Damned by the Ancients

Book 3: Nemesis of the Gods

by Catherine Cavendish

Genres: Occult & Supernatural; Historical Fiction; Horror

Synopsis

INFINITY IN DEATH Vienna, 1908 Gabriele Ziegler is a young art student who becomes infatuated with charismatic archeologist Dr. Emeryk Quintillus. Only too late does she realize his true designs on her. He is obsessed with resurrecting Cleopatra and has retained the famed artist Gustav Klimt to render Gabriele as the Queen of the Nile, using ashes from Cleopatra’s mummy mixed with the paint. The result is a lifelike portrait emitting an aura of unholy evil . . . Vienna, 2018 The Mortimer family has moved into Quintillus’s former home, Villa Dürnstein. In its basement they find an original Klimt masterpiece—a portrait of Cleopatra art scholars never knew existed. But that’s not all that resides within the villa’s vault. Nine-year-old Heidi Mortimer tells her parents that a strange man lives there. Quintillus’s desire to be with Cleopatra transcends death. His spirit will not rest until he has brought her back from the netherworld. Even if he has to sacrifice the soul of a child . . . Praise for Catherine Cavendish’s Wrath of the Ancients “Cavendish has constructed such an elaborate plot—combined with painstaking research into Egyptian mythology—that the fantastical events taking place seem to literally ‘come alive’ on the pages before you.” —horrorafterdark.com “Cavendish offers up an atmospheric gothic horror tale that effortlessly blends together history and the supernatural to create an unsettling horror story that will appeal to almost any horror fan.” —thehorrorbookshelf.com

Release date: October 23, 2018

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 206

Sample

Prologue

Is this what dying feels like?

Phil Bancroft ran his tongue over his dry lips. Where did that thought come from? He watched Dee, the woman he loved, touch the tip of the gleaming gold dagger. This was not the homecoming he had expected. He had only just returned from New York and they should be in each other’s arms. Dee had told him Paula took the pills and now she was dead. Poor Paula. Phil wished he could feel remorse for his dead wife. Guilt. Anything. After all, she was an innocent obstacle who had been murdered at his lover’s hands. Her only crime was to have been sole inheritor of her father’s fortune. If that man had not cut his younger daughter—Dee—out of his will, Paula would still be alive today. They could have divorced and gone their separate ways. It was his fault she had to be killed.

Everything they had wanted was now theirs, but Dee seemed different somehow. Distant. A smile played on her lips, but not her usual lighthearted smile. No, this one was almost…cruel.

“What are you doing with that, Dee?” he asked, nodding at the dagger.

She shook her head. “Not Dee. She is gone.”

Phil held out his hand to take the weapon from her and wondered why his fingers trembled. “Don’t mess around. Give me the dagger before one of us gets hurt.”

Her smile twisted into a snarl. Surely her eyes weren’t that color? Dark blue. No, violet. Dee has brown eyes.

The library door burst open and a familiar figure strode in. Stefan Bloch—the estate agent in whose hands the owners of the magnificent Villa Dürnstein had placed responsibility for administering the lease. But he had no business here today.

“What are you doing here?” The words died on Phil’s lips. The estate agent ignored him, made straight for Dee, and took her in his arms. “What the hell?” Phil lurched forward and grabbed Stefan’s arms. He tried to drag him off the woman who was responding all too passionately.

Stefan let Dee go and wheeled round, landing a stinging blow to the side of Phil’s head. He staggered and fell hard against the library desk.

The man and the woman towered over him as he lay sprawled on the floor, his hand checking his jaw for damage.

Phil stared at them. He no longer knew these people. Oh, they looked the same, but their eyes told a different tale. Dee and Stefan were no longer there. So who were they?

As if she had read his thoughts, the woman spoke. “You are right to cower before us. The woman you knew as Dee is no longer here. Her spirit has passed over. I, Arsinoe, Queen of Egypt and the Nile, inhabit her body.” She indicated Stefan. “The man who inhabited this body is also gone. My lover, Nebunaten, has been reborn in him, but this body is dying. He needs a healthy host.”

He heard the words, but they couldn’t be true. Someone was playing a cruel joke. Maybe Paula wasn’t dead after all. Yes, that was it, she must be behind all this. He scrambled to his feet. “Stop this right now. I don’t know what the hell’s going on here, but if you seriously expect me to believe anything you’ve just told me, you are mistaken. Dee—”

He watched incredulously as the woman he loved threw back her head and laughed. A horrible, hollow sound. “Still you will not believe. You think your lover killed your wife with pills. She did not. She killed her with this.” She waved the dagger. “And that was the last memory your Dee took with her into the afterlife. With the god Set and goddess Sekhmet to aid me, I took her body, just as Nebunaten took the man’s. Now it is your turn to surrender your earthly form.”

