by Ryan Attard
“Yeah, I’m gonna have to stop you right there,” I said. “I have enough nightmares about that creep.”
“So that’s where the angel took you,” Amaymon said. “I just assumed you guys went to talk about your feelings.”
I rolled my eyes at him.
“I didn’t know angels could be killed,” Abi interjected. “I mean, not killed killed. More like banished.”
Ezekiel set the empty teacup down. “That is usually the case, yes, unless an angel is found to be… defective.”
I snorted. Sure, buddy, let’s call the murder of a dozen people defective.
“Once the accused angel goes through trial,” Ezekiel continued, “they are either rehabilitated, or destroyed. Samael is the only creature that may do the latter.”
Abi shrugged, still confused.
“Samael is the angel of death,” I explained. “Big, Grim Reaper looking dude. Carries a scythe. Often found in mausoleums and death metal lyrics.”
“Ah.”
“Not a guy you wanna see, especially in your dreams.”
“Got it.”
I felt a burning sensation at the side of my head and turned around. Ezekiel was staring daggers at me, his eyes flaring intensely.
A second later he went back to smiling, albeit a little sadly.
“You are marked,” he said.
That’s a new one. “I’m what now?”
“Marked,” he said. “That is why you dream of death.”
I stared at him, partially glaring and partially mentally begging for answers.
But how would I phrase that:
Hey, angel guy I just met — ever since your pal took me to see one of you brainwashed psychos get murdered, I’ve been dreaming about the personification of death coming after me. On a scale from one to I-very-fucking-dead, how bad is that?
That’s when I remembered that I was supposed to keep that part of my life a secret from the other two in the room.
“Is that bad?” Abi asked.
“Yeah, that’s bad.” Amaymon hopped to the back of the couch, standing gracefully on his four legs, tail raised erect in the air. “That’s pretty much the definition of an omen.”
He looked at me.
“You should have told us.”
“And said what?” I asked.
“Wait, is Erik gonna die?” Abi asked Ezekiel. “Is that why you’re here?”
He shook his head.
“My mission is to thwart the Sin of Greed, young human. Nothing more,” he said. “However, the demon is right. Powerful practitioners of magic can usually sense when they are being called by Death. It is a cruel, yet inevitable, sign.”
“Shut up.” I closed my eyes, took a deep breath like I’d learnt, and focused very carefully on my next words. “Stop scaring my friends. Stop scaring me. I met Samael — he wasn’t after me.”
“You met him?”
“Furthermore,” I went on, “you might wanna stop pretending you know what’s going on. I’m onto your little scheme. You want to make us believe you got your shit together but I know a little secret.” That’s when I approached the angel and leaned in, as if to share a clandestine secret.
“When was the last time Michael spoke to Big Daddy?”
Here are some angelic fun facts:
One, they always have an agenda.
Two, they are immensely powerful but more often than not it’s more bark than bite.
Unless you happen to be either a demon, or an idiot challenging everything they stand for.
Ezekiel’s wings flared, lighting up to a painful supernova. Sheer magic rained down on me and I felt my body bend, like a massive weight had been dropped on my shoulders.
Amaymon was right beside me in human form. I felt him tugging on his power, readying himself for the fight.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and the power faded along with it. Both Amaymon and Ezekiel relaxed, albeit still eyeing each other murderously. Abi slumped on the nearest chair while I strode to answer the door, thankful to whoever chose that particular moment to call upon me.
I opened the door and my gratitude instantly vanished.
Chapter 18
The unlikeliest pair in the world stood on my doorstep.
Jack was a part-time student, full-time blacksmith, as well as a metal elemental. That’s a rare one right there. When I met the kid he was just a bum and a hired thug — at which he sucked, by the way. So after a few lessons on how not to be a complete dick, and setting him up with a job, turns out the guy was pretty decent.
He held a package wrapped in brown paper in his hands.
