Forgiven

by Gina Detwiler

  I have survived another shooting. This is getting ridiculous.

  Silas groans and rolls over, holding his chest. I bend down to help him up.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  He rises slowly, his face pale with shock. He nods cautiously.

  “Thank God,” I say. “I was afraid you’d been shot—”

  He turns me to face him and studies me carefully. Then he pulls me into his arms and hugs me so fiercely, I can barely breathe.

  “Thank God,” he says, his voice like a sob. “Thank God.”

  His body trembles, and I am aware of his love pouring out of him into my soul.

  “What the—” From the other side of the shattered window, Penny gazes in horror at the destruction.

  Silas releases me and I almost fall down again. Every inch of my body trembles.

  “Call nine-one-one,” he says, although we can already hear the distant sirens.

  Here we go again. I am a little tired of this Britney Spears.

  “This was a professional hit,” I say. “No way was it random.”

  “Torega,” Penny whispers.

  And then the building is bathed in flashing red lights.

  ***

  How is it that I managed to find myself in the middle of yet another debacle? Just lucky, I guess.

  I remember the name my mother had originally given me. Mallory. Misfortune. My curse.

  Silas and I ride in a police cruiser to the station to give our statements. The detective assigned to the case is the same one who had covered the school shooting. Detective Marconi.

  “Grace Fortune,” he says when he sees me. “Are you still getting shot at?”

  Buffalo detectives are hilarious.

  I tell him I had barely arrived home when the car pulled up and opened fire.

  “Are you sure this wasn’t random?”

  “I’m sure. It has something to do with the drug bust at Silo City.” I don’t mention the whole Satanic ritual part—that had been left out of the media reports.

  “Okay, well, I’ll look into it and inform Narcotics that we might have cartel involvement. They’ll want to talk to you at some point. Do you have someplace safe to go? Otherwise, I can put you in protective custody.”

  “Thanks. I have a place.”

  Ripley and Penny are in the waiting area with Silas when I’m released.

  “We came in the van,” Ripley says. “To make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m okay.”

  Silas gives me a long hug. “Maybe the bike shop wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “It was a great idea. We’ll fix it. We’ll open it again. In time for summer.” His smile is bleak. “They will not win,” I say through gritted teeth. And I wasn’t only talking about the cartel. I mean them. Every evil force that is trying to mess with our lives.

  ***

  We climb into the PsychoVan and Ripley drives off, taking a route to the Hobbit Hole I can only call “circuitous.”

  “Mace told someone,” I say.

  “No way,” Penny says. “He wouldn’t.”

  “You don’t know him as well as you think you do. He could be secretly working for the cartel. He knows about the bike shop. He knows where we live.”

  “No way. And I told you not to open the shop. Anyone could have seen you. The cartel has eyes everywhere. Mason didn’t do this.”

  Mace is equally emphatic. As soon as we get to the Hobbit Hole, I accuse him of being a mole. He denies it and starts crying.

  “He didn’t do anything.” Penny continues to defend him. “There are all kinds of kids hanging out at the bike shop. One of them probably ratted you out.”

  “Why are you always taking his side?” I yell.

  “I will turn myself in to him. I’d let him kill me if it would stop this,” Mace says. “If it will prove to you I had nothing to do with it!”

  “Fine. Do it!”

  “Calm down.” Silas puts an arm around me.

  “Let’s all sit and discuss this.” Even Ralph is rattled. “Emilia, hot chocolate is in order.”

  I sit with Silas on the couch, still shaking. Ripley sits on the edge of an ottoman. Penny and Mace are on the floor, way too close together. She puts her arm around him, comforting him. How bizarre this is. I can’t help but think of the night I walked into my apartment and saw Penny on the floor, bleeding, with Torega standing over her. And Mace’s knife at my throat, his voice in my ear—

  I remember something.

  Emilia hands out cups of hot chocolate.

  “Now.” Ralph settles into his chair. “Mason swears he has had no contact with Torega. He has rejected Satan and been forgiven. That much we know.”

