People made way for him as he took the stairs two at a time up to the street. His new charge was fast on her feet even when wearing high heels. He watched her long auburn hair swing from side to side ahead of him as she ran, cutting through the horde of pedestrians on the sidewalk along Church Street.
As he drew closer, she took a ninety-degree turn into a fast-food restaurant. He followed behind her through the glass door. She ran down a narrow hallway toward the back of the building alongside the long counter manned by uniformed workers buzzing around fulfilling breakfast orders. Stopping before the end, she disappeared into a door on the right.
Chamuel followed her. He entered the hallway and glanced back. Ensuring he was out of sight, he breathed a sigh of relief and cloaked. His strength flagged for a moment as he disappeared behind a veil of invisibility. He should’ve eaten more. Cloaking soaked up energy that he preferred not to expend, but even on a good day, his striking appearance made it difficult for him to blend into a crowd. Twice on the streets of New York he’d been mistaken for a well-known NFL player who also stood at six foot seven, shared the same square jaw and blue eyes, and wore his blond hair in a ponytail. Wrap that package in a black duster to conceal his weapons, and he screamed anything but inconspicuous. And since Cara had already seen him, he didn’t have a choice.
He reached the door. She’d disappeared into the ladies’ room. For a nanosecond he thought about ducking inside, but wisely rejected the idea. Instead, he posted himself outside and took out his phone. He tapped a text to Isaac: ACHANELECH IN NYC. WTF? CHECK IT OUT. TAILING NEW CHARGE. CALL YOU ASAP. He hit Send and pocketed his cell. Until Cara was safely at work, he wouldn’t be going anywhere or talking to anyone.
Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he leaned up against the wall and waited. His mind drifted back to her lovely green eyes, and something long forgotten stirred inside of him. She was more attractive than he’d expected, not that it should matter. Poor girl didn’t know what was about to hit her.
He shook his head. His assignment as her Trinity Guardian didn’t officially start until this evening. Together with an Angelorum Messenger, the three of them would, in some way or another, influence the balance of power between good and evil. It was only on a whim that he’d decided to do some early reconnaissance and follow Cara this morning. But he knew better than anyone...there were no coincidences.
Then he let out a snide laugh. He could almost hear the whispers of the Trinity Stones screwing with his fate.
Chamuel’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Slipping it out, he read the text.
CALL ME...NOW
Chapter 2
CARA
New York City. Church Street. Wednesday, March 19, 8:15 a.m. EDT
Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Cara repeated the mantra, trying to wrestle her heart rate under control and convince herself she wasn’t about to die. The last place she expected to be on her twenty-seventh birthday was crouched down inside a graffiti-covered metal stall in a filthy bathroom. Her coat grazed the grimy floor as she stared at the little blue oval pill in one hand and her cell phone programmed to 911 in the other.
For the first time in five years, anxiety shattered her, making her contemplate taking a drug she’d hoped she’d never need again. Memories of her high school and college years, when she was the victim of severe panic attacks bordering on agoraphobia, came flooding back. Her former therapist had warned her that the attacks might return during times of extreme stress, but Cara had thought she was finally safe.
Her hand tightened around her cell phone until the edge bit into her palm as anger boiled up inside her. She didn’t want to be that girl again. She had worked hard to become the tough-as-nails investment banker she was today. Despite issues with her misogynist boss, she was proud of what she’d accomplished and was good at what she did. She wouldn’t let the anxiety win. She’d conquered it once, and she’d do it again.
Cara’s body started to shake uncontrollably from the excess adrenaline coursing through her body courtesy of the fight-or-flight response—a signal her panic attack was subsiding.
A few minutes later, she was able to breathe without gasping. Slowly, she pressed her hands against her thighs and straightened up, the muscles in her arms and legs weak with residual tremors. Relief filled her. She’d live another day.
Opening her Louis Vuitton handbag, she returned the pill to the plastic container and slipped it back into her emergency kit next to a bottle of water, an inhaler, a list of hospital phone numbers, and caffeine pills for milder attacks.
