Secret Fates

by Jane Hinchey

  “I’m having a formal dinner at The Tower. It’s black tie. Your invitation is in the mail and your attendance is mandatory. I’m calling so you have ample time to plan your travel arrangements,” she’d told me. No hello. No, how are you? She was referring to her impending fiftieth birthday celebrations, which I’d known would be coming.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I’d muttered in response, resisting the urge to throw the phone. Instead, I’d made my excuses, ending the call, and placed it carefully on the table. A black tie event. Just great. I had nothing remotely suitable to wear and zero interest in attending. But as much as Mom and I didn’t see eye to eye, we were family, and family was important. Dad had drummed that into me before he died. We sacrifice for family. Hell, I’d watched him sacrifice himself to my mother for my entire life. If that was love, if that was family, I wasn’t sure I wanted any part of it.

  A knock jerked me from my thoughts and I crossed to the door, throwing it open with more dramatic flair than was warranted. Jase stood there, surprise on his face.

  “Yes?” I knew my tone bordered on bitchy but couldn’t rein it in. Reliving the earlier conversation with my mom had put me in a bad mood. I threw a scowl at Duke who lay on his back, legs akimbo, sound asleep. Some guard dog he was; he hadn’t even stirred.

  “I was worried about you.” Knowing my moods, Jase was adept at circumnavigating treacherous waters. He stood on the doorstep, one brow cocked, looking way too handsome and irresistible, which only increased my agitation.

  “I’m fine. Dead body. No big deal.”

  “It is a big deal, Del.” Tired of waiting for me to invite him in, he came in anyway, shutting the door behind him.

  “I thought you had reservations with Wanda tonight?” I bit my lip, hating myself.

  “Something came up.” He settled his hands on my shoulders and peered into my eyes. “Your mom called, didn’t she? That’s why you were out jogging in a storm. You’re always like this after you’ve spoken to her.”

  “Like what?”

  “Angry and hurt. It was the only thing I could think of that would make you lose all common sense and go running around during a storm. There’s lightning, Del. You could have been struck.” Right on cue, a loud crack of thunder shook the house. It had been storming all afternoon with no sign of letting up anytime soon. I shrugged, looking down at my bare feet. Half my toenail polish had peeled off. I really did need to do something about that. They were a pretty coral pink color, although I’d been toying with the idea of a sky blue shade. Maybe now was the time for a change.

  “Have you eaten?” Jase asked, moving into my kitchen and grabbing two wine glasses, setting them next to the bottle of wine he’d placed on the counter. I hadn’t seen him bring it in. Clearly, I was way off my game tonight.

  “Cheese toasty.” Flopping onto the sofa, I rested my head against the back and closed my eyes.

  “I’ve ordered pizza. Should be here any minute.” I frowned but didn’t bother opening my eyes. Couldn’t help wondering what Wanda thought about him ditching her to have pizza with me. Pretty pissed off I bet. Somehow the thought improved my mood and then I felt bad that I was such a horrible person.

  “What happened with your mom?” Handing me a glass of wine, he sat next to me on the sofa and propped his feet on the coffee table right next to mine.

  “Oh, the usual.” I waved my hand, took a sip of the wine, let it flow around my tongue and down my throat, soothing away the hurts of the day. Running always helped. Physical. Fast and raw.

  “Spill.” He wasn’t having any of it and I turned my head to look at him.

  “Fine. She’s having a big birthday bash next month, my attendance is mandatory, black tie, don’t disgrace the family name.”

  “A big party isn’t so bad, is it, Del?”

  “Stop trying to play Devil’s advocate for her. I told you the things she’s done, the lies she hid from my father, the way she hurt me. I can’t pretend that everything is okay.”

  When I was a little girl, no more than seven or eight, I’d started to see spirits. Ghosts. Mother had been horrified, saying I had mental health issues, maybe a brain disease or tumor. Dad played it off as an overactive imagination. Then one day a friend of Mom’s was visiting and she was really sad and when I asked her if I could hold her baby both she and my mom had gasped and looked at me as if I had two heads.

