by J M Guillen
“Yeah, well. Rehl insisted we go to the emergency room. Which was a problem because an emergency room wouldn’t know what to do with you.”
“With me?” I bit my lip and tried to track what she meant. I had a difficult time paying attention, as part of my mind insisted on trying to determine whether her words were Alicia’s or Abriel’s. She sounded far more like my friend than she had, but…
“Liz, Abriel has quite a bit of experience with users of Grace who exhaust themselves like this.” She put one hand on my shoulder. “Our little encounter in the attic must not have been the first time you used so much power. Have you blown yourself out like this before?”
“Literally just before the attic. I pushed things a little too far and came home to get some sleep. I was out for something like twenty-two hours.” I rubbed my eyes as a thought occurred to me. “How long did I sleep this time?”
“Almost sixty-eight.”
“What?” I felt my eyes grow wide with dismay. “I slept for almost three days?”
The ramifications chilled me.
“Rehl called an ambulance. He told the EMTs Baxter and I had both been beneath that shelf when it fell.”
“He could have driven you to the hospital himself.” I furrowed my brow. “Assuming he’s okay?”
“He had a different plan. Didn’t want to leave you alone.”
“Smart. Lorne might have sent another goon.”
“He twisted an ankle.” Alicia cocked her head and then continued, “Baxter has stitches down one side of his face, but nothing that won’t heal.”
“Christ.” I shook my head.
Alicia narrowed her eyes a touch at the oath but said nothing.
“So the three of you are… well enough?”
“No one died. Everyone’s injuries were minor.”
“I saw Baxter having a conniption. He was literally on the ground convulsing.”
“When you stepped away to try to Masked Brava that horrific monstrosity by yourself, Abriel gave us a quick primer on some of Simon’s more unique tools.”
“I’m feeling like Simon’s tool, lately.”
“Rehl took the hat and Baxter the gauntlet. Both of them had Empyrean sigils hidden within.”
“But neither of my friends are…” I gesticulated futilely. “Clever. Talented. You know what I mean.”
“The Empyrean tongue can be learned by anyone, with time. While neither of them know the first syllable, Abriel is fluent. She assisted, until I got knocked unconscious.”
“Which was why Rehl only used the hat once.” I nodded slowly. “And then when Bax triggered the flaming falcons of doom, it was a bit too much for him.”
“He did as Abriel instructed, though she wasn’t available to assist him.”
“He saved our asses on his own?”
“Rehl remained here to watch over you while the ambulance took us. I explained the nature of the Aegis, but he preferred the idea of being within reach of enough weaponry to protect you.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Once Baxter and I returned from the hospital, Rehl went to get his ankle checked. Baxter took a shift watching you sleep, and I took the next.”
“Sixty-eight hours.” I shook my head in disbelief. “Will it continue taking more out of me every time?”
“It won’t always be that bad.” Alicia sighed. “You pushed yourself far too hard, rested a single time, and then pushed yourself again.” She cocked her head as if she listened to something I couldn’t hear. “That’s dangerous over time.”
“Simon never told me.” I leaned closer to Alicia. “But that’s what Abriel told you? She knows all about this stuff.”
“Abriel is a trove of information.” Alicia flushed. “She’d been specifically left for you. Simon and Aiden intended the Watcher as a safety measure. She has the capability to instantly communicate memory, and she remembers everything she has ever encountered.”
“So you’re saying you’re walking around with a bunch of memories intended for me?”
“Yes.” Alicia appeared a touch abashed. “I’m sorry, Liz. I just didn’t know.”
“Did you know the shadowy horror guy would follow you here?” I probably should’ve kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t help it. None of that would have happened if Alicia hadn’t led the Houndsman straight to me.
“I had nowhere else to go.” Her shoulders slumped. “I tried to call, but for some reason you couldn’t hear me.”
“Yeah, I’m certain that jerk had something to do with it.”
“In the end, we are all relatively fine. Baxter is a touch irritated, but that’s all.”
“Baxter is always irritated. Or hungry.” I grinned. “How about the shop? There were all kinds of explosions and outer-planar flaming birds there at the end.”
“Most of that seems to have taken place… elsewhere. Nothing in the attic seems to have been blown up or burned.”
“I still might call a professional.” I slowly sat up and leaned my back against the headboard of the canopy bed. “There were all kinds of bizarre little tremors there when Shadowy McButthole called in his cronies.”
“We are all well. The Armory is mostly undamaged.”
“The Armory?” I followed her glance to the weapons lining the walls.
“That is what your father called it.” A half-smile ghosted the edge of her lips, and I wondered about it. She couldn’t possibly be smiling at Alicia’s memories. Did Abriel also share… emotions with my friend?
“You say they left Abriel for me. But you solved the puzzle box. You picked up that token and said her name.”
“Abriel tells me that the rites and Seals used to bind the Watchers are very specific.” She didn’t quite meet my gaze and seemed a bit embarrassed.
“There’s no ‘take backs’ on this one, is there?”
