Over her shoulder, she cast Markus a glance. And was bewildered to see the tall albino standing in the background. Markus rotated toward him before a swarm of bodies hid them from view.
Once separated from Markus, Thrill’s rigid frame slackened. “That Mark guy rubs me the wrong way. Something about him is fishy.”
“Mark’s a good guy. You don’t have to be worried about him.”
“And that’s another thing that pisses me off. You keep telling me he’s a good guy.” He scowled. “I see the way you look at him, as if he’s a gift from God or something.”
He is a gift from God. “Forget about Mark, okay? She brushed his remarks aside. “Let’s have a good time.”
“Easy for you to say. I’ll be leaving tomorrow, and that butt-kiss might still be sniffing around,” Thrill growled with an edge of disdain. “I really wish you’d come back to Elma.”
“Actually, I have the same kind of problem with you and Paisley.”
“Paisley’s just goading you,” he argued, dismissing her allegations.
“I think it’s more than that.”
“Like you said.” His chest deflated, sniffing and running a hand beneath his nose. “Let’s have a good time.” Unpredictably, his hands cupped either side of Jordan’s face and pressed his lips to her mouth.
He kissed her oblivious to onlookers.
WORTHLESS IS HUMAN HELP
“OKAY, MARKUS,” JORDAN said while crossing over the intersection of Pearl and Bailey on their route to Washington and Ellicott. “What was that all about yesterday?” Matching Markus’s stride for stride, she kept pace.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You sound pretty unsure of that. But I’m not talking about your bizarre war of words with Thrill. Who’s the albino guy? And why’d you show up at the concert?”
“Aren’t you forgetting?” he asked in a mellow tone. “You’re kind of like my assignment.”
“That I know, but it was just an everyday concert. No need for protection.”
“You left out your meeting with Camille.”
“So that’s it.” She flicked her braid over her shoulder. “And I thought you wanted to hang with me.” Emitting a flirty smirk, she’d missed being with him this way. Not that she looked for danger, but he only seemed to come around when trouble was brewing.
“I’m always around, you know that.” His hand scoured over his whiskered jaw, appearing distant, as if his mind was elsewhere.
“Are you avoiding my question?”
“What question?” Markus asked, not looking at her, as if he wasn’t ready to furnish information.
“The albino? You’re putting me off, right?”
“Now is not the time.”
Nearing the nine o’clock hour, dwindling sunlight shadowed the city, and dankness whiffing from the subway spread an unholy odor. Jordan ran a finger under her nose to block the indecent bouquet of scents.
“Okay, let’s discuss what’s going to happen to…” Jordan was interrupted by a gaggle of girls admiring her walking partner. “We have company.”
“Where?”
“Girls seem to be following us, or rather you.” She ticked her head sideways at the giggling females.
In a fluid motion, Markus spun. The girls stopped dead, eyes popping. He unleashed one of his charismatic smiles.
“Hello, ladies.”
Jordan regarded the swooning girls; older than she’d originally thought, and wondered why he’d even bothered with them.
“Hi,” purred one of the girls, taking the initiative. “Where’s a good place to party tonight?”
“How old are you ladies?” Markus asked.
“Twenty-one,” said an indignant girl. “Why? Too young or too old?”
“Just right.”
Jordan didn’t believe her ears. Is Markus flirting? Then a provocative, statuesque female, looking like a runway model, slipped her arms around him. “What’s a guy like you doing with this,” She tilted her chin at Jordan, “girl, when you can have us?”
The women, four in all, surrounded him like ivy on brick.
“Tempting ladies, very tempting.”
“He’s underage,” Jordan lambasted, having her fill of the exhibition.
“Really?” The striking model pursed her pouty lips, gazing at him. “You look more than old enough to satisfy us.”
“Markus, we’ll be late,” Jordan snapped. “C’mon, stop fooling around.”
“Thanks ladies. But the boss has spoken.” He stepped from their arms. “I’ll catch up to you all later.”
“Promise?” The model raised a hand and skimmed his cheekbone. “We’re heading to the Louvre, the bar on Tupper.” Sashaying seductively, and regarding Jordan with skewed eyebrows, the four ladies clickety-clacked on stiletto heels along the sidewalk, gaining Markus’s approval.
