The Cotten Stone Omnibus: It started with The Grail Conspiracy... (The Cotten Stone Mysteries)

by Lynn Sholes

  Wyatt laughed. “No problem. You take five and I’ll nose around.”

  Cotten sank to the earthen floor, drew up her knees, and rested her head on them. Slowly, the dizziness subsided. She took another drink of water before flipping the flashlight on and panning its beam around her surroundings. Her gaze drifted toward a circular building a few yards away. She stared at it for a moment until curiosity got to her. There was something different about the structure.

  “Thomas,” she called softly, not wanting to be too loud in case there were any of Luddington’s people still nearby. When Wyatt didn’t answer, she decided to check out the circular building until he came back.

  Cotten made her way over bits of rubble to the tall doorway, using the beam of her flashlight to sweep the path ahead.

  Inside, she saw what she guessed was a circle of stones surrounding a fire pit. It appeared that someone had recently dug inside its blackened interior. A flat stone with painted markings on its surface lay beside the hole. An impression left in the bottom of the hole caused her to stiffen. It was the same size and shape as the Peruvian crystal tablet. The tablet had been here.

  Suddenly, Cotten felt a rush of warmth like the sunrise in Peru. Then her body seemed to vibrate. She knew then that this was a huaca—a holy place. Cotten stepped inside the fire ring and immediately felt all the stress drain from the top of her head and out through the soles of her feet. She visualized herself floating in a sea of light. Clear, perfect, shimmering, liquid light. It seeped inside her through every pore and cell until it filled her and began to spin inside her.

  She focused. Intense concentration. The light swept through her center, growing and traveling along every nerve fiber and blood vessel, taking over the tiniest particles of her being.

  She was immersed.

  One with the light.

  One with the universe.

  Ancient voices whispered prayers.

  Soft footfalls echoed around her.

  Distant chants.

  Then she felt the intense heat on her face.

  Voices

  Mariah Hapsburg stood under the steaming, pulsating water and relished the way the shower massage made her flesh tingle—or was she still experiencing the rush from the extraordinary event earlier that evening near Chaco Canyon? Whichever it was didn’t really matter. The fact was, she felt so alive. So excited. So aroused. She closed her eyes and let the water strike her scalp, flow over her face, and cascade down her body in hot sheets.

  Richard had never looked more commanding than when standing at the entrance to the ruins tonight and holding out the tablet like an offering. As if he had the power to appease the beast. He was tall and bold, confident, and almost charismatic. It was clear that he had been born to this, that his legacy was more than generations old. Perhaps tonight was a ritual he had repeated many times. Richard appeared right at home—even comfortable—with the roaring buzz and churning eddy of the insect-like creatures. He showed no sign of cowardice, but rather, the fireflies’ mystical presence bolstered his assuredness. He was transformed. Their brilliance illuminated his skin, and for the first time in many years she saw the handsomeness of his face. His face aglow, and the fireflies, so fierce and spellbinding, brought about the most exquisite longing inside her for her husband.

  She touched her face, recalling the scars that had disfigured her until her savior, Eli, had arranged to have her put back together. The scars were gone, yet still her face and body would grow old. But Richard would never age. How long before he no longer found her desirable?

  “Richard,” she whispered, letting his name spool on her breath. He waited for her on the motel room’s king-size bed, just on the other side of the bathroom door. Thoughts of him didn’t usually awaken her this way, but tonight, amidst the riveting levitation and destruction of the tablet, she had seen him differently. The sheer heat that radiated from the fireflies had brought on a delicious flush throughout her body. The vestiges of that sensation remained with her even now.

  She whispered her husband’s Fallen Angel name, “Rumjal,” leaning back her head and lathering her hair with shampoo. Rivers of foam glided over her shoulders and chest. She followed their trail with her hands, down her neck and across her breasts. Tonight would be different. She wouldn’t direct Richard in their lovemaking, nor would she find reason to hasten the act. Tonight she wanted him to take her. And she would revel in the heat of ecstasy.

