In storytelling, the antagonist is the opposer or combatant working against the protagonist or leading character and creating the main conflict. In conventional narratives, the antagonist is synonymous with the “bad guy,” while the protagonist represents the “good guy.”

Tell us a little about yourself.
My name is Roger Mills and I’m the first-born son of Jonathan and Jane Mills. I’m a successful businessman, and I’m married to the most enchanting and smart woman in the world. You might think my life is perfect, right? Well, you won’t be farther from the truth, as my life is cursed by the presence of a little brother. Since the day he came to this world, he brought nothing else but troubles. It wouldn’t be otherwise as he’s not even my father’s son, but this is another story.
Coming back to me, I did everything I could to follow the successful example of my father. I chose not to follow his steps and take over on the firm he was running with his brothers, because I wanted something completely mine. Moreover, sharing business with other relatives would have stopped me to shape it the way I wanted. I don’t have any children, apparently, I can’t have them, but this isn’t something bothering me. They would have been a way to steal my focus from my business, and since they aren’t completely on the honest side, they might have suffered uselessly.
 
Have you committed a crime? What was it? If not, what circumstances would cause you to commit a crime?
As I said my business isn’t clean, and in the first stages of my career, I was approached by a potential partner, whose fortune lied on his high-level criminal activity. At those times I wasn’t aware of its full scale, but when I understood the real potential of a fusion between our companies, I was blinded by it and accepted without a second thought.
 
Do you have a moral code? If so what might it be?
The only moral code is that of not getting caught by the feds. Something I highly value is the concept of family. I would never disrespect or cheat on my wife, and my parents will always be the role model to which I will look up to. The family is everything and perhaps that’s my highest moral code.
 
Would you kill for those you love?
Of course. I am ready to kill for even less.
 
How do you think others see you?
The rest of the world sees me as a ruthless cold calculator, a killer ready to unspeakable crimes just for the sake of keeping my wealth growing and myself out of prison. Well, that’s partly true, but most of all I do it for keep seeing the smile on the face of my wife.
 
Who is your greatest friend?
I don’t have real friends, I have allies… aren’t they the same thing?
 
Who is your greatest enemy?
I believe it is myself. At times I forget that everything should be carried out at the due time, and I need to take a deep breath before taking a decision. This has brought me to make fatal mistakes, particularly when trying to get rid of my beloved brother.
 
How do you define ‘heroism?’
Heroism? Well, I think I can define it as the capability to take your life and destiny in your hands. Be able to have the courage to do what everybody would like to do but refrain to take any action for fear of the judgement of those around you. I think heroism is a sort of synonym of courage.

​Latrice Burke, Rogue Witch and former member of the secret society, the Willow Wood Women. Featured in The Women of the Willow Wood trilogy

​Tell us a little about yourself ~
Where do I begin? I’m an old soul and have had many lives, dating way back to ancient Egypt during the reign of Pharaoh Hatshepsut. I was the sorceress who provided enlightenment and served as her personal advisor during her reign in 1478 BC. Many had rumored that my beauty was the result of magic.
It was there I learned how to perform dark magic and a very old one from a high priestess.
I was later incarnated several times, each time having to serve a higher-up authority. I knew I had the power to be independent and work as my own sorceress; this is where it led me to a painful death during the Salem Witch Trials where I was crushed to death by heavy rocks. It was here on my death bed that I vowed to return as I had the ability to do so.  
So, let’s just say I’ve been around the block a few times and back again. And most recently I have become a member of a most secretive society of women here in New Mexico who practice white magic. It was the only way I could reincarnate again—promise to be loyal to the other side–the good one.

Is your life now as you envisioned it? If not- then why?
Of course not, this is not what I envisioned, but it was my only chance at another life. And once I learn the ropes with this new cult, and prove to them I should be one of their high priestesses, it won’t take long for me to move up in the ranks of the Willow Wood Women.

Tell us about your family ~
Nothing much to tell—most are long gone. My original mother died while I was in service to the Pharaoh Hatshepsut. She was a gifted seamstress but did not possess the magic that I had. I never knew my father but was told he was simply a nomad passing through one day.
I’ve had a few close friends, but it always went sour due to their jealousy of my magic.

What is your greatest skill/ asset? 
Well, that’s a no-brainer, I’d say—it’s powerful ancient magic.
I’ve learned spells over the years that not many newer witches know even exist. My best spells are those that include glamour (beauty), health, weather, binding spells to freeze unwanted souls, and shapeshifting. 
Now that I’m working here in the Desert Mirage shop for the Willow Wood Women as a clerk, I’m in the thrones of white magic. I have to say it does have its rewards, having no recourse if used for good intent. 

Who is your greatest enemy?
Oh, dear—I’ve had many. Right now, I’d have to say it is Josephina DeLuna, the current high priestess of the Willow Wood. She is also my boss at the Desert Mirage shop. I just know she’s envious of me and will try to undermine my magic any way she can. She does not have the capabilities to hold such a position. This title belongs to me.

Do you want to live forever?
The rock band Queen had a huge hit in 1986 for the movie, Highlander, called, Who Wants to Live Forever? Gotta tell you here, I was at one of their concerts back when and they tore it up! I won’t get into my life in the eighties now but to answer the question—no—I’m tired and know my days are numbered. I’m not sure how it will end, but they will end. As they say, it’s “Time to Pay the Fiddler”.

If you could have three wishes, what would they be?
For one, I’d wish to always retain my youthful looks no matter what life I was reincarnated in. Two, I wish for those who possess magic to not be afraid and see it as a gift, but to use it wisely. Finally, my third wish would be to be able to go back to my first life with the Pharaoh, Hatshepsut. She was my only true friend. I felt appreciated and valued there.

What do you think of your author/creator?
To be honest with you, she did acknowledge me for my hybrid and powerful magic but chose to have me be the ‘bad guy’ so to speak. I guess it was just my destiny—or the one that she’d chosen for me. But I shouldn’t complain, I had my last hurrah and a chance to show all of them what I was capable of in that cave near the end. If it weren’t for me, none of them would have survived. And I guess I’ve done my time, I’m tired and ready to make peace with the higher council. Nothing lasts forever.

In storytelling, the antagonist is the opposer or combatant working against the protagonist or leading character and creating the main conflict. In conventional narratives, the antagonist is synonymous with the “bad guy,” while the protagonist represents the “good guy.”

Bass drums thunder into the roiling madness of hell torn asunder
While screams coalesce into whispers of wants.
Angels shimmy seduction on stilettos and guitars shriek like sirens in heat,
Yet on the edge of darkness, I linger patiently.
As the devil snaps his fingers
In time to the chaotic symphony of his creation
I lurk in the shadows, along with those unlucky enough to venture within.
Sweating, I inhale nicotine’s deep addictive essence.
And sit,
Waiting.
Flicking discarded ashes about me like spent lives.
Knowing my time will come again.
As the band plays on.
 
“I’ve majored in many mythical studies, and I am in agreement with the others. There is one mystical being that has been banished from our realm on more than one occasion. One such time was early in the rise of modern-day Christian religions, like the Catholics and Protestants, due to his status as a godlike being of early paganism.
“There are others, but this one, strangely, comes to mind time and time again because of his background and also because there were no reports of his spirit after he’d hanged himself in Windsor Forest. Rof Breocht Woden—the Bright Strength of Woden. It is believed he has to return to this realm only through a living soul. There is much speculation as to the accuracy of this, but these readings from various writers and historians may shed more light on what he is.
“This quote from one of my studies sums him up. ‘Woden is the Woodland Spirit and the Lord of all Nature. His son is the Hooded Man, the English folk hero who will deliver us from oppression. Woden’s Folk.’”
​
“The Hooded Man? Not talking about a Robin Hood-type dude here, are we?” Carol asked.
“You are most astute, young lady. I’ll get to that in a moment. Woden, who is often portrayed with horns, has come to be associated with Wicca and other earthly Pagan beliefs, like the Green Man. But this was not always so. Horned deities are an extremely ancient Indo-European tradition with even earlier precedents. We find paintings on French Paleolithic caves and Woden could be found in the Indus Valley of northern India where he was known as Rudra or Pashupati. But he was most famously known to Northern European Celts and Teutons.
“The Romano-Celts gave him the name of Cernunnos. Or more commonly, Herne the Wild Huntsman. It is believed that in certain parts of England, he leads the howling spirits of the dead through the forests.
“This merges with the newer legends of Robin Hood, who was, according to English legends, the reason Herne himself rode the night skies after committing suicide in Windsor Forest by hanging himself from an oak. It is thought he did something evil and couldn’t live with himself, but that hasn’t ever been proven true.”
“So, are you saying he is evil inside himself as well?”
“I think he struggles with being so good that he despises the badness in the world and overreacts to wanting to get rid of it. Now, the Anglo name of Robin Hood is actually also a variant of the Saxon name Rof Breocht Woden—the Bright Strength of Woden.”
Carol glanced up at Brad who had a most quizzical smirk on his face. “I’m thinking we’ve one half here in Rosie and possibly the other in Nathan, hence why they are linked and why he reached for his sword as my sister told me.”
“And you suspect we’ve a version of this Rof Breocht Woden dude here, coming back?”
Brad nodded, “There’s much more from him and some other bloggers, but the more I read, the more it begins to jibe with me. You did say she mentioned his name.”
Carol thought a moment. “Yes, he said, ‘I am Woden.’ So you mean we’re mixed up with not some dead person coming back but some kind of mythical crazy-ass being?”
“Possibly.”
Oh, Agnes, how do you get me into this kind of insanity?
 
And in this scene we have Woden hunting Carol in her dreams.
 
“Let me take you on a journey.”
Carol rolled over as the words entered her dream of being intimate with Brad. Images of his naked body faded away.
“I smell you. I hunt, for you.”
Damn, can’t get lucky even in my dreams. Unfair. What journey? I don’t…
Around her, grass fluttered in a breeze. She was in the middle of a clearing. Tall, tall trees surrounded her. Carol opened her eyes. She was still in the clearing.
What…
Supple greenness stretched as far as she could see, and she knew she was in his world.
“Yes, you are, and I am coming.”
She planted one foot in front of the other and began to run.
What am I doing? This is what he does and what he wants.
               
“Yes, I smell the fear.”
Carol stopped and stood still on the edge of the forest. I am not afraid.
A howl broke the air. He was near and, she knew, very hungry. Carol walked up to a rotted log, and, glancing inside, she saw it was hollow. There was one that could help her. She crawled into the trunk and closed her eyes.
 Glyffy, if there was ever a time I needed your help, it is now.

In storytelling, the antagonist is the opposer or combatant working against the protagonist or leading character and creating the main conflict. In conventional narratives, the antagonist is synonymous with the “bad guy,” while the protagonist represents the “good guy.”

