“Yeah,” Remy agreed. “That was her favorite dress. She picked it and the jewelry before…” His voice trailed off.
The agony was back.
Remy wanted to shed it all, to return to the simplicity of being one of God’s divine creations. It would be so much easier than this.
But he was brought back from the brink by his hand being squeezed tightly, and glanced over to see Ashley’s gaze riveted to his deceased wife.
“Was she a good one?” Ashley asked, eyes unwavering.
For a moment he wasn’t quite sure he understood the question.
Ashley turned her head to look at him. “A mom…was she a good mom?”
“Yeah, she was the best,” he said, nodding, remembering that only the very few who knew what he was knew that Madeline was his wife; everyone else thought she was his mother. Madeline had always been amused by the interpretation of their relationship. Remy Chandler, the Mama’s Boy, she used to tease him.
He found himself smiling now.
“I always thought she would be,” Ashley said. “Just watching her with Marlowe, you could tell.”
It was then that Remy realized if he were to return to Heaven, his pain would fade, but so would the memories of what he had created here-what he had had. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to give those up, despite the agony of his loss.
He turned his head ever so slightly to look at the young woman who had made it a point to come here tonight and share his sorrow. He thought of how special she was, and how special he felt to have her and other friends like her in his life.
Did he really want to leave all that behind?
“Mr. Chandler?” Someone spoke softly behind him.
He and Ashley turned to see David Carroll standing in the doorway.
“Visitors have started to arrive,” the fair-haired man said, motioning toward the funeral home door behind him.
Remy nodded. “Thank you.” He looked back to Ashley, who was watching him with a careful eye. “Here we go,” he said, taking a deep breath.
“Are you going to be all right?” she asked him.
“Yeah,” he said, not yet 100 percent convinced, but on the road to finding out.
“I think I might be.”
Remy Chandler awakened to the smell of blood.
Eyes fluttering, he rolled onto his side to see a heavyset man standing over Ashley, his hands stained red. Remy reacted instantly, rising to his knees and reaching across to grab the fat man by the front of his shirt, pulling him down close enough for Remy’s fist to connect savagely with his face.
The big man howled in pain, nose gushing blood as he was driven away from the bed. Remy gazed down in horror at Ashley’s mangled body. Bloody bandages littered the bed, and his eyes became transfixed by the vision of her gore-stained midriff.
“What have you done?” he screamed at the man, who sat slumped on the floor, chubby hand clutched to a badly bleeding nose.
“It’s not what you think,” the man cried. “Let me explain.”
But Remy heard none of it, his warrior’s mind already activated. He bounded from the bed and hauled the blubbering man to his feet. If he had been able, the fires of the Seraphim would have already been flowing, eating the man’s flesh inch by inch.
But the fire did not answer his call, so Remy had no choice but to hit the man again and again.
There came a sudden flash, and Remy found himself flying backward over the bed and into the wall beside the door. He lay there breathing heavily, his heart rapidly beating as if shocked by a defibrillator.
“I could cook your flesh to the bone,” the fat man snarled, blood running from his nose to drip from his chin. His hand crackled with supernatural energies, and Remy realized that he was dealing with a magick user.
So be it, he thought, springing to his feet again. He would just have to hit the guy that much harder.
The man fired another blast of destructive energy, but Remy managed to avoid it, throwing his shoulder into the man’s expansive gut and driving him back toward the closet door. He was atop him in seconds, punching him with both fists, until he heard the sound of a door opening behind him.
He paused and turned to see Francis entering the room, arms loaded with shopping bags.
“Why the fuck are you beating the crap out of Angus?” the former Guardian angel asked, setting the bags down on the floor.
“He didn’t give me a chance to explain,” the big man gurgled.
Remy pointed to Ashley’s body as he stood on shaky legs.
“That,” he said, going to the girl who meant so much to him.
“Calm down. It isn’t her,” Francis told him.
“What do you mean, it isn’t her?”
“Look at her,” Francis said. He was helping the fat man to get up.
Remy was on the verge of panic, but he did as his friend told him.
“I don’t think Ashley was made out of clay,” Francis continued. He had given the magick user a handkerchief from his pocket for his bloody face. “But, then again, I didn’t know her as well as you did.”
Remy looked closely at the gaping wound in Ashley’s belly and found himself carefully poking at the damp gray clay.
“She isn’t real,” he said, looking up.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” the fat man said.
“Who are you?” Remy asked, eyes squinting suspiciously.
“This is Angus Heath,” Francis said. “He’s the guy I talked to about your golem situation…which doesn’t seem to be getting any better, by the way.”
Remy looked back to the girl on the bed. “Deacon did this,” he said.
“Deacon?” Angus asked, stepping forward, bloody handkerchief clutched to his face. “You know that for sure?”
Remy nodded. “He’s over there,” he said, gesturing to the air. “His whole estate in some shadow world.”
“I knew he wasn’t dead,” Angus said. “He must’ve transported himself there when we tried to kill him.”