  * * *

  The heat on Cotten’s face grew in intensity until she recognized what she was experiencing. The fireflies had been there. She sensed them—sensed their diabolical, searing heat. There was even the faint, lingering scent of sulfur. And with that realization, her face finally cooled. But Cotten’s mouth became alum dry, and her heart punched her sternum. She knew that absolute, ultimate evil had been in this place.

  For an instant, Cotten felt herself distracted by her thoughts, and she began rising up, leaving the depths of the liquid light. She fought to regain her focus. But the light that filled her swirled raggedly as she lost the perfection of the moment.

  Concentrate, she thought. Concentrate on the light.

  She realized her eyes were squeezed tight and her fists were clenched. Relax, she told herself, trying to clear away strings of thoughts and tension. Feel it drain. Let it slip silently out your fingertips, the soles of your feet. Quiet ribbons of tension, dissipating. Thoughts emptying.

  At last, she salvaged the altered state of mind and became filled with the light once again.

  A smell—no, a fragrance—entered her nostrils. Pleasing and exotic. A woman’s perfume? So refined was her sense of smell that she separated the fragrance into its components—jasmine, lily of the valley, rose, sandalwood, and others that she couldn’t identify.

  Then, distant conversation echoed as if reverberating through the ancient ruins. She concentrated, listening, fine-tuning her hearing. A man’s and a woman’s voice. Disjointed phrases and words. A conversation that had taken place inside this structure, but not the voices of the ancients, as she had sensed when she’d first started her journey into the liquid light. These were recent. Fresh.

  There’s nothing here. Just dirt. The woman’s voice.

  . . . holy of holies. The man.

  It is ready.

  As the voices drifted off, Cotten smelled the recently disturbed charcoal and soil. A heavy, musky scent wafted in the cold air. Yes, this was the place. The Hapsburgs had been here. They had found the tablet buried in the fire pit, and the demons had destroyed it.

  Suddenly, a bright light shone in Cotten’s face, and she tried to protect her eyes with her hand.

  “Thomas?” she whispered.

  “Well, well.” It was a woman’s voice. “Look who we have here. None other than the world-famous Cotten Stone.”

  Digital Images

  A camera flash blinded Cotten. She swayed slightly, unsure of her balance. “Who’s there?” she said.

  “One of your biggest fans,” the woman said, her words filled with sarcasm.

  Another camera flash, and Cotten realized there were at least two other people besides herself in the ancient holy place. She managed to raise her flashlight and aim it at the intruders as she shielded her eyes with her other hand. “I asked who you were. What do you want?”

  “Maybe we should get her autograph,” a male voice said.

  “I don’t think it’s worth much since her trip to Peru,” the woman said.

  “Don’t move!” Thomas Wyatt’s voice boomed through the structure. The hammer click on his automatic pistol sounded sharp and edgy in the stone-walled room. “Slowly place the camera on the ground, along with your lights. Then put your hands behind your heads, both of you.” Although Cotten could not see him, she knew his voice came from the direction of the entrance to the room.

  Cotten aimed the beam of her light at the face of the
woman. She was tall, close to six feet, blond and shapely, in a fleshy, Marilyn Monroe way. Cotten figured her to be in her early forties. Standing next to her was a younger man, maybe in his mid-twenties or not quite, long hair tied in a ponytail, and wire-rimmed glasses. He had what looked like a week-old scruff of a beard.

  “You were asked to identify yourselves,” Wyatt said, still hidden in the darkness of the room.

  “Oh, for God’s sakes, you two relax,” the woman said. “No one’s in danger here.” She lifted her arms in a gesture of surrender. “I’m Tempest Star with the National Courier, and this is Bennie, my photographer. We’re just here covering the story of the earthquake and the Indian ruins. You guys need to lighten up.”

  “At one o’clock in the morning?” Cotten said. She couldn’t believe that Tempest Star—the woman who had plastered her all over the cover of a national tabloid—was standing right in front of her. She really would love to slap her.

  “We couldn’t get anywhere near the place all day,” Star said. “Neither could you, it appears. We’re after a scoop.”

