The Wanderer's Children

by L. G. O'Connor

  Where in Hell was that infernal woman?

  Emanelech came tottering through the doorway at top speed in four-inch high-heeled shoes, out of breath and waving her tablet. “Acchie, what’s the matter? Did you set the drapes on fire again?”

  He rolled his eyes. “What are they doing up there, rebuilding Rome?” he snarled, pointing at the ceiling.

  She shot a glance upward and consulted her tablet, passing her finger over the surface. “No… that would be the renovation of Luc’s room,” she said, chewing her lip.

  “Luc’s—we’re hosting a Convocation not restoring a hotel!” Achanelech said as heat crept up his neck. Another stream of plaster pebbles showered the top of his head. He growled and swept his hand over his hair, coming away with a chalky white film covering his palm.

  “Will you relax already?” she snapped, planting her hand on her hip. “This is to restore ourselves back into Luc’s good graces, remember?” Her expression turned to a pout. “I want to make sure he’s comfortable.”

  Achanelech ground his teeth as his head pounded in time with the hammers, and changed the subject. “Any more RSVPs?”

  Her finger returned to the surface of her device. “As a matter of fact, yes, one of the troublemakers from Africa, Wormwood, responded. I told him to keep his diseases at home this time. Last thing we need is an outbreak of Bubonic plague this go ’round.”

  He let out a breath. “How many does that make?” Achanelech asked in a weary voice.

  “Um…” Emanelech’s lips moved as she counted the responses. “Ten.”

  “Who are we missing?” he asked, walking around and leaning back against the edge of the desk.

  “Xaphan in Africa and the South American contingent,” she replied.

  This meant they still hadn’t heard from Abaddon and Astraroth, either. Of the three, Xaphan, the keeper of the fires of Hell, was his least favorite. Then again, he hated them all. Now, if he could only keep the flaming “pissing matches” between him and Xaphan to a minimum.

  After a quick knuckle rap to the open wooden door, a short lean man, wearing a gray suit and black-framed glasses with small round lenses, walked briskly inside.

  “Excuse me,” Heinrich said in a clipped tone and clicked his heels together. “Fraulein, ’zere is a problem.”

  Emanelech narrowed her eyes. “What kind of problem?”

  Heinrich’s frown deepened. “Labor issue.”

  “What kind of labor issue?” she asked.

  “Strike.”

  “Strike? What in Hell does that mean?” Achanelech snapped, suddenly seeing a monetary request in his future. Over the pounding above his head, he made out a faint chanting coming from the grounds.

  Emanelech glared and waved him off. “I’ll handle this, Acchie.”

  “I’m afraid ve vill need to hire some outside resources for ze food,” Heinrich said.

  “For the food or for the ‘food’?” she asked with a raised brow.

  “ ’Ze… kind you zerve on a plate, Fraulein,” he sputtered.

  That would be easier than the other kind of sustenance they required. The capture of human souls was exceedingly more difficult than roasting a pig.

  Achanelech shook his head and headed for the door with his laptop and cane. “I’ll leave you to sort out the details, Chérie, while I find a quieter place to work.”

  Given the vast number of workman buzzing around the château and the entertainment Emanelech had been collecting in the dungeon, his best course of action was to head straight to the stable before she nagged him about any more party planning details.

  He had more important things to do like executing the plan to capture Eae’s Nephil son, and hiding his dealings from Escher before that English dandy ruined him. The question was how to do it all before the Convocation started in a little over a week…

  Chapter 43

  IRENE

  New York City. Sarabeth’s. Sunday, May 26, 2:00 PM ET

  IRENE PASTED ON A SMILE, pretending to listen to the conversation going on around her as she sat in Sarabeth’s with her friends and Cara’s parents. On Fifty-Ninth Street at Central Park South directly across from the Park, Sarabeth’s was located in the heart of upscale midtown real estate and reflected the opulence of its neighborhood.

  Irene nibbled on her goat cheese omelet, which would’ve been amazing if she could’ve actually tasted it. Her eyes darted to the lush trees across the street, wishing she could escape into the greenery.

