Expect Betrayal: Operation Delphi, #3

By JoAnn Smith Ainsworth

WAVES Lt. Livvy Delacourt is combing war-torn Great Britain for her family grimoire, an ancient book of protection spells. Inherited clairvoyant gifts might enable Livvy to use these spells to defend her Philadelphia headquarters from relentless paranormal attacks by Hitler's cadre of sorcerers.

 

At Livvy's side is Naval Commander Trey Drew. Trey's mission is to keep his lead psychic and the book safe, but growing feelings for Livvy may be distracting him. 

 

With Livvy's paranormal talents and Trey's practicality, the duo has proven a powerful team in fighting magical threats. But, can they rescue the grimoire and protect one another from the most nefarious opponents they have ever faced?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JoAnn Smith Ainsworth
• Release date: Sep 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781393579403

Book preview

Prologue

In the long-ago, when magic and medicine were intertwined,

the female ancestors of certain Black German gypsies living in Bavaria

oversaw the healing of the people. They cast out demons and kept evil at bay

with herbs and minerals, occult energy protections, and charms.

MONDAY, JUNE 7, 1943, England

Despite the fogginess of deep sleep, Etta Schnell sensed the hot prick of the energy probe. Fear danced at the base of her neck. It rippled down her spine.

She struggled toward awareness.

A magical nightmare...a foretelling...a warning.

Swirling images coalesced in her mind’s eye, bringing clarity. Evil was stalking her. It sought to rip the family grimoire from her care-taker hands.

The Book of Cures is in danger.

Her heartbeat increased. Her breath took on the nature of a pant. The family grimoire contained hundreds of years of occult recipes for protections against malicious spells. As a result of decades of precognitive experiences, Etta intuitively recognized the probe’s source—Hitler’s occult minions named der Mumm.

Acute pain! For a second time the energy probe seared her aura.

Etta wiped the sleeve of her cotton nightgown across the clammy sweat erupting on her forehead. The probe was marking her whereabouts by leaving behind a traceable psychic scar and a faint odor of sulfur.

She awakened fully with teeth on edge and goosebumps covering her body.

The Nazis coveted The Book. They would surely corrupt the grimoire to bolster their twisted ambitions for the Third Reich. In the wrong hands, the spells could turn from Good to Evil and be reborn as powerful curses. Her one ray of hope was that—in the magical nightmare—the American flag also chased the grimoire.

The Book had been smuggled out of Bavaria and into Great Britain in the early 1800s when her gypsy ancestors suffered persecution in their homeland. Etta was its most recent guardian. She was almost the last of her maternal line possessing the occult skill to protect The Book. Only one other, an American cousin, had inherited the talent. Rather than destroy centuries of knowledge to keep it out of Hitler’s hands, she’d flee. She’d hide and safeguard The Book until her young cousin could take it away to safety in the United States.

She glanced anxiously at the clock...4:00 a.m. It was the dark and powerful hour before dawn when unseen spirits still walked and made final attempts to connect with human psyches before the sun rose and banished them.

She flung back the covers and rose with as much urgency as her 65-year-old bones would allow. After pulling on her bedroom slippers and shrugging a house coat over her nightgown, Etta hurled open her bedroom door and hastened down the narrow hallway. She roughly flung open her daughter’s door causing it to bang against the bedroom wall. Giselle, wake up!

Her 26-year-old daughter, and youngest child, sat upright in bed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with the backs of her knuckles. What’s up, mums? I don’t hear any air raid sirens.

"I had a vision. The Nazis are coming for The Book. We have to get out."

Giselle stumbled to her feet and put on the shoes stored under the bed. When will they get here?

We must leave right away.

Where?

Over the past year as England prepared to withstand an invasion by the German army, Etta had considered at least a dozen possible sanctuaries with friends and family and had made her choice. I don’t want to leave thought forms behind that might give the Nazis a clue to our whereabouts. Emotionally charged thoughts were as easy to read as seeing an apparition. We’ll get far away before I speak.

Giselle was pulling on fresh clothes as they talked, her brow creased by worry. What can I do?

Pack a bag and start closing up the cottage. There’s no telling when we’ll return. The neighbors will keep an eye on things once they realize we’re gone.

She gave her daughter a quick hug. Courage.

Then she was out the door and scurrying for her bedroom.

Etta began throwing on yesterday’s clothing that had been draped over a bedroom chair. She pulled a green-patterned carpet bag constructed of good Brussels carpeting from under the bed and started tossing clothes in helter-skelter from dresser drawers. From the dark recesses of ans oak armoire, she retrieved The Book, then her stash of emergency funds, her late husband’s service revolver, and ammunition.

These, too, went into the carpet bag. Valuables and toiletries, an extra pair of shoes, rain boots, and a hat were packed on top before locking it.

As she carried the bloated carpet bag into the hallway, she saw her daughter coming from the kitchen with her own bulky satchel, her coat already on and buttoned up.

Giselle was holding up a large cloth shopping bag. I emptied the ice box and the pantry of fresh foods and filled two flasks with water.

