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Glory
Glory
Glory
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Glory

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In the Great Smokey Mountains a creature of Egyptian myth, accidentally pulled into this world years before, has slowly been interacting and mutating with local Cherokee mythology. Amam is a shape-shifter who steals the form of humans he kills. He has been building circles of power, hidden in the forest as he prepares to bring more of his kind into the world. It's nearing the Egyptian New Year when his plans will be fulfilled....

The world has changed. Massive earthquakes, and dangerous wars brought civilization almost to an end. Small communities, mostly self-sufficient, have sprung up across the land. Lawlessness is slowly being quelled once more and connections reestablished.

Gloryanna Del Mar (Glory) is an Earth Security International (ESI) agent, whose usual job is to help the recovering local police forces with jobs which might need outside resources. She once lived in the area where Amam is building his circles of power, and when she sees the reports about earthquakes, rapes, murders and now human sacrifice, she knows she has to go back.

With the Egyptian New Year only days away, Glory will not have much time to stop a problem she doesn't yet fully comprehend. Added to the problem is the arrival of another ESI agent, Talis Ford, from whom she must keep her secrets while trying to solve this dangerous assignment.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 28, 2012
ISBN9781936507245
Glory
Author

Lazette Gifford

Lazette is an avid writer as well as the owner of Forward Motion for Writers and the owner/editor of Vision: A Resource for Writers.It's possible she spends too much time with writers.And cats.

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    Glory - Lazette Gifford

    Chapter One

    Amam crouched on his heels, hidden among the tall oaks at the edge of the crumbling cliff. He sniffed the air and leaned forward, watching the land below him. Darkness made impenetrable shadows everywhere, except in the narrow ravine far below where dancing fire snaked its way through dry brush and weeds. As he watched, the flames --nature at her most powerful -- devoured the last of the magical barriers Amam had put in place. The fire moved on, leading the men who fought to contain the flames ever closer to his dark secrets.

    He feared the blaze moved with a purpose, ever forward to Amam's latest place of power. Was this the work of Amai'yehi, the ancient spider spinning her web and bringing fire to uncover his work? Or had one of the others from ancient Kemi finally found the backbone to fight him?

    He felt the flames lapping at his magic circle and whispered a curse as he stared at his hands. This human shell should have been good for another few weeks, although he would have discarded the flesh soon anyway. Only seven days separated him from the blessed moment when he would summon his beloveds!

    He moaned, feeling the longing for his mates claw at his guts and blind his sight with a fever brighter than any flames. He'd spent five years trapped in this cursed place with none of his kind. He could stand the separation no longer.

    The fire reached the circle of stones below, brushing against a human who had been barely alive in one breath and died in the next. Amam felt the death on the wind and tasted it in the air wafting upward, like a burnt offering to the old gods.

    As the human succumbed to the sudden death, Amam could no longer hold the shape he had stolen from it. The semblance of humanity left him, melting away and leaving Amam naked to the world in his true form: long shaggy legs, scaled face and clawed hands and feet. On his back, the nubs of newly growing wings flapped feebly as though something in him longed to fly. He had not expected the wings, they being part of a myth from this land, and not his own. He didn't want them . . . but he had walked this new land for too long and absorbed the ancient essence of this place. Myths had a way of creating reality for his kind. Having come here and tasted the power of the local myths, he could no longer be what he had once been in Kemi.

    With the shell of humanity vanished, he dared not stay this close to the firefighters ranging the woods in search of hotspots. He could already hear the sounds of human distress in the ravine below; they had found his circle and the bodies. Anger brought Amam to his feet, but worry set him running.

    This would only prove a setback. The discovery of this circle would not stop his plans, but only make the work a little more difficult. These mere humans would not stop or defeat him.

    As he took to the trail, frantic deer darted away and an old black bear turned and disappeared into the brush. They knew who had become the new ruler in these woods. . . .

    As the entire world would soon know.

    Chapter Two

    Gloryanna Del Mar awoke from an unquiet sleep, drenched in sweat and angry at the world. Inexplicable rage surged through her limbs and finally settled in the pit of her stomach like a living rock, pulsing, and ready to burst out. Not a pleasant way to awaken with the last shadows of a forgotten nightmare slipping out of reach from her questing mind.

    The sweltering heat didn't help. Arizona in late July was no place to live without somewhere cool to hide. The Earth Security and Investigation offices would be cooler, but if she went there she'd be studying old files, sitting in on conference calls -- and if she got really lucky, she might get a chance at some target practice with a few dozen other irritated agents hoping for an assignment.

