Why?
Because Halfling beings like her and her brothers were not fit for Heaven or Earth.
Since learning of their existence, the Angelic Hierarchy had deemed Halflings no better than the offensive demons Lucifer harbored in Hell.
Nephilim-borne hybrids were even outcasts to the underworld.
Instead of destroying the so-called abominations, and pariah to all, most went into hiding from fear of more of heavens wrath.
Squeezing her lids shut, she pinched the bridge of her nose. To this day, she couldn’t understand the warped contingency plan for surviving strays who refused to melt into obscurity.
Strays like her and her brothers.
Somehow, through upper management, Fallon’s family members were delegated the responsibility of policing other Halflings from further fuck-ups.
A cold chill slithered up her spine. What would happen if the Angel Hierarch learned of her instability?
She pushed away from the sink.
Her standing around would not change what’d happened. Or what was happening. A quick glance at the clock told her it was seven after seven. “Crap.” Michael would probably bitch at her for being late. Each of her siblings met at his house every morning whether there was a case or not.
After she’d made sure there were no further fire hazards, went to gather knee-high boots and headgear. Before leaving, snatched her leather jacket off the hook, heading out the door.
Even the brush of Seattle’s cool breeze across her face could not alleviate the tense set of her shoulders.
Once outside, it took some effort for her cramped fingers to release the doorknob. Motorcycle helmet tucked beneath her arm, her eyelids lowered and her nose flared. She took deep breaths of crisp, mountainous air, so different from the heart of Seattle’s Bay area, as her gaze roamed an overcast sky. Mist, brought in by yesterday’s storms, popped and sizzled against her face.
The sight of her beloved motorcycle, SAM, parked in front of the vast and secluded estate helped mellow the ominous beginning to her morning.
Stiletto heel lifting the kickstand, she righted the motorcycle, planted her feet, and using thigh muscles held the bike steady. Raising the helmet over her head, she heard the Bluetooth headset emit a short beep in her left ear. The earpiece wrapped in a special polymer ensured its survival no matter her temperament, especially now.
Sister intuition kicking in, Fallon knew who’d be on the other end, she pressed the small button behind her ear. “What’s up?” Then, thinking better of it, she didn’t give her brother a chance to answer. Instead saying, “I’m heading over now.”
She started the Harley’s black and chrome engine, its screaming-eagle exhaust she’d wearily hoped would deter further discussion. When her eardrum started to throb, it was clear she was in for it. Her brother Michael was the one with a voice that penetrated far enough inside a person’s inner ear to burst soft tissue.
“That won’t be necessary because you’re not needed today. If you’re en route, turn around. We’ve already headed out.”
Blasted. Would nothing go right for her? She knew what was up and apprehension stirred as she turned the key to ‘Off,’ and put the kickstand down. She then rocked back on the seat and folded her hands atop the helmet she’d placed on the seat.
They’d left without her. So what?
Michael continued. “The News and medical report on the body that turned up near El Paso, Texas, are labeled baffling. After so many years, we know it’s not how the victims die, but what happens afterward. I have a hunch about this one. Because if history hold true, the Sortaneph responsible for the latest murderous rampage will probably try to make a break for the Arizona border. Wallace, Avedon, and I are on our way to check things out.”
Fallon bristled at Michael’s mention of the mutinous filth that sprang up from time to time. Sortaneph were gutter trash in Nephilim heritage. Not all were bad, but some caves, holes, and even hell itself couldn’t spawn their brand of evil.
Killing their own kind and innocent people would never bring a change to their status, only a death sentence.
“And you couldn’t inform me of this little setback any sooner?”
“Time isn’t a luxury when we deal with a Sortaneph disappearing into heavily populated areas. If things turn bad, I don’t need you there.” She winced against the vibration and machine gun cadence of his voice as it bounced against her eardrum.
She rolled her head, attempting to relax the tight muscles of her neck, and waited for the other shoe to drop.
