by Willa Blair
“Abby? Abby, are you there? Ian? Where are you?”
No answer.
She rode Epona straight towards the strange fog, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The horse suddenly veered away from the fog, so abruptly that Alannah nearly fell off. She pressed her knees into the horse’s sides, holding on with all the strength in her legs. Reining the horse around sharply, she headed back to where the mist hung over the loch and the shore.
It was dissipating, as rapidly as it had appeared.
By the time she reached the place where the mist had been, it was gone. The sun shone brightly once more, and all was peaceful.
There was no one else there.
Alannah dismounted and sank down onto the boulder, leaving Epona to graze nearby. She gazed out over the sapphire waters of the loch, trying to make sense of what she had seen.
There was only one explanation. They had somehow gone through the mist.
They knew it would happen because that was how they’d arrived in the first place. That was why they said goodbye with such emotion, why they couldn’t commit to returning one day.
Abby and Ian were gone.
Forever.
She was alone again.
“Alannah?” She whipped her head around, stunned to see Ewan beside her, his brown eyes wide with shock, his strong hand clutching the reins of his horse.
“They’re gone, aren’t they? Truly gone?”
“I…” His face blurred and she struggled to find her voice. “They left me here, knowing they wouldn’t be back. They left me here alone!” An anguished sob tore from her aching throat.
Wordlessly, Ewan dropped the reins and pulled her into his arms. When her sobs subsided, he stepped back, tipping her chin up to look into her eyes. He brushed away her tears with gentle fingers. “You don’t have to be alone, Alannah.”
They rode back to the village, the calm surface of the loch behind them.
EPILOGUE: TWO MONTHS LATER
Abby looked at her reflection in the mirror, tucking in a few stray wisps of hair that had escaped the small braids at the sides of her head. Her eyes were aglow with excitement, her cheeks rosy without help from cosmetics.
Today was her wedding day. Well, her second wedding day, if you count the one that took place four hundred years and two months earlier. She definitely counted that one. That had truly been a day to remember. And the night that followed… She watched in fascination as her face flushed bright pink.
But this wedding would be different. Their families would be there. Their real families, she amended. She had chosen to wear Alannah’s mother’s dress again, not just for the sentimental value it carried, but also because it made her feel as though Alannah was there with her. Would she ever see her friend again?
“You look beautiful, Abby.” Abby glanced up into the mirror and saw her brother standing behind her. She turned around. Adam was in the Clan Fraser dress tartan—broad stripes of red with thinner overlaid stripes of green and blue—his white shirt a sharp contrast to the vivid colors of the wool.
“You look pretty good yourself, Adam.”
“I wish Mom and Dad could be here to see you marry Ian.”
Abby reached up and touched her pendant where it rested above the neckline of her gown. The silver disk was warm, and touching it brought an image of her mother’s smile and the faint scent of her perfume.
Abby smiled. “They are here, Adam. I know it with all my heart.”
Adam offered a sweet, slightly sad smile in return. “Are you ready?” At her nod, his smile grew wider. “Well, let’s go then. We’ve a wedding to attend.”
Tucking Abby’s arm through his, Adam led her from the guestroom out to the sprawling yard of the Mackenzie house, where several rows of chairs were adorned with gauzy white ribbons and pink and purple flowers. The guest list was small, confined to immediate family and friends.
A violinist, a cellist, and a harpist were set up off to the side, the music clear and pure and beautiful as they welcomed people to their seats. Adam and Abby stayed well to the back while the rest of the bridal party proceeded down the aisle. First to take the walk through the crisp grass was MacNab, who had been thrilled to be included in the ceremony. He was followed by Robbie and Fiona.
The men were in their clan tartans, and Fiona wore a royal blue gown with a long, full skirt and a tight bodice that laced up the sides.
Ian went next, with Duncan and Laura escorting him. Duncan, like Robbie, was in the Mackenzie tartan, and Laura was in royal blue like her daughter.
They were all assembled now. It was Abby’s turn. Everyone rose and turned to the back. The music changed to Pachelbel’s Canon in D, and Adam’s hand clasped over hers where it rested in the crook of his elbow.
Abby kept her gaze focused on Ian, completely unaware of the admiring eyes of the guests as she passed them by. He was magnificent in his Mackenzie tartan with its vivid stripes of dark blue and forest green. His black hair was pulled back at the sides and tumbled over his shoulders, stark against his snowy shirt.
His eyes sparkled like pieces of green sea glass, and his smile was brilliant. The utter happiness in his eyes sent a rush of warmth throughout her body and made her heart swell with joy.
They reached the end of the aisle, and Adam turned her to him, holding her hand tightly in his. He stared for a moment at the wide smile on her face and his blue-gray eyes, so like her own, sparkled with happiness. “I love you, Abby. May all your days be as happy as today.” He kissed her on each cheek and then her forehead before turning to Ian.
