Jebediah's Crime: A Heroic Supernatural Thriller (The Hinge Series Book 1)

by Vincent Phan Tran

  "Smart enough to marry into a family with money," he replied under his breath.

  "Yes," she threw back, hearing him despite his lowered voice. "He was very smart to do that. And look at how the family's fortunes have grown."

  "Yes," he said, remembering the look on Abramo Mancini's face when his knife had plunged home. "Look how we've grown."

  Shira walked up behind him put a hand on his shoulder.

  "Brother," she said softly. "You're right about something. There is no one better than you. You're unstoppable with those knives. This thing with you and Father, though …" she shook her head.

  "I know you think he doesn't understand you. If you did this right, if you were willing to work with him just a little differently, change yourself just a bit, he'd understand you more."

  She pointed through the window to their Mother. The woman was waving goodbye to the soldiers she was speaking with, then turned and started to walk back towards the main house.

  "You're a man now, Raja. You can't stay a mother's child the rest of your life."

  Raja stood silently for a moment, then squared his shoulders in decision and turned to the door. He spoke in a voice lowered with a tone of menace.

  "I will do this, Shira. But I'll do it my way."

  Raja left the room.

  Shira took another sip from her cup and smiled.

  The small sliver of moon gave no relief from the stark blackness of the chilly night—an almost preternatural darkness combined with the stillness and quiet of Fulton Valley.

  A ghost darted across through the deepest shadows. Raja's steps barely creased the blades of grass beneath his feet as he ran through the valley. He paused to press himself tightly against the rough bark of a large tree.

  His clothing was black and his face darkened; he had shaded goggles covering his eyes. The combination made him almost invisible in the forest.

  Surrounding him were several stumps from trees and brush. They were in the midst of being cleared from around Mei's home. Though sparse, the remaining tree line gave the knife fighter just enough cover from the spotlight beams striking out from the compound's walls.

  He paused for a moment and forced himself to take shallow breaths.

  His goggles, worth a small fortune, were the latest in military technology and gave enhanced tactical vision on an unprecedented level. He touched the side of the goggles to toggle from the night vision that got him through the forest to infrared view. The rainbow coloring of body heat sources swarmed across his sight.

  He could see the patrollers on top of the walls and behind them, as well as trace their patterns from the glowing marks their footsteps left on the path. He could even see main electrical lines as thin, pink pathways running through the compound.

  A noise to his side alerted him of an approaching patrol. One gloved hand slapped against the tree next to him. It immediately adhered to the wood. He flipped himself up using one arm and pushed his feet into contact with the tree. These adhered to the tree as well, and he hauled himself up to hang a full ten feet above ground, attached to the side of the tree and peering down like a gargoyle. The patrol of three soldiers passed under him in silence. He noted their noise discipline and grudgingly admitted they were well trained.

  The patrol approached the side of the tree he hung against. He crabbed and flipped himself around the tree to the other side. Someone seeing him would have thought he'd defied gravity, when in reality it was a combination of military technology and a naturally talented body honed to physical perfection.

  After the soldiers passed, he dropped silently to the ground and without pause darted forward to the closest side of the wall. His legs pumped hard, and his feet seemed to only skim the ground. He kept his arms tight against his body to reduce his profile and moved in a zigzag pattern. He threw himself at the ground when a spotlight got too close, rolled on his shoulder and smoothly came to his feet like a gymnast with no loss of momentum.

  He reached the wall and paused for a moment. It was too tall for him to try to walk up like he'd done with the tree. He reached into his belt and brought out two small, square devices with loops for his hands. He flexed his legs into a crouch, gripped one of the devices hard, then pressed a button on its side. A small arrow shaped projectile shot out with no more sound than a silenced bullet. It adhered to a point above his head then yanked him off his feet, shooting him up into the air with the wall inches from his belly.

  When he neared the top of the grappling line, he brought the other device up. The second rope shot out to a point close to the top of the wall. It pulled him up and over the top of the ledge. Both devices detached automatically and retracted for reuse.

