As she leaned from side to side to ease the soreness in her lower back, Makeda closed her eyes and thought of her young stallion, the man who filled her thoughts, dreams, soul, and belly with his seed. Solomon. Moonrise after moonrise, she relived the pleasure of his lips on her mouth, neck, breasts, and belly. The blissful memories of his soft caresses helped her to pass the long night rides. Not only had God given him a wise and discerning mind, but also many gifts, not the least of which were his abilities to woo and bed a woman. No other king would ever compare with Solomon. No other man would ever touch her. He was her only love.
I am dark and beautiful, daughters of Jerusalem. Solomon came to me, not you.
On the night water trickled down her leg unbidden, Makeda told Tamrin they could travel no more. She called for the midwife. The gap-toothed woman placed her hands at the baby’s head and dancing feet to estimate the child’s size. Makeda was tall for a woman. However, even the midwife was astounded by the baby’s magnitude.
Her brow furrowed with concern, the midwife spoke in low tones meant for one set of ears. “My queen, I have delivered many babies in my time. Never have I brought one this large into the world in one piece.”
Fear gripped her heart. Thinking she misheard, Makeda clutched the older woman’s thin arm. “What are you saying?”
“I’m sorry, but to save your life, I may need to cut the baby into pieces.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Rage bubbled up in her throat. “Get away from me.” Makeda pushed the woman so hard she fell over backward.
The crone grabbed a tent pole to pull herself to her feet. “Everyone in the caravan agrees, it would be a good thing if the baby did not survive.” Her wheedling tone was not lost on Makeda. “Instead of returning to Aksum in disgrace, you can remain the Virgin Queen. Return with honor and riches from your trip to Israel, instead of hanging your head in shame. Your country needs you. The baby, on the other hand—”
“Is the heir to two kingdoms.” The queen spoke between gritted teeth to keep from screaming. “Get out of here before I have you killed.”
The hag fled the tent. Lucky for her. Makeda always carried a hunting knife at her hip. A moment longer, she would have thrown the blade at the crone’s breast. Did the woman not know betraying her country was punishable by death? Did she truly speak for others? Who among her people plotted to kill her son? Was Tamrin part of this conspiracy? Had his jealousy led to revenge against Solomon’s unborn child or was the crone spewing her own madness? About to give birth, the Queen was vulnerable to attack by loyalists who believed her father’s lies. She looked at the group of women servants huddled outside the royal tent, and wondered if they, too, planned to chop the baby into pieces. She should have accepted Solomon’s offer of a bodyguard from the first born of each tribe of Israel. She hugged her belly. Who among her servants was the most trustworthy?
There was only one who had already risked her life for the Queen of Sheba.
She called Tehetena, the woman who pretended to be queen when she met Solomon. The handmaiden knelt at the Queen’s feet.
Makeda glanced around and whispered the midwife’s threats. “You and I must leave this place. He will not be safe until he is born. You must help me deliver this child. Alone.”
Tehetena bit her lower lip and nodded. “I heard rumors, but never thought the midwife would take part. We can go into the hills, make a camp hidden from the others.”
“I will pretend to sleep. You must gather up food, water, and supplies. We will slip away in the middle of the night.”
The young woman’s lower lip trembled. “The soldiers saw packs of red wolves circling our camp. The risk will be great to us.”
“The risk is greater if we stay here. Some humans are more treacherous than wolves.”
****
The camp slumbered at last. Makeda and Tehetena led the queen’s faithful mare laden with food, water, blankets, and birthing tools taken from the sleeping midwife. The women made their way by the light of the full moon, careful to stay in the shadows, away from the eyes of the guards, away from rocks and hard surfaces that would betray their progress. Frantic to get away from her murderous subjects, Makeda prayed for the strength to keep walking between each cramp that gripped her abdomen.
Lord, give me time, protect my son from those who would harm him, keep him safe.
From the corner of her eye, Makeda saw one low slung shadow running alongside them, keeping pace with them, then another shadow joined the first one, then another, and another. A deep abdominal pain gripped Makeda, stealing her breath.