Tell us about your role in the adventure.
I am a Witch-Hunter, my word is law. The Order rule the land, bringing peace and stability to a land beset with filthy mages and plague-bearing elves. The people, at least the human people, need to be protected from such menaces. Why should I show mercy to them? It’s common knowledge elves brought the Plague that almost wiped us out.
​
Magic is dangerous, it is a taint on the land and those who use it have no right to live. Magic demands a price, so they say. That price is death.
I have, in my ‘protection’ an elf magewoman. One of those nasty Forest Elves who think the land should be theirs. Her and that sister of hers can help cleanse the land of a bane – a sorcerer lord who has been troublesome for some time. These elves will lead me to the lost elven city--which I will burn to ash—and to this Lord Archos.

Do you think you are a good man?
I uphold the law and defend the people, of course I am a good man. Occasionally I am forced to do unpleasant things – but the mages bring their punishment on themselves. Elves are property, slaves if you will, and need to be disciplined. They have no rights, any more than a horse does. They are mine, to use as I see fit.

Do you have a family?
I’m a career soldier, I have no time for that. If I feel the need of one – I will take a woman.

Do you have regrets?
I regret my sword is not sharper. Do I regret the lives I have taken? No, not for a moment.

What will you do when you meet your enemy?
Oh, I look forward to it. I will flay the magic from him. He will end as nought more than a shell. I will be a hero – ridding this land of such a man.

What do you think he will do when he meets you?
He is arrogant, sure of his own magic, so I dare say he will try to kill me. I am not a fool – I will not go alone. I have the resources of the Order of Witch-Hunters, men willing to die to protect me…I mean the land from this scum. He has but a handful of allies, mostly elves and women. I have, among his ‘friends’, one who is loyal to me. This magelord is just a man – and men bleed. Men die by sword and fire. I do not fear magic.
What can he do against a squadron? What will Archos do when we meet? He will bleed. He will watch as his friends fall around him. And he will die.

Image by Frank Winkler from Pixabay 

​This is a try at a humorous story, a little something from my past. To tell this story, and have it made sense, I will need to provide some background. I will try to keep it short, but as Erika knows, I usually can’t write anything at a thousand words or less. Nonetheless, here we go.
     I grew up in Los Angeles, and attended Eagle Rock High School, where I played football. My senior year I went varsity, and my position was linebacker. I was five foot eight and a half inches tall and weighed a hundred and seventy-five pounds (small for an LA varsity linebacker). I did all the workouts, weight training, wind sprints, etc., and thought I was in great shape, not an ounce of fat on me. Turns out I was a bit mistaken on that point.
     After I graduated, I married my high school sweetheart, the redhead (for the record, this is how I always refer to my first wife). She was all of fifteen when we married, and like most kids from LA at the time she was quite the hippie.
     In January of 1971 I left for the army. Now in basic training I didn’t lose or gain any weight. Then I went to medic school (at the time known as the 91A course), at The Academy of Health Sciences (or as we called it, the army high school), Fort Sam Houston, Texas. There I added about ten pounds.
     Some of you know I was in the army, but here I’d like to be a little more specific, I’m a retired US Army Military Master Parachutist, and I’m qualified as a military parachutist in both the British and Canadian armies. At this point I bet you can guess that jumping out of an airplane has something to do with the story.
     Those that are familiar with what the above means know that I have had over nine weeks of basic and advanced military parachute training (that counts training with the British Paras, and the Canadian Airborne Regiment). The only parachute training I didn’t attend in the army was military free fall school (something the bureaucracy prevented, and I regret not doing).
     The US Army basic parachute school is three weeks long and considered one of the most physically demanding training programs on Earth. The instructors are exacting to the point of ruthlessness, and the dropout rate is high. Add in the drops from injury and you can see that making it through this training is not easy. Everything is done on the double time, and you spend a lot of time ‘kissing’ the ground (doing an unbelievable number of pushups) all day long.
     To say the least, every ounce of fat on me was melted off by the end of those three weeks. Now I was still one hundred and seventy-five pounds when I graduated, but it literally was all muscle. And that’s when my wedding ring began to slip off my finger.
     At first, I thought it was funny, I mean wow, I was so skinny my ring could slide off on its’ own. As it turned out that wasn’t so good.
     One morning as I was leaving for ‘work’ the redhead asked (you remember her right), “Honey, what do you do so you don’t lose your ring when you jump?” She knew we had a jump scheduled for that day and was worried I’d lose it.
     I replied, “I put it on my dog tag chain.”
     “Okay,” she answered, then went back to sleep.
     Now most training jumps are combat equipment jumps. In other words, you’re dragging around everything you need to fight with you. Add in the weight of your main and reserve parachutes and that’s quite a load. Further, about a third of all training jumps are at night, as it is preferred that real airborne combat operations happen at night. It makes it harder for the people on the ground to shoot you while you are coming down.
     For those of you familiar with skydiving it is important to know that military parachuting and skydiving have nothing in common, even the parachutes are different. Skydiving is fun, military parachuting is far from fun. Whenever we met any skydivers, we would tell them the following: I don’t care how many skydives you have. Until you’ve stepped from an airplane into total darkness, wearing ninety-six pounds of combat equipment (with ammo a good twenty pounds more, and I was a medic, so I always carried fifteen pounds more than the grunts) and forty-two pounds of parachute at twelve hundred and fifty feet (very low for skydiving, very little time to react to a problem) you're still a Leg to me. In military parachuting circles calling someone a Leg is the highest insult possible (I met my second wife in the army. Though she is not parachute qualified I would never call her a Leg, she might hurt me).
     But this jump was ‘Hollywood’. A Hollywood jump was the closest to fun military parachuting gets. The only piece of combat equipment you wear is your helmet.
     Now another thing that makes this kind of jump ‘fun’ is getting to stand in the door. You spend close to one minute with the cool breeze blowing over you, watching the terrain rush by. And, usually, you get to make the best exit from the aircraft you’ll ever make. Plus, you are the first person out on that side of the plane, so no chance of a midair collision.
     Oops, forgot to mention this part, another difference between skydiving and military parachuting is a skydiver might share the airspace with two to five other people. In military parachuting you are in the same sky with anywhere from sixty to twelve hundred other jumpers. That makes the chances of a midair collision a good deal higher.
     In my fourteen years of active parachute status this was the only time ‘Doc’ (meaning me) got to stand in the door.
     By now I expect you already realize that because the redhead asked me about it, I completely forgot to put my wedding ring on my dog tag chain. I forgot to do it at the muster where you hold out your dog tags and ID card so the jump master can check them against the jump manifest. I forgot to do it while we did emergency drills and Parachute Landing Fall (PLF) practice. I forgot to do it while my buddy and I rigged our chutes. I forgot to do it when the jump master did his safety inspection of my chute and assigned me to first man port side (left) of the aircraft. Damn it to hell, I forgot.
     Now I might have thought about putting my wedding ring on my dog tag chain while we were waiting to takeoff, but this was North Carolina in the summertime. It is hot and humid, and we were packed into a big aluminum tube sitting in the sun with no ventilation, so you tend to focus on other things at a time like that.
     Once in the air because we fly so low there are all kinds of turbulence due to the rising hot air, the plane bounces all over the place. And everybody barfs their brains out. So I didn’t think about it than either.
     This truly enjoyable plane ride, which is about a five-minute flight from Pope Air Force Base to the Fort Bragg drop zones, has to last a minimum of forty minutes so the aircrew can log their flight hours. So, I could have thought about it then, but instead I did what I always do on these little junkets, rather than take in all the misery going on around me I went to sleep. I mean you can always use a thirty-minute nap, right.
     The last ten minutes before a jump are very hectic. The jump masters and the safety NCOs have to do their last safety check, then they have to wake us up. At six minutes out the jump masters start giving their commands:
     “Stand up!
     “Hook up!
     “Check static line!
     “Check equipment!
     “Sound off for equipment check!”
     Now it is too late to think about the tremendous mistake I have made. From the front of the plane down the line, each man shouting into the ear of the man in front of him as he slaps the guy on the butt, resounds, “Okay!” until it reaches the two men at the rear of the plane, the two guys at the front of each ‘stick’, the two that will stand in the doors. I hear the guy behind me shout “Okay!” as he slaps my behind. I stomp my left foot pointing with my right hand (because I’m holding my static line with my left) to the jump master and shout, “All okay jump master!”
     Now it’s really too late, not that it matters, I’m completely lost in ignorance of my error, totally focused on what comes next.
     The jump master ‘hangs’ out the jump door, making his last visual safety inspection of the outside of the airplane. He wrestles himself back in, takes three steps back, turns to me and points at my chest shouting, “Stand in the door!”
     I shuffle toward the door (every movement on the plane is done at an Airborne shuffle). Once there I plant my left foot on the jump step. Place my right foot about six inches back, knees bent, back straight, and I place both hands on the outer skin of the C-130 (either side of the door). I’m ready, wound tight, going to spring out there and snap into a tight exit body position. All the way, Airborne!
     Nope, not a chance.
     The vista is magnificent, such an incredible view. The prop blast from engines flows over me, the cool air is a huge relief from spending forty minutes in this flying tin can. All is perfect, except for the thing slipping down my finger.
     What the hell!?!? Oh s*@t! There would have been more expletives, but there wasn’t time. Still the light has come on, “My ring!”
     There is a reason why I was standing in the jump door the way I was. Over three decades of experimentation by the army on military parachuting went into everything we did. And in training, safety was always a consideration. In that moment, all that training went out the door, just before I did.
     Time slows down when something ‘intense’ happens. Perhaps it’s a variation of time dilation, something God built inside us so that when we survive events we cause that are really stupid we learn not to repeat them. Just a personal theory, no proof, but I bet you’ve experienced it.
     Instinctively I reached around to my left hand with my right. As I did my mind shouted, rather loudly, STUPID! Out of the corner of my eye I could see the shocked expression on the jump masters’ face. Then the prop blast from the engines caught my right shoulder, and I ‘left’ the airplane.
     US Army paratroopers are trained to make a vigorous ‘jump’ out of a propeller driven plane (jets are different), and snap into a tight body position. This helps to avoid injury by colliding with the plane and assists the parachute to open safely.
     I didn’t do any of these things.
     For those reading this that have thought they might want to kiss the side of an airplane while it was flying, please take my advice, don’t!
     I hit the side of one of the worlds sturdiest airplanes, with a very resounding thud. I don’t know what else I hit though many said I hit the side of the plane a second time. Others said that I hit the left stabilizer. I honestly don’t know.
     I’ve always had an incredible amount of luck, even when I was doing something stupid. In this case my chute opened fully, no malfunctions, no twists, no tears. It was a good thing because I was out and could have done nothing if there had been.
     I left the plane thirty seconds too soon, so instead of landing in the sand of the drop zone I became entangled in the trees just before it. I didn’t come to until the DZ medics cut me down, then I awoke, and everything hurt.
     I was taken by ambulance to the base hospital. Emergency exam, X-rays, etc. it was late in the evening when I was released. Left side ribs taped, bandaged head, and thank God, pain killers. I was black and blue from head to toe on my left side. And had to use a crutch.
     But now I had to report to the Battalion Commander. He, the Sargent-Major, my Company Commander and First Sargent were all waiting. The BC read me my Article 31 rights, then told me I was being charged with committing an unsafe act during a jump operation. Fortunately, the BC decided that the mess I was after getting out of the hospital was sufficient, with a little extra duty added. So, I was released to go home.
     When the redhead saw me, she was very worried. She hugged me hard, which elicited a painful groan. I was late getting home so dinner was cold. She sat me on the couch and started to head for the kitchen, stopped in mid stride, turned with hands on her hips and shouted, “Where the hell is your wedding ring?”
     I told her all that had happened, right to the Article 31 hearing. Once I had finished, she screamed, “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have lost your ring!”
     The redhead was a very passionate young woman, but when she became angry it was like a green-eyed demon from the seventh pit of hell had been released. By time she finished her fit I had come to the conclusion that it would have been better if my stupidity had gotten me killed.
     So, the end result of this little adventure was a mild concussion, cracked ribs, black and blue from head to toe on my left side, I came very close to losing half my pay for ninety days, I did get two months of extra duty, I had a furious woman sleeping next to me, and all because my damn wedding ring slipped off my finger.
     It is still residing somewhere in the woods just north of Holland Drop Zone. All things considered, that’s a good place for it to stay.

