HDA - Living in Darkness Trilogy - Pt 2 - The Search

“No, that’s okay. Thanks.” Before the tears came, Casi fled the building, came to the sidewalk and started walking. Maybe it was foolish to go off blindly again but... She stumbled to a stop. Oh God, it couldn’t be true. Not drugs. Was that what was going to happen to Joe? She shuddered. Oh God, no. It couldn’t. She started walking again, head down, eyes focused on her feet. She had to be jumping the gun—but how many Ailsas could there in this city?

What if the wounds covered up the injection sites? He’d looked pale and tired this morning, once she realized who he was. Casi shook her head again. That kind of stuff only happened in movies, not in real life. She slowed to a stop again, remembering what had happened five nights ago with the chalice. That shouldn’t have happened either.

“Oh God,” she whispered, as she started walking again. She had to be wrong, she had to be. Her thoughts circled around her head torn between denying the evidence and facing the truth, as her stride ate up the blocks. If Joe was injected, was it early enough to purge whatever was in his system? Or was it fast acting?

Casi wiped the tears from her cheeks and raised her head to look around. Uh-oh. She gazed around at the unfamiliar surroundings and swallowed hard. She was lost. You idiot, she berated herself. And after what had happened this morning. But it was different now, unlike this morning, this didn’t appear to be such a nice part of town. In just about every doorway, she saw people lounging, clad in black leather, their hair a rainbow of colors never found in nature. Everything that could be pierced—eyelids, eyebrows, lips, nose, belly button, and of course ears—was.

Her eyes caught sight of an old wooden sign swinging gently in the chill wind. The once bright colors had long since faded. Casi barely made out the words: Fortunes Read. Casi shook her head. As if it were that simple. She looked at her palm, at the lines etched there—love line, life line. It was so easy to let it rule you. Palm reading, crystal balls, astrology charts, Tarot cards. They were nothing more than props for a decidedly lucrative business. She quickly squelched the thought that for her aunt, it was something more.

Casi surveyed the shop’s weathered front. The one narrow window was curtained, the door open a crack. It was abandoned, she realized, amazed that the glass hadn’t yet been broken. She started to walk past it, then stopped. What if it wasn’t abandoned? Why was the urge to explore the place so strong? With one hand, she pushed on the door. It moved slightly and a black cat burst out of the interior.

The cat wound its lithe body around her ankles and in between her legs, meowing softly. Without thinking, Casi scooped the cat into her arms. Its eyes were a pale green. “Oh, you look like Merlin, only a little skinnier.”

“Mreow.”

She petted it, feeling a collar. “Who do you belong to?”

“Me.”

Casi looked up. A woman stood in the doorway, not much older than Casi. She had long, straight dark hair. It was pulled back from her face with silver clips. She was clad in a long purple tunic over slim black pants, with a silver cord for a belt. Large silver hoops hung from her earlobes. “I am Sonja.”

Casi handed her the cat. “I’m Casi. I’m a cat lover. What’s his name?”

“As am I.” Sonja gave a gracious nod. “He is called Mephistophicles.” Sonja narrowed her brilliant blue eyes. “You...look distressed. Come in and I will fix tea.”

Casi started to say no, but what came out was, “Thank you.” Casi followed Sonja into the dim interior. Soft candlelight was the only illumination. Casi saw narrow stairs going up into darkness. “You live here?”

“It was my grandmother’s.” Sonja smiled and gestured with her head at the old faded furniture, piled high with boxes of all sizes. “She did not much care for modern amenities.”

Casi nodded. “Most grandparents are like that, I think. Mine resisted electric lights and running water for as long as they could. Castle MacFairlaigne has only been refurbished for thirty years or so.”

Sonja’s eyes widened. “You live in a castle?”

“Practically. It belongs to my grandparents and we visited often. But even with electricity and hot water, the place was cold, damp and huge.”

Sonja led the way down the hall crowded with more boxes. Lighter squares of wallpaper gave silent testimony to the many pictures that had once hung there. Casi followed the girl into a dim narrow kitchen. Sonja filled a copper kettle with water from a jug, then set it on the old wood-burning stove. It was already on to chase away the chill. More candles flickered in the kitchen. “Grandmother passed away two weeks ago,” said Sonja, quietly. “The rest of the family considered her an eccentric old woman who never accepted th emodern world. So I chose to go through her things.”

