Fire Prophet (Son of Angels) (18 page)
Jeremiah was already asleep in Jonah’s bed. Jonah carefully crawled in beside his brother and lay on his side facing the wall. Jeremiah pushed himself up against Jonah.
The warmth that the closeness brought sent Jonah, in spite of his worries, into a fitful sleep.
Jonah stared down into a bowl of colored-marshmallow cereal, lifting a spoon to his mouth. Slowly his eyes focused in on the old wooden table, then the kitchen off to his right. He suddenly realized he was home, in Peacefield. But he was sitting at the breakfast table alone.
“Help me . . .”
Turning his head toward the voice, he saw a flicker in the den, the only light in the otherwise darkened room. It was coming from their old television set. A snowy image was coming to life.
He rose from the chair and moved closer to the source of the voice. Leaning down toward the television, he strained his eyes to see the blurry image on the screen.
A rusty, red door came into view, the edges outlined by faint light.
“Help me . . .”
The voice was coming from behind the door. As Jonah leaned even closer to the screen, the scene moved forward, toward the door and the voice. It was growing louder.
The red door slowly opened into a dark room. Shadowy figures were standing around the walls. He was unable to see their faces, but he felt the cold evil that was present there.
The voice was the loudest here. The scene on the television moved closer in, through the room, and Jonah saw that the voice
belonged to a woman. She was sitting in the middle of the room, tied to a chair. Her hands were bound to the armrests, her feet were tied to the chair legs, and a piece of duct tape covered her mouth.
Her eyes were closed, but somehow Jonah knew that she was alive. And even though she couldn’t move her mouth, the voice clearly came from her.
The sudden sense that Jonah knew this woman, or had at least seen her before, jolted through him like an electric current. He was only inches away from the screen when she looked up, opening her eyes.
A multicolored scarf covered her long dreadlocks, pulling them away from her face. Her gold earrings flashed in the light. Jonah took a deep breath.
It was the street preacher from Chinatown.
She beckoned him closer with a jerk of her head, as if she could see him through the television. He was entranced by the burning urgency in her eyes. She was trying to tell him something . . .
He blinked, and suddenly he was back in his bed. Another dream. And although the image faded away, the unsettling anxiety of it lingered.
She needed help. That much was obvious. But two more things became clear to him as he sat in the darkness, listening to his brother’s heavy breaths beside him. She not only needed help—she needed
his
help. He had the unmistakable sense that he was the only one who could save her.
The second thing he felt was just as real, just as intense. He had to help her for his own sake. Somehow he understood that the survival of the quarterlings and everyone else he knew and loved depended on it.
“And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous— to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.”
Luke 1:17 TNIV
J
onah quietly pulled his jeans and his sneakers back on, trying not to wake David and Jeremiah. He shuffled through his book bag until he found what he was looking for. Pulling the gleaming silver watch onto his wrist, he latched the metal clasp underneath. Studying it in the dark, he touched the button on the side. It lit up, a simple, elegant display of the time. It read 2:42 a.m. Nothing more, which brought a frown to his lips. He shrugged, unsure of the help he might get from the device. Tiptoeing to the door, he glanced back. Neither David nor his brother had moved. It was just as well. He didn’t want to put them at risk. He was sure that wherever he ended up, it would be dangerous.
The hallway was quiet, as were the steps to the third level. He tried to walk as lightly as he could along the wooden floor. In spite of the occasional creak, he made it to Eliza’s room without much noise.
He rapped lightly with his knuckle.
“Eliza!” he whispered as loudly as he dared, glancing back and forth down the hall.
He heard the sound of feet hopping from the bed onto the floor. The door swung open, and to his surprise, Eliza stood, dressed in jeans and a pink T-shirt, with a backpack on her shoulders.
“Hi,” she said. “I thought that might be you.”
Jonah looked down at her clothes. “Looks like you were expecting me.”
She stepped forward, pulling the door shut and shrugging her shoulders. “It was weird. Something woke me up, just a few minutes ago. I had this overwhelming feeling that I needed to get myself ready. That tonight you and I were going to find the person with the voice.”
Jonah squinted at her in the darkness. In the past year he had come to have a new level of respect for his little sister. No matter what happened, she always seemed to surprise him.
“That is weird,” he said, “because I just had the most vivid dream I’ve ever had about it all.” He quickly walked her through a description of the rooms he had seen in his vision, how hard it was to walk, and the encounter with the woman. “When I came to the last room, there were people around the edges, covered up in darkness. I don’t know who they were, but they weren’t good guys, let’s put it that way. But the most important thing is that I finally found out who the voice belongs to.”
Eliza leaned forward. “And . . . ?”
