If she could just keep Adam away, there would be no threat to anyone once she was married. Adam couldn’t violate her marriage, as long as she loved the man, by God’s law. And from what she had seen of him in the past, Adam’s ego would not suffer a wife who could not worship him, regardless.
“I can feel him, but I don’t know where. Like he’s haunting me when I’m not paying close enough attention.”
Garrit’s expression darkened. “You think he’s still in France?”
She nodded. He was concealing himself well, but the echo of frustration hadn’t left her mind in weeks. How had he regained his memory? It couldn’t have been the angels. Michael would never have risked it.
“What can I do?”
“I don’t know. Probably nothing.”
He sighed, scrubbing his face. “I’ll call my father in the morning. I’m sure he knows a man who can help.”
“I’d appreciate that. I hate the feeling of being watched.” By Adam, anyway. The ghosts of her past husbands had been more reassuring than anything else, aside from being a reminder of her own insanity, but that was hardly something she could admit to Garrit now.
“Just worry about the wedding. Let me worry about your brother. We’ll have his picture posted in town to discourage his return, and a reward for any information offered. He can’t hide himself so well as to escape the notice of so many, every day.”
She shook her head. “It would only be possible if he weren’t hiding from me too. I suspect that takes the majority of his concentration.”
“Good.” Garrit dropped his hands to his knees and stood, smiling. “And in the meantime, we’re both going to put aside these invitations for the evening. I’m going to make some coffee.” He kissed her cheek and left the room.
She stretched and went to the window, staring into the dark. Was this some new way to punish her? For leaving the ward, in her last life? For meddling in the minds of men without conscious thought? She pressed her hand to the cool glass and tried to remember, but the drugs had left that life more of a haze than she wanted to admit, and the things she did remember made no sense. Men long dead, alive and well, appearing to her, comforting her. Thorgrim’s warmth beside her in the bed. Delusion or not, her heart had been convinced, and it still ached to think of him.
Surely Michael wouldn’t risk the world just to frighten her, though, and not just the world, but his dominion over it. For all his power, Michael was still part of God’s creation, subject to its destruction with all the rest. Any child she gave Adam would threaten the angel, too.
Lightning flashed, striking the trees at the edge of the property, and thunder boomed so near the glass vibrated beneath her palm. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. For a moment, she had been certain she saw the figure of a man outlined by the flash. She must have imagined it, though. And even if she hadn’t, the figure she had seen was much too tall and broad shouldered to be Adam. No wings, either, outlined by the white light. Her mind playing tricks on her. That wasn’t a good sign.
One of the trees smoldered and she had a distinct feeling of déjà vu. Rain beat against the window pane. Enough, she thought, to put out any fire that may have started, but she’d mention it to Garrit. She turned back from the window and put away the finished invitations, organizing those left to be done. Her eyes ached, and her head too, and she didn’t want to think about what it meant if she was seeing things that weren’t there.
Garrit was in the kitchen, standing in the dark. He stared out the window while the kettle steamed on the stovetop.
“I think I’m going to skip the coffee.” He stiffened at her voice, spinning on his heel to look at her, and she frowned. “Should we check on that last lightning strike? I saw smoke.”
In the dim light, she couldn’t be certain, but it seemed almost as though he paled. “I’ll take care of it.”
She kissed him. “I’m going to go to bed.”
“Good,” he said, glancing back out the window. “Bonne nuit.”
The next morning, Garrit was sitting at the kitchen table. One look at his face told her he hadn’t slept, even if she hadn’t noticed his absence from her bed. His eyes were glazed, and barely tracked on her when she entered the room.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He blinked blearily for a moment. “Oui, fine. I’m fine.”
His shirt looked heavy and damp on his shoulders, and his hair was ruffled into a mess. He dropped his gaze to the teacup before him. There was a second one, across the table, and the chair opposite had been pulled out. His father must have arrived early and left before she had come down but it was barely eight in the morning.
The kettle began to whistle.
“Did you talk to your father? Was Adam found?”
“No. Not Papa.” He hesitated before going on, looking out the window. “I received word that Adam was still in the town, as you suspected. But he should be gone by now.”
She crossed to the stove and took the kettle off the heat. The idea of Garrit confronting Adam made her uneasy. The look in his eyes when he glanced at her only intensified the feeling.
“You didn’t see him yourself, did you?”
“Non.” He stood and cleared the two cups from the table, placing them in the dishwasher.
She opened the cabinet, retrieving her own mug; blue, with soft yellow baby chicks clucking at the sun. She filled it with hot water, and dropped in a teabag. Chamomile. It seemed like the kind of day that needed a little bit of extra relaxation. Garrit was still fussing over the dishwasher, rearranging the dirty items more precisely. She watched him, and worried, leaning against the counter. Something was bothering him, and if it wasn’t Adam—
“Did the tree catch fire?” Eve asked.
“What?” He shifted a cereal bowl to a different position, then turned a mug and moved the bowl back again.
“You said you’d check on the tree that was struck last night. You didn’t forget, did you?” She looked out the window, but nothing seemed to be scorched. In the morning light, she couldn’t even tell which tree it had been.
