Vengeance (A Samantha Tyler Thriller Book 1)

by Rachael Rawlings

  Sister Evangeline had other plans. She managed to carry in the crates the men removed from inside the theatre and arranged them in a row on the table. Like us, they smelled of ash and were spotted with burned places. The first crate contained stacks of paper. Alex and I dropped into our seats at the table and studied the crumpled pages.

  “We will separate them into three stacks,” Sister Eva said in a steady matter-of-fact voice.

  I stared at her where she perched at the head of the table. She showed some lighter smears of grey on the front of her habit, and the right side of her veil looked to be stained with some dirt but other than that, she appeared to be no worse for wear. Alex sported a few scrapes from her impact on the concrete, but she managed to protect her already bruised face.

  “Okay,” I answered wearily. “We can go through them.”

  Sister Eva gave a brief smile and handed me my section of the papers while she removed items from the other two boxes. Alex took hers, and in a moment, we were slowly scanning our documents. These were a variety of receipts, some from England, a few from France which we turned over to Sister Eva to translate, and the rest printed in other languages. We would have to get them transcribed later. They appeared to be shipping records, the contents of the boxes labeled most commonly home goods.

  I held up one of the sheets of paper and nodded to a row of small statuettes Sister Eva sat on the table like a row of ancient toy soldiers. “Like these were statues or something you could use to decorate your apartment,” I stated under my breath.

  “That appears to be their cover,” Sister Eva agreed. “It looks as though the items were sent to them under the pretense of ordinary furnishings and décor.”

  I nodded. “From all over the world,” I agreed.

  “But the dates all agree. They are searching for artifacts from religious wars.” Sister Eva’s face was serious but cautious.

  Alex put her papers on the table, and I watched her face more intently. Under the dirt and grime, she was looking pale, a shade grey.

  “Al, you’ve done enough for tonight. You need to head to bed. We can catch you up in the morning if we find anything else useful.” I gently took the papers from beneath her hand.

  “No, I’m fine,” she protested, but her voice was faint.

  “You will be more help to us if you get some rest,” I told her. “You’re a doctor. What would you tell your patient if he was in the same situation?”

  “I’d tell you, you need rest too,” she declared, looking at me candidly.

  “I agree,” I acknowledged. “And I’ll head to bed in a minute. I have something I’d like to ask Sister Evangeline, and then we are both going to turn in.”

  I glanced at the older woman and she nodded to corroborate the plan. I knew she functioned with far less sleep than either Alex or I could. Years of prayers interspersed throughout her sleep cycle trained her to be alert on a moment’s notice. I knew it was part of being a religious woman, but I also wondered if they combined it with the concept of constant vigilance because of their long history as part of a fighting force as well as a Godly one.

  “Go,” I told my best friend. “And take one of the dogs with you to your room. They can help you sleep.”

  Al didn’t protest. She stood and patted her thigh, watching as Fluffy lumbered to his feet and went to her side, his eyes rolled up to look at her with a worshipful expression. She patted his head and together they headed off down the hallway. A few minutes more, and I heard the door to the bathroom close and a rush of water flow through the pipes as she started the shower.

  “You have a question,” Sister Eva prompted.

  I peered toward her and realized while I was unconsciously tracking Alex’s movements, Sister Eva was watching me.

  “That thing, Maggie May,” I began.

  “The child demon in the bathroom?”

  I swallowed, my mind visualizing the narrow face moments before the change, the attack. “Yes. She looked like a child I knew when I was in elementary school. She was always a favorite of the class, a sweet girl. When I saw her face, I,” I broke off, unable to express what I felt at that moment.

  “It wasn’t the child you knew,” Sister Eva reached out and laid her hand over mine where it rested on top of the stack of papers Alex abandoned.

  “It looked exactly like her. It was even dressed how I remembered her.”

