The Arkana Mysteries Boxed Set

by N. S. Wikarski

During the chatelaine’s tirade, Cassie leaned across the table and whispered in Faye’s ear. “You said Maddie went off the deep end years ago. Is this episode worse than what happened way back when?”

  Faye’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Oh no, dear. Last time she tried to blow up the vault.”

  Chapter 51—Crossroads

  Daniel grew exasperated by the sea of traffic in which he found himself drowning. He looked at his watch fretfully. He was becoming used to expressway congestion while driving into the city, but this was the middle of the afternoon. He drummed the steering wheel impatiently. Finally, throwing the car into park, he allowed his thoughts to drift. They turned inevitably to the events of the past two days. His father had returned home yesterday evening to regale him with Hunt’s account of the retrieval in Sudan. Daniel chuckled at its dramatic license. The cowboy had invented quite a yarn to cover his humiliating defeat. He was a combat-seasoned veteran who had been bested not once, but twice, by a girl half his size. No doubt if the diviner ever found out the truth of that encounter on the mountain, he would fire Hunt immediately. It made sense that the cowboy would try to preserve his job. Yet Daniel harbored the sneaking suspicion that Hunt was even more protective of his battered pride.

  Fortunately for the scion’s sake, Hunt had also glossed over Daniel’s final conversation with the trio. Perhaps he’d been stunned into unconsciousness and didn’t remember. That was just as well. Daniel’s concern for the safety of his rivals would have been hard to explain either to the cowboy or to his father.

  The scion glanced briefly at the portfolio of photos sitting on the passenger seat. This newest relic puzzle would have to wait. Today Daniel had earned a well-deserved break. Of course, his father didn’t know that. His father thought he was going right back to the library to begin the next phase of his research.

  Abraham had given him a resounding lecture about future contact with Chris. Apparently, the librarian had made quite an impression on his father. In all probability, the reverse was equally true. During one of their early conversations, Chris had confided that his own father was as autocratic as Abraham.

  “How do you manage to deal with him?” Daniel had asked in wonderment.

  “It was easy,” Chris had replied. “All I had to do was wait for him to die and eventually he did. My life got better after that.”

  Daniel’s attention returned to the present. He shifted into drive. Traffic was crawling forward a few feet at a time, and his exit was coming up next. He signaled to move to the right lane. After nosing his car onto the off ramp, traffic stopped once more. Again, he switched to the parking gear and allowed his mind to drift.

  Even being stuck in traffic was preferable to the hornet’s nest at home. While he was overseas, Annabeth had disregarded his admonition to treat her sister-wives with respect. The bigger her belly grew, the more overbearing her attitude. The minute he’d entered his quarters after his journey, his other two wives pounced on him with a barrage of complaints about Annabeth. He soothed their injured feelings as best he could and promised to speak to his new principal wife. Of course, he knew that the ensuing conversation would be about as useful as talking to a wall, but he made the promise anyway.

  The car behind him honked. He’d been daydreaming a bit too long. The car in front was already at the intersection. He speeded up to keep pace. Now, of course, he had to navigate downtown street traffic. He was rather proud of his ability to manage it considering that a year earlier he couldn’t drive at all. So much had changed during that time.

  Daniel looked down self-consciously at his apparel. Lately, he had taken to bringing a change of clothes in a duffel bag whenever he left the compound. After a quick stop at the tollway oasis, he exchanged his Nephilim “undertaker suit” for something more fashionable. Today he wore a European cut dress shirt fitted through the middle. The salesman told him the fabric was French viscose. He’d never felt anything so silky against his skin before. The Nephilim favored scratchy textiles made of wool and flax. Not very different from the hair shirts which medieval ascetics used to wear to mortify the flesh.

  The viscose shirt was a pale shade of salmon. Not a Nephilim color at all. Daniel wore it with the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons open at the neck. In a daring move, he added a slender gold chain around his throat. He still didn’t have the nerve to wear any flashier kind of jewelry. His legs were clad in his very first pair of blue jeans. They were stone-washed and felt as soft against his skin as the viscose shirt. His father would be horrified at his apparel. The thought made him smile.

