by Tom Keller
"I didn’t say that was everything," he declared. He picked the book up and thumbed through it, stopping at a page with a map of Ashton and a short description of the mission. He laid it back down, then pointed at a grainy picture at the bottom of the page. "This is from the Ashton Times, dated 1928."
It was a news article with a black and white photograph of a young pilot in a flying helmet and scarf helping a nun out of the back of a biplane. You could see what was probably part of the original structure in the background. The caption read, Flying Pilgrim Saves Stranded Sister. Below it was an article about a barnstormer named Robert "Bobby" Pilger, who had picked up a stranded Sister Antonia Marie in Death Valley and flew her to the Mission near Ashton.
"It's not much, " Jesse said. "But at least we have a name"
"Which is exactly why your father wants you and Jasmine to interview the professor," Slater replied. "Perhaps she still has some field notes or something we can use that didn't make it into the book. He recommended using the cover of trying to identify the owners of the three graves we found."
"That's not exactly a DHS function," I replied.
"It could be if the graves were disturbed and artifacts from them had been sold across the border," he replied. "You can go in as Customs agents."
"It's weak," Jazzy said. "But I guess we can make it work.
"What else you got?" I asked.
"Here's where it gets interesting. Our 55 team in Texas sent me a few more things last night. Here's the first. It's from the Fort Worth News, dated 1954."
It was a color scan of another news article. This one was of a DC-3 deplaning passengers at Meacham Field. The passengers, a male and female dressed in the manner of a priest and nun, were stepping onto the tarmac as the pilot watched from within the plane. The caption read, Direct from the Vatican, Bishop escorts newest Sister to old Mission.
"So, the nuns like to fly," Jazzy commented. "What's the significance?"
"First," he replied. "Take a look at the pilots. Notice anything?"
They bent over the table to examine the images.
"It's hard to tell with the flying gear, but they look a lot alike," Jazzy said, speaking first. "Maybe it's his son."
"Hey Ese'," Jesse said, pointing to the newer article. "Is it just me, or does this guy look a bit like you?"
"I suppose there's a resemblance," I said, before looking over at Slater.
"Pilger was listed as missing in action during WWII," he continued. "His plane went down during a bombing mission in 1944. His body was never recovered. Also, there's no record of him ever being married or having children. Now, look at the tail numbers."
Both tail numbers were the same, NC530KK.
"Huh," I said. "That can't be a coincidence."
"It isn't. But N numbers can be reissued. I also did a little digging on the DC-3. It's got the same nose art as the biplane. Same name, too. The Wandering Pilgrim."
"That's a little strange," I replied. "Especially if he's supposed to be dead. Maybe it's a tribute to the original. Any idea where that plane is today?
"Last seen in 1961," he said, glancing back at me. "In Key West. There's no record of where it went from there. I've got nothing on the second pilot. But for what it's worth, Pilger is German for pilgrim; same as both plane's names, and the name of the airline the DC-3 was registered to was Pilgrim Airways. Pilger started it as a cargo carrier in the '30s. They added passenger planes later. The airline went under in 1965.
"But let's get back to that in a minute. First, I want to show you a few more things the agents found." He pulled out another folder and opened it, removing three pages and laying them down.
"Rael told Jay that she'd been to the Mission in Fort Worth. She also mentioned seeing three paintings." He fanned out the printed pages. "I touched base with our team in Ft. Worth, and asked them to follow up on the info. They found these that were sold to a collector in 1966 and they fit Rael's descriptions accurately enough. They depict Azazael, one of the original Fallen, being dragged into a deep pit by four Angels. The artist is unknown, but the two biblical scenes appear to be from the Book of Enoch; although they're labeled Lev1610 and 1621. I'm assuming they were part of a series, but I can’t find any reference to any other works. I'm guessing the labeling is part of a code, but we don’t have anything to reference it to. There's just not enough to be sure what they mean. Leviticus does mention the scapegoat, which is a reference to Azazael, but that by itself doesn’t help us. The third, according to the current owner, is titled Pilgrim and Nun."
