Aiden brows rose. “I–I don’t know who these people are. I know Jon,” he nodded towards a shorter man sitting on a barstool with his head cradled in his hands. “These aren’t my friends.”
George nodded. “Doesn’t change the fact I’m glad. They seem to care about your safety greatly. Stay with them until you can get your head straight.” Ignoring the three angels, he nodded at Song before motioning to Imane and Zicon. “We’re leaving.”
“Shemhazi,” Kithlish started. The angry look dissipated and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I…I apologize. But you have to understand where I’m coming from.”
George turned back to him. “You have it wrong which isn’t surprising, Caelian. My problem is with The Eleven. Although I am no longer their leader, I am and will always be concerned with what they do, how they affect this realm and how they still exist...because they shouldn’t. I tried to shut them down and it didn’t work.”
“You turned on The Eleven?” Rooke asked slowly, his tone rich in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“If that’s true then it would be nice if you would divulge what information you have about them to us.” Kithlish tried. “If taking them down is your goal, then–“
George snorted. “I said my problem was with The Eleven. I didn’t say anything about caring what your problem with them was. I’m not helping you,” he spat, “take down my grandson when the lot of you are the reason he is this way to begin with.”
“Wait,” Imane said, her brow cocked and a hand on her hip. “You have a grandson? Since when? Does Mom know?”
George’s rubbed his eyes. I need to get out of here. Now. He continued towards the door, yanking his newsboy hat out from his back pocket and pulling it onto his head. “C’mon Imane,” he commanded.
It was clear his daughter wasn’t having that. “Are you kidding me? No, we’re not leaving.” She crossed the room until she was standing in front of him. Azeal took after Ayesha, was calm but passionate and prone to swells of emotion. Imane was like Juba–emotional but demanding and rational. “Earlier today I saw you take out two people while your hands glowed. They freaking glowed, Dad and you moved so fast, you blurred. You actually blurred! Now I consider myself an opened minded person and I’ve known you for a very long time. You’re stubborn, militant and strict but Gaussian blur isn’t a trait of yours. And you just brought up a secret member of our family without as much as a blink. Somebody has to give me an answer to that. I’m not asking for the unreasonable.”
George ignored her and continued for the door but Imane moved around him until she was blocking the way out. “Answers, Dad,” she demanded before her face softened. “Please? These people…they attacked us! Look at Zicon’s neck. It’s bruised! What if…I don’t know…they come back? Are you going to leave us in the dark….defenseless?”
George cursed. He hated when Imane made sense. He couldn’t ignore her questions when they were logical. Gnashing his teeth, George turned to Kithlish. “I want names, ranks, where your mother shitted you out, and why you no-good flies are down here before I say a damn thing.”
“Dad,” Imane growled, frustrated. “Is that important right now?”
George held his daughter to a look. “You want the truth? Well, these people will help you and you need to know who they are. They are potential allies, Imane. This isn’t the time to be impatient.”
She frowned but nodded anyway.
“Great!” Kithlish said, a bright smile on his face. “Sharing time! My favorite. You remember how much you liked it last time, huh, Jon?”
Jon offered him a middle finger. George instantly liked him.
Imane moved back to Zicon’s side, slipping her hand into his. Zicon looked more confused than ever and his eyes darted back and forth, looking more suspicious of his surroundings than when he was in the warehouse. Some of that was reserved for George. Stung a bit. The couple took a seat at the kitchen bar, occupying two of the barstools. Jon occupied the third. He pushed an unopened bottle of some kind of Korean beer towards them. When Imane raised her hand to refuse, Jon tapped it. “Trust me. You’ll need it.”
George opted to stand and took his place back in the center of the room. “You can begin.”
“Uhm..before you do…” Kithlish glanced at Song, his brow raised as his gaze shifted to Aiden then back to her. “For security measures, I humbly beg for your assistance?”
Song tongued her cheeked as she looked at Aiden. “Sure you don’t want to use your magic fingers?”
“I’ll need him to trust me after this so no thanks.”
Song shrugged and paused her game, stuffing the thin cellphone down her shirt and into her bra before standing. “Aiden! My newest friend. I need your help with something. You gotta be useful, you know?”
“Useful?”
“Yeah! Think of it as…orientation. It’ll be fine, my pet.” She didn’t give him another moment to think. She yanked him from his seat and dragged him back towards one of the bedrooms. She paused at the bar and grabbed the bottle of beer that Jon had offered Imane and Zicon.
The door closed behind them and silence followed for a long moment. Jon leaned back. “Orientation? We don’t have a damn orien–"
The sound of glass breaking and a short-lived shout of pain had Jon scrambling off his stool. Song opened the door with the neck of the beer bottle in her hand.
Jon gasped. “What the hell did you just do?” he exploded. “Where is Aiden?”
“He’s sleep,” she answered, holding the broken beer bottle up for all to see.
“Oh my god,” Jon groaned as he pushed past her and into the bedroom. “How the hell did she get him tied up that fast?”
Song looked more than pleased with herself as she closed the door behind them.
“You’re the scariest woman I’ve ever met,” George croaked.
