Retribution, Devotion

by Kai Leakes

  “When we went to follow the Dark Lady, we saw the Key, Ryo! The Medusa told us that he is guarded and so-called raised by the Cursed King’s right hand. Anyway, Nydia was on point. When Reina was alone, after feeding on some guy in another part of the building, she cornered her using a cloaking spell Winter made. She then whispered a Mystic spell she said San had told her to use at the right time. In that moment, Nydia turned into someone the Dark Lady kept calling ‘Mom’ and the rest was history. Nydia woke Reina up, I think,” Kyo explained. Her almond-shaped eyes were wide in emotion.

  “Right, for now the seed is planted in her mind as the Oracle wanted. Reina will wake up to her mother’s original spell. As for the Key, Amit took us through the connecting underground of the Cursed. We couldn’t go too far but it was enough for now. He took the same routes when he escaped. When we get the opportunity, we will go back and try to extract the child. As for now, we need to call an intercom emergency town meeting. Shit! They are already at the council for the introduction of new houses and dignitaries!” Lenox cursed. He slammed his fist down on the counter next to him as awareness dawning on him.

  Khamun knew that if the people of Society were not warned, or if they were not evacuated from the town hall, the end would be now. With everything that just had happened, handling a war was in the forefront.

  He and his House were supposed to go to introduce San; now things were about to be different. “We need to go; we have a war to stop.”

  Chapter 21

  Chaos was ripping through the streets of Chicago, forcing the remaining Houses to seek out the Nephilim Council. Through the mist of the growing dysfunction, San’s mind continued to be disoriented from what had happened at the compound. Her father Bishop Steele was back. He had quickly explained before they all left that everything happened by accident.

  He had found a record of the history of Spirit Bindings when visiting New Orleans. She learned ultimately that it was the start of him learning advanced Mystic spells. Various spells and history of Nephilim Mystics he found, he collected for his book, which was what they had found in the box, for his children and for Calvin. Her father at that time had no idea that by sacrificing his soul then attaching it to his family it would create a ripple effect, one where his Vessel was born at the same time of his life, although unknowingly due to the spell making them forget. History was written for both men, destined for them to be a part of a greater plan due to souls not being bound by time. Once upon a time, a young Eammon Toure would become sick as an infant where his heart would stop before his mother’s Mystic touch revived him. From that day, baby Eammon would be a new child. All of it occurred because of a spell placed upon Sanna when she was seven because the Cursed were slowly taking notice of the power she had. Her mind was frozen in disbelief over it all. She wanted to think on it and ask so many questions, but Chicago, as well as STL, from the reports being given down there, was coming apart at the seams. This was why Sanna now stood in awe.

  “Welcome to the World Nephilim Council Center, also known as Council Town Hall, baby,” Sanna heard Khamun whisper near her side. His comforting palm rested against the small of her back while he stood so close that they felt like two puzzle pieces.

  Ever since coming to Chicago, Sanna had no idea that this building was directly smacked in the middle of downtown Chicago. International and national flags were nestled outside of its immaculate structure. Various marble Gargoyles, some actual stone, others the real breathing entities, sat in quiet watch, protecting every human, or Nephilim, who entered its secured holding. Inside, the view of the Hall was like something from the history books. Rows of alabaster entwined with sandstone columns were inlaid with hieroglyphs, and many other languages. They stood erect as statue soldiers lining the majestic hall ready for war.

  Various pieces of art, paintings, books, and murals rested on marble walls. Colorful banners reflecting many cultures and Houses, as well as statues of individuals she could only guess were Nephilims of the past, kept drawing her attention. Exotic plants and flowers surrounded an atrium with a misting waterfall. A flowing, bubbling stream, covered with glass, ran down the floor of the building and to the entrance, mesmerizing her. Outside opulent gardens cloaked the surrounding area. Sanna felt like she stepped into the lush emerald bamboo forest in the movie Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, before stepping onto warm, heated sand that swirled around smooth rocks.

