By Christopher Leeson
Chapter 7, Part 2
the hotel by way of the stair, Jezebel filled Holly in.
“If those two aren't for real” said the ex-waitress, “it means that the bad guys must have planted that Holiday Inn message inside the Bible. That's not possible, is it? We didn't even know ourselves where we'd end up that night. And why would they get sneaky now? Those tough guys who came for us were using muscle, not tricks. It doesn't add up.”
“There's one more thing that doesn't add up,” admitted Jezebel. “The girl with the reverend had a familiar face.”
“You knew her?”
“No. I just know the face. She's a dead ringer for...someone."
Jezebel took a breath. "A younger version of Princess Diana.”
“The Princess Diana?”
The angel nodded.
Holly shook her head. “But she's dead. It has to be another impostor.”
“If it's an impostor, how could the Cabal think that it would be a good idea to shove her into my way? I shoot that kind of person on sight!”
“That's super weird, all right. But you said the girl was young. The real Di would have to be in her fifties by now.”
Jezebel sighed. “Holly, you’re going to have to toss your idea of science out the window. Scientists work for money, and the big money is always with the Cabalists. What scientists tell the people doesn't have to be true; it just has to serve Cabalist ends. Like global warming and evolution. A lot of scientists know about people like the princess, but they keep quiet. Hell, a lot of scientists are her sort. She's Nephilim.”
“It means that she's descended from fallen angels who mixed with humans -- human or other creatures.”
The singer looked amazed. “There really are fallen angels? Are you saying that those old paintings of angels making out with hot girls come straight out of history?”
Jezebel grimaced uneasily. “Ah, yes. The Nephilim are half immortal. That lets them live about five hundred years. A lot of them shape-shift. They pretend to age. Then they stage phony death scenes and funerals. While they're supposed to be dead, they're really just lying low for a while. Later on, they set up a new identity and go back into the world. The British queen of today used to be Queen Victoria.”
“That's creepy. Are these Nephilim always bad people?”
“Most serial killers and career criminals are Nephilim. Most terrorists and radicals, too. Wherever there's money or power, Nephilim act like pigs at a trough. Watch out for anyone who just shows up with a lot of inherited money. They're probably Nephilim.”
“I guess a person wouldn't want to run into that kind.”
“You've already met hundreds or thousands. The music industry is full of them.”
Holly blinked. “No wonder show people seem so crazy! But it's unbelievable.”
“It's real. I could tell you plenty more, but why keep you awake at night?”
“If all that's possible, what should we do?”
“Normally I'd say we should get out of town, but something tells me that we should hear them out.”
“That's scary, especially if one of them isn't human.”
“I wish I could say that it'd be perfectly safe, but I can't,” said Jezebel.
Holly nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, Jill. If these Neph-guys are all over the place, meeting one more shouldn't be the end of the world.”
“Not yet anyway. We should go in separately. I'll enter the restaurant first, and you should follow a couple minutes later. I don't want you to be left alone for very long.”
The Watcher took a few bills from her wallet. “Buy something to eat or drink. You're an actress. Try to act like an ordinary customer. Don't look around too much. I'll be be close by, watching out for Nephilim thugs. If things don't look suspicious, I'll go sit down with the couple. I don't know how long this will take. If I take off my coat, that will be your signal to come over and join us. But if I leave Culver's without taking it off, follow me outside a minute or two later.”
“Beats me. If the Cabal knows we're in Omaha, we have to leave." Jezebel hoped it wouldn't come to that. To pay for food, lodgings, and gas she would probably need to steal. Committing crimes could make them fugitives from the law as well as from the Cabal.
“Do you mind if I pray for guidance and protection?” Holly asked.
Jezebel shrugged. “Yeah, sure, go for it. But make it snappy. The more time the enemy has, the more dangerous things they'll be able to do. They might have heavy backup. I only wish I could go in wearing a good disguise.”
“We still have that little red dress in the car,” Holly suggested.
Jezebel stepped into the restaurant, still thinking about Frances. A righteous Nephilim? That idea was a tough sell. She knew that most Nephilim were born violent, and rarely possessed any sense of right and wrong. Not only Nephilim, but most Satanist children, were routinely brutalized, especially emotionally, to turn them into what humans called psychopaths.
