Demon Forsaken

by Jenn Stark

  Get over it, Finn thought grimly. Dana hadn’t been harmed. She’d wake up without injury.

  And he’d be gone with the archangel’s precious list.

  He swallowed, forcing the hand gripping the golden cuff to stop shaking.

  “There is so much I wish to share with you yet,” Lester said at his side. “Before you leave. I know you can’t stay long.”

  Finn scowled. “How?”

  Lester blinked several times, far too quickly. “I…well, you told me so.” Before Finn could react to that, Lester briefly touched the sleeve of Finn’s jacket, the gesture of a servant, then wheeled away from him, moving with determination. He stopped midway down the room, where a six-foot-tall copy of one of da Vinci’s Madonna paintings hung in a heavy gilt frame, and punched a few buttons on the keypad beside it. The portrait swung open with an efficient click, the shadowy view of a stairway visible behind it.

  “I know how this must look.” Lester gave a quick, embarrassed nod to Finn, his face coloring. “A secret doorway hidden by a painting, the painting itself an allegory of my work for mankind. But I’m a sentimental old man, I’m afraid, with a penchant for drama. Come, then.” He glanced nervously over his shoulder at Dana’s sleeping form. “While I suspect Dana will sleep for a few hours, I’ve learned from past experience that I always overestimate the effect of drugs in her system.”

  Finn’s body jerked with a visceral force. “You’ve drugged her before?”

  Lester’s face tensed a fraction at Finn’s tone, but his smile was intended to soothe, and Finn knew his attempt at feigning detachment had failed. “I’m sure that must sound alarming, but she was only administered sleep aids while she was in the hospital,” he said, his words too careful, too practiced. The cornflower-blue eyes crinkled, the mouth turned down a fraction, and in a blink, Lester was the soul of self-deprecation, the perfect image of the doting uncle all too aware of his own limitations.

  Lester was hiding far too much.

  For the first time since the archangel had asked him to retrieve the list of…whatever it was, Finn wondered why Lester had that list in the first place. What did it mean to him?

  “Dana is quite a precious gift, you must understand,” Lester said, unwittingly echoing Finn’s earlier thoughts. “She gave me quite a scare when she was shot.”

  Finn lifted one brow. “Oh? Tell me about that night.”

  “Please, one moment.” With another wary glance in Dana’s direction, Lester pulled the door wide open. A flight of stairs curved away from the door in a tight spiral, the descent illuminated by a series of blue lights that cast no light beyond the doorway. Lester stepped in, then turned back to Finn, his eyes gleaming with an energy that seemed out of place in his weathered face. Keeping the weighted door open with a hand, he beckoned Finn to follow.

  “Come with me,” he said. “I’ll explain everything.”

  Adrenaline kicking in hard, Finn left the cuff on the table and followed Lester down the curving steps, entering a room that was nearly twice the size of the gallery. Half the room was open space, concrete floor, and bare walls broken only by a single elevator door, its floor indicator set on L.

  The rest of the room, past a reinforced-glass barricade, was almost completely given over to proof that mortals were diligently trying to live up to their potential. Finn felt a surge of wonder at what he saw. Despite all their doubt, their confusion, their outright refusal to connect with their own buried divinity, the restless minds of humans never failed to surprise him.

  Screens lined the walls, all of them flashing bright displays of rapidly changing locations, and a sophisticated computer station curled around the room, gleaming with lights and yet more embedded screens, these streaming with rows of information. Against the far wall was a plateglass case filled with yet more artifacts: a battered spear, several chalices, a pair of silver gauntlets, and dainty reliquaries of smoked glass—all of them appearing far more precious than Lester’s gallery stash. His prized possessions, Finn realized, secrets within secrets. Flanking the display case were shelves of weapons, lined up with almost as much pride as the riches under glass.

  The juxtaposition of ancient artifacts and modern technology and weapons was not lost on Finn. Mankind was not leaving behind the mythology of their past, but seeking to incorporate it, belief informing science, science clarifying belief. What would another few hundred years bring to this race, he wondered, if they were left to develop on their own?