She left the stall and stopped at the sink. Balancing her briefcase and handbag, she splashed some cold water onto her cheeks, patted them dry, and reapplied some blush. Her eyes stared back from the mirror with a mixture of fear and determination.
Now that her attack had abated, her thoughts returned to the man who’d grabbed her. Had she not been half-crazy from the anxiety attack, the whole encounter would’ve really freaked her out. What could she say? Only in New York, she thought.
Her pulse back to normal, she glanced at her watch.
“Crap!” She was late for work.
Cara pressed End and dropped the cell phone into her purse, relieved her call into work claiming an unavoidable emergency was made. Her mental state improved as she walked. She wished she could say the same for her feet. Had she known she’d be walking the last leg of her commute, she would have skipped the stilettos. Traffic was too dense for a cab, so even in heels she’d get to the office faster on foot. At least the weather was nice for late March without the residual bitterness of winter. Passing by Saint Paul’s churchyard, she noticed new buds already emerging on the trees and a sweet smell permeating the regular aroma of the city.
Cara navigated around a cluster of people stopped in front of her on the busy sidewalk. As she passed, an old homeless woman grabbed Cara’s wrist, jerking her to a stop. Startled, Cara struggled to twist out of the woman’s grasp.
“Hey!” she cried out. “Let me go.”
The woman’s eyes locked on hers. “Heal me. I beg you.”
Oh God, not again. Cara’s eyes darted around, looking for the dark-haired man on the subway. Could they be working together? Not finding him, she sized up the old crone in front of her. The woman was unkempt, and the scent of her unwashed body clung to her soiled clothes. Her long, wild gray hair framed eyes full of sharp intelligence within a dirty, creased face.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” Cara said curtly, not wanting to cause a scene. But no one seemed to notice. The flow of commuters moved around them unfazed.
Holding Cara’s wrist in an iron grasp, the woman’s eyes traveled from the top of Cara’s head down and around her body before yanking Cara down to eye level. “The light of Heaven surrounds you. I beg you—heal me.” Foul breath warmed Cara’s cheek.
Haven’t I had a crappy enough morning already? Cara thought, unnerved by the woman’s intense stare. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
In response, the woman seized Cara’s hand and placed it on her shoulder. A powerful surge of energy slammed into the top of Cara’s head, filling her with intense, tingling warmth as it tunneled down toward the center of her chest, blasting out of her hand and into the woman in front of her.
Peace washed over the woman’s face until she glowed, lit from within. Tendrils of light radiated outward as energy flowed in a continuous stream into the woman using Cara as the conduit.
Spellbound, Cara watched the lines on the woman’s face disappear. Forty years melted away instantly as Cara stared in openmouthed disbelief.
The now younger-looking woman smiled. “You’re ready.”
Cara stumbled backward, breaking contact. The light and blazing heat disappeared instantly. “Ready for what?” she asked with a pounding heart.
In answer, the woman turned on her heel and ran in the downtown direction.
“Wait!” Cara yelled, trying not to shove people out of the way as she chased her. But t
he woman traveled at a pace too fast for Cara to follow, widening the distance between them. A couple of moments later, Cara spotted the woman turning left onto Barclay Street toward the Woolworth Building, but by the time Cara rounded the corner, the woman had vanished.
Winded, Cara stepped out of the sidewalk traffic and leaned up against a brick building to catch her breath. So far, her birthday sucked. Going home and crawling back into bed seemed like an appealing option given the morning she was having.
Without warning, she burst into laughter. As creepy as her morning had been encountering the man with the V-shaped scar and the old homeless woman, she didn’t feel the sense of doom that usually preceded a panic attack.
Thank Heaven for small mercies. Then again, she’d rarely had attacks when real danger was present. Like the time she went bungee jumping in college to “cure” her anxiety disorder—she’d discovered that type of fear just wasn’t a trigger. Yet, the fear of losing a client in combination with the escalating situation at work was enough to unwind her. Go figure.
She shook her head, filing her crazy morning away to think about later. In the meantime, she had a boss to deal with and a client to save.
“One disaster at a time,” she mumbled.
