Curse of Soulmate--The Complete Series

by D. N. Leo

  Half an hour later, Ciaran stood in front of a dusty steel door. He stared at it for a long moment, then punched in a code.

  The door whined and squeaked as it opened. The lab light automatically lit up, and the musty air greeted him. Ciaran threw this coat on a steel bench.

  He entered a security code on a keypad beside a cabinet and opened it. Inside was a row of medicines in colorful jars. He took a small tube from the end of the row and placed it on the bench. He stared at the tube for a long moment as it glared back at him in challenge.

  The migraine had come back in the last two weeks, and it was unbearable. It was pounding in his head right now.

  A soothing female voice echoed in his head, “I made this for you. Why put up with the pain, Ciaran? Just take it.”

  His vision blurred with the pain, his body swayed, and he braced his hands on the bench top to keep his balance.

  “You don’t know how much pain I can endure. I deserve this,” he muttered to himself.

  He grunted as the pain intensified. Beads of sweat began to trickle slowly down his forehead. The sharp pain pierced through his brain and before he knew it, he passed out on the cold dusty floor.

  Chapter 14

  Madeline scrambled up from the floor, the sensation of the blue suction still pounding in her head. “What the hell?” she muttered. Then she recalled the vision. “Okay, stupid blue dots,” she muttered, “Guide me if you’re any good.”

  An hour later, she followed the blue dots into the British museum where a gold plate that had once used by John Dee to communicate to spirits stared at her from a display cabinet. Madeline shook her head and rolled her eyes. Based on her research, John Dee had been an astrologist and advisor to Queen Elizabeth I. In some capacity, he was an alchemist, but it didn’t seem as if alchemy was how he had gained fame.

  She muttered to herself, “If you knew how to make gold, you wouldn’t have died poor.”

  Her research suggested that John Dee had died in poverty. He couldn’t possibly have made—or had known how to make—gold.

  The blue dots disappeared. “Right, just reappear whenever you feel like it.” Madeline cursed in frustration and noticed that the people standing next to her turned to look. She shrugged and scurried outside the museum.

  She wasn’t out of the woods yet—not until Stephen let her know he had gotten Zen, and Jo was safe. Just in case Zen turned up, she had to come up with some artifact. She figured she’d better go digging now. She shook her head, not sure what to feel. Next, she had to do something about the fictional character Samuel, who played the fictional character White Knight in some fictional computer game Jo had created!

  Madeline hired a car and headed out of London. Hearing the shovel rattling in the trunk of the car, she shook her head in disbelief about what she was about to do.

  The blue dots were no longer directing her, so she was going to have to rely on technology. The portable GPS, called Tom, that she had requested with the car was blurting out the instructions in a monotone female voice. She had to remember to drive on the left-hand side of the road. After a couple of wrong turns, she started to scold the machine, “You’re female, why in world do they call you Tom? Is that why you don’t understand that I have to not only get from A to B in one piece but also have to drive on the opposite side of the road?”

  The machine didn’t answer her.

  While trying to dodge a black cab that was honking at her, Madeline heard the machine instruct, “In 200 yards, turn left.”

  “So much for English manners,” Madeline muttered to herself, thinking of the black cab.

  She glanced ahead and gestured to the machine. “Turn left into what?” Then she realized that she was talking to the machine again, and of course, there would not be a response. Madeline made a guess and turned left onto a smaller, paved road, only to discover that it was a dead end.

  The machine calmly instructed, “Make a U-turn when possible.”

  “Of course,” Madeline spoke to herself.

  She turned into a private driveway and made a U-turn. She heard a dog barking at her from inside a peaceful cottage at the end of the driveway.

  “Bark away, and bark real loud, ’cause you can’t bite me!”

  Madeline turned left on the next block and was relieved because there was no objection from Tom-the-guide.

  “You have arrived at your destination,” the machine cheerfully announced.

  Madeline stared at the destination—it was a roundabout.

