The High Priestess (The Darkest Desires Series Book 1)

by N. M. Brown

  Bruce swallowed hard. “My client is-... you have no proof of her involvement-,”

  “So, your aware she was involved?” McQueen asked, watching the attorney like a hawk. “Are you stating that you know your client was involved but thought we would lack the proof? Do you believe you can get her free due to lack of evidence? Because we have the bank statements. We have Mrs. Farrow’s own testament along with a dozen witnesses from the wake who are happy to testify.” McQueen suspected that was a stretch, but in the high classes of society, everyone loved a good bit of gossip and being at the centre of it all was crack cocaine to them.

  “All circumstantial.” Bruce actually pushed his glasses up his nose, folding his hands in front of him. “We can get a dozen more witnesses to testify Mrs. Farrow’s character, saying she was nothing but a loving wife, a good mother and nothing but patient when it came to her husband’s illicit affair.”

  “So, are we correcting Mrs. Farrow’s statement from earlier? That she did know about the affair? Because she previously said she didn’t know until being told by officers the day after her husband’s death?” McQueen pushed. “So, what is your story Mrs. Farrows? Because you keep going back and changing everything?”

  “No, I didn’t-,” Fiona jumped forward.

  “Hush Fiona.” Bruce cleared his throat. “My client will neither confirm or deny what she did or didn’t know before being presented with the terrible news of her husband’s passing.”

  “Seems to me Mrs. Farrows is saying a lot of nothing.” Hale watched her, her eyes flicked back and forth rapidly between the two detectives. Who was worst, the one with the question or the one watching for guilt?

  “My client has the right not to speak.” Bruce tried.

  Hale looked at McQueen, who looked at Hale in return. “You’re right, Bruce.” McQueen smiled, gathering his papers into a file. “We’ll see you in court then, where this can all be sorted out. The court date should be set in a few months, maybe a year. I’m sure Mrs. Farrows will enjoy spending her time in jail until that point.” Both detectives stood, McQueen moving round to escort Mrs. Farrow’s back to her cell.

  “No.” Fiona snapped, leaping from her chair trying to stay out of McQueen’s grasp. Quickly as he could Bruce pulled her back down to her seat, trying to speak to her in a low tone but she waved him off, shrugging off his hold. “I am not spending twenty-five years in prison.” She spat. Looking back at Hale, she regained some colour in her cheeks. “I can give you what I know about the man. However, I make no statement that I approached him or asked for any services. I was told about him through a friend who I will also not name.”

  Hale sat down slowly, as if testing the waters despite having already caught the fish, “Proceed?”

  So, Fiona did: Through a not-close-friend over a cup of tea in a no-name coffee shop in a far distant part of England, Mrs. Farrows may have partaken in a conversation that may or may not have spoken about distasteful, unfaithful spouses. This may have led to more wine and foggy recollection. An elaborate idea had been discussed, in which one not-close-friend had confessed to enjoying the idea of removing said cheating spouses from the picture. The then not-close-friend had taken the idea a step further into reality. Mrs. Farrows had parted ways with the none-friend and had in no way used the knowledge or had ever considered using it. She did however retain enough of this knowledge to pass it onto the Detectives.

  “Well Mrs. Farrows. That was a very-… altered course of events, but we appreciate your cooperation.” Hale smiled, standing. McQueen walked round the table and lifted Fiona to her feet.

  “I can assume that my bail will be posted soon, so I can leave this hole?” She asked Bruce, speaking over her shoulder as McQueen walked her out.

  “Unfortunately, due to timings the judge can’t post your bail amount today, so you’ll be staying another night-,” Fiona screeched in outrage, trashing against McQueen’s grip. “But you can be assured you’ll be staying in our best accommodations.” McQueen informed her.