We looked down at the photos. The first two were of the Demon and Angels. The third was of a man on a horse on a forest path, with a veiled woman in white in the saddle behind him. It was labeled John 138.
"That's quite a resemblance," Jesse said.
"I hate to agree with Jesse," Jazzy said, pointing to the third image. "But that really does look like you, Jay."
"It's your call," Slater said, glancing over at me.
"What's he talking about, Holmes?" Jesse asked, looking up from the table.
"My grandfather flew for Pilgrim Airways in the late '50s," I admitted. "Out of Florida. That was after he got out of the service. He was in the Air Force before that. My dad still has his pilot's wings from Pilgrim. But there's no way that's him. I've seen pictures of him as a child. He would have only been 18 in 1954, and he died in a crash with my grandmother in '65. Those guys are clearly older than that. All I can say about the painting is… well, it's a painting, not a photograph."
"I'm sorry Jay. But are you sure?" Jazzy asked. "What if he was a Fae? I've seen you in your other persona."
"I don’t know who this guy is, or even if it's the same guy in each image. as far as I know, my grandfather was human," I replied, adamantly, even though I wasn't completely convinced. "Although I'll admit it's quite a coincidence." It seemed unlikely. Then again, I'd grown up thinking I was human myself. How many more surprises were out there?
"Yes, it is," Slater said. "But you're right, Jay. There's nothing in the records to suggest your grandfather was anything but human, and there's no evidence that there's a connection beyond what's here. Still, even if there isn’t one, we can use it to our advantage."
"How's that?" I asked. He hadn't revealed anything else to me beyond the airline information and the resemblance of the people in the images.
"Let's go back to the DC-3 article," Slater said. "According to the Fort Worth paper, the priest is a Bishop by the name of Thomas Black. He's listed as having passed away in '64, but I haven’t located an obituary. There's almost nothing about him in the records I could find. Even his Vatican listing is less than useful. No surprise there. The nun is identified as Sister Jeanette Marie. The other team was able to locate her in Texas."
"You're kidding," Jesse said. "She'd have to be over 100 years old by now."
"103 to be exact. Born July 28, 1914," Slater replied. "I don’t know if it's significant, but that’s the day Austria-Hungary declared War on Serbia, starting World War I. Whatever the case, Ordunez wants Jay to interview her. He thinks we can use this to our advantage."
"How?" I asked. "Does he want me to pretend to be this guy?"
"You'll have to make that call when you see her, Jay," he replied. "She's supposed to have some form of dementia. She wouldn’t speak with our team there, but Ordunez hopes that your appearance will make a difference. The other team will have specifics when you get there."
"Great," I replied. "Where am I going?"
"She's in an assisted living facility," he said. "One for retired nuns. It's Near Fort Worth, in a town called Granbury."
"You've got to be joking!" I exclaimed.
"You know where that is?" Jesse asked.
"Yeah," I replied. "My grandparents on my mother's side live there, and they are definitely human."
"This case just gets weirder and weirder," he muttered.
"Tell me something I don’t know," I replied. Weird was an understatement. I was beginning t
o understand how my dad felt when all this started happening to him. I just hoped history wasn't repeating itself.
"It is what it is." Slater said. "That's all I have. Okay. Jay's family issues aside, what does everyone think?"
"The only thing that makes sense is that the Grimoire has something to do with Azazael," Jesse said. "Although why they would keep it hidden instead of destroying it is beyond me."
"Who is Azazael?" Jazzy asked. "I mean, I know he's supposed to be one of the Fallen, but what's his story?"
"It's from the Book of Enoch, which is not part of the Bible. Think of it like the Prometheus legend, with Noah's flood added in," I said, before anyone else could answer. "Azazael and the rest of the Fallen brought the secrets of heaven to the humans… including the art of weapon making."
"Don’t forget the art of cosmetics, and fornication," Slater said, grinning. "They were supposed to watch over the humans, not mix with them."
