Children of the Temple: Book One

By Nancy M. Griffis

In 1311, Laurent de Vichy burns alive in the flames of Templar persecution outside the Convent of St. Antoine, cursing God with his last words, only to be resurrected by an unknown power. Eight hundred years later, he still doesn’t know why he can’t die, but fights to protect the innocent against evil.

Damian Costas, recovering addict and magic-wielding hacker stands firmly by Laurent’s side, even if he never really knows where they stand in their on-again, off-again relationship.

Anna Maria Bracken lives a normal life - grad school, friends, family, and a post-college trip to ‘find herself’ - right up until her family is slaughtered, the walls of her childhood home literally painted with their blood.

What starts out as a simple job protecting Anna Maria against a powerful demon turns into a quest for all three to stop the unleashing of something ancient and evil that the earth hasn’t seen since before the Old Testament... something that wants to unleash Hell on earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nancy M. Griffis
• Release date: Dec 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301361540

Nancy M. Griffis

A novelist and screenwriter living in Los Angeles, enjoying the sun, and writing whenever possible.

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Children of the Temple: Book One

By

Nancy M. Griffis

Children of the Temple: Book One

Copyright 2012 Nancy M. Griffis

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Other works by this author:

Novels:

Fluctuations: Book One of the Connemara Chronicles

Eternal Investigations

Short Stories:

The Arbiter and the Mummy’s Curse

A Most Unusual Courtship

Home Fires Burning

The Author Online:

Smashwords Author Page

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

The Convent of Saint-Antoine, France

1311

Pillars of fire dotted the vast field alongside the Convent, and the smell of cooking flesh – human flesh – wafted over the audience so thickly that some retched where they stood. Those bound to the pillars but not yet burning cried out at the injustice done them, shouting their innocence to a blank sky as torches touched wood. They were none of them heretics; all faithful to God, no matter the Pope’s decree. Flames already consumed some of the Knights, and they howled in mindless agony as their skin melted. Black smoke rose to the heavens, carrying souls bound for martyrdom once flesh had been cast from bone, the righteous eluding the limbo that snared souls less worthy.

Laurent only vaguely saw the serfs and lords and clergy milling around the pillars of the dying through his own fiery circle. Fifty-three of his brother Knights Templar died with him, their shrieks a cacophony of wretchedness to his ears. The heat surged more intensely than any forge he’d ever been near. He pulled at the ropes, wrenched and twisted until they were slick with his blood and then grew stiff with it, drying quickly from the heat. The breeze that should have cooled instead fanned the blaze ever hotter, and yet swirled the smoke up and away, keeping from him an easier, swifter death from suffocation.

There was no escaping this fate, no eluding a torturous death that should not be his. All they had done for Christendom, every act of kindness, each life they had saved in the Holy Land… none of it now mattered. The kings and Pope feared the might of the Temple, not understanding that they only wished to serve and make their way to the true Kingdom, that of God… fear was the reason behind this massacre.

Laurent gritted his teeth against the rising tide of fire, flashes of his life coming to mind at this last, too-long moment of his death. Politics. Intrigue. Deception. Fear. The things that had dogged his path growing up in his father’s household and his uncle’s court had conspired to end his world. Things he had tried to leave behind upon joining the Temple. It seemed as though his life had come in a circle; the path that he’d thought he’d chosen had ultimately been that of his father, though well-hidden.

The fire caught the branches nearest him and he jerked back, away from the unbelievable heat. Did this give him a preview of eternity? Would he spend it in Hell, unable to relinquish the bitterness in his heart? All around him were calls to God; the other Knights retaining their Faith in the very worst moments of their lives, the last moments of their lives spent in pure pain and pure Faith. He ached for that Faith, but had been empty of it for months. Laurent felt only darkness within and boiling agony without.

