“I’ll be fine. I know how to subdue any who would do me harm.”
“Not sure subduing is an option, but you’re more than welcome to try. I’ll just say this. With Demons, the rule book goes out the window.” Gavin’s face tightened, but he nodded.
We pulled up to the front of Plato’s Cave slowly, and then drove on by, cruising casually. I noticed a blacked-out Ford Explorer parked near the entrance, two neatly groomed men inside — wide-awake — watching the streets. My place was being observed. Gavin grunted, noticing the same thing I had. Othello continued on ahead of us, obviously noticing the stakeout. We pulled around the block, made a lap to be sure that there were no other spotters, and then parked. My disguise was entirely complete with the fake horn-rim glasses, so I had no doubt that they wouldn’t recognize me. Unless I walked through the front door after regular business hours…
Othello casually exited the car, as if having no relation to Gavin and I, pretending to talk loudly into her phone to a girlfriend. They followed me as I entered through a side door that only the employees knew about, safe from prying eyes. I was ready for anything, not knowing if it would be like the werewolf community, that somehow an entire coven of vampires would be here ready to take me out. But nothing happened. We entered the darkened building… my darkened building. Any employee was long gone, having served the last customers, cleaned up, and left.
“It seems clean. No murder.” I stated flatly. Gavin agreed with a grunt.
“Perhaps this is also a false lead.”
I looked at him, unable to contain my anger. “There are 1,013,900 words in the English language, and none of them accurately portray how badly I want to hit you over the head with a chair. A heavy Amish chair.”
Gavin… blinked. “With all your power, you wish to hit me over the head with a chair? For stating a fact?”
“Remember. You took away all my power. So, yes. A chair will suffice.”
Othello chuckled quietly. “Boys…”
Gavin shook his head in disbelief, and chagrin. “A chair…” He murmured.
“This doesn’t make sense.” I said flatly, turning for the stairs that led up to my old apartment. Now it was merely unused living quarters above the shop. An old projector room for the theater that had once occupied this building. A very classy projector room, now. “Light, please.” I said to Gavin. He cast his power out into a bluish dim glow so we could see without turning on the lights and alerting the FBI. They followed me, watching in silence as I gathered a few things and a change of clothes. I was done hiding and using disguises. I snatched up a unique feather stuffed into a jar of pens on my desk — a feather that looked like it had been torn from a Demonic peacock — with a smile on my face. Grimm. Might come in handy.
Othello fingered the panties hanging on the office lamp, the pair of Indie’s panties I had left there after the dragon attacks a few months ago. It had seemed right, seeing as how this had been the place I had discovered them. It was… motivation of sorts. I would look up from working on the company books, and see those damning panties and stop dawdling. I was easily motivated.
“And what is the escapade behind this?” Othello asked with a leer.
“Indie.”
Othello released the fabric as if burned. She sniffed haughtily. “Not very unique.”
“Oh, they were plenty unique.” I mumbled under my breath. Gavin watched with curiosity.
“Alright, I don’t see any other reason to stick around,” I stated, lugging the overnight bag over my shoulder. I quickly emptied my pockets to transfer my stuff to my new pants. When I pulled out my wallet, a card dropped to the floor and I truly saw it for the first time since Hemmingway had given it to me. “Well I’ll be god damned…”
A large boom at the front door of Plato’s Cave shook the building as the door burst into splinters. “I mean… gosh darned,” I corrected. Heavy boots stomped into the entrance below us. “Oh, come on! It was a slip of the tongue!” I bellowed, shoving the card into my pocket.
“Meet your demise, wizard.” A cool voice commanded from below.
Gavin merely leaned towards a window to look down at the threat, not actively doing anything to help me. Othello cocked her pistol hungrily.
I quickly darted to the window to see what the hell was going on, hoping my accomplices wouldn’t shoot first and ask questions later. I couldn’t make out the details, but he looked human.
“Who goes there?” I called.
“The might of Heaven, mortal. Bow down.”
