Just about the whole community had gathered to see Naomi and Martin off. Jack moved through the crowd, shaking hands, asking after the few who weren’t present, solidifying bonds and reinforcing the goodwill he could feel radiating from virtually every person he interacted with. People loved him. They had in the time before, and they certainly did now. They loved him because they needed a leader. They needed someone to tell them what to do, how to act, what to think, what to believe. And Jack was just the guy for the job. He knew that now, with certainty.
The mantra whispered in his brain non-stop these days: “I could make you.” He thought the words, as he clapped Alder on the back and admired his newborn son; as he nodded to Andrea and Paul, the siblings who never stopped squabbling and never left each other’s sides; as he greeted Carla, their head gardener, and assured her that repair of her main greenhouse was the next project on the group work list. “I could make you. I could make you do whatever I want.”
He would have loved to blame Satan for his current mental state, he surely would have. But he couldn’t. No, this was all him. The things he conjured in the deep of night, the things he was imagining, right now, in the bright April sunshine… Deviant, twisted things. Didn’t matter who, didn’t matter the circumstances. In his day-to-day interactions, half his mind was engaged by the task at hand, while the other half manipulated and toyed with and tormented the people around him. He could make them do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. His imagination supplied endless variations on the theme.
There was one exception, one person he didn’t dare feature in his dark fantasies, and he avoided her as if his life depended on it. His eyes swept the crowd as he moved towards Martin and Naomi, searching for golden curls and the almost-indiscernible glow of light that always surrounded them, but if Verity was here, she was keeping a low profile. Which, of course, meant she wasn’t here. Verity was incapable of fading into any background. Jack’s chest lifted and fell in a sigh of relief.
On some vague level, he was aware that his soul was poised on a knife’s edge. Up until now, the abilities he’d found himself with in the wake of the plague had been nothing more than an irritation, something to be ignored whenever possible or used to his advantage when he judged it necessary. But the kind of power he now knew he had, power he could wield over anybody he chose… Jack had only been drunk once in his life, and had never tried drugs, but he couldn’t imagine any high that could match the hectic euphoria he felt when he imagined what he could do.
Martin and Naomi were in front of the church, well-wishers and petitioners alike gathered around them. So many people had loved ones in Colorado Springs and other communities on the front range, and over the last several weeks, the requests had been pouring in: Could you check to see if my mother is alive? My kids were both at UCCS – will you look for them? My brother and his family, they’re in Manitou, and you’re going right through there…
Finally, Jack had put the word out: No more. The travelers had very specific objectives, one of the most important being reconnaissance. When they returned, if it was safe, more trips could be planned. In the meantime, Martin and Naomi were not to be deluged with any more requests. Jack had delivered this message with firmness and humor, just the right amounts of each, but the other half of his mind had been having a heyday. The pressure that could be brought to bear, the unlimited power to be found in people’s desperation… The temptation was indescribable.
In spite of the directive, a few frantic souls were still trying. As Jack watched, Martin gently but firmly pressed a piece of paper back into an older woman’s hands. He shook his head at her, lifted a hand to forestall the protest that burst from her, and Jack read the word that formed on his lips: “No.” Martin turned away, and the woman stood for a moment, eyes brimming with tears and chin quivering, until a friend looped an arm around her shoulders and led her away.
Jack had met with Martin and Naomi early that morning, before the crowd had gathered; he had already said his goodbyes. Rather than jostle for a place near the travelers and add to the chaos, he stayed on the fringes, nodding at Thomas, Martin’s second-in-command, and smiling at the kids, who were either hanging in groups of twos and threes trying to look cool or chasing each other through the crowd. Neither Layla nor Rowan had arrived yet, and Verity was still blessedly absent. Jack scanned the crowd again and was surprised to see Anne standing a few feet away, wringing her hands. She had managed to leave the library to see the travelers off, although she didn’t look too happy about it.
