Destiny Gift (18 page)

Imha sent a purple bolt from her stave to my chest. The bolt hurt as if it had opened my flesh and crushed my organs. I tried to yell, but couldn’t. However, a few seconds later—although it seemed like decades—the power of the bolt spread and the drying feeling left me. I took a deep breath, not caring that my whole body weight dangled from my bloody wrists. I didn’t have any strength left, not even to look at Imha while she laughed.

“And that is just the beginning,” she said, sauntering toward the dungeon door. With her back to me, she added, “I’ll give you a while longer. Choose wisely.”

She left. The door closed behind her, leaving me in total darkness. Despite myself, I cried.

A harsh jerk of my shoulders pulled me out of the vision. I blinked several times before being able to discern Micah’s face close to mine, his deep black eyes holding a hint of worry. Beside him stood Victor with the same worry spread over his features. He awkwardly held a towel around my naked, dripping-wet body.

My mind worked to figure out what had happened. It had been late night when we’d stopped in Fayetteville, North Carolina, to eat something and to sleep. We’d found a motel and, though I protested, we stayed in one room again. As Micah had said, it was safer to stay together in case something happened.

The last thing I remembered before being in the dungeon was taking a hot and relaxing shower. That must have been when the vision had come to me.

Super self-conscious of my unclothed state, I flushed as I pulled Micah’s hand away and tightened the towel around myself.

“What are you doing in here?” I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest as if my folded arms would help hide my body.

“You were screaming like a mad chicken,” Micah said.

“We called to you, but you didn’t answer,” Victor added, avoiding my gaze.

“So we forced our way in.” Micah pointed to the door behind them where I saw the broken lock.

I stepped out of the tub, found a robe hanging beside the sink, and put it on over the now soaked towel.

“I must say though,” he said, staring at me with his sly smile, “you would look good in a bikini. Much better than many famous singers.”

I rolled my eyes, the heat growing intense in my cheeks.

Finally looking at me, Victor asked, “What happened?” His soft tone sent a shiver through me.

My first instinct was to glance at my wrists, to see if they were all right.

“It was a vision, wasn’t it?” Micah asked, examining my eyes.

“Yes,” I muttered, a knot in my throat. I was about to fall, but the guys held my arms and pulled me into the bedroom, helping me sit down on the bed.

Seated beside me, Victor held my arms to stop them from shaking. “What did you see?”

“I have a better idea,” Micah said, sitting on the other bed, facing us. “Why don’t you tell us about all your visions? I don’t know what you usually see.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I wanted to tell them about my visions, but I wasn’t sure I felt comfortable sharing them. Besides, they added to my fears of insanity and the confusion inside my head.

“Please,” Victor asked. His eyes were gentle. “You said that after meeting me, you had other visions you don’t understand. Tell us.”

How could I deny him? After a deep breath, I related my past visions, all of them.

“It was horrible,” I said, stifling a sob. “I felt it all.”

“Do you think these visions are related?” Micah asked, getting up and pacing before me. “Are they showing you what is happening, or maybe what has happened?”

I noticed he was thinking out loud, but I had to add, “I wasn’t tortured in the past, if that’s what you are asking.” And I certainly hoped not to be tortured in the future.

“True, true,” he said, a thought line carved into his forehead. After a while, he turned to me. “I hope this Morgan guy knows about your visions too.”

I nodded, agreeing with him. I hoped Cheryl had been right to give me the guy’s card. I couldn’t take much more of this terror.

Chapter Nineteen

Around six in the morning, we were already on the road. This time, I welcomed the intoxicating mix of the guys’ scents to daze me. It was a little easier than dealing with the images that loomed behind my closed eyes.

Close to Jacksonville, the cities and towns weren’t only dirty and deserted, they seemed destroyed or in ruins. My stomach tightened. Jacksonville wasn’t much different. Houses stood without roofs, buildings with broken windows and doors; trees had fallen in the middle of the streets, and parks were littered with shattered benches and destroyed playgrounds. In short, a mess, like the rest of the country.

When Victor stopped the car in a large abandoned parking lot, I gaped. “It can’t be here.”

He checked the business card once more. “Well, that’s the address.”

