“I’ve spent hours researching everything I can find on the prophecy short of having the Book of Human Angels at my disposal. I’m not buying the obvious. There’s something more at stake here for the Dark Ones. I’m hoping to make some headway when we go back next week.”
“What do you mean by ‘the obvious’?” Michael asked.
Simon’s forehead bunched in concentration, his hand resting on his chin as he paced silently back and forth on the mat. “Even if we consider the addition of genetically engineered Nephilim for the Dark Ones, I don’t see this playing out as pure hand-to-hand like the confrontation in San Francisco. The battle will be far more epic. That’ll mean some options I’m not seeing yet.”
“Hmm. What does Isaac say?” A sense of uneasiness traveled through Michael. His feelings were similar to Cara’s; neither of them savored where this could lead.
Simon shook his head. “Haven’t told him. I need him to focus on Cara’s safety until we get to France. The two latest recruits started this week which makes five Guardians—in addition to Isaac—to assist until we leave on Wednesday.” Isaac had taken Simon’s place as their official Trinity Guardian, but the Angelorum agreed Cara needed more protection and they couldn’t lose Isaac as the leader of the Tri-State team. At this point, Isaac’s role was ceremonial at best. Michael knew Cara was less than pleased with the selection, and that Simon’s best friend, Isaac, didn’t rank high on Cara’s list of favorite people.
“What about Cara? Does she know?”
Simon shook his head. “No. The time between now and next Wednesday means everything to her. She needs to focus on the wedding and to spend time with her friends. I won’t burden her unless I have to… which leads me to my second concern. It’s been way too quiet in New York. Even the Nephilim rogue hasn’t been making as many sporadic guest appearances. Something’s brewing. I can sense it. I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be safe here. We’re like sitting ducks.”
“You and Cara?”
Simon gaze hardened. “All of us.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Michael said, his shoulders tensing. He’d worked his butt off to get where he was, and it would take nothing short of death to keep him away from New York. Turns out, Cara wasn’t the only one who needed to stay unburdened between now and next Wednesday.
“We’ll assess the situation once we’re at the Sanctuary, but we may need to remain there for a while.” Simon stopped pacing, and crossed his arms over his smooth, broad chest.
“What about your wedding? Didn’t Constantina say we still had some time?” Michael asked.
Simon frowned. “She did, but she thinks too much is shifting in the Trinity Stones to be completely sure. We could be knee-deep in the apocalypse by the Fourth of July.”
“That’s a depressing thought,” Michael mumbled and scrubbed his hand down his face. The discussion put him right back in the middle of his black mood. Facing Sienna and the apocalypse. Brilliant. If it came down to a choice, I’ll take the apocalypse, he thought.
Simon shrugged. “It is what it is.”
Michael glanced at the wall clock. “Why don’t we get some weapons and finish up? If we don’t get going we’ll be swarmed by my eleven o’clock senior citizen self-defense class.” His two full-time instructors, Deva and Rodney, weren’t due in until eleven-thirty, so it was all him until then. “Hit the showers by ten-thirty, cool?” Maybe some hot water and steam would reset his attitude.
“Sounds good. By the way, I’m prepared to work through whatever comes our way over the next five days and keep Cara happy. That said, I need to be in SoHo by eleven-fifteen. I’m meeting with the caterer about the menu for Saturday night’s party and to pick up the alcohol for the bar.”
“You’re not cooking?”
Simon’s mouth turned down in disappointment. “Not this time.”
Michael smiled and thought that Cara didn’t know how lucky she was…
He selected a set of knives from his locked case, and they headed back to the center of the mat to finish their workout.
Simon’s words resonated in his head. The Fourth of July was around the corner… that didn’t leave them much time.
Chapter 8
CARA
New York City. Thursday, May 23, 11:25 AM ET
CARA HURRIEDLY CLIMBED the subway stairs outside of Rockefeller Center not far from her first stop—the Diamond District on Forty-Seventh Street—and melted into the flow of traffic on the sidewalk. The familiar energy of her unseen Nephilim security team dogged her every step from a respectable distance. A necessary precaution in her life these days.
