Return Of the Fallen

by Rita Vetere

Genres: Thrillers; Supernatural suspense; Paranormal

Synopsis

When a fiery Nephilim goes rogue, there's only one thing to do: Take cover. Israfel, the only member of the fallen race in existence, is on a mission: kill Jared Crow, head of a secret organization known as The Order, and the man who murdered her friends. She's highly trained in the martial arts, skilled in weaponry and won't allow anything to stand in her way, not even her mortal lover, Edmond. Unable to dissuade Israfel from hunting down Crow, Edmond joins her. He's only along for the ride, but it's one he'll wish he'd never taken. Raziel, the last Watcher on earth, has taken refuge in the desert, far from the mortals he is duty-bound to protect. Though tired of the task after thousands of years of lonely servitude, when he detects a threat to the Symphony--the universal flow of all living things--he has no choice but to track the dissonance. Knowing sooner of later Israfel must die, he joins in the chase. Jared Crow has an agenda none of them could have foreseen—and he's got some powerful help in the form of the Dark One. Nephilim, mortal and Watcher--it will take all three to reverse what Crow has set in motion. 27,000 Words

Release date: October 17, 2011

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 230

Sample

 

Chapter 1

Dudael Desert, Upper Egypt, 2004

 

Four in the morning found Jared Crow wide awake in his bunk. A sliver of a breeze filtered through the flap of his tent and caressed its fingers lightly over his body. He spent the next little while savoring the pre-dawn tranquility. Soon enough he’d be sweltering under a relentless desert sun, its oppressive heat covering the scorched earth like a membrane.

Eventually, he rose, lit his lantern and washed at the makeshift sink. Despite the encampment’s primitive conditions, Jared remained meticulous about his appearance. With his face lathered to shave, he tilted his head to one side in order to view his reflection with his good eye. He frowned at the image in the mirror as the razor slid up the right side of his neck to the jaw line. Blind in his left eye since birth, Jared had long ago learned to ignore its milky appearance, but the deep tan he had acquired accentuated it, so it stood in sharp contrast to his other azure eye. The slight lines creasing his forehead and around his mouth seemed more deeply entrenched. Months of living like a nomad in the desert had taken its toll. He stared back at the gaunt face, displeased. Jared Crow was not a man used to foregoing his comforts.

March already, and they had scoured this godforsaken desert since November. If he didn’t locate what he had come in search of soon, sirocco season would be on them, which meant it would be next winter before the expedition could resume. The deadly sandstorms that blasted the desert in the spring months could easily bury them all alive. Jared, however, refused to entertain the possibility of another setback. Today the desert would yield its secret. He felt it in his gut.

When he finished shaving, he brushed away the sand that had accumulated during the night on the small wooden table. The desert encroached on anything that tried to stake a claim. It covered every surface, found its way into bedding, crept into clothing, and even food, with patient persistence. After a breakfast of coffee and bean cakes, he donned a long-sleeved light cotton shirt, fresh khaki pants, sturdy boots and a hat to keep off the blazing sun. He poured electrolyte powder into a liter-bottle of water and packed it in an insulated sling bag with another five liters of plain water, a compass, a cotton scarf, food and a gun.

Just before five o’clock, he stepped outside his tent to address the crew chief, a swarthy little Egyptian named Hamadi. “Are we ready?”

“Yes, Mr. Crow,” Hamadi replied before issuing directions to the locals in their native tongue. The workers, twenty-seven men garbed in white jellabayas and turbans, gathered their supplies and set out. Snatches of their conversation in Arabic drifted back to Jared, harsh and throaty sounds that seemed to resonate with hostility. Embers from the hand-rolled cigarettes the men smoked glowed like fireflies here and there, marking their path.

The archaeologist, a lanky man in his mid-forties named Miller, exited his tent and fell into step next to Jared. Miller’s fair complexion did not get along well with the desert sun. His face, neck and forearms were badly sunburned, as had been the case since his arrival.

He peered at Jared through wire-rimmed spectacles. “What do you say, Jared? Will today be our lucky day?”

