by Leanna Ellis
“Samuel is missing.”
She blinked, at first not comprehending. “Missing?”
“Yes. And Roc…Rachel’s husband…went to go find him to protect him but now he’s missing too.”
“I don’t understand. Protect him from what?”
Hannah swallowed hard. “I can’t say anything else. I wish I could.”
Naomi stayed on her knees, clasping Hannah’s hands tightly. “I don’t need to know anything else. We must pray.”
“Yes.” Hannah found her voice. “We’ll pray.”
“And we must ask others to pray,” Naomi said. “The more prayers, the better.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Jacob ducked behind Reimel. The clash of swords echoed in his head. He leapt over the sweeping arc of Reimel’s wing and caught sight of the dark beast. He had tarnished and rusted wings but a vicious glare and brutal thrust.
Something grabbed Jacob from behind, and he whipped around. A smaller fluttering creature wrapped what seemed to be a long tentacle around Jacob’s shoulder. He slapped at it, pushed the creature back, but it came at him again. Jacob shouted, “Git!”
It skittered away into the vestiges of shadows. He’d learned the tiny creatures were powerless unless he gave them power through his fears. And he was finally no longer afraid.
Swords clattered again, and Jacob dodged back and around to the other side of Remiel. He waved at the beast Remiel fought, trying to distract him, stuck out his tongue, and whooped triumphantly when Remiel landed a hefty blow. The beast listed sideways but thrust and parried. Remiel was quick, able to dodge and weave like a boxer.
Remiel did a quick, evasive move, his blade lifting the creature’s weapon right out of his hand, metal clattering and sword cartwheeling over itself into oblivion. The dark creature narrowed red eyes at Jacob’s audacity, Remiel’s agility, then vanished.
Remiel smiled. Jacob offered his knuckles.
“Are you wounded?” Remiel asked.
“Give me your hand.”
Remiel offered his hand, and Jacob closed it into a fist and knuckle-bumped it with his own. “And what is that for?”
“Just means ‘way to go.’”
“Go where?”
Jacob laughed. “No. It means ‘nice job.’”
“I see.” Remiel studied his knuckles, then shrugged. He looked over his sword, the broad flat side, then the length, before he sheathed it.
“You do that often?” Jacob asked.
“I’ve had years of practice.” Remiel’s smile disappeared. His gaze drifted, and Jacob knew he was receiving some kind of word. No matter how badly Jacob wished they followed his own interests, the angel never ignored commands. “We must go.”
“Where?”
“You will see.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Splayed out on a table, hands and feet bound, Samuel stared up at the ceiling. He remembered Roberto’s words: Don’t ever discount prayer. It is your most powerful weapon.
At the moment, it was Samuel’s only weapon.
The group of robed individuals lined up at a table, where one of the leaders poured out little white lines of powder, and as each member passed, they ingested it. All but Andi partook. She stayed near Samuel, guarding him, not in a protective sense but to keep him from escaping.
“Is that cocaine?” he asked, having heard about it from a few of his friends.
She smiled. “It is more powerful. Called bath salts. Have you heard of it?”
“No.”
“Sometimes it causes cannibalistic behavior.”
He strained his neck, lifting his head off the table. “Are you telling me they’re going to eat me?”
She looked down at him with those black eyes that were no longer her own. She drew an invisible line from his jaw to his collarbone, sliding her short, blunt nail along his neck and sending a dreadful shiver through him.
Worry was too mild a word for what he felt. Sheer panic was a better fit. He fought the restraints—tugged, yanked, pulled—but nothing worked. He jerked his knee upward but whatever was wrapped around his ankle held tight. In one violent, terror-filled fit, he shook and struggled and wrestled. But none of the restraints gave way.
The robed men and women circled his table and chanted, their bodies swaying to the rhythm. The words were low, ominous, and unintelligible.