Bitterness twisted deep inside, echoing his futile, frantic twisting and straining to tear free of the coarse ropes; not even Laurent’s fabled strength could break these bindings. Hatred soured his stomach so that he retched with it, bile hissing into the flames. He coughed violently as smoke finally settled in his mouth, and then looked directly at the Bishop, not so far away, the old man’s visage stony and yet satisfied to Laurent’s eye. Darkness clouded his vision, but Laurent knew not whether it was the smoke or the rage of his soul.

Laurent’s eyes clenched shut when his tunic caught fire at last, scorching into his stomach. His jaw clamped tight as he refused to utter any sound, denying his voice to the chorus of suffering around him in this field of death. His heart battered against his chest, his breathing ragged, burning so hot it was cold. The smell of his own burning skin filled his nose and he vomited again.

When at last he had to find release as leather and cloth melted into skin... when at last he had to spew the vitriol, his hair bursting into fire… when at last he spoke, the words were a whisper, not the scream his nerveless, dying body demanded. No one would hear. Not a living soul could possibly make out the curse against God he barely uttered, his mind taking leave over the roar of the inferno that consumed him.

It was unfortunate that Laurent didn’t know then about the souls that weren’t quite alive.

CHAPTER ONE

"9-1-1, please state your emergency."

"They’re dead! Please, there’s blood everywhere, you have to help me!"

"Please stay calm, ma’am, what’s your location?"

"It’s my family, I… they’re dead!"

"Ma’am, what’s your address? Where are you?"

"I’m… home…"

Los Angeles was just as hot in September as it was during the rest of the summer; the air wouldn’t truly start to cool off until October, and then only if the city was lucky: November if it wasn’t. Anna Maria Bracken didn’t feel the heat as anything other than a minor irritation. It was the four coffins in front of her that held her complete attention, sending everything else very far away. She vaguely felt her best friend Stephanie’s hand on hers, and knew the crowd of mourners was large, but neither truly registered. Even the priest’s words were a drone that only partially made it through the fog of her turmoil.

Lifting her face to the painfully bright sky, Anna Maria closed her eyes to feel the burning heat of the sun on her skin. As pale as she was, it wouldn’t be long until the direct sun began to leave its mark. She’d ignored the umbrella that Stephanie had held out before they’d left the house that morning. The sun might make her feel something where nothing else could.

God did not make death, nor does he rejoice in the destruction of the living.

Anna Maria’s head snapped over to the priest at those words, her stomach twisting with bitterness as she took in his genuinely sorrowful expression. He was younger than most priests, in his thirties, and she remembered seeing him at church the last time they’d all been to Mass before her trip to Europe. It had been the last time they’d all been together. His name escaped her, even though Stephanie had gone over the funeral details with her a few times in the last couple of days.

For he fashioned all things that they might have being; and the creatures of the world are wholesome. And there is not a destructive drug among them, nor any domain of the netherworld on Earth, for justice is undying. For God formed man to be imperishable; the image of his own nature he made him. But by the envy of the devil, death entered the world, and they who are in his possession experience it, the priest continued, meeting Anna Maria’s gaze. This is a terrible tragedy, no one will deny, and most words will sound like platitudes at this time. I draw solace in knowing that Elia, David, Gabriella, and Dario are all at peace now, and in a much, much better place. It is left to those remaining to pick up the pieces and comfort one another as we attempt to move on with our lives.

The priest looked around the crowd, silent for a long moment, and then continued on with the more familiar rites that Anna Maria had been part of at various funerals throughout her life: her grandmother when she was thirteen, her uncle at sixteen, and a school friend at twenty. She’d thought each time that she should feel more and yet now, in comparison, Anna Maria knew that she’d felt plenty. This total lack of feeling, this numbness, would eventually dissipate and, at that point, she knew she would be rendered mad from the loss of her entire family.

Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, soaking into the black blouse she’d worn. The crucifix around her throat felt heavier than it should, as if it carried more weight than even its twenty-four karats bestowed. It was her mother’s crucifix, the one she’d worn since Confirmation, given to Elia by her own mother, Anna Maria’s grandmother. The only real connection Anna Maria now had to her family.

