Demon, Interrupted E-Book

Parker Elliot

• Herausgeber: Dragon Moon Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 478

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

"A must read full of action and suspense." - 5-star customer review. 

Hide or die.

Evangeline Lawson can find anything, except freedom. A descendant of St. Anthony of Padua, the Patron Saint of lost articles, she has the supernatural ability to locate any missing object, car keys, missing dogs, children, as well as nuclear missiles, secret underground bunkers, and divine objects of power. The only thing she can’t find is freedom from every power-hungry treasure hunter.

Breadcrumbs left by her ancestors lead Evangeline to the doorstep of the world’s most morally ambiguous angel, Adrien. Sure he can protect her, but he can also use her to find his way back into heaven. The angel will use any means possible to force Evangeline to stop running and strengthen her abilities.

Abilities that Evangeline will need to fight the oldest and most powerful of demons. Lilith has been hunting the St. Anthony lineage for hundreds of years and will stop at nothing to turn Evangeline into her own personal divining rod. She needs Evangeline’s supercharged GPS to find artifacts that can unleash hell on earth.

Evangeline swings like a pendulum. Run and hide or fight? Where she stops could determine the fate of mankind.

Readers' reviews:

"Very hard to put this book down! I definitely recommend this book if you’re interested in books like Angels and Demons and The Da Vinci Code."

"An action-packed, supernatural and unique story. This book is full of action, danger, mystery, adventure, angels, demons and more."

"Comparable to a Dan Brown style book. If you're looking for a new Urban Fantasy series, this a good place to start."

"X-Men meets Da Vinci code! The journey is full of myth, legend, and mystery - and it's written in an engaging prose that had me furiously flipping pages to see what would happen next."

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2017 Elliot Parker

All rights reserved. Reproduction or utilization of this work in any form, by any means now known or hereinafter invented, including, but not limited to, xerography, photocopying and recording, and in any known storage and retrieval system, is forbidden without permission from the copyright holder.

www.dragonmoonpress.com

Dedication

For Josephine:

You can be anything.

You can do everything.

Acknowledgments

This book flowed downhill after I finished the first draft, but making that first draft was a tremendous effort of will made possible by the support of those around me. I would like to thank my parents who give me never-ending support and have always stoked my creative fires. My sisters who were the very first ones to read the story and gush over it.

To my oldest friend and first writing partner Jane, you started this train. Nic for listening to crazy ideas and always giving me the time and space to be able to write. My writer friends who found me at a pivotal moment and kept me going— Lisa, Heather, and Mary. Countless friends who read early drafts and supported me no matter what. If this story has any richness and emotion, it is because of Linda, who taught me to recognize and appreciate the full spectrum of the human experience. I could not have articulated any of it on paper without her.

Publication of this work happened because Gwen Gades was willing to take a chance on me, and for that, I am eternally grateful. JoAnne, my editor, suffered through my terrible comma usage—or lack thereof—thank you. And for giving me the final push, my best friend and biggest supporter Stephen for telling me to jump in and experience everything, because you have to take chances to do anything in this life.

PART

ONE

1

They found me.

New place, new name, new life.

A routine began, born out of five previous relocations. I scanned over beloved objects: my favorite shirt, the coffee mug from Claire, a book of matches from Trattoria. Everything that could be linked back to this life or used to identify me must remain. Complacency would kill me.

I hustled to the bedroom and pulled a screwdriver from the dresser.

“Facts: Name, Christina Marie Chapman.”

I unscrewed the large intake air vent beside my bedroom door and crawled inside.

“Birth date, March 3rd, 1984.” Not my exact age, but close.

Inside the first branch of the air vents I grabbed my bug-out bag and hauled it out.

“Social security number, 276-18-4432.”

Outside the vent, I knelt in the hall to check the contents. Five hundred dollars. A change of clothes. Protein bars. Two forged driver’s licenses, one for Christina Chapman and another for Karen Walters.

“Parents’ names, Theresa and Ed Chapman. Street I grew up on, Rocky Ridge. Name of first pet, Maggie.”

I closed the largest compartment on the backpack and unzipped the smaller front pocket. Inside, a stack of Polaroid pictures was held together by a decrepit rubber band. Each picture was something valuable. All compiled by my mother and grandmother, my real mother and grandmother. Hurt stabbed at my chest and I swallowed the pointless pain. With the pack slung over my shoulder, I replaced the vent cover and headed for the front door.

In another life, my escape plan brought me a sense of calm. It served as a verbal touchstone. If a stranger watched me too intently, or followed me too closely, I would recite a new life and strategy to disappear, and the panic would recede. Until now, the paranoia always turned out to be nothing more than a momentary mind fuck.

My traitorous hand trembled so hard I couldn’t open the door. I shook my fingers out hard and glared at the knob. It was time to disappear.

The phone rang at the exact moment my hand touched the cold metal, jolting me into the stratosphere. Bye bye breath. Infantile whimpers trickled out of my mouth. My brain screamed at me to get it together and go. My body wasn’t having it.

I should have ignored it, opened the door, kept walking, and never looked back. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. It could’ve been anyone calling…work, or one of my new friends.

But I knew it wasn’t. It was Them.

Voices from my past rushed into my head. Watch out for Them. Run from Them. They will use you. They will kill you. They killed my mother. They killed my grandmother. They killed my father, my aunts, my uncles, cousins…everyone was dead. I was the last. They were to blame for my lonely, nomadic existence, for the births and deaths of all my identities.

The phone reached my ear before my brain registered walking across the room. My hands choked the receiver.

“Evangeline.” The male voice slithered into my ear, all cold confidence, telling me he held the strings and I’d be dancing at any moment.

