“Rosa?”
A sound like thunder answered from the right. An instant later a gust of wind sent her tumbling several yards. Julia huddled on the floor, bruised and aching, as the wind passed. It snuffed out whatever light illuminated the far reaches of the left side of the hall, and she realized the difference even a spec of orange made. Terrified, she called for Cayne until the noise died and her voice echoed around her.
The little light returned a moment later.
“Rosa?”
Julia resisted the urge to stand where she was. She needed to move, and she decided to go left, toward the light.
She tried to count the minutes she spent in the unchanging hall. About five after the first blast of wind, a second came. By the third, she knew to hit the floor the moment she heard the distant rumble.
It was horrifying, waiting in the absolute dark that followed the hall’s outbursts. Julia half expected some monster or murderer to appear beside her when the light returned. Neither did, but she had to endure two more gusts before something changed.
Carpet. The cold, stone floor had, at some point, become carpet. Julia wasn’t sure when, but she noticed as she picked herself up after the fifth gust. She also realized that she could see her hands.
She almost jumped for joy.
Sooner than she expected, she was close enough to see the source of the light: a candle in a stand, about chest height. The second she saw it, others appeared, spaced dozens of feet apart, mounted on both sides of the hall.
Julia stopped to get her bearings when she reached the first candle. Then she noticed something on the wall beside the others that sent a shiver up her spine.
Heart hammering, Julia leaned toward the picture—actually five similar pictures in a row.
They were crude, and they seemed to be carved into the wall rather than drawn. The lines were shaky and the characters were basic stick forms that reminded her of caveman drawings. All the images were dominated by a huge circle filled with smaller, semi-circle blobs. For some reason, it reminded her of the Earth.
In the first scene, a man-like figure sat atop the circle, surrounded by rudimentary stars that looked almost like the keyboard asterisk. Beside him, not quite at the top of what she thought of as Earth, another character had his arms up, and rather than a line for a mouth, this one had a circle—as if he was screaming.
In the second scene, the man surrounded by stars was pictured atop the angry one. Even in caveman form, Julia could tell Mr. Star was kicking Mr. Angry’s butt.
In the third scene, the man surrounded by stars was back on his perch, atop the Earth, and the angry man was below the Earth.
The fourth scene: the angry man on the Earth. He had his hands on his hips, and something about his form looked proud. He was, hilariously, encircled by women.
In the last scene, there were more men, all looking just like the angry man, only this time, they had wings. They were still surrounded by women, as well as children. The children had stars atop their heads.
Suddenly she had a creepy feeling that she wasn’t alone. She glanced left. All she could see were candles. She glanced right. And screamed.
Julia crab-crawled away from the man that had appeared before her. He was old, with a long white beard and weather-ruined face. And he wasn’t very solid; his body seemed to shift and shrink and stretch and bend, and although he was obviously speaking there was no sound.
Julia watched him lecture her about something. He went through several rounds, gesturing wildly and staring at her like a disappointed father, before a gust surprised them both. The mystery man shriveled into dust, and Julia rolled several feet. Her candle clattered away. She waited, breath held, for the light to return.
It did, and the man was still gone. But the candle on the floor was rolled onto its side, and the carpet blazed like kindling. Julia gasped as flames fanned around her and licked the walls. As the blaze grew, it colored her hands crimson. Dumbly, Julia sniffed it. Blood.
It began to leak out of the mud walls, and she screamed for Rosa as she struggled to her feet.
As the fire grew, and she ran down the hall, her sides ached and her lungs burned. Her legs felt like rubber bands stretched too far, and the heat against her back was searing. If this kept on much longer…
A door! She saw it, at the end of the hall.
Julia found her second wind and ran harder.
She was close. So close. Almost there. Just a few more—
Julia’s head jerked to the left. Another painting, this one modern and realistic; its subject: Cayne. He was sporting a pair of majestic wings, but they were spread out, along with his arms, which were pinned to the side of what looked like a real Egyptian pyramid. His legs were bent the wrong way, and he was bleeding—badly. At the foot of the pyramid… At the foot of the pyramid was her. Julia with her head bowed. Julia with her arms outstretched, holding a ball of light.
