AGE OF EVE: Return of the Nephilim (NONE)

by D. M. Pratt

  “Is that problematic?” Hanover asked. “It might be. Millard have any idea you are planning to go out there?”

  “I hope not and I’d like to keep it that way until we’ve had a chance to look around,” Mac said.

  “Besides, no one has been able to locate him,” Hanover said.

  “That weasel has spies everywhere,” Dorthea said.

  She led them back into her parlor. Mac thought the house looked New Orleans traditional in so many ways. The way “those” houses that belonged and had belonged for centuries to the same old bloodline families of the New Orleans aristocracy always looked. The house retained its antiquated, southern charm and cluttered tackiness of too many generations unable to let go of precious heirlooms and not so precious junk. Dorthea was a fan of blue and yellow and there were enough flowers in the wall fabric, furniture and carpets to cross anyone’s eyes and nauseate them into a coma.

  Still, she offered them a seat and poured herself a shot of Haig and Haig scotch.’"Ya’ll are on duty so I’m not even gonna offer,” she said.

  Hanover nodded and waved a thank you.

  “Water, if you don’t mind. I would appreciate a glass of water,” Mac said still thirsting from his recent ordeal of almost being baked alive.

  Hanover insisted on taking him home to wash and change but seven years in the marines taught him to shit, shower and shave in under ten minutes. Now they were back on point and as much as he wanted to say differently, neither Mac, Hanover nor Judge Decadroux understood exactly what they were looking to do.

  Dorthea complied and gave him a tall crystal glass etched with geometric patterns cut to catch the lamplights that shown down from the parlor side table and the chandelier above. Mac consumed the water, grateful that it quenched a little more of his insatiable thirst. He gestured a pleasant thanks and set the glass down. For a few moments they waited in silence.

  “We believe Millard Le Masters may be behind several deaths spanning several decades,” Mac said.

  The statement caused Hanover to give a not-so-subtle kick under the white marble coffee table to Mac. His words also raised both eyebrows on the Judge.

  “That so? And you have proof?” she asked.

  “I saw some legal papers. I want to get subpoenas for a closer look at those and bring the attorneys that wrote them and Le Masters in for questioning,” Mac said pressing harder.

  “And where did these papers come from?” Dorthea asked. “They were at Cora Bouvier’s house. Her friend showed them to me but….they were partially destroyed.”

  “How convenient,” Dorthea said.

  “I’m betting the firm that created them has copies,” Mac went on.

  “Look, we’re taking one step at a time, Judge Decadroux,” Hanover said interjecting.

  “What firm produced these alleged papers that could condemn Millard Le Masters of murder?”

  The doorbell rang. Judge Dorthea crossed out of the parlor and headed toward the front door.

  “You got diarrhea of the mouth, Blanchard!” Hanover said scolding Mac. “Cause you sure as hell ain’t got proof. You lost Eve Dowling, your key witness I might remind you, and the papers you say you had got destroyed in that safe room. Why are you sharing this before we got hard evidence?”

  “Look, I want as many people to know what the hell is going on just in case people start disappearing. I want the search to start at Thibodaux Asylum and end with Le Masters. I read the papers and the Gregoires were afraid for their lives. They took the time to write their fears and suspicions down and changed their will before they then mysteriously died.”

  Dorthea entered the room, warrant in hand. She picked up an elaborate fountain pen and signed it. Hanover reached for it as he and Mac stood from the too soft cushions of the settee. Dorthea pulled her hand back taking the warrant with it.

  “The firm?” she asked for a second time.

  “Robb, Gallager and Grant,” Mac said.

  If it were possible for her face to fall another inch, it did. Her expression shifted from perturbed to very, very stunned. Mac watched as the color of her skin changed from pink to a pale, ashen gray.

  “You are enterin’ dark water here, Lieutenant. You do understand that?” Judge Decadroux warned, her Southern drawl heavier than ever.

  She was visibly uncomfortable and both Mac and Hanover sensed it. Hanover gently took the warrant from her. Dorthea held on a moment longer knowing her name on it carried the weight of the “buck stops here” and her expression said she wanted no part of it but it was too late. If they were right and she didn’t do it, she could be obstructing justice.

