"I have to think it's big of the Society. They promised to take care of the two of them, especially when they found out the morning after you maimed him that his wife is pregnant. Now he'll never be able to wrap both his arms around his child."
My knees turned to water under me as I moved my hands from my face and wrapped my arms over my chest. I started shivering.
"I saw for myself what you did to Rhonda. I wasn't really aware of what you were doing or what was happening." He looked down at his feet. "I saw Rhonda's face, Zoë. I felt something inside of her whither…and die."
No…please.
"There's no other way to say this, Zoë." Dags's expression hardened when he looked up from his feet and into my face. "I think you're a monster. I think what you did to that man is unforgiveable, pointless, and senseless. I can't condone the Society's non-action against you. No one trusts you anymore. They believe you're a thing that should be put down. But for some reason, they won't touch you. Rhonda was mean and vengeful but did it really justify you taking a part of her away. Killing it? You and I might have been in love once. But I wanted to let you know that I'm happy we aren't now. Detective Frasier bore so much heartbreak loving you, and when he died, they said you didn't even shed a tear." He took a shallow but audible breath. "I don't want people like you in my life. You're why I'm leaving. I can't be a part of a society that harbors creatures like you. And I won't let them turn me into one."
How could I explain to him—to anyone—that I had shed tears. So very man of them. All for Daniel. But that having Inanna within me was as I'd said, like having him near all the time. Maybe if she wasn't there his death would have taken more of a toll on me.
I just didn't know.
I stood in stunned silence as he stood and turned his back on me. My wide eyes brimmed with fire and tears when he shut the back door of the SUV and moved around me—giving me a wide berth—to the driver's door.
When he started up the SUV, I shifted and became as incorporeal as possible. He didn't see me as he backed out and thumbed the remote to the garage door.
There was nothing left to see.
Epilogue
Nona stood just outside the Society's examination room, her arms crossed over her chest. She peered through the window and watched as the doctors examined Sergeant Jefferson's new arm. It was paler then the rest of his skin, lightly sprinkled with faint spiral patterns like vines.
"Miss Martinique?"
She turned at the sound of Lucy Mullhaly's voice. Lucy had been with the Society since Rhonda's uncle had run things, originally working as March Knowles's nurse. She'd happily accepted her new job to help in the Society's Infirmary. Given her expertise with all things Planar—Nona had promoted her to Director. "What did you find?"
Lucy looked dubious. "The arm's fully functional. He's passed all sensory tests as well as endurance tests."
"He still doesn't know how he got it?"
"No. He's sticking to the story of having a dream, and in the dream he spoke to an angel."
Nona put her hand to her chin. It amazed her how anyone could work at the Society and not see the reality in front of them. The Sergeant had actually battled Powers, seen a Dominion and nearly been stomped by a Wraith and the Phantasm. And he still believed in angels. "And the angel told him she was giving him a new arm."
"That's what he said." She put her hands on her hips and blew out a frustrated sigh. "Nona—we took a biopsy of it—and I have to tell you," she thinned her lips. "I don't like what I just learned."
"It's Zoë's isn't it?" The declaration was out before she could stop herself. From the moment she'd seen the pattern on the sergeant's arm she'd known.
Her daughter had been missing for a week. She'd walked out of Nona's room in the infirmary to talk to Dags—and never came back. No one had seen her. Not Azreal. Not Jason.
Not even her father.
Lucy cleared her throat. "Yes…and no. It's Sergeant Jefferson's arm. It's got his DNA, the blood typing, everything is his. There's just this tiny little bit of foreign DNA that matches Zoë."
"Right—she gave him her arm. She used the Creation Eidolon to put her arm on him."
"No…" Lucy shook her head, keeping her gaze locked with Nona's. "I mean she might have used the stone for that. In fact I'm pretty sure she did, hinging on the information I was able to glean from Mr. Martinique in the stone's production. It can regenerate damaged flesh, muscle, bone, but it can't recreate an entire limb without more material to work with. Considering what Azrael told me about Gabriel's recreation of Joe's hands, Zoë used the same magic principle when she gave Jefferson a new arm. She combined the magic of the stone with another part of her."
Nona looked back through the window at the sergeant. "I don't understand."
"Different areas of the body contain different markers. Meaning if you gave me skin cells I could tell you if they were from someone's epidermis, muscle, tongue, brain…"
Nona looked at her. "Spit it out."
"The marker we found in his arm…came from internal muscle." Lucy hugged her upper arms. "She used the Creation Eidolon for the magic, but she used her heart to make it flesh."
•••
Joe sat in his favorite chair, in the quiet of his living room, the TV on but the sound muted just in case he might catch the slightest vibration of movement in Zoë's apartment.
Gone a week. Just vanished. Dags had been anything but helpful, recounting again his last meeting with her. Every time Joe questioned Dags it was the same.
