by R. D. Brady
But Victoria had thrown an obstacle in that path as well. She had returned Gerard’s memories to him from his first life. Elisabeta frowned, picturing the pain on Gerard’s face when he realized his family was dead. Emotional attachments were weaknesses, and they should play no role in the lives of the Fallen. After all, what were they if not gods among men? And gods should not have weaknesses.
But that had not been the case for Gerard. When his memories returned, it was like he was experiencing their deaths all over again. But that was to be expected, she supposed. He just needed a little time and he would return to the fold. She had found him when he was a teenager, his powers just budding. She had crafted him from that moment. That link, that connection, was stronger than a millennia-old attachment to a dead woman and her children. He’d come around soon enough.
She had sent men to find him, but no trace of him had been found. She still had men looking, but she knew he would not be found until he wanted to be.
No doubt the fact that her current endeavor involved children had forced him to the forefront of her mind these last few weeks. Pushing Gerard from her thoughts, she focused back on the children, contemplating whether there was another way to identify the correct child. Idly, she wondered if Cain might be able to identify Victoria. But even if he was, there was no easy way to control that man. Besides, the US government had whisked him away somewhere, and she really wasn’t interested in tracking him down for a maybe. And running into the US government was always tricky. She had kept her involvement from the world’s eyes; she had no interest in exposing herself now.
She smiled. At least, not until everything is ready.
She raised an eyebrow as the sounds of a fight reached her. That’s not right. Then a familiar tingle ran over her. She put down her pen. It’s about time.
She leaned back from the desk, her hands folded in her lap. The door to her office burst open. A tall, powerful Fallen with blond hair and blue eyes strode in, his gaze locked on Elisabeta’s face. His shirt was torn, a splotch of blood marring the designer outfit that highlighted his sleek frame.
Three of her Fallen burst in the door behind him. “Samyaza.”
The man glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to Elisabeta, an eyebrow raised. “Well?”
She waved her men away. “It’s all right. Leave us.”
“But Samyaza—”
“Leave us.”
“Yes, Samyaza.” The men bowed, all glaring at the man.
Samyaza waited to speak until the door was closed. “Hello, Gerard.”
CHAPTER 48
GALETON, PENNSYLVANIA
Patrick wasn’t sure how long he had slept. It felt like days had passed when he finally opened his eyes, yet at the same time he knew if he closed them again he would easily fall back into unconsciousness. He pushed himself up and sat at the edge of the bed for a moment to let himself fully awaken. He glanced at his cell phone on the side table. He picked it up and noticed he’d missed a call from Sean. He put the phone down in disgust. No doubt Sean was calling again to try to get him to distance himself from Laney.
Patrick rubbed his hands on his face, trying to chase away the cobwebs in his mind. Charles had promised to wake him if Cain took a turn, and the fact that he hadn’t was a good sign. But the sight of Cain’s bruised and battered body was a weight on Patrick’s soul. He knew he was in the middle of an existential crisis. His whole life he had been loyal to God, the church, and his country, believing they had the best interests of all mankind at heart. Oh, he knew mistakes would be made—people would fall short of goals. But how could they have fallen so far short?
The church wanted him to denounce Delaney. How could they think he would ever agree to that? His niece, who had done more for mankind than all those men combined. Lecturing him about responsibility, they had asked Patrick—no, ordered him—to turn his back on her.
And then his government, the government he had gone to war for, had beaten Cain within an inch of life just because they could.
It felt like the world had shifted radically on him. All he believed in had been turned around, leaving only this gaping hole in his chest. He wanted to believe the church would do the right thing. He wanted to believe his government would do the right thing. But at this moment, he had no faith that either of those things would happen.
Patrick rubbed his hands over his face. Isn’t life supposed to get less complicated as you get older? Not more?
With a sigh, he pushed off the bed. After a quick stop at the bathroom, he headed down the hall to check on the patient.
Charles looked up when Patrick peeked his head in. With a quick glance at the bed, Charles stood up and waved Patrick outside.
“How is he?” Patrick asked.
“He’s good, actually. He woke up a few hours ago and I offered to go get you, but he said to let you sleep. But his vitals look good. His incision is healing really well. Honestly, if you had told me when he arrived that he’d been in this shape right now, I would have called you crazy. Glad I was wrong.”
Patrick felt relief flow through him. “Thank God.”
“Pretty sure He had to be helping. You want to sit with him?”
“Yeah.” Patrick noted the exhaustion lining the man’s face. “Why don’t you get some sleep in a real bed? I’ll call you if we need you.”
Charles stifled a yawn. “I think I’ll take you up on that.” He moved past Patrick and headed down the hall. Patrick took a breath, said a little prayer of thanks, and walked in.
Even the bruises on Cain’s face seemed to have cleared up some, making Patrick frown. He really is healing quickly.
CHAPTER 49
The first sound Cain heard was the soft beep of the heart monitor. Then a sigh, and someone shifted in a seat nearby. He opened his eyes a crack and saw Patrick sitting in a chair next to the bed.