“Simon may know more. However, Abriel has been bound to five hundred and eighty-three people in her long existence. In every single case, that binding lasted until death.”
“So Simon wasn’t bound to her?”
“Simon’s relationships are long and quite complex—especially with Abriel.” Alicia fiddled with her red hair. “That being said, they left her for you. There are a set of memories specifically intended to be held by you.”
“Well, you can just tell me.” I leaned forward, more than a bit eager. “We can be just a couple of gossiping girls.”
“I doubt Simon or Aiden would have considered these topics to be gossip.” She spoke primly, but her eyes twinkled with amusement.
“We’re practically at a slumber party.” I gestured at the bed. “Of course, I’m the only one that’s been slumbering.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.” Alicia’s slight smile fell away, and she seemed almost formal. “If you wish, I can share the memories with you directly.”
“Yeah? Does this involve my brain in a jar?”
“Not exactly.” Alicia’s eyes faded from their typical hazel, though a few flecks of green stayed as a last touch of hue. Brilliant whiteness shone from them, almost silver in its intensity. “You need only consent.”
“I never expected you to ask for consent while we were in bed together.” I shook my head, and knew full well my nerves made me tease her. Those stark, white eyes held an uncanny, haunting beauty. It didn’t feel malevolent or intrusive, more like a simple affirmation of power. Still.
“Liz, would you like me to share what Simon and Aiden left for you?”
“Yes,” I choked out. The thought that they had left something for me, that I wasn’t all by myself, soothed me.
I had started to feel like I’d have to handle everything for myself from now on.
“Very well.” Alicia leaned close to me, reached out, and touched the side of my face. Those brilliant, radiant eyes shone into me and revealed every secret I ever hid about myself.
And then, I was myself no more.
3
“Abriel.” The sound resonated, both a w
hisper and a proclamation from on high. It felt as stark as a commandment, but the unbending, unbreaking truth of it echoed through existence since the beginning of time.
I awoke. The world seemed misty, lit by a silvery light.
Books lined the small room, though two wooden boxes crowded the far corner, alongside a case with brass latches. The trapdoor that led above hung open and disturbing noises filtered down through it.
The man who stood before me seemed a little ragged. He may have been in his mid- to late-thirties. His long hair and beard were a touch unkempt and his leg bled profusely. He shut the trapdoor, slid the bolt secure, and then turned toward me.
“He’s dead.” The man named Simon Girard waved one hand inarticulately, his eyes wide and wild. “They just came in from nowhere. I’d been headed upstairs; I didn’t see most of it.”
who. I drifted closer to the man and hoped he could understand me well enough.
“Rufus. He’s dead.”
no. who has come.
“The fucking suits. The Silent Gentlemen.”
coarse language does not become you, simon.
“Yeah, well, things are pretty fucking coarse upstairs.” He ran his hands through his hair and stared around wildly. “Rufus said I needed to come down here.” The man rambled, tears in his eyes. “He said I needed to take some things and get to New York. Fast.” He turned back to me. “What things? What’s in New York?”
i know what rufus brighton would treasure, I responded. he has shared with me what is to be saved.
“Yeah.” He stepped over to one of the crates. “That’s what he said. He said you knew everything that was down here, everything that really mattered.”
he hung a satchel on the far wall. I paused as he searched for it. inside is a single book.
“Right.” Simon stepped over to the satchel and peeked inside. “The Lesser Key of Dudael?”
take that one. there are others that detail the empyrean tongue as well.
“Well, tell me where they a—” When the sound of gunshots above cut Simon off, his face jerked up, his eyes wide, then he glanced down to me. “Tell me where they are, and we’ll get outta here.”
***
“Abriel.” That single sound came like a chime rung within a vast temple on the far horizon. Its beauty crackled with sunlight, and cast back night and its greedy fingers.
I awoke. The world seemed shadowy, musty.
“I think I’m the only one.” The man named Simon Girard sat on a yellow plastic chair in a basement with stone walls amid a scattering of old, discarded things.
the only what.
“They died.” The anger in his voice felt hard, edged. “Most of them anyway. Those assholes took some of them.”
profanity does not honor your comrades, simon. words are powerful things.
“Who are they anyway?” He turned toward me now, and I saw how truly dilapidated the man appeared. He hadn’t shaved in days, his long hair gone ratty. Makeshift bandages, soaked through with blood, had been inexpertly wrapped around his left leg.
He held a bottle of alcohol. Half of it empty.
who are they. I felt confusion as I repeated his words. I disliked it very much when humans were unclear with their verbiage.
“Those silent dog-fuckers.” The man raged as he began to weep. “Those cocksucking, suit-wearing assholes who happen to show up every time I start to make a new family for myself.”
you are not in a stable state of mind. I withdrew from Simon Girard in an attempt to protect myself from his intense emotions.
“No!” He roared at me, one a fist clenched with rage. “You don’t deny me! I asked you a question, O’ Abriel.”
That word resounded from the furthest edge of creation. It rumbled through me, like sweetness and a summer day.
I had no choice but to answer even though I knew little.
they are the iron-wrought, simon. they are servitors of an ancient darkness.