  “Then let him prove it,” I say.

  “How?” Mace says. “I’ll do anything.”

  “Okay, then. That night you and Torega attacked us, he told you something about me. He said, ‘with her blood, we will have all the power we need.’ Do you remember that?”

  A guilty look creeps across Mace’s face. “Yeah. He needed the blood…for an offering.” He pauses and glances at Penny. “That’s why we kidnapped you.”

  “But why my blood? Why me?”

  “It was required by Ogun.”

  “Ogun?” says Silas.

  “All the cartel bosses offer sacrifices to their gods. There are many gods of Santeria. Ogun is the patron god of criminals.”

  “There’s a patron god for criminals?” Disgust edges Penny’s voice.

  “What’s Santeria?” I ask.

  “It’s their religion. Kind of a cross between Catholicism and voodoo,” says Mace. “You have to make offerings in exchange for protection and power. Ogun demands blood offerings. Animals. Goats, chickens. And sometimes…humans.”

  “Human sacrifices?” Penny whispers.

  “In Mexico, people disappear, mostly children, and no one looks for them. They’re just gone. La Parca believes his sacrifices are the reason for his success. He’s never been caught.”

  “Have you heard of Ogun?” I ask Ralph.

  He nods grimly. “Ogun is the god of iron…and rum. The proponent of war and metal-making. Swords in particular. Who does that sound like?”

  “Azazel,” I say.

  “Exactly.”

  “So Ogun and Azazel are the same?” asks Penny.

  “We don’t know the exact relationship between the pagan gods and the Watchers,” says Ralph. “But it seems they are closely linked. Remember, Ogun is also a god of rum—a drug. A natural fit for drug dealers.”

  “But Torega said he wanted my blood,” I say. “Not Penny’s. Penny was already knocked out. They could have taken her. But they waited for me.”

  “Obviously, they believe your blood has some sort of special power,” says Ralph. “Often, the cartels target people with special gifts. College students, for instance, because they are considered smart. The higher the status of the victim, the greater the power gained. Right, Mason?”

  Mace nods.

  “You have such a gift, Grace. Your Song. Azazel knows about it. So do all the demons associated with Torega. And therefore, Torega himself. And La Parca.”

  “We have to stop this.” Penny raises her tear-streaked face, her eyes shining like glass. “We need to find his shrine and destroy it.”

  “His shrine?” I say.

  “If we destroy the shrine, we destroy his power.”

  “She’s right,” says Mace. “Most of the drug lords have shrines where they do their rituals. But I don’t know where Torega’s shrine to Ogun is. He never let me go there.”

  “So we find it and destroy it,” says Penny.

  “We cannot be a party to the destruction of private property No matter how evil.” Ralph folds his hands as if in prayer. “This is a job for the police.”

  “I agree,” I say. “So, Mace, if you really want to prove your innocence, call him.”

  “What?” Mace straightens, alarmed.

  “Call Torega. Tell him you know how to f
ind me.”

  “Are you crazy?” Penny blurts.

  “It’s me Torega wants,” I say. “Not Mace. Not Penny. Me. So let’s give him what he wants. I’ll talk to Marconi. We’ll set up a sting like they do on TV.”

  “No way,” says Silas. “You can’t do this—put yourself in the hands of the enemy.”

  “Paul testified before emperors and kings,” I say.

  “Paul was executed!”

  “This is a job for law enforcement—” Ralph begins.

  I cut him off. “Mace, you can still contact Torega, can’t you?”

  Mace looks around nervously. “I don’t know if he has changed his phone…”

  “Call him. Tell him you want to give him an offering in exchange for your own life. Tell him that if he will cancel the hit on you, you will give him me.”

  “This is madness.” Ralph frowns.

  “Absolutely not!” Silas coughs with the effort to raise his voice.

  But my mind is made up.

