by J Moon
All three men followed, strictly in step, oxford loafers stomping in the rain, with a sense of urgent military precision, as they marched rapidly one by one following in Uriel’s track. Oh yes they must be dealt with swiftly, she thought to herself.
She marched forward, umbrella leaning back on shoulder, as her heels splashed in the rain. The foolish Shepherds followed her like they were circling a helpless lamb but little did they know in actuality, they had trapped themselves in an alley with a wolf.
Just a few paces ahead, she noticed a rough looking fellow who stood at the end of the alley. He was smoking a cigarette under the cover of his umbrella. He had to be no more than six foot three or four, and weighing around two hundred and fifty pounds. Uriel’s lips quivered. She will enjoy making him cry out in pain.
She could feel them closing in. The steps echoing behind her kept growing closer, louder. She could hear them through the storm, just as if they were walking on marble in an empty lobby.
Uriel readied herself.
Her brain ran through scenarios with increasing rapidity, looking for a way to swiftly and efficiently eliminate her pursuers. They were close now. Uriel didn’t have to turn her shoulder before she could feel the hand that was reaching out.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” One of her followers cried out.
Uriel stopped dead in her tracks as the hand reached over her shoulder. She yanked it, and snapped his wrist with a twist. He fell to the ground screaming in pain, his yell almost as loud as the thunder.
Three of them surrounded her from all sides.
“Look we know you're an archangel and we’ve trained to handle your kind.”
A smirk swept across Uriel’s face. “Really.... Have you?” she said sarcastically.
She reached in her trench coat and pulled out a chain. In her left hand she held a long sharp sickle connected to the ball she held on her right. Uriel whipped her glances between all three men. “So who will go first?” she asked as she allowed the ball to drop a few inches.
Stupefied, the men looked at each other. Uriel whirled the ball over her head. The sound the ball weight made as it cut through air against the fall of rain, and clash of thunder, created a looming dread into all of their hearts.
Betty Tate’s spirit eased by a nearby wall for a better view. Her abilities allowed her to feel everything from the cold misty drops of rain that fell, to the gut reaching fear the Shepherds felt as they circled Uriel. From Uriel she didn’t sense fear, instead she sensed unholy fury.
A wicked smile spread like wildfire across Uriel’s face. “No one? Come on boys, I thought you’ve trained to handle me.”
She was looking at the one in the black trench coat when she said this, and timidly he lunged at her. Uriel didn’t flinch.
After seeing this was going nowhere, like lightning, she swung the weight hard in a circle and blundered all three men in the face. All three clawed and cried. Uriel whirled and finished her attackers with the sickle. She stabbed the slim one in plaid overhead, slashed across his wider counterpart’s neck, and jammed the sickle in the right side of the last Shepherd. As she did this she let out a loud guttural moan. When her voice fell silent, all three men crumbled to the ground.
Uriel turned around in a slow circle. They were standing just behind the diner now on Thirty-Eighth Street. The diner stretched in front of them, one lone waitress serving a few customers who paid no attention to what was going on in the back alley. The agent who grabbed her shoulder, laid on the ground screaming in pure terror as he watched his comrades die right beside him.
“No, please wait!” He cried as Uriel stood over him, her face grim and bloody.
Swiftly, she claimed his head. With the threat eliminated, the archangel placed her weapon back in the confines of her coat. She turned to continue her journey to meet with Legion’s liaison when she stopped.
Uriel felt a presence.
One that wasn’t physical, but of the spirit. She turned to her left to see a beautiful girl watching everything. She marched towards her with her scythe swinging and immediately Betty returned her spirit back to body.
Betty gasped as her spirit returned to her body back at the Shepherd facility.
“Report,” Colonel Brown barked.
Betty wiped tears from her eyes, “I’m sorry sir, but they’re all dead.”
“Damn it!” Colonel Brown groaned.
By now they weren’t alone in the room. An Asian man had entered and stood over Betty, along with Colonel Brown’s second in command, Lt. Sanders.
“Benjamin,” She gasped.
Benjamin took her hand, “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” she nodded. Her voice was shaky and obviously indicated the latter.
Lt. Sanders stood in the corner with a grim look on his face. He was a balding white man with battle worn eyes. “Sir, we can try to get contact with the field shepherds.”
Colonel Brown lifted a hand. “There is no need.”
Benjamin turned to the Colonel. “I told you, you should’ve let me go in with them.”
Colonel Brown stiffened his lip. “It’s too risky. You and Betty are the only special agents we have left.”
“And it wouldn’t be that way if you just let us do what we do.”
“Sir, he might have a point,” Lt. Sanders spoke up.
Colonel Brown lit a cigar, “Just make sure you trail the other archangel.” He went over to his desk. Sat down and took a long hard pull. “Ladies and gentleman, welcome to armageddon. We are now caught on the battlefield between angels and demons. The Shepherds is humanity’s only chance of surviving this war. We have to get that staff.”
Chapter Eleven
The doors of the service lift opened onto a droughty, empty corridor leading to several rooms. Together Nia and Langston stepped off the elevator and trekked down the hall. Nia noted it was quiet all around with no movement, this differed totally from the main floor upstairs.
