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Off killing chaos, I expect, I say.
"Oh." Emmaline breathes a sigh of relief. "That's good."
Morningstar frowns at her. "What's going on?"
We start walking. The eyes see a broad boulevard, lined with rows of shops.
The metal is transformed into a soft gray by the lights mounted on lampposts.
Trees, with buds just beginning to open, dot the sidewalk. Ahead, seeming to
rise out of the middle of a tangle of traffic, is the imposing rose-and-white
marble of the Arc de Triomphe.
We breathe in moist, cool air tinged with the taste of exhaust and carrying
the smell of too many bodies in a small space. Tourists pass on either side of
us. Some travel in clumps, like an excited but harmless pack of yapping dogs.
While others, like us, hold hands with a lover and gaze more at each other
than the sights of the Champs d'Elysées.
"At first I thought maybe Victory had gotten corrupted or something. She
doesn't want to be called Victory anymore, so I thought something had
happened. But now I think maybe Michael's miracle may have split her in two.
One part is out attending to business, and the other is here."
We are not Victory. We were Page.
I can feel Emmaline's face scrunch up with thought. "Or," she says to
Morningstar, "I get the sense that maybe somehow the original Page program
volunteered for the job."
Minding the store. Until we can fix the door.
Are you sure you're not Victory? You sound a lot like her.
If I am anything to you, I am Strife.
To my surprise, the body smiles. Yes. I like that.
I expect a different response, and her reaction irritates me. So I brood
quietly and concentrate on finding a way around Victory's locks on the LINK
receptor.
Morningstar wraps his hand more tightly around ours. His palms are smooth and
warm. "Whatever, darling," he says, his lips brushing our cheek. "It's good to
see you smile. And I'm glad to have you back for a while." His breath is hot
against our throat as he nuzzles us.
"Maybe," he purrs, "we should take advantage of the situation."
His wolfish grin sparks a tingling sensation along our skin, which rushes down
deeper, to more private parts. But we shake our head. "We should find the
girl. That one you told me about & Michael's daughter. She could be a threat."
Beside us, we hear the whisper of Morningstar's sigh. "God is rarely as
predictable as we would like Him to be."
"Yet He seems to be playing along nicely," Emmaline says. "The meteorite was a
godsend." She laughs lightly at her own joke. Morningstar is quiet.
"I know," Morningstar finally says, his expression troubled. "It feels like a
trap. I fear I may be doing Their work again somehow."
We let go of his hand to run a finger along his clenched jaw. "Well, when you
think about it, darling, this whole thing is 'Their work.' Unless we find a
way around it, I'm going to be the biggest tool since Judas. We have to find a
way to keep any power we seize. Perhaps & we could take over the education of
Michael's child. Or, failing that, destroy her."
Morningstar turns to watch a woman in a short skirt go by. We reach out and
tug his ponytail slightly. He glances at us. "Yes, but that only works if the
child is the messiah, after all. I've been through this many times before. The
world doesn't always end when you expect it to."
We tense, disbelieving. "But all the signs "
"Are artifices, some of which we helped create. My darling one, there are well
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over ten billion people in the world. Only a tiny fragment of them are
Evangelical Christians. What makes you think their version of the end is the
right one? When I found you, I was looking for Dajjal, the Great Deceiver.
There are many more Muslims than there are Christians. Perhaps we should be
attempting to enter Mecca."
Yes. I remember you, Iblis.
We shrug our shoulders. "I tried that and was repelled, just as prophesied."
"Yes, and things didn't play out to the endgame, did they, darling?"
We chew on our bottom lip. "But your God has always favored the Jews."
He laughs. "Yes, I suppose it seems so. Though I've been thinking, if this one
doesn't pan out, maybe we should try to cause Ragnarok."
"Or maybe I can play Shiva," we say, and join into the laughter, as though
this is an old joke. Meanwhile, I have found Victory's key and am decrypting
it. In a moment we shall be free. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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