Key of Solomon: Relic Defenders, Book 1

by Cassiel Knight

  When he moved, it was to pull out a gun from behind his back. The bottom fell out of her stomach. A slam of fear pierced her chest, leaving behind a racing heart. Oh fuck. He held a 45-caliber semi-auto Colt pointed directly at her chest.

  She hated guns. No, more than hated–she loathed guns. Over the years, too many of her street companions, including her best friend and the sister she’d never had, had lived and died at the end of a gun.

  But hatred didn’t mean she didn’t know guns. Stupid to live on the streets and not know about them. The one he pointed at her couldn’t fail to inflict maximum damage.

  Several cracks of sound bled into one loud spine-shuddering snap that shattered the unearthly silence. One drawn out crack followed by several breath-sucking punches in her chest. As if she stood outside her own body, she watched him pull the trigger until rapid clicking indicated he’d emptied the Colt’s clip.

  Agony filled her chest, spreading outward until all her nerve endings shrieked with pain. She let out an involuntary scream and sank to her knees. A warm, wet sensation cascading down the front of her shirt soothed the fire on her skin. She peered at her chest. Red on red. Except for the dampness, she couldn’t even tell where her blood ended and her clothing began.

  A nervous giggle rose then settled into her throat as a big lump. She tipped sideways, hit the pavement then rolled to her back. Starting in her toes, an icy cold crept through her body, following the same path as the pain yet leaving behind…nothing. No pain, no fear, no sensations of any kind. She coughed, catching it with her hand. When she pulled her hand away, it too was splattered with crimson. A light metallic scent, like warm coins; a tangy smell.

  Her blood.

  Lexi looked upward. The lightening sky showed capering sparks of light, glittering like diamonds. A gurgling sigh escaped her lips. As if from a distance, she heard the wails of the sirens getting closer.

  Who the hell was screaming?

  Veils of gray oozed across her vision, pulling the dancing pinpoints from her view. A motion out of the corner of her eyes snagged her attention. She rolled her head to the side to look. A light-stealing black mist floated near her. Her mind babbled an incoherent warning and her body tried to recoil from the mist. Nothing worked. Not her legs. Not her arms. She couldn’t move. All she could do was watch her death approach.

  Suddenly, the horrible mist spun, whirling into a miniature funnel then disappeared. Footsteps sounded nearby, confident and quick. She blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to focus. For a second, she clearly saw a man approaching her. The dark-haired man from the nightclub, his chin shadowed with the beginnings of a beard, came to a stop at her side. He crouched, looming over her. Coldness continued to creep through her chest, leaving behind peace. She couldn’t bring herself to wonder why, or care, he was there.

  He glanced down her body then stopped over her chest. For an instant, his glance sharpened. He mumbled in Latin and passed his hand over her chest. Black eyes overflowed from within by silver light. The vague outline of dark wings filled the space behind him. A sense of the absurd filled her mind as her vision dimmed.

  Great.

  Her last sight on Earth happened to be a sexy hallucination with glowing eyes and wings.

  Chapter Six

  “A likely impossibility is always preferable to an unconvincing possibility.”

  Aristotle

  Lucifer’s balls! Beliel ripped from the human male’s subconscious, not caring whether he damaged the mortal’s mind. Plague take all humans. Once possessed, no mortal slave should have any thoughts except those of his master. The fact that the puny human had been able to act without Beliel’s direction rested outside his comprehension. A tribute to the human’s strength or the demon’s weakness?

  The man staggered a few steps backward. Eyes wide in an ashen face darted around before coming to rest on the woman he’d shot. The weapon fell to the ground, the clatter of metal on pavement sounding like another shot. The mortal rubbed his hands on his pant legs, shook his head and fled.

  Beliel choked back the rage and fought the temptation to chase after the fleeing human. To rend flesh from bones. To gulp chunks of tender meat, muscles and tendons. To taste the sweet, warm stickiness of human blood running over his tongue into his gullet. It had been a long time since he’d indulged in the pleasures found dining on humans. Yet even as he hungered, in this form, he could not. He shuddered. This was not the time or the place.