  She hadn’t lied to Cara about the phone call. After she’d planted the bugs and trackers in Simon and Cara’s belongings, she’d called Ellerton to inform him the deed was done.

  Having the penthouse to herself eased her anxiety and gave her the freedom to carefully examine the contents of the walk-in closet Cara shared with Simon. Irene had enough shoe devices to plant one in every pair of lug-soled boots Simon had in the closet. Once that was done, she planted one in his shaving kit, the coin pockets of two pairs of his jeans, his belt, and the only suitcase she could find. Cara had left her backpack behind on the coffee table, snagging only her wallet on her way out, making that part simple. Before she left the apartment, Irene checked the library. The laptop was gone.

  The whole operation had taken her five minutes to the second. If the NSA couldn’t track and monitor Simon among all of those devices, there was something seriously wrong with them.

  On her way out, she’d left her suitcase by the door and looked around with a heavy heart, thinking of the bittersweet time she’d spent there. But her mission was clear: find out what was going on and protect Cara. If Simon was innocent, she’d protect him, too. If he wasn’t, she had a wedding to stop.

  “How are your folks doing, Irene?”

  Irene’s attention snapped over to Cara’s dad, Richard, a big bear of a man with a cap of white hair and intense blue eyes. She’d known him since her freshman year at Georgetown.

  Her pasted-on smile still in place, she said, “They’re doing fine. Dad’s looking for an overseas assignment. But mom’s laid down the gauntlet and said this is her last move outside of the country unless he can get her back home to Ireland.” Her mom had been born in Galway, immigrating to the United States in the early ’80s. Hopefully, Irene’s double-agent role would also ensure her father’s aspirations wouldn’t be thwarted.

  Cara’s mom, Corrine, smiled at her. “Has your mom been home lately?”

  “Yeah, she went back to visit six months ago.”

  Corrine leaned over and whispered in Irene’s ear. “You’ve been quiet today, sweetheart. Is everything all right?” Cara was a younger version of Corrine, with the same auburn hair and kind green eyes. Thinking of Paco, disappointment gripped Irene followed by the displeasure over her coerced NSA assignment, and a lump grew in her throat over Corrine’s concern.

  Irene gave her a small smile and mustered up every shred of sincerity within her. “I had a really late night. I’m just tired.”

  She squeezed Irene’s hand. “Okay, let me know if you need anything.”

  Irene lapsed back into her state of “present but not accounted for” while Sienna recounted something amusing that had happened to her during work this week involving a shirt in the shape of an igloo.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Irene caught Paco’s hulking frame as he entered the restaurant. Her heart leaped, and then filled with trepidation. Was he here to compound her humiliation? She couldn’t find it within herself to look at him.

  He walked up to the table and stopped next to Cara. “Excuse me for interrupting, but would you mind if I asked Irene to come outside for a minute?”

  Irene glanced up to find his pleading, chocolate eyes focused directly on her. He’d changed into a blue button-down shirt and tan slacks, his dark hair styled to perfection. She sighed. He looked good enough to eat, and he was definitely her flavor.

  Cara cocked an eyebrow at her from across the table. “Eye?”

  Irene stared back at him blankly, masking
the anger, hurt, and humiliation swimming around inside of her. She’d opened herself up to him and he’d made her cry for no apparent reason. Her heart hammered, wanting to run far away, yet wanting to know why he’d done it.

  “Por favor?” he pleaded softly, this time to her, in the silky melodic tone she found so sexy.

  Everyone at the table stared at her, holding their collective breath.

  Slowly, Irene pushed out her chair and walked past him to the door without saying a word.

  “Thank you,” she heard Paco say to Cara before he followed her outside.

  She waited with her arms crossed over her chest as if to protect her heart. His hulking figure approached, not stopping until only a few inches separated them.

  “Perdóname. No quise hacerte daño, Pelirroja,” he whispered, placing his huge hands on her shoulders.

  She pouted. “Then why did you hurt me and why should I forgive you?”

