by Mary Eicher
“Ah, yes. We were sorry to hear of your wife’s recent death. It was very unfortunate.” The pope, a meticulous man accustomed to knowing his adversaries, was well prepared for the conversation. “We pray that she is with God now along with our beloved bishop.”
Hemsley thanked him. Drumming his fingers, he waited for the pope to get to the purpose of the phone call. Sensing his impatience, the pope was amused. His eyes traveled the ornate walls and settled on a picture of one of his infamous predecessors.
“I understand you were not raised in the faith, Governor.”
“That is correct. I have never been personally concerned with religion other than to respect the many good works of the church.”
He still had no idea why the pope had wanted to speak with him. He was not a likely convert. After an uncomfortable pause, Hemsley decided to go ahead and ask and the pope obliged him with an answer. His holiness explained that the call was prompted by Hemsley’s recent conference regarding the Harbinger. He had prayed over the matter and withheld any comment until he felt his prayers for guidance had been answered.
“Your conference was the antithesis of what we wanted to have happen.” He leaned forward in his chair. “And yet it may have been the very action we should have initiated ourselves.”
Hemsley felt completely confused. “So, you like what the conference produced?”
The pope sat back in his chair and chuckled. “We disagree with what Miss Andronikos concluded. Some time ago she would have been branded a heretic. But we are past such harsh pronouncements now.”
Hemsley cleared his throat. “I’m relieved to hear you won’t be burning one of my constituents at the stake then.” He made no effort to conceal the rudeness in his tone of voice. He was tired of waiting for whatever punch line was coming.
“Alas, such methods are frowned upon in these times,” the Pope said with a chuckle, making it seem he had attempted to joke.
The next ten minutes were spent on a one-sided discussion of the role of government as subservient to the role of religion in guiding people’s lives. The Pope had no ambivalence concerning his purpose in the world. He was the spiritual leader, and souls were his to protect. Hemsley listened patiently, expecting the “render unto Caesar” canard to be delivered from time to time. In the end, the pope was telling him to stay out of matters involving the Harbinger and to collect his taxes and keep the streets clean. When it was clear Hemsley was supposed to respond, he simply thanked the man for the call.
“A minute more, please.” The pope rose from his chair and clutched the rosary tightly. A drop of blood dripped from his hand as the crucifix bit into his palm. He had not yet accomplished his goal. Hemsley was not responding as anticipated. He studied the painting of Pope Clement V and envied the ease with which previous popes had been able to handle kings. The current times would require a great degree of finesse to bend world leaders to the pontiff’s purpose. That was why this initial contact had been with a governor rather than the president.
“Are you familiar with the deeds of Pope Clement V and King Philip IV of France?” he asked.
Hemsley thought for a moment. “Can’t say that I am, sorry.”
“They worked together to disband the Knights Templar.”
Hemsley glanced at his watch. “Oh, yes. The way I heard it, Philip rounded up the Templars and had them killed when they were no longer needed.”
The pope frowned. “They worked together to solve a common problem.”
“That’s not the way we solve problems now.” Hemsley abruptly concluded the conversation.
*
Artemis saw Strang approaching. He was in his trademark Hawaiian shirt and shorts. He looked healthy but subdued, not his usual ebullient persona. He carried what resembled a shoebox in one hand and returned her wave with the other. She accepted his hug and ushered him to the living room.
“This is a housewarming gift for your wonderful new domicile,” he said with a small grin. “And look at you, beautiful as usual and so happy. You have truly learned to soar beyond life’s cruel impediments.”
She shrugged. “I think I’ve just learned to hide from them.”
“My darling girl, hiding when appropriate is a sign of wisdom.” He looked around. “But where is your little family? I was hoping to see our young oracle.”
Artemis slid open the door to the lanai and left it open to let the warm afternoon breeze flow into the house. She took a deep breath; even in February the air was fragrant and soothing. They settled into rattan chairs and sat facing each other. Artemis stretched her long legs and put her bare feet on a little table.
