by R. D. Brady
She also wasn’t thrilled about what had happened to the SIA. All their funds had been frozen, which was understandable. But allowing the ETF and Seward in particular to take charge… no good would come of that.
“As you can imagine,” she said, “when the nature of the SIA facility came to light, the shit hit the proverbial fan. Everyone was tripping over themselves to condemn it.”
“And after that media debacle with the priestess?” Matt asked.
Nancy grimaced. “People are falling all over themselves to distance themselves from it.”
“What about you?”
Nancy looked into Matt’s eyes. “I tend not to run very often. It’s bad for my knees. But then again, I was not as surprised by the inhabitants’ abilities as the others were. Still, the fact that there are warrants out for Delaney McPhearson complicates an already complicated picture.”
Matt’s jaw tightened for the briefest of seconds. He had gone to bat for Laney, pleading her case. But it had been to no avail. “She’s not the woman you should be focused on.”
“I have been looking at Elisabeta Roccorio.” Nancy knew he felt it was a travesty of justice that the focus was on Delaney. And the more Nancy had dug into Elisabeta, the more she agreed.
But then again, she had a history with Elisabeta. Nancy’s parents had been envoys to Italy for most of her formative years. She and Elisabeta had moved in the same circles, and Nancy had never cared for the woman. There was a cruelness there, carefully hidden beneath a public facade. Unlike the rest of the world, Nancy had not been taken in by Elisabeta’s crocodile tears. That woman never cried. You needed to care deeply about something to cry, and Elisabeta was simply not capable of that.
“What about the rest of US government?” Matt asked.
“They’re not touching her. She’s set herself up as the victim, a symbol for other victims around the world. No. Even if some suspected, it would be political suicide to go after her with anything but ironclad proof.”
“But the tape from the facility—it must have some people questioning that view.”
“It does—privately. But no one is ready to do so publicly.”
Matt sat back. “This is wrong, Nancy.”
“You’re probably right. But you also know right and wrong rarely have a place in politics.”
Matt shook his head, staring into the fire. He was loyal to McPhearson. And that said a lot as far as Nancy was concerned. But without more to go on, there was little that could be done to change the forces working against her.
“Back to our original topic,” she said. “The individuals who were moved from the SIA facility. I have found where they’ve been taken.” She nodded at a manila folder on the table. “Take a look.”
Matt snatched up the folder and quickly flipped through the pages. He looked up. “This is the US government’s way of combatting the SIA’s transparency problem?”
“No, this is the US government’s way of combatting the Fallen problem and a public relations nightmare. They made a huge deal about the rights of the inmates being violated. They can’t simply turn around and support your actions. So they’re going to move them out of view.”
Nancy held out her hand, and Matt handed her the folder. She walked to the fireplace and tossed it into the flames. “Obviously you’ve heard nothing from me.”
“Of course.”
Nancy studied him. He looked tired. “Matt, are any of those inmates good people? Any of them who don’t deserve to be there?”
“Perhaps one.”
Nancy shuddered. “Then if you’re not a praying man, you need to start.”
“Why?”
“The man they have running the facility, Moses Seward, he’s not known for his restraint. And the ETF, they have very little oversight.”
“The US government handed the Fallen over to a man who can do anything to them?” Matt asked.
“Yes.”
“Is there anything you can do?”
“Not at the moment.”
Matt stood and placed his now-empty tumbler on the table. “Thank you, Nancy.”
“Whatever you’re going to do next, be careful,” she said. “People are all over this.”
“I know. I’ll keep you out of it.”
“Any chance you can keep yourself out of it?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Then be careful, Matt. Be very, very careful.”
CHAPTER 28
LOWELL, OHIO
Moses Seward sat in the control office of the black site. On the desk in front of him was a manila folder with a list of the individuals from the SIA facility who were being held in the cells below. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the last name on the list: Xia, the priestess. The bitch had fooled two of his men into thinking she was a helpless woman. They had let down their guard, and the cost of that failure had been both lethal and public. He glowered at the memory of the scolding he’d taken. His men had looked like a bunch of Keystone Kops.
The two agents who’d escorted the priestess both had concussions. As soon as they were released from the hospital, he planned on making sure they guarded nothing more critical than a Boy Scout parade.
He’d lost two men. It wasn’t the loss that angered him so much as what it suggested: that he was not in control. And control was everything. He had risen through the ranks because he was always in control, always aware of the subject of his investigation and what they were capable of.
And then these abominations came along. They were beyond the scope of anything he had ever dealt with before. They were beyond the scope of anything anyone had dealt with before. Seward had taken down men high on drugs, who barely felt anything done to them. Those men had been tough—but these things were in a class all by themselves.
The computer monitor in front of him showed another clip of a “Fallen.” A man dove off a five-story building, landed on his feet, and rolled. Even with the roll, the man broke an ankle and probably shattered his knee. He sat down with a look of pain on his face, reached down, and straightened out the broken ankle. And then, a mere two minutes later, he was hobbling away. The next camera shot—from an ATM two blocks away—showed him straightening up, the limp gone completely, before he blurred out of view.
