The girl nodded solemnly. “I’m tired all the time.”
“That’s to be expected. You suffered a trauma, Skyler, and you were beaten very badly. Your body and mind need time to heal as well as your spirit. I’ll be back later. For now, rest.” With a wave of her hand she pushed open the door and glided out.
“Are you Francesca Del Ponce?” There was a stranger standing outside Skyler’s room. She sensed he had been lurking there for some time. Francesca had scanned him, of course, that was as natural to her as breathing, and she had known he was waiting to talk with her.
She smiled pleasantly, her long lashes veiling the expression of annoyance in her eyes. For a brief moment she considered using a mental “push” on him, but there was something about him that wasn’t quite right. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was so she stopped to face him. “Yes, that’s right. I’m Francesca.” She flashed a smile at him, one that caught his attention immediately.
“Barry Woods, Miss Del Ponce. I’m a reporter looking for a good story. I understand you heal people.”
Her eyebrows shot up and a small smile curved her soft mouth. “I’m sorry, I must have heard you wrong. What do I do?”
“Heal people. I was told you healed a little girl who had cancer.”
Francesca hesitated for a moment before answering him. There was something about the man that bothered her, that wasn’t quite right. A craftiness. Something subtly evil. Perhaps she was mistaken, but he sent a shiver along her spine. She touched his mind very delicately.
At once her breath caught in her throat. She forced a smile to her lips, her large dark eyes widening so that they were as black as night. “I wish I had such a wonderful ability. The truth is, I have no such talent.” With her stomach lurching, Francesca made herself touch his mind. Gabriel would need information. This man was not what he seemed on the surface. He was a fanatic, his mind filled with images of vampires and stakes and garlic.
The reporter continually clutched at the golden chain circling his throat. She knew in his hand he held a cross. “My source is very reliable, Miss Del Ponce.”
“The doctors here are quite remarkable,” she said softly. “Don’t you think it is much more likely they healed the child if her cancer is in remission? I go and read to the children often, but I cannot heal them, much as I would like to. Have you seen them on the cancer ward? They are so beautiful and brave. It’s rather heartbreaking. Perhaps you should visit them. The story would have tremendous human interest, don’t you think?” She buried the subtle compulsion in her suggestion carefully.
The reporter shook his head as if to clear it. “I have to get the story.”
She nodded gently, her long hair moving like a silken curtain around her shoulders. “Yes, the story about the doctors here in the hospital and how remarkable they really are.” Her dark eyes stared directly into his. “You really must write about their work.”
Woods caught himself as he was turning toward the cancer ward. He shook his head hard to clear out the cobwebs. For a moment he was disoriented, unable to remember exactly what he had been doing. Uppermost in his mind was the overwhelming urge to write a story about children with cancer. He shook his head again, certain he had not come here for that reason. A woman was walking away from him, her hips swaying gently. Her hair hung below her waist, thick and rich and shining with high lights. She was so beautiful she took his breath away and he hadn’t even seen her face.
He stood a moment, reluctant to move. He couldn’t think what he was doing. He wanted her to turn so he could see her. He wanted to follow her, but his feet felt like lead. He had come here for a reason, an important reason, but he could only remember that he wanted to write a story on children with cancer. There was a doctor he needed to talk with. Not French, but English. Strange name. Brice something. Woods scratched his head and turned resolutely away from the cancer ward. He felt very lost, very confused. He had no real idea what he was doing.