This whole adventure was becoming surreal to Nia. Here she was several decades into the past with one of her literary heroes, on a mission lead by an archangel. It was a story none of her friends would ever believe. Even though she was afraid, being with the archangel was awakening something new inside her, and what that was she wasn’t exactly sure, but she was curious to see.
“May I ask where are you from?” Langston said cutting the silence.
“Brooklyn.”
“New York? I didn’t know negroes live out there.”
Nia had no clue what 1920s New York looked like in the era of prohibition. With nothing clever to say, she answered, “Yeah, it’s a few of us.”
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“I thought we were around the same age!” He said sharply, beaming. “So what do you do? Do you want to go to college?”
“Right now I’m working at a clothing store and trying to take care of my dad.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
She shrugged, “Nothing is wrong with him… it’s just all we have is each other.”
“Surely he would want you to go to school. You seem very intelligent and quick witted. Plus, if you are hanging with the archangel then you must be clever as well. ”
Nia thought about it for a moment. For a brief second she could hear Pop’s voice in her head. “You're right he does. I’ve been low-key thinking about it.”
“Really? I’m thinking about going to college myself. I’ve been debating it for a while now but I will not make any more excuses. This fall come hell or high water, I am going back down south to enroll in a college.”
“Where?”
“Probably one of the colleges me and Zora toured in our travels down south, my heart is set on Lincoln.”
Nia shot him a sidelong glance. “Good for you.” Then she thought about it for herself again. “Maybe you're right. Who knows? College can be cool.”
Langston chuckled, “I think I like you Nia. You’re very different from the girls around he
re.”
Nia looked at him in a way that said choose your words carefully. “Different how?”
Langston held his hands up in protest, “It’s not a bad thing. I like that you are not afraid to speak your mind.” He eyed the empty corridor. “That’s what I like about my best friend Zora as well. You two both have the same fire.”
“Well I keep it real all day every day. My Pop always said the hardest thing to do in the world is to be yourself.”
“That’s true.” He thought about it for a moment and said. “I recall sitting alongside a sidewalk the other day when a negro poet had the nerve to say he wishes he could be a white poet.”
“Hell no, for what?”
“Exactly! I was just as beside myself as you are. Yes, I get it, working as a black artist always feels like an uphill battle, plus the profits and accomplishments our white counterparts receive is disproportionate, but still I wouldn’t want to change who I am to better my art. To not be colored would strip me of the essence of my inspiration, my life.”
Nia smiled to herself. “Well instead of feeling discouraged maybe you should write about it. Call it the Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain.”
“That’s a hell of an idea!” Langston yelled.
Out of nowhere a blood-curdling scream erupted in the corridor, making both of them want to jump out of their skin.
“Did you hear that?” Langston asked.
The cry rang out again, this time followed by a guttural moan. Both of their eyes darted all around for the source of this cry.
“What was that,” Nia whispered
“Where is it coming from?”
Cold terror washed over Nia’s face. “I have no idea.”
Again it came, a masculine scream from the pits of hell. It held its first high piercing note and then became a garbled mess. There was a poor soul that was in intense pain and their cries came from one room in the hall.
Nia leaned on a door two steps past her right. “It came from in here,” Nia pointed.
Tensely Nia opened the door. They walked inside and found a modern research lab that did not belong in the 1920s. It was an average size room. Computer monitors to the far right in front a long conveyor belt that winded through the wall into the adjacent room. Several men hung in the air like cattle waiting for butcher. A man laid face down on the belt as mechanical tentacles implanted a chip behind his skull.
“Dear God that’s him, Jimmy” Langston cried as he ran over to his friend’s side. He looked back to Nia, “Please help me get him up.”
Together they couldn’t free him from the machine but they sat him up right. Langston shook Jimmy Lee frantically as he called out his name. Slowly Jimmy Lee’s eyes blinked open. He remained dazed and acquiescent as he struggled awake, and a small spark of fire returned to his face once his gaze landed on Langston.
Langston cradled Jimmy Lee inside his arm. “Thank God I found you. I would’ve never forgiven myself if something happened to you.”
Nia crouched over the two. A gut feeling told her something wasn’t right. She could feel it in her bones and it made her back away. Jimmy Lee’s face suddenly contorted with anger, and he wrapped his hands around Langston’s neck.
Langston clawed at Jimmy’s hands as he stammered, “Jimmy, what are you doing?”
“Get off of him!” Nia shouted.
Jimmy Lee raised his chest off the machine and increased his grip around Langston’s neck. Langston’s throat tightened and his fair skin flashed red. “Stop it,” he shouted, clawing at his neck.
Nia looked to the corner of the room and saw the assault rifle. Quickly she picked it up, and emptied the barrel into Jimmy’s lee’s back. Jimmy Lee’s hands dropped to the side, he staggered backwards, and crumbled to the floor with his face frozen in twisted anger. Nia screamed as she threw the weapon to the floor.
Langston fell to his knees. Inwardly he felt the weight of the world close in on him, and it made him want to collapse on the floor. He was in total shock. The smell on the floor reached Langston, an overpowering odor of wet metal, and all he could do was stare at Nia while trembling.
