Hope's Prelude: The Angelorum Twelve Chronicles #2.5

by L. G. O'Connor

  His brow creased. “Do you think I’m in danger?”

  Was he in danger? They all were. If not yet, they soon would be. She chose her words carefully, not wanting to alarm him. “Be cautious. That’s all I’m saying.”

  AFTER THE YOUNG MAN from her last appointment left her office, Sandra sagged back in her chair. The afternoon had flown by in a blur of students from yesterday’s advanced genetics class. Many were having trouble with their gene splices, and then there was a fight over scheduling time with her lab’s latest new toy—a state-of-the-art three-dimensional imaging machine. It provided the ability to drill down and project ten-foot high holographic images of any gene inside an intricate stand of DNA; a handy tool when trying to determine if a splice was repaired successfully at the correct break.

  Sandra massaged her temples and contemplated a cup of hot tea. The logistics of what she and Tom were about to do gnawed at her. Even though she ran the lab, carving out exclusive access to the equipment could only be done at night. Not to mention, she might need to negotiate time with a couple of other labs on campus to leverage their equipment. Add to that the unwanted risk to the university if this all broke bad.

  She decided this could be only a temporary solution. Retrieving the new burner phone from her purse, she dialed. Now that her Trinity was active, any communications associated with the Angelorum needed to remain hidden.

  “Watson and Haskins. How may I help you?” asked a pleasant sounding receptionist.

  “Gladstone, please.”

  “Who may I say is calling?”

  Sandra took a deep breath, and then used the only name he’d know her by. “Hope, Daughter of Eae.”

  “Hold please.” Sandra tapped her fingers on the desk, thinking as she waited. The head of the department had been after her to publish her upcoming project. Maybe she could use one project as a cover for the other. Still, she had to plan for every outcome.

  Silas Gladstone picked up the line. “Hope? How are you, my dear?” The warmth in his voice made her smile. He and his twin brother ran the two North American branches of the firm that managed the Angelorum’s private holdings—their go-to resource for anything legal or financial.

  “It’s good to hear your voice, Silas. I’m doing well,” For now, she added to herself.

  The niceties dispensed, Silas said, “I’ve been expecting your call. How can I help?”

  “I have a large request, I’m afraid. I need a fully equipped genetics lab set up as soon as possible, preferably within a ten-mile radius of the university. I’ll send a list of preferred equipment.”

  “Done. What else?”

  “That’s all for today,” she said. There would be more—much more—later. “Let me know when the lab is ready.” They said their good-byes and hung up as Isa appeared in the doorway.

  He leaned up against the jamb and smiled, his head clearing the doorway by only an inch. No longer in uniform, he was dressed in a black shirt and gray dress slacks. His hair hung loose in white waves to his shoulders, and his pale ice-blue eyes held a sparkle as he offered her the single red rose in his hand. “Happy Anniversary.”

  Warmed at the sight of him, she broke into a smile a split second before the scent of his new cologne wafted over to greet her, igniting her senses.

  She gasped as her hands clamped onto the edge of her desk and her eyes went wide, drawn to the flower. A vision gripped her hard, pulling her down inside the ruby-colored petals like an out-of-control rollercoaster ride. The room receded as the Flow sucked her in, transporting her at lightning speed. Wind whistled past her ears and forced the remaining air from her lungs.

  A moment later, the wind died and her feet slammed to the ground inside of someone else’s skin. Oxygen was suddenly plentiful, comfortably expanding her chest. Her sight cleared, and a young man holding a red, foil-wrapped rose stood in the doorway. Half a head shorter than Isa, he was a handsome blond with a lean yet muscular build. The look in his blue eyes and the half-smile he wore were charged with heat and desire.

  Her gaze darted around the room and she swallowed, waiting to get the much-needed feed into the person she inhabited. She stood in what appeared to be a dorm room, and, based on her vantage point, the young woman was shorter than her by a good five inches.

  He cocked a brow, pushed off the doorjamb, and headed toward her. “You look amazing.”

