Morvicti Execution: A Morvicti Tale (A Morvicti Novel) Read online

  Like a real dad. “Don’t worry. I ran a background check; even looked him up on Google.”

  “Then he must be okay.” His sarcastic tone could not be missed, and neither could the devilish wink that followed.

  Cassie couldn’t help but smile, once again knowing how lucky she’d been the day he chose her to be his partner. “What about you? Have you checked out any of the dating sites I showed you?”

  “I’m old-fashioned. Meeting a woman over the Internet is just not my style.”

  She’d given up hope that O’Malley and her mom might start dating long ago. He was the one person who didn’t judge her mother for her farfetched stories. Even though he was divorced and her mom was single, his offers to go to dinner were never accepted.

  “Too dangerous, Cassie,” her mom always told her. “My only job is to make sure you remain safe. I can’t be distracted by romance.”

  O’Malley had finally given up, settling for friendship with her mom. It was obvious he was attracted to her by what he had said the day they’d first met. “Your mom doesn’t look a day over thirty; she’s beautiful. If I didn’t know better, I would think you were sisters.”

  Funny, Cassie thought, since her mom claimed to be hundreds of years old. Yet another figment of her mom’s overactive imagination. After all, her driver’s license was more than clear that her mother was looking forward to the 50-year mark…not the 500 one.

  As they drove down the long stretch of US 67, Cassie’s mind suddenly brought forth, into sharp detail, that horrible Halloween event from long ago. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Mom just freaks out about everything. Do you remember me telling you about Mom pulling me out of a school party when I was in first grade?”

  “The one where she got upset after seeing that kid’s black Halloween mask?”

  “That’s the one.” She could hear the gasps of her classmates and see the shocked six-year-old face of her one and only friend at the time, Lisa Caven. “Juan Garcia’s mask flipped some kind of switch inside Mom.”

  Her mother had pointed her finger at Juan, fear obvious on her face. “The black mask. The black mask,” she’d repeated over and over.

  Lisa’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. Twin sisters in their class had put their arms around Lisa, leading her away to the table with the candied apples. One of the teachers then escorted Cassie and her mom out of the room.

  Cassie’s friendship with Lisa had ended that very day, leaving her all alone for the rest of her time in elementary school, through middle school, and all the way until she graduated from high school. No friends. Always alone.

  “The Brotherhood of Purity wears black masks, right?” O’Malley asked.

  Cassie knew she had told him everything; this strange “Brotherhood” her mom had constantly talked about was yet another fact she’d disclosed. “If they existed, yes. That’s what Mom says they would wear—a black mask with two white axes drawn on the forehead.” She folded her arms over her chest and stared out the windshield. The sun had dipped below the horizon and the orange hue of the sky deepened. Off to the north, dark clouds were building, ready to move in. “But they don’t exist. They are figments of Mom’s imagination, like everything else.”

  “You never know, Wright. My grandmother told me many tales about Ireland. Yes, they were outlandish, but inside every legend are basic truths. Some of the heroes really existed.”

  “So when are you going to take me to that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, O’Malley?”

  He chuckled. “Mock me all you want, but it’s true. Ireland’s long history is riddled with mythology and folklore, which is based on actual historical events. Just like your mother’s Morvicti society, my grandmother’s heritage has its own ancient aristocracy in the form of the Druids and the Celtics.”

  “Officer O’Malley, you are sounding like a true believer.” She knew better. He always saw things as black and white. Very little gray in his world.

  “I’m not saying you’re half-vampire like your mother believes, young lady, but I just want you to be open to understanding her a little more.”

  She wondered how O’Malley never sounded sarcastic or teasing when talking about something Cassie found so absolutely ridiculous, but he never did.

  “You didn’t have to grow up with her,” Cassie muttered. “And Mom would correct you. The Morvicti are not vampires, though they are the reason behind many of the myths about vampires, according to her.” She sighed. “But the Morvicti do not exist. Neither does The Brotherhood of Purity. It’s all made up. Just like your grandmother’s leprechauns.”

