Legacy of the Watchers Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Nancy Madore

  “Do you have any ideas about who might have killed Greg?” she asked.

  “My money’s on the guy he went to meet that morning,” said Tiffany.

  “What guy?” asked Beth.

  Tiffany shook her head. “Greg didn’t tell me his name. It was just some rich guy he was planning to shake down for some money to get us out of here. In retrospect, I should’ve cut out the middle man and gone for the rich guy myself.”

  “Did Greg say why he meeting this man?” asked Beth.

  Tiffany shrugged. “Greg had something he wanted. He said he’d hit the jackpot.” She laughed again, but her eyes were shiny with tears. “He hit the jackpot all right.”

  Tiffany was definitely a little rough around the edges, but Beth sensed that she was more broken up about Greg’s death than she was letting on. She had seen this kind of behavior many times at the hospital. It was a harsh life, here in Alaska, with extremes that could harden certain people. Tiffany clearly belonged in a warmer climate.

  “Where was Greg meeting this guy?” asked Beth.

  “I don’t know,” said Tiffany, “but when it came time to go, I could tell that he was nervous.”

  “Did he say why?”

  Tiffany shook her head. “He didn’t tell me nothing.”

  “What about his phone?” persisted Beth.

  “The cops took it,” said Tiffany. “They later told me that the last call he received was from one of those prepaid phones you throw away.”

  “Where’s his car?” asked Beth.

  “It’s around back. It was impounded when they found his body.” Tiffany snorted. “That was another three hundred dollars he cost me.”

  “Where did they find his body?” asked Beth.

  “In the trunk of his car,” said Tiffany. “It was abandoned on the side of the road. When the cops found it they searched the car, and that’s when they found him.” She took another swig of the wine. “He was supposed to be back in two hours—two and a half tops,” she complained, as if this were yet another example of how Greg continually let her down. “Sure enough, five hours later, they found him dead in the trunk of his car. I can’t even sell that car now. Nobody wants to buy a car that had a dead man in it.”

  “Can I see it?” asked Beth.

  Tiffany hesitated. “I guess so,” she said, apparently failing to come up with a good enough reason to deny Beth’s request. She got up and led the way outside to Greg’s car, stopping a few yards away from it.

  “It’s not locked,” she said, lighting up a cigarette.

  Beth had no qualms about approaching the car. She’d been in much closer contact with dead bodies than this, especially when she worked in the emergency room. She supposed it was just another pitfall of living in rural Alaska that help was slow in arriving, what with the terrible roads, the extreme weather and the emergency crews being mostly comprised of volunteers. Patience was definitely a virtue if you were sick or injured in this neck of the woods.

  Greg Ritter drove a black Camaro that had been jacked up to accommodate four oversized, heavy duty snow tires. This was not an uncommon sight in Delta Junction. In fact, it was actually kind of practical. This way a sports car could double as a utility vehicle. Predictably, there was mud spattered all over the bottom half of the car.

  Beth opened the driver’s side door and climbed inside. The interior was surprisingly clean and neat. All of the garbage had been stuffed in a plastic grocery bag on the passenger’s side floor. The key was in the ignition. Beth turned it on and was immediately assailed by blaring music coming from the CD player. It was Janet Jackson, singing—“What have you done for me lately?”

  Beth turned down the volume, thinking; this is probably the last thing Greg heard before he was killed. It seemed peculiarly ironic after having met Tiffany.

  Beth turned to peer into the back seat. It appeared to be completely untouched, except for a baseball bat that was sticking out from under the front passenger seat.

  “Hmm,” she murmured, lowering the visors and looking into the storage compartments of the center console. “No directions, or notes…or anything?”

