Jivaja (Soul Cavern Series Book 1) Read online

  Mecca heard Will leave the room with quiet steps. She slowed her breathing and concentrated her attention on listening. This was her enemy. Only the sound of the stranger’s footfalls alerted her to the woman’s movements. And then those sounds stopped. Silence ruled her small prison cell, but an electric current continued to pulse in her veins.

  “Why do you lie there, feigning sleep?” the woman asked.

  Mecca made no reply.

  “Look at me.”

  The urge to obey rose up, shocking and unpalatable, sour in her mind, like the taste of bile at the back of her throat. She struggled to keep from opening her eyes.

  “Very well. Keep them closed for now.”

  The need to obey swept away in a wind, and Mecca released her breath slowly, unaware that she’d been holding it. Her senses settled down as well. Sounds, the air, everything finally registered as it should.

  What just happened?

  “You’re an interesting young woman, Ms. Trenow. That’s why I brought you here. Yet imagine my surprise when your bag was opened to reveal your research abilities. If I didn’t have other plans for your more unique talents, I’d consider bringing you on as an information gatherer.”

  The soft rustle of paper reached Mecca’s ears.

  “But that’s not where your real strength lies, is it?” She waited a short moment before continuing. “I did some digging based on a bit of information you’d already gathered. I hope you don’t mind.” The woman barked a quiet cough. It sounded staged. “There were more women than these, you know.”

  The print out. That grainy photo. White Widower.

  Mecca finally opened her eyes to look at the owner of this voice, her heart strumming a wild tattoo in her chest. That website contained awful, terrible insinuations about Dad, and she didn’t believe them. She wouldn’t even believe in the possibility of it being truth. He wasn’t a murderer. He was her father. But still, she opened her eyes.

  “You’re lying,” Mecca said. She twisted her wrists in the cuffs. “I don't know why, but you are.”

  “No, I’m most definitely not.”

  The woman sat in the chair beside the bed with one leg draped over the other, a stack of papers resting on her knee. She had Asian features: a small nose, almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones. Black hair cut in a severe pageboy style framed her round face. She looked tiny in that chair and younger than Mecca would have expected. She could imagine having a class at the university with this woman.

  “You’re Emilia?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why am I here? Why didn’t you just kill me?” Did she really want to know this?

  The corners of Emilia’s mouth curled as she smiled. Some part of Mecca expected her teeth to be long and thin. They turned out to be small, square, and compact. Just teeth. Not fangs.

  “There is information you have that I want. Keeping you this way” —she waved a hand at the room— “seemed much more conducive to getting that information.”

  “What information?”

  “You killed someone recently.”

  How could she know that? Mecca's face grew hot, and she looked across the room at the wooden door with its electronic lock. This woman knew she killed that Hayden guy. How? Had she seen? Shame threatened to overwhelm her. She fought to keep tears from her eyes.

  “Tell me how you did it.”

  Again, that need to speak pushed at her mind. Mecca knew how she’d killed him, though she had no idea how she would explain it to someone, even if she wanted to explain it. Emilia watched with her eyes like black marbles and the urge to spill everything about that night in the parking lot hit harder. Mecca closed her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  The pressure to speak came stronger and then passed. Mecca gasped, relieved, feeling like a stone had been lifted from her chest. When she opened her eyes, Emilia still watched her, but a smile flitted along her thin pink lips. After a moment, she stood and dropped a news clipping onto Mecca’s lap.

  “That is Susan Harrington — or, rather was Susan Harrington.”

  Mecca couldn’t keep from looking at the newspaper copy. A small article mourned the death of a local Chicago philanthropist to a mystery illness. A statuesque woman in her fifties, with dark hair, smiled out at her. Beside the photo was another candid shot, this one of her husband, a non-local twenty years her junior. According to the caption, they’d wed the summer before, after a whirlwind romance on the tennis court of the local country club.

  That young husband had Mecca’s smile. On his head grew the same unruly curls that her father now fought with a flat top haircut. In the photo, he wore a black suit and a frown.

