“Uh-huh.” Jake got up. “I need to call the house.”
Laya nodded toward Felix. “Officer Garza will call your house.” She made a cat's cradle with the rubber band again. “Jake, please be careful. You’re a founder now, and we can’t afford to lose you.”
Jake followed Felix out to the squad room, and waited in the lobby for his driver. How about that? Just arrived and already cooling my heels in the sheriff’s office.
A short while later the door opened and Jake saw a man his age. He strode over to Jake and tucked his chauffeur’s cap under his arm. Jake smiled up at Garrett. “Good to see you, Garrett. Just like old times, eh?”
Garrett smiled and held out his hand to pull Jake up. Parked on the lot was a big black Mercedes. Garrett held the door open and Jake climbed into the back seat.
They drove through the founders’ estates, obscured by high walls. Through the gates, landscaped gardens resplendent with old trees and graceful fountains surrounded the large manors. They soon pulled into the Willis estate and Garrett punched a series of numbers on the gate.
The tall iron gates swung open and Garrett maneuvered the car up the wide driveway. Jake leaned out the back window and waved to the camera as they pulled through the gate. The lawn spread out before him like a perfect green carpet. Rhododendrons marshaled along the inner side of the wall. Enormous elm, oak and maple trees spread their canopies over the yard. Graceful benches were scattered in perfect precision along sandy walkways, and a rose garden brightened the south side of the yard. Rearing horses shot water from their mouths in the fountain that dominated the circle of the driveway.
As they drove up, the staff scurried from the house, lining up for inspection, the women in crisp skirts and blouses with starched white linen aprons, the men in black suits, impeccably ironed, with their shoes polished to a high shine. Jake recognized Hendricks standing ramrod straight, his tails and shirt crisp and starched. The staff stood at attention. Jake greeted the few staff members he knew.
Garrett Livingston had taken his place in line. His uniform was pressed perfectly and his cap tucked neatly under his arm. Through the opening of his jacket peeked the handle of the Glock nine millimeter that Garrett carried at all times. Garrett was also a bodyguard and was licensed to carry a concealed weapon. However, he didn’t officially work for Jake until Jake took control of the house. Too bad, Jake thought. I could have used him earlier today or last night.
Jake inspected the staff, and they were, as usual, perfect. Hendricks cleared his throat, and Jake released the staff to their regular duties. This is going to take some getting used to.
As the staff went back to their duties, Hendricks came forward and with a stiff bow said, “The house is yours, Master Willis.”
Jake sighed and caught Hendricks in a bear hug.
The house manager clipped him and smiled. “It is good to see you again, Master Willis.” His eyes twinkled. “The staff have been looking forward to your return.”
Jake smiled at his old friend. This man had helped Jake through his awkward years. He was like a father to him during his rebellious teenage years when his mother used to drop him off for the summer. Hendricks ran the house with stoic efficiency that reflected his training at the Royal Butler Academy. Per the arrangement of his uncle, Hendricks trained maids, drivers, and gardeners, many of whom had left their estate to be staff heads of other estates scattered throughout the United States and Canada. Jake knew Hendricks had received many other offers, but he took his loyalty to the family seriously, and the family repaid it with a large salary, private quarters and a month of vacation each year.
A valet, Robert, who had waited on Jake’s convenience, took out his luggage and put it on a cart at the top of the stairs to take up to Jake’s room. Jake and Hendricks entered the manor as Hendricks gave Jake the update on the goings on of the house.
“Hold on, hold on.” Jake held up his hand. “I just got here and even though Uncle Caedon taught me a lot about running this house, it’s a little overwhelming at the moment. Let me get used to things and then start teaching me what I need to know.”
“Of course, sir,” Hendricks said with a slight bow.
Jake threw his arm around his old friend. “I trust you the way my uncle trusted you. You know how to keep the estate running smoothly.” He headed for the grand staircase. “I need to freshen up. I’m sure that Laya gave you an update on what happened.”
