Dark of Night

by T. F. Walsh

  “Abso-bloody-lutely!” Wyck jumped up from his seat faster than a triggered land mine, his gaze dropping to front of his now tattered jacket. “Bollocks. I just bought this blasted thing last week!”

  Kagan clapped him on the shoulder, squinting at the neon orange and yellow outwear monstrosity. “Ugly as hell. Good riddance, amico.”

  “Si, he’s right.” Chago chuckled. “Where the hell’d you get that fugly thing anyway?”

  “Off the Internet. It’s the latest trend in alpine chic.” Wyck plunged the decimated jacket into the trash on his way to the fridge. “What the hell do you know about fashion, anyway, Oscar de la Rent-a-Wreck?” Wyck gave Chago’s mud-encrusted jeans and plain white tee a quick once-over. “Last time I checked, you weren’t winning any awards.”

  Chago countered with a silent, one-finger salute.

  Kagan watched the proceedings, his usual enjoyment absent. Fear sat lead-heavy in his gut, draining his emotions until only cold, hard need remained. He had to save Mira, refused to live without her. Merda! This was his fault. Again. He needed to do something. Anything. Flashes of his sisters’ faces trickled through his mind like a watercolor in the rain. He couldn’t lose another woman he loved. With a determined grunt, he strode across the loft to his closet and pulled out a fresh set of clothes. “I need to rescue Mira.”

  Xander stared at Kagan for a moment, his expression taut and cryptic. Then, following a deep breath and a roll of his shoulders, he turned to Wyck. “Notify the others. I’ll give you a rendezvous point after I talk to Divinity.”

  Wyck nodded and took out his phone. “Buggering hell!”

  A bullet hole pierced the center. He tossed it in the trash on top of his ruined coat, reached into a second pocket, and removed a different device.

  “Been wanting to try the new version, anyway.” He plugged the phone into a charger and headed to the bathroom. “While she’s revving up, I’m hitting the shower.”

  “Xan, what happened with the Director?” Kagan asked, sitting on the sofa to pull on a fresh pair of boots.

  “Tolbert is bigger than anyone imagined.” Xander got up and walked to the kitchen. He snagged a soda from the fridge and cracked it open. “From what I can interpret, they’ve been working toward this goal since their exile. Their knowledge base is enormous, and frankly, they don’t give a shit anymore. A dangerous combination. And that doesn’t include their vast pool of resources.”

  He sank into a chair at the table. “They’ve been operating under the radar for the last two thousand years. Hell, I’m not sure Divinity knows the true extent of their dealings. One thing’s for certain — they’re all over these Seals like bugs on manure. I wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t getting help from Lucifer. He’s never been too particular about his cohorts as long as he got what he wanted.” Xander stared at his soda can with sudden, renewed interest. His brow furrowed, and his gaze took on a jagged, brittle fury. “Psologliftis.”

  Kagan frowned. The pieces still didn’t fit. Why would Tolbert need Xander and Zoe’s abilities with the Seal in their possession? Why reveal information in Xander’s visions — telling him secrets, knowing he’d use the information to destroy them — and allow him to live? “Lucifer and the Nephilim? I doubt even he would stoop so far. Not after what happened during the Fall.”

  “How else could they access Divinity’s vaults?” Xander pinned Kagan with a steady gaze, his tone reserved. “Yes. The thefts were their doing.”

  Xander gave a self-deprecating snort. “Did I mention the Director offered me a position with Tolbert? Skata! I’m the commander of the Scion, and he acted like I was a bag boy at the grocery.” His abrupt snort of laughter was decidedly unpleasant. “He knew all about the amulet too.”

  Wyck emerged from the bathroom. “Hey, K, I need to borrow some clothes.”

  “Fine.” Kagan nodded then returned his gaze to Xander, intent on finding a viable solution. “How do we defeat them? The Nephilim aren’t immortals. They can be killed, right?”

  “Yes, they can be killed. They’re not immortal. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Weren’t the Nephilim destroyed?” Chago asked, joining Xander at the table.

  “The official answer? Yes.” Xander rubbed his eyes before scratching the dark stubble shadowing his jaw. “Unofficially? Not annihilated. Only driven underground for a long, long time.”

