The Bishop's Legacy (World of Shadows Book 3) Read online

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked finally. “When you first got here. Why lie about it?”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I wanted to protect you, little sister. We are family. I was worried how you might take it.”

  Anger flashed across her face. “How I might take it? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “We don’t have time to grieve,” he explained softly, using his finger to push a strand of hair out of her face. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, tasting her salty tears. “Dear sister, we can’t afford any distractions until this is over with. We will grieve for our father, but right now we need discipline.”

  “They murdered our father. What we need is vengeance.”

  “And we will have it. I promise you we will have it against all of them.”

  Megyn fell quiet, head lying against Jeremy’s chest. He gently stroked her hair. He hated discussing the death of the Bishop, but it was nice having the truth off of his chest. Maybe his slip was for the best: he wouldn’t need to lie to her anymore, and now he could confide in Megyn.

  “You didn’t have to kill the priest like that.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m just angry about losing our father and I wanted to lash out.”

  “He didn’t deserve—”

  “He deserved that and so much more. What they did to Leopold was terrible, Megyn. It was a secret he didn’t want you to know, but these people were very cruel to him. We cannot allow them to—”

  “We have a problem.”

  The interruption came from the front of the car as the driver pulled it to a stop. They were near to the home base where Megyn had been living these past months, which meant the second half of his plan was beginning.

  He really had to sell it.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Someone has been here,” the demon lied.

  Of course they couldn’t see anything from outside the old service station to give him that idea, but that wasn’t the point. “Who?”

  The demon looked at Jeremy in the rearview mirror. He saw the man’s eyes.

  “The priest and the hunter. The ones who killed Leopold. They were here.”

  Megyn gasped, pulling free of Jeremy to look ahead. The driver slowly pulled the car forward. “We should check it out,” Jeremy said. “Do you think they are gone?”

  “Hard to say, but yes,” the demon offered. “I don’t think they are here anymore.”

  “Sheila,” Megyn breathed, jumping out of the still moving car and sprinting for the front door to the service station.

  Jeremy waited until she was gone and then looked back at the mirror. “You got all the organs, right?”

  “Yes sir. I hacked them up so it wouldn’t be too obvious.”

  “Good. Stay here.”

  He climbed out of the car to follow Megyn inside, and then hesitated. “And, clean yourself up. We’re staying in a hotel tonight instead of this dump and I don’t need you blood stained and disheveled when you rent us the room.”

  Then, he closed the door and walked slowly into the service station. He found Megyn just inside the backroom, collapsed in a ball and staring at the three bodies of her friends.

  The demon wasn’t lying: he’d done a number on these bodies. Brutal work, hacking them apart, and it turned his stomach a little bit. He wondered how things would look back at the Church.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, kneeling next to her.

  She turned and threw herself into his arms. “Jeremy, they’re dead!”

  He held her and rubbed her back. “I’m sorry. The priest must have followed us here. It’s terrible.”

  She kept crying, and he held her for several more minutes. He hoped she didn’t notice the missing organs or look any closer at the victims.

  Finally, she pulled loose and looked him in the eyes.

  “How could they…?”

  “They are evil, sis. They won’t stop until we are all dead.”

  “I want them to pay for this. Promise me that we will kill them.”

  He struggled to keep himself from smiling. “I promise.”

  Chapter 5

  “We need to hurry, Abigail,” Frieda called out, stuffing a wrinkled blue blouse into her bags. She hated having things just lying around, preferring to keep the hotel room tidy.

  The clock on the table told her they were going to be late for their meeting with Mikael. They needed to get back onto the road and across the city in the next couple of minutes.

  “I’m not going to tell you again!”

  She glanced behind her and saw that the bathroom door was still closed. Inside she heard the shower running and the eight-year-old girl singing at the top of her lungs. She sighed. “Am I just talking to myself out here?”

  No reply.

  The answer was ‘yes.’

  It was something she was getting more and more used to doing, as it were. Abigail listened to her, sure, but only when she felt like it. She was as hard-headed and stubborn of a person as Frieda had ever met. She even rivaled Arthur sometimes in how stubborn she could be.

  Sometimes.

  Frieda warned her twenty minutes ago that they needed to get back on the road as soon as possible. Abigail even agreed, and yet here she was taking a thirty-minute hot shower. Frieda didn’t even know why she bothered trying to convince the little girl how important their mission was: Abigail got ready when she damn well felt like it.

  That wasn’t to say Frieda didn’t enjoy the constant arguing and bickering with her little companion. She had enjoyed these past months on the road with her. Compared to her solitary life, it was quite nice having a companion. Of course, if Frieda had been asked six months ago if she would eventually enjoy having Abigail around, the answer would have been a resounding ‘no.’

  Frieda walked over to the bathroom door and banged her fist against it.

  “Hurry up in there! We need to be on the road ten minutes ago!”

  “Alright, alright!”

