Retribution, Devotion (32 page)

Six months later, in a hidden location in St. Louis, Missouri
. . .

 

The sound of keys clicking from the rapid typing of a young woman, dressed in casual jeans and a simple red shirt, sitting in front of a computer fills an old university library full of books from around the world. Her mendi-covered hands and gold-painted tipped fingers spark with electricity. She flips her ponytail over her shoulder then glances around giving orders. A small band of people, three young men, walk around in a hustle, with cell phones to their ears, while a tall young male with markings on his arms speaks to individuals on large monitors in a wall. In the middle of this flurry, a woman with thick loose-coiled hair upon her shoulders and glowing amber eyes stands surrounded by cameras, and lights.

Her caramel-toned skin glows in an ethereal luminescence. She rolls her shoulders, her lush, plump lips moving while she speaks to herself as if reciting. In her left hand is a blade, which appears to resemble that of silver and liquid diamond, fused together; she places it on a matching chain and it lies between her bosom. On her jean-clad thigh, she nestles a silver gun, once carried by her lover, a man who awakened her and brought out her true destiny. Determination sparkles in her eyes. She gives a warm smile at a woman with a short, asymmetrical bob haircut and matching outfit. The tips of her hair are the color of her mismatched jade eyes. Her nails sparkled, reflecting the lights around them and she stands to the left of the woman. On her wrists are two silver axe bracelets that match the woman's next to her. They stand strong as warriors as they address the screen.

“Start transmission.

“Sometimes life doesn't always tie up in a perfect ribbon. A lesson I have taken with me on the start of my journey in learning and growing into my destiny. The battle against the dark, the Cursed, has given us many wins, but we lost so much more. The Darkness, those individuals I've just only began to understand, the Cursed, have found a way to even make what I thought was our triumph against them into their success.

“From our battle, a fraction has occurred between the Light Nephilim, who were in support of the wrong old ways. This fraction is with those who finally woke up and saw the taint that was spreading in the Council and bourgeois Light Nephilim Society. Those of us who know the truth, who recall the true ways, are at attack. We are at attack for standing up against the wrongs done in Society. So much has occurred in a small gap of time because of it and I now realize how deeply rooted the Cursed hands are in destroying all that is Light.

“Our battle made us lose my cousin and his true heart. My power was too unskilled to bring them back fully though they have changed. I had no idea that the Shroud was capable of resurrection, but it was me, not being fully in my birthright that caused it to malfunction. For now, we work with the blessing we were given from it, their deep, healing sleep.

“They are hidden away in safety from both sides of the Light and Dark, who have put a bounty on our heads for going against the grain. They act as additional sources of power that guide us all. I watch their dreams. I see how one's true gift as a first-level oracle mends itself with my cousin's Mystic healing gift, giving the remaining ragtag rebels and me clues on how to fix what has gone so wrong.

“Yet, everything is still so wrong.

“I did not expect this separation to occur. It was not planned for the House of Dusk to truly turn into an underground movement. However, it has with the arrest of my love, the Sin Eater reborn, High Prince Khamun with that of his right and left hand, the Gray Prince Marco and Templar Knight Lenox. Everything was turned against us in the end. Those surviving Council members and Nephilim Dignitaries, who were already against us, formed a strong alliance. A Shadow Council bent on preserving the pure blood of the Nephilim race and cast out all Gargoyle races with those of us who carry the human gene. We thought the battle would expose them and wipe that evil out but like festering cancer, it only spread. With help from within, we have learned that a Shadow Light Council, who are nothing but puppets for an enemy worse than we had previously battled is contesting High King Omari and High Queen Neffer's rights. This must be stopped.

“The Snake. The creator of the original sin. He and I will come face to face and his acts will be handled. He took my love and part of my family. He secretly claimed the open seat to hell and now is going after the seat to heaven on earth.

“I know his plan because it worked once before, and because of that, he has already failed. He cannot have me and even though he has put a bounty on my head, and is using old world laws to try to strip the royals of their power, he will not succeed. He forgets that I am no longer blocked. With the ending battle, my memory of who and what I am has been restored and yes, I must continue training.

“With studying the books of our history and unlocking the second book, I dedicate myself to helping our people. I must continue seeking out the knowledge and resources I need to prune out the darkness in the light. I am the Oracle. My words are not dripped in lies, as the Shadow Council will have you believe.

“This is truth! This is real talk!

“My power comes from the One and his son. I am the mortar in the foundation, the hope in the teachings, and the true final component to the spiritual Trinity. I am His mouthpiece. I was there when the One Son, the true Sin Eater, sacrificed himself and became the teacher, the symbolic father to the first angel-made Sin Eaters.

“Because of that, I know the secret to ending the snake that crept into Paradise. Balance will return and innocents everywhere will be protected from harm; this is my word and destiny. So it is back to the basics. I now seek out my new teacher, a man who helped us bring down the Cursed.

“It is him that we need to help us revive an enemy and her other protector. Like all games in chess, we need the opponent's pieces to continue this never-ending battle and this time we will use the upper hand we have in better use.