  Assuming they didn’t kill themselves first.

  Something flickered within him, the barest memory. Then it was gone.

  “My apologies.” Lester said, noting Finn’s expression. He turned and pulled out a remote from his jacket, systematically punching the keys while screens flickered off. “I forget how jarring this must be if you’re not used to it,” he said.

  Finn didn’t speak as Lester shut down four of the six screens. The two that remained were scanning crowds visiting several different types of stone monuments—Stonehenge, Mayan and Egyptian pyramids, the ruins of the Parthenon. He had seen these places before—when they had been whole, unbroken, shining examples of wealth and beauty for civilization. For all of their advancements, time had passed brutally for humans, history ground under the heel of conquest.

  “What are you looking for?” Finn asked.

  “Nothing specific, I assure you. These are simply routine satellite feeds,” Lester said. “I keep the system on around the clock.” He spoke nervously as he moved about the room, cutting the power to other text-based screens. “Opening the door takes it out of standby mode, and I neglected to power it down when I was down here a short while ago. An old man’s nerves, I daresay,” he said, chuckling.

  Finn raised his brows, aware that Lester’s fussing was covering more than the man’s idle chatter. Two of the cameras in the far corners of the room had been switched on, trained on the space in front of the glass. “You have the list here?” Finn asked, noting the elevator again. The indicator light gleamed behind the number 2. Someone was coming up.

  “Of course, of course,” Lester said, not denying that the document Finn had come for was a list. Still, his gaze was hyperfocused, and Finn tensed, his body settling into combat mode. He’d been told that Lester would be expecting him with open arms, but the human was nervous. On edge. And Finn knew mortals too well not to know what those signs meant.

  “What’s wrong, Lester?” he asked, keeping his voice casual. “What is it you need to tell me?”

  Lester’s face fell, his fingers curling around the remote. “I trust you implicitly, but I alone have been blessed with contact. None of the other members of the society has,” he said. “First, the vision before solstice…now this. I cannot apologize enough, but our caution is part of the protocols established when our organization was founded. We simply must be sure.”

  Finn covered his surprise, balancing on the balls of his feet. What vision—what society? Something else the archangel had not warned him about. He was beginning to wonder how much he knew about Lester after all.

  Lester flinched as if he’d been slapped as the elevator door swished open, and Finn turned to the sound of a half-dozen men pounding into the room—running straight at him, weapons drawn.

  Finn read the attackers instantly. All six were human, which made things complicated. They were young, fit, almost too eager, with the air of men pent up too long waiting for a reason to fight. Four of them barreled straight for him; two more hung back with impressive armfuls of guns. To Finn, the men moved as if in slow motion, which made his job both easier and more difficult—easier to dispatch them, more difficult to keep from hurting them.

  He connected with the first pair of attackers and lifted one by the force of his return blows, slinging him into the other man. The flanking pair ran into each other as he stepped forward, and they spun around, anger shimmering in their auras. His speed had surprised them, their eyes unable to track his movements, and he de
livered a series of jabs before they could regroup. The crunch of bones grated on his nerves as he connected with his targets, but the exertion brought a refreshing rush to his senses.

  The four assailants scrabbled back, resetting their positions. Two of the men seemed more muscular, brute-force men—typical bodyguards. But the others were leaner, though well muscled, light enough on their feet to demonstrate that they were versed in martial arts. And the men with the guns were lighter still, untested, fresh recruits not quite yet up to the task of hand-to-hand combat.

  Finn braced himself as the men regrouped and raced toward him. A test of my speed and strength, then, he thought. To prove I am something more than human.

  He grinned. Fair enough.

  Two of the men circled behind him, and he allowed them to set up their position at his back. He crouched and turned as the first man leapt, punching the man sharply in the abdomen. He was careful not to break any ribs, but it was a close thing. The second man, he dispatched with a swift punch to the jaw. Then he launched himself past them to one of the gunmen, reaching forward to twist the rifle out of the man’s hands.

