Deamhan Chronicles, Books 1-5: Deamhan, Kei. Family Matters, Dark Curse, Maris. The Brotherhood Files, Ayden. Deamhan Minion

by Isaiyan Morrison

  The jogger frowned in distaste. “You wouldn’t catch me there.”

  Unfortunately, I have to go there. She thanked him and they parted ways. She then signaled a passing taxi to take her to the house fire. Upon entering the taxi, the smell of old cigarettes and wet upholstery snaked up her nostrils. She gripped the back of the driver’s seat when the taxi sped off.

  The taxi sped through multiple intersections and only at Washington Avenue and Tenth Street did he decrease his speed.

  “Are we there yet?” Her body reeled from the driver’s inability to drive in a straight line.

  “No, no, I tell you when.” The driver’s broken English confirmed Veronica’s uneasiness. The taxi came to a screeching halt at a stoplight. Her eyes shifted to the left at the cemetery. She recognized the area from her childhood. Wilkes Cemetery was protected by the Minnesota Historical Society, making it just one of the oldest and rarest locations in the city. She recalled her mother’s admiration for its weathered, sunken headstones and unkempt plots.

  The taxi continued down the street. The scenery turned from storefronts to Victorian homes and towering brick buildings. Again, the taxi screeched to a halt at a stoplight.

  “Drop me off right here.”

  “House is down there. I drop you closer.”

  “No, it’s fine. Right here.”

  The driver parked the taxi and laid the back of his hand on the top of the passenger seat. “Fifteen dollars and twenty cents.”

  She handed him a twenty dollar bill and exited. The taxi sped away, leaving a cloud of exhaust, which engulfed her. She looked up at a green street sign that read “29th Avenue.” She was only one block east from her desired location.

  Cold wind stung the tips of her ears. Dried and dead leaves raced along the sidewalk in miniature tornadoes. The area was uncanny and a little quiet for what she expected. She wrapped her arms around her body, taking baby steps while reading bright yellow and orange graffiti covering the walls of the building next to her.

  Across the street, charred remains of the house were clearly visible and sectioned off with yellow police tape. A group of people stood across the street gawking at the destruction. The only part of the house standing was a burned back wall. Black and gray smoke floated from the middle of the home while firefighters combed through the remains.

  Sean was right.

  This was just the first of many destroyed sanctuaries Veronica would witness and she had to prepare herself for it. The Deamhan were burning each other out of house and home!

  She walked over to a group of onlookers. An older woman with brown and gray intermixed hair turned to speak. “Isn’t it just horrible?” The woman folded her arms across her chest. The corners of her mouth dropped in discontent. Flaccid wrinkles stifled her face. “The police has to do something about this. It’s ridiculous.”

  “I saw it on the news last night,” Veronica replied. “How many homes have burned now?”

  “A dozen or so.” The old woman’s focus remained centered on the burned ruins. “Thank God no one was hurt.” She exalted. “It was a lovely home. I just can’t imagine what the couple and their children are going to do.”

  “A family lived there?”

  “Yeah. And those poor kids.” The old woman turned to Veronica again. “It was a home for at risk youths.”

  “At risk youths?”

  “Of course, I’m sure.” The woman lifted her head and smacked her lips. “Those kids had medical issues. I spoke to their adoptive parents, God fearing people.” She paused then continued. “They stayed up into the wee hours of the morning sometimes, helpin’ those children.” She pointed to the opposite street corner. “See that lot over there?”

  She followed the woman’s gaze.

  “Another house went up just last week. It’s those juvenile delinquents. They have nothing better to do.” She then pointed at a gray windowless van parked halfway down the street. “And that van drives up and down this street daily. I’ve called the cops about it, but they don’t do anything.”

  She realized that nothing fit the stereotypical sanctuary Sean warned her about. The old woman mixed gossip with reality. There was no way Deamhan would sire children. It was against their own rules to do so.

  “Hoodlums are turning this neighborhood into a war zone,” the old woman stressed.

  “Was there anyone home at the time of the fire?”

