The Dark Storm

by Kris Greene

  “The tribute is accepted.” Her voice was rich with the power of the blood sacrifice. “Ask what you will at your own peril, and receive the goddess’s truth.”

  “I seek the Nimrod, Goddess,” Titus said.

  “As do all the forces of light and dark. The Nimrod has been unearthed and the Bishop sleeps no more. Three hundred years ago the Nimrod answered to the call of the Hunter as it does this night.” Her gold eyes seemed to glow brighter. “Even now the magic seduces him with whispers of its dark secrets. Beware the Dark Storm, Halfling.”

  By now Flag was near the door, trying to fight off the panic attack he felt coming on. He had never been comfortable with feeding Leah’s power to call the visions, because he knew just how dangerous she could be, but Titus was confident that he could control the girl, as Flag had been until now. He could feel raw energy dripping off the girl and pushing against the wards. It seemed as the awakening of the trident was affecting even the oldest magics. Flag intended to suggest that they consider killing Leah’s host earlier than scheduled when Titus was done with his questioning.

  “I fear nothing but the dark lord himself.” Titus tried to sound confident. He could feel Leah’s power running up and down his skin like ghostly fingers. “I will command the Nimrod.”

  The laugh that came from Leah rattled the bookshelves. “None may command that which no longer has a master. It was God who created it and it is revenge that fuels it. Magic like that cannot be contained or mastered, only conspired with, or have you forgotten what has become of your brother? Abandon your quest for the Nimrod, Halfling, for I see unholy blood spilled by its unforgiving strike. Heed well my warning, Titus, betrayer of his brother.”

  She hovered closer to Titus so that he could see the scene unfolding in her eyes. It was the moment that the Nimrod had been plunged into his chest, but it wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t the stretch of open field in Naples but a modern street. Though the wielder in the vision was slightly younger than Titus remembered the Hunter to be, their faces were almost identical.

  “Trickery,” Titus hissed, throwing the force of his will forward, trying to send her into the wall. The power whipped around Leah like a strong gust of wind, rocking her form, but she continued to hover in place, legs crossed beneath her and back erect. Calling as much of his magic into his hand as he dared in the warded room, Titus rose for a strike. “Enough games, sprite. The price has been paid and you still haven’t told me what I need to know.”

  “The goddess knows only truth, Titus, which is what you need to know, but what you ask for is the blueprint for disaster. So be it then.” Her form floated softly to the bed. “The Bishop has chosen his vessel and only death shall break their bond, and empowered by the Nimrod the Hunter will not die easily. No living thing can part them as long as the two hearts beat as one.”

  “Then the only way to wrest the trident from him is to find a way to kill him?” Titus was speaking more to himself, but Leah chose to answer him.

  “Yes, but it is not as simple as it sounds. The Nimrod was made to be wielded by a god; thus through it the vessel shall become more god-like the more connected the two become. Even acting blindly, he still slaughters your foot soldiers like cattle, and each time he uses the weapon it becomes stronger. I fear that he is already past the point where anything of this world can part them.”

  “But they can be parted?” Titus pressed.

  “Even the ocean was able to be parted.”

  Titus turned the riddle over in his head. “I will take your words into consideration, Goddess. Now, where can I find the Hunter?”

  “If you are insistent on going to your doom, then I will gladly light the way for you. The Hunter’s progeny roams the city of glass towers, with unsolved mysteries rather than pelts as his game. The Bishop motivates his actions now, so it will only be a matter of time before he finds you.” With those last words, Leah’s skin began to dim and she was back to herself. She cast sleepy blue eyes up at Titus as if just coming out of a dream, before curling up under the blanket and nodding off like nothing had ever happened.

  “I find the trips to see Leah becoming less and less pleasant,” Flag was saying as they made their way back to Titus’ office.

  “I’d never known the mages to have differences with the fairy folk,” Titus said with a smirk.

  “It’s not the sprites as a species, just Leah. Even in the host’s body her power feels stronger than it should be, especially when she’s made to call the visions. If I were you, I’d seriously consider murdering her host sooner this time,” Flag suggested.

