The Fury

by Sloan McBride

  Resigned to the fact that there could be nothing more accomplished today, Reese gathered her papers into a pile and shoved them to the side. The phone she’d abused moments before now glowed like a beacon. Her father’s condition overshadowed the exciting news about the find. She knew what she had to do.

  Lifting the receiver as though it were lead, Reese dialed Dr. Berticelli’s private line and waited for her to pick up.

  “Good morning,” the older, well-seasoned psychiatrist intoned.

  “Good afternoon,” she replied in a nervous voice. “This is Reese Whittaker. I got your message. Do you have a few minutes to speak with me, or is this a bad time?”

  “No, it’s fine. Please give me a minute,” the doctor said before placing her on hold.

  Reese thrummed her fingers against the worn oak desk. She picked up the pencil and twirled it while staring at the oil painting which hung on the opposite wall, a chaotic piece that reminded her of her own life.

  The doctor came back on the line. “Okay,” she sighed. “Your father brought himself in here Thursday night. He wanted to be admitted to the hospital, but I refused.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes.”

  Reese envisioned the thin, white-toothed smile on the doctor’s face.

  “He does not need to be admitted. He needs to be with family and friends. To get past the grief, he needs to work, at home in the yard, at his office, go to the grocery store. He needs to do normal things.”

  “He seems reluctant to do so, as you well know,” Reese offered.

  “Yes, that is unfortunate.”

  In a barely audible voice Reese said, “He loved her very much.”

  “I know, dear. But it has been three years and he is a virile, healthy man. Is there no way for you to get him out to be with other people?”

  “He does go to work, but most times he’s like a robot, going through the motions.”

  “Perhaps a dinner party or birthday party. It will help direct his thoughts in a positive direction.”

  “I’ll speak to his vice president, see about throwing a cocktail dinner for their clients.”

  “That’s a very good idea.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, doc.” Reese rubbed her eyes. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  After her mother’s death from cancer three years ago, Clive Whittaker, the once capable and dynamic owner of Whittaker Investments had nearly ceased to exist, heartsick over the loss of the woman he’d loved more than life. Her sister left for Europe after a year of trying to cope. She claimed it was to be with Steve or Tom, Dick or Harry, whoever the latest boy toy had been, but Reese knew that Riley had run. Tears stung her eyes. She needed to concentrate on something else or she’d fall into a sorrowful pit.

  Reese grabbed her purse, exited the building, and headed toward her car. She’d call Tony Bloomfield, her father’s partner, on Monday about the cocktail party.

  A strange feeling of being watched made the hairs on her neck rise. Pulling out her keys, she pushed the unlock button, slid into the front seat, locked the doors, and threw the gearshift to drive. The thought of a long, hot shower brought a warm flutter to her heart and an ache between her legs, a sexual ache.

  The tense forty-five minute drive home left her right shoulder and low back hurting. Deciding it was better to take the shower before making dinner, she headed straight for the bathroom when she got home. She twisted the faucets, got the water to the right temperature, and stepped under the hot spray. Yeah, that’s what she needed to ease her muscles and dispel the bizarre thoughts that had plagued her all afternoon. Reaching for the soap, she leaned her head back to saturate her hair. She closed her eyes and imagined large, masculine hands rubbing it along her breasts and down her stomach, massaging her in all the right places. One hand moved between her legs and a soapy finger slipped through the fold. Her sensitive clit welcomed the attention and after several moments spasmed. The orgasm gripped Reese hard.

  “I need to get laid,” she whispered.

  Or had she already?

  Why couldn’t she remember anything about last night? Hurriedly rinsing and toweling herself dry, Reese ran to her bedroom. She yanked the phone off its cradle and dialed Roberta’s number.

  Roberta Stonewater, a rotund African American taskmaster, was the glue that held the archeology team together and kept it functioning. She prepared all the tedious paperwork, knew whom to contact for just about anything they needed and could usually get it. There were bets on whether she was ex-CIA.

