Infernal Cries: An Echo Team Urban Fantasy Novel Page 8

  Riley parked the car on the side of the street opposite the house and sat and watched the property for a few minutes, not wanting to rush into anything. The SUV that Cade had “borrowed” was parked in the driveway near the entrance to the house, the driver’s door standing open. The lights were on inside the house, but Riley didn’t see any movement through the windows and he had the definite sense that no one was home.

  He got out of his vehicle and quietly shut the door behind him. Reaching down with his right hand, he unseated his pistol from the holster he was wearing gunslinger-style around his right thigh and then reseated it again. He didn’t want the weapon getting stuck if he had to draw it suddenly. The situation had him on edge.

  Doing what he could to keep an eye on the house and the SUV at the same time, Riley walked up the long driveway and approached the Suburban. The interior light was off, but there was enough ambient light coming from the house to let him see that the keys were still in the ignition.

  Had Cade been in such a rush that he’d simply left them there? Or had he been planning on leaving in a hurry and hadn’t gotten the chance?

  His apprehension growing, he climbed the steps and crossed to the door. This close he could see that it was only held on with one hinge and had been simply propped in its frame.

  Riley’s heart skipped a beat at the sight.

  He reached down and drew his pistol. With it extended in front of him, he reached out with his other hand and gently pushed the door.

  It moved about an inch or so and then stopped. Through the gap in the door he could see something was pushed up behind it.

  The sofa?

  Planting his feet more firmly, Riley put his hand flat against the door and gave it a solid shove.

  This time it opened about a foot, giving him just enough room to slip inside.

  He paused and listened for movement, unconsciously mimicking Cade’s activity of less than an hour before. Like his former teammate, he heard nothing.

  The house felt empty, even more so now that he was inside, but he was too good a soldier to take something like that for granted. He moved through the first floor – living room, foyer, kitchen/family room – noting as he went that the lights were on. When he was satisfied that the first floor was as deserted as he’d suspected it to be, he made his way up the staircase to the second floor.

  The room at the end of the hall beckoned, the fire-blackened door and obvious interior disarray like a magnet for his attention, but he refused to be lured into making any hasty moves. He cleared the two bedrooms on either side of the hall and then the bathroom just beyond before moving to satisfy his curiosity with the final bedroom.

  The charred blast circle near the edge of the door showed where it had been hit with a bolt of arcane power, proof enough that someone other than Cade had been in the house and recently. Did Cade get some kind of warning that someone had breached his defenses? Was that why he’d rushed out of the warehouse?

  Cautiously, Riley stepped forward into the room, turning as he did to take in the entire interior.

  There was no one there.

  This room, like all the others, was empty.

  It was clear that a struggle of some kind had taken place within its confines, however. If the damaged door wasn’t enough evidence, the slashed bed sheets, crushed bookcase, and tattered paperbacks lying all over the place certainly fit the bill.

  Who, or what, had Cade been fighting?

  From the window in the back bedroom he had a good view of the rear yard and looking out, his gaze fell on the converted barn that served as Cade’s workroom and study. Riley had been inside quite a number of times, most recently when he’d helped save Cade’s life after he’d exhausted himself hunting through the Beyond for the soul of his dead wife.

  Correction. Not-dead. But not quite alive, either.

  The thought of Cade’s wife, Gabrielle, caused another memory to surface in Riley’s mind.

  Cade exhumed his wife’s coffin several months ago. Riley helped him do it. The Knight Commander was suspicious that his wife hadn't perished at the hands of the Adversary, but was actually trapped in some purgatory-like realm between the lands of the living and those of the dead. He was right, too; they found Gabrielle’s body lying inside on that bed of satin, perfectly preserved. There was even color in her cheeks, as if she was just about to get up and begin the day anew.

  The average person would have freaked out at the sight, but the supernatural was a regular part of Riley’s day-to-day existence and Gabrielle’s strange stasis was barely a blip on his oddity meter given what he dealt with as a member of the Echo Team. Riley helped Cade bring his wife home but forgot all about her in the events that followed, including his own near-death at the hands of the Adversary.

  So what happened to Gabrielle? Did the Adversary’s death free her in some fashion? Was she what Cade was fighting to protect?

  More questions, too few answers.

  And he wasn’t about to find any standing around here.

  There was a chance there was something to learn in the workroom out back, so he retraced his steps through the house and left via the back door in the kitchen, headed for the large structure behind the house.

  A pair of doors on rolling tracks provided entrance into the workshop and Riley found them unlocked. He slid one to the side and then flipped on the light-switch just inside.

  The barn’s original structure had been gutted and rebuilt, turning the lower floor into a well-furnished study. What had once been horse stables was now a large, open room with bookshelves covering every available inch of wall space and several work tables arranged in a semi-circle in the middle of the room facing the door. A wood-burning stove, now cold and dark, stood in the far corner, its black pipe running up through a hole in the floor to the second story, high above.

  The large circular mirror that once occupied the center of the room through which Cade had accessed the Beyond was gone and the enclosure that turned the hayloft above into an enclosed room had also been torn out, leaving the space open and bare.

