The Believers (The Breeders Series - Book 2) by Katie French Read Free Book Online Page A

has come to pass as the Heavens revealed to me. Welcome.”
He opens his eyes. They're yellow and cloudy like sandblasted glass. Can he see at all? Yet the edges of his mouth are curled into a small, contented smile.
    Every bit of this shouts crazy person . His act makes me wanna sprint out the door. The door that Andrew is now slipping back through with his knife in his hand. I step in front of Ethan and tighten my body.
    “Please, Andrew, sever their bonds. I want the Gods' guests to be comfortable.” His gaze floats somewhere near the ceiling like he doesn't need to see us, like he's seeing us in his mind . He waves Andrew in our direction and then floats off into the dark shadows of the room. Meanwhile, Andrew stalks over with his knife raised.
    I watch tensely as he saws through Mama's bonds, then Ethan's, then Rayburn's. He hesitates at Clay, but then, looking down at Clay's bandaged hand, cuts through his ropes. Clay rubs his wrists and glowers, and there's a fire in his eyes, the kind that would usually go before flashing steel and a loud bang.
    Finally, Andrew gets to me. He flicks a look back to the Messiah. “You sure you want 'em all freed?”
    The shadowed figure waves a hand. “Yes, yes. It has been decided. They will not harm us.” He turns back to whatever he's doing.
    Andrew leans into me and slips his knife between my wrist and the rough twine. “Remember what you did to my face?” he whispers, sawing. His breath stinks like an outhouse on a hundred-degree day.
    My chest heaves as he works the blade back and forth, but I meet his eyes and smile. “I sure do.”
    “And you thought there wouldn’t be payback?” He smirks.
    There's a sharp pain at my wrist. Blood springs up in a red line and trickles into my sleeve. It's not a bad cut, but any cut can spell death when medicine is scarce. I flash my teeth at him, but he's already wiping the blade on his pants and walking away.
    Bastard.
    As we're standing around, rubbing our wrists, the Messiah floats back to us, his arms wide, reminding me of a crane with wings outstretched. “Sit,” he commands, swinging one arm toward a row of food court chairs. We settle ourselves into the plastic bucket seats. Ethan leans close to me.
    I look around the dark room for weapons. Andrew’s knife is the only one, as far as I can tell. If I could catch him by surprise—
    “Which one of you is the girl who escaped the Breeders?” the Messiah asks, turning.
    I freeze, suddenly aware of every hair on my head. My hand goes instinctively to the ankh brand on my wrist.
    “And which one of you is the man who murdered his own father?” The Messiah lets his cloudy eyes float in our direction, skimming over the tops of our heads.
    I swallow hard and look down at Clay. His jaw is ramrod straight and he is clenching his fists in his lap. The Messiah glides to a stop in front of Clay, his gown billowing around his legs.
    “It’s you, isn't it?” he says, pointing a loosely cupped hand at Clay's chest. “Much like Krishna killed his uncle Kansa.” The Messiah gestures to a statue of a blue man sitting with his hands turned upward. “We murder out of fear or we murder for power. Which was it that caused you to slay your kin?” The Messiah points his expressionless face in Clay's direction, but does not look at him.
    Clay says nothing, just sits with this fist jammed in his lap.
    The Messiah floats over to stand in front of Mama. His cupped hand hovers over her swollen belly. Finally, he presses his hand onto her stomach. His thin lips move, but no sound comes out. His face darkens.
    “Kalli,” he says, and the pregnant woman shuffles over. He reaches out for her hand and places her palm on my mother's stomach as well. She frowns and shakes her head.
    “What?” I say, leaning forward. “What are you doing?”
    The Messiah turns my way, his eyes floating in my general direction. “A hospital-grown fetus. An aberration. We do not believe in the experiments those