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The heat of his palm seeped through her skin, the hot width of it penetrating her fingers, branding a path up the length of her arm.

Their gazes held. She stared into his silver eyes, stark against thick black lashes. His eyes were cold, sheen-less bits of granite, the color of that strange moon tonight. She couldn’t find one glimmer of human vulnerability in them. And they were too direct, too bold, hiding something behind them. Coupled with that deceptively smooth voice, he could be lethal around women.

His head turned into the light and she noticed a faded scar that spread small talons over his right jaw.

His nearness made her feel vulnerable somehow. She wasn’t one to lose her cool over a guy’s touch. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at him as she found her voice. “You must be Agent Winter.”

CONNIE HALL

Award-winning author Connie Hall is a full-time writer. Her writing credits include six historical novels and two novellas written under the pen name Constance Hall. She’s written two Silhouette Bombshell novels and is thrilled to now be writing for Nocturne.

An avid hiker, conservationist, bird watcher, painter of watercolors and oil portraits, she dreams of one day trying her hand at skydiving.

She lives in Richmond, Virginia, with her husband, two sons and Keeper, a lovable Lab-mix who rules the house with her big brown eyes. For more information, visit her website or email her at conniehall_author@comcast.net.

The Guardian
Connie Hall

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Imagine a world where supernatural beings exist, where good and evil forces clash. Far stretch, you might say. But ask Fala Rainwater what she thinks. She’ll tell you evil thrives among us in many forms because she’s a shape-shifter and a detective and she battles it every day.

And not just any shape-shifter. She is in line to become the Guardian, keeper of white magic, defender of goodness, destroyer of evil. But is she thrilled by her fate? No. She thinks it’s ruined her life.

That is, until she meets Stephen Winter, a dark warlock who is out to destroy her. He works for a highly covert government agency and knows how to keep a secret.

Bye for now and happy reading!

Connie Hall

Special thanks to

Camelot McAren and Sandra Greenman. I don’t deserve such good friends. Always to Norm and the boys. And to all American Indians, past and present. May your Trail of Tears fade, but never be forgotten.

Foreword

This Patomani Indian legend has changed little over the centuries. It goes as follows:

Long ago, the Creator formed Mother Earth. He sent the Maiden Bear to rule over all Earth’s creatures. Steam and brimstone spewed from the newly formed bowels of the Mother, and from that fiery brine emerged all evil, along with a race of sorcerers. Tumseneha was the father of them all. These sorcerers fed upon the misery, gluttony and lust of mankind, using humans as fodder for power.

The Maiden Bear saw that she could not control Tumseneha’s hunger for war, blood and souls, so she prayed to the Creator for help. He blessed the Maiden Bear and made her a god. She in turn fashioned the underworld to trap Tumseneha and all his kind.

As eons passed, the Maiden Bear grew weary of seeing man’s destruction of Earth, her tears forming the great rivers and oceans. She knew she must depart this sphere or drown it in her sorrow. But she could not leave her post unprotected. So she gifted her powerful magic to the first Guardian and gave the courageous female brave dominion over Earth’s evil. This perpetual honor is passed down through the first Guardian’s bloodline. After the Maiden Bear knew that the world was safe, she returned to her celestial throne to prepare a special place for each Guardian when her work here is done. She resides there with the spirit guides where she can be seen in the sky to this very day, watching over Mother Earth and each Guardian.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Prologue

Patomani Indian Reservation, 1927

Tumseneha struggled within the human vessel, but couldn’t break free. Staked leather bands trapped the human’s wrists and ankles to the ground. The physical pain wasn’t his to feel, though he perceived it through the young man’s physical awareness; the stinging heat of the fire in the nostrils and lungs, bowed spine bent over the mound, tearing of skin beneath the leather bindings. No, what he felt was on a higher realm, the spiritual ancient power encompassing him. It battled with his own strength, bound it, and compressed his essence into a burning cinder within the human body.

“No, please,” the young man screamed over the roar of the fire.

That had been the human’s plea, not his. He would never ask for mercy.

The human gazed beyond the circle of flames, and he saw through the eyes of the young man. Ancient ones stood behind the flames, circling the human. An orb of glowing energy emanated from them. He sensed the origin of its power: the cursed witch. He couldn’t see her face for the brilliant white swords of light jutting from her body, but he knew what she looked like. He knew all her kind intimately, for they were the bane of his existence.