Casi shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost either of my grandparents.” She stared down at her hands, remembering a conversation with her maternal grandmother and suddenly felt close to tears. “No matter how eccentric they may be, their wisdom is often beyond value.”

Sonja nodded but didn’t say anything as the teakettle whistled stridently. She placed tea bags in small china cups and filled them with water. She sat down at the small table across from Casi. “Let me read for you.”

Casi raised her head. “Excuse me?” she said in a small voice.

“Grandmother taught me the Tarot.”

“I—“ Casi took a deep breath. She’d had this argument with Lyra time and again. She didn’t believe a bunch of cards could tell the future, despite what happened last year. She shivered, suddenl;y, remembering what her aunt had told her about the crystal ball. What if...? Casi cleared her throat, feeling just a little hypocritical as she said, “I guess so.”

Sonja smiled again and left Casi alone for a few minutes. When she returned, she held a highly polished wooden box, seven inches long and four inches wide. Gingerly, she slid the top off and took a silk-wrapped bundle out. “You must center yourself,” said Sonja, quietly.

Casi took another deep breath. If Aunt Lyra ever finds out about this, I’ll never live it down, she thought. “Okay.”

“The cards must be handled reverently.”

Casi nodded. If these had belonged to Sonja’s grandmother, sentiment alone made them priceless, regardless of anything else.

Sonja unwrapped the cards, then handed them to Casi. “You must concentrate on what you wish to ask as you are shuffling.”

Casi felt a cold chill seep into the room. What did she wish to ask for—God, what else, what was on her mind right now? She carefully shuffled the oversized cards for a short time. She looked at Sonja as her hands stilled. With the curtains drawn and the flicker of the candle flames, it could have been midnight instead of mid-morning and Sonja could have been a Gypsy. “And now,” she asked softly.

“Cut the deck into three piles from left to right,” answered Sonja just as softly.

Casi did so and Sonja picked up the stacks in reverse order. Taking a deep breath, she laid the first card face up. At Sonja’s frown, Casi felt nervous. “This covers you,” said Sonja. “Two of wands reversed....Misgivings about a venture, feeling overwhelmed or disillusioned, bad news.”

Casi swallowed hard. Pure chance, that’s all it was. They were cards, damn it. Paperboard—not magic.

Sonja laid the next card cross-wise face up, covering the bottom right hand corner of the first card. “This crosses you for ill or for good. The Tower reversed signifies a shock, feeling boxed in, hampered or confined.” She laid the next card face up beneath the other two. “This is beneath you. Nine of Pentacles...signifies relying on one’s self, being self-sufficient.” The next card went to Sonja’s left. “This is behind you. The Queen of Pentacles reversed can mean greed, vacillation or selfishness.”

Casi went very still, stunned. Damn it, how could a pack of cards be so accurate?

The next card went above the crossed ones. “This crowns you.” Sonja cleared her throat. “The Chariot reversed usually means reckless action, feeling overwhelmed or out of sorts, uncentered, not in control of your destiny.”

“Go on.” A chill swept over Casi. This was getting downright eerie.

The sixth card went to Sonja’s right, forming a cross, Casi saw. Sonja took a deep breath. “This is before you. The Five of Cups reversed means the pain is ending. In a positive aspect, it can signify hope, the rekindling of an old love, in it’s negative aspect it means a painful ending, the end of a valued relationship.”

The damn cards shouldn’t be so accurate, thought Casi. She couldn’t bring herself to the idea of believing them. It was just too crazy.

The seventh card was placed to Sonja’s right, a distance away from the cross formation. “This is your Self. Page of Wands reversed. You’re feeling frazzled, you’ve just received upsetting news or you’re encountering obstacles.” Sonja put the next card directly above the seventh. “This is your House, the King of Pentacles reversed. You may need to deal with a man who is mean, crude, grasping, bigoted, dishonest, vulgar or miserly.”

“What’s next?” asked Casi before she could stop herself.

“This is your hopes and expectations.” Sonja laid down the ninth card above the eighth. “Three of Swords reversed. The pain is ending. The worst is over, the separation has occured but the hurt lingers on.”

She laid the last card down. “This is the outcome. Knight of Wands. Change is in the air, a matter of considerable importance is emerging in your life.” Sonja raised her head. “You are dissatisfied. I can draw a clarification card.”