“I think my parents would be thrilled to know that you and Abby are back together. You make my sister happy, and I can see from the way you look at her how much you love her. Welcome to my family, Ian.”
They shook hands, and then Adam placed Abby’s hand in Ian’s and took his place up front.
****
Ian barely heard the words of the priest as the ceremony was performed. He simply gazed at Abby’s lovely, beaming face and responded when he was told to. As far as he was concerned, he had married Abby two months before, and this was just a formality.
After their return through the mist, they told their harrowing tale to Duncan, Laura, and Robbie. Duncan had been moved to tears by the story of the feud, and even two months later was still apologizing to Ian for the danger he’d been in as a result of Duncan’s disappearance.
Abby had called her brother the day they’d returned and apologized profusely for being incommunicado for so long. She’d told him of her reunion with Ian, anticipating that he would be furious with her. But he’d surprised them both—he’d been so thrilled to hear the happiness in her voice that he hadn’t even yelled at her for not calling.
And so here they were, standing in front of their family and friends, speaking their vows once again.
“Ian Mackenzie, you may now kiss your bride.”
Ian gazed into Abby’s eyes. “Tha gaol agam ort. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Ian. Forever.”
He swept her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her with all the love he felt for her as their friends and family cheered them on.
They had found their future 400 years in the past.
Immortal
Justice
by
Faith V. Smith
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Immortal Justice
COPYRIGHT 2011 by Faith V. Smith
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Tamra Westbe
rry
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Faery Rose Edition, 2011
Print ISBN 1-60154-979-2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my Rick who is in Heaven.
May your days be filled
with all the blessings on high!
To my daughter Amanda,
again my heartfelt thanks for making it easy
for me to write.
To all my critique partners who helped me
with this work, you know who you are,
may you know I love each and everyone of you!
And to God be the glory!
Acknowledgements
I never thought I would write a book about demons. I decided to write Immortal Justice because a publisher was telling me what was hot, and some of the stuff I couldn’t wrap my beliefs around to write. I have to write what I can believe. Yes, I know I don’t really know if vampires are real (most of my fans know I write vampire romance), but I do know there are a lot of different creatures in this world—some I don’t want to know. However, I do know there are demons that inhabit the mortal body of mankind at some time or another. It may be they possess them or it could be an evil spirit.
Regardless, once I put my imagination to work, I felt there was no reason that Michael the archangel, working under God’s directions, could not create a band of immortals who fight demons. So there you have it. This book is the story of one man who died before his time but was given a chance to fight evil on earth. I like to think all of us as God’s creatures deserve a chance to do it better, or in Darach’s case to live out the destiny that should have been his.
A heartfelt thank you to Sarah Hansen, my editor, for believing in this book as much as I did. Special hugs to Eliza March, Sandi Morris, Sky Purington, Alicia Dean, April Moss, and Kelly McCrady. And please forgive me if I left someone’s name off—it’s not because I don’t love you, but I only have so much space.
Additional note: I used the city of New Orleans or NOLA as you’ve seen in the book because of its unique history. I researched my facts, and if anything is not quite right, then please forgive me.
Love to all my readers! Thank you for loving my work!
From the fall of Lucifer, one of the most beautiful angels ever created by God, evil has reigned on earth. Only the pure of heart and those filled with courage will sway the hold his demons have on mortal man.
From the desk of Michael/Archangel to God
Chapter One
Blood seeped from his numerous wounds onto the rush-strewn floor. Darach gazed around the great room of his home, searching for the sound of whimpering that seemed to resonate inside his head. His wife Briene lay huddled in a fetal position. His brow furrowed with the pain radiating from his chest, thigh, and sword arm as he tried to rise. He couldn’t see his son, Jamie. Where was Jamie?
An uttered cry—quickly cut off, caused him to turn his head. His cousin held the not quite two-year-old babe by his arm. Angus turned his gaze toward Darach and smiled before thrusting a knife into Jamie’s heart. A roar tore a path from Darach’s chest to his lips and beyond.
“Nay!”
He tried to crawl to his lifeless son, but one of Angus’s men kicked him in the ribs. Darach collapsed on the stone floor within feet of his wife. Her chest rose and fell, briefly giving him hope she could be saved. Then the reality of what she would endure before Angus would be satisfied caused the hair on his arms to stand on end. He cursed his inability to fight.
Again, his cousin turned his head and smiled before moving to Briene’s body. Darach watched as he lifted her skirts and knelt between her thighs. Rage marched in time to the pulse beating within him, sending more of his crimson blood spurting onto the floor.
“Pity’s sake, mon, have ye not done enough? She will be a widow, childless, and without a home.”
“Nay, cousin, I have waited ages to take back what should hae been mine. Now, I will help meself to the soon-to-be widowed MacRath.”
