One Enchanted Season Read online

  “I’m going to name my kitty Spot,” Elizabeta murmured, yawning and snuggling closer to her mother.

  “I’m going to name mine Caramel,” Maria said.

  Kat drew a deep breath, exhaled slowly. The last of the darkness dissipated.

  “Those sound like lovely names,” she said. And Kat knew, with a certainty she could never explain even to herself, that these children would be alright. That her wishes for them—peace, happiness, joy—would come true. That their joy would help heal their mother, too. It wouldn’t happen overnight—as much as she wished for it, it never did—but it would happen. That was the important part.

  A few moments later, tiny eyelids drooped down, and the little girls drifted to sleep, curled up against each other and their mother, small arms clutching the tiny, soft kittens.

  As Kat quietly opened the door, she heard a raspy, whispered voice say, “Thank you. You are truly an angel sent from Heaven.”

  She glanced at Viveca and found the woman’s bloodied green eyes watching her from a mass of mottled bruises. Katrina’s throat went tight.

  “There’s no such thing as angels,” Kat said. Quickly, before the battered woman could respond, she slipped into the hallway, closing the soundproofed bedroom door behind her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “You’re wrong, you know.”

  Kat turned to find Maya standing in the basement hallway. She was regarding Kat with that steady, solemn, soul-piercing stare, the look that made naughty children shuffle their feet and blurt out their guilty confessions.

  “Angels do exist,” Maya continued. “And you’re definitely one of them. No, don’t roll your eyes. I’ve never met anyone who can mend broken souls the way you do.”

  “It’s a talent all we child-whisperers possess,” Kat quipped, referring to the term Maya had coined to describe what Kat did with her kittens, her stories, the pictures of beautiful futures she wove with her words.

  “Laugh and deflect all you want,” Maya replied. “It doesn’t change the truth. Those girls could spend years in therapy and never heal like they just did after a few hours with you. That is nothing short of miraculous, Katrina.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d rather be able to stop the abuse from happening in the first place,” Kat muttered. She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to relieve the tension gathered there. “Now, that truly would be a miracle.”

  “True, but that in no way discounts the miracles you work. Take pride in that, Kat. You have an amazing gift.” When Kat made no answer, Maya sighed and changed the subject. “Tonight’s move is all set. I’ll take them out in Mark’s van in an hour or so. You go on home and get some sleep.”

  Kat glanced at her watch and was only slightly shocked to find that it was nearly midnight. She’d completely lost all track of time—not unusual when she was child-whispering. No wonder her neck was so stiff.

  Together, they headed up the stairs. Kat was just about to retrieve her purse from the drawer of her immaculate desk when a commotion near the shelter’s front doors sent both Kat and Maya running.

  Two of the men the shelter employed for security and odd jobs were already there, using their bodies as a barricade against the enraged man who was shouting obscenities as he tried unsuccessfully to push his way past them. Behind the man, the door to the shelter was busted open, the doorframe splintered from where he’d kicked it in.

  “Get out of my Goddamn way! I know my wife’s in here, and I’ve come to get her. Mary? You get over here now, Mary!”

  Maya pulled out her cell phone. “I’m calling the cops,” she said. “You try to calm him down.”

  Kat nodded and approached the struggling men. “You need to calm down, sir,” Kat said, her voice low and steady, automatically falling into the same persuasive cadence she used when she was child-whispering. She met the man’s gaze, stared at him with unblinking eyes, willing him to focus on her. “You’ve made a mistake. Whoever Mary is, she’s not here. You need to calm down before someone gets hurt. The police are already on the way. I know you don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  Through the open door behind the man came a loud, haunting, mournful howl.

  A shiver ran up Katrina’s spine. She didn’t like dogs. Her gaze shifted momentarily from the man to the open doorway, searching the darkness beyond for the source of that howl.

  The man used the momentary distraction to break free of the guard holding him. He shoved Pete, one of the guards, sending him sprawling into Katrina. Kat went down, and Pete went with her. His body landed on top of hers, pinning her to the floor.

