The Wanderer's Children

by L. G. O'Connor

  “Huh.” She couldn’t dispute his logic, although it seemed highly improbable. “Where did you go to school?”

  “France,” he said, rising. “I need to check on the soufflés. Do you have any other questions?” For the first time all night, she caught the slightest hint of a French accent when he spoke.

  Besides asking if you have any brothers? She stood. “Sorry for being so nosy, it’s just such a thrill to meet someone who’s skilled in linguistics. I’d love to learn more about your ‘in’ at the Vatican.”

  He smiled without answering. Placing his fingertips on the small of her back, he led her into the hallway. Her nerve endings lit up like a Christmas tree. He really is all that, and a bag of chips, she thought. If she were Cara, she’d never get out of bed.

  Irene crossed the hall to her guest room while he headed in the opposite direction toward the kitchen. She opened her bedroom door and went to her suitcase. Rummaging through her things, she pulled out Cara’s gift—French Country dishtowels from Provence. Cara had raved about her vacation with Simon in Monaco back in April, so Irene thought they were an ideal choice.

  On her way back toward the door, she spotted her purse and gave it a sour stare. Why prolong the inevitable? She jerked it off the chair and fished out the NSA-provided cell phone, turned it back on, and hit the speed dial for Caswell.

  “Are you in danger?” he asked flatly when he answered.

  “No. Why would you think that?” she said, her face pinched in annoyance.

  “I asked you three hours ago to turn on the tracking device.”

  “Fine,” she said. Taking one out of her purse the size of a dime, she flipped it on and threw it back inside. “So, you want my report or not?” She decided to use the NSA to do some research for her under the guise of cooperation. They wouldn’t suspect she’d be using the information to do just the opposite—prove Cara’s and Simon’s innocence.

  “Yes, if it’s not too much trouble,” he replied dryly.

  “Save the sarcasm,” she snapped. “The blond man in the surveillance footage is Cara’s fiancé, Simon Young. He runs a private security firm, and he lives with her on the Upper East Side. They’re due to fly to France on Wednesday for business. Cara mentioned something about an office in Paris. That’s it.” She omitted her discovery that he spoke the language on the surveillance footage. She’d hold that for later. Or never.

  “Thank you, Miss Hickey. I’ll be in touch,” he said and disconnected.

  Her stomach twisted into a knot. She hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. That her gamble would pay off. She liked Simon, and the thought of hurting either him or Cara left a lump in her throat.

  Her heart was in the right place, but then again, wasn’t the road to Hell paved with good intentions?

  Chapter 24

  CARA

  New York City. Fifth Avenue Penthouse. Saturday, May 25, 12:45 AM ET

  GIDDY AND EXHAUSTED, Cara dangled her arm over Jessa’s thin, bird-like shoulder, while Irene did the same from the other side. They belted out the last chorus of “New York, New York” while attempting to walk three abreast down the hallway toward the bedrooms. It was a tight squeeze even without the Rockettes-like kicks in time with the music. That last bottle of wine had probably been a mistake. Come morning, Cara would know for sure by the size of her headache.

  Without warning, Jessa jerked to a dead stop and her eyes went blank. Cara and Irene stumbled backward almost taking them down in a three-girl, multi-limb jumble before they regained their footing. The blank look on Jessa’s face was all too familiar. Cara had seen it many times in their four years during college.

  Irene eyed her and whispered, “Welcome back, Jessa the Walking Fortune Cookie.” As weird as Jessa’s episodes were, Cara and Irene were used to her slipping into a trance and bestowing pearls of wisdom to whomever was close by. Jessa found them distressing because she couldn’t remember them. Generally, she accepted her unique abilities as a part of her life—despite being friend-limiting. Not everyone felt comfortable around someone with her kind of gift. During their years at Georgetown, she and Irene were Jessa’s only close friends.

  Cara understood now more than ever the discomfort of being different.

  Jessa turned to Irene with unseeing eyes. “Trust the man you love to help you.”

