Angelica sighed. Her feelings about her grandmother’s death were complicated, and she felt too exhausted to think about them very less deal with them. “She was in the kitchen when it happened.”
Denise looked her way. “Still have that same faded gold cherry wallpaper?”
Angelica laughed as an image of the kitchen popped into her head. “Yep, I don’t think she would’ve changed anything in that house. I suppose Cousin Linda will have plenty work now that it belongs to her.”
She didn’t feel the bitterness this time. Grams had not left her anything but a few trinkets from her mother’s room. The will hadn’t been read, but she’d seen a preview of it. She’d left before the reading with a wide range of emotions fueling her mission to discover the truth. Many she didn’t want to deal with at the moment, especially with Denise watching her.
Denise opened the French door leading to the balcony. “I don’t suppose you miss her too much.” Her voice had caught and blown into the outside air and for a moment Angelica had to question if she’d heard correctly.
“Why would you say that?”
Denise shrugged, studying the noisy street below. “She thought you were crazy and controlled your life even now as an adult. I thought you’d be happy to be in the driver’s seat finally. I mean you haven’t ever changed. There has to be something you have your own thoughts on.”
That had stung a bit. Not because she was wrong. Grandmother Angel had taken every opportunity to have a psychiatrist pronounce her insane. Angel believed that an evil spirit possessed her. If her mother hadn’t taught her how to lie as a child, she wouldn’t have survived Gram’s house. She certainly would make no claims to have flourished. Too complicated for thinking about so instead she’d become obsessed with this madness.
Angelica shrugged. “She was the only family I had left.”
Denise grunted as she walked toward the door. “Family’s overrated.”
The bitterness slipped into her voice as if it were personal. She’d have to remember to ask about Denise’s mom. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”
Denise turned at the doorframe and smiled. A natural one, not her dramatic cover. “Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”
Angelica smiled as she left the room. When she was gone, she released a slow breath through her mouth. What Denise had said about her not changing wasn’t the truth. True, she’d walked Gram’s line, but in college she’d pushed her limits with a few cons- nothing serious at least until that last mess three months ago. She’d learned to manipulate, and it seemed it came too natural these days. The trouble was she didn’t want to be Gram’s angel or the campus hustler. What was left though?
Angelica lifted the heavy suitcase on top of the chenille white bed spread and unzipped it. A brown unwrapped package rested on top of clothes, hair dryer, several leather bound books, and various shoes. Angelica grabbed the package and flapped the suitcase lid closed. The bed creaked as she sank into the feather mattress and the snapping ecru sheers drew her attention.
Angelica shivered, spooking herself with thoughts of someone standing within the folds of the sheers.
She untied the package, revealing a worn brown journal. The softness of the leather caused a tingle from her fingertip up her arm. Whatever spirit was haunting Angelica had come with the finding of this diary: her mother’s sixteen-year-old journal when she’d run away from Grandmother Angel’s house, never to return. At sixteen, Lily’s father had died in a car accident, and Angel had turned on her because of her abilities. Angel had tolerated it for sixteen years because of her husband, but with him gone, she’d promised Lily she’d rip her abilities out of her with every religious method she could find a priest to try. And she’d tried several before Lily had escaped.
The surprise was that Lily had left Angelica on Angel’s porch steps at seven-years-old, thirteen years after vowing she’d never return.
The memory of that night was scarred into Angelica’s memory no matter how often she tried to forget. It easily surfaced at the scent of night Jasmine or the chirp of a cricket.
They’d stood on the sidewalk under a dim street light and a quarter moon. Lily’s auburn hair had cascaded around her tear streaked, but set face. “You must take care of yourself. It won’t be easy here, but you’ll be safe.”
Angelica had reached out and pushed Lily’s damp hair out of her bluish green eyes so that she could see into them. They’d always calmed her before. What she saw there made her tremble and her fear to escalate. “I want to come with you.”
Tears had tumbled down Lily’s face faster. “It’s not safe anymore; you know this more than anyone.” Angelica had struggled with a breath, her chest heaving with the weight. “Are you wearing your charm?”
Angelica clutched the black onyx stone between her shaking fingers. Why had she told her mother about the last vision? “I haven’t taken it off.”
Lily’s index finger had gently stroked her cheek. “Do not ever take it off. Keep it close to your heart where I will always be. The blood stone protects you when I’m not here.”
Angelica had choked, a pain throbbing merciless in her chest. “Please don’t go Mommy.”
Mommy. The word had felt strange on her lips. She’d called her Lily always, but she’d needed to say the word that night. To know that it was true.
Lily had tucked the journal under Angelica’s arm and had encouraged Angelica to walk up the steps to ring the doorbell alone. When Grams had opened the door on the third ring, Angelica had turned around and Lily was gone.
A trickle of laughter and shouting drifted up through the balcony and dragged her back to the present. How could fourteen years melt away so quickly and leave an aching in her chest as if the sadness was yesterday? She rolled off her bed and walked onto the balcony. She breathed in lavender, chicory, and something she couldn’t identify.