  He gently tipped her chin up to look at him. Pain filled his eyes. “There are things you don’t know about me, that you must,” he replied and swallowed.

  Her heart softened, but she needed more than that in order to forgive him. “When you snapped at me…” She looked away. “I thought…”

  “What did you think?” he asked softly.

  “That you regretted kissing…” The lump in her throat prevented her from finishing. A tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away.

  “No, no, no, Pelirroja,” he said with anguish and pulled her into his broad chest, wrapping her in his warmth. “It’s just the opposite.” He held her tight to his body for a moment and then stepped away, grabbing her hand. “Come with me.” He led her across the street toward Central Park.

  They walked into the nearest entrance and found a bench. Birds tittered overhead, and sunlight filtered through the trees above, projecting the gentle movement of the leaves all around them. Sitting down, he pulled her closer and took a deep breath. Pain entered his eyes again. “Today … is my wedding anniversary.”

  Her heart dropped. “Your what?”

  Shaking his head, he took her hands in each of his. “My wife died of cancer years ago. I haven’t …”

  Relief, mixing with sadness for Paco, washed over Irene. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She gently squeezed his hands.

  He furrowed his brow and his eyes sought hers with liquid warmth. “That is my point. How could you? We’ve just met. This is the first time our anniversary…” He paused and brought her hands up to kiss them. Closing his eyes, he held them to his lips.

  Her breath caught in her throat at his gentle touch, her desire for him reigniting inside of her. “Paco—”

  “Let me finish,” he breathed. Opening his eyes, he looked at her with longing. “This is the first wedding anniversary since her death that I’m with someone who makes my heart beat again.”

  Unable to stop herself, she cupped his cheek and leaned in to touch her lips to his. In one movement, he pulled her onto his lap and into an embrace. The heat of his kiss overwhelmed her senses as his mouth hungrily sought hers. His lips soft yet insistent, the taste of his kiss was pure heaven. He held her close, his hand gently massaging her back.

  Breaking away, he tucked her head under his chin, and whispered, “I want to see you again, Pelirroja. I don’t want to say good-bye to you.”

  She breathed in the warm scent of his neck. The pleasant spiciness and pure male smell of him sent a rush of heat through her entire body. “I don’t want to leave, Pacquito. I wish I could stay.”

  “Let me take you to the train. Next time, I will come to you wherever that may be.”

  Bliss filled Irene and she smiled into his neck. The world looked brighter again. But Irene’s smiled faded when she realized there was a lot he didn’t know about her, either. In the world of secrets, hers might be worse. Given his affiliation with Simon and Cara, would she be called to lie to him, too?

  Then again, hadn’t she already?

  Chapter 44

  CARA

  New York City. Greene Street Loft. Sunday, May 26, 5:30 PM ET

  CARA RELAXED IN A CHAISE lounge, basking in the fading sun as she listened to Brett strum on his guitar. He experimented with different chords, composing a new song inspired by Jessa.

  He’s so gone. She glanced around the roof deck, relieved it was back in its usual state of order after last night’s festivities. With Irene and Jessa on their way home, she could finally relax. All the emotions of the weekend had sapped her energy, dulling her senses.

  “Hey, what does a guy have to do to get a hug around here?”

  Cara’s head snapped around and Brett stopped strumming.

  “Kai!” she said and jumped up to greet him. “I must be off my game. I can’t believe you were able to sneak up on me like that.” Even at thirty-one years old, dressed in a T-shirt, long shorts, and sandals, Kai looked more like a college kid than an esteemed scientist.

  Flanked by Simon, he walked toward her with a smile and a welcoming twinkle in his blue eyes. His conservatively cut blond hair was tousled, probably from the fingers he’d recently run through it. Although she and Kai talked several times a week, this was the first time she’d seen him in person since his visit to the Sanctuary eight weeks ago.

  She couldn’t stop the rush of heat that consumed her, and cringed the moment she caught a whiff of her wildflower scent. She swore silently, Damn Nephilim hormones.

  Ignoring her inappropriate physical response, happiness bubbled up inside of her. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. His arms encircled her waist and he squeezed her into an embrace. The familiar warm, masculine scent of him filled her nostrils.