  37: Lion

  Jared

  Horror seizes my insides as I watch Mike descend through the crevasse. Yet, as he falls, his body changes, lengthens, takes on mass and muscle. His cropped dark hair grows and lightens to a sunburst around his head. He lands on his feet, his brown skin shimmering like polished bronze.

  Michael.

  I gasp. How could I not have known him?

  He draws his sword. It flares in the ice, blazing with fire and light. The Nephilim scatter in fear, shielding their eyes. Michael aims the sword at Rael, who stands his ground.

  “What are you doing here, Angel?” he bellows, although his body trembles with fear. The fur of his cloak begins to smoke and curl.

  “I came for the kid.” Michael’s voice is a curious mix of archangel and human Mike. I wonder how I never heard it before. His power to conceal his true nature for months on end—it’s astonishing. As is the reason for it. To protect me.

  Rael roars like a wounded bear. His arm shoots out, impossibly long, and his fingers encircle my neck. He forces me to my knees and his claws dig into my flesh, cutting my breath off.

  “Stay back or he dies!”

  I try to dislodge his grip, but his strength overpowers me. I hang helplessly, my eyes on Michael, who continues to advance. The flaming sword makes the ice around us pop and crack.

  “Let him go,” the archangel says.

  “I will kill him!”

  “No, you won’t.”

  I’m pretty sure he would. Rael’s grip tightens and his claws puncture my neck. My breath gurgles as blood trickles into my lungs.

  “Elohim has claimed him.” Michael continues his slow advance. Faster! I’m dying here. Rael stumbles backward, dragging me with him.

  “Liar.”

  My vision becomes a flashing aura as sharp daggers of pain shot through my body. I have known pain before, but it has never touched me greatly, not like this. This is the prelude to death.

  And yet, through this haze of agony, the words Michael spoke begin to penetrate. Elohim has claimed him. Could this be true? For I am no different from Rael, no different from any other monster in that cave.

  “Let him go!” Michael’s voice rises to thunder. The sword flares and a tongue of flame leaps toward us. Rael gasps and releases me as his fur cloak bursts into flame. He screams in rage.

  I collapse, breathing blood as a numbness spreads to my limbs. I close my eyes—there is no difference now, everything is gray and black. Then something presses against my throat, a heat like a brand. My body jerks and flinches as air floods into my lungs. I open my eyes to see Michael standing over me, his free hand wrapped around my neck.

  “Better?” He pulls me up and tosses me onto his back. “Hang on.”

  The others rush in, screeching in fury, their claws out and teeth bared. They are no match for Michael’s sword which swings in a wide, lethal arc and ignites their cloaks with streaks of flame. They shriek and fall back, rolling on the ground.

  “Jared!” Rael rushes toward us, his cloak gone, burned to ash. I see his body for the first time—the massive, muscular torso, the legs and arms twice the length of a man. Silvery green scales have replaced his skin, and snake-like tentacles protrude from his shoulders and sides, giving the appearance of wings. A spiked, serpent tail sweeps around his powerful legs. His fingers and toes are long and sharp, like talons.

  Part man, part monster.

  Rael’s voice rises to a hoarse roar. “Jared, we are your destiny. You look human now, but one day, you will be like us. Condemned to the shadows and cursed by God. But all that will change when we are joined with our fathers. We will become our true selves again. We will be free and you will be our king, Jared. You will rule the New Earth—”

  “Enough!” Michael bellows, raising the sword. Melting ice drips on my head and puddles on the floor.

  “Do you want to know why I came to rescue this one?” Michael says. “Because long ago, even after he knew what he was and what he would become, he chose a different path. Not because he feared death but because he feared a life without love. Without peace. Without joy. You, cursed ones, were born without love or peace or joy. Your only craving is for power. Dominion. Blood. But you too can choose another path, the Way of Elohim. Most of you won’t. This one is the first of your kind to do it—and probably the last.”

  Michael sheathes the sword. The cave darkens. He carries me to the spot directly beneath the opening. I remember then how I carried him on my back when we climbed to the ridge to see the Northern Lights. His muscles compress as they gather strength, and with an explosion of power, he springs upward, to the top of the crevasse. He lands on the ice five feet from the opening.

