The Bastard

by Inez Kelley

  “Why do they say you did?”

  “Because Suetonius was an angry, bitter, little turd with a small dick? I don’t know. People saw what they wanted to see.” He extended her tea with a careful grin.

  She cupped the mug. “What about the orgies?”

  Rex laughed. “Okay, yeah, there were orgies. Can’t lie there. But hell, orgies weren’t anything new. It wasn’t like I invented them, sorry to say. They’re not a thing of the past, either. I could hook you up right now with an orgy in Germany if you want.”

  “Sabine’s group?” Dray asked.

  “There or I know a few other places.”

  A naughty lift to Dray’s lip carved the groove beside his mouth deeper. “Me and you have to compare notes sometime, Roman.”

  “Are you fuckwidgets still talking about getting laid? You act like a bunch of cherries who just discovered your dicks.” Nomad burst into the room like an angry cyclone. His dark sweatpants had at one time probably been blue but now were more a grayish mold color. The dilapidated state matched the dinginess of his ‘I’d slap you but shit splatters’ tee shirt with the ventilation hole above his navel.

  “You fucking spoiled my dog. He expects food in his bowl every morning now.”

  He crudely scavenged through the lower cupboards looking for the dog food. Omen watched for a brief moment then turned, landing his canine gaze firmly on her.

  “Give it up,” Nomad grumbled as he poured kibble into the stainless steel bowl. Omen cocked his head, still looking at her. A low grumble rumbled from his throat. Lacy swallowed but Nomad merely rolled his eyes. “Get over here and eat the fucking dog food, ball-licker.”

  “You’ll have to forgive Nomad,” Myth said from the doorway, one shoulder leaning on the frame. “He’s suffering from Pre-Manstrual syndrome.”

  Dray snorted. “Someone give the bitch a Midol because he’s been like this for five hundred years.”

  “Suck my ass, cumtwat.”

  Dray shuddered. “Uh, no thanks, I had cereal.”

  Omen sniffed his bowl but his ears perked at the mention of cereal. His great black head swiveled toward her, then he huffed loudly and lowered his nose to the bowl. He nudged a few nuggets with his nose but didn’t eat any.

  “Crybaby,” Nomad sneered. “You’re the one who wanted to eat so deal with the bagged shit.”

  “He doesn’t have to eat either?”

  “No, but try telling him that.” Nomad slammed the food bag back into the cupboard. “Damn mutt’s been pawing at me for an hour.”

  Lacy couldn’t help but stare. Cain. She was looking at the real Cain, who shaped all Islamic, Jewish and Christian belief with a single murderous act. She couldn’t even fathom how old he must be.

  Another noisy exhale fluttered Omen’s jaw flaps. Nomad scowled harder. “Forget it. There is no bacon. She doesn’t cook for us anymore.”

  Lacy might not have a handle on reality but she could handle bacon blindfolded. “I can, though. Do you guys want some lunch? I’ll cook and you talk.”

  As if she offered them gold and silver in a basket of scorpions, all their expressions grew wary. Omen’s tail began to twitch, as if he wanted to wag it but held back. Bolting from the chair, she threw open the fridge door and started gathering food. Food she could deal with. Food was basic, it was life-giving, a communal social norm. And God knew she needed as much norm as possible right now.

  “I’ve got bacon, and ham and turkey and Swiss… how about Club sandwiches?”

  “Why do you care?” Myth’s eyes bored into her. “You ran out last night. On all of us.”

  Chilled tomato bruised under her fingers tightening but she lifted her head and connected her gaze with his. “I did. But I’m not running now. You don’t need food, I understand that. But it helps. You guys like when I cook for you, when I pick up your socks and make sure you have fresh coffee. So let’s keep going like that. I’ll cook, you talk and maybe I’ll understand what the hell happened to my life.”

  His lip twitched. “I prefer the twelve-grain bread.”

  “Extra mayo,” Dray called, pulling out his normal chair. “And don’t skimp on that bacon.”

  On that last word, Omen’s head jerked away from his bowl, unchewed nuggets falling from his mouth. His black canine eyes locked on her hands as she unwrapped the butcher’s paper around three pounds of thick cut bacon.

  “You’re a moocher, mutt. Stop begging,” Nomad called.

