by R. D. Brady
The
Belial
Origins
A Belial Series Novel
R.D. Brady
Scottish Seoul Publishing
Copyright © 2015 by R.D. Brady
The Belial Origins
Published by Scottish Seoul Publishing, LLC, Dewitt, NY
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
Printed in the United States of America.
So God created mankind in his own image,
in the image of God he created them;
male and female he created them.
(Genesis 1:27)
The Lord God fashioned into a woman the rib
which He had taken from the man,
and brought her to the man.
(Genesis 2:22)
PROLOGUE
Forty-Eight Years Ago
Springfield, Illinois
The images swirled through her mind: violence, despair, and death. Twelve-year-old Emma Riley sat straight up in bed, grasping for something in the empty air.
“Em?” her sister Vicki, age fourteen, asked from the other bed. “You okay?”
Emma’s eyes flew open, staring in shock at her room. Her favorite puppy picture was on the wall. Her side of the room was painted pink, her sister’s in purple.
It’s my room, she told herself. I live here. But her pounding heart was taking a while to convince, still feeling the effects of the latest nightmare.
“Em?” Vicki asked again.
“I’m okay.” Emma sat up, leaning against the headboard as her breaths came out in pants. She glanced over at her sister. They shared the same bright red hair and blue eyes, although Emma’s were so dark they were almost purple. And even though they were fourteen months apart, people often mistook them for twins.
Vicki hesitated for only a moment before climbing out of her bed and into Emma’s. She put her arms around her sister. “They’re only dreams,” she said softly.
Emma nodded into her sister’s shoulder, but the fear and horror of the dreams wouldn’t let go. She was in a city that was burning. And she and a friend, a tall man who couldn’t speak, were trapped by a group of men.
Vicki kept her arms wrapped around Emma’s shoulders. “Hey. There’s no unhappiness today. Today is party day!” She wiggled in bed, her movements forcing Emma to wiggle as well. Then she crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue.
Emma laughed, her sister’s antics pushing away the darkness in her chest. “Please tell me you’re not going to do that in front of my friends.”
“Oh, I am so going to do that.” Vicki hopped off the bed. “I’m also going to do my signature moves.”
Vicki thrust out a hip and kicked out the opposite leg while throwing her hands in the air. Her ringlet hair flew in every direction as she moved. She looked like she was having a seizure.
A laugh burst from Emma. “Please, please, I beg of you. Not the signature dance moves. They all know we’re related. I’ll never survive the embarrassment.”
Vicki flopped back down on her bed. “Well, as my birthday gift to you, I will refrain from my incredible moves.”
Emma grinned, not for the first time grateful that she had Vicki for a sister. All her friends who had sisters complained about them all the time. But not Emma' Vicki was her best friend. They were attached at the hip and had been since Emma was born.
Vicki stood up again, her blue eyes shining. Then she reached down and pulled on Emma’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get dressed and get this party on the road!”
That night, when Emma fell back into bed again, she was exhausted. Exhausted and happy. Her mom and sister had outdone themselves decorating the yard. Balloons and streamers had been everywhere. Her dad had even hired a band and set up a giant tent.
And Chris Rosen had asked her to dance—twice. She hugged her pillow to her and wiggled with excitement. This was without a doubt the best birthday of her life.
When she closed her eyes, happiness settled warmly in her chest, and she drifted off to sleep.
The sun was barely up when her eyes popped open. She stared at the ceiling. No. No. It can’t be true.
But deep in her heart, she knew it was.
One bed over, Vicki murmured and rolled over in her sleep. Emma watched her sister, her heart aching. I can’t do this. I can’t leave Vicki.
But she remembered all the times she had avoided the call - and all the deaths that had followed.
Shaking, she climbed out of bed and quietly packed some clothes in her backpack. She pulled her stuffed bunny from the bed. She’d had him since she was two' she couldn’t leave him behind. She stuffed him in the bag, but kept his face out as she zipped it up.
After placing her bag quietly in the hall, she walked over to her sister’s bed and knelt down. “Thank you for being my sister. I will never forget you,” she whispered, then placed a trembling kiss on Vicki’s cheek.
She watched her sister sleep, memorizing her face, then fled from the room before the sobs burst from her chest. Grabbing her bag, she crept down the hall, pausing by her parents’ door. They were both still sleeping.
She wanted to run in there, hop in between them, and tell them everything. They would tell her that these were just dreams. They would tell her that everything would be all right. They’d tell her she didn’t have to do this—that it was their job to be the adults and hers to be the kid.
But she knew the truth. Her childhood was over.
Her legs shook as she made her way down the stairs.
Her golden retriever Rex sat at the bottom of the stairs wagging his tail. As Emma looked into his big brown eyes, she nearly lost it then and there. She sank down next to him and buried her head in his fur, throwing her arms around his neck.
“I’m going to miss you so much,” she said, glad she could say the words out loud. Rex couldn’t make it up the stairs anymore because of his hips. Emma usually slept downstairs a few nights a week to keep him company.
