Remy sensed movement, and turned to see Bobbie darting toward him. He was about to act, lashing out again with his wings, when she avoided him, heading toward Rapture’s owner.
“I’ll get him to talk,” she said, and that was when Remy noticed the short-bladed knife in her hand.
She was at the fallen angel in an instant, pressing the knife to his throat just beneath his chin.
“Enough of your fucking games, Prosper,” she said, her voice trembling, eyes filled with tears. “Tell us what happened to the babies or I will cut your throat.”
Prosper yelped as she pushed upon the blade, a trickle of scarlet running down his neck to stain the collar of his dress shirt.
“You’re fucking done here,” he told her, snarling. “You’re over.”
“I pretty much figured that out as soon as I saw the picture,” she said. “Tell me about the children.”
“Not a hell’uva lot to tell,” Prosper said with a loud swallow. “What had once been nothing more than an accidental by-product of business suddenly was going to make me some money.”
“A by-product!” she screeched, pushing on the blade, forcing Prosper to lean back. “They were our babies—our children—and you told us they were dead.”
“How else were you going to give them up?” he asked. “The fact that lots of them did die gave me the perfect excuse. The babies died in birth. It was sad, but nobody gave it another thought.”
Prosper made his move then, ducking his head beneath the blade and grabbing Bobbie, twisting the knife from her grasp, and bringing it to her chest.
“Another fucking step, any of you, and I’ll open her up,” he warned.
“You’re a fucking monster,” Bobbie said, spitting in the fallen angel’s face. Prosper flinched, but didn’t release her.
“I’ll remember that when this is over,” he told her.
“Since you’ve already started talking,” Remy said, “why don’t you keep it up so we’re all on the same page?”
“Guy came to me out of the blue and said that the kids might be worth something down the line, and I asked him to make me an offer,” Prosper said. “I like a guy with vision, so I started turning the kids over. We kept them safe and sound.”
Remy attempted to find the angle, and could think of only one thing.
“For what?” he asked. “Blackmail?”
Prosper laughed. “Y’know, the blackmail angle was the first thing I thought of, too. But it turned out to be just the tip of the fucking iceberg.”
Remy cocked his head inquisitively.
“This guy had a plan all right,” Prosper continued. “Got to the point where I just did as I was told, and collected the money.”
“Sounds like things were pretty good,” Remy said.
“Yeah,” Prosper agreed. “They were.”
“Until Aszrus got murdered,” Remy said. “Bet that threw a monkey wrench in the works.”
Prosper’s face looked as though somebody had stuck a handful of shit beneath it.
“I fucking told them to watch the kids,” he said, shaking his head. “They were getting weirder.”
His eyes focused specifically on Remy. “You’re kind of the expert on living here,” he said. “It’s got something to do with being teenagers, right? Puberty, is it?”
Remy gave him nothing.
“Aszrus was coming around to Rapture more often, wanting to see them,” Prosper continued. “I think the general was actually getting attached.”
“One of the children did this,” Remy stated. “One of these offspring killed a general in Heaven’s army.”
It was Prosper’s turn not to answer.
“Doesn’t that make you the littlest bit nervous?”
There came the sound of the doorknob rattling, and then a pounding on the door.
“Boss? It’s me!” called a rumbling voice. “We just found Luke and Tony. The prisoners are—”
“They’re in here!” Prosper screamed, and things went from zero to crazy in a matter of seconds.
Malatesta’s magick did very little to hold back the zombies pounding on the other side of the door, and the flimsy wood shattered as the walking dead fought their way inside.
Remy heard the short scream, and looked away from the monstrous dead men to see Bobbie dropping to the floor, an expression of horror on her face as blood streamed from between her fingers, which she clutched to her stomach.
Prosper was already on the move, running to the back of the office. Thinking he had nowhere to go, Remy caught Bobbie as she fell.
“The children,” she said softly. It looked as though she was having a hard time breathing. “You’ve got to do something. . . .”
Remy hadn’t a clue what to do. He lowered her gently to the floor, and decided that handing out a vicious beating to Prosper would be a good start.
But the fallen angel was gone.
Remy stood, eyes darting around the back of the room searching for any sign of the charnel house owner, but he was nowhere to be found.
“Remy!” came a cry from behind him, and he turned to see that the zombies were fully inside the room now, and Malatesta was on the verge of being overwhelmed.
“I could use some help!”
The magick user’s spells were driving the dead men back, but they quickly recovered, surging at Malatesta again.
From the looks of it, Malatesta wasn’t going to last much longer, and besides, Remy had some serious frustration issues at the moment, and could certainly use an opportunity to blow off some steam.
He looked around the room for something that he could use, and saw that Prosper had dropped Bobbie’s knife as he fled. Remy darted toward the blood-stained blade, calling forth his wings and the power of the Seraphim that waited patiently, knowing that in Remy’s line of work these situations often had a tendency to arise.
