Chapter Eleven

Zed contemplated playing the injured child a little further, but she knew she couldn't fake that dizzying experience. Nothing could come close to that mind breaking reality that she'd experienced and sooner or later, Manny would see the fault in it. Let them think that she'd forced her mind back into focus.

Manny was blind whenever John was at work.

She was Mary(Zed) Martin and she wouldn't lie down without a fight.

She'd expected a move by now. What were they waiting for? That knowledge left her a little unnerved. As fanatic as they were for this prophecy, she didn't understand why Manny hadn't already forced his—or her—hand. She wasn't in any hurry to further things along by any means, but knowing she was waiting didn't set easy with her. It sickened her that Manny probably wouldn't have to force anything—he had that much power.

She curled on her side at the thought and hugged a pillow to her chest. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to be at the Mill house and arguing with John over something petty. How had she let things spiral so far out of control? A lack of attention to detail, that was how.

The spell book was still beneath the mattress. She'd looked through the pages twice now, hoping that something else would come to her. There was nothing of relevance, nothing that would benefit her. John probably would have had a time with the book, but he wasn't here. She'd keep the book, though. If anything happened and she needed to contact John again, the spell would come in handy.

If she needed to contact him again. On the thought, she drew herself up and pushed herself back into the corner of the bed and picked up the sketch pad and charcoal pencil she'd been given. In case she had visions? The only thing on her mind right then was trepidation and Constantine.

Zed made herself think of him. Mainly because she didn't want to have a vision. If she focused on Constantine, then maybe she could keep everything else repressed. She traced the edge of his jaw. John Constantine had a stubborn jawline, and a light stubble that always seemed to be there. Staring down at the image forming, she hadn't realized until that very moment that he was her calm in the center of the storm.

When had that happened?

He always seemed to know what to say, even if it wasn't always good. He'd taught her control and the meaning of her visions and those lessons had been brutal. Seeing his charcoal eyes staring up at her from the paper, the panic in her chest lessened.

She never would understand him and sometimes, she really did hate him. He had no moral respect where the opposite sex was concerned and he made no effort to hide it. He saw no reason to hide the fact that he loved sex. She'd witnessed that on numerous accounts. Lipstick on the collar of his shirt, an overwhelmingly sweet perfume she knew he didn't wear. He showed no respect for the heavenly hosts, either.

But that was John Constantine.

He had a way about bringing people together under the worst circumstances.

She paused on the outline of his lips. The first time had been her fault, the second she'd had no control over. As many times as he'd bragged about his sexual prowess and she faulted him for it, rolled her eyes, teased him—the man was good.

She remembered when she was younger and she'd shown interest in a man, she'd went out on a date. Her father had had the man killed. Her father didn't know about that certain part of her...relationship with Constantine. She was surprised that Manny didn't. Or did he? Was that why Manny hadn't come for her yet?

Constantine had given her a place to hide in the Mill House and a place she'd actually called home. Her father didn't want to kill Constantine because of what he'd taken from Mary. He wanted to kill the exorcist because he was a pain in the ass.

He was coming for her. But was he really? When? How?

"You really are a fool." Zed whispered half hardheartedly.

Her connection through the Bi-Location hadn't been a stable one. Constantine's image had been clear, but the background hadn't. The world had been transparent, flickering in and out of solidity. He'd been conversing with other people, even arguing with a rigid violence with the darker toned man.

The door opened and she looked up.

Her stomach dropped when Manny's towering angelic form filled the doorway. She was no longer filled with the sense of awe she'd carried whenever she saw him. There was nothing now but a sense of betrayal.

Manny propped himself on the edge of the bed beside her and Zed sat up, moving away. He wasn't here to knock her up—not yet. She was sure when that time came they'd have a big audience.

"You don't have to do this, Manny. You're an angel. Don't you see the wrong in this?"

Manny shook his head. "We're changing the world, Zed. Everything that can be right, is right in that."