Stephanie’s hand squeezed hers, bringing her thoughts back to the present. The priest looked at her expectantly and she knew that it was time; the ceremony was almost over. Standing, Anna Maria walked over to each casket in turn and placed a white rose on the top: mother, father, brother, sister. She walked back to her seat and watched with an odd sense of finality as the coffins were lowered into the ground. As if her life had ended as well.

There wasn’t much left to do except throw dirt in each grave, her family plot filled in one fell swoop. The plot had been expanded to accommodate them all. No one had expected Dario and Gabriella to be buried with their parents, and her parents had only bought a plot with two spaces. Fortunately, there had been space to both sides, so Anna Maria had bought them to keep her family together.

All except me, she thought, staring at the open graves as people walked by, murmuring words to her and throwing dirt into whichever grave meant the most to them. Why not me?

It was a question that had plagued her for three weeks, awake and asleep. Three words that haunted her.

Anna Maria?

Her eyes flickered up to find the priest standing directly in front of her, not quite blocking her view. The answer was an automatic, Yes, Father? despite the fact he was only about ten years older than her.

He smiled faintly and sat beside her. Please, call me Eric.

Eric Carrington, she abruptly remembered. Father Carrington.

She remembered her parents laughing and making Dynasty jokes when he’d first been assigned to the parish. Unable to smile at even that memory, Anna Maria just nodded and looked back at the graves. Stephanie sat at her right and Father Carrington to her left. She was surrounded by love and faith, and felt neither.

It wasn’t until she happened to notice a worker standing off to the side, sweat soaked into his T-shirt, that she began to think about how others would feel in the heat. Father Carrington wore full vestments and had to be sweltering, but hadn’t voiced a single complaint. Nor had Stephanie, and she was in a black dress, complete with nylons and heels, the umbrella leaning unused against her chair.

Anna Maria stood and walked over to the graves, picking up dirt to throw in each of them as she said a silent good-bye to her family. Pausing at her mother’s, she dropped to her knees and dug her hands into the hard, warm ground, and gazed in at the solid-oak casket six feet down.

Anna!

No, leave her.

Ignoring both the priest and her best friend, not even truly noticing them, Anna Maria let out a low, agonized moan as she finally realized that it was real. They were gone. Murdered. Ripped from her in the prime of their lives. The moan grew until a wail of absolute grief replaced it, startlingly loud in the silence of the cemetery. Strong arms surrounded her then, pulling her back from the grave and holding her, keeping her safe when she wanted nothing more than to join her family.

* * * *

Anna Maria stared at the remnants of a large bruise on her friend’s cheek. She didn’t even remember dealing it out, but at some point during her meltdown at the gravesite, she’d clocked Stephanie a good one. Most of it had already been covered with makeup; the drive to the community center took almost a half-hour from the cemetery.

Stephanie was putting the finishing touches on it now, before they arrived at the wake. Gray eyes met hers and Stephanie smiled, repeating, I’m fine.

The wonders of makeup, Anna Maria agreed, a wisp of humor rising. Too bad Father Carrington can’t say the same.

Anna Maria had either sprained or broken his nose with an elbow to the face. He’d called a cab to take him to the nearest ER. He’d been gracious about it, declaring it a hazard of the job and using his sleeve to stem the bleeding.

Stephanie shook her head and said, You Catholics take the best men off the market.

Anna Maria snorted more out of habit than amusement, knowing Stephanie was trying to lighten the mood. She looked out the window as the limo pulled up to the recreation center, which her parents had helped build from scratch over fifteen years ago. The house hadn’t been cleared yet of all the crime-scene issues, nor had it even been cleaned since the murders, so the Center had offered to hold the wake. Good old Jeremy, her father’s shadow.

Hey. You okay?