Jordan punched him in the chest. “What’s gotten into you?”
“There’s nothing wrong with admiring God’s creations.”
“Are you high or something? You don’t act like that. Never. Ever.”
“Jealous?”
“No, Markus.” Jordan didn’t know what she was, except she didn’t like how he was acting. “We have to hurry or Ron— I mean Camille will think we’re not coming.”
Donning a facade of impassiveness, Markus morphed into all business. He took off at a trot, which left Jordan baffled. They reached Washington and Ellicott by half past nine. No Camille.
“We couldn’t have missed her,” Jordan said, regaining her breath. Canvassing the vicinity, she hunted for a hooded figure.
High-rises stretched over the city streets, sketching broad shadows as evening invaded the vast skyline, dulling the avenues. Streetlights buzzed to life and golden hues attacked the grayness.
A few car lengths along the curb, a person exited a vehicle, disguised beneath a wide brimmed hood.
“I don’t like to wait.” Camille said. “Get in.” Gripping the handle, she swung open the back door for Jordan and Markus.
“Where we going?” Jordan inquired.
Camille slipped behind the steering wheel. “Don’t ask any questions.” She pushed the hood off her head, and it folded like an accordion around her neck. The periodic clicking of the blinker sounded loud in the quiet car. After navigating the turn, she said, “Did your mom mention a woman recently claiming to be her friend from high school?”
Mulling over Camille’s question, Jordan replied, “Yes. My mom says she’s laughable, not really a school friend.”
Camille nodded. “Is that your phone, Jordan?”
The ringtone was hardly audible. Jordan shoved her hand into her pocket, retrieving the cell and answered.
“What?” Jordan said into the phone. “Why’d you let her go?” Listening, her breathing quickened, then disconnecting the call and filled with anxiety, she peered at Markus. “Mom’s missing.”
“Missing?” His head tilted and closed his eyes as if contemplating.
“Camille, turn the car around.” Jordan’s heart raced. “I have to go home.”
“Jordan.” Markus put a solacing hand on her thigh. “Was it Declan who called?”
“Declan said mom was starting to act strange again. Pacing and wringing her hands. He suggested they go and see Father Chesterton right away. Of course, Ezekiel showed and said he’d take her because Declan could get hurt. Then the doorbell rang, and in strolled . . .” Jordan had the name on the tip of her tongue.
YOU LED US INTO A SNARE
YOU KNEW!” JORDAN accused Camille. “The lady that took my mom?”
“Mariah,” Camille specified. “I kinda figured that.”
“Seeley went with Mariah without resistance,” Markus said, his voice an irksome validation to what Declan had just explained to her over the phone. “Unimpeded, rebuffing Ezekiel and Declan. Am I correct?”
“Yes, that’s what Declan said.” Jordan stared at him in awe. “How did you know?”
“Ezekiel admo
nished Mariah.” Markus briefly rolled in his lips before proceeding. “And, he exposed himself as an angel, even then, Seeley refused to listen to him.”
“Right again.” Jordan hated these mind games. “Get to the point.”
“Free will.” His gaze locked onto hers. “Ezekiel can’t make Seeley go against her will.”
“That’s ludicrous,” she said, striving for composure. “Why would Mom leave with this stranger instead of Ezekiel or Declan?” Her previous vision flashed into her brain.
‘She went willingly,’ Ezekiel had said. ‘I can’t help her.’
“Hah,” said Camille with an uncouth snort. “Seeley seems to be cooperating with Mariah and giving her guardian a hard time.”
A nameless horror clawed at Jordan’s throat. “What’s going on, Camille?”
“Why don’t you ask Mark? He seems to have all the answers.”
“I’m asking you.”
Camille shifted on the seat as she made a turn. “I can supply you with the little I know.” She peered at them in the rearview mirror. “Since Asa’s death, The Order’s hierarchy has been crumbling. Asa was the power, the reigning ruler. From what I’ve seen and heard, there’s anarchy and billions of dollars are at stake. Mystics are in the process of choosing a new leader. I guess choosing is the wrong word,” she said. “More like seeking guidance from our lord and master for a prime selection. And from what I’d heard, Mariah is in contention.” She snickered under her breath, as if she held a secret.
