by Jo O'Neil
Chapter Twenty
The Daughter of Eve
Cain and Caldwell looked towards their brother with an air of expectancy, rather like children who were eagerly awaiting the end of the fairytale before they would entertain sleep.
‘Ryan Joshua Scott comes from a long line of male descendants who have seriously agitated Lucifer,’ Fagan began with emphasis on the word “seriously.”
‘What on earth could Scott and his bloodline have done to alert Lucifer to their existence?’ Caldwell asked with a mixture of confusion and intrigue.
Cain sat silent and still; his right leg crossed over his left, with his torso counter balancing the weight by slightly leaning towards his right elbow which was positioned on the padded arm of the chair he sat upon that looked like it had come straight out of Louis XV Palace of Versailles. His fingers, bar his index finger which horizontally lined his cheek, curled into a light fist which covered his mouth, while his thumb pad gently pushed into the underneath of his chin as he thoughtfully soaked in Fagan’s words.
‘Joshua Bartholomew Scott, the first ancestor of Ryan Joshua Scott, was cajoled by Lucifer to join his satanic army after the Devil heard of his renowned performance on the battlefield. Joshua Bartholomew Scott, a devout Christian, was insulted by Satan’s offer, and is said to have publically shunned the underworld Lord while he reaffirmed to serve and honour God. Lucifer was unperturbed and persisted to charm Scott to the dark side, but to no avail as Scott continued to treat him with nothing other than contempt.
‘This was said to have highly amused God who accepted Scott’s offer of service, and recruited him to protect the Daughter of Eve who would one day incarnate to defeat Lucifer. This task was to be passed from generation to generation, from father to son, and it was agreed between Joshua Bartholomew Scott and God that the male Scott bloodline would only be excused from this duty once the Devil had been banished for all eternity.
‘Naturally, Lucifer was not thrilled at the prospect of being vanquished, and some say he even felt betrayed by Joshua Bartholomew Scott who he’d invested much time in, so he sought to destroy the defender of the Daughter of Eve, believing it would then be easier to target his nemesis.
‘For these very reasons, for centuries persecution followed the Scott male descendants who have been viciously hunted and annihilated by Lucifer’s henchmen.
‘Ryan Joshua Scott’s own father was a casualty of these circumstances. He was murdered in a car when Ryan Joshua Scott was just ten-years’-old; which was of course made to look like a road traffic accident by MI6’s finest. Ryan Joshua Scott suffered a double tragedy that day as his mother had unexpectedly travelled with her husband. Obviously she couldn’t be allowed to survive in case her account cast any shadow over the accident theory.
‘Orphaned Ryan Joshua Scott went to live with his uncle, his father’s younger sibling, who along with his twin sons was devoted to the family quest. His uncle was a Royal Marine, a path Ryan Joshua Scott followed. Unlike his uncle who was killed in action supposedly by the enemy (in truth it was a British solder enlisted by Lucifer who pulled the fatal trigger), Ryan Joshua Scott successfully dodged the ‘friendly’ fire only to walk into the lion’s den when he offered his skills to the British Secret Service.
‘Ryan Joshua Scott’s family was desecrated further when his twin cousins were slaughtered by an alleged drunk driver, who was in fact another evil worshiper on Lucifer’s payroll.
‘At present day Ryan Joshua Scott is the sole surviving male who can be traced back to Joshua Bartholomew Scott. Ryan Joshua Scott’s heritage is to continue to wage the war on Lucifer which was started many millenniums ago, and this he has pledged to do until his dying day.
‘Lucifer is understandably anxious to rid himself of the Scott curse. Yet, Ryan Joshua Scott has proven to be evasive and extraordinarily fortunate, having already avoided carefully planned accidents. So Lucifer decided on a different course of destruction. The Dark Lord instructed Grandfather to discredit Ryan Joshua Scott, which is where we are at today and why we have all joined forces.
‘I was given the evidence to incriminate Ryan Joshua Scott, but dare I say, once again Lucifer has underestimated Ryan Joshua Scott’s survival instincts, or possibly the protection God has granted the last in the Scott line. Now more than ever Lucifer is desperate to eradicate Scott.’
‘Why does Lucifer particularly want to seal Scott’s fate now?’ Caldwell, who had been captivated by Fagan’s story, interrupted.
