Unbound

Chapter 15

Jesus leaned against the van, his arms folded across his chest. Thomas—no, Zareen—should have retrieved the boy and been back by now. The road in both directions was clear, dark save for the full moon shining down its feeble light.

"He's still not answering," the man, Pastor Tim, said. He climbed out of the van's front seat and showed Jesus the screen of the thing he called a cell phone, as if it would mean something to the Warden.

"Zareen should have been back by now," Simon said from the front of the van.

Jesus gritted his teeth, hating how their thoughts had run so close together. He put a hand to the amulet pressing against the skin of his chest. He could feel each flake of blood as it peeled away and fell. They had to find the only other royal Warden before Shira killed him. Or worse, made him one of her Taken.

"We cannot wait," Jesus said, pushing away from the van. He crossed to the other side and stared at the metallic fence. On the other side was the location of the 'jet,' the thing which had stayed his hand from separating Pastor Tim's head from his shoulders. If this was some sort of trick...

Jesus did not like his situation. He was used to being in complete control of himself, his surroundings, and his circumstances. And though he'd managed to watch much of the world pass while he was trapped beyond the Veil, he had missed much. That happens, when you spend two-thousand years battling forces that want nothing so much as your life.

"What do you mean, 'we cannot wait'?" Pastor Tim asked as he shoved his cell into the pocket of his pants.

Pants, another thing he disliked in battle. Where was the freedom of movement?

"I mean," he said to the man, "that the lives of countless children are at stake. Zareen is competent—she will get to where we need to go."

"Without that girl, do you even know where we need to go or what we need to do? Wasn't she guiding us?"

"She told me," Jesus said, his patience, what little there was, growing thinner by the second. He also wasn't used to being questioned.

"Look, my lord," he said. Jesus almost beheaded him right then and there, again. "I don't feel right leaving without my boy, he's just a kid. I'm sure you understand."

Jesus felt Simon rushing toward them as he turned toward the shorter man. The preacher had slicked his hair back again in the hotel, but now that it was drying it folded down around his head like wings.

"I understand that if you refer to me as your 'lord' once more, I'll beat you to death with your own spine. Am I clear?" Jesus said, looming over the man. Did these people have no sense? For thousands of years they'd set him, him, up as their god. He was surprised one of the true Gods had yet to get jealous and rip him from the fabric of fate. "Now, we are going to cut a hole through that," he pointed at the fence, "and take your jet to El Dorado, Kansas."

To his surprise, the pastor's face flushed and he actually straightened up slightly. "You are correct, that's my jet, and we aren't taking it anywhere until my son is by my side. You better understand that."

Jesus arched an eyebrow about the time Simon shoved himself between the two of them.

"Tim," Simon said, hands on the man's chest, covering up the letters D and E. Jesus would have to ask what a douche was. "Hayden will be fine. Zareen is one of the best of us, I could tell. She will get him to Kansas. They may already be on their way now."

Jesus frowned, hearing the lie for what it was. He wasn't against lying, but why did Simon bother? It would be much faster to lift the man up by his hair and carry him through the fence, then to where ever they needed to go to find the jet.