The blade flashed once. Twice. Blood spurted from two deep wounds in his chest. His limbs grew heavier, as if someone had attached lead weights to them. Everything slowed as he sank to his knees, blood pouring through his hands as he desperately fought, in vain, to stanch the flow. A low growl echoed through his brain. The figure of a cat stood on its hind legs, changing to a half-human form before his rapidly dimming eyes. The woman spoke in a foreign tongue and the man took hold of Phil’s shoulders. Something tugged at his spirit, dragging it out of his body as a dark cloud descended on his mind.

This is what dying feels like.

And then he knew no more.

* * * *

The cat goddess, in her formidable form of Sekhmet, threw back her glossy head and issued a mighty roar, grew dark, and faded from sight.

Nebunaten touched Arsinoe’s lips with his finger. “Soon, my love. I feel my life force shifting within this shell.” He slumped, and Arsinoe gently eased him onto a chair. His eyes closed. Soon he would wake again in a new body; the healthy body whose wounds were already showing signs of healing. Sekhmet the goddess had worked her magic.

* * * *

In his new body, Nebunaten’s spirit swam into consciousness. With his new eyes, he saw his beloved Arsinoe smiling down at him.

“It is done,” she said, and raised her lover’s hand to her lips. “I have waited for you for so long.”

“I never gave up hope,” Nebunaten said, caressing her cheek.

* * * *

Arsinoe sighed. To be happy at last. She had all she wanted. Except…

“Cleopatra, my sister’s spirit, is trapped for now, entwined with that of the woman Paula. She was my murderer and must pay, for all time. Her soul must not be allowed to rest with her precious Mark Antony.”

Nebunaten stripped off Phil’s blood-soaked shirt and threw it on the floor. Arsinoe stroked his smooth chest, the wounds miraculously healed and invisible. Despite her pleasure at being reunited with him, she frowned.

“You do not believe she will stay trapped?” her lover said.

“I do not believe he will give up.”

Nebunaten nodded questioningly at the body he had so recently vacated. Stefan Bloch’s corpse lay slumped in a chair.

“No. Not him. The archaeologist. Quintillus. His madness grows, and the gods have helped him before. He will have my sister reborn again.”

Nebunaten stroked her arm and kissed her neck. “He has always needed your intervention, and you have trapped him in the basement. His spirit cannot travel through walls.”

“His spirit is strong. It grows stronger.”

“Then we must leave this place. Make our home elsewhere. Egypt…”

Arsinoe shook her head. “No. Not Egypt. It is not our home. Not for many centuries.” She decided. “But we will leave. Dispose of this body and go.”

“Why wait? Let it stay here and rot.”

Arsinoe shook her head. “No. We will bury him. Tonight, after dark.”

“What about the two women?”

“They are not a problem. They’re in the basement, safely behind locked doors. Their bodies will rot there before anyone finds them. No one will go down to that basement again. Only if they are found will we need to return. Only if Quintillus escapes. That will not happen. It cannot happen.”

* * * *

Nebunaten hoisted Stefan’s body over his shoulder and carried him out to the bottom of the garden where he had dug a deep pit. Arsinoe followed him and watched. Before long, six feet of earth lay on top of the buried corpse. Nebunaten stood back, satisfied with his labors. He re-laid the turf on top, stamping it down until it was impossible to see where the newly dug earth lay.

“That body would have failed the man in months,” he said. “Maybe only weeks. The cancer had infested him.”

“His spirit is free now.”

“His soul has flown across the desert.”

Above their heads a large white bird soared into the sky; its feathers turned to gray as it flew out of sight.

Nebunaten took Arsinoe’s hand. “Tomorrow, we will leave this place, and our lives will begin.”

* * * *

In the basement of the Villa Dürnstein, shadows moved in the dim light penetrating through the old, long-disused kitchen windows. A tall figure, dressed in a black jacket that reached to his knees, sat at an old pine table. On his head he wore a stovepipe hat, and his long black hair trailed across his shoulders. His gray, wrinkled hands reached into his jacket and removed his pocket watch. He studied it for a moment before returning it. He touched his face, with its neatly trimmed beard, feeling the scaly, almost mummified skin.

I will find you, my queen, my beloved Cleopatra. You have seen, death cannot separate us. You will come back to me and the gods will reunite us as we were meant to be. This time it will be forever.

A distant noise interrupted his thoughts. He cocked his head to listen. Footsteps. Adult. One person. No, two…and someone running. A child. They had a child with them. He heard girlish laughter. A smile spread across his dead face.

A new family.

Chapter 1

“That’s the last of them.” Yvonne Mortimer breathed a sigh of relief and sank onto the couch, grateful for the deep cushions that cocooned her aching limbs. “I don’t care if I never see a cardboard box ever again.”

