Celeste sat back as Sandi placed a plate of French toast, baked beans, and home fries on the table.
“Would you like more coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
Sandi filled Celeste’s cup, placed a few small containers of cream on the table, and left her to her breakfast.
Before taking a bite, Celeste glanced back through the window. The cruiser was gone, and the other two cars were driving off. She chalked the meeting up to Father MacLeod’s preparation for their visit.
She dug into her food. She was not disappointed.
Once finished, Celeste decided to walk off her meal, as there was still more than an hour before the meeting. Taking a left out of the diner, she headed south, past a Chinese restaurant and a bar. Beyond the bar, the concrete bridge she’d crossed earlier spanned a river. Intending to stroll along the river, she turned left onto a paved street running perpendicular to the bridge. She slowed when she spotted an awning hanging from one of the storefronts: Goffstown Pawnshop.
An odd feeling came over Celeste as she stared at the sign. She was picking up a sensation unlike anything she’d felt before. It wasn’t malice or contentment. She couldn’t describe it other than thinking something powerful was nearby. The feeling was strange for another reason—it came to her unbidden. Normally, she would have to concentrate on a subject to pick something up.
She walked in front of the store. The windows were tinted dark enough to prevent people from seeing in. Double doors at the center of the storefront had cameras set high atop them.
She stepped inside. It was not what she imagined a pawnshop would look like. Except for shelves lining the walls and a long counter to her left running the length of the store, the shop was empty.
This place is so big and there’s nothing in the middle! A school could hold their prom in here.
Celeste strolled to the set of shelves lining the far wall. Instead of the junk she associated with these places, the items appeared to be works of art, and high quality at that. Oil paintings, vases, elaborate boxes, and items that she couldn’t identify rested on the shelves. She reached for one, but before her hand could settle on the object, a voice from behind admonished her.
“Please, do not touch, Miss.” A man, tall and thin, stood at the counter.
“I’m sorry,” Celeste offered.
“That’s quite all right. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I’m only browsing but thank you.”
Celeste concentrated on the man. She probed, trying to pick up some kind of vibe. There was nothing.
The man sighed. “Look, Miss, I’m the proprietor. This may come off as presumptuous, and I mean no offense, but I’m sure most of my items would be out of your price range.”
Though her empathic abilities revealed nothing about him, her natural instincts told her he wasn’t the type to harm her. She smiled. “I understand, but would you mind if I looked around?”
He stared back. A little too hard, she thought; a little too long. She wasn’t scared, but she was uncomfortable as she awaited his answer.
“If you must, but don’t touch anything, please,” he replied.
Celeste studied the objects on the shelves. All were old, she guessed centuries on some, maybe even older on others. Many had what she perceived as occult markings. The man at the counter interrupted her browsing
“May I ask why you’re visiting our town?”
She turned to him. “How do you know I’m a visitor?”
“I’ve been in Goffstown a long time, and to be frank, not many local people stop by my shop.”
“And why is that?”
The man smiled. “I’m not sure.”
“How do you stay in business?”
“I have discerning clientele. They know how to find me.”
She nodded, though his answer begged more questions. “I’m visiting Goffstown on business. I’ll be meeting with a few people to look at an old house at the request of one of your townspeople.”
“Ah. No doubt for investment purposes,” he said. “May I ask which property?”
“The Moore house.”
The man’s face froze, then his smile dissolved. He didn’t speak, and neither of them moved.
Celeste broke the stalemate. “Your reaction is peculiar, Sir. May I ask why?”
He stared at Celeste for a few more seconds. “First, may I ask the reason you’re going to the Moore house?”
He knows about the Moore house!
She contemplated how much she ought to tell him. In the end, she decided to disclose as much as she could without divulging any identities and without mentioning her abilities. In return, she hoped he’d be more forthcoming. It wouldn’t hurt to go into this investigation with extra knowledge. She explained her reasons for being in Goffstown.
The man listened without comment. Not once did he nod, lift a hand, or shuffle his feet. He hung on to her every word until she was finished, and then he shook his head, lowered his gaze, and bit his lower lip. “So, you and your team are going to The Moore house on behalf of a religious organization to investigate several unexplained deaths that occurred on the premises,” he said, reciting the sentence in a flat, monotone voice as if reading from a textbook. The man shook his head like a father scolding a nasty child.
He spoke again, his voice softer, more relaxed. “There is much you’re not telling me, and I guess you have your reasons. But, let me warn you, Miss, you would do well to stay far away from that house. You don’t need to send a team there to tell you there’s a supernatural shadow hovering over that property. The Moore house is evil. If you get too close, it will eat you.”
It will eat you. The words hit her like a punch to her gut. While the previous day’s conversation with her partners was disconcerting, it was nothing compared the brink of fear she teetered on now. Her mind filled with images of what Catherine White must be going through.
Pushing those thoughts away, she collected herself. “I have no choice; I have to go. It—it’s my job,” she responded, her voice low and shaky.
The man sighed. “This religious organization, is it Catholic?”
Celeste nodded.
“You’re looking for evidence of possession? A demon?”
