Valor: The Custos Saga

by Jessica Tastet

At the ally exit, his third teammate Falcon noticed the glitch and compensated by closing the gap. Cain stepped out of his doorway, relieved that his father’s lackey had at least assigned one competent member to his team.

  The target whirled around in a circle gawking at the three of them, and the warmth of satisfaction pumped through Cain. His missions inspired fear, which offered further proof to him that this archaic Vindica organization, a hybrid of human and Custos people, was on its last shallow breath. They couldn’t even muster a last bit of courage when faced with extinction. It was time to bury the Vindica not resuscitate it. His father was wrong about his plans, and that satisfied Cain even more.

  Cain honed in on the target. Tonight’s mission was information retrieval, and that meant a little use of mentalism. “Do you know what we want?”

  The target’s whole body trembled. “I… I don’t know anything.”

  His eyes widened behind his bifocals and his lips trembled. His name—Lewis— slipped into Cain’s conscious. He’d tried not to associate the man he’d sat across from at dinner with his target. It kept things uncomplicated.

  Cain cringed. These missions were pointless and made them cowards. Lewis had no Vindica abilities… he was just a friend of the organization. A defenseless man who’d provide no new information, but it made their leader feel as if he was doing something. Cain had become uneasy following orders these days with the new methods adopted as some invisible clock counted down to the end of the “world as they knew it.” Whatever that meant these days.

  Echo grunted. “We’ll decide that.”

  Cain glared down at him until he looked away. His instructions were to remain quiet. He was there for physical presence not his abilities. Cain returned to Lewis whose face had grown deathly pale. “What does John Landon know about Valor?”

  “Who?” He chocked out.

  Cain cracked his knuckles and Lewis fell to his knees, yelping in agony. Cain winced. Lewis didn’t even have the basic defenses to fight against the abilities of the Custos people. Usually friends were taught a few protections. He’d need to be careful not to kill him accidently.

  “I’m sorry.” Lewis forced out between ragged breaths. “I really don’t know anything.”

  Cain delved further into Lewis’s mind, his skin crawling with Lewis’s fear. I’m going to die, how can I warn John, we don’t know who Valor is. Why are they targeting me? I don’t know anything.

  Pointless.

  Cain nodded once. Falcon and Echo stepped closer and within seconds Lewis was suspended in the air above them. Cain listened closely to the surrounding area. This ability could give them away to the general public, and secrecy was the main priority of all Custos. There could be no witnesses.

  Cain stepped under Lewis, inches from his face, maintaining awareness of his surroundings. “What does John Landon know about Valor?”

  Cain probed Lewis’s thoughts as his speech left him in fear. How did this Dark Soldier know he was in John’s confidence? How did he know that he’d be there tonight; he hadn’t come in months.

  Cain smiled, swallowing a laugh. The Vindica organization was dying; it wasn’t stupid. Even in his fear, Lewis’s thoughts could go in the right direction. These missions could backfire if they weren’t careful.

  “What does he know about the prophecy?”

  The prophecy’s time is here. The Reckoning approaches. War comes. How will he know who Valor is? Is Valor responsible for starting it? How will John stop an unstoppable war?

  Cain alone possessed telepathy among his teammates. No one else could hear this internal conversation. Falcon and Echo couldn’t go back to the Dark Soldier organization. It would be so simple to not report it, to simply let it happen as it was predicted. War could be the distraction he needed to stop following orders.

  Cain whispered. “Do you want to be here for the Reckoning?”

  Lewis’s lips trembled as his eyes watered. “It’s not my war. I’m not one of you. Please…”

  Cain stepped back from Lewis’s face. “No one will escape. It’s prophesized that the war will change the entire world, not just the Custos people.”

  Cain flipped his wrist and the hovering Lewis whirled in slow motion. Echo and Falcon joined in and he spun faster. His face blurred until Cain couldn’t see the fear shinning in his eyes. Cain flipped his wrist again, and he flung Lewis toward the cathedral’s gates.

