The Paladin's Redemption (The Keepers of White Book 3) Read online

  “Quite,” Madsen said, also irritably. “Blame me if it makes you feel better, dear. There’s no one else to blame now.” He turned his head and gazed toward the window, as if the blinds were not closed and he could see the driveway two stories below.

  Diana let out a sigh. “Except for you both falling for the old and simple ‘What’s-That?’ trick, I’m not blaming you, Stephen,” she replied as she turned to face him. “Or anyone of us. Clearly the boy had been planning this carefully for a long time. He must have been spying on some of us for some time to have known about the ashes. And none of that explains how he found us in the first place.”

  “The message we left him,” Madsen admitted. “The one he spoke of tonight. ‘Stephen Madsen says hello.’ I gave him my name. Out of arrogance. He must have found me at the university and followed me to Lancaster.” He turned to Diana with the same haggard face he wore just a few hours earlier in his office when he had opened the top drawer of his filing cabinet. “This is my fault,” he realized aloud.

  Diana shook her head as she slid herself closer to him. “If I really believed that, Stephen,” she almost whispered, “I would kill you where you sit.”

  He didn’t move an inch, only raised an eyebrow to her. He knew better than to retort. She was more powerful, they both knew. But she wouldn’t get very far in the aftermath of their failure without him, he knew. Whether she understood that or not didn’t matter; he wouldn’t challenge her with this notion. Not over a hypothetical threat. His facial expression merely demonstrated a nonverbal request that she further explain her reasoning.

  “But I’m certain that’s not the case,” she continued, with a tone lacking the cold intensity of her prior sentence. “At one point, Paul and I were discussing this ‘Cliff’ after he had mugged the girl.”

  “That was all staged,” Madsen cut in.

  “Yes,” she agreed, “we see that in hindsight now. But at the time that it happened, we talked about how it was a perfect opportunity to use him to take the fall for Panco’s murder. During that discussion, Paul mentioned that he had seen ‘the wretched vagabond’ at Sunday Mass for a couple weeks before the night of the Bible Study. He had never taken much notice of him then, and he only recalled seeing him at church after his… staged robbery.”

  “Meaning he had been conducting reconnaissance in Lancaster for a few weeks before I arrived into town,” Madsen said with realization.

  “Meaning… he didn’t follow you here,” Diana added. “And even if he had, what’s more disturbing is that he knew Megan Panco was our selection. That’s why he stole her necklace. He knew, Stephen. That’s what’s keeping me up. No so much how it went wrong as much as how he knew who we were after. Could he really have retained a gift of foresight at such a high level?”

  Madsen stroked his smooth, bare chin as if an invisible beard grew. “After what we’d done to him,” he contemplated, “a broken and despairing Keeper… holding onto the kind of anger we just saw in him? Not likely.”

  “How then?” she wondered, perplexed. “How could…”

  “He had help!” he answered; the realization sparking his eyes to life. “He didn’t carry out this task alone, at least not until he had the information he needed to find her… and us.”

  Diana turned toward him. “A new faction?” she suggested.

  “Possibly,” Madsen shrugged, “but I’m not so sure. If one has formed, then why wait until now? Their code mandates they protect all innocents, and that they put a stop to attempted Cycle completions during a Dark Year. Why didn’t they interfere with the four rituals prior to this one?”

  “Perhaps he just recently acquainted with other Keepers,” she proposed.

  Madsen continued to stroke his invisible beard. “Or reacquainted with… old friends. Ones who also struggle to focus on their gifts.”

  “The other survivors of our… cleansing,” Diana answered in a raised voice. “It had to be!”

  “It would explain their delay in finding us,” Madsen agreed. “It makes sense that it would have taken them some time to reconnect with their magic, and with each other.”

  “Pathetic magic,” Diana spat.

  The professor regarded his colleague. “Pathetic magic that bested us tonight,” he reminded her.

  Diana turned away from him, crossing her arms. “One battle,” she said dismissively. “The war has always been ours. They’ll remember that soon enough.”

  “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, love,” Madsen replied, realizing he was suddenly beginning to sound like Paul Cunningham, which he expected he would have to sooner than later now. “Remember; best served cold. Besides, we need to regroup, as well as reestablish our Primary Circle. These things take time, you understand.”

  “I’m not new to this, love,” Diana snapped, not fond of his assumed superiority, though she knew he was right. And now that their senior member was gone, it was Madsen’s responsibility to assume the role as he was next in line in their Circle, albeit a Circle of two currently. “Okay,” she said more calmly, “what do you propose?”

  Madsen turned his gaze back toward the blinds shielding the window to the outside world. After several seconds of a pensive expression on his face, he answered slowly, “I suppose we should consider what we’re up against. That former faction we had dealt with; there were initially five who escaped the massacre that night…”

  “Our people later hunted down and killed two of them,” Diana continued for him. “Maimed one other.”

  “Yes,” Madsen concurred, “the athlete. Then there was the young woman, and Messenger himself. We were unable to eliminate those three; somehow they were… protected…”

  “But we left them with scars, Stephen. Deep enough to…”

  “It appears they’ve managed some level of recovery,” he interrupted. “At least to some extent at which they’ve once again become a nuisance.”

