by Jamie Wyman
“We should watch the video again,” I said. “I don’t have her phone, though.”
Nate leaned over the pew in front of us and pawed through Karma’s bag. He sat down and slid close to me. “Work your magic?”
Gripping the phone lightly, I accessed the circuits and drew the picture up and out of the screen. It stretched, flickered, and wavered. I’d never been able to hold a truly disconnected interface like the ones Flynn conjured. But I’d been able to enhance the existing display on a phone or computer monitor once or twice. I didn’t expect this magical screen to last very long. I poured my power into the cell in a slow, steady drip.
The video began without sound.
“Why is it quiet?” Nate asked.
“I don’t need to hear it again right now, do you?”
He shook his head sadly.
“Besides,” I added, “I’d rather not freak out the priest.”
“Good point.”
I forced myself to focus on any details and clues the snuff film might offer. By the third or fourth viewing, I’d almost memorized the jerky flashes of the hotel room. The sudden stop as the phone fell to the carpet. Then came the pale hand in the frame. The coin rolled with liquid ease over the thin, knobby knuckles. The skin was too pale, the fingers too bent and stubby, gnarled like an old tree. Dirt was caked under yellowing, uneven nails, and thick blue veins stood out against the liver spots that dotted the hand.
I glanced up at Marius. His perfectly manicured hands braced against one of the pews as he arched his shoulders in a feline stretch. Other than a smattering of black peach fuzz on his knuckles, Marius’s olive hands were smooth, his fingers slender.
“Wait,” I breathed, a new thought rushing into my head. I paused the video.
“You’ve got something?” Nate asked.
I shushed him with a motion of my free hand and focused on the hand in the video. On the glimmering coin. Those knobby knuckles. I remembered a similar hand manipulating not one, but a whole stack of coins.
“Grey,” I growled.
“Who?”
“The mage that attacked me Friday night looking for the veil.”
“You’re sure?”
I nodded. “I got a good look at his hands when he was trying to choke me. It’s him. He was with Moloch in Polly’s—”
A knock on the church door interrupted me.
Father Calvert popped up out of his pew like a meerkat. The knock came again. “Oh!” he said. “Pizza must be here.”
I let go of the power fueling the image. The phone became just that, a brick of plastic and silicon chips in the palm of my hand. Father Calvert scurried up the aisle, toward the doors we’d entered… How long ago? Timing a pizza, perhaps we’d been here less than an hour?
“How long was I out?” I asked Nate.
“Only about ten minutes or so. Not long.”
“Oh…”
“Why?”
I shook off my unease and pocketed the phone. “Nothing. I don’t know about you, but a hot slice of pepperoni sounds divine right about now.”
For an instant, the terrible weight of grief and struggle left his face. His smile was warm as summer and fresh as rain. As I had done in my apartment, I drank in the heartrending sight of Nate Harper. His mussed blond curls fell over his eyes artfully. His white T-shirt clung to well-sculpted muscles. His face, so sweet, screamed of innocence. My gaze lingered over his lower lip, teasing like a lover’s nibble.
Oblivious to my sinful appraisal, Nate stood and offered me a hand. “Sounds good, Cat. Let’s go get you a piece of Heaven.”
We’d taken two steps when a high-pitched wail ricocheted off the walls of the church. Father Calvert flew backward through the air, his face a mask of terror.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Assassin”
The illusion of safety smashed into splinters as the priest crashed against a massive pew. His mewling echoed through the sanctuary. Karma’s blue head shot up from her makeshift bed, and she launched over to the ruined rows of seats to tend to Calvert.
Rounding on the door, Marius struck a defensive stance, his sword gleaming at an angle across his chest. Flynn’s tattoos came to life nearby as he drew power to him. Citrine eyes aglow, he flexed his fists and prepared for anything.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and a wave of cold, sickly dread flowed into my stomach as something entered the church. I’d expected horns and scaly flesh. Imagine my surprise when five identical figures in gray suits filed in through the door.
Medium height. Average build. Bald, square heads. Faceless. Featureless. A pale void composed the areas where eyes, mouths, and noses should have been.