Letting out an explosive sigh, Anna Maria nodded and gave Stephanie a wan smile. Her head throbbed and her fingers hurt from clawing at the ground, but it was an almost-welcome tradeoff to feel again. Her soul ached from the gaping hole at its center, but she would survive. I still can’t believe I went all Old Country at the graveside. You see little old ladies doing that, not someone my age.

Stephanie shrugged and said, Grief is universal, honey, and it comes out like that all over the world. Westernized ceremonies don’t allow for the primal nature of loss. We’ve sterilized it so that such behavior is the exception, not the norm, when it should be the other way around.

Anna Maria’s smile was more genuine at that, and she said, Your non-profit roots are showing, girl.

Stephanie didn’t rise to the bait, instead taking her hand and saying firmly, If you need to scream or tear some hair or wear a sackcloth shirt or whatever, I will make it happen.

Tears threatened at the serious declaration, the absolute conviction in her best friend’s voice going right through her. Clearing her throat, Anna Maria squeezed her hand and said, Thanks.

And then the driver opened the door and it was time to make her way into the wake. Stephanie kept hold of her hand as they entered the bright, cheerful building. Anna Maria saw her mother’s touches in everything from the murals on the walls to the unexpected water fountain in the middle of the lobby. She’d been so whimsical that way. Her father’s presence was more subtle, but there in the blunt, sturdy nature of the building itself. No earthquake lower than a seven would tear it down; Anna Maria knew that in her gut.

The wake was held in the gym and the room was packed which was – and wasn’t – expected. Anna Maria stopped just inside the room, more than a little overwhelmed at the show of support. She’d known how involved her parents had been in their community, no matter how busy their lives became, but it was still something of a shock to see how many kids and parents she didn’t know.

You okay? Stephanie’s repeated question remained soft, the tone for dealing with the grief-impaired.

Anna Maria took a breath and let it out slowly before nodding and walking forward again. Not that she made it far. It took an hour just to reach the condolence line for people to give her their sympathies. Everyone wanted to stop her and talk to her, tell her what wonderful people her family had been. Stephanie was an immovable object at her side and, when they finally reached the chairs where the line was supposed to begin, Father Carrington waited, a splint on his nose, and the skin around it purple and dark.

Anna Maria’s mouth dropped in dismay and she said, Oh my God, Father; I am so sorry!

He smiled at her and took her hand. It’s fine, Anna Maria, honest. Certainly not the first broken nose I’ve gotten. And it’s not even that bad; the nurse insisted on the splint. You must’ve been pulling your punches.

Wincing, Anna Maria said, Well, at least there’s that.

I told you being a black belt would get you in trouble one day, Stephanie teased lightly. Isn’t punching a priest like hitting a cop? Don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred dollars, go to Hell?

Father Carrington grinned and shook his head. I’m allowed to dispense ‘Get Out of Hell Free’ cards in these cases, so she’s okay.

Anna Maria half-smiled at that and told him, Thanks, I appreciate it.

Any time. And hey. This might finally give me some street cred.

Stephanie’s eyebrows lifted. Priests need street cred?

His brown eyes twinkled as he said, Have you met Mrs. Orlani?

Anna Maria actually laughed at that, a hand slapping over her mouth as she stifled the inappropriate sound. Mrs. Orlani was the terror of the neighborhood, and had been for as long as she could remember. The old woman never aged, frozen at some indeterminate age around eighty, tiny and stooped with bright-red, artificial hair and a wicked, wooden cane that moved faster than a skateboarder could dodge.

Anna Maria?

Sobering at Jeremy’s interruption, Anna Maria turned to face the man who’d been her father’s business partner since they’d finished college. He was just as tall as her father had been, but softer, the more typical representation of middle-aged, suburban life. Balding on top, and with bloodshot, pale-blue eyes, Jeremy didn’t look at all well. Anna Maria didn’t begrudge his grief, knowing it to be as genuine as hers, if different in tenor.

She pulled him into a hug, and they held onto one another for a long minute before he stepped back and offered a watery smile. How are you doing, kiddo?

I’m okay. Tired.