I wanted to speak, I really did, but the confirmation that one word gave me my birth name. They knew me. They knew everything I spent a lifetime concealing.

“One million dollars.” Each syllable of the voice squeezed my lungs. “That is what we will pay you to locate a single object for us.”

No my mind screamed, but I was still mute.

“One million dollars buys security. You could finally be free. No one would be able to touch you.”

No one except you. Bastards. Anger loosened the hold on my lungs and air seeped into my chest.

“You could work for us. We could protect you and guarantee your safety in exchange for your continued services. You could have the life you have always dreamt of.” The voice leaned on me, saturated with certainty that I would comply.

Through the jumble of a million thoughts and questions one rose and fired out of my mouth like a slingshot fueled by a lifetime of pain.

“Who! Are! You?”

The voice was undaunted by my obvious distress, his words trampling what little courage I scraped together. “You have one hour to meet us at the address pinned on your refrigerator.”

The kitchen blurred while I scanned for the invading piece of paper. A few blinks and I was clear again.

“If you fail to show, we will take that as a refusal and it will result in…” A slow chuckle barely registered over the deafening ring in my ears.

“Well, the rest of your family can speak to the consequences of refusing us.” He laughed, full and loud. “Or I guess I should say they can’t speak of it any longer.”

A eulogy of images flashed in my mind, synced to my heartbeat, each one faster and harder than the one before. I wanted a chance to confront the people who slaughtered my family. I wanted vengeance and retribution. But how could I defeat the people who were responsible for the systematic destruction of an entire family? I was one person. They could be hundreds. Common sense and the power of my emotions threatened to tear me in half.

I let the phone slide from my ear, dimly aware of the voice saying “one hour.” The receiver clanged onto the table as I walked away.

Outside the cool night air prickled against my flushed skin. I could breathe again and forced a deep breath every few steps. This time of year the weather had a split personality, the days like June, the nights like January. The moisture in the air during the day condensed and draped the night in a thick blanket of fog. Any other time I would’ve been thankful for the fog, helping to hide me during my escape, but tonight the moon was full. Each suspended water droplet reflected and amplified the moon’s light, making the evening air luminesce like a thousand tiny flashlights…all pointed at me.

I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt from beneath my jacket and covered my head. Scanning the area for any sign of Them, I headed down the alley that ran between the back of my apartment building and a row of houses. It was still early enough that the noises of cars on the streets, dogs barking, and people coming in and out of their homes filled the air.

All of my senses screamed for quiet. I wanted to be able to hear if someone lurked behind me or smell for a stranger’s cologne. Though the urge to look behind me was overwhelming, it would only give me away, so I faced forward and focused on the plan. This escape route accounted for several scenarios. I could handle this.

Four blocks from my apartment, it was all post-war tract housing. Every house looked the same. I navigated the sprawling suburban nightmare until I found my way to a busier section of town where there would be crowds of people to get lost in.

I tugged the straps on the pack, trying and failing not to think about the voice on the phone. Nothing like what I would have expected a murderer to sound like. No hoarse whispers or harsh guttural rasp, no passionate outrage or anger. Even now the calm, cold, confidence made goosebumps break out on my skin.

How many people in my family talked to that man before they were killed? I would never, under any circumstances, let myself be used to help anyone gain more money or power. Thinking of the consequences of that decision made me speed up.

My grandmother’s voice schooled and scolded me while I jogged.

Don’t stay in one place too long, you can’t afford roots no matter how small. Don’t make friends; they will want to know about your past, they could be used against you. Find employment where no one will notice you and they will pay in cash. Be the bar back, not the bartender, be the janitor not the secretary, be the cook not the waitress.

My latest incarnation had been as a kennel worker in a veterinarian’s office. No one paid me any attention except the animals. I loved their furry little faces. One day the tech Claire needed help. I should have gotten someone else.

She was the domino that caused everyone to be a little nicer to me, and eventually they all fell. They smiled at me, said hello, and turned small talk into medium talk. It made me belong, and I looked forward to going into the clinic every single day because of it.

My selfish behavior endangered them all. If They found out about any of my relationships with my co-workers…a sudden wave of nausea cut that thought off from its conclusion.

I slowed to a walk when downtown came into view. The cars managed to burn off the fog on the main street. Even though it was a weeknight, people were still out in force, eating or shopping. Doing all the mundane things I had never and would never be able to do. I pulled my hood closer to my face and merged onto the busy sidewalk. I meandered in and out of stores, up one side of the street and down the other, scanning the crowd for any potential tails.

Satisfied I wasn’t being followed, I ducked inside a convenience store, found the restroom and changed out my jacket and shirt for ones in my pack. Finished, I tucked my hair into a ball cap and exited out the rear door.

I doubled back through the residential neighborhood. Six blocks over and four blocks up from my apartment building was a small, white house with a detached garage. An older man let me rent his garage space for fifty dollars a month. I paid two years upfront in cash. He gave me a key and didn’t ask any questions.

A shock of white hair in the window turned my eyes toward the house. The pint-sized man nodded at me, and I let myself into the garage. The light from the moon illuminated the cramped garage enough for me to see the tattered brown tarp draped over my small motorcycle. The bastard offspring of a motocross and a street bike, I’d gotten it from a pawn shop when I first moved to town. A mechanic tuned it up, showed me how to coax it into starting and then I left it here. Two years was flirting with the end of the fuel stabilizer’s reliability. I uncovered the bike and hooked the battery to a charger on the wall.