Fear raced through my blood, and I quivered with revulsion. The five of them stood in a line more precise than a drill team’s. In perfect unison, they hunched their shoulders. A sickly popping sound filled the air as they flexed their fingers. Each digit split open, sinew and skin dangling from glistening, black claws. Ears grew to inhuman points. Bones snapped, skulls elongated, and jaws dislocated, jutting out to make way for rows of gray teeth.
“No,” Nate said. His voice boomed with authority. “Not in this house.”
The ether shimmered, motes of dust glittering in an impossible shaft of golden sunlight. Nate’s white T-shirt flared vibrant silver, just as it had earlier this morning. Now, though, I saw it not as a garment but as armor, a pristine breastplate that cast back the warped reflections of the faceless intruders. At his wrists, silver bands gleamed in the luminous glow that wreathed his whole body. Fierce starlight crackled in his eyes like holy fire.
Nate lifted his arms in front of him, palms out in a warning, a command to stop. As he did, he stretched out a pair of snowy wings, each feather silken perfection. One of those wings brushed up against my back, its presence both comforting and terrifying. I mean, I appreciated being protected by an angel, but…well, there was an angel standing next to me. An honest-to-capital-G-as-in-God angel.
My jaw fell in absolute awe. My thoughts came in bursts of single words—radiant!—that paled in comparison to reality. Standing next to such humbling beauty made me shudder. My knees knocked against one another, and my hands trembled. Any questions I’d had about Nate Harper’s heritage evaporated in that moment. A father with countless enemies, and a murderous past…? One that had to be kept secret?
The understanding of Nate’s identity hit me in the chest. Hard. “Holy sh—”
One of the faceless things snarled, a wet and guttural sound, as it crouched low. White light winked in the air before me, a solid gold weapon appearing in Nate’s hand. Though he hefted it as if it weighed little more than one of his feathers, Nate’s spear possessed all the presence of a gravitational force. He curled his fingers around it, tendons popping and muscles creaking like leather.
“Catherine,” Nate said, his voice resonant to my bones. “Check on Karma. See if she needs any help with Father Calvert.”
I didn’t hesitate. Gracelessly, I climbed over the pew behind us and tore down the aisle to join Karma at the priest’s quivering side. She kneeled over him, her hands pressed to his chest.
“Karma?” I asked.
Karma kept her eyes focused on Father Calvert. Purple light glistened at her fingertips, fed into the priest, and then flowed through his veins.
“How is he?” I asked.
“Going into shock. Trying to stabilize him.” Sweat broke out across her hairline. “He’s lucky,” she said, breathless. “He’s so damn lucky. He should’ve broken his back or neck. He’s got a concussion. Cracked a rib. I’ll do what I can to heal it.”
Calvert’s chest puffed in and out furiously, lungs sucking in panicked gulps. His saucer-wide eyes glinted with madness, and blood matted what little fringe that remained at the back of his head. He lifted a fluttering hand to me. It took a while before I realized that the whimpering sounds coming from him had a shape, a meaning.
“How?” he asked. “How?”
I don’t kn
ow if he was asking about Karma’s healing power, how he’d just been flung across the church like a rag doll, or how an angel had just appeared in his sanctuary. Knowing I could never adequately answer any of those questions—or even sum them up—I shrugged away his question with a noncommittal syllable. He nodded, then let his head fall back against the stone.
“What can I do?” I asked.
“Cover me,” Karma snapped. “Give me time to help him.”
The ferocity in her eyes was a chilly echo of Loki’s words in the cave. It is time for you to get off your ass and become yourself, Catherine Sharp.
I reached for one of the broken pews. Strength pulsed into my muscles, and I dragged it in front of the crouched mage and the injured priest. I repeated this until I’d formed a triangle of barriers around them. When I’d finished, I checked on Karma. Her skin looked ashen, her eyes and cheeks sunken over the bones of her face. Her hair was turning gray at the roots.
Too much, I thought. The past few days have just been too taxing for her.
“Karma, are you sure you don’t need my help?”
She didn’t spare me a glance as she snapped at me again. “Help me by keeping them away.”
I nodded curtly and turned my attention back to the supernatural standoff. No shots fired, no demands made. Just silence between us and them.
