The Passion Season

by Libby Doyle

  “You shouldn’t be so good to me, Zan,” he said, putting his hands on hers to still their motion. “You shouldn’t be so understanding.”

  His voice was so mournful it threw her back into confusion.

  I hope he’s not headed for another weird depression.

  The city lights faded from view as Barakiel sped on his boat into the liquid gloom towards Delaware Bay. The heavy clouds admitted no starlight, leaving the sky barely brighter than the tar-black water. As the humid air rushed past him, he could smell the river turn brackish. He could feel the mighty swell of the ocean calling the river home.

  Pulling up near the bank, he took his hand off the throttle and glided to a stop. He dropped anchor, took off his clothes and dove into the bay, down and down, into the quiet cocoon. He floated in the depths, using the bay’s energy to fix himself in place, to sustain himself without air.

  All this kinetic power. Hundreds of thousands of tons of fresh water pushing to the Atlantic and the humans fail to harness it. They cannot even manage to keep the bay clean.

  Barakiel snickered at himself. His mood was truly foul. He’d meant what he’d said to Zan, that he knew she’d find Archibaud. That’s why he’d sent her to Charlotte Emory, a legitimate, useful contact. If she was going to find the man anyway, at least he could stop lying to her for that brief time. At least once, he could help her.

  Soon, Zan might hear that a large, blue-eyed, blond man and his dark, green-eyed companion had visited Archibaud in his shop and put a fright into him. She would hear that they pursued the very same men now sought by the police. Barakiel supposed there was a chance Archibaud would tell the French police only about the false monks. He might answer only the questions put to him. If he was not asked if anyone else had been looking for these men, perhaps he wouldn’t tell them.

  Somehow I doubt I will get that lucky.

  Pellus didn’t have to know. Not yet. Not until Archibaud spoke to the police. Barakiel considered whether another visit to Archibaud was a good idea, to make him understand that it was in his best interest to keep his mouth shut. He tried to think like Pellus.

  I know what he would say. It is too risky to make another appearance there, now that the authorities are sniffing around.

  Though it made him feel cowardly, Barakiel had no plans to tell Pellus that he’d pointed Zan in the right direction. At least he was confident the police would never find them based on Archibaud’s description.

  No, the only way this could come back to them was through Zan. The instant she heard “large blond man,” she would know. Barakiel could say it was impossible. He could point out that there was no record of Pellus and him ever entering France. That they were on no flight manifest. He didn’t think it would matter. Deep down, Zan knew he was hiding something. She would confront him. She would demand to know why he’d traveled to France. How he’d traveled to France.

  I will tell her, but I need time. To restore my reputation as a warrior. To regain Pellus as my traveler. After the equinox, I will tell her everything. I hope she loves me enough.

  The thought filled him with fear. He didn’t want to lose her. He swam powerfully toward the ocean. He caught a current and rode.

  My love, if you leave me I do not know how I will live.

  As he turned to swim back upstream, Barakiel thought with bitter amusement that this push against the current mirrored his usual state of existence. He relished the strength it took. What else could he do? He enjoyed the feel of his strong heart pumping blood through his body as his muscles absorbed the relentless power of the tide.

  CHAPTER 12

  The Turning

  BARAKIEL SHOUTED with exhilaration as he hacked his way through a dense swarm of demons in pursuit of the fleeing Corrupted. Lucifer had thrown everything he had at them this turn. The dark lord must have surmised that Osmadiel’s weakened battalion was the most likely to allow a breach in the defensive lines. But he had not accounted for his son, who exploded into battle like Balance incarnate.

  The other warriors caught his fire. Wordlessly, they followed him and fought as they never had before. They forced back the swarm and fell upon the Corrupted, blades flashing. Barakiel’s blue sword sliced through dark warrior after dark warrior, leaving them to be finished by his comrades as he turned Lucifer’s own strategy against him and sought to collapse his formation.

