The Belial Fall (The Belial Series Book 13)

by R. D. Brady

  Cain arched an eyebrow. “I take it he did not use those exact words?”

  Laney shrugged. “I’m paraphrasing. I feel like they’re trying to build a Capone case against us. They can’t get us for the crimes they think we’ve committed, so they’re trying to find a financial angle to take us down.” She grabbed a snickerdoodle before taking a seat. “I swear, they’re going to charge me for every single cost related to any of these incidents.”

  Cain cracked his newspaper as he refolded it. “Good thing I have billions hidden all over the world.”

  Laney’s mug stopped halfway to her mouth. “Billions?”

  Cain’s black eyes focused on her. “Immortal, remember? Got pretty good at reading the markets.”

  Laney caught her uncle’s gaze with a smile. He shook his head. “I remember wearing shoes with holes in them for a full year because we couldn’t afford new ones,” said Patrick. “I hated when it rained.” He shuddered.

  Cain snorted. “I remember when we did not have houses, just caves we lived in. They were always damp.”

  Laney rolled her eyes. “Yes, you have both struggled mightily. This new generation has no idea how good they have it.”

  Cain didn’t take his eyes from his newspaper. “Good of you to notice.”

  Patrick nodded his agreement, making Laney smile as she took a bite of her treat. “Could I get the entertainment section?”

  Cain rummaged through the paper, pulling out the section. “You’re sure you don’t want the news section?”

  “Am I in it?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Then no. I’ll stick with the comics.”

  It had been an enjoyable morning. Laney sat with her uncle and Cain reading the paper, then she’d taken Nyssa for a walk along with Cleo and Tiger. They’d run into Mark Fricano and Dylan Jenkins, two of Jake’s former Navy SEAL buddies who were part of the Chandler Group security team, who played peek-a-boo with Nyssa amongst the trees. Then Nyssa had gone down for a nap and Laney had curled up with her.

  When she’d awoken, Cleo was sprawled out next to her, all her paws up in the air. Tiger was lying across the bottom of the bed. Nyssa was curled in tight next to her.

  Laney ran a hand through Nyssa’s soft curly red hair. She was a beautiful little girl who always seemed to be looking for an opportunity to laugh. Even without knowing she was the oldest soul in the world, she was truly an amazing little girl.

  Cleo rolled to her side, lifting her head up. Visitor. Tiger lifted his head from the end of the bed as well.

  Laney nodded, sliding off the bed without disturbing Nyssa, who rolled onto her stomach, her arms thrown wide. Stay with her.

  Tiger and Cleo nodded back at her.

  The house was quiet as she closed the bedroom door behind her. Cain and Patrick had gotten into the habit of taking a morning nap as well. Laney hurried down the stairs, getting no sense of the visitor on the other side of the front door, which meant they were neither Fallen nor Nephilim. Being they had been let into the estate, she knew they were no threat. In addition to checking people at the main gates, Henry had installed additional guards at the end of Sharecroppers Lane to check IDs, even when on the estate.

  She ran across the foyer to fling open the door before whoever was coming up the steps could knock or ring the bell and wake everyone up.

  A man of average height with dark hair and eyes started as he placed a foot on the porch. “Laney. Good morning.”

  Laney put a finger to her lips, closing the door behind her.

  “Ah, nap time?” The man stepped fully onto the porch, his jacket falling open to reveal his black clothes and the white collar of a Roman Catholic priest.

  She nodded as she directed them to the porch chairs. “Yes. How are you, Bas?”

  Bas was Father Sebastian Gante, formerly residing in Rome, Italy. He had arrived in the States two days after the Washington D.C. incident to get her uncle’s statement for the Church. And he had not left.

  Bas took a seat with a sigh. “Father Invencio is being, shall we say, difficult this morning.”

  Father Invencio had been put in charge of the Church’s newest task force charged with investigating the veracity of the fallen angel claims. With all the press Samyaza had received, the Church had received demands from its members to know if Elisabeta Roccorio had indeed been Samyaza, if the Fallen were truly fallen angels, and to know what exactly Laney’s role was in the whole debacle. Unable to avoid the very public nature of the issue, they had created the task force and dispatched Bas to speak with Patrick.

  No one had trusted him when he first arrived. No one even wanted to speak with him. But Laney was definitely warming up to the young priest. He seemed no less happy with the Church’s hierarchy than her uncle was these days.

  “What’s Invencio’s issue now?”

  “He does not think my last report was detailed enough. He wants more pictures next time.”

  “Are they springing for a camera for you?”

  “Apparently one should be arriving in the morning.” Bas’s smile faded. “Laney, I know you are going through a great deal, but I do need to interview you. It is always your right to say no, of course, but the Church is growing restless, and I fear they may send someone else if you do not speak to me.”

  Laney studied the priest. He was in his midthirties and had been born and raised in Italy. He’d joined the Church when he was twenty and had worked almost exclusively in Rome since that time. He was an insider. Yet for some reason, she trusted him.

  But trusting him was not the same as being willing to reveal all her secrets. “I still don’t understand how the Church can claim to know nothing of my role in history. They must have known about the ring bearers.”

