Stephen stopped. “Recall . . .” He just remembered something Waltz had helped him uncover about his gift. Along with getting inside someone’s thoughts, he had the ability to recall it all—not just the thoughts in that moment, but every bit of thought or knowledge the person had while they were connected.
In his mind, Stephen went back to his meeting with Zander and the others. He searched their thoughts and found what he was looking for in Zander’s mind. The safe house wasn’t underground. That was a decoy to keep the true location secret. The actual safe house was on the top floor of the building above, where Zander and the leaders watched over the others from a penthouse view. Sneaky.
Stephen grabbed hold of Bernard. “You ready?”
Bernard nodded.
Before the mist had left, sounds of distress came from all around. There was yelling and clanging, crashing and banging from all directions. But who was who?
Stephen looked around the room and saw Prisha laying on the ground, outnumbered three to one. He pointed to her and took off, Bernard in tow. “Let’s even these odds.”
Both men joined the fight with mighty roars. Stephen snatched a man from behind and hurled him through a wall. Bernard threw another up into the ceiling. The man came crashing down onto a wooden coffee table, sending pieces flying in all directions. Odds evened, Prisha took debris from the wreckage, stuck it into the chest of the man on top of her, and used her feet to catapult the scum into the next room.
The new commotion drew the attention of Fallen, as Prisha pulled herself out of the way. Several peeled away from their double and triple coverage of Outcasts to take a shot at Bernard and Stephen. They hissed and yelled at the two men, shouting “Traitor!” at Bernard and taunting “Don’t hurt us, chosen one,” to Stephen.
Bernard cracked his knuckles and his neck.
It may have been the adrenaline talking. More than likely, it was the beast inside him that he had worked hard to contain. Either way, Stephen snarled before making a promise he intended to keep. “You’ll have to forgive me, but this will hurt . . . a lot.”
Stephen forced his thought into the mind of a young man in a leather jacket, forcing him to drive his dagger into the leg of the woman next to him. In turn, the woman pounded the man with a spiked club, ripping his face open and sending him to the floor unconscious.
“Weak-minded fool!” the woman spat.
For a moment, they all stared at the young man bleeding on the floor. The woman dropped to one knee to work the dagger out. Fear emanated from them as they worked up the courage to attack.
Get ready, Bernard. They’re about to come.
“Let them come,” he replied. “Ten to two, I like our odds.”
Stephen looked back down at the boy on the floor and felt conflicted. He lay dead. He had been evil, yes. But did they all have to die to win this war? “Nine to one,” Stephen mumbled.
One of the Fallen let out a war cry. Bernard didn’t wait to be attacked. Instead, he lunged forward, bowling several over. He looked like big wrecking ball, swinging back and forth, knocking people aside and chasing others into the next room.
Four Fallen remained, including the one with a hole in her leg. Each wielded a weapon—a sword, a staff, a whip, and a blood-covered dagger. Two men and two women. All strong minded. Mind games might not work as well against them.
Stephen kicked up an Escrima sticks holster and pulled out two long sticks.
The four Fallen charged, ignoring the fights taking place around them throughout the penthouse. Stephen dove to the other side of the couch, putting distance between him and three of them. The one with the dagger, however, had jumped over the couch after him, only to be laid flat with a powerful strike to the ribs from Stephen. He followed up with another strike on the Fallen’s jaw, which sent a cracking sound out like a shockwave.
Before the other three could attack again, Stephen kicked the couch, sending it into the air. One Fallen sliced clean through it, both halves passing harmlessly by him. Another simply seemed to pass through the couch with no damage. The third, however, got slammed between the kitchen bar and the right half of the couch and slumped to the floor.
“Two to one.” Stephen smiled.
Back and forth, Stephen slashed against them with the metal sticks. Sparks flew. The Fallen were fast, but so was Stephen. Realizing they were getting nowhere, he flipped over the man with a staff and cracked him on the head while in the air, dazing the man. Stephen threw a round kick to the side of the man’s ribs, only to pass clean through. Too late, he realized his mistake. He felt a blow to the back that sent a shock down his spine.
