Ghosts of Atlantis (Immortal Montero Book 3)

by Greg Mongrain

  “Did I hear envy?”

  “Please.”

  “How fast is the decoding now?”

  “About one page every five minutes, but that doesn’t matter.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because one page is all there is.”

  “One?” Was it the same as the one I had? “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I’m searching the hard drive for other hidden files, but so far, nothing but empty folders.”

  “Why would he only write a single page?”

  “Obviously, he didn’t. Somehow, his computer destroyed the rest of the document before it could be exposed, along with every other file on the drive.”

  “Well, what does the one page say?” I asked, then held my breath.

  “It was written in Latin, so we had to translate it first,” Preston replied. “It’s a short journal that begins New Year’s Day.”

  He had found one of the pages Darius had saved on the USB drive, but not the private document written to me.

  “He mentions the burning murders from earlier in the year and blames it on someone named Morgan who is presumably from the other dimension. He guarded a magical ring. Oh, and he was apparently a vampire.”

  “I’m sorry? Did you say a vampire?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, wondering how to play this. “Are you saying Spellman was deranged?”

  A long pause. “No, I’m not. Was he so deranged he only worked on his computer at night?”

  “Mr. Preston, are you seriously suggesting that proves something?”

  “Those two facts by themselves, no. Tell me, Sebastian, these friends of Spellman’s, the ones who led you to his house. Are they always out and about at five a.m.?”

  “So you think I’m consorting with vampires, is that it?”

  “Are you?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Maybe not, but you still haven’t answered my question.”

  My life had grown intolerable. Hamilton and Preston had turned me into a serial liar. With my secrets, what choice did I have?

  “No, I don’t know any vampires, or anyone who is one. The question is absurd.”

  “What does Detective Hamilton say?”

  This twist caught me off-guard. “About what? Vampires?”

  “It’s obvious he wants to question Spellman’s friends. Has he met them yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Are you going to tell him what’s in Spellman’s journal?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it, but I don’t see why not.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Mr. Preston?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Have the runner bring a portable ultrasound unit.”

  Chapter 39

  Losing Aliena, even for this amount of time, had ruined something very dear to me. I could hardly believe this sickness had started moments after she accepted me in marriage. It called to mind the one time I almost lost Karina, though the circumstances were very different…

  Since Karina and I had become husband and wife, I had taken great care to never injure myself. Such caution required mental diligence. Before marrying her, I had treated my power as a plaything, casually ignoring my safety, allowing small injuries, enjoying the instant healing. After two centuries, the temporary self-mutilating behavior had become second nature.

  My unique makeup showed itself in other ways, but this ability to heal wounds, even those that would kill a mortal man, was the most extreme.

  For ten years, the weather had remained temperate, providing seasonal crops in abundance. My men and I worked the land with great good humor, for the king had not required us as soldiers for years.

  Laurena, Tomas, and I sat on the veranda overlooking the horse paddock. My children were arguing over who was the better rider.

  “You’re cruel to Tango,” Laurena said. “Jabbing him with your spurs! If you knew how to use your reins and—”

  “I don’t touch him hard, you’re just mad that we’re faster and we can jump over the back fence and you can’t.”

  “The back fence?” I said.

  Laurena’s expression never changed, though I knew she wanted to flick her crop at Tomas.

  “Oh,” Tomas said, his eyes sliding to his sister.

  I have no idea what it feels like to be mortal. But I have seen war and worse, and I know how easily humans die. Both of my children suffered the scrapes and cuts all children get, and all of their injuries had healed perfectly. But not the way mine did.

  “That fence is too high for Tango and Bolero,” I said. “It has nothing to do with how well you ride. It’s dangerous. Besides, the grooms have set up jumps all over the practice arena.”

  “Those are too easy,” Tomas said. This time Laurena did swat him, trying to hide it by smacking him under the table.

  “Then tell them you want them higher,” I said, making a note to tell the grooms they must agree to Tomas’s request, then leave the height of the jumps intact. “I won’t tell Mama about this if you prom—”

  “You won’t have to tell Mama.” Karina walked onto the patio, holding one of my shirts, giving Tomas a severe stare. “No riding for three days. And the stable hands say you’re not brushing Tango.”

  “But that’s what they do!”

  “Tango is your horse. And since you will not be riding, you will muck his stall as well.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Karina and Laurena locked eyes. My daughter was obedient and respectful, but had the strong will of a Montero. Karina and I knew to handle her with a light touch. An adventurer by nature, she remained cautious and wise, a leader among the other children though most were many years older. She was Tomas’s hero.

  Women mature earlier than men, are often more intelligent, are more able to set their feelings aside to make practical decisions. They are usually more adept at identifying a person’s weaknesses and exploiting them. Whenever I wondered how it was possible that men controlled the world through brute force alone, I paused, and remembered something a Chinese opium importer had told me.

