For all practical purposes, he embodied everything a young girl expects her father to be.

  Unlike Hope, I lived in his quarters—basically an apartment—and had my own bedroom. He never locked me in. He made me feel special by “adopting” me, but something about the school always bothered me. None of my friends there ever seemed genuinely happy.

  After learning from Hope about how she’s basically been a prisoner, I feel guilty. Had my friends all been locked in their rooms at night while I got to go “home” with my “father”?

  I was naïve, but not stupid, and by my mid-teens, I figured out he groomed me to be part of a select team of psychics. My career path was preordained long before I even graduated the equivalent of middle school.

  There were nine of us girls. We mostly stayed together throughout the program, although one girl, Diana, a friend of mine, got lost and no one ever found her. That’s how Grant Simms had described it to us. “She got lost,” he’d told me, which I always found curious and, later, troubling. Few could get lost on our secret—and guarded—campus in the woods, with its high walls and armed sentries. To get lost suggested one could leave, and I knew, even at a young age, that neither I, nor anyone else, was ever allowed to leave—at least, not without Simms or one of our teachers by our side.

  Most troubling were the faint cries for help I’d heard in the days following her disappearance, cries which came from Diana, the “lost” girl. It also bothered me that I had no clue where the original remaining seven girls ended up. Simms always said something about them not making the cut into PSI, which I found unsettling. If those girls, women by now, are back out in the world, why hasn’t the agency ever been exposed? Psychic women with the training they put us through should have made the news eventually. Unless, of course, they’ve been threatened, or worse—killed.

  Sometimes, he’d claim some of them went on to work for GEPSI in other capacities, and in other parts of the world. I found that explanation weak. If we all worked for the same agency, wouldn’t we run into each other at some point, even if over a phone or a meeting?

  I’ve only ever made contact with one of the girls from Simms’ “school”: Lindsay Everson. She predicts future events, and currently works from a facility in Stockholm where she provides my team with intel and arranges safe houses at certain times. As I think about her, it hits me that I haven’t seen or heard from her in over a year. Maybe I should try to reconnect. Of course, she probably has an allegiance to Simms, and that will not work in our favor at all. It will not be in our best interest to risk any type of contact with her, especially given what happened with Logan Stevens and his murdered assistant. Any interaction with them could potentially invite psychic infiltration or eavesdropping.

  Risking any sort of contact sounds like a bad idea. If I lower my shields, opening myself to that connection, another psychic might penetrate and Simms could get a strong lead on our whereabouts. I’m sure he has people trying to do that very thing. For now, I’ll stay the course, but if I need help, I might have to take a risk.

  As I get comfortable in the center of my bed, with blinds closed and lights off, I rest my hands in my lap and let my mind drift elsewhere, but my thoughts soon circle back to the school again. Ugh.

  During the equivalent of my high school years, I figured out that others like us existed. By that, I mean gifted. And male. Amazingly, the boys lived merely a building or two away, on the same fortified campus. My class heard rumors of that other group, and some of us even heard or saw them with our second sight, audial hearing, or prophetic visions. It was, after all, hard to keep secrets from us, of all people. I later learned why Simms worked so hard to shield this second group from us—boys are trouble and could turn years of training upside down. Or so Simms believed. Ayden, Noah, and John had been a part of that second group.

  At the end of our high school years, the two teams finally integrated. Wow, did we integrate. I remember how I felt an instant pull toward John Herrel, and we stole as many quiet moments as we could, holding hands as often as possible. Grant gave us our moments. I think he realized the futility of trying to stop young love. He must have thought if he didn’t relent, we would rebel.

  Such emotional thoughts pull me out of the deeper meditation I’m attempting, so I let them slip away and, minutes later, find myself catching up on the wings of something majestic and powerful. I watch, in my mind’s eye, as my thoughts fly far, far away…

  I summon a new animal familiar I’ve taken a fondness to after meeting Hope. She showed me her favorite: a little hummingbird with a particularly bright emerald head and ruby-colored throat. Animal guides are a part of my ability to tune in and really “listen.” They are easy to focus on and if I follow them through my mind’s eye, I can go to just about anywhere in the world, depending upon which animal guide I choose for that specific mission.

  Since Hope loves that particular totem, using it makes me feel closer to her, and after a few deep, slow breaths, my hummingbird appears in my mind. It zips up to me from the side as if he’s been waiting in the wings of a stage. He hovers in front of me, locking his tiny little eyes with mine. I give him my intentions and sink deeper into my state of calm, breathing easily as he dashes off. I am looking for the GEPSI children, hoping to discover where they are and find the tie-in that relates to the prophecies.

  In my thoughts, I dash off with him, gliding along behind his blur of tiny wings, hearing what he hears. Hundreds, if not thousands, of whispering voices reach me, but I push past them—no, I fly past them.

  Chapter Nine

  The hummingbird races across Vatican City, leading me between beautiful buildings, towering cathedrals, and breathtaking spires.

