He approached quickly and extended a hand first to Alan, and then to Danielle. When Alan gripped Alexander’s hand, he felt the man’s strength and the same heated sensation when his own powers manifested. His grip was strong but not crushing, and the heat washed over Alan’s own hand, snaking up his arm.
We’re definitely in the right place, Alan thought.
After Alexander shook hands with Danielle, he proceeded to make small talk. “Well, you are a bit early; however, that’s completely fine. Our first priority here at the museum is to ensure we accommodate our guests in any way we can.” Alexander paused and looked over Alan’s left shoulder at Jericho’s grinning face. “Jericho, if you don’t mind. I’ll be starting the tour now.”
“Oh.” The giant’s smile turned into a frown as he sensed his time with the museum's visitors coming to an abrupt end. “Yes, of course.” He reluctantly turned to Alan and Danielle. “If there is anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask. It is so nice having visitors. I’ll be at the entrance in case we have any other guests, as unlikely that thought is.”
Alan gave the man a genuine smile. “Thank you, Jericho.”
With that, the hospitable giant turned and slowly walked away.
“I’m sorry for Jericho,” Alexander said. “Unfortunately, our duties here make us some what of recluses. Jericho has had a difficult time with the transition.”
Alan exchanged a knowing look with Danielle.
“Anyway, allow me to take you on a tour of the grounds. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to speak up.”
For the next half-hour, Alan feigned interest as he wondered how he was going to ask Alexander about the celestial weapons. As Alexander pointed out rare artifacts, precious jewels, and one-of-a-kind art pieces, all Alan could think about was how to broach the true reason for their visit.
Although Danielle didn’t say a word about their true intention, Alan knew she was thinking the same thing. Thus far, the tour had taken them through half of the museum and into the adjacent backyard full of statues and artwork, then back inside following a U-shape to the museum halls. There’d been no sign of weapons of any kind. Unless one counted a decorative cheese knife, which Alexander explained belonged to some royal prince of the region. It was precious now, because the prince had died from choking on a block of cheese.
You have to say something. You’re going to ruin this whole thing if you don’t. The couple you’re impersonating will be here soon, and they’ll know that you’re lying.
Alan could feel a sheen of sweat forming on his brow, while his heart set a pace similar to the bass at a rock concert. He knew his time was ending. He had to do something quickly.
“Well, here we are in the last hall,” Alexander waved forward. “This is one of my favorite sections of the museum. It holds our collection of rare books.”
Alan did his best to smile as the trio walked forward, passing a closed door, bolted shut, equipped with not one, but three heavy padlocks. Before this, they’d encountered closed doors but never one so obviously guarded against intruders. “Alexander?” Alan said.
Their guide turned with a smile. “Yes?”
“What’s in there?”
Alexander tilted his head and paused for a moment. No doubt the man was measuring Alan’s question, deciding if it was innocent or called for further notice. “Well, that portion of the museum is closed off. It leads to the cellar. Nothing there to see except for rusted metal and moldy wood. Now if you would come along—”
Alan knew it was now or never. “What if we were interested in old, worn art? Just the other day, Dani—my wife was asking to see things in their naturally worn state instead of refurbished and restored.”
“I was?” Danielle asked, eyes large.
Alan nudged her sharply in the ribs. “Oh,” Danielle said. “I mean, I was. Yes, may we see the cellar? I find old, moldy stuff sooooo … fascinating.”
Alexander’s charisma vanished in a second and he took a step back from Alan and Danielle. “No, I’m sorry, you may not. Now please, come along. The tour is almost at an end.”
Alan was running out of ways to manipulate the situation without having to come out and directly say they were there to see the celestial weapons. The hall silenced as both Danielle and Alexander looked at Alan. The next move belonged to him. “What’s in there, exactly?” he said.
Alexander’s hands clenched into fists. Before he could answer, a strong female voice broke the tense silence. “Can we stop pretending we all don’t know what’s really going on here? No one in this room is an idiot. We all know what you want, and you won’t get it.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Alan wheeled around to confront the voice. He hadn’t the slightest clue that someone had managed to sneak up on him, with no sound of feet on ancient carpet, no noise from the door opening behind them that led from the outside courtyard. Now, Alan couldn’t believe he’d missed them. A redheaded woman stood tall and commanding, flanked by a man and woman that rivaled Jericho for size. The sensation of chilled air and a fresh breeze floated through the open door, trying to lull Alan into a false sense of comfort.
“The couple you are impersonating just called. They regretted to inform us that they were going to be late today. Who are you?”
If Alan was nervous before the woman had made her appearance, he didn’t know how to describe how he felt now. She wasn’t threatening him, yet Alan couldn’t help feeling the woman was like a viper, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
“You’re right,” Danielle said, speaking for the first time. “We lied. I lied to get us in. It was a gutsy call, but we needed to gain access to the museum.”
“Thieves, Sera, that’s what they are,” said the muscular woman standing next to the redhead, with a snarl.
“No,” Alan said, fighting away the panic in his voice. “We never meant to steal the weapons. We came here to ask to borrow them.”
