Hell’s Fury: Michael Gordon the Occultist Volume Two

By Jerry Kokich

Michael Gordon thought he had defeated his former lover turned nemesis, Aurelia DeSantis, in a climactic battle centered around murderous monuments.
He was wrong...

In two adventures, Michael Gordon and his old friend Olivier St. Jacques, battle an ancient vampire in Italy, then find themselves lost in the Alps, where they encounter a mysterious figure in Roman armor.

Author Jerry Kokich returns to tales of Michael Gordon, the Occultist in HELL’S FURY. From Pro Se Productions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Aug 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370579990

Book preview

HELL'S FURY:

MICHAEL GORDON THE OCCULTIST VOLUME TWO

By

Jerry Kokich

Published by Pro Se Press at Smashwords

HELL'S FURY: MICHAEL GORDON THE OCCULTIST VOLUME TWO

A Pro Se Publications

All rights reserved under U.S. and International copyright law. This book is licensed only for the private use of the purchaser. May not be copied, scanned, digitally reproduced, or printed for re-sale, may not be uploaded on shareware or free sites, or used in any other manner without the express written permission of the author and/or publisher. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Written by Jerry Kokich

Editing by Raye Dean and Wayne Carey

Cover Art by Larry Nadolsky

Book Design by Antonino Lo Iacono

www.prose-press.com

HELL'S FURY: MICHAEL GORDON THE OCCULTIST VOLUME TWO

Copyright © 2016 Jerry Kokich

Table of Contents

Michael Gordon The Occultist in Hell’s Fury

Michael Gordon The Occultist in The Centurion

Michael Gordon The Occultist in Leap of Faith

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Michael Gordon The Occultist in

Hell’s Fury

Louisiana, 1846

The oppressive Bayou night fairly dripped with humidity. The air was so thick with hovering moisture, there was little difference between it and the boggy waters of the swamp below. The boards of the humble little shack, precariously perched on one of the more solid bits of land sprinkled throughout the marsh, were damp to the touch, as was pretty much everything in the Bayou this unusually sultry evening. Louisiana was never what one could call dry, but this type of weather was rare, coming along maybe once in a lifetime.

Innocence lay on the bed, her auburn hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. The sheets were soaked with a combination of perspiration from her body, and the enveloping wetness of the surrounding air. The birth had been difficult, far more difficult than her other two and far too much for her this time; it was a miracle that she hadn't died the instant the baby took his first breath. Her cocoa brown skin had turned ashen, her breathing was shallow, her eyes glazed and unable to focus. Immediately upon delivery, she had begun to fade, to lose her grip on this mortal coil. Her husband, Jonah, kneeling beside her, realized the new life she had just brought forth into the world would have to be paid for, and dearly. He had been by her side for every moment of the twenty hour labor, offering his strength and support. Now, his broad shoulders slumped; he couldn't have drawn himself up to his full six foot height for anything, his grief was so great. He could not imagine living without Innocence. As heavy as his body and heart felt, his soul was hollow and empty. His tears flowed freely as he took his beloved's slim hand in his.

Jonah, my love, I am going to join The Lord, Innocence whispered, her voice coming from far away; a great part of her was already on the other side. You must be strong, for little Abraham's sake.

I love you, was all her devoted husband could get out through a throat choked with emotion. Her grasp weakened, she drifted further away, and slowly closed her eyes. He wanted to grip her fingers tightly, as if the strength of his hand could hold her to this plane, but he feared he would hurt her and he could never do that.

I shall wait for you, my darling, she said, smiling in that angelic way that had made Jonah fall in love with her at first sight ten years prior. With that, she was gone. The house grew deathly quiet. The heavy air became even more so, weighing down on Jonah's shoulders like the punishment in a Greek tragedy. Outside, in the heavy humidity, the Bayou was respectfully silent.

Jonah raised his wife's hand to his lips, kissed it, then laid it gently on her breast, lifting her other hand to join it. He caressed her cheek, and carefully brushed her hair back from her face. She looked so peaceful and happy. He gazed down at her, then over at his new son.

