Daman’s feet flew over the cold tiles. He ran to behind the altar and saw at once the sprawled body of the priest. There was too much blood on the floor to suggest he would still be alive, but Daman knelt beside him and felt for his pulse. All he needed was a slight movement, a hiccup of a beat. He pressed trembling fingers to ashy-gray, pale skin. There was nothing. The priest had died long enough ago to be cold.
Hanging his head he cursed silently. He heard Pete and Angel’s fast steps coming toward him and stopping behind him. The clutter of their feet echoed into the far reaches of the building.
“Alive?” Pete asked.
Angel bent and stroked the priest’s arm, compassion flooded from her. She gazed up at Daman, unshed tears making her eyes bright. “His body has finished with this life,” Angel said.
Daman sat back on his haunches. Pete pressed his fingers into Daman’s shoulder.
“Looks like he took quite a beating. Bruises on his face. Right arm’s at a strange angle. Poor guy,” Pete said.
“Why? He hurt no one,” Daman said, his voice tight. He kept a stranglehold on his crashing emotions. Smashing anything within reach wouldn’t do any good at all. He clenched his hands into fists, trembling with the effort to keep himself under control.
“Judging by the mess in his rooms, there was something someone wanted. Looks like he kept his mouth shut enough to endure what he was put through.”
Daman rose to his feet, thrusting his hands into his jacket pockets. “Vincent.” Daman spat the name out like phlegm. “He knew we were here after I chased Haki. Angel saved his life. He knows what you can do.” Daman quickly added up the results and didn’t like the outcome. “But what could he have been looking for.”
“The book he showed us,” Angel said. “The Book of Angels. It must be. He had it hidden for years until he took it out and showed us.”
Daman spun around, reeling and lightheaded, to the mantle behind the altar. He pressed the mosaic panel. It slid silently open, revealing the empty cavern. “They’ve been taken. All the books here. All gone.”
“They have the book. Vincent can learn the same things we have from it.” Pete said what Daman didn’t want to hear.
“Look,” Angel said. She leaned over the body of Father Joseph and moved his sleeve. “I can see something on the ground. A mark.”
Daman knelt next to the priest and gently lifted his arm. Blood oozed, caught in the fabric of his sleeve, black and solidifying where it had dried.
“There. Do you see it?” Angel pointed to an arrow that had been painted with blood on the tiles next to the priest’s hand.
Daman flattened the priest’s hand. His pointer finger was stained with blood. A message. His last thoughts had been for them. Even facing death, Father Joseph had thought of others before himself.
The fire in his head spilled into his gut, burning there with a heated passion brought on by pure hate. This was what he needed to feel, this pain, this anger was what he needed to ride. There was going to be retribution, there was going to be justice. He was through with Lepski. He was nothing but scum that needed to be eradicated from the face of the earth.
“Look where the arrow’s pointing to,” Angel said.
Daman knelt with his head touching the floor, looking in the direction of the arrow. Squinting against the dark shadows, he made out a white rectangular shape beneath the mantle and the stone of the floor. It was only about five millimeters wide, but wide enough to hide something that was never to be found.
“Got a flashlight, Pete?”
Pete unclipped his light from his belt and handed it to Daman. He knelt with his head resting on the cold stone and shone the beam of light beneath the altar. “There’s something there. Hand me something I can lever this out with.”
He felt a pen pushed into his hand. Carefully sliding the pen under the crack, he felt the tip come against some resistance. Coming closer to the crack he swiveled the pen so that he revealed a sheet of white paper. It crackled as it slipped over the floor. He finally managed to slip a corner out from under the crack and leveraged out the paper.
It was more a discolored sienna color than white as he’d first thought, very dry and very old. Three edges were gilt gold, the other was rough, as though it had been torn. The writing was not mere letters, each stroke was a work of art, made with the beautiful patient strokes of a master craftsman. In the middle of the writing was the image of an angel painted with bright blues, reds, ochre yellows. Here and there a flick of gold had been added to highlight the raw beauty of the image.
