The Belial Origins (2 page)

CHAPTER 1

One week ago

Beverly Hills, California

G
erard Thompson stood in front of Elisabeta Roccori’s desk. They were in the office of her Beverly Hills home. White baroque furniture dominated the room, blending in nicely with the pale carpet and pale walls. Gerard knew that the color of the walls and carpet was not actually white, but a color called Falling Snow. Elisabeta would never go for something as common as white.

French doors to the right provided a view of the pool that had been inspired by Elisabeta’s Venetian home. Gerard was careful to stand to the side of the doors so as not to obstruct the view.

He had just finished reporting on the condition of the Fallen who’d been injured by Jorgen Fuld. The man was healing, but at a normal rate—a human rate.

The thought of it still chilled him. What could possibly do that? They were Fallen: impossibly strong, agile, and able to heal wounds that would kill a mortal man in mere minutes. And yet somehow the wounds inflicted by Fuld were immune to their healing.

Gerard had never thought it possible. And he didn’t like the lickings of fear that stirred in him. He was used to creating that fear in others. Feeling it himself was not something he planned on getting used to.

He watched Elisabeta leaf through the financial reports of one of her holdings. Her head was bent, dipped in shadows, making her olive-toned skin, a gift of her Greek heritage, even darker.

Elisabeta was the heir to the Hindland Corporation and was on the board of over a dozen Fortune 500 companies. But her long line of titles and business accomplishments paled in comparison to her most important and most unknown title: Samyaza, head of the Fallen angels.

She appeared to be the consummate businesswoman—confident and in control. She made notes in the margin of the paper, acting as if Gerard’s report on their brother hadn’t rattled her.

But Gerard had seen the fear slash across her face when they had confronted Fuld yesterday. Elisabeta had recognized him immediately, and had ordered all of them out—while keeping her distance from the man. She knew who he was—
what
he was. And she was scared.

Elisabeta glanced up, raising an eyebrow above her dark eyes. “Is there something else?”

Her dark hair was pulled back in a chignon, which only seemed to accentuate the smallness of her eyes. But those eyes held a world of knowledge—an eternity, really—and absolutely no softness.

Gerard hesitated. There was one other bit of information he had picked up, but he wondered if he should even mention it. It hadn’t been completely vetted yet. He glanced at Elisabeta. Not for the first time her eyes reminded him of a crocodile’s. No compassion, no feelings—just pure predator. He didn’t like to think, though, what would happen if he kept the information to himself and later learned that it was important.

“There may be,” he said.

Elisabeta waved impatiently for him to get on with it.

“In Egypt, in Saqqara, there were reports that Jake Rogan was shot.”

Elisabeta turned her attention back to her reports, flipping to a new page. “Yes, yes. I remember. But it turned out those reports were inaccurate. Rogan was fine.”

“Yes…” Gerard drew out the word. “But we’ve uncovered some emails from Chandler Group employees from around the time of the event. They report that Rogan was killed.”

“A miscommunication.”

Gerard hesitated. “I do not think so. Chandler is not known for making mistakes, and this was a large one. And there are reports that an older woman was with the triad in Egypt.”

Elisabeta focused on Gerard, and her eyes narrowed. “An older woman?”

Gerard nodded. “She had white hair and was only seen from a distance. But she stayed behind with Rogan after Chandler and McPhearson left. Then she flew home with Rogan and Patrick Delaney, dropping them off in Tennessee.”

“Where did she go after that?”

“It’s not clear. She seems to have disappeared. And we have no other reports on her.”

Elisabeta leaned back in her chair and watched Gerard for a long time. He began to grow uncomfortable under her gaze.

“Our people in Egypt reported that Niall did hit Rogan, correct?” she asked quietly.

Gerard nodded. “Yes. Niall took the shot, and he is an incredible marksman. According to him, he got Rogan in the middle of the forehead. It
was
a kill shot.”

Elisabeta twirled the pen in her hands, her eyes staring off past Gerard. “But Rogan was alive and well a few days later.”

Gerard nodded. “Even if Niall had been off, he still hit Rogan—and yet there was no sign of injury by the time he got back to the States. He should have had some injury.”

Elisabeta looked away. “What do you make of this?”

“I don’t know. Rogan is human—I am sure of that. But it
is
unusual, and I thought it should be brought to your attention.” He paused. “Do you have any idea what it means?”

Elisabeta began to smile slowly. “It means, my dear Gerard, that an old friend has come out of hiding. And she will be the reason we fulfill our true potential. Our
original
potential.”

