by Kris Greene
“As it always is with your lot. I’ve no desire to barter with you tonight, mage. Take your hellish eyes and this befouled boy and leave this place before you bring the agents of hell to my doorstep,” Father Time snarled.
“So you know there’s something wrong with the boy?” Rogue asked.
Father Time looked over Gabriel slowly. “All who can see will know what this boy is. A mortal who walks with the power of a god is not an easy thing to miss.”
“I need you to tell me what’s going on with him, Father Time,” Rogue said.
“What is to pass will pass. There’s nothing that you or the boy can do about it.” Father Time grabbed a passing rat and tore into it. In a matter of seconds he’d drained the rat and discarded it amongst the others.
“I need to tell exactly what it is that’s supposed to go down,” Rogue told him.
For a minute Father Time looked almost sane. “Rogue, to get involved in this will draw attention that I don’t want or need right now. Already you’ve tainted my lair by bringing him here. If you’ve ever valued our strange friendship you’ll take him away from here and trouble me no more with this.”
“Father Time, I know you value your privacy and I’d have never come to you if I felt I had another choice, but you’re our best bet at solving this riddle. This boy can mean life or death for all humanity, including the vampires. I need you, Father Time, most gifted of the Seers,” Rogue pleaded.
Hearing the name of his vampire coven struck a chord in Father Time. Since the vision he’d seen during the last war of the vampire covens, he’d been in hiding, waiting for the end as he had seen it. But it hadn’t always been like that for Father Time. He was once a proud warrior and powerful psychic.
Father Time looked at Rogue. “After I do this thing for you, our business is concluded.”
“I understand.” Rogue nodded. “Gabriel, give him your hands.”
Gabriel looked hesitant, but when Rogue assured him that it was safe he stepped forward and extended his hands. Father Time skittered back so fast that he crashed into a pile of rubble, sending a dust cloud up.
“No, no. I dare not touch this one directly. Something personal to him will work just fine,” Father Time explained.
Gabriel was patting himself in search of something to give the strange vampire when his fingers brushed against his necklace. It was a simple wooden fang at the end of a leather cord, but it was one of his most prized possessions. It had been his father’s when he was a boy and Redfeather had passed it on to Gabriel when he came to stay with him. Gabriel took the necklace off and placed it into Father Time’s withered hand.
Rogue and Gabriel watched the vampire as he crouched over the carving and studied it like a child would an insect trapped under a glass. He rolled the carving back and forth on the ground, muttering to himself and scratching at whatever had made a nest in his beard. Rogue was beginning to wonder if Father Time was even seeing anything when the vampire suddenly went stiff. Father Time’s eyes went wild and he began to shout.
“You foolhardy boy, what have you brought into the world?” Father Time moved so fast that Rogue didn’t even realize the vampire had gotten off the floor until he bumped past him to get to Gabriel. The two went crashing to the ground, with Father Time landing on top of the struggling Gabriel. “You’ve damned us all!” Father Time rained spittle on Gabriel.
Rogue grabbed the vampire roughly by the collar and slung him across the room. “You really must’ve taken leave of your senses to attack someone who is under my protection.” Rogue pulled both revolvers and placed them to Father Time’s eyes. “I know your eyes would eventually regenerate, but it might be kinda fun watching you try to catch rats blind.” He pulled the hammers back with his thumbs.
“Do what you will, Rogue. The boy has already ensured that we will all burn in the flame for what he has awakened. Tonight I heard the screams of God’s faithful as the walls of their mighty house shook under steel and magic. The blood of the Hunter is the prize and the servants of the underworld are quite thirsty,” Father Time told them.
“You’d better start making some sense, Father Time.” Rogue pushed the barrels into Father Time’s eyes, causing them to tear. Trails of crimson rolled down his face and dotted his beard.
“Use your eyes, Rogue, and see him for who he really is.” Father Time pointed a gnarled finger at Gabriel. “The boy is twice damned for falling into the favor of the Nimrod and its one true master. Through him, the Bishop will have his revenge and all humanity is expendable.”