  To be honest, Abigail taking her time didn’t really bother Frieda that much. She was just happy the girl was strong willed enough to be feisty and enjoy life. After what happened to her back in West Virginia before Arthur rescued her …

  Part of Frieda was afraid the little girl would never recover.

  Abigail’s lackadaisical attitude wouldn’t have bothered her at all, in fact, if it wasn’t for the reason that Frieda was actually about to go out in the field on a mission. Frieda was used to pushing papers and organizing assets these last five or so years, so the idea of being back out on a hunt was thrilling.

  Even if her target wasn’t much of a threat.

  Her phone started to buzz in her pocket. She slipped it loose, read the name, and sighed. It was Garfield, one of her hunters. He was out in South Dakota chasing one of the Bishop’s other children.

  Garfield was also still pissed at Arthur for everything that went down at the water treatment plant, and he was also more than a little unhappy with her as well. She sympathized: she wasn’t thrilled about how things went down, either.

  She flipped the phone open and accepted the call.

  “Hello, Garfield.”

  “I got the kid. What do you want me to do with her?”

  “Nice to hear from you, too. How are things?” she asked sarcastically.

  He didn’t answer. Looks like he wasn’t quite ready to forgive her just yet. Frieda sighed.

  “Head down to South Florida.”

  “Florida? That’s like seven hours away.”

  “We have another child out there for you to track down. This one’s a teenager and has been starting fires. Already killed five people.”

  “Alright. What do I do with this one?”

  “You mean Maggie? She has a name.”

  “Sure? Where am I dumping her? The sooner the better: she keeps trying to bite me.”

  Frieda almost laughed, but caught herself at the last moment. Garfield was a sensitive man and definitely didn’t con
sider what he just said to be funny.

  “I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to phone it in to the Vatican and see what they want to do with her.”

  “Great,” he replied flatly. “And how long will that take?”

  She ignored him. “I’ll call you back with a drop off point along your way as soon as I get ahold of the Church.”

  “Fine. And what am I supposed to do to keep her from biting me until then?”

  “Slather yourself in pepper sauce? That’ll keep you safe unless she likes spicy food.”

  He hung up. Frieda burst out laughing. It would be a while before Garfield forgave her for pulling him off his last mission and everything Arthur did to him, but eventually he’d get over it. It was all a balancing act, and one she perfected over the years with the Hunters.

  The shower turned off, though it was still a couple of minutes before Abigail finally emerged from the bathroom. Steam billowed out of the room around her like she was an angel making a grand entrance. Frieda only sighed and shook her head.

  “Are you ready to go?”

  “Almost,” Abigail replied, rushing over and grabbing a pair of dirty socks off of a chair. She quickly slid them on her feet, bouncing on one foot at a time and nearly falling over.

  Frieda pointed at her watch. “We need to be on the road. I have an appointment to keep.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Do you? If we get there too late then we aren’t going to be able to—”

  Her phone started to ring again. She looked at it in frustration and saw that it was another hunter. This one, Charles Greathouse, was in Michigan dealing with yet another threat.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Frieda. Quick question: how the hell am I supposed to stop a kid who can see the future? Every time we figure out where she’s going, we get there about an hour too late.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The kid you assigned me is clairvoyant. She knows my every move before I make it. Me and my wife are both out of ideas for how to stop her.”

  “Just think one step ahead.”

  “That is the worst advice anyone has ever given me. One step ahead today is still in the past for tomorrow, which she knows.”

  “What advice would you prefer? I’ve never dealt with a clairvoyant anything, much less one who is a child. I don’t know: do something unpredictable.”

  He laughed, but there was no mirth in it. He was clearly annoyed and wanted to take out his frustration on her.

  She was used to that: being a punching bag was about half of her job, and she was careful not to let it get to her. It was totally understandable: the work of her hunters was perilous, and the worse it was the more frustrated they got.

  Danger led to emotion and emotion to frustration, and that often meant she was a target for them when they were feeling down or annoyed.

  She had to admit, though, that Charles had more reason than most to be annoyed with her: this kid he was after was definitely going to be difficult to track down, which is why she assigned it to him. He and his wife were some of her best Hunters, besides Arthur.

  “The future is still predictable, even when it’s unpredictable,” he said. “I can’t be unpredictable when no matter what I do has already happened and is therefore predicted.”

  “I don’t know. Just keep at it. Eventually you’ll wear her down and she’ll just give up.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “No idea. A year? Maybe two?”

  “Not funny.”

  “It’s a little funny.”

  “I’m sick of this kid and just chasing her all across the state.”

  “Has she done anything dangerous?”

  “No. That’s the thing. She isn’t doing anything at all except running from me. It’s like she thinks this is a game and she’s having fun messing with me and—”

  “Well then stick with it,” Frieda said. “If it’s a game and she isn’t hurting people, then you must be winning.”

  “You know that doesn’t help me at all Frieda and I—”

  “Gotta go!”

  She hung up and slipped the phone into her pocket.

  Abigail was standing in the center of the room, still bent over and balancing on one leg, her second sock dangling from her hand and mouth hanging open in shock. Suddenly, she grinned at Frieda and then burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You are.”