  “Cassie, you can’t know that for sure.” O’Malley reached over and grabbed her hand. “Don’t be so hard on your mom. She did a good job bringing you up all on her own.”

  They passed the city limit sign. Mertzon: Population 781. The townsfolk here supported their neighbors, always greeting each other with a wave even on their worst days. At least, they did with the “right” neighbors. Cassie and her mother were seen as outsiders, though they had lived in the small town Cassie’s entire life. When she and her mother entered local businesses, they were greeted with silence or whispers. She never understood why people whispered so loudly. Even as a young girl, she could make out every hurtful word. But as she matured, the truth became painfully clear; her mother’s stories were nonsense. She’d eventually learned how to tune out the whispers of their neighbors but could never tune out her mother’s ramblings.

  O’Malley turned onto Douglas Street. Her mother’s home was at the end of the road, resting at the top of the hill. It sat in the middle of five acres, too much land for her mother to maintain. The house needed painting and the roof needed repairs. For years the barn had looked as if it could fall down from one strong wind. But no matter how many storms hit its side, the thing remained intact. Cassie had tried to get her mom to sell the property and move to a more practical condo in San Angelo, but never succeeded in convincing her.

  Cassie and O’Malley got out of the truck and walked up to the home she’d grown up in. The snap of a twig caught their attention, and the cop instinct caused them to whip around, weapons drawn. After a quick scan of the darkness, they spotted her mother’s goat running outside the pen.

  “Hooves in the air,” O’Malley shouted, as he laughed and put his gun back in the holster.

  Cassie giggled. “How in the world did Miss Irina get out?” The goat wasn’t livestock—she was her mom’s pet, named after her mother’s niece who had supposedly been murdered by The Brotherhood of Purity for conceiving a child with a human. “Miss Irina must have been what my mother saw outside her window, not an intruder.”

  “Probably. But I want to scout the area anyway. I’ll get Miss Irina back in her pen. You go check on your mom. I’ll be inside shortly.”

  Before knocking on the door, Cassie looked out over the town that had never accepted her or her mother. Even the distance between her mother’s home and the other houses seemed to reinforce how alone they were.

  The front door squeaked, opening just a sliver as the barrel of a rifle poked through. Behind it, her mother peered through the crack. “Cassie, you’re safe. Thank the Ancestors.”

  The door went wide.

  “Of course I’m okay, Mom.” She tried to keep the frustration from her voice. “Will you please put that rifle down before you blow my damn head off?”

  “I would never do that.” Her mother stepped back as if slapped across the face, and placed the rifle into the gun cabinet by the front door. “Come inside.”

  “I brought Officer O’Malley with me.” She stepped into the living room.

  Nothing had changed since she’d moved to her one-bedroom apartment in San Angelo. The few visitors that had come through her mother’s front door were always surprised by how plush the place was decorated—quite a difference from the condition of the exterior of the home.

  Two green sofas faced each other. Between them was an antique coffee table that had been admired by her fifth g
rade teacher, Miss Smith. “What an exceptional replica of a Victorian table.”

  Her mother hadn’t corrected her teacher. The table was quite real, not a replica. Nervous as always, her mom had wrung her hands while listening to Miss Smith give the reasons why the field trip to the state capital was so important for all students. But her mother hadn’t given her consent, and so Cassie had remained behind, having to do her studies in the principal’s office while her entire class and Miss Smith visited Austin.

  “Cassie, where is Chuck? I mean…Officer O’Malley?” An unmistakable sparkle appeared in her mom’s eyes when she mentioned her partner’s name.

  “He’s getting Miss Irina back into her pen. Your goat was outside running loose when we were walking up to the porch. Miss Irina was your intruder, Mom.”

  “Thank the Ancestors. I thought they had found us.”

  The sigh of relief was huge as her mother sat down on one of the sofas, looking up at the painting of the beautiful green-eyed woman with the white ribbon in her long, dark hair.

  Cassie moved next to her mom and stared at the familiar portrait.