CHAPTER 2

Baltimore, Maryland

Present day

D
elaney McPhearson picked up the stack of books and carried them over to the bookcase, where she shoved them onto the shelf with more force than was necessary. The renovations of the library at the Chandler School had been completed a few days ago. Laney had taken it upon herself to re-shelve the books.

Crossing the room, she impatiently swatted at a piece of red hair that had come loose from her ponytail. She picked up another stack of books from the box by the door and headed for the shelves again. A book teetered on top of her stack, then crashed to the floor. Laney leaped back just in time to avoid it dropping onto her foot.

Damn it.
With a growl, she placed the books on the shelf and snatched the offending book from the floor, then slammed it down next to its friends.

“Have those poor books insulted you in some way?” Jake asked from the doorway.

Laney glared at him over her shoulder. Normally the sight of Jake leaning against a doorway had the ability to pick up her heart rate and bring a smile to her face. Standing over six feet tall, he was a gorgeous specimen of the male of the species. But today, even the little flip in her heart at the sight of him couldn’t cut through her mood.

“No. I’m just cleaning up.”

Jake stepped into the room. “Right.”

Laney ignored him and grabbed another stack of books.

Jake placed a hand on her arm. “Laney.”

She looked up into his deep brown eyes and read the concern there. She placed the books back on the table and leaned against it. “Sorry. I’m just—” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He stepped in front of her, trapping her legs between his. “You’re just royally pissed off that Victoria pulled another disappearing trick.”

Laney felt the annoyance boil up in her, taking its place right alongside the feeling of rejection. “She said she needed to speak with us. That it was urgent—fate of the world urgent. And then she calls to say we’ll talk in a week? What the hell is that?”

Jake pulled Laney forward, wrapping his arms around her, but Laney stayed rigid. “That’s Victoria. And you know she probably has a good reason for doing what—”

Laney pulled back, stepping out of Jake’s embrace. “You know, I’m getting really sick of hearing that—even if I know it’s true. If her reasons are so good, why can’t she share them every once in a while?”

Jake looked like he was about to answer her question, but then seemed to change his mind. “Well, she’ll be back tomorrow—if she keeps to her word. So what should we do in the meantime?”

Laney shook her head. “Having stuff to do is never a problem.” Which, sadly, was true: with the Chandler School to run and Fallen to track down, idle time was never really a concern.

And ever since they’d gotten back from rescuing the kids from Grayston in the Grand Canyon six weeks ago, they’d been even busier than usual, trying to figure out the best living situation for each child. Laney knew that all of the kids who were grabbed would eventually develop some abilities. Most were Fallen; some were nephilim. So how and where they were raised became a critical question.

Luckily, most went home; but some of the home situations were—in a word—problematic. So those kids were placed in foster homes—foster homes that Laney and Henry had personally vouched for and that were within driving distance of the school. When the kids were a little older, they would come here and go to school.

In fact, Laney had plans to offer
all
of the children places at the school when they were old enough. It just seemed like a good idea that when the kids came into their powers, they would be around other people who understood, and who could help them.

But the kids hadn’t been Laney’s only focus. She, along with Jake and the others, had also been trying to track down Samyaza. A week ago, Victoria had said that Samyaza was a female—that was right before she pulled her disappearing trick. Since then, Henry had managed to narrow the possibilities down to two: a German politician and an Italian heiress.

Laney’s money was on the latter. She couldn’t say why. There was just something about the woman’s picture. And not just the entirety of the woman. To be honest, Laney was basing her assessment on a single attribute: the woman’s eyes. There was not a trace of warmth in them.

But they couldn’t get conformation that this woman was Samyaza, because Victoria had disappeared. And Laney couldn’t understand it. Whenever Victoria had stepped away in the past, it had always been to track down something. But this time was different. This time they had no idea what she was off doing.

Laney looked at Jake. “I just don’t understand. What could be more important than the fate of the world?”

CHAPTER 3

Springfield, Illinois

V
ictoria stood with Ralph underneath the large maple a short distance from the rest of the mourners. There were at least three dozen men, women, and children braving the rain to pay their respects to Vicki.

A tremor ran through Victoria as she watched her niece place a rose on the coffin. Vicki had named the girl Emma. She had Vicki’s hair and blue eyes. Her brother, Shawn, helped her back to her seat. Shawn looked more like Vicki’s husband, but from reports, Victoria knew the boy had his mother’s sense of humor.

The reverend stepped up next to coffin. “Vicki Shelton lived a life filled with love. She had a heart that many benefited from, and she seemed to have an incredible amount of luck. Perhaps now she’ll be a guardian angel for someone, in the same way that her guardian angel looked out for her.” A few mourners nodded.

Victoria gave a small smile at the words.
She
had been that guardian angel. She had watched Vicki and her family grow up from afar, providing money and security for them when she could.