  A flick of Echo’s wrist snapped Cain’s attention, but he was a millisecond too late to catch Lewis crashing down on the posts, being impaled on two spikes.

  Heat pumped through Cain, slowing his heart rate. “What did you do that for?” Cain yelled. He felt Lewis’s heart stop. It was too late.

  Echo faltered. “Dark Knight said no witnesses.”

  Cain growled, pacing to burn off the white-hot anger that burned through him. “We didn’t have any. He didn’t know who we were.”

  Echo’s voice trembled. “I thought he meant to kill him.”

  “You didn’t think. Sheep, all of you. No one ever does. We can’t get information from a dead man. If you kill everyone who can tell you something, you can’t learn anything.”

  Falcon cleared his throat. “We need to get out of here before there are witnesses.” He’d maintained vigilance of the area, scanning the alley continuously. Nice that all his father’s men weren’t idiots.

  Cain unclenched his fists and stretched his fingers out. Disgust ran rampart through him. The organization couldn’t die quick enough.

  Four

  With a blinding flash of silver, Angelica’s eyes fluttered open under the sweltering sunlight pouring in from the taxi window. For a moment, panic seized her middle as she passed unfamiliar two and three story dwellings. It took a few seconds for her downtown New Orleans destination to fire through her brain and the panic to ease. She looked through the front windshield and caught the cab driver’s eyes in the rear view mirror staring her down with a strange glint in his deep eyes.

  Geez, why did she have to be tired enough to fall asleep in this creep’s cab?

  Of course, she was beyond tired. She couldn’t remember the last night she’d slept well without the reoccurring nightmare. It was probably before her grandmother’s funeral three weeks ago. Back when she’d been a typical unhappy college student marching her way toward graduation and headed for a career she didn’t want. In three weeks time, she’s chasing clues from Georgia to New Orleans trying to figure out her mother’s secret.

  She must be mad. It was the only explanation she had besides from the instinct that she was headed toward something. She had no idea what that something was and she could be rushing blindly to the edge of a cliff. Mad, she knew, but she couldn’t seem to help herself from heading toward it.

  Out the window she noticed they were down a busy city street. Groups of people bustled along the noisy French Quarter sidewalks on either side of the cab on this hot October afternoon. Two dark-skinned, young boys tap-danced while spinning a bicycle tire on their heads in front of a small antique shop. The only prop was a tilted cardboard box containing several coins and bills. Up ahead at the corner a painted silver mime posed on top of the same shade color box as a few onlookers attempted to distract him, while a father took his daughter’s picture standing in front of the Royal Street corner sign.

  It felt touristy and exotic all at once, like a fever overtaking her. She had the compulsion to walk down the street and get lost in the crowd.

  The taxi braked past the tap dancing act and pulled at an angle to the curb. Bystanders turned to look as Angelica hurried out of the white taxi and inhaled the exotic and not so appetizing smell of the quarter. It wasn’t the stiff manor of her grandmother’s old antebellum house in Georgia. Much looser, older, and charming. She glanced down to make sure she wasn’t rumpled. She wouldn’t pass military inspection, but she was good enough for the laissez-faire attitude of New Orleans if what she’d heard was true.

  A bum staggered toward her from an open doorway and s
he looked around the cracked limestone sidewalk, hoping someone else was his target. With her telepathy, she could see that the army salvation coat covered the brittle bones of a man who’d lived on the streets for a long time with only the cheap whisky hid in his torn inside jacket pocket to warm him.

  With images like these, it was no wonder she turned her abilities “off” most of the time.

  His lips parted to reveal a toothless smile and he drenched her in a whisky stench. “You ‘ave ‘mazin eyes. I see myself witchim.”

  Her friend Michael from a different life had told her that her eyes were Caribbean pools, a rare color that she’d looked for in others but rarely found.

  Several bystanders returned their attention to them and she began to feel like she needed to escape.

  “Angelica, up here!” The call came clear over the cacophony of noise on the street.