  “God, I hope not.” The woman grasped her chest. “The poor, poor children.”

  She doubted the woman was that hurt or even cared as much as she let on. Veronica scanned the crowd of housewives and older women. She overheard their conversations; mainly gossip and accusations, which didn’t help her investigation. They had no idea about the real horrors happening in the city. And didn’t want to fathom what could happen if they did know.

  Her eyes caught sight of a short, thin woman standing alone near the edge of the crowd. She appeared unconcerned at the gossip, instead staring at the ruins. The young woman looked up and her eyes met her own.

  “This city needs more cops,” the old woman continued on her rant.

  Veronica turned back to her, nodded, and then returned her gaze to the mysterious young woman. Her smooth blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her clear blue eyes remained fixed on her. She wore a brown leather jacket, a white shirt, and blue jeans—definitely too young to blend in with the “housewives” in the crowd. She didn’t belong.

  “Are you new to the neighborhood, sweetie?” Again, the older woman swayed Veronica’s attention. “I hope this doesn’t influence your opinion about the area. Most of our families have lived in this area for generations.”

  “That’s cool.” Veronica neglected the woman’s stare. Her eyes remained glued on the mysterious woman, watching her pivot slowly. The woman walked down the street, glancing back over her shoulder. The sound of a cop car’s sirens broke the air.

  “Is your family from Minneapolis?”

  Veronica ignored the question. Following her hunch, she took off after the mysterious woman.

  The woman disappeared around the corner and she picked up her pace. She stopped once she reached the corner, noticing that the woman had vanished.

  “Hello,” She called out. Baffled, she turned back to the crowd. Her thoughts raced. For once she felt calm, thinking that the woman was a researcher, but what could be relaxing about that? The thought crossed her mind of coming back later that night to investigate the burned house. It was closely followed by the nightmarish fact of being out alone at night. Waiting wasn’t a bad option either, yet the longer she waited, the more impatient she became.

  The fires would have to wait . . . for now.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Despite the charcoal sky, the polished oak casket gleamed under the funeral tent. Raindrops sparkling on the silver cross adorning the casket caught Sean’s eye. He cursed under his breath. “Of all the days it could’ve rained.”

  He tilted his head at the bloated gray clouds. He’d never seen a southern California downpour like this and it came on a day that deserved the sun’s warmth more than any other.

  His friend Rick wasn’t a high ranking member of The Brotherhood. Yet the casket he laid in told otherwise. Thousands of dollars from Sean’s own pocket—plus donations—paid for it. Not a dime came from Presidents of the Western, Midwest, and Eastern Divisions or the Head Master of The Brotherhood.

  He dropped his head and pretended to pray. He covertly scanned the mourners from behind his dark glasses. As best he could tell, all of them were researchers from the local Chapter.

  A fresh onslaught of uninvited tears coursed from behind his dark glasses. He felt so angry and so helpless. This funeral shouldn’t be happening.

  The priest closed his Bible. Sean joined the line of mourners, each carrying a bright red rose to place atop the casket. He stared at the rose in his hand and huffed. Rick hated red roses.

  “Sorry, buddy,” he said as he placed the rose in the pile. �
�I’d have preferred a lily, too.” He stepped aside and watched Kenneth place a rose on the casket, mumble a prayer, and step away. The President of the Western Division, Kurt Luzier, followed Kenneth. Sporting a dark suit and tie and dark glasses, he approached the casket and placed his own red rose on top of it. Behind him and the last one in line, stood Veronica’s father. Gripping the handle of his black cane, Mr. Austin hobbled forward. He placed the largest and darkest rose atop the mound of flowers.

  One by one, the mourners dispersed, but Sean lagged behind in covert surveillance of Kenneth’s conversation with Mr. Austin and Mr. Luzier. He’d give anything just now for one of those high tech eavesdropping devices he’d seen on the Internet. He wondered what lies Kenneth spoke in their ears. He didn’t doubt that Kenneth would do anything to secure his position as the next President of any Division. He loved power, just like his dead father.