  He switched his hungry gaze to the fallen female. Thick blood, pulsing with each beat of her heart, flowed onto the hard, dark surface. She was more important now. And soon dead. He had to act quickly to get the information he needed from her mind. Before the traitor, Mikos, came to check on his ward.

  Beliel shifted into mist and moved near. When her eyes tracked his movements, he hesitated. Confusion, followed by fear, filled her death-shaded gaze. Did she notice him? No matter. Her seeing made no difference. Humans were terrified of their own mortality and would do anything to extend their pitiful lives. Defender or not, this woman would be no different.

  With no warning, a whisper of disturbance in the ether brushed across his senses. A psychic probe stabbed into his shield. His barrier held. Still, the energy left an impression.

  He and the woman were no longer alone.

  Beliel watched in impotent fury as the traitor Mikos knelt at the woman’s side. So fucking close.

  He could not take on Mikos while his strength was so depleted. Occupying the mortal during the confrontation had used too much. Instead, all he could do was watch. No earth-level immortal, especially a Fallen like Mikos, could return the dead to life. And the woman had died. In the instant before Mikos knelt, Beliel had heard the pounding of her heart trip into silence.

  His lips curled. Mikos, and others like him, had chosen to serve God even when He had said many times the Fallen would never be welcome in Heaven. The cowards spent centuries protecting the humans in the slight hope their deeds would grant them a return. None had. Still they served.

  That made them fools. Dangerous. But fools.

  A faint roseate glow infused the space between Mikos’s hand and the woman’s chest, growing brighter until the pink light cast a soft aura over the woman. Involuntarily, Beliel hissed. He knew that light.

  “The Nativitas,” he ground the word out, ending on another hiss.

  Revulsion rose, filling his throat with bile. The rose-colored light meant the Defender possessed the only thing blessed with the power to bring her back to life. Beliel slanted a glare at the smaller figures shifting near his feet. The ones who had braved his ire and stayed by his side. “Worthless imps.”

  His anger and frustration had been for naught. A result of his personal servants’ lapse of judgment in not telling him she possessed the ancient protection. With a flick of his hands, he sent the imps tumbling back into the demon realm. He’d deal with them later.

  Despite his repugnance for the ancient talisman, her possession of it set his plan back in motion. He contemplated the supine woman and kneeling immortal. The woman choked and then moaned. Without seeing the results of the Nativitas, Beliel knew the female’s wounds had healed, knitting until no sign of her death remained. The roseate nimbus faded. As the piercing scream of mortal transportation echoed in the night, Mikos lifted the limp woman into his arms and strode off down the street.

  Beliel clenched his fingers into fists. As the night swallowed their forms, he hissed a summons. A small ghostlight orb hovered over his outstretched fingers. “Follow Mikos and discover where he takes the woman.”

  A flash of light and the orb disappeared. The ghostlight would report back the woman’s location. The traitor could only hide her for so long. Satisfaction caused a smile to pull at the corner of his lips. With the woman’s life restored, he’d find it easier to get what he needed from her. Now, at least, he had more time. Not much, but still more. And this time, he’d see to the woman himself.

  A muscle twitched in the man’s square
jaw yet he did nothing. The early morning breeze caught the edges of his pristine garments, sending the gold fringe dancing. The clothing on his body to the bronze scepter he clutched in his hand and even the reed sandals protecting his bare feet were specifically formed as instructed. For this moment.

  A single moment to free the man’s soul or damn it, and his people, for eternity.

  Her gaze fell to the polished bronze of the meter-high jar crouched on a fan-shaped base in the sand before him. Protective sigils flared, a golden burst of light. Her eyebrows lifted. Did the symbols know of the man’s weakness? His sin?

  Other than a reflexive jerk when the symbols flashed, the man still did nothing except stare.

  She eyed the horizon. Dawn tinted the sky with swirls of gold, amber and rust. She inhaled, dragging in the rich earth-scents following the wind before the piquant, musky odor dissipated in the brightening sky. The appointed hour grew near.

