“It’s too difficult for us to explain,” Goldie answered. Her tattooed roses glimmered under the car’s internal lights, their red hues brilliant, her crimson dress heightening the effect. The flowers seemed almost alive, as if steadily twining up out of the young woman’s neckline. “It’s easier for you to see it. However, you must both prepare yourselves. She’s not as you remember her.”
“How the hell are we supposed to do that when you won’t tell us what’s going on?” Hal asked. He toked on his pipe for a moment. “Is she horribly maimed or something? Was she in an accident?”
“Rest assured that if we told you,” Isa said, “you wouldn’t believe us. Just steel yourselves for a shock.”
“But you said Cheyenne’s alive,” Sable interjected. Had Hal guessed the truth?
Isa nodded. “She is…if you want to call it living.”
“What do you mean?” Sable’s heart rate accelerated, and spots flitted in front of her eyes. Feeling faint, she took a deep breath then exhaled. “Goldie? Talk to me.”
Goldie shifted in the seat and pulled a red silk wrap from a large tote next to her. “Take this.” She tossed it across to Sable, who caught the edge of it. “Wrap it around your head and shoulders. It will help protect you.”
Sable frowned as she fingered the garment’s softness. “A silk wrap?”
Hal looked from Sable to Goldie. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Rolling her eyes, Goldie sighed. “I see why you divorced this joker.”
“Now just wait a min—”
Anger awakened in Sable. She jabbed her ex-husband in the ribs with her elbow. “Shut up!”
“Ow!” He glared at her. “I demand to know what’s going on!”
“If you don’t shut up, I will throw you from this moving car,” Isa said, her tone so quiet it stood the hair up on Sable’s arms. “And believe me, I may be old, but I can and will do it.”
A curious combination of skepticism and unease flickered in Hal’s eyes. He clamped his mouth shut and settled back against the seat with a disgusted sigh.
“How will this wrap protect me?” Sable asked and slipped it over her shoulders.
“It’s the color red,” Isa replied. “Red has power, and where we’re going, you need to cover your head to show respect to the leader because you’ll be in her home. Hal is male, so he doesn’t need to cover his head.” Goldie held a red silk scarf out to him.
“You’re all nuts,” Hal muttered, staring out the window.
“Just put this on,” Goldie said. “I don’t know what good it’ll do you, because the moment you open your mouth, you’ll put your life in jeopardy—if I don’t wrap it around your throat and strangle you with it first.”
Sable hid her smile.
Reluctantly, Hall took the scarf and looped it twice around his neck.
Sable remained quiet and adjusted the silk so it fell over her head and hair. She wrapped her braid around her right forearm and fixed the ends of the shawl so they draped over each shoulder and down her back.
The old woman nodded in satisfaction. “Perfect.”
The car slowed and maneuvered through the gates of a seaside cemetery on a knoll.
Sable looked through the passenger window and asked, “We’re meeting Cheyenne here?”
“Yes.” Goldie clasped the handles of her tote. “Stay behind me and my grandmother and do not speak unless you are first addressed by one of the others. Do you understand?”
Sable nodded. Hal dipped his head once.
They exited the car after Goldie and Isa.
“Wait here, Gerald,” Isa said.
“Madam,” the driver replied.
Nodding, Isa held her hand out to Goldie, who withdrew a delicate crocheted shawl, also red, from the tote and passed it to her. The elderly woman swung it over her shoulders. Carefully, she adjusted it so that a portion of the shawl covered her snowy hair.
Rummaging in the bag, Goldie removed another shawl identical to Isa’s and donned it in the same fashion. Lastly, she took out a large flashlight and turned it on. She shouldered the bag and walked up the hill.
“Valimar, you can’t go after her,” Yasmine stated with conviction.
“Why not?” Thomas paced in his suite. “She’s in danger.”
“She’s with The Golden and Isa. She’ll be fine.” The magical orb spun from left to right, glowing crimson with Yasmine’s irritation.
“Like that matters?” Stopping, Thomas faced the sphere. “The Judges want me to protect her, yet I’m not permitted to follow her? Does that make sense to you, Yasmine?”
