Prophecy of Blood: A Supernatural Psychic Thriller (WRAITH HUNTER CHRONICLES Book 2)

by John R. Monteith

  Or was he just becoming hypersensitive in her presence?

  “We need to tell your dad.”

  Dianne walking behind him, he entered his father’s study.

  A plethora of shelved books covered the room’s walls. Liam considered the collection outdated, but he knew some old volumes carried valuable secrets, like the ancient tome of his lineage and that of Dianne’s that shared a decryption scheme despite descending through different lines for centuries.

  Behind a huge oak desk, his father sat at a keyboard and monitor. “What can I do for you?”

  Liam disbelieved the news as he shared it. “The dagger’s moving, imperceptibly.”

  “Without our presence?”

  “It must be a delayed reaction. It’s been moving slowly or trying to move since we last saw it. It’s also been trying to hold its red glow, but I think its light is fading.” He knew of machines that could measure luminous power, but he thought better of investing time into gauging the knife’s glow. All that mattered was the direction, which their new dagger seemed handicapped to provide.

  “That’s spectacular.”

  “It’s true. I can show you on your computer. I uploaded the video to the cloud for sharing. I can walk you through it.”

  “Why don’t you handle this?”

  Liam moved into the armchair, looked into the screen, and grabbed the mouse. He brought up the video and started it as Dianne and his father watched over his shoulders.

  “That’s so cool. I had crazy magical power in my hand with my dagger when I had to defend myself, but I’ve never seen one move completely on its own.”

  “Rules are rules, young lady. To us, this movement is as predictable as the laws of physics, or at least it was until this new dagger. Its behavior is quite peculiar.”

  “I don’t suppose our order gave you any warning about this?”

  “Unfortunately not. But we have time to figure this out. The next full moon’s due to rise June twenty-eighth, is it not?”

  Liam did the quick math. “Yes, but today’s the nineteenth. That’s hardly a week away.”

  “Even at an eighth of a degree per hour, three degrees per day, we’ll probably get our proper bearing to his prior kill before then.”

  Liam kicked the chair back to face his audience. “But we won’t be able to travel and triangulate the location with a dagger on life support.”

  “True. I was trying to be optimistic. Something’s amiss with the premise of our mission. The order wouldn’t present us with an impossible starting point. We must be missing something.”

  Dianne interjected her concerns. “What are the rules with the dagger, again?”

  He feared that catching her up would slow his thinking, but then he reconsidered. She had magic, and she could help. He needed to share everything he could. “During the wraith’s killing year, when there’s victim’s blood on his dagger and a hunter looks at its blessed twin, the blessed one will glow, and it will point towards the location of the murder. After the blood’s cleared off the cursed dagger, our dagger will stop glowing but still point to the location.”

  “As long as one of you is looking at it.”

  He appreciated her absorbing the rules. “Right.”

  “So, it’s just a hunk of metal when you or your father aren’t looking at it?”

  He liked her directness. “Right.”

  “Why do you think the dagger only moves and glows when a hunter looks at it?”

  Having accepted it as fact, he’d never challenged the premise and blurted the first concept that came to his mind. “I guess it’s like the double-slit experiment.”

  “What’s that?”

  As a fan of science, he forgot that most people focused their attentions away from things he considered common knowledge. “The double-slit experiment addressed the nature of light and matter to behave as particles and waves, but the conclusion I’m referring to is that an object being observed gets its existence from the interaction between itself and the observer.”

  “Slow down, Einstein. I’m a marketing major.”

  She was going to make him think about the application of his knowledge, instead of reciting memorized data, and he liked it. “Something doesn’t exist until an observer observes it to collapse it from a cloud of probabilities into reality.”

  “You’re getting closer.”

  “Um… we make our own reality by observing it.”

  “Okay, I get that. That’s cool. I’ve always thought that. The power of positive thinking, our moods, harnessing the universe’s energy. I mean, it’s all related somehow, right?”

  Her line of thinking started to push beyond his comfort zone. “Right. Related somehow. Back to our dagger. Like Father said, we’re missing something. It should be pointing to the last spot where he killed a tribute, but it’s struggling to move.”

  “But it is moving, even without you or Connor watching it.”

  “That’s why I think there’s a delay in its reaction to our observation, in addition to its slowness.”

  The elder hunter shrugged. “I’m at a loss to explain it.”

  Liam was also lost. “I have no idea, either.”

  Dianne gave him a look suggesting that everything would be okay. “Well, I do.”

  Liam was open to anything. “What?”

  “Are men really that dense? Your dagger’s obviously sick, and I’m going to nurse it back to health.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ve got a few ideas. Let me sleep on it and show you tomorrow. It’s late and I’m tired, and this is going to take a lot of energy.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The next morning as Edric examined the young women–some of them girls–through his phone, their seller’s marketing of them as sex slaves struck him as odd.

  He questioned how men could become slaves susceptible to their rampant desires for sexual conquest, when killing women was so much more satisfying.

  Like any man with an itch to scratch, he’d enjoyed his share of lustful encounters during his last hundred years, but he considered sex only one of life’s many useful distractions. His primary rush was murder, asserting godlike control over another human, and exercising his will to dole out death.