  Still, she watched. He waited.

  Utu-shamshi rose into the early morning sky, the blazing orb bathing the painted desert in radiant warmth. A movement from the corner of her eyes pulled her attention back to him.

  Finally.

  As the coolness of early morning gave way to the heat of the day, he pointed at the jar and recited the summoning invocation,

  “O Spiritus ego impero tu, O daemons in quicumque partes de ille universum tu existo, ad virtus de haec Sanctus nomen et ad ille Sanctus nomen of Deus quis litterae in sanguis in ille signum de an aeternus societas.”

  The invocation, intoned in precise fashion, reverberated throughout the fragrant air. To her fatigued and aching eyes, each word, as if possessed of corporeal form, cavorted upon the temperate wind.

  He lifted his hand skyward. On his third finger, a circle of pale gold shimmered. The clear scarlet center stone, cut with the five-lines of the pentalpha, caught utu-shamshi’s glow and reflected the light. This fragile band, with its single sigil, and the man’s faith, such that it remained, were the only protections he had against the malignant forces he called. He slipped the ring from his finger and, while he continued to chant, held the small oval before his face.

  Without warning, shrieks and wails shattered the peace of the light-laden morning. A cacophony of noise throbbed through her head and was followed by a crackling, dry-reed sound, like that of thousand of locusts. Insubstantial shapes whirled and spun about her head, their forms little more than wispy shades, yet they held back utu-shamshi’s light. The sour odor of spoiled eggs came with them. The foul scent so strong she fought the urge to retch.

  The man fell silent. Behind the silence, dread and uncertainty curled around her. Moisture pooled along her spine and traveled down the length of her back. Under her helm, long curls of hair stuck to clammy skin. Her gaze swung upward and focused on the man’s lifted hand. Brown-spotted and twisted fingers showed the marked signs of many seasons past. And trembled with the effort to constantly battle the powerful spirits he sought to imprison.

  She shifted, impatience chasing away the doubt. It had to be now. Now, before the stability of the man’s once great mind failed along with his body. Before she could intervene, the man’s shoulders pulled back and stiffened. For a brief moment, the breeze subsided. Nothing moved. Even the insects that thirsted for human blood were frozen in mid-flight. The only sound was that of his labored breathing as he fought to command the spirits he’d summoned.

  We offer enough wealth to fill the deepest water and a kingdom that stretches far into the desert. She jerked at the sly voices whispered into the man’s mind. How did she hear them? Beautiful women who will spread their legs at your command. Slaves to toil over your fields, in your house and in your temples.

  Power and wisdom to rival your Lord.

  We can give you all of this and more. All you have to do is let us go.

  Beautus dei, did he have the strength to resist? She curled her fingers into fists, her nails digging into her palms. The spirits tempted him with all that he desired. Traveling that path meant death and an eternity in the oppressive dark and coldness of the Abyss. If he gave in, all was lost. Yet, she could not take this on for him. This task was not for her.

  As seconds stretched into minutes, she began to fear the spirits had won. Suddenly, he shook his head and sucked in a rasping breath. Shutting out the spirits’ offerings, he began again.

  She heard the effect of his struggle in the roughness of his voice. Then she heard nothing except the roar that howled across the vast desert as notus, a great wind entity, captured the battling Fallen and whirled them into a violent funnel of energy. Sand kicked up and pelted her exposed skin. Pulling her cloak around her face, she shielded her flesh from the worst of the scouring. Despite the torment, she stood motionless even though every fiber of her soul wanted to run.

  With the bound Fallen in its raging center, notus spun toward the bronze vessel where the force of the wind thrust the demons into the jar. Blessed silence fell over the desert when the lid slammed shut.

  With her fingertips, she brushed the fine grit from her face. Service completed, notus returned to his abode in the south. He finished the binding magic and inscribed the seal to imprison the demons for all eternity.

  It is done. Little by little, warmth crept back into her body.