  She didn’t want to waste any more time arguing with the machine, so she parked on a small street and walked toward St Mary’s Church.

  It was a beautiful church. Based on Madeline’s research this morning, this was where she might find some useful information. She stood at the entrance of the church, staring at the door as if admiring its magnificence. Instead, a stream of strategies flew through her head, none of them viable.

  Going inside and asking for the grave of John Dee so that she could dig it up wouldn’t go down well. The church did publicize that they had no information about the exact location of the tomb. Of course they had to say that they did not know where the tomb was, Madeline deduced. It would only take a few more scumbags like Zen, and the church would have a gold rush on its hands.

  The door of the church slid open and a lady in a beige sweater and a light green coat walked out. Noticing Madeline, she approached. “May I help you?”

  “Ah, my name is Madeline Roux. I’m working on a research project on theology. I’d like to see Doctor John Dee’s plaque and some exhibits of his life and his work, if possible, but I notice that you don’t have a service today and aren’t open to public visits.”

  “Oh, I’m Maggie. I don’t work here. I’m visiting my friends. But you’ve come to the right place for this. They’ve just obtained some funds from the government, along with generous public donations, to make the plaque. They’ve organized an association in the name of Doctor John Dee of Mortlake. Let me tell you, they’re very proud of it. Or I should say, we are so proud of the doctor for his achievements. We appreciate the recognition he brought to Mortlake. Even Queen Elizabeth visited his house. Come on in.” Maggie churned out a stream of information that Madeline had known from her research. But she politely followed Maggie inside the church.

  “Waste of time!” said an old man sitting on the steps in front of the church.

  “Excuse me?” Madeline stepped back outside.

  Maggie interrupted. “Oh, Shaun, aren’t you supposed to be at the library? Don’t tell me you’re drunk again at this hour?”

  There were some movements from beneath a thick carpet of beard on Shaun’s face. Madeline suspected it was a grin to Lady Maggie.

  “It’s winter, Maggie. There isn’t much to do in the gardens. People go to a public library to read, not to look at flowers in the gardens. I’m waiting for you here, my lady! You’re my flower.” Shaun stood up and approached Maggie.

  “Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt. You were saying something about me wasting time?” Aware of her time constraints, Madeline butted in.

  “Ah, at least three times in the last month I saw people asking the same questions as you did, looking at the doctor's stuff as if they admired him. Then they ended up searching the graveyard for his tomb. Let me tell you now, it’s a waste of time.”

  Maggie looked astonished. “Shaun, have you been stalking the church?”

  “Oh no, I would never do such a thing!”

  Feeling uneasy, Madeline shifted her shoulders. “What’s wrong if people just want to show their respect at his tomb?”

  Shaun laughed. “I don’t think they wanted to show respect. They looked like they wanted to dig out the gold he buried with him!”

  “Don’t say such a thing, Shaun. It’s not nice, and it’s disrespectful to the doctor,” Maggie protested.

  Shaun looked at Madeline. “You see, now I’ve upset my lady. Look, I don’t care if you want the gold in his coffin or not—he
wasn’t buried here.”

  “How do you know that?” Maggie’s voice was high-pitched.

  Shaun smiled secretly. “A man knows many secrets!”

  Maggie put her hands on her hips, insistent.

  “All right, all right. I helped Mrs. Hanson with her gardens many times. That’s what I got as payment—stories. You know her. Full of mysterious stories.”

  “Mrs. Hanson in the Rose cottage?”

  “Green Rose’s cottage.”

  “There is no such thing as a green rose.”

  Madeline raised her hands apologetically as if she was intruding on their conversation once again. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go. As I said, I just wanted to show some respect at the tomb. But if it’s not here, then there’s no point in me wasting your time. I’ll make a donation to the church.”

  “Oh no, you should come in for a cup of tea,” Maggie chirped.

  “If you want the gold, talk to Mrs. Hanson. She knows the secrets! Her cottage is just at the next block.” Shaun winked at Madeline. Then he turned to Maggie. “You see, I’m a good man. I don’t have greed in me. I’m not digging graves for gold.”

