Diana Racine 02 - Goddess of the Moon

disappointed if that happens.”
    “Does one have to consciously transmit, or does it happen involuntar il y ? ” Rhea asked.
    “Yes, do tell us,” Cybele said. “I’ve always found this sort of thing fascinating.”
    Diana sipped more wine, gazed from woman to woman, noticing their resemblance. How could she have missed that at first? It was so obvious. Then, as if she were looking at them under water , they all started to look wobbly. The voices in the room seemed to slow down, like a sound track on a lower speed. Even Lucier looked funny. He was acting funny too, his head drooping over his plate. He call ed her name, slowly, each syll able reverberating echo like in her head.
    “Di ― a ― na. ”
    S ounds faded into the background. The glass in her hand felt heavy, weighted, and fell from her grasp onto the table. Everyone was looking at her, smiling. Her hand fell into her food as all sensation left her body.
    Why couldn’t she keep her head up? It fell forward , do wn, into her plate of food. She smelled the salmon, the lemon too , right by her nose. Lucier slumped lower , his expression apologetic before he fell face first into his plate. B efore she blacked out, she remembered what she thought when watching the Reyeses . They didn’t care what her impressions were about their inappropriate petting , because she and Lucier weren’t going to leave here.

Chapter Thirty- Nine
    F ear, the Consequence of Truth

    B eecher took Lucier’s call on Sunday morning . Everything had gone well at the Comptons ’ Saturday night, he said, and he’d fill Beecher in on Monday. Lucier’s voice sounded flat , his phrasing robotic . Beecher figured he was tired. Oh, to be young again , drink, and stay up all night.
    W hen Lucier didn’t show up for work Monday morning, Beecher started to worry. The tech said all three GPS tracking devices signaled from the area around and in Diana’s house . Beecher called the re . No response. He called Lucier’s cell with the same result, then Diana’s. Again, no answer. This was not like his boss. The only time Beecher remembered the lieutenant break the rules was when he saved Diana from the psycho who tried to kill her. T oday, t he inconsistencies set Beecher’s nerve endings on full alert.
    He drove to Diana’s house , saw Lucier’s car in the driveway, and the tracking device still in place. No one answered the door. He searched around, found the fake rock with the key inside, and entered― something he would never do except in this situation. The house was empty , as expected.
    H e sped to Compton’s residence in the French Quarter . Even if he could have found a parking space on the tourist-crowded street, t he iron gates to the house were locked . N o guard.
    An uneasy sensation roiled in Beecher’s belly; sweat sprouted on the back of his neck and hairline. The physical effects turned into full-blown anxiety. Considering what Lucier suspected about the Comptons , Beecher was scared sh itless.
    * * * * *
    L ucier’s head throbbed; his mouth and throat felt like he’d swallowed a bucket of sand. He tried to raise his hand to massage his temples but found his wrists shackled to an arm chair with plastic cuffs. Ropes secured h is feet together , and a leather strap stretched tight across his chest. S tabs of pain sho o t ing into every muscle woke h is body from its numbness . Even a shallow breath sent tremors through his ribcage. His bladder verged on explod ing .
    Where was he? He rotated his head to view a n unfamiliar large room with dozens of chairs lining the walls. The n the last image of Diana filtered through the cobwebs of his mind . T r emors intensif ying, h e tried to focus through the pounding in his head while t endrils of fear snak ed through the hammering tension. Snippets of visuals flashed in his brain― Diana’s face, beseeching, begging forgivene ss.
    His already-churning stomach revolted even more. He was the one who should beg forgiveness. He ’d seriously misread the situation.
    What was that? He turned at the abrupt sound , squinted . A silhouette emerge d in grainy shadow , and Lucier blinked to clear his vision
    “Ah, you’re finally awake,” the familiar voice sa id.
    Was this a dream , his mind playing tricks? Then reality seeped into his memory, scene by ugly scene.
    Compton’s house.
    Sitting down to dinner.
    His own fading vision.
    Darkness.
    His stomach sank, and he struggled helplessly against his bonds. He coughed to