  In two strides he was across room, and she was in his embrace, pressed up against him. He held the rose between them. “Hope you’re not allergic to chocolate. This is the closest I could come to flowers without giving you an asthma attack,” he said and raised an eyebrow. “You like?”

  The connection sparked and Sandra felt her scalp tingle in response. She surrendered to the vision and took a back seat as an observer inside the skin of Cara Collins. The same Cara she set out to protect . . .

  Riding Cara’s memories and emotions as they rose up, Sandra stared into his eyes, smiled, and accepted the rose. “I like,” Cara said, pretending to sniff it. Cara’s allergies to all things floral were a big pain for her in the romance department. Sandra caught a whiff of his cologne instead, the Calvin Klein Cara had bought him. Caught in a déjà vu moment, Sandra inhaled . . . the scent was both recent and familiar.

  “Happy Anniversary, Car,” he said, and his lips melted onto hers. More details clicked into place. This scene was a view into Cara’s past. Georgetown University, that’s where they were, but the man? His kiss made Cara’s toes curl, but who was the man?

  His lips were soft, full, and insistent. Her body melted into the firm muscles of his chest, as his fingers glided down over her hips, pulling her in even closer. Cara couldn’t think when he did that . . . when he kissed her. Touching him was like some strange magic that consumed her senses.

  A soft moan escaped Sandra’s throat on Cara’s behalf, desire setting fire to her veins. She let the chocolate rose drop gently to the rug and slid her hands down the back of his shirt, slipping them into the waistband of his jeans to rest on his warm muscular backside. The soft, tiny hairs felt good on her palms.

  Two months. That’s how long they’d been dating, but it felt like she’d known him her whole life. It should be a crime to feel this happy, Cara thought inside of Sandra’s head. Since Cara had met him in September, she hadn’t had one anxiety attack. Maybe things were finally changing for her.

  Then again, they already had. She’d lost her virginity. Cara was glad she’d waited. The real bonus? He had just enough experience to know what he was doing. Nothing like the disastrous stories her friends had shared. If it weren’t for roommates and tests, she’d happily spend every moment before Thanksgiving vacation locked naked in his embrace. Now if she could only work up the courage to admit that she was in love with him . . .

  “You sure you want to go the basketball game?” she whispered in his ear. As much as she loved the Hoyas, she could happily skip the game in favor of . . .

  “Mmm. Maybe not,” he growled into her neck, and then nipped her playfully. He hit a sensitive spot and she squirmed away, giggling.

  “Hey, that tickles,” she said.

  “Oh, does it? I’ll show you ticklish.” A teasing twinkle in his eye, he threw her over his shoulder, tickling her with one hand as he headed for her bed.

  Squealing with laughter and kicking her legs, she tried to protect her midsection. “Stop!” she said, breathless.

  Then Sandra had it. What she needed to remember. It was important. The man, Cara’s boyfriend. She needed to remember his name.

  It came at her in a rush . . . Kai Solomon.

  Sandra’s eyes snapped open and her muscles unclenched, giving in to fatigue. Isa stood in front of her with the rose still in his hand. But his smile was gone. “You had a vision. Are you all right?”

  She released a breath, struggling to shake off the personal violation of sharing someone else’s intimate experience. Luckily, her visions very rarely manifested in such a manner. Usually, she was only an observer, but
on rare occasions she assumed the identity of another person. It would be at least another hour before she felt normal again. “Fine. I need to find a man named Kai Solomon. Whatever you do, don’t let me forget his name.”

  “Why do you need to find him?” Isa asked.

  “He’s connected to Cara Collins, or at least he was . . . eight years ago.” She sniffed the air. “By the way, I think you’re wearing his cologne.”

  Isa’s brow quirked up but he stayed silent.

  Sandra clasped her hands to stop them from shaking and smiled, looking at Isa’s attire and the now innocuous rose that he held. “Are we going somewhere?” Guilt clawed at her insides. How could she have forgotten the date?

  His lips turned up at the edges. “That was the plan.”

