by Kris Greene
“My mother?” De Mona asked in disbelief.
“Yes, that’s why when you showed up I thought that maybe she had sent you to broker a new peace.”
De Mona scoffed, “My mother bounced on us, so if she was down with this little uprising or whatever, I wasn’t in on it.”
Lydia’s brow creased. “She didn’t take you?”
“No, why?” De Mona asked.
“Because all the Valkrin are bound to combat; it’s one of their culture’s oldest traditions. If Mercy didn’t take you with her, then you must be a secret to the elders. To not stand beside your sisters in battle is punishable by death. I’m sorry; I thought you knew all this.”
De Mona shook her head. It seemed that every time she thought she had her mother figured out, something new was revealed to De Mona. Hearing all the new information about her mother and her people took De Mona back to the day she had discovered the truth about what she was. For her first eleven years on earth, she had been a happy little girl living a seemingly normal life, with two loving parents. Her mother, though always forceful and strong-willed, was every bit the television housewife, tending to things around the house while De Mona’s father worked to support them. One day she had been playing in the park near their house when a stray pit bull had wandered over. Not knowing any better, she tried to pet the dog, and it bit her. Seeing the blood all over her new white dress, De Mona went into shock.
The next few moments were fuzzy, but she could remember the smell of burning wood and the sound of whimpering. When she snapped out of it the dog lay crumpled at her feet, its neck at an uncomfortable-looking angle. When she went to touch the spot on her arm where she had been bitten, she discovered that not only had the wound healed, but she had also changed. Her dainty hands were now gnarled talons and her skin as smooth as leather. When she touched the talons to her face, she felt the bumps under the skin on her forehead. De Mona tore off screaming for her mother, hoping that she could fix whatever was wrong, but was horrified when she reached her. Mercy’s face was no longer that of the loving mother De Mona had always known but the demon she had just discovered. After calming her, Mercy took De Mona home and together her parents told her the truth of what she really was.
When Mercy disappeared, De Mona’s father let her believe that her mother had just run off, but her sins went far deeper. In De Mona’s heart Mercy had abandoned not only her but also the very world that had taken Mercy in. De Mona had always been angry at her mother for leaving them, but to throw in her lot with the dark forces? It was no wonder Akbar hated De Mona, because at that moment she wasn’t sure how she felt about herself.
“As if I wasn’t a big enough loser already.” De Mona sagged in on herself.
“But as we teach here, one cannot be judged by the actions of their kin, only on individual deeds,” Brother Angelo said, strolling into the room with Akbar on his heels. Brother Angelo was a handsome man, who walked erect and proud. His hair was still as thick and as curly as Redfeather had remembered it, but it was now flecked with gray. Angelo was dressed in a tight-fitting black shirt, showing off his well-developed body. Along his thick arms he sported tattoos similar to the ones on Akbar’s face. Though Brother Angelo seemed normal enough, De Mona could sense there was a great power about him.
Brother Angelo Annapolis was what was called a High Brother, or Core. He was the living embodiment of the power that dwelled within the Great Halls of Sanctuary, and leader of their order. Each house had a High Brother, but even amongst the others Brother Angelo was one of the most respected. Since birth he had been groomed to one day serve the order, as was their way. When Angelo was elected to his position he was bound by the oath and empowered by the magic trapped within the walls of the house. Because of the power within Sanctuary and the bond it created with the High Brothers, they could call on the power of the halls, as it could call on them in times of need. Though not quite immortal, they were very hard to kill.
Angelo nodded to Redfeather and gave De Mona a cordial smile. “Welcome, child of Mercy. What can we do for you here?”
“I . . . ah . . .”
“She was attacked by Stalkers,” Redfeather answered for the girl.
“Wow, you actually saw a real Stalker?” Lydia asked excitedly. “The closest I ever came was when we took this guy in who had been bitten. When he started going through the change from the infection Akbar had to—”
“Enough, Lydia.” Angelo raised his hand. “I don’t think now is the time to rehash old stories. Why don’t you go and see if Fin needs your help in the hall of prayer.”
