Under the Full Moon (Crimson Romance) (6 page)

Yah, Faith had pulled up information about some of the town’s elders. How rumor spoke many were close to the brink of financial ruin back in the thirties during the Great Depression, but out of the blue became prosperous. Many believed they’d made some pact with the devil as no one else during the time became as well off.

“Does it mention how many had this run of good fortune?” Grace studied Faith’s expression, which turned serious as she recounted what she’d uncovered.

“Not specifically. Only that over and over, select members of the town recruited their own to hold office in major areas of the town council. Of those recruited, they, too, would prosper seemingly overnight.”

“But why would anyone even write that without some sort of proof? I mean, damn, I wouldn’t even begin an article about anyone in the same town I lived in without some sort of hard evidence.”

“That’s what’s so mind boggling. I dug these out of a box I discovered the other day. The articles never ran. I researched the journalist who wrote them, and the only thing I came up with was how he vanished one day out in the swamps. His articles were buried and never taken to print.”

“Where did you find the box?”

“That’s the weirdest part. The box jutted out from behind one of the big wall cabinets down in the older part of the archives. I’ve been down there before, but not often. No one asks for the really old articles anymore. But here’s the thing. I would have run across the box before now. I’m telling you, it didn’t previously sit where I found it.

“Maybe someone donated the articles recently?”

“I wondered the same at first, but the box was covered in inches of dust. Enough that had anyone touched the edges at all recently, the smudges would have been visible. There weren’t any. From all appearances, the thing had been sitting there for years, and I know for a fact it wasn’t. Those articles wanted to be found.”

Grace had to agree. The timing of discovery was rather odd. Maybe the voice who warned her maneuvered the thing out into the open? Stranger things were occurring by the second.

“How old would the members be now? Eighty? Ninety?” Grace asked, running the numbers through her head. “Could any of them still be around?”

“Well, there’s weirdness number two. Or are we on three now?” Faith tossed her hands in the air swirling them in circles.”Whatever. Several members just seemingly fell off the planet.”

“What do you mean fell off?”

“Well, records reflect them in office. All is well, then poof! — gone. Not another word about them. Or at least a few of them. Originally, thirteen are listed. Of the thirteen, all but three simply stopped being mentioned. The names of those replacing them are written in articles, but nothing else. No retirement information, death notices, nothing.”

Faith reached for her coffee mug, drew it to her mouth and wrinkled her nose when her lips touched the edge. “Cold,” she muttered, setting the cup down disappointed.

“Yeah I agree,” she said with a slow nod. “Normally the papers do mention where the former constituent went. Whether they’re retiring to Florida or running for another elected office. You’re sure nothing else is mentioned? Maybe in another paper? Have you tried Googling their names?”

Faith shot her an expression that shouted “Bitch, please, of course I’ve already run internet searches.”

Grace couldn’t help but wonder how deep this society ran within their town’s matrix.

“Did you cross reference the last names to anyone currently in office?”

“Actually I’d been about to when … ”

“When what?” Grace didn’t like Faith’s sudden dazed expression.

“What’s the time, Grace?”

Tugging at her sleeve, Grace cleared the front face of her watch and saw the hands read three thirty. She and Faith had been talking more than an hour now. “Three thirty. Why?”

“Well shit.”

“Faith, talk to me, what’s going on?”

“I left the archives room after taking some time to research before going back over the contents. I’d planned to cross reference the last names as you mentioned. Thing is, I don’t remember what happened between putting the box up and two hours later getting the call from Betty about your place being on fire.”

“You’re missing two hours?” Grace’s concern grew as did the feeling big events out of their control happened all around them. None of them good.

“Yeah. Damn, let’s go make sure the box is still where I left the thing, because something is definitely up.”

Grace followed Faith down the old concrete stairs to the locked archives room. Faith fished around the round key ring until she found the antique skeleton key and opened the door to a strong scent of mold and dust. Grace fought to keep from grimacing as she stepped into the room. Faith took pride in her work and Grace didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But although Grace loved the aroma of old books, and, hell, old money, there was a significant difference between the smell of age and the pungent mildew odor inhabiting the room.

