by Kai Leakes
I still tasted that sickening wine they gave me coating my mouth like oil. I tasted it at the Supper. I tasted it when I found myself betraying my divine brothers and I tasted it when those cold coins lay in my hands. That taste. That acidic, vile, sulfuric taste.
It followed me to my wife’s family home where I saw them slaughtered. Demons hovered over them, their very souls ripped from them as the mark of General Grete lay branded into their skulls. This was my punishment and I understood that it was time for me to meet them for my deception. That silver. My faith. My life. All torn from me.
It was suddenly easy to allow the rope to wrap around my neck. It was easy then to fall for my sins as I asked for forgiveness again. The One Son had known this would happen, but he did not stop me. I finally understood why. I had to learn to see Him in my soul, fight as I had and fall all the same. I started a humble man and died a legend. I betrayed and I vowed that I would set it right. I prayed with my last breath that I would set it right.
Chapter 20
The sound of “Life is a Highway” incessantly rang near his side. Accompanying it was the irritating clicking of typing that followed right behind it. Khamun stopped his pacing to glance at his boy Calvin while he tapped at his cell, cursing and scowling at it. His boy had serious frown lines etched in his forehead and around his mouth. As of late, since capturing the Medusa a week ago, Calvin’s cell had been buzzing or ringing nonstop with intel from the Medusa. From what he shared with Khamun, other times it was annoying texts such as:
Calvinnnnnnnnnn! I need you to trust me. I’m on your side, ingrate! Pay attention when I’m sharing info with you! When will we screw again? Calvinnnnnnnnnn!
Khamun could only laugh. From the anguished look in his boy’s emerald irises, Khamun could tell already that Calvin was in the trenches of a reluctant forming rekindling romance, regardless of how fucked up it began in this life. Calvin sat with both legs stretched out on the table near the TV. Across from him were Ryo, Take, and Dare who were watching a basketball game but fighting over which basketball game to watch. The crap was hilarious, because it was over old games that had passed awhile ago and some off-the-wall bet.
“Take and Ryo, man, your asses are so foul, bros. I won that bet on the court that you both didn’t know that teeth are called canines right?” Dare griped.
“No, that was your imagination, dude.” Ryo chuckled.
“Man, shut up, but I wasn’t wrong either. We have dentine, damn,” Take grumbled, scowling, brushing off his black jersey. His partially shaved hair on both sides of his head was pulled back into a ponytail and his jade eyes were glowing like flames.
“Man, no one is thinking about this shit; turn the game on,” Ryo retorted giving Take dap while they both laughed.
Dare’s chocolate gold-rimmed eyes lit up as he let out a deep laugh. He shook his fitted-hat-wearing head and crossed his muscled arms over his chest. Ryo headed to the kitchen.
His shoulders shook wittily before continuing, “Yeah, man, but teeth are also called canines! Ante up, brahs, ante up. No point in being salty. I get the right to the TV. I let you sit back to eye hustle my twin, so go back to that shit so I can watch this game.”
“Just disrespectful, man,” Ryo said, chuckling while strolling to the couch with a bowl of popcorn.
“But guess what? Dare is right. Take should be focusing on choppin’ it up on you know who.” He plopped on the couch and started singing Miguel’s “Adorn,” teasing Take about Amara. Every young guy busted out in laughter as Take caused Amit’s popcorn to fly out of his bowl.
“This shit,” Take growled.
“It’s just jokes!” Ryo countered in jest.
Listening to the new kids in his House reminded Khamun of his relationship with his brothers, Marco, Calvin, and Lenox. It felt like good to have the male banter in the room. In the security room, Kali clicked on her keyboard showing Amara as well as Miya the prayer lines that made up both Chicago’s city grid and STL on the security board. A map of Atlanta’s massive grid instantly popped up while Amara pointed out different places she’d said had high levels of Cursed or demonic activities.
“See, if you throw a Mystic spell over a prayer grid like the ones I’m showing you, if you tailor it just right, you can blow up a whole neighborhood or army of Cursed, if strong enough. Let me show you,” Kali explained. She typed into her keyboard, pulling up a Mystic spell, and went into teaching Amara and Miya Mystic skills.
“Oh, so, um, a random question: when you made the Medusa see her past, then linked it with Calvin, what type of power was that?” Amara casually asked.
