Verity Rising (Gods of Deceit Book 1)

by Phil Scott Mayes

  Angela’s nasally voice filters through the walls and into the room ahead of her. “Sorry that took so long. There were two large orders in front of ours. Apparently we aren’t the only ones working late tonight,” she says.

  She rounds the doorway and sets the tray on the side table against the glass wall that separates the conference room from the hall. Grabbing two cups, she turns toward the table but Jan interrupts, nearly shouting, “That will be all, Angela.” The chatter of the board members immediately ceases.

  “Oh. Well I’m just going to—”

  “Did you do exactly what I told you to do?” asks Jan.

  Angela looks confused. “Wha…uh…yeah, yes. I did.”

  “Then that’s enough, Angela. You’re dismissed. Go home for the night,” Jan demands sternly.

  Angela blushes and says nothing as she replaces the cups on the tray then hangs her head in humiliation and scurries from the room. Jan shakes her head in aggravation before giving me my cue. I head to the tray and grab the drinks two at a time, starting with the members about whom I have few suspicions. Giving them to the rest of the directors first will establish a baseline for comparison. Any substantial anomalies in Thomas’s and Stacey’s demeanor and scent may confirm Jan’s conclusions. Then there’s the guy sitting by the window, behind my prime suspects.

  I make laps to and from the tray and around the conference table, handing out the various coffees and teas. As expected, I detect nothing extraordinary from the first three recipients: Francesca, Carl, and Christopher. They take their drinks with a polite nod but no genuine expression of gratitude or interest in my identity. To them I’m just another hired hand unworthy of a moment’s attention, and for the next hour I wouldn’t have it any other way. Their nonverbals exude confidence and security spoiled by discontentedness, and their scent is that of hopeless bitterness. It’s a slightly abnormal secretion, but hardly a red flag. I’ve sensed it before, typically in people who feel stuck between a rock and a hard place.

  Trent, Bjorn, and Justine are bottling the same hopelessness as the others, although Justine has a dwindling lightheartedness about her. It’s an intrinsic positivity—it could be thought of as optimism—and not a byproduct of any specific set of circumstances. She is the type to make the most of any situation, and if she can’t find the silver lining, she’ll paint one on. Eric is similarly optimistic and is truly appreciative when I hand him his coffee. So far, there’s nothing alarming about anyone, aside from the golem across the room.

  The real surprise comes as I offer Thomas and Stacy the paper cups on which their names are written. I hesitate slightly as each one reaches for the cup, creating an awkward moment in which I can sample any attempts to hide their inner reaction. Once I release their drinks, each one smiles with genuine kindness. Thomas responds with a “Thank you, sir,” while Stacy offers a “Thank you kindly.” Their eye contact is direct but gentle, their tone sincere, and their posture is neither defensive nor offensive. In these ways, Thomas and Stacy are the opposite of what I have come to expect from evil people.

  Ponytail serves as an ideal sample of what I expected to find to some degree in the two of them. His nauseating stench is wafting over from the wall and his crooked grin is arrogantly corrupt. I don’t need a closer look to see his evil. He wears it with pride like a rack of military ribbons.

  I return to my seat near the door. The angle works well enough to see Thomas and Stacy but, more importantly, it gives me a perfect view of my new person of interest. I sit, see that Jan is engaged in small talk with Francesca and Carl, and wait for her to catch my gaze. She looks around Carl’s melon-sized head and sees the empty tray, then leans clear of Francesca and meets my eyes. I shoot Jan a subtle head shake about Thomas and Stacy, then try to direct her attention to the mystery man. She briefly glances his direction, then addresses the group.

  “I’d like to call this meeting of the board of directors to order,” she announces. The pockets of chatter quiet down as the board directs its attention to her. “Today we have the full board, all nine members, in attendance. You all received the meeting agenda sent two weeks ago, but there have been a few last-minute additions due to recent events. I have taken the liberty of printing copies of the amended agenda for each of you.”

  Jan opens a file folder on the table and begins passing around freshly printed sheets of paper.

