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Text Copyright ©2015
All rights reserved
Published by
CHBB Publishing, LLC.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.
Book design by Inkstain Interior Book Designing
Edited by CLS Editing Services
I thank God for the wonderful people who’ve made this book a reality. And I’d like to say a special thank you to my publisher, Sarah Davis Brandon. Sarah is an amazing woman and a fabulous writer. She is the cornerstone of Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly. Lacking a sturdy and knowledgeable cornerstone, all would tumble. I’m forever grateful and indebted to Sarah for taking a chance with my books!
After the long, arduous, and lonely task of writing a novel, much goes into creating and publishing. One day I’d like to write a pristine novel devoid of errors, but not this day. Catherine Stovall has been instrumental in editing, polishing, and correcting all my profound mistakes. I thank God for marvelous editors like Catherine.
To Marjory Jankowiak for photo-shooting my daughter, Noelle, who graces the covers in my Wickedly Series. Thank you for your expertise and time. You are loved!
To Melissa Steven’s of The Illustrated Author. She listens to my ramblings of what I’m picturing for a cover, and somehow she knows my vision. Thank you, Melissa for creating this phenomenal cover!!! I’m in love with it!!!
I write to entertain, and find myself drifting into a dimension far away from the realities of this world. It’s a nice holiday. I truly hope my stories can entertain readers who’ve been kind enough to purchase my books, and especially to those who go out of their way to write a review. Hugs and kisses all around.
Last but not least, I thank my family and friends. Your support, encouragement, and understanding is heartfelt. You are irreplaceable and greatly loved!
To Noelle
My Angel
“Wickedly They Dream, the sequel to Wickedly They Come did not disappoint. In fact, this story is darker, grittier and edgier.”
—Debbie Christiana, best-selling author
“There is nothing I like more in a story than a strong heroine, who has a great sense of humor. Ms. Constantine provided me with one in Wickedly They Dream. I caught a glimpse of Jordan’s strength in Wickedly They Come, but I’m blasted away with just how wonderful she is in the second book. The story was packed with action, and a few surprises (including an unexpected romance) that had me opening my mouth with pleasant surprise.”
—Nana Prah, international best-selling author
“If you’re looking for a good read that transports you to another dimension, this is the book for you. The characters are well developed and believable, even the angels. Ms. Constantine's writing is so fluid and her visuals so clear, I found myself re-reading many paragraphs to soak in the beauty of her wording. I rode the wave of Ms. Constantine's plotting so enraptured, that although I was surprised by the plot twist at the end, looking back over the story, it was logical and perfect. I don't give five stars unless the story so captivates me that I think of it for days afterward. Wickedly They Dream is one of those stories.”
—Janet McClintock, best-selling author
WICKEDLY THEY DREAM
Insidious and creepy to behold
Weaving barbed threads of stories to unfold
A mysterious dream or vision so it’s called
Has clutched my heart into a stall
Struggling to alter the enigmatic vision
As I sink deeper and deeper into my nightmarish affliction . . .
WRAPPED IN SLUMBER, and well aware she was ensnared in a prophetic dream, Jordan clenched her jaw. This was the fourth consecutive night of experiencing the identical vision. Willing herself to sink deeper, she hoped for a different outcome. Her dream spread like multicolored oils over canvas, and she refocused her subconscious like a camera lens to sharpen the image.
It felt so realistic as she walked through the dimly lit hallway, and for the fourth night, lingered to study the framed photograph on the wall. Her own tight, smiling face, stared back at her, along with those of her stepfather, Declan, and her mom, Seeley, who cradled an infant.
Having the dream previously, Jordan knew what to expect next. Sure enough, soft cooing reached her ears. She veered toward the sound. Again, she headed down the corridor where shadows seemed to follow. Coming to a T, she turned her head to the right, and looked into a black abyss. To the left she perceived a strip of light spilling from an archway.
So far, nothing had changed.