“The street preacher in Chinatown. It’s her.”
“The African woman?” she asked. “She saw us in the hidden realm, or at least we thought she did . . . Why do you think you’ve been having visions about her?”
Jonah answered her slowly. “I’m not really sure.”
“She’s more than just a preacher on a street corner. The visions, her seeing us in the hidden realm, her voice . . .” Eliza cocked her head and looked him in the eye. “Do you think she could be a prophet?”
“What I know right now is that she needs our help,” he said as they began to walk down the hall. “Somehow, she has been . . . calling out to me or something. But there’s something else, that I felt so strongly after my dream.” He pulled the door open to the stairwell. “She’s going to be able to help us too. And we’re definitely in need of some help right about now.”
“No kidding,” she said as they bounded down the steps. “You know we need to talk to Camilla about this, right?”
He smiled back at her. “Where do you think we’re headed right now?”
“Absolutely not. You may not leave the protection of this convent.”
Camilla’s face had remained cloudy as Jonah shared with her his visions and dreams about the voice. Eliza told her about how she believed this woman was a prophet, and how she needed help and just might be able to help them too. The angel had listened with her arms crossed, but now stood looking out the window, seemingly taking an interest in the scene outside.
“The wall is still holding strong,” she murmured, almost to herself. The fallen angels were loitering around, still waiting.
It crossed Jonah’s mind that Camilla looked weary for the first time he could remember. Her face wrinkled in a way that reminded him of the human disguise he had seen her in so many times, an aging, elderly woman.
“Mrs. Aldridge?” Jonah said, to remind her that they were still here.
She snapped her head back toward them. “That’s final. No more discussion about it.”
“But—” Eliza began to protest.
Jonah grabbed her by her arm, knowing they couldn’t say anything to change the angel’s mind. “Come on, Eliza. You heard her.”
He pulled her back to the doorway with him, and then turned toward Camilla again. “Is she a prophet, though? Is that right?”
Camilla nodded, still watching through the window, her voice soft and low. “Yes, dear. A prophet of Elohim.”
He wanted to ask her more, but now clearly wasn’t the right time.
“So that’s it?” asked Eliza, glaring at him as they walked back down the hallway. “We’re not going to do anything?”
Jonah was unable to keep a slight smile from crossing his lips. “I didn’t say that, now, did I?”
They quietly walked toward the back of the convent. Marcus stood with his back to them, guarding the rear door. They were able to slip by him and down the short hall to the right. Jonah walked along the wall of the stained glass windows until he came to the one he wanted.
The image of Christ emerging from the tomb. He glanced at Eliza, putting his finger to his lips. Reaching up to the handle, he pushed. Silently, the window swung open. A rush of New York City air blew inside.
“I found this window earlier,” he whispered. “I had no idea it would come in handy tonight. You go first, Eliza. I’ll give you a boost.”
He put his hands down low.
She sighed and rolled her eyes, but nodded, stepping on his hands. He pushed up, and seconds later she disappeared through the window. Jonah pulled himself up with his angel-strength, and with ease he fell through the window and out into the darkness.
T
hey crouched down low and leaned back against the brick wall of the convent, blanketed in darkness.
“The only thing we have to figure out now,” Jonah said, “is where we’re going.”
Jonah looked down at the large face of the silver watch on his wrist. It still read the current time, with beautifully scrolled hands, but nothing more.
“The MissionFinder 3000 that Marcus gave you last year,” said Eliza. “It’s not telling us anything?”
“It was a nice help to us back then,” Jonah said, remembering how it had led them to New York in search of their mother. “But I can’t seem to make it turn on.” He shook it on his wrist, as if that would cause it to give him the exact location of the prophet. “How do you work this thing?”
“You know what Marcus said. These are usually given only to angels,” said Eliza, twisting Jonah’s arm so she could see it. “The
mission comes down from his commander, and the coordinates are embedded in the watch.”
“Well, we’re sneaking out, genius,” whispered Jonah, “so I don’t think that’s going to help us.”
“But maybe we can get the coordinates from someone . . . higher up,” offered Eliza, ignoring his comment. “Even higher than the angels.” She raised her eyebrow at her brother.
Jonah understood what she meant. “It’s worth a try.”
Jonah bowed his head and began to pray quietly.
“Elohim, You are in charge of everything. You know what’s happening outside of this place right now. If this is truly a mission of Yours that You are giving to me and Eliza, please show me right now where we are supposed to go and what we are supposed to do.”
“And sorry for disobeying Camilla,” Eliza threw in, peeking her eyes upward.
Jonah narrowed his eyes at her.
“Can’t hurt.” She shrugged.
