by RB Austin
Third knock.
She owed Sarid so much more than hiding in her house. “It’s fine, Pastor. Thank you for calling.” Asjhone hung up, only feeling the teensy bit guilty when she hit the end button in the middle of him speaking.
On her way to the door, she wiped her palms on her pant legs. Her shaking hands had returned and the locks took forever to unlatch, but then the door was open. She inhaled. Had he always taken up so much space?
The width of his shoulders practically matched the size of her doorway. His head almost reached the top of the doorframe. She didn’t remember what he was wearing at the picnic, but he now wore a black leather jacket with a white shirt that did nothing to hide the muscles in his chest or stomach. His jeans looked worn. Frayed at the bottom hem. He wore a pair of boots that definitely had mud play dates. He was a historian?
Focus, Asjhone.
Heat filled her cheeks. How long had she stood there checking him out? Her eyes lifted quickly—great, he probably thought she was looking at his package. Although, now she was thinking of his package and what she’d seen at the hospital—ah, stop it.
Wait a minute. He was doing the same to her. Not checking out her package, but checking her out. His gaze roamed slowly over her body.
Did he like what he saw? She cringed. Seriously? Just a minute ago, she freaked about opening the door and now was worried about her appearance.
A quick glance down. Maroon cotton stretch pants. Long-sleeved black V-neck T-shirt with wet spots from Keandre splashing. Bare feet.
Not the most flattering. She crossed her arms over her chest.
His eyes lifted to hers. He cleared his throat. Shuffled from side to side, then thrust out his hand. “Here.”
Asjhone took the containers. Someone had cleaned them. Probably one of the seniors. “Thank you. You didn’t have to go to the trouble of bringing them by.”
He shrugged, shoved his hands in his jeans pocket, rocked back on his heels.
Okay, this was awkward. Why had she worried about opening the door to this man? “Well—”
“Mr. Sarid!” Keandre ran around the corner, charging toward them. A blur of blue superman pajamas and fresh clean smell. He careened around Asjhone and hurled himself at Sarid’s legs.
Sarid froze. Eyes wide with panic.
She’d done practically the same thing at the picnic. Beyond relieved that her son was safe, alive, and unhurt she had, without thinking, threw her arms around Sarid. He’d stiffened then, too.
“Lil’ man,” she started.
But Sarid slowly brought his hand down on Keandre’s back. Glanced to her quickly, as if asking for permission. She smiled, nodded. Relief and something else crossed over his features.
He started to bring his other arm around when Keandre hopped back, grabbed Sarid’s hand, and yanked on it. “Read me a story.”
“Keandre,” Asjhone admonished.
“Please,” Keandre added.
“Is that how you ask a question?”
“Will you read me a story, Mr. Sarid?” Keandre, still holding Sarid’s hand, jumped up and down. “Please. Please. Please.”
“Really, stop pulling on the man’s hand.”
Her son let go, but didn’t stop bouncing.
“Why are you acting so crazy? It’s like you just ate a bunch of candy.” She lifted her gaze, a small smile on her lips. Sarid was watching her. Expression, again, hard to read. Probably didn’t have kids. Asjhone had been a mother for seven years and sometimes thought the zoo would be a calmer place to live.
“May I?” he blurted out.
Surprise filled her, then she processed what Keandre had said. He’d asked Sarid to come inside. A man, a very large man. Into his bedroom. To sit next to him.
Emotions ran through her, none as big as the fear that speared her heart into gear.
This was too soon. The picnic was her small starting point. To bring her back from the ledge of complete paranoia.
Look how that turned out.
This? Was too much too soon.
“Please, Momma. Please can he come in?” He glanced up at her, using his Shrek-cat impersonation. In his gaze, she found her courage.
“Okay. One story.”
He grinned.
“And be polite.”
“I will,” he said quickly, then grabbed Sarid’s hand, pulled him into the house, and around the corner toward his room. “Come on, Mr. Sarid. My room’s this way.”
