Secret Fates

by Jane Hinchey

  Then the unthinkable happened. Lucifer caught up with it! He found it. Rather than let him take it, the priest who was in possession of it at the time smashed it with a rock, breaking it into three pieces. He took one piece and gave the other two pieces to fellow priests, and they each scattered to opposite corners of the Earth. Lucifer was furious, not only had they evaded him, now he couldn’t track it, for the energy path was split.” Father Sullivan dragged in a breath, eyes intent on the shard of medallion still clasped in my fist.

  “Two hundred years ago, a piece of the medallion was unearthed in an Egyptian archaeological dig. The priest who died with it still wore it around his neck. Then, a hundred years later, almost to the day, another piece was discovered, this time in England. It took many years of research for the archaeologists to figure out the two pieces were part of one whole. All that was missing was one tiny shard and the medallion would be whole again.”

  “This shard.” I opened my fist and looked at it.

  “That shard,” the father agreed.

  “And how long ago did they discover the two pieces belong together? How long have they been searching for the missing shard?”

  “Twenty years.”

  “And where has the rest of the medallion been since then?”

  “In a museum in London. Until last week. When it was stolen. And I felt it. The shard vibrated like it was calling to the rest of the medallion, signaling it. I ran, for I was the last one blessed with the responsibility of protecting it. I couldn’t let them have it.”

  “Who are they? Who’s after it?”

  “A cambion.” Father Sullivan shimmered in and out of sight, agitated.

  “What’s a cambion?”

  “A child born of a male incubus and a human woman. A demon. They are evil.” Okay then, rubbing at my forehead, trying not to freak out at the thought of demons, or in this case incubuses, not only having sex but reproducing with human women. Ewww.

  “So a cambion has the rest of the medallion, and they’re searching for the shard?”

  “Yes.” He nodded with great enthusiasm. I was grateful his throat hadn’t been cut; otherwise, I’d have feared his head might have toppled off.

  “What does a cambion look like? How will I know it?”

  “They are devilishly cunning and angelically beautiful. They look human, only better.”

  “Is Detective London Myers a cambion?” I asked, already knowing the answer. This would explain a lot.

  “I believe he is.” The Father nodded.

  “Did he kill you?” It was all coming together in my head, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. It would explain the strange energy I’d sensed from the detective, and how he’d been able to control Jase. Was he really a detective or was that a ruse to get to the shard?

  “He did.” Now the Father had completed his quest, he’d passed the shard on to me, along with the story to go with it, I saw his attention shift to behind my shoulder, knew he’d be seeing a bright light. It was his time. He hesitated, looking at me and then back to the light.

  I nodded. “It’s okay, Father. Go. I’ve got this. I’ll protect the shard. The gates of Hell will remain locked.”

  “Bless you, my child.”

  “Bless you, Father.” He walked into the light. The flash blinded me and I held up an arm to shield my eyes. Then he was gone.

  5

  “Well?” Jase had finished on the phone and stood, hands on hips, demanding answers. I relayed what the Father had told me, once again grateful for the faith that Jase had in me, that he believed without question that I could not only see, but talk to, the dead.

  “So the detective—who quite possibly isn’t a detective at all—is after the shard? He killed Father Sullivan to get it. And he’s a cambion—a demonic creature who can persuade people to do what he wants. But you have some sort of immunity?”

  “That pretty much sums it up,” I agreed. “My immunity is most likely due to the shard.” I opened my palm and looked at the innocuous piece of stone. Jase moved closer, peering at it.

  “This is all…” He ran his fingers through his hair again, leaving the brown strands standing up in every direction. Adorable and sexy rolled into one.

  “I know.” I placed my hand on his arm. I held a piece of the key to the gates of Hell—the very thought was overwhelming. “I think I need to do a reading.” I tucked the shard back into my pocket and raced upstairs to grab my tarot cards. “And what happened with the pizza?” I called down to Jase.

  “They said it should be here,” he called back. “I’ll go check out front. Maybe he had car trouble or something. I’ll take a quick look.”

  “Take the umbrella!”

  I heard him talk to Duke, the front door opened, then closed. Duke whined. Yeah, I know how you feel, buddy, I thought. I feel that way every time he leaves too. And again scolded myself for such thoughts. He has a girlfriend. He isn’t available. And isn’t interested either. Pushing the thoughts from my mind, I forced myself to focus on the more immediate issue at hand. A dead priest and a shard that was, apparently, part of the key to Hell.

  Snatching up the wooden box containing my tarot cards, I skipped back down the stairs, settled onto the sofa and shuffled the cards before placing them out in a six card spread. The result was not comforting. Not in the least.

  The five of cups, death, the hanged man, the tower, the imposter, and the ten of swords. I’d never drawn such a dark reading before. The spread indicated big change, upheaval, destruction, pain, betrayal, despair, darkest hours. Shaking my head I gathered the cards, shuffled them, and spread them again. The same result. The exact same cards! This had never happened before. Once again I scooped up the cards, shuffled them as if my life depended on it, then laid them out. The exact same cards stared back at me. This was not good, not good at all.

