18. Michael
The Apocalyptic World
Michael dreaded the assignment that lay before him. He had willingly obeyed his master in all that he had asked. Michael had sold drugs and given all his earnings to the master’s overlords. He’d killed a woman to prove his worth when it had been asked of him. He’d even stolen children from their mothers’ arms and handed them over to his lord. Michael’s heart had hardened to their screams; their cries fell on his ears, newly deaf to the sounds of misery.
He had done all that and more with never a complaint or question. But the latest task given to him caused a strange pain in his chest, like a bout of indigestion after he ate a double-meat burrito.
Michael was nothing if not ambitious. He vowed to himself to complete this chore with the same care, speed and completeness that he’d given to every previous job his master had set him to.
The air was colder than it had been the day before and hinted at the chill of winter. As he passed under streetlights, he could see the pale grey, willowy smoke of his breath. It looks like dragon’s breath, he thought. I’ll be like a dragon. I’ll do this thing, and my master will grant me a new name and make me immortal like he did the others. I’ll be known far and wide as Drust the Dragon. I’ll burn them. I’ll burn them all.
Despite his conviction and commitment to the mission, the nearer he approached his target, the more sluggish his legs felt. When their door was in sight, he felt like he was in quicksand as he trudged up the cracked and crooked sidewalk.
Drust the Dragon didn’t want to knock. Drust wanted to burst in and scare them so much they let loose their bladders in fright. Drust the Dragon wanted to go in and smash and crash with his adrenaline-fueled anger and light the house aflame.
But he was not yet Drust the Dragon. He was still Michael, and Michael knew that his parents had put close to fifteen different locks on their door and a steel crossbar as well. He wouldn’t be storming the walls of their castle.
There was no use trying his keys in the locks. He’d been gone too long for that. Instead, Michael was forced to knock on his parents’ door like a stranger. He rapped on the metal door. It hurt his knuckles. Despite the fact that he had pounded fairly hard, the door was so dense he wasn’t sure anyone inside had heard him. He used the meaty side of his fist to beat on the door again, this time harder.
He waited a few minutes but didn’t hear anyone move the steel bar on the inside or unlock the locks. There was no peephole in the door and no side windows beside it. The only way they could see who may be on their step was to look down from the bedroom on the second floor, a bedroom that had been his. He glanced in that direction, but saw no light, no movement of the drapes. He wondered, though, if they were up there looking down on him. He wondered if they knew it was their son – or the young man that had been their son once – but chose not to let him enter.
He felt silly standing on the porch, locked out of his own home. He knew he’d need to call to them, like a child, and he loathed mouthing the words. But if he was to gain entry and complete his assignment, he’d have to utter the words that felt like bile on his tongue.
“Mother! Father! It’s your son, Michael. Please open the door for me. I’m … I’m in danger out here.”
It was a lie. He felt no sense of danger. He wore the black eyes and cold shadow that his lord master had given him. His lengthy, dark shadow caused people to run from him. Michael liked that feeling. He liked knowing that people were afraid of him despite his small stature.
In less than a minute, he heard the steel beam being lifted, then lock after lock undone. Michael heard the last deadbolt unlatch, and the door swung open, bathing his dark form in lemony yellow light. He waltzed through the door and kicked it closed behind him with his foot.
Michael’s parents stood side by side, his father’s arm around his mother’s shoulders. He saw their fear and could almost smell it. His mother clutched the cross she wore hanging around her neck as if the relic from the old days could ward off whatever evil she thought possessed him. I’m not a vampire, you stupid bat.
“You’re a ghost,” his mother said in a whisper. Michael threw back his head and laughed loudly at that. He wanted his chortle to be deep and throaty like his master’s. But instead it sounded more like the tinkle of rusted bells.
“A ghost? No, Mother. I am more alive than I have ever been.”
“You’ve been gone so long,” his father said. “We thought you’d been killed.”
“No, Father, I haven’t been killed. But I’ve killed others, though. Lots of others.” Michael smiled widely when he said it. That will shock them and scare them too.
But his parents looked neither shocked nor scared. At least not any more scared than they did before he bragged of his killings.
“What has happened to you?” his mother asked.
“I have been chosen, Mother. Chosen from among many. Chosen to serve him. I’ll be in the inner circle. Aren’t you proud of me, Mother? Your son, part of the inner circle of the master of all the universe!”
“I’m … I’m,” his mother began to speak, but her words got swallowed in the tears that flowed freely down her face.
“Why?” his father asked. “You had everything a boy could want. A nice home. Good food. You had friends and a good education. We gave you everything.”
“What? This place?” Michael gestured around him. “You call this dump nice? I live at the Ritz downtown. Maybe you know of it?”
“I know of it,” his father said.
“It’s my lord’s home now. And he has given me a room there in gratitude for my service to him. I live in the most powerful place on Earth! And food? The rubbish you serve, Mother, pales in comparison to the sumptuous feasts my master provides. And his inner circle eats better still. I will have the best of everything, for all time. The best of everything.”
“We taught you better than that,” his father said. “Objects. Things. They do not last, son. Love. Love is the source of real power. Does this ‘master’ love you?”
