The Sinner. Amanda Stevens

I had yet to discern, I was all too aware of Darius Goodwine’s treachery and so I steeled myself against his insidious magnetism.

      Turning back to the headstone, I continued to scrape away at the layers of moss and lichen while tracking him from my periphery as he wove his way through the headstones. Despite his height, he moved with an uncanny grace. If I hadn’t known he was a flesh-and-blood man, I might still have thought him a specter, so ephemeral and floating was his presence.

      As he neared, a faint trace of ozone wafted on the breeze, leaving me to wonder if a sudden storm had sprung up or if the scent came from the man himself. A moment earlier, the day had been clear and sunny, but now a shadow fell across the landscape. I shivered in the premature twilight, keeping my gaze averted because I didn’t dare look up into those hypnotic eyes.

      “Amelia Gray.” Despite his cultured manner of speaking, there was something in the low timber of his voice that reminded me of a tribal drumbeat. Amelia Gray. Amelia Gray. Amelia Gray. “It’s been a while since last we met.”

      I inclined my head slightly, slanting a glance up through my lashes into those mesmeric eyes for only a split second before shifting my gaze to the talisman that hung around his throat. It was made of some thin metal, intricately engraved with hieroglyphics. I stared at it for a very long time. So long, in fact, that I lost track of the moments ticking by. I suddenly felt very disoriented, as if I had become lost once more in a dream of Darius Goodwine’s making.

      I didn’t try to empty my thoughts to allow his emotions to enter. I was too afraid to trifle with such a cunning mind. So instead I focused on strengthening my defenses and on keeping him out of my head. I visualized a door slamming shut as I chanced another glance at his arresting visage. His lips curled in amusement, but I saw something that might have been surprise—or annoyance—flicker in his eyes, leaving me with a momentary triumph.

      Boldly, I lifted my chin and met his gaze. “The last I heard, you were in Africa. What brings you to Seven Gates Cemetery?”

      “I’ve come to see you, naturally.”

      There was nothing natural about his presence or his timing, I felt certain. “Why?”

      “All in good time. We have some catching up to do first.”

      I scowled up at him. “How did you know where to find me?”

      “Your powers have grown stronger since our last encounter. They leave a trail.”

      Was that admiration I heard in his voice? A touch of wonder, even?

      I drew myself up short as I recognized another of his tactics. I wouldn’t allow myself to be seduced into a false sense of security by the likes of Darius Goodwine.

      “What kind of trail?” I asked.

      “They create a disturbance that might best be compared to the wake of a ship or the contrail of a jet. Easy to follow if one knows how and where to look.”

      I resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder. The notion that the changes inside me had left an astral pathway that could lead a dangerous witch doctor straight to my door was more than a little troubling. “Do the police know you’re back in the country?”

      The dark eyes glinted. “If by police you mean John Devlin, does it matter? Now that you’re no longer together, he’s of no consequence to either of us.”

      “How did...” I cut myself off before admitting my estrangement from Devlin. The last thing I wanted was to divulge my innermost pain to a predator in search of a weakness. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

      “I’ve known about it ever since it happened. Word travels fast, even in deepest, darkest Africa.” Another of those mocking pauses. “Was the separation your idea or his? I’m assuming it was his.”

      My chin came up once more. “That’s none of your concern.”

      “Isn’t it?”

      The intensity of his stare drew a deep shiver, and despite my considerable resistance, my own gaze slid back and locked on to his. A breeze drifted across the graves, bringing another draft of ozone and something spicy and exotic, like the perfume of a rare flower. I had a sudden vision of a moonlit garden filled with orchids and songbirds. A seductive oasis where untold dangers lurked in the shadowy recesses. That was what I saw when I looked into Darius Goodwine’s eyes.

      I quickly glanced away. “I’m not going to discuss Devlin with you, of all people.”

      He laughed softly. “I admire your loyalty, displaced though it may be.”

      “Meaning?”

      “You don’t know the man you’ve put on a pedestal as well as you think. Few people know the real John Devlin.”

      “And you’re one of them, I suppose.”

      “I know him better than most. We’re far more alike than he would ever dare acknowledge.”

      “That’s not true,” I said coolly. “The two of you are nothing alike.”

      Another flash of those white, white teeth. “To the contrary, I would suggest that the only real difference between us is this—I embrace who I am and what I’m meant to be while John Devlin is still trying to run away from his true nature.”

      He was goading me and I knew it, yet I found myself asking, “And just what is his true nature, according to you?”

      “Have you never wondered why a man who professes nothing but disdain for the unknown was so inexorably drawn to someone as mystical and mysterious as my cousin, Mariama? Her great beauty aside, of course. I’m sure he gave you any number of reasons for the attraction. He enjoyed flaunting her exoticness in the face of his grandfather’s rigid conformity. Or perhaps he told you that my influence changed and corrupted her. The woman capable of such dark deeds at the end of her life was not the same woman he fell in love with.”

      Devlin had, in fact, confided both motivations, but I wasn’t about to betray him to a man we both considered an enemy.

      Darius continued to study me. He cocked his head slightly, as if something puzzled him. “You must also have wondered about the medallion he wears around his neck. Why would a man who claims to have turned his back on the trappings and privileges of his upbringing cling to an emblem that epitomizes wealth and greed? But then, I suppose it’s hardly surprising. Men of his ilk have always had an affinity for secret societies, particularly those that protect and promote the status quo. John Devlin is no exception.”

      I didn’t try to defend Devlin this time because there was an uncomfortable truth in Darius’s words. I had wondered about those very things. I’d fretted over Devlin’s relationship with Mariama ever since we’d first met and I’d contemplated his affiliation with the nefarious Order of the Coffin and the Claw on many a sleepless night. But I found it hard to admit, even to myself, that the darkness in Devlin and those mysterious gaps in his past still worried me.

      Darius Goodwine had wasted no time in homing in on those niggling misgivings.

      He knelt and picked up a stick, using the pointed end to trace the shadow of a gravestone in the dirt. I watched, mesmerized by his languid movements. His fingers were long and tapered like those of an artist and his nails were meticulous, bringing to mind the dirt-and-blood-encrusted nails of the victim.

      Was that why he had come? I wondered. Did he know something about the dead woman? About her murder? Should I shout for the authorities? They were still combing the woods and the clearing. Too far away to hear anything other than a scream.

      “The Order of the Coffin and the Claw.” Darius pronounced each word with derisive exaggeration as he drew a snake wrapped around a claw in the dirt.

      I hardened my tone. “Why are we talking about the Order of the Coffin and the Claw or even Devlin for that matter? Why don’t you just tell me why you’re really here? What do you want?”

      “You made an important discovery yesterday.