Grams had turned on her two months after she’d arrived. It was the night she’d shrieked out in terror as she’d watched Lily die. Angelica watched those eyes turn off like the fading sun. Grams had tried to be nice until then. She’d baked cookies and tucked her in bed, and Angelica had pretended to be normal. But through Angelica’s sobs after the nightmare, she’d hardened, pulled away. There’d been no more cookies or good nights.
She inhaled deeply, releasing the sadness balled in her chest. What had she needed protecting against? Why had Lily left her with a woman who’d tried to destroy her? All questions that Angelica had never answered. They hadn’t taken up too much of her teenage thoughts as she’d focused on being normal instead of her abilities. But Angel’s death had stirred it all, left her feeling as though she needed the answers.
Grams told everyone that Lily had died in a car accident. They’d held a memorial service without a body. Angelica had stood near the empty casket in her black frock wondering where Lily’s body was. But she’d shed all her tears the night Lily had died and had been unable to muster anything for an empty shell.
Angelica opened the yellowing pages of the journal to a marked page near the end. She’d studied this page every day for three weeks. Puzzled over it; tried to recall if she’d heard it before and had forgotten it.
Those who walk upon the land
With powers that exist within their hands
Will suffer endlessly at the will
Of those who do not hold their powers still
The Valor of the Vindica will rise
The gifts of five no longer in disguise
Those who’ve suffered will be avenged
When Valor of the Vindica seeks revenge
She couldn’t remember it no matter how many times she read it through. She’d concluded it wasn’t her mother’s handwriting. But this was all she was certain about.
A shiver ran over her flesh as it did each time.
There was something there. She knew it. Something in the words that she was supposed to remember.
The city below her should be able to help. It’s where Lily had found
herself when she’d run away, not unlike what Angelica was doing now. Maybe. But maybe she was running toward something, and that’s the idea she clung to as she chased this obsession.
Five
Reximortum glanced up from his newspaper as Tom entered the smoking room. Tom’s silent footsteps had not disturbed the stillness of the house and announced his arrival. This pleased Rex, who’d trained him long ago but could not have predicted his good fortune in the training turning out so well.
“Sir, you have a call from New Orleans.”
Rex nodded as he looked toward the grandfather clock. He’d been waiting for a call for over an hour. Waiting for anything brought displeasure, but for one of his generals to keep him waiting was unacceptable.
He picked up and waited for the connection.
Dark Knight’s deep, pompous voice rang through. “Lord Reximortum, I apologize for the late hour. My contacts took longer to reach than I expected.”
Rex forced even breaths. There would be time enough for punishment later. He’d grown tired of Dark Knight’s incompetence, but his other generals were in necessary strategic positions. Though New Orleans was important, Rex could put an unintelligent fool as general there because he owned the city.
“What is the latest report?”
A nervous laugh crackled in the phone line and his voice whined. “All of our contacts agree that the events will begin with the full moon. There are conflicting reports, but many also agree that it will be the naming of Valor that sets everything in motion.”
Ah, so the rumors had gone through everyone now. Was it fear driving the predictions or truth? It was too rampant to tell anymore. He’d known long ago about this coming time from a more reliable source, but he also knew from experience how time changes circumstances. He’d need to be prepared either way. “I will be returning to New Orleans in the morning. You should prepare for my arrival.”
A sharp intake of air crackled in Rex’s ear. “You believe it will occur here?”
“Yes.”
Rex returned the phone to its base and reclined back in his chair. He’d waited over twenty years for this opportunity, but what the Custos were good at was waiting. They’d existed long before homo sapien man and would likely exist long after if he got his way. But it felt like the right time now.
Of course, he’d thought twenty-one years ago that it was the right time as well.
Rosemary, the old crone, had destroyed that dream in one swift motion of the ax of fate that still caused anger to bubble in his veins.
He’d walked in on her in his sitting room of his Louisiana plantation where she’d been bowed over a book. He remembered thinking that Rosemary was old. Her discolored skin held the wrinkles of an untold number of years, but her eyes radiated the crystal blue of youth.
She’d snapped the book closed, the sound echoing in the quiet plantation home where they’d lived, and a scratching noise started in her chest and escaped her lips as she exhaled. “I have foreseen the future of the Vindica and yourself in a dream.”
Rex had inwardly groaned, thinking he’d have to hear another prediction of his demise. He’d grown tired of warnings from those who feared him and those who lacked his vision. He’d been young and arrogant then. Ah, how time had taught him these difficult lessons. “What have you seen this time?”
Rosemary had laughed. He’d fought lunging at her, his temper quick to boil then. “You skepticism will decide your fate.”
Rex had run his fingers across the black velvet bag in his pocket. A simple fix, so easy to dispose of his detractors. Rosemary had been loyal to him until his wife had begun working against him. Her abilities would be a loss, but her disobedience and annoyance outweighed her abilities.
She’d squinted at him, a strange look he’d never seen before in her eyes. He’d always seen a quiet sadness instead of this. “Great power was born today. Power you will never grasp. The power will be protected for the next twenty-one years, and then the Custos will face reckoning.”
