Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📕

life. Incapable of producing his own progeny, he was forced to collect what he could from the loins and wombs of mortals.

Humans—these irksome beasts—they were the ones who carried the gift of life within. They misused it, abused, ignored, and polluted it. But it was always there. Glowing in their eyes, in their touch.

Even more annoying to Erota were the Unfallen.

The heavenly angels.

These were the ones who had refused to join the Master Collector’s rebellion and thus remained in favor with the Nazarene. They served at his beck and call. They interacted between physical and spiritual, impervious to the Separation.

Though also forbidden to violate the Power of Choice, the Unfallen did not require hosts to interact with the earthly realms, and stories in Jewish and Christian Scripture showed them eating food set before them and even taking people by the hand.

Erota sneered in the torchlight.

Well, leave them to their fun and games. It’d all end soon enough.

Chattanooga

The first stab of discomfort caught Gina as she stepped into her work clothes.

A half hour ago, Nikki Lazarescu had left for her antebellum home in the St. Elmo district of town, her pupils dilated with disapproval and reproach. Things had been more tense than usual between daughter and mother, and even though Gina had no desire to hurt her mom—not deeply, anyway—it had been the purpose of her makeover and tattoo to spread her wings.

Wider than before.

The angel on her back was her statement of freedom, signed in ink.

She thought of the skin and blood that had curled up beneath the tattoo artist’s machine last year, and was struck by the parallels between her adult emancipation and the childhood cleansings to which she’d been subjected.

Maybe her mother had been onto something after all.

The discomfort intensified, but Gina wasn’t going to let a little tummy trouble keep her from work. In half an hour she was supposed to be at the entrance to Ruby Falls, the Cavern Castle, from which she would lead tours into Lookout Mountain’s cave system. She’d never been late before. Why start now?

She pulled on tan slacks, a white shirt, and a tie. Attached and straightened her name badge. Hi, my name is Gina . . . If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.

The next stab came while she was tying her shoes. She’d survived last autumn’s confrontation with the delivery truck—had only fragmented memories of it, actually—but this newest torment was undeniable.

It twisted in her belly.

Backed off.

Then drove deeper, to her core.

CHAPTER

TWENTY

Arad

Ariston, it seemed to Erota, was mulling thoughts similar to her own. By firelight, he addressed the assembly. “The Nistarim,” he said, “are the key to bringing down this dreary reality. After two thousand years of existence, they’ve managed to elude us. Other clusters have done their best to identify and destroy them, but here we all are, still trapped beneath layers of ozone. Is anyone else discouraged?”

A few grunts hung in the cold, smoky air.

“While rumors of the Concealed Ones have multiplied, they are by their very nature humble in spirit, which means they won’t go about seeking personal accolades or exerting their own rights. It’s their meekness that allows them to hide beneath our noses.”

Erota folded her arms. Speaking of meekness, Ariston was not exactly the epitome of modern chic. He’d trimmed down his belly to a more manageable size, and he was better attired than those first days out of the tombs—Please, strike that mental image from my mind—yet he still seemed unremarkable.

Dressed in slacks, a collared white shirt, and suspenders mostly hid-den by a rumpled suit jacket, he could stroll the city’s avenues unnoticed. If the best Collectors were the least obvious, he was up to the task.

“Is there something you’d like to add, Erota?”

“Huh?” She caught his eye. “Oh, I was just thinking that we should be looking for people who are . . . well, who are dressed like you, sir.”

“Like me?”

“No offense. You know, people who have the ability to blend in.”

“Ah. I wish the Nistarim were that simple to identify. Unfortunately, clothing seems to be unrelated. Positions and titles, jewels and wealth—none of it guarantees an individual’s humility, or lack thereof. The good thing is that we alone, through these undead hosts, have the ability to discern their markings. Where others can only guess, we can be certain with but a glance.”

“Not that we can go through the earth’s population one by one,” Erota said. “Isn’t there a better way?”

“Maybe,” said one of the teens, “they’ve pulled an Elvis.”

“A what?” Ariston said.

“An Elvis. Maybe they’ve left the building.”

“No, Shabtai. They’re still out there. Thirty-six of them. It’s an infinitesimally small number from among the billions now crowding this planet, but believe me, they do exist. Don’t let our setbacks suggest otherwise.”

“Where’d they even come from?” the boy inquired.

“Good question. One we’re still trying to figure out.”

Shabtai hooked a thumb into a belt loop of his jeans. “Why don’t we just go back to their roots, then follow the trail? I mean, really, how hard can that be? Like on one of those American detective shows.”

“Been watching TV, I see.”

“At our place here in Arad, we get some good channels. My dad says it’s important to know pop culture.”

“As a tool,” said Nehemiah, his father. “To better understand your prey.”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of cunning,” Ariston agreed. “Certainly use such knowledge to infiltrate your own peers, Shabtai. But keep your insolence to yourself, or I may be forced to ban you from future gatherings.”

“Insolence? What does that mean?”

“It means you think you know what everything means.”

“Well . . . I knew that.”

Ariston gazed around the bunker and challenged any further interruption. “It’s obvious,” he said, “that we each face unique challenges through our individual hosts. It’s a headache—quite literally, at times—to exert your knowledge through the limited education of a human, particularly a younger one. But it’s no excuse for ignorance, is that clear?”

Erota offered him a supportive wink.

“I am well aware,”