  “To deceive a man is second nature for a woman,” he said. “Whenever you think you are in control, you can be sure she has made you feel that way. We work and sweat and worry at business, and pretend we are in charge, while they play mah jhong with their friends and sip tea and complain about how bad we are in bed while they decide how they are going to spend the money we earn!”

  I never had any illusions about who controlled the Montero home. Karina and the children were precious beyond compare, and I happily adjusted myself to whatever they wanted or needed. It terrified me that my immortality provided them no protection against time. My endless nature only promised that I must witness the death of everyone I loved.

  “It’s time for both of you to finish the French translations I gave you.”

  “Now?” Laurena cried.

  “Now.”

  “Off you go,” I told them. They sauntered away.

  Karina took Tomas’s seat. She sat on the edge, knees together. She held my shirt in her lap. Her gaze fixed on a spot near my shoes. The back of my neck prickled as I sensed her mood.

  “Kari? Is something wrong?”

  “Kenton Barnes was killed last night. Someone attacked him and cut his throat. A trespasser, they think.”

  “Yes, Sergio told me.” Kenton had been a darkly devout man who did not touch alcohol.

  “People don’t seem to care much.”

  “Kenton Barnes was not a good man,” I said.

  Two young boys had disappeared during the summer, only to turn up in the Ebro delta, naked and bloated. Working backward from their last known locations, I had determined conclusively Barnes had been the last person to see the boys alive.

  When I discovered his own son had died at eight, and that Barnes was suspected of sexual misconduct and murder, I had bided my time for an opportunity to eliminate him without exposing m
yself to danger.

  That opportunity had presented itself last night.

  Karina’s eyes rose to mine. “Do you think he deserved to die?”

  “Did you see Constance at mass, or Elizabeth? Did you see the way they were dressed?” Constance Barnes attended church with her husband and two daughters every Sunday. Last week, she had been wearing a heavy veil, and the girls were in long sleeves, though heat baked the town.

  She held the shirt in her lap, watching me. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “Yes,” I told her. “Yes, I think he deserved to die.”

  She held up my shirt, poking her fingers through two ragged holes dark with dried blood where Kenton had stabbed me.

  “Did you…did you…?”

  I scooted my chair next to hers and tried to take her hands. She pulled them away. Her eyes sparkled, prismatic with heavy tears. My heart tripped along at double speed when she averted her gaze. The same thought chased itself around my mind: I can’t lose her.

  Karina believed deeply in the Scriptures, and that demons could possess a human body. I was terrified she would see my ability as something evil.

  She stared at my shirt. Her tears dropped onto the coarse fabric. “If you lie to me, I shall never forgive you. Did you kill Kenton?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “And last year, the man who beat his daughter to death, Mr. Marks?”

  “Yes,” I said, barely audible.

  “Mr. Morris, too?”

  I looked at her, nodded.

  “How many? Tell me, Sebastian.”

  “Please, Kari.” A buzzing sound filled my head. “Please don’t make me tell you that.”

  “I will not be married to a killer.”

  “I only kill those who—”

  “I don’t care why,” she said. “You kill. According to the scriptures, no one should ever kill but God.”

  “What if I had not caught Mr. Morris? He would have continued to slaughter people. Nobody knew he was the wolf in our fold until after his death.”

  “I know,” she said. “The will of God is hard to understand, but the Lord’s law is clear: thou shalt not kill.” I knew she had made up her mind by the tone of her voice. “You must stop this.”

  I didn’t know if I could give the enterprise up. I saved innocent lives by eliminating killers before they could continue. Balancing the scales, I called it, though I could never even the score once they had murdered a person’s loved one. Twice Morris had killed the father, the only one who provided the family with income. Seven children would now grow up with only their mothers. I had provided the widows with money to support them and their families for the rest of their lives, but no matter what I did, I could never compensate for the loss of a husband and father.

  “I don’t kill people, Kari.” I had been through this argument with myself many times. “I save people.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t condone killing.”

  She allowed me to hold her hands. I kissed them. “Don’t ever be sorry for that.”

  She leaned her head against my cheek. We were quiet. She knew she had to say no more. In this she was very special. Most people would have continued damning the practice and reiterating their negative view until the other broke down and agreed.

  Why did I resist the suggestion? Had I come to enjoy the killing? The realization that such an explanation was possible froze my mind. No. I could never let that be so.

  If I agreed, it would only be for the duration of her lifetime. And as I had dedicated myself to her happiness, the decision became simple, inevitable. I turned and kissed her ear. “From now on, I will not kill anyone. You have my vow.”

  “Thank you, darling,” more tears spilling. “I could never be happy without you.” Her fingers poked through the holes in my shirt. She pulled the tunic I wore to one side, touched my chest. “How…why aren’t you hurt?”

  “I don’t know the why of it,” I told her, “but my body repairs my wounds.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you always been like this?” she asked.

  “Yes. At least, ever since I was very young.”

  She looked down at the shirt. I wondered if she would understand the possibilities inherent in such a condition.

  “If nothing can kill you, you wouldn’t ever die.”