  I slide off his back and peer down at the scene below. The Nephilim gather, chattering like lunatic birds while chunks of ice fall upon their heads. Rael mournfully wails my name, drawing it out into a lament.

  “Jaaaareeed…”

  I look at Michael. He is Mike again. Sitting opposite me on the ice, he rubs the top of his head and smiles. “Surprised?”

  “I should have known.”

  “Yes. You should have.”

  I take another breath. Breathing has become a new experience. “Is it true? What you said?”

  He sighs. “Elohim sent me to take you from the fire once before, remember? I admit I argued against it. I thought you would be nothing but trouble, and frankly, I was right.”

  “After what I did—”

  “You should know by now that nothing you do is a surprise to Elohim. And there is nothing you can do to thwart His will. He is still in control. He will have the final say.”

  I glance below, at the screaming Nephilim. “Will you leave them to die?”

  “They will not die. Not yet.”

  I nod and raise a hand to my throat. The skin is unbroken. Healed.

  “Oh, one more thing.” Mike grabs the back of my neck. A sharp pain knifes the base of my skull and I gasp. He withdraws his hand to reveal a small metal disk in his palm.

  “It’s a tracking device. They inserted it when you were on the yacht. That’s how they found you.”

  “I thought it was—”

  “You thought it was me.” He shakes his head, disappointed. “I was sent to protect you. But Speer is still after you. He needs more blood.”

  “Why doesn’t he simply use his own? He’s a Nephilim now.”

  “He’s discovered that there are complications. The new cells are mutating. He needs constant infusions. And they’ve been unable to synthesize your DNA. He’s begun to realize that your genes don’t work like ordinary genes so he needs you back. You signed a contract. Legally, he can milk you like a cow for the rest of your life. You should have read the fine print.”

  “What do I do now?”

  “Go home,” he says, getting to his feet. “Your family needs you.”

  I stand up and glance once more into the crevasse. “How long does it take—to become like them?”

  He laughs
. “Don’t worry, you won’t live that long.” He grips my shoulder, and suddenly I am surrounded in a light so bright it seems as though I have fallen into the center of the sun.

  When the brightness fades, I stand on the street before the burned hulk of the Mansion.

  And spring has come.

  Part Five

  Absolution

  38: Pressure

  Angel

  Speer hurls his beloved pinball machines into the bulkhead of the yacht, irreparably damaging both. He rages at the man standing before him—the leader of the team that tried to capture Jared in Seiland. The man’s body is rigid with fear, his hands clasped in front of him as if facing a firing squad.

  “How could you let him get away?”

  We had him.” The man speaks with a German accent. “But he was rescued.”

  “By whom?”

  “I…don’t know. They looked like…abominable snowmen.”

  “What?” The veins in Speer’s neck pop dangerously

  “We have pictures.” The man produces a smart phone from his jacket pocket. He searches for images then holds the phone up for his boss. The images are fuzzy and indistinct, a chain of furred blobs linked together, hauling Jared Lorn up the cliff.

  Speer stares at the phone, then snatches it away and flings it into the broken pile of pinball machines.

  “Take your crew back there,” he says. “Find those things. Whatever they are. Maybe they still have him.”

  “Do you think he’s still…alive?”

  “He’d better be.”

  “Darwin.” Lucille’s voice floats from a doorway. She wears a black kimono, her hair undone as if she’d just woken up. “What’s all the noise about?”

  “They lost him,” Speer says. “They had him, then they lost him. And the tracker’s gone too.” He sinks onto the couch, balls his fists, and smashes them onto his knees so hard he makes bruises.

  “You need to get a grip on yourself.” Lucille waves her hand to dismiss the man. She sits beside Speer on the couch, pulls one of his fists away and holds it tight.

  “If we don’t find him…I can’t…”

  “I know, but we will find him. You have the best people in the world working for you.”