“The sheriff did tell me you were involved in an altercation. I hope you are all right.”
“I’m fine, but my convertible is at the sheriff’s. They’re sending it to Tacoma for the lab to go over. I got slipped a drug the night before. I’m still not feeling well. Please have Robert bring me up a snack.” Jake paused at the foot of the stair. “I’m sure that Hannah has some of her soup made. A bowl of that would be great.”
“Very good, sir.” Hendricks turned and headed in the direction of the kitchen.
Jake climbed the stairs, and trudged down the hall to his room. He looked around, and couldn’t see his bags.
“Where are my bags?” He stopped an upstairs maid, her arms full of freshly laundered towels.
“They’re in your rooms, sir.” She curtsied and scurried off to the linen cupboard.
Of course, they wouldn’t be in my old rooms from when I stayed here before. He set out for his uncle’s rooms in the west wing on the third floor. At the door he paused. I’ve only been in these rooms a couple of times. This was his uncle’s study, his private sanctuary. Jake felt strange invading it, but now it was his. A fire was laid in the fireplace and burning brightly. The door to his uncle’s study was ajar. Jake wandered into it, fingering the artifacts that lay on the shelves.
His uncle’s collection was extensive, having been collected by his family for a hundred years. There were old stained daggers, the blood now black on the blades. A claymore dangled from the wall, and a few statues and fetishes squatted on shelves amid the clutter.
One of the fetishes caught his eye. Is that obsidian? he wondered, reaching for the image. It was not carved in anything recognizable. Its appendages had no digits and twisted around themselves. It sang to him. Jake shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. He snatched his hand back and rubbed his eyes. How could it sing? It isn’t alive. An ancient ruby and diamond-encrusted cross rested near the fetish. Jake studied the cross but did not touch it.
He ran his fingers along a shelf of journals. These journals were from his uncle and all the heads of the Willis family back to the beginning of Firemountain. Jake fingered the last journal, his uncle’s last work.
A soft knock interrupted his musings and he went into the sitting room. “Enter,” he called as he sat down at the small dining table.
Robert glided in carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a large slice of dark bread. On the tray was a small bowl of butter, salt and pepper shakers, a linen napkin, and a small bud vase with a single purple tulip in it. Robert put the tray in front of Jake. He savored the smell of the rich hearty soup. Chunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes floated in a thick savory stock.
After the meal Jake headed for the master bedroom. On the wall was a large plasma screen TV. A DVD cabinet stood under the TV. Jake grinned at the amount of porn his uncle had left him. A California King with a carved headboard and a brown quilt invited Jake to stretch out and relax.
Another large entertainment center dominated a corner of the sitting room. The study’s computer was the latest, with all the accessories. Jake sank into a chair and absorbed the room.
Boredom overtook him and he returned to the study. Tucked behind the strange statue was a letter. He removed it, being careful not to touch the statue. It was addressed to his uncle. The address was written in graceful loopy handwriting. He studied the writing and realized that someone has used a fountain pen to write this letter. His uncle was an anachronistic after all. Who else hand-wrote letters anymore?
Dear Caedon,
I have received your description
of the fetish. I truly believe that this would be the same thing that haunted France in the early part of the fifteenth century. After the cult to Gleebelix had been destroyed, the brotherhood had sought the fetish but it was gone. It was presumed to be destroyed in the battle.
Brother John Joseph had been killed during the battle. The Mother Church is not forthcoming about the details, as we had expected. I do hope that you keep this safe and stored next to a blessed cross to dampen its evil influence.
In Service to Christ,
Brother Elijah Holmes
P.S. Be careful not to allow the fresh blood of a recent murder to fall on it. Our research has turned up that this will activate the fetish and bring over something best left in the Abyss.
Elijah.
Jake folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. He rested his head on this hand. Behind him the fetish laughed. Jake could hear it echoing in his mind. How had his uncle not noticed it laughing? How had he not reacted? His head pounded and the world swirled around him. He fled from the office and the mocking laughter that followed him down the corridor.