  I expect the little guy to dash down through an open window, or even a non-open window. Not like solid objects matter to mental projections. Indeed, few things on this earth short of a powerful shield can keep my animal totems out, or, more accurately, keep me out. After all, these animal guides aren’t real spirits. They’re manifestations of my soul set free, although Ayden doesn’t share that opinion. He believes he’s truly connecting with some essence of the animal, insect, or whatever creature we choose to use, like something out of maybe Mayan folklore. Honestly, none of us really know the truth of how what we can do works. I believe imagination is a powerful, unlimited, far-reaching tool that can take us in an instant to the deepest of oceans, the hottest of suns, or the outer edges of the universe… all in a blink, and all in our minds.

  Then why use animals as totems? I like them. Focusing on them helps align my energies, and the animals themselves seem to take on a life of their own, which does kind of support Ayden’s point. Of course, I argue that our imaginations are every bit as playful as the animals they create.

  In any case, though I shouldn’t be, I am surprised that the little hummingbird doesn’t dip down into one of the many glorious structures; instead, it continues on, flying faster and faster, racing over land and sea, covering thousands of miles in the space it takes to blink my eyes. I soon find myself in a familiar place: Sister Marie-Luce’s monastery in the hills outside Jerusalem. We sail toward a tower jutting up from the mountainside at the far right end of the sprawling complex. The bird appears to be aiming for a narrow window, barely five inches wide. It looks like the sort of opening a medieval archer might’ve fired from…

  Words begin to re
ach me, a young girl’s voice—Hope. The little bird plunges in the window, which doesn’t have glass, and sails straight through a point in the shield protecting the monastery. Using its beak like a hypodermic needle, we slip into the room and the shield closes back around us, stronger than ever as if it feeds from my energy. Since it protects my sister, and my friend, I don’t fight the siphoning. Nor does it fight me.

  Sister Marie-Luce sits behind Hope, both on the same bed I used a week before, back when the team and I needed to regroup. I don’t always receive such sharp visuals. I am audial, after all. I hear from long distances. But in this case, it’s like I’m standing in the room with them. Or at least my eyeballs are. I don’t understand how I wound up here when I’ve been trying to find the GEPSI kids unless…

  She summoned me.

  Right as I have that thought, Sister Marie-Luce looks my way with a slight nod. I know the sister is powerful in her own right. A few weeks before, I sent her a message asking for help. But to summon my animal guide? I haven’t known anyone who could do that. I’m sure she can do that. I’ll ask her all about it as soon as I have an opportunity.

  Learn something new every day.

  When dealing with the non-physical world, almost anything is possible; that is, if someone has a strong-enough intention. Sister Marie-Luce’s desire to contact me overrode my desire to seek answers.

  I can only wonder why.

  Sister Marie-Luce turns back to brushing Hope’s long, dark hair. “What did you wish for?”

  Hope fidgets her hands in her lap. She looks totally adorable in this big gray-white dress. Yeah, it’s like straight from Little House on the Prairie, but it’s cute. “For Ky to be safe.”

  “That is a good thing to want. I’m sure she’s safe. In fact, I know it. I’m happy that the two of you have found each other. There is a deep and inseparable bond of love between you.”

  “I do love her. She’s the only family I have. Can you imagine going your whole life never knowing that you have a sister… and then suddenly, bam!”—Hope flings her arms up as she yells bam!—“You find out you have like the greatest sister ever? I miss her so much and I want to be with her all the time. But I want her to be safe even more.”

  Her words choke me up, and it is all I can do to keep my focus. Yes, bam!… and I have a sister, too. I smile at that. And she is the greatest little sister a girl could hope for, despite our crazy, screwed-up lives. I feel for her exactly the way she does for me.

  “I imagine it was quite a wonderful surprise.” Sister Marie-Luce brushes her hair with long, slow strokes. I hadn’t realized just how long Hope’s hair is; she can almost sit on it.

  “It was the best surprise ever.” Hope beams.

  “Did you tell your sister about your birthday?” the nun asks.

  “No. She has so much to worry about. I didn’t want her to have to run out and buy me a present or be sad over not being able to be here for it.”

  The strain in her voice is clear, and Sister Marie-Luce picks up on it, too.

  “Has anyone ever bought you a present before?” she asks.

  Hope shrugs, her voice quivering. “The mom I have at the compound gave me gifts sometimes.” Her voice breaks, and she shrugs again. “I thought she was my mom anyway. I know the truth now.”

  Sister Marie-Luce stops brushing, grips the girl’s narrow shoulders, and peers around so they make eye contact. She smiles so brightly that her eyes twinkle. “Well, I happen to love giving gifts. And I like to wrap them with big bows, and I use lots of tape so they’re really, really hard to open. Sometimes, I take a small gift and wrap it in a small box within another box over that and so it looks like a giant present, but in the end once all of the boxes have been open except the smallest, you realize that the gift is quite small, but usually quite valuable.”

  Hope looks at her, tears gathering the corners of her eyes. “You’re silly, Sister Marie-Luce. Big bows and lots of tape?”

  “I know. I think you are, too. Silly that is.”

  Hope shakes her head. “Oh, no. I was never allowed to be silly. Or laugh. Or cry. I got punished if I behaved like a child. That’s part of why I wanted to run away. I hated it there.”

