Verity Rising (Gods of Deceit Book 1)

by Phil Scott Mayes

  A quick glance to my right confirms that she’s on board with whatever plan I’ve concocted. Reb deliberates, but not for very long before he agrees.

  “Okay. Vic and I will stay at the rally point and await the survivors while you and Mel pursue this lead. Ted, I shouldn’t need to remind you what’s at stake here. The two of you mean everything to the alliance and to me. Do what you have to do, but if it goes south, don’t hesitate to get out of Dodge. Living to fight another day is always a better choice than dying for no gain. Be dangerous, but be smart.”

  “I got him, Reb,” Mel replies, patting my hand then letting hers settle softly onto mine. “Whatever we do, we’ll put the alliance first. This Nephilim monster isn’t going to stop until we’re dead. We have to find out more about him if we want any hope of stopping him. That’s our primary mission: information.”

  I nod in agreement, though I don’t really feel equipped to determine what’s in the best interest of the alliance. Thankfully Mel is, and I have no problem following her lead. In a fortuitous convergence of fate, my plan to save the alliance will require tuning up Jan in the process. Two birds, one stone.

  We spend a couple hours chasing the setting sun through the winding hills of US Highway 2, craggy and punctuated with dense tufts of rigid hemlock trees. We finally break through the stifling landscape, and Vic slows to within a few miles per hour of the speed limit. After another mile or two, he pulls off to the side of the highway and waits as the car behind passes and one in front approaches from the other direction. Once it passes and rounds the bend, he makes a quick right turn onto a narrow driveway, overgrown with brush and sagging branches. It’s a path I never would have noticed on my own. Branches scrape and scuff the panels and mirrors as the car bumbles through the woods to a clearing with an old cabin. Rally point alpha.

  Without stopping the engine, we all unload and exchange handshakes and hugs in the light of the Crown Vic’s low beams. Vic helps Reb to the front porch of the cabin as Mel climbs into the driver’s seat and I plop down next to her. She throws it into drive, pulls a U-turn, and follows the narrow chute through the trees back to the highway. A westward turn puts the distant Port Ellis skyline in sight, blackened by a small slice of blazing sun that has yet to sink into the Pacific. Its beams clip the tops of the waves, graze the bottom of the angry, gloomy clouds, and ignite the edges of each building. It’s the ideal setting, an atmosphere smoldering and convulsing in anticipation of our collision with Jan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  When I was sixteen years of age, my parents (adoptive parents) died before my eyes. We were returning from a run to the nearest hardware store and pharmacy and were only a few miles from home. I was riding in the roomy back seat of our weary family sedan when a human, high on drugs and driving a low-riding pickup, crossed the center line and plowed into us head-on. The human died instantly, likely before the drug paraphernalia even finished bouncing around the floor of the truck. My dad was driving and took the brunt of the impact, also dying immediately, but my mom survived the initial crash. She didn’t pass away until a few minutes later (from internal hemorrhaging if I had to guess) after repeating a phrase that until a week ago I always attributed to her traumatic brain injury. Her head bobbed weakly atop her broken body, her eyes half-shut, as she said over and over, “You are my son. You are my son. My son.” It’s apparent now that in her moribund stupor she knew I would someday learn that I was adopted and wanted me to always know who I am. I am her son.

  That was the second time I became an orphan.

  My reward for surviving: I got to lug my parents’ dead bodies three miles back to the farm where I cremated them myself. The accident would eventually be filed away as an unsolved hit and run by the sheriff’s office. The vehicle couldn’t be traced back to us, and though some Nephilim are born in human hospitals and documented by their respective governments, my parents were not. With no records or previous run-ins with the law, whatever fingerprints and DNA that were recovered from the vehicle were dead ends.

  Such memories tend to surface at the most inconvenient and irrelevant times, often while driving or riding somewhere. Every memory of my upbringing conjures a complex brew of emotions, even more so since the revelations of my adoption and my parents’ lies about the Nephilim. If I’m able to overlook my disgust about their dishonesty, it’s not difficult to believe that they lied because they thought it would set me up for the best possible future. Dan and Val weren’t perfect parents, but I know they cared about me and my well-being.

