Saved and SAINTified (74 page)

A
few people looked around, talking and nodding their heads. His newly hired interpreter leaned over and whispered, “Some of them knew of your grandparents. Some know your father. They didn’t know you were his son.”

Saint
nodded.

“You can thank Beset Muhammad for this.”
The whispering abounded now. “If it were not for her, I doubt this would have ended as well, not without a miracle. She risked her life to help you.” After the interpretation, the crowd began to clap.

“You all have been suffering under the cruel hands of
Nizsm. We are
all
Angel Children. No one, except our Creator, has the right to rule over us and determine our destiny. These rules should not be in place. Your freedom shouldn’t be contingent upon whether a little girl is born every two to three hundred years. I want you to rule
yourselves
. Let the Creator be your governor. I don’t want power over you.”

When
the man spoke in Arabic to the crowd, the grumbling began, coupled with obvious confusion.

“Some of you don’t understand. You deserve to be free
, on your own. You have a right to make your own choices, form your own opinions. I want you all to organize your own council. I want you to organize your own government, and appoint people via voting! You the people will decide who is in charge! I will order this into law, and it will be the last one I pass.”

Applause broke out.

“My wife did in fact give birth to the Princess of Life, my daughter. Your suspicions were correct that she had been born, despite Nizsm trying to keep you from the truth and wishing death upon her. However, I will be asking her permission to ban this procedure. This isn’t right. I want you all to never be in this position again and no father, no daughter, should have this sort of pressure on them. She deserves to have a normal childhood, and I,” Saint shrugged his shoulders, “I just want my little girl. I don’t want power and prestige over people, to run your lives and every move. I only want my family and my career—that’s all that matters. This dictatorship and you all living in fear, it ends now!”

T
he crowd went wild, cheering, stomping and dancing.

“There is nothing in divine law that states that this is the way it should be. These rules were made by man and when initially done it was to help keep civility, but just the opposite has happened. It has backfired due to greed. The original forefathers and foremothers, our Egyptian Angel
Child Ancestors, did this to maintain order and peace. They were good men and women. They did not fathom that the karmic rules would not be abided by and worse of all, ignored and abused. Well, no more. We won’t take a chance on that again. Make your own Parliament. I will assist you and I have the utmost faith that my daughter, Isis, will approve everything I am saying. Start getting yourselves together, brainstorming and strategizing. I vote this approved. You are free!”

More applause broke out
and the people scattered about, most of them, ambushing him with plentiful hugs and kisses. Saint politely pulled away from the overzealous crowd.

“I must leave. I will leave contact information with
...” He looked at the smiling man beside him.

“My name is Aahil
,” the man offered.

“With Aahil, here.” And with that,
Saint exchanged information with the man, who grabbed him abruptly and hugged him. Saint struggled against his grip, smiling sheepishly when the man finally released him. “Aahil.” He took his arm. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Yes, yes, of course!” he nodded happily, tears streaking his face.
Saint started to walk away, only thoughts of getting home on his mind. 

“Dr. Aknaten
.”

Saint
turned back toward him.

“You saved our lives!”
The man’s voice trembled.

Saint
smiled weakly, waved in acknowledgement then took off running from the damned place with all of his might.

****

Some time later...

“Do you have everything now?”
Jagger grunted as he escorted Xenia back into the kitchen.

“Yes, thank you.”

She’d stated she needed to use the restroom and it had to be her own private bathroom—the one she and Saint shared exclusively. Though the request was odd, he didn’t delve too deeply. Shrugging, he figured anyone in love with Saint had to be an oddball themselves, a very beautiful oddball she was, nevertheless.

He couldn’t help but envy
Saint as he looked at her playing with their children. It was obvious she was nervous, darn right scared to death, but she saved face for her children’s sake. He admired her luscious, full lips, toned but curvaceous figure outlined under the clinging fabric of her gown. He knew his thoughts were inappropriate, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want Xenia for himself; he was simply admiring the man’s tastes. Saint had himself a winner. He saw the adoration for her husband in her eyes.

He smiled inwardly, happy that he now had a chance to feel what Saint and Lawrence did. Slowly but surely, his relationship with Traci was growing. It was still difficult for him, but her award winning personality and zest for life made it so much easier. He had finally admitted, at least to himself, that he had a thing for all women—sistas included. Saint had him pegged the first day they met and though Jagger didn’t enjoy being put on the spot, he did appreciate the man’s straightforwardness. He also had a good eye; Traci was no wallflower or anything to snub. Saint had expensive taste in items and ladies, and he always made sure he
suggested
the best to his closest friends and family.

They hadn’t consummated the relationship yet—Jagger was working on it, but he also wanted to make sure his heart was all right beforehand, because he knew, once they did that, it wouldn’t be just fucking, it would be making love. And to him, that was serious.

She was different than all the rest he’d met over the years. He hadn’t been in love since the ex. Now, all that was changing…

Jagger was suddenly thrust out of his thoughts when h
e felt a glare from across the room. The younger boy—his scorching golden eyes glowed as if they were powered by a yellow gas flame, just like his father’s. A disconcerting smirk appeared on the lad’s face.

Deaf mute
... sneaky little bastard.
Jagger smiled.
I’ve never seen one this young before. Nothing strange about him in the least ... looks like an ordinary little kid. But cha gotta watch ’em, they will throw you off guard. Psychic crooks and telekinetic escape artists—you can’t block ’em once they reach maturity, but they can block you easily.

