by Lund, S. E.
"Stop."
"No," he says and turns my face back. "I want you to know. Just in case."
"Please," I say and cover my eyes." Don't say that."
"Eve, when I heard you play, I felt so – cheated. No, listen," he says when I struggle to leave. "In another life, I would have deserved you. If we’d met when I was human, I could have won you."
He says nothing for a moment. I can't speak. I can't look at his face, in his eyes.
"But there are just too many stars for me to care about what's right and wrong anymore, what I do deserve and what I don't. I want you. I could have made you happy. And now, time's up." He stands, lifting me up, my arms still around his neck. "Will the queen at least give her knight a pity-kiss goodbye?"
I pull him down to me, my lips meeting his, my tongue searching his out, the touch of it sending a shock of desire through my body. When our lips part, he presses his forehead against mine.
"Remember me, if I don't make it back."
"Don't say that."
He buries his face in my hair.
"You're an angel." And then he's gone.
Later that afternoon, Terri calls me and asks if I want to attend the memorial for Ed. His body was cremated but now the SCU is holding a small memorial for staff and friends at the graveside where his ashes were buried. Of course I want to go, and I get leave from Vasily to go. He'll be escorting me and we dress in our best and bring raincoats and umbrellas, then stand in the rain as the small graveside ceremony takes place. Ed was divorced, with no kids, his life completely dedicated to the SCU so only his colleagues and a few old friends attend.
I go into the SCU that night. I stroll into Terri’s office in time for tea and flop down on the couch to talk with her. Terri and I reminisce about Ed, and she tells me about him and I feel as if I'm learning about an uncle I knew but never really knew. We're watching the television news clips of the peace talks in the Palestinian Territories. After months of random shelling between Israel and Palestinian groups, they're meeting to discuss peace.
Terri waters her plants, looking over her glasses at the television screen, mumbling a running commentary - none of it complimentary to the participants. The camera shows a large briefing room filled in the rear with reporters and at the front a large table with a panel of officials. Terri brings me a cup of tea and we watch the question and answer session.
It's quite boring - just an opportunity for the press to ask questions about process - who, what, where and when questions about the negotiations. I have little real faith in the possibility of peace - this is just a new government's attempt to garner favor at home. The camera focuses in on the Israeli official – I can see a number of advisors standing behind him, but none of their faces. The official's asked a question from one of the reporters about support from Zionist groups in the United States. The official covers his microphone and leans back and I'm amazed as Soren himself bends down and whispers in the official's ear.
"Holy crap," I say. "There he is."
"Who?" Terri says, her voice alarmed. "Where?"
"Soren. The pale one."
She comes quickly to my side and watches the television.
"Where is he – oh, I see him. Hard to miss."
"He's talking to officials at the briefing table."
"Is he an advisor? But our reports..."
"Our reports said certain ex-members of his group were involved in selling arms to militant factions who were out to end the peace process," I reply.
"Maybe they were traitors - going against his wishes. It might explain the deaths in Montana. Maybe he's playing both sides against each other. Who can say what his motives are? We don't know enough about him to even guess."
Michel and Julien know all about Soren…
The camera pans back as the two discuss the question. Soren stands back up and leans against the wall, the officers on either side of him leaning in to listen to him. The official replies, saying that the purpose of the meeting was to answer procedural questions, not discuss policy but that the new government enjoys the support of sympathetic people and groups from around the world. That he couldn't mention any names in particular to protect them from potential backlash.
How has Soren worked his way into the upper echelons of the military establishment? He established his own private security company in Montana, training recruits and mercenaries. Reports from the CIA suspect that he hires them out to the highest bidder. Now here he is - involved in the most current round of peace talks?
"Who in the hell is this guy?" Terri shakes his head and looks at me. “He's damn visible for an ancient. Almost like he's purposely drawing attention to himself. I don't know. That’s not how Ancients act. They hide from the limelight. If I were more religious, I'd say he was Grigori."
"Grigori?"
She nods. "A fallen angel. They were said to be the most mighty demons on earth - set to rise up when the apocalypse neared, acting as Satan's minions in the final battle against Christ."
"You believe that stuff?" I can't keep the ridicule out of my voice. "I thought you were a scientist."
She shrugs. "I've seen too many cases of men with unnatural power -- power to alter the thinking and beliefs of their followers, seemingly able to manipulate matter and induce psychoses in their disciples. I've begun once again to believe in evil."
"I don't believe in God and I don't subscribe to any religion. Evil is just immorality. Conscious immorality."
"I'm a scientist," she says. "But there are things science just can't explain."
"Yet," I say. "Science can't explain it yet, but that doesn't mean we have to run to religion to explain it."
"Some of our advisors are members of the Church, Eve. I have to admit that I'm convinced there is more to this than what the science tells us and religion seems the best explanation."
I sigh, surprised by her admission. Soren didn't look like a demon when I met him. Other than the brief flash of darkness surrounding him that day at his compound, he looks like a competent military officer with very pale skin. I don't believe in angels any more than I believe the moon is made of green cheese. But If I accept the existence of vampires, why not fallen angels? That’s probably just a name we gave to a sub-species of humans with greater powers than other humans have. Like vampires.