Chapter 3
CHAMUEL
New York City. Wednesday, March 19, 8:30 a.m. EDT
Chamuel ignored Isaac’s text and followed Cara up Church Street. His senses sharpened the moment he saw the old woman grab Cara’s wrist.
Still cloaked, he moved closer. He ground to a stop fifteen feet away when the woman seized Cara’s hand and placed it on her shoulder. Bright, white light dove from the heavens into Cara, traveling through her and into the woman. A blast of energy shot outward, hitting him in the face. The tiny sparks tingled as they landed on his skin. Luckily, no one else on the street could experience this but him.
“Holy Father,” Chamuel muttered in awe at the rarity of seeing an unawakened Soul Seeker like Cara, who had yet to accept her Calling, wield so much power. But there was something else—and it had nothing to do with her power. Her quiet beauty...moved him.
Chamuel’s head jerked to the left. He sensed another Nephilim presence. One he didn’t recognize. What the...?
He scanned the crowd, noting nothing unusual—just the typical morning passersby with shopping bags, briefcases, and strollers filling the sidewalk.
Another wisp of energy breezed by him, pulsing and pulling at his power. Like him, someone hid behind a veil of invisibility which prevented visual or audio contact but allowed energy to pass through. Chamuel found the cloaked Nephilim presence troubling but didn’t sense any immediate danger. He would deal with that later. Right now, his number one priority stood in front of him.
He focused his attention back on Cara and the homeless woman.
“You’re ready,” the woman said, now looking decades younger. That’s when he knew—she wasn’t an ordinary woman.
Sentinel, he thought and swore under his breath. She worked for the Dark Ones.
Before Chamuel could react, she moved swiftly away from Cara. As if set on fire, he jumped into action and gave chase, cutting through the crowd and leaving an invisible breeze and baffled stares in his wake. Shoving past a couple holding hands, he leapt over a mountain of garbage bags at the curb, trying to keep up with the fluttering hem of the homeless woman’s skirt as she wove around pedestrians on the sidewalk.
Giving Chamuel a backward glance, the Sentinel smirked and picked up speed. He gnashed his teeth in frustration as a burst of Nephil energy blew past him, and she vanished into thin air.
Chamuel ground to a halt. Invisible, bit not made of ether, he moved out of the way to avoid an accidental collision.
Damn it. He clenched his hands into fists. His problems were greater than he’d originally thought. Once assured of Cara’s safe arrival at work, he’d make that call to Isaac. Could their luck get any worse? An archdemon, a Sentinel, and a rogue Guardian all in one day.
They have to be working together.
A moment later, Cara rounded the corner onto Church Street out of breath with her suit jacket askew. A single wave of hair clung to her ivory cheek. Brushing the errant strand behind her ear, she slumped against the brick exterior next to a storefront window and shifted her briefcase more securely onto her shoulder. She shook her head followed by a short burst of laughter; Chamuel wondered what she found so amusing. He suddenly wished he could ask her, but that was out of the question. He’d guard her unseen until she was officially Called and their mission had begun.
Pushing off the building, Cara headed downtown toward her office. Chamuel hung back, following behind her.
Humph. Good thing he’d followed his gut this morning for Cara’s sake. Forewarned was forearmed. Knowing Cara had been spotted would allow the Guardianship to take the proper precautions. Just as important was the intelligence he’d gained. The Sentinel had escaped with the help of a Nephil. Since the Dark Ones didn’t have any Nephilim in their ranks, it could mean only one thing.
There was a traitor in the Guardianship.
Chamuel shadowed Cara until she was safely inside the downtown location of Cabot Investments. He parked himself outside the entrance, leaning his oversized frame up against the limestone exterior.
Still riding behind his veil of invisibility, he dialed Isaac, keeping one eye trained on the door.
“What took you so long?” Isaac asked gruffly. Chamuel pictured his old friend with a blond brush cut and the icy blue eyes of a drill sergeant, wearing his familiar pissed-off frown.
“Sorry. Cara made a detour on her way to work,” he replied, leaving out the details of her meltdown in the ladies’ room. “We had a surprise visit from a Sentinel.”
Isaac cursed under his breath. “Tell me what happened. Don’t leave anything out.”
