Chosen (11 page)

“Please fill these out and I’ll be by tomorrow morning to get them,” Krista said.

Julia was probably imagining it, but she’d thought the woman’s eyes had lingered a second too long on hers.

“Wonder what this is?” Mer mumbled when the woman left.

Julia scanned the first page; it looked kind of like something you’d fill out for school or an after school job.

“Name, birthday, home address. Family,” she said, although the paperwork said
parents
. “Phone and e-mail…” Nothing looked out of the ordinary until the back of the page, which was marked ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ and filled with questions like:
Do your parents have any unusual abilities? Does anyone in your family feel that they are unique or unusual? Have you ever been able to do something other people say is impossible?

“It’s like a screening quiz for possible Chosen,” Mer said.

“Check the next page,” Cayne said.

Please describe your unique skills, with no detail omitted, including age of onset, intensity, frequency, and your ability to control the ability.

“Um, who’s omitting details?” Julia said. She raised her own hand, hiding a wince at the horrible, pressure/pain it caused inside her head.

“Age of onset?” Carlin scoffed. “It’s not the…how do you say…? Chicken pox.”

“This must have been Monte’s paperwork,” Drew said.

“Must have,” Mer muttered.

“I’m leaving it blank,” Cayne said. “You should, too,” he advised Julia.

“At least until we talk to Jacquie,” Carlin added.

Julia was almost finished with the first page when her pen—which turned out to be a fountain pen—leaked all over her palm, and then Drew went all Super Sleuthing Drew and Cayne joined in, and she was sidetracked by a big debate about the Swosen and their motives and whether they were trustworthy.

Le sigh.

Yeah, it was an important question, but Julia was getting totally tired of thinking about these things. Dwight had been a big fan of that TV show
The Walking Dead
, and that’s what her life was starting to seem like. A bunch of strategizing, a bunch of trying not to get killed and contemplating the enemy and discussing odds and scenarios…and not the World of Warcraft kind. The kind that could get you killed. She stuffed one of the s’mores, still hot because of the unearthly blue flame below the platter, into her mouth and shut her eyes, grateful for a few seconds of freedom from the headache-inducing light of the flames.

The fireplace reminded her of late fall, deer-hunting season, Harry’s venison sausage. They’d smoke some and fry some, and that smoky smell would fill the room, and she and Harry and Suzanne would stuff their faces. Then they’d pad off to their rooms, and Julia would push her window open. Through the little screen, she would smell the pines outside her window, hear the gentle roar of downtown Memphis traffic several blocks away.

She gritted her teeth, because remembering that
hurt
. It hadn’t been so bad when Samyaza had been after them. When everything seemed tame compared to a massacre in Salt Lake City and a young family dead at the dinner table in California. When all she’d burned to know was why her birthmark had cost her so much. But everything was different now. Even Samyaza was gone. It seemed impossible; and she had helped Cayne do him in.

Other than wondering whether she’d be used as some kind of freaky human sacrifice, all she had to do now was sit around remembering, she thought bitterly; they weren’t even supposed to leave their room. And when they could? What would they do? What would
she
do? Her headache had started feeling different; instead of the old ache that was both dull and sharp and seemed to come from everywhere, now her head felt like a balloon on the end of a water faucet. Pressure—so much pressure. Like it might burst.

If Edan was telling the truth, it would come back after every time he healed her, and it would get worse every time.

 “Spaaace Ghooost,” Meredith said in a low, dramatic voice, and sparkly fingernails were snapping in Julia’s face.

She felt a kick of alarm, not because she’d been caught off guard, but because, as everyone’s gazes shifted onto her, the super personal thoughts floating through her head made her feel like she was wearing only her polka-dotted Wal-Mart panties.

“What’s a space ghost?” she grumbled, and Meredith smiled fondly. “My uncle has this thing for immature teenage guy TV. It used to be on one of those cartoon channels. Speaking of Uncle Will, I’d really love to call them soon.”

“Why don’t you?” Julia asked, feeling a tiny bit jealous that Mer had someone to call.

“I might sometime tomorrow.” And the sympathetic look her friend gave her made Julia realize her feelings had been sensed. Nice. 