“No, no. Oh damn. I placed the box right here on this shelf.” Faith looked bewildered and angry, though she couldn’t have known what they were up against. Grace didn’t even know.

“Does anyone other than you have keys? A back-up key in case you lose yours?”

“No. All the other keys were lost years ago, and the city said when and if the time came that this key,” she dangled the object in front of her, “disappeared, they planned on re-keying the door with a more up-to-date lock system.

They hadn’t a chance to brainstorm more before the door to the old room slammed shut. Both nearly jumped out of their skin. The room held no windows, so Grace knew nothing except that someone on the other side of the door — or
magic
— could have caused it.

“What in the world could have made that happen?” Faith asked, jerking on the door.

Grace bit her tongue but suspected no amount of yanking would open the door. Something or someone wanted them trapped in this dungeon of a room. “I can’t even get the door to budge. Damn thing is stuck like it’s been locked or something.”

Faith removed the key from her pocket and wiggled it within the antique knob. Nothing. No click to signify the lock’s chamber had opened. “I don’t suppose you’ve got your cell on you, do you? I left mine upstairs in my desk drawer when we came down.”

“No, sorry. I think mine fell out during the fire at the shop.” She paused to think, and then nearly smacked her head in relief. “Don’t worry, Beth should be here any minute. I’m sure she’ll scout around or call someone when she finds the place empty.”

“She won’t find the place empty.” Faith cringed.

“Is someone else here?” Grace hoped someone else inhabited the place and this door thing merely a practical joke. Though she didn’t find it funny in the slightest.

“No, and because of that I locked the front doors before we came down here.”

“Yes, but my car is out front. When no one comes to answer the door, she’ll call the police.” Grace didn’t add why her niece would worry. Or the fact dark magic ran amok in their town. She didn’t want to add to Faith’s growing concerns.

“Do you smell something funny? Something like … oh my God, Grace, the library is on fire!” Faiths scream rattled around the old room.

Grace’s blood froze. They had no way out. There were no windows or emergency exits and the library was so old, no doubt the place would go up like a tinder box. Panic flooded her while she sought her memory for a spell to counteract the fire. A few things came to mind, but as she rambled spewing them forth, nothing worked. Either she spoke them incorrectly or the magic she was up against was far stronger. Didn’t matter — they were in deep shit with nary a roll of toilet paper in sight.

Faith doubled over coughing like crazy. Black smoke poured from underneath the door. She grabbed her friend around the waist and pulled her down to the floor, lower than the rising smoke, before she began searching for anything she could use to barrier the opening below the door. Finding some old newspapers, she rolled them up and began inching her way on her belly toward the door when Faith grabbed her ankle.

“Those are rare, old editions. You can’t use those.”

“Faith, love you like a sister, but right now do you really think I’m concerned with how rare they are? I’m more worried with saving our asses. .”

Faith shrugged but nodded her head in understanding. Grace drew close enough to wedge the papers under the door, but flames suddenly licked underneath the door, stopping her dead in her tracks.

The situation had gone from bad to worse and if Beth didn’t show within the next few minutes, Grace feared tomorrow’s headlines would read “Two Dead in Library Fire.” She didn’t want to end up in some newspaper in a new library’s archives.

But that’s where they were headed as the heat from the fire turned the room into an inferno. Between the smoke and flames, the air had become too thick to breathe and dots floated in her vision as thoughts of her life flashed elsewhere.

Damien.

His fierce blue expression, inky hair and a body chiseled from perfection. The animal who exuded power within such a controlled man. A walking contradiction if ever. After all the years of heartache and loneliness, and damn her luck if not around to savor the experience. She glanced back to Faith and saw the other woman had already passed out.

Oh shit.

