The Dragon Coin

by Aiden James

  The Dragon Coin

  The Judas Chronicles

  Book 4

  by

  Aiden James

  Based on an Original Concept by

  J.R. Rain

  Acclaim for Aiden James:

  “Aiden James has written a deeply psychological, gripping tale that keeps the readers hooked from page one.” Bookfinds review for “The Forgotten Eden”

  “A variety of twists, surprises, and subplots keep the story moving forward at a good pace. My interest was piqued almost immediately and my attention never wavered as I forced my eyes to stay open well into the night. (Sleep is overrated.) Aiden James is a Master Storyteller, whose career is on the rise! Out-freaking-standing-excellent!” Detra Fitch of Huntress Reviews, for “Plague of Coins”

  “The hook to this excellent suspense thriller is the twists that will keep readers wondering what is going on as nothing is quite what it seems. Adding to the excitement is that the audience will wonder whether the terror is an evil supernatural creature or an amoral human…Aiden James provides a dark thriller that grips fans from the opening.” Harriet KLausner, for “The Forgotten Eden”

  “Aiden James writing style flows very easily and I found that Cades Cove snowballed into a very gripping tale. Clearly the strengths in the piece were as the spirit's interaction became prevalent with the family…. The Indian lore and ceremonies and the flashbacks to Allie Mae's (earthly) demise were very powerful. I think those aspects separated the work from what we've seen before in horror and ghost tales.” Evelyn Klebert, Author of “A Ghost of a Chance”, “Dragonflies”, and “An Uneasy Traveler” for “Cades Cove”

  “The intense writing style of Aiden James kept my eyes glued to the story and the pages seemed to fly by at warp speed…. Twists, turns, and surprises pop up at random times to keep the reader off balance. It all blends together to create one of the best stories I have read all year.” Detra Fitch, Huntress Reviews, for “The Devil’s Paradise”

  “Aiden James is insanely talented! We are watching a master at work….Ghost stories don’t get any better than this.” J.R. Rain, Author of “Moon Dance’ and “Vampire Moon” for “The Raven Mocker”

  BOOKS BY AIDEN JAMES

  CADES COVE SERIES

  Cades Cove

  The Raven Mocker

  THE TALISMAN CHRONICLES

  The Forgotten Eden

  The Devil’s Paradise

  GHOSTHUNTERS 101 SERIES

  Deadly Night

  The Ungrateful Dead

  THE DYING OF THE DARK SERIES

  The Vampires’ Last Lover

  The Vampires’ Birthright

  Blood Princesses of the Vampires

  THE JUDAS CHRONICLES

  Plague of Coins

  Reign of Coins

  Destiny of Coins

  The Dragon Coin

  WITH J.R. RAIN

  The Nick Caine Adventures

  Temple of the Jaguar

  Treasure of the Deep

  Pyramid of the Gods

  (Coming summer 2013)

  WITH MICHELLE WRIGHT

  The Judas Reflections

  Murder in Whitechapel

  Curse of Stigmata

  WITH LISA COLLICUTT

  The Serendipitous Curse of Solomon Brandt

  WITH JAMES WYMORE

  The Actuator

  (Coming August 2013)

  COLLECTIONS

  Terror at Midnight

  Dark Legacy

  Twice Bitten

  Pray for Daylight

  Cursed Immortals

  In the Dead of Night

  Dying of the Dark Vampires

  Vampires, Ghosts, and God

  Pray for Daylight

  The Dragon Coin by Aiden James

  Published by Aiden James

  Copyright © 2013 by Aiden James

  Cover design by Aiden James and Charles Seiberling

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your favorite ebook store and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The Dragon Coin

  Chapter One

  Springtime in D.C. can be magical. Cherry blossoms and floral scents harken back to the gardens of my Judean youth. Gardens like the infamous Gethsemane. The city’s majestic marble monuments pull my mind back to Rome, Crete, and Athens from my early immortality. A time when Roderick and I spent nearly two centuries basking in similar spring glory along the Mediterranean coast.

  He and I were almost happy back then, residing in hillside villas with cherished friends and families, though all of them have long departed this plane of existence. Almost happy—since it never quite compared to the joy I’ve since felt in the presence of my beloved Beatrice and Alistair.

  But this spring promised to be especially wonderful. After a winter of miracles, the Tree of Life’s crystal spell had erased another eighteen years from Beatrice’s physical person. The loveliness and vibrancy of her previous ‘youthful’ self is nearing its full restoration. In light of this fact, who could blame me for believing this spring promised to be the best since World War II ended?

  Ironically, the first hint that my high aspirations might be short lived, or dashed altogether, came at one of Washington’s prominent spring galas. Beatrice and I were accompanied by my son, Alistair, and his fiancée, Amy Golden Eagle. Amy’s brother, Jeremy, and his current girlfriend would join us midway through the event, and completing our table was Roderick, sans a date.

  Roderick was running late, something detained him at the last moment.

  “Maybe he decided to bring a date after all,” observed Alistair, shortly after pulling out Amy’s chair for her. For those curious, our two lovebirds had announced their wedding plans at Christmas, and decided on an extended courtship. The cautious former Georgetown professor and his equally skittish former corporate attorney fiancée settled on a date in late spring, next year.

