The angel laughed again, sending new rivers of black blood from the corners of his mouth.
“Tell me,” Aaron demanded, the power of forgiveness gone from his hands, the warm glow replaced by a far more destructive flame. He brought it close to the angel’s face.
“Wormwood,” the angel said through a ferocious snarl, batting Aaron’s hand away with surprising strength. “Wormwood will take you all.”
Then there came a flash of fire from the angel’s filthy, mangled hand, as a dagger of heavenly design formed there, a dagger that he plunged into his own throat.
Aaron and the others gasped.
The angel’s flesh began to burn, ignited by the blade forged from the fires of Heaven. And soon there was nothing more than smoldering ash, the angel’s final words echoing through the underground cavern.
Wormwood.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Gabriel was on his elbows, butt in the air, tail wagging furiously from side to side, as he barked at Milton, who scampered around in front him.
“Sometimes it feels like that,” Lorelei said, her voice still sounding weak from the wear of Archon magick upon her form. She’d switched from coffee to tea, and was playing with her mug as they sat at one of the long tables in the old science lab, watching the animals.
“Hmm?” Lucifer questioned, looking to the dog and mouse at play.
“The tiny against the large … what we’re up against … it seems so big,” Lorelei explained.
“It does, doesn’t it,” Lucifer replied, now understanding. He brought a fresh cup of Earl Grey to his mouth.
Gabriel had dropped to his side upon the floor, his paws waving about in play as Milton deftly evaded the dog’s attempts to swat at him. The small creature darted through Gabriel’s flailing limbs to poke at the dog’s black snout with its own, before quickly running away, and then starting the game all over again.
“Our numbers are so small,” Lorelei said. “And the threats get bigger and more dangerous.”
Lucifer nodded. “More and more every day,” the Morningstar said. “Far more than when we first began.”
“It’s going to come down to us having to pick and choose,” the white-haired girl said.
“There was supposed to be more of us,” he said sadly. “I’m sure the Almighty never expected the Powers to be quite so efficient with their hunting skills.”
“Every week I cast a spell to be certain,” she said, picking up her mug with trembling hands and taking a careful sip. “To make sure that there aren’t any more of us … Nephilim … out there alone, needing to understand what is happening to them.”
Lucifer didn’t expect any more Nephilim would be found, but he guessed there was always a chance, however slim that might be.
He looked at Lorelei and smiled. “There’s no harm in trying,” he said, even though he knew that anytime Archon magick was called upon, it took its toll on her.
She smiled sadly. “I keep hoping,” she said. “Even though deep down I know that we’re the only ones left.”
They sat in silence then, only Gabriel’s heavy breathing filling the air. The Labrador had fallen sound asleep on the floor, the tiny mouse nestled in the fur of his throat, both exhausted by their playful antics.
If only the world could be as peaceful.
“What if we’re not strong enough?” Lorelei finally asked.
Lucifer looked at her, not sure how to respond. It was a good question, and one that made him fear for the future.
For even though the Powers were gone, other supernatural threats intensified almost daily, and Lucifer could not help but remember the words spoken to him so very long ago, by a dark-haired child, in the ruins of a temple erected for the worship of some ancient god, long forgotten.
AN UNNAMED ISLAND IN THE AEGEAN SEA, BEFORE THE SINKING OF ATLANTIS
The Morningstar reveled in the silence and the cold dampness of the ancient temple. How long it had been abandoned, what god had been prayed to and sacrificed to here, were mysteries that did not concern him. He had had his fill of gods.
The fallen angel preferred these once-holy places, built to the glory of some heathen deity, the resonance of past worship acting as a kind of buffer, preventing the Powers angels that hunted him from picking up his scent.
He, as with all his fallen brethren, was drawn to the abandoned, the forgotten, finding in those haunted places the refuge that often escaped them.
Lucifer walked the hall of the sanctuary, pondering when last it had seen worshippers. At what appeared to be an altar, the Son of the Morning stopped to study a statue of the temple’s lord and master. It was a loathsome sight, its body misshapen and its head adorned with multiple tentacles.
Who … or what … could worship such a thing? Lucifer wondered as he looked upon it.
“His worshippers called him name N’Ken-Thaa,” came a voice from somewhere behind him.
The Morningstar whirled, wings of oily black spread wide in a defensive posture.
“Show yourself,” the angel demanded, golden-flecked eyes studying the darkness but finding nothing.
Then a patch of shadow seemed to move as a small shape broke off and advanced toward him. It was a small human child, but something told the Morningstar that looks were deceiving.
“But I doubt that was his name,” the child said cheerily. “Or whether or not it could be pronounced by human lips even if they knew it.”
The child was barefoot and dressed in simple robes as he approached the altar.
“He was a silly sort,” the child continued, staring at the monstrous statue. “Filled with delusions of grandeur.”
Lucifer studied the child, or whatever it was. He sensed something unnatural here, and a large sword of fire grew from his hand.
“He was so sad when they stopped worshipping him, stopped believing in him,” the child said, shaking his head in sympathy. “He actually thought this world would one day belong to him.” He turned his inky-black eyes toward the angel. “Isn’t that silly?”