  Disappointed and downhearted, he ambled back to his car and waited until Mr. Austin was ready to call on him. Images of Rick’s well dressed, motionless form pierced his mind. The mortician’s expertise made it possible for the funeral to be an open casket. It was hard to believe that just days ago, Rick’s face was unrecognizable.

  He glanced down the hill at the flower strewn casket and observed the intimate way Kenneth held Mr. Austin’s elbow as he guided him back to his limousine. Kenneth’s hands tightened into fists. It still incensed Sean that Mr. Luzier chose him to give Rick’s eulogy. The way Kenneth pretended to mourn . . . hell, he didn’t know Rick at all. Not like he did. The tribute had been so generic, so common, and so impersonal; Kenneth could have pulled it from a handbook.

  Rick deserved better.

  The Brotherhood took responsibility for the grand funerals and interments of its members, insisting that employees were actually family. That’s what the name“Brotherhood” meant. They were brothers and sisters, by oath and loyalty. Well, that’s what they were led to believe.

  Sean rubbed his chin. He unlocked the driver’s side door when he heard Kenneth’s voice behind him.

  “Hey,” he called from halfway up the sloped hill.

  Sean sighed and looked over his shoulder. Kenneth approached with a smile on his face. Water droplets fell from the ends of his light brown hair.

  “Why the long face, comrade?”

  “It’s my friend’s funeral.”

  Kenneth grinned. “Mr. Austin is ready for you.”

  Tense, Sean exhaled.

  “No need to get nervous. It’s just a talk.”

  Mr. Austin limped up the hill with the support of Mr. Luzier. A recent hip surgery forced the old man to rely on his cane as temporary support. Though frail, he could still invoke nervousness into any researcher.

  Sean’s throat tightened as he waited for Veronica’s father to speak. Instead, the old man greeted Sean with a firm handshake.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Austin.”

  “Any time of day during a funeral is not good.” Mr. Austin gazed at the sky. “But we need the rain.” He raked his fingers through his wavy hair. Sean noticed no signs of gray; parallel wrinkles banding his forehead being the only telltale on his face that signaled his age.

  “Yes, sir. Much needed rain.”

  “Oh, please. Call me Samuel when away from work.”

  “Ahh, Samuel. Of course.” Sean nodded. I knew that.

  Mr. Austin turned to Mr. Luzier. “Thank you for your help.”

  Mr. Luzier nodded and he took the umbrella from Kenneth and placed it in Sean’s hand. “If you need anything, Mr. Austin, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Mr. Austin motioned at Sean to follow him. “Walk with me for a moment.”

  The walk. Sean cursed the thought. This is about Veronica. He measured his steps to match Mr. Austin’s hobbling gait as the two ambled deeper into the heart of the cemetery, passing weather beaten monuments and new headstones. The older man’s silence weighed heavy on the upcoming conversation and Sean felt his palms drip with perspiration. He wiped them on his shirt, tipping the umbrella to one side, exposing the older man to the rain.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Austin.”

  “I told you to call me Samuel.” He stopped, hooked his cane over his forearm, and pulled out a pipe and a pouch of tobacco from his overcoat. “Sean,” he said, returning the pouch to his pocket and pulling out a small box of matches, “I’m sure you understand why I’m concerned about Veronica.”

  He suppressed the impulse to heave a deep sigh. “Yes, sir, I’m well aware.”

  Mr. Austin struck a match and lit his pipe. “Are you also aware of her intentions?”

  He nodded.

  “I know she updates you on her progress.”

  “Mr. Austin—er, Samuel—I’m just as concerned as you are about her being in Minneapolis.”

  Mr. Austin held his pipe steady between his teeth and snatched the umbrella from Sean’s hand. “No, you’re not.” Smoke billowed from the side of his mouth.

  The rain dissipated, turning into a light drizzle. Droplets still covered the leaves and grass, causing their color to appear brighter than they were. Mr. Austin’s presence provoked him and he knew he had to choose his words carefully.

  Mr. Austin sucked hard on his pipe, expelling smoke while he spoke. “I heard she went to Dark Sepulcher.”

  “Yes, sir. I begged her not to go, but she went anyway.”

