The Seventh Sons (Sycamore Moon Series Book 1) Read online

  Deborah watched in silence as the detective finished his words and then she held her glass high in the air. Maxim regarded the gesture dryly but then did the same before sipping from his glass. He took enough time to appreciate the moment, to draw it to a respectable conclusion, but he knew the impending business wouldn't allow him the serenity that he had hoped for.

  "Lola's dead," said Maxim, picking himself up from his perch on the bar and walking back to confront her other killer. Deborah moved to protectively hover over Nithya once more. "We all had a part in that. But I loved her, even if I didn't show it, and I understand the bond of family. All of us here, we can still get out of this. You could see your family again."

  The red light created jagged lines on Deborah's weathered face, and she shook her head with predetermined resolve. "Melody disowned me. She'll never look at me the same again after she found out what I did." The woman balled her free hand into a fist and pressed her lips tightly together as if she were about to blow, but then she let the feeling escape her hard heart. "I've made missteps. In retrospect, I had a funny way of protecting the MC. I don't expect you to understand, but she should. I did it for her. The cabin, this bar, Regina Beale, it was all set up for her legacy. No, Maxim, you and I do have something in common. It's that we were both big disappointments to our families. Unlike you, I've decided not to drag mine down. The best thing I can do for Melody is to leave Sycamore."

  Maxim took a step closer. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we are both fuckups. Maybe neither of us deserve redemption, but Angelica is Diego's family. We can both choose not to destroy that. We can both choose not to spread our misery to others."

  The woman's head fell as she looked at Nithya, nearly broken, close to death. Deborah's teased hair fell over her eyes.

  "I don't care about the price," said Maxim. "Not anymore. I came in here to save her life." The detective took another gentle step forward as he appealed to whatever was left of the woman's empathy. "Let her go and I'll stay."

  Deborah brushed her long hair behind her ears and gave the detective an uncompromising glare. "You may just have to stay anyway." The woman raised her gun to him again.

  "Don't do anything drastic, Deborah. You know we have Melody in custody."

  She nodded. "Then it's in your best interest to leave her alone and help me get out of town for good. Sanctuary will do better without the likes of me."

  "I'm fine with that, but only if we play nice. Let these hostages go. Let me arrest Nithya so she can serve time in prison. And let's get Angelica out of this mess as if she had never been involved."

  Deborah scoffed. "Do those complete your terms?" she asked mockingly. "Why is it that you fight so hard to protect Ms. Rao's life?"

  The detective couldn't explain it. He wanted to believe that Nithya hadn't acted out of malice. "Look at her," he answered. "She's dying."

  Maxim studied the faces of the other hostages. They were deathly afraid, whimpering in the corner, staring at the floor boards. Sanctuary was meant to be a place where people could escape their troubles, not this. If he had to deal with the devil to free them, so be it. The fate of his soul was a good sacrifice for theirs.

  "Okay," said Deborah, "we can work together. You need to release Melody and let her be free to do as she chooses, whether she stays or goes."

  Maxim nodded.

  "You will also let me go. And I give you my word that you will never see me again."

  "I have no pull with County or the CDC."

  She eyed him carefully. After a moment of deliberation, she smacked her lips again, as one might chide a child or pet. "Maxim, you want to bet it all, and you haven't even put your chips on the table yet."

  He was confused by her meaning. "How's that?"

  "A little birdie told me that you have all of my money. I don't need sway with the CDC or Coconino deputies, but I do need that. That's a sticking point for me."

  Maxim smiled. Gaston must have told her over the phone in an effort to keep her away from the club. It was a smart move. "So you heard?" he asked coyly. "The president is dead. Long live the president."

  "Honey," said Deborah, unfazed, "titles are overrated. It's power that makes a person."

  ii.

  The next hour that Maxim waited with the hostages was agonizing. He had never spent that much time in Sycamore Lodge without a drink in his hand. It's not that the temptation wasn't there, but this was far too important. Maxim had to remain sharp.