    Glory finally threw herself from the bed and pulled on her nightshirt, knowing she wouldn't get back to sleep. A dozen steps took her from the tiny bedroom, past the bathroom, and into the kitchen. The tile floor felt marginally cooler than the carpet. Maybe she could sleep here. It couldn't be any harder than her bed.

    Glory stuck her head under the sink facet, letting tepid -- not really cold -- water wash over the back of her neck and through her short brown hair. The medallion around her neck came free of her nightshirt and she grabbed the emblem back before it hit her in the face. Even it felt hot.

    The water ran for only fifteen seconds. Glory considered hitting the spigot on again, but with water rationing in effect, she'd have fewer chances to do this later, during the real heat.

    Four in the morning and a long day stretched out before her. She considered bed again, but a moment later the computer chimed, indicating something important had turned up in the news. Glory suddenly suspected more than coincidence had awakened her.

    The screen began to brighten as she neared. Glory gritted her teeth and settled in the sticky, faux-leather chair. This couldn't be good news, not at this hour, and given the few things she had tagged to awaken her at any time.

    Damned good thing she had already dropped into the chair before the report came up. This wasn't the outbreak of another war or some natural disaster claiming the lives of people who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The screen flashed the pre-report information and her skin crawled at the words.

    Location: Fairbridge, Tennessee. Reporter: Emma Saunders.

    That rock of anger in her stomach suddenly found itself displaced by a ball of needles sending surges of adrenaline through her body. She didn't want to know -- but that wasn't true, or else she never would have set the tag for Fairbridge. She reached out and manually keyed the report up. Better to know what had happened, and quickly.

    The computer screen switched to a young woman who stood surrounded by fire trucks, their red lights flashing in the early morning light. Emma Saunders obviously had a remote in her right hand, which made this a one-person job. The reporter couldn't be high up on the media ladder. Not a surprise, considering the report came from Fairbridge, which (at least normally) wasn't exactly a center of newsworthy importance.

    "Emma Saunders Reporting, July 22, 2050, Local time 7:19am. In the quiet town of Fairbridge, Tennessee some long time locals believe they are facing the Wrath of God for the heathen ways of the past. Street corner preachers proclaim the end of the world and churches overflow as people praying for redemption.

    "Several quakes have shaken this area in the last week, upsetting life -- though not as upsetting as the three rapes and murders that have occurred this week.

    And last night, an even more horrific find came to light in the foothills west of town. A brush fire, threatening the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, burnt along the foothills, despite the repeated attempts to keep the flames contained. Last night, with the fire finally nearly controlled, the men stumbled upon a grisly discovery -- a circle of twelve altars, each with a human sacrifice chained to the stones.

    Oh hell, Glory whispered. Her voice trembled. She pulled out the medallion that had almost hit her in the face and found the surface still warm to the touch, confirming that the damned hot weather hadn't awakened her after all.

    Glory missed the rest of the report while she tried to calm the skipping beat of her heart and force her tumbling thoughts into order. She barely noted when Emma Sanders signed off and the computer asked if she wanted to review the report. It wasn't necessary. The reporter couldn't know the significance of the altars. If she had known, she wouldn't be reporting from Fairbridge.

    Glory knew and she realized she had no time to waste. She rushed back to the bedroom and grabbed her battered blue suitcase, which she always kept partially packed and ready for a job. She quickly threw in suitable clothing for humid, hot Tennessee in the heart of the summer. Not somewhere cooler. Damn. Humidity as well as heat; she remembered the weather far too well.

    With a little whisper of words and a brush of her fingers, Glory opened a section of the case unseen by normal means. Inside she made certain the ancient red jasper bowl, barely palm sized, hadn't cracked or broken. The heady smell of frankincense and jasmine incense filled the room, even though she had double bagged the stuff. Twenty red carnelian medallions, each shaped in the intricate shape of tjet knots, sat in the bottom of the compartment, their silver chains braiding together. Nestled amongst them sat a tiny vial filled with ankham flower water, the distilled essence of a mystical plant. She rubbed her thumb over the surface of the opaque glass, and sensed the whisper of magical power, seductive at a time when she felt so overwhelmed.

    She closed the case and took a quick shower with a decadent use of two days' worth of water. She sat back at the computer and called up a car from the apartment's fleet, booked a seat on a skipper out of New Phoenix to the Mohave Shuttle Port, and a spot on the first shuttle heading to Chicago. From there she would make a quick change to a skipper heading down to Knoxville. She would be there within five hours.