  “Please take a moment to review the agenda and the minutes from the previous meeting,” Jan requests. For ten seconds, the group skims the documents before Stacy’s voice shatters the silence, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

  “I’m sure I don’t speak for everyone here, Jan, but I don’t give a crap about the previous meeting minutes. I want to start with your explanation of what the hell is going on here,” she says, shooting lasers at Jan.

  “I second that,” Thomas adds. The rest of the board freezes, then braces as they slowly pivot their attention to Jan.

  Stacy, still shooting lasers, questions, “How is it possible that we have two upper-level employees, who you accused of sharing most of the responsibility for the Fosillix shit show, kill themselves on the same day?”

  Thomas and Stacy have certainly formed an alliance against Jan, that much is clear, but to what end? The two directors share a quiet elbow bump, satisfied with their collaborative confrontation, then reach for the drinks they have yet to taste. Perhaps they were saving their first sips for this moment. A toast to victory, or at least a celebration of having put Jan underfoot. They watch Jan squirm for a few seconds, then look at each other from the corners of their eyes and exchange a smirk before tipping their cups.

  The bouncing thud of a bowling ball detonates through the room, startling everyone as Stacy’s head dives onto the table. Her cup hits the table’s surface, popping its lid and spattering its contents onto the nearby papers and people. The agenda and minutes that lie beneath her head wrinkle with a white-brown ombre as they absorb the spreading pool of foaming coffee. Around the table, everyone’s eyes are transfixed on the motionless woman. Everyone except Thomas.

  Thomas’s head is hanging, draped backward over his chair, and his cup lies in a puddle on the floor. I scan the reactions around the room—shame, fear, regret, sadness—then watch as they turn to their leader standing at the head of the table. Jan stares at the two motionless directors, then aims a condemning scowl toward me. As if connected by a string, every able head follows Jan’s scowl, turning slowly in unison to my position.

  “Ted, what the hell have you done?” Jan rebukes.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I insist indignantly.

  “Did you sow them?”

  “Shut the hell up, Jan. I’m telling you, I have nothing to do with this!” I insist defensively. Fear grips my neck at the mention of sowing in front of the entire board. If she doesn’t shut her mouth, this operation is finished, I may be finished, and the global secret of the Nephilim could be blown.

  “That’s not what I saw. In fact, I’d wager that everyone in this room saw your actions. You’re the only one who handled their drinks. You tampered with them! Did you all see that too?” she asks the remaining directors, scanning the table for their consensus.

  They all nod together, not like brainwashed minions, but like scared human beings who are trapped in Jan’s web and know there’s only one answer that will keep them alive. The rock and the hard place. Their unusual scent makes perfect sense now.

  “I didn’t do anything to their drinks other than hand them over! What are you doing, Jan? What is this?” I shout.

  “Ted, we all saw you put something in their cups. From what you said yesterday, this is exactly what would happen during a sowing.”

  “Jan, you need to stop talking about that,” I admonish fiercely. “I didn’t put anything in their drinks. They need medical attention, and what I don’t understand is why no one in this room is doing anything!”

  “Trent, check their pulse,” Jan orders.

  He reach
es over and grabs their wrists. “Got a strong pulse, boss.”

  “See, Ted, they’re just unconscious…for now.”

  As if that was his cue, ponytail stands from his chair and moves behind Stacy. He runs his thick fingers through her hair then grabs a handful and lifts her head from the table. With every ounce of strength in his monstrous frame, he slams her head into the table. Everyone jolts violently at the sound and winces at the sight. The impact of her head travels down the table legs and across the floor, thumping in my shoes.

  I jump up from my chair to stop this sickening act, but as quickly as I reach my feet, ponytail brandishes a revolver from his waistband. He aims it directly between my eyes—no trembling, no jitters, just a steady hand. My veins tingle with activity and with rage. My flesh tightens as I reflexively prepare to unleash the fight, but at this distance I’ll never get to him before he squeezes the trigger.