  His car inched up to the next stoplight. He’d hit a red light on every corner so far. Absently, he watched the pedestrians scurrying across the intersection. He wondered where they were all going with such focus and determination. Each one appeared to be on a mission. Their expressions were tense and worried. At least he could relate to that. Tension and worry were old friends of his.

  It was the curse of Daniel’s conscientious nature that he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Admittedly, the burden had diminished somewhat now that he knew that the trio of thieves was still alive. He recalled his prophetic dream about them. For the first time, he focused on the words they had spoken in his vision. “A man cannot serve two masters.” He sat bolt upright when he also recalled Cassie’s final words to him in Sudan. Wasn’t it almost the same idea? “You need to get off the fence and pick a side.”

  He accelerated to clear the intersection before the light changed again. Only one more turn to go. He waited at the next stoplight. Thinking about Cassie’s comment once again, he felt a surge of indignation. Just because he was willing to protect her and her colleagues didn’t mean he had suddenly changed his allegiance. He simply didn’t approve of murder, that was all. Turning his back on the only world he had ever known was too much for her to expect. The prospect terrified him. Daniel rubbed his forehead confusedly. No matter what his deliberate intention might be, he could feel himself slipping a little more each day. Out of the world of the Nephilim and into the world of the Fallen. In the war he was fighting with himself, had his unconscious mind already chosen sides for him?

  He aimed the car up the parking garage ramp. His attention was temporarily diverted by the need to find a space and then navigate his way to the address he’d been given. He glanced at his watch again nervously.

  Rounding the corner, he saw Chris seated at an outdoor restaurant table scanning a menu. The librarian smiled and rose when Daniel walked up to him. He unexpectedly gave the scion a warm hug of greeting. Daniel found himself awkwardly returning the embrace.

  Chris held him at arm’s length, studying the scion’s apparel with a practiced eye. Finally, he gave a nod of approval. “This works. You’re learning how to put a look together.”

  They both sat down.

  “So, was it a good trip?” Chris grinned, inviting confidences.

  Daniel, as usual, found himself dazzled by the brilliance and warmth of that smile. “I didn’t get killed,” he said diffidently. “I suppose that makes it a good trip.”

  “You get to travel the world, and all you can say is ‘I didn’t get killed.’” Chris shook his head in disbelief. “You’re a real homebody, aren’t you?”

  “Not home,” Daniel corrected gently. Then he added with a shy smile of his own, “Here with you. That’s where I wanted to be all along.”

  Chapter 52—A Tame Wild Card

  After another pot of coffee and several more cigarettes, Maddie was back to her usual self. The familiar spark gleamed in her eyes by the time she turned to Cassie and said, “So, what about this epic artifact retrieval you were going to tell me about?”

  Cassie looked at her teammates. “Who wants to start?”

  “I think I’ve said enough for one day,” Erik demurred.

  “Griffin?”

  “I respectfully decline. Since you risked life and limb, I think the honor should be all yours.”

&nbs
p; “Life and limb?” Maddie challenged.

  “Yeah, I was hoping to avoid leading with that topic,” Cassie balked. Addressing her question to Faye and Maddie, she asked, “What’s the last intel you got about us?”

  Maddie paused to ponder the question. She frowned in concentration. “Wow, that talking softball really did a number on my head. Faye, do you remember?”

  “I believe our last communication was from Khartoum. You had just duplicated the artifact and were en route to place it in the cave at Jebel Barkal.”

  “You better tell them, toots,” Erik urged.

  Cassie sighed. “Well, we were about to put the fake in the ceiling of the cave when something unexpected happened.”

  “Define ‘unexpected,’” Maddie commanded.

  The pythia recounted the story of the smugglers and her unholy alliance with Leroy Hunt. Without stopping for breath, she forged through the rescue and her trick to disable Hunt a second time. She paused long enough to glance hopefully at Maddie and Faye. They both appeared stricken and, for several seconds, speechless.

