She headed for the only lit building down a street--at the start of a row of apartment complexes. Unweaving the shadows from her body to become visible again, she looked around the abandoned neighborhood before entering the store. There was nothing special inside. The store was typical for any corner market with isles for snacks and other small sundries like magazines and soaps. Many of the shelves were empty.
Rapid heartbeat. She stalled for just a moment. Her ear drums mimicking the fearful heart’s rhythm inside her mind. She turned before her would-be assailant had any awareness. In one smooth motion, she disarmed a skinny, pale man in his twenties. She pointed his rifle at his chest. She narrowed her eyes at the man. He was trembling. He was not a warrior. He barely knew how to hold on to the rifle. But there was something familiar about him. “Speak your name.” She shoved the rifle’s barrel into man’s bony chest, pushing him back.
“Ed… Eddie Montgomery.” The man stammered.
Katcher eased and lowered the rifle next to her side. “You were at the estate. I heard your name amongst the Cambions.”
The young man nodded quickly, but backed away another step. “Who are you? How do you know about the estate?”
Katcher narrowed her eyes, and stepped toward Eddie Montgomery, rifle held loosely next to her leg. “You left. Are you friend or foe?”
“Wha? What? Are you kidding me?” Eddie Montgomery sounded truly surprised. “I almost died helping Regan and Kimmer get out of the dead zone. I’m a friend.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes.
The young man’s pale skin flushed. He was frightened, but Katcher knew he spoke the truth. “Why have you left the estate?”
He shook his head, and returned to the front counter where he pulled out an old, wooden stool and sat down heavily, his bony back slouching into a C shape. “I never meant to stay.” He pulled a cigarette carton from his shirt pocket, and tapped repeatedly until a paper wrapped stick popped out. He placed the nicotine stick absently in his mouth, letting it hang. “My friends are still missing.” The cigarette bobbed up and down as he spoke. He pulled out the cigarette, and licked his lips. “So are Regan’s brothers, Twitch and Ben.”
“You have not answered my question.” She slung the rifle’s harness over her shoulder, and leaned over the counter, a small snarl rippling her upper lip.
The man lit his cigarette, and took a long inhale. “You haven’t answered mine.”
She stepped back amused at the strange man’s courage. Eddie Montgomery’s curly bangs bounced in time with his bouncing knee. He couldn’t hold her stare, but he was fighting through his fears. “You are not safe here.”
“I’m safer here than at the estate. I was there when the attack happened.” He blew out a long puff of smoke as if wanting to empty his lungs. “Besides, my friends will come here if…” He looked down, swiping an arm under his nose, his breath shaking. “If they can….”
She stood tall. Her spine snapping with the anticipation of a mission. “Do the demons have them?”
Eddie Montgomery nodded, blowing out a stream of smoke. He sniffed, avoiding looking at her.
She could help find his friends. “Give me their names. Your friends.”
The man finally looked at her with disbelief. “I don’t even know you.”
“What do you need to know? I am offering help.”
Eddie Montgomery looked away again.
She blew out, frustration testing her patience. Why were humans so difficult? She only wanted to help. Perhaps prevent some souls from falling victim to demons. She had no time for a conversation. She pierced Eddie Montgomery’s mind for the names.
The young man turned and rolled his eyes as he took another inhale of the cigarette, extending the tubular tip of ash hanging precariously on the burning paper. “You won’t be able to read me.”
“What kind of shield do you use on your mind? No one is impenetrable to a Death Rider.” She backed away, confused.
“I am Cambion. It’s just the way it is. I don’t know why. It’s the same for all of us.” He pushed the cigarette filter into a shallow tin can he kept near the cash register. “Did you say death rider? As in protector of souls?”
“How do you know about death riders?” Katcher was caught off guard with another surprise. How could this strange, skinny man know about her kind.
“I know things. I’m not always sure how, but I do. It’s my ability.” Eddie Montgomery was no longer frightened. He was excited. The change in his heartbeat said as much “Can you help me find my friends and Regan’s brothers?” The young man looked at her with hope. A look she had never encountered before.
There comes a point in the Dying when they come to accept the inevitable. Those at peace with death transcend into the next realm in the most peaceful way. What Katcher sees in their eyes as she comes for their soul is acceptance. Surrender. Not hope. “Yes.” She smiled as the first stone of her new purpose was laid down.
***
“John Saint, Eric Polk, and Michelle Dawn. Those are my friends.” The young man blurted out. He had turned off the lights in the store and taken her to a back room. It was a modest space and had probably been used for storage. Eddie had set up a cot against one wall and a small desk with a single lamp flanked another. His clothes hung from a single hook next to the desk. “I… I don’t know Regan’s brothers’ full names, but she called them ‘Twitch’ and ‘Ben’. Is that enough?”
She nodded, contemplating her predicament. Names were significant to Death Riders. Death Riders used them to track and reap souls. But without her death rider abilities, would the names mean anything? Could she still connect with beings that had just been named? She sat down on the floor and closed her eyes. She let the names flow through mind, letting Eddie’s affections strengthen the meaning of the names. These were not strangers, but loved ones. He called them friends, but he was willing to risk his life for them. They were family, and family connections whether by blood or not was one of the strongest bonds in all of the universe. She squeezed her eyes, directing her thoughts to the names. She forced herself to see, to feel, to connect, to do something, but nothing was happening. Not wanting Eddie Montgomery to see her lack of progress, she needed to rely on a more cumbersome method--physical tracking. “Where did you last see them?”
