by Mark Lingane
Dr. Angelina, mad medicine-woman, looked at Derek and sighed. "There are stories, fables from long ago that talk of something like that."
She stepped back and I prepared for drama.
"There is a time coming very soon when an archangel vill stand upon the ascension markings in a place of vorship. At his feet, upon the altar, two people vill join and shape the very future of the vorld. I believe Laura has been chosen. If she joins with the dark, the forbidden love, humans vill end and the vampires vill reign." She pointed at me. "If she joins with a human, he purifies her and humans vill continue on the planet. Whatever the outcome, it will be decided by the two who join."
"It all sounds a bit suspect and extreme to me," Derek said. "Why does it have to be one way or the other? Surely there's some balance."
"It vas probably written by a man desperate for a date. You have a better idea?"
"We're completely at sea on this topic," Derek said. "It's not as though it's discussed in the pages of the press."
"It's a very old and vell-known story. Honestly, didn't either of you ever listen to anything at school?"
"School?" I said.
"Where else do you find open minds that vill believe in the possibility of everything? Old minds close, get stuck in their vays. The vorld vas born of belief. You need to believe you can save everything."
She turned to me, not ready to give up yet. "In that instant, the two of you vill join together in an eternal moment of love. She is your destiny."
Something occurred to me. "Are you sure it's her?"
"Quite probably," she replied.
"Quite probably?"
"Okay, I'm not sure at all. But she's been targeted and she's not dead, and that makes her a prime candidate. The dark moon vill be upon us tomorrow, and that is about as long as she has left. Sorry. You vant to fix it, then you need to orchestrate events so they happen the vay you vant. Join with her, save her, love her at the feet of an angel. And bring a knife."
"Just say this is true," Derek said. "How do we get a so-called archangel? It's not as if you can get them through a wanted advertisement."
"Phoenix," I said.
"Who is Phoenix?" Angelina asked.
I related the story of a man who'd lived for hundreds of years that I'd seen die then come back to life. Angelina nodded. I assumed the person I saw after Phoenix died was his brother or some other relative I didn't consider resurrection. Maybe in a snow-dome of a world quickly turning upside down, it was time to give skepticism a bit of a shake. Or maybe it was sleep deprivation.
"How do we get the angel?" Derek said.
"Angel cake," she smiled. "Ve set a trap."
"Trap?" Derek said. "How do you trap a ... what you call an angel?"
"In a gilded cage. Catching the first snow of vinter," Angelina replied.
Derek gave a deep sigh. "Besides the obvious point of it being mid-summer, and far away from any snow-crested mountain peaks, could we stick to some semblance of the world in which we live?"
"You called the priest," I reminded him.
"I was grieving, and my mind was muddled."
"You cannot trap a good angel on Earth," Angelina said, "because it is a heavenly being with powers ve humans do not have. It can return to heaven at vill. Phoenix, because he is fallen, could be considered a demon that has established residence in a human being. That is one vay the demons are trapped until they're ordered to leave the human being."
"Exorcism?" I said.
"Ja. His spirit will leave the dead body and search for the nearest one. He vill morph into his old form and stay like that until he finds a new body."
Derek sighed again. "Besides the obvious point of this all being totally insa--"
"Ve have no other options. Ve need to lure him."
"What about a gilded cage?" I suggested.
"You want a cage made of gold?" Derek said.
"Gilded doesn't necessarily mean 'made of gold.' It's about representation. It's where you're served and protected. It's about keeping danger out as much as keeping contents in."
"I know of one," I said. I recounted the story of my time in the tank, when the winged creatures had tried to attack me but couldn't get through the bars, even though they mauled the man in the next cell easily.
"How do we find Phoenix?" Derek asked. "Where do they live?"
"They always have a lair, vere they catch people and do despicable things to them."
"The grand church on the hilltop," I said.
"That old church, if it is a church," Derek said. "It hasn't been used in decades," he added.
"I found him there," I said.
"Did he have some kind of strange artifact there?" Angelina asked.
I nodded.
"If it vas his lair, you were amazingly lucky to get out alive."
"I killed him. Nearly."
She shook her head. "You couldn't have killed him. They can only be killed by an ancient relic or artifact. And appropriate religious rites."
"How do we lure him?" Derek asked.
"What these people vant more than anything is blood. Life source. That's what they suck out of you."
"Not me," I said. "I need mine."
"I'm thinking that with all this activity, and the change coming, maybe ve don't need to lure him anyvere. Maybe they vill be getting complacent."
We both stared at her, waiting for a moment of clarity. I hazarded a guess after no further information was forthcoming.
"You think he's in his lair?"
"He vill be there at some point, especially if he's been veakened. You said you killed him, then saw him later but he didn't attack you." She snapped her fingers. "If he's in his healing phase, he'll need to feast to get the life essence, and blood. Oh, that's going to be bad. Have you ever seen one of the rituals?"
"No, have you?" I said.
"No ... but I have seen pictures, and they're not pretty." She shivered. She blinked slowly and shivered again. "Maybe you should see them."
