by Vox Day
“Baron, allow me to present the Archon Bruciarsofirael, Lord of the Southwest Suburbs and bodyguard to Prince Bloodwinter himself!” Pandaema’s voice was filled with cocksure triumph. “Archon, the archangel Balazel.”
The archon nodded stiffly, and, Melusine thought, without much going on in the comprehension department.
“Greetings, Balazel.”
He was polite, though. Give him some credit for that, anyhow.
“Greetings, Archon,” the obese archdemon replied in kind. “Since I bear you no ill will, I must warn you that this is no affair of yours. You have my permission to leave this place before you come to harm.”
“Any harm!” Pandaema snorted in disbelief. “In case you didn’t notice, Balazel, Brucio is an archon. Get it? I don’t know where you come from, but you better get your fat buttocks back there in a hurry before he starts smacking you around!”
“Oh, is that so?” Balazel smiled. “You tell me, Brucio. Speak for yourself.”
Lord Bruciarsoforael glanced at Pandaema. When the short Temptress nodded, he dutifully turned back to Balazel and confirmed her threats.
“Yes,” he said simply.
The archon began to change as he spoke. His head thickened and grew wider, as his nose and jaw stretched forward. His shoulders swelled, and his robes fell away as white fur began to sprout all over his body, except for his belly, which transformed into scaled silver armor. In a matter of seconds, Bruciarsoforael’s Aspect had changed completely, into an imposing six-armed lionman. His eyes still lacked intelligence, but there was an alertness that had not been there before, the raw cunning of the killer.
Melusine began to edge slowly backwards, hoping to reach the stairs before the inevitable fight broke out. But Balazel still didn’t react, despite his danger, he simply sat in his chair like a massive slug. It was as if the archdemon was too stupid or too filled with fear to even speak, much less move.
Finally, he lifted his glass and emptied its contents down his throat.
“Very well,” he said, and he began to roll back his sleeves, exposing a colorful tattoo on each of his obesely swollen forearms. “I did warn you, archon. Remember that as you make your way back from the Beyond.”
Balazel raised his arms, and without warning, iridescent lightning leaped from his hands. No, not from his hands, but his wrists, Melusine realized, seeing that his arms were suddenly bare. The tattoos had come to life and they weren’t tattoos after all, but snakes, rainbow-colored dragons, whose venomous fangs were now buried in the throats of both Pandaema and her archon.
Pandaema screamed and was gone at once in a feeble puff of green smoke. The archon, far more powerful than the Temptress, lingered longer, roaring with agony as he stumbled violently away from Lord Balazel. Melusine had to leap sideways to avoid being run over as the archon lurched past her, his Aspect dissipating as he desperately tried to pry the lethal snake off of him. His strength failed him at last, and he collapsed to his knees with a final wailing groan before disappearing into the void himself.
Melusine grinned to herself, and fell to her knees, placing her forehead on the sticky floor of the bar without hesitation. She didn’t understand everything that was happening, not yet, but things were starting to make a lot more sense to her now.
“Lord Kaym, I did not know you,” she confessed to the demon lord. “Forgive your humble servant, Great Lord!”
She dared to look up, and saw Kaym had abandoned his unfamiliar Aspect in favor of a form that she knew well. As the deadly snakes returned to his exposed arms, he leaned back in his chair, as coldly handsome and arrogant as ever. He grinned at her and slipped on his Raybans, then tugged at the sleeves of his leather jacket, pulling them down so they covered all but the heads of the dragon tattoos.
“You can’t say I didn’t warn that silly archon,” he told her, running a slender hand through his black hair. “And as for you, my dear, there is nothing to forgive, as long as you keep silent about me. There will be others arriving, some of whom are known to you, but no one else, Divine or Fallen, may know their true natures.”
“Yes, Great Lord,” Melusine assured him.
“I told Christopher he would see me again,” the fallen angel mused aloud. “But the boy will know nothing until the time and place of my choosing.”