“Dead zone,” Eddie said flatly, though his pale skin blanched another degree. “It’s dangerous. Demons live there. Bad humans live there.” Eddie seemed to shrink into the cot as he spoke of this place.
“Point me there. You do not have to come.” She preferred to go alone. She would fare better if she had no other worries. Eddie Montgomery was courageous, but not a fighter, and she questioned whether she could protect him--especially without a weapon.
He informed her that many people had been captured, and insisted he was needed to identify his friends. In the end, not even the young man’s persistence could deter the single-minded Death Rider. “It is for the best,” she assured him before wrapping herself in shadow and slipping back into the street, unseen to any being.
The dead zone was not far from Eddie Montgomery’s corner store. She ran through the streets until she was stopped by a dark sludge of energy. It was unavoidable. Thick as tar and oozing out of the dead zone’s borders. She felt sick. Nauseated. Never having encountered a demon up close, let alone a horde of them, she teetered, her feet feeling heavy. Her shadow unraveled exposing her location. “No,” she hissed and forced herself against the dark side of a building to stay hidden. She grounded herself into Mother Gaia’s energy, trying to neutralize the thick darkness surrounding her.
A scream pierced the air. It was a scream of fear. Bone chilling and curdling her insides, but the shock she needed to start moving again. Someone needed help. With unsteady legs, she ambled in the direction of the scream, her senses alerting her to a speeding heartbeat nearby. She cocked her head, trying to pinpoint the location. She was close. Another scream, sharp and pained sliced through the putrid night air. It came from a differ
ent direction. Another victim. She began to move, changing her path, when another scream clawed at her, begging for help. Another victim. And another. And another. Until the dead zone was filled with tortured screams, and lost essences of the dead drifted aimlessly in the stale air.
The glimmering energies were a show of pure beauty in a place of gloom and darkness. She could hear them call out to her. Deliver us, they cried out. She ran to them, wanting to protect them, to guide them. To give them peace. Instead, she fell to her knees in pain, the force of the dark causing agonized retching. Despite her embarrassment, she reached out for the essences, calling them to her.
Laughter surrounded her. Taunting her. Debris spun around her as a deep chill sunk into her bones. “You do not belong here, reaper.” A gravelly voice echoed in her ears. “These souls are not for you to take.” Maniacal laughter echoed all around her, keeping her from isolating a location.
“No!” She hissed as she was lifted into the air, held against her will by an ancient force. She attempted to break the induced paralysis. “Show yourself!” she gritted through clenched teeth.
The coil around her body tightened, the energetic force shifting as she was slammed against a brick wall, and held there. Forced to watch a group of demons emerge from the darkness, and feed on the essences. The essences called out, begging for help. Their consciousness connecting with hers. She could see every life that had been lived and suddenly ended. She could feel every bit of pain as the essences were consumed and the spark of life was snuffed. “No!” She screamed into the night, her pain resonant of the Beings being torn apart right in front of her. The precious human souls were nothing but a drug to the demons. A source for a temporary high to satiate a need that could never be filled.
She shrieked as her heart shattered at the cruelty. She thought about Mahalel. This is why you never allowed me near the dark realms. Never let me be involved where a demon was near. Her heart lurched at her naivete. I thought you did not have confidence in me to handle myself. Her breathing shook, as grim realization washed over her. You were only trying to protect me from feeling hate. Her teeth clenched as tears streamed down her eyes as if a wall had broken. Death Riders cannot allow the rush of hate to cloud any part of their purpose. It was a dangerous emotion for a Death Rider.
When the air was empty of essences, the demons vanished, and her binds released. She stood, breathing in the stench of the dead zone, burning the image of the tortured essences into her mind. Mahalel, if you are out there and you can hear me. Please forgive me for I must turn my back on everything you taught me. She looked around her, feeling the heaviness of the eerie quiet around her. With a broken heart, she unwound the crimson leather bands covering her forearms. The bands had been bestowed upon her when she pledged her life as a Death Rider. She couldn’t even remember a day when she had not had them on.
The bands were her identity. Her purpose. The reason for her existence. Shedding them was painful, almost as painful as witnessing evil done upon helpless souls. She’d been left, mired in shame and failure, but now she knew what must be done. “I am no longer a Death Rider.”
Chapter Five
January 18th, Tiburon, California
Early morning
Solomon Mitchell combed thick fingers through his salt and pepper hair while he waited for an answer. The phone only rang once before his trusted assistant picked up. “Pamela,” Solomon greeted with a smile. He had been in San Francisco longer than he wanted to be, and hearing Pamela’s voice made him realize his need to get back home.
“General Mitchell.” Pamela whispered harshly. Her tone sounded clipped and tense.
“Is everything all right, Pamela?”
