The Devil's Due (The Blackwell Files Book 5) Page 2

  The group assembled in a broad circle around the altar. Standing behind the girl’s head, Divband placed his hands on her shoulders and closed his eyes. After intoning an incantation for half a minute, he opened his eyes. “The ancient spirits are here. They accept the offering we make to the great Iblis and the other black jinnd and have agreed to enter into the usual covenant.”

  Giti struggled to turn her head to look at Divband, but the gag and arm restraints limited her range of motion.

  “And now,” said Divband, “let us affirm the covenant as we have been taught.”

  The assemblage began to chant, beginning with a low murmur that steadily grew in volume.

  As his followers repeated the ancient verse, Divband withdrew from the folds of his robe a necklace from which dangled a silver pentagram in a circle. The charm’s design mirrored the one he had created in ink on Giti’s torso.

  Divband placed the talisman on Giti’s abdomen. “Iblis and the rest of the black jinnd, hear our prayer. We consign this young one to your fold as a new wife of Iblis, and we entreat you to provide the power to defeat our enemies. Give us the might to deliver the full wrath of your anger to those who deny your supremacy, to those who try to take the land as their own.”

  Divband reached over to a small table on which rested a black cloth and an Athame, a double-edged blade with a black handle. After placing the cloth over Giti’s face, he lifted the ceremonial knife from the table and held it above his head. “Let the ancient ritual be fulfilled.”

  He removed the charm from Giti’s abdomen, leaving undisturbed the symbol displayed in ink. “Blood for power,” he chanted.

  “Power for blood,” replied the throng in unison.

  The girl’s muffled screams echoed through the chamber as Divband plunged the knife into a portion of the circle’s arc on her torso. He began carving the outline of the circle with the knife’s blade still buried in her body. Within seconds, the girl fell silent. Divband continued until he had finished carving the entire arc of the grisly circle.

  With a wave of Divband’s hand, the chanting stopped, reducing the room to silence. The slow drip of blood from the table onto the stone floor produced the only discernable noise. Crimson droplets filled in cracks between crowded bas-reliefs covering the floor in a circle about the altar. As the blood continued to flow, the winged creatures and scowling faces depicted in the carvings appeared themselves to have suffered fatal injuries.

  Divband turned to Ghoyee.

  “Transport the knife. Wash it in the waters of the Cophes, that Iblis’ power may be released into our land,” he said, using the ancient name of the body of water now known by most as simply the Kabul River.

  Turning to the other followers, he continued. “Move the body and incense into the Sanctuary of Death. They must remain undisturbed for the requisite eleven hours. You know what to do after that.”

  The followers nodded and began their grim task in silence. Loosening the cloth restraints from Giti’s still form, four of the zealots carried her lifeless body from the room, while four more carried the incense urns.

  Divband watched the procession. Once the chamber emptied, he retreated to a windowless room on the opposite end of the central building. He had converted the small antechamber into a makeshift office.

  After washing his hands in a silver basin and drying them with a threadbare towel, he dropped into a black wicker chair and steepled his fingers in front of his face, lost in thought.

  Noticing a lingering drop of blood on the side of his hand, Divband smeared the residue onto the towel and smiled. The ceremony had gone off without a hitch, but today’s sacrifice, as well as the preceding seven, were just the beginning. He had bigger plans, secrets known only to his most trusted follower. His group of zealots might be small now, but it was growing, and the uninterrupted string of successes he had enjoyed thus far filled him with optimism for the future. With enough supporters, no one would be able to stop the newly-resurgent Brotherhood of Stones.

  CHAPTER 5

  On a bright Saturday in late March, Alton Blackwell married Mallory Wilson.

  The ceremony was performed at Fellowship United Church, one of Charlotte’s oldest and most celebrated structures. White hydrangeas and splashes of ribbon adorned the ends of the pews, while white orchids, greenery, and candles framed the wedding party at the front of the church.