  The gunner didn’t have martial arts knowledge and tried to resist, the sound of his breaking wrist causing Finn to wince. He yanked the gun up and back, pointing it away from the men, and unloaded a round into the far wall. Then he slapped it down into position again. He didn’t know this weapon, but firing it was easier than it looked. He caught sight of the man to his right lunging forward, and thrust his foot out to the side with a sharp crack, taking the man down as he twisted and pinned the final gunner in the face with his rifle. Undaunted, the gunman maintained his position, aiming at a point two centimeters above Finn’s nose. He didn’t know that Finn could beat the bullet. He only believed that he—for the moment—had the upper hand.

  But no arrogance flowed through his surprisingly bright aura. No fear. Just a calm certainty of success. Odd, for so young a man. Odd, and interesting.

  “I’m not exactly sure how to use this weapon,” Finn said. “But I think at this range, you don’t want me to practice on you.”

  The kid facing him—and he was little more than a boy, maybe eighteen at best—narrowed his clear blue eyes as the first sparks of indignation surfaced within them. His aura shifted and suddenly became even brighter, clearer. It was almost as bright as Dana’s had been in the heat of the street battle. Finn had thought then that it was merely the result of the adrenaline jacking through a mortal, but the other soldiers’ auras were nowhere near this bright. He frowned, allowing his sensory net to expand. It crept forward, threading through the thoughts of the men on the ground, then pushed against an unexpected barrier. Almost as if—

  “Drop the weapon, Timothy,” Lester said sharply, cutting through his focus. “The rest of you, stand down.”

  Without hesitation, the young man named Timothy lowered his gun and assumed a ready stance, and only then did the others rise silently. They stood in formation, professionally stone-faced, awaiting Lester’s command. Finn stepped back as well, straightening the sleeves of his dinner jacket before assessing their injuries.

  A broken wrist. Damaged ribs. A quadriceps muscle so deeply bruised that the reality of the hit wasn’t even going to strike the man for another six hours. Finn could heal them, but he wouldn’t put it past Lester to set the men on him again. And he had no patience for another test.

  “We’ve spent eight hundred years in hiding,” Lester said quietly beside him. “You must understand.”

  Finn turned to appraise Lester. He was no longer apologetic, he was relieved. And even more excited than before. Hiding from what?

  Finn held up the assault rifle. “How do I use this?”

  “Timothy,” Lester said curtly. The second gunman strode forward, his mind remaining closed to Finn’s touch. In quiet, succinct tones, he explained the operation of the rifle he referred to as an XM8-hybrid.

  “These never made it into production,” Lester commented after Timothy went through the firing process of the rifle without actually shooting it. There was a new inflection in Lester’s voice, a hardness that Finn had missed before. That was new, he thought, Lester’s persona slipping as his own excitement ratcheted up. “They were considered too hot, too untested. Politically unfeasible. But we were able to improve upon the prototype behind the scenes. We’re pleased with the results.” He looked up, surveying the damage to the far wall, and nodded.

  Finn let his gaze linger on the man. The archangel would not be pleased to know that humans believed they could test the Fallen…or demons, for that matter. He wondered idly if he would include that in his report. A part of him appreciated the initiative Lester and his recruits were taking…a part of him recognized the danger of it.

  “Go,” Lester said as Timothy finished his explanation and stepped back. The boy didn’t ask for the gun back, and Finn didn’t offer it. The room cleared almost as quickly as it had filled, and Finn stared hard at the blood on the floor. He’d connected with mortal flesh, breaking bones, opening skin. It was not why he’d come here.

  Lester held up the remote again and pressed another button, and the entire wall of glass moved, allowing Finn full access to the computer consoles. There was a small conference table in front of the machines, a few heavy books stacked upon it. Lester pulled a chair out from the table, looking up when Finn didn’t move.

  “I wish we had more time,” Lester said, pressing his fingers into the soft ebony leather of the chair.