  The front door burst open and Jase rushed in, phone to his ear in one hand, struggling with the umbrella in the other. I swept the cards up and put them away in their box, rising to my feet when I heard him giving whoever was on the phone my address.

  “Did you have to reorder?” I asked, crossing to take the umbrella from him.

  “No. I was calling the cops.”

  “The police? Why? Is there a tree down or something?” The storm still raged around us —I was amazed the electricity was still on.

  “I wish. There’s a dead pizza delivery guy at the bottom of your driveway.” His voice grim he placed his hands on my shoulders. “Do not go outside. It’s not safe.”

  “You think he was struck by lightning?” A shiver ran through me. Two dead bodies in one day. It was all getting a bit much, even for me.

  “I don’t want you to go outside because I don’t want you to see him—let’s just say his head isn’t facing in the right direction.”

  “What?” I squeaked, dread flooding through me, pooling cold and hard in the pit of my stomach.

  “His neck is definitely broken and you can’t attribute that to storm damage. He was murdered.”

  “You think the cambion killed the delivery driver?” I whispered, a shiver dancing over my skin. The cards were right. Death and destruction were literally on my doorstep.

  Jase nodded. “The cops are on the way. Once we’re finished with them, I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

  “Where? He’s already seen you, knows you were here with me. We can’t go to your place. He’ll find us there just as easily. And how do we know he’s after me? I mean he was here, in this room, and didn’t kill me. Or you for that matter.”

  “I don’t know, it just feels like you’re a sitting duck here,” he grumbled.

  “And we don’t know he killed the delivery driver. Maybe I should go out there, see if his spirit is around and, you know, ask him.”

  “No. I don’t want you going outside. It’s not safe.”

  “You went out there,” I pointed out, feeling my hackles start to rise as they always did when someone told me what to do. “Plus I need
to talk to the police.” Sliding my feet into the flip flops I kept by the front door and shrugging into the rain jacket hanging on my coat rail, I opened the front door, eyeing Duke who’d stood up.

  “Stay!” I told him, biting back the grin at the forlorn look on his face. He was not used to me going out the front door without him. I glanced at Jase. “You coming?”

  I swear I heard him mutter “stubborn” under his breath as he scooped up the umbrella once more and followed me outside. The rain wasn’t really that heavy; it just wasn’t stopping. But the thunder and flashes of lightning were relentless, giving the storm a terrifying edge. Jase wrapped his big hand around mine and led the way down the driveway. A small hatchback with a pizza emblem emblazoned on the side sat parked at the bottom, engine still running. In front of it, on the ground, was the body of the young driver. Our pizza, still in its box, lay in a puddle in front of his outstretched hand.

  I did my best not to look at his top half, not to notice his head grotesquely twisted, but it was pointless. Fear tightened my stomach and I glanced around, peering into the dark night, but there was no hope of seeing anything, especially with the rain reducing visibility even further. Whoever did this could be here now, watching us. And if the spirit of the driver was here, I had to act quickly, before the police arrived.

  Closing my eyes, I focused on his body, tried to get a feel for his energy, his spirit. Some people hung around after they died, especially if it was a violent, unexpected death. It’s almost as if they’re in shock and while they’re trying to come to terms with actually being dead, they miss their opportunity to pass over. It seemed it wasn’t the case with this young man though. No sign of his spirit.

  “He’s crossed,” I muttered, wrapping my arms around my stomach and hugging myself.

  “Damn it.” Hands on hips, Jase stared down at the young man who could only have been eighteen or so.

  “Assuming it was the detective, why? Why do you think he killed him? It’s not like this guy is involved in any of this.” My hair, that had been almost dry, hung in wet strands around my face once more and I pushed it out of my eyes.

  “Temper tantrum maybe? He didn’t get what he wanted from you, so he lashed out and this guy happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?” Jase suggested. It was a reasonable theory, but I couldn’t believe the detective would be that careless, draw more police attention to me. Or was that his plan? Frame me for murder, have me locked away? Did he know I had the shard or was he guessing? I was really wishing Father Sullivan hadn’t crossed over. I still had questions.

  A police car peeled around the corner, lights flashing, siren on, pulling to a stop across the bottom of the driveway. The lights remained on, strobing through the rain, but thankfully the ear-piercing siren was now silent.

  “Del, what’s going on?” Joe Forbes climbed out of the car, zipping his jacket up to his chin, flashlight in hand.

  “Someone killed our delivery driver.” I indicated the body in front of us, shielded from Joe’s view by the pizza delivery car. Stepping around the car, he came to a halt when he saw the body.

  “Holy shit.” He swore, then grimaced, squatting by the victim's side and searching for a pulse.

  “He’s dead, believe me,” Jase muttered.

  “Procedure. Gotta check,” Joe replied, standing up and eyeing the young man. “This is Billy Travers.” His voice was quiet, calm, devoid of emotion.

  “You know him?” I asked in surprise.