Dazed, Casi found herself nodding, feeling like a hypocrite. After all she said to Lyra last year...

Sonja laid a card down and another fell out of the deck face up. She froze, knowing the second card was highly significant. She looked at the card she’d laid down. “Judgement—a summing up or a rebirth. A rite of passage, the Phoenix rising from its ashes, a new life.”

“And that one?” asked Casi, pointing to the second card.

“The Page of Swords reversed means malice, hypocrisy, deceit. A malicious person may be spying on or working against you.”

Casi sucked in a hard breath and felt her world tilt off its axis. Damn it, the cards couldn’t see the future. They were just cards—stiff paperboard, nothing more.

“I’ve never read for anyone before,” said Sonja shyly.

“No. You—the cards—both are dead-on accurate. Dead-on.” Casi got to her feet. “I’m not much a believer in fate but—“ She gestured to the cards, then to the cat who curled itself around and between her ankles. “I think I was meant to come here.”

Sonja stood as well. “Yes. When I pulled a single card this morning, I knew.”

“A single card?”

“The High Priestess. You are her.”

Casi swallowed hard, remembering her aunt had said the same thing last year. She flashed back to the circlet, still sitting on her dresser. Only the high priestess wore the circlet, like a princess with a crown. “I don’t—“

“Know this, the High Priestess is a good soul and her partner is the Magician. You are soulmates.”

Casi thought of what she had just learned at police headquarters. A sudden crushing worry overwhelmed her and although she knew Sonja probably wouldn’t understand, she said, “He’s in trouble.”

“And you feel hampered.”

“Yes.” Casi sat back down. “I’m afraid this time I don’t know how to help him.”

“Love is the strongest magic there is.”

“I love him.” Would you die for him? Casi remembered what she’d said only months ago. I want to live for him, she thought fiercely. Dying is a worthless sacrifice because of the way Bryce died.

Sonja touched her arm. “Are you okay?”

Casi looked up, slowly shook her head and promptly burst into tears....

29 October 2003

Arlington, VA

12:45 pm

“Ethan? That you?”

He closed the front door and dropped his keys in his pocket. “Yeah.” He shook himself like a dog. “Who whistled up the rain?”

Catherine came out of the kitchen, barefoot, clad in pale green capri pants and a light pink T-shirt. “That’s whistled up the wind, silly.” She gave him a quick kiss. “Want a towel?”

“I want a shower, I want a backscrub and you are the best.”

“I don’t recall volunteering,” said Catherine, a faint smile on her face.

“I’d kiss you into submission but I’d get you all wet.”

“I won’t melt.”

“What about the clothes?”

“They won’t melt either.”

“I recall something I once heard about resisting temptation—“ Ethan pulled his wife close. “Even then, I knew women were a sinful weakness.”

Catherine arched an eyebrow. “Women?”

“Woman...whoa, man...you.”

She shook her head. “You’re absolutely atrocious.”

“Is that a good thing?” Ethna lowered his head to kiss her when the phone rang. “Answering machines—a Godsend.”

“Hold that thought. It’s Donovan.”

“How the---?”

The answering machine beeped just then. “Cat, it’s Donovan. Just talked to our dear brother. Chad took Casi to Romania. God, I think he’s nuts but anyway, just---“

Catherine reached out and grabbed the receiver. “Donovan, you’re kidding. Romania? As in Transylvania? Dracula?”

Ethan stood there, staring at the phone. “So that’s where he is.”

Catherine gave her husband a queer look. “Okay. We’ll do something when she gets back...Oh really, Donovan, I think I’ll get what I deserve...All right, bye.” She hung up and looked at Ethan. “What did you say?”

“Romania. Joe’s in Romania.”

“Jack actually told you?” asked Cat, surprised.

“No. You did.”

“No, I didn’t. I said—“ Cat’s hazel eyes widened, then she shook her head. “It’s a good-sized country. Doubt they’d run into each other.” She sighed. “At least I hope they don’t.”

Ethan frowned, shower and backscrub forgotten. “Why?”

Catherine cleared her throat. “Case said Joe promised to be back by July fourth. And if not then, definitely by her birthday. To put it bluntly, if they have a close encounter, the shit’s going to hit the fan.”

