She gritted her teeth, because remembering that hurt. It hadn’t been so bad when Samyaza had been after them. When everything seemed tame compared to a massacre in Salt Lake City and a young family dead at the dinner table in California. When all she’d burned to know was why her birthmark had cost her so much. But everything was different now. Even Samyaza was gone. It seemed impossible; and she had helped Cayne do him in.
Other than wondering whether she’d be used as some kind of freaky human sacrifice, all she had to do now was sit around remembering, she thought bitterly; they weren’t even supposed to leave their room. And when they could? What would they do? What would she do? Her headache had started feeling different; instead of the old ache that was both dull and sharp and seemed to come from everywhere, now her head felt like a balloon on the end of a water faucet. Pressure—so much pressure. Like it might burst.
If Edan was telling the truth, it would come back after every time he healed her, and it would get worse every time.
“Spaaace Ghooost,” Meredith said in a low, dramatic voice, and sparkly fingernails were snapping in Julia’s face.
She felt a kick of alarm, not because she’d been caught off guard, but because, as everyone’s gazes shifted onto her, the super personal thoughts floating through her head made her feel like she was wearing only her polka-dotted Wal-Mart panties.
“What’s a space ghost?” she grumbled, and Meredith smiled fondly. “My uncle has this thing for immature teenage guy TV. It used to be on one of those cartoon channels. Speaking of Uncle Will, I’d really love to call them soon.”
“Why don’t you?” Julia asked, feeling a tiny bit jealous that Mer had someone to call.
“I might sometime tomorrow.” And the sympathetic look her friend gave her made Julia realize her feelings had been sensed. Nice.
She frowned, bringing her hand up to the bridge of her nose. In the last two minutes, the headache seemed to have spread even further. Now her ears felt full, kind of like an earache—one that went all the way to the core of her head. Her sinuses stung, and the muscles of her neck felt swollen and painful, too.
She noticed Cayne was still watching her, so she dropped her hand before her fingers pinched her nose.
He leaned closer, a breathtaking vision with his close-cropped dark hair, vivid eyes, and chiseled lips.
He started to ask the dreaded question: “Do you have a—”
“No, I don’t,” she said, a lot wary and a little snappy. He propped his arms behind him and leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly.
Drew, sitting right beside the fireplace, swallowed a mouthful of s’more and tapped the House of the Gods – Zurich clipboard on his lap. “Julia, tell me if you have anything to add and we can break.”
She glanced at Drew’s wrist watch: 10:15 p.m. She’d had a watch when she’d left her house that night in the fire. It was plastic and retro and she’d really liked it. When had she lost it? She felt teary over that, too, but no way was she showing it; Cayne would want to know what was wrong, and a conversation with Interrogator Cayne would send her over the edge. She was going to tell him about her headache… Just not yet.
She pulled her mouth into a small, sheepish smile. “Could you remind me what we have?” she asked Drew.
“New information,” he said, brisk as a high school teacher calling roll. “The Chosen that survived the attack are thought to be in Alexandria, Egypt. The Swosen—private nickname,” he said with one finger over his lips, “do not acknowledge the mission of The One but would like to know if one of us appears to be The One. Possibly sketchy intentions, says Carlin, seconded by one Andrew Hollis, also agreed upon by Meredith Evans and… Cayne. On that note, a sacrifice conducted by The One was mentioned as part of the plan of The Three. No information currently known,” he said softly, pausing for a half-second, shooting her a funny little caring look before picking up. “There is something called a net. Cayne has heard of it. Supposedly put there by ‘heaven’ to keep demons away from Earth. History of wars between the three factions, as we all know. Swosen working with Nephilim. Eyebrows rose. Cayne does not know who but will confer with friend, André, who may know respected, non-Hunter Nephilim. Monte is a spy. I, for one, don’t trust Monte any less.”
“That’s a ringing endorsement,” Julia said.
