The Wanderer's Children

by L. G. O'Connor

  “He’ll be out today. The knife wound was deep. It pierced his heart, so they wanted to keep him overnight.” He let out a breath. “Something odd is going on. The Dark Ones put on a good show for us, but my gut’s telling me something isn’t right.”

  Her brow knit. “How so?”

  His fingertips stroked her hair. “A rogue Nephil who we think works for the Dark Ones lured Isaac and Zeke to a warehouse and then helped them to escape. Why not just kill them?”

  “Zeke mentioned that the rogue’s been shadowing you since the Sentinel found me,” Cara said.

  “Yes, and it’s been one of the most puzzling issues plaguing us since then. He’s been spying for certain, and out of nowhere feeds us information on Saturday. Odd. Very odd.”

  “What about the Nephilim with the black wings? You think maybe they wanted us to know they’ve succeeded in making the vaccine?”

  He sighed. “I’ve thought about that. It’s possible but to what advantage?”

  “Maybe this was an act of intimidation. To let us know they plan a full attack on the Guardianship during the battle,” Cara said, moving her feet against the soft skin of his under the covers as she thought.

  “But we already anticipated that. Though, to your point, the entire exercise reeks of a peacock preening. The only plausible explanation is that they’re trying to throw us off track, confuse us as to their true objective.”

  “Did Isaac say anything about the Nephilim? Zeke seemed to think their enhanced strength wasn’t quite up to par. It’s not like they can use the angelic weapons…”

  “The Dark Ones have an arsenal of their own. As we have our weapons, they have theirs. Had Kai not injected you with the Nephilim DNA, you would’ve died from Achanelech’s demon blade. Make no mistake, angel essence is what saved you.”

  A chill rippled through Cara. “I didn’t know that.” In her opinion, there was way too much she still didn’t know. Definitely her fault. She avoided asking the questions for fear of the answers. But ignorance could cost them their lives. It’s about time she took her head out of the sand and got educated. She chose one of the questions that had been niggling at her. “Lucifer was cast out of heaven with one third of the Heavenly host. Where are they hiding? Between soulless, possessions like Melanie, and demons, I can’t keep it straight. Explain it to me so it sticks.”

  Simon nibbled the back of her neck. “You sure you don’t want breakfast first?”

  She sighed. “Not this time.”

  He tightened his arms around her. “I’ll give you the abridged version. For every one of the three hundred Angelorum, there is a Dark One manifest on Earth… like Achanelech and his consort. They live among humans. The others live in the corridors between Hell and Earth, accessible by one of thirteen portals across the seven continents. North America has only one; it’s located close to San Francisco. Some places have two, such as South America and Europe, and then there are the places with three—Asia, since it contains the Middle East, and Africa.”

  Cara sniffed. “Let me guess. There’s a correlation between the number of portals per continent and the human atrocities that happen there?”

  Simon gave her a squeeze. “We believe so. As such, the Angelorum chose to reside in France near one of the European portals.”

  “They have only one compound?” Cara asked.

  “Yes, but that’s recent. Around the time I was born, the Angelorum decided to settle together in the current compound.”

  “Why did it change?”

  Simon’s chest rose and fell behind her. “I don’t know, love. That’s a better question for Constantina. But to answer your original question, if summoned, a disembodied fallen angel—now considered a demon—can temporarily inhabit a soulless or possess a human conduit like Melanie Solomon. In their native form, they look like what attacked you in your apartment. That’s the simplified version.”

  “Thanks… I think.” Somehow, that didn’t make her feel much better. If there were only three hundred fallen manifested like Achanelech that explained a few things. Like why the entire world wasn’t teaming with Dark Ones.

  At the mention of Melanie’s name, Cara heard Kai open the guest room door.

  “Our company is awake. How about that breakfast?” she asked, giving his arm a kiss.

  He nuzzled her hair with his nose. “One more thing. To stay in human form and heal from injuries, the Dark Ones need a steady diet of human souls.”

  Chapter 50

  ESCHER

  New York City. W Hotel. Tuesday, May 28, 5:50 PM ET

  “YOU LITTLE WHORE,” Escher sneered as he brought the cane down on the girl’s backside for the fifth time. She lay naked at the foot of the bed, bound, and on full display for his viewing pleasure. Her whimpering and soft cries aroused him under his clothes.

