by Brian Fuller
“Now there’s one more thing,” Magdelene said. “We’ve received reports from both the Old Masters and Ash Angels in Kansas City, Saint Louis, and Detroit that at precisely 1:20 p.m. this afternoon, all of the desecration fields shrank a mile simultaneously. We’re not sure what it means.”
“He’s pulling power from them,” Helo said. “That has to be what they’re for.”
It was his own personal theory, and the Archai mostly agreed with him, probably because they didn’t have any better guesses. But just as Avadan was a hybrid of some kind, Helo was sure the desecration fields were too. They not only desecrated but stored Vexus that tempted people to commit acts that added to the Vexus. It was like a self-recharging battery of evil.
Magdelene looked away, swiping at the strands of red hair the wind kept pushing across her face. “If it is like you say, he’s done something bad, so watch yourselves. Remember, recon only on this one, but if it looks like he’s going to try to commit some kind of atrocity on the crowd, put a stop to it if you can.”
“Got it,” he said. “We’ll report in when we get there.”
She hugged him. “Good luck, Helo. We’re all praying for you on this one.”
“We’ll need it,” he said. Sicarius Nox hadn’t exactly had a lot of success lately.
Maggie walked back toward the farmhouse, and Finny walked over wiping oil off his hands with a rag. “Fine woman,” he said. “The car, not so fine. Leaks oil, and by the smell of it burns it, too. Quart low.”
“Will it get the team there?”
Finny shrugged. “Probably. You and Melody taking the motorbike?”
“Yep,” he said. “We’ll morph and get inside the concert. We’ll get everyone else set up around the perimeter.”
Finny nodded. After a thoughtful moment, he said, “I’ve got to confess I haven’t given much thought about the ladies. Hardly had time as a soldier in my mortal life. Sparks and I would hit up the pubs between missions, but nothing serious. But seeing the way Melody looks at you—even when she’s mad at you—makes me think I might be missing out a bit, you know? How’d you, I don’t know, work that out?”
“Don’t know,” Helo said. “Still have a hard time believing it.” He pointed at the Tahoe. “Look, you get this thing ready. I’m going to make sure the motorcycle is gassed up.”
Finny gave him a two-finger salute. “Catch up with you later, boss.”
The Ash Angels had recovered the motorcycle he and Melody had used in Detroit. It was parked next to the porch of the house, and Scarlet loitered nearby, walking aimlessly around a small section of lawn. Her face was tight and brooding. He closed his eyes. What would she do now? He was still mad at her for stiffing Corinth.
“What’s up, Scarlet?” he said.
She rounded on him, brown eyes troubled. “You really bonded with Melody, then?”
“Yeah. Is that a problem?”
She folded her arms. “Yeah, it’s a problem, Helo! I mean, can’t you see it? I know we’ve been over this before, but I can’t shake the feeling that we’re supposed to be together again, that we’ve been given this second chance.”
Aclima had believed that. He never had. “I thought you and Corinth had bonded. You two are great for each other.”
She sighed. “He is a good guy, Helo. I know that. He’s just not . . . you. I mean, look at you. You’ve become everything I knew you could be back when we were married.”
“More like my brother, right?” As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t.
Her eyes welled up with tears. “That’s not fair! I have paid the price for that, Helo.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. Look, the point is I have been shoved into this fight just like everyone else. If there wasn’t a war on, I’d be the same, regular ex-Marine who bored you when we were married. I’m not a charming bad boy like Brandon. I’m not outgoing and fun like Corinth. I wasn’t good enough for you then, and I wouldn’t be now. So quit torturing Corinth, okay? He deserves better.”
Melody rounded the corner of the house with the rest of Sicarius Nox, smiling at some joke Sparks had made. Her hair streamed around her, eyes bright. She didn’t have an aura, but she exuded one. A good one.
Scarlet followed his gaze and then rolled her eyes. “You barely know her.”
“I know her better than you think,” he said.
“I won’t give up,” Scarlet said. “We’re meant to be. You’ll see.”
