True Believers (20 page)

“No.” Rachel attached the necklace around her throat. She patted it as if to make sure it was secure.

The lights in the room sputtered and the air-recycling system cycled on and off. Gilgamesh flicked a hand toward a corner of the room, the simple gesture hurling anything not bolted down into a tidalwave of trash.

Jessit hoped his anger remained in this room alone. He couldn't afford to have his entire ship put at risk.

Gilgamesh snarled at Rachel. “Stupid!” A chair flung across the room. “And careless! You squandered your DNA on a mortal. When this is over, you
will
be punished.” He marched to the door and it opened without assistance.

Kalya, patient toad that he was, had remained outside to escort Gilgamesh to his shuttle. Jessit hoped the old priest didn't waste any time getting him off the ship.

Gilgamesh's words hovered in the air like ice crystals long after the Divinity left the room.

Rachel took Jessit's hand in hers. “I'm sorry, Taelen. But don't worry about Gilgamesh. He'll get over it. He knows I'm the only one to blame here.”

“I don't want him blaming you. I would have done anything to have you in my arms.” He pressed her against his body, unwilling to let her go. “Are you sure you will be safe when you lead Domino into the abyss?”

She smiled at him and pecked him on the cheek. “I'll be fine. The only thing that can harm my ethereal self is the com-web.”

“What happens to your body when your spirit leaves it?”

“Basic biology. It continues to function for a considerable amount of time. As long as its base needs are met, the body will live out its normal lifespan with or without my spirit.”

He shook his head. “We call that a
gulya.
A soulless body. I have heard of such creatures. I cannot think of a worse existence.”

Rachel patted him on the hand. “We like to keep our bodies for as long as possible. We have the ability to regenerate cells indefinitely.”

He arched a brow at her. “How old are you?”

Rachel laughed, the same musical lilt he loved so well. “I'm younger than you, Commander.”

“And you will live forever?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? Forever is a long time.”

“And Gilgamesh?”

“My father is more than ten thousand years old. The gods you revere so much, Anu and his followers, are at least a hundred times that old. Maybe more. I can see how you would mistake us for gods.”

“You are gods,” Jessit said in rote.

She shook her head. “Not me.”

Her hand rubbed the rough beard on his jaw before trailing down to his lymph gill. He didn't want her doing that. It would just lead them back to bed. Jessit took her hand and kissed it. “You are more divine than all others, and I will probably burn in hell for my sacrilege.”

Rachel shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. “You're not going to burn. You don't realize what I've done to you.” Her hands folded into his and she sighed a breathy shudder. “I tried to tell you the other day. I fused my ethereal DNA with yours.”

He shrugged. “I do not understand.”

She clutched at his robe, choking out the words in a hoarse whisper. “I made you one of us.”

Jessit didn't know how to respond. He studied her for any sign of teasing, but Rachel looked sick with worry. She was serious.

“One of…you?”

She looked away guiltily.

“You are mistaken. Nothing about me has changed.” He flipped his hands palms up, then down. “See?”

Rachel traced her fingers across his jaw. “I'll admit, I wasn't sure how our mating would affect you.” Her mouth curved into a nervous smile. “I didn't want to hurt you.”

“It did not hurt.” He pressed her hands to his chest. Again a warm ember inside him ignited, reminding him of the bliss they shared.
That wasn't godhood. It was love.
And the overwhelming ache that came with loss.

No matter what happened next, he was losing her, and he was never going to get her back.

Rachel pressed her lips against Taelen's cheek. He held her but didn't kiss her back.

Why did it feel so final? It was as if he was cutting her out of his life. Surely they'd see each other a few more times before he returned home.

To keep up appearances, Taelen didn't escort her to the shuttle bay. Gilgamesh barely spoke to her either. Dahlia would meet her at a safe house where Jacob's contact would see to her welfare. Rachel's only task was to meet Paul in the murky deep of Lake Michigan as soon as he reached his destination.