Since her arrival over a month before, Anne hadn’t so much as stepped outside to enjoy the increasing warmth of spring. Panic attacks kept her confined to the library, which was the only place she felt comfortable and secure, but it looked like her adoration of Martin had overridden her fear. Once she’d given up trying to kill the man, her attitude had swung in precisely the opposite direction. These days, she called him Angel, which never failed to make Martin cringe and Layla laugh, though they both did their best to hide their reactions from the fragile older woman. Anne was a rich source of knowledge; she had relived terrible memories in her efforts to supply Martin and Naomi with all the information she could as to the whereabouts and activities of the men currently in control of the city, as well as the remnants of the military in the Springs.
As he watched, Anne glanced over her shoulder, then looked up suddenly and flinched. The fear on her face was so real, it was hard not to look up as well. Jack stepped to her side, reinforcing his shields against the terror she barely had a grip on and skipping the preliminaries. “How can I help you?”
Anne hardly spared him a glance. “It’s too bright out here.” Her voice shook, and she patted her chest, her eyes darting around like a frenzied bird. “I can’t catch my breath. There’s no air.”
Jack narrowed his eyes, wondering. Could he…? He let his shields drop enough to read her, really read her, and pitched his voice to slide right into her mind. “Look at me, Anne. Good. Now breathe with me to the count of ten.” He kept his eyes locked on hers while he counted out the breaths, then continued. “Your heart rate is slowing, and your breath is coming easier. It’s getting easier to think now, isn’t it?”
Anne nodded. Jack could see reason returning to her eyes, and he kept talking, marveling at how easy this was – and how different from what he had done with Layla. That had been a descent into the dark, but this… He felt like he was lifting them both into the light. His voice vibrated with tones of respect and authority, as he pulled her free of the fear that had sunk its talons into her. “What you’re feeling is frightening, but you’re not in danger. Think about the words, Anne. Words have great power. You can use them to your advantage.”
Anne nodded again, and again, her eyes flicked around. People were watching them curiously, and before the first tendrils of embarrassment could take root, Jack commanded her attention once more. “Don’t worry for a single moment what they’re thinking. And don’t think you’re not strong. Your cracks might show more than others’, but everyone here has them. Every single one of us.” He crouched, keeping her gaze when she would have dropped it. “I’m really proud of you, coming out to see Martin off. And I know he’ll appreciate it, too.”
Anne’s face flushed with pleasure, and she reached out to clutch his hands with both of hers. She drew a deep, deep breath, and her eyes closed for a moment in relief. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For helping me.”
Before Jack could reply, Rowan stepped out of the crowd, eyes snapping sharply from Anne to Jack and back again; she always knew, when one of her flock was in jeopardy. “Hey. It’s good to see you outside, Anne.” Her gaze swung to Jack and her eyes narrowed. “How are we doing?”
“Why do doctors always say ‘we?’” Anne’s voice was only slightly breathless. “It’s annoying, Rowan, and moreover, it’s condescending.” She looked at Jack and smirked, and he felt her natural vivacity rise to fill her. The lift it gave his own heart was a delightful surprise. “Words are powerful things, young lady. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll wish our travelers ‘Safe journey and safe return,’ so I can get back to my duties at the library.”
She gave Jack’s hand a last squeeze. “Maybe you’re not so smarmy after all, mister youth pastor.” With that, she turned to make her way towards Martin.
Beside him, Rowan huffed in indignation. “‘Young lady.’ Whatever. And I’m not a doctor – why can’t people remember that?”
“I think you’d better give that fight up, Rowan. You’re the closest we’ve got. If it comforts people to call you ‘doctor,’ why not let them? What harm does it do?”
“That’s an interesting question. Especially coming from you.”
Jack turned to find himself pinned by eyes that saw too much. Rowan held the contact for a long moment, then returned her eyes to the crowd. “Have you seen Layla and Owen yet?”
“No.” If she wasn’t going to pursue that cryptic comment, he certainly wouldn’t. Her eyes probed and skimmed the crowd, assessing the health of every person here as only she could; watching her, Jack felt a stab of genuine concern.
The needs of the community had aged Rowan unspeakably. She was not yet thirty, but her dark hair was mostly silver at the roots; lines of care and worry had gouged her face into premature middle-age. She didn’t complain, ever, though she had no patience with stupidity. Her snapping reprimands were universally feared, and woe to the person who wasted her time with trivialities. As he watched, her eyes roved the crowd, pausing here and there. Sometimes, a frown would crease the skin between her eyes. Sometimes, she would nod, and her lips would lift into a brief, satisfied smile. Jack had been watching her do this for over a year, and it never failed to awe him.
