Secrets Of The Serpent's Heart (The Arkana Archaeology Mystery Series Book 6)

by Wikarski, N. S.

  “I do not come from the devil.”

  To Abraham’s amazement, he saw huge white wings sprouting from her shoulder blades. It happened right before his eyes. They spread wide and lifted her higher in the air.

  “My lady angel told me all these things would come to pass,” she explained.

  “How dare you presume to tell me the future? Your preposterous female angel is a false seer. I am the Lord’s true prophet! I am the Diviner!”

  Annabeth raised a skeptical eyebrow at his posturing. “You are a frail, frightened old man. You grasp at straws while your house falls about your ears. Its cornerstone has crumbled.”

  “Begone, witch!” He could feel a sense of panic creeping into his throat. “Begone, demon!”

  She shook her head and laughed lightly. “I am neither witch nor demon. Not enough power to be a witch. Not enough malice to be a demon. Goodbye, father.” Her voice held a hint of derision as it pronounced the last word. Her wings lifted her higher still and she seemed to dissolve into the distance.

  He felt his body being rocked from side to side. A hand was shaking him by the shoulder.

  “Father, wake up!” The tone was urgent, worried.

  In a flash, Abraham returned to wakefulness. His son Joshua was peering into his face.

  The Diviner shoved him away brusquely. “What do you want?”

  His son hesitated. “I... uh... I’m sorry if I startled you. You were in a deep sleep. Your lips were moving. Your arms and legs were twitching. I feared you might be experiencing some kind of seizure.”

  “Seizure!” Abraham roared in disbelief. He raised himself to his feet. “I am sound in wind and limb. Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “Of course, father.” The spymaster backed away. “Just as you say.”

  With a start, Abraham realized that half a dozen men loitered awkwardly in the corners of the room. They had all witnessed this shocking display of his vulnerability. He needed to recover his composure. “I’ll meet with you all in the morning. You have my leave to go.”

  “But father,” his son protested weakly.

  A glare from the Diviner silenced him.

  “As you wish,” Joshua murmured. He studied his father through narrowed eyes but made no further comment. Then he turned to his charges. “You men come with me. I’ll arrange sleeping quarters for you.”

  They allowed themselves to be shepherded out of the Diviner’s presence though more than one looked askance at the old man before leaving.

  “Joshua!” the Diviner called after him.

  “Sir?” The spymaster returned.

  “Send Brother Andrew to me immediately. If he isn’t in the Infirmary, wake him. I have an urgent matter to discuss.”

  That look of calculating appraisal crossed Joshua’s face once more but he asked no further questions. Nodding his assent, he let himself out and closed the door.

  ***

  Ten minutes later, a short, balding man in his sixties scurried into the Diviner’s office. He had obviously dressed in a hurry. His top shirt button was undone, his tie was knotted sloppily and his sparse hair was uncombed. Brother Andrew constituted the Nephilim’s sole resource for medical advice. An herbalist before he joined the brotherhood, he’d retained some fundamental knowledge of how to diagnose disease and could recommend a limited array of remedies.

  Without preamble, the Diviner commanded, “Sit down.” He’d been pacing the office restlessly but resumed his seat at Brother Andrew’s arrival.

  The herbalist looked anxious. “Have I done something wrong, Father?”

  “What?” Abraham asked sharply. Then softening his tone, he added, “No, of course not.”

  The man visibly relaxed.

  “I’ve been having difficulty sleeping,” the Diviner explained.

  Brother Andrew seemed perplexed. “Didn’t the tincture I prepared for you help?”

  Abraham thought back to his unnerving experience with the foul-tasting medicine. “No, it didn’t. I poured it down the drain. It gave me bad dreams.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  The old man leaned forward over his desk and spoke in a confidential tone. “What we discuss here is to remain private. Is that understood?”

  Brother Andres nodded vehemently.

  “Good. I want you to prepare something potent enough to allow me to get to sleep and to stay asleep. Do you understand? I don’t wish to dream at all!”

