Magic Rising

Dragonfly

By
Jennifer Cloud

Damnation Books, LLC.
P.O. Box 3931
Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998

www.damnationbooks.com

Magic Rising: Dragonfly
by Jennifer Cloud

Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-266-2

Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-267-9

Cover art by: Dawné Dominique
Edited by: Alison O’Byrne

Copyedited by: Sherri Good

Copyright 2010 Jennifer Cloud

Printed in the United States of America
Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights
1st North American and UK Print Rights

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To Richard, Mina, and Amelia

Prologue

She tried to hold her head high as she walked down the stone corridor. Her footsteps echoed, announcing her presence in the deserted hall of the boarding school. She noticed an uneasy rhythm to her walk, no doubt a sign of fear. Of course she had every right to be afraid. Niam would likely kill her for her transgression. Well, he went by Midnight here. They were all stripped of their names. It was the first thing they stole from a person before trying to remove all of their humanity.

Deirdre had never heard her name called in school. She’d been dubbed Dragonfly. Her mother thought it less gruesome than the other alternatives. Somehow her mother made her special with that name.

Midnight’s room was a few feet further. Deirdre felt her breath catch in her throat as his door came into view. She hated going into that place. Midnight was a sadistic bastard in every part of his life, especially with his women. Thankfully she wasn’t of an appropriate age or she might face a worse punishment than death. She already had the body of an adult, but her age saved her from Midnight’s games. He played horrible games.

“Come in, Dragonfly.” The door flung open before she touched it.

“Yes, sir.”

The teachers all had apartments in the main building. Each decorated it to their specific tastes. Midnight’s was adorned, as always, with women. They flocked to him, finding him handsome, charismatic, or perhaps it was the allure of his power that made them want to degrade themselves. A myriad of flesh, naked, writhing, filled her vision. Midnight stood in front, a smile plastered on his sharp features. Clearly he’d been enjoying himself before her arrival. One woman lay on the floor. Her backside was crossed with red stripes, blood oozing from the wounds. Midnight still held the whip in his hand. It dangled limply and Deirdre wondered if he also didn’t stay a bit limp unless blood was shed.

She stepped through the threshold and felt a pulse of power or perhaps it was her imagination. She couldn’t be sure any more. The only facts before her were that Midnight still held a whip in his hand and she really didn’t want to be there.

“Come further inside.”

Deirdre cleared the door and listened to it slam shut behind her. No one touched it. At Stone House, unusual occurrences were the norm. Magic wasn’t a thing of games but a show of dark arts put on display for pupils.

On the few occasions she was permitted to leave the building, she found the outside world strange and dull. Right now she could use a little of the dull. Normal people didn’t have orgies or hold whips. In the outside world drums didn’t signify a sacrifice. Homes had punishments that didn’t leave scars.

“You performed poorly.” His voice was sharp, loud in the small space.

She didn’t speak. Speaking out of turn would decrease her chances of surviving this ordeal. As it was, her transgression would be very costly.

“Why did you spare Machine?” His lips set in a hard line, looking like a gash of red on his pale face.

“Killing him seemed to be a waste. He could always be trained to do better. Perhaps a gifted teacher such as yourself could help him.”

“Look at me.”

Deirdre looked up. It was hard considering two women were pleasuring each other while a third was tied awkwardly to the wall. Thankfully, Midnight still wore his pants, but no shirt or shoes. She could see the winding scars over his chest. They were white, old, marks from something that should’ve killed him. From what she’d heard, he should’ve died many times. Too bad he hadn’t.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to be retrained.”

He came closer, touching her long dark hair. He always touched her hair and she hated it. All contact from him was unwelcome but she couldn’t say anything. She could only stand there and wait for what would come next.

“Tell me, honestly, why did you spare him? Were you seeking my attention?”

She considered the battle. She had bested Machine in a matter of four moves. Her blade held at his throat as he looked up at her. Machine wasn’t a pretty boy or charming or anything that should gain her interest. He was a nerdy boy simply trying to please the only family he’d ever known. This was the advanced class. He knew it. The expectations weren’t a surprise.

When Deirdre had looked down at Machine, she no longer saw the nerdy boy playing at being a soldier. She saw her mother. It had to be a psychological malfunction. She knew her mother was long since gone, burned in a pyre. Still, she saw her mother’s face looking up at her much like it had been that perilous day.

Maybe the simple truth was that she didn’t want to be a murderer. No, that wasn’t true. She wouldn’t mind killing Midnight. She guessed the reality of it was that she no longer cared about living.

She didn’t want to be here. She wanted a life outside these walls. When her mother lived, they’d talked about starting a security company. They’d toyed with the idea of escape from this cult and a new life on their own. Now she had no mother and no hope.

Her heart thudded faster and she feared Midnight could hear it hammering in her chest. She tried to slow it but the women behind him were moaning and Midnight’s eyes stayed on her. The effect of his stare increased her desire to run and run. He would catch her though.

“I apologize. I truly hoped he could be retrained.”

Midnight lifted the whip. “Too bad you’re not yet of age. I would enjoy teaching you many things. Now I have to think of a punishment.” His smile grew wider, the white teeth more pronounced. His black hair framed his face, making his features appear unnaturally pale. “Oh, wait. Your seventeenth birthday is next week. You’ll be of our acceptable age.” He touched himself. “I’ll save your punishment for then. We’ll both enjoy it more.”

He started laughing. Deirdre should’ve waited to be dismissed but she couldn’t stand the sight of him. She turned and ran to the door. He didn’t stop her. His laughter increased as if her fright pleased him. No doubt he would make her pay for leaving without being dismissed, along with any other sins.

She threw open the door and ran down the hall. As she reached the staircase that led to her room, the building shook. Wooden crossbeams groaned, lights tumbled, shattering at her feet. Somewhere, people screamed. An explosion made the building tremble again. The smell of smoke and charred wood filled the hall. For a moment she stood there smelling it. Her eyes burned. It became hard to breathe. Heat billowed through the structure. She wanted to stay and face whatever this was. Fire. Death. Release.

So I am a coward, she thought as she ran up the stairs and away from the flames she heard crackling too close to the main hall.

She would be trapped in her room if the fire spread. Of course deep down she prayed it would spread. She wanted to see the flames erode the building into nothing. She didn’t have the strength to watch it though.

Deirdre made it to her room and looked out of the window. Fire spread throughout the grounds. All of the closest buildings were burning. Orange-yellow flames licked toward the sky, hungry for more to consume.

“This is how it should be. This is how it should die.”

Chapter One

Ten years later

The promise of a dangerous evening lurked beneath the façade of power and social grace. It was the only interesting element to this soirée and the reason behind Deirdre’s company handling the security.

Dozens of couples danced through the reception hall of the swank Cotters Restaurant. Dull smiles stayed plastered across their faces while they moved with the classical music. A group of people clothed in black played live for the attendees of tonight’s event. They sat on a raised stage of white marble while music drifted down from their instruments to the dancers. If any of the guests were displeased with the social event, none showed it. Of course that might’ve been some sort of social faux pas. People were always supposed to be impressed and entertained by the lady of the evening, Tamara Haas.

Deirdre had to admit that she felt out of her element in Tamara’s world. She’d never been blessed with sophistication. She could topple a man to the ground in two moves but had no idea how to dance, much less which fork to use in a formal situation. Men asked her on dates. Many thought her long brown hair and slender body were appealing. Others were drawn to her pale, creamy skin and dark brown eyes. She never felt comfortable in social settings though. She’d never considered herself dainty or even feminine. Most basic interactions seemed foreign, as if she’d been dropped into a world where she would never really belong.

In a way she was jealous of the couples swirling before her eyes. They dressed in long lovely gowns, seemingly from a storybook. Not one hair strayed, nor did make-up run from its proper place. It almost looked as if the people weren’t real. This could be nothing more than a movie where nary a misstep could be seen.

As she watched, she felt her body involuntarily swaying in time with them. She had to wonder what it would be like to be held, to let another lead her around the floor. It must feel magical to be part of that scene. No. Not magical. She didn’t like magic.

Deirdre shook her head and stared into the ballroom. She had to focus, not daydream about things that couldn’t possibly happen.

She watched them, trying to reach out with her senses and pick who among them would attack her client. None showed any signs of trouble. The only palpable tension came from a few younger women, dancing with much older men. There were no guests who stuck out or behaved erratically. No wallflowers stared with menace at her employer. So far, it was another dull party.

This was one of the few establishments in the seaside town of Lawrenceton that could handle a star-studded event. Although the little community had become a playground for the rich and reclusive, it maintained small town charms instead of becoming a glossy mirror to New York. Some restaurants catered to more intimate settings and others had a family atmosphere. The trendy places of the larger metropolises never made it into Lawrenceton. For whatever reason the rich turned to the current “in” spots located far away, the basic need for real life brought them to this town.

The rich, however, always demanded special treatment. This was the main reason for her security company’s success. Even if the police department had trouble acknowledging it, people of power had unique troubles. All of which Deirdre’s company could handle. They managed to protect and serve without leaking the details to the press, something the police department here always failed to do.

Word of mouth brought Deirdre all her clients. She never asked where someone had heard about Security Specialists. She assumed that cocktail parties included gossip beyond designer dresses and social lives to that of protection. However her reputation was passed to others, the rumors of her skill had brought Tamara Haas to her company asking for protection from a stalker.

Deirdre knew the situation here would prove challenging considering the huge turnout for Tamara Haas’ party. Everyone in this town loved a good party, especially when they were able to rub elbows with their idols or increase their social network.

The ultra-modern restaurant, positioned near the ocean with long, wide windows overlooking the waves, was aesthetically pleasing. A circular drive, complete with valet parking faced the road, while side doors led to decks for smokers or guests wanting to escape the crush of the gathering. In other words, it created an ideal opportunity for a desperate stalker to hide and find the right opportunity for murder. There were too many entry points to secure. Already a killer might be within inches, playing nice, waiting for the right opening.

Music rolled off the walls. The heavy burgundy curtains dampened the sound to a dull roar making the undercurrent of conversation prevalent below the concert. A few glasses clinked while uniformed waiters made rounds with hors d’oeuvres and free flowing champagne. Everyone looked so nice, sophisticated in their tuxedos and long gowns created by designers only the rich discussed.

The room appeared to be filled to capacity. Deirdre’s crew worked each exit and key surveillance points throughout the restaurant. They blended perfectly as waiters, guests, and parking attendants. No entrance or exit area had been left unguarded.

“Where are you?” she whispered out loud.

Deirdre had a feeling the stalker would strike tonight. The opportunity was too inviting. He could attack and disappear back into the crowd before anyone realized what had happened. Her instincts were rarely wrong when it came to these things and her instincts screamed for her to be on guard.

She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the atmosphere. Again, she came up with nothing but a pack of partiers feigning more delight than they actually felt.

Deirdre watched Tamara Haas across the room. Her client was a lady of the theater, or an actress, although Ms. Tamara Haas never called herself an actress. While too young to earn so much respect, Tamara remained unaffected by the whims of Hollywood. Somewhere in her mid-thirties, perhaps ten years older than Deirdre, Tamara did not know a single person who would demean her or her work. It was weird to have someone set on such a pedestal.

Tamara’s hair was coiffed high on her head, creating an ebony tower with a few dark tendrils carefully placed around her face to accentuate her deep blue eyes. She was no shrinking violet. The woman demanded attention and dressed the part with a heaving bosom and barely enough lilac cloth in her dress to keep it contained.

Deirdre wanted to give the area another sweep. Stepping into the adjoining hallway, she checked for any guests close enough to hear her or watch her actions. A couple of women giggled as they walked by her. No doubt they’d been partaking in some drugs to liven up the evening. Deirdre waited for them to leave the area.

She was the only waitress wearing an apron over her black slacks, one with pockets wide enough to hide her nine millimeter pistol. The radio receiver fit snugly inside her ear, making it nearly invisible while the main unit was clipped neatly in the cloth. Reaching into the apron, she lifted out a small transmitter, meant to be worn at the mouth, but it could be seen during close conversations forcing her to keep it hidden until it was necessary to communicate with her crew.

“Front? Any sign of our target?”

“No.” Mark’s southern drawl came through with a terrible crackle.

“Car side?”

“Nothing.” Sabrine spoke quietly as if there might be a crowd nearby retrieving their cars from the valet.

“Back?”

“Clear. I mean nothing.” Lee never got that right. She’d trained him personally. ‘Clear’ was only to be used when the suspect had left the area. In this business one had to be anal about details and Lee was not a detail person. He was an excellent hand to hand combat man, but in all other aspects he was inferior and only used on a limited basis.

“Good. Control?”

“Nothing suspicious,” Tech replied.

Deirdre couldn’t check the other members of her crew for risk of exposing their position. One lone waitress stopping throughout the room to talk to other employees would be time consuming and obvious to anyone watching for a trap.

She had used everyone in this job, a total of thirteen guards and one computer tech, instead of her usual two or three regular agents. Most of her employees worked on a job by job basis. They were reliable, as long as they knew the pay was good. Sabrine and Tech were the only salaried staff and the only ones who didn’t need supervision.

Tech was a constant, no matter what the job. This time she had him situated in a side room, converted to an office, directly linked to the monitors that showed every corner through an elaborate camera system. Everyone at the party was on video. She always liked jobs to be recorded in case it turned nasty or the cops stopped being cordial.

Where are you? She waited, watching the crowd. Come on. Where are you?

Suddenly the atmosphere inside changed. A sensation similar to electricity swept over her like it always had when things were becoming interesting. She stepped from the hall and scanned the room. There were too many people to keep a proper visual. Deirdre felt the room’s energy change though; someone was here who didn’t belong.

With determination, she gave the room another scan. There wasn’t a single man out of place; each director, actor, backer, and several ex-husbands had been invited. The room bloomed with A-listers, wanting a moment for casual conversation with the popular diva.

From the corner of her eye, Deirdre caught a glimpse of a large black woman dressed in a bright blue gown making her way through the crowd. To Deirdre’s practiced eye, the woman’s shoulders were a little too broad and her steps had an awkward gait as she made her way through the guests.

Deirdre went forward, ignoring the order to keep security unseen. She clipped the transmitter over her ear, letting the black plastic hang next to her mouth. With a flip of the switch on the transmitter, she had continuous communication with her crew.

“BFA, shoulder length brown hair, possible wig, bright blue dress, broad shoulders. Track her, Tech. Repeat black female adult going through the crowd. Get in close.”

Less than forty-five feet separated the woman from Tamara Haas. This seemed to quicken the woman’s pace as she marched directly toward the actress, going as far as pushing through the crowd.

“Do you have a visual?” Deirdre asked as she brushed a stray hair from her face. The woman temporarily disappeared in the crowd.

“Confirmed and tracking. Black, female, adult, wearing blue dress just ahead. Keep going straight.”

Tamara Haas stood on a raised platform, holding her glass high as if thanking the room or giving a toast. In that moment Deirdre found her target. The woman shoved a waiter causing a few drinks to spill as she headed directly toward Tamara Haas.

The situation would be tricky. If this was an excited fan, her opinion of crashing parties would be changed forever. There was no mistaking the rush through the partiers though.

“Deirdre, target reaching into brassiere. High alert.”

There wasn’t a moment to lose. Deirdre pounced, closing the distance between them and causing a small commotion. She grabbed the female suspect’s right hand as a dark object appeared in the woman’s left. It was a gun.

Deirdre changed positions, taking the woman’s left hand and forcing the gun up toward the ceiling. A shot rang out, flying somewhere into the ceiling and causing the crowd to hush before a panic of bodies pushed out from the center of the room. Silence turned to screams that surrounded them while the very masculine black woman fought to bring her gun under control.

Moving swiftly, Deirdre kept the gun raised while swinging one elbow across the target’s face. A brown wig flew off the woman’s head and hit the floor. Deirdre knew she’d found her man. He easily outweighed her by a hundred pounds. Bringing one leg against the back of his calf and applying pressure, the target went to the floor, landing hard on his back. By the time the man’s dark brown eyes met hers; Deirdre had his gun and was holding it against his head.

“Police en route.” She heard Tech advise her through her earpiece. “We have full video.”

The man beneath her started to struggle. “You don’t understand. That woman has to die. My daughter’s life depends on it.”

Deirdre had heard many lies from madmen. Each suspect was convinced of the truth of some fantastical story. Not once had she ever believed their tales and usually belted them across the face for talking to her. This time, she froze. The man’s eyes were glassy pools of regret and desperation. The emotion pulled at her and she studied his tormented expression as he continued to speak.

“Please,” he begged. “She’ll cause my daughter to die.”

“How?”

Sabrine and Mark were on him, leaving their respective posts while the other employees edged away, keeping their anonymity for future jobs. Deirdre climbed off the man and the two agents rolled him onto his stomach, handcuffing the target for the cops to haul away to jail. It was a standard routine that her people followed to the letter. Still, as they took him to a side hall and the designated holding area, Deirdre knew something in his words was true. She couldn’t say anything though. She trained her people to do their job, ignore the ramblings of criminals, and never feel pity. By the same respect, she led by example. Her questions would wait for another time.

The target disappeared down the hall and Deirdre went to Tamara Haas who was being fanned by her latest suitor. A few party guests crept back in, staying in clusters at the edge of the door, curiosity kept them from leaving, but fear held them away from the main floor.

“Are you okay, Ms. Haas?” Deirdre looked the woman over, noticing that her eyes appeared glassy and her bottom lip trembled.

“Yes. A bit stunned-up but fine. Thank you.”

“Good.” The timing was bad but Deirdre couldn’t resist. The target had said some things that correlated directly with the actress. “What’s your relationship to the gentleman who attempted the attack?”

“Nothing.” Tamara Haas touched her mouth, before crossing her arms over her chest as if caught in a terrible draft. Her body language spoke volumes.

Deirdre hated when people lied to her. Anger swelled in her bosom. Unlike the A-listers, Deirdre didn’t give a rat’s ass who Tamara Haas was or what connections she had. Her only concern was a case that felt off.

“Don’t lie to me, ma’am. He claims that you have a connection to his daughter. He’s going to tell the cops the same story, and if I know the guys at that police station, the rumor will be in the papers by morning.”

“I don’t know anything about him or his family. You shouldn’t listen to the stories of the insane.”

“I probably shouldn’t.” She paused, watching the actress fidget uncomfortably. “I’ll send you my bill.”

Deirdre turned to the hallway where the target had been taken. It was a desolate space, primarily used for storage and filing. The staff at Cotters had opened up this section for any detainees and given her the biggest room on the hall for any work. It had a few fold-out chairs and one sturdy table. The room didn’t look like it belonged in the same building as the sparkling chandeliers, crisp linens, and polished marble floors. It just goes to prove that even buildings have dark sides.

She opened the door, seeing Mark standing guard until the police arrived. The gentleman they’d caught burst into tears and she prayed this job would be over quickly. She didn’t like to see men cry.

“Has the target said anything?” Deirdre asked.

“Only ranting about his daughter. When are those cops going to show up?” It seemed the target’s reaction bothered Mark too.

“Soon. Tech called them as soon as I took down the target.”

“I am not a target. My name is Shope. Jack Shope. You have to stop Tamara. She’ll get my daughter. My baby can’t die.” Without the wig, he looked like any normal man on the street. His hair was cropped close to the scalp, nearly military. His eyes were wide, glassy, and his muscular form hulking in his dress and heels. His black skin looked even darker beneath the bright blue dress. “I’m not crazy. I’m only protecting my daughter. You have to believe me.” His words cut through Deirdre’s shell and touched her heart.

Protecting his daughter. That was a familiar sentiment.

She couldn’t get involved. Everything had to be kept at a distance. The criminals were “targets”, nothing more, no names, nothing personal. The people who hired them were called “clients”. There could be no emotional attachment to either for Deirdre to do her job efficiently. She knew it was the one rule to never break, almost never.

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Lora Shope.”

Mark looked at her, appearing shocked over her question. They’d worked together since she’d started Security Specialists. Not once had she ever addressed a target. She’d never had a client tell her a complete lie about the association with a stalker either. Tamara Haas had told Deirdre too many lies to be an innocent victim.

“Deirdre, the police have arrived.” Sabrine stepped to the side and motioned to someone behind her.

There were other questions Deirdre wanted to ask but the timing was bad. The daughter’s name didn’t mean much to her but perhaps asking made the target feel better. A man in a dress shouldn’t cry in jail. Nasty things could happen when the guards weren’t looking.

“Let’s prepare the target for transfer.”

A uniformed officer entered behind Sabrine. He seemed too taken with Sabrine’s backside to say anything at first. Sabrine was a spunky girl who, in Deirdre’s opinion, was built for sex but had martial art skills that would drop half the police force if she felt so inspired. Sabrine kept her hair short, rising in a three-inch spike on the top of her head and dyed fire engine red. It added to her tough exterior, one that she’d practiced for years.

Without turning, Sabrine addressed the officer. “If you’re done ogling, I’d like to get my cuffs off the target.”

The officer stepped around her mumbling something incoherent. Sabrine followed, removing her cuffs while the officer placed his around the target’s wrists, and searched him. With the transfer completed, the target had become the official property of the Lawrenceton Police Department.

“Well if it isn’t Deirdre Galiena Flye? When we got the call I thought I might see you.”

The detective who entered the room wore a cheap suit, cheaper cologne, and had irritated Deirdre since the first moment she laid eyes on him six years ago.

“Hello Farmer,” remarked Sabrine with an equal amount of distaste.

“Just call me Deirdre. The rest is too long.” This guy had been a major thorn in her side since he made detective. “Do you think you can take this guy to jail without losing him?”

“Whenever you have time to give me a statement.”

“You know Tech handles that. He’s upstairs and is currently making you a copy of the surveillance video. That will be sufficient.”

He started to say something, then closed his mouth. Deirdre had special arrangements with the local authorities and they made concessions where she was concerned. She protected people with power, those with media connections, and people who could get the mayor re-elected. Few locals messed with Deirdre.

Except for Ryan Farmer.

Farmer stepped closer, apparently in the mood to start trouble. She hated how he enjoyed talking close, forcing her to endure the scent of old cigarettes and coffee breath. When he first did this, she thought he was about to come on to her, but no. This guy must’ve picked it up from a bad PI movie where the jerk spoke low, sharing secrets no one else in the room was supposed to hear.

“I researched you Deirdre Galiena Flye. I know all about you. Flye, that’s Irish right? You’re a little tall but I could see you being Irish, Deirdre Galiena Flye.” His words were an obscene whisper that sent waves of repulsion down her spine. She hated when he said her name. That’s probably why he kept doing it.

“I have no idea if the name is Irish.” She tried to shift away from him without being obvious. “It sounds like you’ve been busy checking up on me.”

“I know about the fire. I know about that house you’re from.”

She swallowed hard, her heart sounding in her ears like a drum. The thought that someone else had found out made her blood run cold, but she couldn’t let Farmer know that.

It was difficult but she steadied her voice. “Fire? You’re going to have to be more specific. Are we talking candlelight or are you trying to pin some forest fire on me now?”

He laughed a whiny grating sound that ended in a snort she’d never heard in a person. He leaned in again, making her smell him for the second time tonight.

“I mean the Stone House fire.”

“You’ll have to give me more than that.” She smiled and fought the urge to grit her teeth.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“It would help me know what you’re talking about.” She felt Mark come forward, standing as her backup. That was the reason she kept Mark around. He was always quick to react and knew that the appearance of his large, muscled body was enough to end a conversation.

“We’ll have this discussion another time.” Farmer glanced at Mark then at the officer holding up Mr. Shope. “I’ll catch you later. I really will, Dragonfly.”

She stiffened at the old cult name, the one she’d left behind when Stone House burned. That was the name of the dead.

That’s what she felt like sometimes though. She felt dead inside. There were moments when she believed she had also died in that damned building. All she had now was the ghost of who she could’ve been.

Chapter Two

Deirdre parked in front of her house, which was situated in the boring subdivision where she’d lived for five years. It was a house she considered normal, average. It was a cookie cutter with beige stucco and a manicured lawn. Her subdivision only had three variations of houses making everything blissfully generic.

She’d chosen this place specifically because it looked like nothing out of the ordinary could ever happen here. No chants would wake her in the night, no screams, no blood. Magic seemed to have been banned by the very nature of the mundane. She supposed that could be a bad thing. People still wished on stars, they continued to look to the heavens for answers. Magic still existed in a child’s laugh or a bird’s song. Unfortunately she was unaccustomed to recognizing these simple constructs. All she’d experienced was the dark side of things.

She pushed open her car door and walked to the front door. Here, even the darkest shadows would hide only a sprinkler head or perhaps a lizard looking for a snack. This made her feel a little better after the difficult day she’d experienced. It made her feel normal.

Not like Dragonfly.

As she approached her door, she heard the leaves crunch. Branches moved to her left. She jerked, checking the ground. A moment later a white blur jumped at her feet, latching around her calf and climbing up.

She nearly punched the thing until she recognized her neighbor’s cat. For some odd reason it had adopted Deirdre. She wasn’t sure what to do about it. She plucked it as lovingly as she could from her leg, listening to the rip of her pants as she did it. With a gentle push, she released Snowball back into the bushes.

I can stop bad guys but a single cat can kick my ass.

The door unlocked with a slight metallic sound. She pushed it open and hung her keys on the hook. First thing, she grabbed a pouch of food that she kept by the door. Before Snowball could make a second attack, she opened the peace offering. The cat appeared at the sound of the pouch being opened, looking pleased and purring loudly.

With her offering paid, she stepped inside. She kept a black candle on the table by the entrance. It was her routine to light it the moment she came home. This she did with a scratched match and the scent of sulfur.

Most religions had some special use for candles. She’d heard of everything from healing to breaking curses. She lit this candle to absorb the negative energy, not that she expected it to work. Her rite had more to do with habit than any belief.

The only thing Deirdre truly believed in was herself. Everything else in this world had failed her. Of course she turned from her upbringing at Stone House. Christianity had a kinder spin on things than the dark arts practiced around her when she’d been a child. Still, some things made her feel better, like lighting the black candle.

She went through the house to the kitchen where she grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Deirdre returned and flopped into a large chair in front of the television. The overstuffed gray chair with its wide cushions was her favorite seat. There were two short matching couches but this was her spot to let the job melt away.

Kicking off her high-heeled boots, she curled her legs beneath her, and wiggled her cramped toes. High heels were killers on the job but she liked the added height. Deirdre was hardly petite. Her long lean frame stretched out to five foot eight, but three inch heels helped her survey a room.

Her rumpled clothes were uncomfortable and smelled of rich peoples’ perfumes that all clashed, mixing in her shirt. She was too tired to change yet though. All she wanted to do was to relax. Deirdre flipped through a few channels settling on some standup comic whose last jokes brought a rousing crash of laughter.

What a night. A strange bust and then Farmer.

The deal with Farmer bothered her. She didn’t like people digging through her past. There really wasn’t much he could’ve found. Then again, she didn’t think he would find any connection between her and Stone House, much less the fire that had killed so many people.

Ryan Farmer was an asshole who reminded her of a Pez dispenser. No other way existed to describe the beady eyes peering out from thick cheeks. He wasn’t fat anywhere but his face and the distortion gave him a strange appearance, like his head belonged on a different body.

She had met Farmer when he was only a rookie and she started taking security assignments. He messed up and lost a target after she turned custody over to him. The police failed to notify her or her client that the target was back on the street. Forty-eight hours later the target scaled a wall, and fired into the client’s bedroom window killing her. Deirdre made a stink and nearly had Farmer fired. From that point forward, he’d been after her. He seemed to have picked up a new zest for hating her over the last few weeks. It was strange that time had increased his anger rather than numbing it.

I won’t let it bother me. He can’t know. It’s not possible.

For a moment she remembered that place, the smells. She’d witnessed them taking the energy of the dying. The blood…

No. I can’t think about that now. They were mortal men. They all burned.

Deirdre usually avoided watching the news because the sight of human atrocity depressed her. The lame comedic routine grew bothersome so she risked it. Tonight she wanted to see if her earlier escapade had made it into the media. The local affiliates were playing old movies but she found a national station and watched. Fifteen minutes passed before the story she was waiting for came on, only she didn’t expect the spin they touted.

“An attempted attack on actress Tamara Haas’ life was thwarted by a local security company. The name of the suspect, who was killed at the scene, has not been released.” The woman with stiff hair smiled as if the subject were pleasing. “Ms. Haas was unavailable for comment.”

Great, the news had messed up another story. That figured. They rarely got things right, but this was the first time they incorrectly announced the death of someone Deirdre had brought down during a job. Maybe Ms. Haas had that added that for more publicity. She has been unavailable for comment.

She yawned and looked at the phone. Surely Ryan hadn’t shot the guy. Her eyes eased closed and then she jerked them open again. She couldn’t rest without finding out for certain. One phone call and she would know if Shope was still alive. Grudgingly she picked up the cordless and dialed the station.

“Lawrenceton Police Department. How many I help you?” A young man answered the phone.

“Is Officer Smythe there?”

“One moment and I’ll check.”

A terrible mix of digitalized music filled her ear. She wished they’d update to something from this century. The strange synthetic mix did nothing to make her feel better or like holding.

“Smythe here.”

“How’s my favorite police officer?” She loved teasing Noah Smythe. He was a few years older than Deirdre and one of the few officers in town who had a chance at besting her in a fair fight. Not that she ever wanted to fight with him, a face that pretty should be kept scar free.

“I knew you’d call once the report aired.” He groaned and Deirdre knew there had been trouble. “Quite a mess here on the night shift. Everybody’s talking about it.”

She let out a long breath. “So it’s true?”

“Fraid so. Ryan had no choice but to drop him during an escape attempt. Guy was found face down, armed, after trying to flee down an alley not far from the restaurant. Ryan did the only thing he could on this one.”

“Damn.” Farmer had done it again. “I can’t believe it.”

That was not the information she wanted to hear. A death, even of a crazed man, made her guts knot. It figured that the incident would happen on Ryan Farmer’s shift. Shope should’ve never been given an opportunity to escape. His hands were cuffed. There was another officer. Shope should’ve gone to the station easily.

“Deirdre, why didn’t you call me on my cell phone?”

She knew why she had used the station’s number, to keep this business only. Noah had been asking her out for the last year. Two weeks ago, she’d given in and agreed to a date. It had been nice, maybe wonderful, but there was no room in her life for romance. There wasn’t anything wrong with Noah. He was handsome, charming, and knew all the right things to say. She couldn’t connect with him though. It was her fault. During her unique education, she’d never been given the tools for proper social interaction or maybe he was too good for her. Either way, whenever he touched her hand, she always pulled back.

“I guess I lost the number.” Not exactly the truth. She was sure the number was upstairs, someplace. There was no reason to find it though.

“Okay. If that’s your story.” Noah sounded disappointed. She hated doing that to him. He looked like a guy that should be married with two kids and a mini van. All the neighbors’ wives would flirt while he stayed faithful to some perfect lady who spent her time baking, not running security for glitzy clientele.

There was no reason to torture herself. She didn’t expect things in her life to change, and frankly, really didn’t want them to. If she found Mr. Right, then he’d better like her high heels, leather pants, and occupation. Of course she knew she was kidding herself again. Deep inside, she was afraid that there was nothing there. She was a shell, a half person. The vibrant woman she might’ve become died years ago at Stone House. Noah didn’t deserve that. He deserved something far better.

She tried to focus and realized that they’d been quiet for too long. This call wasn’t about dates or anything social. She wanted to find out what happened to the target after he’d reached police custody.

“Noah, how did Shope get out of his cuffs? He couldn’t very well pose a threat, even with a gun, while his hands were cuffed behind his back.” Much less go tearing through an alley.

“Cuffs? Ryan said that you’d hurt his wrist and they couldn’t cuff him properly.”

Her jaw clenched. Detective Ryan Farmer had some serious explaining to do. She didn’t send men off with the boys in blue to have their brains blown out over something stupid. Her job was protection, only protection. People, even the bad guys, weren’t supposed to die.

“Thanks Noah. I’ve got to go.”

“What’s wrong?”

At first she didn’t want to tell him. Smythe had acted like her friend, tried to date her, but he was a cop first. Anything she said could ruin their friendship, if their date hadn’t already done that. He deserved an answer though. “Shope was never seriously injured and when he left me, he was handcuffed.”

Farmer was at it again, blaming her for his mistakes. Questions remained, why did Farmer take Shope’s cuffs off? Whose gun did he get?

“Are you sure?”

“I’m willing to bet Tech caught it on video.” She stopped, knowing it would be best to end this conversation now. “Thanks for talking to me. I’ve got to go. Goodnight Noah.” She hung up the phone. This wasn’t the time to argue the finer points of his department. As far as she knew, Noah was a wonderful officer. It was naïve of him to believe all of the staff had his priorities.

There was nothing she could do about it tonight. Walking toward the gray tiled stairs up to her bedroom, she began to shed her clothes. She dropped her shirt on the floor just outside the living room, her bra followed, landing on a step, and her pants fell outside the bedroom door. By the time she entered the room she was naked and grateful to be sliding between the soft cotton sheets.

Farmer was out to get her. She only hoped he hadn’t killed a man to do it. She also had to wonder what he really knew about Stone House. He couldn’t know much. She didn’t know of any survivors beside herself.

Stone House. The very sound of the words haunted her.

She’d lived in Stone House when the fire happened. It was called Stone House for the eighteen-inch-thick stone walls that made up the four-story structure. Rumor claimed that it was an old monastery. She doubted it. That edifice, although steeped in a religion, was always used as training grounds and nothing about the occupants’ dogma included a Christian doctrine.

Deirdre shivered when she thought about the plain board bed with its thin mat and thinner blanket. They’d never even given her a pillow. Everything was kept to a bare minimum. She was permitted two changes of clothes, one pair of shoes, and all the weapons she could master, just like her mother.

“Mom,” she whispered into her pillow as fatigue gave into a thick sleep. “The fire talks to me, Momma. It talks, Scorpion.” Her mother’s name had been Aidena and Stone House had killed her.

Chapter Three

The bedside phone rang until Deirdre could stand it no longer. Hatefully, she jerked up the receiver, wishing whoever it was had left a message instead of calling repeatedly. Nothing could be that important.

“What?” She kept her eyes closed as she answered, not wanting to see daylight yet. “Talk.”

When the person hesitated to speak she nearly hung up, turned off the ringer, and went back to sleep. Everyone who called her knew, or soon learned, that she was not a morning person. That meant whoever rang her line was either sadistic or an unknowing idiot.

“Hello Deirdre.” When she heard Ryan Farmer’s voice, she knew the answer was sadistic.

“What?” She didn’t want to go through this and nearly hung up, then she thought about Shope. Part of her hoped for an apology or an explanation for the death of a man who should be speaking to a lawyer now instead of being parked in the city morgue.

“Ready to talk about Stone House?” His words were teasing, trying to torture her or pull out more information. He couldn’t know much.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Deirdre hung up the phone. She cracked open her sleep-filled eyes to the early morning rays daring to enter her bedroom. Everything in the room seemed brighter, bouncing light off the blue walls in a glaring display. She felt dark though, black and crumbling, decaying from the inside out and nothing could change that.

Secrets couldn’t be buried forever, no matter how many times she prayed that they could. She wasn’t sure what was left of the structure or what links it had to her. Something had to exist for Farmer to be so smug.

She flopped back against her pillow but sleep wouldn’t return to her. She tossed, covered her head, but every time she shut her eyes Ryan Farmer or Stone House would come back into her mind. It slid in like a whisper to annoy her when she tried to rest. The last thing she wanted to dream about was Farmer so she punched the pillow and sat up.

There was no point in lying in that comfortable spot while thoughts filled her mind to bursting. Certain things had to be dealt with and that included Farmer. She had been gentle with him, until now. If he were so curious about her past, then she would make him very involved with her life.

She picked up the phone by the bed and dialed Tech. His real name was Ramon but for some reason he found it an insult and would only answer to Tech. The handle suited him considering his world revolved around computers and gadgets Deirdre had no clue how to operate.

The first part of any gig was research. That was Tech’s department. Private matter or not, this would be dealt with like any other job. Ryan Farmer had become a target. It was time to see what hid in his closet and discover any useable advantages.

“Who the hell is this?”

Ahh, another morning person. “Deirdre. Got work for you and I need it ASAP.”

“Fuck. It’s too early for this shit.” He kept grumbling but she heard the shuffling of papers in the background. Tech was a grouchy cuss. He was one of those thin little computer nerds who wouldn’t stand a chance in a dark alley, but brilliant in all other aspects. He was invaluable in computer research and surveillance.

“I just love it when you keep a pad of paper by the bed,” she taunted, causing him to growl again. “I need information on a police officer. His name is Ryan Farmer. He works out of our local precinct and he’s causing me grief. Dig deep and make it fast.”

“Didn’t we see him last night?” Before she could answer, something thudded and he cursed again. “Do I get a bonus?”

“No. You get to keep your job.” Deirdre waited and heard more fussing. “And we both know how you love your job.”

“One day you’ll wake up and feel terrible about the way you treat me.” He let out a few more grumbles but his usual level of irritation had returned.

She could imagine his little blond head, hair bed wrecked, and his green eyes focusing on pen and paper. Deep inside, she was pretty sure he enjoyed being needed. On a few occasions she’d heard him talking to himself as if he pretended to be a secret agent or some such nonsense.

“I’ll get over it.” She laughed, unable to stop herself. “Thanks. If this weren’t important, I wouldn’t ask.”

“Sure. Call me later and I’ll tell you what I’ve found.”

She hung up the phone, feeling better that he was checking into Ryan. Tech might uncover something. He’d always come through in the past giving them the edge in unpredictable situations. The knowledge gained against their targets had saved their asses many times. She also knew that his hobby was hacking into government computers. As far as she knew, he never altered anything. It was game to see how far he could get.

As soon as she got something on Ryan, she could find out what really happened with Jack Shope. A man doesn’t escape police custody easily, or end up with a gun after being searched. The whole thing reeked and she didn’t like it when her tactics were called into question.

Deirdre picked up the phone again and dialed. “Tech,” she spoke before he could say anything. “While you’re at it. Check out a Lora Shope. See if there’s any connection with that Haas woman or Farmer.”

“What takes priority?”

She thought about it a moment. Lora Shope wasn’t a case, only a hunch. “Farmer. I’ve got to get him under control before this gets worse. He’s been researching me, now he’s fair game.”

After hanging up the phone, she got out of bed, stretching her unwilling body to life. Her next stop was the shower. She turned on the water, which took forever to run hot. Deirdre checked herself in the mirror, finding smeared eyeliner around her very dark brown eyes. Her brown hair framed her face causing her pale skin to look ghostly.

Only hot water would bring her out of a sleepy state. She showered quickly and dressed. She’d just got her black tank top tucked into her jeans when the phone started ringing again. Deirdre almost answered before she recognized the phone number. It was Farmer again. This time when the machine came on, he left a message.

“Deirdre Galiena Flye.” He always said her name like it was a curse, elongating each syllable. It was bits of family names scattered from Ireland and maybe in them was some sort of curse. Still, the way he spoke it bothered her. “You can’t avoid me forever. We need to talk. Call me before I make your life difficult. Your clients might get a better idea of who you really are.”

So the man had been reduced to making threats. She had always considered intimidation a sign of weakness. A person either acted or didn’t. To constantly warn an enemy was revealing. Now she had to figure out what he was really saying. Perhaps he had nothing but a name and hoped to trick her into a confession.

Her stomach grumbled loudly. She took a cold bottle of water out of the refrigerator along with eggs and sausage links. Most mornings she had cold cereal but today she craved protein. She cracked the eggs into a bowl and whipped them while the sausage sizzled.

Icy shivers seeped beneath her shirt, caused by her damp hair. Standing over the hot frying pan helped. As soon as breakfast was finished cooking, she wrapped a towel around her shoulders and ate.

Her meals were taken in front of the television, a marvel she discovered at the age of fourteen. The lighted box was amazing, at least she thought so then. At first she believed it held magic, some fancy power not even the leaders at Stone House could manage. Now, it was mostly noise but she welcomed any distraction from her thoughts. As for magic, well, she knew better.

After breakfast, she grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the gym. It was a five-day–a-week ritual. She usually found the rest of her crew there but today, thanks to Farmer, she was running a couple of hours ahead of schedule.

She pulled her red Viper out of her drive and onto the busy streets of Lawrenceton. The town had grown tremendously over the last few years. Several of the cities to the south had gained large Latino populations making the whites of the area scurry to escape the ever constant presence of the Spanish language and the change of the general culture.

Deirdre wished for a wider spectrum of ethnic groups in Lawrenceton. The place held little diversity. The landscape comprised the upper middle class with their two children, dog in the back, and the really wild ones also owned a cat. On the outskirts, the money lived in beach-front homes where privacy and security were a prime concern. The celebs vacationed here, looking for some hometown feel that wasn’t anyone’s hometown.

They all wanted something generic, safe, and like themselves. Their spice consisted of parties with other people just like them. They talked about their cars, their clothes, their jewelry, and rarely found topics of substance. Most were in the upper income levels with some being filthy rich. It seemed economic divides bothered them almost as much as ethnic ones.

Of course all races seemed to prefer to stay with people like them instead of mixing with others. She could only guess that was their way of protecting themselves. Things weren’t supposed to change. No one would be dangerous if they were alike.

On matters of race, religion, and politics, Deirdre never commented or argued. These things were rooted too deeply into a person to change an opinion through discussion. Deirdre was white, and raised with a mix of skin colors who all functioned with a singular frame of mind instilled by Stone House. She didn’t encounter stereotyping until she left the compound. In her childhood they weren’t even allowed to be people, much less identified by race.

Sabrine, her employee, had a different version of the world. She was the child of an African man and a white woman. The result was a slight kink in her hair, a tan, and high cheekbones. She’d been educated on race, learning the hard way about ideas in the South.

Deirdre had never understood why Sabrine worked for her. Her father had a very successful company in Atlanta building computer systems for businesses that couldn’t use the generic software available. Instead of working for him, Sabrine had joined the Marines, doing two years and getting a four-year college education out of the deal. Her father had the money for school but he also raised her to be incredibly independent. That positive trait was Sabrine’s biggest flaw. She had never been much of a team player, which was a big reason her military career had been cut short.

Sabrine was a great employee though and one of the few people Deirdre trusted. She guessed that made Sabrine a friend. Deirdre wasn’t really sure. The concept of friendship came from television and that silly thing could never be trusted.

Deirdre drove through downtown then pulled in front of an anonymous brick building. On the outside, the place looked deserted, some shelter for the homeless to camp when they weren’t traveling. It was Hannah’s Gym that actually occupied the building and it was the best in town. There were some glossier establishments with chrome and big glass windows in front. Those places were frequented by soccer moms trying to get their waistlines back and the overly-built boys, growing muscle for show instead of function. Deirdre never cared for those places. She wasn’t there to socialize or shed an extra pound. She went to Hannah’s to train.

The morning air was comfortable but by noon the sun would broil anyone caught on the street only to shock them when evening came and the brisk autumn winds chilled people to the bone. There were several drawbacks to living so close to the beach, but she dealt with tourist traffic and heat, for the ocean, milder winters, and quiet peace she always hoped to find in that tumbling surf.

She got out of the car and walked up the concrete stairs to the door. It was glass with metal bars running down the front of it. During the day the area was great, but at night the worst of humanity seemed to lurk in the darkness, necessitating bars over the glass and customers staying out of the area after business hours. Well, Deirdre didn’t avoid anywhere, but then she wasn’t most people.

The inside of the building was chilly, the air conditioning already cranked up to full blast. The receptionist recognized her and waved Deirdre inside. The next door worked on a card system. Members swiped their plastic membership cards through a slot to get into the main part of the gym, leaving the receptionist out front to deal with new members and riff raff alike. Once through the gym doors, Deirdre went to the ladies’ locker room.

Deirdre opened her bag and started to change into her shorts when her cell phone rang. She didn’t want to look at the display, dreading that Farmer might have given up calling her at home and had started monopolizing her cell phone. He proved to be ingenious when it came to getting her phone numbers and rarely called her office, the only public number.

The digital chime demanded her attention so she risked it. Thankfully, the number belonged to Tech. Relief washed over her.

“Talk.” She looked around the locker room and found it empty.

“I’ve been checking into Farmer. So far rumor has more than the hard facts. I did a search like you asked and came up with little but his stats as an officer and general family information. I called a friend on the force for more info, a friend, I might add, who works nights and had just gone to bed.”

“Is there a point coming?” She paced along the smooth concrete floor with green metal lockers running on each side from floor to ceiling. It caused a weird echo whenever she spoke. She wasn’t crazy about the locker room because it always smelled of chlorine, either from the nearby pool or a recent mopping.

“Patience. Anyway, Detective Farmer has been asking around about you. Apparently you’ve been something of an obsession of his for the last few weeks.”

That much she figured. Farmer must’ve grown tired of butting heads with her and had tried another approach. There was no way of knowing what he intended to do with his information. The least would be knocking Deirdre down a few pegs and possibly ending some of the privileges the force gave her.

“This is what I pay you for?”

“There’s more. He’s been making trips out to the mountains. People noticed that he was hard to find, showing up late and taking hours to report to a scene. Even the mileage on his issued car has been way over. Their boss did a check of his computer and found a map of...some damn place in the middle of nowhere. Let’s see. I wrote the name of the place down.” The sound of papers rustling followed.

“Madison, somewhere along the mountain side before Walnut. A deserted, privately-owned section of land where a large stone structure once stood.”

“I don’t know about all that. All I have is in Madison. How’d you know?”

“Call it a hunch. Keep digging. Don’t forget Lora Shope.”

Deirdre ended the call. There were no records of what happened at Stone House. She checked into it personally, trying to find any list of other survivors. As far as she could tell, she was the only one, although there was no documentation of her either. Everything was difficult to track since no member had ever learned another’s true legal name. Farmer had to have gone excavating. She wasn’t sure what was left in that old place but the bastard had found something damning. Surely everything had been burned along with the structure.

I hope everything burned.

She picked up her bag and headed out of the locker room, realizing that she would have to skip her exercise routine today. She had to go and see what was left to haunt her in those old mountains. Her secrets could be out and that thought grew more unsettling with every moment. If Ryan Farmer knew, how many others were just a hike away from her past? Something bad might still live in those mountains and they might find it and the life she left behind.

Her past might reach out and take her.

Deirdre shivered and looked around, feeling paranoid. Being in any public place now made her feel strange, exposed. She needed to get out of there and she knew where she had to go back, even if she’d sworn to never return. She had to discover what was left of that hell and what connection remained to her.

The painted path from the locker room to the exit went by the punching bag. She wasn’t dressed for boxing, and didn’t even have her gloves out. Stress filled her though and the temptation grew overwhelming. As she walked by, she kicked up, swinging her foot against the bag and knocking it hard into the wall behind. Two chains on the front broke loose and the bag swung awkwardly back and forth from the remaining chain.

“Deirdre?” Chad walked up wearing his standard Hannah’s Gym t-shirt and sweats. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You only break my equipment when something is wrong.”

Hannah’s Gym was named after the owner Chad Griff’s daughter, Hannah. The name threw people. Everyone expected a female to be the owner. Few asked why he’d done it. After a sparring match with Chad, Deirdre had. Chad used to be an addict, one of those heroine fools ready to beg, borrow, or steal for a fix. Then his girlfriend got pregnant. He never shot up again. Two years later he borrowed enough money to start this gym and named it after the girl who had saved his life. Hannah was sixteen now, the gym fourteen.

“Sorry. I’ll pay for the damage.” She started to the door.

“I don’t want you to pay for the damage; I want to know what’s bothering you.”

Deirdre felt his hand on her shoulder and stopped walking. Most people would’ve earned her venom for touching her, but Chad was different. She respected him.

“How about some coffee? I just started a pot brewing.”

She turned and silently followed him through the gym to the rear section where a heavy glass door led to a set of offices. He held the door open for her, then proceeded to the back where he kept his office.

“So what’s going on?” He poured two coffee cups and put one in front of her.

“It’s complicated.” She sat in the vinyl chair to the side of his desk, wishing she hadn’t come in here. She should’ve dealt with Farmer, not given into the temptation of prolonging her trip to her old school.

“Everything is complicated with you.”

The hot black liquid was compelling. She usually drank nothing but water, but Chad’s special blend was an enticement she couldn’t resist. Trying to ignore him, she blew into the cup.

“Talk Deirdre or I’ll drive you nuts asking questions.”

“That’s the last thing I need.” She let out a long breath, wondering where to begin. Most people had a simple childhood, not like hers. Her past didn’t consist of ex-boyfriends or family sagas around a rebellious streak. “Somebody’s nosing into my business and I don’t know what to do about him.”

“Is it a friend or foe?” Chad looked grim, keeping his eyes on her.

“Foe. An asshole cop.”

“It isn’t your boyfriend, is it?”

“No and Noah isn’t my boyfriend.” She pulled a piece of lint off her pants, trying to find something to look at instead of Chad. “I don’t like people digging around about me. There’s a Detective Ryan Farmer who has made me his pet project.”

Chad raised an eyebrow. “So, do what you always do when you don’t like a situation. Investigate and handle the problem.” He studied her closer. “There’s something different about this one, isn’t there? It’s too personal and you can’t take it.”

She hated when he knew her motivations. “I can take anything. I was already planning to look into this.” Deirdre sipped the coffee and scalded her tongue. She took a few breaths through her mouth, trying to ease the burn.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

She hadn’t thought about it. The idea that Farmer could hurt her seemed ridiculous after everything she’d been through. “No. It’s just disturbing to have to deal with my childhood. I thought I’d put it behind me.”

“You never told me about your past. All these years, you’ve kept the pre-Lawrenceton part of your life to yourself.” He leaned back in the large leather chair that was only suitable for a boss. “You know everything about me.”

“That’s because you won’t shut up.” She grinned and tried the coffee again. This time it went down, although her tongue still stung.

“Deirdre?”

“How’s Hannah?”

“No changing the subject. Now, tell me about yourself. Come on. It’ll make you feel better.” When she didn’t respond, he kept going. “It would do you good to talk to a friend, instead of dealing with this alone. Tell me anything. How about your family, your father?”

“There’s nothing to deal with. I never knew my father.” As a child she’d been forbidden from asking about him. It wasn’t that big an issue. She hadn’t even addressed her mother in public, except by her Stone House name.

Chad looked at her, chewing his lip in that absent way that meant he was thinking. She supposed he thought of her as a daughter, so any information about her background, or any problem; he wanted to know about it. He pried for further details.

“Did you miss not having a father? Did your mom date?”

She loved him for his attention, but her childhood was impossible to explain. Back then, she’d thought it was normal. How was she supposed to know life didn’t have to involve pain?

“Mom never remarried.” The answer was simple and would do. “I don’t know of any men that caught her eye.”

“How’s your mother now?”

Deirdre closed her eyes and was surprised that the image of fire was there instead of metal and blood. The inferno ate up the walls, lapping against anything it could consume, and Deirdre had stood in the midst of it laughing, wishing to join her mother until self preservation kicked in. Even now she thought she heard her mother’s voice in the flames.

“She’s dead.” Deirdre felt her eyes tear up. The reaction surprised her and, from the look on Chad’s face, he was shocked too. “Sorry. I didn’t think it would still upset me.”

“How’d she die?”