“An ancient darkness that uses guns and wears stylish suits? Don’t most cults have more of a black robe dress code?”
these are but the latest creations of an entity that existed before and behind history. i do not know its motives. i do not know its nature.
“But there have been other creations? Creations like these?”
throughout history there have been different faces on the forces that seek to control the nature of man. often, however these stem from the same source.
“How can I kill them?”
kill them…? The query took effort.
“Kill the fucking Silent Gentlemen.” He took a drink from his bottle. “The Assets. Whatever they are.”
these are human, mostly. they have had their natures changed. the same being that has created such things throughout history chose them and altered their basic truths.
“From what?” Simon Girard slumped back into the chair and set the bottle on the floor. “What were they before this being got ahold ’a them?”
***
“Abriel.”
That sound shone like a bonfire in the darkness. A star on the edge of existence that cried my name in passionate revelry.
There was nothing more beautiful. Nothing.
I rode in a car, as it zoomed down the highway. Dozens of other vehicles roamed all around me, and we moved along rapidly.
“I want to know how I can be more like him.”
him. The lack of clarity irritated me.
“Rufus. Rufus, I mean. The man had power. But it weren’t anything like the things I know.”
rufus brighton was born to his nature. he possessed Grace. you do not.
“I fucking know that.”
simon, i do not approve of your language.
“I apologize.” He waved one hand in dismissal. “I know Rufus was born with his gift. But I’ve done some pretty outlandish things myself, just with trinkets and stuff I’ve learned.”
you know more than many men.
“Right, but there’s a difference between what I do and what Rufus did. I know stuff. I learned. Rufus just had…” For a moment, Simon seemed to struggle with words. “…a knack. Like he had a natural, clever little talent.”
rufus brighton knew many things as well.
“Right, well, I want to put paid to these suit-wearing jokers. It occurs to me that if’n a man could learn to be a little bit more like Rufus, such a thing might just be another bullet in the ol’ proverbial gun.”
i know of no way to learn the kind of talent you are talking about.
“Just because you don’t know about it, does that mean that it don’t exist?”
even one born without Grace may yet gain wisdom, I replied.
“You don’t know, do you?”
there are a great many things i do not know.
“Well, here’s something you might know.” As we careened down the highway, dodging cars, Simon reached into the back seat. When he turned back around, he held a very old book. On the front of it, The Lesser Key of Dudael had been imprinted with a silver script.
i am familiar with that book, yes.
“Okay, but it’s bullshit, ain’t it?”
i do not understand.
“Dudael? As in the desert? The supposed ‘Cauldron of God’?”
Simon’s words made little sense to me. Rather than try further, I opted for silence and hoped he would clarify what he meant.
“This stuff is from the book of Enoch.” He gestured at me with the Key, waggling it in the air. “It’s an apocryphal book. Not even the Catholic Church believes it’s real.”
the lesser key of dudael is the only known work that contains all of the Watcher’s names. i do not understand your confusion.
“Rufus told me you were a spirit. That he had called to you, and you helped ’im with his work.”
i did help him. this is true.
“Thing is, I been readin’.” He took his eyes off the road for a moment and flipped the book open to a page he had saved. There, in the upper
left-hand corner, I saw the Seal that signified my name in the Empyrean tongue. “This doesn’t say you’re a spirit. This says you’re an angel, a fallen angel. It says you’re one of the Watchers.”
i am uncertain what you are asking, simon. I buzzed with irritation.
“As in, the Grigori. As in—” He held the book in front of him, swerving as he drove and read, “‘And when the angels of God saw the daughters of men that they were beautiful, they took unto themselves wives of all of them whom they chose.’”
i am one of those. yes.
“That story is not real,” Simon insisted. “That story is all about the Nephilim, and the cause ’a the biblical flood.”
simon, I don’t understand the difficulty
“Angels aren’t real,” he repeated, as if I were deaf. “All ’a that’s just made up malarkey.” He tossed the book into the back of the car and put both hands on the wheel.
this seems personal to you in a way i don’t understand.
“I suppose you might not.” He turned away from me. “The fact is we can’t live in a world where angels and heaven are real. It don’t make no sense. Not when there’s so much hurt, so much suffering.”
the world has ever been full of suffering.
“And that’s my point.” He waved one hand wildly. “Heaven and angels are real, you claim, but I live in a world where every time I settle down, every time I connect with people, they get taken or killed.”
and my kind could not exist in such a world.
“They’d better not!” A flash of rage sparked across his face. “Not when things are like…” He gestured vaguely out the window, frustrated, sad. “…Like this.”
Silence fell through the car. It took me a moment to realize that Simon wept.
i am quite real, simon. i will not be taken or killed.
“Just a story,” he muttered. “You’re just a story. How can a story be real?”
even were you correct, stories are the most powerful things we have. with the proper story, one can transform the world.
“Well, someone needs to.” He glanced back at me. “Transform the world, that is. Someone needs to stand in the way ’a the monsters, so other people can enjoy their fairy tales.”