A nervous officer approached and presented a thick folder of maps and landmarks. She'd need those in order to make a precise landing. But she dreaded the thought of going underwater. Even if her ethereal self couldn't drown, it still gave her the creeps.

It was daylight in the desert, and the shuttle that transported her left as soon as she was safely inside the house.

Dahlia greeted her with a wide grin. “Cousin! You're alive.”

Rachel walked past her, examining the house. “Sorry to disappoint you, Dahlia.”

“Don't be silly. We were
all
worried about you.” Dahlia grabbed her by the arm and twirled her around. “But tell me about outer space. What does the Earth look like from the deck of a spaceship?”

“Why don't you project yourself out there and find out?”

Dahlia cursed her. “You're so cruel! I find it hard to believe any man would want you.” She pressed her hand against Rachel's belly but Rachel jerked away. Dahlia cackled a laugh. “Uncle said you were coming into season. But you don't seem very warm to me. Not like I am.” She lifted her blouse and rubbed her abdomen.

Rachel rolled her eyes. “You're an idiot.”

“I am not!”

“Only an idiot wants to be a brood mare. Is that what you want?”

“It'll give me power. Power over men. Influence over gods.”

“Obviously delusional as well. Despite what Gilgamesh has told you, we are not gods.”

“We were,” she cried, stamping her foot. “We were gods. Apa and Uncle were gods. They said so.”

“That was a long time ago. The world has changed.”

“You're wrong. The world hasn't changed. Mortals are still weak, and we still live forever.”

Rachel looked at Dahlia with new eyes. She was a child with a raw hunger for power. Dahlia wanted the Alturians. They were her ticket to a new world order, an order that would elevate her as a god to billions.

Rachel wanted nothing better than to shake the collective Alturian consciousness and make them understand they worshiped a myth. Impossible. How do you convince children so willing to believe in fairy tales?

The humans were a lost cause. When Paul destroyed the com-web, her clan would descend upon the humans like jackals. No longer would the Nephilim be content to remain invisible. But she could still protect the Alturians by becoming the one thing she hated.

She turned away from Dahlia and spread out her maps and digigraphs on a low table. “Do what you want with the humans, but the Alturians are mine. Mess with them, and you'll answer to me.”

“I'm not afraid of you.” Dahlia kicked the edge of the table.

That wasn't all she was doing.

Rachel felt the buildup of static electricity and threw up a force field, bouncing Dahlia's energy against her. The teenager fell backward, hitting her head on the table.

“Hard head. Hard knock.” Rachel stood over the girl, her hands perched on her hips.

“Still not afraid, little cousin?”

Dahlia cursed her as Rachel helped her up. “I don't need the Alturians.” She pouted, jerking her hand away once she was up. She flounced toward the kitchen, turning long enough to stick her tongue out at Rachel. “I like your friend, Paul anyway,” she yelled from a safe distance. “Maybe I'll just take him. Again.”

Rachel felt the blood rush to her face. “Dahlia, no! You didn't? Not Paul. He was—”

“Yours?” The ends of Dahlia's mouth turned upward into a cruel jack-o'-lantern grin. “Can't have them all, cousin.”

How dare she rape him?
She knew damn well what it would do to his soul. And for eternity!

Rachel's face flushed with heat and she blinked back angry tears. “He was my friend.” She lunged at Dahlia, but the girl jumped back. A fragile force field blanketed her. Dahlia wasn't going to let herself get hurt again.

Dahlia flicked the curved ends of her hair and rolled her left shoulder. “He makes a better pet. You should have bedded him when you had a chance. He really wanted you.”

“You're a mean bitch.”

“Not that mean. I made him think I was you. It was the only way he'd make love to me.”

There was an air of regret in Dahlia's voice, a young girl's yearning. She wanted Paul to love her. And the only way to get him was to pretend to be someone else.

Rachel closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. He probably thought it was nothing but a dream. Someday, she'd have to tell him otherwise.

There was nothing she could do for Paul's soul, but she could still protect his mortal body. Her gaze fell on the stack of maps and photos.