 Chapter 7
“THE COLOSSAL BUILDING in the center of St. Petersburg Square displayed an impressive architectural style with a strong Byzantine influence. The corbel arches and domes were gilded or brightly painted, giving the building a seventeenth century appearance. The walls and ceilings throughout the building were covered with decorative carved panels. The staircases leading to the upper floors were with fitted bookcases. Each door was carefully made from walnut with heavy bronze handles attached on either side. The leather upholstery for the walls was carefully selected. The carpets, the curtain fabric, and the upholstery for the furniture were imported from Europe. The furniture was exquisite, each piece made of the fashionable walnut with rich texture. Every desk, table, and bench was fretted in Gothic patterns, including lancet arches, rosettes, and trefoils. Nikola Vasilovitch, the head of Russian Intelligence, was sprawled in a huge chair behind one of those amazing desks. He held a cigar in his left hand, and his eyes were half closed.
The sun burst through the huge window on the east side of the room, creating an unusual brilliance. There were three tall, broad-shouldered men sitting on the large sofa across from Nikola’s desk, waiting in silence for their boss to speak. Rainer Heinrich and Hahn Dussel were German born theoretical physicists, both experts in creating and handling bombs. They had spied for the Russians while working in England as well as the United States. The third man on the sofa was Larue Legrand, a French born citizen who stole secret documents from the French military and passed them along to the Russians. He was an expert in penetrating and decoding secret documents and designs. Nikola was their single point of contact. He was the one they turned over secret information to, not caring whether the information harmed an individual, a business, or an entire country.
These three individuals oversaw an espionage ring with cells working throughout the world. They had central posts in Paris, Berlin, Milan, Athens, Brussels, Vienna and Warsaw.
From these cities, their spies received assignments, and then moved quietly to swap identical black bags containing important items or information. They possessed skills to uncover, steal, or forcefully take what they wanted for their own purposes, keeping the heat away from St. Petersburg. They embedded coded texts in ordinary-looking images posted on the Internet and communicated with one another using special software on their laptops. They had bombing specialists working for them, specialists who developed many types of bombs and detonated them remotely to create chaos in train stations and government buildings. The men did not care who was killed and who survived.
Nikola coughed, clearing his throat as he lit the cigar in his hand. He blew thick circles of smoke towards the ceiling. He stood up and started to pace back and forth in front of the three men. Nikola was a stocky man with thick brown hair and dark brown eyes that seemed full of anger and contempt.
“What have you got worth discussing on the International Industrial Research Laboratories?” His voice was husky and cold. He spoke in a no-nonsense tone. “I want to know the history behind this company, and why our first attempt failed so miserably.” He stood in front of the large sofa looking down on the men, grinding his teeth while waiting for an answer. They knew their boss wouldn't accept excuses. The three exchanged nervous glances. Hahn was the first to speak.
“I did a background check on IIRL after the first attempt to steal the designs. I found out that the company has roots that go back to the sixteenth century. The Gaulle family started the business, which changed names three times in the last five hundred years. The name IIRL was established during the nineteenth century, and the only heir to the business is the young Sebastian Gaulle. He’s a brilliant businessman who has established offices and laboratories around the world. He works very closely with his chief advisers at each location, however he is closest to Nathan Shilton, his chief adviser at the London headquarters. A few months ago, he hired Troy Vasser, a young Italian man, as his chief security officer for the entire company. The strange thing is that both Sebastian and Troy attend the University of Brighton while running the business.”
“And, why is that so strange?” he asked.
“Well, they both hold several degrees from distinguished universities around the world. Don’t you think that’s a bit strange?”
Nikola rubbed his chin, a puzzled look on his face. “Indeed, that is something,” “he said. “But to come back to the more important issue at hand, why did we fail last time? The documents were of the utmost
importance, and the scientists even more so. They were both within our reach, and we lost them. I had promised the prime minister that we were going to deliver, and I failed. Why did we put inexperienced people in charge of such an important assignment?” A twisted scowl appeared on his awkward face.
“Actually, Alexie Miroslav was one of our best agents, but something must have gone terribly wrong. Interpol showed up at the exact moment he picked up the briefcase that contained the documents at the museum. There’s no way anyone could’ve known the meeting place. There must be a mole among us, and that mole set them up,” Hahn said.
Nikola walked around the huge desk, and then turned to faced them. His brown eyes were cold as ice. The men shivered. They remained silent; they didn’t dare to make up a story. Nikola was skilled at detecting deception and absolutely unforgiving.
His fist slammed on the desk, making the three men jump. “The prime minister is heavily funding our group, trying to restore the prestige we deserve, but we must deliver to prove ourselves. He was furious at the scale of our incompetence. We spent huge amounts of money to get our hands on those documents, and we didn’t only fail miserably, we lost several agents because someone didn’t do their job right. I expect you three to find the mole and punish him or her in the appropriate way. If you succeed, I’m willing to forget this, but there’ll be no more failures.” His look was venous.
“I want you to go back to your offices and come up with a plan that is foolproof. There will be no miscalculations and no slip-ups because this time a bad outcome will be devastating to you three. I want you back in this office tomorrow morning to lay out your plan right here on this desk.” He slammed his hand on the top of his desk one more time.
“I’m sure this Sebastian Gaulle has family or loved ones. I want you to set up surveillance and find out exactly who is most important to him. Use any means necessary to convince him that cooperating with us is his only option. We’ve got to have the IIRL documents and designs. I don’t give a shit how you go about it. It’s one of the most important items on the agenda, and I want to have a firm plan on how we are going to accomplish this by tomorrow.”
The men took deep breaths after Nikola finished, and then summoned the strength to get up and walk out after promising they’d be there first thing in the morning.
Their faces were tense, but showed a small sign of relief as they stepped outside the building. Nikola’s crazy stare, full of bitterness and hostility, had terrified them.
Nikola was the kind of man that had no conscience, no scruples, and who thought anyone outside Russian Intelligence was a potential enemy. He thought of outsiders as objects, not human beings. Making a commitment to work for him was a life sentence with no outs, no alternatives.
They knew they lived in a frantic world, and they were products of their own trials and tribulations. They used fear and torture to get power. Nikola was like a live grenade ready to go off in a matter of seconds. By the time anyone realized that being part of this group was a mistake, the only way out was the morgue. The three criminals walked silently to the car and piled in. Rainer pushed on the gas as Hahn let out a long sigh of relief.
“What the hell was all that about?” Larue screamed from the back seat.
“I guess Nikola didn’t receive the proper thank you gift from the Prime Minister and he’s holding us responsible for sending Alexie over there to do the job,” Rainer said abruptly.
“I don’t remember you negotiating with anyone on this assignment,” Hahn said, bemused.
“Hell…I know that, and he knows that. I never met Alexie, and never had anything to do with the last assignment. It was all his doing, and now he is throwing the blame on us. If it had been a great success he would have taken all the glory and praise, but since it was a total failure he’s got to blame someone else.” He let out a loud growl and cursed angrily.
“You mean us?” Larue said.
“Yes, us, and we'd better come up with a better plan,” he said, and cursed under his breath again as he stared straight ahead. The three men pondered failure and tensed up absentmindedly. Rainer felt anxiety spread across his body. Fear made him shiver. He, more than the other two, was familiar with Nikola's response to failure.
“He wouldn’t really hurt us, would he?” Larue’s voice was filled with anguish.
“Listen, Larue, I’ve worked for that son of bitch for fifteen years, and he shows absolutely no mercy. I think he would execute his own mother if he had to. He has no soul. He is the real d’yavol.”
The car moved down the busy streets without another word spoken until the men arrived at their destination, a building located on the south side of the Neva River about five kilometers from headquarters. They climbed out of the car and walked towards the entrance, moving through the revolving glass door and stopping inside the huge lobby.
Rainer turned to face Larue and Hahn gazing at them for a short moment. He took a deep breath and ran his tongue over his dry lips with a twinge of annoyance.
“I think we should take this to the conference room and put our heads together. Whatever plan we come up with will have to be strong, foolproof, no nonsense. Our lives depend on the outcome.” He turned and walked into the elevator. He hit the button for the fourteenth floor. They rode the elevator in absolute silence. The doors opened into a large, elegantly decorated corner office. Two glass walls provided an amazing view of the river and the city below. Rich mahogany paneling covered the other walls. An antique sofa covered in gorgeous designs and two beautiful antique chairs sat on the opposite side of the room from where they entered. Huge flowerpots occupied each corner of the room, and an awesome mahogany desk sat right in the center. Stylish curtains in dark blue silk with decorative valences and gold trim complemented the accessories on the small tables next to each chair. The curtains were held open on either side of the glass walls by gold handles.
A very beautiful young lady sat behind the desk talking on the phone and taking notes while a couple of guests waited to meet with someone on that floor. The woman looked up as the elevator doors opened. She put down the receiver and gave the men a delighted smile.
“Hello, Mr. Heinrich,” she said, in a soft voice. Rainer met her gaze and returned her greeting with a wide smile on his face. It was clear to everyone from his smile that he was happy to see her. He approached the desk and laid his hand on top of the young woman's hand, his eyes never leaving her beautiful green ones. His voice transformed into something surprisingly tender.
“Georgiana, could you please bring some coffee to the three of us in the conference room?”
She nodded, never losing her beautiful smile as she turned bright red from the excitement of his touch. She had been his secretary for six months. He knew that she had feelings for him and they were both single, but despite their mutual attraction he hadn’t said or done anything to cross the professional line. He shook his head, remembering that he was in the middle of an important assignment here; he couldn’t lose focus, not for one moment. He suddenly turned and walked down the long, narrow hallway with Larue and Hahn on his heels. They passed several offices on the way including his. He stopped at the end of the hallway in front of a door with the sign, “Intelligence Security Services Conference Room,” and flung the door open.
“I’ve an idea,” said Larue as soon as they'd entered the room.
Rainer took a seat and motioned for them to sit. “Let me hear it,” he said eagerly.”
“How about talking to Jorrit Van Cleef in Brussels? He’s an expert in administering malware to a company's main systems. He can make those systems vulnerable to access, and get a hold of vital information. Or he could take control of their browsers and monitor their activities.”
“Can he do that?” Rainer asked, curiosity piqued.
“He sure can, he can infest their system with a virus that would create chaos in their company. I’ve seen him do it before.” His eyes were filled with excitement.
“We don’t want to destroy any of their documents, we need that information,” Rainer said.
“The spyware he uses isn't a virus that spreads and destroys their documents. It installs software that explores security holes and packs them with user-installed software.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” he said.
“In simple words, he’ll install a malicious program to their main system that is completely concealed, a program capable of defending itself against removal, and that'll allow him to gain administrator access, therefore gaining access to passwords and other sensitive information in the system.”
Rainer got up from his chair and put his hands behind his back. He paced back and forth without saying a word. He finally stopped in front of Larue.
“Are you sure he can do that?”
“I know he can. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes.”
“All right then, I like it. We’ll go with that, but let's have a backup plan in case something goes wrong. Do we agree? We don’t want to take any chances at all.” Hahn looked at Larue and asked, “How is that going to help us?”
“He’ll take control and monitor their system, get complete access to every piece of information they own, including the details on the documents that Nikola wants to get his hands on.”
“All right, let's move to the backup plan,” Rainer said impatiently.
“What do you suggest?” Larue asked.
“I want tight surveillance on Sebastian and his family if he has one. I want to find out who are the people that mean the most to him. I want a detailed daily schedule for his and his family’s activities. I want photographs documenting where they go on their daily routine.”
Rainer dragged in a deep breath, and then started pacing again. A moment passed in silence. He finally stopped pacing and glancing at the two men still sitting at the conference table, he said, “If Jorrit’s plan doesn’t work, we’ll have to set in place a logical strategy that will terrorize Gaulle’s family and force him to surrender the documents.”
“Hahn and Larue merely nodded, but their heads remained filled with fretfulness. What did they really know about Gaulle and his family? What if they failed again? The fear of Nikola’s retaliation was enough to cause panic throughout their bodies.”