“Have you had any luck training those assistants of yours?”
“Bah. Stefan is willing, but he faints dead away at anything deeper than a paper cut. Tara is lazy and not terribly bright. She says she used to be a receptionist in a doctor’s office, but she didn’t absorb a damn thing as near as I can tell. But both of them can see glimmers of what I can, so we’ll keep working.” Rowan’s scanning eyes stopped, and the frown creased her forehead. “There’s Layla. And Martin keeps looking at the sun. He’s anxious to be off. C’mon, let’s go send them on their way.”
Together, they worked their way through the crowd. Jack kept his eyes off Layla until he was sure he had his shields at full strength, and reinforced at that. The last thing he needed was for her or anyone else to catch the drift of his thoughts whenever his eyes touched her. Of all the players in his twisted fantasies, she was his shining star.
She was hanging a pouch attached to a leather cord around Naomi’s neck when he looked up. She moved on to adorn Martin with a similar pouch, and as Jack moved closer, he could hear her explaining the gifts. “Black tourmaline and fire agate. They’ll turn away evil intent and return it to the sender. Bay leaves. Angelica root. Cinnamon.” In unison, both Martin and Naomi lifted the small pouches to their noses, and Layla smiled. “To protect your spirits from despair and negativity.” She closed her eyes and placed her palms over both charms. “Spirit of Divine Light; spirits of the elements earth, water and fire; spirits of the winds that will journey with them. Empower these symbols and watch over the travelers that carry them. As I will, so let it be.”
Martin looked pained, but Naomi laid both her hands over Layla’s. “What a lovely blessing. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Wear them against your skin, please.”
The travelers lifted the pouches and obediently tucked them inside their shirt collars. Layla stepped back into the waiting circle of Owen’s arms. Jack watched her hulking lover press a kiss to the top of her head and dropped his eyes, not trusting his shields to hold against the combined surge of outrage and jealousy.
The nerve of her, inflicting her pagan sacrilege on them without so much as a by your leave. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths until he was confident of his defenses once more. Looking up, he again found himself the object of Rowan’s all-seeing eyes and smiled tightly at her. She turned away, taking her turn to give Martin a clap on the shoulder and Naomi a warm hug. She spoke to them both for a moment, made them grin at whatever she had said, then returned to Jack’s side.
“I told them if they could bring me back a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs, there was nothing I or my descendants for seven generations would not do for them,” she said. “I know it’s a long shot, but it’s just not spring without egg-shaped chocolate.”
Then she skewered him before he saw it coming. “Your blood pressure is dangerously high. And you experience a severe spike whenever you see Layla and Owen together. That was to be expected at the beginning, but you should have adapted by now. It’s become a conditioned response.” Her eyes drilled into his. “If you don’t learn to control and re-train your physiological response, you are increasing your risk for stroke or heart attack. The genetic precursors are in you – I can see them.”
Jack wanted to look away, but couldn’t. “My granddad died of a massive stroke when he was in his fifties. And my dad had heart disease. It started when he was quite young.”
Rowan nodded. “Obviously, medication isn’t an option.” She released him from the relentless pressure of her eyes, but didn’t let up. “In technical, medical terms, you need to get a grip, Jack. Pray about it, meditate about it, whatever, but you need to accept their relationship emotionally, so your body can accept it physically.” Her gaze returned, and he felt her genuine caring, though her voice remained brisk and no-nonsense. “You’re making yourself sick. And I would rather see you walk away from this community and never look back than watch your heart explode.”
Jack’s mouth twisted bitterly. He didn’t even try to make it look like a smile. “Right. Like that’s an option.”
“It is.” When he didn’t look at her, she grasped his arm in her strong hand, demanding his attention. “It is. Jack, I know leadership of this community isn’t something you asked for and that you have mixed feelings about it. I don’t have to read feelings to know that. But you need to remember that you have the option to leave it all behind. No one’s holding a gun to your head. We would go on if you dropped dead tomorrow. Which you might, if you keep on as you have been.” She shook her head, her expression wry. “How do you think I go on, day after day? I don’t have to do this, and I tell myself that every damn morning. I choose to do this.”
