The Wanderer's Children

by L. G. O'Connor

  Her eyes lit up and she tucked it into her bra, and then she leaned in for a kiss. “Thanks, Hot Lips.”

  She’ll be my destruction, he thought, wanting to roll his eyes.

  “Anything else you need, Chérie?” he asked as she pulled away.

  She wiggled her eyebrows at him, clutching the tablet to her chest. “Meet me in the dungeon later?”

  A reluctant smile touched his lips. “Anything else?”

  “May I borrow a couple of your demons? I want to hunt for some attractive entertainment before Heinrich arrives,” she said, no longer showing signs of distress.

  He eyed her warily. “How do you know he’ll accept our offer?”

  She looked at him with a coquettish glint in her eye, and flashed a smug smile. “He agreed to five hundred for the whole affair.”

  Bitch. “You lied to me,” he said through gritted teeth as steam gathered at the top of his head.

  “Tsk-tsk. No, my love, I manipulated you. There’s a difference. If I’d quoted you a lesser amount, you would’ve given me less than what I needed. I’m doing this for us, Acchie. To save our hides.” She blew him an icy kiss and smiled.

  The kiss transformed into a small snow cloud, hovering over his head for a second before turning into tiny snowflakes and snowing on the top of his head. His hair hissed as fire met ice.

  By Lucifer, he abhorred when she was right.

  “Fine,” he said. “But before I release my children and send you on your shopping expedition, what of our plan to capture Cara Collins?”

  She smiled wide. “If Escher and his team fail in her capture, our backup plan is in place. She and Eae’s Nephil spawn arrive at the Sanctuary on Wednesday. Plenty of time to set our trap before the Convocation begins.”

  His mood lightened. He chortled, rubbing his hands together with glee. Targeting another one of Eae’s children filled him with such delight. Someday she’d pay for destroying his twin demon soul; the one who’d shared his throne of fire.

  He’d waited almost six hundred years to exact his revenge, taking only small payments from her along the way. But the one he truly wanted was still hiding in this realm, he was almost sure of it. The one who’d done the actual deed with her consent. The one responsible for his battle injury and the V-shaped scar upon his face.

  Like him, she had a twin soul.

  Eae and Leo.

  Together they were the Angels Who Thwart Demons.

  With the battle looming, surely he’ll make his appearance soon. Achanelech was counting on it.

  “Acchie? I’m waiting,” she said with an icy glare.

  He blew out a breath and rose from his desk. “Stand back. Don’t overfeed them while you’re out.” Otherwise, they’d be useless when he needed them next.

  He summoned forth his demons in their native tongue. Leaning his head forward, the sigil pulsed and rose on the back of his neck, opening the gate and freeing his children.

  A black haze filled the room.

  “Come, pets. We’ve got work to do. I promise a nice lunch,” Emanelech said in a sing-song voice. She glided from the room with the dark energy of his children obediently following behind her.

  Chapter 27

  MICHAEL

  Brooklyn, New York. Rising Sun Dojo. Saturday, May 25, 4:30 PM ET

  MICHAEL STOOD FRESHLY SHOWERED after finishing his Pee-Wee class for five-year-olds, followed by an advanced weapons training class. He couldn’t decide which class had been more difficult: the little tykes or the bruisers with a death wish. Typically, he had the patience of a saint, but his irrational anxiety over seeing Sienna later tonight had shredded his peace of mind.

  The sound of Rodney, one of Michael’s full-time instructors, and his class of ten-year-olds practicing katas echoed through the walls and into the dojo’s staff locker room.

  A towel wrapped around his hips, Michael gazed into the mirror over the double sink and ran a brush through his damp hair. Contrary to what Cara and Simon believed, he didn’t spend a lot of time on it.

  Glancing at his wrist, he checked the time. He had an hour before his meeting with the Guardians at Simon’s loft.

  The locker room door swung open, and Deva walked in dressed in her gi, her light brown hair gathered in a ponytail.

  “Did you leave me any hot water?” she asked, giving him an appraising look and tossing her duffel on the floor next to the long teak bench in the center of the room.