It was of an angel, relaxing with people surrounding and conversing with her. Some were laughing, others drinking from plain ceramic cups. The people and the angel were dressed simply in long, flowing robes of differing colors, cinched at the waist with matching, plaited cords. They wore sandals on their feet. They were grouped, eating from an ample spread set before them. The Angel had been drawn with wings, but they were very faint. Just the whisper of a shadow.
Daman wondered what the writing said. It held no meaning to him, but Angel might recognize the ancient script. “Angel, can you read this?” Daman handed the sheet to Angel. The parchment crinkled as she he passed it to her.
Her eyes widened as she read, her fingers encircled her throat.
“What does it say?” Daman asked. This page was obviously hidden by the good priest. He’d died to protect it. He stood behind Angel, watching the page over her shoulder as she finished reading. He was aware how shallow her breathing had become as the more she read, the more engrossed she’d become. She was lost in thought.
He couldn’t contain himself. “Angel, tell me. What does it say?”
She shook herself and turned to face him. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, glowing a deeper shade of blue in her pale face. “It’s a warning. It says that as long as man had been here, so have angels roamed the earth with them. Angels have walked with men and woman, lived as flesh and blood humans and have chosen to live and die with them.”
Daman nodded. “The Book of Angels had that stated in the chapter we read.”
“Yes, but this tells…” Her eyes were large and round and all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and protect her from the information she’d read. A lick of dread kicked in his guts. Judging by her reaction, this was not going to be good.
“Just tell us and we’ll work around it.” Daman moved beside her and wrapped his arm around her. He kissed her temple. “It’s okay. Just tell me what it says.”
She swallowed, darted a gaze between Daman and Pete. Her voice fell to a whisper. “Three days and three nights. That’s all we have to walk the earth as flesh and blood angels. If the—ceremony—isn’t completed within that time, we will be bound to the earth for eternity. Our bodies will be neither angel nor human.”
The horror in her eyes reached his gut. His fingers that held her, now clutched. She caught Daman’s gaze, “If I can’t return to the eternity I came from, I will be caught here. I won’t be an angel. I won’t be human. I’ll see people live and die with each turning year.” She choked off a heart-wrenching sob. “You’ll die and I’ll still be here. Without you.” Her eyes glistered.
“Does it say any more?”
She shook her head. “That’s the end of the page.” She turned it over. “There’s nothing on the back that identifies with the information on this side.”
Daman took the page from her. “There has to be more. It can’t end like that. Where’s the Book of Angels? We need to find it!” He took the torch and shone it into the crack, sliding the pen up and down the crack. Hope faded when it didn’t strike anything. He sat on his haunches, head bent.
She pressed her hand on his shoulder. Solid and warm, he felt her strength pour into him. “There will be a way.”
He folded his fingers over hers. “This is the end of the third day. If there is no flesh and blood sacrifice tonight, you will be stuck here.”
“The years
I’ll have with you will be worth it,” she said.
Growling, he stood, taking the top of her arms in his fists. “Unless we can be together, love together, grow old together, this is not an answer. Living on earth for eternity, that is the true hell and I will not have it. There has to be more we can do. It can’t end like this. I won’t let it.”
A small, melancholy smile touched her mouth, turning it up at the edges. The gaze in her eyes was aged and wise, and for the first time he glimpsed how ancient she must be. “Your passion is something I’ve always loved about you. The way you say things and they sound like the absolute truth, that you’ll always stand by them.”
That was a surprise. “You’ve only known me for a handful of days. How could you know that about me?”
He felt the tension in her arms. The smile dropped from her mouth. “That was what I was trying to tell you before. I’ve known you…. for longer than the time I’ve been in this body.”
His forehead crinkled into a frown. “How…”
Her hesitation made him drop her arms and stand back. Heat prickled his skin. “What do you mean?”
