The Firstborn
Conlan Brown’s
The Firstborn
is a bullet train of suspense and supernatural visions. With brisk prose and razor-sharp action,
The Firstborn
satisfies any Christian fan of TV’s
Heroes
. Brown has written a taut thriller of secret societies and Muslim terrorists in a story of Byzantine complexity. A nail-biting first novel from a rising star in Christian speculative fiction.
—J
EFFERSON
S
COTT
A
UTHOR OF
F
ATAL
D
EFECT
AND
O
PERATION
: F
IREBRAND
Conlan Brown bursts onto the scene with a story that’s every bit as intriguing as it is intense. Secret orders, superhuman gifts, and a deadly plot dot the landscape of
The Firstborn
. Brown’s voice is unique and captivating and will draw you in on the first page. Don’t miss this book!
—M
IKE
D
ELLOSSO
A
UTHOR OF
T
HE
H
UNTED
AND
S
CREAM
Fans of suspense will be delighted with
The Firstborn
. Conlan Brown weaves a wonderful tale of courage, forgiveness, and love.
—L
ARRY
J. L
EECH
II
P
RESIDENT OF
W
ORD
W
EAVERS
W
RITERS
G
ROUP
M
OST
S
TRANG
C
OMMUNICATIONS
B
OOK
G
ROUP
products are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchase for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising, and educational needs. For details, write Strang Communications Book Group, 600 Rinehart Road, Lake Mary, Florida 32746, or telephone (407) 333-0600.
T
HE
F
IRSTBORN
by Conlan Brown
Published by Realms
A Strang Company
600 Rinehart Road
Lake Mary, Florida 32746
www.strangbookgroup.com
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
The characters portrayed in this book are fictitious unless they are historical figures explicitly named. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual people, whether living or dead, is coincidental.
Design Director: Bill Johnson
Cover design by Justin Evans
Copyright © 2009 by Conlan Brown
All rights reserved
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
Brown, Conlan, 1984-
The firstborn / Conlan Brown. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-59979-607-9
I. Title.
PS3602.R689F57 2009
813’.6—dc22
2009007002
First Edition
09 10 11 12 13 — 987654321
Printed in the United States of America
For my late grandmother, Linanell Cecil—the woman who taught me to read and write.
And for the great-grandchildren she never got to meet: Canon and Allanna, Sam and Evelyn…
The legacy of the past. The joy of the present. The hope of the future.
T
HE
T
RIQUETRA
This ancient symbol was first seen in Europe in the form of Norse and Germanic runes. A recurring motif through Celtic art and a symbol of religious significance to pagans and Christians alike, the triquetra is a geometrically perfect depiction of three distinct parts, intertwined into a inextricable whole.
Over the centuries it has carried many different meanings, most notably that of the Christian Trinity: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, but has historically carried other meanings, including: maiden, mother, and crone…land, sea, and air…life, death, and rebirth…
Past. Present. Future.
Table of Contents
D
EATH CAME DOWN WITH
the snow.
Devin Bathurst stood in the dawn flurry, unmoving, revealing none of the slicing chill that cut through to his bones.
Then he felt something. It always felt different for him. Sometimes it was a smell; other times it was a taste or a haze of color. He knew others with his gift who felt the same thing every time—a single feeling heralding the coming of—
Snow.
House.
Captors.
Anger.
Argument.
Rage.
Violence.
The girl, late teens or early twenties—
Crying.
Shouting.
Screaming.
BLAM!
The girl’s body on the floor, grisly and broken, bored through by the bullet, lying in an expanding pool of red.
Devin’s mind snapped back to the moment. The girl—he had to find the girl. He took a long, deep breath, letting it out with a puff of thick vapor. He had to stay focused. He had to stay placid, calm, icy. He reminded himself that none of it had actually happened—
—yet.
T
HE DOOR TO THE
gas station opened with a tinny
gling
, the antiquated bell chiming as Devin entered the store. The sound was a testament to the essence of the small backwoods town. At best it was quaint; at worst it was a sign of dilapidation in the middle of snowy nowhere.
As he entered he picked up one of the newspapers by the door, reading the headline:
Holy Man Murdered Outside of Ohio Mosque—Imam Basam Al Nassar Shot to Death in Car
.
The person behind the counter was a young man. He was too old to be a boy, but he hardly exuded an aura of maturity. He was blond, with shaggy hair that hung in his eyes. Lips, nose, eyebrows, and ears were all pierced. The Virgin Mary was tattooed on the side of his neck. He didn’t seem to notice Devin’s approach at first, until the clipping sound of expensive shoe heels were within feet of the counter. The checker looked up, face startled.
Devin was used to it. His skin was black, which meant he looked different from the locals. The result was distrust. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t sink to showing it—no sign of weakness. Instead he advanced with purpose, stopping at the counter.
“Can I help you?” the checker asked, eyes darting over the new face.
Devin said nothing, simply sliding a crisp fifty-dollar bill across the glass.
The checker nodded through his unsettled demeanor. “Just the gas?” he asked.
“And the newspaper,” Devin said, voice articulate and commanding. Then something changed. He felt it in his stomach this time. No images, just the sinking feeling of finality and irreversible death:
Soon. Too soon.
Not days or hours.
Now.
His cellular phone came open with a snap.
—no signal—
Devin reached into his wallet, swiftly removing and writing on a business card before sliding it across the glass countertop. He tapped his index finger on the card, indicating the neatly written script across its back. He tightened his vocal cords, voice intense.
“I need you to call the police. Tell them to send a car to this address. A woman’s life is in danger. Do you understand?”