Stephen had been to New Orleans before, during the five years he was away from home. The city had been but a short stop for him in his search for answers and self-discovery. There were many things he loved about the city—the music, the history, the food, the art . . . But for each thing he found to love, there were three more that disgusted him—the drunkenness, the stench, the drugs, the crime, debauchery of all forms, and the open practice of voodoo. Never mind that the city was a tourist trap. Even though he hadn’t been able to control his abilities then, he had been able to see that there was nothing good about the dark magic.
The three men had started at Basin Street, working their way inward. Stephen had been sure they would find at least one Fallen before they got to Royal Street. On Bourbon Street, Stephen didn’t need to read anyone’s mind. Everyone was free to do as they wished. The men witnessed teens receiving free samples of liquor in open view, topless women who would take a photo with you for a buck, and parlors that men would visit when their wives weren’t around. Plenty of people here had fallen; none of them were who Stephen and his team were looking for. They continued to Royal Street, which had art studio upon art studio. Then, to Chartres Street.
Arriving at Jackson Square, Stephen grew disheartened. Not only had they found nothing, but no one else had reported anything either. Stephen looked at Edge and Vincent. “Notice anything interesting, guys?”
“There’s a jazz band setting up over there,” Edge noted.
“Nothing of importance,” Vincent added.
“What I was gonna say,” Edge continued, “is that maybe we should take a break and listen to a song.”
Stephen shook his head.
“Hey,” Edge said. “Don’t you think I want to find Pap? He’s my family, my grandfather. But we’ve been at this for hours. A ten-minute distraction might clear our heads. There’s so much going on in this place. Maybe we’re just missing something.”
Stephen sighed. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. It’s hard to concentrate on searching for the thoughts of Fallen when there’s so much darkness already here.” He nodded to the fortune-tellers in front of St. Louis Cathedral.
“I am not much for jazz,” Vincent said. “I can check on the others while you two sit.”
“Actually,” Stephen said, turning toward the cathedral, “I think I’ll take a look inside to clear my head. Edge, feel free to sit for a few. Vincent, checking in with the others is a good idea. I’ll be back shortly.”
Stephen walked past the fortune-tellers sitting at their tables as he headed up the steps to the cathedral. He could hear them calling out to people, promising to share a vision of their future.
The inside of the large white building was gorgeous, just as he remembered. Like many other cathedrals, the ceiling was high and vaulted. Large support columns went down either side of the center aisle, amidst rows and rows of pews. He slipped into one of the back pews, much like he had once done in Pastor Buchanan’s humble little church.
Stephen spoke softly, not wanting to disturb anyone. “God, I need help. I’ve been trying to do the right things, the stuff I feel like You’re telling me to do, but I can’t say things are really getting better. I mean, the Outcasts have joined us. That’s something, I guess.”
He looked around. No one else seemed to be paying any attention to him. “Fallen seems to be amassing a larger army. Mighty in Enclave are scarce by comparison. And we’re no closer to finding Pastor Buchanan or Fallen than when he was taken. I need You. I trust You, I do. But I could use help in strengthening my faith right now.”
Stephen half hoped that Areli would appear, but he did not. Stephen got up and went back out and down the steps, his mind on what to do next.
“Your future?” a woman called out.
He kept walking.
“You’re searching,” she continued.
Yeah, who isn’t searching?
“You won’t find him,” a man seated beside the woman shouted.
Stephen stopped, turning toward the two. The woman had long, black, stringy hair and dark skin. The man looked quite the opposite with pale skin and blond hair that stuck out from underneath his fedora.
“You’re looking for a friend, a religious friend. A preacher?”
Stephen walked up to the man, more curious than anything. Did the man know who he was? Or was this part of the dark arts? He stopped between the two, looking at the man. “Do I know you?”
“Don’t talk to him,” the woman begged. “I can help you better than he can.” She grabbed Stephen’s wrist, pulling him into the seat. Before Stephen could object, she flipped over cards from her table—a sword, a shield, and a stone.
The woman began to shake. “Who are you?”
Stephen looked at the cards and then back to her. “You claim to see, but are blind. So blind shall you be for the rest of your days.”
The woman’s eyes changed from brown to milky white, like frost forming on a glass mug. “No! NO!” she screamed, turning over her table.
Stephen turned to the man, only to see him running.
Edge! Vincent! Stephen called out with his mind as he chased after the man. Without looking back, he knew that both had heard his call and sped in his direction.
Vincent replied in thought. Wait for us, Stephen. Surely he knew Stephen would not.
Instead, Stephen chased the man, who was zooming down the street at mercurial speed before vaulting over the wall at Old Ursuline Convent Museum. Too late, Stephen realized that vaulting over on the man’s coattails was a bad idea. Uncle Bernie, Elizabeth, and a couple others he didn’t know waited on the other side, grinning at the sight of him plummeting into their midst.
The man who gave flight also had made a mistake. He stopped and waited for Stephen to land.
Stephen crashed down on top of him, planting a foot on the man’s collarbone as a stepping stone to launch himself into Uncle Bernie, shoulder tackling him to the ground. The two men immediately grabbed Stephen as the supposed fortune-teller yelled and writhed on the ground in agony, a bone sticking up from his shoulder.