  “What’d I miss?” Wyck asked as he finished pulling on a black T-shirt to accompany the pair of faded jeans he’d chosen and padded into the kitchen.

  “The Nephilim are behind Tolbert, and they have the girls,” Chago said, fiddling with his empty bottle.

  “Thanks, anchorman. Been there, bought the morning paper. Anything else?”

  “Yeah.” Xander reached over and dislodged Wyck’s phone from the charger then handed it to him, ignoring the flashing red battery indicator. “Forget the previous order. Call the others and have them meet us at Divinity’s.”

  • • •

  Kagan, Chago, Xander and Wyck, accompanied by the final three of their Scion brethren, flashed into Divinity’s marble foyer. She strode in a moment later. “Welcome home, boys.”

  Xander stepped forward to flank her side. Divinity was schoolmarm punctual, as usual. He couldn’t suppress a slight smile at the soothing cadence of her presence. “We have an urgent matter.”

  “Yes, I know. The Nephilim.”

  She led them into the den, and a handmaiden appeared with a tray full of drinks. “Do sit, all of you. My neck will be sore for a week if I have to look up the entire time Xander drones on.”

  Wyck and Chago snorted and took up residence in the leather wing chairs. Another chair appeared for Kagan while the three newest recruits filled an antique sofa along one wall. Luther slumped into the first corner with Rat Pack cool, his fedora drawn low to hide his penetrating, cat’s-eye golden gaze. Beside him, Sloane reclined with the lithe grace of a jewel thief ready to pounce, his tailored, three-piece suit and Italian leather shoes impeccable. On the far end was Barron, the rookie — if two hundred-plus years was considered a trial period. His shaggy, sun-streaked hair and easy grin belied the hard muscle and battle-hewn warrior beneath.

  Xander leaned against the marble fireplace mantel and nursed his brandy while taking it all in. He waited for everyone to get settled before laying out the facts. Life as a Scion was many things. Boring was not one of them.

  Xander glanced around at his assembled men, each one a trained lethal weapon in his own right, and tried to recall the last time they’d all been together. It had been at least a century ago, according to his calculations — maybe longer. He swallowed a mouthful of smooth brandy and contemplated the flames. His troubled mind drifted to Zoe. Was she suffering like he had while in the compound? His fist tightened on the fragile cut crystal. No. He’d sensed the strength of her abilities the night of the club attack. She’d fight the Nephilim. Hell, she’d probably make them wish they’d never touched her.

  After his first-hand experience with the psychic time warp she’d produced at the club, Zoe’s powers made his look like a cheap charade. His fingertips stroked the side of his glass while he remembered their initial encounter at Wyck’s. The brief contact had brought his senses crackling to life. Further exploration of their connection would be a pleasure. His pleasure.

  The clearing of a throat derailed his train of thought. Divinity flashed him the placid smile of a troop leader corralling an ornery charge and took a seat behind her desk. “Go on, dear. We’re ready.”

  “The Nephilim have the first Seal,” Xander said.

  She lifted her glass with no hesitation. “And?”

  “They’re planning to use it.”

  Divinity pierced him with an exacting stare. “What are you going to do?”

  “We’re here to figure that out.” Xander pushed off the m
antel. “We need your help.”

  She stood and moved to the window, her fingertips trailing over an odd-looking houseplant. “I always wondered when the half-breeds would emerge again.”

  Kagan scooted forward in his seat, asking the question before Xander had time to respond. “You didn’t think to mention their continued existence until now?”

  “No need. They went underground long ago to avoid punishment for their transgressions.” She stroked a tiny red flower at the plant’s perimeter. The blossom grew larger, and small, sparkling fruit appeared.

  Chago uncrossed his legs. “They’ve grown more powerful.”

  “Yet they’re not without weaknesses.” Divinity turned to face her warriors. “Their organization is the key to their defeat.”

  “And the reason we’re here.” Xander moved to stand before her desk. “To be prepared.”

  “You have the amulet?” Divinity turned toward Xander. He nodded and patted the pocket of his jeans. “Good. You must strike tonight before the alignment is complete.”

  She hustled from the window out into the foyer before turning in their direction. A team of handmaidens assembled behind her. “Now, Scion, let’s get you prepared for battle.”