“Angie is at her new school. Lucy just went to pick her up. And Claire is shopping. I think it’s her most favorite thing to do.”
“Ah, acquiring the possessions that end up possessing us,” Strang observed. “My Willa wasn’t much of a shopper. I was the one who collected useless things.”
The depth of the man’s loneliness touched Artemis, catching the way his hand shook as he placed it over the hula girl pin on his island shirt. “I think Claire’s just getting something for supper. You’ll stay and eat with us, Wolf, won’t you?”
He readily agreed. He crossed his legs and absentmindedly played with the strap of his sandal.
Artemis cocked her head and laughed. “You are wearing socks!”
He smiled. “Yes. This is my winter wardrobe. It always used to make Willa laugh also.”
Once the others returned, they gossiped and supped on the lanai and then went indoors when the wind picked up. Angie talked about an approaching storm. It would be the first big storm since they’d moved into the new house.
“The oracle speaks,” Strang said, extending his arms toward her.
“No, silly!” Angie put her hands on her hips, adopting one of Artemis’s familiar poses. “Just look at the sky.”
“It’s sad because the whales are leaving soon.” Strang sounded wistful. “This is my least favorite time of year.”
Lucy picked up something in Strang’s demeanor. Artemis had already sensed it and assumed it had to do with the discovery of another child’s body in Nāpili. A second little girl had been executed, and she didn’t want to discuss the matter in front of Angie. But Lucy circled his chair and began to poke.
“What is worrying you, Wolf?”
“I was wondering how our ebony-haired goddess would like being a blonde,” he said to everyone’s astonishment.
Artemis dropped her jaw. “What?”
Lucy leaned against the back of Strang’s chair. “He’s tired of the Artemis gig, Temmie. He wants you to be Athena for a while.”
Strang was amused by the sarcasm. “Not at all, Lucinda. I was thinking it might be best for Artemis to be a little less recognizable just now.”
Strang stood and began to pace between the lanai and living room. He explained that he had received threats in the last weeks. He’d ignored them until they had taken a turn to the cruel and mentioned Artemis. Those he couldn’t set aside. He was careful not to provide details as to the nature of the threats, letting his uncharacteristic reserve convey the seriousness of the matter.
“Who do you think is threatening her?” Lucy asked.
“The men in the brown dresses,” Angie answered. “They don’t like you, Aunt Temmie. Lots of people don’t like you. But some do.”
“The cult is on the mainland,” Claire said.
“Not anymore.” Strang glanced up. “They conjure up the damnable Spanish Inquisition in my mind, spreading fear wherever they go. And now they have come to our little corner of the cosmos.”
Artemis showed no emotion. She was not surprised by the implication. She had known her peaceful hiatus would not last. She had purposely avoided the media since making her remarks at Hemsley’s conference. She had read the several articles that had distorted her ideas and then decided to step off. Whatever debate was going on in what Lucy called the real world could go on without her. Having found the answers that
mattered to her, she had withdrawn and forbade the world to come looking for her. Evidently, given Strang’s concern, it had anyway.
Strang told them what he had learned about the strange bedfellows who had found common purpose. Religion isn’t easy to defeat, he explained, reciting a brief history of repression and domination for the past five thousand years. Religion has always been a power center. It has always sought to destroy its enemies. Since the conference, the world’s major religions had begun working together to reclaim and control the message.
“It’s hard to kill a god.” He tossed his arm in the air as he finished his assessment. “It’s much, much easier to kill a heretic.”
Lucy gathered the empty coffee cups to take them into the kitchen. “Temmie is not a heretic.”
Strang slapped his fist against the palm of his hand. “She punched them in the nose with her explanation of the Harbinger. You don’t think that makes her a target for their anger?” He sat and pulled Angie onto his lap. “What do you think, my little oracle?”
Angie looked up at him with wide hazel eyes. “My angel says they are coming.”
“Enough of this kind of talk,” Claire said. She got up and went to the box Strang had brought. “May we open your gift now?”
