by Diane Capri
“And now, having been a human, you can understand them, see them as I do. My son, it takes more than might and power to be their guardian. You need my spirit.” He touched Nick’s forehead and he immediately felt his strength return. Stronger than ever before. “And now, you have it.”
“Father,” Nick bowed his head. “I am not worthy.”
“You have been made worthy. Behold, I make all things new.” He placed his hand under Nick’s chin and lifted his head. “Well done, good and faithful guardian.”
“Did you say guardian?”
“Supreme Guardian, in fact. You have proven faithful in lesser things, I will put you in command of much greater things.” He nodded toward the gate, which still yawned open. “Enter now and partake of my joy.”
As he walked through, there was no way to describe what he was seeing without diminish its beauty, its glory.
Taking it all in, Nick couldn’t stop the tear that fell from his eye. He’d not only been reinstated as an angel, he’d been promoted.
Tamara came over and embraced him. “Congratulations, Nick.”
“Thank you, but all along, you were there—the dark vapor, Johann?”
“And the harbor porpoise who helped you with that pendant.”
“That was you?” Nick said, laughing incredulously. But the mirth didn’t last. He remembered the pain and suffering Hope had experienced in her last moments. “Alas...”
“That term does not exist here,” Tamara said. “Look over there.”
“Hope!”
Beaming with joy, she ran into his arms. She was whole, not a scratch or blemish. In fact, she seemed a bit younger than he remembered. Nick lifted her off the ground and spun around, his heart filled with unspeakable joy. They kissed for as long as it took—time was irrelevant.
“Humans and angels,” Tamara said. “What will the neighbors say?”
More laughter.
But then Nick’s jubilant expression turned somber. He touched Hope’s face tenderly.
“Did you suffer, love? You know, before you...”
“You mean before I died? What an odd concept.” She gave him that smile. “My entire mortal life was like a dream I barely remember. Now, it’s as if I just woke up and am back in the real world.”
“That’s how most humans describe it when they get here,” Tamara said.
“To tell you the truth,” Hope said, “Nick is the one who helped me understand all this.”
“Me?”
“You see, mortal life is all just a construct of this, the true reality.”
“Not a very good one,” Nick said, taking her hand. “But I see what you mean.”
“There are a couple of people who’d very much like to speak with you,” Tamara said.
From behind her, a radiant young woman came up to him.
“I’m so happy to see you again!”
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” he said. But something about her eyes seemed more than familiar.
“Thank you for taking care of my mother.”
“Chloe?”
She nodded. “You were so kind when you brought me here, I’ll always be grateful.”
Before he could fully grasp it all, another beautiful young woman approached.
This time, he knew right away. As she ran into his open arms, he didn’t even try to hold back the tears.
“Daddy!”
“Clara!” He held her for a long time, both of them crying softly in each other’s arms. Nick finally released his grown daughter and turned to Tamara. “So all along, you knew?”
“The rules were there for a reason. Had you healed her back in Victoria Station, she would have turned out like Lena.”
“I can never thank you enough, Tamara.” He took her hands in his. “You’ve done so much for me.”
“And I’d do it again.”
A deep thundering sound approached and caused them to turn their heads. It was Michael, mounted on a war horse, another one at its side.
“Don’t get too comfortable just yet,” he said. “Your work as a Supreme Guardian is just beginning. There’s a whole world that needs our help, and I’ve just gotten word that the Dark Dominion is gearing up for a heavy offensive. We have to go now.”
“I see.” He turned back to Hope, Chloe, and Clara. “Seems I just got here.”
Hope kissed him. “Duty calls.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Go on, then. We’ll be waiting.”
“It could take some time,” he said.
“We’ve got all the time in—well, you know.”
“Indeed.” Nick mounted his steed. “I’ll see you soon.”
Drawing his sword with a blazing flourish, he rode off at Michael’s side, the entire First and Second Legions in all their supernal glory following them out of the city gates and off to the ongoing war.
The Dark Dominion was a formidable enemy. And although he had fought many battles in the natural realm, direct conflict in the spiritual realm would be far more deadly. But Nick had faith all would end well.
It was only a matter of time.
THE END
#
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Dear friend,
The key thing to remember in any novel is that it is a work of fiction. Axiomatic as that may seem, I think it important that I make the following statements:
First: Terminus, while some of its premise stem from my personal beliefs, is a story, a parable even. It is not to be taken literally as Christian biblical doctrine on the topic of Angels, Heaven, or the afterlife. Rather, like Christ’s analogies of the Kingdom of Heaven being like a fishing net, a mustard seed, yeast, etc., this book’s concepts are for the purpose of illustrating greater truths in a way in which we humans can more readily identify. Like a “construct,” so to speak.
Secondly: though this book is a work of fiction, the issues of despair, suicide, emotional bondage to the past, are real. If you or anyone you know suffers from any of these, I implore you to reach out to trusted friends, qualified counselors or clergy, and by no means try to deal with it alone. Healing and freedom is available to those who seek it. Remember, “You are loved with an everlasting love.” No matter how dire the situation, there is hope. This is one reason I chose to name one of the main characters in this book HOPE. Having someone hear you, understand and/or pray for you can be life-changing. Whatever your lot, don’t give up, and don’t go it alone.