Before us, a low building that reminded me of a manufacturing plant stood alone—or half-stood, since most of its windows and roof and some of the walls were in ruins.

“There’s no one in there,” I said, eyeing Micah from the rearview mirror. “Is there?”

Furrowing his brows, he nodded. “Someone’s there. Let’s go.” He opened the back door and jumped out of the car.

Before following him, I scanned the area. Even in the daytime it was dark, and the streetlamps were like the nearby buildings: broken. I didn’t want to run into any bats even if Micah could repel them.

Tugging my jacket closer, I left the car, Victor right behind me. I glanced skyward. At least it wasn’t too chilly down here.

Side by side, the guys and I walked to what seemed the main door of the rundown building. When we entered, I saw that the interior was as devastated as the exterior, at least in the first room. Micah jumped over chunks of wood and what was left of cushioned seats, and reached a door in the back. Different from the others, this door was whole and clean.

Before opening it, he waited for Victor and me to approach. Together, we entered a tidy reception room complete with a desk in front of another door, chairs, a sofa, and a blaring TV.

A receptionist greeted us. “How can I help you?” She wore a fake smile. Her red hair was super false and her chubby cheeks were nothing compared to her belly. She was wearing a black mini dress, three sizes too small. The heavy cloud of perfume she wore couldn’t cover up her strong, too sweet stench. I almost threw up.

“We’re here to see Morgan Holt,” I said, stepping closer to her.

“Do you have an appointment with him?” she asked, her fake smile wavering.

“No.”

“Then you’ll have to come back another day.” She grabbed an organizer from her desk. “We can schedule a date now. Tell me what this is about.”

Yeah, right
. “It’s urgent, ma’am. Could you please call him?”

“Everyone’s problems are urgent,” she snapped.

Before I could snap back at her, a young black guy came out of the door I wanted to enter. He was dressed in a white robe.

“Miriam,” he started, but stopped when he saw us. “May I help you?”

“I need to see Morgan Holt,” I said, turning my back to the receptionist and throwing some charm at the young man. I flipped my hair and batted my lashes, hoping my green eyes would do the trick.

He smiled at me. “Do you have an appointment?”

Oh, here we go again. I stepped closer to him, moving my shoulders as if I were uncertain of what to do. “I don’t. But, you see, I need to see him. My friends and I came from New York to talk to him.”

“New York. Really?” he asked, still smiling. “I love New York, though I haven’t been there in five years.” He showed me the door, beckoning for me to come with him. “How is the city?” he asked as we crossed the door’s threshold.

While we walked, he told me his name was Carl and that he was one of Morgan’s assistants, though I still had no idea what they did.

About fifty feet down the corridor there was a large staircase. Carl led us down the stairs to the basement.

“You flirt,” Micah whispered in my ear when Carl was busy opening another door for us. Sure, I was flirting a little, but I would use every trick I had to figure out what was going on with the visions and with Micah, Victor, and me. I shrugged and waved him off just as Carl turned back to me.

We entered a large room with many cushioned chairs along the wall.

“Wait here, please,” he said, walking toward the white double doors in the back of the room.

Frowning, Micah came to stand right beside me, staring at the doors.

Before Carl had taken a few steps, the doors opened and a blond man in white robes came out, staring straight at Micah.

“Morgan Holt,” I whispered, recognizing the man from my vision. He looked older in real life, about fifty-something, with highlighted blond hair down to his shoulders, and big, round brown eyes. Not too tall, but slim.

“By the gods, you three are like fireworks,” Morgan said, sounding much younger than he seemed. As if in disbelief, he gaped at us. “Who are you?”

“Hi, Mr. Holt, we—”

“Mr. Holt is my father,” he said. “I’m just Morgan. And you are?”

“Nadine. And this is Victor and Micah.” I motioned toward them, then tried again. “Morgan, we need your help.”

“Why would ones like you need my help?” he asked. There was a musical accent to his speech I could not pinpoint, but his definition of us was what caught my attention.

“Ones like us?” I asked. “What are we?”

“You tell me,” he said, raising his arms in exasperation. “I’ve never felt auras like yours.”