  Leading her back down the hall, Bruce was denied entry at the double security doors that lead to the cells and McQueen happily placed Mrs. Farrows back behind bars. He even went as far to give himself a pat on the back.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Hale and McQueen had parted ways not too late into the night after another long slog of research. Mrs. Farrows would post bail tomorrow, so they had put a tail on her to stop her trying to make a run for the Channel Tunnel. Ramirez had even volunteered for the task, saying he wanted to make sure that woman got what she deserved. McQueen therefore reluctantly went back to the B&B, feeling like he hadn’t made nearly enough progress.

  Breathing the night air, McQueen decided a nice walk around town in the pre-dusk was what he needed. Before his Nana died, he would take her out as much as he could, even when he worked in Dublin, he’d make sure to go back on weekends just to take her into the fresh air. He would love how she would natter about the flowers, the neighbours or about life when she was but a girl. She would have liked Rippling; the history, the architecture, not to mention the beautiful pre-medieval church. He’d had a few curious looks when he’d joined his first service, but he must be a regular now because no one paid him heed.

  As he walked and contemplated, he allowed his feet to wander aimlessly, taking wide streets and narrow alleyways. Rippling, despite recent events, was primarily a quiet town, with an average crime rate. He didn’t fear getting jumped. However, with his mind wandering, McQueen had to blink his consciousness awake when he suddenly found himself on a darkened road. No street lights, or homes lined the dirt path. Only bright lights of orange could be seen in the distance, dancing like will-o-wisps in the shadows. Like an unsteady fawn, McQueen found himself walking onwards and before he caught up with himself, he was on the front steps of Cardinal House.

  “Couldn’t stay away Detective?” that mellow voice asked, with only a hint of teasing. Jacob Smith, a name McQueen still wasn’t sold on, smiled as his newest guest approached sheepishly.

  “No. I mean, yes I can stay away… I just took a wrong turn.” McQueen offered pathetically.

  “Ah, not one person takes a wrong turn on their way to Cardinal House, Detective.” Jacob smiled again. Reaching out a hand, passing out of sight behind a door, he suddenly came back with a simple whisky glass, gently sloshing with an amber liquid. However, even from the bottom of the steps, McQueen could smell that it was not whiskey or bourbon, or even scotch he could smell.

  “What is that?” He asked, clutching his cuff over his mouth and nose.

  “A simple cocktail drink made here by our staff.” Jacob outstretched the glass, his fingers leaving condensation marks on the outside edge. “It’s only for our VIP’s, which you, of course, should consider yourself.”

  “I don’t drink.” McQueen stated yet his feet had travelled him up a step. One step closer to the door, to Jacob, to that drink. Only two more to go.

  “We know Detective. It’s non-alcoholic.” McQueen very much doubted that. The tart sweetness that wafted through the air tickled his nose. It brought up distant memories of his father, slumped in his chair, dinking from a bottle. Suddenly the glass was very close to his face and the sweet smell engulfed him. Maybe this could be an excellent opportunity. He could scope the place out; note its customers, the illegal drug use. If he got enough, he could take this place down on top of catching a murderer. That would surely impress Hale. Maybe he could even get transfer to London.

  “Well, one drink won’t hurt.” McQueen plastered on a smile. Taking the drink from Jacob. “As long as it’s non-alcoholic.”

  “Of course, Detective.” Allowing McQueen to step past, Jacob was quick to take the Detectives coat and he suddenly felt naked without it. Stepping side to side on his feet, McQueen looked around, no doubt wide eyed like an awkward teen. “The first floor is for the commoners Detective.” Jacob spoke very close to his ear, making McQueen jump. “The real prize is upstairs.”

  With a wink
, Jacob stepped away silently and McQueen saw the woman, Sandi, spin into the shadows to follow, but he wasn’t sure. Instead he looked down at the glass in hand a gave it a testing sniff. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel his nose hairs get singed or feel water gather in his eyes. Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t that strong if it really wasn’t alcoholic.

  “Chill McQueen.” He whispered to himself. “One drink… even half a drink, while you listen to a few customers, scout out anything fishy, then home.” Brining to still cool glass to his lips, McQueen allowed the smooth amber liquid to swirl round his teeth and coat his tongue. Yet as he lowered his hand he couldn’t believe the entire liquid was gone in one small sip. At least he thought it was a sip…

  Eyes darting, McQueen spotted a serving lady, tray in one hand while sporting a fabulous designer dress. Dashing over at an appropriate speed, he swapped glasses, making sure this time he didn’t drink any of his new beverage. He couldn’t walk around here empty handed; it would look suspicious.