Ethan placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “Unfortunately, I have to disagree. Gut instinct tells me it will be something far worse. And I think it started back in March.”

Catherine frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“Joe’s wreck. Lilith Raven caused it.”

Catherine went very still. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” Ethan remembered what had happened last year and understood the sudden tension in his wife’s body. “She’s also Jonah Ravenscraft’s daughter.”

Catherine narrowed her eyes. “Damn. We have to help, Ethan.”

“Jack won’t let me leave. Or you.”

“He’s not a dictator, damn it.” said Catherine, a thread of steel in her voice.

Ethan decided not to go into detail how Jack could arrange for them not to be able to leave. “Why do you think Ravenscraft is behind it?”

“Raven works for her father, doesn’t she?”

“She works for Hadad—“ Ethan broke off, stunned. He stared down at his wife. Joe was after the Hadads, he knew that much. But what if was bigger? “If she did work for her father, what would it mean?”

Cat blinked, surprised. “You’re asking me?”

“You and Casi tangled with him back in 1994.”

Catherine took a step back, and half-turned away. “He’s mesmerizing, charismatic....he can draw you in with just his voice.” She raised her head and turned to look at Ethan. “My grandmother said Hitler could captivate thousands with his voice.”

“My grandparents said that about Kennedy. Made you want to fight for him, die for him.”

Catherine nodded. “It started with dead cats and strange disappearances. When Casi and I first tried to find out what was going on, we never dreamed it was witchcraft. Ravenscraft was the leader of a coven. First he tried recruiting us, then when we said no, he tried to get rid of us.” She stared down at her hands and shuddered. “To this day, I don’t remember what happened on the roof of that warehouse. Only that the police got him. But even in prison...” She shook her head.

Ethan went ice-cold. “He tried to kill you?” he asked horrified.

“Nothing could be proven. A year and a half later, he escaped and gathered up a new coven. And tried to recruit me and Case one more time.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Ethan pulled her close. “Call it a hunch but the reason has to do with what happened at that warehouse.”

“But it’s all a blur. Case and I going onto the roof then—“

“Then?”

“I remember sirens. That’s all.”

Ethan sighed. “Does Casi remember?”

“Not that I know of.”

“We could call her. Jack would see to it to keep us here but we could call.”

Catherine shook her head. “We don’t know where she’s staying.”

“There can’t be that many hotels in the capitol. Come on.”

29 October 2003

Bucaresti, Romania

12:50 pm

Chandler Whitfield strode into the lobby of the Hanul Manuc. He spurned the elevator and took the stairs. Miranda’s attitude had left a sour taste in his mouth. In a way, she’d reminded him of Claire. He unlocked his door. She’d been a piece of work. He still blamed his father for starting it all. Chad shook his head. His father, Zane Whitfield, was obsessed with success. He had a thriving law practice in South London, a manor house, four sons and a daughter, not to mention a lovely wife. But the man wanted more.

When three of his sons ignored his offers to join his law firm, he chose to ignore their own sucesses—Byron’s publishing house, Chad’s real estate agency and Emerson’s detective agency. Instead, he focused on descendants—or rather, heirs. He started on the oldest, Byron, who out of spite flatly refused to get married much less have children.

Douglas, the second son—who did join the law firm—married Anna Louise. But Zane still wasn’t satisfied because Anna was a widow with a daughter of her own. Douglas magnanimously adopted Callista but Zane still refused to acknowledge them.

Both he and Emerson might have gotten married but they’d made a bad judgement call, thought Chad, going into his room. Claire Whitecastle had been gorgeous, blond hair, blue eyes. He took her to the fanciest places, even to meet his parent—big mistake. Not long after that, Claire started throwing out hints about a wedding. Theirs.

When he finally broke it off, she went beserk and very nearly killed him—if not for Cassandra. Chad sighed. She did have a knack for rushing in wehre angels fear to tread. Speaking of Cassandra, where was she? He got up, left his room and crossed the hall to knock on her door. “Cassandra?” There was no response and when he tried the knob, he found it locked. He took a deep breath, told himself not to worry, after all, it was the middle of the day. But where the bloody hell was Cassandra?

29 October 2003

Boston, MA

12:52 pm

“Take five.” Marc was never really sure how he knew, but he’d known that the phone would ring and that it would be either Donovan or Catherine. “I’ll get it.”