    With everything else handled, Glory withdrew the armband comp from the connection. She carefully made certain the wards she kept on it were in place. Computers, and technology in general, didn't always work well with magic. She used the device to send a message to her boss about where she was going. As soon as he saw the report, he would understand, being the only person at ESI who knew her secret ties to magic and the significance of Fairbridge.

    A few minutes later Glory drove away from her apartment building and out onto the deserted road. The freedom of the car reminded her of the stories her parents told about the heyday of travel. She thought of that time as a 'forever summer' with wondrous journeys to anywhere a car could reach. And then The Fall came: Earthquakes, nuclear war, and a senseless round of eco-terrorism had brought the country -- and many others -- down to its knees.

    Not enough vehicles used alternative fuels to keep civilization running. Winter followed with long, dark days while the world tried to restructure around the loss of something people had taken so much for granted, and to rebuild the areas which had been devastated.

    And was this spring again? The new power cell cars had finally started to spread across the land. Expensive as hell, and taxed incredibly high to help rebuild the road infrastructure . . . but she had begun to think maybe she'd live to see the summer come once more.

    For a moment she considered cranking up the AC unit in the car, but instead she rolled down the windows and breathed in the scent of warm mesquite and greasewood bushes. She'd miss the scent. By the time the sun came up, she would be far from here, and she had no idea when she might come back.

    Chapter Three

    The sun stood bright and glaring in the nearly cloudless sky, revealing the burn scars marring the hillside below Amam. He paced, animal-like, along the shadows of the few trees where the muck of decaying leaves left a pungent scent with each step. He moved from one patch of darkness to the next, drawn ever closer to the flashing lights and the seductive scent of humans. Wait, he told himself. Wait a little longer. There were too many. He dared not take one now.

    But the scent of human flesh nearly drove him mad with desire. The fire had torn the last human's shell from him too quickly, leaving him naked in his true form. The transition had been bad and left him unsettled. Or had he been stealing the shapes of humans too long, and felt too comfortable in those soft shells now? He shuddered at the thought, and ran claws down the scales across his chest, listening to the lovely clink of sound they made; a strong sound, so unlike the flaccidity of human skin. His Beloveds would spurn him if they saw him in such weakness!

    He knew he should go back into the mountains to hide and wait for the Rising of Sepqet. Only seven more days would pass until he stood before his Beloveds and showed them the world where they would rule. He still had the power to bring them, even with the loss of the circle.

    He turned, ran a few steps and stopped. He had been human too long. He knew how they thought. People would come to study the circle and the dead he had left behind. He dared not leave the area until he knew what they learned.

    He found a place to hide and slithered into the muck at the edge of a stagnant pool until only the top of his head, the tip of his nose, and his eyes remained above. He ducked even that part under the water for a coating of decaying leaves. A snake slid away, but Amam's tongue flicked out, circled and dragged the creature flailing into his mouth. The snake thrashed for the first two bites, then stilled as he ground flesh, bone and blood together between his teeth.

    Cool soft muck oozed around him, soothing, and calming. Stay and watch. Stay and learn.

    Wait for his Beloveds. Soon. . . .

    Chapter Four

    Glory napped as the flights took her across the country, though nightmares ghosted along the edge of her subconscious. She saw the phantoms of her past standing in the little town where life had changed for her . . . and for the world, though few knew it.

    The last skipper finally swept down towards Knoxville, coming through a line of clouds with a view of the city below; the Tennessee River thick with barges, and a new train line running down to the southern edge of the city to the barge port. A railroad bridge spanned the river, casting lacey shadows over the water below; all glimpsed and lost again as the skipper made a wide circle and dipped to land at the airport to the south.

    She didn't want to be here. The fear froze her in her seat for a long, heart pounding moment after they'd reached the gate and she had to pretend to unhurried calm as she gathered her shoulder bag while the others disembarked ahead of her. She went quickly through the building and out into the humid morning air which didn't promise a better day than the one she'd left in Arizona a few hours before.

    Several buses lined up at the curb, the doors marked with various destinations in Knoxville from downtown hotels to the Alcoa Corral. Behind them sat a small, beige sedan gave the short and long signal of ID recognition. Glory crossed to the car amid stares -- people didn't get private cars every often -- and pushed her case into the back. She slid in, banging her knees before the seat adjusted. The gauge showed a full charge on the power pack. Her ID and a palm scan unlocked the controls, and popped a welcome message up on the screen on the right side of the dashboard.