  “Well, that’s a bit difficult to control,” the herbalist hedged. “I can’t think of any plant that would suppress dreams completely.”

  “You must do something!” Abraham’s fist landed on his desk with a thud. “This situation is unbearable. I can hardly sleep anymore and when I do, I’m troubled by terrible nightmares. It’s now gotten to the point that I’m having difficulty distinguishing dreams from reality.”

  “Hmmm,” Brother Andrew said noncommittally. “Your condition indicates acute anxiety. There are substances that could help with that but...” he hesitated.

  “Out with it, man!” Abraham commanded.

  The herbalist continued warily. “I can make a tincture from the poppy plant but it would need to be prepared with alcohol. The Nephilim are forbidden to drink.”

  “This isn’t a drink, it’s a medicine,” the Diviner retorted.

  “That’s very true,” Brother Andrew agreed. “I’ll need your permission to obtain the necessary ingredients.”

  Abraham waved his arm dismissively. “Of course.”

  “There’s one more thing, father.” Again Brother Andrew faltered. “This tincture is very strong and may cause you to become dependent on its use over time.”

  Abraham gave a bark of a laugh. “That’s your concern? My sanity is hanging by a thread and you cavil about dependency. Will this medicine of yours stop me from dreaming or not?”

  The herbalist sighed. “It won’t stop you from dreaming. No, it can’t do that. But it will produce a profound sense of calm and replace your nightmares with sweet dreams. Very sweet dreams indeed. At least for a time.”

  “Well then, what are you waiting for,” the Diviner demanded tartly. “You’ll begin immediately. I hope your remedy lives up to its promise.”

  Brother Andrew’s face took on a troubled expression. “People have been using it for hundreds of years. It will do all I’ve said but perhaps it will do more than you bargained for.”

  Abraham gave a thin smile. “For one good night’s sleep, no price is too high to pay.”

  Chapter 6—Time And Tide...

  The Paladin stood in the center of Cassie’s living room jangling his car keys.

  “What did you want to talk about?” the Pythia prompted.

  His eyes traveled around the room as if he were desperately searching for a way out. “I could use some fresh air,” he said distractedly.

  Cassie brightened. “I’ve got just the thing. Check this out.” She opened a coat closet to display a standing infrared lamp. “Help me carry it out to the patio.”

  Erik hoisted the heavy lamp and brought it to the concrete slab outside the dining room that constituted Cassie’s backyard.

  She plugged the cord into an outdoor socket and switched it on. The light emitted a reddish glow and gentle warmth immediately radiated around the small terrace. Cassie returned to the closet to retrieve two collapsible lawn chairs and brought those outside as well.

  “It’s been a long winter and I was going stir-crazy being cooped up in the Vault all day,” she explained. “Once the snow melted, I got the brainstorm of treating myself to a heat lamp. That way I could get a little fresh air in the evenings without also getting frostbite.”

  Erik nodded approvingly. “Smart idea.” He took a seat.

  Cassie stood by the open patio door. “Hey, do you want a beer?”

  The Paladin grinned. “Look at you. All grown up and offering me a drink from your very own private stash.”

  “Don’t get too excited. It was left over from the party. So
mebody besides me needs to drink it.”

  After a few moments, she returned with two bottles and handed one to her guest.

  He raised a questioning eyebrow when he noticed the second bottle still in her hand.

  “Relax, pops. It’s light beer.” She settled into the other lawn chair.

  The lights from the dormant fountain in the center of the frozen retention pond cast a pallid glow across the crust of ice.

  “Another week and that’ll be gone.” Cassie tilted her head in the direction of the ice.

  “You’ll be gone by then too,” Erik observed.

  She stared at him in the dim light. “Yeah, that’s true.” Not wanting to hurry him, she waited in silence.

  He began with a casual question. “So are you and Griffin a couple now?

  “What!” she exclaimed in shock. “Where did you get a crazy idea like that?”

  Erik put up his hands. “Whoa. I couldn’t help noticing that you seemed pretty chummy at the party, that’s all.”