He could feel her white magic warring with his own black darkness. Shaman spirits from throughout the ages inhabited her body. She had the ability to call them forth at will. She was the Tsimshian, the Guardian, the only person on earth who owned the power to destroy him.

She stepped forward and clutched a heart-shaped wooden charm. She opened the box, pulled out an effigy of a bear and raised it above her head. Her power shot up to the magic talisman and through it, burning like thousands of suns.

“From night you are born and from light you shall be bound. I call forth all the magic of my ancestors. We banish you, Tumseneha, and send you back to the underworld where you belong. You will never again walk the earth and feed off darkness.”

She unsheathed a dagger, stepped through the ring of fire and sliced an area over the human’s heart. The human’s spine arched from the pain.

“Let the blood flow, and let it cleanse the earth and this innocent.”

“No, no, no.” Tumseneha felt the energy crushing him.

She continued to carve the bear symbol over the human’s heart. Blood glistened on the tip of the knife and oozed down the human’s chest. With each drop of blood spilt Tumseneha felt his power draining, being sucked into a current beyond his control.

At the moment she completed the symbol, darkness caught him and pulled him into the vortex. “I’ll have my revenge,” he vowed as the darkness melted over him like molten lava.

Chapter 1

The Present

Katrina Sanecki picked up her pace on the jogging trail. She could hear someone behind her. The person had followed her for a quarter of a mile. Odd, she couldn’t hear footfalls, but the heavy breathing was unmistakable. Close. Too close. Somehow, all around her, the hot feel of it prickled her bare neck. And she could feel eyes watching her. Goose bumps slid down her arms and legs.

She shot a quick glance behind her. The full moon loomed over her and… Her breath caught as she saw phantom yellow eyes hovering beyond the thick oaks and hedges. A lot of them. She realized it was the hazy lights of the Washington Zoo, looming in the night. The zoo bordered the south end of Rock Creek Park. She let out a shuddering sigh of relief.

Her imagination was running wild tonight. She shouldn’t have come here after dark, but she’d had to work late and finish some reports, then get ready for her hot date. Lately, her guy had turned into an animal in the bedroom, and she liked walking on his wild side. She smiled at the thought of what the night would bring, then her smile died as the rising frantic cry of the animals drifted toward her.

Birds screeched. Monkeys screamed. Lions roared… The breathing. Still there. She hadn’t imagined it. Oh, God! Where was this pervert hiding? She couldn’t see him but, like the zoo animals, sensed him.

She swallowed the lump of fear choking her and sped up. Her legs churned as fast as they could go. Her heart hammered her chest.

The breathing closed in on her…

A rumble split the air, a beast’s attacking howl.

The growl tore through her like claws. She screamed as something hit her from behind and knocked her to the ground. This isn’t happening. Dear God. She’d never been this afraid in her life. She couldn’t struggle, it pinned her to the ground.

No. No. No. She tried to scream, but fear closed off her throat. Then it was too late. Darkness took away the pain.

Fala Rainwater gulped back rising panic and felt the night, alive, teeming, lapping up the campfire flames on the sacred mound. The fire thinned the frigid, damp air, lacing it with cinders and the odor of burning birch. Birch, the wood of choice for switches. Well, wasn’t this a beating? Nah, it was much worse than any spanking she’d ever experienced. She gasped for air and wished she was anywhere but here.

Her pulse thudded in her ears as she looked beyond the fire at the circle of Patomani elders surrounding her. The sacred council of twelve women seemed entranced as they watched the ancient wedding ritual unfolding before them.

Even though it was the dead of winter, beads of perspiration soaked Fala’s forehead. A braid corralled the straight black hair, which hung down to her waist. Beads woven into several strands around her face stuck to her temples and cheeks. The weight of the ceremonial wedding robe draping her shoulders felt like cement rather than doeskin. The feather fringe and tassels rippled down around her soft kid boots. She felt one feather’s sharp point poking into the back of her knee. Legend had it that the feathers were from a Thunderbird god who plucked one every day for a year and left them by a burning fire for the Patomani women to make the wedding robe. Right now, she wished someone had shot the Thunderbird and roasted it, feathers and all.