Finally pulling away, Emma stood, walked to the back door, and opened it.
Rex looked at her and sat instead of running outside.
“Come on, Rex. This is hard enough. Go.”
He hesitated before nature overrode his concern.
She watched him make his way slowly down the steps. Then she walked to the counter and pulled over the phone message pad. She pulled off a sheet of paper and wrote:
I love you all. But it’s time for me to leave. Don’t look for me. You won’t find me. I’m not hurt. No one is making me leave. I made this choice a long time ago.
She paused, knowing they wouldn’t understand that last line. Then she added:
I love you so much. Believe that.
Love, Emma
A whine sounded from behind her. Rex stared at her through the screen, his tail wagging. She opened the door and let him in. She wanted more than anything to take him with her, but at age fifteen, he was having trouble walking. He would slow her down, and she needed to move fast.
She sat down, and Rex immediately sat next to her, placing his paw on her thigh. She rubbed behind his ears. “They don’t give you enough credit, do they? You know something’s up.”
Emma glanced at the clock. She was taking too long, and this was just making it harder. With a shuddering breath, she trailed one finger between Rex’s eyes, “Sleep, my friend.”
Rex’s eyes immediately closed and his legs gave out. Emma caught him and gently lowered him to the ground. She rubbed his belly. “I’ll miss you, too, Rex.”
Then s
he stood, swiped at the tears that ran down her cheeks, and slung her backpack over her shoulders, pulling the straps tight. Without looking back, she strode to the front door, pulled it open, slipped outside, and quietly pulled it shut behind her.
Not giving herself time to think, she ran to the side of the garage and grabbed her bike. She pedaled furiously out of the drive and didn’t slow down until she was eight blocks away, at the pay phone next to the fruit stand. Hopping from the bike, she picked up the receiver and rang the operator. “Collect call,” she said when the operator answered.
She rattled off the number and then waited while the phone rang.
A man picked up, his voice gruff. It was two hours earlier in California.
“Collect call from Lazarus. Do you accept the charges?”
“Uh…” The man paused, obviously shocked. But he recovered quickly. “Yes. Yes. Of course.”
“Thank you,” the operator said before clicking off.
“Mr. Draper,” Emma said.
“Um, yes. Miss Smith?”
Emma let out a breath. He remembered. She had chosen him because she had been assured he would, even years later. But still, it was always a gamble. Of course, if he hadn’t remembered, she had other numbers and other people who were paid well to remember her when she called. “Yes. I’ll need transportation immediately, as well as IDs.”
“Where are you?”
“Springfield, Illinois.” She rattled off the address.
“Give me the number of the phone you’re at.”
She did.
“Give me five minutes.” He hung up.
Emma paced by the phone. Time seemed to crawl by. She kept expecting her parents to roar into the parking lot and demand to know what was going on.
“Come on,” she urged, staring at the phone. Finally it rang. She snatched it up. “Yes?”
“I have a car on the way to you. It’ll be there in ten minutes. It’ll take you to an airfield. I’ve chartered a plane, and it will be waiting for you.”
Emma nodded. If he was surprised that a young girl was calling, he didn’t let it show. He was as good as she had hoped. Of course, for the amount of money he was being paid, he should be.
“Good,” she said. “I’ll give the pilot directions when I’m on board. I’ll also need some spending cash. About five thousand should be good for now, until I get to a bank. And I’ll need credit cards.”
“Yes, ma’am. And the name for the new IDs and cards?”
Emma hesitated, picturing her sister doing her goofy dance. An ache pierced through her, threatening to drop her to the ground.
“Victoria,” she said softly. “My name is Victoria.”
CHAPTER 1
One week ago
Beverly Hills, California
Gerard Thompson stood in front of Elisabeta Roccori’s desk. They were in the office of her Beverly Hills home. White baroque furniture dominated the room, blending in nicely with the pale carpet and pale walls. Gerard knew that the color of the walls and carpet was not actually white, but a color called Falling Snow. Elisabeta would never go for something as common as white.
French doors to the right provided a view of the pool that had been inspired by Elisabeta’s Venetian home. Gerard was careful to stand to the side of the doors so as not to obstruct the view.
He had just finished reporting on the condition of the Fallen who’d been injured by Jorgen Fuld. The man was healing, but at a normal rate—a human rate.
The thought of it still chilled him. What could possibly do that? They were Fallen: impossibly strong, agile, and able to heal wounds that would kill a mortal man in mere minutes. And yet somehow the wounds inflicted by Fuld were immune to their healing.
Gerard had never thought it possible. And he didn’t like the lickings of fear that stirred in him. He was used to creating that fear in others. Feeling it himself was not something he planned on getting used to.
He watched Elisabeta leaf through the financial reports of one of her holdings. Her head was bent, dipped in shadows, making her olive-toned skin, a gift of her Greek heritage, even darker.