Andi’s hand settled on his chest, her fingers smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt before they began to slowly unbutton it and spread the material, exposing his flesh. In spite of the warmth in the room, he felt chilled, his skin puckering and recoiling against the chants spinning around him and over him. He stared up into Andi’s sinister gaze. She stood behind him, her belly bumping the top of his head, as she leaned slightly forward. Her lips were as red as ripe strawberries. She smiled down at him, her hands splaying across his chest.
“Get me out of here,” he said.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “You are mine. And I am yours.” Her eyes closed and she rocked to the rhythmic chanting. “And we will be together—”
“Andi,” he sounded harsh, desperate. His heart battered his chest cavity.
“No matter what happens,” she said, her eyes closing, as she began swaying to the heady rhythm, “I will save you. Even when you don’t think it will happen. Even when all seems lost. Trust me.” She pushed against his chest, placing more and more pressure on him as her gaze bore into him. “Do you?”
He did not trust her. He knew he was going to die.
Maddox, a hood shading most of his face, stepped forward. In his hand was a knife. The thick blade gleamed in the candlelight. He moved toward Samuel, the knife rising above him. Samuel stared at the blade. Firelight flickered over the metal, making it seem alive and even deadlier.
Samuel squeezed his eyes closed, bracing himself for what was to come. And he prayed. Because it was his last resort.
A scuffling sounded on the stairs. A flood of footsteps descended. Samuel opened his eyes. The knife hovered above him. Maddox froze, his head turned toward the stairs. Samuel strained to see. What was happening?
Anger darkened Andi’s face. She gripped his head and forced it sideways. Her lips parted in a hissing snarl. Her teeth flashed. Then she bit into his neck, her teeth sinking deep in the same place she’d wounded earlier. Pain rocked through him. Samuel’s back arched off the table. The chanting rose in an insistent rhythm.
“Vade retro, Satana!” a voice boomed.
A shriek ripped through the room.
Andi fell back, her mouth wet with his blood. The room spun on some invisible axis for Samuel. Those wearing robes scattered. They threw open the curtains. Light shot into the room. Some raised windows. Others broke glass. Pandemonium charged the air.
Deserted on the table, Samuel saw a solitary man descending the stairs. He wore all black, except for a white collar, and held a silver cross. “Vade retro, Satana!” he repeated, his voice powerful and commanding, his footsteps determined and quickening. “Nunquam suade mihi vana. Sunt mala quae libas, ipse vinena bibas.”
The slight man moved forward into the room, holding the cross out like it was a sword. The robed men and women scrambled up and out through the windows. Some raced up the stairs behind him, like cockroaches escaping the light. Soon, only this odd man and Samuel remained in the room. The grave face peered down as he muttered more words Samuel did not understand. The older man touched a cloth to Samuel’s neck wound and laid his palm on Samuel’s forehead. Closing his eyes, the man’s lips moved in silence.
The keen eyes opened and locked on Samuel. “We arrived in time, did we not?”
Samuel swallowed. What could he say? “What’s happening?”
“Look at me.”
Samuel looked into a pair of calm gray eyes and felt a peace descend on him.
�
�Do you believe in Jesus, the Christ, the son of God?”
Samuel licked his dry lips. “Yes.”
“Good. Very good indeed. Now I know I can release you.” He pulled a knife from his hip pocket and slashed the binds. Helping Samuel to sit upright, he gave him the cloth and said, “Keep this pressed to your wound. It does not look too serious but it is bleeding. Did you drink blood?”
Samuel shook his head and scrambled off the table, his knees wobbly as feeling rushed back into his feet.
“What just happened?”
“It’s a long story.” His gaze shifted around the room. “First we should get out of here. Before they gather their forces and get brave again.” He hooked a hand under Samuel’s arm to steady him. “Stick close to me.”
“And who are you?”
“Father Anthony.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Levi hitched his horse to the buggy. Before he climbed aboard, he touched his wife on the cheek, a brief but emotional connection that Naomi observed from the porch. It made her throat constrict and her thoughts drift toward Samuel.
