The Wanderer's Children

by L. G. O'Connor

  Achanelech’s mouth went dry, his forked tongue sticking to the back of his bottom teeth. His tongue was the only thing beside his clawed toes that he couldn’t seem to wrestle into human form. “What do you mean?” he squeaked.

  “Congratulations. You managed to alert the NSA and put yourself at the top of their terrorist watch list.”

  “How did I do that?” Achanelech blurted.

  “The warehouse in Menlo Park. It was compromised,” Luc glared.

  More like blown to High Hell, he thought. “But-but-but,” he sputtered. “I haven’t been there in months! How do we know that it’s true?”

  “I ate the soul of one of their agents, you imbecile!” Luc slammed his hand on the desk, his eyes blazing red. “So, not only must we hide our activities from the Angelorum, now we need to elude the NSA. The last thing I need is human intervention in demonic matters. I should kill you now, but the pleasure would be too short-lived,” he spat and waved his hand at Escher. “That’s why I asked Escher here. He will take over your North American operations in addition to the research projects he’s already managing for you.”

  Achanelech’s jaw dropped. “Wait, but—”

  His internal calculator rang up the monumental losses this could mean from his personal coffers, and the resulting debt he would incur to Luc. He’d be bankrupt in no time.

  “No buts. I need you out of the limelight, and somewhere like here where you can’t do any more damage. What better than making you my personal events coordinator?” he said with an evil red shine in his eyes.

  A million other things came to Achanelech’s mind. Despair wrapped like a noose around his neck.

  “Escher, give us an update before I do something rash.” Luc ground his staff on the floor and glowered at Achanelech. More burnt wool and an accompanying sizzle.

  Escher clasped his hands together and sat back in his chair. A smug smile spreads across his face. “I think I’ll have Samuel give it.”

  Achanelech narrowed his eyes, trying not to react to Escher’s goading.

  Samuel looked up, his crystal-blue eyes hard and uncompromising.

  My, how my Nephil abomination has changed over these last two months, he thought. Escher must’ve been telling the truth and taken him on as a lover, given his elevated rank and fine clothes. Escher was nothing if not equal opportunity when it came to choosing his playmates.

  Samuel glanced at Luc. “At your request, Master, we launched a surprise attack on the rock star just to shake things up and throw them off track of our true intent.” The Nephil’s deep melodic voice grated on Achanelech’s nerves to the point that he hungered for violence.

  He continued, “As expected, the attack was thwarted by the Guardianship.” A euphemistic way of saying one of his demon minions was used as a throwaway on a fake attack. Achanelech’s anger rose, his hands clenching into fists under his desk. At least now he knew why they’d borrowed some of his demons.

  “What about the Collins girl? What of her transformation?” Luc asked with an impatient wave of his hand.

  “Nothing unusual yet,” said Samuel. “No invisibility, no appearance of wings, nothing obvious that points to her being anything but human at this point.”

  “Then we’re no closer to battle,” Luc said. His eyes bore into Achanelech. “Are you sure that the scientist used the Nephilim vaccine to save her?”

  Of course he wasn’t sure! The vaccine had failed to turn Achanelech’s three test subjects; why would it turn the girl? Regardless, he gave the only answer he knew he could get away with, “Yessss,” he hissed.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Escher piped up. “One of our other labs should have a vaccine version ready for mass production within a week. She’ll transform into a Nephilim one way or another.”

  “Excellent. Better if it’s on my schedule than theirs,” Luc said, and stood up. “Before I go, you,” he said, pointing to the Nephil with his staff, “go back and keep watch over the girl until we’re ready to take her. She’s the only one that matters right now. And throw a few more red herrings at them to keep them chasing their tails.” Then he turned to Escher. “You—get rid of the bloody NSA, and get me my Nephilim army.”

  Finally, with a parting glance at Achanelech, Luc said, “I’ll have my secretary send you the list of what I want for the Convocation. And one last thing: don’t screw up this time or your last visit will feel like a trip to the spa.”