Chapter 2
Madeline had a happy, carefree early childhood until she became aware of her surroundings around age six and started listening to stories of the older girls about what’s was going on in the salon and on the second floor. In her childish mind, she associated the sound of music and laughter she’d heard every night, with happiness. But soon she learned that a lot of emotions could be faked and under the happy exterior people hid pain, suffering, and despair.
Madeleine had to learn to fake obedience after a few serious and painful beatings by her mother when she questioned life in the brothel and dared to show her rebellious side. “I hate to beat you, but it’s your fault. Your restless heart gets you in trouble all the time!” Marie would often shout at the young girl. “You must do as I say and be a good girl.”
Marie rarely visited the third floor, she left raising her son and daughter to the older courtesans who were in charge of the children. She didn’t display much emotion toward her children, other than disciplining them if the nannies complained, during her short visits. She mostly ignored her short stature, stocky boy, and treated Madeleine as if she was valuable property.
As a teenager more aware of her situation, Madeleine considered herself to be lucky compared to children of poor families who often went hungry and wore hand-me-down clothes. She always had enough food, pretty dresses, and a comfortable, warm room, yet she loathed her mother’s lifestyle of entertaining many different men every night. Although she’d been thankful for her comfortable life, she’d felt the degrading side glances from even the poorest people when she accompanied the servants to the market or visited a dress shop or bakery.
She was also lucky to be educated, unlike most girls in the early 1700s, even the daughters of rich families. Claudine hired private tutors to teach the children to read and write as well as useful knowledge of history, politics, fashion, and art. Necessary knowledge that the courtesans used to entertain their more sophisticated guests. The girls also had a music and dance teacher. The more dexterous children learned to play the harp and piano, others played flute and other instruments that didn’t require fine movement of their fingers.
Madeleine’s bright mind absorbed everything faster than a thirsty sponge. The middle-aged plain-looking spinster, who was in charge of the education of the children, had been delighted by her eagerness to learn and gladly taught her everything she knew. The teacher’s father was a physician, and her grandmother taught her the use of medicinal herbs. She was happy to give Madeleine extra lessons. Moreover, she gave lessons to the bright girl in English and Spanish as well. “You never know where your restless heart will take you in life. You might find it useful to understand other languages,” she told her, and Madeline happily agreed, eager to learn everything she could teach her.
By the time she was fourteen, Madeline knew how to set broken bones, which knowledge proved to be useful, to the delight of Madame Claudine, with a household of rowdy boys getting into fights all the time. The young girl had saved a lot of money for Madame Claudine by treating common respiratory and digestive ailments of the members of the house, money otherwise would’ve been spent on doctors and healers.
Madeleine’s slender figure, the charming porcelain smooth complexion of her oval face, and striking blue eyes drew many admiring glances. On her fourteenth birthday, the cook baked her a cake, and everyone gathered in the kitchen to wish her a happy birthday. Am I happy? No! I want more! I deserve more! Bitter thoughts swirled in Madeline’s mind as she blew the candles on her birthday cake. I want a better life. I want to be respected just like other people who weren’t destined to live in brothels.
Claudine gave the beautiful young girl a calculating look and motioned to the girl’s mother to follow her out of the kitchen. Madeleine noticed the silent exchange between the women and having a foreboding feeling, excused herself to use the bathroom. She tiptoed after the pair to the sitting room. Hiding behind the half-closed door, she listened to their hushed conversation.
“It’s time, Marie,” Claudine said tapping the handsome woman’s arm. “You’re still desirable, but soon will be reaching the age when men would request your services less and less. It’s time for your daughter to be groomed, and when the time comes, to take your place.”
“But what will become of me?” Madeleine heard her mother’s sob. “I don’t have enough money saved, and I have nowhere to go.” Marie cried out.
“Don’t worry about that!” Claudine softly murmured. “The cook is getting too old and soon will retire, you can take her place. Start working with her a few hours a day for now and learn how to run the kitchen.”
“Thank you! You’re so good to us,” Marie sobbed.
“Eventually, when the time comes, Madeleine can take your place,” Claudine spoke. “The two of you can save up enough money in a few years to buy a nice house in the countryside. You’ll see!” she promised.
“What’s your plan?” Marie asked, with hope in her voice.
“Well, I’ll put the word out among our regulars that her virginity is for sale. We’ll sell her to the highest bidder with a contract that will assure his patronage for at least four years and secure a monthly income for her. When she turns eighteen, if her patron decides to take a younger girl, she can take your place to entertain guests.”
“How much would I get from the sale of her virginity?” Marie’s calculating side surfaced.
“You’ll get half of the price, and two-thirds of her monthly income.”
“Sounds good.” Marie agreed. “When will it happen?”
“As soon as I’ll find a suitable patron.”
Madeleine heard the rustling sounds of their skirts as the women stood up after agreeing on the deal. They would sell me like cattle, to the highest bidder. Boiling anger made the bile rise to her throat. She turned and ran upstairs to her room where she sobbed her despair into her pillow. Is that it? She cried without words, in her mind. Am I to become a courtesan just like my mother? No! I rather die! Feeling desperate, she’d cried herself to sleep.
After a short, restless sleep, she weighted her options with a clearer and more rational mind. At the tender age of fourteen, she’d been forced to age years within a short few hours.