  “I don’t see how they could not have known either. It does not make sense. But that is their official statement.” There was no guile in the priest’s face or voice. He seemed as perplexed by their apparent denial of knowledge as she was.

  “You see why I would have difficulty sharing information when I feel they are not being truthful?”

  “I do. I have spoken with them, but Father Invencio is adamant that they know nothing about a ring bearer.”

  Silence fell between them while Laney wrestled with the correct course of action. She had no interest in making her uncle’s life harder than it already was, and she knew how much pressure the Church was putting on him to provide answers. They even wanted him to come to Rome to give an accounting. She just had a feeling that revealing all she could do and what she knew was not the right move.

  Bas reached out and patted her hand. “It does not have to be today. I know you have had a long week already.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that?”

  “The news. Your exploits in Chicago have been covered on all the major channels.”

  Laney groaned. “Oh, crap.”

  Bas laughed, a deep rumble. “It was good. They said you were like a superhero, or maybe a saint.”

  “Ugh. I wish they’d stop talking about me altogether.”

  “I do not think that it’s going to happen.” Bas stood up. “How about if I make lunch for everyone? A good meal makes everything better.”

  Laney stood up as well, her stomach grumbling in anticipation. Bas was a great cook. She had been lucky enough to partake in more than a few of his meals since he’d arrived. “I think that sounds like a great plan.”

  “Will you help me?”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Aromas from the kitchen drifted down the hallway as Patrick pushed open his bedroom door. Oregano and basil with a little hint of Parmesan, which could only mean one thing—Bas was here. He’d been suspicious of the young priest when he’d arrived from Rome. The Church hadn’t been overly sympathetic to Patrick’s trials as of late, at least when it came to information. They were demanding an accounting. He’d spoken to them by phone and had answered most of Bas’s questions. But there were ce
rtain things that he would not tell them.

  Such as how Elisabeta had become immortal and then mortal again. The world did not need that knowledge floating around.

  He banged the side of the wheelchair into the door frame, having misjudged the distance. He’d yanked his fingers back in time, just managing to avoid crushing them between his chair and the door frame.

  They had converted the dining room into a bedroom with an attached bathroom, all designed to accommodate his wheelchair. Henry had it ready to go for him as soon as the doctor okayed him to go home. At first he’d resented the chair, and he still had dark moments, but it seemed selfish when Kati, Maddox, Zach, and thousands of others had lost their lives. Still, for an active man, it was a struggle to accept.

  Conversation from the kitchen drifted down the hall along with the scents. He smiled hearing Laney’s voice. She sounded good, relaxed. She’d taken on so much lately that these little moments of normalcy warmed his heart.

  Nyssa appeared in the hallway, a giant smile on her face. She hurried toward him, Tiger slinking along behind her. She threw herself on his legs with a squeal of joy. He rested his hand on her red curls. “Hello, little love. Did you have a nice nap?”

  She looked up at him, her arms still wrapped around his legs, nodding. Tiger nudged Patrick’s other hand. Patrick rubbed his head. “Hello, Tiger. Good to see you too.”

  Tiger’s head snapped up, and he stared at the door. Patrick looked over in time to see the mail fall through the slot in the door. With a happy squeal, Nyssa ran over, gathering it in her arms. A few pieces fell. Tiger picked them up in his mouth. Patrick had seen a show about training rescue dogs to be service dogs and wondered for a moment if he could get one of the cats to be his service animal. It could come in useful.

  “May I see those?” Patrick asked.

  Nyssa shook her head, holding them tighter to her chest and taking a step back.

  She loved mail. He wasn’t sure why, but she loved playing with each envelope or flyer that slipped through the slot. The batch in her hands right now looked like it was mostly junk.

  “All right. Why don’t you go show Cain what you found?”

  She smiled and ran down the hall. Tiger dropped his three pieces in Patrick’s lap before trotting after her. Patrick wheeled behind them with only a quick glance at the mail in his lap. The letter on top was from a hearing aid company. He rolled his eyes. He’d received more and more medical device advertisements since he’d been shot than he’d received in his whole life. Whoever manufactured the wheelchair must have sent out the announcement that he was now looking for every medical invention ever created.

  As he rolled into the kitchen, Laney looked up from the island. “Hey. Lunch will be ready in five.”

  “Smells great. Good afternoon, Bas.”

  Bas nodded at him, plaid oven mitts on his hands. “Good afternoon, Patrick. You look well.”

  “And you lie poorly. But it’s still nice to see you.”

  He rolled over to the desk in the corner of the kitchen and picked up the three pieces of mail Nyssa had allowed him, tossing the advertisement on the desk. He’d shred it later or give it to Nyssa. A second advertisement asking if he was happy with his electric company was next. It joined the first. He sighed, thinking of the amount of trash the postal service delivered. No wonder the landfills were filling up at alarming rates.

  The third envelope gave him pause. It was from the Executive Office of Immigration Review. Patrick frowned. He had a green card, as he was still a British citizen. He’d thought about getting his American citizenship years ago, but he’d never quite gotten around to it. He’d never seen the need.

