Justin was his direct descendant, two hundred years removed. And his position at his company, Clarion, had made him useful to them.
The choice is clear to us: Trust you or kill you, Teferi had said. We choose trust .
Now their trust was gone.
“Do what you want with me, but please don’t touch my family,” Justin heard himself say. “I’m begging you. Whatever Caitlin’s told you, I talked her into it. She never wanted to have anything to do with the blood. I convinced her.”
A burly African who hadn’t spoken muttered something in a melodic language Justin didn’t understand, and the others chuckled. The chuckles horrified Justin in a way Dawit’s eyes had not. Was he only a plaything to these men?
“Justin.” Teka spoke quietly. The small man’s voice was fatherly, and Justin felt his fear melt away. Such a caring voice promised a reprieve. Teka went on: “In this Hall, among my Brothers, deception is your worst course. Each lie is known to us and serves as a deeper insult. Never lie to us again.”
Justin gazed at the knowing eyes around the table and felt scalded by the truth of Teka’s warning. These men not only had remarkable blood and lived for generations but they also knew when he was lying? Now he didn’t have to wonder how they had found out about the stolen vial!
“Jesus help me,” Justin whispered. His mind felt cast adrift. Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name… Justin couldn’t remember what came next in the prayer. He hadn’t been to a church in years.
“So, to clarify…,” Teka said. “You did not supply your daughter with diluted blood being sold outside of this colony. You did not know Caitlin was involved in the sale of this blood.”
Justin could only shake his head. His tongue was a useless lump in his mouth.
“Show him the photograph,” Teka said.
A color photo appeared on the table in front of him; Justin was so dazed that he didn’t see who had given it to him. An autopsy photo. Justin saw a nude, dark-haired woman, visible to midchest, her mouth hanging open in a face streaked with blood. Her chest was a collection of dark bruises and punctures that looked like knife wounds. Too many to count. The poor woman looked like a speared fish, her wounds gaping and fresh.
Then Justin recognized her face.
His stomach flew into his mouth, and he vomited a stream of warm water to the floor. His shaking limbs nearly threw him from his chair. Justin tried to straighten again, but he couldn’t move. His muscles were locked.
The girl in the photograph was Maritza, Caitlin’s girlfriend. Maritza, who’d called him Papi and had promised him a grandchild one day. Caitlin hadn’t even told him Maritza was dead until the memorial service had been over. Maritza had been a baby herself.
“Maritza Colón,” Dawit said. “She was selling Glow on South Beach. She received blood from Caitlin. She’s a very dead girl now, as you can see.”
“Jesus God, please help us…,” Justin whispered, still bent over the floor. His tears spilled freely as the room spun above him and beneath him. He killed Father Arturo right in front of me, Dad. He’s a monster. That was the first thing Caitlin had said when they’d had a minute alone, when his daughter had been desperate to prepare him for what he would face.
“We didn’t kill Maritza, Mr. O’Neal.” Teka’s voice cut through the fog threatening to make him faint. Justin sat up slowly in his chair, wiping spittle from his lips. He wanted to believe Teka. He did believe, somehow. Justin’s tears softened from grief to gratitude.
“But her death raises a question about you,” Dawit said. He stood up, standing over Justin. “What would you do to save your daughter’s life?”
“Anything.”
“Anything?” Too gently, Dawit cupped Justin’s chin in his hand. “Yes, you would do anything. That was the fate of beautiful, dead Maritza here. She betrayed her beloved to try to save her life, and now Caitlin
The choice is clear to us: Trust you or kill you, Teferi had said. We choose trust .
Now their trust was gone.
“Do what you want with me, but please don’t touch my family,” Justin heard himself say. “I’m begging you. Whatever Caitlin’s told you, I talked her into it. She never wanted to have anything to do with the blood. I convinced her.”
A burly African who hadn’t spoken muttered something in a melodic language Justin didn’t understand, and the others chuckled. The chuckles horrified Justin in a way Dawit’s eyes had not. Was he only a plaything to these men?
“Justin.” Teka spoke quietly. The small man’s voice was fatherly, and Justin felt his fear melt away. Such a caring voice promised a reprieve. Teka went on: “In this Hall, among my Brothers, deception is your worst course. Each lie is known to us and serves as a deeper insult. Never lie to us again.”
Justin gazed at the knowing eyes around the table and felt scalded by the truth of Teka’s warning. These men not only had remarkable blood and lived for generations but they also knew when he was lying? Now he didn’t have to wonder how they had found out about the stolen vial!
“Jesus help me,” Justin whispered. His mind felt cast adrift. Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name… Justin couldn’t remember what came next in the prayer. He hadn’t been to a church in years.
“So, to clarify…,” Teka said. “You did not supply your daughter with diluted blood being sold outside of this colony. You did not know Caitlin was involved in the sale of this blood.”
Justin could only shake his head. His tongue was a useless lump in his mouth.
“Show him the photograph,” Teka said.
A color photo appeared on the table in front of him; Justin was so dazed that he didn’t see who had given it to him. An autopsy photo. Justin saw a nude, dark-haired woman, visible to midchest, her mouth hanging open in a face streaked with blood. Her chest was a collection of dark bruises and punctures that looked like knife wounds. Too many to count. The poor woman looked like a speared fish, her wounds gaping and fresh.
Then Justin recognized her face.
His stomach flew into his mouth, and he vomited a stream of warm water to the floor. His shaking limbs nearly threw him from his chair. Justin tried to straighten again, but he couldn’t move. His muscles were locked.
The girl in the photograph was Maritza, Caitlin’s girlfriend. Maritza, who’d called him Papi and had promised him a grandchild one day. Caitlin hadn’t even told him Maritza was dead until the memorial service had been over. Maritza had been a baby herself.
“Maritza Colón,” Dawit said. “She was selling Glow on South Beach. She received blood from Caitlin. She’s a very dead girl now, as you can see.”
“Jesus God, please help us…,” Justin whispered, still bent over the floor. His tears spilled freely as the room spun above him and beneath him. He killed Father Arturo right in front of me, Dad. He’s a monster. That was the first thing Caitlin had said when they’d had a minute alone, when his daughter had been desperate to prepare him for what he would face.
“We didn’t kill Maritza, Mr. O’Neal.” Teka’s voice cut through the fog threatening to make him faint. Justin sat up slowly in his chair, wiping spittle from his lips. He wanted to believe Teka. He did believe, somehow. Justin’s tears softened from grief to gratitude.
“But her death raises a question about you,” Dawit said. He stood up, standing over Justin. “What would you do to save your daughter’s life?”
“Anything.”
“Anything?” Too gently, Dawit cupped Justin’s chin in his hand. “Yes, you would do anything. That was the fate of beautiful, dead Maritza here. She betrayed her beloved to try to save her life, and now Caitlin
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