Hope's Prelude: The Angelorum Twelve Chronicles #2.5

by L. G. O'Connor

  Sandra took her seat. Closing her eyes, she visualized the pattern that would serve as her key directly to Cara’s stone. Pulled into the Flow, she felt wind whistle past her, lifting the hair from her shoulders. Her journey lasted only seconds. The wind settled, replaced by overlapping melodic whispers in the Angelic language. A tongue she hadn’t heard or spoken aloud in fifteen years.

  She opened her eyes, squinting at the kaleidoscope of shimmering colors reflecting off the stone. Connected to others in a cluster, only the Collins Trinity Stone spoke while the others remained mute.

  Sandra took a deep breath to get her bearings, translating the runic symbol on each point of the smooth triangular stone. A section for each Trinity member: the Messenger, Guardian, and Soul Seeker. All three sections operated separately, holding the past, present, and probable future of each soul represented. Unique as fingerprints, they pulsed at differing speeds with varying colors of light, revealing information along the stone’s surface, similar to the creases on the palm of a hand. She would need the codex she had memorized as a child to translate.

  There was at least one thing she wouldn’t find out . . . the stone had stubbornly obscured the faces and identities of the other two Trinity members.

  “What do you seek, child of Uriel?”

  Jarred by the sudden intrusion of the Irin archivist, she silently blurted, “I seek knowledge of how I might prevent Cara Collins from dying.”

  “No one can be spared from physical death,” the archivist answered.

  Sandra realized her mistake. “I seek knowledge on how I might help her.”

  “The answer lies here. She must gain what you’ve lost, child.”

  The stone quieted, darkening except for the area containing the equivalent of the life line. A narrow colored line shimmered along the now blackened surface in Cara’s section. Then the same line in the color red lit up in the Messenger’s section, followed by the purple of the Guardian’s. A glow bisected Cara’s life line not far from the point of origin, where it turned from red to purple.

  The breath left Sandra as she was sucked backward into the Flow and delivered in an exhausted heap slumped on her desk.

  Sandra eased herself upright, fighting a wave of dizziness. Then with clarity, the missing pieces snapped into place.

  Holy Mother of God. She had her answer. Not just what this meant for Cara, but for the Dark Ones.

  The Nephilim DNA wasn’t to be used as a base to create an anti-disease or longevity vaccine, although both would be desirable by-products. The vaccine wasn’t meant to cure Cara at all. Instead, it would be used as a delivery mechanism to transform her.

  In order to save Cara, she must become Nephilim . . .

  Sandra had been right about at least one thing, Nephilim of the Angelorum would not Fall. They didn’t need to. Not when the Dark Ones could genetically create a Nephilim army.

  Chapter 12

  ISA

  Los Angeles.

  “¿QUÉ PASA, MUCHACHO?” Angel asked, wearing a broad smile as he strode across the near-empty Angel & Demons Bikers Club bar toward Isa and passed a large sign that read, “MY CLUB, MY RULES.”

  Rather than give an official Guardianship greeting of extended arm to shoulder, Angel clapped Isa on the back and drew him into a man hug.

  Isa couldn’t help but smile, happy to see his old friend.

  Dark-haired and draped from head to toe in worn black leather, Angel looked his part both as owner of the bar and leader of the Avenging Angel’s Bikers Club—he being “Avenging” Angel Benitez, former Guardian of the Angelorum. Almost all the bikers in Angel’s club, the AABC, were “retired” Four Hundred Class Guardians who had decided to live the back half of their 400’s in leisure.

  At least that was the official story.

  Unofficially? They were a group of Angel’s contemporaries who had voluntarily followed him into exile for a crime that had stripped him of his official privileges and almost sent him to the Angelorum’s version of the gallows. If it hadn’t been for Constantina, that most likely would’ve been the outcome.

  But that didn’t stop the Guardianship from calling on him for his services in a pinch. His intelligence connections were still second to none.

  A clash of balls on the pool table behind them was followed by an eruption of Spanish curses between two patrons who ended up chest to chest, making threatening gestures with their pool sticks.

