THE TEMPTING

by D. M. Pratt

  He wasn’t afraid of cemeteries and he didn’t believe in ghosts or things that go bump in the night and vampires were not in his vocabulary, so entering wasn’t an issue. Vagrants and robbers were another story and much more real and dangerous. The black of night fell like a curtain and the full moon crept over the rows of silent, white-washed crypts. It peeked through the barren branches reaching into the sky. The branches were stark metaphors for skeletal arms with boney fingers scratching at the night sky. The images fascinated him for a moment until his gaze focused back on Eve. She walked with speed and purpose. She knew exactly where she was going. He watched as she strode deep into the oldest part of the cemetery filled with marble markers, their names and dates long ago erased, dating back to the late 1600s. Crooked iron crosses, rusted and broken statues of sad-faced angels, their features worn by centuries of wind and rain, watched her pass. She moved, unafraid, to the farthest back wall until Mac saw the center of the wall had crumbled and fallen, opening a path from the cemetery into a thicket of bushes and great old trees of the bayou. Banyan and giant oak trees draped in Spanish moss spilled out over the dry land and into the shallow water.

  At the center of the last piece of land bathed in moonlight, Mac could see the remains of an old wooden shanty. As far as Mac could tell, it had been burned to the ground, leaving only a stone fire hearth and chimney and piles of charred rubble overgrown with moss and algae. He watched as Eve stood by a rusted fence. Its gate hung drunkenly open, broken and bent. He watched as Eve slowly pushed it. He listened as the gate screeched, angry it had been disturbed. Eve hesitated before crossing into the front yard. Mac wanted to call out to her; let her know he was there. But she’d been through so much, the last thing he wanted to do was frighten her again.

  A movement from the porch caught his eye. A woman dressed all in black stood on the charred floorboards of the portico. In the moonlight he could see she had long, flowing white hair, wind whipped around her face and shoulders. But there was no wind. The woman stood backlit by the full moon with the skeletal arch of the house framing her like a picture. The woman was staring at Eve.

  “I don’t know who you are or why I came here, but I think you saved me, didn’t you?” Eve asked.

  “More times dan you know. What matters is you gotta remember ta save you self, chil’,” the woman said.

  “You know what’s happening to me?” Eve asked the woman in black.

  “What’s happen’ to you is your fault. You da one who let dem back in, chil’,” the woman in black said. “Ain’t no other fault but your own.”

  “I don’t remember,” Eve said.

  “Dey bend that. You got’em in one world and dey take you to another. Dey made it so you couldn’t resist. Da baby took your heart, but you don’t know da truth. Dat’s when dey got you blind again. You got to stop them that got you. I try to help you before and dey killed me so dead. I can nah come back, cept for as a shade.”

  Her words sent a shiver up Mac’s spine.

  “They killed you because you helped me?” Eve asked.

  “Dead in your world don’t mean dead in mine. You hear me now, Eve. You did da best you could. You got dem two masters banished from dat realm, but dat was all too late. Too late. Dey done what dey came to do, Eve. Now de key is here and as long as it is, dey can come back. You know only you can destroy de key.”

  “I don’t have a key,” Eve said.

  “Come closer,” the old woman said.

  Eve walked closer.

  Again the wind from nowhere swirled around the old woman. It seemed to whip faster and harder, knocking into a burned pile of wood and tumbling a piece of furniture that rattled and fell by her feet. Mac’s gut told him he needed to do something … anything.

  “Eve! Stop,” Mac said with a terse calm in his voice. The kind of tone someone would use when speaking to a person on the ledge of a high building about to jump. “Don’t go any nearer to her!”

  Before Mac or Eve realized what was happening, Eve was lifted from the ground and pulled ever closer to the old woman. She was being gently sucked forward, caught by the force of the wind. It swirled and twisted around the image of the old woman as it pulled and flipped her dress and hair.

