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  She tried to “feel” for her friend, but couldn't get a sense of Julia. She did, however, feel a kind of buzzing feeling—like she'd downed a Red Bull and then watched a horror movie; inexplicable fear bubbled up inside her chest.

  “This is a grain silo?” Drew said.

  “Grain,” Carlin said. “I think so.”

  There was barely room between the top of the massive grain pile and the room's ceiling for them to stand, but Meredith did it anyway, at least for a few seconds before she spotted a door and realized they could simply crawl to it.

  “I want to get out of here,” she moaned.

  The door opened to a crosshatched metal floor, probably designed to catch the grain as it spilled out. Meredith walked over it, finding herself inside what looked like an octagon, with a low-lying dirt ceiling, a dirt floor, and a stone door on each wall. The place reminded her of some kind of haunted dormitory.

  Torch light flickered crazily from three torches, but instead of regular fire, they were lit by blue fire. On the other side of the small room, there was another mystery hall, and—heck yeah!—it looked like it slanted down.

  “Drew! Car! Come this way,” she said, sticking her head back through the doorway of the grain silo. "There's another hall through here. I think it goes down!"

  "How did you get out so quickly," Drew grumbled; he was struggling through the sand like a horse in mud. Carlin wasn't much faster.

  "You guys," Meredith moaned. She took a few steps toward the hall, antsy to escape a room with so many doors, when she heard what sounded like a girl's sigh. A second later she saw the girl—pretty with dark pigtails. Meredith's heart fell when the girl cried, "Nathan."

  Catalina rushed ahead, arms out, saying, “Meredith! I'm so sorry!”

  Carlin gasped, and Drew, who had just escaped the silo, began trying the doors, though they were all locked. Plus, it was pointless—Catalina could locate them anywhere.

  She reached Meredith, grabbing her wrist. “Mer, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to put you guys in danger! When Theirry and Adam asked… I didn't know!”

  But Meredith didn't care what the younger girl was saying. Her gaze had locked with Nathan's. Drew and Carlin were scrambling back into the silo, screaming for her to follow, but Meredith's mind was on Nathan, and she was a second too slow.

  She shrieked as strong hands grabbed her by the waist, pressing her against soft fabric that stretched across a warm, familiar chest.

  “Nathan!”

  Without letting go of her, he clicked on a flashlight, illuminating his face like a ghoul in a Halloween haunted house. He was wearing a tired smile, jeans, and a charcoal Polo, and he looked rueful. “Meredith.” He pressed his face into her hair. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  “Hell no we don't!”

  “We do.” He gripped her gently but firmly, opening the door to the silo where Drew and Carlin were trying to climb back up.

  Meredith heard more than saw them gasp as he stuck his head inside. “CARLIN, DREW, MEREDITH, FOLLOW ME,” he ordered. “CATALINA, YOU MAY RETURN TO YOUR ROOM.”

  Meredith had never heard Nathan issue a stronger command. Against her will, she stuck beside him as he turned away. She felt Drew and Carlin close behind her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shock.

  It was the first thing that registered.

  Then disbelief. Then shock again. Then pain.

  As her spinning mind awakened, her battered thoughts circled around Cayne. She had dreamed of him, a dream that felt like more. He was being tortured, just like her. By The Adversary. His father.

  Her throat tightened as if invisible hands were squeezing it. Her eyes pricked with the need for tears, but Julia didn’t think she could still cry. Her chest felt like a block of ice, but somewhere inside, the ice was cracking, leaving her wanting… Wanting Cayne. So badly.

  Almost blessedly, she felt pain—pain all over. It was in ready supply, always with her. She tried to think about her friends—outrageous Meredith, opinionated Carlin, honorable Drew. She could only think of them in attributes. The same with Harry and Suzanne, although they were fuller characters in her mind.

  Cayne was the easiest to think about, although she didn’t want to. Julia felt like she was betraying him, but thinking about him hurt, and she hurt too much already.

  She shut her eyes, struggling with her fate even after many hours lying still while Methuselah worked on her, filling her with dark magic, stretching her body and mind while chipping away at something vital that she couldn’t quite define.

