“And then?” John prompted.
“We would arrest them,” the officer answered. “They would be taken into holding, then shipped off somewhere else. I don’t know where. I don’t think I want to know.”
John gritted his teeth. “How many?”
The officer looked down into his lap. “Five before the two of you.”
John also looked down. “You fine officers have most likely been accessory to the murders of five prophets. One or more of those people might have been able to help you save your family. Now, we’ll probably never even know who they were.”
“My family--” the officer protested.
“May already be dead,” John reminded him. “You said so yourself.”
“You must not have children,” the cop noted spitefully.
“Where were your wife and daughter last seen?” Sara asked.
“Someone came to the house and took them away,” he answered, crying again, softly this time, but with the same pained look on his face.
“We could help them, John.”
John looked at her skeptically.
“He can take us to where he last saw them, and we could try to pick up their trail.”
“That trail would be a week old,” John countered. “Even if you could pick it up, I don’t think it would be very reliable. And who knows what we would find if we made it to the end of that trail?”
“You have to try,” the cop begged. “If there is something you can do, please help my family. I’ll do anything for you if you will do that.”
John sighed and scowled at the prisoners. “I guess the first thing you need to do is show us where they were taken from. Then, I suppose I’ll have to formulate some kind of strategy.” He looked at the other officer and added, “You need to go back to your headquarters and tell them everything is all right. Beyond that, just pretend nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Understood?”
Both men nodded wordlessly.
“You are quite an interesting person to work with, Ms. Card,” John said with a half-smile. “I regret I did not meet you sooner.”
She returned the smile, blushing a little. “I do have a flare for causing trouble.”
“We’ll see. With any luck, we have already killed the only really threatening demon involved. All right, let’s go.”
***
Elizabeth and Matt watched as Gregor placed his hand on Abbie’s shoulder, and his visage took on a similar appearance to the other three.
“What do we do now?” Liz asked.
Matt shrugged. “You told everybody where we’d be. I guess we just wait.”
It was then that both of them received a very clear mental image of a vicious-looking demon attack. Scores of them were converging on what looked to be a warehouse of sorts, overlooking the San Francisco Bay. It was hard to see by moonlight, but their attention was immediately drawn to the many different demonic entities in the area. They could tell that they were viewing the fight through Gregor’s keen eyes.
Most of the demons came from boats on the water, but some just took on demonic forms in the middle of the street and charged what had to be the San Francisco safe house. Neither Matt nor Elizabeth had ever been there, but they both knew for certain that it was what they were seeing. Some demons were already coming out, covered in the blood of prophets. Gregor ran to the main entrance to the warehouse, where a majority of the demons were heading, and descended upon them like a predatory bird.
Gregor’s sword flashed stunningly in their minds, and Matt smiled, despite himself, as he recalled his mentor’s own speed and agility. Only Gregor could have taught Matt how to wield his power effectively because only Gregor would have understood what that entailed. The demon hunter may have even been faster. In the vision, demons were dropping almost as quickly as Gregor spotted them, but even the demon hunter found himself overwhelmed. Elizabeth and Matt could feel his exhaustion. The fight was in him, but the numbers were too great.
As if in answer to his dilemma, a tall man, with a bright red beard, and an angry glare in his eyes appeared, gripping a two-sided war axe firmly with both hands. Taking only a second to assess the situation, the newcomer brought his heavy axe down on the head of one who was about to take a swipe at Gregor and deftly sidestepped a strike aimed at him. Then, he threw a grenade deep into a crowd of oncoming fiends.
The observers knew this newcomer to be another demon hunter and, therefore, one of the good guys. Gregor and his ally stood back-to-back and cut down demon after demon. The numbers began to thin out quickly, and the remaining demons kept their distance. Soon, the demon hunters stood over a pile of corpses. The remaining fiends had already fled.
Gregor immediately went inside to check for survivors. Throughout the remainder of the vision, he only managed to find three surviving prophets. The rest had been mauled or escaped probably before he had even arrived. The sight of the massacre was horrific. Matt and Liz were happy when the scene faded.
They both looked over to where Nathan, Abbie, and Alex still held the orb; Gregor was detaching himself as Elizabeth focused on something over his shoulder.
“Here they come,” she said.
Matt followed Elizabeth’s eyes, and Gregor looked behind him. They both immediately saw what she was referring to. A white van with a satellite dish and call numbers was weaving its way through traffic toward their general direction. Whatever had just happened evidently didn’t slow their approach. Additionally, the event had also drawn people from the general vicinity. There were already eighteen mortals watching by the time the news van pulled to a screeching stop in front of them.
Gregor, Elizabeth, and Matt looked at each other with the same question in mind: Was this the makings of a curious audience or a terrified mob?
***
“Explain to me why we’re here, again,” Dylan requested of Garrett in a hushed voice.
Garrett had brought his hunting party to a small town west of Kingstone, just on the outskirts of Kansas City. In the half-light of dusk, he had Dylan and two prophets kneeling with him behind a dumpster. They were watching what advertised to be “Jim’s Repair,” a big concrete building surrounded by cars.