  When she picked up Reese said, “Roberta, it’s Reese.”

  “Hi, boss, what’s up?”

  “I know this is going to sound crazy but did I have any wine with dinner last night?”

  “What?”

  “Just humor me, please.”

  Roberta paused. “No, you drank some tea and then coffee, but no wine. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know, probably nothing. I’ve had a bad headache all day and strange things have happened.”

  “What kind of strange things?”

  Reese wasn’t about to tell her colleague that she’d had an intense orgasm while fantasizing in the shower. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it, probably just too much caffeine. I’ll see you on Monday, Roberta.” She hung up before her co-worker could grill her.

  She lay on the bed and pulled the comforter up to her neck. Rolling to her side, she closed her eyes and took long, slow breaths. An alluring scent of dark mocha tickled her nose and memory. She turned her face into the pillow. “This is getting really weird,” she murmured and drifted to sleep.

  In her dreams, a tall, gorgeous man in a brown duster, armed with weapons and a charming smile, tackled her. His bottle green eyes were mischievous and compelling. Things were hazy. A dark, evil presence surrounded them, but an aura of white light played around Mister Rough and Tough and that helped ease her fear. During the course of the dream, dark mist with red eyes clawed at her skin, pop-up balloons squeezed her in a tiny room made from a cardboard box, and her hero took her on a roller coaster ride which ended with lots and lots of incredible sex.

  Reese’s eyes flew open. Her brain registered some recognition and her aroused body acted as though her dream had been real. Granted, it had been a couple of years since she’d slept with a man but this imaginary guy cranked up her desire and sent it into overdrive.

  She’d given up on relationships after a long string of failed attempts. They didn’t last because of her occupation. At least that’s what she told herself. Sometimes, she’d be gone for months at a time in some third world country. Most men couldn’t handle the distance thing and ended up moving on. Of course, she’d never found one that sparked more than an iota of interest.

  Her job was her life. Going on digs to unearth bits and pieces of ancient cultures drove her. The fascination or obsession with Sumer had been with her from a very young age. Thinking of her past brought a sense of loss and melancholy. She hugged the pillow to her chest and begged her subconscious mind to recall the dream. Rather than dwell on an inevitable phone call she didn’t want to make to discuss a matter she had grown weary of dealing with.

  Dagan shimmered to physical form, dripping wet, on the steps leading up to Eridu, the great sea-house and home of Enki. He hated coming to Abzu. He couldn’t seem to stay dry in the underwater city. Cursing in the old language made him feel a little better, but not any dryer.

  He climbed the endless stairs until he got to the top. There, he saw the two Lahamas guarding the doors as always.

  “Hello, Leotis.” He approached the dragon-like statue on the left.

  “Dagan,” the statue replied in a bored tone.

  “Is he in?”

  “The master is home. Do you request an audience?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well.” The statue rose from its perch on a pillar made entirely of sea coral and strolled lazily to the doors which opened wide.

  “You’re looking well today, Natalia.” Dag
an walked over to the other statue. In truth, she looked the same, like drab, gray stone with little flecks of glimmering lights reflecting in the imitation sun’s rays. Natalia ignored him. That too was usual for the beast.

  Leotis returned. “You may enter.”

  Dagan strolled through the doors and the Lahamas jumped up to his seat, sparing one quick glance at Dagan before resuming his pose.

  “Dagan, my boy.” Enki’s booming voice bounced off the walls.

  The majestic deity moved toward him wearing flowing robes in a rainbow of colors and a big smile on his unmarked face. His blond hair streaked with silver had been cut short since the last time Dagan had seen him.

  Dagan bowed.

  “Stop that,” Enki said and raised him while shaking his hand. “I saw your father the other day and he said he hadn’t seen you in a while.”

  “Galla activity has increased lately, which keeps me busy.” He adjusted his now dry duster. His clothes were dry as well.

