Crimson Vengeance

London, 1522

Meriel floated into the room and Catherine’s heart fluttered.

Lady Meriel Danson was tall enough to meet the gaze of most of the men, with full breasts and eyes as green as emeralds. Her golden hair fell across her shoulders in lush curls and the crimson velvet dress flowed as she walked, her pale, flawless skin beautiful. She was the most stunning woman in the room and Catherine wasn’t the only one who noticed. Tonight, all eyes followed her.

Like the precious jewel she was, Meriel smiled and flirted with adoring gentlemen as she crossed the room. They vied for her attention, some subtly, some with unabashed boldness most unbecoming. No one wished to be left out. The men wanted her.

The women envied her. Catherine just smiled. Little did they know, Meriel’s heart was already taken by a love as secret as it was forbidden.

Tonight, as every night, their secret would stay buried. It was more important to be pretty. To be seen. To dance. Neither of the young women would disappoint their families or their suitors.

Indeed, Catherine and Meriel danced and smiled until late into the night, when the stars sparkled like diamonds in a jet black sky and the air outside was filled with the heavy scent of smoke.

It seemed an eternity before they were at last alone in the elegant carriage summoned to take them back into the city and to the world that demanded their unquestioned obedience. For two blessed hours they’d be alone, with darkness as their friend and protector.

No prying eyes to spy on them or men with sweaty hands guiding them to the dance floor where they could subtly brush against their breasts and pretend it was unintentional.

Meriel’s body pressed against Catherine’s and everything else drifted away. Outside, the winter wind slapped against the carriage, the night sky a pitch black cover sprinkled with the twinkling light of a thousand stars. The wheels of the carriage bumped along the rutted and muddy road, but inside the carriage cushions were soft.

It was their time, their special world. Catherine lifted her arms to pull her precious love close. She kissed Meriel, her tongue darting between her lips, exploring, tasting. A fire began in Catherine’s body, racing through her like the most powerful conflagration. How she treasured every moment, every kiss, every touch.

Meriel moaned and gathered her close as her hands moved to unlace the bodice of Catherine’s fine wool dress. The supple fabric parted and her breast was bared, eager for the touch of Meriel’s lips. Catherine sighed when Meriel took a nipple into her moist, hot mouth.

Catherine needed to feel the softness of Meriel’s breasts and she pushed the velvet dress off Meriel’s shoulders until she held them in her hands, brushing her thumbs across each nipple. She pinched them and smiled when Meriel groaned. In the darkness, they touched each other, skin to skin.

They made love inside the small black carriage as the storm outside rumbled and growled, growing ever louder as it raged.

Catherine took no notice of the storm, her body alive with wondrous sensations. She cried out as Meriel’s tongue brought her to a roaring climax.

She didn’t want the night to end. How glorious it would be to stay here wrapped in Meriel’s arms. Alas, too soon they would reach the city and once again become proper ladies to be dressed up like perfect little dolls. Their families expected obedience, if not enthusiasm, for events such as tonight’s ball, all for the purpose of securing the highest bidders. Their fathers would sell them off in the name of socially acceptable marriages. In reality it was little different than the sale of prized livestock.

Catherine wouldn’t be surprised to discover the deal for her own hand in marriage had already been made. Her father would like nothing better than to send her to the home of some rich and titled old man. Since the day of her mother’s death one year earlier, it was as if her father could no longer stand the sight of her. Catherine would not think of that now. In this moment, she could share her love and her body with the one person who made her feel alive.

Catherine drifted into sleep despite the bumps and sways of the carriage. Her body was sated and her heart soaring. She rested her head against Meriel’s velvet-covered shoulder and floated dreamily on the scent of jasmine perfume. She loved that smell.

Sometime later, Catherine awoke with a start. Disoriented, she slowly remembered where she was. She straightened and peered into the darkness of the empty carriage. Could they be home already?

Her heart sank. The trip was too quick and she’d wasted so much of her time with Meriel asleep.

Catherine tidied her gown, patted her hair, and pulled the thick black cloak tight around her body. She opened the small door, stepped outside, and faltered, nearly losing her footing in the thick mud of the road. In the air wafted a hint of jasmine, but now it was mixed with something else: bitter, rancid. Catherine pulled her cloak tighter.

Silence hung oddly in the air, broken only by the soft snorts of horses nervously pawing the ground. Catherine turned her head, letting her gaze drift from the night sky to the landscape surrounding the stalled carriage. She pushed her hand against her lips at the same time a gust of wind ripped through the air, sending a spray of icy rain to slash across her face.

Their driver lay sprawled in the middle of the muddy road, his eyes sightless. Blood trickled from the wound that had almost separated his head from his body. Catherine spun away from the sight, her heart pounding.

As she stumbled from the carriage, her gaze was drawn to the sodden earth and what should not have been. Meriel lay in a pool of moonlight, dark streaks marring her perfect, white skin like shattered red silk tossed across a snow-covered meadow. Raindrops fell onto Meriel’s pale cheeks. Mixed with the rain, blood slid down her face and neck, pooling on the ground beneath her tangled golden hair. Her head lay at an odd angle, and when Catherine realized why, her screams echoed through the darkness.

They can conquer

who believe

they can.

Virgil

70 BC-19 BC

Moses Lake, Washington

Present Day

Early spring usually arrived with blooming daffodils. This year it arrived with dead bodies. After all these years, Coroner Ivy Hernandez would have thought she’d be accustomed to death. She’d been at this game a long time and had seen everything from car accidents to suicides to drive-by shootings. Lately, a lot of drive-by shootings—thank you, twenty-first-century culture. Still, experience didn’t make it any easier. Death was ugly, period.