Kaym’s disdainful lips twisted sideways in what was either a sneer or a sardonic grin. Melusine couldn’t tell which it was because the fallen angel’s eyes were impossible to read, hidden as usual behind their casing of black plastic.
Chapter 11
Where is Father Brown?
I tell you naught for your comfort,
Naught for your desire,
Save that the sky grows darker yet
And the sea rises higher.
—G.K. Chesterton, Ballad of the White Horse
Jami made sure she had a firm grasp on the handrail as she stumbled sleepily down the stairs. The blinding rays of light coming in the window that arced over the front door caught her squarely in the eyes as she turned the corner of the landing, and she raised a hand to her face in a feeble attempt to block out the fierce morning sun. It had taken her ages to fall asleep last night; even when she had, her dreams were haunted by images of cars and trucks and other monstrous vehicles, all flashing past her as she stood, naked, helpless, and alone, on the centerline of a dark, featureless highway.
More than once she’d woken with a violent start and found herself damp with sweat, with a scream threatening to erupt from her throat. Then she would lie motionless in the darkness, clutching her pillow tightly, desperately willing her exhausted body to please just relax and fall asleep. After fitful hours of drifting in and out of consciousness, she’d dozed off at last and the haunting nightmares, their evil work accomplished, finally left her in peace.
Oh man. Jami groaned out loud when she saw the green-numbered time on the microwave. It couldn’t be twelve-thirty already, could it? There was no way, her mind protested, but then she remembered how the sun had caught her eyes coming down the stairs. It was pretty high in the sky. She glanced at her watch, which confirmed the microwave’s implacable statement. Twelve-thirty, Sunday. She’d just missed church, doggone it!
So why didn’t Holli or Christopher wake her up? It wasn’t her fault she’d slept in, after all, she’d dragged Christopher’s lazy behind out of bed before. Her righteous indignation quickly washed away any momentary sense of guilt that was nibbling at her conscience, and she marched through the foyer with a strong feeling that if anyone deserved a nice, leisurely breakfast on Sunday morning, it was her.
But she was surprised when she walked into the kitchen and discovered she wasn’t alone after all. Holli was sitting at the table, drinking a glass of orange juice and staring out at the backyard. She was dressed, although far too casually for church, and her blonde curls were tied back in a loose ponytail.
“It’s funny,” Holli told her without turning around. “One day, everything is brown, and it’s cold and yucky. Then all of a sudden, it’s just, like, green! Whoever named it spring was right. It’s a sneaky kind of season, don’t you think?”
Jami groaned again and rubbed her eyes. She didn’t know if she could handle a philosophical discussion this early in the morning. Not that it actually was before noon, but her body was definitely still in a state of morning.
Holli abruptly put her glass down and reached out to squeeze Jami’s left hand.
“That was awful, what happened last night. I’m so glad you’re okay! Christopher said not to wake you—he thought you might need the sleep today.”
Jami nodded, and tried to stifle a yawn, but failed.
“Rrrrrraaaahhh,” she arched her back and stretched her arms out, then yawned again. “Yeah, I guess I did. I swear, I could go back to bed right now! And hey, what are you still doing here? Did you stay out too late with Eric?”
She peered closely at Holli’s face, looking for a clue as to how her sister’s date had gone. But there was
nothing except mild concern and sympathy in her sister’s eyes, until she mentioned Eric's name. Then Holli looked away, and Jami wondered if she might actually be blushing.
“No!” Holli insisted. “That’s not it at all. It’s just that I told Mrs. Bennett I’d help her with the costumes tonight. She should be here any minute. The children are practicing for the Easter play, so I just thought I’d go to the evening service after we finish making the banners and stuff.” She clapped her hands. “You should come with! I found this design for a bunny outfit and there’s a little duck one too, oh, it’s going to be so cute if we can only find the right felt!”
Jami recoiled with horror from her sister’s avalanche of enthusiasm. It was just too much, too soon. She wasn’t going anywhere today if she could help it. Opening the refrigerator, she poured herself a tall glass of orange juice, but instead of drinking it, she closed her eyes and held it to her forehead. The cool touch of the glass felt wonderful. It was just like a little kiss of winter.
