by Nic Widhalm
Valdis followed the men blithely, his lips pulled back in a stunned smile. Jackie wanted to smack the grin off his face. How in the world had she let him talk her into this? Allying herself with a fugitive angel and traveling half-way across the world with no explanation why? At the time it seemed like she had no choice, but now Jackie wondered. Were there no other options, or had she just wanted to appease her curiosity?
“Here,” the brown-eyed man said, stopping in front of a large industrial building. The stranger’s path had taken them far from the city, leading to the outskirts of the desert and into zones more suited for textile manufacturing than faith building. Jackie eyed the industrial building warily—the peeling paint looked like decaying flesh in the light of the moon. The taller man stepped forward and rapped sharply on a steel door.
As they waited, Jackie glanced around. The place was deserted, which felt wrong as hell. After years working the streets and back corners of Denver, she had learned to trust her gut when it said trouble, and right now it was doing backflips.
“Wait,” Valdis said to the backs of the two guides. “I have a few questions first.” The priest seemed nervous. His sallow skin hung loosely from his face and his brow was wet with sweat. Jackie wondered how much sleep the old man had gotten in the last few weeks.
“No time,” the gray-eyed man said, nodding to his friend. The tall man smiled, his lips climbing disturbingly far up his long face, and yanked down on the door handle. Bright, flashing red and yellow light escaped from the entrance as the door pulled back, and a pounding beat flooded the street.
“What the…” said Hunter.
“Great, a fucking discotheque,” Jackie sighed.
“Let’s go,” the brown-eyed man said, walking into the flashing light. Jackie followed, stepping into a wall of thudding, floor pounding bass. Inside, strobe lights and flickering, multi-colored lasers played across the large warehouse floor.
The room was immense, and packed wall to wall with flesh. Writhing figures of all ages were crammed together like a jigsaw puzzle. Jackie shook her head in disgust as they made their way through the crowd, eying couples that looked as if they were one step away from screwing right there on the dance floor. She’d already lost count of how many drug transfers they’d passed.
“Where are we,” Jackie cried, unable to hear herself over the heavy music.
Hunter squinted at her lips, trying to make out what she was saying, then shrugged in defeat. He motioned to keep up with their two guides, and continued pushing through the thick crowd.
Stupid kids. Humping each other like it’s not the fucking Apocalypse outside. She didn’t want to admit it, but Jackie was envious. It wasn’t that long ago she could have strolled into a club and danced until her feet were bloody. It seemed like an eternity ago.
Finally, they made it to the other side of the room and were met with a single, roped off exit guarded by two massive bouncers. Meeting the eyes of the brown-eyed man, the lead bouncer nodded, touched a finger to his ear, then drew back the rope and waved them through.
“Thanks,” Jackie gave the bouncer a syrupy smile. He growled something, then turned back to the crowd, his words lost in the noise. And a good fuck you, pal, she thought. See if I come back.
The three followed their guides down a dark corridor, Hunter in the lead with Jackie and Valdis a few steps behind. The detective had snaked her arm around the priest, but despite her help they were starting to fall behind. Valdis’ didn’t say anything, but his feet were dragging the stone floor with each step. His breathing had grown ragged. Looking back, Hunter saw the pair drifting farther behind. “Hold on a sec,” he said to the brown-eyed man. “Give us a minute to catch our breath.”
“I told you, no time,” the man said over his shoulder, his feet never slowing. Hunter turned helplessly back and forth between the guides and his two companions.
“It’s okay,” Valdis said breathlessly. “Keep going.”
Hunter frowned, hesitating another second, then turned and hurried after the two men disappearing down the dark tunnel.
Jackie grit her teeth as she watched Hunter run off, swallowing the words she wanted to spit after him. Instead, she focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The priest was getting heavier by the minute.
“I thought…you knew what…you were doing,” Jackie panted, pulling Valdis down the hall. “I guess this all makes sense to you?”
Valdis shook his head slightly. “The Order was an educated guess. This,” he waved at the tunnel, “was unexpected.”
