The Wanderer's Children

by L. G. O'Connor

  “You okay?” Cara asked gently, venturing toward contact. They’d been on the road ten minutes and Brett still hadn’t uttered a word since he’d returned looking shell-shocked from his talk with Angel. He’d walked past them without a glance and into the house to pack his things.

  Looking at his hands, he released a breath and shifted his eyes over to her. “Sorry. I’m not great company right now.”

  Cara could feel confusion and anxiety consuming him. She took a deep breath and tried to figure out what she could actually tell him. Then, focusing on the road ahead, she decided she would just tell her story… or at least some of it.

  “Ten days before I met you in March, my entire life changed. I received a letter from my grandmother who had been dead for twenty-three years. I found out I had a gift, and because of that gift, I’d be able to help people I loved when the time came. But I was given a choice—I could accept my Calling, or I could walk away. You’ll have the same choice. No one will force you.”

  “This happened before we met?” he asked, his apprehension turning to curiosity.

  “Part of it did.” She smiled and took advantage of the opening. “Before I met you, I decided to accept my Calling when it came. Ironically, the same morning we had breakfast, I was officially Called. Less than two hours later, I was on a plane to San Francisco with my Trinity to rescue my friend Kai—”

  “What’s a Trinity?” he asked.

  “Sorry,” she said, forgetting how much knowledge she actually took for granted now. She went for the simple explanation. “It’s a team of three people assigned to someone, called a Center Stone, who will play a part in an event that could tip the scales between good and evil. Trinities work on behalf of the Angelorum. In my case, we had to rescue my friend Kai to stop a vaccine from getting into the wrong hands.” Cara shook her head. “Sorry, that must sound strange.” It did even to her ears.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shrug. “No weirder than anything else I’ve learned today.”

  She glanced over and gave him a shy smile. “As I was saying, right after I met you, I was on my way to San Francisco to find my Center Stone, Kai. That’s where I met Angel. You could say he and his motorcycle club rode to our rescue.”

  “Huh.” He paused a moment. “That was the last week of March, wasn’t it?”

  Cara cocked her head and glanced at him, picking up on the abrupt shift in his emotions. “Yes…”

  “You didn’t happen to stay in a house in the Marina District, did you?” his lips slowly turning up into a crooked smile.

  She narrowed her eyes and looked back at the windshield. “Why?”

  He laughed. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him twist in the seat and lean against the passenger door. “I’m just trying to figure out if you slept in my bed.”

  “What? That was your house?” She loved the house they stayed in during the rescue, with its modern, open floor plan and roof deck overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge.

  “Yeah, I rent it out sometimes when I travel. Angel called me and told me he had friends coming into town and arranged a one-week rental with my management company.” Then he sniffed and shook his head. “Angel was the last person I expected to see today.”

  Cara’s mind worked overtime, her brows knitting together in a frown. “Wait a second. Constantina told us the house belonged to a rock star who was on tour with his band.”

  When she turned her head, Brett stared at her with one eyebrow raised. Extending his right hand, he took hers off the steering wheel and shook it. “Brett King, lead singer of King Metaljam, nice to meet you.”

  She cringed, and said, “You’re the rock star?” The pieces of the puzzle snapped into place. Now she was sure of it. Meeting Brett hadn’t been a coincidence. And another thing, he was more important than just a Trinity Messenger. He had to be one of the Twelve. She’d ask Constantina later to confirm her suspicion.

  “Yeah. That would be me,” he said, amused.

  She couldn’t hide the look of embarrassment she wore. “Sorry about that American Idol comment.”

  He chuckled and looked at her warmly, his dimple reappearing as he relaxed a little more. “No, it was cute. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I liked knowing you enjoy my company for me and not because of who I am.”

  Cara sensed a yearning behind his words that warmed her heart. “Well, to embarrass myself even further, I still don’t recognize you. But my opinion stands; I think you’re incredibly talented. Hopefully, you don’t think I’m a musical misfit.”