“An accident.” A murder. “There was an accident at a picnic.” There was a killing on the exercise field and Mom never had a chance. “A car came through the crowd, out of control.” But it wasn’t a car, it was a man, and Mom died because Dragonfly had failed. In effect, Dragonfly had killed her mother.

“Must’ve been tough. How old were you?”

“Fifteen.” She sniffled, and tried to keep her bottom lip from quivering by biting it. “I got over it.”

He leaned over and hugged her around the edge of the desk. Chad was the only man she ever let hug her, maybe it was because the contact was always innocent. She never once sensed the lust in him that so many men held for her, and shamefully, she enjoyed the contact. If this was friendship, it was a better gift than anything.

“This detective guy is digging into her death?”

“Yes.” She pressed her face against his shoulder. Farmer was digging into more than her mother’s death; he was digging into the deaths of hundreds. Worse, he was finding out her secrets, seeing through to a past Deirdre never wanted revealed. “I didn’t think anybody would bring it up.”

“You know you have to face this. Putting it to rest is the only way to make it stop.”

“I know.” Pulling away from him, she stood and turned to the door. This was upsetting her and she couldn’t do this now, not here. The gym was her refuge, not a place to cry it out and wish her problems would vanish. “There’s no better time like the present. I’m going to handle this now.”

“Be careful. If you need me, call.”

Deirdre nodded, knowing that a family man had no business involving himself with anything as twisted as her history. She wasn’t crazy about involving Tech, but she trusted her employees to an extent. They were her backup.

She walked out of the gym and found the temperature already growing with an uncomfortable stickiness. Deirdre tossed her bag into the backseat of her Viper and slid into the driver’s seat.

As she started the engine, her cell phone rang. She glanced down and saw Noah Smythe’s number. Talking with him now wouldn’t help her. She never understood his need to constantly check on her. It had started before their first date, so the extra attention couldn’t be blamed on romance. Some people were just clingy.

Letting the call go to voice mail, she pulled onto the main road. She hadn’t ever driven to Stone House and it took her a minute to figure out which interstate would take her there. She connected the routes in her mind and made an abrupt U-turn in the middle of the street.

Ten years ago she’d sworn never to return to that hellish place. All of her possessions had been left behind except for one change of clothes and a short sword. Everything else burned with the building. She’d hung around, watching from the woods as the forestry service came to fight the fire. There was no saving the structure. The roof collapsed and much of the front wall fell in at the same time. It had been a strange sound. The fire had been loud, but the stone crumbling down was reduced to a rush, like an ocean wave breaking on shore. She was supposed to die in the blaze.

At the time of the fire, she had wanted to. The only place she called home was burning and her mother was dead. Survival instincts took over as soon as the first floor caught light. Grabbing her single bag, and crawling up the stairs, she escaped the flames. With the window open, fresh air remained tinged with the stench of fire below. She didn’t want to burn. Burning hurt too much. Instead, Deirdre jumped from the ledge of the second story, landing in the wood-chip pile, where they’d stuffed the punching bags and practice dummies once a month. The wood caught fire when she jumped into it. Flames danced around her head on all sides, burning her shoulder and singeing her hair. She got up before the worst of it fell and fled to the woods while the building that tainted her became engulfed. Oh sure, a building didn’t sound like a living entity but this one was alive, either through the people who committed those atrocities or a pure evil force all its own.

Her cell phone interrupted the hard memories. Glassy eyed, she reached for the belt clip and pulled it out. Tech’s number appeared on the display. Damn, he was getting fast. She might have to give him that raise after all.

“Talk to me.”

“You won’t believe what I’ve found.” He sounded happy, so he’d found something good. She suspected he got a boner every time he found a juicy tidbit to pass on.

“Don’t leave me hanging here.” She put on her turn signal and pulled to the curb to take the call.

“The local news has Tamara Haas getting on a plane with her daughter.”

“What? I never met a daughter.”

A laugh echoed in her ears. “You’re telling me. Since the stalker story broke, the press has been all over her. There are pictures of Tamara Haas getting onto a private jet with a kid. The girl can’t be more than twelve.” She heard him hitting buttons. “Wait a minute. I took a digital when the story aired. I’ll send it to your phone.”

“You mean when you were supposed to be hacking, you were watching television.”

His jovial mood ended. “I ran into some trouble and took a break. Forgive me.” He huffed. “I couldn’t find anything on a Lora Shope. Nothing. Not really unusual. Kids are hard to track. They don’t have driver’s licenses or utility bills.”

She hated it when he defended his actions. It would be better to hear him say that he’d taken a break than go into detail about the difficulties in tracking a child. There were ways. A simple check on the father would give a location then maybe he could crack a school computer.

“I get it. Keep going.”

“I did find a divorce record between Shope and Haas. It seems our actress had a husband that she didn’t tell anyone about. One that became our stalker.”

Deirdre felt her mouth fall open. If Haas had known who the stalker was, why didn’t she tell anyone? Shope could’ve been picked up much sooner and without all the drama.

“A husband she didn’t brag about?” Her phone beeped as she spoke.

“Okay you should have it now. The image might be a little blurry but you got to see this kid.”

An image of a little blond-headed girl with blue eyes appeared on the display. Her hair was bound in pigtails by pink ribbons. Funny, she didn’t look anything like Tamara Haas and considering Jack was black, she didn’t resemble him either.

“I got it but that can’t be Jack’s kid.”

“I think it is. Why else would she deny the marriage? Why would he worry about his daughter and Tamara? DNA can be freaky shit. Who knows? She might’ve even cheated on him but he thought the girl was his.”

“Did you get the name of the little girl with Haas?”

“No. I’m trying to dig into birth certificates now. I’m hoping to put a birth date and a marriage certificate together, but I’m willing to bet that Lora is Tamara Haas’ daughter. The target from last night was married to her and no doubt there was going to be some sort of custody battle. Probably one he couldn’t afford against a wealthy actress, but that doesn’t explain why she claimed he was stalking her instead of telling the truth.”

“What was the date on the divorce records?”

“Twelve years ago. It was signed one week before Valentine’s Day. Isn’t that romantic?”

It wasn’t uncommon for a custody dispute to turn ugly, but not this long after the divorce. A motive for Shope now existed. He may not have known about his daughter and recently found her. Haas must’ve been embarrassed. No, that couldn’t be right. Tamara Haas had never been embarrassed by love scandals. She seemed to thrive on them, giving press releases about her divorces, not hiding them.

The actress’s daughter would’ve been noticed by the press before now. Tamara Haas won awards and occasionally grabbed the tabloid headline, yet no one had ever mentioned a daughter and why would Shope believe his daughter was in danger? Was that even his daughter? She certainly didn’t look like him.

“Dig a little deeper for me. You may have to make a visit to the courthouse. I need to know if Shope or Haas had custody and if either had filed any appeals to the arrangement. I also need a verified picture of Lora Shope.”

“Deirdre, why are you pursuing this? The case is over. There’s nothing we can do now. Even if Lora wanted to be with her father, she couldn’t.” Tech’s voice trailed away into silence.

Deirdre couldn’t answer. There wasn’t a logical explanation for her behavior, not one Tech could understand. It was Jack’s eyes. The emotion in there appeared like a sane man that had been pushed too hard for too long. Perhaps he had custody and Tamara wanted to get him locked away to claim her daughter. That would’ve created an uglier scandal though.

“I have my reasons. Just keep digging. I want to know why a woman who loves the press didn’t give out the correct stalker information. The man was in her hotel and she claimed to not know him. Shit like that doesn’t happen unless there’s a reason.” She started to end the call, and then stopped. “Listen, I may be out of range soon. I’ve got some business out of town. I’ll get back with you tonight.”

“Have fun. Bring Chinese food when you come by.”

* * * *

Stone House was in the middle of nowhere; consisting of a main stone structure surrounded by smaller houses and storage buildings. A person could hike for a day before finding another home and the long stretch of interstate nearby was nearly a two-hour jog.

At least, she doubted industry had broken that far into the mountains. She wasn’t even sure who owned the property now. The state or some hunting club might have acquired it. Either way, she doubted there were cell phone towers or satellite signals that could break through that steep mountain range.

Deirdre pulled back onto the road, taking the first exit for 25/70. The drive was a long one. That particular piece of property had been bought for a reason. She had no idea how far back ownership went but it was perfect for their purposes…for the leaders’ agendas. There were three high-ranking leaders at Stone House. Someone outranked them but she had no idea who that had been, a benefactor maybe.

Cars passed her, some beeping as they cut around in the left-hand lane. She usually drove fast, but she couldn’t maintain pressure on the accelerator. The further she drove, the slower she went, and when she saw the sign for the state line, she slowed even more.

She couldn’t put this off. Going back to that place was the only way for her to discover what Ryan Farmer knew. There was no paper trail for him, no record of events that could be looked up from a safe computer at the station. Farmer had gone to that house and he’d learned something.

There couldn’t be anything left. She hadn’t watched the entire structure go up in flames but the fire had been too intense to leave much behind. She’d watched it burn for three days from the safety of the woods before she hitched a ride to town. From the edge of Walnut she had made her way to the bank and the money her mother had promised would be waiting if they ever got out of the house. It was there, enough money to get her out of town. Deirdre’s legal birth certificate had been there too. That’s the first time she’d seen her full legal name.

They always called me Dragonfly.

The trip should’ve taken just over two hours, with highway speeds of seventy miles an hour, but her trepidation slowed the drive. Instead, over three hours had passed from when she took the exit and found the old dirt road leading to Stone House. Weeds filled the center of the narrow road with bushes and limbs crowding the sides. Visibility from the main road was poor, causing her to pass the turn, and have to circle back.

An old metal sign marked the way. Rust ate at the edges, speckling the surface of the “No Trespassing” sign. A thin metal cord blocked the road. Deirdre stopped her Viper, stepped out, and unhooked the cord from the wooden post across the drive. Standing there in knee-deep weeds, she knew she should’ve smelled pine, instead there was smoke.

“Someone got cold and started their woodstove.” She spoke to herself hoping to end the awful feeling that she would go up the drive and find Stone House still in operation. That was ridiculous, but part of her knew they would find a way to keep her there if any of them had survived.

Staring at the road coiling in front of her made it hard to move. Her car was going to take a beating. If it rained, she was sure to get stuck. Deirdre took a quick glance at the clouds above, hoping for some sign of rain, or any excuse to end this adventure. There was none. The sky never looked so blue.

Taking a deep breath, Deirdre went back to her car. Around her, there was nothing but the sound of crickets and the noise from the nearby interstate. She hesitated, listening, expecting to hear a voice from her past. They might not have died. A few might even remain in these woods watching for a trespasser, waiting for her to come further into their lair.

Waiting would only make the feeling in her stomach worse, driving back felt too close to dying. She wasn’t used to fear, only heightened senses when danger came close and her instincts kicked into gear. Fear wasn’t pleasant but being caught somewhere in between afraid to leave and afraid to continue was misery.

Deirdre slid the car into drive and started over the difficult road. The bumps jostled her hard and she had to drive slowly. Several times rocks hit the underneath of her car, digging loudly or scraping.

Ahead she saw the stone archway marking the true entrance to the compound. Vines grew along the round river rock, some sliding into the grooves and appearing next to another section. The concrete lip and the top remained intact. That was where the sharp shooters watched, waiting for a target to cross their path. She shivered, wondering if ghosts still lurked there, marching to and fro on guard.

“May the powers that be protect and shield.”

It was a silly saying she had learned here but it made her feel better as she drove beneath the archway. It marked the entrance to a different world, one no government had breached, no child services had ventured far into, and where nothing from the outside was permitted to stay for long.

The old gardens were to the right. A few grapes remained, gnarled-looking vines running from what was left of their support and onto the ground. The rest were weeds surrounded by remaining blackberry bushes.

As a child, she had worked many hours there. Children were the main labor behind the food crops. It was supposed to build their bodies and endurance. There weren’t many children here when she was young. Most hadn’t survived the training and a few had escaped.

Ahead were the stables or what was left of them. No horses lived there now. She’d set them free before leaving and hoped none had died. It had been her last act of defiance because they never let her care for the horses. No contact beyond basic tending was allowed.

She drove by two dormitories. Most of the adults stayed there, lodged like college students, unless a leader suspected them of treason. The children and leaders were housed in the main building. It was a control tactic. As long as children were kept separate from their parents, the parents couldn’t sneak away with them in the middle of the night.

Staring at those old buildings brought an odd shiver. They seemed smaller now, but she supposed everything looks larger to a kid. The structures weren’t as menacing anymore either. They were just old buildings, stale places where people were housed a half a mile from the main structure.

She almost passed the men’s facility when movement in the front window caught her eye. At first, she thought she’d imagined it then someone looked out of the dirty glass. This place wasn’t unoccupied after all.

Deirdre pulled over, stopping halfway in the road. She had to find out who stayed in that house. If it was him…no…couldn’t be. He died. She watched him die and spat in his face as blood drained from his body while the outer wall collapsed. He’d killed her mother, but Mercury was dead.

Her heart pounded too fast as she went to the front door of the old dormitory. She couldn’t control it. In normal circumstances, she would knock, but this wasn’t normal. Whatever, whoever stayed here had to be malevolent. Nothing else would survive on this evil soil.

She stepped onto the wooden porch, hearing a long creaking sound. The diamond cuts were still in the glass, the paint was peeling, and bits of rot clung to the surrounding wood.

Going through the front door would be too dangerous, the same with the back. Either could have a shooter, waiting for someone to access the home. The safest entrance would be through the second floor.

Deirdre stood on the rail and pulled herself to the roof of the porch. She wrapped her legs around the post and shimmied up. From there, she crawled to a second floor bedroom window. The glass was cracked and dirty, but she could see the room and it was empty. She tried lifting the frame, pressing her palms against the glass. It moved enough to let her know it wasn’t locked and gave her the smallest finger hold. Unfortunately, the swollen wood was difficult to lift. She pushed, straining the glass before the wood slid up enough for her to get inside the building.

The smell of must and stale air enveloped her. She eased across the room and listened. Heavy footfalls filled the first floor. The sound traveled back and forth, moving then stopping. Someone downstairs was pacing, not crouched and ready for the kill. But what better ruse to trap her?

She eased open the door and inched toward the open landing just after the hall. Through the pine slats, she had a good view of the first floor where a man walked between the windows, peering out every few minutes. He had a heavy beard. His bones jutted sharply from his too thin body. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans. Both were thin and dirty, worn long beyond their use. On his shoulder sat a shotgun, no doubt loaded for whoever stepped inside. That weapon made her nervous. It took no finesse to kill with it, especially loaded with buckshot. A general aim in the right direction would wipe out the target.

His stride stopped halfway across the floor. Like a hunter, he sensed her before seeing her. She waited, not wanting to do this like she’d been trained. There were better ways to deal with obstacles and hurting an old man seemed cruel. At least she thought so before he turned to her and fired.

Chapter Four

Detective Ryan Farmer parked at the corner, just out of sight of Deirdre’s house. She wasn’t home. He was nearly certain of it, but he hadn’t found her at the gym or her downtown office. She could stay away from the office for days, but she always returned home. This was her sanctuary, her little corner where she pretended to be normal. She enjoyed hiding in a subdivision like the successful family types.

His phone call this morning must’ve sent her scrambling. He smiled to himself, trying to imagine the tough demeanor fading. It was worth sacrificing his sleep in order to handle this situation with Deirdre. She had far too much power in this town. Even his superiors looked up to her because of her thoroughness and noted that she never sent a guy to the hospital unless he tried to shoot her. Despite hostile circumstances, the perpetrators’ injuries were never life threatening. Little Miss Perfect never screwed up, never brought down the wrong guy.

It took some digging and long hours on the road, but he found the little princess’s secret. Her clients would go scrambling if they knew that she was a product of a cult bent on political upheaval. If Stone House hadn’t burned, who knows how messy things could’ve gotten.

Ryan took a deep breath thinking about the liberals she provided protection for whenever their world grew difficult. Their suspicious nature would make them stop using her once they knew her past. A few might start trusting the cops with their secrets instead of some pay-by-the- hour bouncer service.

He glanced down the road, wondering how much longer she would be. He’d been put on administrative leave since the Shope shooting, so he had time. That was a cluster fuck. He had no idea how that man escaped, but one minute sitting behind a stalled car, and Shope was out on the streets. Ryan tried to implicate Deirdre but that wouldn’t carry far. Those damn videos always saved her ass.

Truth be known, he never liked Deirdre. She was too masculine for his tastes. He never saw her wearing dresses, only pants, tight pants that nicely displayed the curve of her ass. Deirdre needed a man on that ass, burying her face in a pillow while he taught her what it was like to be a woman.

His cock gave a half salute at the image. Deirdre wouldn’t be so bad if she acted more like a woman. From the things he discovered, he understood why Deirdre was so combative. Her upbringing made her that way. It also made her too dangerous for his quiet little town.

Fear crept up from the pit of his stomach when he thought about her training. Something about Deirdre had always frightened him. It was in her eyes, a primal power or hatred that made him afraid. Ryan hid it well, goading her, standing close to see if he could shake her up. Nothing had. He witnessed that woman stand down a man holding a submachine gun. She didn’t flinch. Everything about her stayed ice cold.

That’s not normal.

Ryan had to wonder if she’d cringed after their conversation. She should. He’d found a diary from someone identifying himself as a leader. He only answered to a man named Colinster. From the record, Colinster enjoyed hearing the details of the regimen and the tortures. There were several entries about Deirdre, only under the name Dragonfly, and the job where she was supposed to kill a government official. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Deirdre was bad seed from the beginning, a criminal from birth.

Like everything else, his lead came in the form of a tip. Someone left him a message with directions to Stone House and Deirdre’s name. He had no idea who had called him or why. The people working the phones didn’t remember anyone asking for him. It was like someone had walked in and dropped the message on his desk.

After trying for a year to find dirt on Deirdre, he wasn’t going to ignore a clue. He used plenty of anonymous sources but never one so mysterious that they were afraid to speak directly to him.

When his shift had ended that night, he followed the directions, driving to some god-forsaken stretch of land in the middle of the mountains. In the darkness, he nearly missed the turn but perseverance paid off. He’d found the remains of some kind of organization. The message even told him where to look for evidence. He found it. Under the beam of his flashlight he discovered the evidence in a pile of rubble near the door, he found a diary.

It seemed he’d been right to mistrust her. His detective’s instincts screamed a warning about the bombshell in a role that should belong to a man. This was no normal woman, but a trained killer. He had the proof he needed in the leather-bound book hidden in his apartment.

There was no room in this town for renegades, especially dangerous ones. If he played his cards right, he would have Deirdre packing for some other town where she could peddle destruction disguised as protection.

The plan could backfire. He never saw Deirdre hurt someone or terrorize a person who didn’t deserve it. Of course, he doubted anyone had threatened her personally. None of that mattered. She’d been trouble since day one and had caused his first disciplinary action. Deirdre might’ve even caused the death of that Shope guy yesterday in some round-about way. He wouldn’t put anything past her.

All official records on the woman started when she turned eighteen and had gotten a driver’s license. Nothing exceptional followed. She spent some time teaching self-defense. Her business license for a private security agency was granted six years ago, making Deirdre a business owner at the ripe old age of twenty. Rumor had it that she came to the aid of a wealthy elderly man. Her heroics spread through town causing her success story.

She was now twenty-six, drove fancy sports cars, had a staff, and hobnobbed with people who’d turn their noses up at him. It wasn’t fair. He’d worked his entire life to be a cop and this young bitch walks into town with no respect for the law and clients ready to trust their lives to her instead of the police. Deirdre had crossed his path too many times, gotten in his way, and worked above the law. She’d caused him enough grief. It was time for her to go.

He supposed Deirdre was the first person he truly hated. There had been enemies he made during school and in his career, but Deirdre was worse than any of them. She bested him at every opportunity. That one woman had nearly cost him his job and made him a joke among his peers until he earned a promotion to detective.

The first incident occurred nearly six years ago. Ryan had been new to the force. His partner was an old son of a bitch who didn’t get out of the patrol car unless he had to. They’d gotten the call around nine at night. A security agent busted a man breaking into the home of his estranged wife. That’s what she was called, a security agent, not “demon from hell,” just security. It sounded so innocuous, a bodyguard or some flunky that tended to the rich and needy.

Ryan had never been on a call like that. His partner had, not bothering to turn on the blue lights as they drove through town to the high-end house. Ryan could still remember the trip, the calm look on the old man’s face. There was the way he intentionally took his time so the neighbors wouldn’t be suspicious of any activity, and his behavior was only to cater to another star trying to keep bad publicity to a minimum.

“I bet this is Deirdre’s work.” His partner mentioned this casually as they drove. “Good security work. Deirdre should’ve been a cop.”

The words stung because his partner had looked over at him, demeaning Ryan in that way that drove him nuts. Ryan took the slight. He always took it without remarking or starting any trouble. He considered it paying his dues for a job he loved.

They parked in front of the house and stepped inside. Ryan could remember every moment. The smell of cigarettes hung on the air while a woman sat in front of a piano shivering. Another woman, younger and dressed from head to toe in black leather, stood next to her. Her spike-heeled boot in the square of the man’s back, a set of heavy handcuffs bound his wrists. The scene reminded Ryan of some BDSM game and he expected the leather-clad woman to produce a whip. Instead, she stepped back, looking the old man in the eye.

“Here’s your perp.” Her voice had been dead, flat and low in tone like she could be a sexual animal on a better night but tonight she was just bored. “I’m officially turning him over to you. She will give you the statement.” The surreal dominatrix pointed to the shivering woman. Her boots made sharp notes on the tiled floor, her hair swung softly, hanging over her small, but perfect breasts, as she stepped back.

“Deirdre.” The old man smiled warmly. “What charges are we looking at?”

Never once had his partner smiled that way at him or asked him a single opinion on a perp. Another insult passed down but what took Ryan by surprise was the way he addressed the woman with total respect.

“You did this?” he remembered asking, dumbfounded like some virgin boy staring at a naked woman for the first time.

“Boy, show some brains.” His partner gave him the look of repulsion, one Ryan had grown accustomed to. “Cuff the guy and take him to the car while I take a statement.”

Ryan had obeyed orders taking his partner’s cuffs and an extra set they’d brought. After he cuffed the man on the floor, Deirdre leaned down, her long silky hair brushing his arm as she removed her set of handcuffs and clipped them to her belt.

He brought the man to his feet, both of them watching Deirdre. His prisoner held as much disbelief in his expression as Ryan felt. They walked back through the house, to the foyer, and out into the night.

What happened next was Deirdre’s fault. He’d been dumb struck by her, so much he didn’t hold the prisoner tight enough. When the front door shut behind them, the man leaned back hard, slamming the back of his head into Ryan’s face. Stars filled his vision for a minute and the snapping sound filled his head while his nose burned and he tasted blood in the back of his throat.

Ryan tried to hold on to the prisoner, but the man was big, too much for one officer to detain alone. He rolled Ryan to the ground and ran down the dark drive with his hands still cuffed behind him.

There sat Ryan in the driveway, not wanting to go back in and tell his partner what had happened. A tiny woman had apprehended the man, and he couldn’t hold onto him. A woman named Deirdre who couldn’t weigh more than one twenty or thirty. A long lean piece of work, a female brought down a man and a trained police officer couldn’t manage to put him into the backseat.

Needing to call in backup, Ryan went to the car. The lighting from the house didn’t touch the driveway. Shadows engulfed him so it was doubtful that anyone inside had seen much. He was certain of it when Deirdre emerged, sliding onto a black motorcycle, hiding her long lustrous strands in a matching helmet. She never paused, only sped away. Ryan had hoped that the prisoner wasn’t on the main road anymore. Losing him was bad enough, having Deirdre bring him back would be hell.

Fifteen minutes passed before Ryan was able to call in the escape. He didn’t go back inside and tell anyone, only waited to be berated by his partner. It was procedure to begin an immediate search but Ryan had felt like an ass. He couldn’t confess to the homeowner what had happened and he wanted to wait as long as possible to tell his partner. It was a rookie mistake and things only got worse because of it.

The next time he saw Deirdre, she walked into the station. Her eyes held murder. In her hand was a newspaper. Her client’s death had made the front page. She walked up to him, slammed the paper on his desk and stared him in the eyes.

“I want to see your supervisor now.”

She jerked him out of his seat in front of everyone. He would never forget it. Deirdre pulled him up in one clean motion, one hand at the back of his neck, the other holding his arm, half twisting it behind him. No one told her where to go. She already knew, hauling him like a naughty child down the aisle to the offices in back. It was the single most humiliating moment in his life and not one officer tried to stop her. A few laughed, many looked shocked, even more pretended not to see, and no one was going to bring up charges against her.

That day only got worse. The Chief listened to her. She wanted him fired and so did his partner. It was his first major mistake so he was suspended and a permanent mark left on his record. The big bad cop was chastised by a civilian woman while his partner hung back nodding at every word.

Ryan was ten years her senior. He’d gone to college, then went back to get his police training. He was a thirty-year-old rookie, but a rookie all the same. She should’ve treated him with more respect. Mistakes happen. Citizens didn’t decide when an error in judgment had occurred. That should be left to officers, not punk-ass bitches. Charges should’ve been brought against her for touching an officer, but no one dared.

On the steering wheel, his hands turned to fists, gripping both sides of the plastic like he could rip the thing apart. He had several more altercations with her during his rise through the ranks. He made detective this year, surpassing all expectations and gaining commendations from his superiors. For all his accomplishments, he couldn’t get over Deirdre. She still looked at him like that rookie she took to the back of the station.

Who was she kidding?

Now he had found a few things. It might be enough to chase her out of town. That was all he wanted, her gone. He hoped there was fear in her eyes when they had their confrontation. Something had to hurt that woman.

“I want to hurt you Deirdre.” He kept watching the empty road. “Where the hell are you?”

He checked the road again and still nothing. She was off playing power-hungry bitch while he sat on surveillance. That was okay. He could wait. He had at least a week to wait before going back on duty.

The diary wasn’t enough to bring criminal charges. He searched the records for anything he could connect with an incident in the diary. All he had was hearsay, but maybe that would be enough. If he couldn’t get her arrested, it might be easier to run her out of town.

Chapter Five

Deirdre heard the click of the safety being released when his staccato walk ended. The old guy was prepared to take down any intruder and seemed intent on blowing a hole through her head. Instantly, she dropped to the floor, rolling toward the wall. She saw a quick flash from the gun as he fired. Wood splintered down, raining with the echo of the bullet exploding from the chamber. He’d chosen buckshot.

Debris landed in her hair, and she felt it pelt her body. The gun had been double barreled and it sounded like he unloaded one side, not the other. A smart man would reload one chamber while ready to fire the other. She also had no idea how much ammo he had with him. She pulled her nine millimeter from her side holster. She had to count on being faster.

Smooth and quick, she rose, aiming without pausing as she squeezed the trigger. The first shot hit the barrel, turning it in his hand as it fired for the second time, blowing a hole in the far wall. Her next bullet hit his hand. Blood splattered in fine drops as the shotgun spun onto the floor.

“Freeze.”

She kept her tone low, watching the man glance over at his weapon. He didn’t look surprised, only beaten and on the verge of sulking over his poor shot. Someone trained at Stone House would have kept fighting, pulled another gun or knife. This man’s shoulders slumped, and he appeared unwilling to do anything more.

“Okay. Go ahead and rob me. I don’t have much.”

Deirdre eased to the steps, the wood groaning beneath her. She never broke eye contact with the man, feeling her way down while keeping her gun aimed. He didn’t move, only hung his head. As she came closer, she saw deep wrinkles in his skin and rosebuds on his nose and cheeks. This was no warrior, so she surveyed the room, half expecting a trap.

The furniture in the house looked to be the same since the fire in the main building. The couch and chairs were stained and torn. In the corner was an assortment of bottles, mostly beer with a few larger liquor ones thrown in. A bag of cans sat next to them, beer labels appearing from beneath the thin white plastic.

“How long have you been an alcoholic?”

He looked at her a minute and scratched his ratty beard. “Guess my whole life. Does that mean you’re gonna rob me then kill me?” He shoved his hands into his pockets and closed his eyes, probably trying to figure if these would be his last moments.

“Well you’re a great conversationalist. Do you ever get past the robbing and killing questions or do you just shoot at people for fun?”

She reached the first floor, taking a dozen more steps toward the man. Age could change the looks of anyone but she was nearly certain this man was a stranger and not a demon from her past.

“I’ve been around a while and most people don’t try to sneak up on you unless they want to hurt ya.” He eased against the couch, not quite sitting, but leaning against it for support.

“What’s your name?”

He glanced up, startled by the comment. His eyes looked old, seeing more than a man had the right to, or so she guessed. From his appearance, the guy hadn’t had things easy. He was probably a homeless man who happened upon an empty house to stay, without knowing the place’s history.

“I’m Earl. I’m guessing you own this place ‘cause you shore don’t seem like no robber now.” He smiled, showing one empty space where a tooth should’ve been. “Why you here?”

That was a good question but she didn’t know how to answer him. A guy down on his luck didn’t need to know what sort of place he’d chosen for a residence. It was enough that he had a roof over his head and a bed to sleep in.

“Reliving my past.” She shrugged. “I used to stay on these grounds, but I don’t believe anyone one owns this place anymore. Have you seen anyone else around?”

“Nope. There was a cop or someone official that stopped by two or three times. I hid from him. He was more concerned with the big building anyway. Haven’t seen him in a few days. Once in a while a ranger will pass through. He never comes near the buildings, just watches from the main road. He looks spooked when he stops, like maybe he believes this place is haunted.” The old guy laughed heartily then coughed, sounding diseased under his breath. “Fine by me,” he gasped. “I don’t like visitors so good anyway.”

She smiled, loving his mountain accent, even if he spoke of a building he knew nothing about. If any place on earth had a right to be haunted, it was this patch of ground in the middle of nowhere. Satan himself might’ve lived there at one time, letting his evil soak into the soil.

“I could sort of figure that you didn’t like visitors.” She glanced up at the second floor where holes went straight through, reminding her of Swiss cheese.

“Sorry, ma’am. Glad I didn’t hit you.” He rubbed one hand through his oily hair. “Sometimes I react before I think.”

His speech was southern but laced with that Georgian gentleman’s cadence that she adored. She lowered her weapon, put at ease by his speech, although his grooming could use some serious work. She could smell him from where she stood, the scent of alcohol mixed with old sweat. It wasn’t his fault. Those buildings had well water and she doubted anyone had the electricity turned on since the fire.

“How’s your hand?”

He withdrew his injured hand from his pocket and held it up for her to see. “Just a scratch.” It had stopped bleeding. She tried to aim carefully but there was always a risk. A bullet could do a lot of damage to a moving target.

“How did you end up here?” Deirdre felt awkward standing, but from the look of the furniture, she didn’t really want to sit down either.

“Walked mostly. Teenagers got hard on the homeless men living near the interstate. One day I decided to give it all up and head for the hills. I hitched a ride and walked from the main road until I came here. Thought it was some kind of kids’ camp at first. After checking it out, I knew better.” He shook his head slowly and she wondered if he’d been in the main house, seen the basement. “Hey, miss, what was this place?”

“Something like camp, but one you could never go home from.” She glanced around the room trying to shake the eerie feeling, then noticed a recent grocery bag near the wall. “How do you get supplies?”

“I got a brother that knows where I’m at. It’s one hell of a walk to the store, but most times I can get a lift once I get out of the woods. There’s also this preacher from a nearby church that takes care of me. ’Bout three times a week, he drives out to bring me supper. I don’t get fat from it but I ain’t dead yet either.”

A chill ran up her spine, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. The room was cool but not the reason for her discomfort. The way Earl spoke about the preacher terrified her. She didn’t know the specific identity but the sensation meant evil. Even her dulled senses knew it.

“What preacher?”

“One from Walnut. Guy calls himself Reverend Brogens. Tells me to call him Niam.” He spoke with pride and his yellowed eyes twinkled at the statement. “Niam makes some great spaghetti.”

“Niam?” she whispered. She knew Niam Brogens and he was no preacher. A few times she thought he was the devil. No doubt Niam would meet him in hell when he was judged for all the evil he committed. “When do you expect to see your reverend again?”

“Probably tonight. Didn’t see him at all yesterday, so he’ll be by.” Earl sat down, grinning. “Guy is a blessing. I tell you what, I don’t think I could’ve survived here if it hadn’t been for him. Oh sure, I thought I’d live in the woods like Daniel Boone but damn, I’m just not cut out for it.”

“Thank you for your time. Sorry about spooking you. I was afraid that you were someone else. Won’t happen again.” Deirdre started toward the front door, wanting out of here before Niam arrived.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“Sally,” she lied, despite her distaste for it. “Nice meeting you. Sorry again about startling you earlier.”

Earl nodded. “Sorry about shooting at you.” He grinned at her again. “Pretty thing like you can stop by anytime. You can even use the front door.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Deirdre walked out the door and got back in her car. She had to get to the main building and see what was there before Niam reappeared to work on his newest charity case.

Niam Brogens, it had been a long time since she heard that name. So not everyone from Stone House had died. It was surprising considering the circumstances. There wasn’t a reason to go down memory lane with Niam. He couldn’t change. Collar or not, he was still another bastard from her past and one she didn’t want to deal with.

Him helping the poor? That’s hard to believe.

The Niam she knew spent his time picking up wretched souls from local bars. The pretty ones he would keep for a few days. The others had a different purpose.

The old rumors Deirdre heard as a child gave Niam powers close to a god. All those powers he supposedly gained through the taking of souls. That was a prettier way of saying murdered during a painful ceremony.

Everything happened in the basement. A large circle with designs had been etched in the floor. Protective symbols were on the outer edges to keep any bystanders safe from the evil within. Niam usually led the ceremony.

Deirdre’s education had had a great deal of religion mingled throughout it. She’d learned of magic at an early age but only the art of death was taught at Stone House. It was considered the most powerful form of magic. Birth and creation were nothing compared to removing the soul from another. Murder was held in the highest regards. Life was simply a means to the power of death. A tortured soul brought more power than anything.

Deirdre had been raised to be an assassin. It was a precarious position. If she became an excellent assassin, she would be respected. A little better and they might insist she perform ceremonies to gain more dark strength. If she were too good, Niam would want to extract her soul for her power. However, not being good enough was a death sentence involving days of pain in order to strengthen the soul to make it worth taking.

Needless to say, the group didn’t worry about retirement plans.

She parked to the side of Stone House, hoping that if Niam arrived early, he wouldn’t notice her presence. There was more left of the building than she’d expected. The front section was a crumbling pile of rubble but the sides had held. She sat there, staring at the structure, at the stones.

Her entire life, she’d been taught to control her emotions but the last twenty-four hours had her stressed. Now, staring at the source of so much pain and death made her feel small. There had been a few moments of happiness there. Those shared with Scorpion, before she’d been killed. Everything that touched this house died, some days Deirdre wondered if her soul had perished along with everything else.

Deirdre stepped from the vehicle, and smelled the air. It held the scent of pine, heavily laced with some local flora. Dirt ground under foot where cement used to lay and she couldn’t help noticing that the fountain was nothing more than a broken circle with the smallest bit of black stagnant water sitting inside.

A smaller stone sat on the path. She kicked it away. It clattered somewhere to the side making her wish she’d not made any noise. She didn’t want to find any more people here or anything else.

Although she’d been taught to never believe in ghosts, she feared them. She’d never seen a ghost but her lessons in the spirit and soul made the possibility very real. Even now she could sense the darkness embedded in the structure. It was a simple jump to imagine souls torn from their owners, lingering, in pain, wanting freedom.

She walked to the front where stone columns used to reach up to the roof. The front had been flat flagstone, the sides, rocks from the river. Even in the heat of summer, the building stayed cool and in winter, everyone froze.

Deirdre walked around large piles of stone, going by the place where the door would’ve been. Inside, where the foyer used to be, she could see sky and the hulled out areas of the third and fourth floors. Some bits remained, hanging over the ground like strange balconies, or the jagged entrails of a beast.

Deirdre walked through to where the assembly room would have been. To the side were stairs, deteriorating to the point of collapsing. There was no way they could support her weight. She kept to the first floor, at least for now.

The layout used to be deceptively beautiful. She closed her eyes and remembered it. The front was meant to entertain. Back in its day, no expense had been spared on Stone House. The floors were marble, waxed to a high shine with extravagant rugs leading to a set of double doors where the foyer flowed into the sitting room. There were wide windows in the sitting room, looking out over the front of the building.

Visitors would never know what happened in the rest of the house. No one but the residents had an understanding of the evil that reigned in those stone walls. Strangers would see the grand foyer, then sit on the leather couches and look out over the grounds. Bushes and trees were pruned strategically around the windows. No matter how a visitor strained, they’d never get a glimpse at the back of the property or of any of the other rooms in the building.

There was a hallway coming off the sitting room, running the length of the building. A couple of doors led from the hallway. One was a bathroom for guests. The next door led to a locked secondary hallway, a buffer zone, that absorbed sound and delayed escapees from exiting by the front of the building. Only people with the security code could travel through that door and into the rest of the compound.

Next was the mess hall. To the sides of the table lined sections was the kitchen and across from there, a lavatory. A single door continued to the library, another to the exercise room, weapons gallery, and finally the leaders’ rooms.

None of that existed now. She walked, finding busted marble and broken stonework. A few gnarled pots remained in what should’ve been the kitchen. From there, she found the first wall, not intact, but with most of it still standing.

Not one of the books from the library had survived. Charred bits of shelving clung to the walls but none of it recognizable from the years before the fire. The exercise room had a taller wall but again, it hadn’t really survived the flames. Melted mats were piled in the corner, nothing but liquefied black squares that had hardened into a single mass.

At last, she came to a door, a heavy wooden door hung with thick metal brackets. The edges of the door had been eaten away, cancerous markings of heat, flame and water, but still it stood. The top had nearly a foot missing in the mighty oak and the bottom several inches. This led to the weapons room.

Despite the rough treatment, the door didn’t want to move. She put her shoulder into it, shoving hard before hearing the squeaks of the rusted hinges. Another shove and it opened enough to let her inside where shadows from a partial roof clung to everything.

The sun’s light glinted off the rusted steel, displaying the ruined artistry of the swords that hadn’t survived. The crossbows were no more. Heat demolished the string, and in some cases, the wooden stocks. Any metal on them had been corroded to the point of a dangerous break if used.

At the back of the room was another door. This one was barely damaged by the flames. Deirdre pushed it open into the final hallway. There was more water damage here than charring from the flames. The hallway continued to a T-junction, with doors at both ends going to the outside and training grounds. The rest of the hall went down to the leader’s rooms and a set of stairs going up three more floors where the youth were housed and classes held. Exit points were few, and only going to the training grounds at the rear. For the adults to go to their dorm for the night, a leader had to escort them. The same went for those who worked in the garden. Everything was managed with careful attention to control those who might long for freedom.

It was hard to see here. This section of the roof had held up through the fire, and was now blocking out the light. A few windows guided her way as she walked to the leaders’ rooms. There were five, all large apartments on this end.

Deirdre performed a cursory search, opening the doors and glancing inside. There wasn’t much left on one side. Soot and smoke coated the curtains, walls, and ceiling. She imagined that most of them had died from smoke inhalation and not burned as she’d hoped.

They should have burned for their crimes.

The other side of the hall had less damage. She closed her eyes and looked again, fearing that at any moment a leader would appear, walking from one of those deserted rooms and demand she go to the basement.

She walked back to the stairs and started up, moving slowly in case structural damage had occurred. On the second floor, she stopped. A wide room with wooden tables and chairs sat in front of a chalk board. Splatters of water had washed away much of the chalk, leaving gray lines running down the board. The chairs and tables were damaged but mostly from water and time.

To the side, painted on a section of smooth stone, were the names of those who had fallen. Above the names was the word, ‘Failure’. Deirdre went to the list, finding Scorpion. That was her mother’s Stone House name. Her real name was Aidena Flye. Deirdre never knew it until after her death. Even calling Scorpion, “Mom”, would cause severe punishment. That was handled in the basement or on the public grounds. The leaders always celebrated punishments, making them horrible displays that many considered entertainment.

She touched the word, written in black to represent death. Next to Scorpion’s name were Fire Fox, Silver Touch, and Spider. Those were the ones Scorpion had killed before they’d taken her down. Her killer had been Mercury, a giant man with a Jamaican accent and long dreadlocks. At least he’d been merciful. His dark brown eyes looked at Scorpion, while he performed the task without emotion, without the hate of the others. That’s why he’d been successful. There was no room for emotion in combat.

Everyone here was stripped of their birth name. The idea had been a rebirth, a new beginning where human names were lost to those in nature. Most had been given titles to invoke terror. She knew Wolf, Lightning, Black Death, Rat, and Cobra. Since Deirdre had been brought here as a baby, her mother named her. A dark dangerous name wouldn’t do for her daughter. Deirdre had been dubbed Dragonfly.

Deirdre could still hear the other children’s taunts. Black Death, loved to make her life difficult. She tolerated their insults for the first year of her education. At six, she’d had enough. Black Death had to be taken to the infirmary. A week later he returned and never ridiculed her again. From that point, Dragonfly was enrolled in advanced weaponry and martial arts.

It was the first time she ever felt ashamed of an accomplishment. Only her mother understood and warned her to never act weak or remorseful. That was also the day that Scorpion told her about the money and identification she’d left on the outside. If they ever managed to escape this place, they would have to run and never look back.

Escape wasn’t accomplished easily from Stone House. That’s what helped seal their fate when the fire started. Most of the group was eating dinner. Two bombs had gone off, one in the kitchen and one in the sitting room. Those who didn’t burn died from smoke inhalation. The exits were blocked by electronic locks and there was limited access to points on the first floor. The bomb took out most of the power, thereby locking the lower exits. That touch was another security feature in case someone cut the power in a desperate attempt to leave. The fire department had had to break down those doors just to fight the blaze.

Deirdre had always dreamed of escape, willing to risk the lashings if they caught her. With Scorpion dead, there was no reason to stay, then again there was no life to go to, not without her mom. Deirdre had gathered a bag and had made it to the window, jumping to safety simply because she was more afraid of the fire than anything, even being alone in a strange world.

Tears ran down Deirdre’s face. She touched them, looking at her fingers in the light from the window. She never understood tears, a secretion emitted when sadness or pain became overwhelming. It seemed silly and made her snotty. The past couldn’t be changed and grieving wouldn’t help anything. Still, she allowed herself another moment to cry. A world without emotions seemed inhuman. Perhaps that’s what they’d created in her. She didn’t want to consider herself an abomination, yet only that word came to mind.

She left the room and went back to the stairs. She stopped next at the girls’ dormitory. Her room had been on the end. The scent of smoke clung to everything even after all these years, and the darkness was nearly blinding except for the bit of light at the stairs where stained-glass panels of battles were displayed.

Deirdre continued down the narrow walk. Soot covered everything here too, although there seemed to be more smoke damage than anything else. Somehow, most of this horrid house had survived after all.

The door to her room was perfect, no damage on it at all. She pushed it open and stepped into her old bedroom, complete with her sketches still clinging to the walls and the metal wrist and neck guards hanging above her desk.

She pushed back the top cover of the bed and sat on the cleaner surface of sheet below. The board and thin mat serving as a mattress were hard but whole. Everything here had made it, haunting her future and waiting for someone like Ryan Farmer to discover it.

On the walls were her victories, written in red. The various belts she won in competitions hung on a nail near the door. Meets were the only times she was allowed out of Stone House. They let her start at the age of twelve, earning money for the house through wins and contests. She wasn’t sure why, but money for Stone House had been cut off, making supplies scarce and wins even more important.

By fourteen, she was allowed to stay the night with other children during an out of state competition. She’d almost escaped then, but knew her mother would receive the punishment for any unexcused absence. At least she’d been able to see life on the outside and it was beautiful.

There wasn’t time for this.

Everything here had been touched by smoke, like the rest of the house. The window by the bed was broken, the chicken wire that had lined the inside, rusted. Spiders clung in the corners and who knows what lurked under the beds.

There wasn’t much physically connecting her with this place. She would have to go to the records room. Anything damning would be there. Maybe she could glean a clue on what Farmer had found and how to counter his attack.

She sniffled hard and tried to get up. This place still managed to drain the life out of her. She survived. That was the one thing that helped her stand and walk to the door. After living through Stone House, she could survive anything.

Then, on a whim, she opened the closet door, just to see what remained of her weapons. Her body froze, and she thought her knees would give way and spill her onto the floor. She stepped back, watching in terror as a woman’s body shifted, and started falling forward. Deirdre had never screamed, not once in her life but when she saw the corpse, she couldn’t hold the terror inside anymore.

It fell, she moved just in time as the lifeless hull collapsed on the floor. The body had been dead a long time. Most of the skin was gone and what was left looked like leather, preserved, or cooked. It was a woman. The cause of her death appeared to be a stab wound. A handle of a sword or short blade hung in the shirt, the blade rested in the rib cage of the victim.

The terror wouldn’t fade. She saw two things that made her heart race faster and she wished this were some terrible nightmare, something she could wake from and end. One was a necklace engraved in Celtic charms. The second was the ring of a champion warrior at Stone House.

Deirdre knelt down, looking at the bones and leathered skin that avoided decomposition. She knew that woman. Her death was supposed to have been in combat. Deirdre saw Scorpion slain, blood spilling on the training field, but here she was. This body was that of her mother, not dead from the match, not burned on the pyre, not properly respected. Her mother was dead, years gone, and left in a closet to rot like some vermin.

“Mom?” she whispered. “What happened?”

The room swam before her eyes. Deirdre tried to calm down, to think. This was her mother who she’d watched die in the field. Deirdre had been left alone in this place.

“Why?” She held her breath a moment. “Scorpion, why did you leave me?”

The broken hull couldn’t answer. Deirdre reached down and removed the Celtic necklace from around its neck. She didn’t like touching the body but she wanted something to remind her later that she had seen it. With the necklace in her pocket, she wiped her hands on her pants and closed her eyes as she left the room.

Chapter Six

Earl glanced out the window, nervously waiting for Niam. He hadn’t had a drink since yesterday and would start withdrawals soon. Going through that again made his stomach turn. Nothing felt worse than the DTs. The need made him weak, he knew it. He’d been addicted to alcohol going on twenty years and the fact sickened him but not as much as going without a drink. That was hell.

A few times he considered giving up drinking all together. As a younger man he had endured the process of getting clean. Being sober never felt right though. He felt dead when he wasn’t drinking. Some say his wife’s death had done it to him, but Earl knew the problem was more complex. Life in general was too hard and a drink now and again made it bearable.

He paced again, looking out the front window every chance he got. If Niam didn’t show up soon, Earl might put his own mouth around that shotgun. A nasty sweat already clung to him and the shakes were creeping up, hovering on his nerve endings and ready to take hold.

The shakes weren’t the only things riding his nerves. He thought he’d seen those kids from the interstate. There had been someone in the woods nearby. Earl had found the beer cans, no beer, but they left their trash. When he made his way toward the road, he caught a glimpse of some guys heading to their car. Two of them were big boys, football players for sure. They didn’t like old Earl. Once they figured out where he was staying, Earl would have to move and fast. They were mean sons of bitches, too mean.

Outside a red pickup stopped in front of the house. Earl knew the truck, his savior had arrived. The good reverend got out and walked up the steps carrying a large paper sack. Funny, Niam didn’t look like a reverend. He had long black hair he kept in a pony tail and that strange look on his face, like he could turn nasty at any moment. Never mind the scars. He supposed something terrible had given the man religion. Not that Earl cared. He threw open the door before Niam got the chance to knock.

“Oh, it’s good to see you.” Earl tried to be patient but it seemed to take forever for Niam to hand that bag over. “I was hoping you hadn’t forgotten about me.” Earl held the door open, waving Niam inside. He couldn’t help staring at the paper sack, hoping there was some alcohol in there.

“Good to see you.” Niam handed it over. “You look pretty hungry.”

Earl opened it and took out a plate wrapped in a towel then covered in foil. That he placed on the rickety table near the couch. Next he found the bottle of wine. He jerked the screw top off, and guzzled the sweet liquid down. The wine wasn’t cold, but he didn’t care. It would ease his nerves.

“Thank you, Niam. Thank you.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Please sit.” He took another drink. “Thanks.”

“How are you doing?” Niam studied him. “You look a little rough today.”

“I couldn’t get into town. Couldn’t get a drink. Saw some boys in my woods and got scared.” Earl hung his head. “Alcohol gets the best of me. It’s a shame. My eyes are bad, nerves are shot.” Hot tears grew in his eyes and he blinked them back, not wanting to look any more pathetic in front of Niam. “I almost killed someone. The damn drink nearly turned me into a killer. I didn’t pay attention and there she was and I shot. I thought the boys from town had found me but it was a girl.”

Niam came closer, following Earl to the couch, although he didn’t sit there. He knelt in front of Earl, crouching as if unwilling to touch anything in the house. Niam even gathered the hem of his trench coat, flopping it over one arm to prevent it from dragging the floor. Earl didn’t blame him but it was hardly comforting.

“What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense.”

“There was a lady here. Scared me half to death because she didn’t come in the front door, didn’t knock.” He would’ve hated himself if he killed that pretty little thing. “Said she used to stay here a long time ago.” He shifted nervously, not liking this conversation. “Pretty thing. Tall, thin, and she had long brown hair and the brownest eyes.”

Niam’s eyes turned to tiny beads and his lips thinned to an angry line. “How did she get in?”

“Crazy girl climbed up to the second floor and broke in through the window. I wouldn’t have known it except I saw her near the rail. Scared me half to death. I was expecting someone at the front door.” Earl drank more of the wine. “I shouldn’t have shot at her. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. She had just as much right to be here as me.”

While looking around, Niam rose, studying the landing above. The rail was speckled from the blast. Earl reckoned he should fix that. He’d done the damage so it was only right. Niam might be disappointed in him for it too. Earl hoped not. He needed Niam.

“I’ll fix that. I’m not one to wreck a place. She just shook me up is all.” He looked at the damage, wondering how in the world he could patch the old wood. “I’m awful sorry.”

“Did you hit her?”

“No. Fired twice. One shot got the closest. Turns out she was packing too.” Earl held up his wounded hand. “She could have killed me. Woman shot the gun out of my hand. I guess I should be thankful for that too.”

Niam came closer to Earl and something in the reverend’s eyes frightened him. Earl had never seen the man upset, until now. Niam reached for Earl’s hand and Earl wanted to withdraw, wanted to leave, but Niam took care of him. There was no one else to turn to.

“Minor. Bet it didn’t even bleed much.”

“No. I think she just wanted me to stop shootin.” He laughed and heard his nerves crackle in the sound. “Right nice of her not to put one between my eyes.”

Whipping that coat around him, Niam stepped outside and studied the building. Then he came back in and went upstairs, checking out the window and the touching the damage Earl had done with the shotgun. This was bad. Niam had to be pissed about it.

“Did she tell you her name?”

“No.” He thought for a minute. “Wait. She did. I had a hard time listening, it being so long since I had a little drink.” He sipped more from the bottle Niam had brought. “It was Sarah or Sally. Something with an S.”

“Did she mention why she was here?” Niam asked from the rail and Earl thought maybe Niam was more upset about the girl than the damage.

“I swear I didn’t hurt her.”

Niam’s eyes looked down, appearing darker than black, large and evil. “Did she say why she was here?”

“Not really. Took an interest in you though.”