  Irene looked at Cara and shielded her mouth with her hand. “Obviously, she must know something that I don’t,” she whispered.

  Turning to Cara, Jessa stared through her. “When the hour is darkest, you will come into your own.”

  A chill traversed Cara’s spine. In her experience, Jessa’s fortunes always held meaning, and Cara already expected darkness. A sense of dread washed over her before she filed the fortune away for later.

  Jessa’s sweet singing voice resumed abruptly in mid-chorus for about ten seconds… until she glanced at Cara’s and Irene’s stunned faces. “What?”

  “Um, you know… fortune cookie time,” Irene said.

  Jessa reddened, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Oh, God. I didn’t say anything horrifying, did I?”

  “No, but I hope he’s gorgeous—whoever he is,” replied Irene.

  “Who?” Jessa asked.

  “The man I love who I’m supposed to trust. But knowing my luck, you could’ve been talking about my father.”

  “Gosh, I’m sorry, Irene.” Turning to Cara, Jessa’s eyes filled with worry. “Did I say anything scary to you, Cara?”

  Cara smiled and yawned. “No, just cryptic.” She gave Jessa a hug.

  A strip of light at the bottom of her door indicated Simon was still awake. “This is me,” Cara said, reaching for the door knob. “ ’Night, ladies. Prepare for a big day tomorrow.”

  Simon glanced up from his book, a leather-bound first edition of Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities. “Did you girls have fun?” he asked. His dark-blond hair hung down around his shoulders as he sat comfortably reading on the bed wrapped in a downy white robe.

  Cara had been shocked and amazed when she’d discovered the collection of rare books in the penthouse library. Recently, Simon had decided to reread all of Dickens’s works and was methodically plodding his way through that section of the bookshelf.

  “Probably too much,” she said with a pained expression, walking past him and into their bathroom. She reached for her toothbrush next to Simon’s and smiled, noticing the bristles on his were still wet. The simple things pleased her, making her feel like a normal woman in love with a normal man. In these brief moments, she could escape the weight of her destiny, even if only for a second.

  After brushing her teeth, Cara changed into one of Simon’s T-shirts, tossed her underwear into the hamper, and slipped on a robe matching Simon’s.

  Still awash in an alcoholic buzz, Cara crawled onto the bed and nestled in next to him. He curled his muscled arm protectively around her in a column of warmth and continued to read.

  “Thank you for making us such a fabulous dinner,” she said, staring up at his strong, chiseled jawline.

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Anything for you, my love.”

  A yawn escaped her as she snuggled her head onto his chest. “I had a great time. But I’ll admit, Irene and Jessa’s interrogation wore me out.” Cara thought back over the night’s conversations, and wondered if she’d let too many details slip in the half-truths she told. “I’m not sure if I should’ve mentioned the trip next week, even though I stuck with our cover story about the office in Paris.”

  He released a deep sigh. “You weren’t the only one interrogated. Irene caught me speaking with Chloe in the angelic language.”

  Cara raised her chin and stared up at him; the fluffiness of his robe was soft against her cheek. “A real conversation? With my dog?”

  His lips turned up in a smile. “Of course. And not just a dog; she’s a Sentinel.”

  “Silly me,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And you were going to mention this to me, when?”

 
He shrugged. “I assumed you knew.”

  Cara huffed. “Assume nothing. I feel like I’ve been wearing an eye patch with both hands tied behind my back ever since I got involved with the Angelorum. It’s annoying.”

  Simon kissed the top of her head in appeasement. “I won’t make the mistake again. But Chloe is the least of your concerns. Irene astutely identified the angelic language as a proto-language related to the divine languages. I managed to avoid revealing which one.”

  “A what?”

  He put his book down on the nightstand and hugged her closer. “A proto-language. A language from which others are derived. Quick history lesson?”

  She groaned into his chest. “All right.”

