Plain Fear: Forgiven: A Novel (15 page)

“Why are we here?” Jacob trailed behind in the shade of a live oak. The sidewalk had wide cracks and rifts. The houses crowded together in the little neighborhood as if unsure of themselves. A bold red flag flapped beside one front door, declaring the Buckeyes #1. “Samuel isn’t here,” Jacob complained. “How can I help him if—”

Remiel stopped abruptly.

Jacob swerved to keep from plowing into the arc of the angel’s wing. He tracked Remiel’s laser-like gaze to a young woman who climbed out of a miniature car. She dressed seductively in tight jeans and tighter T-shirt, which emphasized every asset.

“
At
twilight
,” he whispered, the words coming back to him with a rush, “
as
the
day
was
fading, as the dark of night set in.
”

Remiel nodded with the cadence of the words from Proverbs. “
Then
out
came
a
woman
to
meet
him…
”

Jacob knew her, knew women like her. She’d lured his brother away from his family and beliefs. Through tight lips, he continued, “
Dressed
like
a
prostitute
and
with
crafty
intent. She is unruly and defiant; her feet never stay at home.
”

“
Now
in
the
street—
”

“
Now
in
the
squares, at every corner she lurks.
”

Samuel had sniffed after this woman, unable to control himself. Sure, she’d helped him avoid the vampire, Brydon, but now she was simply trouble. A terrible trouble.

Jacob felt it, like a cloud blocking the sun, as a sense of darkness swept over the neighborhood. The air felt heavy and oppressive. He stuck close to Remiel as the powerful angel resumed his walk toward the unassuming house, where that girlfriend of Samuel’s headed. All over the roof, dark creatures perched, their yellow eyes glowing, as if ready to leap on some unsuspecting human.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Jacob sidestepped one of the dark creatures, who leered at him and snarled.

“You have nothing to fear,” Remiel stated, his tone firm.

Then why did it feel like he walked through the valley of the shadow of death?

The door opened, and more creatures spewed out of the house. A woman stood in the threshold with a bright smile and auburn hair the shade of Lucille Ball’s once-famous locks. She looked to be in her late fifties, yet she dressed like she was sixteen. Her too-tight jeans pinched her middle and a roll of flesh lopped over the waistband. A cross and dove tattooed the crest of one plump breast. She wore a clump of crystals around her neck and silver rings on her fingers.

“Andi Mitchell? Come in, come in.” The woman introduced herself as Philly. Philly Raven. A made-up name if Jacob ever heard one.

“Who is she?” he whispered to Remiel as if the two women could hear him.

“A medium.”

Jacob sized her up. She looked petite. “Medium what?”

Remiel placed himself in the corner of the room and surveyed the area. “She sees into the spirit world.”

That stopped Jacob. “Can she see us?”

Remiel remained silent.

The small room had a plaid sofa and two brown chairs on either side of a fireplace. Candles had been placed on every table, and the different scents of lavender, sage, and jasmine were heady and cloying. Tiny sticks stuck out of bottles and emitted exotic fragrances. A dusty bookshelf behind one of the chairs held books on chakra, yoga, eastern mysticism, palmistry, tarot, and the spirit realm.

Philly led Andi to a small table, holding on to her hand longer than necessary. “Oh my. You are so warm. And I can tell you are open to—” The woman stopped abruptly, her blue gaze shifting sideways away from Andi.
Was
she
seeing
Remiel?
Her smile faltered, then regained strength. She stumbled into her seat on the other side of the table.

“You okay?” Andi asked.

“Of course.” Philly found her smile again. “I won’t waste your valuable time.
Tempest
fugit
. Right-ee-o? We’ll just get right down to it.” She laid her palm open on the table. Andi placed her hand on top, but the medium cleared her throat.

“Oh, sorry.” Andi pulled a stack of twenty-dollar bills out of her bag. Philly didn’t bother counting the money but folded her hand closed and stuck the bills in her hip pocket. “Now, I prefer that you not tell me anything about yourself or what you’re seeking.” She spoke in a manner as if she’d said this same spiel a hundred times. “Just answer yes or no when I—” She stopped, looked over Andi’s shoulder again, and sighed. “Apparently you brought someone with you. Well, he’s right there behind you about to beat the band for my attention.”

Jacob saw him, a dark creature across the room, mirroring Remiel’s stance.

“Andi,” Philly cleared her throat, “have you lost someone close to you recently?”

“No.”

“A while ago?”

An indentation between Andi’s brows deepened. “Well, could be—”

“No-no!” The medium held up a stout finger. “Don’t tell me. Only yes or no.”

