Plush, patterned carpet looked exactly the way he expected any hotel hallway to look.
With nowhere else to go, he began padding across the carpet. Careful now not to make so much noise.
The only sound came from halfway down the hall. Nothing more than a tiny, tentative click.
A smallish woman appeared from one of the doorways.
She was worn and lean, almost masculine, and she smiled at him before she spoke in a childish voice. Whatever she said, it was not in English. Peni had heard many different languages in his life on the islands. She didn’t speak any of those either.
The walls seemed to shake and Peni could swear he saw a snake rise out of the red carpet in front of him.
His knees grew weak. So weak that he was forced to lean against the wall to support himself for a moment. The diminutive woman kept talking, and more strange images tried to skitter into his brain. Peni tried in vain to make out her words, hoping that clinging to something concrete like speech might stop the tide of disorientation.
The carpet-snake reared and hissed at him. Strange undulations in the walls and ceiling responded. More snakes that could not be.
The witch kept murmuring as a horde of unthings emerged from every surface. The expression on her face told Peni that she would relish his end. She would watch the impossible creatures tear his flesh apart.
An explosion interrupted her spell-casting.
Flash-bang grenade.
Six men in black pushed past him from behind, toward the woman.
Monks.
She disappeared through a door and they did not chase her.
Instead, one of the young soldiers turned back to him and began speaking. The others held their positions and waved the barrels of their guns cautiously around the corridor at all of its many doors.
Peni heard only a sharp ringing from the grenade. He absently wondered if his newly advanced hearing was a weakness when dealing with extremely loud noises, like the explosion.
Peni didn’t hear the explanation so much as he read the lips of the soldier screaming into his face.
The abort order had been given.
Their mission had failed
The Monks were here to get him out.
Peni’s heart sank and bitter bile rose in his throat.
Already so many lay dead on the courtyard below. Died in vain. The KC soldiers, men he’d seen burn and die, and the so-called Angels like himself -who had not asked but somehow still been chosen to become part of this fight- Peni regretted them.
His mind and body felt sluggish.
Perhaps the explosions had been too close for comfort, and his body was having a hard time healing fast enough.
No matter. He followed the rushing men, as they led him around corners and through doors to a balcony. Not just a balcony, the broad patio had a fountain and bar with sculptures of renaissance quality. It was huge, even up here near the top of the tower.
And it was only near the top.
He hadn’t even gotten all the way up.
Perhaps their plan had been flawed.
Maybe they should have attacked from the top down, rather than the opposite. Maybe he had placed too much faith in the plans of strange men. Peni didn’t know. For now, all that mattered was getting out of Babel, and getting the Monks that protected him out.
A brief firefight took place as more of the tower’s militia tried to gun down his exfiltration team and the copter that waited for them. Peni helped, absently hurling an oversized catering cart toward their attackers before he turned away. His vision was watery, his balance off.
Concussion?
No, not with this new Angelic body. After-effects of his run-in with the witch.
Five of the six Monks mounted the chopper efficiently. The slowest of them, or the bravest, Peni couldn’t tell, lingered to return fire just a little too long.
Peni threw an arm around the last Monk’s waist as he passed at a run and leapt off the edge of the patio into open space.
The soldier wailed like a woman.
Hundreds of feet below, fires raged. Too many of them.
Downed choppers.
Even burdened by the weight of the soldier, Peni cleared the tower faster than the helicopter could. Together, he and his startled cargo dove for the base, toward the remainder of their invasion force.
“No, No, NO!” The soldier screamed at him, gesturing toward his com link. Peni himself didn’t wear one.
“Full abort! We’ve been ordered to clear the tower!”
Above them, the helicopter had settled into an orbit of roughly twenty-five yards and was blasting the tower windows and balconies and skylights with its .50 caliber chain gun. A loud, but futile parting blow.
When the gun spun itself dry, the chopper dropped altitude and whirled away. Peni followed, back toward Nellis.
Below them, and slightly ahead, he could see four more of the Blackhawks retreating in formation. A group of the Fallen swarmed in half-hearted pursuit.
Four helicopters, of an original Eighteen.
Worse, they returned empty handed.
With his eagle eyes, Peni could see the enemy far below, smiling and cheering in celebration.
Peni and his new allies -the Sleepless Knights- had lost.
Salt Lake City, Utah
Aaron Dayne squinted against the lights of the debriefing room.
“He wasn’t in there Bishop.”
The keen black eyes glaring black at him glinted with dull disappointment, and maybe a little too much arrogant doubt.
He and the KC sniper -whose name Aaron still didn’t know- had broken into the building at street level and methodically searched the place. Scott and Serena mounted the roof to wait for the others to flush Brown out. Apparently the hardened Brazilian had decided to cut his losses and fled, somehow escaping in the confusion over Serena‘s unexpected arrival.
Aaron Dayne wiped the sweat from his brow, wanting a shower. Scott frowned deeply. Angered no doubt by the escape of one of his opposites.
“That’s my fault, I should have followed him in.”
The dull sniper corrected him.