A quick glance at her watch made it the third time in ten minutes. 11:27 AM. Crap. She needed to pick up her pace if she expected to be on time for her meeting with Sienna at noon. Running late set Cara’s teeth on edge, especially when it wasn’t her fault.
Her morning had gone horribly wrong from the moment she had tried to get dressed in more than a string bikini and a big fluffy bath robe. She must’ve grown overnight. It took over an hour to find something—anything—that fit. Good-bye, size six! Only last month, she’d said good-bye to size four. Thank God for knit tops containing spandex and peasant skirts with drawstring waists. Even her bra was on its last hook. Her feet? They no longer fit into her dainty size seven shoes. As of this morning, they appeared to be a whole size larger. Fortunately, she’d found a pair of flat, open sandals to squeeze into.
In a panic, Cara called Gretchen, her new personal shopper at Saks whom she’d stumbled on last month after the first growth spurt. She’d wisely kept Gretchen’s number in case she needed her again. Good call—and problem solved. A new batch of clothes, underthings, and shoes would be delivered by dinner. Too bad she couldn’t have gotten them earlier.
A quick examination in the mirror after her phone call with Kai confirmed her theory. Although the same face with its dewy complexion, full lips, and sage green eyes—minus a few laugh lines—still stared back at her, everything from her neck down looked… different. Her curves were still in all the right places, only a proportionally larger version, and she was packing on muscle like Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2. Her arms, legs, back, and abs had taken on a crisp and rippled definition… noticeably more than yesterday. Even the notch on the doorjamb had leaped a full inch overnight.
At first, she’d attributed the initial changes after the rescue to exercise and her training, but this level of muscle development was next to impossible without steroids and intense weight lifting.
Dread had settled in the pit of her stomach with this morning’s discovery. There was no way she’d be able to hide it from her mother’s eagle eye on Sunday. Not to mention, she expected an unflattering comment to come her way later from Sienna regarding her less-than-fashionable outfit. Better than going naked, she supposed.
Cara made haste getting to the jeweler to pick up her engagement ring. Passed from Constantina to Simon, it was a vintage 1920s beauty—a two-carat cushion-cut diamond set in platinum and surrounded by sapphires. She’d barely had the ring for a week when one of the stones was lost during their post-Tribunal vacation in Monaco. The replacement stone had taken two agonizing months to make. At least now she’d be able to produce evidence of her engagement for her friends and family
She ducked into a tiny lobby and rang the bell. The door latch released. Pushing past the heavy metal security door, she ascended the dark, narrow stairs into the small shop.
The jeweler’s eyes lit up. “Cara, so good to see you,” he said with a thick Swiss-German accent. In his early sixties, Wilfred Hancock had a slight build, a head of steel gray hair, and a kind demeanor. A personal friend of Constantina’s and a member of an old and trusted Messenger family, he came highly recommended.
She leaned in for a European-style kiss, one on each cheek. “Hello, Wilfred. I’m excited to see my ring.”
“You’ll be very pleased, indeed. The stone is a perfect match. Wait here and I’ll get it for you, Lieblin
g,” he said and disappeared behind the velvet curtain.
Tapping her fingers on the top of the glass case, Cara glanced around the room. The shop looked deceptively small without any exterior windows. Expertly lit and finely appointed, the showroom contained only six waist-high cases circling the perimeter of the floor. Cara knew from her last visit that there was a walk-in vault and a private viewing room in the back.
She moved her palm and stared down into the dazzling case while she waited. Her ring was beautiful, but this jewelry was in another league. Dripping with diamonds and other precious stones, some of the chunky, jewel-encrusted bracelets appeared so heavy her wrist ached just looking at them. Given the value of Wilfred’s inventory, Cara wondered why he didn’t choose to be in the International Gem Tower with its state-of-the-art security.
Wilfred returned through the velvet curtain, carrying a small pouch.
“Cara,” he said and extracted the ring. “Give me your finger, Liebling.”
She held out her hand, and he slipped the ring on her finger up to her knuckle… where it wedged with no chance of making it any farther.