I hated motorcycles, but a motorcycle fit my purpose tonight threefold. One: Motorcycles could go places cars couldn’t. Two: No one knew I owned, or could even drive a motorcycle. Three: The helmet would hide my face and the leathers would obscure my body.

The more indeterminate the better. I already had a headstart. When my mother’s and father’s DNA combined, neither would make a decision. My hair wasn’t really black or brown. It wasn’t curly or straight. It settled in the middle somewhere around dark mess. Freckles spattered my face, but too few to be known for having freckles, and too many to say I had a flawless complexion. My angular jaw conflicted with the softness of my cheeks.

The one thing about me that could give me away? My eyes. Nothing pretty about them, they were blue. Very, very, electric blue. I had never met anyone else with eyes as freakishly blue as my own. When I could wear contact lenses, I did. Most people would report my eyes to be brown or at least dark.

I slipped into a leather jacket and helmet then readjusted my backpack. I unhooked the charger, needing the short time to be enough to revive the battery. The dead weight of the bike rolled easily out into the foggy night. At the end of the road, I straddled the seat. Ignition on, I stood up on the pedals then jumped down with all my weight to start the engine. Nothing.

“Damn you.”

Just as I was resetting my weight for another attempt, headlights whipped around the corner heading straight for me. I jumped down again. Nothing. And again, and again. The car sped up. Faster and faster. The bike sputtered again.

Why couldn’t I be descended from the Patron Saint of Motorcycles?

Finally the engine caught and roared to life. The noise sent a sweet rush of victory and adrenaline through my body, super-charging my arms and legs. A turn of my ankle put the bike in gear, and I sped off. In my side view mirror, the car turned into a driveway and pulled up to a garage. I exhaled a huge breath I didn’t even know I was holding and accelerated into the night, letting the fog swallow up yet another life.

2

Around midnight, the outskirts of Memphis appeared. Certain I wasn’t followed, I found a fairly active truck stop. Topping off the gas tank and reserve, I was careful not to remove my helmet and get caught on any surveillance cameras. A prepaid Visa card saved the little cash I had.

I drove my bike around to the back where all the truckers stopped to sleep for the night and parked between two eighteen-wheelers that would conceal me from any passers-by. The first deep breath I’d taken in hours burned with diesel fumes but I commanded my diaphragm to keep going in and out. I dug in my backpack and looked through the stack of Polaroids. All were objects I could locate and pawn for money, except for one. Written in large black letters across the top of one picture was “In case of extreme emergency” with the word extreme underlined twice. It was a necklace, nothing fancy, just a silver chain with a pendant of a Christian cross, but instead of two straight, intersecting lines, one vertical line intersected a chevron. It looked like an arrow with the long line extending past the point of the arrowhead.

What constitutes an extreme emergency? Having my apartment broken into and proof of my identity and family thrown in my face was a definite emergency, but was it extreme? I needed to start over again, and I could handle that on my own. This necklace wasn’t going to net me starting over money, so I shoved the picture in the back pocket of my jeans.

I flipped through the others and settled on a picture of a plain diamond ring on a gold band. No one would ask questions of a young woman pawning an engagement ring. I would use my powers to locate the ring tomorrow, pawn it, and add to my cash reserve. I didn’t own the ring so I could find it. Generations of my family had exploited the loophole in our power. You can’t find something you own, so have someone else buy it and hide it.

Once pawned, with cash in hand, I’d start research on a new town to call home. The Pacific Northwest sounded about right. After finishing my protein bar, I replaced the pictures, zipped the backpack closed, and rolled out from between the trucks. Keep moving, keep going, forward only, never back.

Two hours north, I spotted a small motel that looked like it took cash and didn’t care who the patrons were. The dingy parking lot held two cars on the far end. I paid for the last room on the opposite end on the back of the motel.

Another advantage of my small motorbike was that I could wheel it into my room, removing all evidence of my stay. With minimal furniture rearrangement, my bike wedged between the foot of the bed and the wall. I backed it in, in case I needed to leave in a hurry. With no room to walk around the bed, I crawled over to reach the bathroom. The alien vegetation in the tub convinced me that taking a shower would make me Stephen King’s next Jordy Verrill. Instead, I wet a hand towel in the sink, and did my best to wipe the grime and sweat from my face and body. I changed into another shirt from my backpack and settled down on top of the bed’s seedy comforter.

I closed my eyes and sent up a prayer that had changed very little since the day of my mother’s death.

Dear God. I am what so many people want—proof of your existence. I don’t need faith, I don’t need this cursed lineage, and I don’t need you. I hate what you have done to my family. What was supposed to be a blessing has killed everyone I love. I pray to you now to take it away. I know you are up there. Amen. The nature of my life guaranteed light sleep; three hours after I closed my eyes, the noise of a car engine outside my window opened them. The red numbers of the cheap alarm clock declared it to be just after six in the morning. Early dawn light struggled in from behind the curtains I was trying not to touch as I glanced outside. The front end of a silver sedan parked right outside my door had Tennessee plates. Maybe it was a local. The engine was still running. They could have just checked in or they were waiting for someone. Logic was losing to alarm. I swallowed what little moisture was in my mouth and returned to the bed.

Forty-five minutes later, nothing had changed except the intensity of the sinking feeling in my stomach. I moved away from the window and put my backpack and helmet on the bike. Slowly I undid the deadbolt and security chain, but didn’t open the door. Instead, I turned and went into the bathroom. Inside was one small, frosted glass window, not visible from the parking lot.