Beside her, Akando Chasing Deer, her soon-to-be fiancé, didn’t look at all nervous. Firelight glinted along Akando’s black-beaded braids, which hung down his back. It wasn’t that he was unattractive. A New York ad agency would pay a fortune for the high cheekbones, stubborn square chin, long-lashed dark eyes and muscled male body. The wedding robe he wore, identical to hers, covered his powerfully built body and hid its perfection. A finer male specimen didn’t exist, she had to admit. All the Patomani women on the reservation lusted after him—except herself, of course. The irony was not lost on her. She’d be married to this man in minutes. Bound to a man she didn’t love. Didn’t even care for. She saw the self-satisfied, devouring look in his eyes, and she wished she could melt into the fire and disappear into another dimension.

Fala listened to an elder playing the ceremonial flute. The haunting music rose up toward a massive glowing moon that peered down at her. Hands down, the largest moon she’d ever seen in her life. It soared over the tops of the oaks and encased the mound in an oppressive blue brilliance that eclipsed everything, watched everything, gripped everything in its path. Its closeness felt as if it would crush her at any moment.

Meikoda, her grandmother, stepped out of the elder circle, holding the blessing mat. Firelight danced along her ancient face and radiated a gorgeous burnt sienna, the same color as Fala’s skin. They also shared a dimple that hollowed the middle of their square, proud chins. Where Fala’s brows were jet-black, gray shadowed her grandmother’s deep-set eyes.

Meikoda held the mat above her head and glanced toward the full moon. She chanted a spell as she lowered the mat to the ground before the fire. Slowly her gnarled hand unrolled the ancient braided material.

Fala’s eyes met her grandmother’s. The heavy wrinkles weighing down the elder’s eyelids lifted, and the light behind the striking eyes enthralled Fala. They drew her into the unnatural shade of blue, neon, only brighter, wider. They were the strange blue of a dawning sky, alight with the radiance of Mother Sun. They were the eyes of ancient wisdom, portals to eternal magic.

Fala shared the same eye color as her grandmother, and the force of Meikoda’s gaze warred with her own. Fala blinked and quickly lost this battle and her concentration.

Meikoda’s energy struck Fala, and she rocked back on her knees from the impact and sucked in her breath. Okay, she got the warning: Don’t move. Don’t give into your fear and run from the sacred mound before the ceremony is complete. She really didn’t want to be another disappointment to her grandmother, and it took all of her willpower to stay kneeling.

Meikoda flicked the mat’s edge and gently picked up an ancient bowl carved in the form of two bears, their noses touching. White mist spiraled up from the hot potion and flowed over Meikoda’s gnarled hands as she raised the bowl heavenward. She closed her eyes and spoke an ancient incantation. “May blessings from the seven stars bind you for all eternity and the light of our Great Bear Maiden seal the union. Drink from the sacred bowl and be one.”

Fala knew that Meikoda chanted to the Warrior Bear Maiden, known to humans only as the constellation Ursa Major. Since the Dawning, the Great Bear Maiden had always been the totem of her tribe and the gateway to the source of their white magic and that of the Tsimshian’s power.

After a moment of reverent silence, Meikoda handed the bowl to Fala first.

Fala’s hand trembled as she drank from the bear on the left. The bitter liquid burned her throat, then she handed the vessel to Akando. Their fingers touched and he allowed the moment to linger until her eyes met his, eyes that glistened with greed and hunger. He grinned at her, then without taking his gaze from her, raised the bowl to his lips and drank.

Heat from the fire tugged at her, and she shook all over. Her vision blurred. Her head fell back and she collapsed on the ground. All she could see was that damn moon. The magnetic pull of it flayed her skin from bone, going deeper and deeper into her. The atoms of her body strained against the sensation of being torn apart. A strange lifting sensation engulfed her, then her spirit departed her physical body. It churned over her in a brilliant orb.

Akando fell next to her. His spirit roared out of him, bursting into an orange glow not as bright as her own. Fala heard the watching crowd gasp in wonder.

Their spirits, attracted by the energy of one another, drew closer. Before they melded, Fala’s spirit paused and hovered there.

Rainbow-colored rings surrounded the orbs as they undulated, swelled, surged, receded and waved in an age-old mating dance. Fala’s unwilling spirit avoided Akando’s thrusts to reach her.

“Fala, let your reluctance go,” Meikoda ordered.

