by Avell Kro
street as Madame Blatavsky, a local spiritualist. Blatavsky looked in Rose’s direction then flew away.
“Wel here goes plan B,” Rose muttered to herself,” pulling her goggles down around her neck and
walking towards the residence. Plan A was to approach with stealth. She wore her long crimson
coat, it’s lining sewn with threads pulled from the death shrouds of sixteen saints and imbued with
incantations of safe passage and protection. On past investigations, Rose had found the cloak to
provide not only protection by camouflage from those wielding the arcane, but after what she just
saw she wasn’t sure if the coat would afford any type of protection at all so she might as well just
strol up and announce herself.
As she crossed the street she felt a vibration on her belt. It was her arcana circulata, a warning
device and directional locator for supernatural energy. She opened the case and looked at the
direction and intensity dial. The intensity was pegged, not a surprise after witnessing the wards
the Priestess had erected. What befuddled her was that the directional indicator was spinning
versus pointing at the townhouse. Must look at that in the workshop.
Rose opened the garden gate and stepped onto the property knowing she was within the scope of
the priestess’ magic.
Rose slowly ascended steps up to the front door, expecting some type of snare or curse. Instead as
she made footfall on the landing the front door creaked opened slowly.
Rose stuck her head in the doorway taking notice of how nicely illuminated the rooms were all
installed with the latest arc lamps.
“Come on back, I is in the parlor,” came a female voice, in a West Indies accent.
As Rose stepped into the ornate room she saw a stunning woman with a deep brown skin tone
and a perfect mix of African and European facial features. She wore a hand painted silk kimono
with a high neck lace blouse underneath. Her hair was not pinned up but left down long, lush and
flowing. The woman sat in a high back chair. Resting against the chair was a primitive staff of
warped and petrified wood decorated with feathers and beads. Five human skulls rested at the
top, one above another skewered by the staff.
“Please have a seat. When God created time, he made a lot of it,” Angelica said as she shuffled tarot
cards.
“You must be Ms. Angelica du Haiti?” Rose declared as she made her way to the chair opposite
Angelica.
She waited. “You are Angelica du Haiti?”
“Sister Caldwell, some know me by that name, I prefer Angelica de Moya. Welcome. Would you
please cut the cards?” The priestess requested setting the deck down in front of Rose.
“Moya?” Rose said as she cut the deck.
While she laid out the cards face down Angelica spoke.” I am the only daughter of Don Ernesto de
Moya and a Haitian woman. Years after Don Hernando’s first wife died of yel ow fever he fel in
love with my mother. Choose a card.”
Rose turned over the Magician card. “Mastery of the material world, self-discipline and a
willingness to take risks,” said Angelica, a thoughtful frown crossed her face as she examined Rose
letting the meaning of the card settle in.
Angelica turned over the Priestess. Rose knew the meaning of this card -Intuition, wisdom and
secret knowledge.
“Pick another card, Rose” pressed Angelica. Rose flipped over the Tower. Angelica tapped the tarot
as she recounted meaning. “A powerful selection, something remains yet to be revealed, but
patience must be observed. Duality and mystery. Hidden influences, disruption. Conflict. Change.
Sudden violent loss. Overthrow of an existing way of life.”
Rose’s hand was still on the card. Angelica placed her finger on the back of Rose’s hand and with
that she was sent to another time and place.
* * *
10:02 PM Silkwood & Co.
Rooftop banged on the back of the van. The driver released the clutch and reversed the truck.
Watching in the side mirror the driver positioned the truck right up onto the sidewalk so Jimmy
and his thugs could jump out right in front of Silkwood.
The bandits had wrapped scarves around their faces and wore wool caps, even Jimmy was
dressed down, looking like a common cockney hoodlum.
The shocked officer saw the back of the truck barrel towards him stopping a foot from him any
comfort there was in not getting hit by the truck went away when Rooftop kicked the cop in the
head sending him to the pavement. He and another guy leapt on him put a bag over his head then
Rooftop punched the copper right in the solar plexus. The poor bastard was sucking so much air from the punch that the bag moved in and out of his mouth.
Jimmy's goons bagged the heads of the Silkwood workers. who dropped their unconscious
coworker to fight off the thugs. Jimmy’s gang were seasoned street fighters and quickly dealt with
the jewelers with one getting a knee to the groin and the other a blackjack to the head, both hit the
ground moaning and groaning. “Stay down or you'll get your head caved in, this will all be over
soon and you will be safe if you don't act a hero,” yelled Jimmy.
The gang strode into Silkwood and company. “You two, grab a crate and get the fuck out, there is
no air in here.” said Jimmy. One of the goons said, "we should have worn gas masks.”
“Grab a box, sheep dip. Gas masks only filter out gas, if there is no oxygen in the room you will still
pass out," Jimmy growled as he slapped him in the back of his head.
