by Kai Leakes
The smooth jazz of Thelonious Monk softly filtered through the room, coaxing him to calm down and gain a level head again. He was into his emotions again, something he did not have time to indulge in. Templars always stayed focused and assessed all aspects of a war plan. He would deal with Winter later on his own time. The dark silver ring, representing his house/rank, nestled on his pinkie finger glinted in the light of his office as he pushed the missives to the side of his desk. Various degrees representing his levels of higher education with that of various plaques of his accolades in his career lay in perfect lines on the mahogany panel wall behind him.
Upon his massive handcrafted dark oak desk sat his nameplate with a picture of his parents in Hawaii. Next to it was an array of paperwork neatly piled before him, his computer monitor, and a potted olive branch. Beneath his desk were nestled his several arrays of guns, hand blades, an adjustable steel staff, and other tidbits. Not that he ever needed them unless a client was a traitorous phantom and he rarely exchanged business with them. All lay attached to his desk.
He leaned to the side to pull out his Society case files just to glance and double check the work he’d done for other Houses in Chicago and elsewhere in the country. He had just obtained a call about a rogue Disciple group hiding out in Chicago and living on the streets in Englewood with no leader or guidance. Luckily, for them, they were seeking the safety of his House and had not gone to Society for help. They were young and had heard about other rogue houses using the House of Dusk name, so to alert the Rouge Prince and his team of their existence they had decided to use the name as well.
Another smart move and another reason I need to get this firm international, he concluded. Tapping his pen against his desk, his icy blue pupils narrowed while thinking about what to do with the kids outside of immediately putting them in a safe house. Lenox ran a hand over his scalp, borderline exasperated. Too much was on his plate. Not that he did not like it that way; he just had to think strategically about certain things right now. The main being the Oracle’s rebirth, and Winter’s pleas for future sanctuary.
Finances needed to be switched into royal audits, now that Sanna was going to marry his best friend soon. She would be a Region Princess, but to Society she would be this stranger, this fresh-blood newbie who wasn’t even born full blooded. To them, she would be this nuisance, a threat to the many full-blooded daughters who wanted their hand at the rogue prince. A prince they hoped to make return to his rightful place, so that they may live off the perks. These “women,” and he used that term loosely, would taunt her. Then they would try to destroy her newly forming House, not realizing that she was Royal on principle of her Awakening.
Lenox gave an inward amused chuckle. He would love to be privy to seeing one of the many loathing socialites or their parents confront Sanna and truly find out who they were speaking with. The image of the crème de la crème of Society falling to their feet in shame for allowing pettiness, vindictive and greed-based behaviors to consume their so-called divine pedigree, amused him greatly. Especially since in actuality, they were acting worse than the “degenerate” half-breeds and full-blooded humans they shunned themselves. Of course, he would make sure to lay those facts out as officially and professionally as he could, with a smirk on his face the whole time, loving how their highbred faces shattered then cracked, falling to the floor to reveal the darkness that seeped within their shallow personage.
However, until then, he would be content doing what he did best, building up his practice and Society Houses around the globe. He could not deny that there was always a plan. Shifting his mind from his own demons, he pulled out a map and made a quick call. Atlanta didn’t have a strong House presence down there. As of now, the houses supposedly taking care of the state were lost in their own dalliance of decadence and ostentation, as was becoming typical with many in Society now.
The Atlanta Society was too busy living out their lavish lives, sequestered in their segregated high-society communities, playing the philanthropists and trying to find ways to rub elbows with the rich, famous, and human old bloods. Their minds were nowhere thinking about the sudden reemergence of old world Cursed in the whole state, especially Atlanta. Khamun had requested him to set up a house down there years ago. He asked Lenox after getting a Denotation about Atlanta but various situations happened that kept pushing it back until it almost was forgotten.
“Time to get that ball rolling especially with the Oracle’s baby sister living there,” Lenox murmured to himself.
His fingertips scrolled over a roster of names from a copy of Khamun’s book. They had both had a private conversation about what it could mean and they both concluded that there were lost Elders roaming around the globe. Elders who may be able to help rebuild Society with Sanna before it became lost. Circling his finger around a smudged name that he couldn’t make out, he waited for his contact to answer but a deep cough grabbed his attention. Quickly standing, he hung up his phone.
“My Lord Elder . . . King.” Resting a fisted hand over his gray vest-covered heart, Lenox bowed, his back erect, before dropping to one knee in his matching slacks. “How may I be of service, sir?”
Elder Omri Region King of the Eastern and Central Nephilim Society appeared before him with his hands in his black slacks and smile in his amber eyes. He stood dressed in black slacks with black casual shoes. His massive broad form seeped with power, casting a familiar vigilant shadow in the room as his all-white dashiki sleeveless cut cotton shirt displayed his muscled arms, arms Lenox was familiar going up against in training. The Elder was as hard as a steel door, nothing could take him down, so he once assumed, but that idea had to stay where it was.
“It damn very shall, young man.” Elder Omri moved comfortably the office reading Nox’s mind. His tied-back ebon locks swayed down his back while his large hands stayed in their pockets. “Please don’t stand, my son, you don’t have to be cavalier. You and I have a relationship that dictates otherwise in private.”
