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Oz had been talking strategy with Borg and Tron since the early morning hours. Chikere had joined them in their private office wing some time later. The strategy session had mostly consisted of carting an array of reading materials from the Battle Library to be scoured. The Essence was the topic of research and the men were set on a last ditch effort to root out any additional surprises that may be in store before they were set to leave that evening. Then, club security had called with suspicions regarding a few new arrivals. Borg sent Yam to learn more.
Oz was first to see Neptune rush in. He was about to call out to him when he focused on the man’s expression.
“We’ve got a big problem,” Neptune announced.
The Generals stood while Chikere kept his seat. Oz could feel his heart taking a slow, tormenting climb up the back of his throat. He didn’t see Keturah. Before he could question Neptune, Chikere was speaking.
“We have a big problem named Louis Moland,” Chikere said.
Agatha, safe and standing just behind Neptune, moved forward. Her eyes were steady on Chikere’s. “Who is he? He has the mark of a Warrior Priest.”
Tron shuddered out a ragged curse. Meanwhile, Borg shot a hand through his hair and slammed at the air with a fist.
“Chik tell us the guy just thought it’d make a nice tattoo.” Neptune urged.
“I wish I could, but no.” The old Priest looked every bit his age then.
“Where’s Keturah?” Oz demanded.
“My guess is she’s with him,” Agatha shared the answer uneasily.
“You said there was only one born every few millennia,” Borg said to Chikere while Oz was reaching for his phone.
Chikere confirmed with a single, stiff nod.
“Why have we never heard of him?” Tron settled to the arm of the winding sofa. “He’d have been around before we left the Realm, right?”
“Correct, though his existence wouldn’t have been widely known except to those most directly impacted.”
“I’ve tried her twice,” Oz rejoined the conversation. “She’s not answering her phone,” he went to tower over Chikere. “You said they’d died out inexplicably. I’d think that’d make this guy a very big deal, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Chikere stood then as well. “Yes, he was a very big deal and one his family wanted to keep hidden.”
Agatha moved closer to the Priest. “But why?”
“The Warrior Priests were a feared breed,” Chikere explained. “The Priest sect fought with Gods and Warriors when sides were drawn between the Benevolent and Malevolent. It was an honorable and celebrated thing to come from a house that claimed a Warrior Priest in its line.”
“What changed?” Borg asked.
Chikere shook his head as though bewildered. “Certain houses claimed high numbers of Warrior Priest births while others may’ve had a son born with the mark every ten to twenty years-if that. No one complained. Warrior Priests were extraordinary fighters. In those long ago days, it was rare for a Priestess to seek pleasure outside her race. They were as sought after on the battlefield as they were in the bedroom.”
“But?” Tron prompted.
Chikere chose a spot on one of the sofa arms as well. “There was speculation that a sickness was spreading-a mental sickness that was causing the Warrior Priests to suddenly turn on their comrades in battle.”
The room echoed with the quiet curse Neptune had muttered.
“It took a long while for those rumors to gain traction,” Chikere noted. “It wasn’t until Warrior Priests swords were found in the backs of Warriors for Ogun’s Army, that rumor became fact. Thankfully... well, thankfully there were periods of peace, no battles to be fought but the Warrior Priests never rested. One night they turned on their own-all of their own. It was a bloody few days in that sector of the Realm,” Chikere shoved to his feet as suddenly as he’d settled.
“King Olorun eventually called on Ife to discuss a solution.”
“Which was?” Agatha’s question had a blunt tinge.
“A way to suppress the births until a reason for the sickness could be determined.”
“And in the meantime?”
Agatha’s question drew another sigh from Chikere. “In the meantime, Olorun ordered the Priestesses to killed the entire Warrior Priest sect.”
“The Priestesses?” Neptune whispered.
Chikere confirmed with his expression before his words. “They were the only ones strong enough at the time. Their mansions were fortified by their power, which, if you recall from our earlier chat, relates more strongly to elements instead of emotion. The job of killing the sect would’ve fallen to the Priests but their numbers were greatly depleted after being caught off guard. The Priestesses on the other hand-”
“Were women,” Agatha finished matter-of-factly. “A woman is always on guard.”
Chikere offered a reverent nod. “They’d suffered no losses on that bloody night, so...”
“The Warrior Priests had their own training borough, same as us, didn’t they?” Neptune probed.
“They did,” Chikere confirmed. “When the Priestesses summoned their power over the elements, the great halls of the Warrior Priests borough imploded burying them in the crater left behind-sealed in such a way there was no escaping should anyone have survived. It’s an old story-one left from the history books as each side played a role, a regretful role of which we are ashamed. The Warrior Priests are now spoken of as myth-legends to entertain small boys of the Realm.”
“Did they ever discover the source of the defect?” Borg asked.