  She leaned toward the glove compartment and flipped the latch. It contained a pair of heavy duty gloves (pretty standard in Alaska) a flashlight, a Swiss army knife and the Chevrolet users’ manual. Beth opened the manual and a string of condoms fell out. Beneath the condoms were Greg’s registration and a few inspection receipts. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

  With a little sigh, Beth shut the glove compartment and leaned over to pick up the bag of trash. It was filled with fast food containers, wrappers and napkins. But there were receipts too. Beth picked out the receipts and began flipping through them. There was one that caught her eye.

  “What day was it when Greg went to meet that guy?” she called out the window to Tiffany, who was still watching her from a distance.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied. “The seventeenth?”

  “And he said he would be gone about two hours…is that right?” continued Beth.

  “Yeah,” said Tiffany, growing more interested. “Why? Did you find something?”

  “Maybe,” said Beth. “I found a receipt for a hotdog and a Red Bull from a convenience store in Salcha on the seventeenth.”

  “That’s about an hour away from here,” said Tiffany.

  “Exactly,” said Beth. “Did he go up to Salcha very often?”

  “Never,” said Tiffany. “If you go that far, you might as well go all the way to Fairbanks.”

  “Exactly,” said Beth again. “But it would be the perfect place to meet someone coming in from Fairbanks.”

  “Should we tell the police about this?” asked Tiffany.

  “I don’t think the police are going to catch this guy,” said Beth. “I’m pretty sure he flew into Fairbanks from someplace else.”

  “You still think this has something to do with T.D.M.R.?”

  “Yes,” said Beth. “I do. And if I’m right, there isn’t a darn thing the police are going to be able to do about it.”

  “So what are you gonna do about it?” wondered Tiffany.

  Beth looked at her thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Do you have a picture of Greg?”

  “What are you gonna do?” asked Tiffany again.

  “I think I might drive out to this convenience store in Salcha,” said Beth.

  “Yeah,” said Tiffany. “Okay. I have a picture of him in the house.”

  Beth shut off the ignition and climbed out of the car. They went back inside the bleak little apartment where Beth waited awkwardly for a picture of Greg. Tiffany handed her one of him standing beside his Camaro in his Air force uniform, smiling. He was a rather ordinary looking young man, tall and slender, with pale skin and ash brown hair, but he had a nice smile. Beth looked at Tiffany.

  “Would you like me to keep you updated on anything I might find out?” she asked.

  Tiffany was staring at the picture in Beth’s hand. “What’s the point?” she countered. “Greg’s gone. I’ve got to think about the long winter ahead.”

  Shuddering, Beth extricated herself from the depressing little apartment and the lone occupant that would spend the rest of that day drinking in the dark.

  Chapter 41

  Ancient Greece

  Twenty-first century, BC

  A wild thrill that was both painful and bittersweet shot through Poseidon upon seeing the familiar passage leading into Attica. How many years had passed since he had approached her precipitous shores? Not nearly enough to erase the feelings of resentment he still carried deep within his breast at the sight of them.

  The event at Athens was a devastating blow that remained with him still. And he knew that the mortals remembered it too. The other gods would never let them forget. They had always taken every opportunity to undermine him. Even so, he had won more worshippers than any of them, and he was certain that he was still a favorite in many of the cities as far north as Corinth. The songs
and poems they sung of him had reached his ears. And yet, they acknowledged the other gods too. But now all that would change. Poseidon could no longer endure being one of many gods. He must be the only god.

  Though they would always be a thorn in his side, the Olympians did not inspire genuine fear in Poseidon. They had no abilities to challenge his power. They might charm a wild beast with their music, or even light up the sky with one of their many tricks, but they could not bring about the kind of destruction that Poseidon and his army could achieve. If the Olympians acknowledged his superiority, he would spare the lives of their people and award each of the former gods a position of glory in his new kingdom. They would rule under him, naturally, but even that was more than they deserved. And it was more than they could hope for if they dared to interfere, because then he would open the earth and send Mount Olympus and all of her worshippers straight to hell. Then who would watch their silly games?