  “There’s an asshole in every crowd,” Angel muttered and gave them a sour look before ripping into his own string of rapid-fire insults in their native tongue. The two men backed down and gave him a sheepish look.

  Angel tipped his head toward the back. “Come on, my friend. Let’s go to my office.”

  “Cabrón,” Angel called over his shoulder to one of the guys next to the pool table, and nodded at a tree trunk of a man standing by the door who made Angel’s six-seven and two-fifty look small by comparison. “Behave or Hector will kick your ass back to East L.A.”

  Angel yelled in Spanish to the bartender, an attractive young woman covered in tattoos, to bring them two Carta Blancas to drink, then closed the door behind them.

  Isa glanced around the wood-paneled office. It had seen better days. Paperwork covered the desk and seemed to be crawling up the walls in messy piles next to boxes filled with Mexican beer and name-brand alcohol stacked precariously on top of one another. The back wall displayed the highlight of the office: a large, framed photograph of a chromed-out Harley-Davidson with a busty blonde sitting astride the seat wearing immodest shorts and a bikini top.

  Not that Isa could claim sainthood when it came to neatness—frequently getting the evil eye from Hope for leaving his undergarments in inconvenient places—but the place could benefit from some organization and a good cleaning. “Do you think a secretary might be in order?”

  Angel snorted. “You kidding me? That’d be the end of my filing system.” He kicked his scuffed boots up onto the desk—right in the middle of a stack of invoices. “You can’t be here just to talk about my office. What’s up?”

  Isa took a deep breath and clasped his hands. “What’s the latest on Achanelech?”

  Angel’s eyes hardened. “What do you need to know?”

  “Current businesses he’s invested in. How he might be connected to the scientific community.”

  Angel frowned and withdrew his feet, dropping them to the floor with a thud. He leaned across the desk. “Can I ask the obvious question? Why did you drive six hours south to ask me? Why not go to Rafe?” Raphael ran the San Francisco Guardian House located twenty minutes from his and Hope’s apartment.

  Isa folded his arms over his chest. “I think you know why.”

  A low chortle rose from Angel’s throat as he laced his fingers behind his head. “This has Eae’s delicate little fingerprints all over it.”

  Leaning forward, Isa said, “I need your discretion and your word this goes no further. Hope’s life could depend on it.”

  Angel stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes. “She’s with you? How long have you been up north?”

  Isa hesitated. “Fifteen years.”

  “Fif— What the hell you playing at, bro?” Angel asked, straightening up.

  Isa shook his head, feeling the frown etch deep into his forehead, unable to hold back the anguish he’d been carrying for the last few months. “Nothing . . . We were implanted . . . by the Council. I can’t tell you much more—mostly because I don’t know myself. The only thing I can say is that I’m afraid there’s a lot more going on . . . that she can’t tell me.” He swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to protect her . . . that she’ll die.”

  Angel’s lips pressed into a hard line. If there was one thing Isa knew that Angel understood well, it was loss. The type of loss that rips your soul out and leaves a gaping wound in its place—the kind of wound that never heals.

  His gaze held Angel’s until Angel scrubbed a hand down his face and exhaled. �
�Fine. I’ll see what I can find out. Last I heard he was running illegal arms.”

  Isa relaxed back into the chair, the rigidity draining from his muscles. “Thank you.”

  Angel flipped his chin at him. “You working alone?”

  All Isa could do was nod.

  A look of concern burned in Angel’s eyes. “Can I give you protection? An extra man?”

  Isa shook his head. “I’ll let you know.”

  Angel’s black eyes bore into him. “Reason I’m asking is there’s been talk. Some incidents. It might not be safe to fly solo.”

  “Literally or figuratively?” Isa asked.

  “Both.”

  Isa’s brow furrowed. “Why? What’s happened?”

  Angel’s jaw worked behind his cheek. “Disappearances. Nephilim falling off the grid. No bodies. Nothin’.”

  A shiver skittered down Isa’s spine, but he asked anyway. “What do think’s happening to them?”