She stalked off before Melody arrived. Melody set her rucksack down and watched Scarlet move away.
“What was that about?”
Helo didn’t want to talk about it, but something told him not to keep secrets from Melody. “She wants me back.”
Melody’s face hardened. “Can I shoot her?”
“Save your bullets for the Dreads,” Helo said.
Melody hefted her rucksack. “Okay, but if she touches you, I’m shooting her.”
She was serious. “Got it.”
“Good,” she said. “I’m going to put this in the Tahoe, then we can get this Harley on the road. I’m driving.”
“Let’s flip for it.”
Chapter 39
Enmity
Helo admired his morph job, probably the best one he had ever done. He and Melody had spent two hours getting everything just right—and laughing themselves silly in the process. It was the most fun he’d had since . . . well, the last time he’d been alone with Melody.
It was imperative that Avadan not recognize them in the crowd, so they had gone whole-hog on looking different. For him, it was the beer belly, mullet, ratty-cowboy hat, white tank top, oil-stained jeans look. And sunburned. And hairy. A bit greasy, too. Melody had absolutely insisted he wear cowboy boots and an American-flag belt buckle big enough to hide behind.
She had plumped up everything on her body and wore black jeans a size too small, muffin-topping it big-time. She morphed her hair short, wore a cowboy hat to match his, and had a button-up black shirt with silver threaded designs buttoned one level too low. Add to all that some makeup aggressively applied, and she looked like a former rodeo queen who had married a washed-up high school offensive lineman. Maybe they had taken their disguise a bit too far, but seeing Melody happy and carefree for a couple hours was worth any price. She was contagious.
But driving back into the desecration zone muffled whatever happiness they had conjured during their morph session. Signs of the desecration’s effects slid past them on every side. Police cruisers and ambulances rushed here and there. A plume of smoke rose from the city somewhere to the north. But most of all, the joyless, somber looks of the people on the streets surrounded them. The desecration seemed to have crawled inside them like termites, eating away at their hope, even on a sunny blue day without a cloud in the sky.
They’d arrived at the Hollywood Casino Amphitheater five hours early to beat the rush. He and Melody stashed the bike and joined the team in the Tahoe. A hole in the desecration stretched in a three-mile radius in every direction around the venue, providing welcome relief.
“So he can control it,” Faramir said.
“Yep,” Finny agreed. “The old bloke wants all the news to be about him to be happy and not about road rage and people getting jumped in the parking lot.”
Helo agreed. But still, Avadan had to be up to something more than just good press.
Sparks leaned around from the front. “Does that mean the rest of us can do something besides sit in the car while you and Melody have all the fun?”
“It’s a risk,” Faramir said. “If we’re right, he could close that hole at any time, and any of us caught out there would be fighting a torch.”
Helo nodded, but as soon as he saw the venue, he decided. The Hollywood Casino Amphitheater was enormous. There was covered seating, with room for thousands more on a green hill behind the main structure. He’d need his whole team out in the crowd.
“That place can fit twenty thousand,” Faramir said, checking the i
nformation on his phone. “I doubt an unknown like Billy Wickett will pull in that many, though.”
“We’ll all be going in,” Helo said. “We’ve got three Blanks. We’ll get up close. The rest of you spread out on the grass. We’ll use phones to communicate.”
Faramir’s eyes shot wide. “You’re letting me out of the car? I get to go into the field?”
“Yes,” Helo said. “I need all eyes out there looking for anything Avadan might pull. Even if he doesn’t get twenty thousand, there will be enough there for him to create a massive atrocity, and we don’t need him getting more Vexus.”
Faramir was wrong. Billy Wickett’s viral video in combination with cheap tickets and a good cause had lured the crowd, and ten minutes before the seven-thirty start time, the place was jam-packed.
Everyone in Sicarius Nox was in place and ready to roll. Still, Helo didn’t feel optimistic about their chances. With so many people in attendance, trouble could be anywhere, and his team couldn’t come loaded and armored. There were Possessed. There were Dreads. And he could feel a Sheid around somewhere. It would probably be Avadan’s bass player. Helo didn’t see any other Ash Angels. Probably all driven away by the desecration in the city. It was a perfect setup for Avadan to do whatever his warped mind wanted.