Two months ago, Vicki had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It was a lucky fluke that they even discovered it. Vicki had fallen down a flight of stairs, and the doctor worried she might have fractured a rib. The x-ray revealed no fracture—but it did reveal the tumor.

When Victoria found out about it, she immediately wanted to rush to Vicki’s side and heal her. But reality superseded sentiment—Vicki’s cancer was advanced. A recovery at that late stage would have drawn media attention—which in turn would have drawn the Fallen. Vicki’s whole family would have been placed in danger.

And Victoria knew in her heart that Vicki would not want that.

Vicki held on as long as she could, but Victoria’s informant at the hospital told Victoria a week ago that the patient would not last much longer.

Victoria dropped everything.

And for the past week, Victoria had slipped into Vicki’s hospital room late each night—just to hold her hand. Vicki never regained consciousness, but for Victoria those moments brought her unfathomable joy. She was with her sister again.

Under the maple tree, tears rolled down Victoria’s cheeks. Ralph handed her a tissue without a word, and she nodded her thanks.

They stayed under the trees for the next thirty minutes as Vicki’s family and friends paid their respects. Vicki had had a lot of people in her life. The line for the viewings at the funeral home had been out the door.

Ralph leaned down. “She was well loved, your sister.”

Victoria nodded, but emotion wouldn’t let her speak.

Finally, the last of the mourners departed. Victoria watched the final few cars pull away and drive out through the gates of the cemetery. She turned back to the grave as the cemetery workers, who had been waiting, moved forward to begin Vicki’s final descent.

Ralph took Victoria’s arm. “Come.”

He led her over to the grave. He handed her the umbrella as she paused next to the coffin.

Ralph walked over to the workers. “Could you give us a minute?”

The two men glanced at Victoria and nodded. They walked back to their truck.

Ralph turned to Victoria. “Take your time.”

Ralph walked off through the tombstones, giving Victoria a private moment with her sister. But she knew he wasn’t far away. He never was.

Victoria looked at the dark mahogany coffin covered in red roses; this wooden box that held her sister’s body. The memories of their time together swam through her mind—swimming at the lake, talking under the blankets with flashlights long after they should have been asleep, popcorn fights in the kitchen. She smiled even as the tears flowed.

Vicki, and the memories of their time together, had been a balm for Victoria through the cold lonely years. Even just knowing Vicki was somewhere out there made Victoria feel less alone. But now Vicki was gone, and the world was a colder place.

She stepped forward with a trembling breath. “I love you, Vicki.”

“Hello?” a voice called from behind her.

Victoria wiped at her tears and turned as her niece Emma walked slowly up the aisle between the assembled folding chairs. Emma stopped to pick up a purse that Victoria hadn’t noticed in the front row.

Victoria’s heart pounded heavily. The girl looked so much like Vicki.

Emma stepped up to her, searching her face. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Victoria stepped back from the grave. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to pay my respects to your mother.”

Emma stepped in front of her, blocking her way. Victoria’s breath caught as she stared into eyes that looked so much like Vicki’s.

There was a tremor in Emma’s voice when she spoke. “All my life my mom has said that her sister, Emma, was her guardian angel. That she was the one looking out for her—and for us.”

“That’s a nice sentiment,” Victoria said, trying to school her features.

“I grew up hearing all about her sister—all the crazy things they did.”

Victoria looked away. “Yes. They loved each other a great deal.”

Emma caught Victoria’s gaze and would not let her look away. “My mom never believed her sister died—even when my grandparents did. She knew she was out there. She said she would feel it if she were gone. She also said there must have been a good reason why Emma left; she believed that one day, she would see her again.”

Victoria put a hand to her mouth. Tears sprang to her eyes.

Emma continued. “When I got older, I began to look into all those ‘guardian angel events,’ as we called them—Shawn’s and my acceptance to Harvard with full scholarships, the medical bills that magically went away, all that help that always seemed to arrive just when we needed it. Someone was looking out for us. It was you, wasn’t it? Aunt Emma?”

Victoria couldn’t say anything; shock held her in place.

Emma gently grasped Victoria’s arms. “She never forgot you. Never stopped loving you. And I know you never stopped loving her.” Emma wrapped her arms around Victoria. “Thank you for all you did for her. For us.”

Victoria went stiff at first; then gradually she returned the hug, feeling grief wash over her again. Emma held her while she cried.

Finally, Victoria pulled back.

Emma reached up and wiped away her own tears. “Would you mind getting some coffee with me? I’d like to tell you about my mother.”

Victoria grasped her niece’s hand. “I would like that very much.”