Earl wished the words had never left his mouth. Niam flew down the steps, veins bulging in his face, eyes wide. The look on his face made Earl take several steps backward.

“What did you tell her about me?” He spoke from clenched teeth and for a minute Niam, his friend, looked more like a monster than any mortal man. It was as if the creature had dropped the mask for a minute and what existed beneath wasn’t kind or caring. The cruel mark in the eyes, those damn eyes, he’d seen nothing like them before and he didn’t want to see them now. “What did you say?”

Earl had been so taken with Niam’s quick descent down the stairs and the change in his demeanor that he lost the ability to speak. Maybe all this was a trick of the drink. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d doubted his eyes, especially since living here. The way Niam stepped forward, and pulled back his arm, like he might hit Earl soon, made his mouth start working again.

“Only your name and that you brought me food. She liked the fact that you were a reverend.” This was about the girl. She knew Niam and that’s why she came through the window. Sally, or whatever, had been afraid of who she would find living in this house. She’d been afraid of Niam.

“How long ago was she here?”

Earl wasn’t sure what he should say. There were obviously reasons to fear the reverend, but he’d been so nice until today. “An hour ago, maybe. Haven’t seen her leave yet. She’s probably still up at the big place.” He spoke too excitedly and he realized that he was far too eager to please a man buying him a drink.

“Really.” Niam touched his chin and stared at Earl. No that wasn’t exactly right, he looked through him. “I need to make a call.”

Earl sat back on the couch, trying again to distance himself from his odd friend. He’d seen Niam throw a fit, once. The temper was one to give a devil a run for his money. At the time, Earl thought it was okay because Niam was a reverend. It wasn’t as bad as now though. He’d never seen the reverend like this, so cold, like he vibrated with rage.

Earl worried, especially for the girl.

“Yes. I’m at the men’s dormitory. Send some of the guys.”

Niam’s back was to Earl but he heard enough of the conversation. It sounded like he was going to have visitors. He didn’t like visitors. They scared him. Earl reached down and took a long drink of wine, ignoring the food for now. Something told him that he needed to get good and drunk.

“Are you going to hurt that girl?” Earl shouldn’t have asked but the question slid past his lips before he could stop it.

The worst part was the way Niam answered. He didn’t say a word only laughed. It didn’t sound like a jovial Christian laugh either. This one was laced with anger and a maniacal quality that made Earl finish the bottle and wish for another.

Chapter Seven

Deirdre left Scorpion’s body upstairs, lying on the floor of her old bedroom. It wasn’t a proper burial but she didn’t know what else to do. Burying her here would be an insult, hauling the body into her car was insane, and she didn’t want to think about who might show up if she set up a proper funeral pyre. There were no rites that could be performed, nothing fitting at least. Deirdre had said a prayer over her. It wasn’t much. Praying had never been her specialty. It wasn’t taught at Stone House.

Even as she descended the stairs, she hesitated to leave her mother in such a state. Maybe she could come back in a day or two. There were plenty of cemeteries, some even on holy ground that would allow one more body into their soil.

She sat on the stairs, bathed in the light from the stained glass story of some bloody battle they’d taught in school. They glorified bloody battles, breeding warriors for an army she never wanted to join. She never cared about government infiltration or infiltrating Bilderberg.

Mom hadn’t really died on the exercise field. Somehow she set up an escape.

* * * *

The order for the attack on the field had been handed down because Scorpion had disobeyed orders and not punished her daughter for the failed assassination attempt. Dragonfly would’ve gladly taken her place but the leader wouldn’t have it. The result was called Contrition. Dragonfly never knew that it was designed as a death sentence.

Scorpion was taken to the main courtyard or exercise area. There she stood in the middle and faced three of Stone House’s finest warriors. Scorpion was an exceptional fighter, and Dragonfly never feared her mother’s fate.

Silver Touch attacked first. Scorpion wasn’t permitted a weapon. She had to face the three unarmed, while they had been well supplied. Silver Touch was a vicious fighter with her favored weapon, the staff. She was tall, wiry, with a deadly reach. Scorpion fought her while avoiding Fire Fox’s steady strikes with the morning star. That was no easy task. Fire Fox grew to be an expert with the ancient weapon, sending the spike covered ball into many skulls, then pulling back hard enough to make the chain rattle before slamming it down again.

In the middle of the field Silver Touch swung the staff, Scorpion grabbed it, kicked her head, then shoved Silver Touch in the striking range of Fire Fox. Fire Fox was a large burly man but no amount of strength would pull the steel ball back from its path. Powerless to stop it, he watched the spikes go through Silver Touch’s face, blood sprayed, people cried. Silver Touch came forward with the ball hanging in her. She walked a few steps until the spikes loosened from her head, then she fell to the grass.

Spider jumped toward Scorpion next. He had an axe embossed with a spider clinging where the handle joined the head of the axe. He was a better fighter than Fire Fox. Spider had more than weapons skill, and was highly proficient in hand to hand combat. Scorpion was on the receiving end of several blows to the head while trying to keep Fire Fox at bay.

Finally, Scorpion gained enough distance and went back to Silver Touch. The long staff held in her dead hands was Scorpion’s only salvation. She pried the staff free before Fire Fox struck, missing her chest by inches. Scorpion came back, striking Spider across the head when Fire Fox came back around. She held the staff, letting the morning star’s chain wrap around the wood. Fire Fox pulled, the staff broke, but it was enough to distract Fire Fox. Scorpion shoved one broken end into the bastard’s throat. Blood flew, pulsed in a wild spray and even Dragonfly knew that Scorpion had severed his major artery.

All that remained was Spider. Dragonfly knew that her mother could take him. In her eyes there was no greater fighter, no wiser person. Scorpion was better than these people and she would win.

Spider swung with his axe while Fire Fox held his throat, falling to his knees, staining the grass. The swing was wide. Scorpion avoided it, flipping backwards. That’s what Spider wanted. Before Scorpion was able to get back into position, Spider was on her. The axe came close, cutting through her shirt in a line of red and Dragonfly couldn’t believe it. She never believed her mother could bleed.

Without reacting to the wound, Scorpion kicked, hitting his face and turning his body with the momentum of the axe. She landed another hit, finishing his balance and Spider landed on the ground. Before he could rise, Scorpion landed on him, pinning his axe arm and breaking his neck. Dragonfly could still remember the sound. It echoed through the stone risers. Several cheered, others booed, and Dragonfly stood tall and applauded, even if the crack of bone breaking was the worst sound on the planet.

Everything should’ve been over. Scorpion had faced the challenge and had been successful. Victory belonged to her and no one could challenge it. At least that’s what Dragonfly thought.

Mercury stood in the crowd, demanding something be done. Scorpion had used a weapon to defeat them. Using the enemies’ weapons against them was standard practice but this was the first Contrition that Dragonfly had ever seen and here the leaders changed the rules on a whim. She was still shocked when one of the leaders allowed Mercury to challenge her mother.

Dragonfly held her chin high, knowing Scorpion would win. Her mother fought better than any of the men, still, the giant Jamaican frightened Dragonfly. He came down through the crowd causing a hush in the masses. Scorpion looked shocked but bowed, then took her stance.

It was the look of shock that Dragonfly remembered, the wide glassy eyes, the agape mouth. Scorpion looked at her daughter, stared at her for one moment. Her mother was afraid. There was a fighter Scorpion feared.

The fight was brutal. Mercury was physically her superior and swung a sword with the best of them. After being fatigued from defeating three warriors, Scorpion didn’t have enough strength to best Mercury. They went hand to hand, Scorpion holding her own until the sword cut across her back. At the end, Mercury straddled her and slit Scorpion’s throat, her mother’s throat.

Crying wasn’t permitted, so Dragonfly sat in the stands and bit her lower lip. There, in a crowd of more than two hundred, she was alone. For the first time in her life she realized how terrible this place was. Only evil would make a child an orphan. Now she had to confront the human-faced demons, her teachers, without her mother to protect her.

Dragonfly continued to sit in the stands as the people dispersed, some praising Mercury and some standing mutely over the body of her mother. She couldn’t go down to the field. She would cry or attack Mercury and that would give the leaders an excuse to rid themselves of her too. Everyone around ignored her, pushing past as if the woman lying dead in the grass was nothing to the teenage girl sitting on the bench.

She tried not to scream. They’d hurt her if she did. She had to restrain her emotions until she was safely back in her room. All she could do was fight for control and wait for the funeral pyre to take her mother safely to the afterworld.

Funerals took place fast here, unless they were after the victim’s soul. Warriors were taken to a clearing an hour’s hike from the building. There in the middle of greenery and life, they had the service for Scorpion. Because of Dragonfly’s disgrace, she wasn’t permitted near the body, only watching from the side, hoping the wind would carry her goodbyes to her mother. Mercury lit the fire and the linen-wrapped body burned.

* * * *

Deirdre shook away the memory but it was hard with the smell of smoke and soot clinging to the air around her. Her mother hadn’t been wrapped in that linen. She just found her mother’s body upstairs. Something in her mind’s eye was mistaken but why would her mother fake her death? Who had they burned and how did Scorpion fool the leaders?

She thought back to the look on her mother’s face. Maybe she hadn’t been afraid of Mercury. She might’ve been afraid of the plan they were about to enact. She might have been afraid for her daughter.

The cool stone surrounding her brought a terrible chill. She longed for sunlight, for warmth, and fresh air, not the dappled red from the stained glass coloring her skin like memories of blood.

She went to the exercise yard. It was no longer the immense landscape of manicured grass with stone benches rising on the surrounding land, or dangerous sports arena where so many watched to see who would be killed next. Now it reminded her of a badly tended park. Weeds grew tall, knee high in places, waist high along the edges. Most of the benches were broken and those that weren’t held strange growths that marred the surface in fuzzy green and black mold.

The hill called to her and she found her old seat. The bench remained whole and she eased onto it, testing it against her weight. There she looked down, as she’d done the day her mother had died.

Dragonfly had caused her mother’s death. If she’d known what would’ve happened, Dragonfly would’ve killed that politician and spit on his body. She didn’t know though. She was a young teenager and didn’t want to commit murder. The love of life wasn’t tolerated at Stone House.

There were no time-outs here. Punishment meant pain and sometimes death. They’d intended horrible things for her. The infraction was so terrible that they ordered a bloodline family member to carry out the sentence. Her own mother was ordered to hurt her.

Normally Niam or a higher leader would punish Dragonfly. Niam usually volunteered, but those occasions were carried out in private instead of in front of everyone. Punishments were usually performed in the basement. There were devices for reprimands, supposedly because the leaders took no pleasure in the act. She had her doubts. Twice she’d been down there for punishment and both times the leaders had watched. They’d smiled while lashing her back or hanging her from the ceiling by her arms that were bound from behind.

The last time she defied them, punishment was ordered and it was to be severe. She had to be made an example of and Scorpion had been ordered to do it. Dragonfly remembered them heating the oil and stripping away her clothing. They shackled her, naked, above a metal grate while a pot of boiling oil brewed above her. Scorpion was to pull the lever and release the oil. Dragonfly would’ve been scarred, if she survived. The last to be punished this way died, his hair melted, and he begged for mercy until succumbing to the pain of skin peeling away from the muscle, and the muscle from the bone. Scorpion didn’t have the heart for such a sin and that moment had caused Contrition.

Deirdre had cost Scorpion so much. She only told her mother that she loved her once in a great while, when no one could hear. The last time, they’d been walking in the garden. The two of them hadn’t been fighters only mother and daughter. Those moments were few and precious.

A noise to the side of the building broke her thoughts, shattered them like glass as footfalls approached. Instinctively, she rolled backwards, behind the bench and into the thick waist-high weeds.

She stayed low, knowing that an intruder would do a visual for anything out of place and then cue in their senses. After a survey of the area, their minds and bodies would relax, giving her an opportunity to escape. The trick was keeping completely hidden.

Deirdre cleared her mind. For a few moments she existed as weeds, trees, wind, and nature. She felt nothing, only existed as one with what belonged here. Her breathing slowed, her thoughts ceased. She felt nothing more than that of a blade of grass. In this way she could remain hidden from his senses as well as his line of sight.

She heard footsteps somewhere down the hill. She didn’t react to these, only waited. A digital beep cut through the silence. It wasn’t a cell phone in this place, probably a two way radio. She couldn’t hear whoever called out, but she heard the man’s voice who answered. He was down in the exercise field. As he spoke, she knew who had ventured here. The voice haunted her, from childhood to now.

“I can’t find the girl. She’s still here somewhere. Her car is still at the side of the building. I’d bet anything that we’re dealing with Dragonfly. Be on the lookout. You can injure her but do not kill. I repeat. I want Dragonfly alive.”

Deirdre knew Niam’s voice. His name had been Midnight. He’d been one of the leaders and trainers in Stone House. She only knew his real name because he had to use it to register for competitions.

She eased from her hiding placing, rising up enough to catch a glimpse. He hadn’t changed much. He was a tall man, muscular but lean. The name Midnight came from his long black hair and eyes such a dark brown that they looked black from a distance.

His long hair was bound, but no shorter. She couldn’t tell if he still wore the long silver earring but he had continued to dress in solid black. He kept his arms covered now, hiding the tribal tattoos.

Midnight was an evil bastard. He was twenty years older than she, but he looked preserved, untouched by time. She sat lower, waiting, not wanting to fight him. He’d been her full time trainer from the age of ten, until she escaped at sixteen. Not a class went by that she hadn’t tried to remove his head from his shoulders.

She had been the youngest to achieve what they called High Status. Midnight came down on her hard, never letting up. Every class was a challenge for her to get through without a broken bone or laceration.

In some ways she’d been grateful for his hatred toward her. Midnight was notorious for dating his students. He usually had two women every night. They were of age, at least for Stone House. Seventeen meant they were old enough to breed more members. The leaders preferred rearing children there because children accepted whatever circumstance they were born into. They kept no recollection of the rest of the world or what was allowed by society.

Reality had been purely of their creation. She’d been as blind as the rest, assuming that their treatment of her was standard. All that changed during the meets. She saw parents hugging their children, people celebrating a good performance even when a child had lost. She saw love.

As a child, she secretly wondered if she were evil, something unacceptable. The worry never left her, even as an adult. It grew worse knowing that her mother had left, faking her death and leaving Dragonfly to the whims of the staff.

Was I ever deserving of love?

She wished things had been different. There were those born into light and hope, but not her. She glanced at her black clothes, then looked at the crumbling building. That thing had tainted her beyond salvation.

Deirdre stayed on her haunches, waiting with her head ducked out of sight. She might be able to take down Niam. He held such an air of superiority that even now, she feared the competition.

What if the rumors were true? What if he really had those powers? She didn’t want to think about it.

Too much time passed before Niam left, walking slowly as if he sensed her near. He always performed like a superior warrior. She witnessed some magnificent displays that convinced her young mind that the leaders were capable of super-human abilities. Now, her sight was changed. She was no longer so naïve that she would believe a light show or simple levitation. Magicians performed those everyday and only needed the help of a lovely assistant instead of a room of blood.

He can’t hurt me. Their magic couldn’t have been real.

She rose, moving quickly around the building. There was no sign of Niam but she felt him. Evil clung wherever he went, hanging on the air like some thick smog that made it harder to breathe.

At the corner, she thought she would find an easy escape until she saw her car. There he stood, leaning on the hood while instructing some very large, very bad looking men. As she studied them, she noticed the zits, the young gawking expressions. These weren’t even men, but some very large version of teenagers.

Her heart sank as she watched them. Another group must’ve formed after Stone House burned. These couldn’t have been born into a cult, but brought in later. Odds were their skill level would be low.

Why would anyone want to live like that? She often wondered why her mother had brought her into such circumstance. Most of the sad wanderers who ended up at Stone House were rejects of society, willing to do anything for purpose or just to belong. Some had chemical imbalances causing mental disorders, a few were abused runaways, and all were welcome. All could have a purpose, even if that purpose was to die.

It was horrible to think Niam had started a new group. She supposed if any of the leaders survived, they would try again to form a perfect religion, a privately controlled force. Ambition doesn’t die with a building.

One of the teens left the group, walking toward her and the woods. This was her chance and she waited to take him. When he stepped around the corner, she reached from behind the inset of rock and grabbed him. The action was quick, one hand covering his mouth, bending his head low, while she pressed the painful area just behind his jaw. He didn’t have time to consider hitting her. The pain was fast and severe enough that he didn’t have the chance to struggle. His eyes scrunched, tears filled them. He had a low tolerance for pain. Obviously he hadn’t been trained very long.

Once she had his face toward the building, she pressed him against the stone. Deirdre kept her knee at the back of his legs to alleviate any chance of him breaking the hold and escaping. She caught a strange odor coming off of him. It wasn’t sweat, something foreign, meth she thought, but couldn’t be certain.

So that’s how Niam controlled the new crop. Drugs.

“Listen carefully. If you want to live, call in and tell them that you’ve seen a woman…no make it a girl running inside the building. Say the exact words.” She squeezed tighter. “Rehearse it now.”

“No I can’t.” He squealed under her grip. “The reverend will get angry.”

“Believe me. The reverend will know you were coerced. Now say it. You saw a girl running inside the building. Say it and I’ll let you live.”

“I saw a girl run inside the building.” His words weren’t clear from the pressure against his jaw.

“That’s it. Say no more, no less. If you say one word differently, you’ll die.”

He squirmed, testing her. It was one of the reasons she kept at his back, out of sight. She was small and seemingly easy to challenge. Underestimating her made things messy and she didn’t have time for messy. She also didn’t have his hands confined, which could prove dangerous if the kid had been properly trained.

With joint pressure, the pain could be exquisite, not intolerable and the longer she held it, the more his resistance would build. Thankfully, this was also one of those bulky boys who worked out with no purpose. His arms had little reach, and no agility. He couldn’t reach her from behind. In fact, she doubted he could properly walk with both arms by his side.

To ease his squirming, she raised her knee higher, pressing her thigh against his ass and bringing her knee between his legs. She caught his groin from behind, not enough to make him a soprano, but enough to make him gasp in discomfort. His struggles instantly ceased.

“You must be a new recruit. Usually Niam makes men adjust to this kind of pain.” She brought her knee tighter. “Now are you going to do as I ask?”

“Yes.”

“Do it now.” She kept her knee at his groin but eased on the jaw.

The teenager took the radio from his belt, speaking quickly. “I saw a girl run inside the building.”

The radio instantly went crazy. Niam came on, followed by another teenage voice. She didn’t let the kid say another word. With her knee still in place, she took the radio from his hand. The kid was scared or coming down from some ridiculous high. Beads of sweat dripped from his hairline, running in salty lines to his throat.

“You did well.” She paused, letting him have a moment of relief. “Thank you, and goodnight.” In one swift motion, she slammed his head into the rock in front of him. The boy stumbled for a moment, then dropped to his knees. He would be okay in a few hours but for now, he was out of the way.

Deirdre went back toward her car. Niam had taken the bait. She walked forward, clicking the car locks and opening the door when two hands reached from beneath the car, knocking her off her feet. Apparently, Niam hadn’t been so easily fooled.

She landed on her ass as another freakishly large teenager crawled from beneath her car. His upper body started sliding from beneath and she was on her feet, landing both heels between his shoulder blades, then placing two hard kicks to the back of his head. He let out a yelp, and then went silent. Unfortunately, if she got in her car and drove away, she would run over the jerk.

Her one unforgivable fault haunted her, even now. She’d broken one of Stone House’s most important rules. Be ready to kill. She was never ready to kill, except for Midnight.

Deirdre grabbed the lummox by the wrists and dragged him from beneath the car. He was heavy and it took a few moments to clear him from the vehicle. That seemed to be Niam’s plan.

She opened the car door and slid inside as the black clad demon appeared from the broken front of the building. He came at her, charging, running to his target. Deirdre was surprised to find fear rattling her. For a split second, all she could do was stare, like the scared child he’d intimidated so many times. Her mind broke, action taking the place of panic. She missed the ignition on the first try with the key, then jammed it into place. It was all the time he needed to reach the car. His hand reached out, turning into a fist in mid air as the engine roared to life and time seemed to stop. It was clear, he intended to break the glass and jerk her out. She readied to hear the sound of glass shattering, see that gloved hand reaching into her hair. He would do unspeakable things to her back inside Stone House. Oh, he would take her back inside. He would make her suffer, whip her, burn her.

His fist struck.

Chapter Eight

In the darkness, only the light from the monitors could be seen, some flickered with information. Tech sat in front of these, fixated by a newspaper photograph of Stone House. Large chunks of the building had fallen while a team of firefighters were spraying a towering inferno. The fixed black and white picture hinted at the destruction with terrible large pixels, leaving much to blackness.

The article mentioned hundreds of bodies found inside. A hundred burned to death, two hundred more died of smoke inhalation, and ninety looked to have been trampled to death while trying to escape from behind a locked door. The shocking part of the article listed the fifty dead bodies found in the basement. Not a single injury marred their corpses, but they were dead. An investigation was being conducted, or so the ten-year-old article said. The owner of the house had been sought, but so far the place could only be connected with an overseas company and they were unavailable for comment.

“Hey Sabrine? What do you know about Deirdre’s past?” He glanced over at her. She lounged in only her panties. Her breasts bare, and her unashamed, letting him ogle her in their private moments. Sabrine was the most perfect woman he had ever met, muscular, but feminine, smart, strong, but not intimidating.

The scent of their sex hung in the air like a sweet aphrodisiac making him want more. There was work to do though, work that remained second only to his sweet Sabrine.

“I know enough not to ask about it.” She smiled, white teeth shone in a tan face. The monitors lit her body like some seductress come to life from a man’s most fantastic dreams.

She got up, walked toward him and stared at the screens, completely oblivious to her naked body. He wasn’t oblivious. Every move of those delicious breasts sent him into overdrive. He still couldn’t believe this goddess was his girlfriend. He was a nerd, a techno geek. She understood and even loved him for it.

“Why do you ask?”

He tried to focus on his job and not that delightful body. “Deirdre wanted me to investigate that officer from last night, Ryan Farmer. The guy’s been busy tracking down Deirdre’s past. He spent a lot of time checking out some weird-ass building in the middle of nowhere called Stone House.”

“So. Maybe Deirdre knows about it. Ask her.”

“She told me a little but I can tell there’s more.” He looked at her again, taking in the gentle curve of her hip. “I thought since you two were best friends that she might’ve mentioned something to you.”

“Deirdre may be my friend but there’s something nasty in her past. If she feels like talking to me about it, great. Until then, I’m not going to pry.” She smiled at him in that way that made him believe he was the only guy in the world. “I don’t want one of her skeletons finding me. I’m willing to guess that would be one mean motherfucker.” She reached over and ruffled his hair. “She’ll answer questions if they concern a case. Ask her.”

He considered that, but there was more to it. Deirdre kept her past private. She was a great boss, always paid on time, gave bonuses. There was an unspoken rule about her though, don’t ask anything personal.

“She also wanted me to check out Lora Shope. I believe she’s Tamara Haas’ daughter.”

“Weird. Why would a movie star hire a private firm to handle an ex-husband and lie about it? That doesn’t make any sense. She didn’t file kidnapping charges or anything.”

“There’s more. Tamara Haas was Tamara Colinster, the daughter of the man who owns Stone House.” He looked back at the screen, staring at the broken building.

“Okay, you just made a giant loop. I’m confused.”

“Somehow Deirdre, Tamara Haas, and Detective Ryan Farmer all have this one building in common.”

They both stared at it, as if waiting for some new clue to appear on the screen instead of a frame showing a building burning down to the ground. Sabrine, reached over, scrolling through the story. Usually Tech hated that, but Sabrine was one of the smartest ladies he ever met. She might pick out something he overlooked.

“They said the cause of the fire was arson, but an article a few days later stated the fire was caused by a gas leak. No charges were filed.” Tech couldn’t figure it out.

“Let’s see, a detective, our boss, and a movie star. Maybe Deirdre burned the place and the detective is trying to prove it.” She kept a steady gaze at the screen.

“Doubtful. This happened ten years ago. Deirdre would’ve been a teenager. This wasn’t set by some amateur kid out for revenge. The report lists explosions took place at the front entrance and inside. I don’t think a sixteen year old could get that kind of stuff or would know where to place the charges.”

She shrugged. “Maybe it was a gas leak.”

“I seriously doubt it.”

Sabrine leaned over and grabbed his bottle off the table, taking a long sip of his water. “I can’t imagine Deirdre not knowing anything. I bet she was even dangerous as a child.” The phrase would’ve been insulting but Tech knew that Sabrine meant it in amazement, and respect.

Tech wasn’t so sure about Deirdre’s lethal capabilities. He saw the videos, watched from a safe distance while everyone’s emotions ran high in the action. Deirdre never seriously harmed anyone. In fact, he was convinced the way she reacted quickly to take down a threat was to keep a situation under control. A man in pain wouldn’t have to be killed, although, from her moves, he was sure she could kill if necessary.

“Has she ever mentioned her family?”

Sabrine shrugged. “Her mother died and I don’t think she knows her father. It bothers her to talk about it, so I don’t.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“What did you do?”

Everyone on the team knew he was a snoop. Before Sabrine, the computer was his biggest social connection and he used it like a voyeur looking for interesting lives to uncover. One of the most interesting and illusive people was Deirdre.

“Promise not to tell Deirdre?”

She raised her eyebrow. Sabrine and Deirdre were close, Tech knew it. There were probably things Sabrine knew that she would never tell him. He didn’t need her to. He had his computer, but this time he needed her silence.

“Okay. Our secret. Now tell.” Sabrine leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms under her breasts.

“Haven’t you ever wondered how a woman like Deirdre knows so much? She’s got the strength of a man, martial arts skill, an excellent shooting eye, and great strategic planning. It’s like she was raised for warfare but she’s never been in the military.”

“Your point?” She sneered at him. “By the way, you’ll pay for that strength of a man comment.”

“Sorry but you know what I mean.”

“Keep going.”

He took a deep breath, wondering how much to confess and what would make it back to their boss. Deirdre had little out there to find, but Tech was persistent. He could also hack into any computer system, any of them. It took all his skills to find Deirdre. She didn’t have a father listed on her birth certificate, but she had a mother. That’s where Tech had concentrated his search.

“Her mother, Aidena Flye, was quite impressive. The lady graduated Valedictorian from Boston University and had achieved black belts in nearly every type of martial arts in existence, including various sword play and miscellaneous weapons training. She worked closely with the Navy Seals during a hostage rescue in South America. It seems that she was recruited by the FBI in 1975. The records get sketchy until 1978 when she made the newspapers for fleeing the scene of an accident. Nothing else could be found until the birth of Deirdre.”

“And? Come on. I’m waiting.”

“Aidena, Deirdre’s mother, had charges filed against her from the state for child endangerment and attempted murder. From the date, Deirdre had to be an infant.”

“Brutal.” Sabrine shook her head. Tech knew the one thing that got under her skin was harming a child. It was the one unforgivable sin.

“Thing is, all the charges were dropped. There was no more contact from social services and not another record appeared until Deirdre applied for her social security card. It was like the two of them dropped off the planet.”

“From FBI to criminal. Damn. No wonder Deirdre is so messed up.” Sabrine shook her head again. “Deirdre always seems emotionally distant. I’m not even sure she knows how to function outside of a case situation. I mean, we’ve gone out on the town, but she never talks about her past. Never. I don’t even think she really relaxes.”

There was more but he didn’t want to show Sabrine how far his digging had gone. They were still new, in that hopefully romantic stage he heard so much about. He didn’t want to ruin that by showing her the extent of his hobby. Still, he had to tell her more.

“I think that place was the center for some kind of terrorist training or something. I’m not sure. There’s only one record of a kid who escaped when he was fifteen. He’d been sleeping on the streets when the cops stopped him. They took a short statement about some training camp called Stone House. According to the incident report, he was shot while trying to escape custody.”

“Was he arrested near here?”

“No, up north. He didn’t give a real name to the police. The statement listed him as a Caucasian going by the alias Tiger. The case was buried. There are no follow-up reports.”

Sabrine seemed to consider all these things. Her brows scrunched together. It seemed her employer’s difficulties bothered her too much and as usual, she buried anything too troublesome.

“Alright Tech, tell me. Have you done any research on me?” She casually switched topics.

He felt his cheeks heat. “The day I met you, I started researching you.” He had studied her, downloaded her college photograph. She became a mild obsession.

“What did you find out?” She touched his leg and he thought he might go crazy on the spot.

“That I’d rather get to know the real thing instead of a compilation of computer generated facts.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I don’t know why you’re with me but I’m glad you are.”

He reached for her, touching her soft breasts, grateful when he heard the aroused moan from her lips. Sabrine was the most perfect woman and she was his.

Chapter Nine

It had been a long drive out of that hell hole. Niam left Deirdre a message in the form of the old drunk man pinned by several arrows to the front door of the dormitory near Stone House. The poor old man’s eyes were still open staring out at the road, his arms, lifeless at his side. He didn’t look real at all, just some strange target Niam had used.

She could still hear Niam’s voice, his screams of frustration. He’d been close when she pulled away, close enough to glimpse those crazed eyes and his hair blow back as he worked to strike at her. His first punch missed the glass, but caused a nasty dent just behind the door.

Deirdre was still shaken but had managed to stop for Chinese food before going to Tech’s place downtown. It was the least she could do for putting so much on him lately. Of course, now she was stuck holding a paper bag filled with little white containers while he boned Sabrine.

The food would be cold soon. She’d been standing outside the door listening. It was rude and under normal circumstances, she never would’ve done it, but just before she knocked on his home office door, she heard him telling Sabrine about her mother.

It never occurred to her that Tech would research her past. She felt violated. This was worse than what Ryan Farmer had done. Farmer was the enemy, Tech an employee, a cohort. Not once had she considered Tech using her as a pet project to fill his time. The knowledge was like a punch to the stomach.

Deirdre found a pen on the little table next to his office or what he called his workroom. It was nothing more than a basement entrance in his apartment. She always came in the basement then beat on the secondary door before entering simply because Tech couldn’t hear her from the outer one. Not that it mattered. She was ready to fire the little prick.

She wrote hastily.

My mother never tried to kill me. Do unauthorized checks on me again and you won’t have any equipment to fuck your girlfriend.

The last words were badly scrawled on the paper bag holding the food. It was more than the thin paper. Her hands shook, something that never happened, couldn’t happen. Every paranoid delusion she ever had was coming true and this felt too close to madness. Niam lived, Farmer was after her, and an employee tried to find her secrets. Through all this, that damn Shope case kept popping into her head and she couldn’t keep it out.

What if Niam tracked her here?

She shook her head, trying to keep the terror out of her. There was no need to fear him. She was a woman, not some scared kid he could bully. She doubted he had the resources to find her now.

Deirdre closed her eyes and tried to find her anger, letting it fill her, wash through her because only then could she touch her center and regain balance. As she did this, Sabrine cried out in contentment.

Interrupting such a sweet interlude was rude, but Deirdre felt rude. She balled her fist and beat three times on the door before turning and retreating through the basement entrance. Seeing Tech in her current mood was dangerous, at least for him.

She got back inside her car and pulled away about the time the basement door opened. She saw Tech, half dressed, in her rearview mirror. He would find the food and her message. Hopefully the brilliant Tech would realize when an apology was in order and his need for discretion in the future.

The drive home went faster than she expected. She ran two red lights before her nerves calmed enough for her foot to ease off the gas pedal. For a woman who’d spent her entire life learning control, she was doing miserably at it tonight.

Deirdre pulled into her driveway, happy to see her little home, even if it were so close to everyone else’s. Her cell phone rang, and she jumped. Again Smythe was on the display. Good old Smythe, who she couldn’t date or have anything in common. Other women were content with family or thoughts of climbing some career ladder. All she wanted was to put her demons to rest. Unfortunately, no matter how many people she helped, how many lives she saved, the demons still haunted her.

“Hi, Noah.” She tried to sound casual, which in the history of conversation had never really been faked with any success.

“I’ve been thinking about you, but you never return my calls.”

She laughed. Her mother was dead in the bedroom that she escaped at sixteen. A madman finally found out that she survived the fire. Detective Ryan Farmer was giving her hell, not to mention some little girl whose life might be in danger and all Noah Smythe wanted was her.

“Why do you call me? I just don’t get it. You’re a handsome guy. Get yourself a normal lady.”

“Was our date that bad?” He tried to sound jovial. “I swear I’ll do better the next time. How about Friday?”

She wished she could accept. It might be nice to lose herself in his arms. It had been years since she felt companionship, much less let a man make love to her. None of those things could happen with Noah. She had to face the facts. Noah was too good for her.

“I would like us to be friends but nothing else. I just can’t do anything else. Please try to understand, Noah.” She ended the call. I don’t think someone like me can have love. I’m certainly not entitled to it.

Wearily, she opened the car door and climbed out. She needed a shower. That smoke scent clung to her hair, her clothes. Maybe she would throw those away. She never wanted to smell that scent again.

With car keys in hand, she approached her front door. She put the key in the lock when a car swung into the drive, parking behind her vehicle. The perfect end to a shitty day got out of his detective’s car, the King Shit in person, Farmer.

“So you finally got home.” Farmer got out and didn’t bother closing his car door, only walked up to her as if fearing she would run inside and not talk to him. “Did you finally decide to talk to me?”

“Farmer.” All the anger swelled in her. She wanted to punish this asshole for digging in her past, for making her see Niam again. She wanted him to hurt for the way she had found her mother’s body. “Perfect timing. Please come inside.”

He looked tired and she wondered how long he had waited, watching for her to return home. It had to be a long time. His head was sweaty and he looked stiff. His shirt was unbuttoned a little too far and his pants were wrinkled.

Farmer looked at her, hesitated while she held the door opened. She smelled the fear on him. He enjoyed challenging her, but she always believed that he wanted her to back down from him. He just wasn’t sure what it would take to make her flinch.

“Surely you’re not afraid to come inside.” She offered her brightest smile, warm and cheerful while she felt evil to her core. Maybe some days it was good to feed her dark side. “Come in, Ryan. Let’s talk. There’s nothing to fear.”

“Of course not.” He stepped into her home. “We need to talk. I think you should consider doing business in some other town.”

She shut the door behind him and locked it. The room filled with darkness, blocking her expression from his sight. She didn’t turn on the light, only stood listening to him breathe.

“Why did you lock the door?”

Deirdre laughed. She couldn’t help it. The day had been hell and the man who’d caused it delivered himself to her door. “I didn’t want anything to disturb us, Ryan. You wouldn’t want to be disturbed, would you? I certainly would like some time alone with you.”

* * * *

Tech ran outside in time to see Deirdre driving down the street. On the way back in, he found the food and the note that she left behind for him. She must’ve overheard them talking about her. His stomach knotted up, causing him physical pain, and he knew he would have to find a way to make this up to his boss.

Sabrine dressed after Deirdre’s interruption. They were finished anyway. After reading the note and seeing Deirdre’s car, Tech couldn’t get it up again if his life depended on it.

“Eat something. It’ll make you feel better.” Sabrine bit into an egg roll, keeping one end wrapped in a napkin.

“You don’t seem concerned over this. Aren’t you afraid she’ll make your boyfriend a eunuch?” He looked down at his crotch as if it were a distinct possibility.

“She’s pissed. Go to her house tonight and make your apologies. Tell her what you found out about Lora and Tamara. She’s more bark than bite when it comes to an employee screwing up.”

He rubbed his hands over his face. Sabrine was right. Deirdre must’ve been more hurt than angry or she would’ve kicked the door down and hauled him bare assed into the street. That didn’t make him feel any better. Deirdre was tough, not some vulnerable chick who needed a shoulder to cry on. Hurting her made him a true asshole because under all the huffing and growling, she’d always been good to him.

“Damn. I don’t want to go there tonight.”

“It will only get worse the longer you let this fester.”

Tech slumped back into the chair in front of the computer. The food smelled great but he couldn’t eat. He was afraid to face Deirdre and afraid not to. From what he could gather, she was raised in some screwed up camp where they taught kids how to kill. There wasn’t an easy way to talk to someone like that.

“It has to be tonight?”

“Yes.” Sabrine finished her egg roll and reached for a wonton. “Do it.”

* * * *

“So tell me, what do you want to talk about?”

Ryan Farmer felt his heart race. He didn’t like this. The room was too dark and Deirdre didn’t seem the least bit phased by his presence. This wasn’t the time to panic, though. He had to take control of this situation. He reached along the wall and turned on the light, hoping to shatter the sense of doom that had entered him from the moment he’d seen Deirdre face to face.

“Can we go in and sit down?” He spoke from the foyer, happy to have the little light bulb glowing above from its ornate globe. “I’ve had a long day.” It had been incredibly long, waiting for this witch to get home. He’d dozed off at some point, then woken to her pulling into the driveway. His back might never recover from sleeping in those stiff seats.

“Go right inside. Straight ahead.” Her words were low, menacing.

He walked into a living room. A large television armoire sat against one wall with two small couches facing it. A heavy coffee table sat in the middle of the room. There were no pictures, only decorations that left no strong personal touch on the place with the exception of two art prints. One held the likeness of a dragonfly, done in pastels, hanging next to a print of a scorpion, in grays.

“I want to talk about Stone House.” It seemed a good time to get the conversation rolling. This wasn’t a social call.

She sat down on the opposite couch, legs crossed tightly but he was certain she could launch herself in a heartbeat and have him kissing carpet before he had a chance to draw a weapon. To look at her, she should be meek, mild, and weak. He knew better, she was a monster, a very beautiful monster.

“Any stone house or did you have one particular stone house in mind? Are you looking to build?” She smiled, looking demure. “I’m not sure why you’d want to talk to me about it.”

Playing dumb didn’t suit Deirdre. Even the way she tried to look all wide-eyed and innocent didn’t work. It didn’t fit her face, one that he watched so many times staring down at what she called a target. What in the hell kind of terminology was that? It made a person sound like something sitting on one end of a firing range.

“I’m talking about where you grew up, the people you were involved with, and the fire that destroyed the building.” He stared into her eyes and the coldness there shook him.

“Oh, you mean the private school I attended. My, that’s ancient history. It was called the Stone House School. Very prestigious in its day. There was a terrible fire though. I’m afraid you would be too old to attend now, anyway.” She finished with a soft smile but her eyes exposed her hatred.

He had to establish dominance now. This was his only chance to shake her, to shame her out of this town and his district. With adrenaline pumping and fear filling his mouth like some sick poison he couldn’t expel, he leaned forward, coming too close to his personal demon.

“Don’t play stupid you little bitch. I found a diary belonging to some guy named Blood and an attendance log from someone calling themselves Keeper. There were a few scheduled activities between you and someone named Midnight. You went there, you competed in martial arts competitions until the age of sixteen. I have the proof of the things Blood said about you. He even made note that one day he believed you’d kill him. Now I need to know if you did it. Did you burn the place?”

Ryan expected her to be upset, maybe cry, at least that’s what he wished for. Deirdre wouldn’t be so easily disturbed. Her eyes narrowed, jaw tightened, like he’d just issued a challenge instead of dragging her secrets into the light. Perhaps that was a front and deep inside she was petrified. He silently wished for a small sign of her inner fear.

“Tell me Farmer, what do you want from me?”

He stood up, leaned over her. He had her now. Deirdre was going on the defensive. She would get out of town and never bother him or his department or anyone in it again. A few more buttons and poof, she would disappear like some mystical creature of the night.

“I want you out of this town. I don’t want to see your face here again. You disgust me. There’s no room here for vigilante justice. You’re dangerous to the people of this town, a hazard to the department, and a pain in my ass.”

Ryan looked into those eyes again, expecting to see tears and hoping he might get to see her beg. Not a tear appeared in the brown eyes though. The whites were clear and her eyes darkened. His only warning was the maniacal smile that appeared on her lips.

There was movement, he was certain of only a blur before pain exploded on the side of his head and he went falling, legs knocked out from under him, and his groin hurt to the point of making him ready to vomit. She hit him, hurt him, but he hadn’t seen her move until he was on his back on her carpet.

Can anyone really be that fast?

“Listen you worm. I saw someone die today, attached to his front door. I also faced the only man to give me nightmares because of this shit with you.” She brought her knees on top of his arms, straddling him, while her forearm pressed against his throat. “I was trained as a killer. I’ve seen people die and many of those went voluntarily like animals to a slaughter house. Whether you want to believe it or not, I’m one of the good guys. I’ve been tortured, I’ve seen people I care about die, and I believe I looked Satan in the eye a few times. After everything I’ve been through, do you really think some slug, some half-assed cop is going to frighten me? So what if you know where I learned my craft. I have a home here, the only home I’ve ever known. If you think you can bully me, try something else because I’m not backing down and I’m sure as hell not leaving. My clients won’t care where I learned my skills as long as I can help them in ways you and your department have proved to be inefficient.”

“Get off of me. You’re assaulting a police officer.”

Charges could be filed. He had her now. This was assault and she would get no more privileges from his department. People weren’t allowed to behave like this. He had won. She didn’t know it yet, but he had defeated her.

“You’ll go to jail. This is a crime.” His voice rose an octave when she smiled again, showing a perfect line of white teeth. “This is assault.”

“Not yet.” She reached behind and nailed his balls again, causing him to whimper. “Now I’m assaulting you. Is this better? Does this make you feel better? Is this a nicer way to think of me?”

Deirdre gazed down like a predator ready to rip the throat out of her prey and Ryan had never been so afraid. He wiggled, squirmed while his balls throbbed. He wanted out of here, more than anything he wanted to be out in fresh air where women didn’t attack.

“Did you know that I can hit your chest hard enough to stop your heart? There is an art to it. Do it wrong, break the ribs and everyone knows what happened. Do it right, and it’s a mystery to medical science. Only a little bruise at the spot of impact.” She giggled, actually giggled like a school girl, then he remembered what school she’d gone to. “I could hit your kidneys. A normal man can make you piss blood. I can rupture your organs. You won’t die but you’ll be on dialysis for the rest of your life. I could break your jaw and hands. That makes communication hard.” She shook her head. “No, I do so enjoy our conversations.” She leaned closer. “Is this the woman you imagine? Some animal waiting to hurt you, some evil creature that only wants to destroy and maim?” Her breathing was slow, and she seemed to relax. “I am no monster. I’ve never tried to hurt someone who hasn’t hurt me. You can’t say the same.”

She was heavy for such a tiny thing. He couldn’t move his arms. Her arm held tight against his throat and he wanted to scream, to sob, to do something other than lie there staring at this mad woman.

“Please.”

“My sentiments exactly.” Deirdre leaned close enough to kiss him. “Please leave me alone. I harm no one who doesn’t try to harm me first. I provide protection to people who get ignored or improperly handled by the police. I don’t go after offenders and I always turn over the targets to the cops. I’m one of the good guys here.”

He was too afraid to reply, but in his heart, he knew that she was not a good guy. This was a trained assassin, a pawn in something larger, sure, but she wasn’t suitable to exist in civilized society.

“I think the reason you hate me, is because you’ve screwed up so many times. I don’t know if it was bad luck or laziness. Either way, you know what you’ve done.” Her lips pressed together in a thin red line. “Tell me Detective, why’d you kill Shope? He was harmless.”

Farmer didn’t respond. Terror gripped his mouth and he had no control over anything. Instead of seeing her cry, he had to fight from showing his own tears, his weakness to this woman.

“Talk or I’ll bust your balls again.”

He’d always considered himself tough, liked to believe he was unstoppable. This woman straddling his chest, this woman made him want to confess just to end the torment she provided for her sick pleasure.

“Last chance.” She reached behind her and grabbed his balls. There was nothing sexual in it.

“Stop.” He had no idea what he intended to say, his mouth ran on automatic, as if his body declared mutiny to end the pain. “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t even shoot him.”

“What?” She released his groin. “I thought he was killed trying to escape.”

Ryan shook his head, wishing he could turn back time and never walk into this place. “He was but I didn’t do it. Another cop, some female gunned him down when he was out of the car. He had a gun. I don’t know where he got it but he had a gun.”

“What?”

It was too hard to explain and she felt so damn heavy on his arms. His chest grew tight, breathing seemed like a terrible strain and she kept demanding answers. He was panicking but thinking straight was impossible while she sat there, murder in her eyes. Not for a minute could he believe she’d never killed.

“I don’t know.” His voice was a shrill mix of pain and regret. “Somehow Shope got out of his cuffs. We were at a red light and there he was, getting out of the car. I don’t know how he did it.”

“Your car doesn’t have working handles in the backseat.”

“Maybe we didn’t close the door tightly. I don’t know.” His crotch hurt all the way up to his stomach. “All I know is he started running. I got out of the car in pursuit. He went down an alley carrying a gun when a motorcycle cop nailed him.”

Another woman had finished his job, another failure except this time there were no witnesses. He’d never gotten the woman’s name. She’d simply saluted him while wearing her helmet and rejoined traffic.

Deirdre shook her head. “How did he get another gun? We disarmed him before you arrived. He couldn’t have gotten a gun because he didn’t leave our sight until one of your men handcuffed him.”

“I don’t know.” He heard the weakness in his voice and hated it. There was no way to stop it though. She wouldn’t get off of him, wouldn’t let him go. “Please, Deirdre.”

“This doesn’t make sense. For your story to be plausible, he had to have a pistol hidden on him, pick his cuffs, open a disabled handle, and run into an alley.”

“It’s the truth I swear.”

“Who did you write up as being the shooter?”

He squirmed again. He didn’t want to go down this road, didn’t want to confess to this bitch who constantly held herself superior to him. When she reached back, bound to take hold of him again, his confession continued.

“I told them that I’d shot him.” He closed his eyes. “It’s all in the report. I listed myself as the shooter.”

“Why?”

Ryan shook his head no. Telling her the truth would cause him pain and he was tired of pain. This wasn’t how the situation was supposed to happen. He should’ve been in control; she should be on the verge of tears.

“Tell me, Farmer.”

Instead of grabbing his balls, she jammed a bony finger into his ribs. Brutal pain surged through his body, down his leg. It felt like she worked to separate the ribs, break them in his skin.

“Because it was another damn woman. I was being shown up by another woman.” This time he did cry and he stopped caring. “I’m tired of women acting like they’re better than me.”

Deirdre rose and stood over him. He lay there, afraid to move, but wanting to run for the door. She hadn’t even broken a sweat, her hair looked coiffed, and her clothes not rumpled while he felt like he’d been hit by a truck.

“Would you like some tea?” Her voice held civility, as if nothing had happened.

“I just want to go.”

“Good idea.”

Deirdre threw open the door but he couldn’t find the strength to stand yet. For a moment he hoped a witness would be at the door, a neighbor, someone to help him. Only a lone white cat pranced through the doorway.

“Snowball, you’re not allowed inside.”

The cat came over to him. For a minute he thought the cat would purr or do any number of stupid things cats did. Instead the damned thing squatted and pissed on his shirt. He was in too much shock to hit it until he felt the warm, wet liquid in his shirt. He swatted but the cat was too fast, running back out the door.

“I guess the cat doesn’t like you either.” She grabbed his arm and helped him up. “Don’t come back here again. I won’t play as nice next time.”

* * * *

There were times that Deirdre feared Stone House had made her evil, frightened that her strengths would make her as crazy as the leaders had been, so she took precautions. Her entire life had been one of strict discipline, until tonight. Farmer had pushed her, and she’d gone too far. She’d hurt him and worse, enjoyed it.

It was shameful, but she felt better. For years he’d been at her, but she’d managed. The last twenty-four hours had pushed her to her breaking point and she’d released all her fury on him.

With darkness coming, she knew she’d have to move fast. It was time for damage control. That also meant adding insult to injury, but despite regretting the violence, she didn’t like Ryan Farmer.

Deirdre gave him a minute to get out of the driveway. He looked shaky, something she wasn’t proud of. It was never pleasant to break a man, watch them reduced to the thing they wished didn’t exist. She imagined Farmer wanted to be a good cop, a decent man, but something kept getting in the way.

She ran a brush through her hair. There wasn’t time to eat, although her belly growled angrily. Farmer had become a wounded animal and he would retreat to lick his wounds only to come after her again. Her only hope to remain in good standing with the police would be to beat him to the punch.

With keys in hand, she opened her front door, only to find Tech standing there. She had no idea how long he’d been there. A few minutes had passed since Farmer left but Tech looked like he’d been waiting, trying to work up his nerve to knock.

“You got something for me.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Can we talk?” His voice was meek, mild in the little scrawny frame. His appearance made it harder to be angry at him. Tech would be the eternal child. Even when he’d turned old and gray, she bet that he would look small, childlike with hopeful eyes and hair that he could never quite get brushed.

“Let’s talk on the road. I have a stop to make and no time to waste.”

Tech followed her to the car, silently getting into the passenger’s seat. She gunned the engine, burning rubber as she pulled out of her little subdivision and joined the main bunch of traffic heading out for the night.

“So, tell me what you know about me. I dug around once but couldn’t find a damn thing. I don’t have your special touch though.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw his head lower, ashamed over his actions. That was good. She wanted him to regret digging into her past, but she was also curious what could be found by a clever boy like Tech.

“I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have done it.”

She took a left, taking the turn too fast and causing Tech to slide against his seatbelt. “I asked what you’d found out. It could be pertinent later.”

He didn’t want to talk but she coaxed him, letting him take over the conversation while she listened. Never had she been so vulnerable and so impressed at the same time. Tech was impressive and annoying. With all her skills, she’d never match his ability to dig where other’s eyes couldn’t go and come up with gold.

Tech said things about her mother that Deirdre had never known. Aidena Flye, an FBI agent, the idea was surreal. She never thought her mother had belonged at Stone House. Most of them were violent followers with no will of their own. Scorpion had never been that way. Something else brought her there and made her stay.

Scorpion had never threatened her life. From the dates, Deirdre would’ve been a baby and unable to remember any event if one had occurred. She knew her mother loved her when no one else had.

“I wonder what made Scorpion, I mean my mother, stay.”

Tech looked at her and she saw that expression when he was in deep thought. “Do you want my opinion? It’s just a guess.”

“Give it to me.”

“I don’t know what brought her to Stone House but I think someone made her stay by using you. The state doesn’t just drop attempted murder charges for no reason. She must’ve cut a deal. I just don’t know who she cut the deal with.”

It was a logical assumption, although one she didn’t want to think about. She’d believed that she’d caused her mother’s death, then found her body implying that Scorpion faked the incident. Everything made sense, especially if Deirdre’s existence had caused them to be trapped in that hell hole. Scorpion couldn’t handle it anymore, and had to cut her ties the only way she could.

She shook away the thought of her mother. Nothing would right that wrong tonight. The dead were gone and it was time to worry about the living and the connection to a little girl named Lora Shope.

“The most surprising thing was Tamara Haas’ connection to Stone House.” Tech rubbed the back of his neck. “Does any of that make sense to you?”

“No, but it puts an interesting spin on things. After this little stop, keep digging. Make Tamara Haas and her father, the focus. I want to know their connection to Stone House.”

Tech didn’t argue or complain. That was unusual. His grumbling remained a natural part of his personality, something she’d grown accustomed to over the years. She pulled into the parking lot of the police station, when she finally heard him utter a sound.

“Deirdre?”

“What?”

He shrugged nervously, staring at his hands, and refusing to look her in the eye. “It would help me if I knew exactly what Stone House was.”

That was a loaded statement. Stone House was many things and nothing at the same time. She’d learned everything there, from her first steps to what a sword could do to a man. As for its true function, she knew no more than a soldier going to war. She had a few ideas but not what the ultimate objective was.

