Damian's Oracle Part 25

It was the first time he'd understand the words she spoke to him. Two swung his legs off the bed, holding his breath in case she spoke again. Her voice was tiny and quiet.

I'm scared.

He didn't know what to do.

"It's ok, kiri," he said again.

So much death in this world.

"We're not dead, kiri."

You are.

"I'm not dead. Are you?"

Not anymore.

He rubbed his face, his fingers slowing as he felt his scars. They were thick and gruesome, creating ridges and channels in his face. He traced his fingers over the scars on his hands and followed them up his arms then his chest then his legs. They were everywhere, like the mountain ranges surrounding their hideout. He didn't remember what made the scars, and he didn't realize how many there were.

"Maybe I am dead," he said, tracing the scars down to his feet.

You are.

He was breathing. He felt the pain of the last blow his master had given him before bed. His feet were cold, and he was hungry. Always hungry. Did he ever eat? He wasn't allowed to drink the juice he liked anymore.

"No, kiri, I am alive," he said.

He couldn't sleep when she cried. Two mechanically dressed himself and left his room. The halls were quiet. He walked without knowing exactly where he went. The halls narrowed and sloped, and he knew he'd been this way before even though he didn't remember when. He paused before a keypad and looked at his hand. There were three sets of numbers written in green ink on his palm. He typed the first in. The door opened and led to another keypad. He entered the second number and came to the final keypad. He typed in the last number.

The desert night was cold and dark. He looked around and found a familiar dirt trail that led to a large rock overlooking the desert he'd sat on earlier to watch the sunset.

He loved sunsets.

"Is this better, kiri?" he asked and sat on his cold rock.

I don't like it underground.

He had no choice. He did what his master said to do. Kiri was in his head. She had to do what his master said, too.

No.

"He will hurt you, kiri," he told her.

You'll protect me.

He frowned, troubled. At least his master couldn't touch her if she stayed in his head. He'd never have to worry about protecting her.

His eyes traveled from the desert to the sky. He clasped his arms behind his head and lay down, impervious to the cold. The sky was dark, the stars plentiful and bright.

"Do you like the stars?" he asked her.

Yes.

"I think I like them, too."

But he wasn't sure yet.

"Slave."

Two bolted to his feet. The man with eyes the color of the moss in his room materialized from the shadows.

"Yes, master," he said.

"What are you doing here?"

Two looked around him. He'd found his way out, but he wasn't sure how. He looked up and recalled the stars. He stared, aware kiri liked them, too. When he came to see the stars or watch the sunset, she didn't cry. Maybe she didn't like it underground.

"Slave."

He jerked, surprised to find his master's friend, the one with eyes the color of the moss in his room, standing before him.

"Yes, master."

"What are you thinking?"

"Slaves don't think, master."

His master's friend moved closer, and he silently told kiri to be quiet, lest she be heard. She was on the verge of crying again.

"Do you like the stars?" his master's friend asked.

"Yes, we do."

His master's friend looked at him for a long minute.

"Return to your room, slave, and I won't tell your master I found you here."

"Yes, master."

Two went back to the door and looked at his hand. He didn't remember coming this way, but he was sure it was the way back. He entered three codes and crossed through three doors, walked down a hall to narrow for him to walk straight, and retreated to his room. Kiri began to cry again.

"Slave."

He turned when he reached his door. The master's friend, the one with eyes the color of the moss in the corner of his room, stood before him.

"Yes, master."

"You must take care of kiri no matter what."

The master's friend had heard her crying. Two bowed his head, awaiting a beating that never came. When he looked up, he was alone. He wondered why he was in the hallway at all and returned to his room.

"It's ok, kiri."

I miss the stars.

He didn't know how to leave the underground prison, or he'd take her outside to see them. Two sat down on his bed and stared into the darkness, unable to sleep when she cried.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"I thought you didn't eat croissants," she said, staring at her bodyguard as she awaited Linda and Traci.

Pierre received a wide berth from the Starbucks customers, his ma.s.sive frame standing out even more among normal sized humans. People stared, women in envy and hunger. Pierre was beyond handsome with his brooding looks, wind-swept blond hair, black clothing and trench coat. He was lined with weapons she'd watched him emplace earlier. His trench coat was too heavy for her to lift by the time he finished stowing the weapons.

"Of course I do. I'm French," he said and swallowed one whole. "You Americans can't get it right, though."

"At least you can eat them."

He winked and swallowed another.

