Clare and the Desert Artifact

Anne Veronica Hierholzer Conover

Description

An evil god has risen from death, causing chaos and destruction, but a reclusive horticulturalist might find a way to stop him from annihilating humanity.

Clare Alexander Menderman is a fulltime horticulturist and reclusive wonder worker. She reluctantly accepts an assignment that involves travel, unaware that she will soon be exposed to a malevolent god and its slave sorcerer.

After thousands of years, Seta Amun has emerged from the depths of the earth once again, going on a rampage of destruction and terrorizing the small city of Mydyn Lyxinat. It’s only a matter of time before his full strength takes hold.

Seta Amun’s sorcerer possesses an Egyptian thief, transforming and forcing him to lure people into a lair of dark magic and death. Clare has no idea what’s in store for her but suspects the strange death of one of her students is a dire clue.

Sujets

• Fantastique
• Romance fantastique
• Policier & Thriller
• Thriller
• Thrillers
• Supernatural
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Archway Publishing
• Date de parution: 10 novembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781665706988
• Langue: English

Extrait

CLARE and the DESERT ARTIFACT

A Supernatural Thriller
 
 
 
Anne Veronica Hierholzer CONOVER
 
 
 
 

 
 
Copyright © 2022 Anne Veronica Hierholzer Conover.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
 
Archway Publishing
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.archwaypublishing.com
844-669-3957
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6657-0697-1 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-0698-8 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021909827
 
 
 
Archway Publishing rev. date: 11/10/2022
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
I dedicate this book to Exodus.
CHAPTER 1
J osh Lambert sits on the edge of his bed with a chill running through his body. He shrugs and squirms around in his T-shirt. It feels as though something itchy is crawling around on his back. Beads of sweat break out on his forehead, and his stomach clenches with nausea. A sharp pain grips his chest, and for another few seconds, the pain pierces his back.
“Guess I did too much partying on spring break,” Josh says to himself. He gets up and takes a long, warm shower. Refreshed and feeling better, he dresses for school but not until after he looks at himself in the mirror. He tops out at six feet and weighs 175 pounds. Turning to check out his back, which an awesome tattoo has forever changed, he is satisfied with the beauty of his physique.
He knows how important it is to keep in shape and immediately remembers he has track-and-field practice after school. Spurred on by the after-school practice, Josh grabs a couple of apples and a bagel on his way out the door and walks two blocks to the bus stop.
“Hey, Josh,” Al Morton, Josh’s best friend, says as he motions to Josh for one of his apples. “What’s up?”
“Not much. Feel lousy, though, like I have a flu bug coming on. Maybe I picked something up on spring break,” Josh mumbles as he hands his friend an apple. “I get these weird sensations.”
“Too much partying?”
“No, not really. I did a lot of sightseeing. Sounds pretty lame, doesn’t it?”
“Where’d you go? And how come you didn’t come to the eastern shore with the rest of us? I looked for you.”
“Well, my folks gave me a gift for my birthday, graduation, and spring break this year. I love all things Egyptian. I mean, ever since I was a kid, I have had a fascination for ancient temples, pyramids, treasures, pharaohs, and other cool stuff. My folks thought it would be a good idea to go on one of those cruises on the Nile River.”
“Whoa, how exotic is that! Can’t top that, buddy.”
“It was a great week, and I brought something awesome home with me.”
“Oh yeah? Like what—a mummy?”
“Nope, something better. Ask me to show it to you after school before track practice. You’re gonna love it.”
Just then, the bus pulls up. Josh takes a seat at the back of the bus, while Al joins several of his friends who were with him on spring break. They laugh and joke about their time at the beach. Meanwhile, at the back of the bus, Josh becomes nauseated. A weird chill sensation creeps up his spine again, and he shrugs and squirms in his seat, trying to scratch an itch that feels like a thousand bugs crawling all over him. His forehead breaks out with beads of sweat, and he feels a searing pain deep in his back and then in his chest. This time, the pain is unbearable, and he is on the brink of passing out. By the time the bus arrives at Bristol Gardens, Josh is constantly squirming and pulling at his shirt, trying desperately to shrug off the worsening sickness.
All the students aboard the bus are signed up for a landscape class, and since it is first period, the bus takes them directly to the teaching nursery set up for the students. By the time Josh gets off the bus, he is pale and on the verge of passing out. He is determined to fight the growing illness taking hold of him. Each student takes his or her assigned seat along three long tables where a clay pot is set out for each of them. Clare enters the room and looks over her students.