With her hands stuck in the pockets of her light jacket, Ivy watched a deputy fish the latest unfortunate out of the drink. The lake was still cold as an iceberg, and no one had wanted that particular job.

The water, though clean compared to most in the country, was murky and didn’t give up its secrets willingly. They’d found this guy, like the last one, only because the motion of the water pushed him toward the shore and a watchful neighbor had seen him bobbing in shallow water. Today, the morning air had a bite to it and the sky hung gray with a hint of moisture. If they were lucky they’d get the body loaded before the rain hit.

Dressed in a black wetsuit from neck to ankles, Deputy Daryl Wilson looked like something out of a horror movie as he waded in from the waist-deep water, pulling the body behind him. He was huffing and puffing by the time he had the dead man on dry land.Sodden slacks stuck to long legs, and what was once a nice jacket hung on one arm, misshapen and ruined. A cotton dress shirt, open almost to the waist, had fallen back to reveal a smooth chest and a pale expanse of neck. His face held no expression, his eyes a pale, red-rimmed blue. Two puncture wounds at the base of his neck looked a bit like he’d lost the battle with a really big rattlesnake.

It wasn’t the wounds that made Ivy’s heart race, or the blue of his eyes; it was the touch of color in his cheeks.

Ivy crouched and very gently touched the base of his neck. Icy flesh met her warm fingertips. Not even a whisper of a pulse. He was dead all right. Dead with just an ever-so-faint touch of pink in his cheeks.

“Shit,” she muttered as she stood and pulled her cell phone from her pocket. Putting some distance between herself and the body, she turned her back to Daryl and the rest of the first responders who surrounded the inert form. “Riah,” she said, after she heard the beep that put her into Riah’s voice mail. “It’s Ivy. I’ve got another one and I’ll be heading your way late this afternoon. Give me a call as soon as you can.”

Ivy flipped the phone shut, stuffed it into her pocket, and turned once more to face the dead man. It would be hours before she heard back from Riah. No problem. She didn’t need confirmation on the cause of death. No, she needed a different kind of help from her old and trusted friend.

Daryl looked up from where he knelt next to the body. “Hey, Ivy, looks like we got us another one.”

He tipped the dead man’s head to the side revealing, for all of them to see, small raised punctures marring the expanse of white neck. The lake had stripped away any traces of blood from the wounds. Not that there would be any. There never was.

“Yes.” Frowning, she stepped back to allow the newly arrived
EMT
to do his part. That took all of about thirty seconds, and then she received custody of the body.

Ivy went through the motions. She made notes and diagrams, photographed the body and the landing from every possible angle.

Collected potential evidence, checked the body for personal property, and found nothing. No surprise there either.

By the time she finished, her cheeks were raw from the chill wind coming off the lake. Though the day was no longer young, the sky above was about the same as when they’d arrived. Gray and overcast seemed to be the agenda for today. If not for the latex gloves she now peeled off and stuffed into her pocket, her hands would be as cold as her face.

The deputies loaded the body, secure in the labeled and initialed black bag, into the back of her van. Certain things had to be done, both inside the guidelines and out. Time, at least for the moment, was on her side.

Despite the futility of the effort, Ivy walked through the typical steps for a homicide. She had to maintain appearances, after all.

Grant County wasn’t accustomed to this kind of evil, or even aware of it. If Ivy had her way, it never would be. Some things were best left unexplained. Let the fine folks of the county worry about gangbangers, drugs, and teenage violence. In other words, the regular stuff. She’d take care of the preternatural.

Ivy was the last to leave the park where the boat launch was now empty of both the living and the dead. For a long minute, she sat behind the wheel of the van and looked out over the park. Such a lovely place with trees and the gentle waves of the lake lapping against the swaying dock. It wouldn’t be long before recreational boaters and the happy sounds of children playing on the beach filled the air. Every year a few lost their lives, yet the unmarred beauty of the natural setting still brought visitors who didn’t fear the power of the water to take away life.

This was different. The man in the back of her van wasn’t a drunken sportsman who fell out of his boat. He wasn’t a recreational boater out for an evening cruise on the lake. No, more than likely this man’s only sin was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was a victim of pure circumstance, a lamb picked for the slaughter.

And he wasn’t the first one.

Each time she hoped it was the last. Until recently, the victims she’d seen were in other places. At least here in Moses Lake, she really thought she’d be out of the loop. These types of victims were most often culled from the ranks of the large cities. In Washington, it was cities like Seattle, Tacoma, or Spokane. Moses Lake was too small and intimate to draw interest. Low and flat, the desert-like landscape didn’t beckon to those who needed to hide. It was a place where too many questions would be asked.

When the first victim surfaced, Ivy speculated it was pure chance. A night creature passing through that would continue to bigger and greener fields. She handled the death with as much speed and diplomacy as she could. Questions were kept to a minimum, the press held off, and people quickly forgot the unusual demise of a troubled young man from an equally troubled family.

It was different now. One death could be an accident. Two was deliberate. It wasn’t a fluke, and her town was no longer safe.

As Ivy pulled in at the rear of the coroner’s office, she turned in her seat, looked over her shoulder, and backed the van up to the double doors. She didn’t wait for anyone to come and help her unload. Instead, she opened the van’s rear doors and slid the gurney out. She pushed it into the building and down the hall. Once through another set of double doors, she stopped and pulled a set of keys from her pocket. Ten years ago it never would have occurred to her to lock the cold room.

Colin Jamison waited behind a clump of bushes for hours until what he’d swear was the entire Moses Lake police department and emergency-response personnel left the park. Once the van, the cruisers, and emergency vehicles drove away, he walked down to the boat launch. It was quiet now and he narrowed his eyes as he studied the deserted park. Why did he feel like he was very late for a grim game that started without him?