She knew what it was without having to ask. The light was her energy, and she was offering it to Cayne.
Julia turned from the picture. She ran a few more steps and then she threw herself against the door. She bounced off it, landing on her back facing the painting of Cayne—so detailed, she could see the death on his slack face, see his last labored breath.
The fire roared, and she dove for the door. Cayne’s lifeless eyes followed her as she tumbled through it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Julia tumbled into a brightly lit room, and the clatter of dishes and chatter of conversation snuffed into silence. Her face burned with embarrassment as more than a dozen pairs of eyes settled on her.
She was on the train again, in what appeared to be a posh dining room. Huge windows let in dazzling sunlight and splotches of the city: D.C. Three crystal chandeliers hung from a curved roof that boasted complex trimmings. The twenty or so tables that lined each side of the space were covered with white tablecloths. The diners were dressed in expensive-looking suits and dresses. Julia felt completely out of place.
An elderly waiter in a pressed white shirt and black pants cleared his throat. Julia smiled nervously and stood. She dusted herself off, and the cart’s occupants went back to their business. Most of them, anyway.
Two were watching her: a boy and a girl about her age. He was a little older. Attractive with short brown hair and brown eyes, he wore a simple gray long-sleeved shirt and slightly darker gray slacks. He stared at her earnestly. The girl was a complete contrast. Her almond-shaped eyes crinkled as she smiled, and her silky black hair flowed like a waterfall over a yellow sundress that showed off her cleavage.
She stood and waved Julia over. The boy grabbed her arm and jerked her back into her seat.
Carefully, nervously, Julia picked her way through the dining hall to where the two sat, at the back.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
The girl smiled. “You can sit, you know.”
“Oh, right.” Julia pulled a chair from the table. She was painfully aware of her smoky clothes. “Sorry for the smell. I just…got out of a fire.”
The girl shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me.”
The boy, Julia noticed, was talking—to himself. His lips moved, but she didn’t hear any words. His intense eyes were boring into her shoulder.
“Be glad you can’t hear him,” the girl said.
“But why can’t I?”
“I dunno. Just be glad. He rarely has anything good to say.”
“Oh.”
The girl laughed. “So it’s you.”
“Uh…yeah.”
“Sorry. We’ve been looking for you. Well, he has.” She jerked a thumb at the guy.
“Why?”
“Because you’re like me.”
“And what does that mean?”
The girl shrugged. “I’m not important enough to know.”
“Is he?”
“Yeah.”
Julia sighed. “Well who are you?”
The girl looked puzzled. “Y
ou know…I’m not sure.” She bit her bottom lip, then her eyes widened and she stood. “I think I’m supposed to show you this, though.” Julia was horrified when the girl lifted her dress, revealing lilac panties. The boy didn’t seem to notice. Neither did anyone else. “Follow my finger,” the girl teased as she pointed to a starburst just above her left hip.
“Oh my God!” The girl dropped her dress, and Julia exclaimed, “You’re Stained!”
“If you say so.”
“But I just saw your mark.”
The girl leaned across the table and tapped Julia’s forehead. “Where do you think we are right now?”
“Oh. So there’s a chance you’re just made up?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think so.”
Julia felt some of the hope she had lost return. She liked the girl. Then she thought about what the girl had said. “Wait, so y’all have been looking for me?”
“Some of us. Not that I wouldn’t if I could, it’s just, like I said,” she shrugged, “not that important.”
“So how come no one found me?”
“Hmmmm. Good question. They’re usually pretty efficient at that sort of thing.” She tapped her glass of water with a candy-apple-red nail.
Julia’s adventure in the fire-filled hallway caught up to her. She was tired, smelly, and in no mood for riddles. “So let’s get to the point. What am I doing here?”
“Didn’t you choose to be here?”