Jake staggered through the house, running into walls and furniture. The words from the letter swam before his eyes. The household staff peered at him curiously as he passed them, but he did not acknowledge them.
The house was enormous, and Jake stumbled through several suites that had been closed off, since only his had uncle resided there. Jake halted his wandering in an abandoned sitting room, still spotlessly clean because of the training done at the house. He collapsed onto a sheet-covered settee and held his head cradled in his hands. The furniture was beautifully maintained and over a hundred years old.
It smelled of furniture oil and the bits of wood that peeked out from under the sheets gleamed in the dim light. The room hearkened back to the grace of the late Victorian era, a time when hospitality and doing things right was standard. Men would rise gracefully from the table or sitting rooms when a lady entered. The house whispered of gentle times and ghosts of courtesy long forgotten.
Jake shook himself and stared at his surroundings. These rooms had been sealed off when his father still lived in the mansion. After Fort, Jake’s father, had left, even more rooms were closed off. Jake leaned back, letting the old feel of the house soothe him.
A massive tapestry lined the walls. Jake was drawn into the colorful weaving.
A group of men circled a bonfire that had been lit on a pentagram. The flames were woven in silk and highlighted with gold thread. The circle of men were woven in wool and wore robes.
From the center a figure emerged from the flames, its fiery head crowned in horns, its lower body flames. It held out a cup to the men.
The next panel had the men drinking from the cup. Orange flames flared in their black eyes. The figure in the center held a scroll and the names were the founders’ names.
Jake studied the panels, his eyes growing wide. He looked at the weaver’s mark. This tapestry had been commissioned seventy years ago.
He swallowed; his palms were dry and his tongue clove to the top of his mouth. He backed out of the room, the figure laughing at him, and stumbled back to the main part of the house.
On his way back, he strolled through sweeping rooms decorated by a lady over a century ago. Fragile Victorian furniture arranged in tasteful arrays decorated parlors and rooms. The billiards room on the ground floor was designed as a retreat for the man of the house. An antique billiards table with an ornate lamp converted to modern electricity dominated the room. A teak bar with a marble top graced the wall on one side. In addition to an impressive selection of top-shelf liquor, it also sported a humidor with several luxury cigars including Montecristos and several Cuban cigars. Jake inhaled the smell of old tobacco and ran his hands over the plush leather chairs, then dragged himself from the billiards room to the hall of ancestors.
Portraits of the seven founding family heads were suspended from white walls. Firemountain owed its prosperity to these seven men. He remembered the first time he had wandered into this room. There was a quiet hush to the room; a tribute to something beyond human consideration. Jake studied the portraits for hours. He scrutinized the stern men, as if he were trying to discover their secrets.
Jake’s favorite room was the music room. It was graced by an early Steinway & Sons concert grand piano. A great harp, guitars, and every musical instrument you could imagine adorned the room. The west wall of the room opened up to the ballroom, a vast expanse of hardwood floor with ornate mirrors along two of the walls, and floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall that opened onto perfectly manicured gardens. Double doors would open up to a solarium on the house side and the formal dining room.
An old sitting room on the first floor had no windows. Jake decided it could be a new media room.
He dialed his phone. “Miles,” he said as way of greeting.
“Ah Jake,” a smooth voice replied. “Have you taken the house?”
“Yes. I was just checking to see if the funds have been transferred?”
A keyboard clicked. “Yes, Jake, the Willis fortune is in your name.”
“Excellent, I will be doing some remodeling. Expect notes from Hendricks for carpenters and electronic vendors.”
“I will, thank you for your notice.”
Jake pushed the off button and slipped the cordless phone back into its cradle.
He had by now grown restless and headed for the garage. His uncle had ten cars besides Jake’s convertible. Garrett looked up from the Mercedes he was polishing when Jake entered.