Elizabeth disappeared in the darkness, leaving Stephen to wonder where she might turn back up.
Let go of me, Stephen demanded of the men. But their minds were strong and reinforced by Uncle Bernie’s own gifts. He pulled and kicked, sending one into some bushes. A lady’s fist appeared from the shadow and struck Stephen across the face, breaking his nose.
Elizabeth shrieked with glee from the shadows as she struck Stephen again, and again, and again.
“All right now, Elizabeth,” Bernie said. “Take a break.” He stepped up to Stephen, holding his side where Stephen had tackled him. “You’ve been causing some trouble, boy. Don’t you know when you’re beat?”
Elizabeth stepped from the shadow and ran her finger along Bernie’s shoulder, then across Stephen’s face, as she touched her tongue to her upper lip. She grabbed Stephen’s nose and reset it with a jerk.
Stephen grunted in pain, but nothing more. “You’re poison,” Stephen said to her before turning to Bernie. “And you’re one to talk.” Stephen grinned a wry smile, and nodded his head. “Talk about not knowing when you’re beat.”
Bernie turned to look behind, just in time to see Bernard’s fist. Alongside Bernard, nearly all the Mighty in New Orleans had appeared in the courtyard of the convent. Even Alistair had come.
Elizabeth hissed at Anthony and Vincent as she grabbed hold of Bernie and disappeared into the darkness.
Stephen turned his head toward the man who still held him tight. “I’m going to ask nicely that you let go of me now.”
The man grunted a moment before acquiescing.
Several Mighty took hold of the three Fallen who were left behind.
“Rex, Shannon, Bernard, and Vincent will escort them to Enclave,” Alistair said.
No one moved. Instead, everyone looked to Stephen. He nodded in agreement, realizing that Alistair would ask questions. More importantly was how Stephen chose to answ
er. God, give me wisdom.
“What was that about?” Alistair asked.
“Let’s talk away from the others for a moment.” Stephen also cast his thoughts. Edge, get everyone else back to Outpost. Anthony, come with me, please.
Stephen, Alistair, and Anthony walked outside the convent and down the street.
“Alistair, we’ve be able to unite a large number of Outcasts. They’re willing to help us not only find Pastor Buchanan, but to defeat Fallen.”
“That’s guid. Are they willing to join Enclave and obey our rules?”
“Look, many of them feel slighted by the council. You know the council and its politics better than I do. Surely you can understand their hesitancy. Can we find some common ground to get us through this battle?”
“And then what?” Alistair asked.
“Then, we talk. We work it out. These are good people. Some of the reasons they were cast out are just silly. Some are just. If they see the council is trying to get better—to be better—it would go a long way.”
Stephen listened to Alistair’s thoughts stirring, considering recent events up to and including that night. Before Alistair had formed the question, Stephen knew what he would ask.
“Will they follow me as David until Pastor Buchanan is found?”
Stephen hesitated, unsure how to respond.
“No,” Anthony interjected from behind them.
The two men stopped and turned toward Anthony.
“Why not?” Alistair asked.
“I cannot answer that,” Anthony replied.
“As a Knight of the Circle, you are bound to serve royalty. Why won’t you answer me?”
“Because he knows what I tried to keep hidden,” Stephen said, turning toward Alistair. He knew the words that followed would be a dagger to Alistair’s gut. “Before Pastor Buchanan disappeared, he anointed me.”
Alistair’s eyes rolled back, as did his head, so that his face looked up to the stars. “Why are ye just telling me this now?”
“Pastor Buchanan asked me to not tell anyone yet. I don’t know what he had planned. I left for my honeymoon . . . and he disappeared. Besides, I didn’t want to lead. But the others know, and the Outcasts don’t trust anyone else at this point.”
“Stephen, I told ye I’d do what I think is right. I can’t let you take control of Enclave.” Alistair’s words and darting glance cut Stephen like a knife.
“Didn’t you hear? I don’t want to lead.”
“Guid. Ye’ll need to tell the Outcasts they have to conform to the rules of Enclave and follow me and the council.”
Stephen raised his voice as his face grew warm. “You aren’t listening at all, are you? They won’t do that. Not yet. Earning their trust will take time.”
“We have little time. Mighty could be in a battle any day. Chatter is picking up. We’re hearing things and seeing signs of movement. I don’t have time for this. If they won’t join Enclave, then they’ll remain Outcasts. You, Anthony, and the other Mighty need to return to Enclave and prepare for battle.”
“No!” Stephen said.
“I’m the David. You’ll do as I say.”
“No, I won’t. I’ll find Pastor Buchanan without you. Then we’ll talk again.” Stephen turned to walk away and Anthony joined him.
“Stephen,” Alistair said as Stephen continued walking. “If ye don’t come with me now, ye and anyone who stays with ye are cast out.”
Stephen paused. “This is how you treat a mukker, then?”
“Some things are more important than being mukkers.”