Sometimes I think this is the best part of my work—that is, being able to teach a class on horticulture to the high school sen iors.
“Hello, and good morning, everyone,” I say as I set my briefcase at the foot of my desk. “As you can see, each of you has potting soil and a plant at your place on the table. Your task today is to figure out what the soil pH should be for your plant, which you will also identify. Then proceed to enhance the potting soil should you need to do so, and of course, plant—”
A crash halfway down the room interrupts me. I look up to see several students bending over and looking at the floor. Someone shouts, “Josh! Josh! Ms. Alexander, Josh is sick!”
I run down the aisle, shouting, “Get out of the way, everyone! Get back to your places!”
Josh is writhing, and his eyes are bulging. He appears to be in pain and shock. I kneel next to him. Having mastered a gift given to me at birth to heal and expel evil, I place my hands on his chest and, by way of sheer will, emanate a healing power from my hands into Josh, hoping no one notices what I am doing. I feel something pushing against my hands underneath the boy’s T-shirt. Then it disappears. Something is there, yet I see no black shadows or evil entities around the boy.
Again, Josh’s back arches upward from the floor, and this time, he screams bloody murder. He is in excruciating pain and frantically grabs at something under his shirt. He throws himself forward into the fetal position and rips at his shirt until it comes off in two pieces.
Then I see it: a large multicolored fluorescent insect with wings the length and breadth of Josh’s back and a single talon-like spear at the tip of each leg scurries all over the boy, and to my horror, it burrows into his chest and comes out Josh’s back.
“Call 911, and somebody go get Mr. Milliott, my foreman! Hurry!” I am taken aback, unable to destroy or expel the hideous creature scrambling and tormenting him. No matter how many times I pulse a repelling power over Josh, the hideous thing continues to elude me, undeterred, and burrows into his back. I try to calm Josh, but to no avail. He arches his back one last time, screams at the top of his lungs, falls backward, and goes limp. I sense he is dead.I look around at the students.
“Did you see that?” I ask, but the students are huddled across the room, near the exit doors, and none of them saw anything except me struggling with Josh.
Some students whimper in fear, and one asks, “See what, Ms. Alexander?”
“Did anyone see something crawling on Josh—something that would hurt him?”
Everyone shakes his or her head. Some of the kids are crying; others cover their faces. Moments later, Billy Milliott is at my side.
“What happened?” he asks.
“He’s dead, Billy. The boy fell to the floor, writhing in pain right up until he died.”
His voice a near whisper, Billy asks, “Did you see anything, Clare?”
Careful not to be heard, I look at Billy in a way that lets him know I saw what killed Josh, and I give Billy a slight nod.
It seems an eternity before the police and ambulance arrive. When an officer approaches me, I explain what I think everyone saw, which wasn’t much, as the kids gravitated to the front of the nursery entrance, and Josh was nearly at the back of the room, on the floor where he collapsed, writhing and screaming in pain. I add that he ripped his shirt off, trying to get at something that seemed to be tormenting him.
“I’ve never seen anything like this. I’m certain there is nothing in the nursery that could have done this to him. All the other students are fine. I’m confident there is nothing here that can give any of my students an allergic reaction of any kind—not ever.”
When the med techs show up, they find only a strapping eighteen-year-old male student lying dead on the concrete floor, naked from the waist up, with no signs of foul play. Sheriff Devon Vogle, a good friend and confidant, questions me for an hour, asking the same questions over and over, and still, I am not sure he is convinced there was no foul play involved in Josh’s death.
“I guess we’ll have to wait for the autopsy,” the sheriff says. “I’d better get on the horn and notify his parents.”
An empty silence settles over the arboretum after ev