The man and woman flanking Sera started to chuckle. Even Alexander, who now stood behind him, had begun to laugh. The only one who didn’t seem amused was the redheaded woman in charge. “You are not the first people to come looking for the weapons, and I’m sure you will not be the last. Do you know what happens to those who seek to take the celestial weapons?”
No denying the menace in her voice; Alan knew what she was suggesting. “You kill them?”
“Yes, we kill them. Then we find out where they came from and send back their heads as a warning to those who would seek to take them in the future.”
“Oh, this was a bad idea,” Danielle whispered.
“No,” Alan said, struggling against the fear that had grasped for a physical hold on his stomach. “We aren’t like the others. We don’t want them for personal gain. I don’t even want them at all. We just need to borrow them for a war against the Fallen and their Nephilim. They’ve found the Chronicle with instructions to build new celestial weapons. They’ve raised the fallen statue created from the melted weapons after the war in Heaven. In days—who knows, maybe hours—they’ll be ready to strike, and we need the weapons to fight them. We need your help.”
Sera raised one red eyebrow. “Well, that’s a new one. Most people beg for their lives at this point. Or at least they try to lie. The truth is a different approach.”
“So you’ll help us?” Alan said.
“I didn’t say that. We know what’s going on outside of these walls. We know Michael, the other angels, and their Nephilim have failed. We don’t care; that doesn’t concern us. Our task is to guard the weapons and nothing more.”
Alan couldn’t believe his ears. The Death Angels knew what was happening, and they were content to stand by and let transpire the events that would destroy the world. “You what? If you know all of this, then help us. You have to realize that if the Fallen destroy the angels, they’ll come for humanity and you next.”
“Well, then we will let them come. And when they do, they will see why we stand apart from other
angels. We have never known defeat, and we will never fall to anyone.”
Behind her, the man and woman both nodded with narrowed eyes.
“This is crazy!” Alan knew calling a group of near immortal beings “crazy” probably wasn’t the smartest idea, but he was done with playing it safe. “Help us. If you won’t lend us the weapons, use them yourselves and fight with us. You sided against the demons once during the war in Heaven. Do it again.”
“If you don’t,” Danielle added, “thousands of angels and Nephilim will die. Millions of humans will be slaughtered in a war they’ll be helpless to fight.”
Despite their pleas, there was no moving the woman. “Still, not my concern. If you leave now, I may decide to spare your lives. Sounds like Michael will need all the help he can get in the coming hours.”
Hope was evaporating. Alan could taste defeat. He knew from years of loneliness and depression what giving up would bring, and he refused now to be that person again. He would not be quiet; he would not stand by. He knew now more than ever why the events of his life had happened as they had. “No, I’m not leaving without your help. I can’t. People have died to get me this far. Many more will die if I give up now.”
For the first time, Sera paused to think over their words, and Danielle took a step forward to stand beside him. “Neither am I.”
“I’ll give you one last opportunity to leave under your own power. I admire your heart; still, there can be no victory for you here.”
“I don’t want victory,” Alan said. “I want to bring hope to the same people you once called brothers- and sisters-in-arms. I know what it’s like to not care about anyone else. I know what it’s like to live a life alone and cut off from the world. I know how lonely you are. It doesn’t have to be like this. You can still keep your vow of protecting the weapons and come with us.”
For a second, Alan thought he’d won over the leader of the Death Angels while she softened, face quivering as she resonated with his words. But determination was still in her voice when she spoke. “Get out—now.”
“No.”
No words accompanied the woman’s head motion. She quickly pointed with her chin toward Alan and Danielle, and the two warriors beside her jumped to action.
Chapter Fifty-Three
“Sir, the last group of Nephilim are flying in now. They will be here, waiting for your orders, within the hour.”
Michael sat straight in his chair inside the warehouse conference room. He nodded to Esther, a great soldier and an even better friend. The two had fought on the same side for centuries. She had even known Ardat before the war in Heaven started. “Good, thank you, Esther. With the angels and the gathered Nephilim, where does that put our number?”
Esther looked down at the electronic tablet she carried, her green eyes scanning the screen up and down. “We’ll have ten thousand angels and half as many Nephilim ready for battle. Angelica’s insisting she’s ready for the confrontation. The only Angels staying out of the fight are those still guarding Heaven’s gates.”
Michael drummed his fingers against the cool steel of the conference room table; the tips met the cold metal for only the briefest seconds before he raised and drummed them again.
“Are you all right, sir?”
Michael filled his lungs and looked up at Esther with the shadow of a smile. “I don’t know.” He hesitated, then voiced the question a leader should never ask aloud. “Do you think we can win?”
Esther looked down at her tablet as if the answer to his question would somehow magically flow across her screen. “Their numbers don’t disturb me. They have more Nephilim, but the Fallen are only a third of our number. It’s the weapons that bother me. Still, we’ve defeated them before.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Win or lose, all we can do is our best.” Esther’s voice changed as she broached a subject only the closest of Michael’s friends were ever confident enough to speak of. “Michael, you must know by now who is at the helm of this coup.”
“I do.”
“And you know that you may come face to face with her on the battlefield.”