Damien plunked the bottle of Jack down center of the table before grabbing three glasses. Kid appeared to be mid-twenties and Damien bet not a solid drinker. Good for Trick, but right now, not convinced of the kid’s good intentions, he was going to liquor him up for their little chat.

Damien caught Moss’s attention, subtly nodding towards the bottle and shot a quick glance at Trick. Moss reached out and snagged one of the glasses, giving him a slight nod that he got Damien’s intent. Get the kid drunk.

“Fill ’er up, ole chap.”

Damien obliged before filling the second glass and sliding the liquid courage over to Trick and pouring one for himself.

“Thanks.” Trick tossed the glass back and downed the amber liquid in near one gulp before wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve and expelling a large burp. “S’cuse me, mind if I have another?”

Moss burst out laughing. Apparently the kid could drink them under the table, or so he let on.

Damien poured him another. “So, what’s the information you have and think we want, and what do you gain from sharing?”

For seeming so young, the kid took on a quick-like expression, drawn and weary that aged him far past his youthful looks. Damien found the sad wisdom hidden in his eyes unsettling to say the least.

“I was kidnapped around age ten. I’ve got fragmented memories of before and after up until a few weeks ago when I woke up with more clarity than I ever had before. I can’t explain why the memories returned … only they did.”

Damien decided not elaborate how Octavia’s death may have played a factor in the smoke clearing. Not yet at least.

“Go on. What does any of this have to do with us?”

“The facility or club, as they call the place, appeared to be in chaos. I witnessed men running up and down the halls, and the professor … ”

“Who?” Moss asked, growing a bit pale in Damien’s opinion.

“I don’t think he’s a real professor, but that’s what he told us to call him during his lectures.”

Kid was quick, Damien thought with a smile. One mere eyebrow had the kid pausing to explain the “us” in his statement.

“The others like me who are, uh, different, would not be allowed back among society. That the swamp would forever be our home and we should get accustomed to the idea for easier transitioning.”

“Different how?” Damien asked already knowing how Trick would answer but hoping that in his explanation, more details would come out.

“All of us are part swamp animal. Natural swamp animal. You guys are too, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but continue, please. These others you keep mentioning … men, women, children?” Damien’s gut dropped at the mere suggestion children would have been abused in any way.

“Just a few others I actually met, but I overheard the professor talking once about a girl stolen from them. Dude seemed pretty intent on getting her back, too. Said the B.E.A.R would pay for their interference but to use all means necessary against them to get her back.”

“Any clues on who the girl or the
bear
these nuts were speaking about are?” Moss asked, leaning forward with sudden interest.

“Yeah. Apparently these are people who help keep the balance in the town.”

“Balance?” Damien wasn’t sure he was following the kid right.

“Our makers thrive on chaos. The guys I saw running around were babbling about some major shift in leadership. Whatever went down had everyone in a panic. I overheard shouts to get the conference room set up, and with her downfall and son’s succession, heads would roll.”

“Octavia’s death and Demetrius’s rise to power,” Damien muttered while Moss nodded in agreement.

“Octavia. Name rings a bell, but only one I can remember with vivid hatred is the asshat Demetrius. He always spouted how I owed him for stealing him away from his psychotic slut of a mother.” Trick grew quiet and a dark angry aura swept across his face.

“Octavia stole men for one thing, and one thing only. Let’s just say, that maybe it was best, you ended up with the son instead of the mother.” Damien stated almost relieved for the kid though he had a feeling being with Demetrius had been no walk in the park either.

“Don’t honestly know. Can’t remember even being with Octavia, but it was no picnic being with Demetrius. Dude shoveled out the shit every day. He may be some huge power in the group he’s in, but if you ask me, dude’s dumber than a box of rocks.”

“Get back to what you were explaining about the chaos and balance theory.” Moss reached out and Damien handed his inquisitive friend the bottle.

“Well, from what little I overheard, one group, our group — ”

“Our group, my ass. May have changed what I am, but those fuckers didn’t change who I am,” Damien growled, though he understood Trick meant no offense.