Plague of Coins (The Judas Chronicles #1)

by Aiden James

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  The Forgotten Eden

  The Talisman Chronicles #1

  (Please read on for a sample)

  “‘Are you ready, Jack’ Grandpa asked once he joined me a few minutes later, letting the screen door slam loudly. He held a pair of buckets along with work gloves and a straw hat for himself. He’d also brought along an extra pair of sunglasses for me to wear.

  “‘Yeah, I’m ready,’ I said, standing up to meet him by the steps.

  “‘Carl told me he’ll contact Joe.’

  “‘What did he think of what happened today?’

  “‘A little surprised, I think,’ said Grandpa. ‘I get the feeling he still expects Vydora to re-emerge at any time. He hadn’t considered checking for her at the old fort area, though. He said as soon as Joe can spare a moment, he’d like to go out there and take a look. But after what I told him, along with what happened yesterday, I do believe he won’t be going anywhere near there unless he’s escorted by Sheriff McCracken and a couple of his armed deputies.’

  “Grandpa smiled wryly and I couldn’t help snickering at what he just said.

  “‘Anyway, it’ll probably be a little muddy out there in the garden, so I’m going to put my old work boots on and you’ll want to change into the pair of old shoes you have sitting by the back door.’

  “I told him I’d rather wear the waffle-soled shoes I already had on. I assured him I’d be careful to keep them clean. He told me that’d be fine, and then exchanged his shoes for a weathered and torn pair of low-top boots. After leaving the other shoes near the door, he straightened his trousers and we headed down the porch steps.

  “‘You may want to put these on, Jack, unless you’d rather wear my hat,’ he teased as he handed me the sunglasses.

  “‘You can keep the hat, Grandpa,’ I told him. ‘I shouldn’t need the glasses either, since we’re only going to be outside here for a little while. Right?’

  “‘Well, I had a few other things to take care of,’ he advised. ‘You can go back inside once we get the vegetables. I’d appreciate it if you’d wear them until then.’

  “I went ahead and put on the glasses, and we walked together to the front of the house. I don’t remember if I mentioned it, but the garden sat adjacent to the Palmer’s front yard. Roughly a quarter of an acre in size, a waist-high white picket fence enclosed it. I ran up and opened the gate.

  “The earth still wet from the recent rain shower made me wonder why in the hell I actually agreed to do this. I stood on a thin strip of grass and one of the ornamental flagstones that bordered the garden. Once Grandpa realized he should’ve insisted on me dressing more appropriately, he told me to wait by the garden’s gate, and that he’d hand me the buckets when full.

  “‘Damn! It’s almost three o’clock,’ he said, glancing at his wristwatch. ‘We better get busy, here!’

  “He gave me one of the buckets to hold and then moved in amongst the well-kept plants, stepping through the mud while carefully avoiding the network of vines lying exposed on the ground. The garden was filled with just about every kind of vegetable there is, like cucumbers, squash, carrots, and potatoes. There were several tall rows of corn, and shorter rows of cabbage, lettuce, and peppers—both hot and mild. Even some fruit plants such as strawberries, cantaloupes, and watermelons. At the far eastern edge of the garden stood a pair of tall trellises full of concord grapes.

  “‘I’m going to start at the far end and work my way back here, Jack,’ he said. ‘See you in a few minutes!’

  “I found a fairly dry flagstone near the gate and sat down. Grandpa moved over to the eastern end of the garden. From where I sat, I clearly saw his work boots and the bottom portion of his trousers through gaps between the plants’ leaves and stalks.

  “The last few clouds had disappeared and the sun bore down on us, unmerciful. A medium-sized elm in the Palmer’s front yard hung over onto our property, throwing its misshapen shadow into the garden’s northwestern corner. A slight breeze swayed the branches back and forth, giving life to the shadow. It suddenly appeared to have scrawny arms with grotesquely long claws. Despite the sun’s intense warmth I shuddered and turned to look at the tree.

  “Nothing unusual. Nothing out of place. Just an ugly malformed tree.

