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The Paradise Prophecy

Page 26

by Robert Browne


  “Then who is it?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question isn’t it?”

  “But if you don’t know who it is,” Callahan said, “how do you protect anyone?”

  “By protecting the key. The key that frees her.”

  “And where is this key?”

  Philip shook his head and gestured to their cups. “I’m done being friendly. I think it’s time for you two to drink your tea and get out of here. Let me have my last hours in peace.”

  But Batty wouldn’t let up. “Tell us about the key, Brother.”

  Philip drained the last of his cup and got to his feet. “Sorry, but that’s all you’ll get out of me. Right now, I’m just trying to protect myself.” He lifted the gun from the table. “They can come after me, but I’m not going down without a fight. So if you two don’t mind, I’d like to-”

  Thunder rumbled outside and the temple floor began to shake. Violently. Batty and Callahan grabbed their chairs as Brother Philip stumbled back, his face going slack.

  “She’s here,” he said.

  Batty felt a sudden darkness spread through him. “Who’s here?” But he could already feel her.

  “Who do you think? Their enforcer. The angel of confusion.” Callahan furrowed her brow. “The angel of what?”

  “You lead her right to me…”

  Belial, Batty thought. The Demon of Lust. The Lord of Pride. One of the players in Paradise Lost. And Batty had a very strong feeling that she was currently inhabiting this earth as a drop-dead gorgeous, tongue-wagging, coma-inducing redhead.

  Is that who he’d been dealing with?

  Thunder rumbled again and the floor rolled beneath them. Pieces of the ceiling began to crumble and fall and Callahan shouted, “Let’s get out of here. Go!”

  But Brother Philip just stood there, frozen in place, as the temple crumbled around them. Callahan grabbed his arm, then yanked him around the table and through the doors as Batty snatched up his book bag and followed. The floor chattered and cracked, and he stumbled, nearly going down; but managed to stay upright and barreled out the door, dodging chunks of stone as he went.

  And as they reached the main room, they stopped cold, staring wide-eyed at a woman standing in the open doorway, silhouetted against the malevolent sky.

  She smiled. Stared directly at Batty.

  “I have a little bone to pick with you.”

  The redhead. And despite himself, Batty felt a sudden tingling in his loins.

  She was mesmerizing.

  “That wasn’t very nice what you did to me on that plane,” she said.

  “After all we’ve been to each other, I’d think you’d show me a little more respect.”

  Visions of their night together filled his head, and he knew she was doing this to him. Feeding these images into his brain. He tried to resist, but her hold on him was strong, and he could feel himself giving in to her.

  She gestured to his book bag. “You can start by giving me that manuscript. I think it might be just what I’ve been looking for.”

  The temple rocked again, parts of the wall crumbling, and Batty clutched the book bag to his side, mustering up every bit of his will. “Forget it,” he said.

  “Come on, now, Sebastian. I promise you’ll enjoy the reward…”

  Callahan turned to him now. “Who the hell is this chick?”

  Belial shifted her gaze. “You don’t recognize me, Bernadette? I’m the one who sang you to sleep today. I sang your daddy to sleep, too.”

  Her smiled widened.

  As Batty watched, Callahan’s expression shifted from confusion to realization then to outright fury.

  Then she said, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

  With a shriek of rage, she took a flying, headlong leap at Belial, but Belial seemed to have anticipated this. She sidestepped and swung an arm out, hitting Callahan with an invisible blow. It knocked her sideways, into a pillar, and she hit it with a grunt, dropping to the floor.

  The dark clouds behind Belial rumbled and rolled. “The manuscript, Sebastian. Give me the manuscript.”

  “Why do you want it? What’s in it?”

  “A guarantee,” she said. “But that’s not your concern, is it? Just give it to me now, or I’ll hurt your little-”

  A gunshot rang out. Then another.