  Madeline’s phone rang. She grabbed at it like a drowning person grabbing at a life preserver and went to a quiet corner to talk.

  At the other end of the line, Stephen’s voice sounded scratchy. Madeline noted that it was the middle of the night in New York. “I’m sorry, Madeline!”

  Madeline felt a chill run down her spine. Instead of asking nonsense questions, she waited.

  “I messed everything up,” Stephen continued. “I ran some information on Zen after I talked to you. I found out he owns a cabin in the hunting ground in the national park. I couldn’t help it . . . I went there. It was in the middle of the night, you know, and I figured if he’d hidden Jo there, then I could wrap it up sweet.”

  “Bottom line, Stephen, is Jo okay?”

  “Yeah. She is. She’s valuable to Zen. He’d pull the trigger on me, not on her.”

  “What? A gunfight? He shot at you? Are you okay?”

  “Just a scratch. I’m fine. But it was unfair to have five of them on one of me, and I couldn’t fire the weapon without reciting the procedures—I wasn’t there in an official capacity.”

  Madeline sat down on a bench.

  Stephen continued, “He recognized me as Jo’s friend. He knew I was a cop.”

  “But he still shot at you?”

  “If I’d been in my official position, he wouldn’t—”

  “I know, Stephen. I understand, and I’m sorry I put you in danger.”

  “Danger is a package deal with my job. I can’t believe a computer geek like Zen would run a full-on organized crime hub in the middle of a jungle. They were all armed.”

  Madeline muttered, “He wants a lot more than just winning a computer game.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing. So he knew I sent you, and now he’s coming after me?”

  “There wasn’t any time to talk or ask any questions. All shooting and shouting. He fled, taking Jo with him. It sounded like he was heading straight to the airport. Even if I’d pulled in my buddies, it would—”

  “I understand. You don’t know which flight, which route, how long it would take him to get to me?”

  “I’m coming over there, Madeline.”

  “No, please don’t. I can take care of myself. I’ve asked enough of you.”

  Stephen lowered his voice, “And I’m not asking anything of you. I just want to you count on me. Just this time. Trust me. Let me help you.”

  “Stephen!”

  “I’ll get Zen, and I’ll find you, Madeline.”

  Stephen hung up the phone. It was the first time Stephen had hung up on her. Most of the time, she was the one cutting off a conversation.

  Chapter 15

  Ciaran stopped and waited patiently. A couple more blocks to his London headquarters, and the traffic had been crawling for fifteen minutes. Lindsay called again, and Ciaran picked up on his car phone. “You go ahead with your meetings, Lindsay. I’m not scheduled to be in the office, so you don’t have to wait for me there.”

  “Are you sure? Robert wants to talk to you beforehand, and he said you didn’t pick up.”

  That must have been when he passed out, Ciaran thought. “Ask him to wait for me in the office. I’ll be there as soon as this mess clears up.”

  “What happened?”

  “Traffic jam, I think. A couple of blocks from our south gate.”

  Ciaran inched the car ahead as the traffic controller signaled.

  “Do you want to leave the car there? I’ll send someone to pick you up, going the other way to the north gate.”

  “It’s okay. I’m nearly there. Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon.” Ciaran hung up as the police signaled him to move forward, and he made significant progress. Ciaran drove ahead. It was actually good timing. He needed this time to settle his headache. He still felt a bit shaky from the effects of it. It had been bad before, but never that nasty. What he needed right now was a strong dose of painkillers.

  An officer tapped on the windshield to signal Ciaran to move ahead. He pressed the button to lower the window. “What’s happening, officer?”

  “A homeless person died.”

  “Accident?”

  “I don’t know. He just lay there and died on the sidewalk. They’ve nearly cleaned up the scene. It won’t take long.”

  “Thank you.”