  That evening’s gala was a formal affair, and not to be upstaged by my boy, I extended the same chivalry for Beatrice, who blushed as if all eyes were upon her. Perhaps they were, as in the past six months she had gone from being a lovely woman in her late fifties to a stunning beauty pushing forty, if that.

  Beatrice looked especially ravishing in her azure aquamarine evening gown. It seemed the perfect choice for her shoulder length strawberry hair that had regained its luster and fullness in just a few months following my last update. Then again, this is my perspective, although the admiring looks she gets appear genuine. As for the blood rush to her cheeks? In all likelihood it’s merely irritation for having to endure what she considers outdated customs. She truly hated it when I pulled out the chair for her, or opened doors, even helping her into a coat during our original courtship seventy years ago. No doubt, this remains her present opinion as well.

  “That’s doubtful, son,” I said, pausing to plant a loving peck on Beatrice’s cheek as I scooted in her chair for her. Her gorgeous emerald eyes ignited. “Roderick has sworn off love for a dozen centuries now.”

  “Who said anything about love, Pops?”

  Alistair’s brown eyes twinkled with mirth, and he snuggled close to Amy. While he bears so many similarities to a young Sean Connery, his devotion to his sweetheart of the past few years is nothing like the famed actor’s wandering eyes. Amy is quite a catch, I might add, and her long raven locks and striking green eyes evoke more admiring glances tha
n Alistair. But neither one is prone to being shallow. I’m most proud of their sincere compassion for those around them, and their determination to make a positive difference in the world. Such mature perspectives, despite possessing crystals from the Tree of Life which have physically returned them to the ripe old age of twenty-one.

  “Well, I suppose he could surprise us,” offered Beatrice, as a waiter from the Hamilton Hotel’s staff approached us. He looked concerned, which didn’t bode well for the wine selection that night. “Should we order a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc for Roderick?”

  “Excuse me sir,” said the waiter, nodding politely to Beatrice before turning his full attention to me. “I have a message to deliver.”

  Before he even handed me the small note, I recognized Roderick’s preferred script for my name, though it appeared scribbled in haste. Dread washed over me as soon as the waiter gave it to me.

  Meet me in the hotel foyer right away. My place has been vandalized, and a familiar token left on my secretary. Roderick.

  “Is everything all right?” Beatrice looked worried, despite my carefree smile. I pictured cherry blossoms drifting in a gentle breeze to throw off her intuitions.

  “We’ll see,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” I got up from the table, hoping to avoid any further questions until I knew more about this.

  “Does it have anything to do with Roderick and why he’s late?” asked Alistair.

  “I doubt it’s anything serious—I’ll be back before you know it.”

  A Hollywood smile for everyone, I prayed the nagging feeling of trouble coming soon was nothing more than unfounded paranoia. It all depended on what Roderick would soon tell me, and why it required me to leave the company of those we both hold dearest.

  * * * * *

  “You look dashing, my friend,” said Roderick, after I joined him in an alcove near the hotel’s main lobby. “It does seem as if your taste in attire has improved since last year’s event. I daresay Beatrice’s presence has brought back the zest for style. I feared you left it in London after returning to America.”

  That was 1889, when I agreed to accompany him back to the States after Scotland Yard had begun to uncover my ruse as Emmanuel Ortiz. In hindsight, I should’ve left the Whitechapel murders to the authorities. In the end it cost me dear friends, my livelihood at the time, and a palatial home in Belgravia, not to mention a farm just a day’s carriage ride to the north of London.

  “You’re looking pretty dapper yourself, old chap,” I jested, admiring his Brioni. “So, what’s up? Can’t the compliments wait until you’ve joined us at our table?” I motioned toward the lavish ballroom where Mozart, performed by a string quartet, drifted out into the hall.

  “Do you recall in November, when I decided to forego your dinner invitation in hopes the news I delivered to you would be better received by your family in my absence?”

  “What? Is it that bad?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Obviously, none of what you’re about to tell me is intended for their ears. Correct?” I lowered my voice, making sure only he could hear my clipped response. He nodded, solemnly.

  “My townhouse, the one I just had renovated was vandalized while I was out today,” said Roderick. “Everything was either destroyed, or compromised to ensure expensive repair.”

  “Including the Chippendale suite you purchased last month at the auction in Richmond?”

  “Yes, and that alone is enough to especially upset me. Or was. Did you get my note?”

  “I did. Something about a token.”

  “One you and I have seen before.”

  It took me a moment to follow his drift, until he lowered his photochromic glasses. His brilliant blue eyes seemed to be swimming in a sea of gold leaf particles—the sure sign of his utmost irritation and stress.

  Worse than how they had looked in Hong Kong, when he re-entered my life after a century’s absence, his eyes bore worry I had not seen in many years. As terrifying as it had been for us to deal with Viktor Kaslow, I recognized a level of alarm I had seen from my dear companion in only one other instance. That was when he nearly died in the early sixteenth century, as we fled the Inquisition.