They had taken over the world before the Flood. Drowning was a good way to kill them, so the Father had used a flood. But even though Noah, his wife, and his boys were of pure human stock, the Scriptures were silent about the sons' wives. Had the Father waited so long to act that no truly human women had remained alive? It had to mean something that so many of Noah's grandchildren had been Nephilim.
But, also, there had been water-breathing Nephilim, and sea creatures had not been killed by the flood. Many ocean beasts had been chosen by fallen angels for mixing. That fact hadn't bothered Jezebel before, but now she no longer thought that it had been such a good idea. These angel-mortal offspring were the strangest-looking of all the Nephilim. There had been land giants and sea giants. The latter were the basis of most legends about sea monsters. But she also knew that some of the sea-born Nephilim could shape-shift, like the selkies and kelpies. By mating with humans, strains of ocean-spawned Nephilim had been able to return to the land.
Jezebel gritted her teeth. If she misunderstood the situation and made a mistake, she'd probably be held responsible for the consequences. To avoid blame, she intended to leave the final decision as to what to do with Holly up to Holly.
The Creator was always testing men and angels. Was this another test? Was the Father creating a situation so confusing that Jezebel would have to humble herself and ask for discernment? Well, that wouldn't happen. Only the weak asked for help. If she couldn't respect the weak herself, how could the Father?
Decorated mostly blue and white, Culver's large windows made the interior feel airy. The noonday crowd hadn't descended as yet, so empty sections still remained. None of the staff or customers seemed to be glowing violet, and that was reassuring. Just then, she saw Holly enter. The girl took a quick glance around and went to the serving counter.
Jezebel turned toward the nearby window and peered outside. Not seeing any Nephilim, she checked her watch. It had been twenty minutes since she'd left apartment 432. The angel wondered whether the couple was going to be punctual.
The Watcher let the pair pass while she kept out of sight. For a moment, Jezebel stood on watch, but observed no characters with bad auras following Orson and Frances. Game to take a risk, she joined the waiting line behind the enigmatic couple.
Orson looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, there you are,” he whispered. The blonde nodded in silence.
The three advanced through the queue and placed their orders. Jezebel had eaten at the apartment and so asked for no more than fries and a soft drink. Garland and his false sister made selections from the breakfast menu. When the food came up, the pair carried their portions into an unoccupied area. The angel looked around again for threats and then joined them.
Frances had taken the chair that Jezebel wanted. “Go to the other side, queeny,” the angel said. “I want to see who comes in through the door.” Frances complied with a look of annoyance and Jezebel appropriated her seat.
The pair just sat there, apparently waiting for her to say something.
Jezebel took a deep breath and asked, “So, if I were the girl you that came here to help, where would we go from here?”
Orson appeared to be brimming with that annoying earnestness of his. “Until you feel able to make plans of your own, Frances has agreed to share her apartment in Jasper.”
“It's a town in the Ozarks. My church is there.”
“It sounds dull.”
The man gave a smile. “Dull can be another word for peaceful, I like to say.”
“Well, it sure does sound peaceful. What's its other charms?”
“We have 466 citizens at last census, and it's the courthouse for Newton County. You needn't live there long-term, but it might be a good idea to close in for a while. Frances and I will be on hand to help you get oriented and settled down.”
“Okay, say I settle into this thriving town of Jasper. What then?”
“You'll probably want to find work. There aren't many jobs nearby, but there's usually openings in Branson. That's across the line into Missouri, about fifty miles away. A lot of Jasper people work over there, so we'll be able to find you a commuter to ride with. That should be good until you get a car of your own.”
While Reverend Garland was speaking, Jezebel had been studying Frances. “Do you work in Branson, too?”
“No,” she said. “I teach at Kingston School. Elementary.”
“Then I hope you're a vegetarian.” She unsubtlely eyed the sausage on the woman's plastic plate. “Oh, I guess not.”
The young woman's glance became a glare.
Jezebel's was deliberately riling her. If she could make the hybrid mad enough, the girl might give something away, something that didn't jive with their cover story."
"Are you always so rude?" Frances asked.
The Watcher considered the nearness of Jasper to Branson. Being close to a teeming tourist-trap could pose a risk. Branson was a show-business town and Holly – Pelosia – might be tempted to repeat old habits. The entertainment industry drew Cabalists in like dung flies. The girl needed to shun the public eye.
“Jasper may be workable,” she said offhandedly. “But what made the pair of start hiding fugitives? I've told you that the Cabal is involved, and that make it dangerous.”