The man next to him was tall, lanky and dressed in a full butler suit. His long hair was tied behind his head in an impeccable ponytail. Yellow feline eyes gave away his demonic nature, along with the major creep vibes he gave off.
Mephisto had a neater parcel tucked under one arm. He grinned at me, exposing his shark-like teeth.
“A party,” he mused. That cold, silky tone of his never ceased to make me shiver. “How wonderful. Is that an angel I smell? Apart from my brother’s stench.”
“Nice to see you too, dickhead,” Amaymon hollered from inside.
Mephisto ignored him. “It seems, Master Erik,” he said glancing at Jack, “that the both of us come bearing gifts.”
He thrust the parcel out and I tore it open. Inside was a neat box with several one-shot injectors.
“This counters whatever Greede put in that canister?” I asked.
He nodded. “However, Master Gil has yet to uncover the chemical used.”
With a crisp movement he spun on his heels and turned to leave.
“That’s it?” I called after him.
Mephisto half-turned. “Yes, Master Erik, I’m afraid that’s the full spectrum of my visit. I am to deliver the inoculation.”
I stepped after him, glaring into his eyes.
“Tell me she had nothing to do with the ambush,” I snarled.
“Ambush?” He raised his eyebrows — I could practically see the cogs in his head spinning. “Am I to believe you were the victim of such an attack? Surely in your line of work that is to be-”
“Not me,” I interrupted. “I mean, yes, I was there, but I wasn’t the target. The Grigori took one of my witnesses.”
He nodded finally getting where I was going with this. “And you suspect Master Gil to have informed them?”
“Or send her hound to spy on me,” I said pointedly. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
His face remained impassive.
“Master Erik, you have known me practically all your life. You should know by now that I refrain from lying to you and your sister — not out of some misguided attempt at sympathy, but because there simply is no need for such action. Truth, Master Erik, is at the root of all deception.” He cocked his head. “So when I tell you that neither myself nor Master Gil have any inclination of what the Grigori were doing, planning or thinking, you can take that to be true.”
“All right,” I said.
And I believed him. This was the guy who trained me and my sister, the guy who coached me — in his own torturous way — when I lost my powers and developed my healing ability.
The irony was, in spite of being the one famed for lies and deception, I had the utmost confidence that he was telling the truth.
What a fucked up turn my life has taken.
“I believe you,” I said.
“Oh, what a relief that is,” he replied, before turning once again to leave. He paused and grinned. “Perhaps Master Gil is not the person to ask. After all, what is the use of a paramour if one does not take full advantage of their position?”
“Leave, Mephisto.”
“With pleasure, Master Erik.”
A gust of wind exploded and a the demon was gone.
“Bye, dickhead,” Amaymon lazily called.
“What was that all about?” Jack asked.
For a second I’d forgotten he was there — nothing like famil
y and relationship issues to raise your blood pressure and make you forget the world around you.
I waved him off.
“Nothing.” I glanced at the package in his hands. “Is that it?”
He grinned. “You know it.”
I whisked him inside and gleefully tore into the shoddy brown paper wrapping.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
The gun was a work of art.
Originally a flintlock pistol integrated with Behemoth demon ectoplasm, it fired twelve gauge shotgun rounds from a box magazine. The original design was clunky, heavy and a little unwieldy.
This was a new beast altogether.
Abandoning the flintlock design for something more modern, the new gun was a pistol. A giant pistol. The body was polished black, with silver fittings that perfectly caught the atmospherical light. Hints of ruby red decorated the slide, just enough to give it a bloodstone finish. Spiral, druidic patterns flowed along the entire contraption, gleaming a slight silver.
I hefted the weapon with reverence. Jack kept the same weight as the flintlock but somehow it was more evenly distributed.
“Wow.”
Jack grinned proudly.