“Uh, yeah.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I guess.”

Philly looked beyond Andi’s right shoulder at the dark creature, who broke his stance and moved toward the women. “So who are you, huh?” The medium gave Andi a quick wink. “He’s tall and not bad looking.” She waggled her brows then frowned. “And he’s clutching his throat.”

The creature’s distorted hands wrapped around his own throat. If Philly really saw the true nature of the beast, she would have run from the house and never stopped.

Instead, she calmly tapped the table. “Was this person who passed on…did he die from strangulation?”

Shock hit Andi’s features from the tiniest detail of her eyes dilating to her skin blanching. She began to tremble all over.

“Are you all right?” Philly asked, her concern more smug than anything. “Did I say something—”

“M-my father,” Andi stammered. “My father died.”

“Really?” the medium seemed surprised and yet pleased with herself. “Your father was strangled?”

“He choked on some food and died when I was eight.”

Remiel made a slight noise at the back of his throat. “She’s not quite telling the whole story. Or maybe she doesn’t know all of it.”

His curiosity growing, Jacob asked, “What happened?”

“Her father, Bob Mitchell, was a drunk. Choked on his own vomit.” Remiel’s expression shifted into compassion.

Empathy filled Jacob. He’d had his own trials as a child with a very strict father, and yet how much worse for this young girl? He wondered what he would tell Andi if he had the ability to speak to her. Would he tell her to run? Or would he simply encourage her to seek God? After all, hadn’t he learned running never solved anything?

The creature, who had been choking itself, rushed forward and, with a burst of foul draft, disappeared. Jacob looked to Remiel, but the angel was stoic and reserved.

Philly leaned forward, confidence exuding from her. “Your father wants you to know he loves you. He’s always loved you.” Her forehead collapsed in rows of concern as she watched something from the great beyond. Her mouth gaped.

“What?” Philly asked of no one then shrugged. “I don’t know if this will mean anything to you, Andi, but your father says”—she slowed her words to make them very clear—“do
not
go to Pennsylvania.”

A glacial chill swept the room. Andi leaned back as if she’d been struck.

“Were you planning on going to Pennsylvania?” Philly asked.

“I have to go.”

“Well, you heard him, or I did. Don’t go. Not to Philadelphia…er, Pennsylvania…wherever.”

Andi stumbled out of the house, her face pale, her steps unsteady. Remiel nodded for Jacob to follow.

“Now what? What was the point of that?” he asked the angel, not understanding why they were here or what they were doing. “Can we get back to Samuel
now
?”

But Remiel focused on the young woman sitting in her car, her hands clenching the steering wheel. Her lips thinned as she rolled them inward. “Not go to Pennsylvania?” she asked herself. “Is she crazy?” Andi shook her head, readjusted her hands on the wheel, tightening her grip. “I’m a fool for coming here. What did my old man ever do to help me? Why would I listen to him? Now or ever.” She snorted and shoved the gearshift into place. “And I’m not about to start now.”

“What’s the nightmare we’re walking into tonight?” Samuel flexed his hands, which no longer required bandages, then shook loose his nerves. For over a week, he’d participated in bizarre games, which had no actual rules, but where a combat of wit and strength mattered. The last man standing seemed to win. But win what?

And
what
was
all
this
for? Training to fight some creatures Samuel didn’t even know if he believed existed? Some mystical force of evil?
Maybe they were all mad and he was too for going along with them.

“Hey, Samuel,” Shawn greeted him, followed by a chorus of other team members, who gathered in the meeting area. A caffeinated aroma permeated the air.

Roc took his place in front of the white board. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise. We’ll get started in five.”

Everyone continued their private conversations, and Roberto hooked an arm around Samuel’s shoulders. “You okay?”

He would never voice his doubts to the others, who had slowly begun to accept him, but in a low voice, he confided to the priest, “What if I don’t buy into all of this?”

Roberto’s features turned solemn and thoughtful. “Why’d you come then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s a start. It’s those who think they know everything that we can’t work with.” Roberto clapped Samuel on the shoulder. “Come on, we’re going to go easy this evening.”

They started with a few calisthenics followed by a light run. They finished with climbing the ropes to the rafters. Samuel, his hands still tender, was the first to descend.

Roc clapped him on the back. “Good going, Samuel.”

“I don’t get this.” Shaking his stiff fingers and arms, he asked, “Do you usually have to climb a rope to reach a vampire?”

Joe’s feet hit the floor next. “Vampires can change.”