  “That’s right.” Would she think me a devil? A satanic being?

  She reached out, placed her palm against my chest. “How long have you been alive?”

  “Over 200 years.”

  She moved her head from side to side, staring at me with what looked like horror.

  “You must believe me, my love, I am not evil. I am not a bad man.”

  She put a hand over her mouth. The tears spilled from her eyes. She shook her head. “Of course you’re not.” She whispered, “Have you ever been in…am I…?”

  “No, I have never been in love before. And yes, you are my first wife, my first love, my first life, and my only family…”

  With a sob, she came to me. I covered her face with fiery kisses while I ripped her clothes off. I carried her to our room, where I pushed her onto her back, leaned between her legs, slipped my hands under her, and lifted her hips as if I were drinking her out of a goblet, pressing her soft flesh to my mouth. She let out a low groan.

  Once I had her panting, I turned her onto her knees, positioned myself behind her, and pulled her hips to me, sliding inside. I gathered a handful of her hair.

  “You’re my girl. Aren’t you?” I pulled.

  “Yes.”

  “Forever?”

  “Yes, oh yes.”

  I pulled her hair some more. “My darling, darling Kari…”

  “Sebastian, my only love…”

  Chapter 40

  Saturday, February 14, 9:43 p.m.

  The tech arrived forty minutes later, pulling up in a company van. I met him in the driveway, opened the passenger door. He handed me a package.

  “From the lab, sir.”

  I took it, signed his scanner. “You made good time.”

  “Thanks. Mr. Preston said not to worry about a speeding ticket.”

  “If you get one on company business, we’ll take care of it for you.”

  “That’s what he said. Should I tell him what you need the ultrasound for?”

  “Tell Mr. Preston I have decided to keep the phone you were sent to collect,” I told him, ignoring his question.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re Mr. Nash, our latest junior scientist. Preston assigned you to the FRS team, didn’t he?” FRS was our Facial Recognition Software program group.

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “How’s that going?”

  “We’re beta testing it right now. At least, Mr. Preston is.”

  “Sorry about making you drive out here, but it’s standard procedure for all interns, no matter how bright.”

  “I understand.”

  “Back to the salt mines with you.”

  Fulfilling government contracts represented a large part of BioLaw’s business. Several law enforcement agencies had tasked four companies with the challenge of making facial recognition software. The FRS project was not one I would have initiated on my own.

  If Preston had reached the beta testing stage, I knew I had a meeting with him in my future. I doubted he would believe that the older pictures of me were the result of ancestral similarities. In spite of the dangers such a revelation posed, a part of me remained childishly intrigued by the possibility he would discover pictures of me I had never seen.

  The diagnostic unit consisted of a tablet computer with attached baton scanner. The lab had included a tube of water-based gel. I palmed my way into Aliena’s room, placed the tablet on the bed and powered it on. While waiting for the program to load, I pulled the blankets down, sat beside Aliena’s inert form, and squeezed a dollop of the gel onto her stomach.

  Having read Darius’s diary, I bec
ame convinced something inside Aliena was causing her fevers and fugues.

  Her forehead remained cool and dry. Picking up the tablet, I prepared the unit for imaging. When it showed ready, I pressed the rounded end of the scanner against her abdomen and began to slowly drag it across her skin.

  I expected something, but not what I saw.

  A brilliant ball burned in the center of Aliena’s stomach. It spun rapidly, its surface roiling like a madly whirling sun. Sparks flickered along its circumference like so many solar flares, the brightness of the display flickering on the walls and ceilings as if we had suddenly stepped into Prince Prospero’s party of Red Death.

  Soft white light returned when I pulled the wand from her flesh and set it aside. I touched the screen to save the readings and end the recording.

  For long moments I sat there, holding the wand, staring at the frozen picture of the thing inside Aliena, wondering how it had gotten there. The entity was clearly one of Spellman’s Ghosts of Atlantis.

  My phone buzzed. The text from Marcus read: “Meet me at 49 for our talk, usual time.” An address off Magnolia in North Hollywood followed.

  What could I tell Marcus? That Aliena had a dangerous creature inside her, one possibly strong enough to burn a vampire to ashes? That I had GPS tracking placing her at the scene of Kristina’s murder when the call came in to the Van Nuys station? Or that witnesses had identified a blonde woman fleeing the scene at Darius’s and Kristina’s murders? The vampires would have Aliena in the Apollo Ring’s killing box tonight.

  Thinking back, the timeline of Spellman’s murder made it possible for Aliena to have been the monk’s killer.

  “Sebastian?”

  Rachella. I jerked to my feet, glanced at my watch. A few minutes past ten. I wished I had met her on the patio, but knew there was no use trying to intercept her now. Before I could cover Aliena’s body, an hourglass silhouette appeared in the doorway.

  “There you are.” The vampire sashayed into the room. Her eyes flickered past me. She strode to the bed and stared down at Aliena’s nude body. “What’s wrong with her?”