Tom had entered the room at that moment, and Rex had looked away from Rosemary. Tom had set the silver-plated tray with tea down near him, and Rex slipped Tom the velvet bag. Tom had offered Rosemary the laced cup before bowing low and exiting the room.
Rex had returned his attention to her, anticipating her sip and how long it would take to run through her. “What exactly did you see in your dream?”
Rosemary’s eyes were that rare shade of blue and clear all at once. In that library as a young man, he hadn’t learned the origin of those eyes. Her life would have been spared if he had.
“It truly was a vision.” Her thin lips had smiled. “Abigail, one of the original Vindica founders, came to me. Her words were gentle and true. The Reckoning events have been set in motion with the birth of Valor. You are too late.”
Rex had crossed to the fireplace not allowing his agitation to show. The Vindica organization held many superstitions and the belief that the end of the Custos would come, the Reckoning, was the one that caused a once powerful organization to decline. He’d wanted so much more for the organization. He wanted to make it powerful, return it to its full capabilities, but at each turn he met outdated beliefs and superstitions.
He’d spoken quietly, masking his anger. “You’ve warned me often of the Vindica in the recent past. I question your loyalty.”
He’d felt Rosemary’s eyes on his back. “I’m loyal to my people, our race. They must survive.”
Rex had gripped the mantle tightly. He’d fought the urge to stop her heartbeat with his own ability. To reach inside her chest and feel the artery pumping from her chest and clench down on it and feel it shutter as he stuffed it out. He’d held back for some small sentiment for his teacher and mentor.
“Have you seen your own death?”
She’d leaned back and smiled wistfully, her eyes never leaving his. “My death will come in moments. I will not attempt to change my fate, for I die with purpose. We all play our role in destiny, and I have done mine.”
Rex’s anger had surged through him and he’d yelled. “I’m not superstitious. Seeing the future is for fools. We make our own destiny. No one will know what you have seen therefore no one will make it happen.”
Rosemary’s blue eyes had twinkled and she’d laughed at him. “My book holds my visions, and it will preserve my tellings. Every one of our kind will know what is to come.”
“The book will be destroyed upon your death.”
Rosemary’s breathing became shallow. “I’ve sent my book to a place you daren’t step foot in to be preserved for the one who’ll destroy you. The prophecy will happen. The question is where will you fall after the Revelation.”
Rex had yelled. “I will not fear a prophecy.”
Rosemary had blinked rapidly. Her hands had clenched the chair as her eyes rolled back. “Your fear of failure will be enough.”
Rex had smashed the tea tray, and it had clattered against the terra cotta tiles.
She’d found a way to prevent his dream from happening no matter how much his arrogance at the time had believed differently. The Custos line did believe that the Reckoning was coming, that its time was now. The Reckoning had been prophesized early on at the beginning of the Vindica organization. Their people would war—the different factions would fight for control. As the leader of the Dark Soldiers, the prophecy said he would lose. The savior of the Vindica would be Valor, a name given because the prophecy did not give specifics about who this person would be. He still believed that he made his own destiny, but he would have learned nothing from the past if he didn’t admit to the fear that rested in his heart. He didn’t fear death or the end though. As Rosemary had said, he feared failure. His desire was to be the leader of all the Custos line, and he did not want to die failing. He’d never let it happen.
Rex picked up the phone on his desk again and punched in the number that had taken years to procure. Years of searching for a way to get around destiny had brought knowledge that no one else
possessed and had prepared him for what was to come.
“Yes?”
The voice on the other line was rich and grave. The man behind that voice was fear incarnate. “I’m requesting you meet me in New Orleans. I have a job for you.”
A long silence followed. Rex breathed deeply to keep his heartbeat even. Only the coming events would make him make a deal with the devil.
“My kind does not work for you.”
Rex taped his fingers on the desk. He’d expected this response. “You and I have a common goal that together can be reached.”
Another long pause followed, and Rex waited. “I’m listening.”
Rex exhaled. “I know you know about the prophecy. If we destroy the girl, we will find the book and we both win.”
“You have identified this Valor?”
“No, I have a list of young women who will be twenty-one near the full moon that are possibilities. I don’t care if we destroy them all, I guarantee we will find the book.”
Another silence followed.
“Do you understand that I will destroy you if any deceit is involved?”
Rex inhaled slowly. “Yes.”
A grunt followed by silence, his only response. He’d hung up.
Rex sank into his chair and allowed only a brief moment of doubt before shaking it off. Seven years ago when he’d discovered this individual, he’d begun planning for this moment. He didn’t like giving up any of his control, but with time drawing to a close, his options had waned.
He’d make this work because he would not fail.
Six
The sun was a sliver behind the French Quarter horizon as the street lamps flickered. Angelica turned down Orleans Street, leaving behind the revelry of Bourbon Street. She’d wandered the streets for the last few hours alone, trying to get lost in the old world architecture and street entertainment. A calmness and relaxation had descended upon her with each street, and she knew she was falling in love with this city.
Valor: The Custos Saga Page 3