Asjhone watched them, her smile falling. She closed the door, hesitated, then threw the two deadbolts, swing lock, and chain lock. Her anxiety deepened. The kitchen windows were first. Then the dining room. Front room.
Finished, she stood in the middle of the front room, listened to the deep timbre coming down the hall. She couldn’t completely hear his words, but the tone, it was . . . not completely scary.
Find something to do. The bathroom. She’d been cleaning it when the pastor called.
The window was checked first. Then she drained the tub. Hung up the towels. Keandre had smeared toothpaste on the counter when he brushed his teeth. A quick wipe to the counters. Toothbrush back in its holder. Light off. Return to the front room. Now what? She sat on the couch. Rose to her feet.
Went into the kitchen. Washed the already clean containers Sarid brought her. Dried them. Put them away.
Front room again. On the couch.
Tynice’s novel lay on the coffee table. She opened it. Relaxed into the cushion.
Keandre laughed. A high-pitch giggle that always brought a smile to her face. Then Sarid spoke. A different warmth filled her.
No. Stop it.
With a grimace, she pulled the book in front of her face. Tried to concentrate. Forced Jules and Dalton’s banter to suck her in.
Another laugh. The rich and low voice.
Ugh. She threw the book on the couch, pressed her palms over her eyes. What was happening?
She wrapped her arms around her chest, bent forward until her forehead rested on her knees. A long inhale.
What were these feelings? What did her instincts say about Sarid?
She continued to breathe deep, tuning out the sounds from down the hall, searching her mind. Thoughts came and went. Images, too. Of Sarid. When they first met. At the pastor’s house. The picnic. His interactions with Keandre. She focused on breathing. Staying detached. Gathering facts. Dissecting her emotions. Especially how he made her feel. Searching for warning bells.
“Are you all right?”
Asjhone sat up so fast her head spun. Her hand gripped the arm of the couch. She stayed still until the dizziness passed. Sarid was in front of her, on the other side of the coffee table. Their gazes caught. Held. There was that heat again, except it was hotter than anything she’d felt in a long time. She forced her eyes away. Cleared her throat. Stood. “Story time all done?”
“Yes. You seem . . .”
Her gaze flashed back to him when he didn’t finish. “What?” Did her voice really sound that breathless? Her heart began to pound. His eyes flicked to her chest then back up. Almost as if he heard—
“Will you come tomorrow?” Keandre came into the room. “Please. You read books better than Mom does.”
“Hey,” Asjhone said, not really offended. It was probably true. By story time she was more than ready for the day to be over. This made her frown. She needed to spend more in-the-moment time with Keandre. Not always focused on the next to-do item.
“Sorry, Mom.” Keandre hugged her legs. “Can you, though?” he asked Sarid.
Sarid’s eyes were on her; expression, again, asking for permission. She opened her mouth, and, “Why don’t you come for dinner, too?” popped out. She bit her bottom lip.
Instant. Regret.
Sa
rid’s gaze roamed over her face then down to Keandre, where his features softened, then back to her. “How about dessert instead?”
Relief rushed through her. She tried to hide it. “Dessert sounds good.”
“Yeah.” Keandre threw his fist in the air.
Asjhone laughed. “Time for bed. School tomorrow.”
Keandre’s shoulders slumped. “Okay.” Then he glanced up, hopeful. “Will you tuck me in, Mr. Sarid?”
“We used enough of Mr. Sarid’s time tonight. Say goodnight, then get into bed. I’ll be right there.”
After one pitiful good bye, some shuffling feet, and a Mom-issued warning, Keandre finally left the room. Alone, face to face with Sarid, Asjhone wished she could call her son back in.
“You’re a good mom.”
She warmed at the compliment. “Thank you. I try. Sometimes I don’t—”
“No. You are. That boy feels loved. Wanted. To a child that’s more important than food.”