  “Good to see you finally,” he said softly.

  Relief filled her having Kai here, safe in her arms. She couldn’t help feeling protective of him. Old habits die hard. “Ditto,” she whispered before she let him go.

  Brett grinned at Kai and gave a nod in Simon’s direction. “Better be careful or the big guy over there might kick your ass.”

  Nothing like saying exactly what’s on your mind, Cara thought and glanced back at Simon.

  Simon’s arms were crossed over his chest as his eyes traveled between her and Kai, scowling. “I doubt that will be necessary,” he gritted through his teeth.

  Her annoyance flared, and she turned back to Kai.

  Kai’s eyebrow twitched at Cara. “Huh?”

  “I’ll explain later,” she replied, glad that she and Kai shared a special telepathic frequency separate from her Trinity. One of Kai’s gifts as a Messenger, from what she could tell, was his unfettered ability to speak to her telepathically. They’d discovered it when they were held captive by Le Feu. Kai was able to answer her call when no one else could.

  Cara eyed Simon who stood stewing behind Kai. She’d get the intros done and then see what was bugging him. Clasping her hands, she turned to Brett. “Kai, I’d like you to meet to my friend, Brett King.”

  They gave each other a smile and extended their hands.

  “Nice to meet you,” Kai said. “I’m sorry I had to miss your concert,” When his hand touched Brett’s, a ripple of energy tickled Cara’s spine. Interesting, she thought.

  “No problem. There’ll be others,” Brett said. “By the way, Cara’s been talking you up.”

  “Cara, I’ll be downstairs. Michael called, he’s on his way,” Simon glared at her, his mouth set in a hard line. The cloud of energy swirling around him reached her from where he stood.

  What the heck? Simon’s emotions turned her stomach… literally. She released a heavy sigh and left Kai with Brett.

  “Can I speak with you privately?” she asked silently. Without stopping, she looped her arm through his and spun him around, dragging him to the door by the stairs. Not an easy feat, but her newfound Nephilim strength made it doable. She almost smiled at his shock. When the door clicked shut behind him, she let him go.

  He paced like a caged animal, not meeting her ey
es. “You sure you’re not in love with Kai? You reacted to him out there the way you react to me.” He stopped to look at her, the anger in his eyes and the chill in his voice cut through her. “Do you know what it feels like to see the woman you love look at someone else like she wants to make love to him?”

  “What’s gotten into you?” Her temper ignited, fueled by a liberal dose of Nephilim PMS from the hormone release, and her eyes hardened. “And, yes, actually I do. Before I met you, I watched it for years every time Kai looked at Melanie. So, yeah, I do know how it feels. But that’s not what you saw. The only man I want to make love to is standing right in front of me,” she said, jabbing him in the arm with her finger.

  He glowered back at her, locking his arms over his broad chest. “Then what did I see?”

  She met his gaze. “You saw me greeting a dear friend.”

  His jaw tightened. “It seemed like a little more than that to me… from what I could smell.”

  Never had she wanted to hit someone like she wanted to hit Simon that moment. Then again, he’d never been such an irrational idiot. She dug into her pocket and threw her cell phone at him. He caught it with ease.

  She glared at him. “I thought we discussed this the other night. Maybe you’re too old to remember what Nephilim adolescence feels like and how out-of-control your hormones get. Call Constantina, she’ll remind you. But, I’m telling you right now—you’re letting your guilt over not being able to save me cloud your judgment. Get a grip!”

  Simon growled behind her as she turned on her heel and went back out onto the roof deck to join Brett and Kai. She’d predicted her raging hormones would eventually get her into trouble, but really? Later, she’d use some of them to screw some sense back into Simon. In the meantime, if he came within her sight before she cooled down, projectiles would fly.

  “Everything all right?” Kai asked as she approached.

  Cara let out a breath and nodded.

  “Hey, I hope you guys don’t mind, but I’m going to jet back down to my room,” Brett said, scooping up his guitar. “See you later.”