  Frieda didn’t think she was that funny. She frowned at Abigail. “Are you ready?”

  “Hang on. I still have to pack my bag.”

  “I already packed it.”

  “You didn’t pack it right.”

  Frieda groaned. “This is cutting into our breakfast time.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t like breakfast anyway.”

  “Well, I do.”

  Abigail just shrugged and kept re-packing her belongings. Frieda doubted it would take long to gather up their target and get back on the road. With any luck, it would be wrapped up by this afternoon.

  She tapped the phone against her leg thoughtfully. The target Charles was chasing wasn’t one of the higher threat targets that the Vatican was worried about. She wasn’t much of a danger on her own, and even the Bishop wrote that little girl off as a hopeless cause in his journals.

  She still needed to be caught, though. All of them did, which was why Frieda was out here in Minnesota with Abigail. They were chasing after another little boy, fifteen years old, who also wasn’t considered to be much of a threat. His name was Curtis, and from all reports this should be an easy job.

  All of Frieda’s other assets were out working on much more dangerous cases, which was why she didn’t have the luxury of sitting this one out.

  The church doubted her, though, to work this alone: the Vatican sent over a priest of their own to help capture Curtis and bring him back home. His powers, from everything Bishop Glasser documented in his journal, were empathic in nature. He read emotions, but little else.

  The Church didn’t consider him a threat, but he was considered a high value target, which was why they sent one of their own to help acquire him.

  “Alright, I’m ready,” Abigail said, hefting her bag off the bed. “We can go now.”

  “We can?” Frieda asked sarcastically. “That’s fantastic…”

  ◆◆◆

  The man who was waiting for them in the little diner wasn’t quite what Frieda expected. Mikael was short, balding, and with more than a little bit of pudge around his waistline. He was in his mid-forties at least, and the expression on his face was one of serious deliberation. The face of a man who rarely laughed or smiled.

  He didn’t look much like a priest, in fact, but more like a monk. The Vatican hadn’t given her much information about him, just explaining that he was in the area and she was to follow his orders.

  “You are Frieda Gotlieb?” he asked as they approached

  “Yes. You are Mikael? They didn’t give me a last name.”

  “You don’t need one. I’ve been waiting.”

  “I know,” Frieda said, shooting a glance at Abigail. “We apologize.”

  The man dismissed her apology with a curt wave of his hand and gestured for them to sit down. The smell of pancakes and coffee in the air was making Frieda’s mouth water and she was starving.

  “Did you already order?”

  “I don’t eat while the sun is out,” the man said. His tone made it clear that he thought Frieda’s question was ignorant.

  “Do you mind if we order something, then?”

  Annoyance flashed across his face and then waved his hand again. “Of course not. Do as you will.”

  The waiter came by and took their order. She and Abigail both got small breakfast plates, hers with coffee and Abigail’s with orange juice. She wanted desperately to order the chocolate waffle breakfast but changed her mind when she saw them on another table. They were small and soggy, so she stuck with the eggs and bacon.


  “To business, then?” she asked after the waiter stepped away from the table.

  Mikael looked pointedly over at Abigail. “Perhaps we shouldn’t speak openly.”

  “You can speak freely in front of Abi. She’s with me and I trust her completely.”

  “She is a child.”

  “You were one as well, once.”

  She almost added ‘I assume,’ but changed her mind. He seemed to take offense at the suggestion, and then merely shrugged noncommittally.

  “Very well. I’ve been tracking our target for the last few hours but haven’t managed to isolate him. He’s managed to evade all attempts at tracking.”

  “Curtis is an empath,” Frieda replied. “How much damage can he do?”

  “He is known to be an empath,” the priest disagreed, “but that doesn’t mean it is his only ability. We should approach cautiously and assume there is more to him than we anticipate.”

  Frieda disagreed, but she didn’t voice her concern aloud.

  Her phone started to ring. It was another of her agents, this one working in Texas.

  “Sorry, I have to take this.”

  The priest turned away and stare out the window of the diner. Frieda stepped over to an empty area of the restaurant and then accepted the call. Another hunter asking for a drop off point for his target.

  The call didn’t take long, only a couple of minutes for a status report and some information, and then she walked back over to the table. Her food was there, and Abigail was already almost done eating.

  The priest watched the young girl devour her food with a look of morbid fascination on his face, as though amazed someone so little ate so much. Abigail didn’t even seem to notice.

  “So, what is our plan of action?”

  “We will wait and watch to determine what the child’s intention is. When we deem the opportunity safe, we will capture him and I will relocate him to the Vatican.”

  “Alright,” Frieda said. “What do you want us to do?”

  “I want you to stay out of the way and await my call. Stay nearby and ready. Nothing more.”

  Frieda was a little frustrated that he didn’t want her help after all, but not surprised. Very few people in his position liked the Council of Chaldea, much less her Hunters. They were a nuisance at best, and looked down upon by many within the Church.