Chamuel recounted what he’d seen.
“Here’s the story. Achanelech flew into Teterboro this morning,” said Isaac. “But he’s not staying. His plane returns home in about ten minutes to the West Coast. Let’s assume he’s related to the Sentinel visit. The real question is how did he find out about Cara?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” replied Chamuel.
Over the phone he heard Isaac drumming his fingers on his desk. “This increases the pressure on us to protect her while she’s in training and until she’s Called. I suspect the Angelorum knows something’s up. They just called. They’re flying in a heavy hitter to mentor her, someone from the High Council.”
Chamuel frowned as he pictured the faces of the twelve High Council members of the Angelorum, the governing body of the secret angelic protectorate, and then shook his head. He suspected who they’d send. If he was right, that would explain why he’d been chosen so quickly and assigned to this Trinity. “Let me guess. They haven’t told you who’s coming yet?”
Isaac gave him a snide laugh. “When has the Council ever told the Guardianship anything in advance? You know, it’s the usual can’t-reveal-the-future-because-it-interferes-with-free-will conundrum. As always, we’ll get our information on a need-to-know basis, and right now, they don’t think we need to know.”
Isaac was right about the High Council. Bound by two sacred rules, the Council’s role was to watch and to orchestrate. They couldn’t use their knowledge to interfere with free will or have direct involvement in human affairs. Although they retained some latitude surrounding their activities, they primarily used the Trinities to carry out their work.
Chamuel’s frown deepened as he pressed the phone to his ear. “Yeah, but I think we should be worried about why. Can you remember the last time a Council member was sent to mentor a Soul Seeker? I can’t.”
“Not in my one-hundred-fifty-year lifetime,” Isaac replied.
Chamuel was only a couple of years younger, so not while either of them had been alive. This news troubled him on several levels.
“Let me chew on this one for a while,” he said. “In the meantime, wha
t about the traitor in our midst working for the Dark Ones? We need to get a grip on that one fast. Last thing we need is a security breach right here, right now.”
“Agreed,” Isaac said gravely. “Investigating the whereabouts of all of our people shouldn’t take more than an hour. I’ll transmit the order to other Guardian Houses around the world and should have a completed report within the next twelve hours. We’ll find the traitor, turn him in, and let the Council decide his fate. But, I can’t possibly imagine it’s one of ours.”
Chamuel silently agreed. No way it could be one of theirs. “Will you send me the report?”
“Out of respect, yes, but you turned over the reins, remember?” Isaac chided.
It was true. Chamuel had passed control of the Tri-State Guardian House to Isaac after reentering the Trinity mission rotation a week ago. His leadership was now limited to his assigned Trinity, while as leader of Tri-State Guardians, Isaac managed the overall security of the region and provided backup to the Trinities.
“I know. Be patient with me. It’s not an easy transition,” Chamuel said, sweeping a hand over his face and moving away from the wall to pace.
“Understood, but to serve in a Trinity is the highest honor for any of us.” Isaac said, spouting off the party line. He paused and then lowered his voice. “Hey, Cham, how’re you holding up? Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Chamuel shifted uncomfortably and cracked his neck. He’d avoided discussing the tragedy with Isaac, or anyone, for decades. “Ready or not, here I come. I can’t hide forever, I,” he said, calling Isaac by his nickname.
Isaac blew out a breath. “Okay, I’ll take that for now. So, tell me again why you rolled out of bed so early to spy on your new charge?”
“Dunno. Bored, maybe.” On the surface, Chamuel had been hit with an unexpected bout of loneliness and couldn’t handle watching the walls close in on him. He’d just moved back to his SoHo loft from the Connecticut headquarters a little over a week ago. Even though he used to routinely stay in Manhattan a couple of days a week, something about giving up his room at Isaac’s Guardian House solidified the change he’d made. He already missed the camaraderie of the Tri-State team and fighting with their cook, Luigi, for control of the kitchen. But Chamuel knew better than that. He sensed the fingers of destiny waving at him.
Hope's Prelude: The Angelorum Twelve Chronicles #2.5 Page 13