In a flash, a large wolf leaped up on an outcropping of rock and stared down at her. A shaft of moonlight shone on the red wolf, and Makeda locked gazes with the regal animal. It wasn’t the mother wolf she’d met when she was five, but a descendant of that one. He knew the promise Makeda made and kept throughout her rule—the red wolves were protected, never hunted by her people.
Tehetena gripped the queen’s arm. The whites of her eyes huge in her face, she spoke in a low voice. “The wolves are going to attack us.”
Makeda shook her head, and sweat flew off her brow. “We. Are. Safe.”
The leader locked gazes with Makeda. I will take you to a hiding place.
The abdominal pain receded, and she pointed at the wolf. “Follow him.”
Tehetena’s mouth fell open. “You can speak to wolves?”
The queen merely began to walk in the direction the wolf led them.
“My queen, they are called tricksters for a reason. You cannot trust them.”
Makeda stopped, turned, and regarded her terrified servant. “This was promised to me as a child when I spared the life of a mother and her pups. They will not harm you, nor will they harm me and my baby, unlike our traveling companions. You may follow me, or go back to be tortured at the hands of those who wish to find me.”
Shaking her head, Tehetena followed Makeda and the wolf.
The animal led Makeda over the outcropping, through a cleft and into a large cave. The horse whinnied and ambled to the edge of an underground stream. Four wolves entered and lapped at the fresh water next to the mare. Tehetena unpacked the horse, placed bedding on the rock flooring, and filled the empty water gourds.
An iron grip seized Makeda’s belly, and she doubled over in agony. “He’s coming.”
Tehetena lowered her to the blankets and raised Makeda’s skirt.
“I know little of childbirth, my Queen. I pray my hands do the Lord’s work.”
Makeda pressed down and pushed. Stopped. Panted. “Is the baby here yet?”
“No. But the blood, it’s heavy and bright red. I fear I will lose you.”
“Bring the knife. Cut me open if you must. Save the child.”
Tehetena held the gleaming blade in her hand, tears running down her face. “If I cut you open, I may hurt the child and lose you both.”
“Dear Lord, I beg of you, help me in my hour of need.”
A soundless explosion of light dazzled Makeda.
Tehetena gasped and slid to the floor.
When her vision adjusted to the light, Makeda was ecstatic to see her prayers had been answered. Metatron stood before her, filling the cave with his luminous presence. He stared down his prominent nose with eyes the color of the morning sky. His wings stroked Makeda’s cheeks, and the pain disappeared.
She sighed. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We need to wake up your handmaiden.” He touched Tehetena’s cheek with a wing.
Her eyes fluttered, then opened. “My Lord.”
He shook his head and sparks flew into the stream, sizzling as they hit. “Not your Lord. The Lord’s scribe and messenger.”
Tehetena bowed her head. “What is it you wish me to do?”
He inclined his head toward Makeda. “Catch the baby.”
Tehetena scrambled to the queen’s side, grabbed a silk cloth, and placed it between her thighs. Makeda burst into tears when she saw the ba
by slide out of her body and into Tehetena’s waiting hands.
A multitude of angels in different sizes, colors, and shapes appeared in the grotto and exploded into song. “Kadosh, kadosh, kadosh! Holy, holy, holy, the Lord God is all mighty!”
The wolves joined in howling and yipping with joy.
Tehetena cleaned the child, tied the cord with silk thread, and placed the infant on his mother’s breast. He began to suckle at once. Makeda marveled at his ten fingers and toes, his fat cheeks, perfect thighs, and adorable buttocks. When he raised his head to take in his new world, she gasped. He had his father’s nose and eyes. Truly the Lord and Solomon had given her all she desired.
Metatron’s voice boomed in the cave. “How will he be known?”
The host of angels stopped singing and leaned in. Even the horse and wolves drew near.
Tears blurring her vision, Makeda said, “He is the child of the union of two great nations. He will need to learn to rule with compassion and wisdom. He shall be called Menelik, the son of a wise man.”
