by Aiden James
I carefully scanned the entire store, making sure to be nonchalant. We had foregone our usual precautions, such as encrypted texts and emails, in exchange for a brief phone call. Now, it seemed to warrant extra scrutiny to make sure we were unnoticed by all who passed.
“What’s up?” I asked.
My mouth suddenly felt like sandpaper. My intuitions had been heightened for the past few days. Something nagged at me from the back of my mind, though until this moment I wasn’t quite sure what it meant.
“How closely have you been following the international news?”
“Not too much…just mainly the events highlighted on MSNBC every night, and the Yahoo scroll on my laptop,” I said, fearful he might sense the ruse covering the hours I had spent trying to get details on one particular event.
“Hmmm…doubtless you’re aware of the bomb blast that killed two cardinals at the Vatican,” he said. “It’s hard to notice every terrorist attack these days. But this one claimed the lives of nearly a dozen other clergy working in the archives when the bomb exploded, making it hard to ignore.”
Bingo!
“Yes, I remember reading the tagline on that one.” I turned my attention to the refrigerated Guinness Extra Stout. Might need a few of these fairly soon.
He laughed, drawing my gaze back to him. I hated the fact I couldn’t see his eyes’ expression behind protective lenses.
“What?” I asked.
“Why do you play this game with me?”
Roderick’s voice had been muted, but suddenly surrounded me. Doubtless, I had spurred his ire by being coy.
“Meaning what?”
My turn to draw him out…. We should quit the charade, this dance around the pink elephant that had just emerged between us.
“All right,” he said, allowing a slight smile to tug at the corners of his thin lips. “I’ll spell it out, since you already know why I’m here. Plus, I’ll give you details your limited access to ‘need to know’ information has prevented you from finding in your searches. The archives wing that was destroyed once housed a precious collection of journals, diaries, and other ancient tomes from the Franciscan order. They spanned from the mid-thirteenth century to the early years of the twentieth century. Beyond priceless, it’s been assumed nearly all of them were destroyed in the blast. We would have been content to allow this conclusion if not for a certain image caught by three of the surviving security cameras.”
“No, it can’t be…. Viktor Kaslow?”
I didn’t want to believe it, and I shook my head in disbelief. I had watched an enormous whirlpool swallow my archenemy and carry the bastard somewhere deep inside the earth, far below an island cave just outside Hong Kong. That was seventeen months ago. Even as immortals go, surviving something so intense is unheard of.
“Yes,” Roderick confirmed. “Viktor waited to make sure the camera caught his face, and then he smiled. No doubt, he knew we’d eventually see it, and you would see it, as well.”
“What do you think this means?” I asked quietly, drawing close to him as another patron, an elderly man, approached the beer and ale refrigerator. We wouldn’t have much longer to talk here.
“In and of itself? Hard to say.” Roderick glanced casually away from the man, stopping to stare at the customer in the fedora, wearing sunglasses and his Deep Throat style trench coat. Roderick waited for the man to move past us before continuing. “I can’t give you all the details, but one of the diaries in the Vatican’s possession once belonged to Giuseppe de la Serna, a Franciscan missionary who visited Bolivia in 1573. Do you know of him?”
“No,” I lied. I’d heard the name, and had a vague recollection he had sparked my interest several centuries ago. So, technically, I was telling the truth.
“He witnessed one of your coins…and I believe you know which one.”
“Ah, yes,” I said, hoping my sudden increased heart rate remained unknown to Roderick’s keen sensitivities. “I’m aware of it. The one that rings.”
He chuckled sadly, and I had no doubt he shared my apprehension about this particular coin. “They call it the ‘Singing Coin’. Only the most holy individuals can hear it,” he said. “But, other documents I surveyed long ago in La Paz say it can also be heard by the most wicked souls.”
“You think Viktor is going after the coin?”
“Yes.”
“But, he’ll never find it…only the Essenes know where it is.”