Stephen lunged forward, putting distance between himself and the staff.
The man followed, swinging the staff wide. His mistake.
The wide swing, though powerful, gave Stephen the opportunity to slip inside the blow and use the momentum to grab the staff and sling the man. The assailant sailed across the room and phased through the glass window without breaking it. The strange sight made Stephen chuckle. He hadn’t expected that.
The reflection in the glass gave away the remaining opponent with a sword, who launched himself toward Stephen. However, Stephen turned in time to catch the long blade in the center of the two crossed Escrima.
The man kicked Stephen in the chest, planting him flat against the window.
Stephen rolled out of the way of another blow and darted into the next room where Bernard continued fighting two more Fallen. Glancing around as he turned to face his attacker, he saw the number of Fallen still standing had dwindled. Outcast seemed to be fighting one on one.
A whip cracked through the air as Stephen engaged his assailant again. Couch lady was conscious again. With each crack, he heard a yell. He needed to get to the whip, but the swordsman was keeping Stephen busy.
He dodged and ducked, blocked and parried. Finally, he saw and opportunity and rolled by the swordsman, striking a knee in the process.
The man dropped and growled. He stood again.
The whip cracked once more. This time, it was Bernard who bellowed as Stephen noticed the whip snagged around his friend’s throat. Stephen hurdled an Escrima past the swordsman, who dodged and turned to see the metal stick slap the face of the lady with the whip.
Whip lady fell to the floor.
As the swordsman turned to once again face Stephen, the other Escrima caught the guy just under the jaw. The result was instantaneous unconsciousness.
Stephen looked around the room, from one Fallen to another. All were beaten, or grossly outnumbered, and being secured. “Bernard, call Enclave. We need a small detachment to get this raiding party to the catacombs.”
Bernard nodded and walked away as he took out a phone.
A face that Stephen recognized stepped into the room. “Zander,” Stephen called out. “Tell your people to check for suicide pills. We want them alive.”
Zander spoke to the person next to him, who then made his way around to the remaining Fallen.
Stephen joined Zander in what seemed the middle of the penthouse. Debris cluttered the floor. Windows were cracked, furniture and walls destroyed. “Zander, this has to be because of me. I’m sorry. Is everyone okay?”
Zander looked at the floor. His words were quiet. “We lost two.”
“I’m sorry.” Stephen glanced around at the damage. He hesitated when he saw Prisha’s lifeless body on the ground. More than being sorry, Stephen felt Zander’s pain, and the pain of the others. The Outcasts were hurting in more ways than one.
“Fallen is sending me a message. Anyone I involve is at risk,” Stephen said. “I should’ve known.”
“No,” Zander said. He looked at Stephen, eyes ablaze. “They should’ve known . . . It would have been better for them to leave us alone. They attacked hoping to drive us—drive all Outcasts—away from you. I can’t speak for the others. And Outcasts don’t have an official leader or hierarchy . . . but I can speak for me.
“Stephen, I’ll follow you. I�
�ll not only help you to find Benjamin Buchanan, I’ll fight next to you. I’ll win at your side or I’ll die making sure that I gave everything I could.”
“Hear, hear!” another voice cried out behind Zander. Then another. And another, until every Outcast in the room was in agreement to follow Stephen.
Zander turned toward Stephen and knelt. Stephen wasn’t sure what to make of it. He had never wanted to lead. But now here he was with a ragtag group of Outcast who would follow him anywhere. His mind wandered back to the last time he had been with Oracle and the David in his family’s trove. Pastor Buchanan had knelt before him, as Oracle anointed Stephen with oil to proclaim him not David, but king.
Zander said, “Stephen, from this moment, I pledge myself to serve by your side, so long as you follow the Almighty.” The other Outcasts did the same.
Bernard called from the next room, “Stephen, they’re on their way. It’ll be about ten to fifteen—Whoa!” Bernard rounded the corner and looked around the room at the kneeling Outcasts and back to Stephen. “I miss somethin’?”