  The jar pulsed, the swollen sides rising and falling like the bellows of the forge. Again, the sigils briefly flamed golden. After carefully closing the great book containing the spells and incantations he’d used to control the spirits, the man exhaled a ragged sigh. His chin lowered until it almost touched his chest.

  “It is done,” he repeated her very words as if by speaking them out loud, he could be certain.

  He lifted his head and regarded the large boulder behind which his attendants cowered. “Come, it is time,” he called. “Remove the vessel.”

  At first cautious, the four men came out from behind the rock. They looked around, their eyes wide. She knew they would have heard the sounds, if not the offers, of the Fallen.

  “Do not fear,” he said. “The spirits are contained.”

  To her surprise, instead of remaining wary and thus cautious, the men surged forward. In their haste, one bumped up against the vessel. She choked as the jar rocked and tilted. The man’s hand slapped down on bare metal. When skin met the vessel’s surface, the sigils under his palm erupted. He screamed and fell to the ground. Heels drummed the ground and his back bowed until he was nearly bent in half. The other men cried out and stumbled backwards, tripping over each other as they retreated.

  “God save us!” she heard a cry as she moved. “A land-bound demon.”

  Her robes snapped in the air, loud pops of sound like old branches cracking underfoot, as she ran toward the downed man. As she neared, he raised himself up into a crouch. No longer in the guise of a devoted servant, the man’s eyes, as black as the darkest part of the night, glared at her. The attendant’s thin lips stretched away from brown teeth, and he hissed. A forked tongue tasted the air before disappearing.

  Without slowing, she unsheathed her sword from under the dust-covered robes and slashed at the land-dwelling demon possessing a mortal’s body. The whistle of the blade as it cut through the air was followed by a wet, sucking noise, like that of walking in the thick mud that lined the Nile’s edges. His head rolled into the sand before coming to rest against a large stone. Dead eyes turned skyward. From the severed neck of the body, a dark oily mist rose, spun into a column, then burst outward like an exploding piece of fruit before it dissipated.

  She wiped dark blood from the blade then returned it to its resting place. How long had the attendant been possessed? And what would have happened if he hadn’t stumbled? Her stomach twisted and her meal from the morning soured.

  She pivoted and her gaze met his. She read horror in his wide eyes and in the white edging his lips. Even while her own mind screamed with frustration, she said nothing. What could she? A demon had resided in his own house, among his most trusted, and he’d not
known. If she’d needed more proof that King Solomon, once the most powerful and revered man in all the lands, was little more than a shell of his former self, she had it.

  Ignoring her for the moment, he faced his remaining attendants. Pale faces, grayed by dust or terror, turned toward him. He jerked his head. “Move the vessel, but carefully. Do not break the urn or dislodge the seal.”

  His words were harsh. Good. His attendants risked everything with their careless haste. No repetition of the ritual was possible. Not for another passing of the seasons. Grunts and soft curses filled the morning as the three men struggled to load the bronze jar into the cart.

  Once fresh straw hid the vessel from prying eyes, Solomon walked over to the cart and handed one of the men the animal skin wrapped book. “This must go. Do not allow anyone to take the book. Bury them together.”

  The man bobbed his head and climbed into the cart. With a loud clatter over the rock-strewn path, the oxen-drawn wagon rumbled away. She closed her eyes, relief flooding her body from top to bottom. For a moment, she listened to the fading sound of the beasts’ hooves striking against the rocks. Heat crawled over her exposed skin, irritating the abrasions from the earlier barrage of sand and rocks. She opened her eyes. Again, she met his gaze.

  He turned his head, angling it toward her. “You will ensure its protection?”

  She lifted her chin. As if he needed to ask. She gave him a brief nod, but did not reply. She knew her duty. Her family spent lifetimes defending the tribes against monsters. Those that walked the land. And those that skulked in the shadows.

  Yet, she was different. The first woman in her family’s line to serve

  He looked down, fingertips stroking the leather cover of the grimoire.

  “Take it.” He offered the book. “You and your descendants will need it if you are to keep the Vessel safe.”