  They didn’t always show me the warmest love and they never coddled me, but after learning from Reb that they weren’t my biological parents, that makes perfect sense. There are two different kinds of love that a decent parent can offer to a child. One is the instinctive love of a birth parent. It’s an involuntary and primal kind of love that requires little effort to maintain, wherein the very sight of their child brings a fresh spring of pride and joy. Even in the face of defiance and disappointment, this type of love cannot be squashed. This is not the kind of love that Dan and Val had for me. They demonstrated the second kind of love: elective love.

  It’s possible that there are adoptive parents, aunts and uncles, grandparents, or others who are capable of offering a child instinctive love, but Dan and Val were not those Nephilim. They chose to love me as their own, but it’s a choice that had to be made and remade every day, and there were days that they made that choice reluctantly, and there were days they didn’t make that choice at all. On those days, I didn’t feel like a blessing to be cherished, I felt like an inconvenience to be tolerated. Perhaps all children feel like that sometimes. I would survive those days, go to bed, and wait expectantly at breakfast the next morning to see whether or not my parents had made the choice that day to love me as their own. More often than not, they had.

  As a kid, I didn’t know any better and loved them like any child loves their birth parents, but having spent years observing human beings in all kinds of environments, I’ve learned to discern the difference between the two types of love. Both types of love have a common goal—to nurture and mold a young being into a capable and caring adult—and both types are represented inside this Crown Victoria. From Mel’s description, her mother was one of those instinctive lovers, and based on my experience with Mel, I’d say that much is obvious.

  She seems far more complete and confident in her identity than I am. As she focuses on the increasingly congested road, my eyes are caught in her gravity once again. I can’t understand her bewitching affect. Her hair so black that in the darkness of night it’s nearly invisible. Her eyes bluer than the shallows of Belize. Her skin the perfect paleness to hide the minor scars on her forehead, neck, and left cheekbone. But these things alone don’t explain why I’m so hopelessly enthralled with this woman. There are millions of beautiful women in the world, both Nephilim and human, but she’s the only one I’ve seen who produces something more than an intellectual acknowledgment of her beauty. She’s the only one who ties my chest in knots.

  “Mel, what was it like to grow up with such a loving mother?”

  Her head turns just enough to shoot me a look from the corner of her eye, then she turns back to the road ahead. “I’m not sure this is the right time to have that conversation. We need to go over your plan so we have time to work out any potential flaws—no offense—before we get to Milburn Tower.”

  “We have plenty of time. It’ll take another forty-five minutes from here with the usual evening traffic. If there’s a football game or concert of some kind, it’ll take even longer.” Her demeanor unaffected by my reasoning, I add, “Besides, my plan is pretty simple. There’s not much to discuss.”

  “Then let’s go over it now, and if there’s time when we’re done we can talk about my childhood. Deal?”

  She’s right. I’m distracted and drifting, but after what just happened at Carver and what may happen at Milburn, I can’t help but ponder my life and love, that thing I’ve heard so
much about but have yet to truly experience. It doesn’t help that I’m sitting in a car alone with her. She may be right to redirect my attention to the operation at hand, but her motives are also blatantly self-serving. The nervous dancing of her eyes, the flex of her jaw muscle, and the tension in her grasp of the steering wheel all make it clear that she doesn’t want to have that conversation.

  I raise an accusatory eyebrow that she notices but ignores. “Okay, plan first,” I agree, “but then we talk about you,” I add. Her palpable cringe confirms my suspicions.

  “Mm-hmm,” she mumbles. “So, what do you have in mind for Jan?”

  “We have to catch her off guard and force the issue here and now. Who knows how much time we have before our next run-in with that rogue Nephilim. We can’t risk her declining to engage us or risk arranging a meet-up elsewhere where she can just send the police to intercept us. Unfortunately, I can’t just walk into that building. Someone will recognize me, and it’ll be a miracle if I make it out of Milburn without handcuffs.”

