“How is Avalon? Is he Ok?” he groaned, as if he couldn't raise his voice without betraying his heartbreaking concern.

“I don't know.” I hung my head, disappointedly. “I was hoping you could tell me.” I crossed my arms and brought my eyes up to the heartbeat of the city again. The marketplace was a color palate of every shade of brown imaginable, from the muted brown of the cloths covering the splintered wooden stands, to the lighter browns and tans of the clothes of the people, to the deep, flawless brown of the vendors skin. The monochromatic color scheme, as if each shade represented an entirely different color all together, moved me.

“No, they kept us all separate. Once we reached the prison, I was completely isolated. I couldn't even hear another person....” Jericho's sentence trailed off into melancholy pensiveness, his eyes shifted and became distant and his fingers started to tremble again. I reached out and slipped my hand into his, reminding him that he was safe. He looked down at our interlocked fingers, staring at them for a moment idly before coming back to himself. “But shouldn't you know how he is? Can't you communicate with him?”

He moved his eyes to mine and even though he asked with the softest of tones, I couldn't help but feel like he was accusing me. I should be able to talk to Avalon, I should have never let him hand over his magic to me so quickly. We could have seen how things went once he got to Romania.... We could have waited to find out Lucan's exact plans for him....

“Eden? Eden, can't you communicate with Avalon?” Jericho asked again, and the small hint of panic played in the higher pitched questioning.

“No,” I ripped my hand away from his, using it to cover my face and my shame. I willed myself not to breakdown, not to start crying again, and not to slip into the void of despair, the painful abyss that was so difficult to climb out of. I shook my head, whipping my long, thick, black waves around my shoulders and face.

We stopped walking and stood at a vendor that sold different wears made out of Alpaca fur. The different shades of soft fur made beautiful garments that I would love to take home with me. Pure white pillows, heavenly, cream colored slippers, and soft chocolate colored teddy bears begged to be bought. Every object was hand stitched and unique.

“So is he.... is he..... so is he dead?” Jericho demanded with a hoarse voice, barely audible.

“No, I don't think so.” I cleared my throat, reaching desperately for strength. “After everyone was captured, after they took him.... he decided.... we decided that he would be safest without magic. He gave it all to me in hope that Lucan would not murder him if nothing was left, if he was just human. Our hope was that he would use Avalon as bait instead of sacrificing him for no reason. It seems to have worked. I mean, I think it has anyway. That's what Talbott was asking for; he wanted me to give Avalon back his magic.”

“Clever,” Jericho mumbled as if in macabre awe.

“But that doesn't mean that he's all right,” I added quickly, “and there is absolutely no way for me to find out unless I go to Romania myself and break him out of that hell hole.”

“That's not seriously your plan, is it?” Jericho reached for my hand, holding it firmly in his and started walking again. The concierge from the motel gave us directions to the church, I was too distracted to pay close attention, but Jericho seemed to know where he was going.

“At some point, Jericho, I am going to have to face that Citadel and get those people out of there, I owe them that much,” I promised with sincerity.

“Um, no you don't have to face that fact. That is a death trap just waiting for you. Lucan already assumes that is your plan, especially if he is holding your magic-less brother and the only army he believes will stand with you. Plus, there is only a fifty-fifty chance your magic will even work down in those prisons. It would be a suicide mission and nothing more,” he stated emphatically. Jericho was suddenly grumpy, his eyes were hard and his jaw tight.

“What do you mean fifty-fifty?” I asked, ignoring his warning.

“Well, the only Immortals that have access to their full magic down there are the Titans. So, in theory, because of who your dad is, you could be fine. But on the other hand, Amory was not fine. That was the only place they could ever keep him. So it might not matter that you're a fourth Titan, the other three parts might cancel it out. So it's not even like fifty-fifty, it's more like twenty-five-seventy-five....”

“But there is a chance,” I said with confidence. That was all I needed.

“Listen, if that really is your plan, if you are really hell-bent on going there, aren't there a few things we need to do first?” Jericho, always the strategic leader, was right.

“Yes, you're right. I have to find my parents; that is my first goal. And I would like to build more of an army, so that I don't just end up at the Citadel flying solo. I need an actual plan of attack, a way to draw the Titan Guard away from the prisoners.”

“Ok, those are good ideas. Those are really good ideas,” Jericho sounded surprised as he calculated my thoughts. “So how much of a following would you say you have now? Like, rough numbers.”

I cleared my throat, and couldn't stop the blush that flooded my cheeks and neck, “Well, there's you and me, and Angelica, and.... Silas,” I finished weakly.

“How many people are living with Silas now?” Jericho asked with furrowed brow, I could tell he didn't like the numbers already and I hadn't even dropped the bomb yet.

