“Oh, my Lord!” Sister Ruth gasped. “Sister Hannah, you come with me.” She took the girl by the hand. “We’re going to the diviner immediately.”
Hannah gestured quizzically at Mother Rachel.
“Don’t you worry about her. We’ll lock her inside until the security men come to take her away.”
The girl hugged her rescuer. The two exited the room, leaving a groaning, semi-conscious Mother Rachel imprisoned behind them.
***
Abraham stood in the doorway of his principal wife’s quarters. He watched as two men in white coats lifted her from her bed onto an ambulance stretcher. They began to apply restraints to her hands and feet along with straps to secure her torso and legs.
Turning to a wizened man at his elbow, the diviner asked in a low voice. “Will she be alright, doctor?”
The Fallen psychiatrist shrugged and whispered his reply so as not to be overheard by his attendants. “I gave her a strong sedative. We won’t know for a day or two, but I’d guess she had some sort of psychotic break. You say she attacked another of your wives with a knife?”
The diviner nodded grimly. “She claims God told her to do it—that a blood sacrifice was required to redeem the Blessed Nephilim. Mother Rachel apparently decided that the sacrifice ought to be my youngest wife, Hannah. Who knows why? The girl is sequestered and recovering from emotional problems of her own. This will set back her recovery by weeks if not months.”
“Do you want me to examine her?” the doctor offered. “Prescribe a tranquilizer?”
Abraham sighed. “That won’t be necessary. She seemed subdued after the attack but was responsive to questions. I think the fewer strangers she encounters right now, the better.”
“How do you want us to handle this situation?” The doctor’s eyes slid to the stretcher where his men were still in the process of securing Mother Rachel.
“Standard procedure,” Abraham whispered back. “Sedate her for a few weeks then see if she behaves more rationally.”
“My asylum will soon need a new wing to house the mentally-disturbed wives of the Blessed Nephilim,” the doctor observed dryly.
“Considering the money I’ve paid you over the years for their maintenance, you ought to be able to afford one by now,” the diviner retorted.
“Touché,” the Fallen doctor replied. He pensively regarded his newest patient. “Her mental state is somewhat more extreme than other Nephilim cases I’ve treated. It may take longer to bring her around if she ever recovers at all.”
“She is my principal wife and my most devoted follower.” Abraham’s tone was troubled. “Do what you can for her.”
“I can’t make any promises that she’ll return to what you consider normal,” the doctor demurred.
“Try just the same,” the diviner insisted.
The two men parted to allow the attendants to wheel the stretcher through the door.
Mother Rachel’s eyes rolled in their sockets. She briefly seemed to recognize her husband’s face. In a slurred voice, she murmured, “Abraham, I did this for you. I did this for all of us, but the devil prevailed. Beware, there are demons in our midst! I say, beware!”
The doctor winced. “Apparently, I didn’t give her a strong enough tranquilizer. Excuse me. I need to ride in the ambulance to monitor her condition.”
He scurried down the hall after his patient.
Abraham returned to the chamber and sat down heavily on the bed to think. Demons indeed. Satan had chosen his instrument well. Mother Rachel’s moral rectitude had always been beyond reproach. It was inconceivable that his principal wife had allowed herself to fall victim to the sin of jealousy. Surely, she must realize that at her advanced age she was no longer attractive to her husband. Abraham was obliged to obey the mandate of the Blessed Nephilim to build his kingdom on earth. This required him to seek out ever younger, more fertile wives. That Rachel had attacked a sister-wife was bad enough. That she had chosen Abraham’s afflicted favorite as her target was surely the work of the devil. Thank heaven for the Fallen thief who had shown the presence of mind to summon help.
The diviner allowed himself to marvel briefly at the hand of providence. Daniel had said God spared Erik for a reason. More than one, in fact. Aside from the thief’s usefulness as an experimental subject and a hostage, he was proving valuable as a watchdog to protect Abraham’s beloved. The diviner would have no need to post a sentry outside Hannah’s room so long as Erik was nearby. The thief obviously realized that preserving Hannah was in his own best interest. The Lord surely moved in mysterious ways. Tomorrow the diviner would have to visit his prisoner, express his thanks, and instruct him to continue his vigilance. But now it was late, and Abraham badly needed his rest. He rose to return to his own chambers. It was time for his medicine.
***
The diviner attempted to sit up. He couldn’t remember where he was. Hadn’t he fallen asleep in his easy chair? Or was he in bed? He struggled to toss a heavy coverlet off his chest, but when he grasped what he thought was a blanket, he felt a hand instead. He recoiled with a gasp. It was a woman’s hand. None of his wives was sharing his bed tonight.
He blinked and tried to clear his vision. A face loomed above him.
“Hello, Father.” The tone was mocking.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It was Annabeth, Daniel’s wife. He could swear he’d felt her touch. How could this be? She was dead.
“Did we have a difficult day today?” Her pale lips twisted into a malicious smile.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded angrily, in part to mask his rising fear.
“I’m always here.” She circled his chair and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “But you can’t always see me.”
Abraham fancied he felt her warm breath in his ear. Ghosts didn’t breathe! What was happening
