Retribution (Book 3 of The Dominion Series) (47 page)

After Michel and Julien, I'm last to drink and there's only a mouthful left. I swallow it down and when I do, the effect is immediate. I feel as if I've been hit by a truck of emotion, my body almost slammed with the minds of thirteen fallen angels, and I'm nearly struck unconscious from the intensity of their emotions as they connect once again after thousands of years alone. I feel little else but their euphoria, their ecstasy, and my knees give out. Michel grabs me and holds me in his arms. I have no idea what's going on in the room around us, for my hearing is dulled, the sounds drowned out by the minds meeting in what feels like my own skull.

This seems to go on and on forever, and there are no words to describe how I feel and what I experience. Finally, it's too much and darkness closes in.

CHAPTER THIRTY

"A man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green."

Francis Bacon

I wake up long after the meeting with Soren and the Twelve when Michel sits on the bed beside me.

"Eve," he says, a hand shaking my shoulder.

"What?" I sit up and rub my eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"Soren wants us back tonight for a special mass."

"Mass?" I say, frowning. I look him over. He's wearing vestments and a clerical collar, a large wooden cross on a thin leather strap around his neck. "Don't tell me you're going to say Mass?"

"He wants me to. I'm the only priest—"

"Former priest."

"Eve, once God has you, He has you forever."

"How can you do this?" I say, anger filling me. "Pretending to be his priest. Or, do you really want this? Do you really want to be his High Priest? Head his bastardized church?"

He sits in silence for a moment and I can see I've upset him. He takes his hand away from my cheek, where he's been stroking my skin with his thumb.

"Have you forgotten our contract, Eve?"

I don't say anything. He just sits and stares at me, waiting. I wait him out. Of course, I've forgotten the contract. I just don't want to admit that I've forgotten it once more or be submissive to him right now.

Finally, he exhales and leans in closer to me, pressing his forehead against mine. It makes my heart soften.

"Please just
trust
me," he whispers.

"I'm sorry," I say. "You have to understand…"

"I do. Now please, try to follow the contract from now on. I don't want to have to remind you in public. Not tonight."

"Yes, my Lord," I say, nodding. He kisses me and it's such a tender kiss, so gentle that it makes my throat constrict. He's afraid for me.

"Why are you afraid?" I say.

He shakes his head and just kisses me again, this time more intense, as if he's trying to make me forget his fear and my own. A thrill of desire goes through me when he joins with me, and I want to fuck him right now, but we have to go.

"Just knowing you want me is enough for now," he says. "Later tonight, when we come back."

I smile and tuck his hair behind his ear but I know he's afraid there won't be a later tonight and I wonder if this isn't something dangerous – what we'll be doing at the cathedral.

"Wear the long black dress in the armoire and put your hair up."

I nod and get up from the bed, dressing quickly.

He stands watching me, and I don't feel lust from him. I only feel fear.

When I'm finished, I go to the bathroom and wash my face. He stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, his brow furrowed.

"No makeup," he says.

"Why?" I say and look at his reflection in the mirror. "My Lord?"

"Just don't."

I shrug. I look much younger without makeup but he must want that. I brush my hair and twist it up, securing it with a few clips. I turn to him and hold my arms out at my sides.

"Well, here I am, for what it’s worth."

"You're priceless, Eve."

I smile. "You're exaggerating."

"No, I'm not." He comes to me and puts one arm around my waist, pulling me against him, and gently he pulls a few tendrils of my hair out of my makeshift bun. "You look … angelic. The way they're supposed to be."

"Obviously, I'm no angel."

"You are. Now, let's go. Just follow my lead. Remember to keep your eyes down."

"What are you planning?"

He places his finger over my lips. "Shh," he says. "Just obey tonight."

I nod. "Yes, my Lord."

We drive to the cathedral in the old vehicle rigged up with a hydrogen cell battery. It's a rough ride through a dark city, only a few lights in a few locations where once there were thousands of offices lit all night. We arrive at the Holy Cross Cathedral and once more I'm struck by a deep sadness, remembering the last time I was here, for Mass the Sunday before my mother died. I stop at the door at the side entrance reserved for clergy.

"Don't be afraid," Michel says and squeezes my hand. "Tonight's just a dry run. There will be only a small congregation to see how things will go. Just do as you're told and we'll be finished soon and will go back home. Soren's not planning anything big for a while."

"You were nervous earlier, my Lord," I say. "I could feel it."

"There is always danger, Eve. I'm always concerned for your safety, given who and what you are. We'll be fine."

He pulls me inside and we go to a small office, where we sit for a moment. Finally Soren enters and strides over to us. He's dressed in something military, an old Roman uniform with blood-red leather breastplate and split leather skirt, greaves and has a Roman crested helmet under his arm.

"Well, here they are, my lovely couple. Priest and Priestess looking all holy and ready for Mass."

I want to shout at him that I'm not his priestess, but Michel squeezes my hand and I avert my eyes.

"Soren," Michel says. "I imagine we will proceed as we discussed."

"Yes." Soren turns to me and takes my chin in his hand so that I have to look in his eyes.  "Tonight, Eve, we'll test-drive your channeling powers. I have a congregation filled with believers. I want to perform a little miracle so they can be given proof of my godly powers. After we share blood, the Twelve and I will join our powers and let's just say, a few sparks will fly. My followers need to see me smiting evildoers. This country seems to love seeing them suffer. I'll give them some and you'll help channel their adoration and faith, giving me even more power."

I nod and say nothing, a bit scared now at this ability I have.