He nodded and rubbed her back before saying, Understandable. Are you up to the condolences now? Or would you like something to eat first?

She hadn’t been able to keep down much of anything since the murders. I’d rather get the condolences out of the way.

Of course, of course. I’ll get things started. He kissed the top of her head before walking away.

You should eat something, honey.

Anna Maria looked back at Stephanie and said, I will, just not now. Don’t want to risk throwing up on someone.

Stephanie sighed, but acquiesced with a nod.

If anyone wondered about Father Carrington’s face, no one mentioned it over the next couple of hours. It was both torturous and wonderful to hear all the little stories and anecdotes people had about her family. Not just her parents, but her brother and sister, too. She hadn’t thought that she’d be able to make it through this part of the funeral, but as time went on, Anna Maria’s heart lightened just a little, knowing that her family would never be forgotten. Not because they’d built the rec center, but because of the lives they’d touched and their genuine connection to the community.

It was finally time for her to say something to the crowd at large and she looked at Stephanie and asked, Could you get me a glass of wine?

Stephanie left her for a couple of minutes and returned with the wine, handing it over with a puzzled look.

Looking at Jeremy, she asked, Can you get the mic working? I want to say something to everyone.

He looked surprised, but then nodded and walked away. He came back a few minutes later with a wireless mic. He held it out to her.

Anna Maria took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She walked over to the stage and up the stairs, flicking on the mic when she reached the center of it. The quiet conversations going on dried up almost instantly, everyone noticing her.

It took a few tries, but Anna Maria cleared her throat and said, Everyone here knows my family. I heard a lot of lovely things about them, things I didn’t know and some I did. It’s… uh; it’s good to meet all of you, even under these circumstances. I want to thank you all for the support you’ve given me over these last weeks; I couldn’t have made it without that support. Without you. Um, the only thing that’s wrong with what’s going on here, though, is that it feels like a wake. My parents, especially my mother, loved a good party.

Knowing chuckles shuffled through the air at that and Anna Maria smiled, breathing more naturally as she continued. So I want someone to go put on some of those awful seventies tunes my mom was so fond of, and I want all of you to celebrate them with a party. Make some noise and tell me embarrassing stories. Thanks. Thank you.

She turned off the mic and walked down the stairs with shaky legs. Before she’d even returned to where Stephanie, Father Carrington, and Jeremy waited, music blared over loudspeakers. Anna Maria swallowed against a tight throat as she instantly recognized I Will Survive, her mom’s favorite anthem.

Stephanie hugged her tightly and said, That was great, honey; you were great. This is exactly what they would have wanted.

Anna Maria sucked in a couple of shaky breaths, but nodded and leaned on her, tears flowing briefly before she checked them. Stepping back, she drank down half the glass, and then coughed a little at the burn. I need to clean up a little. Here, hold this for me?

Stephanie took the glass and watched with a worried expression, but let her go.

She made the ladies’ room without anyone stopping her – something of a miracle – and spent the next five minutes in an empty stall crying. When she finally pulled herself together, she relieved herself and then splashed cold, cold water on her face, the shock of it bracing. It took a few minutes to look even vaguely normal, but she managed it.

Just outside the gym, someone called her name. Anna Maria turned to find Detective Usher walking toward her. Surprised, she waited where she was for him to reach her and then said, Detective? Can I help you?

Stocky and barrel-chested, Detective Usher was not whom she would have pictured as a detective. There was something innately slovenly about his appearance, something in his eyes that made her not quite trust him, but his arrest record was impeccable. Jeremy had made sure that the best detective LAPD had was on the case of finding the people who’d killed her family. And while she might not trust Detective Usher, she did trust Jeremy.

I wanted to let you know that there’s been a couple of developments in your case. His voice scratched gravel, it was so low.

Anna Maria’s hand went to her stomach, feeling the words like a blow, her breath gone in an instant. It took a few moments to regain her composure. What developments?