  “Dark Ones have to be behind it. We’re just not sure how.”

  “Good to know.” That explained the DNA left for Tom. It wasn’t just one Nephil like Hope thought. The Dark Ones must be capturing Nephilim to manufacture the vaccine.

  Chapter 13

  SANDRA

  Stanford University. Palo Alto.

  FINALLY ALONE IN HER OFFICE, Sandra pulled up the Google search results on her laptop and jumped straight to the entry from The New England Journal of Medicine.

  The gasp escaped before she could stop it.

  Dr. Kai Solomon, a Research Scientist at Forrester Research Labs, was presented with the David J. Keyes Award for his outstanding contribution to the advancement of the diagnosis, treatment, and cure of rare cancers and blood disorders.

  Pressing her eyes shut, she inhaled deeply. More revelations to deal with after her earlier adventure with Cara’s Trinity Stone and Isa’s call about missing Nephilim.

  Suddenly the woman whose life she was meant to save was no longer at a safe distance. If Kai worked at Forrester Labs, the chances were high that Tom and Kai knew each other, which created an intersection point and vulnerability for the two Trinities.

  Damn it. Not a good sign.

  Methodically, she read through the rest of the entries, piecing together Kai’s history and his relationship to Cara. He had grown up as an only child of a single mother who later married a plastic surgeon when Kai was in high school. Now about to turn thirty, Kai was married to Melanie Jane Fishman, a retail buyer for a large clothing chain. They lived in San Jose and had a three-year-old child, Sara Solomon.

  Sandra frowned. Having felt Cara’s emotional bond to Kai, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed at how things had turned out. Then again, the moment she’d witnessed had occurred eight years ago. Sadly, mating these days was nothing like it had been when she’d met Isa. Once she’d chosen him, he remained her mate for life.

  Based on available information and the small slice of Cara’s memories, Sandra determined that Kai Solomon had met Cara during his last year at Georgetown University when Cara was a freshman. He went on to MIT for his PhD and landed at Forrester Labs immediately afterward, while Cara remained on the East Coast where she now resided, unmated.

  Drilling into Kai’s wife’s Facebook account, Sandra found a recent family photo of the three of them taken at the San Diego Zoo. They were a beautiful family, she’d give them that. She honed in on the little girl. The child’s eyes burned through the photograph and stole her breath . . .

  “Hey, Dr. Wilson.”

  Sandra inhaled sharply as her hand flew to her chest.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Calvin said, poking his head in the doorway. “Just wanted you to know that I’m back.”

  Her heartbeat slowed. “Thanks . . . Would you mind preparing the equipment before Dr. Peyton arrives?”

  “You got it,” he said, and disappeared from view.

  She let out a sigh and erased her browsing history. As of now, Kai would be a factor in her plans going forward.

  TOM ARRIVED fifteen minutes later, towing a carry-on suitcase.

  Sandra raised a brow. “Going somewhere?”

  “Not quite,” he said, lifting the case onto her newly cleared table and unzipping it. He gave her a crooked smile. “I parked at a hotel a mile from Forrester and had a cab take me back and forth to work. Told everyone I was meeting Paula at the airport and flying to Vegas for the weekend.” He flipped open the top to reveal files and packaged samples. “I needed to smuggle this stuff out somehow. Ingenious, huh?”

  She shook her head and chuckled. “So what’s Paula doing on a Friday night by herself?”

  He laid a thick folder on the table without looking up. “She drove down to La Jolla for an impromptu spa weekend with my mother-in-law. My treat.” Taking out the last of the samples, he zipped the empty suitcase and tucked it under the table.

  Sandra touched his arm. “How did it go with the fertility specialist?”

  His shoulders drooped and he shook his head. “Not good. That’s another reason why I suggested the trip. The last thing I wanted was to leave Paula alone with the news while we worked.”

  “Maybe you should’ve gone with her,” Sandra said softly.

  “With me there . . . no. This is better. Trust me.” He sighed, picked up one of the folders, and changed the subject. “I started to isolate some gene pairs to focus on.” He eyed the big, empty platform used to display images as part of the new 3-D holographic imaging system. “Start there?”