I needed a test. Were they here for me or for someone or something else? I slipped out the window and forced my feet to walk along the length of the motel, down and around to the opposite end from where I was staying. You can do this, you can do this, stop shaking. I took a deep breath and stepped into plain view of the silver sedan. Walking three doors down, I made a show of attempting to unlock one of the room doors, praying no one would open the door from the other side. My ear twitched when the click of a transmission put the car in reverse. Shit. Another click and the sedan lurched forward picking up speed. I forced myself to be still. Not time to move yet. Just one second longer. Bring them closer. My mind and body synchronized with the need to survive the next five minutes.

How had They found me?

I ran. The carefully constructed dam collapsed and adrenaline flooded my system. The check-in blurred by, and a flash of silver caught my eye. I pushed myself even faster down to the far end.

Rounding the corner on the back of the motel, I heard car doors open and footsteps scrambling. I wasn’t going to waste time or jeopardize my coordination by turning to look. The open bathroom window triggered me to jump and shimmy my way back inside. I grabbed my backpack, knocking my helmet to the floor. No time to pick it up. Straddling the bike I darted over the handlebars and flung the door open, then slammed my weight down on the bike to kick-start the engine. It caught and I stomped the gas.

The bike jumped out the door, but was cut short when the back tire caught on my helmet. I hit the gas harder and the bike fishtailed. The right side of my body slammed into the frame with a loud crack and wood splinters showered me like confetti. The pain in my shoulder and knee howled for a nanosecond before I shut it down so I could get the hell out of there.

Just as I lurched forward again, a set of hands clamped on the handle bars and another set on my shoulders. I couldn’t let go with my hands or feet, so I leaned forward and bit into the huge hands gripping the handlebars. They jerked back and I hit the gas. The hands at my shoulders slipped to my backpack and pulled. I let one arm go, then the other, and slipped out of my backpack, never slowing down. I was free and speeding into the parking lot.

This time I did risk a glance back. There were two men, one holding his hand to his chest and the other sitting on the ground clutching my backpack. I faced forward, and got out of there as fast as possible.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I got on the first major interstate I saw and gunned it. Without my helmet, the wind chapped my face and tangled my hair. My mind was still numb from the escape but I felt hot tears streaking down my cheeks and blowing away. I never cried. Not when I lost my homes, not when I lost my friends, not even when I lost my family. Crying was useless; it didn’t help anything or anyone. I wiped at tears and snot like I was trying to push the nose off my face.

I was so screwed. Still alive, but screwed. The backpack held everything—clothes, money, food, and most important, those pictures. They were my freedom, my new life, and now they were gone. Even if I could remember what the diamond ring looked like, it could be used to bait a trap for me. I needed money. I needed to keep going. I needed to stay hidden.

My mind fixated on the pictures, going through them again and again until one bubbled up from the depths, spotlighted in front of all the others. My tears and my heart stopped. The picture of the necklace was in my back pocket. I reached back with one hand and felt the familiar crinkle of a Polaroid. A smile snuck onto my lips. No doubts this time, I had an extreme emergency.

I pulled off at the first rest area. All my gas and time were now devoted to finding the necklace. To be safe, I pulled my bike behind the small brick building that housed the dumpsters so I wouldn’t be visible from the parking lot.

My feet hit the ground and red-hot searing spikes of pain shot up from my right knee. Not wanting to be forgotten, my right shoulder throbbed in time to my heartbeat. Pain and heat radiated down my entire right side. The endorphins were wearing off. The knee scared me the most. I would need it to ride and possibly walk or run. A tentative flex and extend brought a scream of pain up from my throat. I smothered it to a few drops of spittle and some pathetic mewling. I grabbed the photo distracting me from the pain, and stared at it for a minute, giving myself one more chance to come up with something else, another plan…anything.

Once I tuned into this item, there would be no other way except finding it. No rest or release until I located it. My powers could be a bitch. The necklace was it, I told myself. This had to be done. Gripping the picture, I burned the exact image into my brain and closed my eyes.

“St. Anthony, perfect imitator of Jesus, who received from God the special power of restoring lost articles, grant that I may find this necklace which has been lost. To this favor, I pledge to remain your ever-faithful descendant. Amen.” I chanted with fervor for perhaps the first time in my life.

I repeated the prayer several times, tapping into my power, opening the part of myself most people reserve for toxic emotions and wasted memories. The black box where I hoped to hide my powers forever. The image in my mind blurred and swirled around and around and then stopped. The instant the image solidified, a faint buzzing started in my chest, like standing too close to a beehive. My own personal homing beacon. The necklace was west…far west, judging by the strength of the vibration. I wouldn’t know northwest or southwest until I got closer. I did know I was already headed west on the interstate I used to escape the motel, so I saved myself both gas and time. There are no coincidences.

I looked up at the cloudless blue sky, the sun making its morning ascent. “Still doesn’t make us even. Not even close.” I pulled the motorcycle back onto the highway.

*

The full moon hung over my right shoulder. I was within spitting distance. My bike quit hours ago. The gas tank and reserve tank carried me into a giant dustbowl somewhere near the border of Oklahoma and Arkansas. The intense humming in my chest made me rub at my ribcage until I thought the skin would come off. I was no longer standing next to the beehive; it was living in between my lungs. The intensity of the signal in my chest guided me into miles and miles of nothingness, toward the necklace. Thirty more minutes max.

The buzzing sensation urged me to hurry up but my body begged me to slow down. My knee looked like a melon on steroids, straining the fabric of my jeans, and my right arm hung limp at my side. Pain spread like a malignant cancer, disabling everything it touched.

Fear and pain battled. Pain moved me toward the necklace. Fear reminded me of the hospital signs I saw back on the main road. I expected to see a house, a building…something, being this close, but all I saw was miles and miles of nothing. I committed to a one-way ticket. My injuries would not allow a return trip. The necklace needed to come with food, and water, and shelter, and a doctor.

