Pyramid of Coins (The Judas Chronicles Book 6) Read online

  Pyramid of Coins

  The Judas Chronicles

  Book 6

  by

  Aiden James

  Acclaim for Aiden James:

  “Aiden James has written a deeply psychological, gripping tale that keeps the readers hooked from page one.” Bookfinds review for “The Forgotten Eden”

  “A variety of twists, surprises, and subplots keep the story moving forward at a good pace. My interest was piqued almost immediately and my attention never wavered as I forced my eyes to stay open well into the night. (Sleep is overrated.) Aiden James is a Master Storyteller, whose career is on the rise! Out-freaking-standing-excellent!” Detra Fitch of Huntress Reviews, for “Plague of Coins”

  “The hook to this excellent suspense thriller is the twists that will keep readers wondering what is going on as nothing is quite what it seems. Adding to the excitement is that the audience will wonder whether the terror is an evil supernatural creature or an amoral human…Aiden James provides a dark thriller that grips fans from the opening.” Harriet KLausner, for “The Forgotten Eden”

  “Aiden James’ writing style flows very easily and I found that Cades Cove snowballed into a very gripping tale. Clearly the strengths in the piece were as the spirit's interaction became prevalent with the family…. The Indian lore and ceremonies and the flashbacks to Allie Mae's (earthly) demise were very powerful. I think those aspects separated the work from what we've seen before in horror and ghost tales.” Evelyn Klebert, Author of “A Ghost of a Chance”, “Dragonflies”, and “An Uneasy Traveler” for “Cades Cove”

  “The intense writing style of Aiden James kept my eyes glued to the story and the pages seemed to fly by at warp speed…. Twists, turns, and surprises pop up at random times to keep the reader off balance. It all blends together to create one of the best stories I have read all year.” Detra Fitch, Huntress Reviews, for “The Devil’s Paradise”

  “Aiden James is insanely talented! We are watching a master at work….Ghost stories don’t get any better than this.” J.R. Rain, Author of “Moon Dance’ and “Vampire Moon” for “The Raven Mocker”

  BOOKS BY AIDEN JAMES

  CADES COVE SERIES

  Cades Cove

  The Raven Mocker

  THE TALISMAN CHRONICLES

  The Forgotten Eden

  The Devil’s Paradise

  Hurakan’s Chalice (with Mike Robinson)

  GHOSTHUNTERS 101 SERIES

  Deadly Night

  The Ungrateful Dead

  THE DYING OF THE DARK SERIES

  With Patrick Burdine

  The Vampires’ Last Lover

  The Vampires’ Birthright

  (New version coming 2015)

  Blood Princesses of the Vampires

  (New version coming 2015)

  Scarlet Legacy of the Vampires

  (Coming 2016)

  THE JUDAS CHRONICLES

  Plague of Coins

  Reign of Coins

  Destiny of Coins

  The Dragon Coin

  Tyranny of Coins

  THE NICK CAINE ADVENTURES

  With J.R. Rain

  Temple of the Jaguar

  Treasure of the Deep

  Pyramid of the Gods

  Aiden James only

  Curse of the Druids

  Secret of the Loch

  (Coming November 2014)

  WITH MICHELLE WRIGHT

  The Judas Reflections

  Murder in Whitechapel

  Curse of Stigmata

  Maid of Heaven

  (Coming winter 2015)

  WITH LISA COLLICUTT

  The Serendipitous Curse

  Reborn

  Reviled

  WITH JAMES WYMORE

  The Actuator: Fractured Earth

  The Actuator 2: Return of the Saboteur

  (Coming fall 2014)

  Pyramid of Coins by Aiden James

  Published by Aiden James

  Copyright © 2014 by Aiden James

  Cover design by Michelle Johnson

  Ebook Edition, 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 your favorite ebook store and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Acclaim for Aiden James:

  Books by Aiden James

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Welcome To Denmark Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Curse of the Druids Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  The Raven Mocker: Evil Returns to Cades Cove

  About the Author

  Pyramid of Coins

  Prologue

  Welcome to the Big Easy… the enchanting city of New Orleans.

  It seems almost fitting that my latest journal would begin in one of the most historically and culturally rich cities in North America. A place I once knew well in centuries past, then lost touch with in the twentieth century, and now to be reacquainted in the second decade of the twenty-first century.

  One could say that my son, Alistair, finally got his way. His persistence to revisit this magical place as our next resting spot until we can lay permanent roots certainly held some sway. But, in truth, it was more a collective feeling among us all that kept us from returning to Virginia after gathering our most cherished belongings from Sedona, Arizona.