  Maddie shook her head. “You are the craziest pythia we’ve ever had.”

  “I know, right?” Erik looked to his boss for confirmation.

  “We owe her our lives,” Griffin reminded him reproachfully in a low voice.

  “My goodness,” was all Faye could say.

  The chatelaine reached for the coffee pot and poured another serving for everyone. “Well, this certainly complicates things.”

  “The Nephilim know you’re all alive,” Faye observed.

  Cassie shrugged. “But we still have a couple of advantages. They think they’ve got the real artifacts which will give them a false sense of security. Besides, if they assume we’re depending on them to figure out the clues, they’ll be watching their backs pretty closely. They’ll expect to find us behind them.”

  “All we have to do,” Erik added, “is get far enough ahead of them so our paths don’t cross.”

  “Of course, we’ve never yet succeeded in accomplishing that goal,” Griffin remarked dryly.

  Faye and Maddie exchanged concerned glances.

  “You’ve upped the ante for the next retrieval, that’s for sure,” the chatelaine said.

  “My dears, you’ll need to exercise even more than your usual vigilance from this point forward,” Faye agreed.

  “It might not be as dire as you think,” Cassie offered.

  They all stared at her, waiting for an explanation.

  “We’ve got a wild card in the mix now,” she said. Realizing that none of them understood, she elaborated. “Daniel. That dude is seriously messed up. He’s inches away from the brink.”

  “How so?” Faye asked.

  “He sure didn’t seem happy to be working with Hunt,” Erik answered. “In fact, he didn’t seem to want any part of the mission.”

  “I see.” The memory guardian nodded her head and lapsed into silence.

  “See what?” Maddie peered at her.

  Faye smiled. “His ambivalence is a weakness in the Nephilim armor. I’m sure their diviner has no notion that his son isn’t fully invested in the scheme. Before our quest is over, Daniel’s ethical crisis may work to our advantage.”

  “The only problem with moral epiphanies is that they rarely operate on a schedule,” Griffin said. “We have no guarantee that Daniel will see the light in a timeframe that’s convenient for us.”

  “Maybe we can give his conscience a push,” Cassie suggested. “Hannah could help us. I’ll talk to her. She knows Daniel pretty well. She was even married to him for about ten minutes. If I can find out from her what makes this guy tick, we can figure out a way to motivate him to do the right thing.”

  “It’s certainly worth a try,” Faye agreed. “But do proceed gently. Don’t badger the poor child. She’s been through so much.”

  “Kid gloves, I promise,” Cassie said. “No pun intended.”

  “Now that that’s settled, maybe we better get on to the main event,” Maddie suggested. “Where’s the relic?”

  “I’ve got it right here.” Cassie retrieved her backpack which had been stashed beside the sofa. “It was sitting on your desk in the vault. That’s where we told our operatives in Sudan to send it. I thought it might be a good idea to bring it with us today.”

  Erik stood up and gave the chatelaine a quizzical look. “Before we talk about that, do you have anything to eat around this place? Interventions can work up a man-sized appetite.”

  Chapter 53—Clean Getaway

  Now that the doodad was stowed away somewhere in Abe’s compound, Leroy was eager to get back on Hannah’s trail. The day after his meeting with the preacher, he decided to have his long-delayed chat with Miz Rhonda. He’d been monitoring the feed from the antique shop remotely while he was overseas. At least as often as he could find an internet connection in whatever hellhole they happened to be staying. His ability to connect was patchy, but he was able to get through often enough to reassure himself that nothing had changed.

  Miz Rhonda was back on the job. None the worse for wear judging by her appearance. The usual customers came and went. Miss Lupe still managed the operation a couple days a week and ragged on her boyfriend every time he called the shop. Nothing out of the ordinary to raise a red flag.