“I’m the scariest person you’ve ever met,” Song smiled. “Okay,” she said, addressing the Fox General. “They’ll need a moment back there so you can carry on with your sharing time.”
Kithlish rubbed the bridge of his nose before sitting up. “Show him your identification.”
“What about those two?” Rooke glanced at Imane and Zicon. “Is it wise to show them all of this?”
“I mean her Dad is her Dad. Talking about what is wise and what isn’t is…subjective right now,” Song pointed out. “Plus, no one would believe her anyway. Go ahead, you can show them.”
Satisfied, the young man complied with more enthusiasm than George was expecting, pulling his badge from his pocket and flashing it, a proud smirk across his lips.
“Josue. L2?” George looked up from the badge. “Kind of young aren’t you?”
Rooke shrugged. “No younger than your son when he became the leader of The Army of The Fallen.”
George nodded in agreement. “Fair enough.” He glanced at the woman. “And you are?”
She stood, her face hard. “Do you know because of you I lost four cousins? Two of them who were stupid enough to join your cause? And what did you solve? Nothing. Nothing!” she hissed, her teeth set in a snarl. “Key lost his brothers and sisters. Most of his family, gone!”
George stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You think it’s my fault your family died?”
Tahir balked. “Of course I do! Whose family started the war to begin with?” she shrieked.
“Technically, The Above proclaimed a small rebellion a war. If your cousins died because they supported my cause, then they died more honorably than any of you who fought against us,” George said with steel in his voice. Tahir fists balled at her side, enraged, her eyes flashing red, but George wasn’t in the mood for her attack. “I’ve repented, I’ve been forgiven and I’m not going to sit around and let some–some child who has never tasted the pain of war, lecture me!”
“I don’t give a damn about your so-called redemption!”
“Tee-Tee…please,” Kithlish pleaded, a hand on his forehead. “We need his help.”
Tahir’s breath was uneven and harsh. George stared and she seethed. She managed, by will or by training, to calm down. When it seemed she had control over her own emotions again, she plopped back to her seat, reached in her shirt and brandished her badge like it was physically painful for her to do so. “I’m Tahir, L1.” She shoved it back where she got it and crossed her arms before staring out of the window.
“They are Team Fox,” Song finished, her grin strong and proud.
Kithlish nodded. “Right. Initially, our mission was to save a woman from a death, the usual modus operandi. Except for this time, the soul was a little different.” Kithlish reached for the halokite on the coffee table and flicked his hand across the surface, the screen a blur of movement until he paused. He showed it to George. “Here are the details on our previous mission.”
George accepted the kite, not sure why he was so eager to know.
Most of it was filler–places to be, tactics the team used. Useless. But George knew better. “What’s the invocation? To unlock this.”
Kithlish grinned. “The same as always.”
George nodded. “Reccludam,” he stated. The vocal command worked the instant he said them. Letters, words, phrases began to scramble, then unscramble themselves, realigning until a completely different file was presented to him. George watched with familiar patience as the final word slid into place before the shock washed over his face. Then everything began to click. Everything he’d ever known and everything he’d ever experienced gave him the answer he needed. “Aiden…he’s–”
“Shemhazi,” Kithlish interrupted. He glanced at the bedroom door. “Not worth it.”
George continued to stare at the door. “You don’t think he needs to know? Know that–”
“No,” Kithlish said, again, interrupting him, “Our current mission is dependent on him not knowing. This mission that we are on now is to prepare for what happens if Jin is lost.”
George frowned. “What about Aria?”
“She is not our concern.”
George laughed. It started off small and swelled until tears sprang to his eyes. “What’s so damn funny?” Song asked.
“All of this!” George answered, swiping at his eyes. “You’re trying to save this Jin woman and not Aria Jinni, who could possibly save all of Caeli from my boneheaded grandson?” George glared at them. “All of you, every last one of you, are the biggest collection of hypocrites I’ve ever met.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Tahir demanded, sitting up straighter, her arms still tucked across her chest like it would protect her from him.
“Yes,” George said. “Let her die.”
Silence followed his statement and he felt his anger rising. “Isn’t that what you taught me? Isn’t that what that ridiculous treaty said? That the realm comes first?” George spat.
“I knew he wouldn’t help. I knew it,” Tahir hissed as she sat back down.
“I don’t owe any of you anything and I pray you always remember that.” He turned to his daughter and Zicon. “Let’s go.”
Imane, who watched the exchange with a frown, looked up at her father. “But you said I would–”
“I said let’s go!” George roared, his voice deepening with anger.
“No,” Imane whispered. “If you won’t tell me, I know they will. I know what I saw and I need to know.”
“Fine,” George said. “Stay.” He eyed Kithlish as he opened the door. “Turn her against me, too.”
The door slammed shut.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Suzy’s Diner
Manhattan, New York
“Welcome to Suzy’s Diner! Tonight’s specials are–oh. It’s you.”
George looked up from the menu, one he’d never paid attention to because he always ordered the same thing, to the waitress. She was a familiar face in the diner and so was her attitude, but George knew she only gave him back what he gave her. Her nametag read Amanda, but he’d always called her “Freckles” in his head because of the auburn patches that dotted her nose and cheeks.