Erick glanced at Ian. “Did you hear the phone?”

Ian cupped a hand around one ear. “Eh? What?” When Erick punched him, he frowned. “No. Did you?”

“No. Van?”

Savannah shook her head. “Kari?”

“No.”

“I did.”

Everyone turned to look at Adrian perched on a stool behind his drum kit. Adrian blinked owlishly. “What?”

Marc grabbed the phone and picked it up. “Hello?....Hey, Cat...Oh, he told you....Huh? What the hell would I tell him?....No, he’s not in the habit of telling me every sordid detail. I don’t see how he’d know anything anyway unless it’s your husband that blabs...So, Cat, how do you like---Cat? Hello? Cat?” Marc pulled the phone away from his ear. “Man, she hung up on me.”

Carl glanced into the room. “Talking to yourself again.”

“Lay off, C.D.”

“Gonna do anything crazy, like attack Ian again?”

Marc snorted. “I might attack you.”

“Ha! In a pig’s eye.”

Marc came back into the basement rehearsal room to see everyone still staring at Adrian. “What did the oracle say now,” asked Marc with a sigh.

Ian grunted. “If Adrian’s an oracle, we’re all in deep shit.”

“Sometimes to be wise, one must play the fool.”

All heads swiveled to Erick who shrugged. “Read it somewhere.”

“I doubt that,”muttered Savannah. “Playboy’s not that deep.”

“Let’s not bring that up again,” said Marc. “Ian’ll start drooling.”

“That was months ago. You should see Miss October,” said Ian.

Erick glanced at him. “Who is it? Elvira or Morticia?”

“Thank God, neither.”

Savannah rolled her eyes, then winked at Kari. “You know, Kari, I haven’t sent the letter back.”

“How far will you go?” asked Kari, sounding awe-struck.

“All the way. My hair’s long enough.”

Kari nodded. “ Lady Godiva, to be sure.”

“Hunh?” Erick glanced at his long-time girlfriend. “Savannah, what are you talking about?”

Neither girl answered but Kari picked out a familiar chord on her electronic keyboard. Marc couldn’t quite place the tune. “I know that song,” he said with a frown.

“It’s an old song,” said Adrian.

“Late eighties,” said Ian with a nod.

Kari played more of the song, sharing a grin with Savannah who began strumming the same tune on her guitar. Penny Reyman’s eyes widened, recognizing the song, and then she ducked behind her upraised magazine to hid a grin. All four men recognized the song immediately. Erick glanced at Savannah and shook his head. “No way in hell.”

“What?” asked Savannah, innocently.

“Yeah, Erick, we were just playing a song,” said Kari.

“Centerfold by the J. Geils Band,” said Erick.

“Is that what it’s called,” asked Kari.

Erick snorted. “Like you don’t know.” He looked back at Savannah. “No way.”

“Duh. There’s no letter.”

Marc bit back a grin. “Ouch.”

Erick just groaned. “Man, I fell for it this time.”

“Hook, line and sinker,” laughed Ian.

“Hey, you fell for it too,” snapped Erick.

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

Carl walked into the room, shook his head, turned right around and headed for the door. “I’m leaving.”

“For good?” asked Ian.

“You wish.”

“Anyway,” said Adrian. “You just got here.” He played a drum roll. “Don’t you want to stay and listen?”

“I’d rather keep my eardrums.”

Kari grinned. “You just don’t know good music when you hear it. I mean, look at Erick.”

Erick grunted. “Look somewhere else, please.”

Kari pretended she didn’t hear him. “I’ve never heard my synth sound so unusual seven months ago. He still won’t tell me what all he did.”

“We know what he did,” muttered Ian. “He drove us insane with all that Wedding March on guitar crap.”

“Didn’t have to do much,” countered Erick, glaring at Ian.

Ian frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Adrian grinned. “He means you were already half-way there.”

“You’re one to talk,” snapped Ian.

Carl shook his head. “I really am leaving.”

“Stop teasing us, C.D.,” said Marc with a grin.

“Yeah,” said Ian, looking depressed. “You were getting my hopes up here.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “Stop torturing me.”

Let the author know what you think of this story

Home Library Authors Rogue's Gallery Vehicles Chums Message Board Rap Sheet Links Contact

Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.