  Angelica looked up where a woman leaned over the second floor balcony. The blunt midnight black pixie cut disguised the round faced, formally blond, high school friend she’d come to see. Angelica would bet that Denise had changed more of that nice girl persona she’d perfected throughout school. Angelica had always been able to recognize others pretending to be who they weren’t. It was an ability she’d honed that had nothing to do with Custos blood, as far as she could tell at least.

  The voice rang through again from her pierced lip. “I’ll meet you in the art shop.”

  Angelica grabbed the handle of her suitcase and gave an uneasy smile to the homeless man before entering the tall open doorway of the shop.

  Paintings protruded from shelves, wooden bins, and three deep on the wall racks. A long-haired man with a goatee stood in back of a cash register examining a painting of a dirt lined quarter street with a middle-aged woman. They were the only occupants in the cluttered but clean shop.

  A heavy white door in the back of the shop swung open, and Denise waltzed out with a smug smile playing on her plum lips. Heavy eyeliner and an eyebrow stud drew her away from the smile. Angelica had enough time to notice a navel ring before she was seized into a tight, uncomfortable hug.

  “It’s so great to see you.” Denise pulled back. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Angelica laughed, glad that Denise was unable to read her thoughts. “I can’t believe I’m here.”

  For a moment, Angelica caught the expression of the former varsity cheerleader she’d known- the one that had charmed the student body. “We have so much to catch up on. I’m so glad you’re here. The entrance of the apartment is the next door from where you came in. I’ll give you a key later. We can go up this way though. Leave your suitcase, Rodney will bring it up.”

  There wasn’t even a breath until she finished.

  No matter how much she’d changed— some might say destroyed her former image— Denise was still Denise. She talked too fast, loved attention, and bounced with energy.

  Angelica’s hand lingered a moment over her suitcase as she looked again at Rodney holding the painting for the woman. His small eyes watched her and his thick lips didn’t smile. Angelica’s flesh prickled. His burliness and glare weren’t what you’d want to meet on a deserted street at night, but Denise had managed to stay alive this long with him. Angelica could protect herself if it came down to it. Famous last words, she knew. But she was mad these days.

  Through the doors, the courtyard was small, but the greenery and angel statue were beautiful touches. The iron stairs cascaded up the brick and added to the romantic nature of the scene. Angelica could like this city. Beautiful without being uppity.

  Upstairs in the second floor apartment, Angelica’s eyes swept across the large open room with wood plank flooring and intricate plaster ceiling. Throughout the room candles and incense burners cast eerie shadows against the white walls before they were absorbed by the sloppily painted celestial stars. Nice touch. She’d dated a real estate agent a few months ago and he’d yammered on and on about property values. She didn’t think this would add to the property value of the place.

  She’d guess that the stars were Denise’s contribution as an art student at the local university. Denise’s childhood home had crystal chandeliers in every formal room, along with stiff Victorian furniture crowding the spaces. Afternoon tea was served at four o’clock with all the respectable women in the neighborhood as attendees, including Angelica’s grandmother. Angelica would assume that Denise’s mother hadn’t visited this place or she’d seriously mellowed out in the last four years.

  Denise twirled around, arms waving around the hollowness of the space. “Home sweet home. You’re going to love staying in the quarter.”

  A temporary home maybe. She’d thought staying here might be a good idea, but she wasn’t feeling assured of her choice at the moment.

  Angelica took in the sparse furniture and noticed a man propped up in a recliner watching the small television on a table pushed up against a wall. His face held a two-day stubble, and his clothing was little more than rags with paint splatters.

  The thought occurred to her that she should have asked how many people shared the apartment that Denise had boasted about during yesterday’s phone conversation. “Who lives here?”

  Denise threw herself down on a rolling chair. “Rodney and I live here. David here lives upstairs. Rodney and David are cousins, so he forgets he’s upstairs with his own roommates.”

  David pulled himself from the whale documentary and looked up at her. Damn, she’s hot. Nice tits.

  Angelica slammed the door closed and blocked his thoughts. She didn’t know if it was because she was tired or this personal quest was bringing down her defenses, but she needed to be more careful.