‘Partly because he is the last protector, but mainly because the long awaited Daughter of Eve, whose preordained destiny was sealed in God’s covenant at the dawn of time, has finally been incarnated.’
Caldwell cleared his throat before speaking.
‘Actually, the Daughter of Eve is no longer of this world.’
‘What? How do you know?’ Fagan demanded.
‘I was entrusted with the misadventurous car accident which failed to kill her.’
With his brother’s enquiring eyes boring into his own, Caldwell knew he was going to have to elaborate on his statement.
‘The Daughter of Eve was Serena Olivia Unity Lewis.’
‘What?’ Fagan cried at the precise same time my legs gave way, sending me stumbling with a thud to the floor only inches from the brothers’ feet. But of course no one heard the thump or felt the vibration my body mass caused when it hit the concrete floor.
I wasn’t sure what was making the most noise; my racing heart or my pounding head which refused to cooperate as I tried to make sense of Caldwell’s words.
‘It’s true,’ Cain interposed.
Caldwell threw Cain a look which suggested he insisted his brother explain how he knew this extremely sensitive and high level classified information. For a moment it appeared Cain was going to deny Caldwell’s unspoken request; that was until Caldwell assumed a thunderous aplomb not even Cain dared to ignore. However, before he spoke, Cain did glance uneasily at his Grandfather’s portrait to check for any alterations indicating Hart senior was privy to his confession.
Satisfied their conversation remained private, Cain declared, ‘Grandfather briefed me on the Lewis girl. He was restless because she’d escaped your plans for her demise, Caldwell, so he asked me to keep an eye on your progress and be ready to step in if your second attempt looked likely to fail.’
‘He did what?!’ Caldwell shouted.
‘Don’t take offense, Caldwell,’ Cain offered with the unease their conversation had sparked clearly visible on his face. ‘You know what Grandfather is like; everything must be perfect and achieved at supersonic speed, otherwise it’s inadequate. It’s just his way, and I’m sure it’s one of the reasons Lucifer chose Grandfather as his right hand man. It would be foolish to think he will change now he’s dead.’
As Cain looked hopefully at his younger sibling, the anger ebbed from Caldwell’s face to be replaced by the lesser emotion of frustration.
‘Honestly, if the old man wasn’t already dead, I swear I could kill him.’ Caldwell sighed heavily as he finished his sentence, which released his face from further angst and brought his features back to near normal composure.
‘Look, it isn’t important how Serena Lewis died. The crucial point is Lucifer’s bête noire has been dealt with. Regardless, if we want to keep Grandfather off our case we must find Scott. If Hope Harper isn’t able to assist us in our endeavour . . . well let us just say her future is presently unclear,’ Cain summarised.
‘Well put, Cain. Now, if you will excuse me gentlemen,’ Caldwell rose from his chair with his self-control fully restored.
‘Wait a moment,’ Fagan ordered. ‘If the Daughter of Eve is dead, why are we still hounding Scott?’
‘Lucifer wants every last detail taken care of. He still classes Scott as a liability and, I dare say given Scott’s track record, an adversary not to be taken lightly,’ Cain answered.
Caldwell, who had paused momentarily, resumed his course
towards the door.
‘Where are you off to?’ Fagan demanded.
‘Fagan, as your older brother, I’ve never been accountable to you, and nor will that fact ever change,’ Caldwell retorted without a backward glance.
‘Caldwell, you’re not going anywhere without Grandfather’s portrait. I told you, I’m done with being his keeper.’
‘If you think I’m hanging that,’ Caldwell sneered towards the canvas hanging over Fagan’s mantle, ‘in my suite, you’re gravely mistaken, Fagan.’
‘Caldwell, it’s only fair we take turns,’ Fagan protested.
‘My dear Fagan, if Grandfather believes I’m so incapable I need supervising, then he would hardly want incompetent me to guard his doorway to our time, now would he?’
‘Caldwell . . .’
‘Drop it, Fagan. I will take Grandfather,’ Cain interceded.
Relieved that he was being reprieved, Fagan didn’t stop to question Cain’s decision, and instead dashed forward to unhook the contentious portrait, narrowly missing my foot which was sticking out at the same angle it formed when I collapsed.
