Table of Contents
Title Page
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
Epilogue
Author Bio
Soul of the Butterfly
by Scott Carruba
© 2019 Scott Carruba
First Edition
Edited by Christina Smith
Cover art by Jeffrey Kosh Graphics
Published by Optimus Maximus Publishing, LLC
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
Electronic edition, License notes: This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the work of the author.
ISBN 13: 978-1-944732-41-7
ISBN 10: 1-944732-41-4
Words shall not be hid, nor spells buried. Might shall not sink underground, though the mighty go.
- The Kalevala
Chapter One
The large house stands nestled deep within the grounds, trees lining the private, gravel road, growing lusher as one moves from that avenue until they become as dense as a forest. The architecture is Second Empire, the floorplan asymmetrical, the top of a darker shade than the overall rich coloring of the structure. A single tower rises up, only taller than the roof by its own cap, the home showing three floors with many bay windows, and a modest balcony emerging from one side.
Lilja notes the late afternoon sun is even more obscured as they slowly progress along the way, nearing the mansion. She leans forward a bit in the driver’s seat, peering, then spares a glance to her passenger. The junior girl, Zoe, slouches in place, one hand up to somewhat prop her head. She also looks outside the vehicle, though judging from her expression, she is none too pleased.
During the short time of this assignment, the Felcraft woman has not been shy about her displeasure. Though she is about five years younger than her partner, she has been trained in the hunting of demons for most of her life. Despite this, Lilja had been put in charge and given lead for interacting and investigation. Zoe figures it’s because she is the girlfriend of the Head of the Family, Skothiam. She’s heard things about the redhead, heard tales of what she’s done as well as seen some of her skills in training exercises. There’s no denying those abilities, but Zoe still stews, feeling passed over for one less experienced, one who is not even family. Lilja does not press Zoe to talk.
There are a few other vehicles noticeable as Lilja brings their rental into a decent parking place on the circular drive. Lethal and exotic equipment waits in the trunk, but it remains there for now. They are not unarmed and would not be without some skill even if bereft of conventional weapons, but a measure of subtlety and secrecy is still called for. As they mount the impressive steps to the front door, an older, quite refined woman waits for them.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Barrington,” Lilja greets as the other woman stares down the angle of her sharp nose at the two arrivals. Zoe remains as taciturn as on the drive. “We spoke on the phone?” She gently presses, then fishes into the pocket of her light, waist-length jacket, producing a sleek identification. “We’re the Special Investigators.”
She doesn’t know exactly how the Felcrafts have come by these ID’s or the obvious back-up to give them quasi-legitimacy, but they are impressive, even if the agency for which they purportedly work is so obscure as to make one wonder if it exists at all. Fortunately, the Barringtons, though quite well-off, are not so wealthy as to possess the types of connections and power to have made this angle of approach more difficult than it already proves.
“Why does someone from England care about what’s happening on my private property?” Mrs. Barrington asks, eyes peering, her voice issuing forth with its own regional, cultured accent.
“I’m not from England, ma’am,” Lilja informs, returning the elder woman’s gaze. “I explained this on the phone, and I presume you checked this out before agreeing to our visit.”
Of course, the woman had not readily agreed, but again the Felcraft resources had proven sufficient to compel her to feel like she had no other choice but to allow it. Lilja is not entirely comfortable with the subterfuge, however lacking in outright abrasiveness it may be, but she understands the necessity.
Mrs. Barrington just stares, seeming to give but the barest examination to the ID, more taking measure of the visitor. She then moves her eyes to Zoe who returns the look with one that seems apathetic. The staring continues until Zoe seems to get the point, producing her own credentials.
“You two don’t look like Special Investigators,” Mrs. Barrington comments.
Lilja glances around, displaying a cool exterior, before setting her eyes back on the woman. “Do you mind if we take a look around your property before the sun sets?”
“I don’t think you care if I mind,” the woman retorts after a bit of a pause.
“I am sorry for the inconvenience, Mrs. Barrington,” Lilja replies, keeping her even, soothing tone, “but it would be best if everything went as smoothly as possible.”
The woman narrows her eyes, and Lilja notes as some wrinkles gather there. She obviously takes care of herself, but the vestiges of aging are visible. The lips are painted, turned slightly down in the hint of a permanent frown. Lilja waits a moment more, then gives a single nod, eyes then gone to Zoe as silent beckon before she heads out.
It doesn’t take them long before they find the small stream, the gurgling of the water like a lure in the gentle noise of the area. Lilja finds herself enjoying it, though the heat and humidity are far more than what she is used to. This trek appeals to her love of nature. She stands beside the narrow vein of water, then turns and heads to follow it upstream. Zoe proceeds in the redhead’s wake, her silence quite adeptly relaying her discontent.