“What you have there is a Jack Special,” he said. “Designed especially for your line of work. The body is made out of melted Paladin swords, which made them really compatible with magic. The original ectoplasm is also integrated, with a few chemical alterations that took weeks to figure out, mind you. Druidic etchings should amplify your natural power. The grip is cut from a thousand year old olive tree besides the Wailing Wall and the whole thing was treated in holy water.”
“It’s amazing.”
Jack wasn’t done.
“You’ll notice I adjusted the weight so that it leans backwards. The compensator running along the barrel should lessen the recoil but that really depends on how much magic you pump into it.”
He reached inside the case and lifted the bottom, revealing a second tier. Three magazines were neatly aligned, along with several long rounded bullets sitting in majestic rows.
“This,” he said picking up one bullet, “is the piece-de-resistance.”
I raised my eyebrows. Since when does this guy speak French?
“Silver alloy, lead tipped,” he said. “Designed to take on whatever comes at you.” He grinned. “Even if they’re etherial, these puppies are sure to make a dent.”
“Wow.” I felt my cheeks hurt from all the grinning. I picked up a magazine, slid it in place and heard the mechanics click. The slide was like butter, and as I held the gun I felt it fit perfectly in my hands.
“Since these are custom made, you’ll have to special order them,” he said. “But in a pinch that gun is also designed to better handle raw energy, so, even on empty, you have a viable channel.”
“This is a work of art, Jack,” I said.
He nodded. “I agree.”
“What do I owe you?”
He held his hands up. “Nothing. Consider us square for you taking me in and off the streets. Although I will have to start charging you from now on. I have to make a living after all.”
I nodded and gave the guy a hug.
“So that is the tool you’ll use to hunt the Sin of Greed?” Ezekiel asked.
I grinned. “Oh, hell yeah.”
“Etherial,” Abi said. “Does that mean it can defeat things like ghosts? Or angels?” She gave me a knowing look. “Like, say, ones with big scythes?”
“Oh, give it a rest,” I said, holstering the gun.
“Sure,” she snapped back, crossing her arms. “Let me just get over the fact that the Grim Reaper has you in his sights.”
Jack looked in between us, clearly confused. “I’m missing something here, aren’t I?”
“Erik’s been keeping secrets from us,” she accused.
Jack frowned at me. “Again?”
“Not you too,” I said.
“The angel of death is after him,” Abi said.
“We don’t know he’s after me.”
“Dreaming about Samael is an omen,” Amaymon said. “Talking to the guy is a smack-me-in-the-face kinda clue. So I’d say we’re pretty fucking sure he’s onto you. Question is, why?”
“You should tell your sister,” Abi said. “And Akasha. She might know what to do.”
“No!” I snapped a little too loudly. Abi froze, her eyes on the verge of tears — whether of anger or frustration, I wasn’t sure.
Maybe both.
“Akasha and the Grigori ambushed me,” I told her. “They took your mother.” I turned to Amaymon. “Also, Berphomet is back. He’s working for Greede.”
“Berphy’s back?” he asked. “That dude owes me twelve bucks.”
“So we have the Grigori, Greede, a demonic assassin, possibly my mother, and the freakin’ angel of death after you?” Abi practically yelled. “How is everyone else not freaked out about this?”
“Who says I’m not freaked out?” I yelled back. “I’m scared, I’m fucking terrified, okay? Is that what you wanna hear? Because that won’t help solve the fucking problem.” I stopped, paused, took in several breaths.
She did the same.
“We need a plan,” I said. “We need to find out what your mom knows. She’s our only lead. So I’m thinking we get Gil to contact the Grigori and find a way to get to Ishtar before-”
The doorbell rang loud.
I looked around quizzically. Who the hell was ringing my freakin’ doorbell? When the hell did I become so popular?
I tore the door open, ready to passive-aggressively tell whoever it was to go straight to hell.
A pale faced Legolas dropped on me. Blood oozed from a gaping wound in his chest.
“Help me, Erik Ashendale.”
Chapter 19
I set Legolas down on one of the couches.
“Water,” he gasped.
