Monarchs Read online

  THE MONARCHS

  By Stephen Mark Rainey

  Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  Copyright 2012 Stephen Mark Rainey – All Rights Reserved

  Copy-edited by: Patricia Lee Macomber

  Cover Design By: Aaron Rosenberg

  Background Images provided by: Austin Bentley

  LICENSE NOTES

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Meet the Author

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Stephen Mark Rainey is author of the novels Balak, The Lebo Coven, Dark Shadows: Dreams of the Dark (with Elizabeth Massie), The Nightmare Frontier, and Blue Devil Island; over 90 published works of short fiction; five short-fiction collections; and several audio dramas for Big Finish Productions based on the Dark Shadows TV series, featuring several original cast members. For ten years, he edited the award-winning Deathrealm magazine and has edited anthologies for Chaosium, Arkham House, and Delirium Books. Mark lives in Greensboro, NC. He is an avid geocacher, which oftentimes puts him in some pretty scary settings. Visit his website at www.stephenmarkrainey.com.

  Other Works by Stephen Mark Rainey:

  The Last Trumpet

  Balak

  Dark Shadows: Dreams of the Dark (with Elizabeth Massie)

  The Lebo Coven

  Blue Devil Island

  Other Gods

  The Nightmare Frontier

  The Gaki & Other Hungry Spirits

  Legends of the Night

  Song of Cthulhu

  Evermore (with James Robert Smith)

  Deathrealms

  The Gods of Moab

  [Author's Website & contact if desired]

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  Dedicated to David Niall Wilson,

  Longtime friend, fellow writer, and keeper of proper wine temperatures,

  without whom I would never have found myself lost in the Dismal Swamp,

  the experience that inspired me to write this novel.

  Chapter 1

  In late August, the tidewater lowlands should not have been cold, but the first storm of the new hurricane season brought a wind that roared through Fearing like an arctic gale. Courtney Edmiston felt its belligerent caress the moment she slid out of the Jaguar's passenger seat and came face to face with the Blackburns' plantation house, which looked as if the winds of several centuries had tried, with partial success, to batter it down. It was a sprawling, three-story mongrel, mostly Victorian, half-hiding behind a barrier of centurion oaks, obviously built to convey grandeur but reduced almost to grotesqueness by the ravages of time and the elements. Its peeling gray walls and warped roof looked as if they might collapse with the next big gust. Several large drops of rain smacked Courtney rudely in the face without registering, and only when Jan Blackburn emerged from the behind the wheel, calling, "It's going to be a big one," did she turn her attention from the hulking mansion to her bags in the backseat. With some difficulty, she tugged out the two large suitcases and started up the flagstone walkway to the porch, one in each hand, until Jan rushed to relieve her of the heavier one.

  The footlocker in the trunk could wait until later, since there was nothing in it she would need right away. Still, she hesitated to leave it, for these three cases contained everything left in the world that she owned. For anything else she might need to survive, at least for the foreseeable future, she would be relying on the generosity of this house's inhabitants.

  They reached the shelter of the massive, wraparound porch just as the bottom fell out and the wind rose to a train-like roar, the likes of which Courtney had heard only once, many years before — when a tornado had swept across the north Georgia landscape less than a mile from her parents' home. Her family had fared all right, though some of their neighbors had been less fortunate. The memory of that storm gave her a shudder. Jan, however, appeared to take the weather's mounting fury in stride and shoved open the front door, through which Courtney could see a warm and inviting oasis of golden light. With a last shiver, she stepped across the threshold into the Blackburn family's ancient keep: the closest thing to home she might know for quite some time to come.

  "Just leave your bag here," Jan said, setting down her burden and brushing back a few dripping blonde locks. "We'll take them back to your room in a few. First things first. Drinks are calling."

  "Good plan," Courtney said, carefully placing her suitcase next to the other on the hardwood floor and glancing around at her surroundings. Whatever the exterior's dilapidated condition, the interior appeared very much the opposite. Quaint electric candles illuminated the rich gold and crimson wallpaper, and a profusion of hanging mirrors turned the relatively small foyer into an expansive, multifaceted chamber. Above, an ornate crystal chandelier hung on a polished brass chain, its brilliant aura lending the impression that, inside the house, gold was the predominant color. Courtney followed Jan down a narrow, maze-like hall, through an elegantly appointed dining room, to a warmly lit great room, one end of which had been converted to a full bar, larger than most of those in the Atlanta restaurants and taverns Courtney once frequented.

  Jan stepped behind the counter and produced a tall bottle. "Still partial to Cabernet Franc?"

  Courtney smiled and slid comfortably into one of the tall, swiveling chairs. "Absolutely."

  Jan uncorked the bottle and selected two glasses from the overhead rack. As she poured, Courtney pulled off her rain jacket, laid it over the back of the chair next to her, and ran a hand through her shoulder-length sienna waves to break up the clinging droplets. Outside, the wind buffeted the house with the sound of a giant's fist pummeling overstressed wood, and rain clattered on the roof two stories above like a barrage of machinegun fire. "That sounds killer," she said, glancing at the ceiling. "I hope you don't have any leaks."