“Bunnies and ducks? No thanks!” she declared fervently. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”
“I think they’re having brunch at the club.”
Hmmm, brunch actually sounded pretty good. Chef-made waffles would hit the spot. Whipped cream! Maple syrup! Too bad she couldn’t drive yet, or maybe she’d go join them. Then a thought occurred to her and she opened one eye.
“This is the Church’s Easter play, right?”
Holli stared blankly at her.
“Yeah?”
“So what’s with the ducks and bunnies? You remember, there’s also, like, Jesus and the cross, the Resurrection, you know, all that stuff?”
“Of course! That’s the whole point of the play, you see, how Easter egg hunts and that sort of thing aren’t the important part of Easter. Jesus is!” But then Holli grinned and her blue eyes sparkled with anticipation. “Still, those costumes are really going to be soooo cute on the children! Joshua’s going to be a duck, and he’s such a little cutie!”
Well, he probably would be, Jami admitted to herself as she drained half her OJ in a single long swig. The citrus tang jolted her to a slightly higher level of consciousness, and she felt almost ready to deal with the cereal boxes in the pantry. Almost, but not quite.
Ding-dong ding-dong, ding-dong ding dong. The grandfather clock in the front entryway chimed its familiar melody, and Holli was up and racing for the front door.
“Mrs. Bennett,” she explained unnecessarily. “Gotta go… bye!”
“Bye,” Jami waved at her sister’s back. Even that small effort made her feel worn out.
She listened as the closet door creaked open and closed, as Holli searched for a jacket, then heard the front door jerked open. It was slammed shut with a deep wooden thud, echoed by two noisy bangs as the storm door bounced once before finally finding its latch.
Thankful for the silence of solitude, Jami took a deep breath and found the energy to open the pantry door. The pickings were slim, as they usually were on weekends. Mom always went to Rainbow on Mondays; they had specials then or something. This morning, her options were down to Raisin Bran, Rice Krispies, or Dad’s weird granola-ish stuff that came in a brown box.
Mueslix, it was, according to the label. She shook the box, wondering if she dared to give it a try. It rattled, making a sound that made her think of twigs and crushed leaves. Ish! She decided to go the safe route with Snap, Krackle and Pop, only to discover, when she picked up the box, that it was empty except for a few stray pieces that had found their way between the cardboard and the plastic liner.
“Christopher, you jerk, one of these days…” she said, glaring at the blue box.
She knew it was him. How many times had she told him? How hard could it possibly be, to throw the stupid box away when it’s empty? She briefly considered holding onto it and using it as evidence to confront him, but finally just threw it away. What was the point? He’d just shrug and apologize, and do the same thing again next week. Grrrr!
Oh well, Raisin Bran it was. It took a while to pick out all the raisins, but once you did that and added a heaping spoonful of sugar, Raisin Bran wasn’t half bad. It tasted a lot like Bran Flakes that way. She poured herself a good-sized bowl, carefully sorted out the raisins, then sat down to read the Sunday comics while she ate.
Jami was just finishing her cereal when the telephone rang. She wearily pushed herself away from the table and took the white portable off its little stand.
“Hello?”
“Hey, James, you’re up!” It was Christopher. “Hey, come meet us at the Caribou.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
She had a whole boatload of reasons why she wasn’t about to go meet her brother there, and one of the better ones was that she didn’t drink coffee, or any of the multitude of beverages they served at the coffeehouse which contained the poisonous stuff.
“And who’s us?” she demanded.
“I’m with Pastor Ladd, and one of the guys on the council of elders, Mr. Powell. Come on, it’s important!”
“Powell? Who’s that?”
“Ed Powell, you know who he is.” Christopher’s voice crackled on the line; it wasn’t a very good connection. “Tall skinny guy, mustache, he’s like a researcher on angelic warfare and that kind of thing.”
Okay, Jami nodded. She knew who her brother was talking about now.
“Where are you?” she said. “There’s a lot of static or something. I can barely hear you.”