Remy stared at the magick user.
“It was a long time ago,” Angus said quickly. “Algernon Stearns…”
“Stearns,” Remy interrupted. “Deacon wants me to kill Stearns. That’s why he took Ashley.”
Remy stopped short, realization sinking in like a bolt from above.
“If this isn’t her, that means the real Ashley is still there,” Remy said, looking at Francis and Angus. “I have to go back.” He went to the closet. “There was a door here.”
“It’s gone now,” Francis said. “It went away when the goblin left.”
Remy looked at him. “Goblin?” he asked as a hazy memory surfaced of the creature that had saved him from the shadow animal.
“Yep, little guy, bad skin, pointy ears,” Francis explained. “I know it sounds crazy, but a goblin brought the two of you back. Haven’t a clue as to who he was, but he seemed to think there’s some serious trouble brewing in the world and didn’t want to stick around.”
It was a thought that Remy shared-he’d felt that way since he and Francis had helped to avert the Apocalypse.
“It must have something to do with Stearns,” Angus said, looking into his bloody handkerchief as if searching for something he’d lost.
“What about Stearns?” Remy asked.
“You mean besides him trying to kill both of us by sucking out all our life energies?” Francis asked.
That surprised Remy, as well. “Deacon almost did that to me. In fact, it’s left me a bit…depleted.”
The power of Heaven was still somewhere inside of him, but it had gone deep to recover.
To heal.
“I knew there was something different about you,” Francis said. “I thought you might’ve lost some weight.”
“I haven’t quite sorted it all out yet,” Angus started to explain, chubby hand flitting around his head. “But Stearns is up to something…and it’s something that could prove deadly to millions.”
Remy stepped back from
the closet door and sat down on the bed. He looked at the body of Ashley’s imposter again. “I need to go back there, to bring the real Ashley home.”
He looked at Francis and the magick user. “This Stearns, he’s a powerful sorcerer?”
“All of the cabal were extremely powerful and-”
“Answer the question,” Remy snapped.
“Yes, he was probably the strongest of us,” Angus said quickly.
“Good answer.” Francis patted the man on the shoulder.
“I think we should pay Algernon Stearns a little visit, then,” Remy said. “A sorcerer that powerful will probably have some idea how I can get back to the shadow place, and I’m guessing we’ll catch his attention with the news that the man he thought he’d killed is still very much alive and looking for a little revenge. And, oh yeah, now has the power of a Seraphim at his disposal.”
“Stearns isn’t a trusting man,” Angus said. “And if he’s in the midst of some master plan, he’ll be on full alert for trouble.”
“I didn’t say it was going to be easy.” Remy stood up and looked to his friend. “Think we might need some accessories.”
Francis nodded ever so slightly.
“And guess what. I think I know where we might be able to find some.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Armaros stood on the roof of Stearns’ office building, admiring the garden of large satellite dishes that had been constructed there. They resembled a cluster of high-tech mushrooms growing up among a forest of steel, glass, and stone.
The thought made the angel smile, knowing that Sariel would have been amused by his blossoming imagination. To be able to see in something more than the reality of it was not a trait normally associated with the minions of God, but the excessive time spent here among them-among humanity-had allowed the Grigori to evolve some.
And Armaros took much pleasure in flexing this new visionary muscle, imagining the kind of world they were about to usher in. There would be panic and chaos for a time, but in the end it would transform the humans, taking them a place closer to where the Lord wanted them to be.
If there was one thing that the Grigori had learned over the countless millennia, it was that the human animals were stubborn beasts and not so easily swayed. They had to be shown the consequences of their actions, and the more gruesome the presentation, the easier it was for them to listen.
Since the Grigori had been partially responsible for the wedge driven between humanity and the Almighty, it seemed only fair that they attempt to make things right.
The Grigori’s final penance for the sins they’d committed.
But first they needed to capture humanity’s attention.
Armaros reached out and placed a hand on the cold metal of one of the satellite dishes, impressed at how far the humans had come with their technology. It was almost like magick. With just these metal dishes, they would be able to reach out to millions of humans all around the world and deliver their message.
It was just a shame that so many of them would have to die.
“Neat trick,” Remy said, following Francis and the sorcerer, Angus Heath, through the fissure cut in the fabric of reality in the deserted back parking lot of the Vermont motel.
The magick user had helped them dispose of the golem Ashley, using a spell that caused the clay body to burn from the inside, turning it to crumbling ash that was easily washed down the drain. To say that the sight of his friend’s visage, even if it was a magickal doppelganger, crumbling away to nothing in a cheap motel bathtub was mighty disturbing was an understatement.
He’d settled his bill and then met the others in the parking lot, stepping through the passage opened by Francis and exiting in the shadow of a Toys “R” Us.
“It comes in handy,” Francis agreed, turning his head slightly to watch the perforation seal close behind them. “One of the perks of a new client.”
“Anybody I know?” Remy asked.
