Angel Born

by Brian Fuller

“No. When you fell from heaven.”

  It took her a second before she grinned. “Wow. Not as cliché as ‘What’s your sign?’ but probably a close second. Well-timed, though.”

  “Yeah, but has it ever been used on you?”

  “Sorry, yes,” she replied teasingly, “in four different languages and on as many continents. Keep trying. A bit of a slow start, though. How’s Terissa?”

  “Scared to death, as she should be. This is so messed up.”

  Aclima snapped two pieces of the weapon back together. “Yes, it is. We’ll get Cain, Helo. We’ll end this, but you can’t keep me out of the fight like you just did.”

  “That wasn’t about you,” he said, picking up a nearby stick and turning it over in his hands. “I wanted someone to watch over Terissa, someone I trusted. Thanks for that.”

  Her eyes softened, a little smile playing on her lips. “You’re welcome. I want to fight with you. I don’t think you’ve even seen me fire a weapon. I’m good at it. You know what I can do with a blade. Take me to the range and prepare to be amazed.”

  He tossed the stick into the woods. “I have a question.”

  “What’s that?”

  He prepared his best weightlifter voice. “Like, do you work out, because you look, like, totally fit.”

  She laughed and covered her mouth for a moment, eyes as bright as he’d ever seen. “I’d forgotten that one. That’s even more cliché than the angel one. No joy, Helo. I think I had that one fifteen times in one week at the Hammer Bar and Grill. You’re really going to have to try harder.”

  He stood. “Didn’t want to leave any low-hanging fruit out there.”

  As much as he wanted to stay and let the day fade away sitting beside Aclima, he really did need to check on things.

  She frowned. “What happened to your side?”

  “Took a bullet.”

  “Here, let me take your armor off you,” she said.

  “You can take whatever you want off me, gorgeous,” he joked.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve created a monster.”

  The armor was ruined, but with a quick burst of Aclima’s Healing, his side knit back together, the gaping cavern in his lower ribs filling out.

  “Good as new,” she said.

  “Thanks. I’ve got to go get an update from everyone.”

  She sat down and resumed assembling her gun. “Take it easy, okay? You look exhausted.” He nodded and turned to go. “And, Helo?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Good job today,” she said. “Nobody here will forget your name.”

  Helo held Scarlet in his arms as the sun crested the horizon. It was just the two of them on a wooded hill, and then it was just him and an empty pile of dirty clothes. She’d wanted to be alone with him, though little had been spoken between them as darkness cleared away for the dawn. Not even Rapture could quite clear the pit in his stomach, though. It was coming to a head now, Cain’s plan to destroy him surely close to its fruition. He hoped it was, for everyone’s sake.

  The drive to an out-of-the-way airport and the flight back to Zion Alpha in Nevada had been nearly as exhausting as fighting off the Sheid and the Thralls. Commander Crane was mad that he and Goliath had smoked the entire command cabin with C4 and that the mighty Sicarius Nox had failed to destroy the Sheid. Corinth was angry at him for letting the Sheid get away with Terissa’s heart. Argyle kept pointing out all the protocol violations Helo had committed after he had assumed command. And Shujaa had pointedly told him they should have downed the helicopter despite the pilot being a Possessed. And to top it all off, pretty much everyone was mad they couldn’t track the helicopter, though Helo couldn’t understand the surprise. Cain had thought of everything.

  Adding insult to injury, he received a pointed form email on his new phone telling him the cost of the ruined phone would be deducted from his stipend since he had broken too many in the last few weeks. Since he’d never used his stipend for anything, it mattered little except for the principle of the thing. It wasn’t like he was dropping them in the toilet or screwing around and sending them plummeting onto a tile floor. They’d broken during desperate fights against Dreads and Shedim. Seemed like they would take his dangerous assignments into consideration.

  On the plus side, Mars had nothing but good things to say about what had happened, and if the head of the Michaels was happy, then maybe what Commander Crane thought wasn’t such a big deal. Also nice: Aclima had stuck to his side like glue and defended him at every turn, and she was high-priced lawyer good at arguing.