She frowned, bringing her hand up to the bridge of her nose. In the last two minutes, the headache seemed to have spread even further. Now her ears felt full, kind of like an earache—one that went all the way to the core of her head. Her sinuses stung, and the muscles of her neck felt swollen and painful, too.

She noticed Cayne was still watching her, so she dropped her hand before her fingers pinched her nose.

He leaned closer, a breathtaking vision with his close-cropped dark hair, vivid eyes, and chiseled lips.

He started to ask the dreaded question: “Do you have a—”

“No, I don’t,” she said, a lot wary and a little snappy. He propped his arms behind him and leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly.

Drew, sitting right beside the fireplace, swallowed a mouthful of s’more and tapped the
House of the Gods – Zurich
clipboard on his lap. “Julia, tell me if you have anything to add and we can break.”

She glanced at Drew’s wrist watch: 10:15 p.m. She’d had a watch when she’d left her house that night in the fire. It was plastic and retro and she’d really liked it. When had she lost it? She felt teary over that, too, but no way was she showing it; Cayne would want to know what was wrong, and a conversation with Interrogator Cayne would send her over the edge. She was going to tell him about her headache… Just not yet.

She pulled her mouth into a small, sheepish smile. “Could you remind me what we have?” she asked Drew.

“New information,” he said, brisk as a high school teacher calling roll. “The Chosen that survived the attack are thought to be in Alexandria, Egypt. The Swosen—private nickname,” he said with one finger over his lips, “do not acknowledge the mission of The One but would like to know if one of us appears to
be
The One. Possibly sketchy intentions, says Carlin, seconded by one Andrew Hollis, also agreed upon by Meredith Evans and… Cayne. On that note, a sacrifice conducted by The One was mentioned as part of the plan of The Three. No information currently known,” he said softly, pausing for a half-second, shooting her a funny little caring look before picking up. “There is something called a net. Cayne has heard of it. Supposedly put there by ‘heaven’ to keep demons away from Earth. History of wars between the three factions, as we all know. Swosen working with Nephilim. Eyebrows rose. Cayne does not know who but will confer with friend,
André
, who may know respected, non-Hunter Nephilim. Monte is a spy. I, for one, don’t trust Monte any less.”

“That’s a ringing endorsement,” Julia said.

“Let that be noted for the record. What
I
said, not what Julia said. Aaand, we have been invited to stay here if we are willing to sign away our firstborn children, cattle, horses, goats, and hens in these papers.” He held up his own folder.

“I don’t have anything to add right now,” Julia said—not because she didn’t, but because she felt faint from the pain in her head, ill from the pain in her heart, and super exhausted to boot. 

“So first on our agenda: Keep Julia’s One-ness secret for the moment,” Mer said. “Second: Figure out the sketch show with Edan and get him back over here. You know, just in case Julia
does
get another headache.”

Meredith gave her a little nod, and Julia wanted to scream: Stupid Sensing!

“When did Edan say he would be back?” Cayne asked.

“He didn’t,” Carlin said, throwing up her hands. “We’ve already talked about his bullshit gout. It may be something more. I’m not taking up for Edan. I think he could be hiding something. But the most of it is he had the girl with him. You could hear her through the door. Some
French
girl. Disgusting little slut.”

“Carlin,” Drew gasped.

She stood up, brushing off the butt of her new, red silky pajamas. “I’m tired. I think I will go to sleep.”

She muttered something Julia couldn’t hear and marched off toward the girls’ bedroom.

“I guess I’ll go, too,” Mer said, dragging herself up off the floor. She’d changed into some hot pink sweatpants and a gray sweatshirt, and Julia thought she looked tired. “We can talk more in the morning. I hope they let us out of here, because I am so not up for another compound. Anyways, night, guys,” she said with a little wave. As she walked between Julia and the big, round coffee table, she touched Julia’s hair. “Come on J-Diddy. We’ll be three bugs in a rug.”

“Okay,” Julia said, grateful to get away from Cayne’s shrewd gaze. Yeah, her headache was everybody’s business as long as they were operating as a group, but maybe they shouldn’t be. If she was The One, it was
her
thing. Her mess. She would keep it hers a little longer. At least until she could decide how she felt about possibly confiding in Jacquie.