  “And that is your clue,” Sister Eva answered, pressing my hand. “It was a wraith. It takes the memories you hold dear and transforms itself into something which can break you down, make you weak. It is a trickster. It is a tool. It chooses to be the person from your consciousness, down to the clothes it wears. But it was in no way actually related to the child you knew.”

  “So, Maggie May,” I replied, my voice feeling a little thick in my throat.

  “Your friend sits in the heavenly arms of the saints, comforted and joyful in the presence of God. She has no idea what her face has been used for.”

  I let out a breath. “How was it there?” I peered at Sister Eva, at her lightly lined face, her hazel eyes still so clear. “How did they know? Why did they send it?”

  “I think you are a threat to everything the Church of the Light Reclaimed holds in esteem. They have found they need to apply all their devices to defeat you. You are wise to many of your adversaries, but there are others you have not yet faced.” Her face was sober. “Don’t underestimate them because of your training. They have more things on earth and in their hellish realm they haven’t revealed.”

  “The things you took out of the crate. Are any of them of use to the Church of the Light Reclaimed?

  “I am guessing they are not. These are the ones they found not to be useful. Otherwise, why leave them relatively unguarded. If they were of real value, the theater would have been a fortress.”

  I shook my head. I was so very tired.

  “You rest now,” Sister Eva continued. “We have much we still need to do, but I feel the enemy is on the run. They are trying to gather all the artifacts and to hide them from us. They know we are a threat, and they are likely to try to strike back.”

  I felt the alarm in my head but stifled it. I was a marked woman since my father made his first deal with the devil. It was my job to take down as many of my enemies as possible before they caught up with me and returned the favor.

  I was deafened by the blast, driven back into the leather seats of the luxury car as it plunged into the water, the shriek of metal and the taste of blood in my mouth. It was a dream I experienced night after night after the accident, and then less as time passed, until I began to wonder what I was recalling, and if it was real at all.

  As my memory story continued, I saw the green water washing in, felt the wet coolness of it against my skin, rising over my chest, my neck, until I was sipping air as my face was tipped up toward the roof of the car. The vehicle went under the water so swiftly, and before my mind could process the situation, instruct me what to do to save myself, the flood was over me, and my body, so crippled and traumatized, was a still limp thing.

  I didn’t recall the water filling my lungs, the life draining from my brain. I was at one moment in the car, trapped, and the next floating with the lightness of air, my whole being illuminated with the warmest and softest of sensations. I was all at once at peace and saturated with wonder, not caring I could see the minuscule figures of men below me, men diving beneath the surface of the dark water, one man the familiar beloved of mine, Vic, disappearing beneath the green depths. I considered telling him to stop, to go back on land, to move on, to live on. I thought I needed to express something, some secret I now knew, something which would transform his life, my life, eternally.

  But I was standing in the vast field of blossoms, and the blooms were playing against my skin, and I could inhale the perfume of a million different species, the essence of heaven. The light before me was a warm white radiance, and I stared straight at it, unafraid of my vision, recognizing that in the li
ght was the answer to everything I always hoped for. And then I heard the voice, so familiar and yet from long ago, the voice of a woman I yearned for my entire life after.

  “Samantha, I love you. But, darling, you must go back.”

  Mom!” I cried out, my voice like music falling on the wind.

  “Love you,” she said again, and I could barely make out her dear face, the eyes I so wished to see again.

  And then a thrust of air, so vigorous, so full of passion and life, pressed my lungs, forced itself into my brain, my mind crowded with the essence of another, the familiar scent of a man. And I coughed and choked, retched and moaned…and woke up.

  I slept in. So much for the attentive host. When I walked myself into the kitchen, wooly headed, and cotton mouthed, Sister Eva was pulling croissants from the oven, the scent blending with coffee, hot and strong.

  “Bonjour,” she declared merrily, and I dropped into the seat. “Alex is out with the dogs.” She poured me a mug of the coffee and deposited it in front of me, adding sugar and cream to the table setting.

  “Thank you,” I said, my throat feeling like I spent the night sucking in all night long.