  Once back, he sat at his desk in the room he and Aclima shared at Zion Alpha. Thirty-six hours had passed since the dawn had put Scarlet into the hands of Cain and his category-five Sheid. The IP address burned into the side of the van had revealed nothing. They had pinged, port scanned, and trace routed it. All they knew was that it belonged to Qyn Enterprises.

  His phone pulsed. Tela. The real one this time. She’d been ecstatic to hear from him. He had texted her first thing after he had returned. While he hadn’t had time to flesh out his plan to fake his own death, it still felt like the right thing to do. Her text gave him hope.

  I didn’t have those two dreams last night.

  Great!

  I know! Still worried about you. When are Danny and Angie coming back? Alan’s being a dork and won’t tell me.

  Helo wondered who had taken Scarlet’s and Corinth’s places. He wasn’t really sure what Corinth was up to. They had decided to keep guarding Tela awhile longer, even though it appeared she hadn’t been Cain’s target after all.

  I don’t know either. Not really my division.

  I figured. Miss Gorgeous around?

  In a meeting.

  Say hi for me. Are you two a thing? You can tell me. I can tell she likes you.

  Maybe he was going to have to fake his death for an entirely different reason.

  ;-) Gotta run.

  He turned the phone screen down on the desk and leaned back in his chair. The phone buzzed a couple more times, probably Tela trying to bait him back into a conversation. It was almost nine in the morning, and he was awaiting Aclima’s return. The Medius had called her out to a meeting he was pretty sure had something to do with Ashakaz. It was clear Aclima wouldn’t give her niece any kind of credit, but the youthful Dread Loremaster had seemed so sincere about escaping Cain.

  The door slid open, but Goliath rather than Aclima appeared in the doorway.

  “Heya. Mind if I come in?” she asked.

  He waved her inside. She walked over, moved his phone and laptop aside, and sat on the desk. Her table-sitting habit always made him envision her sitting on a fence out in a field somewhere. He had to roll his chair back to accommodate her swinging legs.

  “So,” she said, eyes sympathetic, “how are you doing?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She cocked her head. “Not sure why you would be . . . I mean, considering.”

  She was right. He really hadn’t had time to indulge in his grief. He wanted to keep it that way, keep busy. Only in doing did he find purpose and any kind of relief.

  “It’s been rough,” he said, then understanding dawned. “They want me to see a shrink, don’t they?”

  “Mental-health professional,” Goliath corrected. “Argyle pointed out that after an Ash Angel has been through traumatic events, they should be cleared by a mental-health professional before being allowed to perform mission critical duties. Unit leader’s discretion.”

  “And do you think I need to see one?” he asked. He had resisted seeing Dr. Oberon during the early days of his training after he’d been torched and tormented, but counseling with him had actually done him a world of good. This time, though, he really didn’t feel like being questioned and evaluated. Not now.

  “Trying to figure that out,” Goliath said. “I gotta say, though, whatever you’ve been through, it hasn’t made you gun-shy. The worry is that your pain is making you too aggressive, reckless.”

&
nbsp; “So you agree with Faramir. You think I should have pulled back.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “You get things done. No question about that. That’s why I like you. I’ve never been a by-the-book kind of gal, so rule bending and breaking in the service of victory doesn’t bother me much.”

  Helo smirked. “So you made Argyle your second in command?”

  “Call it balance,” she countered. “Look, I want to know that what you did out there was motivated by the greater good and not out of a desire for vengeance.”

  “The mission was to kill Dreads,” he said, a bit of grit in his voice. “We lost the Sheid, but I thought I could complete the rest of the mission. And I did. Not sure what everyone’s problem is.”

  “Don’t get pissed,” Goliath said, throwing him a hard look, though her pixie haircut undermined it a little. “Very few have a problem with a dust pile of Dreads. I’m not here because of the outcome of the mission. I’m worried about what your outcome is. I want to know that the next time I order you to pull back or to hold up or to hold your fire, you’re going to do it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She cocked her head sideways, still evaluating, then the door slid open and Aclima walked in.