They stood in silence for a while, watching the crowd ebb and flow, and finally start to thin. People dispersed to their assigned or chosen tasks for the day, the party atmosphere giving way to the warmth of cooperation and camaraderie. These people, all of them, had survived horrific losses; they had chosen to go on, helping each other, learning to live again, forming new bonds that strengthened with each passing day. Rowan was right about one thing, Jack thought, watching them. This community would continue to grow and thrive with or without him.
Ignacio had been waiting on the fringes with the horses, and he led them to the travelers now. He stroked the animals’ foreheads and gazed into their eyes as Naomi and Martin mounted, ran his crooked brown hands over the face and ears of the pack horse, and Jack could feel his sorrow at the parting from clear across the parking lot. As he watched, Layla rubbed the center of her chest, then moved to loop an arm through Ignacio’s as the travelers rode away amidst calls of farewell and well-wishes.
He turned to Rowan, to find her watching Layla with an all-too familiar frown on her face. Three times, her eyes moved on, and three times, they returned. After the third frown, Jack couldn’t deny the chill that twisted down his spine.
“What’s wrong with her?”
Rowan’s frown deepened. To her credit, she didn’t pretend to not know what he was talking about. “I don’t speak of possibilities, only certainties. Not to mention the fact that it’s none of your business.”
He grasped her elbow harder than he meant to,
and forced himself to modulate his grasp. “It is very much my
business,” he said. His voice was pitched just right: calm,
reasonable, quietly authoritative. Without thought or decision, he
took what he knew of Rowan and used it. He took her admiration for
rational, logical thought, her healer’s instinct, took her love for
every one of her patients, and used it to push his way in and
control. “I may struggle with it sometimes, but I am one
of the leaders of this community. So is Layla. If there’s something
I need to know, a burden that needs to be lifted from her –”
Rowan jerked her elbow free of his grasp and glared at him. “Just
for the record, if you ever try that mind control shit on me again,
I’ll break your arm.”
Jack stared at her, shocked, then turned unseeing eyes away and spoke through stiff lips. “Layla told you.”
“No.” She waited until he looked at her again. “You just did. And I could see what you were doing with Anne, earlier.” She shook her head slowly, her eyes filled with worry. “I thought what Layla can do – that thing where she can make people obey a one-word command – was the most dangerous manifestation of this evolution, or whatever it is we’ve got going on. I was wrong.” She paused, and he heard the incredulity in her voice when she went on. “You did that to Layla? And she let you live?”
“What? Did you think she’d turn me into a toad?” Jack snapped the reply at her, but kept his eyes averted. “That’s none of your business. I’d prefer to drop it, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, whatever. But Jack?” She would stand there until he looked at her, he could feel it, so he got it over with. The expression on her face conveyed both her interest and her trepidation. “This needs to be discussed, at length. Did I see what I thought I saw, before? You were in control of Anne’s mind, weren’t you? You controlled her physiological responses. You shut down her panic attack. Is that accurate?”
He couldn’t think of a way to not answer, though it made him powerfully uncomfortable. “More or less. I didn’t so much control her as influence her.” The more he thought about it, the more he began to understand the difference between what had happened with Anne versus his experience with Layla. “I pulled her away from her fear and reinforced her own control. I don’t really know how to describe it, or control it. It has only happened a couple of times. And it was different with Layla.”
It was as close as he could force himself to an admission. Rowan nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t need to know what happened. I can guess, and I don’t think we need to discuss the specifics, especially not with everyone. I’d rather not sew your arms back on after Owen gets through with you. But we would be fools not to talk about how to use what both you and Layla can do, the possibilities for medical application, or for defense, if that gang Anne is so worried about heads this way.”