Francis ignored the question and turned away.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Angus asked. “I thought we were going to get weapons, not a new bike.”
“We’re not going there.” Francis sounded annoyed, and walked away from the toy store. “What we’re looking for is this way.”
Behind a Dumpster was a fence, and in that fence a hole had been cut. One by one they climbed through the opening, into a lot filled with rows of storage lockers.
“Where are we, anyway?” Remy asked, not recognizing their whereabouts.
“Brockton,” Francis answered as he paused, getting his bearings.
“Brockton?”
“Is there a problem with Brockton?”
“No, I’m just a little surprised that you’d keep items of this nature here.”
“Let me tell you, Brockton is the perfect place to keep items of this nature.” Francis led them to a particular storage shed, number
666
“Nice,” Remy said, shaking his head in amusement.
The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Francis’ mouth as he punched in the code, and the folding door slowly climbed to grant them access.
From where they stood, it looked like the typical storage unit filled with random boxes and old pieces of furniture.
“Is this it?” Remy asked.
“This is it,” the fallen angel responded.
Angus started inside, but Francis quickly stopped him.
“Wait a second,” he said. “I’ve installed a few security measures.”
Francis looked around to be certain they were alone, then pulled up the sleeve of his suit coat and shirt as far as he could manage and removed the glowing scalpel from an inside pocket of his coat.
Remy felt the hair at the back of his neck stand on end at the sight of the instrument. “Don’t tell me that opens doors, too,” he commented, watching as Francis brought the thin blade of light toward his exposed wrist.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he said, making a quick cut in his flesh.
A single drop of blood escaped the gash before it was immediately cauterized. That drop landed on the threshold of the storage place, and the sight of the items stored there began to shimmer and waver out of focus.
Remy and Angus entered the shed as Francis reached up to pull the door down behind them. As soon as the folding door was closed, the space became illuminated.
Remy turned, not surprised to see that they were now standing in a room at least ten times the size of a normal storage unit; row upon row of metal shelving housed some of the special items that Francis had acquired over the years.
Angus began to laugh, heading down one of the many aisles.
“Very nice, Francis,” the sorcerer said. “I like your style.”
Remy went in the opposite direction. As he walked among the rows, he found all manner of weaponry, from pistols to rifles, from knives to spears and swords. There were enough arms in this shed alone to fortify an army.
“Find anything you like?” a voice asked from close by.
A box on a shelf in front of him slid aside and Francis peered through from the next aisle.
“Plenty, if I wanted to overthrow a third-world nation,” Remy answered.
“Haven’t done that in a while,” Francis mused.
“How is this stuff categorized?” Remy asked. “Is it even categorized?”
“Kinda sorta,” Francis answered. “I hired a high school kid a while back to get it better organized, but…”
“A high school kid?” Remy asked, aghast.
“Yeah, didn’t work out too well.”
“Imagine that.”
“Caught her trying to lift a few ounces of my powdered saints’ bones.” Francis took a box from the shelf. “Can you imagine what a snort of Saint Pelagius would do?” he asked as he peeled back the flaps on the box to look inside. “Hey, I was wondering what happened to my bowling shoes,” he said, then placed the box back on the shelf.
“Where’s Angus?” Remy
questioned.
“He’s in the paper-goods section. Found some old scrolls and texts that I bought at an estate sale a few years back. They used to belong to a combat magician I’d had few run-ins with over the centuries.”
Francis disappeared for a few minutes, and then Remy saw him heading toward him down the aisle, carrying a large black gym bag. He stopped and picked up a plastic container. “These are good,” he said, pulling off the lid to reveal tiny hand grenades. They were a coppery color and covered with strange, runic designs that made them look almost like Christmas decorations.
“Grenades?” Remy asked, as Francis stuffed the container in the bag.
“Souped up for magickal barriers,” the former Guardian angel explained. “Lotsa bang for your buck.”
Remy found a black case on a bottom shelf and pulled it off, unlatching the clasps and opening the case to reveal two black service Colt. 45s. “These are nice.”
“Oh yeah,” Francis said. “With the right ammunition, the twins can be killer.”
“And do you have the right ammunition for the twins?” Remy asked, closing up the case but deciding to bring it with him.
“In the ammunition aisle. I think they’re on special today.”
Remy’s phone began to vibrate in his pocket, and he removed it to see that Linda was calling. She had already left a couple of voice messages while he had been in the shadow place; this time she was leaving a text.
Please call. Important.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and found Francis staring at him.
“Same person that called back at the motel?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Remy answered.
“Anybody I know?” Francis inquired, and for a moment Remy wasn’t sure if his friend knew who it was or not.
Francis had had a crush on Linda Somerset, and although they had never met, the former Guardian had spent many a night watching the pretty waitress at Piazza, fantasizing about a relationship that had never transpired.
It was after Francis had gone missing in Hell that Remy and Linda met and something drew them together.
Francis had yet to be told.
“Nobody that I’ve talked about,” Remy answered.
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