Pandora: An Urban Fantasy Anthology Page 3

  "Grandma Cavanaugh?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  "Oh Ren…I'm so sorry." After all, she was Ren's mom.

  "Yeah. She hadn't been doing well for a while. Pack your bags. I'll be there in an hour."

  "For what? The funeral? Ren…she lives in New Orleans."

  "Yep. Where the party never ends and the streets run a little darker. There's an entire family eager to meet you. Be ready, or I swear I'll pack you in the car in your panties and t-shirt." He disconnected.

  I stared at the phone, wondering how he knew what I was wearing. Stana said bye and left. I stuck my tongue out at the phone, dropped it on the floor, and curled back up under my sheets.

  I thought I heard a familiar bell-like laugh as I closed my eyes.

  The drive to New Orleans was the strangest one I'd ever experienced. Ren took that opportunity to give me a run down of the family members that would be at the wake. It was scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, given the tradition to put the body to rest within three days of passing.

  Most of the people he mentioned I'd never heard of, and it was doubtful I'd remember them ten seconds after he described them. So we decided quick CliffsNotes when we got to the estate was a better idea.

  The estate—that was an eye opener. I mean I knew I came from money but…

  The Cavanaugh estate looked like a caricature of every antebellum mansion I'd seen on TV and at the movies. And the drive up to it? Rose bushes and cypresses lined the pebbled drive as Ren maneuvered his SUV up to the house. He parked to the right of the circular drive. The pending weather had held out till then and the overcast sky darkened with the distant sound of thunder.

  I got out, stretching my legs. The pebbled drive felt odd under my boots, and the humidity instantly created a thin layer of perspiration around my neck and chest. I'd worn dark leggings, a crop top and my favorite sleeveless hoodie. It was thigh length and had a pocket along the inside to keep things. Mostly, I kept gum and hard candy in there.

  Wow, Louisiana was hot.

  Stiflingly so.

  The door to the estate opened, and I turned to watch a parade of men and women in black and white uniforms file out. They walked to Ren and the one at the head of the line spoke in a quiet voice. I shrugged and walked toward the fountain in the center of the drive. Three tiers with a single bubbling fountain on top. Gobs of algae hung off the tier edges and floated in the gathered water. It smelled like algae and I saw shiny coins inside.

  "Hey," Ren said as he approached me. "They're taking the suitcases up to our rooms. Yours is on the second floor, third door on the right. I'm on the opposite side."

  I nodded. "So…" I looked over his shoulder at the army of people. "Are all of those Granny's servants in the house or something?"

  "Not all of them. Mom kept maybe five? The others belong to extended family members. You can't tell from the lack of cars, but all of the family is here."

  "Really?" Now I was nervous. I really hadn't given the trip much thought—especially since I'd just learned of Granny's death five hours ago. And now I was here. And the whole Cavanaugh family was inside this one building. I looked at the windows. Lots of windows. And in at least five of them, I thought I saw people looking down at me. "Ren…" I refocused on him. "They're all staring at me."

  He glanced back at the house as the last of our luggage went inside. Ren looked back at me laughing. "Tay…I don't think most of these guys have seen pink and blue hair before."

  I'd give him that. But it didn't really make me feel anymore comfortable.

  "And…" he said and put his hands on his hips. "They're all trying to get a good look at the Heir of November."

  The Cavanaugh line ends tonight and November will never come again!

  Those words from my nightmare came back loud and clear in my head. I remembered the dreamed conversation with Ren. I also remembered it made no sense.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Heir of November?" I searched his face. "You wanna fill me in on that?"

  "Ah, yeah. I meant to tell you about that in the car but it just…" he reached up and scratched his head. "It just never seemed to be the right time. And besides, Great Uncle Morris will fill you in."

  "Great Uncle Morris?" Okay, now my nervous became a full on panic. "You mean the Morris Cavanaugh?" The head of the Cavanaugh Systems? I'd seen articles written about this guy. He'd been on Shark Tank and actually took on Donald Trump. This guy had his hands in everything, and he was powerful.