  A quick check showed Riley that Cade’s go-bag, the one he kept stocked and ready for an emergency call out, was missing, as was the sword that was normally stored in its place of honor on the wall. The missing equipment made Riley realize that Cade’s personal vehicle wasn't in the driveway outside.

  Cade was gone and he’d taken his gear with him.

  Sighing in frustration, Riley holstered his weapon, reached into his pocket, and took out his cell phone. He dialed a number, then waited for the voicemail prompt to finish.

  When it had, he said, “We need to talk. Call me and let me know what’s going on, Cade. People are starting to get worried.”

  He didn’t bother leaving his name, knowing Cade would recognize his voice.

  He just hoped his friend would call him back.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As Riley was going methodically through his house, Cade stepped up to the TSA agent at the podium, handed over his passport and boarding pass, and calmly waited while his paperwork was being examined.

  In exchange for the safe return of his wife’s body, the Necromancer demanded that Cade carry out three specific tasks. Cade had little choice but to agree; he didn’t have the slightest clue where the Necromancer might be hiding and couldn’t afford to endanger Gabrielle while he worked to track the Necromancer down. Better to go along with Logan’s request and wait for the opportunity to turn the tables on the other man when and if the chance presented itself. Given that Cade’s cooperation depended on Gabrielle’s continued well-being, he was fairly confident that she would be all right for the time being, even in Logan’s hands.

  The TSA agent glanced at Cade’s face, then at the picture on the passport.

  “Your destination?”

  The information was right there on his boarding pass, but Cade smiled just the same and replied, “Paris.” He knew better than to add any additional details; the less said the better, for it red
uced the chance you’d screw up later if someone tried to catch you with your own contradictory statements.

  The TSA agent gave his damaged face another quick look and then made a quick checkmark on Cade’s boarding pass before handing his documentation back to him.

  Cade breathed an almost imperceptible sigh of relief. The passport was technically genuine – it had been officially issued by the Vatican with his picture on it – but it was under a false name and had been one of the cover identities the Order had provided for his use while head of the Echo Team.

  Of course there was the chance that the Order would have flagged all of his passports, or at least those they knew about, but he didn’t think he’d given them reason enough to do so yet. The time would come, he was certain of that, but he thought he had a few more days of free movement before they started seriously trying to track him down.

  Hopefully he would be back before then.

  He stepped over to the x-ray machine and handed both his duffle bag and his sword case to the TSA agent standing there. The other passengers gave him a few odd stares, but he ignored them; his bags were marked with Vatican diplomatic seals and as such couldn’t be searched or subjected to x-ray examination. Which was a good thing, he mused as he stepped into the body scanner, since the sword and firearms the bags contained would no doubt cause an incident.

  The TSA agent running the scanner must have been in a bad mood, for he kept Cade in the machine twice as long as normal and then subjected him to a pat down and wand search on top of it all. Cade dutifully did as he was told and was eventually sent through. He collected his bags on the other end and then headed for his gate.

  Cade had booked a first class seat on a direct flight out of New York to Paris and the plane was boarding when he arrived to the gate. He stored his bags in the overhead compartment and then settled into his seat, his thoughts on what was to come once he reached France.

  “Can I get you a drink, Father?”

  Cade didn’t realize the flight attendant was speaking to him until she put a hand on his wrist and repeated herself. “Father Evans? Would you like a drink?”

  Cade blinked, then smiled. “Yes, please. Orange juice, if you have it.”

  “Of course.”

  As the flight attendant moved to the galley to comply with his request, Cade mentally kicked himself for momentarily forgetting who he was supposed to be; his anxiety over Gabrielle worse than he realized. His passport had him listed as Father Michael Evans, a priest travelling to Paris on Vatican business, and he was dressed for the role in black pants and shoes, black shirt, and the thin piece of white plastic that was often jokingly referred to as a dog collar.

  Evans, he told himself. Your name is Evans.

  He needed to clear his head and get with the program or he could screw it all up before he even got started. And Gabrielle would suffer for it.

  When the flight attendant came back he chatted with her for a few minutes, knowing the conversation would help him adopt his new persona so that he could pull it out when he needed it, like slipping into an old but comfortable suit. He didn’t expect anyone to question him or his background when he arrived at his destination, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

  After the attendant moved on to deal with other passengers, Cade draped a blanket over himself and settled in for some rest. Flying time was just under seven hours. With a six-hour time change between the two cities he should arrive in Paris just before lunch. That should give him plenty of time to rent a car and make the drive to his destination in the Pyrenees Mountains before dark. He didn’t want to be on those narrow mountain roads in the middle of the night if he could help it.

  With that in mind, he drifted off to sleep.

  For the first time in months, the dream returned.

  He stands alone in the center of the street, in a town that has no name. He knows from previous experience that, just a few blocks beyond this one the town suddenly ends, becoming a great plain of nothingness, the landscape an artist’s canvas that stands untouched, unwanted.

  This town has once again become the center of his universe.