  “Hey, Jeopardy,” Goliath said. “Just chatting with Helo here. What do you think? After what he’s been through, should I send him to be cleared by a shrink before he can go on duty?”

  “Mental-health professional,” Helo corrected. “And why does she get a vote?”

  “You two talk a lot,” Goliath explained. “And she’s six thousand years old.”

  He stood up and offered Aclima his chair. Her long hair was back, but he wouldn’t compliment her on it and prove her right about it being his favorite. She brushed his arm with her fingers and smiled at him, taking the proffered seat.

  “So what do you say, Jeopardy?” Goliath pressed.

  “He’s fit,” she said. “When it comes to people performing after traumatic events, some are crippled, but others become more focused and driven. Helo is the latter. He’ll be fine.”

  Goliath propelled herself off the desk. “Good enough for me. Team meeting tomorrow at 5:00 a.m. See you there.”

  She left and Helo took the spot she had vacated, Aclima wheeling around to face him.

  “Did you mean what you said?” Helo asked.

  “I did.”

  “Thanks.” It was nice to have someone on his side.

  “I see you like the return of my long hair,” she said, swishing it around.

  Ha! He had done nothing to show that. He wouldn’t be baited. It was an opportunity, however. “Well, you know, if I had a dollar for every woman I’d seen who was as beautiful as you, I’d have a dollar.”

  She beamed. “That’s better! Not the first time I’ve heard it, I’m afraid, but a step up.”

  He figured as much, but . . . “Come on. Someone said that exact pickup line?”

  “Yes.” She tapped her lips for a moment. “It was the 1920s. It wasn’t exactly the same. It was a nickel instead of a dollar and he used dame instead of woman.”

  “That was a hundred years ago!” Helo said, hopping off the desk. “How could you remember that?”

  She smiled. “This afterlife thing comes with a good memory. One of its best virtues, actually. Besides, the boy was memorable. It was this kid—son of a gangster in Brooklyn. He was a little younger than you. Dressed to the nines. Thought he was destined for riches and glory when he stepped into his old man’s shoes. I danced in a club he came to. Hit on me every single time. He was obsessed with me, really, until he ended up in a river with ten holes in his back from some rival gangster. I felt bad for him.”

  Helo paced around the room, hands on top of his head. This was going to be impossible. “You know, you could make these stories up for whatever line I come up with and there’s no way I could verify them.”

  He turned and she was standing right there, almost nose to nose.

  “I won’t lie to you,” she said and then took his face in her hands. “Don’t give up, okay?” He swore he could feel her touch more than he could other people’s. It was like the Ash Angel numbness didn’t work with her.

  Both of their phones buzzed. She let go of his face to pull her phone out of a pocket. Sometimes he hated technology. Before he could grab his off the desk, Aclima was halfway to the door.

  “The IP number’s up,” she said.

  Chapter 32

  An Invitation

  Helo walked with Aclima down the long hallway of Zion Alpha, headed for the command center and hopefully some answers about Scarlet’s fate

  “Did you find out what happened with Ashakaz in that meeting?” Helo asked as they slipped past a group of Michaels heading in the opposite direction.

  “She wants to make a deal, of course,” Aclima said. “But it’s a good one, at least on the surface. She’s willing to give up the location of Jumelia, Padru, and Hrojax in exchange for protection from Cain. She claims she will accept permanent incarceration as long as they keep him from her.”

  “She won’t give up Avadan?”

  “They raided the prison,” Aclima explained. “He wasn’t there. He’d cleaned it out. Killed what prisoners he couldn’t take. She told them if he wasn’t there, she didn’t know where he was.”

  “Do you think the AAO will take the deal?”

  “I told them not to,” Aclima replied, eyes burning with the same disgust he had seen before when she had first seen her niece.

  “Why?”

  “She is a liar, Helo. All liar. It will be a trap or a goose chase, I just know it.”

