The Wanderer's Children

by L. G. O'Connor

  He shook his head with his lips pressed in a tight, worried line.

  Simon leaned forward in the seat and plucked a hilt from his belt. “There’s something out there, near the hangar.”

  “Yup. Feel it,” said Isaac. “Angel, Paco, and Luke got it, too.”

  “What’s Noah say?”

  Isaac flashed an icy stare in the rearview mirror. “He’s not answering.”

  Great, another trip straight into the hornet’s nest, Cara thought.

  The growl from Chloe’s throat rose to a crescendo. Simon said a few words to her in the angelic language and she quieted.

  Isaac stopped the truck two hangars away, the second SUV coming to a halt behind them. He turned in his seat to face them. “Engaging the Dark Ones while trying to protect all the humans with us will be tricky. If we cloak them, we handicap ourselves, leaving only three of us to fight unencumbered. The quicker we can get Cara, Michael, Brett, and Kai onto the plane, the better chance we have of getting out of here without casualties.”

  “Agreed,” Simon said. “But order of priority should be…” then Simon went silent.

  Isaac nodded. “Wise.”

  “Hey! Fill us in. Why did you cut out on the last part?” Cara asked, annoyed.

  “Sorry, I wanted to brief the others on our channel,” Simon replied then turned his attention back to Isaac. “Let’s call in reinforcements once we figure out how big a battle we have on our hands.”

  “Ahem. Order of priority?” Cara asked.

  Simon eyed her sternly. “You going to fight me on this?”

  “Depends.”

  “There’s no room for ‘depends,’ love,” he snapped. “If you defy me, you put us all at risk. Understand? I need your trust and, this time, to do what I say. Agreed?”

  She released a breath. “Fine.”

  “You first, Brett second,” he said. “The others in whatever order is most convenient.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” Simon said. “You’re the only one who can heal us in case of injury and Brett is unskilled with weapons, not to mention you’ve both been named. So listen and do what you’re told when the time is right.”

  “All right,” she conceded though not thrilled about it. But she had to agree with Simon’s logic. The thought of losing anyone terrified her.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you.”

  “Here goes,” Isaac said and continued on toward the plane.

  Chapter 58

  BRETT

  Teterboro Airport. New Jersey. Wednesday, May 29, 7:50 AM ET

  “BRETT, STAY WITH PACO when we get out of the truck. Hear me?” Angel growled from the front seat where he sat next to Zeke. Luke and Paco had the second row while he and Kai had been relegated to the third.

  Brett was in no position to argue. Angel, Paco, Luke, and Zeke had been yammering on for the last few minutes in a language that almost didn’t sound human. He leaned over to Kai. “Do you have any clue what they’re saying?”

  Kai shook his head with his arms crossed in front of him. “No more than you do. I don’t speak the angelic language.”

  Powwow over, Zeke put the SUV in drive.

  Luke leaned over the seat in front of them, his eyes flashing between Brett and Kai. “There’s trouble brewing up ahead, so prepare for a fight. We’re going to try to get you both onto the plane as fast we can but it’ll depend on what’s waiting for us. If you see any black-winged Nephilim, assume their powers are like ours. They were uncloaked when Zeke and Isaac encountered them on Sunday, but don’t assume they can’t cloak. Got it?”

  Brett nodded in unison with Kai.

  “Kai, you and I fight back-to-back. Brett, Paco will cloak you and move you toward the plane after they load Cara.”

  “Is there any reason we don’t just turn around and fly out of here on a commercial flight?” Brett whined.

  “That would be a sign of weakness,” Luke said with a crooked grin.

  “A Nephil backing down against Dark Ones? Never happen,” Angel shouted from the front seat. “M’ijo, you wound me. Where are your cojones?”

  In my pants where they belong, Brett thought with a deep frown.

  The SUV rolled to a stop behind Isaac.

  “Lock and load,” said Zeke from the front seat, gripping a sword hilt in his hand.

  Brett filed out with others, sticking close to Paco. Swords drawn in full blaze surrounded him and Kai. In front of them, Simon and Isaac held their blades alight with Chloe between them, hackles raised, and Cara and Michael at their backs with their weapons drawn.