“It’s something I have dedicated more time thinking about than I should. I don’t know if I can kill her, Esther. No matter what she’s doing or what she’s done, I refuse to believe that the woman I loved is completely gone. No matter how much she tries to deny or hide it, I know there’s still some measure of good left inside.”
Esther stood quiet. Michael’s gaze rested directly in front of him on the table’s surface. He could feel Esther’s eyes on him. “Do you think me a fool, Esther?”
“No, I think history needs more people like you.”
Michael pursed his lips, making eye contact with his friend. “Many will die. Whether we win or not, so many will die.”
“Many will be asked to sacrifice for what they believe,” Esther restated. “Hope is not completely lost. I heard two Nephilim volunteered to approach the Death Angels. However small their chance may be, there is still a chance.”
Michael nodded. He even grinned as he remembered Alan Price, the newest Nephilim, approaching him without shoes and volunteering when no one else would. “Yes. For all our sakes, let’s hope that Alan Price discovers for himself what I know he’s capable of.”
Esther opened her mouth to speak, but before her lips could form the words, her tablet beeped a warning. Michael couldn’t see the message, though if Esther’s expression was any indication, the news was not good. He knew what she was reading before she even moved to speak. Hundreds of angels were scouring the globe to find Ardat and her army. It was only a matter of time before one of them stumbled upon her lair. “We found them, didn’t we?”
Esther’s face was pale as she looked up into the sad eyes of her friend. “Yes, we did. And you’re not going to believe this.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Alan remembered the time he thought he was the only one with the gift of supersonic speed. He thought back to when he could sprint by anyone. when he was untouchable and free to do whatever he wanted, without fear of repercussions or anyone else being able to duplicate his power. Those were good times. Times Alan found himself missing as he was hurled through the air and sent crashing into the door that led to the museum’s outside courtyard.
The two Death Angels who stood beside Sera were as fast as he was, if not faster. In a flash, they were beside him, and in half that, the male had stricken him across the jaw and female had lifted him off the ground and hurled him toward the courtyard.
Alan crashed into the freshly cut grass and tumbled across the manicured lawn before he came to a skidding halt. The smell of grass and newly churned dirt consumed him as he struggled to his feet. The four Death Angels walked though the door. Alexander dragged a struggling Danielle in tow, both of her arms pinned behind her back.
“Leave this place now,” Sera commanded.
“No, not without your help.”
Sera shook her head in disgust. She looked to the man and the woman who’d thrown Alan outside. “Samson, Deborah, make him want to leave. Make him beg to leave.”
Determined faces met his as the two Death Angels advanced. Alan stood with feet planted shoulder width apart, every muscle tense and ready. Samson and Deborah were stronger, faster, and more experienced in warfare than Alan, yet he possessed something they didn’t: the fortitude and desperation to win.
Samson moved first, and the man possessed the largest arms Alan had ever seen on anyone, human or supernatural. The warrior vaulted into the air, right arm already cocked back and ready to deliver a punch. Alan met his attack head-on as he, too, lunged forward and lifted his right knee, aiming for Samson’s jaw. Among the many things the Death Angel was prepared to encounter, an all out attack was not one. Alan’s right knee made contact with the underside of Samson’s jaw. With an unearthly crack, the Death Angel was sent flying into a tall stone statue that decorated the museum’s courtyard. Both statue and angel crumbled to the grou
nd amidst a pile of dust.
Alan couldn’t believe what he’d done. It was working. He was calling on his abilities as a Nephilim, and they were responding with more power than he’d ever thought possible. There was no time for celebration, though, as Deborah used the lapse in Alan’s guard to her advantage. Coming up behind him at lightning speed, she unleashed a fury of blows aimed at Alan’s torso and face.
Alan did his best to block the incoming strikes, but she was too fast; for every fist he managed to dodge, another met his ribs, sternum, and cheekbones. Somewhere nearby, Alan could hear Danielle’s screams, while blow after blow that would have broken any normal man in half met their mark. In seconds, Alan was reduced to a coughing pile of open wounds with bruises covering the better part of his body. He was learning by trial and error that even his Nephilim power of invulnerability had its limits. One incredibly strong strike to his kidneys sent him reeling back and to his knees.
Through sweat and blood, Alan looked up into the face of his attacker. Deborah was heaving with exertion, and the knuckles on both of her fists were bruised and bloodied. The pile of rubble that marked Samson’s resting ground shifted until he rose from his tomb of broken stone like a zombie from the grave. Samson’s long, dark hair hung in dirty clumps around his face, giving him the appearance of an ancient barbarian who’d come back from the dead.
Alan pushed aside his screaming pain and rose to his feet. Lifting his gaze, he stared defiantly at Sera. Motion above the leader of the Death Angels caught his eye, making him blink to focus on what he saw but couldn’t comprehend. Eight more figures, including Jericho, joined the group. Eight impossibly intimidating and fierce men and women perched comfortably along the museum roof. Large, black wings were either folded against their backs or spread wide ready to take flight at a moment’s notice. Most stood with arms crossed, some looks of interest and curiosity as they watched.
The Complete Archangel Wars Series: A Shared Universe Series (The Archangel Wars) Page 15