I was fully aware questions would be raised if Fagan tripped over an invisible force, and I was also mindful such probing could quite easily give Odile the opportunity to tell her masters I had undoubtedly been in the vicinity without breaking the magic seal Ophelia had bound her cousin in. Considering this would be more than a hindrance to my assignment, I instantly cleared my mind from all distraction, which took all the determination I could muster, and I orbed myself out of immediate danger.
Before I went back to Hope, I revisited The Angel of the Waters in Central Park. The calming effect she and her four cherubs had on me helped me to put the conversation I had eavesdropped on into perspective; what was done was done and I was now better informed. Therefore, I was in a far stronger position to successfully complete my assignment and get back to my life.
Still, I couldn’t evade my mother’s voice warning me; spying almost always uncovered knowledge that was detrimental to one’s peace of mind. With her wise words resounding in my head I found Hope where I had left her, sprawled on the chaise lounge.
After once again scaring her as I materialised (quite unintentionally this time), I related the relevant details of my mornings snooping.
She was appalled when I told her I had heard with my own ears that Ryan Joshua Scott had been framed by the British Secret Service. She probed me as to their reasoning, and when she didn’t get a satisfactory answer, she prodded some more. As I ran out of answers and my avoidance tactics weren’t fooling the solicitor’s clerk I had seriously underestimated, I told her the truth; that Lucifer wanted Ryan Joshua Scott silenced.
At first she didn’t believe me. When my story didn’t waiver and the resolute expression on my face didn’t alter, she gasped as she registered the enormity of the enemy we were up against.
As I attempted to calm Hope, there was a knock at her door. At first she ignored it, but the tapping became more frequent and urgent until at last she slipped on the pumps that were neatly waiting by the edge of the chaise lounge she’d occupied, and went to the door where she called out, ‘Who is it?’
‘Hope, it’s Caldwell. Why didn’t you answer?’
‘Just a minute, Caldwell; I’ve just stepped out of the shower.’ She walked away from the door and in near hushed hysterics she besieged me, ‘What am I going to do?’
‘You’re going to answer the door and act normal, Hope, but for goodness sakes don’t mention talking to Ryan Joshua Scott’s friends and relations.’
This advice seemed to pull her out of her fluster.
‘Why ever not? What did you overhear?’ she added when I remained silent.
‘There is no time to explain. Please, just trust me on this, Hope,’ I said as I handed her a towel.
Giving me a weak smile, she wrapped the towel around her head to conceal her dry hair and answered the door were she stood noticeably shaken like prey before a formidable hunter.
Caldwell didn’t seem to notice her panic as he stepped inside. Once he’d checked on her psychic progress and informed her they would be dining at nineteen hundred hours that evening in the Oak Room (he didn’t quite say as much, yet his tone implied the Hart brothers insisted on Hope’s presence), he left without further comment.
At the precise moment Hope closed the door safely behind Caldwell, a blast of air normally associated with a storm and not the fine, sunny weather New York was enjoying, blew the French doors to Hope’s balcony wide open while discharging a flurry of white feathers.
I caught one that relentlessly whirled around my head and read the familiar gold writing – You will find Ryan Joshua Scott at the Wollman ice skating rink, disguised with a Lincoln beard and moustache, with a red bandana tired around his head.
Hope, who was unaware of my earlier meeting with Gabriella, was busy capturing wayward feathers which she collected in a bundle before releasing them back into the atmosphere from her private balcony. Infuriating for Hope, instead of the feathers co-operating, they changed course and re-entered her suit in a persistent whirlwind. As soon as I had read and understood God’s instructions, the fluffy white messages ceased their dance and fell uncharacteristically like lead weights to the floor.
With no time to address Hope’s stunned look, I almost shouted, ‘Hope, we must go, NOW!’
‘Serena, what’s going on?’ she asked in a tone underpinned with the start of her earlier hysteria.
‘Hope, I know where Ryan Joshua Scott is.’
She froze.
‘Well, why didn’t you say,’ she barked a moment later.
Jumping into action, she swiftly pulled the towel from her head and grabbed her designer cape which was slung over the back of a chair. Snatching the key to her suite from the mantelpiece, she bolted out into the corridor without bothering to close the French doors.
‘Thank you, A.M., for protecting Hope’s suite and all the possessions it holds against human hands or any magical being that intends to do harm,’ I gratifyingly prayed as I too left the suite unsecured. It wasn’t that I thought a thief would happen upon the open doors of the unoccupied suite, but it did cross my mind Odile might.