  The cowboy had a mind to change that same old, same old in a big way. He was still smarting from the shellacking he’d taken at Miss Cassie’s hands and was itching for some payback. He left late in the day for the antique store. He wanted to time his arrival just as the shop was about to close for the night. It wouldn’t do for customers to be hanging around while he was trying to get some info out of Miz Rhonda. He grinned at the thought of her reaction. Since he’d been out of sight for so long, his unexpected return would send her into a tizzy. Maybe the shock would be enough to make her spill the beans. So far, he hadn’t gotten a glimpse of who her partners in crime were. He might be able to shake that out of her tonight too —one way or another.

  The Gold Coast high rises were casting long shadows when Hunt turned down the avenue where the antique store was located. He parked across the street and climbed out of his truck, anticipating some fun. What he saw left him blinking in astonishment. He just stood on the curb, slack-jawed and uncomprehending.

  There was no merchandise in the plate glass window. There was no sign over the door. The place looked dark and empty. He took off his hat and scratched his head then decided to cross the street for a closer look. He peered through the display windows like a kid in front of a candy store. There was nothing. Nothing at all inside. The place had been completely cleaned out.

  Hunt shook his head, trying to clear both his vision and his thinking. What in the Sam Hill was going on here? He looked both ways down the sidewalk to see if any pedestrians were watching him. The street was empty. He walked around the building and cut down the alley until he came to the store’s loading dock. Nobody was around, so he jimmied the lock and let himself in. The back storeroom was picked as clean as the front of the shop. Not a stick of furniture, not a scrap of paper, not so much as a rogue dust bunny in any of the corners. Somebody had done a proper job of vanishing Miz Rhonda and her establishment off the face of the earth. Hunt glanced up at the ceiling. His fake smoke alarm was still in place. No doubt if he looked close enough, he could see his own baffled face reflected in the camera lens.

  He parted the storeroom curtains and moved into the front of the shop. Silent as the grave. He slid his hand under the display case and found his bug right where he’d left it. The other smoke detector over the front door was still in place too.

  He leaned an elbow against the counter and pondered the situation. How in blazes had they managed it? Somebody who was a whiz with computers had substituted the live surveillance feed for fake activity. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know who, but it was an elegant job. He’d give them that much.

  He searched every corner of th
e shop, high and low, for any clue as to who might have arranged this little show for his benefit. Nothing to be found anywhere. There wasn’t even a For Sale or For Rent sign in the window. They’d slipped away without a trace.

  Hunt felt as if he’d charged straight at a brick wall and been knocked silly. A wave of frustration surged through his system. He’d been all ready to pummel Miz Rhonda to get some info, and now there was nobody to pummel. There wasn’t even any furniture to break. On impulse, he rammed his fist against the wall, denting it slightly. Then he did it again. And again. The only result was a bloody knuckle. He felt deeply cheated. Somebody was going to pay for this. In one final gesture of annoyance, he threw his hat on the floor. He raised his leg, preparing to stomp on the Stetson. That hat was his prized possession. It cost him five hundred bucks. He relented.

  Retrieving the hat, he penitently brushed the dust off the brim. He wasn’t thinking straight. That was his problem. That had been his problem during this whole trip. Letting a little girl get the drop on him—twice. Letting his only lead slip through his fingers. Neither of those things would have happened if he’d been thinking straight. But his brain was addled, and he knew the reason why. He hadn’t been drinking! The whole time he was gone, he couldn’t get properly drunk because there wasn’t a decent bottle of hooch to be had in all of North Africa.

  He’d hardly touched a drop since he got back either given the way the old man had been breathing down his neck. He’d needed to stay sober so long as he was on Abe’s radar but all that was about to change. He remembered an old saying the Romans had. “In vino veritas.” In wine there is truth. That proverb was dead on the money. Leroy stuffed his hat back on his head and sauntered toward the rear exit. There was nothing to be gained from hanging around here. His next destination was the neighborhood bar right around the corner from his flat. He intended to go on a three-day bender to set his wits back in order. He knew that the best way to get Miss Hannah in his crosshairs again was by squinting through the bottom of an empty whiskey bottle. If he was still fuddled by the time his hangover wore off, he wouldn’t just stomp on his hat. He’d eat it too and swallow the hatband whole.