HEART ENVY
Sayings of the Wise
"Do not withhold discipline from your children; if you beat them with a rod, they will not die. If you beat them with the rod, you will save their lives from Sheol. My child, if your heart is wise, my heart too will be glad. My soul will rejoice when your lips speak what is right. Do not let your heart envy sinners, but always continue in the fear of the Lord. Surely there is a future, and your hope will not be cut off."
—Proverbs 23:13-18
—
DECEMBER 7TH 2039
9:25PM MST
COWDREY COLORADO
"Antonio and his group gave chase. It was barely fifteen minutes ago that they departed. Nicolas and his men followed just two minutes ago, eager to lend aid. We can send another now. Joaquin and his group are set to arrive from the north any minute now with news on their successes and Mateo—"
"Father!" A second voice called. It was Mateo and his group, arriving the moment Gerard mentioned them. "The three that escaped have been herded nearby. Half of Joaquin's group are in pursuit. Shall we depart now?"
"Two additional sinners escaped," the first saint spoke to the second, "five left to give chase but we waste time every second that—"
"Silence."
Esteban did not want to hear about what these mindless fools considered success. Esteban did not want to hear a half-baked plan through the lips of a man who spoke the words only a heretic would dare breathe before him. These saints had forgotten themselves so severely and there was no time to wait for their contrition.
There was no more room for forgiveness.
Esteban's feet moved swiftly back toward the house that had one less wall now. The whore had escaped with her coven mate through a window that was not big enough and had caused the entire west end of the house to crumble. Xavier's body, headless and half naked, was still lying still in the room—in the very same spot—Esteban left her in. His hand was still offensively wrapped around himself even in death. Without confession Xavier would surely land in hell once they set fire to his neck.
Esteban hoped Xavier had adequately punished the girl for her sins before his fate found him. When his disciples eventually dragged her back, kicking and screaming, Esteban would have to punish her again. Confession or no confession, she would beg for mercy from God while he showed her His wrath. He would leave her in the care of their younger, more impulsive members of the congregation. One or two of them would surely be too weak to resist their desires with the witch torn and bare before them.
Nine members of his congregation, whether together or separate, where in pursuit of Alice Whitlock and her re-formed coven mate. There was no possible way she would be able to escape in her condition and with that cargo.
"Send eight more after them with orders to retreat if they don't find anything past our borders. If they do, they fight until death or until Alice Whitlock is in our possession once more."
The first saint, Gerard, departed quickly at that command. Esteban glared down at the second man, Mateo. His anger did not ebb even when the blessed saint lowered his head and clasped his hands together in supplication.
"Forgive us, Father."
He would not.
Esteban had made a grievous miscalculation. He had underestimated the witch in the most fatal of ways. He could not imagine how she had escaped. How had she, with her slight build and weeping wounds and fresh punishment, managed to kill two of his strongest and flee with her own? How had she managed to get passed his congregation and run off into the wilderness?
Esteban reached for his rosary, let his eyes fall shut for a few seconds, and prayed silently.
If the witch somehow accomplished the impossible and found her way back to the Major then let her wounds be a warning. Let her betrayal to her mate be the reality that would guide Jasper Whitlock into their boundary so that Father Esteban could have his head once and for all. Let little Alice's broken vows stoke the fires of rage and retaliation that existed within the blond soldier and allow further punishment fall to her from his own hands. Then, let the Major's rage at she-who-belongs-to-him committing acts of infidelity against him be what drives him further into the evil madness that lies in wait.
Father Esteban inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and opened his eyes. "Bring your assembly, we must meet with the messenger one final time."
"Yes, Father." The bowed head kissed Esteban's vestments, turned, and fled.
Esteban turned back toward the molded, rotting house and inhaled deeply. He allowed his feet to carry him into the room, and stepped over wood and plaster until he was leaning into the hole that Xavier's headless body rested in. He inhaled deeply, using the familiar scent of venom, filth, and dirt to soothe his frustrations. Then, he reached forward and held the lighter to Xavier's neck.
By the time Mateo returned with his assembly, Xavier and Francisco were halfway to ash and the unremarkable fire had begun to sink. The surrounding house was too damp to catch in any meaningful way, and Esteban thought to the ignition that was waiting back at their base and felt more peace within him.
When they made it back to the meeting point, the sight of the Volturi loans reignited Esteban's cooled anger to a steady simmer.
"You, boy." Esteban zeroed in on the almost-child, a finger pointed toward him as his feet lead him dangerously close. Esteban could not get too close to the boy unless he wanted to risk losing all his senses in a fit. "Are you so faithless? Does your cowardice force you to act as fools do? Has your foolishness not drawn your filthy messenger forward despite your breaking of the rules?"
Esteban raised his voice, feeling pride in the vibrations his words left in the forest around him. This was the rage of God Himself. God was good. Esteban was his fury. And Esteban would demand satisfaction on His behalf.
"Does your power, too, come from the Devil?!"
"Be quiet."
Esteban reeled at the sound of the messenger's approach. His eyes widened at the sight of extra bodies alongside the sinner's tall, cloaked figure. The words about to erupt from him fell to their death when he took note of the new woman in the darker cloak beside the messenger. A second cloaked Volturi member Esteban had never seen before stood in front of the woman, as if to keep her from Esteban's sights. This man was even larger than the hulking man who had somehow escaped Esteban's clutches barely a half hour ago.
At that thought, Esteban was angry again. He turned back toward the messenger, a finger already lifted, and was incensed by the responding glare that the light-haired nuisance sported.
