“But first,” he continued, “we have to keep you alive.”
I sniffed into my sleeve. “That’s a good plan.”
“The initial faction that wanted you dead is dead themselves. I saw to that. It took a new generation of descendants to come after you again. Sixteen years of grooming and priming for this one kill. Make no mistake, Lorelei, they want you gone. Period.”
“I don’t understand. Why would they not want me to stop this war like I’m supposed to?”
“They feel like we humans have an unfair advantage. Like we’re cheating. They’re descendants of true nephilim, and they consider themselves a balancing force between the human and supernatural realms. Like supernatural cops.” He looked at me. “They’re actually nothing more than cult members who believe they are better than the rest of humanity. And they are absolutely psychotic, one and all.”
“An unfair advantage? That’s what this is about?”
“Basically. They feel that by having you on our side, we’re tipping the scales, disrupting the natural balance.”
“What about war is natural? What about the deaths of millions of innocent people is balanced?”
“Exactly. I’m not sure what their endgame is, be it power or just revenge against humanity.”
“This doesn’t even make sense,” I said, tumbling into despair.
“Lorelei,” he said, drawing me back, “they’re psychotic, remember?” He tapped his head. “It doesn’t have to make sense to us. It makes sense to them.”
I straightened. “Okay, what do we do?”
“You saw it yourself. They’re watered-down versions of nephilim. They can be killed much easier than an original nephilim.” He leaned even closer. “They’re arrogant and callous, and that makes them vulnerable. And they bleed just like you and I.”
* * *
By the time I met my grandparents and Brooke in the front waiting area, Mac and I had a plan. He’d described in detail their habits, their weaknesses. He said the Order would have to hunt them down, but the descendants would not be hard to find. They nested together, and we were to look for an abandoned house or building that looked like squatters had been there. We would find them there.
I figured the sheriff and a couple members of the Order could handle that part. The other part, I didn’t like so much. He told me I had to go into hiding until they were found. It was the only way I would survive.
“It isn’t fair that Mac is in prison. None of this is fair,” I said to my grandparents as we drove home, fighting to block the images I’d gleaned off my new grandfather. Of his horrible ordeal.
“Life isn’t always about what’s fair and what’s not, pix,” Granddad said. “It’s about doing the right thing, no matter the risks. No matter the consequences.”
If the consequences meant the suffering of the people I loved most, I wasn’t sure I agreed.
* * *
That night, I slept alone in the vault. The door sat open with one soft light filtering in from the next room. Glitch and his father were out helping the sheriff and other members with the search. He promised to come back as soon as they’d checked out a couple of abandoned houses in Abo Canyon. Granddad took point in the Sanctuary along with Delores, a girl who believed very much in the mission of the Order of Sanctity and moved to Riley’s Switch a few years ago just to be a member. She worked at the library with Betty Jo, Grandma’s best friend. Brooklyn was at the hospital with Cameron, her phone set to speed-dial the sheriff if anyone came after him. He was vulnerable now, and the descendants would know that.
Granddad wouldn’t let me go see him. Said it was too dangerous. He wouldn’t even let me go back to the house to see Jared. I was to sleep in the vault tonight; then Granddad, Glitch, and Cameron’s dad, Mr. Lusk, were going to take me into hiding. For how long, I had no idea. It looked like my grandparents were getting their wish after all. Sending me away. I realized they were still afraid of Jared. Of what he would be like when he woke up. Granddad warned me he could have amnesia when he did regain consciousness, or some other mental condition. Like he could still want us all dead.
I hoped not. The thought of Jared killing me with his bare hands made me sad. The thought of anyone killing me with his bare hands made me sad. Being a target sucked.
The heat in the vault had me tossing and turning. The crisp winter air didn’t reach the cavernous basement. I wasn’t sure if someone had turned up the heat or what, but it was hot. Of course, it could have been the fuzzy pajamas I was wearing with long bottoms and sleeves. Then again, I’d been having trouble sleeping for days. If I wasn’t waking from the fits of a nightmare, I was hearing the wind or feeling something on my skin. But this was different. The stillness woke me. The absolute calm. Basements were creepy enough without being so motionless. So dark.
I checked my phone. It was almost six. Brooke and I had texted until well past midnight. She told me Cameron was coming around and would probably be a horrid patient. I didn’t envy her. I glanced at Brooke’s last text. She was wondering where she could get some sedatives because Cameron was much easier to deal with doped.
Then I noticed Grandma had sent me a text at around two. Grandma never stayed up until two. She was going to be exhausted today, but she had to let me know that Granddad was coming home for a shower and breakfast around five and that he would bring me something to eat and some fresh clothes for the road after that. He’d left Delores and Mr. Walsh in the Sanctuary and Harlan in the basement with me.