"No, thanks."
"I might have a look, just as a reminder." She started to look through her medical case. A frown settled on her face as her hands came up empty. "Damn, it vould have been useful in preparing us."
"You still want to go?" I said,
"Yes, he'll be vaiting for us. Let's hope he's veak. Don't forget that. It may be the only advantage ve have."
"What about me?" said Derek. His eyes looked plaintive and pleading. He moved awkwardly next to the bed, lost without direction and application.
"You must stay with the girl and make sure she stays safe," Angelina commanded. She glared at him fiercely. "It's the most useful thing you can do."
"If her condition changes, call me." I scrawled down my office number and placed it on the dresser. "Let no one in. No one." I pointed my finger at him to reinforce the instruction. He nodded.
Angelina began to pack her medical apparatus away, and spoke suggestively to Derek. I crept out into the living room, quietly picked up the phone, and dialed.
"You want Phoenix?" I whispered as the call was answered.
There was a muffled reply. I rolled my eyes. "You know who it is."
A resigned confirmation followed.
"Grand Hilltop Church, two hours." I put down the phone, went back to the bedroom, grabbed Angelina by her hand and dragged her away.
"Vere are ve going?"
"Drop the stupid accent."
"You have no sense of fun or melodrama."
"You'll like me in a minute."
"Why? Will there be sex? That would make me like you."
I sighed. I ran the plot past her. She didn't seem happy.
"If I do this, I want sex afterwards. If we're both alive," she added. After a pause she clarified. "If I am alive. I can practice necromancy on some particular parts of your body if you don't make it." She snickered and muttered something that sounded like "raised from the dead."
32
We cruised past Angelina's store where she grabbed som
e oversized weaponry. Apparently she thought her nurse's outfit was appropriate even though it clearly lacked any pockets. She cited irony. I cited the fact that it was very distracting. This seemed to be part of her survival plan.
She strapped two oversized silver pistols, with chambers the size of pickle jars, to her thighs. She was a girl who believed that bigger was better. I suggested she leave the six-inch heels behind. She swore considerably before relenting with a stern look, and threw me a small pink toy that nearly disappeared in my hand.
"What the hell is this?"
"A water pistol." She slung a sword over her back and tightened it into place.
"I can see that."
"It contains holy water."
Angelina was a damn fine specimen of womanhood, with little I could ignore. But she was also a woman who, once an idea got stuck in her head, wasn't going to let go of it.
"Let's go kick some freaking freaks back from whence they freaking came."
"That could've been snappier."
The church was dark as we approached. No lights. The only sound was the occasional rustle of insects feeding off the bones of the dead. The night was still. Angelina stood close to me. The scent of her heady perfume wafted over me, annulling the smell of the decaying plants and bodies being reclaimed by the damp earth and sub-terrestrial creatures.
I kept my eyes away from her distracting outfit, and watched the scaly bugs crawling and slithering over the crumbling gravestones. People had been buried, and remembered, in the best material possible to survive the elements: stone. Now the stone had crumbled, the bodies were gone, and even those who wanted to remember had passed through in the same fashion. With all the intent and will in the world, it all came to nothing. Eventually everything crumbled to dust and clay.
We approached the door. It was closed. The lock was old, but I had the Remington. Within moments the lock clicked open and I eased the door inward. The ominous chamber opened before us and we stepped into the gloomy darkness. Minimal moonlight crawled in via the filthy windows. The place was an abandoned tomb.
"This feels different from before," I said. I felt like everything was closing in on us.
"The door just shut behind us," she whispered. "Silently, and without anyone actually closing it."
I shrugged. It could mean anything and nothing. I felt my way forward, arms outstretched, until I found the first row of pews. Angelina stayed close by, clutching my arm. We waited until our eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. The scent of extinguished flames, something burnt, hung heavy in the air.
"Something bad has happened here," I said.
"Let's hope nothing else bad happens here while we're here."
My eyes started to make out the objects in the room. All of the pews had been reversed so they faced away from the altar. The ones at the far end, closest to the altar, had been destroyed.
We crept forward. Several paces in, I stepped on something slimy. There was a hiss and the sound of something slithering toward the front of the church. I could hear more slithering coming from the walls of the building, following us as we made our way down the central aisle.
Something pale lay ahead of us. As we approached, it became apparent that the paleness was someone's skin, drained and untouched by age or the elements. A girl, barely out of her teens, had been strapped across the altar.
"This was upstairs before," I whispered, indicating the great stone altar with the surrounding stone heads, "but without the girl."
The girl's eyes, glassy and vacant, stared off into the darkness. Her limbs had been chained apart. Her body had been slashed violently, with deep cuts over her stomach, and lower down. On her chest were five small burn marks in a circle. The same marks were duplicated on the floor, with a large candle placed on each respective point, all burned down to small stubs.
It all had an eerily familiar feel to it, not so much the circumstances but the intent. And that made my skin crawl.
