by Kris Greene
“Prime real estate,” Sulin said, sliding from the car and retrieving her dog. The Pom squirmed in Sulin’s arms, agitated by something about the building. “What’s the matter, boy? The haunted house got you spooked?” Sulin kissed the top of his fuzzy head. “Don’t worry; we’ll be in and out in no time.”
“I don’t blame him for being spooked; this place stinks of black magic.” Lucy put her hand over her nose. “I don’t know how long I wanna be here, Sulin.”
“Quit your bitching, Lucy; this isn’t going to take that long. Angelique didn’t say what was going on, but she seemed sure that I could handle it until she got here.”
“Wait; you didn’t tell me that Angelique was coming here.” Lucy stopped in her tracks.
“Lucy, stop being so catty. By the time Angelique gets here I’ll have fixed whatever is wrong and you can take credit for helping me. Goddess knows you need to score as many points with the White Queen as possible.”
“Sulin, remind me never to come on a call with you again.” Lucy followed Sulin up the walkway to Sanctuary. The moment Lucy’s foot touched the sacred grounds she felt a chill. “Couldn’t they have called a priest to perform the exorcism?”
“It’s not an exorcism, silly ass. They needed a healer, so naturally they had Angelique send her best,” Sulin boasted.
“Whatever.” Lucy folded her arms. “Just do what you came to do so we can get out of here.” Lucy stood off to the side while Sulin knocked on the door. While they waited for someone to answer, Lucy busied herself watching the slow-rolling fog. From where they were standing at the top of the steps she had lost sight of the street below as well as the car. Lucy turned to mention it to Sulin when something wet splashed on her face.
Sulin’s perfectly bowed lips curled back into a sneer while the Pom wiggled in her unyielding clutch. A thick red line appeared at the base of her pale throat. The blood came slowly at first, but as she sank to her knees it began to flow steadily. Sulin’s body disappeared into the fog, leaving nothing but the yapping dog to mark her passing.
Lucy’s magic shields went up without her having to call on them as the fog began to thicken. She backed up against the building, whipping her head back and forth, trying to see who or what had killed Sulin, but it was too thick. Lucy’s eyes picked out a blur of motion, but before she could figure out what it was everything went black.
Flag stood dressed in a red robe, marked with the symbols of his house. Flanking him were two young witches of blond and brunette hair. Unlike Flag, they couldn’t hide their fear of being so deep within the Iron Mountains. Had he had more time he’d have sought more experienced assistants for the spell, but it was roughly three hours to sunrise, so time was not a luxury they could afford. It would take three casters to work the spell, so they would have to do.
“Move you, dog. Put your back into it!” Orden barked as he made his way up the hill, followed by a troupe of goblins, armed with everything from swords to clubs. His muscular arms cracked a leather whip against a goblin who was just a hair shorter than a one-story house. “If you want your pound of flesh then you’ll move your worthless hide!” Orden continued his abuse.
The goblin howled and pulled harder on the chains that were harnessed to his back. At the end of the chains there was a cannon on a wooden cart. The cannon was the size of a missile launcher and painted to resemble a striking serpent.
“Ready the gateway, mage, we have feasting to do,” Orden ordered Flag.
Instead of answering Orden, Flag turned towards the witches who had already started the spell. The large circle painted against the brick began to glow faintly. The crossing spell they were about to cast was one of the most dangerous and most complex of the travel spells, and it became more so when you tried to use it to cross between realms, which was why it was outlawed by all circles of magic. The ban meant nothing to Titus, though, when it came to pleasing his master, so he ordered Flag to perform it.
Already the witches looked worn and one was even bleeding from her ears, but they couldn’t break the connection, which was why Flag had them start the spell. The more of your power you added for the spell to feed on, the more likely you were to be consumed by it. Flag wanted to add as little of himself as possible, but he knew his magic would be needed to complete it. When Flag added his own magic to the mix the circle grew brighter and a fog appeared out of nowhere, which spilled into the circle. Through the fog they could see what looked like a building, bearing two crosses at the entrance. On the steps stood two young women.