“How do we stop the Bishop?” Rogue put his guns away.
“You can’t. Even now I look at him and see the Bishop’s mocking sneer. The end is coming and it is he who will bring it about.” Father Time’s head suddenly whipped up. “Even now darkness swallows the moon.”
Rogue thought that the statement was another one of Father Time’s riddles until he looked out one of the boarded windows and realized that he couldn’t see the moon. Not only had the moon vanished, but so had the sky and everything else outside. The entire building was wrapped in darkness. “Talk about fucking persistence.” Rogue whipped his revolvers back and forth, looking for a target.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
When they pulled off the FDR it started drizzling, blanketing the ground in a light mist. The Hummer rumbled through the quiet streets, with the occupants of the car equally as quiet. De Mona sat in the second row with Jackson, pondering all that had happened that night. Ever since the trident had come into her life people had been dying: her father, Akbar, Angelo, and possibly Gabriel. She felt bad that she’d brought the thing to him instead of just burying it in the deepest hole she could dig. It wouldn’t have brought her father back, but it might’ve saved the lives of those people. De Mona vowed that she would do whatever it took to help them find the trident and then she would see it destroyed.
Redfeather sat alone in the third row, peering at Finnious and the body of Brother Angelo. The High Brother looked more like a mummified corpse than the intelligent and powerful spirit whom Redfeather had traded words with just a few hours prior. With the spark gone, Angelo’s body had succumbed to its natural aging process. The young wraith looked rattled, occasionally casting a sad glance at Angelo’s body. Finnious had managed to keep his body solid enough to keep from falling out of the Hummer, but his color was still faint. In the center of his ghostly form a tiny spark burned.
The others were confused about what had transpired between the High Brother and the wraith, but only Redfeather had an idea of what the exchange had been about. The wraith being in possession of the Core didn’t bode well for the current situation or the Order of Sanctuary.
“I hate the rain,” De Mona said, staring out the window absently.
Jackson shrugged. “Could be worse; we could all be dead.”
“True.” She smiled. “That reminds me: we never got a chance to thank you guys for saving us. How’d you even know what was going down?”
“Because we’ve been following you,” Morgan said from behind the wheel. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the look of distrust in De Mona’s eyes, so he clarified. “We’ve been keeping tabs on the shithead uprisings in the city over the last week or so, trying to figure out what they were up to. The ones you slew near the college led us to you.”
“At first we didn’t know which side you were on, which is why we didn’t butt in until the attack at the brownstone,” Jackson added. “What did those things want with you?” De Mona wouldn’t meet his gaze. Jackson leaned forward so that she could see the seriousness in his eyes. “Don’t clam up on me now, sis; we almost got our asses tore out in there, so I think it’s only fair that you tell us why?”
“They were looking for my grandson and the vile thing that is trying to gain a hold over his soul, the Nimrod,” Redfeather said heatedly.
This got Morgan’s attention. “I always thought that was just a myth?” Morgan said over his shoulder.
“Myths don�
�t generally get people killed,” De Mona said.
Jackson unsheathed and retracted one of his blades. “That all depends on who you ask.”
“No, my friend, it’s real. Real and loose somewhere in New York City,” Redfeather said.
“You getting this, Jonas?” Morgan asked into his earpiece.
“Yeah, and cross-searching it against the database,” the static-filled response came through.
“Who the hell is Jonas?” De Mona questioned.
“A friend,” Jackson said, not bothering to elaborate. They still didn’t know how far they could trust the demon or her mortal companion.
“Being that we’re sharing information, what are your stories?” She looked from Morgan to Jackson.
“Me, I was a victim of the ghetto,” Jackson joked.
Morgan was more serious with his reply: “Like the rest of you, we have been touched by the forces of hell one way or another. Jackson,” he nodded at his companion, “was carved up and left to die, by some nasty little bastards that are no longer amongst us.”