“There are three demons inside that building,” Garrett explained for the second time.
“I know, but this isn’t Kingstone. Do we have the manpower to protect all of the little towns around it?”
Garrett turned and looked at Dylan and the two prophets before turning back to stare at his target. “Yes,” he said.
“Do you think we’re ready for a fight?”
“If you can all keep one busy, I’ll help you kill it when I have finished with the other two.”
Dylan cocked one eyebrow in consideration. “We can probably take one,” he agreed.
“Don’t get arrogant,” the elder demon hunter said as he walked around the trash can and toward the repair shop. “Even one demon can kill you. Keep an eye on each other.”
Looking at each other and back to Garrett, the three others got up and rushed to catch up with him. Garrett didn’t even slow his pace as he reached his destination. Actually, he sped up and kicked the front door, breaking it from its hinges and sending it to the ground in front of him.
Dylan looked around Garrett, expecting to see three demons or several big, greasy guys milling around a broken-down truck or something. However, when he looked inside, he saw no cars, no people, and no demons, but he could feel their presence. He knew Garrett was right. He wasn’t sure how many there were, but there were demons inside hoping to ambush them. Or, Dylan realized suddenly, they recognized Garrett and were hiding out of fear.
Garrett grunted. Dashing forward, he swung his mace hard at what looked to be empty air. Far from being empty, the air yielded a demon that had bird-like features but was completely translucent and very difficult to see, even after Garrett brought it out of hiding. Two more figures appeared; both looked rather surprised to be visible.
One of the demons had almost elvish feat
ures. It was lithe, and it had a gaunt face, pointed ears, and glowing, red eyes. Snarling menacingly at the Dylan and the prophets, it lurched toward them.
The other demon looked almost human, except it was eight feet tall, had greenish-gray skin and no hair. Its arms and legs were the size of tree trunks. It also had pointed ears, glowing eyes, and fangs, but it was less maniacal than the other. It seemed calculating. Rather than going after the prophets, it watched Garrett.
“Get the little one,” the eldest demon hunter ordered.
Conveniently, it looked as though the little one had the same thing in mind and was almost to them. One prophet pulled a .45 from a hip holster, and the other formed a small ball of fire in his hand.
Dylan, abandoning the urge to pull out a gun of his own, extended his hand and sought to control the demon’s lifeblood. Garrett had told him to experiment with his powers, to push them to new limits. He wondered for a moment if the demon had a heart with which to pump whatever liquid lay beneath its skin. With a smirk, he decided on something else.
He closed his eyes, though he could hear the loud shots of a .45 not more than ten feet from him, and he bent his focus on the demon and its blood flow. Then, he commanded it all to go to the demon’s head.
The others saw the demon pause as it felt the change in its blood flow and took advantage of the situation. The armed prophet fired off two more rounds, while the prophet with fire in his hand hurled it at the demon. The fire exploded on impact and lit its clothing on fire. The demon went to the ground, rolling around and flailing its limbs, screaming in pain and terror.
Still Dylan forced the blood to flow to the brain. He could sense that about all the room available for blood in the fiend’s brain had already been taken. With a violent thrust, Dylan drove pints of the liquid directly into the brain. He felt a bit of a snap as the pressure became too much and overwhelmed the receptacle.
Opening his eyes, he could see that the demon had stopped moving, a purplish liquid oozing from its ears. However, his attention was quickly drawn to what had also captured the attention of the prophets. The translucent demon Garrett had been fighting was dead, but Garrett looked to be in a bad position. He was on his knees, and the last demon was approaching him slowly.
“Garrett,” it said to him in a rumbling, guttural voice. “I didn’t think defeating you would be this easy.”
Garrett said nothing, but continued to struggle against the invisible force binding him to the floor. The demon waved his hand, and Dylan felt something pushing him to the floor. It was like his body was getting heavier. He looked over to see the two other prophets hunch over, as if under a similar strain. The weight was too much for them, and all three fell to the ground almost simultaneously. Dylan felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him, and he was completely powerless to do anything about it.
He forced his head up, so he could see his attacker and make a desperate attempt to boil his blood when he saw two Garretts. At first, he thought his vision had doubled, but then he realized one Garrett was still on the ground before the grinning monstrosity, while the other was standing behind the demon, drawing back his mace for a mighty blow.
The demon reached for the hunter, but its hands went right through the illusion. The Garrett behind the demon swung the mace over his head onto the middle of the demon’s back. There was a loud crack of a multitude of bones breaking at once, and the demon fell on its face. The force that had been holding the prophets and Dylan to the ground dissipated, and they slowly rose to their feet. Garrett was on top of his prey in a second.
With two hands, he grabbed the back of its head and slammed its face into the concrete floor three times.
“I am familiar with every demon I have ever encountered, Ephippas,” Garrett growled, “even the few I don’t kill. I remember that you helped Metatron escape me once. I should have killed you then, but I was pressed for time. Now, I have absolutely nothing better to do than rip your mind to shreds for information and discard your lifeless body afterward.”