  Mac ran forward, ready to throw his arms around her and stop her. He could feel the force pulling Eve forward while he was being dragged back. Mac struggled, watching as he was being pushed away from Eve and the old woman. He stopped, suspended by the force of another wind. The gale that now encircled him increased in speed and force; he could feel it reaching over him.

  “Stop fighting her and listen. She knows the answers both of us need,” Eve said to Mac. Her voice was as calm as if she’d asked him to pass the salt. “I need to know why this is happening and what to do.”

  Mac’s gut told him everything about this was wrong, but he was helpless. He fought the wind that trapped him inside its swirling vortex.

  “I don’t give a shit what she knows,” Mac said.

  Suddenly the woman was standing face to face with Eve.

  “Look inside the book,” the old woman said.

  “I know you,” Eve said.

  “My majeec saved your life in da other time,” the old woman said.

  “You’re Evine. You—” Eve started.

  Mac watched helpless.

  “What I was and who I am now ain’t no importance. Dey’s comin’ for good. You da only one who can destroy da key afore it destroys you and all de rest. Dis da last chance too,” Evine said.

  Mac went to reach for Eve, but he could barely move. His arm felt trapped inside a thick goo that bound him and slowed his movements to a crawl.

  “Get to de chamber of Danaria. The teacher Kasatah will show you the key into the light. She gon guide you if you can get with her. Dey tried to kill her many time,” Evine said. “But she got the old powers and she know you are comin’.”

  Mac looked at Evine. He could hear her speaking, but her lips never moved. He reached for his gun, a .38 he kept in a holster behind his back. He could reach back a little easier than forward, but even that was a struggle. Finally, he was touching the gun’s handle. It took all his strength to get his hand around it and draw the weapon. Time slowed as he tried to move against the force that held him, as if he were helpless in a dream. He wasn’t afraid and he knew damn well he wasn’t asleep. But was he dreaming?

  Evine turned her gaze on Mac. He could see Evine’s eyes; one brown and one blue, looking into him, through him, as if he had no skin or bones, naked, stripped to his soul.

  “Stay outa dis before you get yourself dead. And you can keep your gun cause you can’t shoot what ain’t alive,” she said to him. Again her lips never moved. “You will be called soon enough.”

  “Why me?” Eve asked.

  “When you know dat you gonna know all de answers. I don’t envy what you gotta do. For all of us, I hope you git de courage to do it,” Evine said and, in a breath, she vanished.

  Eve dropped to the ground with a thud. She’d been levitating as had Mac, who fell a foot away. He struggled to his feet and reached to help her. Eve jerked her arm out of his reach and walked away.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Why did you follow me?”

  “What?” he said.

  “I needed her,” Eve said.

  “A simple thank you would have sufficed,” Mac said. “I saved you twice today.”

  “I don’t need to be saved,” Eve told him.

  “No, you need to tell me what the fuck that … thing was?”

  “I don’t know. I know her name was Evine, but I don’t know why the hell I know, I just know. I think she knows about the Nephilim and what they are and what Beau and I have to do with them,” Eve said, heading back to her car.

  “Wait! Why were you at Dr Honoré’s? What happened in there? What was that old woman talking about? Who or what is Kasatah and what the fuck is chamber of a Danaria?”

  Eve kept walking. Mac ran after her. />
  “Talk to me. Please. You’re not the only one having weird dreams and illogical memories,” he shouted, catching up to her.

  “How do you know I’m having dreams?” Eve said as she stopped to face him.

  “I didn’t until right now. I guessed because that’s what’s happening to me. You are in my dreams. Pieces, moments, senseless dreams that started happening when I was put on your case. I don’t know why, but it is. I think if you tell me what you know and I share what I know maybe the pieces will fit together and we can figure this out.”

  “You believe that?” Eve asked, walking across the cemetery.

  Mac followed. “I don’t know what I believe. I thought there was a logical explanation until I saw the fucking wicked witch of the south floating over there, controlling a small cyclone and putting me in some kind of vice grip force field that doesn’t fit into any part of my current reality!” Mac shouted.