“This is them—,” Nia stammered with terror washing over her.
“Who?”
Nia spoke in short bursts as panic took her over. “The League. We have to get out of here. We have to find Gabe and get out of here!” She brushed her hair back if only to disguise the quivering of her right hand
From her peripheral Nia caught a flickering light in the adjacent room which was dark. Something massive arose in the shadows and breathed heavily. Red eyes appeared in the dark corner of the ceiling. Every hair stood up on the back of Nia’s neck and she knew she would need that rifle, so she grabbed it.
Nia aimed the assault rifle. “Don’t move,” she commanded.
Chapter Twelve
They reached the seventh floor, and Josephine was gasping from the exertion of pelting up seven flights of stairs in heels, whereas the archangel was not even slightly fatigued. Josephine leaned on the rail, out of breath and close to collapsing. She wiped sweat from her brow, and clasped at her chest. “Though I have been aching for another night with my sexy warrior angel. This was not the adventure I was hoping for.”
Gabe grinned, “Aww come on Jose, put those thighs to work. Shake a leg now will ya.”
She just about fell over the rail as she leaned against it. “I can think of a few ways to work these thighs.” Josephine rolled her eyes and snickered.
“Jose…Jose.. don’t ever change.”
She recalled the first time she met the archangel. It was one of her first shows in Paris. There had been many men in the crowd that night and she was utterly nervous. But once she got on that stage and saw him sitting amongst the crowd, a vision of chocolate delight, all fears went away.
Then once she went back stage some monster of a beast tried to attack her, and he was there as if he came out of nowhere. That’s when she fell in love, although she knew he would never be hers to have. For many nights she dreamed of seeing the archangel again, even when she was held in the arms of another lover.
No man could compare to Gabriel.
Now they were here together again.
Josephine took in a deep breath and said, “Just let me catch my breath and I’m right behind you sugar.”
After another flight of stairs, the archangel found entry to another production area. To his right he entered and walked into the second manufacturing space. Far up above them was an office with a huge window overlooking the floor. Gabe assumed it would be the supervisor’s office. Gabe walked on to the floor and looked up into the office. He recognized her in one glance. Dressed in a devilish red overcoat was his sister, Uriel.
Gabe always admired the look of her. She was one of the most beautiful of all the other angels. Her beauty was both exotic and appealing both in Heaven and on Earth. Her bronze skin, and full lips looked ever the more ravishing accented by the red coat she wore, with her dark tresses falling across her back. Now he watched her with the glass eyed interest of a cat stalking a bird.
Gabe pulled Josephine out of sight and hid behind a column. “Be silent,” he commanded. Gabe’s eyes moved around the room, and Josephine followed his gaze. The archangel saw no one watching or approaching, so he focused back on Uriel as she stood in the office talking to a shifty looking man.
Gabriel leaned in and produced his smart watch from the cover of his sleeve. Uriel was talking, and he needed to hear what was going on. He used his smart watch to tune into their conversation as Uriel sauntered up to the man. The gentleman was in his forties, clean-shaven, long nose, and dressed in a double breasted suit. Even from afar Gabe could sense the evil in the man’s soul. Though his attire said professional, his demeanor read mobster.
“Will you have it?” Uriel asked as she leaned over his desk with her palms pressing on the edges.
“Yes we will,” Owney said with his hat in hand. “The League has searched extensively for the black rune. So don�
�t worry your pretty little face doll, we got it. We’re prepared to exchange it for the staff. Not the angels above nor the demons below will be able to track you.” Owney stuck a flirtatious smile on his face. “You will have complete protection with the black rune.”
“Good.” Uriel stood up from the desk and looked around the office. “Do you have it here? Can I see it?”
Owney raised a brow. “Did you bring the staff?”
“No.”
Owney grinned. “Let’s just say we have the rune stashed in a safe place. When you come by the Cotton Club tomorrow night, you will see it.” He walked around to the desk and then cut a cigar. While lighting up the cigar he said, “You will love it at the Cotton Club. It’s a nice joint, the best in all the city. All the booze you can drink. Good music and even better food.”
“Really?” she purred.
Owney walked around the desk and hovered over her. He took a long pull from the cigar before he spoke. “It’s a beautiful place and we have the world’s greatest dancers. I promise, you will have a lot of fun. I know your type might not be used to that, but I hope you can stay awhile. A dame like you deserves to be treated well.”
Uriel smiled at him. “Thank you Mr. Madden, tell your associate I’ll have the staff of Moses tomorrow night, nine pm at the Cotton Club.”
“Splendid, Mr. Caraway will be delighted.”
Uriel turned to walk away and Owney snatched her arm back. “ One last thing doll face. If you pull any tricks... my boss won’t be too happy about that and trust me, you don’t want to face the consequences.”
Uriel pulled back. She scowled for a moment, before softening the look on her face again. “Everything will go as peaceful as possible. Just as long as you give me what I want.”
He smiled at her. It was a devilish grin that looked more creepy than trusting. “You can bet on it,” he pointed with his cigar.