  Jan smiled, handing over a brimming glass. "Don't let the façade fool you. This house has stood up to hurricanes, twisters, floods, and storms in general for over a hundred years. If it starts leaking now, I'll have to blame you. Cheers."

  She stiffened a little before her face broke into a smile. "Just like old times. Blaming me, I mean."

  Jan took a sip from her glass and glanced at the ceiling before coming to sit beside Courtney. "I want you to be comfortable here," she said, her face turning earnest. "You're my guest, so don't feel obligated to do anything but relax and enjoy yourself. Worry about getting back on your feet later."

  Courtney felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. She didn't want get teary, but with even a little wine, it was almost inevitable. "Thanks," she said, cupping her hands around her glass, as if it contained something precious. "You know I hate to impose. But right now, I'll take any help I can get. And I do appreciate it."

  "You're not imposing. I invited you. And tonight, we're going to forget everything but this." She lifted her glass and drained it.

  Courtney couldn't help but laugh a little. "Tell me you don't still drink like that all the time."

  "Only with you."

  "Now I'm worried." She took a modest sip. "So where's the rest of the household?"

  Jan's face darkened a little. "David's around somewhere, who knows. And Aunt Martha, she'll be where she always is — up in
her room. She almost never comes out anymore except at mealtimes." Jan glanced at her watch; it was almost seven o'clock. "Arlene left a while ago. She's our housekeeper. Lives in the cottage at the back of the property. We couldn't do without her anymore."

  "Just how much property do you have?"

  "Oh, a hundred acres, give or take a few. You know, Mom and Dad farmed it all their lives — up till the end. David and I have threatened to try starting it up again, but…well, we just haven't had the motivation."

  "I understand. Believe me."

  "Someday." Jan's eyes turned inward for several long seconds.

  The wine was delicious, and Courtney resisted the urge to down the last half of her own glass in one gulp. She knew Jan harbored deep wounds from the not-so-distant past. Both her parents had been killed the previous year, and only a few months earlier, her fiancé. All in automobile accidents.

  But Jan still had a home, at least.

  Courtney and Jan had met during their freshman year at Duke University, almost fifteen years ago. Since then, Jan had visited her in Atlanta several times, but this was Courtney's first trip to Fearing. She had met Jan's parents and younger brother, David, at their graduation ceremony, but that had been only a day-long encounter, and her attention had been divided between too many people to take in much beyond the superficial. She remembered them as very sweet, unassuming people, and had she not been aware of their status, she would never have guessed that the Blackburns were the wealthiest family in Fearing, North Carolina. Jan, certainly, had been a fairly typical college student, unmistakably well-bred, but untainted by the almost prerequisite snobbishness of kids whose families' blood ran blue.

  Courtney had noticed a large, framed portrait of Jan's parents over the huge fireplace at the opposite end of the room. She glanced over at it and was struck by the couple's rather sad smiles, and particularly Jan's mother's eyes, which seemed to be fixed on some unhappy future moment. Mr. Blackburn was an attractive, slender man with silver-blond hair and a long, aquiline nose. His violet eyes were warm, but they appeared somehow haunted, as if he, too, foresaw some great tragedy. "When was that taken?" she asked, pointing to the photograph.

  "About a year before they died," Jan said, giving the portrait a wistful look. "That was the last picture they took together."

  "It's nice. You favor your mother." She gave Jan a thoughtful glance and noticed that she, too, wore a distant, preoccupied look. "You've got your dad's eyes, though."

  "Yeah. And his big feet."

  She chuckled, and Jan refilled their glasses. Courtney went at this one with a little more gusto, for sitting here with her longtime friend, she could almost pretend that these past, turbulent years had been illusion, and that she and Jan were as young and carefree as when they had shared drinks at the first TriDelta mixer. Still, though she loved seeing Jan again and had always longed to visit the Blackburns' opulent home, the reason for being here now was a bitter pill, and it burned too virulently in her stomach to ignore.

  As ever, Jan could sense the darkening of her mood. "Have you talked to Frank's parents lately?"

  She shook her head. "They still blame me, believe it or not. And I'm beyond even wanting to reconcile anything with them. It's just not going to happen."

  "This is you I'm talking about. You can't go on thinking someone you were close to hates you. It'll eat you up."

  "No. I'm beyond caring about them. At all."

  "You don't mean that."

  She took a long swallow. "Pretty much."

  "Well. Let's not dwell on that." Jan sighed and glanced over her shoulder. "I know David will want to see you. No telling what he's up to."

  "You sure he's home?"

  "No. But there aren't many places around for him to go."

  "So I figured." Courtney smiled a little. The drive from the Newport News Amtrak station had been easy enough, but once they had turned off U.S. 17 toward Fearing, they were in the most desolate country she had ever seen. The town's population was a mere two-thousand, and the Blackburns lived a couple of miles out from the town proper, on a tiny, two-lane road that only led deeper into the Great Dismal Swamp. Fearing's little downtown, with its trio of stoplights and handful of antique buildings, looked like a picture postcard from the 1940s, sleepy beyond belief, and devoid of attractions for anyone who sought more excitement than fishing in the Moratok River. To Courtney, such a place seemed a refreshing novelty, though she could hardly imagine growing up in such an isolated, lethargic environment.