“No, that’s just the traffic on ninety-six. I’m on the pay phone in the parking lot by the cleaners.”
“So you’re already there?”
“Yeah, so you’ll have to bike up and meet us.”
“I don’t know….”
“Come on, I’ll buy you a smoothie!” Christopher promised her. “And I’ve got the bike rack on the back, so you don’t have to bike back.”
Jami frowned. Her brother didn’t often try to talk her into things, and even though the Caribou wasn’t far from their house, biking in the hot spring sun was pretty much the last thing she wanted to do. Still, if Pastor Ladd was involved, it was probably important.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” she said. “I’m not even dressed yet.”
“Cool,” Christopher said, and hung up.
“Bye,” she told the humming phone. She pressed the button to disconnect the line. “Oh, and nice phone etiquette, big brother.”
She put her hands to her forehead and sighed. All she wanted was a quiet, lazy day, and now she had to leave the house already. Which led her to her next problem. Were pastors cool with spandex tanks?
To her surprise, she actually enjoyed the ten-minute ride up to the North Oaks strip mall. The sun wasn’t quite as hot as she’d expected it to be, and there was a nice cool breeze that kept her from sweating like a pig. The mall wasn’t a bad place, considering that it was pretty much your basic strip mall. It had all the necessities of suburban life; a movie rental place, a cleaners, an Italian restaurant with white plastic chairs on the sidewalk, and a bakery. Since it catered to the la-di-da ladies of North Oaks, there was also a jewelry store that somehow managed to stay open despite the fact that no one ever went in there, as well as a fancy butcher shop.
Jami leaned her bike against the front window of Bruegger’s, the bagel shop next to the coffeehouse, and ran her forearm across her forehead. She wasn’t too sweaty, but she still needed to run some cold water over her face to be presentable. She pushed the glass door open, and immediately spotted her brother sitting next to Pastor Ladd. His youthful face lit up with recognition as she walked towards them, and he stood up and extended his hand.
“Hi, Jami, I’m Pastor Glen. Your brother told me about you and I couldn’t place the name, but I recognize you now! You’re one of those girls I prayed for this winter, aren’t you? It was during one of the Saturday night services.
“Um, yeah,” Jami said, shaking his hand uncertainly. “Nice to see you again. Would you excuse
me for a moment?”
She walked past the line of people waiting to pick up their coffees and knocked on the bathroom door at the far end of the shop. No one answered, so she opened the door and turned the water on. She waited for a second, then splashed several handfuls on her face. There, that was much better. She stared at her dripping face in the mirror and found herself wishing she’d worn more than the tank top and biker shorts.
Well, what could you do. She splashed one more cool handful of water on her face, then dried herself with the little brown paper towels. By the time she returned to the table, Mr. Powell had joined the others, and a covered white paper cup was sitting in front of the only unclaimed chair.
“Is that mine?” she asked.
“It is indeed,” Mr. Powell said in a surprisingly rich voice. He was a tall, gaunt man with reddish-brown hair and a mustache. “Have a seat. I’m Ed, so you must be Jami.”
“Yeah, nice to meet you,” she said, and sat down quickly. “So what’s up?”
“This,” Christopher said, waving the Star Tribune’s Metro section in her face. “Did you see this?” he practically shouted at her. “Did you see it?”
“Settle down, Beavis,” she snapped back, as she slapped away the paper. “See what?”
Christopher bobbed his head back and forth in excitement, and placed his own smoothie on a nearby table so he could spread out the newspaper in front of everyone.
“There!” he jabbed at a small story at the bottom of the third page. “Read that!”
“Fridley man killed in single-car accident,” Ed Powell read out loud. “Jeremy Hinz, twenty-three, was pronounced dead at the scene of the accident late Saturday night in Mounds View. His pickup truck was driving north on Highway Ten before it left the road and struck the 35W overpass. A toxicology report will be conducted by the local examiner over the weekend….”
There wasn’t a picture; the accident had happened too late for that. But even without a picture to identify the truck, the location made it obvious. Jami looked up at her brother.