Chapter 6
Dani
The alarm went off at 5:00 am. Brandt leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Don’t get up, babe. I’ll grab a coffee on my way up to Cleveland. See ya round 6:00 tonight.”
I tried to lie there and go back to sleep but couldn’t. I was too excited to get my car as well as my freedom back. I also worried about Brandt and what his duties were with this Mike Gadson guy. I threw on my robe and headed into the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee. I wanted to call Mother but was aware of the two-hour time difference. I decided to have one cup, cruise social media, then give her a call.
As I perused over the Lakewood School District site, I noticed an ad for a homeschool teacher. This would be perfect! I needed to get all of my documents in order and send them off. Being temporary was perfect, as I wasn’t sure how long Brandt and I would be here.
The doorbell rang just as I was finishing up my call with Mother. It was the man with my car. I realized I still had my robe on but had no time to change.
And there it was—a shiny new silver Nissan in the driveway! The customer service man entered with one paper for me to sign. He had the dealership van waiting for him outside. I thanked him and stood in the doorway admiring my new ride.
The frigid February air didn’t stop me from running outside to take a picture of my new ride. I shot it off to Brandt with a good luck message.
I rummaged through my few pieces of workout gear and then decided to head over to Mosquito Lake to get in a good run. I punched in the address to my dash navigator and was ready to roll. Being 9:30 am, few cars were on the road. I had missed the rush hour—however small that was for Cortland. I headed up Interstate 5 and was there in no time. My heart pounded with anticipation. I couldn’t wait to get back to what I loved. The parking lot was pretty much empty except for two cars and a pickup. Shades of my last run in Sherman crept through my mind—no mysterious cars. This felt different—safer.
The air was crisp and smelled like pine. I picked up my pace, knowing I’d soon be losing this hoodie after a good sweat. The lake was beautiful. Most of the trees were still bare being late February, but a few still had sparse crimson leaves on them.  The lake wasn’t frozen, but the morning sun cast an icy shadow over it making it look like a huge shimmering sheet of ice. My breath was getting heavy as I rounded the first corner of the lake. I glanced at my Fit Right watch delighted to see I had already done two miles and my heart rate was 110. Not bad for being out of shape.
I spotted a park bench and stopped for a minute to pull off my hoodie and sip my water. Just as I set my water down, I heard birds cackling above. Oh no! Here we go! I watched them circle above me, trying to figure out if they were crows. Sure enough, they were. They looked a bit like ravens, but I knew ravens were rare in this part of Ohio. I resumed my run trying to ignore their caws. I received no message from them and finally realized they were simply plain crows. I reasoned I had most likely lost my intuitive connection with animals—one I’d greatly miss.
After another half hour, I was spent and headed back to the car. There was only one car left when I returned. I had no feeling of dread or fear. Maybe this was the place I’d come to love and feel safe again?
I clicked my phone back on. I had a message from Brandt. All was well and he’d be home by 6:00. It was10:30. Still being early, I decided to head to the market to get something for dinner, and then home to work on my resume for the homeschooling job.
Heading home from the market I thought about Marta, Nina Santos’s sister, and how proud she’d be of me for staying on my healthy eating track. I picked up organic asparagus, chicken and wild rice for dinner. Since Auntie informed me the Sisters were still keeping an eye on me, I hoped they’d report to Marta that I was doing well.
While preparing dinner, I glanced out the kitchen window at a small red fox that was out by the edge of the property line. He looked almost fake, like one of those statues for the yard. I dried my hands, threw on my hoodie. I wanted to get a better peek at him. I didn’t want to scare him off, so I went outside the front door, staying light on my feet as I padded around to the backyard. He noticed me right away, and I froze when I reached the back patio. He inched closer as if he wanted to come my way. I wasn’t going to move. I had the sense that he wanted to communicate with me. I watched his eyes, deep and chocolatey brown that they were. ‘All is not as it seems,’ was the message coming through. I crouched down to his level, calling him over to me. He turned and ran back toward the woods.
Hmm, now how about that? His message rang loud in my mind as I headed back into the house. I sat on the sofa and closed my eyes, trying to decode this message. I saw him again in my mind’s eye. I recited his message aloud. “All is not as it seems” Hmm . . . I still had it! And I was grateful for this gift.
I had to wonder if this was intended for Brandt, or me? Either way, something was up. It was no surprise the way my life was going these past few years. What really had me was the fact that I was able to communicate with him. I wondered why I wasn’t able to do this with the crows at the lake. The thought of dinner brought me back to the reality of my kitchen duty.
While dinner was cooking, I completed the application for the homeschool teacher assignment. Now it was a waiting game. It was almost 4:00. I wanted to shower and put something nice on for Brandt. Knowing this was a special day for him, I knew what he’d like, but I had no desire to serve him dinner in fancy lingerie. There were still serious questions to be answered: How did his day go? What did he have to do? Just what exactly did the fox’s message mean? Hopefully, I’d get the first two questions answered this evening. As for the fox’s message, I’d keep that to myself for now. I had some vague knowledge of its symbolism, according to Native American beliefs, as representing the practice of negative energy and sorcery. But like the coyote, he was also regarded as a Trickster, therefore, messages could be more complex. I’d dig into this deeper in the next few days.
***
My phone was pinging shortly after I jumped out of the shower. I had four new emails, one being from the Lakeview School District.  That was fast! I couldn’t help but wonder if one of the Sisters had arranged this. It seemed too odd. I had an interview tomorrow for the homeschool teaching position. I did my little happy dance right there in my towel. I ran into the closet, searching for the appropriate attire. I did have a few nicer dresses I’d saved from my previous teaching days. I pulled out a navy blue, knit, knee-length dress and black pumps. Yep, this would work.
The smells of dinner wafted from the kitchen. I went to check on the chicken parm and started to boil the wild rice. Brandt would be home in an hour. I felt excited as my mood lightened with the promise of a new job. I rummaged through my lingerie drawer for a special outfit to wear at dinner. Damn! I really needed to go shopping. Not much there but a few pieces I’d picked up in Sherman. A red lace teddy seemed appropriate for a celebratory dinner. I think I’ll scope out that mall over in Warren after the interview tomorrow. I wouldn’t need more career wear if I was going to be a homeschool teacher, but I surely needed new jeans and tops, let alone more outfits to tantalize Brandt.
Just as I was taking the chicken out of the oven, Brandt walked in. He had a big smile on his face. I wasn’t sure if it was due to his first day or seeing me cooking in next to nothing. I ran to give him a big hug. “Well, how’d it go?”
“It was good. Better than I expected,” he added, setting his briefcase down on the hall table. “Mmm, something smells good.”
“It’s your favorite. Go get comfortable. Dinner will be ready in fifteen. I can’t wait to hear about your day.”
I watched him saunter down the hallway. Hmm, that’s odd. He didn’t mention how I looked. He’s usually ready to jump all over me. It must be nerves or stress from his new job. I didn’t want to pressure him too much, but I was curious.
Brandt sighed as he plopped down in his chair. He was tired. “It looks wonderful, Dani, and so do you, by the way. I hope you didn’t make dessert, as I’m planning on devouring you.”
“Well, that can be arranged.” I served him first then sat down.
Brandt dug into his meal. I watched him eat as though he hadn’t eaten in days. “Didn’t you get lunch?”
“No time. I was in meetings all day. Lots to catch up on.” He took a few swigs of iced tea. “I know you’re anxious to hear all the details, Dani— I’m still learning myself. I had an IT man there to help me with data and security clearance stuff.  He’s teaching me the routine I’ll need to follow prior to all of Mike Gadson’s meetings. This guy’s big time. By the way, I have to go back up to Cleveland tomorrow, too.”
“Again?”
“Yes. It won’t be like this forever. For now, I need to make good money and buy us some time.”
I listened with high interest. “Will you just sit at a desk all day, or have to accompany this Mr. Gadson on trips?”
“It’s going to be a little of both. He knew I was a bodyguard so he’s utilizing that skill as well.”
“I take it you’ll be gone out of town at times?” I pried.
“Yes, but it’ll be once or twice a month at the most. Don’t worry, Dani. I wouldn’t leave you alone for more than a few days.”
Silence took hold of me. Somehow the news of my job interview seemed to pale with his announcement. I picked at my food as my head swirled with more questions. I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t happy or interested.
We finished dinner, and Brandt helped me load the dishes in the dishwasher. I poured us each a glass of wine. We headed to the large, overstuffed sofa in the living room.
I sat on his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck and locked eyes with his. “I’m happy as long as you’re happy. I have something to tell you.”
“Let’s hope it’s good news.” His eyes sparkled.
“It is! I have a job interview tomorrow for a homeschool teaching position with the Lakeview School District.”
“Well now! That’s another reason to celebrate.” He picked up his wine glass, ready for a toast.
“I haven’t gotten the job just yet. It was very weird, though. I submitted my resume before I hopped in the shower. A reply came within a half hour.”
“Not very odd, Dani. You do have great qualifications, not to mention a great ass.” His hand traveled down over to my backside, giving me a light slap on the butt. It was right where my V tattoo was. It burned slightly causing me to flinch.
“I don’t believe that’s one of the qualifications.” I melded my body into his and my hormones were in high gear once again. My teddy was on the floor in no time. We never made it off the sofa.
Brandt was carrying in a few black bags into the closet as I stepped out of the shower. They looked like gun cases. I trailed him, still in my towel. “What is that?”
“This is my magic, Dani. You have yours.” He placed the two black holsters on the top shelf.
“You know how I feel about weapons.” I stood there with my hands on my hips.
“Yes, I do. And must I remind you that if my men didn’t use weapons at the Sherman compound, you and I would not be standing here tonight.” Those turquoise eyes echoed a passion—one very different from mine.
I swallowed hard before responding. “I appreciate your honesty. I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m just—well, leery of what we’re facing. I’m done with all of this.”
“I understand, but I don’t think we’re out of the woods just yet. And by the way, I need these guns to do my job. I have a very high profile man to guard, as well as a beautiful woman to protect.”
Once again, he had me. I always felt safe with him and believed what he said. I liked the fact that he felt he needed to protect me, but I also knew in the back of my mind I was a big girl now and was capable of protecting myself—or at least I thought so. Who else was capable of saving souls at the risk of losing their own?