  “Yeah, and boy did we get one,” Bennie said, relaxing his arms as well.

  “You consider taking my picture a scoop?” Cotten asked.

  “No,” said Bennie. “Getting a shot of you was a bonus. What we saw here tonight—”

  “Shut up!” Star said. “And can you take that light out of my face?” she said to Cotten.

  Cotten lowered the beam of her flashlight. “What did you see tonight?”

  The photographer glanced sheepishly at Star. “Nothing, really. Just a lot of rocks and dirt.” He stooped to pick up his camera. “Oh, and a great shot of Ms. Cotten Stone kicking around some ancient Indian digs.”

  “So, Stone,” Star said, retrieving her flashlight, “what are you doing here in the middle of the night? Trying to fabricate another bullshit story to salvage your career?”

  Cotten’s jaws clamped down. “At least I have a career to salvage. ‘Career’ is too tasteful a word to include what you do.”

  Wyatt moved into the light of the flashlights. He motioned toward the digital camera. “Let’s have a look at that.”

  “That’s private property,” Star said, taking a step forward.

  Wyatt aimed the automatic at her. “Now, now. Let’s not get technical. You don’t want me to ask again.”

  “I don’t know who you are yet,” Star said to Wyatt, “but I already know you’re a real prick.”

  “Get the camera, Cotten,” Wyatt said.

  Cotten took it from Bennie and stepped back beside Wyatt. She studied the controls a moment before turning a knob that caused the LCD on the back to illuminate. As Wyatt watched her, she pressed the backward arrow beside the screen and scrolled through the green night-vision images.

  The first showed the most recent picture they had taken, the one of Cotten shielding her eyes. In it, she looked surprised and frightened. Moving in reverse order, the next showed her standing with her eyes closed in the fire ring. Then the pictures changed, first to a man and woman walking with their backs to the camera, leaving the ruins along the dry wash. The next showed them poised at the top of the debris field near the entrance to the ruins. On the next was a massive yellow and white glowing ball. Cotten could just make out the man and woman standing next to it. The man seemed to be reaching into the glowing mass. Next was an image of the man with his arms extended. The night vision was detailed enough to show that he held an object appearing to be the crystal tablet. The woman stared at her feet as thousands of tiny points of light swirled around her legs. The final picture showed the two walking toward the ruins from the crest of the debris field.

  “Isn’t that the craziest thing you’ve ever seen?” Bennie said.

  “Will you please shut the fuck up!” Star said.

  “Maybe we should keep the camera,” Cotten said to Wyatt.

  “And I’ll have you arrested so fast you’ll wish you were back at police headquarters in Cusco,” Star said. She smiled at Cotten.

  Cotten looked to Wyatt for guidance, and he motioned with his head toward the two.

  “Do what she says, Cotten,” Wyatt said. “You don’t need any more negative publicity right now. Getting arrested on your first assignment with the Gazette wouldn’t look too good.”

  “The Gazette?” Star said. “You’re working for the Galaxy Gazette?” She laughed out loud. “I knew they were a second-rate rag.”

  “How about the camera?” Bennie said.

  Cotten handed it to him. Then she said to Wyatt, “There’s nothing here. Let’s go.”

  “Good idea, sweetheart,” Star said. “ ’Cause the big news here is that Cotten Stone did her first and last story for the Gazette all on one night. And left empty-handed.” She laughed again. “I hope you like the pictures we took of you. They’ll be on the cover of the National Courier in the next edition.”

  “Let’s go,” Cotten said to Wyatt, and she walked out of the kiva.

  She could still hear Star laughing as they made their way back through the winding paths to the entrance of the ruins. When Cotten and Wyatt were at the base of the debris field and moving along the dry wash back to the Tahoe, she said, “Did you see those images?”

  “Yes, but I have no idea what I was looking at.”

  Cotten stopped and looked at Wyatt. “Neither does Tempest Star.” She glanced back in the direction of the ruins. “If she did, she would still be throwing up.”

