Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (227 page)

Zoltan came out from the doors behind her, his body stiff and arm in a sling.

“Many Hungarian Jews have fled the country, but these people won’t leave,” he said. “This is their home and mine, despite its dangers. And I will stay to help them, because it’s not over, Morgan. It will never be over while the mob is only one degree away from violence.”

Morgan knew that his words were true, for she had seen it for herself in the eyes of the people at Memento Park as well as all over the world on her travels.

“You know where I stand, Zoltan,” she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “Your people are my people and that is my truth, regardless of what others might say. I wasn’t born Jewish, but a part of my heart lies in Jerusalem, and now a part lies here.”

Zoltan looked at her, and she saw past the scars to the man within. One day he would die in defense of justice. She knew that, and he probably did too, but his loyalty was to the downtrodden, to those who could not defend themselves. Morgan felt a spark of recognition, as she knew that there was a part of her that felt the same, but the ARKANE team was fast becoming her family, and she needed to get back to join them.

She stood up, brushing the dust from her jeans. Zoltan held out his hand to shake hers.

“You always have a place here, Morgan. And if you ever need me, I’ll come.”

She ignored his hand, leaning forward to kiss his scarred cheek. His fingertips briefly touched her back, and as she hugged him, she felt his stiffness relent and he embraced her in return. At last, she pulled away, smiling.

“I’ll see you again, Zoltan. I’m sure of it.”

Morgan walked out of the Dohany Street synagogue and into the waiting taxi, heading back to the airport and ARKANE.

#

As the car sped along, Morgan sat quietly for a moment, staring out at the same streets that she had passed so early this morning. Could it really have only been one day? It seemed that so much had happened.

She sighed, finally turning her ARKANE cellphone back on, ready to return to her real world. There were several text messages from Martin Klein, the genius head archivist. The first text contained her updated flight information, but the second made her heart race.
There’s a strange package waiting for you. The writing is faded and the sender is noted as Leon Sierra.
But how could that be, she wondered. It was her father’s name and he had died several years ago, blown apart by a suicide bomber in Beersheba. Morgan was suddenly keen to get back and find out what was in the impossible package.

THE END

#

Thanks for joining Morgan in Budapest!
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Available in print, ebook and audio formats.

Pentecost
Prophecy
Exodus

If you like darker crime novels, join Detective Jamie Brooke in:
Desecration
: Death isn’t always the end

For short stories, with an edge of horror, try:
A Thousand Fiendish Angels

Author’s Note

This novella is a work of fiction, but the inspiration for it comes from actual events and real places.

I visited Budapest in November 2012 and was deeply affected by the horrific layers of history that the city has endured. The Dohany Street Synagogue and the House of Terror were devastating, and once I saw the Holy Hand of St Istvan in the Basilica, I knew what the crux of my story would be. I wanted to give a taste of the grand city in the book but also evoke visions of a day that seemed all too possible given the political situation. Here are some of my sources if you want to investigate further.

Rise of right-wing nationalism in Hungary

We like to think that the horrors of World War II couldn’t happen again, that we are too educated to succumb to ultra-nationalism or the persecution of minorities, that those things happen in other countries, to other people. But that belief is fiction.

In December 2012, Hungary’s far-right Jobbik party called for lists of prominent Jews to be drawn up to “protect national security”
http://bit.ly/14zRbCL
. Anti-Semitic violence is growing in Eastern Europe
http://reut.rs/SARA1x
and in the wake of the European financial crisis and austerity measures, far right-wing parties are gaining popularity. European genocide happened as recently as the Bosnian War in the 1990s, so we can’t believe that such violence remains in the past or just in ‘other’ areas of the world. With this novella, I wanted to highlight the disturbing political situation, as well as the dark history of Budapest, whose people who have suffered so much.

For more, see the following resources:

‘My week with Hungary’s Far Right’ by Brian Whelan:
http://bit.ly/12TivWS

You can watch part of the video documentary here:
http://bit.ly/13PmB1u

Official terror for Hungary’s Roma:
http://bit.ly/AAHJLT

Jewish community in Budapest

The Gold Train and settlement are true
http://bit.ly/177Shl8
but of course the involvement of ARKANE and the return of the painting is fictional.