  “Sit down, Ted,” the man orders. He knows my name. Despite having never seen him before, his presence is familiar to me as well. The Juggernaut. “I said sit, boy.”

  Boy? I should feed him that gun one round at a time. I slowly back toward my chair, sit, and watch helplessly. Without lowering his revolver, he lifts her head again and slams it once more, this time with a crunch.

  Looking toward the ceiling, he releases a sigh as he withdraws his hand from Stacy’s head and leans to retrieve the dangling right hand of Thomas. He lays his hand over Thomas’s and uses it to grab a pair of scissors from the table. With all the frivolity of a high five, he plunges them deep into the flesh of Thomas’ neck. The movement is swift and precise, severing his right carotid artery. Removing the scissors brings a shower of blood and a wave of horrified gasps. Jan watches every moment frigidly.

  As the stranger plops back into his chair, I scream, “Jan, what are you doing?”

  “Killing three birds with one stone, Ted. I lied. Thomas and Stacy weren’t the source of ‘evil’ around here. I am.”

  She strolls behind the recently deceased on her way around the room, then sits on the corner of the table nearest to me and crosses her arms.

  “They were my opposition, working on leaking the truth to the authorities and the press. They were the first two birds. You may be the third, but that’s up to you.”

  “How so?”

  “Tonight, the nine of us saw you tamper with those drinks. We didn’t think much of it at the time, but when they lost consciousness we all thought back to that moment. When they awoke, Stacy began slamming her head on the table until she cracked her own skull open and Thomas jammed scissors into his own neck. Your fingerprints will be found on the cups and a toxicology report will reveal the same abnormalities as Joel’s. Reject my offer and I dial nine-one-one. However, if you shed the constraints of your archaic beliefs and join me and Harvey, my friend with the gun, these bodies will disappear and we will become everything we were meant to be. We will be the king and queen of whatever we damn please.”

  “You forgot Dave’s toxicology report,” I respond, hoping to buy more time to find a way out of this.

  “You stupid simple boy. Did you even sow Dave?”

  I pause and brace for the worst. “I thought so until you just asked,” I answer.

  “Did he lose consciousness?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “Then you didn’t sow him. Of course, I already know this because I’ve had Harvey following you ever since you sowed Joel. He saw you and Dave talking at that bar. We weren’t sure if you could flip him or not, but we weren’t going to leave anything to chance. I had Harvey shoot him in the head using his own hand just like what happened to Thomas tonight. Harvey stole the revolver from Dave’s office earlier that day.”

  “You killed Dave?” I cry, stunned, disgusted, and shamefully relieved.

  “Well, I didn’t kill him myself. That’s what Harvey’s for, and I pay him handsomely to do it. It’s good to have big, strong friends and I’d like to have another. Will you still be my friend, Ted, now that you know everything?”

  My world is spinning. I feel relief that Dave’s death was not my doing but guilty that I feel relieved. As the body count continues to rise, I consider that my presence is the catalyst of death. I have never been more blindsided by anything than I have by Jan. How could any human be so diabolical right under my nose without my noticing? Sure, I had my suspicions at first, but she massaged those away without breaking a sweat.

  “I don’t know everything. Right now I feel like I don’t know anything. I don’t understand how you could go invisible right under my nose?” I ask, feeling more lost than I ever thought possible.

  “Aw, Ted, I almost feel bad for you,” Jan says with the utmost condescension. “So powerful, yet so confused and impotent. I guess it’s only fair that I show you mine since you showed me yours.”

  With that, she stands from the table corner and removes her suit coat. As she untucks her shirt, the lights begin to flicker. The sound of chafing leather emanates from her expanding flesh. Her veins glow darkly through her skin as she stretches toward the ceiling. I crane my neck back to take in her immense height, at least six inches taller than me in full form. She is Nephilim.