  Alistair talked us into coming here just after Thanksgiving, having been on the move since returning to the States at the onset of November, following our encounter with Krontos Lazarevic and Viktor Kaslow in Hungary. All of us were drained physically, emotionally, and most importantly, spiritually. We needed something or some locale that could nourish us and restore our focus; vitally important considering our Russian nemesis could reappear in our world at any time from the realm of devils—the mystical land of Bochicha—and without warning. We hadn’t expected Kaslow to drop in on us when we battled Krontos in his castle near Budapest, and it nearly got us all killed….

  Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. I suppose the polite thing to do is introduce myself to those unaware of who I am. At present, I still prefer the moniker given to me near the turn of the nineteenth century by my dear companion, Roderick Cooley, so please call me William. William Barrow. And, yes, I am well aware that many of you have learned that I once spent nearly two millennia parading as the now legendary Emmanuel Ortiz—thanks to the chronicles detailed in the Reflections books that have recently surfaced. Therefore, I will answer to that name, as well as the one forever seared into the annals of time for my stupid misjudgment, when I betrayed Jesus Christ.

  Judas Iscariot. Yes, that’s me, too.

  And to those who have fervently prayed for the fires of Hell to consume the very flesh from my bones while I writhe in eternal suffering, fear not. It could still happen. There is little chance of escaping the reality of who I am and what I am destined to forever be known for. Without hope, my burden of being saddled with immortality apart from The Almighty’s grace and mercy can become too much to bear.

  Thankfully, when I reentered my beloved son’s life nearly forty years ago, Alistair’s forgiveness marked a new beginning on my path to redemption. For the first time in centuries, I actually believed that I might find favor with the Lord once again. It was Alistair’s chastisement of my tepid efforts to reclaim all thirty silver shekels that revived the earnest search for my cursed blood coins—which in many cases had wrought needless suffering to the innocent—along with the hope that I might find forgiveness, even a minuscule amount, for my despicable crime against the Son of God.

  Why do I wax on about my son? Perhaps I realize now that I’ve been quite harsh with him, and have given him an unrealistic assessment based on the scholarly old man he was almost four years ago. All of us are the combination of our biological bodies, minds, and our spirits. When the body is young and vibrant, the focus of one’s entire being leans to the physical, with scarcely a concern about the mind and spirit. In Alistair’s case, a career as a tenured professor at Georgetown was discarded with the same forethought as pissing over the side of a balcony in eighteenth century London. Always overly critical, he became a chronic whiner these past few years.

  Imagine my surprise—and everyone else’s—when he not only spearheaded the move to New Orleans, but also dealt with the inevitable road bumps with aplomb. Actually, he dealt with each mishap wearing a smile and with nary a cross word to anyone. Ever since we arrived here, he has continued with that same attitude and approach. It almost makes me think we could stay in this vibrant city for a year or two. Almost.

  Despite the promise of peace from the likes of Kro
ntos and Kaslow, our status as residents remains tenuous. It would be foolish to consider otherwise. Besides, there’s something in the air here that pulls my attention during night walks through the French Quarter, and even during the day when Beatrice and I have toured the rest of the city together.

  We’re being watched. I’m certain of it.

  Friend or foe, it’s the only time I wish I still had the acute premonitions and ability to read thoughts that steadily waned upon our return to the United States late last year, until they died away completely a week or so before Christmas. I’m not about to test fate again by holding two of my cursed coins at the same time to try and get the ‘gift’ back.

  To that end, I won’t be waiting until the next crisis has come and gone before updating my journal. Instead, I am returning to how I used to keep written accounts of the events in my life, scribing in the present. Even though I am without the preternatural boost I received in Hungary, I can still clearly feel things, a gift I’ve always had. Hunches like the strong sense of grave danger that sometimes approaches us and then falls back into the shadows. It serves as a stern reminder that our blissful respite can end at any time, and I keep a wary eye out for either menace to step out of the shadows some moonlit night.

  Krontos and Kaslow could arrive together next time, and attack in tandem as ruthless marauders seeking revenge against those I love.

  After all, it’s the surest means to destroy me….

  William

  Chapter One

  January 7th.

  Warm days and much cooler nights are the norm in January for New Orleans. And even though Mardi Gras is still a few weeks away from ramping up, the city is already in full celebratory swing. I had forgotten how the festive atmosphere always arrived on January 6th, the twelfth day of Christmas. Almost overnight the atmosphere changed, as if the populace felt some urgent call to action.

  “This is going to be so much fun, Pops!” Alistair enthused. Excitement danced in his warm brown eyes. My son had convinced Beatrice and me to join him and Amy for an evening carriage ride that would take us through the storied areas of town that we had yet to see. “We’ll ride around for about an hour, see some of the more famous haunts that you’ve been avoiding, old man, and then arrive in the Garden District in time for our seven-thirty dinner reservation at the Commander’s Palace.”