His words caused a pang in her chest and her eyes flicked to his cheeks. Without forethought, her hand lifted toward him.
He stepped back.
She dropped her arm, cheeks heating. “I’m sorry.”
A breath released slowly and his eyes fell closed. “No. It’s not you. It’s—” Then he abruptly whirled and walked out of the room toward the front door.
She blinked in surprise, but followed, watched as he paused in front of the door, cocked his head before unlocking one bolt after another.
Was he going to leave without saying goodbye? But once in the hallway he turned.
“I shouldn’t have come.” He spoke to his feet.
The words hurt more than they should’ve since for the past thirty minutes she’d been thinking the same thing. “Will I—we—see you tomorrow? For dessert?”
He hesitated. She moved closer, gripped the edge of the door. Wanting him to say yes. Hoping he’d decline.
His head lifted. Indecision marred his features.
Funny. If by funny, she meant, completely unlaughable. What a pair they made.
“It isn’t a good idea, but I’ll be here.”
She smiled. “Tomorrow, then.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Spun around. Strode past the elevator. At the end of the hall, he headed through the door that led to the stairs.
Asjhone shut the door. Locked it. Pressed her forehead against the cold wood. Fear bubbled below the surface, threatening the moment. Her smile faltered.
No. She’d trust her instincts. And Sarid . . . for now.
Trust.
A word that scared her more than death.
Chapter 23
Gabe strolled into the conference room and glanced around. A lot had changed since Sarid’s Other made an explosive appearance.
A projector sat on a rolling cart near the front of the room. Its corresponding screen hung on the wall behind it and showed two spreadsheets—the six-month Fallen death toll and the kill locations.
Recently, completely by accident, and not at all pre-planned Gabe learned the screen was awesome for watching movies. He totally hadn’t snuck into the room, plugged in Pioneer Elite speakers, dragged down his favorite chair, sat with a bowl of Martha-made popcorn, and watched Captain American: Civil War. But if he had, it would’ve been totally awesome. Better than going to the theater.
The podium stood to the right of the projector. Cade was behind it now, in the middle of talking about something that was probably important.
Comfortable chairs—but not as comfy as his lounger—surrounded a large heavy oak table that commanded most of the space in the middle of the room. The table could fit twenty-five people, though only a few spots were occupied. Most of the Behns stood in groups of their own Sept.
Gabe made a beeline for the table near the entrance. The ebhed had dressed it with refreshments and snacks.
The food and drink routine started when the other Behns arrived. What Gabe wanted to know was why. This should’ve been a staple at every boring Sept One Before and After meeting. Gabe would’ve made it a point to arrive on time if he knew someone might snag the last snickerdoodle.
Although a perk to living with a full house was sneaking into meetings late and Cade not notic—oh. Gabe paused, cookie halfway to his mouth. The boss’s eyes were trained on him, lips thinned in displeasure. Gabe flashed dimples, shrugged, then popped the cookie in his mouth. Delicious. He grabbed another one.
“We need to hit him now. When he’s not expecting it,” John said. The blond-haired, blue-eyed Behn was the leader of Sept Two, which was based in Greenland. He had boy-next-door good looks, the ability to sense other’s powers, and a not so sweet personality.
Cade gave Gabe one last I’m-not-happy glare, then focused on the Sept Two leader. “We don’t know what he’s expecting. He could be doing this to attract our attention.” Cade waved a hand to the screen. Instead of the Fallen spreadsheets—or the best Captain America movie so far—a live feed to CNN was projected. Apollyon’s face was large and close. “Maybe he wants us to attack now.”
The room fell silent when Lucas, who sat at the computer attached to the projector, raised the volume.
“. . . report came in from Israel where the man claiming to be the Son of God appeared one week ago. The world has been in uproar wondering if this is another Waco or Jonestown Massacre. While others, who have spoken to this man, have no doubts. Let’s turn to Brent in Jerusalem now.”
