The Sons of Adam: The sequel of The Immortal Collection (A Saga of the Ancient Family Book 2) Read Online Free
Author: Eva García Sáenz
though my wife wasn't aware of the danger I was in, and I didn't want her to know.
"Ok, Dana. Leave me here. Go back to the museum and pretend that everything is fine. At half past eleven we've got a meeting with all the departments. I'll try and make it."
"How are you going to get there if I take the car?"
"I've got two options: go back on the motorcycle or catch a cab."
Or not go back.
"Iago, I understand that you have to talk about things, but... I don't know, something's just not right here. Call my cell every hour, so I know you're alright, ok?"
"I will," I said, forcing a smile I'd practiced a thousand times before.
And now go, please, this is already dangerous enough .
The clouds began to engulf us, black, threatening, thick and full of foreboding, the morning lost its sunlight and it almost looked like night, with the air charged with static electricity. I knew that a small spark would trigger the storm, which threatened to be of epic proportions. Perhaps a divine punishment, perhaps a warning from Hell, who could know.
Finally, Dana turned the ignition key and she and her worried face disappeared towards the MAC. I turned to Gunnarr, who pretended to look at me expectantly.
"Are we going to visit the dead?" Gunnarr took off his helmet and shook out his dirty hair.
I gave him a pat on the back, maybe for physical proof that he was real and not a product of my nightmares. But he was there. My son had returned and every last hair on my body was standing on end. He had a cut on his ear that I didn't remember, or rather he was missing part of the lobe, probably from the slash of a sword in a battle, or a bite in a fight.
"Come on, follow me," I managed to say.
We walked through the perfect grid of streets in the cemetery, which had been chalk-lined out amongst the dead who had been piled up at right angles, without worrying about whether they were facing East or West. What did it matter? Who, in the 21st century, believed in rising and walking towards Father Sun?
Luckily it was empty, which made it the most dangerous place on Earth for me, and the safest for the rest of Humanity. Gunnarr walked next to me with genuine nonchalance, whistling a melody I thought I recognized but couldn't manage to place.
When we reached the end of the main road, I turned right and crouched down in front of an empty niche. I tended to leave cleaning products hidden there. I took out a couple of horsehair brushes and a plastic bottle with water and detergent. I threw one of the brushes at my son and turned to face Lyra's grave.
"Help me clean it. Lyra wouldn't stand it if the lichen ate her gravestone."
I began to scrub the gravestone, sneaking a peak to see his reaction. He looked at me as if he was going to throw a harpoon at me from a whaling ship. He dropped the brush and got close enough to read the inscription with her name.
"Is this your way of telling me that Aunt Lyra is dead?"
I poured some of the soapy water over the letters.
"Is there an easier way?" I asked without stopping.
"Father, what happened here? Grandfather Lür isn't here, Uncle Nagorno isn't here, Aunt Lyra is dead... You've got a lot to tell me."
The day was getting darker, the clouds had brought an early night, which was falling upon us. I turned to him, vigorously brushing a corner.
"No less than you. Are you going to tell me why you came back? Or better yet, are you going to tell me why you faked your own death in Kinsale?"
He clenched his jaw, arrogantly hinting at the fact that he was still not sure how much information to give away.
"I wanted to kill you. That's it. I had to get away from you, because if not, I would have killed you."
I closed my eyes, despite the danger of letting my guard down so close to him, but he was right. That was the last memory I had of my son: blind with rage, furious, beside himself. Dying to slice me from head to toe.
"And now? Do you still want to kill me?"
"Now I want to settle this debt."
"But
"Ok, Dana. Leave me here. Go back to the museum and pretend that everything is fine. At half past eleven we've got a meeting with all the departments. I'll try and make it."
"How are you going to get there if I take the car?"
"I've got two options: go back on the motorcycle or catch a cab."
Or not go back.
"Iago, I understand that you have to talk about things, but... I don't know, something's just not right here. Call my cell every hour, so I know you're alright, ok?"
"I will," I said, forcing a smile I'd practiced a thousand times before.
And now go, please, this is already dangerous enough .
The clouds began to engulf us, black, threatening, thick and full of foreboding, the morning lost its sunlight and it almost looked like night, with the air charged with static electricity. I knew that a small spark would trigger the storm, which threatened to be of epic proportions. Perhaps a divine punishment, perhaps a warning from Hell, who could know.
Finally, Dana turned the ignition key and she and her worried face disappeared towards the MAC. I turned to Gunnarr, who pretended to look at me expectantly.
"Are we going to visit the dead?" Gunnarr took off his helmet and shook out his dirty hair.
I gave him a pat on the back, maybe for physical proof that he was real and not a product of my nightmares. But he was there. My son had returned and every last hair on my body was standing on end. He had a cut on his ear that I didn't remember, or rather he was missing part of the lobe, probably from the slash of a sword in a battle, or a bite in a fight.
"Come on, follow me," I managed to say.
We walked through the perfect grid of streets in the cemetery, which had been chalk-lined out amongst the dead who had been piled up at right angles, without worrying about whether they were facing East or West. What did it matter? Who, in the 21st century, believed in rising and walking towards Father Sun?
Luckily it was empty, which made it the most dangerous place on Earth for me, and the safest for the rest of Humanity. Gunnarr walked next to me with genuine nonchalance, whistling a melody I thought I recognized but couldn't manage to place.
When we reached the end of the main road, I turned right and crouched down in front of an empty niche. I tended to leave cleaning products hidden there. I took out a couple of horsehair brushes and a plastic bottle with water and detergent. I threw one of the brushes at my son and turned to face Lyra's grave.
"Help me clean it. Lyra wouldn't stand it if the lichen ate her gravestone."
I began to scrub the gravestone, sneaking a peak to see his reaction. He looked at me as if he was going to throw a harpoon at me from a whaling ship. He dropped the brush and got close enough to read the inscription with her name.
"Is this your way of telling me that Aunt Lyra is dead?"
I poured some of the soapy water over the letters.
"Is there an easier way?" I asked without stopping.
"Father, what happened here? Grandfather Lür isn't here, Uncle Nagorno isn't here, Aunt Lyra is dead... You've got a lot to tell me."
The day was getting darker, the clouds had brought an early night, which was falling upon us. I turned to him, vigorously brushing a corner.
"No less than you. Are you going to tell me why you came back? Or better yet, are you going to tell me why you faked your own death in Kinsale?"
He clenched his jaw, arrogantly hinting at the fact that he was still not sure how much information to give away.
"I wanted to kill you. That's it. I had to get away from you, because if not, I would have killed you."
I closed my eyes, despite the danger of letting my guard down so close to him, but he was right. That was the last memory I had of my son: blind with rage, furious, beside himself. Dying to slice me from head to toe.
"And now? Do you still want to kill me?"
"Now I want to settle this debt."
"But
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