“Ah.” He cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the dishes. “The rain put out what was smoldering.”
She frowned into her mug, raising it to her lips and blowing across the surface of the tea. She had never had cause to mistrust Garrit. She had always respected the privacy of his mind. But if Adam had touched him, subverted him, none of them were safe.
There was only one way to know. She closed her eyes, letting her mind open and touch his softly. Just enough to know that it hadn’t been Adam he had found by the tree, but another man, tall and heavily built, standing in the rain as though he belonged there. Just enough to reassure herself Adam hadn’t tainted him, or poisoned his mind. She withdrew immediately, opened her eyes, and sipped her tea. It was still too hot, and burned her tongue, but she was too distracted to care. Her stomach had turned to ice at the silhouette she had caught from his memory.
“I guess if Adam’s gone, there’s no reason to call your father.”
Garrit’s lips were pressed into a thin line. “Non. Everything should be taken care of. You’re safe here, Abby. Safer here than anywhere else.”
She nodded once, and looked out the window again to where she had seen the lightning strike the night before. It couldn’t be Thorgrim. Not again. He was dead, and she was sane.
She had to be sane.
Chapter Eight: Creation
Light woke Eve the next morning, shining bright and warm on her face, in spite of the shelter of the cave. Adam sat nearby, staring out at the Garden. Another woman entered, bowed, and placed a large leaf down within his reach. Eve sat up, aware of a knotting in her stomach. Whatever was on the leaf, she wanted it.
Adam glanced back at her movement and passed her the leaf. She stared at rounded brown shapes, then looked up at him. Now that she had it, she was uncertain what to do.
“The nuts make a good meal. I’m sure you’re hungry.” He picked one up and brought
it to his mouth.
It was just the two of them inside, now. She wondered where the man she had spoken with last night had gone. Reu. She put one of the nuts in her mouth and chewed. They tasted pleasant, earthy, and her stomach growled. The knotted feeling eased as she ate. “Thank you.”
“The storm knocked much of the fruit from the trees, and I’ve set our people to gathering it.” His gaze raked over her body and she dropped her eyes to the leaf, hating the way her skin flushed beneath his scrutiny.
She studied the nuts, the different shapes and sizes, each with its own individual flavor. She tried several, and then began sorting them. Anything to keep from thinking of him, of the way he watched her, of the heat that blossomed through her body.
“You slept well?” he asked.
“It reminded me of the void.” The wrinkled lumps of brown tasted the best, and she had almost finished them before she realized Adam was watching her fingers more than her body. She hesitated. “Do you want some?”
“I ate before you woke.” He was studying her again, lingering. “Tonight you’ll sleep with me in my chamber. You don’t belong with the rest of them, sleeping in the dirt.”
“They don’t seem that different,” she said, careful not to meet his eyes.
He laughed. “You’re still so new. The difference isn’t something you would see, I suppose. They’re far more fragile though. If not cared for, they’ll die. You and I won’t. We’ll keep living. Coming back again and again, life after life. Elohim made us immortal in ways they can only dream of.”
She ate a few more of the nuts and considered his words. “You said you saw the difference in me, yesterday.”
“Yes.” But he didn’t elaborate, and another woman entered the cave, bowed, and presented them with a second leaf. Adam took it and waved the woman away again, offering the leaf to Eve. “Here, try one of the berries. They’re very sweet.”
They were red and plump, dotted with seeds and capped with green leaves. She took one and tasted it. The flavor was almost overwhelming, and the moisture soothed her throat and mouth. She sighed with pleasure.
He smiled. “I thought you’d like them. They’re my favorite.”
It startled her. The smile. It changed his face and for a moment she thought she saw the person he had been when he was first made. When everything was new for him too. She smiled back.
He shifted closer to her, and their shoulders touched. When she smiles, it’s like seeing the sun break through the clouds after a storm. Elohim outdid Himself.
She flinched and leaned away, lowering her gaze to the nuts and berries again.
“Why do you do that?” His voice was hard now, and his eyes were stone.
She swallowed. “What?”
“You cringe from me as if you’re afraid.” She could feel his anger, black and burning, even when they weren’t touching. “Why?” He grabbed her arm and jerked her toward him. “What did they tell you?”
The nuts fell from her hands when he grabbed her. She tried to pull away, but he only held her more fiercely. “I don’t know. I’m not doing anything!”
His fingers dug painfully into her arm. “Who spoke to you?”
She shook her head and clawed at his fingers. Her heart raced, thudding in her ears. “I don’t know!” Something in the way he stared at her made her keep Reu’s name to herself. “It was dark, and I couldn’t see anything. Please! You’re hurting me, Adam.”
He searched her face. Of course, they wouldn’t give their name. They know not to defy me. His hand slid down her arm, gentle again. “You’re right to fear me. I am Lord now.”
She shivered at his touch, and that seemed to please him. He raised his hand to her face, cupping her cheek and drawing his thumb along her cheekbone. She forced herself not to look away. Not to move. But everything inside her twisted. She wanted to crawl away into the darkness, but there were no shadows now to hide her. His face was so close she could feel his breath on her lips.