When Jimmy walked in they still had not completed smelting all the gold. There were four ful
crates, far more than the 1,450 the counterfeit paper worked showed then the gangster realized
they would strike the new ingots first before paying off the help with the gold. The gold was in
various stages, some still Guineas, some cooling in molds and more in a crucible in the furnace.
"Grab those crates" yelled Jimmy. He and Rooftop grabbed a crate by its rope handle and carried it
out to the truck.
On his way, back in Jimmy stood on the cop's neck. "Any bloke looking to be a hero will get his
medal posthumously."
“I hear ya, mate,” moaned the cop.
The four men made the second trip from inside the shop to the back of the truck. Jimmy grabbed a
handful of the gold guineas and shoved them in his pocket. After he threw the last crate onto the
bed of the truck he and Rooftop stalked over to the Policemen and the workers on the ground and
put a Guinea in each of their pockets. “Now you blokes may think about jumping up and taking the
bag off your head… but don’t do it. Not until you don’t hear the rumble of my car boiler. Cause I’ll
be looking out the window with my pistol pointed back at you and will shoot whoever moves,”
after leaving them with that thought Jimmy jumped into the back of the vehicle. With a hiss of
steam as the bypass vented and re-pressurized the piston the lorrie and Sir Francis Chilton's gold
drove away.
* * *
10:05 PM Pilton Road
Dol y waited, positioned in the driver’s seat of the steam cruiser, Detective Burton providing back
up in the passenger seat.
Dolly watched Rose walk across the street, it was hard to miss a woman wearing pants let alone
one striking such a confident stride, and then of course there was the harness she rigged up
to
access her adventuring gear.
“Well that one sticks out like dog's balls. Is that Sister Rose?” asked Burton.
"Indeed, it is. She sent me a wire-type of her discovery, the location of Angelica du Haiti at 412
Pilton Road,” replied Dolly.
“Wel let’s get in there” implored Burton, as he went for the door of the carriage to get out. Dolly
grabbed his arm, “We are going to give her a little time to souse out the situation.” On one hand
Dolly was being truthful, Rose was better suited to confronting the sorceress, on the other he
wanted to give Rose the time she needed to learn what she wanted from Angelica. He felt he owed
her that given that she tipped him off to the location. He would be feeling a lot more comfortable if
he was sitting next to Keane. He rarely felt fear, or such a lack of control, but he was going up
against an enemy who could bend people to her will, and turn friend into foe. Maybe Rose would
get further reasoning with her, he could give Rose five minutes before he went in to arrest
Angelica.
The senior detective observed Rose as she stopped in the road then using her goggles to look up
and down the street before continuing into the house. Burton interrupted the silence in the car,
"You know that we all think you a little batty and verging on the heretical consorting with her."
There’s that judgement again, just like Keane. Maybe rather than conceal the truth I should share
it. Dolly, opened up to the young detective “I keep a confidential journal, mainly to check my sanity,
but it also serves me if I am required to share some of the strange and fantastic things I have dealt
with. Included are my notes from the St. Anthony Home for Boys.”
"You worked the Milton Affair?" replied Burton, who was the newest addition to the detective
branch and not even a street constable when Dolly worked the case.
"I did. I was a Sergeant, this was before the detective’s branch. We were pulling boys out of the
rivers, all strangled between the ages of eight and twelve. Strange thing was, no one was reporting
any missing children. For months, we had nothing and the frequency of dead boys was increasing.
Finally, I had a break when we found two bodies in the same week, one on shore and a floater
pul ed out by a boat on the river. I had been plotting the body locations and drew a conclusion that
the source had to be up stream. I figured it to be a poor house or orphanage where there was no
parent to miss the child. I canvased the city and began looking at two locations, St. Anthony being
one. I interviewed Father Milton and at the time he seemed like a good bloke, even gave me access
to his records, and everything checked out. While I'm there I run into this young nun and she tells
me that I need to look further into Father Milton. I just assumed that she worked there so I start
doing some digging and get a whole heap of pushback from the archdiocese.”
“They were covering for the Priest?’ asked Burton.
“That's what I thought. I can't get any further access to church records, but I did have a list of his
postings at several boy's homes, obvious thing to do then was go to the local stations and see if
there were similar murders. I saw a pattern of dead boy's showing up strangled around the times
and places he had been posted. Circumstantial but a clear pattern.
So, I go back to St. Antony’s rectory where Milton lives to interview him. See if I can get him to crack. It's in the evening so I give the door a knock figuring the Padre should be home. No answer.
I decide to have a look around and I notice that nun prowling around. Now this is suspicious, a
sister in her habit skulking around the rectory and I see her go down into this cellar in the back of
the house. I follow her down and there is Father Milton in the process of strangling a boy. I called
out to him but he doesn't even acknowledge I am in the room. I drew my pistol, in those days I
carried a Weiss brothers over and under. I took aim and gave the priest another chance to let go of
the boy, but he kept choking him," Dolly rubbed his own throat now knowing how painful that
that was for the boy, to be choked by powerful hands.