Miller was necessary to his expedition, but the man’s constant babbling grated on Jared’s nerves more often than not. Jared glanced at him, certain the day would indeed prove to be lucky, although not necessarily for Miller. “Yes, I believe it may be,” he responded, even though he knew Miller remained clueless as to what he hoped to uncover today.

The dig site rested less than a mile to the south. Jared insisted that work start each morning before sunrise. By the time the sun climbed to its fiery apex, nothing—human or animal—could withstand its incinerating heat.

The archaeologist who plodded along beside him pointed at two swirling spires of sand spinning in the air ahead of them. “Sand devils.”

Jared grunted an acknowledgment. Time was running out. Another flash of intuition sped through him, reassurance that his search was nearly at an end. He chose not to converse with Miller as he trudged across the never-ending waterless sand that stretched out before him, neither hurrying nor dawdling.

Morning had purpled the eastern sky by the time they arrived at the excavation site. A canopy had been erected near the pit where Jared and Miller could retire from the worst of the day’s heat, and from where Jared could keep an eye on things. The excavation, after weeks of labor, extended approximately fifty feet wide and thirty feet deep. Jared stood watching as the workers descended into the pit to commence the day’s work, then retired to the open tent to wait.

* * * *

By noon they had uncovered nothing, and Hamadi ordered the men to halt. Annoyed at the slow pace of the proceedings, and even more so by Miller’s ceaseless chatter, Jared jumped from his chair and walked over to where Hamadi stood.

“No,” Jared corrected him. “Another hour. Then we’ll stop.”

Hamadi opened his mouth to protest, but Jared cut him off. “You heard me. Keep digging.”

Hamadi glared at him, but instructed the men to continue. Amid low grumbles and complaints, the workers picked up their tools and carried on.

Jared turned to find Miller standing behind him, a frown on his face.

“Might not be wise to push the locals too hard.”

Jared did not dignify him with a response and brushed past him to return to the tent.

The next little while passed in silence. Miller returned to sit next to him but did not open his mouth again, which suited Jared fine. Before an hour had gone by, one of the men called up from the excavation.

Jared hurried over to Hamadi. “What is it?”

“They’ve uncovered something.”

“Tell them to stop,” Jared said.

He descended into the pit, Miller right on his heels. When he reached the bottom, Jared saw the workers had uncovered what appeared to be a mound of large rocks. A marker of some sort, perhaps.

“Remove them,” Jared ordered.

“The men cannot continue working in this heat,” Hamadi called from the edge of the excavation.

Jared glanced up to see him standing with legs apart and arms folded across his chest, dark eyes narrowed against the sun.

“Tell them I will pay each of them a bonus equal to what they are owed if they uncover what is under those rocks today.”

The crew chief’s eyes widened, but he translated Jared’s offer to the workers. They agreed to continue, as he had expected they would.

One of the men was sent back to the encampment to obtain more water and food while the rest of the team lifted the heavy rocks and placed them to one side of the excavation.

When, almost two hours later, all the rocks had been moved, Jared stared down at what they had exposed. A slow smile of satisfaction spread across his face.

The workers used brushes to carefully dust away sand from what appeared to be skeletal remains. Around the bones was wrapped an ancient, heavy chain unlike any he had ever seen. It was not composed of links. Rather, it took the form of a continuous construction, malleable as thick rope. Its brownish-gold alloy glittered through the encrusted dirt with which it was covered.

Miller bent to get a closer look.

Jared called out to Hamadi. “Take the men and return to the encampment. Miller and I will finish securing the find.”

The crew chief wasted no time in dismissing his men. Jared waited until the workers’ voices faded completely before he turned to Miller, who was hunched over, closely examining the remains.

“Strange...” he muttered. “The ribcage...There appear to be too many ribs...Twenty-eight rather than twenty-four. Most unusual.”

While Miller talked, Jared stood behind him and affixed a silencer to the gun he pulled from his pack.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. And the chains. If your estimate about the era is correct, chains would not even have been in use at the time. And look at them, they’re—”

Jared fired the weapon, cut Miller off in mid-sentence and vaporized the back of the man’s head, sending blood and brains flying in all directions. Miller dropped to the ground and landed next to the bones with a thud.