  She finished her second glass of wine and Jan wasted no time refilling it. By now, the alcohol was warming her blood and loosening the restraints on her inner rage. She gave her friend a long, searching look, and said, "You know, there's something in me that isn't all that sorry about Frank. I loved him — you know that. But he could be so cold. Colder than anybody I've ever known." Her voice softened as the pain of old memories took hold of her heart. "He used to hit Sheila sometimes. When he'd get frustrated with work, or me, or anything, he'd take it out on her. I called the police once, but he managed to smooth talk them. Nothing ever happened to him. Nothing."

  "I remember," Jan said. "But that was so long ago, and from everything you've told me since, it seemed like things were going okay."

  "Mostly, they were. When Sheila started first grade, he seemed to mellow out — almost as if that were some benchmark, some catalyst for him to straighten himself out. He knew he had anger issues, and I really think he worked at getting better. Until he lost his job. That was the end of everything."

  She had seen the flashing lights outside her house first. Somehow, she knew what had happened before she even turned in the driveway.

  "That would send a lot of people over the edge," Jan said, touching her knee sympathetically. "And for somebody with problems like he had…"

  She could no longer even see a blue flashing light without having a panic attack.

  She didn't want it to happen, but she felt the burning at the corners of her eyes. A tear began to well, and a moment later, it trickled down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, even though it was her best friend here with her.

  "And those people said it was my fault. That I somehow drove him to it. To kill my child. How could they not know what was wrong with him? They were his parents. That son of a bitch killed my little girl, and they blamed me for it."

  "They were just so distraught," Jan said, bringing her hands up to Courtney's shoulders. "They just couldn't believe it was in him. Parents can be like that about their children."

  "'Distraught' passes. It hits you hard and then goes away. But they still hate me. They said so. It must have been festering there, I don't know how long. And after they said I was so good for him. That I helped him, that I did what they never could."

  "People can be blind when it comes to their loved ones," Jan said, her eyes again turning inward. "Some people have to blame someone else, or they simply can't deal with their own pain. They implode."

  The dam had crumbled, and Courtney's tears were pouring now. "I'm almost glad he killed himself. I am glad he's gone. But it was too easy an out for him. Too, too easy." She wiped her eyes, but it didn't staunch the flow. "You know, his father said he should have done it to me as well. How could anyone say something like that? How could they?"

  Jan held her close now, and whispered into her ear, "They loved their son too much. That's all. I know it hurts. But if they truly meant what they said, it's because they never really knew you. Not on the inside. And that only makes the tragedy worse."

  She had been reining in her emotions for months, and now, swept up in the cataract, she wept with her face buried in her friend's neck. Jan's arms encircled her firmly but tenderly, transmitting both sympathy and strength. Long ago, when a kitten they had taken into the TriDelta house had been hit by a car, Jan had held her the same way. Jan's grief was no less intense, but her ability to comfort others was a gift she offered freely and generously. But even with Jan, Courtney could only release so m
uch, and after another moment of drawing reassurance from her friend's embrace, she pulled away, wiped her eyes again, and reeled in the pain.

  She picked up her glass and sipped the wine, again with reserve, her hand trembling only slightly. Then, looking back at Jan, she said, "You know, with me, men have never been anything but raving assholes. Even my dad, bless him. He could be such a son of a bitch." Jan smiled darkly and wiped a last tear from Courtney's cheek. "From the beginning, I knew Frank had problems. I almost didn't marry him. But I did. Now, I regret the day I met him."

  "I know. I'm so sorry."

  "Men," she said, holding up her glass. "Fuck the lot of them."

  Jan's eyes had adjusted their focus over her shoulder, and her lips began to widen into a wry grin. "I'm sure you don't really mean that."

  Slowly, Courtney became aware of the subtle change in the air that signaled the presence of another person in the room.

  She grimaced slightly and gave Jan an apologetic look. "David?"

  Jan nodded.

  "Hello, David," she said without turning around, trying to stifle any expectations she might have regarding Jan's brother. Consciously, she knew he would no longer be the gawky, somewhat sullen teenager who had behaved crudely around her all those years ago, but that impression lingered so stubbornly that when she did swivel to regard the young man standing in the doorway, she could barely keep her jaw from dropping.

  "Hello, Ms. Edmiston."

  A sardonic humor lit his brilliant blue eyes, and the thin, almost cruel smile on his finely drawn lips suggested more disdain than respect in his greeting. A thick crescent of dark hair hung low over his forehead, casting a shadow that accentuated the brightness of his eyes. He was tall, something over six feet, she thought, very slender, but graceful rather than gangly. He wore jeans and a silver-gray button-down shirt, which bore numerous dark splotches from the rain.