“That’s an excellent idea.” Strang joined her at the table. “You want to help us, Angie?”
Angie removed the pretty pink ribbon and opened the top of the box and peered inside. “It’s a little house.”
Strang removed the box to reveal an exquisite miniature building of polished white marble. It was rectangular, less than ten inches long with a double row of columns along all four sides and a classical Grecian roof.
“I think someone here knows precisely what this is,” Strang said slyly.
Neither Lucy nor her mother offered a guess, uncertain which Greek temple it represented, but Artemis recognized the structure immediately.
“It’s the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus,” she told them. “It’s beautiful, Wolf. Thank you.”
He beamed proudly. “The Temple of Artemis was one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. It was twice the size of the Pantheon and said to have been even more beautiful. This is just a doodad to add to your collection, Temmie. It is meant to bring blessings to this home.” The subtle smirk in his eyes confirmed it had a deeper purpose. “But tell me, my darling girl, is this small version of the temple an accurate reflection of the real edifice?”
Artemis raised an eyebrow at Strang’s subterfuge. The temple had been destroyed July 21, 356 BCE—the same day the goddess Artemis attended to the birth of Alexander the Great. There was no way anyone could know what the original temple looked like unless they had been there.
“Have you visited Ephesus?” Lucy asked, taking a closer look at the exquisite replica. “You have been nearly everywhere, Temmie.”
Artemis gave Strang a knowing look. “Not recently!” she said, deciding to best him at his devious little game.
Strang erupted into a delighted laugh. “Well, I am pleased to have brought the temple back to you. May it make our current Artemis feel at home in this fine if slightly humbler abode.”
Angie put her chin on the table and stared at the little building. “Why does Temmie have a temple?”
Her grandmother answered. “There used to be a goddess named Artemis about a thousand years ago. It was her temple where people went to worship and to ask for her help.”
“More than five thousand years ago,” Strang gently corrected her and then smiled at Angie. “The Goddess Artemis was strong and brave and very beautiful. She was known as the goddess of the hunt and associated with the moon.”
“She dearly loved her brother Apollo,” Lucy added, causing Artemis to arch a dark eyebrow in surprise. Lucy had done her own research on her lover’s namesake. She found the similarities between Artemis and the goddess fascinating. “And she was a champion for women.”
Strang nodded. “That she was. Artemis was a powerful goddess, possessed of many virtues. Beloved by both men and women, and yet she was said to have taken a vow of lifelong chastity.”
Artemis made a sound like a cough, and Lucy, blushing brightly, closed her eyes.
Lucy’s mother glanced at the two young women and shook her head. “The vow might have referred only to men, don’t you think?”
Strang grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Evidently. Perhaps we should ask the ora—?”
Artemis put her hands on her hips and glowered. “Wolf, I swear, if you say another word…”
Angie walked over to Artemis and took her hand. “Yes, my voice says yes Grandma is correct, and that everybody should just calm down.”
Strang folded his arms across his chest and stared at Artemis. It was important to the investigator in him to satisfy his suspicions. With what lay ahead of them, he needed to understand if Artemis possessed the abilities that would be demanded of her. The scientist in him wanted proof before he could accept such an untestable conclusion, but his spirit knew the truth of her identity. The product of Zeus and Leto stood before him. Artemis was as much of a god as he was ever likely to believe in. The final question was how much of that truth would she permit herself to accept.
Chapter Thirty
Jerry thought it a stroke of luck that Uberdorf had put the house, the car, and other assets in a trust belonging to the Servants of the Harbinger. A nice touch, he thought. Even nicer was leaving a list of bank accounts for his successor. Jerry had been the one to find bits and pieces of Uberdorf in the yard and had had the mess cleaned up. But his allegiance did not carry far enough for him to honor Jamil’s funeral fantasy. Instead, he had informed the local coroner about the disgusting remains and spent two days moving into Jamil’s mansion.