Reverend Garland met her challenging glance. “When the Lord asks something of a person, He always has a good reason.”
“Do you hide a lot of people on the run?”
“No, Frances was my first.”
Jezebel shifted toward the blonde. “How you fit into all this, Highness? Are you really Princess Di?”
The woman scowled. “Don't speak that name. I'm Frances Dillon.” She was using her Arkansas accent again.
“What in hell is British royalty doing in Arkansas? Are you hiding, too?”
Frances' expression changed. “Yes. I'm hiding from my own family, especially. They murdered my uncle, because he became too outspoken about Agenda 21."
“Agenda 21? I've heard about it,” said Jezebel. It was the code name for the Cabalist plan to kill seven billion people and enslave the survivors. It was all over the internet.
Frances was still speaking. “At the very least, I'd be kept under house arrest for years, until I managed to make them trust me again. I can't let that happen. They can twist a person's mind in a hundred different ways.
“The Cabal went through a lot of work to make the world think that the Princess of Wales was dead,” the angel reminded Frances. “Who was in that car wreck anyway?”
The British girl seemed to struggle with herself before she answered. “A look-alike. I had more than one. This lady didn't happen to be a clone. She had a soul. She was working to earn an MBA. We talked sometimes. When she took my place that day, she didn't know...what was planned. But I did and I didn't warn her. That's who I was. I was even willing to let friends die.” She stopped for a moment, then forced herself to finish. “It made me realize that I’d let my handlers get into my mind. That wasn't the kind of person that I wanted to be, but if I didn't do what I was told, what happened to Uncle James could happen to me.” She glanced away.
“So you're claiming to be from a high-ranking Cabalist family?” Jezebel asked.
Frances shook her head. “I've said too much.”
She looked fiercely at Orson. “Who is this person? Why should we trust her with our secrets?”
The clergyman seemed unsure.
The Watcher spoke up. “My license says I'm Jill – and you don't need to know my last name. I was sent by God. That's all you need to know, isn't it?”
Frances scowled. “Who really sent you? You have killer eyes. I know what killer eyes look like.”
Jezebel showed a bitter grin. “How you talk. I haven't offed anyone since early Friday. And they were only a pair of ghuls.” Then she shrugged. “Well, maybe killed a security guard, too. I just left him lying and didn't bother to check.”
Orson looked amazed. “I trust you're joking, Miss...Jill.”
She pointed at his chest. “Hey, do you think that the guy upstairs likes Cabalist flunkies?”
The clergyman turned his gaze skyward. After a moment of contemplation, he said, “The Lord tells me that you mean exactly what you say, and He also affirms that you are, indeed, serving Him.”
“That should make you feel better,” said Jezebel. “Did he mention whether I'm doing a good job?”
When words failed Orson, the angel gave sudden vent. “Why is it that the Father – or the Son – talks to you so easily, but never to me?”
“I can't say,” the reverend replied.
Next to him, Frances was shaking her head. “This might be a bad idea, Orson. We should go.”
The minister seemed less certain. “The Lord gave me a name. He spoke the name Sampson as if it should reassure me. Does that name mean anything to you...Jill?”
She shrugged. “Never met the gentleman. I heard plenty about him, though.”
Orson regarded Frances. “Sampson killed thousands, but only those who had earned God's wrath.” To Jezebel he said, “Is it also your mission to protect the righteous, Miss Jill?”
Jezebel's eyes narrowed. “Lately. I've been told that if I don't happen to like a person's aura I can I can do what comes naturally. That part of my job suits me.”
“I'm not sure this person is safe to be around,” the British princess counseled her companion.
“Believe me, lady, I'm not.”
Jezebel decided to up the ante. “Listen. I'm not the person who needs protection. That's someone else, but I'm not going to turn her over to just anyone. Orson, here, is pretty convincing," she said to Frances. "But you don't fit in. Nephilim are nothing but trouble. I'd rather bet on an inside straight than buy into the idea that you've found God. The Sorwins are Reptilian Nephilim, and royal reptilians only marry other Reptilians. Your species considers human flesh a delicacy, especially children's flesh. I'm not running a meat wagon to deliver your next lunch.”
Frances flushed. “I'm not a Reptilian. I despise every wesen species, but I hate that kind most of all!”
Jezebel studied her hard expression, and then grinned lopsidedly. “Nice attitude. But maybe you're just shamming. I ought to slap you around and see if I can't make you morph. Are you betting that I can't?”