Jackie examined the walls as they inched down the corridor. At first, with her eyes blinded from the flashing lights of the dance floor, the walls had appeared a featureless, washed-out green. But now, adjusted to the darkness of the tunnel, Jackie saw something else. Something etched in continuous, flowing lines that followed them as they moved down the tunnel. The shapes were alien, but the way they were strung together seemed familiar.
“Anthony,” Jackie said. “Are you seeing this?”
The priest nodded, his breathing returning to normal as they slowed their pace. “Enochian.”
Jackie tried to decipher some kind of meaning in the swirling lines, but came up short. “What does it mean?” She asked.
Valdis peered at the looping, twisting lines, his weight lifting off Jackie as his attention shifted to the tunnel. “I think,” Valdis removed himself from Jackie’s arm and walked closer to the wall, “it’s some sort of history. Here, see this?” He drew Jackie closer, jabbing excitedly at one of the sections that looked exactly the same as the others. “I’ve seen this before, under Saint Catherine's. It is a history.” The priest suddenly laughed, the sound startling Jackie. She’d been too distracted supporting Valdis to notice the pounding bass of the discothèque had completely disappeared. Valdis’ laughter echoed down the long corridor, twisting into a high, squeaky sound. Jackie shivered.
“What is it?” She asked.
“It’s a history of the beyond, Detective. The part that had fallen into rubble back home, the section I’ve spent the last two decades studying—it’s complete. This is a full history of the Apkallu!”
Jackie looked away from the wall and saw that Hunter’s broad back had disappeared in the distance. “Um…Father?”
“This is beyond fantastic,” The priest ran his shaking hands across the wall. “I can discover in one hour what it took me years to learn back home.”
“Father?” Jackie said, alarm bells ringing in her head. Her gut was wrapped around her spine, bile biting the back of her throat.
“What?”
“Something’s up,” Jackie pulled her Beretta from her waistband, the familiar weight of the .40 caliber momentarily banishing her fear. Get a grip, she told herself. You’re jumping at shadows like a damn rookie. Her firearm nestled in both hands, Jackie strained her ears.
“Don’t be ridicul—” Valdis began to say, then stopped, his eyes widening. He peaked over his shoulder, back the way they had come, then forward to where Hunter and the two guides had disappeared. “Oh dear,” he whispered.
“What?” Jackie demanded. The Beretta shook slightly in her hand.
“I…I should never have brought us here.”
Then shapes from the darkness came forward into the light, and before she could think Jackie fired. The heavy, leaden crack of the Beretta exploded around her, lighting the darkness for a second. In that moment Jackie saw dozens of figures surrounding them, their arms raised against the brilliance of the gun.
“Enough of that,” someone growled, and Jackie felt the press of cold metal against her back. She raised her arms, and someone ripped the gun from her hand. Blinking, Jackie tried to regain the night-sight that had been destroyed in the muzzle flash, figures swimming in and out of her vision. Beside her, Valdis groaned.
“Someone wants to talk to you,” a voice said. “We’re not going to have any—” Before the voice could finish, Jackie swung her elbow back and into her attacker’s face
. She felt a snap that told her she’d broken her assailant’s nose. Turning, she brought her arm down in a sharp knife-hand that smacked the gun, sending it skittering across the stone floor.
As the spots in Jackie’s vision started to clear, she counted ten figures surrounding them. One of the dark shapes moved to Jackie’s right, and her boot shot out, catching the figure in the crotch. She heard a gasp and the shape collapsed to the floor.
Nine.
Jackie closed her eyes, giving them time to readjust to the dark. She remembered where the figures had been. Assuming they weren’t soldiers…
She heard a shout behind her and dropped into a crouch, letting her left leg shoot backward. A heavy weight crashed against it, tripped, and grunted as it smacked the floor.
Eight.
Jackie rose, aiming a kick where she hoped the attacker had fallen, and felt a satisfying thwack as her foot connected. She fell still, listening, trying to gauge where the next attack would—
Gunfire shattered the stillness. Jackie fell to her knees, her hands cupped against her ears as the deafening crack echoed through the corridor.
