by M. D. Archer
“And then during your first full moon, I mean—” Cedric shrugs like the explanation is obvious. “—there was no way I could let that momentous occasion go past without marking it.”
“So you murdered Annalise Chan, put her in the cemetery, and then lured me there.”
“I wanted to connect with you. I wanted you to know that I was aware of you, just as you were aware of me. There’s a darkness in you, Tamzin, a delicious darkness, and I have so enjoyed sharing it with you.”
“A darkness?” I don’t want to encourage his lunacy, but I can’t help myself. I did kill Boris and Miguel, after all. And Falcone, the Rogue that killed Chris. Was I feeding this somehow?
“You know it’s there. You don’t need to resist it anymore.”
No. I can’t get sucked into this.
“You murdered them. Innocent people. You can’t put that on me,” I say, my teeth clenched.
Cedric holds my gaze for a moment, tilting his head as he considers something.
“And what about Rosemary Johnson? What did she do to deserve your attention?”
“Yes, well, that was supposed to be our proper meeting, but then the police found her first, and you, of course. And then you started wearing the amulet.”
“So that’s why you stopped?”
“Well, that and because Rica engaged me as an Enforcer, and I knew we would have this opportunity… to connect.”
How could this be? How could the Crawler not only be part of the Consillium, but be an Enforcer?
“So Rica gave you the job because he knew you were already here.”
Cedric nods in encouragement. “Oh yes, Rica knew I was here.” He raises his eyebrows, and his eyes, his crazy bright eyes, tell me the awful truth.
“Rica knew what you were doing.” My stomach drops out and down, somewhere below my knees. I knew Rica was out of control, but this was so much worse than I thought.
“I’m not sure when exactly, but yes, when he engaged me as an Enforcer, he already knew about my activities. He wasn’t entirely happy about it, he did want me to stop, I mean, he’s not all bad,” Cedric says, like we’re talking about a child with minor behavioral problems. “Although he is an arrogant one, isn’t he?” Cedric muses for a moment. “But it was easier to let him think he was calling the shots, that he was in control—you know all about his need for control, don’t you, Tamzin? And he let himself believe that what I was doing suited his objectives too.”
“Well, they did, didn’t they? You made it look like I was connected to the murders, and it got me arrested. I had to leave home, and in the end, I had no choice but to wear the amulet, which was what Rica wanted. And then ultimately, I gave him a reason to engage Enforcers, so he wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore.”
Cedric shrugs like this is boring, inconsequential. “I have explained my motives. You would have to ask Rica what his were.”
“Yes,” I growl. “I will be asking him. I will also be asking which asylum he wants to be locked up in.”
He knew. Rica’s hypocrisy makes my head spin and my body shake with rage.
Cedric smiles at me patiently, and just like that, I’ve had enough.
I tense my muscles, ready to attack, but in my anger I’m obvious and clumsy, and he reacts even before I have begun.
His assault is not physical.
He bombards me with images. Pictures of his victims. Brutal, horrifying, relentless. It brings me to my knees. He overwhelms me with emotion and pain and trauma. I’m losing control; I can feel it. Disgust, anger, and helplessness are competing with each other as I battle the rising volatility. Oh God, I need to get control. The pressure in my head intensifies as Cedric overwhelms me with a new barrage of images. Images that made the crime scene photographs look like children’s cartoons.
“Stop!” I scream, holding the sides of my head. “Please.”
“Not until you agree that we should work together.”
I stagger backward and drop to a crouch. It’s as if he’s reaching into my mind and squeezing my brain. I can’t stand it. How do I make it stop? It’s so much worse than physical pain.
“Wait,” I say, trying to buy time, desperate for respite from this torture.
“You’re reconsidering? You’re starting to see things from my point of view?” Cedric looks delighted. I don’t respond. I kneel there, sucking in air, trying to think.
“Tamzin, you can beat him.”
It’s as if Dana’s voice is in my head, but she’s too far away for this kind of clear conversation. I must be imagining it. I’m losing my grip on what’s real and what’s not. Is Cedric doing this?
“Tamzin, it’s going to be so beautiful… the power we will have.”
He smiles at me, delighted with the notion that I’m considering joining forces with him. No, the message didn’t come from him.
“Tamzin.”
It must be Dana.
“You’ll find a way.”
I drop my head, like I’m conceding defeat, and place my hand on the ground, on the earth beneath me. The earth that holds the memory, the energy, the power of its history. The power and potential of everything that has gone before and that will come to pass. And with this, I can feel the power of my lineage. Tessa, Dana, and all the Cursus women before them. Their power courses through my blood, through every part of me. I’m stronger than the others. Stronger than Boris, more indestructible than Miguel, better than Rica, and able to overcome Cedric.
Heat rises.
Cedric studies me with interest.
My heart pumps the fiery blood through my veins.
Faster, hotter.
I was just a pawn in some sadistic game. Everything Rica did and said was all about controlling me, because he’s scared of me. He knew what Cedric was doing and didn’t stop him. Instead, he used him to control me. Everything I’ve been through was because Rica doesn’t want me to realize my power and because Cedric does.