  He chuckled and squeezed her. “I’ll keep it short. I promise. The Angelic language is really the language God used to address Adam and Eve in the Garden before their Fall from Paradise. It’s the universal language of all God’s creatures, including angels. Adam and Eve lost their ability to speak it when they fell from grace. Enoch, a liaison to Semyaza and the first Watchers, was the only man among men who could innately speak it after their fall.

  “Adam created a proto-Hebrew language after he left Paradise based on his memories. It was considered the universal language until the confusion of languages at the Tower of Babel. Proto-Semitic languages grew from there and provide the base of what’s now considered the divine languages. Agrippa created something in the sixteenth century which he touted as the divine language of angels, but the true lexicons only exists in the Book of Human Angels. I’ve convinced Irene my lexicon was gained through hidden texts in the Vatican.” Simon snickered. “In reality, they’d do anything short of kill to get their hands on it.”

  I should’ve paid more attention in church, Cara thought, feeling inadequate as a lapsed Catholic. “Should we be worried about Irene?”

  His brows bunched as he gave it some thought. “Yes and no. Outside of the Angelorum and the Dark Ones, the language hasn’t existed since Genesis. My main concern is having her draw unwanted attention to us. But frankly, she’d be hard pressed to prove exactly what she heard.”

  Cara weighed his words. “Even if she knew about us, I don’t think she would ever betray us. Problem is, she doesn’t, and the girl has a dogged sense of curiosity. Is there anything I can do?” The thought of her two worlds colliding made Cara half-crazy.

  “Let me think on it,” he replied.

  “So, what did you speak with Chloe about?” she asked, not really expecting an answer. Her fingers danced close to his heart, tracing the design of the red Guardian tattoo under his robe. She loved the feel of Simon under her fingertips, smooth and silky. Other than eyebrows, eyelashes, and the hair on their head, Nephilim had no body hair. One of the myriad changes affecting her lately: the hair on her legs and under her arms had stopped growing.

  He rubbed her back, the warmth and movement of his large hand soothing her. “She’s asked for us to breed her when she goes into heat. She wants to have a litter of puppies, believing more Sentinels will be required shortly. Oh yes, and she finds blue brindle or pure fawn males the most attractive, but says as long as he’s companionable and can sire her pups, she’ll be satisfied.”

  Cara’s jaw hinged open. “Seriously?”

  When Chloe was offered to her as a puppy four years ago, the owner gave her a hefty discount on the condition that she not be fixed so that she could be bred for one litter. Since the owner was a friend of Cara’s mother, Cara had agreed. Funny, her mother lost touch with the woman shortly afterward. In hindsight, Cara smelled another Angelorum set-up.

  “Yes, seriously,” he said with a smug look.

  “And she told you this… how?”

  “Mostly telepathically with a couple of barks thrown in for emphasis,” he said, his eyes holding a shine.

  Cara shook her head and chuckled. “Okay, that’s weird, but Jessa takes the cake for weird tonight.” Weird was Cara’s new normal. So why not a conversation with Chloe and a fortune from her psychic friend? On a scale of one to ten, they only ranked about a three.

  “Oh? Does she want puppies, too?” he asked with a smirk.

  She snorted. “For the record, that was an awful joke. No, she had one of her psychic episodes in the hallway.”

  “Psychic episodes?”

  “She went all trance-like and gave a fortune cookie’s worth of info to me and Irene. She’s had these episodes and random visions her whole life. It’s a bit jarring when she slips into her trances, but worse for her. She doesn’t remember them.” A shudder passed through Cara as she recalled Jessa’s words.

  Simon, wearing a sudden look of concern, squeezed her tight. “What did she say to you?”

  Cara hesitated briefly, uncomfortable with the idea of repeating it aloud, and then sighed and threw it out there. “ ‘When the hour is darkest, you will come into your own.’ I’m not sure what it means. I never am when she spews her fortune tidbits. But they always seem to mean something later when you least expect it.”

  “Well, it doesn’t sound like a bad message,” he said, relaxing his hold.