  Standing with Mallory at the altar, Alton gazed upon his bride with the joy and disbelief many feel on such an occasion. Mallory’s dazzling smile conveyed a similar state of mind.

  The couple had decided to write a portion of their vows, supplementing biblical enjoinders to pure, fervent love with their own promises of support and fidelity.

  Mallory gazed into Alton’s eyes. “Those who know me understand how unbelievably happy I am. I have loved you almost since we met, although you didn’t know that for a while.” Several attendees chuckled, but a welling of tears threatened to render Mallory incapable of further speech. “With other men, I always wondered how long they would stay. With you, I don’t have to wonder about that. I know you are committed to me and our relationship. I pledge my love to you, my husband, the father of our future children, the love of my life.”

  Alton admired Mallory’s capacity to recite the speech unaided. On such an important occasion, he hadn’t trusted himself to remember everything he wanted to say. Mallory smiled as Alton withdrew a slip of paper from his pocket, straightened it in his hand, and cleared his throat. “Mallory befriended me at a time when I wasn’t a friend to myself. Those bonds of friendship have grown under the tender care of our heavenly Maker into something infinitely superior, a relationship without description or equal. Beyond hope, beyond despair, beyond reason, beyond madness, beyond trust, beyond fear, beyond death, beyond the transitory emotions of a day or a week or a lifetime, the unchanging flame of my love will burn steady and strong, a beacon illuminating the truth and fidelity of my undying love for you—always.”

  The pastor declared them man and wife, eliciting cheers from the congregation. After exchanging their first married kiss, Mallory leaned over and whispered to her husband. “I love you…so much.”

  Mallory shielded her face as tears tracked down her cheeks. By this time, the conclusion of the thirty-minute ceremony, the family and friends in attendance had likewise met their quota of joyful tears.

  After posing for a round of photographs both inside and outside the church, the wedding party traveled to the reception at Carolina Manor, Beverly’s Wilson’s exclusive country club.

  Alton and Mallory were hailed by a chorus of greetings as they entered the banquet hall, which retained all the finery of the previous evening but was now festooned with a dazzling array of floral arrangements and formal dinner tables surrounding a champagne fountain.

  “Okay, you two,” said Cherie, their wedding planner. “Let’s get the reception line going. Why don’t you stand over there near the gift table?”

  The couple moved to the indicated spot.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” announced Cherie to the assemblage, “I present Mr. and Mrs. Alton Blackwell!”

  Her announcement produced the expected cheer.

  As friends and family members queued up, Alton leaned over to Mallory. “Did I tell you how fantastic you look in that dress?”

  “Only three times.”

  “Sorry. I guess I was distracted…by you in that dress.”

  “Not any more distracted than I was seeing you wearing that tux. Now that I know how good you look in it, I’ll have to find more occasions for you to wear one.”

  The festivities lingered into the evening. By eight o’clock, however, only family members remained, seated around the principal table.

  “Are you ever going to open your presents?” asked Ruth, Alton’s youngest sister.

  “Yeah, I guess we should,” replied Alton. “Otherwise, we’ll be here all night.”

  “Why don’t I keep track of who gave what gift?” said Bever
ly Wilson. “That is, if Gail is agreeable.”

  “Of course,” said Gail, who hadn’t stopped smiling all day except to cry. “I’ll handle the distribution honors.”

  The company settled into the task, and before long the gift table sat empty. After exchanging heartfelt words of tenderness with their family members, Alton and Mallory drove to Charlotte’s impeccable Ritz-Carlton Hotel for the first night of their honeymoon.

  As they entered the luxurious Uptown Suite, Alton took Mallory’s hand. He led her to the window and drew aside the curtains, revealing the city’s twinkling skyline. “It’s not quite as nice as the view from Imàgo,” he said, referring to the Roman restaurant in which he had proposed to Mallory last autumn, “but it’ll do.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s pretty in its own way,” replied Mallory. “Anyway, I’m not here for the view. I’m more interested in the company.”