“Brother Angelo, how hard could it be to wipe off the benches?”
“Good-bye, Lydia.” The girl sucked her teeth but left as she was told. When she was gone, Angelo turned back to Redfeather. “You know how teenagers can be.” Angelo shrugged. “Lydia has been under my care for almost ten years now and a ward of the Sanctuary since she was born.”
“Gabriel is slightly older than her.” Redfeather thought back on Gabriel, who still hadn’t woken. “He is the reason we’ve come here tonight.”
Angelo studied Redfeather for a minute. “The last time I saw him we were laying his father to rest.” Angelo crossed himself. “As I recall, you turned your back on the order and your duties shortly after.”
“Yes, Angelo. I understand that you may still hold some bitterness in your heart for my decision, but you have to understand my circumstances. I had lost my entire family to Belthon’s lot and I did not have the heart to send my grandson into the fire, as I had my sons.”
“None of us would, but to pretend that they are not amongst us is delusional, old friend. You know the legacy of your people.”
“Indeed I do. And it is the legacy of my people that has stirred the most disturbing of things, the Nimrod.”
Angelo’s smirk was suddenly washed away. “The Bishop’s prison? Impossible.”
“I wish that were so, Angelo, but it isn’t. The Nimrod has resurfaced and answered to the touch of my grandson,” Redfeather said seriously.
Angelo gave Redfeather a look that said he wasn’t quite convinced. “Redfeather, even if the Nimrod had resurfaced, only one of the Bishop’s line could wake his spirit, let alone control the thing. Anyone else would probably do little more than incinerate himself.”
Redfeather raised his eyebrow and asked, “Need I remind you who stopped the Dark Storm the first time?”
“Yes, the same man who accidentally slew several of his own with the cursed thing,” Angelo spat.
“That was the work of Nimrod, not my ancestor!” Redfeather said heatedly. Arguing was getting him nowhere, so he tried to rationalize. “Angelo, the Nimrod has done something to my grandson, and the more we bicker the worse his condition could become. Whatever your feelings about me might be, you know I’ve always been a man of my word. If you do not believe me, then believe your own eyes.” Redfeather pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and laid it on the table. He folded it open and showed Angelo the dagger. “The Bishop sleeps no more.”
Angelo had a hard time taking his eyes off the dagger. It had been ages since he’d seen it, and longer still since he’d seen it shine so brightly. “It came alive for Gabriel?”
Redfeather nodded. “As did the Nimrod.”
Angelo watched Redfeather for a while, trying to gauge the sincerity of his words. The dagger being restored was proof enough that something was afoot, but if what Redfeather was saying held any truth then it could mark the beginning of the next battle for humanity. Taking Redfeather’s claim lightly could potentially leave them open to an assault by the dark forces.
“Tell me, how did your grandson come into possession of the Nimrod?” Angelo asked, still weighing his decision.
De Mona raised her hand. “Afraid I’m responsible for that.” She went on to tell Angelo the tale of how the trident came into her possession and of her father’s murder.
Angelo shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry to hear about your father,
De Mona. Edward was a good man and didn’t deserve that. Tell me, where is the Nimrod now?”
“With Gabriel,” Redfeather answered.
Angelo turned his eyes to him. “Redfeather, the Nimrod is one of the most powerful religious artifacts ever known and you left it with your grandson?”
“It was through no choice of mine. I’m afraid the Nimrod has bound itself to my grandson in more than just spirit.” Redfeather went on to explain about the tattoo and Gabriel’s coma.
“God in heaven, how could this be?” Angelo gasped.
“We came here for answers, but it seems like you guys are asking all the questions,” De Mona said. She hadn’t meant to be short with Angelo, but her mind was reeling from the last few days’ events.
“Hold your tongue, demon,” Akbar warned. Just as it had in the doorway, the temperature dropped in the chapel.