  Emilia continued. “She was a very well respected woman in the Chicago area. Her first husband died of prostate cancer, I believe, and left her extremely well off.” She slid the article into a manila folder at the bottom of her stack and then laid another clipping in the same place on Mecca’s leg. “Carol Dodson. Her mother was heir to a coffee dynasty and had already left her more money than she could possibly have spent in her own lifetime. Your father was twenty-four when he met her.”

  Mecca grimaced, but couldn’t keep her eyes from being drawn to the clip. She hated that she wanted to read. But wasn't it better to know the truth? Part of her screamed, “No!” but she read the clip anyway.

  There stood her father again with those same curls. He didn’t look as old as in the previous photo. A young woman’s arm looped through his, and they both wore formalwear. A glittering diamond necklace graced her throat, a facet reflecting the flash from the camera.

  According to the article, Carol Dodson also died of a mysterious wasting disease that doctors and researchers had since been studying diligently. Mecca leaned back and glared at the ceiling. She didn’t even want to touch the tangle of feelings surging through her. Disbelief, confusion, fear, anger.

  Emilia made an amused sound, before she gathered up the clipping. “Unfortunately, I have some business to attend to and I don’t yet trust you. So I am going to direct Will to administer another sedative. When you wake, you will be allowed limited movement and all of this paperwork will be available to you.” She dropped the folder onto the table, before she turned to look at Mecca again. “Where would I find your father?”

  Mecca’s raised her head to meet Emilia’s gaze. She whispered, “Fuck you.”

  Chapter Five: David

  David paced his office. It wasn’t like Mecca not to answer her phone. She’d missed their breakfast plans, and he couldn't get hold of her all day. He’d called the friends he knew about and none of them had been able to help. Josie hadn’t even seen her. And those two were joined at the hip.

  He couldn’t shake the thought that Mecca being missing had something to do with what happened the night before. Dread crawled through his bones like ants. He didn’t like this helplessness. The last time he’d felt this way was when Teresa had been sick. And he’d been truly helpless then.

  That couldn’t happen again.

  David scooped up his cell phone from his desk and dialed Jim Barron, his best friend and once a top D.A. for Fulton County. Jim now sat on the City Council and schmoozed regularly with his old friends in law enforcement. If anyone could find something out under the radar, it would be Jim. David just wasn’t sure how to explain why he wanted it under the radar.

  David didn’t give him much of a chance for small talk once he answered. “Jim, I need a favor.”

  “Sure. Shoot.” It sounded like Jim was working late, from the tap-tap-tap of computer keys.

  “I haven’t heard from Mecca all day. We were supposed to get breakfast this morning, and she never came by. All of my calls went to voicemail.”

  The tapping stopped. “Do you want me to send someone by her dorm?”

  “I’ve already called her roommate and several of her friends. She’s not in her room, and no one's seen her.”

  “I can get a couple guys to look into it. We can’t file a missing person report unt
il tomorrow, but we can get them on it now.”

  David hesitated. Above all, he needed to keep Mecca’s secret. But there was no way he would turn down help finding her, especially when he didn’t even know how to begin searching. “Yeah. That would be good, if you don’t mind.”

  “God, Dave, of course I don’t mind. Let me make a few calls. When was the last time you talked to her?”

  “Last night.” David weighed out his options and decided to see if he could get any extra information. “The other night someone attacked her outside a coffee shop near campus.”

  “Shit. Did she report it?”

  “No. She came straight here. She wasn’t hurt, just shaken up. But she’s a bit wary right now, so we’ve been talking a lot more often.” The panic he’d been holding at bay ramped up for a moment — that feeling of uselessness and lack of control. He shoved it back into the little hole he’d banished it to earlier in the day.

  “She’s probably fine,” Jim said, his tone even. “Maybe spending time with a guy or putting in some extra hours on a paper or something.”

  “Don’t try to placate me, Jim. I’m worried. This isn’t like her.”