“The tender flesh of witches will be even sweeter than that of the Inquisition.” Orden drew a large curved blade from the skimmer on his back. “Illini, let the first taste be yours,” he told his captain.
“It will be a pleasure.” Illini charged through the circle and disappeared in the fog.
Orden turned to the rest of his troops. “To arms, my brothers, and let the blood of our enemies taste like the sweetest wine as we gnaw at their bones in the Great Hall.” Orden led his goblins through the portal.
The spell had drained the witches to the point where they looked like old hags, kneeling in the thrall of power. They looked at Flag with pleading eyes, but he ignored them while he addressed the goblins who remained: “Wait until I’m through the portal and then you’re welcome to them.” Flag motioned to the helpless witches. Before he’d even stepped out the other side he could hear the screams of the witches and the tearing of flesh.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Poor Angelo.” Lydia sobbed over the High Brother’s body, which was laid out in the chapel of Sanctuary. “He was so good to us, him and Akbar.”
“They died well.” Morgan placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Tonight I watched these men stare down the forces of hell and spit in their faces. It was an honor to fight beside them.”
“Honor?” This was a young man wearing the robes of the Inquisition but carrying a sword, which he couldn’t seem to stop fumbling with. His long, colorless hair blew in the breeze as he paced the chapel, occasionally turning his blue eyes on the strangers. “The honor of everyone here, except those who are a part of this house, is in question. There is still much to discuss, including the fate of two men whom I’ve known all my life.”
“They’re gone, Julius,” Lydia said over her shoulder.
“So I keep hearing. But what I’m not hearing is what happened.” Julius stepped closer to the body. His trained eyes were already searching for signs of the magic he knew Angelo carried within him. When there was no sign of it in the body, Julius studied everyone in the room. When he got to Fin, Julius’ eyes suddenly widened as he noticed the tiny spark flashing in Fin’s gut.
“Brother Angelo and Akbar left here with a team to retrieve the Nimrod and were ambushed by a troop of Stalkers.” Lydia recounted what she knew of the mission, in addition to what Fin had told her.
“Is this true? Has the Nimrod responded to your grandson?” Julius addressed Redfeather.
Redfeather nodded. “Yes, the Nimrod had bound itself to my grandson and stirred the forces of hell. We fought as best we could against the demons but were overrun. Had it not been for these two brave souls, we’d have become victims of the dark lord.” He pointed at Morgan and Jackson.
“Yes, you two.” Julius approached them. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade when he spoke. “How is it that you happened upon all this so conveniently?”
“As I’ve already explained, we’ve been following De Mona and Gabriel since the Nimrod first manifested in Manhattan. Until the demons attacked them we weren’t sure which side they were fighting on,” Morgan said. Though he seemed unmoved by Julius, Jackson fidgeted.
Julius looked to Brother David. “And what do you make of their story, priest?”
Brother David looked up, the worried expression still on his face. “The wraith confirms what they’ve told us, and so have our people on the street.” He placed his head in his hands. “I can’t believe Angelo is gone.”
Julius took David by the jaw and raised his head so that they were eye to eye. The black irises of Julius’ eyes seemed to expand when he spoke. “Save your tears for when we celebrate the execution of Angelo’s murderer, and all his accomplices.” He gave the guest a quick glance, then turned back to David, who was trying his best to keep from becoming hysterical. He knew that he was technically the next in line for the position of High Brother and didn’t look forward to holding the position if they were approaching a time of war.
“And the spark?” Julius asked, already knowing the answer to the question but not quite sure how to change it.
“He gave it to the Halfling.” Brother David pointed at Fin, who had paused his sipping at the sound of him being drawn into the conversation.
Julius released David’s face and started towards Fin. His sword clanged against his leg as he closed the distance. He knelt before the wraith and spoke in a voice that was colder than an Arctic winter. “Is it true, Finnious? Has Angelo entrusted the spark to you?”
