by S. B. Niccum
Alex’s breathing sounded labored and painful, and I worried for his health, but I had him! I didn’t care if I had to spoon feed him for the rest of his life, I had him back and that’s all I wanted. Glancing back at it, I realized that the lure of the old mission was gone. I no longer felt the insane desire to be near it. I held the former lure of the place in my arms, and stroked his dirty hair as he rested his eyes.
“Amor, you’ll have to stay and do your best with these guys until a doctor comes,” Paz said to her sister softly as she drove. The rest of the van was in complete silence, no one had anything to say, and none of the soldiers cared to expound on the hell they had been put through for the last three weeks. “I’ll call the American Embassy and tell them that a group of American Soldiers were found by some … locals. Who do you suppose is behind this?” Paz asked.
Amor shrugged, but I had a feeling that she knew something and wasn’t sharing. Her usual light pink glow was troubled and her mind seemed to be in the process of putting together a complicated puzzle. Paz noticed this too, and kept turning to look at her sister. They seemed to exchange a telepathic thought, because eventually, understanding dawned on Paz and she no longer felt the need to look at her sister for answers.
“Bastard,” Paz whispered, then crossed herself, murmuring an unrepentant prayer for the swearword she had uttered. Everyone was too out of it or too tired to investigate any further into this accusation, so that particular conversation remained a mystery.
When the convent doors opened, only the injured soldiers were allowed in. They were carried by several of the sisters. I hated to let go of Alex, but I wasn’t allowed in. We exchanged parting glances before the nuns obstructed his face from my view. Dorian, Luz, and I were left on the outside, looking at a closed door. Dorian wrapped his arm around my shoulder and squeezed a few times.
“I’m hungry, who wants breakfast?” Luz smiled and rubbed her hands together. The house was a long ways away, and we had no mode of transportation other than our feet. We were mostly silent, but now and then, Luz would giggle at something or someone.
“What’s so funny Luz?”
“Nothing” she snorted and laughed again.
“I’m proud of you!” Celeste’s voice sounded softly in my ear.
I opened my eyes wide and Luz turned to face me expectantly. “Well … aren’t you going to answer her?”
I called the Preston’s right away, hoping that I wasn’t doing something out of turn, but I figured that Paz had plenty of time to contact the embassy in the hour it took us to walk home. If they didn’t know already, they soon would.
When Valerie picked up the phone on the other end I wasn’t sure where to begin or how to explain the incredible events. Should I tell her the true story or what the Embassy and the military were going to hear? When I heard the strain in her voice, I knew I had to tell her all the details.
“We found Alex.”
Silence.
“Alex and two of his comrades, just like the ones in Dorian’s picture, were found this morning,” I repeated.
“Tess … ” Valerie sobbed and I heard the phone drop from her hands. There were a series of sounds on the other end, shuffling of feet, handling of the phone, then Katie’s voice greeted me.
“Katie, is your mom okay?”
“Y—yeah … I think so … what’s going on Tess?”
“Alex has been found.”
“How do you know?” her voice sounded suspicious, like she was talking to a mental patient.
“Because, I just dropped him off at a convent, my aunt’s convent. The embassy has been called already. I suspect they’ll be picked up soon, if not already.”
Silence again, then a stifled sob. The phone got passed around again; this time Dane answered, but his customary patience was gone. “Tess, now listen. I know you have been under a lot of stress lately—” he was cut off by the sound of the other line clicking.
“Answer that Dane, it might be them,” I told him with confidence. I waited and waited for Dane to click back over to me, but then I realized that I was making an international call, so I hung up. I shuffled over to my bed and collapsed there. I finally slept like I hadn’t slept in ages.
I woke up to the sound of music from the piano and a hot ray of sunlight on my face. In the living room I found all as if nothing had ever happened. Amor was in the kitchen grinding something to a pulp, Paz was sitting on the couch reading, Dorian was in his customary spot drawing, and Luz was at the piano, wearing an orange tutu, extra high pigtails and matching bows.
Amor smiled and winked at me, as I passed into the kitchen. Paz looked up for a second from her book and smiled as well. “Good work today!” she beamed.
The table was set for tea; afternoon tea, I surmised. I sat down and wrapped myself in a knitted throw and put my heels on the rung of the chair. I closed my eyes and felt like I was in a cocoon, but when I opened my eyes something looked different. It seemed as if a thin veil had been lifted from my eyes and a new layer of vision appeared before me. I saw human forms … as if I were looking at them from behind vellum paper. They floated freely all around the room, as if they, too, resided here.
Dappled sunlight filtered through the laced curtains like fingers reaching down from heaven; a soft marine breeze made the curtains dance now and then. I blinked slowly, unsure of the reality of what I was seeing, but the transparent white robed forms remained.
Canon in D … that’s what Luz was playing. It seemed fitting for this moment—soft, simple, happy. As amazing as this moment was, it was also simple, like the melody. It made me think that perhaps the figures were always here—unseen and unnoticed, but natural and normal.
Standing behind Luz was a tall man, his hands were over hers on the piano, and they both moved across the keys in perfect unison. He had dark hair, a prominent nose, dark eyes and long eyelashes. I recognized him from the pictures; it was her father, Max.