As if The Three were trying to send a message, when she started to stand, her legs buckled. Before she could trip or even wobble, Drew was behind her, his hands closing on her elbows.

From somewhere echo-y, she heard him say: “Totally saw that.”

“You sure you feel okay?” Cayne asked, skeptical. “You don’t look it.”

Julia laughed, a little wobbly. “Thanks, Romeo.”

Cayne whipped out the intense stare, which Julia decided to declare illegal the next time they were alone. “Julia,” he murmured.

“I’m fine.”

“You should get some sleep,” Drew said, bowing out.

Cayne stepped to her, brushing her hair back from her slightly clammy face, and she thought he would say something. But he just stood there, being all caring, and she felt terrible for withholding information from him. Also, just plain terrible; since she’d almost fallen and Drew had caught her, the pain had gone from a horrible pressure-ish headache to a neck ache to a chest ache, too.

She could feel it behind her ribs, like a slowly growing tumor swelling, pushing other things out of its way; as Cayne made her pulse thrum faster, even her heart seemed to hurt.

Cayne rubbed her back. “Let me walk you to your room.”

She waved him off, or tried to. “I’m okay.” He took her hand and she focused on not wobbling. “I’m tired. Missing Suzanne and Harry. I wish I could snuggle up with you,” she murmured, although it would be a strategic disaster because he might hear her moaning in her sleep.

But so would Mer and Carlin…

“Snuggling,” Cayne agreed. “It’s legit.”

He walked her slowly past the couch and an end-table where antique-looking books were displayed, along with a lamp topped with a leather-looking shade.

“I wish we were somewhere else,” she whispered.

“It’ll be better.” He kissed her, his face stormy, mouth pressed tight, like the subject was closed—or he couldn’t stand to think about it anymore. “Goodnight, my heart.” As he opened the door for her, she was surprised and warmed to hear the sweet endearment, and the thick emotion behind it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The sun was setting, and Nathan paused to watch it slip behind the horizon. Alexandria was to the northeast, far enough away that its resorts, its minarets, its hovels looked like a spec of light against the darkening eastern sky. If he was correct, the drive there would take them about an hour.

“Nathan?” EcKland—
Daniel
—was frowning. He was tall and fair-featured, with a ring of freckles that made him look like a gangly kid—even though he was probably nearing 30. “We ready?”

Nathan glanced past Daniel at the three Land Rovers, idling. Behind them rose what appeared to be a small pyramid. Only maybe 30 feet of it appeared above the ground, and there were no adornments to mark its significance: the original Sanctuary for the Chosen, kept hidden from the rest of the world through means Nathan could only guess.

It was tiny compared to the true pyramids, but underground it was far more vast; a hive of tunnels and rooms that, even a week after arriving, Nathan still couldn’t navigate.

EcKland waved. “Nathan? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, and EcKland recoiled, as if struck. “Sorry Daniel,” he quickly said. “I can’t control it, you know.” Since arriving at Egypt, many of the Chosen’s gifts had amplified; Nathan had always used his voice to command others, but now sometimes it stung like a whip. “And yes, I am ready. Let’s go. You drive.”

Four other Chosen were waiting for them in the modified SUV, and six in each of the other two.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Clarissa, a middle-aged Shepherd with short red hair, groaned. “EcKland’s driving. There goes any chance of this getting done without someone dying.”

“I could always knock you out until we get there,” EcKland threatened. His gift was putting people to sleep.

“Please?”

“What do you think boss?”

Nathan knew he should make a joke. His people were tense, anticipating the conflict that waited for them 4,000 miles north. He fastened his seatbelt. “Maybe you could tell us one of your water polo stories instead.”

“Shoot me now,” Gabby groaned. She was 22, a Shepherd with the gift of camouflage.

“Only if Nathan tells me to,” Clarissa joked.

“So this one time, at water polo camp…”

“I’m sorry I said anything,” Clarissa laughed. “You don’t have to punish everyone else.”

“Forgiven,” EcKland said as he pulled onto what passed for a road out in their patch of desert. They would spend twelve miles bumping across packed earth before they reached pavement.