We made our way past the poor girl and into the depths of the pulpit. There were several industrial devices, badly damaged and tossed aside. Imagining the horror was not necessary as the results of it lay behind us, stapled to the sacrificial altar. Several large images of brutality were depicted on hanging tapestries. The worst, most inhumane, were on either side of the stairwell entrance. Angelina made her way toward them.
The burnt smell was stronger in the pulpit. I searched in the various alcoves looking for the source of the smell. I found several long spikes, eight foot long and thin. I picked one up and examined it. It reminded me of a rotisserie spit. It was hefty and had blood smeared all the way along it.
Angelina gasped. She had pulled down the tapestries. On either side of the stairwell entrance, two charred bodies stood at attention. I instinctively reached for one of the impaling pikes and walked over to stand beside her. We looked at the bodies. They sent shivers up my spine and set off alarm bells in my primal alert center.
As one, they opened their eyes, balefully yellow against their blackened skin. They lunged forward off their pedestals. I brought the pike around, spearing the first figure and knocking it into the second. They both exploded in a shower of cinders and rubble.
They had been as silent as the dead. I had to wonder if they had been dead. Or tortured to remind them to guard the place with what was left of their lives.
"You know," Angelina whispered, "anyone could walk in here the way we did. They've hidden here for centuries, only appearing when they need to feed. This is one step away from broad daylight. They're either desperate, or something big is happening, and soon, and they no longer care." She reached out and held my hand. "And that scares me, a lot."
Her shaking fingers gripped mine. I pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her. Her whole body was shaking.
"I feel so safe in your arms," she whispered. "You're my gilded cage."
I didn't want to tell her I felt the same. Fear doesn't need a companion.
She took a couple of deep breaths then eased herself away.
"His lair is up the stairs," I said.
She nodded. "I'm ready. Let's go."
The steps were slippery. I bent over and wiped my finger over the stone. Blood. The walls closed in as we wound our way up the tight staircase. Our breathing became labored as the air became thick and musky. The putrid stench of bodies that had relieved themselves of everything twisted the air into a dark soup of gut-wrenching fear, which clouded all but the next footfall. Step by slimy stone step we crawled up the rounded stairwell, accompanied by the sounds of distant screams of terror.
We came to the room at the top of the stairs. A large fan in the ceiling was spinning slowly. Its blades whumped heavily overhead, making us duck instinctively as we entered.
Whump-whump-whump.
We stepped into the room over trickling blood.
Whump-whump-whump.
The door slammed shut behind us, startling us both. Angelina covered her nose and mouth. The limb of a deceased person reached out toward us from the center of the room.
Whump-whump-whump.
The limb extended from a tangle of bodies, naked and bloodied.
Whump-whump-whump.
"Oh, the smell."
The words caught in Angelina's throat as she stepped up to the towering pile of torsos. She examined them closely. She gave another gasp, clutching her hand over her mouth as her eyes widened. Every single body was consuming, and consummating. They had all been struck dead at the same moment. Now they were nothing more than an interlocking lump of gnawed and broken flesh.
Whump-whump-whump.
"Their expressions are weird. Some are crying. Some are in ecstasy," Angelina said.
"It's the same thing," I replied.
"How's that?"
"Both signify a release of emotion."
She nodded. "A body will get to a point where it can't contain the emotion anymore, so it has a natural release valve. I wonder what's holding them up. I can see what's holding them together, but
with all this blood and other bodily fluids they should be slithering down all over the floor."
I decided not to remind her of the great skewers I'd found downstairs.
We started exploring the room. There were small windows, but no light filtered in. I went over to one. The darkness outside was absolute. There was a city out there, full of life and bad attitude, but I saw nothing but a dark veil, and howls of pain and despair. It was in another place, or so it felt.
The draw of the black void outside sucked at my consciousness. I hovered near the window, floating my hand over the opening. I watched as the life was drained away, out into the infinite. My mind began to fall forward, tumbling into the pit of eternity. The lonely crying and howls of pain filled me with sorrow, and a desperate longing to help. They called out to me to become one of them. They whispered that I could cure everything that was wrong if I did nothing more than hold out my hand. We would join and fall together, they said.
But something inside of me knew that falling would only make things worse. There was no forgiveness. There was no redemption or salvation. It was evil, and it would take everything.
With hands on either side of the window, I wrenched myself free of the powerful force. I snapped away, as though I was pulling myself free of deadly glue, and staggered backward. Shaking my head free of the darkness, I focused once again on the interior of the tower, searching for something that was less harrowing than the tormented, existential damnation of the infinite void. Is not your wickedness great, and your iniquities without end?
"Do you know what this means, Angelina?" I indicated the human pile.
"Assuming you're not being rhetorical and melodramatic, it looks like a ritual. Someone, or something, is trying to increase their power or control. Or it could be a summoning. Whatever it is, it can't have happened without attracting someone's attention."
And it occurred to me then that we should probably be worried about whose attention all of this was intended to attract.
"Or maybe it's just a naked ritual, with ... sex and eating," she said. "Naked forms. The start. The end. Rebirth. But of what?"