I’m trying. Fala squeezed her eyes closed and concentrated on reining in her will.

After what seemed like years, but had to have been minutes, Meikoda said, “Enough.” She swept her hands through the air in a quickness that defied her age. A burst of brilliant white light burst from her palms and struck both spirits.

Fala felt her essence rush back into her own body in an electrifying whoosh. It felt as if someone had stepped off her chest and she could breathe freely again. She let the life-giving feeling wash over her, while she caught a whiff of the ionized scent that permeated the air from Meikoda’s magic, a smell much like the cleansed smell after a lightning strike. She grew aware of the flutist who stopped playing. Dead silence blanketed the cold air.

Akando, already on his feet, stood before her. He bent and grabbed her hand and jerked her up before she could protest. When they stood nose to nose, he said, “You’re delaying this on purpose.” The terse words revealed the blow to his ego.

“We’ll try again.”

He grabbed her arms, his face defiant. “I’ll not be made a fool of a second time.”

Fala felt his finger bite into her flesh as she pulled away, a warning flaring in her eyes. Now she knew why she had never liked Akando. His male beauty had spoiled him and he didn’t take rejection well. In fact, he was all too arrogant for her tastes.

“Enough.” Meikoda held up a hand. A bolt of lightning shot out from her fingers, hissing and spitting like a welder’s torch.

Fala and Akando backed away, giving Meikoda a wide berth, a lesson Fala had learned within the first hour of having been dumped at Meikoda’s doorstep as a child. This was the angriest Fala had ever seen her grandmother.

“No more anger on this holy ground.” Meikoda leveled a scathing look at Akando. “We will perform the ceremony again when Fala is ready.”

Akando opened his mouth to protest, but when he looked at Meikoda he looked into the face of the high priestess, the Tsimshian, the Guardian of white magic, the most powerful shape-shifter on earth. He clamped his mouth closed. After a withering glance in Fala’s direction, he stormed away, his form melting into the darkness.

“All of you leave now.” Meikoda motioned to the council, and the women followed in Akando’s wake.

Now that they were alone, Meikoda’s annoyance melted within the folds of her wrinkled face. “Tell me now, Granddaughter. Will you ever be able to finish the ceremony?”

“I can’t force it,” Fala whispered back, wishing she could summon more than dislike for Akando. “I need some time.”

“You only have a week before the winter solstice and the Warrior Bear Maiden reaches her zenith.” Worry pulled at Meikoda’s brow as she pointed skyward.

Fala gazed up at the sky to glimpse the Warrior Bear Maiden. But that damn moon blocked the constellation. On a clear night, the seven brightest stars that sliced through the Maiden’s belly could be easily seen. Her people called this cluster of stars the Utsi Yonia, or Bear Mother’s Womb. It is the Big Dipper. Those seven stars were magical, and on the exact moment of the winter solstice, when Fala had lived four annual cycles of seven, or her twenty-eighth birthday, the Bear Maiden’s womb would open and the seven stars would form a conduit between heaven and earth, thus sanctifying her and transferring Meikoda’s power to Fala. This cyclic blessing would begin all over again when Fala married Akando and bore a female child. The thought of bearing a child and heaping such an enormous responsibility on her made Fala groan inside. It was an honor being the Tsimshian, but at the same time it was a curse.

As if Meikoda read Fala’s mind, she frowned, deepening the wrinkles in her brow. “And you know what will happen if you receive your powers and are not joined to Akando within twenty-four hours.”

“I know, I know.” Fala squeezed her eyes closed to shut out the world around her. It didn’t work. The oppressive heat of the fire and the cold air on the holy mound suddenly collided around her and pressed against her. She felt trapped by it as she said, “He’ll die.”

“Is that what you want?”

“It’s just that…he was never my choice.”

“Choice. Choice has nothing to do with it, and you know this.” She punctuated her next words with an angry poke at the air. “You were both born at the same instant. You know this binds your spirits and preordains your marriage to him. If you do not marry him, another Tsimshian will not be born. Would you reap those consequences upon the earth?”

Fala hated to think what would happen without a Tsimshian on Earth. The balance between good and evil would tip and the underworld would gain control. Innocent humans would suffer the most. “I know my duty,” Fala said with a touch of flint in her voice. “And I’ll do it, unlike my mother.”