She entered a room filled with a golden ambiance. Seeley sat in a wooden rocking chair with a baby suckling at her breast. Apprehensive, Jordan stepped forward. The repetitive, greedy slurping wasn’t as endearing in the dream this fourth time around.
Seeley peered up at her, a smile rounding the points of her pretty lips. In preceding visions, Jordan had immediately looked at the infant. But this time, taking a moment longer, she gazed into her mom’s face, which was now stretched with concern.
Jordan noticed something was different.
Seeley’s eyes spoke volumes of alarm and uncertainty until she lowered her eyelids. She drew the fluffy blanket from the infant’s head, revealing downy auburn tufts. The baby’s diminutive fingers curled into a fist and tiny heart shaped lips seemed to be cooing.
Don’t look, Jordan cautioned herself. Wake-up! Don’t look. Don’t look!
Snagged in the dream like a rabbit in a snare, she stooped lower and leaned even closer to the infant. Knowing what she was about to envision, she shouldn’t be surprised.
How can I change the vision?
The infant opened its eyes. Jordan gasped. The eyes varied in hues of blue, red, and black. Demon eyes.
Normally, she woke in a sweat. On this occasion, she felt the grip of something in her hand. Raising her arm, her fingers tensely curled around the hilt of a shiny blade. She studied the demon infant and reluctantly aimed for the eyes.
Jordan jolted awake, her heart thumping. Breathing with difficulty as she propped herself up on her elbows. The vision evaporated before her eyes like mists in the wind. All was calm, except for her pounding chest.
The vision changed.
“JORDAN, IS EVERYTHING all right?” Seeley said into the cell phone. “It’s after one in the morning.”
“I know.” Jordan’s teeth met in a grimace. Why’d I phone Mom at this late hour? “Just wanted to wish you a safe trip, and . . . and watch your back.”
“You scared me. I thought something was wrong.” Seeley’s relief trailed out on a sigh. “Father James is meeting us at the airport. I know it’s too late to rescind my offer, but I shouldn’t have asked Declan to travel to Sherando. It might get dicey.”
“Hmmm . . .” Jordan hemmed.
“You had a dream, didn’t you?” Even through the phone, her mom must’ve heard the ambiguity in her tone.
“Ahh, it’s probably nothing.” Jordan prayed her fib was correct. “Just freaked me out a little.” Even if she explained her vision, it wouldn’t prevent Seeley from completing her mission.
“I wish Declan and I would’ve stayed in Elma last night instead of coming to his apartment in the city. Then we could have t
alked this over.”
“When do you get into Sherando?”
“A couple of hours.” Seeley yawned. “Father James’s friend, Father Mortimer, is supposed to be picking us up.”
“Call me as soon as possible. Let me know how it’s going.” She hadn’t meant to sound edgy. Unsettling her mother wasn’t what she’d intended.
“Now you’re freaking me out.”
Jordan heard Declan’s voice in the background, telling Seeley the taxi was waiting.
“I’ll call you when we land. Go back to sleep.” Jordan watched the light on her cell phone go dark. Then a whiteness drew her gaze to the window. She’d been yearning for her guardian angel, Markus, to make a much-needed appearance, but it was only the pale chintz curtains moving on a soft breeze. Disappointed, she sighed, and inhaled the sweet perfume of her grandmother’s gardens.
Not knowing how to decipher the recurring dream, she should’ve sought Father James’s spiritual advice. And after tonight, she was more than convinced it was an important vision, though, it had changed. I willed it to change. Was it possible to alter circumstances in her visions? Why is Mom rocking a demon baby? She shivered.
“Markus?” she called quietly, seeking her guardian angel and the one person to remedy her agitation. “Please, Markus, I need to talk to you.” She slid her legs off the mattress and pressed her bare feet on the cool hardwood floor. “I know you’re here, somewhere, and I don’t understand why you’re not making yourself visible.” She checked the room for an angelic spark. “Fine. Be that way.”