Five faceless creatures, still in their perfect line at the back of the sanctuary, crouched like jungle cats preparing to pounce. Nate now stood in the main aisle, his back to me. Those pristine wings were folded down his back in a shining mantle, tips brushing the ground. In his right hand, he held the spear. Its fist-sized tip sparkled with a diamond shine.
Flynn stalked through the pews slowly, never taking his eyes off of the intruders. Orange fire coursed beneath his skin, his tattoos glowing even brighter, and danced in his eyes. I thought his hair was going to burst into flames. He drew up to Nate’s left side and readied himself, placing his weight on his back leg as if he might need to lunge forward at any moment.
Marius lingered a few pews ahead of me, sword still crossed in front of his body. Inch by inch, he sidled up behind Nate’s spear. I kept my position, growing roots in front of the small barricade. My bag—and therefore, most of my weapons—sat in the pew twenty or thirty feet in front of me. I pooled power into my fists, Eihwaz pulsing with a cold beat beneath my skin.
“You have forced entry into sacred ground,” Nate said, his voice ringing with righteousness. “Leave now with your lives.”
As one, the five Faceless shivered. The centermost creature took a single step forward. Like a slit in a burlap sack, a tear opened in its would-be face.
“Veil,” it wheezed. That single word echoed through the church as if from a thousand hissing mouths.
“I’m afraid that’s spoken for,” Marius said. Though his tone remained cool and calm, the brilliant emerald light in his eyes intensified. “Run along now.”
“Veil,” came the Faceless’s wet, guttural reply. “We’ll not leave without it.”
“Nor will you leave with it,” Marius snarled.
The rightmost Faceless lunged at the satyr, but Marius was ready. He thrust out his left hand, and a bolt of green light shot past Nate. For an instant, the gout of power painted the room in the colors of spring as it struck the air and exploded into a ball of verdant flames.
The strike missed its mark.
A piercing shriek shook the walls of the building. Stained glass shattered, shards raining down on the marble floor. The Faceless scattered. One darted left, another right, and three dove into the center aisle to engage Nate and Flynn. Marius, horns and teeth now bared, charged ahead to counter them.
Nate’s battle cry rang out like a trumpet’s brassy call to arms. Clarity resonated in my mind, and my brand throbbed. No, not my brand—Loki’s gift.
Protect, a voice whispered in my ears. Protect.
The hairs on my nape stood on end, and I scanned the room, searching for the two Faceless I knew in my bones must be trying to flank us. I found them on the walls.
Breaking all known laws of physics and a small portion of my brain, they loped along the sides of the church like hungry dogs. Sheetrock and drywall crumbled as their clawed feet and hands dug into the masonry.
I raised my left hand and fired a bolt of cold blue fire from my fingers. The energy connected with a stained glass window that shattered musically as my target leaped away. I stared at my hand. Beneath my skin, Loki’s gift shifted and pulsed, a hard presence.
I raised my hand again and sent my will out in another burst of chilly anger. This time I hit my mark. The creature froze, plastered to the wall in a chrysalis of pale-green ice. I found the other runner clinging to the far wall. It barreled toward the altar. I kept my sight trained on it and fired off shot after shot of energy. As I followed the creature’s path, I caught sight of Karma and Father Calvert. The rest of the color seeped out of her hair, leaving it gray, scraggly, and wilted. The purple glow began to fade from her body, too. And his.
From the front of the church came a reptilian screech. I ducked just in time to dodge one of the gray suits as Marius sent it flying past me. It landed on the white marble floor with a crack-splat where it did little more than ooze a thick gelid blood.
Glaring over my shoulder at Marius, I shouted, “Hey! Would you mind not throwing those things at me?”
Ichor stained the edge of his saber, and his black mane was mussed, strands of hair falling around the nubs of his horns and into his flushed face. His eyes burned with rage, with a lust that had nothing to do with sex. A few long, purposeful strides brought him to my side.
“Where is she?” Marius snarled. “Where is the mage?”
His eyes found her, and Marius lunged past me and over the pew where he landed in a crouch beside Karma.
Protect.
“Oh hell no,” I whispered to no one in particular.