Angus’s men stopped Darach’s attempt to reach his wife. They held his head in place, forcing him to watch. Even without their coercion he would not have closed his eyes. He wanted—no, needed—to take the image of his sweet wife’s rape, his son’s death, with him to the grave. For if there were any way to haunt Angus MacRath for his deeds, then Darach would strike a bargain with the devil himself to get that chance.
What seemed like hours later, his wife breathed her last, and Angus swaggered to where Darach lay, still cursing him. The sword his cousin carried was the MacRath battle sword, Darach’s father’s sword, given to him when he was barely a man.
“’Tis time ye joined your family, cousin. May hell open its doors for ye in a timely manner.”
Darach spit at Angus’s feet. The blood-flecked spittle landed on his leggings and footwear. The fire in his cousin’s eyes went from gloating to hate. Angus raised the jewel-encrusted blade high. The sword swung downward.
“I will see ye in that same hell one day, Angus.”
Darach jerked with the blow, but welcomed the pain. He closed his eyes and reached for the welcome arms of death.
****
Darach jerked awake from the nightmare. His body as well as the bed was drenched in sweat. God’s teeth, it had been months since he’d dreamed of that long-ago night in Scotland. A night when his entire world caved in around him. Instead of waking up in Heaven with his wife and child, as he’d been taught, he’d awakened on a different plane. It was there, while his mind was still accepting the fact he was alive yet his family was dead, the archangel Michael told him why he’d been denied the right to a heavenly home and reunion with his loved ones.
“Your death was untimely. These events were not supposed to happen. You were meant to do wondrous things for your clan. However, Lucifer used your honorable traits to hasten your death and prevent those acts of goodwill toward your fellow man. He interrupted God’s plans for you. Now you have been chosen to be a part of a group of immortals.”
“I didnae ask for this, and I dinnae think I want it. I would prefer to be reunited with my family.”
“It is not in my power to grant you your wish. I can give you an immortal body. One that will be almost impossible to kill. It would take a powerful demon to take your life, or if you step out of God’s grace and go rogue, then I will do the honors. Until then, you will be an emissary of justice.”
“I suppose I dinnae have a choice?”
Michael shook his head sending locks of hair, black as night, flying. The smile on his lips told Darach the angel was amused.
“No, you don’t. Once chosen by God for a job, it is best you just do it, or…”
Darach grunted. “I ken you will be giving me the facts of what I will be doing.”
“Yes.”
****
Darach tossed back the sheet and climbed out of bed. The rest of what Michael told him was simple: “Prevent as many crimes as you can and render justice to evil mortals and demons alike.”
After several decades of training with other immortals, he’d been sent to Earth once again. For over a thousand years, he had followed Michael’s edict, moving from city to city, country to country, until he had been assigned to New Orleans.
As he brushed his teeth and prepared for a shower, he wondered if immortal executioners ever got a vacation. He was tired—tired of death and tired of being incapable of preventing rapes, tortures, and murders. Although an emissary of God, he still couldn’t be in more than one place at a time.
The water hit his body in a soothing pattern. It was early, but some crimes started before sunset, and he needed to be on the streets to prevent them. After toweling off, he slicked a hand through his hair and pulled on a pair of black pants and a loose tunic-like shirt. True, it was a bit old-fashioned for this day a
nd time, but it allowed him free range of motion. Something he needed when he ran up against demons and other paranormal beings.
Of course mortals were the least of his problems. He usually glared at them and they ran, but more and more, the Devil commanded his minions to possess the bodies of mortals—men and women alike. Those who coveted evil and had even performed evil deeds in their past, and those who possessed an ever-present need to hurt others. That made it a lot harder to take them down. And Michael’s order to try and preserve the soul if possible, in case the human happened to be an innocent used by Satan, was oftentimes hard to do.
Darach pulled on a long coat, and grabbed his weapon. The special loop on the inside of the material held his sword and concealed it as well. In bygone days, he’d worn the sword for all to see, but no longer. Modern day police authorities frowned on a weapon that could decapitate with one swing.
****
Abigail Dupree woke from the short nap she allowed herself after her day job, and before she went to her night job as a singer in the French Quarter. The dream she’d had still disturbed her. The young woman’s screams echoed in her head. She’d fought with her attacker, and Abby knew from the woman’s thoughts, she hoped help would arrive.
It wouldn’t.
Abby knew that. All her dreams and visions entailed crime scenes where the victims were brutalized or murdered.
She ran a trembling hand across her sweat-beaded forehead. Grandmere knew about her visions, and it had helped to know someone else understood what she went through, but her beloved and only grandparent had died during Abby’s last year in college. She’d inherited the old colonial house that sucked up money faster than the bayou soaked up mud. One of the reasons she’d taken a second job, and now, she needed to get up and get ready for that night job at a dinner club on Bourbon Street.
As she went through the motions of showering, layering on makeup, and fixing her hair, she converted the ordinary admin assistant persona into a nightclub singer. Casting a glance at the picture on her nightstand, she mumbled, “Grandmere, I miss you.”