  He tangled his hand in her long, curly hair, strawberry blonde like that of his lovely step-daughter, Jessamine, and pulled her head back until she screamed.

  “Quiet or I’ll really give you something to scream about,” he gritted next to her ear. She bit her lip to squelch the sound of her crying.

  If only Jessamine would bend to him like the paid prostitute in front of him. His minions had followed his lovely girl to New York, losing track of her until she arrived at the Beacon Theatre. He still hadn’t recovered from the shock of seeing her surrounded by the Angelorum. Even more insulting, she let that rock star touch her on stage for all to see. The humiliation of her choosing someone like that blond surfer child over someone refined such as him… it was unfathomable.

  Why was she so compelled to look beyond him? With her mother gone, what possible reason could she have? She had no way of knowing he’d been responsible for her untimely death.

  Between lavishing her with gifts and using his considerable charms, he couldn’t understand why she didn’t fancy him.

  The little bitch.

  He scowled. He would make good on his promise if she so much as looked at that rock star again. Or as close to it as Lucifer would allow, given that the little wanker was one of the Twelve and potentially worth much more alive.

  He brought the cane down with a satisfying crack. The girl did nothing to hide her scream this time. “Please stop,” she whimpered. Red welts crisscrossed her behind.

  The hotel room door clicked open followed by the sound of a clearing throat. He froze mid swing.

  “Master, my apologies for the interruption.” Samuel’s deep, melodic voice came from behind him. “Luc is on his way up. He asked that you… um, finish up, before he arrives.”

  “He’s early,” he pressed his eyes shut and growled. Then he grabbed the girl with one hand and threw her at Samuel with superhuman strength. “Pay her and slip her out of here unseen.”

  “Yes, Master,” he replied, as she flew into Samuel’s waiting arms, whimpering. He snatched her clothes from the chair, lifted her over his black leather-clad shoulder, and promptly disappeared from view before letting himself out.

  Escher had to admit, Achanelech’s Nephil was a much better minion than some of the demon and soulless underclass he had working for him. Smart, too. Instead of torturing the poor bloke and drowning in his own distaste, Acchie should’ve leveraged his considerable talents. Samuel was quite a rare bird indeed.

  Escher sneered. Maybe he could procure him permanently. Hmm. Something to consider.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Catching a glimpse in the mirror, Escher straightened his ascot and smoothed his suit jacket. Other than his aching balls, he was absolutely smashing and ready for old Luc.

  “Do come in, Master,” Escher said, and bowed.

  Luc entered, dressed impeccably as usual in a finely tailored suit, no staff or cane in sight. “Escher,” he said with a tip of his chin.

  “Unarmed today?”

  Luc smirked and parked himself on the nearest settee. “Never. How did the show-and-tell with the Nephilim alpha batch go with the Angelorum?”

  Escher claspe
d his hands and paced. “Better than expected. We attacked just short of killing them as you requested.”

  “Good. Very good. They will surely underestimate us based on those second-rate experiments. Does the lab in Connecticut have the final formulation ready for me?” Luc asked, rubbing his hands together.

  In answer, Escher pulled the attaché case from under the bed. He entered the digital password on the keypad, and the locks popped open. A dart was held inside the foam interior. “Here it is—one injection—complete with nanotrackers.”

  “Excellent. She is the key to this battle. But without her transformation into a full-blooded Nephil and the location of the Angelorum Sanctuary, we have no way to gain our prize. While the Angelorum is clutching at straws, we’ll take them from an angle they’ll never expect. Those fools think this will be another antiquated battle by air… imbeciles.” Luc’s eyes glowed red as he wore a self-satisfied smile. “Not to say we won’t give them what they expect.”

  “Everything is in place,” Escher said, snapping the briefcase shut. “In the meantime, batches are being shipped overseas. You’ll have your army right on time.”

  “Brilliant.” Luc popped up off the settee, invigorated. “Now make my day and tell me you’ve taken care of the NSA.”

