Demonic Designs (To Absolve the Fallen) (46 page)

“I...don’t think I can.”
 
Dylan was also gasping for air.
 
“That one...took all I had.”

“Try,” the demon ordered.

Dylan fell to his knees next to the fallen hunter and pulled out a pocket knife.
 
He looked up to Jeremiah for a moment, then slashed the palm of his left hand.
 
It stung, but he’d felt worse.
 
He placed his hand on the prophet’s wound and began a process Abbie had warned him he should only perform in the direst of circumstances.

“I can...command my own blood...easier,” he informed Jeremiah as he felt his blood pour from his open wound into Garrett’s.

“Is that safe?”

“No....
 
But if you want him to live...”
 
Dylan felt himself getting lightheaded.

“His body won’t reject your blood?”

“My blood...uni...versal...donor...,” Dylan explained.
 
His eyes were getting heavy; his breathing was slowing.

“That’s enough,” Jeremiah said.

“Little...more,” Dylan replied.
 
He was focusing all of his strength to keep his hand on Garrett’s shoulder.
 
That little bit required both arms and all of his concentration.

“No,” Jeremiah ordered.
 
He grabbed the prophet around the waist and carried Dylan, nearly unconscious, out of the library.
 
“Let’s not forget he tried to kill us.”

Dylan was able to walk with some assistance out to the car.
 
Jeremiah opened the passenger’s side door and put the prophet in the seat.

“Are you going to be all right?” Jeremiah asked.

“Yeah,” Dylan verified, as he looked into the review mirror.
 
“But we should be going.”

Jeremiah looked behind him and saw the flashing lights of the police headed in his direction.
 
“Right,” the demon agreed.
 

He got into the car, turned the ignition, and peeled out.
 
He flipped open his phone and dialed a number.
 
After a couple of rings, Dylan could hear someone answer on the other end.

“Chief Woolsey, immediately!” Jeremiah demanded.
 
After a few seconds, the prophet could hear a deeper voice on the other end.
 
Jeremiah looked at a street sign as he passed it.
 
“Joe, it’s me, and you need to be fast.
 
I’m on 42
^nd
street.
 
Get your boys off of me.”

The cops were getting closer; one was trying to pass Jeremiah on the left.
 
Presumably, to attempt to force him off the road.

“If you don’t want them to die,” Jeremiah said to the person on the phone, “you’ll do it, now.”

Jeremiah took a ninety degree right turn at sixty miles per hour and lost the one trying to pass him.
 
“I’ve still got one,” he shouted into the phone.
 

As if in confirmation, Dylan spotted the cherries in the rearview turn onto this road, too.
 
Jeremiah was keeping out of range, but he hadn’t lost it.
 
Jeremiah was passing cars in the wrong lane, weaving in and out of traffic, but the officer was still in pursuit.

“Joe,” Jeremiah warned, “I don’t want to have to shoot one of your officers, but this is grating on my nerves.”

Dylan was watching the police car behind him, when he saw it turn off its light and slow down.
 
At the next intersection, it turned.

“Thank you,” Jeremiah said and snapped his phone shut.
 
“About time.
 
Are you still doing all right, Dylan?”

“Yeah.
 
I’m a little weak, but I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” Jeremiah replied.
 
“I have an appointment that I must attend, but it won’t be for about three hours.
 
You rest now.”

“Okay,” Dylan agreed wholeheartedly.
 
He closed his eyes and felt himself get dragged into unconsciousness.

***

“Okay,” Matt said.
 
“Do you think you’ll be all right?”

They were standing in front of the building that the speech and drama classes were held in.
 
Alex was a little nervous.
 
He hoped they wouldn’t ask him to give any speeches today.
 
Actually, he’d prefer not to have to give any speeches at all.
 
That, however, did not seem very likely, considering that it was an integral part of his calling.

“I won’t be too far away,” Matt added, sensing Alex’s concern.
 
“And remember: this is college.
 
If you need to leave, then leave.
 
No one will even bat an eye.”

“All right,” Alex agreed.
 
“But, if you get a call--”

Matt laughed.
 
“If you call me out of class, I’ll find you.
 
Don’t worry.
 
I don’t expect anything to happen today.
 
Oh, and I took the liberty of picking something up yesterday.”

“What?”

“Well, since we’re both Nisus fans, and they will be touring through here in a little under two weeks, I decided to get us some tickets.”

Alex’s heart jumped.
 
“Really?”

“Yeah.
 
And I got backstage passes.”

“Oh my God, Matt!
 
We’ll get to meet the band?”

“I’ve already met them,” Matt explained with a grin.

“I should have guessed,” Alex huffed.
 
“Does Jeremiah own Nisus, too?”

“No,” Matt said.
 