“And you,” he said, his tone serious. “You and Giuseppe, who in 1574 found their remote castle nestled in the Andes.”
My chest constricted. The ramifications of Roderick’s revelation were many…too many for me to begin to sort out. He gently grasped my arm to keep me from collapsing. Roderick is aware of what this particular coin means to me, and my aversion to retrieving it. For numerous reasons I had been saving it for last, to be blood coin number thirty.
“My brother, let us pay for our liquor and finish our conversation outside,” he said, picking up the six-pack of Guinness I had my eye on earlier, along with his Killian’s. “I’ll tell you the rest of why I’m here, and what it is you and I must do.”
* * *
Once inside Roderick’s Z4, I thought the only distraction would be the steady rain, turning to sleet, as it pounded the ragtop. But, the swirling thoughts that had assaulted me inside the liquor store had yet to subside.
“Don’t panic yet, Judas,” said Roderick, relaxing in the driver seat. “We have time to take care of this.”
I nodded in silence, wondering where Viktor was at that very moment. Would he go directly to Bolivia? Or, could he be on the way to America’s capitol with evil intent toward me, or those closest to me?
“He’s not coming here…yet,” said Roderick, obviously privy to my thoughts. The usual guards protecting the fortress of my mind were disabled. It would be an excellent opportunity for my long time friend to pillage the hidden reserves I’ve shared with no one. He smiled wanly and shook his head. “You should know me better, old friend. If you were naked, I’d hand you clothing rather than gaze upon you. So, why would I do that to your mind?”
“Okay…you’re right.” I nodded my gratitude, as his words rang true. “Knowing you, you’ve already got a plan. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Well…what is it?”
“First, there’s more,” he said. “Bishop Ramon Espinoza from the Archdiocese in La Paz has been kidnapped. Surely, you realize these two events must be related. Viktor’s smug smile showed up in a camera image from a drugstore near the cathedral that was accessed by our CIA operatives who traveled to La Paz from Venezuela, following up on Espinoza’s disappearance.”
I was speechless. Viktor had gone from nowhere to everywhere in just a matter of days. He had a plan, as well, and I worried Roderick’s plan might be a dollar short and a day too late to make a difference in the end.
“Not if we leave tomorrow morning. If we leave early enough, we might reach the castle before Viktor does,” he said, pausing to scan the parking lot. Apparently satisfied our privacy remained un-breached, he continued. “Remember, Viktor must actually find the castle and then hunt for the coin. In addition to the priceless Torah and Talmud scrolls, and golden statues the Essenes keep in their castle, your coin is the most sacred relic they hold. It’s been safely hidden since Yael Mordecai learned of Giuseppe’s diary in 1686. I had a close relationship with this particular Essene, who served as Superior for the Bolivian tribe from 1662 until he was assassinated in La Paz in 1703.”
For a moment, Roderick’s voice sounded hollow from the grief he touched upon. It’s another unfortunate quality he shares with me. We always feel deeply about those whom we care the most. For our mental outlook, it’s vitally important to not reminisce long about those no longer with us.
“So, you are certain it’s safely hidden?”
“Yes…and I’m just as certain I can find it,” he said. “I know how Yael thought, and I remember the secret vaults he f
avored in the castle’s spires.”
“Hmmm…I see.”
Well, not really. Since I had never seen the castle, I could offer no more than a slight hope he was correct in assuming my coin was protected. Yes, I had known for centuries it was being held in Bolivia. In truth, my reason for saving this particular coin for the very last was that it would likely bring the worst emotional pain compared to any of my other coins. My assumption is largely based on the story following this coin. They all have tales, just as they all bring curses. But this one became tainted before my Lord’s arrest and subsequent execution.