  With a dismissive glance at the stack of work on her desk, she got up to grab her purse. Sidling up close to him, she accepted the rose and gazed into his eyes. “It’s still the plan . . . Happy Anniversary.”

  His lips descended on hers and she welcomed their familiar warmth as he pressed her close. Her body reacted the same way Cara’s had reacted to Kai. The memory of their shared intimacy unsettled her.

  Isa’s lips slipped from hers and he whispered in her ear. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, her cheek resting next to his, and whispered back. “A day is but a day. The one thing I’ll never forget is how much I love you.”

  His arms tightened around her, his body shielding her in a loving embrace.

  Tomorrow. She’d do her part in shaping the destiny of mankind tomorrow.

  Tonight would be just for her and Isa.

  Chapter 11

  SANDRA

  Haight-Ashbury, San Francisco.

  WARM LIPS TOUCHED HERS and her eyes fluttered open.

  “Good morning, my beauty,” Isa whispered, hovering over her. “You asked me to wake you before I left.”

  “Mmm. Call me after your meeting.” She stretched, trying to fight the delicious pull of the warm sheets. “And give Angel my love.”

  Over dinner, Isa had agreed to drive down to Los Angeles to pay their old friend a visit and gather some intelligence. She’d be doing the same, except with her mother. Of the two of them, Isa had the far easier assignment.

  “Meet me at the lab when you get back?” she asked, clutching her pillow.

  “Of course . . .”

  Isa departed, leaving her to shake herself fully awake and review her game plan.

  Since her discussion with Tom yesterday, she’d been sifting through her visions, trying to fill in all the gaps. The most important pieces still seemed to be the Nephilim engaged in battle for the Dark Ones, saving Cara’s life, and Kai Solomon’s involvement. Somehow, a vaccine to prevent Cara from disease or aging—while advantageous—didn’t seem to be an immediate lifesaving measure. If there was one thing she was sure of, whatever they created would have to work within seconds of being needed rather than being a long-term “nice to have.”

  The only way to know for sure about Cara was to get access to the Trinity Stones buried deep inside the Angelorum’s hidden compound. Examining Cara’s Trinity Stone might yield a clue . . . if the stone was willing to release its secrets.

  Since flying to Paris was out of the question for more reasons than she could list—not least of which was her undercover status—she’d have to use the Flow. All she needed was access granted by the Irin, the Archivists who monitored and managed the electromagnetic communication system that carried both healing energy and messages. But to have access granted, a High Council member must submit the request, hence her need for Constantina.

  As much as she ached to speak with her mother, that wouldn’t be possible. If Constantina agreed to help, she would be taking on enough risk with the Council by placing a request that could be construed as a violation under their rules of noninterference.

  Then again, her mother owed her at least one favor. Not that she savored asking . . .

  Sandra padded toward the kitchen and the rich scent of brewed coffee. She grabbed her bag on the island counter and rummaged around for her burner. If she had the luxury of time, she would’ve asked Warner Shandwick to pass a privileged Angelorum communication. But she didn’t.

  A steaming mug of caffeine within grasp, she dialed Silas Gladstone.

  “Morning, Hope,” he said, greeting her with his signature joviality. “What can I do for you today, my dear?”

  “I need to get a message to Constantina. Today.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. What’s your message?”

  “Need access to Collins Trinity Stone ASAP. Stop. Imperative for success. Stop.” She contemplated whether or not to add something about the Dark Ones having access to a Nephil then thought better of it. Chances were that her mother knew more than she did, which irked her on some days more than others. Yet, she understood and lived by the rules.

  “Is that all?” Silas asked.

  Knowing the weight of her request, Sandra added, “No. Add: I will not fail. Love, Hope. Stop.”

  The sound of Silas scribbling the last of her message filtered through the phone. “Your message will be sent immediately. I’ll contact you as soon I receive a reply.”

  “Thanks.”

  After a shower and ready to leave, Sandra’s phone buzzed as she picked up her briefcase. Dropping it back to the floor, she snatched the cell from inside her purse.

  “Silas?”

