by S. L. Duncan
“So the Essenes are the only ones left who can understand the book?” Gabe asked.
“It’s worse than that. Carlyle is the last of the Essenes.”
“Seriously?” Gabe almost laughed. “What if he gets amnesia or something?”
“Indeed,” Micah said. “A troublesome new development he discovered when the Vatican lost contact with the last Protector. That’s why he’s been instructing your father in the early fundamentals of the book and the Essene tradition. In the text’s passages are some of the most important clues to our roles.”
“Why aren’t the others here, then?” Gabe said.
“We don’t know the identity of the third archangel or his Protector. They kept that stuff from Carlyle and your dad in case you or I were compromised. Only the Vatican has that information. Apparently, they lost contact just before you arrived,” Micah said. “And with the fourth, Phanuel, who knows? We have only rumors that he even exists. For some reason, he never got a Protector. Hopefully they’re both in hiding.”
“And what if they’re dead?”
Micah furrowed her brow, finally showing some measure of concern. “That’s why Carlyle and your father are so worried about what happened in New York and the security breach at the vault. They believe it’s an organized effort against us. If you think about it, the strategy is sound—end the war before we even have an opportunity to wage it. I think it’s safe to assume that one of Mastema’s fallen was responsible for your friend’s death and the destruction of your church.”
Gabe wanted to laugh again at the fanciful suggestion of evil angels but resisted the impulse.
Micah must have sensed his disbelief. “You’d better learn to accept this reality. This isn’t some fantasy. One day soon, if what Carlyle and your father believe is happening comes true, we will be called upon to stop these forces. We each have a power within that should begin to manifest. Once it does, you’d better have control, which means the sooner you believe, the quicker you’ll be prepared. By all rights, these manifestations shouldn’t occur for another couple of years. That is why Carlyle is so insistent on intensifying our training. He hopes to bring them to the surface.”
“What sort of power?” asked Gabe.
Micah joined him at the side of the bridge and gazed at the water. “I don’t know. Only weird descriptions in agnostic texts give us clues as to the nature of our abilities. But there is more than just our power. Carlyle has mentioned that the Apocalypse of Solomon contains specific references to weapons of a more physical nature, which we are to acquire. Like the Ring of Solomon. You may have read about it in other texts as well—texts that were also omitted from the Old Testament and Torah.”
Gabe laughed out loud this time. “I meant to check those out but never really got around to it.”
Micah smiled with him. “Why am I not surprised?”
“So? What does this almighty ring do?” Gabe asked.
“Well, for those of us who are not so well-read, the ancient books describe it as so powerful an object, that legend says Solomon used it to wield control over demons. They became slaves to build the First Temple in Jerusalem. If there is any truth to that, the enemy will remember its power and be intent on preventing it from falling into our hands, though from what Carlyle has said, it’s lost to time anyway.”
“It is a fascinating story—I’ll give you that.”
“It’s more than a story. Your nightmares have told you that much, just as mine have. It’s out there somewhere and is powerful enough to conquer nations.”
Gabe recalled his vision of Alexander the Great and the gift he received.
“Best learn to accept it,” Micah said. “And until we discover more about our enemy, we need to be prepared for the worst. We don’t even know what to look for in the enemy, or for that matter, who they are. If one were to walk down this very street, it’s doubtful that either of us would know.”
Now it was Gabe’s turn to feel worried. Other images from his visions flashed in his mind, a blue-eyed man in a suit, his shirt covered in swirling patterns of blood. “I might,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The pieces began to connect in Gabe’s mind.
“What do you mean?” Micah asked. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You’ve actually seen the enemy?”
“My visions,” he said, looking to Micah to see if she had a similar experience. She appeared surprised. This was new to her. “Apart from seeing the end of the world, I kept seeing this . . . man.”
“What was he like?” Micah asked with a hint of nervousness.
“Very businesslike. Like an attorney, maybe. He was well dressed, wearing all black. Tidy shoes, expensive suit. There was something about him, though, something not quite real. It’s as if he wore a disguise. Like his fancy looks and nice dress weren’t really him. Also, it didn’t match what was behind the eyes. They were so blue . . . so . . . cold.
“He spoke to me in what I think was Latin and then said, ‘It shall all come to pass.’” Gabe paused, reliving the memory.
“Oh, my God,” Micah said. “I’ve read that phrase before. Recently, in fact. It comes from Thecla’s Apocrypha.”
“Who’s what, now?”
“I overheard Carlyle talking with your father about our training—something about using a kind of acceleration technique. An anointing oil I’d never heard of, like a drug of some sort, but I didn’t catch the name. Your father objected and warned Carlyle of Thecla’s Apocrypha.”
“I don’t understand,” Gabe said.
“I didn’t, either, so I looked it up at the library. Thecla was a follower of Paul’s apocalyptic ministry in the first century. Apparently, she somehow acquired something called the Entheos Genesthai and drank some. This is the accelerant that Carlyle was talking about.” She seemed to tense. “Do you know what Entheos Genesthai is?”