  Achanelech gulped and watched the trio head for the door with a pit of dread in his stomach. He needed to rethink his plan to capture Cara Collins, and fast. If Luc managed to seize her before she’d made it to France his chance to regain his position would be lost.

  Some days, it just didn’t pay to get out of bed. Even for a demon.

  Chapter 20

  CARA

  New York City. Fifth Avenue Penthouse. Friday, May 24, 9:30 AM ET

  CARA STOOD IN HER walk-in closet, admiring the new additions to her wardrobe. At least today she had some decent clothes to wear. Gretchen had come through for her with a fantastic selection of designer merchandise in the next three sizes. Her bag lady fashion statement from yesterday was already boxed and ready for donation to Goodwill.

  She flipped through the hangers and chose a simple, short-sleeved Calvin Klein top and a pair of True Religion jeans, and then pulled out a new pair of Manolo Blahnik low-heeled sandals from her shoe rack.

  Clothed in her new designer togs, she did a slow spin in front of the mirror and let out a sigh of relief. Everything fit perfectly. Too bad the clothes did nothing to hide the dark circles under her eyes.

  Cara yawned, still exhausted and recovering from Simon’s “expressing” his relief over her safety after the demon incident—twice. Moments into their postcoital snuggle, Cara was asleep wrapped in Simon’s arms. They’d gone traditional—no blanket of wings last night, only the covers on the bed. Even Cara’s growing pains hadn’t kept her awake. Other than reciprocating Simon’s soft kiss, she’d barely woken when he’d left this morning.

  But Simon’s expression of relief wasn’t all that had kept her from having a good night’s sleep. The voice from her Calling had invaded her dreams again last night. The words in the angelic language still echoed in her head—the ones whispered to her during her confrontation with Le Feu, giving her the strength to taunt him.

  Last night, the moment she’d heard the words, the memories that hung at the fringes of her consciousness came rushing back in one giant burst. Details from that night filled the gaps in her memory: the knife as it pierced her side; her relief at blocking it from killing Kai; her short-lived death that followed… In the end, it hadn’t changed much. But the haunting words continued to niggle at her. She just wished she understood what they meant. Another puzzle to solve later.

  This morning definitely warranted a caffeine boost stronger than anything she had in the kitchen. Starbucks Triple Espresso, here I come, she thought.

  At least today would be less hectic than yesterday. Even Chloe was taken care of: Simon had dropped her off at doggie daycare on his way to take Constantina to the airport before meeting Michael.

  Wandering into the bathroom, she brushed her hair up and corralled it into a ponytail.

  Topping her list today was checking in on Brett. After lunch she’d drop by his rehearsal at the Beacon under the guise of picking up the concert tickets and all-access passes. A lot had been dumped on him yesterday, and she wanted to make sure he was okay without making a big deal out of it.

  She feathered on some blush and smiled at her reflection. Plenty of time to get back before Jessa and Irene arrived for dinner.

  Grabbing her backpack, she stuffed in her workout clothes, cell phone, wallet, and keys and then zipped it up. She was ready to go. With her change in lifestyle, she’d long since abandoned handbags during the day, reserving them for more formal occasions.

  Cara left the penthouse and wove her way through the maze under the building, exiting several buildings away—an added s
ecurity feature of her living arrangement.

  The day promised to be sunny and warm, not a drop of rain in the forecast. Her spirit lightened with the perfect morning weather despite her serious need for caffeine. With a spring in her step, she headed straight for Starbucks, conveniently located on Eighty-Seventh Street on the way to the subway.

  Blending into the crowd, Cara lost herself in the flow of bodies. Cars and trucks lumbered past her, trailing clouds of exhaust while she competed for sidewalk space with pedestrians in work clothes and nannies pushing strollers. As Cara passed a bakery, the aroma of freshly baked goods wafted out in greeting. Her Nephilim hunger flared. The two bananas she’d wolfed down on her way out obviously weren’t enough. Maybe she’d treat herself to a slice of cake with her cup of coffee… and an egg sandwich. Her stomach grumbled. Make that two egg sandwiches.