Fin’s eyes got wide and he crept back in the cushioned chair. “I don’t know what happened in there; I just know that I didn’t ask for it.”
“But how can this be? One without a soul cannot carry the life force of our order.” A little of the authority had returned to Brother David’s voice.
Julius gave Brother David a look of disgust before turning back to the nervous little man. When Julius spoke, his words were directed at David, but his eyes remained on Finnious. “Have you been so far removed by your ambitions of becoming High Brother that you’ve forgotten the story of one our closest childhood friends?” He touched Fin’s cheek and his fingers were like ice against his skin. There was love in Julius’ voice, but his eyes were scornful. “Fin is the oddity amongst oddities, aren’t you?” The wraith got off the couch and went to stand beside Lydia.
“Even in adulthood you still carry the cruel qualities of a child, Julius.” Lydia hugged Fin to her. “Fin,” she turned to where she knew their guests were standing, “is no oddity or abomination, regardless of the feelings your curiosities may have created. He is a blessing to the order and the world, a miracle of life and death.”
“More aptly put, Finnious is a mutation. The child of a life-giving forest nymph and the scourge of the dead lands,” Julius said.
“Morbius,” Redfeather gasped. “Impossible, a spirit cannot procreate with a living being; genetically it can’t happen.”
“But Finnious is proof that it can,” Julius pointed out. “Though his mother never spoke of what happened to her, the traits are apparent in the little one and only Morbius is powerful enough to dominate both flesh and spirit.”
“Lies,” Finnious hissed at Julius. Finnious’ mixed lineage was known amongst the order, but his mother never spoke of his father’s identity, only that he was one of the spirits. Some speculated that only Morbius was powerful enough to accomplish such a thing, but it was never proven.
“Regardless of who your parents were, it doesn’t change the fact of what you are, little brother,” Julius said. “The question we are faced with now is how to part the spark from you.”
“The only way for the spark and its host to be parted is death,” Brother David said, with an edge to his voice that didn’t carry over well with the others.
“Don’t touch him.” Lydia shielded Fin with her body. She pointed her staff in the direction of Brother David. “You won’t be experimenting on Finnious, spark or not.”
“What’s the deal with this spark?” Jackson asked.
“The spark and the High Brother who held it were the foundation of this very house. Without the spark, the magic will fade and this chapter of the order will be undone,” Redfeather answered.
“So you mean that thing that Angelo put inside Fin is the only thing holding this place together?” De Mona looked around nervously, as if the house would collapse on her.
“Not just the building, Valkrin, but the very magic that protects us,” Julius said. “Even now the light from our Great Hall dims.” He motioned towards the flickering candles that lit the house.
There was a soft knock on the door.
“That should be the witch healer. She can assist us with the removal of the spark from the wraith,” Brother David said.
“You’ll do no such thing. Finnious will die if the spark has bound itself too closely to him,” Lydia said.
Brother David’s eyes were serious now. “The death of one for the life of millions is more than an even exchange.”
“What kind of animals are you people? He is a living creature.” Redfeather looked from the priest to the captain pleadingly.
“He is a member of this Great House, and like the rest of us has taken the oath to put this order before all, even his own life,” Julius said sternly.
“It is decided: the wraith will relinquish the spark,” Brother David said finally, heading for the door. Two of the Inquisitors followed, while the rest stayed behind with Julius and the guests.
“Man, this shit is beyond greasy.” Jackson got to his feet. One of the Inquisitors moved with him, training his gun on Jackson. “Y’all keep pointing those things at me and I might take it the wrong way.”
Julius waved the Inquisitor back, easing some of the tension but not much. “Good people, we are beyond thankful for what you’ve done so far in helping us to further our efforts, but if you really want to help I suggest you do not interfere. This is the business of the order.”
“What kind of order slaughters its own?” Morgan asked.