  Energy crackled uncomfortably over his skin on the empty tarmac. His heart hammered in response to the adrenaline coursing through his body. Not unlike taking the stage for the first time in front of one hundred thousand people.

  Whatever was here with them was invisible to the eye. A growl rose from deep in Chloe’s throat ahead of him, her tail up and curled. Lasers shot from her eyes—like the day he met Cara—as she scanned the perimeter, the blue light hitting what looked like an invisible shield surrounding them.

  Brett swallowed hard and tensed. Nope. They definitely weren’t alone.

  Paco whispered in his ear. “Get ready…”

  The shield dropped, exposing an army of black-winged thugs with menacing stares. Men of all shapes and sizes surrounded them. Nothing like the Angelorum Guardians, these guys looked like they’d been plucked off the street and had wings grafted to their bodies.

  A battle cry sounded and they charged.

  Paco grabbed Brett, turning them both invisible and dragged him away from the impending fray. Their team fell into formation, back-to-back, and went full force at their enemy.

  Angelic swords met their mark, taking out a quarter of the motley crowd within the first few minutes. Brett couldn’t believe his eyes as the angelic swords turned the black-winged Nephilim into columns of black sand with each death blow before collapsing into piles and blending into the tarmac.

  Paco slowly circled them around to get closer to the plane while Simon and Cara fought in a coordinated dance nearby. Without seeing one another, they lunged and parried in tandem, slashing and spearing the less skilled demonic Nephilim.

  Meanwhile, Chloe prevented the ones caught in her laser from advancing while Michael and Isaac held off another couple to his left. As someone who knew what it took to be proficient in martial arts, Brett was awestruck by Michael’s prowess. Using his knives two-handed, between the aerial moves and leveraging one opponent against another, he was taking on five at a time and winning. Michael was a sight to behold. Brett let out an appreciative whistle, glad he couldn’t be heard behind their veil.

  Meanwhile, Angel and Zeke took on the demon Nephilim by air. White and black feathers flew in a jumbled blur as high-pitched squawks filled the air and the layer of black sand accumulated on the asphalt tarmac.

  Brett’s jaw hung slightly open, feeling like he was watching a three-dimensional video game. Only it was real. He couldn’t forget that.

  Luke and Kai were holding their own with a bunch of the others farther away from the plane.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Simon and Cara disappeared from sight and the stairs surreptitiously touched the ground on the other side of the plane.

  “When Simon returns, you’re next,” Paco said. “For now, we stay here out of sight and out of the way.”

  Fine with him; he enjoyed watching their team kick some ass.

  No sooner did he have that thought than a crimson slash appeared across Luke’s wing followed by an inhuman squawk when Kai ducked. Luke spun around. Pushing Kai out of the way, he blocked a stab to the heart and knocked the other Nephil to the ground. With a wide slash of his blazing sword, he cut the black-winged Nephil’s head from his shoulders. The sound of sand pouring onto the pavement signaled the black-wing’s defeat.

  Simon reappeared without Cara, sword drawn and ready to fight. He jumped back in to assist with the quickly dwindling number
of black-winged misfits.

  Brett glanced under the plane; the stairs were gone.

  “Let’s go.” Paco led him by the shoulder. “I’ll call the captain when we’re closer,” he said, touching the Bluetooth in his ear.

  Brett swelled with pride for their team, staying glued to the action as he and Paco drew closer to the plane. The team was much better skilled than these evil dudes.

  A woman’s scream ripped through the air from inside the hanger, freezing them in place.

  “Fall back,” shouted a high-class English accent. A man wearing an expensive suit emerged dragging a woman in a black dress and high studded heels, her head covered in a burlap bag. Next to him, two beefy black-winged Nephilim dragged out an unconscious Noah.

  The remaining ragtag black-winged Nephilim leaped into the air on the English guy’s command and flew into formation behind him.

  Zeke and Angel touched down next to Simon, breathing heavy. Their wings furled and disappeared.