  Her head, her face, her eyes, her neck… All pulsed with what she’d come to recognize as Celestial power. It made her ache and burn; it made her heavy, like her body had been filled with radioactive lead, from her bones all the way up to her skin.

  A moan escaped her throat, and Julia tried to lift her hand to cover her mouth. It trembled so much she could barely get it to her chin.

  What had happened to make her so weak? What awful thing had he done to her last, she wondered—and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  Swatches of memory cut into her psyche like nails. Methuselah’s face, so blank and cold. That cruelly perfect face, its blue eyes hard as ice as he bent over her, fingers to her temples, palms over her chest, making sure her body could be used.

  That concept was singularly disturbing.

  She rolled over on her side, letting out a pitiful sob as she tried to pull her knees to her chest.

  Again, her mind cried out for Cayne. Again, pain eclipsed her longing. Gritting her teeth so hard her jaw crunched, she tried to force her eyes to focus. She was lying on the makeshift stretcher. Canvas straps crossed her hips, but her arms and legs were free.

  With herculean effort, she held her arms out, expecting to see oozing welts, finding them unblemished. She lowered them to her sides and gritted her teeth as she curled her fingers around the strap pinning her to the stretcher.

  The room was empty. He hadn’t left her in the dark again, and she could lift her head just enough to see that he had gone. If she could just release some blue fire…

  She felt a burst of pain and moaned. She tried to remember it, the fire, how she had to reach inside herself to summon it. She had to focus on it.

  But she couldn't. She couldn't do anything. Isn't that what he'd told her? She was pathetic. Unwanted. Nothing. She was practically created to be a tool. A vessel. No one.

  Maybe she was, she thought with surprising anger. But she still had her desires. Her feelings. Her wishes. Her wants. She had them, and she was tired of having them taken away.

  She pressed her fingertips against the straps that bound her and felt heat bloom in her fingertips. She heard a roaring in her head and knew that she could do it. She could burn through the binds. Blow up the room. She could do…anything. Anything she wanted. She had Methuselah’s power, but it wasn’t all his. It felt exactly like she had that day at the Raysons’ house, in the backyard, when Billy had been torturing the cat.

  Julia saw a warm blue glow beyond the shadow of her lashes, felt her fingers sting as heat flared on her belly. She felt a shot of hope; Methuselah had lied to her.

  She wasn't 'no one'. She was powerful. Maybe even his most powerful descendant. The thought was like a balm to her soul, and as soon as she had it, she felt the air around her shift.

  Out of the darkness, something flew at her: a fist to her face. Or was that energy?

  Never mind.

  Things spun.

  It didn’t matter if he'd lied. He would still win.

  ***

  Andrew kept his mouth shut, but as he followed Nathan, Meredith, and Carlin down the hall that branched off from the octagonal room, he wanted to scream.

  Damn Nathan’s gift of persuasion. Damn Nathan himself. Andrew knew Super Shepherd better than Meredith or Carlin did. He knew when Nathan made up his mind, it couldn’t be changed.

  And he knew what that meant for Julia. If Nathan thought she had a duty to fulfill, he w
ould do whatever he could to make sure she fulfilled it. And if Jacquie and the others at St. Moritz were right about her fate, even a little... Andrew didn't want to think it.

  Nathan kept a brisk pace, moving from one dark hallway to the next. Occasionally he’d pause, and his three captives would pause with him, waiting dutifully until either he reoriented himself or decided the coast was clear—Andrew didn’t know which. He couldn’t help but follow Nathan; even if he didn’t want to, Nathan’s voice was more powerful than Andrew remembered. But he could sock Nathan in the eye, and he planned to do just that.

  Except as soon as he was able to make a fist, Nathan closed them off in a small square room and pulled Meredith into a crushing hug. “I’m so sorry.”

  Andrew must have been losing his mind, because it sounded like Nathan’s voice cracked on the “sorry”.

  Meredith’s wide, dark eyes met Andrew’s. She was clearly confused.