“Man, I ain’t buying into this shit.” Jackson unsheathed his blades. The Inquisitors moved to surround him, but he didn’t back down. “We tore ass through a small army of shitheads to watch you wax this little dude. I can’t sit by for it.”
“You don’t have a choice.” Julius drew his sword.
“I think he does.” Morgan stepped up. The tension in the air was so thick that you could barely breathe. The newly formed Knights faced off against an order that had been around longer than any of them had been alive. Magical energy crackled through the air as the threat of violence lingered, but it was all brought to an abrupt halt when the second floor exploded in a ball of flame.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Surely you didn’t think you could evade me that easily, especially after I’d tasted the young one.” Moses descended from the ceiling, supported by webs of shadow. More uniformed officers came in through all entrances of the building, holding automatic weapons.
Rogue stood between Gabriel and the demon, with his guns ready. “What, did the NYPD have a fire sale on these guys or something?”
“The dark lord has many allies.” Moses touched the ground soundlessly. The web of shadows snaked throughout the room, sealing all possible exits. This time there would be no escape. Father Time tried to bolt, but a shadow caught up about his ankles and held him upside down. The shadows carried Father Time to Moses and held the struggling vampire in front of him. “So, even the vampires defy the dark lord these nights, do they?”
Father Time gave Moses a very sane smile. “What is to pass will pass.”
“Indeed,” Moses said before commanding the shadows to rip Father Time’s head off. The thousand-year-old vampire was dust before he hit the ground.
“He wasn’t a part of this!” Rogue shouted, watching the wind take away what was left of his old friend.
“It matters not what he was, mage. Now he’s a passenger on the Jihad, and unless you wish to join him, I suggest you stand aside while I claim my prize,” Moses told Rogue.
“I got your prize, demon!” Rogue blasted away with the two revolvers. The first bullet struck Moses in the stomach, but he had melted into shadow before the rest could connect. An officer tried to play hero and was rewarded by being shot in the face. His body sailed backward and crashed into the other officers.
The officers returned fire, barely missing Rogue as he darted across the room. He managed to lay low two of the officers in his
passing, but they were still coming. He knew that in such closed quarters he didn’t have much of a chance against the shadows, so he needed to take the fight outside. As if in answer to his prayers, one of the shadows grabbed him by the head and hurled him through one of the boarded-up windows.
Gabriel dove behind some boxes just as the police officers cut loose with a barrage of bullets. He tried to move to a better cover position but was tripped up by shadows. Gabriel raised his arm to call the Nimrod to him, but a band of shadow bound his wrists above his head and lifted him off the ground. He watched helplessly as Moses oozed up from the shadows and closed in on him.
“Unlike Riel, I came prepared for the Bishop’s trickery.” Moses thrust his hand out, slammed Gabriel into a wall and then bounced him roughly off the ground and into a corner. Moses called the shadows back, dragging Gabriel with them. His face was bloody and he looked out of it. “Tonight, I present your head and your weapon to the favorite son.”
“Sorry, this one is already spoken for,” Asha said from her perch on the catwalk. The air around her crackled with magic as her hands began to glow.
Moses immediately recognized the signature black and gold threads tainting her magical energy. “As I told your sisters, this is no business of yours.”
“I’m afraid it is. The dark forces aren’t the only ones with an interest in the young man you’re trying to kill.” She bounded gracefully down from her perch and stood a safe distance from the shadow master. She’d seen enough of his tricks to not risk getting too close.
Moses looked at her with an amused grin. “Very well then.” He turned to one of his officers, who was carrying a shotgun. “Kill this bitch and then come help me with what’s left of the Knight.”
“With pleasure.” The officer raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger.
Asha’s nimble hands traced a symbol in the air and raised an invisible barrier just as the shotgun pellets reached her. The ball bearings smacked against the barrier and dropped harmlessly to the ground. She produced a sharp silver disc from a compartment of her leather vest and hurled it at the officer. It spun in a wide arch, opening up a gash in his shoulder, before returning to Asha.