  He somersaulted in mid-air just a few feet behind the back of a patrolling soldier, then fell to the opposite side and clung just below the ledge.

  He'd scaled the twenty-foot wall in less than a few seconds.

  He let his adhesive gloves grip the surface. He listened to the soldier he'd evaded walk almost directly above him. The soldier dropped a spent cigarette. It fell on Raja's shoulder and smoldered. For a moment, the knife fighter thought about stabbing the man in the groin. But he controlled himself, and once the man walked away, Raja dropped from the wall and into the courtyard.

  He spared a moment to look at Mei's house. It was smaller than his own palatial home but still quite large, white with wrap around balconies and a red, almost Spanish tiled roof. Everyone was sleeping. He headed for an upstairs bathroom—his goggles told him it was empty.

  A window gave way to his touch and he levered himself in feet first. He opened the door and paused to listen for sounds of movement. The scent of food cooked earlier in the evening still hung heavy in the air. Gentle steps brought him to a curved staircase. Instead of taking the stairs down, he leapt from the top floor and dropped like a rock to the ground level.

  Training took over like instinct. He flexed his legs like shock absorbers, and let the energy travel up his body through his thighs and calves. The technique eliminated all sound. He dropped silently into a crouch close to the floor, then came to his feet and looked around.

  On a nearby table some type of tribute or shrine had been set up. A picture of a young Asian soldier, a relative of Mei's presumably, sat in the center next to what he guessed were mementoes of the old woman's homeland: a plant, some burning incense, small pieces of handmade art, and a letter, written in a language he didn't know.

  He reached into his belt and got what he'd come to deliver. He prepared it, then placed it in the middle of the shrine, next to the picture of the soldier, then hesitated, thinking, and did something not planned. It was appropriate given the situation. When finished, he looked at the table, satisfied with his work, then took a deep breath. Whatever had been cooked in the house smelled remarkable, and he was half-tempted to go into the kitchen and scout around. But he stopped himself, thinking that would be too much even for him.

  He padded back up the stairs, intending to exit out the same window he'd entered. He was approaching the bathroom when its door opened. Light spilled into the hallway. He leapt straight up into the air, activated his adhesive gloves and shoes, then hung on the ceiling, not daring to move, and only barely breathing. A young girl wearing pajamas came out with a yawn. The sound of a toilet flushing came from the bathroom behind her. She paused directly under him and looked around as if uncertain about something. Raja's hand crept to his belt and gripped his knife in readiness. The girl scratched her arm, her head started to turn and her eyes drifted upward …

  Then she stopped with a small sound, as if remembering something. She turned back to the bathroom and came out with a crudely made doll. This time she went straight to her room and closed the door behind her. Raja released his knife and dropped to the ground. He looked at the girl's closed bedroom door for a moment, then gave his head a small shake. He turned toward the window, opened it, then leapt through. He struck the ground outside and vanished into the night like a phantom.

  L
ater, back at his family's estate, Raja was just finished showering and dressing when a knock sounded at his bedroom door. Shira sauntered in without waiting for an answer.

  "It's late," he said to her.

  "I just got done visiting someone. Can you believe he thought I'd stay the night?" She shook her head. "Men are ridiculous. I saw your light on. Was curious what you were doing." She stopped speaking and stared at the coffee table in the center of the room. On the center of the table was a picture of someone she'd never seen before.

  "Who's that?" she asked.

  "I think it's the old woman's son. I paid her a visit tonight."

  Shira's eyes raised. "And … you stole a picture?"

  "I did. It seemed important to her. I left something in its place though. I think the message will be clear."

  Mei's morning routine was the same every day. She'd wake up, drink a cup of Vietnamese drip coffee, then go for a walk around the house to exercise. At her age keeping mobile was important and she'd be darned if she ended up like those other old biddies drinking tea, playing cards all day, and unable to move without help. If you wanted to keep moving, then you had to keep moving.