  All around her was a fusion of cultures that blended in harmony and she could not believe that she was in what was once Cleopatra’s library and lighthouse. Men and women of every race walked past her dressed in various regal attire. Others were dressed in black uniforms and silver military caps. To her, they seemed to reflect the image of US Marines, but in the body of Angels. Their various-hued wings lay flat against their spine and as they walked by, each one saluted and caused her to look around at the people who came into her life to protect her, and who now were her family.

  While they walked through the building, various soldiers who opened a majestic carved steel-wooden door saluted Khamun. Light cascaded over them to reveal millions of filled opera boxes and floor seating. Tension filled the air. People coughed, grumbled disgust, and some flashed red, sickly eyes Sanna’s way. Grimacing she gripped Khamun’s hand, her soul hissing in disappointment because she knew instantly that those people could not be trusted, that they were tainted Cursed spies. The sound of a woman’s voice immediately drew Sanna’s attention due to the pain in the voice.

  “My children and I are without electricity. The Cursed burned down our block, we barely have any food, and all the Council can say is that you have services that help with such situations?” Sanna heard a woman respond desperately, “What services? The services are broken! They are failing and we are going without! I was told that my application was denied, but if I were two steps away from being homeless, then I would qualify for aid? What has happened to our community! We need help and not just people who give aid to rich people who don’t deserve those services!”

  “Ahem,” sounded behind Sanna, causing her to jump then turn. Lenox gave her a respectful nod, speaking low. “Follow me and I will escort you to the private boxes.”

  “Pay attention to everything because Khamun is now playing the game of a Royal. Check out this surprise,” Lenox suggested.

  Sanna swore the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement as they all settled into the box. She wondered what was going on.

  “Please stand for the Royal House of T’em,” the deep bass of an attendant announced. Gasps instantly surrounded them. Sanna’s mouth dropped in surprise. Her fiancé had finally done it. He had done what she knew he always felt he wasn’t ready to do. He had taken his place as his father’s heir and declared it to a society that was hell-bent upon shunning all he did. Marco’s gloating chuckle sounded behind her. Khamun continued to stand, waiting for his right to address the Council once the woman who pleaded with the Council continued.

  “Once the news came back of the war going on, Khamun placed the signed paperwork in that Kali had ready. We knew in order to continue to have some pull with the Council that we had no other choice. So, now we’re legit, but legally rogue; welcome to a new day, Oracle,” Lenox explained to her.

  He stood proudly next to her chair, as did Marco and Calvin, who were Khamun’s adherents.

  “Forgive me for interrupting you, dear mother. I only do so in respect to the testimony that you have just shared. I wish to cast my support in your cause and words. My council, I must press to you all, she is right. The Cursed have depleted us all, but what is worse is that they deplete our innocent population, both Nephilim and human alike. Right now the Cursed have begun the war. They are coming this way, and you all have been lulled into a slumber by your own people, some who have become Cursed themselves, and sat ignorant, ready to be slaughtered like sheep. It’s beyond time that we woke up and—”

  “Lying Swine!” erupted from the crowd.

  Sanna abruptly glanced around t
he crowd to see where it came from. Saturated hatred hit her the moment she locked her gaze on a male sitting in a box close to the main floor. Red glinted over the rims of black shades. Brown crisply cut hair adorned the jaw of a sharply handsome male. Olive skin appeared to be gray in a sickly hue as fangs dripped from a pair of plush lips. Sanna knew by the way that the male kept shifting in his seat, then rubbing his inner thigh that she was staring at a Cursed Phantom insurgent.

  “That chulo is Lord Gregory Ryan de Mer’ce,” Marco grumbled next to her, “and next to him is his Shirley Temple–curl wearing sister. Chick washes her ass in bullshit.”

  “They hate Khamun?” she wearily asked quietly needing to know because the way the male’s nails appeared to lengthen then turn black had her anxious.

  “Hate is an understatement, mami. They want Khamun’s birthright,” Marco coolly replied. He leaned forward to run a hand over his growing hair, then growled low, “Hey, understand who the fuck you’re talking to, bastard!”