“Hi, Marsha. Reports have come in just today that the Prime Minister of Israel is erecting a temple for the man claiming to be Jesus. In his speech he delivered a complete declaration and believes with all certainty the man is who he says he is.”
Marsha touched her earpiece. “Hold on a minute, Brent. More reports are coming in. Five other countries have pledged to build temples in hopes that he will visit.”
“I agree with John,” Lars said once the report was muted. “We need to attack now.” He was second in command at Norway’s Sept Four. The brown-haired, square-jawed Behn had knives strapped to his body and looked fiercer than Lady Gaga in her meat dress.
Although if Gabe could always hit his mark, he might wear knives like jewelry, too. Nothing impressed females more than showing off a dangerous talent.
“Temples mean more people to worship him,” Lars continued. “More followers equal more power.”
“It’s more than Followers believing in Him that makes the Creator powerful.” Drew’s voice had an uncharacteristic hard edge. He was one of the few sitting in a chair. The second in command Behn from Sept Seven Alaska had dark brown hair and was able to see the history of an object through touch. He’d been the first Behn to arrive at the HQ, coming early to train Kate on her own psychometry powers. Of course, that was before everyone found out she was Katie the Key. Elias trained her now.
“I didn’t say it did.” Lars’s eyes flared Behn blue, fingers twitching near one of the knives strapped to his waist. “What I said was Apollyon having more followers, lower case F, gives him more power. Do we want to wait until he’s all powerful and we have no hope of killing him?”
Drew seemed appeased by the clarification, but shook his head. “I still think we need to wait. Not everyone is drinking the poison punch.”
“But enough people are. And the longer we wait, the more who will.” John ran his fingers through his blond hair and gazed around the room. “We need to find his weaknesses. We can’t go in blind.”
“Hold up,” Cade said. “Who said we’re going in? We’ve called this meeting to discuss our options.”
“Talking isn’t getting it done. This is our third meeting in one week,” John said.
Gabe swallowed a snort. The Behn needed to be thankful. Three in one week? Ha. Try two every single day, buddy.
Cad
e’s eyes flared as he glared at John. “And running in half-cocked will get us all killed. We’re the only defense between Apollyon, his Fallen and the Creator’s Followers. It’s our duty to protect humans at all cost. We can’t do that if we’re dead. How many of us have been injured by a Fallen?” His glowing blue eyes swept the room, though it seemed like the Sept One leader didn’t expect an answer. “And have you forgotten the demons my Sept ran in to recently? One nearly killed Gabe.”
Half of the Behns glanced in his direction. Gabe swallowed his fourth cookie too quickly and started choking.
“Well, that doesn’t seem like a big feat.” The soft, sarcastic, feminine voice came from the right side of the room and sent a rush of anger through his body.
Hands fisting, he opened his mouth, but Cade cut him off.
“The one with wings stands next to Apollyon right now. We know nothing about him either. Or how many more demons roam the earth. We do know they are stronger than a Fallen.
“Wouldn’t Apollyon have ten times the strength? He’s had nothing but time these past five hundred years to gain power and build an army. Why has he made an appearance now? What’s his purpose? We find these answers, and we might find a way to defeat him.
“He expects us to rush at him. Apollyon knows we know he’s not who he says he is. We no longer can play offense. The rules of the game have changed and the prophecy will be our guide.”
“Except we can’t even decipher it,” Zachariah called out. The Behn standing next to Lars was also from Sept Four. He was the youngest Trihune Member, turned when he was in his early twenties. The boy liked to play with rapier swords. The blade smaller in width than Gabe’s pinky.
“We have the key,” Lucas said. He sat at the table next to Drew. Kate, his bahshrett, or soul mate, sat on his other side. Learning Kate was the key had been an awesome achievement, but then Apollyon showed himself and the hope of finding the map started to seem, well, hopeless. The rush of yeah-we’re-winning had quickly faded.