Stephen didn’t know what to say.
Bernard shrugged and took a knee too. “Without you, I wouldn’t be here. I can’t explain it, but since you brought me back, I feel like I’m bound to you somehow. So I might as well pledge my loyalty too.”
Find my lost sheep . . .
“Don’t move. Give me one minute,” Stephen said.
Before anyone could question him, Stephen stood in the innermost chamber of his bloodline’s trove. He turned to the sword and pulled it from the stone floor. He had expected it to be hard, to resist being pulled free. Instead, the sword seemed to yield to his command. The blade still glistened from the oil that had trickled onto it.
He took the sword back to the London penthouse, where all were still kneeling—though their heads were raised, staring at Stephen.
Zander’s eyes widened. A flood of emotions flowed from him in waves—astonishment, excitement, fear, pride, and joy. More than these, Stephen felt a new hopefulness in Zander that hadn’t been there before. Zander bowed his head again.
Stephen raised the sword from his side, allowing the blade to rest on Zander’s shoulder. Then he repeated the action with Bernard.
Chapter 11
Rain poured. Those few unlucky enough to be out in the monsoon splashed as they ran by. Stephen stood in the park, water dripping from his hair and running down his face. Any other day, he might shiver from the cold rain, but he paid it no attention, feeling numb all over. He stared at the monument they had erected in Waltz’s honor to commemorate all he had done for the homeless in the city. So much had happened since they placed it here. It wasn’t that long ago, but felt like an eternity.
“Did you know about this, Dad?” Calling Waltz “dad” still felt foreign. He wished he could have said it when Waltz had been alive. He wished Waltz was alive. “Did you know what they would expect of me? How can I lead? I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.
“Two are dead because of me. Outcasts in England are following me. But to where and at what cost?” The image of Prisha laying on the floor dead stuck in his mind. “How many more must die? I can’t keep losing people,” he sobbed as tears mingled with the rain.
“You must,” came a voice from behind him.
Stephen turned to see Vincent standing in the rain too.
“If that is what it takes, you must do it. If you do not, billions more will die,” Vincent said.
“What if this war takes you? Or Patty? What if it takes everyone I know and love? What then?”
Vincent smiled. And for the first time, it was a natural, genuine-looking smile. “Then we will be better off tomorrow than we are today.”
Stephen wiped the rain from his face and smiled at the thought of a better place, a life after this world, where anything was possible except for hate and greed. “Then you’ll stand with me?”
“No,” Vincent replied. “I’ll kneel before you.”
“As will I,” came Anthony’s voice, who walked up from behind Stephen and knelt next to his son Vincent.
Covered in rain with heads bowed, the two looked more like twins than father and son. But Stephen wasn’t sure what to make of it. It had been odd enough when Zander knelt. He figured it was an English gesture for Outcasts, mimicking allegiance to royalty. But why Tony? And why Vincent?
“Get up! What are you doing?” Stephen pulled at their shoulders. Neither stood. “Why are you kneeling?”
Anthony looked up. “Because you are our king, and we are your Mighty.”
Stephen didn’t know what to say. He stood there, the rain pouring down on all three of them. They must have looked like an odd sight because a couple running by in the rain slowed to stare until Stephen glanced their way. He turned his attention back to Anthony and Vincent. “You’re in a puddle,” was all he could think to say.
The two men stood as Anthony spoke. “I’m a Knight of the Circle. Vincent has taken the pledge too. Zander was once a knight, but surrendered his title. When he saw Escalibor, he knew who you were and who you were born to be.”
“Escalibor?” Stephen asked.
“It’s Hebrew. The closest definition is a French translation which means, ‘cuts iron, steel, and wood.’”
Stephen couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Oracle had anointed him to be a king, but this seemed too fanciful. “Wait! Are you trying to tell me that my sword is Excalibur, as in King Arthur of Camelot?”
Anthony nodded.
Stephen recalled the tales of Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. His thoughts whirled around in his head, searching for reason. The stone. “King Arthur was real?”