"Good. Let's get this show on the road."

He puts on his helmet and Michel and I follow him out of the small office and through a narrow hallway to the side entrance to the altar where the Twelve are already assembled, standing with their wings unfurled. Soren unfurls his own as does Michel and I see Julien standing beside the altar, waiting, looking like a Roman warrior wearing a uniform similar to Soren.

Soren takes his place on a throne behind the altar, with Michel to his right and Julien to his left. I stand between Soren and Michel. Michel takes my hand and leads me to the altar where a crystal goblet sits on a gilded cloth. He takes a sharp knife and cuts my wrist, letting blood drip into it as we did yesterday. Then, Michel takes the vessel and goes to each of the Twelve in turn and repeats this until the goblet is once again filled. We repeat the process. I drink last from the goblet and an overwhelming sense of emotion fills me as I connect with all thirteen.

I barely hear what Michel says as he speaks to the congregation, some words of Latin mixed in with English, something about the blood of the sacrifice uniting all the angels of the Lord but I'm too overcome with the Twelve and Soren to really make much of it. I stand staring out at the congregation and I can feel their awe when they regard Soren and the Twelve with their wings outstretched. In that moment, I understand how awe-inspiring the sight must be to a group of humans in fear from the calamity around them, the red rain, the destruction of technology, and now, the apparent return to earth of angels.

Then I see what Soren is planning – he's amassing the power of his flock's worship, joining it with the powers of the Twelve, and will create a miracle in front of his follower's eyes. There are several hundred in the nave. I can almost feel each and every one of their emotions, their fear and worship entering me, making my heart pound. I glance to my left and right and Soren and the Twelve have their eyes closed as they feel the congregation's worship fill them, making them stronger.

The side door opens and soldiers dressed in uniform with weapons enter, and following them are a dozen men dressed in prison orange. They’re shackled together in chains and shamble inside the nave, their faces dark. They stop in front of the altar and wait, glancing around nervously.

"My children," Soren says, his voice booming as if coming from a loudspeaker. "Before you, see twelve sinners. They're all killers and rapists and child molesters. They have forsaken the commandments for their own pleasure and gain. They deserve holy fire, and that they shall receive."

Then Soren raises his arms, his hands inches apart, and I see something bright between his palms. It's a small spark of light, tiny, perhaps as big as a grain of sand. But soon, it grows larger, now the size of a marble, spinning on its axis, burning bright as an acetylene torch. He spreads his legs as if the spark of energy weighs a great deal, his face a grimace, the muscles of his bare arms flexing with strain.

The spark grows even larger, perhaps the size of a baseball, the light from it so bright I have to squint. I step back, alarmed, but I can't tear my eyes away, and neither can the congregation. They gasp in shock as the spark is now the size of a basketball. The ball of lightning-like energy hums and buzzes, the scent of ozone filling the room.

What is it?

I have no idea what's happening, only that it's like a small nuclear reaction is taking place between Soren's outstretched palms, the white fire-like plasma forming strange shapes as it grows and morphs.

Soren speaks, his voice booming through the nave.

"And the fourth angel poured out his vial upon the sun; and power was given unto him to scorch men with fire. And men were scorched with great heat."

Then he throws the spark, which is now the size of a beach ball, forward and it stops in mid air above the shackled prisoners and then explodes, showering down onto those below, incinerating them in front of us. They writhe and scream, flames burning them almost instantly into charred statues, the scent of roasted human flesh making my stomach turn.

People scream and run, but the doors are closed and they can't leave. I want to cut the connection I have with Soren and the Twelve and between all of us and the congregation, but I can't and now Soren raises his hands and everyone stops, turning to watch him. He's shining like the fire he cast into the congregation, so bright my eyes hurt.

"I am your God," he says, his voice so loud it sounds as if it's coming from everywhere at the same time. "I am the God of War reborn and you will bow down and worship me or die."

He glares down at the remaining congregants, who crouch or stand in mute horror. Finally, they start to bow, falling to their knees, their hands on the floor in front of their faces the way Muslims bow down in prayer.

He rises up over the altar, levitating, as if his power is growing even stronger as the awe of the congregation increases and I'm as helpless as a baby to stop what's happening.

It's too much and I fall to my knees, unable to hold myself up any longer.

Michel comes up behind me and puts his hands under my arms, lifting me up so that I stand in front of him. "It's OK, Eve," he whispers in my ear. "Not much longer now."

Then, when everyone is on their knees before us, their heads bowed, Soren descends and his feet touch down to the marble floor. He clenches and unclenches his hands as the glow of light dims and then he turns to the exit. Michel holds me up as we follow him back to the side room. Following behind us, the Twelve. Julien takes up the rear.

"Well, that was fun!" Soren says, rubbing his hands together as if he's just performed some kind of parlor trick instead of controlling some force of nature and killing a dozen people in front of us. "Tell me that wasn't fun, Eve! We smote some bad guys, regaled the congregation with some shock and awe. I think it was a resounding success. Imagine the talk around town tomorrow! I can just see the headlines –
'Mars, the Roman god reborn, reveals power, smites evildoers!'
"

I ignore Soren, unable to speak. Michel seats me on a chair against the wall and kneels down before me, holding my hand in his, brushing hair from my face.

"You did really well, Eve," he says, his voice soft.

I just stare at him, still reeling from joining once more with the Twelve and Soren, channeling the congregation's awe and worship. I feel as if I've been infused with electricity but at the same time, I might collapse if expected to stand on my own.