The old psychic opened one of the overhead cabinets and produced a bottle of Jim Beam as well as two glasses. She placed them on the counter and filled each glass, then passed one to Celeste.
“Cheers,” said Cassandra, holding up her own.
Celeste clinked the side of her glass against the psychic’s and took a sip of the bourbon. She definitely wasn’t a whiskey girl, but she needed something. Luther was off in dreamland and that made her nervous. She was worried about the possibility that Cassandra was wrong, and the angel behind all this was waiting for Luther.
“Relax,” said Cassandra. “Luther will be fine. That boy’s tougher than he looks.”
Celeste sighed. “Please don’t read my mind, Cassandra.”
“I wasn’t, but sometimes, emotions are so powerful that I can’t help but get a sense of them. Kind of like how you can’t turn off your nose whenever someone cuts loose with a big stinker of a fart.”
Celeste gave a chuckle and sipped her bourbon. She was about to retort when they heard the bell sound to signal the door opening. Celeste blinked and looked at Cassandra. “You expecting any customers?”
Cassandra shook her head and started walking towards the front. Celeste followed, staying a few feet behind and watching carefully. She was suspicious of this whole situation.
“Sorry, but we’re closed for the night,” said Cassandra. “We—”
She stopped in her tracks. Celeste came up beside her and saw there were three men dressed in suits standing in the room, all of them wearing clerical collars. Celeste put her hand on Cassandra’s shoulder and pulled her back.
“The hell is this?” asked Celeste. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s quite simple,” said the man in the center. He was tall, with short, dark hair and a beard. “We’re here to kill the cambion.”
29
Dakota tilted her head to the side as she examined my face. She looked confused after I’d called her by name. I reached a hand out and rested it on her shoulder. Dakota’s eyes nervously examined my hand, evidently not sure what I would do next.
“You’re probably confused right now,” I said. “But I need you to focus. Try and remember who I am.”
She squinted, as if she was trying to dig up the memories and finding nothing there. “You look familiar…”
“Luther,” I said. “Luther Cross. You came to me, remember? I found you in my bed?”
That took her aback and she jerked her head away, eyes opening wide. “Excuse me?”
I sighed. “Not like that. Cassandra, the blind fortune teller with the tarot cards sent you to me. I came home, found you lying in bed because you were exhausted. You told me your story. About your friends, the Minister, running off with him, everything leading up to…” I pointed at her stomach.
Dakota’s hands went to her belly, rubbing it gently. She stared down at it, shaking her head. I could only see part of her face, but she looked saddened by something. I reached out for her again, but this time she jerked away.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Why are you making up stories like that?”
“Just think. Remember the spell we did? The nephilim is controlling you, corrupting your mind so you only see what it wants you to see. It’s acting out of self-preservation, or maybe even commands from its father.”
Dakota slid down the park bench and stood just as she reached the edge. She started to back away from me and pointed. “You just stay away from me, mister!”
Dammit, this was going to be harder than I thought. Before Dakota could tell me where she was, I first had to convince her not to run off from me. I stood and walked after her, trying to keep up the pace without running after her. Fortunately, my stride was longer than hers and that nearly-cooked bun in her oven slowed her down.
“Someone help!” she screamed.
I stopped. Great. This was going to be a pain.
You know how the body has an immune system to protect itself? Well, the mind has one of its own as well. Not many people ever really use it, what with psychic attacks being so comparatively rare. But it’s still there—dormant, but present. And if it’s alerted to a psychic invasion of some kind—be it dreamwalking, possession, or just old-fashioned mind reading, it comes running.
Case in point: the police car that had just driven off the road and burst into the park, coming to a stop right between Dakota and myself. A pair of Indianapolis cops got out of the car, pointing shotguns at me. I couldn’t quite make out their faces. It wasn’t that they didn’t have faces or that they was difficult to see, but they were just…there. The kind of person whose features completely vanish from your memory the second you look away.
In the dreamscape, the mind’s defenses take whatever shape the host’s subconscious dictates or feels will protect them. Someone like Father Conley might dream of angels—though probably not anymore. Tessa no doubt imagined the X-Men. For Dakota, as a girl from suburban Indiana, that meant regular cops. And they acted just the way Dakota thought regular cops would act.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing anyway?” one of them asked.
“I was just having a talk with the lady, that’s it,” I said.
The partner glanced over his shoulder at Dakota, who now ran off into the distance. He turned back to me and offered a smile. “Guess the lady’s not interested.”
“You come with us,” said the first, stepping closer while clutching the shotgun with both hands. “Nice and easy, okay?”
“Officer, you’re making a big mistake here,” I said.
“Nah, I think you’re mistaking me for you.” He raised the shotgun, pointing the barrel right at me. It was now or never.
My eyes glowed bright red and I smiled. “Ignis.”
Embers appeared out of nowhere, catching on to the cop’s shirt. He looked at himself as the flames started to spread, and fell to his knees. I held out my hand to take control of the fire, willing it to become even larger, consuming his entire body within seconds. He screamed as he burned away into nothing.