  “What do you mean?” the woman had whispered.

  “Your baby? Can I cuddle her? She’s right there, in the bassinet.” I pointed to the white bassinet sitting on the chair next to the woman.

  “There’s nothing there, Delaney,” Mom had scolded me.

  “Sure there is. She’s a really pretty baby.” I’d stood looking down into the bassinet at the baby wrapped up tight in a pink blanket.

  “She died,” the woman whispered, voice wobbling. I’d looked at the woman, to my mom, to the baby and knew it had happened again. And I knew what it meant for me. Mom would be furious. She would scold me for telling lies, making up fanciful stories. I could never understand why she wouldn’t believe me.

  I’d placed my hands on the woman’s and squeezed. “She’s really beautiful and really happy. She loves you. She’s sorry she couldn’t stay.” For while it was impossible for me to talk with the baby, I could feel what she was feeling and it was immense love for this woman, her mother. “She doesn’t want you to be sad. Someone else is coming. You won’t be alone.”

  “Delaney, that’s enough!” Mom had dragged me away, shoving me into the cupboard under the stairs and locking the door. She’d left me in there all day, despite my cries and banging. I’d wet my pants and was hysterical by the time Dad had found me. That had been the first of many confrontations with my mother, and every single time my father forgave her for the way she treated me, the time she slapped my face, the time she took everything out of my room except for my bed, when she’d deny me food until I stopped making up silly stories. As I’d gotten older I’d learned to hide it from her. The ghosts, the auras, the tarot cards. All of it. And my young heart could never understand why she hated me, why she hurt me so. And why didn’t Dad stop her, why did he love her more than me?

  “I’m not taking her side,” Jase protested, dragging me back to the present. “I’m just saying that there’s some good you can take out of this situation.”

  “And what’s that?” I arched a brow, taking a hefty gulp of wine. Still not enough to dull the pain.

  “Free food and booze.” He raised his glass in a salute and then took a mouthful, winking at me. I couldn’t help but laugh. Jase was a silver lining type of guy, and usually, I was too, but when it came to my family, I failed to see the positives. A knock at the door prevented any further conversation. The pizza had arrived.

  3

  It wasn’t the pizza guy. Instead, the most drool-worthy, stunning, sexy as sin man stood on my doorstep. He was tall, well over six feet. Raindrops glistened off his dark hair and his eyes swirled and glimmered like melted chocolate. I stared at him, mouth agape. I had never, ever, seen anyone so attractive. He was melt your knickers until they pooled at your feet, nothing but ashes type of sexy.

  “I’m looking for Delaney Devereux.” His voice was deep, smooth and mesmerizing. “Have I come to the right place?”

  “Oh, you sure have,” I purred, feeling my lips tilt up in a smile.

  “I’m Detective London Myers, from Redmeadows.”

  “Redmeadows? You’re a long way from home, Detective.” Jase appeared at my shoulder, curiosity evident in the tilt of his head.

  “Investigating the murder of Father Jack Sullivan. I believe you found his body?” The detective totally ignored Jase and kept his full attention on me. I could feel my cheeks flush under the intensity of his gaze.

  “Yes. I did. Please, come in, Detective.” I opened the door wider and beckoned him inside.

  “Thank you.” He stood just inside the door, dripping.

  “You’re soaked. Let
me get you a towel.” Rushing into the bathroom, I grabbed a towel from the rail and raced back to him, holding it out like a kid eager to please. The parallel sobered me. It reminded me, painfully, of my attempts to please my mother, and I swore I’d never act that way again. I put some distance between us, away from his magnetic pull.

  “So you’ve identified him then? Father Jack Sullivan.”

  “Yes.” He dried himself with the towel, then draped it over the back of a kitchen chair. “Shall we sit?”

  “Sure.” Easing myself into a chair opposite him, I felt a shiver dance up my spine. Something was off here. Now that I’d had a chance to adjust to his presence, to tamp down on the attraction to his off-the-charts good looks, I could see something else. His aura, while not completely on display, was dancing around the edges, dark as night, as stormy as the one that held Fury Island in its grip right now. He may look angelically beautiful, but he definitely wasn’t pure.