  He paused. He’d sent in his ten-year renewal form months ago, but now that he thought about it, he realized he’d never received anything back. With everything going on, it had simply slipped his mind.

  But now that glaring omission of a response was like a neon sign in his mind. Since the coronation, there’d been a crackdown on immigrants in the United Sates. They’d been deporting more and more. People without criminal records who had lived here for decades had been forced to leave their families and their lives behind.

  It’s nothing. I’m sure it’s nothing, he tried to tell himself. But there was a noticeable tremor in his hands as he slid the envelope open. He pulled open the single sheet of paper. The seal of the United States government was at the top, a form letter beneath it. He read slowly, his mouth falling open.

  Laney walked over wiping her hands on a towel. “Uncle? Are you all right?”

  He stared up at her, his mind blank for a moment.

  “Patrick?” Bas stood behind Laney, concern etched on his face.

  He swallowed. “I think . . . I think I’m being deported.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Alexandria, Virginia

  The coffee eased down David’s throat as he scanned the headlines on his tablet. More Fallen incidents had been reported. There was a growing call for information and a quieter call for them to be rounded up. David stared into the small backyard of his townhome. He’d seen these times before—not in the United States but in Iran, in El Salvador, in Russia. None of them ended well for those caught in the crosshairs. And as much as he would like to think his fellow Americans would be more magnanimous in their views, he also knew that paranoia was contagious. In this world of instant messaging, it seemed the loudest voice, not the most accurate voice, was given the most credence.

  His partner of eight years, Rahim Nabavi, placed a kiss on his forehead, laying a hand on his shoulder. “What has you looking so gloomy this morning?”

  David squeezed his hand before Rahim took the seat across from him. “Nothing, just the news.”

  Rahim was a lawyer with the Immigration Fund. He spent his days trying to help people who came from horrific situations to make a better life in the United States, much like Rahim had done. He wrangled red tape to get people coming from war zones, crime zones, and all-around horrible places housing, jobs, and legal standing. He was, in David’s opinion, one of the best and most moral people he had ever met. The irony of the extreme differences in their professional lives was not lost on him.

  Rahim frowned, the skin between his dark brows wrinkling. “They’re increasing the calls for something to be done about the Fallen?”

  “Yes.” David paused. “What do you think of it?”

  Rahim looked across the table, his face tensing for a moment before he shrugged. But David saw the movement and wished he could take his question back. He knew what Rahim would think. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  Rahim’s hand shot out, taking David’s hand. “No, no. What happened to me was horrible. But it is not my horror alone. Hate and ignorance is not relegated to only my former government.”

  David knew that was true, but he hated when he brought up Rahim’s past, even unintentionally. Rahim was from Iran, a country that still executed people for being gay. Rahim had been David’s informant for a few missions. Over time, they had fallen in love. But David had never seen himself as someone who had a normal family life. Besides, he and Rahim lived worlds apart.

  But then Rahim had been picked up by the Iranian police for protesting the execution of one of his friends, and it was his turn to stand on the execution block. By the time David reached him, Rahim had been beaten so severely David could only recognize him by the scar on his leg from a childhood accident. He had smuggled Rahim out of the country and used his pull to get him asylum. Rahim had become an American citizen six years later. Now he tried to help others going through nightmares similar to his own. He was doing extremely well, but every once in a while the nightmares reminded him of his life before and haunted him for days. So David did everything in his power to keep their home life peaceful. But sometimes real life had to intrude.

  Rahim stirred his coffee. “I see the signs here: the intolerance, the fear. None of it is good.”

  “But unlike your situation, these people, these Fallen, ha
ve the power to inflict real damage.”

  “Or commit great acts of good. There are good people. There are bad people. No one should be judged based on one aspect of who they are. It tells you nothing of their heart.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” David studied his partner, seeing the dark circles under his eyes. “You know, I think I have a quiet day. Perhaps I’ll work from home, then we can go out to lunch.”

  Rahim smiled. “I’d love that. I’ll call the office and tell them I’m working from home as well.”

  The doorbell rang. The smile slipped from Rahim’s face. “I think that means your day is going to get a little more busy.”

  “Perhaps not. It could just be the paper boy,” David said as he stood.

  “Ha ha. We don’t get the paper delivered.”

  “Well, maybe he’s looking to change that. You eat. I’ll see who it is.” David walked to the counter and pulled out the drawer on the end. He pretended not to see Rahim tense just as Rahim pretended not to see David pull out the Walther PPK before heading to the front door.

  David stopped halfway down the hall at the monitor that displayed the front stoop. There was a single man David did not recognize standing there behind the bulletproof door. He was tall, and he wore a suit and a dark raincoat. David punched the intercom. “Can I help you?”

  The man leaned toward the speaker. “Mr. Okafur, I am Secret Service Agent Sheffield. I have been sent to retrieve you for a Tango meeting.”

  David flipped open his phone, pulling up the morning’s security screen. “Authorization?”

  The agent rattled off a series of ten numbers and letters. They matched.