  The subject of the painting wore a red dress and had a string of pearls around her neck. The artwork hung where it always had—above the fireplace. The portrait had also caught Miss Smith’s attention on the one and only day she’d visited their home. “There’s an obvious strong family resemblance. She looks a great deal like you and Cassie, Mrs. Wright. Who is she?”

  Her mother had lied, saying she’d bought the painting at an estate sale and didn’t know who the woman was. Cassie had asked her mother later why she’d been dishonest. The only reason she gave was how important it was to remain anonymous because The Brotherhood had eyes and ears everywhere. “Loose lips sink ships, Cassie.”

  The truth—or what her mother believed to be true—was that they were related to the lady depicted in the painting. She was her mom’s great-aunt, Roxanna—a member of one of the Morvicti bloodlines that never died but went below ground when their bodies needed to regenerate. A cycle referred to as a state of “slumber.”

  Cassie had heard the tales hundreds of times. The Morvicti cycle of life and slumber occurred over and over throughout the ages. Her mother swore to have gone below ground herself centuries ago. Like a vampire. Back when Cassie was in fifth grade, she and her mom had watched a spy movie, something they did almost every weekend together. The villain in the film was a disturbed, delusional man who believed he was a vampire and slept in a coffin. It was more comedic than scary but had still impacted her greatly. The hero, a James Bond-type, arrested the madman at the end of the movie. That night of entertainment had been the beginning of her realization that her mother’s tales were anything but real.

  The “immortals” of her mom’s stories were very similar to the vampire myths, as O’Malley had pointed out earlier. But there were differences. The Morvicti could go out in the sunlight, they could hold crucifixes, and could drink holy water if they wanted to. Those things had absolutely no impact on them. Most of all, they were not created by a bite on the neck from a monster in a black cape speaking in a bad accent—the Morvicti were born. They bled like anyone else. Their hearts pounded in their chests. But they were not human. They were a different species.

  Her mother constantly repeated that the violet tint of hers and Cassie’s palms and bottoms of their feet was proof of their special lineage. When Cassie was younger, she’d almost been convinced, since she and her mom were the only ones she’d ever seen with the strange hue. Almost. At one time Cassie had believed in Santa Claus, too. No more.

  Crazy.

  Turning away from the painting, she looked at her mother. “How many times do I have to remind you that no one is coming for us, Mom, before you believe me? You have to stop.”

  “Cassie, please. Let’s not argue.” Her mother grabbed her hand. “I’m just glad you’re here and we’re both okay.”

  Are we okay? Are you? She’d suggested a psychiatrist on many occasions, but her mother always refused. Her mom promised one day to bring her to their Morvicti family, when it was safe. “Then you’ll see that I’ve been telling you the truth all these years.”

  But Cassie knew her mother would never feel safe since she believed The Brotherhood of Purity—Morvicti zealots—wanted all halfbloods and heretics executed. In the eyes of her mother’s invisible boogeymen, Cassie was an abomination. And her mother, one hundred percent Morvicti, was a heretic for conceiving her with a human.

  She wanted to think about something else. Anything else. “I promised O’Malley a beer, Mom. Got one?”

  “I just happen to have a six-pack of Samuel Adams in the fridge. I bet you two are also hungry.”

  It had been hours since she’d had lunch. “Famished. It’s been a long day. You have no idea.”

  “I have some ham, and I can whip up some side dishes to go along with it.” Her mom seemed calmer now that she and O’Malley were here.

  “Sounds good, Mom.”

  They walked into the kitchen together.

  “I’ve got everything you need to prepare a tossed salad for us, if you don’t mind.” Her mom reached for the fridge door.

  “I don’t mind. You know that.” One of the few things she and her mother could bond over was cooking, which they both enjoyed. “But before I start, I want to go check on O’Malley and see what’s taking him so long.”

  “Miss Irina no doubt is the cause. Go help Chuck catch her and I’ll get everything on the table.”

  Stepping out of the house onto the front porch, she saw her mother’s black goat standing by O’Malley’s pickup. She laughed, knowing how difficult it could be to get Miss Irina back into her pen.

