* * * * *
Stella Rosin liked certainty. You'd think that would make her fairly ill-suited as a hunter, but you'd be wrong. If you make it a point to face off against a Hollow, you'd better be damn certain you can take it down before it gets to you.
Doesn't guarantee that you can, of course, but it sure helps.
Stella was certain of a few things at the moment. For the first time in several days, things were going her way. Her payload―all five obnoxious units―was accounted for, and according to her calculations, the helicopter would be arriving in about fifteen minutes. She was also certain that those fifteen minutes could not pass quickly enough.
Stella glanced sourly to her right, where all of Khan's presence was crammed into the passenger seat. The rain had picked up again, forcing the Vessel to pile back into the formerly sane haven of the ambulance, bringing with them the faint smell of hot sauce and something like wet dog. One of them was currently snoring like a jackhammer, and Abe was spouting off classified Luna Latum information―much to the Vessels' welcome distraction, and much to Stella's overworked chagrin. It was not in the best interest of her career to overhear such things. She found herself staring at the sky through the windshield with manic hope, willing the absent helicopter into sight.
Fifteen more minutes, she reminded herself, and she would have peace. No more Abe. No more of this insulting babysitting nonsense. No more wild chases or uncontained explosions. No more uncertainty.
And no more singing.
I could have told Stella that he was just nervous. When dogs are nervous, they run in circles. When hamsters are nervous, they eat their young. When Jesse Cannon is nervous, he sings.
Or when he's bored. Or excited. Or drunk or horny or sad.
Jesse was nervous because the runaway U-Haul had been surrounded and disabled. Stella's colleagues had informed her of this development well over twenty minutes ago, and so far there had been no report of "collateral damage―a fancy term for dead celebrity assistants. In fact, there had been no report at all. Which meant that Jesse had been passionately humming "Stormy Weather" for an intolerable length of time, despite Stella's reminders that the hunters were busy assuring my safety, and that they would be in touch again when the incident was over.
In the meantime, Abe had steered his lectures toward the Elysium, a subject of immediate interest to the Vessel, since a helicopter was evidently on its way to take them there. According to Abe, the Elysium was precisely what Corin had defined it as: the resting place of gods. Apparently, it was also prime real estate. And the place where Abe just so happened to work.
"Does it have a pool?" Jesse stopped singing long enough to ask.
The Elysium was, in fact, an island. A lush dot on the map which had remained in Luna Latum possession ever since they claimed it at the onset of the thirteenth century. The idea, even back then, was to shape it into a glorious haven for the Vessel. A sort of luxurious, pre-destiny waiting room for their mighty gods. Something really classy.
Except the Luna Latum had jumped the gun a little on the planning and implementation bit. Construction on Elysium's main complex was officially complete in 1562, if I have my history right. The four centuries of stewardship that followed meant that something had to be done to pass the time, leading to an unrecordable number of renovations and additions. Updated facades. Complimenting structures. Laboratories and training facilities built and rebuilt with evolving technology. Breathtakingly beautiful gardens. Intricate murals. Water slides.
"It has twelve pools, not counting the ones in the study facilities," Abe replied from memory. He nodded in Corin's direction. "Three of them are in your room."
Corin's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. He was undeniably pleased by this.
"A bar?" Jesse ventured.
"A few of them."
"A disco floor?"
"A proper disco floor could be arranged, I'm sure."
When Jesse opened his mouth to ask what would have certainly been another frivolous question, he was sharply interrupted by the chorus of "It's Raining Men" coming from his own pocket, an event which surprised absolutely no one at all.
Panic pulled his eyes wide open. Margot had no doubt heard about the bus by now, and must be out of her mind with worry, fury, and financial rage. Jesse struggled to remember what he'd been directed to tell her as he wrestled the phone from its tight denim prison. But one look at the slender screen cancelled his worry. He breathed a short sigh of relief.
"Unknown caller," he announced.
"Don't answer that," Corin and Stella commanded sternly at the exact same time.
Jesse nodded obediently while contradictorily lifting the ringing phone to his ear, two things he was hardwired to do. Corin, Ghi, and Abe stared at him without breathing. Stella's eyes bore into him from the rear view mirror. Martha Wash wailed and wailed.
The pressure was too much. Jesse caved. He accepted the call and opened his mouth.
"Hel―"
Vessel, Book I: The Advent Page 53