“Seasick?”

  He just laughs like he’s won a game I didn’t even know we were playing. Then he pushes me into the back seat of the car as my world starts to narrow and slowly goes black.

  5: live

  Eden

  The House of David’s private jets are a regular reminder that the organization does not struggle financially. In addition to the stipend we receive from the alliance of governments employing us, we’re commissioned to take care of individual, minor problems before they become major. Since the Gate never stops moving, jets are often necessary. As often as I enjoy the ride, I should probably feel I share in the wealth, but I don’t.

  I lounge in a soft, leather seat with a drink in my hand and Sarah across the way. Orion’s out cold beside me, tipped to the side and drooling like the golden retriever he is.

  Sarah tilts her head to stare at him from a better angle. “He doesn’t look anything like you,” she muses. “He’s kind of cute, actually.”

  That should not hurt as much as it does. I’m a grown man in a secret organization that wars with terrorists over holy artifacts. I should not want to be cute, and I don’t. I don’t.

  But Sarah sees right through me. “Aw, Eden, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re cute too.”

  I swallow my smile and glare at her. “No, I’m not. I’m hideously ugly, unwashed, and a sloppy dresser.”

  “With dimples,” she adds.

  “Who drinks way too much.” I swirl my glass of whiskey in her general direction.

  “That, I’ll give you.”

  Our conversation must be making it into Orion’s dreams because he stirs in his seat and mumbles, “Way too much.”

  Sarah pinches her lips closed, and I join her in silence. It feels like we’re parents trying not to wake our toddler so we can have a few moments of peace. I pull The Great Gatsby from one of my deeper pockets and sit back to read.

  After a few minutes, Sarah whispers, “How are you liking it?”

  Usually, I can’t stand interruptions when I’m trying to concentrate, but I tend to forgive Sarah for habits I despise in other people. I glance up and answer, “These books you gave me are about all the wrong people.”

  “How so?” She leans in.

  “I don’t care about Gatsby.”

  “Who do you care about?”

  “Owl Eyes.” I don’t know what answer she expected, but the one I gave her is definitely not it, judging by her reaction.

  She gapes at me and crosses her arms. “The guy with the glasses? Why?”

  I shrug and try to find the answer buried in my subconscious, where I’m all but certain it’s hiding, when we’re both distracted by Orion’s pained groan. He sits up and massages his head, which probably aches from the knock-out potion I gave him. “What the hell?” His accusing eyes find me in the seat next to him. “Why would you drug me?”

  “It’s protocol,” I answer.

  Sarah immediately betrays me. “It is absolutely not protocol, Mr. Bachman. Don’t you believe a word he says.”

  “Hello.” Orion sits up straighter and offers her one of his radiant smiles while I glower at him from the proverbial shadows. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Bachman. I’m just plain Rion to everyone who knows me.”

  “And I’m Sarah Bradley, but you’re welcome to call me plain Sarah.” Orion offers his hand, but Sarah just smiles and says, “It’s good to finally meet you, Rion.”

  The poor kid looks confused, but he’ll get used to everyone’s quirks. Sarah, for example, doesn’t touch anyone unless she’s fighting them—well, except me on the odd occasion. She didn’t start out that way. I watched her grow into it after years of training, missions, and kills. We were close from the beginning, which is why I think she’s still okay patting me on the arm from time to time.

  I saw so many in the House grow up, which may be why they feel like family to me. Aiden was only twelve when I met him on the streets of Cape Town. He was fighting with a grown man over a cat. The man was on more than just weed, if you ask me. He had cut off the ears of the poor creature and was looking to sever its tail when Aiden stepped in.