“You’re right,” Jared said to the dead man. “The remains are most unusual.” He exhaled deeply, glad to finally be rid of the fool.

The sun beat down relentlessly as Jared slung Miller’s body over his shoulder and climbed out of the excavation. Dizzy from the searing heat, he dragged the corpse away from the site. Sweat rolled down his face and stung his eyes as he pushed himself to hurry. If he didn’t get out of the midday sun, he’d surely collapse from heatstroke. He hauled Miller’s body a fair distance from the pit then ran back and grabbed one of the shovels. From his pack he retrieved the last of his water and gulped it down before he dug Miller’s grave.

By the time he was done, Jared was drenched in perspiration, his breath burning in his lungs. He tossed the shovel aside, knelt next to the cavity and rolled the corpse into it. Vertigo hit him again when he stood, and he placed his hands on his knees and lowered his head until the blackness creeping into his vision receded. After he filled in the grave, he carefully smoothed out the sand until no trace of what he’d done remained. As he checked his handiwork, he pulled the cotton scarf from his pack and used it to mop the sweat running down his face and neck.

Even though he knew he should get moving—he was almost baking in the intense heat—Jared returned to the excavation for one last look. It was difficult to tear his gaze from the sight of the bones and the thick, ancient chains binding them.

For months he’d searched this uninhabitable desert, hoping against hope the information with which he’d been provided was accurate, but today’s discovery made every miserable moment he’d endured worthwhile. What he looked at had not been witnessed by another human being since antediluvian times.

Reluctantly he dragged his gaze away from the remains. Although exhausted, he spent the next several minutes securing a protective cover over the exposed skeleton. By the time he crawled out of the pit, he was dehydrated and ready to collapse, and he still had to walk the mile back to the encampment and enter unseen. No one must suspect Miller had not returned with him.

On wobbly legs he set off, wondering whether his contact in Cairo would be able to reach their location by morning. Jared had already paid the man a handsome sum in exchange for his promise to ship the remains to New York without the knowledge of the Egyptian authorities. An equal amount of money would be wired into the man’s account once the bones arrived safely at Jared’s estate on Long Island. The true nature of what he’d uncovered had to be kept secret at all costs.

The sun beat down fiercely, the intense heat causing the air to shimmer where the dunes met the sky. He deeply regretted having consumed the last of his water, for he quickly dehydrated, his throat now parched, his lips already blistering. Several times he got disoriented and had to stop to adjust his bearings. It seemed as if hours had gone by when, dry as the burning sand over which he traveled, Jared spotted the camp and heaved a sigh of relief. The men had taken refuge from the midday heat beneath a large canopy, smoking and conversing as they normally did at this time of day. He approached from the west, hidden from view, and slipped inside his tent unnoticed. There he poured deliciously cool water over his head and down his parched throat, and collapsed onto his bunk to rest.

A short time later, he emerged and called Hamadi, who sauntered over to where Jared stood.

“I did not see you return.” Hamadi glanced around. “Where is—”

“Professor Miller is unwell—sunstroke. He’s resting in my tent. Call the men, please.”

When the crew gathered, he paid the men their wages and a generous bonus, as promised. Another crew would arrive tomorrow, he announced, to help catalogue the find. The workers were free to return home.

The men cheered on hearing the news. They quickly packed their gear and departed the same evening, leaving behind a Jeep for Jared and Miller.

* * * *

Exactly one week later, Jared boarded a plane in Cairo, which would take him back to New York and the Order. His precious discovery was already en route to America by ship, thanks to his contact. Nothing, it seemed, was impossible provided one had enough money, and of that Jared had plenty. Now he had something else as well—something so valuable it could not be measured in currency.

 

 

Chapter 2

Toronto, Canada—Present Day

 

After finishing her evening shift, Justine pushed through the main doors of Mount Sinai Hospital and stepped into the deep freeze of a Toronto mid-winter night. She navigated the icy steps to the pavement and spotted Edmond’s car parked nearby on University Avenue, aptly nicknamed Hospital Row. Crisp snow crunched beneath her leather boots and a glacial wind pushed her along as she drew bitterly cold air into her lungs and exhaled it in tiny white puffs. A brilliant full moon shone over the snow-covered street, making it sparkle like diamonds.

