Page 70 of Old Secrets

Jake graced me with a tender smile. “I’m telling our therapist on you, and you might even be praised for your progress. I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you actually vocalize the importance of justice when discussing Greenwich.”

I nodded, as I suspected he was right. “There’s no justice in murder.”

Maybe this time, I would believe it.

The Chinese members of our group led the way and permitted their compact machine guns to do the talking. The wise, upon seeing the weapons, cleared space without needing any instruction. Sure enough, everyone I saw, with a few exceptions of witches and Fenerec along the walls, were marked in either a red or a black and red aura.

Those with the black and red auras made up the vast majority of those present, and my fox raged at the sight of so many who had wanted to see us dead as an infant, utterly defenseless. I couldn’t even begin to imagine my mother’s grief and pain, watching her children be murdered time and time again.

As Maurice claimed, nobody in the airport, outside of the Inquisition, seemed young.

Here and there, I spotted a youthful face, but I slated that as a case of good genetics or a truly young age upon learning—and agreeing with—the deaths of my family members.

Had I seen them in a crowd, I would have thought them ordinary people doing ordinary things.

They caught sight of me and stared, likely puzzled by my blouse, jeans, and my gun holstered at my side. Silence reigned, and our footsteps squeaked as rubber-soled shoes often did on immaculately cleaned airport tiles.

Then, to my horror, the entire lot of them got to their knees, stretched their hands over their heads, and bowed, pressing their faces to the ground and stretching in my general direction. They repeated the bow a total of three times before remaining on the ground, lying in a prone position.

I came to one conclusion: they were religious fanatics, just like Noah had suspected.

The group consisted of men and women of equal number, and I eyed them, isolating a woman who had only the faintest of a red aura surrounding her. As she was some twenty or thirty feet into the crowd, I stepped around the prone bodies until I reached her. I was aware of Jake tensing, his hand poised over his firearm.

“Jake, relax. You know I can beat you to the draw even rusty, so don’t act like you’re going to be saving me today.”

He huffed, and he puffed, but he lowered his hand.

I nudged the woman I’d selected with my toe, targeting the side of her leg so I wouldn’t inadvertently cause her pain. “Do you speak English?”

“I do,” came the muffled reply. She also said something in a language I did not recognize.

“Maurice?”

“She is speaking a prayer of gratitude. I don’t recognize the dialect, but it’s close enough to Sherpa I’m following.”

That supported the religious fanaticism suspicion.

“Why are you here?” I asked her.

“To praise you, for you survived, and to worship the god and the goddess who brought you into the world.”

My eyes crossed at her commentary, and I was grateful she couldn’t see my expression, lying prone as she was. “Who do you think I am?”

“You are the shining moon, a goddess of retribution, who comes in the night to bring light to the world.”

Apparently, Greenwich had taken the ‘moon’ meaning of my name and run with it. Or, at least, some of the members had. After taking a moment to consider my options, I crouched beside her and asked, “Why do you think I’m a goddess of retribution?”

“You will rain destruction down on those who forced the sacrifice of your blood-kin to wake your divinity,” she replied, her voice full of confidence.

She was not wrong, although she had no idea of how much truth she spoke. During my FBI training, I’d been taught to identify religious fervor, but it had been in a context of active terrorism events and attempted negotiations rather than being the subject of worship. “Can you tell me about those who forced the sacrifice?”

Those were the ones I wanted, and my fox stilled, tense and waiting in the hopes of having someone to strike.

“Oh, yes,” she breathed. “I can do that. We all can. We are all here because we have seen your light. We saw you pluck the life of a sacrifice from the hands of destruction. We saw you preserve life. You are the shining moon.”

There were only two cases I could think of with my direct involvement involving anyone actually being saved: Annabelle Greenwich and Jacob Peters. “Do you mean the baby or the boy?”

“Both,” she replied. “But you began with the baby. You made it clear, then, that you are the true retribution against sins they preached of, not them. You do not sacrifice.”