DEATH (The Justice Cycle Book 1) by J Kiefer (best novels in english TXT) 📕

“She?” Dana asked tentatively.

He shook his head in affirmation again. “Yes, she.”

Tears streamed down Dana’s cheeks and he gently reached out to brush them away. She closed her eyes and placed her hand on his. She was afraid that this was a dream and that when she awoke, the moment would be gone, and their relationship would return to the same state it had always been. When she finally did open her eyes, she found him still there holding her face and staring at her with that look she had so desperately wished to see but never thought she would.

“Just in case you were wondering,” he said with a wink, “that ‘she’ is you.”

He brushed another tear away with one hand as he held her face with his other. Dana stammered not knowing what to say at this revelation. She had been hopelessly in love with him since she was old enough to know what love was, and she had no idea how to act now that he finally saw her as something more than just a friend.

“I…” she stammered. “I don’t know how to respond.”

Jared laughed and removed his hand from her cheek. “Well, that’s a first.”

She scowled and hit him hard on the shoulder. “I am a serious jerk. I don’t know what to say. I have been waiting my whole life to hear you say this and I just don’t know what—”

Jared interrupted her by taking her head and gently kissing her on the mouth.

He kissed her with a passion he had never kissed anyone with before. Dana closed her eyes and lost herself in the moment, savoring the kiss. When it was finished, he sat back and whistled. “Holy shit.”

Dana laughed because he seldom swore, and it took her by surprise. “That good, huh?”

He just sat there staring ahead. “Better than good.”

She blushed and bit her lower lip. “We could do it again?”

Jared’s eyes shined with anticipation. “Oh, we will, but we really do have to get to the city and now we are definitely going to get stuck on the bridge.”

Twenty-Two

On April 17th, 1897, the remains of former president and Union general Ulysses S. Grant were entombed in a red granite sarcophagus and placed in a newly built mausoleum near the banks of the Hudson River in the city of New York. To this day, it is one of New York City’s most visited historical monuments.

Less than a mile down the road, however, and unbeknownst to anyone who is not from the greater metropolitan area, resides another monument. The memorial is small and plain and could be easily missed if you did not know it was there. Sadly, the small tomb was almost lost to the great upheaval that the construction of Grant’s Tomb caused, but thanks to the overwhelming support of the people of New York, it was saved.

The small grave is known as the Tomb of an Amiable Child and is believed to be the grave of a five-year-old boy who, sometime in the late 1700s, possibly fell to his death from the cliffs lining the Hudson River. The small marker is made of gray marble and is carved into the shape of an urn resting on a pedestal. A black wrought iron picket fence encases the tiny monument protecting it from the ever-encroaching city and her occupants. Serene and beautiful, it is a testament to a life lost too soon. Tonight, however, the tranquility was defiled.

Crimson blood, looking almost black in the early morning light, stained the ground around the child’s grave. A man in a black jacket and hoodie stood over the lifeless body of a small child. He held a long knife covered in so much blood, it dripped over his hands and down his arms.

The child was a young boy with blond hair, blue eyes, and a cherubic face, about five years old. His blue eyes were open and fixed, his face contorted in fear and pain, his mouth open in a silent scream. This was his death mask and would be the last haunting thing his parents saw when they came to identify their little boy’s body.

With a grunt, the man lifted the body up and slammed it forcefully onto one of the iron fence pickets. Hanging like a scarecrow, the boy’s body drooped forward, his hands dangling by his side. Then his head fell forward too. Growling, the man reached up and pushed the dead boy’s head backward so the expression on his face was clearly visible.

After all, he mused, art like this should not be hidden but be open and available for everyone to enjoy.

From atop the nearby gothic cathedral of Riverside Church, a giant warrior watched the scene unfold. He shifted and the royal purple cloak that shrouded him, revealing shining golden armor and a jeweled crown upon his head. Power radiated from him and streams of golden light poured into the night air, illuminating the rooftop.

The warrior scowled as he watched the horrific scene. Humans, he thought. It never ceases to amaze me the horrors they are capable of.

As if the man below him heard his words, he canted his head in the direction of the massive church. He grinned at the watching warrior, his eyes wild and enraptured. The man did not speak a word but stared upward, his eyes fixated on the roof of the church.

The warrior’s eyes flashed with anger and the glow around grew in such intensity that he appeared to be a miniature star resting atop the church.

“Moloch!” he bellowed.

The man below dipped his head in affirmation and chuckled, the grin never leaving his face. Red glowing eyes glared up at the angel and the ethereal shadow of a large demon erupted around the man. He opened his arms out wide and bared his teeth. “Come now, Sanctuary,” the man roared in a powerful deep guttural voice. “Have you forgotten