  This was going to take forever, Ciaran thought. He reached his hand out toward the control panel to take Lindsay up on his offer, but before he dialed, he saw a puppy standing right in front of his car. If he had inched the car ahead without looking, he would have run over the dog.

  It wasn’t just any puppy—it was a small, shabby Alaskan malamute pup wearing a dark saddle and a sign around its neck saying, “I’ve lost my mommy, and I need to eat.” It was obvious that this dog had belonged to the homeless person, whoever that might have been. Ciaran glanced to the side window, looking for the officer he’d just spoken to, but he didn’t see him. He glanced in his rear view mirror and saw a line of cars.

  The puppy shivered. Its eyes were teary, and its fur soaked with the moisture from the winter air. Ciaran looked for the officer again and found no one. The car in front of him had moved up. He cursed and sneaked open the passenger door. The puppy didn’t wait for an invitation—he jumped right in. Ciaran drove the car forward and waited in the traffic again.

  “Let me take that sign off your neck. It annoys the heck out of me.” He pulled off the sign and could feel the puppy shaking. Ciaran cranked up the heat, and warm air pumped out of the floor unit. The puppy dove right in front of the heater and rubbed against it, rolling on the floor as if in ecstasy. When its fur dried out, it sat up straight on the floor, looking at Ciaran. Then it raised a front leg in a handshake position.

  Ciaran laughed. “You’re very welcome, smart dog. I’m sure he taught you how to pick pockets, too. That’s a pity. I don’t do dogs, let alone a puppy.” Ciaran’s car had crawled up alongside the sidewalk where the homeless person had died. The body had been taken away, but a pile of rags and a crooked shopping trolley full of junk were still on the sidewalk. Next to the trolley was a small carton wrapped with rags that Ciaran was sure the person had used as the dog’s bed.

  Some officers were still standing around clearing the scene. “There you go. No need to thank me for the ride,” Ciaran said and opened the passenger door. The puppy tried its last trick, looking at Ciaran with watery eyes. He shook his head and gestured toward the door. The puppy looked down to the floor, grabbed the sign Ciaran had peeled off its neck, and jumped out of the car.

  Ciaran glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the puppy sitting on the road, watching with the sign in its mouth. He drove a bit more and stopped again for traffic. The puppy still sat there. Then an officer approached, and the puppy stood up and withdrew from the officer’s reach. By doing so, he ste
pped backward out to the road. Another officer approached to help, and the dog backed further out onto the road.

  The traffic was finally clear, and cars started moving fast. Ciaran cursed. He reached over and opened the passenger door again. From the rear mirror, he could see the puppy racing toward his car. In seconds, it stood at the door.

  “I don’t like that sign,” Ciaran said.

  In a heartbeat, the dog dropped the sign onto the road and hopped into the car.

  Chapter 16

  This was a total screw-up, Madeline thought. Stephen not only couldn’t get Zen, but had alerted him that she had sent a cop in. Now she had to execute the plan B she didn’t even have.

  She had to find someone to play the Samuel she had created. That was her priority. But she had to find the artifact first. That was a priority, too. She could explain to Zen somehow that it had taken more time to find the artifact, but she could not make an excuse for not providing Samuel. Maybe she should find the artifact, and then come clean to Zen about Samuel, using the artifact to compensate him? No, that wouldn’t work.

  She was in Mortlake anyway, so she would see what she could do. If Zen couldn’t speak to her directly, he couldn’t jump to any conclusions about anything too soon. As long as he was unsure, Jo would be fine, Madeline contemplated.

  Madeline drove around the block to the Green Rose cottage and approached the small gate on foot. The black Pomeranian who had been barking at Madeline that morning was now baring his teeth at her. Not very friendly, she thought and gave the dog a stern look.

  A woman in her nineties—or at least looked that old—dressed in gypsy clothes appeared at the doorstep.

  “I’ve convinced Woody to forgive your intrusion this morning, but he’s still upset, you see!”

  “Mrs. Hanson, I’m so sorry I was rude this morning, but I . . .”