Confused for a moment, he couldn’t figure out why he was here and where Patrick had come from. Then the memories returned in a wave, crashing down on him. His breathing hitched, and Patrick’s head jerked up, concern and exhaustion clear in the lines on his face.
Cain calmed his breathing even as the images of the men coming at him one after the next flew through his mind. He shut his eyes as a tall African-American man, who from his clothes must be some sort of medical attendant, hustled into the room and checked the monitors before placing two fingers on Cain’s wrist to check his pulse.
“Is he all right?” Patrick asked. “His heart rate spiked there for a moment.”
“Well, it’s normal now. It might have just been a nightmare.”
“Oh, okay.”
Cain heard Patrick settle back in his chair. The other man walked around the room for a few minutes before everything settled back into silence.
Cain slit his eyes open again. Only Patrick remained in the room.
“Hey,” Cain said softly.
Patrick dropped the book he’d been reading and bounded to his feet, moving next to the bed. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”
“Like I was hit by a bus. Which then backed over me and ran over me again.”
“You kind of look like that.” Patrick paused. “How did this happen?”
Cain closed his eyes. “In the facility. They forced me out of my cell. Then inmates, it must have been two dozen of them, surrounded me. They attacked me.”
Patrick frowned. “But how? I mean, when the first one hit you, the rest must have realized what would happen to them.”
“Seward—the man in charge of the facility. He spoke through the PA system. He reminded them that hurting me was the only chance any of them had at getting out. I guess I was their parole hearing.”
Patrick sat back, stunned. “He offered to commute their sentences in exchange for hurting you?”
Cain nodded.
“But—but, those men—did they survive?”
Cain pictured the bloodied hallway, the bodies surrounding him. His final image was of the man who had lain in fro
nt of him, noiselessly moving his mouth. “I doubt all of them did.”
Patrick stood up again and paced the room, his anger evident. “And these are the good guys. What has happened to humanity that we have come to this?” The sorrow in his eyes tugged at Cain. “I’m sorry they did this to you. It never should have happened.”
Cain looked away.
Patrick walked to the bed. “You can’t think you deserve this.”
Cain’s voice was soft. “Maybe I do. I’ve done some horrible things in my life, Patrick.”
“But you weren’t doing a horrible thing when they did this to you. They chose to attack you when you were defenseless. And they used other men as their weapons. They sacrificed those men to hurt you.”
“You don’t know what I have done.”
Patrick pulled up a chair so he could look in Cain’s eyes. “No. I don’t know the extent of what you have done. But I do know the man you are now. And you did not deserve this.”
Patrick’s words were like a life preserver to a drowning man. But he knew Patrick was wrong—even though every cell in his being wanted to believe him. “No. What I have done, it cannot be forgiven. Not just Abel, but the others I have harmed throughout my long life. I deserve this. And so much more.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Cain tried to shrug, but it proved too painful. “Nevertheless.”
“Everyone can be forgiven. Everyone can be redeemed. Even you, Cain.”
Cain wanted to believe Patrick, but a part of him, a large part, knew that Patrick’s faith in him was misplaced. “I haven’t done anything to deserve redemption. I have changed. These last months, they have changed me. But how does sitting in a cell, not hurting anyone, but also not helping anyone, how does that redeem me? Don’t there need to be actions for redemption to work?”
“It starts with changing your heart. It starts with empathy and compassion for others. How did you feel when you saw those men lying there?”
Cain pictured the men falling around him, heard their cries of pain again. “I felt pity and anger that they had been treated that way.”
“See? It has begun. The fire has been lit. Now we just need to fan it.”
CHAPTER 50
Gerard Thompson. Elisabeta’s eyes roamed over his lithe frame. When she had found him as a teenager, he had been the picture of an angel. Strong cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, hair almost white from the sun. As he’d aged, his beauty had turned more manly, giving him a look of the type that usually graced the covers of GQ. Gerard had been fully and completely hers, loyal to a fault.
Until Victoria had ripped him away by restoring his memories.
But Elisabeta had known it would only be a matter of time before he returned to the fold. His past life was just that—in the past. He had been shocked, hurt at first. That was to be expected. But she knew that, with time, he would see the rightness of her decisions. If not then, certainly now.
And she had to admit, it was good to see him. Hakeem was adequate in some areas—the bedroom being one—but he didn’t have Gerard’s mind for strategy and games. There, only Gerard had been able to match her.
Not that she would go easy on him now. After all, loyalty was demanded of all her people. And no one, not even Gerard, would get a pass.
“So, Gerard, you’re looking well.”
Gerard tipped his head, looking completely at ease, as if he had not just destroyed her security team. “You as well, Elisabeta.”
“To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
“Well, I ran into a few of your people. I thought they were looking for me. Imagine my surprise when I realized they were watching a child.”
Elisabeta narrowed her eyes. “And what exactly happened to those people?”