Thank you for taking the time to read Terminus, it means more to me than you can imagine. If you enjoyed it enough, would you kindly spread the word and tell your friends and family about it?
I’d love to hear from you, so please feel free to contact me through my website:
www.joshua-graham.com/contact
And while you’re there, please sign up for my occasional newsletter where you can receive updates, exclusive previews and content here:
http://joshua-graham.com/newsletter
And please connect with me on facebook:
www.facebook.com/J0shGraham
and Twitter:
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Thank you, and until next time, be blessed!
Joshua Graham
Acknowledgements
There are so many people who supported me and contributed to the completion of this book that I fear I will not be able to mention each one by name. For that, I ask your forgiveness and that you know just how much I value and appreciate your presence in my life.
First off, I would like to thank Renni Browne, editor extraordinaire, whose unparalleled gift for helping me tighten up the manuscript with the necessary surgical cuts have—in this author’s opinion—made this book fit the Hitchcockian criteria of a great story: Life, without the boring parts.
I would also like to thank my fellow writers Susan Wingate and Michael Angel, who both encouraged me early on with Terminus to press ahead with this genre.
Of course, I could not do anything without the l
ove and prayers of my friends and family, especially those in my connect group: Tom and Trish Vesneski, Farshid and Marisol Farokhi, Charles and Toni Covello, and many others in my church, as well as William and Ckristina Sutjiadi and Michael and Patricia Goh.
A special shout out to the fantastic members of Team Graham for your constant support and encouragement. You’re a secret society and you know who you are
Of course, I wish to thank my awesome kids Alex and Maddi for your patience and understanding whenever Daddy is on a deadline. Your willingness to set hamsters and RC jets aside and wait for me to have time again to play with you again really helped.
And finally, my beautiful wife and muse, Katie: I truly could not have written this book without your love, support, perspective, and all those long hours talking about and looking over my work with your unwavering honesty, and affirming words.
About the Author
#1 Bestselling author Joshua Graham has won multiple awards for his thrillers DARKROOM and BEYOND JUSTICE. He holds a Master’s Degree from Juilliard, and a Doctorate from Johns Hopkins University. His books have been called “thought-provoking page-turners.” Many of his readers blame him for sleepless nights, arriving to work late, neglected dishes and family members, and not allowing them to put the book down.
#
ALSO BY JOSHUA GRAHAM
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ONE DAY IN BUDAPEST
J F PENN
Copyright © J.F. Penn (2013)
http://www.JFPenn.com
You can sign up for Joanna’s newsletter and find out more about the ARKANE world here:
http://joannapenn.com/arkane/
“All murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.”
—Voltaire
Dedicated to the memory of those buried in the mass grave of Dohany Street Synagogue, Budapest
PROLOGUE
The gun-metal dawn ended another bleak night of Hungarian winter. The sky lightened from pitch black to the colors of bullets and armor, the military might of Hungary’s past resonant even in nature, a landscape unable to forget its violent past.
Father Zoli Kovács pulled his vestments closer about him and hurried across the square towards the Basilica of St Stephen, looking up at the grandeur against the backdrop of rain clouds. Although physically chilled, he felt the spiritual warmth of ownership, a pride that came from working at the heart of Hungary’s faith. The grand Neo-Classical facade was flanked by two bell towers that stretched into the brightening sky, beacons of faith in a country that had suffered so much. Over the gigantic entranceway were carved the words of Christ, ego sum veritas et vita, I am the truth and the life. Father Zoli murmured as he crossed himself, his fingers crippled with arthritis now, but still able to perform his most treasured of gestures.
As he slowly mounted the Basilica steps, he thought that he heard a footfall echo in the square behind him. He turned, but it was empty, with only a few desultory pigeons pecking at the litter left by yesterday’s tourists. There were homeless around here, of course, but he felt a shiver up his spine as he sensed something different. After a moment, he shook his head, dismissing his feelings as the wandering of an old man’s mind.
Entering the Basilica, Father Zoli paused and breathed in the cool air, the scent of incense hanging like a prayer. Every morning he went through this same ritual, for he felt closer to God in the dark. When he turned on the lights, the splendor of gold seemed to push the vault of heaven far from him, so he savored this quiet moment as a special blessing before he started his day. Sometimes he imagined that the angels guarding the church were watching, that his gentle presence allowed them to drift into the ornate dome and find a place to rest, knowing that he would protect the church during the day. Father Zoli was at peace as he began to light candles around the church, making his way deeper into the nave as the day began to seep in through the stained glass. He stopped to light a special candle in front of the altar dominated by a huge statue of St Stephen, known as St Istvan in Hungarian.
