Magor crossed in front of her, another line of defense.
“How dare you enter without my permission?” she said.
Tarek smiled, his lips stretched wide to reveal his extended fangs. “I dare because He knows of your failure.”
Rafik hovered at his brother’s shoulder, malicious madness dancing in his eyes.
Tarek made clear the reason for his bold intrusion, smelling a possible shift in power, declaring his intent by crossing her threshold, like a dog marking a tree. “I have received instructions from Him on how to kill you the next time that you fail.”
From the glee in Rafik’s eyes, she imagined such a death would be neither quick nor painless.
She kept her face impassive and met Tarek’s gaze. The monsters at her door might be stronger than she was, but she was far more cunning. She let this confidence show and stared Tarek’s gaze down—until she finally drove him back out the door.
Rather than making her fearful, such threats only fortified her, steeled her resolve.
As He knew they would.
She touched Magor’s shoulder.
“Time we hunt again.”
24
From the rooftop garden, Jordan stared down at the Wailing Wall, at those praying in front of it. A young mother held up her baby, the girl’s frilly pink dress shifting when her tiny hand stroked down the stone. She looked like his niece Abigail had at that age. For three years his youngest sister had dressed her little tomboy in nothing but pink. After that, Abigail picked out her own clothes—brown ones. The mother below brought the little girl back to her chest and kissed the top of her head.
The pair had no idea about
They lived in a world with no monsters.
But monsters were out there, and now Jordan knew it. If this mission failed, everyone else would have to face them, too. He remembered the short work they had made of his own highly trained men.
As he watched the pair step away from the wall and head home, he fought against thoughts of his own family. Especially his mother. She had survived surgery for a brain tumor last month and was still frail, finishing off chemotherapy.
Still, he knew what she would want him to do. He was his mother’s child; his belief in right and wrong had been instilled in him by her—by her words, by her actions, even by her suffering. He had signed up to serve his country, his fellow man, partly because of her. He believed in the army motto
Keeping
Resolved, he walked back to the table.
His reasons all sounded noble, but he knew part of his decision came from the way Erin had smiled at him when she woke up in the chopper, how she had melted in his arms downstairs. He couldn’t abandon her to Rhun and the others.
He stepped to the table and dropped his dog tags. “I’m in.”
“Jordan …” Erin stared at him, the internal war between relief and fear visible on her face.
He studied his dog tags and looked away. When his parents received them, they would think him dead.
The Cardinal nodded soberly, but his eyes shone with determination. Jordan had seen many a general wear that same expression. Usually it was after you volunteered for something. Something likely to kill you.
Korza stood so abruptly that his chair toppled backward and crashed to the tiles—then he stormed off.
“You must forgive Rhun,” the Cardinal said. “In the past, he paid a terrible price in service of the prophecy.”
“What price?” Jordan picked up Rhun’s chair, flipped it around, and straddled it.
“It was almost four hundred years ago.” Lamplit eyes stared past him toward the modern city lights. “I am certain that, should he wish you to know, he will tell you.”
Jordan had half expected that kind of response. He leaned his arms on top of his chair back. “Now that we are on board, how about telling us about the prophecy and why the three of us are so special?”
Erin folded her hands in her lap like a schoolgirl and leaned forward, wanting answers, too.
“When the book was sealed away, prophecy decreed that—” The Cardinal stopped and shook his head. “Better I simply show you.”
He opened a drawer in the table and pulled out a soft leather case. It didn’t look like a prophecy. But when he opened it, Erin sat forward. Jordan scooted closer, shoulder to shoulder with her.
“This is it?” she asked.
The Cardinal pulled out a document sheathed in plastic. Jordan was no judge, but the parchment looked as old as the city around them. Letters written in dark ink marched along the single page. He couldn’t read it but it looked familiar.
“Greek?” he asked.
Erin nodded, leaning closer to read it aloud. “
“The Alpha and Omega?” he asked.
“Jesus. I think.” She returned to the parchment and continued reading, running a finger along the plastic surface. “
Jordan’s head was already beginning to spin. “How about a quick overview? Then work out the particulars?”
“Right.” She continued again. “
She took another breath. “
The Cardinal stared at Erin. “I believe that is you, Dr. Granger, along with Sergeant Stone and our Father Korza.”
Erin looked down at the parchment. “Why do you think that we are the ones?”
“The three of you came together at the original resting place of the book. Each of you played a part in defeating the creatures of darkness and returned alive to view the desert stars.”
Jordan sighed—too loudly, drawing the others’ eyes. It all sounded like religious crap, and he told them why. “But we didn’t
“No, my son, if they had opened the book, the world would have changed. Miracles would be commonplace.”
“Maybe,” Jordan said. “But either way,
The Cardinal shook his head. “The prophecy does not say who will