Ephippas tried to struggle, but Garrett slammed the demon’s face into the floor two more times. The demon hunter leaned forward, and Ephippas roared in agony. A series of blows to the back of the demon’s head ended that.
Garrett stood at last and turned to his audience. “As I suspected, this group was not loyal to Metatron. Ephippas and the other two were under orders from Lucifer. This confirms my fear that Lucifer is taking an unhealthy interest in our conflict and is stationing forces of its own here. We are, indeed, fighting a two-front war.”
“What do we do now?” Dylan asked.
Garrett walked in their direction and motioned for them to head toward the exit. “We go back and confer with the others. Always take advantage of the wisdom of others, and offer them the benefit of yours. A well-conceived and innovative strategy is our best defense now.”
He walked past them, and they followed. As the group exited the building and Garrett had taken a little lead, Dylan heard the two prophets talking about what happened.
“There were two of him,” the gun-toting prophet said. “I saw it.”
“The one the demon attacked wasn’t real though,” the other reminded him.
Dylan remembered Garrett explaining the tactic of teleporting and leaving a decoy to misdirect ambitious demons. Smiling, he rushed to close the distance between himself and his mentor.
***
Alex regained composure and reconstructed the walls and furniture of his mental room for effect. He also reformed the representation of himself.
“Well, that wasn’t very nice,” the Alex image said to the empty room.
The walls shook with Corruption’s fury, but they did not fall this time.
Alex shook his head. “That won’t happen again, so you may as well stop your huffing and puffing. You aren’t the first powerful entity to be in my head. Your tricks aren’t original. I started nice, trying to talk to you, but I think I’m just going to let you go ahead and rage on out there. If you should decide you’d like to talk, that’s fine. But I’m not too keen on you attacking my mind again, so you’ll have to play nice.”
For several seconds there was silence. Alex almost called out to see if Corruption was still around. Then, the chilling voice returned with all of its venom.
“She’s beautiful,” it remarked.
“Who is?”
“Liz, of course. She is the woman you love, is she not?”
Alex felt a slight tingle in his head. Something told him this was dangerous territory, a subject that should be avoided. He decided not to answer.
“I apologize,” Corruption continued after a pause. “I so rarely get a chance to talk to anyone that I find myself asking a question to which I already know the answer. I think I will have some fun with this.”
Alex clearly heard Abbie’s voice say, “It’s time for you to leave. Nathan and I will help you get out. Work your way out of its grasp while we distract it.”
“Well,” Alex said, “you’ll have to have it without me.”
He dropped the images he’d created and focused his will into removing himself from the waking nightmare. Nothing happened. He tried again, and again nothing happened. There wasn’t even any resistance; he was just completely powerless to change his situation.
“I told you that I had a plan,” Corruption goaded. “And now, I have a prophet.”
***
Nathan and Abbie fell onto their backs, as if some unseen force threw them. Alex stood rigid, firmly gripping the orb in his outstretched left hand. There was a look of agony on his face, but his eyes were still clouded over.
“Tiffany Palmer, for Channel 7, reporting live from the White House,” a woman was saying.
“Oh, no,” Liz gasped.
Nathan shook himself loose from the daze he was in. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, getting up and walking toward Alex and the orb with business in his eyes.
“No,” Abbie commanded. “I’ll go after him.”
“What’s going on?” Matt demanded.
“Corruption,” Abigail rasped, trying to catch her breath. “It’s got Alex. Keep them busy.” She indicated the reporters and the growing crowd with a wave of her hand.
She and Nathan exchanged skeptical examinations of each other.
“This is all your fault,” he said.
“I know,” she admitted. “And I need your help.”
Nathan grimaced in contempt. “He needs my help.”
Abbie nodded, and they both laid hold of the manipulative sphere.
At once, Alex’s tortured cries swept over the audience’s minds. Then, there was only silence. A low murmur of questions and guesses began to emanate from within the body of people and spread outward until it looked like everyone had something to say about it.
Matt looked at Elizabeth. Tears were forming in her eyes, and she looked really scared. The reporters paused for a moment to stare with wide eyes and mouths agape at the supernatural event they were all witnessing.
“...where something I cannot explain is happening,” Tiffany continued, speaking into the camera. “It would seem that something very strange is occurring in front of the White House. Moments ago, this crowd of people was bombarded with vivid images of death and destruction at the hands of some kind of...monsters.”
Elizabeth’s eyes grew steely, and she stood up. Looking over toward Tiffany Palmer, she announced, “Those weren’t monsters. They were demons. I’m sure any of you could go to Las Vegas or to San Francisco and confirm what you saw if you wanted, though you probably wouldn’t get more than burnt-out husks—if that. We’ve gone to great lengths to bring you information that we know you won’t want to hear, truths that you will not want to believe.
Legends (To Absolve the Fallen Book 3) Page 21