  “You’re Cain. Holy crap. Uh, can I ask you a question?”

  Nomad rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t marry my sister. No, I didn’t fuck a chimp, or any other dumb-assed thing you’ve read. The Land of Nod isn’t a real place. It was a saying, like ‘go fly a kite’ and I never saw any goddamn garden, got it?”

  “I was going to ask if Omen was a puppy when you got him.”

  He blinked, all anger sliding from his cheeks. “Oh. No, he was full grown.”

  In minutes, she had the counters lined with sandwich fixings and bacon sizzling in a pan. She assembled thick sandwiches as the men talked. They answered her questions, holding nothing back, not even the uglier sides of their true personalities.

  The toaster popped, four slices of whole-grain bread browned to a golden crisp. She replaced them and pushed the lever down. “What are you, exactly? Zombies?”

  They all burst out laughing. Dray fixed a blank stare on his face and leaned toward Nomad. “Braaaaaaains. Oops, I’d starve with you.”

  Nomad smacked him in the side of the head. “Get off me, fartmonger.”

  “I eat pussy, not brains.” Rex winked in an unabashed flirt. “We aren’t mindless drones, well, except for Dray.”

  Dray flipped him off.

  “We’re as human as you are,” Myth said. “We’ve just suffered First Death.”

  “But your bodies decomposed or whatever, right?”

  “Mine was burned,” Rex volunteered.

  “What do you want, a cookie?” Nomad sneered.

  “Nookie, yes, cookie, no. I was just explaining that... Oh, fuck it. So we got new bodies. Big deal. People in Hollywood are mostly boob implants and nose jobs but no one calls them plastic.” He thought a minute. “Strike that, bad example.”

  “Why doesn’t Sela just Reawaken all the other guys you had who died a second time?”

  “One shot deal,” Myth said. “Second Awakening can only be done by the Creator.”

  More information flowed and Lacy scrambled to keep up. Bags of nacho chips in the cupboard caught her eye and she quickly set out making guacamole and salsa. Her mind whirled with things never imagined; dematerializing from place to place — Dray had to demonstrate and Leaped upstairs, bringing back clean pants for her as proof — living through centuries, seeing the invention of the printing press and electricity, the strange healing sleep they all required.

  “So Erik’s asleep?” She kept her face trained on the tomato she was dicing.

  “He was,” Nomad leaned back on two chair legs. “He’s gone now, licking his wounds.”

  The knife slipped, nicking her finger. She held a paper towel to it and tried to keep her voice even. “He’ll be okay, right?”

  All sound died. The men looked at each other then found the table’s wood grain fascinating. Nomad’s chair slammed down on all four legs. “Physically, he’ll be fine. Like we said, sleep heals us, all except our Marks. He earned his punishment, but even that’ll heal in time. The real wound he’s nursing? That’s up to you.”

  She knew what he meant but she couldn’t rid the image of Sela and Erik from her mind. Maybe these men weren’t exactly evil but their morals weren’t hers. To her, cheating was wrong. Love wasn’t dependent on gold bands and church vows. It was a bonding of two hearts, spoken of in whispers and looks, in touches and wordless promises.

  Her eyes fell to the chair Erik normally claimed. It sat empty and her stomach sank. She served the chips and salsa, idly handing the guacamole to the closest man without looking. The sounds of
crunching filled the silence as she went back to the sandwiches, ripping into lettuce like a warrior. She chose an easier topic of discussion than her heartache.

  “So God is real?”

  Myth steepled his hands, leaning his elbows on the table. “God, Ra, Apollo, Allah, The Great Spirit, Dha-shi-zhi, Akongo, whatever. Every religion has a god or figurehead. Some have many. Who’s to say which one is the right name? As with us, history and man have distorted so much, there is no one truth I can tell you. Is Dray’s white Christ any more God than Rex’s Jupiter? Should I bow before Nomad’s Eloi or maybe Vike’s Odin? They are all the same and all different. The Creator, through whose power Sela Woke us, He is One and He is all of them. He answers to all names and to none.”

  “How do you know what to believe?”

  He smiled. “You listen to your heart, Lacy.”

  Maybe later, she thought. Right now, her heart was too filled with a living Viking with eyes full of pain. “Why aren’t there any women on your team?”