De Mona leaned forward and rested her arms on the backrests of the front seats. Morgan’s eyes twitched uncomfortably, so she leaned in closer. “And you, what’s your story?”
“I don’t have one,” he said, trying to focus on the road. His fist gripped the wheel so tight that his knuckles were starting to turn white.
“Bullshit.” De Mona took in his tangy odor. “Even if it weren’t for the fancy hammer, I’d know one of my own.”
“I’m not one of yours, girlie. There are no more of my kind; the war saw to that,” he said with his voice laced with emotion.
“Morgan’s people are descendants of the elementals.” Jackson picked up for his friend. “When the nine lords decided to cut up again they reached out to the elementals. Some threw in with their lot, but the ones that didn’t were hunted and destroyed.”
“Cassie was the last of us.” Morgan took over the story. “My sweet little Cassie, who had never harmed a soul in her life, butchered like cattle just before her mother was cut down. I lay there, helpless, while my family was punished for the blood in my veins and the thing in my possession.” He picked up the hammer and tested its weight. “It had been in my family since its creation, a gift for our services and faith. The dark forces came looking for it, and I gave it to them over and over,” he said, recalling the bloody rampage he had gone on in the name of his family.
“I’m sorry,” De Mona said, feeling a bit ashamed for prying.
“It’s not your fault, child. There were no Valkrin present during the slaughter, and the things responsible . . . I would not even do them the service of speaking their cursed names aloud. I thought killing those things would help to fill the void my wife and child left, but it hasn’t; all it does is make me angrier. So I continue, casting those I encounter back to the pit, and their mortal servants,” he tossed the hammer up and caught it easily, “they find not so pleasant ends.”
“Then your ancestors fought during the siege?” Redfeather asked.
“Maybe they did, or maybe one of my drunken greatkin stole it. The story of my people has been so stretched over the years I don’t think any of us could tell you accurately. I just know that it has always been the job of the eldest son to keep the hammer.”
Redfeather absently stroked his beard as a theory began to develop in his head. “The Nimrod and the hammer appearing in the same city in the midst of a demon uprising is a little too convenient to be a coincidence.”
“What are you on about, old-timer?” Jackson asked.
“A gathering,” Redfeather said. He unfolded a sheet of paper that he’d placed in his pocket before making the first trip to Sanctuary. “It’s said that before the first siege a gathering was called. The cardinals went to all the provinces in the world to gather the pure-of-heart souls who would be the Knights.”
“Man, I can’t buy into all this shit. I ain’t never been no savior of anybody but myself, and my heart sure as hell ain’t pure,” Jackson said.
“And correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the Knights fight against the demons, not with them?” De Mona pointed out.
“Not true.” Redfeather scanned the page before flipping it over and reading from the other side. “The Ghelgath came, the Weres, and even some of the elementals.”
“We aren’t demons,” Morgan challenged.
“Nor are you human, my friend. For the weapons to have stayed parted all this time only to come together in the wake of a demon uprising . . . it’s too perfect of a fit to ignore.”
“So, say we are these mythic warriors from yesteryear, where’s this great general who will unite our powers?” De Mona questioned. “No disrespect, man, but Gabriel didn’t strike me as much of a hero.”
“There’s a little hero hiding in the most unlikely of us.” Morgan patted Jackson on the shoulder.
“Sanctuary,” Fin whispered from the back. He was still kneeling at Brother Angelo’s side but appeared to be gaining substance. Just ahead of them was Sanctuary.
The building was as it had been when they’d left, but it looked to be losing its luster. The rain was coming down heavier now, and the front steps were almost covered in mist. Standing in front of the structure were members of the Inquisition. The brothers were dressed in full armor and carrying automatic weapons. Lydia stood in the doorway whispering frantically into the ear of a man dressed in priest’s robes. He looked to be slightly older than Gabriel, and there was a worried expression on his face.