He was the only one that called her Zed still. It wasn't working. The small notion wasn't comforting in the least. It was just pissing her off more. Her eyes lowered to the small rolled piece of paper he was holding. The edges were discolored and worn with age. It was a very, very old looking...scroll.

"No." Zed said and lurched to her feet.

Manny reached out and caught her hand in his and curled her fingers around the paper.

She stood in front of a large, towering dome shaped building.

This was what she'd been avoiding.

"What do you see, Zed?" Manny's voice reached her through the vision and she opened her mouth but couldn't force the words out. The cloying cologne her father wore wafted up and then she had the impression of a sketchpad being shoved into her hands, followed by a pencil. It was an automatic reaction, the way her hand started moving over the paper.

The building was square, but the dome was above and in the center...a cross. Windows. A fence. She watched as men in robes roamed the grounds. One of them walked through her.

"Jerusalem." Zed whispered, her eyes vacant as she stared ahead.

The world sucked her forward. No, she didn't move, the world moved forward around her and then she was in the building. Chapel. Church.

"Axum." She saw the word. She didn't understand it, but it was there in a book. There was an alter.

"Mary of Zion."

"That's good, Mary. Keep going." Martin's voice this time.

Sunlight glinted off the box in front of her, in front of the alter. It was pure gold. Her hand moved over the wooden rods on each side as she walked around the golden box. Was it a casket? No. There were kneeling angels on either side of the surface and...the box opened and she peered inside. There were scrolls lying in the bedding, a wooden rod and a jar of manna. It was the center piece that caught her eye. It was a small ring. Someone whispered.

"Pentalpha."

Zed gasped, her head jerking up. The sketchpad was a light weight in her lap and she looked down.

"It's in the Ark of the Covenant." Martin said, picking up the pad. "Thank you, Mary. You've done well."

Zed felt sick. Whatever they were looking for, it was in the Ark of the Covenant. She had the feeling that everything she'd seen in that small golden case, the one thing they were interested in was the smallest. It was important to them.

"Can she find the Hand of Glory?" Martin pulled the front flap over the sketch pad and tucked it under his arm. He was sickeningly proud.

Zed turned her head. "You won't find it. That I promise you. Not even a vision will get you to that."

That brought his full attention to her and she almost regretted her words, but she didn't back down. "You know what the Hand of Glory is?"

This time, she did smile. She knew and had seen first hand. The knowledge that John Constantine was in the possession of the Hand of Glory was something she was keeping to herself. "I see everything." She bit out. She was tense, waiting to see if they were going to force another vision on her. She knew that if her father wanted to get another vision out of her, there wasn't anything she could do to stop him.

The man who many a children would hold in high esteem as the role of father had kept her locked up in a room for his own evangelical uses.

They'd gotten what they came for, though. For the moment. They'd return when they needed her. It didn't surprise her that Martin was the first to leave. He wanted her visions and he'd gotten them. Manny at least had the grace, she thought bitterly, to turn and thank her.

"You'll see, Zed. We're doing this for the good of mankind. For you."

"Yes, you and every missionary with a psychotic mind set." She didn't wait for Manny to speak again. She closed the door in his face and twisted the lock. Funny, they'd provided her with a door that locked from both the inside and outside. A locked door wouldn't keep Manny out, but it gave her the satisfaction knowing that they'd have to take those few precious seconds to unlock the door.

She spun around and closed the distance to the bed and sank to her knees. Reaching under the mattress she searched for the heavy binder and then pulled the spell book out. Her father was a very intelligent man. Misguided, but intelligent. Manny was an angel, he was the heavenly guidance. That didn't mean their followers inherited any of that knowing guidance.

She flipped through the pages until she came to the familiar spell. Her mind dreaded having to focus on that small thread of conscious to John, but she needed to see him.

The name Blastonbury stuck out to her. She'd been here before. That here was where she was. A strange warped sense of hope filled her. John knew where that was. England! He wasn't that far away and he didn't even know it!

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