Synopsis
Vampire Victoria “Tory” Grey hides among the books in the Library of Congress where life is safe and simple—until a medieval New Testament shows up on her desk. Someone is sending her a terrifying message with a chilling significance only she understands. With no one to turn to, she goes somewhere she hasn’t been in centuries…church.
Ex-vampire-hunter turned lay minister, Naomi Rand’s midnight services at the National Cathedral cater to preternaturals. Still, she’s surprised by the mysterious, lovely vampire who touches her heart. Attraction between them grows, while around them the body count mounts. Calling for help from the Spiritus Group, they struggle to stop a killer before war breaks out between humans and preternaturals. Tory unknowingly holds the key, but will she find it before it’s too late? Or will Naomi lose the love she’s waited for all her life?
Scarlet Revenge
Brought to you by
eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.
Scarlet Revenge
© 2013 By Sheri Lewis Wohl. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-907-7
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: April 2013
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Shelley Thrasher
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
Crimson Vengeance
Burgundy Betrayal
Scarlet Revenge
To my pal Vickie Gregory
I treasure your friendship, your encouragement, and that you let Loba sleep with me whenever I come to visit!
Much wisdom,
much grief;
the more knowledge,
the more sorrow.
(Ecclesiastes 1:18, The New Jerusalem Bible Reader’s Edition)
Prologue
St. Louis Cemetery
New Orleans, LA
October 31, 1805
Victoria pulled her cloak tight against the wind that whipped and pushed her small, lean body. With her head down and her bag held tight, she hurried down the darkened street. The night was black as coal and the howling air unseasonably icy. The earlier storm had washed the air clear but left a chill in its wake. No warmth threaded through the wind to give her comfort. No stars guided her path.
More than just the frigid air made her shiver. Something else weighed heavy on the night, uncomfortably familiar in a way she didn’t want to acknowledge, and she didn’t like the feel of it. She’d been happy here, safe. Now a thread of something close to fear passed through her heart. She walked on, her senses on alert. Beneath the hanging boughs of a tree, she paused and listened. Was it a whisper? Was it calling her name?
No. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be. He wouldn’t dare. She touched the stake tucked into her belt, and the solid feel of the hardwood against her fingertips comforted her. He’d not get another chance. Even he had to know that. She was stronger than she’d been before, ready to do the distasteful though necessary task. This time, she wouldn’t hesitate. With a deep breath, she stepped from the canopy of leaves and began to walk again, her step quick and sure.
The gate to the cemetery creaked as she pushed it open. It all but screamed its protest at her entry, as if telling her to turn and run far away. How she wanted to do just that. Instead, she stepped through the gate and hurried between the crypts, the stones uneven beneath her feet. No one else walked the ground this night, not that she expected to see anyone, alive or undead. She came in the deepest night to do what had to be done, what she owed him. She came because she loved him.
The door to the crypt was as yet unsealed, as she’d known it would be, the pounding rain of the storm making it impossible to set the mortar. In the morning, the workers would return to seal it shut, and none would be wiser for her visit. This was the only chance she’d have to make things right. Once her task was complete, she’d leave this place and the life that for a brief time had made her feel almost human. This would be the last night she’d walk the streets of this glorious city.
It wasn’t fair, though not a great surprise to Victoria. Life had been unfair to her from the beginning. Why should this be any different? She should be grateful for the years of love and safety that he’d gifted her with. And they had been a gift.
In her heart of hearts, she’d always known it couldn’t last. Her kind didn’t belong in the human world. Never had. Trying to pretend otherwise always ended badly. The bitter reality of this night was how it all came crashing to an end. She never saw it coming.
Inside the crypt, she let her eyes adjust to the deep blackness, and the cloying scent of death filled her nostrils. The howling winds faded, blocked by the thick crypt walls, the near silence eerie. Within moments, she had her bearings and was as ready as she’d ever be to complete the grisly task. She stepped to the side of the coffin and slowly lifted the lid. Tears filled her eyes at the sight of his peaceful, familiar face. Though pale, he looked as though he was simply sleeping, and in a way he was. It wasn’t the sleep she wished for him.
But delaying the inevitable wouldn’t help her, and it surely wouldn’t help him. With a heavy heart, she pulled from her bag the salt, the herbs, the tools she needed to cast her circle. Slowly, carefully, she began calling up from memory the power that a witch had taught her so many years ago.
Once it was done and the words spoken to protect his soul, she once more stood at the side of the coffin. Only one thing remained for her to do. From her belt, she pulled the stake she’d carved from a branch of the tree behind the parsonage. The wood was solid, cold against her palm…powerful. Tears blurred her vision as she held the stake in trembling hands, high above her head, and aimed right at his heart.