"I think Pierre was right about that sweater," Linda said as she rejoined them. "I'm glad I didn't get it."

"It made you look ten pounds heavier," he reminded her.

"Black isn't supposed to do that."

"It's the material, not the color."

Traci joined them, coffee in hand, and they merged into the crowded mall. Pierre stayed on her heels, guaranteeing her a wide berth. She was grateful to him. His cell rang, and he answered, eyes always moving.

"Has it been an hour?" she asked. "I forgot my watch."

"Yeah, just about. We can make our way back there," Traci said. She looked healthier and happier than their last two encounters, and Linda had let it slip that she and Rainy were talking again.

"That pocket is for knives, not your s.h.i.t," Pierre snapped as Linda dropped another trinket she'd bought into one of his pockets.

"The key is knowing that - if you're not a bad guy - they can't do more than bark at you," Linda confided.

Texting, Traci led them into the jewelry store. Sofia fingered the cell phone and credit card Damian thrust into her hands on her way out the door. He'd not said anything to her since the other night, when he'd almost destroyed the world. She fed from him silently and made every effort to avoid him in the meantime. Just thinking of him made her body heat and her heart flip. She didn't know what she felt towards him. If her Christmas gift was any indication, she thought she might be falling for the brute.

The sales person recognized her and reappeared with a small box.

"Here is the original," he said, pulling her necklace from a small baggy. "And here is what we've done."

He opened the box to reveal a man's platinum signet ring with the half-moon, half-sun and arrow symbol neatly carved on its head. Damian was engraved on the interior. She'd seen the image in his home videos. Every White G.o.d but him had worn the symbol. It was a sign of his history, of his past, and he regarded it with both yearning and regret. She didn't know if he'd welcome the gift or if his recent ordeal left him more jaded towards his past.

"Very nice," Linda said, picking it up. "This thing is big enough to fit on my toe."

"Pierre, what do you think?" Sofia asked. He'd approved all their purchases and talked them out of a few bad ones during the morning.

"Bien," he said with a nod of approval. "Subtle bling. He will like it."

She replaced the necklace and handed the credit card to the salesperson. In a few minutes, they were strolling through the mall once more.

"Pierre, where are you from anyway?" Traci asked, looking up at the bodyguard.

"France."

"We know that," Linda said. "When are you from?"

"1660-ish. I'm a baby in the organization."

Linda rolled her eyes.

"I don't think I'll get used to that," Traci said with a shake of her head.

Pierre's phone rang again.

"It is different, but you'll never hear such neat accounts of history as you will from these guys," Linda stated.

Sofia's phone vibrated, and she pulled it out, wondering who had her number.

Hey S, it's Jule. Come 2 fd crt.

She glanced at the signs at the nearest intersection indicating the direction of the major department stores and the food court.

"Can we go this way?" she asked, pointing.

The three moved with her, Pierre speaking tersely in French on the phone. She recognized Jule on sigh and couldn't help but feel surprised. Like the a.s.sa.s.sin who obsessed about birthdays and clothing, there were two sides to the man before her: the warm, friendly stranger who she'd felt so comfortable with she confided to him over the phone without knowing anything about him, and the tattooed thug before them in snug biker leathers. He wore an a.s.sortment of knives on his belt and a silver symbol of a star with two arrows through it that looked older than Damian's on a black choker around his neck.

He towered head and shoulders over the mostly female crowd and leaned with deceptive casualness that radiated danger against one of the pillars in the food court. His leather vest revealed arms and chest completely covered in colorful, vivid tattoos, his whole visage daring anyone to challenge him. He was the kind of man she wouldn't think twice about running from, though the intelligence gleaming in his soulful brown eyes gave him away as something more. His skin was the shade of melted chocolate, his features too exotic to discern his ethnicity, and his long, straight hair braided down his back.

She stopped a safe distance from him, unable to reconcile the man on the phone with the man before her. He flashed a wide smile at Pierre, who lifted his chin and nudged her forward.

"Ladies. I'm Jule," he said in a gravelly growl as they neared.

"I've heard of you," Linda said, surprised. "Don't you rule the eastern hemisphere?"

"Something like that. Linda, Traci, Sofia, I presume."

He looked at the charm dangling from her necklace and held out his hand to her, palm up. She placed her hand atop his, a.s.sessing him. She saw glimpses of his shared history with Damian and Dustin and of a time before meeting them that was too dark for her to see clearly. His intense gaze remained on her.