“Change?”

“Into birds or bats,” Joe explained, his brown eyes glittered with golden specks, “and critters of all kinds.”

“Interesting.” Samuel rubbed his sore biceps. “So what’s the point of this?”

“A vampire’s strength is unmatched.” Joe swung his arms, making his shoulder joints pop. “To even have a shot in battle, we must be in top physical shape.”

“But that’s only the beginning,” Roc added. “You should stay late one night for one of our nightly runs.”

Samuel swallowed. “Not sure I want to.”

“If you want to be one of us, then it’s a requirement.”

Samuel laughed. “What do I get at the end? A certificate?”

Roc shook his head but he didn’t laugh. “Help.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you want to leave here and do battle, then you’ll need help. And if you want help, then you have to pass our requirements.” He looked at his watch. “Come on, time for Father Roberto’s class on the proper way to gut a vampire.”

“Couldn’t we eat dinner first?” Samuel asked with a dying laugh.

Brydon was led to Jezebel’s private quarters, which dispensed with the gothic horror décor and this time expressed a soft, turn-of-the-century romantic flair. A sitting area and library contained shelves filled with hardback books, all from previous centuries. A French door opened to a courtyard. Where the land surrounding this conglomeration of warehouses seemed lifeless and drab, this little respite had been transformed into a lush garden of pink and white roses and shade trees, which were just beginning to bud and leaf. Trellises bordering the bricked walls allowed English ivy and yellow jasmine to climb uninhibited. Cobblestones made a footpath toward a white-painted gazebo. Beneath its canopy sat a white wrought-iron table and chairs. There, Jezebel sipped from a dainty teacup. With a wistful smile, she greeted him and gestured to the empty chair across from her.

As he joined her, giving a slight, respective bow before sitting, his escort disappeared back inside the warehouse. No other door led to the courtyard. No window looked out upon it. But above, on the flat warehouse roofs, guards paced the lengths of the buildings. He was being watched and monitored. But then, so was Jezebel.

Brydon waited for her to speak first, but she seemed content to enjoy the slight breeze against her face. With her eyes closed and chin slightly tilted upward, she looked young and carefree. But the silence made him anxious. “Quite a place you have here.”

“Does that mean you like it?” She opened her eyes and the blackness engulfed him. “Or are you just being polite?”

“Let’s say this place is full of surprises.” His gaze flickered upward toward the guards. “You’ve taken great care at security.”

“One can never take too many precautions.”

“And from whom are you hiding? Other vamps? Or vampire hunters?”

“Hunters? Please.” She gave a slight sneer as if she never even gave humans a thought. “But there are those like you and me, who would overthrow me in a heartbeat.” She poured blood from a teapot. “I’ve heard you know something of defensive measures. Is this correct?”

“A little.” He took the cup she offered. Since his first encounter with her in the dungeon, he’d been fed regularly while he waited for her to see him again. “I was a police officer—in my former life. Is that why you wanted to see me?”

She nudged a delicate bowl in his direction. “Sugar?”

He leaned back, holding the warm cup between his hands. The temperature was a perfect ninety-eight degrees.

She appraised him thoughtfully. “And do you miss your former life?”

“I use the knowledge I acquired daily.”

She smiled, a tolerant expression that never reached those penetrating eyes. He felt her attempts to probe his thoughts, and he resisted. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

He set the cup on the table, revealing his self-control. If he was going to get anywhere, then he’d have to play her game. Or at least pretend. “Do you miss your old life?”

She looked skyward. “I barely remember. It was so”—she twirled her wrist—“long ago.”

“What did you do?”

“Do?” She laughed. “Women had nothing to do. No way to make a living. No way to survive on their own. So what I do remember, I’d rather forget. It was not an easy life. This one is much better.” She sipped her drink, enjoying it. “I have choices now. I’ve established a place for myself. I’ve accomplished more than I ever could have.”

The lush trees and blooming plants made him think of the Deep South, the place of his birth, during a gentler time. “You have indeed.”

“Many covet my place here. My power. They would overthrow me if they could.” She was testing him.

“And do what?”

She lifted one eyebrow as if there was only one answer. “And rule.”

“Seems to me vampires make their own rules. Do you worry about those who serve you here?”

“No.” Her reaction was quick, almost too quick.

“Why? What is your hold on them?”

“Now, why would I tell you that? I like to keep my secrets secret. Isn’t that the point?” She gave a sly smile. “But all these bloods, I created. For life, they vowed their loyalty. And they know the consequences of infidelity. There are, of course, renegades.” She tilted her head, shaded the blackness of her eyes with long lashes.
Was
she
wondering
if
he
was
a
rebel
to
be
squashed?
“But insurgents often die.”

