Judas and the Vampires

Cursed Immortals: Judas and the Vampires

Two Novels

by

Aiden James

Plague of Coins

*

The Vampires’ Last Lover

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”

“Not only is Aiden James a storyteller par excellence, but his material for his story is riveting.” 
Ruth Wilson,
Huntress Reviews, for “The Forgotten Eden”

“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

(Coming 2013)

GHOSTHUNTERS 101 SERIES

Deadly Night

The Ungrateful Dead

THE DYING OF THE DARK SERIES

The Vampires’ Last Lover

The Vampires’ Birthright

Blood Princesses of the Vampires

Scarlet Legacy of the Vampires

(Coming spring 2013)

THE JUDAS CHRONICLES

Plague of Coins

Reign of Coins

Destiny of Coins

(Coming December 2012)

WITH J.R. RAIN

Temple of the Jaguar

(Coming early fall 2012)

COLLECTIONS

Terror at Midnight

Dark Legacy

Twice Bitten

Pray for Daylight

Cursed Immortals

In the Dead of Night

Dying of the Dark Vampires

Vampires, Ghosts, and God

Cursed Immortals by Aiden James

Published by Aiden James

Copyright © 2011 by Aiden James

Cover design by: R. C. Rutter - [email protected]

Ebook Edition, License Notes

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Plague of Coins

The Judas Chronicles, Book One

Chapter 1

This looks promising....

It was late one evening, and I stood in the bowels of the Smithsonian Center for Materials Research. The staff had gone home for the night, and I was alone. Surrounded by lab equipment, computers, and stacks of dusty old books, this room could only be described as creepy.
Damned
creepy.

Then again, many would describe me as damned creepy, too. And maybe a little shady—at least if I ever get caught rummaging around in the basement. As a Smithsonian archivist, most of what I spend my days reviewing is upstairs or in other locales managed by the National Museum of History. Really, I rarely venture outside of the Anthropological Archives’ scope of responsibility. Just like a good, dependable archivist should be doing.

Oh, it isn’t so terrible, all cynicism aside. In my current vocation, I’ve been privileged to view some of the most ‘secret’ collections of field notes, photographs, and correspondence from the more significant scientific expeditions covering the past two centuries. Hell, that’s why the job appealed to me in the first place. My son, Dr. Alistair Wolfgang Barrow, the noted historian and professor at Georgetown, is the one who brought it to my attention. Yes, he’s the very same historian noted for his treatments concerning the Middle East and its volatile tensions. Tensions fueled by millennia of history and bad blood that will take decades if not centuries to cure, despite the latest diplomatic progress.

But I digress.

Upon the near-obsolete video screen, a collection of articles and photographs spanning nearly eighty years scrolled before my eyes. All of this information centered around one small village in Iran. Al-haroun is the name of the place.

I paused to sip my coffee while rubbing my eyes. Not so much from being tired as the damned viewer’s fuzziness. I’m spoiled by my MAC.

Yes, very promising...could be home to one small, priceless piece of silver....

I get a feel for things, you see. It’s something I’ve gotten better with over time. Call it honed experience, or perhaps it’s the mastery that comes with practice and carefully aged wisdom and acute perception.

Okay...I can almost hear the indignant silent questions out there. ‘And who in the hell are
you
, hot shot?’ That’s what
I’d
be wondering right about now, after re-reading the first two pages of my story.

Fair enough. My name is William. William J. Barrow, though I’m sure you already determined my last name from my son. I like the name William, actually better than any other moniker I’ve gone by since the Crusades ended. It makes it a lot easier for me to fit in without engendering questions about
who
I am or
where
I come from. I like it much better than any of the Apostle names like Peter, Paul, and Matthew. Although, pretending to be Bartholomew nearly two thousand years ago was a lot of fun.

That got you, I’m sure.

It would make me older than dirt. Right? Well, if we ever cross paths you won’t even notice me if it’s some ancient Methuselah you’re seeking. I don’t look a day over thirty—haven’t looked a day past the ‘prime of life’ since I wrote my own chapter on the most famous stage in modern history.