She dared to take one last look at his beloved face, so familiar and comforting even in this place of death. If only things could have been different. If only she could have given her life instead. But it wasn’t to be, and now she had to do the one thing she could to protect him. Tears fell from her eyes as she brought the stake down with all her might, and as she did, he opened his eyes.
Chapter One
New Orleans, LA
November 10, 2005
It was easy here—easy to blend in, easy to be part of the night. Not a soul even gave him a second glance as he came and went in darkness.
Yes, it was easy here.
Easy to be a vampire.
The hurricane that freed him from the grave also served up sustenance in endless quantities. Within a fortnight, his body was healed and his strength restored. Nothing could stand in his way now. He was back and ready to rule the world.
As the city emptied, he had helped himself to whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. When the press reported a total of 700 bodies recovered as of last month, he’d laughed. Authorities classified all of them as victims of the levee breaches. Only he knew how inaccurate those reports were. Just thinking about the incredible feast brought to him by an act of God had him licking his lips. What was a disaster for the city was a gran
d coup for him.
Things had changed while he slept, and he approved—so much better than when a black eternity had shrouded his entire existence. Once the roaring waters of Hurricane Katrina had set into motion the perfect conditions to free him from the confines of the crypt, he acclimated quickly and took only a little more time to establish a financial base from which to work.
He’d considered himself successful in life before, but nothing like this. A personal catastrophe had put everything into perspective, and a natural catastrophe had given him an opportunity to put this life back together. All he’d needed was a little time and imagination. Fortunately, he was blessed with plenty of both.
At last he was ready.
Through the curtain of rain, he peered into the darkness and smiled. The night was so like another many years before, and it seemed only appropriate. Things did have a way of coming full circle. He smiled and tipped his head to the starless sky.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he whispered.
Chapter Two
Washington, DC
Present Day
Tory Grey left the Metro stop at Union Station and began to walk south. The daytime hustle and bustle was long gone, and quiet had settled over Capitol Hill. Her bag slung over one shoulder, she strode briskly. She didn’t worry about danger on the streets of the city but didn’t feel the need to linger either. If trouble came her way, she’d deal with it as she always did. Better for everyone involved if she didn’t have to.
As she crossed the street, a figure huddled in layers of dirty clothing almost blended into the shrubbery that bordered the park. Tory reached into her pocket and pulled out the twenty-dollar bill she’d tucked there before leaving her house. Instead of avoiding the obviously homeless person, she walked close.
She crouched and touched the bundle with the tips of her fingers. “Hello, Belle.” She kept her words low and gentle.
A throaty voice, nearly inaudible, came from beneath the folds of cloth. “Go away, I’m invisible.”
Tory kept her voice even. “Yes, Belle, you’re invisible. I can’t see you at all.”
“Invisible.” The bundle of thrift-store clothing quivered and seemed to draw farther into the shrub.
Tory waited and, after a moment, a hand with broken nails and spotted skin snaked out from beneath the pile. She pressed the bill into the trembling, dirty palm. The odor of unwashed body and clothing caught on the air, but Tory didn’t wince. “Go get something to eat, all right?”
“Can’t…the food…poisoned. Danger.”
She held Belle’s hand when she tried to snatch it back and gently stroked until the trembling subsided. “Belle, you have my promise the food will be safe. I’ve made sure of it just for you. I talked to them before I came here tonight.” Belle never inquired who them might be, which was good. The important thing was to get her to eat.
“Truly?” Her voice sounded old.
“Yes, truly.” Some nights it worked. Some nights it didn’t. This appeared to be one of the good nights.
Helping Belle to her feet, Tory watched her amble down the street. In the darkness, Belle moved slowly, her gait uneven and hesitant. When she disappeared around the corner of Union Station, Tory sighed and began to head up the street again. It was all she could do for the moment, even though she worried that one night she’d reach the park and Belle wouldn’t be here. The thought sent a chill up her spine. To worry about one mentally ill homeless woman didn’t really make sense, but she couldn’t help it. Belle touched her heart for whatever reason, and in her lonely world, it was enough. She didn’t have to come this way each night. It was a long and convoluted way to her office, yet she did, always looking for Belle.
Tory’s path tonight took her up First Street past both the Russell and Dirksen Senate Office Buildings, where lights still glowed in about half a dozen windows, past the Supreme Court, and across the street to the Library of Congress. She continued around to one of the employee entrances and waved her keycard in front of the small gray pad next to the door casing. A tiny light on the pad changed from red to green. When she heard the click, she pulled the door open and stepped inside, inhaling the scent of old books and polished wood. God, she loved this place.