“Ice Cube? Really?” I asked. He didn’t respond. I held up a hand for my accomplices to hold off, but it seemed Gavin had no intention of assisting.
“I’m not fucking with Heaven.” He answered, and then Shadow Walked his happy ass out of my shop with a resounding crack.
I sighed. Apparently I had managed to piss off God.
Chapter 24
H old off on the smiting. I’ll be down in just a second!” I snarled.
Othello followed me closely as I descended the stairs. I really didn’t have time for this. I had done nothing wrong. In fact, I believed I was the only one doing anything right.
The man hadn’t moved from the entrance, but what remained of the door had been propped back in place. He was much younger than I had thought. The youth held a hand on the hilt of his righteous sword, and he looked like he had been plucked straight from the Crusades, decked out in genuine leather armor that was engraved in platinum curlicues and exquisite geometric shapes that made my skin crawl. They were functional, not just for decoration. Spells. And they were so ancient I could only recognize that they were spells, but not their purpose.
He was young, appearing twenty-something, but the hard gleam in his eyes let me know he was formidable with wisdom well beyond his years. I settled the bag gently on the ground beside me. “So, what’s a nice guy like you doing in a dangerous place like this?” I asked. I kept my hands in a neutral place — for most people anyway, but not that neutral for a wizard — at my sides, hanging freely. He was smart enough to understand they were still a threat, glancing at them with quick assessing eyes.
The boy watched me coldly. “You are aiding the Demons. I can sense it on you.”
I blinked back. He seemed to have no concern for Othello. Apparently, only I was on his list. “If I’m such a naughty boy, explain why I’ve shut down several Demons in the last twelve hours.” I answered coolly.
The boy continued to stare at me, unruffled. “I do not pretend to understand your murky motives, magic mortal.”
“Say that five times fast.”
He blinked slowly like a cat on a fireplace, not amused, refusing to acknowledge my comment. “It is a fact. I know what I see.”
“And what you see might jaded by your righteousness.” I quipped.
He quivered with pious judgment. “Do not blaspheme again. I will grow angry.” The… boy growled. Although he was young, his strength was obvious, and he looked like he had grown up through the school of hard knocks, judging by the faint scars on his face. I guessed battling Demons your entire life left you a little jaded. Or like he had been brainwashed at a young age. A lot of that going around lately. “What you do directly affects Heaven, and directly aids Hell.” He continued quite calmly. “For that, you must be destroyed.”
He drew his huge sword with finality, the whisper of it leaving the sheath a grisly promise of what was to come. Othello didn’t waste any time. She lifted her pistol. “I fucking dare you.”
The boy seemed to notice her for the first time. “Do not let his words sway you. This man is dangerous.”
“Me?” I asked in amazement. “All I have done is fight Demons and my own people the last too many hours. What have I done to piss off Heaven?”
“You made a pact with a Greater Demon. I can sense it.” He leaned closer, sword out, but not threatening… yet. “I can see it.” Then he moved. He suddenly flicked the sword so fast that he could have killed my head right off. If he had wa
nted to. It was a warning. The tip rested just above my eye. To the damning mark on my forehead. I could hear the crackling energy of his heavenly power reacting to the rune, feel it tingling against my skull.
“I didn’t ask for that. It was forced upon me. I’m not one for brands. Ask her.” I pointed at Othello.
She nodded. “It’s true. I was there when he fought the Demon. This mark was the Demon’s last attack, in order to pit your kind against his cause. The Demons want us fighting each other, but there is a true enemy out there.”
Her voice was soft, soothing, and compelling. The boy shook his head as if at a temptress. “I will not buy these lies. I see the mark. Eae warned you to stay out of it. I saw the aftermath of you killing that wolf. Despite their kind being an abomination, murder is not tolerable.”
“People are murdered all the time and I’ve never heard of your kind getting involved.” I realized that I hadn’t debated the most important accusation.
“You see,” he smiled. “You don’t deny killing the wolf.”