"You lost her," Demetri growled before Esteban could speak, taking a step forward.
"You are a lying, faithless coward!" Esteban did not step forward for he did not want to move too close the the Volturi boy who had shifted to the messenger's other side. "You knew that Major Whitlock's mate and the witch you requested were one in the same! You deny me my revenge and you misuse my army and you mock the Lord!"
"How do you capture and then lose her?" Demetri's angry words ignored Esteban's own rage. They were spoken possessively, with incensed, hungry eyes. Of course this wicked man would lie about the witch and who she belonged to. The sinner wanted her for himself.
"My men are retrieving Alice Whitlock and the spare as we speak."
"Your men are dead and Emmett and Alice Cullen are back in the possession of their coven."
The devious fool had no way of knowing this unless he was a traitor.
Esteban said exactly that. "You don't know that."
The pompous sinner stepped back and pushed his cloak behind his shoulders, revealing an outfit too crisp. Unfit for fighting. "I know that the three individuals you did not manage to kill have crossed the continental divide and that despite your pursuit they live. I know they have joined up with the Cullen coven and that your numbers decrease while theirs rises." The messenger looked over Esteban's head toward the other members of his congregation behind him. He nodded his head ever-so-slightly toward the group of cloaked figures that formed around him and when Esteban watched the savage and the girl move to join their ranks, he erupted once again.
"You prematurely thieve what was granted as part of our deal?!"
The messenger adjusted the gloves on his hands and checked the watch on his wrist. He sounded bored when he finally spoke. "Alice Cullen met you. Your cover is blown. I will exchange these for others before sunrise." He lifted his eyes up from his tedious fidgeting. "You have one more chance."
Esteban growled. "I want three days minimum and more bodies."
"No." The messenger shook his head, then turned and nodded to the woman beside him. "You get no more bodies. You get an exchange. You get no more days. Only one, and that is it." He paused and turned his head toward the east. "This time tomorrow Jasper Whitlock must be dead, and Alice Cullen must be in our possession. Retrieval of the redhead earns you an extra loan to bring back to Mexico. Retrieval or proof of murder of his mate guarantees you three. Everyone else matters little. These are your terms."
Esteban's rage had not dulled but he concentrated his focus on the rosary in his pocket. He did not reach down to open a fingertip. He did not shout again at the messenger. He allowed the Holy Spirit to fill him and then inhaled once, and then twice.
"I have agreed to your terms one time too many," Esteban warned and tucked his hands back into his vestments, feeling a soothing peace come over him. Prayer satisfied the soul so beautifully sometimes.
"You are a criminal who is being granted clemency if you are able to fulfill a request from the Kings of Volterra. The enforcers of the law you were caught breaking." The messenger's voice brooked no argument. "Their mercy is what you should pray for. You either obey, accomplish, and then reap your rewards, or you die. Those are your two options."
"I need fighters." Still calm, Esteban continued to insist. "If my psychic protection is stripped, I want my replacements to be fighters."
"You will get what we deem necessary." The messenger turned toward the giant man at his side and the two of them nodded toward one another. "We will be here tomorrow at twilight to wait for the girl."
Esteban stared back at the deplorable man for several seconds. Demetri's gaze was still angry and displeased but there was also a sense of levity in those bright eyes. The terms were nothing more than an elaborate, malleable falsehood and that is all they had ever been. Esteban's loans had been removed from his possession, his time had been shortened, and the patience of the leaders of Volterra wore thin.
Father Esteban nodded once, his eyes never once falling away from the messenger's. There would be no trade or loan. Perhaps there never was going to be one at all. A clarity had fallen over him—one he had not been able to attain ever since stepping foot in these filthy foreign lands—and now showed him the reality that was before him. He had been tricked by these devilish heathens. He had allowed himself to foolishly give into the temptation they offered him, and now all was clear.
Esteban did not fear death. He was a man of God. He had made his peace with his mortality long before immortality had been thrust upon him like both a penalty and a prize. A gift from God, a test of strength and reverence from the Heavens, a more effective means of sending souls to their judgment. His congregation was brought up with the knowledge that when they inevitably died, they would be brought to their salvation. That their three days of burning had turned them into something holy, something half a step closer to the Kingdom of Heaven, something to be utilized with unflinching piety to Father Esteban.
He, who was the being who had bestowed this additional sacrament upon them. They emerged into this world, they heard his words, they tasted the blood, they prayed in thanks, they embraced their service to the Lord.
Now, they would die.
It was what they were all destined for, even after their birth into service. Esteban created supplicants knowing their destruction would damn or glorify them. If they were to all be sacrificed come tomorrow, then Esteban would complete their duty. He would bestow their final rites upon them, feed them, bless them, kiss their brows and clasp their hands.
But he would not allow his congregation to perish unattended.
The ignition that sat back at their base, unused and waiting, would be utilized to its full extent. If the Volturi cowards wanted to flee while he and his faithful prepared for a massacre, they were welcome to do so. If Esteban had any say in the matter then these Volturi sinners would, too, perish in the holocaust he would bequeath upon this land.
Esteban opened his mouth, and prayed before they departed. "'Then he said to me, It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God and they will be my children. But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the polluted, the murderers, the fornicators, the sorcerers, the idolaters, and all liars, their place will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.'"
They would all die. Esteban's men, the Major's coven, the Volturi sinners. Then, and only then, would Father Esteban's soul know peace.