It was funny how things worked out even when someone was technically dead. Before walking down the hall, she looked up and gave the security camera a wave. The night crew was relatively small and hence they’d become pretty tight-knit. Well, except for one little secret she kept to herself. What woman didn’t have a secret or two?
Downstairs in the outer office, Tory grabbed a pair of white cotton gloves from a supply box and slipped them onto her hands. Though she preferred to wear them, they weren’t required for her work. The rare books she dealt with daily wouldn’t suffer harm from the touch of human hands. It was one of those better-safe-than-sorry things for her. She didn’t need her fingerprints left behind. Too many questions would be asked that she didn’t feel inclined to answer. That little secret thing and all.
She didn’t know when it would happen, only that it would. Discovery was inevitable, and when the day came, she’d have to move quickly and leave as little of herself behind as humanly—or rather inhumanly—possible. By now she was getting pretty damned good at imitating a ghost. Of course, she’d had a fair amount of experience.
As she crossed the threshold into her private office, the lights flicked on automatically, thanks to the nifty little sensor installed by the General Services Administration a couple years earlier. If she was gone from her office or simply failed to move for more than ten minutes, the lights would go out. More than once, she’d had to wave her arms like a crazy person to catch the sensor’s eye and get the lights to come back on. A little annoying, but who was she to complain about energy conservation? Besides, she still remembered all too well when the only light was a single candle. Lights that turned themselves off and on beat candles any day of the week.
In the middle of her desk someone had placed a nondescript cardboard box. She couldn’t recall ordering anything or even being told that something was coming to her. It’d be nice to know where it originated, but no one was here to ask at this time of night. These days anonymous packages could be scary—way too many people with misguided ideas they put into things like mail bombs. Still, even with no return address, the package had gone through security, so it was probably fine.
It was a real coup to land a job here at the LOC. The work was interesting and treasures were plentiful, even if they did come unannounced. She clicked on the desk lamp she used to examine books and opened the box. An unpleasant odor drifted up as she began to remove layers of packing materials. Okay, maybe something could slip through security. She wrinkled her nose and tried not to inhale too deeply. The acrid smell reminded her of the underground crypts of old Europe. She’d honestly rather not remember those.
The old books, on the other hand, were a different story. Some brought back incredible memories, including reading first editions…when they came out. Though it would be fun to be able to share that tidbit with someone now, she had to keep that knowledge to herself.
Just like she’d have to enjoy this treasure all by herself. Anticipating the find, she folded back the last layer of packing. Nestled in a bed of cushioned foam and wrapped in a final protective paper was a fifteenth-century New Testament produced by the Brethren of the Common Life, maybe eight inches wide and eleven inches long. Her hands trembled as she picked it up and turned it over. She didn’t have to open its pages to know it was written in Latin. With a hiss, she dropped it back into the box.
It isn’t true a Bible would scorch a vampire’s skin. In fact, most folktales about what would harm a vampire were pretty much a crock. Take holy water. If Tory wanted to, she could take a bath in the stuff and it would only make her wet. She dropped the Bible now and jumped back from her desk as if it had indeed scorched her palms because the Bible had been a gift from Tory to her father—or, rather, her surrogate father.
Even that wasn’t the worst part. No way in hell should it be here on her desk. Over two hundred years ago, she’d personally buried him with this very book. By all accounts, the book should be locked inside a beautiful black casket with whatever was left of the body of Roland Lyle.
How then did it end up on her desk?
She ran her hand over the cover, and the rough feel of the old leather against her fingertips sent chills up her arms. Published around 1435, it looked pretty much as it did the night she left it on his chest and closed the casket cover. A dedicated bibliophile even back then, she had felt pain to see the fantastic medieval book locked away forever. Given how he’d died, Tory’d believed it the right thing to do. She still did. That long-ago dark night, she’d said good-bye to both the man and the fifteenth-century New Testament, never expecting to see either again.
For the tenth time tonight, she inspected the package it had arrived in—a simple heavy-duty brown box with her name printed on a white label in bold crimson letters. Nothing special. Though security had scanned it, they hadn’t detected anything to flag it as dangerous. Books came to her routinely. It was her job, after all. They went through security, were checked for any obvious threat, and then sent her way. No one gave it a second thought.
Of course, since she worked at night she didn’t have anyone to ask. It was one of the beautiful things about the Library of Congress. In the current economy, they were all too happy to have her, even if she insisted upon graveyard working hours. Her job didn’t require the presence of others, and so they granted her unusual request. Their sole concern: get the work done.
Scarlet Revenge Page 1