  Cara buried herself further into his embrace. “It doesn’t necessarily sound like a good one either,” she mumbled, wearing a pout. “I’m terrified every time I think about where this is headed. What makes me so special? Why do I have a better chance of saving the world than someone else?” The pit of fear she carried in her gut clenched tighter while dread tightened its grip around her windpipe.

  He tucked her head under his chin. “My love, you’re the first genetically engineered Nephil, and that alone makes you special. More than that, you’re the woman I love.” He rested his cheek on her head.

  His words warmed her, wishing they were enough but knowing they weren’t. “So far, it’s just Brett, you, and I who’ve been chosen as part of the Twelve. I’m interested in what he brings to the table besides a fan base of screaming women.”

  “Look at me,” he said softly, giving her a little squeeze. She craned her head to meet his gaze. “Don’t be fooled. Be prepared for this to come together quickly. The other nine may be closer than you think.”

  She eyed him warily. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I have experience and instinct. I think we should turn to the whys. As much as this appears random, it’s not. One thing I know with certainty, your soul didn’t choose this randomly. At some point, we need to find out who you are.”

  “What do you mean who I am?” Her scalp tingled as she remembered Constantina’s question from the other night, “Why Cara?”

  He locked his eyes on hers and ran his large hand over her hair. “Cara Collins is who you are now, but your soul is eternal. Cara is not who you always were. Think of Eae. Constantina in this life, but her true essence is Eae, the Angel Who Thwarts Demons.”

  The tingling along Cara’s scalp grew stronger. “Are you saying I’m an angel?”

  “That depends on whether you were a resident of Heaven as a human soul or if you were in the employ of our Creator. I don’t know the answer. My knowledge of our relationship in Heaven is as limited as yours—to the vision in the Meadow the night we made love for the first time.”

  Cara thought back to the vision and to placing a pearl-sized piece of her soul within Simon on his last day in Heaven before this life. How he’d become her soul mate had stayed with her while the rest of the vision had faded almost immediately after they’d made love. A feeling of unease told her there was something she needed to remember…

  Her hand played over the hard muscled landscape hiding underneath his robe. “You know what I find so ironic? Irene and Jessa’s misplaced jealousy, when all the while I envy them their blissful ignorance.”

  He pulled his head back to look at her. “If you had chosen ignorance, we might never have met in this lifetime.”

  “If that’s the trade-off then I’d choose you every time,” she said, staring into his eyes, overwhelmed by the a
bundance of love she had for him. She was more than ready to leave this discussion behind and to move onto something more… fulfilling.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” He leaned down and pressed his warm, firm lips to hers. His touch on her skin always managed to send a delightful pulse of electricity through her.

  Breaking the kiss, she smiled at him wickedly. “Irene wanted to know if you ever cook for me in just an apron.”

  “She did, did she? Hmm. Maybe I should try that some time,” he said with a soft growl, pulling her on top of him. Giggling, Cara sat up and straddled his lap.

  His eyes darkened with desire. “I can tell when you’re ready for me. You smell like wildflowers.”

  “I do?” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “You do,” he said, his hands reaching inside her robe and settling on her hips. “When your Nephilim senses fully develop, you should be able to smell my desire for you, too.” As if on cue, he hardened beneath her, filling the space between his stomach and the fabric of his robe between her legs.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. A smile formed on her face. “I sense a pleasant muskiness. Could that be you?”

  A low growl escaped his throat. He sat up and worked to liberate her shoulders from her robe. “It’s most definitely me.” She slipped it the rest of the way off and threw it onto the floor.

  Before he could tackle the borrowed T-shirt she wore, she returned the favor and separated his robe, revealing his naked body. Her eyes honed in on his oversized arousal as it stood ready and waiting against his chiseled abs.

  “It most definitely is,” she said, licking her lips and taking him in her hands. Her hormones surged through her with a jolt, overwhelming her with the need to take him, to possess him. “I’m driving. Lie back and enjoy,” she said, planting her hand in the center of his chest and gently pushing him back so his shoulders rested against the headboard.

  He stared at her with amusement. “I’m all yours.”