Behind the kitchen counter stood Celeste, who was interested in what Amor was doing. She hovered near her daughter and looked over the recipes on the counter. Next to Dorian, there was a woman wearing a white turban on her head, and she stroked the air above his head with motherly love. All was peaceful and perfectly natural, until suddenly, out of nowhere, two figures seemed to just rip through the wall. One was a man who had a mischievous grin on his face; it seemed to say, “Gotcha!” The other, a woman, had a more rueful look—like someone who’s been chasing a misbehaving child around for hours.
The woman looked around the room then turned her head and looked straight at me. She looked the same as she did in the pictures—my dead mother. With interest, she narrowed her eyes and came closer to me. This caught the man’s attention, so he, too, looked over in my direction; his countenance changed as realization washed over his face. His green-gray eyes grew large and all kinds of feelings flooded his mind when he fixed his gaze on mine—I could see it in the ethereal light that emanated from him—happiness, love, sorrow, regret, pain, anger … revenge.
My father and my mother approached me slowly and as I followed their movements with my eyes, they noticed this and marveled. I felt like a child again, short bursts of blurry memories came to my mind, but I couldn’t hold on to any of them long enough to piece them together.
My mother placed her hand on my cheek and I felt a chill there. We looked into each other’s eyes and she transferred all the love she felt for me through her light.
“Irene, I think she can see us!” my father whispered with awe.
“I’m not sure …” my mother said, “she feels so peaceful, if she really saw us, she would be more, more … agitated, don’t you think?” she whispered back.
“I think she sees and hears us just fine, but,” he paused, lost for words, “doesn’t care, or isn’t afraid.”
My mother smiled and stroked the air right above my hair, this gave me more chills and I shivered. I felt like I should say something, but I wasn’t sure what. I knew these … ghosts; they
were my parents and I knew they loved me, yet … I didn’t know them.
“Tess, if you can hear me,” my father said as he crouched down next to me, “you’re in danger…Eros—” Right then the music ended, and in the blink of an eye, the unseen world disappeared and the room went dark.
Chapter 24
Agatha checked herself in the mirror, making sure she looked exactly the way she intended to look—normal. For some reason this was an everyday struggle for her, her Gothic tendencies kept creeping out if left unchecked. She still had no tolerance for certain colors, and dressed in dark winter tones, but practically everyone in Boston dressed in muted, solemn grays and blacks. She remained blond but wore dark red lipstick and no blush, giving her that gaunt Goth air that still appealed to her vanity.
She hadn’t lasted long in college. It wasn’t that school was hard; it simply was boring. What she wanted to learn, a brick and mortar school would not teach her. But she needed money so she got a job that she knew she could do. The local newspaper needed someone to write the horoscope, and this job she easily got, after an impressive demonstration of her capabilities.
This first job was perfect for her; she was joining the real world, but on her terms. She had some money, a modest apartment, and enough time to recompile the book that she had lost.
She came to be known as ‘the trippy fortune-teller chick’. She had no friends, but was respected nonetheless, due to her uncanny ability of getting things right. The small buzz around the office quickly grew into a blazing fire of superstition and Agatha soon found herself writing a weekly column under her real name. When the circulation of the newspaper grew exponentially, mainly due to Agatha, she found herself being head-hunted by a big magazine in Boston.
Having no scruples, Agatha quickly worked her way up the ladder in that city. Being disliked was not a bother, being reviled was no problem, and being hated was rewarding to her. She thrived on being hated, feared, and envied; she reveled in it all and found a dark amusement in it.
But working at the magazine was her daytime job; her real work started after hours. That time was spent on research for her true scheme—the re-establishment of an ancient secret society—a hybrid between a religion and a social club. She knew she had gifts and Wiccan was too cliché for her, besides…she had been there and done that already. This was deeper than mere witchcraft. This was science and power from the universe.
The world did not embrace witchcraft openly, but they would embrace solid scientific facts. The stars and the universe operated by science, and whoever understood this could control the laws of physics and nature itself. The Source had control over it, but the Source only shared his knowledge when a sacrifice was made. So Agatha started small. Her own blood at first, then that of a rodent. Animal sacrifices had been around since the dawn of time, she thought, so why not?
She smacked her lips together and dabbed some excess lipstick off before she stepped out of the bathroom and sat at her usual table. For months now, she had been coming to this diner near her apartment. She sat in the same out-of-the-way booth, accompanied only by her books and her notes. In silence, she ate every night, while she discovered the secrets of the occult.
“Is this seat taken?” a stranger asked. Agatha looked up, surprised to hear a human voice, and tried to focus her thoughts back to the present. Narrowing her eyes, she studied the man. He was average height; long dark hair tied in a slick ponytail at the nape of his neck, dark brown eyes; even, good-looking features, and about twenty years her senior.
“Perhaps I should introduce myself first,” the man insisted.
“Not interested,” Agatha dismissed him and turned back at her work. She had gotten so many job offers lately it wasn’t even funny. It was nice to hear that her particular gifts were in such high demand, but the book and her research came first, and she hated the thought of interrupting them.