  His pushed his hair back behind his ear and leaned closer. “How could I ever think a girl who loves Zep and the classics is a misfit? Never happen. But while we’re baring our souls here, I should tell you the reason I’m in town. My last tour date is Saturday night at the Beacon Theatre. Angel’s paranoid about my safety, and just confessed to purchasing the entire front row of seats. Want to come?”

  Cara eyebrows lifted. “That couldn’t have been easy this late.”

  Brett snorted and cradled the back of his head in his hands. “It would’ve been impossible. No, he went to my manager before the tour started and bought out the first row in all the venues before the tickets went on sale. I wondered why I kept seeing familiar faces. So, you want to come?”

  Her smile was tinged with disappointment. “I wish I could. Two of my friends are coming from out of town and staying over the weekend. I don’t think I could leave them.”

  “Bring them. I have more than twenty seats to fill.”

  “Serious?”

  “Dead,” he said with a smirk. “Uh… maybe that was a bad word choice. Yup, I’m serious.”

  Cara loosened her grip on the steering wheel and brightened. “Okay, that sounds great. We have a party celebrating Memorial Day weekend planned on the roof at Simon’s loft. We can start it a little later. Sounds like the makings of a fun night.” If she could ignore the obvious—the potential for more demon attacks—it really did sound like a lot of fun.

  Cara’s smile faded. “Brett, I meant what I said earlier. I’m here for you… no matter what. I remember how I felt when this happened to me, and I don’t know what I would’ve done without my friend Michael.”

  For all his lighthearted bravado, she’d struck a chord. Brett looked at her with raw emotion that touched her. “Cara, I…” The sentence died in his mouth as he looked down, his energy swirling wildly. “It’s been a long time since I made a friend who… didn’t wanted to be there just to touch the fame. That’s why I didn’t come clean when we first met.”

  She took his hand and squeezed it gently. “Brett, I don’t care what you do for a living. You’re funny, you’re nice, and I would be proud to be your friend under any circumstances. Period. End of story.”

  A shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks, that means a lot. Too bad your fiancé wants to kick my ass.” He squeezed her hand back and released it.

  She laughed to release the tension inside her. “This so isn’t a laughing matter, but sometimes, if I didn’t laugh, I’d cry.”

  Brett’s ass wasn’t the only one in jeopardy. If Simon knew the thoughts she’d had today about Michael and Brett, he’d quickly add her to his ass-kicking list. She needed to get to the bottom of her hormonal dilemma tout suite, but the thought of discussing it with Kai filled her with dread.

  “What did you mean in the woods when you said I was ‘special’? Angel said something about the blood running through my veins,” he asked. Even though he looked relaxed, she pushed more energy through her hand to ensure he stayed that way. His emotions kept bouncing around like a ping pong ball, making her dizzy.

  “Brett, you have Messenger blood. The ability to be a Messenger is passed down through the males in families. I’m guessing the Wanderer must’ve come from a bloodline that’s very important to the Angelorum, which means you probably have some special gifts. But since you haven’t been officially Called yet, chances are those gifts are still dormant.”

>   She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

  “What kind of gifts?” Brett asked, chewing his bottom lip nervously.

  “It can be different for everyone, but mostly it consists of telepathic communication and a direct link to the Angelorum. Michael can fill you in when you meet him.”

  Brett suddenly grasped her shoulder, his jaw tightening. “Did you know anything about me before we met? Did you know any of this?” The sour cherry flavor of his emotions hit her tongue with a vengeance. There was hurt… and betrayal in the subtext of his words.

  Her eyes widened. “No, I swear. The first I heard you had anything to do with us was after Isaac snagged me off the ground as we ran from the demon. He told me it was you, not me the demon was after, and that you were under our watch. That’s how the Angelorum works; they don’t tell us anything in advance. Otherwise, it could interfere with free will.” His hand dropped from her shoulder.

  “Free will? What do you mean?”

  “Yeah. That’s one of the rules. The Angelorum can’t interfere with a person’s free will or get directly involved in human affairs. That’s why the Trinities exist. Sorry, I’m probably getting way ahead of myself.” Cara gave him a sheepish look.

