A shadow passes over me. I glance up to see something breaking through the mist. It’s black and multi-limbed, like a prehistoric spider. The rumble becomes a roar, but it sounds mechanical now, like an engine at full throttle.
This is not Azazel. This is a helicopter—shining black, with the golden spear emblem on its nose.
I grab the rudder and throw the motor into reverse, hoping to pull the boat out of the vortex. But the motor is not strong enough. The bow is already swamped and there’s nothing I can do but jump into the icy water. The chopper lands only a few feet away from me and pontoons burst from its skids. An inflatable raft springs from the open door.
I swim toward the cliff, grab onto a handhold on the rockface, and start climbing. I glance behind me to see the powered raft racing toward me with two men aboard. One drives and the other raises a rifle. A pinging noise echoes off the cliff and something slams into my shoulder. Not a bullet—a dart. Heat spreads down my arm—it seems to weigh a hundred pounds. I keep climbing and force my arm up, although I rapidly begin to lose strength. The top of the cliff is still a hundred feet above. I have little chance of making it, but still I climb, determined to fight until the very end. Another dart pierces my leg. The numbness travels like fire through my body. My arm freezes and my fingers slip from the rock. My legs become like molten lead.
I close my eyes and let go.
34: Battlefield
Grace
I grab the laptop out of Ethan’s hands and read the entire story aloud. Dana Martinez died by hanging in a hotel room in Los Angeles. Her death was ruled a suicide. While she had a history of drug use, friends said she’d been off drugs for over a year and she hadn’t been depressed. In fact, she’d recently gone back to school. And there was evidence that she’d “changed her mind” and tried to get loose from the rope when it was too late.
I don’t believe Dana Martinez killed herself. Darwin Speer killed her. Darwin Speer is a Nephilim, and he cannot control his new power. He will kill again. If more people undergo his treatment, it might happen to them too. It will be like a zombie apocalypse, only worse because these zombies will be strong and beautiful and fast. I’m reasonably certain even I could outrun a zombie. But I’d never outrun a Nephilim.
“You need to call the police,” says Bree.
“And what will she tell them?” Ethan asks. “That Darwin Speer killed a woman because he’s a Nephilim?”
“We can’t let him get away with this.”
“You don’t even know for sure if the girl was murdered. The report says suicide.”
Bree tosses her hair. “We should get the case reopened.”
“Who are you now? Veronica Mars?”
“She’s right,” I say. “I’ll call Bradford, the detective I met in California. He might listen.”
Bree claps. “Let’s do it now. It’s three hours earlier there, anyway. Maybe he’s still at work.”
We use Ethan’s laptop to search for Lieutenant Bradford. It isn’t as easy as I thought it would be—Bradford is a common name in California, and I don’t remember his first name. I narrow it down to a couple of precincts and call around until I finally get the right place. His phone goes to voicemail, so I leave a message.
He calls me back five minutes later.
“Grace Fortune?”
“You remember me?”
“How could I forget? Craziest case I ever worked. How is everything? How’s that friend of yours, the rock star?”
“Oh, he’s fine.” I swallow hard. “I’m calling to tell you something you might not believe.”
“Why am I not surprised? What’s up?”
“Well, you know that case about the woman who killed herself, Dana Martinez? Girlfriend of Darwin Speer?”
“Uh, yeah, sure. It’s not my case but I read about it.”
“I have good reason to believe that Speer murdered her.”
I hear a faint cough. “The Mars guy? What makes you think that?”
“Because he recently underwent a procedure that changed his genetic structure in a way that might cause him to commit murder.”
There’s a pause on the line.
“Come again?”
“I know it sounds a little crazy, but could you at least take a look at the case? I mean, I am dead serious—Speer did this.”
“That case is closed, Grace. Even if I did ‘look into it,’ it would take an act of God to have it re-opened.”
Maybe we would get one of those.
“Can’t you just say you got an anonymous tip and they should re-examine the evidence? Didn’t the family say there was no way Dana would have killed herself?”
“I know, but they always—”
“There was no note. And there was a sign of struggle. Isn’t that unusual in suicide cases?”
“You could be right.” He pauses, breathing heavily. “Look, I’m in Special Crimes, but I have a buddy in Homicide. I’ll run this by him. Now that I think about it, that case was wrapped up pretty fast. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll see what I can find out and get back to you.”
I thank him profusely and hang up.
“He said he’d do it,” I say triumphantly. Bree cheers. Ethan rolls his eyes.
***
I drive home and park on the curb in front of the Lighthouse. A faint light and strains of classical music emanate from the bike shop. Silas must be working late. I hate when he does that. He needs rest and is pushing himself too hard—perhaps even becoming obsessed. I consider going in to tell him about Dana Martinez, but I’m too tired. It can wait until morning.
Halfway up the steps, I change my mind. I should tell him now. Right this minute. I go back down and out onto the street. The door to the shop is locked. I can’t see Silas—he must be in the workshop in the back. I rattle the door and bang on the glass but there’s no response. He probably has his music turned up too loud.