He remembered the hanging bodies in the first warehouse. A bleak reminder to any vamp. “So I’ve seen.”

“Yes, you have.” She steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “You were with Giovanni when he was destroyed. Is this true?”

“Not exactly.”

Both of her eyebrows shot upward. “But I thought—”

“I wasn’t there. But I do not doubt that he was destroyed. Or the other vamp with him, Akiva.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I know who they were up against.”

The skin at the corners of her eyes looked pinched with strain. “Who?”

“Someone…not another vamp…but someone
you
should be worried about.”

She waited.

But he wasn’t quite ready to reveal all he knew. First, he wanted something from her. He stood and walked the perimeter of the gazebo, surveying the intricately carved woodwork. “Do you ever feel trapped here? In this little fortress you have created? Unable to venture out into the world?”

She lifted her chin in defiance. “I choose to be here.”

Fear clearly ruled her heart. And he could use that against her. She thought she could control things and therefore manage her fear, but she was wrong. He faced her again. “You would be safe with me.”

She simply watched him with those heavy-lidded eyes.

“If you chose,” he emphasized the word she had utilized, “to venture beyond these ivy-coated walls”—he leaned casually against a wooden post—“I could show you a good time. Elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“Wherever you wanted to go.”

She leaned one elbow on the armrest of her chair and propped her chin on her hand. Her eyelids drooped seductively. “And where did you have in mind?”

“We can discuss that later.” His gaze traveled up to where four guards protected the sanctity of her courtyard. “In a more private setting. When we are truly alone.”

She stood and moved toward him, not fully approaching. She leaned against the opposite post. “You speak quite scandalously.”

“Do I?” He knew this was the moment. “I’d like to propose an alliance.”

She stiffened slightly.

He was taking a huge risk. “There is a vampire hunter. One you should fear.”

She rolled her eyes and looked away, disinterested. “There always have been those who believe they can destroy us. But they are mistaken. Fools.”

“Are you so sure?” He injected doubt into her overblown confidence.

“Why should this particular one concern me?”

“Because he’s building a force. A force of vampire hunters.”

Her reaction to the news was nonexistent, as not one muscle moved, yet she gave him her full attention. “Go on.”

“They’re not sniveling individuals who would be inconsequential. They are organizing and planning a full-out assault.”

“And you know this how?”

“Because I know the vampire hunter. From my previous life. He too was a police officer. And I know his abilities. I know his determination. I know what drives him.”

“And why should I be afraid of such a man?” Her condescending tone had a frosty irreverence. “What do we have to fear from a mere man?”

“Because Roc Girouard killed Giovanni and another vampire, Akiva. He would have killed me if I hadn’t escaped. And who knows how many others he has killed in his quest to avenge his wife’s death? He will not stop until he is dead.”

“That can be easily rectified.” She blinked slowly. “Well, now”—Jezebel rested her chin on the tops of her fingertips—“I am intrigued. Your passion is compelling.” Her dark eyes gleamed. “Most compelling.” Her tongue curled to touch her upper lip, then she pressed her lips together. “Most vampires bore me. But you”—her gaze bit into Brydon as if she’d sunk her teeth into his neck and savored the taste of him—“you’re interesting. And mortals”—she examined one of her nails—“mean nothing to me. But this Roc sounds like an amusing challenge.”

Brydon would have bet a vat of blood that Jezebel hadn’t been challenged in a long while.

The corner of her mouth tipped into a half smile. “It might be entertaining to toy with him, to see if we can make a rock bleed.”

She gave two quick claps of her hands, and a vampire rushed out of the French door toward the gazebo. This vamp was Jezebel’s opposite, tall and majestic with thick brown hair and a voluptuous build. She gave a slight bow toward Jezebel. “Madam?”

“See that Brydon receives all he needs in reinforcements and help.” She leveled her gaze back on him. “Bring me this vampire hunter.”

He straightened. “Of course.”

“Alive. He must be alive. They’re much more pleasurable that way.”

He bowed again, ready to leave the premises, escaping with his life—at least temporarily.

“And Brydon?” she asked.

He stopped at the bottom of the steps and faced her.

“That outing with just you and me that you had in mind?”

“Yes?”

“When you return.”

He gave another slight bow, and a full smile emerged. “I look forward to it.”

Turning on his heel, Brydon walked out of the courtyard, realizing he was lucky to still draw a breath.