  “He would be glad to see you.”

  “And I him.”

  “Come.” Enki led Dagan through the magnificent entry hall and into the huge amphitheatre room where he spent most of his time. On a large dais which had several sandstone steps leading to it sat Enki’s throne. Even in the huge room, the ominous fixture drew attention. It had a plush cushion stretched across the seat, two large seahorse statues on either side, and a back made from an enormous clam shell that had pastel colors of the rainbow snaking through it.

  Off to the right of the throne sat a gigantic canopy bed also raised up from the floor. The sheets were ivory and most likely silk, although Dagan had never dared touch them. This is where the god let his water flow into many willing and some unwilling females.

  On the left sat tables laden with every kind of seafood. The table cloths were iridescent and glowed as he approached them. Everything sparkled in Enki’s temple. Harps played in the background and the humid air carried the overwhelming smell of lobster and crab until it filled the large space.

  “What brings you here, Dagan?”

  The God of Wisdom sat patiently, studying his reaction to the question with a little too much intensity.

  “My most recent encounter with Kur’s henchmen took me to the twenty-first century and the state of Colorado.” He didn’t miss Enki’s flinch when he’d mentioned Kur’s name. The god tensed, all casualness gone, and listened more intently to what he had to say.

  “Go on.”

  “They were after a young woman by the name of Reese Whittaker.”

  “Shakaah!” Enki swore and slammed his hands down on the arms of the throne. The whole place shook. “Did they capture her?”

  “No. I managed to get there first…barely.” Dagan moved closer, curious of the deity’s reaction. “I felt a strange energy signature while at her home. It’s not normal energy and pulses with a god’s magic.” He placed one booted foot on a sandstone step and crossed his arms over his knee. “I’d hoped you could shed light on this matter.”

  Enki nodded. “After Kur killed so many and swore to seek revenge on us all, especially me, I went to Percilious, the wizard, and had him cast a powerful concealment ward around the homes of all my descendents to hide them from Kur. I boosted the spell with my magic.”

  That must have taken a lot. Dagan stood and paced in front of the dais. “That would explain why they set off the explosion.”

  Enki frowned, his elegant features twisted. “Explosion?”

  Dagan continued his march and voicing his thoughts. “So that we would come out of the house; they must have followed us.”

  “They cannot enter the house,” Enki said. “She is safe as long as she is inside.”

  Dagan stopped and stared at Enki. “But she’s vulnerable when she is anywhere else.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Enki rubbed his eyes. “I could not protect every one of them all the time. There are too many.”

  Maybe if he’d quit spreading his seed so much, this wouldn’t be a problem. But that would be like asking the Sun to stop shining and the different races on his world to stop committing genocide.

  “Thank you.” Dagan bowed before Enki. “That explains some things.” On that matter anyway. “I’ll take my leave.”

  In a soft voice that echoed through the hall Enki said, “Can you protect her, Dagan?”

  Dagan stopped and glanced back at the man he’d known all his life. “It’s my duty to protect her.” And he would do whatever it took to ensure she did not fall into Kur’s hands.

  “Knowing how good you are at your job, I trust you will keep her safe.”

  If she would let him. Dagan bowed again out of respect and found his way to the door.

  The sun sank low on the horizon when Dagan shimmered to form in the tree-lined drive across from Reese’s house. Rufus stepped out from behind the bushes.

  “She’s in for the night I’m guessing. I’ve seen her in the kitchen cooking and she’s wearing a short, silky-looking robe—”

  Rufus’s words were cut off abruptly when Dagan’s hand encircled his throat and lifted him off his feet, pushing his back against the nearest tree. The doghume’s legs dangled in mid-air, his hands clutching at Dagan’s wrist.

  “You were to keep watch but not get close enough for her to see you,” Dagan said through clenched teeth.

  “I have binoculars, Dagan, bin-o-cu-lars.” Rufus emphasized each syllable of the word to get his point across. His voice choked and raspy.