Until an hour ago, when Dags left a message on Joe's phone, telling Joe he might have been a bit harsh with her. After hearing from Nona what Zoë did for Jefferson, Dags felt bad about what he'd said.
If there was one thing Joe knew more than any of those that counted themselves among the Wraith's friends, it was that her heart was the most fragile thing about her. In a single year he'd watched her bend like the wind, with wide eyes, clinging to hope that someone would return her love. That someone would love her for herself, and not fear her for what she could become.
And in all that time, he believed he was the one. He had hoped Dags could be the one for her, but with Gabriel's magic that chance was gone, and Dags…was his own person again. Gone from the Society to find himself in this world. And with the Grimoire all but silenced, it appeared the kid wasn't the nexus of the war any longer.
"I told her I thought she was a monster."
Joe set his beer on the coffee table in front of him before he rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face with his hands. How could Dags have said those things to her? And how many times had Nick and Jason tried to explain to him that what really attacked Sergeant Jefferson wasn't Zoë, but the growing imbalance of control inside of her.
A First Born who still bore the taint of a mad Revenant? Daniel was gone, but his memories, his hopes and dreams and his worst nightmares still lived inside of Inanna, and now dwelled inside of Zoë.
This is what the other Revenants feared. That Zoë would lose control until Inanna was all there was. This was the truth Nona refused to believe. Joe thought Adiran would at least listen to them, but he wanted to please his wife and wanted his daughter's approval.
They were all blinded by their own motivations. Zoë needed support. She needed help.
Not…rejection.
"Where are you?" He spoke to no one in particular. The apartment was empty. Even Azrael's visits were less frequent. Grapes rotted in the fridge, and the milk had gone sour.
Joe hated milk.
A brisk knock at the door. Not one of Zoë's knocks. Joe believed he'd know if she was near. That his heart would feel that familiar pang of envy and regret. Who ever it was could go fuck themselves.
But the knock persisted.
"All right all right!" He barked at the door as he stood and wove around the couch and the table to the hall and the door. The wood vibrated with the insisted banging which only managed to make him madder. "I said I'm coming. What do you
want?"
He punctuated the last word by opening the door. He wasn't sure who he expected to see. But it wasn't Chris Kringle.
Or at least a pretty good facsimile.
He was probably in his early seventies, with white hair and a trimmed white beard. It was closer to a longer Van Dyke than a full beard. His hair was long and pulled back in a band at the back of his neck, and he wore a white suit. The suit reminded Joe of Colonel Sanders, or a southern gentleman plantation owner.
In his left hand he held a cane, topped with a single silver wing. His feet…were bare.
"Well." The man said as he stared up at Joe. "It's about time. An old man could catch his death out here. Now, step aside." He used that cane to gently nudge Joe out of the way before he marched in the door and down the short hall to the kitchen.
Joe stood dumbfounded for a few seconds before he shut the door and hurriedly caught up with the little old guy. "Now wait a minute. Who the hell are you and what gives you the right to barge into my house? You do realize I'm a cop, don't you?"
"Yes I am very much aware of what your profession is, Mr. Halloran. But I'm more fascinated and interested in your hands. Your Ethereal hands."
Joe frowned. My what? He ran his fingers through his spiky hair. "Mister, I don't know who you think you are, but you have two seconds to get out of my apartment or I'm going to arrest you for trespassing and home invasion."
The little man smiled and gave Joe the same condescending look his own grandpa had given him the day Joe declared he was going to be a magician. The best there was. Of course Joe had just turned nine.
The old man pointed behind Joe and the front door disappeared. Just…melted into a wall. Joe looked at him and then the door before he ran to it. He banged and pressed against it, but it was just a wall. Not even a seam.
When he turned to face the intruder Joe watched the windows vanish. The TV vanished, as did the furniture piece by piece, until Joe stood alone in a blank wooden room.
He tried to stifle his rising panic as his heart beat against his chest. "What…what are you? What do you want?"
"What I want is your unwavering dedication and servitude, Mr. Halloran. I am the one you are going to obey. I am the beginning, and I am the end. Your beginning and your end. And I will not tolerate disobedience." He clasped his hands in front of him. "My name is Abraham Domas. And as for what I am…" His smile banished all hope. "I am the Seraphim."
About the Author
Phaedra Weldon is a writer and mother of one. Born in Pensacola, Florida, Phaedra was raised in the lush, green southern tropic of Georgia. She grew up on southern ghost stories told while eating marshmallows around campfires, or on the back of pick-up trucks in the middle of cornfields on chilly October nights. She worked as a Graphic Artist for over twenty years in the publishing and sign industries until she became a full time writer in 2009. Phaedra currently lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and daughter.
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Table of Contents
Dominion: Zoë Martinique Investigation, Book 6
Midpoint
Dominion: Zoë Martinique Investigation, Book 6 Page 28