  “I turned back toward the garden, watching Grandpa slowly work his way back to me. Suddenly, it felt like someone stood nearby…. Creepy as hell, man. The intensity of the unannounced visitor’s presence, or stare, grew strong enough to raise the gooseflesh on my neck, shoulders, and arms.

  “I whirled around on the flagstone. Still nobody there. Just the elm tree pushed to and fro by the wind. There wasn’t anyone over by the back wall either. Yet the feeling of being watched remained.

  “Meanwhile, Grandpa sifted through the corn less than thirty feet away. What’s taking him so long??

  “‘Hurry, Grandpa. Please!’ I whispered. He looked up briefly and smiled at me, unaware I sat on pins and needles.

  “I’ll be done with this bucket in just a minute or so, Jack!’

  “‘Okay, Grandpa!’ I replied, silently hollering ‘Please hurry!!’

  “The unseen presence steadily grew worse. Ready to get my shoes muddy and join him in the middle of the garden, the hollow voice of Genovene whispered in my ear.

  “‘Ja-a-a-ck!’

  “‘Hey, Grandpa!’ I called to him. ‘Would you mind if I come join you?’

  “‘You can’t ru-u-un! You can’t hi-i-i-de!!

  “‘Son, I’m almost done, so there’s no sense in getting your shoes muddy!’

  “‘I’ll always know how to fi-i-i-nd you!! I’ll always know where you a-r-r-r-e!!!’

  “Grandpa bent down to reach for a few young hot peppers. In that very moment, I saw another shadow, this one to the right of the elm tree. A tall gangly form silently approached the garden’s fence. It bore similarities to Genovene the day before, like some giant misshapen insect. The shadow shortened and its image became even more malformed. Horrified, I watched as it bent toward me.

  “Something really cold touched me.

  “‘Grandpa!!!’

  “He looked up just as I stood and tried to run to him. The bottoms of my shoes slick from the wet grass, I slipped on the flagstone. I fell headlong into the garden’s mud, snapping three vines and crushing a small butternut squash against my chest.

  “‘Jack!! Are you all right??’

  “Grandpa’s strong hands lifted me up. I wiped the mud from my face and out of my mouth while I looked over my shoulder. Whatever stalked me had disappeared.

  “‘What in the hell just happened??’ Grandpa demanded.

  “‘I-I don’t really know,’ I replied, determined not to alarm him further. ‘I felt something crawl on my back and it scared the holy crap out of me. Sorry about that, Grandpa!’

  “I forced the biggest smile I could muster. He smiled in return, but something in his eyes told me he didn’t buy my explanation this time.

  “‘Come on, son,’ he said. ‘Let’s go inside and get you cleaned up. I believe I’ve got the fixings here to make a salad big enough for all of us if you and Jeremy decide to have some after all.’

  “The two of us left the garden, and once we returned to the back porch we left our muddied shoes there and went on inside. It seemed considerably warmer in the kitchen than earlier, despite the pair of hard-working floor fans. Grandpa placed the bucket of vegetables in the sink and suggested we get cleaned up. We agreed to meet in the living room after I finished taking a shower, but before I started up the stairs, he stopped me and said he had something important to tell me first.

  “‘Son, despite what you’ve been through these past few days, there are some things you need to keep in mind,’ he said. ‘Number one, I’ll always love you no matter what happens or what you do—that’s the most important. Number two, I’m as proud as anybody could be that you’re my grandson. Most folks couldn’t survive what you’ve gone through, but I was alr
eady proud of you anyway. You’re a good kid…. Number three, and this is the last thing, Jack. I know a hell of a lot more than you think I do and you’re not near as good a liar as you think you’ve become. Now, go on and get cleaned up and I’ll see you down here in awhile.’

  “He watched me walk to the top of the stairs before moving on to his own bedroom.

  “The upstairs’ spookiness got a little worse again, since I now worried about Genovene’s whereabouts. With so many nooks and crannies, I prayed fervently she hadn’t snuck inside our house.

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  Deadly Night: The Murder of Candi Starr

  Ghosthunters 101 Series, Book One

  (Please read on for a sample)

  I’d never seen a fresh corpse before. At least not human.