  “Yeah, he’s Jill and Graham Travers’s kid. They run the homewares store. He helps out there sometimes. And at the pizza place too, by the looks.” Reaching for the radio at his shoulder, he radioed the station, requesting an ambulance to retrieve Billy’s body.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I ordered pizza.” Jase cleared his throat. “And when it didn’t arrive, I called again and they told me my order had already been dispatched, that we should have received it already, so I thought I’d check outside on the off chance the driver was having car trouble or something. With all this rain, anything is possible. Maybe he’d had a car accident? I saw his car at the bottom of the driveway as soon as I stepped outside, so I came down to see what the problem was, and found him here, like this.”

  “It was right around the time Detective Myers was here,” I said.

  “Detective Myers?” Joe looked up from his notebook, brow cocked.

  “Yeah. From Redmeadows. Here investigating the death of the Priest?” The look on Joe’s face alarmed me. He was truly puzzled.

  “There is no Detective Myers from Redmeadows here. Investigating anything.”

  Shit. More lies from the cambion. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  “Tell me about this man. Did he show you ID? A badge? What did he look like?” I answered Joe’s questions as best as I could, recounting the conversation I’d had with the phony Detective. I left out the part about the shard, not wanting to risk having it confiscated as evidence.

  A loud crack of lightning lit up the sky, illuminating the street, before plunging us all back into darkness.

  “I’m going to need the two of you to come down to the station, I want you to work with a sketch artist, try and get an ID on this guy.” Joe looked me straight in the eye, his face giving nothing away.

  “You need both of us?” I asked.

  “Affirmative. You both saw this so-called Detective. Plus, Jase discovered Billy’s body. I’m going to need formal statements.”

  I’d been at the Police Station for what felt like hours when Joe opened the door to the interview room I was in and frowned at me from the doorway.

  “Trouble seems to be following you around, Del.”

  “What do you mean?” I leaned back on the hard chair and returned his look. It was slightly pissed off and tired. Right back at ya, Joe.

  “Jase just called to say your house has been broken into.” Joe squeezed the bridge of his nose while I shot to my feet.

  “What? WHAT?” First of all, they’d let Jase go, but I was still here? What the hell? And secondly, someone had broken into my house?

  “Relax.” Joe waved me back to my seat and I reluctantly sat. “A patrol car is there now. Your place has been trashed. Looks like someone was looking for something specific. All your electronics and valuables appear to still be there, but we can’t tell for sure if anything has been taken. You’ll need to do that.”

  “Right,” I muttered. I didn’t have a lot, and certainly nothing valuable. I suspected whoever broke into my house was after the shard, which was tucked in my jeans pocket. And I suspected my intruder was so called Detective London Myers. Biting my lips I kept my thoughts to myself.

  “About your dog.” This time Joe looked a tad uncomfortable, and he still hadn’t come into the room, just stood in the open doorway. What the hell was going on tonight?

  “What’s happened to Duke?” I could hear the concern laced with panic in my voice and sucked in a breath to calm myself.

  “He’s okay. A slight injury. Jase has taken him to the clinic for treatment and then said to tell you he’ll take him to his house. Oh, and to call when you’re ready to be picked up and he’ll come get you.”

  “And when will that be? Surely I’m not a suspect?” It didn’t surprise me that they thought that though. After all, I found Father Sullivan’s body, Billy had been killed on my property and they had yet to identify who Detective Logan really is. For all they knew I could be making it up.

  Before Joe could answer, a crash came from the front of the Police Station, followed by the sound of shouting and glass breaking.

  “Now what?” Joe swore, rushing away, leaving the door open. I stayed seated for all of two seconds before jumping up and crossing to the door. Cautiously I stuck my head out. Grunts and the sounds of fighting came from the front of the station and I crept along the hallway, keeping close to the wall. As I neared the front, a body came crashing into the hall, blood dripping from a gaping wound at the office
r's throat. Gunshots rang out and I instinctively ducked. I scampered to the injured officer's side, but there was nothing I could do for him, his eyes were wide open, unseeing. He was already dead.

  Swiveling, I crept up to the doorway, keeping low, and peered around. What I saw caused the breath to freeze in my lungs. In the middle of the station stood Detective London Myers, eyes glowing red as he viciously tossed those who charged at him aside, scraping the deadly blade he held in his hand across their throats as he did so. Officers fired their guns at him, and while his body jerked, they had little effect. A little blood could be seen on his clothing, but other than that, nothing, no indication he’d been shot multiple times.

  I didn’t know how he did it, but one thing I knew for sure—he was here for me. He somehow knew I had the shard. He’d no doubt killed Billy the delivery driver and trashed my house. The violence erupting before me told me he didn’t care one iota about being identified. He was confident they couldn’t stop him. Which meant I needed to get my ass out of here. Shuffling back, I hurried down the hallway, heading toward the back of the building. Once out of sight I stopped, sucked in calming breaths, and tried to picture the police station, guess at its layout. There had to be multiple exits. The detective was blocking the main entrance, but I knew the station housed cells at the back, that there had to be a way to transport prisoners in and out.

  Pulling out my cell phone, I ran, barreling down corridor after corridor, slipping and sliding around corners.

  “Are you okay?” Jase answered on the first ring.

  “No,” I puffed, still running. Why weren’t there any exit signs? Surely occupational health and safety dictated this place have exit signs? “The detective is here and he’s gone nuts, killing police officers. I think it’s safe to assume he’s after me.”