  “Then it’s a good thing you aren’t me,” Titus said. “Finding the proper host for one as powerful as Leah is no easy task, mage. This isn’t the Middle Ages, when young girls could go missing regularly and it wouldn’t arouse suspicion. No, Leah will keep that body for a time longer. We have a more pressing problem ahead of us: capturing the Nimrod.”

  “It will be no easy task. As Leah said, the boy and the Nimrod may be past the point of being parted,” Flag reminded him.

  “She said that they may not be parted by anything of this world, so I will seek help outside this world. I will have the Night Hawk fueled and ready for you by the time you’re done packing. Prepare to be gone for as long as I have need of you.”

  “Where am I going?” Flag asked.

  “To New York. Riel is a loyal servant, but there are things that require a more subtle touch that I need you to handle. I fear the resurgence of the relic in a city as powerful as New York will draw more than a bit of attention, from both light and dark armies. We must be ready when our enemies show their bleeding crosses. Go to the Iron Mountains and tell Prince Orden that we have need of his lot.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The taxi turned into a quiet residential block off the Prospect Park Loop in Brooklyn. Before it had even come to a complete stop, Redfeather tossed a wad of bills at the driver and hopped out. De Mona followed Redfeather onto the curb. Her body fell in step with the older man, but her mind was on the youngest Redfeather.

  The Nimrod had literally used him as a conductor for its power, nearly frying Gabriel and drowning them in the process. His body still seemed to be intact, aside from the bruises he was sure to have from being crowned with a chair, but as near as she could tell his mind was gone. A part of her wondered if it had been sucked into the Nimrod, as the last host’s spirit had been, but that wouldn’t explain why it had bound itself to Gabriel. Both the Nimrod and the youngest of the Redfeather clan were mysteries that De Mona was now even more determined to solve.

  De Mona had been hesitant about leaving Gabriel at the brownstone in the condition he was in and still wearing the Nimrod’s mark, but Redfeather assured her that Gabriel would be safe with Meg. Though the old woman offered little more than a halfhearted smile in the way of a greeting, De Mona could smell the magic coming off her. When De Mona asked Redfeather about her he simply said that she was an old friend.

  They found themselves on the steps of an old building that was clearly older than the park it stood across from. De Mona started up at the sharp details of the gargoyles that guarded the six posts of the structure’s roof. For a minute she thought she saw one of them move, but she brushed it off as nerves. The building wasn’t quite a church, but it gave off the feeling of something holy and powerful, which it was. It was Sanctuary, the place her father had been attempting to reach when he was killed.

  Sanctuary was composed of several buildings located at various points around the globe. All were respectively impressive, but the Prospect Park location, though not the largest, was the most vital when it came to information. Erected long before New York was called New Amsterdam, the building was a waypoint for demons who wanted a different way of life, or protection from those they’d betrayed. Sanctuary was to migrating supernaturals what Ellis Island had been to America’s own immigrants. In exchange for the services provided by Sanctuary, the demons were required to share their histories and cultures t
o help further the research of the order.

  The order was initially started by a group of wealthy scholars and mystics, whose original names had been forgotten long before the siege ever erupted. Its original purpose had been simply to study paranormal activity, but the scholars soon learned that sometimes just watching wasn’t enough and action was called for. In these cases they sent in the Inquisitors. These men were more soldiers than scholars and were unwavering in their loyalty to the order and man. Trained from birth in combat, the Inquisitors would die or kill in the name of the order.

  There were several sources that they could’ve tapped into to get the answers they needed, but both Redfeather and her late father believed that Sanctuary was the best shot they had. Redfeather had a relationship with the man who ran the order, Brother Angelo, and seemed to think that they could trust him, but something still had him on edge. With the kind of power coming off the place, she hoped Redfeather’s trust was well placed.