  She grabbed her coffee and started toward the front door. Her cup fell from a hand suddenly gone numb, and its contents spilled across the wood floor. She walked on unsteady legs towards the shrine she'd set up for Lanh. The picture of him, the one in his uniform, where he'd been standing next to her and holding her hand, was gone.

  In its place was a dragon fruit, sliced down the center to expose its dark, red flesh. Crimson streams of juice trailed across the table, spreading out from the fruit, like blood from a dark heart.

  Mei's scream brought soldiers running with guns drawn.

  Chapter 11

  "How's it going, Ara?" Lee trotted up behind her and matched strides with the female bodyguard. She acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow.

  Ray followed a little behind the two with an amused look on his face.

  "Saw you working out the other day," Lee continued. "Your strike patterns were interesting. Is that Mossad training? You know, if you ever wanted a workout partner—"

  "I am fine with my workouts," she replied without slowing down or turning to look at him. They stopped near the front gates of the compound.

  "Sure, right, of course," Lee said. "I mean, we don't have to work out. Plenty of other stuff we could do. There's this really great viewpoint I know. We could bring some drinks up there—"

  "I need you, Lee," Ara said.

  That stopped him. He stared at her for a minute, then grinned and nodded as if to say, "Of course you do."

  He took a step closer, but she pushed him back with a weary look.

  "I need you and Ray to help me with some visitors. Jebediah has gone to see his son, and I'm out of my element with these people."

  "Who you talking about?" asked Lee.

  The front gates opened as if on cue. Ray and Lee turned to the entrance of several robed figures floating above the ground.

  "Oh hell," Ray breathed. "It's the Sisters of Smoke."

  The Sisters of Smoke. Worshippers of Pandora—she of the box of magic and evil. They were a coven of witches storied throughout the Hinge, and sold their mystical services to the Caliber and Warren alike.

  They'd done everything from summoning demons from the pit to temporarily granting genius intelligence, and even creating love incantations for lonely people. But they didn't accept all commissions. They appeared to choose jobs almost at random, and turned down just as many as they accepted. Some whispered all the work they chose was related in some way, that everything served some agenda only the Sisters knew.

  The Sisters floated to a stop in front of Ara, and Ray and Lee took up positions on either side of her without a word. None of them were able to see into the witches' darkened hoods. The Sister in the lead spoke, and it was like mist drifting across their ears. "You've asked for aid from the Sisterhood. Tell us your desire," she said.

  Ara answered. "Someone recently intruded into this home. I'm asking for help to protect it."

  The witch looked off into the distance for a moment, then spoke again. "You are in conflict with a House. A very powerful House."

  Ara hesitated before answering, then finally admitted, "Yes. It is House Rakash."

  "The Sisters have no desire to become involved in your battle. Seek help elsewhere." The hooded figures began to drift away, while Ara looked on helplessly.

  "Sisters, please. Hear me out," said Lee.

  Lee seemed as surprised as anyone to find himself speaking. Ara and Ray glanced at him with something close to panic on their faces. But the Sisters stopped moving and faced Lee.

  "What the hell, man?" Ray hissed.

  Lee ignored him.

  "Sisters, I know some of the things you've done on the Hinge. I know you helped make a woman invisible, so she could get away from a man beatin' on her. I know you took care of a little girl after her father hurt her. Hurt her real bad. I think you care about the women on the Hinge, much as you'll never admit it."

  No response came from the Sisters, and Lee licked lips gone dry before speaking again.

  "This home has a grandmother who lost her son, and a little girl who lost her father. It's got two ladies that run from a war to the Hinge. They done nothin' to no one, and now people want to hurt them. Y'all can help. We're just asking for a little help."

  Lee fell silent, and Ara eyed him with something like appreciation. Ray, on other hand, got ready to fight because he was positive the Sisters were going to nuke his partner.

