Careful What You Wish For
Prologue
1992
Martin Druin watched the tiny squirming bundle lying in the crib. Chubby pink hands reached out toward him, grasping, then opening. He knew she only saw shapes, colors. That his face was merely a blob of peach, and his voice probably sounded like nonsense. But it didn't matter. He reached forward, smiling, and stuck his finger into the grasp of the tiny hand. He glanced up to the tiny cross hanging on the wall, just over the crib.
Thank You, Father. Thank You, for allowing me to create life in Your image. For vanishing. Martin looked down once more as the baby's grasp tightened around his finger. Sighing softly, he slipped his finger free, and tucked both of his hands beneath the baby's body. Lifting her free of her blankets, Martin began to rock and dance her around the small nursery. Settling her down into the crook of his arm, Martin set his free hand against her tiny chest.
"I'm sorry..." he murmured softly. In the space between breaths, he accomplished his task; unfortunately, his daughter began to wail, pain and fear combining into the very sort of cry every parent fears. Quickly Martin raised her to his shoulder, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Hearing a noise down the hall, he quickly dropped his mask of serenity, and replaced it with one of the harrowed, new father, full of fear and brimming with exhaustion.
In the doorway, Daphne appeared in her nightgown, hastily pulling a terrycloth robe up over her shoulders. "Oh!" She paused there, relieved to find that Martin had already risen to take care of their new child. Barely three months old, little Kayla wailed with the gusto of someone who didn't know better. And Martin played his role to perfection. Unable to ease her crying, he looked beseechingly at his wife.
Daphne knew better then to wait to be asked again. She hurried forward, and eased Kayla out of Martin's arms. As she paced the small room, and sang under her breath to the child, Martin could only stand back to watch the magic being wrought. There is no bond stronger than that of mother and child. He mused silently, as the baby began to relax into her mother's grasp. Cries turned to whimpers, and Martin relaxed into the notion that Kayla would never remember the feeling of the Enochian sigils being carved into her bones. Time would never heal the marks, and she would be safe for eternity.
Martin crossed the distance between them as Daphne began to lay Kayla back down in her crib. Sliding one hand around his wife's waist, he pulled her back against him, to watch the baby for a few more moments.
"We created that." He whispered in her ear. "That tiny little miracle of life. She's ours, to protect and care for."
Daphne turned in his arms, grabbing his face for a kiss. She had no way of knowing, though, that the man she fell in love with, the man she married, was a complete and total fake. The thing inside Martin Druin smiled, and nuzzled Daphne's hair. She would never know, never even suspect that her husband was not who he claimed to be. She had wished for the perfect man, and she'd received him, she even called him her angel, sent from Heaven. If she only knew the truth...
Present Day
2011
Kayla woke in a small white room. At first she thought she was still in Phi Delta Kappa, and she had failed the test, passing out before the night had ended. Funny, she didn't remember feeling drunk in the least. While the other pledges were stumbling around, she was still showing off her tongue-twister abilities. So where was here, and how did she end up here?
Rubbing her face, she tried to wake herself up. The room was unlike any she'd seen in the sorority house before. For one thing, it was bright. So bright that the light seemed to come directly from the walls. Sitting up on the couch, she stretched, and yawned. Kayla took her time standing up; she was certain that at any moment, the alcohol she consumed would go rushing to her head. But nothing happened. She remained clear-minded, squinting into the light.
"Hello?"
The room didn't echo. It wouldn't, she figured, filled with the trinkets and paintings as it was. This definitely wasn't Phi Delta Kappa. None of the sisters were art majors; so this had to be another house. A rival maybe? A pledge room? Kayla brightened at the thought of that. She began a cautious circuit of the room, walking slowly around the large table that dominated the center. A fireplace on one wall was dark and cold, completely offsetting the painting that hung over it. Angels, huh? One particular angel, she noticed. He bore a broadsword, and stood triumphant over a dragon. Kayla turned her head to the left. Maybe that was a serpent.
"Do you like it?" The deep voice from behind her caused her to jump. She backed up against the fireplace, hand over her head. Hadn't she just been completely alone? "Oh, I didn't mean to startle you. I saw you admiring the painting."
Every inch of her told her to be terrified. The man wasn't tall, but he was smartly dressed. The dark three-piece suit nearly matched the inky darkness of his skin. He smiled, showing how white both his eyes and his teeth were against the shadows of his skin. The smile was completely fake, mirthless.
"Look," Kayla was surprised to find herself shaking, but her voice sounded so much steadier than she was. "I don't know who you are, or where I am, so why don't you just let me go?"
The African-American shook his head, slowly, clucking his tongue. "I'm afraid that I can't do that, Kayla." She blanched, going a paler shade of white. For a moment, she worried that she would pass out again. "You see, you were very difficult to find. And I'm not about to let you slip through my fingers that easily."
He began to walk around the table slowly. Kayla jerked to the side, trying to keep the table between them. But suddenly, he was gone, simply vanished from sight. A moment later, he was back, standing beside her. A scream died in her throat as he reached forward and grabbed her neck.
"I'm afraid that I haven't introduced myself yet. How rude of me. My name is Raphael, and you will bow and serve me."
Kayla struggled, plucking ineffectually at his fingers. She wanted to be let go. She wanted to go home. Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed that this was all just a dream. A really, messed-up, drank-way-too-much-last-night type of dream. Her fingertips began to tingle as Raphael squeezed tighter. Kayla's world slowly narrowed down to a single image lodged in her head.
Mom.
Raphael's hand suddenly closed on empty air. The girl vanished from his grasp. "What!" The room shook with the force of his shout. Instantly, other men and women appeared in the room with him. "Don't just stand there! Find her!"