Come Fill Me (The Prophecy) by Tina Donahue

for him. My guess is with your gift, he’d make insider trading look about as harmless as jaywalking.”
    Kele made a guttural sound, not even trying to hide her disgust or the fact that she alone had kept pace with them.
    Liz did her best to ignore the girl, concentrating instead on light pouring from an area near the end of the hall. It proved to be a great room where numerous women and older men sat in front of a massive fireplace constructed of black stones. Children, ranging in age from toddlers to preschoolers, amused themselves with toys, prattling to each other or the adults.
    One of the younger women settled a dispute between two kids, glancing up just in time to see Zeke’s approach. He slowed a bit, nodding in greeting to her. A relieved smile spread across her face. Some of the men noticed. They pushed up in their sofas or chairs, lifting their hands, happy to see him until they noticed Liz.
    “Zeke!” one of the preschoolers hollered, jumping to his feet.
    A stout older woman, possibly his grandmother, grabbed the boy’s arm before he could run into the hall. “Leave Zeke alone,” she murmured, ruffling his hair. “He has work to do.”
    Zeke spoke over his shoulder to the boy. “I’ll come by later.”
    “For a horsey ride?”
    “Only if you promise to go to bed right after.”
    The child stopped jumping up and down, growing serious with Zeke’s feigned sternness. “I will, I will, I will,” he shouted out.
    Liz caught Zeke’s grin, so reminiscent of a father who adored his children. When he noticed her watching, he sobered.
    No, don’t. She wanted to see him happy, to witness his unguarded joy. How little of it had he experienced since Gabrielle’s death? Without thinking, Liz squeezed his hand.
    Surprise and confusion played on his face. As if to flee both emotions, he hurried to the left, to a flight of stairs, directing her up them. The wood groaned beneath their weight and that of those following.
    On the landing, Kele pushed past Liz and Zeke, running toward a group of women, some elderly, others middle-aged. They stood outside an arched doorway. Upon reaching it, Liz glanced inside.
    Gaily colored snake totems graced the limestone interior. The rough walls were unaltered, as though the Others had just excavated this space. The scent of fresh air and sandalwood incense contradicted that notion. Rustic nightstands and lamps, prized in the Anglo community, flanked either side of the bed, constructed of the same dark, unfinished wood. Blankets in a variety of shades hung over the sides.
    In the center of the mattress was Jacob Neekoma.
    Liz stepped into the room.
    His hair was long, possibly waist length, streaming past his left shoulder. Surely no more than thirty, his good looks were more refined than his brother’s while remaining as masculine. An artist would have found Jacob’s strong nose, full mouth and dark brows a delight to paint or sculpt. The same held true for his body. Tall and strong, he was only a bit less muscular than Zeke. He had the same snake tattoo on his biceps without the eagle’s eye, telling Liz he wasn’t a seer. Visions hadn’t forewarned Jacob of what Carreon’s men would do to him, their viciousness.
    Black circles marked the entrance wounds of numerous bullets. Several had ripped through his legs, no doubt making flight impossible, just the way Carreon’s lieutenants liked their prey. Other wounds dirtied the smooth skin on his belly. His hand clutched an area just below his navel.
    No blood seeped out, meaning his blood pressure had fallen to precarious levels. He’d been bathed as Zeke had been. Prepared for her arrival.
    As he hadn’t before, Zeke squeezed her hand now and murmured, “Heal him.”
    Kele made a strangled sound Liz had heard too many times before when someone’s beloved relative or friend had passed. One of the elderly women kept Kele from going to Jacob. “You’ll just be in the way,” she said.
    The girl’s mouth twisted with