Ryan, her husband, rewarded her hard work with her favorite expression. The one where his eyes sparkled in the wake of a smile, emphasizing the high cheekbones that were her favorite feature of his. Well, one of them, at least.

“I’ll open that champagne,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “You’ve earned it. The bottle should be well chilled by now.”

He left her alone in the sumptuous library and she looked up at the richly illustrated ceiling. Cleopatra’s entry into Tarsus painted by Gustav Klimt. There she sat in her golden barge, her splendid white gown floating around her. That must have cost a bundle. All that gold leaf. All those people on the banks of the river—or was it the sea? Geography had never been Yvonne’s strongest subject at school. Whatever it was, there were plenty of sightseers, all exquisitely detailed. There were some slaves, by their costumes…and over there a young woman in a flowing scarlet gown, holding back some reeds that were obscuring her view. The serpentine bracelet on her arm gleamed with yet more gold leaf.

Ryan reappeared, bearing champagne flutes and an ice bucket containing an opened bottle of Bollinger.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her a glass of frantically fizzing wine.

“To us,” Yvonne said, raising her glass.

“To us.”

They clinked glasses.

“Can I have some?” Their nine-year-old, with bright blue eyes and shining gold hair, stood framed in the doorway.

“No,” Yvonne said. “But you can have some lemonade.”

“No. Almdudler,” the little girl cried, running to her mother for a hug.

Yvonne laughed. They had only been in Vienna a matter of weeks and already their daughter was being influenced by the local TV commercials. The alpine cry of “Almdudler!” had become a particular favorite, though one taste of the distinctive fizzy, herbal drink had been quite enough for Yvonne. Over the top of her daughter’s head, she said, “You’ve started something now, ever since you bought her a bottle yesterday. She loves it. Sorry, sweetheart, we’ll have to get some from the supermarket when we go shopping tomorrow.”

Her daughter released herself from her mother’s arms and pouted.

Ryan tried to grab her hand but she pulled away. “Now, Heidi, don’t behave like a spoiled child. You’re a big girl now. You can have lemonade today and Almdudler tomorrow. Okay?”

Heidi seemed to consider this for a moment before a bright smile returned to her face. “Okay, Dad. As long as you don’t forget.”

“Promise. High five?” Heidi smacked her small hand into his much bigger one and laughed the tinkling sound that always tugged at Yvonne’s heart.

They had almost lost Heidi to meningitis when she was eighteen months old. She had made a full recovery, but only after months of anxiety when her development had to be carefully monitored for any signs of lasting effects. Yvonne thanked whatever deity might be listening that they had been spared the fate of so many parents. Heidi had grown into a happy, healthy child with a lively imagination and quick wit. Toward the end of August she would start in grade four at the International School here in Vienna and, with excellent school reports behind her, the future looked bright for their miracle child.

Yvonne joined Ryan and Heidi in the kitchen. “I’ve always wanted plenty of space to cook in,” she said, stroking the granite counter. “Weird about that basement though, isn’t it? I wonder what’s down there.” She strolled up to the strong, stainless steel door. “Who padlocks a locked and bolted door?”

Ryan placed the bottle of lemonade he had been pouring for Heidi back in the fridge. “Who wears a belt and braces? But some people do, you know. Some men at least.”

“Suspenders,” Yvonne said, absently, as she peered closely at the locks.

“What?”

Yvonne turned her head toward him. “They call braces suspenders in the States. You’ll be working with a lot of Americans here. They won’t understand you. Oh, and if you’re using a pencil, don’t ask for a rubber.”

“Huh?”

“A rubber is a condom in the US. Ask for an eraser instead.”

Ryan laughed. “Why on earth would I be using a pencil when I have a perfectly good computer?”

“I’m just saying…” Yvonne went back to her padlock inspection. “I’d love to see what’s behind this door.”

“You heard what Anton said. No way. The owners—the von Dürnsteins—are adamant that no one should be allowed down there.”

“But he won’t say why.”

“It’s their house. I suppose they have their reasons. I know we have a lease, but it’s not like we own the place.”

“All the same…” Yvonne dropped the padlock and it clattered against the door. “I bet I could pick those locks.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

Heidi ran in. “Can I go out and play now? I’ve finished my lemonade.”

“Yes, okay, sweetheart,” Yvonne said. “Stay in the garden, though. No wandering off into the street.”

Heidi nodded enthusiastically. “I want to go exploring. There’s lots of secret hiding places under the trees.”

Yvonne watched her skip out through the kitchen door. “You don’t think she’s a little…young for her age?”

“What do you mean? She looks fine to me. Her teachers are happy enough with her progress.” Ryan put his arm around his wife and drew her to him. “She’s great. She’s passed every test with flying colors—both physical and mental. Don’t try to make her grow up too fast. She’ll be a rebellious teenager soon enough.”