“I said enough!” The voice roared. Hands grabbed Jackie, yanking her arms behind her. She felt the cold metal of handcuffs, and opened her eyes. She couldn’t make out much in the dark, but thought she saw the huddled figure of Valdis pressed against the wall. Fucking coward.
The arms hauled her upright. Jackie found herself face to face with a man holding a large revolver. Looks like a .45, she thought. It’s going to kick like a drunken mule. If I can surprise him…
“Any more of that,” the man gestured with his gun at the two fallen figures. “And you’ll never see your Apkallu again.”
Jackie stopped.
“I thought that’d get your attention,” the man said. “Now, would you like to come peacefully, or…” he gestured again to the fallen attackers. “Your choice.”
Jackie said nothing, but her shoulders relaxed. The man—Jackie still couldn’t make out his face in the darkness, but his voice was masculine—holstered the gun and held his arms wide. “Welcome to Jerusalem,” he said. “It’s been awhile since we’ve had guests.”
Something crashed against the back of Jackie’s head, and darkness followed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Valdis paced the tiny room, wishing for the hundredth time he had a watch. How long had it been since they were taken prisoner? Three hours? Three days? It was impossible to tell. The light hadn’t changed since they were escorted here; it flowed from the hallway in an uninterrupted glow, separated from the prisoners by ancient steel bars.
Valdis’ head throbbed with a ferocity he hadn’t felt since…well, he couldn’t even remember how long, and his hands were still shaking. He tried to remember the last time he’d eaten. Two days ago? Could it have been that long?
Still, despite the steel bars and the lack of amenities, Valdis couldn’t keep a smile from his lips. He’d made it. Through all the obstacles—the derision from his colleagues, the disapproval of the church, the silence from his mother—Valdis had made it. He was inside the Order of Venus.
A groan wiped the smile from his face. Jackie was huddled in a corner, her jeans and white button-down shirt crusted with dirt. Valdis couldn’t remember how they had arrived here—a scream, a gun-shot, then darkness—but his short time with the detective had convinced him that Jackie would always choose fight over flight. In this case, it looked like she should have chosen the latter.
Moving to her side, the priest knelt and examined her injuries once again. Once his fingers brushed her brow Jackie turned to Valdis and moaned. Her eyes flickered open, squinting against the feeble light. “Are we dead?” She croaked.
Valdis’ grin returned. “No, my friend. For the moment we’re most definitely alive.
“Good,” Jackie pushed herself to her feet, wobbling, and waved off Valdis’ assistance. “No, no, let me move around a little. Jesus Christ, what did those guys throw at me? A tank?”
Valdis, assured his companion was going to survive, went back to studying their prison. It was a small space, hardly wide enough to accommodate the two, and consisted of a low, single stone bed with a thin blanket and a dented chamber pot. The walls were rough cut rock, dark and wet to the touch.
Running a hand gently down the sweating stone, Valdis rubbed his forefinger and thumb together thoughtfully. “Underground.”
“You sure?” asked the detective, placing a hand on the wall to steady her trembling legs. “Maybe it’s just humidity. We are next to an ocean.”
“No. We are several feet below the city. Most likely connected to some forgotten sewage systems or ancient tunnel that dates back to the Crusades. Remember, Ms. Riese, we’re in a city that has seen constant turmoil for three thousand years. Who knows what kind of thoroughfares and escape paths they’ve constructed under Jerusalem.”
Jackie didn’t look convinced, but any further debate was cut off as a shadow crossed the weak light. A figure came into view, at first nothing but silhouette, then sharpening into the familiar form of the brown-eyed man. In this light his sharp chin jutted in crisp, severe lines, turning him into a cartoon devil. Valdis smiled, thinking of the fellow holding a pitchfork and twisting a long mustache.
“I’m pleased you’re awake,” the man said as he approached the bars. “And in good humor.”