  “No, dear one.” Sandra froze and her heart skipped a beat. She had doubted she’d ever hear the sweet, melodic tones of her mother’s voice again. “ ’Tis Constantina.”

  It only took a second for fear to chase away the warm surprise. “Why are you calling me directly?”

  “The importance of your request warranted it,” she said softly. “If I make this request for you, the other Council members will know. It’s discoverable under the rules surrounding the Trinity Stones of the Twelve.”

  Damn it. “That’s a problem, isn’t it?” Guessing the answer, Sandra’s hope faded.

  Constantina sighed. “I’m afraid so,” she said, her voice filled with sorrow and something Sandra had never heard from her before—defeat.

  Sandra’s radar went up. Constantina was one of the strongest warrior angels in Angelorum history. An iron and unshakable will balanced with compassion and a fierce sense of justice all packaged behind a deceivingly delicate demeanor. To hear her mother bow to defeat? She shuddered. “Why? Will it expose you?”

  “No. It will expose you,” she snapped. After a long exhale, she said more calmly, “I care not for myself, Hope. But I believe there is a traitor amongst us. If I make this request, I could be placing you in even more jeopardy than you already are.”

  Her jaw dropped open. That wasn’t even close to what she had expected to hear. Worse, there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Pressing her eyes shut, she recalculated her options and potential needs. “What about you? Will this be called into question as a violation?”

  “Ordinarily, it wouldn’t get that far. A Messenger requesting access to another Trinity’s Stone would merely be denied. But given your Trinity is an insertion connected to the Collins Trinity, I believe your request is legitimate. I’ll ask Angelis, but I’m inclined to think he will agree.” A close friend of her mother, Angelis led the High Council.

  Relieved, she vowed not to compromise her mother again. As for her? If the stakes were higher, so be it. She had taken this assignment knowing and accepting the risks, even though it conflicted directly with her human half’s instinct to survive. A weakness she despised.

  She gritted her teeth. “Then do it. Put in the request. And I need one more thing. Get me access to the prophecy transcript in case I need it.”

  Constantina’s soft breathing mingled with the silence.

  “Mother?”

  “I’m still here . . . Very well. It will be done,” she said, her tone turning to resignation.

  A pang of sorrow hit the
center of her chest. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m sorry for putting you in this position . . . I won’t contact you again.”

  “I’m so very proud of you, Hope,” Constantina said, an unmistakable crack in her voice. “Journey forth in peace and love, my dearest.” In all her years, she had heard her mother cry on only two occasions. Both deaths. Both long ago. Once for the most recent death of her mate, and once for the only infant she ever had who died.

  Before Sandra could stop them, her tear ducts betrayed her, welling until her vision blurred. “And you,” she replied then severed the connection.

  THE MESSAGE CAME, this time through the Flow, the moment after she arrived at work and sat at her desk.

  “Hope, Daughter of Eae.” The melodic voice greeted her telepathically. “You have been granted access to the Collins Trinity Stone. Prepare to receive the frequency. Access will remain open for twenty-four hours. Journey forth in peace and love.”

  Sandra took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and gripped the desk with both hands.

  The vibration hit the top of her head first and tunneled its way down into her chest, giving her brain just enough time to memorize its vibrational pattern. Unlike her own personal molecular key to the Flow, she had to consciously recall this one. Luckily, it lodged as an image in her mind, a distinct pattern for her to visualize.

  Once she knew she’d remember it, the vibrational energy disappeared, releasing her.

  Excitement fluttered in her stomach as she got up to lock her office door. Maybe she’d get some answers.

  Protected inside the Angelorum Sanctuary, the Trinity Pool had limited access typically restricted to High Council members. She’d been an exception. Before she left on her mission, Constantina had taken her there to see the Trinity Stones, the eyes and ears of Heaven that held the destinies of all the Trinities. Holding as many secrets as they revealed, their life force was fueled by the free-will decisions of the souls represented within them.

  Every Trinity was assigned to a tipping point that affected the final battle between good and evil. Hers and Cara’s were no exception.