Free Tears of Blood by Simone Beaudelaire Page A

things he didn’t fully understand. But one thing was certain. The
war was coming. There was no avoiding it. What was unclear was whether any of
them would survive.
    Mr. Smith squeezed against the wall as a herd of teenage boys galloped
past him, their sneakers thundering on the tile like hooves. As they passed, he
heard one call to the other, "Race you for the assault riffle."
    "You’re on, dude," the second boy agreed. With a roar
of adolescent exuberance, the pair shoved their way to the head of the pack and
burst through the rough-hewn door into the courtyard.
    Shaking his head, he reached the end of the corridor and turned left,
eventually arriving at the apartment Josiah shared with three other young men.
He found the green eyed youth flopped on his lower bunk, his chin in his hand,
looking out the window.
    Mr. Smith cleared his throat and Josiah jumped to his feet. Every
instinct the older man possessed urged him to put this overzealous puppy in his
place. His hands itched. His teeth clenched. "Well, Josiah," he
said, his voice all but a snarl, "explain yourself."
    "I don’t think I can, sir. I didn’t... plan to do
that." The green eyes were fixed on one white tile on the floor between
them.
    "Look me in the eyes, son, when you talk to me," Mr. Smith
insisted, "or have you learned nothing in all the years you’ve
lived with us?"
    Josiah looked up. Mr. Smith suppressed a shudder. What was it about
those eyes which always made him uncomfortable?
    The two men regarded each other in silence, each wondering what he
should say. At last, Mr. Smith spoke.
    "It was a mistake to take you in, Josiah. You should never have
existed."
    The young man ground his teeth. "I’ve always known you felt
that way, sir. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t thrown me
out."
    "You’re not of age. But I swear by heaven, Josiah Angelson,
if you ever go near my granddaughter again, I will. It’s over between
you. Is that clear?"
    Josiah’s eyes widened. "Sir, no, please. I swear,
I’ll never do anything like that again. I love her. Don’t separate
us. Please."
    "My decision is made," Mr. Smith’s rage expressed
itself as icy control. "Her safety is key to our survival. Yours
isn’t. You will leave her alone from this day forward. If I hear
you’ve so much as said hello to her, you’re done with us."
    Josiah closed his eyes and swallowed. "Yes, sir," he said
softly, but Mr. Smith saw the flash of rebellious stubbornness in those
unsettling green orbs. This wasn’t over, and they both knew it.
    ***
    Josiah peeked out into the hallway. It was clear. Thank God. Mr. Smith
was gone. He didn’t want to see the old bastard ever again. He tiptoed
down to the right. Something tickled his cheek and he swiped his sleeve over
it. Damn it, he wasn’t going to cry. Another tear replaced the first one
instantly. Then another. Josiah drew in shaky, unsettled breaths as he made his
way to the naphil dormitory. He needed his father. He threw open the door.
Empty. Josiah closed his eyes. He’d forgotten. All the nephilim had been
sent out on a huge mission. A nest of succubae in Los Angeles. His father was
gone. Humiliated, heartbroken, and despairing, he’d been left completely
alone.

Part III
    Chapter 13

    Las Vegas 1999
    The Assassin crept from shadow to
shadow, not as invisible as the nephilim, but as invisible as a highly trained
human could be. The uniform which concealed the identity of the small figure
crouched behind the abandoned blue sedan was designed to resemble the ninjas of
bygone centuries, but it was white, not black. Only a pair of brown eyes showed
above the face mask.
    The figure crept out from behind the
car in hot pursuit of the apparent heat shimmer which signified a half-angel
was on the hunt.
    It was not, perhaps, necessary for
The Assassin to hide. In this strange town, a person dressed in a white ninja
costume would attract very little attention. It would simply be assumed to be
part of a stage show or publicity