agonizing sorrow. Such needless devastation.
Mac paused and looked up at me; then understanding dawned on his face. He picked up the receiver again. When I put my handset to my ear, he asked, “Did you just see that?”
He clearly knew what I was. I nodded and swiped at the wetness on my face.
“Why did they do that to her?” I asked.
He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief and regretted what he was about to say; I could see it in his expression. “They wanted you, Lorelei. Your parents went into hiding when they found out they were having a girl, and your grandmother knew where they were, so they tortured her for information.” He fought another sob, gathered himself, then said, “She never told them a thing.”
I covered my eyes with one hand. The flow of tears seemed endless.
“When the smoke had settled, we thought the entire sect was gone, so your parents came out of hiding.”
After a moment, I took in a cool ration of air, then said, “She died on the day I was born.”
A sad smile settled on his handsome face. “A bright star to replace the one lost.”
I shook my head emphatically. “But I’m not,” I said, pleading with him to understand. “I’m not anybody. Everyone thinks I’m this person that’s going to stop some stupid war. And our best defenses are either hurt or unconscious or possessed.”
“Lorelei,” he said, his voice calming. “You are the last prophet of Arabeth.”
“That’s right. The last. What does that say about my chances of stopping this war?”
He chuckled then, his eyes glittering with appreciation. “What that means is that there will be no more female descendants of Arabeth. You are the last one. In other words,” he added, leaning toward me, “you’re going to have sons.”
I sat back, took another deep breath. Somehow his words gave me hope.
“But first,” he continued, “we have to keep you alive.”
I sniffed into my sleeve. “That’s a good plan.”
“The initial faction that wanted you dead is dead themselves. I saw to that. It took a new generation of descendants to come after you again. Sixteen years of grooming and priming for this one kill. Make no mistake, Lorelei, they want you gone. Period.”
“I don’t understand. Why would they not want me to stop this war like I’m supposed to?”
“They feel like we humans have an unfair advantage. Like we’re cheating. They’re descendants of true nephilim, and they consider themselves a balancing force between the human and supernatural realms. Like supernatural cops.” He looked at me. “They’re actually nothing more than cult members who believe they are better than the rest of humanity. And they are absolutely psychotic, one and all.”
“An unfair advantage? That’s what this is about?”
“Basically. They feel that by having you on our side, we’re tipping the scales, disrupting the natural balance.”
“What about war is natural? What about the deaths of millions of innocent people is balanced?”
“Exactly. I’m not sure what their endgame is, be it power or just revenge against humanity.”
“This doesn’t even make sense,” I said, tumbling into despair.
“Lorelei,” he said, drawing me back, “they’re psychotic, remember?” He tapped his head. “It doesn’t have to make sense to us. It makes sense to them.”
I straightened. “Okay, what do we do?”
“You saw it yourself. They’re watered-down versions of nephilim. They can be killed much easier than an original nephilim.” He leaned even closer. “They’re arrogant and callous, and that makes them vulnerable. And they bleed just like you and I.”
* * *
By the time I met my grandparents and Brooke in the front waiting area, Mac and I had a plan. He’d described in detail their habits, their weaknesses. He said the Order would have to hunt them down, but the descendants would not be hard to find. They nested together, and we were to look for an abandoned house or building that looked like squatters had been there. We would find them there.
I figured the sheriff and a couple members of the Order could handle that part. The other part, I didn’t like so much. He told me I had to go into hiding until they were found. It was the only way I would survive.
“It isn’t fair that Mac is in prison. None of this is fair,” I said to my grandparents as we drove home, fighting to block the images I’d gleaned off my new grandfather. Of his horrible ordeal.
“Life isn’t always about what’s fair and what’s not, pix,” Granddad said. “It’s about doing the right thing,