  As he’d amassed his small fortune over the years, his ease of purchasing victims through human trafficking had grown. Outpacing inflation with his investments had also granted him comfort and access to modest real estate.

  When the new year had begun, he’d sensed his Master urging him home–within the industrial section of Istanbul’s Bayrampaşa district, a few hundred miles from where he’d begun his military training in the Ottoman Empire long ago.

  The building that suited his needs was an unused warehouse he rented north of the European side of the city. The yellow paint on the upstairs bricks was peeling, and grime covered the gray paint of the ground floor, especially near the eight unused loading docks on the windowless southern side.

  As his boots clapped against the concrete floor, they echoed throughout the warehouse’s open space. He lifted his phone towards his mouth, tapped the ‘unmute’ button, and mentioned his intent. “Yes, they look fine. I’ll be there for the first bid.”

  He stepped through the warehouse’s side door into the humid midday heat. Sunglasses on, he scanned his surroundings and saw no one. The remote commercial location far from prying eyes provided him with his requisite solitude.

  He strode to his inconspicuous white van, which he’d bought from a downsizing delivery fleet and which blended in with thousands of others in the city. He entered the cargo hold and checked the restraints he’d welded to the floor. Eight stainless steel chains held eight shackles. After shutting and locking the back doors, he climbed into the driver’s seat and headed towards the neighboring working class Esenler district.

  The street he stopped on was livelier than he’d expected when he’d first visited the site for buying humans. Near the restaurant and bar that fronted the backr
oom auction block, a thriving deli enjoyed frequent patrons, and a hairdresser across the street was always busy. As he lifted his phone to his cheek, he saw a patron walk out of a wireless carrier store holding a box with a new headset.

  The voice of a seller’s guard issued from the speaker. “Yes.”

  “This is client thirty-three. Let me through the gate.”

  “You’re rather demanding for a client.”

  “Do you want my money or not?”

  The phone went silent and then a motor rolled open the rusting chain link fence giving access to the parking lot. He took the van through the fence and then turned behind the building where he hit a three-point turn to aim his vehicle’s rear at the loading dock.

  With three vans parked ahead of him, he expected competition for the woman he intended to buy, but he knew, with his Master’s silent assurance, he’d head home with the lives he needed.

  And if he got lucky with his bids, he’d bring home some extra entertainment as well.

  Loading his pending possessions would be simple, too, with the client spending the most money getting to march his women into his vehicle and depart first. Then the spender of the second-most money would go next until all buyers departed to deliver their new possessions to their pimps, resellers, or slave masters.

  As Edric stepped from his parked vehicle, he wondered if any of his competing buyers intended to snuff the lives they bought.

  When he entered the building, the worn red carpet smelled musty, and the air-conditioned atmosphere cooled his skin. The first armed guard raised his palm, stopping him. “Hands against the wall.”

  Remembering the routine, the wraith obeyed and spread his legs while thick hands probed him in uncomfortable places.

  “You’re clear.”

  He continued down the corridor, passing restrooms, and stopping at the hallway’s end. Admiring his seller’s technical sophistication, he pressed his thumb against a fingerprint reader and waited for the door to click open.

  As he passed into the main showroom, the scent of perfumes from the properties hidden behind a curtain assaulted his nose. He also caught the stink of metal from the firearms the half dozen guards sported in the room’s corners.

  Another locked door at the room’s far wall issued to the main restaurant and bar area that he avoided and planned to never visit.

  The first man to greet him brushed back shoulder-length black hair, extended his hand, and offered a salutation in Turkish. “Welcome. Can I get you a drink?”

  “Not while I’m working.” Edric shook his hand and moved to the boss.

  The seller was short and barrel-chested. Combed forward, his coarse gray hair contrasted with the ruddiness of his face. The wraith smelled the sharp, spicy sweet scent of his cologne, and the shape of his head reminded him of a melon. The coldness of his eyes suggested a monster lurking beneath his skin. The seller, broker, boss, or whatever he thought of himself greeted his client with a deep, gravelly voice. “It’s always a pleasure. I trust that my present inventory interests you?”

  “I plan to take a few of them.”

  “Excellent. You’re the fourth to arrive. We’re still waiting for two more.”

  The wraith checked the room for the other buyers and recognized four groups of two to three men. Their garb varied from jeans and golf shirts to suits. A few of them talked, presumably about the traits they sought in the women and the prices they were willing to pay, but most of them seemed impatient and anxious.

  Wearing an eastern European imitation of an Italian-cut, a single client entered the room and greeted the seller and his minion.

  The minion moved to the stage and addressed the crowd. “We were waiting for one more client, but the late shall suffer for their tardiness. So, let’s get on with our business.” His long hair brushed his back as he moved to the side of the stage. “Today’s beauties hail from Aleppo, Syria with ages ranging from fifteen to twenty-seven. You’ve all seen their videos. Now get ready to meet them, starting with number one.”

  Bright spotlights lit the stage as a young woman appeared from behind a curtain. Wearing skimpy shorts and a tight tee shirt, she squinted and raised her arm against the lighting.