  “Ok,” He said to himself, “Now where?” His eyes drifted to the staircase, the beautiful deep oak beckoning him. But instead, he did an about-turn. No, no. He’d start from the bottom and work his way up. Yes, that would be the best way…no need to rush up there.

  No, that could wait.

  X

  Echo hissed as her bandages rubbed against her raw skin again. Dressing this morning had been a bitch and she’d eventually picked a slim-fit, black shirt that cupped her breasts nicely. The long sleeves also covered her arms which, one; hide the mummification going on, and two: made her feel warmer. There was still a chill in her bones that she couldn’t shake, and her finger tips still felt raw. Besides, it was only some of the regulars who noticed her dramatic change from a walking sex on legs, into a lost Nun. Plus, it had only been Sam who’d said anything, and she’d only asked if Echo was ill after she’d made a list of drink demands.

  “Your aura is all-… washy as well.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “What is wrong with you?” Samantha was stretched like a big cat across the bed in the Summer Annex, fresh sheets beneath her. Echo had made some sugar cubes laced with Lily of the Valley as welcoming treats. It gave Sam and her clients a running start, making their blood pump faster, harder and hotter. The delicate pink flower was nestled in the centre, merely for aesthetics. At least these flowers Echo didn’t have to go to the cool room for, she’d been happy to discover.

  “I’m feeling off is all.” Echo admitted. She hadn’t slept last night because her cuts and scrapes stung as she’d tossed and turned. She’d created some healing paste to smear on, but it hadn’t soothed the pain.

  Samantha huffed, stretching, “Well you better get back on track fast. Archer doesn’t want you off your game while the cops are snooping around. With Wharton leading the pack, there’s no way Archer can influence the dirty cops in the police department. The nosy bastards will keep coming.” Sam rolled onto her back trailing sharp nails up her chest and over her bare chest. “I’d suggest you get those Detectives gone and don’t disappoint him darling.” Sam paused for a moment and then spoke as if recalling a fond memory. “Your brother would have known how to distract them.”

  Echo's’ elbow knocked the edge of a French, ornate love seat, dragging a straggled cry to her lips and tears to her eyes. Breathing heavily, she saw red. “Well he’s fucking dead isn’t he.” She spat. “And he couldn’t do a better job than me because he would have been too busy slaughtering half of the community.” Echo tossed the silver platter of extra sugar cubes in the centre of the antique coffee table, the cubes jumping off the white doily. “I fucking told him not to kill them, but he went, and fucking did it anyway. He was an idiot!”

  Sam narrowed her eyes in disgust. “You dare say that after everything you did together? After everything you achieved together? Everything you could have achieved?”

  “I don’t-,” But Echo bit her tongue before she could say more. You didn’t bite at the hand that fed you. Slowly like a deflating balloon, Echo felt the ragged breaths die from her lungs and suddenly she felt clear headed. “Dredging up the past is like kicking a dead puppy; all the funs gone out of it.”

  Sam regarded her for a beat, before her eyes flickered to the door way. “You know Mara darling, I think that’s been bottled up for a while.” She smiled savagely.

  Looking to the door behind her, Echo saw long leather cladded legs with black ankle boots crossed lazily in the doorframe. Her red hair spilled from underneath a black cap and looked soft to touch, with a black bomber jacket over a white tank top. Mara always looked like an undercover cop or gang banger out for a walk. Yet, compared with her siblings, she was the most normal looking. Archer’s tailored suits made people feel inferior while Sam’s lack of clothes was too distracting for people to gage her trustworthiness. Twilight was so flamboyant it scared people and Gala dressed much like Archer, too tailored, too fancy.