De Mona stood directly in front of him. She could feel the change coming as her fingers hardened, and welcomed it this time. “If you’re trying to scare me, you ain’t doing a very good job.”
“Then maybe I should increase my efforts?” Akbar challenged. He held his palm up and a shard of ice appeared in the center of it.
“Enough,” Angelo said. Though he never raised his voice, it seemed to echo throughout the chapel. “Akbar, this girl has been through a lot and deserves a little compassion.”
“Angelo, surely you’re not being taken in by their lies?” Akbar was still tense, but the ice had melted away to water dripping from his hand. “You’ve seen how the Valkrin abandoned us; surely you won’t take the word of Mercy’s child?”
“No, but I’ll take the word of an old friend.” He glanced at Redfeather. “We’ll have a team assembled within the hour to recover your grandson. I will lead them personally.”
“Impossible,” Akbar cut in. “You’re too valuable to the order to lead the investigation, Brother Angelo. You are the Core of the power which dwells in this place; we can’t risk losing you. I’ll lead the team.”
“Akbar, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t think me being gone for a couple of hours will result in the dissipation of this house. I will go with Redfeather to bring his grandson in.”
“Thank you, Angelo, but I would rather just be rid of the trident. Gabriel has been through enough,” Redfeather told him.
“I understand, Redfeather, but I’m afraid they’ll both have to be brought here. If it is as you say and the trident has bonded with Gabriel, he’s as much a part of the puzzle as it is.”
“I cannot agree to my grandson being brought here to be studied,” Redfeather said heatedly.
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” Angelo locked eyes with his old friend. “The weapon is too powerful to be left in the hands of the uninitiated. The trident has awakened for your grandson and we need to know why. In the wrong hands, the trident of heaven could upset the balance of light and dark, and that cannot be allowed.”
“Angelo, you are making a mistake,” Redfeather insisted.
“Don’t try and tell me how to do my job, Redfeather. I have served the order faithfully, while others have chosen to turn a blind eye to the vile things that prey on humanity. Akbar will escort you back upstairs to wait until the team is ready to go. I am sorry that your grandson is caught in the middle of this, Redfeather, truly.” Without giving Redfeather a chance to protest further, Angelo turned and left.
De Mona looked from Angelo to Redfeather, who wore a worried expression on his face. “Some freaking friends.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
On a commercial flight it took an average of between six and eight hours to get from Ontario to New York, but the Night Hawk did it in fewer than three. It was a sleek eight-passenger jet that could travel at mach 2 for over two thousand miles before compromising its hull integrity. As far as luxury jets went, it didn’t get any more top-of-the-line than the gift to the Dark Order from the Russian government, but it still made Flag nervous.
Flag hated flying, especially in an airplane. The flying machines were the ultimate display of modern technology and therefore the best at interfering with magic. Between the minerals used in their construction and the radio waves, they made casting a spell three times as hard as it would be standing in an open field. If something went wrong, Flag wouldn’t be able to totally depend on his magics, and working with a handicap didn’t sit well with him, especially in light of the mission Titus had sent him on.
Flag knew he was going to have his hands full overseeing their troops in the city while they searched for the Nimrod, but the e-mail he’d just gotten on his BlackBerry threatened to complicate things even more. His spies had reported that Mercy’s daughter had last been seen going into a church in Brooklyn. Flag knew that it had to be the stronghold of the Inquisitors and they could cause a serious problem.
Since the days before the witch hunts, the Inquisition and the Order of Sanctuary had been the most hated enemies of the Dark Order. Unlike the church, the Inquisitors were willing to tap into the great beyond to accomplish their ultimate goal of casting evil from the world. They were a relentless and merciless lot, who once they’d been set on you wouldn’t stop until you were destroyed. Flag’s being a man wanted by the Order of Mages and a servant of the Dark Order would be more than enough reason for the Inquisitors to put him in their sights, so he wanted to get in and out of the city as quickly as possible.