  Around him, the blackened buildings sag in crumbling heaps, testimony to the battles he has fought here on previous visits. The sky above the ruins is growing dark, though night is still hours away. Dark grey storm clouds laced with green-and-silver lightning are rolling in from the horizon, like horses running hard to reach the town’s limits before the fated confrontation begins. The air is heavy with impending rain and the electrical tension of the coming storm. In the slowly fading afternoon light the shadows around him stretch and move, reminding him that they have teeth of their own.

  The sound of booted feet striking the pavement catches his attention, and he turns to face the length of the street before him, expecting to see his foe emerge from the crumbled ruins at its end, just as he has emerged each and every time they have encountered one another in this place; as if his enemy is always there, silently waiting with infinite patience for him to make his appearance.

  For the first time, however, the street remains empty.

  His enemy is not here.

  Of course not, he thinks in a moment of lucid clarity. The Adversary is no more. You destroyed him.

  But the sense of expectation remains.

  A chill wind suddenly rises, stirring the hairs on the back of his neck, and in that wind, he is certain he can hear the soft, sibilant whispers of a thousand lost souls, each and every one crying out to him to provide solace and sanctuary.

  The voices act as a physical force, pushing him forward from behind, and before he knows it he is striding urgently down the street. As he does so the scene shifts, wavers, the way a mirage will shimmy in the heat rising from the pavement.

  When the world solidifies once more, he finds himself standing in a cemetery. He recognizes it; he has been here before, as well. Large, carefully sculpted angels adorn the nearest of the gravestones, with only the word Godspeed carved beneath them. Older, more decayed stones decorate the other burial plots nearby, but he is not close enough to see the details etched there.

  A feeling of urgency grips him in its bony fist.

  It forces him into motion, and he sets off across the lawn, winding in and out between the stones, letting that feeling guide his passage until he sees a small plot set off from the rest by a white picket fence. In the strange twilight, the rails of the fence gleam with the wetness of freshly exposed bone. The coppery tang of blood floats on the night air.

  As he moves closer he can see that the earth on the other side of the fence has been freshly disturbed. A grave lies open, a gaping hole in the peaceful sea of green grass that surrounds it, filled with darkness deeper than that of the night sky above. This intrusion of the landscape and of the sanctity of the place draws him closer still, pulling him in toward it the way a fly is coaxed into a spider’s web.

  He stops just short of the small fence and gazes down into the darkness of the grave.

  His wife’s body lies resting at the bottom of the grave, dressed in the same clothes she’d been wearing earlier that morning, the clothes Cade himself had dressed her in.

  This is new and his heart beats all the more swiftly as the familiar fades into the unknown.

  Gabrielle looks so peaceful lying there, a faint smile upon her lips.

  That’s when her eyes pop open and that faint smile stretches into a terrible grin.

  “Hello, Cade,” she says in the voice of the Adversary.

  Cade jerked awake with a start, his heart trip hammering in his chest and his face covered with a thin sheen of sweat.

  For a moment he didn't know where he was, then the flight attendant’s voice came over the intercom, announcing their approach into Charles de Gaulle airport and the events of the last several hours came flooding back.

  He was on a plane, headed for France to steal the hand of a dead man on behalf of one of his most despised enemies.

  Just another day in the life.
/>   CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Upon arrival at de Gaulle, Cade exited the aircraft, quickly cleared customs, and made his way to the rental car counters where he rented a mid-sized sedan for his drive south to the mountains. He stopped at a café on the way out of the city and grabbed a few sandwiches to eat on the way, not having had anything to eat since early the night before. The sky was clear, the weather was nice, and for a time he lost himself in the simple act of driving.

  The abbey was located high in the Pyrenees Mountains. It had started out as a convent in the 1500s, was abandoned about a hundred years after that, and then stood vacant until a sect of Benedictine monks purchased it just before the start of the French Revolution. It sat on the edge of a high promontory, like a castle guarding the approach to a mountain pass, and indeed even looked a bit like a castle with its high crenellated towers and balconies jutting from walls of fashioned stone. The abbey was closed to the public, a tour available by private invitation only, but Cade had no doubt that they would let him in. Even the Benedictines answered to Rome.

  The winding, twisting mountain road eventually brought him to the entrance of the monastery complex. Two large iron gates blocked the road and Cade was forced to get out of the car and ring a small bell hanging to one side.

  A brown-robed monk emerged from a gatehouse on the other side of the fence at the sound.

  “May I help you?” he asked politely.

  “I’m here to see Abbot Martin.”

  The monk frowned. “He usually doesn’t receive visitors and I do not remember there being anything on the schedule for today.”

  Cade was prepared for that very statement.

  “I am Monsignor Evans, of the Office of the Sacred Congregation for Propagation of the Faith in Rome. I do not believe I need an appointment to carry out my duties.”

  The monk paled at his words; it seemed the Inquisition still put the fear of God into people, as it was designed to do.

  “My apologies, Monsignor,” the monk said, as he fumbled with the keys to unlock the gate. “I will inform him that you are here.”