    The note came from George Nolan, her boss.

    Get to Fairbanks as quickly as possible. Division 6 is sending their own agent, and you will want to get to your work before he arrives. I've booked you both into the Harper Inn but you should arrive well ahead of him.

    Damn! She didn't need a fellow agent on the case, which would limit the esoteric work she could do. No time to waste. Glory pulled away from the curb and negotiated her way past the buses. The road from the shuttle port curved between old hangers and an abandoned terminal, too large a building for the little traffic passing through these days.

    She headed down a straightaway lined on both sides with the rusting behemoth hulks of passenger jets. They stood like giant, prehistoric birds brought from the past, their wings unfurled and ready for the magic to return.

    In the west, cars with the new power cell packs had started to make a faster comeback, and a couple factories had even opened outside New Phoenix where they assembled the parts for the growing market. But here they were more dependent on buses, trains and. . . .

    Horses. She could smell them before she saw the Alcoa Corral coming up on the right about half a mile from the train station. Time to slow down since people who rode horses often forgot the roads had been built for cars. A group headed into the coral to leave their horses before they took a bus into town. Most towns built corals and provided other transportation in town for free, which proved far less expensive than cleaning up after the horses.

    The lack of horses in town also cut down on crime. People who had to catch a bus to get away were less inclined to do anything where they'd have to run. This proved especially true once law local enforcement started getting cars again.

    Not far beyond the corral, the countryside rolled out in a panorama of green-sided hills, occasionally topped with stands of maple, oak and walnut. The mountains, tall and blue stood higher, and not far away. Cattle of several different breeds cluttered the pastures and horses often stood at the fences watching as she passed. Almost everywhere, huge combines and tractors sat rusting in the fields.

    A bright yellow light flashed on the dashboard and the car began to automatically slow as the sensors picked up the trace of something in the road ahead. She started to curse, and then reconsidered the words as she topped the next hill.

    Four horse-drawn wagons and an old-fashioned carriage lined the road ahead all of them heading into something Glory had never expected to see again: an Amish Way Station Mission, and apparently still in full operation.

    Black-topped buggies sat at the edge of the road, and a dozen horses of various shades and sizes watched from beyond a quaint, split-log fence. A woman in a long skirt and black bonnet walked from one group of people to the next with a large pitcher and glasses, and a box that apparently held cookies. A man in a red and green plaid shirt and blue jeans -- rainbow contrast to the mostly black and white clad Amish -- leaned down by a wagon, watching while two of the mission men worked on the wooden wheel.

    She hadn't seen a working mission since her childhood since the places in the western states had nearly all closed years ago. She thought it a shame, because people forgot that when riots filled the cities and farming communities built stockades to keep out rampaging bands of strangers, groups of Amish had left their enclaves in horse and buggies, spreading across the nation and helping people adjust to the drastic changes.

    Amish Way Station Missions had been a mainstay nearly every small settlement while people got used to walking or taking care of horses. And the Amish help went far beyond transportation. They taught others about gardening and food preparation in an age when canned goods and supermarkets disappeared over night.

    On a whim, Glory followed the wagons into the drive, pulling off to the side by the horse corral. She climbed out, stretching long legs and cramped shoulders, and headed for the little kiosk at the corner of the mission's main buildings. At the open window, a man in a black hat and white shirt smiled from behind his graying beard. The name tag on his shirt said Issac.

    Welcome. Are you in need?

    No. She felt unexpectedly awkward. I came to make a donation.

    But you aren't local, he said, tilting his head towards her car.

    Neither were you when you first came here.

    His smile widened. Glory got out her ID and he passed a bank chit through the window. She keyed in her code, passed the ID over the infrared sensor on the chit, and then keyed in the amount of five thousand dollars. She couldn't even say why she did this, except it felt right. She handed the chit back and started to turn away.

    Wait! I think you made a mistake, ma'am!

    She smiled back at him. No, I didn't. We owe the Amish far more than we could ever repay. I know you'll use the funds in a good cause.

    And you help in your own way, Isaac said. He obviously intended to come out of the kiosk, slipping off the chair and reaching for the door beside him.

    Yes, I do. And I really do have to go. I'm here on business. I'm an ESI agent.

    Are you? He came out anyway and walked with her to the car. And you're going to Fairbridge, then.

    Yes.

    Have a glass of lemonade before you leave, he said, waving the woman with the pitcher over. Becca! Over here! It's a long hot drive. And you, Gloryanna Del Mar, just answered the prayers of many people.