  “It’s obvious she isn’t listening to you.”

  “But, you see—”

  “You’re a valuable asset to this organization, son. More than that, Veronica likes you.” He turned his pipe upside down and smacked its stem against the side of his hand, knocking ash onto the ground. “I spoke to Mr. Luzier and we both agreed that you’re perfect for the task.”

  “Yes, sir, I know, but—” Sean paused. “Task? What task?”

  “Mr. Luzier has agreed to promote you to field researcher. You’re to go to Minneapolis and bring my daughter back unharmed.”

  “Sir?”

  “My daughter trusts you.”

  Sean shook his head. He didn’t want any of it. Not like this. A field researcher? Just the thought created a mild pain in his chest. “Sir, she’s only called me once. I mean, I’m grateful you decided to choose me, but I’m not right for this.”

  “You can make her listen.” Mr. Austin’s voice grew louder. “Kenneth informed me that you acquired documents for Veronica. In doing so, you violated your oath.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “What you did by helping my daughter is punishable.” Mr. Austin puffed on his pipe. “Do you understand?”

  Sean quickly zipped his mouth shut and he nodded.

  “But I persuaded Mr. Luzier to hand you over to me in exchange for dropping the charges against you and bringing shame to your family.”

  “Yes, sir.” He forced himself to nod.

  Mr. Austin again reached into his pocket, this time pulling out a folded manila envelope. “You will leave tomorrow.” He placed the envelope in Sean’s hand. “And you won’t tell anyone where you’re going.”

  “Sir, I appreciate what you’ve done for me but once again, I have no experience as a field researcher.”

  Mr. Austin held up his hand. “Your parents were loyal members of The Brotherhood, Sean. Being charged with treason will bring shame on your family name.” He grabbed the umbrella from him and walked forward. “After you arrive, you will report to Kenneth via email. He’s now the new Region Leader of Minnesota.”

  Sean looked over his shoulder at Kenneth who stood against Mr. Luzier’s limousine. He waved at him and a feeling of anger ripped through Sean’s mind. That bastard.

  “You won’t inform my daughter that you’re coming,” Mr. Austin continued. “You will keep in contact with Kenneth via email and phone. You will sway my daughter away from Dark Sepulcher. Any information from here on out will be about the sanctuary fires and that alone. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir,” Sean replied in a defeated voice. “I do.”

  “D
on’t mess up this opportunity.”

  Tentatively, Sean unfolded the envelope and peeked inside and found a short stack of bills and a small piece of paper topped by a single plane ticket to Minneapolis.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Aline filled with provocatively dressed young men and women wrapped around the block which led to the front doors of Dark Sepulcher. Veronica froze, shocked to see how the line had grown since her last visit. Perhaps they’d scheduled a special performance for tonight? Had the club’s popularity blossomed so quickly?

  She took her place in line behind a tall man wearing a ruffled white shirt, black pants, and long artificial nails. Amused, she watched him press his fingers against his fake vampire style teeth, trying to make them adhere to his natural overbite.

  She surveyed the crowd, finding it difficult to separate Deamhan and vampires from humans. Deamhan meticulously disguised themselves with make-up and clothing. And with so many wanna-be humans dressed like vampires, she couldn’t tell one from the other.

  The line inched forward. She eavesdropped on several conversations until her gaze met the eyes of two women in line behind her. Except for their height, they looked identical—long brown hair and deep brown eyes. The shorter of the two wore a white mesh shirt revealing a black bra and a white miniskirt. The other wore purple leather pants and a pink tank top.

  Twins, Veronica thought. Great.

  “Aren’t you cold?” the taller twin asked her.

  Surprised, Veronica pointed at herself. “Me?” She knew she wasn’t dressed for Minnesota weather, but neither were they. She no longer owned gloves or a scarf. She sacrificed warmer clothes for club apparel.

  She shivered then nodded. “I’ve never seen you here before.” The taller twin’s eyes roved her body.

  Not again. Veronica wanted to stop the conversation before it started. She turned her back on the twins and stared straight ahead.