“Let me get this finished first. We’ll talk later.” She opened her car door then stopped. “I think you and Sabrine need to know about this. I’ve got a feeling that something from Stone House isn’t finished with me and I know Farmer isn’t.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” He nodded. “Do you want me to come inside?”

“Sure. Observe. I could always use an extra set of eyes, but we have to hurry.”

“Why?”

“We have to beat Farmer here.”

Deirdre walked into the station with Tech on her heels. Most smiled and waved, business as usual. A few turned their backs to her, but much of the department stayed friendly during her visits.

Noah Smythe was the first to come up to her, nearly hugging her, before protocol kicked in and he left it at a smile. She loved his smile, so warm and full of life. For a cop, he was an optimist. It was an endearing trait that would no doubt later get him killed in the line of duty.

“Deirdre, this is a pleasant surprise.” His eyes lit up. “I can spare a few minutes if you’d like to get something to eat.”

“Hi, Noah. I’m afraid that I’m here on official business.” For a split second she wished she was visiting him, just because he wanted her to. “It’s rather unpleasant, I’m afraid.”

“What’s up?”

She couldn’t find her voice. Cops stuck together and whatever alliances she’d formed could shatter over her allegations. She had to do something though. Farmer had come into her home, threatened her, stalked her, and whatever game he was playing had to end. There were bigger troubles than a petty detective.

“I need to file a complaint against Detective Ryan Farmer.”

The station seemed to fall silent but that had to be her imagination. Noah, led her to a back room and had Tech sit at the table next to her while he went after a supervisor. This would have to be handled delicately.

“What happened tonight?” Tech glanced back at the door.

“Let’s just say I got a nasty surprise when I got home.”

Noah brought in a burly, angry gentleman who Deirdre had met before. He’d been involved briefly in another job she’d done a few months ago. At the time, he made little impression on her, now she hoped he wasn’t in the same state of mind as Farmer. Not everyone in the force appreciated her business or the fact that her clients held little faith in the police department.

“Ms. Flye, Smythe tells me that you need to register a complaint against one of our officers.”

He didn’t introduce himself. His name tag read Tim Merchant and she got the impression that he was more irritated by her raising a problem for one of the officers than by her profession.

“I don’t mean to cause any trouble. It’s just that Detective Farmer seems to have a problem with me. He was waiting outside my home today. When he saw me pull into my driveway, he came inside, and tried to threaten me.” She let emotion fill her voice, it was fake but necessary. Merchant would only respond appropriately if she showed fear. “He accused me of starting a fire at an old school I attended and told me to get out of town or he’d come after me.”

“Now why would Detective Farmer do that?” Merchant put his hands on his hips, disbelief coloring his face.

“He said that I was a thorn in his side and had caused him trouble on the force. He thinks I’m some sort of vigilante.”

She lowered her head, not wanting to see the expression on Tech or Noah’s face. Playing the damsel in distress never fit her but if she didn’t do this now, she would be in distress when Farmer decided to press charges. She had assaulted him.

“How do I know anything you’re saying is true?” His voice kept a patronizing tone, his smile, a sad smirk.

Deirdre looked up at him. “I suppose there are missing periods of time when he was at a place called Stone House. You could check his computer for any searches he’s done on me.” She waited then looked up as if the last part had just occurred to her. “There’s something else. I don’t know how important this is but it demonstrates how strange he’s become.” She hesitated, just a beat, enough to let her words sink in. “The detective also said that he hadn’t shot Jack Shope. Some female officer on a motorcycle had. You could check the bullet taken from his body against Ryan Farmer’s weapon. He told me that he didn’t want another woman showing him up, so he claimed to have shot the perp.”

Tim Merchant looked at Noah. “All of you stay right here.”

As soon as the door closed, Noah and Tech looked at her, holding a mix of shock and concern in their wide eyes and open mouths. They knew better than to accuse her of lying. She would stretch the truth or omit parts when necessary but lying was something only to be done as a last ditch approach to survival.

“When did this happen?” asked Noah, choosing his words carefully.

“He confronted me right before I came here. I didn’t know how far he’d gone until then.” She turned and looked at Tech. “Did you see Detective Farmer leaving?”

His brows knitted a moment. “Oh, shit. Now that you mention it, I saw a brown sedan pulling out when I turned onto your road. I was too nervous to notice the driver but it looked like Farmer’s car.”

At once, they all stopped talking. The silence held physical weight, and she wished someone would say something. Noah only glanced between his watch and the shine on his shoes while Tech picked at his fingernails.

“You two are fun tonight.”

Noah and Tech both looked at each other. She supposed they were in awkward situations. Tech felt like a shit for investigating her. Noah had an entirely different problem. He was interested in her but her report would put a rift in any relationship, or whatever he worked toward having with her.

She nearly laughed at the idea. A simple home life wasn’t possible, her playing some Susie Homemaker while waiting for her big bad cop husband to get home. She could see their two children coming home from school. Sure she could. Deirdre knew she wouldn’t fit in on a PTA or at little league. Maternal instincts had probably been beaten out of her at Stone House.

“Ms. Flye.” Another officer came into the room, this one carrying papers. She’d seen him before and at least he’d always been friendly. “Merchant is doing some work and wanted me to take your complaint.”

“Really?” This could mean that Merchant didn’t believe a word she’d said. “That’s wonderful. Would you mind if I used the little girls’ room before we get started?”

“Sure. It’s down the hall on the right.”

Tech gave her an odd look but kept his mouth shut. Noah didn’t catch the cutesy way she spoke to throw off the officer who had been sent to do the paperwork, but Tech knew how she operated.

She stood from the straight backed chair and left the room, careful to close the door behind her. Instead of traveling to the restroom, she turned left where the detectives’ cubicles filled one room near the coffeemaker and bottled water.

From the corner of the room she could see Merchant looking through Farmer’s computer. She might’ve gone up and helped him but on the opposite end Farmer entered. His face was still red and he wasn’t walking very quickly. It was time for her to retreat.

Around the corner she hesitated, hearing Farmer ranting, screaming at Merchant for being at his desk. Then she heard her name, it echoed through the room, reverberating until all the other voices went quiet to listen in on the commotion.

“I’m telling you that she assaulted me. I want a warrant issued. I want two squad cars to go to her house and arrest her at gunpoint. She’s dangerous and needs to be taken down…brought in.”

“Just what were you doing at her house tonight, Ryan?”

Deirdre went back down the hall to the room where an officer sat talking to Noah. She shut the door behind her and took her seat. It was tricky to prove wrongdoing by a cop. They stuck together for the most part. It was forgivable considering the stress of the job, however, causing her grief was something she couldn’t overlook.

Noah was asked to leave, then the session began, taking longer than she’d expected. Usually someone else gave the statements, with her only getting involved when the officer insisted they had to speak with her. This ordeal made her glad her information wasn’t required for every case.

An hour after the paperwork began she finished retelling her story and was permitted to leave. For whatever reason they didn’t grill her over the charges. She expected the department to put up a fight, even thought they might arrest her and do a full booking. Perhaps her story had already been dismissed.

There was no sign of Merchant or Farmer as she left the station. Even Smythe had managed to disappear. A few officers whispered as she passed but none spoke to her. Apparently their minds hadn’t been made up yet. At least she wasn’t in jail. Deirdre never felt so glad to leave the station and step into the cool night air.

“So, what’s Farmer’s problem?” Tech fell into step behind her in the parking lot.

“I have an idea, but it seems petty.” Deirdre stopped in mid thought. The world seemed darker, something bad felt close. She looked around, wondering what lurked in the surrounding darkness, as an arrow swished through the air, hitting the small decorative Dogwood tree at the side of the parking lot. “Well, it seems I’ve been followed.”

She looked over at Tech who had dropped to the ground with both hands covering his head as if they were under heavy fire. For all his assets, he was no warrior. Cute in a dorky way, but no warrior. She hoped Sabrine had a positive effect on the boy.

“If someone wanted to kill us, they wouldn’t have shot the tree.” She tried not to make fun. Tech wasn’t a coward but he wasn’t far from it either.

“Oh.” He laughed nervously, looking up at her from the edge of the lot. Cautiously, he stood, looking around and taking forever to get to full height. “Would you mind not telling Sabrine about this?”

“Sure. Now see if you can get the arrow out.”

Deirdre scanned the area where the arrow had come from. There was a small hill with a few bushes. Behind those sat a brick building, some doctor’s office. Noises scattered from the vicinity, changing from branches to hard footfalls on pavement. She could go after them, but it had been a very long day. For now, she would let them go.

Tech reached for the arrow, having to use both hands, and a lot of tugging, to pull it free. Paper had been wrapped around the shaft near the fletching. She didn’t want that to be a note. Oh please let it say “made in China” or property of some twerp who lived down the road. He untied the string, pulled the paper free and handed it to Deirdre.

It was a struggle to hide her fear from Tech. He didn’t look at the message. The paper rolled back up, like some mini scroll, the moment it was off the shaft of the arrow. Her hands started to tremble, as she unrolled the paper. She didn’t want Tech to see, so she turned her back to him.

Dragonfly,

How lovely of you to visit me? I will see you tonight. There is much for us to discuss.

Niam.

P.S. I want the girl.

Deirdre read the note again, then a third time. Niam was going to visit her tonight. That couldn’t be good. His version of discussions was messy and often involved serious injury.

Then there was the mention of “the girl”.

There was only one girl Deirdre knew of and Lora Shope wasn’t connected to Stone House or Niam. Of course she was the granddaughter of the man who had owned the property. Niam shouldn’t have any involvement with her.

Deirdre tucked the note into her back pocket. Damn, she wanted this day to end, instead it grew worse. Her head and shoulders ached, and any chance of crawling into bed would have to wait until she’d dealt with Niam or whoever he sent to deliver his message.

“Come on Tech. Let’s get you out of here.”

She always thought that she would die young. No matter how great a fighter she was, someone always existed who was better. She just hadn’t expected to face her mortality this soon.

Chapter Ten

The interrogation room smelled of old sweat, the kind left behind from worried men frantically thinking of an alibi to rid them of any connection to whatever crime they’d committed. It was the scent of desperation, an end to schemes, and the beginning of hopelessness.

Ryan Farmer didn’t like it in here. He didn’t belong in this pale green room where the truth was squeezed out of so many perps. This was where Merchant had taken him, sitting him at the old wooden table. Graffiti marred its surface. Names and obscene pictures had been left by men trying to pass the time while hoping someone else would believe in their innocence. Some pictures were in pen, others carved by fingernail. One large word decorated the desk in a mix of elegant lines. This one word mocked him, “Deirdre”’. Even in here, waiting to explain himself Deirdre haunted him.

He looked down at an obscure skull and crossbones. The carving wasn’t very deep, probably done with a fingernail, scratching away bits of gray paint on the soft pine table. Whether the artist had marked this table as dangerous or tried to leave a passing statement about his own life, Ryan Farmer had no idea. At least the crude rendering held his attention, keeping his eyes off her name.

“We need to talk Ryan.” Merchant stood in the doorway holding a folder at his side as he went through the standard formal bullshit associated with an interrogation. Names were stated, a recording started, and rights were read. “What is going on with Deirdre Flye?”

Ryan closed his eyes, wishing he’d never heard her name. She had to come into this town, mess with his life. He’d had one opportunity to rid himself of her presence, and failed miserably.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ryan, I don’t have time for this. Were you investigating a case having to do with Deirdre Flye?” Merchant sat across from him, his fist tight on the folder, creasing it in several places.

“Yes.”

Merchant took a deep breath, seemingly happy with the acknowledgement. “What case?”

He had to think of a way out of this but his mind whirled in here, surrounded by that smell and whenever he tried to think, Deirdre popped back into his mind. She wasn’t content to torture him mentally. Her physical assault still clung over his achy body. His balls still quivered at the mention of her name.

Only the truth would come to mind, so he went with it. “Ten years ago there was a fire at a private school called Stone House. I have reason to believe that she was involved.”

“Who assigned you to this case?” Merchant’s face lit up. “Is it a cold case from the station?” He opened the folder on the table and pulled a pen from his pocket.

“No one assigned me.” This was going to be difficult. He’d researched Deirdre off and on for years but nothing ever came up, not until someone left that message on his desk. “No charges were ever filed in the fire.”

Merchant stared into the folder, the hope fading from his eyes. “Then I guess you’d better see these.”

In the short time since Ryan came, Merchant had gathered a small stack of print outs. One at a time, he passed them over for Ryan to look at. The first was a list of search sites Ryan had used to research Deirdre. There had to be ten pages, filled from top to bottom with pages he’d visited, probably harvested directly from his computer.

“From this, your Stone House isn’t even in our jurisdiction. If there were a case, it would belong to North Carolina’s investigators, not ours. Have you contacted them, spoke with any of their officers.”

“No.” His voice sounded small in the room.

Merchant shook his head slowly, obviously regretting whatever action was about to take place. “Tell me, why were you at Deirdre Flye’s home tonight?”

He couldn’t tell Merchant the truth. Using his position as a power play to force her to leave town was hardly acceptable behavior. He’d crossed county and state lines researching a woman who had left her mark on this town. There were things he’d done that were technically illegal to get his information, but nothing immoral. She was a blight, a danger, who used her wealthy clients to maintain her business. Something had to be done and his politically-savvy bosses didn’t have the balls to do it.

As his own sweat started to ease from his pores, he knew that Deirdre had found a way to hurt his career. She must’ve told her story first and put him on the defensive. It was a well-played gambit. Leaving this room without some form of penalty would be impossible.

“I went there to talk to her. That’s all.” He paused, hoping to sound confused about her reaction. “When I mentioned Stone House, she attacked me. I escaped and came here.”

“Why did she beat you here then?”

“I had to stop and…” What could he say? He had to pull himself together, that the woman had kicked his ass. “I needed a few minutes to think. Bringing her in could hurt my investigation.”

“An unauthorized investigation against a woman who no one suspects of doing anything illegal in a fire ten years old that was ruled a gas leak in another jurisdiction.” Merchant rubbed the sides of his nose, and closed his eyes. “I need you to give me something here. Anything.”

“So you’ve called North Carolina? You know that it was a gas leak.” This wasn’t good. “I don’t agree with their findings. I’m convinced it was Deirdre Flye.”

Merchant’s eyes narrowed. The expression appeared to be a statement of pain instead of anger. His old mouth tightened, jaw muscle straining beneath the skin while he flipped to another page in the folder.

“I’ve done everything to justify your actions or at least prove your side of the story.” He turned over another page, this one with the outline of a body. “Let’s switch gears for a minute. Tell me what happened with Shope.”

Ryan hadn’t considered there was anything wrong on that case. “I’ve already told the Chief. They’re not even going to do a serious investigation on the shooting. It was clean. I’m on administrative leave for a few days for my mental health, then it’s over.”

“Tell me.” Merchant leaned closer. “Tell me everything.”

Ryan began retelling the story of a man who’d managed to smuggle a gun into his patrol car, pick the lock from his handcuffs, and escape from a locked backseat. At the part of the shooting, Ryan hesitated, but finally told the version where he’d shot the suspect in the alley. It was a matter of official record.

“You know we have your gun from the shooting. Ballistics results should be in by next week. I can find out if you really shot Shope or if someone else did.” Merchant reached across the table, heavy knuckles, tapped on the wood making an awkward sound.

He hadn’t expected them to do a ballistics comparison. Admitting to a kill shot was bad enough and never doubted. Having to recant the statement, admitting to lying on the report could be career suicide. Deirdre had screwed him over good.

“Why is that necessary?” Ryan fidgeted. “It was a clean kill.”

“Not only is it necessary but I believe we will need your newly issued gun.”

Merchant wasn’t going to let up. This was bad, really bad. If he didn’t hand over his gun, there would be trouble. Oh shit. He’d falsified a statement. The least he’d get was suspension.

“I want a lawyer and my union guy.”

“Is that really the way you want this? Do you really want the guys out there to see the guilt squad coming in the door?”

He hung his head. “I didn’t make the shot. Some motorcycle cop I’d never seen before got him. I didn’t know her, so I assumed that she didn’t want the stigma or trouble associated with making a kill in this town. I took the blame. Sorry.” He shook his head, wishing that a simple ‘no’ would make all this go away. “I’ve never seen her before or since.”

“Is that the story you’re sticking with this time?” Merchant crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Ryan like he’d become the worst creature imaginable. “A cop you’ve never seen shoots a man who you were bringing into custody. You’ve got an illogical gripe with a lady who performs a service in this town. What am I supposed to do here? Your version of events sounds paranoid. Never mind the fact that you lied in your report and admitted to using this department’s resources on an unauthorized investigation.”

“It’s the truth and you know as well as I do that Deirdre Flye is a menace. Everything comes back to her, don’t you see? It was her suspect who got shot, she’s the one who attacked me, and she’s directly connected to a fire that killed hundreds of people. This town doesn’t need people like her, running around acting like the police are bumbling idiots. Her last two cases didn’t involve us until she decided it was necessary. Her clients didn’t want to trouble the police. It’s like we’re the fucking enemy here.”

“I guess you wish she’d get out of town.” Merchant spoke calmly, as if Ryan had changed to a small child that required too much patience to deal with. “Get her out of your hair.”

“Yes I do!” Ryan shouted. “That cunt has no business in a good town. She needs to travel south where they don’t care who gets shot or why. This town doesn’t need her.”

Ryan realized his error. He fell into the trap. Merchant had poked at him until he found a wound, a personal issue that could be linked to his aberrant behavior. He’d proved there really wasn’t a case, nothing but a pissed-off officer.

Merchant rubbed his eyes and suddenly it looked like he’d aged ten years during the interview. He pulled a pen from his pocket and started writing on a yellow legal pad he’d brought into the room.

“So far you’ve verified everything Deirdre Flye has claimed, from the shooting of Shope to you trying to force her to leave. I’m afraid I don’t have any choice here.” Merchant looked tired as he started writing. “I wish there was another way.”

No, Ryan didn’t want to hear what was coming out of Merchant’s mouth. Ryan was the good guy, not some lethal chick with a vendetta. He couldn’t be blamed for using less than orthodox tactics, given the circumstance. Deirdre had most the officers on this department fooled. Ryan couldn’t use normal means to bring a bad seed to justice.

“I want to talk to the Chief.”

“I’ve already spoken to him. I’m afraid you’re being placed on suspension until a formal query into your actions can be held. I must warn you that charges could be filed. You might want to get an attorney. Someone from Internal Affairs will be contacting you.”

“An attorney?” He was a cop. This would ruin him. “Don’t do this.”

“If you’ve been stalking Ms. Flye, then you might need good representation.” Merchant held out his hand again, flexing the sausage fingers. “I need your gun and badge.”

“Fine.” A surreal feeling settled over him. This couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening.

Ryan slapped the gun and badge on the table, hard enough that he feared the pistol might discharge. Thankfully it didn’t but the quiet thud of the gun didn’t ease his anger. He stomped out of the room, not speaking to anyone but feeling their eyes on him, wondering what he’d done. They’d seen Deirdre come in, probably heard bits of the conversation. The rumors would start soon, then the accusing whispers.

He went out to his car. In one night Deirdre had managed to strip him of his job, and humiliate him again in front of his colleagues. Letting this go wouldn’t be possible. He had a score to settle with Deirdre.

Ryan slid into the driver’s seat and started his sedan. At least they hadn’t asked for the keys back, yet. Being forced to get a taxi from the station to his home would be worse, especially if they found his hidden piece. He reached under the dash, back behind the glove compartment and pulled out a .32. Next, he would visit Deirdre.

Chapter Eleven

It was dark in Deirdre’s home. She had every light off, every window closed. She wanted to sleep but her mind wouldn’t rest. Images played through her thoughts of her mother, Farmer, and that bastard, Niam. He would come calling. Maybe not tonight, but soon he would breach her doorway and bring whatever grief he could muster. He was her teacher and her tormenter. That bond, the hold he had over her was hard to break.

She lay still, listening to the heater kick on. Soon a chill would settle over this little coastal town, even during the day. She looked forward to a change in the temperature. Maybe this was a good time to leave town, start over somewhere else. She would like a place with four true seasons, even a little snow around Christmas. Something from one of those Norman Rockwell pictures.

Deep inside, she didn’t want to leave and there was no way to run from Niam. That would be the path of a coward and one she wouldn’t walk. If he wanted to battle, then she would do it with the fury of her mother. Scorpion wouldn’t back down from anyone or anything.

The quiet hum of the furnace cut off and still she sat up in bed. Instincts told her that something would happen tonight. She wasn’t sure what it would be but she suspected Niam. Thankfully her crew was safe in their homes. She’d insisted even Tech leave. No one should be hurt by her past.

She abandoned her bed. There would be no peace tonight. In times like these, she wished she had the talent for seeing into the future. She didn’t know anyone who truly held the gift but many from Stone House had claimed to. It was one of the things achieved from a dying soul. Deirdre never wanted any power enough to watch the life drain from a person.

A car drove by on the main road and she checked the throwing daggers strapped to her leg. It was a little late for the neighbors to arrive, but Niam would never drive so close to her house. He would use stealth, attacking from some shadowed corner. Death would be swift, a sword through the gut, much like the fate her mother had faced.

She still wondered about her.

She considered all the possibilities. When had Scorpion died? What was the illusion and what held truth? Had she died in battle or had she come back for a daughter long since gone and faced an assassin in the burned-out halls?

A sound outside her home stopped the strange thoughts circling. The noise was soft, a footstep, a breath. Someone lurked near her. She felt her blood change to ice as she waited in the dark.

A scratching sound followed, a sloppy sign of an amateur burglar as the lock gave way and the front door creaked open. In the darkness, she caught the outline of a man. She took her short sword from the table. Her movements were silent while the man at the door remained clumsy, entering and letting the door click shut. The small noise was an obvious sign of a man wanting to get caught, followed, or perhaps someone hopelessly inept.

Deirdre kept silent, sliding away from the door in the darkness and out of range of this man’s abilities. As she sat on the steps, another noise came, this one of the skill that she’d expected. It was nothing more than the vacuum created when someone unwanted entered the room. The air shifted and she smelled a fresh outdoor breeze coming from the backdoor. She had two intruders.

Not moving a muscle, she waited with sword in her lap for how this would play out. Two assassins had been sent. Which was Niam, she didn’t know but she saw the outline of a gun in front, smelled the oil. Nothing so obvious came from behind. That was where the real danger existed.

Neither noticed her yet. Then she heard a quiet swipe. She pulled two throwing knives from her leg sheath and tossed them toward the backdoor, while the shadowed figure in front fell to the floor. The knives she’d thrown found their target. One sunk into flesh, bringing blood she could smell in the still room. The other sunk deep into a wall, mixing in the sound of sheet rock crumbling as the back door opened and fell shut.

Deirdre turned on the lights and saw a little blood at her back door, and a nasty hole in the wall she’d have to patch where the other dagger remained embedded. At her front door lay Farmer, a crossbow bolt in his thigh. It hadn’t occurred to her that she’d pushed Farmer far enough to break into her home with a pistol drawn.

She went to the back, staring out into the darkness, but there was no one there except for Snowball licking himself at her backdoor. Midnight or his henchman had vanished into the night leaving a strange pattern of blood drips along her patio. She really hoped the cat didn’t get into that. Her neighbor would be mortified.

“What brings you back to my home?” Deirdre walked over to Farmer, and then noticed the extent of his blood flow. The bolt had hit the femoral artery.

“Finish me off.”

“No way. I don’t want to kill.” She pulled the belt from her pants and wrapped it tightly near his groin. An act his skinny little leg didn’t make easy. “Stay still. Niam punctured the artery. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“Kill me you stupid bitch. I broke in. I’m not even an officer anymore.” His body trembled, the first sign of blood loss. “You had my job taken from me. You took everything from me.”

There was a strange scent to Farmer. She couldn’t put her finger on it but his blood didn’t smell quite right. It was familiar. Something in the back of her mind nagged at her. She didn’t have time to ponder the strange floral scent. She had to save his life.

“Shut up.” Deirdre grabbed the phone. It might be faster if she transported him, but if the belt came loose in her car, she wouldn’t have the means to replace any blood loss.

“Didn’t you hear me,” he shouted. “I came here to kill you.”

Deirdre gave the information to the emergency operator. After giving the address and Farmer’s situation, the operator repeated everything back to her. A few more questions and Deirdre was certain even the most incompetent person could get help here.

“I came here to kill you,” he repeated.

She hung up the phone, ignoring the operator’s requests to stay on the line. Near the couch lay the gun Farmer had brought. It seemed he dropped it after the bolt hit him. She’d seen the pistol, known what it was for, but his intent wouldn’t change her mind about retrieving help for him.

“I know why you were here. I watched you come inside.” She shook her head. This guy must really think she was an idiot.

Farmer laid his head back, and cursed quietly. She knew better than to try to sway his opinions of her. She wasn’t a murderer. Well, that wasn’t exactly right. She had caused her mother’s death, indirectly, but she wouldn’t let another person come to know oblivion because of her, if she could help it.

She pulled a throw pillow from the couch and put it under his head, then checked the belt again. The bleeding had slowed, but not nearly enough. He would need transfusions and surgery.

“Who shot me?”

That wasn’t a common question. Most people knew who had it in for them before a single bullet was fired. Unfortunately Farmer had chosen the worst moment on earth to break into her home. Irony could be sweet after all.

Deirdre swallowed down her smile. “I don’t know for sure. I didn’t see him but odds are that Niam Brogens did it or ordered it. He was here to kill me. After your rather insistent phone calls, I went out to Stone House. He must’ve had me followed back to town.” Rage grew in her for having this mess forced back into her life. “His fighting name is Midnight. You’re lucky. It also seems fitting that he shot you since you’re the cause of all this.”

“You call this lucky?”

“For him, this is a warning shot. You’ll live, with assistance.” She shrugged. “Maybe he got confused in the darkness, maybe he realized it wasn’t me. I don’t know. Just be happy you’re still breathing.”

“Why does he want you dead?” Farmer emphasized the word ‘he’.

Behind her the phone started ringing, probably the operator again. She didn’t want to go through the spiel, listening to a long list of questions while hanging on the line waiting for help. She ignored the phone.

Deirdre leaned back, tempted to make him lie there in silence until the ambulance arrived. Considering his situation, Farmer wouldn’t hurt her again, or even attempt it. She might as well give him some solace. He’d dug this far into her past and telling a little of her story might prepare her for revealing it to Sabrine and Tech.

“I disobeyed orders at Stone House. Punishment got complicated and my mother was murdered. They were just waiting for another reason to get me, torture me for screwing up again. If it weren’t for the fire, I would’ve been put to death too. Instead, I escaped. Either are offenses worthy of death in Niam’s eyes. He was a very strict teacher.”

He looked at her. His eyes brimmed with an unnatural hate. Then she thought about the flower smell of his blood. Most blood smelled coppery. His had the scent of Morning Glories.

“Farmer, have you been bewitched?”

He started to say something but the sirens outside made him stop. Deirdre opened the door as two police officers entered. One began searching the premises while the other took Deirdre’s statement. She stepped away from Farmer, to give a brief rundown of the events.

Thankfully the medics showed up before any real questions were asked. They assessed the situation and returned to the ambulance, bringing back a gurney and a medical bag with items to slow the bleeding. They didn’t remove the belt though. Farmer already looked too pale.

She stood at the door, watching them load him into the back of the ambulance. She stayed there as the white and red van pulled onto the road, lights whirling, sirens blaring through the night. Farmer would have a lot of explaining to do. She might have to do a little herself.

Standing there with the cold breeze flowing over her bare face and arms made things better. All day long she’d had the terrible feeling that her life had been nothing more than a dream, and she would wake as a scared little girl back in her room at Stone House. This was real though. She’d survived Niam once, she could do it again. He wouldn’t ruin her or take her back.

As she stayed in the doorway, another cruiser pulled into her driveway. Noah sat in the passenger’s side, getting out the moment the vehicle stopped. Worry covered his handsome face. A uniformed officer got out and followed Noah to her door. The man with Noah joined the other officers, examining her home while Noah stayed with her.

“Are you okay?” He looked her over then put an arm around her, seeming to debate on whether to hug her and settling on something in between.

“I’m fine.” She rubbed her neck, the stress built there, turning the muscles into tiny knots. Her movement also helped to removed Noah’s arm from around her shoulders. “Farmer is at the hospital.”

Deirdre stepped through the door first, sitting heavily on the sofa. One uniformed officer came back through the house and whispered something to Noah. Both Noah and the cop sat on the opposite side. For whatever reasons, this already felt like official business.

“What happened?” Noah leaned closer, and for a brief instance, she wished he would make physical contact again. “Did he hurt you?”

Another statement she didn’t want to give but the uniformed guy had already pulled out his little memo pad. This day wouldn’t end. She’d died and gone to hell where everything took too long and became tedious. Dante hadn’t thought of this torture. He didn’t have forms to fill out, although this level of hell deserved mentioning.

“I was sitting on the stairs at the side of my living room when I heard two people break in. Ryan Farmer came in through the front, gun drawn. Somebody else came in the back. They saw each other and the guy from the back shot a crossbow bolt through Farmer’s leg.”

“You saw all this?” The uniformed officer wrote frantically, trying to note all the details. She’d seen him before but couldn’t place his name. She’d always been bad with names.

“Yes.” She wasn’t sure what Farmer would say. He couldn’t deny breaking into her home. “I heard the noise and sat in the shadows waiting to see what would happen.”

“Who was the guy that shot Ryan?” Noah took careful attention, looking deeply into her eyes as if asking the information would be a turn on. “Did you know him?”

Delving into the details of her association with Niam would get messy. She didn’t want to go there. For her, memory lane was filled with potholes and monsters that could come up and attack.

“I’m guessing it was a target I had encountered. I didn’t get a clear look at him. It was dark and the attacker fled without me seeing his face.” Deirdre hadn’t lied, but carefully let out pertinent details. She hadn’t seen the attacker’s face and they didn’t need to know her hunches. “Sorry I can’t be more help.”

“Do you know why Ryan was here?”

She knew. Any fool knew the kind of hatred he harbored. The emotion ate at him, trying to consume him from the inside out. He’d come here to kill her, shoot her in her sleep.

“I don’t care to speculate, but that’s his gun on the floor.”

The uniformed officer stepped outside to the patrol car. When he came back, he had a plastic baggy and had slid on a pair of latex gloves. Funny, the cop picked up the gun with his thumb and forefinger, touching it by the edge of the barrel as if putting it into evidence. Could it be possible that the police were going to prosecute one of their own? She knew it happened in larger cities, but this place had a different code of ethics.

After a few more questions they stood to leave, Noah remained by the door. He was sweet, but she didn’t do sweet. The uniformed cop went out to the car giving her a few minutes alone with Noah that she didn’t want.

“Would you like me to stay?” He stepped closer, putting a hand on each of her shoulders, and drawing her closer. “I will sleep on the couch. I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

“It’s not necessary.” She didn’t know what to do, swoon, bat her eyelashes. Some flirting or something should be in order but she was at a loss as to how. “I do run a security company.”

“I thought you’d say that.” He shoved both hands into his pockets and kicked at the door frame. “I’m not the enemy, you know. You don’t have to act tough around me.”

Noah flashed a smile, movie star quality, and she suddenly wished she were the type of woman to fall for it. That’s what he wanted, even needed. Deep down inside, he probably thought she was hard on the outside, waiting for a good man to come along and open up the soft caring woman at her core. He hadn’t realized that there was nothing beneath, nothing for him. She was hollow.

At the end of the day, she might wish a man could take care of her or reach through the damage Stone House had done to make her feel like a real human being. Noah wasn’t the man for the job. He’d always try to change her instead of accepting her the way she was.

“It’s not an act. Goodnight.”

She pressed against his chest, gently helping him out of the door, so she could shut it. Before clearing the frame, he took her hands, lowering them, then leaning toward her face. Inches separated them before she realized what he was doing. His hand came up, lifting her chin then his lips pressed fully against hers. The contact was bliss with gentle pressure and he pulled away, saying nothing more.

There was nothing to say. She touched her lips, feeling a little tingle, then turned and went back inside. Through the glass she saw him linger, staring back. She was tempted to invite him back in, but then what? There could be no happily ever after with him.

She locked the door and watched him climb into the passenger’s side of the patrol car. He was charming, but she had no time for puppy dog crushes. She had to find a way to deal with Niam and Farmer, and find the association with Shope.

A quick clean up had to come first. Deirdre took a plastic bucket from beneath the sink and started scrubbing away the blood splatters in her home. Blood never cleaned up well, wanting to smear before letting go of a surface. After a few more swipes with a washcloth, the blood was gone and her house was free of any reminders. She threw the bucket and cloth away, then went upstairs.

It was late, her body was exhausted, but her mind wouldn’t rest. She ran water, hoping a hot bath would help. With her clothes stripped away, she grabbed a towel and stepped into the bathroom as the telephone started ringing.

“Damn it.” Naked and pissed, she went to the bedroom and took the cordless phone off the stand. “What?”

“Deirdre, your office phone…” Tech stammered. “I checked the answering machine on your office phone. There was a message.”

“What about it?”

There was a long pause and she wondered why she ever gave Tech the code for the answering machine. Okay, he was the only one who ever checked it, but right now she had a tub of hot water growing tepid.

“A girl left a message.”

He paused again and she wished she could reach through the phone and smack him. Another client could wait. There were too many loose ends to tie up and she couldn’t concentrate on any more problems.

“The girl identified herself as Lora Shope. She said that she needs our help.” His voice rose a notch. “It has to be the same one. She called us.”

Her mind reeled. Deirdre had been involved in Jack Shope’s death, albeit indirectly. Kids usually didn’t see things clearly. Lora might blame Deirdre for his death.

A worse thought came to her, crashing in like Niam’s letter. Lora could be in trouble. Her father had warned Deirdre. For whatever reasons, Lora Shope could be in danger, possibly from her own mother. “When did she call?”

“About an hour ago. She didn’t leave a phone number, only said that Gladys would know how to reach her. The caller ID shows unavailable.”

“Find me this Gladys. I’m heading to the office. I want to know where that girl is by dawn.” She ended the call, standing in her hallway, and found herself hugging the handset.

A girl pursued and Niam lurking with a fresh group of martyrs. They couldn’t start up another Stone House. They wouldn’t need Lora for it. A girl like that wouldn’t have the training.

Deirdre went back to the bathroom, sitting in the tub long enough to wash off before putting on fresh clothes. Lora had called the office, so that’s where Deirdre wanted to be in case she tried again.

The night air hit her, cool and comforting as she got in her car and started into town. She drove with the window down, heater running, enjoying the wind in her hair as the radio played some rock tune. The words were lost to the sound of the wind but she loved it anyway. This was the best thing about being away from Stone House. Driving along, master of her own destiny, pure freedom whipped through her, surrounded her senses. She was a person, not just a pawn in a game. She smiled and realized that she was happy.

Maybe I have emotions after all.

She parked on the street in front of her little security office. No other businesses were open this time of night. She had always been known to keep odd hours so they never questioned her when they saw her leave early in the morning or keep the doors locked during normal hours. Her clients never came in person, preferring to phone in their problems and wait for Deirdre to visit them.

A junk jewelry store sat directly left of her office. Next to it was a sporting goods/hunting supply store called Get Out. They carried a considerable arsenal and always managed to get her a discount on specific items she needed for work. Finishing that end of the road was a convenience store, complete with burned coffee odors and stale mini cakes.

On the other side was a lawyer’s office, very elegant from what little she’d seen of the plants and nice furniture through the windows. Their corner ended after the lawyer’s office. Her business occupied the street before the fancier retail area that surrounded her dowdy block.

There wasn’t much across from her except for a parking garage. The lights were always on there, with an attendant reading a magazine or watching the nine-inch television someone had snuck in. They were nice guys, sometimes stopping by when they saw her light on late at night.

Deirdre pulled a large round key chain from her purse with a dozen different keys for areas she frequented. Her car and house keys were kept on a separate set, for ease. The main office, Tech’s, and a few of the better hotels that used her services for security were on the other set.

The door to her business was marked in white with the words The Security Specialists printed below a pretty dragonfly riding between the y and s. She found the brass key and stuck it in the dead bolt, then turned another key in the second lock that went to the door. At that moment, she had thirty seconds to disarm the alarm system. Thirty seconds ticked by slowly, a lot of time for fighting, car accidents, computers, or getting away from the annoying person trying to keep a conversation going. For some reason it seemed like a blink when it came to the alarm, making her rush to enter her five digit code to disengage it.

Once the little white box had a green light, she was fine, locking the front door behind her. This front section should have a receptionist, except they rarely had anyone sitting there. All available manpower was used for jobs. No matter what a person was hired in to do, they ended up working security. She kept an answering machine and twice a week a college kid came in to answer the phones. That was it. Her business worked on word of mouth and all her clients knew the situation. The best clients had her cell phone number.

She went through the make-shift waiting room. There were two chairs, a television, and a table covered with magazines old enough to make a person cringe. Next came the receptionist’s desk. Further inside ran the hall, bathroom, a small kitchenette, and three offices. The largest was in the back. It functioned as a staging area where assignments were given. The two smaller offices belonged to her and Tech. Tech’s looked like pure chaos with disks, computers, computer parts, and papers littering everything, even the floor. Just walking through that place was a hazard. Tech didn’t work there often, preferring his home office to this one, but it sufficed during the planning stages of jobs.

She pulled out the awful loop of keys, and opened her office door. Her desk stayed neat, with only a phone and answering machine on the top. Behind the desk was another PC that Tech didn’t approve of. He rarely approved of anything inexpensive and turned his nose up at equipment more than a year old.

The only luxury she allowed herself was the large, comfy leather chair. There she sat, sinking into the soft cushions. At least one thing was going right today, she had her chair. She leaned back and saw her answering machine, the little black display had a red zero. Tech had purged all old messages. Deirdre would’ve preferred hearing Lora’s voice, but Tech was a creature of habit.

Why would trouble stalk a little girl? The answer for that had never been clear.

The clock on the wall said one in the morning. She shouldn’t be this tired for one, but her eyes grew too heavy to deny. Sliding down into the chair, she shut her eyes and waited.

Chapter Twelve

The phone rang, pulling her from her dreamless sleep and back to the plain tan walls of her office. She jerked awake, glancing at the clock as her tongue fought against the funk that had coated her mouth.

“Security Specialists.”

“I found Gladys Shope. She’s Jack Shope’s mother, our last target.” There was no hello, no greeting at all. Tech sounded tired, excited, but needing rest.

Deirdre was very aware who Jack Shope was. She could still remember his voice, the look in his eyes when he spoke of the danger to his daughter. It hadn’t been a madman’s plea.

“Do you have anything definite on Tamara Haas’ connection to Jack Shope?”

“Sure do. She was his wife. They divorced during her pregnancy. It seems that Tamara made the mistake of listing the father’s name on the birth certificate. The state contacted him when Tamara tried to apply for welfare.”

“Welfare?” She shook her head and glanced at the clock. It was five in the morning. “I thought Tamara came from money. Why would she go on welfare?”

“Her family is rich but she tried to make it on her own. With a little girl, that was hard. Anyway, Jack Shope filed for custody and Tamara gave it over without a fight. They didn’t reconcile. Lora Shope spent her life with her father in Glendale, Arizona. We know that Tamara Haas continued on to have fame and fortune. Something happened though, I don’t know what yet. She must’ve reconciled with dear ole daddy because the mansion where she lives is in his company’s name. Despite her money, she seems to have become reliant on her father again.”

“The same company that owned Stone House?” She didn’t like the sound of this.

“That’s the one.”

Lora Shope was the granddaughter of the man who’d started Stone House. Tamara Haas was the daughter. With that kind of money why was Niam running his second rate operation while posing as a preacher?

“Give me the info on Gladys. I need to speak with her.” She held a pen. “Please tell me I don’t have to fly to Arizona.”

“As luck would have it, she’s in this state.”

Deirdre wrote the information then hung up with Tech. According to Tech, Gladys lived on a little farm out in Weaverville, not too far from here. Her name had been changed from Shope to Dillingham, but he was certain it was the same lady. From what he told her, it sounded like Gladys had gone to some lengths to gain anonymity.

After printing directions off the internet, Deirdre went to the bathroom. She kept a few toiletries stashed there for all nighters. Right now, she needed mouthwash. A rinse and a spit later, she was a new woman.

Back in her office, she prepared for the trip, pulling out her trusty 9 mm. It was black with chrome accenting two small stripes on the barrel that ran down both sides to the handle. The gun looked showy, but she’d wanted it from the first time she’d seen it in the store window. She purchased it the day after she started this business.

The gun went in a side holster. She wrapped a black band around her leg with a small collection of throwing knives tucked into each of the slots. At her ankle, she tucked a small .22. She didn’t like ankle holsters. Usually it messed with her during hand to hand confrontations, throwing off her kicks and stance. For this job, she wasn’t going to take unnecessary chances and preferred the added fire power. Even Niam would fall to a bullet.

The short chain wrapped around her wrist wasn’t for ornamental purposes, but a quick and dangerous weapon. She took two small inch and a half pins, sliding them into small grooved pockets along the wire in her bra. They would come in handy for lock picking, and no one would detect them. Finally, she grabbed her short sword and sheathed it. It fit on her back, but wasn’t very comfortable during long car rides.

Deirdre locked up the office and went down the deserted sidewalk, stopping at the twenty-four-hour convenience store. After purchasing a bottle of water and some plastic-wrapped crap they called doughnuts, she stepped back onto the sidewalk. All at once she stopped and went back inside the store.

She hadn’t reached out with her senses, hadn’t tested the winds for enemies, yet danger lurked close. It was strong enough to leave indicators without her trying to find them. Something was definitely wrong.

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. No cars drove by her building. The shadows were deep though. Night still reigned. The sun had not yet peaked high enough over the buildings to cut through the darkness. Evil lurked out there, making everything prickly, wrong. She felt a static charged death creeping along the street. Still, she saw nothing.

She knew the sensation well. It filled Stone House, charging it and making it seem invincible. The average person never understood pure evil until they were mugged, or saw a murder. Most never knew that it was more than an angry person, a bad situation. Some things, some people were malevolent. They carried weight with them, like the dark soul that shifted gravity, or maybe gave out a subtle warning only the careful perceived.

No one roamed the streets that she could see. Deirdre went toward the back of the store, peering over the magazine rack, trying to see more of the street in front of her business. She strained, staring, and then she saw it. A shadow ran beneath her car, its creator invisible, probably keeping out of sight and close to the building.

Out of curiosity, she hit the alarm button on her car. At first, the signal wouldn’t reach. She went out the door, then eased her way along to the dumpsters sitting alongside the store. From there she hit the alarm. At the first honk of the alarm, bullets filled the night. A semi automatic and an amateur with a jumpy finger to blame. After the cacophony, came cussing and she snuck a look as a man rolled out from beneath her car. The jerk holding the gun helped him up and the two took off running as the attendants from the parking garage came out from behind the white bar of the entrance. Deirdre killed the sound of the alarm.

She’d always been paranoid, and had special features installed along the undercarriage of her vehicle. Where others had open areas where the right criminal could disconnect alarms, cut break lines, and cause whatever vandalism inspired them, she had sheet metal bolted to the frame. Just to change the oil took an hour and her mechanic let his temper fly every time he had to unscrew the sheet.

Not every part was covered. That would be impossible considering the axles and struts, but planting a bomb or stealing her car would take more time and consideration than most criminals had patience for.

Deirdre walked up the sidewalk, knowing that the two had fled the scene. Something still didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe they’d stopped nearby to observe her.

She started to feel the air. Find the energy she sought. It took a little concentration and before she could pinpoint anything Scott, the garage attendant, came running. His bravery greatly enhanced by her presence. She should’ve been happy to see him instead it made her worry for his safety and stopped her search for the enemy. Still, a sinister sensation covered the area and Deirdre feared what might be waiting around the corner.

She wondered if he waited nearby.

“Everything okay, Deirdre?”

“Sure. Probably some kid trying to jack a car.”

It was a pleasant thought and possible. Anything was possible. Okay, most kids didn’t carry guns like that but she preferred that image to Niam waiting for her to arrive.

“Want me to call the cops?”

“They won’t do anything. Thanks though.” She stepped around the vehicle, then dropped to one knee, looking beneath the car. “You’d better get back to work. I appreciate you stopping by.”

She looked up long enough to see Scott make his way back across the road. He was a good kid but a kid nonetheless. It also seemed that the guys messing with her car were a couple of kids, not experienced at anything. A piece of paper somersaulted by the wind landed on the street in front of her. She picked it up, and found a damn wiring diagram for her car. The punks had brought instructions and from the looks of it, they were to install a tracking device with some sort of remote detonating ability. Of course she couldn’t be certain unless she saw the actual box they were trying to attach.

The presence she’d felt earlier couldn’t have been from those two. She took a deep breath and stood, turning as she examined her surroundings. The feeling of evil hadn’t gone with the children who’d been following the bizarre homework they’d been given. It lingered nearby, watching her.

“Where are you?” Her words were whispers, carried on the wind. “Where are you?” She repeated no louder. If Niam were nearby, he would hear all the same.

Across from her, a dark figure jumped the short wall separating the parking garage from the street. He wore a long black coat, hooded, flowing behind him like some primitive beast from darkness. Then again, that’s what he was.

His movements were quick, hypnotizing. She didn’t attempt to remove her gun from the holster as he approached. Showing aggression too early would give away her hand. Instead, she watched the poetry of his stride until he stopped, still in the road and addressed her from beneath that black hood.

“Dragonfly. My sweet Dragonfly. My, how you’ve matured.” There was an intimacy to his voice. It was smooth, deep, and revolting at the same time. No matter what he said his voice carried the hint of sex and murder, lacing his words with primitive fears Deirdre had grown accustomed to.

“Why are you bothering me?” She fought to stare into the hood, prove to him that she wasn’t a squeamish child anymore. “I thought our business died with Stone House.”

“Why did you return to Stone House? Was it to find me?”

She couldn’t see his face. The dark cloth shadowed what little of him was exposed. Even his hands were gloved, black gloves, giving him the appearance of nothing more than a shadow that dared to take form.

Deirdre leaned back against her car, trying to appear relaxed but that wasn’t how she felt. Her heart pounded and fear crept through her being like some evil cancer trying to take her apart from the inside out.

“I have my reasons.” She let her right hand ease toward her pistol. “A guy went there searching my past. I needed to know what had survived. I would like my past to stay buried.”

His body held still, he’d look like a statue if he weren’t standing in middle of the road. She wished some big truck would come by and plow into him. That would be good entertainment. See his mystical, supposedly all powerful butt plowed under from a very normal machine. The image of a steamroller came to mind, turning him into an inch-thick blob made her smile.

“What has you so amused?”

She laughed a little, turning him into a cartoon character. No blood, just a thin arch rocking back and forth as the steamroller went by. “Can you not read my mind now?” Deirdre remembered the stories about his power. His skills went beyond the physical into something she didn’t like to consider. She took a step from the car, edging closer to the road. “Lost your touch?”

“You know I could never read minds. My abilities were in other areas.”

Then it happened. She was looking at him and then he was gone, moving faster than her eyes could track. Taking the time to look for him was wasted. She reached for her side holster, touching the gun when she heard him behind her. Only a second had passed and he’d moved behind her, unseen.

“Is it your intention to kill me?”

Deirdre kept her voice low, even. She didn’t want to turn to face him, but that’s what he wanted, so she obliged him. Her movements slow, careful as she faced her nemesis again.

“If that were my intention, you’d be dead.”

His hood stayed low. Although he was three feet from her, she couldn’t see any details about his face. His standard mode of operation had always been to look prey in the eyes, hoping to harvest some energy from them as they passed into oblivion. Now he avoided being seen. Curious.

“Why are you bothering me then? I have things to do.”

“What? You don’t want to catch up on old times?”

Old times. Her memories of their times together were horrible, with many classes ending with her unsure if she would make it through the night. She knew the taste of her blood, understood pain so deep she’d prayed to die and much of it was attributed to this man.

“I don’t believe any of our old times need to be remembered. You were never one of my favorite teachers.” She shook her head, remembering how he would stand over her, holding his sword, and telling her that today she would die. He taught her hatred, rage, and the desire to kill, although she only desired to kill him.

“That’s too bad. You were one of my favorite students.” She couldn’t see his eyes but she felt them going over her and had to fight to keep from cringing.

“It does seem that your current students are lacking finesse. Have you lost backing from the owners of Stone House or are you hoping to sacrifice a few men?”

He laughed and she hated the sound. She could almost see him at the end of class, sword at her throat, laughing at how he’d defeated her again. He would cut her, just enough to draw blood. On good days he would cut her a little across the hairline, not enough to scar but enough where blood would run, marking her loss.

“Those students are imbeciles. It’s much harder to find good help these days.” His shoulders relaxed. “As for Stone House, we are no longer associated. The real backers dropped our little school back when you were just a girl.”

The wind blew stronger and he put one hand on his hood to hold it in place. A bit of black hair escaped but that was all. He’d never tried to stay covered before; perhaps the fire had left its mark on him.

“A reverend now. What denomination?” Part of her hoped he’d found God, the real one, not the made-up version used to justify murder. It was a fantasy, but one she indulged to keep from running away.

He raised his head. Although she couldn’t see his eyes, they bored into her. Another one of his gifts, studying people, analyzing them until he knew their demons, then he used them. Nothing was worse than watching a person reduced to their worst fears. She doubted he could do that with her. She was facing hers now. He couldn’t pull some psychotic nightmare out of her mind when hers was a real man.

“The Church of the Spirit. It’s a version of my own creation. Something beautiful, if I do say so myself.”

Stone House was a version of someone’s creation. She remembered the ceremonies, the sacrifices. They claimed to gain great power, magic through the bloodletting. All she saw was death.

“I know you never believed in any of it.” Niam reached one gloved hand toward her and tried to touch her face, but she moved out of range. “That’s why I pushed you so hard. You had the gift. You could’ve been something wonderful.”

“I am something wonderful, thank you very much.”

“No. You’ve never released a soul. That is where real power comes from. You never understood that.” He sounded sincerely upset for her lack of blood lust. “Maybe I should’ve been a better teacher.”

Releasing souls was a nice way to describe murder. She couldn’t deny that the leaders did the unexplainable. She, however, had never experienced true magic. Maybe a heightened sense of danger, or inherit gifts for finding enemies, but the bloodletting never brought more than death. There was nothing magical or wonderful in watching those people die.

“Murder is murder, not magic.”

“You always had rather narrow views. Tell me, can you deny the magic we summoned in Stone House?” He spoke while moving gloved hands, always the showman, even in conversation.

“I’ve seen mad men manage more. Poor simple fools do more amazing stunts.”

She saw his gloved hands ball into fists. He never had much patience with her attitude or her comments. She’d earned many backhands across the face for speaking her mind. This time he didn’t strike her though. He seemed to reconsider at the last moment.

“Tell me little Dragonfly, how did you escape the fire?”

“I have a magic trick or two of my own.”

Deirdre kept her hand near the gun, knowing this couldn’t end well. He hadn’t tracked her this far for simple conversation. She didn’t want to fight him. His speed always got the better of her, making her guess where he’d strike instead of following the blows and reacting.

“Where were you going to next?”

Again, he spoke. Niam had never been one to carry out conversations without purpose. He was up to something now. “Another job. Nothing fancy, just a person needing protection from the vermin of this world.”