“Look, Fallon, the biggest mistake I could make is denying something’s not right with you. I realize some of what I’ve seen could be attributed to a notable increase in your powers, but failure to rein in your temper . . . it worries me.”
“Could you just spit it out already?” Michael’s preaching session wasn’t over or he’d have hung up by now.
“Emotions in battle are useless. That’s the only thing I can come up with to explain your ‘fuck everybody else and kill them all’ mentality. We just can’t take that chance anymore."
Fallon gritted her teeth. Thunder rumbled above as she searched for anything to ground the electrical charge building within her. She threw one leg over the back of the bike as she got off and began to pace.
Clothing felt constricting when she was distressed. Due to her limited attire and reduced to wearing nothing but fire-retardant material, the stuff clung to her body as it absorbed the electrical charges released from her. The materials’ diffusion process was similar to clingy articles of clothing taken out of a dryer. When a wire hanger’s introduction into the mix rubbed over the material. The thin wire gathers the electrical emissions and renders them harmless.
Therefore, someone could wear items without fear of looking like a complete jackass in public.
As long as she kept her cool, the kinetic energy she expelled would remain contained.
Fallon’s stomach dropped. “What the hell happened yesterday?” He had to go there.
Michael’s next statement cut through her mocking indifference like butter. “Control has never been your strong suit, but you could’ve killed a lot of people.”
Images flashed of last evening’s screw-up. Didn’t any of her family members understand? If she had a clue, there wouldn’t be a need for explanation. She could still see it all: screams, running, lightning flashing brighter than any manmade camera, and electricity flowing sensuously through every vein.
Yes, it’d ended badly, but when humans were involved, they were just as unpredictable as she was.
Blinking unwelcome moisture away, she said, “Let me know how things turn out.” She hung up before Michael could rake her odd behavior over the coals more.
With nowhere to be after Michael’s assertion she was unfit be near anyone, she picked up her helmet, hurling it several feet and screamed in fury over a power that ruined her life. A power that damned a man she’d never meet.
“Have you ever sensed that something bad was coming?”
Travis Orion glanced over at the man who’d come up beside him. Like many attending the town of Seagrove’s Gun & Ammo Expo, most hardworking farmers cultivated their livelihood during the spring and summer months, and in winter chose hunting as a way to relax.
Skimming the crowd, Travis wondered what had brought the sudden dire mood about.
Nothing but smiles and game faces that spoke of hope for a better deal filled the old Green Bean Plant, packed to capacity,
“Is there a particular reason you feel this way?” Travis asked, without turning as he continued to scan aisles and booths for possible threats.
Something was on the man’s mind and staring him in the face wasn’t going to help get it out any faster.
Years of sunburned skin, deep age lines, and a lo
ng beard disappeared behind a large brim hat. After a stretch of silence and fiddling with an ivory handled pocketknife, he voiced his concern.
“My aching bones are tellin’ me a storm’s going to blow into the town of Seagrove and we’ll never be the same afterward. I know I sound foolish, but I ain’t been able to shake the darn feelin’ loose.” The lip of his hat lifted. He peeked over at Travis, before ducking his head again.
Travis had more respect for his elders than to laugh off their superstitious belief systems. They relied on their bones and gut for many answers.
“I’ll be on the lookout for trouble. Thanks for the heads-up.” Travis nodded once at the insecure smile the old man managed as he glanced over his shoulder, shuffling away.
Travis’s hand settled on the butt of his service pistol. A cold shiver slid down his spine. Weird dreams about a mystery woman and lightning. Could what the old man shared be a coincidence?
Fallon woke to a ferocious headache. The room spun and pitched sideways as she sat up. The last thing her fuzzy brain remembered was something about Rick. She leaned her head, too heavy to hold upright, back against the sofa, waiting for the effects of her bender to wear off.
What was so damned important about Rick? “Can’t get the damn name out of my head.”