“In these words, is my vow to all humans and Nephilims around the world. With my Protector and the rest of the surviving House of Dusk at my side, the journal of the first Sin Eater will lead me to the lost Archangel, and he will lead me to specific knowledge that I need to strengthen our goal. It will also lead me into awakening the Sin Eater and oracle DNA in all that carry the spark. However, first, my objective, my primary vendetta, is against the Shadow Council and the new leaders of the Cursed will begin with fair exchange and an eye for an eye. Their blood will flow.

“The game has changed and Gray's network is now up. This is a call to all rebels who live in the gray and who battle against the Dark. The Light has fallen and it is up to us to shake the system. We are the true children of the Light. All nations, all creeds, we stand against those who chose to oppress us. We will prevail as true children of the Light.

“When the Light and Dark are at war, sometimes the Gray can be the only salvation. This is what we were born and trained to do. Protect the innocent as all cost. That includes ourselves. So I will say it again: it is back to the basics.

“We will do what the Shadow Council won't. Nephilim of every rank, guard the innocent but stand with your fellow Immortals, Slayers, and Gargoyles. Pick up the mantel of Warrior, as you once were when the Houses were founded. This fight is for us all. It will not be easy and a bounty is on those who stand against the new Council.

“As the Cursed would say, ‘What is lost is what is taken and what you lose is what we take.”

“It is time we give that back to them. We are the Gray and fair exchange is no robbery. Balance is our mantle and we will heal what was broken, no matter how long it may take.

“I am the rebel and a Sin Eater. I am the House of Dusk. I am the Oracle.”

“This is my journey and my entry into our own chronicles. Stand with me.”

“End transmission.”

The Oracle walks away and stands over the sleeping bodies of her beloved cousin and his long-lost love, peeking into their dreams as the Shroud glows like a cloak, healing, and changing the pair's bodies. She leans down and whispers her thanks for giving her more clues to her mission, and she lets her power encompass them, hiding them from the world until it is time for them to awake.

 

 

The sound of a doorbell ringing loudly interrupted the Medusa from flipping through the pages of a leather-bound book given to her long ago by a beautiful woman she had met as a child. She always found herself reading it, discovering new stories written in it about a rogue Nephilim team, around this same time. Now, the pages had her mind filled in confusion with hope and happiness. She minimized her Internet browser, which displayed news pictures of Chicago's many deaths after the fiery pruning of the Nephilim and humans by the Cursed. One click, she turned off her laptop as Miguel crooned “Adorn.” A knock at her door drew her attention.

“Sweetheart, your father said get to the main house; you have a visitor. I hope it's not about that car accident you got into while going to the courthouse. Messing up your father's car like that over a kitten in the road,” a lilting, accented voice said.

“Ain't this a biscuit! Momma, you know how I am about cats,” she said.

“Yes, I do flower, now do as I said and get to the door. I have food on the stove about to burn!”

The soft-decibel laugh of her mother seemed to give her a healing balm she always needed. Slowly pushing off her bed, she gingerly headed to the living room at the main house. Familiar aches down her back kept her pace in control. The weather was blazing in Houston today, the heat advisory warned everyone to stay in, but for her family this meant a barbeque, especially since she was celebrating her twenty-eighth birthday. This life was a blessing and her mind traveled back to the trapped woman in the wall of her book.

She wondered if the woman would be saved because something about the chick made her heart go out to her in sadness as did her many dreams. The sound of the doorbell going off again had her rushing to the main house.

“Hello, can I help you?” she asked shielding her dilating eyes from the sun. Eyes her friends used to tease her about for looking reptilian. The brief whiff of male hit her hard, making her step forward in desire.

“Yes, ma'am, are you Nydia Randal? I'm the owner of the car you hit downtown at the courthouse. I wanted to get your insurance information together since I'm only in town visiting, shawty.”

She gawked at the strange accent; a fusion of New York meets New Orleans triggered something familiar in her mind. Eyes the color of jade grass glanced down at her, studying her with a knowing understanding she didn't get. Brotha was fine. Chocolate with deep-set waves in his fade that formed a faux hawk. She swore she saw different swirling tribal designs cut into it, but she had to be wrong because it was nothing there. Rugged laced-up black boots with dark jeans that fit him like a man should be fit, not sagging but not tight, covered his long, muscle-thick legs and thighs. He wore a simple black vest, dark gray button-down shirt with rolled up sleeves and a black beater peeking from under the unbuttoned gray shirt.

She licked her lips and glanced up at the man who was around the same height as her father. A pair of pearly fangs flashed at her in a smile. Fangs that marked him a Guardian Nephilim. His presence, his height, build, and electric flash in his pupils had her stepping backward and opening the door wider. She stared hard, noticing a jet-black business card that had the words: Templar & Co. International. Nephilim always recognized each other in subtle ways, by the Society House crests on their doors, or in small differences in their auras. In this case, it was that smile and the name of the company that triggered something deeply within her.

This man had just called her out. The quickening of her heart made her nervously push her long braids over her shoulder. She anxiously moved to the side, opening the door wider to watch him smoothly step in. There seemed to be a quiet knowing in his jade eyes that had her muttering, “Call me Fatima.”

And she heard him croon, “
C'est si bon,
bae'bay. I'm Calvin. Happy birthday, Fatima.”