The cult needed leadership, and he was the obvious choice. Smarter than Uberdorf, Jerry understood the direction the Servants of the Harbinger needed to take to survive. He dropped the weekly broadcasts. He didn’t suffer from an oversized ego and realized that, given the current investigation into the cult, public appearances would be like leading with his chin.
There would be no more escalations as Uberdorf had called the ostentatious acts of violence. Jerry was much more of a cloak-and-dagger man. If you want to impress people, if you want to scare the hell out of them, you need to take them out one by one. Let them sweat wondering who would be next. And never leave a calling card.
Jerry moved swiftly to end Jamil’s war with orthodox religion. He wanted the pope as an ally not an adversary. He saw the cult as an arm of a united religiosity that regained power over believers, and he had a specific role model in mind. Unlike Uberdorf, Jerry favored the approach of Tomás de Torquemada, the infamous leader of the Spanish Inquisition. His war would not be with the clergy; it would be with nonbelievers.
He handpicked twelve Servants to be his hitmen. Twelve had worked for Jesus. The men he chose were ruthless and highly skilled. He made them put aside their robes and directed them to get buzz cuts until their hair could grow in and they could function with anonymity when necessary. They needed to be able to move freely. The robes would only be useful when they were performing seemingly constructive acts, not implementing more nefarious plans. He paid them well and provided the allure of bonuses that would eventually make them wealthy men. He liked them all, finding a kindred spirit in the men, but his favorite was an ex-navy seal named Jose.
Jose was from Haiti. He grew up poor even after his parents smuggled him into the US when he was eight. He was mean and aggressive—an explosive temperament in a short wiry body. What made him most unique was his belief in voodoo and his obsessive hatred of witches. He tended to see them everywhere, particularly in mouthy little girls and uppity women. Jerry and Jose had often discussed his peculiar predilection.
Jerry had sent him to Hawaii to search for the Andronikos woman once he’d heard rumors of her whereabouts. Jose had gone dark until he could accomplish his mission. Jerry wasn’t waiting by the phone like Uberdorf used to do. He had co
nfidence in his man, and he had a cult to reshape.
*
“I’m not going to bleach my hair.” Artemis was emphatic. “Ninety percent of the women in Hawaii have long black hair. I’d stand out more without it. And I’m not inclined to hide anyway.”
She closed the bedroom door a little too forcefully, and Lucy winced. Strang had long since gone home, and Angie was asleep. She and Artemis could finally have a conversation about the threats Strang had received. But Artemis seemed angry instead of concerned.
Lucy cocked her head. “How about changing the way you dress? You know, something soft and flowing instead of clinging and sexy.”
“Po-lease!” Artemis scowled as she undressed for bed. “I like what I wear. It’s comfortable, and I can move.” She hugged the T-shirt as if it were precious. “I’m not going to switch to a muumuu.” She thrust her hands out from her hips. “Can you imagine?”
Lucy got the idea. “Ah, no. That wouldn’t be a good look.” She twirled a strand of hair by her ear. “What about a dress?”
Artemis gave her a glare. “I wear dresses. Occasionally. When I need to.”
Lucy chuckled. “You mean those skimpy little sundresses? Those are even sexier.” She rolled her eyes. “Okay, you look good in everything. We’ll have to think of something else.”
Artemis was down to bra and panties. She gave Lucy the come-hither look that made her partner melt.
“You don’t want me to look sexy?” she purred.
Lucy sat down on the bed and wrung her hands. She knew when she had lost an argument. Artemis eased beside her and began nuzzling her neck. Lucy felt heat begin to spread through her center.
“Temmie!” she said, leaning slightly away. “We have to deal with the situation.”
Artemis continued nibbling along Lucy’s neck. “I am.” She hummed.
Lucy turned her head to say something, but her lips were suddenly busy, and her mind went blank. Artemis was the most passionate when she was feeling challenged by the outside world. Their lovemaking was going to be intense, she knew, and she gave herself to what Artemis had once promised—wondrous things.