    Becca offered a glass of lemonade before the man even showed her the chit. Her eyes went wide. Oh, and an oatmeal cookie, too! she said.

    Which made Glory laugh and them with her. They talked about horses and gardens, and life in the west for a few minutes while she sipped the lemonade and ate two cookies. She left the mission feeling better than she had since she woke up in her apartment. Her instincts had been good.

    She finally spotted two different State Trooper cars near Gatlinburg. They were starting to get back to their old work, even if they dealt more often with wagons and horses rather than with cars. She saw a light flash on the dashboard each time, showing they'd scanned the car for ID. One honked and waved.

    About ten miles out from her destination, Glory spotted wisps of smoke over the tops of trees and wondered if the fire would hinder her work. She hadn't considered that part of the report until now.

    Not long afterwards, she found a familiar road flanked by two ancient oaks. The dirt looked rutted and the road still used. She took the turn and half a mile later she slowed for the little sign proclaiming she had crossed into Raccoon County.

    Emotions had dulled, finally. She could look around the hillside farms and herds of cattle and feel only a twinge of nostalgia for . . . well, if not better life, at least different one than she lived now.

    For a short time in her past, this dirt road had held the promise of a future for her and Mark. They'd driven here in the evenings, looking for a place to build their home. They'd had a future then, with very little work except to write books and articles, and help translate precious ancient material salvaged before most of Egypt fell under the pall of war.

    Such loss of people and things they would never have back again: She still shivered at the thought of what had happened.

    Glory drove up the last steep hill outside of town and suddenly feared getting stuck in the mud and debris. Damn, that would be embarrassing. She'd drag the car up and over herself rather than create that kind of impression! However, the tires caught hold and the car surged up to the crest of the hill.

    Fairbridge appeared on the other side, a mishmash of fine old houses and cobbled shacks. Buildings straddled both sides of a narrow valley and roofs peeked out through the thick canopy of trees along the ridges. Streets wove their way to the valley floor below, disappearing and reappearing between stands of trees. The Little Providence River rushed past at the far end of town, heading towards the distant Douglas Lake. Downtown sat by the riverside and midway down the main street stood a combination city and county hall and the local clinic. She could see the firehouse on a side road and a little higher up the hillside -- better view to spot fires -- with all but the tall watch tower lost in the trees. She marked the location, knowing she would go there to talk to the people who had found the bodies.

    She scanned to where the river turned slightly towards the northwest. A huge old bridge spanned the river bed and led across to the highway. She would have come in that way if she'd stayed on the main road. To the east lay Cosby, to the west Greenbrier, and behind her. . . .

    Behind the city rose the bulk of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, a majestic expanse of mountains and forests stretching off to the north and south, and embracing this little spot in the world between two tall folds of earth, rock and trees.

    This hilltop used to be her favorite spot for a late afternoon walk. She'd climb up here from the apartment and watch as the world grew dark around her. There had even been a couple dawn excursions to watch the sun come up over the mountains, the mist rising like smoke.

    She had stopped the car at the edge between the mud track and the paved town road while she waited like a feral cat skulking in the shadows. A couple horses stood in the pen at the corner and eyed her warily, but this was the small corral at the back way into town. The main corral sat at the other side of the bridge across the Little Providence River.

    Glory's hands tightened on the steering wheel, her fingers aching. She had to keep going, and her foot eased down on the gas pedal, thinking it an anachronistic description of the device. The thought got her past the corner and into the town. The back road curved away from the hills and she passed Edge Trail, found Old Church Street, and headed downward.

    Fairbridge hadn't changed much in the last five years. She spotted a few signs of earthquake damage like the cracks in the road, damage to a small bridge over a creek she had to detour around, and some buildings with the façade's fallen. A few homes had warning signs in the yards. For some reason, she hadn't expected the earthquake damage to be serious, especially since she'd seen nothing to draw her attention to the problem until she arrived in town.

    Glory drove to Mountainview Avenue and headed for her hotel at the other end of the Fairbridge. As she passed each corner, she glanced at the steep hills on both side of the little valley spotting the steeples of a half dozen churches rising through the branches of birch, poplar, maple and oak. People would pack into those buildings today after the gruesome discovery so close to home.

    An itinerate street corner preacher, his clothing little more than rags and his hair and beard snarled and black, stepped out into the street as she neared. She could see his wild eyes as he waved his 'God is coming' sign. She honked and he glared, but he had the sense to step out of the way.