  “And that’s all we are. Chums. Teammates. Friends. BFFs as a matter of fact.” She scowled at him. “And how is that your business anyway? You’re the one who bailed, remember?”

  “Yeah, I did,” he admitted. “Like you said, it’s none of my business. Just drop it, OK?”

  She nodded curtly. “OK then.” Settling back into her seat, she set her bottle on the concrete. In a calmer tone, she asked, “So what did you want to tell me?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. Instead he took a long swig of beer and stared off into the darkness. “I thought I’d have more time,” he remarked cryptically.

  “For what?”

  He sighed. “Time to figure out how to say what I want to say. As it is, I just flew back tonight and here you are about to ship out. So I guess it’s now or never.”

  She made no comment.

  Another half minute ticked by while he continued to gaze out at the frozen pond and gather his thoughts. Eventually he said, “You weren’t completely wrong. I mean, what you said while we were still in India.”

  “About what exactly?” she asked softly.

  “About that wall you told me I’d built around my heart. About me being scared that you might break through it someday.”

  She nodded in silent acknowledgment but didn’t push him further.

  He continued. “Here’s the thing. I'm really good at my job. It’s not bragging. Just a fact. Over the years I’ve worked with dozens of field agents under some pretty dicey conditions. A handful of them didn’t make it back home but I always did. The main reason why I’m still breathing and they’re not is because I never let my guard down. Not ever. Keeping that wall up kept me alive. But then you came along and expected me to tear it down like it was the easiest thing in the world to do.”

  “I never thought it was going to be easy,” she countered faintly.

  He didn’t seem to hear her. Forging on, he added, “Part of me wants to but the bigger part of me doesn't.”

  Cassie registered surprise. She’d always thought he was unaware of his feelings. It had never occurred to her that he believed his defensiveness offered some kind of tactical advantage.

  Erik was still speaking. “Blame it on force of habit or just pure stubbornness but, either way, I’m not ready to take that wall down. At least not today. I've got a feeling it won't be anytime soon either. Maybe never.” He turned to face her, his tone earnest. “Cass, you need to know that I’m not that guy. The guy you need me to be.”

  She smiled wistfully, her eyes traveling toward the retention pond. “That water is so easy to freeze. Drop the temp twenty degrees and it’s solid. Not a ripple. If you kept the air cold enough, it could stay that way forever.” She transferred her attention back to Erik. “I wish it was that easy to do with time. I appreciate the heads up you just gave me. I do. But there’s something you need to realize about me too. Life keeps on remolding me like a lump of clay on a potter’s wheel. Since I joined the Arkana, I’ve changed so much and so fast that I don’t know who I’ll be by the time this scavenger hunt is finished.” She paused before adding gently, “You need to understand that by the time you get around to being that guy, if you ever do, I won't be this girl anymore."

  “And here I thought love was supposed to last forever,” the Paladin joked.

  “Is that what this is?” Cassie asked in mild surprise.

  A fleeting look of panic crossed Erik’s face. Then he shrugged helplessly. “I really can’t say.”

  The Pythia nodded, inwardly noting his choice of words.

  Erik drained the rest of his beer. “I guess we’ll have to take our chances on someday.”

  “I guess we will,” she agreed in a half-hearted whisper.

  He stood up abruptly. “It’s time I let you get your beauty sleep.”

  She didn’t protest. They unplugged the light and carried the lawn chairs back inside. Then she followed him silently to the front door. He stood framed against the night sky looking down at her.

  “Whatever happens, I’m glad you told me where you stand,” she said.

  He smiled briefly and kissed her on the forehead. “Happy birthday, toots. Stay safe out there.”

  She regarded him gravely. “You too, dude.”

  Cassie shut the door and leaned her back against it. She listened to his engine growl to life and roar off toward the highway. “Happy birthday to me,” she murmured ruefully.