Father Calvert, apparently feeling somewhat better, let out a shriek of, “Demon!” He didn’t seem to notice the creature bleeding all over his church, or the other encased in ice on the wall, but instead pointed a trembling finger at the satyr.
“Be gone,” Calvert spat. “I cast you out, spawn of Hell, denizen of evil!”
Marius rolled his eyes. “Really? You call yourself a scholar?” Turning his attention to Karma, he said, “Give me the veil.”
“Like hell!” she countered.
“Please. Just for safekeeping.”
Calvert staggered up to his feet. Racked with tremors and beyond reason, the priest stumbled away from Marius. “I see you for what you are, demon!” His eyes tracked up to the back of the church. The fear and loathing on his face melted, pacified into a mask of calm awe. I followed his gaze and saw why.
Nate, wings outstretched and gleaming, fought with righteous grace and humbling ferocity. His spear flashed, sending shafts of his golden radiance into the darkness of the church. He parried a swipe of raptor claws and struck at the faceless enemy. At his side, Flynn glowed, limbs blurring as he kicked and punched at his foes with enhanced speed and strength. Together, Flynn and Nate moved in a careful dance with three of the attackers.
Behind me, the priest jabbered in a reverent whisper. He began to pray, “Father… Bless us, Father, for You are here. Grant us shelter beneath Your wings…”
An ear-shattering wail came from the altar then. I looked to see one of the Faceless squatting on the cross. With a thorny foot on each arm, it peered around the holy martyr’s head, claws caressing his ill-gotten crown. The perfect blank of the creature’s “face” split, a seam opening to reveal those rows of hooklike teeth as it shrieked again. I let loose a blast of Asgard-infused lightning in its direction. In a blur of motion the monster flew from its perch. With a metallic thwang, the cables that had been anchoring the cross to the ceiling snapped. The cross fell, shattering atop the marble altar.
Calvert crumbled to his knees, shivering fingers drawn to his lips as he prayed.
; “No!” Nate’s voice thundered off the walls. “You will not defile this house!”
The creature landed with an earsplitting crack, its toes cleaving into the stone floor. With its hands out in front of it, the thing once again loped around like an animal. Though I saw no eyes, though its mouth had disappeared into the void, I felt its attention on me, on the clutch of us in the center of the church.
Protect.
Marius’s sword flashed, and he leaped to meet the thing head-on. I sent an eruption of Loki’s donated power toward the Faceless that was barreling toward us. Without breaking stride, it threw up an arm, and a shield of black mist flickered into being, catching my strike and then dissolving again. With the same ease and obscene grace, the monster tossed Marius to the side. And before I could ready another blast, it tackled Father Calvert to the ground.
He shivered and wept beneath it, and Marius lay on the ground, rolling to his side and holding his head. Where was Karma? I stole a glance around, trying to find her. She sagged against the pews, hands limp in her lap. A weak smile played at her lips, causing a single dimple to appear on her right cheek.
“Go after him,” she ordered. “No one else dies, you hear?”
“What about the veil?”
Her eyes flared violet in response. “Let ’em try.”
I shifted my weight and sped for Father Calvert. As I closed in, I heard the thing over him rumble, its voice dripping with lust. “Believer.”
Behind me—no, over me—the ceiling shook. A furious crash split the air, and I’d thought another window had shattered. It was ice, however—not glass—that pelted the floor. The beast I’d trapped surged off the wall and hurled itself down into the pews. Wood splintered and split beneath it, but the Faceless creature remained unharmed. In the space of a heartbeat, it was on me, horned fists flailing.
Reflexively, I ducked and sent a left hook into its ribs. Loki’s mark throbbed on my arm, pouring strength and speed into my limbs. Next, a right-handed jab to where its nose should have been. It reeled and swung at me with both arms. I hit the floor, the breeze of its strike ruffling my hair. As I went into a roll, I dragged my left hand over the polished marble floor and sent my will through it. A layer of ice formed, frigid fractals spreading out to form a crystalline carpet. When the thing lunged for me, it slipped on the fresh ice and lurched forward. Its talons caught my ankle and sank into the tender flesh. The wounds burned as if each of those claws had been tipped with acid.