  “We’ve had women,” Nomad stuffed a guac-laden chip in his mouth. If they noticed her change of subject, no one commented. “Trust me, one bad-ass bitch can put almost any man on his ass.”

  “Nitocris,” Myth chuckled. “That was one tough lady. And I think I still have bruises from the whipping Amage gave me.”

  “Bruises?” Nomad snickered. “More like hickeys. You two were like rabbits in heat.”

  Rex sighed. “Delilah. That woman could suck the paint off a portrait and skewer a dozen Leeches without breaking a sweat.”

  “Yeah,” Myth chuckled. “Miss her, too.”

  “I think we all do,” Nomad murmured, a sly grin changing his face to almost handsomeness. “And probably in the same way.”

  “All right, you all suck.” Dray threw a chip at Myth. “These names are all before my time. There haven’t been any women in our ranks since I was Awoken.”

  While tales of exploits and adventures flowed behind her, Lacy concentrated on cutting the sandwiches into triangles and piling them on a round platter. Massive hands reached as the first platter hit the table, emptying it quickly.

  A strange thought made her smile. She was in the same room as some of the most violent, wicked men in history and they sounded no different from any group of men at a bar on Friday night, swapping sex stories and good-natured jibes.

  Omen pawed at his master’s knee. Nomad’s jaw worked furiously then he nodded. “Fine, one sandwich but that’s it. Mayo gives you gas.”

  He held out a thick triangle but the dog merely blinked.

  “Fuck an awkward duck, you are such a pansy-ass. It’s tomato, not cat shit… which you would eat.” Parting the bread, he slid the tomato slice off the turkey and onto his own plate. Once the sandwich was reassembled, Omen snagged it with viciously long teeth.

  Lacy shook her head. “It’s almost like he talks to you.”

  “We have an understanding.” Nomad shrugged, returning to his own sandwich.

  “Where’s Zale?” Dray asked.

  No one had an answer and no one seemed to care. It struck Lacy as sad. He never was part of the group that sat around and talked, joked and commiserated. A twitch formed above her left eye. She shouldn’t be feeling sorry for him. He’d been the instrument to her broken heart. Still, it seemed as if his life was more solitary than she ever imagined.

  The sudden realization that he was Beelzebub slammed into her. Holy shit.

  “Oh, I love the smell of bacon frying.”

  Mischief sparkled on Sela’s face as she strolled into the kitchen. Leaning on Rex’s chair back, she stole and nibbled a piece of bacon from his plate. Lacy tried not to stare but admitted she failed miserably.

  Sela wore simple capris and a melon-peach blouse with matching flats. Her hair was an identical hue. No wings graced her back but an immutable power rippled through the air. Lacy averted her eyes, hating that her hands trembled wiping the counter. Sela had never joined them for meals so Lacy was a little surprised she ate, but she consumed one sandwich triangle, giggling along with her men. But her eyes fell time and again to Lacy with a scrutiny that made her skin crawl.

  The sandwich platter was empty, the chips reduced to crumbs and the salsa bowl boasted only a smear of red-tinged juice when Sela cleared her throat. “Boys, go back to work. I need to talk with Lacy.”

  The room cleared in a cacophony of chairs scrapping the floor and mumbles of thanks. Dray squeezed her upper arm and sent her a reassuring wink before exiting the room. Apprehension sent a liquidy surge through her stomach. Lacy grabbed the platter and whirled to the sink.

  An overly bright yellow squirt of dish soap on the sponge held her attention as her courage mounted. It peaked and Lacy dropped the rectangle into the sink. She faced the most beautiful and frightening woman on the planet. “What did you want to talk about, Sela?”

  A toying smirk played around her lips. “Look at you, playing mama to murderers and tyrants, all with a smile and a sweet touch. You may act like a doe-eyed weakling, but you aren’t a meek little mouse, are you?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “You have nothing I desire. But Samael? He wants you very badly and for that reason, I can’t allow you to fall into his hands.”

  “Why? Why does he want me?”

  Gracefully pouring into a chair, Sela leaned back and propped her feet on the tabletop. “Your bloodline. One of your ancestors was Vachangeli, one of the most Holy. You and your sister are the last remaining Scionim on Earth.”