  “Well something was curled around her tongue.” Mara’s voice was smooth and pleasant while also perfectly feminine. Her hands were bound in boxing tape and dotted with blood: she’d been in a fight tonight. “And curled around her memories.” Mara snickered. “What crawled out of the dark depth and pissed you off?” Mara asked.

  Echo felt her face crumple in anger. “Don’t fucking twist me like that.” Very rarely did the siblings ever influence Echo. They never needed too; she was already perfectly sinful. But when they did it made Echo’s blood boil. They didn’t do it to each other.

  Yet, for all their power, they couldn’t read minds, which made Echo pleased. Adin had died, yes, and had been stalking people, yes, and had eventually started killing them. This information the Sins knew. However, knowing all the while Echo had helped to orchestrate his death by assisting the cops… That piece of information, as far as she knew, they weren’t aware of. Echo imagined they wouldn’t be all too pleased should they find out.

  “My deepest apologies.” Mara bowed slightly at the waist, but Echo knew she was being mocked.

  “What are you doing here?” Echo relaxed, forcing herself to be calm. She was still rattled by yesterday’s events, but they wouldn’t control her. She wasn’t weak, she was strong. It was a fluke with the cool room door and then the cops had brought up Adin, and now Sam; just another fluke. She needed to forget about it.

  “Archer called a family meeting. We’re all arriving in the next few days”. Mara didn’t smile.

  Echo shivered. Family meetings were… interesting. All seven of them together made the best chemistry and it was a feeling that was far overdue. “Do we know what it’s about?” Echo found herself asking.

  “No.” Sam snapped, “And it’s not your place to ask.” She reminded Echo.

  She had never been invited to a ‘family meeting’ though she longed to join. It always meant something big was going down. They hadn’t had a full meet in years; not since they rigged an election and began the fall of western civilization. At least that was the plan anyway; Rome wasn’t built in a day, and surprisingly it didn’t fall in one either. It had and will be an event for the history books in decades to come. Echo wanted in.

  “Right.” Echo rolled her eyes, “I’d hate to be put to actual use.”

  A hard, fast stab of lust shot through her body causing a flash flush and all her muscles to give out. Such a sudden onset was harsh and uncomfortable, not at all pleasurable, meaning Echo yelp despite better judgement.

  “Yes, yes. I’m sure we’ll be one, big, happy family.” Mara snorted ignoring Echo’s pain. “When you’re quiet finished playing Echo, go get me a drink.”

  “Sure.” Echo didn’t look at Sam and walked out, quickly collecting Mara’s Scotch whiskey neat.

  Mara took if from her with a brash smile and dismissed her with a flick of her finger leaving no room to suggest Echo could stay. She felt both sets of eyes follow her from the room but they stayed silent at her departure. Echo decided not to dwell on it. She had a plan in place.

  Taking down a perfect,
saintly Bible Man should do it. Bring down the worthy and that would surly prove her worth. Soon they’ll have to let her in.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Despite snapping earlier and feeling the tendrils of Mara’s inflicted rage, Echo served drinks all evening once the House opened. She was feeling twitchy, like she could feel an oncoming storm, which was an accurate assessment. All seven of the siblings here as one, it was more like a tropical hurricane, during an earthquake, riding a tsunami. She couldn’t wait.

  But to calm her twitch, she kept busy and the best, easiest way for her to do that was to mix a decent cocktail. Every time Echo returned to the Summer Annex, she left with more orders, but it wasn’t long until her sly efforts were no longer needed. The sight of two women curled writhing against each other, tongues dancing and their tops and bras lost long ago, was proof. Men fisted their cocks through their pants and everyone was in a sedated state of lust. Sam wouldn’t need any more drinks now.

  The rest of the floor was empty: Archer was clientless tonight, probably in anticipation for the family’s arrival, Mara was absent as well, but Echo was still feeling a little salty so paid no heed and as ever, Nic was nowhere to be found. After his last request left her locked in the cool room, she was in no hurry to see him again so stayed far away from the second floor. Unfortunately, despite Echo’s mood, all that was left was the ground floor which was far from interesting.