“What are you?” Lucifer demanded angrily.
“Who, me?” the child asked innocently. “I’m nobody now, but someday …”
For a brief instant Lucifer saw the child for what he was, and it filled the Son of the Morning with revulsion—and fear.
The angel lashed out with his sword of fire. There was an explosion of searing flame as the sword hit the floor where the child had been standing, its force cracking the marble.
“I’m over here,” the child’s voice rang out playfully, and Lucifer spun to see the little boy strolling from the darkness between two pillars, completely unscathed.
“You should do something about that temper,” the little boy said. “It might get you into trouble someday.” He stopped, smiled, and placed a hand over his mouth. “Too late.”
Lucifer came at him again, powerful thrusts of his mighty wings hurtled him toward the youth, his flaming sword cutting a swath across the child’s throat in an attempt to decapitate him.
But it appeared to have little effect.
“Now is that any way to treat someone who has come to make you an offer?” the child scolded.
Lucifer landed in a crouch, his sword of Heaven’s fire still crackling in his hand, still ready to strike.
“What could you offer me?” the Morningstar scoffed.
The child smiled sweetly and faced the altar.
“There will come a day,” he began as he waved his hand in front of the monstrous idol of worship, “when the God that has abandoned you will have no power over the earth.”
There were sudden snaps and pops as jagged cracks appeared upon the statue’s form; pieces dropped off, crumbling as they hit the altar floor, where they then disintegrated.
Lucifer studied the child.
“The messengers of He who believes Himself most holy will no longer believe in Him, and they will attempt to exert their own beliefs on how things should be.”
The idol had been reduced to a
pile of dust. The object of worship, which once held great power, was now no more.
The child looked at Lucifer.
“And darkness will claim the world.”
As the child spoke, Lucifer saw hints of things crawling in the darkness of the boy’s mouth, things that wished to remain hidden.
For now.
“And when that time comes, I’ll be there to claim what was always mine … what was taken from me when the wretched Creator brought light to the universe.”
The words left Lucifer’s mouth before he could check them. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“I am the dark, and you are the Son of the Morning,” the child said, spreading his arms. “What a world we could build together.”
Enraged, Lucifer turned his back on the thing pretending to be a child. “A world that will exist only in your twisted imagination,” he said, sensing the boy behind him.
“Perhaps,” the child said. “But then again, perhaps not.”
Lucifer felt something touch the armor that adorned his back, and suddenly he was so cold that his beautiful form began to tremble. The feeling was like nothing he had ever experienced.
“Time will pass, the world will change, and from the darkness my lesser brethren will emerge, heralds of a new age dawning.”
“And then?” Lucifer asked, not turning around.
The child giggled mischievously. “Now that would be telling.”
“We can’t think like that,” Lucifer told Lorelei. The memory of the boy child’s promise of a world enshrouded in darkness still left him cold.
There was a time when he had been held captive by the Powers’ leader, Verchiel, when he thought that had been the future the child had predicted. Lucifer thought once Verchiel and his plans had been thwarted, the ominous future that had been foretold was moot.
But now he wasn’t so sure.
“You look as worried as I feel,” Lorelei said.
Lucifer shook his head and smiled, reaching across the table to place his hand upon hers. “We’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “The other Nephilim get stronger every day, and it won’t be long until we’re able to send them out individually to deal with some of these manifestations.”
“I guess you’re right,” Lorelei said, forcing a smile of her own. “They can’t stay students forever.”
“No, they can’t,” he told her. “Eventually they will have to step up and claim their rightful place as protectors of this world.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Better?”
She nodded. “Thanks,” Lorelei said. “When I’m tired, I have a tendency to embrace the doom and gloom.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Lucifer said. “Archon magick isn’t something to be taken lightly. That’s some heavy-duty stuff.”
He was about to suggest that maybe it would be wise for her to stop using the angel magick so frequently, but never got the chance.
Gabriel sprang up with a loud bark and bounded for the wall of windows.
“They’re back,” he growled, as Milton scampered back to his master and climbed swiftly up Lucifer’s pants leg to take his place upon the fallen angel’s shoulder.
The Labrador put his front paws up on the windowsill, peering out intently.
“And I smell blood,” the dog said, turning his worried canine gaze to them. “Somebody is hurt … or worse.”
CHAPTER NINE
Aaron was the first to reach home.
Wings slowly unfurling, he appeared behind the administration building, cradling Janice in his arms.
The smell of her blood was overpowering, and it aroused the angelic-warrior essence that was part of him, stirring it to anger. It took everything he had to keep from summoning a blade of fire, and going off to kill something in a fit of rage, as he knelt to lay the girl’s body down upon the grass.
But there had already been enough violence.
One after another the Nephilim appeared behind him. William was helping the injured Kirk to stand. They looked as though they’d been through a war, their clothes filthy and torn and spattered with blood, their enemies’ as well as their own.
“Get him to Kraus right away,” Aaron ordered.