Knife in hand, Remy took to the air, flying across the room. As he traveled, he willed the fire of Heaven down his arm and into the short, metal blade, transforming it from merely a knife, to a weapon of Heaven.
A short-bladed weapon of Heaven, but a weapon of Heaven nonetheless.
The zombies didn’t know what hit them.
Malatesta had been driven back, and lay atop Prosper’s desk, a shield of magick protecting him from the dead men’s fists that were attempting to pound him into pulp.
Remy landed among them, distracting them from the magick user. He wasted no time lashing out at the first of the animated corpses, the enhanced knife blade passing through the putrid flesh and bone of a zombie’s neck, severing the head from its body.
In one smooth move, Remy kicked that still thrashing body away, and acted upon the next of the undead attackers.
The burning knife-blade crackled as it cut through the air, before reaching its next target. The blade sliced down vertically through the chest, to the belly, allowing the no-longer-functioning internal workings to spill out onto the zombie’s feet and floor.
The look upon the dead man’s face seemed almost comical, as if he were embarrassed to have his innards exposed to the world.
Remy took away his embarrassment as he drove the burning knife into a waiting eye socket, igniting his head in glorious yellow flame. He looked like a jack-o’-lantern. The zombie’s hands immediately went to his burning face, his feet going out from underneath him as he slipped on his own intestines, which were coiled upon the floor.
A rock-hard fist struck with powerful force at the back of Remy’s head, knocking him down. The zombie wasn’t going to wait until Remy recovered, delivering a solid kick to Remy’s midsection and sending him hurtling across the room.
Using his wings, he sprang from where he’d fallen, shaking off the ringing in his ears, replacing it with his own scream of anger as he flung himself at the zombie that now charged at him. Remy smiled as he saw what the zombie was holding: a rusty machete, raised menacingly above his head.
A machete would be much more efficient than a small knife, Remy th
ought as he collided with the zombie’s rock-solid midsection, the two of them now headed into the wall.
The plaster caved inward with the impact as the zombie, unfazed by the act, attempted to bury the machete blade in Remy’s head. The short sword came down, but Remy captured the animated corpse’s wrist, stopping its descent.
Remy smiled as he willed the fire inside him to climb, soon engulfing the zombie’s hand as it traveled to the machete.
The zombie watched in awe as its appendage crumbled to ash, and Remy found himself with a new, divinely enhanced weapon.
“Nice,” Remy said, admiring the flaming blade just before swinging it across, and cutting the zombie’s head from its body with little resistance.
“And sharp, too.”
There were more zombies spilling in from the hole broken in the office door, and Remy found himself tiring of the pointless battle. There were still important matters involving the safety of the world to be considered. He allowed himself to grow hotter, the divine fire radiating from his body. It was as if the zombies were drawn to it. The walking dead men charged at him with weapons of all kinds, one of them even spraying the office with an assault rifle in an attempt to take him down.
Good luck with that, Remy thought, throwing his burning body amidst them as the machete cut them down to little more than writhing torsos and severed limbs upon the office floor.
“I’m getting tired of this,” Remy announced to Malatesta behind him.
“Any suggestions?” the magick user asked, casting a spell that pushed several zombies away with a deafening clap of displaced air.
Remy waded among the dead men, allowing himself to be surrounded. “Erect a bubble of magick around me and my playmates,” he ordered.
Malatesta looked at him, hesitating.
“Just do it,” Remy urged.
And the sorcerer did, weaving a spell of crackling white energy that encased the Seraphim and the zombies that threatened to bring him down in a sphere of magick.
Remy caught the magick user’s eye and gave him a little nod, before he allowed his body to go completely nova.
It felt good to allow his body to shine as it once had in the presence of the Holy Father—an angel showed its true respect for the Almighty being that had created it by willing its body to glow like one of the stars in the sky.
Then he called the fire back, taking it within his body, allowing his flesh to cool and the human visage that he wore to heal. Since reconciling with his angelic nature, the regeneration process of his human skin and attire was much quicker, and certainly far less painful.
Remy was kneeling amidst piles of ash—all that remained of the animated dead men that had been trying to kill him. He looked toward Malatesta and nodded again, and the Vatican sorcerer opened the bubble of magick with a wave of his hands.
“It was getting stuffy in there,” Remy said offhandedly, returning to a more human guise.
He walked past the open door, giving it a sideways glance. “Think you could maybe shut that for a bit longer?” he asked Malatesta.
Again the magick user did what was asked of him, using a spell of reassembly to make the door whole.
“What are we doing?” Malatesta asked. “Don’t you think it would be wise to get out of here?”
Remy passed Bobbie as he strode to the back of the room where Prosper had disappeared. She was most certainly dead, and he made a silent promise to her that Prosper would be held accountable.
“He just disappeared,” Remy said as the magick user joined him. “One minute he was here, and the next . . . gone.” He searched for a sign of a secret door or passage that would have allowed the club owner to escape. “I can’t see anything,” he said, his frustration mounting.
Malatesta was running his hands along the wall as well, his eyes tightly closed. “It isn’t supposed to be seen,” he explained.