  “Right, agreed, so what then?”

  “I’m going to use the Pneuma Rigma to enter the tower and gain access to Jan’s office undetected. No one is looking for you, so you can simply walk in and take the elevator to Pentastar. Once you’re at her office, ask the secretary for a meeting. If she denies you the meeting, or if the secretary isn’t there since it’s closing time, just let yourself into Jan’s office and tell her you’re with me and that you need to speak privately. I’m confident she’ll be intrigued and give you the privacy we need.”

  “What if Jan’s not there? Like you said, it is closing time.”

  “She’ll be there. During my entire time at Pentastar, she never once left before seven thirty. Once we’re in her office with the door closed and privacy glass activated, I’ll bridge back from the spirit rift and we grab Jan together. Then I take all of us back into the Pneuma Rigma so we can get out of Milburn.”

  “I don’t mean to keep doubting your abilities, Ted, but are you sure you can bridge with all three of us?”

  After a moment’s thought, I respond, “When I bridged into the gym with that creature on my back I didn’t even mean to bring it with me. It just happened to be touching me when I came through. I don’t know why it would work any differently with the three of us.”

  “Okay. Hopefully you’re right. So, we’ve got Jan, now where do we go?”

  “I still have my apartment in Port Ellis, and the building is mostly empty. We’ll drag her back down to the car, bridge back from the Pneuma Rigma, and drive to the apartment where we ask her our questions.”

  “I can tell you’ve put some thought into this, but I see one big problem: Jan isn’t just going to cooperate with all this. How do you plan to get her out of Milburn Tower against her will, and what’s the plan for getting her to talk?”

  I smile deviously and pop up the center console armrest. From inside the small compartment I produce a stun gun, the same one Drake used on me in the farmhouse. I lift it between our faces and give the button a squeeze. Blue lightning appears between the small metal posts, snapping and flickering brightly into our yawning pupils.

  “Drake told me that he left it and a set of handcuffs in the car. I’m going to zap her into a mini coma as soon as I bridge through into her office. We’ll carry her out to the car together and zap her as many times as necessary to soften her up some more before we ask our questions. When she comes around, she’ll be too weak to resist. Trust me, I was Jell-O when I came around after Drake tased me.”

  “Oh, I remember,” Mel says with a giggle. “Then we ask her about the Nephilim monster while I read her responses,” she adds with a satisfied nod.

  “Exactly.”

  She smiles and glances my way a couple of times while keeping watch on the road. What a smile! And she likes my plan. I stifle a smile of my own as I set up the next phase of the conversation.

  “What do you think? Any concerns?” I ask.

  Her head tilts slightly as she gives thought to my question. “Nothing major that I can think of at the moment. The plan includes some assumptions, like Jan being alone or even being there to begin with, and you being able to bridge with all three of us. There are some things that only you would know about Jan and Milburn Tower, and I’m taking it on faith that you know what you’re doing. Also, that Nephilim monster knows about your apartment too, so we can’t linger there too long, but I agree that it’s the best nearby location. Either way, we can’t cover every possible contingency, so we have to be willing to adapt or abort the mission as required. Other than that, it seems solid.”

  “Good points, Mel, you’re right. So, that’s the plan…” I conclude, my tone prompting her to uphold her end of our bargain.

  The awkward silence in the air is briefly broken by gargling road noise as we hit a pitted patch of highway. With about thirty minutes left to our destination, my window of opportunity to learn something meaningful about Mel is closing. I understand her desire for privacy. I lived a very reclusive life until I landed at Carver, but I haven’t had that luxury since I arrived there and I think it’s time for some reciprocation. It’s an uncomfortable feeling to be the only bare soul in the room—a powerless and vulnerable position.

  Mel, eyes fixed on the road, draws a deep breath. “Listen, Ted, I know I agreed to talk about me, but I don’t know if I can. There are things about my past that will change the way you think of me. You’ve always walked the straight and narrow, you have strong opinions, and you can be a little judgmental. I haven’t always been the Mel you’ve come to know, and I’m not sure you can accept who I was. It’s taken me a long time to even forgive myself, and some people who are very important to me never have.”