  “That’s an understatement,” she mentioned with bitterness.

  “And so it seems they’ve chosen to ignore the warning we sent them,” he continued, ignoring her comment. “Very foolish of them to resurface, knowing full well we’ll eventually retaliate.” His voice trailed off as he said the final word of his statement, remembering the note left for him in his filing cabinet:

  Tell your people that if another of my loved ones is ever harmed again, I’ll retaliate against you ten times more deadly than I did tonight.

  “But our retaliation will have to be absolute this time,” he added at the thought of this. “Especially with Messenger.”

  “Even though he’s protected, as we’ve believed?”

  “If he’s protected,” Madsen replied, “there’s always a way to undo it. Always a counter. We just have to discover what it is.”

  “Once we’ve regrouped,” she reminded him of his own directive. “After tonight, they’ll probably go into hiding again.”

  “With our massive numbers and unlimited resources, they won’t stay hidden for long,” he answered with confidence. “And we have another advantage, my dear. We know they’re still willing to expose themselves to protect innocent people. The idiots must believe they’re bound to their sentimental Code of the White.”

  Diana’s eyes gleamed with vicious lust. “We can use that to draw them out then.”

  “Yes,” Madsen agreed, “when the time comes of course.”

  “That time could be awhile,” she almost pouted.

  “Patience is everything now,” he countered. “That, and careful planning. Another Dark Year will come eventually, and we’ll want to ensure that we don’t overlook the slightest detail.”

  Diana nodded reluctantly. Her anger that stewed inside was a force to be reckoned with, but it would do her little good if she allowed it to influence rash actions. The revenge she desired, as she suspected Madsen did as well, would only be sweet and rewarding if it were completely effective. “Okay,” she sighed. “So what now?”

  “You’ll need to contact your… boy-toy
in Des Moines. Tell him to abort his mission. And get your leash back on him before he starts having fun over there. Let him know that Senator Homan won’t be there to cover up any of his usual messes. He needs to lay low for now, but remain available for whatever we’ll need him to do.”

  “With the loss of everyone else in the two highest Circles,” Diana commented, “he’ll expect a promotion.”

  “Sell him some bullshit then,” Madsen recommended. “He’s a loose cannon and not ready for the discipline required, unless the Master himself says otherwise of course. Can you handle him?”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing all this time?” she snapped. “Don’t worry about Sonny. I’ll manage him just fine. What about you?”

  “Before we’re reassigned by the Agency, I’ll call our loyal contacts at the state police department and FBI, and instruct them to pin all the bloodshed in Lancaster on our brazen Keeper of White. They’ll put him on their Most Wanted list and get anything we have on him all over the media. That should complicate things for him well enough.”

  “A disguise artist who’s eluded us this long?” Diana replied doubtfully. “I’m not so sure, Stephen.”

  Madsen waved her off with one hand. “I’m not saying they’ll find him, Diana. But why make it easy for him? And remember, once we’ve rebuilt our Circles, our objective is to lead him to us, not the other way around.”

  Diana’s eyes narrowed. “If that’s the plan, then we need to make it happen by the next Dark Year. I’ll feel more at ease about our chances of completing the Cycle with him dead.” She rose from the bed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Madsen’s eyes followed her as she approached the door from whence she came. “Don’t worry, love,” he assured her. “We’ll bait him. And the next time he comes crashing through our door, we’ll be ready for him.”

  “Good,” she said. “And I will personally enjoy watching that little shit take his last breath with my hands around his throat.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I bestow that honor to myself,” he replied as she opened the door. He brought a gentle hand to his upper cheek, softly rubbing the spot where an old wound once festered. “I have my own score to settle with Mr. Messenger.”

  Chapter VII

  Standing just outside the bathroom doorway, Megan watched with grave concern as Michael, leaning over the porcelain sink embedded in the center of the beige counter, aggressively splashed cold water against his face from the running faucet. From the moment he fell from the bed until now, she had called his name several times gently, had asked him what was wrong, but he hadn’t answered her. She was still shivering from the vision, its potent effects were no less severe than the first time she had experienced it, yet he appeared to have been more distraught than she had, as if the nightmare was a contagion that infected his mind, now that he came into contact with it, even though it was only a mental contact.

  Michael finally shut the water off, planting both hands onto the counter in a manner that suggested he was supporting himself to keep from collapsing, and he stared at his dripping face in the mirror before him, breathing out forcefully. Was he suppressing the urge to vomit? She would have thought so had the color not started to return to his cheeks.

  Megan waited a moment longer until his exhalations returned to normal, then she made another attempt to pull him back from whatever demons influenced his odd behavior. This time she approached slowly and lightly rested her hand on his hunched shoulder. He was immediately aware of her gesture as he closed his eyes and hung his head in response. “Michael,” she repeated softly for the umpteenth time. “Talk to me. Please. What did you see?”

  Without moving an inch, save for the slow and mild rise and fall of his shoulders that matched his breathing, he finally spoke. “The same thing you did. I was just… caught off guard.”