  The minion waved his hand downward. “Lower your arm, dear. Now turn around all the way. That’s it. Keep going. Now face us again and stop.”

  She obeyed and then stood in coy uncertainty. Even while slouching, she looked tall, thin, and without curves. Her nose was wide for her face, and a reddish birthmark covered her right cheek.

  Edric knew the other buyers would consider her a low priority, like all the first displays on auction day. The first, less desirable women on the block gave him his best bargains.

  The minion swept his arm towards the woman. “The bidding begins at one thousand liras.”

  The audience remained silent.

  “Come now, who will bid one thousand liras for this young woman with such long legs?”

  The last client to arrive raised his finger.

  “Excellent. Now who will bid twelve hundred? Twelve hundred liras?”

  The wraith lifted his finger.

  “I have twelve hundred for this Syrian doll. Who will bid fourteen? Fourteen hundred liras?”

  The buyer in the imitation Italian suit made his second bid.

  “I have fourteen hundred. Who will bid sixteen hundred liras for this healthy girl?”

  To add drama and throw off his competitor, Edric waited.

  “Will no one offer the pittance of sixteen hundred liras for this gem? Fourteen hundred going once. Fourteen hundred going twice.”

  Edric pounced. “Sixteen hundred.”

  “Sixteen hundred! I have sixteen hundred. Do I have seventeen? Seventeen hundred?”

  The competing bidder became stone.

  “Sixteen hundred going once. Sixteen hundred going twice. Sold, to client thirty-three.”

  A guard escorted the young lady offstage, and then the next woman passed through a curtain onto the stage.

  Like the first, she wore cheap, revealing clothing. She was short, buxom, and below average as measured by the beauty metrics most buyers considered.

  With minimal competition, Edric bought her.

  Then he bought the next one to complete his trio for the upcoming full moon.

  Having found his three bargains, he bought a fourth–a plaything for himself.

  When the auction ended, he transferred the funds to his buyer’s shell business account and waited his turn behind the buyers of the more expensive girls to load his possessions.

  As a repeat customer, he received help loading the young women into their shackles in the back of his van. His new properties ranged in age from eighteen to twenty-two, if he believed the advertising, and they were all perfect for his needs.

  With sullen faces of hopelessness, they sat cross-legged in the back of his vehicle. As he closed the doors on them, he sentenced them to short and horrific conclusions of their lives.

  CHAPTER 5

  Dianne realized she appeared overconfident, but the concept seemed obvious.

  Feed something weak from the abundance of something strong.

  She wondered why the men had missed such an easy observation. Perhaps it was woman’s intuition, but men baffled her with their denseness when they missed simple clues.

  Sitting with the hunters at their kitchen table, she watched their housekeeper, who’d arrived early to cook, lay out a breakfast of bacon, sausages, black pudding, poached eggs, fried potato wedges, and brown bread. Dianne sipped a tea with a robustness that reminded her of the cardamom-infused drinks of her Chaldean people, but which tasted blander.

  After having spent a week as the Irishmen’s houseguest, she knew better than filling her plate with a sample from each dish the stocky housekeeper placed before her. While her hungry colleagues wolfed down monstrous mouthfuls–Liam especially–she tallied an impossible amount of calories ingested. But their daily training regimen managed to burn them all.<
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  She moved sliced melon wedges, which she’d requested to add fiber to her meals, onto her plate. Biting into its juicy sweetness, she glanced at the young hunter.

  He swallowed an enormous hunk of sausage. “Did you ever come up with a plan?”

  Raising a white cloth napkin to her mouth, she cleaned her face. “I was thinking about it last night. I have a feeling about what I need to do, but nothing detailed.”

  “So, this is an empath thing? You just have an intuition?”

  “Yeah. I’m going to see if I can use the energy of my dagger to nurse yours back to life.”

  “Huh. Like jump-starting a car battery?”

  She’d never jump-started her car, since her younger brother had proven himself capable and since she preferred protecting her craftsmanship after painting her nails with elaborate, multi-colored designs. It was okay, she figured, to let men handle dirty tasks from time to time. “Sure. I guess.”

  “You want to try it after breakfast?”

  “I want to clean up first, but after that, yeah.”

  Showered and wearing fresh jeans and a tee shirt, she finished making the bed in her guest room. She then pulled open the top drawer of her dresser and saw the plain wooden box that contained her mystical dagger. Keeping the knife concealed, she carried it downstairs to Connor’s study, but she found an empty room.

  She turned and walked to the observatory door. Finding it locked, she knocked.

  Connor unlatched and swung open the heavy wood. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

  Within the room, Liam held his face in a computer. “I think it’s speeding up. But it’s still too slow. Maybe a half a degree per hour now.”

  She looked at the dagger on the circular stone table. Its reddish glow was a faded light. “Well, I’m ready to try it.”

  “Let me get a final measurement.” Liam stooped over the knife and eyed the straightedge. Apparently committing the blade’s bearing to memory, he grabbed the bronze handle and then lay the weapon in its box on the floor. Respecting the wooden case like it stored lightning, the young hunter lifted it and held it against his chest. “Where do you want to do this?”