“Are you serious? Under what circumstance would I ever need to know what . . . whatever it’s called is? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about most of the time anyway. It’s all Greek to me.”
“It’s all Greek to everyone, idiot. It is Greek. Literally, it means ‘becoming God within.’ Look, I’ll put it to you this way. If you’ve ever had any interest in substance experimentation while you’re at university, you’ll be able to get it all done in one go with that stuff. I don’t want anything to do with it. Honestly!” Micah said as if referring to some recent scandal.
“But you’re not supposed to drink it,” she continued. “That’s bad. It’s too powerful. Like an overdose, you know? Only these witch doctor types were supposed to administer it and only in the tiniest amount exposed to the skin on the forehead. It sounded to me like an ancient version of peyote and the way the Native Americans used it to commune with nature. So, she drank it, a whole vial apparently, and fell into a trance. The story reads that she started describing visions she was having, given to her by God. Visions of the End of Days. According to what I read, she kept saying ‘It shall all come to pass.’”
“I’d rather not hear the details. The less I actually know, the less stressful all of this actually is, and the happier I am. Blissful ignorance. Unenlightened. That’s where I’m best. I’m sure it’s just coincidence. How about that bite?” Gabe turned from the river to leave.
She frowned and shook her head, as if something had left a bad taste in her mouth. “We don’t tell them about it.”
“About what?”
“The man from your vision. Carlyle and your father don’t need to hear it. If Carlyle said he could get the Entheos Genesthai, then that means it exists. It’s not just a legend, and I’m not about to become a lunatic like that girl did in the story.”
Gabe thought about it. She had a point. Besides, he couldn’t see how knowing the man’s face would help.
“Bollocks to food. I need a drink. And a bit of company.” Micah grabbed his coat and spun him around, back toward the castle Undercroft.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Undercroft Pub was, as Carlyle had first described, a dungeon of a place with stone arches that held up low ceilings. Gabe half expected to see chains hanging from the walls, but instead there were beer signs, beer mirrors, and posters of half-dressed women holding beer. A jukebox played the latest mix of British indie rock and American pop music.
Students gathered around the tables and bar, chatting and having drinks—beer, mixed spirits, ciders, and shots of all sorts. Gabe found it strange to see people his age carrying on in a pub.
Some of the guys at the bar were hitting on the barmaid who was, in Gabe’s opinion, worthy of their attention. She brushed them away, as she did her peroxide-streaked auburn hair that cascaded to her face. She peered through the remaining strands and caught his glance. With a slight smirk, she made another drink.
Micah managed to find an empty table near one of the louder groups of students playing a card game that involved a bucket. She fell into a chair. “Mind getting the first round? I mean, if you’re not too busy trying to pull the barmaid. A stout, please.”
“I wasn’t trying to . . . She smiled at me.”
He walked to the bar and wedged between two groups of students. One hooligan tried to sneak a free pull off one of the kegs, which earned him a swat from the barmaid.
Once Gabe got her attention, she came right over, looking pleased to get away from her admirers. “Something to drink?” she said in an Irish accent.
“A stout and a, uh . . .” Gabe looked at the different beers on the wall and realized he had no idea what to order. He thought beer was just, well, beer. “Two stouts, please.”
“Canadian?” she asked.
“American, actually.”
“I haven’t seen you round the pub. Are you a student from one of the other colleges?” She poured the stouts from the tap, filling each glass halfway up.
“No. I go to Castle. Just transferred in.”
“Well, hope to see you round, then.” The barmaid finished pouring each pint and knifed off the rim of the glasses, scraping away the extra head. “Cheers,” she said with a wink and handed them over.
“Yeah, cheers,” he said. Gabe paid for the pints with a few coin pounds and returned to his seat next to Micah.
“I thought she was going to bloody jump your bones, the tart. Could she have been more obvious?” Micah sneered toward the bar.
“What?” Gabe asked. “She was just getting the beer.”
“Well, she fancies you. Played right, you might get more than a drink. A trip to the general practitioner, likely.”
Gabe rolled his eyes and Micah laughed.
There was a short silence between them. “God, this day. Can you believe it?”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Gabe said. “Seriously. I’m having enough trouble trying to digest what I’ve already heard.”
“You’re starting to accept it, then?” Micah asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I’m just going along because I’m sick of fighting with my own sanity. I mean, I’m in England. It’s like I’m living someone else’s life. Or dreaming. Like when I wake up, I’ll be back in New York. It’s all so weird.” He drank his first sip of the dark stout and nearly choked. “Good Lord. You could chew this! Disgusting.”
“You’ll get used to it.” She winked.
“I’d rather not,” he said and pushed the glass away.
The table next to them broke out in a fit of laughter. One of the guys closest to Micah leaned over and asked, “You two fancy a game of kings?”
“I don’t think—,” she started.
“Sure,” Gabe said, cutting her off. “Anything to get me out of this conversation. You’ll have to catch us up on the rules.”
He looked at Micah, who feigned a hurt expression. “You may need catching up, but I don’t,” she said. “I’ll have you know I’m the queen of kings.”