  When De Mona’s foot made contact with the first step she felt an immediate tingling run up her body. It wasn’t a malicious sensation, more like a curious prodding. The muscles under her skin rolled, trying to force the change to come, but she held fast. Something inside the place was communicating with her demon side, and she didn’t like it.

  The steps were made from a fine marble, and though they were heavily treaded and cracking, you could still see the sculpted quality. These led up to a massive door, which stood at least twelve feet in height. Along the edges De Mona could make out faint runes, slightly different from the ones on the Redfeather home but powerful nonetheless. De Mona reached out and traced the runes with her finger. These didn’t hurt like the ones the old man had cast, but she knew they could. She was about to study the markings on the other side of the door when it suddenly came open.

  Standing in the doorway was a man as black as midnight, with two gold hoops hanging from each ear. The muscles beneath his black leather vest looked like coiled steel when he moved. There were tribal tattoos running from his jaws to the corners of his eyes, eyes like glaciers that took in Redfeather but lingered on De Mona. There was a twinge of recognition in his face before his lips rolled back into a fierce sneer.

  Jackson coasted his late-model Ninja motorcycle to a stop at the tip of the block the taxi had disappeared down. Trailing it down the FDR had proven to be a trickier task than he had expected. With the sparse traffic on the freeway between Manhattan and Brooklyn it was hard to follow them unnoticed. He tried to stay far enough behind where they wouldn’t notice him but close enough not to lose them. He almost flipped the bike making the sharp cut over to exit at the Brooklyn Bridge.

  Trailing them once they got into the borough was a little easier because of the increase in traffic. Even at that hour, Brooklyn was rank with cars leaving various after-hours spots or going to late-night suppers. He was glad when the passengers of the taxi had finally decided to stop a few yards away from an old church. Using his heightened sight, he identified the address of the place and radioed Jonas.

  “J., I’ve tracked them to Brooklyn.” Jackson fed the address into the microphone.

  Jonas was quiet for a minute before coming back over the air. “Jackson, check the place for magical residue.”

  “Jonas, this place looks more like a flophouse than Castle Grayskull.”

  “Humor me, Jack.”

  Jackson muttered something under his breath and dug in his pocket for the item he would need for the task. He produced a small crystal that hung from the end of a leather cord and held it up to eye level. At first there was nothing, but suddenly the crystal began to sway on the cord. It was subtle at first, as if the wind were moving the thing, but eventually the crystal began to sway faster. Quite unexpectedly the crystal swung out and dangled in midair, pointing in the direction of the building. The pull had gotten so strong that Jackson had to cover the crystal with his hand before it snapped the cord.

  “Whoa,” Jackson said, trying to put the crystal back in his pocket. “Jonas, I’m not sure what’s going on in there, but it must involve some serious magic. The crystal is going nuts.”

  “Just as I thought,” Jonas said, over the faint clicking sounds of his laptop’s keys. “Jackson, this place is off-limits in a major way. If you have to lose the tail we’ll pick it up again somewhere else, but I don’t want you going near that place.”

  “What the hell is your deal, man? I thought you wanted the four-one-one on these cats?” Jackson asked.

  “I do, but not enough to risk you going near Sanctuary when we still haven’t diagnosed your condition. It’s too risky.”

  “Man, it’s been years and I still ain’t sprouted fangs, fur, or a damn sixth toe, so why don’t you chill?” Jackson snapped.

  “Jackson, I don’t mean it like that. . . . Look.” He took a breath. “There’s always some real bad shit lurking around those places, bad shit that specializes in ripping supernaturals to pieces, and I’d hate for somebody to get the wrong idea about you snooping around that place. Just maintain a safe distance and we’ll see what their next move is.”

  “You know, I hate to be a wet blanket, but this cloak-and-dagger crap is starting to get old. I say let me hog-tie the both of them and we force the information out of them.” He flexed his fists beneath the leather gloves, imagining he could feel the lethal blades easing up his forearms.

  “You know we don’t operate like that, Jackson. We start tying up potentially innocent people and we become no better than the shitheads and their bosses. I’m still not sure quite what their roles are in all this, but if the Dark Order wants them dead, we might be able to use them.”