​CHAPTER 2
Remaining alone in the apartment, after Luciano and Giulia left, Maurizio walked toward the couch, waiting for the forensic team to reach the apartment from the garage to continue their search.
He started to analyze some details of the crime, beginning with the discussion he had with the two closest people to the victim. The ex-wife, although she was the one to have a good motive, has a bulletproof alibi, the son didn’t have any apparent reason to kill his father, he ruminated. He remained to live with him after the divorce; if there was resentment or desire to revenge for the offense to his mother, he would have also decided to stay with her. Yet, we need to confirm his alibi being close to the crime scene.
He shuffled on his feet, as he finished writing in his notebook his first impressions. The door opening forced him to return from his thoughts, and Forensic Inspector Leonardo Romizi, leading the forensic team that reached the place, entered the apartment, glancing around. “You haven’t touched anything, have you?” he asked, noticing Maurizio’s hands not wearing the mandatory latex gloves.
“I was here writing in my notebook; I think I’ve done my work long enough to remember that detail.”
Forensic Investigator Romizi shrugged, “Just checking.”
“What are your first impressions? Is there anything interesting about the way Mr. Calvani was murdered?” Maurizio strolled toward Leonardo, placing the notebook in his pocket.
“Yes, and everything seems to point at a case that won’t be easy to solve. He was killed with a single shot to the head from a very close range. We found only one shell, meaning that the gun wasn’t a revolver,” he said, raising the clear-sealed bag which contained it. “We will have to perform the ballistic models to see from which position he was shot, whether the assassin was waiting for him in the car or outside of it. There are so many points on the dynamic that need to be clarified, and hopefully, the surveillance camera installed will for once be helpful to get more information about the killer.”
The rest of the team started to collect samples and items from the apartment, particularly from the studio, where Claudio was running part of his business life.
Suddenly an elderly woman in her sixties arrived, peeking from the door, hesitatingly looking around. “Ma’am!” Maurizio exclaimed, pacing toward her to avoid having an intruder. “This place is restricted now. You can’t come inside.”
“I’m sorry, but I live here on this same floor. You can’t pretend people won’t get interested in what’s going on here,” she protested, exiting the apartment. “What happened? Did you find the man dealing with drugs?”
Narrowing his eyes, trying to understand whether there was something to extract from her question, he walked her to a corner of the stairs. “Mr. Calvani was found dead this morning. Have you heard anything that can help us?”
The woman gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth. She could have guessed everything except something serious like a murder. “Detective, do you think there’s a murderer who can threaten all of us?”
“No, I’m certain this was connected directly to Mr. Calvani. You can be sure nobody is after any of the other residents in this building. But if you heard any noise, something strange, please don’t keep it for yourself, every piece of information can be vital, even the smallest,” he insisted, knowing she could have been the right person who keeps track of every move the people living on the same floor make, if not in the whole block.
“I am a person who minds her own business. I don’t put my nose in issues that don’t concern me,” she said proudly, inflating her chest. “Nevertheless, this morning, I heard Mr. Calvani returning later than usual. When he comes back in the night, the slightest noise echoes like a peal of thunder, and I got awakened by the slamming of the door.”
“Hmm... how did you know it was Mr. Calvani and not his son or someone else?” He knew the answer, but he always loved to tease a bit with those I-mind-my-own-business people who always know everything about everybody. In many cases, they were intrusive presences, but when a crime is committed, they could be a blessing for the Police. They are sometimes better than a surveillance camera because they hold information nobody else knows.
“Look,” she said, pointing at the door on the other side. “Here is Bruna’s apartment. She’s a friend of mine and lives alone. She’s not used to going out for clubs,” Her finger moved to another door. “There, lives the Magliani’s family. They go to work early, and they have two toddlers, so if they were going somewhere at that time of the night, they would have been together for some emergency.”
Maurizio’s face lightened, amused, “Yes, but it could have been Luciano, the son of Mr. Calvani...”
“No-no-no. No, sir!” She shook her head, closing her eyes. “The boy is going to university and goes to sleep early. He was listening to music and then switched on the TV, so he wasn’t the one who returned at the wee hours in the morning.” She got closer to Maurizio as to avoid being heard by indiscreet ears. “He came home at three o’clock, but after a few minutes, he got out once again, after receiving a phone call. I thought he was going to the apartment of the new girlfriend because he didn’t come back, but now that you tell me he’d been murdered...” She signed herself, pursing her lips. “Shall God have mercy on his soul.”
Maurizio remained silent for a moment, and things started to make sense.
If he received a call, it might be possible it was the assassin. Immersed in his thoughts, he drifted back in the apartment, leaving the woman waiting on the corridor. He came in, took off his jacket as the telephone rang... He walked once again outside the door.
Whoever called him asked him out with a whatever excuse, yet this implied his intention was to be back within a few minutes, without going anywhere specific; otherwise, he would have brought the jacket with him. I need the telephone and the call log of the last few months, but particularly last night.
He glanced at the woman who remained to observe the coming and goings of the detective from the apartment.
“Mrs....” Maurizio hesitated.
“Moretti, Berenice Moretti,” she replied, almost standing at attention.
“Mrs. Moretti, I wish to have you available for any questions I might have about what you remember of the previous night,” he commenced, hoping not to be too intrusive into the life of a bystander.
“If you fear I might miss any detail, I wish to inform you that I have a perfectly functioning memory, and I won’t forget anything, but if you prefer to question me right away, I’m more than available when it comes to serving justice.”
“I need to take care of some other details, but I might come back this afternoon if you don’t mind,” he proposed.
“Well, I’m a bit busy today, but if you come after four in the afternoon, you will certainly find me here. I will brew coffee,” she winked.
“How can I refuse to have a cup of coffee?” He chuckled sarcastically.
He returned to the apartment and looked around, searching for Forensic Investigator Romizi, “Leonardo!” he called.
“Found anything interesting?” Leonardo arrived from the bedroom.
“Maybe, one of the neighbors has heard Mr. Calvani returning this morning. According to her testimony, he had a call that forced him to return to the car. I’m going now to the precinct trying to make sense out of those preliminary information bits and brainstorm,” he replied, starting to create a list of things to do in his mind before returning there to question Mrs. Moretti. “This afternoon, I’ll come here again to ask some questions, but particularly I want to know something from the person who holds all the information about the entire neighborhood.”
“Perfect, we’re almost finished here. We might return tomorrow after having analyzed the data we’ve obtained. Do you have the keys to this apartment?” he asked.
A grimace contorted his face. “I’ll have to ask the son.”
Leonardo grinned from ear to ear, “Or maybe we can use these ones,” he said, swinging the keys in the air. “These were in Mr. Calvani’s pocket.”
There had always been a mocking relationship between Maurizio and Leonardo, that started since the day they met. Their friendship was founded on a solid basis, but they always felt the need to remind each other of their flaws; like in a marriage, that was the way to keep the relationship alive and interesting.
“Well, good to know you won’t be left outside. I’m going to my office anyway, and I’ll be waiting for your report this evening.”
He turned on his heels and left the apartment without waiting for a reply. As he was outside, he scanned the road. Parioli was one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Rome, and he believed its residents would be shocked by a murder.
Of course, this could have happened anywhere, but in this case the victim is a person with high visibility in the community. Moreover, the brutality of the crime is rather to be expected in poorer zones of the capital, where people can’t afford the costs of private security.
The victim wasn’t a saint and depending on who you ask, you might get different answers. According to Ms. Martini, and supposedly those around her, Claudio Calvani was a perfect jerk, who cheated on his wife. Others might have described him as a sympathetic, funny, and easy-going person – nevertheless, not a criminal or a violent man. He lit a cigarette, still glancing around, searching for some other clues to be investigated so to reconstruct the last day of Mr. Calvani’s life, as well as the happenings in the last three to four years.
Something told him the divorce might have some connection with the murder. The first hypothesis could be jealousy, but his wife wasn’t in the city at the time he got killed, and she would have been the most accredited person to have a jealous reason to kill. Another can be the girlfriend, perhaps she thought he was still in love with Ms. Martini, but in this case, I suppose she would have killed Mrs. Martini. Why kill him? Maybe she found out he was also seeing other women, and the only way to have him for herself was to kill him?
He threw the cigarette away and walked to the car; he needed a plan to follow, and from the details he would have gotten time by time, he hoped to reach the solution of the mystery.
As he arrived at the office, he shut the door behind him and hoped nobody would disturb him. That was a mere hope because he already knew that having the door closed was a clear invitation for the entire precinct to come in and ask him questions.
He sat down at his desk, and for a couple of minutes, his eyes stared at the door, holding his breath, waiting for the first officer knocking or rushing in, with the most impossible issue.
Nothing happened, and with a surprised grin, he switched on his computer, as the most surreal feeling of something not going the way it should, grabbed his mind. Despite this detail, he started to write a plan. That was the way he worked. Without a starting list, he was completely stuck into the vortex of the thousand questions swirling in his mind. A list of priorities was a way to put his thoughts into a precise order.
A couple of hours went by and raising his glance to the clock on the other side of the room, he had the confirmation that the world had finally stopped, and a catastrophic event was on its way.
“Two hours...” he muttered, surprised. “The door has been closed for two hours, and nobody knocked! Either everybody is dead, or they’ve learned the meaning of it.”
He stood up and keeping the most religious silence, he tried to focus on the noises from the corridor and the other offices. Indeed, it sounded like work was going on regularly, but nobody had anything to ask.
“Then, there’s nothing else to do but to acknowledge that my colleagues understood, after 9 years that when my door is closed, they need to keep themselves out of my sight.”
An amused smile relaxed his face, smoothing the creases on his forehead, and returned to sit at his desk. Glancing at the list he wrote and the comments at the side of each point, he considered himself satisfied, and after having the sheet printed, he went to pay a visit to his old friend Leonardo. The first point on his list was to obtain the data to be extracted from Claudio’s mobile phone. He knew before he would have been granted access to it, a full scan of the fingerprints, organic material, and any residue that could have given an idea of the places the phone has visited, was required.
Coming outside the room felt like being immersed once again in the world, after endless confinement in solitude. With a grin, he peered around with the same expression of a man who returned to a place he hadn’t visited since his childhood.
“I was expecting you to arrive earlier,” Leonardo observed, seeing Maurizio appearing from the laboratory door.
“Something happened since I returned this morning. I could finally work without being disturbed. I’m not used to this, and a couple of hours were spent going through the preliminary data,” Maurizio explained, still failing to believe that miracle that happened. “This means I have my list, and I’m going through the points on it. So, you found the telephone in Mr. Calvani’s pocket? When will I have the chance to go through it?”
“You won’t need that,” Leonardo grabbed a folder from the desk. “Here’s the call log and the preliminary results of the general analysis performed on its surface. For a more detailed one, or to have my permission to hold the mobile phone with your grubby hands, you’ll need a couple of days.”
Maurizio grimaced at him, and grabbed the folder, snapping it from Leonardo’s hands. “I guess this can be enough for the moment. Do we have any other details?”
“Not yet, the coroner is working to establish the time of death, trying to extract as much information as possible on the body of the victim. We’re working on the possible weapon, analyzing the shell we’ve found, and on every trace, we can find on the car. I will send you the preliminary report this afternoon before leaving. I can’t go any faster. These things require time and patience if you want to have something that is even closely reliable.”
Maurizio lowered his gaze eyeing the folder he got. For every murder case he predicted the onslaught of a lot of headaches and sleepless nights. Story of my life…
Glancing back at Leonardo, he sighed. “There’s still much to do, so better to get started at least from something. I’m going to check those call-logs and try to find who the girlfriend is and have her interrogated.”
The girlfriend was probably the last person to see him alive, and her testimony could give information about the last hours of his life. The mysterious call was also of crucial importance because that was coming from the killer.
Maurizio sat down at his desk, hoping to still enjoy the blessings of being left alone for the rest of the day.
“So, let’s see what number called him last,” he muttered, opening the folder. He was surprised to see that whoever compiled the log, also cared to make a search of the most important numbers, and the last one was completely inconclusive as it belonged to a Russian prepaid sim card. He took note of that number and continued checking the log.
“This is a number I might call, it belongs to a Madlen Fazekas,” he said, getting on his feet. “Here, there’s also her address, so rather than give her a call, I might want first to see whether she’s home at the moment. I bet she’s the girlfriend.”
Grabbing his jacket, he paced out of the precinct, determined to reach her home, and perhaps also gathering some information about her from her neighbors. The apartment was located in a prestigious location. Maurizio remained open-mouthed as he parked the car outside the building. I’ve chosen the wrong profession. He walked to the entrance and searched on the video intercom her name.
“Hello,” a seductive female voice answered.
For a moment, he found himself surprised by her deep and warm tone; one he wasn’t expecting to answer the interphone.
“Good afternoon, this is detective Scala. Am I speaking with Ms. Madlen Fazekas?” His voice was a bit shaky as he hesitated to ask, still caught off-guard by her tone. A short pause of silence fell between them as if she were expecting a call from the Police or had too many reasons to be afraid.
“Y… yes, that’s me...” she finally answered in a lower tone of voice.
“Ms. Fazekas, would you please open the door? I need to have a chat with you about Mr. Claudio Calvani.”
A familiar buzz and the clicking of the lock of the main door informed him she agreed to meet him. “I live on the fifth floor,” she replied with an apprehensive shade in her voice. He walked inside the hall of the building and reached the elevator. He wasn’t sure whether it was normal for a stripper to be able to afford to live in such a building; he had no certain idea of the price to buy or rent one apartment there, but he knew for sure it was out of his reach.

Welcome to Victoria in Beautiful British Columbia, the most haunted city in North America, and to Detective Carol Ainsworth's first day undercover at the very grand old lady, The Fairmont Empress Hotel. Ready to deal with the two Italian families flying in for a wedding to unite them, she did not bargain for the ghosts, the FBI agent or the ancient curses that come along too. Add to that the mysterious psychic lady claiming you've invited her, young boys disappearing, and weird things happening to the unfortunates looking for their next fix trapped alongside spirits in the sewers, Carol found her first undercover assignment way more challenging than she could have imagined. 
The one saving grace was the great Empress High Tea that Agnes introduced her to and the fabulous scones that are to die for. Literally.