  Batty jerked his head around and Brother Philip had his pistol raised, shakily aiming it at Belial. The bullets ricochet around her and he adjusted his aim and fired again. The third bullet rocketed straight toward Belial and she shot a hand in the air, catching it in her palm.

  “Quaint,” she said, then suddenly whipped the hand out, flinging the bullet right back at Brother Philip. A dark red hole opened up between his eyes, and he slumped to his knees, the gun slipping from his fingers.

  He croaked once, then fell forward onto his face.

  Thunder rumbled and the floor shifted again, Batty struggling to maintain his balance as he looked in horror at Philip’s body.

  “Such a shame,” Belial said. “I so wanted to have some fun with him.” She looked at Batty. “Last chance, Sebastian. Give me the manuscript or-”

  Callahan came out of nowhere. A flying tackle straight to Belial’s gut. The redhead screeched as Callahan wrapped her arms around her, and the two tumbled through the doorway and down the steps, disappearing from view.

  The floor shifted and swayed as more debris showered down around Batty. Staggering toward Brother Philip, he snatched up the gun and ran outside.

  Callahan and Belial were at the bottom of the steps, Callahan straddling her now, reaching for her throat. But then, in the blink of an eye, Belial vanished, and Callahan tumbled forward. A split second later, Belial was behind her, delivering a kick to Callahan’s ribs.

  Callahan grunted and tumbled sideways. But to Batty’s surprise, she was on her feet again in an instant, bringing her arms up in a combat stance. Batty had seen what she’d done to Ajda, but Belial wasn’t any sycophant and wouldn’t be so easily tamed. Still, the body she occupied was human-and built for seduction, not fighting-and she could feel pain just like anyone else.

  He considered using the manuscript on her again, but she was so entrenched in this particular skin that he doubted it would have any effect on her. And he didn’t want to risk her taking it away from him. She seemed to believe that there was something special about it, that it had some special power-a guarantee, she’d said-and he’d be damned if he put that power in her hands.

  As she lunged for Callahan, he raised the pistol, aimed for her back, then squeezed off a shot. It hit home and Belial grunted, stumbling forward, blood pumping out from a hole just below her shoulder blade. Batty thought he’d feel joy in putting a bullet into the creature who had killed his wife, but it was a joyless act.

  All he felt was contempt.

  Belial whirled and glared at him, her eyes angrier than he’d ever seen them-a hot, luminescent yellow. Then the ground began to shake harder than ever, chunks of stone breaking away from the temple walls and shooting out like mortar fire, slamming into the earth around him. She swiped an arm in his direction and the impact to his chest was as sharp and painful as if she’d delivered the blow directly. The gun went flying as he tumbled back onto the temple steps, the wind knocked out of him.

  Taking advantage of the moment, Callahan advanced on Belial and swung out, landing a solid punch to her throat. Belial made a gagging sound and staggered back, grabbing her neck-

  – but Callahan kept moving forward. She shifted her body sideways and kicked out, the sole of her boot landing smack in the middle of Belial’s gut.

  Across the yard, the pilot-McNab-was climbing out of the helicopter, staring at them in utter disbelief.

  Even from this distance, Batty could see the panic in his eyes, and he knew what was coming next. He tried to call out to McNab, but no words would come, he could barely breathe.

  Then McNab scrambled back into the helicopter, and a moment later, the whine o
f its engines filled the air as the rotors started whirling.

  He was about to leave them behind.

  “Stop!” Batty shouted, finally able to breathe, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of the rotors and the rumbling of the sky.

  Chunks of the temple showered down around them as Callahan continued her assault, fueled by anger, punching and kicking, knocking Belial back.

  But Belial wasn’t close to being down or out, and she suddenly vanished-

  – only to reappear behind Callahan again.

  Then Belial was advancing, waving her hand like a wand, each wave sending a jolt of energy in Callahan’s direction, Callahan grunting and stumbling, trying to recover but finding it harder and harder with each new blow.