He placed the menu down and folded his arms over it. “Well, …what are your specials?”
Amanda pulled her chin in. “So, no spaghetti with turkey sausage?”
George inhaled, taking in the scents created when people and food met in a tiny space, and smiled. “I don’t like turkey sausage. I don’t like spaghetti.”
Amanda frowned. “So why did you order it? Repeatedly?”
George shrugged. “I was having fun with your cook.” George looked around her towards the kitchen. A tall man stood where Jerome used to, reddish-brown skin and long black hair tied back in a messy bun, strands of it poking through a hairnet. He flipped over a burger, looking much more bored with the task than the look of inspiration Jerome would have.
“He’s gone.” Amanda put a hand on her hip. “I think you ran him off.”
“I know he’s gone but I’m not the one who ran him off. Rather he went home.”
“Uh…sure.” She popped her gum. “Are you going to get anything?”
“Water. Hot as you can manage. The hotter the better. Scalding if you can.”
Amanda narrowed her eyes before she jotted down his order with a shrug and headed for the kitchen.
“You know, watching someone drink boiling water is seen as disturbing here. Even tea aficionados would gawk,” came a voice from over his ear.
George closed his eyes and sighed. “What, Song?”
Song slid into the other side of the booth in a flourish of perfume and black clothing, something George had never seen her without. Never blue or lilac or pink. Always black. She tapped her manicured fingers, painted black, along the linoleum tabletop to a tune, all the while staring at him.
“What, Song?” George repeated, hoping she picked up on the bite in his voice.
“What, Song?” she parroted, making a face. “Storming out is a little melodramatic, don’t you think? I never figured you much for a drama queen.” She tapped her lips. “Eh, I take that back. In your moments, you’re practically a diva.”
“What. Song?” George repeated for the third time, growling.
“So, tell me. When you talked me into this harebrained scheme of yours, you mean to tell me you never thought that one day you’d have to explain? Explain why you never seem to age? Why you look decades younger than your wife? How you look more like Imane’s older brother than the ornery old man you act like? You prepared for none of that?”
George huffed. “Does it look like I did?”
“Well you should have!” she said, pointing what George considered talons at him. “You married a human and adopted one! Juba is not your mate and Imane is not a product of you. You never listen to me. You never ever–”
“What did you expect, Song? I’m a liar, a rebel, a traitor. I’m selfish. I wanted happiness. Are you that surprised?”
“No. I’m surprised you weren’t smarter, dumbass! Finding Koke would have made more sense than finding some human! Yes, you’re a liar. Yes, you’re a rebel, and a damn terrible turncoat but…but you’re smart. And you know that you need to tell your daughter the truth. You also know that as long as you’ve been using your guilt as a crutch, that helping Fox and helping Caeli is the quickest route to your own personal salvation. Stop acting like you were a martyr to your own cause.”
George opened his mouth to argue but closed it. Song was right. She was always right and because he wasn’t accustomed to being wrong, he often took it out on her. He was surprised that she was still his friend with as many times as he’s kicked her out or cut her off. She treated his self-pity like it was an annoyance, a fly buzzing around her head. He appreciated Song more than he appreciated any other friend in his life. Even more than Juba.
“I have to go back,” she divulged, her voice barely audible as she sat back in the booth. “I have to take my position with The Fallen again with all this mess your grandson is causing. Vacation’s over.” She sighed. “I want to help you as mu
ch as I can before I leave but you have to let me.”
She was one of the few Mutare on The Fallen council. Her status hadn’t been an obstacle when so many were using genetic makeup to pit Root Watchers against Mutare. Mainly because she’d beat you black and blue if she ever heard you calling her a “Cah’pe”, an insult to those with mixed parentage.
She was also the only Mutare, save Kano, who was given permission to breach the Sagun Path, the path that would allow her full access to her angelic side, and with it, her full angelic powers, without bodily repercussion. It would make sense they wouldn’t let her wander the Earthen plane for very long.
“How do you plan on helping?”
Song grinned. “A number of ways but first–” she turned to the window and tapped on it. George watched her, with infinite patience, because he never quite got anything Song did until the very last moment. That was no different than when he saw the doors of the diner swing open.
“Imane.” George exhaled and deflated in defeat. “Song, why?”
“She talks…a lot, asks a lot of questions and tries to draw her own conclusions. I didn’t have children for that exact reason–their infinite and inexhaustible curiosity. She thinks her Dad is either crazy or an alien. I didn’t tell her that you’re technically both.”
Imane made her way towards their booth, Zicon following behind her like a puppy. Song got up from her seat and crawled over George until she was snug and comfortable in the corner on the other side.
“Ms. Song said you had something to tell me,” Imane started as soon as she and Zicon sat down. She pulled the sleeves of her thin purple sweater back and turned her wrist up. “About this tattoo? That it would answer all my questions?”
George side-eyed Song who only smiled in response. “I…”
“No, Dad. I don’t want to hear any excuses or you tell me that you’re protecting me or anything of the sort. Just…just tell me? Please?”
A Third of the Moon and the Stars Struck Page 13