On their way out of the cottage, Etta grabbed her serviceable brown coat and a paisley babushka from the mahogany coat rack. She left the front door unlocked behind her.

May God travel with us.

Chapter 1

Wednesday, June 9, 1943, England

U.S. WAVES Lt. Olivia Livvy Delacourt took a deep breath of fuel-laden air permeated by a light mist from overcast skies. She was standing at the open hatchway of the TWA Airlines C-54 plane that the White House commandeered for the mission to Great Britain.

Livvy rolled her neck and shrugged her shoulders several times to relieve the tautness from a nerve-racking and seemingly endless 22-hour trans-Atlantic flight. Despite the Newfoundland respite for refueling that provided an opportunity to eat and catch a few hours of sleep, she continued to be tense and apprehensive during the entire flight from wondering whether the C-54 would be shot down by the Germans. She was cognizant that twenty percent of the military planes crossing the Atlantic these days never made it.

Pushing her horn-rimmed glasses more securely on the bridge of her nose, she settled her navy-blue uniform over her hips and smoothed out the wrinkles. Fleetingly, she longed to be stateside where she knew she could get a hot bath and a freshly laundered uniform. A lifetime spent fussing over details extended to her appearance, as well as to her assignment as office manager of The Watch’s Philadelphia headquarters.

She and her team had recently hunted down Nazis trained by der Mumm and operating on the East Coast. These Nazis dabbled in the Black Arts, which made her mission so important. To defeat these Nazi efforts, she needed to find her family’s grimoire, an ancient book with cures against curses.

Her superior officer and childhood friend, Cmdr. Barrington Drew, III—Trey to his friends—spoke from just inside the aircraft. I’ll be glad when we’re done and heading home.

She glanced over her shoulder and marveled that his face didn’t show her level of exhaustion, but then, he’d flown before. His family’s pocketbook could afford airplane flights.

Preferably on an ocean liner, she answered him.

Some of them are getting torpedoed. He’d upped the ante on her anxiety, but his voice was teasing.

Livvy made a face at him.

It had all seemed so much easier while sitting around the conference table at Hamilton House, the Philadelphia mansion housing their top-secret Operation Delphi team of talented psychics. There, she had other psychics to back her up. In England, she was on her own. This search in a foreign country was a massive challenge for someone like her who was never farther from home than the end of a trolley line.

We’d better get going, Trey said.

She turned a shoulder to glimpse up at his profile topped by dark, wavy hair. Trey’s body retained the characteristic, leashed-up energy that he’d exhibited as a star athlete in high school. Brushing up against that energy still had the power to create flutters way down inside Livvy.

Swallowing deeply, she collected her nerve for the upcoming quest. She must find her European family and the grimoire named The Book of Cures. The Watch had agreed with her that The Book could potentially help the United States combat mind control emanating from Hitler’s occult group.

She took a firm grip on her overstuffed navy satchel and stepped out of the plane onto the metal platform and stairs. The stairs had been recently rolled across the tarmac by the American ground crew at RAF Lakenheath Airfield in Suffolk, England, which airfield was hosting United States Air Force units and personnel.

She grabbed the metal rail bordering the platform to steady herself and glanced out into the distance. The U.S.A.-appropriated airfield was in the early stages of expansion to handle the larger military planes. Sounds of construction told the end story of the building materials stacked at the far edge of the airfield and interspersed among heavy construction equipment.

She gripped her canvas satchel more securely to descend the steps.

Let me take that for you, Trey said.

She gratefully set her WAVES satchel on the metal platform and took two more steps away from the doorway of the C-54. Inexplicably, as she moved toward the platform edge bordering the stairs, the exhaustion from the flight disappeared. It was supplanted by an eager lightness.

Where’d that come from?

Again, she breathed in deeply. This time she only savored the freshness of an English summer.

Strange. Where’s the smell of engine fuel?

Livvy became aware of two men standing to the right of the plane. We have a welcoming committee.

The one in civilian clothes was Trey’s college buddy, Bernard Brick Kensington, a U.S.O. manager. Coincidentally, he’d been sent to England only a few days before them by the U.S.O. to set up entertainment for the troops.

Trey stepped out of the airplane doorway and spotted Brick. Hey, Old Buddy. How did you know I was flying in today?

You’re not the only one with powerful connections.

Trey grabbed both bags and scrambled downward—two steps at a time—leaving behind a significant amount of vibration and rattle. Despite that shiver and shake, Livvy deftly managed the steps in her WAVES pumps, while clutching the shoulder strap of a thoroughly bloated, navy-blue leather purse. As she reached the tarmac, Brick unexpectedly grabbed her around the waist, lifted her high in the air, and twirled her around before setting her back on her feet and giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek.

Hey, that’s my officer you’re manhandling, Trey protested.

Livvy took note at the sharpness in his voice.

Brick ignored him and turned to Livvy. How's my favorite commander’s aide doing after two days of flying?

She extricated herself from his roaming fingers. A little dizzier after that twirl.