Where was he? Why hadn’t he called or returned?
The horse’s hooves clomped on the gravel as Levi drove away. Hannah stood strong, shoulders straight, her gaze following her husband. Slowly, she turned back toward the house and came up the steps. “Danke, Naomi.”
“No thanks necessary.” She opened the door for Hannah. “I’m happy to help.”
“Will your folks be worried?”
“They’re aware the babies have been fussy. They will simply think I’m helping you with them. They will not worry.”
Hannah looked back toward the drive, her gaze searching for one last glimpse of the buggy and her husband. “I suggested Levi might send Rachel and little David here to stay the night too.” Her questioning gaze sought out Naomi. “Would that be all right?”
“If she needs our help, I cannot see the harm in that.”
Hannah’s gaze narrowed on Naomi. “If it causes trouble, I will make it clear you did not know and hopefully that will keep you—”
“I am not worried,” Naomi reassured her friend. She wasn’t worried about the bishop or gossip, but she was worried about Samuel.
The two women went about the rest of the chores, tending the babies, preparing a light supper. While Naomi kept working and moving, her mind whirred and her heart murmured one long continuous prayer.
After the babies had gone to sleep for the night, Hannah hugged her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Call if you need help with the babies…or anything.” Naomi went to the spare bedroom and knelt beside the bed, the one Samuel had slept in. She breathed in the lingering scent of him on the pillow. Time moved at a snail’s pace as she whispered her prayers. Her knees ached, and her back hurt. Still, she prayed.
Some time past midnight, she heard the clop of horse’s hooves and wheels on the drive. She pushed up straight, her back and knees stiff. She straightened her prayer kapp and apron.
Hannah met her at the back door. Still dressed in her white nightdress, she looked wide-eyed with fear.
“Who could it be?” Naomi whispered.
Hannah peered out the window, and her hand touched her heart. “Levi.” Relief washed away the fear in her features, and she rushed out the door.
Naomi waited, trying to hear what was happening, but she remained inside in case the babies awoke. Her fingers pinched together. She leaned against the door, praying all was well, praying for good news.
Soon, Hannah was back and squeezing Naomi’s arm. “Samuel is safe and on his way home.”
A pent-up breath rushed out of Naomi, and she breathed easier. “Thank the good Lord.” But then she thought of Rachel. “But what about Roc? Is there—”
“No word yet.”
Naomi’s heart felt heavy. “Rachel must be sick with worry.”
“Levi is going back to stay with her and help if he can. He said he’s going to get me a cell phone. He’s been worried about us here by ourselves. I don’t want one, but I’ll do as he thinks best. Still, I’m so relieved he came to tell us the news. He wanted us to know about Samuel. He didn’t think we’d sleep all night for worrying.”
“Why doesn’t he bring Rachel here?” Naomi suggested.
Hannah shook her head. “She wouldn’t hear of leaving. She wants to be there in case Roc calls or comes back.”
“Of course.” Naomi nodded. “But Levi should stay with you. I’ll go to Rachel.”
“Naomi, you could get in trouble.”
“I will go,” she said firmly. “I want to pray with her.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Samuel met up with half the team in New York. He’d called them with Father Anthony’s cell phone. Now, they sat in a church that had been deserted by its parishioners, but it was the only place they could speak openly. A thunderstorm raged outside. Inside the sanctuary, they could hear the rumble of thunder and crack of lightning.
Father Anthony placed a guard at each door. He was not taking any chances. “We reached our hand into a hornet’s nest, a small one, but we should expect some of the hornets to exact their revenge. So we should be ready.”
“Where’s Roc?” Joe demanded, his deep-set gaze fierce as a wolf’s as he glared at Samuel.
The question jarred Samuel. “How should I know?” He didn’t want to admit his disappointment that Roc, their leader, hadn’t come to help him. But he had more questions than just that one. “I want to know—”
“Roc Girouard?” Father Anthony asked from his seat on the front row. He had hawkish features and a slim build that looked as if the stiff wind outside could blow him to New Jersey.
