by Luke Metcalf
First published in 2018 by Rebel Youth Productions
Copyright @2018 by Rebel Youth Productions
The moral right of Luke Metcalf to be identified as the author of this
work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical
including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval
system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and
incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-912892-11-2
Also available as an ebook
ISBN 978-1-912892-12-9
Typeset by Jill Sawyer Phypers
Cover design by Richard Augustus
Printed and bound by CreateSpace
To my parents
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Preface
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Preface
Never had Emily imagined that her death would come like this. Not that she had given the subject much thought. But nothing that had happened in her life previously could have prepared her for the events of the last two weeks.
He tore off his mask, revealing the crazed obsession that burned in his eyes. He advanced upon her and gave her an almost friendly smile and a wink.
Emily felt a terrible sadness that she would never be able to avenge the murder of her father. She then thought of her love. Had he been destroyed? Her fear vanished and was replaced with a feeling of overwhelming gratitude for having been able to find something so transcendental. She was unconditionally and inescapably in love with him and it was the most thrilling experience of her life. The thought filled her with courage.
Emily raised her chin and stared into the demon’s eyes defiantly, daring him to kill her.
One
Portland, Maine, October 2020
“So, you have no idea who would have wanted your father dead?”
Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the police station, Emily Bliss struggled in vain to control the tears. Her eyes were already red and puffy from hours of crying.
Detective Scannel leaned back and sighed, the wooden chair creaking under his weight. His face was meaty, and the corners of his eyelids sagged with exhaustion after a career filled with sleepless nights.
“What about the people who broke into his store?” Emily asked.
“We’re following that up. But do you have any reason to suppose there is a connection between the break-in and your father’s murder?”
Emily shrugged and the tears welled up again. Whenever she had thought about her childhood in the past it had always appeared as one long, beautiful summer’s day. Now she felt that golden world drifting further and further away, replaced by images of horror and uncertainty.
“Had your father been acting strangely in any way? Had he said anything to you that seemed unusual?” The detective rocked himself back and forth in the flimsy chair. It was getting late and it looked as though he just wanted to get home. Emily shifted uncomfortably in her seat, remembering the last conversation she had had with her father that morning.
She had been sitting on the sofa in the tiny living room of his cramped one-bedroom apartment, worrying about him as usual. He was in his bedroom on the phone, having a heated argument with a customer, but she couldn’t make out any of the conversation clearly as the bedroom door was shut. She lay there, channel surfing while finishing her bowl of cereal.
“So what was that all about?” Emily asked as her father finally emerged from the bedroom.
“Hmm? What?”
“On the telephone just now.”
“Oh that.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Just some new customers. They want me to track down some piece they’re looking for but they’re unbelievably rude and pushy. I really don’t want to do business with people like that but they keep harassing me.” He frowned and stared pensively at the ground for a moment. “Listen.” He tapped her knee. “I put a box in the back of your mother’s garage last night so if you stumble across it you’ll know I put it there and to just leave it there.”
“What is it?”
“It’s uh… It’s your eighteenth birthday present. It’s in a big package, all wrapped up in brown paper, buried under all that crap stored in the back of the garage.”
“Why did you put it in the garage?”
“It’ll be safer there. I don’t have any room here, and don’t tell your mother this, but the store was broken into a couple of nights ago.”
“What? You were robbed?”
“Yes, but don’t make a big deal out of it. I don’t want to upset your mother. She has a lot on her plate right now.” He lit up his phone screen and began checking email messages as if wanting to end the conversation.
“But, Dad… who do you think did it?”
“I have no idea. Probably just some kids.”
“Why would kids want to rob an antique store?”
“Yeah, it’s odd, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t know who it was. Anyways, just promise me that you’ll keep it safe, until your birthday. And don’t open it. And do not tell your mother about it. Promise?”
“Okay, I promise,” said Emily, standing up and hugging him.
“Well, you should get going now,” her father said. “Time for school. Oh, I almost forgot – I won’t be able to see you next weekend.”
“Why?” She felt the familiar sense of hurt surging up inside her. “You’re not going to come for my birthday?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why do I even ask? You canceled on me the last three weekends in a row and now my eighteenth birthday? You know what would make things easier? Maybe just don’t waste my time making plans with me in the first place.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve been very busy.”
“Well,” she snapped, pulling on her coat, “let me clear some space in your schedule. Don’t bother about the weekend after that either. I’ve got other things to do.” She threw her backpack over her shoulder and headed for the door.