  Chapter 7—Paper, Airplanes

  Leroy Hunt entered his apartment around midnight and dropped his duffle bag unceremoniously on the floor. In a fit of peevishness, he gave it a well-aimed kick and sent it flying across the room. He slammed the door behind him, causing it to shudder in reply. He’d just returned from the latest of the many wild goose chases that had occupied his time over the course of the winter. As he well knew, each one had been cooked up by Mr. Big to keep him away from where Hannah Metcalf was actually hiding. This last junket had been the Mother Goose of them all. He’d flown to Minneapolis which still boasted a foot of snow on the ground. The only green things he saw in that Yankee icebox were the decorations for St. Patrick’s Day!

  A body would think that at least one of his fake leads would have taken him to Barbados or St. Kitts or even Miami. But no. In the dead of winter, he flew to every snowy hell hole in the sweet land of liberty. First it was Billings, then Montpellier, then Boise, and finally Minneapolis—the land of ten thousand frozen lakes! Every place he’d visited, the story was the same from some flunky on the payroll of Mr. Big. Yes, Hannah had been there, Yes, Leroy had just missed her. Yes, he could have an address where she might be found.

  As if the trips themselves weren’t bad enough, dealing with the preacher afterward was worse. The old coot would work himself up into a lather waiting for Hunt’s report. Once the bad news landed, he’d be madder than a snake on his wedding night who’d just married a garden hose. Metcalf even had the nerve to accuse Hunt of slacking off. If he only knew. The cowboy was pulling double shifts to carry out his own private investigation. While he was busy chasing down bogus leads for the preacher, he was also collecting a paper trail of the corporations that had leased the properties associated with those leads. He felt sure one of those companies would point back to the Somebody who was hiding Metcalf’s lost bride and the trio of relic thieves to boot.

  He took off his hat and coat, hanging them on the rack by the door. No sense in calling the old man this late at night to tell him Minneapolis hadn’t panned out. Leroy could easily postpone the wailing and gnashing of teeth til morning. He eyed his computer, sitting on a desk next to the window. He was itching to check out his latest bit of intel. First, he went to the kitchen cabinet and grabbed a bag of pork rinds. Airplane peanuts and tiny bottles of hooch were no substitute for down home comfort food—and drink. He retrieved a bottle of whiskey, poured a glassful and swallowed it down. Then he poured another and carried it back with him to the computer along with the bag of rinds.

  Leroy cons
ulted a note in his shirt pocket. Before he’d left Minnesota, he scribbled down the name of the corporation that had leased the property of his last fake lead. He typed it into the file he was keeping of all the shell companies that he’d encountered on his various jaunts. Then he did an online search to see if he could link this latest find to anything he’d come across before. He smiled to himself. The Minnesota lessee was an offshoot of a corporation that had made it onto his master list.

  He thought he’d take a wild stab to see if the parent company owned any properties closer to home. He checked the online real estate tax records for Cook County and the counties nearest to the city proper. What he found made him blink. He checked the name twice. Sure enough, the corporation owned a house in McHenry County. That area would hardly count as suburban. It was mainly still rural. Leroy pulled up a map of the address. It looked to be part of a suburban tract housing development. Then he drilled down to a street level photo.

  “Well, I’ll be,” he muttered in surprise. Gulping down the last of his whiskey, he went back to the kitchen to fetch the bottle. After pouring another glass, he set the bottle down on his computer desk and resumed his task. For several minutes, this consisted of nothing more than staring at the image on his computer screen. Leroy was in a brown study over that farmhouse sitting in the middle of a subdivision of raised ranches. It must have been the original homestead when that part of the state was all farmland which meant it was about a hundred years old. What would Mr. Big want with a place like that?

  A lightbulb went off above Leroy’s head. Maybe that old farm was a base of operations. It was owned outright by the corporation, not leased. Who knew how many burglars were working for Mr. Big besides the trio? Maybe he was running an entire ring. It wasn’t all that far-fetched. Leroy already knew that little Hannah had wandered into this den of thieves when she went looking for Miss Cassie. What if Mr. Big decided to keep the gal as insurance just in case his own people got into trouble? No doubt, he’d heard what store the preacher set by her. She could be swapped for any one of the trio if the Nephilim ever snagged them.