Lenox quickly stood at the deep, commanding, accented voice of his Elder then sat. High King Omri was correct, as he trained Khamun to be the next de facto King of Society and appointed High Elder, he also spent time training second in line to the Royals, Marco and himself, to be the right hands/royal armament to the Prince. It was a task meant as a means for them to take their place as future high council members.
“I came to speak of my son and not the fact that he took me down on the training field so many years ago.”
Years ago? No, more like three years ago. “Of course, High King.” Lenox quickly corrected himself in remembrance that he was given the right to address him by his birth name, his true name. Something Lenox was forbidden by laws of the first Nephilim to ever reveal to anyone, let alone his own brothers. He was bound by a blood and spirit oath to let the King reveal the truth in his own time. He had to respect it or suffer a demotion in his power worse than death.
“In nothing but respect, and honor, what may I share with you about your son, Archangel Gabriel?” Lenox watched as the King sat and reclined in a chair.
The Elder’s pointer finger and thumb rested in an L-shape against his salt-and-pepper temple and goatee. His wisdom-etched lines accented his regal and intense looks, making him appear older at times then younger as if he were in his mid-thirties. Elders aged well and often did not look as old as they portrayed or were. Piercing concerned golden irises locked on to Lenox, commanding his respect and attention. A question appeared to form in the Elder’s mind and made him straighten in his seat while Lenox waited patiently.
“My son still does not know his true identity, nor does his wife . . . I mean fiancée?”
That question! It drove Lenox crazy that he could not share any of this with his brother or his future wife. But Templar’s Creed and the blood oath always came before blood when dealing with the protection of that mentioned blood. It was not in his right, or power to share this, something he was only introduced into knowing once Sanna awakened j
ust recently. So he quietly moved to his desk setting two cups of coffee down. That crap pissed him off, which made him rub his own temples then set his wire-rimmed reading glasses down.
“No, sir. He doesn’t know but I believe Sanna may know more then she is sharing right now, which is understandable. She is dealing with a sensory overload of information,” Lenox offered, gauging the Elder King’s posture.
Upon his rich brown skin lay ancient tattoos on his hands which appeared to move with every sip of his fresh cup of coffee. Each various interweaving patterns and dots upon his hands represented the tribes of man. From what Lenox had learned Gabriel had chosen to be born into a tribe of men he was asked to oversee and protect in Africa. A row of inked black dots rested near his temple and traveled in a curve that followed his eye, something that made Lenox think of the eye of Horus. This man was the flesh and blood metaphysical body of the living tree of life and knowledge. Lenox was honored to be educated by him.
“Of course, this has always been the way of the true Oracle. Every life she has been in, the rare moments that He allowed her to take corporal form has always been this way for her. It saddens me every time and each time I pray for a graceful rebirth for her, one where she must not suffer in life,” Gabriel matter-of-factly responded.
Damn. Lenox was still blown away by the knowledge that was just shared with him. Before him sat a man older than anyone he had ever met in his past life during the second war of the fallen. Older than even his own 9,012–plus-year-old soul and yet no one knew but him, the Queen, and the council of scribes, the First Guardians. A fresh tingling over his heart made him sit back in his chair and rest his ankle on his knee. The infinity branding with that of four lines resting against its looping helix. It reminded him that he was the newest member of an ancient order, one he used to belong to in his past life as the first Templar.
Several photocopied pages of Khamun’s book slid toward the Arch. Lenox stood in shock the moment his office was washed in light, because before him sat the King in his Arch form. Wings of iridescent gold shone bright as if breathing light but cast a lethal hardness that warned prey that they could slice through the hardest substance on earth. He appeared the same age as Khamun in this form; all signs of aging vanished without a trace. Burnished toffee skin reflected the true divinity, the true mark of a full-blooded angel, something the elite of Society would never have, no matter how closely and selectively they bred with each other.
This was a light only a select few in Society had. Something he and his house members all had, a direct line of divinity from the first Nephilims and the One Son. This link also was found throughout the human world in few humans. It was the divine Nephilim link and book one of three documented this, which now rested in the King’s large hands. That book was the living tome of the true history of the Nephilim. Lost and hidden, purposely to be found by later generations.
“You came in time. I needed help understanding what you wrote. The smudge I circled is undecipherable. I also have more intel from . . .” Lenox quickly explained. He cleared his throat, as he tasted the familiar bitter resignation that always crept in his mouth when he thought of her. “Winter. I would like clearance to explain how the book came into her hands. I mean better understanding. Maybe it is something I can use to give to Khamun for backup. I will also wish to have clearance to explain his role as the new Angel of Death and how his vampiric feeding on souls came about.”
The Elder King sat in silence. His brows furrowed and his eyes seemed to illuminate with old memories while he scanned the pages in his hand. “No. All you need to know is that the book was hidden on my behalf. My son will know nothing from me until he discovers that for himself on both regards.”
The King glanced up briefly assessing Lenox before continuing. “I am pleased that he obtained my private diary and history of Society, the Devotion books, scribed by the first Archangels who landed on earth on their own. Through these set chosen keepers, the books were hidden at both my and my sister’s request. But, he will not know that tale yet.”
