Cassie took a large gulp of tea. “Um… uh… because of some antique that Sybil had at her apartment. I knew a few facts about it, so I was able to give them the history. They want me to help them sort out some other things of hers.”
“How well do you know these people, Cassie?”
The pythia avoided eye contact. “They’re OK, Rhonda. Like I said, they’re really nice.”
Her companion reached across the table and squeezed the pythia’s hand. “I’m not going to pry but, whatever you do, please be careful. The antiquities market can sometimes attract a bad element.”
Cassie smiled weakly. “I will be careful. I promise.” The pythia flashed on the memory of Leroy Hunt pointing a gun at her head. A bad element. Rhonda had no idea how right she was.
Chapter 4 – Heavenly Mansions
Abraham Metcalf turned in a circle to survey the landscape around him. He stood in the center of what appeared to be a dark valley ringed by hills. For some strange reason, he was holding a trowel. A bucket of mortar and a pile of bricks lay at his feet. He picked up a brick and attempted to fit it into a wall that stood knee high. He worked frantically to slap mortar between the layers and stack brick after brick, but his wall sagged and buckled. He could barely see what he was doing. It was a moonless night, and the stars afforded him scant light to work by. He paused to rest, breathless from his efforts, when he saw something bright approaching in the sky. It was a glowing orb which grew brighter as it drifted near him. It came to a stop and hung suspended above his ill-made wall.
He shielded his eyes from the glare.
Unexpectedly, the orb began to speak. “Abraham, I bring you tidings from our father.”
Metcalf fell to his knees. He cast his eyes downward, afraid to gaze directly at the light. “What are you?” he asked in wonder.
“A messenger.”
Abraham glanced furtively at the glowing orb. It seemed to be metamorphosing into a young man with flowing golden hair. He was dressed in a long white robe and wings sprouted from his shoulders. On his feet were golden sandals.
The angel spoke. “The Lord of Hosts bids me tell you that your house needs a firm foundation, or it will crumble.”
The old man gaped open-mouthed at the seraph.
“Observe,” the messenger instructed.
Metcalf fixed his gaze upward to see an image of his son Daniel forming in the night sky. Daniel held the granite key in his hands. The key that would lead him to the location of the Bones of the Mother and give Abraham all he needed to remake the Fallen world in God’s image. The angel floated behind Daniel and lifted a halo above the young man’s head. Then the scene dissolved into blackness.
***
Metcalf twitched awake and heaved himself upright in bed. He clicked on a reading lamp and glanced at the alarm clock. Two-thirty AM. He had awakened for a reason. This dream was a portent. As the diviner of the Blessed Nephilim, Abraham’s dreams were never ordinary. They were the voice of God whispering in his ear. On this night, the Lord had shouted rather than whispered, but Abraham felt frightened at his own incomprehension. What did his vision mean? He dreaded the thought of failing his Master. Rubbing his hands across his face, he tried to clear his mind.
Metcalf cast a brief glance at the woman slumbering peacefully beside him. She was one of his older wives. Was she his tenth? He couldn’t remember her rank. No matter. His mind drifted as he gazed detachedly at the woman’s face. He noticed the grooves forming around her mouth, the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. She was nearing the change of life. Soon her body would be impervious to his efforts to build the kingdom through her. The thought that female nature could thwart his will so easily annoyed him.
Abraham fidgeted and pulled the covers around his shoulders. He felt chilled and, for the first time in his seventy-odd years, he felt old. This was no time to fret about his age, he reminded himself sternly. There was great work yet to be done. He was on the brink of laying the entire world at the feet of his Master. The means would shortly be at his disposal. Daniel was instrumental to the fulfillment of his plan.
Then a troublesome thought struck him. What if he were called from the fray early? What if he were asked to follow the example of his divine brother Jesus in an act of blood sacrifice? Who would carry on the fight after he was gone? Who would finish the job of remaking the world? He snapped to attention.
“Your house needs a firm foundation, or it will crumble.”
There was the connection. Daniel was meant to be that foundation. Abraham paused to consider the idea. It had been generations since a diviner had designated a scion during his own lifetime. When Abraham’s father had died, he was forced to contend with his brothers for the mantle of diviner. It had cost several years of struggle and confusion in the church hierarchy for him to emerge victorious. Given the plans he was about to set in motion, Metcalf couldn’t afford a lapse in strong leadership. It was distasteful to contemplate his own mortality, but there was no help for it. He must name Daniel as the scion before the entire congregation so there would be no question of who would succeed him as diviner.
Another alarming thought followed fast on the heels of the first. Daniel had three wives, each of whom had produced only one child—disappointingly female in each case. This would never do. The diviner’s dynasty could not be built on such a feeble foundation. Daniel must father sons. Abraham stroked his beard contemplatively. Perhaps
