“You mean the cowboy who went after Sybil.” The girl’s tone was solemn.
The old woman sighed. “There are people in the world who find our knowledge threatening. It contradicts their basic beliefs about the way things have always been and the way they’re meant to be.” She stared directly at the girl. “So, you see, I can’t reveal any more information unless I know you are willing to help our cause. Will you do that? Will you join us?”
Cassie hesitated, at a loss for words.
The old woman read her expression. “I’m sorry, child. I didn’t mean to force you to decide this minute. There really isn’t a blood oath or anything like that. I just need your promise that you will protect our identity and the location of our treasures.”
The girl let out a huge sigh. She stared at the table instead of looking directly at Faye. Her hair fell forward over her face. “Here’s the thing. I’m not sure I buy what you’re doing or how important it is. I don’t care about any of it very much. The only thing I did care about was my sister, and I care that some random guy in a cowboy hat took her away from me.”
She paused. “You and your people worked with Sybil every day. You saw a side of her that I never knew existed. Probably understood her better than I ever did.”
Cassie stood up abruptly. She felt tears welling up, so she went to stand by the sink, looking out the kitchen window. “What I’m trying to say is that by helping you, I might feel like I’m still connected to my family somehow. Still connected to the world because, honestly, now that Sybil is gone, I don’t feel as if I belong anywhere.” She turned back to face Faye and smiled self-consciously. “I guess there was a ‘yes’ buried somewhere in all that rambling. Yes, I’ll help and maybe helping you will help me feel less alone.”
Faye walked over and wrapped her arm around Cassie’s shoulder. “You were never alone, child. We were always looking out for you. Even before you knew we existed.” She squeezed the girl’s shoulder gently. “We are called the Arkana. Welcome to our family.”
Chapter 16 – Troublesome Relations
Abraham had waited, albeit impatiently, for Daniel to provide some insight into the mysterious stone object that was his newest prize. His son was gone much of the time now, working ceaselessly in the libraries of the Fallen. Every few days, Metcalf would ask for a progress report, but nothing had come to light yet. He had prayed every day on his knees that God would grant his son the knowledge he required. Apparently, the Lord was testing his faith. His prayers went unanswered.
He thought it might be best to turn to other matters. He had a flock to manage — both in the compound and abroad. It was time he paid more attention to day-to-day affairs. Perhaps that was the Lord’s intention in denying him.
Daniel’s lack of progress in translation wasn’t the only matter troubling Metcalf. His son’s lack of progeny was distressing, even embarrassing, considering who his father was. A son of the diviner was expected to be foremost in advancing the angelic kingdom. More than that, the Lord had spoken to him in a dream. The Almighty had told Abraham that he was watching him and would hold him to strict account for his son’s failure. Metcalf was determined to get to the bottom of this.
The old man marched decisively to the nursery where the wives with small children spent their time. There were a dozen women managing the business of toddlers who outnumbered them four to one. They were dressed alike in gray shifts and white aprons—the garb of married women. The wives all saw him at the same time and rose as one body.
“Good morning, Father Abraham,” they said in unison.
He nodded in acknowledgement. “I wish to have a word with Annabeth.”
His eyes focused on a timid blond woman of about twenty standing far back in the corner. She was holding a girl who was about a year old. Another woman rushed forward to take the child from her.
Annabeth swallowed hard and walked forward timidly. “Here I am, Father.”
“Come with me.” Without waiting for a sign of assent, he turned on his heel and left the room, expecting her to trail in his wake.
He swung around to face her outside the common room. “Where are your quarters?”
Awed by all this direct attention from the diviner, Annabeth had difficulty forming a coherent sentence. “Th… there. O… over that way. I mean… that is… in that direction, Father.” She pointed down another corridor.
“Show me,” Metcalf ordered. “We will talk there.”
With a sidelong glance of dread, Annabeth led the way. She obviously feared she was in serious trouble if the diviner had sought her out and wanted to speak privately. When she reached her door, she hesitated, looking over her shoulder at him. Then she stood aside and allowed him to enter ahead of her.
Abraham assessed his surroundings. The room was simply furnished as were all the sleeping chambers in the compound. A double bed with bleached white sheets and a pine dresser. A plain wooden cross hung above the headboard. His eyes traveled to the opposite wall. There was no crib. All the older children slept in dormitories, but those under the age of two remained with their mothers. That meant the child Annabeth had been holding was not hers. Two chairs faced each other across a small square table, occupying the space where a crib should have been. Abraham noted approvingly that his son’s picture hung on the wall above the table. That showed a fitting respect on Annabeth’s part.
The young woman stood gawking at him, unsure of what he expected. “Sit down,” he ordered. She scurried to comply, and he took the chair opposite her.
“Annabeth, when did I assign you to be my son’s wife?”
She hesitated as