“Is that what you consider me, vermin?”

She smiled. He knew her opinions, so there was no reason to state them. Niam wouldn’t let his emotions get him to a point where she would have an advantage in battle. Pushing him would serve no means.

“Why are you here? Why are your men trying to mess with my car? Why are we even talking?” She wanted to ask about her mother’s body but stopped herself. Niam wouldn’t tell her the truth unless he thought it would hurt her. “Why bother me now?”

“Bother you? Well, I guess our time for pleasantries has ended.”

Niam drew his sword, a long Samurai sword with carvings in the handle and a very shiny, very sharp looking blade. With his speed and the reach of that thing, he could behead her. Deirdre pulled her pistol.

“I don’t want to do this.” The gun was cocked, her finger resting on the trigger. “Leave me alone.”

There was a flash, then pain flooded her hand, and she heard her pistol hit the pavement. He moved too fast, then stood there like he hadn’t done anything while her hand bled profusely from a cut behind her thumb.

“Don’t ever pull a gun on me. They’re barbaric.”

Deirdre made a move for the gun on the ground with her uninjured hand, while the other reached to her ankle. He took the bait. She felt the wind move, more than saw him. His sword slashed at her hand while she fired. Then she saw Niam. Her teacher took several steps back. His mouth fell open in surprise. He looked at his shoulder than back at her. She’d fired twice but only one bullet hit him in the shoulder. Hardly a lethal shot, but it broke his concentration and confidence. It was a good beginning battle. Both of them were injured, but he broke stance first, shocked that she’d hurt him.

Both his hands grasped the handle of his sword and she knew that he would strike again. He was finding his center. Then he blurred, but she was ready, firing again, sensing the point where the sword joined the handle. The blade broke away flying up and over his head, striking the brick building with a resonating metallic chime that reminded her of a tuning fork.

“Now, what is your problem with me?” Deirdre kept her gun on him.

Niam looked at the handle, the bit of metal shirred off at the base at an odd angle glimmered in the street lights. It was the image of him, standing there with his broken trinket that shamed her. She hated him, wanted him dead when she’d never held that emotion for another person. Seeing him defeated was more than she’d ever hoped, and also shocking.

“You left. You shouldn’t have left.” He hung his hooded head and she knew this wasn’t finished. “Rumor has it that you’re after a girl.”

Back to the girl but if Stone House wasn’t backing him, what would he want with Lora Shope? “What girl?”

“The Haas girl. She needs to be brought to me.” He eased forward. “If you bring her, I’ll let you live.”

“Right now I think you should be more concerned about your own health.”

His strike was fast, turning her head in a haze of black robe while her vision sparked from the blow. The gun went off but flew from her hand. There was no time to think, luckily she didn’t. Her fist went out. She closed her eyes, knowing that her sight wouldn’t help her as another punch found her stomach. Niam made a small noise as she threw wild hits, letting her know that she hurt him, but not as badly as he’d hurt her.

Her thigh exploded in pain and she went to her knee driving her fist upward but only finding air. Then she heard more footsteps in the street and she opened her eyes, hoping for a cop or at least a witness. Instead there were six or seven of his guys surrounding her, most holding guns, all of them ready to destroy her.

“Couldn’t even manage a fair fight?”

Niam stood there, arms folded across his chest. “There’s no point in killing you. Perhaps you could be valuable. I always thought I could use you.” The way he said “use” brought chills. “I always thought you had potential.”

“No one said you were winning.”

“Always stubborn.”

He stepped forward and she balled her fist ready to punch into that black hood and smash whatever was hidden there. Around her, guns cocked, and pointed. She lowered her fist.

“You know I could kill you with my bare hands.” Niam moved close enough for his robe to brush her body.

“I’m not that little child anymore. You can’t do shit.” She stared into the blackness, searching for some outline of his features. “Apparently you know it too or you wouldn’t have bothered with your followers and their ‘barbaric’ weapons.”

“You deserve this treatment. You never took your punishments well. Besides, you should learn what working for a woman like Tamara Haas will get you.”

He was going to hurt her. That was a fact. She tried to calm down. Her heart hammered and she’d never been more terrified. There was more at stake than her pain though. She had to find out some information before this turned really ugly. It might be her last chance to learn his association with Lora Shope or his intentions with his new religion.

“What do you want with a girl? Getting lonely since you only have boys to play with?” She motioned to the men standing around her with weapons aimed.

Niam’s hand clenched and she knew he would try to hit her again. On impulse she moved, and he missed, nearly falling forward from the momentum. It must’ve looked impressive to the other men surrounding her because a few lowered their weapons and all of them stood with their mouths agape. Honestly, she hadn’t known when to move, only sensed the air and followed her instinct. It actually would’ve looked pretty silly if he hadn’t tried to hit her.

“Come on. Why do you want the girl? Who do you want her for?”

This time his shoulder twitched, as if readying for the hit. Again, she moved on instinct and Niam missed. Fighting back would only get her shot, so she kept her hands at her sides, waiting and watching for some sign that the beast would strike again.

“Are you really so afraid of me that you try to hit me while armed men surround us?”

“I’m not interested in a battle. I just want to break you and bring you home. That’s really the only way this can end. You submit yourself to me. It will hurt less.”

She knew that a fair fight was the last thing on his mind. He wanted to punish her, put her in her place. Niam loved control and his ecstasy was a woman’s tears while he loomed over them. She’d heard stories about the women he kept and the marks he left on them.

“Tell me what’s with the girl.”

He went at her again. This time she dropped to her knees as a flurry of his cloak and one hard kicking foot went over her head. She could’ve struck him then but the men watching would shoot. It didn’t even sound like Niam wanted to kill her, only wound her enough to make her submissive.

“You’re better at dodging. Nice to see you’ve learned something since we parted.”

Deirdre didn’t try to see him move, but somehow she could see him this time. It could’ve been because her fear had subsided or maybe she’d found the second sight the old warriors always spoke of. Either way, his left hand came up, aiming for her. She moved her head to the side, and he only struck air. Still afraid to really strike, she reached for his shoulder and helped his energy drive him to the ground. He looked up, and for the first time in ten years, she saw his face as she was standing above him.

Jagged red scars covered the right side from his temple to his chin. The skin had tried to heal but the burn looked too severe. The once handsome man had been reduced to mirroring the ugliness he’d held inside for so long. When she’d caught a glimpse of him at Stone House, she hadn’t been able to see this side, this horribly twisted scarred sight.

“I see you had some trouble escaping the fire.” Deirdre tried not to look. The skin, too repulsive as his hood fell completely back to his shoulders and the long black hair blew away from his face. He’d been reduced to a bubbling mask of death and the look suited him better than the model good looks she remembered.

“Perhaps you should experience the pain of fire.”

He reached for her, grabbing her before she could move away. She should’ve expected it but the sight of his face made her lose focus. His grip on her arm was agonizing, shocking her at the strength in that deformed body, and then his left hand reached to her midsection. “Experience what power the souls can bring.”

Over her years at Stone House, she’d heard about a power called the burning touch. It was a myth, something to warn young warriors against sloppy fighting. No one had ever experienced it. Not until now.

For a half a second, only the weight of his hand made it through her thin shirt. Then the heat began, radiating from his palm to her stomach. She tried to pull away, but his other hand held tight while that palm tingled and the first of the pain started. Deirdre tried to hit him and got several blows to that scarred face before one of his henchmen pressed the gun against her temple. She’d have to endure whatever plans he had for her. Then the real pain began, and she couldn’t fight or move.

The equivalent of hot irons filled her belly, pain worse than anything she’d ever felt before and she went to her knees, staring at the deformed face. He looked amused by his win, smirking at her, while she struggled not to scream.

“Maybe this will teach you respect.”

“Is that all you got?” Her skin had to be peeling away, and she fought the tears. “You’re a coward, capable of fighting only while hiding behind a punk with a gun.” She tried to hide the pain, keep it out of her voice.

The heat became too much. Sweat ran down her forehead and any other attempts at speaking died in her mouth, burned to a cinder by whatever demonic gift Niam had salvaged from Stone House.

“Ask me to stop.” He leaned closer licking his lips, from burned side to normal.

She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. Everything in her focused on the horrible pain burrowing through her body. She tried the old ways to alleviate pain, picturing blue calm, white healing, but all she felt was bright red torture.

“Come on rebellious whore. Beg for me.”

He wouldn’t let this end. He’d hurt her until she passed out or died, unless she begged for him. Nothing on earth would make her beg to that bastard, not even the fires in hell.

Deirdre summoned all her strength, focused on one thing. Speaking. Before she passed out she had to make her mouth work, needed to make her voice heard above these bastards with their guns. They had to see rebellion.

“Fuck you.” Then she slumped forward, trying to relax enough so Niam would believe she’d passed out from pain.

“Dragonfly, you always were stubborn.” He removed the hand from her stomach. “Disband. We’ll take the woman with us. I’ll finish my work on her later.”

He released his hold on her arm and she fell forward, hitting the asphalt. She felt the rough surface dig into her scalp. It would’ve hurt, if not for the throbbing at her belly. Nothing hurt as much as a burn.

Several men moved around, while two stepped on each side of her, sliding their hands under her shoulders. Oh for heaven’s sake. I don’t weigh that much, she thought as the one on her left groaned. She couldn’t look but felt a gloved hand touch her cheek. It had to be Niam.

Her timing would have to be perfect or they’d take her back. She didn’t want to go back as his student. He’d been brutal when she was a child and with her reaching proper age, there was no telling what he’d do to her.

An engine started, somewhere at the corner, grumbling and pulling closer. Niam’s men held her upright, probably waiting for a car to pull in front. She held her breath. Hopefully, she could pull this off without getting shot. At least the bits of a plan she had in mind didn’t include a bullet wound.

The two men kept her between them, and she felt the leather glove make contact for the second time. His cloak brushed her thigh and she knew that he was close enough. With every ounce of power she had, she brought her knee up. Her body was held too high for a groin shot, but she nailed his lower abdomen. He doubled over, with a hate-filled glare meeting her eyes. As she looked, the men on each side seemed too shocked to react. One released his hold and went to Niam, but before more orders could be given, Deirdre attacked. She head butted one then swung her leg up, kicking the other squarely in the head. Neither went unconscious but they were also too dazed to fight or pull a gun. They lay on the pavement, unsure of what to do next.

Niam didn’t stay doubled over long. He was back on his feet, a small dagger in his right hand. It was time to fight him again. She wanted to take him on, even as his men gathered behind him, backing up their master.

“Come on.” Deirdre was ready for battle. Even a bullet in the head would be preferable to the lessons Niam would teach her in private.

Somewhere in the city sirens wailed, filling the town with a warning. The men, who lingered behind Niam, ran. Vehicles on adjacent roads started and tires burned rubber in a mass retreat. She had no idea Niam had brought so many people, so many poorly trained people.

“I will teach you manners, Dragonfly.” He took a step backwards. “I warn you. Bring me the girl or our next meeting won’t be so nice.” Then the scarred face drew tight, eyes turning to slits. “Maybe you’re not capable of learning respect. Maybe you should just die.” He shook his head, giving her a long look from head to toe. “No, I have other plans for you.”

Deirdre flipped him a bird. If he remembered nothing else, let him linger on her hate, on how as a child she’d tried to kill him, and never surrendered. She was a woman now, stronger, and more stubborn than ever.

Niam took a few more steps toward the street as a motorcycle pulled up. He got on, behind a muscular man with a pistol strapped to his leg. As the motorcycle started moving forward, she saw his hand move then the flash of silver. The dagger he’d been holding came at her, aimed for her heart. It moved too fast. All this she registered as the blade cut into her shirt.

Chapter Thirteen

Something touched him, bringing him out from the darkness and forcing him to open his eyes. The beeping of hospital machines, like some obscene alarm clock, broke through the spell of sleep and caused reality to come crashing through him.

Deirdre Flye called the police. That was Ryan Farmer’s first thought. His second centered on the nurse’s breasts poised over his head as she checked a machine at the top of the bed.

“Am I alive or dead?”

The nurse looked down, a soft smile on her very young face. Her hair, wrapped and stuffed into a half hat, had a few tendrils that had worked loose. They were almost as white as her uniform, a very light blonde. Perhaps she was an angel.

“Well Mr. Farmer, you are very much alive. It’s nice to hear you talking.”

He felt dizzy, but had to sit up a few inches to see where he lay. Two IVs were going into his body, one in his right hand, the other in the main vein above his left forearm. The one in his left was red, blood probably, filling him up from the loss at Deirdre’s house. Who knows what diseases that thing carried?

“How long was I out?”

“About five hours.” She made a mark on the chart by the door. “There are some men outside who would like to speak to you. I’ll let them know you’re awake.”

She left with the swish of her starched white uniform. Ryan watched, appreciating the view. He always had a thing for nurses. There was something sexy about a woman taking care of him.

He leaned his head back, trying to remember the details that had brought him here. The pain in his thigh reminded him. He pushed away the blanket and looked at his leg, bandaged, wrapped tightly, with probably a dozen or more stitches holding him together. The stitches he couldn’t see, but the pain throbbing from his knee to hip was from a serious wound.

As he lay there, someone knocked lightly on the door. He hoped it was the pretty little nurse again. Her presence soothed him. He might even get a pain pill for his leg. That would be nice.

“Mr. Farmer?” The door opened and Ryan saw two men in suits and ties enter his room. He also noticed that they’d called him mister instead of detective. He didn’t like that at all.

“Yes.”

He already knew who they were before they introduced themselves as Detectives John Harper and Lewis Tinsdale from Internal Affairs. He’d seen them at the station, although IA rarely spoke with regular officers. When a cop saw those guys, they knew the shit had hit the fan.

“We’d like to talk to you about the incident last night.” The one called Harper spoke, his voice calm and mild. “Why don’t you tell us what you were doing at Deirdre Flye’s home?”

“I don’t believe this is an appropriate time for questions. Perhaps we can do this later with a rep from the union present or maybe an attorney.”

“This isn’t anything formal. We’re just buddies trying to get through a bad situation.” Harper shrugged. “Unless you’d rather this turn into a formal query. Most officers don’t like formal queries.”

Damn bullies. “What did Deirdre say?” He leaned his head back, trying to stare at the ceiling.

“That’s not what I asked you.” He eased closer to the bed. “We want to hear your version of events. Nobody wants this to go any further. We’re looking out for you here.”

Ryan’s heart pounded, knowing the routine, and the lies IA would tell to get him to confess. He couldn’t believe Deirdre would do this to him. First she goes to the station to disgrace him, and then she has the fucking IA on his ass. Cops rarely recovered from their investigations. They were more than thorough and sometimes bordered on a witch hunt.

“That bitch. I can’t believe this!”

Tinsdale crept toward the bed, staying at the foot while Harper got as close as possible without disturbing the machines or interfering with the tubes and wires dangling alongside the bed. They both studied him too closely, looking for anything they could use to prove Deirdre’s case.

“You seem very upset. What’s going on between you and Deirdre?”

“What’s going on?” Ryan had just opened his eyes and they were questioning him over a woman set on his downfall. “Deirdre has had it in for me from day one. Stupid whore is always on me, trying to make me look like a fool.”

Tinsdale pulled out a little notebook, Ryan hated those little notebooks. They were used when a detail was too juicy and had to be written down before the tidbit slipped away. Later tonight those two investigators would sit and look over all the notes and bits about him, convicting him on their merit or reinstating him. Sure, the decision went beyond those two but IA was never doubted or questioned. Their recommendations usually stuck. Next there’d be a taped interrogation, charges and a formal hearing. Damn it all.

“Let’s start from the beginning. You had a problem with Ms. Deirdre Flye and decided to go to her house and talk to her. What happened?” Harper’s face held the emotion of stone, unyielding and uncaring. “Just go through it with me.”

“We talked, someone came in the back and shot me.”

What was he supposed to say? Deirdre had him, could’ve killed him, but called an ambulance instead. She’d done it just to humiliate him. Can’t embarrass a corpse. Him living and being questioned by guys designed to find the guilt in a good cop would be more entertaining than going to his funeral.

“We found a lock pick on you and a pistol with your prints at the scene.”

Ryan closed his eyes. He went there to kill her. The car ride had seemed too long with the gun in his lap. He hadn’t thought about the consequences only the justice served by removing a dangerous vigilante from the public. Getting hit in the leg was a surprise.

“Let me ask you again. Why did you go to Deirdre Flye’s house?”

Think damn it. Come up with something. Don’t just sit in this bed with a guilty look on your face.

He clenched the thin top blanket in a fist and watched the vein in his arm bulge. The needle didn’t move much, the tape held it into his skin. Above his head came the beeps from some machine monitoring his health. All these things calmed his nerves. That was the secret to an interrogation, don’t get rattled.

Okay what facts did they have and how can I use them?

“Deirdre and I had an altercation earlier in the day. She filed a report against me. When I went to the station and found out, I was upset. I decided to talk to her, hoping that if she dropped the complaint, the Chief would reinstate me.”

He didn’t like being questioned while wearing a hospital gown. It made him feel exposed. Of course IA always had all the power. Wearing pants would’ve made him feel better though.

“Keep going. What happened at her house?”

His thoughts flooded through. The gun would be the hardest to explain. Peaceful conversations weren’t held at gunpoint. There was another man there. Maybe Deirdre had mentioned him.

“During my conversation with Deirdre, there was a noise at the back door. After her confirming that no one else should be entering the home, I pulled my personal pistol. When the intruder entered the premises, he fired. I’m afraid he took me off guard. I never got a single shot off.”

Both men stayed like statues, staring, waiting, analyzing his answers. They were good, never betraying a thought. It made him want to confess, but he had a lot on the line. No bullshit scare tactics would break him. He’d used them too many times.

“So you went into a house with a concealed weapon and a lock pick to talk?” Harper crossed his arms over his chest, creasing his very expensive tie. “That doesn’t make much sense.”

No it didn’t but that’s all he had. “I didn’t realize that I’d had the pick on me. I must’ve left it in my jacket. As for the gun, after all these years on the force, I feel naked without one.” Ryan cocked his head to the side. “I guess you heard that Merchant requested my official piece. I started carrying a personal one.” He offered them an amiable smile that wasn’t returned. “It’s like leaving home without your wallet. Walking around without it doesn’t feel right.”

The detectives looked at each other, exchanging some unknown bit of information that had to be damning. Ryan tried to relax. It wasn’t easy. If he could’ve gotten out of that bed, he would’ve been tempted to run just to avoid those suited vultures.

“Didn’t your supervisor tell you to stay away from Ms. Flye?”

He’d been told to stay away but he couldn’t let her insults go unanswered. Deirdre had hurt him, caused him physical pain, and he bet his balls were still bruised. After all that, she had the gall to report him. What kind of woman could do such a thing?

“There had been a misunderstanding between Deirdre and myself. I know that given the complaint, it would’ve been wiser to stay away, but I hoped we could work things out. Being a cop is my whole life. I wanted her to withdraw the complaint. I don’t want to be suspended.”

Ryan waited, hoping the two guys bought it. The story made sense, at least to his pain-soaked mind. When Harper stepped back to whisper to his partner, he knew that there was a chance the story worked for them too.

“Thank you. We will do a more formal Q&A after we’ve spoken to Deirdre Flye.” Tinsdale spoke this time then motioned to the door.

“She didn’t give you a statement?”

“Not a formal one yet. We have the quick rundown of events that she gave the officers last night, but we’ll need to speak with her again. Given the circumstances, we didn’t want to wait on this.” Harper, with his quiet demeanor, continued. “I hope you are telling us the truth Mr. Farmer. Charges could be pressed against you.”

Great, so his freedom would hinge on Deirdre’s statement. One word about him going there to kill her and he’d be locked up across from the very men he’d sent to prison. Not a comforting thought.

“I’d be interested in who broke into her house as well. I hope I ironed things out enough for her to tell the truth.” He shook his head, trying to look as confused by the situation as they were. “I’m afraid Deirdre is involved in something very dangerous.”

Harper hesitated before opening the door. “Do you think her version of events will differ from yours?”

Ryan had stepped right in that one. “Of course not. I’m more worried about the guy who shot me. He’s still out there. I wouldn’t want Deirdre to get her pretty little head blown off.” He tried to contain the snide edge creeping into his words.

“Good.” Harper’s eyes narrowed. “We will be in touch.”

It was almost over. Ryan couldn’t wait for that door to open and their suit-wearing butts to leave him in peace. He wanted to see the nurse again, watch her starched white bosom taking care of him.

Harper had his hand on the door when a cell phone went off. Tinsdale reached into his pocket to retrieve the obscenely thin plastic with tiny camera hole on the back side. This was it. Surely, they would go now, take the call in the hallway. That’s what he hoped until Tinsdale put his hand on Harper and the both stepped further inside the room.

Most of the conversation was lost. The only thing he heard clearly was Tinsdale saying goodbye before whispering to Harper. Whatever that phone call brought wasn’t good. Both men looked at him and Ryan knew that his hospital interrogation had grown much longer.

“What can you tell me about several men attacking Deirdre Flye?”

“Huh?” He wasn’t expecting that and again he stammered, trying to wrap his mind around the idea. “Maybe it’s connected with the guy who broke in and shot me.”

“It would be very convenient if Deirdre disappeared, wouldn’t it?” Tinsdale spoke this time. “You’re life would certainly get easier.”

Ryan closed his eyes, listening to their voices echoing in the room. He’d never imagined something like this could happen to him. Over the years, he’d imagined award ceremonies, commendations, and the admiration of his peers. Now he was in a hospital bed, ready to scream because of a woman.

“My life would be easier if she disappeared.” He opened his eyes and stared at them. “But I didn’t send a group of men out to attack her. Since I have admitted to someone being in her home, perhaps you should do your investigating elsewhere. It would be a shame if someone killed Deirdre before you spoke with her.”

* * * *

“Sir, can I help you?” A nurse smiled, making Noah Smythe ease away from the hospital door where he’d been listening to Ryan answer the never ending amount of questions from IA.

“No.” He flashed his badge, holding it long enough so the nurse could see his was official, but not long enough to catch the name. “I’m waiting to speak with Mr. Farmer.”

“He’s with some people now. It might be quite a wait.” She smiled and continued down the hall.

It could be a long wait and Noah didn’t want to be caught standing directly outside when Internal Affairs came out. Besides, he was hungry. Leaving for breakfast sounded good. It would also give him the opportunity to call Deirdre. His little vixen might want someone to talk to. He also needed to find her whereabouts. She might be closing in on a new target.

He went to the elevator and hit the button for the lobby. The metal box descended, reminding him of why he hated elevators so much. They were crude and he never liked his stomach lurching when the lift stopped.

From there he continued down the hall and out the sliding glass doors. The air felt good on his face, powerful. He loved autumn, harvest time, even if the leaves here never really changed colors like they should. It was the season, the alignment of the world and the cycle starting again.

His cell phone rang and he jerked it off his belt quickly, hoping that Deirdre was calling him instead of his constantly pursuing her. No such luck. Work again. He supposed it was only natural to integrate one’s life with a job.

“We have a trace on her. By the time she shows up with the child, we’ll be on her.”

Noah nodded, pleased. “Good, call back after the inventory has been taken.” He started to end the call, then stopped. “Go ahead with the backup in case this falls apart.”

“Of course.”

Chapter Fourteen

The drive was long, taking Deirdre outside of town to the rural community of Commons, just outside Weaverville. Deirdre left the interstate, pulling along a quiet road where old barns frequented old fields and piles of hay were rolled for the coming cooler months. Cows stood, lazily chewing, while she zipped by, stirring up dust on the gravel road. A few lifted their heads, dropping them again after an annoyed “moo”.

The cell phone on her dash rang. She hit the button and the hands free device activated. Deirdre hated using that thing. People sounded distant and every noise in her car came through. She’d grudgingly clipped it in after leaving town, knowing that she would be on the road for hours.

“What’s up, Tech?”

“Got a call. The cops are looking for you. Seems you left some upset garage attendants. Something scared the shit out of them and I’ve had three calls from guys at the station including your Smythe. Everyone wants to know what happened.” He paused, but she didn’t respond. The silence urged him to continue. “There’s some serious crap happening. They claim Farmer might be involved. Some guy named Harper called wanting to get a statement about an assault in your house and about the attack on you in front of the office.”

“Those guys across the street overreacted. If they really thought I was in trouble, they should’ve offered some help. Besides, what are the cops going to do?” Her car shook as she went around the curve a little fast, sputtering more gravel behind her. “Have you found out anything new?”

“Not yet and you’re avoiding the subject.”

Deirdre scratched the tip of her nose, wondering why such an odd spot could itch then glad the car video phone hadn’t been invented. She may not have much privacy in a world where anyone could find her with a touch of a button, but they couldn’t watch her scratch, shit, or shower, yet.

“Me boss, you employee.”

Something loud slammed on Tech’s end of the world and she imagined that lack of sleep and too much stress were taking their toll. Tech was good, but nobody could be Superman.

“I’ve got to explain more of your messes. Now tell me what the fuck happened.” He grunted. “People are telling me that Farmer is in the hospital, shots were fired in front of our workplace, and you’re carrying on like it’s just another day.” His words slowed, and his voice softened as he vented. “I’m tired of being in the dark. Sabrine and I trust you but why can’t you trust us?”

“Everything is okay…” She wanted to alleviate his fears but he cut her off before she could make much of an attempt.

“No, it’s not. Do you know why I dug into your past?”

Deirdre didn’t like to be challenged and that’s what he was doing. Her past was her business. “Because you’re nosey.”

“Fuck off.” There was silence and she wondered if he’d finally hung up. “I thought Sabrine and I meant more to you than a couple of employees. You had us both scared to death, wondering if you were dead or alive. This trouble has to be linked to your past.” He cursed but she couldn’t make out the word. “Forget it. I just want you to know that whatever you did, whatever is haunting you, it isn’t too terrible that you can’t tell us. At least talk to Sabrine. This has turned into a case but you’re not sharing any details.”

Sabrine had confided so much in Deirdre but she’d never returned the favor. There was a double standard where Deirdre was concerned. For Sabrine to open up, talk about her real feelings, made Sabrine seem stronger in Deirdre’s eyes. The same wouldn’t work in reverse. She couldn’t tell her old friend about the lack of family, the ceremonies. Hell, even as an adult, Deirdre didn’t feel like a real person. Something in her had been severed as a child. She couldn’t relate or even feel.

I wonder what it’s like to live in a world with a full spectrum of emotions.

No, that wasn’t right either. Ever since she heard about a little girl in danger she’d felt such a rush of pain and anxiousness that it sickened her. That little girl was stuck in her thoughts and the knowledge of a child at risk from another one of those places worked to reconnect the most terrifying parts of her mind. And it brought the unthinkable, uninhibited emotion. Things she wanted buried and to never see the light of day.

“I’m sorry.”

That was all she could think to say. Tech had a point, but Deirdre had been on her own for so long, she wasn’t sure how much to tell or what the relevance would be. They were friends, and she couldn’t imagine running Security Specialists without them, but what right did that give them to her history.

She contemplated this. If the roles were reversed, she would demand answers. Things risking her life could potentially harm the company. She knew Sabrine and Tech didn’t follow the cold logic though. They were worried about her. Still, she could only see the troubles brought on because of this. It came down to their livelihoods being in jeopardy and perhaps their lives.

“You need to know. A man from my past named Niam brought some of his men and assaulted me outside the office. I was outmanned, but the cops came barreling in, sirens blaring, and the guys took off.”

“Are you okay? What does this have to do with Ryan Farmer?”

Deirdre touched the cut in her shirt, felt the wound stopping at her rib. Niam’s shot had been sloppy, not sliding between the bones as it should have. Cutting into her chest muscles hurt like a bitch but she was alive. He’d let her live on purpose.

“I’m fine. The thing with Farmer happened in my home. He broke in wanting to kill me but Niam, or one of his men, shot Farmer first. I called an ambulance and I think Farmer will make it. After that I went to the office. Niam tracked me there and that’s when the fight took place.” She tried to tell everything in its simplest form. There was no reason to add in the burning pain still marking her stomach or their desire to take her back with them. “I’m almost at the Shope farm now. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll call you in a few hours.”

“I don’t think I can sleep.”

“Then call Sabrine and she’ll put you to sleep. Either way you’re no use to me if you’re tired. Mistakes are too easy to make.”

He groaned as if stretching and then Deirdre heard the vinyl in his chair make a farting sound as he settled into place. “I don’t make mistakes.” His voice was deadened with fatigue.

“Tech!”

“Fine.”

“One more thing. Be careful. There are people out to get me and they might use leverage to do it. They’re mean, Tech. Meaner than anything you’ve ever faced.”

Leverage was a nicer way than to come out and tell him that his life was in danger. He understood all the same, saying goodbye, in that careful way. At least he’d get some rest. The situation had grown into something serious and he would want to stay sharp.

The scenery became a long line of barbed wire fences and woods separating the pastures. Deirdre turned right, following another choppy road. This one didn’t have fresh gravel, only hard compacted dirt.

Ten minutes later, Deirdre came across an old, two-story farmhouse with a wrap-around porch, and an old tin roof. A black woman sat on the front steps, pulling off her gardening gloves while a young girl ran around the back. As Deirdre parked, she saw the butt of a rifle from behind the post on the porch. It seemed that good old Gladys was packing.

Deirdre parked the car. Her weapons were back in place since the altercation with Niam. She didn’t want to show them though. Fear could be a powerful emotion and people were stupid when cornered. It was best to keep them though. There was no telling what Deirdre would have to face next.

“Gladys Shope?”

“No,” the old woman replied, her dead, cold eyes staring at Deirdre from the white curly head topping her chocolate-colored skin.

“My name is Deirdre Flye. Your granddaughter Lora called my office.” Deirdre went forward, watching the lady’s movements. “I run Security Specialists, the security agency that apprehended your son. Upon detaining him for the police, he asked that I help his daughter, Lora Shope.”

“I guess you helped her fine.” The lady stayed seated. She wore a denim shirt on top of a tank top with who knows what hidden in the fabric. “He’s dead. I don’t think any more of us want your help.”

“The cops messed up. That doesn’t mean I won’t honor Jack Shope’s request or that of a phone call left on my answering machine from Lora Shope.” Deirdre stopped eight feet from the porch steps. “May I come up or do you intend to shoot me?”

“You can come up. I ain’t decided on the shootin’ part yet.” There wasn’t the slightest bit of humor on the old woman’s face.

“Fair enough.”

Deirdre went up the stairs and sat next to the woman on the floor of the porch. She liked the look of this old farm. Everything was organized, simple and beautiful. It hadn’t been used for farming in a long time. The nearby pasture grew high with weeds. There were no cattle or crops to be seen. Gladys had changed the setting to a kid’s wonderland. Flowers grew in front and Deirdre saw the edge of a tree house on the outskirts of the woods. In the back, part of a swing set could be seen from the sidewalk.

“Start talking.” The old woman kept staring straight ahead.

Confronting Gladys wouldn’t be easy. This woman was frightened, hardened by fear, and it would be difficult for her to trust anyone. Regardless, Deirdre had to try. There was a little girl’s life at stake.

“Ma’am, I took a job from Tamara Haas. It looked like a cut and dry security run with a stalker. Tamara claimed she feared for her life. Not long after, your son arrived with a pistol. As I continued to investigate, there were inconsistencies.”

“That’s a bunch of hogwash. At one time she loved Jack. She’s the one who called him and tried to reconcile. It was stupid for him to go out there. I tried to tell him but he had this idea that Lora needed a mother. That child don’t need that skinny white woman as a mother.”

Deirdre watched Gladys. Her old hands wrung together as she spoke and that’s where her focus seemed to be. She wouldn’t look Deirdre in the eyes, only watch her hands rub each other.

“So Tamara Haas is your granddaughter’s mother?”

“You won’t take her back to that bitch.” Gladys reached for her rifle but Deirdre reached around her, moving it from the lady’s grasp.

“Ma’am, I’m not here to take away Lora. I’m here to protect her. I’m just not sure what from. I was hoping you could help fill in some holes for me.”

The older lady looked at Deirdre. Her deep brown eyes stared from puffy skin. It looked like she’d been crying for days. She had to deal with the death of her son and the sudden threat to her granddaughter.

“What do you need to know?”

“I’m assuming Lora is the product of Jack’s marriage to Tamara. I’m just not sure why Tamara would give up custody only to set up Jack and reclaim Lora. None of it makes sense.”

Tears filled Gladys’s eyes and she pressed her lips together in a tight line. Pure hate showed behind the pain and Deirdre thought the old woman might reach for the rifle again.

“At least you believe she set him up. He didn’t believe it until the end.” With a long sigh she began. “Twelve years ago Tamara shows up on his doorstep and leaves that baby girl. She didn’t want joint custody, just left her.” Gladys started pulling the hem of her shirt, nearly ripping it as she spoke. “Last year that skeezer comes back. At first Jack turned her away. He had a proper black girlfriend.” Gladys looked at Deirdre, stared at her white skin then lowered her eyes once more. “I don’t mean to be cruel but I never liked the idea of him hooking up with white women. He shoulda stuck to his own kind. Whites like you don’t understand us.”

“Let’s move on. Now why did Tamara come back?”

“She wanted visitation to her daughter. Little Lora didn’t know who she was. Next thing we know, she tried to kidnap Lora.” Gladys bit her bottom lip. “Tamara tried to pick her up from softball practice. Good thing the coach is strict. Damn good thing.”

Gladys hesitated. Something troubled her and it wasn’t the race of the women Jack chose to date. Her skin turned gray and she looked so pale Deirdre reached out fearing the woman would pass out.

“I need to know everything.”

“It’s the Colinsters. That’s Tamara Haas’ real last name. They have something big going. It happened years ago. They were followers and they wanted Lora. That’s why Tamara brought Lora to Jack. She was trying to protect her from those monsters. That’s what they were. They had a school and they wanted my grandbaby. Something big brought it all down. Lora wasn’t safe though. That father of Tamara’s wouldn’t stop. He’s building it again, but now he’s got Tamara on his side and they want Lora.”

Deirdre didn’t understand. Her story wasn’t making sense. A woman leaves her daughter to protect her, then comes back, risking everything to help in a larger conspiracy brought on by her father.

“I’m sorry. I don’t follow. Are you saying Tamara wanted to protect her daughter but then changed her mind, or did she think Jack couldn’t take care of her?”

From the back of the house a blood chilling scream brought Deirdre and Gladys to their feet. Deirdre moved first, running around the side in time to see two men, one had a little girl on his shoulder, the other a gun.

Deirdre drew her knives while running through the grass and leaves that made up the backyard. Without uttering a single warning she threw, hitting the gunman behind the knee and sending two more blades into the man carrying the girl. Both fell to the ground. The little girl scrambled but her captor held tight. Deirdre sent another knife into his back, between the shoulder blades. He grunted and the girl took off.

The first man found his gun in the leaves and lifted it. Deirdre’s last knife went into his hand. A single shot went off from the man’s gun, flying wild and connecting with a nearby oak tree. Bark scattered into the grass, along with drops of his blood from the knife wound. The two men didn’t stay down long. Both hobbled to their feet and started toward the woods.

“I’ll get ’em.” She heard Gladys, running and breathless. “I’ll teach those bastards.”

Gladys had her rifle raised. Deirdre got out of the way, knowing the odds of shooting two moving targets at this distance were slim. She trotted to the side, then behind Gladys where little Lora stood.

The girl was beautiful but didn’t look anything like the blonde child Tamara had been filmed loading onto the airplane. The one from the plane had been very blonde, pale skinned, dressed like a little Republican. The real Lora had a light tan with medium-textured hair, very straight, from her mother’s side. Her cheekbones were high and narrow, and she had the biggest dark brown eyes Deirdre had ever seen. Lora wore jeans with a T-shirt saying Princess and little sneakers. One day she would be a heartbreaker.

“I take it, you’re Lora.” Deirdre spoke as Gladys fired five times, causing both of them to jump.

“Are you the lady I called?” Her head tilted to the side as if deciding whether to start running again.

“I am.” Deirdre glanced toward the empty woods while Gladys shook her fist into the air. She had missed both of them. “Why did you call me?”

“At my dad’s place, I overheard that woman telling Daddy that you were the best. Grammy said not to call you because you’d helped that woman. I told her that you might’ve been fooled like Daddy and maybe you’d realized that you’d made a mistake.”

That woman, it was an interesting way to refer to one’s mother. She couldn’t imagine calling her own mother that woman. Scorpion was a term of respect, not as grand as Mother but it was superior to an anonymous gender.

“What else did Tamara say about me?”

“Not much.” Lora kicked at the ground, getting a leaf caught in the laces in her sneaker. “We were in some hotel. Dad wanted to know why she’d set him up. I don’t know what they were talking about. I thought they were getting along. They even went away for the weekend. Anyway, that woman said she wanted me to go with her but Dad told her no. I think he said something bad to her because they got really quiet, you know, whispering. That woman said she’d have me. They fought, ‘cause then I heard screaming. Anyway she said there was nothing he could do about it because she’d hired the best security in town, Security Specialists, with a woman running it named Dragonfly.” Lora moved from side to side as she spoke. “I remembered the name because it was weird. I like dragonflies and all, but I never heard it used as a name before.”

How did she know that name? Tamara shouldn’t have known that name.

Deirdre tried to put the pieces together. Lora was a mistake, something Tamara thought would come back to haunt her. She set up Jack to get Lora, but why? If she were ashamed of Lora, it would be better to let the girl fade into the background.

“Gladys, did Jack ever contact Tamara? Ask for anything from her?”

“No.” Gladys squared her shoulders, readying for an argument. “He never wanted that whore hurting Lora and not once did he ask for money.” She watched the woods seemingly aware more trouble could be coming. “He knew how bad that family was. I think it surprised him when Tamara got sucked back in. Rumor has it that her family’s school used teenagers to commit crimes. They would bring them into an area then move them out before anyone could link them.”

“Do you remember the name of the school?”

“One was named Stone House. That was the first one. The Colinster family tried to do another school someplace up north but it didn’t work out. I’m not sure why they fell away from Stone House, but they did.”

Deirdre couldn’t believe this. It sounded like there were two schools, Stone House and another started by the same family up north. The northern school was probably started around the same time funding for Stone House had stopped. Although none of it explained why Tamara would have the father of her child arrested, arrive in public with another girl, while sending men after Lora. Niam didn’t fit in the picture either.

Deirdre looked down at Lora, feeling her stare. Those big brown eyes looked so innocent, not worthy of whatever devious plans either group had in mind for her. Gladys couldn’t keep her safe alone.

“I would like to make up for that mistake with your dad. I never would’ve helped Tamara if I’d known the truth.” She looked at Gladys. “We need to go now. Those men will be back and they’ll bring a lot of bad people.”

“I’ve already got our bags packed, but nowhere to take ’em.” Gladys lowered her weapon but still eyed the woods.

Deirdre looked at Lora then at Gladys. This mess wasn’t her fault but she couldn’t deny some responsibility in the death of Jack Shope. There wasn’t much she could’ve done. Even refusing the case wouldn’t have solved anything. Jack might be up for murder one without the security but she doubted the forces involved would let Lora go.

“Tell me something Gladys, why did Tamara do what she did? I’m not following her logic.”

Gladys’s old eyes took her in. “She loved Lora and I think wanted to keep her safe from the Colinsters. After a few years, family tends to reclaim what was theirs. Even a good spirit can get worn down. That left Tamara with the one mistake that could always come back.” Gladys looked down at Lora. “A mixed child. I think Tamara’s daddy wants Lora out of the way because it’s the only evidence Lora had been with a black man.”

Deirdre listened but wasn’t sure if Gladys’s beliefs were based more on personal prejudice than actual fact. If Tamara Haas simply wanted Lora dead, they’d just had their opportunity. Instead of killing the girl, they tried to kidnap her. That was more than covering up an unwanted child between a black man and a white woman.

“Let me make a phone call. Get your bags and we’ll find a safe place for you until I get all this worked out.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” spoke Gladys in a chastising tone. “I don’t want no handouts. I’m not one of those people who think everybody owes me everything. I work for what’s mine.”

“I’m sure you do, but the fact remains that I owe this little girl something.”

She went back to her car, dialing her cell phone. She’d told Tech to sleep, so it would be rude to wake him. The only person she could start with was her backup, Sabrine.

“Who in the hell is calling me this early?”

Sabrine was not a morning person, or even an afternoon person. It was nearly noon, and about three hours before she usually rolled out of bed. The fault for her bad sleeping habits resided purely with Deirdre. Long night shifts had permanently changed most of her employees sleeping schedules.

“It’s not early. It’s nearly noon, now get your ass out of bed. We’ve got a job.”

“Deirdre?” The anger faded from her voice. “What’s up?”

“Long story. The Tamara Haas case we took ended messy. You know Jack Shope was shot and killed. The details don’t add up, a gun, a picked handcuff lock, an open cop door, and an unknown female cop no one can identify as the shooter. It’s just a theory but I think that Jack Shope was set up to die. We’re responsible and now someone is after his daughter Lora.”

“Tamara Haas’ daughter?” Sabrine must’ve been filled in on a few details by Tech. “Sounds like Tamara wanted her daughter back.”

Deirdre leaned against her car and saw Gladys lugging a large duffle bag alongside Lora who had a bag bigger than her whole body slung over her shoulder. The two watched her from their porch, apparently providing Deirdre with a bit of privacy.

“There’s more to it. The girl filmed with Tamara wasn’t Lora Shope. Tamara staged that. Next my old nemesis, Niam, is involved in this and I don’t know how. The grandmother thinks Tamara wants Lora dead because she is mixed. That doesn’t make any sense when they could’ve just killed her, but tried to kidnap her instead. I’ve got a million questions and no answers. The clues aren’t falling into place.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Wait about an hour and get to Tech. By then I should have a safe place for them to crash for a few days. My house won’t work. I’ve had situations arise there too.”

“Have you tried Mooney?”

“No but that’s a perfect idea. I’ll call him next. When you get to Tech, tell him I need info fast on this Colinster family. Especially check on any Klan relations just in case the grandmother is right. I also need you to provide security for them while I investigate this.”

There was a long pause, the silence weighing on Deirdre’s nerves. Usually Sabrine helped in all her investigations, splitting the legwork. Sabrine was strong, smart, and a valuable asset, but those same qualities would put her in a better situation to watch two frightened females.

“Why not let one of the guys play watchdog?”

“One, these are two frightened women who might be put on edge by another man. Secondly, I get the distinct impression that Gladys, the grandmother, doesn’t care for white people. There are only two people with good tans working for me, and you’re the only female. You win babysitting duty.”

Sabrine laughed. “You’re just jealous because you’re so damn pale.”

She looked at her very pale skin. “That’s true. I also need you to work your magic with Tech.”

“Magic?”

On the porch the grandmother sat on the step, Lora next to her. It saddened Deirdre to take them from their home, but there was no way to keep them safe. One attempt on Lora made Deirdre ready to run to the ends of the earth to protect them.

“For the move. You know how much he hates moving equipment and, well, you’re screwing Tech. He’ll take the news better from you.” There was no reason to waste time being sensitive. “I want Tech to go with you to whatever safe house I come up with. He’ll have to bring his work with him and be careful that no one follows.”

A strange noise came from Sabrine’s end, a muffled scream. Deirdre realized that she’d covered the mouthpiece and tried to keep Deirdre from hearing her curse. It was cute, and ineffective.

“Don’t you think that will be awkward?” Before Deirdre could answer, Sabrine kept rattling questions. “Are you punishing me? Do you know how pissed he’ll be when he hears this and you want me to tell him?”

“Cool it. Someone is hunting me. That means they’ll be hunting my closest people. You could walk out of your house right now and be gunned down. This way the two of you are safe and at the same time Tech can work while you play guard.”

“What about the rest of our staff?”

“That’s the rest of your job. Call them. See if they’ve been followed. Make a list of anyone who has been approached or contacted about me or the company. Don’t give away too much information beyond a warning that trouble could be out there. I don’t trust this beyond you, me, and Tech. If we have to bring in anyone else, they go to the safe house blindfolded.”

“Who don’t you trust?”

That was a trick question. She’d been raised not to trust, breaking the habit became unusually difficult especially in stressful situations. Her staff was the best, and loyal, but with a little girl’s life in danger, there was no sense in taking chances.

“The people I trust one hundred percent are Tech and you.” She cleared her throat. “You have one hour to be at Tech’s and one hour to have him packed up. That’s all. If he can’t move it in an hour, then his equipment doesn’t go. Understand?”

“You got it.” Sabrine worked without doubts or questions when she knew a situation had turned serious and from the tone in her voice, she’d realized just that.

“I’ll call you back with our destination. Oh, steer clear of unchecked lines. Stay on our cells only if it’s secure. I don’t know how far this goes and at least these cell phones have encryption. They might get tapped but it won’t be easy.”

Deirdre hung up the phone and held a single finger in the air to indicate one more minute. Her next call was Harold Mooney. The guy was out of town but she reached him on his cell phone. She’d saved his ass twice when he crossed paths with mobsters posing as pharmaceutical companies. People wonder why prescription prices were so high. Deirdre found out first hand when prescription money, not street drugs, supplied a Hummer that tried to run over her car. Rubber burned and bullets flew all because Mooney wouldn’t agree to a sell out. Mooney had paid her bill and promised that he’d pay her back for everything she’d done to help him.

He answered, sounding pleased with her call. After waiting for Mooney to get a free moment, he instantly agreed to lend Deirdre his seven bedroom mansion complete with a security system that made Fort Knox look like the easiest place in the world to break into. He would send his maid to clean the place immediately and make sure the keys were left with the neighbor. After writing down the two different security codes it took to get through the seven-foot-tall gate and then into the steel core front door, Deirdre was ready to take Gladys and Lora to their safe house.

“Let’s go ladies. I’ve got your new accommodations waiting.”

She started toward the porch to help Gladys and Lora with their bags. Both seemed to buckle under the weight. They’d packed enough things to never come back to this little farm and Deirdre wondered if that had been their plan the entire time. Gladys ready to drop everything she’d ever known for her granddaughter.

Scorpion would’ve done the same, had probably endured more than Deirdre would ever know, all in the hopes that her Deirdre would be okay in the end. Although, it didn’t fully explain why Scorpion had faked her death and left Deirdre behind.

Focus. That doesn’t matter right now.

Right before Deirdre put her foot on the first wooden porch step, she felt it. That evil aura surrounded them and she knew that Niam was here. Eyes were on her, watching and waiting. It wasn’t possible for anyone to follow her, but there was no mistaking that sense of wickedness that hadn’t been there moments before. Somehow, one of them had to put a tracker on her car or maybe his men had her phone tapped and learned of Gladys the same time Deirdre had.

She paused, scanning the trees and amazed by how dark the denser areas could be in the middle of the day. He was there. He would strike at any moment and there was very little Deirdre could do if he fought her while one of his underlings grabbed Lora.

“Gladys, did you reload that rifle?” Deirdre reached to her side, feeling the cold metal of the pistol, and then wishing she had restocked her throwing knives. Her leg felt empty with the cloth strapped there and no metal weighting it down. She didn’t want to go around back and try to retrieve any of them that the kidnappers had dropped.

“I sure did.” Gladys looked at Deirdre then at the wood line.

“Get it ready. This could get messy.” Deirdre took Gladys’s bag and then Lora’s carrying them down the steps to her trunk. The sensation of darkness, something too thick to be eaten away by the noonday sun, held close, encompassing the house. “Keep that gun lowered and pointed toward the woods around your house.”

Gladys probably couldn’t hit Niam, but his underlings would drop like flies if they came toward Lora. That would be enough. Even if she couldn’t beat Niam, he would continue without any support.

“What’s wrong? What you see?”

“Just go back toward my car. Don’t fall. Keep alert. Lora you sit in the backseat and keep your head down. They haven’t struck yet.”

A twig snapped somewhere deeper in the woods that separated them from a field. Gladys jumped, holding the rifle at chest height. She would be no match for those men, but even one good shot might stop the onslaught.

It could arguably have been a squirrel except every bird, cricket, squirrel, and tree frog had stopped making any sound. There was someone back there and even the animals feared him.

“Deirdre, I believe you’re right. Somebody is in my woods.”

Gladys was sharp, reacting without having to be directed. Deirdre loaded Lora into the backseat while Gladys stood guard. With pistol in hand, Deirdre held it up, pointing into shrubs, trees, and shadows while Gladys slid into the passenger’s seat. After she was seated, Gladys held her rifle, using the side mirror as a gun rest while Deirdre slid inside and started the car.

That was the moment Niam appeared, clad in black from head to toe, disfigured face hidden from view. No one stepped from the shadows with him, but they were there. Deirdre considered running down Niam, watching him bounce off her hood but that would be dangerous with Lora in the car.

Amazingly, Niam didn’t come forward, didn’t even yell a single threat. He simply stood there, staring from his shadowy hood with his hands in front of him. Deirdre wouldn’t waste time wondering why. She backed the car out of the driveway. Gladys didn’t pull the rifle barrel inside until they were out of sight of her house.

“Who was that guy? He scared me, Deirdre. He scared me bad.”

“Gladys, he’s the equivalent of the devil himself.”

They went around the corner then turned onto the gravel road. There Deirdre nearly slammed on the brakes in disbelief. Standing where the roads joined was Niam, hands folded in front, as if he’d been there all day. Gladys shrieked and Deirdre hit the accelerator. Again, she never saw Niam move, other than to turn his head as they passed.

“Is that the same guy?”

“Couldn’t be.” But it was. “Must’ve been one of his guys dressed up like him to freak us out.” That’s what Deirdre said out loud, but deep inside she was already screaming. Magic isn’t real. Only an illusion. He can’t do that. Magic isn’t real. Her burning stomach reminded her that in some instances, magic was very real. Acceptance wasn’t required.

“Sure did look like the same guy.”

In the back, Lora kept her head down, as instructed. Even with their odd conversation, she didn’t venture a look through the window and Deirdre was happy for that. She’d heard of spells that could pull someone out of their bedroom but that was only a rumor. None of that Stone House shit was true, only fairytales to frighten children into obedience.

Deirdre drove faster and was relieved when she saw the sign for the interstate. She turned onto paved road again. This felt better. At least she could outrun them on surface roads.

She pulled up to a stoplight, one of two before the onramp. She desperately wanted to see traffic whizzing by at seventy. That interstate was her salvation.

“Dragonfly!”

There, standing on the sidewalk near the nose of her car was a man dressed in solid black but it couldn’t be Niam. The figure raised his gloved hand to his lips, and although she still couldn’t see his face, she knew he’d blown her a kiss. Then the wind shifted and the flap to his hood moved exposing a patch of white skin, scarred with red, before he reached up to pull the hood back into place.

“It’s only a trick.” Logically it had to be a trick. If a man could move like that, then he wouldn’t need to scurry away from the police on motorcycles. She wouldn’t fall for his games. She wasn’t a child any longer.

Deirdre raised her middle finger and shot him a bird, then pulled through the red light, causing several cars to beep at her. At the next light, she stopped, unable to see anything at the last intersection.

Again, a lookalike stood on the walk, staring at her car. This time Niam was braver, removing his hood and letting her see into his dark uncaring eyes. Ten feet separated them and there was nothing she could do. A car sat in front of her and soon one pulled in behind. She was trapped and staring at the devil.

There was nothing to do, but face him. She rolled down her window, smiling even if her insides were knotted, dreading every second trapped at this stupid red light. It already seemed to have taken forever and still it wouldn’t change.