“Let that be noted for the record. What I said, not what Julia said. Aaand, we have been invited to stay here if we are willing to sign away our firstborn children, cattle, horses, goats, and hens in these papers.” He held up his own folder.
“I don’t have anything to add right now,” Julia said—not because she didn’t, but because she felt faint from the pain in her head, ill from the pain in her heart, and super exhausted to boot.
“So first on our agenda: Keep Julia’s One-ness secret for the moment,” Mer said. “Second: Figure out the sketch show with Edan and get him back over here. You know, just in case Julia does get another headache.”
Meredith gave her a little nod, and Julia wanted to scream: Stupid Sensing!
“When did Edan say he would be back?” Cayne asked.
“He didn’t,” Carlin said, throwing up her hands. “We’ve already talked about his bullshit gout. It may be something more. I’m not taking up for Edan. I think he could be hiding something. But the most of it is he had the girl with him. You could hear her through the door. Some French girl. Disgusting little slut.”
“Carlin,” Drew gasped.
She stood up, brushing off the butt of her new, red silky pajamas. “I’m tired. I think I will go to sleep.”
She muttered something Julia couldn’t hear and marched off toward the girls’ bedroom.
“I guess I’ll go, too,” Mer said, dragging herself up off the floor. She’d changed into some hot pink sweatpants and a gray sweatshirt, and Julia thought she looked tired. “We can talk more in the morning. I hope they let us out of here, because I am so not up for another compound. Anyways, night, guys,” she said with a little wave. As she walked between Julia and the big, round coffee table, she touched Julia’s hair. “Come on J-Diddy. We’ll be three bugs in a rug.”
“Okay,” Julia said, grateful to get away from Cayne’s shrewd gaze. Yeah, her headache was everybody’s business as long as they were operating as a group, but maybe they shouldn’t be. If she was The One, it was her thing. Her mess. She would keep it hers a little longer. At least until she could decide how she felt about possibly confiding in Jacquie.
As if The Three were trying to send a message, when she started to stand, her legs buckled. Before she could trip or even wobble, Drew was behind her, his hands closing on her elbows.
From somewhere echo-y, she heard him say: “Totally saw that.”
“You sure you feel okay?” Cayne asked, skeptical. “You don’t look it.”
Julia laughed, a little wobbly. “Thanks, Romeo.”
Cayne whipped out the intense stare, which Julia decided to declare illegal the next time they were alone. “Julia,” he murmured.
“I’m fine.”
“You should get some sleep,” Drew said, bowing out.
Cayne stepped to her, brushing her hair back from her slightly clammy face, and she thought he would say something. But he just stood there, being all caring, and she felt terrible for withholding information from him. Also, just plain terrible; since she’d almost fallen and Drew had caught her, the pain had gone from a horrible pressure-ish headache to a neck ache to a chest ache, too.
She could feel it behind her ribs, like a slowly growing tumor swelling, pushing other things out of its way; as Cayne made her pulse thrum faster, even her heart seemed to hurt.
Cayne rubbed her back. “Let me walk you to your room.”
She waved him off, or tried to. “I’m okay.” He took her hand and she focused on not wobbling. “I’m tired. Missing Suzanne and Harry. I wish I could snuggle up with you,” she murmured, although it would be a strategic disaster because he might hear her moaning in her sleep.
But so would Mer and Carlin…
“Snuggling,” Cayne agreed. “It’s legit.”
He walked her slowly past the couch and an end-table where antique-looking books were displayed, along with a lamp topped with a leather-looking shade.
“I wish we were somewhere else,” she whispered.
“It’ll be better.” He kissed her, his face stormy, mouth pressed tight, like the subject was closed—or he couldn’t stand to think about it anymore. “Goodnight, my heart.” As he opened the door for her, she was surprised and warmed to hear the sweet endearment, and the thick emotion behind it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The sun was setting, and Nathan paused to watch it slip behind the horizon. Alexandria was to the northeast, far enough away that its resorts, its minarets, its hovels looked like a spec of light against the darkening eastern sky. If he was correct, the drive there would take them about an hour.
