As I mentioned in my previous post, I have a
working first draft of The Order of the Four Sons, Book V. I'm
hoping for a release in August or September.
If you've read Book IV, you've read the excerpt we included at the end. Here's a brand-spankin' new one, in which Lady Bathory and Nathan DePriest are
up to their usual mischief.
Enjoy!
Excerpt from Necropolis
Millie had done
what Lady Bathory had asked of her—she’d dropped what she was doing and hastened
to get the candidates from Earth brought over. (With the General’s permission,
of course, though he had told Millie that she was not beholden to Bathory’s
unreasonable timeframe.) Millie had only just done it the night before for the
General—six associates from Earth had been summoned to meet with him. So Lady
Bathory’s request should be a piece of cake. Transdimensional communiques had
to be sent out. Usually, technicians were dispatched to open the gate, but with
new security measures, only Esfir Taghvaei, one of the Matriarch’s high
priestesses, was allowed to do so.
To Millie’s
satisfaction, it all went off without a hitch. The gate to Earth was in a field
outside the city of Omoroca, its boundaries marked by granite standing stones. Millie
almost always went to the gate to greet the arrivals, and soldiers always
escorted her. She assumed this was a ceremonial duty demanded by the General.
The eight
people Bathory had requested began arriving at 1:30, four men and four women.
By 2:30, they had loaded their luggage into the vehicle and were speeding back
to Evangelium. As they drove, the candidates inquired about the position, about
Lady Bathory, and about Cerulean itself. Millie pointed out landmarks as they
rolled past and their visitors were suitably impressed. It should have been a
pleasant enough journey, but a few times, Millie caught the people from Earth
looking at her in a way that made her uncomfortable. Even the soldiers seated
on either side of her, usually so impassive, seemed more alert than usual. Millie
arranged such travel for people who served the Matriarch several times a year,
at least, and while some of them were a bit distant, or even cold, she couldn’t
remember a group that had made her so distinctly nervous.
By 4:00, Millie
escorted the group to Lady Bathory’s door. As always, Mr. DePriest let them in.
After Millie introduced
the guests individually to Lady Bathory, the Countess gave her an appreciative
nod. “Thank you very much, Miss Kincaid,” she said. “Would you be so good as to
wait downstairs while Nathan and I conduct the interviews?”
“Of course,
Lady Bathory.” To the visitors, Millie smiled and said, “Good luck.”
Millie had
brought her tablet and mobile with her. She checked in with the General to make
sure his meeting had gone well (it had), and to see if he needed her for
anything else today (he didn’t), then settled down in the lobby to get some projects
knocked out.
An hour went
by. Then two.
Late again? Donald sent.
Yeah, sorry.
He sent her an
image of Phoebe and Daisy at the dinner table, making extravagantly silly faces
over steaming bowls of chicken and dumplings. Millie’s favorite meal. Millie
sighed. He’d gotten a bit short with her last week when she’d forgotten to pick
the girls up from school. Apparently, all was forgiven.
She decided to
take a walk—first just around the block. Then down to the park and back. She
browsed some nearby shops. Throughout, Donald sent her more photos of the
girls: bent over their homework, playing outside, getting ready for bed.
They had
reached the four-hour mark. Perhaps Lady Bathory had forgotten she was here?
She tried
calling Lady Bathory’s mobile, but there was no answer. At last, Millie
returned to the apartment building.
With a soft
ding and a swish of doors, the elevator delivered her to the top floor.
Immediately, Millie felt the skin along her scalp begin to prickle and her
heart sped up. Something was wrong here. What was it?
Stepping into
the hallway, the first thing she noticed was that the air smelled funny, like
something had burned, mixed with another, fainter smell, almost metallic. There
was a wet streak along the marble floor, too thick to be water or tea. Could it
be blood? But how? What could have possibly happened? Structurally, the
building looked fine, though there were long gouges and burn marks in the
walls. The door to Lady Bathory’s flat hung askew, partially torn from its
hinges. Its wooden surface was also marred by scorched-looking holes. Voices came
from within. Millie couldn’t make them out, but the metallic smell was stronger
here, damp and rank. At her feet was a larger streak of blood that ran the
length of the foyer and rounded the corner into the living room. Carefully,
quietly, Millie followed it, the voices growing louder. And there was another
sound now, a sound like something scraping and tearing…
In the living
room, Millie froze.
The flat,
previously so serene and tidy with its creams and beiges, was now almost
entirely coated in a lurid red. It dripped thickly from the walls and the
windows. The floor was coated in it. Standing pools made a swamp of the
furnishings and the throw rugs, darkened clots squelching in the fibers. It
seemed no surface had been spared, everything soaked and smeared and spattered...