Stephen had been the first King of Hungary, reigning in the early eleventh century, conquering the lands of Transylvania and the Black Magyars, extending his realm and power through battle. As he lay dying with no living heir to succeed him, Stephen had raised his right hand and implored the Blessed Virgin Mary to take the Hungarian people as her subjects and to reign as their Queen. After his death, miracles occurred at his tomb and King Stephen was canonized as the first confessor king of the Catholic church, venerated as the patron saint of Hungary as well as of all kings and dying children.
Reflecting on Stephen’s devotion, Father Zoli crossed himself again and headed into the side chapel to check on the holy relic that lay at the heart of the Basilica. As he turned, the candles flickered and he heard a door bang, but the entrance to the church was too far away now to see clearly. Father Zoli debated whether to go and greet the early morning faithful, but he was a man of routine and his duty called.
He unlocked the door to the side chapel from a bundle of keys at his waist and walked through the wooden doors to the shrine. The Holy Right was St Stephen’s mummified and incorruptible right hand, the very hand that had given Hungary into the keeping of the Virgin Mary. The brown, shriveled flesh was bunched into a fist and lay upon a bed of scarlet velvet, studded with pearls and rubies. The relic was surrounded by a glass case with a vaulted roof, decorated with gold and silver filigree and protected on all sides by angels and winged beasts. Crossing himself once more, Father Zoli approached with reverence and placed his fingertips gently against the glass. This was the closest anyone could get to the most holy relic of Hungary, a representation of the State itself, precious as both a religious treasure and a national symbol. World War I had seen the decimation of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and subsequent regimes had oppressed the people, but this hand was a sign that one day Hungary would rise again.
Taking a clean white handkerchief from his pocket, Father Zoli polished the glass, wiping it clean of his prints and making it new again. Tourists paid for the privilege of lighting the shrine in order to take photographs, so he felt that they deserved a clear view.
He heard footsteps and then the creak of the door opening into the shrine. He turned to see a man enter, clean cut, well dressed, with the air of the privileged. His nose was like a beak, his hair waxed to a perfect shine.
“The shrine isn’t open to the public yet, my son,” Father Zoli said as the man stepped further into the chapel, his hands in his pockets. His eyes darted around the room, but as he confirmed that they were alone, they were drawn irresistibly to the shrine. Father Zoli felt a sudden stab of alarm and moved in front of the Holy Right, to shield it from the voracious eyes.
“I only come to worship, Father,” the man said, stepping closer, but in his voice Father Zoli heard an echo of the past, a whisper from the dungeons of the Secret Police where the screams of the tortured drowned out all other sound. Cold fear crept over his skin as two more men stepped into the room behind the first, and closed the door behind them.
“What do you want?” Father Zoli said, his voice breaking as his heart pounded with fear.
“You protect the Holy Right,” the first man said. “But what you give to us now, Father, will take the cause of Hungarian nationalism to new heights. St Istvan will be waiting for you with all the treasures of Heaven. You believe that, don’t you?”
Father Zoli heard the intent and turned, desperate for a way out. He wasn’t ready to go to God yet, and despite his aged body, he clung to life.
The man stepped to the side of the altar and picked up one of the ornate candlesticks, hefting its weight in his hand. Behind
him, the other two men fanned out, one taking up a heavy Bible and the other pulling a knife.
“Please, no,” Father Zoli fell to his knees, knowing that he couldn’t outrun them. “I can get you money, my sons. I can get you help. I’m no threat to you.” His voice was hysterical, sobs choking his throat as his desperate fingers clutched at the shrine for divine help.
“Sorry, Father. We need this symbol more than you need your life.”
The man stepped in and swung the candlestick like a baseball bat, smashing it against the side of Father Zoli’s head. The priest crumpled to the floor, pain exploding, vision clouding. He called out to St Istvan, the mummified hand now obscured by spots of his own blood. It was the last thing he saw as blows rained down and his old body became a sacrifice in that holy place.
CHAPTER ONE
Dr Morgan Sierra stared out of the window as the taxi from Budapest airport sped towards the city. It was raining and the grey light served to emphasize the monotone of passing streets, punctuated only by the bright neon signs of fast food outlets and sex shops. She noticed banners advertising candidates for the upcoming elections, faces she didn’t recognize and words in a language that was alien to her. Morgan smiled, for it was one of the aspects that thrilled her about European travel. Within a short plane ride, or even just a train journey, you could be in a different culture with unpronounceable words, making an adventure of even the shortest business trip.
Morgan had volunteered for the short assignment to Budapest, desperate to get out of the ARKANE headquarters and renew the boundaries of her independence. She had joined the Arcane Religious Knowledge And Numinous Experience Institute with the understanding that she could focus on her own research, but there had been little opportunity for that so far. The last few missions had taken their toll on her body and emotions, so Director Elias Marietti had asked her to remain close to base, and let time heal the scars. But Morgan was restless if she spent too much time thinking, and while her partner Jake was still in recovery, she wanted to get out of the office. She smiled to herself, because that office just happened to be an astounding complex under Trafalgar Square in London, with access to the secret knowledge of the world. Still, it felt good to be somewhere different, even for such a short time.