She climbed into the passenger seat, closed the door against the frigid air and bussed Edmond’s cheek. “Wow, it’s colder than a toilet seat in Siberia out there.” Justine shivered from her short jaunt. “Remind me again why we willingly live in this city?”

Edmond turned up the heater. “I know, even JB couldn’t wait to get back inside after his walk tonight.”

JB was short for James Brown, the hound dog Edmond had rescued from the shelter the previous year. The loveable dog had acquired that name because he was forever jumping up on people and constantly being reprimanded to “get down.”

“By the way, you made the news today,” Edmond said.

“What?”

“The accident yesterday. The news coverage included a close-up of you helping an ambulance attendant with one of the victims outside the emergency ward.”

“Oh, right.” Yesterday, she had worked a double shift. The treacherous road conditions resulting from a freak ice storm had caused a massive sixty-seven car pileup on the highway, and more than seventy seriously injured patients had arrived at the emergency department. To make matters worse, television crews had descended on the hospital, getting in the way of things as they tried to get footage on what was being hailed as one of the worst car crashes ever. After another extended shift today, she was beat.

“Hungry?” Edmond asked.

“Famished. What’s for dinner?” She unbuttoned her heavy coat in the warmth of the car interior.

“You look awfully sexy in that uniform. Maybe we’ll just skip dinner and you can play nurse with me instead.”

“Uh-uh. Food first. I need my strength.” Justine studied his profile as he navigated through a busy intersection. His square jaw, unruly chestnut hair and intense blue eyes combined in a rugged look she had always found attractive, and his well-muscled physique added to his aura of strength. At the moment, his face wore a lopsided grin and bore a hint of excitement. “What are you grinning about?”

“What, can’t a guy be happy?”

She considered his goofy smile. “You’re up to something. What’s going on?”

Edmond laughed and said no more.

As they traveled along the frozen streets, Justine thought about what a great guy she had. His rugged good looks aside, Edmond possessed a rare combination of qualities that had appealed to her right from the beginning. He was a man whose physical strength was tempered by a surprisingly gentle nature, someone who could be annoyingly confident at times and endearingly humble at others. She’d known him for six years, lived with him for the past two, and loved pretty much everything about him.

When they arrived home—a small two-story house not far from the city center—they hurried out of the car to get inside. As Edmond unlocked the front door, Justine’s skin grew suddenly warm despite the icy temperature, and a tingling sensation began at the back of her neck. Something did not feel right.

“Wait,” she said.

“What is it?”

She looked up at the darkened house. “I think somebody’s in there.”

Edmond shot her a quick look of surprise. “What are you talking about? There’s no one inside except JB.”

“No, really—”

He turned the key in the lock, opened the door and entered.

“Edmond, wait.”

He paid her no mind and walked through the foyer into the living room. She hurried inside after him. The lights went on.

“Surprise!”

Justine blinked in shock. Dozens of people, laughter, clinking glasses and happy conversation filled the room. She glanced around at the smiling faces of the couples surrounding them—their friends.

“Happy Birthday, baby.” Edmond gave her a wink. JB bounded at them, barking and jumping up to say hello.

“Et tu, JB? You were in on this?” She laughed and scratched him behind the ears.

They all moved to the dining room where Edmond opened champagne and poured drinks for everyone. Then he held up his glass to make a toast.

“To Justine. She’s amazing and lovely, stubborn and smart. But what she does best, my friends, is cheat...and steal.”

Some of the guests exchanged uncomfortable glances. The rest stopped smiling. Justine, who was seated at the head of the table, locked gazes with Edmond and grinned.

“First,” Edmond said, “she cheated death.”

The smiles returned to their friends’ faces.

Edmond moved to where she sat. “And then...she stole my heart.”

He leaned over her and delivered a sensual kiss that she felt all the way to her feet. When he reluctantly drew away, he said, “Happy sixth birthday, love.”

Laughter erupted amid cries of “Hear, hear.”

Edmond disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later, balancing a large, rectangular cake that bore six lit candles.

“Make a wish.” He placed the cake on the table in front of her.

Justine laughed, downed the rest of her champagne and blew out . . .