  Carlin said, “Nathan, whatever you are—”

  Meredith interrupted with a “Shh!” She pushed against Nathan, who looked at her and nodded. She was reading his feelings, and after a second she wrapped an arm around him. She cast a surprised but confident look at Andrew and Carlin.

  Nathan looked from Carlin to Andrew and spoke in a shockingly shaky voice. “I made a terrible mistake. About Julia.”

  “No shit,” Carlin said.

  “I didn’t know they were like this.”

  “Who was like what?” Meredith asked, now pulling away from him a little.

  “M-Methusaleh. I didn't know The Three would do the things...”

  “If you’ve got a point, get to it,” Andrew snapped. They were wasting time, and Nathan was terrifying him.

  “They've always appeared to be judicious leaders.” His lower lip trembled as he spoke. “I trusted them. I've trusted them since I was a child.” Nathan's brown eyes widened. “He’s hurting Julia. I heard her screaming.”

  Sound erupted all at once in the room, most of it from Carlin and in Spanish.

  “Quiet!” Andrew barked.

  “What was he doing?” Meredith gasped.

  “I don’t know,” Nathan said. “I didn’t see. I heard her through a door.”

  “That you didn't open?” Andrew snapped.

  “Then how do you know?!” Carlin demanded.

  “I know her voice. I went to—”

  “Wait, where was she? What was going on?”

  “She was at the bottom of the pyramid, on the lowest level, where The Three stay. She was...moaning. Crying. I—”

  Meredith covered her mouth as a sob leaped out. Carlin crossed herself, the first time Andrew had ever seen her do it. He felt sick as Nathan continued.

  “I went to investigate, and I saw him coming down the hall. It didn't look like him. He was disguised as a younger person or…he had possessed someone's body. But it was Methuselah. I know him. I felt an...awful feeling. Like I would die if I stayed down there. I had nowhere to hide, so I ran.”

  “He was torturing her, like for sure?” Meredith asked, voice cracking.

  Nathan stiffened. “I think so.”

  “Why would he do that?” Carlin demanded. “Is the bastard jealous?! Is he a sadist?! I want to kill him!”

  “Carlin.” Nathan’s eyes widened.

  “Did Edan betray us to you,” Andrew.

  Nathan's eyes fell to the ground. “I was desperate. I trusted The Three. I never thought they'd hurt her.”

  “What now?” Carlin asked shrilly, pointing at Nathan. “I don’t trust him.”

  They all looked at each other, wide eyed, and Nathan opened his mouth.

  “Unless his plan is to deliver us to The Adversary, he should be trustworthy,” Andrew cut in. “I saw Nathan with us on our way to Hell.”

  “You saw what?” Nathan’s eyes bulged.

  “It is not his business,” Carlin snapped.

  “If I’m going it is. Drew, tell me.”

  Andrew shook his head. “If you’re really with us, you’ll find out."

  Nathan’s face was grim, and Andrew strongly wanted to hit him. It was true that Nathan had been at the compound since childhood, but so had Andrew, and he'd never have trusted The Three with Julia's life. What was it that made the other Shepherd so…sheepish?

  “Boys! Come, come!” Carlin slashed the air with her hand. “We need to rescue Julia! Nathan—” she gave him the evil eye— “what should we do? You got us into this, you can get us out!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Julia’s eyelids flickered, and she awoke to an awful pain in her legs. It only took a heartbeat for her to remember what had happened.

  Methuselah had pummeled her, punishing her for daring to reach for the power he was giving her. He'd wounded her legs, somehow; there were no visible injuries, but the pain had made her pass out.

  Something else had happened, though, and it felt like a dream. She'd seen herself and Cayne locked in an embrace, each lit like a candle, energy crackling around them, building and building until they exploded like Celestial star.

  She moaned—even the memory of the vision hurt—and there he was, standing over her. Dark red hair, blue eyes, and the cruel, foreboding, beautiful male form.

  “I shared my vision with you. Inadvertently of course, as you have shared your thoughts with me.”

  Where before, Julia had always felt afraid, now she felt defiant. Angry. “It's not going to happen.” The thought was automatic, not intended to be shared with Methuselah, but he heard it anyway. His face remained expressionless, except for his eyebrows, which drew together just a little.