  “I know.”

  “Are there other reports of attacks near campus lately?”

  “I’ll ask when I make my phone calls. Is there anything else you can think of that I can pass on to them?”

  “I need her home.”

  “We’ll find her. I’ll call you back with an update as soon as I can.”

  “Thanks.” David disconnected the call. He’d hoped talking to Jim would have eased some of his anxiety, but he still felt just as edgy as before. The lighter's flame surged as he lit a cigarette, and then he paced for a while longer. Four different times, he picked up his phone but didn’t know who to call, so he put it down again each time. He considered going out and looking for Mecca — again — but still had nowhere to begin the search.

  Finally, he booted up the computer on his desk. It, along with every other piece of electronics in his house, was state of the art. Computers had become an obsession for him after his wife died. Too much time creeping around his days, most likely. As a result, he'd wired his home with the latest gadgetry, including controls for all his lights, heating and air conditioning, and locks on the doors. Definitely an early adopter of the smart home tech.

  He hadn’t even opened a web browser when a message came through.

  Solaris: My taser finally came in!

  Solaris — Sara — had taught him most of what he learned about computer security. And hacking. David smiled at her excitement and then typed in his response, letting the cigarette dangle from his lips.

  Nereus: Congrats. Didn't you order it a month ago?

  Solaris: Yeah. Had to call and give them some shit. When are we getting together? I've been here for a few months now and I still haven't even gotten to meet you.

  David didn’t have the energy to deal with this right now. When Sara had contacted him out of the blue last year, with her mom’s blessing, he’d been apprehensive. When she’d enrolled in Atlanta State — Mecca's school — at the beginning of the term, he’d all but panicked.

  He’d been begging off any chance of meeting for weeks. He knew he wouldn’t be able to put her off forever. After all, he was still her grandmother’s widower. But he couldn’t just walk away. He couldn’t ignore her. In that respect, age — and perhaps having fallen in love — had changed him.

  Solaris: Hello?

  Nereus: Sorry. Can’t meet this week. I’ve got a crisis going on.

  Solaris: Can I help?

  Nereus: Don’t think so, but thanks.

  Knee-jerk, but David wondered whether she could help. If he just had some place to start…

  The phone startled him. He grabbed it on the second ring. “David Trenow.”

  “Hey, it’s Jim. I’ve got some guys talking to Mecca’s friends and checking out the coffee shops around the school. Give them a couple hours and hopefully we’ll have something. Want to come around for a drink? You don’t have to wait alone.”

  David wasn’t sure he wanted company at all. He was already champing at the bit.

  “I did learn that there have been some weird assaults in the area lately. I can fill you in.”

  Well, that decided it.

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He hung up.

  Nereus: Need to run. Talk later.

  Solaris: Yeah. Right.

  David signed off, unwilling to placate her. He hadn’t asked her into his life, after all. He put the computer into sleep mode, stubbed out his smoke, and went to find his shoes. Feeling guilty about Sara wasn’t on his to do list.

  Thirty minutes later — damned Atlanta traffic — David turned onto the long driveway that led to the Georgian colonial nestled among towering pines, surrounded by a rich, green, manicured lawn. He parked in front of the garage and hadn’t even gotten up the porch steps when the thick wooden door opened.

  Looking comfortable in old jeans and a midnight blue turtleneck, Jim stepped back to let him enter. “How are you doing?”

  “I haven't lost it or anything. You know I don’t jump to conclusions, but I’ve got a bad feeling. Thanks for helping out.”

  “Not a problem.” Jim closed the door and led him through the grey granite-floored foyer into the warm coziness of the living room. They turned right and passed through a set of double doors into his office. “It’s Carolyn’s bridge night, so the place is ours. Scotch and soda?”

  “That’s fine, thanks.” David wandered the room, glancing at the bookshelves he’d seen hundreds of times. Most titles were related to law. He listened to the clink of ice in the glass and the soft cracking as Jim poured scotch over it.

