Doomsday Can Wait (Phoenix Chronicles, #2)(55)
Understanding dawned. "When Tartarus is opened and the Grigori are released, Apollyon—Satan—will possess the one who released him."
"Yes."
"I wouldn't think the woman of smoke would take kindly to that."
"To rule she'd do anything."
And who knows, maybe she had another plan up her sleeve. Though what it could be, I had no idea, which was typical lately. I never knew what was going on.
"I'd really like to get my hands on that book," I murmured.
"You and everyone else on heaven and earth." At my curious glance he continued. "One of the prophecies in the book states the army that carries it is invincible."
"Son of a—" I broke off. "Like the Arc of the Covenant?"
"Balance," he reminded me. "If the forces of light have an icon that promises invincibility ..."
"Then the forces of darkness get one, too. How in hell re we supposed to win this war again?"
"Who says that we will?"
"The proph—" I choked as I realized what he meant. For every prophecy existed a counterprophesy. They canceled each other out.
I'd been working under the assumption, the belief, the faith, that in the end our side would triumph. But that was because the good guys said so.
The bad guys said so, too.
Sawyer's eyes met mine. "Faith means nothing if the outcome is preordained."
"What?" He was reading my mind again, and I was too shook to think straight.
"Faith is belief in the unbelievable. Rock-solid conviction that the unseen is real. Support of a truth that could very well be untrue."
"A prophecy."
"Exactly. To win, Phoenix, you have to believe that you will."
CHAPTER 21
In order to win, I had to believe that I would.
Easy for him to say.
We slept in separate beds, which seemed stupid after what we'd shared, but it wasn't my idea. I wouldn't have said a word if Sawyer had climbed in beside me. I wouldn't have said a word if he'd wanted to be inside me.
But he'd pulled back emotionally, and he seemed to be following up by pulling back physically. I figured he didn't know how to handle feelings. How could he?
And right now I didn't have time to psychoanalyze, even if I were capable of it. I had enough issues of my own.
I had a hard time sleeping, and not just because of the new info on prophecies—good, bad, and potentially worthless. Every time I started to drift off, the wind howled like a furious woman, rattling the window so loudly there were times I thought it might shatter. Since I thought there was a furious woman out there trying to break the protective spell Sawyer had cast over us, I had my doubts that what I heard was the wind.
And then there were my unvoiced fears. Would we win? Could we win? Who would die and how many?
I finally fell into an exhausted and fitful rest. I should have known that Ruthie would come.
I opened the white gate, walked up the pristine sidewalk, caught the scent of summer wind and burgeoning flowers. In Ruthie's heaven, the sun always shone, and the rains never came. It was heaven, after all.
She was in the backyard with the kids, at least a dozen. Had they all come from Lake Vista? Did it even matter? I hated when Ruthie had a full house. It was like a big guilt party thrown just for me.
I sat next to her on a bench near the wall, where the overhang cast a bit of shade. Our arms brushed. She was solid; so was I. Everything here was just the same as it was on earth, even when it was different.
For instance, Ruthie looked the same, but she was dead. The house looked different from the place she'd died, yet it was still her house. These visions were like dreams—a combination of the familiar and the bizarre. Yet, somehow, I understood they were also real.
"Do you know anything about a book of Satanic prophesies?"
"Mmm-hmm," Ruthie murmured, eyes closed, head resting against the white aluminum siding.
"This wasn't something you thought I should be clued in to?"
"What for?" Ruthie opened one eye. "No one's ever found the thing."
"How do you know?"
"You think if they had it, we'd still be breathin'?"
"You're not breathing," I pointed out.
"Not because of the Book of Samyaza."
"I suppose Samyaza is just another name for Satan."
"Yes." Ruthie opened both eyes and sat up, casting a quick glance at the children.
They'd begun playing king of the mountain on a grass-covered hill that hadn't been there five minutes ago. When I'd arrived they'd been playing softball on a diamond that had now disappeared. Talk about a heavenly playground.
"Samyaza was the leader of the earthly angels," Ruthie continued. "His name means 'adversary' in Hebrew."
"Adversary, destructor. What's Hebrew for '*'?"
Ruthie turned her head. She wasn't above smacking me in the mouth if the occasion warranted it. I could tell by her expression, I was skating perilously close to such an occasion.
"Why all the different names?" I asked in a respectful and contrite voice.
Ruthie's attention returned to the children. They all played together—toddlers and tweens. Whenever we'd tried to start a game of king of the mountain, on the mammoth snowpiles left behind by the city plows, Ruthie had always put the kibosh on it as too dangerous.