“Well yeah, but what am I supposed to be doing right now?” She jerked her thumb at the talking boy. “And I still want to know what’s up with that.”
The girl laughed. “He’s kind of cute, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” She smiled wanly. “Are you two…?”
“No way!” The girl seemed appalled. She glanced at the boy in dismay. Then she smiled again. “What about that Hunter hottie you’re traveling with? Things seem to be heating up.”
Julia blushed. “How do you even know about him?”
“Oh, I have my ways.” The girl laughed. “Anyway, to answer your question…” She pointed behind her, to three doors at the end of the cart. “Choose one.”
“How?”
“You could do eeny-meeny-miney-moe.”
“You can’t give me any clues?” The girl shook her head. Julia took a deep breath. “I guess this is it then?”
The girl smiled as Julia stood. “I look forward to meeting you. I think we’ll be best friends.”
Julia wanted to feel the same way, but she reminded herself that a figment of her imagination would, naturally, want to be her friend.
The girl turned back to her silent partner. She said something Julia couldn’t hear, and the poor guy finally stopped talking. He looked at Julia mournfully. Julia looked away and walked to the doors.
She touched each. The one on the left felt cold, the one on the right felt hot, and the one in the middle didn't feel any way at all. Definitely the middle.
Julia turned the knob and stepped into what at first appeared to be a dark closet. She saw a dim light directly in front of her and for a moment felt a thrill of panic. Was she back in the hall?
“Ow!”
Nope. Last time she checked, there wasn’t a workbench there.
Julia rubbed her right knee as her eyes adjusted. She was in a tool shed. A bizarre one. A saw, a rake, and three hammers shared wall space with several spears, two crossbows, and a collection of swords. A wrench set sat next to a dusty pair of armored gloves (the medieval type) on the bench. Other strange things Julia couldn’t name were stacked on the ground, bunching between lawnmowers and weed eaters and shovels.
Mystified, Julia stepped to the door, and the cloudy window through which she could see a hazy image of someone’s back yard. She heard odd voices, raised in laughter. Without hesitating—what was the point anymore?—she pushed the squeaky door open.
She had to shield her eyes against the light. It wasn’t bright; it was, in a weird way, dark. But there was a lot of it. Julia blinked through the canopy above her. The sky was so solidly gray that she wondered if someone had forgotten to draw it.
The smoky, tangy scent of barbecue slid up her nose, and Julia followed the smell to a middle-aged black man. He wore a purple Polo and khaki shorts, covered in the front by a pink and white gingham apron. Back half-turned, he was manning a grill and talking to two women who sat on opposite sides of a picnic table to his left. Julia couldn’t understand anything he said. His voice was high-pitched, and his words were a fast jumble of nonsense, like someone had placed his mouth on rewind.
The women sounded the same. The first, whose back was to Julia, seemed about the same age as the man. She wore suede-looking leggings, boots, a stylish white tunic, and had long, curly brown hair the exact color of milk chocolate.
The woman facing Julia seemed so familiar, for a split second Julia scanned her memory trying to remember who she was. Then she realized: That was her. Her, with tactful makeup that made her brown eyes pop. Her with a stylish, layered haircut. Her in a green and white dress, with leaf-shaped ivory earrings. Her, carrying ten more pounds—but most of it in her boobs. Heck, yeah.
The home’s glass porch door slid open and someone familiar bounded down three stone steps: Cayne! Except different. His green eyes were brighter, his mouth curved into a smile. Muscles bulged from beneath a blue Polo, but they somehow a little less cut, as if the only action they saw was in a gym.
His hair was short and his face was clean-shaven.
He called something to the man at the grill in that disconcerting language and, smiling hugely, sat down next to her.
Julia felt her throat tighten with happiness, with want, and she reminded herself that it wasn’t real. That wasn’t her Cayne, even if he had the same beautiful face.
A roll of thunder helped her forget the bittersweet feeling. The group, now together at the table, didn’t seem to notice. Julia had the vague sense that she should warn them about the storm, but then she felt her eyes droop, and felt something hook in her head and begin to carry her away, and the house and the table and Cayne and the gray sky and the older Julia smeared together and rearranged themselves as cushions and a dark room.
