The Immortals Trilogy Books 1-3: Tales of Immortality, Resurrection and the Rapture (BOX SET)

by C. F. Waller

  “You flatter me,” Anthony chirps without looking away from this pot of bubbling marinara.

  “If I may,” I begin, tapping the table in front of Arron. “Would I be correct to assume Rhea has brought us all here to be executed?”

  “Yes, almost certainly.”

  “Can I get a little clarification as to why?”

  “Should I tell him?” he asks, tossing a napkin at the cook.

  “Probably won’t believe you, but as we are at a loss for dinner plans.”

  “No harm then,” Arron shrugs. “Do you know where our kind comes from?”

  I shake my head, even though Jenn has given me a sorted tale. Best to see what story her father is peddling.

  “We are descended from Adam and Eve,” he professes.

  “So it’s the religion thing?” I scoff. “Aren’t we all supposed to be descendants of Adam and Eve?”

  “Do you want to hear this or not?”

  I nod and wave a hand for him to continue even though the centuries have made me weary of bible tales. When people have no explanation for something they drag out religion.

  “Those descended from the Garden lived a very long time. We aren’t indestructible like Rhea and her people, but we were fine until we had an accident. All of this was prior to the flood.”

  “The Ark story again?” I snicker, then receive a frown and groan internally. “But didn’t everyone drown?”

  “A small group of the earlier version escaped the flood,” Arron affirms.

  “How?”

  “I contend they were excellent swimmers, but—,” Anthony chirps, but is cut off.

  “Do you want to tell the story?” Arron snips.

  “No,” he mumbles. “I was just adding color.”

  “Stick to cooking.”

  “So a band of minor-immortals got missed by the flood?” I repeat in hopes of restarting the conversation.

  “Yes, and he,” he asserts, pointing up and wincing, “wasn’t happy about it.”

  “Your referring to God when you point up and use the word he?”

  “Try not to say it out loud,” Anthony warms without turning around.

  “Anyway,” Arron sighs. “He asks two fallen angels to round them up and dispose of them. In return he promises to forgive them their trespasses and bring them back into the light.”

  “Your contention is that Rhea is a fallen angel?” I argue, wagging a thumb over my shoulder. “And by the light you mean heaven?”

  “Yes to both.”

  “Who’s the other angel?”

  “Did you see the grizzly iron box in the main hall?”

  I nod, recalling what looked to me like a mid-evil torture device more commonly called an Iron Maiden.

  “She has sealed Cronus inside. He was in charge from the start with her playing second fiddle.”

  “Why is he in the box?” I ask, confused.

  “I’ll get to that,” Arron explains, standing and pacing the room with his glass of wine. “They accept his offer and receive ten soldiers of lesser strength to aid them. Helen is an example of this type. There are five men and five women. Currently only Helen and Phoebe reside inside this stronghold. There are four more stationed outside and the remaining four have been tasked with rounding you up.”

  Pondering this I check one of them off my mental list, thinking Jenn drained one and we buried what was left of him in the cemetery back in Germany. One down, nine to go.

  “The floods like what?” I complain. “2500 BC? Why did it take so long?”

  “Because Cronus made a side agreement to stall.”

  “If his first agreement was with,” I pause and point at the ceiling, feeling foolish. “Then who could trump that?”

  “He who shall not be named,” Anthony recites in a very theatrical tone without turning around.

  “Voldemort?” I smirk, relieved for the opportunity to inject some humor.

  “The side agreement was with Lucifer,” Arron explains and points at the floor. “He convinces Cronus that the Almighty will never welcome him back. He offers a hall pass on eternal punishment to take no action against our kind.”

  “The Almighty,” I say using air quotes, “Can do whatever he wants so how is this a problem?”

  “The light and the dark have danced this dance since time began. They have their own set of rules. Lucifer only attempted to slow the completion of the contract. It’s more a thorn in the Almighty’s side, than a full on conflict,” Arron shrugs. “So for five-thousand years nothing much happens. When one of our kind was discovered by mortal man Cronus intervened and eliminated both parties, otherwise he took no action.”