  She moved in closer to him, daring to wrap both arms around him in an embrace meant to comfort him. “Do I really have to say ‘bullshit’ to that?” she said with as much tenderness as she could make such a question sound. “I’m pretty sure you being caught off guard might cause you to flinch at worst. You did a lot more than that.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wasn’t ready for that. Never expected… but I should’ve known…”

  “What, Michael?” she pried coercively. “Should’ve known what?”

  He raised his head and opened his eyes. Their blue shining-like quality seemed to have returned slightly as did his suddenly lost composure. She loosened her arms around him as he turned to face her. “This Sonny,” he said quietly, “he said you were ‘May,’ and that he was moving on to ‘August’.”

  “Yes,” she answered with hesitation, unsure as to why this was suddenly important to him.

  “Did he say where ‘August’ is?”

  She shook her head with questioning eyes.

  “Did he give any clue, or say anything that might hint to where he was going?”

  She shook her head again. “Nothing,” she assured him. “Why?”

  He didn’t answer, only looked away.

  “Is ‘August’ still in danger?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “But you said that since you stopped this… Cycle… or whatever you call it, that they have no reason to target the rest of the women they picked.”

  “That’s true,” he answered. “It wouldn’t make sense to risk an unnecessary investigation. But it didn’t make sense for him to kill your friends either.”

  “No,” she answered immediately, “I told you. He did it for the hell of it.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “From what I saw in your vision, he was in ecstasy from the torture he inflicted on Ryleigh. His actions that night were not sanctioned by the Agency. A man like that… who thrives on such pain…”

  Megan lowered her head. “All those times I held his hand, laughed with him… all the kisses I shared with him. I even loved him.”

  Michael put a weak hand on her shoulder. “What you loved was the man he pretended to be, Megan. Not the monster he really is.”

  “But why did he frighten you?” she asked. “In the vision. I’m sure you’ve come across men like that before. Men with nothing but hatred driving them.”

  Michael turned from her. “The whole thing just overwhelmed me.”

  She shook her head at him. “It was him,” she pushed. It was when we saw his face in the mirror that you…”

  “I know,” he stopped her, raising his palms to her. “I don’t know how I can explain it, except that to say that he has nothing but hatred is inaccurate.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Hatred is just the product of being hurt. Feelings of betrayal and disappointment festering inside someone who can’t overcome them. People hate because they’ve been wounded… scarred… too many times. This Sonny of yours; there was no hatred in him. No love. Just… want. A thirst that can never be quenched. I could see it in his eyes.”

  There was a silence following his words that Megan could feel, which raised the hairs on the back of her neck. A dark specter rode on the saddle of that silence and seemed to permeate the air she breathed. It was more unbearable than his speaking of the man whom she now feared, and she wanted to hear him speak, just to break the imaginary spell that now chilled her.

  Even more disturbing was the sense she got that Michael wasn’t telling her everything about the vision. Something else had him spooked. More than just the look in Sonny’s eyes. More than just the evil in his laughter. But she wouldn’t press any further. She had heard enough.

  “At any rate,” he finally continued, “I didn’t succeed in breaking the curse that woman put on you.”

  “No shit,” she almost smirked. “So I’m pretty much screwed out of getting any sleep… ever.”

  He suddenly stood erect again and turned to face her. The color in his face and eyes completely replenished. “I wouldn’t say that. We’ll just have to try again.”

  Mega
n nodded, anxious to get rid of the haunting vision for good, but there was a strange expression of doubt upon him, even as he spoke. “Think you’ll be ready this time?” she asked, when she noticed this.

  “I… think so,” he answered hesitantly. “Now that I know what to expect, I won’t get caught off guard. But I don’t know for sure. I can tell you that I’ll try my best.”

  This time they were standing in between the two beds, facing each other. After downing a full plastic bottle of water from the pack he had purchased at the store, Michael had taken a single white candle from his backpack, the same one from where he had earlier retrieved the strange contents which had healed her of her wounds from the ritual. First, he placed it in a quaint holder made of what appeared to be iron, then lit it in the most peculiar manner by blowing on the wick, igniting a gentle flame; a paradoxical action normally performed to snuff a candle out.

  “Now you’re just showing off,” Megan teased, hiding her amazement.

  “Just testing myself,” he shrugged. “Want to be sure I’ve still got my mojo.”

  “Any reason why you wouldn’t?”

  “Possibly,” he admitted. “The priest mentioned it before I ended his life, that there would be consequences for my breaking the Code of the White. So far, so good though. I hope.” He took her hands. “Okay, same thing as before. Close your eyes and start to control your breathing.”

  “Except we’re standing this time,” she noted.

  “It might help me focus,” he explained. “It’s like singing I guess. It’s easier to do if you’re standing up. Ready?”

  She shook her head. “One question, just out of curiosity. When Father Paul hypnotized me… I guess it was a spell he cast because he was able to make me obey his commands. Anyway, he spoke in a strange language, repeating some kind of mantra. Something like, ‘zin cah-vay molock…’”

  Michael quickly placed two of his fingers of his right hand upon her mouth. “Don’t repeat those words,” he warned hastily. “Never speak in that dark tongue.”