Elisabeta was the heir to the Hindland Corporation and was on the board of over a dozen Fortune 500 companies. But her long line of titles and business accomplishments paled in comparison to her most important and most unknown title: Samyaza, head of the Fallen angels.
She appeared to be the consummate businesswoman—confident and in control. She made notes in the margin of the paper, acting as if Gerard’s report on their brother hadn’t rattled her.
But Gerard had seen the fear slash across her face when they had confronted Fuld yesterday. Elisabeta had recognized him immediately, and had ordered all of them out—while keeping her distance from the man. She knew who he was—what he was. And she was scared.
Elisabeta glanced up, raising an eyebrow above her dark eyes. “Is there something else?”
Her dark hair was pulled back in a chignon, which only seemed to accentuate the smallness of her eyes. But those eyes held a world of knowledge—an eternity, really—and absolutely no softness.
Gerard hesitated. There was one other bit of information he had picked up, but he wondered if he should even mention it. It hadn’t been completely vetted yet. He glanced at Elisabeta. Not for the first time her eyes reminded him of a crocodile’s. No compassion, no feelings—just pure predator. He didn’t like to think, though, what would happen if he kept the information to himself and later learned that it was important.
“There may be,” he said.
Elisabeta waved impatiently for him to get on with it.
“In Egypt, in Saqqara, there were reports that Jake Rogan was shot.”
Elisabeta turned her attention back to her reports, flipping to a new page. “Yes, yes. I remember. But it turned out those reports were inaccurate. Rogan was fine.”
“Yes…” Gerard drew out the word. “But we’ve uncovered some emails from Chandler Group employees from around the time of the event. They report that Rogan was killed.”
“A miscommunication.”
Gerard hesitated. “I do not think so. Chandler is not known for making mistakes, and this was a large one. And there are reports that an older woman was with the triad in Egypt.”
Elisabeta focused on Gerard, and her eyes narrowed. “An older woman?”
Gerard nodded. “She had white hair and was only seen from a distance. But she stayed behind with Rogan after Chandler and McPhearson left. Then she flew home with Rogan and Patrick Delaney, dropping them off in Tennessee.”
“Where did she go after that?”
“It’s not clear. She seems to have disappeared. And we have no other reports on her.”
Elisabeta leaned back in her chair and watched Gerard for a long time. He began to grow uncomfortable under her gaze.
“Our people in Egypt reported that Niall did hit Rogan, correct?” she asked quietly.
Gerard nodded. “Yes. Niall took the shot, and he is an incredible marksman. According to him, he got Rogan in the middle of the forehead. It was a kill shot.”
Elisabeta twirled the pen in her hands, her eyes staring off past Gerard. “But Rogan was alive and well a few days later.”
Gerard nodded. “Even if Niall had been off, he still hit Rogan—and yet there was no sign of injury by the time he got back to the States. He should have had some injury.”
Elisabeta looked away. “What do you make of this?”
“I don’t know. Rogan is human—I am sure of that. But it is unusual, and I thought it should be brought to your attention.” He paused. “Do you have any idea what it means?”
Elisabeta began to smile slowly. “It means, my dear Gerard, that an old friend has come out of hiding. And she will be the reason we fulfill our true potential. Our original potential.”
CHAPTER 2
Baltimore, Maryland
Present day
Delaney McPhearson picked up the stack of books and carried them over to the bookcase, wh
ere she shoved them onto the shelf with more force than was necessary. The renovations of the library at the Chandler School had been completed a few days ago. Laney had taken it upon herself to re-shelve the books.
Crossing the room, she impatiently swatted at a piece of red hair that had come loose from her ponytail. She picked up another stack of books from the box by the door and headed for the shelves again. A book teetered on top of her stack, then crashed to the floor. Laney leaped back just in time to avoid it dropping onto her foot.
Damn it. With a growl, she placed the books on the shelf and snatched the offending book from the floor, then slammed it down next to its friends.
“Have those poor books insulted you in some way?” Jake asked from the doorway.
Laney glared at him over her shoulder. Normally the sight of Jake leaning against a doorway had the ability to pick up her heart rate and bring a smile to her face. Standing over six feet tall, he was a gorgeous specimen of the male of the species. But today, even the little flip in her heart at the sight of him couldn’t cut through her mood.
“No. I’m just cleaning up.”
Jake stepped into the room. “Right.”
Laney ignored him and grabbed another stack of books.
Jake placed a hand on her arm. “Laney.”
She looked up into his deep brown eyes and read the concern there. She placed the books back on the table and leaned against it. “Sorry. I’m just—” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He stepped in front of her, trapping her legs between his. “You’re just royally pissed off that Victoria pulled another disappearing trick.”
Laney felt the annoyance boil up in her, taking its place right alongside the feeling of rejection. “She said she needed to speak with us. That it was urgent—fate of the world urgent. And then she calls to say we’ll talk in a week? What the hell is that?”