The canvass we did at the scene turned up a witness who saw a vehicle leaving your family’s house at the time of the murders. Now, I didn’t want to tell you about it until I had something more concrete, and finally I do. Turns out that the guy who owns the car has been questioned in the past by police in Nevada about a string of murders there twenty years ago. They never had enough evidence to tie him to it, though, so they couldn’t charge him. They’re pulling the files now and we’ll have what we need by tomorrow morning.

Reeling under the information that one person alone could have killed her entire family, Anna Maria didn’t speak at first. It was inconceivable that one person could have done what had been done to them. Meeting his bland, hazel eyes, Anna Maria questioned, One man? Are you sure?

Well, he probably had an accomplice, Usher agreed. Especially given the number of victims in each series of murders. But it’s a starting point, and I thought you’d want to know.

Anna Maria nodded, unconsciously rubbing her stomach as she turned over the news in her head.

So look, why don’t you come by the station in the morning if you’re up to it? We’ll have all his information by then, including a picture, and you can see if you know him.

If you tied the car to him, why don’t you have a DMV picture I could look at now?

He offered a thin smile. Some kind of screwup with the DMV database. It spit out his information, which is bogus; we already checked, but there was no picture. We’ll have to rely on LVPD’s records.

It was a given that her brain wasn’t working at full capacity but, even so, Anna Maria thought the ‘coincidence’ suspicious. She said, Well, all right. I’ll be there in the morning. What time?

Ten okay?

That’s fine. Thank you, Detective.

Usher hesitated and then told her, You can go home now, Ms. Bracken. We’ve officially released it as a crime scene. I took the liberty of sending in a cleaning crew. They should be done by six tonight.

More than a bit shaken at the news, body tensing even further, Anna Maria repeated, Thank you, Detective.

He gave her another smile, just as false-seeming as the first, if somewhat kinder, and nodded before leaving.

Anna Maria watched him go, his footfalls sharp and distinct despite matching the beat of the driving rhythm a short distance away in the gym. Shaking off the oddity, feeling torn at the thought of sleeping in the house where her family had been slain, she walked over to the nearest set of chairs and sat.

Anna Maria?

Wishing briefly that people would stop calling her name, Anna Maria sighed and glanced over at Father Carrington, standing a short distance away. Yes, Father?

Are you all right? I saw the detective leaving.

Anna Maria waved him to the empty seat beside her and answered, He has a suspect, wants me to come in to see if I know him.

I see.

Hesitating, Anna Maria said, He also said the house will be cleaned and ready for me by six tonight. Shouldn’t it take longer? There was… so much blood.

As though the words might send her over the edge, he carefully said, There are professionals who do that sort of thing. I’m sure they have a method of doing things like this efficiently. You don’t have to go back there at all, let alone tonight. No one could possibly fault you.

But Anna Maria shook her head and replied, I would. I need to go back h-home.

He didn’t argue. Would you like company?

Letting out a long, slow breath, Anna Maria nodded. I would very much like company, thank you, Father.

* * * *

The strangest thing was that nothing looked out of place. When Anna Maria walked in the front door of the house she’d grown up in, the rugs and walls were clean, the furniture had been righted, and the pictures put back on the shelves. Some of the frames had no glass, but the pictures were all accounted for. It felt... empty... the moment she stepped into the living room. The beating heart of this house, her mother, was gone. It wasn’t a home any longer, just a place where someone could live.

Looking back at Father Carrington and Stephanie, she said, There’s nothing here. I can’t… feel them. There’s just nothing.

Stephanie took her hand and asked, That’s good, isn’t it?

Better that they’d moved on to whatever lay beyond than lingering as ghosts wanting revenge for their murder, was what the other woman was really asking. Stephanie had always been of a paranormal bent and, for the most part, Anna Maria indulged her. She didn’t like to think about her family lingering for vengeance and nodded agreement. She much preferred thinking of them somewhere else, happy.

They toured the two-story house together, but the rest was just as pristine and empty as the living room.