As I tried to picture this castle I had long heard legends of, I thought of the genesis dooming this coin to be the worst of the thirty. Truly, it was an event so simple in its clumsiness it seems unbelievable it happened at all. The messenger from Caiaphas handed me the bag of coins outside the courtyard where Jesus preferred to meditate by Himself. I am ashamed to confess I was spying on His location inside the sprawling complex that belonged to Simon Zelotes. History has mistakenly portrayed the betrayal event to take place in the Garden of Gethsemane, at the foot of the Mount of Olives. But it isn’t true. We prayed there and then returned to Simon’s house.
I was spying to make sure the Lord was where I had advised Caiaphas He would be, and I grew impatient as the messenger, Caiaphas’s guards, and the Roman troops were late in their arrival. Jesus had finished His meditation and was returning to the main house when the messenger ran over to me. I could see the Romans circle the courtyard, blocking my Lord’s return to safety. Meanwhile, the messenger, in his haste to pay the fee agreed upon, shoved the leather bag filled with thirty silver shekels at me. The bag fell open. One coin escaped, and as it hit the stone walkway and bounced away, Jesus stopped and turned toward the sound.
“Judas?”
I had lowered myself against the wall, and I seriously doubt He could see me. But He knew I was there, hiding like a coward. Meanwhile, the other disciples came running out. The coin had rolled out of reach of me safely collecting it. Fearing being discovered, I shrank back from the courtyard and disappeared into Simon’s vineyard with the bag, now one coin short. The commotion that followed brought even more remorse. The Romans were beating Jesus. Beating Him as they dragged Him away in chains! He would not get the unbiased trial Caiaphas had assured me would happen. I realized I had made a terrible mistake….
“Judas? Snap out of it, man.” Roderick nudged me.
“Huh? Look, I’m sorry…. Just a bad memory.”
“Of what?”
“It’s not important,” I tried to assure him. “You were saying something about a map and a church. Right?”
I couldn’t fully concentrate while memories of the very worst night of my entire existence played out for what must be the ten thousandth time. Thankfully, it was only the second time in the past two centuries. But I had hoped to avoid the experience until the other twenty-nine coins had been recovered.
I never dreamed it would come early.
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Cades Cove: The Curse of Allie Mae
The Cades Cove Series, Book One
(Please read on for a sample)
“M-m-u-u-r-r-der-r-r-er-r-r!”
David opened his eyes, awakened by the whisper. The room was completely dark, and not even the parking lot lamps’ glow penetrated the murkiness. He noticed the curtains’ unusual thickness when he turned up the heater before retiring, assuming it was the motel’s way of compensating its guests for the sparse insulation. At least one couldn’t be bothered by any car or truck lights coming in late, as most of the motel’s patrons seemed to be in the long-haul transportation business.
The television was blank and silent, and David couldn’t make out its outline. The heater’s comforting hum was also absent. It left the room in a hostile stillness. The sound of a deep sigh filled the air above the space between the two beds. Something floated there.
He raised himself, fully aware of his distinct disadvantage. Peering into the darkness where the sigh came from, he reached for the lamp switch.
“Don’t do it!”
The feminine voice surreal, the accent and the fact it sounded both near and far was familiar.
“Allie Mae?”
The air around him was already chilled from the lack of heat, but it grew colder. The presence was drawing close. A brilliant blue eye appeared, aglow in the darkness less than a foot away. The eye was especially beautiful, and it squinted. Perhaps it scrutinized him, or more likely, its owner was seriously pissed.
“What do you want from me?” David tried to remain calm despite the terror, but found it impossible to control the unsteadiness of his voice.
The eye moved closer, and as it did he became aware of a soft gurgling sound. It reminded him of the tiny streams he used to find in the mountain valleys of Colorado. Cold drafts of air brushed against his face, and the eye came within a few inches of his own eyes, as if the head shrouded by darkness positioned itself to kiss him. The smell of raw meat filled his nostrils. He pushed himself against the bed’s headboard.