"That too," I agreed. "Anyway, to punish him for introducing such sin into the world, God sent four Angels to drag him into the desert; to a place called Dudael. They threw him into a deep hole and imprisoned him in darkness for all eternity. Then he sent the flood to take care of his followers and offspring."
"According to Enoch, that was followed by the final battle, where Lucifer and the others were sent to Hell," Jesse added. "But some people believe Azazael has a special place, because he took the heat for the human race. Meaning that even though he destroyed all the evil and sinners, God spared Noah's line. Which leads us to the tale of the scapegoat in Leviticus, but now we're getting way off track."
"That might explain the inscriptions on the dagger and sheath," Slater said. "What if it was meant for both Angels and Demons? Although why a supposedly Christian order is so involved in an apocryphal work is beyond me."
"Where does Rael fit it?" Jazzy asked. "You'd think she would have mentioned something like this."
"I got the impression she knew more than she was saying," I replied, wondering that myself. "But she's an anomaly. I doubt anyone knows her full story. All I know is what I've been told; that she fled with several of the Nephilim and somehow avoided being sent to Hell. Although in the end, she was still turned into a Demon."
"Which is why Samson doesn’t mess with her," Slater said. "He and the rest of the half-Demons would have died if she hadn't interceded."
"And it might explain why Beelzebub got involved," I said. "We know he's making a power play against Lucifer. Maybe he thinks that by releasing Azazael he'll have an edge."
"It certainly would explain Samson's personal interest; if it's true," Slater added. "And why he's keeping it classified to only a few of the teams. All hell will break loose if Azazael escapes. No pun intended."
"Okay, then," I said, slapping my hands on the table. "Let's see what else we can dig up… Other than a Demon, I mean."
"Jay, there's a transport out of Nellis going to Fort Worth this afternoon," Slater said. "Want me to get you on it?"
"Not necessary," I replied. "I know of a few oak groves there. I can travel the Dryad way. Give me an hour, or so. I just want to change clothes before I go. I've got a few things to take care of in Fae anyway, so I'll handle those on the way."
"I'll send you the Texas 55 team's contact info," he said, typing into his cellphone. "They've got the location information. Just text them with where and when you want them to pick you up."
"Jazzy can leave the Jeep at my place," he said, taking the book from the table as Slater put away the pictures. "We'll track down this professor and see what she has to say."
"I'll call you when I get back," I replied, before leading them out.
Jazzy paused at the doorway, a look of concern on her face. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"Yeah, I think so. I can’t believe there's a connection. But hell, Jazzy! I really don’t know anymore. I'm just going to have to play it out and see where it leads."
"From what Slater said, Ordunez didn't seem too concerned," she said. "Especially since he's still sending you to do the interview."
"I don’t believe that for a minute," I replied. "If there is something there, he'll try and use it to the agency's advantage, if he can. If not, no harm, no foul. Either way, he needs me to do this. I can probably trust the other 55 team, but that doesn't mean I'm going in unprepared."
"Do you need me to watch your back?" she asked. "I can tell Jesse to handle the professor alone."
"No. I got this. Like I said, I've got connections there, and Slater's a friend, so I've got options. Let's see what happens in Texas before we turn this into a conspiracy."
"Just be careful, Jay," she said, leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. "I'm here if you need me."
"I know that, Jazzy… and I appreciate it. It means a lot."
****
Later that afternoon, I stepped into the warm Texas sunshine in the middle of a small grove of oak trees. I walked past the plaque honoring Matthew Henderson and startled a customer of the HEB as they walked by. The grove stood in front of the grocery store. They had left it intact when they built the place, designing the parking lot around it. I walked out onto the asphalt and looked around for my ride. A moment later, a jacked-up dually Chevrolet truck pulled up beside me and the passenger door opened.
"Need a lift, honey?" the Werewolf in the back asked, peering at me over her pulled down sunglasses. She was about Jazzy's size, dressed in jeans and cowboy boots, with a tanned face and curly brown hair. There was the slightest hint of Texas drawl in her voice.
"Ignore her," a voice in the front yelled out. "We're your ride. Hop in."
"I figured that," I said as I climbed into the truck.
