Go Cold (Kate Valentine #7)

PROLOGUE

“And why wilt thou, my son, be ravished with a strange woman and embrace the bosom of a stranger? For the ways of man are before the eyes of the LORD, and He pondereth all his goings.”

The voice of the speaker droned onward, warning that the wicked would die as a consequence of their own sin that they would die without instruction. That was true. Of course it was. It was the divinely inspired word of God.

But others would be instructed. It was as the Lawgiver said. The work the Fury did wasn't for those she punished but for those watching, so that they may avoid the path that led others to destruction.

The Fury took a deep breath and prayed for grace. It was easy to be angry, easy to succumb to hurt, to enjoy the judgment she was about to dispense.

But that wasn’t her purpose. Her work was brutal but benevolent.

Just as the throat of the sin offering was slit and the blood poured beneath the Lord, these offerings were not meant as punishments for the sacrificial lambs but as a sign for the congregation, a symbol to God of a society’s piety, a warning to sinners that Gods eyes were always upon them.

She took another deep breath, letting the heady smell of the incense fill her sinuses and clarify her thoughts.

Candlelight flickered across the room, shadows dancing, twitching for her but retreating from the light.

Those shadows had fought hard for her soul, and they’d nearly succeeded in taking it.

But the Lawgiver showed her the path to salvation.

The Lawgiver gave her purpose, a reason to stay the blade from her own throat and point it instead at the throats of the false prophets who led others astray.

The recording paused, skipped, then resumed, another passage, the one that encapsulated the Fury’s purpose. She whispered the words aloud as the narrator read. “Thou shalt not commit adultery.”

The speaker continued. “Thou shalt not bear false—”

The Fury stopped the tape. That commandment was for another.

She stood and walked to the wall near the doorway of her house.

Once their house. She flipped the light switch on, and the shadows instantly evaporated.

For a moment, she stood and looked around her home, once their home.

In the harsh white of the LED bulbs ensconced in twin floor lamps and a ceiling fixture directly above her coffee table, the arrangement in the center of the floor looked comical, almost childish.

She was reminded of the Pharaoh’s magicians, who with their enchantments turned their staves into serpents and mocked God’s miracles, believing theirs to be superior.

She should be mindful that she herself was only a servant.

The power she possessed was not of herself but of God.

The Lawgiver was His prophet, and she was His priest.

She blew out the candles one by one, walking in an irregular semicircle to pick them up and break the seal formed in the shape of a Star of David.

She knew God’s Spirit was everywhere and didn’t need summoning the way fools believed they could harness demons.

The shape was only to focus her own soul.

The candles she placed on an oiled maple mantel above her fireplace, once their fireplace. She rarely used the fireplace anymore, but if she felt the urge, she’d move the candles.

She lifted the texts next, carefully rolling them and replacing them in the teak box in which she’d kept them since she recited her marriage vows.

The knife went into that box as well, a long, thin stiletto blade.

It was only one of the tools she would carry for her purpose, but it was the most special, the most meaningful.

She left the box for the moment and lifted the tape recorder. That she placed on the coffee table, it wasn't important. God's words were everywhere. The recording was only one medium. It wasn't the medium that deserved respect but the words contained within.

And finally, she lifted the box, cradling it gently in her hands as she climbed her stairs, once their stairs, to her bedroom. She carried the box to her closet. Her hand slipped as she lifted it toward the shelf, and she shrieked, fearing she would drop and break it.

She caught it just before the soft teak impacted the hard aluminum rail that held her clothing. For a long moment, she held it, afraid to move. When her breathing calmed enough that her hands no longer shook, she sighed with relief and placed the box carefully in the top corner of the shelf.

She took another deep breath, released it slowly, then headed to her bathroom, once their bathroom, to shower.

She started the water, and while it warmed, she reached back and pulled down the zipper of her dress. She let it fall to the floor and regarded herself in the mirror.

She was beautiful. It wasn’t arrogance to believe that, only observation. She really was beautiful. What did the strange woman have that she didn’t? What did the strange woman do that she wouldn’t? What did her husband want that he couldn’t receive from his wife?

The Fury watched her reflection until fog hazed it over. Then she stepped into her shower, once their shower, and cleansed herself.

As the dirt fell away, so too did the grief.

It was a good thing that she had suffered.

God had used that suffering to refine her, to harden her, to hone her into a perfect tool, one meet for the hands of a master.

She would fulfill her purpose. She would show the world what fate awaited those who scorned the sanctity of marriage.

She would show others the end that met those who led others astray.

She finished showering and stepped out. The mirror was still foggy by the time she dressed and retrieved her tools.

The first epistle would be written tonight.