He guffawed but took two steps back as if to give her space.

She swiped the back of her hand across her cheek, checked her seams, and made sure her rumpled skirt hadn’t ridden up during her time in the air.

She’d met Brick a few weeks before this flight. Although blond, well-built, and possessing a chiseled jaw that many women would swoon over, Brick also possessed something too smooth for her taste. He was slippery when it came to psychic probing, too. She’d tried to explore his psychic aptitude when they were first introduced a few months back, but she’d been shut down at all attempts. She never got enough of a reading to know if this was intentional on Brick’s part or if he was just one of those people who innately protect their auras.

Trey dropped both bags on the tarmac and embraced his friend.

Livvy felt tiny compared to these two men. Either of them could stretch out an arm and she could walk underneath without needing to duck.

It didn’t take long before their heads were bent toward one another as they caught up on events. Tapping her foot impatiently, Livvy waited for them to conclude the College Buddy routine. She had things to do. She needed to cable their safe arrival to headquarters and establish a physical base for their mission at Lakenheath. And she must get these done and get some dinner in her before the time zone change became more of a problem and totally sapped her of energy.

Trey finally stepped apart from Brick. I need to check in with the base commander. Do you know where his office is?

He sent this man standing right next to me. Brick gave the man a hearty slap on the back.

The staff sergeant looked affronted.

He has a Jeep to whisk you there in a jiffy, Brick said.

The staff sergeant assigned to drive them to headquarters grabbed Livvy’s canvas WAVES satchel and Trey’s soft-sided leather bag from the tarmac. He stashed both bags in the back of what looked like a new Jeep, or at least a lightly used one. He stood, shifting from foot-to-foot, looking anxious to get going.

Livvy walked to the camouflage-painted Jeep and made a point of introducing herself to the lowly buck sergeant, who then offered a hand to help her into the passenger seat.

The men noticed and walked over. Trey climbed into the back seat even while still talking.

Brick stepped away from the Jeep. I may be the boss, but I still need to get back to duty. By the way, Trey, because I have a show tonight at Lakenheath, they’ve bivouacked me in the officers’ quarters at the air base, the same as you.

Good. That’ll give us a chance to catch up some more.

I’ll have two tickets waiting for you at Will Call, Brick said.

Livvy pleaded exhaustion. I want to get some tasks done, eat, and then get some sleep.

Brick looked disappointed. Okay, I’ll only leave one ticket. I can count on you, can’t I Trey? We can have a drink at the officers’ club after the show.

I’ll hang in until the time change makes me fall asleep, Trey said.

Brick laughed. I’ll keep poking you awake until we finish that drink. He stepped back out of the way.

The sergeant turned the key to start the engine, depressed the clutch, shifted into first gear, and released the handbrake. Off they went across the tarmac and out the front gate, leaving behind the busy airport sounds of heavy equipment and roaring engines.

IN JUST OVER TEN MINUTES, Sergeant McGovern drove the two miles of roadway leading to the nearby farming village of Lakenheath, a warren of old, but well-maintained farm buildings and obviously new Quonset huts that housed U.S. military staff. He parked the Jeep in front of the rambling, wooden farmhouse that housed command headquarters. The sergeant scrambled up the one step to the stoop and swung open the substantial wooden door to let them enter. I'll inform Brigadier Allred that you've arrived. He took off down the hallway before either of them could get a word in edgewise.

After a brief knock, the sergeant disappeared through a door at the end of the whitewashed corridor. Livvy could feel the resentment emanating from the base commander and directed toward them where they stood. It manifested like an angry fog, which could potentially turn into a tornado. She’d surely have to protect her aura to walk safely through that fog.

The door reopened, and Sergeant McGovern beckoned them forward.

They entered a roomy office with a window overlooking a backyard containing a neglected vegetable and herb garden. The office looked smaller because of the number of papers, manuals and blueprints stacked on every imaginable surface on file cabinets, the desk and the worktables. Only the chairs had escaped piles, probably because they were needed for frequent briefings.

Her first impression of the base commander was of a burly man with the kind of build she'd expect on a foot soldier needing great strength to move heavy armaments. Definitely not the slender build of a pilot. She didn’t see how he’d fit into a tight cockpit. His hands were huge, and they looked strong enough to tear through any obstacle that dared get in his way. His wrinkled uniform looked like he'd been working steadily since before dawn. Dark, intelligent eyes shone out from under bushy eyebrows. Livvy sensed the icy atmosphere in the room.

Trey reported in. Cmdr. Barrington Drew, III. This is my aide, Lt. Olivia Delacourt.

Brigadier Allred wore a scowl. Have a seat.

They sat in two of the five chairs positioned before the desk. When Trey presented the White House documents demanding full cooperation, Brigadier Allred looked stunned. His face flushed bright red.

"Twenty-four hours a day, I have warplanes being maintained and flown off an air base that's half under construction...not to speak of doing it while watching out for an enemy wanting to bomb us to hell and gone. Just now, I don't need a hush-hush project dumped on me. Maybe you can help me understand why