Back then my Hebrew name was Yehuda. I guess if history had left me hanging from some tree or tripping into a garden to where my guts squirted out of my condemned body, the world would be no wiser. My role in the ultimate betrayal long forgotten, maybe I’d be just a small footnote, and not the most reviled human being ever to walk this earth.

You can thank the Greeks and Romans for that honor, unfortunately. Or, I guess I can...at least credit goes to them. Born in Kenoth in the region of Judea, and falsely accused of being a member of the ‘Sicari’. Yes, these are all clues.... Give up?

The Greek for Yehuda is Yudas, and that name in Roman is Judas.

So there...that’s me. I’m Judas Iscariot.

But before you simply close this book in disgust, let me explain a few things. Things that could change your mind about the above claim, and take on a little of my perspective. In truth, I could literally give a rat’s ass if you believe I’m Judas or not. It’s not even the reason I’ve decided to write down my story. After all, if I don’t gain the final nine silver pieces needed for my restitution during my current ‘lifetime ruse’ as William Barrow, I’ll still be working on this project while you and everyone you care about has died and passed away. Perhaps all of you will land in the eternal Holy Mecca I so badly long for.... To be forgiven at long last and reunited with the One I looked on as a mere prophet and wonderful teacher, instead of the Lord of Lords that He is.

How do I know the truth about Jesus now as compared to then? You’ll have to read on for that answer—and it comes in bits and pieces, really. No, it won’t be some pompous sermon. What I’ve learned these past two thousand years transcends anything and everything you’ve ever read in
any
book—including what is considered the standards for the Holy Scriptures—like the Bible, Koran, etc. You’d be surprised at the shenanigans I’ve witnessed that later became the accepted “truth from the very mouth of God Almighty.”

So much is rubbish, and yet hidden within it all is the truth. Or, at least a version of the
eternal
truth.

But I digress, again. Just know that I am supremely confident of this: everyone’s burning questions will be answered
by the end of my story…the first installment of what remains of my earthly quest.

So, back to this place called Al-haroun. While there are many places in the world that suffer from a host of calamities, only a few originate from a small epicenter within a few square miles. And not every one of these places contains what I need. However, since at first glance it is impossible to know for sure, I must research them all.

As a town, Al-haroun is no stranger to the wrath of God, or if you will, the unfortunate reputation as a cursed place. That night, I viewed article after article, along with an endless stream of film images to support the stories—literally, an endless succession of earthquakes, floods, famines, wars, and plague. Even a rare tornado struck the town in 1942 that destroyed nine homes and killed three people. Not exactly catastrophic weather, unless you consider the fact this is Iran we’re talking about and not Topeka, Kansas.

But all in all, if one considers the previous millennium’s host of travesties visited upon this small area, I have to consider the likely source: a single coin. Buried somewhere, and likely hidden from the light of day for centuries. Meanwhile, hundreds, if not thousands of lives have been ruined—either killed, homeless, or both. The last article I looked at talked about a rare blizzard from thirty years ago. That event took place in May, when things begin to heat up near the Alborz Mountains. More than three feet of snow fell upon the town, and the temperatures plummeted deeply enough to destroy livestock and crops.

The people believe they’re cursed, that somehow they’ve offended Allah. If only they knew that something there—likely buried beneath the soil—was indeed offensive to God, they might burn everything to the ground and leave. Forever.

My gut instinct was telling me a single silver shekel was responsible. One that bears Caesar’s notorious beak of a nose on one side and a proud eagle upon the back. Just like twenty-nine others I once accepted as payment for my evil deed. A moment of folly, and to think it could’ve been forty pieces of silver if Caiaphas hadn’t tried to cheat me by offering half-shekels instead.

Anyway, I was certain my assumption was one hundred percent correct. As I studied the latest stories and pictures on the screen, my left hand began to tremble. This familiar sensation always confirms the truth of what my intuitions tell me.

Silver ‘blood-coin’ number twenty-two is within reach.

Satisfied, I turned off the viewer. I then returned the older film to the correct cabinets and the newer CDs and flash drives to their file drawers.