  An incessant slamming of a gauntlet echoed in the chambers. Council members and Society socialites began to grumble in protest. Nephilim citizens glanced up to Khamun’s box, with hope, and years of pain shining in their eyes.

  “Prince Khamun, you must remember your place! Royal or not, there is a time and place for that, and this is not the time. It was Ms. Hughes’s time, not yours,” a short, balding, and husky Elder chastised.

  Each time he slammed his gauntlet down, the redder his face became until even his eyes turned red. Sanna gasped. They were surrounded by turncoats.

  Sanna noticed Khamun furrow his brow in resigned anger, concern, stress, and exhaustion over everything. She knew he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and it hurt her to be helpless in not being able to take that stress from him. The shift of emotions in the Council chamber caused her to stand to support her man. Her palm gently cradled the side of his scruffy goatee-covered jaw. His ropy soft locks brushed the back of her hand and she let their auras connect and soothe each other while he spoke.

  “It’s time, baby. Don’t worry about protecting me or them ostracizing me like they did you and your team. It’s time they knew the truth because evil is in the ranks, helping bring an end to your world, baby,” Sanna coaxed.

  Sanna closed her eyes the moment Khamun’s large palm reached up to cradle her face. His touch always seemed to quiet the fears and worries within her. A rosy hue flushed against her golden skin the moment he moistened his lips with his tongue then turned to address the Council. She watched him drop his head as if thinking. His hands rested behind his back, and then he glanced up to turn his father’s way, who sat next to other High Elders. Sanna swore she saw his father give a slight nod then rest his finger against his temple in wait.

  “For years, we and other Guardian Houses have been working, doing our duty to keep you all alive. Protect the innocent as more and more Houses disappeared, fell to poverty, sickness, homelessness, or worse, lost to the Cursed.”

  A low, sarcastic chuckle rippled to Khamun while he paced back and forth ignoring the muted rumbles of anger, boo’s, hisses, jeers and hate of the elite below. “The meek have suffered enough. You all have lost your minds and I’m going to remind you of it all.”

  “Prince Khamun! That is enough! Sit down and respect your elders and this council!” the floor speaker spat.

  Khamun just laughed, and then held his hand out. He glanced at his family. Every handsome and broad male stood, moving to head to the lower level. Amit muttered to them that the Cursed were on the ground in droves while gripping his arm.

  Sanna could feel them as well. She studied the man she had learned was her father’s Vessel as he led her mother below to safer quarters. The moment Khamun’s eyes settled on her, Sanna felt her body hum and knew this was the time.

  Slowly standing she laid a hand in his as he pulled her to his side. Kyo and Ryo appeared behind them as their Gargoyle Protectors, their bodies slowly shifting to reveal the mystic legends that they were. Marco moved to the other side of Khamun, and then Calvin moved to her left. Lenox positioned himself by Marco.

  “Dios, old head is sweating worse than a virgin in a strip club,” Marco quipped.

  “Disrespectful, spoiled pup! Your House will obey our rules and—” The Elder literally broke his gauntlet in anger.

  “Dearly beloved!” Khamun dispassionately interjected, his voice dripping with authority and anger. “Avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’”

  “Romans 12:9,” she heard Darren and Take mutter then nod in respect.

  Wings the color of midnight and steel erupted from Khamun’s back. Incisors dropped from his lips and he growled low, “Your history has been manipulated and hidden to support the Cursed. That day is done. Truth is before you in the eyes of those before you all. I am the bringer of Death. The fabled Attacker. The Reaper.”

  Everyone gasped. Whispers of, “He’s the Attacker? He can’t be,” fluttered in the crowd.

  At that same time, Sanna pushed back her lace lilac hood, which was attached to her dress, her eyes scanning the crowd. The air in the room seemed to thicken with an electric charge causing lights to flicker off and on, and she felt her pulse quicken with the closeness her family. An eerie sensation had San immediately dig her nails into her palms. A tall, butterscotch-hued man walked, no, more like strolled as if he was a king, around the main floor, heading into his own box. He was dressed in black slacks, a black vest, and a white shirt that made Sanna think that he shared the same tailor as Lenox, except that Lenox’s look was better.