  Batty spotted the gun where it had fallen and clamored across the steps, reaching for it, getting it in his grip. Pulling himself upright, he aimed again and squeezed the trigger-

  – but the gun clicked. Empty.

  Shit.

  And now Callahan was on the ground, and he could see that she was weakening. She tried to strike out, but Belial knocked her back with another invisible blow. Then the redhead moved forward and stood over Callahan, blood pouring from the wound below her shoulder blade.

  Raising her voice so that she could be heard over the roar of the rotors, she said, “Give me the manuscript, Sebastian, or I’ll rip her head off and drink her fucking blood.”

  And Batty had no doubt she’d do it. No doubt at all.

  But then something unexpected happened.

  Batty heard a sound, a soft plock that registered just below the whine of the chopper blades. Belial’s eyes went blank and she stumbled forward slightly, as if buffeted by a sudden wind.

  Then she turned, and he could plainly see the hole in the back of her head, a small trickle of blood seeping from it, turning her copper-colored hair a darker shade of red. He hadn’t seen an exit wound, so he could only assume the bullet was lodged in her brain-or what was left it. The impact had surely mushroomed through her skull, destroying everything in its path.

  Then another shot rang out, hitting her in the cheek, spinning her around, the side of her face turning into raw, bloody hamburger. A third shot quickly followed, putting a hole through the back of her neck, and she dropped to her knees, her eyes now filled with shock and rage and dismay.

  It took Batty a moment to figure out where the gunfire was coming from. Swiveling his head, he looked toward the helicopter.

  Across the yard, McNab lay on his belly, a sniper rifle in hand. He smiled, as if satisfied by a job well done, but Belial suddenly screeched and swept an arm through the air.

  A chunk of the temple broke free, rocketed across the yard like a small comet and slammed into the helicopter’s gas tank.

  As McNab jumped to his feet, the chopper exploded in a ball of fire behind him. He screamed as the flames enveloped him, instantly turning him into a roasted human marshmallow. Then he slammed to the ground and stopped moving.

  The concussion lifted the helicopter several feet into the air, then it dropped back down, landing on its side, its rotors snapping as the flames quickly gutted it.

  And as they burned away, Belial teetered a moment, turning to Batty, her eyes now full of sadness, a fountain of blood pouring from the hole in her neck and down the side of her face. Then she toppled onto her back, the blood spreading on the ground beneath her.

  As he slowly regained his senses, Batty staggered to his feet, shell-shocked, not quite believing what he’d just witnessed. He stumbled to the bottom of the steps and stood over a broken Belial, once again wondering how he could ever have taken her into his bed.

  After a moment, Callahan got up and stood next to him, her fists involuntarily clinched, as if she were waiting for the bitch to make another move.

  Then Belial’s mouth opened and blood bubbled up on her lips as she tried and failed to speak.

  But Batty heard her voice inside his head.

  This isn’t over, my darling. We’re connected, you and me.

  That was Rebecca’s gift to us…

  Then air escaped from between her lips as the life went out of her eyes and her body abruptly went still, abandoned by its occupant. It was, after all was said and done, just a human vessel, a skin, a means to an end that meant nothing more to her than a wrecked car or a torn dress. She had no use for it now and she was gone.

  A moment later, the rumbling stopped.

  The sky was clear.

  The earth still.

  Even if Batty’s heartbeat wasn’t.

  37

  That old woman with the really long neck is staring at me,” Callahan said.

  They had been hiking for what seemed like hours, following the winding trail down the mountain past the rice fields and the tribal villages, both of them on edge, but exhausted after the debacle at the temple.

  And that’s exactly what it had been. A debacle.

  What else could you call it?

  Two good men were dead, the temple in ruins, a helicopter destroyed, and Batty and Callahan were lucky to have gotten out of there with their souls still intact.

  One of the only blessings to come of it, Batty thought, was the dispatching of Belial-at least in her current human form. But he knew they hadn’t seen the last of her.

  This isn’t over, my darling.