  Poseidon turned with pride toward his fleet, which greatly outnumbered the armies of Attica. They were the Atlanteans, feared far and wide, and comprised of the mightiest mortals that could be found on both continents, north and south. They would conquer Attica with ease—and Athens along with her. After that, the rest of Olympia would follow.

  As each ship rounded the corner into the harbor, every soldier stood ready, their arrows poised for attack. Poseidon rose up high in the air, preparing to give them the order to strike.

  Meanwhile, the mortals on land were leisurely going about their daily routine, completely unaware of the danger approaching. Poseidon smiled to himself. He had not expected it to be this easy. Had they no one keeping guard?

  The many ships that carried Poseidon’s army were now coming into view. The inlet was surrounded by land on three sides, and yet no one appeared to notice them, except a few fishermen who stared at them in stunned surprise.

  But the alarm had been sounded. From his perspective overhead, Poseidon could see Attica’s army galloping toward the shore on the very horses and chariots that he had supplied for them. A call went out, and the citizens all along the seaboard scrambled for cover.

  Attica’s army was securing their positions along the shoreline so that the Atlanteans would be surrounded on all three sides. But Attica was desperately outnumbered—although further inland, Poseidon saw that more chariots were rushing toward them in enormous clouds of dust, like dark thunder clouds gathering. Poseidon gave the signal for his armies to strike, and their arrows sped toward the Olympian shores like a flock of angry birds. The whir of the approaching arrows was punctuated by the cries of the soldiers who were hit. Then all was disorder, as arrows soared in both directions. The sky was blackened by the hissing missiles, and the air was filled with the sound of dying men.

  Though they were outnumbered by more than ten to one, Attica’s army bravely held their ground. As the soldiers in the front lines dropped, they were immediately replaced with new ones. And Poseidon could see from his position overhead that more soldiers were still coming.

  It was the darkest day in Attica’s history. Hour after arduous hour, the soldiers labored tirelessly, pouring out all that they had, including, for many, their life’s blood. The battle raged on until it was too dark to fight. Those left standing were exhausted and disheartened. Already, the Atlanteans were beginning to come ashore where the line had been rendered unmanned. The townspeople had all fled. Tomorrow, the invading army would make its way into Athens.

  That night, Poseidon lay in wait for the gods, imagining what they would say to him and what he would reply. He was profoundly disappointed when only Athena appeared.

  She came to Poseidon in her spirit form, which, he had to admit, was more pleasing than many of the other Nephilim souls—though it was not as impressive as his. But it was, perhaps, Athena’s soul that had such a positive effect on the mortals—for her face bore a remarkable resemblance to the owl, which was highly prized for its supposed benevolence and wisdom. Her enormous eyes shimmered like gold in the starlight, and were accentuated by dark, feather-like lashes all around the edges. Her forehead descended over her eyes as if she were deep in thought, and was covered in light, downy hair that became thicker and darker as it reached the top of her head. From there, it joined with her long, golden brown hair to cascade down her back. She had the body of an ordinary woman, with the exception of two large, white wings that emerged from her shoulder blades. She looked regal in a long, white gown.

  “You risk provoking the Supreme Ones by declaring war against mortals?” she demanded.

  Poseidon was outraged by her audacity. “You dare to question me about provoking the Supreme Ones?” he countered. “Do you forget that your very existence goes against their wishes?”

  Athena paled slightly at this reminder that she had been born a Nephilim, but she didn’t back down. And, in truth, her question had hit its mark. Once his initial indignation had been spent, Poseidon felt compelled to defend himself.

  “I do not declare war against mortals,” he replied. “My people do.”

  “Why?”

  “They are of a mind to have their god rule this land,” he said.

  “They are of a mind?” Athena laughed mockingly. “Athens has already chosen their god!”

  “A false god,” he said. “A Nephilim.”

  The smile left her face. “I am an Olympian,” she said quietly. “And Zeus will never stand for this!”