  “Sure.” Deciding not to push the point on Paula, Sandra checked her watch. Isa should be back from his visit with Angel shortly.

  “Here, take a look at the first two reports while I get this set up,” Tom said, thrusting one of the slimmer folders at her. Then he grabbed a lab notebook and some of his samples and headed toward the imaging machine.

  “Let me help you with that,” Calvin said, rushing over to join him.

  She sat down and opened the file to give it a cursory glance, but what they needed wasn’t contained within the manila folder. As a result of a late afternoon phone call to Silas Gladstone, she had been granted access into the Angelorum scientific archives. The Angelorum’s advances were far ahead of those in the outside world. Lucky for them, the Angelorum had made greater strides in decoding the genome, human and Nephilim, and all the associated proteins that controlled gene expression. Without that, creating what they needed would take years.

  The imaging machine hummed and Calvin dimmed the lights. Like an IMAX movie, a giant, colorful 3-D strand of DNA spun over the platform in the center of the room.

  Abandoning the folder, she joined them outside her office next to the new equipment.

  Tom let out a low, appreciative whistle. “That really is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  The doorbell buzzed. Tom and Calvin froze and both threw her looks. “Are you expecting anyone?” Tom asked.

  “Isa? Is that you?” she asked telepathically.

  “Yes, my love,” he replied.

  “Cal, go get the door. I’ve asked Isa to join us.”

  He raced over to let Isa in. Calvin appeared small in comparison to Isa’s hulking figure trailing behind him. The smell of Thai food emanated from the bags Isa carried, triggering a grumble in her stomach.

  “Thought you might like something to eat,” he said to everyone but looked directly at her. He knew her too well. She’d skipped dinner and it was nearly ten o’clock.

  “Sweet!” Calvin said, bobbing his head.

  Tom smiled and touched his midriff. “Isa, my friend, you really know how to make an entrance.”

  A shadow of a smile crossed Isa’s lips. “This is hungry work.”

  “Let’s take the food into the lunch room,” Sandra said, leading the way.

  AFTER FORTIFYING HERSELF with a wide array of Thai specialties, Sandra sat back in her chair and watched Calvin devour a second heaping portion. Hard to believe someone that thin could put away so much food.

 
; Tom dabbed his mouth, crumpled his napkin, and tossed it onto his empty plate. “Back to work?”

  Sandra caught Isa’s gaze, her pulse rising a notch. “In a minute. Cal, would you come with me for a second?”

  Calvin set down his fork and pushed back his chair. He followed her into the hallway.

  “What’s up?” he asked when they were out of earshot.

  She looked directly into his eyes. “Remember when I asked for your permission?”

  “Bu-but we haven’t even started.” He scowled and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know anything yet.”

  She gave him a reassuring smile. “This is just a test, Cal. I promise.”

  He blew out a breath and crossed his arms. “Fine.”

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, still sounding disgruntled.

  “Drop your arms to your side and focus here,” she said, pointing to the bridge of her nose. He did as he was told. To relax him, she shifted her voice to the most dulcet tones in her range. “Think about the strand of DNA in the lab, spinning around and around.” She paused for a few seconds as his gaze stayed trained between her eyes.

  “The colors are twirling and melting together . . . Lose yourself in the slow . . . spinning . . . pattern,” she said softly.

  Calvin’s eyelids drooped and his lips parted. He stepped back and spun in a slow circle.

  Good, he’s under. “Stop,” Sandra said gently.

  He stopped and faced her.

  “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you?’

  He nodded.

  “Do you trust me?”

  He nodded again.

  “If you hear the words, ‘Go to my office,’ you will return to this state and go directly to my office and shut the door. You’ll stay there until I come to get you. Do you understand?”

  He nodded with a dazed look in his eyes and his mouth slightly ajar.

  “When I snap my fingers, you’ll wake feeling energetic and refreshed.” Sandra counted to three and snapped her fingers. Calvin’s eyes popped open wide.