“Negative. You did the right thing. You might be stronger and maybe even faster, but these bastards are still smart, and if they can get you quick and dirty like in an ambush, they will. It’s the only way they’ll ever have an advantage over you one-on-one.” It was the longest string of words anybody had heard him put together yet. The lean soldier appeared to be somewhat inspired after meeting Serena.
Scott didn’t look convinced, only shook his blonde head.
Serena stood next to him, and Aaron had a hard time not staring at her.
She had always been beautiful, but now that she too had become one of the Angels, she was stunning. It didn’t make all that much sense, because there was no easily-identifiable difference in her appearance. Still, there was a definite glow, similar to when she had been pregnant with Danny.
She wasn’t the same Serena.
Her already-golden hair had an almost iridescent shine to it even in the blank white light of the debriefing room.
The way she carried herself was more calm and serious, without the girlish charm and cheeriness.
Serena was changed, and she had questions.
“When can I see Danny?”
Bishop shot her an impatient glance. He was apparently not ready to be done with his debriefing, but he indulged her motherly question.
“Ms. Dayne..”
“Call me Serena.” she corrected. Both she and Aaron felt awkward when anyone used their shared last name after the divorce.
“..Right, Serena. You may of course leave whenever you wish. It is my understanding that your son is at the house of your ex-husband with two civilians, one of our recently recruited consultants, and two of my Monks posted as guards. I assure you he is very safe... But if you would just allow me to explain the circumstances to you...”
A slender hand halted him, mid-sentence.
Aaron recognized the look on her face, and had to suppress a smile. She was normally so chipper and sweet. But when she got started, especially over matter that involved her son....
Careful Bishop
“I already got the story from Scott and Aaron on the way over here. I don’t need to hear it again from you, thank you very much. I’m not going to join your little crack team of demon hunters.”
Above his beard, Bishop’s dark eyes sparkled with either amusement or frustration, Aaron couldn’t quite pick out which. Maybe both.
“If you have already been debriefed, I’m sure you realize that the Knights of the Clergy serve a righteous, and altogether necessary purpose. Your help is needed at this point. From what I hear you’ve already encountered an enemy of considerable threat, and yet here you stand.”
His black eyes kept darting to Scott, who had finally been won over after playing the exact same role of skeptic that Serena now played.
“The bad guys outnumber the good guys in this fight Serena. You don’t have the luxury of standing idle. Your role in this was decided for you.”
He gestured loosely toward Scott and her both, indicating their angelic manifestation.
Drawing a deep breath, Serena spoke again, with forced patience.
“Mr. Bishop. I am not a soldier, or a Marine, I am a mother. And I had the unfortunate pleasure of hitching a ride here in a truck full of bodies. That is not how I wish to spend my days or nights. I don’t know how or why I was chosen to go through this miracle transformation, but I have my doubts as to whether killing people is the best thing to do with these blessings.”
Bishop’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly, and he shrugged.
“I understand your misgivings. We sometimes forget that not everyone is as suited to a warrior’s life as we are. But I can tell you this at least. These people, the Fallen, will kill you any chance they get. Worse, they would kill your son to get to you. Very soon you will not have a choice in the matter. You will be forced to fight -and to kill- in order to survive.”
He said it all matter-of-factly.
“So please, Serena, stay just a bit longer, and I will give you some information that will at least help when that day comes. The Sleepless Knights have been dealing with this enemy for many years. Long before you or I were even born.”
Serena sat back down, and Aaron realized he’d been holding his breath.
He wanted her to stay. Not sure if it was because he was afraid to actually speak to her one-on-one, as he knew he would have to do at the house. Or maybe it was because he held onto a bit of hope that maybe she would join their team, and that he would be able to watch out for her.
Bishop launched into a speech about the enemy, the ‘flyers’ as he called them, and the heaters.
Heaters?
“Over the years, it’s become apparent that a variance exists in the degree of change for those affected. A fact that is true of both sides, but is far more prevalent in the Fallen.”
He went on to relate in detail the extent of what some of the affected were able to do. Some could fly for days, some only minutes, weakened by their own exhausting constitution. The best of them were almost as formidable as the Angels, the weakest, according to Bishop, were more comparable to an addict on an adrenaline binge. They were all possessed of a severe temper and some twisted metabolism that raised their core temperature and caused rapid breakdown of tissues. So they needed to eat. A lot.
Heaters.
More dossiers hit the table. Filled with photos and satellite feeds and news wires from all over the country and the world.
Serena jumped at one of the photos, slamming her hands down on the table.
“Mr. Bishop, when were these photos taken? What is happening here? What is this?!”
She held up a color photograph, taken from a vantage of considerable height, probably a rooftop or a low flying airplane.
Aaron saw then what had stirred her up. The scene on glossy paper was one of mayhem and destruction. He picked out the characteristic tumble of limbs and broken bodies that accompanied any battlefield shot. The freeze frame in her hand also captured the exact moment in which a fireball bloomed off the side of a Blackhawk helicopter as it crashed into a huge black building.
Trails of smoke and winged combatants all took shape in pixelated detail.