She brought a hand up to press shaky fingers into lids, which scraped against her desert-dry eyes. Good thing the room was dark. “Wait a minute.” The TV was on before . . . Huh? She straightened from her slouch, scooted forward, and bumped into the low table divider between the sofa and cedar-wood entertainment center. Sharp pain erupted in the area below both knee sockets. Gritting her teeth, she rubbed the injured area trying to think.
After speaking with Michael earlier, she’d come inside, made a beeline straight for the liquor cabinet, where she grabbed three bottles of Gin and . . . Fallon grimaced. There should be a bottle of tequila around here somewhere. Skimming labels on several empty containers thrown haphazardly, she spotted a slim long neck with a label outlined in a gold leaf and black emboss lettering. Yep. An upended and empty bottle of Jose Cuervo lay on its side.
Hoping to shed a little more light on the damage she’d done yesterday, she felt around her for the remote. The seconds for the television to wake tested how bad her case of the dry mouth was. Judging by the way her tongue stuck to its roof, she needed moisture pronto.
The screen came alive with gaunt bodies, hollow eyes, and stiff muscled progress of flesh-eating people. The Walking Dead Marathon. She’d gotten crazy sloshed to episodes of Rick struggling to survive in a zombie apocalypse. Cool.
She groaned, covering her face. She also remembered yelling at the screen for Rick to snap out of it and cease picking up the damned phone. A brain swimming in alcohol tended to focus on the stupidest shit.
Ungraceful in an attempt to rise, she saluted the Walkers wandering aimlessly outside the prison then shut the tube off.
On her way into the kitchen to find something to wash away the bad taste in her mouth, a shrill ringing made her cringe.
Like a buzz saw cutting into her skull. She snatched the phone out of its cradle and read the display. Almost four in the morning. A terse mental ‘WTF’ collided with her brother’s “Hello.”
“Hey, sis. I’m sorry Michael’s orders were for you to stay behind.”
Despite Wallace’s many faults, which included a desire to live the carefree beach bum, surfer-dude lifestyle, and chalk it up to the element of water, he and she were closer than any other sibling was.
“Thanks.”
Fallon stopped suddenly. “How did you know I’d be here?” Her usual fits took her anywhere in the world until her siblings begged for her return.
Fielding the question, he said, “That’s not important. Do you want to hear what happened or not?”
“Whatever.”
Ten minutes later, Fallon bent over a porcelain sink and half-listened to Wallace recite locating and preventing another senseless death by the Sortaneph’s dismemberment.
“You know, killing one is always harder when you’re not around.”
The morose comment alleviated soreness over her abandonment.
Mumbling an occasional “uh-huh” and ignoring the haggard appearance in the mirror, she splashed water on her face. Sparks bounced off porcelain as she spat a mouthful of backwash.
After a couple of rinses, the gunky buildup inside her mouth cleared. “So, what’s the real reason for this call?” Drying her hands and she brought her hand up to do a breath check. Better.
Youth and vitality were assets locked into place with immortality, but they didn’t extend to the ‘stay fresh’ essential of day-to-day hygiene.
A sudden ominous note tainted Wallace’s usual happy-go-lucky voice. “Between the two of us, you know things have never been kosher when it comes to this family.” His pause gave room for dread to surface. “Well. I think our lives are about to get a little tougher.”
The need for another drink besieged her. Switching the light off behind her, she used the pale glow of dawn to light her way to the kitchen.
She swept mussed hair off her face, pulling at the strands in frustration. After yesterday’s inebriated state, wasn’t it like family to drive her to start all over?
Her nose wrinkled. Near the fridge, the remnant stench of charred toast, ruined toaster, and melted plastic from yesterday’s debacle made her nauseous. Damn. She’d burn sage if needed, later.
“I can’t hear you, Fallon,” Wallace said. “Why aren’t you answering? You’re not curious to whom in this family I’m referring to.”