She opened her mouth, made to speak to him. Hesitated. He knew that whatever that came next between them hinged on her next words. Words, judging by the strain on her face and the tense line of her shoulders, that same stress that radiated from her to him, could fracture or cement what they’d shared.
The door to the church flew open. Dark figures charged in, yelling, threatening, running toward them, guns aimed straight at them. There were six men in total. Two took the left hand aisle, two in the central aisle, and the last two in the right hand aisle. They didn’t waste any time. Daman recognized their professionalism. They knew what they were doing. It left him with little time to think, only to react.
From the corner of his eye, Daman saw Pete draw his gun. A boom echoed in the church. Smoke spat from one of the guns. Pete immediately dropped. Daman might have called his name, but he couldn’t tell for sure. Red on the stone, brighter than the priest’s cold blood. Spreading from beneath Pete’s unmoving body.
A harsh breeze broke around him and Angel soared through the air. Daman couldn’t peel his eyes from her. Her wings were fully extended as she arched through the air and over the altar. Flames flickered from them, oranges, reds, yellows sparked and twisted. Each flame was tipped with bright blue with the intense heat. She soared over the pews, flames bending and leaping with her movements and swooped at the men.
Angel screamed as she rose back to the roof of the church. An unearthly, ear-splitting sound that set his nerves on edge and reverberated through his body. Daman’s legs folded beneath him. He dropped to his knees, pressing his hands to his ears in pain. The fine hairs on his arms stood erect as the chilling sound ripped through his skull.
Angel hurtled at the men in the center aisle, striking one of the men’s heads with the high arch of her wing. His head whipped backward, sending him hurtling to the floor, blood splattering over the tiles. The front row of his teeth had been knocked out. He stayed where he landed, his head lolling to the side, limp and motionless, blood draining from his open mouth. His partner dropped to the floor onto his stomach, swiveling his head to the side, eyes glued to Angel as she swooped over his head. Daman saw his round white eyes filled with terror. Angel dove onto him, clutched his shoulders and with two quick beats of her wings was at the roof of the church with him in her hands. His arms and legs flailed, grasping at nothing. His clothes caught fire from Angel’s wings and he panicked, screaming and brushing at the flames. She let go.
The man screamed in a terror-filled high-pitch. He hit the stone floor, folded to the ground, cutting the sound with ominous finality. He stayed where he landed, both legs at an awkward, unnatural angle.
Daman’s limbs were numb and limp. All he could do was lie on the ground and stare at Angel, awed by her strength, her gritty determination and now the way in which she ended the lives of these men. Without remorse, with serious intent. His mind worked feverishly. Angel had only shown herself to be made from love and compassion, but this new Angel, the one who fought like she was born to it was an utter shock. She moved with fluid grace, beating the air with her huge wings. He’d seen only the best cops who wore looks like she now wore when they were in the heat of battle. The blaze in their eyes, the chilling intensity with which they moved. Each action was a move to position themselves so they could hit or strike their enemy. A calculated decision. The total awareness in which they read the situation. Their intent to end with the finality of death.
It was just as Angel had said. There was no good or bad, just decisions made when there was a need for them to be made. And repercussions of those actions.
Pete groaned. It snapped Daman from his trance enough for him to take control of his limbs. He flat-bellied across the floor to Pete. There was a long nick on the side of his head where the bullet had gouged his skin enough to cause blood to cascade from the wound, but not enough to kill. The bullet had missed. Daman let out a hiss of relief. He pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it Pete’s head to stem the flow of blood. He grabbed Pete’s hand and placed it on the bit of material. “Keep still and keep your hand here.”
“Wass happening?” Pete mumbled in a slurred voice.
“We have the power of God on our side. Angel’s fighting those men. Stay here while I take a look and see where they are.”
Daman scanned the church, using the altar as protection. He kept low to the ground, minimizing his body as much as he could so as to make a harder target. The four men had their full attention on Angel. One of the men nudged his partner and indicated that he move into the next aisle. The man nodded and ran, bent at the waist into the next aisle, using the space between the pews as protection. The leader of the men indicated that the others move. They fanned out between the pews. She couldn’t grab all of them at once and would have to attack one at a time, leaving time and opportunity for another to attack her.