I paced in circles staring down at the ground. It had to be right here. From the corner of my eye, a slight shimmer caught my attention. I moved closer, constantly adjusting my eyes like looking at a 3D puzzle. The small shimmer increased in size as I approached it. Mesmerized by the giant shimmer that I could swear took on the vague shape of a house, I tripped and fell face first into….lush, wet grass? Dew soaked through my clothes and dripped down my face. I stilled for a minute. Was I dead? I checked in with my body. Abrasion of wet denim on my legs? Check. My t-shirt sloppily stuck to my stomach? Check. Horrible debilitating pain throughout? Check. I planted my hands and tried pushing myself into a sitting position. Nope, my shoulder had me regretting that decision. Instead, I rolled over onto my back and did my best to look around.

There must be an explanation for what I saw. Even in the dark, I could make out long hedges, large stone planters, a five-car garage and, even upside down, a very large house. This was a mirage, what happened to people who hadn’t eaten or slept enough. I could have hit my head on a rock when I fell and gone into a dream, or a coma. But the buzzing remained, just as intense. Why would that still be with me?

I rolled to my left, struggling to squat and stand without the use of my right side. Delusion or dream I didn’t care. I unstuck my t-shirt and my resolve. I was going into that house. If nothing else I needed something to eat and drink. Then I could keep looking for the necklace—when I woke up or returned to reality.

I half limped, half dragged my disabled body up the front steps of the massive home. In the moonlight it looked like a small stone castle. There were turrets to the right and left. The roof soared three stories above my head, dotted with peaks and dormers. I raised my hand to knock on the pair of large, carved wooden doors, but before I made contact they were pulled open.

Bright light streamed out from inside. I shielded my eyes with my one good arm.

“Who are you?” The sudden sensory overload of light and booming sound pushed me back a step.

My eyes finally focused on a massive male form in the doorway. The light from inside cast the man in shadow. He was several inches taller than me and nearly as wide as one of the wooden doors he stood beside.

Before I could answer his question, he stepped forward, way too far into my personal space. The hollow of his throat at my eye level, I blinked twice at a familiar silver chain.

“Who. Are. You?” the voice repeated, this time slower and louder like speaking to an insolent child.

I needed to see the rest of that necklace. Excitement sprang in my chest that it was the necklace. My mind quickly completed a puzzle from pieces my hopes created. He was a strong warrior-type meant to protect me. My grandmother had known this. I made the right choice. I would be safe now.

I tilted my head up to where I thought his eyes were and prepared myself. The words had never been said out loud. The moment gained gravity, crushing my shoulders and paralyzing my diaphragm. I stuttered, but finally got it out. “I am Saint’s Kin, a descendant of Saint Anthony of Padua, Patron Saint of Lost Articles.” A thick moment of silence passed between us while he considered my words. His eyes flicked up and down my body.

“No, you are not. They are all dead.” He stepped back in the house and slammed the door in my face.

3

The click of the door closing cocked me like a gun. I lost it. My careful plans, my total composure, all shattered. Without thinking, I threw my body at the double doors and pounded, beat and kicked with my one good arm and leg.

“Hey!”

No response.

“Heeeeeeeeeeeey!” I kept screaming and pounding until I thought my vocal cords and hand must be bleeding.

The doors jerked and I stumbled forward, catching myself before I hit the floor inside.

“What? What do you want, you insolent little banshee?” The shadowy man’s volume rivaled mine.

I looked up from slightly inside the front door. At first, I couldn’t tell much except that he was angry. His brow cranked down across his eyes—blue eyes, like mine. No, not like mine. His eyes were an impossible shade of brilliant blue, much brighter than mine. I couldn’t look away. Very few times in my life had I recognized the supernatural shade of blue on a face in the crowd. Those people never scared me, but this man scared me. He was not Saint’s Kin.

His mouth crimped while we studied each other. His hair was blonde….I think. I could see streaks of light and dark brown peeking out beneath the top layer of yellow-white hair.

He came entirely too close…again. “Stop staring and get the hell out of my house.”

As he spoke, his button down shirt gaped and I saw it—the necklace, the one from the Polaroid. The crucifix with the horizontal piece bent down to look like an arrow. I was sure now. I needed to touch it to make the buzzing in my chest stop. Connection with the object was the only way to turn my powers off.

I didn’t care that it was completely inappropriate to stick my hand down a stranger’s shirt. I struck, but he was faster. My eyes never registered him moving.

“Remmy!” The strange man bellowed from a few feet away. “Remmy come here now!”

He took one step back. I took one painful step forward. The two of us cha-cha’ed into the house. The need to touch the necklace consumed me. The stinging swarm of bees in my chest was drowning out reason and common sense.

An older man with salt and pepper hair appeared out of a door off to the side of the entryway we were dancing in.

“Sir?” The one named Remmy trained his eyes on the larger man, not even glancing my way. He reminded me of a grey heron, tall, elegant, graceful. He held himself so still and straight, but you knew not to look away. He could strike in the space of a blink. And there was something else…a nagging feeling set up residence in the base of my skull.

“Remmy, get this girl out of here. Take her to the nearest bus stop or train station, or…I don’t know, give her cab fare.”

“Sir, she needs medical attention.”

How did he know? He hadn’t even looked at me. I glanced down. Which was a mistake. Looking down opened the door for pain to return full-force. Heat and agony pulsed through my body from my shoulder and knee. In the light, the swelling in my right knee was obvious through my jeans. My shoulder looked like a tiger had raked claws down my skin and I could see streaks of dried blood in several spots. The only advantage was when pain jumped to the front of the line, the buzzing need to touch the necklace died down slightly.