“You make me puke.” Jordan’s fists tightened, knuckles bone white. “Lord and master. Bah!” Cuffing a fist on the headrest, her attempts to ease pent-up anger wasn’t working. “Walk away from the Order. Come back to Elma and be normal.”
“That will never happen.” Camille touched the side of her mutated mouth and released a jagged breath. “Ronan’s dead and buried.”
Jordan deduced from the girl’s smothered cry, and the manner in which she was grasping the steering wheel, that her survival after the fire hadn’t been rosy. With difficultly, Jordan swallowed her stinging tears of frustration and glanced at Markus. Hard as rock, his emotions well in check.
Do not soften, stay with the program, and focus on the essentials.
“Are you saying.” her voice cracked. “This Mariah might rule The Order, and my mom willingly went with her?”
“Sounds that way.” Camille braked, sending the occupants forward. “But it’s not official. Candidates have been dropping like flies. The one who makes it out alive is the most influential and effective leader. Right now, there are two aspiring sorcerers.” The car turned into an alleyway dimly lit by a lone streetlamp. She zigzagged around a dumpster and parallel parked alongside a brick building.
They slid from the vehicle and came face to face with the angel, Ezekiel.
“You know?” Ezekiel said, Severe gray eyes raked over Jordan and Markus. “I physically held onto her arms. I could’ve stopped her.” A fusion of grief and fury sped over his unimpeachable face. “She actually swore and nearly broke my leg with a kick.”
“Mom did that?”
“And there was something in her eyes. Something . . . I can’t quite figure out. It’s like she knew what she was doing and wanted to create a scene. And, it doesn’t make sense.” Lowering his chin, he streaked his hands over his face. “Where are you two going with Camille?”
“See?” Camille said, with a flip of her hand. “This angel knows my true name.”
“I’ve heard,” said Ezekiel. “Ronan’s dead.”
Camille actually had the effrontery to blush under Zeke’s demeaning gaze.
“Where are you taking them?” he repeated.
Clearing her throat, Camille muttered, “Ah-h . . . umm…we’re helping Seeley.”
“Really?” Ezekiel seemed to be one step short from visibly getting in her face. “I’ve heard that before. May I join you?”
Camille blinked in rapid succession, thoroughly off-kilter with Ezekiel’s presence. The angel had had Jordan’s knee’s knocking on more than one occasion.
Moving her head from side to side and working her deformed mouth into a tizzy, Camille said, “Sure. This way.”
Without touching the door, Camille whisked her hand over a shiny knob. After the sound of a lock unbolting, the knob turned of its own accord. Producing a squeal, the iron door opened to reveal a lucent silver and gold staircase. As they headed up the flight of stairs Jordan wondered where the light was coming from.
Camille came to a second doorway, and there, in a foreign language she whispered. The door creaked opened to the sound of pleasing symphonic strings.
Shocked at the opulence, Jordan inspected the spacious deco apartment. Structural beams made of fluorescent glass shimmered creating a rainbow effect. Tracks of reedy neon tubes snaked over the high ceiling in an interwoven tumble of yellow, red, and blue. Suspended over the walls and patches of the ceiling like draping sails, sheer fabric billowed. As they stepped farther into the room, several huge aquariums were embedded in the maroon slate flooring. Catching snippets of large fish, Jordan could have sworn a baby shark swam amongst the school.
A lone figure lounged on a lavish circular sofa plied with bright, overstuffed pillows.
Camille came to a standstill. Ezekiel and Markus marched in and halted. Parting their legs and arranging their knuckles on their hips, the angels appeared quite ominous in formation.
Unhurriedly, the figure stretched like a waking lion. Getting to his feet, the man turned toward his guests. His jaw jutted at a peculiar angle, and Jordan couldn’t believe her eyes.
Grogan.
“It’s you,” Jordan stated in disbelief. “You tried to kill me, and now you’re offering to . . . to . . .”