A look of alarm passed over Cara’s face before she gave herself a mental kick. Duh! My feet have grown so my hands must’ve, too.
Wilfred’s eyebrows drew together, reminding Cara of a bushy gray caterpillar. He pulled her hand toward him for a closer examination. “What happened? Has this ring ever fit? Do you want me to size it for you?”
Cara politely twisted away. “I’ve been retaining water. I forgot to take my pills this morning. It’ll be okay.” She removed her necklace and strung the 18k white gold chain through the ring, refastening it around her neck. The ring hung next to the single solitaire, her personal talisman, already on the chain.
Wilfred looked distressed. “What are you doing putting that beautiful ring on your necklace?”
She pasted on a smile. “It’s so I won’t lose it. By tonight, I’ll be able to put it on without a problem.” She reached into her purse. “How much do I owe you?”
He waved her off. “Constantina has taken care of the bill. Are you sure you don’t want me to size the ring for you?”
Another quick glance at her watch confirmed she needed to leave. “No, really, I’ll be back if we need to get it sized,” she said kindly.
He narrowed his eyes. “You won’t take it anywhere else?”
Cara gave him a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Never!”
“All right, then,” he conceded. “Give Simon my well wishes.”
Her lips turned up in a smile. “I will. Have a wonderful day, Wilfred.” She turned on her heel and left as fast as she could.
Eighteen minutes and counting. If she walked really fast, she could make it to the Garment District by twelve.
At one minute to twelve, Cara caught her breath and walked into the building where Nicolas Alda had his office and design studio. The building looked like all the other nondescript buildings in midtown between Thirty-Fourth and Forty-Second on Sixth Avenue.
She headed straight for the receptionist. “I’m here to see Sienna Sargent.”
The willowy receptionist gave her a bored look. “Ms. Collins?”
Cara cocked her head and smiled. “Yes.”
Willowy dialed Sienna. “Um-hum, she’s here. I’ll send her up.” She hung up and pointed. “Elevators are to the right, eighth floor.”
Cara had never visited Sienna at work. Her office was on the executive floor, one floor above the design studio. The elevator doors opened to reveal Sienna waiting for her, holding a sketch pad. Sienna was one of those women who stopped traffic—even on a bad day. She was conservatively dressed today—for Sienna—in an above-the-knee black pencil shirt, a white fitted blouse with the top two buttons open, exposing a large silver necklace, and a towering pair of Christian Louboutin heels that put her somewhere in the neighborhood of six feet tall.
Cara stepped out into the hallway as Sienna stood, mouth agape. Her long jet-black hair hung straight and full to her mid-back, and her sky-blue eyes sized up Cara over a pair of black-framed glasses that were more for show than necessity.
Here it comes… Cara thought.
“What’d you do?” Sienna asked snidely. “Knock over a Goodwill store on your way here?”
And there it is—the comment.
“Thanks. Nothing like saying exactly what’s on your mind,” Cara said, shaking her head. She loved Sienna, but the woman lacked filters of any kind. They’d been best friends since they were sixteen years old, growing up in Summit, New Jersey. Over the years, their friendship had required a lot of tolerance and acceptance, but the rewards had far exceeded the friction.
“Just sayin’,” Sienna said, holding up her sketch pad in surrender.
Cara shoulders slumped. “Nothing in my closet fits. The vaccine Kai gave me is causing all sorts of funky things to happen.” Cara knew Sienna didn’t understand exactly what the vaccine had done—only that it had saved Cara’s life.
Sienna sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Don’t worry, Carissima, I’ll get you fixed up. At least as far as a wedding dress is concerned,” she said, using Cara’s nickname like she always did when she wanted Cara to feel better.
Cara followed Sienna back to her office and sat down at her conference table. Lunch had already been ordered in—a salad and a bottle of water.
Sienna reached for a calculator and a measuring tape, and then pulled the interior curtains closed in her office and lowered the external shades, transforming it into a dressing room. A small dais that she used for her models stood in the corner.