“Nathan?” EcKland—Daniel—was frowning. He was tall and fair-featured, with a ring of freckles that made him look like a gangly kid—even though he was probably nearing 30. “We ready?”
Nathan glanced past Daniel at the three Land Rovers, idling. Behind them rose what appeared to be a small pyramid. Only maybe 30 feet of it appeared above the ground, and there were no adornments to mark its significance: the original Sanctuary for the Chosen, kept hidden from the rest of the world through means Nathan could only guess.
It was tiny compared to the true pyramids, but underground it was far more vast; a hive of tunnels and rooms that, even a week after arriving, Nathan still couldn’t navigate.
EcKland waved. “Nathan? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, and EcKland recoiled, as if struck. “Sorry Daniel,” he quickly said. “I can’t control it, you know.” Since arriving at Egypt, many of the Chosen’s gifts had amplified; Nathan had always used his voice to command others, but now sometimes it stung like a whip. “And yes, I am ready. Let’s go. You drive.”
Four other Chosen were waiting for them in the modified SUV, and six in each of the other two.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Clarissa, a middle-aged Shepherd with short red hair, groaned. “EcKland’s driving. There goes any chance of this getting done without someone dying.”
“I could always knock you out until we get there,” EcKland threatened. His gift was putting people to sleep.
“Please?”
“What do you think boss?”
Nathan knew he should make a joke. His people were tense, anticipating the conflict that waited for them 4,000 miles north. He fastened his seatbelt. “Maybe you could tell us one of your water polo stories instead.”
“Shoot me now,” Gabby groaned. She was 22, a Shepherd with the gift of camouflage.
“Only if Nathan tells me to,” Clarissa joked.
“So this one time, at water polo camp…”
“I’m sorry I said anything,” Clarissa laughed. “You don’t have to punish everyone else.”
“Forgiven,” EcKland said as he pulled onto what passed for a road out in their patch of desert. They would spend twelve miles bumping across packed earth before they reached pavement.
“Does the driver get to pick the radio station?” EcKland asked.
Nathan pretended to consider, then said, “Maybe when we’re closer to Alexandria.”
He hated the radio. It reminded him of the differences between him and most of the other Chosen. Unlike them, he’d spent his whole life in the compound, so he’d never heard any of the pop songs growing up, and unlike Drew, who’d come to the compound even earlier than Nathan had, he had never been able to catch up.
He remembered when Julia has asked him, incredulously, if he had ever been to school. The look on her face still filled him with shame.
Nathan stared out the window, struggling to control his emotions. He couldn’t afford to indulge any of them. They were travelling to Alexandria, then to Switzerland. What happened there depended on Julia, and whether he could get her to agree to leave the rebel stronghold. If he couldn’t… Well, there would be a use for the hundred some odd Chosen who were, group by group, Land Rover by Land Rover, plane by plane, making their way to St. Moritz over the next few days.
Enough to infiltrate the traitors’ base, subdue them, and destroy their powerful, demonic allies.
Enough to capture…The One.
Nathan felt only dread.
Two days previous, Adam had made his report—not to Nathan, but directly to The Three. They had summoned Nathan, then, the first time they’d spoken to him since descending into their…Nathan could only think of it as a pit.
It was deep, and accessible only by a terrifying tunnel barely large enough for one person to walk through. The tunnel originated below a boulder in one of the incense-laden meditation chambers, where it was guarded by several of the compound’s fiercest and most gifted guards. Torches flickered along the pressed-dirt walls, and when Nathan walked, his gray shoes made a snickering sound against the floor, which grew damper as he traveled lower and lower. The path was all curves, but unlike the tunnels at the compound, which were designed for easy navigation—after one traveled them a while—these paths seemed designed to confuse.
When the tunnel spit Nathan out in a wide, square antechamber, his fingers ached from clenching his fists, and his mouth felt too dry. He’d beheld The Three before, but each time was as unpleasant as it was exhilarating.