“Fine. Take her to the hospital.” The blonde man had no volume control and his voice echoed in the large space.

“Sir, the nearest hospital is six hours away. Dr. Ambrose will see her first thing tomorrow morning, and then Suvan or Elan can take her where she needs to go after that. Please come with me, miss?” The butler-type man was unaffected by the level of tension building around him. There was something familiar about him. I had seen him before somewhere, a distant memory, like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

I stared at him. Both men looked at me expectantly. At odds with each other, these men were polar opposites. They were dressed in a similar formal fashion, but Remmy radiated calm and control while the blonde man hummed with barely contained fury. I continued to study them, trying to unlock the puzzle piece of Remmy’s familiarity.

Remmy cleared his throat. “What is your name, miss?”

“Evangeline Lawson.”

The blonde man flinched almost imperceptibly at my response, then he turned and stormed out.

My hand automatically grasped at his departing form. I needed that necklace. My brain was on overload. Pain, buzzing, familiar strangers, it was all too much; any more and I was going to have a breakdown. He kept walking and I stayed rooted to the floor. One thing at a time. The necklace was quickly dropping to the bottom of the risk-reward list.

“Come with me, Miss Lawson.” Remmy offered me his elbow. The man and the necklace disappeared down the hall. I could figure out how to convince him to let me touch it, after healing and figuring out who this tall elegant man was. The intensity of the buzzing would last a while longer. I rubbed at my chest.

I turned to the great grey heron; his elbow remained outstretched so he could lead me into the house. Common sense said leave. My Saint’s powers said stay. Why were my powers always at war with everything else? It was difficult to choose the winning side. Both sets of instincts had saved my life in the past.

Remmy was eerily still.

“You are, of course, allowed to do whatever you want. No one will force you to stay here. We are far from the closest city, and I don’t think it the wisest choice to go gallivanting around in your condition. You could call someone if you choose, let them know where you are, if that would make you feel more secure.”

Now that I could focus on just Remmy without the distraction of the unhinged wild man I found that even his voice was familiar. Melodic and calming, every word wrapped around me and comforted me like a warm blanket. The feelings it provoked in me were old friends reunited after a long absence. They had been a part of my early childhood but I couldn’t get anything more specific than that.

His words were true. I traveled through the isolated and barren wasteland to get here. I had no one to call. I debated making something up, leaving a message for myself on my machine in Alabama to make them think someone might come looking for me, but it felt like a lot of effort. I didn’t feel especially threatened at the moment. I wanted to keep Remmy talking to see if it could dislodge the memory that would tell me who he was.

“How did the house appear out of thin air?”

He started talking before I finished my question. “The house has always been here. Here as in Dade county of Oklahoma. It was very dark out when you arrived, you must have simply not seen the house.”

I narrowed my eyes. I wasn’t an idiot. The full moon wouldn’t have allowed me to miss a house this large out in the middle of nowhere. The house wasn’t there and then simply appeared out of thin air.

The thought of the supernatural didn’t bother me. I was proof that not everything was what it seemed. My grandmother had briefly educated me on other supernatural forces. She said even I was capable of more than locating objects. A complete supernatural education should have been mine, but They robbed me of that. These two men knew what I was and didn’t balk. The thought of being able to fill in the gaps in my knowledge and my powers should count for something. I still couldn’t put my finger on it, but deep in my bones I knew this man in front of me was safe. Nothing about him set off my alarms; quite the opposite.

“I know it may not mean much to you, but I give you my word, no harm will come to you while you are under this roof,” Remmy reassured, echoing my own thoughts and conveniently steering me off the topic of the disappearing, reappearing house.

No one was trying to hurt me, but I was being pushed to stay. I needed to touch the necklace. I added trust for my grandmother into the equation. Shelter plus medicine, plus food, minus fear, plus grandmother, equals stay? Go? This was an opportunity. With a deep breath, the decision was clear, staying was the smart choice for survival and sanity…and maybe more.

“Okay. I’ll stay,” I said, and then added “thank you.”

“It would be wise to take my arm and allow me to escort you.” He put his elbow closer to me.

“I’ll follow you.” I gestured in front of myself. The contact didn’t bother me as much as the invasion of personal space. Remmy smiled at me and I felt genuine warmth. He walked a few steps ahead. The immediate understanding and compliance thawed some of my cynicism.

“Third floor, west wing,” echoed in the entryway out of nowhere.

I looked around to see where the command had come from. The large blonde man stood in the door Remmy had come from earlier. He glared at me before he went inside the room and slammed the door, cutting through all the comfort Remmy had provided like a knife.

Moving forward again, I took the chance to look at the inside of the house. The tremendous space soared up and up, the entire height of the building. A three-story entryway. Several doors led off the space including the one I knew contained the blonde man.

“What is his name?” I nodded my head at the closed door.

Remmy slowed. “Adrien Durand. You should refer to him as Mr. Durand.”

We continued walking slowly. Remmy pretended not to notice but I wasn’t fooled. This man missed nothing. I took inventory of the space, using that as my excuse to go slow, not my crippling injuries. I despised weakness and being physically compromised. Floors of light brown stone with veins of chocolate brown and gold complimented the rich buff color of the hand-plastered walls. My eyes trailed back up to the ceiling. I could see the faint outlines of a fresco covering the entire space, but I couldn’t make out the details.

All the doors and woodwork were deep mahogany. Each space was darker and richer than the last as we walked into what appeared to be the heart of the house, a space connecting all the doors and several long hallways.