It rises, bubbling up from my belly up to my chest.
Primal, beautiful, and pure.
With clenched fists, I throw back my head to howl.
I dart forward to grab Cedric’s throat with one hand and the hand holding the knife with the other. He makes a surprised choking, gurgling sound, but recovers quickly, bringing his own hand up to grasp my throat, at the same time sending a new barrage of images at me. More than the crushing grip of his hand on my throat, they make me gasp. Where are they coming from? These can’t be memories; he can’t be responsible for all that pain, torture, and misery. His eyes narrow with the effort of keeping up the relentless stream, and I realize he is somehow channeling emotions from… everywhere. He’s accessing pain and distress being felt by people in the world right now and sending it directly into my brain so that I can experience it firsthand.
No.
Pushing back, I block the flow, returning this stream of emotional anguish back to him. His eyes bulge. I squeeze his throat tighter and he gasps. I think about Dana, shackled with silver chains, breathless and in pain. I think about Chris and his brutally unfair death. And finally, I think about the amulet.
That fucking amulet.
“This is over,” I wheeze. Spots appear in my eyes as my brain fights for oxygen, but his fingers around my throat are weakening.
Tightening the grip of my right hand around the hilt of his knife, I start turning it away from me, toward him. Panic floods his eyes as the knife presses up against the soft skin between his collarbones, just under where my left hand continues its deathly grip on his throat. Cedric opens and closes his mouth, straining, pushing, struggling for air, until the very last moment, when something gives and he yields to me, a strange, satisfied expression crosses his face as he says, “See?” and then lets me plunge the knife deep into his throat with enough force to completely sever his windpipe and his cervical spine. He staggers backward, falling almost in slow motion, over the edge of the ridge. Breathing heavily, I follow to look down to where Cedric lies below.
> His reign of insanity is over.
Chapter 40
Dana is on the couch, nursing a tumbler of whiskey, wrapped in a blanket.
“Hey.” I close the door behind me. When she looks up, her eyes are large and filled with worry, but then she shakes her head and pats the couch next to her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Vincent.” She jerks her head back toward her bedroom. “Nikolai brought him.” Her face starts to crumple. “He’s… he’s, uh…” She gulps and stops. “I don’t know what Cedric did to him,” she whispers, looking down, “but he hasn’t woken up yet.”
A tear escapes.
“He’s going to be fine. I just know it.” I squeeze her shoulders gently.
But I’m lying.
I know what Cedric is capable of, and if what Vincent went through is anything like what he just did to me…
But Dana doesn’t need to hear that right now.
“He just needs to sleep, recover. And we’ll go see that healer that Nikolai took me to when I was run over by the train.”
Dana nods, looking up at me. “And how are you?”
“Uh… I’ll be okay. It was pretty intense. Thanks for the, uh, encouragement?”
“No problem. We had a strong connection.”
“So you were, like, there, with me?” My stomach twists.
“No, you just channeled strength from me, or something.”
“Oh God, sorry. You’re still weak.”
“No. It’s good. It was supposed to happen that way.” Dana puts her whiskey down next to the plate now holding just a few scraps of lasagna. “Tamzin, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Is this about your cryptic phone message?” With other, much more urgent things to deal with, I had put this to the back of my mind, but I hadn’t forgotten. “You said something about a legend, but then you were cut off.”
Dana pulls herself up with a little grunt of effort and goes to her desk. She brings back an old leather-bound book and places it in front of me. I run my fingers over the cover, which has a large L in free-form calligraphy writing. The paper is heavy and expensive.
“I found this in Grandma Tessa’s stuff.” Dana flicks through the pages until she gets to a chapter titled: The Cursus Legends. Underneath is a bunch of the same fancy writing and then a sub-heading The Cursus Ultimatum.
“Do I have to read this?”
Dana allows herself a small grin. “No, I’ll give you the abridged version.” She shifts, getting comfortable. “It’s about us, the Cursus. It says our bloodline is special because of the way it’s passed down.”
I nod, waving my hand to hurry her up. I already know this. Dana makes an irritated noise in the back of her throat but continues.
“But there is something else. Something about the Cursus gene that means we get more and more powerful with each generation. So I’m more powerful than Grandma Tessa was, and you are more powerful than me.”
“I thought you said you weren’t interested in this stuff.”
“That’s true. Grandma Tessa tried really hard to get me into this stuff, and I resisted, really hard.” She shrugs. “It sounded like fairy tales to me, so I never believed the legends she tried to tell me, but now—” Dana meets my eyes. “—now I’m not so sure. Tam, like I said on my message, your abilities are off the charts. You survived getting hit by a train. You can do things that other Lucans can’t, like reading human minds whenever you want. You think it’s normal because you’re new and it’s all you know, but it’s not, and this legend, this prophecy, is about the last of the Cursus bloodline.”
“Uh-huh…,” I prompt.
“Tam, I think you have the same fertility issue I have. We’d have to get it tested, but I think you might not be able to have children either.”
I can’t even process that right now. Having kids is not exactly a priority.
“So, while it’s possible that your Mom could have another kid at this late stage, and that kid could also have the Lucan gene, most likely, the Cursus bloodline ends with you, which means that you are The Cursus Ultimatum. The last of the Cursus.”
