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

are the Nistarim, raised up to bear the weight and to strengthen Those Who Resist.”

“Hold on. Time-out. So the original Nistarim are the ones who were Lettered in Ezekiel?”

“You got it. They lived thousands of years ago and eventually died natural deaths, after serving their purpose during the time of the prophets.”

“But now they’re back? I’m confused.”

“They came back, yes. When Yeshua was crucified, there was an earth-quake—it’s all written there in the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 27—and three days later He was resurrected. Bam. Then, like it was some sorta proof of His victory over death, the saints from Ezekiel, they got up out of their graves and went wandering into Jerusalem too. They were seen by a buncha people.”

“You know how insane this all sounds?”

“Wait, and here’s the clincher. There were—”

“Thirty-six of them.”

“Pretty smart.”

“I think you mean pretty and smart.”

“Sure, that too.”

“Cal, I’m going to need time to process this.”

“Gets one step wilder,” he said.

Gina caught her breath. She was already walking through a mental hall of mirrors—reflections and shadows behind her, ahead of her, in multiples all around. She felt disoriented, strangely invigorated. She feared for her child.

“Those original Nistarim,” he pressed on, “have been walking the earth now for the past two millennia. They were commissioned by Yeshua Himself to protect and comfort Those Who Resist.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good to know.”

“Better believe it.”

“And Those Who Resist are . . . those who stand against the Collectors?”

“They find their life in the Nazarene Blood.”

“Everyone out for blood. Your words.”

“The life is in the blood, so it’s all a matter of which life you want to lead. By drinking from the Nazarene, you identify yourself with His life, His memories, His suffering. All of that. You can see why it’d be total anathema to the Collectors.”

“Uh, excuse me, but when did we cross back into Nikki territory? She’s drummed into me enough fanatical talk for a lifetime.”

“She’s missed the whole point. Have you ever seen her drink?”

“Nazarene Blood? Sorry, but that’s just nasty.”

Cal pulled a knee up close to his chest, let his gaze drift off over the river. “Gina, I know how strange all this has gotta sound.” He cleared his throat. “Please don’t blow me off, just because Nikki’s mixed in her own brand of mysticism with good ol’ brass-tacks truth.”

“Mysticism? Oh, you mean like cutting a helpless child?” The old neck scar surged with a phantom pain.

“She thought she was protecting you.”

“Boy, was I ever lucky.”

“Still bitter, and I don’t blame you. But you don’t have to live with those scars, not forever. Yeshua, when He came outta that tomb, He left His blood to cover all the evil that your mother thought she had to cut away.”

“Thank you, O wise one. Just not sure I buy into all that.”

“You could never buy into it, Gina. It’s a gift that was given, and all you have to do is accept it—just like the gift I gave you back in Cuvin.”

“These?” She touched one of her earrings. “Would you believe I had to dig them out of the garbage? Nikki had thrown them away.”

“Life gets messy sometimes, doesn’t it?”

“All part of the deal.”

“Did you know those earrings contain drops of Nazarene Blood?”

“What?”

“If you choose to believe, that’s all it takes. One drop.”

“Of blood?”

“A chance at being cleansed. A complete transfusion. Only the pure stuff, absorbed into every vein, every corpuscle.”

“You know what? Gross. Disgusting.” Gina lifted herself to her feet, holding her stomach in her right hand. “And I thought I’d escaped from this sort of thinking. Not to be rude or anything, but you’ve now wasted half of my stinkin’ day with this crazy talk. I’m married. I’m having a baby. I’ve moved on, thank you very much. Now, go away.”

Cal brushed comforting fingers across her dangling left hand, and—

“No.” Gina withdrew from his touch. “Don’t even start. Whatever little game you’re playing, count me out.”

“The last person who said that to me, his name was Benyamin.”

“What do I care, Cal?”

“He died two hours ago.”

“While we were talking at the picnic table? And how would you know that?”

“I felt it.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Gina rolled her eyes. “Get away, you freak.”

Cal sighed. “We’re done, then?”

“You think?”

“I do have some things to take care of,” he said, standing. “Someone to watch over.”

“Good. Go. Good-bye.”

“Don’t worry about your baby. I’ll keep him safe.”

“Right. Sure, you will. If that’s what this was all about, you could’ve skipped story time and protected him from behind the scenes. There was no need to drag me down into all this.”

“Gina, I love you. Always have.”

“Bye.”

“It’s not all that it seems.”

“Doesn’t seem like much at all.” She leaned toward him, shoved aside his cap and his black-dyed hair, and studied his forehead. She rubbed the slate of tanned skin, found nothing there. No lines. No symbol.

Just as she’d figured.

She waddled back to the car, called over the door. “Cal, I’m going to let you find your own ride, okay? You just watch out for those pesky Collectors.”

“My never-ending task.”

Gina sought solace at her chessboard that evening, playing through the Immortal Game, analyzing moves, weighing risks and gambits and sacri-fices. It was all so complex.

“Rough day in the caverns?” Jed asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Coke.” He handed her a glass. “Caffeine-free, for the little guy.”

“Thanks, Jed. You’re going to be a good dad.”

“I hope so.”

She continued staring at the board.

“Gina?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you know I called you at work today?”

“Mmm.”

“They said you’d left early, not feeling good. Left with some dude.”

The implication of Jed’s words penetrated her chess calculations, and she swiveled in her seat. She realized now why he’d been so standoffish since her return home. “He was an old friend,” she said. “Nothing to worry about.”

“You sure?”

Cal’s warnings buzzed in Gina’s head. If there was any truth to his words, they had a lot to worry about. How could she possibly unload all that on her husband, though? She herself barely knew what to make of it all. He would think she’d gone over the