“To take back what you’ve stolen,” the voice replied. It was softer and almost normal, erupting from the gurgling noise and sending an icy spray upon him. “And kill the wicked seed once and for all!”
“I didn’t steal your bag of treasures, and I’ll happily give it back!” He clutched the bedspread tightly, and shrunk away from the eye, the smell, and the gurgling. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right!”
“It’s too late to give it back,” replied the garbled voice, sending forth another spray of chilled droplets onto his face. David cringed in response and closed his eyes. “It’s too late to give back my life, Billy Ray-y-y-y!”
A splash of icy liquid against his throat and t-shirt emphasized the fervency of this last statement. Ever fearful, he opened his eyes. Another eye as grotesque as the first eye was lovely had since joined it. Its mutilated cornea and iris glowed as a ruptured mass of fire and blood within the torn edges of the socket.
“I’m not Billy Ray! My name’s David!” he shouted.
“Ya are what ya are and always will be, Billy Ray-y-y-y!” the voice hissed. “Y’all and yer seed have killed and taken whatever ya’ve pleased! But, no more!! There ain’t no more hidin’ from yer sins!!!”
“No, you’ve got the wrong guy! I’ve never done anything to you—”
“M-m-m-u-r-r-r-der-r-r-er-r-r!!”
He threw up his hands up to protect himself as she shrieked her condemnation over and over, the echo resounding loudly throughout the room before returning to where he lay huddled against the headboard. Iciness gripped the base of his bed and steadily moved toward him, chilling the bones in his feet, legs, and thighs as it touched him. Out of the darkness the two eyes suddenly looked up from his waist, revealing the entity now caressed his body like a famished lover, moving from his feet to his genitals and on up to his face. He whimpered in horror as something cold, wet and slimy crept inside his shirt toward his throat.
Screaming in terror, he slapped at himself, falling out of bed. He grabbed the nightstand, pulling the top drawer out while groping for the lamp’s pole. A pair of frigid arms embraced him from behind, and icy hands pinched his nipples. Coldness beyond anything he’d ever known flowed through him from behind, freezing his lungs. He began to pass out. Turning on the light switch was the last thing he remembered.
David woke lying on the floor between the two beds. The nightstand lamp was on, and his head throbbed worse than any migraine he could remember. He groggily stood and moved to the clock, which faced his bed. It read 3:38 a.m.
After replacing the nightstand’s drawer in its slot, and checking to make sure the heater still worked, he set the thermostat and blower on high and went into the bathroom. He intended to splash water in his face and
take something for his pounding headache. But, when he looked in the mirror, he could only stare at his reflection.
His face and t-shirt were covered with blood.
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The Vampires’ Last Lover
Dying of the Dark Vampires, Book One
(Please read on for a sampl.)
“I hope this was worth it,” said Tyreen once we reached the parking lot. The temperature felt as if it had dropped another five degree during our brief visit inside the library. She pulled her hood on and fastened the top buttons around her face above where the front zipper to her parka stopped. She looked like a damned Eskimo—a damned scared Eskimo as she nervously looked around her. “You are ridiculously stubborn…you know? Was this really necessary?”
“You mean getting my Ipad and the book I’ve been nibbling on for the past week? Hell, yeah!” I retorted, hoping she could see the playful expression on my face.
She already had moved through the parking lot, her pace even quicker than before. I should’ve known she’d try to hurry back to the dorm once her feet found level pavement, since her tone sounded irritated. Aside from the combination of the wintry chill and my forcing this unwanted excursion upon her, the eerie feeling of being watched had returned, only worse…as if whoever or whatever studied us had moved closer. I couldn’t detect anything around us—not even the canine unit patrolling the campus grounds on foot.
“Hey, wait up, Tyreen!” I called after her. “Do you have to be in such a frigging hurry?!”
“Hell, yeah!!” she replied, pausing to shoot me a perturbed and worried glance over her shoulder. “The sooner we get back into Massey Hall, the better off we’ll—“