“And what does that mean?”
“According to the prophecy, you will be the most powerful Lucan ever to exist.”
AFTER DANA HAS gone to bed, I leave her apartment, needing to be outside, to think about what she told me.
Is it just some folk story, full of exaggerations and farfetched tales to make history interesting? Or is it more than that?
At the base of Lakeview Hills, I hesitate for a moment, then begin my ascent, drawn back to the site of my showdown with Cedric. I probably should take care of his body, because knowing my luck, Parsons will show up and finally be able to charge me for a crime I did commit.
“Tamzin?”
Nikolai is behind me, only a few feet away. Lost in thought, I hadn’t felt him approach.
“Are you okay?” He joins me at the edge but keeps a couple of feet between us. His uncertainty is palpable.
I nod. “Thank you for finding Vincent and getting him to Dana’s.”
“Don’t thank me, there’s no need. Has he woken up yet?”
I shake my head. We stand there in silence, both looking down at Cedric’s body. Nikolai doesn’t ask me what happened; I guess it’s obvious.
After a while, I say, “He was the Crawler.”
“What?” Nikolai’s voice is a bark of surprise. He pulls my arm, turning me to face him.
“And Rica knew,” I continue. “He knew Cedric was the Crawler, and he didn’t stop him. I think he might have encouraged him.”
Nikolai takes a step back, raises his hands to pull at the back of head, and looks up at the night sky. I can feel his surprise, anger, and sadness.
“I should have known… something. I called my father, he didn’t know the extent of the situation with the Crawler and what Rica was doing. He’s checking with London, but it appears Rica was lying to everyone, and… I should have known. What Rica did was out of line. To send three Enforcers after you?” Nikolai shakes his head. When he looks up, his eyes are flashing. “I’m sorry.”
He looks so anguished, I reach out and take his hand in mine. “Nikolai, it’s not your fault. You trusted him. He’s your uncle. He’s the liaison to London.”
He shakes his head. “Deep down, I think I knew something was wrong.”
I drop his hand and silence falls on us, so we stand there, looking out at the city.
“So what will happen with the Consillium after all this?” I ask after a minute.
“What do you mean?”
“After everything that has happened.”
Nikolai looks down, shaking his head. “What Rica did was wrong. But that doesn’t mean the Consillium is bad. I know that for you the Consillium just represents rules and…” He searches for the right word.
“Oppression? Pain? Death?”
Nikolai sighs. “We can’t blame the whole Consillium for what Rica did. I know you need time to deal with this, but please don’t… just because of Rica.”
“Just because of Rica?”
Both passion and conflict cloud his eyes.
“Look, Nikolai, I get where you’re coming from, okay? I understand, but I still can’t…” I shake my head.
“You need a break.” Nikolai nods.
“Yes. From the Consillium… and from you too.” I had no idea I was going to say that, but there it is. “At least, for the moment,” I add. “I think this is goodbye for a while.”
He turns away, looking out into the darkness. When his eyes meet mine again, they’re dark and full. “But not forever?”
With a sad smile, I say, “I don’t know how we can avoid each other.”
He bows his head in agreement. And even though part of me is aching to pull him closer, I take a step backward. Letting my eyes fill up with tears, I take another step, and then another, and then I turn and walk away. I feel rather than see Nikolai walk off in the other direction, his scent gro
wing fainter as he disappears into the night.
At the highest point of this peak, the gale-like wind whips my hair around my face and the lights of the city twinkle and shine, like an audience applauding me. I don’t know if what Dana told me is true. It doesn’t even matter. Either way, I won’t be following orders anymore. I’m going to be making my own rules.
I am Lucan.
I am Cursus.
I am She.
The End
Thank you for reading Lucan. I hope you enjoyed the first in The Lucan Trilogy.
Book II – Rogue – is available here. Keep reading for a taste.
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Rogue: Chapter 1
My phone, nestled in the snug cocoon of my back pocket, buzzes.
I ignore it. I know who it is and what they want, but I don’t have an answer, not yet.
The main floor of the casino is a bouquet of lingering sensory signals drifting in and out of my awareness. Tendrils of cigarette smoke and aftershave mingle with the more intriguing scents of excitement and despair; the chatter of conversation and the throb of music are interspersed with an occasional sigh of arousal or the abrupt inhalation of shock. But I don’t engage. I keep it all at bay. I turn it into white noise. If I didn’t, I’d be a shuddering, gibbering, mess.
And I need to concentrate on this game.
With my right hand I play with my chips, stacking them in columns. With my left I fan out my cards, pretending to contemplate my bid while I tune my mental energy to the man next to me. White, unshaven, and wearing sunglasses as well as a baseball cap—as if that will stop me reading him—he organizes his cards, wheezing unattractively as he tries to decide whether or not to bluff his way with a pair of threes. On the other side of me a delicate Asian woman is gazing at her chips, but her mind’s not on the game. She’s about to lose her house, and her husband thinks she’s visiting her sick mother at this very moment. But her house, her life—these aren’t my problems. I just need her to look at her cards.