The Firstborn (52 page)

“I—”

“Everybody was right—it’s time for me to move on.” He stood, looking her in the eye. “I won’t bother you anymore.” He remained for a moment, fighting back a tear. “Thank you,” he said, looking at the grass, “for being something special to me. It’s been an honor to have my heart broken by you.” He gave an awkward nod. “Good-bye.”

He turned and walked away.

“Wait,” she called after him. “Where are you going?”

He stopped, looking back at her, now standing. “Devin said he wanted me to wait for him outside the meeting. He didn’t say why.”

She didn’t seem to care about her question anymore. She stood, looking at him. “Will I see you…when I get back?”

“If you’d like that.”

She gave a small nod. “I would.”

He smiled.

“OK.”

Devin Bathurst stood at the front of the room, looking out. The top representatives from each of the orders had come. The richest, the most political, the most ambitious, all trying to use this meeting as some sort of leverage in the wake of everything that had gone wrong. In theory they had come to Colorado to finish the business they had begun in San Antonio. But these were the people who still thought this was all a game—the ones who had missed everything that had happened these last few days.

“We failed,” Devin said flatly. “We failed to stand together. We let perspective get in the way of truth—and we let it divide us. Good men made poor choices and paid dearly for their mistakes.”

They stared at him—twenty-five men and women from three different orders, spread around the long conference table. None of them so much as blinked.

“We alienated each other. We shunned the Fallen. We let politics get in the way of something bigger.” He looked the room over. “Shame on us.”

Someone at the far end of the table raised his hand—Vincent Sobel, in a pressed Italian suit and perfect hair, as always.

“Yes?”

“In the wake of Blake Jackson’s…untimely passing, I would like to nominate Devin Bathurst to be our new Overseer.”

There were nods.

“Agreed,” said a middle-aged woman representing the Prima. “I second the motion.”

Sounds of approval filled the room.

“I say we put it to a vote,” Vincent Sobel announced as he stood, opening his hands to the room. Approving noises. “All in favor say ‘aye.’”

A chorus of voices.

“All opposed?” he continued.

Silence.

“The ‘ayes’ have it then,” Vincent said with a nod, smiling.

There was happy chatter.

“Congratulations, Mr. Bathurst,” Vincent said with a polished smile, turning his attention to Devin. “It looks like you’re our new Overseer.”

Devin looked down at a knot in the table’s wood, focusing on it for a moment, then looked back.

“Politely,” he said with his typical composure, “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to decline.”

“What?” Vincent asked, genuinely surprised. He let out a nervous laugh.

Sounds of concern filled the room.

“I’m afraid,” Devin began, “that I’m not the right man for the job.”

“But,” Vincent replied, trying and failing to conceal his overwhelming embarrassment, “Everybody loves you. You’re the future of the Firstborn.”

“No,” Devin said firmly. “You want me because I don’t challenge the way things are. You, Vincent, want me specifically because you think you know how to manipulate me politically.”

“Hey!” Vincent protested, face flushed with the anger that rose from underneath his glossy exterior.

Devin continued. “I don’t challenge the way things are done. I maintain the status quo, and sometimes that’s good. But right now what we need is someone a little tougher to love. Someone a little more reckless. Someone less aware of how to play the politics and more likely to actually act out of his conscience.”

“What are you suggesting?” Vincent demanded, leaning forward.

Devin smiled. “I hereby nominate John Temple as Overseer.”

A collective gasp filled the room.

“You must be joking!” Vincent said, throwing a pen as he collapsed back into his seat.

The other representatives joined in Vincent’s angry protest.

“I am not joking,” Devin announced, signaling the more than two dozen protestors to quiet down. “If it weren’t for that man I might have spent my whole life thinking I couldn’t possibly be wrong.”

“I can’t believe you’re serious,” Vincent groaned, shaking his head.

None of these people, save Devin and Hannah, had been there when Morris died, when they had stood together. None of them had seen the man John Temple had proved himself to be. They were exactly the people who needed a wake-up call, exactly the people who needed to lose control over everything they had.

“I second the motion,” a voice said from the far end of the table.

All heads turned.

Hannah Rice.