  “Who’s the Angelorum exactly?” he asked, not letting her off the hook so easily.

  She released a deep breath. “I think Constantina should be the one to answer that question, but since I know how crazy that kind of answer used to make me, I’ll tell you this. You, me, and everyone you met today—our job is to help keep the balance of good and evil in the world tilted toward good.”

  The last thing Brett needed was for her to reveal she suspected he could be one of the Twelve. She had a feeling Brett was already dangerously close to reaching the limit of what he could digest in one sitting. Plus, she didn’t want him to sense her own doubts and fears over her future role as part of the Twelve. If she could wish it away, she would. Instead, she carried a hard pit of fear in her stomach that she constantly tried to ignore.

  She saw him roll his eyes in her peripheral vision. “So, we’re like some kind of superheroes or something? Next thing you’re going to tell me is vampires and werewolves are real, huh?”

  “Uh, no. Sorry to disappoint, but we’re only human. And as far as I know, vampires and werewolves are still limited to the pages of fiction novels and movies.”

  “If that were true, what’s the deal with the giant white wings Angel sprouted out of his back?”

  Cara arched a brow. Angel must have played show-and-tell in the woods. So she opted for the direct answer. “The Guardians are the only enhanced humans among us. They’re Nephilim, half man, half angel, and make up what we call the Guardianship. They protect us from demons, which can only be killed with their weaponry.”

  “Angel is a Guardian, then? And those guys who rescued us this afternoon?”

  “Yes, all of them—Angel, Paco, and Simon.”

  Brett raised his eyebrows. “Simon? Does that make you—”

  “A Guardian? No. Simon is the former Guardian of my Trinity—long story for another time—and I’m a Soul Seeker. My gift is the ability to heal people—among other things.” Granted, she was no longer one hundred percent human herself, but enough is enough for one day.

  “Are they immortal? Guardians? Because now that I think of it, Angel hasn’t aged a day since I met him when I was a kid,” Brett said.

  Cara smiled at him warmly. “Your head must be spinning. I know mine was. To answer your question, no, Guardians aren’t immortal, but they live about five hundred years. Simon is almost one hundred and fifty years old. Angel and Paco are much older, over four hundred. Nephilim generally don’t age like we do after the age of twenty-one. The oldest they ever look is about forty.”

  She heard Brett gulp next to her. “Really? What about Messengers?”

  “Sorry, bud. You’ll age like everyone else.”

  “Bummer.”

  Be careful what you wish for, Cara thought with chagrin as they entered Manhattan.

  Chapter 13

  CARA

  New York City. Greene Street Loft. Thursday, May 23, 8:00 PM ET

  A KNOCK SOUNDED FROM the stairwell door next to the elevator. Chloe raced over, wagging her tail and circling with excitement.

  “I’ll get it,” Cara volunteered, leaving Simon to prepare dinner while Constantina and Paco kept him company in the kitchen over a drink.

  Only one person ever felt compelled to use the stairs versus taking the elevator that opened directly into Simon’s fifth-floor loft.

  “Hey Cara, it’s me, Michael,” Cara heard in her head.

  “Like I had to guess. Remind me again why you won’t take the elevator like a normal person?” Cara pulled the door open.

  Michael’s royal-blue eyes sparkled at her under his dark brows. “Because it takes too long, and I don’t mind the exercise like some people I know,” he said aloud, his voice rich and full, before leaning in and giving her a kiss on the cheek followed by a teasing jab to the ribs.

  “Hey!” Cara chuckled and batted his hand away. “I exercise more than enough and see no reason to snub the elevator.” God knows she’d run enough today, and in sandals, no less!

  “Uh-huh.” He arched his brow, unconvinced. “So, I heard I missed all the fun today.”

  Chloe nosed his leg and demanded her own hello. “Hey, girl,” he said, bending down to give her a quick scratch behind the ears. Satisfied, Chloe returned to the kitchen and the source of all food.

  Cara sniffed. “Excitement, yes. Fun? Um… no.”