  Deborah had allowed him to make a call to set up the exchange. Then she had confiscated his phone and left him sitting at a table by the front. He had taken to watching the hostages, wondering about their lives, trying to make eye contact and soothe them with a confident countenance. Nithya was the only one who wouldn't look. Whether weakness or shame kept her head down, he didn't know, but he desperately wanted to hear her voice again.

  It was only when those feelings became unbearable and he was afraid his resolve would fail the hostages that the hum of a motorcycle rolled closer. With permission, Maxim twisted open a set of blinds as Deborah approached the window. Between the red slats, a lone figure in black leathers and a gold helmet stood straddling a Triumph Scrambler. He kept to the edge of the road and appeared as unthreatening as possible.

  Deborah peeked through the blinds and looked up the street.

  "I told him to come alone," assured Maxim.

  She nodded in her domineering manner. "That better be the case. Remember, if I see anyone else, or if the assassin tries to come inside, I start killing hostages." She brushed him away with the gun in her hand. "Run along now."

  Maxim walked to the door and heard one of the men whimper. The detective put his hand up and encouraged them not to lose hope. He looked to each of them and knew it was his duty to protect them. The only problem was that he didn't know how yet.

  For that matter, he didn't even know where Angelica was. Deborah was keeping that from him as her last trick. Maxim watched her brazenly eyeing him, standing by the window, arms crossed, waiting for him to get to it. The detective slipped outside.

  It was freezing in the open air. The combination of vacant heat and constant breeze was peculiar and unsettling. In the alcove by the patio door, where Deborah could not see what the detective was doing, Maxim recovered his Glock from the planter and holstered it out of sight. Then he pulled his suit jacket tightly around his body and stepped into her view.

  Maxim kicked up gravel as he stepped impatiently towards the bike. He knew Deborah was watching them closely from behind. He needed to make sure this went smoothly. He saw the metal briefcase waiting in the biker's arms and reached his hand out for it.

  "Hello boss," said Gutierrez from under the helmet.

  The detective almost jumped at the unexpected development. "Where's Diego?"

  "He's in Gaston's pickup truck, down the road."

  Maxim couldn't hold back a smile. Diego had finally thought of a plan before jumping into a fight.

  "Okay, well we have six hostages inside. One of them is Nithya. I don't know where Angelica is, so I'll need to trade her for the case. When she comes out, get her on the bike and get her out of here. She needs to be safe. Deborah needs to see you leave. After that, if she doesn't release the other hostages, Hitchens and Cole need to come in strong while I keep her from killing anybody. Don't focus on me, worry about saving the hostages. That's our job."

  The detective couldn't see the rookie's face under the tinted visor but he could imagine the troubled expression. "What's the matter?"

  "That's the thing," said Gutierrez. "The CDC took Melody to County for questioning."

  "Don't worry about the girl."

  "Hitchens and Cole are in Flagstaff with them."

  Maxim blinked before it settled in. He had been counting on their strength.

  "I don't know what happened. The CDC is getting pissy. They wanna talk to you too."

  Maxim sighed. It was useless to worry about that meeting right now. "Let's see how tonight goes fir
st."

  Behind him, a loud rapping on the window rang out. Maxim turned and saw a dark shadow watching them. He nodded and faced the rookie again.

  Maxim extended his arm and took possession of the case. "Did the feds ask about the club?"

  The gold helmet shook back and forth. "Nah. Melody laid this at her mom's feet. I think they're still interested in the Yavapai, but so far, they're limiting themselves to simply watching the Seventh Sons."

  "Good."

  "Why are you protecting them, sir? A bunch of monsters tear through our station, almost kill Kent, and you are lying for them."

  Maxim looked back at the roadhouse and imagined the people inside, what they've done, what they had yet to do. "I don't know, Gutierrez. Everyone has a right to be good, I guess."

  "Until they do something bad," countered the officer.

