Page 9

It sounded child-like, feminine, and frightened.

“Show yourself!” Innocente ordered. Under her covers she slipped the safety off the gun as she wrapped the rosary around the barrel. All her life she had endured the visitations of the dead, but for a few years she had managed to keep them at bay. It was difficult to hide from the ghosts that were seeking help.

“Help me,” the voice whispered. “He hurt me. ”

Innocente tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Her voice slightly rasped as she said, “Show yourself. ”

The darkness in her room split like a curtain and withdrew to reveal a young woman dressed in a white lace dress with ribbons woven into her white-blond hair. Her enormous blue eyes gazed at Innocente solemnly. Both of her hands were pressed against her throat. Blood gushed over her fingers and ran like red ribbons over the silky lace of her dress.

Innocente gasped, startled by the vision. “Who hurt you, sweetie?”

“The Summoner,” the girl whispered, her perfectly shaped pink lips barely moving.

“Dios mio!” Innocente crossed herself, but kept her hand with the gun and rosary tucked under the covers. “He’s dead!”

Red tears stained the girl’s cheeks as she held out one bloodstained hand toward Innocente. “He hurt me. Please, help me!”

“How?” Innocente whispered, giving in to the plea. The young woman looked so fragile, so desolate, it tugged at her heartstrings. “How can I help you?”

“Save me from her,” the girl’s voice was fading. “She wants me to do terrible things. ”

“Who does, honey?” Innocente’s heart was beating faster and faster.

“The woman with the red eyes,” the girl wailed.

The room grew colder as the apparition at the end of Innocente’s bed wept. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Who are you?” Innocente managed to say despite her dry throat and trembling lips.

“Bianca Leduc,” the girl answered. “She’s going to kill Amaliya. ”

“No!” Innocente gasped. “No, not my Amal!”

Bianca Leduc’s eyes flashed white as the room fell to freezing temperatures. The moisture of Innocente’s breath turned to ice on her lips.

“Help me! Before it’s too late!” Bianca cried out then the darkness swallowed her. Her departing scream echoed throughout the room.

Innocente cried out in fear, then the lamp next to her bed flashed on. Sergio, her grandson, stood next to her bed clutching a bowl of cereal. Innocente slowly sat up, startled to realize she had dreamed the entire encounter.

“What’s up, Grandmama?” Sergio asked, spooning more cereal into his mouth and crunching it loudly.

“I had a nightmare,” she answered, pressing her shaking hand to her chest. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. She flipped over the pillows revealing the rosary and firearm. “It was just a nightmare. ”

“What about?” Sergio asked, frowning slightly.

Innocente grimaced, the nightmare already beginning to fade. “I’m not sure. There was a girl in it and she needed my help. ”

Cynthia, Sergio’s wife, appeared behind him. She was bleary-eyed, yawning, and looked half-asleep. “Everything okay?”

Since the encounter with The Summoner a few months before, Innocente had been living with Sergio’s family. She had hated losing her independence, but now that she understood the true dangers of the supernatural realm she knew she had to be careful. Sergio had moved his family in with her and there had been some difficult adjustment as the house had become a home to all of them. She had reluctantly allowed Cynthia to redecorate the main rooms of the house and send off boxes full of clothes, toys, and other items she had been storing in the extra rooms in her house. Innocente always found it difficult to let go of objects from the past. She loved to feel the energy of her long dead husband and daughter in their old possessions, but she had finally let those old things go.

“Grandmama had a nightmare,” Sergio answered his wife.

Cynthia stole his spoon and ate a mouthful of cereal. “I hate nightmares. Especially the ones with clowns. ”

Innocente stared at the end of the bed, her mind struggling to hold onto the image of the girl she had seen in her dream. There had also been a name said by the apparition in her nightmare, but she had already lost it. “This one had a ghost. A girl. She needed help. ”

Arching an eyebrow, Cynthia tilted her head. “You mean. . . a dream. ”