“I’ll get the body,” Morgan offered, after putting the Hummer in park.
“No, the brothers will attend to him. It’s their right,” Fin said, sliding from the SUV. No sooner had his tattered sneakers hit the pavement than Lydia was down the steps and at his side.
“Oh, Fin, what were you thinking, running off like that?” She ran her hands over his body and then his face to see if he’d been harmed. Lydia’s face slacked and she held him at arm’s length. Though she couldn’t see the radiant glow about him, she could feel the power creeping up his arms. “What’s happened to you?”
Fin gave her a lazy smile. “He asked me to keep it, Lydia. I didn’t want it, but he made me promise.” With that he collapsed into her arms.
“Fin?” She shook him, but he didn’t stir. “What’s happened to him?”
“I fear it’s the spark.” Redfeather stepped up. “Just before he died, Brother Angelo passed something to Finnious, and if I’m right he now carries the Core of this Great House.”
“What do you mean, the High Brother has entrusted the spark to a wraith? The soulless creature can’t even carry it,” the man in the priest’s robes said, disregarding whether Fin could hear him or not.
Lydia’s head whipped back and forth, trying to pick up signs of her surrogate family. “Where are Angelo and Akbar?”
“We lost them in the battle,” Morgan said.
“Who are you? What’s happened to our people?” the brown-haired man in the priest’s robes questioned them.
“It’s like the man said: we lost them in the scuffle.” Jackson stepped up. He didn’t like how the priest was coming at them, and made no secret of it. “We can explain all of that once we get off the streets. There are still some things out there looking to finish what they started, so why don’t you cut the bullshit and let us in.”
Anger flashed across the priest’s eyes. He drew the short sword that he carried on his belt and faced Jackson. “How dare you speak to a brother of the order in such a way? I could have you disciplined for this!”
“If you don’t put that knife away you ain’t gonna do shit but bleed.” De Mona stood beside Jackson. Her claws hadn’t extended yet but were ready at a moment’s notice. She and Jackson made brief eye contact and there was an unspoken agreement. “We’ve been through a lot tonight, probably more than most could handle in a lifetime.” She glanced at the Hummer, where the Inquisitors were collecting Angelo’s remains. “There’s been enough bloodshed.�
��
“Please, Brother David,” Lydia pleaded as one of the Inquisitors took Fin’s limp body from her.
Brother David scowled at the tired bunch for a moment before bidding them to follow him. “We will speak of this more inside.” He stormed up the stairs with the group in tow. Everyone was so preoccupied with the death of Brother Angelo and the transformation of Fin that no one seemed to notice how thick the fog had gotten.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“God, I hate the rain,” Sulin said, turning off the Prospect Park Loop. The sky had been clear when they set out, but by the time they’d exited the Brooklyn Bridge it had started storming. “Where did this damn monsoon come from?”
Lucy stuck her hand out the window and let the raindrops fill her hand. The rain was surprisingly chilly, far colder than it was outside. “Flash flood?”
Sulin looked over at her. “In a perfect world, yes, but you and I know that neither of the worlds we live in is perfect.”
“You think it’s rogue magic?” Lucy asked.
Sulin looked up through her soaked windshield. “I don’t think so; there’s no source to it. It’s like it’s coming from everywhere and nowhere, typical of Mother Nature.”
Lucy flinched as lightning cracked overhead. She stroked Tiki’s head. “I don’t like it, Sulin. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Goddess, I didn’t realize you were so paranoid, Lucy.” Sulin laughed. “The freakish rain is probably because we’re getting close to Sanctuary. I didn’t recognize it from the address Angelique sent me, but I’d know this area anywhere.”
Lucy tried to muster a smile to spite her mounting dread. “Who would’ve thought that the Ellis Island of the demon world would have a park-side view?” Lucy examined her surroundings as Sulin pulled up in front of the building. She couldn’t help but think how odd it was that the fog seemed to be concentrated on that block.