The bubbling brook veers languidly right, and eventually the foliage and trees part, giving way to a manmade structure. Lilja halts, just observing, as Zoe slowly walks up, stopping beside her.
“A cemetery,” the younger Hunter remarks, seeming to have finally regained the use of her voice.
Lilja nods, noting that not only are there markers which indicate the sites of graves, but there is also a small building that looks like a church. The place, though, stands in obvious disrepair, weeds and vines tangled up in some areas, and the structure itself shows signs of fire and neglect. Judging from the overgrowth and rot, the damage did not happen recently.
They walk toward the area, dead leaves crunching under their boots. One side of the building bears a large opening from the fire, and Lilja uses this rather than moving about to what is left of the door. Once inside, she sees the remnants of pews, the wood looking to have been of very good quality- dark, highly polished, the cushioning now dotted with mold and tears. She produces her small flashlight, turning it on to better see, for though a portion of the roof is gone, the angle of the setting sun does not offer mu
ch illumination. She halts the scan rather quickly, noticing a drawing on the wall.
“Hey, I found something outsi-” Zoe begins, coming into the room, but her voice stops as she peers at what is captured in the focus of Lilja’s torch. “What’s that supposed to be?” She asks, getting up a bit closer, then stopping to study the markings.
“I don’t know,” Lilja admits, also staring.
The work is crude, looking like graffiti, the broad swathes of paint seeming as though done by a child, thick with a charcoal-like texture. The form is obviously that of a bound woman, though the head metamorphoses into something like a deer, crowned with an impressive display of crooked antlers.
“It looks primitive,” Zoe remarks, “like it’s been here forever.” She bends a bit at the knee, getting closer, bringing one hand up to gently wipe at it, giving way to a brief fall of gossamer dust.
She steps back, fishing out her mobile, holding it up to take a few quick snapshots. Once done, she glances at the device, eyes narrowing a bit, muttering, “Reception is poor out here.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with what’s been going on?” Lilja asks, still focused on the strange artwork.
Zoe cuts her eyes to the other Huntress, just looking.
“I don’t know. You’re lead.”
Lilja fights to not roll her eyes. Zoe keeps making it painfully obvious she is upset at not being given the top role, but the job still needs doing. Lilja wishes Zoe would suck it up, act professional, and help them both to accomplish just that.
“You found something outside?” she asks, voice calm, expression rather bland.
“Oh, yeah,” the shorn-haired girl recalls. “Check this out.”
Lilja follows as they move out to the gravesites, noting where Zoe gives a casual point as she catches up.
“Fresh flowers,” Lilja remarks, giving a slit to her eyes to belie her curiosity.
“Yeah. Over there, too.”
She glances in the newly indicated direction, then looks about, noticing several places where fresh flowers have been left near certain markers.
“Pretty weird if you ask me,” Zoe manages, the words seeming to tumble from her mouth as though more of thought.
Lilja blinks, looking over. “Is it not a custom in this country?”
Zoe gives a slight turn of her face, resolving into her own expression of confusion. She then shakes her head. “Nah, I mean the whole thing. This place has been burnt-out, left to rot, and that strange drawing in the church, but then fresh flowers on the graves, as if everything is normal …”
Lilja gives a contemplative nod, then looks about further, wondering what else she may find. The foliage may not be as dense yet here in the cemetery, but the area is far from clear. She notices something in the near distance, something dark and gray.
“What’s that?” She peers, standing on tiptoes, moving about as though to better see.
Zoe does similar, though seeming with less enthusiasm, and she gives another curt glance to her partner’s back as Lilja heads off.
It proves to be a fountain, one somewhat large and giving memories of impressiveness. As it stands, the angel holding court in the center shows broken wings, lines of discoloration painting its face as though the stains of tears. Lilja steps nearer, noting the smaller statues, sentinels holding place at the four cardinal points. They prove so weathered, she cannot exactly tell what they are supposed to depict. The water within is still, stagnant, dark. Zoe leans down, sniffing, then wrinkles her nose, going back to her standing position.
“It’s polluted.” She gives to Lilja’s casual, inquiring glance.
Lilja blinks, looking back, wondering what all this implies. The fountain should be clean, alive, vibrant, gurgling with a steady flow of water taken from the lifelines of this land, but it reposes within rot. She stares into the liquid, somewhat losing her focus, thoughts flowing out in a manner in which the soiled waters of the fountain do not. There is a bit of a shimmer from the reflection of the nearly set sun, a glimpse into the darkness of that fluid. She sees something, blinks again, rapidly.
“Did you-?” she begins, her eyes now narrowed, set, her body tense. “Did you see that?”
“See what?” Zoe is quick to respond, her tone a bit defensive.
“I thought …” Lilja begins, voice trailing off as she continues staring into the dark waters, her voice then resuming, though a whisper, “I thought I saw something.”
