Abraham set the helmet down in the center of the table and regarded the prizes of his collection with satisfaction. A shield, a lance, and a helmet. All of them had brought triumph in battle to their possessors. Taken together, they should prove to be invincible. The French had a name for such relics. They called them objets de puissance. Objects of power.
Metcalf looked up from the items on the table to survey the locked compartments that lined the walls. He had spent a lifetime acquiring their contents. Each artifact carried the sanction of God. Metcalf would need all their powers if the prophecy was to be fulfilled.
He knew that the Blessed Nephilim had lost faith over the years. They had waited more than a century for the Second Coming, but Judgment Day was long overdue. Metcalf feared for his wavering flock. The influence of the Fallen Lands crept ever closer to his refuge and to all the far-flung communities under his care. A stray television broadcast, a radio transmission, the internet. Their messages raised troublesome questions in the minds of his followers. No matter how tightly he restricted their access to the outside world, he could feel them slipping away. God would hold him accountable for this. If he failed to control the Nephilim, his punishment would be eternal damnation. The humiliation of such a fate horrified him. God would cast him into the sulfurous pit along with the Fallen that he so despised. He could never allow that to happen.
The prophecy had shown him a way out of his dilemma. God had spoken directly to him through the foretelling of a long-dead diviner. It was not his lot to wait patiently for the day when the Fallen would be banished to hell. He was to bring the heavenly kingdom to earth by whatever means necessary. That was what the Lord’s sacred warriors had always done.
God was watching him, and Abraham would not disappoint his master. He would distinguish himself more than any diviner before him. His reward would be greater. His celestial rank would be higher. His name would be praised before angels and men alike. This was not pride on his part. It was God’s will.
The day was coming soon when the Blessed Nephilim would redeem the world from the Fallen who now overran it. Men had forgotten how to fear the Lord. It was Abraham’s destiny to remind them. Metcalf carefully returned his treasures to their compartments. “In hoc signo vinces,” he whispered, shutting the safe behind him.
Chapter 13 – Destiny’s Child
Ever since Cassie floored the gas pedal to get away from that crazy old woman, her world had been spinning out of control. Every solid fact that she thought she knew about Sybil had been overturned. She could dismiss it all by saying that Faye had lied to her. That Sybil was a fine, upstanding citizen who bought and sold antiques. That she lived an absolutely ordinary life and never engaged in anything remotely risky. It was impossible for Cassie to believe that now. Too much had happened in the past weeks that defied explanation.
Not just about Sybil but about Cassie herself. The nightmare that accurately predicted her sister’s death. The stone ruler that was stolen right before her eyes. Sybil’s last letter to her. Everything Faye had told her. If that weren’t enough, there was her encounter with the woman in white and her magic bowl. Cassie didn’t know what any of it meant. She needed time to put things in perspective. To let the dust settle and see where it landed. In an effort to distance herself from the problem, she decided to do something a normal person might do. Talk to a friend.
The bell above the shop door jingled discretely when she walked into the antique store. At first, the memories of her last two visits hit her like a wave. A man with a gun, her sister falling, glass shattering, police swarming.
She took a deep breath and put on a brave smile. “Hi Rhonda, how are you?”
“Oh, sweetie, come here.” Her sister’s business partner rushed forward to embrace her. She was a motherly sort. Full-figured, in her fifties, with cropped black hair streaked with grey. She had a gentle, sympathetic face. The kind that encouraged confidences. At the moment, the concerned expression on Rhonda’s face made Cassie’s eyes well up with tears. The girl sternly ordered herself to think about newspapers, postage stamps, anything mundane. No more feelings for now.
She stepped away from the older woman. “I’m OK, Rhonda. Don’t worry about me.”
The concerned look didn’t go away. “Are you sure?” Rhonda peered at her closely. “You look like you haven’t slept for a week.”
Cassie grinned sheepishly. “That would be about right, but really I feel OK.” She changed the topic. “How have you been?”
Rhonda’s eyes swept the shop. “Coping. It took a while to clean up the mess the police left. I think they’re done hovering and asking questions. They seem satisfied that it was attempted robbery and that Sybil’s death was an accident. I’ve beefed up the security system, and that’s about all I can do.”
“Do you think they’ll ever catch the guy?” Cassie asked bleakly.
Rhonda sighed. “They didn’t have much to go on. No physical description. No eyewitnesses. I’m not too hopeful.” She put her arm around Cassie’s shoulders. “Come on over here and sit down.” She led the girl to a spare chair behind the counter. “We haven’t had a chance to talk since …” she trailed off.
“I know,” Cassie said quietly.
“Would you like a bottle of water or something?”
“A can of soda if you’ve got any.”
“Sure thing.” Rhonda bustled to the refrigerator in the back room.
Cassie looked around the shop. The glass case had been replaced. No sign of anything being shattered—anything other than her own psyche. Everything was exactly as it should be in this upscale antique shop located in this high-toned boutique shopping district.
Rhonda handed Cassie her soft drink and pulled up a chair beside her.