  After missing yesterday’s workout, Cara looked forward to her session with Michael and Simon. Over the past two months, she’d come a long way, able to hold her own in a fight—with or without a weapon.

  A pling sounded from inside her backpack. Reaching inside, she pulled out her cell to see a text from Kai: MELANIE IS SAFE. WORKING ON CLOSING THE PORTAL FOR GOOD. EXPECT TO ARRIVE SUN OR MON.

  His message filled Cara with relief. She hoped Kai was more at ease now than when she’d spoken to him briefly after dinner last night. His distress had been palpable. She didn’t know which was worse—his guilt or his fear.

  Cara’s head snapped up from the small screen at the sound of tires screeching and burnt rubber filling the air, followed by the hard thump of flesh meeting the metal of a car hood.

  Fifteen yards away, a man lay bleeding next to a mangled bicycle in front of a taxi. Cara stuffed her phone in her backpack and ran, pushing her way through the crowd forming around him.

  A foreign man in his early twenties lay on the ground at her feet; a courier based on his shirt’s logo and the scattered packages surrounding him.

  Cara quickly surveyed the damage. His torso and head were covered in blood, and his right leg lay at an odd angle. His panicked eyes caught hers as he slipped into shock and his energy ebbed.

  In a split-second decision, Cara dropped to her knees beside him. She’d try to heal him, or at least keep him alive until an ambulance arrived.

  The taxi driver stood nearby, holding his head in his hands and screaming in a language she didn’t understand. Someone from the crowd tried to calm him while five or six concerned faces looked on.

  One woman kindly asked her, “Is there anything I can do to help?” Whoever said New Yorkers were uncaring must have been standing on another street corner.

  “Call 911,” Cara directed before launching into her silent opening prayer, calling the Flow down to her. She felt the familiar sensation as it crashed down through the crown of her head, traveling around her heart and radiating out of her hands.

  She said an extra prayer to cover the light show that would accompany her healing, but there was nothing she could do about the pulse of energy that would fly across people’s skin in a sharp breeze.

  Her hands hovered over the injured man. As her skills had advanced, she’d found that she no longer needed full contact to transfer the healing energy. It offered her a less invasive option for strangers.

  The bright, white light threw out a ring of power ten feet in diameter, pushing the crowd back and enveloping Cara and the man inside.

  “Close your eyes,” she whispered. As if in a trance, he complied.

  Cara cycled energy through him and watched his injuries heal. The gashes on the man’s chest closed and his leg straightened, mending correctly as if never broken. The scrapes on his face and chest disappeared, leaving behind a look of serenity on his face.

  And then it got quiet… too quiet. With a start, Cara noticed the world stood frozen outside her ring of power.

  “You really shouldn’t have done that,” said a calm voice behind her.

  Cara gasped and looked over her shoulder. A young man dressed in a bright, white tunic and pants walked up and stood next to her. Well, not exactly a man on account of the white, high-arching wings folded behind him.

  Cara rose.

  His eyes, an intense purple, were the first thing she noticed. Not a color she’d ever seen in nature, and one she’d not soon forget. His gaze locked on hers. His dark hair and medium build made him handsome enough, but his eyes… they were beautiful and hypnotic. She shook her head to break away from their pull.

  “Who are you?” Cara asked, stepping back.

  He stared, expressionless. “I’m Jonas, but I don’t think that’s relevant. Has no one explained the rules?”

  Cara felt a chill traverse her spine. “What rules?”

  “The rules of noninterference,” he said, his voice taking on a patronizing tone as if speaking to a naughty school girl.

  “What are you talking about?” Cara asked, knitting her brows in confusion. A quick glance confirmed the world outside her power ring was still frozen in eerie silence.

  Did Jonas do that? It sure as heck wasn’t something she could do.

  Clasping his hands together in front of him and rocking back on his heels, he cleared his throat signaling a lecture was forthcoming. “Your power is a gift to use in the battle against our common enemy. You’re prohibited from changing a human’s destiny outside of the Fight. You mustn’t interfere with free will.”