Chapter 13
Stephen watched Patty pace back and forth in their living room as he leaned against the wall next to an open window where the coolness of night flowed into the apartment. He wanted to be mad at Alistair, but felt she needed him to try and remain even tilt to prevent her from going off the deep end. Patty’s emotion flowed freely. The bonding made him feel her emotions more deeply than any others’, except his own. She was furious.
“Who does he think he is?” she snapped. “Did you tell him about the sword?”
“No,” he replied.
“Well, why not? You should have told him everything.”
“The timing wasn’t right. He wouldn’t have listened. It would have made the rift deeper.”
“Deeper than casting you and the rest of us out?” she demanded.
“Yes.” Stephen sighed, struggling to remain calm for Patty’s sake. “I sensed his confusion. He feels like he’s failing as David.”
“He is!”
“No. I don’t believe that. Like the rest of us, he’s following the path in front of him. He believes he was born and bred for this. I heard Charles echoing in Alistair’s mind that very sentiment.”
Patty walked to the window and looked out across the night skyline. “What path do you think is before us? What does the Almighty have in store for us?”
“I don’t know. The Outcasts want me to lead them. Zander, Tallou, and others have made that clear.”
“What about Edge, Vincent, and the others?” Patty asked.
“Edge, Jax, and Anthony say they will follow whatever I decide. They’ve all taken oaths. The others haven’t returned from Enclave, but they’ve taken oaths too.” Stephen paused. “What was I doing knighting people? I’m no king! I still struggle to be good, to control the monster inside me.”
Patty grabbed Stephen’s hand and turned toward him. “Babe, you’re no monster. That person you were when we met, the one who struggled to keep from being something evil and cruel . . . he won.”
Stephen wanted to believe her, but wasn’t sure. He still felt the power, the desire to use it, and the exhilaration when he did. He could easily become addicted to it again.
“You’re right, Stephen. You could abuse the power,” Patty said as she gently lifted his chin to look into his eyes. “You’ve seen the best and worst of so many people. Has there ever been one person—just one—who didn’t struggle like that?”
She was right. How many countless souls had he looked into only to find that each had a darkness pulling at them, trying to sway their minds and corrupt their actions. He shook his head.
“Then what made some people do good when others didn’t?” she asked.
“Hope,” he replied. “Hope that in continuing to fight against darkness that their actions—no matter how small—would make a difference for good.”
“I know you. Even more, I can truly see who you are and who you desire to be. You don’t want to fail others. Then don’t. God is calling you to do something great. Waltz saw that. Pastor Buchanan saw that. I see that. We all see that. Don’t be afraid to act boldly. You won’t be perfect. You don’t have to be. You only have to allow yourself to be usable.”
The familiar blue mist appeared and disappeared, leaving Vincent, Bernard, Shannon, and Rex standing in the middle of the living room.
Vincent stepped forward. “I am sorry to interrupt. We believe we know where Pastor Buchanan is.”
****
Gregor sat in the darkest corner of the old jail room staring at his daughter’s picture and listening to the music made from the rattling of chains and whimpers of an old man in the opposite corner of the large open room. Knuckles smacked against flesh, and whimpers faded to grunts—again and again—until there was silence. “Teri,” he mumbled to himself, stifling back a tear as he focused his mind on darker things ahead.
“That’s enough,” Gregor said, turning to see the once proud David—Benjamin Buchanan—hanging by his wrists from chains.
A man standing near the suspended frame struck the listless body again.
“I said enough,” Gregor yelled.
The man cowered at the sound of his voice. “Yes, sir.”
“Where are Bernie and Elizabeth?”
The drone shrugged.
“Go see what’s keeping them.”
The thug bolted from the room, his footsteps clacking against solid concrete floor as he hurried along,
the sound fading to silence. Indistinguishable conversation began down the hall and grew louder as a man and woman neared the room, until Bernie and Elizabeth stood inside the doorway.
“Is everything set?” Gregor asked.
“It’s all good to go,” Bernie said.
“I want to stay and watch.” The words slithered off Elizabeth’s tongue like a snake across the desert. Her smile twisted, as though it pained her. “I want to see to it that Stephen is crushed.”
“That’s for me, not you,” Gregor replied.
“You don’t know what it was like being a prisoner in my own mind for five long years!”
Gregor shot up from his chair. “I don’t care what it was like. That was your fault for being careless. It has to be me.” He steered his gaze toward Bernie. “Are the others set?”
“They are. Those who will stay here will put up a good enough fight. The captains, however, have all been dispatched to their units to start the final phase of preparations. All prisoners, present company excluded, have been moved also. I’ll initialize the subconscious link before Elizabeth and I leave. This will allow you to know what the men are seeing before Stephen makes it up here.”
“Good. Those sacrificed in New Orleans will have given up our location by now. Things are going as planned.”
Bernie stepped forward. “What if Alistair sides with Stephen? What if dividing the Mighty doesn’t work?”
“It will work,” Gregor retorted. “Charles will see to it. His need to fulfill his own agenda will ensure he does.” He walked over to Buchanan—barely conscious as he hung in the corner. “If not, we still have the numbers to win. But I don’t want to just win. I want to divide and destroy the Mighty. I want them scattered to the four corners of the earth, fleeing for their lives.”
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