  She didn’t see any sign of her partner. “O’Malley, where are you?”

  No answer.

  Walking to the side of the house, she called out a little louder than before. “I’m not in the mood for your tricks. Where are you?”

  Again. Silence.

  “Please, Chuck. This isn’t funny.”

  Nothing.

  She knew O’Malley. He would have responded by now.

  Her skin grew so cold the sweat felt like ice on her forehead, and a feeling of dread swept over her. She removed her gun from its holster, searching her mother’s property, looking for a possible intruder—and her partner.

  God, please let O’Malley be okay.

  Carefully approaching the tree at the back of the house, Cassie saw the tire swing she’d played on as a kid swaying in the wind. A storm was coming. Even though there was a full moon tonight, which would have given her better visibility, it was hidden behind black clouds.

  All the barn’s lights were off. Odd, since at least one was always lit at night—the floodlight on the timer that illuminated Miss Irina’s pen. That light came on at dusk and stayed on until dawn.

  Her chill grew worse. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

  The barn door was wide open. Her gut tightened. If there really was an intruder, she didn’t want to walk in and get jumped.

  Quietly creeping into the pen next to the dilapidated barn, her heart hammered faster and faster in her chest making it hard to breathe.

  Where was O’Malley? Why wasn’t he answering her? She had to push forward, though fearing what she might find.

  A loud, metallic crash echoed behind her.

  She flattened her body on the ground and aimed her gun in the direction of the noise. One glance and she realized the sound hadn’t come from O’Malley or an intruder. The pen’s gate, which she’d just gone through, had been slammed shut by the wind.

  Exhaling, Cassie stood and continued inching her way to the side of the barn. At the wall, she peered through the broken window into the interior. But without any illumination, all she could see was pitch black. She couldn’t hear anything but gusts blowing eerily through the barn’s gaping boards.

  Shining her flashlight into the space would alert anyone inside to her location, but she had to take the risk.
She had to find O’Malley. Maybe he had chased the goat into the barn, hit his head on something, and passed out.

  At first she saw the same old dusty building she’d known her whole life. Rusted tools. Miss Irina’s feed bags. An old saddle. Miscellaneous items strewn about.

  When her flashlight’s beam reached the farthest spot in the barn, she saw something that made her cringe.

  O’Malley was on the ground, his legs sticking out from the last stall.

  He must have hit his head.

  She ran through the barn door, scanning every direction as she made her way to her partner. But there was no one else in the barn. She was alone.

  Cassie rushed to him. When she saw what had really happened to O’Malley, she froze.

  The scene before her was so horrific she fell to her knees.

  O’Malley’s head was severed and lay three feet away from his body. His glassy eyes were wide and fixed. He seemed to be staring up at the ceiling. Blood dripped from every board in the stall and pooled under his neck.

  Shaking violently, she retched again and again. He’s dead. Oh God, no! O’Malley is dead.

  Turning away, Cassie used her free hand to grab hold of the stall’s gate, trying to regain control of herself and get to her feet. Her mother’s intruder hadn’t been just another figment of her wild imagination. He was real. He was here. He was a killer.

  I’ve got to get to Mom.

  Gun in hand, Cassie bolted out of the stall, past the barn doors, round the pen, and into the backyard. When she saw her mother through the kitchen window, relief shot through her. But the killer might still be close. With every ounce of energy left in her, Cassie ran into the house. She had to get her mom to safety.

  As she rushed into the kitchen, her mom dropped the salad bowl, and yelled, “Behind you, Cassie!”

  Cassie spun around and lowered her body, firing at the man swinging an axe in her direction. The instinct to survive thundered inside her. Her bullet had connected; she’d hit him in the heart. The black-masked intruder fell to the floor as his bloody weapon flew over her head across the kitchen.

  Hearing a groan behind her, Cassie turned around and saw her mom collapse. The axe was sticking out of her mother’s chest, her pale blue blouse turning a dark red from the lethal wound.