  Upload

  Tempest Star lay naked under the sheets in her room at the Farmington Best Western on Scott Avenue. She couldn’t sleep from all the excitement earlier at the ruins. Next to her, Bennie snored lightly. God, he is good, she thought, looking over at him. Enough could not be said about the sexual appetite and vigor of young men. But tonight, even after they had sex and he drifted off to sleep, she still couldn’t relax.

  Something gnawed at her—something that didn’t make sense. What she saw tonight was beyond anything she had ever witnessed—or, for that matter, fabricated. Anyone who had observed what occurred at the newly uncovered ruins would have been speechless, shocked, dumbfounded. And yet, Cotten Stone showed no reaction when viewing the pictures on Bennie’s camera. Stone’s indifference was peculiar, Tempest thought. And that lack of alarm gave it away. No doubt Cotten Stone was hiding something. Stone understood the meaning of the pictures, but she’d kept her cool and calmly walked away.

  Tempest recognized the man in the pictures. He was Yale University scientist Richard Hapsburg. She had seen him in an interview after the Peruvian incident, when he commented on the loss of his partner, Dr. Edelman. The woman had to be his wife, Mariah. She was the queen of the society pages with all her New England fundraising events. Mariah Hapsburg was a cash machine for her husband and his far-flung archaeology projects.

  Then there was their benefactor, Eli Luddington, who was always in the news with them. What a piece of work he was. Talk about pulling strings and getting things done. As one of the most powerful art and antiquities dealers in the world, he could fill an order for a king’s gallery or a president’s collection before most people had breakfast.

  And finally, the guy with Stone—the mystery man. Good looking, from what Tempest could see. She’d like a shot at him even if he wasn’t in the age group she preferred.

  Nothing added up, Tempest thought. What was the link between this strange cast of characters and the magic light show out in the desert—balls of fire, waves of swirling insects, and that fog. Where the hell did that come from? Thick fog in the desert, for God’s sake. She was going to have to spin some fantastical story out of the raw pictures for her next National Courier piece. Usually, it was the other way around. This time she had the real deal in the pics first. Wait until her editor saw them. Normally the art department had to PhotoShop her stuff to make it support the story. Now, she just had to construct some ou
trageous piece to go with the photos. It would be on the front cover in next week’s edition, and—

  Suddenly, Tempest heard a soft clicking sound at the door, as if someone was trying to open it. She sat up in the dark room, the sheet falling away from her bare breasts. Shadows moving along the thin light under the door revealed movement on the other side. Probably a drunk trying to get in the wrong room, she thought. He’ll realize his mistake in a minute.

  She watched as the shadow stopped. Faint metallic noises came from the door. Somebody was picking the lock?

  Tempest heard the lock give with one loud click, and the door opened. Light streamed in, behind it silhouettes of two men rushing toward her.

  Bright lights blinded her.

  Before Tempest could scream, a strong hand clasped over her mouth.

  “What the—,” Bennie mumbled as he tried to sit up. A knee pushed on his chest, and he gasped for air.

  Tempest stared into the ski-mask-covered face of her assailant before the bright light made her shut her eyes. The tip of a knife pricked the tender skin under her chin.

  “Scream and I’ll slit your throat,” said the man. “Right after I cut lover boy’s dick off.” He pushed her down on the bed, straddled her, and moved the light beam from her eyes to her breasts.

  A gloved hand fondled her, and Tempest grunted a protest.

  “Make a sound and you’ll wind up flat-chested. You’re not gonna scream, are you?” he asked, pushing the tip of the blade against her skin.

  Tempest shook her head. Holy shit, he was going to rape her and cut her to shreds. No way was she going to go out without a fight. At his weakest moment, she’d knee him and gouge his eyes with her long acrylic nails. If she was going to die, she’d make him wish he’d picked on somebody else.

  “Where’s the camera?” the man said, lessening the pressure of the knife.

  Tempest swallowed, but it was only air that moved down her throat. Her mouth was desert dry. Her breath came out in a sigh of relief. The fuckers weren’t here to rape her. They wanted the goddamn camera.