Prologue
Somewhere in the darkness the coarse flax fibers of the Hangman’s noose sing,
Its hollow voice swinging to the hangman’s beckoning.
Waiting for the answers buried into the gurgle of time and the finality of voices ending.
From the stillness comes a subtle calling. Echoing reminders of what remains, Disturbed and unsettled.
~Frank Talaber~
 
Chapter One
Front deskman Samuel Desmond’s eyes opened in horror as the wet, naked man thumped towards him bearing only a bath towel, a watch and the look of a man stepping into a warzone. The splodge of soapy footsteps echoed behind him as he thumped down the ornate front staircase of Victoria’s Fairmont Empress Hotel.
 “Sir, do you realize you are naked in our lobby, dripping soap and water all over our new and very expensive Isfahan rugs?”
The man thumped his hand on the counter. Water splattered. “I’m wet, pissed, cold and locked out of my room. Jake Holden, Blanshard suite.”
Samuel looked down, bowing to the sheer anger seething in Jake’s eyes, and clacked away on his booking computer. He hesitated a moment, pressed the button for the day manager and, summoning up his courage, turned back to Jake while water continued dripping onto the counter.
“It would appear you are not a registered guest. I would need ID to let you back into any suite.”
Jake stepped back and opened his towel. “Does it look like I’ve got any ID on me?” 
Samuel’s eyes widened in shock. “But I’m not allowed to let anyone in without ID.”
Jake re-wrapped the towel, leaned over and grabbed the clerk by the scruff of his neck, effortlessly pulling him over the counter, until all Samuel could see was the man’s watch. Mickey Mouse’s left hand stood at ten, his right at two.
“The only ID I got are these fingerprints and if you don’t let me back in my room your face is about to become an ink blotter. Kapish?” 
Her private cellphone rang as Carol Ainsworth, ostensibly Day Manager, actually undercover cop on assignment, was about to bolt from her office in response to Samuel’s panic button. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find but a naked six-foot giant of a man yelling into Samuel’s face and half dragging him across the counter wasn’t on her list of possibilities, not in a world-class hotel. 
Forgot to turn off my phone. Carol glanced at the text from her sister and the first word was
Urgent. She paused, her sister wasn’t a person to send idle chat. 
“Urgent! Nathan has vanished.”
As she quickly texted back Samuel struggled to reach the buzzer.  
“Will call ASAP.”
Carol turned off her phone and quickly marched over to the front desk. Her and her sister, Barbara, didn’t talk much but Barb was never one to overreact. Whatever happened to her nephew must be serious.
So much for a quiet first day on the job. Okay, calm down. One thing at a time. 
“Yes, sir, how may I help you?” She dropped her hand to gain comfort in the holster she didn’t have on this assignment. Damn it! Shouldn’t have listened to the morons telling me not to carry! Her cop instinct took over, mentally noting every detail of any possible importance. White Caucasian, six two, light tan, light brown hair, Mickey Mouse watch on left wrist, ripped to the max. Probable weight lifter strung out on steroids. Jeez, I might as well be back on the skid rows of Vancouver! What the hell would a real hotel manager be doing right now?
She tried to think of something, anything, she’d learned in the week of intense hotel management training they’d put her through in preparation for this assignment that might be of any possible use to her in this situation. As a street cop she’d just chop him across the back of the knees and slap the cuffs on him as he fell. Somehow that didn’t seem like the way to treat a guest of this grand establishment. Plan B’s definitely lock him up and then ask questions, though.
“I asked for the hotel manager,” he growled.
Carol glanced around the newly refurbished lobby, with its gold balustrades and pastel shaded panels. Fortunately, no other guests were milling around this time of the afternoon so hopefully this wouldn’t turn into a full-blown media fiasco. That was the last thing she needed, considering the guests who’d be arriving in the next little while. 
“What seems to be the problem here?” She folded her arms in front of her. 
“I said I asked for the—”
“And I, sir, am the hotel manager, and before I discuss anything with you, you will let go of my desk clerk.” She caught the nearly imperceptible rise of his eyebrows. “And gently. The Fairmont Victoria Empress Hotel does not take kindly to hotel guests strolling naked in public areas, nor do we care to have them accosting our front desk staff.” His eyebrow raised higher as he glared at her.
Carol had certainly handled bigger men. She stood her ground and glared back. If she hadn’t been on assignment she’d have told him to drop the desk clerk before she shoved his eyebrows so far up his ass it’d take a laser scope to get them out, but since she was, she didn’t. 
The glare-down continued as Samuel’s face turned redder. Finally, Jake broke eye-contact and glanced down at her name tag. Carol had established control. She allowed herself to breathe.
Time to press her advantage home. 
“I said Let. Him. Go. And I’m not telling you a third time.”
Jake lowered Samuel to the ground. “Sorry, didn’t expect a skirt. I mean a female manager.” And he certainly hadn’t expected a gorgeous brunette. She even looked good in her standard designed-for-all-shapes-and-sizes corporate uniform. She wasn’t intimidated in the least, not by his size or his state of undress. In fact, she was absolutely in control of the situation. Something very sexy in that. He liked his women assertive. Her eyes, though. Something in her eyes grabbed him right in the gut. Too much knowledge of the world and how bad it could be, that was it. He’d learned long ago to read people’s faces in his career, it’d saved his life many times when undercover. 
Something about this woman he knew almost nothing about stirred his blood and wearing just a bath towel probably wasn’t such a good idea. Especially in light of what he did know about her. She was undoubtedly Canadian undercover detective on duty Carol Ainsworth. Our file reports don’t do her justice.
“Jake Holden, and you have my apology. I’ve been overstressed at work recently and decided to take a relaxing trip here.” He extended his hand. It was partly the truth, he’d taken this assignment to get away from LA, a place where you always had to watch your back and no man was a friend. Especially the crazy ones strung out on drugs.
She made sure Samuel was breathing well on his own before she shook hands. The touch sent an erotic jolt through him. He glanced down and smiled. No ring. Possibilities.  
“Apology accepted. Carol Moore, Day Manager of the Fairmount Empress Hotel.” Carol studied Jake. She liked what she saw. And then again, she didn’t. Those dark eyes of his — they reminded her of places she hadn’t been and feelings she hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since Alan, her fiancé, with the same dark, dangerous eyes she fell in love with was shot dead on duty six years ago.  It’s been too long. Too damn long. So get a grip, get over it, and get on with it.
I’ve got possibly even more urgent matters to deal with my nephew.
“So why don’t you tell me the problems leading up to this little au naturel trip into my lobby, Jake Holden?”
“Two things. One, I was taking a — quote — luxurious bubble bath — unquote — as stated in your hotel’s brochure and after using over half the bottle found it didn’t even make enough suds to coat the tub. Two, seeing as how my bubble bath was a no-go, I stupidly stepped out to grab some ice for my whiskey, leaving my key inside and locked myself out of my room. And since I didn’t think the hotel would appreciate me breaking the door down, I came downstairs so someone could let me back in. That’s when this employee of yours informed me while I’m standing here cold, wet and naked, he’s not going to let me back in my room without proper ID.” 
“I can verify that indeed he does not possess any identification.” Samuel straightened his tie and blushed. Of course, he took the precaution of backing as far away from the counter as possible. “Sir, the hotel’s policy is quite clear on allowing the use of an extra key. We must have ID. We have high profile clients attending and high security standards at this hotel. However, I was about to call the manager when you put my neck in a vice, rendering me unable.”
Carol caught Jake twitch one hand and decided to take over before Samuel got himself killed. “Okay, Samuel. I’ve got this.” Carol turned to Jake. “I’ll take you up and you can show me your ID then, is that acceptable?”
“Yes. And what about the bubble bath?”
“Well, I can assure you if the hotel’s brochure states we provide luxurious bubble baths, we’ll provide you with a luxurious bubble bath and I personally will make sure this matter is handled.” She passed him a business card, even though he had no place to put it. He glanced at the card and handed it back.
“Good. I’m starting to get just a tad cold, standing here in nothing but my birthday suit.
Things are beginning to shrivel up into my throat.”
Jake stepped backwards. A cool rush of air reminded him he was naked except for the undersized bath towel and his proximity to Carol was making continued coverage by that undersized bath towel precarious. The scar below his left ear twinged in response to the memory of what happened the last time he’d responded to a woman. Crazy bitch. And she was better left forgotten. 
Jake maintained as much dignity as possible as he walked toward the elevator. He had to admit the situation was totally ludicrous. He hoped to hell there weren’t any witnesses and no videos of the past ten minutes captured on any unseen guest’s phone. He could read the local headlines now. Naked Man Roams Lobby of Five Star Hotel. So much for being discreet in this assignment.
One thing he knew. By the time he’d gotten what he’d come here for, he’d also know a lot more about Carol than her name. Maybe one hell of a long, cold shower is more in order than a hot soapy bath.
* * *
Sandy tied the rubber tube around her arm and flicked at her skin a couple of times. The stink of the sewers they were in, didn’t seem to effect either. “Oh man, everybody says this
White Lady skank is good shit.”
“Yeah, Wildflower said it was the best, like mixed with enough fentanyl to put you away. I saw angels, girlfriend. Lights, the light. You, like, brought me back from the light.”
“Cool. Yo-yoing is so freaking trippy.” Cindy sat on her haunches, unable to stand. Coming back from the dead had that effect on a girl. She held the free government Naloxone needle with both hands because she shook all over. Her skinny frame was pocked with jab wounds and scabs where she’d scratched herself over and over, something she did every time she came down.
Sandy found a vein undamaged enough to take the needle and plunged it into her own arm. “You know the deal. After I go limp, count to ten and bring me back. Don’t get any better high than flat-lining and coming back.” Her needle-scarred arm shook, and she slumped backwards.
Her eyes rolled into the heavens. The needle clinked to the concrete floor.
Cindy raised the needle. “One, two…”
Blue light flooded the chamber, coming up from the sewer tunnels leading in and out of the room. 
“Three, four… what the fuc—”
Blue flames tore up through her, the Naloxone vial exploded.
“Sandy’s gonna die without the …”
She screamed as flames tore through her, taking her over until she became the flames and the flames became her.
You and she shall join us instead. Another mass of blue flames descended on the drugged-up woman on the ground and lifted her body up, then slammed it to the ground. Cinders sparked upward before Cindy’s eyes exploded in embers and her body burned from the inside out. A haze of blue sparks skittered over the ground.
Both blue flame elementals stared at the two piles of ashes left behind and at the countless needles stuck into the Chambers wall, some leaking their contents onto the cold cement floor.
Neither was the one we seek.
He is coming.
Yes, he disturbs us, the undead and those seeking deliverance.