  Kat froze. A wave of icy blackness washed over her. In an instant, she was transported to another place, another time. Trapped, pinned, the smell of man in her nose. Screams dying in her throat.

  Then Maya was there, bending over her. “Kat? Look at me, Kat. It’s all right. Look at me now. Come on, honey.”

  Kat blinked. Her gaze clung to Maya’s face. She was dimly aware of scuffling. Pete was no longer on top of her. She sucked in a shuddering breath.

  “Good girl,” Maya crooned. “That’s it. Just keep looking at me, honey. Everything’s fine. Pete and Raoul took the man outside. Everything’s all right. Do you hear me?”

  Kat blinked again. Her throat was dry. She swallowed hard. Then the world seemed to speed up to regular time, and awareness came rushing back, bringing with it the ability to move. She sat up. “I’m fine. I just had the wind knocked out of me.”

  Maya smiled. “Of course, sweetie. Can I help you up?” She held out a hand and waited. She knew better than to touch Kat, especially at times like these.

  “I’m fine.” Ignoring Maya’s hand, Kat got to her feet. Half a dozen of the shelter residents were crowded around, staring at her with eyes filled with a new awareness. She flushed and turned away. Her stomach was tied in knots and for a moment she thought she was going to throw up. Some secrets she never wanted to share. “I just need a minute.”

  She hurried on shaking legs towards the security of her office, taking care to avoid even the chance of bumping into another person. When the door closed behind her, she collapsed onto her chair and reached for the framed photograph on her desk.

  Like the picture she kept in her glove box, the framed image from her desk was a picture of a tropical ocean. And, also like the picture in her glove box, this one wasn’t actually a photograph. It was a clipping of a magazine cover, an idyllic image of brilliant blue water, a silver sand beach, and palm trees bending towards the sun. For the second time that day, her gaze fixed on the bright, gorgeous water in the photograph, that beautiful shade of turquoise, as she sought the peace only the sea could bring her.

  She’d never been to that beach before. Never been to any beach, for that matter. But she’d dreamed of it so many, many times. That warm, endless stretch of clear sea, drawing her down, embracing her with the sort of close, loving comfort she could never accept from people.

  Peace. Utter, calming, restorative peace. Blissful.

  She drew a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. The sea was still there, behind her closed lids, as it had been since her parents died and her life became the stuff of nightmares. I am here, Katrina. I am with you. You are not alone. And the soothing peace washed over her like waves, like it had so many times in the past, making her whimper in relief as remembered pain leeched away.

  Her pulse slowed. Her breathing went deep and even.

  She opened her eyes and set the framed photograph back on her desk. This was why she’d never been to the beach in her photo or any beach like it. She was afraid that if she went, the reality wouldn’t offer the same measure of comfort, and that would ruin it for her forever. Her one sliver of peace. She guarded it jealously, fiercely.

  It was all that stood between her and the abyss.

  ###

  Maya was waiting, Kat’s purse in hand, when Kat emerged from her office. “Here. You go on home. The cops will be here any minute, and there’s no need for you to stick around. I’ll t
ake care of the report. Our ‘visitor’ tonight was the guy you saw following you, right?” She nodded to the bruised, slightly balding intruder who’d been cuffed with zip ties and made to sit in the foyer corner. Raoul stood over him with a Taser, ready to zap the guy if he so much as twitched again.

  Was that guy Mr. Glowy, Golden & Gorgeous? Not by a long shot. But as Kat started to say no, something about the man made her stop. He did look familiar. And over the years, she’d become pretty good at remembering faces.

  “He’s not the one I was talking about…but I’ve seen him before. I don’t know. It’s possible he followed me, I suppose.” Kat rubbed her temples.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. For now, you’re going home. And don’t come in tomorrow. Or Friday either, for that matter.”

  “Maya—”

  “I mean it. You’ve been working too hard. You need to get some sleep and take care of yourself.” Maya’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “You’re the only child-whisperer I’ve got.”