Opening the stainless steel door, chill air swept over her viewing almost-bare fridge shelves. A lone bottle of wine beckoned. Despite her dislike of the stuff, she yanked the sparkling white out, and popped the cork.
“Okay. How do you see anything about our screwed-up lives getting worse?” Her throat worked as she guzzled the sweet fruity taste in one long swallow. In what her brothers referred to as one of many unladylike manners, she ran the back of her hand roughly over her pinched lips.
“We can’t keep sweeping this issue under the rug.”
She listened, slightly lightheaded. They knew her secret. On the other hand, maybe not.
“Gabriel is not going to stand for Rafael’s bullshit much longer. Sooner or later, we’ll be sent after him.”
Her chest muscles squeezed. Air struggled to make its way past her windpipe. The barstools at the island in the middle of her kitchen never seemed so far away. She stumbled over taking a seat. Her slack fingers released their grip. The bottle’s thunk against a black inlaid silver granite top echoed.
“Think about it,” Wallace said. “At first, we didn’t know what was going on, so hopes for the best stayed in our grasp. Although in retrospect, we were aware of his involvement somehow with a few of the Sortaneph we’ve come across.”
“That awful invisible scrollwork of a tattoo our family can see. It’s a dead giveaway,” she cut in grimly.
His frustration palpable, he continued. “What are we missing? These recent mongrel’s crimes against humanity and against those of their own kind seems ludicrous. Why leave dead bodies for us to find like some kind of trail? Then have the audacity to remain with some of the victims as if to flaunt their handiwork. I don’t know about you, Fallon, but something reeks of a hidden agenda.”
She got up and tossed the unfinished wine in a trash bin.
“I’m with you. Something’s fishy. Staying to the shadows and away from notice is the norm.”
Fallon’s mind raced as she padded barefoot on the cold hardwood floors to the rear of her home. She came to a sudden stop before the sliding glass doors that led out into her garden. Instead of comfort, the sight of her plant oasis caused her to cringe. Morning rays unmasked utter destruction. Everything wi
thin the once-treasured sanctuary was blackened, singed, and crumbling. Looking at it now, she had to have been enraged, but she didn’t remember being quite that upset.
Her voice broke. “I know you’re right. We need to advance our search for Rafael. At the very least, give him the chance to explain before we’re given a kill order we can’t refuse. Until then, I can’t think about this right now. I’ve got other shit going on.”
“That’s another thing, Fallon.” She waited for him to finish. Each second that ticked by increased her anxiety.
“I had Avedon drop me off at your place. I wanted to check and see how you were doing after we returned. I saw you passed out and your home a disaster area.” He paused. “I heard Michael ask earlier, but now I’m asking. Is there anything you want to discuss?”
“I’ll repeat what I told our brother.” She struggled to sound believable. “No.”
“Whatever you say. I’m not going to pry,” Wallace assured her. And just when she felt like she could breathe again, he knocked the wind right back out of her.
“Without any sort of hospitality: no liquor, passed-out sister, and no food. I got bored. After shutting everything down I didn’t know what else to do.”
So, he’d been the one plunging her house into darkness after she’d passed out last night.
Wallace continued blithely. “I didn’t have my ride. Instead of waking anybody up to come and get me, I borrowed your ride, SAM. Man, you can’t imagine my fear you’d wake up after I revved the engine. Most of the trip down your driveway I was looking over my shoulder expecting you to come out bitchin.”
Other than, a few strategically positioned leather chairs and plastic plants, for the view outside, it was rather easy to reach two centimeters of thin copper wire as her skin started to prickle with negative charges.
The boy shorts and tank were smoking as stepped onto a large circular rubber mat. Her hand wrapped around the thin wire. He touched my shit. A full charge crackled and popped as it escaped in a flash of electricity, vanishing underneath the floorboards and into a Conductive Grid she had built in the ground around her home. She had the diffusion devices installed throughout the house. One thing she’d learned early on, soil, and rubber were effective ways to diffuse currents.
Destiny Strikes Page 2