Valdis dropped the grin. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I assure you, keeping us imprisoned is completely unnecessary; we’ve been looking for you since we arrived. In fact, you might have heard of me, my name—”
“Is Anthony Valdis. Yes, we’re familiar with your work. It created a bit of a stir around here. I’m not sure it was…prudent,” Brown-eyes said, the corners of his lips fluttering. “What made you think to publish an article examining the Sumerian demi-gods, the ‘Apkallu?’ You had to expect trouble.”
I hoped for it, Valdis thought smugly. But he kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he did his best to keep his appearance disarming. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He said with a shrug.
Brown-eyes shook his head in amusement, then motioned down the corridor. Two other figures came into view. One was the taller man with the squeaky laugh from before, the second a boyish-looking fellow with long blond hair and wide eyes. He swung back and forth between Brown-eyes and Squeaky-laugh, bewilderment on his face. Brown-eyes waved toward the bars, and Squeaky-laugh pulled a single key from his pocket, unlocking the gate. The lock squealed as he turned the key, bits of rust flaking off the bars and floating to the ground. It looked like it hadn’t been used in a hundred years.
It probably hasn’t, Valdis realized. This prison is likely leftover from the Crusades, and the last one was…what? Seven hundred years ago? Valdis closed his eyes, cursing silently. We probably could have pushed these bars down.
Of course, Valdis had never planned to escape.
Squeaky-laugh swung open the gate and gestured to the corridor. Valdis followed immediately, and to his surprise Jackie shadowed him. The priest had expected another struggle from the detective, but she left the cell meekly, remaining silent as the three men led them down a dark corridor. It looked almost identical to the one they had followed on their way out of the dance club, but this time there was none of the sweeping, exotic writing that had accompanied them before. Valdis repressed a sigh of regret; there would be plenty of time for research. Now, he needed to focus on getting the Order to trust him long enough to get the information the priest needed.
The three men led them down the tunnel, turning occasionally at forks in the path, the same soft light illuminating their steps. The glow seemed to come from the walls themselves, but Valdis didn’t see any bulbs or wiring.
Finally, the priest noticed the light changing, growing brighter. The sweating walls had dried, and the musty smell of mildew receded, replaced by the bouquet of fresh baked bread and sausage. Saliva drenched Valdis’ mouth as he was reminded how long it had been since he
’d eaten. The flight, he remembered. I had a packet of peanuts and a salad.
The light led them from the stone walls into a gigantic hall. Valdis’ eyes widened as he followed the ceiling to a domed roof that covered a space the size of a large ballroom. It was roughly circular, with several other tunnels connecting to it around the edge, and the center was occupied by a podium that sat three people—an old man, a lady, and a boy who couldn’t be older than seventeen. Before the tall dais were two folding chairs.
The priest looked at Jackie. Her eyes were as large as Valdis’ as she took in the monstrous chamber. Finally noticing the empty chairs and the three individuals seated above them, her eyes narrowed and the cornered, angry look that Valdis recognized fell over her. He placed a hand reassuringly on her shoulder, and gave it a firm squeeze. It will be alright, he tried to tell her silently, but Jackie didn’t look reassured.
Well, I was never great at confession.
Taking their seats in the dingy, off-white chairs, Valdis folded his hands in his lap and looked up at the three figures with a warm smile. These individuals were the ones Valdis would have to charm if he was to have any chance of examining the Enochian script in the tunnels. He fixed the smile on his face, tried to calm his writhing stomach, and pressed his folded hands tightly against each other. This is it, Anthony. Twenty years and it all boils down to this. As Jackie would say, ‘Don’t fuck it up.’
“Thank you, Victor,” the elderly man seated at the left of the podium said. He was an ancient figure, with a dirty white beard and a patch over his left eye. “You may leave.”
The brown-eyed man—Victor—frowned. “General, is that wise? You know what they did to my men.”
They? Valdis thought with amusement. He didn’t remember much of the battle, but Valdis hadn’t put up a fight. One blow to the head had sufficed for the priest.