  Having slaughtered his way to his goal, Barakiel saw that Osmadiel was ready. She took her squad of warriors and rushed in from the left flank, amid the ferocious din of swords meeting axes. The demons were no more than a forest of flesh to be felled. The formation would collapse at any moment. Barakiel shouted again as he leaped and spun in midair, bringing his legendary sword down to split open the skull of the dark warrior in command of Lucifer’s forces.

  The battle became a rout. When it was over, the warriors assembled in the bloody aftermath. Osmadiel traveled the lines, praising her warriors for their skill. When she came to Barakiel she tilted her head, taking his measure.

  “And you. Such kinetic perfection.” She leaned in close so no others would hear her. “No wonder there are those on the Council who fear you.”

  Covalent City

  The battalion gathered on the Great Plaza after the battle. As news spread of the most successful battle the Council Forces had waged in some time, the citizens came out to cheer and congratulate them, many pointing at Barakiel as he walked beside his fellow warriors, his armor covered in the black blood of the Corrupted. Barakiel felt proud as he walked among the fanfare.

  I will show them that failure in battle is not who I am.

  Warriors had fallen, but Barakiel suspected Osmadiel would hold her solemn words for later. Now, they would feast. They would revel in their skill and cleanse themselves of sadness so they could take this success into the next battle like a shield.

  When the warriors were assembled and roll call had been taken, the high commander stood before them.

  “Hail, warriors. This turn, we have routed Lucifer’s forces.” Osmadiel’s voice boomed through the Conduit to roll across the plaza. Her battalion roared in response. “The citizens, in their gratitude, are preparing a grand welcome home. This turn, we shall feast in the Hall of the Ancients!”

  The battalion roared again before the warriors moved off to shed the stink of battle. Barakiel approached Osmadiel to take his leave.

  “High commander,” he said, bowing. “I want to thank you for giving me this opportunity to redeem myself. I am in your debt.”

  “Do not be ridiculous. I am in your debt, you splendid creature. You will sit by my side in the Hall of the Ancients and we will toast to the grisly pile of corpses we left behind us in the Turning.”

  “With respect, high commander, I cannot. Pellus is no longer my traveler, and he is the only one who can cloak me so that I may stay longer in the Realm.”

  Osmadiel blew air forcefully from her lips. “Ah, yes, the Council’s lame excuse for keeping you from us. As high commander, I give you permission to attend uncloaked. Lucifer is not going to mount an incursion this turn, not after the way you feasted on the brains of his Corrupted.”

  “Ha! That is a gruesome image.”

  “I have a flair for such things.” Osmadiel threw her arm around him. “Now come with me. We will send word to Remiel to join us and we will act like fools while our duty allows it.”

  Table after table of eating, drinking and laughing warriors filled the cavernous Hall of the Ancients. Their joyous energy sent strokes of bold color tearing along the walls. The quickeners gathered and used that energy to produce spirited music for the feast. Sitting between Osmadiel and Remiel at the high commander’s table, Barakiel turned down yet another invitation to slip out later to the chambers of a warrior.

  I wish I could tell them I belong to another.

  “How many is that now, Barakiel?” Remiel asked, an impish gleam in her eye.

  “I have not kept track.”

  “I count eleven,” O
smadiel said. “Mostly female. I cannot understand why you did not accept that last one. She is among the most beautiful unmated warriors in the Realm.”

  “That she is, high commander, but attending the feast uncloaked is one thing. I do not think even you could give me permission to remain for the purposes of a tryst.”

  “Ah, such a waste,” Osmadiel said with a sigh. “But then again, rumor has it that only the Sylvan Three are good enough for you.” Remiel choked on a swig from her goblet as Osmadiel continued. “Yes. I am sure it takes all three of them to handle you.”

  “I am not coupling with the Sylvan Three.”

  Osmadiel’s face turned sober. “Speaking of the Three, they certainly outdid themselves when they healed you, judging from the way the power flows through you now.”

  Barakiel glanced at Remiel then met Osmadiel’s gaze with a studied lack of expression.