  “Then what?”

  “At some point around the millennium, Cronus fell prey to Michelle’s twin sister,” he nods and points to Anthony. “He said you two met.”

  “Yes, she’s very nice.”

  “Her sister wasn’t,” Arron asserts. “She stopped aging at 8 or 9 and grew more unstable as the years passed. Being a child forever can drive a person mad. After a century of daycare, she went rogue and began hunting the hunters.”

  “So she put Cronus in the main hall?”

  “Not technically, but for the sake of this conversation let’s say yes.,” Arron argues. “With him gone, Rhea ascended to the leadership role.”

  “And she had no deal with the devil?” I propose.

  “Bingo, she wants to go back upstairs. She lines up what troops that remain and starts the full scale extermination of our kind. In 2015 Rhea is down to the last of us. The problem is she’s running out of minions, Shelly having detained seven of them, plus Cronus.”

  “Detained in metal boxes?”

  “Yes, forced to leave the safety of the Estate, Rhea ventured out to finish the job.”

  “Did Shelly get her?”

  “Shelly by this time was following what she assumed to be the last two.”

  “Beatrix and Dorian?” I mumble, now fully engaged in the tale.

  “Correct,” Arron taps a finger on the kitchen island.

  “Poor Beatrix was bait.”

  “For lack of a better plan, or anyone to aid her, Rhea tracked down Rahnee. The Queen made a deal with Rahnee to bait Shelly into the open using Dorian and Beatrix. This plan worked ostensibly as Rhea killed Shelly when she sprung from the shadows.”

  “And Bee?” I sigh.

  “This started a domino effect of events that left everyone but Rahnee and I dead.”

  “Understand your taking him at his word,” Anthony barks, having turned around and pointed a wooden spoon covered in tomato sauce at Arron. “He can say anything as there is no one left to collaborate his story.”

  “We can ask Rahnee when she gets here,” I remark, but receive a scowl from the cook.

  “I hope you’re right,” Arron pauses in thought. “The trap laid for Shelly climaxed with Dorian exploding two thermite grenades and incinerating everything in a mile radius including Rhea. It was only revealed to me that I was immortal moments before the explosion.”

  “I have no idea why Dorian waited so long to admit to being your father,” I complain. “He could be a scalawag at times.”

  “From what time I spent with my father your assessment would seem valid.”

  “Is this why she has a migrating burn spot?” I inquire, wincing from a visual I can’t forget.

  “It’s very minor now,” Anthony contends. “It took her decades to recover. Helen and I held down the fort for many years.”

  “You and Helen?” I scoff.

  “Someone had to keep the others from letting Cronus out,” he argues. “There were several who favored his leadership.”

  “Wasn’t Cronus the one who was not trying to kill us?” I suggest, preferring this line of thinking.

  “Right, well, yes,” Anthony stutters. “Allegiances vary in here.”

  “Why is Cronus in the main hall again?” I circle back to this, as it seems important.

  “Once she recovered her streng
th, Rhea managed to retrieve all the boxes.”

  “But she still wanted to call the shots,” Anthony mutters as he stirs the pot.

  “So she kept him under wraps?”

  “Yes, she bolted him to the wall where she can keep an eye on him,” Anthony explains. “Talk about getting screwed in the divorce.”

  “More to the point,” Arron interrupts shaking his head at the joking. “Rhea now possess three of the last five minor-immortals.”

  “Us three,” I count, pointing a finger at each of us.

  “Arron’s daughter and Michelle, if your report of her being seen alive is accurate,” Anthony suggests. “I do so hope it is.”

  “She’s alive for now,” I assure him. “So if she gets Jennifer and Michelle she can complete the contract and go home?”

  “That is my understanding,” Arron sighs and sits back down. “Unfortunately we don’t appear to have any way to stop her.”