  “My boy Jonas, a regular army recruiter,” Jackson teased.

  “Call it what you want, but we’re gonna need all the help we can get against the forces of hell. Keep your eyes peeled and I’ll see what I can come up with on this end.”

  “You got it, boss,” Jackson said sarcastically, and ended the connection. He loved and respected Jonas, but sometimes they didn’t see eye to eye on how to handle certain situations. Jackson had been a soldier all his life and was used to handling things directly, while Jonas believed in a diplomatic approach. His way had worked more often than it hadn’t, but that still didn’t change the fact that war loomed in Jackson’s heart. Jonas could have his diplomacy as long as Jackson got to kick some ass in the end.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Gabriel felt like he had just gone five rounds with Antonio Tarver. He could feel the fog beginning to lift from his head, but he still felt like his body was asleep. With some effort he stretched both arms at his sides and began wiggling his fingers. When he thought he had gotten enough feeling back in his arms he rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself off the ground.

  He expected to feel the worn carpet of his grandfather’s study, but instead it was moist grass. Checking his surroundings, he was thoroughly startled to find out that he was in what appeared to be a dense forest. Before he had a chance to process how or why he was there, a low growl came from somewhere to his left. Gabriel found himself being approached by a pack of very large wolves, with pelts of varying colors.

  Gabriel tried to backpedal away from the advancing wolves but found that he was suddenly unable to keep his balance. Slipping on the moist grass, he landed on all fours. He tried to brace his hands and lift himself again but found that they had been replaced by paws. His arms were now thin and covered in thick black fur. The wolves were still advancing, with curious glances, but he sensed no malice from them. Instead there was sort of a kinship.

  Unexpectedly the wolves took off running through the thick brush. The wolf bringing up the rear motioned for Gabriel to follow, and for some reason he did. He loped along in his wolf form, trying to keep pace with the pack. The rush of wind felt good against his muzzle as he cut thorough the foliage. Branches slashed at his fur, but he kept running, oblivious to the nicks and scratches. He knew that instead of galloping through the forest he should be tryi
ng to figure out what the hell had happened to him, but it seemed secondary at that moment. All he cared about was the rush of excitement he was overcome with chasing his pack through the forest.

  He cleared the last thicket and could make out the shapes of the pack just ahead of him. Tongue hanging loosely over his fanged lower jaw, he broke out into a dead sprint. Loose rocks bit into his paws as he ran across the open plain, but he ignored the slight pinching. The pack disappeared through a dense patch of fog, with Gabriel close on their heels. He picked up on the scents of his pack and added speed to his run. No sooner had Gabriel broken through the fog than the ground below disappeared. With deformed limbs flailing, Gabriel plunged over the side of the cliff.

  The wind rushed up at Gabriel so violently that it tore off thick clumps of fur in its passing over him. His muscles cramped and became wracked with pain as his limbs contorted and straightened. Gabriel found himself as naked as the day he was born, about to collide with the concrete. He closed his eyes and braced, but to his surprise he landed as softly as a blade of grass. He started to say a prayer of thanks for being spared, but when he opened his eyes the words caught in his throat.

  The natural surroundings had transformed into something out of a horror movie. The sky overhead had gone from a beautiful blue to a pale orange. Winged things that he had only seen in books flew overhead scanning the ground for prey. The freak sandstorm that had appeared from nowhere made it hard for him to see, but he could hear very clearly the screams of someone or something being tortured. Something slick slithered across his foot, but he was so afraid that he didn’t even look to see what it was. Gabriel just took off running.

  As he ran, the layout changed again. Through the blowing sand he could make out what looked like the tall buildings that decorated the Manhattan skyline, but they were rotted and burning. Skeletal creatures similar to the things that had attacked him in the parking lot hissed and lunged at him. A few even managed to touch him, but he was able to easily throw them off. He didn’t try to study the creatures, for fear of being consumed by the warm ground if he stood in one spot too long. Gabriel just kept running.