  “Maya—”

  “I do have ulterior motives. Isabella would be heartbroken if you were too tired to enjoy her birthday party this weekend.”

  Kat clamped her lips shut. Maya wasn’t beyond emotional blackmail to get what she wanted, that was for sure. Isabella was Maya’s youngest. Seven years old. A special, beautiful child with terminal bone cancer. She would be with them for so short a time. Every moment was precious. Kat would no more disappoint Isabella than she would throw herself into a mosh pit and let hundreds of strangers put their hands all over her.

  “Fine. I’ll stay home tomorrow.” When Maya arched a brow, Kat groaned and rolled her eyes. “And Friday night, too.”

  Maya was all smiles and satisfaction. “Great. We’ll see you Saturday. Three o’clock. Plan to stay for dinner. Pete?” Maya waved the security guard over. “Please walk Kat to her car.” Maya arched a brow at Kat, daring her to argue. When she didn’t, Maya’s lips curved in satisfaction. “Good night, child-whisperer. See you this weekend.”

  ###

  Child whisperer.

  The tongue-in-cheek label Maya had given her kept swirling around Kat’s mind as she drove. It was true Kat had a gift with children, especially ones who’d suffered abuse. Her father, Jon Bentsen, had possessed a similar gift, though he ended up as broken in his own way as Kat was now. For him, it was paranoid schizophrenia. Always imagining the “bad things” were chasing him—chasing them both. He’d shuttled Katrina and her mother from pillar to post, moving them constantly so the “bad things” never found them.

  Looking back, Kat realized that any hope for a “normal” life had been pretty much doomed from the start. A crazy father constantly going off his meds. A recovering addict for a mother. Monsters for maternal grandparents.

  Addiction was how her parents met. Jon had stumbled across Jolene Boen in a crack house while self-medicating his mental condition with illegal substances. For some reason, they’d meshed. Two lost souls clinging together in the darkness of their lives.

  To their credit, once Jolene realized she was pregnant, they’d helped each other get sober. Jon Bentsen had gone back on his meds—at least for a while—and Jolene worked hard to stay clean.

  Kat didn’t blame her parents for their problems. They’d loved her. She knew that. And after living ten years with her maternal grandparents, Kat knew exactly why her mother had run away from home as a teen and ended up on the streets, an addict and a prostitute. If not for Kat’s dreams of those warm turquoise seas that had sheltered her from the worst of her suffering, she would have likely ended up the same.

  Instead, here she was, broken in so many ways but still able to function in the world. Still able to help the little ones who needed her most. Her life was far from perfect, but still so much better than it could have been.

  The streets were dark and silent as she drove. Clouds had moved in to cover the stars, and a light mist was falling, turning the roads slick as the temperature dropped. Shadows clung to the ground and the alleyways, encroaching on the pools of feeble light shining down from the occasional unbroken streetlamp. Something about the eerie darkness of the streets made her wish she hadn’t refused Pete’s offer to escort her home. The tension that had coiled in her neck and temples all night wound tighter.

  A baying howl broke the silence, sounding closer than the one earlier tonight. A shiver ran down her spine. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

  She really didn’t like dogs.

  As if summoned by her dislike, a furry little dog darted out into the middle of the road directly in front of her car. Katrina slammed on the brakes and yanked the wheel. Her car skidded on the wet road and slammed into a utility pole on the side of the road. If not for her seatbelt, she would have taken a dive through the windshield. As it was, the belt held fast, but her face slammed into the steering wheel. The world went blurry, then dark around the edges, then totally black.

  The next thing she knew, she woke to the incessant blare of some idiot laying on his car horn, and the feel of a hand gently but persistently shaking her back to consciousness.

  “Kat, you have to wake up now. Hurry, Kitty Kat. Come one, baby girl. Wake up for me.” Then, barked in a stern, commanding voice, “Katrina Rose!”