  • • •

  The Director himself, with Mallory in tow, came to collect Mira. The pair waited outside the bars while four guards trussed up Mira’s still unconscious form like a stuffed pig and carted her out of the cell.

  Zoe remained huddled in the corner, her eyes shut tight. She tried to push reassurance into Mira’s mind. Kagan would return. Her powers were muddled in here, especially after the torture these assholes had subjected her to, but she knew the Scion. No way Kagan left Mira behind. No way.

  Memories of the day’s experiments flooded Zoe’s mind — machines and wires, electrodes and needles, too many needles. At first, she’d been terrified. Rape, she could handle. Torture, not so much. They’d packed a lot into the short time she’d been here. She came to realize the more afraid she became the harder it was to fight them off. Fear weakened her powers. Any overwhelming emotion lessened her psychic strength. Blurred the signal.

  An image of Xander popped into her head. Absurd. The only strong sentiment she felt toward him was revulsion. After his foray at Wyck’s apartment, his gentle push into her psyche, she’d stayed free of him. The last thing she needed was another psychic trying to hustle her game. Yes, she’d sent him the one message when Tolbert had kidnapped her. Out of necessity only. Nothing more.

  Alone now in the holding cells, Zoe’s thoughts veered from her disturbing emotions toward Xander to a more pressing issue — Tolbert’s game plan. From the information she’d gathered, Mira should have been their only target as the host of the first Seal. Yet they’d wanted Zoe too. Her abilities. Dumbass bastards. She’d never use her talents to harm anyone, let alone Mira. Mira was her sister, if not by blood, then certainly by fire. Zoe would die herself before harming Mira.

  The ding of the elevator signaled the return of the troops. Armed guards entered and clanked her cell open. Two hulking men hauled her from the room. Zoe struggled, but it was like trying to topple a brick wall with a Q-tip.

  They journeyed to the lab once more, and Zoe focused her adrenaline-fueled senses. This time she’d discover some answers.

  • • •

  Mira opened her scratchy eyes and waited for her vision to clear.

  Toted as she was beneath the beefy guards’ arms, her vantage point was limited. Only flashes of ceiling and the occasional door marker appeared in her peripheral vision. Her mouth was sore and dry, a musty gag stuffed inside to prevent no more than the odd grunt or groan.

  After a while, all the rocking and swaying made her seasick, and listening to the guards mumble in their strange language had her wishing for an ice pick to the eardrum. The guttural cadence of their words sounded Latin or Russian in origin, with a pinch of Chinese and German thrown in for flavor. Whatever the hell they were saying, the continued murmur set her nerves on edge.

  A small eternity and a million twists and turns later, they exited through a doorway. The temperature rose by several degrees. Humidity abounded. The pungent odor of rot and wet earth wafted. Nothing but black surrounded her. The downward tilt of her body meant they were descending. Caves, maybe? Shit! Not Gehenna again. If the guys were right and Lucifer was here … Still, he hadn’t made an appearance. Not yet, anyway.

  They rounded a corner and Mira found herself upright again. She glanced around. Torches blazed along the walls of a large auditorium. Her mouth-breather escorts turned, stopped. Mira spotted a stone platform at the room’s center. Before she could study it closer, the guards swiveled again and continued down the stairs. Their shadows loomed, cast by the firelight to shoot upward like carnival caricatures. Only one thought echoed in Mira’s mind, a skipping record caught on repeat. Where the hell was Kagan?

  • • •

  Argus watched the buffoons cart their bundle toward the platform. He squirmed against his own bonds while they tossed their cargo on the slab beside his. Glimpses of chestnut curls and a hint of spicy scent identified the package before they pulled the tarp away. The guards strapped her struggling form tight and left. When they were alone, he gave a cackle and a less-than-subtle snort. “Well, well, if it isn’t the fucking princess? Not so high and mighty now, are you, bitch?”

  Mira rolled her eyes. “It must suck to be a loser in two different life forms, huh Argus?”

  “You don’t know anything, nerdgasm. You couldn’t satisfy old McClaine here, let alone a pussy Scion boyfriend.” She tensed against her restraints and he smiled. Hit a nerve, eh? Argus chuckled. “Aw, what’s a matter? He up and leave your sorry ass already?”