Rosa was swaying slightly, and her eyes were closed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Julia blinked at the seer. Her chin was titled, and in the shadows her eyes looked like two dark holes. Her back was strait, and she seemed to sway to a tune Julia could almost hear.
“A great power from long ago is stirring,” the seer intoned. “A conflict long buried is resuming. And you are being called to play your part.”
“Part? What part?”
The seer rearranged herself on the cushion, took a long breath, and said, “You have many questions. Only one—the ancient one—can answer them. He pursues you and he waits for you at once.”
Julia felt a tingle down her spine. The girl in the dining cart that wasn’t a dining cart had implied that the other Stained were looking for her. “How do I find them?”
“Stay on your path,” Rosa said. “But remember that it is your path. Trust your instincts, and be wary of those that would have you act against them.”
“Where am I going?”
“The city you saw is a seat of power. Your answers wait for you there.”
Julia sighed. Great. How many times could she and Cayne get attacked traveling back across the country? “Can’t you tell me anything? What did all of the things I saw mean? Billy? The train? The guy and girl in the dining cart? And what about being Stained? You never told me anything about that!”
Rosa’s face became grave. She opened her mouth, and then snapped it shut. Her skin seemed to lose its color, and she shook her head fearfully. “I have been blinded,” she gasped, and then the curtain ripped in two.
Cayne dove into the room, tackling Julia. Malachi followed as the ceiling exploded and pieces of wood and tile rained down on them.
Through the crook of Cayne’s elbow, Julia saw
the giant Nephilim hunched protectively over his mother. A blood dagger protruded from his back. Rosa, beneath him, was wheezing; her breaths sounded wet.
Through a hole in the ceiling Julia saw a dark form knocking an arrow. She opened her mouth to warn Cayne, but he was one step ahead, hurling his dagger through the hole. Its target thudded onto the carpet beside them.
Cayne yanked his dagger free and tossed it to Julia. He claimed the dead Nephilim’s bow and arrows. Julia watched, astonished, as the thing’s wings folded in on themselves and disappeared. Poof.
“They’re Samyaza’s,” he said. “And there are others.”
“There are?”
Cayne glanced at Rosa and her son, his face pained. “Take care of them.”
As Julia frantically wondered what she could do, the several Nephilim fell through the ceiling, bringing roof tiles and debris with them. Before the air had even cleared, Cayne sent an arrow through one’s neck and shot another through the heart. Julia stopped holding her breath, and three more tackled him.
“Cayne!”
He reared, throwing two of the Nephilim off his back. He shoved the third away, and Julia crawled to where Rosa and Malachi lay. Using all of her strength, she pushed the huge man off the seer. Rosa gasped and spit up blood. “My son.”
Julia prodded his aura. It was too weak. She tried to keep the sorrow off her face as she turned her attention to Rosa.
With a flick of her hand, the seer closed her aura off. “My son,” she pleaded.
Julia looked away. “He…he’s too far—”
She stopped when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw an Indian Nephilim with his hands around Cayne’s neck. Julia grabbed a boom box from a corner and swung at the Nephilim’s head. The blow knocked him off Cayne, but attracted the attention of a Nephilim with stringy blond hair. As Cayne grappled with the Indian Nephilim, Julia’s attacker advanced.
She held Cayne’s dagger in front of her, and the Nephilim laughed. “It will take more than that,” he taunted in a voice like broken glass.
He jabbed at her with his dagger, but Julia jumped out of its path. She stumbled over an overturned chair, but he was in front of her, moving faster than she could see. “Stupid Stained bitch. Time to die.”
Something crashed through a window and tackled Julia’s attacker. She screamed when she realized it was the second biker that had attacked them that night—the one who had gone missing. The biker smashed the Nephilim against the wall, and the Nephilim kneed the biker in the gut. Then he stabbed the biker in the back of the neck, and the biker fell.