Lenox quickly locked down his open mind. This was bullshit. Utter prideful bullshit. Whoever assumed that Angels could not succumb to the very emotions that affected humans naturally were a lie.
Clearly, this Arch had been mortal for far too long to see how unjust this was. “Sir, I mean this in respect and I only know only a touch of the truth, but it would help our house and your son and nephew greatly if you told them how Marco’s mother was taken. How she ran with your book to hide it in safekeeping because she had that gift of sight. How she—”
“No!” The reverberation of that one word shook the office with such an enigmatic force that Lenox had to step back from the desk and gain his bearings.
His skin began to feel as if it were ready to melt away. His soul ready to burst into flames and leave for the heavens as he sat and he swallowed hard at the force of it all.
“I . . . I’m sorry, sir,” he began.
Elder King—no, Archangel Gabriel—stood hands fisted in constrained frustration. The proportion of his body mass index began to top beyond the scientific levels in his muscle mass. His chest began to heave up and down as he panted in old pains. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot with unshed tears of hurt. Had he been like Khamun, Lenox was sure he would have seen fangs dropping to killer mode. Therefore, in that moment the man who was Elder King of the Nephilim took a deep breath and bowed his head in silence. His hands lay stretched out in front of him as if they were stained or held lashed with scratches and lacerations upon them before he fisted them then dropped them near his sides.
“I am sorry, but no. That is not something they need to know right now. That my blood, my sister, took to running from her own kind because of the sacrifice she made before the first war to protect the One son. They do not need to know that she took on the plight of being the first Sin Eater. Picked by my brother-in-arms, the first Angel of Death himself to infuse the rest of his spirit. As you know, he had split off to give the Nephilim fangs so that they may inject darkness with light into corporal form with her.”
Gabriel’s eyes filled with eons of emotions that gave him the aging appearance of his many years and he continued, “He does not need to know that once our angelic brothers and sisters peacefully chose to stay on the earthly realm, that they would shun their own newly bounded thread of Sin Eater DNA within them. In addition, shun the selected full-blooded Sin Eaters Generals and her. That their prejudice would have them calling her a monstrosity because she accepted the last important piece of Death’s gift: his heart.
“Listen as I school you, Lenox; this gift gave her dark wings and fangs that matched the first Vampires of human lore. Vampires, who, you know, were truly Cursed demons that killed and fed from humans in evil glee. She accepted this task to combat them, Lenox. Letting Death give her his gift with that of her chosen brothers and sisters to create full-blooded Sin Eaters for the wars and play emissaries within the Cursed ranks,” Gabriel explained.
Lenox wanted to speak up. He wanted to say that he understood, that he now realized how Winter got her hands on the book. But out of respect, he listened to the lesson pouring from his Elder King.
“You younglings with the locked memories have no idea what it was like then and what I’ve been privy to see in my life on this realm! Her own Angelic brothers and sisters shunned all who valiantly took her new form and embraced it. They chose to hide from their true purpose: to take the sins of this world and wash it clean, by protecting and guarding the innocent from the Cursed. We are the Sin Eaters! We feed from our enemy, by fangs or touch. We drain them of their darkness and end them by returning the good to the Light. Those scared fools ignored the gift the Most High ordained us to undertake and became lost to the truth due to their own folly!”
Tears of disgust appeared to fall down the Angel’s face, leaving streams of gold in its path and it was powerfully regal.
It was said by humans that these tears were the true source of h
oly water and Lenox knew it to be factual as Gabriel continued. “Why? Because those bigots themselves believed that they were pure because they took only a small piece of Death giving those judgmental fools fangs, but none of the full-blooded Sin Eater’s true feeding power. Aoelon, Sariel, I am so sorry, sister! I am ashamed of their dishonor! I’m sorry you lost your true mate, my brother with his own sacrifice he gave you, only to be taken by our enemies when you ran. I . . . am . . . sorry.”
Lenox could feel the depth of anguish in the Elder. It made him furious at Society to learn how Society did not have the Elder’s or his sister’s backs, how this was the start of the darkness that easily crept into the Society. It was frustrating and deplorable.
Lenox agitatedly ran a hand over his dark, fresh close-cropped hair. He stepped forward, seeking some way to help his Elder in his pain. His icy stare continued to take in the King and he opened his mouth to give some words of understanding, of support, but could only keep silent in respect as Gabriel spoke up again.
“They do not need to know that this is how she was taken. Used as a mule to birth a race that was not able to breed until finding her and the One son’s shed blood. It is my fault. I did not fight for her enough but this is why you stand where you are now! Understand that! All things will be told in due time. That tale told in the books that you all are finding. I am proud of my progeny. Very proud of you all.”
Taking a moment, Gabriel turned his back to compose himself. “That is something I will tell them both soon. Tell you all soon, but for now”—Gabriel shifted back to his mortal form then pulled out a pair of rimless glasses—“we will focus on something else and you will respect the insurgents my sister placed on the Cursed side. You will teach the team how to accept any more that may need sanctuary for they are ours and not the Cursed, now.”