Stopping at the foot of a massive staircase, Remmy turned to look at me.

“I will let you traverse these stairs should you wish it, but we must go all the way to the top and I fear it will only serve to aggravate your condition.” He glanced at my swollen knee. “As we don’t have an elevator, I would prefer to carry you.”

The thought of being carried like a baby made my insides retch. I started regretting my decision to stay, then stopped. This was the right decision. I could do this.

“I’ll walk.” I grabbed the railing and as soon as I bent my bad knee to take the first step, hot searing pain shot up into my hip. I let out a cry. Remmy shuttled over and grabbed my arm.

“No. I’ve got it.” I made a dignified attempt to jerk my arm away. He remained, holding tight to me, but didn’t interfere when I continued. The next step wasn’t so bad. My good leg had no problem finding the next step, but my swollen knee wasn’t having anything to do with bearing my weight.

It took twelve steps to reach the first landing. From here I could see that the staircase took a 180-degree turn and continued upward twelve more steps before we cleared the first floor. Two more floors after that. I bit the inside of my cheek to focus on a pain other than my knee and trudged up the stairs.

By the time we reached the top, blood coated the inside of my mouth. I barely kept the tears from spilling out. Whimpering sounds escaped my mouth during the last flight of stairs. Neither of us commented on the fact that by the time we reached the top, Remmy was bearing so much of my weight he might as well have carried me.

I was deposited in a large bedroom after Remmy informed me he would find some food and a change of clothes. A four-poster canopy bed dominated an entire wall. The space was tremendous and dark. The paneled walls, the deep red carpet, the curtains, the bedspread—everything ate the light. The combination of colors and fabrics felt like being trapped in a decadent coffin. I turned on all the lamps, but their light was immediately absorbed into the somber surfaces.

Even with pain fogging my brain on the way up the stairs, I cataloged as much as I could: the number of hallways, where the windows were, doors that could possibly be used as exits. Like a Boy Scout, I would always be prepared. I limped a small circle inside the room and performed the same inspection. All the windows opened and looked out onto a stone driveway. The bedroom door locked from the inside. Old habits demanded I formulate a solid exit plan, but ideas simply wouldn’t stick. I blamed exhaustion.

A light knock came before Remmy entered. He sounded like he was hissing at something in the hall. The outline of two bodies hovered behind him. He shut the door before I could get a better look.

“Who is in the hallway?” I asked as Remmy approached me with a pile of folded clothes in one hand and a small silver tray in the other.

“No one you should concern yourself with, miss. Here are some clothes for you to…” The door burst open so suddenly that it startled both of us. Two men tumbled to the floor. I jumped across the room away from the intruders, a weak dose of adrenaline supplying the energy.

“No one? C’mon now Remmy, we aren’t no one.” A man stood up and brushed his hands down his pants.

Then the other chimed in from the floor. “You wound me old man,” he said, clutching at his chest and rolling in mock injury.

My eyes strained to focus while my brain assessed whether or not these men were a threat. One was smiling, and they were both joking with Remmy. Not a threat. My heart rate slowed and I exhaled. My eyes bounced back and forth between the two men. Hair, skin, height, weight…I couldn’t find a single detail different except for the clothes they wore. Identical twins.

“You’re twins,” I whispered.

“Ding Ding Ding! Someone get this lady a prize.” The man in the green t-shirt walked over with a smile on his face.

“Her powers of observation are truly amazing,” the other one, in a white t-shirt, agreed mockingly but stayed beside Remmy.

Their sarcasm cut through my stupor, but before I could respond, Remmy set down the clothes and the tray and corralled the men toward the door.

“At least introduce us, Remmy.” Green t-shirt ducked under the confining arm and extended his hand.

“Hi I’m Elan.” I hesitated but grasped his hand.

“I’m Suvan.” White t-shirt escaped and also extended a hand.

They were young men, in their early twenties, if I had to guess. Tall, lean muscled, built more like swimmers instead of a pro-wrestler, like the hulking shadow-man, Adrien. Short dark hair shadowed light caramel colored skin. Their eyes were a very intense sky blue, lighter than mine, but still very striking. Were they like me? Were they Saint’s Kin? All the descendants of all the saints have striking blue eyes. The stronger their power the bolder their eyes would be. My instincts said yes, they were Saint’s Kin. I didn’t feel the same fear I felt with Adrien. Were they here for protection and help like me?

“Your eyes,” slipped from my mouth. My fatigue wreaked havoc on my brain-to-mouth filter. Suvan wrinkled his brow and studied me for a moment.

“You’re not one, are you? Your eyes are brown,” he said finally.

My hands flew to my face. “No. No they aren’t, these are contacts.” I hastily popped one out, poking myself in the eye and making it water. I looked back up at the pair of them with one brown eye and one blue eye.

“Wow,” I think it was Elan. “She must be pretty powerful, eh Remmy?”

“You believe me? You know what I am?” Everything inside me screamed friend, ally! I spent years dreaming of talking to another Saint’s Kin. In the space of one second it was coming true. My breath hitched, and I felt a huge smile take up permanent residence on my face. I swallowed, trying to suppress the happiness flowing onto my features. Years of programming dictated that I control all my emotions, not the other way around. Plus I didn’t know anything for sure. I didn’t know them.

There was a reason I never approached another blue-eyed person. Fear of exposure. This situation was no different. They might know what I was, but not what I was capable of. I knew enough to know my lineage was one of the most powerful and sought after.

“OUT!” Remmy pointed to the door.

