Page 12 of Obsessed in Blood

“That seems fair.” He wasn’t exactly scared to put it on, though he had no idea what would happen if the medallion sensed a vampire or someone completely untrained. He was nervous about what he’d find if he connected with Cressa. She had to be okay. If Lorenzo had wanted her dead, they would have found her body in the wreckage.

He set down his glass of single malt and picked up the medallion. “I need to be asleep, right?”

“Not necessarily. A meditative state should be sufficient.” She set down her wine and stood, letting the blanket drop to the floor. “Get up.” He stood, and she pulled his chair around so it directly faced the fire. “Sit down, and then put on the necklace.”

He drained his glass then sat down.

“Is the necklace touching your skin?”

“Yes.”

“Start with staring at the flames. Let your mind drift until the flames become out of focus, and then close your eyes.”

He did as she asked as her fingers slowly massaged his neck and shoulders. The tension drained away as the fire blurred, and he closed his eyes. The gentle touch stopped, and he let his mind drift. Simone had taught him the basic tenets of meditation, though he rarely used the practice. But now her guidance returned, and he flowed with where his mind took him.

He stood in the garden at Oasis. He raced to the grotto, but Cressa wasn’t there. He walked the entire garden before something pulled him toward the lake. A shadow of a person sat at the small knoll and watched the ducks come to rest on the water for the evening.

“Cressa?”

The figure turned its head then disappeared like mist in the sun.

“Cressa!”

He turned in a circle, arms outstretched, but there was no one there. Just the cool evening breeze and the sound of a crackling fire.

His eyes popped open. “Dammit.”

“What?” Lyra sounded worried.

He looked around, expecting someone else to be in his room, but it was only his sister.

“What happened?” Her tone was more demanding.

“Nothing. I thought I saw her, or a memory of her. But it only lasted a few seconds.”

“Try again.”

He did. But it was only him in the garden and then by the lake. He shook it away and took off the necklace, tossing it on the table.

“Change places with me.”

Lyra pickedup the medallion and pulled the necklace over her head. She sat in the chair and followed the same instructions she’d given Devon. Well-practiced at meditation, she fell easily into a trance.

She was in her room upstairs and was painting. It was an island scene with lush vegetation and tall palm trees. The sand was a pure white and along the border of the jungle, a lone sycamore tree, completely out of place in the tropical scene, stretched its branches to the heavens. A picnic basket was on a checkered blanket, and instead of the man she usually painted, the light image of Cressa sat cross-legged next to it. Her image was as transparent as a ghost. She picked the flowers that appeared next to the blanket—rose bushes filled with dark blood-red blossoms.

Lyra glanced around, but there was no one else in the room. Without thinking, she called out.

“Cressa!”

For a moment, she thought the figure on the blanket looked up, but it was so quick it might have been her imagination. Then the faint outline of the woman rose. She picked up a pair of sandals and walked toward the jungle until she disappeared.

Lyra came out of the mediation slower than Devon.

“Well. Did you see her?”

“It was the strangest thing. I was in my room painting.” She moved to the sofa where Devon sat and picked up the blanket to sit next to him. She described the dream in detail, then snuggled into him.

He put an arm around her. “We need to find another way.”