  Dagan released him and he fell to the ground.

  “Jeez, what’s the matter with you?” The other man got up rubbing his throat. “Your eyes turned real dark, like you were going to kill me or something.”

  The roar of his anger and his blood were not lost on Dagan. The minute he’d thought another man had gotten anywhere near Reese, he lost control. That had never happened before. He hoped this would be over soon, but the thought of never seeing Reese again tore him apart inside. Another anomaly.

  He held up a finger and Rufus instantly grew quiet. The night moved on the north side of Reese’s house. Though they could not sense her inside because of the concealment ward, they knew she resided there.

  “Do you have weapons?”

  “Always,” Rufus replied, still rubbing his throat.

  “Good, they’re here. You come from the south side and work your way around the back. I’ll go to the north and meet them straight on.”

  Rufus nodded and pulled out twin daggers. He started away when Dagan called out in a whisper, “Watch your back, human.”

  Rufus saluted him and disappeared.

  Reese stood at the porcelain sink washing some lettuce to make a salad when the hairs on her arms rose, as if she were surrounded by static electricity. Instinctively, she turned the water off and grabbed a large knife from the block to her right. All day her nerves had been on edge. She moved across the hardwood floor toward the back door but stopped long enough to grab the baseball bat out of her restaurant-sized pantry. She kept it there for protection. There were other items similarly placed throughout the house. For some reason she could not explain, she’d felt the need for such protection since she turned sixteen.

  With the bat in one hand and the knife in the other, she slid her mules on, opened the back door with her fingertips and peered outside. The setting sun gave off enough twilight to show that no one stood on the small snow-covered porch or in the yard around the house. She reminded herself to shovel the porch off the next day. Relieved, she turned to go back inside, when a flash of movement caught the corner of her eye.

  A young man with short brown hair seemed to be at war with smoke. The smoke or dark mist had arms and fought back.

  Another delusion?

  She started to yell out but decided it wasn’t the best course. In her flimsy robe, she crept across the deck. Laying the knife on the edge of the porch, she grabbed the bat with both hands, moved down the steps, and snuck closer to the pair. Punches were thrown and kicks were blocked a
s the fighters circled in a violent dance. One move had the man facing her and his attacker’s back in her line of sight. Swinging the bat like the best home run hitter, Reese nailed the whatever-it-was knocking it sideways to the ground. Stunned for only a moment, the young man smiled. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Duck!”

  She fell to the frozen ground. The stranger pulled a bizarre-looking knife from its place on his belt and threw it at the shadow, hitting it dead center of the chest. The thing disintegrated before her eyes. Left in its place was a puddle of black dust.

  The man bent down, gripped her arms and helped her up. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, but what was that?”

  “A burglar, I guess.”

  She arched a brow, letting him know she didn’t buy his unconvincing story.

  “Out for my evening stroll, I saw him approach your window, so I came to investigate.” He flashed a white toothy grin. “That was awesome by the way. Where’d you learn to swing a bat like that?”

  “Little League,” she responded dryly. The stranger had slyly managed to shift the conversation.

  “Cool.”

  Removing his jacket, he placed it around her shoulders and walked her toward the porch where she stopped to pick up her knife.

  “You better get back inside now, miss. You must be freezing. I’ll clean up out here.”

  “We need to call the police,” she said through chattering teeth.

  “Yeah, I’ll take care of that.” He smiled again.

  “But—”

  Just over the man’s left shoulder, Reese saw another one of those things. “Look out,” she screamed.

  The stranger swerved to the right. With shivering fingers, Reese threw the knife, lodging it in the creature’s throat. A gust of chilling wind blew its ashes into the night, leaving the cutlery to fall silently to the ground.

  “Okay—” she faced the handsome stranger, “—you need to explain what the hell is going on, and don’t hand me that burglar crap again.” She grabbed the Louisville Slugger with both hands. “I still have my bat.”