I let loose a shot that hit him square in the chest with a fifty-caliber ball and he didn't even turn to
look at me, he was focused on the Nun who was carrying on with some mumbo jumbo talk. The
shot should have dropped a bull. I could see the hole in his chest and the wall behind him sprayed
with blood from the exit wound.
I have no idea what these two are up to but Milton won't stop so I take two more steps closer and
put a second shot point blank into his head. Bam! The shot is true and the back of his head opens,
brains and gore all over the floor but the bastard is still grinning at the sister.
With no shot left, the priest with two bullets in him and half his head missing, I go into shock.
Paralyzed, just standing there like the village idiot. The nun proceeds to conduct an exorcism. Only
then does Milton finally release the boy, and descend into a fit swinging and fighting at something
in the room until he bursts into flames. At least that is what I thought I saw, like I said I was
dumbstruck when my shots did not drop him.
Next thing I know, Sister Rose is pulling me out of the cel ar, we both got out and the rectory was
consumed in the flames along with Father Milton," finished the senior detective.
Burton gaped at him. "If you were there how come the story is that Sister Rose started the fire
that killed Father Milton?"
"That is just how the gossip mongering has changed the story over time,” replied Dolly.
"But they excommunicated her,” replied Burton.
“From what I know she caused too much of a stir during the Papal Inquisition. Those cowards
booted her out to get distance from her, but she was fine with the outcome, it allowed her to focus
on her war against the wicked. Adam, I’m only recounting this story so you’re totally prepared for
what you might see tonight. Rose Caldwell has shown me that far more exists in this world
beyond what we can see and hear and that there are forces at work on and off Earth intending to
do harm.”
Dol y continued, "Do you want to know what Rose told me went on in that cellar?"
"Hell yes. You can't tell someone something like that and not finish the tale," whispered Burton,
his wool cap bunched in his hands.
“Rose Caldwell told me that Father Joseph Milton was possessed by the fallen angel Rabdos, now a demon that has the power to stop and alter the paths of the stars. He receives power from
strangling humans. There is only one angel with the power to prevent him from succeeding, a
seraphim called Brieus.
What I witnessed was Rabdos enacting his plan to change the heavens and Rose summoning
Brieus to aid her. The two fought, and Milton's corrupted body was consumed in the holy flames
the seraphim used to triumph over his enemy. The sickening part is the demon’s power is
amplified by making an unwilling agent act against their own morality and nature.” Dolly
wondered if Milton was a good man infected and turned against his better nature. If it all began
with one moment where he didn’t do something overtly bad but rather a sin of omission. Could
any of us end up suffering the fate of Milton because we weren’t vigilant?
"Bollocks!" cried Burton.
"Maybe. I could be mad as a hatt
er or perhaps some time in the future you will be required to call
on the services of Rose Caldwell because your intellect and a fifty-caliber shot are not enough to
bring justice to the realm.” finished the Detective.
"Wel , what do we have here?" said Burton.
A steam carriage pulled up and parked in front of 412 Pilton Road. Several men exited the back of
the carriage along with the driver and approached the flat. Three stood for a moment at the front
of the house before entering the garden gate as the driver began walking up the street.
"Two of those blokes are Necronists" announced Dol y. “That fella there is Guild Master Saint-Yves, one of the leaders of the Necronist Guild. I met with him earlier this week on this case and he
offered to help catch Chilton’s killer. I agreed on the condition he inform me of her whereabouts
and that I be on hand to arrest her.” The senior Detective paused. Dolly checked his pistol making
sure all the caps were in place on the cylinder then placed the pistol back in his shoulder holster.
He had made his decision at that cafe table that as much as he felt Angelica deserved to die for
what she did to Keane his purpose was to bring her to justice.
"Looks like tonight the scales will be removed from your eyes, Adam. Let's check in and make sure
that everything in there remains civil between this cast of characters. You go around the block
and find the fella who went off on his own then meet me back inside the house.”
Friday the 16th of April
8 PM The Moya Plantation, Haiti
Rose was no longer in London she was channeled to a time in the past in a place she had never
been. She felt the immense power of Angelica coursing through her. Rose was the Voodoo
priestess. She was Angelica yet not in control, a passenger to see the scene play out yet feeling
what Angelica felt and remembered. This wasn’t the first time Rose had this type of out of body
experience, her life had been plagued by visions and dreams. The difference this time was it
wasn’t while she slept.
She was sitting at the Moya Plantation in the office of Don Hernando. It was hot and humid with
the frogs croaking and cicada droning in the trees outside. The windows were open but no breeze