“Sir, not to pry, but why are you still in San Francisco? You said your trip would only take a couple of days.” Her speech was racing, normal for Pamela whenever she got excited. “Your wife has been looking for you. The Director of the San Francisco Bureau keeps calling. Everywhere I turn, someone is asking about you. They act like I know your every move.” She was breathing hard.
“Pamela. Pamela.” He softened his voice, trying to ease her. “It’s all right.”
“No Sir, it is not,” she bit back. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold them off.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “They won’t leave me alone, Sir. They call for you incessantly. Your wife is threatening to get me fired, Sir.” Her voice had lowered, but a sad tone took its place. “I love my job, Sir. I don’t want to get fired.”
He took a deep breath. “Pamela, you are not getting fired. I’m coming home.” It felt good to say the words, better than he expected. “Tell Mrs. Mitchell, I’ll be home in a couple of days. I’ll contact the San Francisco Bureau. Do not worry Pamela, everything is fine.”
There was complete silence on the other end.
“Pamela?” Did she pass out? “Pamela?”
“Sir, Mrs. Mitchell… came by looking for you.”
“She never goes to the office.” He scoffed, not really believing that Olivia would go out of her way to stop by his office.
“I realize that, Sir. But in her defense, she seemed afraid.”
Solomon stood from his seat abruptly, his pulse speeding, “What do you mean afraid? What did she say?” He had made many enemies in his lifetime. Many of whom would not hesitate to threaten his family to get his attention. But Olivia did not scare easy. She knew of all his past transactions--legal, illegal. It was only his business dealings with the demon queen that she was not aware of. What would scare his wife?
“She asked if you had someone spying on her? Sir, that doesn’t even make sense. Why would you spy on your own wife?”
He paced the room. “Did she say anything else?” He was trying to sound calm, keep his voice level. Any hint of nerves and Pamela would certainly pick up on it. He needed her calm if he was going to get information to discern what was happening.
“I told her you would never do that. Then she stormed off, and threatened to get me fired.”
“Has she made contact since?” Solomon was rubbing his forehead.
“Yes, just this morning.”
“How did she sound? Did she still seem frightened?”
“Um. I guess she sounded more normal, Sir. Just pissed you weren’t home.”
He needed to be back in D.C. “Pamela, book me the soonest flight back home.”
“Yes, right away, Sir. Will there be anything else?”
“I need you to research some information for me.”
“Yes, of course. What can I find for you.”
“You previously gave me some information on the seraphim.” Pamela’s previous research was brief, but one snippet of information had caught his interest instantly. “There is an artifact associated with the seraphim. The coal used on Isaiah.”
“Yes. I remember. Is this a new interest, Sir? Angels and prophets? I don’t understand what this has to do with your projects.”
“I have another project. A big one. One that could change my world forever.” He took a moment to contemplate his own words, noticing the tightening in his stomach, and his worries about Olivia. “Get me home as soon as you can.” He disconnected the phone with a quick tap of his finger on the screen. He ran the side of his index finger against his lower lip as he contemplated what was happening at home, the Seraphim Project, and Ashtaroth.
Ashtaroth had been on his ass about activating the project and seeing it through. Expose the Others. That was the directive. Push the humans into an awakening, the queen had said coyly.
He activated the Seraphim Project. Successfully. Watching every tile of the puzzle fall into place. Assessing where hidden pieces may be lurking. So far, nothing. Events were happening as anticipated. The project was the key with the demons’ coming out, but the population did not wake up with the demons’ arrival. It was all bullshit. Awakening my ass, he thought. It would push the city into a full-scale war if the citizens actually knew what was going on.
San Francisco was a prime city
for the demons to start. With all its liberal lifestyles and hippy-dippy ways of life, San Francisco would probably accept aliens if they started falling out of the sky. The stupid civilians were falling for the con. Not that they had a choice; the magick ordered by Queen Ashtaroth and cast by Barbas over the city, was both dark and powerful. And humans would not be able to do anything. There was no ‘waking up’. Instead the populace had fallen into a type of demon guided trance. He scoffed, his directive from the Queen was a lie.
Ashtaroth, in her conniving ways, used human media to make the populace ‘accept’ the demons. The media spun an attractive story about the demons’ arrival. The demons that revealed themselves had all been strategic. Only the most beautiful had been seen. Those that were most irresistible were ‘humanized’. The demons were made to look like endangered species simply fighting to survive, like freaking helpless pandas. Add dark magick to the mix, and you had a bunch of people willing to lick the dirt off of the demons’ toes. They come in ‘peace’. He rubbed his forehead, amazed at how easy people were fooled. Bleeding hearts. No resistance. That was the problem. Not him. Never.
What the spell was, Solomon had no clue. But he could feel the tips of its tendrils reaching for him every moment he stayed in San Francisco. Alluring and seductive much like the queen, the magick surrounded him, trying to penetrate him. But he was protected from it. He had wondered if the queen had him spared from the spell.
It is us! His guardians hissed. We keep your mind clear. Free of influence from the demons. They spoke in unison inside his mind. The queen is only using you, you fool!
“You told me I had nothing to fear.”
Only Death. They spoke with nonchalance. Everybody dies. It is no big deal.
Midnight Rain Page 3