“How’s business?” Cassie flipped the tab on the can. It made a hissing sound.
Rhonda laughed ruefully. “A little slow, as you can guess. None of the usual customers wanted to appear morbidly curious, so everybody stayed away for a while. Now things are getting back to normal.” She focused her attention on the girl. “Seriously, Cass, what are you going to do now? I know your sister would want you to stay in school.”
“I know she would too.” Cassie sighed. “But it’s not that easy. I feel like I’ve just been sucked down into a whirlpool. I can’t get a grip on anything. I don’t even know which end is up right now. I think I need some time to get my bearings.”
Rhonda patted her knee. “Of course, of course. That makes sense.” She paused as a thought occurred to her. “You know that you’re my partner in the business now.”
Cassie felt startled. She hadn’t stopped to think about her sister’s will. Everything had been left to her. Between stocks and bank accounts, it had turned out to be a considerable amount of money. Enough to let her skate awhile without having to get a job or make any major life decisions. She’d forgotten about the joint ownership of the store.
“Do I owe you any money?” she asked warily.
Rhonda laughed. “Hardly. Your sister paid cash to buy her share.”
Cassie took a sip of cola, considering the matter. “I don’t think I want to keep her interest in the store. Too many bad memories.”
The older woman nodded. “I understand. If you want me to buy back your share, I can do it. But it will have to be on the installment plan.”
“We can work out the details some other day when my brain is actually… you know… functioning.” Cassie finished off the rest of her soda.
The doorbell jingled again when a customer walked in. Rhonda smiled a greeting. Returning her attention to her visitor, she asked, “Are you going to stay in your dorm for a while?”
Cassie put her soda on the counter and slumped back in her chair. “No, I actually made a decision about that. For now, I’m going to move into Sybil’s place. Take a few months and then decide if I want to go back to school in the fall.”
“I suppose you need a timeout.” Rhonda’s voice sound
ed worried, but she made no other comment.
Changing the topic abruptly, Cassie asked, “How did you know you wanted to be an antique dealer?”
“How did I what?” Rhonda wasn’t prepared for the shift.
“I mean were you always sure about what you wanted to be?”
“Oh, I see.” Rhonda smiled knowingly. “I guess you must be feeling a little lost about where you’re headed.”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I suppose it was just destiny.”
“What?” Cassie sat bolt upright in her chair. There was that word again.
Rhonda registered surprise at the girl’s reaction. “Everybody has a destiny, Cass.”
“I don’t,” the girl said dismissively. “I haven’t even picked a major yet.”
“Sure, you do. You just don’t know what it is. The destiny, I mean.”
“How did you know?” Cassie urged.
Rhonda turned away for a moment to see what her prospective customer was up to. The woman was circling a Chippendale armchair. The shopkeeper turned her attention back to the conversation. “I had a summer job all through college in an antique store. I discovered that I liked it. After I graduated, the owner asked me to stay on full time.”
“Sounds to me as if you fell into the business by chance and just stayed,” Cassie observed.
“It might seem that way, but the arrangement always suited me just fine. I suppose if I’d been unhappy I would have tried something else, but I never wanted to. That’s why I said it was destiny.”
Cassie furrowed her brow, not following.
“I think it’s like paddling a canoe,” Rhonda explained. “If you’re traveling with the current, it all feels easy and fun, and that’s what following your destiny is like. If you decide to fight your destiny, it’s like trying to paddle upstream against the current which is going to make you miserable.”
Cassie felt exasperated. Rhonda was no help at all. “You think God decided ahead of time that you were supposed to own a store, and you decided it was easier to go with the flow than to fight it? Is that what you’re telling me?”
The older woman shook her head. “I never said God had anything to do with it. Destiny isn’t something unappealing forced on you by somebody else. It isn’t brussels sprouts. It’s a combination of your own interest and aptitude. It just so happens that I love what I do, and I’m very, very good at it.”
The girl persisted. “But how did you know when you first started out that you were headed in the right direction?”
The customer was walking toward the counter with a Spode teapot. Rhonda got out of her chair to assist her. “In a nutshell, it just felt right.”
“Meaning you trusted your instincts,” Cassie observed cautiously.
Rhonda nodded. “Yes, that’s a good way to put it. I trusted my instincts.” She went to the cash register to ring up the sale.
“Hmmm…” Cassie said to herself.
Chapter 14 – Latte Questions
Faye carefully backed her late model station wagon into a parallel parking space. She’d almost forgotten how to do that. It was a skill that wasn’t needed much in the outlying area where she lived. This day, she had ventured into one of the northern suburbs of the city. It had been devoured so long ago by the metropolis that one couldn’t tell them apart. The suburb had a different name than the city proper, but it looked the same—congested streets blanketed with a thick layer of air pollution.
The old woman stepped to the curb and fed the parking meter. She was dressed in her Sunday best today—a floral cotton frock with pearl buttons down the front. Since the weather was still mild, she topped the dress with a light pink cardigan. Faye believed that one should always wear a hat in public. She had chosen a straw brimmed cloche with a green silk band around the middle.