  “Escher, you’re such a piece of shit, you know that?” Angel said and spat on the ground.

  “Tsk-tsk. That truly is a matter of opinion, Benedictine. So nice to see you again, Old Chap,” Escher smiled politely.

  This guy was a fucking demon? He looked like he shopped on Bond Street.

  The woman struggled in his arms, getting nowhere. “You fucking prick,” she gritted.

  Brett’s heart dropped. He knew that voice… Wait a second, those shoes.

  Escher’s fingers tightened on her biceps, and then he ripped off the hood.

  “Roxy!” Brett screamed and broke free from Paco, escaping the veil.

  He ran full tilt at the guy named Escher.

  Chapter 59

  CARA

  CARA BIT HER NAILS as she watched the fight from the plane window, her heart thumping wildly behind her ribcage. At least their blessed weapons were as effective against these new Nephilim as they were against the plain vanilla soulless, giving Kai and Michael equal chances to defend themselves. Kai had yet to use Achanelech’s blade.

  “Duck!” she screamed to Kai through their telepathic link as one of the Dark Ones’ Nephilim swung his weapon straight at Kai’s head.

  He ducked but the sword bit into Luke’s wing.

  Shit.

  She raised her hand to send out some distance healing.

  “Cara Collins… at last we meet.”

  Cara jumped and spun toward the voice behind her.

  The first thing she noticed was his eyes. Dark red. Impeccably dressed, he carried a staff. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing an otherwise handsome face.

  A shiver shot straight to her toes. She recognized him from the portrait on the Meeting Room’s painted ceiling.

  “Lucifer,” she said and tried to swallow past the dry lump in her throat.

  He tilted his head. “My friends call me Luc Morningstar this side of Hell.”

  “You have friends?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  His smile bordered on charming. “As unbelievable as it may be, yes, I do have a friend or two.”

  Cara’s internal alarms sounded, reminding her of what Constantina had said during her training about Lucifer’s guise when she’d asked why he was painted as a beautiful angel rather than as a demon. “To remind us all he was once loved and that sometimes evil comes in beautiful packages.”

  Clever, she thought. What better way to vanquish your enemy than to put them at ease and appear unassuming?

  “Are you here to kill me?” she asked, surreptitiously reaching for one of her knives.

  “Not today, Miss Collins. You’re worth nothing to me dead.” Then he eyed her hand and pointed his staff. “Your weapons won’t be of much use.” He slipped a knife from her wrist sheath before she even detected his movement. “Here, allow me.”

  Her mouth dropped open as he plunged the knife into his own chest, wearing a wide grin. Without flinching, he stabbed himself repeatedly. “See? Pointless. To destroy me, you’ll have to be much more creative.”

  He returned the knife to her sheath as quickly as he’d taken it.

  “Then why are you here?” she asked tentatively, afraid to breath or move.

  “To ensure you are in a position to help me when the time is right,” he replied.

  “To help you? Why would I help you?”

  He planted his staff in front of him, and chortled. “Because you’ll have no choice.”

  Despair reached up and grabbed her by the throat. A moment later, melodic music resounded in her head and the voice from her Calling whispered sweet sounding words only she could hear, dissipating her doubt. She couldn’t understand the language spoken yet the message was clear: she wasn’t alone.

  Straightening her spine and looking him straight in the eye, she smiled serenely. “Don’t be so sure about that… Luc.”

  “May you be a worthy adversary, Miss Collins.” He glanced out the plane window. “I see my diversion is working nicely.”

  Cara looked to see what he meant. She gasped when she saw Roxy and Noah being held outside, and Brett running as fast as he could toward them.

  “I leave you with this,” Luc said, followed by a prick on her neck.

  Her hand flew up. She pulled her finger away to find a small red stain from a drop of her blood. “Damn you!” She wanted to give herself a swift kick for being stupid enough to turn her back on him.

  “Already been done,” he whispered, his voice fading.

  She whirled around, not surprised to find he was gone. He was good, she’d give him that. Then again, he’d had an eternity of practice. Whatever it was, he’d gotten what he’d come for.

  Easily.

