The Good Lady (Alice the Fallen Mystery Book 1)

by K. H. Pope

  THE

  GOOD LADY

  (ALICE THE FALLEN MYSTERY)

  BOOK 1

  WRITTEN BY

  K.H. POPE

  THE GOOD LADY

  (ALICE THE FALLEN MYSTERY)

  BOOK 1

  By K.H. Pope

  All Rights Reserved.

  © 2015 K.H. Pope

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction created by the author. Any person, place, thing, business, and/or incident are the invention of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person dead or alive, place, thing, business and/or incident is purely coincidental.

  Cover Art:

  Astonished Font © Misprinted Type

  FFF Tusj Font © Magnus Cederholm

  Quattrocento Roman Font © Pablo Impallari & Igino Marini

  Cover Photography © deviantART – Fotolia.com

  Cover Photography © KoMa - Fotolia.com

  Third Edition June 2015

  For my Cole puppy.

  The sweetest and most spoiled Labrador in the world.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  MEET THE CHARACTERS

  MENTIONED CHARACTERS

  LETTER FROM AUTHOR

  VISIT ME ONLINE

  PUBLISHED NOVELS

  CHAPTER 1

  “Enjoying the solar eclipse, are we?” Ammon Seth asks.

  “Yes, indeed,” I answer.

  I’m pleasantly surprised to see my dapper Egyptian friend, and as to be expected, he is overdressed for the grand occasion. He is crowned with a bowler hat, and his eyes are covered with square shades. His robust frame is impeccably fitted with a tailored black suit, and his thick neck is choked with a perfectly constructed bowtie. Mind you, we are in the arid climate of Coquimbo, Chile, right on the beach surrounded by solar eclipse fanatics throwing a party, who are at best, dressed for slumming.

  “You’re looking quite the sight,” I remark. “You must be going on a date after you leave here. Who is the lucky girl?”

  “I’m trying to impress you.”

  “Hardly,” I respond.

  He chuckles and says, “You’re becoming very difficult to track down lately.”

  “Am I? Yet here you are.”

  “Well, this time it wasn’t that hard. A solar eclipse and a monument all in one place, I knew you wouldn’t pass up such an opportunity.”

  “You know me so well, Ammon.”

  “And it looks as if I’m just in time.”

  “Are your shades suitable for the show?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  Gazers begin shushing each other as the moment is about to arrive. Darkness spreads, chasing away the early evening light. The crisp sound of the ocean foam reverberates as it slides onto the beach. The cool wind blows, prickling my face and exposed arms, and the bonfire crackles, releasing tiny dancing sparks of light. This is a moment of sheer perfection, a unique experience, especially with the beautiful Third Millennium Cross illuminating on the gentle hill in the far distance.

  Finally, the eclipse reaches totality. The complete circle reminds me of halos worn by the angels. Only this one is larger, more magnificent. Unfortunately, just as quickly as the moon completely hides the sun, it begins to reveal it in subtle stages. And so begins the celebration, and the resonant cries of a lost charge in my head. Gazers become more rowdy. The drinks come out. The music rises to higher levels. To find peace, I move on from the beach. It’s not long before the noise in my head fades and the partyers are no more than a distant memory.

  Ammon and I come to the end of Las Orquídeas at the Pan-American Highway. He is unusually quiet. There’s something on his mind, but he’s hesitating. I can’t take the silence anymore.

  “Well,” I remark impatiently.

  “Calamous Fawlke,” he says, letting go of a breath.

  I huff and ask, “What about him?”

  “Why are you still looking for him?”

  “You know why.”

  “You’re wasting your time, Alice.”

  “Why don’t you tell me where he is? Then I won’t be.”

  Ammon gives me a smile. He’s not giving him up.

  “What about Lily Fawlke, his mother?”

  This time Ammon gives me a stern look of disapproval and shakes his head.

  “I won’t hurt her,” I reply. “I’m only going to ask her questions.”

  “The answer is no, Alice. I will not tell you where they are.”

  “Then why are you here? Are you trying to stop me?”

  “If that was the only reason, I wouldn’t have come in the first place.” He pauses and fidgets before continuing. “Lana is missing. I believe she was kidnapped.”

  I don’t believe him. Lana Wells is a philanthropist, living in Plain Dealing, Louisiana. She actively helps the homeless in Shreveport and other surrounding towns. Almost every resident in Plain Dealing know and respect her. I’ve lived with her for a couple of months, and I’ve seen for myself how people light up when she’s around, and how quickly some go out of their way to help her. I can’t think of a single soul that would take Lana against her will, but I’m also forgetting the world is out of control.

  “How long?” I ask.

  “She’s been gone since Friday.”

  “It’s the fifth day, Ammon. What have the police done so far?”

  “I went to Bossier Parish and spoke to a deputy in the sheriff’s office this morning. He said that he would try and look into it. The surrounding police departments weren’t even concerned. I was told, mostly by all of them, that she was an adult, and unless there was a real emergency, they will not be responding. They have bigger problems to deal with.”