Michael laughed again. “Love is weakness. It has no place in the new way of things. Best to let it go. Only then will you feel what true power is. Only then will his darkness move through you. Only then will you know the most glorious feeling!”
“Pastor John warned us this may happen. He told us you may be alive but turned to the dark,” his mother said. “But you can come back to us, Michael. You can choose the light and to love again.”
“Come back to what? Why would I want to trade my immortality for your stupid sentiments, a ramshackle house and peasant fare? No, Mother, it is not I that will come back here. You will come with me. My master awaits you. He awaits you both.”
“No, Michael,” his father said. “We won’t go with you. This dark man is not our lord. We serve the one true god, not a false one made of the shadows.”
“Oh, he is your lord and your master. You may not understand that yet. Your head has been filled with lies all of your pathetic life. And you haven’t seen him, Father. He is here. He walks this Earth. Does your god walk the Earth? Does your god show his face?”
Neither his father nor his mother said a word in response.
“No? Of course not. My lord is powerful. You’ll see, and you’ll understand. You’ll see his power soon enough, and when you do, you will serve him as do I.”
“I’ll never serve the devil,” his mother said.
“Then you will die.”
“We’ll not leave this house with you,” his father said.
“Oh you will, one way or another. You see, if you refuse to come with me so that my lord can feast on your light, then I have been ordered to kill you. It is my last test, and I will not fail it.”
Michael’s mother gasped as her hand went to her mouth.
“Michael, no. My sweet Michael. You were named for an angel, did you know that? You were always such a good boy. A sweet boy who loved his parents. Killing one’s parents is a grievous sin, Michael. If
you do this thing, you will burn for all of eternity. Don’t do this, my son, my angel.”
His mother’s entreaty fell on deaf ears.
“No, Mother, I will not burn. It is others that will burn at the hand of Drust the Dragon. I am no longer your son. I am the son of Ciardha, Lord of Dark Energy, Master of the Universe.”
“Then my son is indeed dead,” his father said. Michael saw his father reach in his pocket and pull out a small, black handgun. “I told you – you devil of the darkness – we will not leave this house with you.”
“No!” his mother shouted. She moved swiftly to plant her body between the gun and her son. But in the same moment she’d moved to protect her son, her husband fired a shot.
Michael’s father had practiced with targets for months at the gunnery range. His devotion to practice had paid off, but not in the way he’d hoped. His aim was sure, his hand steady, and his bullet hit the heart of his wife exactly in the place he’d intended to shoot the man that used to be his son. Crimson bloomed across her back. Michael’s father watched mutely as his wife fell to the ground with a loud thud while his intended target stood laughing.
“See? I told you. A mother’s love. Weakness. See what it got her?”
Michael’s father still clutched the gun in a two-handed grip. Despite the tear that welled in his eye, his hands remained steady, his aim sure, his head clear about what he must do.
He shot once, twice, a third time. His bullets tore through Michael’s chest. He fired at such short range that he could feel the warm blood spatter across his face, some of it trickling down his cheek.
Michael’s face smiled no more as he sank down and fell with a thud on the floor next to his mother. His black eyes were still open, and he stared up at his father with the cold, dark unfeeling orbs.
“See, Father,” he rasped. “The killing has made you stronger already. Do you feel it? Take me to him, Father. He will heal me. And then you and I shall be at his side, and you will feel that strength – that power – tenfold.”
Michael coughed, and his lips were covered with spittle and blood.
“No, Michael, I told you. I will not leave this house with you.”
His father did feel the power brought on by his anger and fear. It overwhelmed him. The adrenaline coursed through him, and he felt the darkness well in his belly and spread from his heart outward.
He used that strength to fuel him as he completed the thing that he’d started. His gun rang out again. One, two, three shots. All met their mark. All hit the target.
Michael’s skull was a shattered bit of fragile bone. His face was only half on his body, the rest blown about his father’s living room.
“I will not serve your master,” his father said. He pulled the trigger one more time and his body, too, lay on the floor with the others.
19. Kissing Stone
Jake
When Ciardha zapped me with his Dark Energy volts, I’d been certain that I was a goner. But my eyes fluttered open, and I felt the coolness of stone on my cheek. The bright light hurt my eyes so I closed them. Curiosity made me force them open again, despite the pain it caused.
Everything was hazy as if I’d just woken from a long sleep. I blinked rapidly to clear the blurry vision while at the same time taking stock of my situation. I felt no pain, not even stiffness in my muscles. I’d gotten through our battle without a major injury, but I was a bit surprised to find that I wasn’t even sore from the intensity of the effort to stay alive.
I lie face down on the floor of a sumptuous, expensive-looking room. At the far end, across from where I lay, was a wall of windows. I could see the Chicago skyline through the expanse of glass.
I’m up high. Must be the penthouse suite.
I continued to lie on the floor, not sure yet if I was alone or if Ciardha would zap me at any minute with his fire volts. I was in the entryway, but I could see a living room with posh upholstered chairs and two sofas. A crystal chandelier hung over me, spilling a bright, twinkling light around the room. The entire space was bathed in a soft pewter color, and all of the furnishings and objects held to a palette of muted silver and grey, with touches of dark eggplant thrown in here and there. I appeared to be alone.