The image was rife with hard-to-believe sights, but it was the building that gave Serena such a shock.
Aaron recognized it too, from press releases and commercials and the cover of TIME magazine. His ex-wife had been working there for the past two years or more, ever since she’d moved to Las Vegas. Since the project’s inception.
Babel. The black jewel of Sin City.
Bishop flared yet again with impatience. He was unaccustomed to interruption, but he answered her questions anyway.
“These photos were taken this morning, only hours ago. The KC have reason to believe that your former employer is accumulating a mercenary force at his resort project. We know for certain that he and many of his close associates are of the Fallen.” He looked hard at Serena. Not with suspicion, but as if to drive his previous point home.
Even her inner circle had been changed, made into her enemies.
Serena had a hard time buying it.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” she pressed “I’ve worked for that man for almost three years now. Very close to him. I am as familiar as anyone with how much money and influence he has at his disposal. Surely he could afford to feed and house any size of army he wanted, but for what? What is the motivation for gathering a mercenary force? Why not just hop on a jet and fly off to his island in Costa Rica until the whole thing blows over?”
Aaron leaned forward a touch in his own chair, eager to hear the official explanation from a so-called expert.
“What is the motivation for Valdez’s former bodyguard to hunt you down?” Bishop countered. “What is the motivation for the mob of Possessed that set fire to the Tabernacle building with a group of churchgoers locked inside? What, logically, could any one of the perpetrators of the thousand atrocities you’ve seen since the changes hope to accomplish by their efforts?”
Though his question was rhetorical, Bishop paused and waited for a response before he continued.
“There is no logical answer Ms. Dayne.” he explained. “The motivation is evil. The Fallen are not interested in anything but the pursuit of destruction, particularly for Angels and those allied with them. Your former boss is unique in that he happens to have the intelligence and the means to create a more efficient approach at that same pursuit.”
Serena’s frown was unconvinced.
“How do you know he is one of these, ‘Fallen’ or whatever you call them?” How do you know that he is not an ‘Angel’?” her voice trailed off even as she realized the flaw of her skepticism.
Now it was Bishop’s turn to scowl.
“Ms. Dayne, Please! If you are nearly as familiar with Hunter Valdez as you claim to be, then you would not ask such ridiculous questions. The man’s entire career has been a vain and greedy pursuit of power, riches, fame- all of the worldly and sinful things that corrupt the human condition. Worse, he exposes thousands, hundreds of thousands, to the prurient content of his websites, television networks, lures his loyal customers into addiction and debt…”
Serena held up a restraining hand. “Alright, I see your point. But why him as Fallen? Why Scott and I as Angels? Why not Aaron, or Collie, or the thousands of others. Why not you?”
Something Aaron could relate to flashed for a half-breath in Bishop’s black eyes. Envy, self-doubt, a deep questioning of personal worthiness to be counted among the ‘good guys.’ Aaron felt those things too.
“That is harder to explain I suppose.” Bishop offered tentatively. “With a man like Valdez it is almost obvious. When you truly investigate his nature, he is easily identifiable as evil, or at least… unsavory. The Devil selects his helpers by criteria that we can only guess at, bu
t our Priests- our spies- can do a damn good job of predicting who fits the mold.”
Aaron wondered how many of the Fallen had escaped from the prison that first day of the changes when he and Danny thundered past on a motorcycle. Had any of them found redemption and manifested as Angels?
Bishop went on, “The same is true of Angels. You and Scott were chosen by God for your goodness.”
Serena guffawed. “And these Priests of yours can predict that as well?”
“Not easily, no. You see, Angelic qualities, such as bravery, honesty, piety, are often faked. The reason you see so few Angels in comparison to Fallen is because there are fairly few people who are truly good to the core.”
“But I’m not better than anybody else.” she argued
“Incorrect.” he bit back “You are. Your manifestation is proof. So is our friend Scott. In fact, given the extremity of his gifts, his uncanny speed and strength and power, I would say that he is even better than you. And Eugene Moss, the silent one, even better still.”
Serena raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing.
“Our Priests are not always right, but had they evaluated Angel Fitzpatrick before the changes, they likely would have tagged him. A collegiate football star who maintained good grades, and did so honestly? He made it to the pros, yet still remained humble and charitable? After his career was cut short by injuries, became a firefighter, drawn to a valiant profession despite the fact that he had no real need for money…”
Scott looked mildly surprised that Bishop had done so much homework on him. At their first meeting, Scott was the only one without a file.
Bishop wasn’t finished.
“Manifestation makes perfect sense in some cases, like his, and yours. The single mother; working hard, upholding rigid moral standards for herself despite constant exposure to the very things that characterized the downfall of at least two of your closest professional associates. Goodness comes in many forms Serena, as does evil. The world is not always black and white. Salvation or damnation can come in unexpected ways.”
Bishop’s dark eyes met Aaron’s own.
“Most of us fall somewhere in the middle. Dayne, our Priests had you tagged as a possible. Most ‘war heroes’ are given at least a partial look.”
To Light Us, To Guard Us (The Angel War Book 1) Page 34