  Cara frowned, continuing to bristle at his tone. “How is saving someone’s life interfering with their free will? Did this guy purposely ride his bike in front of the taxi? Did he ask for this? Are you telling me I’m not allowed to help people?” She planted her hands on her hips. “Who did you say you were again?”

  This time he smiled, breathing life into his otherwise expressionless visage. “I like your spunk. I can’t answer your question on the man’s intent, but what I can tell you is that I was supposed to be here. A better question for you to ask would be: what am I?”

  That one took her by surprise. She tipped her chin at his wings. “You’re not Nephilim?”

  “Most certainly not,” he said, looking mildly offended.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What are you?”

  Keeping his hands clasped in front of him, he moved a step closer. In response, Cara moved a step back.

  “I’m a Transporter. You might be more familiar with the term reaper but it has such a negative connotation, don’t you think?”

  Cara cocked her eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right? Where’s your black cape and scythe?”

  He glowered at her, his eyes taking on a darker shade of purple. “My point exactly. Although I collect the souls of the dying and transport them to their final destination, I also deliver the souls of the newly born. It’s a two-way transportation system, you know.”

  Not what she expected, but now suspecting why he was here.

  “Sorry, I’m the last person who should be casting stones,” she said, backing down. She glanced down at the man on the ground. He seemed to be in much better shape. “So, did I save his life?” she asked, and turned back to Jonas.

  “That you did,” he replied, his face again expressionless, apparently over her quip about the cape.

  She sighed. “And he was supposed to die?”

  His features softened. “That he was.”

  Cara carefully avoided looking directly into his hypnotic purple eyes. Something about them made her nervous. “I changed his destiny?”

  “Yes.”

  Cara huffed in frustration, crossing her arms over her chest. “How could I just let someone die?” The answer was that she couldn’t. Another item to add to her list of questions for Constantina. Then it struck her. “Wait, who’s our common enemy?”

  With an unexpected and kind smile, he answered, “We’re not so very different, Cara Collins, but merely separated by the skin of humanity. We both serve the same God and share a spark of the divine.”

  Hearing her name pass through Jonas’s lips was jarring.
At least she knew why he hadn’t asked. He’d already known.

  “How do you know me?” she asked.

  “We all know you,” he said, and then spoke the angelic words she’d heard in her dreams.

  “Hold on! What does that mean—what you just said?”

  His face dropped back into an emotionless mask. Cara found his lack of expression unnerving.

  “It mean’s God’s Sacred Healer… among other things,” he replied cryptically.

  A ripple of energy passed over Cara’s skin.

  Jonas’s head snapped right then left as he looked around with sudden agitation. “I must go. I cannot hold time still any longer.”

  “Will I see you again?” Cara asked, not nearly finished with her list of questions.

  His eyebrows lifted in answer. “You owe me a soul,” he said and disappeared.

  Sound assaulted Cara’s ears with a whoosh as time resumed and her ring of power evaporated. An ambulance wailed in the distance and people gasped in awe as they looked down at the man, transformed, but still unconscious.

  Before Cara could process Jonas’s parting shot, she was pulled backward off her feet and pressed securely into a large muscular body behind her then propelled forward and carried like a football toward the end zone.

  “Miss Collins, sorry to manhandle you, but Chamuel would kill me if anything were to happen to you,” said an accented female voice behind her.

  One of her new Guardians was a woman? Even so, she felt like a man.

  “We’re cloaked?” Cara asked, feeling like chattel but thankful she wasn’t being hauled away in a fireman’s carry, butt to the sky.

  “Of course,” the Guardian replied.

  Great. She’d just disappeared in front of a crowd of people. At least no one could hear them speak behind the veil of invisibility. So much for feeling normal today, Cara thought.

  “May I suggest a cab from here to the dojo?” the female voice asked as she swiftly carried her through the pedestrians on the sidewalk.

  “That’s not going to be easy strapped to your chest like an invisible, oversized doll,” Cara’s tone was less friendly than she meant it to be. “Sorry, I’m just a little shaken up. What’s your name?”