His partner balked at what he saw and raised the gun. “Wh-what the hell?”
These sentries were limited by the capabilities of the host; that’s how I was able to scare the crap out of this guy by vaporizing his partner. He never knew what hit him. In the time it took him to recover from the shock, I already had my revolver drawn and I pulled the trigger.
A single round, dead center in his forehead. His head jerked back and his body slumped onto the hood of the car, right before it burned up just like his partner. I looked down at my gun and then slid it back into the holster beneath my jacket.
The more experienced the dreamwalker, the greater their potential in others’ dreams. An expert dreamwalker would basically be like a god in there. But for the rest of us, it was best to stick with what you were capable of in the real world. Pushing too hard too fast was how people got lost in the dreamscape, unable to ever emerge again.
I wasn’t going to let that happen to me. As much as I wanted to leap tall buildings in a single bound, shoot lasers from my eyes, or have bullets bounce off my chest, it’d be too dangerous and there was too much at stake.
Fortunately, in the dreamscape, the host is never far behind. Dakota could run, she could hide, but eventually, I’d find her. I just had to focus my energy, zero in on her location. In dreams, doors were how you went from one place to another. And the closest door was the police car. I opened the door to the backseat and climbed inside.
Everything changed without warning. Now I was in a church. It was St. John’s in Evanston, where Azrael had found me. I recognized it immediately. But the church was different this time. For one, all the pews were filled with people. In fact, there was overflow, with people standing against the back wall.
I walked down the center aisle, looking up at the man speaking from the lectern. I expected to see Father Conley, but instead I saw a man with gray hair and a beard. He spoke with fierce intensity, talking about the coming judgment.
That was him. Joseph Luxton—the Minister himself. He didn’t seem to notice me, which meant I was probably in one of Dakota’s memories. I looked from side to side, examining the people sitting in each pew as I continued down the aisle. The front row was where I finally found her, staring up at the Minister with wide eyes and a broad smile on her face. There were four girls sitting beside her who shared her expression. All looked at him as if he were their salvation.
I knelt in front of her, but she still behaved as if I wasn’t real. I waved my hand in front of her, but nothing happened. So then, I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. “Dakota! Do I look like I got all day, kid? Snap out of it already!”
She blinked, like she was waking from a dream. Dakota made eye contact with me and recognition fell across her face. “L-Luther?”
“Finally.” I let out a sigh of relief.
“Where are we?” she asked, looking around. “Is this…St. John’s?” She looked up at the lectern and saw Luxton, and instantly, she screamed. “Th-that’s him! The Minister!”
No one around paid any attention to her protests. They were nothing more than set dressing. Might as well have been made out of cardboard.
“We’re not in St. John’s, kid,” I told her. “And that’s not the Minister—not really. We’re in your dream.”
“My…what?”
“Your dream,” I said. “Luxton and his angel buddy are preventing me from locating you. But they can’t stop me from entering your dream and having a little chat. So I need you to tell me where you are.”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Think, kid. What happened when you disappeared from Tessa’s?”
“I woke up in a field…and then…” Dakota looked to her side and saw the girls sitting next to her. Simultaneously, they all turned their heads to look at her and all smiled as one. It was like they’d choreographed it.
“Yeah…that’s not creepy…” I muttered.
“They were there,” said Dakota. “In the field. And then the baby…it forced me to go with them.”
“C’mon, we have to get to the door.” I helped her to her feet and together, we walked to the door located by the side of the dais. I kept my hands on Dakota’s shoulders and turned her towards the door, standing behind her. “Close your eyes, picture the place where you woke up. Try and remember every detail. As soon as the picture is clear, open the door and walk through it.”
“What are we doing?” she asked.
“We’re in your dream, Dakota. You control this world; you can go anywhere you want.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. Her fingers reached for the handle, but just before they touched, the door was suddenly gone. Dakota turned to look at me. “What happened?”
“That’s simple, my dear.” The voice came from the lectern. I turned and stepped in front of Dakota, staring at Luxton standing on the dais. He moved from the lectern, his hands clasped in front of him with a smile on his face and a faint blue glow in his eyes. “I happened. Did you really think it would be that easy to leave my congregation?”
“Is this real?” she asked me.
I studied Luxton. Oh yeah, it was real, all right. He wasn’t a construct of her subconscious; he was dreamwalking as well. I had to get Dakota out of here, back to that field where she woke up. Now that Luxton was on our trail, my job had just gotten a whole lot harder.
“So, you’re him,” I said. “The Minister.”
He bowed. “A little on-the-nose, I know. But I just liked the sound of it.” After rising from his bow, his smile transformed into a frown. “You’re Luther Cross. The angel told me all about you.”
“Aren’t I the popular one,” I said.
“More like infamous,” he continued. “A demonic half-breed, only allowed to live because you’ve proven useful in the past. But not anymore.”
“Something tells me you’re not the one to make those decisions, Joey,” I said.