At the mention of Fala’s mother, Meikoda seemed to age before Fala’s eyes. “Your mother always did what pleased her and thought of no one else.” She paused and appeared to be reliving something painful, then she spoke more to herself. “We’ll speak no more of her.”

Fala gulped hard as she stared at the woman whose blood ran in her veins, who had raised her, whom she loved and respected, and whose strength had supported everyone around her. She was the most formidable woman Fala had ever known, but Meikoda’s strength hadn’t been able to manage her only daughter. After Fala’s father had died twenty-three years ago, her mother had dumped Fala and her two younger sisters on Meikoda’s doorstep and left the tribe to never return. Fala knew Meikoda was not only experiencing the pain Fala had just given her by not finishing the ceremony, but also the failure of having lost a daughter.

“I’m sorry,” Fala said, her voice cracking as she untied the wedding robe and handed it to Meikoda. She wanted to say, Can’t you see I’m not like my mother? I’ve lived my whole life proving I’m nothing like her. I’d never turn my back on responsibility, or hurt those I loved, or leave three daughters in your care. Instead she remained silent.

Meikoda’s eyes narrowed on Fala as if she were trying to search inside her, heal that part of Fala that belonged to her mother and wasn’t perfect. “If only humbling yourself could take care of this.” Meikoda sighed loudly. “But it will not keep you safe. You’ll be tested.”

Fala stiffened beneath the gaze. “How?”

“Darkness is drawn to the light of the Tsimshian powers.”

“I know that.”

“But, you do not know what Tumseneha—” Meikoda pronounced the name slowly, Tum-se-ne-ha, adding a certain element of well-deserved contempt to each syllable “—is capable of.”

Fala flinched at the name and felt a chill come over her. Everything in nature and magic had an opposite. White magic versus black magic. Male spirit versus female spirit. Yin versus yang. The Tsimshian’s dark counterpart was Tumseneha, the enemy of every Guardian who had come before her, and now he would be her enemy. “What do you mean?”

Meikoda said, “He will go to any lengths to take your powers and turn them to his own evil plans. Your life is in danger when you are away from the tribe and the elders.”

Fala’s face contorted as she thought of Tumseneha. How many times had she listened to her grandmother’s narratives about the legends of his evil, how he lured Tsimshians to their deaths, how the darkness loved him, how he bent it to his will? He was the object of her nightmares through her childhood and beyond. They had occurred with more frequency now that she was about to inherit her powers. She knew that each nightmare was a mental battle between them in some paranormal dimension, and she had been able to wake up before he hurt her. But the possibility that he could be roaming the earth again caused a wave of terror to shudder through her.

“I thought you banished him long ago,” she said.

“Yes, but he is strong. White magic can last but so long against the powers of darkness, and my powers have diminished over the years. I’m certain he knows that I weaken every day. He could already have escaped his bonds and be plotting to kill you and steal your powers.”

“Wouldn’t we know if he came back?”

Meikoda shook her head. “Not until he strikes. I’ve been praying about it, but have had no visions.”

“That means we’re safe, right?” Fala asked, her voice hopeful.

“It means I am an old vessel and cannot remain the Tsimshian for much longer. The Maiden Bear’s magic needs a new vessel.” She looked hard at Fala.

Fala knew the Tsimshian was a yoke the eldest female in her family had carried since the Dawning. The weight of it covered Meikoda’s face now like a snowdrift. She had shouldered her own responsibilities as well as her daughter’s for two generations, but not without cost. Age had weakened her and she looked tired, more than ready to relinquish the powers to Fala.

“I promise you, I’ll marry Akando and take my place.”

Meikoda lifted her head in a dismissive gesture as if the outcome was still in the balance. “I pray so, Granddaughter.” She reached up and cupped Fala’s chin.

Fala felt the leathered fingertips against her soft cheeks, the current of power flowing from them. She placed a hand over the warm, gnarled flesh and looked into her grandmother’s sad face. She felt a deep pang as she said, “I’ll be careful.”

Meikoda nodded to Fala and withdrew her hand. She reached inside her robe and pulled a leather thong holding a silver amulet from around her neck. “Take this. If Tumseneha is near, it will warn you.”

“What is it?”

“A guarded secret among Tsimshians, a gift from our ancestors and spirit guides. It will help keep you safe, but you must never speak of it or its power.”