  Eve stopped, turned and stared at him. He was right about everything. She’d thought it, felt it and lived it since she came out of the coma, but she’d never really said it out loud to anyone.

  “I don’t know why this is happening. It’s as if this is the dream and I can’t wake up. In this dream the world has somehow changed, but you and I, and maybe a few other people are trying to remember the truth. That’s why we are remembering pieces of the dream,” Eve explained.

  “Is that even possible?” Mac asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Now it was Mac who stared at her. An old crypt bleached white by time glowed in the moonlight behind them. The writing on it was all but faded. Tired, confused and a little scared, Mac relented and sat down. Eve crossed to the crypt and joined him.

  “If what’s happening isn’t real, what is?” Mac asked.

  “It’s safe to say any logical explanation doesn’t apply,” Eve answered.

  “What about,” Mac said and then turned to look back at the porch where Evine had appeared. “… that. Who was that?”

  “Evine,” Eve said. “I’m trying to remember who and why and where. She saved my life. I just can’t remember when or how.”

  “Does she have something to do with your… dream theory?” Mac asked.

  “This is the dream,” Eve said.

  “Impossible. This is not a dream.”

  “Then what is it?” Eve asked.

  “Good goddamn question. What is Kasatah?” Mac said.

  He was frustrated and confused but then, so was she.

  “Not a ‘what’ a ‘who’. She’s a doctor in Cairo.”

  “Illinois?” Mac asked.

  “I wish,” Eve said. “No. Egypt. I found her site on the internet. She claims she can trace her lineage back to the sacred bloodline of the last Amazonian Queen, Danaria the Christ of the first mysteries, wife of Darius the Great King of Susa.”

  “Christ?” he asked.

  “It’s not a name, it’s a title. ‘The Christ’ like ‘the master’.”

  “How do you know this shit?” he asked.

  “I like history. I like the way it lives and breathes and tells its story no matter how many years pass,” Eve said.

  “History is real. People may remember facts differently or rewrite it to suit their needs, but there are records and pictures and writings,” Mac said. “What I just saw back there wasn’t real. It was bat shit crazy.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was. Maybe it’s been there all along and we just never saw it until now.” Eve stood up and started walking back to her car. “I need to talk to her.”

  Mac was on his feet. “Who, the doctor in Cairo? You’re going to Cairo?”

  “I can’t live like this. I need to understand what is going on and why before it rips me apart. I’m about to get married to the father of my son …”

  “You mean the guy who raped you?” Mac blurted.

  Eve’s foot was just about to step off the curb next to her car when she turned around, walked back to him and slapped him.

  “Never say that,” she said and turned to her car.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” Mac said and ran after her. He closed the door, blocking her way. “That was out of line and uncalled for. I’m trying to help. We both know something. Hell, everything about this situation is way off. If we figure it out, maybe the dreams will stop and we can both be normal people again and go live happy lives. I don’t want to live like this anymore, either. Look, here’s my card.” It was the same card she’d taken before; plain, thin paper with black and white lettering and a New Orleans police emblem embossed in gold.

  Eve looked at it. She felt tears well up in her eyes. She didn’t want to live her life in this haze of terror and confusion, never understanding what or why these horrific, unexplainable things were happening. When she took the card her hand brushed his. She could feel his kindness and genuine concern in that brief touch. She looked into his eyes. There was a connection. He felt it too. It was a fact she couldn’t deny.

  “What do we do now?” she said, her voice soft and lost.

  “We can go somewhere, have a cup of coffee, talk about this and figure out what we both know and what we think we know? Maybe together we can see if your pieces fit my pieces and together they make sense,” he said. “If it doesn’t, I’ll go away and never bother you again. Scouts honor.”

  “You were a scout?” Eve asked.

  “Hell, yes! Eagle,” he said with his best smile.

  “Not tonight. Another time. We’ll talk, I promise. I just need to get home,” Eve said looking at the card. It was the third time he’d given her this damn card. She put it into her pocket.

  Mac looked at her. “I’m following you to your gate to make sure you get home safely.”