  “I guess the Fellowship has their full attention,” I remark.

  “Yes, Bossier City and Shreveport are a bit overwhelmed by the attacks, but there are also roaming gangs that are looting and rioting. It’s gotten so bad that people are leaving the cities.”

  “I’ve heard, but the deputy you spoke to will try?”

  He nods once.

  “I have to help her,” I remark, starting towards the hotel.

  “I was hoping you would say that.”

  My hotel is barely half the length of a football field away on Pan-American Highway. My colorful but dirty room is located on the second floor at the end of a dark corridor. When I got to Coquimbo this morning, I rented the room, knowing I wasn’t going to stay the night. Therefore, I wasn’t too concerned with the look and amenities.

  I grab my black leather jacket from off the bed, shake it just in case a critter or two decided to move in while I was out, and I put it on.

  “Have you been by her home or been able to sense Lana while you were there?”

  “I’ve been to her house, and no, I haven’t been able to sense her.”

  “Do you have any idea who would take her?”

  “No.�
��

  “How did you find out she was missing, Ammon?”

  “I got an anonymous phone call.”

  “Anonymous? You don’t know who called?”

  Ammon’s pent up lips tells me he’s perturbed by this fact.

  I let it go and ask, “Are you ready?”

  “Whenever you are,” he remarks.

  Ammon grabs the knob to the closed bathroom door and summons a transfer chamber by speaking the command in Arabic. Light escapes through cracks around the door, and with a slight bow, Ammon opens it. The mildewed tiled bathroom is now replaced with a perfectly dimensioned square luminescent room with a rounded white high ceiling and a silver colored closed door on each wall. Transfer chambers are the quickest and most preferred way to travel for most witches, wizards, and warlocks. I’m not a witch, but I’m allowed to use it, thanks to Ammon. He follows me inside, closes the door, and immediately reopens it. My hotel room is gone, and in front of us is the grand facade of St. Michael’s Church in Hamburg, Germany.

  “Aren’t you going with me?” I ask. “We can look into Lana’s disappearance together.”

  “I have an appointment I can’t break.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “I really can’t say, but if you need me for anything at all, call me. You know you can reach me anytime.”

  “Alright.” Of course, I’m disappointed. I have to do this on my own.

  “Be careful, Alice.” Ammon touches my arm gently. “The Fellowship might be moving outward from the cities into the suburbs and smaller towns. They are very dangerous, and there is no talking them down from their targets. They only care about their purpose. Try to stay out of their way.”

  “Are you concerned about them or me?” I say with a smirk.

  “You, my dear,” he says.

  “I’ll be careful. Thank you, Ammon.”

  He gives me a nod before leaving.

  CHAPTER 2

  The easiest location to come out of the transfer chamber is in Benton, Louisiana, at a gas station bathroom around the corner from the sheriff’s office. I figure I’ll start my search with the deputy since he told Ammon he would try to help. I rush out of the store, hoping to avoid someone who might have known they didn’t see me go in the bathroom in the first place. I get out the front door without gaining attention.

  The summer sun is baking in Benton, a steep contrast from Coquimbo. I take off my coat and hang it over my arm. My unusual look of black and white striped pants, a low cut black ruffle blouse, and tangled, long snow white hair capture the attention of a man putting on his seatbelt in a faded green truck. I ignore him. This is nothing new to me. I’ve wandered the world for months. I’ve been talked about, laughed at, pointed at, and stared at like I have five heads. Such experiences and travels have afforded me thick skin.

  My short journey begins on Burt Boulevard. I walk pass what used to be Sonic and a couple other big chain restaurants and cross the street to the parking lot of the sheriff’s office. It’s a strange building, unlike the others around it. There are no windows. Vertical architectural spines go around the outside walls of the building, and there are no windows, making it difficult to tell how many floors it has. The entrance faces the parking lot, which is empty. I pull open the glass door, and I’m immediately greeted by a strange woman taking a file out of a cabinet.

  She is dressed in a white tight fitting pants suit with a white pashmina scarf tied around her neck. Her white hair is in a French roll. Her make-up is flawless. Skin is almost too pale and porcelain smooth. She has a pasted smile on her face, and she seems to be looking beyond me rather than at me. A white nametag is on her lapel. It has LIVNA embossed in gold on it.

  “Welcome,” she cheerfully says while stiffly and heavily walking over to the counter. “How may I help you?”

  This woman is not a cop. She’s not even a real, breathing person. I don’t feel any kind of life force within her.

  “I can help you,” a man says as he comes from a back office. Now, he looks like a normal person of authority. He’s wearing a uniform. His hair is thick and black. His face is sunburned and wrinkled. Glad he showed up.

  “Deputy Stewart,” he says.

  “Alice.”

  “What can I do for you, Miss...Alice?”

  “Just Alice. I’m here about Lana Wells.”