Toddling down the street for half a block, she arrived at her destination. A shop with the unusual name of Buzz ‘n Books. It was a two-story vintage bookstore that served coffee. Unlike its chain store rivals, however, this one seemed to have a personality. The building in which it was housed was about a century old. The brick exterior was in need of tuckpointing. The front door was glass and painted wood, but the wood was so warped that the door stuck when one tried to pull the brass handle. To Faye, this was a sign that only serious readers should venture inside. She proceeded to do so.
The interior was dark and smelled of espresso and old paper. It was a good smell. One that was oddly comforting. The coffee bar was to her left as she entered. The back half of the shop consisted of floor to ceiling bookcases lined up in rows. At the front of the store, near the plate glass windows were several tables occupied by people with computers. They were probably “surfing the net” as the saying went.
She looked around. He wasn’t here. Her eyes focused on an open stairway leading to a loft. Faye sighed. Oh well, she would get her exercise today. She hobbled up the stairs to the second floor. There were more bookcases on the back wall, more tables in the center of the room and a solitary figure seated at one of them. It was his day off, and she hated to interrupt his free time, but this couldn’t wait. He was poring over a page in a volume big enough to be an encyclopedia. A man in his early twenties. He was dressed neatly in a V-neck grey sweater over a white dress shirt and striped tie. Despite the casual nature of the establishment, he wore trousers instead of jeans. His hair was light brown, and it curled around his temples. At the moment, he was running his fingers distractedly through it and mumbling to himself. “No, that can’t be right. I shall have to cross-check this in Robinson’s Compendium.” He spoke with a British public-school accent.
“Griffin?” Faye approached cautiously. She was wary of disturbing him when he was researching. It tended to disorient him.
“What?” The young man looked up. His hazel eyes were blank as if he didn’t recognize his visitor. When his mind returned to the present, he looked alarmed. “Oh, Faye, do forgive me!” He jumped out of his chair and came around the table to help her to a seat.
“May I get you something? A coffee perhaps?” He bent his six-foot frame nearly in half to hover attentively at her side.
“Yes, I could use a pick-me-up. It was quite a drive.” Faye laid her purse on the table.
“Of course, absolutely.” Griffin had flown halfway down the stairs before he whirled around and asked, “What kind?”
Faye looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
He trotted back up to the loft. “I mean what kind of coffee would you like? Columbian, Sumatran, Ethiopian? Would you like light or dark roast? And then there’s the question of temperature. Hot or iced. And what about milk? Soy, rice, or cow’s milk? And what size cup do you want?”
“Oh, my,” she murmured. “So many choices. In my day we just said coffee, and everybody knew what we meant.”
Griffin waited nervously.
“Why don’t you surprise me?” Faye’s smile was angelic.
A look of dread crossed the young man’s face at the prospect of surprising her.
“Just do your best, dear. I’m sure whatever you choose will be fine.”
Griffin nodded uncertainly and ran down the stairs to fetch her beverage.
Faye looked around the loft. Very quiet. Noise didn’t seem to filter up from the lower floor, and all the other customers were seated below. She knew Griffin was a solitary creature which was the reason he chose to sequester himself in this aerie. Less chance of being disturbed. That suited her needs perfectly considering what they were about to discuss.
The young man returned in a few minutes bearing an oversized cup and saucer. “I didn’t think you’d enjoy anything extreme, so I made a conservative choice.” He set it down in front of her. “There you are. A hot cup of medium roast Brazilian with cow’s cream.”
He returned to his seat and watched in apprehensive silence as she took her first sip.
Faye nodded her approval. “This is really very g
ood. Just the way I like it. Brazilian, you say?”
Griffin relaxed and flashed a smile. “Yes, the trick, you see, is in the roasting process. A medium roast will give just enough body without overpowering the palate.”
“Heavens, it sounds as if you’re discussing wine.” She laughed.
“In a way, I suppose they’re quite similar. Coffee drinking in this country is a very serious business.”
She took another sip. “What do you drink when you go back to England for visits?”
“Instant coffee.”
“Really?” Faye sounded shocked. “Can’t you get anything better?”
“Oh, it’s quite normal, I assure you. Europeans drink it all the time. And with no ill effects, I might add.”
Faye gave a half smile. She wasn’t convinced of his enthusiasm.
Griffin sighed guiltily. “All right. You’ve caught me out. I confess I prefer the marvelous variety one finds in American coffeehouses.”
Faye made a mental note. Given his high-strung behavior, she wondered if he liked American-style coffee a bit too much for his own good. Of course, she was polite and didn’t tell him that. Instead, she opened her purse to retrieve a thick envelope which she slid across the table. “What do you make of that?” she asked.
Griffin removed the envelope’s contents. He scanned the photographs with growing excitement. “I say, is this what I think it is?”
Faye nodded gravely.
“But this is brilliant!” He shuffled through them again before placing them on the tabletop side by side. “Fascinating pictograms.”
“Can you translate any of them?”
The Arkana Mysteries Boxed Set Page 6