Grogan held up a hand. “I never intended to kill you, per say. Only to inflict a little damage. I was negligent in my calculations, as Camille has contended. The tables have turned in my favor.” He regarded the angels as he bent over a table. “Mariah has nothing over me. And I will be the sure victor.”
The base of the table was constructed of sparkling rose quartz and appeared to have a magical spotlight in the center to highlight the stone through a glass pinnacle. He tipped a crystal goblet to his mouth and drank the red liquid. Then the goblet automatically replenished itself. “Sorry, my throat has been parched as of late.” With the goblet in hand, he nodded at Camille. “My student far exceeds any person I’ve ever encountered. No wonder Asa was fascinated with such a discovery.”
Grogan had reformed from a pesky ghost migrating through walls, to this affluent-looking person standing before them in a silky robe. Jordan half expected a swamp of beasts to come rampaging into the luxurious apartment, or from his mouth.
Ezekiel and Markus looked more than cantankerous. Why aren’t they saying anything? Then she recalled that it wasn’t an angel’s job to infringe with humanity. They interfere only when it’s unavoidable.
“Let’s get to the point of the matter,” she said. Pantomiming the angels, she knuckled her hands on her hips. “How do you expect to help? I need to find the root of the hex that’s killing my mom.”
“For such a petite girl, you have guts.” Grogan kept his gaze on the angels. “It helps to have heavenly strength on your side. You have sealed a covenant.” He now slid his gaze to Jordan as his silk robe fluttered at his ankles as he walked. “The white warrior must adhere to the precepts of The Order, now.”
“U-hum…Grogan?” Camille amended. “Me. She must adhere to me. I made the blood covenant with Jordan.”
“Camille, you are a member of The Order.” The sorcerer talked with his hands, spreading his arms. “We abide by all covenants.”
After Grogan’s remark, an unhappy Ezekiel looked in Markus’s direction. And Markus was keeping his eyes on Grogan.
“I’ve struck a dissonant chord with our winged creatures,” the sorcerer said, tendering them a sly grin. Average in stature, the barrel-chested Grogan stepped within a yard of Zeke. “It
appears that our dear Ezekiel has been ill-informed on our subterfuge.”
“What subterfuge?” Jordan said, now drumming a fist on her hip. “Camille said you could help free Seeley from the enchantment that someone cast over her.”
“We all know,” Grogan braced his hands behind his back, “the spell isn’t upon Seeley.” He turned on the balls of his feet toward the sofa, appearing somewhat superior. “The infant is protected by Seeley’s body. A mother host. And what mother wouldn’t give her life for her child?” Grogan smiled, increasing the grooves along his cheeks. “What a perfect, deviant design. I’m a genius.”
“You’re the spell caster?” Markus’s nostrils flared.
“I didn’t say that.” Grogan waved his arm at the overstuffed sofa. “Why don’t we all relax? Take a load off.”
Camille skipped like a kid, plopping, and sinking into the cushions. “I thought you’d never ask.” She saddled her hands behind her head, toed off her sneakers, dropped them on the floor, and raised her legs onto a pillow.
“Such an insolent child,” he said, eye’s glimmering with affection. “She will be my first in command. Camille, show them a sample of your talent.”
It felt like a lasso had bound her ankles as Jordan was pulled off her feet. Hanging upside down in mid-air, it took her a fraction of a second to latch onto Camille’s sneakers with her telekinesis. She whipped the pair at the girl’s head.
Camille lost her focal point, and Jordan plummeted to the floor. Markus extended his arms, catching her easily. After depositing her safely on her feet, Markus remained close to her back.
“Stop these childish games,” Ezekiel said with a scowl. “Grogan, get down to business.”
A spark kindled in the sorcerer’s eyes as he peered at Jordan with new interest. “My, my. I didn’t realize the girl had that much talent.”
Suddenly, a spasm twisted Jordan’s innards like a rubber band. Circling her arms around her waist and lurching forward, she couldn’t breathe. Starbursts ignited behind her eyes.
“Jordan, what’s wrong?” Markus gripped her shoulders.
Wickedly They Dream Page 17