"We'll have to contact Vasquez. He'll want us to go there," Terri said. "Eve, it's time you met him."
"Who's Vasquez?"
"Bishop Miguel Vasquez. He's the Eastern Representative for humans on the Council."
"Soren..." I hesitate, not wanting yet to tell her about the clay seal fragment. "He entered my dreams while I was in Montana."
"How do you mean?"
"I had a dream of him. He told me we're wrong if we think we know who he is. He gave me something. I think it's a clue to his identity."
"Why didn't you tell my this immediately? This is critical. You can't keep information back like this!" She sits down beside me on the sofa and waits for me to tell her the whole story. I go to my backpack and retrieve the small piece of pottery, ashamed that I've kept this from her. I tell her everything.
She takes the pottery in hand and examines it.
"We'll have to find someone to check this out. I’ll courier this over to Vasquez. He’ll have someone familiar with this kind of artifact check it out," she says. "Whatever this seal is, it's part of the case, not your personal property. Soren may have given it to you, he knows who you are so he gave it to us as well."
"I'm worried about Julien," I say to Terri. "I'm afraid he's under Soren's control."
"Julien knows him more than any of us. We have to trust that he knows what he's doing. If he doesn't, we're screwed."
I lean back and closed my eyes. That worries me, too.
Chapter 41
“Love that is not madness is not love.”
de la Barca
We drive over to the Cathedral to meet with Vasquez later the next evening. He's a small man with dark close-set
eyes framed by thick eyebrows. He's busy on the phone when we walk into the office. I scan the books in the bookshelves and some are so old, the bindings are falling apart. I sit beside Terri on a velvet couch. A cool breeze brushes my cheeks, flowing in through open leaded windows.
Vasquez sits behind his desk, hands clasped together, waiting for us to speak. On the desk in front of him is the piece of clay Soren gave me.
“Tell me about your trip,” he says after we’re introduced.
I tell him of our trip to Montana and of my suspicions regarding Soren – his ability to change his appearance. Of our flight and the turbulence. Of our parting at the airport and the seal he'd given me.
"It could mean anything, his words to you. We can't jump to any conclusions," he says, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with a kerchief extracted from a pocket.
"She's had dreams, Miguel. He seems to be projecting into her mind."
Vasquez looks at me and leans forward.
"This wasn't in your report. If it's relevant to the case, it should be included. I have to have all the facts before I can determine the proper course of action. This is not personal - none of your work for the SCU or our group is."
I flush, knowing what he says is true, but I was so damn embarrassed to admit my response to the dreams.
"I've talked to Terri about this. I realize I should've put it in my report, but I didn't want it in writing."
"It's a perfect form of torture, to tempt us with desire. You're no different than any other person in this," he says, watching my face closely for my response. I nod at his words. On the way over, I read a brief biography of Vasquez that was part of my files. He knows just what to say - he practiced psychiatry before joining the clergy, and had lived a normal life before becoming a priest.
"I'm sorry that you are faced with this test. Most Adepts are never faced with such temptation. We were so pleased to find you again, Eve. You have so much to offer us because of your gifts. I'm counting on you to weather this and carry on." He rises from his chair and comes in front of me, leaning back on his desk, his hands folded on his lap. "I want you to go to the Palestinian Territories and let him know you're there. Do you feel able to meet this challenge?"
"I..." I hesitate. "I don't know. Michel seemed really worried about my going near him."
Vasquez nods. "He's not unbiased in this. He wanted you for himself. But you serve the Council first and foremost, Eve. As the representative for the Council, I want you to go. Michel's on leave. Julien is a fugitive. I'm your supervisor now. Pray for strength to help you through this. I'll pray for you as I'm sure Terri is already. Call me at any time should you feel a need. Other than that, you'll have to fly to the Palestinian Territories and check out Soren. Place yourself where he can see you so he knows you're following him, that you're aware of his involvement in the peace talks. He may contact you, he may not," he shrugs.
“What about that?” I say and point to the artifact.
"It’s nothing important,” Vasquez says. “Terri," he says, turning to her. "I want you to stay behind and help me. I'm sending someone to Montana to infiltrate the group, to watch Soren first hand. I'm reviewing candidates now and could use your input."
He goes back behind his desk and turns to his files. When I don't get up, he glances at me.
"Was there something else?"
"Soren said the clay was important. What is it?”
“He’s trying to confuse us. This is not your concern.”
“But it is. He gave it to me.”
“When he did, he gave it directly to me. It’s just a diversion. That’s all you need to know.”
I sit there, frustrated. I know Soren wanted me to know what that was.
“Who will come with me to Ramallah?"
"I'm sending one of our older Adepts from Central with you."
I nod, unwilling to challenge his decision. Vasquez's silence is our dismissal and we leave him and go back to our own offices at the SCU. As we drive back, Terri shakes her head, admitting shock at Vasquez's attitude towards my dreams.
"I can't understand why he's sending you. It's like he's dangling you out as bait."
I have the same feeling.