I groaned. “No, I didn’t deny it. Because it’s crazy. I arrived after he was killed, hoping to prevent it from happening. My best friend is a werewolf. But someone of your ilk pitted a whole pack of vengeful werewolves after me when I only showed up to help, so I’m more concerned with where your people come into the picture and why they have a hard on for me. “
He smiled. “Well, our part is simple enough.” There was no warning whatsoever. He lunged at me. Othello let off a few shots, pinging the blade out of the Nephilim’s hands. He didn’t miss a beat, and instead physically latched onto me with his hands, and threw me.
Like, really threw me.
I grunted with each impact as I sailed through what I counted as three glass dividers before landing on a cushioned couch and knocking it over. “Huzzah!” I managed to cheer through the throbbing ache in my ribs, jumping to my feet, glad that the couch had somewhat broken my fall. Then I saw a blindingly white light whipping towards my face with a supersonic whine. I dropped like a sack of potatoes, not wanting to waste any more magic than necessary by deflecting whatever the Heaven it was. A freaking crucifix boomerang whizzed by overhead, spitting off electric currents of power as it tore through several hanging chandeliers, sending them to the ground in explosions of crystal and glass. The weapon crackled with lightning at each strike, seeming to deflect the sparks of electricity, before sailing back towards the Nephilim who caught it with ease. The energy danced over his frame as his glare pinned me to the couch.
Othello was nowhere to be found. Had he killed her?
The Nephilim strode over to the sword and picked it up off the ground. It was dented and bent in a wavy line from Othello’s well-placed bullets. He knelt his head and began to mutter a prayer. His words filled the room, and a ring of liquid golden power began to build around his feet. After a few seconds it began to rise, circling his body, and I began to feel a little uneasy at what it might mean. A shard of crystal from the chandelier fell towards his head, but when it came remotely near the golden light it disintegrated to powder, and I suddenly realized I might have met my match. Heavenly armor of some sort would make my attacks useless.
If this was a Nephilim… what could an Angel do?
I shivered at the thought, but readied myself for war. The ring rose to his head level, shrunk, and became a perfect halo of raw force around his head. I watched in disbelief as the blade suddenly reformed to perfection.
I grumbled. Heavenly armor and an unbreakable sword? That wasn’t fair at all. The Nephilim took a single step, raised the sword high, and then with a roar of power he slammed it into the ground like it was Excalibur. The golden halo around his head fled through his body and into the sword, causing a low thrum like a tuning fork, and a blast of energy suddenly rang out in every direction, demolishing or knocking down every piece of furniture or bookshelf in its immediate proximity. Then the entire building began to tremble, louder, faster, and louder with each passing second. Pictures and books from the surviving shelves and wall mounts began to rattle, dancing into a freefall to the floor, and the lights began to erratically flicker on and off. The espresso machine kicked on and began flinging coffee beans all over the place. A jagged crack suddenly split the wall behind me, and brick and mortar began collapsing into the room as the building groaned tiredly. The walls were coming down. Was this fucker crazy? He was going to kill us all!
I Shadow Walked without thinking, appearing right behind him. I noticed the only adornment on his back was a second sheath with a feather sticking out. Without thinking, I snatched it up and Shadow Walked back in front of him…
Where his fist was immediately introduced to my face. It broke my nose with a most indelicate crack of cartilage and my vision exploded in a sea of stars. I flew backwards into a bookshelf hard enough for it to shatter and rain its contents down upon me. One struck me in the already broken nose and I almost squealed like I had been electrocuted. I heard his steps approaching and frantically, blindly, began trying to dig my way out of the pile of buckram and paper. Then I heard a loud click amongst the falling debris. “Don’t move. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. Even if it damns me for eternity. You are about to kill one of the only good guys left in this city.”
Othello’s voice was like an Angel singing a hymn. I hurriedly fell out of the pile of books to see a strange scene. Othello was holding her pistol to the back of the Nephilim’s head, and the boy was letting her. Couldn’t he magic his way out of that?