  It was Poseidon’s turn to laugh. “Is that the extent of your powers, Athena?” he asked. “To run to your father for help?” But he was shaken by the unexpected twinge of anxiety he felt when Athena mentioned Zeus.

  Athena was examining him thoughtfully, and Poseidon once again felt the need to defend himself. “Mine are not the first mortals to fight for their god,” he reminded her. And it was true.

  Athena merely smiled in that calm, irritating way that she had. “Two can play that game,” she told him. And suddenly she was gone.

  Poseidon stared at the spot where Athena had stood just a moment before, wondering why the brief encounter had disturbed him so much. He found her cool, imperial manner intolerable. She acted as if she really was a goddess! Her arrogance angered him more than anything else.

  The next day brought a fresh onslaught of bloodshed. The bitter stench of death rose up in the air, creating a sense of desperation on both sides. The soldiers of Attica fought heroically, and Poseidon couldn’t help feeling pride in the empire that he had helped to create. But in their prosperity, the people of Attica had turned to other gods. This was the price they had to pay. Poseidon had been a kind and generous god, but their faithlessness demanded retribution. He watched with a sense of righteous approval as his army pushed the line of defenders toward Athens.

  Most of the Olympian gods had come to see the spectacle. Those appearing in their spirit forms watched from the clouds, as if this were yet another contest in one of their games. None of them appeared to take notice of Poseidon—nor he of them, except to note that Zeus and Athena were not in attendance.

  By the end of that day, Poseidon’s armies had penetrated the city of Athens.

  The morning of the third day brought a surprise. Poseidon and his army awakened to find the city of Athens swarmed with soldiers from every corner of the Olympian kingdom. They had come from as far north as Thessaly, and as far west as Delphi. And there were still more approaching. Poseidon could see them thundering toward Athens in great, billowing clouds of dust.

  Zeus had come as well. Poseidon was a little surprised to find him in his spirit form, as he had, in Poseidon’s opinion, an almost perverse compulsion for the pleasures of the flesh. His soul was deceivingly innocent looking, with his goat-like face, his sideways-glancing eyes, and the long, white beard that hung to his knees. Poseidon stared at his brother with contempt. They could not be more different. While Poseidon emanated power and authority, Zeus looked like a groveling prophet trying to curry favor with the priests. Zeus hovered over the city of Athens with Athena at his sid
e. She clung to him like a frightened child. Her eyes remained fixed on the battle below, never venturing in Poseidon’s direction.

  Without even realizing that he was doing it, Poseidon raised his trident in the air. His heart seemed to be beating with the intensity of a thousand drums.

  In an instant Zeus was beside him.

  “You have built quite an empire Poseidon,” he said by way of greeting. “Your conquests are known far and wide.”

  Poseidon froze. His temper cooled the slightest bit. This acknowledgement from his brother was strangely soothing. But the resentment he felt for Athena remained.

  “And I see that things are the same as ever here in the kingdom of Olympia,” he said, thinking of Athena’s manipulative way of getting other gods—and even the mortals—to do her bidding for her.

  “No,” said Zeus. “Things are not the same as when you were here last.” He seemed weary somehow, and Poseidon wondered at his tone.

  “What do you mean?” asked Poseidon. “What has changed?”

  Zeus shrugged. “The gods grow restless. I’m afraid we are not meant for this earth.”

  Poseidon stared at Zeus in astonishment. How could anyone believe such a weakling was fit to rule Olympia?

  “What are we meant for, then?” he scoffed.

  “What indeed!” cried Zeus. “Do you not think we should tread lightly in this world where we come as guests uninvited?”

  Poseidon’s expression was incredulous. “You seem to forget that we came here by invitation of the Supreme Ones.”

  “It was a very limited invitation,” Zeus reminded him.

  They both turned to watch the battle below.

  “This does not bode well, Poseidon,” said Zeus.

  “Not for you and the other gods,” Poseidon agreed.

  “Nor for you!” insisted Zeus. “Have you forgotten that you’re an Olympian?”