  He let out a breath. “You could’ve knocked, you know.”

  She winked and grinned. “It’s not like I don’t remember what’s under that towel.”

  He scowled at her. “Come on, Dee. I don’t need to be reminded how far back we go. I’m still your boss.”

  She threw her hands up, wearing a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Yes, Sensei. I’m just saying.”

  He’d met Deva in ninth grade English class at Dalton, the private New York City high school they’d both attended. Dee had loved competitive martial arts as much as he had. It hadn’t taken long for them to become inseparable, spending all their free time studying, sparring, and gaming. Wherever one was, the other wasn’t far behind. Everything was fine until they lost their virginity together at the start of their senior year.

  They’d slept together every chance they could for a month… until she’d spoken in jest the same two words Sienna said on the porch. Pretty Boy. The first dream came that night. The terrifying, cinnamon-infused dream waking him to his own screams and leaving him saddled with a deep sense of shame. The memories of his black day, buried since he was a child, resurfaced with a vengeance and threatened to break free.

  To this day, she’d never understood why he’d ended their physical relationship. His lie still mocked him like nails scraping a chalkboard. “I don’t think I feel the same way you do.” The truth was that his feelings terrified him.

  His lie had also ended their friendship. A hole of loneliness filled with guilt was left in its place.

  Then, eighteen months ago, Michael had run into Deva at a nightclub in Manhattan. Recently divorced from her college sweetheart, Deva had moved back to Brooklyn to lick her wounds and regroup. Agreeing to start fresh, they renewed their friendship. But a little over a year ago, he’d spent a night with her. They hadn’t spoken about it since. When he opened the dojo a few months after that, he offered her a job as long as she agreed to his strict nonfraternization policy—namely, with him.

  But even now, he could feel the heat in her gaze.

  He turned to her and leaned against the counter. “I’m sorry, Dee. I’m just in a rotten mood. Can I ask a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Give me five minutes? I just want to finish up.” He said nicely and tried not to feel like a jerk.

  Disappointment filled her eyes, but she did her best to hide it. “No problem. Can I leave my stuff here?”

  He nodded. “Sure. Thanks… I mean it.”

  She closed the door behind her, and a pang of guilt hit him. He valued their friendship, but right now what he needed was to be alone. Relieved she was gone, he let his mind drift again to seeing Sienna later and his stomach clenched in a tight knot.

  Coward, he chided at the mirror and hung his head. When people looked at him they saw someone bright, well-mannered, and kind. A façade he worked so hard to project. He hungered to be someone respectable and admirable like his father; a true role model who embodied all of the traits and values Michael aspired to have. Someone who valued family above all else. A loving husband and father…

  Pain clenched his heart as he thought of his dad. Not one day had passed since his father’s death that he didn’t miss him. As much as he loved his mom, his relationship with his dad had been special. They’d been closer than most, in touch almost daily. Whether it was lunch, a run in the park, just a call, they’d been in constant contact. His father was the only person who knew about his gifts, helping him to harness and control them. With the exception of his dark secret, his father had known everythi
ng about him. His loss left him empty and alone. The best thing he could do now was honor him. If he could be even half the man his father was, he’d be happy.

  Although apprehensive to confront Sienna, his dreams of her gave him a sliver of hope. Even hot sex unencumbered by his haunting fears would be enough.

  Why can’t I be normal? he wondered with a heavy heart. He had no answer.

  He slipped into his clothes. As he picked up his gym bag, a wisp of fine energy flew past his face, encircling him and raising the hairs on his arms. A stream of melodic whispers followed, echoing inside his head as they called to him from the Flow.

  News from the Angelorum.

  He eyed the door, walked over, and locked it. Something he should have done when he’d come in. Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes and projected his thoughts upward into the Flow, connecting with the electromagnetic stream that surrounded Earth and the communications network embedded within it. Like a fingerprint, the molecules of Michael’s body vibrated at a set rate, connecting him with his personal frequency.