Kali gave a lighthearted giggle then pointed to the screen on the monitor. “It was all still Mystic power, cuz. Like I was explaining, everything on our side, is on their side, so if it helps, think of me as a White Light Witch, who had psychic abilities.”
Being who Amara was, she let out a slow, “Ohhhh, so, why are you scared to fly planes; can’t you just create a spell that helps with that? And teach me how to see the past of my ancestors. I want to sit in a café in Harlem and listen to Langston Hughes. By touching Calvin, he should be able to help ground me and take me back then for a bit right?”
Kali stared slack jawed at her cousin. Khamun himself couldn’t help but to stare too. She just spit out some wisdom, all wrapped up in common confusion of what it is to be Nephilim. There were limitations to everything in life, power was one of those, but the idea of being able to go back in time with just the whisper of a Mystic spell was damn interesting. Maybe one day Kali could find such a spell because it could definably help in this war against the Cursed.
Behind him, Dr. Eammon sat with a laptop speaking with his son Zion and Kyo’s parents on Skype about additional intel that was pouring in from STL. Through the whole conversation, Zion would have to repeat himself multiple times to his father, as Kyo’s dad Hideo watched via his Web cam in Boston with the same quizzical look Khamun had. Worry was etched across Dr. Eammon’s face, but Khamun could tell that Zion felt confined in what he could do since he was in STL.
As they continued their conversation and Pop Hideo signed off, Sanna’s mother Tamar regally strolled into the rec room of the compound with Sanna. Nestled between his beloved’s hands was a filigree-carved silver box that Calvin and Amara had dug up from Bishop Steele’s grave. San’s mother was dressed in a cream pencil skirt and a white blouse with a hat that accented her short, wavy chin-level bob. Both women spoke quietly to each other as they moved to sit down at a table.
Dr. Eammon abruptly ended his conversation with his son, then moved to pace around the room before noticing Tamar. His hands were behind his back. His brow furrowed lost in thought, resulting in Khamun watching the Elder closely. Tamar lightly sashayed to the Elder, reaching out to take his hand. A smile spread across her butterscotch feathers as she held the hand of Dr. Eammon Toure in love.
The Elder’s broad, muscularly lean frame stood intimately close to San’s mother, almost respectfully shadowing her in a manner that felt very much like a gentleman. A comforting grin, which held a hint of seduction, played across his magnificent face and it made Khamun think of his own love for Sanna. Quietly studying the Elder, it appeared as if his hand fit perfectly around San’s mother’s and Tamar bashfully gazed up into his handsome face. Her fingers adoringly reached up to remove his frameless glasses to clean them, calming the Elder instantly.
Khamun admired how they looked together. Dr. Eammon’s almost regal attributes and welcoming aura was comforting on a mentoring level. His strong jaw, duo lines in his cheeks that almost could be called dimples appeared when he smiled at Tamar. The Elder’s salt-and-pepper spiky low afro and crisp-cut goatee melded nicely with his mahogany skin.
Khamun noticed the way he stared into San’s mother’s eyes made Sanna smile. The Elder exhibited the strong stature of a loving man that Tamar needed as much as Eammon needed her, which marked Dr. Eammon as a man who could have been of royal blood in his past life. Khamun was in
spired. He hoped he looked that same way in the presence of the woman he loved: Sanna.
Coming back to reality, closely observing the tense Elder, Khamun realized that for a while, slow change had been occurring in the male. Over these past couple of weeks, he had learned the Dr. Eammon had gone on a much-needed hiatus from his job at the hospital. From there, he had been spending a lot of time at the compound talking with Sanna, Dare, and now Amara with Zion on call.
There was something odd going on with the man, more and more every day. Some days it felt as if Dr. Eammon was forgetting everything. On other days if felt as if he knew more than what he was letting on. It was strange to Khamun, which caused him to assess the Elder’s aura. Twin interweaving lines of color twisted to fuse around each other, brightening in magnitude. The shape of a phantom shadow, with its hand on the Elder’s shoulder drew in Khamun’s interest.
“Is . . . is that my box? The box I found years ago?” Dr. Eammon gloomily questioned.
Khamun noticed Sanna’s curious gaze. Her cinnamon pupils warmed in kind then she pulled out a chair and patted its surface.