She hadn't been to Chicago in years and she'd certainly never been to the bottom of Lake Michigan. These files were all she would have to find her way around.

Many of the digigraphs were underwater shots. It was hard to make out anything distinguishable. Trash and sunken boats all looked the same. She imprinted the gray murky images to memory. She was going to need those underwater landmarks if she ever hoped to find Paul.

Dahlia slunk away. Despite her adolescent bravado, there was a part of her that yearned for acceptance.

What did the girl know about life or love? Even Rachel was a poor example. She was just as confused, wanting a man who could never accept her as a woman first.

The hours passed in silence. By midafternoon there was still no word from Paul.

The quiet deafened her. Where was he?

Dahlia walked into the living room when she heard the tire crunch of gravel outside. “That's probably your messenger.” Dahlia picked up one of the digigraphs and studied it.

It sounded like two cars to Rachel. “Go and see who it is, Dahlia.”

Dahlia scrunched the digigraphs in a fist. “Answer your own door. I'm going to the tunnels and wait for Gilgamesh.” She stalked off in a huff.

The girl held a grudge.

Rachel ignored her, consumed with a vague feeling of apprehension, as if something was out of balance. They both heard the crunch of gravel yet no one had come to the door. Rachel decided to check when the front door burst open, followed by the back door. Soldiers in desert cami surrounded her like sand crabs on a corpse.

From everywhere in the house she heard the same hard echo from different men. “Clear!”

One lone figure entered last. Rachel recognized him. Colonel Chavez.

“Where's the other one?” he barked at his soldiers.

“Sir! This is the only person in the house, sir!”

“Search again. There should be a young girl here. Find her!” Chavez motioned to one of the soldiers. A shiny silver crucifix tinkled against his watch when he flicked his wrist in Rachel's direction. She stared wide-eyed at the totem. It was more than a crucifix. The Templar Knight's crest lay embedded in the center of the cross.
A hunter.
Sworn by the Catholic Church to hunt down and destroy the abominations of the world.

That list included the Nephilim.

Officially, the Papacy regarded the Nephilim as an ancient race long extinct, but that's not what they believed in private circles. Gilgamesh and her kin were testament to their relentless pursuit. That's why the Nephilim remained hidden all these years. If the Alturians pronounced them as gods without taking them under their protection, they'd be slaughtered. The Catholic Church used every means at its disposal to hunt them down. They'd been doing it for more than two millennia.

A soldier slapped a pair of handcuffs on to Rachel's wrists, snugging them until they were tight. Rachel glanced around the room. There were so many of them.
Too many,
she cursed to herself.

Colonel Chavez came up to her and impaled her with something along the side of her neck. She yelped when the needle-sharp tines plunged deep into her flesh. She tried to take it off but Chavez forced her bound hands down with the barrel of his gun. In his other hand he had what looked like a trigger.

“Uh, uh,
bruja.
Try anything funny, and you'll find this plug has an unpleasant side effect.”

“What are you talking about?”

He motioned her out the door with his gun. “Let's go, Dr. Cruz. Someone wants a little chat with you.”

***

The drive back to the compound was unmercifully quiet. Two huge slabs of flesh sat on either side of her, while Colonel Chavez sat in front. No one else had followed. Rachel took a casual glance out one window and then the other. If she was going to get away, this was her only chance. There were four of them. She could handle four.

She decided to start with the electrical system of the truck. Once the truck came to a stop she could dispatch the rest of them. The device on her neck made her itch, but she tried to ignore it, concentrating on the truck. She vaulted one bolt of energy at the ignition, but the arc never left her body. For one split second she seized in agony, the pain so sharp it stole her breath. Rachel crumbled to the floorboard, shrieking in pain.

The truck jerked to a halt. Rachel writhed on the floorboard, screaming. The pain stabbed her, ricocheting inside her body like shards of glass.
What just happened?

One of the guards dragged her back up on the seat. Chavez put his arm on the headrest and turned around with a grin. The tiny crucifix on his wrist danced in front of her field of vision.