“I am not exactly sure.... but it doesn't really matter. I'm not counting Silas's people because they won't be fighting. I am only counting Silas.... just Silas.” Too embarrassed, I couldn't even look Jericho in the eye. If the situation was reversed and I was the one taken and Avalon left on the outside to rebuild the rebellion, I was sure Avalon would have a thousand people behind him and probably more by now.

“Just Silas?” Jericho turned on me, horrified.

“He says that his people have suffered too much already, that he wouldn't ask them to fight and I agreed. Each person should have their own say and since none of them was there to volunteer I.... Listen, I was just thankful for Silas, Ok. I didn't know you would be waiting for me behind lucky door number two. I was just happy that someone was willing to help me,” I huffed honestly and remembered those despairing moments of loneliness before Jericho unexpectedly became part of my journey.
 “You're right, of course, you're right,” Jericho admitted, and he sounded humble.

“Plus, I mean, I can't be sure about this, but that night at the farm, like not everyone was there, right? Where are Titus, Xander and Xavier?” I asked a question that was nagging at the back of my brain stem for weeks.

“You're right!” Jericho said again with enthusiasm. “They would have gone underground, almost immediately. I'm sure they wouldn't have been caught. And the teams in India and Morocco and.... South Africa!” He was excited, his step suddenly had a bounce to it and he gripped my hand with purpose. “We just have to find them.”

“Right,” I agreed, finding his spirit catching; that was a lot more people than I planned on. Things were looking up. “Do you have any idea where any of them might be?”

“Xander, Xavier and Titus were in Paris the day that everyone was taken. Avalon and I just got off a conference call when the Guard showed up. There is a safe-house inside the city that they would have gone to once they heard, assuming they heard about the attack while they were still in Paris. We'll start there since they weren't scheduled to move on for another week. I know where the team in India keeps its headquarters after our trip there last winter, assuming they haven't completely gone underground also; we should be able to connect with them too. Morrocco and South Africa will be a bit trickier, but maybe once we hook up with the other teams they will have a better idea where to look.”

“Ok, good.” I was in awe of how things were starting build momentum. Jericho meant the difference between hopelessness and real action. We had a plan, we had begun to move on it and I could feel the aggressive, vengeful, excitement rush through my blood like kindle to a flame. I could feel the fearlessness growing.

“But what about your parents?” Jericho asked, as if he were checking off a to-do list.

“I'm hoping Gabriel will have more answers,” I mumbled, almost sarcastically. So far, they felt like a completely unattainable goal, but at the same time necessary to my cause. I wasn't even looking for them as abandoned daughter seeking long lost parents; I was simply a general of an army that needed every last soldier to take up their arms and fight. Their son would be sacrificed and their life choices essentially got us into this mess. Their obligation was to help and I was positive I would give them no other choice once I found them.

If I could find them.

“Me too,” Jericho mumbled underneath his breath as we stopped in front of an old, crumbling church with chipped, ecru stucco and a rusted, ancient red door that I was not entirely sure would still open.

“Um, are you sure this is it?” I hesitated moving forward. When Silas said Gabriel was a priest, I assumed he meant to a real congregation, not the caretaker of an empty building threatening to send the entire street of people to meet Jesus literally at any moment, and not just emotionally.

“I followed the directions from the guy at the motel. This is where he sent us,” he said defensively, with the smallest hint of skepticism.

“Ok, then....” I walked bravely forward, forgetting the rational fears tugging at my subconscious. I couldn’t be afraid anymore; life had dealt me different cards. I must walk into the church unflinchingly, and out of it in the same way.

“After you,” Jericho joked casually, while pulling on the iron door handle, tugging at it roughly and then stepping out of the way so that I could walk into the cold sanctuary first.

The house of worship was dark and cold, the only source of lighting came from two stained-glass windows high above the front door and the hundreds of glassed red candles that lay as an alter of prayers at the front of the church.

I walked courageously forward, down the center aisle, past backless hardly stable benches sitting low to the floor and filling the empty places between the holy water near the door and the life sized statue of Jesus, reaching out his scarred hands to the invisible congregation.

I cleared my throat loudly, hoping to alert Gabriel, or a nun, or anybody, that the small sanctuary had visitors. A bird moved in the high rafters of the ceiling, flapping its wings violently as if angry we had disrupted its worship.

I turned back to Jericho. He stood in the door frame, head bowed in silent prayer. His act of reverence moved me. With head still bent, he dipped one hand into the holy water's stone basin and crossed himself in the sign of the cross, the Catholic Church’s act of obedience to God. When his eyes finally met mine, he cocked his head and shrugged his shoulder in an attempt to downplay his veneration, but a new seed of respect and awe began to grow roots at the base of my heart.

“So it is true, you have come to ask for my allegiance as well?” A thick Latino accent called to us from a doorway beyond the statue of Jesus.