Tumbling back onto the mattress in a huff, she tunneled beneath the lightweight quilt. It was an infinite night of eye twitching, tossing, pummeling the pillow, and then staring at the dusky ceiling. In sleepless frustration, she viewed dawn’s light diminish the encompassing shadows. Snoozing was now out of the question. A morning jog should clear her head.
Lately, without Seeley or Markus to join her workouts, she’d begun a ritual of jogging along the perimeter of the woodland, down Valley Road, up and over the creek, and rounding for home by cutting through the forest. She enjoyed the obscurity of being out of sight of traffic and local classmates. The last thing she wanted was anyone seeing her panting and puffing, looking like a total sweat ball. Besides clearing the cobwebs, the ten-mile run righted her balance, especially when it came to hurdling fallen logs or dodging stumps and gorse brambles in full trot.
The morning commenced like any other, except for the time. Four thirty-five, and even the birds were still dozing. She sucked in the dewy air and reveled at feeling secluded from an awakening world. Her eyes adjusted easily to the murkiness as she executed a long jump over the creek.
“Yes,” she said to herself. She’d made it over the swollen creek bed without incident. Usually, she got a case of wet foot. Approximately two more miles, and she’d arrive in her backyard.
A flock of birds twittered, either annoyed by her or gleeful for the break of day. Jogging through the dense woods, the sound of her raspy breaths and pounding heart was foremost in her ears. She swiped the moisture dripping into her eyes as her long ponytail swished from shoulder to shoulder.
Reflecting on the training she’d received from her guardian angel, she strived to run as noiselessly as possible. When stalking demons, it was beneficial to be light, fast, and silent. Then she heard a loud crack. She’d stomped on a decaying branch.
The resonating sound instigated her frown, and like a disobedient child, Jordan kicked the twig for good measure. “Markus, it’s not feasible.”
Up ahead was pitch black. An arch created by verdant trees refused admittance to the morning light. Acquainted with the terrain, she ran on.
No longer did she hear the rushing pump of blood in her ears, but a minute droning. Words trying to articulate and form a semblance of meaning baffled her. She decelerated, her legs burned after the long haul. Suddenly, a flash the magnitude of a strobe light knocked her off balance.
“Help!”
The interior verbalization shattered her eardrums, and Jordan dropped like a puppet with its strings severed. Again, she heard the inflection of her mom’s familiar voice.
“Help us!”
Breathing shallow, she scanned the thicket. Five yards ahead, she envisaged transparent waves, like shimmering heat on a blacktopped road. Within the airwaves, an image appeared, an exact replica of Father James kneeling, his spirit-like figure fading in and out.
His lips moved. “Join. Spiritually. Time. Running out.”
The words pitched in and out of her ears as if he was speaking through a dysfunctional megaphone. “Weaken enchantments . . .”
ALL HAVE GONE ASTRAY,
ALL ALIKE ARE PERVERSE
MEANWHILE, IN SHERNADO, at the exact moment when Jordan entered the forest, Declan, Seeley, and Father James arrived at their appointed meeting.
Poor Father James, the last one to walk into the shack, was beaten by demons as soon as his foot touched the hickory floor. Slumped by the baseboard, he moaned. Without laying a hand on the holy man, a demon punted the priest, rolling him out of the door.
A wraith fluttered around the rafters reciting spellbinding incantations to seal all exits—keeping Father James out, and Seeley and Declan hostage.
With hardly a second to spare, Seeley delved into her handbag, withdrew a jackknife, and lobbed it to her husband. “Declan, here!”
“Most women carry lipstick.” Declan snapped open the blade and, slashed a devil to hell without hesitation.
“I don’t leave home without it,” she told him.
Confronted by a red-eyed demon, she whipped into action. The demon’s host body was raw with peeling flesh, and looked as if it was being eaten from the inside out. She leapt, slamming her heel into his sternum. As the demon doubled over, she finished the job by grabbing his wretched head and driving her knee into his face, shoving his nose into his brain. Shrinking back from the squealing demon, she grimaced as it disintegrated to dust.