  And…

  "Breathe, Tay," Ren put his hand on my shoulder. "Just one breath at a time."

  "What…what is he going to fill me in on?"

  "About you being the Heir. About November."

  "What, that he's my chandelier?"

  My uncle's face twisted as he tried not to laugh as he let go of me. "I think you mean Chevalier. Not chandelier. And where did you hear that?"

  "Would you believe I had a nightmare this morning?" I told him in as great a detail as I could what I remembered of the dream. And after a good ten minutes, I realized I remembered all of it.

  I also noticed how white Ren was. "What?"

  "We need to skip the formalities. You need to talk to Morris. Now."

  I barely had time to get a good look at the house. My impression was that it was old. Antique everything, from the sconces on the walls with real candles to the chandeliers to the ancient furniture. The foyer was grand, just like it should be, but with statuary of Gods and Goddesses. Which seemed a bit odd to me. Mishmash of Italian renaissance to Victorian gaudy.

  Men and women in black stepped out of the shadows and fell in line behind Ren and I. I looked at them and kept my hand in his as unfamiliar faces stared at me with a mixture of what I thought was curiosity and silent alarm.

  We skipped the stairs going up, where our luggage went, and turned left down a hall and entered a ballroom at the end of the hall. Dozens of chairs were set up in rows facing a podium. Between it and the seats were two more chairs.

  Ren led us past the group of chairs to the two in the center and pointed to one of them. "Go ahead and sit."

  I turned to see everyone else taking seats in what I dubbed the peanut gallery. 'Cause this was nuts. "What the hell is going on?" I whispered.

  "You're going to have to tell Morris exactly what you told me, okay? And don't leave anything out."

  "Ren!"

  I jumped at the volume and strength behind the voice. A tall, barrel-chested man stepped out of a side door and strode with purpose toward us. He wore what I thought were judge's robes with the house crest on the left breast. His hair was short and dark with graying temples and his face…

  Morris Cavanaugh. I swallowed my bravery. Right there. I'd seen this man's face on TV, in the papers, on magazine covers and in the news.

  The two men did that handshake then bro-hug thing before Ren turned and gestured to me. I might also note that the murmur the growing crowd had started making was gone. All eyes were on us. "Morris, this is Taylor Cavanaugh, Steven and Emily's daughter."

  I might have been impressed with Morris Cavanaugh, but his expression told me he wasn't all that impressed with me. In fact, his smile at Ren faded as he took in my appearance. And of course, my first defense kicked in and I copped my usual back-off attitude. The same one I'd shown the dean and some of the professors at college. I pulled a stick of gum from my hoodie, shoved it in my mouth, and dropped the foil on the ground before I crossed my arms over my chest. I also made sure to smack that gum as loud as I could.

  Morris walked right up to me and held out his hand. "Spit that out."

  I looked down at his hand. I was half and half. Half terrified of this man and half irritated. "You want my spit on your palm? Why can't I chew it?"

  "Because I want to be able to understand your colloquial slang without the obstruction of gum. Spit it out now."

  I did as he said. I felt like I didn't have a choice.

  Then, to my surprise, he smiled as he closed his hand
around the half-chewed wad and then opened his palm again.

  The gum was gone. He didn't toss it up, and he didn't drop it. It was just gone. I smirked. "Neat trick."

  "It was magic." He held out his hands to everyone else. I watched them sit. He gestured for Ren and I to sit in the hot seats before he pulled an empty chair up close and sat down. "Taylor Cavanaugh, tell me about your dream."

  So I did, repeating the same thing to him as I'd told Ren. Though my uncle did remind me of a few things I'd left out along the way. The ballroom was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. When I finished, Morris looked as white as Ren. He stood and gestured to a few others in similar robes. They came from the crowd and had a little conference to the right.

  I leaned toward Ren. "What the hell's going on?"

  "Just listen and do exactly what he says."

  What the hell?

  When the huddle broke, Morris came back to me. He didn't sit this time. "Taylor—is it true you'd never heard the name Abbadon until this dream?"

  "It's true."

  "And upon hearing it, you did not recognize it."

