Dominic’s Nemesis
D. Alyce Domain
This book is an original e-Book self-publication by the credited author, D. Alyce Domain.
This is a work of creative fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this text my be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the credited author, D. Alyce Domain.
Copyright © 2015 by D. Alyce Domain
eBook ISBN: 978-0-9969267-0-6
1st Edition: November 2015
Cover Design by D. Alyce Domain
Photography by User Name: Devist (Adobe Stock.com)
Acknowledgments
I would like to acknowledge the unconditional love and undeserved blessings that I receive from God and his precious son Jesus Christ. Without his saving grace nothing in life, not even my life itself would be possible.
I send a special thanks to my very supportive, very patient parents, Charles and Eunice Domain who believed in me without fail.
I also thank all my long-time friends and family who have sent me positive thoughts, without which I would not have been able to focus and complete my writing goals.
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
A Book Club’s Reader’s Guide to Dominic’s Nemesis
About the Author
Prologue
Italy (1800s)
He lay on the pit floor, limbs stiff from lack of movement. The crawl space no longer accommodated his length. With no light to guide him, he planned each movement to avoid scraping against the granite. First, he shuffled his legs, then rolled his shoulders to bring back the circulation. His skin pulled and itched like the devil. The gouges must be scabbing over, he thought.
He hadn’t tried to stand in a while, but he knew from the last time that he was almost tall enough to reach the pit’s lid. Just a little while longer and he’d try again. He was preserving energy and hoping to be healed enough to try jumping. She would come soon, he knew. For now, the darkness was reassuring. It calmed his mind. As long as he was alone in the dark, nothing hurt him.
He didn’t hear her approach. He never did. Light peeked through the pit’s lid, casting the iron bars in distorted shadows around him. He trembled and buried his eyes in the bend of his arm. Panicked, he struggled to shove his gangly, pubescent body into a crevice between two outcroppings. If he merged with the granite walls, maybe she wouldn’t be able to find him and do more damage.
“Come, come, now, little fiend.” Her voice cast a lure like the nectar of a carnivorous flower.
The boy squeezed his eyelids tight despite the arm shield. He knew who awaited him above. He squirmed further into the jagged stone. The taut scabs on his shoulders cracked open and bled. He did not bother to scream or beg. Nothing ever saved him from whatever agony she came to inflict. Instead he prayed, “Help me, God, please. Do not let her see me this time. Hide me.”
“Where are you, little fiend?”
He felt her mind rummage around for him like a blind man groping for his cane. Something new, he thought. Didn’t she know where he was? Couldn’t she see him? The pit was a scant six-foot cube and she waved the candelabra close enough so that hot wax splattered atop his forearms.
“Come here you little fiend!” Her voice turned shrill. “Give me back what’s mine!”
Her ham-fisted attempts to locate him left him halfway between fear and confusion. Why couldn’t she see him? Or touch him with her mind? By now, he should be frozen, mid-air with tangled clops of hair his only clothing. Fear ebbed into curiosity. He dared to lower his arm and peel his lids open. Even with his head still bowed, the candle-glow forced him to squint.
Here lay the true test, he knew. If his tormentor really couldn’t see him or sense him, she wouldn’t react to his gaze. He’d learned long ago to avert his eyes in her presence. He hadn’t glimpsed his tormentor up close in six years. The boy swallowed the upsurge of fear and snapped his head back before he lost his nerve.
He blinked several times to sharpen his vision. He recoiled, scraping the skin at the point of his hip. Another blink, then he relaxed. Hair. Her obsidian tresses dangled down between the iron grate, seeming to reach for him. Her face was contorted from its cloying perfection, but not in reaction…more from anger or maybe frustration he guessed. He continued to stare, shocked, not sure what to do. How long would her…blindness or whatever it was, last? She started to screech obscenities and jab around with her mind. The violent brush of her mind jerked him from his stillness. He used the jagged wall behind him to pull himself upright. Gaunt, with wobbly knees and a hobbled gait, he crept close enough to fan his hand in front of her eyes.
“Mama?” His voice sounded croaky from non-use.
No reaction.
Then, he caught sight of his arm, the arm that should have been fanning before him. There was only empty space. With a huff of amazement, he glanced around him. His body cast no shadow. It was as if he had faded from existence, become part of the void.
Chapter 1
Eden had been at the St. James’ country estate less than a week, and her cousin Millie had already enticed her to attend a weekend Hen party. She tried to cry off, sighting the strict rules of mourning and her lack of party spirit. But, Millie insisted that this was her last outing before the baby, pointing out that she wouldn’t be available to chaperon for at least five months. Millie did not want her cooped up with grief for another half-year. Eden did not want Millie to worry, so she’d given in.