You can read more about the Dohany Street Synagogue, the mass grave and the ghetto here:

http://www.greatsynagogue.hu/

The Shoes of the Danube memorial:
http://bit.ly/8hTopj

Other Budapest City Landmarks

All of the landmarks described in the city of Budapest do exist, although the events described in the book are of course fiction.

You can see some of my photos and other pictures here:
http://pinterest.com/jfpenn/budapest/

The House of Terror is an incredible museum now, with the cells as described and rooms full of secret police memorabilia, as well as stories of those lost.
http://www.terrorhaza.hu

There really is a labyrinth under Castle Hill that was closed to the public in 2011 under strange circumstances. I have taken liberties with the internal geography, as I couldn’t visit, but you can watch a video on their website that gives you a sense of the place:
http://www.labirintus.com/en/1003/gallery

The Memento Park is full of large statues, a memorial to Communism
http://www.mementopark.hu/

About the Author

Joanna Penn has a Master’s degree in Theology from the University of Oxford, Mansfield College and a Graduate Diploma in Psychology from the University of Auckland, New Zealand.

She lives in London, England but spent 11 years in Australia and New Zealand. Joanna worked for 13 years as an international business consultant within the IT industry but is now a full-time author-entrepreneur. She is the author of the ARKANE series as well as other standalone books.

Joanna is a PADI Divemaster and enjoys traveling as often as possible. She is obsessed with religion and psychology and loves to read, drink pinot noir and soak up European culture through art, architecture and food.

You can sign up for Joanna’s newsletter and find out more about the ARKANE world here:
www.JFPenn.com/list/

Connect with Joanna online:

(e)
[email protected]

(w)
www.JFPenn.com

(t) @thecreativepenn

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http://www.facebook.com/JFPennAuthor

http://pinterest.com/jfpenn/

For writers:

Joanna’s business
http://www.TheCreativePenn.com
helps people write, publish and market their books through articles, audio, video and online products as well as live workshops. Joanna is available internationally for speaking events aimed at writers, authors and entrepreneurs.

Connect with Joanna on Twitter:

@thecreativepenn

Joanna also has a popular podcast for writers on iTunes:

The Creative Penn

DEAD CELEB

DEAD CELEB SERIES — BOOK ONE

MICHELE SCOTT

©2014 by Michele Scott

Cover Design:
BEAUTeBOOK
Original Photography by César Sánchez Guerrero

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DEDICATION

For you Debbie Rosen because you get it!

CHAPTER ONE

MY NAME IS EVIE PRESTON and I hang out with dead rock stars. Oh, and the occasional dead movie star or two. I’ve learned quite a bit about those who live on the other side over the past few months. For instance, they aren’t all ghostly and transparent. Oh no. The ones I see are almost always in full- color and 3-D except when they exert, ah … certain energies. Then they go a bit hazy. Oh, and they prefer to be called spirits.

Yeah, I know … I sound completely insane. Like, “commit me” insane. But honestly, I am not crazy. Believe me, the first time I saw Bob Marley in my place (well, technically not my place, but I’ll get to that) in the Hollywood Hills, getting high and singing “Buffalo Soldier,” I thought I was either dreaming, hallucinating, or, yes, completely nuts. Thankfully, it was none of the above. In fact, Bob is a very real, very dead guy who likes to hang out with me, along with a handful of other deceased, famous rock musicians (and a few who never quite made the charts, one of whom I’ve recently developed feelings for—more about him later). So, not only do I hang out with dead rock stars, I also think I am in love with one, or at least in lust … which makes me totally screwed up. But I am not crazy. I swear.

Before I go any further, though, I need to take you back a few months to the day after my twenty-eighth birthday. Welcome to Brady, Texas—population 5,500—and, according to the sign on the main road into town, “The Heart of Texas.” Truth be told, the signs were everywhere. Signs, that is, telling me to get the hell out of Brady.

I was at Mrs. Betty LaRue’s place. Her house smelled of Tide, home cooking, and mothballs. Betty was comforting me over the dismal turnout of my Mary Kay presentation—my latest attempt at becoming an entrepreneur—which she’d kindly hosted.