The Empath

When she emerged, memories of last night surfaced. A low groan rippled from her lips. What a fool she’d been.

No sign of Nicolas. He must have carried her upstairs and then left. The blinds, closed last night, now were open, the windows uncovered.

Just as well. Never before had she been so edgy, wanting, ready to leap into bed with a stranger. One she’d met at a bar! Maggie rubbed her face, wincing at her aching head. No more alcohol. Not even a thimble of sherry.

Still, she couldn’t erase his strong, impassioned face from her thoughts. He remained embedded there like fingerprints.

She went into the kitchen, checked on Misha. The dog greeted her with a wagging tail and ambled outside as Maggie opened the sliding glass doors. No trouble walking, more energy than she’d exhibited. When Misha returned, she lay down on the cool tile.

Troubled, Maggie measured out coffee and poured it into her automatic coffeemaker. Misha hadn’t eaten yesterday and acted livelier.

Nicolas had warned feeding Misha would spread the disease.

Ridiculous. A disease that fed off the energy produced by food? Maggie headed for the bathroom for a shower to clear her muzzy brain.

To her amazement, Misha followed her up the stairs. The dog wagged her tail, lay down by the bathroom door. Maggie’s spirits lifted.

Half an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp and curly. She coaxed Misha into her lab and drew another sample of blood. Misha watched with large brown eyes as Maggie studied the sample underneath the microscope.

There were fewer black cells in the blood sample than the previous day. Maggie glanced down at her dog. “Nicolas can’t be right. This is just a coincidence.”

Misha yawned and laid her head down.

“Okay, sweetie, stay there. I think you deserve a nap after climbing those stairs.”

Downstairs, Maggie poured coffee into a china mug, added sugar and pulled open the sliders. She stepped out onto the patio. The mirrored surface of the gulf rippled sea-blue this morning, reflecting the cloudless sky. On the mile-wide beach, green and royal blue umbrellas blossomed to greet the day. People walked along the surf, some jogging, others ambling or shell hunting.

The air smelled briny. No breeze rustled the spindly palm trees. Musing over last night’s strange events, and the odd findings in Misha’s blood this morning, Maggie stared out at the beach. Something caught her eye.

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