Her skin rained with sweat. It felt as if she'd been stabbed in the heart. An icy swarm of pinpricks assaulted every inch of her body, while a thin trickle of saliva dribbled down her chin past numbed lips.

“I told you I had your number this time,
bruja.
Your tricks won't work now. You've been hot-wired to the com-web. And this…” he showed her the trigger in his hand, “…is the remote. I can roast you any time I want.”

It felt as if her insides had been raked with hot coals. How the hell did they find out about her? And who could have told them that the com-web was their Achilles' heel? Denman was her first suspect, though it seemed impossible to believe. A mule couldn't disobey his sire; they were hardwired to comply, or so she believed. Gilgamesh had told her stories about the first human uprising against the Nephilim ten thousand years ago. It began with a mule, one of Gilgamesh's spawn.

It took all her strength to keep from fainting. She had to stay awake. She had to find out who betrayed her.

The rest of the trip sped by in a haze. Every cell in her body was on fire. And any attempt to repair the damage only inflicted more pain. The device had to have been on a feed loop, a conduit capable of funneling her energy and throwing it back at her. She was a prisoner inside this wounded flesh, unable even to flee.

She took little gasps, her chest too tight to allow a full breath. Her mind raced for options. If they knew about her, they had to know about Paul. Was he walking into a trap? Rachel's gaze fell to her lap, where tiny drops of blood splattered on her dress. She was crying blood.

She stared at her dress in shock. Things were far worse than she thought.

Once more she entered the fortress, but this time she could barely manage a step. Rachel's legs crumpled underneath her. By the time they got to General Sorinsen's office they were dragging her.

Sorinsen sat behind a grand mahogany desk. Rachel stared up bleary-eyed at an old man with a tattooed scowl. He seemed a bit surprised to see her and more than a little annoyed.

“What the hell did you do to her, Colonel?”

“She tried thunderbolting us, sir. She did it to herself. The energy wave fed right back into her. She started bleeding soon afterwards.”

“Get something to wash her face. I don't want Jessit seeing her this way.”

Jessit?
Was he here? Rachel tried to turn her head but everything hurt. She muttered a groan. A soldier came up and wiped a wet rag over her face.

The door shut behind her, and all she could see were the two officers. Sorinsen snapped his fingers at Chavez, signaling that he wanted the remote. Chavez slapped it into Sorinsen's hand.

Rachel flinched as if she'd been struck. Sorinsen had the look of a prosecutor at the Spanish Inquisition. She swallowed and shut her eyes. She was never going to survive his torture.

So many things filled her head. There were so many promises broken, so many regrets. She was an immortal, but not while she wore this permanent cattle prod on her neck. She laughed at the irony, a muffled croak that sounded as if she was gagging on a piece of meat. It hurt to laugh. It hurt to cry, too.

Rachel thought of Jessit. Did he play a part in her capture? No. That was her mind playing tricks on her. She was ashamed to have even suspected him. It had to be Denman. He may have been Gilgamesh's son, but he was CIA first. And he didn't like her. What better way to rise to power than to deliver a would-be god?

Sorinsen dismissed Colonel Chavez with a nod. Chavez saluted, sliding out like an eel. The general waited until they were alone once more before rising and hobbling over to Rachel. He motioned to a guard to put her on a chair, while he sat at the edge of his desk and studied his prey. His face looked drawn and yellow with sickness, but he wore the glare of an assassin. His fingers fondled the small toggle on the remote.

Rachel watched in mute horror. She didn't want to die, not like this.

Sorinsen seemed to read her mind. “You won't die yet, Dr. Cruz. I need you alive a few days more.” His chest wheezed like a rattling tin can.

She blinked her eyes in a feeble attempt to respond. Whether he understood it as such she couldn't tell. He continued to torment her by rolling the remote end over end in the palm of his hand. Her eyes locked upon it, knowing it held her death.

“Interesting, isn't it?” Holding it between thumb and forefinger, he moved the device closer to her so she could see it. It was no bigger than a garage door opener with two tiny buttons and one protected toggle switch. She was close enough to touch it but she was too weak to try.