A sigh of annoyance drifted from the ball. “Look, the Judges know what they’re doing, Valimar. That’s why The Golden was allowed to take Sable to see her daughter. The Judges decided that if Sable saw Cheyenne, witnessed the fact that she’s no longer her daughter, then Sable would pull back from her and be less visible to the Paranormal worlds.”
“First of all, Sable could be killed just by going into that den,” Thomas snapped.
The thought left him cold inside, as if someone had sucked out all his innards and replaced them with dry ice. The memory of Sable straining against him filled his mind, her feet hooked behind his knees, her softness encasing his cock. He gulped and willed a flood of desire to go away. However, he could still smell the aroma of her body, musky yet sweet, swirling around him, intoxicating his senses. She’d felt so good, so right in his arms, like she’d been sculpted just for him.
“Those kinds of Paranorms cannot be trusted,” Thomas practically snarled. “Secondly, don’t you think being in a definite Paranorm hub will alert the powers pursuing Sable of her whereabouts? Whatever this ancient presence is, it’ll zero in on her there, Yasmine. Her power will be heightened by the magic that’s in that den.”
“It’s a chance the Judges are willing to take.”
“To hell with the Judges!” Thomas raked one hand over his cornrows and glared at the orb.
The magical ball turned a deeper, inky red. “I’m warning you, Valimar.” The anger in Yasmine’s voice was unmistakable. “Don’t do something stupid.”
“She’s my ward.”
“Judging by your reaction to this new development, I’d say she’s now your woman, too.”
The snide tone of Yasmine’s voice pissed Thomas off. He stiffened, balling his hands at his sides until his blunt nails cut into his palms. He struggled to contain his ire.
“Watch it, Yasmine. You might be my overseer, but you don’t own me.”
“I can report you to the Judges, have you stripped of all your powers.” The orb darkened to pure black. “You’ll be dumped in the mortal realm for good.”
“Good. I welcome it. I’m sick of the Old World’s bullshit to maintain power and the New Order’s greedy quest to take it.”
He spun on his heel and strode to the dresser for his keys and wallet.
“Valimar, you’ll regret this. I’ll see to it you’re punished.”
“For your information, Yasmine,” he said as he stuffed his billfold into the back pocket of his jeans, “I’ve already been to see the Judges, so shut the hell up.”
Silence reigned. The orb spun to and fro, variegated colors of confusion swirling around its surface.
“I’ll report when I get back,” he said gruffly and stalked to the door.
“Valimar! You can’t do this. It’s forbidden.”
Thomas didn’t even look back. “Go fuck yourself, Yasmine.”
He slammed the door behind him.
Although stars glittered in the heavens, the sky possessed a muted, predawn haze. Sable’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, but she was still grateful that Goldie had thought to bring a flashlight. A couple of hundred yards to her right, Sable detected pounding surf. A stiff breeze fluttered her wrap and tried to tug it from her head. The aroma of ocean hung heavily in the air. Somewhere in the darkness a seagull cried, as if mourning the occupants of the necropolis.
“We must hurry,” Isa
said. She set off at a brisk pace behind her granddaughter who had progressed into the heart of the cemetery.
Sable hurried after the women. Hal walked on her right, his pipe streaming white smoke into the cool morning air, his gaze straight ahead.
Once she caught up to Goldie and Isa, the sky had lightened even more. The gravestones closest to the shore were worn faceless, rounded into mere rocks by the elements. She stayed close to the women as they weaved in and out of the crumbling markers, following a vague, sandy path still wet and spongy from the rain earlier that night. Progressing deeper into the boneyard, Sable realized the settlers of the area must have figured out to turn the headstones the opposite direction so the weather wouldn’t beat them so badly. She caught sight of a partial date on one—1699?—the name blurred, but the semblance of letters and two archangels remained discernable regardless of time.
Another seagull cawed in the gloom.
“This is ridiculous,” Hal whispered. “Why would Cheyenne be in a cemetery? She’s alive, right?”
“That’s what they said,” Sable replied.
He snorted.