  Blood dripped below her face, spreading across the chipped linoleum kitchen floor of our host, Johnny Rush. Candi Starr stared back at me, a red grotesque halo framing her tussled golden hair, still wrapped in foil strips. Her stone gaze faced us all as we stood in shocked silence.

  Her head was barely attached at the neck, and a deep jagged wound traversed from ear to ear beneath her chin. Sprawled upon the floor, the expression in Candi’s lifeless steel blue eyes was one of sudden surprise.

  Johnny sat at the kitchen table, across from Brenda Wright. Rope-bound to a pair of high back vinyl chairs, one olive green, and the other merlot. Both wore matching black t-shirts and jeans. Intense terror was visible in their eyes, and both mouths lay open, slack-jawed, and emotionless in contradiction. Their single fatal shots to the forehead announced assassination. Not intended victims, but here just the same. In all likelihood the pair not only witnessed the murder of their famous companion, but also had plenty of time to anticipate their own demise.

  So...correction: I’d never seen three dead human beings before.

  When I was finally able to tear my eyes away from the scene, my attention was drawn to Fiona. The loveliest, smartest and bravest woman I’ve ever known didn’t seem so at the moment. Two cops in the dining room were grilling her. One was dressed in uniform and the other wore plainclothes. Her gorgeous hazel eyes, which often morph to amber and pure gold depending on her attire and mood, were now swollen. They were puffy and red from a deluge of tears. Her grief was genuine, as these were real friends. She struggled to answer the cops’ questions—despite the pained looks each man wore, nodding quietly in response to her clipped answers.

  What questions did they ask? I could only imagine, but I managed to hear a few. Basic things like ‘how long have you known the victims?’ and ‘can you think of anyone who might hold a grudge, one bad enough to do something like this?’ No doubt they also want to know what she and the rest of us were doing there, anyway.

  Meanwhile, two forensic techs brushed past our group on their way to beginning the painstaking task of moving from the stiffening corpses in the kitchen to the living room to look for more evidence. It made me feel awkward, standing near the entrance to the living room. I fidgeted, unsure of what to do…or where to go, half horror movie, half feeling five years old and told to stand in the corner.

  The plainclothes cop kept eyeing the rest of us. He glared a bit while the other continued questioning Fiona. I’m sure my face was turning red, thinking of what I might have to explain.

  My name is Jimmy Alea, and I’m a paranormal investigator. Spook chaser, ghost hunter, or a supernatural whack-job, whatever euphemism makes normal folks feel any better. Hell, that’s what my pop thinks back in Denver, my hometown. I came to Nashville, or as we serious musicians like to refer to it—‘Nash-Vegas’, nine years ago. But like 99.99% of the more than 80,000 music hopefuls who call this place home, I haven’t made it yet. Maybe I never will, but I try not to think about that.

  Yeah, the cop probably passed judgment just the same. I could picture him saying something smartass like, “Did Casper call and tell you there are three brand new ones?”, and then laugh at his own lame joke. But this is what I do. I don’t try to see dead people. Rather, I attempt to catch evidence of their spiritual essence, whether ethereal or physically tangible. It’s somewhat like TAPS and the other ‘hauntings’ shows on TV.

  But that ain’t the story here…not exactly. My gang and I were just stopping by to drop something off at Johnny’s. A little something to welcome him and Brenda to their new digs. Fiona planned to do a quick psychic reading for Candi before she set off on her first international tour. Afterward, the plan was to investigate another home where supposedly a lot of weird shit’s been happening. A ‘paranormal event’ is what we call that sort of thing. Apparently stuff’s been going on for several years at our next locale along the Cumberland, and getting worse and more aggressive lately.

  But at the moment, it seemed best to stop thinking about the cop and my imagined exchange. I focused again on Fiona. She was still talking to both him and the uniform. How I wished to wrap my arms around her and somehow ease her profound pain. She is my wife, and I will always feel the need to protect her. If only I could erase this scene from her memory and make the cops shut up.