  "I've observed humanity for fifty thousand years. For much of that time, you understood your place in the world. Only in the last few centuries have you forgotten it."

  "If you think I have any idea what you're talking about—"

  "I am a god!" He seethed, his voice nearly shattering her mind. But Julia clutched her hands into fists and ground out, "You're not as strong as you think!"

  She willed the pain in her legs away and stood, defiant, thinking loudly about how weak Methuselah was, how pathetic. His lip curled, and blind rage filled her, along with a surprising urge to show him who was boss. She shocked herself by stepping around her fear and doing the unthinkable: She shot blue fire at him.

  He waved, and the flame disintegrated into nothing.

  “Bow to me!” he commanded, and Julia had to grab the bench to keep herself standing. His voice was like Nathan's times a thousand, and it hurt her to resist. "Bow!" he commanded, this time outside her head.

  She bit her lips, drawing blood, chewed on her tongue until her eyes watered, just so he wouldn't make her bow.

  "I will crush you," Methuselah snarled. Blue fire streamed out of his extended finger like water from a hose, but this time, Julia copied his hand trick. The first stream of pure, blue fire bounced against the floor, but the second caught her in the chest, and she cried out as her body flared with pain. Methuselah was to her in two steps. He wrapped his hands around her throat, his normally impassive face twitching with fury.

  For once, his fury ignited her own. She aimed a stream of blue fire at his face and was rewarded with a hiss of pain and the smell of burning flesh. She blasted him again, but he caught her wrist and snapped it, sending a painful bolt through her.

  “You are mortal,” he growled, this time aloud, and in an aged, gravelly voice. “You are a mortal, with mortal susceptibilities. You’d do best to remember that.” He took her head between his palms. “It is time I rid you of your rebellious mind.”

  For just a fraction of an instant, her unconscious nodded along with him. It was easy to do that—too easy. But the sick truth of his words permeated this time; Julia slapped him, hard. She ducked from his grasp and backed away, arms out. He threw blue fire at her, which she dodged impossibly fast, but in a flash he was beside her again, his hand a vice on her shoulder.

  She grabbed his freakishly hot arm and jerked it away, smirking when she panted, �
��I’m as strong as you now.”

  “Not at all,” he said evenly.

  He twisted his arm to grab hers, and her knees buckled as he ignited everything inside her. All the power he'd put in her was boiling, and Julia could feel some essential part of herself being pushed out like steam from a kettle. Methuselah's blue eyes glittered, and Julia knew she was going to die. She thought about Cayne, wanted to cry because she wouldn't see him again.

  But suddenly it was gone, the pain, even the pressure of Methuselah's hand. Julia doubled over on the floor and puked, spewing puddles of steaming bile on the floor.

  Methuselah cried in pain, and Julia turned to him, seeing an arrow sticking out of his back, and another in the center of his stomach.

  She looked behind her, gaping at...Edan?!

  He looked better than the last time she’d seen him; wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt, he had a bow in his hand as crimson as Cayne’s dagger. He nocked another crimson arrow and hit Methuselah in the side. Methuselah screamed, and Edan nocked another arrow. “The Adversary didn’t take this from me, fucker!”

  “Demon! When I—”

  Methuselah was cut off when an arrow flew literally into his mouth. It burst half-way out the back of his neck in a spray of blood, and the bastard collapsed, gargling.

  Edan walked toward him swiftly, arrow ready, until he reached Methuselah's side. His kicked him hard in the face, splattering blood everywhere. “You know what your problem is?” Edan asked, kicking him again. “You’ve spent too much time on Earth. You might be the big fish, but your pond is small.”

  Methuselah hacked, trying to say something, and Julia felt a surge of wild hope. “Kill him!”

  “I can’t. And he won’t be down for long.” Edan extended his hand. “Let’s go.”

  “I can kill him!”

  “No you can’t.”

  Her mind moved past that; the truth was, she didn't want to kill anyone. She glanced up and down Edan. “Why the hell should I trust you? You gave us up to Nathan! You're a Demon!”

  As if on cue, Methuselah rose to his knees. “I swear by—”