  “Yes. I am grateful beyond words.”

  “Here is what I do not understand.” Osmadiel leaned in. “How was it that you entered battle in the last phase so weak you could not kill a single Corrupted? What is the explanation?”

  Quashing an impulse to evade the high commander’s stare, Barakiel kept his breath even.

  “Stranger still,” Osmadiel continued, “in your very next battle you deal so much death that we rout your father’s forces.” She leaned in further so she would not be overheard, her green eyes like lasers. “I can only conclude that you were severely out of Balance during our previous battle.”

  Barakiel’s expression did not change.

  “Were you?” she demanded.

  “Yes, high commander.”

  “And it was not caused by an event in the Covalent Realm?”

  “No, high commander.”

  “So, would you mind telling me how you lost Balance?”

  “I would rather not, high commander.”

  “That is unacceptable, warrior.”

  “Please, high commander,” Remiel said. She reached toward Osmadiel with her hands palm up. “With the utmost respect, I ask you to forego an answer. I know why Barakiel lost Balance, and I assure you, he did not become so afflicted due to any vile purpose or action. His actions were honorable.”

  Osmadiel wore a thoughtful expression as she scrutinized the battalion commander. “You must give me more assurance than that, Remiel.”

  “Barakiel was defending the weak, high commander. Some men in the Earthly Realm were slaughtering innocents. He stopped them.” Remiel placed her hand on her warrior’s shoulder as Osmadiel inspected him. He held her eyes to show he had nothing to hide.

  “Your commander trusts you, Barakiel. And evidently, you trust your commander.”

  “With my life.”

  “Lucky for you, I also trust your commander,” Osmadiel said. “I will forego the details, and your secret is safe with me. I did not get to be high commander by misjudging the quality of my warriors.”

  “You honor me,” Remiel said. “I am at your disposal for anything you may need, as is Barakiel.”

  “Anything you may need, high commander,” echoed Barakiel, showering her with thanks.

  “Judging from the battle this turn, I need your tactical mind as well as your sword. We all do. And yes, you are welcome. Now drink up. I promise to shield you from the many warriors attempting to seduce you.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Philadelphia

  WHEN HE EMERGED from the rift, Pellus found Barakiel sitting on the bank of the river in the late afternoon sun with a number of scruffy cats around him. Pellus approached with a cheerful step. He’d been forbidden to visit the Earthly Realm and was surprised by how much he enjoyed ignoring the prohibition.

  I seem to have been infected by my warrior’s taste for rebellion.

  Though risky, the trip was necessary. The two Covalent needed to discuss how they would convince the Council to return Pellus to his duty as Barakiel’s traveler, and the local followers of the false monks were still out there. More important, Pellus did not want the task of blocking the Corrupted from coming through the axial rift left to any other traveler. Barakiel had defeated them once, but it was by no means a given.

  “I will never understand your affection for those creatures,” Pellus said, gesturing to the cats who moved off as he neared.

  “Have you ever seen a cat hunt? They have the pure focus of the natural predator.”

  “You have your notions.” Pellus sat beside the warrior. “We need to discuss how we can get me back to my rightful duty.”

  “Honestly, if I continue to fight the way I did during my last battle, I think they will grant my request to have you as my traveler again,” Barakiel said. “I think it would help if the Guild were to vouch for you, and you were to stay on your best behavior.”

  “You mean, like not sneaking off to the Earthly Realm when I am supposed to be with Jeduthan?” They shared a smile before they discussed what this best behavior should entail, for the adept and the warrior.

  “So, have you been able to make any progress in the search for the false monks’ followers without me?” Pellus asked.

  “No. I am not good at that like you are.” Barakiel stared at the ground and dug at the dirt with his foot. “I have the name of the business agent for the entity that rented the house. I need you to infiltrate its computer system.”

  “I cannot do that until I am reassigned as your traveler,” Pellus said. “I doubt it will be before the equinox.”