  “Have Isaac and Angel arrived yet?” Michael glanced over her shoulder toward the crowd in the kitchen.

  “Nope, but they should be here soon. Why?” she asked, closing the door behind him.

  “I have some news from the Angelorum.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  He shrugged, frowning. “Let’s have dinner first. No use spoiling Simon’s meal.”

  As always, Michael looked the right combination of stylishly casual and mouthwatering. Perfectly tousled near-black hair and a heart-shaped face punctuated by high cheekbones and a sexy cleft chin gave him a face that was equal parts masculine and beautiful. A white button-down with the sleeves rolled up revealed the corded muscles of his forearms and the Patek Philippe watch he’d inherited from his father. A flattering pair of dark Armani slacks and leather loafers minus socks completed the outfit.

  The images Sienna had shown her from the Calvin Klein campaign came flooding back. Blushing, she shoved them aside and thought of the demon attack. Sometimes, she swore Michael could read her mind. Telepathic communication was one thing but true mind-reading was another. The last thing she wanted was for him to catch her visualizing him in his underwear. Or to reveal Sienna’s secret stash of photos.

  Michael narrowed his eyes at her. “What?”

  A good offense is always the best defense, she thought, and gave him a sweet smile. “I saw our mutual friend today.”

  His energy spiked the moment she mentioned Sienna. “How is she?” he asked, raking his hand through his hair and avoiding her eyes.

  Busted, she thought as he tried to move by. Grabbing his arm, she stepped in front of him to block his way. “You know I don’t like to meddle, but aren’t you both a little overdue for a chat?” Or as Zeke had said the night of the rescue, for “twenty minutes in a dark closet”?

  He let out a sigh without meeting her gaze. “I know, and we will. I’ll talk to her Saturday at the party. I promise.”

  Cara gently touched his shoulder. “Michael, relax and give each other a chance.”

  This time she connected with his royal-blues. He nodded and gave her a bland smile. A wisp of lemony fear wafted toward her. But rather than ask, she held her tongue. Michael deserved his privacy. Sometimes her newfound perception was as much of a burden as it was a gift.

  When it came to Sienna, his responses baffled her. Nothing and no one unwound him as much as Sienna did. The
n again, knowing Sienna like she did, this time his fear might not be misplaced.

  “What are you both whispering about out there?” asked Simon from the kitchen as he cracked open another bottle of Chianti.

  “Nothing. We’re coming,” Cara said, letting go of Michael and heading back to the state-of-the-art kitchen. Simon had spent a fortune on the renovation long before they’d met, making it larger with sleek European cabinets, dark granite, and stainless, professional grade appliances. The hood vented up, disappearing into the fourteen-foot-high, black painted ceiling. The effect cleverly forced the eye to focus lower.

  Constantina sat ladylike on one of the barstools sipping wine while Paco leaned on the island having a beer. Strong and silent with molten brown eyes, he tipped his chin thoughtfully as they approached.

  Paco was under strict orders to keep watch over Brett until Angel arrived with Isaac. Last thing they needed was Brett slipping away again. Paco, Angel’s second-in-command, was a member of the Avenging Angel’s Biker Club, a front for a retired, and somewhat rebellious, group of Four Hundred–Class Guardians—with the exception of Brett who was a charge under their protection. For her and Brett, that last part had been today’s news flash. According to Paco, Angel had been in charge of secretly guarding Brett since the age of ten. The AABC took on special cases for the Angelorum at their discretion, and as one of the Wanderer’s children, Brett seemed to qualify.

  The delicious smell of tomato sauce and fresh baked bread mixed with the scent of the sweet sausage as Simon sautéed it in the skillet. Chloe sat next to him in her “good dog” pose with one paw daintily held up, hoping for a second piece of meat as she licked her chops from the first.

  “Smells incredible, Simon,” Michael said as he glided up to Constantina and gave her a double-cheek kiss followed by a solid handshake for Paco. “Good to see you again.” They’d met during the San Francisco rescue.

  Greetings dispensed, Michael glanced around. “Where’s our new friend?”