“But Lonny Talbott...Let’s just say you have something in common with him.”

Alex’s eyes went wide, “You mean he’s--”

“Right,” Matt interrupted.
 
“His music has quite a draw, doesn’t it?”

Alex shook his head.
 
“I should have known.”

“Well, Mr. Kinsfield,” Matt added, “have fun in Speech.”

“I’ll try,” Alex replied.

He walked into the building, still thinking about what Matt had told him.
 
Initially, it had surprised him that Lonny Talbott was a prophet, but, after Matt had explained it to him, it made perfect sense.
 
Alex began to wonder who else might be a prophet, who else had amazing abilities that could only be explained by divine intervention.

As he entered the classroom, he realized he was still kind of early.
 
Most of the desks were empty.
 
He decided to take one toward the back of the room.
 
Maybe, that way, he could avoid any conversation on the first day of this class.
 
He took a seat in the middle of the row, also to keep from attracting attention, and pulled out a tablet of paper, a pen, and the textbook for this class.
 
He had questioned Matt about having a textbook for Speech; it seemed a little superfluous.
 
How much could he possibly have to learn about the subject that he would need a book for it?
 

He had opened it and was flipping through the chapters when he saw who he assumed to be the professor walk in.
 
The man was about average height, and he was rotund—but only in the stomach.
 
It looked like he had an inner tube underneath his tacky Hawaiian shirt.
 
His hair was gray and thinning, and he wore his glasses on the end of his long nose.

Alex looked at his schedule and saw that the professor’s name was Collins.
 
Dr. Collins swaggered over to where one young lady was sitting.
 
She didn’t even seem to notice him until he started pontificating in her general direction.
 
Then, she looked up at him and nodded and smiled nervously.
 
Dr. Collins laughed a high-pitched and obviously fake laugh and walked back around his desk, where he proceeded to shuffle through papers in his briefcase.

Alex went back to looking through the book.
 
He was reading, in chapter six, about the power of anaphora.
 
The book used Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech as an example.
 
The repetition of the phrase, “I have a dream,” served to drive a point home to all of those who heard the speech.
 
Like a refrain in a powerful song, the audience could not help but be reminded that there was a greater theme within the speech.
 
And later, after the speech had achieved the desired effect, those four words would always stand for hope and determination.
 
Alex was fascinated.
 
This was the kind of thing he would have to master if he were to manipulate the hearts and minds of the people who would listen to him.

Then, she walked in the room.
 
Alex knew it before he even looked up to see her.
 
When he did, though, he was again drawn to her beauty.
 
It was the girl who kept catching his eye.
 
Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, just like the first day he saw her.
 
She wore a tight red UNLV t-shirt and pale blue jeans.
 
She looked like she wasn’t sure whether or not she was in the right classroom.
 
Dr. Collins noticed, and he was all too eager to help.
 
He looked at her schedule and smiled.
 
She was in the right room.
 
Alex smiled, too.
 
Dr. Collins motioned for her to sit down, indicating the front row.
 
She nodded.
 
But she didn’t sit in the front row.

Instead, she walked to the back of the room.
 
In fact, she sat two rows to the left of Alex.
 
The two of them had eye contact for a moment, and then Alex looked away.
 
Alex desperately wanted to talk to her, and since Elizabeth was proving to be a disappointment, the temptation became stronger.
 
He took his cell phone out of his pocket and checked the time.
 
There were still ten minutes before class started.
 
He took a couple deep breaths, started stuffing things into his backpack, got up, and moved to the desk right next to her.

She, of course, noticed the gesture.
 
“Hello,” she said, smiling at him.

“I’ve seen you around campus.”

“And I’ve seen you,” she returned, looking back to her schedule.

“I’m...”
 
Alex caught himself.
 
“I’m Tom.
 
Uh...Thomas Kinsfield.”

He stuck out his hand, then pulled it back, realizing how stupid it looked—and how stupid he had sounded.
 
If he were to become a leader of men, he was going to have to learn to be a little more suave.

She looked at him and the hand he had retracted, and she giggled a little.
 
“Well, Thomas Kinsfield, it’s a pleasure to have met you.”
 
With that, she stuck out her hand.

Alex’s eyes widened.
 
He didn’t know if she was being sincere or if she was mocking him.
 
He had little choice, though.
 
He shook her hand, and they both laughed.

“I’m Jessica Smith.”

“Is this your first semester?”

“Yes,” she replied.
 
“Does it show?”

“Uh,” Alex considered, measuring his words, “only a little.”

They both laughed again.
 
Alex could not get over how blue her eyes were.
 
They seemed almost otherworldly.
 
They captured Alex’s attention, and he could not keep from looking into them.
 
They were cold, and they were in complete contrast to her face, which seemed so soft and delicate.