“This is your box? Amara and Calvin found this box at our father’s grave. Would you like to see what is inside with me?” San gently asked.
Dr. Eammon hesitantly moved toward the table as if unsure if he should approach. It was crazy to Khamun how the man had just been an assuring, strong Elder but now seemed to be a frail, confused stranger. Something was going on. Khamun could taste it, and from the look of it, Sanna felt the same. His beloved gently glanced his way and told him to keep silent and let it play out for what it is, without saying a word. The strong, refreshing scent of ancient Mystics’ spells filled the room, stopping everyone in their tracks to focus on Sanna and Dr. Eammon.
“Eammon has been acting this way for a week or so now, sweetie. He’s been having dreams about us . . . Dreams about things that only your father knew of,” Tamar softly explained.
Sanna glanced toward her mother then stood to hug her gently. “Let’s open the box then, to see if we can find some answers.”
Tears fell down Sanna soft cheeks the moment her hands touched the box. Khamun watched her urgently flip the box over, finding a hidden lock on it. The sound of a click then the pop of a latch allowed it to open. Stepping forward, the musty scent of age filled the compound and Khamun stood near Sanna’s side peering into it. Inside rested what appeared to be a gossamer-wrapped book; next to it was a glass vial holding rusted misshapen pieces of metal. He watched as Sanna carefully removed each item, setting them on the table.
Dr. Eammon reached out to brush his fingers over its covered surface before gripping it. Light crackled across his dark eyes, snapping his head back in a gasp. “My book.”
Khamun cocked an eyebrow, ready to question what the hell was going on, before Sanna’s gentle voice spoke up. Taking both of his shaking bulky hands, Sanna tilted her head in question coaxing him to spill his secrets. “Who are you, good sir? It’s okay, you can open your mind now, you are safe here. You are safe with us. Ahh!”
Sanna’s screams put the fear of God into Khamun; instinct had him reaching to pull them apart, but the power of Oracle had him locked in place. His wings unfurled to wrap around her as both Amara and Dare stepped forward to anchor her gift. Roughly, like that of a seizure ripped through Dr. Eammon; the power charge was so strong that it also snapped his head back with force. The sound of monks singing on the bluffs of Alton, Illinois, surrounding the grave of Bishop Steele, ripped across Khamun’s psyche before the sounds of his teammates brought him back to reality.
His heartbeat drummed in his ear. His vision waivered then returned to normal to see Dr. Eammon slumped over.
“Sweetheart? Baby? Eammon! Please, wake up! Sanna, baby, are you okay? Darius? Amara! Khamun, do something,” Tamar frantically yelled.
She stood shaking Dr. Eammon then moving to touch her children. Khamun observed unsure what to do. Feeling drained from his own power being spent and out of being needed, he slowly pushed up to rest his hand against Sanna’s cheek.
A spark between them, a sharp current caught his attention the moment he touched her and the sound of her sharp gasp, with that of everyone else, had Khamun standing up. “San?”
Her coughing then abrupt thrust of her arms around his neck had him rocking her in relief. “I’m okay, Khamun, I’m okay.”
“The nails, the gauze, we’ll need it when we go against Caius. Look at it,” Dr. Eammon sputtered.
Khamun turned Sanna on his lap to see, but his eyes kept going back and from Dr. Eammon to the gossamer sheet on his lap.
“Baby, do you know what you have? Look,” Khamun incredulously asked.
He rested a hand on her check and drew her attention back to the sheet. On its sheer surface lay what appeared to be the faded imprint of a man. A man whose features were clear and exceedingly defined, a man who Khamun knew, had come to Sanna in her dreams and told her that she and her family would heal the Society. A man known as the One Son. In the glass stopper, multiple ancient metal pieces clicked in vibrating power. Upon what appeared to be an iron surface were red flecks that illuminated in radiance to flicker new again.
“It can’t be,” she whispered.
“Baby, but it is. I feel it in my DNA. This is legit.” Khamun’s own eyes burned amber; tears of astonishment ran down his handsome burnish face. Two tears fell in sync down Sanna’s illuminating cheeks.
“The shroud of the One Son and the Nails of Nazareth,” Calvin uttered. His hulking form cast a shadow over Sanna to reach out then touch the glass vial.