He hadn’t thought about either possibility, and he should have. No, he’d been too busy getting down and dirty in his fantasies. For the first time in a long time, Jack felt shame, which in turn enraged him. God, he was so sick of the push-pull inside of him, the lure of the dark in constant opposition to what he knew in the center of his soul was right. He was so tired of questioning, endlessly, the source of the knowing, of never being sure whether it was a window into his own, deepest desires, or inspiration from God. And for today at least, he was finished with hiding his feelings on the subject.
“Sure, Rowan, I’ll rush right in and put that on my calendar: ‘Discuss one more way to use Jack and his quite-possibly Satanic hocus-pocus abilities to serve this community.’ Can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to it.” Before she could rip a strip off him in reply, Jack bared his teeth at her in the facsimile of a smile. “Thank you for your medical advice. I’ll be sure to think about it. Now please excuse me – I’ve got so many things to do, not one of which I volunteered for.”
He walked away, and couldn’t possibly have cared less that he was clearing a path with the angry energy that preceded him. People stared, startled, not used to seeing him out of control. Jack kept his head down until he reached the front door of the church, then stood there, seething, his hand on the door handle.
“Forget this,” he muttered, and swung away, walking around to what used to be a remembrance garden and now was being prepped to grow vegetables and herbs. He dropped onto a bench, screened by a trellis from what was left of the crowd, and scrubbed his hands over his face. People strolled by, unaware of his presence, chatting, laughing, discussing, planning. Not for the first time, Jack felt removed, separated. He led this community, but he wasn’t a part of it, not anymore. Not like he had been in the time before.
Through the trellis, he could see Layla and Owen talking with Ignacio and Thomas. Layla still had her arm looped through Ignacio’s and every once in a while, she patted his hand, or stroked his arm. She was a toucher with everyone but Jack, always resting her hand on someone’s forearm or shoulder as she spoke to them or reaching to hold a hand. He had seen her stroke the back of a child’s head affectionately a thousand times. And a thousand more, he’d imagined her eager touch on his own skin, wondered what it would be like to be the recipient of her caresses.
Why was it so much more titillating to imagine coercing that touch? The outside world paled beside the rich detail of his fantasies, a thousand images of his beautiful Layla subjected to his will, to his smallest and greatest desires while Owen stood by helplessly. Jack closed his eyes, his breath shuddering in, then out. Layla’s wall of ice was nothing to him now. He could breach it whenever he wanted, and his own defenses made it look like a child’s flimsy snow fort. He opened his eyes, watching them from his place of concealment and let his mind have at the two of them.
“Wow.”
The word was breathed near his right shoulder, and made him start violently. How he had dreaded hearing that voice. He turned, and somehow, some way, Verity was sitting right beside him on the bench. She was also shaking her head at him, an awed expression on her face.
“I have seen some dark stuff, you know. The dead, they always want to tell me how they died. Usually, they show me and let me tell you what –” She shuddered and closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ve seen awful things. Things that shouldn’t have ever been dreamt of, Horatio.”
She opened her eyes, and in them, Jack saw flashes of those awful things, shadows that writhed in misery and torment. And for just a moment, he saw her as he had never seen her before: An ancient soul, battered, beleaguered, sometimes to the limits of her endurance. Then, she blinked, and her cornflower blue eyes held only the innocent mischievousness that was the essence of Verity.
“Yep.” She shook her head again. “I thought I had seen it all. But that thing you just had going on with Layla and that red –”
“Shut up.” He didn’t try for control; he was too shocked to even think of it. She could read his mind? Had she always been able to do this? With everybody?
“Pretty much,” she answered. “It’s not that big a deal, you know. Ask Martin. He’s pretty good at it, too.”
For maybe thirty seconds, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to her. Questions bombarded him so fast, he couldn’t sort them out or prioritize them. The one that burned through all of them, over and over, was: Would she tell Layla?
“Nope. Not my place.” She shook a stern finger at him. “But if you don’t tone it down, I will drop some whopping hints. Get a grip. Or else.” She glowered at him, then ruined it with a grin. “Dang it. One of these days I’ll be able to ‘Or else’ someone and keep a straight face.”