"Mmm…. Ain't you dressed pretty," the Were drawled, sniffing at my neck, pausing as she reached the cheek that Jazzy had kissed. "Hanging out with Weres, are we? Someone's got good taste, and not just in clothes."
That's what I get for wearing a suit in Texas.
"For the God's sake, Vicki," the passenger in the front said. She was an Irish Fae, a Celtic Warrior, with long red hair and green eyes. "Leave the poor guy alone."
"Like I said," the driver replied, pulling away. "Just ignore her. She's probably in heat again."
"What do you mean, probably?" the passenger chimed in, then looked back. "I'm Molly. You've already met Vicki, and our driver is Dee. Welcome to Granbury, Texas."
"Thanks," I replied. "I'm Jay. What do you have for me?"
We turned right at the end of the parking lot, and then continued down Meander Road toward Old Granbury, where we pulled over onto a dirt lot at the intersection. The driver put it in park, then turned around.
"Your flying nun lives at Our Lady by the Lake Care Center. It's downtown on Stockton Street, near Ewell," she said. "We'll take you there, but don’t expect too much. She's catatonic most of the time. Sits and stares out the window for hours and doesn't respond to much of anything. She will follow the staff's direction, but only in that she lets them lead her when she goes from the chair to the bed, or bathroom, or by wheelchair to the commissary. She has dementia. The staff says when she does talk, it is usually about something from her childhood, although she will respond to her name on occasion."
"Did you try and talk to her?" I asked.
"I did," she replied. "But I doubt she even knew I was there. Stared right through me. You should know, the staff wasn’t happy we were there, either. They were cooperative, to a point. But they did not want to let us see her alone. I didn't push it because it was obvious she wasn't going to talk to me. I'm not sure how they're going to feel about a second visit; but that's on you. Since you look like him, maybe you'll have better luck on both counts."
"On both counts?" I repeated. "What does that mean?"
"You saw the painting, right?" Dee, the driver, and their Mage, asked. When I nodded, she continued. "She's got a reproduction of it on the wall. When I went into her room, the nurse adjusted it so she could see it, saying, I'll just move him a bit so you have a be
tter view. The damn thing looks just like you. The staff's going to see that the second you walk up. Do you want to tell us what that's all about?"
"I admit there's a resemblance," I said, before Molly cut me off.
"A resemblance!" she stated. "Bullshit! We saw the original, and the photo of the pilot. No question. You're their exact double. Why is that?"
"Look," Molly said. "We saw the other paintings. We've had our own share of Demon problems here lately. All I'm asking is that you let us know what we might be up against, in case any of this blows back on us."
"It shouldn’t. But okay," I replied. Confidential investigation or not, they worked with Slater, and that was good enough for me. I gave them the nickel version of what we had been dealing with, including the info on the botched raid at the warehouse and the tie-in to the Fallen.
"You really can't explain it?" Molly asked, after I finished.
"No," I replied. "I wish I could. I had a grandfather that flew for Pilgrim Airways, but I've never seen the painting before this came up. For what it's worth, as far as I know, he was human. He passed away before I was born. But I do plan to use it to my advantage. Hopefully, it'll trigger something when she sees me." Suddenly, I felt a warm tongue on my neck. "What the f…"
"Sorry," Vicki said, sliding back toward the door. "He's telling the truth. For the most part, anyway."
"Vicki's the closest thing to a lie detector we have," Dee, the Mage said. "Swears she can taste a lie, and she's never been wrong."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I said, sarcastically.
"I apologize," Dee said. "But it's SOP, even for someone from the agency. We're on our own most of the time, and we've learned not to trust just anybody."
"I understand," I replied, rolling down the window and sticking out my hand. Three Fae archers appeared from a copse of trees by the railroad tracks. I gave a thumbs-up. The lead archer bowed her head, then raised an arm and blended back into the brush. Like I said, I had connections here. In addition to my grandparents, there were several Fae here that dated back to the oil boom days. My dad had asked them to check in on my grandparents now and then. Since they weren't that far away, it was a simple thing to let them know I was coming.