“I don’t believe in magic anymore, Niam. Save your tricks. You might sell them at children’s birthday parties.”

He stepped forward, holding one of her knives. He kissed it, then tossed it into the car, carefully, not to injure but as some form of message delivery. The metal landed in her lap. Deirdre looked at Niam, then at the blade, the metal she’d carried. He didn’t appear to want a fight and turned, staying where he had been on the sidewalk.

Deirdre reached down, touching the throwing knife and hell raced up her arm. That was the only way to describe the pain, burning hell. She closed her eyes, and there was no blackness, only Stone House in her vision. Strange engravings covered the walls and floors and all around her she heard Niam laughing.

“I’ll get you Deirdre,” said Niam’s voice. “I’ll have you.”

A car beeped behind her and she opened her eyes to a green light. The road in front was clear as well as the sidewalk where Niam had stood. Deirdre went through the intersection, glancing into the rearview mirror. What she saw in her backseat made her gasp. The image was Niam, petting Lora’s hair!

She blinked hard, trying to clear her sight. The second time, Niam was gone. Only Lora sat there, staring back at Deirdre mildly. Deirdre knocked the throwing knife onto the floor and kicked it under her seat. She may not believe in magic but Niam had pulled some fancy trick, something she didn’t want to see again.

“Gladys, keep sharp and tell me if you see him again.”

“If I have to. I was hoping I could finish this trip with my eyes closed.”

Chapter Fifteen

The printer spit out another page, adding to the pile. Tech had hacked in to the Federal Bureau of Investigation pulling up the file for Aidena Flye, and getting more than he’d bargained for.

The Feds were bound to know about the security breach. Somewhere a computer tracked him, trying to find where their precious information was being sent. Routers connected, lines traced, and, if he’d worked it right, it would be lost somewhere in Canada.

While the massive file finished transferring, he had another computer, hooked to more traditional means, researching Stone House. Ten years ago the trail on them stopped, he’d found where it picked up again.

The name had changed but the owners were the same. They’d been involved with another school somewhere up in New York. That one was shut down by the state when they failed to meet academic requirements. A special school had been recently opened up near the northern section of a beach town, not far from Lawrenceton. It was a privately owned mansion with international ties and backers all sending money to the name of Haas.

It was a sweet set up for them. Tech happened upon state records showing the new school being used as a type of halfway house for juveniles released from detention centers but not ready to be mixed with the general population.

The school also took in foster kids, more than twenty as far as he could tell. There were adults associated with the place, but he hadn’t had the chance to check into each name that popped up. The few he had dared to search showed as unknowns, meaning homeless, or basic rejects who had never been productive citizens.

“Knock, knock.” Sabrine had already entered the room. Her bright smile lit everything. “I was told that you would be asleep.”

“Deirdre employs me, not owns me.” He sounded snippy, but he felt snippy. Being treated like an idiot who didn’t know his head from a hole in the ground upset him and Deirdre knew it.

“You’re in a good mood.”

“I’m sorry. This mess is bugging me. I think Deirdre is in real trouble this time. Everybody she asks me to check on ends up connecting with some cult functioning as a school. She’s not telling me anything, although everything I come up with connects with her in some way. We should’ve never taken that Tamara Haas case.”

Sabrine sat in the empty chair next to him, her hair damp, her clothes not as put together as usual. She’d come over in a hurry, but now sat silent. Very little kept Sabrine silent around him.

He waited, letting her decide what she wanted to say while he scoured the internet finally finding a reference to another Haas building better known as The School of the Gifted. TSG created an odd logo where a naked woman held a sword in the background. Not exactly the type of school mascot he’d expected. What did they do at football games, breastfeed or stab people?

Next to him the printer stopped running, so he killed the hack job on the FBI mainframe and ran his current finds into the printer. The FBI records, he gathered up and placed in a folder. He didn’t read them, didn’t want to. For once he’d respect someone’s privacy, even if he was pissed at her. After everything Deirdre had done for him, it was a small payback. He was certain that bits of her past were missing, traces of her family. It lurked in the emptiness in her eyes when anyone spoke of their homes or family ties. He doubted Deirdre had anyone, not even a pleasant memory. He hoped she would come forward and tell Sabrine and him everything, but either way, it would be her choice and not left to nosing.

“How much longer are you going to be?” Sabrine looked at him and he knew trouble dwelled in those soft brown eyes.

“What’s going on?”

“Someone is after Deirdre and therefore after us. She’s made some calls and found us other lodging. You have forty-five minutes to gather your things and move to a new location.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” He slammed the folder on the table. “All my stuff is here. Do you know how much time I’ll lose just reorganizing? I can’t go.”

Sabrine shook her head no. “I think Deirdre is in some serious trouble.” She paused, and the worry in her face made him stop. “I’ve never seen her afraid. Never once heard fear in her voice. She’s afraid, Tech. My gut says if something is bad enough to scare Deirdre, we should be petrified.”

Tech looked at the screen, at the string of names associated with TGS and hit print. He didn’t want to leave his work station, but Deirdre knew best. There had also been a strange tension building in Deirdre, a stress he’d never picked up on during other jobs.

“Okay. I’ll try to hurry. Start loading those files in boxes.”

He motioned toward a stack at the table. Sabrine took a box and put his papers inside, the file on Deirdre stayed on top. He wanted to hand that to her personally. Not even Sabrine should look at that.

“Sabrine, are you really upset about this? I mean, do you think someone will come after us?”

“I’ve never known Deirdre to be wrong. She thinks we could be targets.”

“Since I’m the guy, do I have to protect you or will you turn bad ass and save us both?”

Sabrine laughed and walked away. Tech, however, noticed that she never answered his question. She loved to toy with him and this had to be another instance. In all honesty, he couldn’t beat Sabrine and she knew it.

“Tech.” Sabrine came running back in. “Was this here before I arrived?”

He looked at a note, written on common notebook paper. “Bring me the girl” was all it said but it was enough to make Tech drop it to the floor. He didn’t like the feel of the paper, bad vibes or something.

“Where did you find this?”

“It was taped to the inside of the street door. Someone came inside your basement but stopped before your office.”

“Did you see anyone?”

Sabrine shook her head no. There wasn’t time for her to do much of a search. Tech stood and walked to the office door, cracking it open enough to see the box of papers next to the outer door that Sabrine had been carrying. It looked like she hadn’t even stepped outside. He didn’t blame her. For the same reasons she was afraid because of Deirdre’s reaction, he feared hers. Sabrine was military, almost as cold under stress as Deirdre. At the moment, she looked scared to death.

“What’s got you rattled?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.” Her eyes looked glassy and Tech thought he’d lose all control if he saw her cry.

“Please Sabrine. I’ve never doubted you before, I won’t start now.”

“The note appeared in thin air. I touched the doorknob, had your box in my other hand, and out of nothing this note appears. It was stuck to the door and I don’t know how it got there or what held it.” Not a tear escaped, but she turned away. “What are we dealing with Tech?”

“I don’t know, baby. I just don’t know.”

Chapter Sixteen

The posh area of town lay ahead, with its manicured lawns, high gates, and cars that cost more than the average persons’ home. Deirdre sped through while Gladys stared at her new surroundings. It wasn’t admiration covering Gladys’s face, but pure contempt. Her prejudices must’ve gone deeper than skin color, with social status included in her list of things not to trust.

Deirdre didn’t blame her for that suspicion. She’d witnessed some screwed up situations in the most lavish of estates. All that kept their names out of the papers, and sometimes out of jail, was their money and clout. The rich made messes, and that’s when low lives weren’t preying on them for their money. Things grew complicated when two powerful people had issues with each other. Deirdre never liked those situations.

The late afternoon sun lowered in the sky. They had made two stops before coming here. The first was to switch cars. She let her sports car sit in the garage across from her office while she took a rental, a big roomy sedan that couldn’t be linked to her. It was rented under the name Gretchen Merriweather, one of the three sets of fake identifications she owned. Next she’d taken Gladys and Lora out for a late lunch. Everyone seemed a little better with a full stomach.

Deirdre turned into a private road and stopped in front of a large iron gate with a keypad at the driver’s side. She punched in the security code, listened for the beep, then watched the giant bars separate and the gate swing open. Gladys kept watching behind them, as Deirdre continued up the drive. She fidgeted nervously, glancing in all directions.

Gladys really had no reason to trust Deirdre. For all she knew, Deirdre could be delivering Lora to the Colinsters and Tamara Haas personally. If it weren’t for those men trying to snatch Lora, she doubted Gladys would’ve left with her at all.

“Relax. The gate is to keep other people out, not you in.”

The tension on Gladys’s faced eased, although she didn’t fully relax. Her head kept turning from side to side while her nimble fingers worked at pulling the denim fabric in her shirt apart.

In the back, Lora kept quiet. Her eyes stayed focused on her hands, which were in her lap. Deirdre imagined Lora was lost in some childhood daydream, wishing she had a better life and building it in her mind. She might be wishing for her father. Lora hadn’t mentioned missing him but Deirdre recognized the look of loneliness, the kind of space only family could fill.

“You’re home. At least for the next few days.”

Deirdre parked in front of the massive house, built in a French style, with balconies, long curving surfaces, and arched windows. She went up first, as Gladys and Lora lingered by the car, clearly afraid they were in the wrong place.

This place looked beautiful, unsuitable to actually live in. Its perfection seemed for display purposes only. It was the security measures she had affection for. The architectural beauty was nice but lost on her after her last job here. She’d had a guy at gunpoint on this very porch. Seeing the crack of a man’s hairy ass as she bent him over and cuffed him had made the house lose its appeal.

She punched in another security code and the outer door released. This house didn’t work on standard locks unless the power went out. She’d go next door and get a real key from the neighbor once Lora and Gladys were settled. For now, the series of numbers would suffice.

The door swung open and the smell of citrus air freshener wafted out. The maid must’ve just left. The foyer had a few damp places from being mopped and the heater ran, although it wasn’t very cold outside. A house this large must stay fairly cool, even in the heat of summer.

“Come on in.” Deirdre spoke, returning to the car for their bags. “The maid just left.”

“I don’t need no maid cleaning up after me.” Gladys planted both hands firmly on her hips.

This would be a long assignment if Gladys didn’t ease up a little. Deirdre pulled both of their bags from the trunk and carried them to the foyer without commenting. Gladys and Lora stayed behind, making Deirdre go in first.

She glanced back and found Gladys standing on the porch, not entering the door and her hands still on her hips. Deep lines ran through her forehead and Deirdre wondered if she wouldn’t grab Lora and run away after all.

“The maid stopped by to make sure the place was nice for you.” The house looked immaculate. “I’m bringing in two of my employees to help watch you two until we get this mess sorted out.”

Her cell phone rang. She plucked it from her belt and saw Smythe’s number. Now wasn’t a good time to talk. She silenced the ringer and turned her attentions back to Gladys.

“I’ve only been here a few times but I’ll try to show you around.”

They went into a larger foyer with coat closet and two mirrors. To the left were doors to the kitchen and first sitting room. On the right was the library, which she was sure Mooney rarely used, a bathroom, and a guest bedroom just before a door continuing to a lanai and pool. Most people in his bracket had a separate pool house but he didn’t swim and had the basics installed later for his children.

At the back, just before the doors to the lanai, was a wide staircase going up to more bedrooms and who knows what else on the second floor. Deirdre carried their bags up the steps, unsure of which bedrooms to put them in.

“I’d like Sabrine to stay downstairs near the door. She’s an excellent guard and would hear someone before they made it to the steps. Tech, her…associate will spend most of his time in the library. For protection.”

Deirdre found two bedrooms that didn’t look regularly used. She’d rather give Mooney as much privacy as needed, especially when he dealt in dangerous and confidential information. She doubted Gladys would snoop, but Mooney would appreciate the consideration.

The first bedroom went to Lora. It had to have belonged to Mooney’s daughter, years ago when she lived at home. The room was rich in pink and yellow flowers, with white accents and ribbons touching every surface.

Gladys’s room looked like a guest room. It was generic, without pictures, only odd paintings for decoration. Deirdre left her bag there and the three of them went back downstairs to finish exploring the house.

“What do you think Lora?”

“It’s kind of big.”

“It’s got a great security system though.”

Lora stopped, a dead serious expression on her face. “Nothing can stop them. You’re only postponing the inevitable. Dad knew it and I know it too.”

A cold chill ran up Deirdre’s spine as if she’d heard a prediction for the future. It was true that keeping Niam or anyone associating with him at bay forever, would be impossible. She had to finish this before they found Lora. That much she could do.

“Maybe I am postponing things,” Deirdre said, trying to be honest. “My plan isn’t to keep you hidden forever.”

“They want to kill you. I know they do.” Lora’s eyes looked blank, too big for her face. “I can feel it.”

So Lora has the gift of sensing too. Interesting.

Lora’s voice stayed even, sounding too adult in the very small body of a child. Maturity didn’t always follow age though. This young woman had probably seen and heard more than the old readying to meet their maker.

“It won’t be the first time.” Deirdre knelt in front of the girl. “I know you’re afraid. I also know that you miss your daddy, even when you try not to.”

Lora nodded slowly, then pulled a small silver object from her pocket. It was a good luck charm. Deirdre recognized the symbols on one side and the words in Latin running around the back.

“Dad gave this to me. He told me that I was special and this might help keep me safe.”

Deirdre didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was only a trinket. Luck as much as power, came from inside. It couldn’t be given or taken like some silly silver charm. It gave her hope though and some days that was all anyone had to keep them going.

“Keep it close.”

“Deirdre, are you going to let them take me? When the time comes, are you going to try to save me?”

Lora’s expression was too intense. Tears swelled in her eyes and one trickled down the little tan face and dripped from her chin onto her shirt. Deirdre didn’t want to wipe it away, didn’t want the physical contact with such a pure soul. After all, Deirdre was raised to be a weapon, raised evil.

“I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe.”

“You promise?”

Another tear slid down on the opposite cheek as did the first. This time, Deirdre couldn’t resist and wiped the tear away. The moment her fingers touched the girl’s cheek, she came forward wrapping her arms around Deirdre’s neck.

“I don’t care what the nightmares say. You’d never hurt me. I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”

“Nightmares?”

Deirdre wrapped her arms around Lora, suddenly needing to feel her in her arms, to know she was breathing and living. For every reason she had avoided the smallest contact with this child, she now wanted to hold her close.

“Tell me about the nightmares.”

Lora let out a small whimper, still keeping her arms tight around Deirdre. “I’ve been seeing you standing over me with a big knife. Then I bleed.”

Chapter Seventeen

The intercom buzzed from the hallway. Deirdre ran from the sitting room, leaving Gladys and Lora watching television. Gladys was trying to make Lora watch an educational program since it wasn’t possible to send her to school under the current conditions. Unfortunately, the only educational programs on at that time of day were geared toward preschoolers.

Lora relented, trying to appease her grandmother by watching puppets recite the alphabet. She was being a good sport about this. Not once had Lora complained and Deirdre noticed that she tried not to talk about her father, probably for Gladys’s sake.

Deirdre looked at the monitor, seeing Sabrine’s Jeep, her spiky red head in the driver’s side. She hit the button and opened the gate. After she watched them pull through, Deirdre went to the door, waiting as they parked.

Tech would pout over having to change locations. He hated to move equipment, unless surveillance was involved. Setting up equipment for research bugged the hell out of him. It had happened twice before, with him complaining about having to leave his comfortable office at home. She dreaded the coming whining.

Sabrine jumped out first, dressed down in jeans, sneakers, and a button-down shirt. Her hair was less spiky today, making her look sharper and more serious. Tech followed. He clutched something to his chest, hugging it too tightly for Deirdre to see what it was.

“About time.” Deirdre teased, seeing Sabrine’s expression change to the softer fun-loving person she was when not on assignment. “Has your boy been giving your trouble?”

“He’s been quiet but not really upset.”

Deirdre raised an eyebrow, seeing what he clung to, a laptop, and a thick folder of paper. He usually packed more for a quick trip across town, much less an undefined length of stay during an assignment.

“That all?” She tried to sound cheerful, if for no other reason than to ease tensions with her team but no one seemed to respond.

“There’s more in the car.” He looked at her, brows furrowed. “This is the stuff I need you to see.”

“I think you should set up in the library.”

She led Tech to the library, letting Sabrine handle her own introductions. The serious edge in Tech’s voice held her attention and a twang of pain grew at the thought of what information he’d uncovered. It was probably about her. Anything else would have him excited, wanting to brag over his discovery.

“Nice,” he said, stepping into the library and doing a three-sixty. Upon closer inspection of the books lining three walls, he grimaced. Deirdre already knew what he’d seen. The books were odd collections, had to have been bought in random lots to decorate a room Mooney didn’t care to visit. A few odd encyclopedias were mixed among the good leather bound novels, and strange nonfiction titles Deirdre had never heard of.

“Mooney has this room for show, not function.”

Tech nodded, setting his laptop down on the large table in the back and opening the folder that he carried. She could only see the top piece of paper, but the picture on it jolted her. There was a head shot of Scorpion.

“Deirdre, we’re getting into something serious. Whatever Stone House was, I think some version of it is starting again. We’re already in danger and I think it’s time for you to come clean with Sabrine and me. We need to be informed. This is more than a case or protecting a little girl, or a nosey detective, and you know it. That is why you brought us here.” Tech paused and Deirdre started to say something when he started again. “I hacked into the FBI’s computer database and pulled your mother’s records. There’s some serious shit in there but I didn’t read it. I have a feeling that you don’t know everything about your mother.”

“What does she have to do with the Haas case?”

Tech hesitated, the wheels in his mind moving at a fantastic rate. She hated when he got that look. It reminded her too much of a computer. The unfeeling machinations finished and he spoke.

“This is tied to you and to whatever secrets you’re hiding. I want you to face it so you can let us in on what we’re really up against. Don’t lead us into this thing blind.” He slid the folder over to her. “I’m going to get my things set up in that corner.” He pointed to a heavy mahogany desk at the far corner of the room. “When you’re done, we’ll talk.”

She sat in the formal leather chair near the table and stared down at Scorpion’s photograph. Her mother looked younger than Deirdre remembered. The photo looked official but there was a slight smile on her lips. This must’ve been before Stone House, before Deirdre.

There were the details, height, weight, and special training. Information was listed in a little paragraph, small bragging rights her mother had earned over the years. The folder was thick with all the abbreviated specifics from the front page.

Deirdre closed the folder. It was one thing to relive memories but these were facts, hard and cold. The picture was a hint to what Scorpion could’ve been if not for her little Deirdre. Surely, Deirdre had ruined her mother’s life.

She didn’t want to deal with this now. There was a case and a little girl who needed her. Chasing ghosts wouldn’t help anything or anyone. She stared at the closed manila envelope. The past couldn’t repeat itself. Tamara wouldn’t take that little girl to live in some cult disguised as a prep school.

Had Scorpion taken her to the cult because she wanted to? Deirdre had always wondered but never asked her mother. The answer might hurt too much. What if Scorpion had done it on purpose? Pulled Deirdre from some loving family the same way Lora had been?

The evil sensation she picked up from Niam, sometimes she feared it emanated from within herself. Given that, she had to assume she’d been the reason Scorpion had stayed in that cult for so long. Deirdre was the cause of her pain, although Scorpion never said as much. Deirdre had seen the truth in her eyes.

Cult. Why would someone start one? Power? Control?

Deirdre took a deep breath, knowing Tech was right about the Colinsters but still not believing anyone would try to start an institution like Stone House again. Times had changed and people were eager to call social services over anything these days. Never mind the high-powered help it would take to make people disappear into a system where everyone had a social security number.

When Deirdre had attended the school, Social Services had been called a few times from external events like the martial arts meets she’d attended. It never helped much except causing more work for the students and more death threats. Odds were Stone House had paid off a few social workers to keep things running smoothly. Maybe they could pull off another Stone House.

The folder sat on the table, her fingers touching it. She glanced around the library and saw Tech coming in with a square plastic-wrapped contraption. He’d done all this for her, so she had to look at it.

She skimmed the early pages, glancing over commendations from Scorpion’s superiors. Her mother had been amazing, going undercover and always coming out unscathed. Aidena had lived an exciting, wonderful life. Well, until she became pregnant with her curse and became Scorpion.

Deirdre knew something of her mother’s past, but at the moment, she had to know about her death. It would shed some light into Scorpion’s true feelings about her daughter. Maybe the FBI knew when her mother died and where. The body in the old bedroom was her mother, but then who did they burn on the funeral pyre? When did she return to Stone House? Who set the fire there?

Deirdre skipped through the jobs Scorpion had been on before the stint at Stone House, then she found the truth about her mother. The case was her last assignment and everything Deirdre had questioned fell into place.

My mom?

Her breath came hard and suddenly the large library felt claustrophobic. The books were too close, the air stale. It was too much like Stone House, surrounding her, trying to keep her. She ran by Tech, finding the exit beyond the pool and the cool night outside.

The edge of the wall came up and she ran along its side, wanting away from everything and everyone. She kept going, running to the furthest point on Mooney’s lot. She couldn’t cry now, not now, so she let the emotions go, waiting for blissful numbness to take their place.

Her mother had risked everything for her ungrateful daughter. The hard reality was on the paper, left for her soul to absorb the sin. Every minute of her mother’s pain in Stone House had been Deirdre’s fault. There was no way to deny the truth when even the dumb-ass government had it listed in black and white.

Deirdre hadn’t found the part about her mother’s death. It was bound to be lurking in the back pages, ready to come up and show Deirdre exactly what kind plague she’d caused in her mother’s life. For now, she’d already learned too much.

Aidena Flye had been assigned to go undercover at a school called Stone Gardens, House and Preparatory College. There she’d played her part, acting the good soldier, doing anything necessary to bring down something she’d considered immoral and illegal, until she got pregnant.

Aidena tried to escape but Deirdre ended up in the hospital. No details were given as to how Deirdre ended up in the hospital. Questions were raised as to the care Aidena had been giving Deirdre. When Aidena returned to the school, all charges were dropped.

The leaders there made her stay because of Deirdre, because they would kill Deirdre and her mother would’ve walked through hell to prevent that. Aidena went through hell trying to keep Deirdre safe.

The date from the last reports on Aidena and Stone House were given two months after Deirdre watched her mother die on the field. Scorpion had reported back to the FBI. Aidena Flye had regained her life.

Deirdre went to her knees, falling back to her butt and leaning against the rear wall. The autumn wind went by, filling her with the mixed scent of salt water and fading summer. With it came the feeling of darkness. Niam couldn’t be here, but she felt him, wickedness on the air.

She didn’t try reaching out with her senses. She was too tired. In fact, she tried to block out the building pressure around her. Niam wasn’t supposed to be able to reach her here.

Was it possible? The stories about his powers. The burning hand hadn’t been an exaggeration.

She touched her stomach gingerly, the flesh beneath still tender. The salve she’d put on it didn’t help, not that she’d expected it to. Even the shallow cut on her chest ached, as if everywhere Niam touched became painful.

Ignoring the problem wouldn’t make it go away. She tapped into her inner resources. This wasn’t the time to be weak. She had to face this, lash out and destroy what tormented her.

Deirdre slowed her heartbeat, listened to her breathing. She reached, trying to pinpoint the rising evil on the air. She needed a location or at least a proximity to the house. When she reached, it felt as if Niam was all around her. She found no single source for the dark sensations but it seemed to be everywhere.

“Are you here?” she whispered, hoping the stories weren’t true. There was no such thing as magic, no soul stealers.

I am here. He spoke through her thoughts, the sound not coming from her ears only her mind. I have you in my gazing ball.

“Why are you hunting me?” She gripped the wall, feeling the cold rock in her hand, but something had changed. The wind no longer touched her skin and all the normal noises from the outside had diminished to a low muffled chirp of crickets.

I need the girl.

“You can tell Tamara that the girl isn’t going anywhere. She’s going to have a normal life, not some sick shit like at Stone House.”

My dear, I don’t work for Tamara Haas. I thought you did.

“What?” She wasn’t prepared for that. “Get out of my head.”

You honestly aren’t hunting the girl for Tamara?

“I told you that I wasn’t.”

I wished I’d learned this earlier. Many things have changed then. Meet me at midnight, back at Stone House. Come to the basement.

“No.”

She didn’t know how he could do this. The ceremonies weren’t real, only disguised murders. People didn’t have supernatural powers. None of this was real. That’s it. Deirdre decided that she’d finally lost her mind. The burning touch, the mind connection, none of it could happen. This was the real world with taxes, high gas prices, breakfast cereal, and cell phones. Magic had no place here, no hold. Niam and his kind never had any abilities.

“I’ve gone insane.”

Deirdre looked down at the surrounding dirt and found darkness, deeper than the night touching half of her body, and there the feeling of ice settled into her flesh in a half circle, as if darkness from a sphere enclosed part of the air. Above, the stars appeared hazy, barely visible through the dark fog that had crept over her. If this wasn’t real, it was damn close. That meant Niam wanted to fight her on his holy ground.

“I can’t go there again.”

Do it or I’ll send my men for Lora now. Meet me in the basement.

The basement was where the ceremonies took place, the awful blood-spilling sacrifices. She didn’t want to go there, see the marks carved into the stone where so many had lost their lives.

“I never thought the gazing ball was real. Never believed in any of it.”

Meet me at midnight. Hurry. You don’t have much time. I promise no interference. My men will stand their ground and not open fire. You have my word.

Deirdre sat there while the feeling of ice vanished, leaving her skin tingling. Niam had broken the connection. The sky regained its earlier brightness and fresh wind blew through her hair. Sounds also returned and she heard rushed approaching footsteps. Coming toward her were Tech and Sabrine, leaving Gladys and Lora alone inside.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Deirdre stood up, hoping they hadn’t seen her out here talking to herself. “Both of you can’t be away from our clients at the same time.”

“It’s okay,” Sabrine said. “See?”

Sabrine pointed to the lanai where Deirdre could make out the outline of Gladys. Deirdre couldn’t see Lora clearly, but Gladys watched someone by the pool. It had to be Lora.

“Deirdre, are you going to tell us what’s going on?” Sabrine looked at her then touched her arm as if making sure she was real. “I looked outside but for a minute, you looked strange. Like a bad projection. Not real.”

There wasn’t an easy place to begin. Her childhood would be too much information but telling them to protect Lora without any background wouldn’t prepare them for what could come.

She took a deep breath, starting at the only place that she could, her training. It had become the overshadowing force in her life, although there wasn’t a way to make two people understand the severity of watching your mother stand next to a lever that would send down boiling oil.

“I grew up in a place called Stone House.” They took a seat in the grass across from her. “It was a cult and training camp disguised as a school. I was supposed to grow up to be one of their assassins. They even had my first kill set up.” Deirdre couldn’t look them in the eyes for this part. “One I didn’t perform. That mistake caused punishment and what I thought was my mother’s death.”

Deirdre skimmed the details as the first bits she shared caused shock and surprise to come over Tech and Sabrine. She didn’t blame them. Those were different times and the isolation Stone House maintained created a different environment. No one could understand unless they’d lived it and survived to find the rest of the world filled with sympathy, caring, and children who only dreaded a time out or spanking.

It took thirty minutes to explain Stone House and the survivor she’d never wanted to see again, Niam. She had to wonder how many others had lived through the inferno. Other people might hunt her down.

“This is the part I’m not sure about. It looks like Niam is trying to start his personal version of Stone House, while the original organizers are using their prodigal daughter, Tamara, to recreate the same institution I grew up in. I don’t know what this has to do with Lora, unless Tamara is ashamed of her. If that’s the case, I don’t know what Niam wants with her. He always preferred training younger children.” She looked up at the stars, happy to see them shining brightly. “The leaders at Stone House used to perform ceremonies. Maybe they want Lora for something like that. I don’t know.”

“I’ll check around and see what I come up with.”

“Niam wants me back. I don’t know why. I was never his best student but when Farmer went digging into my past, I showed up at Stone House. Niam followed me back. The thing is that he already knew about Tamara Haas and Lora.” Blissful numbness had finally settled inside her. She could do this. “Tech, you need to dig deep in this. They can’t take Lora. She can’t grow up like I did.”

Deirdre looked at Tech and Sabrine, knowing her secrets would be safe and also wishing that damned look of horror would leave their faces. It reminded her of a funeral where no one knew the right words to say. In effect, she guessed they were mourning her childhood.

She glanced down at her watch. It was nearly ten. She’d have to hurry or risk being late for her meeting with Niam. It wasn’t exactly a meeting, but maybe while they exchanged blows, he’d share a little information about Lora Shope.

“You two get back to work. Story time is over.”

“What about you?” Sabrine asked. The woman reached out as if she wanted to touch Deirdre, some small offering of friendship, then pulled her hand back before making contact.

“Niam…” She paused, not sure how to explain how Niam had contacted her. “He challenged me to a duel of sorts.” Deirdre leaned against the wall. “Listen, some of the guys from Stone House could do things. Unexplainable things.”

“Do things?” Tech asked.

“I don’t want to get into it, just be careful. Keep the doors locked and cell phones on. One of you should be awake at all times. Don’t trust anything, not even the shadows. Stay away from the windows. Try not to let anyone touch you.”

She stood, and started back toward the house to her car. Lora sat in the lanai, staring out at her. The lights from the house lit her small face and Deirdre wished she could hug her one more time.

No matter what, Lora would know movies, and dates, and proms. No one would control her life or show her murders as a way to teach her how to be strong or how to kill. Lora wouldn’t have a father either, but she would have a life. Gladys would make sure of that. There would be malls and friends. Lora wouldn’t have Deirdre’s hang ups.

“Stay safe, Lora. Please stay safe.”

Lora nodded and Deirdre felt emotions rising in her, horrible weak ones that should shame her, although all she wanted was to embrace them, experience them instead of the plastic bubble that she felt enclosed her.

Sabrine said something but Deirdre pretended not to hear. Things were better left like this. If Deirdre died tonight, then at least they had enough information to know why and who had done it. She’d said enough of a goodbye to Lora.

Deirdre walked around the house, to the driveway. Her cell phone rang. She didn’t need to look at the display to know it was Noah. He was pushing stalker qualities now. She was busy and he would wait.

At the car, she pulled out her case. She’d grabbed every weapon she owned during the stop at the office to drop off the car. A change of clothes were in order. She needed to wear black, needed to blend.

Her leather fighting gear was in the case. It was black, smooth, and broken in, to make moving easy. Leather was good for fights because it added a layer of protection to the skin. A minor cut or scrape could be deflected. The only drawback was in newer leathers that hadn’t been stretched properly. Those were like fighting wrapped in a cocoon.

Her pants were specially tailored, with spandex at the hips and in a seam down each leg. While most men were stronger than her, she had them at agility. The male center of gravity is higher, residing in the chest where as a woman’s is lower, in the hips. One good shot to the chest or head and a man will fall.

The top was leather, like the pants. It had long Spandex sleeves, with leather covering her breasts in a large X and a thin metal links lining the area near the wrists. The shirt didn’t completely cover her stomach, but any more clothing and she’d burn up. The metal links added a fighting edge. Her wrists couldn’t be cut, giving her a larger striking zone, and deflecting short swords at close ranges.

She slipped into the bathroom near the front, changed and put the double sword sheaths across her back. They would be a pain during the ride to Stone House but she wanted them close. She didn’t trust Niam. He could have assassins waiting to take her the moment she exited her car. Deirdre also refilled her leg harness with throwing knives and checked her pistols.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Sabrine asked the moment Deirdre opened the bathroom door.

“No. I need you here. Niam might send people, knowing I’m preoccupied. I have no way of knowing if this isn’t some elaborate ruse to get the girl.”

Sabrine nodded. Deirdre expected her to turn around and go back to her guard duties. Instead she surprised Deirdre by stepping forward and hugging her. Deirdre stood there for a moment in shock before lifting her arms to return the hug. She wasn’t fond of touching; not even shaking hands, but Sabrine’s sign of affection was sweet. Sabrine was one of the few people who could see beyond Deirdre’s shell. Most people simply considered Deirdre a bitch, but Sabrine knew that not experiencing emotions wasn’t the same as only feeling hate.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this one,” Sabrine remarked as she pulled away.

“Me too.” Deirdre swallowed hard. “Sabrine, if I don’t come back, I’m probably not dead. I don’t think Niam wants to kill me.” She forced the next words from her mouth. “He wants to keep me.”

“If I don’t hear from you by this time tomorrow, we’ll come after you. I’ll bring in everyone and we’ll do a run on the place.”

Deirdre wanted to tell her no, not to risk it, but the words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. She wanted to be saved. As a child she dreamed of someone, her father maybe, coming in to take her and Scorpion away. It had never happened and now she doubted Sabrine or anyone could rescue her.

“Sure,” she managed, turning away. Behind her she heard Sabrine’s footsteps, heading back to the lanai.

Another glance at the clock got Deirdre moving. She would have no time to get there early and check things out. The way it looked, she’d have to break every speed limit just to get there on time.

Checking her weapons as she went, she ran to her car and gunned the engine, clearing the gate before it fully opened. She wished she had her sports car instead of this sedan. It didn’t go as fast, but the car handled well once she reached the interstate.

I don’t want to get trapped there. That one thought circled her brain. She’d rather die than be trapped with Niam.

Chapter Eighteen

She expected the worst when she reached Stone House. The archway frightened her. The woods could hold sharp shooters willing to injure her before the altercation with Niam. What she found after pulling beyond the dorms to the main building an hour and forty five minutes later looked like a party, not a duel at all.

Paper lanterns sat around the building, lining the parking area and part of the drive. A generator hummed somewhere nearby and Deirdre noticed white lights strung around the rubble. There were other cars, so she parked at the side, near the shadows. However, her hopes of entering unnoticed were squelched when a man in a deep navy suit approached her car.

“Ms. Flye,” he said in a proper British accent. “We’ve been expecting you. Please follow me.”

He held open Deirdre’s door, then reached down to help her from the car, although the look she shot him made him withdraw. He stood at the side, straightening his suit as she stepped from her sedan.

“What’s the party about?”

The building had a pleasant glow despite the debris. A well-dressed couple went inside, the lady stepping carefully around the fallen rocks. There was no indication that a homeless man had died nearby or that anything could be wrong in the cheerful ambiance.

“Oh, Ms. Flye, you will be pleased but I’m afraid your host would be very put out if I spoiled his surprise. Please follow me.” He reminded her of a hotel concierge, and a little too cheerful for her taste.

“Who is the host?”

This seemed to take the man off guard. He looked at her for a moment as if she must be confused. “Niam Brogens, of course. Isn’t he the gentleman you’re here to see?”

“Yes, he is. I just didn’t expect a party.”

Deirdre didn’t know what new game Niam decided to play, but she didn’t like any of it. She expected a fight, a quiet in the dark event, not some party and this was quite a party too. They passed a few people meandering near the large stones on the outer area of the building. Everyone was dressed immaculately in elegant long dresses or tailored suits. She looked at her clothing, ready for blood not social gatherings.

Her escort pushed open a door and music carried out to her. Everything had been cleaned although a little of the smoky scent remained. He led her to the area that used to be the food service and part of the library. All the rubble had been cleared away with white lights strung near the tops of the walls. There was no ceiling and the walls that survived had been badly damaged but the area had been decorated for a party. A long table complete with burgundy linen cloth held food while a few servers circulated with trays of champagne. Music filled the open room. Musicians stood on a makeshift stone stage, seemingly assembled from flat sections of broken stone. One played violin, another bass, and a standup piano finished the soft sounds colliding in her head with the shock of finding this.

In the room, bodies moved with the music, dancing in the middle of an area used for study ten years ago. Gowns flowed with the music. Some men wore tuxedos, leading their dates through the colored lighting put off by more paper lanterns hanging from poles. Everything looked bright, but Deirdre could still see the stars, reminding her that this was no illusion. In fact, it resembled the Tamara Haas affair.

“You made it. Wonderful.” Niam stepped before her, coming out of a shadowy corner and waving the first man away. He wore a modern tux with no real tie but a black band completed by a large black and silver medallion in the middle. Part of his hair covered the burned areas of his face, while the rest swept back showing off one dark eye. “And you’re dressed for war. How very Dragonfly.”

“I wasn’t expecting a party.”

“May I get you something to drink?”

A waiter stopped next to them, pausing on his rounds while Niam put his empty glass on the tray and retrieved a full one. He also took one for her, handing it toward her then replacing it when Deirdre shook her head no.

“What? Don’t you like parties?”

Niam had never been nice to her and she’d never seen him in a social climate. None of it would sway her from her chore. She would either kill him tonight or convince him to leave her alone. The thought of committing murder bothered her. For a violent bitch, she valued life above all else, that’s why she fought to preserve it. Even Niam might have a redeeming quality or two. Anything was possible.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Dance with me.”

Niam set his glass on another passing waiter’s tray and grabbed her hand. Deirdre wouldn’t budge, steadying herself as Niam felt her resistance. Instead of looking angry, he smiled, stepped close to her and put his other hand on her hip while still holding her hand. His body swayed and Deirdre remained motionless. Niam came closer, his body touching hers, forcing her to move or have the equivalent of full body dry hump.

“Why are we dancing?”

“I like to dance.” He turned her on the floor. “Besides, technically, you’re not dancing, only swaying.”

“I don’t dance.” She didn’t like his hands on her, even when he wasn’t causing pain. “I never learned how.”

“I knew something was missing in your education. I’m afraid we were so focused on the darker arts, that we let a few things slip through. I’m partially to blame for that. As leaders, we tended to forget that life is about more than combat. It’s about living.” He smiled and actually looked pleasant. “Allow me to instruct you on something more pleasant than fighting.”

Niam leaned closer, his mouth near her ear as he counted the steps, whispering them and leading her in the first dance lesson of her life. At first she tried to pull back, but the hand at her hip wrapped around her waist and she couldn’t gain a decent inch. She expected him to lean over and bite her, or steal her weapons. His movements never changed, he only whispered one-two-three-four along with small instructions as he guided her along the dance floor.

It was too awkward to enjoy and she didn’t purposely step on his feet, although a few toe squishes happened anyway. Appeasing him in the middle of his house with his soldiers, well-dressed as they were, seemed like a good idea. Even when he spun her gently, bringing her back into his arms, she didn’t fight.

“You would dance better if you relaxed.”

Relax? He wanted her to relax after trying to beat the crap out of her, doing that burning touch thing, and then trailing her from Gladys’s house. Never mind their history, never mind the cruel tactics he’d used to teach her. The recent stuff was enough reason to put up a fight.

“I’d relax if I knew what you were up to. You weren’t this sociable at our last encounter.”

He led her around again, this time making a complete circle in the room and Deirdre had to wonder how long this song lasted. Then she remembered the live band. The music could go on until the pianist’s fingers fell off.

“I thought you wanted me here to fight, not dance. Why are we dancing? Why are you being nice?” She didn’t know what to do about nice. “Is this your way of offering a truce?”

“Already ready for battle.” He released her hand, leading her with his arm around her waist and far too close to her sword. “Let’s get the unpleasantness out of the way, then perhaps you will be better company.”

He took her down the hall to where the leaders’ rooms had been. The music died away as they crept down the dark halls with only a few lights to guide their way among the broken stone walls.

More importantly, he took her to his old room. She’d always dreaded going there. On several occasions she’d been summoned to that horrible place where he always had a few naked women stretched out over the furniture. She hadn’t known what sex was and he’d only touched the women’s hair in front of her. It still made her skin crawl.

“Why do we have to go in there?” she asked, feeling like that scared little girl all over again. She didn’t like that place. It always smelled of incense and some musky human scent. “I thought we were going to fight.”

“You always hated me, didn’t you?” Niam paused in the hallway, at his door. He looked at her softly and she suddenly hoped he wasn’t going to try to seduce her. Already she felt a little nauseous.

“You were never kind to me. Only Scorpion was kind to me. The rest of you would have been happy to see me dead.”

“So you thought.”

Niam had to jerk the door handle up to make the latch release. The interior remained untouched from the fire. Niam must’ve been caught somewhere along the outer rooms to be burned the way he was.

“Several of the leaders survived. Did you know that? They would be interested in hearing about you.”

Deirdre shook her head no and swallowed hard. She didn’t like the idea of running into more of those people. They could be anywhere. Who knows maybe they’d given up cults and decided to try world domination through golf.

They stepped further inside and Niam lit a heavy camping lantern near the door. It smoked lazily then filled the room in a soft orange white glow. There she saw the old extravagance. His living room took up part of it. Behind that, and visible from all points in the room, was his large satin-covered bed. It was the focal point of the apartment as well as Niam’s old life. She saw the hallway just beyond it. That’s where he’d always taken her for more exercise and training when she hadn’t done enough in class. That room had padded floors and walls with a few metal poles running horizontally throughout the length of the room.

For fun he’d make her do chin ups, then bring the bowl of hot coals to put beneath her to keep her going when she grew tired. It had been so large that there was no way to stop and get off the pole without either Niam’s permission or a severe burn from the bowl.

“You’re not asking me to do chin-ups again, are you?”

He laughed and put his arm around her. “Hardly. You’re not a child anymore. It’s time you learned different lessons.” He reached with his free hand and grazed the bottom of her chin. “Softer lessons.”

Oh shit. This wasn’t going to end well.

She tried not to shiver, but with his arm around her, she couldn’t pull away. She endured the contact, the feeling of his smooth warm skin touching her face. Perhaps she’d cut his hand off for that. Probably not, but it’s what she wished she could do.

He looked at the bed, and smiled as if reliving some past victories or dreaming up a new adventure. Thankfully he motioned for Deirdre to sit on the small couch to the side. He sat across from her, a coffee table between them.

“What do you know about Tamara Haas?”

She looked at him, surprised. Maybe this meeting was nothing more than a means to gain information. “Will you share your information if I share mine?” Deirdre wouldn’t tell him the weather outside if she wasn’t going to get something out of it. Niam wasn’t worthy of pleasantries.

“Agreed. While we are in this room and this room alone, we will not fight, we will be civil, and we will be completely honest.”

“Agreed.”

They shook hands, as was the custom at Stone House. The implication was that nothing was more important than a person’s word. It was the only thing in Stone House that stayed consistent.

“Now, what do you know about Tamara Haas?”

Deirdre spoke honestly, as was the pact they’d just made. She went over the odd job she’d been assigned to and finished with this little girl named Lora who looked nothing like the blue-eyed blonde Tamara had been filmed putting on a plane for Europe.

“Now you tell me about Lora Shope.” Deirdre tried to look relaxed when all she wanted was to get out of this place.

“I know you don’t understand signs or legends, but there are those who believe in them completely. I don’t suppose you know a Mr. Colinster?” He paused but she didn’t like the way his eyes trailed over her body, or the humorous look on his face, like he had a secret.

“Not really, only that he is a relation of Tamara Haas. He might be associated with the original backers of Stone House. Beyond that, I have nothing definite.”

He leaned back in his chair, flashing a sexy grin despite the scaring on the edge of his lips. She now understood why women had thought he was sexy. A shadow of the man he used to be still clung giving him the air of power, grace, and intelligence.

“Mr. Colinster is a hard man. He started Stone House but quickly pulled his backing when he saw that our ranks included all races and sexes. There were some things that he couldn’t tolerate.”

“He didn’t want women here and no one of color?”

“No. He didn’t want women and men mixed. He thought their training should be kept separate unless they were fighting for a position. As for different races, he thought only Caucasians had any business training here. Anyway, his partner Sherman Dellington disagreed. Sherman was himself a quarter Mexican, although Colinster didn’t realize it at the time. He thought there was nothing wrong with using every available bit of manpower for their cause.”

Deirdre didn’t want the history lesson. This was taking too long and a growing sense of claustrophobia threatened to take hold in her mind. If she’d learned nothing else in Stone House, it was not to let a silly problem create fear when a real one stared you in the face.

“So they’re trying to kill Lora because she is mixed?” Deirdre tried to focus on the absurdity of killing a child because she had a good tan. At least that’s what Sabrine always related it to.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. She can’t just be killed. Lora Shope has to be sacrificed. The legend says that a half child must die. Her death was to follow a great fire and result in a rebirth of power.”

A knock at the door interrupted their discussion. One of the waiters entered carrying a bottle of champagne and two small plates of food. Deirdre wondered how they’d brought in food when the town was so far away and the kitchen here nothing more than a spot on an old set of plans.

“Ah, thank you.”

He filled the two glasses, although Deirdre never asked. Her stomach clenched, mouth dry.

“I assure you nothing is poisoned.”

“Forgive me, but I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Sacrifices always did that to you.” He took another bite. “Pity really. You do have so much potential.”

Deirdre watched him enjoy his food as she tried to remember any old stories she could relate to what he was telling her. At Stone House, magic was earned. The powers that be gave more power only when it was deserved. The fastest way to deserve it was with sacrifice, hence the theme of their ceremonies, which more often than not revolved around magic and bloodletting and death.

“So you think by killing a mixed-race child you will gain more power?”

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Don’t tell me this is some tired attempt at world domination.”

“My dear, the world is controlled by a handful of powerful people in a handful of countries. It’s only their lack of cooperation that keeps anyone from absolute power.” He laughed and the sound frightened Deirdre. “The fire here. That only helped those who believed the sacrifice was necessary. This was the great fire. At least to us. Both houses are reforming and a rebirth of power is imminent. Now, it’s a race for who will earn that power.”

“Or who will commit murder first.”

“You can’t let go of that.”

“There are so many mixed-race children. Why would you pick her out of all of them?”

“She is connected to power. The right bloodline damned her.”

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting this or believing it.”

He shook his head, disapproving. “There were other signs of course. Nothing you would’ve noticed. Certain families gaining political power. Natural disasters. The news is ripe with signs for anyone looking for them.”

Niam continued telling her about the horrible legend of the half child and the need for her death. It included Colinster’s plans for infiltrating world organizations through the Bilderberg conferences. He had the connections to gain access to the world’s most powerful meeting of the minds, where leaders came to influence and be influenced without the ugliness of the media judging their words in quips and unregulated half truths. These were people poised to take control of some of the world’s most powerful governments, even an electoral candidate in the United States. The U.S. candidate didn’t have a good shot in the next election but all hopes were pinned on the following four years after his predecessor screwed things up, all with help from Colinster.

“They could make the Klan look like a social club. Colinster is more dangerous than a redneck with a gun. His suits make him look respectable, his money, and connections give him power. All he needs is to start another Stone House to build the manpower he requires. From there, the poor will get poorer, the social classes will divide on lines of race instead of only money. Things will become less interesting and many people will die.”

“Do you really think he can pull that off?” Deirdre had heard many world domination theories, mostly from paranoid actors. None of them were more than people wired on drugs, ranting to hear their own voice.

“It doesn’t matter if he can really pull it off. It’s the chaos he will create trying.” Niam rubbed his temples as if the stress were getting to him, although Deirdre had never really seen him stressed. “He may not gain world power, but he will cause a blood bath. I can’t let that happen.”

“That’s why Tamara went away. She didn’t like her father’s ideas and knew that one day he’d hurt Lora.”

“It’s also why she came back. She’s helping her father. The only mark against her is Lora. It’s the only unforgivable thing in her father’s eyes.” Niam seemed troubled at this.

“It’s horrible.” Deirdre shook her head. She had no idea why anyone would believe a legend probably made up by one of the leaders of Stone House.

“It wasn’t much of a stretch for Colinster or his followers. They are very devoted and it appears Tamara has grown to be also. I’m not sure if it is by her free will or something Colinster has done. He always held an array of dark talents. Either way she is a threat to the child.”

“What do you want with Lora? I can’t imagine you protecting anyone.”

“The legend has been around for a long time.” He ignored the question choosing a different tangent. “Several of us knew about Colinster’s granddaughter, but many were taking bets on what child would be sacrificed. Several of us thought that it would be you.” Niam laughed as if killing children were nothing more than tying one’s shoes. “That’s one of the reasons I pushed you so hard. I wanted you to survive.” His gaze grew distant. “I honestly was hard on you to help you. I swear.”

Deirdre thought a moment trying to ignore his comments. “What? I may not have known my father but I’m so white it’s pathetic. Why would I make a good sacrifice?”

Niam raised one eyebrow as he sipped his champagne. “There’s no reason to get into it. Let’s just say that skin color isn’t the only way someone can be a half child.” He downed the glass and refilled it, but didn’t elaborate. “Now to our business. I have a proposition for you.”

She wanted to ask more about her father, about her heritage. As a child, she’d never been permitted to even ask more than a passing question about the man who’d helped create her. Niam knew him or of him.

“Can you tell me about my father?” She leaned toward him, closing the distance. “I’ve always wanted to know.”

“Not now. We must handle things between us first.”

Niam’s smile looked sincere and since she could only imagine the worst ideas brought him glee. Deirdre grew worried. He didn’t reach for a weapon, only his food, nibbling and taking his time to continue.

“Well?” she pushed, not enjoying the mystery. “You’ve told me a great deal but I still don’t know why I’m here.”

“I want to bed you.”

Pure revulsion hit her core and nausea filled her. She knew the stories about him. His sexual exploits were that of legend, taking pride in the whip marks left on his women and the burns he used to brand them his property. This conversation was over and there was no reason to argue the point. Deirdre stood to leave.

“Where are you going?”

Deirdre glared at him, feeling the hate flood from her gaze to the creature on the chair. He was no man, only a demon that haunted her nightmares with promises of pain. No matter how hard she’d worked, nothing was good enough. Then there were his frequent death threats.

She didn’t want to be one of his naked whores, draped across the furniture like a decoration instead of a real person. Learning to love pain was never a taste she’d acquired and tolerating it so Niam could come was unacceptable.

“I’m going home. There’s no way I’m letting you touch me.”

The heavy door had a large wooden bar that had been upright, leaving the door unlocked but it fell at once, effectively blocking the door. No one had touched it. She only imagined that Niam had pulled it down through force of will and she swallowed hard.

“What’s the matter Deirdre?” He sneered, rolling her name like a word of seduction. “Are you still a virgin?” She heard him stand, walking slowly toward her. “I can break you in slowly. I’ve been known to be gentle when the circumstances were right. I can give pleasure.”

“I’m not a virgin. I bedded a man as soon as I got out just so I couldn’t be used as a virgin sacrifice for whatever had survived this place.” She spun around, finding him too close. “Get away from me.”

“Sex can be enjoyable. I think you should at least give me the night to prove it. You’re no child to be toughened for battle. You’re a woman. Let me treat you like one.”

He stayed close, blocking her against the locked door, and she reached for her sword. Part of her was afraid to kill, thinking some bit of her soul not tarnished by Stone House would die and she would become like the rest of the monsters who had resided here. The other really wanted to cut Niam in half and watch him squirm while he died.

“Listen, Deirdre. You have become a beautiful woman, a bit too feisty, but that can be worked out.” He licked his lips. “Haven’t you wondered what it would be like to be with me? You’ve seen women here, seen the enjoyment on their faces.” She looked at the floor, not wanting to see that face that had intimidated her for all those years. “Besides, our bedding would be an arrangement for the good of the whole.”

How many times had he used that crappy line? She’d heard better from greasy rejects in bars. Then again, if she hadn’t known Niam for what he really was instead of this well dressed deceiver, she might join the notches on his bedpost.

“There are people who must be stopped. I’m proposing that we join forces.” The smile on his face twisted in his perverted thoughts. “I want to breed with you. I want to fill your womb with my seed.”