  Instead, though, the witches moved as one toward the house. They fanned out in silence and encircled the home, holding heir hands out toward the ground. What looked like blue flame from a welding torch sparked from their hands and plowed into the ground.

  Each witch widened their arms and spanned the blue energy until it met another Sister's reach. After a few minutes, the flames stopped, and the witches drifted back to Ara and the two bounty hunters.

  The lead Sister spoke again.

  "None of our Sisterhood will join your group in this battle. However, we have protected the home with an invocato line, a mystical barrier of tremendous power. Any crossing the line with intent to harm shall be destroyed."

  "Thank you," Ara responded with gratitude.

  "We'll send you a bill," responded the Sister. The group bowed and turned to leave.

  Ara turned to Lee. "And thank you, for saying those words. You surprised me, Lee. Maybe there's more to you than the womanizing, frat boy exterior you—"

  She stopped when one of the Sister's turned back and headed towards Lee.

  The witch threw back her hood. Underneath was a young, pink haired girl with multiple piercings in her nose and ears.

  "Heya, Lee! You never called, you bad boy," she chided with a dazzling smile.

  "Astrid?" Lee responded, surprised. "You're with the Sisters now? Yeah, you know, I kinda lost your number, so wasn't really sure how to get a hold of you and it's been really busy—"

  "Uh-huh. Please, sugar. It's completely fine." Astrid flipped a hand. "Me and some of the other girls are hitting a Wicca club later. Would love to see you there. From what they tell me, you already know a bunch of the other ladies. I'll text you." She wiggled her fingers and blew a kiss before leaving.

  Lee studiously avoided meeting Ara's withering look. The bodyguard walked away without further word.

  Ray clapped a hand on Lee's shoulder and shook his head in mock sympathy.

  "Wow. I'm pretty sure you were, just, so close there," Ray said.

  Lee kicked at the ground, and muttered "Dag."

  Magda enjoyed everything about her new school except recess.

  She was immersed in learning during class. The teachers of the Caliber were chosen, not just for their knowledge, but their ability to present and engage, to maintain student attention even against the distraction of hormones and draw of smart phones. She loved her teachers, and time swep
t away from her during their classes.

  But at recess, she'd sit alone, usually close to the edge of the playground. Sometimes a book kept her company, and other times just her own thoughts.

  The children of the Caliber recognized someone from outside their rarefied family circles. It created a distance between them and her, greater than the length of the school. Magda's family may have had money, but they didn't have the look or the heritage of the Caliber.

  On the best of days, the other children ignored her. On the worst, they came up with more and more inventive ways to make sure she knew her place.

  Magda looked up from her book, a wonderful story about an assistant pig keeper, and breathed a small sigh of exasperation.

  A group of four girls approached her. They moved in a pack like perfumed wolves. Make-up painted their predatory eyes and diamond jewelry glittered from long and sharply manicured nails. Their leader, Roxanne, was bad enough on her own. But when she was in her group of mean-girls, anyone that valued their skin stayed far away.

  But running wasn't a possibility for Magda, as much as she might want. There was nowhere for her to go. Roxanne's family was one of the great houses in the Caliber. The teachers would do nothing to help her. Neither would any of the other children.

  Magda's best option, her only option, was to accept what came and then move on. Recess would be over soon, and the girls would leave her alone during class.

  "Hi, Maggie!" Roxanne yelled out with mock warmth. "Another day, another recess in solitary? How terrible."

  "Oh, Roxie," one of the other girls chimed in. "It's so nice of you to care about Maggie. I mean, no one here does."

  "Josie, isn't it up to us to care about those less fortunate?" Roxanne answered her. "I mean, besides Maggie's obvious lack of friends, she's being forced to wear what must be cast-offs."

  Roxanne flipped a lock of hair back in a practiced motion.

  "I mean, she's new to the school and the Hinge," she continued. "For goodness sake, she's even from the past. Maybe that explains how she dresses?"