Chapter Seventeen
Summertown, Present Day
With PPE piled by her feet, Eliana stood in the cold zone tent and briefed Pearson, Dowling, and Arta on the crime scene techs’ preliminary findings. “It appears the girl struggled with her assailant. I found equipment knocked over and a scalpel covered in blood in the hallway leading out the back door.” She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t understand why he’s going after humans now. Humans aren’t resistant to radiation sickness, they can’t tolerate his offspring’s energy.”
Dowling broke his silence. “She’s not human.”
Eliana stared at the hospital CEO. “You told us Janie was Mayor Schaeffer’s daughter.”
“Legally, yes—biologically, no. Winifred Adalwolf was pregnant with her first litter when her husband died in a car crash. The stress combined with a congenital heart condition—well—doctors told her if her heart gave out, she’d lose all the babies. She needed a thallium scan, signed a waiver. Did the test. Lost two pups. Janie’s the sole survivor. Schaeffer married Winifred when Janie was a baby and adopted her.”
So Shifty Schaeffer wasn’t all bad.
She revised her opinion of the pompous politician.
Dowling raised an eyebrow. “Of course, it didn’t hurt that Winifred had millions of dollars and he needed money for his mayoral bid.”
On second thought.
“What the hell’s going on? Where’s my daughter?”
Speak of the devil.
Mayor Schaeffer huffed and puffed and his face oozed sweat—and fear.
The reason for his terror trailed five steps behind him. Between sobs, Winifred Schaeffer squeezed Eliana’s arm. “Please. I beg of you. Janie’s my only child. That monster already killed two other girls.”
“The police are working the scene now, Mrs. Schaeffer.”
The older woman clutched her chest. “I can’t bear to lose another child. Can’t you do something?”
She exchanged glances with Arta. He gave her a small nod. Okay, he was game. “I don’t want to make any promises, but we might be able to track him.” She paused. “Is it true Janie was exposed to radioactive thallium in utero?”
The large woman’s bosom heaved. “Yes.” She dabbed at her eyes with a fist full of tissues. “A heart blockage. I needed a stent or I was going to die. What does this have to do with Janie?”
“She may be immune to some forms of radiation, which will protect her. If we had an idea of who we were looking for, that would give us a better idea of where to start.”
Winifred looked surprised. “Didn’t Lowell give you my message?”
Eliana shook her head.
“My women went house to house, business to business, conducting a town census, just like you asked. A few missing men were accounted for by their families. Out of town, on business trips, whatever.” She took a deep breath and dabbed her eyes. “There was one we couldn’t track down, and no one has seen for over a week. I left a message with Cousin Lowell that we needed to find out where he is. After all, he’s Lowell’s employee.”
Eliana held her breath. “Who’s missing?”
The mayor’s wife shook her head. “I hate to point fingers. He’s always been a loner. Reclusive, doesn’t like people much. He may be off in the vineyards, doing his thing.”
She bit her tongue to keep from screaming. “Who?”
“The winemaker from Livonia. Old Thiess. We can’t find him anywhere.”
Eliana grabbed her PPE and opened a storage locker.
“Arta, grab one of these. We’re going hunting.”
In the last place she wanted to be. The tunnels beneath the winery.
****
Government sedan packed to the hilt with every possible piece of survival gear she could grab along the way to the car, Eliana stood with her hand on the driver’s door and stared at Arta’s contributions.
“What are the book and the bottle for?”
“If Old Thiess is possessed, these will help to drive the jinni out.” He re-wrapped the book and a white kufi in tissue and returned the bottle to its bubble wrap. “The Koran, the prayer cap, and the olive oil, all blessed by Imam Abdal and ten other holy men.” He placed the items in a foam padded camera case. “For good measure, I packed them in a lead-lined container.”
“This jinni discovered a way to harness radiation. I’m not sure prayers and sacred objects will work against him.”