At the top of the knoll, Goldie and Isa halted. A massive stone lay flat on the ground. On its surface, Sable made out the name Emerald in faded Edwardian script. The dates had long ago crumbled away. Below the missing dates were the words: In death, she is free. A gargoyle flanked either side of the epitaph.
Isa picked up a chunk of gravestone from the ground and hit the huge marker three times in the spot where the dates had once resided. The old woman stepped back and clasped her granddaughter’s hand.
Goldie glanced over her shoulder at Sable. “Remember,” she said, “only speak when spoken to.” She fixed grim eyes on Hal. “And you better just keep your mouth shut. Otherwise, it could be bad for your health.”
Before Hal could respond, Sable placed her elbow against his ribs, poised to jab if the words she saw forming exited his mouth.
A grinding sound reverberated through the air, as if thunder rolled along the horizon. The noise drew Sable’s attention to the ground. The massive gravestone slid open. Grooves lined the dirt.
She gaped at the doorway.
The stone continued to move until a four-foot-long rectangle formed, allowing them enough room to enter the earth’s bowels.
With her grandmother’s hand still clasped in hers, Goldie started down into the ground’s waiting mouth.
“We’re not going down there, are we?” Hal asked.
Sable walked to the edge of the hole and gazed into it. The aroma of dust and dampness blew up out of the cavity. Isa motioned for her to follow.
Glancing at Hal, Sable said, “I guess we are.”
“This is fucking nuts!”
“Then stay here.” Sable drew in a deep breath and put her foot on the first hewn step.
Although fear and uncertainty ate at her gut, she descended a few more steps. Torches lit the narrow corridor. The only sounds were their footfalls and the wind gusting in through the opening.
The words “Aw, hell!” and Hal’s movements drifted down to Sable. She smiled and continued to pick her way along the rock staircase.
“We’ll reach the bottom in a few moments,” Isa called.
Mildew covered the stones, making them slippery. As she trailed the women, every scenario Sable could imagine Cheyenne might’ve gotten mixed up in passed through her head. Had her daughter met a drug lord and couldn’t get away from him? Since this place was so well hidden and within yards of the beach, it was possible it was a slave ring. Perhaps she’d stumbled across smugglers, and to spare her life, she’d promised to work for them and remain here?
“If only it were that simple,” Isa said.
“What?” Surprise flittered through Sable. “How did—?”
“Shh!” The sound came from Goldie. “We’re almost to the bottom. You must remain silent and allow Grandmother and me to do the talking.”
Fear stopped gnawing at her gut and decided to progress to her heart where it chewed so viciously Sable momentarily saw spots. She paused, gripping the wall with one hand to steady herself.
The stairs ended. Torches flickered on the walls. Shadows leaped and danced.
A steel door loomed in front of Goldie. She rapped on it three times, waited, and rapped three more times. The door opened. Someone stepped into the doorway.
In response, Sable’s fear sprouted fangs and claws and scrabbled its way up into her brain.
The man who regarded them possessed an aura that emanated cruelty. He gazed at them through frigid eyes, their irises white. A curtain of coal-black hair, poker straight and shiny, fell to his waist. Faded jeans clung to his lanky legs, and scuffed biker boots with a metal spike adorning each toe peeked out from under the flared cuffs. A black suede shirt too large for him covered his torso, but despite his willowy frame, Sable got the distinct impression he possessed amazing strength.
She wanted to whirl and pound back up the steps and out into the cool sea breeze, but thoughts of Cheyenne kept her feet rooted to the floor.
A sharp intake of breath drew her attention. Hal’s lips worked, but no sound came out. She eased her elbow against his ribs yet again. He glanced at her, eyes wide and full of trepidation. She barely shook her head and shot him a warning look.
“You are expected,” the man said, his voice whispery, void of emotion. “Step inside and wait here.”
Sable followed Isa and Goldie into a series of catacombs.
Strands of white, red, and purple lights hung throughout a large stone room. The places where bodies had once resided now held books, liquor bottles, various drinking glasses, and other odds and ends such as a hairbrush, a pair of reading glasses, and stacks of jigsaw puzzles and magazines.