  “We’re just going out to look at a place that has been burnt and sealed for fifteen years,” Mac said. “What’s the worst that could be out there?”

  “That tells me you don’t know spit about Millard Le Masters. Good luck gentlemen,” Dorthea said.

  She led them back through the entry hall and opened the front door. Dorthea stepped back to allow them leave to exit.

  “Thank you, Judge Decadroux,” Hanover said. “We’ll call you when we get back from Iberia.”

  “Good night,” Mac added as he passed through the arch of the door. The last thing he saw as she closed the glass and wood door behind them was the judge making the sign of the cross. Hanover saw it too.

  “Yeah, I saw,” Hanover said. “I’ll drive.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Eve looked toward what was left of the western wing of the hospital, mentally preparing herself for the task ahead and then caught something out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see Aria begin to vibrate. That was the only word Eve could think of that described the blur of energy emanating from the child. It shimmered around her physical form, an energetic field quivering along the edges of Aria’s body. The girl then expanded. She grew taller and fuller. Her face undulated between very, very young and very old. One of her wide and deep brown eyes flashed blue, as if Evine was trying to get through her. That was it. Aria was turning into Evine. Somehow Evine was coming through Aria. Eve watched as the metaphysical shift unfolded and the woman emerged, expanding the form of the child. And then, there she stood before Eve, a younger version of Evine mixed with an older version of Aria. This person, not Aria and yet not Evine, was maybe in her late 20s or 30s, beautiful, powerful and beyond exceptional. She had ebony skin, long flowing black curls and a grace as she stretched out her long, thin arms and steadied herself. Aria/Evine stepped back.

  Eve felt herself step back as well, fascinated and terrified as this shape shifter before her completed its transformation. With each moment of the shift, Aria looked more and more like Evine…but different. Aria was still there, sharing her body. A hand went out and touched a charred wall. The other hand went to her head as if she were about to swoon.

  “Listen to me, I’m weak from this transmutation. It won’t last long. I need you to pay close attention. Come. Step into the shadows,” Evine whispered.

  Eve nodded, too amazed to speak as they moved into the shadows of a large hedge of bougainvillea.

  “Evine? But how?” Eve said.

  “Survive this ordeal and I’ll teach you wonders beyond your imagination,” Evine said nodding to the burlap roll Eve was holding. “Open it.”

  Eve laid the bundle on the ground as a dusting of fog curled away from her to make room. She unrolled it.

  “Turn on your torch light,” Evine told her.

  Eve complied and switched the torch light on her phone to full. The blackness of the night fell away as the cool fluorescent glow from her phone pooled out, filled the space and illuminated the artifacts. The light spilled across the elements that had been gathered together, weapons for the war she was about to fight. Eve looked inside; one small fat red and two tall white candles, three vials of powder, inky black and pepper red powder as well as the same white powder Eve had used for protection the first time all lay in narrow cylindrical tubes of plastic. A thin, silver spike the size of her finger but longer wi
th a razor point on one end and a flat tack like head on the other caught the light and glinted at her. Eve reached out and let her fingers slide down the large silver pin. It felt cool and strong. She could see a small groove on the head that was the perfect place for a thumb to fit. There was no question, it was a deadly weapon.

  “Look at this carefully,” Evine said pulling out a five-by-five inch, hand-drawn illustration and handing it to her.

  Eve unrolled it. It was three consecutive circles, black, red and white ranging from large to small and, in the center, a white pentagram was meticulously drawn. The placement of the three candles was on each of the three circles, clearly marked to make a row and the red sat at the very top in the center of the pentagram.

  “You must make the largest circle at least six feet across and the smallest big enough for you to stand in. And, if you can save Cora, large enough for her to stand inside too,” Evine explained. “It will be the only way you can save yourself and if you’re lucky, your friend.”

  “What about Beau?” Eve asked

  “Choose who you will,” Evine replied. “There is only room for two.”

  “What if I can’t do this?” she asked.

  “Then leave now and do your best to save yourself because he will be back for you,” Evine told her.

  Eve looked at the drawing again. She let her fingers trace around the circles and then the pentagram shape.

