Page 18 of Nazab

All chatter stopped and the dozen women who were waiting for haircuts turned to stare at her. “You saw people with red eyes?” someone asked skeptically.

“I’ll never forget it,” Monica said with a shiver. “They were chasing after this huge guy who moved way faster than any human could run. I saw him conjure up this shiny gold and silver sword out of thin air.”

“So, he wasn’t one of the bad aliens?” an older woman asked.

“I don’t think so,” Monica said, then resumed trimming her poor client’s ruined hair. “I think he was one of the good extraterrestrials the Mad Prophet talks about. The red-eyed weirdos were sprinting after him. Humans can’t run that fast, so I believe the things the Prophet said.” She kept her tone casual while fudging her story a bit.

“What if everything he’s said is true?” someone mused. “What if the bad aliens really do intend to take over our world? Thousands of people are flocking to Manhattan right now. They’ll be turned into militants and they’ll kill the good aliens before they can save us.”

Monica hid her smile of satisfaction as the females began chatting about how dire things would become in the future.

“They won’t stop at controlling Manhattan,” the older woman predicted. “They’ll spread out and start hunting normal folks like us down.”

“What will they do with us?” another client asked in fear.

“The Mad Prophet said most of us will be turned into slaves,” Monica said. “Only some will be added to their militia once the good aliens are defeated. I wouldn’t be surprised if they eradicate most of us.”

A man entered the salon to stand at the end of the line. “What’s wrong?” he asked, seeing how worried everyone looked.

“We’re doomed,” the oldest woman said flatly. “Monica just verified that the Mad Prophet isn’t just making up lies. She saw a bunch of men with red eyes in Manhattan. They were running after a good alien and they were all moving way too fast to be human.”

The male stared at Monica and she met his eyes squarely. “It’s all true,” she said. “Governor Giamano and his mercenaries are working with the evil aliens. I’ve seen people being rounded up and taken away. The ones who are too old or too sick were shot on the spot.” Her shudder was enough to convince him she wasn’t lying.

“Everyone needs to know about this,” he said, then left the salon again.

He returned with a man who was probably their leader. He hadn’t been at the barricade. “Tell me everything, young lady,” the man in his fifties said. He took the chair Monica’s latest client had just vacated and waited expectantly.

Detecting Nazab still searching the town, Monica hoped she wasn’t going to mess this up. She had a feeling convincing people like these townsfolk of the danger that lay ahead was going to be crucial, even if she didn’t yet know why. She’d always had the gift of the gab, but she still felt nervous as she began her story again.

More men arrived and the salon became packed. They listened to her tale of what she’d seen and heard in Manhattan before fleeing. Her voice and the clicking of scissors were the only noises that issued from inside the salon. Monica kept her tone matter of fact and was careful not to become overly emotional. Men weren’t comfortable when women sounded and acted irrationally. They tended to switch off when females didn’t sound calm and logical.

Glances were exchanged when she finished relaying what she knew. “You’ve given us a lot to think about, Monica,” the leader said. She’d finished cutting his salt and pepper hair and a younger man had taken his place. “It sounds to me like the good aliens will need allies,” he mused.

“I’m sure they will,” Monica agreed, wetting her latest client’s hair. She could stand up all day without her back or legs hurting, unlike her former colleagues. Pausing to take a sip of coffee from the thermos, she followed her instincts when she spoke again. “The Mad Prophit has been talking about a war that’s coming ever since the Rapture struck,” she said. “Humanity is already on the brink of collapse after half of the population was raptured and so many more deaths occurred afterwards. If we let the bad aliens take over Manhattan, they’ll spread out and take control of our country. Once they have us beneath their heel, they’ll try to subjugate the rest of the planet. We’ll all become slaves for the beings who are really in charge of the growing army of mercenaries.”

Her voice had become impassioned, but not hysterical. The townsfolk seemed to be almost mesmerized. Monica had felt like someone else was talking through her throughout that speech. She’d never used the word subjugate in her entire life before.

“We need to spread the word,” the man in charge said in a disturbed tone. “We’ll continue to listen to the Mad Prophet and wait for him to give us hints of what we need to do.”

“You’re a good man and a good leader,” Monica said. She’d felt his gray soul lighten slightly when he’d made that decision. It was proof that humans could seek redemption, except for the people who already had black souls. She knew there was no hope for the four men who’d been scowling at her throughout her speech.

Chapter Fourteen

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LISTENING TO MONICA’S speech, Nazab heard a faint echo in her voice. He’d heard this happen before when Fate had spoken through humans. His cambion had won everyone over with her cheeky personality and her general likeability. The town leader had listened to her respectfully and had taken her warning seriously.

Feeling proud of Monica, the knight continued his search. The day was wearing on and it was late afternoon by now. The cambion had taken a short break for lunch, but she still had about a third of the community to work through yet.

A strange hissing, crackling noise drew him to a house on the outskirts of town an hour later. The building wasn’t occupied, so he entered and went in search of the device. “At last,” he said in relief when he saw a ham radio. A notebook was sitting next to it. Someone had been keeping track of what both the Mad Prophet and Xathan had said.

Flicking through the pages, Nazab scanned the information. Monica had been telling him the truth about his brothers. They were searching for females and the oracle had urged the males to protect them.

“I wonder which of my brothers have already located their mates?” he murmured, seizing on the word the Mad Prophet had used more than once. It sounded right to him and his mind automatically went to Monica Yamil. Was she supposed to be his mate? They were already linked together through their strange bond. It didn’t matter to him that she was a cambion. Not now that he’d listened to her interact with the humans. He could tell she was genuine and was nothing like the cambions from the past eras.

“Monica is mine,” Nazab decided as he picked up an empty duffle bag that was lying on the living room floor. “Amaros and my brothers will just have to accept that my mate might be different from theirs,” he said firmly.

Shoving the ham radio into the duffle bag, he strode over to the back door. He hoped the owner of the house wouldn’t discover his theft until after they were gone. Monica might be blamed even though she’d been cutting hair all day. They would probably jump to the correct conclusion that she was providing her cohort with a distraction so he could loot the items they needed.