the doe and started back toward the cave. Gregorio fell to his knees and stared up at the sky. He wanted to scream, to cry to God to save his soul, but he had no tears left. He was numb and empty.
Night Walker 43
“Why do you despair?”
Gregorio turned, surprised to see the Old One staring at him.
“Because I am cursed.”
“No,” the Old One said with a crooked smile. “You are blessed.
I have chosen you as my descendant. You will be a great healer and lead these people against the Spanish outsiders. Come, you have much to learn.”
And learn he did.
For the following month, he acted as an apprentice to the Old One, learning the ancient healing secrets of the Night Walkers.
Gradually mastering his powers, he became one with the night around him and found a new purpose for his existence.
He was a healer, a Night Walker.
The Kumeyaay tribes called him Kuseyaay , and he became their most respected Shaman and protector. With his help, they would regain their freedom from the mission. For that purpose, the Old One chose him to receive his power.
Then one night, the cave sat empty, the cinders within the inner chamber cold, the walls free of their designs.
The Old One was gone.
§
Just after three in the morning, Calisto reached Point Loma. With so few people awake and on the streets, he opened his mind without a mental overload from the humans around him.
He could not court Kate with the specter of the Fraternidad haunting him. The monks needed to remember whom they were dealing with. Hunger gnawed at his veins, reminding him that he hadn’t fed. He needed blood to keep his strength from waning.
Hoping to find sustenance, he walked toward a well-lit corner in the distance. When he reached the convenience store, he lowered his mental shields, listening to the humans around him. Before he sorted through the entire fog of information, he found something interesting.
An ancient Latin chant.
His brow furrowed as he quietly walked through the parking lot, his mind fully focused on the chant, letting his Night Walker instincts 44 LISA KESSLER
draw him closer to his prey. When he reached the shadowed corner of the lot, he saw the face he’d searched for. Calisto smiled.
Father Tomas sat behind the wheel of a silver sedan. The chant he repeated shielded his thoughts, keeping Calisto locked out of his mind. Calisto clenched his fists and sucked in a deep breath.
Apparently the Fraternidad knew more about his kind than he realized.
How long had they blocked his mental probes?
He burst into the passenger seat of the car, taking pleasure in the terrified gasp of the driver.
“Father Tomas De Cardina, I presume?”
The monk recovered from his shock and quickly thrust the cross that hung around his neck into Calisto’s face. “Stay back, creature of Satan.”
Calisto laughed. “Is that what you think I am?” He reached out to clasp the crucifix, and with a jerk of his wrist, snapped the gold chain from the monk’s neck. “If you know so much about me, then surely you know the church helped to make me what I am.” He shook his head. “Lies! You sold your soul to Satan himself, and now you are his apprentice. You are an abomination before God.” Calisto smirked. He heard the blood coursing through Father Tomas’ veins at an alarming rate, tempting him, calling to him.
“What you believe is of no consequence to me. I will not be threatened, least of all by the Fraternidad, and never at my own home.”
Surprise filled the monk’s gaze, and his mental chant faltered.
“I have not forgotten the signet of the Fraternidad.” He held up his left hand, showing his own ring. His personal signet bore the holy fire of the Fraternidad, but it also included a finely carved bird soaring across the top. Lifetimes ago, it symbolized the dove of peace, but now Calisto considered it a raven, his Night Walker spirit animal.
A bead of sweat made its way down Father Tomas’ forehead. “We know what you are, and
Night Walker 43
“Why do you despair?”
Gregorio turned, surprised to see the Old One staring at him.
“Because I am cursed.”
“No,” the Old One said with a crooked smile. “You are blessed.
I have chosen you as my descendant. You will be a great healer and lead these people against the Spanish outsiders. Come, you have much to learn.”
And learn he did.
For the following month, he acted as an apprentice to the Old One, learning the ancient healing secrets of the Night Walkers.
Gradually mastering his powers, he became one with the night around him and found a new purpose for his existence.
He was a healer, a Night Walker.
The Kumeyaay tribes called him Kuseyaay , and he became their most respected Shaman and protector. With his help, they would regain their freedom from the mission. For that purpose, the Old One chose him to receive his power.
Then one night, the cave sat empty, the cinders within the inner chamber cold, the walls free of their designs.
The Old One was gone.
§
Just after three in the morning, Calisto reached Point Loma. With so few people awake and on the streets, he opened his mind without a mental overload from the humans around him.
He could not court Kate with the specter of the Fraternidad haunting him. The monks needed to remember whom they were dealing with. Hunger gnawed at his veins, reminding him that he hadn’t fed. He needed blood to keep his strength from waning.
Hoping to find sustenance, he walked toward a well-lit corner in the distance. When he reached the convenience store, he lowered his mental shields, listening to the humans around him. Before he sorted through the entire fog of information, he found something interesting.
An ancient Latin chant.
His brow furrowed as he quietly walked through the parking lot, his mind fully focused on the chant, letting his Night Walker instincts 44 LISA KESSLER
draw him closer to his prey. When he reached the shadowed corner of the lot, he saw the face he’d searched for. Calisto smiled.
Father Tomas sat behind the wheel of a silver sedan. The chant he repeated shielded his thoughts, keeping Calisto locked out of his mind. Calisto clenched his fists and sucked in a deep breath.
Apparently the Fraternidad knew more about his kind than he realized.
How long had they blocked his mental probes?
He burst into the passenger seat of the car, taking pleasure in the terrified gasp of the driver.
“Father Tomas De Cardina, I presume?”
The monk recovered from his shock and quickly thrust the cross that hung around his neck into Calisto’s face. “Stay back, creature of Satan.”
Calisto laughed. “Is that what you think I am?” He reached out to clasp the crucifix, and with a jerk of his wrist, snapped the gold chain from the monk’s neck. “If you know so much about me, then surely you know the church helped to make me what I am.” He shook his head. “Lies! You sold your soul to Satan himself, and now you are his apprentice. You are an abomination before God.” Calisto smirked. He heard the blood coursing through Father Tomas’ veins at an alarming rate, tempting him, calling to him.
“What you believe is of no consequence to me. I will not be threatened, least of all by the Fraternidad, and never at my own home.”
Surprise filled the monk’s gaze, and his mental chant faltered.
“I have not forgotten the signet of the Fraternidad.” He held up his left hand, showing his own ring. His personal signet bore the holy fire of the Fraternidad, but it also included a finely carved bird soaring across the top. Lifetimes ago, it symbolized the dove of peace, but now Calisto considered it a raven, his Night Walker spirit animal.
A bead of sweat made its way down Father Tomas’ forehead. “We know what you are, and
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