Aaron didn’t know the extent of the boy’s injuries, but if anyone could treat him, it would be Kraus. The man who acted as their healer had once cared for the health of the Powers, but now he had come over to the side of the Nephilim, using arcane remedies, and perhaps a little bit of angel magick, to care for the ills and injuries of Aaron’s small band.
Gabriel’s worried bark filled the air, and Aaron glanced over his shoulder to see the animal and Kraus hurriedly moving toward them, Lorelei and Lucifer close behind.
“Take care of Kirk,” Aaron said to the healer.
William was practically carrying Kirk, the youth barely conscious as he was helped toward the older man.
“What about Janice?” Lorelei asked.
“It’s too late for her,” Aaron said, his gaze fixed upon the dead girl on the ground before him. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. He had to look at her; he had to remind himself once more of what death looked like.
They all needed to see it.
Lucifer suddenly appeared at Aaron’s side, and an overwhelming sadness washed over him, threatening to break Aaron’s fragile hold on his emotions.
“She wasn’t ready,” Aaron said, feeling the heavy responsibility of being a leader. “Maybe if she’d had more training … if we’d all had more training … I should have—”
His father gripped his shoulder tightly, stopping his words.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Lucifer said. “You can’t second-guess yourself. We all had a hand in this.”
Gabriel came up along Aaron’s other side, bringing his cool muzzle up to lick his master’s ear. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know, Gabe,” Aaron said, ruffling the dog’s velvety soft ears. “I just wish I could have saved her.”
“We did what we could, Aaron,” Vilma said. She knelt beside him. “We were in the midst of battle; all of us were fighting for our lives.”
“And she lost hers,” Aaron said.
“It’s going to happen, Aaron,” Lucifer said. “Despite what we hope and want.”
Aaron wished he could argue, but he knew his father was right. They were at war, and the sad truth was that people died. No matter how young they were, or how special they were supposed to be, they weren’t invincible.
And that made him very angry.
A gasp, followed by a familiar chuckle, caught Aaron’s attention. Cameron and Jeremy were huddled off to his right, and Cameron was looking at something that Jeremy was showing him. The expression on Cameron’s face was one of surprise—and perhaps disgust.
“What is that?” Aaron roared, getting to his feet, pushing past his father, and striding toward the pair.
Cameron immediately stepped away from Jeremy, and Jeremy tried to hide what he was holding behind his leg.
“It’s nothing,” Jeremy said defiantly, chest puffed out.
“Then why are you hiding it?” Aaron demanded, reaching for Jeremy’s wrist and pulling his hand up.
It was a bloody ear from one of the slain trolls.
Aaron couldn’t control himself. He lashed out, punching Jeremy in the face and driving him to the ground.
“Is that what you think we are?” Aaron demanded. “Savages taking trophies from the enemies we kill in battle? What were you going to do with that, Jeremy? Make a necklace? You make me sick.”
Jeremy, red-faced with fury, threw the bloody ear to the ground. His wings sprang from his back, and sparks of heavenly fire crackled at his fingertips.
“Go ahead,” Aaron taunted. “Keep trying to prove that I was wrong about you … that you’ll never control the power inside you.”
The battle-ax flared to life in Jeremy’s hand.
“That’s enough,” Vilma ordered, moving to stand between them.
Always the referee, Aaron thought, re
calling that she had been there the last time he and Jeremy had almost come to blows. And then he remembered the sight of the two of them as he’d entered the trolls’ chamber, their hands entwined—and the way they’d been looking at each other.
After the day he’d had, Aaron was done with the nonsense.
“I think you should get out of the way,” Aaron warned Vilma, his eyes never leaving Jeremy’s. He flexed his shoulders, releasing his own wings.
“Aaron, I know you’re upset but—”
“He’s been asking for this since he came here,” Aaron interrupted.
Vilma seemed taken aback by the cruelty in his voice, and she looked at Aaron in such a way that he felt ashamed.
But not ashamed enough to back down.
“Fine,” she snapped angrily. “If you won’t listen to me, maybe he will.” She turned her back on Aaron to face Jeremy.
“Jeremy, please,” she pleaded.
Jeremy’s mouth moved, as though he was trying to say something but had trouble forming the words.
“Do you know how hard it is?” he finally blurted out. “How hard I have to work to keep it bottled up inside?”
The ax disappeared from his hand as his wings began to enfold him.
“Every last one of you can go to hell for all I care” were the last words Jeremy spoke as he disappeared within his wings. He was gone.
Vilma turned on her heel, storming past Aaron without even looking at him.
“Something has to be done about him,” Aaron said coldly. “He’s too unstable … dangerous.”
“Like I wasn’t?” she asked, stopping short. “If I remember correctly, I tried to kill you.”
Aaron had nothing to say, choosing not to think about how untamed and extremely dangerous Vilma’s angelic nature was when awakened, and how he’d feared that it just might kill her.
He avoided thinking about anything that could possibly take her from his life.
“I’m going after him,” she said, and her tone told him that her decision wasn’t up for discussion.
Aaron knew he’d been wrong, that anger had gotten the better of him, and he opened his mouth to apologize to her. But she had already spread her wings, wrapping them about her. And then she, too, was gone.
The Fallen 3 Page 9