  “That’s hard to believe. I’ve noticed a light in you from the first time I saw you, and it’s more than just your good behavior. It’s you. I asked about your mom because I’ve never been loved that way and I think that it might have something to do with your wholeness.”

  A short silence follows while Mel takes several long blinks, searching the inside of her eyelids for peace or strength or anything to help her through what comes next.

  “Ted,” she starts, emitting a frustrated grunt. “Yes, my mom loved me in a very special way, but not having a dad in my life crushed me every single day. Every time I saw a little girl holding her daddy’s hand, or riding on his shoulders, or him pushing her on the swings it was a reminder of that debilitating rejection. It was the only thing I could think about. When I was maybe six or seven, I was at the city playground with a friend. I was on the swing set that stood off a little ways from the other playground equipment and watched as a dad told his daughter it was time to go home. She protested at first, but after he said her name sternly—Abigail, if I remember—and it was clear that he meant business, she zoomed down the slide and ran into her daddy’s open arms. He scooped her up and carried her away, giggling. A few minutes later, a man was standing at the edge of the playground watching his son climb on the jungle gym. I approached him slowly, cautiously from behind, eyeing the empty left hand hanging at his side. I got within reach and slid my hand carefully into his, holding it tightly just to see what it would feel like to have a dad who held my hand. Of course…he yanked his hand away in reflex and looked at me like a leech that had tried to latch on. It was that bad for me, Ted. His reaction didn’t make things any better. I didn’t even realize how good of a mom I had until later in life. She was an extraordinarily loving woman, and strong, but I had no real leader, and so I drifted.

  “You don’t get it. You don’t understand what it’s like out there. You were so lucky to have Dan and Val as parents. Yes, they lied to you about some things, but they did it to set you on the right path and protect you. They cared enough to be there for you and they never gave up, even on the days that they woke up, stared at the ceiling, and second-guessed everything.

  “I would’ve done anything to have parents like that. I felt cheated and angry. I rejected my
Nephilim nature and my angelic roots. I hated angels and I hated people. Having an angel for a father may sound neat, but it’s not. Nephilim with high blood purity are far more likely to fall into corruption because the only way such potency happens is with an angelic parent, but angels don’t stick around to be parents to their kids. That’s also why this war is so lopsided. The ranks of the wicked Nephilim have a much higher average blood purity than the alliance. They’re typically stronger and more powerful than our alliance members.

  “Ted, I started down that wicked path. I lied, used people, acquired wealth and power at the expense of human lives and freedom. The worst part is that I liked it. As far as my loving mother is concerned, we haven’t spoken in a very long time. She hated who I became back then and has never been able to forgive me.

  “Reb saved me from myself. He and a couple other alliance members abducted me from my own home eight years ago and pulled me away from that life. If not for their intervention, I’d be worse than Jan. He is the dad I never had; the one I needed as a child more than anything,” she recounts tearfully. Her lip quivers as she fights to keep it together.

  Always a warrior.

  She wipes her eyes with her shirt sleeve then, after a series of sniffles, she adds, “You’re the good one, Ted—the one with the light inside of you—and you have Dan and Val to thank for that.”

  Once again, she’s right. I do think of her differently, but I don’t think less of her. Knowing the struggles she faced and overcame only makes her stronger in my eyes.

  “Mel, you’re right about a lot of things. I have been taking Dan and Val for granted and didn’t appreciate how great they were or how bad it would’ve been without them. I’ve also been unfairly judgmental toward people and Nephilim that I know little or nothing about. But you’re dead wrong about one thing: your past isn’t something to be ashamed of. I didn’t realize how rough you had it as a young girl, but being fatherless isn’t something any of us can control, and no one should judge you for making the choices that you did. What matters is that you triumphed over all of that. When confronted about your error, you came back from that place of despair and deceit, Mel. How many Nephilim can say that? How many, even when confronted by the alliance, choose to give it all away for this life?”