  He really wanted to ask her what had passed between the two of them but was afraid to. The only one she seemed to hate more than Ashakaz was Cain, though Jumelia was up there, too. Whatever had happened with Ashakaz, it was bitter, and he didn’t want Aclima dwelling on the bitter for her sake and his.

  The guard outside the command center buzzed them in. Mars was there, having arrived that morning, his squat body leaning over a monitor operated by one of the base support staff. The other members of the Archai had conferenced in, their faces lined across the top of the wide glass display at the front of the room. Their lips moved, but the sound was muted.

  A web browser was open on the main display, and in the address bar was the IP number the Sheid had burned onto the van. An on-screen timer counted down with two minutes left.

  Mars turned his head and saw them and, after a quick word to the operator he’d been observing, marched over with quick strides. Helo shook his beefy hand, but Mars pulled him in for a quick man hug.

  “There’s my boy,” he said, then turned to Aclima and nodded. “Good to see you, Jeopardy.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Any idea what happens in two minutes?”

  Mars put his hands on his hips. “It’s already happened. What’s on the screen is a recording. We’re looking at it frame by frame. The Scholus is already on it, but the message is clear. It’s for the both of you. That’s why you’re here.” He turned toward the operator he’d just left. “Axeman, fast-forward to the message.”

  The video on the screen jolted forward and then stopped as the countdown dissolved into a video. Cain sat at the left side of a table wearing a light-gray suit and blue tie. Thin candles on a white tablecloth lit a dim room and an expensive spread. A cowed Scarlet occupied a seat across from him. Another man—one Helo didn’t recognize—slumped directly across from the camera, a candle on the white table cloth obscuring all but the gag in his mouth.

  Scarlet’s shoulders hunched, and she picked at the steak and mixed vegetables on her plate like someone had ordered her to do it. She wore a little black dress, off the shoulder, a string of pearls cascading over her ample cleavage. Her red wine sat untouched, Cain’s half empty. Classical music played in the background.

  Helo ground his teeth, and Aclima took his hand. The scene played out for nearly two minutes, Cain eating calmly, Scarlet barely eating at all, an
d the unknown man taking shuddering breaths and shaking at random intervals. What was Cain playing at now? Was this a ploy to torment Helo, make him think Cain had seduced his wife or something? It dragged on and on. Helo glanced at Mars.

  “Wait for it,” the stocky man said.

  After about thirty more seconds, Cain wiped his mouth with the linen on his lap and threw it on the table. With a relaxed face, he turned his chair toward the camera and crossed his legs. The face Helo would never forget. Eyes like black holes. Dark in complexion, like Aclima. Skin weathered. Odd to think the two of them came from the same womb.

  Cain pulled a box of cigarettes from a coat pocket, tapped one out, and lit it with the candle flame.

  “Helo,” he said after a puff. “It’s been so nice catching up with your sumptuous wife. I thought it only fair since you have, according to her, been catching up with mine. You like the dark-haired ones, then? So do I. It’s hard for blondes to pull off the sensual smolder I like so much.

  “But I digress. As you can see, I have afforded her some luxuries. I hope you’ve been treating my wife with the same courtesy. The way Terissa here tells it, you’ve been taking Aclima into combat zones! Not very gentlemanly behavior and, quite frankly, surprising. Apparently you haven’t realized how valuable she is. But she is valuable. Valuable to me.”

  He stabbed a finger at his chest with the last statement, the mocking tone wavering, revealing a boiling kettle of fury underneath his suave demeanor. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a few more puffs of the cigarette, and extinguished it on the tablecloth, leaving a burnt smear. After adjusting his diamond cuff links, he reached off screen and came back holding the Dreads’ version of a Big Blessed Gun, a dark, metal affair, bulky and heavy looking. Helo swallowed. Aclima’s grip on his hand tightened.

  Cain looked the gun over. “Since you haven’t been taking care of my wife properly . . .” He turned the gun on Terissa and pulled the trigger. He and Aclima flinched. The bullet blew Terissa backward out of the frame, the man behind the candle yelping and falling off his seat onto the floor and out of sight. Cain tossed the gun on the table with a thud and raised both his hands in a placating gesture.