We are restless and the one we dread is coming with a vengeance.
They scratched at each other with long angry fingers. Flames and sparks exploded. They swept down the cold tunnels and left the chamber, needle tubes clinking in the dark.
He comes.
In the blue glow a pair of eyes stared waiting before he moved to get up watching the blue sparks slowly going out one after another. 
* * *
Carol followed Jake into the elevator, tapping the plastic key on her other hand as the elevator rose, catching the scents of the fragrant bubble bath and his natural sweat. Gotta admit, if a naked man had to roam around in the lobby, at least it was a good-looking one. That was the problem, he reminded her a lot of Alan, muscular and hard. You could bend chisels on those biceps. Crap, focus on work lady, I’ve got other serious matters to attend to.
Jake reached down to snug the towel tighter. “You know, it’s the hotel manager’s job to keep the guests happy. If you wanted to help make all this up to me, you could have dinner with me. You’re not married, are you? I don’t see a ring.”
“No. I was engaged but my fiancé passed away a few years ago.”
“Sorry to hear that. A few years ago? Dating anyone seriously now or are you open to dinner? I was joking about it being part of your job description and really, I’d like to say thank you for the way you handled things back there.” 
Man, so much for being sincerely remorseful. He doesn’t take long to dive in when the opportunity presents itself. “I’m afraid not.”  
“Meaning no you’re not going out with anyone or meaning no you won’t go out for dinner?” He glanced her over.
Christ, the way he’s looking I think he just peeled my clothes off with his eyes, son of a bitch. God, I hate men like him. Sometimes. “Why don’t we do this? You leave me a message on my cell phone. It’s on my card. I don’t discuss personal business while on duty.”
“The one I handed back to you since I didn’t have anywhere to put it?”
“I’ll give it back to you when we get to your room. I might consider going out for dinner later.” Carol wasn’t an idiot. Both of them liked what they saw in the other, but she had more important things to deal with first. She was working and her first group of Mafia were about to arrive. That took top priority. 
The doors opened, and they trundled down the carpeted corridor. Carol gave the key reader a quick swipe and pushed the door open.
“Here you go. And as promised, here’s my card again.”
“I’m free tomorrow at eight. Like seafood? Heard of a place that has great reviews just down the street, Nautical Nellies.” 
“I’ll think about it. But only if you wear more than a towel. I don’t think the fish would blush, but the women might get flustered.”
Jake walked over to his jacket and pulled out his wallet, handing her his ID. “Lady, I think the scallops would turn red seeing you naked. And I think I might just too.” He grinned as Carol took the proffered document, ignoring his blatant come-on as she glanced at his driver’s license.
American.
“Seeing me naked isn’t going to happen and I’d watch your tongue and manners in this establishment. Any other reports of rude, vulgar or disrespectful behaviour to guests or staff and
I will have you evicted.”
He scowled at her. “My apologies.” 
“Now, this appears to be in order. I apologize for the confusion.” She committed his driver’s license number to memory. For some reason alarm bells were going off in her head.
He escorted Carol to the doorway, admiring her rear view.
“And what makes you think you’re going to see me naked?” 
“A guy can always hope, can’t he?” 
“I think blood’s rushing to the wrong part of your body.” 
“I don’t suppose you’d care to stick around for a drink or three?” 
“Don’t push your luck, Mr. Holden, I haven’t even agreed to have dinner with you yet. In public. Let alone have drinks with you alone in your room. That goes beyond our employee guidelines, even for management.”
Oh, yes. She was definitely his type. Guts, fire and willpower. “My apologies for being rude and presumptuous, and thanks again for letting me into my room. Please apologize to your clerk for me. I’m known for my short-fuse back home.”
“I will, but I really think you should apologize to him yourself too, if your ego can take it. I’ll let you know about dinner.” Carol walked out before he could respond. The entire episode had certainly given her a new respect for hotel staff. Do they really have to deal with things like this? And her naked guest was American. A fluke, or was he there because of the expected guests? Dinner was definitely on the cards because she seriously needed to check this guy out, and not just for his physique, although it helped he was easy on the eyes. Something didn’t smell right. One background check coming up, but first things first, she rounded the corner at the far end of the hotel and rang her sister.
 “Carol, thank God you called. Nathan’s missing. I found his window open and he’s gone.” The voice of her sister trembled. Carol knew how much she loved her son and her two daughters.
They were her whole world. 
“Wow! Okay I’ll be there tonight.”
“Tonight?” Barb’s voice shook.
“I’m in Victoria. So I’ll head over when I can, but I really can’t leave my post right away.
Understand? I’ll explain more when I get there. Later in late afternoon.”
She could hear Barb begin to sob on the phone. “You’re here? In Victoria?”
“Yes, can’t say anything more, working undercover. I’ll be over as soon as I can. Where did you see him last?”
“I woke up in this morning and… he wasn’t there.” She stopped, allowing herself to think about what Carol had just asked. “The bedroom, I tucked him in. He’s gone, and his bedroom window was open.”
“Okay, I know this is hard, but you got to hold it together, for him, for yourself and for me. I’ll be over and you show me what you know. Now have you called the police?”
“Yes. They left a couple of hours ago.”
“Good. I’m really sorry I can’t leave right now but you’re in good hands.”
“Thanks Carol. I wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t in my life.”
“We’ll find him.”
“But what if he’s …”
“He ain’t. You gotta trust yourself and think positive. I will find him no matter what.”
“Yes, yes, think positive. See you tonight.” 
The phone went dead cutting off the sound of Barb bawling freely.
Not having children Carol couldn’t really feel the depths of Barb’s anguish. But she knew
Nathan, he was a good kid, raised by a loving, caring mother. And here I thought I’d have a couple weeks of a somewhat sedate undercover operation babysitting pretentious rich people and the mob in stuffy Victoria. Not the pinkies extended and pass the tea and crumpets day she expected.
* * *
A six-year-old boy stands on the corner of Shelbourne Street and Hillside Avenue and stares at the sky as his hands tingle. The blue begins to splinter into shades of purple and orange, even though it’s only midday. Houses vanish, concrete dissipates. His skateboard melts beneath him until his feet touched gravel road, not asphalt.
“Mommy?”
Only fields of waving grass answer his plea. 
Behind him an older woman emerges from the swirl of dust, stepping out of the past into the present. She stares at the boy and gestures for him to approach. She holds two chocolate bars in her hands. She seems nice enough as she offers him one. He reaches up to take it but hesitates.
“My mom said don’t talk to strangers.”
“Of course not. But I’m just a sweet old lady, what do you have to fear from me? I think you’d make a wonderful playmate for my son.”
He takes the chocolate bar and begins to unwrap it.
“Come with me, I’ll introduce you to him.”
The boy follows. His skateboard reforms in his hands. Concrete coalesces back into reality, replacing gravel with asphalt, and houses grow anew. The chocolate wrapper lies crumpled on the deserted sidewalk.
* * *
Carol closed her office door behind her and dialed Big Dan McKinney, her superior. A bulky six-foot two that didn’t take shit from anyone. Carol had the greatest respect for the man that some called tough as nails. Others, but never to his face, called him an outright asshole. One thing he was, was honest and up front. “What’s up, lady. Didn’t expect to be hearing from you already. Have the mob arrived yet?
“No sir. I’ve got a problem. Just got a text from my sister, who lives in Victoria. Her son, my only nephew, appears to have been abducted. I want —”
“That ain’t happening. We just put you on the case and slammed you through intense upper hotel management.” He hesitated. “Is your sister’s last name Pendray?”
“What? No? Why ask?”
“Have you read the morning papers yet like I told you to, so that you keep up to the latest in town?”
“No, I just dealt with a crazy naked man in the lobby and was about to call the IT guys when
I got a text from my sister. She asked for my help.”
“Look at the damn first page of the paper.”
Carol grabbed the daily paper that was on her desk and read the newspaper’s lead story.
Pendray Heir Missing! The young son of one of Victoria’s elite families is missing. The pioneer Pendray family discovered their six-year-old son Robert was not in his bedroom this morning. Police believe he was abducted from his second storey bedroom during the night and are asking for any information. 
“Shit. That’s not her, his name is Nathan.”
“Crap. Okay, I get that this is important to you, but I need you to stay on this case. I’ll make some calls and try to get someone to step in or sub as much as possible. I’ll contact Victoria, appraise them of the situation, get hold of their files and tell them we want you to join in that investigation as well. I’m double dutying you, so don’t let me down. Once the journos hear of this the shit is going to be spread all over the place. So, low profile, but the focus is on the mob, got it?”
“Yes, sir, and thank you.”
“You owe me a favor, I’ll get hell for this, but I get it, its family. Hope none of this is linked to the mob showing up, but I don’t believe in coincidences or Chinese lucky draws. If there’s a connection here. Find it.” He was about to hang up. “Oh, I’ve just been informed the Americans have an operative there in the hotel as well.”
“Are we supposed to be working together on this case then?”
“They haven’t said as much, but that’s the Americans. What I hear you’ll hear.” “I think I may have already met him.” She told him of Jake in the hallway. 
“So much for keeping a very low profile. Could be the guy, call IT and check him out. I’ll pull some strings. Damn Americans. Thought they were our friendly next-door neighbors.” 
“Not after that crack Trump made about us burning down the White House.”
“Well we did, way back in history, and kicked their butts twice in a war, otherwise we’d be singing the Star-Spangled Banner and drinking that watered-down piss water they call beer.
Keep me abreast of either case.” Dan hung up the phone.
Yup, never a man to mince his words. 
Carol called the Crime Lab’s best IT guy, Louie Degraff next. She pulled up her secure email as she waited for an answer. “Hey, Louie, can you run a check on a Jake Holden for me? I’m e-mailing his fingerprints right now.”
“No problem, that’s why I’m here. You use the business card trick?”
“Yeah, that thing comes in handy. Got a still of him off the lobby security camera as well, so you can run a facial recognition search and see who we see who we really come up with.”
“Ahh, you did that just for little old me? You spoil me. ’Kay, I’ll get back to you ASAP.”
“Don’t suppose yesterday’s a possibility?”
“Not unless somebody invented time travel and didn’t tell me. Patience is a virtue. Hit you back soon as I can.”
“Thanks. Text me on my private line, I’ve got other business to attend to.”
Carol leaned back in her chair. She couldn’t wait to hear back from Louie. Her gut told her Jake Holden was either mob or American law enforcement who might, or might not, be on or off duty. And if he was on duty, he’d be butting into her operation. But whoever he was and whatever his reason for being here, one thing she was sure of. With those looks he was definitely trouble of one kind or another.
She called her sister on her private line. “See you later today, I’ve joined the case will talk more when I get there.”
She checked incoming emails, but nothing on Barb’s file had arrived yet.