“You would damn your soul for him?”
“Yes.” She didn’t even hesitate, which surprised me in a way. “You’re making a big mistake.”
“Othello,” I warned. “Step a few feet away from him please. It’s not safe. He’s a zealot.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, she’s as safe as a babe from me. She is righteous… to a degree.” He added angrily.
Othello blinked at him. “What? To a degree? Well… I guess I’ll take it.”
I frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“She is only doing as she believes is right, and I have no command to punish her. I swear on Heaven.” He sheathed his sword faster than anyone could move, and then dropped his hands to his sides. “I cannot harm her.”
I blinked. “Huh. Imagine that. Glad you could be here, Othello.” I muttered.
“Just doing my job.” She answered quickly.
The Nephilim’s face suddenly fell. “My Grace!” He was staring at the feather in my hand and took an aggressive step forward before halting at Othello’s warning. His face fell, but he continued to stare frantically at the feather I had stolen.
“Grace?” I asked, looking down at it.
“A feather from my father’s wings. It was entrusted to me. It gives me additional strength to fight Hell.” He looked entirely different from before. More like a child fearful of his father’s wrath when he discovered the family car missing on a Friday night.
I turned it over in my fingers. It was silver, and big, but it didn’t look like anything that special. Just a gilded feather you might find at a high-end jewelry shop. “This belongs to an Angel?” I asked doubtfully.
He nodded impatiently. Another crack that seemed to come from the foundation interrupted my thoughts. The building rumbled ominously. “Why doesn’t your father just come down here himself and take care of the Demons?”
“He can’t. If the Angels act, the Fallen can act, and then the Riders will destroy us all. Eternally.”
“Jesus! Talk about overkill.” Othello whispered, sounding shaken.
“No, not him. The Riders.” He looked genuinely confused. Othello blinked.
I sighed at his inability to understand modern slang. “So why is this feather so important?”
“It’s not just a feather. It’s my father’s Grace. It grants him the power of Heaven. My temporary possession of it grants me extra power to battle Hell. If that feather breaks it would kill my father.”
I subconscio
usly made sure I was holding it with both hands. “Well that’s reckless. Why would you carry it around so openly?”
“Only extreme power could destroy it. And even the Demons wouldn’t risk it. It would be the same as killing an Angel directly.”
“You mean that it would call the Riders?” I asked in astonishment.
He nodded. “Please, give me back the Grace. I’ll inform my father of your words. Perhaps it will change Eae’s mind.” He didn’t sound like he believed it.
“Eae is your father?” I asked curiously.
“Yes. He commands the Flight of Nephilim on my task force.”
I wanted to give it back, latching onto the hope that his father, Eae, would realize we were on the same side and get off my back. Really. What if I somehow managed to break it and called the Riders? But I needed to teach these guys a lesson, let them know that I wasn’t to be trifled with. After all, if they were scared to attack me in fear of harming the Grace, I wouldn’t have to waste my diminishing power fighting them. “This isn’t the playground, kid. You can lose your balls here.” Othello frowned at me. I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.” I turned back to the Nephilim. “You just tried to kill me. Without even telling me who you are!”
“I was told you were allied with the Demons. And you carry the… Greater Demon’s mark.” He seemed to dodge the Demon’s name for some reason. No doubt to avoid his attention.
“I already explained the mark. Can we agree that I’m not the problem? The world is going nuts the last few days. Demon’s prowling around town in search of something my parents’ built. Am I safe to assume that you won’t attack me while I hold this?” I waved the feather. The Nephilim flinched, reaching out clawed fingers instinctively. “Swear it on this feather. I can burn it with a thought. I am a wizard. You lie, pillow stuffing goes poof.”
The Nephilim looked visibly sickened, but nodded, clutching a fist to his heart symbolically. “Good. Let’s get out of here. You caused quite a ruckus kicking down my door like that, and those police outside are bound to be on their way any second. Especially if the building collapses.”
Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) Page 23