“Fallen” was the name attached to these things, but that’s not what they were. No—these things were devils. And Seward knew that every moment of his life, every type of criminal he’d ever faced, had led him to this point—when he would face the Fallen and defeat them as well.
He tapped the mouse, and the video feeds of the cells appeared on his monitor. All of the prisoners were still under sedation. If Seward had his way, they would stay under sedation forever—or until he was given the order to kill them. He expected that order to come any day now. No one would want these things out there.
One inmate, though, paced inside his cage. Seward zoomed in on that feed, his lip curling in distaste. According to the records, this one was named Cain. The fools actually thought he was the Cain. Seward had to admit the man’s black eyes were shocking and did give him a terrifying appearance. And the effect he had on people that intended him harm—Seward couldn’t explain that. He’d gone through a dozen guards and technicians before he’d accepted what was written in the report: anyone who tried to harm the man would received sevenfold the injury they gave him.
Seward narrowed his eyes. But if that was true, the man probably was not much of a fighter. After all, who needs to fight if every opponent drops in pain the minute they touch you?
His phone rang, and he answered it. “Yes?”
“Sir, they’ve arrived.”
Seward smiled. “Good. Get them in position.”
“Yes, sir.”
Seward sat back, watching the screens. The prisoner had been uncooperative, refusing to answer questions—smug in his inability to be touched. But Seward had a way around that.
He stood up and strode for the door. Let’s see what you’ve got, Cain.
; CHAPTER 29
Patrick turned off the television set. The tide was changing. Ever since the tape had come out showing that the priestess was alive, the media had been asking more and more questions about Laney. The right questions, finally. The governments of the world hadn’t made any official statements, but Patrick had to hope that they, too, were beginning to question what her role was in all of this. They had to.
But he also knew how slowly governments responded. And more worrisome, once they had a scapegoat, they didn’t always want to switch focus, even if their original scapegoat was innocent.
A picture of Cain floated through his mind. They still had no word about where he was, and Patrick was imagining the worst.
Guilt weighed him down. He should have done more to protect Cain. He should have done something to keep those men from taking him. Even as he thought it, he knew he would only have ended up right next to Cain. But wouldn’t that have been better than sitting by and watching? Wasn’t standing up to an injustice, no matter the penalty, the right thing to do?
He shuffled into the kitchen, not really hungry or thirsty but not sure what else to do. He reached for the kettle and started to fill it with water. When in doubt, have a cup of tea.
The front door opened, and Jake’s voice called out. “Patrick?”
“In the kitchen.” He placed the kettle on the burner and set it to high. He turned just as Jake walked into the kitchen. “Just making some tea. Care for some?”
“Sounds good.”
Patrick got out some cups and saucers while Jake grabbed the milk and some Irish soda bread. A few minutes later the two men were sitting at the kitchen island with hot drinks, a plate of Irish soda bread between them.
“So, what’s going on, Jake?”
“You’ve heard about the kids that have gone missing?”
Patrick nodded. Danny had stopped by earlier, and they’d had a long chat. By the end of the conversation, Patrick could tell Danny felt a little better—but Patrick didn’t. He felt the familiar boulder sitting on his chest at the thought of those children being put in harm’s way. Every time I think we’ve reached the bottom of depravity, something else happens.
“Danny and I just realized that all the children that have been taken have had pictures posted on social media sites. We think it’s been a way of weeding them out.”
“They’re looking for Victoria’s eyes,” Patrick said quietly.
“Yes. All the kids have violet eyes. But they’ll need to figure out a way to reduce that number even more. They’ll have to figure out a way to identify Victoria, and long before she remembers who she is.”
Patrick placed his hand on his chin. “You want to know if I’ve figured anything out from my research.”
“Yes.”
Ever since Victoria’s death, Patrick had been looking into her life—or lives, more accurately. She had been called the Great Mother by early societies, but he also thought she might have been the inspiration for the Divine Feminine, the idea of women being the spiritual equals of men, if not leaders in the ancient world.
“Have you learned anything that might help us figure out who she was among the children taken?” Jake asked.
Patrick shook his head. “I don’t—” He went quiet. I wonder…
“Patrick?”
“There’s a legend, In fact, it’s so old I’m not sure that’s even the right word for it. It tells of the tome of the Great Mother.”
“A book?”
Patrick nodded. “Allegedly, the book contains all the information on the Great Mother’s incarnations on earth.”
“So it could tell us how to recognize her?”
“I suppose. But no one’s seen the book in thousands of years. I’m not even convinced it actually exists.”
“But you think it’s possible.”