  A walnut desk, along with several large, leather armchairs converged in the center of the room. Three Patrick Nagel prints hung on the walls, looking out of place with their art deco style and bright colors. A massive bay window on the south wall offered a stunning view of the cabana and pool, lit by colored floodlights. The light flickered across the surface of the water, winking at him.

  “Here you go.” Jim held the drink out to him and motioned the chairs. “I spoke to someone at the Little Five precinct. They’re investigating rumors of a cult on the ASU campus. It’s a small group led by an outsider who’s conned some of the college kids into going along.”

  “So, what, they’ve been going after people?” The scotch, though exceptionally smooth on the way down, had an after bite. “Do you think that’s who might have attacked Mecca?”

  Jim raised a hand. “I have no way of knowing. She’ll need to give them a statement. Details of what happened, a description. That sort of thing. But we’ve had someone inside, undercover, for a couple weeks.” Jim leaned forward, elbows on knees and his scotch glass dangling from his fingers. “It sounds pretty gruesome. They think they’re vampires.”

  David sat up straighter. “Vampires?”

  “Yeah. They practice bloodletting together and they seem to be interested in expanding their circle. The undercover guy says they’re gathering drugs — roofies and GHB. He witnessed an attack on a homeless man out near the rail yard where one of them — a kid who’s quite invested in this group, according to our guy — almost killed the man, trying to drink his blood.”

  David sat speechless for a moment. Was this for real? Mecca said the man who attacked her had been older and alone — except for the watcher. Not young, and certainly not a member of a pack. That didn't mean the asshole hadn't been part of whatever Jim was talking about. But it seemed... Strange. Well, stranger than he had even already accepted.

  David studied his friend. Could Jim be lying? He didn’t want to think so. But this made little sense. “They’re drugging people and biting them?” Could Mecca have been drugged? It could explain her loss of control over her Gift.

  An abrupt movement in the bay window caught David’s attention. He stood. “There’s something outside.”

  Jim glanced over h
is shoulder, craning his body toward the window. “Out there? Probably just Mojo, our lab. She hangs out around the pool, especially at night. She chases frogs. Nothing to worry about.”

  David lowered himself back to the chair, head swimming. Must have stood up too quickly. He peered at his glass, half-drained, and set it on the table between them.

  “Not to your taste?”

  “Driving. Don’t want to overdo it.” David concentrated on forming his words. They sounded garbled in his ears. He felt strange. Prickly. “Is there more? To the vampire group?”

  “The one kid who attacked the homeless guy apparently bought custom fangs and has started dressing like the vampires in that TV show. The one set in Louisiana, you know? He’s been ‘hunting’ around the Little Five area. So it’s definitely possible he was the person who attacked Mecca.”

  David’s gut twisted. Jim was lying. David had known him a long time. And he was lying.

  A shadow crossed the window. This time, David was sure. He jumped from his seat. The room lurched like a ship in a windstorm. He stumbled against the coffee table, knocking his knee. A dull pain registered.

  “Dave?” Jim stood. “Are you okay?”

  “There’s —” Confusion and fear coursed through him. His words wouldn’t string together properly. He couldn’t get his mouth around them. “Outside. Someone — outside.” He fell back into the chair with a heavy head. He let his eyes close because they really wanted to be closed. His belly lurched and part of him recognized that he might puke.

  An unfamiliar voice came from behind him, one with a thick Irish brogue. “Good job, capt’n.”

  “I'm never going to do something like this again.” Jim’s tone was dark and low. “Tell her.”

  The Irishman laughed. “You’ll do as bidden.”

  “What do you want with him?”

  “Not your business, capt’n.”

  “She said he wouldn’t be hurt.”

  David heard a snort before burly hands grabbed him beneath the arms. They hauled him to his feet. A fleeting vision of Mecca flashed behind his closed eyelids. She looked cornered in a cave. No. A tunnel. Surrounded. And one of those surrounding her owned the eyes through which he saw her.