Calderon was in the back, sitting opposite from Xavier Montross, who seemed to be fast asleep. Or drugged, Alexander thought. Two of Calderon’s goons sat on either side of Xavier, arms crossed, eyes straight ahead.
Alexander craned his neck to see what Calderon was holding, and he let out a gasp.
“The Emerald Tablet,” said Jacob. “Yeah, he’s been studying it, meditating and stuff for about two hours.” It was resting on the senator’s lap, and he seemed to be in a trance. His palms gently rubbed the Tablet’s outer surface, fingertips moving slowly, tracing unseen words and signs. Tiny flickers of green sparked off his skin and fizzled in the air.
“My brother and I are next,” Jacob continued.
Alexander turned his attention away. “Next?”
Jacob took a seat beside him, crossing his legs and leaning forward. “Our dad—stepdad, obviously—said we need to learn its secrets after he’s done. Us, and the other members of…” He trailed off suddenly, catching himself.
“Members of what?” Alexander asked. “Oh, your special cult that wants to destroy the world?”
A light shined in Jacob’s deep brown eyes. “More like remake the world.”
“And how are you going to do that? By first killing everyone else?”
Jacob smiled. He glanced over to Isaac, who was still deeply involved in his game, the headphones crackling with explosions and violence. “You’re special, Alexander. Maybe when you see what we can become, what we’re meant to be, you’ll accept that. And then maybe we’ll accept you. You’ll be one of the saved.”
Alexander shook his head. “I don’t understand any of this. And I don’t think you do, either. You’re just being used. And that Tablet…” He glanced back at Calderon.
“Come on, Alexander. Don’t be like that. We’re brothers, the three of us. Part of an ancient prophecy. Even you have to see that we’re special. Chosen.”
Alexander glanced out the window, seeing the mountains in clearer detail. “If that’s true,” he said. “I wish we were never born.”
Jacob eyes hardened. “How can you say that?”
“Let him whine,” said another voice. The headphones were off, and Isaac was sitting up, stretching. “Our little brother doesn’t have any sense of purpose. He can’t dream big, like you and me, Jacob.”
Alexander turned away again, flushing.
“Doesn’t even have any real talent, I bet.” Isaac leaned forward, his coal-black hair flipping over his eyes. “Didn’t see us coming, did you brother? Didn’t see your lighthouse burning up. Or,” he said, chuckling, “your mom…”
“Shut up,” Alexander said. It was just above a whisper. He was gripping the chair’s armrests. Legs tensing.
“Or what?”
Jacob held up a hand. “Isaac, leave him alone. I think he’s had a bad week.”
“Awww.” Isaac leaned back and put his feet on his twin’s chair. “Suck it up, little brother. It only gets worse from here.”
Alexander gave them both a glare, full of hate. “Stop it. Don’t talk to me anymore.”
His grin widening, Isaac shrugged at Jacob. “Another threat, brother. I don’t think we like his tone.”
Alexander leaned forward. “I’ve already killed a man during this ‘bad week’. Don’t push me.”
Jacob and Isaac both stared at him. “You?” Isaac cut off his laugh when he saw Alexander wasn’t backing down.
“Shot him in the head,” Alexander continued. He never blinked.
Jacob’s mouth hung open until Isaac slapped him on the shoulder. “Huh. Maybe we should give that a look-see. Make sure the brat’s not lying.”
Jacob nodded.
“Besides,” said Isaac, “it would be cool to see someone get shot in the skull.” He gave Alexander a begrudging look of modest respect.
“You ever killed anyone?” Alexander asked, still feeling cocky even though his heart was thundering. His ears popped again, and he winced with the sharp pain.
Jacob looked down, but Isaac smiled and rubbed his hands together. “May 5th, last year. Seattle. Check it out while we’re checking you out.”
Alexander met Jacob’s eyes, and the silent twin gave a slight shake of his head in warning. His lips moved, forming the word “Don’t…”
Alexander trembled, tried to listen to the advice but it was too late.
Some kind of ceremony, people with robes and holding candles. A dark, shadowy chamber, with a circular—or octagonal—rim of marble pillars and some kind of black altar in the center. A man wearing silver shackles and a white robe with lunar designs on it topples over as the crowd of ram-headed spectators cheer.
Two boys stand over the gagged man who’s bleeding from his skull as the boy—a leering, dancing youth dressed in red and wearing a horned mask—dances on his feet; he’s holding a gold-tipped spear, preparing for another jab.
The captive tries to wriggle away, but there’s some kind of barbed-wire netting caught around his legs and pinning back his arms. A thrust, and the golden point comes back red after puncturing the man’s lungs, between two ribs.
Another cheer, and then a man with a familiar cane steps out of the shadows. “Very good. Now it’s your brother’s turn to finish the battle.”
The boy lowers his head and grudgingly hands the lance over to the other boy, who reluctantly takes it.
“Finish the re-enactment,” Calderon urges, raising his cane as the multitude begins to hum and chant incomprehensible syllables.
Feeling the eyes of everyone upon him—especially those of his brother—the boy steps up, raising the spear with both trembling hands. He meets the agonized eyes of the sacrifice. Chooses his spot, hoping for a clean kill, and closes his eyes before he wills his arms to strike.
A gasp and a shrieking cry of pain.
Laughter.
Isaac’s mask is off, and he’s barely able to contain his glee, pointing…
The spear point is stuck in the captive’s breastplate, just under the throat. He’s missed the heart completely.
Jacob lets go, turns and drops to his knees. Bile rushes up out of his mouth, soaking the floor. Calderon shakes his head, then nods to Isaac who moves in. He puts his foot on the captive’s chest, pulls out the lance, then quickly drives it in, lower and to the right, spearing the heart and ending the man’s cries.
Jacob crawls away, into the shadows where he curls up, safe in the darkness.
Alexander lurched back in his seat with a sudden jolt. Turbulence.
Isaac was back in his seat, cross-legged. Eyes closed. Remote-viewing with a smile on his face. But Jacob looked ashen, staring at Alexander. “You saw…?”
Nodding, Alexander glanced away, out the window to the snowy terrain rising up to meet them. “Why… what was that?”
“A re-enactment,” Jacob whispered. “Marduk and Tiamat. The whole planetary war thing. Everyone has to do it, our stepdad said. And… it was supposed to prepare us for what we needed to do.”
“What—to kill a lot of people?”
Jacob gave a weak nod.
“But you… you’re not like your brother.” Alexander took a breath, and with it, found some hope. “This doesn’t have to happen. You can help us.”