  Katrina groaned. Her head felt like it was splitting open. There was a huge, throbbing lump on her forehead, and she was so tired she just wanted the noise to stop so she could go back to sleep.

  “No, honey. You can’t sleep. Not now. I need you to wake up. I need you to get moving.” A hand brushed the hair out of her face. For the first time in what seemed like forever, the touch didn’t send her spiraling into old nightmares. Instead it felt—comforting. “Come on, baby. Wake up.”

  She peeled open one eye. Her father—her dead father—was leaning over from the passenger side seat, shaking her. Looking perfectly healthy, perfectly alive, both sane and sad. And very concerned.

  “Daddy?” She frowned. Was she dead? Surely if she was dead, she wouldn’t ache all over. But her head hurt so bad logic was hard to cling to. Much easier to just accept what her senses were telling her was real. “What are you doing here?” Her tongue felt thick and unwieldy in her mouth. Her words came out slurred, as if she’d been drinking.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted this to be your burden, but they’re coming for you. You’re going to have to run.”

  She frowned again, and the movement sent pain stabbing into her brain like shards of glass. She tried to make sense of what he was saying. “Who’s coming? What are you talking about?”

  “There’s no time to explain. Get out of the car now, baby. Get out and run.”

  The urgency in his voice prodded her to action. Katrina unbuckled her seatbelt and fumbled for the door handle. The blaring car horn had silenced. Her head must have been mashed against it. The door swung open and she tumbled out onto the wet, icy road, landing on hands and knees.

  As she staggered to her feet, she remembered the little dog running out in front of her car. Had she hit the little dog? Using the flashlight she fished out of her glove box, she squinted at the front of her car, now wrapped around a telephone pole, then stumbled around to the back. There was no sign of the dog.

  God. She really, really didn’t like dogs.

  “It’s not dogs you need to worry about, baby. Not the real ones, in any case. Kat!” he snapped when she continued turning in circles, searching for the dog. “The dog’s fine! Forget the dog! Listen to me!”

  She stopped spinning and stood swaying drunkenly in her shoes, frowning as she tried to focus.

  “You need to run, baby.” Her father was standing beside her open car door now, looking more sober and put together than she could ever remember seeing him. “Run, now. There’s a Catholic church three blocks down that way.” He pointed to the right. “Get to it. Use the votive candles to make a ring of light—”

  “We’re not Catholic,” she said, stupidly.
<
br />   “It doesn’t matter, Kat. Pay attention. Make a ring of light like in my old room in the cellar. You know the one.”

  She knew the one. His angel room. The place he went to hide when he was off his meds and his schizophrenic hallucinations were out of control. All his life, he’d said something evil was hunting him, that only the angels could save him. In every place they’d ever lived, he’d claimed or built a windowless room and painted a ring of angels across the walls, each set with a small votive candle that he would light when the hallucinations overwhelmed him. Seven candles for seven angels. The archangels, her father had always said. The strongest of the strong. Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Ramiel, Chamuel, Jophiel, Raguel. A circle of protection against all the evils of the world and, more importantly, all the evils not of this world. A ring of angels and light to keep away the darkness, to keep the monsters at bay.

  “Light the candles, then pray, Kat. Pray for God to send you help and protection.”

  “I don’t believe in God.”

  He smiled, and his smile was so full of love and understanding she almost started to cry. “Of course you do, Kitty Kat. You’re just mad at him right now. But you believe in him, and he believes in you, too, else you wouldn’t be able to help all those children.”

  A loud howl somewhere behind her made her turn in surprise and fear. Was that another dog? She’d driven home this way hundreds of times over the last couple of years, and never heard so many howling dogs.

  She turned back to her father.

  “Daddy, you need to come with—” Her voice broke off.

  Her father was gone.

  Kat stood there, swaying in her mid-heel pumps, staring at the empty spot where her father had been. Her dead father. Whom she’d seen plain as day—conversed with, even.

  She lifted shaking hands to her face. Oh, God, it had finally happened. She’d gone crazy. Just like her father.