Ignoring her dismissal, the man sat down across from her in the booth, “But I am interested in you, Tess DeLeon. Or is it Carleene, or maybe, Agatha?”
Upon hearing that name, Agatha looked up at the man again.
“I see I got your attention. So, which one is it?”
Agatha smiled and shook her head, finding the whole thing humorous.
“I’ve had my men tracking you for a while; I know you don’t go by Tess anymore. I also know that somehow you were able to transform your appearance quite well with my money and that you used it to carve out a nice little life for yourself here,” he stated simply, even amusedly.
“Is that what this is about? Your money?” Agatha laughed.
Eros remained silent and stone-faced.
“I’ll give you your money back, if that’s what you want. Consider it an … investment.”
“Sure I want my money back, with interest, of course.”
“Of course,” she smirked, no longer looking at him.
“Still, I like knowing what I have invested in, niece.”
“Niece! I’m not your niece.”
“If you are Tess DeLeon, you are my niece, and I want not just the money you … invested, but all the rest of it as well!”
“If I were Tess DeLeon, I would do no such thing! If I were Tess, I would kill you and keep all of it,” she said simply then took an unconcerned bite of her food. Several men appeared out of the shadows and discretely pointed a gun at Agatha. She noticed this without much interest and chuckled. Then with a condescending look she put the fork down and reached in her purse, this made the armed men nervous, so they pointed their barrels a little higher. “I was going for my checkbook,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Eros extended a hand and the men disappeared back into the shadows of the diner.
“Who are you?” Eros asked as Agatha’s hand moved across the check. Agatha cut it, and extended the paper toward Eros.
“Well, the check says I’m Carleene, but that’s not my name either,” she smiled.
Eros took the check and studied the name, then looked back at Agatha with interest. “You’re not my niece, are you?”
“No. And I’m not Carleene, either. I do know them both, well, knew them. Carleene is dead now.” A dangerous shadow crossed her face and Eros knew at once by whose hand. “I just used their names for my convenience.” Agatha’s dangerous look passed as quickly as it had come and she was now smiling contently at Eros.
This smile of hers made the hairs on his neck stand on end, and he was no longer sure how to regard this girl. He felt both attracted and repulsed by her. She was cold, calculating and fearless. All of these things he liked in himself, but now that he saw them in the form of a woman; he found them extremely alluring.
“So, what is your name?” he purred.
“Agatha,” she admitted matching his tone.
“How do you know Tess?”
“I grew up with her in foster care,” she answered casually, while she jotted something down.
Eros nodded and glanced at the scattered open books and the notebook that was filled with notes. “What are you working on?”
“The future,” Agatha looked up, annoyed now at his nosiness, “you have what you came for, you can leave now,” she dismissed him with a wave of her hand and took another bite of her cold food.
Eros didn’t budge though; he was shocked at her pluck. He wondered who this creature was, but having nothing more to say, he considered leaving. His pride alone kept him there. This girl had robbed him of fifty thousand dollars and now that he had her cornered, she was dismissing him.
“He can help you,” the icy tendrils of a cast-out wrapped itself around Agatha’s throat. “Use him … Eros … he has many connections, and he is after Tessss.”
Agatha felt suddenly cold. She both loved and hated that feeling when it came. The chills were a reassurance to her that she wasn’t her losing her mind, but indeed they were voices from beyond who spoke to her. Every time she heard them, she felt reassured that she was indeed gifted and was a medium of sorts.
Eros felt the cold
emptiness too, like someone had just walked on his grave. It was an ensnaring feeling that made him want to run and stay at the same time. Eros was a man who had descended pretty low, and somehow he knew that if he didn’t get up and leave immediately, he would descend even lower. Agatha was not just trouble; she was certain death to him. He knew this, but his legs wouldn’t move. So he stayed—knowing full well that he had just crossed a line.
Eros tossed the check back across the counter. Agatha glanced at the check then raised her eyes to meet his. “What do you want then?” she asked, with her best poker face.
“You.”
Agatha laughed a mirthless, cynical laugh. However, deep inside her, she felt a jolt of excitement. She had never felt that jolt before; everyone so far had been a pawn. The spirits clearly approved of this one, and she was glad.
“You have no idea what you’re getting into, Eros.”
Eros’ hairs bristled. He hadn’t told her his name. There was no way she could have known it from L.A either. His street people didn’t know who he was; he operated in the shadows and guarded his name zealously.
With one word he dismissed his armed men, then focused his attention on the curious creature in front of him. She wasn’t terribly beautiful, but there was something about those large eyes and thin features that felt familiar to him. He could tell that she cared about her appearance and that she could manage to look quite stunning, if she set her mind to it.
Agatha, also, examined Eros’ features and build She surmised that he was in his forties, but looked pretty good for his age. Obviously he worked out and was vain enough to pay big bucks to keep his hair brown. She had to admit that he was good-looking and that she would look great in his arms.
“How did you know my name?” he asked, trying to sound like he was in command of his faculties.
“They told me.”
“They, who?”
“The spirits,” she smiled. This smile of hers gave Eros goose bumps for the second time during their brief conversation.
“You hear voices?”