“Yeah, see,”—I curled my hair around my finger—“we don’t understand this aura thing.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, examining us. I felt like a monkey in a cage getting ready for an experiment. “All right, come to my office.” He led us to a side door into his tiny and cramped office.

He beckoned toward one of the only two chairs, indicating I should sit, while he took the second one. Before I sat I glanced back, making sure the guys were with me. And my breath was knocked out of me. Looking like seductive perfume ad models, Victor and Micah leaned against the wall. Victor stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets, and Micah crossed his arms over his black leather jacket. Good God!

Trying to focus, I turned back to face Morgan. “Thanks for receiving us.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Morgan propped his legs on his desk. “I’m just curious about your auras.”

“As are we,” I said.

“You talk as if you can’t sense them.”

“I can’t, but he can.” I pointed to Micah, who nodded to confirm it.

“I see.” Morgan squinted, studying us. “And why are you here?”

“We need your help.” Suddenly, I felt like a guilty woman getting ready to confess a crime. My chest tightened as the ridiculousness of the situation hit me. I almost laughed out loud. “Things we don’t understand have been happening and someone said you could help us.”

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, getting up. “What I do?” I shook my head, embarrassed. Tsking, Morgan turned to the wall behind him and, from the floor, grabbed what look like a rolled rug. “I’m a priest. A priest of a forgotten creed.” He unrolled the rug and hung it on screws on the wall.

When he retreated, I gasped.

I think he was about to explain the drawing, but noticed my reaction and waited. I stood and walked toward it.

It was the throne room of the crystal palace, showing the thrones lined up and the gods and goddesses elegantly seated on them, holding their staves. Levi was in the middle, Ceris on his right, Mitrus on his left, then Imha and Omi and the others I didn’t know. Under them, there was a large symbol.

“I know them.” I ran my fingers over the drawing.

“You do?” Morgan asked, his eyes wary.

“This is Levi, Ceris, Mitrus, Imha, and Omi.” While saying their names, I pointed to each respective figure. “I don’t know the others’ names.”

With wide eyes, he said, “The others aren’t as important. They aren’t lesser gods either, but the ones that make the big decisions are the ones you named. How do you know them?”

I glanced at Victor and Micah, scared of revealing my secret to a stranger. I swallowed and said, “I have visions about them.”

Morgan’s big round eyes became even wider. “You do?” He sounded excited. “Do your visions become real?”

“Well, I kept seeing this guy in my visions, and he told me everything about himself. Then, I met him in person.” I pointed at Victor. “He didn’t know me, but I know all about him. And there was the episode of the burned town in Switzerland. I saw it happening. It was Omi. He threatened the nymphs on a lake nearby. The nymphs didn’t give him the information he sought, so he killed them and wiped out the city.”

“Really?” Morgan’s eyes gleamed in awe. “You do know what they are patrons of?”

I glanced back at the beautiful drawing in the rug. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, Levi is the god of life, balance, and spirit. Ceris is the goddess of love, family, home, and beauty. Omi is the god of war, courage, and wisdom. Mitrus is the god of death, the underworld, and the dead. Imha is the goddess of chaos and discord. And the others”—he pointed at them in the drawing—“are the god of the sun and the day, the goddess of the moon and the night, the goddess of nature and seasons, the goddess of entertainment and artists, and the god of magic.”

Intrigued by its familiarity, I stared at the symbol on the lower part of the rug. I squinted, examining it. It was white, like it was made of crystal, and composed of a thick circle and, in the center, the sign of infinity, which started shining when I set my eyes on it.

“Did you see that?” I asked, pointing to the symbol.

“See what?” Morgan asked.

But I didn’t answer. I tilted my head and saw it clearly; the infinity sign was the number eight lying sideways.

I stumbled back, my breathing coming in little snatches of air. “I’ve seen this symbol as long as I’ve had visions.”

“This is the creed’s symbol,” he explained. “The pantheon’s name is Everlasting Circle. We believe our gods are the true and only ones who exist. The others—Egyptians, Greeks, Celts, Mayans, and even the Christian God—are all based on the Everlasting Circle. However, with the appearance of other religions and myths, the Everlasting Circle was forgotten.”