  “Messenger Swift,” the voice greeted him telepathically in the Angelic language. “Be warned. Danger lies close to your Trinity. As the Twelve are gathered, so are those who will oppose them. Many are preparing to join power, a movement that has not happened in centuries. Be ever vigilant.”

  The wisp of power disappeared, the message over. Michael opened his eyes and let out a breath, feeling invigorated. “Would have been nice to know when,” he muttered.

  Michael slipped on his shoes, and slung his laundry bag filled with dirty gis over his shoulder.

  On his way to the subway, Michael stopped at the Chinese Laundromat around the corner. He collected his pink ticket and stepped outside.

  Before Michael could react, his body was slammed backward, hard, against a massive male chest. A strong arm locked him in place with ease, and a pair of thick fingers rested on a nerve in his neck. “Don’t move Messenger, or I’ll drop you like a sack of potatoes. I mean no harm, just listen,” the man said from behind him, the heat of his breath warm on Michael’s ear.

  Michael froze in confusion, feeling his friend’s energy pressing against his back. It didn’t make sense. Something was off. Simon?

  A couple walked past holding hands, oblivious to Michael’s plight, confirming he was hidden behind a veil.

  Michael’s pulse accelerated. The rogue…

  “Who are you?” Michael gritted out, the Nephil’s thick arm, uncomfortably heavy across his chest, was swathed in black leather.

  “Not important.”

  We’ll see about that. Michael dropped his telepathic shields and plunged into the Nephil’s head. He slammed into a mental shield and bounced off.

  That’s never happened before, he thought with surprise as a shockwave of pain ricocheted inside his skull.

  “Stay out of my head, Telepath,” he snarled, putting pressure on Michael’s neck. Without warning, Michael’s legs buckled, going numb beneath him. The Nephil’s arm pinned Michael in place, preventing his fall.

  Michael snarled with frustration, unable to move his lower body. His pounding heart sent a surge of adrenaline through him with no effect. Michael fought to wrestle his arms free.

  The Nephil’s arm tightened around him. “Relax and be still. It’s only temporary. Consider it a compliment. I’m trying to help you, but I don’t need a shattered instep, kneecap, or anything worse for my trouble,” he said calmly.

  Michael struggled to get his breath back under control, tamping down his feelings of helplessness. “Fine. Why have you been following Chamuel?” he asked using Simon’s Guardian name.

  The Nephil hesitated. “Again, not important.”

  Bingo, Michael thought. He is the rogue. “What do you want?”

  “To warn you,” the rogue said. His voice held a combination of weariness and frustration but no malice. The tone was deep and rich. Close, but not an exact match to Simon’s. If only Michael could catch a glimpse of his face…

  “About what?”

  “East will meet West in preparation.”

  “In preparation for what?” Michael gasped, suddenly starved for oxygen. “You’re crushing me.” The Nephil’s embrace was like being wrapped inside a boa constrictor.

  The rogue loosened his grip over Michael’s chest, allowing his lungs to refill with air. “The Convocation. The dark powers are gathering with the intent to unite in preparation for battle against the Twelve. All the better if they can take care of some business in advance.”

  Michael’s blood ran cold.

  “When and where will the Convocation be held?”

  “France. It will start within the next ten days…”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Again, not important. Just be grateful I’m sharing what I know,” he growled.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Silence, and then, “. . . I don’t know.”

  What the… ? Michael wondered. Was it a trap of some kind? “How much time do we have before company arrives in New York?”

  “They’re already here. Prepare yourselves.” His breath tickled Michael’s ear again. “I apologize.”

  “For what?” Michael asked right before everything went black.

  He awoke sitting propped up against a building in the alley behind the Laundromat with an ache in his neck. The bastard had dropped him anyway.

  Wiggling his toes, he exhaled a sigh of relief. Feeling had returned to his legs. Michael pulled himself up and looked at his watch. He’d been out for only a few minutes. Brushing the dirt from his pants, he didn’t bother to check for his wallet. He knew it was still there. If robbery had been the rogue’s intent, his father’s Patek Philippe—a watch Cara teased him cost him as much as a BMW—would’ve been gone.