  “I know you’ve already given your statement to the local police, but would you mind telling me what happened today?” I tilted my head to one side and studied him. Interesting. I hadn’t officially given my statement to the police yet —I was going to the station tomorrow to do that. Was I looking for things to pick at? Was I being over critical because I was on edge? Deciding I was, I recounted the story, how I was out running when I came across the priest’s body. There really wasn’t much to tell.

  “You identified him pretty quickly,” I commented, watching as he typed notes into his phone.

  “We did,” he agreed, not giving anything away.

  “Is Father Sullivan from Redmeadows too? Is that why you’re here?”

  The detective’s head snapped up and his eyes bored into mine, no longer warm swirling chocolate, instead cold and hard. His head tilted ever so slightly and he continued to stare as if he could see into my mind and was stockpiling every little detail. It was unsettling. Pushing up from my chair, I headed to the kitchen. “Coffee anyone?” I asked brightly, automatically placing three brightly colored mugs on the bench.

  “Sounds good,” Jase called from his spot on the sofa. The detective’s head swiveled and he pinned Jase with his gaze.

  “Stick with your wine,” he said, no inflection in his voice.

  “Good idea. Can that coffee, Del. I’ll stick with my red.”

  I froze, kettle in hand. What the hell had just happened? Had the detective just compelled Jase? I could feel a strange energy now that I was further away from the man in question. As if sensing my thoughts, the detective turned his attention back to me. I gulped when he pushed back his chair and stood. When he walked around the bench and into the kitchen I nearly dropped the kettle.

  “You appear…nervous.” He stood too close, he was in my bubble, my personal space, and while he was definitely drop-dead gorgeous, I did not want him this close to me. Something wasn’t right with him. He was doing an excellent job of hiding it, but I could sense it and I could see it.

  “Not at all,” I squeaked, pushing the kettle under the tap and filling it. Clearing my throat, I glanced at him over my shoulder. “How do you take it?”

  He moved in closer, pressing up against me and I shuddered. The smirk tilting his lips told me he was used to this reaction, but what he didn’t know and I wasn’t about to tell him, was that I didn’t shudder because I liked it. I shuddered because the feel of him pressed against my back was repulsive. I had a feeling this man used his looks to get his own way. A lot. I also got the sense that he could be very dangerous. I needed to be careful with him.

  “I need to know what you found today.” He breathed in my ear.

  “Found? I found a body, Detective. A dead one. I’ve already told you that.” I tried to push him back, but he pressed harder against my back, bringing his arms around to lean against the sink, effectively trapping me.

  “What else did you find?” he growled. His breath heated my cheek and I shivered. He breathed in deep and did he? Did he just…rock…against me? Oh, the filthy pervert! Spinning, I pushed against his chest, hard. Startled, he stepped back, surprise flashing across his face before he schooled his features.

  “I didn’t find anything else except for poor unfortunate Father Sullivan. I think it’s time for you to leave, Detective.” Another brief flash of surprise darkened his face, gone before I really noticed it was there. Then it hit me. He wasn’t used to people refusing him. He was used to switching on the charm, getting physical if he had to, to get what he wanted. Only it hadn’t worked with me. Thank God! I almost gagged at the thought. Before I could move, his hand shot out and clamped around my throat. Okay. Totally unexpected. And entirely unprofessional. I squeaked and he squeezed harder.

  “Are you sure?” I nodded, frantically pulling at his arm. Was he going to strangle me? My eyes shot to Jase. Surely he wouldn’t sit back and let this man hurt me? Only Jase was reclining on the sofa, glass of wine in hand, seemingly oblivious as to what was happening in the kitchen. Even Duke was sound asleep, not stirring at all since the detective had arrived.