“She reckons she’s a player, lads,” the student said to the rest of the crowd. He motioned for them to join the group and said, “I’m Yuri, by the way. We’re from Collingwood College.”
“Gabe. Nice to meet you.”
Yuri smiled at Micah, brushing some of his shaggy blond hair out of his face, and did a mock bow. “Highness, is it?”
“Micah will do. What are you lot doing at the Undercroft? Collingwood’s pub not good enough?”
“Oh, don’t be coy. We know all about you Castle girls. Very keen is what we’ve heard.” Yuri laughed, elbowing the guy next to him.
“What a coincidence. Because that is exactly what we’ve heard about you Collingwood boys. Very keen,” Micah said, letting her wrist go limp and mockingly elbowing Gabe.
Some of Yuri’s friends caught her implication and broke into a fit of laughter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The drinking games lasted several hours into the night with the group in a constant state of laughter nearly the whole time. It was nice to just be a normal student, even if for only one night, and Gabe guessed Micah felt the same way.
He received a lot of attention for being American, then more attention for being a likable American. Several of the girls who joined in showed some flirtatious interest, including one particularly forward girl from Glasgow, which he certainly didn’t mind. He noted Micah receiving similar advances from Yuri and the other guys.
At some point, the barmaid announced that the Undercroft had to close. Like the other students, Gabe was not ready to turn in.
Yuri seemed to be in charge of the mob and jumped onto a chair in the middle of their group. “Down to the club or back to mine for the Wall of Death?”
An overwhelming shout for the Wall of Death erupted from several of the students.
“To Collingwood Palace, then!”
Having switched from beer to energy drinks early in the night, Gabe had an ungodly amount of caffeine surging through his system. He felt up for anything.
Yuri jumped down and threw his arm around Micah, leading the crowd toward the exit. Gabe cursed himself for not having Yuri’s confidence or his tall quarterback’s build. Sure, several of the girls were pretty enough, but none of them held a candle to Micah. She was witty and likeable, with a wicked smile and a magnetic look. Had he not known her, she would have been the first person he noticed if he’d just walked into the room.
Rowdy and unfazed by the late hour, several of Yuri’s friends sang a soccer fight song at the top of their lungs for the entire half-hour walk from Castle College. Micah followed, clapping and joining in the chant as they crossed Kingsgate Bridge and then climbed Church Street toward Collingwood College. Gabe wondered what the police presence was like in Durham and how many nuisance laws they were breaking with all the noise.
Near the New Inn, the mob turned a corner and converged near a row of townhomes. At the first house, Yuri pressed through the group to unlock the entrance. He opened his door wide and said, “Welcome to Collingwood Palace. Beer in the fridge, spirits in the cabinet. What’s mine is yours.”
It was difficult not to be instantly jealous of the entertainment system sporting a flat-screen television that Gabe suspected doubled for the local movie theater. Clearly, Yuri was the man to be affiliated with at the university.
Several guys cracked open beers, turned on the giant screen and satellite programming to the sports channel, and spread out on the couch as if they lived here.
A loud pop across the room startled Gabe. Yuri approached Micah with a freshly poured glass of champagne and a bottle of bubbly.
He then pointed to Gabe and said, “As an honored guest to our beloved United Kingdom, I think you should be the first to attempt the Wall of Death. Prove to us that you Americans know how to have as much fun as us Brits.”
Gabe saw an opportunity to gain some favor with the other students and maybe even impress Micah. “Bring on the Wall of Death, then.”
Yuri took Gabe, Micah, and the rest of the spectators into the kitchen where a series of five bottles waited, turned upside down and a
ffixed to a dispensing mechanism on the wall that looked as if it had been stolen from a pub. Each bottle attached to a spout with a handle that released their contents.
“The rules of the Wall of Death are as follows: you’ll need to assume the position, as it were, under each of the spouts and prepare yourself. I, as king of this castle”—the Collingwood students roared with applause at the jab at the other school—“will pour a fair but yet to be determined amount. You are to drink it, swallow, and then immediately move on to the next bottle until the circuit is completed. Spill very little, if you please. Now, just so you’re aware, we have a whisky, a vodka, a cider, a peach schnapps, and a lager.”
The description of the lineup made Gabe’s stomach turn.
“Step up, sir,” Yuri said as if taunting him. “And if I may make one suggestion . . . breathe through your nose.”
Gabe maneuvered under the first spout and opened his mouth. Before he was ready, the whisky flowed. He choked but managed to get it all in. Yuri was being liberal with the quantity. Gabe swallowed, and his throat felt like it was on fire. Then he was under the second spout. Vodka filled his mouth. For a split second he thought it might come up through his nose, but he persisted, his eyes watering, nearly blinding him. Then the cider, repulsive and sugary. The taste combined with the previous two and caused his stomach to lurch. Not wanting to think about it, he moved on.
“Come on, Gabriel,” Micah shouted.
Fueled by her encouragement, Gabe opened his mouth for the peach schnapps. It was almost a relief in taste, but feeling it mix in his stomach with the others caused him to break out in a worrisome sweat. He was running out of breath as the lager hit his mouth.