  “No! It cannot be,” I whispered, denying the truth of what my heart confirmed. “How could he find you?”

  “I don’t know, exactly,” he said, concealing his eyes behind his dark lenses again. “But, you and I have spoken about his invasion as a voyeur on the fringe several times during the past year. If you’ll recall, I mentioned the feeling had worsened after our return from Bolivia.”

  “Yes, I remember,” I agreed, shaking my head in disappointment. “So, what color was it this time?”

  “Why of course, red. A single red rose, almost as crimson as the blood dripping from it.”

  The favorite calling card of one of the most reviled men in history—if one excludes my crime of betraying Jesus Christ. But, I never directly murdered anyone, and certainly never tortured and killed another human being for sport. However, Vlad Tepes, better known as Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia, and whose more famous name of ‘Dracul’ inspired Bram Stoker’s Dracula, was such a man. Rumored to have tortured and killed nearly eighty thousand souls during his storied lifetime, he certainly had murdered more than that while posing as a Cardinal enforcing the edict from Rome to purge the infidels residing in Spain. That second reign of terror followed his death at the end of 1476, when a sorcerer’s spell restored his head and new life to his decapitated body. A spell, I might add, involving another of my blood coins.

  “He left it lying on the secretary’s marble top in the front parlor,” continued Roderick. “A little careless, though, since the note beneath it was almost illegible from the blood. Obviously, he had his henchmen deliver it.”

  “Henchmen?” I snickered. “And, here I thought he’d still rely on his brood of baby vampires to take care of his dirty work.”

  “He may still be steeped in old habits, but it would be foolish to underestimate his influence,” chided Roderick, regarding me somberly. “Our CIA contacts long ago confirmed that Vlad has been involved with organized crime throughout the Balkans and along the Adriatic coast since the mid 1960s. From the break-in method used to invade my home and disable all three alarm systems, it appears likely his living employees made the delivery today.”

  He paused and looked away as a bellhop moved past the alcove, eyeing us suspiciously before disappearing from our view.

  “We should probably rejoin Beatrice and the others,” I said. “We can discuss this further, later tonight.”

  “Agreed. But first, let me tell you what the letter said. I’m sure your reaction will be similar to mine, and tomorrow’s planned trip for us all to visit Williamsburg will be postponed.”

  I nodded for him to go on.

  “This is what it said: ‘Don’t make me come to the States again. I know you both reside in Virginia. If I come for you, those closest to you will die. How you will mourn to see the blood sacks you cherish squirm on stakes! Meet me like men, in Montenegro, and only you shall enjoy impalement, Roderick and Judas.’”

  “Is that all?”

  “No. He signed it, Wladislaus Dragwlya.”

  “Curious as to why he signed his name in Latin, his preference from so long ago. Seems he has not evolved much, eh?” I chuckled.

  “He remains dangerous and quite angry,” Roderick advised. “Unlike so many of us, time has done little to take the edge off his ruthlessness. And, it seems our entente cordiale is finally over.”

  “We could change our identities and move someplace else like we’ve done before and strongly considered when Kaslow was a problem,” I suggested. “Or, we could hide out in the fortress beneath your Abingdon estate until we get a better handle on things, and can come up with an effective plan to deal with him.”

  “I propose that Beatrice, Alistair, and Amy immediately retire to the fortress until this situation is resolved,” he said, motioning for me to follow
him back into the lobby toward the ballroom, signaling the end of our conversation and hastening my return with him to the gala festivities. “As for you and me, we can no longer run from Dracul. I’m afraid it’s time to resolve this feud, once and for all.”

  Chapter Two

  “So, when will you and Roderick leave us tomorrow?”

  Beatrice asked me this as we laid together in bed, shortly after we discussed the unpleasantness from earlier that evening, and after an hour’s passionate lovemaking that took us both to exhaustion. We needed the closeness and mutual ecstasy, as if our souls knew the perilous journey on the horizon might separate us for years, if not forever.

  “Roderick booked a flight to Rome in the morning, and we shall continue on to Budva the next afternoon,” I told her, hating how the words sounded as they left my mouth. The whispered tone couldn’t ease the condemnation upon my heart. Worse than dread, it went beyond fear I’m well acquainted with. “He has already arranged for a taxi, and told me to be waiting at the door by seven-thirty.”

  “And there’s no way to know how long you will be away,” she said, sadly, repeating my advisement from when I ended my phone conversation with Roderick, two hours earlier. “How I wish I could be there with you…to somehow keep you from harm.”

  She began to weep again, and I moved to bring her closer. Throughout our early years, and again since this past November when our physical union was renewed, our most intimate conversations often followed our lovemaking.

  “I know that I promised to never leave your side, my dearest love, but this was unforeseen, at least by me.”

  True. Dracul had been no more than a distant nuisance—a Peeping Tom who would occasionally slip into my awareness at odd times. But only for a few minutes at most, and then the uncomfortable feeling of his scrutinizing glare would dissipate. Often times, I had thought it was my imagination and paranoia getting the better of me, until Roderick confided the same sensations last year.