  She slipped a pastry from the pan and slid it on a small plate, moving it in front of me.

  Alex came bursting in the back door, the dogs on her heels. Her cheeks were pink, but it was her expression that snagged my attention.

  “Guess what I found out,” she announced, her voice still breathless.

  I stared at her blankly. She dropped into the seat across from me, and Sister Eva, as though she was our doting mother, served up Alex’s breakfast as well.

  “What?” I deposited a spoonful of sugar and a dollop of cream into my coffee, stirring it deliberately and hoping the caffeine would hit my system fast.

  Alex brandished a newspaper in one hand, dropping it on the table and ceremoniously spreading it out before me. The Louisville Courier Journal’s headline stood out in oversized and bolded print.

  “Tragedy strikes local government,” I read out loud. My eyes scanned the page, feeling my chest tighten uncomfortably. “Tom Carter is dead.”

  She nodded. “The car accident took out him, his assistant, and the driver. It was a single car. Tree verses vehicle. The tree won.”

  My eyes traveled from Alex’s face to Sister Evangeline standing at the table, her mug cradled in her hand.

  “What does this mean?” My words were soft and stunned.

  “It means that things are advancing,” Sister Eva replied.

  After two cups of coffee, I called Brother J. I figured if they, meaning The Hand of God and his companions, took out Carter, Brother J would have given the orders. He was the mouth of God, it seemed, and the job would have been a good one for Vic, though a car accident didn’t seem to be his style.

  Brother Joshua quickly dismissed the idea. His people were not involved. He gave them no reason for taking him out, at least not at this stage in the game. Vic wasn’t randomly taking out Church leaders. They had an agenda, and Carter’s death wasn’t part of it.

  After I concluded the call, I sat at the table and studied the paper.

  “I’ll have to go to the funeral,” I told Alex.

  “How smart do you think that is?” It was a legitimate question.

  I glanced at my oldest friend. “I have to go. I have a strong suspicion whoever was behind his death will be there too. It would be the sort of thing these people would like. Flaunting it.”

  “Are we sure this wasn’t simply an accident?” I made a face at Alex, and she subsided.

  “I won’t be in any danger. Whoever is out there isn’t going to go after me at such a public ceremony. I don’t know why they took out Carter, but they’re bound to realize I’d take notice. He introduced me all around at the party. Even if this wasn’t because of me, it sends a message to me.”

  Alex was still glowering. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  I didn’t agree I required a date for a funeral, but two heads are better than one, unless they’re rolling disarticulated, on the ground. I was unsurprised when the bell rang, and Sister Eva opened it to allow Abe in.

  He was wearing a well-cut suit, dark with narrow pinstripes. He wore the glasses again, and I wondered if they were even prescriptions. I held my doubts. Clark Kent to my rescue.

  “You got roped into this thing?” I asked, ushering him in.

  “I wouldn’t say I was roped into it,” he responded, a small smile quirking his lips. “But it was greatly recommended I come.”

  “Um,” I answered noncommittally “At least they aren’t sending Fluffy and Bart with me.”

  His eyebrows rose, and I wondered if I had insulted him. But no, his expression was far too amused for that.

  Sister Eva came bustling out, taking one of his hands in greeting. She looked utterly delighted to see him. I figured she was the one to call him in.

  “I’m ready when you are,” I announced, interrupting their quiet discussion.

  I was wearing a trim pant suit, one of the few I saved since my time as a Church member. It was my proper secretary look. I twisted my hair into a long braid and then fastened it low on the back of my head. In another circumstance, I might have worn it down. But training told me it is easy to use long hair to catch someone or hold them still, so I didn’t choose to give any advantages to my adversaries.

  “Ladies,” Abe said, giving a courtly bow to Alex and Sister Eva as he stepped toward me. “I’ll have her back in one piece.”

  “Her I don’t worry about,” Alex said dryly. “You, I might.”