  Escher’s stomach soured. On that front, he’d made no progress. He placed his hands on his hips and paced. “Still working on that one. The best I could figure from Achanelech’s business records, he’s been selling illegal arms in Afghanistan to al-Qaeda. Stupid bollocks. No wonder he’s on the terrorist watch list. According to our U.S. contacts, the file on Achanelech has been sealed. The investigation has gone underground. Since the wanker is back in France, I checked my international sources at both Interpol and MI5. Nothing’s come up. For all I know this is a Black Ops assignment now.”

  Luc ground his teeth and let out a deep, impatient breath. “If he had half of Emanelech’s brain cells, he’d be a force to be reckoned with. I’ve made it clear to her that she’d better not let him screw up again. If he didn’t hold power over Semyaza’s spawn, I would’ve destroyed him eons ago.”

  Escher looked at him askew. “Why’s that so important?”

  “You’ll find out with the others,” Luc said. “It’s all part of this cosmic chess game we’ve chosen to play. We have one chance to better our fate and escape Judgment Day, or to screw it up for eternity.”

  Luc headed for the door. “Call me when you’re ready to take the girl. And try not to kill any of the Twelve. The girl is my key but the others play a part in our success.” He twisted the knob and stopped, giving him a hard, red stare. “Unlike Achanelech… you can be replaced. Just remember that.”

  Escher involuntarily swallowed, powerless to respond to Luc’s threat.

  Like Achanelech and his consort, Escher had been a guest in Hell and didn’t relish a return visit.

  Chapter 51

  IRENE

  Paris. Wednesday, May 29, 1:00 AM GMT +1

  “Mademoiselle Hickey, bienvenue à Paris,” said the fine-looking, young Frenchman who stood waiting to greet her as she exited Customs at Charles de Gaulle airport. “Je m’appelle, Gerard.”

  Welcome, indeed. And didn’t he look chipper at one in the morning. She smiled. “Merci. Enchanté, Monsieur Gerard.”

  “Let me take those for you. There is a car waiting outside for us.” He grabbed her bag and headed for the passenger pickup area.

  Irene was still riding the high of her weekend despite her unofficial assignment with the NSA. The Knuckleheads at Fort Meade had promised a full setup at an apartment across the Seine from the U.S. Embassy in the Seventh arrondissement, near Les Invalides and Rue de l’Université. A comfortable bed and all the spy equipment she could possibly handle.

  Just peachy.

  Her assignment was to monitor Simon’s activity once he arrived in Paris. As long as the bugs stayed operational, it should be simple. Easy peasy.

  Other than Cara mentioning their Paris office was within walking distance of the Louvre, Irene didn’t have a clue as to the location of Simon’s security company. So far, the NSA hadn’t done any better. No businesses were found registered under his name.

  This could turn out to be a dull assignment. If she wasn’t so worried about Cara’s safety, she’d take dull all day long.

  Irene stared out the window as the chauffeured car raced toward Paris and the thousands of dots of light poking holes in the night sky. Nicknamed the “city of light” due to its position as a vast educational center during the Age of Enlightenment, Paris is mistakenly thought of as the “city of lights” by many. Tonight, she would go with the misnomer.

  Gerard hit a button, raising the smoky privacy screen between them and the driver and turning on the interior light. “Mademoiselle, Monsieur Caswell asked me to give you this.”

  He pulled an aluminum attaché case from the floor next to him.

  She eyed it warily and tensed. There was only one thing that traveled in that type of attaché case. He clicked open the locks.

  Sometimes I hate when I’m right, she thought. Two guns and a silencer were held firmly in the stiff gray foam interior.

  “For fuck’s sake, is he serious?” she said looking at the weapons, her pulse quickening. On the other hand, she threw an appreciative glance at the sub-compact .380 Ruger LCP. It made a nice concealed carry… if she needed one.

  “Here. This is for you, too.” Gerald held out a drawstring bag.

  She looked inside: A cell phone, ammo, and a variety of holsters, including a thigh holster for the Ruger.

  “Why all the fire power? This is a surveillance job,” she asked with a sinking feeling, suspecting the NSA hadn’t told her everything.

  He shrugged and gave her an apologetic look. “It’s not my job to ask questions, but this might help.” He pulled out a large envelope with an NSA seal and handed it to her.

  Taking a deep breath, she broke the seal and pulled out a manila envelope without a logo. All it contained was a phone number on a slip of plain white paper.