  Then he let go. Without a word, he stalked across the room and out the front door. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him it was as if a spell had been lifted. Duke awoke with a bark, rushing to the front door and sniffing. Jase shot to his feet, the wine sloshing in his glass as he swiveled to look at me. I stood in the kitchen, hand to my throat. I knew we were in serious trouble when the ghost of Father Jack Sullivan appeared.

  4

  “What was that? What just happened? Are you okay?” Jase was in my face, unsettled. Duke had stopped barking, but if he wasn’t careful he’d inhale every dust mite in the house and give himself allergies the way he was sniffing everywhere the detective had been.

  “I’m not entirely sure, but we need to stay away from that man. There’s something more to him.”

  “I wanted to come to you, but I couldn’t.” Jase ran his hands through his hair, clearly distressed.

  “I think he had some sort of control over you. I could feel him trying with me, but for some reason, he couldn’t.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He seemed really keen to know if I found anything else when I found the Father’s body, and sorry, excuse me a minute…” I turned from Jase and faced Father Sullivan who was hovering by my side, tugging on my arm. “Yes, Father, I see you. What is it?”

  “He’s here?” Jase asked, looking around, searching for the priest. Of course, only I could see him. Duke gave a muffled bark but wasn’t interested in pursuing the ghost, he was used to their other world energy and didn’t bother getting all excited about them anymore. He was much more interested in the scents the detective had left behind.

  “He is. He appeared just as the detective was leaving.” I looked Father Sullivan in the eye and smiled. “Now, Father, would you mind very much removing your hand from my arm? I don’t mean to offend, but your touch is really, really, cold.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” The Father removed his hand immediately.

  “That’s perfectly okay. You weren’t to know. Now, down to business. Please, for all that is holy, what is going on? Do you know who killed you?”

  “Yes, but that’s not important. Did you find it?” He looked me up and down and then glanced around the room.

  “Find what?”

  “The shard.”

  “The…oh, do you mean this?” I pulled the broken piece of medallion out of my back pocket and held it up between my thumb and forefinger.

  “Oh thank God!” The Father clasped his hands together, his relief evident.

  “This was yours? I thought it was a piece of junk Duke found out in the woods.” It hadn’t occurred to me when the detective had me in a death grip that this tiny piece of broken jewelry had any significance, or that it was what he was looking for.

  “It’s the last piece. It’s all they need to open the gates. We cannot allow it to fall into their hands.” The Father’s voice rose, an edge of hysteria seeping in.

&nb
sp; “Okay, okay, chill. Explain it to me. What gates are we talking about, and who are they?”

  Jase stood looking at me, eyes darting from me to the empty air I was talking too. I imagine I looked quite comical. When Jase reached out to take the piece of medallion from me, the Father shouted and tried to push his hand away. Only Jase couldn’t see or hear him.

  “No! No! Don’t allow him to take it! Only you can shield it. If he takes it, they’ll see it. They’ll come.”

  “Okay, this is making no sense.” I closed my fist around the shard of medallion so Jase couldn’t touch it. “Sorry.” I shrugged in apology to him.

  “What’s going on? What is it?” he asked.

  “I’m trying to find that out. Let me chat with the Father for a bit, I’ll fill you in after, okay?”

  “Okay. I’m going to check where our pizza is. It should have been here by now.” He stepped away, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Thankfully, amongst all the chaos, our cell service had been restored.

  “Tell me.” I eyeballed Father Sullivan, who was back to looking relieved.

  “It is said a medallion was forged in heaven by God himself, a medallion that would control the gates of Hell, for God did not trust Lucifer—he feared Lucifer would let the demons out—so he devised a lock. The medallion is the key. And he hid it on Earth, bestowed it into the care of his believers, knowing they would keep it hidden from evil. And they did. Until Lucifer himself came looking.

  As a son of God, Lucifer had the ability to find the key—the medallion—so he came searching, reigning drought, flood, disease upon the people of Earth, threatening to wipe out Earth itself unless they gave him what he wanted. But they held strong. The medallion was always on the move. It was too risky to hide it in one place. Every year it was entrusted to someone new, hidden over and over and over.