Abi rushed off into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, along with a towel that I pressed down on his wound.
“Get the first aid kit,” I told her. “And a few healing potions.”
Healing magic was, ironically enough, my weakest form of magic. Why bother with it when I have my curse power? And even if I could use magic, that same curse prevented me from doing so. Sure, my office was aligned with crystals that lifted that restriction somewhat, but Legolas’ wound was too deep.
Abi remerged and I strapped a proper gauze on him, doing my best to plug the wound. Blood drenched the couch and trickled down the carpet. My entire front was a mess of dark red.
Legolas drained the water and exhaled painfully.
“The hunters,” he said. “They came back for us.”
“The Black Ring Society?” I asked. “I thought Gil had stationed soldiers at your place to keep them from coming again.”
“They overpowered us,” Legolas said. “I’ve sent my people away.” He closed his eyes and clenched my hand. “I wanted to stay and fight but they forced me away. They said that without me to lead them the Vensir had no chance of surviving in your world.”
He coughed, vomiting blood in trickles from his mouth.
“I need you to stay calm,” I said. “Don’t move, don’t speak. We’ll fix you up and you’ll be with your people in no time.”
Legolas thanked me with his big doe eyes and lay down. Abi was already channeling magic and applying healing potions to the wound, but progress was slow. I doubted he could last an hour.
Not unless…
“Ezekiel,” I said, turning to the angel. “You can heal him right?”
The angel nodded. “Yes, I can.”
“Then do it.”
“I’m sorry,” the angel said. “Perhaps I miscommunicated. I can heal the creature but I shall not. My powers are for the service of Heaven and in congruence with my mission — I may not use them outside of those parameters. Jehudiel insisted upon such a provision be issued to all angels who visit the Earth plane.”
I gritted my teeth. “So you’re not gonna
heal him?”
“I cannot.”
“Fuck you,” I growled. Stupid fucking angels and their stupid fucking restrictions. “This guy is gonna die right in front of your face and you’re just gonna stand there?”
Ezekiel spread his arms. His expression looked wounded. “It is beyond my control.”
“You’re the Virtue of Kindness right?” Amaymon asked. “Maybe even Charity, if I got my Virtues right — and I seldom do. But letting a dude croak right under your nose; well, that’s not mighty charitable of you.”
“I have already explained my situation to you, demon,” Ezekiel replied acidly. “Whether you accept it or not is your prerogative.”
“Erik, I don’t think he’s gonna make it,” Abi said.
Legolas was unconscious now. If we didn’t do something right this instant, I was gonna have to get a shovel and bury a friend in an unmarked grave.
“Jehudiel passed the law?” I spat in Ezekiel’s direction. “Fine. Lemme talk to him. Summon his ass right down here.”
The angel cocked his head.
“Perhaps there is a more diplomatic way,” he said. “Jehudiel only passed the law due to the incident involving Raphael. Limiting our powers strictly to our mission prevents us from straying from the righteous path. However, as an archangel myself, I have the right to dispute with him.”
Magic flared. Ezekiel’s form shimmered with light. “I shall be back shortly,” he said before disappearing.
“Fuck,” I swore. “We don’t have time for this.”
Amaymon stood up and walked towards the windowsill. “No, we don’t. Erik, you like this plant?”
“What?”
“I’ll take that as a no.” He pulled the plant from its pot and crushed it. Viscous green mash dripped onto the soil. Amaymon walked over to Legolas and upturned the pot on the guy’s wound.
Soil and crushed vegetation swirled and spiraled into the wound, plugging it. Clumps of dead soil spilled on the carpet, caking along with fresh blood.
“Best I can do,” he said. “He’s got about a half hour.”
I raised my eyebrows, impressed. I’ve know Amaymon for nearly a decade now but the guy keeps on surprising me. For one thing, I had no idea he could do that, not when the only times I’ve seen him use his powers were to crush, destroy, or otherwise annihilate everything around him.