“I’m sorry, Emily, but I have a lot of research to do, and there are important things…”
Before he could finish his sentence she had walked out of the apartment.
“Yeah, and I’m obviously not one of them,” she muttered.
“Emily, wait,” she heard him say as she shut the door behind her. If her
father wasn’t interested in being an active part of her life anymore, then she couldn’t force him, but knowing that didn’t make the disappointment any less painful. Reaching the street, she threw open the door of her car.
“Emily!” her father called to her from the balcony. She didn’t look up at him as she got into her seat, started up the engine with an angry roar and drove off down the street, ignoring the spikes of guilt urging her to go back and hug him again.
“And you have no idea who this person, this ‘new customer’ was who your dad was arguing with?” asked Detective Scannel, twirling a pen around his fingers as though it were a cheerleader’s baton.
“No,” said Emily. “Can’t you trace the numbers on his phone?”
“We’re looking into that, but so far it hasn’t led us anywhere.”
“Do you think he was the one who robbed him?” She wondered if she should mention the mysterious birthday present waiting for her in the garage but decided against it. It was the last thing her father would ever give her, too personal to just hand over to the police as evidence. She wanted to open it and see for herself what it was before she told anyone else of its existence.
“Don’t know.” The detective handed her a photo of a man she had never seen before. He was Caucasian and looked to be in his thirties with wild eyes, like a rabid animal. He had thick dark hair, square, prominent features and a solid jaw line. His face was terribly scarred, and he was missing most of his right ear.
“Ever seen this man?”
“No.”
He set the photo up against his water bottle, so she could continue to examine it. “He was spotted in the area of your father’s store around the time of the break-in. His name is Cady Sunner. He’s a go-between and a mercenary, works for some organized crime bosses.”
“You mean mafia?” Emily asked. “In Portland?”
“Drug smuggling is expanding to the smaller ports up and down the east coast. Fewer police,” he explained.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, Asian triads, the Russian mob, bikers… we’ve got it all now,” he sighed.
Emily shook her head. “I’ve never seen him. You think he robbed my father’s store?”
“We don’t know. Whoever did it ransacked the place but the only things missing were his books.”
“What books?”
“The records of all his sales and purchases.”
Emily stared hard at the photo, trying to imagine why anyone would want her father’s sales records.
“He only kept hard copies of his records as far as you know, correct?”
“Yeah, my father wasn’t big on computers.”
Detective Scannel took back the photo and placed it in a manila folder, clipping it to the top edge before taking out another. “How about this man?” he asked.
Emily took the photo and looked at it. It was a picture of an Asian man who she guessed was in his late fifties. He had high cheekbones and a mustache. He was dressed in some kind of military uniform.
“No, never seen him.” She shook her head and handed him back the picture. “Who is he?”
“He goes by the name Commander Claw. We don’t know much about him, other than that he is affiliated with the Asian triads and we believe that Cady Sunner is working for him. We’ll do everything we can to figure out who broke into the store and who killed your father, Emily, I promise. One last thing…” Detective Scannel glanced about, clearing his throat. He looked uneasy. He handed her a piece of paper and pointed to some words written in blue ink. “Do these words mean anything to you?”
The words read: THE BLOOD OF THE WORLD IS THE BLOOD OF THE GOD.
Emily recoiled, as if bitten by a snake. “No. What does that even mean?”
“Are you sure you’ve never seen them?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Why?”
He cleared his throat again and looked at her as if gauging how much he wanted her to know. “Because,” he said eventually, putting the paper down on his desk, “these words were written on the wall of your father’s apartment. They were written in his blood.”
Emily went straight to her garage when she got home from the police station, lost in thought. Her birthday, Halloween, her favorite day of the year, was just over a week away and her father wouldn’t be at that or any other birthday of hers ever again. She found the package containing her present at the back of the garage under a heap of junk, including a dust-covered plastic turtle pool. It was quite a large box, wrapped in brown paper.
“Okay, Dad,” she whispered to herself, “I’ve found it.” She felt a knot of excitement tightening in her stomach as she pushed aside the bicycle and toys piled on top of it. Is this what those men were looking for? she wondered. Is this the reason my father is dead?
She tore the paper from one end of the box, cutting through the packing tape with her house key. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the flaps of the box and peered inside at her birthday present.
From the brass plaque on the side, she could see that it was a desk from a ship. It was crafted out of walnut with a leather top and drawers down one side. It looked as if it had recently been refurbished, and whoever had done it had done a fairly decent job. Judging from the untouched base it had previously been in very rough shape. The small brass plaque on the side read Pinalute.