  Visibly pleased, my son nodded to his mother and me sitting across from him and Amy, and then planted a soft kiss on his sweetheart’s exposed neck. It must’ve been deliciously warm as she shivered in the night’s slight chill. She smiled lovingly and returned his kiss with a more sensual one of her own…. As wonderful as it was to see that their passion remained strong after more than two years of courtship, my playful jab about ‘getting a room’ put an immediate end to the foreplay.

  Normally such teasing brought awkwardness, and Amy would look away, her long dark hair cloaking her embarrassment while emerald eyes peered through stray strands for when it would be safe for her to reemerge. But that night she eyed me knowingly, as did Alistair, like they had some big secret straining against the guard of sealed lips. A smirk from me was all it would usually take to pop it free…. But then I noticed Beatrice wore a similar expression. Her smiling green eyes glistened with a curious mixture of love and pride.

  “What?” I asked her.

  “Ali and Amy have an announcement to make,” said my wife, as the driver directed his horse to trot onto the roadway, leaving Jackson Square and heading toward the Garden District. The fact he hadn’t started bellowing some version of the truth about the famous people and history of the French Quarter told me that he was in on this, too.

  I could’ve busted everyone’s chops right then, since I already knew what Alistair and Amy were about to announce… pretty sure, anyway—especially considering the beaming grin Beatrice was wearing. But after so many close calls to losing all three during the past eight months, I was amenable to acting surprised, though somewhat coyly.

  “Really?... Are you two lovebirds moving out on your own?”

  Their reaction was almost priceless, as was Beatrice’s playful frown. She knows me all too well.

  “No, silly. No one is moving anywhere… at least for now,” she said, chuckling.

  “We’re getting married,” said Alistair, before I could say anything else to deflate the moment.

  “Well, we already knew that,” I said, admittedly with some orneriness. “But does this mean?...”

  “Yes, William, we finally set a date. April ninth… this year,” said Amy, proudly.

  “Really? How cool is that?”

  “William!” Beatrice scolded, brushing back her long, strawberry blond locks with a hand to regard me clearly.

  “I’m just playing with the pups,” I assured her. “This is fantastic news, and about time. Welcome officially to the Barrow family, my dear!”

  I reached over and gave her a hug and then embraced my boy. After sharing hearty slaps across each other’s backs, I returned to my seat, sharing a longer hug and kiss with my wife, who wept from joy. It mattered not that she and I expected an announcement at any time, based on my son’s improved disposition and the recent talk from him and Amy about purchasing a home near City Park and eventually starting a family. At the moment, they held each other tightly, grinning from the joy only those in the most rapturous days of romantic love can truly appreciate.

  Despite a thirty-five year age gap between them, they had become a pair of twenty-year-olds, physically, now that the crystal shards from Iran’s Tree of Life had brought them both back to the beginning of adulthood—to what I assumed was the physical age of Adam and Eve at the time of their expulsion from the Garden of Eden thousands of years ago. Even Beatrice would regress to that age in the next year, considering she now looked twenty-six on a bad day, and under twenty-five most of the time. As for me? I remain the perpetual thirty-year-old I’ve been since I first discovered I could not die.

  Anyway, our driver took the announcement as his cue to begin the tour. After his own congratulations, he launched into his spiel about how the night tour was more about the famous ghosts of ‘Nawlins’ than its daytime counterpart.

  “Oh, joy,” I mumbled, earning a light slap across my lap from Beatrice, and a playful kick from Alistair. “I mean… what joy awaits us, as we all appreciate a good ghost story. Right, kids?”

  Another slap with my wife lovingly telling me “You’re terrible!” But it was all in good fun, and the stories that the man named Cyrus told us were quite interesting. Like most of the older cities in the southern United States, the residents of New Orleans are quite proud of their restless invisible companions.

  We arrived at the restaurant with nearly ten minutes to spare, and after generously tipping our talkative driver we went inside. From that moment until our night of revelry began to wind down just before midnight, the four of us enjoyed a fabulous time. I admit to letting down my guard to enjoy numerous toasts to long life, prosperity, and everlasting happiness for Alistair and Amy. And, not since Beatrice first began shedding her Alzheimer’s disease had I seen her so enraptured, securing the promise of our own passionate night once we returned to our rented French Quarter townhouse.

  It was the perfect night in every way… until we arrived by taxi at our doorstep.

  Roderick and Cedric waited for us on the main sidewalk, both wearing worried expressions. My druid pal’s look was the most distressing as his eyes were seemingly on fire… a sapphire blaze that alarmed me since it had evicted his natural hue of lavender that had recently come back after a two-year hiatus from the perpetual stress that haunted us all. Worse was the fact he made no effort to hide his eyes and the specs of gold swirling noticeably along the edges of his irises. Our cab driver watched him nervously while hurriedly collecting his fair for the trip across town.