  Blood drained from her face, leaving a chill to her skin. “And that means what?”

  “It means you, Lacy Cooper, are at the top of his Most Wanted list. When Samael possesses a mere mortal’s soul, they become a Soul-Leech, bottom-feeders whose will is nonexistent. They live only to bring others like themselves to Samael, to increase his expendable masses to battle the peace-loving multitudes of Heaven, the Cherubim. Those few of Vangeli blood become Minions with the power of Seraphim, warriors in his war.”

  “Annie is —”

  “Safe. Her diabetes makes her undesirable to Samael right now. More than that, her disease sickens any of his Soul-Leeches who get near her. No, she’s not in danger. But you are a healthy Scionim. You have the potential to become one of his Chiefs with all the powers of those cast out at the dawn of time. He wants you very badly.”

  Spots of light and darkness spun in her vision. “Well, I’m not available.”

  “You will be, after several decades or centuries of ceaseless torture, when he promises relief and glory. The price will seem so little after a hundred years of pain and agony. You’ll pledge your faith and he’ll own your soul.”

  This Vangeli seriously underestimated her. Lacy grabbed Sela’s foot and shoved. “Get your feet off my table. I will never, ever serve evil, do you hear me?”

  “Lacy, you have been serving history’s most evil men for weeks.”

  “That’s different.”

  “They do not deny what they are. They have all committed atrocities that marked the pages of time in blood.”

  Unable to refute it, Lacy licked across suddenly dry lips. “Okay, fine, they’re jerks, every last one of them, but they aren’t evil evil. They did what they thought they had to do in a time that maybe I don’t understand. Even you said that history was wrong a lot of times. Maybe they were bad but they weren’t… I can’t call them evil, not like you mean.”

  Something warm and glowing filled Sela’s gaze. She rose, took Lacy’s cheeks in her palms and placed a light kiss on her forehead.

  “Thank you for seeing with your heart and not your eyes. They are my warriors, and I love them all.”

  “You beat him.”

  “He disobeyed and placed this team at risk. It seems cruel but it is what they understand. These men are not from your time, Lacy. They learned a different set of values, a different way of atonement.”

  Still holding her face, Sela looked deep into Lacy’s eyes.

  �
�Hear this. Though I love them all, I have not loved with any of my warriors. What you saw was not sexual pleasure. It was healing and actually quite painful for us both.”

  Lacy tugged away. “Swear it?”

  “On my vow as a servant to the Creator. The pain you felt as I gave you a single Breath of Life to heal your wounds was nothing. You have never died, never killed or maimed. My men, when I heal them, relive every death on their conscience. They relive their own passing in violent and vivid color. The human body processes pleasure in much the same way as pain, but there is nothing joyous in healing.”

  Her heart sang. Erik hadn’t cheated. Realizing what Sela said, Lacy cringed. Erik had to relive how many deaths? How could he withstand such agony?

  Sela traced her cheek, reading the horror Lacy knew must be on her face. “Vike loves you. It gives him the strength, the will to fight and endure. I don’t think it is one-sided.”

  “No.” Her lips trembled. “I walked away. I hurt him. I saw it in his eyes.”

  “Although it often carries great pain, hurts can be healed if you are strong enough.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The melody of the ocean played against the hull of the Sunstone, salt wafting thick on the breeze that stirred his hair, but Vike was oblivious to it. Although the Fisher 30 had a motor, he preferred wind power, using the stars as a guide as he had so long ago. The lack of engine noises allowed the ocean to sing a song that had always soothed him. Tonight, the song was oddly eerie and only underscored that he was alone.

  The Sunstone was his private Valhalla, his escape from everything. Though over fifteen years old, it was in excellent shape. It was the closest he could find to his own longboats and not stick out like a wolf in a sheep herd. The keel was sleek and low, though it boasted no dragon’s head on the prow. Superstitions of sea monsters and water demons were things he’d left in the past.

  No sea chests lined the deck. Instead, modern padded benches invited him to sit, to rest, to soak in the ocean’s grace. Heartache prevented that but he was lured by the sea, drawn to her. Only Gen had ever been invited on board and only once. He’d puked over the side and swore to stick to firmer ground.