obviously forced smile, “the grandchildren will love it.” He listened for a few more minutes. “Good,” he said again, “and Audrey—I love you.”
Morris set the phone back in the cradle.
“It’s my granddaughter Angela’s tenth birthday this weekend, and we’re throwing her a party. You’re invited, of course, as always.”
“Thank you, sir.”
There was a moment’s silence; then Devin leaned forward. “When is this attack supposed to take place?”
“I don’t know,” Morris said, polishing his glasses with his tie, “but soon.”
“Weeks?”
“Maybe.”
“Days?”
“Probably.”
“Do you think we can stop it?”
“I’m afraid this may be too much for just the Domani,” Morris said with a sigh.
“Then what do you suggest?”
The older man shook his head slowly. “If we don’t learn how to stand united, free of isolation, I’m afraid for the future of the Firstborn. We have to stand together or children will die.”
“Agreed.”
“Devin,” Morris smiled, “you are the future. You are the one who must lead us all to unity when the moment comes. All of the Firstborn know you and respect you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And thank the Lord you’re not that blasted John Temple.”
Chapter 5
T HE CAB SLITHERED UP the road to the top of the giant hill.
John Temple stepped out and paid the driver, hoisting his single duffel bag onto his shoulder as the car drove off. He approached the big house’s gate and pressed the buzzer.
A moment.
“Yes?” a voice asked through the intercom.
“It’s John,” he said loudly into the speaker, then made a deliberate look up into the camera above.
“Just a second.”
There was another loud buzzing and the massive wrought-iron gate snapped open. He stepped through into the driveway. Cobbled stones led up to the big, Mediterranean-style house. The place was worth millions.
When he made it to the front door he knocked.
“Be right there,” someone shouted from the other side. The door cracked open.
Vincent Sobel was an athletic-looking middle-aged man with a trendy appearance. He looked John over.
“You look horrible,” he said with a smile. “Come on in.”
The interior was white stucco with statuary placed intermittently. John stared at the tall ceilings. “I like the new place, Vince,” he said with a nod. “I take it business is good?”
Vincent shrugged. “High-end stuff just isn’t selling right now. I’m only living here until I can sell it.”
“How long will that take?”
“It’s been six months already—can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure.”
Vincent poured two sodas then led John to a balcony overlooking the steep drop down the backside of the hill. In the distance John could barely make out the skyline of San Francisco against the setting sun.
Vincent took a sip of his drink. “Clay and I talked.”
“What did he have to say?”
“He’s not going to San Antonio.”
John shrugged. “I’m not surprised—he’s thought the rest of the Firstborn were out to get him for years. How long has it been since he left that fortress-mansion of his?”
“Two years,” Vincent said with a nod.
“Has it really been that long?”
“Yes, it has. And he’s still convinced that someone is trying to kill him.”
“Does he still think it was the Domani who killed his sons?” Vincent shrugged. “He never said the Domani—he just thought it was the Firstborn.”
“That’s ridiculous,” John said, shaking his head. “This amount of distrust? It doesn’t even make sense.”
Vincent shrugged. “D’Angelo warned about traitors—those who were not of the Firstborn living among them.”
“That warning is a thousand years old and was probably a metaphor to begin with.”
Vincent leaned his back against the balcony rail. “All I know is that nobody likes the Ora, never have. We see people where they are—and nobody likes to be transparent.”
“Is he paranoid?”
“Of course he’s
Morris set the phone back in the cradle.
“It’s my granddaughter Angela’s tenth birthday this weekend, and we’re throwing her a party. You’re invited, of course, as always.”
“Thank you, sir.”
There was a moment’s silence; then Devin leaned forward. “When is this attack supposed to take place?”
“I don’t know,” Morris said, polishing his glasses with his tie, “but soon.”
“Weeks?”
“Maybe.”
“Days?”
“Probably.”
“Do you think we can stop it?”
“I’m afraid this may be too much for just the Domani,” Morris said with a sigh.
“Then what do you suggest?”
The older man shook his head slowly. “If we don’t learn how to stand united, free of isolation, I’m afraid for the future of the Firstborn. We have to stand together or children will die.”
“Agreed.”
“Devin,” Morris smiled, “you are the future. You are the one who must lead us all to unity when the moment comes. All of the Firstborn know you and respect you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And thank the Lord you’re not that blasted John Temple.”
Chapter 5
T HE CAB SLITHERED UP the road to the top of the giant hill.
John Temple stepped out and paid the driver, hoisting his single duffel bag onto his shoulder as the car drove off. He approached the big house’s gate and pressed the buzzer.
A moment.
“Yes?” a voice asked through the intercom.
“It’s John,” he said loudly into the speaker, then made a deliberate look up into the camera above.
“Just a second.”
There was another loud buzzing and the massive wrought-iron gate snapped open. He stepped through into the driveway. Cobbled stones led up to the big, Mediterranean-style house. The place was worth millions.
When he made it to the front door he knocked.
“Be right there,” someone shouted from the other side. The door cracked open.
Vincent Sobel was an athletic-looking middle-aged man with a trendy appearance. He looked John over.
“You look horrible,” he said with a smile. “Come on in.”
The interior was white stucco with statuary placed intermittently. John stared at the tall ceilings. “I like the new place, Vince,” he said with a nod. “I take it business is good?”
Vincent shrugged. “High-end stuff just isn’t selling right now. I’m only living here until I can sell it.”
“How long will that take?”
“It’s been six months already—can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure.”
Vincent poured two sodas then led John to a balcony overlooking the steep drop down the backside of the hill. In the distance John could barely make out the skyline of San Francisco against the setting sun.
Vincent took a sip of his drink. “Clay and I talked.”
“What did he have to say?”
“He’s not going to San Antonio.”
John shrugged. “I’m not surprised—he’s thought the rest of the Firstborn were out to get him for years. How long has it been since he left that fortress-mansion of his?”
“Two years,” Vincent said with a nod.
“Has it really been that long?”
“Yes, it has. And he’s still convinced that someone is trying to kill him.”
“Does he still think it was the Domani who killed his sons?” Vincent shrugged. “He never said the Domani—he just thought it was the Firstborn.”
“That’s ridiculous,” John said, shaking his head. “This amount of distrust? It doesn’t even make sense.”
Vincent shrugged. “D’Angelo warned about traitors—those who were not of the Firstborn living among them.”
“That warning is a thousand years old and was probably a metaphor to begin with.”
Vincent leaned his back against the balcony rail. “All I know is that nobody likes the Ora, never have. We see people where they are—and nobody likes to be transparent.”
“Is he paranoid?”
“Of course he’s
Similar Books