“They believed they learned the line it originated from-never the source of the malady though.”
“You say they’re legends now. Is this defect why that remains so?” Agatha queried.
“It remains so because that’s how the Priestesses wanted it.” Chikere shared. “The argument was made that with the line dying out or... killed as it were, the sickness would be harder to research, as there would be no one left to study.”
“That’s quite an argument-and not one likely to keep everyone on friendly terms,” Agatha noted.
Everyone turned to the sound of approaching footsteps. Yam.
“Still no sign of Keturah, Generals,” Yam reported. “I have everyone on the lookout for her. This was lying open on the floor of her room.”
Ogun’s Army. The book was open to the last page of chapter 72. An arrow pointed to the Warrior Priests’ mark. Beneath it, was ‘Louis’ in Keturah’s handwriting.
Oz’s jaw clenched and he turned away without comment.
“Thanks Yam,” Borg clapped the man’s shoulder. “Keep us posted, alright?”
“Yes sir.”
Yam had just cleared the doorway when Oz bolted for it.
“Oz! Wait!” Neptune called.
“Nep’s right,” Tron advised. “This is no time for you to lose that cool and calm we love about you.”
“Listen to Tron, Oz,” Borg urged. “Moland won’t hurt her, he knows how important she is.”
“And when he finds out she can’t open the gates on her own?” Oz countered. “How do you think he’ll take that? He may not kill her, but he’ll damn well hurt her.”
“Oz-”
“I don’t want to hear it, Chik!”
“You’ll want to hear this,” Chikere waited until everyone, including Oz was paying attention. “The Warrior Priests’ sickness originated from the Domual line. Louis Moland’s name is an anagram for Solin Domual.”
***
Keturah was too relieved to discover Louis had lied about having Agatha to berate herself for being stupid enough to believe he’d taken her. The relief rushing her bloodstream was almost enough to make her forget her predicament. Almost.
Though she could’ve at least tried to make a run for it when they led her through the BorginTron lobby, she decided against it. She knew Louis Moland-she thought she did, anyway. He was just another insane rich bastard with a rule the world mentality. He was insane, but human. As for Moises and Rayan... the way she put them on their knees- they were nothing overly special despite their immortal states. Constant however, his presence disturbed her.
Given the background info she now possessed, she wouldn’t risk causing a scene and bringing harm to any of the club’s patrons. She didn’t know if it was the patron’s good luck or her rotten one that no one seemed to notice her leaving with the four men. Considering a man couldn’t buy her a drink at any of the clubs without someone intervening on Oz’s behalf, it was strange indeed. Perhaps there was more and she wondered whether generals were gifted with the Shrouding ability or if Louis Moland’s Warrior Priest mark was more than a tattoo.
Surely Constant was the one Oz had spoken of. It’d be too much of a coincidence if he wasn’t. Why would someone of his caliber be joined up with the likes of this goon squad? Curiosity had won out over her unease and she went along without further argument.
They made her sit on the lone seat in the rear compartment of a black Suburban. Moises and Rayan had the middle seats. Constant drove. Keturah’s smile was cold as she regarded Louis.
“I’ve never seen you ride the passenger seat like a normal person, Louis. Always one of your over the top Bentley Limos or was that all for appearances sake?” She accused. “Playing the part of old money rich, is that it?”
“I am old money rich, beautiful,” Louis’s tone was as lazy as his relaxed pose on the seat. “As for keeping up appearances,” he added, “I don’t have to do that very often-only when you’re around. The appearances are for you Keturah.”
While she pondered that, the SUV sped toward its destination. The windows were tinted dark and made determining the route difficult. Not that it mattered, she didn’t know the streets of New York City anymore than she knew those of Paris.
Constant stopped the Suburban and everyone exited the vehicle. Keturah ignored Rayan’s hand extended to help her from the back and left under her own steam. They had driven to an airstrip. When Louis took her arm to lead her, she wrenched away and punished his side with a stinging blow...the blow only punished her fist. Louis stood over her then and she had never seen him so menacing.
“Speaking of appearances sake, I wouldn’t try that again. You’ll win out over Moises and Rayan every time,” he paused to snort laughter when the two men bristled. “Stop pouting, it’s true.” He sent Keturah a wink. “Constant would take a little more effort, but you might top him eventually. Me?” He sighed over another spat of laughter. “Well, dear girl...I’m another thing entirely, but then you already know that, don’t you?”
Moises and Rayan chuckled, but quickly silenced when Keturah slapped Louis for his trouble. He yanked her arm in return, until she gasped.
“Next time, I hit back,” he sneered. “Let’s see how pretty your General finds you afterward.”
Keturah grimaced, but refused to cry out over the pain seizing her arm. Louis pulled her across the tarmac with Moises, Rayan and Constant following closely behind.