  I ponder this, but he may be right. Can I even believe all this bible nonsense? I’d write them both off as crazy if virtually everything they told me didn’t line up with my own experiences. I recall my conversation with Father Michael on Rahnee’s possible resurrection. He had professed that if she had gone to heaven she would not want to come back and if it were hell, the devil would never let her. If I assume she went south rather than north, then why did Lucifer allow her to leave? This thought blossoms into something far more horrifying.

  “If this is true, we are technically on the wrong side,” I choke out.

  “Ouch, it just dawned on the poor man,” Anthony grins.

  “When you put this all together, Rhea is the hero and we are,” I mutter and then freeze mid-sentence.

  “We are,” Anthony recites. “Playing for the devil’s team. God has wanted us dead for five thousand years. The only reason any of us were even born was by the direct intervention of Lucifer.”

  “No, no, no,” I mutter, unsuccessfully trying to erase the last ten minutes from my brain.

  “Relax,” Arron complains, tipping up his glass and drinking the last of it. “When will dinner be ready?”

  “Momentarily,” Anthony answers. “Find us another bottle and I’ll set the table.”

  They go back to dinner preparations as if nothing previously stated matters. When setting the table, Anthony pauses to stare at me sitting frozen in thought. I can see him, but haven’t the strength to move. He snaps his fingers in front of my face drawing me off thoughts of Satan and Angels.

  “I think we shorted this one out,” he tells Arron as he returns with a bottle.

  “Nonsense,” Arron argues. “I sat there quite a while when you told me. Give him a few hours to come to grips with his predicament.”

  This might require more than a few hours for me to process. I play on Satan’s team and what’s worse? We are losing.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After a fitful night of sleep, I wake to perfect weather. I sit on a comfortable chair in a fluffy white bathrobe drinking coffee on the balcony. The sea washes against the rocks in a relaxing way that’s at odds with the previous night’s dream induced horror show. I don’t recall ever sitting through so many scary stories. Visions of death and Hell filled my mind until I abandoned sleep altogether. I sat up in the kitchen half the night pondering the previous evening’s tall tales. Anthony was up at dawn rummaging around in his library. I had originally assumed his mural was for Rhea’s benefit, or possibly part of some arrangement to hunt us down, but it appears that it’s just his rambling mind spilled out on the stones. There are no doors inside his prison slash resort and he flinches if you pass by while he’s working.

  Arron staggers out into the daylight with a hand over his eyes. He finds a seat just out of the sun, then, straightens his legs to get the warm rays on his bare feet. A nod of recognition is exchanged, but minus the wine, the morning has each of us deep in thought. Arron must be pondering endlessly about his wife. Scratch that, his girlfriend? Scratch that, what is she exactly? Anthony, while buried in his work must be having thoughts of Michelle. I didn’t mention that she’s a hundred years old and looks it. I couldn’t bring myself to worry him further.

  With Arron facing the water, he doesn’t see the shadow that crosses the candle light in the hall. I lean back until my head bumps into the iron rails and just make out someone passing by in red. Anthony barely owns anything not grey or black. Curious, I point at my empty coffee cup to indicate a refill is needed, then carefully creep into the hall. I can hear voices, but they are just out of understandable reach. Assuming there isn’t any shame in walking down the hall, I do so, but pause at the juncture near the library. Standing in the doorway is Helen wearing a bright red dress leaving little to the imagination. Dark stockings trail down to silver ballet flats that look under dressy, but she’s a tall woman and heels would push her over six feet. Anthony is far shorter and peers up at her. I wait, stepping back from view.

  “You’re saying they have her?” he asks excitedly.

  “Yes, Greta called last night,” Helen whispers even though her counterpart isn’t.

  “They are aware not to let her touch them?”

  “They had a little trouble at first, but she couldn’t keep anyone down. Eventually came along at gunpoint.”

  “And Michelle was with her?”

  “Yes, but she’s not well.”

  “What do you mean?” Anthony demands, his voice rising to a shout. “Not well?”