  Eve nodded thankfully. She turned and looked back across the crypts and gravestones that formed the white city of the dead one more time to see if the ruins that had once been Evine’s house were visible. So many questions pricked at her brain and Mac had just added a thousand more.

  Eve got into her car. Mac slid into his. She listened as he started his engine. Five hundred horses of gas guzzling power echoed off the headstones and crypts and reverberated into the night. Eve started her silent engine. Mostly, she loved its silence, but sometimes she wished it would make a sound, something to say to the world, “I’m here and I’m powerful so don’t fuck with me.” Eve looked one last time at the full moon as it started its nightly march across the sky. She pulled out with Mac behind her and they drove away.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cora looked out the window while Beau paced. Delia and Philip had been put into Philip’s crib. Zamara and Aria were off in the servant’s quarters. The dining table had been set for the three of them. It held plates of uneaten food. Dinner had gone cold waiting for Eve’s return.

  “You’re sure she was going to see Dr. Honoré?” Beau asked.

  “That’s what she told me. She hadn’t been sleeping and she was getting those wicked headaches again,” Cora explained.

  Cora went into the dining room, got the wine bottle and poured them both another glass of the dark Bordeaux. It was full bodied and dry, aged perfectly, with a hint of flowers. The alcohol content was high and it always when straight to the head. Beau drank, thinking only of his concern for Eve; it was his fourth glass and Cora’s third. They stood by the fireplace filled with burning candles, drinking and listening to some old songs by Radiohead.

  “Drink. I hate for this to go to waste,” Cora said.

  “Why didn’t she tell me?” he asked.

  “She didn’t want you to worry, suga. You have a lot on your plate,” Cora said.

  “She never talks to me anymore. She’s been so busy with Philip, the house and preparations for the wedding and I guess I’ve been caught up in this insane legal battle … Maybe it’s me? Maybe I’ve been ignoring her or making her feel pressured by everything. She’s been so curious about the Gregoire family history. God forbid if she’s heard any of those ridiculous old rumors.”
/>
  Cora looked away. Beau didn’t notice the guilt flushing her cheeks because she was the one who was planning to share the old story of Gofney Lafayette Gregoire’s curse. He was lost in thought as he took another long drink from his glass.

  “She’s been through so much,” he said as he took yet another swallow. “Did she talk to you about going back to work at the magazine? Does she need that? I just want her to be happy.”

  Cora took Beau’s hand and sat him down next to her on the couch.

  “Sure, but she’s not. Please stop worrying. She loves you and the house and being a mom. She’s excited about the wedding, Beau, and she truly loves you. And as for going back to work, hell, I’ve told her for years doing ‘something’ for a living was way overrated,” Cora said with a wry smile.

  “That’s because you have never ‘done something’ in your entire life,” Beau said with a small smile, teasing her.

  “Not true! I do lots of things. I sit on boards and host charities and plan major social events and I spend hours and hours shopping and I work very hard at being beautiful. You think looking this fabulous is easy!” she said with a laugh.

  It made him laugh for the first time in a long time.

  “And I get to be a mommy and I love that the most. If I didn’t say thank you for that … thank you. I know we aren’t supposed to talk about it but …”

  Their words fell away into silence as the song ended and an awkward, empty void filled the room. They drank another glass of wine and listened as the lyrics to The Game of Love by Daft Punk rushed in to fill the emptiness and wash over them.

  “How are you, Cora? I never ask. Are you dating?” Beau asked.

  “I’ve gone out a few times. Collin Selaway for an entire three months. Then Cap. Things were hot and heavy with good ol’ Cap. You remember Cap.”

  “Caspian Deveroux? Doctor, right?”

  “Mostly he travels, flies his jet and drives his Vantage too fast for my taste.”

  “How is it going?”

  “It isn’t. He’s far too arrogant for my liking and when he decided I needed to get my nose done, that ended the relationship. Hell, if he didn’t like the package, why give him the surprise inside. Right?”