Even standing in the empty, dirt-carved room, Nathan could feel their crushing power. Their unimaginable giftedness. Their raw might. He felt a thrill at serving such wise, beneficent beings; then the fear was back on him, and he had to force himself to move forward.
The only exit from the antechamber was a small, square hall; the ceiling came so close to Nathan’s head, it sometimes brushed his chestnut-colored hair. Dirt crumpled off the walls, forming small dust clouds he could see only by the light of an occasional torch.
After what felt like an eternity, he heard lapping water.
Déjà vu clawed at him, the familiar sensation of his mind racing in anxious preparation for encountering The Three—a preparation that was always wholly inadequate. A few more steps and he was at the top of a wide, flat staircase that disappeared in fog.
A little like The Three’s realm in the compound, this place threw his senses off; like there, he could see, against the room’s dim, amber light, the writhing reflection of water. But unlike at that place, here he couldn’t tell exactly where it was. There were stairs, and there was fog…and somewhere below, there must be water.
He took the stairs slowly and found himself thinking of Meredith. It was happening with more frequency, and over time a strong urge to learn of her wellbeing had built into almost panic. Had she made it safely out of the pyramid? He’d asked one of the guards, a pony-tailed woman named Elsbeth, if she had seen Mer among the dead; Edan knew she secretly thought Meredith’s antics were funny.
Elsbeth had told him no, but it wasn’t good enough. Not nearly.
Eventually the fog lifted, and the stairs ended at a flat, endless, jet black lake. Without the fog, he could clearly see the domed ceiling, stretching hundreds of yards above; the water, flat though it was, reflected off the hard packed dirt, squiggles of light that cast the vast room in shadows.
There was nothing in front of him. Nathan swore there wasn’t, but his eyes deceived him, because an instant later, The Three appeared, seated on their same, tiered throne.
The eldest was elevated between the left and right, his thin white beard rolling down the tiny stairs that led to his lofty perch. His eyes were as always lost in the wrinkles of his face. The brothers, on either side, looked almost as old. Their faces were just as lined, but they were able to see—they stared directly at him, their dark eyes unblinking.
Nathan bowed before them, kissing the ancient one’s beard.
“Is one a Shepherd if he loses his flock?” Morgah, the one on the left, asked suddenly.
&
nbsp; His voice echoed.
“But he has lost more than that,” Isiag, on the right, said.
“My brother speaks truth,” Morgah said. “Do you know what you have lost?”
And there was anger in his voice. Nathan had never heard it before; he had even thought The Three had somehow evolved beyond emotion, as he had rarely heard any inflection in their wizened voices.
But the heat was very real, and it terrified him.
“I…I don’t know what you mean,” he admitted. Most of the Candidates were dead or unaccounted for. It was a crushing blow. Nathan felt each lost personally.
“Shepherd Adam informed us that he located four missing Candidates,” Isiag said.
Nathan’s heart jumped. Meredith.
“Including The One,” Morgah intoned.
Nathan was thunderstruck. The One. “Julia.”
“Correct.”
He had suspected, but why hadn’t they told him? If he had known he wouldn’t have let her out of his sight.
“I will leave immediately,” he said. “I’ll bring them all back.”
“If you rush to correct your mistake, you will repeat it,” Morgah said sharply.
“She is among enemies,” Isiag said. “The rebels who work against us.”
“It was they who informed the Nephilim of our locations,” Morgan said.
“What!” Nathan gasped. He knew of the other Chosen; it was a popular rumor among some members, although he and the other Shepherds were always quick to quash it. “Are you sure?”
They were silent, and Nathan cursed himself. “I mean…what do you want me to do?
“You must assemble a force,” Isiag said. “You must find The One, and you must destroy those who oppose us.”
“Of course. Immediately.”
“Leave tomorrow. And Shepherd: Do not fail us.”
“I would—”
“You have!” The brother said at once, and their raised voices thundered through Nathan’s skull. He fell to his knees, clutching his head.