Astounded, Calvin gently picked up the glass. “I found this back in the day. Died keeping it hidden because if you use the nails as bullets, that’s KOS to Lucifer and the Cursed King. Damn, I had forgotten all about it until now. Man look’eah, how did Uncle Bishop get this?”
“That’s a good question; and how do you know what we need to use it for, Dr. Eammon?” Khamun cautiously asked.
Elder Eammon gently gripped Tamar’s hand, casting a puzzled glance at everyone. It was as if you could see the wheels coming alive in his brain while he tried to remember something of importance. That something he shared next would forever change everyone’s lives in that room.
“You’ve all earned the right to know that it was given to me by Archangel Gabriel. On my travels, I came across two elders; one was Gabriel. The other gave me a gift hidden in a 1930s record player. He told me that a close friend of his had died protecting it and he had taken it to continue in that protection. I had to protect it and learn its history, so I did. This and my children were the reason why Caius came after me, just like he sent the Cursed after you, Calvin. He knew once we got our hands on the Shroud but mainly the Nails that we would tip the scales and be able to snuff him out,” he carefully explained.
Calvin sat with a frown before slapping his thigh in laughter. “That dude was my homie Mike. Man was always wildin’ out back then. Good dude, glad he held me down, just like Nox did taking those bussas out.”
Dr. Eammon slightly chuckled then continued, “So when I died, Gabriel knew that I wanted the box and my book of Mystic spells, which held my whole life with that of the binding spell I place on my family, hidden. So what better place than the grave. Make it appear that it burned at my death, and then hide it in my grave.
“No one would ever know until my children awakened. Not until my Vessel, who was chosen for me when he lay in a coma dying during my death, was later awakened by the Oracle finding the box,” Eammon carefully explained.
Everyone in the room became silent, until Darren’s baffled, “Fuck outta here? Pops?” and the sound of rushed feet with the slamming of doors that disrupted the peace in the compound.
Kyo hustled in appearing tattered and disheveled. Specks of blood that singed into dust covered her fingertips. Her incisors dropped low. “We have a problem everyone. The Mad King has declared war. He is sending an arsenal toward the Nephilim city hall.”
“Demons have the city going mental! From everyday people in their enclaves, to politicians, which isn’t new, to . . . I don’t know what. My stomach is clenching in sickness, bruv, and I smell, taste, and feel Cursed all around. See, these blood tats are moving like crazy, blood!” Amit rushed out in a disarrayed pant. He stumbled in behind Kyo, his hair matted, his dark eyes rimmed in fatigue, and his various blades falling as he pushed off his hoodie. The sleeves of his jean jacket were rolled up and he flashed his cinnamon toned forearms, where the dark lines of his veins moved and curled into designs.
Lenox calmly moved to lock down the doors, having come back with the duo. Khamun couldn’t help to think of the Cursed women who were drawn to his best friend. He silently hoped his boy had a high kill count at the gala. Tonight he wore dark denim jeans with black leather work boots. A black mid-length double-breasted casual coat adorned his broad shoulders, which also showed his white turtleneck. His black leather–gloved hands held out a set of key cards with a jingling key as he glanced at the team. His icy blue eyes darkened with his anxiety and glowed in the chamber hallway.
“The new blood is right, Khamun. The Medusa, Nydia, did the Oracle’s bidding. Calvin and Kali’s Mystic cloaking spells, which carried yours and Marco’s blood, worked wonders. The Medusa was able to pull us into the Gala and we were able to learn more intel,” Lenox exasperatedly explained. He strolled toward the kitchen to grab an apple; seeing that there was none there, he growled in exhaustion.
Kyo stepped forward. She was dressed in dark jeans that accented the sensual curves of her body. Her ample breasts heaved up and down behind her dark green tank while running a hand through her asymmetrical bob. She bit down on her plump lower lip then pulled off her leather jacket, showing off the tattoo on her back that indicated where her dragon wings would exit and revealing the SIG Sauer semiautomatic resting against the small of her back.
Impatient, Kyo cut in to explain what was going on, her shimmering green fingernail-tipped hands moving a mile a minute. “San was right; that chick is on our side. We learned that the Cursed have spies in the Light Nephilim Houses thanks to giving them the bite, of course, you all knew that, but now those Houses are disappearing. Some were at the party. Anyway, the Cursed King gave a nice speech. Told us that tonight they would take out the Light. I swear it was crazy in there.