  Finn scowled at him, his nerves firing. There was too much going on here that he didn’t understand. Danger hung behind every blinking light, with every nervous twitch of Lester’s fingers. “How much time do you need to hand me a list of information?”

  Lester took a deep breath and shook his head. He bowed slightly to Finn. “I’m afraid I’ve angered you,” he said quietly. “And that was never my intention. Truly, we are blessed by your visitation. We stand ready to serve as God’s right arm, exactly as you instructed.”

  Finn stiffened. “What were you told of me, and when?”

  “It was a week—ten days ago. A dream. The most glorious dream you could ever imagine, telling me to send my emissary on solstice night to claim a special gift, and meanwhile, to make ready our most precious truth,” Lester said, and his face lit up at the memory. “And then that night, after Dana confirmed she was on her way with the artifact without issue, I received another vision—that an angel of the Lord would come to see all that we had prepared.”

  Solstice, Finn thought. Right. The veil was so very thin on solstice night, there would be no better time to impress such images upon a mortal. And Finn had been in Canada, saving Dana from possessed dire wolves…something that had been conveniently omitted from Lester’s second vision. So someone else had been jerking Lester’s chain—had to be Bartholomew.

  “I was told that you would come for our soldiers,” Lester continued, rapt. “That the fight for humanity’s survival may finally be joined.”

  Finn blew out a long breath. “Soldiers,” he said. Only Finn had beaten Bartholomew at his own game and gotten here first.

  “We have been waiting so long for you.” Lester repeated, the words some sort of mantra or prayer. His fingers gripped the chair again, digging into the expensive leather. “We will support you. But there are many who would try to kill you, if they knew who and what you were. I can tell you everything you need to know.” Lester gestured to the chair beside him. “The army of God is yours to command.”

  This time, Finn sat with him, more heavily than he’d intended. Lester had assembled an army of God? To, what, fight the demons that’d recently come through the veil? They’d mobilized that quickly?

  No. That was impossible.

  “An army to fight who?” Finn asked.

  Lester shrugged, his eyes drifting toward the computer consoles. “There are always those who believe that man should not aspire to God’s service. They seek to destroy all that we
have done, the lives that we have saved. Generations change, but still they come.”

  “And the men who attacked you and Dana eight weeks ago?”

  Lester shook his head. “Despite what Dana said, I don’t think they were a part of this. They never got the chance to explain what they wanted,” he said with a wry smile. “But Dana proved her worth that night a hundredfold.” His eyes shifted to Finn, then away again. “Did she, ah, tell you about it?”

  “She told me enough. Four men in a parking garage. She was shot, the bullet shattering bone—”

  Lester sat up sharply. “She knew her tibia was broken? How? What did she say specifically?” he demanded. Clearly, Lester hadn’t given Dana an accurate rundown of her injuries—and she’d trusted her uncle enough not to question him. Finn schooled his features into ambivalence, suppressing emotions he wasn’t used to feeling. Rage. Possession. The urge to defend.

  “No. I could tell it, though, from touching her.”

  Lester seemed to accept this, and Finn pressed on. “There’s no way she didn’t realize how messed up she was, though, at least on some level. There were doctors, nurses, around her. Not to mention her own family…” Finn narrowed his eyes. “You paid them off. All of them. To lie to her about the fact that her bone had shattered. That’s completely insane.” And borderline criminal, he suspected. But mostly insane.

  Lester sat back in his chair. “She’d never been badly injured before. It was the only opportunity we could test her healing process, and we didn’t want her to know the extent of her injuries, for fear her mind might stall her recovery.” He shook his head in wonder. “She surpassed all our expectations. She has come back stronger, with no trauma, no side effects. We even cut her painkillers during her rehabilitation, unknown to her. She barely even flinched.”

  And in that moment, Finn knew, even if he couldn’t read the old man’s mind. Lester’s attitude toward Dana, his treatment of her and his disdain, were not the hallmarks of the close family bond that Lester affected. How many lies had he woven, and for how long? “She’s not your niece,” Finn said.