  She knew that bald man. She knew that shifty smile hidden behind a well-groomed goatee and perfect smile. Why she knew him was irritating her, but watching him had her full of caution. As she stared, she observed him briefly turn and stare directly into her eyes, so she assumed. That brazen stare made her jump back in fear mixed with anger and something more. Something more that produced a dangerous knowing in her soul before she was forced to pull her attention back to her surroundings.

  “The Cursed are coming to bring their war. Many of you have seen it and experienced it. I also lived through it and was saved by Khamun and his House. Many of you would shun me because of my background because I was a mere human sought after by the Cursed. However, I stand here today because the House of Templar saved my life. You must believe him! He speaks the truth, his is the last Sin Eater, the Angel of Death reincarnate, and he will help us save ourselves from the Cursed!” Sanna pleaded.

  “Sacrilege lies from a youngling who knows nothing of our world. There are no more Sin Eaters. The Prince is just a brat who has come up with a theatric means to distract us from our lives! Who are you to address us, child?” the Elder hissed then bore his eyes on her. His stare alone made Sanna sick to her stomach at the smell of taint in the air. But, his words of disrespect had her digging her nails into Khamun’s own clutched one, in anger.

  “Who am I? You disrespectful puppet! I am your salvation! I am the Mouthpiece for the Most High!” Anger had Sanna breathing hard as her hair flung around and the room became white in her power. “You Cursed bastard! I am the Oracle! And Khamun is his weapon. The Living Sin Eater!”

  Silence marred the chambers. Not even a pin drop could be heard before, “Go ’head and pop a Advil because ya gonna to die today. Whoo!” offhandedly sounded behind her from Calvin.

  Khamun simply glanced toward her brothers and brothers-in-arms before muttering, “Lock the doors, all of them.”

  He regally lifted her into his arms, stood on the edge of the opera box, then snarled.

  Ah, how he loved the electrifying tension and chaos that currently was forming among the elite and Houses of Nephilim Society while he strolled into the atrium. It wasn’t often that he came to these preliminaries, but today he felt a little intrigued. His work in St. Louis had turned toward his favor. He had played his role well, tipping both sides of the Nephilim rac
es to continue the battle between the Light and the Cursed. His job never seemed to stop.

  Ever since the Garden, he had been devising ways to serve both sides yet also serve himself, and today was no different. Jacques Samael Fur’i strolled through a set of silk black curtains and sat calmly in his secluded opera box. He idly glanced at his smart phone. Brandon, his adopted son, flashed across the screen. His son was shown taking down his newest Cursed nanny within his mansion. The boy feasted from the demon’s body with a sinister scowl that made Jacques proud. Brandon’s tiny dragon fangs tore at flesh but did not break the bone as he played.

  Jacques held out his hand to his Phantom attendant and felt his typical tinted glass rest in his palm. The show was about to begin and he was very curious as to how his antics were going to play out to the clueless sheep in society. Taking a sip from his glass, sweet demon blood coated his tongue and he licked his lips while his incisors fought to descend. He felt electrified.

  However, a sensation within the building made him glance around anxiously. A familiar taste was forming in his mouth. One that he hadn’t savored since his days in the Garden, which had him wondering exactly what is was that had him feeling this way. He let his gaze slowly comb the audience. He glimpsed a couple of his Cursed insurgents, including the weakling, the Dark Lady’s second Pet, Gregory Ryan de Mer’ce.

  He was such a fool. Jacques enjoyed pointing out the ingrate’s flaws every time. The Mer’ce House sat directly under his box in their private section. He believed it ironic that no one in Society ever realized the open declaration of deceit. Nevertheless that was not his concern. His involvement with that House was still hidden and it would stay that way for as long as he wanted. Licking his lips, Jacques continued his scanning, briefly pausing on the riffraff Royal House. It was fascinating.