Evangeline could not make heads or tails of his cryptic answers, but she took careful note of the name her captor had dropped. Felicia.
“If you’re not going to hurt me, then take off these bindings. Let me see you!” she dared. She could hear three distinct people, men by the sound of it, breathing in the back of the vehicle with her. She heard one of them chuckling under his breath.
“Don’t look at me,” he said. “I told you to not bind or blindfold her.” The voice - she knew this voice. Evangeline strained to recall his face from her memory, but the image eluded her like a firefly in the blackness. She struggled to concentrate, but her mind was still sluggish from the sedative.
She heard a long, drawn-out sigh and the first man’s voice spoke. “The blindfold is for your protection, as well as ours. We can’t risk that you’ll be able to keep our location a secret once you’ve met with the people who want to see you. We’ll be there soon. I’m sorry, but this is the way it has to be.”
Evangeline began to object when she felt a prick in side of her neck. Her dark world started to spin again. She felt her body slump against the safety harness like a sandbag. Her head grew too heavy to bear and rolled onto her shoulder. Her eyelids felt like they had been glued shut with cement.
She did not know how long she slipped in and out of consciousness. The vehicle continued rumbling along and turning at irregular intervals. She became semi-conscious when they slowed to a stop and she heard the creaking hinges of large metal doors being pulled open, another new supply of fresh air thrilling her lungs. She heard the click of the harness and her body became free, floating away from the seat like she was sailing on a cloud.
Just before she blacked out again, she heard the familiar voice whisper.
“It’s okay, Boyd. You’re safe, now.”
FORTY-TWO
Graham finished swimming his last lap of the evening on the far side of his private pool. He leaned his head against the edge of the pool and let his body rise to the surface as his lungs took in their fill. He tilted his head back to see the upside-down view over his balcony pool. The stars were playing hide and seek with the clouds that floated by. A smug grin stretched across his face as he looked over his lavish surroundings. “This is only the beginning,” he mused. “The future will only get better from here. I will have more.” More money. More power. More everything.
He pulled his legs back into the water and admired the luxurious touches he had chosen for his oasis. The waterfall that spilled over a sandstone obelisk was his favorite feature. His heart skipped a beat as he remembered all the times he and Celeste had bathed under the waterfall after he had finished exercising.
His eyes moved from the waterfall to the pool steps where she was bobbing in the water with only her head above the surface. He considered it his reward to gaze on her beauty after each lap he completed. He had chosen the most expensive residence he could afford in Olympus just so he could indulge himself like this, swimming in the evenings and watching Celeste float in the water each night.
He rolled onto his stomach and pushed off from the pool wall. He let his speed wane before he broke the surface and eased into a slow, steady breaststroke. With each stroke bringing him closer to Celeste, he felt the stirrings within him build. In his mind, she was the premium example of Angelic beauty and grace. He could not fathom how he had survived without her. She was beautiful and obedient, his perfect companion.
He floated the last few feet toward her beneath the water, emerging just in time to kiss her on the mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back in the way he liked, slow and soft, letting his tongue open her mouth to a throaty moan. When he pulled away, she was gazing at him from under her wet eyelashes with a seductive glint in her eyes. It was enough to melt ice in the fiercest blizzard.
“Let’s go to the waterfall,” he murmured in her ear.
“Whatever you would like,” she replied in a sensual tone.
Just then the home network panel across the balcony began emitting an urgent shrill. Graham sighed in frustration. From the tone of the signal, he knew who it was; the one person for who he was obliged to interrupt the plans he conjured with his sexy companion.
“Wait for me in the waterfall,” Graham whispered into Celeste’s ear.
“Of course, Silas,” Celeste cooed back as Graham sucked on her earlobe. She let out a moan and sucked in a long, drawn out breath. Her eager responses to his overtures excited him beyond logic, but the incessant ringing would only increase in pitch and volume until he answered.
Celeste stepped out of the pool first, and his eyes followed the rivulets of water that dripped down her glistening skin. Padding her way toward the waterfall like a cat, she never looked back to see Graham staring at her, which made him even more frustrated and eager to continue what they started.
Graham sighed in defeat, pushing himself from the edge of the pool toward the opposite side. He pushed himself up and out of the water, letting the water drip across the warm tile as he plodded toward the screaming panel. The pulsating alarm and illumination threatened to alert the LTZ below that this call was more pressing than anything else did. With a bracing intake of air, he pressed his hand to the glass and awaited the inevitable.
On the screen appeared an older woman, with white skin, dark brown eyes, and the austere, chocolate ponytail she had worn for as long as Graham could remember.
“Hello, mother,” Graham huffed, keeping his hand over the camera. “What is it this time?”
“Silas, darling,” she said with a scowl that did not match the brightness in her voice. “I just wanted to call to wish you a happy anniversary.” Her face bobbed around the screen as if avoiding an attacking insect. “Silas, why can’t I see you? Are you covering the camera again?”