Fala tried to place the ancient amulet back in Meikoda’s hand. “But you should keep it.”

Meikoda pulled back. “I am not his target. You need it more than I.”

Fala ran her thumb over the smooth edges of the Warrior Bear Maiden’s image. The mighty bear’s mouth gaped open, teeth bared, showing her spirit and power, an unstoppable force in nature like no other.

“Put it on and don’t take it off.” Meikoda pointed at Fala’s neck.

Fala slipped the amulet down inside her shirt. She could still feel the warmth from her grandmother’s body radiating from the metal. It suddenly felt like a hundred-pound rock weighing down her shoulders.

“Go, now. I pray you return to me.” Her words held a wealth of past disappointments and sorrows. She gave Fala her back.

Fala ran toward the path that would take her down the sacred mound, chest aching, feeling as if her heart might burst. The sad thing was that with each stride toward freedom, she felt lighter, freer. She couldn’t wait to get back to the normal life she’d established, even if it was for only a few days. She was a homicide detective and a good one. She’d much rather analyze a murder scene than take her grandmother’s place as the Guardian. Truth was she wasn’t ready to give up everything she’d worked so hard to accomplish. Life rarely allowed for wants and wishes, and she knew that soon she’d be bound to Akando and take up the yoke of the Tsimshian. The thing that hurt the most was that her grandmother had sensed the same weakness in Fala’s mother as she had sensed in Fala. I’ll prove her wrong once and for all, and she’ll finally believe I’m nothing like my mother.

Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt when the theme song from Phantom of the Opera startled her. She pulled her cell phone from her jean pocket and narrowed her eyes at the caller ID: Unknown Caller.

She decided not to answer as she hurried down the path. It rang again and kept ringing. Then a strange text message appeared in the cell phone window: Answer phone. Highly classified.

Was this the station trying to reach her? She said, “Hello.”

“Miss Rainwater?” A deep timbre floated her name, the kind of strong, velvety-edged cadence a radio announcer would kill to have.

Somewhere in that honeyed voice, she picked up on a Maine accent, his r’s at the end of her name turning into a ha sound: Rainwatah. “Who the devil is this?” she asked.

“Special Agent Stephen Winter.”

“Why are the feds calling me?”

“Actually, I’ve called your partner, too.”

“Wait a minute! Joe’s on leave. His wife just gave birth.”

“And now he’s back at work.”

A smart-ass and a nice voice. Bad mix. “What’s the case?”

“There’s been an—” he paused a beat “—unusual murder at Rock Creek Park. I need your expertise on the case. I’ve already cleared it with your captain, your chief and the mayor.”

Special Agent Winter not only worked fast, but he had clout in the District, too.

“You’re needed there ASAP.” It hadn’t been a polite command, but his baritone had wrapped the words in silken syllables and offered them up like sensual presents. “How soon can you make it to Rock Creek Park?”

“Two hours.”

“Where are you?”

What agency employed this nosey, bossy special agent? And why was he requesting her on this case? She looked forward to getting those answers. She ignored his question and asked, “Where’s the body?”

“Near the jogging trail next to the zoo. Know it?”

“Yeah.”

“Take the service entrance.”

“Okay, be there soon.”

Fala closed the phone, glad she had thrown in the last word. Now maybe she could clear her mind. It felt as if she had somehow been invaded by the hypnotic richness of Special Agent Winter’s voice. There was something strange about it, forbidden, beguiling, almost tangible. She looked forward to meeting this guy. In fact, she could think of nothing better than to be working. It might take her mind off of her impending marriage. Her grandmother’s disappointed face flashed in her mind, and she knew that had been wishful thinking.

Stephen Winter waved a hand over the cell phone on his desk and it hissed off in the emptiness of his office, not a typical government-issue space. Crystals covered the walls of the pyramid-shaped room, and clear, processed ectoplasm bubbled within the space between the crystals, lending the room an appearance that it was alive and moving. The pyramid acted like a cosmic generator and gathered power from the earth’s core, and a beam of pure energy glowed down from the pyramid’s apex. At the moment the beam was a soft blue, the full moon affecting its power source tonight. When the pyramid was fully charged, as it was now, an alkaloid smell seeped from the ectoplasm. Usually the air vents took care of the odor, but not tonight.