The sleeping babe yawned, but did not wake. He had not known his mother, but Jonah's two other children, 6-year-old Matthew and 4-year-old Rebecca had. What would he tell them? Would they blame little Abraham for their Mother's passing? Would they understand that when The Lord calls, you must go? Even if they did, for they were good, God-loving children, they would be sad. Their little hearts would break as Jonah's was breaking. Innocence, beloved wife and Mother, was called and had to go.

Or did she?

No… No. She had to go. The Lord called.

Yes, The Lord called, but Jonah knew things…

He knew how to…

He couldn't… make that decision, now. He must take care of the children, first. He'd send them away. Yes, he'd send them to his sister's, just for a little while, just until…

Mexico, 1935

The sun had been up for only an hour, but it already felt like noon. Another day of sweltering heat was on tap. Michael Gordon, archaeology research fellow at the University of Chicago, rose to his feet and buttoned his shirt, even though the humidity promised to make the day another pitched battle against perspiration and dehydration. His expedition partners were constantly amazed at how well-groomed he kept himself, even in the most inhospitable conditions; his goatee and close-cropped brown hair were always neatly trimmed, and he’d even found a way to maintain creases in his clothing. When asked how he accomplished this amazing feat by a student volunteer on one of his previous digs, a young man who never could quite get beyond disheveled, Gordon responded with, Well, my ancestors were English.

One of his current excavation partners was killing two birds with one stone; by knotting her shirt under her breasts, Aurelia DeSantis was allowing what little breeze there was to cool her slender waist, and also making sure Gordon had a good view of her ample cleavage. She gracefully pulled her black hair back from her elegant, high-cheek-boned face, fastening it with a solid gold clasp.

The two archaeologists had risen before the dawn and snuck out of camp while the others had slept, indulging in a little early exercise. A small clump of trees that only the very generous would call a grove afforded them a modicum of privacy for their liaison.

I thought you said you weren’t a morning person, Aurelia teased as she slid up beside her lover and placed a hand upon Gordon’s muscular chest.

I’m not. Michael smiled down into her green eyes. Unless you’re part of the morning. He snaked his arm around her waist and half-lifted her up for a last kiss before getting on with the work of the day.

Back at the campsite, Robert Sterling, Gordon’s long time friend, stepped from his tent and wiped his already sweating face with a handkerchief. He wore long pants, but short sleeves. In this environment, there were always choices to be made. Did one expose flesh for the purpose of attempting to stay relatively cool, but subject one's self to the vagaries of the local insect population. Or cover up to protect against stings and bites, but risk drowning in your own sweat? The humidity plastered a lock of black hair onto his forehead; he wiped it away, but unlike Gordon, he knew he might as well forget about staying well-groomed in the Mexican heat.

He looked across the small camp toward the subject of their current archaeological investigations, the immense flat-topped Aztec pyramids jutting out of the jungle. Their towering uppermost reaches were free of the trees, but still trapped by masses of crawling and clinging vines that seemed to be trying to drag the massive stone structures under the waving green canopy. Local workers had been employed to clear away the area surrounding the recently discovered ancient city of Teotihuacan, lost to history sometime around 700 A.D., vanishing from memory almost overnight in some unknown cataclysm. In the intervening centuries, the tropical vegetation had slowly reclaimed the empty stone metropolis, silently smothering the settlement until it was completely hidden from eyes that would pry into its secrets.

Somewhere in that dense undergrowth was a sophisticated city, broad avenues flanked by beautifully decorated houses and temples, open markets and gathering places, and a mile-long reflecting pool. The team of American archaeologists had caught glimpses of the greatness that was Teotihuacan, but it would take more men, more effort and much more money to fully reveal the lost city in all its glory.

Good morning, sleepy! Diana Sterling’s cheery voice brought a smile to her brother’s lips. Her own strawberry-blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing the freckled face that always made her older sibling smile. He took after his father’s darker Southern European coloring, whilst Diana was the spitting image of her mother, an athletic woman who nevertheless looked right at home in an evening gown. 

Nice of you to join us! Robert said as he walked over and hugged his younger sister. Where are the rest of our merry band?

Robin is at the dig; she wanted to get an early start, Diana said, referring to Robin Prince, the last member of their University sponsored group. She’s so lucky she can speak Spanish. I can barely do English.