  Belial might not return in the form of knock-’em-dead redhead, but she’d be back, stronger than ever. You could count on it. It would take a lot more than a couple of clueless mortals to destroy her, and all he could think to do was to keep moving forward in hopes they’d get lucky again the next time.

  At least they’d come away from the debacle with a bit of knowledge. Thanks to Brother Philip, they now knew this went well beyond a few calculated attacks against the guardians. There was a plan in motion and it was an ugly one. A plan that would reach its conclusion during the coming eclipse.

  The fourth moon.

  Batty knew about lunar tetrads, knew they were rare, but he’d never considered that there was a power in them that would help Belial and her friends open the gates of hell. And he knew in his gut that this was exactly what they were planning. After years of trying, they had finally harnessed enough corrupted souls to overwhelm all the good in the world and deliver to them the paradise they sought.

  The paradise they had lost.

  But based on what Brother Philip had said, he could only conclude that Saint Michael had a plan of his own. A plan that involved the sacred traveler, whoever that might be.

  A wandering soul. The Telum.

  The word itself was Latin for weapon-which was why he had asked Philip about it-but how could a person be a weapon?

  And what about the key the guardians were protecting? Was its secret somehow hidden in this manuscript he had tucked under his arm?

  Was that why Gabriela and Ozan had worked so hard to decipher it?

  Why Belial had wanted it?

  “She’s really giving me the evil eye,” Callahan said. “Should I be worried?”

  Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Batty looked off to their left where an old tribal woman with gold neck rings was watching them work their way down the trail.

  “I doubt Belial would be able to find a new skin quite that fast. Besides, she’d do a lot more than stare.”

  “You can understand why I’m a little jumpy,” Callahan said. “And I don’t like the way she’s looking at me.”

  “Relax. She’s a Kayan villager. She doesn’t mean you any harm. In fact, if you asked, she’d probably take you into her home and feed you.”

  “Just as long as she doesn’t try feed on me,” Callahan said. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day. And what’s with the neck rings?”

  Batty threw her a glance, surprised that in all of her travels, Callahan hadn’t encountered such a sight before.

  “The Kayan consider an elongated neck a sign of beauty,” he told her. “The rings force the collarbone and ribs to compress an
d make the neck look longer than it really is.”

  “You truly are a font of information, aren’t you? My own personal Internet.” She looked at the Kayan woman again. “How can they do that to themselves?”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you wearing five-inch heels when we went to that auction?”

  Callahan conceded the point with a shrug. “Speaking of which, my feet are killing me. Along with every other part of my body. Let me check to see if I’ve got a signal now. Maybe we can get somebody to pick us up.”

  She stopped and pulled her cell phone out of a pocket, checking the screen and not happy with what she saw.

  “Shit. You’d think if the missionaries can build a temple up here, someone could erect a cell tower.”

  Batty shook his head. “I sometimes wonder how the world survived before those things were invented.”

  “Why don’t we ask the lady with the stretched neck?”

  They were moving through a forest of pines when Batty thought about Milton and the seven missing pages from the Devil’s Bible.

  It was a foregone conclusion now that Milton was a guardian himself-an idea that might seem far-fetched to some, but to Batty’s mind, only made sense. Milton was a deeply religious man and a passionate civil servant who often spoke out against the king. He had almost gotten himself killed for it, and had spent much of the latter days of his life in sightless seclusion, his reputation tarnished. And it wouldn’t be outside his nature to take on the responsibilities of Custodes Sacri, especially if it meant he’d spend those last days in the service of God.

  But Brother Philip had said that the curse on those pages had driven Milton blind-just like Galileo before him. And that Milton had destroyed the pages when he realized how dangerous they were.

  But could any of this be true?

  Could both of these men have had possession of the pages at some point in their lives?

  Philip had said that Galileo had given Milton “the bug,” and Batty knew that the poet had visited the astronomer on his travels through Europe. Had an obsession been born during that visit? An obsession that had eventually been satisfied, only to drive Milton blind?

 

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