He felt the magnetic pull as Dakarai tried to play hopscotch with his thoughts. He was breaking in, and
Jagger hated it. So he concentrated with all of his might, hoping that with the special wall of mental static he’d built, the mute would become overly-exerted, and he’d seek other prey.

His plan worked. Dakarai turned away, apparently bored with the game
Jagger was playing, not because he couldn’t win, but because his attention span was rather low. Jagger had to admit that he, too, was a little jealous of the power Dakarai had, although he’d never admit it out loud. It seemed that his weaknesses were leveled out by this rare skill. He’d never grow up and be like his daddy, but he had
this—
this one card to play, time and time again, and what a creepy, yet beautiful card it was...

****

Saint fidgeted nervously in his seat on the plane. He tried to not bring too much attention to himself, and he’d already been held up in customs.

Fuck! Let’s go already!
He looked around and out the window frantically, as if that would somehow make the plane taxi down the runway faster. He felt helpless again ... just like when his mother came to him in a dream all those years prior, warning him that his Queen was slated to be murdered. He’d raced from New York to California, but now, he had less control. He was in a totally different country and the slightest mishap would have him delayed yet again. He sulked, leaning back into his seat.

Osiris’ energy
, heavy and dark, stayed with him—the man was in bottomless bereavement. Nizsm’s family had gathered his and his son’s dead bodies, as well as his incapacitated wife, and taken them from the room. Nizsm was put him into a separate room, lain amongst flowers. None of that would matter—Nizsm was going to hell and everyone knew it. He’d broken too many karmic laws, disobeyed their Creator time and time again, and shamed the Angels that had created him, in love. Worst yet, his remaining children would be tarnished from the ordeal. No amount of flowers, kisses, tears and pleading would save his tattered soul. He’d get the same treatment he’d given others and the same forgiveness he’d bestowed—absolutely none.

Saint
sighed with relief when the tremble of the airplane increased as it picked up speed. Settling in, he closed his eyes and said as many prayers as humanly possible...

****

Beset coughed. “I must go the bathroom.” She smiled sweetly at Lawrence.

“Again? Ms. Beset, we need to stay here.”

“I know, eh, but some things I forget, eh? I ask forgiveness...” Lawrence got up for now the fourth time and escorted the woman to the bedroom.

All was quiet when they returned, until a burst of cool air entered the room. I
t howled, as if it had lips and vocal chords, and touched everyone with a chilled, icy finger. Xenia sat up suddenly with a grim expression, all fears set aside. Everyone looked at Dakarai, depending on him as he opened the floodgates of hidden communication. He peered into the distance at the foyer—toward the front door.

“
Oh no,” he whispered. “Tha bad men are here, Mommy.” He turned and clung to his mother’s legs, tears welling in his large innocent eyes.

****

Saint gritted his teeth, closing his eyes as he concentrated with all of his might. He held the little brown book with the Archangels in a tight grip.

Come on, come on, come on! Help me!

He could feel the energy at his home; things had gotten terribly out of control. Provisions were in order, but not being there was tearing him apart. Jagger felt like a black hole. Lawrence’s adrenaline was so high, he was barely readable. Xenia was so close to the children that all of their energy was intermingling and Isis was the only calm in the storm. The innocence of babes...

God
, I am not sure how this is supposed to work, but I read ... shit!

He started over again.

God, please help me. If I did this right, I need to know.

Saint
reflected back to before he’d left the house. His reading had caused him to do things that he felt were unheard of but after meeting Beset, he realized that sometimes the truth was stranger than fiction. Just as the book had said, sacrificed blood could invite who you needed into your home. Saint had intentionally cut his finger several hours after Isis was born, in sacrifice for her—for her and for the rest of his family to be protected. He’d left a drop of his own blood in every single room of the house, almost undetectable to the naked eye. He had been compelled, driven to do it, though he felt slightly insane for following his instinct at the time.

His blood was the invitation, to serve in his absence until he could be there in the flesh.
He knew that when he’d left, the possibility of attack on his friends and family was more probable than not, and he wouldn’t dare leave them there without a contingency plan, something to help until he was able to get back into the house, but he hadn’t said one word. He kept it to himself, so they’d be protected and unreadable.

He took a deep breath, and started over
.

Please send help to my house
. I left my calling card—the directions are clear. Go into the rooms where my blood is spilled and protect all inside. I’ve been trying to reach my family, and I can’t. I need help!
Mama, please send help!

Just a little while longer. Let my plan work, it has to work!

He shook with worry, deathly afraid he’d be too late. He just needed to borrow some time, just a little time, and he’d pay a hefty price to have the clock slow down. He didn’t care; he needed someone there to help protect the protectors. He knew, when he’d looked into Nizsm’s eyes as the light dimmed while his life force drained, that the malevolent man’s spirit lived on in his sons.

They were more soulless than he, if that were even possible, and had an axe to grind.
Saint had stolen their inheritance. They would be ruling in the future, were it not for him—and Isis’s birth ruined what would have been their natural birth right. Nizsm swore revenge and that is why the man had
almost
died with a smile on his face ... he’d
almost
felt safe, knowing his demonic seed was on the loose, creating mayhem in the Aknaten household. Foolishly, however, Nizsm hadn’t kept them around to help him with Saint—he’d thought he had that on lock.