His mouth came closer. She turned her head and felt his lips touch the soft flesh of her throat. He kissed her, trailed his mouth up her throat to her ear. For a brief moment, it felt good. The sensual moment took her by surprise.

“I can make you crave me. It will be wonderful.”

“No.”

“Don’t you feel the loneliness, Dragonfly?” His words stayed a soft whisper near her ear. She felt them more than heard them. “I know you live in a subdivision. Why? Because it’s like the dorms you knew. You’ll never belong in the outside world. Surely you know that. Haven’t you felt the sting of seeing others connecting, caring, and realized that it was something you could never have? I understand it Deirdre, my Dragonfly. I know it well. Let me help you. Let’s find our place together.”

Deirdre reached for the bar, trying to slide it up and leave this room. Their business was finished, although not as dramatically as she’d expected. If he didn’t want to fight, then she didn’t need to be here.

“Deirdre.” His voice was soft. When he reached for her back, a new sensation swept through her. It was pleasure but too intense, making her grip the bar to keep from falling down. Her muscles locked, unable to fight. Her breathing came too fast. She couldn’t control what happened to her as more pleasure surged through her core. Her knees became wobbly and she found Niam behind her, holding her upright. His body pressed against hers while one arm wrapped securely around her waist. “How’s that for your first orgasm? It was your first, wasn’t it?”

“That was what?” She had trouble thinking.

“You’re beautiful, so very feminine when a man has control of your body.”

“Fuck you.”

“Now that’s the spirit. Why don’t we go to the bed and do just that?”

“No.”

He let up, but kept his hand on her back. She started to move and he flooded her senses with sweet pleasure until she rested her head against the bar. She had little control of her body but managed to reach to her thigh and the daggers. He noticed and sent another wave through her as he took away the knife.

“I didn’t think you’d willingly agree to anything with me. No matter how much I liked you, you never returned the sentiment. Now calm down and let’s talk. There’s to be no blood shed in my quarters.”

“So talk.” She tried to hide the weakness in her voice but his touch had robbed her of any ability to pull off acting like the bad ass.

“I already assumed that you would deny me. Even as a child you loved to drive me crazy.” His free hand stroked her hair, lovingly, as if he would never think of hurting her. The other hand stayed at her back ready to control her in this strange new way.

“So you’re going to take rejection like a man and let me go?”

“I’m proposing a fight, in the basement,” he added quickly. “A fair fight between the two of us. If you win, I will let you leave here and I will promise not to touch the girl. If I win, you will do as I say, just like Stone House but more fun. You will be my willing…everything. Night or day, you will do whatever I ask and as often as I ask it.” He laughed, a low, quiet sound. “From the looks of it, you will enjoy it.”

“No. It’s not worth the risk.” Her senses started to come back. She needed to keep him talking, needed time to fight whatever he was doing to her. “What do you want with Lora anyway?”

“I’m ashamed to say but I want to sacrifice her. The legend has it that the one who spills her blood will have control of the life force. It is the ultimate connection to the magic that pulses through the ground.”

“Back to voodoo predictions and pitiful pretend magic.” She shook her head. “I’m not agreeing to anything but I will fight you.”

“You have no choice, Deirdre. I’ve rigged the basement to abide by this deal. You’ll be mine.”

Niam reached around her, pushing the bar up and out of the way. When he opened the door, she realized why Niam had been so confident. Twenty men stood outside with guns, all pointed at her. She might be able to take them in hand to hand fighting, but there was nothing she could do against that kind of fire power.

“You promised a fair fight without their interference.” She saw their eager young faces. Apparently, their master had promised them quite a show.

“We go to the basement and finish this with honor, or you die. If you win, true freedom for you and the girl. Lose, you’ll be bound to me. I will keep my promise of a fair fight. Not one shot will be fired whether you win or lose.”

She shook her head, knowing there was no way out of here. His promise to her wouldn’t hold up among untrained blood thirsty followers. Killing him would bring his followers on her for vengeance, letting him live would be worse. Coming here had been a mistake, but she couldn’t stand the idea of being hunted by Niam, by her Midnight teacher.

“So you had this big party to have your people handy and to try to throw me off guard.”

“Oh no. This party is a celebration in honor of you joining us. It’s hard being the only teacher. Soon I’ll have you and together we will bring a new, strong breed, into this world. Once I’ve finished training you, you will have your own class.” He leaned close, whispering in her ear. “I was hoping to seduce you with all this atmosphere and avoid fighting you altogether. We could still spend our energies on other things and skip the fight.” He breathed loudly in her ear. “I can create exquisite pleasures. Even more than I’ve shown you.”

Something deep within Deirdre wondered about sex with Niam. She quickly put that out of her mind. Her knees started regaining strength. She wouldn’t fall for any of his foolishness now.

“I have so many wonderful things to show you.”

Niam sounded like he’d gone to nutsville. There was nowhere for her to run, so she would have to fight him and in the basement where the magic was strongest and the scent of blood always tinged the air.

“Well I can hardly walk to the basement with your goons in my way.”

“Then we’ll do it your way. I don’t mind the taste of sweat on a woman after a fight. Tell me Deirdre, has anyone ever tasted you?”

“Shut up and get moving. I have other things to do than beat you.”

Chapter Nineteen

The basement had survived the fire with little trace of damage. The scent of soot and smoke hung in the air, along with an earthy aroma and a touch of mold. Stone slabs made up the walls, floor, and much of the support until they met with massive wooden beams. Old metal and glass lanterns hung along the walls and a few of the original torches survived, now lit with their blue-orange flame. The base held some combustible liquid. Deirdre never knew what it was, maybe kerosene, but as a child she’d refilled them and checked the wicks that ran down from the tops where heavy coiled cotton slowly burned.

Along the edge, still hooked into the front wall, hung heavy iron chains where the sacrifices would wait. Each appeared rusted, but she was certain they could hold her in place if this match went badly.

She’d never been so afraid and this time nothing would charge her for the fight. As cowardly as it felt, she knew that if those men weren’t present, she would run to the exit and never look back.

Niam kept his hand on her arm, already acting like she belonged to him. She considered knocking it away, but he guided her though the corridors and she needed a guiding hand to bring her to this room, this horrible basement chamber where so many had died.

“I don’t want to do this.” His mouth crept so close that every word brushed his deformed lips against the ridge of her ear. “You’re forcing me to do something that isn’t necessary. I would rather take you back upstairs and make love to you.”

“I would rather prove to you that I am your equal and walk out of here a free woman.” She didn’t turn her head to speak. If she had, they would be near enough to kiss. “I don’t want to be your prey or your lover. Let’s end this now and let me leave.”

“Then I suppose our honeymoon will be a difficult one.”

They entered the chamber, cold air surrounding her and Deirdre stopped walking. Niam pulled her forward and she found the will to enter the circle, the center of their power.

Niam’s men took their place around the edge of a large circle cut into the floor. Inside that, at the center was a trio of circles where extra lines represented the moon in its cycle, waxing, full, and waning. On each side of it were the powers. One carving held the image of a hooded woman, representing death, the next a fat one, showing birth. Two runes touched the bottom points of power, depicting a woman with a sword, and hope, shown by a woman on her knees praying. The final carving was of a woman, breasts exposed, garments torn before coming back to the symbol of death. Deirdre had never understood the symbolism but knowing Lora’s fate, to die by one of the forsaken houses, it seemed to her that whichever direction one walked the pentagram, they always ended up on death.

The men around the circle began chanting, the horrid Latin filled her ears. She always thought they’d chosen Latin to sound more frightening, without any other reason behind it. Now she wondered if there was magic invoked here and that terrified her. She stepped to one side of the full moon, Niam on the opposite. They both bowed and took their stance while the men’s voices rose to a roar. Deirdre pulled out both her swords, one in each hand. Niam took out his broad sword. This was it. She would finally have her chance at vengeance.

Niam moved but she couldn’t see him. Metal flashed, Deirdre felt a slash on her arm, hot blood running down to her fingertips. She had to find a way to see Niam again, as she had on the street. The secret then had been not trying to. She found her center and looked beyond Niam, thinking of him as some weird poster she’d seen at the bookstore where the viewer had to focus beyond to see what was really there. It worked.

Ignoring the pain in her arm, she raised her sword, metal clanged, as she blocked. He kept going and she struck out, finding his leg as he came back around. Making the most of both blades, she blocked his larger sword with one and used the second to attack. Niam had a powerful swing and the handle of one blade grew slick with blood, making it hard to hold on to. On the second attempt to block him, he knocked one blade from her grasp causing it to land on the stone floor in an echoing clang that rose above the chanting men. She couldn’t pause, not even to lunge for the lost weapon. She kicked up, landing her heeled boot against his chest. He retaliated by backhanding her, she spun, falling onto the cool stone.

There, lying on the floor she noticed something odd. Her blood ran into the grooves on the floor. She hadn’t lost much blood from the injury to her arm but it seemed to fill the entire moon engraving, reaching out to the outer area of women.

“You’re doing a spell!” Deirdre jumped back, trying to stop the trickle of red from her arm. “What are you doing?”

“I will have you Deirdre. We must be one. Either your will flows into that blood or you will kill me. One way or another, we will be joined. Your power, your body, will be mine. It’s the only way to stop the other house.”

She noticed the wound from his leg following the carving, finishing the areas she hadn’t touched yet. He was uniting their blood and she felt feverish. The sensation wasn’t caused by shock or even the fight. Niam also looked sweaty while the edge of the circle appeared cool and inviting. Power was building around them. The hairs on her arms rose and she feared that if she concentrated hard enough, she could see the very powers of hell engulfing them.

There were stories about stealing souls, people losing their will to another, and worse things. It seemed Niam had taken up the practice again. That meant if she lost, she could turn into a breeder for Niam. He might turn her into a moaning, begging, personal whore and in the spell, she would enjoy it.

“I won’t belong to you.” She swung her single blade and he blocked. “Never.” She swung again and the clang filled the stone room, echoing and charging her rebellion. “I am no child and you are no teacher.” This time when he swung she ducked, bringing her blade back against his thigh.

“You have much to learn Dragonfly. My little Dragonfly.” He brought his heavier blade against hers and the force shook her down to her shoulder. “I was always planning to have you.” He swung again, missing. “When I’ve finished with you, I will have my men tie you to my bed.” His eyes looked darker in the torch light. “Don’t worry. After the first time, you’ll beg me for more. Who knows? You might beg to be tied up. Would you like that? Is force what you crave?”

Anger bright and beautiful filled her. Niam came at her with the sword, obviously hoping to cause a deeper wound that only magic could repair thereby sealing the spell. That must’ve been his intention the entire time. He never wanted to kill her, only enslave her.

“I will never be a slave to this house or you.”

Deirdre stopped seeing. If anyone asked her what happened that night, she couldn’t tell them about the sparks flying from metal against metal. The men surrounding the circle could, but no one would believe how the tiny woman became a whirlwind of blades, jerking up her lost weapon without losing a breath before sending it against Niam’s body, landing the metal into his chest. Madness carried Deirdre. Years of anger, and regret turned into something too lethal, too violent for her own mind to register until she stood above Niam’s broken body and watched his blood complete the circle.

“Good girl,” he whispered, gurgling on the blood in his throat that mixed with air. “You’ve finally made your sacrifice. May the power fill you. May I complete you.”

The floor started to hum. Deirdre glanced at the men surrounding her, expecting them to attack but they didn’t. Each continued chanting, although the words altered slightly. Perhaps they had started using the female version of the chant, honoring her instead of him or maybe their sound was a prayer for their lost master.

She didn’t have long to ponder it as the blood, the small amounts that had filled the simple engravings, rolled out, became gallons. Deirdre wanted to run, tried to, but the men stood like a living wall. She couldn’t stop the red mess from touching her shoes, getting near her skin. She didn’t want to kill; never had she wanted to kill before Niam. Still, she cried for the sin she’d committed. The red blood turned black as it flowed over the hull that had been Niam. Drops covered his eyes and touched his lips. Something growled from within the corpse and she started to wonder if he was really dead. Maybe there was magic, maybe he couldn’t die.

She started to panic, wishing for a way out of the wall of men that had created a living prison. From the corner of her eye, she saw the corpse move with the blood in the circle, then a ghost eased from his mouth. Smoky and horrible, it rose holding some semblance of Niam’s face in misty lines.

The scene was too horrible, too much. She had killed the monster and somehow made something worse. The smoky creature crept near her and she screamed. Her voice filled the stone work and the ghost kept coming. She closed her mouth as she realized too late the ghost’s intent. Even as she backed away, unable to leave the circle because of the men, the smoke entered her.

“No!” She tried to blow it out of her mouth, her nose. Her sword couldn’t cut it and still it came until her senses were filled with cold smoky nothing. Then so was she, cold, nothing. Her legs buckled, darkness filled her vision to the point that not even the lighted torches were visible anymore.

“No,” was the last thing she said.

Chapter Twenty

Sabrine woke with a start. Dread filled her belly and a thin layer of sweat coated her skin. The air felt strange. At first she didn’t move, only breathed deeply and tried to figure out if she was dreaming or awake.

The room seemed caught in a pressure. She’d experienced it before when scuba diving. If she forgot to clear her ears regularly, the pressure hurt. The same thing happened now except she sat in a dry bed.

All at once the pressure released. She felt her ears pop, a mild ache following. She rubbed her eyes while trying to figure out what had just happened. There were no strange sounds, nothing to indicate a problem.

The house was quiet, the hum of the furnace the only sound in the cold mansion. She’d gone to bed at two in the morning. Tech relieved her then, convincing her that he couldn’t sleep. She had been tired and although Tech had gotten less sleep, he looked wired. Sometimes he got that way, thoughts forcing him to stay away for days at a time.

Something was wrong though. Sabrine sensed it in her core and rolled out of bed. She’d slept in her clothes, a standard routine when on a job. She slid on her shoes, moving quietly in the darkness, then creaked open the door. There was no light in the hallway, odd. She’d left one on when she went to bed as well as one on the stairs. Despite her attempts at lighting the way, darkness bathed everything.

She reached back into the room for her dagger and pistol. She’d left both on the dresser within easy reach in case this job turned messy. She put the short dagger, much like a letter opener, in her back pocket and started into the hallway while keeping her pistol in her hand.

Turning on a light would help her see, but it would also give away her location to any intruders in the house. According to Deirdre, this place had the best security system money could buy, but Sabrine had never trusted those things. Money could also buy ways inside any mansion.

She went to the front door, noting that it was still locked and the alarm set. The next stop was the library. She turned the knob, listening to the barely audible sound of the bottom of the door sweeping against the carpet.

Usually anywhere Tech went, the sound of machines filled the air with fans whirling, cooling off hard drives, monitors going, and printers running off page after page of information. Instead the library was silent.

If he fell asleep, I’ll kill him.

A more disturbing notion filled her when she put on the lights to an empty room. There were his computers, no files though. No papers or personal effects littered the tables. Every sign Tech had ever entered that huge library had been removed beyond the mechanical items.

Pain surged through her belly at his strange absence. If it were anyone else, she would assume something traitorous had occurred. Her first thought couldn’t be true. Tech was her friend, her lover. He meant the world to her. They shared more than their bodies, they’d shared their hearts and she trusted him. Damn it all, she loved him.

There was no time to indulge her emotions. She ran out of the library and up the stairs. When she opened the door where Lora should be sleeping, the same eerie silence filled her. No breathing came from the pile of covers, no soft snoring or movement in blankets. Sabrine flipped on the light and found the room empty. Lora’s things had also been taken. Her duffle bag no longer sat on the floor, there was no sign the little girl had ever entered the house.

Sabrine pulled her cell phone off her belt clip. She dialed Deirdre’s number but there was no answer. The phone went to voice mail and Sabrine felt lost. She couldn’t report Lora missing or kidnapped to the authorities. The grandmother would have to do it.

She went back to the doorway heading toward Gladys’s room when the first shot was fired, splitting the air with the reverberations mixed with the scent of gunpowder. Pain filled her hip and Sabrine tumbled backward, landing on her butt in the hall. She raised her gun, firing blindly into the darkness until a shadow ahead fell back against the wall.

Gladys’s bedroom door swung open, more shots were fired but the older lady’s reflexes were good, shooting back and knocking someone down the stairs. Sabrine stayed low, not sure how well Gladys could see in the dark.

“Gladys, they’ve taken Lora.” Sabrine spoke loudly, hoping Gladys could pinpoint her location through sound so Sabrine could start moving again.

The light above came on, Gladys at the switch. Sabrine looked down, examining the injury. It wasn’t too bad. A low velocity round had struck her in the hip, not shattering the bone. It amounted to a painful graze.

“Who’s taken Lora?”

Tech was gone, Lora gone and she had to admit that Tech had been acting strange lately. She thought it was over their mutual friend Deirdre, but perhaps more troubled the man. Tech was the only one missing from the house where Lora was taken. If it wasn’t an inside job then someone else had the numbers to the alarm system and knew they had the time to take all the evidence with them.

“I’m not sure. You need to call the police while I search the house.”

They’d left people behind in the building, one groaned a few feet from her, blood covering his chest, a ski mask hiding his face. She leaned over removing the mask, frightened it would be Tech. Thankfully, it was a stranger.

Whoever was responsible had left people to kill Gladys and any witnesses. The idea left a bad taste in her mouth. If Tech were involved, then he’d set a trap hoping she would die.

Please let this be a mistake.

Sabrine heard Gladys on the phone as she looked at the man’s face. He was bleeding heavily but still conscious. With catlike moves, she hovered above him, one leg on each side, straddling the bloodied body.

“Who sent you?”

“Fuck off.”

She reached to the first wound, squeezing the flesh around it. The man yelped. Sabrine knew how bad it hurt to have torn flesh twisted. It gave her no pleasure to hurt this man and some part of her grew nauseous, sharing his pain.

“Who sent you?” She repeated the words slowly, with distinction.

His mouth opened then from nowhere a shadow passed over his face, the agony changing to a placid expression as his life ended. Sabrine looked up, trying to find the source of the distortion of light, but there was nothing and no cause for the change. Either way the man died beneath her. On his lips were the words of who’d sent him and it remained a secret.

The man on the stairs had died instantly, leaving no clues as to where Lora had been taken. Feeling cheated, Sabrine returned to Lora’s room, hoping for some clue, something to give her a lead on the abductor. There was nothing. All of Lora’s clothes had been taken, her shoes, even the small toy bear she’d brought as a keepsake was gone. The only sign that the girl had ever occupied the bed was the rumpled sheets, twisted as if Lora had been caught in a nightmare when she’d been taken. Sabrine ripped the top cover off, wadding it onto the floor. From the mass of cloth rolled out a silver charm, Lora’s luck charm.

Sabrine walked out of the room again, knowing that if Lora was hiding, her things wouldn’t be gone. Gathering one’s possessions took time, which again implicated Tech. He was the only one awake and he had lots of time.

Upset, feeling too alone and small in this large house, Sabrine looked out the window. Well, she almost looked out if not for the red smudge on the glass, grabbing her attention from anything lurking in the night. A small red smear clung there and it was in the shape of a little girl’s thumb.

Again Sabrine tried to call Deirdre and again she got her voice mail. Everyone had left her and she was in charge while a little girl faced who knows what terror, stolen from her bed in the middle of the night.

“Gladys. Did you call the cops?”

“Yes.” Gladys came to the door. Stress and worry hanging on her features making her appear ancient. “They’re on their way.”

“I’m going to search the grounds.”

“Hey, Sabrine, will we find my grandbaby?”

“I hope so. I will do my best.”

Sabrine went out the front, disengaging the alarm before throwing open the door on the cool clear night. She could hear the ocean, not far, but not close enough to see. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hear any engines.

Without a flashlight, she kept walking, surveying the driveway. There sat her Jeep. Tech hadn’t taken it and he didn’t know their destination before Sabrine had pulled up in the driveway. It would’ve made planning a getaway difficult. He had to have called someone after they’d arrived.

No. Tech wouldn’t do this.

She kept walking, finding the front gate engaged. Not surprising considering the house alarms hadn’t gone off. Tech had all the codes, making it easy for him to bring someone through the gate, load up, and leave while everyone slept.

Cars could be quiet. While she safely slept, one could pull in. Lora never screamed though. On assignments Sabrine was a light sleeper. One peep and she would’ve known it. Of course Tech knew Sabrine’s habits. He would’ve kept Lora quiet.

She walked down the drive looking for tire marks or any signs pointing her in the right direction. When she saw nothing from the road side, she circled the mansion. Sabrine didn’t want to face Gladys. Before bed, Sabrine had promised that Lora would be safe. It was a bad promise to make, but the pain in Gladys’s eyes forced her to say something to soothe it away. Worse, Gladys had believed her.

Sabrine knew the only clues would be near the road. With nothing there to go on she walked around the outside of the home, making mental notes of rooms that she passed. At the library, she hesitated. The lights were on inside that room now, showing it clear against the dark night. On the glass at the library was another bloody marking better yet, a man’s thumbprint followed by the tips of three fingers.

After looking closer, she realized that it wasn’t just his fingers but his entire hand. Only the thumb and what would be the middle finger made a clearest mark, the rest a dim red outline, drying brown. He’d been bleeding.

She reached and touched the red, smearing it. The blood was on the outside. It couldn’t have been Tech’s print. He would’ve been on the inside of the library. She kept walking but no other windows had anything on them beyond a bad smudge from a quick cleaning by the maid earlier in the day.

Returning inside, Sabrine went upstairs, back to Lora’s room. The police would have a fit but Sabrine had to touch the window, the thumbprint. Again, as with the one at the library, this print was on the outside of the glass, the outside of a window on the second floor with no trellis to climb.

A logical explanation had to exist. Sabrine ran down the stairs, nearly knocking over Gladys, who was crying next to the man she’d shot. There wasn’t time to console her now. Sabrine ran outside to the spot below the bedroom window. The ground was bare, no landscaping except for grass. No blemishes marred the green carpet, no ladder had been used, no tires tracks, nothing.

Two people vanish, along with their belongings from a locked house leaving only their fingerprints behind. Even Tech couldn’t come up with a plan like this. It would be too time consuming when a simple kidnapping would work.

“What the hell happened here?”

For a moment Sabrine hoped she was still dreaming. None of this could be happening. People didn’t disappear. This didn’t make sense. Her hip burned as a not so gentle reminder that this was very real. Two people she cared about had vanished.

Her thoughts returned to Deirdre, her cryptic stories. She’d said that the people from Stone House could do things. What things she hadn’t a clue, but the red imprint on glass seemed to watch her as she walked back around to the library. The blood was a warning or a last cry for help.

The air around her chilled and, although Sabrine hadn’t been to church in three years, she crossed herself and said a quick prayer. She’d never believed in anything supernatural but stealing people from their rooms would be a small miracle. There, alone in the darkness, she would believe anything possible.

While staring at the blood on the glass, Sabrine touched it once more just to prove to herself that it was real. Another odd thing occurred to her. The blood was warm, even with chilly night air, as if still connected to the owner.

“What happened to you Tech? Why are you bleeding?”

Chapter Twenty-One

Ryan Farmer went to the lobby of the hospital and phoned a taxi. He limped badly, every muscle in his body hurt as if slowly being ripped from the bone. His release from the hospital had been unofficial, with him stealing a set of scrubs from the closet in the hallway and making his way to the elevator. The police hadn’t posted a watch outside of his room. That had to mean no one had spoken with Deirdre yet. Once she told her story, Ryan knew he would face many years in prison and cops never did well in prison.

He might’ve stayed in the hospital, enjoying the attention of the nurses. There were many wonderful nurses on his floor, in all shapes and sizes, each one perfect in her own way, each eager to make him comfortable. He’d been enjoying the heavyset nurse the most, admiring her round posterior as she bent over, delighting him while she adjusted the pillow beneath his leg.

That’s when Noah Smythe, his old partner, had entered the room.

Smythe had been keeping an ear out and rumor had it that an arrest warrant would be issued soon. He passed on the info along with a tidbit that he expected to see Deirdre at the station in the morning. With that, he’d gone, leaving Ryan with a timetable.

The only thing that could save Ryan would be to eliminate Deirdre before she could give a formal statement in the morning. His word couldn’t be disputed and the whole ugly incident could be put behind him. It was just another smudge on his record, another blemish caused by Deirdre Flye. The fact would please her. She always seemed happiest when he suffered and played the fool.

The taxi pulled in front of the hospital and Ryan got in without a single person questioning him. There had been few people on his floor this late at night. The ones he’d noticed were preoccupied with other things, giggling and eating like work was nothing more important than a sleepover.

Ryan gave the driver his home address. He needed regular clothes and wheels to track down Deirdre. There was also one more pistol hidden in a lockbox at the top of his closet. It had never been registered, making it the perfect weapon to finish off Deirdre. With her gone, they had only his story.

The thought made him giddy and he laughed in the back of the taxi causing the driver to eye him warily. Everyone had admitted to a third person attacking Deirdre. The last attack was while he was in the hospital. It would be easy to assume that Deirdre had died at the hands of some desperate criminal.

She was dangerous though. He wouldn’t make the same mistake he had last time. He would shoot her in the head before she had a chance to speak, move, or hurt him. A single shot between the eyes and all his worries would be over.

The taxi pulled up in front of his house and he took out his wallet. It had been left with the pile of his ruined clothes. The hospital had cut away his shirt and pants to save his life. Even after turning his things to shreds, they had folded the cloth and left his wallet and keys in the middle.

He got out of the taxi and walked slowly to his home. The wind turned bitter suddenly, stealing his breath as he made his way to the door. The anger in him eased away replaced by a prickly sensation, an uncomfortable feeling that he wasn’t alone. His little ranch house looked too dark, even in these late hours of night. Somewhere behind him he heard hard steps echoing on the sidewalk and he trembled. There wasn’t a reason for his trepidation but there it was, fear creeping up behind him along with those footsteps. In the primal parts of his mind, he knew something sinister lurked just beyond his vision. For another reason he couldn’t explain, the evil felt familiar.

Ryan shoved his key into the lock opening the door and then locking it behind him. He was safely inside, a sturdy door separating him from whatever lurked on the street. It had probably been a teenager out late or a man walking a dog. Something simple, normal, and he tried to ignore the feeling of the hairs standing on end like evil had come too close.

He leaned back against the door, and caught his breath. The injury to his leg throbbed and he hoped he hadn’t torn open the artery again. The shakes, the weakness after the brief adrenaline rush, left him propped against that door. He tried to relax.

Then from the couch came movement, shadowy and slow. He blinked hard, hoping an officer would greet him, wishing the smell of women’s perfume didn’t tinge the air. If this was Deirdre, she might kill him before he ever had the chance to return the favor.

“Hello Mr. Farmer. Feeling better?”

He froze. The voice didn’t belong to Deirdre. Some new vixen had infiltrated his home and when she turned on the lights exposing her face, the long black hair and lips too red, he didn’t feel any better. Darkness seeped from her body like some consuming aura, filling him with fear at whatever new trial he was about to endure.

“My name is Tamara Haas. Have you heard of me?”

Ryan nodded, not able to speak yet. She looked different than she had on television and since her forte was stage, he hadn’t seen any of her productions. Saying so would be rude, then again, she had broken into his home.

“I believe we have a mutual friend, Deirdre.” She smiled, showing perfect white teeth behind her red lips.

“I wouldn’t call her a friend.” Ryan tried to regain control, make his body work again. “Why are you here?”

“Won’t you sit down?”

She motioned to the couch, patting the cushion next to her. For whatever reason, Ryan felt like the intruder, the uninvited guest in his own home. Still, he crept forward. The actress was breathtaking, a natural beauty but terrifying all the same. Her eyes stirred his dread, the blackness in them too complete, the irises too large.

“Why are you here?” He repeated his question, hoping she wouldn’t ignore it a second time.

Tamara laughed and it held a deliciously female edge, relaxing him with her charms. All at once he became aware of his clothing, the scrubs, green, horrible, confessing his theft and hasty exit from the hospital.

“As you know, I employed Deirdre briefly to stop a stalker who was giving me difficulty. I wanted her because I knew of her reputation. I’d also hoped she’d become more of a permanent asset.” Tamara shrugged and the cowl neck of her top fell a little, exposing a lean white shoulder. “I need you to help me set a trap for our Miss Flye. Something to guarantee her cooperation. I need her.”

“You’ve got the wrong man.” He was not going to convince Deirdre to take a job with Tamara Haas. “I’m not one of those headhunters.”

“Interesting term. I like it.” She laughed again.

“So glad, now why don’t you leave?”

Tamara had basically insulted him, first by employing the vigilante then by acting as if the world would end without help from Deirdre Flye. The woman wasn’t such a treasure and he wouldn’t act as if she were.

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

Money, as if his respect could be bought. That bitch had trouble coming and he was going to deliver it. Deirdre shouldn’t be employed, she should be run out of town. Famous actress or not, it was time for her to leave.

“No amount of money would make me trick Deirdre Flye into accepting a position from you. Sorry. Now please leave.”

He tried to bring in the sound of command, the hint of respectability that he’d held as an officer. It had only been a couple of days since he’d lost that shield but the sensation of rock bottom clung to him.

Then Ryan Farmer looked at Tamara Haas and he nearly screamed. The beauty that had been there faded and her eyes reminded him of the insane, or worse, a vulture ready to take her prey. They were more than dark but had grown to some evil portal, too black to be human. Bags clung beneath her eyes and her face appeared thinner than moments before. Her skin was sallow, hanging from her bones like a poor fitting dress. He scooted away a few inches.

“Please leave,” he whispered.

“I need Deirdre by the next full moon. In two days.” Her hands shook, skeletal structures, reaching out to him and he wondered how he could’ve thought her beautiful moments before. “She doesn’t have to be there voluntarily. Trick her. Frame her. Anything. She has something I need.” She laughed and the delicious female tone changed to maniacal. “I hired her to protect me, now they want her. It’s an honor. I promise that it’s an honor for the leaders to desire someone so strongly.”

“If you need security, call the police.” His words were too quiet to be effective.

“It was possible to let her go before. I might’ve let working for me be her choice until the shift in power. It happened only an hour ago. That’s why I came here, because she won’t suspect you’re working for me and neither will he.”

“He who?”

“The one she carries is powerful. She is powerful. Both combined, I have to have her. I would be unstoppable. They would be a sweet addition, such a sweet addition.”

“They? I thought you wanted Deirdre?”

“Bring her to me.” Her voice nearly shrieked, unable to contain the need within. “I have to have her.”

This actress, this starlet sounded more like a mental patient than a rich and powerful lady. Ryan eased toward the end table, and the telephone sitting on its cradle. He was in no shape to wrestle a lady to the floor, and although confessing that he’d fled the hospital was bad, bleeding to death because Tamara Haas had gone insane, was much worse.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” She leaned closer to him, putting one claw-like hand on his shoulder. “I might lose my temper with you.”

Ryan hoped she’d stop, would back away or something but she kept coming closer. Her face nearing his and when less than a foot separated them, she started talking, exhausting breath that smelled of dead flesh.

“We’ve been watching Deirdre for a while now. Do you really think your hatred, your information came of your own choosing? No. The leaders were trying to manipulate her, hurt her life out here so that one day she’d come back to the flock. There was only one problem. She’s very good at her job and many officers aren’t as easy to convince as you.” For a moment Tamara’s eyes grew glassy, some other thought interfering. “I hired her because Father visited me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Her tongue ran over her lips, wetting the red to a glistening shine. He scooted back until the arm of the couch was in his back, then he tried to stand but that clawed hand was much stronger than it appeared. Then he realized what she was after, and the thought made his skin crawl.

“No. Please leave. Don’t do this.”

The black eyes held him and he was trapped. He wanted to scream, wanted to punch her, anything to make her get away from him but all he could do was sit there as those too-red lips came closer. Eyes open, he watched as Tamara Haas kissed him and his last thought was that death had touched him.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Darkness seemed to swallow the world, leaving not a single outline to guide Deirdre from the awful room where she woke. Stone lay beneath her hand. She felt its texture, found it slightly damp. Grogginess held her a moment and she fought to clear her head.

The last thing she remembered was the fight and that awful smoke coming toward her. That couldn’t be right though. If she’d passed out in the middle of Niam’s men, they would’ve killed her, unless this was death. Sabrine often spoke of purgatory. This could be that place, awful smelling, and void of light from either the divine creator or fiery pits of hell.

No, that couldn’t be. Her head hurt and her face felt swollen. Everything smelled like old blood and dirt, then she remembered what had come up from the floor. The thought of that stuff coating her forced her to move, standing slowly, unsure of the space around her.

The weight of her weapons felt good. Her gun was holstered, her knives in place. She needed to find her swords but couldn’t stand reaching down near that horrible liquid. Deirdre started walking, scooting her feet in wide patterns until she found one sword, then another. She sheathed both without cleaning them.

Deirdre started walking, finding nothing to guide her or even an idea of where she stood in the room. The nasty scent pressed into her, taking on physical weight, filling every pore. She kept walking, desperate to get out of this place, to find some light, fresh air, something. She went faster, nearly running into a wall. From there, she felt along until she found the metal chains stuck into the stones where so many had died. She shook the thought away. At least now she had a point of reference.

She pressed her back against the wall, trying to ignore the clinking of metal behind her. This was the back of the room. If she went forward, she’d come to the front and a few feet to the right would bring her to the large oak door and the stairs leading out.

One step at a time, steady long strides, she crossed the floor. She expected to find Niam’s body. Deirdre worried she might step on it, or worse, fall over it and land back in the remnants of mire coating the floor. The thought made the room that much more dank. She kept going, and finally found the far wall.

Her hands in front, feet side-stepping, she found the door and tugged. It opened and she nearly screamed for joy. The stairs were equally dark, but she took them, moving carefully until she rounded a corner and a small bit of light came through another door at the top.

Deirdre opened it, never happier to smell soot and burned wood. It was a fragrant bouquet compared to the hell in the basement. She kept going until she saw stars above where the ceiling had given way to the fire.

Traces of the party had been left behind. The stage was still there, but no dancers or musicians were left. A table sat against the wall, without its dishes or tablecloth. At least she knew she hadn’t imagined it.

But what really happened? She wasn’t sure and didn’t want to take the time to worry about it now. She had to get away from this place, bathe and remove the stink from her body.

Freedom felt close, so she ran through the last bits of rubble, not worrying about who or what lay ahead only wanting to get back to her car. She made it beyond the last door and the night, fresh and clean, surrounded her.

Deirdre ran down the drive and found her car, parked right where she’d left it. Everyone else had gone, leaving her car alone in the front of the building. Routine made her check the exterior for tampering, but only quickly as she got inside, gunning down the uneven road, and rolling down her window. She didn’t care about the temperature. She needed to feel the wind and know she’d survived Stone House again.

Niam, I killed Niam. Then a more horrifying truth fell into place. I killed.

Everything rushed back and she felt of mix of elation and terror. She’d conquered her worst fears, her demon, but at what price? Murder had always been a sign of becoming greater, a step in the development of power at Stone House, which was part of the reason she feared it. Whatever power she was supposed to gain through a ritualistic slaughter wasn’t worth enduring a moment in that basement. Sure, there were morality issues. Murder was wrong, ending a life for whatever reason unconscionable. Beyond that lay fear though and she wasn’t so hypocritical as to hide the truth from herself. Spilling blood brought change, and she didn’t like that idea.

Maybe I was born evil. She’d always suspected it. From everything she’d learned, even her birth into the world had been a curse and now she’d killed. There was also the fact that she felt dark on the job, some part of her too evil for her to acknowledge until she hunted a target. There was a window or awareness that opened when she was ready to take someone down. She had a sixth sense about things, a natural ability that others didn’t seem to possess. Something dark that led the way when things grew dangerous.

In those moments, she liked it. She was alive when she hunted.

Deirdre took the onramp, joining the interstate and heading back to Lora and Gladys. She hadn’t liked leaving them, but Niam had to be dealt with and at least he wouldn’t be waiting in front of her office anymore.

The road was deserted. Deirdre glanced down at her watch but it had stopped working. She hit the button in the sedan for the time and was surprised when it read three in the morning.

How long was I passed out? She shook away the surreal sensation trying to take hold. There would be time to worry about her soul, her past, and the consequences of what she’d done later. For now, it was time to get to work.

The cell phone in the car started ringing. A flash of panic went through her when she saw Sabrine’s phone number. She never called during a job unless something serious had happened.

“Hello?”

“Lora’s gone.” Sabrine spoke loudly, there were murmurs in the background. “Tech too. They’re both gone and I don’t know what happened.”

Shit! She should’ve known better than to leave them. Niam might’ve planned it all as some diversion, fight her while his men moved in and invaded the house. Because of her screw up that little girl was gone.

“Any clues?”

Sabrine paused. “You’re not going to believe this and I’m not sure how important it is.”

There wasn’t anything Sabrine could say that Deirdre would doubt at this point. “Come on, there’s no time for second guessing.”

She expelled a low troubled breath. “All of their possessions are gone. The only trace of them is blood left on the outside of the window.” She paused again. “A bloody thumbprint on the outside of the second floor window, with no way to access it from the ground.”

“Is Gladys still there?”

“Yes.”

Deirdre had never gone up against anything like this. Sabrine was thorough, rarely wrong and if she said there was blood on the outside of the windows, then there was blood, but Deirdre had no idea what that meant.

From somewhere deep inside, almost like a lightning bolt, came a thought. A thought that couldn’t be hers, yet it was there. In her mind was understanding and before Deirdre could control her mouth the words came out.

“Tamara Haas’ people have taken her up the coast about an hour from where you are. The town is called Newbern. They did magic, blood magic for transport. It’s an old spell where the subject appears in the spell caster’s circle. No trace of them left behind. The blood you saw was their last ditch effort to hold their place. The glass was the only medium that could maintain anything of them.”

Deirdre touched her mouth, wondering how she knew any of it. The last location they had for Haas’ house was in Europe and she had heard of blood magic but wouldn’t have understood what had happened to Lora.

“Why would they take Tech?” Deirdre asked, then answered her own question. “He must’ve been awake and studying Lora’s history. That kind of mental connection in the same house would take him with her. No one else was taken because they were asleep and disconnected from the girl or main focus of the spell.”

“Deirdre? You sound a little weird.”

That was an understatement. She felt weird as hell and then the truth of what had happened in that basement became obvious. It had been a binding spell and Niam was bound to her even in death.

Then she felt the cold darkness that she always associated with Niam. He eased across her thoughts and she fought the urge to scream. A foreign weight filled her mind and at once she knew real terror.

“Niam?” There was no reply but she felt him, creeping in the quiet places in her mind. He lived there. He lived in her. “Niam!”

“What are you talking about? Deirdre, I’m not following.”

The smoke had crept forward, coming to her lips. She remembered the cold, the slick feel of the air sliding inside her before she’d passed out. Niam had completed his binding spell. He had access to her body after all.

“He’s inside me, Sabrine!” She swerved in the road, heard the reflectors thump under her tires before she pulled the car back into its lane. “The bastard found a way to win.”

“What are you talking about?”

Deirdre sounded insane and she knew it. In the back of her mind throughout the chaos, she felt things lurking that shouldn’t be there. Things she’d never done came to mind, repulsive things with dozens of females Deirdre had never desired to touch. Murders, slaughters, and the deepest part was the magic. A new dark force flooded through her and in the quiet of her car, the force seemed overwhelming. It was more than Niam, but part of the house. Of course he had always been part of that damn place, claiming power could come through an inanimate object and so now she learned that it had. Stone House was as dangerous as any living entity and it had entered her with Niam.

She thought she’d escaped. Thought that fleeing from the stone building and feeling the wind on her face would set her free but the house wasn’t going to allow her escape again. Sure, as a child, she had lived through the fire. She’d come back to investigate Farmer’s finds, but a third time, this time, the house wouldn’t permit it. It had caught her after all.

“Deirdre?”

Sabrine’s voice broke through her thoughts. She’d forgotten about the phone, their conversation, all she held onto was the idea that something had gotten inside of her and she didn’t know how to get rid of it.

“Deirdre?”

“I’m going to…” Where was she going? She couldn’t think. Other things kept getting in the way, playing against her thoughts, her memories until she had trouble separating the two. “Can’t go to Mooney’s, the cops will be there. Meet me at my house. Bring Gladys.”

“Is there anything I can do for you Deirdre?” Sabrine’s voice filled with concern and Deirdre wished she could tell her that everything was fine, things would get better, but Deirdre had no idea if any of that were true.

“Do you know a good exorcist or perhaps a top-notch witch?”

“What happened, Deirdre? What happened when you were back at that place?”

“I’m not sure but I’m not the same.” Work. She had to concentrate on work and one little girl who still needed her. “We have to save Lora. She can’t face those people alone.”

Deirdre ended the phone call and pulled to the side of the interstate. This flood of information and awful images filled her head. She tried to stop it, slow it. Control, everything was about control and she would have to deal with whatever damage Niam had done if she were going to save Lora.

The trigger had been the news about Lora. Maybe she could tap Niam. She searched her mind for information, anything Niam might’ve left in her brain. Something that would lead her to the sweet little girl with the sad eyes.

At first Deirdre fought the images of Niam looking in the mirror, the incantations he’d studied, and the sound of his voice. He was there so completely that it felt like her. She remembered hurting people and enjoying it.

Heat filled her head, starting in a line in the middle of her forehead and spreading like a spider web, filling in, moving across. Niam was trying to take over. There was a push, a crowding. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t want to give into this beast that seemed to be possessing her or trying to take over some degree of her functions.

She couldn’t let him win. There was no telling what part of his plan this fulfilled. If anything, this had to be a back-up strategy, in case she defeated him. It seemed even in death he was a poor sport.

“Get out of my head!”

Her thoughts pushed against Niam’s memories and the battle raged until she thought her head would split. Then the radio started playing a tune, a familiar song that she used to love. The music eased the gates closed. Niam let up his slow progress, letting her relax for a second, and that was a mistake. She stopped fighting.

Deirdre sat back in her seat and Niam washed over her, filing away things as if they were her own. She tried to push back, regain the nether reaches of her mind where things were kept, stored until called on. It was too late. Like a bolt he slid into place, carving out a notch for himself. His assault was quick and complete, releasing emotions that Deirdre had carefully suppressed. Rage, sadness, and hope poured open causing a plethora of things she’d denied wanting, not really feeling, and suddenly they were there.

Niam wasn’t finished with her yet. While the emotions brought her to hysterics, crying and laughing at once, he showed Deirdre her mother. Niam’s last memory of her wasn’t on the field but in Deirdre’s bedroom.

“No!” She no longer needed Tech’s folder with its secrets. Her head was ready to combust with them. “Please stop.”

She knew why she always associated the fire with her mother’s voice. Somehow, she’d heard her or sensed her mother in the building. It had to have been the moment she started to jump from the second floor. Her mother had been there, her mother had come back for her. Her mother tried to destroy the house to find her Deirdre.

“Please stop it, Niam.”

But there was more. Always more. Niam wouldn’t stop the show and she felt his glee in her pain. She fought with everything in her to bring the beast under control. This was her body, her mind. Still whenever she gained an inch he showed her more truths more horrible things that had been hidden.

A tractor trailer whizzed by, shaking her car. It broke the battle long enough for her to look up and Niam gained another foothold inside her. She couldn’t hold her concentration forever and Niam knew it. More images came and Deirdre started bawling like a baby.

“I didn’t know you were in there, Momma.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The air was cool although Ryan Farmer could no longer feel it. For a moment, he thought he might be hungry but that too faded along with the pain in his leg. Everything was second place to his agenda. Only one thing played in his mind, passing over his lips in taunting, quiet whispers.

“I must get Deirdre.”

In his hand was a photograph of Lora Shope. It was a lure in case a swift assault failed and Deirdre didn’t come along easily. The picture was frightening. At least he thought so when he’d first gazed upon it. Now it didn’t matter. The terrified child tied to a pole with duct tape over her mouth seemed no more out of place than if she’d appeared in a school picture.

Tamara had given him two things. One was the photograph, the second was a syringe, capped and waiting in his back pocket. Deirdre would have to be drugged or so Tamara had said. Reasoning with her or trying to overpower the warrior would prove ineffective. These things Ryan understood, even if he really wanted to hurt her the old fashioned way, with bare hands.

“I want to play a game.” His voice sing-songed. “Play with me Dragonfly. Play with me. I must get Dragonfly. Deirdre must be mine.”

He giggled then grew quiet as a car started down the road in front of the little house. Ducking lower, he watched the headlights pass. Another occupant in the subdivision, not his prize. He really wanted his prize.

Why would someone like Deirdre live in a subdivision?

“Not our goal. We only have to get her, play with her.”

After crouching for so long, his thighs began to ache. He changed positions, sitting cross legged in the bushes next to Deirdre’s door. All he had to do was see her leg, out would come the syringe and she would fall to the pavement. If she saw him, he’d hold up the picture long enough to distract her until he could sink the needle into her thigh.

“Come play with me Dragonfly.” He laughed again. “Draaaaggggooonffflllyyy.”

They didn’t sting. They weren’t known to shoot fire or inject venom. It was an insect, a tiny insect that buzzed around catching smaller insects. Her great fighting name was nothing more than a decoration for a pond.

“Deirdre or Dragonfly. What are you?”

His pistol was holstered at his side, another precaution, although, Tamara had warned Ryan not to kill Deirdre. He could shoot her arms and legs but couldn’t even let her bleed to death. No. No. Deirdre Flye was too special. Deirdre had to live, she was precious cargo.

Ryan gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. He was happy to please Tamara, even if that meant letting Deirdre live. Of course, her wrath may be worth putting a bullet into Deirdre’s brain.

Another car made the turn, driving too fast and erratically. At first he thought the car would pass the turn but at the last minute it jerked into the drive. Ryan ducked down and this time got his reward. The car pulled in, stopping in Deirdre’s driveway. It wasn’t her little red sports car. It was a horrible sedan, worse than police issue. It was Deirdre though. He knew it the moment she opened the door and the interior light came on.

He stayed there, peeping from the green leaves. She didn’t move right away, stopping with one leg out of the vehicle. He heard her voice and thought his luck had turned bad again. If she’d brought someone home with her, he would miss his chance.

When he risked a glimpse, he saw she was alone, only talking to herself. Her hair was messed, clothes bloodied, face pale. In her dome light he could see her clearly. Every few seconds she’d grip her hair, seemingly ready to pull it out by the roots while her eyes and forehead tightened. It reminded him of a migraine or some other severe headache.

Ryan rose from the bushes and approached the car. Deirdre hardly noticed, battling something internal, something consuming all of her concentration. This might be easier than he thought. He took out the syringe, knocking off the protective plastic cap.

“Deirdre.” He spoke and she managed to look up, pain showing hard in her eyes. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?”

“No,” she whispered, sounding too fragile. “I’m not. I’ll never be okay again.”

An instant of watching her caused sympathy to rush over him, blowing like a fresh breeze through his mind. This wasn’t his nemesis. This was a woman, no, a person who needed his help. Then Tamara reappeared in his mind, her gravel voice booming thunder in his ears. There was no second guessing himself. He had to finish this for Tamara. With a smile on his face, he brushed a few blood stained hairs from her face as he sunk the syringe into Deirdre’s thigh and hit the plunger.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Police take time, too much time for Sabrine’s taste. They asked the same questions over and over, going through stories hoping to find some thread to hook back to Gladys and make her guilty. It was a sad world when guardians were suspects in a child’s disappearance. Sabrine supposed there were reasons for the suspicion. Too many cases ended with family members holding responsibility for crimes too horrible to think about. This knowledge didn’t help her patience with the process.

Sabrine stood on the porch, listening to a detective grill Gladys over the last few days in Lora’s life. It would be sunrise soon and this took too much time. Sabrine would’ve already gone, but Deirdre had wanted Gladys with her. Deirdre had sounded strange on the phone and the last time Sabrine tried to reach her, there hadn’t been an answer. The mix of it bothered her in a deep way, like seeing a car crash, then realizing you know one of the victims.

Overhead, she watched a plane flying too high to be heard in the clear night. Its lights were showing bright pale yellow with green near it. The plane looked foreign against the black sky as it continued to parts unknown.

She envied the people aboard the jet, racing to some new town, something different. Sabrine would travel from this place if it weren’t for Deirdre. The woman was the closest friend Sabrine had ever had. Somehow between Deirdre and Tech, she’d grown roots in this town instead of her family home in Georgia. She was needed here and no one in her true family needed Sabrine more than Security Specialists.

Sabrine sat on the steps contemplating the little girl. She wasn’t sure how Deirdre had known where or how the girl was taken. Deirdre had alluded to odd things, supernatural things. The possibility of magic frightened Sabrine more than bullets or knives. Magic couldn’t be real. Such a thing couldn’t be physically countered and therefore Sabrine couldn’t believe in it. At least she didn’t want to.

“Where are you Deirdre?”

She held her cell phone and gave up waiting. First she called Deirdre’s home and then her cell. Only empty digital voices answered the rings, with promises of calls returned. Sabrine had a bad feeling about this. Deirdre had plenty of time to get home, so something bad must have happened.

Her friend was in trouble. Sabrine sensed it although she never had Deirdre’s gifts when it came to picking up on the atmosphere or finding the target. Deirdre was in trouble though. It almost felt like whatever bond they’d created had been severed.

“Come on. What’s happened?”

The wind picked up, blowing leaves from the trees and scattering them across the yard, littering the perfect landscaping with their droppings. It grew colder, icy, feeling more like an arctic blast than a wind off the ocean. She shivered and suddenly wanted to go inside.

With the wind came something more menacing. At first Sabrine couldn’t pinpoint it. A strange paranoia settled in the pit of her stomach and she realized she was no longer alone. Someone watched from the shadows. Sabrine fought the urge to run inside. Hassling the police would only delay her departure. She stood, turning in all directions, but couldn’t see anyone there.

“Hello?” Her voice wasn’t more than a whisper and she hoped Deirdre would answer. No one did.

Sabrine realized that she’d left her weapons inside. The police tried to confiscate them. Assholes. They’d compromised with her leaving them on the table inside. It seemed like a good idea. The cops wouldn’t get hyper and shoot her. It also gave the police some confidence in their safety. Unfortunately that didn’t help her if something lurked on the surrounding property. She felt naked now. Before facing anything, she wanted protection.

The night seemed darker suddenly and Sabrine stepped back into the foyer, where a barrage of blue uniformed officers stood whispering. No one looked for clues, no one made calls. They stood. From the table Sabrine grabbed her dagger. The police had removed her pistol. Odds were they’d changed their mind about letting her keep it. No doubt it was already bagged as evidence to test against any bodies that turned up.

Sabrine felt a chill run down her spine and she knew that there was a chance Lora wouldn’t be found, in fact, Deirdre may not either. Already the cops weren’t concerned about any suspects except Gladys and none wanted to hear about Tamara Haas’ involvement. If Deirdre were here, she’d get something done but Sabrine didn’t get the same respect. She was lost without Deirdre. Lora and Tech may be lost without her too.

That thought stung her, bringing pain, and causing tears to swell in her eyes. Deirdre was invincible. Nothing could happen to her, could it? No. Not to her friend. No man or woman on earth could take her. She’d bust through the door any minute with Tech on one shoulder and Lora on the other.

Sabrine shut her eyes tight, trying to regain control of her emotions. She needed to get angry. That would keep her alert and by hell or high water, she would get them back. It was time for her to earn her pay.