  He grinned at her, a smile full of white teeth and an unexpected dimple on his cheek.

  I ignored them both and opened the front door. In the drive was a black Firebird, dating back from somewhere in the 90’s, the paint absolutely pristine.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, shooting him a look.

  “This one actually is my car,” he assured me.

  “We’ll take mine,” I declared.

  He nodded. He wasn’t going to argue with me. This was a man who recognized how to pick his battles.

  I pulled out my keys and triggered the automatic lock on the car. When I slid into the driver’s seat, I was struck with the warm wash of air and the new car smell. I still liked my Hyundai; I really hoped I wouldn’t have to wreck it.

  I knew where the funeral was going to be held. There were plenty of funeral homes on Shelbyville Road, but the one in Saint Matthews was the oldest. It was a challenge to find parking, but when we did, I made certain to lock the car.

  “Popular place,” Abe observed.

  “It is,” I agreed. “But the fact that Carter was so well known will have a bigger draw.”

  We walked together under the shade of the portico, then stepped into the air conditioned and flower-scented room. They kept funeral homes cool. I shivered at the thought of why this was necessary. It was ridiculous to think about the details that creeped me out.

  The place was jammed with people, and a single step inside made the temperature go up by ten degrees. Men in business suits and women in Sunday church dresses rubbed elbows with the lesser of the social strata, men in blue jeans or khaki’s, women in leggings and long shirts, daily workers come to pay their respect and maybe gawk a little. If not for my father’s damned wealth, I wouldn’t be mixing among the rich and snotty. I wondered momentarily how much happier I would have been to be one of those middle-class women with their neat little homes and white picket fences. It made me tired to think about it.

  My senses went from introspective to high alert in the blink of an eye. The feeling was strong, positive and uncompromising. There was an Infernal Lord here. And he was close.

  My eyes were skimming the crowd as we approached the viewing room where Carter lay in all his waxen glory. I grabbed at Abe’s elbow and he glanced at me, taking a second to interpret my face.

  “They’re here.” His comment was a statement, not a question, and I nodd
ed in response.

  We proceeded further into the room, the air closing hot and fragrant around us, a soup of perfumes, aftershave, flowers, and a chemical tinge which reminded me where we were.

  Again, I wished for the heightened senses of Sister Evangeline. There was nothing to be done but continue as though I had no idea one of Satan’s chosen was there to pay their respects to the deceased. I wondered if Satan already snatched Carter’s soul and was now dolling out some gleeful punishment on the deceased man. I saw a familiar cluster of people up closer to the casket. I met Carter’s wife only once, but often saw her at a distance in many a political arena. Cassandra Carter was a bottle blond with thin lips and eyes outlined with too much dark makeup. Tears tracked gray lines down her cheeks, and her nose was reddened. I felt a combination of pity and contempt for the woman. She knew what her husband was involved in, and she willingly urged him up the ladder of success. If she regretted it now, well, I hoped it wasn’t too late for her as well.

  On Cassandra’s right side was the powerful figure of Dennis Connors, one of the men Tom Carter introduced Abe and I to at the party. Opposite the older man was the small figure of Mrs. Ashwood. I recognized her as the woman I spoke to outside the ballroom in the hallway. Beside her was a slight man, slim and wiry with dark hair threaded with gray, who was gingerly holding her arm. His face was familiar, and it took a second for the pieces to fall into place. This had to be Temmans, one of the newcomers to the game, entering the political field after the unfortunate death of my father.

  A push of power hit me; one so formidable it made my stomach heave and made me clench my mouth closed tightly to keep me from vomiting on the Berber carpet. The Infernal Lord was here, and this was an ancient one, a strong one.

  I looked at the tableau in front of me; the cluster of mourners making meaningless small talk, the long line of respectful citizens waiting their turn to bid farewell to the distinguished political personality, the grouping of impatient teens who were presumably part of the family and waiting for the whole thing to be over so they could get back on their cell phones.