  The detective turned his head to the rookie again and gave him a single slight nod. "Until then. And that's when it becomes our job to stop them."

  The rookie didn't say anything and watched as Maxim turned and started back toward Sycamore Lodge. "Stay here," said the detective. "Don't get off the bike."

  Maxim's steps were more deliberate on his walk back. He gripped the case firmly and stared at the window where Deborah's figure and the horizontal blinds formed a perfect black silhouette against the red glow of the lodge. As he approached, she moved backwards and her form blurred and lost its clarity.

  Maxim stopped at the stone steps.

  "Deborah," he called out. "Send Angelica outside." He heard the woman stomping around within.

  "Not until you give me that case."

  Maxim stood up straight and summoned his most authoritative voice. "If I go in there, you have the money, Angelica, me—everything you want. I would be defenseless. You still have other hostages. Let Angelica ride away with Diego so we can deal alone. Then I'll give you the case."

  The woman didn't even consider the offer. "You need to come inside and let me make sure that case has my money in it."

  The detective's head fell. He had never known Deborah to be reasonable. Was he wasting his time appealing to her now? "At least let some of the hostages out."

  "Can't do it," she replied plainly.

  Maxim closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. If she was being this uncooperative now, she would only get worse once she had the briefcase. He needed to handle this in a different manner.

  His eyes bounced around the property. The detective ran his hand across the wiry hair on his cheek and frowned. If Angelica wasn't inside the bar, where else could she be?

  Maxim turned on his heels and walked away from the patio, skirting the roadhouse around the left side. He heard Deborah yell for him to get inside, but he marched on, out of view from her or Gutierrez.

  There was a rolling warehouse door on the edge of the building. Maxim saw that it hadn't been bolted down for the night, bent down to grab the handle, and heaved it up. It stuck at the height of his shoulders and he lowered himself to peek in. He saw several emptied kegs of beer, a dumpster, and broken down cardboard boxes. It was a small space, and he could tell at a glance that no hostages were in there.

  Maxim continued around and found himself in the back of Sycamore Lodge. It was all dirt besides the occasional patch of brown grass. During the day, truckers would park their trailers on the far side from him. There was a small stoop by a rickety back door with a glass window. Cigarettes spotted the ground where patrons often lurked in between drinks.

  Deeper in the clearing, to Maxim's left, was an old grain storage bin. It was a large tower of corrugated metal that had been left idle for at least a generation. The detective recalled Deborah's stories of how Sycamore Lodge used to be an outpost for moving food and supplies west for the surveying of Beale Wagon Road. Maybe there had been an attempt at farming here at some point as well.

  Maxim approached the structure to investigate. It looked decrepit but not especially suspicious, and he was about to circle the bin when he heard the creaky bar door pushed open. Deborah was standing in the back, fuming.

  "Maxim Dwyer," she yelled, "what in the Sam Hill do you think you're doing?"

  That was a good question, one without a clear answer. It certainly didn't appear as if anyone was out here, but when Maxim saw Deborah drawn to the back door, he decided to improvise in another direction. If he couldn't get the hostages away from her, well...

  "You want the case? Come out and get it."

  They were about fifty yards from each other. That was a safe distance to have a standoff. He was in a clearing and could pull his weapon before she ever had a chance. Sure, they both had guns, but Maxim was willing to bet that he was the better shot.

  She scowled at him from the safety of the lodge, staring him down until she suddenly withdrew inside. Maxim squinted his eyes as he watched, and waited, for her to reappear, and she did, only she was pushing Nithya outside onto the porch while she remained by the door.

  So Deborah wouldn't relinquish her position so easily. She stood like a vigilant sentry and it was Nithya who made her way into the open yard. The wounded woman's movement was labored and slow and Maxim had plenty of time to reflect on his thoughts of her before she arrived. Still, somehow, when she stood before him, he was at a loss for words.