  The uniformed guy was really trying to flirt with her. Granted, Fiona’s a tall, gorgeous blond with a smile that lights up any room, and a statuesque build that spells trouble for any male with a pulse. She’s the only thing that’s ever distracted me long enough to make me reconsider my life’s direction. She literally saved me from the destructive course I once was on. I truly pity the dudes who wish they were me.

  I soon realized that I needed a temporary diversion—anything to take my attention away from the bodies and some dude smiling at my wife at such an inappropriate time. I noticed a female cop staring at me from near Johnny’s bedroom. I’ve often wondered about homicide detectives and how they deal with it. When I looked again at her she smiled. Maybe for some cops...the aggressive ones...a scene like this is a type of foreplay. Kind of like people who go home with a complete stranger and screw their brains out.

  As she looked at me her smile was getting wider. I’m pretty sure I know what she gathered from looking me up and down.... My wife, among others, tells me it’s a six foot two, one-ninety pound man, with very little body fat. Hard and lean, with chiseled features inherited from a handsome Cuban/Italian line, I possess an easy smile, and piercing blue eyes that become deep cobalt pools if I’m pissed. And, I’m lucky to have a full head of dark wavy hair hanging down to my shoulders.

  Nobody will ever find me wearing a suit—not unless somebody’s getting married or buried. T-shirts, jeans, and boots—I’m either biker or cowboy, depending on my mood and the weather. Thank God the dudes I roll with share my taste in threads, and my daytime employer can hang with the way I am, too. As long as I occasionally wear a polo shirt and slacks, nobody gives me shit. It sucks a little, but I’ve gotta have something steady to pay the bills.

  Fiona motioned toward me, and to be polite the two cops nodded. I wondered if they had heard of her, since she’s helped Metro’s finest solve nearly a dozen crimes over the past few years. Clairvoyant, clairaudient, and clairsentient. They are valued commodities among a few detectives these days, though most won’t admit it. Regardless, I could tell these guys didn’t think much of the thirtyish biker-looking dude and his cronies blocking the doorway to the living room. At least they liked her…certainly didn’t seem like her tear-streaked face had diminished her charm. Not in the least.

  “Do you want me to call ahead to Charlain and tell her we’re going to be late?” said Jackie Holland to Fiona from behind me. “Or, should we try and reschedule?”

  One of Fiona’s best friends since childhood, Jackie’s usual gruffness was muted. They grew up together in east Nashville. Her dark brown hair is almost kinky, but it fits well with her eyes. Almond shaped and light blue in color. And her athletic build is heavier than Fiona’
s.

  A little on the short side, Jackie makes up for it with her commanding, almost abrasive presence. A no-nonsense girl with a dry sense of humor, she has a keen passion about all things paranormal. In fact, she’s the reason Fiona became interested in exploring haunted locales back when they were in high school.

  “I’m not sure if I’ll be up for it,” Fiona told her, and then looked back at me. “Unless y’all want to still do it. Jimmy knows how to get there.”

  The plainclothes policeman advised that he only had a few more questions for Fiona and then our group could leave. That sounded like an excellent idea, as the coroner had arrived and the red flashing lights from an ambulance announced the dead would soon be leaving Johnny’s house. A “News Channel Five” van pulled up beside the ambulance.

  Shit!

  I’d always dreamed of being on TV someday, but this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I glanced back at the carnage in the kitchen one last time. Poor Johnny and Brenda. They barely got settled in their latest pad, and now none of their friends could throw them a nice house-warming party. They have, or had I suppose, an eclectic set of friends. Gay, straight, democrat, republican, and then...there’s us.

  It royally sucks that Johnny will never finish the restoration of this house. He got a great deal on the beige brick one-story he and his gal pal Brenda bought to set up for their West End neighborhood salon. When we walked in the front door, the scent of perm solution overpowered the onset of death. They were just getting a small taste of what could’ve grown into something great. All of this made the scene of what awaited us in the kitchen so much worse, since we had no warning other than the steady dripping from spilled bottles of color, acetate, and of course, blood.

  The interrogation finally ended, and Fiona was soon on her way over to me. But my plan to mosey up to her side and comfort her didn’t happen. Jackie and another female in our group, Angela Meyers, beat me to it.