  One thing was certain: if she planned on winning the battle, she needed to up her game. Rubbing the stinging skin on her neck, she wondered what he’d just done to her.

  Chapter 60

  MICHAEL

  BRETT RAN BY HIM screaming at the top of his lungs, straight toward Escher Grant and his demon horde.

  “King!” Roxy yelled, her eyes wide with fear as she struggled in Escher’s arms.

  Is he out of his mind? Michael wondered and moved to go after him.

  Simon grabbed his arm. “Stay put. Paco has this.”

  A strong breeze blew after Brett. Then he disappeared and all was silent.

  “King!” Roxy yelled again, her tears trailing black eye make-up down her face.

  “You are an annoying woman,” Escher said, and shook her hard, snapping her head to the side.

  We need to do something, Michael pleaded silently to Simon, his hands twitching at his sides. At least Cara was safe in the plane.

  Be patient.

  “Jus’ let her go,” Angel growled.

  Escher narrowed his eyes. “And why should I do that?” He gazed down at her; she dangled like an angry ragdoll from his hand. “I’m a little peckish. Maybe she’ll taste good.”

  “Fuck off, asshole,” she gritted.

  He clamped his hand on her jaw and pulled her face toward his. “What do you say, chippie? Give your tasty soul to Escher, won’t you?” His upper-class accent slipped to reveal less polished roots.

  “Never,” she ground out, unable to move her mouth.

  “We’ll see about that,” he lowered his lips to hers.

  Out of nowhere, an angel wearing a white tunic and pants with high-arching white wings appeared next to them. He clasped his hands in front of him and slowly shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Amon,” he said, his voice even and calm.

  Escher’s head snapped up. “Mind your own business.”

  Michael held his breath. Could it be… ?

  “You know the rules. Consumption requires consent. She refused you. I’m sure the Angelorum would happily accept your forfeiture.”

  Escher snarled at him.

  “I refuse, you son of a bitch,” Roxy spit at him, and then glanced at the angel. “Thanks, whoever you are.”

  “Who are
they talking to?” Simon asked.

  Michael kept his eyes glued to the three. “You can’t see him?”

  “See who?” Simon asked slowly.

  “Jonas.” Michael and Cara answered in unison. Michael glanced up at the plane to see Cara’s distraught face pressed to the window.

  At the mention of his name, Jonas looked directly at him. Now Michael knew what Cara meant when she described his intense purple eyes. “Messenger Swift.”

  “Why can I see you?” Michael asked telepathically, his heart pounding uncontrollably.

  A smile came to Jonas’s expressionless face, making him look almost human. “Worry not, Messenger. I’m not here for you today. You’ve seen the dead, hence you can see me.”

  Huh? He didn’t stumble through his day tripping over dead people. Jonas had to mean his father’s visit six months after his death. The night at the dojo his father appeared to tell Michael he’d been chosen to be Called as an Angelorum Messenger.

  Escher shook Roxy. “I wouldn’t thank him if I were you, ducky.”

  “Why’s that?” she sneered.

  In a blur of motion, Escher swiped a knife he had hidden in his jacket across her throat with surgical precision. Her eyes bulged and her lips flapped open and closed as a sea of red spilled down over her dress.

  “No!” A shrill scream from Cara inside the Gulfstream ripped through Michael’s head. He pressed the heels of his hands to his temples as the sound jostled his brain.

  “Because he’s here to collect your soul,” Escher said and dropped her to the ground in a lifeless heap.

  Jonas glared at him and growled. Escher looked away, unable to meet Jonas’s gaze.

  Michael gasped and shrunk back as Jonas morphed from his angelic form into a ten-foot towering reaper complete with black robe and scythe. “I look forward to the day that I can release the souls inside you, and deliver you to the one prison you’ll never escape.” The demonic timbre of his voice raised every hair on Michael’s body.

  “Promises, promises,” Escher said.

  “I never make promises I can’t keep, demon,” replied Jonas before melting back into his serene angelic guise. “Your pride just sealed your fate,” Jonas added with a tip of his head, and then engulfed himself and Roxy in a circle of light.