She nodded once more.
“You are playing with fire. You’ll be burned.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Wait here.”
He moved to the far end of the counter, turning the corner to get behind it. Stopping at a shelf containing several small boxes, he methodically read their contents and pushed them away one-by-one until he came to a box that satisfied him. He placed it on the counter. It was about two inches wide by ten inches long.
“Please, Miss. What’s your name?”
“Celeste.”
“Celeste, come here.”
She obeyed. The man opened the box. Inside, on burgundy fabric, lay a cross made from ancient wood and inlaid with jewels.
“Celeste, this necklace was said to belong to a sixth-century English monk, named Cuthbert. Based on the tales of miracles performed in his name, your Catholic Church accorded him sainthood. One of those miracles was his ability to keep his own body from decomposing after his death at the hands of Danish invaders. The Danes took his body to Denmark and buried it there. Years later, he was exhumed and reinterred in England. It was reported that his body showed no signs of decomposition. Legend has it he was wearing this necklace when his body was exhumed. Thus, it may be believed the necklace will protect its wearer from bodily harm. Of course, this is all legend, but I’ve discovered over the many years I’ve been the proprietor of this shop, that faith is an enabler.”
Celeste was fascinated by his story and the necklace but confused about why he was displaying it to her. “Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”
“I’m going to loan it to you.”
Once more she found herself unable to address the man. The offer was stunning. The necklace had to be worth thousands of dollars, most li
kely more. They had met no longer than fifteen minutes ago and here he was, willing to part with a treasure. Unless the necklace was a fake, and the story, too. His shop was full of items that appeared to be genuine historical artifacts, but she could see no security measures other than the cameras on the entrance doors, and those were aimed outside. Yet there was something about the man that begged her trust. He had listened to her explaining why she was in Goffstown and expressed no doubt about her story.
The man was obviously knowledgeable about the supernatural based on his comments about the Moore house and his history of the necklace. Additionally, he’d made comments concerning her safety. Another check mark in his favor was that he hadn’t come on to her. He’d looked at her face during their conversations, not once glancing down at her chest. Even when she had worn her nun’s tunic, she noticed the stares men had directed at her breasts. Had God delivered her an ally? She decided to press the man further.
“Why would you give me this necklace? You don’t know me.”
The man gazed at her breasts. His eyes remained on them for a few seconds and then he lifted his eyes to Celeste.
Her heart sank.
“Wear it under your blouse. Your shirt appears to be loose enough to conceal the cross. Do not tell anyone you have it with you.” With emphasis, he added, “Tell no one.” His voice returned to normal. “And, I am not giving this to you. As I said, it’s a loan. I expect it back as soon as you’re done with whatever you’re doing at the property. As to why, there are two reasons. The first is that this is my town. The Moore house is an abomination—it is evil personified and a threat to my clients and my business. The other reason is that I sense you are a good person, but naïve, and woefully unprepared when it comes to dealing with the forces in that house. If the necklace has the abilities ascribed to it, it may be of assistance. I don’t know you Celeste, but my intuition tells me you are who you say you are. For my own comfort, though, I would ask you to sign a standard purchase agreement. There is a stipulation that if you are not satisfied with the item, you can return it in five days without cost or penalty.”
Celeste took the proffered necklace and contract. She slipped the necklace over her head and, as instructed, tucked it into her blouse. The fabric of her shirt pressed the cross against her skin, and as the man had noted, there was enough room for it to be hidden. She lifted her head, seeking approval.
The man was stone-faced, but he nodded.
She read the contract and let out an EEK.
“Well,” he answered, “My services don’t come cheap.”
“I guess!” She produced a driver’s license and filled out the form. The proprietor made a copy of the license while she wrote. “I guess if I don’t return it you’ll hunt me down.”
He grinned. “Something like that.”
Oddly, his smile put her at ease. “I have to go but thank you very much. I promise to return this to you later this morning or this afternoon when we’ve finished. If they ask to gather after the meeting, I’ll return it tomorrow.”
“Celeste,” he replied, “Be careful.”
“I will.”
She strode out of the pawnshop, her left hand caressing the cross through her blouse.
The pawnshop owner watched the woman exit his shop. He thought her a good person, but weak. If the Moore house decided to target her, she didn’t stand a chance.
The man’s experience with the property was limited, but it was enough for him to keep his distance.
Though he was aware of the Moore house, his first encounter with the building had been a month earlier, when the patriarch of the town, Kevin Lewis, had asked his assistance in burning the place to the ground. Aside from the property’s reputation, he’d agreed for a few other reasons. The man who’d asked him had purchased many items from the shop, all at a good price. As far as he knew, none of the items he’d sold Mr. Lewis had been used for nefarious purposes. Another reason, one that now caused him to fear for Celeste’s safety, was the fallout of assisting Mr. Lewis. The two men he’d recruited for the arson attack had been murdered, and in a very unpleasant manner.
He had driven to the property afterward. The emanations picked up from the house were pure evil, and he’d left with no doubt that within its walls resided some type of malevolent presence. Celeste’s visit had shed some light on its nature, a nature he was not presently prepared to deal with.