On any other day, he’d have made up some excuse and bolted. But not when he’d already heard “Get a grip.” Not today. He glared at her, and even though he doubted it would do any good, he threw up every defensive wall he had. “Know what Verity? You don’t get to tell me what I can and cannot do in the privacy of my own mind. I don’t care how many archangels you think you’ve got backing you up. My thoughts are my own, and as long as I’m being honest here, I’m not interested in hearing yours. Ever. Again.”
A sharp slap stung the back of his head. Jack whirled, but there was no one behind him. He swiveled back to Verity, who had both hands clamped over her mouth, blue eyes wide and a little scared. A nervous giggle exploded between her fingers, and she held both hands up, demonstrating her innocence. “It wasn’t me! Dude, I’ve never seen Michael swat someone before! Yeesh!”
Jack dropped his head forward and shut his eyes. If only he could scoff. If only he could disbelieve. No such luxury, not where Verity was concerned. So he’d managed to tick off the head honcho of Archangels, had he? What a fabulous day this was turning out to be. “You win,” he said wearily. “From here on out, my thoughts towards Layla will be pure as the driven snow. She’s safe from me, in both thought and deed. Happy?”
In reply, Verity slid off the bench to kneel beside him. She reached to gather his hands in hers, her fingers tiny, child-like and warm. As always, her touch made him see things, beings he could not explain or deny. Like a wall of light, they were, tall and so beautiful they made him want to both laugh and cry. As Jack gazed down at Verity, he felt himself enfolded in wings of power and love, and he knew without asking: The Archangel Michael had forgiven him.
“Of course he has, you silly,” Verity said fondly. “He loves you, without reservation or condition. But you’ve lost your way. What you focus on, what you allow your thoughts to dwell on – that becomes your Higher Power. Michael isn’t worried about Layla. She can take care of herself. He’s worried about you. You’ve lost your True North.”
Jack lifted his gaze to Layla, watching her head tilt back as she laughed at something Owen said, knowing and loving how laughter made her eyes sparkle and flash, though he couldn’t see it from this far away. “Is it her? Is she the Gift from God you spoke of?”
Verity followed the direction of his gaze. “Layla? Oh, no – at least not anymore. Maybe before the plague, or before Owen, but she’s on another path now, one that leads where you can’t follow.” She blinked away a flash of sorrow before he could even be sure he’d seen it, then smirked up at him. “Your helpmate is on her way here, rest easy on that. I know you’re lonely, and so does the Divine. Your prayers for a true companion have been heard.”
Jack felt a blush burn his throat and cheeks. If God had indeed heard the prayers of his heart, He had been privy to the degradations of Jack’s mind as well. How could he have forgotten that? How had he journeyed so far away from his own soul? Verity was certainly right about one thing: He had stopped listening to a higher call, had created and worshipped idols of lust and power.
He looked up at Layla and ran his eyes all over her, drinking in her dark allure, longing for the lovely mystery of her. He didn’t want to give her up. Didn’t want to stop sinning with her, even if it was just in his mind. Not just yet. But did one ignore a swat from an Archangel, Michael at that? One did not.
Jack shut his eyes, and forced his mind to Proverbs, to the kind of woman he should have been focused on all along. Christian. Pure of heart. Kind, giving, self-less. His eyes slipped open, and he was captured by the lush fall of Layla’s dark hair, that rich, silky waterfall that had featured in so many of his fantasies… He slammed his eyes shut once more. Blonde. Please, Lord of All, let his helpmate be blonde. “Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.”
Beside him, Verity snorted, and somehow made it sound delicate. Jack opened his eyes just in time to catch her rolling hers. “Yeah, that ‘Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm’ thing you’ve got going on there – ain’t gonna happen.” She shook her head and rose to stand beside him, taking away her touch and his ability to see the heavenly host in the same motion. “You are such a guy. There’s more to women than saint or sinner, pal. I’d suggest you leave the deets to the Divine – expect her to arrive but be open to the form.”
She winced, then hunched her shoulders and rubbed the back of her head, speaking to the unseen. “What? I wasn’t making fun of him! Well, okay, I was, but he pictured her in a sunbonnet, for pity’s sake!” Verity turned to go, then whirled back as she always, always did. “I almost forgot! The woman who’s on her way here? Yeah. She’s not your Gift. Just thought you ought to know.”