  I stood and watched this kid—this child—throw fists and kick and headbutt a man twice his size. The kid never let up. He fought like a berserker with a lollipop in his mouth—not a good idea but impressive all the same. When he noticed I had a gun, Aiden darted in to grab it, and I let him. I had to see how this played out. It took seconds at most. He unlocked the safety, pointed my gun at the tweaker, and shot. The recoil sent him flying off his feet, but he leapt back up and resumed pointing my weapon at the corpse, watching to see if it moved again. When he was satisfied the cat’s tormentor was dead, he handed my gun back to me and asked, “What do I do next?”

  I recruited Aiden immediately. It was easy to convince him to join the House of David. All I had to do was promise he could keep the cat. For years, the Gate had an earless, feline mascot named Snake-Eyes, and Aiden cared for no one but that cat. After the cat died, Aiden cared for no one—period. He’s a ruthless killer to this day. His reputation is about as bad as mine. You can cry, beg, flatter, or seduce him. None of it will save you. Only myself and a few others know what makes him tick, which hasn’t changed much in the years I’ve known him. If you want in his good graces, give him sweets. If you want to piss him off, be cruel to animals. Aiden was the best Acolyte I ever had before he was promoted to Judge, and he’s probably the closest I’ll ever come to having a son.

  It’s a shame Orion has such big shoes to fill. As hesitant as he is to kill, I doubt he’ll be anything like Aiden, but that’s what I’m aiming for—change.

  We fly for hours in dead silence before the intercom crackles to life and the pilot announces, “The Gate is open. Belt up.”

  Orion looks out the window to see the massive ship in the distance. “Wait. The House of David headquarters is a ship?”

  I nod. “Which is why getting seasick would be a bad idea. So don’t.”

  Our landing is smooth as always. The House only recruits the best pilots. The tail hook catches, and we’re abruptly pulled to a stop. I imagine landing on the ship must feel like riding a roller coaster, though I’ve never been on one.

  My brother’s reaction to stepping aboard the Gate for the first time brings back a lot of memories for me. He’s borderline giddy, asking Sarah question after question, which she’s more than happy to answer. Trivia is her strength—numbers and stats, riddles, and the like. She’s always the one who shows new recruits around, not because she’s friendly, but because they’re the only people who at least pretend to care about the many facts she can recall at a moment’s notice.

  Orion turns to me as we step off the runway, his blonde hair mussed by heavy winds. “Is this ship where you brought the chains?” he asks.

  I nod. “Do you want to see them?”

  “Can I?”

  Together, we walk to the lab, and Orion marvels at the expanse of the Gate. I get it. I felt the same the first time I saw it. Most landlubbers have a hard time believing a ship could house so much. It’s like a small, floating city.

  The lab is deep in the vessel and strictly regulated. I make Orion suit up so he won’t contaminate anything. Inside, Judah Joy observes a slide under a microscope. I only know it’s him because this is his shift. His suit hides his receding hairline, sharp features, and kind eyes. He’s examining material he’s gotten from the chains.

  The chains themselves are suspended in a protective, airtight container. It looks like a glass box, lit from below for easy observation. Orion leans in to see them. They’re ancient Roman shackles, probably worn by countless prisoners until St. Peter got a taste of them. They’re linked together, completely covered in rust, and obviously handmade. Someone slaved over these. Maybe someone was a slave in them as well.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Orion says at last. “This is amazing. Imagine their history, where they’ve traveled, who they’ve come into contact with. And now they’re here.”

  Judah pauses his observation long enough to say, “The box they came in is behind you and just as fascinating if you care to examine it.”

  “What’s the prognosis?” I ask Judah.

  “We can’t say whether these really bound St. Peter, but their power is not counterfeit.”

  My blood runs cold. “Microorganisms?”

  “Yes.” He bows back over the microscope.

  “Like in the Blood of Mary?”

  “They have several vital similarities. I’m not comfortable enough to say they’re identical, but at the very least, they’re related. One is a likely mutation of the other.”

  “Jesus,” I mutter. The Blood of Mary killed anyone who consumed it. The cult we were supposed to take it from had added it to a vat of Communion wine. Each member who drank it would have received less than a drop, but not one of them survived. That was bad enough. The Chains of Peter don’t even need to be consumed. Contact with the skin is sufficient. That means these microorganisms, whatever they are, are far more powerful than we originally thought.