Frances, red-faced, looked askance at the reverend. The latter looked troubled, but remained calm.
“Dear one,” said Garland, “the Lord is telling me that you should tell your story honestly. It might make a difference.”
Frances seemed unsure. After a moment, she said, “I-I don't know where to begin.”
Taking a sip of orange soda, the angel leaned back in her chair and waited. She put a French fry between her lips. Nice flavor.
Frances slowly drew in closer and whispered, “The Reptilians have made themselves powerful, both socially and politically, but they are still only wesen. People call them a royal family, but my bloodline represents true Royalty. We have no animal genetics. I descend from fallen angels and the daughters of men. Jacob Rottweiler is my father, and he is the real king of this world, for now. My mother was selected from the purest Nephilim lines to be one of his mistresses. My father chose to raise me as a Royal princess.”
Jezebel knew that Jacob Rottweiler was a British baron, but also knew the wealth and power he represented. He had trillions of dollars in personal wealth, and controlled underlings who commanded hundreds of trillions. Next to him, a mere queen of Great Britain was no more than an unlovely handmaiden, a servant in the truest sense.
“I was taken from my real mother young, and had no regular contact with my father. At his behest, I was inserted into a Cabalist family called the Spinsters, one of the few great British houses that isn't Reptilian. That was the end of my happy upbringing. I missed my mother badly, but she wasn't allowed to come near me, and I couldn't visit her, either.
“Years before, Countess Spinster had faked a pregnancy overseas and returned with a daughter. The girl was in reality a kidnapped infant. They treated her like a beloved child until she was ready to go to school. Then the Cabal took her away suddenly and I was brought in to assume her identity. I shudder to think what must have become of the poor child. The Cabal worships Baal, and he demands the sacrifice of children. Every year, almost fifty million babies are sacrificed to him.
“But though I grew up in that house, I never really became a Spinster, and they didn't want me to. They were more like servants than parents, especially since they had no parenting skills. Their real children are very troubled people and I always tried to stay away from them. The earl divorced the countess when I was eight, but kept me with him.
"He and his people reminded me every day that I was special, that I was a Rottweiler. I was told that I was being prepared for something very important. They kept me out in society, all the while making useful contacts for me. My tutors drilled me on how to be charming and persuasive, how to be at ease in public. I never felt I had a real family; I was an actress in training and my home was only a stage.
“It wasn't until my early teens that I was told what was expected of me. I had been selected from infancy to become the Princess of Wales. I was horrified. I'd been introduced to the Sorwins before and they were frightening, loathsome. Prince Philip was the worst. He came from a Nazi family of Reptilians with SS ties, and seemed even less human than the queen.”
The angel frowned. “If this was some kind of drawn-out plot to make you queen, why were you allowed to divorce?”
Frances dried her eyes with a Culver's napkin. “The divorce was planned years in advance. Before the marriage, even. That was the day I had been dreaming of, my beautiful, wonderful divorce. It couldn't have come too soon. There was nothing between Charles and me. He wanted Camilla and only Camilla. She was a lizard like he was.”
Jezebel wasn't sure that she should believe any of this, but was willing to play along. “So what was the deception all about?”
“For centuries, the Rottweilers had been against mixing their Royal blood with that of what they considered mongrel beasts. But the Sorwins had been successfully acquiring wealth and power, mostly through drug-running and human trafficking. My father couldn't look at money without wanting to control it himself, even if it meant sacrificing a daughter. For their part, the Sorwins wanted to introduce true royalty into their sham of a bloodline.
Half my job was accomplished once I'd given those monsters an heir and a spare. That part was absolutely degrading, but I'm even more sorry for what they made me do afterwards. I can't believe that God can ever forgive me."
This confession was either hard for her, or else she was doing a good
making it appear so. After all, she
had already confessed to having been trained
from childhood to be an actress.
Orson Garland touched her hand. “Dear Frances, I have told you so many times: Your repentance is true; I know it is, and you know it, too. You have been long since forgiven by the only One who matters. There will be no damnation for you, no Lake of Fire. Have faith.”
The girl nodded, trying to make herself believe.
“What was this other half of your job?” the Watcher asked.
Frances took a deep breath. “My – My task was to destroy Great Britain.”
Eyes shut, she clenched her fists upon the table and rested her forehead upon them. “And I did it,” she whispered.
TO BE CONTINUED Chapter 8, Part 1