  Bastards. She recognized the protocol; it explained the weapons. She’d just been taken off the grid.

  Irene fished the cell phone out of the bag. She gritted her teeth and dialed. “Bonjour, Miss Hickey.” Caswell sounded almost gleeful. She stayed silent. “An operative will be in touch shortly for your next assignment.”

  “Wait, what? Next assignment?”

  “It’s not Simon Young or Cara Collins we’re ultimately interested in, but who they can lead us to. Monitor them as agreed until you’re contacted. Based on what you’ve told us so far, we managed to find a small surveillance clip of Simon Young in Paris taken less than a week after the warehouse explosion. He walked into a building a couple of blocks from the Opéra. We’ll courier the address to your apartment. Start there.” He hung up before she could respond.

  Counting to three, she gripped the phone until it cut into her palm, and then blew out a breath. They wanted her to lead them to the French terrorist, Le Feu. She wished she could speak to her dad. But she’d have to save that chit for when she really needed it and only if things were guaranteed to go pear-shaped again. Make that watermelon-shaped, because this time he’d truly disown her.

  At least they didn’t expect her to use the weapons on her friends. They were for the “next” assignment.

  Her purse vibrated with a text on her personal phone. “Excusez moi,” she said to Gerard.

  She fumbled around until she found it. The message put an immediate smile on her face, sweeping away the sour taste of her discussion with Caswell.

  I MISS YOU, PELIRROJA. WHEN CAN I SEE YOU AGAIN?

  Her insides warmed. What she’d give…

  I MISS YOU TOO, PAQUITO. I’M IN PARIS ON BUSINESS FOR THE NEXT COUPLE OF WEEKS. Her lips turned into a pout as she typed. This totally sucked.

  REALLY?

  REALLY.

  WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE DINNER ON SATURDAY?

  Huh? Irene star
ed at his message in confusion. IN PARIS?

  YES, PELIRROJA, IN PARIS.

  Her heart skipped a beat. He’d told her he’d come to her the next time… She never expected that to mean all the way to Paris. To accept would be totally against protocol. Then again, what was the worst the NSA could do? Fire her from her nonjob? She hesitated only a second before responding: YES!

  I’LL HOLD YOU IN MY DREAMS UNTIL THEN, NIÑA BONITA.

  She released a dreamy breath. So what if he was a terrorist? He could blow up Paris for all she cared. At least she’d die with a smile on her face…

  Chapter 52

  SIENNA

  New York City. Tuesday, May 28, 7:00 PM ET

  SIENNA LEFT HER WEST VILLAGE apartment on foot dressed in a clingy knit dress and flats, her high heels stuffed inside of her oversized Prada handbag. She had one stop to make before jumping into a cab for Brooklyn.

  She had seen Michael every night since Saturday, and tonight would be no exception. The thought drew a knowing smile to her lips and gave her a twinge down below. Intent on surprising him, she’d left her underwear at home and planned on bringing a little “present” with her.

  Knowing what a big step it had been for Michael to invite her to his brownstone, Sienna couldn’t contain her excitement. Sadly, tonight was her last chance to see him before his week-long business trip with Simon’s private security company. She missed him already. The thought of being without him made her physically ill.

  Pathetic? Probably.

  She ducked into the infamous Pink Pussycat Boutique on Fourth Street, five minutes later emerging with the brown paper bag tucked safely next to her heels. Putting her creativity on overdrive, Sienna had an idea to soften Michael up.

  Boy did he have issues giving up control. Whenever she wrestled away the reins, his eyes held an unmistakable look of panic. Although he put on a brave face, she wasn’t fooled and couldn’t fully enjoy herself while sensing his discomfort.

  To top it off, he hadn’t spent the night with her since the Mercer. Rather than sleep comfortably next her, he would leave after she drifted off to sleep. His sparring sessions with Simon didn’t start until 8:30 AM, and the subway commute from the West Village to Brooklyn wasn’t that long. Classic fear of commitment. It had to be. Yet, when it came to birth control, he’d been willing to trade their latest test results so they could ditch the condoms since she was on the Pill and neither of them had been with anyone else in over a year. Go figure. Either way, she had her work cut out for her.