When Flag stepped off the plane he was greeted by Riel and two Stalkers that, thankfully, looked to be freshly dead. Flag understood the necessity for Riel’s abominations but had never been comfortable with the animated corpses. The mages believed that spirits were best utilized by stripping them of their power, rather then giving them an opportunity to stab you when your back was turned. Flag stopped at the bottom of the folding stairs and regarded the demon.
“Well, this will truly be a glorious night if Titus has sent his favorite lackey into the heart of the battle,” Riel said smugly.
“If the choice had been mine, I wouldn’t be here, demon.” Flag stared him down. “Sadly, fate has thrust us together, so I suggest we get on with our assignments so we can be done.”
“Agreed.” Riel led Flag to the waiting limo.
“I trust that your people are still looking for the Nimrod.” Flag settled into the backseat of the limo. Behind the wheel was a man who had no eyes but seemed to see clearer than any of them.
“The Nimrod burns brighter than a hundred stars; even as it tries to hide, my people see it. We’ve got the best tracker in the kennels of the Gehenna on the trail and he places it somewhere in uptown Manhattan. We will find this boy and his whore and I shall drink from both their severed heads.” Riel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What you do with their blood is your business, demon. I’m only concerned with concluding Titus’ business so I can be away from this place.” Flag looked out the window nervously. Though he couldn’t see them, he could feel the different supernatural presences moving around him. In New York almost nothing was as it seemed, and the sooner he could be away the better he would feel.
“The shadow master has been cured of his sickness and has been dispatched to the warlocks’ stronghold to administer his special brand of interrogation to some of the young ones. If they know something, Moses will find out. We will not fail the dark lord again,” Riel assured Flag.
“You should hope so, Riel. Titus has entrusted you with a heavy task, and failure could leave a blemish on your impeccable record. You’ve long been the faithful right arm of Titus, so I gather it wouldn’t go over well for you if it seemed like that arm’s strength was wavering.” Flag smirked.
“The day that I can’t defeat a novice I combat is the day that you boy-loving magicians will rule the underworld.” Riel laughed.
“Your performance earlier says otherwise, but that’s a conversation for you to have with Titus.”
“So it is, but you have a far more interesting conversation ahead of you. I hear that th
e goblins prefer the flesh of magicians only second to fairies,” Riel taunted him. “But fear not; I’ve provided you with two able bodies to see you through.” He pointed to the Stalkers. They were menacing but would be little more than food if the goblins turned on them.
“For your sake I hope they’re up to the task. If I were you, I’d get moving. Raising the dead must be time-consuming,” Flag said.
“Only to the unenlightened. Don’t worry, mage; Titus will have his army and I will have my glory.” Riel disappeared into a wisp of acidic black smoke.
“I hate demons,” Flag said to the empty space.
The driver of the recently missing Greyhound bus that had been traveling from Atlantic City back to New York braced himself against the cemetery fence and continued throwing up until he felt like his body would turn itself inside out. When he’d been approached by the young biker his good mind said to refuse, but the money the biker was offering was too good to pass up. He made it seem like a simple kidnapping that would net the driver fifty large, but he was now seeing that the stakes were for something far greater than money.
Riel had instructed the driver to drive the bus to the closest cemetery, where he proceeded to unload the passengers, aided by the few Stalkers that hadn’t fallen to the Nimrod. Most of the passengers knew they were done, but some held on to hopes that they might be ransomed or rescued. But those thoughts fled when the first blood was shed. Riel executed all of them. The loser, the newlyweds, even a woman who had been huddled in the back with her teenaged son. The demon spared no one. Their blood would be a tribute to the god Thanos for sharing his power, and their flesh would fuel his troops.
“Listen, can I go now? I can pick my money up in the morning?” the driver asked, not being able to take it anymore.
“Hold your place, mortal.” Riel pointed Poison at him. “None may break the circle until Titus has his army.”