  "Nope."

  "Have you been taught the lore of demons?"

  "The what?"

  "Have you ever been schooled in the history of Dark Inc.?"

  "Dark what?"

  "Or have you ever been told about the legacy of the Cavanaugh family?"

  I didn't even bother answering that one. It was pretty clear to me he didn't care about my answers. And to be honest, the moment he mentioned demons, I decided these people were eccentric and crazy.

  Ren put his hand on my arm. "Taylor, you need to listen."

  Morris clasped his hands in front of him. "At four o'clock this morning, Millie Cavanaugh, your grandmother and my sister-in-law, was murdered on the Dark Streets. We don't know how she got there—or why she decided to leave the protection of the house."

  "Murdered?" I looked at Ren, and then back at Morris. "Wh-who?"

  "It's no mystery. The only reason we knew where she was is because her murderer wanted us to know. She left us messages letting us know where her body was and what happened to it. That person was Abbadon."

  My jaw dropped.

  "This is going to come as somewhat of a shock to you, Taylor, and I blame your lack of education about your heritage on the murder of your own parents."

  "My—my parents weren't murdered—"

  "I'm afraid they were. By the very same demon. Abbadon and the Cavanaughs have a very bloody history," he straightened. "There's no easy way to say this, Taylor, but you are the descendant of a long line of Demon Hunters. The Cavanaugh clans have always worked with the society called Dark Incorporated, an entity that was started not long after the Salem Witch Trials. We have worked over the centuries to rid the world of demons and banish them to a place we call the Darker Streets. In fact, we were overly successful."

  I didn't know what to say. I just kept looking over at Ren, but he was looking at Morris.

  Demon Hunters?

  Was this guy for real?

  "So successful that we'd banished all the powerful demons, except for one. One demon above the rest. The right hand of Baal. Abbadon," he took in a breath and then continued. "The Cavanaughs were relentless. And though we lost many, many lives to this demon, we were diligent in our quest to find the one thing that could defeat Abbadon and silence her forever."

  I heard whispers and I panicked. Was I supposed to say something there? 'Cause the dude lost me at Demon Hunters.

  "We found it. And it was your grandmother who used it in her youth. She used November against Abbadon and defeated her. The last of the Great Twelve was banished."

  "Great Twelve?" Oops. I didn't intend to say that out loud.

  "Yes. The twelve greatest demons of all time. We've enjoyed peace for over seventy years because of their defeat. But in those years, your grandmother's strength waned and November slept. Abbadon…escaped. The first one she attacked was your grandmother. And now that the demoness is free, she'll stop at nothing to kill all of the Cavanaugh family and free the other eleven."

  I gripped the edge of my seat. "Wait…what does this have to do with my dream? I don't know who this chick is. Why was I dreaming about her?"

  "Your dream was prophetic, once again confirming your position as the Heir of November." He held up his hands and the room broke out into cheers.

  I gave Ren a panicked face. He looked concerned and stood, raising his hand.

  Morris motioned for everyone to be quiet and turned to Ren expectantly.

  "Morris, members of the Cavanaugh family, I know you're all anxious to have Abbadon recaptured so that we may all go on with our lives. No one wants to start the hunts again. The killings. The destruction and death. We've stood against the darkness long enough and we've deserved this long awaited break. But—" He held up his hand and I leaned forward. "I would suggest not postponing the meeting and getting to it right away."

  Meeting?

  There was a slight pause before everyone started talking at once. Some voices were angry, some hopeful and some chimed in their agreement. Me? I stood up and moved to stand behind Ren.

  "What's going on?" I whispered.

  He half-turned and smiled. "I'm lighting a fire under their collectively lazy asses. If Morris thinks your dream is prophetic, that means you and I get killed by Abbadon. You didn't have November in the dream. Which means we waited. I say we get on with it."

  "What about the ritual?" someone shouted out.

  "Damn the ritual! That demoness has already killed one of our own!"

  "Quiet!"

  The last voice was Morris's. The ballroom went quiet. Like hear-a-pin-drop-quiet. He turned to Ren. "You want to introduce the Heir of November without the ceremony?"