Patrick studied Jake. When he first met him years ago, Jake was as straight-laced as they came. He believed only what his eyes could see. But the years and experiences since then had changed him. And Patrick couldn’t blame him for that change. They had learned that Victoria was Lilith, the first woman ever created, that Cain still lived, and that Atlantis was real as was Lemuria, a civilization that predated even Atlantis. The necropolis in Saqqara was actually a prison for the Fallen. Gobekli Tepe was created by the descendants of Atlantis, as was its sister site in Montana. And these were just some of the historical events that had proven to be much more than the history books suggested.
“Yes, I think it’s possible,” Patrick said.
“What do the legends say about where it is?”
“That’s the problem. These tales are so ancient, they’ve been spread across different cultures and countries. And while all agree that there is a book, none of them suggest where it might currently be, if it has even managed to survive.”
“There has to be a way to find it. There must be some source, somewhere.”
“There’s one person who might be able to point us in the right direction.”
“Who?”
“The man who has been around almost as long as Victoria—Cain.”
CHAPTER 30
The cell was only four by eight feet. Cain could reach both sides with his hands easily. There was a toilet in one corner, a concrete bunk, and actual bars on one side. All things considered, he preferred the cell at the SIA facility.
Blowing out a breath, he sat on the bunk and leaned his head against the cold concrete wall. How the mighty have fallen…
He had been at low points over the course of his existence, but he hadn’t been this low for at least—he paused, considering—a millennium or two. He had spent the last couple thousands of years in comfort, in extravagance. He was not used to this.
But it wasn’t the surroundings that bothered him the most. No—he could accept a simple existence. It was the prospect of spending the rest of his days alone.
Cain had been around people ever since he had been born, but these last months had been different. He’d felt a companionship with people, a connection—something he had thought he didn’t need. But that was a lie. He wanted that connection more than anything. And he’d found it—in a prison, of all places. First with Laney, then Patrick. Even his guard, Hanz, had grown on him, showing him pictures of his competition dog. And even though he had been locked up, Cain had felt, in a weird sort of way, like he belonged.
Even his concern for Laney was comforting. He honestly worried about the woman—although his worry was not as great as everyone else’s. He knew that as long as Drake was with her, nothing would harm her. Hell itself would tremble under the wrath of that man. But it wasn’t Cain’s place to explain why. So he offered Patrick what comfort he could without explaining who exactly Drake and Laney were to each other.
Laney’s face wafted through his mind. He felt a protectiveness toward her that shocked him when he first recognized it as such. At first, it was because she was Victoria’s daughter. Victoria, his one constant in a sea of change. The only one who understood the blessing, and the curse, of immortality.
But as he spent more time with Laney, the reason for their bond shifted. The two of them became friends—genuine friends. That had been a balm, an unexpected gift.
And then Patrick had entered his life—another gift. Both had accepted him, something he never thought he needed, but apparently did. It was eye-opening, humbling, and fulfilling. And in a strange sort of way, they were family.
After all, Enoch was his son. He still remembered when Enoch was born. Cain had known there was something different about him, something powerful. So Cain had kept his distance from his son, afraid of him. Afraid he, Cain, would fail him.
Which I did.
And Laney was Enoch’s child. That meant she was his granddaughter, a few millennia removed. But their lives were not viewed in a linear fashion anyway. Meeting her, getting to know her and Patrick… it had been a gift Cain knew he didn’t deserve. But one he promised himself he would deserve—one day.
An
d now here I sit, he thought, glancing around. He had no illusions about ever getting out. The SIA had not exactly been warm and fuzzy, but they were fair. Cain didn’t care overly much for Matt Clark, but the man did run a tight ship. No violence or even threats had been made at the other facility.
But these new guards—he’d seen what they had done to some of the Fallen while they were drugged. They had taken out their anger at the priestess on everyone else. All save him. Oh, the guards had stopped by his cell to promise retribution, but Cain knew it was all bluster. They couldn’t touch him. Not without experiencing unimaginable pain. But they hadn’t exactly made him feel at home.
When he’d first arrived at the SIA facility, part of him had thought he should fight the guards and escape. But he was tired of running. And the loss of Victoria had cut him deep. In her last lifetime, he’d been unable to connect to her until the end. And he’d been so distraught at what was coming.
He shook his head. Not my best moment.
He wanted peace, even if it was in a prison cell.
He curled his lip in distaste as a spider crawled through the bars. But this was not exactly what I had in mind.
A rumble sounded from the wall behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw his bunk beginning to slide into the wall. Cain jumped to his feet in alarm. What the—
His bunk disappeared, now just another concrete block. Behind him, metal clanked. He turned slowly as his cell door opened.
“Prisoner 173, exit your cell.”
Cain crossed his arms over his chest. “Not bloody likely,” he muttered.
The rumble sounded behind him again, and the entire wall began to move forward. Cain’s eyes went wide, and he started backing toward the bars. Well, they really want me out of this cell.
With one last look at the wall moving toward him, he stepped out from the cell and into the long hallway. There were twenty cells along this hall, although his was the only one that was occupied.
Cain extended his arms to his sides. “Well, I’m out. What do you want?”