  “Make sure there are no breaks in the lines of the powder when you lay it. Your life depends on it.”

  “And the Nephilim?” Eve asked. “There are two of them.”

  “I thought only one will come to take you. I don’t know why the other has arrived. Perhap just to observe. You must keep your mind clear of doubts and fear.”

  “That’s not remotely easy. You’ve seen that thing,” Eve said. “It killed me. Repeat after me,” Evine said. “Potentia amoris intervebras reverti Malo. Nocto Infernoi Infiniteroium,” Evine told her.

  “Really. I mean really. I have to speak Latin?” Eve said.

  “Say it!” Evine insisted.

  “Fine… if I can remember “Klaatu Barada nikto” from The Day The Earth Stood Still, I should be able to remember Nocto Infernoi Infini,” Eve repeated as best she could.

  “Say all if it. Do not waste my time or your life. Potentia amoris intervebras reverti Malo. Nocto Infernoi Infiniteroium”

  Eve looked into the eyes of this woman who had crossed back from the shadow of death to speak to her, to help her save herself and her friend.

  “Potentia amoris… intervebras … reverti Malo. Nocto Infernoi … Infiniteroium,” Eve said the words.

  She spoke each word clearly and slowly feeling them form in her mouth trying to match the intonation she had been given.

  “All of it. Again,” Evine commanded.

  “Potentia amoris intervebras reverti Malo. Nocto Infernoi Infiniteroium,” Eve said the words again.

  She mumbled them over and over until her tongue wrapped easily around the strange words and sounds and they fell out smooth as a children’s nursery rhyme.

  “What do they mean?” Eve asked.

  “You are commanding the blackness of evil to leave and the guardians of light to protect you. This and your mind are your most powerful weapons. When he is at his most vulnerable, you will say the words as you stab him in his temple. Now go. The moon is almost at her pinnacle,” Evine said.

  “What? Wait? Stab him? I thought he couldn’t be killed!” Eve said.

  Evine/Aria was starting to vibrate again. As she did Evine spoke again.

  “Eve, do not let him seduce you. Do not believe his promises. He will drain your life and harm our world if you let him all the way in. You cannot kill him, but you can banish him. Use the spike. You will know how and when.”

  “Don’t leave me,” Eve said.

  “Aria’s spirit will be with you as long as she can, and I will be with her.”

  With that, Evine vaporized, leaving a cloud of mist that for a moment held her form. It hung like a hazy gray, smoky ghost of the woman who had just been standing before her. Eve watched as the mist evaporated and swirled away, caught on the breath of the night’s breeze as it passed.

  There wasn’t even time to feel fear. As the column of mist dissipated it gave way to the closed and locked hospital door that stood waiting a few yards beyond.

  “Aria?” Eve whispered.

  Evine and Aria were both gone. She was alone. Eve looked down at the elements that lay on the burlap roll at her feet.

  “Shit,” Eve said.

  She rolled the burlap neatly wrapping the ingredients safely inside and drew it close to her. Eve thought of her car outside the gate wishing she’d brought it closer. She remembered the keys hidden under the driver’s seat. If she needed to leave fast she wanted everything ready and waiting. She remembered one other thing. Eve slipped her hand in her pocket and felt the handle of Mac’s gun. She pulled it out and looked at it.

  “Just in case,” she said as she checked the safety and slipped it back into her pocket. Slowly she looked up to face Thibodaux Hospital’s west wing and stepped forward to meet whatever lay inside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  As she walked, the Louisiana mist swirled, coiling around her feet then snaking away, parting gracefully with each advance.

  The Thibodaux Asylum was a formidable place. Hints of classic Gregorian architecture formed with stone rather than brick looked more Gothic than southern. The eight Greek columns, so common in Southern mansions, gave the entrance a historic grandeur. The upper floors of the main building were built with wood. An ornate cornice hung above the entablature. The newer building was post-Civil War in style. It had been constructed with river rock dripping with mortar, sturdy enough to keep whatever secrets lay inside locked away to be forgotten. Bars hung outside the rows of windows that lined the long edifice of the west wing. A large, five or six story circular tower jutted up, erect and foreboding, from the far end of the last building. The tower was dark except for a dim light on its top floor. Eve’s eyes focused straight ahead, locked on the glow of light emanating from the last building on her left, the west wing.