    A dilapidated strip mall, with three small shops for rent out of nine, gave way to a line of odd shops in converted old houses. For a couple blocks doctor and dentist's offices competed with realty and insurance firms, though none of them seemed to very busy.

    They'd renovated the old bookstore into a childcare center with the yard full of empty toys. She slowed as she passed and saw a half dozen little faces staring out the window. All of them had been born since the last time she'd been here. If things had gone differently, she and Mark might have had a child there --

    Glory swallowed that treacherous thought and the emotions which surged through her. She didn't look at any more of the buildings she passed, hurrying to the curving drive and up a slight hillside to only surviving hotel in town.

    Weeping willow branches brushed across the top of the car and almost blocked the view. The owners should trim those back, she thought, although the car's auto stop would have kicked in if anything appeared too close within the sensor range. She thought the transition felt kind of magical as she drove through the thin veil of leaves, as though the trees guarded the gateway from the mundane to the some other world or time.

    The drive curved up past Liberty Park with its old-fashioned gazebo, banked grassy areas and flower-lined walkway. A few people lounged there, watching the car.

    They had redone the façade on the Harper Inn Hotel, but not changed the medieval design. She parked at the far edge of the lot and crossed toward the door, listening to the laugher of people in the pool -- a new addition since her last visit, and nicely screened from view behind scraggly azalea bushes and a wall of red glass inset with blue lines shaped like waves.

    She counted a dozen cars in the lot which was more than she expected to find in this entire town. At least five showed news service logos prominently on the doors, though, and one looked as though one might not have moved in a decade. Maybe the hotel kept it as a museum piece.

    Glory wanted to avoid the reporters, and if she didn't flash her ID at everyone, she had a chance of going unnoticed. Stepping inside was a relief from the bright sun and heat, at least. The lobby looked the same as she remembered with dark wood and embroidered wall hangings, which didn't help, dragging her back to memories of other times. She hurried to the check-in, determined to get past this rollercoaster ride of her emotions.

    The hotel clerk, far more efficient than the last one she remembered, already had her room waiting. The clerk even reported that the second ESI agent would have the suite across from hers when he arrived, so she didn't have to ask. She just nodded and pretended to know what was going on.

    The suite turned out to be almost larger than her entire apartment in New Phoenix, and considerably more comfortable. A tray of fresh fruit sat on the desk by the window, and she dropped into the chair there -- real leather, and not plastic and sticky. She ate a strawberry while she plugged her armband comp into the net via the wall connection and called up the latest local info. The window beside her looked out across the lot and towards town. She counted the ubiquitous church spires while the comps made connections.

    Nothing new had turned up in the six hours it took her to arrive, at least on the matter of the altars and the victims. However, when she dropped a note to County Sheriff Davis she learned he wasn't available to meet with her because there had been two more rapes and murders during the predawn hours.

    Out of courtesy, she keyed a message Sheriff Davis about her arrival and saying she would try to speak with the fireman who had found the altars. He appeared to be back at the fire station preparing for another round of work. She left the same message for the other ESI agent, though she rather hoped he didn't show up for a few more hours.

    Glory retrieved her gun from the travel bad and pushed the weapon into the specially designed pocket of her shoulder bag, which was far less conspicuous than a holster in this hot weather, especially since she didn't want to wear a jacket. She grabbed an apple from the basket and with a sigh of regret, left the nice, cool room.

    Twenty minutes later, Glory leaned against the rough bark of an ancient sassafras tree and waited for Tom Cadeson. The interior of the building had been a madhouse as the men prepared to head out again in a few minutes. They had all looked exhausted and worried, and having an ESI agent show up had not improved moods. She had gladly gone back outside to wait.

    The heat and humidity of the day beat down on her and bugs buzzed around her ears, annoying her even more. The air felt thick and tasted of too much life. She didn't want to breathe too deeply. It would hurt.

    Glory regretted having had so little sleep as she stood in the bright light with a very long day stretching out in front of her. She wanted to nap. She wanted to go back to that wonderfully cool hotel room and rest. Hide.

    A short, stocky man walked slowly towards her, carrying a bright yellow jacket, and with his head bowed. Tired and worn. She knew she wouldn't have long to speak with him but she needed to get a grounding in the situation, and to know what the site had been like in that moment when he found the horrific scene.

    She pushed away from the tree, and crossed to him, holding out her ID so he knew, from the start, she was a professional.

    I'm Tom Cadeson, the man said reaching out to shake her hand. I'm afraid I won't be much help.

    Gloryanna Del Mar, she answered, shook his hand, and then brushed

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