Silas did not want to get into another lecture about how Humans and Angels should not engage in romantic relationships together. He mused on the irony of her beliefs since she, herself had more than a few crushes on male Angelic house servants.
“Are you consorting with that Angel again?” she demanded.
Graham decided to redirect the conversation, as he did most times his mother called. “What anniversary, mother? It’s nowhere near my annual job evaluation, and we all know I never got married.”
Graham knew bringing up marriage would put his mother on the defensive. No one in the family wanted to talk about his fiancé ending their engagement after his accident and full-body tissue replacement.
His mother’s eyes flitted away from the camera for a moment before she collected herself. “It’s the anniversary of your return to Earth. You know, from the mission that secured your meteoric rise in the Citadel. Oh, your father and grandparents would be so pleased.”
Graham could not prevent himself from rolling his eyes. He had always detested at his mother’s flair for the dramatic.
“Very well, mother,” Graham replied, doing his best to remain cordial. “Thank you for remembering. Good night.” He closed the call before his mother had the chance to say anything else.
Graham stood by the terminal, still dripping water onto the floor. His romantic mood all but deflated by the unexpected and unwelcome reminder of his mother’s attitude toward the Angels. He hated how she saw them as second-class citizens, a mere labor class.
Graham turned and his eyes caught the vision of Celeste, standing under the waterfall and his heart reignited into the slow simmer from before. She had her head tilted up toward the head of the fountain. In slow motion, she swayed back and forth, underneath the falling deluge, with her eyes closed. She seemed oblivious to everything else around her, captured in the sensation of the water rushing down her body.
With his heart pounding in his chest, he walked over to the waterfall, never letting his gaze fall from her exquisite beauty. An itch, subtle at first, drew involuntary nails to relieve the sensation. With each step, the tingling across his skin intensified, but he longed for Celeste more than he longed for relief.
He stepped into the waterfall with her, putting his arms around her waist and pressing his lips against her mouth. Celeste let out another soft moan as his tongue parted her lips. The fire in his heart, matched only be the fire across his skin, was unquenchable. Celeste reached up and ran her fingers through his hair as the water poured down on them. Graham felt her nails dig into his scalp, forcing him to reach up and pull her hands away.
“Not so hard, Celeste,” he growled, attempting to keep a romantic tone in his words. That was when he looked down and saw the blood stained patch of hair stuck underneath her fingernails. Graham stepped back out of the waterfall, followed by a smiling Celeste.
“Silas, what’s the matter?” she asked with all the innocence of child. “Have I done something to displease you?”
Graham stared at his beautiful assistant with horror. He could not understand how she could be so calm after she tore into his scalp. Wet flames began to lick at his shoulders and arms, causing Graham to lose all previous interest in romance. He scratched at his flesh with manic fury, willing the flames to quench under his digging nails.
“I think I need to go to the hospital,” he said, worry etching itself across his face. “Go get me a towel, please.”
Celeste smiled and walked around Graham’s twitching form. His nails raked across his body as he tried using the soles of his feet to relieve the fire dancing on his legs. She retrieved a towel from the chaise lounge next to the railing and walked back to the pool’s edge. A puddle of water gathered at her feet, but she held up the towel and signaled that she was ready to dry him off first.
He stood before her, grabbing her arms and kissing her again on the mouth in a vain attempt to take his mind off the discomfort. She smiled as she wrapped the towel around him and started drying off his shoulders. He raised his arms like a child and she worked her way down his body, wiping away the water from his torso and legs.
His smile faded as a flood of fire erupted across his body. Bright ruby spots blossomed across his neck and shoulders as he fought an undeniable compulsion to claw at his skin. Graham began screaming, raking at his flesh as he felt the bites of a million invisible fire ants eating at every surface of his body. He pulled away from Celeste in a manic dance, scouring at his flesh with his fingernails. She looked at him as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She did not seem to understand that he was in extreme pain.
“Ahh!” he screamed. “Celeste, what’s going on?” Within seconds, his entire body was fiery red. His scratching had opened up bloody gashes all over his arms and legs. Celeste stood there holding the blood-soaked towel, calm and unfazed at the gruesome display. Graham fell to the pool deck, moaning and writhing in agony. His hands shook as he fought his instinct to tear away at his own flesh.
“Celeste, call for help! NOW!”
She dropped the crimson-stained towel and walked to the console just outside the pool area, which activated as she approached. “Emergency services, please,” she said sweetly as water continued to drip from her hair and body. At the next prompt, she said her name, Graham’s address, and described his wounds.
Graham cringed as a fresh wave of agonizing pain crashed over him. Through all the unbearable stinging and itching, he resented how she could be so cool and collected. Had his suffering not been so intense, he would have made an enormous fuss over her not treating him the way he deserved. It was unfair she was not suffering alongside him. He almost opened his mouth to berate her insensitivity, but the maddening discomfort strangled the words in his throat. He would surely go insane if this torture did not cease.
An older man appeared on the console screen. Celeste spoke to the dispatcher with the same easy and pleasant smile she wore whenever she made a new acquaintance.