Emily frowned. Why would her father give her a desk? Why would he consider it something she might like? Was it really her birthday present or was he just saying that? And if this was the item the robbers were looking for, why would they or anyone else, be interested in it? It couldn’t be that valuable. It was kind of junky, to be honest. Then again, maybe it was owned by someone famous or was used in some important historical moment and was worth a ton of money.
She opened the drawers, but they were empty. The top flipped up to reveal a small storage area, but all that was in there was a piece of paper, a record of purchase. Emily remembered that the thieves had stolen his record books. I guess the thieves don’t know for sure if he had this desk if they couldn’t find the purchase record, she thought. If that’s even what they were looking for. As she picked up the piece of paper she noticed some words roughly carved into the wood of the storage area underneath that said “VADAS ASGER” in capital letters. The word “demons” was carved below it. It looked as though dried blood had sunk into the carved letters.
She shivered as she stared at it. She turned over the piece of paper and noticed that her father had also written “VADAS ASGER?” on the reverse. Emily put it back in the desk and resealed the packaging as best she could, hiding it under the junk where she had found it. Her mother never cleaned the garage so she knew it wouldn’t be found. Going upstairs to her bedroom she opened her computer and looked up Pinalute. Apparently, it was the name of a merchant vessel in use over two hundred years before. There was no mention of anything particularly special about it. She then typed in the words “Vadas Asger”. Nothing came up.
Emily clapped shut her laptop, dropped her head into her folded arms, and breathed quietly. She wondered why her father had been so insistent that she not tell her mother about the present. After a moment she got undressed, brushed her teeth, crawled into bed, fell asleep and plunged into a vivid dream.
She found herself lying in a large four-poster bed in a castle bedroom redolent of ancient times, the polished oak of the furniture gleaming in the candlelight. She was wearing a white nightgown and a beautiful pearl necklace with a ruby and diamond pendant around her throat. Her face was wet and her eyes swollen from crying. Above her stood a young man more handsome than any she had ever seen before. He looked to be about her age, perhaps a year older. He stood over six feet, was lean and powerfully built with pale skin and unnaturally bright emerald eyes. He already displayed more than a hint of the maturity of the man he was becoming. Because he was shirtless she could see his extraordinarily athletic physique and broad shoulders. He was chiseled like a sculpture, taut and hard.
She opened her mouth, tasting the tears
on her lips, and drew in a long breath. Thick, messy, golden-bronze hair framed the young man’s face. Her heart pounded. His intelligent eyes glittered as they stared at her. His eyes were mesmerizing. Desire exploded deep inside her. At the same time she could see a carnal hunger smoldering in his stare that sent a thrill of danger through her whole body. She was vaguely aware that her skin was prickling wet with sweat. Emily opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Her throat felt tight beneath his powerful gaze. Lightning flashed outside and thunder cracked and rolled across the sky. A window blew open, knocking over a vase of flowers, which shattered across the floor like a gunshot.
She was unable to move or speak as he stepped closer, his eyes changing; now blazing with an inhuman, crimson glow that filled her with terror. His skin became even paler, as though he were a corpse, a delicate blue spider’s web of veins spreading through it.
Emily screamed as the dream switched and she found herself falling and falling from a great height. The ground rushed toward her, she was going to die… then… nothing. She was lost in an endless darkness, staring about her into a limitless void.
From the darkness a shape began to form and even before she could see it clearly she knew it was a demon. It was humanoid, but horribly deformed. Its red lizard skin was on fire, hunks of flesh bubbling and peeling off. Its yellowish-green eyes blazed and it had horns and teeth that were rotted and crooked as old tombstones. The demon lunged toward her.
Two
Versailles, France, July 1789
The young man from Emily’s dream strolled along an avenue of trees in the early evening, heading toward the Palace of Versailles. The tension in the air was tangible, a slowly building storm.
He ran a strong hand through his golden-bronze hair as he stared up at the palace in all its splendor, its Baroque extravagance perfectly merging with the French classical style. A constant stream of carriages came and went from the courtyard at the front. The young man was dressed as a nobleman, radiating an aura of strength and confidence. He appeared both wealthy and powerful. His fashionable clothes were tailored from the finest materials to fit him perfectly. He wore thick gold rings with finely cut gemstones on each hand and a long sword hung at his side. As he drew close to the walls he stayed in the shadows and then, silent as a ghost, he ducked into a grove of trees. Unseen by the guards stationed on every corner, he made his way round to the south side of the palace.