“Lord Adam!” She jumped, though the voice was familiar. Reu.
Adam closed his eyes for a moment, then turned his head slowly. “What is it?”
It was easier to breathe with Adam looking at the man, though he still held her face in his hands. She shut her eyes.
“The fruit has been laid out for your inspection, as you wished,” Reu said.
The fruit. Yes. The fruit first. Adam’s hand dropped away from her face. “Excellent. Set the women to making a bed of fronds for Eve in my chambers. The others may do as they wish now. I have no more need of them.”
“Yes, Lord.”
She felt Adam’s breath against her ear. “Later.”
It made her shiver again, and she kept her eyes closed until she felt him move away. He brushed past Reu, leaving the cave.
“Are you well?” Reu was studying her with warm brown eyes. The same eyes she had dreamed of.
She was trembling. She pulled her knees to her chest again, trying to stop it, and hid her face in her arms. Later, Adam had said. Later, what? He kept touching her. He kept touching her and she didn’t understand what she was feeling.
She heard Reu step toward her. “You don’t have to let him touch you, Eve.”
“He was angry with me for pulling away.” She rubbed her arm, lifting her head to look at him. Her skin was red where Adam had grabbed her. “He hurt me.”
Reu dropped to the ground beside her. “I’m sorry.”
“The way he touches me—” she hesitated, brushing dirt from her hip. “It makes me feel cold, even though his hands are like the sun.”
“He hurt you because of me.”
She shook her head. “No. Because of me.”
“He has no right.” Reu’s voice was hard. “He has no right to force you. God’s laws are clear.”
“I wish someone would tell me,” she said softly. “What I’m supposed to do. How I’m supposed to act. I keep waiting for some understanding, but everything gets more confused.”
“Eve.” It was a sigh, more than anything. He covered her hand with his, just for a moment. Then the warmth was gone and he rose back to his feet. “It wasn’t meant to be this way for you. You shouldn’t have to fear, to weep. I’ll do everything I can to help.”
“How was it meant to be, Reu? Please.”
He shook his head, stepping back, toward the front of the cave. “I hope someday to be able to show you.” But then he turned and walked away.
She spent the rest of the morning alone for the most part, though Adam made her leave the cave when the sun reached its zenith. She sat in the shade of a large tree in the thick, green grass spotted with small purple flowers, and watched the others, not knowing what else to do with herself.
Some of the women brought her food and water, and sat with her while they ate their own. They laughed often among themselves as they talked about the men.
“Seth promised to marry me. He means to speak with Adam this evening.” The woman’s hair was the color of the sun, and Eve thought her name was Sarah.
Another woman, Hannah, glanced to where the men stood together. Her hair was almost black, and her eyes were a darker green than the grass they sat in, almost brown at times. “I wish that one of them would marry me. If only to keep Adam from touching me. Every time he sends us off to bathe, I’m tempted to coat my skin with mud before I come back, just to disgust him.”
“You mean you wish Adam would marry,” a third woman said. Eve thought she was called Lilith.
All three of them glanced at Eve. She felt their eyes, even if she pretended not to notice. Sarah’s voice lowered. “Seth doesn’t think he’ll stop even if he does marry.”
“We’re his,” Lilith said. “To do with as he pleases.”
“Reu doesn’t believe that,” Hannah said, catching Eve’s eye. The dark haired girl smiled at her tentatively. “He says that we’re meant to be free.”
“Reu should be more careful what he says.” Lilith says. “If Adam hears him, he’ll be punished. Talk l
ike this will only get us into trouble.” She stood and walked away.
Sarah sighed and watched her go. “I don’t understand her, sometimes.”
“Reu told me that Adam took her right after she was made.” Hannah spoke softly. “He isn’t sure what happened, but God was upset.”
“You know Reu well?” Eve asked.
Hannah smiled, her eyes warm. “He helped many of us, when we were made.”
“He confuses me.”
Sarah laughed. “Everything is confusing in the beginning.”
Eve frowned, her gaze going back to the men, and Reu. They were taking turns throwing long sticks. Every so often cheers went up. They clapped each other on the back and laughed together, the way the women did. All but Adam. Sometimes his lips curved, but his gaze was always hard, and none of them touched him. Because he was Lord. That was what they called him when they bowed and served and scraped.
“How long does the beginning last?” Eve asked.
Hannah’s slim fingers curled gently around Eve’s wrist. Her hands were delicate in a way Adam’s would never be, but her skin shared the same tones, closer to brown than pink, as if her body had been kissed by the sun. “You’re already doing better than any of us did.”
It was a kindness, Eve thought, this touch. As if Hannah meant to show her she did not have to be like Adam. She could be one of them, included in their laughter, in their games.
“Thank you,” Eve said.
Hannah smiled, and studied her for a moment. Eve thought perhaps she would say something more, but then Adam walked toward them, and Hannah pulled her hand away. She stood up, mumbling something about having work to do, and Sarah went with her.
“Did you enjoy your meal, Eve?” Adam extended a hand to her.
She took his hand reluctantly. “They were very kind to me.”
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