I could have orbed saving myself vital minutes, but that hardly seemed fair on my non honorary angelic companion who sensing the urgency almost ran through the hotel out into the New York City street. Here she lifted her grey cape over her head, and snuggled into the knitwear which complimented the pink hoody it now partially covered. It wasn’t until I had joined Hope outside in the weak March day’s sun with my invisibility shield deactivated that I noticed Archangel Jophiel had honoured me once more by cladding me in more socially fitting clothes.
My attire was very similar to the outfit Archangel Jophiel had designed for me in London. However, here in New York where the weather was warmer, thanks largely due to the absence of several inches of snow, I had no need for the grey dappled cashmere winter coat or feminine warm furry hat, both of which would have looked very out of season. Instead, Archangel Jophiel had substituted my long winter coat for a smart, collar and belted, three quarter length, black leather jacket that Hope was suspiciously eying.
Despite our non magical travel to the ice rink we made good time. I squinted in the sunlight for a heavily bearded man, crowned with a red bandana. At first Ryan Joshua Scott remained undetected; that was until I’d had a quiet word with Archangel Chamuel.
Pulling on Hope’s hoody sleeve, I led her in the shadow of the city’s many skyscrapers that, from our viewpoint, were skirted by the parks large multi-toned shrubbery, straight to the most wanted man in England. By God’s grace Hope and I remained clear of the peripheral vision of the highly trained human weapon until we were close enough to be heard.
I’m not sure I will ever know what possessed me; although I have my suspicions that God preordained my choice of words. In the split second where Ryan Joshua Scott realised his cover had
been compromised and he weighed up his options of either fight or flight, I announced, ‘Ryan Joshua Scott, I am Serena Olivia Unity Lewis, the Daughter of Eve your bloodline vowed to protect, and I come to you now in the name of God.’
In all my years’ of practising law where I’ve witnessed facial expressions in many degrees ranging from: anger, bad-shock, and frustration on one side, to: glee, good-shock, and happiness on the other, I’ve never seen anyone look so utterly astonished.
Ryan Joshua Scott stood before Hope and me with an attractive masculine jawline, which couldn’t be hidden by his facial hair, that had dropped near to his sneaker covered feet. His blue eyes, which showed traces of exhaustion from enhanced blood vessels to deeper expression lines that were not warranted on someone in their mid twenties, were dilated and alert.
He remained in his astounded pose for some ten seconds before recovering his composure he stated in his sexy, privately educated drawl, which was tinted with uncertainty and confusion, ‘Serena Olivia Unity Lewis is dead.’
I wrestled on how best to answer, fully aware Hope was breathing over my shoulder. I was also conscious for the sake of all humanity I had to be very careful on how much information I parted with, even to my two charges.
‘Hmm, that’s a minor technicality,’ I confidently offered. ‘Ryan, this is Hope Harper. She’s a trusted colleague of mine,’ I proceeded. ‘Before we explain further, I think we really ought to move to a safe haven.’ I thought for a moment. ‘I have an apartment right here in New York.’
‘Have you?’ Hope sounded surprised.
‘Yes, but I don’t know its status. I mean it has been left to my parents who for all I know may be enjoying the many luxuries I fitted it with as I speak. There is also the possibility it’s up for sale, so I couldn’t ensure we wouldn’t be disturbed by potential buyers or real estate agents.’
The idea of someone living in my exquisitely designed apartment sent an involuntary shiver up my spine that temporarily shook my being.
‘Are you alright, Serena?’ spoke Hope’s concerned voice.
‘Perfectly, thank you, Hope,’ I recovered.
Ryan, who had been thirstily drinking in the scene, suddenly took charge and ordered, ‘Follow me.’
Neither Hope nor I hesitated at Ryan’s concise order. Dutifully we followed our guide to the west side of Central Park where Ryan effortlessly hailed a cab.
We drove for half an hour in silence, not wishing the taxi driver to over hear any of the sensitive information we were due to trade, before stopping outside a large, detached white house, with a neat, suitably sized lawn.