  Behind me, Orion cries out, “I know this! I thought I couldn’t read it, but I know it.”

  I turn to find him staring down at the box the chains were stored in. “Don’t touch that,” I snap like he’s a child about to lay his whole hand on a hot stove.

  “I’m not touching it. The writing on the lid is Latin. I don’t speak Latin, so I figured I couldn’t read it, but I recognize it. It’s quo vadis.”

  Judah turns in his chair. “Go on.” He’s testing the new recruit.

  Orion stares back down at the box. “Well, Dad used to go on and on about church history, you know, especially if any of it was depicted in art. So there’s this story of St. Peter seeing Christ on the road and asking him, ‘Domine, quo vadis?’ That’s what this says.”

  Judah folds his gloved hands. “Translation?”

  “It means, Where are you going, Lord?”

  “Eden,” Judah says, “open the lid for him.”

  I grab a pair of sterile tongs and ease the lid open. A mere touch from the Chains of Peter can kill a man, and I’m not about to risk some splinter from the box they were kept in puncturing my suit. I may be willing to risk my life for a cause, but I won’t risk it for stupidity. On the other side of the lid are more etchings. These are easier to read, having been better protected than the ones on the outside.

  Orion barely glances at it before he says, “That’s the answer to the question.”

  “Which is?” I prompt him.

  “Eo Romam iterum crucifigi. It means, I am going to Rome to be crucified again.”

  Judah’s smile is ear-to-ear. “Eden, is this your new Acolyte?”

  I close the lid and put the tongs on a tray to be re-sterilized. “If he passes the physical tests. He meets all the other qualifications.”

  “I like him,” Judah says. “Of course, we already translated the text and surmised its meaning, but that was some quick work on his part. Good choice. He’ll be an asset.”

  “I hope so,” I say. Judah’s always been an authority figure to me, even after I rose through the ranks to join the Tennins—the only Judges allowed to carry Series Four weapons like True Winter. Technically, I rank above him now, but his approval still means a lot.

  Later, as I lead Orion to his new quarters, a thought occurs to me. “Going to Rome to be crucified again—I wonder if martyrdom was what the purity test was really about.”

  Orion pauses his wide-eyed appreciation of the Gate long enough to ask, “What purity test?”

  I hesitate but decide to tell him. If he’s going to be my Acolyte, we’ll have to trust each other completely. “My first mission involved a cult that formed around a vial of what was supposed to be the Virgin Mary’s blood. Somehow, the cultists found out drinking any amount of the blood would kill a man. They decided those who died from drinking it were sinners and those who were righteous would survive. It was a purity test, and the entire cult took it together. Every one of them died. It was… difficult to see.”

  All the color drains from Orion’s face. “That’s awful,” he mutters. This is why I chose him. He knows the gravity of what we’re trying to prevent. He knows the importance of life in a way I never will because he’s had a good one. He knows what people have to lose.

  I go on. “Legends suggest the Chains of Peter will kill any sinner who puts them on but the righteous will survive. Sound familiar? Although the chains wouldn’t kill multiple people at once, most cultists tend to believe they’re righteous. They’ll wait in line to die just to prove themselves worthy.” I stop outside Orion’s door and turn to face him. “What if that quote—Christ saying he was going back to be crucified again—and the story of how St. Peter followed him to become a martyr inspired people to take the test? We’re lucky the chains didn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

  Orion knits his brow. “Do you really think those are the shackles St. Peter wore?”

  I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. They do the same damage either way. That’s why the House of David exists.”

  I open the door to his quarters and welcome him in with a gesture. “This room is yours for the time being. You’ll find everything you need here, including a wardrobe. Down the hall is the head you’ll use—that’s a bathroom, in case you didn’t know. You’ll find all the personal hygiene products you need there.”