I pushed myself up and forced my legs to stand. They felt unsteady beneath me as if I hadn’t stood for days. How long was I out?
I took a few tentative, shaky steps. When I didn’t get zapped with black lightning or hit with a weapon, I decided it was safe to venture further. To the left of the main room was a large, open entryway that led to a ritzy-looking dining room. Over a table large enough to seat ten or twelve hung another crystal chandelier. The chairs were high-backed and gilded, the seats covered in a deep, purple silk fabric.
I heard a sound behind me and instinctively spun and took a defensive stance. I immediately crept to the wall and peered around to see into the main room.
Walking toward me was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. She wore a champagne-colored gown that shimmered in the light. It clung to her curves like a second skin. It was barely a dress at all, and against her pale skin it looked as if she wasn’t wearing anything. The neckline was cut low in a V down to just above her navel and sleeveless with slits cut up to the high thigh on each side.
She had long, black hair that was sleek and smooth. It looked like it would feel like silk in my hands. She had an odd stripe of nearly fluorescent pink down the right side. The stripe was so perfectly made, it looked as if it had been meticulously painted.
The woman walked slowly toward me. Her slim hips gently swayed as she walked. She had a slinky swagger to her walk as if she were a cat pretending to be a woman.
I felt myself relax a bit. I mean, with that wisp of a dress that left nothing to the imagination, she clearly wasn’t packing any weapons.
I found myself walking toward her though I don’t remember thinking that I should. My feet seemed to have a will of their own.
When she was a few feet away from me, I felt my skin prickle. Is this desire making my hairs stand on end? Or a warning to steer clear of her?
I looked into her eyes. They were two ebony orbs resting in the pale skin of her face. No color. No white. Just two small globes of black.
I’d seen the eyes of the turned ones. Their eyes were dark. But this woman’s eyes were something else entirely. She was so bereft of a soul that I almost felt a chill of air sweep off of her.
A realization swept over me. She wasn’t Dark Mob. She was of Ciardha. She was …
“Dorcha?”
She reached out her hand, and her long, slim fingers gingerly touched my face. Her caress was soft, but it sent a chill through me. Instead of fueling my fire, her touch sucked the warmth out of me.
“Are you Dorcha?” I asked.
The lovely woman nodded, but didn’t say a word.
“Where are we? How did I get here? Is Ciardha here?”
Dorcha didn’t offer answers to my questions. She simply smiled as she slowly crept her hand from my face to my throat and then down my chest. Her other hand joined the action as she moved it to my back and down to my backside.
Her touch ignited no fire. Instead her roaming hands froze me to the core.
“Stop it!” I pushed her hand away, and I stepped back from her, putting distance between myself and her frigid touch.
Dorcha still said nothing, but her small, soft smile became a pouty frown. She advanced on me again and reached out to touch me. I slapped her hand away.
Still she said not a word, but her frown was replaced with anger. Her black eyes widened, her mouth set in a thin line.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to do or why. But I don’t want that kind of attention from you. Your touch doesn’t make me get it up, it just makes me want to vomit.”
Not a sound escaped her lips, but she cocked her head to the side and looked at me quizzically. She struck an elegant pose, thrusting one well-turned leg out, revealing a slim leg all the way up to her
hip. Nothing between that dress and her skin.
I’d never been that close to a woman, practically naked, clearly wanting me. And not just any woman, but maybe one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. If it hadn’t been for the fact that she was, you know, a demon creation of the God of Darkness, I may have been truly tempted. But as flawlessly beautiful as she was, her touch was like a caress from a stone sculpture.
It was hard to read the emotion or thoughts of a creature with eyes devoid of color or light, but I think she looked hurt. Maybe even a bit sad. You’re such a douche, Jake. You practically told her she makes you sick. She may be the spawn of a devil, but she’s still a woman.
“Look, you’re gorgeous. Beautiful. Flawless even. Most guys would give their right arm to be able to touch even an inch of you. But my heart belongs to another.”
In an instant, a golden torc like Emily wore appeared on Dorcha’s upper arm. She held her arm out for me to see.
“I’m in love with the girl, not the jewelry.”
Dorcha snorted, stomped her foot, and pouted at me. Then her face changed to something else. Maybe it was worry.
She closed the distance I’d put between us until she was no more than six inches away. She took my hands in hers, and when she looked into my eyes, I could see a tear ready to fall from her right eye.
“What do you want, Dorcha?”
She said nothing, but took my hand and placed it on her breast. At first my mind raced with the possibilities and my groin began producing a heat that spread up into my stomach and made my thighs feel suddenly weak. But soon my hand felt cold as if my fingers were touching a bronze statue not a living woman.
In a world that had gone insane, in a place that was as surreal as the Umbra Perdita had been, there was nothing about the scene that made any sense. The last time I’d seen Dorcha, she’d been a hideous braying animal, Ciardha’s companion. In her animal form, Dorcha had shown fierce loyalty to Ciardha, even though he treated her like a pile of crap.
The Akasha Chronicles Trilogy Boxed Set: The Complete Emily Adams Series Page 63