Flailing around on the pool deck behind her, Graham screamed. The dispatcher’s eyes grew wide with horror. Celeste explained the situation with the same calmness as if she were ordering take-out. All the while Graham floundered, wrestling with his agony in a pool of his own blood.
The medics were dispatched and on their way to Graham’s residence. Celeste turned from the console and strolled back to his side. She picked up the bloody towel, resuming the task of drying off Graham’s trembling body. His screams filled the night sky as each sweep of the towel tugged at his ragged flesh, exposing the muscles and tendons of his arms and legs. Celeste dabbed the towel against his body, unaware of the small river of blood flowing into the pool, and washing bits of his flesh into the water.
FORTY-THREE
The Level Ten Crisis Clinic, situated in one of the upper habitat rings high of the Olympic citadel, reinforced the notion that divided the have’s from the have not’s. It was impossible to visit a patient if you were not a relative or superior, at least that would be the case if you walked in through the main doors. However, if anyone else was determined enough to get inside, there were ways to do just that. People entering via corridors and freight lifts, dressed as a maintenance worker, did not turn a single head. In general, Angels - or the few residents from the LTZ who could not get anything better - held those jobs. Once someone had access to the infrastructure, navigating the public areas became much simpler. A smile, a nod, and a little confidence could get you pretty much anywhere you needed to go.
Felicia was still fuming over Garrett’s callous decision to slip a dose of the disease to a stranger. This was not the first time he had pulled a stunt like this, inflicting the virus upon an innocent person. His penchant for creating chaos was sickening. He enjoyed some perverse kind of pleasure in watching the populace react to the strange symptoms.
No one understood his motives, not even Felicia. At one time, she and Garrett had been very close, but now she did not understand the man he had become. Garrett and his rogue motives were wrong. If he did not stop, their superiors would have to stop him by force. They could not afford for him to keep spreading the disease any faster than it had already. They were nowhere close to a cure. She thought about the first victims of the disease, and how they had suffered before the virus had mutated. “What happens if it mutates again?” she thought. She shook her head to clear her mind; she wanted to get into the clinic, finish what she set out to do, and get out without alerting anyone to her actions.
Felicia located the staff locker room in the crisis unit so she could change out of her maintenance uniform into a set of scrubs she had stolen from a pile of unwashed clothing in the laundry facility. She shook out the wrinkles from the used clothing before slipping into them. She had ditched her own clothes in the bottom of a garbage can in the receiving department.
If someone noticed his or her clean scrubs had gone missing from a locker, it might have raised suspicion. She decided to wear dirty scrubs so it would appear she had just finished a shift, or was heading to a locker to change into fresh clothes after handling an emergency.
She left the locker room and walked toward the nearest nurse’s station. The layout of the clinic was foreign to her but she did not have the time for proper surveillance. She pushed through the set of doors separating the public side of the clinic from the service corridors.
Bright light assaulted her eyes and she had to resist the urge to shade her eyes with her hand. It would have brought undue attention upon herself, and she needed to get to the pilot. There was no time to waste. She swiped a tablet and a doctor’s ID card from a nurse’s station as she walked by. She pretended to review a patient’s chart as she studied a floor plan of the clinic. There was only one thing that was going to help the pilot at this point. She needed to find the nearest pharmaceutical dispensary and determine the most direct path to the pilot’s quarantine suite.
Felicia set out to execute her agenda using the service corridors. The patient corridors were the riskier option; the chances of running into real medical staff or a security officer were too great. In the service corridors, she could bluff and say she was new and lost. Besides, if stealth and deceit failed, there would be fewer witnesses to render unconscious bef
ore stuffing their bodies in a closet to buy her some time.
The floor plan on her tablet told her she was nearing a dispensary. She used the stolen ID and obtained two doses of the required medication. The first dose was for the pilot, and the other was just in case. With the injectors in her pocket, she continued unimpeded through the service corridor to the quarantined room of Daryl Simmonds.
She reached the doors to the patient corridor and took a deep breath to steady herself for the next step. The public could not know about the disease or its history. The time for exposing the truth had not yet arrived.
She took a quick peek out of the sidelight and checked for anyone else in the hall. Her path was clear, but she would have to move fast. She walked through the doors and entered the patient room on the opposite side of the hall from Simmonds’ room. The woman lying in the bed appeared old and frail, but slumbering in a deep, peaceful sleep. Felicia needed a distraction to draw the staff away from her target and the old woman was going to have to do.
She walked over to the far side of the bed and pretended to be checking the monitoring equipment. She dared a quick glance over her shoulder to see if anyone was within eyesight. Felicia determined she was alone, so she retrieved the signal scrambler clipped to the back of her waistband. It was round, silver, and looked like an ordinary woman’s makeup mirror, but if anyone took a closer look, it would become apparent that it was not what it seemed. She twisted the two halves ninety degrees until she heard a metallic snap, and then tucked it under the woman’s pillow with a quick pass.
Avenging Angels (The Seraphim Chronicles Book 1) Page 23