  Orion shouldn’t be nearly as impressed with the room as he is. The berths are plain, gray on white, uninspiring by design. He opens the lockers to find rows of gray crewneck sweatshirts and cotton sweatpants. The disappointed look on his face is the same one I’m sure I wore the first time I saw that uniform. “No distractions allowed,” I say. “That’s your training uniform. You’ll get another when you pass.”

  “When I pass what?”

  “You don’t just sign a contract and become an Acolyte in the House of David, genius. You have to train and be tested. I’m sure they’ll wave scholarly education considering your Ph.D., but you’ll have to pass religious studies, the basics of combat, survival, first aid, and fitness.”

  He scoffs. “I’m fit.”

  I can’t help grinning at him. “Not to our standards, you aren’t. You’ll have to complete our version of a pentathlon, including wilderness training, shooting, fighting, even torture techniques.” His eyes grow wide, and I laugh. “Don’t worry, Rion. It’ll be fun.”

  I’m not sure which shocks him more, how much he still has to accomplish or my use of the nickname his friends and family gave him. I wait for his correction, but it never comes. Instead, he starts reading the spines of a stack of books on his nightstand. “How’d you know I was an insomniac?” he says.

  “I didn’t. Those are from Sarah. She thought you might like to get an early start on your studies. I told her you’d want to get some sleep, considering what you’ll be doing tomorrow.”

  He sits on his bunk and picks up a book. “Speaking of sleep, why did you drug me? And don’t say protocol because I believe Sarah over you.”

  “Smart.” I grin at him and shrug. “I wanted to give you an interesting welcome.”

  “So… like hazing?”

  “You could say that.”

  “You’re a horrible brother, you know that?” He sighs and pulls his legs onto the bed. “Anyway, can I get another bottle of the stuff? That nap on the plane was the most sleep I’ve gotten in months.”

  “No more drugs,” I say. “From now on, you’re living clean. As for insomnia, the House of David will knock that out of you quick.”

  “God I hope so.”

  I laugh. “You won’t feel the same tomorrow. See you in the morning, Rion.” Then I back out of the room and close the heavy, metal door on him.

  * * *

  By the time I wake the next day, Orion’s already been up for hours. I’m certain his alarm went off at five and he stumbled around in his new uniform, looking for the mess hall like I did my first morning here… until Ying Yue found him. Once Ying Yue found him, his education began.

  I make my way to the upper deck, where I know he’ll be training under her merciless observation. Ying Yue comes into view before he does. She sits against the rail, a clipboard in her hand and a whistle around her neck, dressed for work in her fire-retardant black jumpsuit.

  “How’s he doing?” I ask.

  She glances down at her notes. “Punctuality: excellent. Attitude: excellent. Time: inadequate.”

  “What’s he at?”

  “Fifteen minutes, twenty-five seconds.”

  “Damn.”

  “He needs to get below eleven minutes.”

  “I know.” I can’t help but think she’s holding me responsible for the work she has cut out for her. “He’ll do it.”

  On cue, Orion comes running around the corner at top speed. When he sees me, he almost trips over his own feet, but he rights himself and skids to a stop in front of Ying Yue. He collapses to his knees and doubles over, gasping for air. “Did I… make it?”

  She looks down at her stopwatch. “You shaved off twenty seconds. Decent, but you’ve got a way to go yet.” He groans, and I catch the familiar note of sadism in Ying Yue’s voice. She can be terrifying when she’s training. “Plank!” she shouts, and he gets into position on his hands and toes. She checks his form, sits down on his back, and crosses her legs. “Care to join me, Eden? He’s quite comfortable.”

  I laugh through my nose and shake my head. “You’re a beast, you know that? I love it, but it’s not my hour to torture him.”

  “Your loss.” She pulls an energy bar from her pocket and starts to peel it open as Orion’s arms begin to shake.

  “Please,” he says in a pathetic voice.