I give up and return to the stairs. As I start up to the loft, I hear the squeal of tires on the street and hurry back down to street level. A car weaves erratically down the middle of the road. A drunk driver, I immediately assume and duck into the doorway in case it lurches onto the sidewalk.
The car pulls to the curb and almost crashes into my car. My heart skips a beat. The rattling engine idles but no one gets out.
Burglars, casing the place? Bike burglars? Or merely a drunk who happened to pick our building to pass out in front of.
I should go back inside and up to the loft. Maybe call the police. That’s what I should do.
But I don’t.
I take a breath and step out into the open. At the same time, Silas comes out of the back room, rolling a bike. I dart for the door. He sees me and comes to open it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the back window of the idling car roll down and a black object emerge that could only be the muzzle of a gun.
Make that a rifle, a semi-automatic. Pop, pop, pop explodes in my ears. The front windows of the shop shatter. Silas shouts, hauls the door open, and I dive through. We both sprawl on the floor amid shattered glass. Bullets splinter the back counter, the wall, and my every thought.
I scream. A lot. I lie on top of Silas and hold him down. He tries to get up, but I won’t let him.
Then I sing.
35: Knights of Cydonia
Jared
I don’t hit the water.
I’m stopped by…something. A counter force, defying gravity, attaches to my coat and wraps around my waist. Instead of falling, I now rise rapidly. The men in the boat shout and point. They probably see what has me, although I can’t.
I struggle to turn my head but catch only glimpses of a chain of black fur reaching all the way to the top of the cliff. I am being reeled up as if with a fishing line, smooth and effortless. But by what? Bears?
At the top, I am flung onto the ice. I still can’t move but something turns me over. I stare at the furred creatures gathered around me. Several pairs of bright blue eyes peer out from cloaks of black fur.
The figures are huge, more than seven feet tall, their faces as white as snow, quite human and eerily beautiful.
Abominable snowmen—that is what they look like. Sasquatch. Yeti. Before I can speak, they pick me up by my arms and legs and run, virtually flying over the glacier at such speed that my stomach lurches into my throat.
And then I am falling—a dead drop into what I assume is a crevasse in the glacier. The white sky disappears. I land almost gently and am set down on a hard surface from which I stare up at a sea of blue waves like the underside of the ocean.
An ice cave inside the glacier.
The smell of fresh blood rises in my nostrils. The floor is littered with bones and ripped animal carcasses. Thick patches of red smear the rock floor and the ice walls. I try to move my arms and legs as the nerves ignite and the numbness wears off. The creatures make noises. I realize they are speaking a language I know—Archean, the language of angels.
These creatures are like no angels I’ve ever seen before.
They began to paw me with fur-covered hands, examining me.
Then I see teeth. Sharp, like fangs, as mouths open—blood-red mouths. I struggle to rise, to get away, but I am still too weak, and they are too many.
“Do not touch him!”
The voice commands in Archean. At once, they move away, making room for an even larger creature, this one at least nine feet tall. It bends down to inspect me, its blue eyes gleaming. The face, like the others, is very white, quite human.
It speaks in English.
“Welcome, Brother.”
***
Brother?
“It is you,” says the giant one. His voice is low, no more than a whisper. The others begin to chatter excitedly. “We had hoped for you to come. Jared Lorn. Our brother.”
I strain to find my voice. “Who are you?”
“I am Rael.” With that, he straightens and removes his fur hood. I gasp. Though his face is human, his head is elongated and covered in silvery-green scales, like that of some prehistoric reptile. “Do you know me now?”
I shake my head.
“Then I must tell you.” He sighs and sits on a block of ice that has been carved into a kind of throne. The others disperse—some pick bones up from the floor and gnaw at them, their eyes still on me, curious and hungry. I count fifteen. Several have removed their hoods to reveal the same elongated heads and scaly skin.
I sit up, flexing my fingers in an effort to get sensation back. I am in danger here. I search for an escape, but the crevasse is too high for me to jump, especially in my present condition.
“How did you know my name?” I ask.
“We have known of you for some time. Because you are one of us,” Rael says.
“One of you?”
He nods. “You don’t recognize us? Of course you don’t. We are supposed to be extinct. We should not have survived. But you—you have given us hope. That you were born into this world, that you have survived. They haven’t killed you. How is that possible?”
I am thoroughly confused. These creatures looks like nothing I have ever seen before, yet their leader seems to know all about me.
“What are you?” I ask. “Aliens?”
Rael laughs—the others join in. Their laughter is like nails streaking across steel. “We have been called that. And worse. Monsters. Trolls. Elves. Abominations. Giants.”
Giants? My heart slows and I feel the blood drain from my face.
“You are…” I cannot even say the word.
“We are you, Jared Lorn. The giants, the fallen ones, the gibborim, the rephaim…the Nephilim.”
Whatever strength I have leaves me. I slump forward, sickened.
Rael laughs again. “Now you see? You thought you were alone, didn’t you? The only one of your kind. You were wrong. It is true that not many of us remain. Our kind tends to kill each other if there’s no one else to kill. We must stay in the shadows, in the empty places. We must hide ourselves until the proper time.” He pauses and his gaze floats to the ceiling. “Once, we were like you—strong, beautiful, unconquerable. I was born when our ancestors the Merovingians still ruled Europe. When Mohammed first claimed to hear the voice of the angel Gabriel. When the Byzantines controlled the empire, and the Mayans ruled the far corners of the world.”