Melody squeezed his arm and leaned in. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?” he said, keeping an eye on the stage.
“That ‘I’m on a mission to kill stuff’ look,” she said. “I don’t think you’re even breathing.”
She was right. He sucked in and then belched for good effect. They were four rows back from the front, a family with three kids to their left, and a group of college age girls to their right. He wondered if he could switch them places so he and Melody could be near the aisle. They might need to get to it quickly. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, not that anyone was going to notice one edgy redneck in a crowd like this.
“Better,” Melody said. “Now put that meaty hand on my thigh, and I’ll snuggle this soft body right into yours.”
He tried to still his mind, but even with Melody snuggling into him, it was no good. He’d never liked crowds to begin with, and now, here he was in the middle of a mob waiting for the world’s most evil country music singer to trot out onto the stage. He half hoped applause really was all Avadan wanted, that the Loremaster would come out, do his thing, and leave. But Helo’s unbeating heart told him otherwise, and he couldn’t shake it.
At seven thirty sharp, the strobes lit up red, white, and blue. Helo got to his feet like everyone else and clapped as Billy Wickett strode out onto the stage with his acoustic electric guitar. Sure enough, his band was a collection of Shedim—probably some of his kidnap victims. Maybe the Ash Angels could save them.
The crowd roared as Billy approached the edge of the stage and bowed. A projector cast a giant-sized version of Billy on a large screen behind him, every strand of his wheat-colored hair and dreamy blue eyes in high-def perfection. He’d chosen a straw cowboy hat, blue flannel shirt, and tight, ripped-up jeans to complement a pair of brown cowboy boots that looked like they’d seen actual dirty work. Billy the homegrown country star done to perfection—except for the evil spirit clinging to his back and his evil aura. Helo forced the name Billy Wickett out of his head. This was Avadan, Dread Loremaster.
“Wow,” Avadan said, tearing up and putting his hand over his heart. “That means so much to me. Thank you. Thank you!” The crowd quieted, and Billy pulled the guitar strap over his shoulder. “When I told my mom I was going to play a benefit concert for the lost children of Saint Louis, she wanted to come so bad, but she’s too weak.” He seemed to fight down some emotion. “But I promised to sing this first song for her. It’s called ‘Angel Mother Mine.’”
Watching a Dread Loremaster packing an evil spirit and his swirling Vexus Sheid band play country music had to be like dropping acid. Pulling up to a drive-through to find Hitler serving tacos wouldn’t have been much weirder. The crowd ate him up. Helo looked everywhere but the stage, trying to think like Avadan. Would he set up snipers to massacre the crowd? Had he planted bombs under the seats? Poisoned the beer at the concession stands?
But all the ideas didn’t quite fit. If he really did want to be famous, then why would he murder his crowd of adoring fans, and by the end of the third song, they really were adoring. Avadan glowed with joy as he soaked up the applause and basked in the fanatical, lovesick screaming from women young and old. How much of Avadan’s pleasure was an act or genuine emotion Helo couldn’t guess, but the longer the concert went, the more Helo was certain the crowd was in no danger.
Melody, while dutifully stomping a foot to the music, had a pensive look on her face, probably a lot like the mission face she had scolded him about. He nudged her and leaned in close to her ear.
“What are you thinking?”
“That he’s enjoying himself,” she said. “And I wish I was that good at the guitar. There’s no way we can get to him here, though he’d probably like that.”
“Why?”
“If he survived, it’d be great press. I mean, attacked during a benefit concert only to survive to play another day? The media would eat it up.”
He hadn’t even considered that. If they attacked Billy Wickett, they had to make sure he was a goner. Any failure would make him famous. Avadan’s song ended, and Helo clapped to keep up appearances, glancing around to see what the Dreads and Possessed were up to. Nothing. They might be screaming and jumping and dancing a little more enthusiastically than everyone else. Avadan’s crowd plants.