  My sister’s admission hits me harder than any punch or kick ever could. My childhood, after Dad died, was quite similar. Grant Simms had been like a father, but not a particularly warm one. It kinda unsettled me thinking how Hope and I shared the same biological father, and wound up both raised separately by the same non-biological father figure. Though, from the sound of it, Simms hadn’t even tried to “play Dad” to Hope the way he did with me.

  It’s beyond strange as a coincidence, but none of this happened by chance. I start putting the pieces together. Not a single aspect of our lives happened by accident, but rather by design.

  “Well,” says Sister Marie-Luce. “I encourage silliness here. In fact, I demand it. If you aren’t silly often enough, you are going to be in big trouble, missy.”

  Hope giggles again and turns back around. Sister Marie-Luce gathers Hope’s long dark hair in her hand, pulling it back into a loose ponytail, I can’t help but catch sight of something on the back of Hope’s neck.

  I sit forward on my bed, although that doesn’t actually help me move in closer. Catching myself, I command the hummingbird to move in closer, and it obliges.

  With Hope’s hair gathered in both hands, Sister Marie-Luce makes a show of lifting it aside, revealing a strange symbol on Hope’s neck. It is a symbol I’ve never seen before or know anything about until our visit to Logan Stevens. But I know it well now.

  Of course, it isn’t merely any symbol—it is the Chi-Rho: ☧

  “Who drew this on you, baby?” asks Sister Marie-Luce.

  “No one did. It’s a birthmark. Look again.”

  Sister Marie-Luce leans in and studies the mark closely, running her fingers over it. As best I can see, the mark is slightly reddish, and, yes, it even looks splotchy in some places, not neatly drawn like a tattoo.

  “Do you know what the symbol is?” asks Sister Marie-Luce. Being a nun in the Roman Catholic Church, she knows exactly what it is. She’s clearly testing Hope.

  “It’s the Chi-Rho symbol.” Hope shrugs. “I don’t like having it on my neck. It looks ugly.”

  “Do you know what it means?” Sister Marie-Luce lets her hair fall loose again.

  “It’s the first two letters of the Greek word for Christ. But don’t get too excited, Sister Marie-Luce. It’s just a birthmark. It could have looked like anything. It could have been an ant! A big red ant on my neck. That’s why I wear my hair so long, so no one can see it. That thing is so embarrassing.”

  Sister Marie-Luce glances in my direction, nods once, and then the scene fades from my mind.

  Chapter Ten

  Hope stares longingly at the space where the hummingbird had been a moment before as Sister Marie-Luce resumed brushing her hair.

  “You brought Kylie in to see that, didn’t you, Sister Marie-Luce?” asks Hope.

  “Maybe.”

  “She’s gonna feel bad about missing my birthday. And now she knows about that ugly birthmark on the back of my neck.”

  Sister Marie-Luce stops brushing, and beckons Hope to look her in the eye. “That mark has something to do with what Kylie is working on. I think it’s important for her to know.”

  Hope blinks in shock. Adults never give her straight answers. Not before this. If not outright lies, they’ll come up with stupid excuses or say things like, ‘Children shouldn’t concern themselves with adult business.’ But, Sister Marie-Luce didn’t even try to avoid the question.

  “Well, she’s going to feel bad about my birthday, though. And if she’s distracted, she could get hurt. Ky’s gotta stay safe and come back to me! I want to be with her.”

  Again, Hope curls up on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest.

  “Kylie knows how to remain focused on her job. I promise you that. She’ll stay safe.”

 
“I hope so.” Hope fidgets. She doesn’t necessarily think the nun is lying, but after everything she has experienced so far, she finds it difficult to trust people, even a nun. The line between truth, lies, and even the mere concept of truth blurs.

  “I promise you that it’s the truth,” Sister Marie-Luce says before spinning Hope around and giving her a tight hug. “It’s getting late and we haven’t eaten lunch yet. How about you go out and enjoy the garden while I go fix us something to eat?”

  Hope would rather have real clothes before going outside, but the dress isn’t bad, merely confining, and a bit silly looking. Not like any other kids will see her in it and make fun of her. The thought of lunch feels meh, since her stomach has wound itself in knots over her sister.

  However, she’d probably eat if given food, unlike when Orlenda tried to feed her. Surprise… she couldn’t quite work up an appetite while tied to a bed. Still, Sister Marie-Luce going off to make food presents a perfect opportunity to slip off and be alone—even if in the garden—so she can chase the tail of Kylie’s hummingbird—maybe even follow it.

  “All right. Thank you.”

  Sister Yael breezes in, the younger woman beaming. She sets the folded clothes on the bed beside Hope and launches into a rapid conversation with Sister Marie-Luce. Their Hebrew rolls by fast, heavy, and with a regional accent, but Hope gets enough out of it to understand Yael wants to go into the city and buy some more clothes for her. Sister Marie-Luce remains hesitant, due to people hunting for them, and is worried someone might notice and think it odd for one of their order to want children’s clothing.

  The nuns walk off, their conversation echoing into the distance. Yael will send word into town, and her cousin can do the shopping, then she can visit their home and no one will be the wiser. Sister Marie-Luce seems about to acquiesce…