Fourteen hundred years ago.
“We are children of gods.” Rael sighs wistfully. “Our fathers, the Watchers, were princes of the divine. They shared their understandings with the humans of earth—the workings of the stars, the bending of metals, the secrets of the plants. The women loved our fathers and our fathers took them for wives and made them great with children. For this, they were condemned and imprisoned in Du’dael. Tartarus. The Abyss. But we survived. We the children of gods. We the Titans. Even the Flood could not destroy us completely. We built empires and forged kingdoms. The God of Israel hated us. His chosen people drove us from the land and murdered our kings. They stole our cities and empires. But we did not all die. We sought new lands, new kingdoms, built new empires—”
“And ravaged the earth,” I say. “I read the book. I know how it ends.”
“That was our curse,” says Rael. “The curse that made us slaves to our own power. We warred against our own. We killed our own. I am of the line of Samyaza, the greatest, the leader of the Enlightenment, when the gods gave their gifts to the humans.”
Samyaza. He was the co-leader with Azazel of the Watchers.
“You have lived here all this time?” I ask.
“We have traveled from all the corners of the world to this place. Called by our fathers, as you were called for the time of the Unleashing comes near.”
“The Unleashing?”
“You say you read the book,” Rael says with a sneer. “It is prophesied that in the seventieth generation, the Watchers will be released. They will rule again. The time is now at hand. You know this. You heard your father calling you.”
“You’re dreaming,” I say. “The Watchers cannot escape from the Abyss. I should know. I’ve been there.”
“You are wrong, Jared Lorn. It was you who made the Unleashing possible.”
“No!”
“You gave yourself to the world as a living sacrifice. It is your blood that now works in the hearts of the men who rule the world. You are the messiah of the Unleashing. We have waited for you for over a thousand years.”
Living sacrifice. My deal with Darwin Speer. A deal with the devil.
“That is why Darwin Speer comes for you,” Rael goes on. “You are his messiah too. He wants you for his own.”
I try to think. The helicopter. Speer’s henchmen. How did they know where I was?
Mike. It hits me like a thunderbolt. Mike wasn’t some random hiker. He’s a spy. For Speer. I should have known. He’d said we were brothers. He lied.
These creatures are my true brothers.
“Speer doesn’t even believe in the Abyss,” I say.
“That was before.”
“Before?”
“Before he became one of us.”
I shake my head, more to convince myself than Rael. “It’s still impossible. The portal is no longer here. It’s gone.”
“That does not matter.” Rael’s grotesque smile distorts the beauty of his face. “All he needed was the general location. Now, he will aim his machine at precisely the right place. He will break through.”
The collider.
I shake my head. “The collider can’t do that.”
“You know there is something between the seen and unseen, yes? The barrier between dimensions? Scientists call it the Wall. But we have another name. The Veil.” Rael rises to tower over me. “The machine will break the Veil.”
He is so close to me now, I can feel his breath, hot like a vapor on my face. He switches to Archean.
“When that happens, our fathers will be free.”
A sharp pain pierces my chest and radiates outward to electrify every nerve in my body. No, this is not what I had
planned. I intended to go into the Abyss, into my punishment, deserving of that end. I never meant to allow the Watchers to come out.
Rael withdraws, his expression puzzled. His head tilts to one side.
“Why are you not pleased, Jared Lorn? Is not this what you wanted?”
“No,” I say. “No.” I look up. I have to jump, have to try, at least. “I must go back. To warn them. To stop Speer—”
“Stop him?” Rael’s voice rises to a bellow. “Stop him? What are you talking about? You made this, Jared Lorn! You sacrificed your own body for us. You are our messiah, Son of Azazel!”
The others chant, Messiah, Son of Azazel in the Archean tongue. They pick up the bones scattered about and beat them against the ice, which shivers from the hideous racket. I put my hands over my ears, but still it cuts into my brain like a hot blade.
“Hey, Danny!”
The chanting breaks off. I look up to see a small brown head braced against the light spilling down from the crevasse. I frown. Mike?
He waves. “Need some help?”
Mike. The traitor has come to deliver me to Speer. But he is no match for these creatures.
“No,” I yell. “Go away, Mike! Don’t—”
But it’s too late. He’s already jumped.
36: Game of Survival
Grace
I sing the AngelSong, the song that is always in my head, even now. Notes and words in a language I don’t even know, and yet it vibrates through every corner of me, so that my body disappears and I become nothing but sound.
The shooting stops. I close my mouth and the Song dissolves. There is a moment, as brief as the space between heartbeats, when I sense my life hanging in the balance.
I see them, then—angels all around us, bright as morning stars, a room full of suns filling every empty space. It is beautiful and frightening, a light so complete that no Dark would stand a chance.
The engine revs and the car peels away.
The Light begins to fade. Objects come into view—bikes, broken glass, and Silas. I stand and as my lungs expand, there is no pain in my chest or anywhere else. I glance at my body, my arms and hands. No blood. No bullet holes.
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