  He nodded with a goofy smile. “The famous Angelica. I thought you were a figment of Denise’s overactive imagination, but what do you know.”

  Angelica smiled politely before looking away. “It’s always difficult to live up to Denise’s stories.”

  She could feel David’s gaze bore into her, but she wouldn’t give him more of a moment’s glance. He removed his bare feet from the ottoman and leaned forward to get her attention. She cringed. “Denise says you’ve known each other a long time.”

  The chair rolled back as Denise stood and walked toward the front balcony. The French doors were open and the white sheers snapped in the wind. She glanced back at David, and gave Angelica a little smile. Always the dramatic flare. “Angelica came into Ms. Mission’s second grade class, and the girls immediately hated her because Jeremy thought she was the prettiest girl in school. She of course became the coolest girl after Jenny Patterson floated to the ceiling during a game of light as a feather, stiff as a board. The whole school thought Angelica was a witch after.”

  Angelica noticed the smile twitching on Denise’s lips and a twinkle of humor in her eyes. Angelica recalled the floating incident differently. There’d been a group of hysterical preteens convincing themselves that they weren’t holding Jenny up. Denise had greatly embellished… then and now.

  David chuckled. “So what brings you to New Orleans? Looking to study voodoo?”

  “Maybe so.” The coy smile rose easily to her lips. Instincts died hard. Charm was an instant switch when you were conning someone, and Angelica had honed these instincts the last three years.

  Denise’s laugh interrupted her. “Angelica’s come to solve the mystery of her mother who abandoned her.”

  Angelica’s heart stopped a moment. Instincts vanished. When she’d decided that Denise was worth the cheap room, she’d forgotten how fascinated Denise had been by Angelica’s missing parents when they were children.

  She forced her head to tilt and a smile to come to her lips all while her heart restarted at a sprint. “I’m just enjoying my recent freedom. No purpose. Just a little fun.”

  Denise’s expression didn’t change. She wasn’t convinced. A loud bang behind Angelica caused her shoulders to jump. She looked behind her to see Rodney towering in the doorway with her suitcase at his feet. “Not much fun
these days with murder. You need to be careful here.”

  Angelica held her smile, but her chest trembled three times before she calmed it. Rodney scowled down at her like a ferocious bear. She stood still under his glare.

  Denise threw herself into the chair. “Everyone’s afraid now that the retired professor was impaled by the gates behind the cathedral. There was some girl before that they aren’t saying much about either.”

  Angelica gripped the back of the sofa as she flashed back to a dream. Gray tweed, a flash of silver as blood dripped. She bit down hard on her bottom lip as bile rose in her throat. She’d never succeeded in turning off the ability to see. She didn’t even know how.

  Denise stared at her, making her feel self-conscious that her pulse had increased and heat had flushed through her. “It’s baffled the police and they can’t even say for certain if it was murder, suicide, or Mother Nature.”

  Rodney’s long strides closed up the space as he scooped Denise into an embrace, swallowing her petite body. “Some crazy stuff out there is all I’m saying. You gotta stay vigilant.”

  “Don’t scare Angelica her first night.” Denise swatted at him playfully. “I’ll show you where you’ll be staying, let you freshen up. You look like crap.”

  Eager for a moment away from everyone, she grabbed her suitcase and followed Denise through a large arch. There was a door to her right and left, and Denise turned right. This arrangement may have to be rethought but for now a moment alone was enticing enough to have her follow.

  The bedroom held an old canopy bed with matching mahogany plank flooring. An old, rose velvet Victorian settee was crammed into the corner and a scuffed armoire stood on the opposite wall. Above the settee was the canvas silhouette of a woman standing naked on a balcony looking out to the French Quarter scene below. Angelica was stunned by how normal it looked in terms of décor. It was a room that would meet Denise’s mother’s approval and probably had at some point. The nude picture was probably Denise’s way of slipping in a go-to-hell, Mom.

  Denise walked around the room not looking at her, which was unusual for Denise. “It’s too bad about Grams.”