“She still plays with her dolls a lot. I don’t think I did at her age. I think I gave them up when I was about eight.”

“You were precocious. Your mother told me so.”

“Mum always took your side.” She reached up and kissed his nose.

“Besides, you said yourself, she uses her dolls like characters in a story. She’s highly creative, like her mother. She’ll be writing romantic fiction next.”

“Just as long as she doesn’t have her dolls acting out Fifty Shades of Grey.”

“Er, right. Yes. Fancy some more champagne?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

They wandered, arm in arm, back to the library.

Half an hour later, with the empty bottle upended in the ice bucket, they relaxed on the sofa.

Yvonne nestled into Ryan’s arm, her long hair falling over his chest like a fragrant golden wave. “I’m so happy we came here,” she said.

“So am I. I never expected to get this posting. Phil was supposed to be here for three years. He only lasted a few months.”

“Strange, that. They’ve never heard from him?”

“No. He came back from New York and that’s the last anyone knows of him, or Paula for that matter. It’s as if they zapped into the twilight zone.”

“I liked Paula. I was never sure about Phil, though. There seemed to be something shady about him. As if he was hiding something.”

“That’s your writer’s imagination talking.”

Yvonne sat up. “Maybe, but I always suspected he was having an affair.”

“Oh yes? Anyone we know?”

Yvonne shrugged. “As you say, probably my imagination.” She yawned. “Will we ever get this place straight? Remind me in future. I don’t like moving house.”

Ryan laughed. “Sorry, we’ll be on the go again in three years.”

Do we have to? But she knew they did. And she knew she would make the best of it when it came time to leave. Heidi would be nearly thirteen by then. Oh great! Teenage angst and a major relocation. Better get some serious writing in now while she still had her sanity. For the time being, though, the prospects for the next few years were as sunny as the day outside. In the late afternoon, part of the garden was already in shade. That would make the early July temperature at least bearable.

“Let’s join Heidi in the garden. See if she’s found any fairies.” Yvonne stood and shook off her tiredness.

“Fairies? Now who’s reverting to childhood?”

* * * *

Outside, they found Heidi at the bottom of the garden, picking flowers. As they approached, she thrust out the colorful little bunch. “For you, Mum.”

“Oh, thank you, darling.” Yvonne took them and sniffed the mixed scents. Blooms she didn’t recognize, brightly colored in reds, oranges, blues, and purples.

“A rainbow of flowers,” Heidi said.

“It is indeed.”

Heidi skipped off happily.

Yvonne smelled the scent of new-mown grass. Anton had sorted out the gardener he had promised them. An efficient, experienced man called Willy had arrived, along with every conceivable garden implement known to humanity. He worked swiftly and showed he knew exactly which of the abundance of plants and shrubs needed attention—or removing completely—and which should be left to thrive on their own. He trimmed, pruned, and mowed but thankfully didn’t overmanicure. The garden looked tidy, but still natural. The tall pines provided much-needed shade and Yvonne joined Ryan on a bench under one of them. She rested her feet on springy turf. “There’s nothing better than sitting in a beautiful garden on a perfect summer day, listening to the birds singing,” she said.

“Mmm.” Ryan’s eyes were closed.

Pretty soon, Yvonne’s eyes grew heavier and she gave up the battle to keep them open. Around her, the small birds kept up their cheerful summer chorus and lulled her to sleep. Only to be woken a few minutes later.

“Mum. Dad. There’s a man in the basement.”

Chapter 2

“Can you see anything?” Yvonne crouched next to Ryan, who had his nose pressed to the grating. Through the elaborate wrought iron and murky basement windows she could see nothing but blackness, and her knees were beginning to ache from kneeling.

“He’s there, Mum. I saw him.”

“I can’t see a thing,” Ryan said. “It’s too dark.”

“You know, the consultant said her eyesight had been affected by the meningitis,” Yvonne said. That was why her pupils contracted and dilated more than usual and she could see almost as well in the dark as a cat. One specialist after another had examined her. They had never seen a case like it. Meningitis did not give gifts. If it had lasting effects, they were generally of the negative and debilitating kind. After a year, and scared their daughter was being used like some sort of lab rat, Yvonne and Ryan had withdrawn their consent for any more investigations. Enough was enough. Their daughter had a special gift and they were thankful for that. Time to move on with their lives.

Yvonne stood and took Heidi’s hand. “You know we can’t see the way you can. Tell us exactly what you think you saw.”

Heidi gave a loud, exasperated sigh. “I don’t think I saw him. I did. He was standing in the corner and he had long black hair and a funny hat.”

“What sort of funny hat?” Ryan. . .