“Who said religion and science can’t work with each other? In my practice, I’ve dealt with many strange experiences. You know as well as I do there are things we can’t explain that people attribute to the power of prayer. Visions, miracles, impossible cures of deadly diseases. You believe in physics. I believe in medicine. Let’s not rule out the power of prayer—in any form.”
Eliana shook her head and stared at the ground. “Prayers didn’t save my mother.”
He grabbed her hand with his free one. Warmth rushed up her arm and exploded in her face. She locked gazes with him.
“Your mother’s prayers saved you. Never forget that.”
“But—”
“She died of cancer. Have you ever been so sick you were hospitalized?”
Her head spun and she tried to pull out of his grasp. “No, but—”
“Do you think that was a coincidence? Your mother dies of an acute form of cancer, so rare the doctors think she works with radiation. You, on the other hand experience no ill effects from that night. How is that possible?”
Lip trembling, she stared at the ground, certain she couldn’t speak without bursting into tears. That night, a fire that didn’t consume filled her. Except for the marks and the burning sensations, mildly annoying at best, excruciating at worst, her legacy from the confrontation with the jinni as a child was minimal. Her mother swore her to secrecy. She’d told no one, not even her father. Could she trust Arta? He was a psychiatrist. Would he think she was crazy?
She lifted her gaze to his. “I wasn’t unharmed.”
“What did he do to you?”
Sliding her sleeves up, Eliana revealed her inner arms. Raised serpentine scars, one black, one white, twisted in double helices like three-dimensional tattoos on her café au lait skin.
“I tried laser removal. They came back.”
Arta traced the twin snakes with a gentle fingertip.
Her promise to her mother to remain a virgin until marriage was to protect Eliana from unwanted scrutiny and challenging questions about her scars. Now she was exposed, her secret revealed. His touch sent shockwaves through her core, making her wish she never made that promise to her dying mother. She pulled her arm away and lowered her sleeves. She broke one promise. What was one more? Time to let him know the rest.
“When I’m near a jinni, my skin feels as if I’m being eaten alive by a million fire ants. The closer I get, the hotter I burn. My mother told me to never tell anyone about those sensations, to run away when I felt the stinging. I use it
as my secret weapon to find evil jinnis to avenge her death.”
Arta blew out a long breath. “You’re in greater danger than I thought.”
“How could things be any worse for me than they are?”
He lifted her hand, pushed up a sleeve, and pointed to her scars.
“This jinni doesn’t want those girls. They’re bait. He wants you.”
****
Eliana’s expression shifted from grief to stoicism, a bravado Arta didn’t share. For some reason, this jinni had branded Eliana as his when she was a child. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he wondered if the jinni was after Eliana that night, not her mother. The mother was an impediment, of that he was certain. Without her protection, the child would have been another missing person, ripped from this dimension into a parallel one, abducted to be the ‘Ifrit’s bride. Her mother’s prayers protected Eliana for a lifetime—until she made it her life’s mission to be a jinni hunter. Here they were, moths to the flame of a manipulative ‘Ifrit. His fingers itched to turn into claws and rip the creature apart. “You must leave. Get as far away from here as you can. This one belongs to me.”
“No way, Arta. He’s mine. He killed my mother, branded me with his disgusting snakes, and, as you say, baited me. This is my fight, not yours.”
“Don’t be stubborn. This is your life we’re talking about.”
“You’ve got what, some relics and a prayer? Science and my internal jinni radar are my weapons.”
In exasperation he shouted, “I don’t want another incident like the one in Arizona.”
She flung the car door open. “You left me for dead and disappeared, so now you think it’s better for me to be a coward? To run away while you take this…this…shaytan on by yourself?”
“Satan would be a walk in the park compared to this guy. The ‘Ifrit possessing Old Thiess is more powerful than any I’ve ever dealt with before. The one in Arizona showed up again in Chevy Chase. He wasn’t dead. He came back to give me a message after he tortured a teenaged girl for months.” He tried to pull her away from the car, but she shrugged him off. “Dammit, Eliana, listen to me. Old Thiess is the body he’s taken over. We don’t know his name.”
Kiss of the Virgin Queen Page 17