  Footsteps announced the return of the security team. This time the guards moved toward Argus. Two flanked him on either side while another dressed in a lab coat stepped up on the platform with a doctor’s bag in hand. He laid out his instruments beside Argus’s head — clamps, picks, and a nasty-looking scalpel. Normally, he’d enjoy this type of foreplay. Not today. Anger boiled deep. Yet try as he might, his powers refused to surface.

  Argus roiled in vain against his chains. The chains! He squinted at the cuffs, frowned at the telltale hint of copper. Fucking demon’s bane. They’d forged the steel with it. Probably formed the bullet from the stuff too. His pierced heart lurched in response. Sweet Mary on a chopper! The bastards had found his weakness. Fuck it all!

  Doctor Death pulled on a pair of latex gloves and nodded. The man ripped open Argus’s shirt to expose the amulet’s burn mark. Cold air seeped into his heated skin and left goose flesh in its wake. From his position, Argus could barely spy the bottom edge of the sigil. Ah, hell to the fucking no!

  The scalpel glinted as the man lowered it toward Argus’s chest. He barked an order in Enochian. “Allar iadpil vgeg!”

  The goddamn wankers pressed his arms tight to the slab. Argus jerked. The blade carved deep, cleaving a neat square of flesh from his breastbone. Exquisite pain radiated from his chest, sparking agony throughout his body. Hot blood coursed from the wound. Argus waited for the healing to begin, but nothing happened. In fact, none of his wounds had healed since the douche had shot him in the interrogation room.

  The surgeon stepped away and placed the seeping piece of hide on a white linen cloth before handing the bundle to the Director, who waited in the shadows. Job completed, he snapped off his gloves and tossed them. The bloody scalpel followed soon after. After a last glance at his handiwork, the butcher of Wanker Town, USA picked up his bag and left. Argus discovered agony without healing wasn’t nearly as enjoyable. Mr. Propellerhead better hope he never regained his strength or else he’d be one dead mimbo.

  He turned toward Mira again and caught her gaze before she looked away, her face pale and strained. His blood continued to drip to the stone platform below. Argus c
huckled at the thought of the scrawny surgeon with a roasting spit up his ass. Mira shot him a withering glare and struggled against her restraints. Her fear coated his tongue like the best champagne. Gleeful anticipation filled his floundering demon heart. “Don’t worry, Mira. You’re next.”

  Chapter 18

  Seven flashes of light pierced the forest surrounding the Tolbert complex. The warriors dressed in black, their long coats concealing an array of weapons. Xander checked his watch and nodded to Kagan then lifted the amulet from his pocket and slipped it over his head. The talisman glowed brighter in response to the approaching alignment.

  Kagan headed across the snow toward the entrance. His black sunglasses hid his growing anxiety from the group. Buono. Mira was his number one priority.

  He approached the glass entry doors. Five armed guards stood poised around a terminal inside. He pulled on the door. Unlocked. Confirmation Tolbert expected the Scion this night. Kagan stepped into the marble lobby and focused on the security station.

  Five pairs of mirrored sunglasses stared back at him, the expressions beneath impassive, inhuman. He moved forward and a sixth officer blocked his path, metal detector in hand. Divinity was right, as always. These creatures were like robots, functioning off a hive-mind intellect that brooked nothing but conformity. Kagan smiled, an icy chill coursing through his veins and numbing his heart.

  The security guard ran the metal detector wand around the outline of his silhouette. A warning sounded within milliseconds. At the officer’s gesture, Kagan opened his coat to reveal a body packed to the gills with artillery. The guard reached for his own weapon. He didn’t get it out of the holster. Kagan put a bullet between his eyes. One less mind in the hive.

  He stepped over the fresh corpse, a second gun in hand to blast simultaneously. Bullets sprayed the lobby. The tang of gunpowder and warm blood choked the air. He moved deeper before signaling for the waiting Scion to join him. The guards began dropping like stones. Kagan ducked behind a pillar and tossed away his spent weapons. Through the cacophony, one guard radioed for backup. Merda! Kagan leaned around the corner to fire. He never got the chance. The man’s chest erupted in crimson, riddled from behind with Xander’s bullets.