Remy looked over to him.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sensing the use of magick here,” Malatesta said. “Powerful stuff.”
“What kind of magick?” Remy wanted to know, feeling himself growing excited.
“A spell of passage,” Malatesta replied.
He opened his eyes and looked to Remy. The magick user still looked sick, and Remy couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt.
He quickly brushed it aside; there would be time for that when the threat of war wasn’t breathing down their necks.
“Can you find the opening?” Remy asked.
Malatesta sighed, closing his eyes again. “I get a sense, but I don’t have a key.”
“Pick the lock,” Remy suggested.
Malatesta looked at him.
“Pick the lock?”
“Yeah, if you call yourself a powerful sorcerer, pick the lock.”
The man seemed flustered, stepping away from the wall.
“You don’t understand what I’ve just been through,” he said. “It’s taking everything I have to keep it together . . . to keep what’s inside me from—”
“Which won’t matter at all if Heaven and Hell turn the planet into a battleground,” Remy finished.
Malatesta glared at him for a few moments as Remy’s words appeared to sink in.
“I’m not saying I can do this,” he finally said.
“Sure you can,” Remy urged. “I’ve got faith in you.”
The magick user extended his arms, fingers splayed. He closed his eyes, and Remy watched as his expression turned to one of exertion and strain.
“Anything?” he asked, impatiently.
“Shut up,” Malatesta commanded.
Remy continued to watch as a sheen of sweat broke out on the man’s brow and upper lip.
“I’m not sure how much longer . . . ,” Malatesta said, his voice shaking with exertion.
Remy could hear scuffling from the hall outside the office and doubted that they had much time before the next assault wave started.
“I don’t know if you can hear that but . . .”
“Shut up!” Malatesta cried again, his hands moving in the air as if he were untying some huge, invisible knot.
The man suddenly went rigid, air exploding from his lungs as if punched.
“Constantin?” Remy questioned.
Malatesta was standing perfectly straight now, head bowed, hands by his sides.
“You all right?”
“I’m perfectly fine,” said a voice that Remy recognized as belonging to the spirit entity. “Let’s see what I can do.”
Remy wasn’t sure exactly how to react, and found himself simply watching as the possessed man again worked his hands in the air, sparks of magickal energy leaving glowing trails as they moved with incredible speed.
And then he stopped, taking a step backward with an enormous grin on his face.
There was pounding now on the office door behind them.
Remy glanced at it, then returned his attention to the possessed Malatesta. “Well?” he asked the evil spirit, again in control of its host.
“What do you think?” the Larva asked, still grinning.
The air before them was shimmering ever so slightly; images of another place were briefly visible on the other side.
The dark entity extended his hand, gesturing for Remy to pass through.
“You first,” he said, grabbing Malatesta by the shoulders, pushing him into the passage.
Malatesta was gone from the office, and from what Remy could see, had made it to the other side without any mishaps.
The pounding on the door was growing more insistent, and cracks began to appear in the wood. It wouldn’t be long now.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and then dove into the magickal passage toward the unknown, as the door crumbled behind him.
* * *
The demon Beleeze was worried.
Something was happening on the island. If he’d been braver he would have approached his master Simeon and told him that they should just find a safe place.
&n
bsp; If he were braver.
The normally horrible weather on the Pacific island was suddenly worse, crackling bolts of a strange energy reaching up from somewhere within the ruins of the mining city to entice the storm’s fury. The clouds grew darker, heavier, dropping closer to the rooftops, as the rain continued to fall in drenching sheets.
Beleeze watched his master standing at the end of the street, gazing up curiously at the odd atmospheric conditions.
He sensed a presence move closer and glanced over to see that Dorian had come to join him. He was tempted to place his arm around her shoulder in comfort, but he restrained himself. That was not behavior befitting a demon of his stature.
“What is he doing?” Dorian asked very quietly.
Beleeze was surprised that she had even uttered the words, but could certainly relate to her curiosity.
“It is not my place to ask,” he answered, just as quietly.
Robert, who had once been called Tjernobog, paced back and forth, muttering beneath his breath. It was obvious that he could sense it as well.
Something was happening.
There came a terrific boom of thunder, so loud that it caused what little glass remained in a nearby building to shatter, falling to the street with the rain.
Beleeze advanced partway down the street, in case his master needed him, but Simeon appeared safe—for now.
The sky had become like night, the energy shooting up from the street beyond and striking the clouds, illuminating them eerily.
It was within that illumination that he saw them: human figures flying up into the storm, to be lost among the clouds.
“It’s what I was afraid of,” Simeon said, finally turning away from the view of the sky to look at Beleeze. “The murder of one’s sire. It must have been a catalyst of sorts.”
Simeon strode past the demon, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Now change is upon them.”
Beleeze followed, as Simeon continued to speak.
“And they are becoming so much more than anyone could have ever dreamed.”
Beleeze practically crashed into his master’s back as Simeon came to an abrupt stop.
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