“Okay, bag lady, take off your clothes down to your underwear so I can assess the damage and make some calculations,” she said.
“I thought we were going to look at more designs?”
“Uh, yeah. We will. But, I need to see what I’m dealing with first.”
With a heavy sigh, Cara removed her clothes until all that was left were her bra and panties.
Sienna’s eyes went wide and nearly dropped her measuring tape. “Shit, what have you been doing? Pumping iron with Simon? You have biceps and a fucking six-pack for shit’s sake!”
Today was the first time in almost a month that she’d seen Sienna in person. Between Cara’s training schedule and Sienna’s preparation for the winter collection, they’d been limited to connecting over the phone or through text. Sienna’s reaction didn’t surprise her, but she didn’t enjoy it, either.
Cara rolled her eyes. “Way to make me feel like a freak. What’d you think? I was getting fat?”
Sienna shrugged. “Well, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel freakish. Actually, you look great—very Xena, Warrior Princess,” she said, gesticulating with her hands.
“Thanks,” Cara said with a sardonic smile. It wasn’t often she could fluster Sienna.
Sienna put the measuring tape around her neck and flipped through a small notebook. “Let me get your last set of measurements. Maybe I can extrapolate how big you’ll be if you continue to grow from now until the wedding. I’ll make three dresses: one in your size today, one with a growth projection, and one in between. That way, we should be pretty safe and only need minor alterations.”
Cara had to admit it sounded like a good plan. “Okay.”
“Go stand on the dais.”
Cara obeyed and turned to face Sienna. Her eagle eye honed in on Cara’s neck. “Is that your engagement ring on your necklace?”
Cara glared down at her.
“Oh, never mind.” Sienna snorted and then pulled the tape from around her neck. She went to work, measuring Cara from top to bottom, jotting notes along the way.
“So, how’s the Winter Collection going?” Cara asked while Sienna worked.
“I’m up to my eyeballs in parkas and mukluks. You’re a welcome escape, trust me.”
“Do I sense an Eskimo theme?” Cara asked, amused.
Sienna scowled. “Nico was inspired by his vacation in Alaska, and here I am producing
a collection of igloo-chic for next winter.”
“How’s everything going for Fall Fashion Week?”
“Ugh. More hell to bear.”
Cara frowned. “Senny, are you sure this is okay? I feel bad taking you away from your work to make all these dresses.”
Sienna stopped what she was doing, stood up, and planted her hands on her hips. “Are you nuts? You’re my best friend, I’m your maid of honor, and I’m a designer. Who else do you think I would let make these dresses? Not to mention, we’ll get them at wholesale.”
Cara threw her hands up. “All good points. My bad.”
A few minutes later, Sienna glanced over her notebook. “I have what I need. I think we can still go with the original design, but I have some other ideas that could work.”
“I’ll defer to you, my fashion maven.”
Cara put her clothes back on and sat at the conference table, eager to eat her salad as Sienna walked back to her desk.
Sienna’s eyes sparkled as she held up a large manila envelope, wearing a conspiratorial smile. “Before we look at the dresses, want to see what I got my hands on?” There was no mistaking the spring in her step as she rejoined Cara at the conference table.
Cara put down her fork and gave her a sideways smile. “You look like a cat who just ate a canary. What’ve you got?”
Sienna wiggled her eyebrows at Cara. “Better if I show you.” She slipped a bunch of contact sheets and a couple 9" x 12" photos out of the envelope and slid them across the table. The images were all variations of the same man. The hard, sculpted muscles of his hairless chest and abs glistened on his near-naked body as he modeled a wardrobe consisting of various pairs of scant white cotton underwear. Very little was left to the imagination. His face was shown either in profile, staring into the distance, or giving the camera a penetrating stare with intense royal-blue eyes under the now-familiar mahogany brows. His pictures dripped with a smoldering sex appeal that sent a rush of heat right to her core, leaving her breathless. Cara’s primal reaction rocked her.
Cara gasped. “Michael!” She fanned herself with a napkin while looking at her near-naked Messenger. “Is this the Calvin Klein underwear campaign?”
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