The Minister walked to the edge of the dais and hopped off, landing in front of the first pew. He moved calmly towards me and I reached into my jacket to draw the revolver. As soon as I started to pull it out, he grabbed my wrist and yanked my hand from the jacket. His grip was like iron, squeezing my wrist with such power that I lost my grip on the weapon and the gun slipped from my fingers.
It clattered to the ground and the Minister released my wrist, then shoved me with all his strength. I flew back, hitting the wall. It felt almost like a repeat of the battle with Azrael. I started to rise, unsure if this was just Luxton’s power in the dreamscape or if he’d been supercharged in the real world, too.
“Your day is done, Cross. The angels have had enough of you. And now, they’re ready to welcome a new champion into their fold,” said Luxton.
“A new champion?” I scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh. You think just because you’re able to exert control over the dreamscape that you’re going to scare me off?”
“Oh, it’s a lot more than that.” Luxton smiled. “How’s your physical body, by the way?”
30
Celeste watched the three intruders carefully. A little sniff and she confirmed they were all human—the scent of their blood told her that much. But there was also something off about them. Their eyes conveyed a sense of power. All of them wore clerical collars, which meant the angel behind all of this must have sent them. The man in the center was young and handsome, flanked by two older priests, one with silver hair and one bald.
“Just give us the cambion and you can walk out of here without incident,” said the young guy.
“I don’t scare that easily, Father.” Celeste moved into a fighting stance. Normally she didn’t like getting her hands dirty, but she could hold her own if the situation called for it.
The young priest smiled. In the blink of an eye, Celeste was surprised to see him standing within arm’s reach. Her shock gave him an opening to grab her by the neck and raise her off the ground. As a vampire, she didn’t need to breathe, but she could still feel pain. And his grip was definitely causing that.
He turned and threw her. Celeste hit the front window of Cassandra’s shop, the glass shattering from the impact. She landed, bouncing a bit, and then heard a car alarm starting up. She groaned and turned her body to place her hands on the ground.
She wasn’t on the ground; she was on the hood of her Maserati. And the impact had left a dent in it. Celeste’s lips curled back, her fangs descending. She looked up and saw the three priests standing in front of the broken window.
“They did something to you, I see,” she said.
“You might say we’ve been touched by the Holy Spirit,” said one of the older priests.
“Doesn’t have to be like this,” said the bald one. “Get in your car and drive off. We won’t follow. All we want is the cambion.”
Celeste crouched on the hood and stared at them. She held out her hands as claws grew from the tips of her curled fingers. “Go to Hell.”
The young priest smiled and stepped through the broken window. “After you.”
His eyes flashed and he reached for Celeste, but she back-flipped and landed on the roof. She stared down and gave him a fanged grin. “Such a gentleman, but I insist.”
She jumped off the car and the young priest met her there. He threw several punches, which she was nimble and quick enough to dodge, and then she drove her claws into his abdomen. His body hunched over, her claws the only thing keeping it from falling to the ground.
“Nice try, padre.” Celeste drew her claws out and the young priest slumped on the ground, his eyes fixed open. She raised her clawed hand up and licked the blood from her fingertips.
The old priest wasn’t kidding when he said they’d been touched by the Holy Spirit. She felt a charge of power as she licked the blood. The angel had definitely done something to them, given them some kind of power. His own personal holy hit squad. Celeste looked at the other two and beckoned with a finger.
“C’mon boys, don’t leave me
waiting. Which one of you is next?”
The bald one sighed and stepped through the broken window. He glanced over at his sole remaining partner. “Go find the cambion. I’ll take care of this.”
The old priest nodded and turned, moving into the rear of the shop. Celeste cursed herself—she should have put herself between them and Luther, but now it was too late. While dreamwalking, Luther was vulnerable to attack. Especially to someone blessed by an angel.
The bald priest took off his glasses, neatly folded them, and placed them inside his jacket pocket. Then he looked up at Celeste and gave her a friendly smile. Which, given the situation, only seemed incredibly creepy.
Celeste ran towards him and pounced, her claws ready to strike. But the priest reached into his jacket and pulled something out just as she came within range. Instantly, Celeste recoiled, hissing as she backed away.
In the bald priest’s hand was a crucifix. He held it out to her, using it to keep her at bay. He reached into his pocket and drew out a switchblade. As soon as the knife was loosed, Celeste stared at the shiny surface, fear rising in her.
Silver.
“Pity about the kid,” said the priest, glancing over at the body Celeste had dropped. “He was a little too excited about the new power. Forgot that normal humans have been killing vampires for centuries without the use of divine intervention.”
There was one chance, but she’d have to play it up. Celeste recoiled even further from the priest, going so far as to start crawling backwards from him. The smile on his face grew and he just approached her even faster. Celeste turned to run, but then she was yanked back by her hair.
The priest pulled her right up to him. He had to drop the cross in order to do it and she looked at it lying on the asphalt. All he had now was the silver knife, which he raised up to her. She could already feel the heat of the silver as it neared her neck. Just as he was about to place the knife against her flesh, she bit into his forearm, hungrily drinking his blood.
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