Vincent Sobel leaned across the table toward her. “You can’t possibly—”

“He’s the man this organization needs.” Wearing a gray pantsuit, she stood tall and alert. “John Temple has proven himself to be a man of courage and character.”

“Ms. Rice,” Vincent said firmly, “I’m going to have to ask you to rescind your motion.”

She shook her head. “No,” she said, and took her seat.

“Look,” Vincent said, voice filled with disgust, “no one here knows him like I do. No offense to John, but he’s brash, he’s reckless, he has no sense of duty or dependability. He hasn’t had a real job in years. I’ve had to babysit him for Clay ever since the whole Trista Brightling incident…”

Devin balked, reaching for a nearby Bible that sat idly on the table. He lifted it and flung the book across the tabletop. The leather cover glided across the table and came to a slow stop. “Read it,” he said flatly. “Love your enemies and love each other. It’s that simple.”

Devin began to walk for the door as the room spilled over with protest.

“Devin,” Vincent announced as he stood, “we want
you
as Overseer!”

“Fine,” Devin replied, loosening his tie, “I accept.”

Sighs filled the room.

“My first order is to announce John Temple as my successor—and to step down.”

Devin stepped out of the room, leaving the sounds of shouting behind him.

Devin moved into the hall.

John stood in the hall, looking very uncomfortable in a tie. “What’s going on in there? What did you say?”

“Thank you for meeting me here,” Devin said, patting the young man on the shoulder. “You’re our new Overseer.”

“
What?
” John blurted. “How am I supposed to—?”

Devin laughed. “Do what you can to bring them together—then dismantle the office. God needs to be in control of this, not us.”

John shook his head in confusion. “Why don’t you do this?”

“Because I’m not the right man for the job. The world needs people like me—but not for this. I’m a political animal. No matter how hard I want to make things better, I’d only keep things political. What these people need is to have their world turned on its ear.”

“That’s reckless.”

“I know,” Devin said with a nod, “but that’s your area of expertise.” He looked at the door. “Now get in there and make your inaugural address.”

“Devin, I—”

“Don’t say anything. Just—”

John threw his arms around Devin, pulling him close in a manly bear hug. Devin was startled for a moment, then put his arms around John, giving him a squeeze.

“I’ll pray for you,” Devin said.

“Good,” John said, stepping back, face panicked, “because I’m going to need it.”

Devin nodded, then let go and walked down the hall.

Behind him he could hear the doors of the conference room opening. John was entering the room as Overseer.

Their world would never be the same again.

Devin reached for his car keys, fishing them out of his pocket. He approached the rental car.

Midsize. Manual transmission. Sedan.

—blue.

He unlocked the door and looked at the setting sun.

Things were changing. For the first time in half a millennia the Firstborn were coming together—being forced to face all of their many differences—and their single similarity.

Blake. Overseer. Terrorists. Perhaps that was all drawing to a strangely melancholy close. But they were talking, whether they liked it or not. This wasn’t the end.

Then he felt it with his whole body—the future.

This was just the beginning.

Acknowledgments

I
WOULD LIKE TO THANK
the following:

Allan Cecil: I couldn’t have done this without you. More than anyone, you helped me write this book.

Mom: For all the encouragement and support over the years. I’m a proud mama’s boy.

Dad: For believing in me. I can’t put into words how much that means to me.

Karen Dyke: For being my helping friend and encouragement during the writing process.

Jeff Gerke: For ALL the help. I owe you a huge debt of gratitude I can’t hope to repay.

Debbie Marrie: For acquiring an unknown like me and giving me a chance.

Lori Vanden Bosch: For making the editing process such a blast. Dr. James Keaten: For introducing me to behavioral orientations and intrafaith dialogue—and all our long conversations.

Dr. Thomas Endres: For not kicking me out of your office when I needed to talk.

Russel Garrett: The strongest man alive.

Lee Vary: For the helpful ideas that got me through in a pinch.

Jessica Barnes: For being an awesome friend and answering my questions.

Greyson: My brother and friend. A real-life Devin Bathurst.

Squirt: I love you, sis.

And everyone else who saw me through this process that I didn’t have room to mention. I love you all.