  “I did not take the call myself, but Rhea laughed and ordered her brought in anyway,” Helen snaps. “Apparently they don’t need her to complete the contract.”

  “Of course they do,” he argues. “She’s one of us. I have known her intimately for more than a few centuries.”

  “Thanks for that visual,” she chafes, almost sounding jealous.

  Does the mad librarian have something going with one of Rhea’s minion army?

  “My apologies,” he sighs. “I’m not myself today.”

  “Better get it together,” Helen warns. “She’ll be here tonight.”

  “Shall we expect a banquet?”

  “I’ll let you know, but can you imagine her not wanting an audience?”

  “No, I cannot. I shall plan for dinner in the hall.”

  “I’d say dinner and a show,” Helen adds, then reluctantly exchanges a very European cheek kiss with the Cartographer.

  I’m lost in thought when she passes the junction in the hallway where I lean casually. A surprised look flashes over her face when she notices me. I force a yawn to indicate I’m recently awakened. After a glance back to frown at me, she plows to the door and exits. I warm up my coffee and re-join Arron in the sun.

  “I think your daughter’s arriving tonight.”

  “Excuse me?” he balks.

  “Helen was in the library talking to Anthony. I was eavesdropping when she mentioned it. What’s the deal between those two?”

  “They do have an odd body language,” he agrees. “For the record he’s been here close to eighty years so they have known each other a long time.”

  “How long would a woman who looked like Helen need to—,” I am saying when interrupted.

  “Oh right, you don’t know who she is?”

  “She’s Helen,” I shrug. “What’s in a name?”

  “I have no idea what any of these things were called before they landed here, but their names come from Greek Mythology. Rhea for example was the bride of Cronus in the myth of the Twelve Titians.”

  “They’re stories.”

  “Agreed, but there’s a little bit of truth in everything. The stories were inspired by actual events and Rhea told me her name was given to her by the Greeks.”

  “Fine, so who’s Helen?”

  “Famous Greek Helen,” he remarks, then pauses. “Think back to your world history.”

  “Helen of Troy,” I groan. “Seriously, she said that?”

  “No, Rhea told me seventy years ago when we first met. She asked me if I�
��d like to meet Helen of Troy. When I got here a few days ago she walks right up to her and says Helen, Arron, Arron, Helen and walks away.”

  I’d say Arron’s crazy, but this entire week has been. Have I gazed on the face that sailed a thousand ships? More interesting than that is the idea that Helen of Troy might have something going with Anthony.

  “She said Jenn was coming?” he asks, rising to join me in the sunlight.

  “Not in so many words, but they referenced her in description.”

  “How well do you know Jennifer,” he sighs, tipping up his coffee.

  This is a loaded question given I have spent the last decade stalking her. That doesn’t include the years stalking him. Let’s not spill those beans just now.

  “I saw her raise a moldy corpse from the dead. What else do I need to know?”

  “Yeah, I forgot that little tidbit,” he nods as if he’s trying to appear amused. “You’re going to have to tell me about that sometime.”

  “She can tell you, but I’d suggest you don’t ask.”

  “Why?”

  “Given what you shared last night, I would ask you to stop and think,” I warn, then pause and lean in closer. “Where do you think Rahnee went after she died?”

  He doesn’t answer and I pull back to study his reaction.

  “And you weren’t married, just two crazy kids who made a baby.”

  He tenses and I take a step back by reflex. It looked as if he would punch me after that remark. He quickly relaxes and remains calm. The swirling torment of his situation seems to ebb just under the surface. I doubt I’d be as together as he is, were our situations reversed.

  “Does your cheap attempt to provoke me have a point?”

  “I think she spent seventy years,” I say and pause to point at the ground. “And I doubt your daughter can just reach down and take her back.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning someone allowed her to leave,” I widen my eyes, walking past him, taking my seat in the sun. “Why would Lucifer do that?”

  “I guess we will have to ask her that when she gets here.”

  “You be sure to do that,” I encourage him. “Just don’t get her near any open flames.”