  In this moment, so many things about my time at Pentastar make sense, but with those answers come more questions about Jan and about the Nephilim. It explains why she was able to deceive me, why she was so difficult to read, and why the source of evil had remained so well hidden. But it also defies everything I’ve ever believed about the Nephilim, about our purpose and our relationship with truth. And if she’s the source of evil here, then what is the dead-eyed, rogue Nephilim’s role in all this?

  “Ted,” Jan continues in a hissing rumble, “I used my blood to knock them out. I had Angela add it before she brought in the drinks. The police will never identify its source because they don’t know what it is, so all they’ll know is that the abnormalities in their blood match Joel’s. This will draw Drake, Lewis, and the whole crew straight to you.”

  Jan pulls her cell phone from her pants and dials three digits. She turns the phone to me so I can read the screen: 9-1-1. Her finger hovers over the green dial icon.

  “So, what’s it going to be, Ted? Are you going to take your rightful place with me as gods amongst men or are you going to continue to waste your time fighting a losing battle against their depravity? They don’t even appreciate what you do. They are insignificant, meant to be ruled. Join me if you want to live up to your potential, your true calling. If not, you’d better start running.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The quarter inch between Jan Lucero’s trembling, veiny thumb and her phone display measures the thread from which my freedom hangs. She broods over me with hungry eyes as she waits rather impatiently for my answer. Still in Nephilim form, she is the ravenous monster that crawls beneath the beds of the directors: their bogeyman.

  As the lights continue to strobe, the room has become a stop-motion horror scene. Each frame, each exposure of my retina, gives just enough time to observe one of many atrocities. A murderous beast reclines, comfortably seated near the windows, shades drawn. A man lies lifelessly in a still, red pool. A woman twitches faintly, forming ripples in a small red and brown puddle of her own. The faces of seven prisoners watch in terrified suspense, waiting to find out if I’ll join Jan and multiply their woes.

  I scowl with every ounce of strength my face can muster and say, “You’re an abomination. We’re supposed to be guardians of truth but you lie, steal, and murder for your own sick gratification.”

  “An abomination?” she asks. “You really are a pitiful waste; a blind guardian of truth who was all too easily deceived.”

  “Deceived by you, yes, but that’s only because you’ve embraced deceit and betrayed your kind. You’ve turned your gift into a weapon!”

  She chuckles ominously then settles into a sly grin that sends a shiver through my bones.

  “You really don’t know?” Jan asks in disbelief. “How can you have
made it this far into life and not know?” Her chuckle turns to howling laughter which appears to have a shrinking effect. Gradually, with the jiggling of her shoulders, she returns back to her human form and leans back onto the corner of the conference table. The phone still rests securely in her grasp, her thumb close enough to the dial icon to reflect its green color.

  “What could you possibly be laughing about as you sit on a table next to two people you just murdered?” I ask, sickened by her irreverence and concerned about what new darkness her answer will bring.

  “Your whole life is a lie!” shouts Jan before bursting out in another round of hooting. Harvey has joined in, folding forward in his chair. His whole skeleton shakes stiffly, heavily like it’s made of steel beams. They’re out of their minds to find humor in such a moment and, worse yet, the feeling in my gut says this is only the beginning of my carnage.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I shout over their laughter.

  Jan sighs. “You don’t know anything. The Nephilim are not guardians of truth, you fool. All you have to do is read the ancient stories to know that. Read the Bible, the Quran, the Book of Watchers, the Book of Giants; it doesn’t matter which you choose because they all say the same thing. We’re the reason for the debauchery leading up to the flood. We revealed God’s secrets. We taught humans evil magic. If any of those stories are even true, he sent the great flood to exterminate our kind. I’m just staying true to the nature of the Nephilim. We are gods of deceit, Ted, agents of chaos. You have to see that at this point.”

  “It’s also written that we were sent to act as judges; that we had a noble purpose, whether or not our ancestors always lived up to it. Humanity cannot shift the blame for their misdeeds entirely onto the shoulders of supernatural beings. Whatever temptations they face, they make their own choices and tell their own lies. I have only ever known good Nephilim in my life and we are still fighting for truth.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve known any Nephilim in your life,” she bites.