“You know Roc?” Harry asked, leaning back in one of the pews. The whites of his eyes glowed brightly against his dark complexion. “He runs our training center.”
An awkward grin crossed the priest’s face, his gray eyes lighting with pleasure. “I’m glad to hear that. Very glad indeed. Glad to know he finally became a believer.”
“He’s a believer all right,” Joe spoke with solid conviction. “But we can’t waste time here.” He stalked up the aisle. “We need to get back to Promise.”
“Might not be a good idea.” Father Anthony’s warning stopped Joe.
“No offense, Father, but why the hell not?”
“You could be leading those hornets right back to your own home. If you have anyone back there you care about, then you want to keep them safe.”
Joe crossed his arms over his thick chest, and his gaze narrowed on the priest. “How do you know Roc?”
“We grew up together. He chose the police department to fight truth and justice. I chose the priesthood. Neither of us knew we’d be doing this though.”
Joe assessed the priest for a long moment. “Well, you should know—Roc’s missing.”
“What?” the question burst out of Samuel, and he lurched to his feet, still feeling weak and unsteady.
“When?” Father Anthony tensed, his face darkening with serious intent. “What happened?”
“Once we realized Samuel was in trouble, Roc headed out to track him.” Joe nodded toward Samuel. “I’m thinking it was a trap of some kind. I think that girl vamp lured Samuel away. So when Roc took out after him, all alone, I think she nabbed him.”
“How could she take Roc if she was with me?” Samuel questioned. “I never saw Roc.” His mind raced back to the night Andi convinced him to go to New York. Was it only yesterday? His disjointed memories made it feel as if weeks had passed.
“When Roc no longer answered our text messages,” Joe said, “or phone calls, we knew he was in trouble. But I thought”—he shook his head at his assumption—“hoped he’d be with Samuel.”
“Did you check the house where you found Samuel?” Joe asked the priest.
“As b
est I could. But I was alone.” Father Anthony propped a hand on his narrow hip. “And I had to get Samuel out of there. But I’m fairly certain no one else was there.”
“Maybe Brydon took him,” Samuel suggested.
“Brydon?” Joe snapped his attention in Samuel’s direction. “Roc’s old partner?”
Samuel nodded. “Andi mentioned Brydon…or I think she did. My memories are blurry.”
“It’s the best we have to go on now,” Anthony said. “But where would Brydon have taken Roc? And why?”
The why seemed obvious to all in the room, and for a moment silence descended on them with dread. But these were men of action, not regret. The discussion picked up and went round and round with Joe arguing against Anthony. Samuel’s head ached, and his gaze drifted to the front of the church. Jesus hung on the cross, his hands and feet and brow stained with blood. He understood why this church was empty, devoid of hope or believers. They’d left Christ on the cross instead of focusing on the power of His resurrection.
“Roc could be dead already.” Father Anthony spoke calmly. Overhead, a boom of thunder resounded in the church. “Then again, because he’s in the thick of this battle, whoever took him might have a purpose.” The religious man had an amazing ability, in spite of his slight size, to go toe-to-toe against these burly men. Slowly, he rose out of the pew, straightening to his full height, like a warrior ready to enter another battle. “We’ll return to Promise.”
Samuel’s stomach trembled. “But you said we shouldn’t go back, that it was too dangerous.”
“I changed my mind. Now we have to get ready.”
“Ready for what?” Joe asked. The stained-glass windows looked dull without sunlight, but lightning flashed, making the colors spark and flare.
In a hushed, reverent voice, Father Anthony said, “A war.”
***
They rode in the van the team brought from Pennsylvania, keeping to farm roads and staying as much as possible out of congested cities, which Father Anthony explained were “feeding grounds.” The night was dark with heavy clouds. The roads shimmered from the earlier rain.