  The two Covalent watched a ship make its sluggish way downriver as Barakiel recounted the conversation with Osmadiel at the feast. Pellus sighed with relief before he noticed Barakiel rubbing his forearm.

  “All right,” he said. “What is bothering you?”

  “Uh, the terrible things I said about Jeduthan.” The warrior gave him a sideways glance from under a furrowed brow. “Will she forgive me?”

  “You should make it right with her as soon as you have the chance.”

  Barakiel gripped his forearm, his discomfort unabated. Pellus told him not to worry. “She will forgive you,” he said, rising to leave.

  “I hope you are right.” Barakiel did not look convinced. He blinked a few times. “Zan is coming here in a little while,” he said with sudden enthusiasm. “You should wait and say hello. She was overjoyed when I told her we had resolved our differences.”

  The adept sighed again, although this time it was not with relief.

  If I want him to make it right with Jeduthan, I suppose I can say hello to Zan.

  “I am wearing robes. She will find it odd.”

  “You have clothes here. You can change. And do not forget to make yourself seem older.”

  Zan arrived a half hour later. Pellus sat with Barakiel at the kitchen table. They rose as she entered.

  “My love. Pellus waited here to say hello, though he cannot stay long.” Barakiel kissed her, running his hand down her arm to clasp her hand in his. What Pellus saw nearly caused him to fall back into his seat.

  What in all the realms?

  When Zan had come through the door, Pellus adjusted his perception to see only the surfaces of things so he would seem less strange to her. But when Barakiel touched Zan’s skin a burst of energy brought the phenomenon screaming to his attention.

  They vibrate in time! Guardian save me, their energy communicates! How is this possible? Has he transformed her somehow?

  Pellus lowered his eyes when he saw Zan react to the quality of his stare. Fortunately, Barakiel had not seen his reaction because he was still gazing at Zan. He squeezed her hand, exciting their components once more. Zan’s energy answered her mate’s. They were in harmony. The adept’s mind raced.

  He must have done it to her. Love. I am looking at love. I thought he was deceiving himself.

  “Wonderful to see you again, Pellus,” Zan said. She shook his hand. Pellus tried manfully to quell his confusion.

  “Lovely to see you, Zan. I hope you have been catching many criminals.”

  “N
ot so many lately, but we will persevere. How about you? Things going well in the business world?”

  “August was unusually busy. I expect Barakiel and I will have even more to do this month.” He hoped his agitation had not crept into his voice. He glanced at the clock over the kitchen sink. “Oh, look at the time. The cab will be here any minute.” He hesitated and looked around.

  My robes.

  “Pardon me, Rainer, but I think I left the package I need in your guest room. Let me fetch it.”

  “I’ll get it.” Barakiel walked off before Pellus could stop him.

  Zan took a deep breath. She smiled weakly. “I’m so happy that you and Rainer resolved your differences,” she said, a slight quiver in her voice. “I know you have your doubts about this relationship, but he seemed kind of lost without you. I was worried sick about him.” She gave Pellus an earnest look. “I hope you know I don’t ever want to come between you.”

  “I know. Do not worry. The last thing I want is to cause him pain. He has had enough of that in his life.” Pellus spoke with a gentle tone but he wanted to shake her.

  And thanks to you, his worst pain is yet to come.

  “Yes. I can see it sometimes. Take care of him, Pellus. And really, you don’t need to worry about me. I have good intentions. I love him.”

  Guilt crept in to replace Pellus’ anger, along with a whisper of tenderness that surprised him.

  After all, none of this is her fault.

  “Your love is becoming quite plain to me, Zan. I am sorry for all that has happened.”

  “We can get past it,” she said, his words lighting her up.

  He has given himself to you. If I told him what I see, he would tell you everything. I cannot allow it. Forgive me, Zan.

  The elevator couldn’t move fast enough for Zan. She shifted her weight back and forth on her feet, drawing glances from her fellow passengers. She was anxious to begin her video conference with Marie Joselet, the inspecteur général in Aix en Provence.