"Will you be all right?" she asks when I get out of the car outside my apartment.
"The security is crazy here."
"Call me if you need to talk. If you want to stay at my place, feel free. I have an extra room now that Joseph's gone to college."
"It won't do any good," I sigh. "But thanks anyway. You're good to me."
"I don't like what I think Vasquez is doing with you. Michel would never allow it. Keep that in mind when you encounter Soren. You may be bait." She looks in the rear- view mirror at the traffic building behind me and I know she has to leave.
"We seem to be caught up in the idea that the demon is tempting you, but Vasquez may want you to tempt the demon. If so, I fear for you."
I fear for myself as well.
As soon as she drives off, Vasily arrives in his car and I get in and go back to the warehouse.
“Vasily, is there any way you can contact Julien? My new boss wants me to go to Ramallah and make contact with Soren. I don’t think either Julien or Michel would want that.”
“I’ll try, but Julien said he’d be out of contact for maybe a week.”
I watch the scenery as we drive to the warehouse. Now is not a good time for Julien to go black.
With no word from Julien to stop me, I make plans to leave for Ramallah. I have nothing to do but pack my small case and leave an extra bowl of water and food for the cats at my flat. Once that's done, I pace the warehouse, wondering what will happen in Ramallah and who this older Adept is. Finally, I go to bed and roll up in the blankets, doing my progressive relaxation to try to fall asleep.
The first sensation is movement on the bed as he sits beside me, the pressure of his hard thigh along my hip. I lift my head off the pillow, to look at him, expecting to find Julien and am shocked to find Michel instead.
He's dressed in a loose black robe open at the neck, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight shining in from the window.
"You're mine," he says, his voice warm and deep. His eyes move over my body. "So lovely. So much loneliness."
He leans over and kisses my neck. His mouth is so cool, his tongue soft and wet - they feel so incredibly erotic on my skin.
"I’ve known loneliness," he whispers in my ear. "Hundreds of years. They chose you so well, I just might give in to temptation."
Then he kisses me and I feel such a surge of desire go through me I think I'll explode from it even as I feel tears fill my eyes. I miss him so much and kiss him back and my arms circling his neck, pulling him closer to me.
"Dear sweet Eve," he whispers, pulling back and raising himself up on his hands. He wipes my cheeks with a finger and slips the finger in his mouth, his eyes closing as he tastes my tears. "So much need..." He bends down and kisses me once again, the touch of his tongue on mine taking my breath away. "Can you believe?"
He waits for an answer.
"Yes," I say, not knowing what it is I'm asked to believe. I only know I want him more than anything. Then, he exhales heavily and bends down, his open mouth pressing on my neck and then a searing pain as he bites down.
I wake with a start, still on my side, my blankets twisted around me. I reach for my neck and feel only smooth skin, the wound where Julien bit me almost healed. Thankful that the dream ended there, I get up and go to the washroom, drink some water and go back to bed. I spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, waking only partially rested, but I have no more dreams.
Twenty hours of flight after we leave Boston, and Ramallah shines like burnished copper in the mid-day sun. Its light gilds the building tops and glints off the domes and minarets spread over the city. The heat of the morning blends the scents of the city to produce the over-whelming odor of humanity.
My handler from the Council is Sharon Blake, an older Adept, heavy-set
and assuringly strong, dressed in grey pantsuit, a scarf around her head to honor the local customs. I wear one as well, not wanting to draw attention to myself.
Although assigned to escort me, she’s given me wide latitude, even leaving me alone while she returns to the hotel to retrieve her laptop that she forgot in the suite. While she’s gone, I meet with our contact in the office assigned to American officials and I use my guise as an FBI Special Agent, flashing my badge, which I keep in my jacket pocket. The staffer hands me the latest reports on the peace talks. I sit on the couch and read through the reports. It’s uncertain if Soren is here to sell his mercenaries or arms. Is this part of his plan for Dominion?
My head aches from too little sleep the previous night and I feel hung-over and can't stop yawning.
"Is there someplace to get lunch?" I ask Crosby, the staffer in charge of logistics when I return from the washroom. He shakes his head.
"You have to go out to the market and buy your food. Only official participants get food."
I head out. I don't really feel like being here, sitting in the cramped room with Crosby. He's wearing headphones and listens to the proceedings of the talks. There's nothing to do but sit and read the international English language newspapers.
I take the closest exit to the street and walk to a nearby market, wondering if Soren's here today. The streets are scorching hot, and the wind blasts me, sand gritting between my teeth. I shiver, feeling suddenly feverish and faint so I sit on a bench, and put my head between my knees.
Before I'd accepted the job at the SCU, I had episodes of vertigo and had them checked out by a neurologist, including a CAT scan, but it was negative. As I sit there, trying to focus, I see what looks like rose petals on the ground before me. Where did those come from? A local man stops in front of me, speaking in some dialect. I shake my head.
He points to his nose and I realized my nose is bleeding. Blood drips down my chin onto the street. I hold my arm up, staunching the blood with the sleeve of my jacket. Then someone hands me a handkerchief and I noticed the signet ring on the man's index finger.