  Nithya Rao looked terrible. The space between her shoulder and neck featured torn flesh that had been given little attention. She was hunched over so that Maxim appeared the taller of the two, and gone was her confident air. She was a broken woman, yet in some ways, she was prettier in her sickened state, less prim, of course, but more authentic. There was an honesty about her eyes that pervaded his impression. Perhaps, he thought, it was the peace of resignation.

  For the first time in days, she returned his gaze and looked straight into him. "I'm not a monster," she said firmly.

  Her voice nearly broke him. "Nithya..."

  "I've committed crimes. I've abused my position. Believe me, I understand my role in the deaths of those people, but I was being deceived by the bikers as well."

  Pity forced Maxim to feign a weak smile. "You kept them in a cage."

  She remained resolute. "They weren't coerced. They gave themselves the first injection. Once they were subjected to the program, they could not be free to leave it. Allowing their departure would have been a greater ill to society."

  "So they were strangled by a madman to benefit society?"

  Nithya trembled at the thought. "Once the rabies showed outward symptoms, once it was clear that the patients were to die, they were supposed to be moved to a secret hospice. Deborah assured me that they were allowed to die peacefully, privately."

  "Dumped in an abandoned water tank."

  "They had to be disposed of secretly. The number of deaths and the presence of rabies would have brought us down."

  "It did bring you down."

  "I kept telling myself that I was helping more than hurting."

  Maxim raised his voice. "How was Lola helped by you starting all of this?"

  The woman shuddered slightly under his question but answered with the calm detachment of a scientist. "Your wife wanted a change, Maxim. Deborah didn't want to turn her friend because of the dangers, so she brought her to me. Lola personally conveyed to me her thoughts of flinging herself from the falls to end it all. She wanted to kill herself, Maxim. She was dead without me. I knew it was illegal, but I saw an opportunity for the both of us."

  Nithya paused for a heavy moment, perhaps realizing the irony of her words. "When Lola got sick, we did our best for her. We kept her at Deborah's cabin and treated her, but she was overtaken. Lola had met her desired fate after all.

  "We had a quiet burial for her. Deborah was devastated, as was I, but I thought I was on to something. I asked about other volunteers. Deborah latched onto the process, no more as a helpful hand to a friend but instead as a business decision. We started by using the basement of Sycamore Lodge. Deborah had just purchased the property, and it served its purpose until
I found better, more neutral ground. Deborah negotiated special consideration from the CDC for the Seventh Sons and was well paid. She continued to push for more. More trials. More people."

  At this point, Maxim was numb to the news. "And what of your reasons?"

  Nithya sighed and clasped her elbows for warmth. "I have a brain tumor, Detective. I have been healthy all of my life, yet here I am, not even forty, and I do not know how many years I have left. The mass pushes against my skull, causes incessant headaches, and will one day rob me of my reason. Then I will die, alone, probably in a mental ward, without dignity."

  Maxim looked to the woman softly. It seemed she was still able to stir sympathy in him, whatever her transgressions. It was no matter. She would answer for her part, one way or another.

  "Lycanthropy," he said, working out the same premise she had staked her livelihood on. "You wanted to be able to heal like them."

  She gave a weak nod. "Werewolf physiology stands up surprisingly well to degenerative diseases. Late onset deterioration tied to aging is nearly nonexistent. Imagine not needing to watch your cholesterol in your later years. Imagine not having the crippling burden of caring for a parent. The old get to keep their graces."

  Maxim thought over her words with a furrowed brow. "So you never desired to become a wolf?"

  Nithya laughed as her face was wrought with irony. "It's tragic," she said, looking up to the stars as if their worlds held answers other than this one. "I've been sick, in pain, dying, and all I've wanted was to live. Not an abnormal life, not selfishly long, just long enough to be able to look back on my time and be proud of the differences I've made. Yet the bulk of my test subjects had purely temporary problems and wished to snuff themselves out with little thought. I've failed them. And I've failed myself."