“Why must we have chaperons at an all female gathering, anyway?” She whispered. The only men present were the footmen and even they were banished when the party retired to the upstairs parlor.
“Shhhh!” Millie swatted at her. “The next game is about to begin.”
The room mirrored the Grecian style, complete with faux columns, a bust of Caesar and leering satyrs in each corner. Eden, Millie, and ten other ladies were instructed to gather around a low table in the center of the room. They sat on leg-less chairs, flush with the floor. For comfort’s sake, Eden folded her legs behind her. She guessed that the table and its bizarre chairs were a temporary ad
dition since it neither matched nor complemented the room’s theme.
“Ladies, is everyone familiar with ‘Spin the phallus’.” Lady Haversdale cocked a brow.
Eden listened, as their host explained that they were to take turns twirling a mosaic glass rod with a pointy end and a blunt end. When the ‘phallus’ stopped spinning, the lady on the blunt end of the rod was allowed to ask whichever lady unlucky enough to be on the pointy end a question. This, Lady Haversdale explained, was to allow everyone to become acquainted. The questions started out harmless, favorite color, and the like. After several turns, the questions veered into gasp-worthy topics…first kiss, biggest fears, and with whom one would most like to dance the waltz. Eden stammered to answer the former of the three.
“Well I, eh…have not been kissed.” She colored scarlet. “Yet.”
Millie poked an elbow in her side. “I know you’re enjoying yourself. You cannot deny it.”
“This is scandalous.” Eden felt a smile threaten even as she whispered the words. The risqué’ element shocked her out of her doldrums.
The ladies broke off into murmured conversations as the phallus game ended. Lady Haversdale’s niece sat on Eden’s other arm. The triplets, buxom girls each with chocolate eyes and curly hair, sat on the left half of the table. The red-haired sisters filled out the rest of the circle.
“I hope you do not take offense. Aunt is very modern.” Lady Haversdale’s niece was the first besides Millie to address her outside the games.
“Yes, very.” Eden agreed.
The girl ducked her head. “I just thought I should warn you, as you are the only one who may be ignorant of her more eccentric ideas.”
Eden smiled to set her at ease. “Nothing could be so shocking as sipping from my tea cup only to find it brimming with sherry.”
“Aunt does not agree with denying herself the same liberties…and vices…that gentlemen enjoy.”
Eden did not have the chance to respond. Just then, the room began to darken. She swiveled to see the redheads dousing the sconces, as their host exited the room. Haversdale returned with a Grecian wreath encircling her head and her hair hanging unbridled down her back. Her frock, she’d traded in for a white billowy gown. Maybe she was aiming for Mother Nature, but she looked more like Lady Godiva. No wonder the sisters had dimmed the lights, Eden thought.
The only illumination left was a flickering candelabrum at the table’s center. Her nostrils flared as a piquant aroma burned her nostrils. The candles must be scented, Eden noted. She glanced to her right, not sure she was having fun anymore. “Millie—”
Lady Haversdale broke into the circle between her and Millie, cutting her off. “Ahh, ladies, our final activity of the evening will be a table turning. If everyone will link hands and concentrate on the candlelight we can begin.”
The ladies giggled and fumbled around to comply with their host’s instructions. Eden felt both ladies on either side of her grasp her hand. Haversdale’s niece, on her left, must have somehow sensed her unease; she gave her palm a reassuring squeeze. Eden’s apprehensions abated a little when she closed her eyes.
The miss who had questioned her during spin-the-phallus piped up. “Who in Hades are we supposed to be contacting? Shouldn’t we know so everyone will conjure up the same entity?”
“Shhh! I will act as a medium and recite the invocation.” Their host commanded. “Empty your mind ladies…”
“A feat easily achievable by some.” Her niece murmured near Eden’s ear.
Eden coughed to stifle the laugh that bubbled up. She quite liked Lady Haversdale’s niece.
“Now, concentrate…and center yourselves on promoting a safe, inviting atmosphere for benevolent spirits.”
Unconvinced, the bold redhead persisted. “But what will we do once it gets here? Offer it tea?”
“Certainly not.” One of the triplets joined in the jest. “Its the dead of night. A glass of port, or some brandy perhaps.”
Lady Haversdale sighed. “Each lady will have a turn to address the spirit. Try to think of a matter on which you need advice or guidance.”
“Humph.” Huffed the redhead. “I do not think it wise to discuss private matters with an unknown spirit.”
“Particularly after it’s had a glass of port.”
A chorus of giggles followed.
“All eyes closed.” Haversdale ordered. “We must evoke a harmonious, spirit-friendly environment, if we have hope of making contact. Even your breathing.”