  Eve could hear her breathing labor as she walked, more from fear than exertion. Her fear was back. It reached inside her throat and constricted her airways. No fear, she thought, reminding herself of what Evine had said, no fear. But Evine wasn’t about to seduce a demon and try to stab it in the head.

  She tried to think of something to calm herself before she worked her mind up into a state of panic. Fear means false evidence appearing real, her grandmother use to say. And, the only thing to fear is fear itself. Uh No, the only thing to fear is a demon capable of crumbling the human body like a piece of paper and throwing it away.

  “Fuck conventional wisdom, don’t think, just do it!” Eve said in a hushed whisper. “Potentia amoris intervebras reverti Malo. Nocto Inferno Infiniteroium,”

  In that instant, Eve stood facing the tall wooden doors that led to the back wing. They were at least ten feet high, solid, polished, hand-carved oak wood, made darker from years of oil and weather.

  “Guess knocking is not a good idea,” Eve whispered to herself.

  Her mouth was as dry and as parched as leather from a cheap old shoe left unworn or uncared for far too long. She could smell the strange combination of Evine’s powders wafting up as she held them securely in her arms. Even inside the ancient fabric the warmth of her body heat mingled their pungent aromas with her scent. At first it smelled like rancid garlic and sweet peppers, myrrh oil and old unwashed clothes. But beneath the chaos of aromas that affronted her nose, another smell, something she couldn’t immediately identify, burned and tickled and made her eyes tear. She knew she’d smelled it before. It brought back vivid memories from days spent laughing with her grandmother in the backyard when she was very young. But for the life of her she couldn’t remember why.

  Eve reached out and laid her free hand on the large doorknob. It
turned and she heard the tumblers fall into place and release. She pushed and the door opened.

  “You think they’d lock the door to keep the inmates inside,” she said to herself. “Whatever that means, I’m guessing it’s not good.”

  Eve gingerly peeked inside and seeing the entry hall was empty she leaned further inside. The dim light gave little shelter from eyes that might be monitoring the entrance. Eve slipped inside and quickly closed the door behind her. There was a click that echoed out across the entry so loud she was sure everyone, wherever they were, could hear it. Her heartbeat quickened.

  Eve mumbled the Latin Evine had taught her.

  “Potentia amoris intervebras reverti Malo. Nocto Inferno Infiniteroium,” she said repeating it a few times more.

  The chant reminded her of the cowardly lion in The Wizard of Oz as he walked through the haunted forest and declared he did believe in ghosts. At this point she believed in ghosts and demons and other worlds. Oh, my.

  She moved across the entry hearing only the clickity-click of her own shoes as they tapped on the solid surface of the black and white tile floor.

  Moonlight poured down through the row of windows that circled the upper balcony. Each soldier window dutifully watched her from twenty feet above. The moonlight spilled across the floor at her feet. The wood muntins that divided the panes of the broad Gregorian arched windows cut the moonlight into the shape of a cross, which was repeated one after another around the entry hall. The pools of light guided her forward like a stone path across a river.

  Eve looked left and saw at the far end of the first corridor an infinity of blackness stretching out before her. From its direction she determined this hallway connected the west wing with the main building. She walked past the first hall and on to the second on the opposite side. Eve peered into the darkness and saw coming from beneath the farthest door a flood of amber light. All the other doors were dark.

  She stepped forward and stopped. Two voices mumbled above her. Muffled words replete with the tones of frustration and anger raged against each other. The specifics of the words were lost in the cavernous echo, but their intensity was enough for Eve to make sure she didn’t run into them. Suddenly, the entry filled with glaring light that flooded down on her from the large, brass chandelier that hung twenty feet above her. Footsteps joined the voices as they moved onto the second-floor atrium’s upper balcony and headed toward the stairs. Eve froze, about to be exposed. She had to hide. She stepped into the second hall and reached for the first door. It was locked, as were the second and the third doors. She stopped and listened to the voices and footsteps as they reached the stairs and started down, heading closer to her with each step.