“May I take you somewhere?” Garrett stood at attention.
“I’d like to go to The Spot. I need to get out of the house.”
“Of course, sir,” Garrett said, slipping on his jacket.
“I’ll take the Mercedes. You don’t have to come.”
“Sir, are you sure that is a good idea? You were the target of a kidnapping just this morning. I feel my presence is necessary.”
“It’s okay, Garrett. I have been to The Spot before, and I didn’t need a bodyguard.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but that was before you took control of the estate. Do not worry, sir, I will stay out of the way.”
Jake looked at his driver and noted the starched shirt and uniform. “Okay, but you’ll need to change. Right now you scream ‘bodyguard.’ If you insist on being my wingman, you need to look the part.”
Garrett smiled. “If you think that is best.”
As Garrett headed to his rooms to change, Jake chuckled to himself. Garrett was only a year or two older than him. He had taken over the position of the driver from his father. Jake and Garrett had gone to the shooting range together when they were kids and even taken hand-to-hand combat classes. When Jake developed an interest in medieval sword-fighting because he had joined a recreation group, Garrett joined as well. Jake hoped that his old friend would loosen up a bit around him.
Caedon had been formal when dealing with the staff. And Hendricks preferred it that way, keeping the difference between the classes up front. Garrett was different; a bodyguard needed to blend in better.
Garrett returned wearing slacks and a sports coat, and he had taken off his hat. He opened the door behind the driver’s seat for Jake.
“I’ll ride shotgun,” Jake said, heading for the passenger door.
Garrett “No can do, sir.” Garrett held open the rear door. “Too risky. The passenger seat is the most dangerous in the car. If you sit behind me, my body will act like a shield.”
“Well, if you put it that way, Gar.” Jake winked at his old friend. “I guess I’ll sit behind you.”
“You know, sir—” Garrett started.
“Call me Jake,” he interrupted. “At least while Hendricks isn’t around.”
“Of course,” Garrett continued. “I know that you don’t have a lot of experience with having a bodyguard. Just do what I say, and you’ll be fine.”
The Spot was a series of shops located on a foot p
romenade close to the university. In addition to the university bookstore, there was Chen’s, the only Chinese restaurant in town, a coffee shop with Wi-Fi access, a couple of clothing stores that carried the brands kids liked, and of course Shattered Dreams.
Shattered Dreams was a youthful club that served hard alcohol as well as the brew they made in the brewery attached to the bar. A dance floor covered a corner of the room. The stage hosted DJs, live bands, and on Thursdays there was karaoke. A local DJ spun records on the stage while students gyrated on the dance floor, working themselves into a frenzy. During the summer the bar was not crowded; however, several archeology grad students huddled in a corner booth, poring over a very old text.
Crenellian University had one of the largest archives in occult studies in the world. Graduate students flocked to advanced study programs in archeology, chemistry, art history, and anthropology, searching for answers to things that modern science couldn’t address. Jake smiled to himself as he watched them. The university was his family’s legacy. Crenellian University was accredited, but they handled degrees and areas of study that other universities wouldn’t touch.
Four boarding houses lined the main street to the University, the house mothers of which were all related to at least one founding family. The campus had four dorms and married student housing. Some on-campus suites were the closest things to apartments that the town had. Crenellian University also had a Greek row with three fraternities and two sororities. Jake knew the founders controlled all the communication business in town by providing free internet, and dirt cheap land lines with free long distance.
The US Postal Service was the only communication in the town not owned by the founders. Letters came and went unmolested, though every address was recorded by the clerks. All in all, very little happened in Firemountain that the founders did not know about.
Jake slid into a chair next to the dance floor and listened to the music pounding away an ancient rhythm. He raised his hand, and a young waitress approached him. Garrett surveyed the room and then slid into the seat across from Jake. Jake ordered a beer and leaned back to check out the local action.
Whispers in the Woods (Firemountain Chronicles Book 1) Page 5