“Why the rush?” her voice was tight. “I thought everybody loved New York? Or is it Chikere you’re running from?”
Louis stopped mid-stride. “Where did you hear that name?”
“You sound afraid, Louis. Don’t worry, I get it. He’s a scary guy. High Priest and all.”
Louis shrugged off his concern with effort. “Too bad he didn’t snuff us out while we were there. They may’ve been in time to save you.”
Keturah yanked her arm against his hold then. “I don’t need to be saved, what I do need are answers. What the hell is going on, Louis? Why are you so interested in what’s out there?”
“If you knew what was out there, you wouldn’t be asking that.”
“But I do know and it’s something you can’t package to be sold. You can’t control it, Louis,” she almost shrieked when he rounded on her and she inched back until she slammed against Rayan’s chest.
Louis’s expression was livid.“I’ve destested that name more every century I’ve been stuck with it,” his voice grated. “I can’t say it hasn’t served its purpose, though. Sturdy, yet simple enough not to grab too much attention. All that and it allows me to hold my true name.”
“True name.”
He gave an indulgent smile. “Since the masks are about to come off, Keturah, why don’t you use my given name. Solin. Solin Domual.”
She gasped, that time not from pain.
Louis’s smile turned fiercer with the delight claiming it. “I see you’ve heard of me.”
“Domual.”
Louis-Solin turned to Constant who had spoken. His expression lost some of its fierce delight and appeared playfully apologetic.
“Oops,” he said. “I’d almost forgotten putting on appearances wasn’t only for Keturah’s sake, afterall.”
“Domual,” Constant repeated the name as though he’d been enveloped inside a trance.
Solin’s smile seemed tender. He rested a hand, palm flat over Constant’s heart. “Relax, Warrior. Ease your mind, your time is near.”
Riveted, Keturah watched as the big man’s expression seemed to clear. A new awareness crept into his deep-set coffee brown stare. He blinked rapidly several times before his gaze focused on Solin’s face. He looked as though he were seeing the man before him for the first time.
“Solin.”
Solin clapped Constant’s shoulder and grinned. “Welcome back.”
“Solin, what-” Constant paused, spotting Moises and Rayan and looking as if he were just realizing their presence as well. His gaze shifted back to Solin. “What is this? What’s happened?”
“You’ve been Shrouded.”
It was Keturah who answered. The men looked her way, stunned. Solin however, smiled adoringly.
“Very nice, Ket, I see Oz has been doing more than fucking you. He’s been teaching you our language as well.”
“Oz,” Constant began to look around as though he expected to see his old friend-his enemy.
“Relax, Con,” Solin urged in a tone of mock sympathy. “Keturah and Oz have become very close.”
Constant’s demeanor remained rigid. “What did you do to me?”
Moises answered. “The boss couldn’t have you asking too many questions-’specially when he didn’t trust you.”
“Exactly,” Rayan put in. “The two of you just bump into each other one day, all casual like- how were we supposed to know you weren’t spying for the other side? It was a lucky thing, he spotted you before you saw him. Gave him time to... prepare.”
“But those days are over now,” Solin interjected, reaching out to squeeze Constant’s shoulder. “We’re all friends with a job to do,” he added.
“I won’t help you,” Keturah snapped. “Whatever you’re up to, I won’t help you.”
“You will.”
“I’ll die first.”
Solin roared a laugh over that. “I’ve always loved your fire, Ket. Does Oz enjoy fucking you as much as I did?”
Keturah made a lightning move to strike her former lover. Moises and Rayan held her fast.
“Oh Ket, I’d never dream of letting you make such a sacrifice. Agatha on the other hand...”
“She’s safe,” Keturah scowled over her sneer. “You’ll never get close to her-”
“But her dear Abaeze, that’s another matter entirely, isn’t it? I’m betting that store is a pretty flammable place, all those books...then there’s the matter of her fine staff-like a family to her, aren’t they?”
“You son of a bitch!” Keturah didn’t care about keeping a reign on her emotions then. “You’re a fool! The Essence can’t be controlled. You can’t wield it like a weapon!”
Solin invaded what remained of Keturah’s personal space to prop a finger beneath her chin. “It isn’t what I want to wield,” seeing that he had her attention as her eyes narrowed, he backed off a bit.
“You see, Keturah, you don’t have to understand how a machine works to get it to work for you, but it always helps to have someone nearby who made it.” Appearing content with her reaction, he retreated. “Why don’t you take a nap while you think on it?”
Instantly, Keturah felt her eyelids grow heavy. In seconds, her world had gone black.
Solin watched her slump back against Rayan who lifted her. He clapped Constant’s shoulder once Rayan had moved on with Keturah.
“Let’s get settled and have a talk,” he told the larger man.
Constant hesitated but a moment before he nodded and followed the others to the waiting jet.