Elan and Suvan smiled, unaffected by the enraged Remmy. “We will see you later.” Suvan winked. They turned and sauntered out of the room. I suspected they walked extra slow to aggravate him.

Remmy took a deep breath and focused on me, looking tired for the first time in this long night. “I could not find anything that would fit you, miss, so I did the best I could to procure you a change of clothes. If you leave your current clothing by the door, I will see it laundered, mended, and returned to you in the morning. There is a small plate on the bedside table. As we do not know what the doctor will do for you tomorrow, I thought it best to have a light meal.” He walked to a door on the far side of the room. “The bathroom is through here. It is fully stocked but should you find you need anything…” He walked to a telephone on the wall next to the door that led out into the hallway “…you can use this phone. Simply dial star one, and a staff member will attend you.” He walked out into the hallway to leave, then turned back. “One last thing, miss.” He paused, “I of course do not wish to tell you what to do, but may I recommend you take a quick and cool shower. Hot water will only serve to increase the swelling in your leg. I have included some medication on the tray to help with the swelling. If your condition worsens please alert me immediately.”

I barely considerd it before asking “Remmy, why are you familiar to me?”

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Try to get some rest,” he said before turning and leaving.

“Thank you,” I told a closed door.

I sat on the edge of the bed in silence. This felt like the twilight zone. I didn’t have to hide my heritage. Suddenly everyone knew my best kept secret, and didn’t care. There were at least two other people here who could be like me. Were there more lurking in the hallway somewhere? What role did Adrien and Remmy play in their lives? They didn’t appear to be tortured, or trapped here. If they were being used for their gifts, they certainly didn’t mind.

Remmy, although stuffy, gave the impression that he genuinely cared for my health and well-being. The only other person who’d done that was my grandmother. I could barely recall the last time someone cooked a meal for me or did my laundry. Plus, there was something inside me very accustomed to him. The muscles in my shoulders and back relaxed, and the tension I had been carrying for days streamed out like air from a tire. I thanked my grandmother for leading me here. I shouldn’t have doubted her.

The one person I needed to get close to, Adrien, felt like my enemy. I needed that necklace. The distraction of everyone in the room had kept me from focusing on the vibration in my chest, but silence brought it to the forefront. I wished Remmy or even one of the twins owned the necklace. I could rest tonight and deal with getting close to Adrien tomorrow.

I hobbled into the bathroom and flipped on the light. The bathroom was just as big as the bedroom but the color palette blinded me. I squinted past the strobe-light effect to see white marble clinging to any surface that would hold still. Undressing, I watched clumps of dirt and dust rain down on the pristine floor. I tried my best to keep it contained.

I took Remmy’s advice and kept the shower short and cool. My knee did have a large, nasty gash on it and no longer resembled a knee. I doubted I could get back into my dirty jeans, even if I wanted to. My shoulder fared better. It was scratched up and bruised but wasn’t swelling. Feeling and function were returning.

Changing clothes was a challenge. Balancing on one leg to put the men’s pajama pants on wasn’t an option. I shimmied into them from flat on the ground. The waist and the cuffs were rolled to make them fit, before swimming into a white t-shirt. I followed instructions like a good little house guest and gathered up my dirty clothes and placed them in the hallway by the door.

 My appetite roared to life when I spotted the dry toast and fresh fruit. I barely tasted the food before it plunked into my hollow stomach. I swallowed the brown pills stamped “Advil” with a glass of water and climbed into the colossal bed.

I would get my hands on that necklace tomorrow. The last time I’d failed to touch an object I was searching for, it had taken four months before the buzzing faded and finally stopped. Four months of being sure I would go insane. I couldn’t endure that again. One day at a time. First the necklace.

I closed my eyes, hoping the exhaustion from the past two days would override the sensation in my chest. A few hours of sleep was all I needed.

4

One hour later, the sound of piano music pouring through the vents woke me. The extravagant bedside clock warned that dawn would arrive soon. According to Remmy, the doctor would be coming. I slid out of bed, careful to avoid putting weight on my knee, and went in search of the music. Please let it be Adrien and the necklace.

Going down the stairs was not nearly as painful as coming up, mostly due to hopping on my good leg down each stair. The source of the music was on the second floor, down a long hallway with doors on one side and alternating windows and small alcoves on the other. Further inspection revealed each alcove held a statue. I stood outside the door where the music was loudest. I was sure he was in there. The buzzing in my chest was rising and falling with the haunting melody. When I laid my hand on the knob to enter, a voice startled me.

“No, don’t,” someone whispered.

I turned around to see Suvan and Elan sitting in the shadow of a statue. I walked over and noticed a curved bench running along the wall.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered back

“Same thing as you. Listening.”

I couldn’t even begin to tell them apart in the dark. As if realizing this, the one who’d spoken pointed to his chest. “Suvan. You’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

He spoke as if I would be here indefinitely, as if we had all the time in the world to get to know each other. My heart twisted.

Elan moved over, motioning me to sit in between them. I stood in place, even though my knee throbbed. They were very friendly, and I desperately wanted to pick their brains for information. What was their power? How did they get here? My priority had to be the necklace.

“Is it Adrien in there playing?”

“Yes,” Elan said, unfazed I wouldn’t sit.

We remained in silence listening to the beautiful music for a while longer. It was a tortured piece. When the piano stopped Suvan and Elan sprang up and tried to pull me down the hallway with them.

“C’mon we gotta go, we gotta get out of here,” Suvan said.

“No, I’m staying. I want to talk to him. I need to see his necklace.” I pulled my arms out of their grasp. They looked at each other and shrugged.

“Your funeral.” Elan turned to jog after his brother.