The owner had an assistant named Rex, a giant of a man the owner employed in any instances calling for brute force. Though he was reluctant to involve Rex in anything to do with the Moore house, he supposed it was best to advise him of the situation. While Rex was brutal and single-minded when it came to performing tasks, he had compassion for animals and innocent women who were victims of or might be exposed to violence. Celeste met one of these criteria. The shop owner had no idea how far-reaching the Moore house evil extended, but he’d forewarn Rex and ask him to take additional measures to ensure the integrity of the pawnshop. By loaning the necklace to Celeste, he might be viewed as a collaborator with whatever she and her team were planning.
If so, he’d have to deal with the consequences.
CHAPTER 5
With only her thoughts to keep her company, Nora drove to Goffstown.
She was certain Father MacLeod was aware of her romantic involvement with Agnes, but that Celeste might not have caught on yet.
She and Agnes had decided to postpone the revelation until the investigation at the Moore house had been concluded. Celeste had been a member of the Sisters of the Holy Cross, one of the Church’s strictest religious orders and, though she had been dismissed, it was unclear if she continued to devote herself to Christian doctrine. If so, the newest member of their team might be distracted by their affair, and now was not the time for such complications. After viewing the files Father MacLeod had sent over last evening, they all had to be cautious and at their best this morning. Though Nora hadn’t mentioned it to Agnes, this investigation terrified her.
The successive photographs of dead bodies had been enough to send chills down Nora’s spine, but her major reticence in this investigation stemmed from having viewed the first picture—the Moore house itself. It was taken from what she presumed was the road, and the moment her eyes had seen that file, a sense of helplessness had rippled through her. She’d froze in her chair, arms shaking. Fleeting visions of depraved sex acts and torture ran through her mind. She’d been unable to banish them. After a few moments, she didn’t want to banish them.
Agnes’ voice, coming from the bedroom, broke her trance. Upon hearing Agnes’ call, the visions had ceased. Though uneasy, Nora had stood, her vision clouded, objects close to her slipping into the distance. She’d lowered her gaze to ground herself, and flushed when she noticed she was aroused, her nipples firm and sensitive beneath her blouse. After a moment her head had cleared, and she’d glanced back up at the computer screen. The picture of the Moore house was still there, but it no longer affected her.
Confused and frightened, she’d clicked out of the file and joined Agnes in bed. Agnes had been awake, about to cajole her into making love. There had been no cajoling necessary: after going through those files, Nora had craved her partner’s loving touch.
Their coupling had turned out to be anything but romantic. Agnes was forceful; domineering. The woman’s hands were rough as she roamed Nora’s body, her fingers rigid as steel. Agnes’ thrusts had been hurried, animalistic, and Nora was still sore as a result. When they finished, Agnes turned over without a word and was soon fast asleep. While their lovemaking had been frenzied and uncomfortable, a part of Nora had been turned on by it.
The adrenaline had kept her awake. As she’d lain there, unwelcomed thoughts had intruded. The belt buckle Agnes had found at the Millman’s took prominence. That salacious image of a large-breasted woman cut too close to home. It was impossible to determine whether the woman on the buckle was black or not, but Nora couldn’t help but think she was.
Was this trinket in some way directed at her? Was that possible? Could it have some correlation with her shameful conduct in the past? She had kept that part of her life hidden from everyone; Agnes had no way of knowing, though it had been addressed during her initial interview with Father MacLeod. If it was linked to the Moore house, something powerful was intervening in her life. It could mean there was a demon involved. If it were the case, she might be way over her head in this investigation. She wasn’t going to take any chances. If there was the slightest hint of possession involving the Moore house, she would report it to Father MacLeod, and then get the hell out of there.
CHAPTER 6
Celeste was the first to arrive. She parked her car at the curb and stood by the open door, waiting for the others. She used the time to study the exterior of the Moore house without mentally probing it.
Outwardly, it was no different than the thousands of other Victorians scattered across New England. It had been painted a Cape-Cod blue, and while it wasn’t peeling, the color had faded. As an offset, the trim was dark blue, also dulled, but she could see no signs of rot or weather damage around the windows or roofline. The small porch was in good condition too—the floorboards weren’t warped, and the stairs were nice and even. Though the house had been somewhat maintained, the yard appeared neglected. The grass was uneven and sunburned in sections. Bare spots indicated grub damage. For an abandoned building, it was in decent shape. With a little work, the home could be welcoming.
The only thing Celeste considered kempt was the front door, freshly painted a rich cranberry. Because its vibrancy contrasted with the rest of the house, she found her gaze continually drawn to it. Not deeply, but enough to pick up faint vibes. Photos from the file Father MacLeod had sent over the previous evening flashed through her mind. She shivered and decided to wait for the others.
The sound of cars approaching averted Celeste’s thoughts. Two vehicles slowed and pulled up behind hers. Nora parked behind Celeste, and behind Nora, a police car pulled in. Her teammate exited and joined Celeste in the yard while the officer remained behind the wheel.
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