“He was.”
“And you want me to believe he was my ancestor?”
“No,” Anthony replied.
Finally, something reasonable, Stephen thought.
Vincent stepped forward. “May I suggest we talk some place dryer?”
Before Anthony could agree, Stephen grabbed the two, and they all vanished.
****
Patty paced at the Outpost. She had secluded herself in a training room, as she wished that things hadn’t come together so quickly. She had nothing to do now but wait. The consoles were up and running. The rec area, dining hall, private quarters, and training areas were nearly all complete. And with the addition of several Outcasts from London, there was nothing left for her to do but worry. Where was Stephen? And why was he taking so long?
“He’s fine, Patty,” Zander said.
“What?” She jumped, knocking over a heavy bag that had been leaning against the wall.
Zander walked over and picked the bag up, placing it in its proper place on a stand. “It’s part of my gift. I can see what’s on your mind. Similar to Stephen’s gift, I suppose, but much weaker. He’s a strong one, that’s for sure.
“You know what you need?” he asked.
Patty shrugged.
He slapped the now hanging bag. “You need to let off some steam. You’ve been cooped up down here, not really knowing what’s going on. What do you say?”
The thought appealed to Patty. She looked around, knowing she had seen some gloves laying around. “Here they are,” she said, pulling a pair from a nearby box. She pushed her hands into the lightly padded MMA gloves and fastened the straps. She stepped up to the bag. “Why not?”
“Hold up a tic. I want you to try something for me.” Zander walked around behind the bag, holding it in place. “Put your hands up at guard and close your eyes. The bag isn’t going anywhere.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to relax. She was excited and tense.
“Got to work on relaxing,” he chided.
With another deep breath, her shoulders relaxed a bit, and her fists loosened.
“Good. Now, I want you to imagine what it feels like to be Stephen—to have all that energy flowing through you. Can you feel it?”
Patty hadn’t considered that Stephen could feel his energy. W
hat would it feel like? Then she remembered the first time he showed her his abilities. She had felt an overwhelming love. Perhaps that’s what fed him. Love. What could be more powerful than that? She focused on the feeling—the strength of it. After a few seconds, it was as though she were feeling it again. “I feel it,” she said.
“Now strike.”
Patty punched. A loud thump and clanging sound followed. She opened her eyes to see the bag and Zander slumped against the wall on the floor. She hurried to help him up. “Are you okay?”
Zander was laughing. “Yeah, I’m great!”
“The chain must’ve been weak,” Patty began, before being cut short.
“It was you! The chain’s fine, or it was. You and Stephen, you’ve bonded.”
“You mean the bonding ceremony? Yeah, we’ve bonded.”
“No, it’s more than that. The ceremony is mostly symbolic. Every so often, couples will actually bond. It’s like Scripture says, ‘. . . two will become one . . .’ Get it?”
Patty shook her head.
“You and Stephen are one. Husband and wife are one. You share his power.”
Patty gasped and covered her mouth. Should she be scared? Should she be happy?
“It’s not like you share all of it. But you get a taste of it. You won’t be as strong as Stephen or Bernard. You might not even be as strong as Jax. But I wouldn’t want you to punch me. I imagine you’ll get a bit of his other abilities too. Are you usually this worried about Stephen?”
Patty thought for moment and realized that she wasn’t usually this worried. She had always been confident that Stephen was able to take care of himself.
“That’s what I thought. That’s the priest part, needing to protect others. I suspect you have some type of mental ability as well.”
She strained to see what was in Zander’s mind or to feel some emotions. Nothing. She wasn’t even sure where to begin.
“Not to worry. It can take time.”
“Why didn’t Stephen tell me?”
Zander shrugged as he changed the chain out on the bag stand. “I don’t know. You know him better than I do. I’m guessing either he doesn’t know or just didn’t think of it. I’m realizing there’s a lot about Mighty your husband doesn’t know. For that matter, there’s a lot about himself he doesn’t know.”
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