  Why does he want to help us? Michael wondered. One thing was for certain, he seemed to have better information than the Angelorum. Of the two messages, Michael had learned the most from the Nephil.

  Michael continued on to the subway and made a silent call. “Simon?”

  “What’s up?”

  “I just met your rogue. Call in the reinforcements. One more thing…”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve figured out why you’re the only one he’s following…”

  Chapter 28

  MICHAEL

  New York City. Greene Street Loft. Saturday, May 25, 5:45 PM ET

  MICHAEL FOUND THE EMERGENCY door propped open with a six-pack when he reached the fifth floor landing outside the loft. The corner of his mouth pulled up in a smile and he walked in.

  It sounded like the party had already started.

  Michael passed by the kitchen island—covered in alcoholic beverages and supplies for later—into the living room where the five hulking figures filled the leather sectional and the two matching chairs, sampling the night’s beverage selection. Out of uniform, they looked like a social gathering of MMA fighters or NFL linebackers. The giant flat screen on the wall flashed with motion from a soccer game playing on mute.

  Simon and Angel drew the chairs, while Isaac and two of his Tri-State Guardians, Zeke and Noah—the youngsters of the group—sat on the sectional, voraciously eating out of a bowl of chips on the coffee table between swigs of beer. Unlike most of the older Guardians, Zeke and Noah both had tribal ink wrapped around their biceps, poking out of their tight T-shirt sleeves. For some reason, they always seemed hungrier than the older guys.

  Simon looked up as he entered and the room fell silent. “Take a seat, Michael.”

  Resting his elbows on his knees, Angel eyed Michael warily with his dark gaze. “We’re eager to hear your news, amigo.”

  Isaac gave him a level stare. “I’m especially interested in what you discovered. The rogue has eluded us for months.”

  Michael joined Isaac and the Tri-State guys on the padded leather, and traded a nod with Zeke and Noah. Michael still hadn’t gotten used to Isaac taking over for Simon as the
ir Trinity Guardian. Suspended or not, Simon still mostly ran the show.

  “I’m almost positive this rogue isn’t a Guardian,” Michael said, shaking his head.

  “We suspected that. Can you give us a physical description?” Isaac asked, running his fingers along the top of his blond brush cut.

  Michael shook his head. “No, he grabbed me from behind.” He hesitated as he chose his next words. “And I have a theory why he’s only shadowed Simon.”

  Isaac’s ice-blue stare hardened. “Why’s that?”

  “He’s got the same energy footprint. He feels exactly like him.”

  Several sharp intakes of breath sounded from around him, signaling his assumption was likely correct. Sharing the same energy, like sharing a fingerprint, was almost impossible.

  Simon folded his arms across his chest. “How’s that even possible? He’s never felt familiar to me.”

  Zeke rolled his eyes and popped the top on his next beer. “Come on Si, don’t be a dope. When was the last time you could feel your own energy? The answer is you can’t; only everyone else’s.”

  “Show some respect,” snapped Isaac, shifting in his seat and looking like he wanted to dole out a head smack before he turned back to the team. “What does that leave us with? A double? A mimic? What?”

  “Not sure, but it’ll make him easier to find. We follow Simon or anyone we think is him and then flush him out,” said Angel.

  Isaac nodded over his tented hands. “Yup, could work. I’ll update the alert.” He glanced back at Michael. “So what else did you find out?”

  Michael decided to keep out the part about being incapacitated and then knocked out. The anxious energy of the Guardians pulled at him.

  “Here it is, for whatever it’s worth: We need to prepare. We have company. They’re already here from the West Coast. Between now and the time we leave for the Sanctuary, we may be attacked,” Michael said.

  Angel made a sour face and shifted forward in his chair. “Fuck. Le Feu in Paris leaves Escher Grant and his band of merry minions,” he said, naming Lucifer’s two West Coast lieutenants.

  Michael glanced at Angel. “He said they’ll try to attack before the battle. They’ve already targeted Brett, so they probably know Simon is one of the Twelve by now. At least Cara is off limits.”