Helo’s phone buzzed. A text from Andromeda.
I can’t find Shujaa, and he won’t respond.
Helo showed Melody, and her brow furrowed. Shujaa had taken position near the back edge of the green. Helo tried texting him. A song went by. Then two. Helo ordered Andromeda to keep searching for him. There were a lot of people, but the massive Shujaa and his aura should be easy to find. Had a Dread gotten to him? Jumped him, maybe?
Avadan announced his last song, though Melody told him an encore had to be in the works. Helo checked his phone. Still nothing. He ordered Sparks to look outside the concert venue. The last song ended, Billy waved goodbye, and the crowd thundered for more. Helo barely heard it. Something awful was going to happen. He just knew it. Was it some Angel Born sense or just worry over losing Shujaa?
His eyes darted everywhere as Billy and the Shedim resumed their positions on stage. Avadan was playing everything to the hilt. He actually seemed ready to weep with gratitude for the honor of being asked to perform an encore. As Avadan sang the first strains of a what was sure to be a softhearted tearjerker, the glowing forearms Helo had seen before flared beneath Avadan’s light flannel shirt.
The desecration collapsed in on them.
Fighting it off came naturally now. Melody weathered it well. “Here it comes,” Helo said. The audience quieted like someone had thrown cold water on them and they hadn’t found their lungs to gasp or scream.
Helo dug out his phone and asked everyone to respond. Sparks and Andromeda did. Faramir and Finny were both probably facedown in the grass. He grabbed Melody’s hand and pulled her toward the aisle past the group of college-aged women. They needed to be mobile. They’d just reached the aisle when a black mist rose from the desecration like the energy was evaporating. But it was what was in that mist that froze Helo’s heart.
Evil spirits, free floating, filled the air, a veritable army of them above the crowd. Red, glowing eyes punctuated their ghostly gray forms, hungrily fixed on the crowd below them. The mist had turned the entire amphitheater into a black sky full of hungry red stars. Helo could see evil spirits that were not attached to bodies, and that was wrong. Not even Dreads saw that.
“What is happening?” Melody said, her hand clenching his.
“I don’t know. We’ve got to get clear of here.”
After a glance back at Avadan—still singing his touching song—they worke
d their way toward the exit to their left. Evil spirits moved aside for them, seemingly by instinct, eyes never leaving the people around them. It was a glare of wanting, a desire to enclose themselves in mortal clay and experience the pleasures of the flesh.
They had almost reached the exit when Helo felt his heart wrench with a wrongness he couldn’t name. It was like what he’d felt when Ramis had crushed the vessels the evil spirits had been trapped in. But now it was some kind of signal, for, as one, the evil spirits dove into the crowd like sharks in a feeding frenzy. A man walking casually toward them stopped dead in his tracks as an evil spirit took him over, the red pinpoints in his eyes flaring to life after the ghostly head merged with his and the spectral hand gripped his heart. He stood dumbly for a moment, grinned, and then marched forward, staring at his hand like he’d never seen it before.
By the time they got out, every man and woman in the crowd was a Ghostpacker. Even teenagers. Only children seemed excluded. Helo sprinted for the parking lot, Melody right behind him. To his right, the sight of thousands of Ghostpackers on the green sent a terror through his heart. How could this happen? It was against all the rules! Only those who had given themselves deeply to some compulsion became Ghostpackers, but now Avadan had figured out a way to get around even that.
When they reached their Tahoe, no one else in Sicarius Nox was there. Helo pulled his phone out and sent a group text. They needed to get out and regroup. Avadan’s song ended moments after Helo tapped send, and a thunderous applause rose over the amphitheater, the mist dissipating. The evil spirits didn’t dissipate, however, all comfortably attached to their new victims.
Helo was about to dial up Mars when he spotted Sparks jogging through the parking lot, a limp Finny over his shoulder. Helo Hallowed the ground, and Melody opened the car door, dumping Finny in, then Helo blasted him with Glorious Presence to get him up.