  "Yes."

  "Now?"

  "Why not?" Ren held out his arms. "You were all so adamant that I bring her here as soon as possible, even after it was explained she'd never been educated in demon hunting or what her role would be if the demons ever rose up again. My thought is—then let's cut to the chase. Will she Contract with November?"

  No one spoke for a few seconds, and then a voice from the front row said, "I like the idea. I, for one, want to know if she's worthy."

  "And if she isn't?" someone shouted from the back.

  Morris held up his hand. "Then we search the ranks of the family for someone who is."

  "Wait…wait a damn minute." I hadn't meant to say that out loud, but my hand was up higher than Morris's and I suddenly had everyone's undivided attention. At first, I believed their stares were directed at my looks and choice of hair color, but now I realized they were sizing me up for some Demon Hunter…thing. "I'm still wrapping my head around the whole demon thing and the fact my nightmare from this morning was a prophetic dream, because if it was, I'm going to die and so is my uncle. This November is a sword, right? I remember that from the dream. And if I can't use it, you're going to do some King Arthur pull-the-sword-from-the-stone…party?"

  Ren nodded. He acted flippant with his actions, and had adopted a nonchalant air, but I knew Ren. He'd raised me from the time my parents died. His voice revealed to me how scared he was. And if Ren was scared, so was I. "In a nutshell, yeah," he said.

  "Well, I'm gonna say this right now. I've never even picked up a sword. I don't know anything about demons—I'm not this Heir."

  "November will make that decision," Morris said, sort of interrupting me, 'cause I had a whole bunch more to say. He clasped his hands and smiled. I did not like the smile. "Then let us retire to the chamber."

  Everyone stood at once and the sound was deafening. I grabbed Ren's arm, and he turned to put an arm around me and guided me to follow Morris. "Chamber? What the hell is going on?"

  "Tay—just go with it, okay? If things go the way I think they will, you and I can be back in the car on the way home tonight and we can put this behind us."

  "But what about that dream?"

  "We're not going nea
r the Darker Streets, Tay. I don't plan on dying."

  This chamber turned out to be a crypt in the basement, through a door in the wine cellar. I kept my hand in Ren's as we marched down stone steps, through web-coated openings, and down spiral staircases. Torches lit on their own as we approached. At first, I thought it was some kind of special effect. You know, that they were all hooked up like gas lamps and ignited when we passed some infrared trigger.

  Until one lit up next to a closed door and Morris took it from the holder. I looked at it a bit closer. No gas pipe. Not even a wire.

  What the hell was going on here?

  Morris turned and faced us. I shivered. The air smelled damp, and goose bumps popped up on my exposed skin. I wondered if everyone in the ballroom was now crammed into this labyrinth of crypts. The door behind Morris looked like it was made of metal. Someone had wrapped chains around it. What worried me was whether it was chained like that to prevent thieves from getting in, or the more disturbing thought, to prevent something from getting out. "My Cavanaugh brethren, though we are foregoing the ancient rituals and customs of our heir, I feel Ren is right. Knowing is of the utmost importance in this situation. We have lost our last Demon Hunter. Initiating her Heir is important." He turned to me and offered me his hand. "Taylor."

  I hesitated before Ren prodded me to go to Morris.

  Shaking, I took a few shuffling steps toward him and put my hand in his. Something twinged along my fingers and shot up my arm. I jerked my hand back. "What—"

  "It's all right, Taylor," Morris said. "You felt the connection between Cavanaughs. Come, let us introduce you to November." He handed the torch to Ren then turned around and held out his hands. "Kos-kerich, burr dun am!"

  The chains rattled and then fell away, and the door swung inward. I looked at Ren in the flickering light, and he looked…dammit it, he looked worried. I wish he'd stop that!

  That's when the air from the other side of that door touched me, and I made a small gasp. It was warm! And it smelled of cinnamon. I thought of baked apples and buttery crusts. I caught a glimpse of a woman looking down at me, but the sun behind her head blotted out her face.