She went back outside, hoping to find the source of that feeling from the wooded edge of the yard. She didn’t have to go far. Standing in the driveway, leaning on a cruiser, was the raven-haired beauty, Tamara Haas. Not a single cop looked out to see her.

“Ms. Haas, what are you doing here?” She asked loudly, hoping a cop might pay attention. Sabrine also kept the dagger at her side, hidden under her arm.

“I thought you would want to visit Deirdre.”

Sabrine took another step forward then noticed Tamara didn’t look like the beauty queen any longer. Stress, or whatever hell her daddy put her through, had ravaged her. She was nothing but a ghost of the lady from the party. This version hardly held any resemblance to Tamara Haas. This version looked disturbed, an evil counterpart.

“Where is Deirdre?”

“I have her. Would you like to visit her?”

There was a menacing quality about her, wicked in subtle ways that only the primordial parts of the brain could readily pick up on and fear. Sabrine had to face her though, had to find out about Deirdre.

In small, careful steps, Sabrine came closer. She considered going back for the police but Tamara might run in the minutes it took her to get a cop to leave Gladys alone long enough to come outside. Tamara was her only link to Deirdre and probably Tech and Lora.

She stood less than five feet from Tamara and even that distance made Sabrine’s skin crawl. Tamara reminded her of a sickness, something foul and incurable that would eat her alive. It was too soon to show the dagger but Sabrine had no choice, her fear forced her hand.

“Where is Deirdre?” She asked with dagger raised, a clear warning she hoped would gain a response. Tamara Haas began to sway from side to side, hearing some music in her mind. “Where’s Lora?” Still nothing. She didn’t want to ask about Tech, couldn’t stand hearing if he was dead. It was better to pretend he was fine and making bad jokes or grumping about not having decent internet access. “I’ll ask you once more.” Sabrine came closer, knowing that Tamara was trapping her but unable to do anything else. “Tell me where they are now.”

The skeletal woman swaying before her, stopped, and showed an eerie grin on her very thin red lips. Then her eyes turned black and Sabrine lost track of her movements. Tamara Haas moved faster than anything she’d ever seen. A punch landed across Sabrine’s face, knocking her backwards in brilliant pain, bright white and overwhelming. Sabrine blocked the next one, functioning on instinct and managing to land a hard right into Tamara’s breastbone. A release of air or maybe a grunt was the last thing Sabrine heard as the woman launched herself, landing like a tigress taking down her prey. Sabrine fell on her back, Tamara straddling her while saying something. Sabrine never heard the words, only saw the woman’s mouth move. Dark cold crashed over her, filling her head with horror and images, bloody images. Sabrine fought, eyes closed. She thought she was screaming but couldn’t be sure.

There with her eyes closed, she saw Tech, but it couldn’t be Tech. Sabrine knew she was on the ground with this banshee on top of her but she saw Tech above her, bleeding from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Tech lay above her, dying.

“What are you?” she cried as the beast on top of her drained her energy and the blackness filled her mind.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Curtains danced back and forth in a warm current of air. A vent above her in the wall seemed to be the source of the warmth and movement of the fabrics. Deirdre blinked hard watching them, trying to figure out where she was. Her wrists and ankles were bound to the posts of a tall bed. The ropes burned, cut into her skin from being too tight. Worse, she still smelled of blood and that damn Stone House.

“Where am I?”

Tamara Haas’ home. The reply wasn’t from her own mind by whatever power Niam had left inside her or maybe it was Niam. At least they’d found a balance. She’d threatened to wreck the car if he hadn’t calmed down. That was enough to convince him to leave her in control.

“How do I get rid of you?”

The door to the side opened and Tamara Haas entered. She radiated vitality, a youthful glow from her white skin beneath her black suit. Her hair was a long ribbon cascading over her bare white shoulder next to where her top tied at her neck.

“I thought I sensed you wake.” Tamara strolled around the room then opened the drapes causing sunlight to spill onto the bed. “That’s better. How are you feeling, Deirdre?”

“Better if you’d untie me.” Deirdre wiggled her hands and felt the rope cut deeper. “I didn’t think my bill was so high that you’d kidnap me.”

Tamara laughed, melodious and soft. Looking at her, she seemed to have stepped directly from the stage or cast party. Her appearance was immaculate and her voice sounded confident. Deirdre sensed more though. Like a woman with cancer, something insidious ate at Tamara.

“What’s going on Tamara?”

With a graceful turn, Tamara faced her and then strode over to sit on the foot of the bed. Her eyes were wide, her smile sweet and somehow a casual air hung over her as if this were nothing more than a lunch date.

“You’ve been an interesting study. When the scandal calmed down from Shope dying, I was going to offer you a position. It seems Niam beat me to it.” She touched Deirdre’s ankle, playing with the clasp on her boot. “Now I have a better use for you. Something more fitting.”

“I don’t understand.”

She licked her lips and gazed over Deirdre’s body with a lust so obvious it frightened Deirdre. Women had looked at her before, not as often as men, but this was different. Tamara’s desire was for more than Deirdre’s body.

“I might spare you. Is it hard having him in your head? Do you hear his voice or feel his thoughts? What’s it like?”

Deirdre didn’t know how Tamara had found out, but she wasn’t going to offer any more information than was absolutely necessary. It didn’t take that second set of thoughts to tell her that this situation had turned very bad and thankfully, Niam had chosen to keep quiet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Deirdre held a serious face, all while hoping her eyes weren’t puffy from crying. “Are you feeling okay? Something seems to be bothering you.” The little girl, Deirdre had forgotten about her. “Is Lora okay?”

Tamara eyed her again, hungry, needy. It was frightening and curious at the same time. Deirdre obviously had something she wanted but it seemed that something was Niam.

“Sweetie. I can remove that annoyance from your head. It will cost you though. It will cost you dearly.” She flipped the clasp on her boot again. “I think it would be worth it though. Wouldn’t it be nice to be alone in your head?”

Tamara rose and went to the wall, pressing a button to an intercom system. She spoke softly and Deirdre was certain the words she heard weren’t in English. The actress had something up her sleeve.

“I’ll make you a deal, Deirdre.” She looked away from the intercom. “Kill Lora for me, offer me your strength, and pledge your loyalty to my order. In return I will remove that burden from you.”

Killing Lora was unthinkable. “I’m not a baby killer.”

Deirdre was thankful that the voice in her remained silent, at least for now. Whatever Niam had done, he hadn’t wanted to break her mind, only torment her. Right now he knew to keep quiet.

“You’ll change your mind.” Tamara clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Soon you’ll beg me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Show you how bad it can be. Right now you are in control. Impressive but temporary. Let me show you how life will be in a few weeks. Even a mind as strong as yours won’t be able to keep him under wraps for long.”

Again, Deirdre heard the bedroom door open. This time a man and woman entered. Their clothes matched, like some sort of strange uniform only slightly better than McDonalds. They wore khaki pants, white shirts, and silver pendants around their necks.

Tamara nodded to them and the pair came to Deirdre. She didn’t want to know what they were going to do. When the thoughts started to rise, she squelched them, not able to take the internal conflict and thankfully, Niam acquiesced.

The man grabbed her head, one hand in her hair while the other went to her chin, pressing against it until she opened her mouth. While muttering more infernal Latin, the woman poured some grotesque liquid down Deirdre’s throat. She tried to vomit, spit out the mix, but she was forced to swallow or drown. The mixture was ice cold and tasted the way a match smelled. Some mix of sulfur or maybe it was liquid hell.

“When you’re tired of wrestling your demons, let me know. I will end your pain, Deirdre. I’m the only one who knows how to.”

Tamara exited the room, leaving the man holding her head and the other woman still muttering. At least a minute passed before the man released her face. He stood at the side of the bed holding her head still so she couldn’t puke out the foul poison. Once the woman had stopped rubbing her throat, she nodded to the man. They both left the room, turning off the light.

A stream of sunlight covered the bed, shining uncomfortably in her eyes. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed or even what had happened to bring her to this place. All she knew was that Lora had to be alive and a new day had dawned.

One problem at a time, first she had to get free. Deirdre wiggled her ankles, then her wrists, both were tied too tight for her to slip from. She tried scooting, bringing her head to the top of the bed and the head board, but it felt solid.

Tamara raising…dead rising…power in the house…power in the line.

The thoughts grew louder, starting at a whisper then growing in dominance in her mind. The voice overran her thoughts, her attempts at escape. She tried ignoring it but it grew louder, so she tried listening, pretending it were some radio show, but it disturbed her.

She’s poisoned you…given you the elixir…forces you to pay attention…forces my power.

“Shut up.” Deirdre didn’t mean to speak out loud but couldn’t help it. Her thoughts were shrouded, wrapped, and dying under Niam.

When she thought it could get no worse, the power in her grew again. This time it was more than thoughts and voices. Niam’s world was all she could see, smell, or breathe. He surrounded her, absorbed her mind into his and she wondered if there would be anything left of her once he’d finished. Then his memories assaulted her and she wished she could scream.

Back in the basement, everything went back to the basement. She heard herself chanting but it wasn’t her voice, it was Niam’s. Deirdre began to cry and again it wasn’t her but Niam. She hadn’t won the battle after all. Niam had and perhaps he had absorbed her because everything that had been Dragonfly, Deirdre Flye, was dying.

“Why are you doing this?”

Face me…face her…face us.

It was time to calm down. She tried to think of calming things, images to break through the mad mix of Niam and herself. There were many things that comforted her. She thought of Sabrine.

She’s been captured and will die if you don’t figure a way out of this. If you knew anything, you’d sense your warrior and her nerdy friend in this house. Come on, Dragonfly. You’re better than this.

Deirdre turned to another thought and almost by accident it went to Niam’s dead body lying on the basement floor. She’d won. She’d been the victor. This couldn’t happen to the winner. It wasn’t fair. She’d been better, faster, she’d beaten her teacher and watched him die.

Maybe you won more than you bargained for.

At last she came to the one thought that had always brought her comfort. No matter how terrible things grew, she had Scorpion. Even in Stone House they’d shared rare moments of mother and daughter. That thought was the key to the power inside crippling her.

Her mind filled with Stone House and there she stood, except it was really Niam’s eyes she saw the world from, talking with Scorpion. Niam’s hand reached to Scorpion, touching hair lighter than Deirdre’s had been.

“I know what you’re up to Scorpion.”

“I told you, that was my old life. The house means everything to me now.” Scorpion’s voice held strong but Deirdre detected fear under the surface. She was hiding something.

“Prove it.” Niam’s voice was a whisper with a hint of humor. “Dragonfly disobeyed orders. She didn’t kill the mark as she was told. She warned him. That treachery must be dealt with.”

“She’s still a child.” This time the fear came out clear. Scorpion must’ve suspected what was coming.

“The Council will rule for punishment by oil. They’ll make you pull the lever. If you obey, then you’ll be a trusted member of the house again. Fail and you’ll face certain death.”

Scorpion closed her eyes, hiding tears that glistened in long trails flowing down her cheeks. “Not my baby. No.”

“She’s not yours. She belongs to the house. You own nothing, you are nothing. Everything is for the house.”

Then Deirdre’s mind went black, switching slowly to the night she’d failed. The time she couldn’t stomach her fate or the sin her soul would have to bear. She chose a different path, one that had cost her mother dearly.

“I didn’t want to be a murderer.”

Why?

“Because he hadn’t done anything deserving of death.”

So you ignored an order.

“Didn’t you ever question a command? Didn’t you know something was wrong in your heart?”

There was silence in her mind for a moment.

Yes. I suppose I have. I really didn’t want you to die in the oil. I couldn’t stand the thought. It seemed wrong.

In this moment, she knew he wasn’t lying. Whatever strange bond they shared, she knew his truths just as she couldn’t hide anything from him. As the realization flowed through her, the past continued to play.

A taxi had dropped her off at a hotel in Detroit. It was cold there, she remembered that more than anything. There was a doorman who opened the door to the lobby, showing her the fanciest place she’d ever seen. A long green counter with well-dressed men and women waited for people to check in. Deirdre had to walk by them, pretending to know where she was going. She found the elevators and hit the button for the eleventh floor.

She’d been given the room number along with clear instructions on what to do. Government officials couldn’t bother Stone House and she was supposed to teach one particular group a lesson by killing the official. She wasn’t sure what he’d been at the time but senator seemed right.

Deirdre had walked to the door, and knocked. Hidden in her purse was a knife. When the door had opened, she acted confused, pulled the knife, but instead of jamming it into the man’s chest, she chose his leg and ran from the building.

Niam had been especially cruel when he found out. He’d made her hang above those hot coals until her skin burned from the heat. When they went cold, he refilled the bowl and she hung there for a full day before he finally let her come down. One shoulder had been dislocated from the ordeal.

I did that in the hope that the leaders would spare you death. I always cared about you. You didn’t know that. It’s true though.

“You killed my mother. You killed her.”

You thought Scorpion had died on the field. She didn’t Deirdre. I found out the truth. Your mother was a spy for the FBI. They were going to bring it all down. Her backup was Mercury. He helped her escape.

The movie playing in her head switched again, this time to the funeral pyre. Everyone else had gone and she found herself staring at the ashes. Niam held a piece of paper up and Deirdre read it through his eyes. Scorpion was still working for the FBI and had been pulled out through a faked death orchestrated by another member, Mercury.

It wasn’t all her fault that she lied to the house members. Your father was a priest, a witch, some say a madman, others say a demon. His name was Colinster. I don’t even believe he was really human. Your mother fell to his charms though. Don’t be angry with her. He had ways. He knew what he was doing. She didn’t discover how terrible he could be until she had you.

Deirdre hissed unable to stop Niam’s information from flowing through her. Last night he’d tortured her with images of the funeral pyre, with her mother’s death, but today facts strung through her. She had no idea who her father had been or that she was Tamara Haas’ half sister.

Scorpion was a good witch in her own right. Certain abilities she possessed made Stone House an easy assignment. No one knew that Colinster would bed her. Some say you were conceived in rape, others claim Scorpion was a whore. I don’t know which it true, but your mother wasn’t an immoral woman. I know that Colinster didn’t want to let you go after his other daughter, Tamara, contaminated herself by letting a black man touch her. He wanted you. He created a situation where Scorpion had to play along or lose you altogether.

“How did she die?”

The fire. Everyone thought you’d caused the blazes, the bombs so strategically placed around the compound. The moments before everyone died, they cursed you. No one knew that Scorpion had used her skills to tear apart Stone House. I knew it was her though. I knew she’d come back for you. You’d already escaped. She went to your room, I guess figuring you’d return there to escape the smoke. I followed her and finished the job.

“I thought I heard her in the flames, but I thought it was a ghost willing me to burn.” Sobs racked her body. “You killed my mother.”

I’m sorry. I was angry with her. He seemed to absorb her emotions, feel the loss with her. I never knew my parents. I didn’t understand. I just saw a traitor. She was a woman willing to kill hundreds of people just to save you.

Niam relived the scene with her. Scorpion entering the room with her sword drawn, searching frantically for her Dragonfly. Niam saw it all from the closet, stabbing her before she saw it coming and then shoving her into the closet to die.

“Mommy.”

The fire ate through all the halls going to exit points. The smoke hung in a curtain too heavy to endure. The spices and chemicals stored on the property had caught making a poisonous gas that flowed through the building. There was only one way out or Niam would suffocate. He charged forward, stepping into the blaze, counting on his magic to keep him safe. It was too hot though. Although a single flame didn’t touch him, the heat on one side of the building cooked him as he passed. The pain was excruciating, and Deirdre felt it, writhing in her ropes like her skin cooked, pealed from the bone. She smelled the burning flesh and it was more awful than the fire. It was her body cooking.

“Stop it, please.”

Of course. My own thoughts strayed. I didn’t intend to share my pain. Again he grew quiet, contemplating things that she began to understand. Niam wasn’t that different from herself. He was a product of a difficult upbringing. An orphan baptized in the occult and taught the darker arts. He didn’t know better. To go against his upbringing would’ve been to betray everything he considered family.

I tried to teach you as I had been taught. It was never meant as torture.

“I forgive you, Niam. I can forgive the harsh lessons. I can never forgive you for what you did to my mother.”

Thank you for that.

“Now how do we get out of this?”

She tried to focus, find her center. Everything was about finding the center. They had to get free or that little girl would die.

There’s only one way. Let me in. Accept me or die.

Niam wanted control. That was it. He’d possessed her somehow, although she didn’t feel his total presence connected with the cruel thoughts. She couldn’t let him in, couldn’t let him see into the parts of her mind he hadn’t already permeated. She had a bad feeling that it would become his body and her nothing but a spectator to the world around her.

The leaders at Stone House loved the basement, the rites of power. She heard them talk about their conquests, their sacrifices. This had to be dealt with but she’d never paid enough attention to know how. It was another thing she’d shut out at Stone House, another troubling fact she ignored to get through another day. She’d denied magic even existed, simply because it was too horrible, too powerful to control.

You can’t block me, just like you can’t block your feelings. True being is giving up of one’s will, if only long enough to unite the powers in you.

“No. I can’t do this.”

Something hot ran into her hands and she registered the scent of blood. It mixed with the memory of burning flesh and she wasn’t sure if she’d torn open her wrist or experienced another Niam moment.

Magic is real.

“No it’s not.”

Accept me inside you. It’s the only way.

“Never!”

Lora will die if you don’t.

“You never wanted her to live in the first place.”

More ideas flooded through her. He tried to show her magic, the rites, the rituals, and the power they produced. She didn’t want to know though. She didn’t want to accept the fact that any of it could exist.

Deirdre flailed harder. She had to break the ropes, had to get free. She’d deal with Niam later. However, he didn’t want to be dealt with later. He came through shouting, blurring her memories, mixing his with hers like some unholy marriage.

“I am Deirdre. I am Deirdre.” She screamed the words trying to hear her voice over the foreign thoughts. “I am Deirdre.”

Then she realized something else. She wasn’t just Dragonfly. She was Deirdre Flye, daughter of Scorpion. She was more than what Stone House had wanted her to be, but something grander, something more dangerous and not subject to Niam’s whims. Scorpion had never abandoned her.

“I killed her. Niam may have drawn the sword but I caused her death.”

She would’ve gladly spilled that politician’s blood if she’d known her mother would be punished instead of her. There would’ve been no warning. She would’ve obeyed.

“No more. Please.”

You’ll only win with me.

His thoughts held truth. There was no way to find peace with this. The elixir made things worse, giving him dominance, making her feel like she’d gotten on a roller coaster with no one operating the controls. She wanted her body back, her mind, and she feared that even her soul had been touched by the monster who reveled in spilled blood. Every sight, smell, sound, even taste was corrupted by Niam.

“I hate you, Niam.”

She cried hard and long. If she could’ve risen from the bed then she’d be tempted to throw herself out that window just to stop the commotion in her head. This was hell. Tamara had forced her into hell.

“I hate you.” As much as she spoke to Niam, she was admitting her self loathing. “I hate both of us.”

Deirdre hadn’t been aware that someone had entered the room until she felt a hand on her wrist, checking the rope. Niam’s thoughts held in control, but she was vaguely aware of another.

“Tamara Haas is my sister.”

That was the only thing Deirdre could say, not that it mattered. They wouldn’t develop a sisterly bond making Tamara change her mind for all the sins she’d committed. None of it mattered but that’s all she could say.

“Are you ready to give me your allegiance?”

Deirdre rocked back and forth, unable to say anything more. Niam kept his show going. He showed her women he’d tied and whipped, showed her his students crying on the floor, and kept making her live through the ceremonies, the basement trips that had made Niam who he’d been before joining to her body.

You have to understand, Dragonfly.

She saw him as a boy. He endured beatings. He’d committed his first sacrifice at the age of twelve. Magic flowed in his veins or had before he’d entered her mind. It had been part of him, something as easy as breathing.

The images rushed too fast, not making sense in some manic collage of life and death. In the end, it was what had made Niam the man she’d grown to hate. She had every reason to fear him. He was powerful and there was one truth she could no longer deny, the souls had given him strength. The logical side gave way to the things Niam showed and Deirdre finally admitted that magic existed. It was real and it lived inside her.

“It’s real,” she whispered. “I admit it.”

“Can I relieve you of this burden?” The voice seemed to come from an angel. Deirdre turned her head and saw no angel, but any savior would do.

Again Niam showed Scorpion’s death. This time Deirdre felt like her hand held the blade, shoving through soft flesh as surprise filled Scorpion’s face. Bits of blood speckled her hand, Deirdre’s hand.

She died for you. Don’t let her sacrifice be for nothing. Fight this. Don’t turn into what she feared.

“I will kill Lora, just make it stop.” She was vaguely aware that her voice was a mix of painful shrieks.

“Do I have your word?”

“Yes, anything.”

Tamara touched a cool hand to Deirdre’s head and the sight of her mother’s dead body fell to the back of her mind. “Tonight I will make sure that the nasty thoughts don’t come back, but if you lie to me or break our deal, I’ll make them more horrible than you can imagine.”

Deirdre nodded. She was born evil, raised in hell, and had committed murder. One more death wouldn’t matter. Another day of Niam and she’d kill herself just for a moment of peace.

The cold from Tamara’s hand spread through her head until Niam was nothing more than a buzz in her ear. Niam shouted, ranted, and Deirdre smiled at his fit of temper. Whatever skills Tamara possessed, she couldn’t be as terrible as Niam.

“Do we still have a deal?” Tamara lifted her hand for a moment and Niam came back in a torrent of anger, yelling and screaming at a deafening level.

“Yes!”

Tamara touched her again and this time when she removed her hand, Niam stayed in the back. Deirdre’s head felt a little numb, like she’d been drugged but it was bliss compared to Niam battering her mind.

“If you leave these grounds, or disobey me, I’ll let Niam rule you.”

“Please destroy Niam. I’ll do anything.”

The thoughts grew even milder by the time Tamara’s people came into the room and untied her arms and legs. At first Deirdre lay there, unsure if she should move. Nothing hurt for the first time in days, except for the emotions, the past, and the deal she’d made for her peace of mind.

Another woman entered the room from the side. Deirdre didn’t turn her head to see her, but the smell of food came with the door opening. Time seemed to stand still as someone tended to her wounds.

“I will leave you here until the proper time. Don’t disappoint me.”

Then everyone left and Deirdre was alone. Niam still lurked somewhere deep inside, pitching fits in whatever corner Tamara had locked him. At least he couldn’t bother her.

It took her a minute to find the will to move. She curled into a ball on the bed wondering how she could’ve done things differently. Trying to see where her choices had caused her mother’s death.

You couldn’t have changed things. Niam shouted but it sounded like a whisper. That was her fate. Now what will yours be. Give me control and we’ll both live to see another day.

“Shut up!”

His awful voice, his polluted mind was too much to bear. She wanted him out, not just jailed. She needed him away from her. He’d killed Scorpion. He’d done it. Niam tainted everything. He’d certainly destroyed anything good in her.

Deirdre had always wondered if she were evil, doomed, and now she knew. There was nothing good in her. Children shouldn’t cause the death of their parents. It only proved that she was beyond salvation.

She opened her eyes and looked around the room. The stench from Stone House clung to her, making her long for a bath. A worse thought surfaced. If she bathed, Niam might see her naked. He’d be there every time she took a shit or blew her nose.

No, that wasn’t right. She would be free of him tonight but she would have to spill Lora’s blood. Her only salvation lay in the death of a little girl, one who never harmed anyone. Her only sin was being born into this family.

The sun on her face made her move. Deirdre sat up, dangling her feet off the very tall bed. She slid to the floor, surprised by how weak her legs had grown. The last thing she remembered before waking in this room was Farmer. Was it possible that he worked for Tamara Haas too? At this point, nothing would surprise her.

She took a few steps, trying to feel like the old Deirdre again. It was no use. She might never feel like that woman again. Niam had left bits of information, magic, incantations and other things throughout her brain. It made her afraid to daydream or even hold a bit of hope. Even if Tamara could extract him from her brain, she would still know what it felt like to enjoy another’s suffering. Niam had fed into her dark side and there was no way to undo the damage.

Deirdre touched the curtains and looked out the window. It was a lavish estate with woods surrounding on every side. In this section of town, land like this cost millions. It also bought privacy. Below she saw what that privacy created. There were only a dozen people in the grassy area below but they were training, learning their weapons.

Some things could never be destroyed. Stone House was one of them. It was eternal and there was nothing a single person could do to stop them. Even as she stood there, smelling her own sweat, she knew that this was the future. She wished she could go into oblivion and leave Niam’s ghost in this world. She didn’t want to endure the next few hours or see what this new batch of recruits could do.

“Maybe Lora is better off dead.”

No. You don’t believe that. Give me control and we’ll survive this.

“I can’t.”

Think about this. You are condemning all of us. That includes your friends.

“You might be right but there has to be another way. After everything we’ve been through, I can’t give you control.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The moon rose in the sky, bright white hanging in the center of blackness. A few clouds passed overhead, but even in the clear spots no stars showed. Everyone was in attendance, grouped on the edge of the stone circle. A symbol had been laid out in the center in small round pebbles. It wasn’t a pentagram and Sabrine had never seen anything like it before tonight. The most ominous thing was the altar, consisting of a flat stone slab. Inscriptions and symbols covered it, none of which Sabrine could read. It had to have taken days to carve it though. The details, at least what she could see beneath the unconscious Lora, were amazing.

They hooked Lora onto the block with chains that ran through holes in the slab. The cuffs were too big to pass back through, leaving Lora trapped, not that she was struggling. The girl seemed to be asleep.

Sabrine had woken tied to a post at the edge of the circle just before they’d brought Lora down to the altar. Tech was tied next to her along with Gladys, Sabrine wasn’t sure when they’d gotten her. A few others stood nearby, one of whom was Detective Ryan Farmer.

Farmer didn’t look well at all. He stood a few feet from her, swaying with his eyes closed. His hands were behind him, but not bound. Sabrine guessed that Farmer was working for Tamara but from the looks of things, he wasn’t a willing participant. Whatever Tamara really was, she had some mysticism locked away behind her actress’s façade.

Sabrine didn’t like this at all. Even being this close to that circle frightened her. It gave off a weird feeling, like standing too close to a transformer with thousands of volts flowing through it.

She tried to calm down, relax. Everything would be fine. Everything always worked out. Deirdre would appear kicking ass as usual, and by tonight they would be having drinks at that little coffee shop or maybe the tavern on the corner. Sabrine might even have two drinks, maybe even get plastered. Deirdre wouldn’t, she only drank water, but Sabrine was in the mood for something a little stronger, something that could erase the past twenty-four hours.

That’s it, just think about tonight when all this is another ugly memory. We’ll leave Lora laughing and playing at Gladys’s house. Everything will be fine.

Somewhere drums began to play. Very odd considering this was a compound in the middle of one of the most exclusive sections of town. She looked up and saw two speakers on the posts above. Great, the occult has turned to technology. She guessed it enhanced the mood and really, what was a good sacrifice without mood music?

In front, strolling down the short walkway from the house was Tamara. She had a small entourage, a few flunkies carrying guns. It didn’t appear very magical but upon Tamara’s arrival, the circle started to hum.

“It looks like things are coming together nicely. Bring our Dragonfly.”

Sabrine shook her head, knowing she’d heard Tamara wrong. They couldn’t have Deirdre. She was unstoppable. Then Sabrine looked at Farmer, his quiet stance like some robot ready to be ordered to life.

Please, no.

Then came Deirdre, being led by two men on either side. On a good day, Deirdre could take them without breaking a sweat. This however didn’t look like a good day.

Deirdre hung between them, appearing unable to walk under her own power. They brought her to the circle, stood her next to Lora, and then placed a dagger in her hand. Deirdre looked at the dagger and started moving it down towards Lora’s chest. Sabrine gasped, watching the metal drop toward Lora. Inches before impact with the girl’s flesh, the man at Deirdre’s left grabbed her hand.

“Not yet. It must be done during the ceremony.” The man spoke slowly, as if it was the only way she could understand.

“Dragonfly must be eager to get rid of her demons.” Tamara touched her shoulder. “Not much longer. Finish the ceremony and you’ll be free of Niam forever. If you’d like, I’ll make him suffer as he passes from you and into hell.”

Without comment, Deirdre hung her head, staring at the dagger in her hand. Her expression seemed as blank as Farmer’s. In that moment, Sabrine started to scream. There was no way any neighbor would hear her. The area was designed too well, and from her position, all she saw were woods and walls. She kept screaming though, even after one of Tamara’s guards struck her across the face. Sabrine screamed for everything she was worth, hoping that her voice could break the spell. When the men had finally subdued her, by duct taping her mouth, there was no change in Deirdre. If anything, she looked worse.

* * * *

She’s trying to reach out to you.

Deirdre ignored his voice. She had to or lose what little bit of her sanity had remained. The elixir had left her body, but the calming effect of Tamara had also faded. Niam could be heard again, quieter than with the potion, but not silent. She may never be free of them.

The world was too dark. At least she could see and as she looked around, she saw Lora, lying there. The girl seemed to be asleep. That was some comfort considering what she had to do.

Deal with me.

Again she ignored him. She couldn’t deal with Niam or whatever remained after she’d killed him. Her mother had risked everything for her and Niam had killed her. Niam had tried to kill both of them. There was no way to make peace with that.

I was doing a job. Stone House was everything. My cruelty was for the greater good.

She wished he was alive so she could kill him again, this time making sure no black arts spell hung over her. After all this time free of him, she’d been cursed and it was worse because it had been by her own hand.

Deirdre might’ve found her mother. The two of them could’ve run the business together. They would have dinners, talk about the world around them, maybe go shopping like Sabrine was always doing. Deirdre had been robbed of all that.

Stone House had taken more than her family, it had taken her. She longed to feel real emotions, not the numbed-down, muted versions she’d been trained to deal with. All she knew was pain and that was an empty promise, something always there in the background, a certainty. There had been anger, and she’d learned to control it.

Where was the love? I think we were both robbed of that experience. Inside her mind, Niam laughed.

The one thing she longed for and never really knew was love. She didn’t love herself or anyone else. The one person she had loved died. Perhaps that made Deirdre a curse, something nasty to run away from. She didn’t seem real any longer, more like caught in a dream, cascading onto a stage where everyone knew the script but her.

I don’t want to do this, she thought, looking down at Lora.

Then don’t.

The only chance she had to save any of them was to let Niam in, past his slice of her mind and into everything. Deirdre went to her knees. She couldn’t let Niam inside. He was evil. He would take her and she’d have no choice. Odds were he’d make her kill the girl anyway.

Dragonfly, don’t.

“It’s time,” Tamara said softly then began speaking that awful Latin.

Deirdre began mumbling along, as the two men helped her back to her feet. She waited for her cue, while gripping the dagger tightly as she’d been instructed inside. The rules were clearly laid out. She was to stab Lora through the heart while repeating the words the guard whispered to her. When it was finished, she would give Tamara the dagger and, with a cut on the wrist, Niam would be taken out of her.

Tamara raised her hands over her head and the circle around them seemed to come alive. The wind whirled, picking up strength in the incantation. In another moment it would be over. Either Niam would get her will or she risked losing it to Tamara.

That’s it. I’m a better fate than the witch. We could work together.

Deirdre closed her eyes and waited for Tamara. Waited to end this nightmare and go back to her house in her little subdivision. All she had to do was finish this and she would get her life back, or at least something of it.

“I’m a murderer.”

The guard next to her gave her an odd look that she saw from the corner of her eye. She didn’t dare make eye contact. Even a hired hand’s scorn was too much to bear, knowing the sin she was about to perform.

“Now,” he whispered.

Deirdre looked at Tamara, her sister who smiled broadly, hands still in the air above Lora’s quiet body. This was the moment, her only chance to be free and she would take it. She’d killed once. Doing it again shouldn’t be so difficult.

“I’ve killed before. I liked it too.” Deirdre finally made eye contact with the hulking man next to her and she saw fear in his eyes. This she hadn’t earned through a heated fight, only the evil consuming her. “I liked watching him die and it took him to teach me that sometimes, that’s okay. Shameful isn’t it, then again, most messy things are. Without the mess, there’s no justice.”

She gripped the dagger tightly, holding it over Lora. Deirdre looked at Tamara and saw her nod. Then she brought it down, turning the blade to her target at the side. This way would she be free and right. Innocent little girls shouldn’t die.

Tamara Haas gurgled, blood spreading over her chest. Deirdre pulled the dagger out but threatening the guards was unnecessary. They were tending their mistress, unable to staunch the flow of blood.

Deirdre ran to the posts, cutting Sabrine and Tech free. Both ran to Lora, trying to find a way to free the girl from the chains. As if waking from a spell, one of the guards handed Sabrine the key. Deirdre only stood there, watching them release Lora, waking her by petting her hair out of her face. Gladys rushed over from the posts, tears streaming from her eyes, a stifled cry of relief coming from her closed mouth. By all appearances, things were right.

“You had me worried there for a minute.” Sabrine hugged Deirdre, who managed to half heartedly hug her back. “You got to tell me what happened.”

“Not now. Call the cops. I just want to go home.”

Deirdre walked to the mansion, going inside and to a phone where she called a cab. Then she made her way out the entrance, feeling lost in the real world. Her head was too heavy, too full. Every second seemed to take an eternity before the yellow creature pulled up to take her away.

She climbed into the cab and gave the driver the address. The choice she’d made hadn’t been easy, although she would never intentionally harm anyone, much less a child. She wanted Niam out of her head but Tamara’s price was too high. She supposed they’d reached a kind of truce, her and her parasitic friend. How long it would last, she didn’t know. In the end, she was certain he’d take over. He was too methodical, too detailed.

There was more. She knew the identity of her father and his strange hatred. She feared his evil had passed into her like some defunct gene that she couldn’t deny. She didn’t want to become like him.

After so many years of hiding from death, she’d committed two murders, and she knew her soul was darker for the crime. It seemed strange, but she wasn’t sure she could go back into security. Everything had changed, yet nothing had. She was different but familiar. Her world would go on tomorrow, but for some reason she didn’t think it should.

The cab pulled into her driveway. She paid the driver then stood there, staring at her home like she’d never seen it before. Going inside, pulling off her clothes and crawling into bed was the only thing her body would permit, yet she didn’t think she could do something so mundane.

What would sleeping be like? Will Niam run amok while I slumber? What will he do while I’m bathing?

She stood there, staring, hardly aware of the dark figure coming toward her. When she registered it, she smiled. It was Noah, although she wasn’t ready to talk about anything. At least it was someone who wouldn’t demand that she sacrifice children.

“What are you doing here?” She stepped forward, wishing he’d take her into his arms, hold her. She deserved some comfort after all this.

“Deirdre?” He stood there a moment and that’s when she noticed the gun in his hand. “You shouldn’t be home yet.”

She’d been afraid to use her senses since Niam slipped inside, but even before his intrusion, she’d never suspected Noah would harm her. His eyes lost the warmth, the caring he’d shown earlier. The expression could only be described as murderous and she didn’t have the strength to stop him. It might be better to go this way. A bullet to the brain and her sorrows would be over.

“Noah, why are you pointing that gun at me?” She was too tired for this.

He only smiled.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The pressure in Ryan Farmer’s head reduced, and he looked at Tamara Haas. A crowd of people had formed around her bleeding body. Her voice was gone. He couldn’t feel her influence anymore, then he remembered what he’d done.

His knees turned to jelly and it took very strict concentration to remain standing. He never considered himself weak but looking at the young woman they freed and brought to her feet made him realize exactly how weak he’d become.

Behind the crowd, Ryan caught a glimpse of Deirdre going inside the mansion. No doubt she was going home, hoping to forget this horrible place. Then again, Deirdre had grown accustomed to the horrible. He, however, had not. The need to escape the sight of the stone circle, and the memories of Haas’ house grew overwhelming.

“Are you okay?” one of Deirdre’s men asked. Tech, he thought it was.

“No. I did some terrible things.” He wasn’t sure how long he could stay standing. The world swam in front of his eyes and he wished he could wake from this nightmare.

“You’re telling us?” Tech patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay. Tamara had a hold on all of us.”

It was more than that but Ryan couldn’t explain how badly he’d wanted Deirdre dead. The sensation had ended though, almost like a spell had lifted. Tamara couldn’t be blamed though. The thoughts, the need to track Deirdre down, had started a long time ago when Smythe was his partner.

Ryan had always thought Smythe dating Deirdre was odd. Whenever he was alone with him, Smythe never had a kind word to say about her. It was only after she’d agreed to go out with him that things had slowly changed. Smythe always hung around Ryan’s desk but never said another word against Deirdre.

In the distance, he heard sirens, no doubt heading here. He didn’t want to talk to them, to explain. Too much had happened for logical discussion and another long series with IA made his stomach turn.

“I need to go. Is there any way we can leave my name out of this?”

Tech grinned but instead of cruelty, he seemed to understand. “Sure. Get out of here.”

Ryan went through the mansion and found the garage. He had a vague recollection of parking his car there. It was dreamlike and strange. He remembered seeing Deirdre and loading her into the backseat while she mumbled incoherently. She’d been in pain. That was the one thing he remembered clearly.

“What in the hell am I going to tell Deirdre? What have I done to her?”

He’d broken so many laws and trusts. It wasn’t like him to behave that way. Sure, he’d screwed up a few times but nothing illegal, nothing immoral. The fog lifted away and he realized that he hadn’t felt right in months. Could Smythe have done something to him? Before Tamara, he never would’ve believed it but now he couldn’t trust his next thought, afraid it was transplanted by some foreign will.

Come to think of it, many people who worked closely with Smythe had a deep-seeded hatred for Deirdre. He’d heard them talking, their conversations matching his too closely to be coincidence.

The police sirens grew louder and he knew this wasn’t the time to piece together the last few months.

“I’ve got to get out of here.”

* * * *

“You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.” Deirdre looked at the gun still pointed at her. “Why are you here?” She had a bad feeling about this but after all the madness, she didn’t trust herself.

Smythe answered her question with another. “What happened with Tamara? It’s like she’s not connected with the family anymore.”

“How did you know where I was?” She watched his movements. He didn’t seem to be in a trance like so many of Tamara’s other accomplices. Whatever he was doing, was of his own free will. “Well?”

He could’ve heard it over the radio but she didn’t trust the look in his eyes. It wasn’t the soft way he’d gazed at her over dinner. This time he looked annoyed with her presence.

He’s the source. The thought came through hard like a lightning bolt. He’s one of Colinster’s men.

“I thought you were going to switch teams.” He cocked the gun and held his finger on the trigger. Noah Smythe was ready to kill her and she was having trouble gaining the will to fight.

“You knew about that?”

She took a step back, searching for a weapon, but those had been taken from her at Haas’ place. There wasn’t much to hide behind either. Odds were she could take him, but he’d get in at least one good shot in the process.

“You’re the source.” Deirdre repeated the foreign thoughts in her head. “You reported my movements to Colinster. You knew I had Shope. Did you arrange his death? Is that how he ended up with a gun and managed to get out of a police car?”

“That’s right. We couldn’t have that Shope bastard coming after his daughter or making a scene. Once we had Tamara, she helped confirm that you were indeed from the original Stone House. Colinster was thrilled to hear about his daughters. He wants both of you in his fold.”

“There are probably a dozen cops at Haas’ place right now. That is over. There’s no way he can resurrect Stone House here.”

“I felt Tamara slip from our grip an hour ago and knew something had gone wrong. I guess I underestimated you, Dragonfly.” He’d never called her that before. “I guess even your daddy underestimated you. Now he can’t control either daughter.”

The mansion, the guards, it all made sense. They might not have been working for Tamara but guarding her in case she rebelled from whatever drugs or magic they’d used to control her.

“It was all neat.” Smythe stepped closer. “Tamara has magic in her veins and with our line dwindling, we needed her. Unfortunately, her daughter had to go. We tracked her to the father. That’s when Tamara hired you. She was trying to bring you in to protect her from us but by the time you answered her call, she’d been turned. She heard you’d escaped Stone House. That was all she needed. Of course Colinster needs all the magic blood he can summon. It would’ve been easier if you’d killed the mixed child too, been one of us. You would’ve bred wonderful children.”

She’d never seen Smythe so alive. His face practically glowed with confidence. There had never been a feeling of evil, no auras she thought she should avoid, until now. He’d kept himself subdued somehow blocking what little instincts she had about people. Not even when he’d kissed her, had she suspected his true nature. Now it came through like velvet, covering the world around him in a power she’d never felt before.

“You’re a monster.”

“Don’t sound so noble. Haven’t you wondered why half the police force hates you? Even Ryan wanted you dead. I did that you stupid whore. I can make everything in your life hell.” He came closer, and she backed towards the street. “This is your last chance to join me of your own free will.” He grinned and it reminded her of a shark. “I want to secure my position and I can do that by breeding with you. Join me.”

“Never.”

Smythe continued speaking but this time his words sounded strange, not English, something exotic that she couldn’t place. The air charged around her, dancing over her skin like needles. She looked down and saw a design in chalk, written on her driveway. She hadn’t seen it when she parked.

He’s trying to trap you like he had Tamara. He wants you.

The thoughts came on some sort of counter spell but Deirdre ignored the flood of dark arts that she never wanted or understood. There was only one way she’d handle this and if that got her shot, so be it.

The gun stayed on her, preventing her from moving. Then out of the darkness came Snowball. Her white fur flashed as she sunk her claws into Smythe’s leg. He howled, forcing him to point the gun down while dealing with the tiny attacker. This was her chance. She came forward, closing the distance. Snowball ran from Smythe’s legs.

“I won’t go back to that life.”

She aimed a side kick to his chest. Something was wrong. All at once it felt like she was moving in slow motion. Gravity pulled at her and the air felt like butter, slimy and hard to move through. Then there was Smythe, his mouth working in that evil chant.

He grabbed her, pushed her leg down, reached out, and grabbed her in mid air. She’d never seen anything like it. Then she was face to face with Noah. The smile she’d once found so sexy, the twinkling eyes, took on the air of the grim reaper. He looked hungry.

This is it. We’re about to be his. Try. Try to counter the spell. Don’t give up.

She wanted to scream, tell him to shut up, but nothing worked. Deirdre wasn’t even sure she was breathing. He opened his mouth, letting mist like icy breath, come out. It touched her lips, and she found that it was more than mist. This shit had weight.

Please, no.

At once, pain filled her. The touch was cold and consuming. It slid past her lips, touching something deeper inside that pulled up. Whatever he was doing, it felt like a tooth being pulled extracted, except this one had roots from her toes, to her groin, her heart and her head. Nerve endings seared and she thought she could hear parts of her being torn away. The sound reminded her of a weed being ripped from the ground. Inside, something broke loose, following that icy mist back to the owner and she knew her soul would follow soon.

A gun fired, loud, and Deirdre fell to the ground. Her knees scraped against the pavement, but the feeling on her skin had stopped. Her essence snapped back, stinging like a stretched rubber band when it popped back into place. She was either dead or out of Smythe’s reach.

For a minute she lay on the ground. Her vision filled with pin pricks of light against a black backdrop. Slowly her sight cleared bringing her driveway into focus. When she looked up, she’d expected to find Smythe readying another shot, something to send her into oblivion. Instead, he was on the ground, a perfect red dot between his open eyes.

“What the…”

“I got him.”

Deirdre rolled over and saw Ryan Farmer at the edge of her drive, still standing in the road. His car was parked near the next driveway, probably in an attempt to sneak up on the scene. He lowered his gun, holstering it and continued up with his hands raised in front of him.

“I don’t mean you any harm. I don’t think I ever did.” He stopped next to her and reached down, offering her his hand. “I’m sorry about everything that happened. I don’t know what got into me. I’ve never …”

“It’s okay. I think we’ve both made some mistakes.”

She took his hand, wondering how much of his previous behavior was Smythe and how much was Ryan Farmer. It was odd that he’d found any connection between her and Stone House. That must’ve been part of the set up, some little step Smythe induced.

“Does this mean you’ll stop trying to kill me?” She got to her feet, with his help, and noticed that he appeared as exhausted as she was. He must’ve gone through hell too.

“I never…It doesn’t matter. When the police make the report, I’ll be locked away. I’ve tried to kill you, kidnapped you, not to mention nosing into parts of your life that I never belonged in.”

“What brought you back to my house?”

He shrugged. “Gut feeling. I have a police scanner in my car and several people were calling for Smythe but he wasn’t answering. I played a hunch and thought he might be here. I also realized that I really only started hating you after working with Smythe. I think he did something to me.”

Deirdre glanced over in Smythe’s direction, expecting to see those open dead eyes staring at her. Instead she saw Smythe rising to his feet. The red dot still between his eyes like a quaint religious symbol but his face had changed.

“Amazing what you can do to the frontal lobe.” Smythe spoke but his voice sounded different. “So very amazing.”

She glanced down at Farmer’s gun. It was a .22. The bullet hadn’t exploded through Smythe’s brain, but lodged itself somewhere in the inner workings. The man lived.

Farmer stood there, gun in hand, not moving. The sight too horrible for him to register and the shock might get them both killed. She almost reached for the gun in his hand when Smythe spoke again, catching her off guard.

“You’re free from me Deirdre. I hope I left you with a little knowledge.” He reached up and wiped away a bit of blood dripping down his nose. “I guess one scar between the eyes is better than what I had.” He turned his face from side to side. “Not bad but I’ll need to grow the hair out. It’s much too short.”

“Niam?” For a second Deirdre thought she’d faint. “Is that you?”

“It worked out well in the end.” He looked at her and winked. “I prefer to have a cock instead of hole any day. Having your body would’ve robbed me of some of my greatest pleasures.” He turned and started to walk away. “Besides, you’re not much fun.”

“Wait. What happens now?”

He laughed and the sound was very Niam. Pausing, he glanced back at her. “You work on dealing with the knowledge I’ve left you and I will try to do the same. I’m afraid you’ve made as much of an impact on me, as I have you.” He looked down at his hands and trembled. “I don’t think I’ll be troubling you, not at least until I understand all these memories and things you copied into me.” He locked eyes with her and touched his lips. “At least I know what kissing you is like. I wonder what else I can learn from this Smythe. Too bad you didn’t sleep with him.”

“It’s over?”

He took a deep breath. “Nothing is ever over. Colinster is still out there. Please, remember one thing though. You aren’t responsible for your mother. I swear on all I believe in, you are not to blame.”

Niam or Smythe or whatever he was, walked away. He grew dim in the shadows, disappearing into the street of her little subdivision. She had to wonder if Niam would pick up his life or Smythe’s. She might see him at the station or he might return to his recruits in the mountains.

“What in the hell just happened?”

Deirdre had forgotten about Farmer. “Smythe has a new guest taking up residence in his body.” She supposed the truth would work, although it seemed to make Farmer look very pale. “His body had an accident.”

A cop car barreled down the road, siren off but lights flashing. Deirdre imagined one of her neighbors had called them after hearing the shot. They’d probably looked outside and saw a man lying in her driveway. As it was she could see curtains move, but no one dared turn on a light or come outside. People were bound to look at her strangely after this. She hoped she didn’t get a memo about it stuck in her door from the home owners association.

The cop parked on the road and opened his car while pulling out a pistol. He moved closer but hid behind his open car door while shouting at them. Farmer complied with the officer’s instructions, along with Deirdre, both dropping to their knees with their hands raised. It reminded Deirdre of some perverse cult and she laughed wondering if the guy with the gun would ask them to bow next.

“My name is Deirdre Flye. This is my home. Detective Ryan Farmer arrived just in time to save my life.” She turned her head and looked at Farmer. “That’s all anyone needs to know. This whole time, you were trying to save my life. I’ll drop the complaint and no more needs to be said.”

“I never liked vigilantes, but maybe there are some cases cops shouldn’t get involved in.” He smiled, looking odd with his hands still over his head. “Thank you for keeping me out of jail.”

“No problem, oh, and for the record, I only do security.” She didn’t want to get in the habit of dealing with cults or magic spells. “I prefer annoyed rich people to this shit.”

“Did I hear you say a guy was taking up residence in Smythe or with Smythe?”

“You don’t want to know, Ryan.”

The officer approached, gun drawn. “ID please.” After checking both their driver’s licenses, he lowered the weapon. “Anyone want to explain what happened tonight?”

“Not really.” Deirdre spoke at the same time Farmer said, “No.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Deirdre sat in her office, staring at the calendar on the wall where the upcoming jobs were penciled in the little squares. A week had gone by since the fiasco at Tamara’s house. Tamara had even called her from the hospital, telling Deirdre how grateful she was to be free of Colinster’s influence. At least she’d lived, although most of Tamara’s memories during that time were a blur.

Niam was out of her head. So far she was coping with the thoughts he’d left behind. Those she doubted she’d ever be free from. It wasn’t so terrible. Although, finding unfamiliar thoughts when she was naked and vulnerable was too much.

Lora had something of a happy ending. Tamara decided to bring Lora and Gladys to Europe for her theatrical production based in England where she hoped to keep them safe from whatever people were still loyal to Colinster. They would travel together for the next six months. It would be good for all of them, especially Lora, who would probably get a kick out of seeing her grandmother and mother verbally spar a few times. That kid was tough and thankfully didn’t remember much about her abduction.

From the little research Tech gathered, Colinster wasn’t a serious threat. Most of his work happened through money and the last set up had drained him. Until he found more funds, he couldn’t do much. From what they could tell, he couldn’t even buy a plane ticket from his current home in Tokyo to the states much less have hired guns ready to track Tamara Haas.

A lot of things had changed since that night. Ryan Farmer was back on the job, and amazingly so was Noah Smythe. Farmer and Smythe stopped hanging out together and the victim from the shooting in her driveway was simply listed as an unidentified suspect.

Farmer explained to everyone about the cult and the members who’d tried to kill their beloved Deirdre Flye. Oh yes, he was her biggest fan and for that, she was also grateful.

As for Noah Smythe, he still asked her for dates when she went to the station and a few people mentioned some odd behavior. At least Noah/Niam wasn’t trying to lead any teenagers into starting new religions. He also hadn’t gone near her home or approached her on the street. His confrontations were flirty and thankfully, confined to the station.

“Deirdre?” Sabrine poked her head into the office. “You’ve been quiet lately and well, I need a break. Let’s go out. There’s this cheesy eighties club that just opened up. I thought we’d check it out.”

“I don’t…” Deirdre stopped. She’d almost said that she didn’t know how to dance, but now that was a lie. Niam had been a wonderful dancer and he left her with knowledge, even about the two-step. “Maybe it’s time I tried something new.”

Deirdre doubted that she would ever find peace with Niam, but perhaps she had learned a thing or two. She’d been void of emotion for so long, that maybe trying out a few of Niam’s would be a refreshing lesson in the aspects of life she’d missed out on for so long.

“Maybe I’ll even try one of those colorful drinks you’re always downing.”

“You mean it?” Sabrine’s face lit up. “You’re going to try alcohol.”

“Why not? We are the sum of our experiences and I’ve experienced very little.” In that one thing, Niam had her beat. He’d lived life to the fullest, even if it was for the wrong reasons. During all his ordeals and trials, he’d tried to bring pleasure into his world.

“Then let’s make tonight special. Let’s call up the whole crew.”

About the Author:

Jennifer Cloud was born in Asheville, North Carolina. There she met her husband who encouraged her to write after finding a partial manuscript. She now resides in Missouri with her husband and two daughters.

She is the author of many novels in both print and electronic versions. She’s also had two dozen short stories published and many novellas. She can be found at www.JenniferCloud.com.

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