  Alton gazed into his bride’s eyes, his heart overflowing in ways language could never capture. “I’ve been trying to figure out ways to tell you how much today means to me, but words are so deficient to the task.”

  “You did a pretty good job at the wedding, Sweetie. Good thing I wore waterproof mascara. But I know what you mean. I struggle myself. I love you so much, but I don’t know how to tell you.”

  Alton paused to gather his thoughts. “When I was wounded in Afghanistan, I couldn’t have imagined my life would take the road leading up to this moment. Even in my wildest, most optimistic moments, I never dreamed of finding anyone like you. I feel so blessed just to know you, but now to have you as my wife…” He stopped, not trusting his trembling voice to continue.

  Mallory brushed his cheek, then her own. “Most girls dream about finding a knight in shining armor, but how many really do? You were a hero in Afghanistan the day I met you, and you’re still my hero—my knight.”

  Alton recalled the day he met Mallory. They had both pulled wounded civilians from flaming wreckage following the detonation of an insurgent bomb in a bazaar across the main gate from Camp Eggers, the military compound in which they had worked. “That was quite a day for both of us, wasn’t it? You know it wasn’t too long after that day that my feelings for you deepened.

  “And once I began loving you,” continued Alton, “I knew I’d never be the same man again—whether you loved me or not, whether you married me or not. I knew some essence of you had mixed into my soul and become part of me, changing me for the better. And until I close my eyes to this earth for the last time, that will always be true.”

  “I know,” said Mallory. “That’s why you’re my knight. And why I’ll be yours—forever.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The sun dipped behind a pair of buildings standing across the narrow street. Long shadows darkened the bedroom, causing Mastana to snap out of her reverie and look up.

  Mother had finally drifted into a restless sleep. She required ever-increasing doses of narcotics to overcome the pain brought on by the cancer’s relentless advance. Mastana knew her mother couldn’t hold on much longer.

  Uncle Dani had spent much of the day on the phone. Mastana hadn’t been able to make out all of his words, but the ones she had understood, as well as Uncle’s impassioned tone, had told her enough. He was planning another attack against the Americans. The thought sent a shudder of repulsion through her frame.

  Mother’s breathing eventually slowed, indicating a deeper slumber. Mastana made her way out of the room and tiptoed to her own bedroom down the hall. To avoid making any noise that might alert Uncle Dani, she held the doorknob twisted until it was fully in place in the doorframe, then slowly released it. She crept into bed fully clothed and pulled the thin, woven blanket up to her chin.

  Mastana hadn’t heard Uncle Dani’s voice for a while. She hoped he had left the house. Although he occasionally stared at her maturing body with a lascivious expression, it was not his advances she feared. Uncle might entertain lustful thoughts, but his true passion lay in the jihad.

  “Mastana!” called Uncle from the front of the house. Mastana didn’t answer. She could always pretend to be asleep if he found her.

  Footsteps in the hallway grew loud and faded again as Uncle passed Mastana’s room and entered Mother’s. A moment later, a loud click from a distant doorknob and nearing footsteps heralded Uncle’s approach. Mastana closed her eyes and prayed Uncle would continue past her room. Perhaps he had only wanted to tell her something that could wait until morning.

  She heard the door to her room swing open, and footsteps approached her bed.

  “Niece. Are you asleep?”

  Mastana made a show of issuing a small yawn and squinting as she opened her eyes. “I am awake now, Uncle.” She swung her feet around and raised herself to a sitting position on the side of the bed.

  Uncle Dani raised an eyebrow at her clothes. “How is your mother?”

  “She was in much pain earlier. I had to give her an extra pill to help her sleep.”

  “She will not awaken for a while, then,” he said. “That is good. I need to talk to you about a great mission, and I do not want you to be distracted by your mother.”

  Mastana said nothing, but her heart accelerated. She prayed Uncle’s conversation would flow in an unexpected direction.