While Seeley was taking care of business, a towering brute of a demon-man corralled Declan in a corner. Frothing from his gaping maw, the demon bared a mouthful of rotting teeth and salivated goo that flapped like tinsel. Declan thrust the knife in quick stabbing motions. Hearing Seeley shriek, he impulsively whirled toward her to see she was in trouble. He propelled the jackknife at Seeley’s foe, lodging it in the creature’s forehead and freeing her.
While his back was turned, the rabid-demon took advantage of the disruption and clamped onto Declan’s neck with hands like banded iron. Declan counterattacked with a gut wrecking punch, reeling the demon to the floor. Crouched on all fours, it snarled and pounced, striking Declan and sending him smashing to the ground, jarring the shack.
Seeley struggled fiercely with the man who’d disguised himself as Father James’s friend and confidant, Father Mortimer. Jabbing an elbow to the priest’s abdomen had no effect and getting out of his vise grip seemed impossible.
Hearing the crash of Declan’s body, Father Mortimer spun her around to watch as three demons ambushed her husband. Declan thrashed from side to side and destroyed one stinking fiend while wrestling with another. The rabid-demon performed the final blow, and Declan was knocked unconscious.
Seeley felt Father Mortimer loosen his grip, and she ran to her husband.
Declan appeared to be dead. She knelt and laid her head on his chest, and hearing his heartbeat, heaved a sigh of relief. Swabbing his bloodied nose with trembling fingers, she examined his eyes, which had already started to swell shut.
Unable to stand the sight of his pain, Seeley averted her eyes and her gaze fell on a pentagram on the floorboards beneath them. Peculiar symbols had been drawn within the five-point star, no doubt painted in blood and pertaining to Lucifer’s entrapment.
“Seeley Chase, or should I say, Donavan?” the priest crooned, wringing his hands. His eyes, marked with scarlet rings, showed definitive signs of possession. “Your reputation as a heavenly correspondent with mystical ca
pabilities,” he chortled as if he’d outwitted himself, “are becoming widespread. Asa Trebane’s promiscuous love for you was his ultimate nemesis.”
His tongue licked across his cracked lips, reminding Seeley of Asa, the pernicious leader of The Black Order cult, who’d been burned to death a month before while trying to kill Jordan.
“And we’re aware of how your deity intervenes with self-sacrificing angels.” The masquerading demon-priest rotated, patrolling his troops: six remaining legions, and an eerie wraith still infusing the room with an electrified force field.
With his back to Seeley, Mortimer called over his shoulder, “Asa’s procrastination in annihilating you, body and soul, has made you stronger.” He made a sweeping turn. “Heavenly powers guard the Chase women like hawks. Nevertheless, Jordan’s blood, and may I add, yours—” His red-rimmed eyes locked on her. “—will eventually be ours.”
A groaning wheeze spouted from Declan. Seeley pulled away from Mortimer’s leering gaze, crouched over her husband and stroked his cheek, hushing him softly. “Declan, Declan…”
Mortimer cackled. “Jim, or shall I say Father James, is attempting to pray through the insurmountable barrier as I speak. What a fool.” His eyes cut to the wraith. “And poor Father Mortimer.” He waved his hands over his chest like a flaunting model. “He’d been struggling with his holy, priestly vows and was a perfect candidate for me to take his body and his soul. Jim’s counseling went to naught, and he flew here as soon as his tormented friend called for help. And, as suggested, with Seeley Chase in tow.”
While watching the demon in charge, Seeley’s mind raced for a solution. “So you’ve taken over The Order?” Her blood turned to ice, and she wasn’t particularly anxious to hear his answer.
Infuriated by her statement, the possessed priest howled like a tormented coyote. He lashed out at a legion standing nearby, disemboweling the unfortunate, yet, deserving minion. “I want this to be you!” He raised the legion’s glutinous innards then spattered them on the floor. “Only humans can rule The Order.”
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