Gerard smiled. “Nothing much. They should wake up in a few hours. Or maybe not. Your people need to be better trained.”
“Well, I had an incredible trainer—but he had an unfortunate burst of conscience.”
“That does happen.”
“Enough, Gerard,” Elisabeta said, all pretense of civility gone. “What do you want?”
“To come back.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
He sighed. “Because life is short, Elisabeta. And I do not intend to waste it like the humans. Plus, I hear there is a war coming. And I plan to be on the side of the victor.”
“Who said I wanted you back?”
“You always want me.”
A thrill shot through Elisabeta at his words, but she ignored it. She traced an outline of an infinity symbol on the desk, her gaze on Gerard. “And what of Kaya, Arya, and Peter?”
Not a flicker of emotion crossed Gerard’s face as he shrugged. “Lifetimes ago. I’m concerned with the here and now.”
“That’s not how you felt when you left.”
He curled his lip. “That witch messed with my head. I needed to step back and determine what my priorities are.”
“And what conclusion did you come to?”
“You are my priority. Whatever your goals are, they are mine as well.”
Seconds passed, and Elisabeta continued to study him, looking for a sign that he was not telling the truth. But he gave her nothing.
She tilted her head. “Very well. I have a task that needs to be completed, and I think you may be just the man for the job. If you are successful, I will consider reinstating you.”
“Whatever you need, Samyaza.”
Samyaza smiled. “Good.”
CHAPTER 51
GALETON, PENNSYLVANIA
Patrick paced along the porch, his cell phone at his ear. “No, I haven’t asked him if he knows where the book is.”
It had been twenty-four hours since Cain had arrived. He was healing amazingly well, at least physically. But the emotional wounds, those were still raw. And not just for Cain. Patrick had seen the recording of the attack. The brutality of it had left him shaken.
Jake’s exasperation was clear. “Patrick, we need that information. That’s the whole reason we got him out.”
“That’s not the only reason, and you know it. If we didn’t go in, he would be dead.”
Jake sighed. “I know. But we need to know where the tome is.”
“I agree. But Jake, you saw him. You saw the condition he was in. He needs time to heal.”
“Patrick, there are children out there in danger. There are families out there terrified of what is happening to their children. We need as much information as we can get.”
“I know. I know. I’ll ask.”
“Good. Call me back when you learn something.” Jake disconnected the call.
Patrick stared at his phone in frustration. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree with Jake. He did. It was just that he hated the idea of Cain thinking they only got him out because of the book.
But Jake was right—time was of the essence.
Patrick headed back inside. The cabin was quiet. Charles had left. He would return this evening to check on Cain. Patrick knew that the swiftness of Cain’s recovery perplexed Charles, although he hadn’t asked any questions.
Patrick paused outside Cain’s bedroom, working up his courage, then stepped in. Cain was sitting up, a TV remote in his hand. He looked over at Patrick. “How is it possible that there are about three hundred channels on this thing and nothing good to watch?”
Patrick smiled. “It’s one of the modern world’s greatest mysteries.”
Cain shut the TV off and placed the remote on the bed next to him. “So. Are you finally going to tell me why you got me out?”
Patrick searched Cain’s black eyes to see if he could get a read on him, but Cain had his emotions well in check. “What I told you was true. Seeing what had happened to you spurred us into action. But the reason we were looking for you… is because we need your help.”
Cain’s jaw tensed. “I see.”
“No, you don’t. Look, yes, we went looking for you so you could help us. But we would never have le
ft you in there, no matter what. Laney—she asked me to look after you. It’s the last thing she asked me to do. And I had no intention of denying that request. I still don’t. And it wasn’t just because of Laney, either. You—you’re my friend. Against every possible belief I had when I first visited you, you are my friend. And I would not have left you in there. And when I saw what they had done to you—it hurt to watch. It hurts to think about. And I think Seward should be punished eternally for it.”
Cain gave him a crooked smile, but Patrick could now see some of the emotion cracking through his mask of indifference. “I think only one person gets an eternal punishment. And I seem to be the lucky recipient of that.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s fair either.”
Cain’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Then he seemed to get ahold of himself. “Okay, so what is it that you needed my help with?”
“Victoria.” Patrick quickly explained about the missing toddlers and the belief that Samyaza was searching for Victoria.
“She can’t be allowed to get her,” Cain said.
“Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done. We don’t know who Victoria is or where she is. And with the number of children Samyaza’s grabbed, it’s clear she doesn’t either. She needs a way to identify her as much as we do. And I can only think of one way to do that—the tome of the Great Mother.”
Cain was quiet for a moment, and Patrick let him digest everything he’d been told. “You think she’s going to go after the book.”
“Yes.”
“You’re probably right. But there is another way to identify her.”
Patrick frowned. “How?”
“I can identify her.”
Patrick’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t even think of that. Does Samyaza know that?”
“I don’t think so. My dealings with her—or him, depending on the lifetime—never involved discussions of Victoria.”