Someone had expensive taste in furniture, too. Most of the chairs, cabinets, and the two sofas seemed to be antiques from the Edwardian era. On the back wall, a painting of a handsome redheaded woman hung in a heavy, ornate frame, the subject’s clothing from the early 1900s.
“Well, if it isn’t the Rapunzel lady.”
Sable whirled toward the voice. “You!”
The fellow from The Threshold grinned back at her, his neon-green contacts now gone. He sat with one long leg, the foot bare, slung over the arm of an overstuffed armchair that clashed with the more uncomfortable furniture littering the room. His other foot rested on the sandy floor. He saluted her, his smile growing wider, fangs glimmering in the feeble light.
“What brings you to Emerald’s abode?”
“Emerald?” she echoed. The name on the large gravestone rose to mind.
“Shush!” Isa shot her a warning glance.
Heat flowed into Sable’s face, and Hal glanced over at her in exasperation.
“I’m Ignacio,” he said, raising his hand to her in a half-hearted salute of sorts. “But you can call me Iggy.”
Turning away from the man, Sable gasped at the unexpected appearance of a young lady.
A petite woman of about twenty studied her with cool blue eyes. She appeared to be half Chinese and half Caucasian, the contrast of her eye color, features, and coloring startling yet exotic. She stood so closely that Sable saw the freckles scattered across the girl’s nose and cheeks. Streaks of blue had been artfully inserted into her short, spiky brown hair, which heightened the topaz of her eyes.
The small woman cocked her head to one side, her skull earrings bobbing. “Wow, this is a tall one.” She fingered the braid wrapped around Sable’s forearm. “Are we having an early breakfast?” she asked, her gaze shifting to the man who sat behind Sable.
“No,” he replied, amusement in his voice. “Job and Zoe aren’t due back for another hour.”
“Damn.” The girl’s gaze wandered over Hal. “I’m hungry, but perhaps this one can satisfy my other appetites.”
“Go find your fun elsewhere, Violet,” a voice said.
The girl’s expression shifted from cruel pleasure to one of respect. She ducked her head and moved
away.
Sable gaped at the woman who had just entered the chamber. She looked from her familiar face to the portrait on the wall and back again. Although her hair was cut in a slanted bob instead of being long and upswept, she was definitely the same woman. Her high-necked Edwardian gown had been swapped for steel-gray culottes and a silver tank top. A delicate shiny chain encircled her waist, a segment of it dangling against one thigh. A bright green stone sparkled in the last link. Wedge slip-on sandals revealed her perfectly manicured toenails polished black.
Sable glanced at the painting again. Surely she was just a relative who bore a striking resemblance.
A smiled tugged at the woman’s lips.
Goldie bowed her head and offered a slight curtsey, but Isa stood with her shoulders back, gaze boring into the redhead.
“Good evening, Emerald,” Isa said.
Something told Sable to mimic Goldie’s actions. She dipped her head and nudged Hal, who only half-attempted to show the same respect.
Emerald narrowed her eyes at him. She observed Goldie and Isa, a perplexed expression on her smooth, regal face. “You find it necessary to wear red head covers?” she said. “Do you trust me so little?” She tugged on a lock of her bright crimson hair, holding it out.
“Not everyone is as trustworthy as you are, Emerald,” Goldie replied.
Emerald’s soft laughter filled the chamber. She ran her hands over her hair to smooth it. “Indeed. However, I notice you have avoided my question, but that is quite all right. In our worlds, one must always exercise caution.” She turned her attention to Sable. “Come.” She beckoned with one manicured hand. “I will take you to your daughter.” She disappeared down a tunnel.
Goldie and Isa followed her, and Sable hurried after them, grateful to be away from the others. Hal dogged her heels. Red lights draped the walls, inflaming the color of Emerald’s hair. The illumination’s otherworldly effect left Sable uneasy and disoriented. Their footsteps crunched in the passageway, and the air seemed heavy and stale. Blood thundered in her ears, and a sheen of sweat broke out along Sable’s body.
The Darkness of Sable Page 23