Daman knew the maneuver. They were forming a careful net. Although they had their weapons drawn, none of them fired at Angel. They moved to capture, not to kill. They were being very careful, even though two of their men were down, they hadn’t retreated, only re-formed their position. They had tried to catch her without hurting her. That also told Daman they wanted her in good condition. They needed her for something.
Pete and he, however, were expendable. They’d already dropped Pete without a second thought. That bullet had been fired to kill, and he knew if their attention wasn’t diverted, he would be their next target. They wouldn’t hesitate.
“Get over there, bro. Cover the door.”
Daman’s attention immediately riveted onto the large body of one of the men. Haki. That son of a bitch. He was trying to capture Angel when she’d saved his ass from hell. Daman knew who his first target was going to be. This time, Angel would not be there to save him from an untimely death.
He had to help Angel. To do that he had to take out two men, one at a time. A plan formed in his mind. He’d take them while their attention was diverted. He crawled down the steps of the altar to the first row of the pews where he crouched. In his mind he went through where the men were positioned. First he would kill Haki, and then he would pick off the other three. With the help of Angel, they could do this.
He would have to move fast. He crouched, positioning his legs and feet so that he could stand and drop quickly. He pushed up, eyed riveted to one of the men. Without hesitation he squeezed the trigger. The man went down. At the sound of the gunshot, one of the remaining men turned just as Angel came behind him. He lunged at her. Angel beat him with her wings. He grunted as they struck but he was too close to her for her to strike with enough impact. He smashed a fist into her temple. A lucky hit. And an unexpected move. She sagged, her wings going limp and drooping to the ground. She staggered, a trembling hand pressed to her temple.
“Angel!” Daman couldn’t help but scream her name. He jumped over t
he tops of the pews, balancing on the backs, desperately trying to get to her.
There was an explosion. Something pushed into him that stopped him in his tracks. He tried to balance on legs that were filled with pins and needles. They wouldn’t do what he wanted them to do. His legs folded beneath him and he toppled from the backs of the pews. He crashed to the tiled floor. Shock rode his body, from his ankles to his eyes. He blinked back spots of black, leveraging himself onto the seats of the pews.
Wet warmth touched his side. He glanced down. He pressed his hand into his side and watched red paint coat his palm. No, not paint. Blood. It seeped from his gut, but unbelievably, there was no pain. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but getting Angel out of the grip of that man who’d hit her. Rage screamed a path through his mind.
He ignored his limbs that were now numb, somehow staggering to his feet. He drew his gun to shoulder level, aiming it at the man who had Angel contained in his arms. The man held her in front of him, using her body as protection. Daman gritted his teeth. He couldn’t get a clear shot without the risk of also hitting her. He staggered to the side, using the seat to maintain his balance. Fury was the only thing holding him upright.
Angel was incoherent, her head lolled to the side, cushioned against the man’s chest. She struggled for consciousness, arms and legs akimbo, struggling for balance. Her face was shock-white, features slack, eyes glazed. She reached for him, fingers extending and open.
Out of the shadows, another man grasped her arm. Between the two of them, they manhandled her to the ground. She fell between the weight of the two of them. He yelled—something—a wounded noise came from him. He dropped his gun arm and gripped the back of the pew to charge to Angel.
Another explosion. Something pushed his shoulder and he flew backward with an unseen force. He collapsed into the aisle, and hit the ground. He tried to move. Red-hot pain shot through his body. He tried to crawl to her, but all he managed was to flop onto his stomach.
Angel stared at him with shining, helpless eyes. One of the men held her down while the other pierced her neck with a syringe, injecting her with God-knew-what. She screamed, a sound that chilled his core, her mouth opened in shock. Then her eyes glazed, her arm that reached for him drooped to the floor as she fell into unconsciousness.
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