  “Why don’t we talk in my office privately? Away from her.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Deputy Stewart glances at Livna and opens the waist-high door at the counter for me. I walk through, cutting my eyes at her. She turns like a stiff robot, watching as I follow the deputy through the maze of desks and chairs to his office. Once inside and the door is closed, he offers me a seat. I cordially decline.

  “So, Alice, what did you want to know about Lana Wells?”

  “She’s missing. I believe an Ammon Seth came by this morning inquiring about her.”

  “He did, and I made a call to her brother afterwards.”

  “You spoke to Jeff?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  I’m about to ask another question when I feel someone very familiar nearby. I don’t know who it is, but I turn to look out the window in the door. I move the blinds. All I can see is Livna’s backside.

  “Something wrong, Alice?” Deputy Stewart asks as he leans sideways to see what I’m looking at.

  “Ah, no,” I answer, turning back to him. “What did Jeff say?”

  “He said that she was in Europe on vacation. He gave me her phone number. I called her. I spoke to her. She’s good to go.”

  “You spoke to Lana?” I’m elated at the good news. “She told you where she was in Europe?”

  “No, she did not.”

  I’m disappointed. “Why didn’t you ask her?” I reply.

  “She cut the conversation short. I think I only got one question out before she ended the call.”

  “Deputy Stewart, how do you know for sure that was her?”

  “I don’t,” he sighs, “and there’s no way I can verify. Don’t you have her phone number? You could call her yourself.”

  “No, I left Plain Dealing a while ago without getting her number.” I feel awkward admitting that. After all, Lana and I are friends, and I should have it.

  “Do you want it? I don’t have a problem giving it to you.”

  “Yes, please. Thank you.”

  He smiles gently and begins flipping through pages on a notepad that’s on his desk. He finds the number. I take out my cell phone and punch the digits in as he reads them aloud. The phone begins to ring, but so does another phone at the same time outside Deputy Stewart’s office. I look at him, wondering if what I’m hearing is correct. He goes out the door, and I follow him.

  Standing out in the middle of the room is a woman who I’ve run into many times in the past. Her name is Pearl Nakamura, and I’m not happy to see her at all. She interfered in my business a year ago when she had no right, and she’s been trying to kill me ever since.

  She smiles, provoking me to attack her, but before I can react, she zaps me with a bolt of lightning and disappears literally from where she stands. She only managed to hit my right leg, burning a hole in my striped pants, but the strike has left a small, sizzling crater-like burn in my leg to the white meat. It hurts badly. I’m afraid to grab it in fear that I’ll make it hurt worse.

  “Are you alright?” Deputy Stewart asks. He doesn’t know what to do. He has his hand on his holstered gun. He’s looking around. He wants to assist me to a chair, but I won’t let him touch me.

  “Hell no,” I hiss through the pain. The burn is already beginning to heal, but it’s still excruciating.

  When I hear Pearl calling my name from the cell phone that’s in my hands, I come out of my painful daze. She’s taunting me. How I wish she was in reach.

  I put the cell phone to my ear and say through clenched teeth, “I’m going to crush every bone in your body. Do you hear me?”

  She laughs and disc
onnects before I can say anything else. I select the redial button. Unfortunately, this time, when the line picks up, an automated voice indicates the number is disconnected. I want to throw my phone across the room, but I can’t. I need it. I guess I must concede to losing the battle this time, but the day will come when I will return all of the wonderful favors Pearl has ever done to me tenfold. I cannot wait.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Alice?”

  “I’m fine,” I say, waving him back.

  “I take it the number I gave you wasn’t for Lana Wells?”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Who was that again?”

  “A pain in the butt,” I remark irritably.

  “Okay,” he says with a chuckle. “What did she say to you on the phone?”

  “She laughed and hung up.”

  “You can press charges if you want.”

  This guy knows it won’t do any good. She’s a witch, and he’s a normal human being. She can disappear instantly and shoot lightning from her hands, and the deputy, if he has his gun, will miss her each and every time. Pearl is that quick, and the saddest part, if she had actually killed me-which she really couldn’t-he still wouldn’t be able to arrest her.

  I move on. “Are you going to work on the case or what?”

  Deputy Stewart sighs and bites his bottom lip. Clearly, that means no.

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “You’ve heard about the Fellowship. They are everywhere, and we have our hands full. Molten Corporation wants us to concentrate on stopping them.”

  “Moltean Corporation? Who are they?” I ask with a serious attitude.

  “They bought and own Caddo and Bossier Parishes. They control the governments, the cities, and the towns within. They also own all emergency services, including the police and sheriff departments.”

  “Why can’t they spare a couple of you guys?”

  “Alice, we can’t, okay? There’s literally a war going on in the United States. People are getting killed doing mundane everyday things. The Fellowship is targeting grocery stores, gas stations, bridges, shopping malls. Any place of importance or has a lot of people. Our only priority is stopping them.”