The room grew quiet. Eden glanced around the circle of shadowed faces. After a moment of indecision, she sighed, and closed her eyes. In through her nose and out through her mouth—-she tried to empty her mind of morose thoughts. She concentrated on her parent’s souls reunited in the afterlife and pictured herself joining them in heaven.
A tremor ran up her arm when Lady Haversdale began murmuring something…a chant she realized after several successive recitations. With each incantation, the words became more forceful. Eden began to sway to the pull of the words, and the lulling scent in the air. She found herself chanting along with their host. The other ladies joined in until they were all chanting in unison.
Eden felt the sensation of being an observer instead of a participant in her mind. She heard herself…speaking, but the words were different from the chant. There was no rhythm to them, and they did not feel calm. She could not discern what she said but knew that the words were desperate, her existence or someone’s depended on the message she conveyed. And then, she felt slack, as if being released from a grip. The sensation vanished with no warning, her consciousness slammed back into her mind like a stampeding horse. She heard herself scream, and her arms come up in a protective cross over her face as the fleeing sensation ended.
Eden awakened sprawled on the floor with her arms in a defensive position. She slit her eyes to find the room over-bright. She blinked, and experienced a moment of vertigo, then blinked several more times. When her head cleared, the first thing she saw was a cushion contraption in a heap nearby. Hers?
“Look! She’s come out of it.”
The others ringed her as if approaching a rabid animal. Expressions ranged from horror to confusion.
Millie hovered nearest, a deep furrow in her brow. “Eden?”
“Ms. Prescott?” Lady Haversdale stepped forward.
She jerked at the sound of her name, and peek at their host through the cross of her arms.
“Miss Prescott, please speak if you are coherent.”
“What…happened?” She lowered her arms, feeling silly. “Why is everyone staring at me?”
“Her voice is back to normal.” She heard someone murmur.
“Time enough for explanations later.” Millie bullied her way back to the forefront, bending to offer assistant. “I take it, Lady Haversdale, that this is the end of the festivities.”
* * *
“Psychic phenomena, gentlemen…and ladies, is our topic this evening.” The speaker tipped an imaginary hat to his audience.
Burlington’s Lecture Hall bustled near capacity. The crowd consisted of gents with the odd flock of thrill-seeking ladies sprinkled here and there. The smoldering lanterns built into the baroque architecture threw off more shadows than light adding a mystical quality to the proceedings. A contrived effect, no doubt, Dominic thought.
The lecturer was Professor Davide Greyson. An American, Dominic was surprised to learn…and also younger than he’d imagined. Judging by the lean build and silver-free hair, Greyson could be no more than eight and twenty.
Careful not to call attention to himself, Dominic edged the spectacles off the bridge of his nose to study the speaker as the younger man tilted his brow and smiled at a giggly threesome several rows out from the mahogany podium.
“Psychic phenomena. We are all familiar with the term, but do you know what it means? What comes to mind? Mesmeric trickery. Table-turning in the parlor. Spirit photography. These social amusements are just that…amusing. When I, as a
scientist, approach psychic phenomena, I am speaking of mental awareness and in extraordinary cases, mental influence over external objects without physical means.” Greyson spoke in a voice as eloquent as his attire, employing graceful gestures to illustrate his points. “I further believe that, Adepts, people gifted with such abilities are not a myth, but a reality. There is no reason to be frightened or distrustful of adepts. They are people just like you or I, but with the ability to utilize a greater portion of their brain.”
Just then, a haphazardly dressed gent ejected himself out of his seat. “Then where are they, mister?” He pitched this way and that. “I say, I could use a bit of parlor trickery to get me senses reelin’.”
A few snickers followed, but for the most part, the drunkard was treated to a good many annoyed glares. He seemed to realize the audience around him was hostile and collapsed down into his seat. Dominic glimpsed neither anxiety nor hesitation from Greyson. He ignored the outburst and dived back into his topic with gusto.
“The problems lie with manifestation and control. Think of the human brain as a locomotive engine. Having worked primarily with—”
Dominic left off listening as he caught sight of a familiar figure making a laborious trip down the aisle towards him. He sat at the very back of the lecture hall and had struggled to maintain an empty seat on either side of himself, but the effort was in vane. Cael was alone.
His gaze remained trained on the podium. “You’re late. And where is Ethan? I thought he was coming with you.”
“A midnight lecture, Dominic? This is a little perverse even for you.”
He let the comment go. Cael, like Greyson, was American after all.
“Where is Ethan?” He branded his younger brother with as hard a stare as he could manage through the tinted barrier of his spectacles.
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