When she finally moves her eyes away, turning to look at Zoe, the younger girl is just staring. She unloads silent judgment in that gaze.
“Let’s head on back,” Lilja finally says.
They make return to the house, no words exchanged during the short trek, and Lilja sees that more cars have arrived. She knows that this evening is some sort of soirée. The information had been gleaned, and they had deliberately come on this night. The small party happening the same evening gave Mrs. Barrington even more reason to be upset. She did not wish this intrusion during a social gathering to discuss and show her dead husband’s artwork, but it had been chosen to use the fête as a diversion. There was also the general concern that the Infernal would be more prone to inflict one of their attacks during a night with many potential victims.
The history of these grounds shows a spotted, though irregular picture, no rash of recent murders, but the trail shines out plain enough to be seen. The Felcrafts had decided it was time to take action, and Lilja hopes to discern the nature of the infestation and deal with it in a manner resulting in as few casualties as possible.
A trio of well-dressed guests disappears through the open front door just as the two Hunters are meeting the bottom of the staircase. Lilja bounds up with a dancer’s agility.
“Mrs. Barrington?” she calls to get attention, and the woman of the house halts, the congenial smile on her lips dropping as smoothly as she turns.
“Are you done, then?” she clips, and her guests seem to somewhat notice the change in demeanor, proceeding toward the innards of the house.
“No, ma’am. We’re just getting started.”
“Why can this not wait until another time?” the widow hisses, stepping closer to meet this unwanted pair on the porch, pulling the door somewhat closed as though a shield. “You can see I have guests,” she adds, perking her penciled-on eyebrows.
“We found the cemetery on your property, ma’am,” Lilja persists, “it looks as though the … church,” she adds a question mark to the word, “had been burnt …?”
“That’s correct. It was arson,” Mrs. Barrington elaborates, somewhat defiantly, “but that is a matter of public record. It was a long time ago.”
“Never bothered to rebuild?” Zoe tags in, her aspect much less diplomatic.
Mrs. Barrington gives the younger, less professional looking ‘investigator’ a very long look, one from which Zoe is not inclined to avert her eyes.
“No,” she finally answers.
“There was a drawing of a woman to look like a deer. She had antlers,” Lilja states.
“That’s a buck. If they have antlers, they’re male.”
“This drawing depicted a person with obvious female characteristics,” she presses.
“Like she was a sacrifice,” Zoe interjects.
The older woman stares, seeming to almost become a statue. Lilja is not sure what part of the drawing may have drawn Zoe to this conclusion, but she just as quickly wonders if the statement was not made to ruffle feathers, to merely gauge reaction.
“We read about Imogene Wright, the thirteen-year-old girl who went missing and turned up on your property.” Lilja shifts, and those eyes slip slowly to hers, the expression all but bleeding displeasure into the very air.
“That had nothing to do with us. They caught that man who did it. He dumped …” the hostess pauses, lips steeled into a straight line, a nearly imperceptible shake of her head, “the body on our land, yes, but we had nothing at all to do with it.”
Lilja nods, pon
derously, more seeming to offer mourning than agreement. When she returns her eyes to the woman, she notes the firm gaze and slightly raised chin. She all but feels the powerful will trying to get them to leave. It shall not work, as both Lilja and Zoe have faced much worse, but it is telling nonetheless. She begins to wonder if the woman has something to hide or perhaps has been unduly influenced.
Just then, more guests arrive, a dark, sleek automobile pulling into another place on the broad driveway.
“Come in, then, if you must,” Mrs. Barrington coldly invites, “but I ask you to please be discreet, and please have a care for my property.”
“Of course, ma’am, we’ll be very-” Lilja begins, but the woman rudely walks through the duo, heading down to meet her most recent guests.
When Lilja looks over at Zoe, she gets a casual shrug as commentary, though she had half-expected some self-satisfied smirk. They head inside.
The place seems as grand within as without, the ceilings quite tall, the walls painted rich, dark colors, giving an overall ambience of warmth and shadow. The draperies on the front windows have been pulled aside, allowing some of the dwindling natural light to slip in. The illumination inside carries a deliberate affectation of gaslights and candles. They move through the small foyer, Lilja noting the fine marble tiles just there at the entrance, heading left into a spacious living room.
There are but a few guests here, and Lilja spies what seems a servant of some sort, holding a tray of beverages. The young woman looks rather smart in her dark, long skirt, if not somewhat old-fashioned. She visibly halts upon spying the two others as if realizing they are not here for the party. Lilja gives the girl a short look then turns away.
They meander to the large fireplace, eyes upon the quite sizable piece of art hanging above it, the canvas displaying a somewhat abstract, boldly painted figure within a sort of miasma. Some of the colors and shapes are quite distinct, but the overall impression is one of chaos.
“Does that remind you of anything?” Lilja asks, pitching her voice low, as if they were in a museum or library.
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