After settling the fare, Ryan jumped out of the front seat to lead Hope and me up the centre path to a smart, black, double fronted door which was avoid of glass, all except for the inconspicuous spy hole. He produced a key that opened the shiny door to reveal a spacious wooden floor entrance hall which bore a magnificent, cream carpeted, centred stairwell that funnelled both to the left and right of the house.
The furniture was sparse given the dimension of the space, consisting of a solitary flamboyantly craved chair with a luxurious padded seat which was snuggled up to an equally lavish table, both of which were almost out of sight as they nestled under the stairs against the right side, back, whitewashed wall. To the extreme left of the door a grandfather clock dominated the space where it was ideally placed to inform the household of the time. The high walls were meagrely adorned with tasteful, country inspired works of art which were set by simple frames. The same decor flowed into the library to the left of the door where Ryan ushered both Hope and me into.
Gesturing for us to be seated, Ryan offered in a voice which had lost its ambiguous edge, ‘Can I get you both a drink?’
‘Whisky, please,’ I confidently ordered.
A little more hesitantly, Hope asked for the same.
Once he’d filled our tumblers, Ryan sat down opposite me in a comfortable high-backed, maroon leather chair which matched the other three in the room.
With his blue eyes, I felt sure I could lose myself in, firmly fixed on mine across the dark wooden square coffee table we surrounded, he asked, ‘How did you find me?’
I looked towards my left to where Hope was sitting. She cuddled her whisky glass in her right hand that was propped up by her left, which in turn was supported by her crossed legs. She too intently looked in my direction, keenly waiting to hear the explanation I was about to feed Ryan. She was also restless to hear our new course of action now we had found the man the combined English and American Secret Services would pay her handsomely to betray.
‘I have to be careful what I tell you both, for there is more at stake here than you could ever believe possible. I’m confident you will understand this, Ryan, after all you’re a man who lives and breathes espionage.’
He gave me a slight nod of his head to acknowledge he understood and I should continue.
‘As you know, I work for God.’
The same reassuring nod came from Ryan. Hope, on the other hand, could not contain her gasp.
‘I’m not sure why you’re surprised, Hope. You speak to spirits all the time. Who do you think has sent them to you in the first place?’
She didn’t answer me. Instead she reflected on my words in silence, and thankfully she didn’t rebuff me for trusting Ryan with her secret. I had figured, and I had to believe I was led to my conclusion by Divine inspiration, that to complete my assignment I had to be as honest as at all possible to gain Ryan’s trust. He was an intelligent man. He would want to know Hope’s involvement and there simply wasn’t anything else which was remotely credible, save the truth.
I turned my attention back to Ryan.
‘God knows you’re innocent, Ryan, and He has entrusted me with your safe passage back to England.’
I was almost as surprised as Ryan was I had just told him God wanted him back in England. Somewhere, deep inside of me, I knew that to be the absolute truth.
‘Why do I need to go back to England, and how is that going to be possible? MI6 and the CIA have every airport and seaport covered, and even I’m not so stupid to think my current disguise along with a fake passport will suffice.’
‘Sometimes the details aren’t entirely clear to me until the time calls for clarity. What I can tell you, Ryan, is; God insists you return to England, and He will be responsible for your safe passage.’
Ryan considered my response before answering, ‘OK, but tell me, how did you get involved? Why can I see you if you’re dead? Where does that leave me in regards to being your protector? And what is Hope’s part in all of this?’
Before I could answer Ryan, the grandfather clock in the entrance hall chimed five o’clock, alerting Hope to the fact she only had two hours to ready herself for dinner with the brothers.
‘Serena,’ she urgently called.
‘Yes, Hope; don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.’ I took a deep breath before addressing Ryan. ‘I’m sorry, Ryan, I‘ve completely lost all track of time. Hope has a prearranged engagement at The Plaza Hotel. It’s imperative she keeps this appointment so regrettably we must excuse ourselves. But I promise to answer as much as I can next time we meet.’
‘I will drive you,’ Ryan commanded.
‘You will?’ I asked a tad puzzled, as I had visions of the spy stealing an Aston Martin from American suburbia.
‘Yes, Evie will be back by now, and I’m sure she will let me borrow her Range Rover.’
‘Who is Evie?’ I asked with the slightest hint of jealousy in my voice.
‘A dear and personal friend, who just happens to be the daughter of the President of the United States,’ Ryan modestly replied.