  “Saturday is the day the soldiers in the American military base allow our citizens inside their courtyard to sell goods. As you know, they only allow approved vendors inside, and even then they often search the goods and people for weapons. You and your mother have been selling clothing to them for a long time. They recognize you now, right?”

  Mastana could scarcely form a response. “Yes, Uncle.”

  “And do they often search you for weapons?”

  Mastana shook her head.

  “Excellent. They trust you. You are young, female, and well-known. You were even a patient at their hospital for several weeks after the bazaar bombing outside its gates a few years ago. They think you are their good friend. You are the last person they will suspect of delivering Allah’s jihad.”

  “Jihad, Uncle?”

  “Yes, my niece. They might decide to search the goods you are selling, but they will not search your body. My leaders have developed a smaller vest for you to wear. It will fit under your clothes and will not draw suspicion.”

  “Am I to wear this vest on Saturday, Uncle?”

  “Yes, Mastana. This is a great honor. You will be assured of meeting Allah in the next life.”

  The teen nodded and cast her gaze to the floor, afraid her eyes would betray the terror and abhorrence that must surely be flowing from them.

  Uncle Dani took a step closer to her bed, bringing himself to within a foot of her trembling frame. “We will talk more of this tomorrow. I must ensure you understand all instructions, especially how to detonate the bomb.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” whispered Mastana.

  Uncle Dani left the room, and Mastana lay in bed, far too agitated to sleep. Several hours later, she heard her mother begin to moan. She scurried to Mother’s room and helped her swallow more of the small, white pills.

  After thirty minutes or so, Mother’s moans subsided, and she drifted back to sleep.

  Mastana grasped her mother’s hand as silent tears fell onto the coarse blanket. “Oh, Mother, if only you could awake and advise me! I don’t want to leave you in your final days, but I am so afraid of Uncle Dani. What would you have me do?”

  CHAPTER 7

  As rays of morning sunlight pierced through cracks between the hotel room’s plush curtains, Alton rolled over and faced his bride. “Good morning, Mrs. Blackwell.”

  Mallory broke into a huge grin. “Morning, Sweetie.”

  Alton kissed his beloved, letting the contact linger. “Okay, I know intellectually that I’m a married man, but it really hasn’t sunk in yet.”

  “I know. Me, neither. You’re not going to be mad if I forget and say Mallory Wilson a few times, are you?”

  “No, of course not. As long as we’re married,
you can take all the time you need. Speaking of that, still no regrets changing your name?”

  “No,” replied Mallory. “It’s funny. I always thought I’d keep Wilson if I ever got married. But once I met you…I don’t know, it just felt right making the change.”

  “Hey, I’m cool with it either way, as long as we’re married.”

  The couple dressed and descended to the hotel’s restaurant for breakfast.

  Alton stirred the coffee in his mug with a teaspoon and let a wave of contentment wash over him. “Well, yesterday was a big day, of course, but considering that we’re leaving for our honeymoon in a few hours, I’d say today is, too.”

  “Tell me about it. I can’t wait for the cruise. I’ve never been to Antigua before.”

  “Um…about that. There’s been a small change in our itinerary.”

  Mallory fixed Alton in a penetrating stare. “Alton Blackwell, not again,” she said, referring to the previous autumn’s Italian vacation Alton had initially disguised as a trip to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

  Alton couldn’t suppress a grin. “It’s not my fault this time. Your mom wanted to surprise us with a kick-ass honeymoon. She had to tell one of us, and I ended up being the one she drew into her confidence.”

  “So she could surprise me. That sounds like her. But wait—I thought the rehearsal dinner and the reception were Mom’s wedding gifts. That’s what she told us.”

  “That was part of the plan. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be as surprised about the honeymoon trip.”

  “Well, it worked. I’m shocked. So, if we’re not going to the Caribbean, where are we going?”

  “How do you feel about Tahiti?”

  “Sweetie, it’s not nice to tease me. Where are we really going?”

  “Bora Bora, Tahiti—seriously.”