He spoke the next few words in Fallen Angelic—a demonic derivation of Latin that tended to sound strange and frightening to humans. He looked down at Melissa who had nearly backed into the base of the stairway. She was past the point of apprehensive shudders, and was now frozen in shock. The Elitist's tongue created snakelike hisses as the words flowed from his mouth. Another hot gust of wind swirled around him, tousling his waist-length mane. The red jewel in the ring around the middle candle glowed bright.
After his foreign chant, he shouted, "Ignite alive from Hell's own spark," and each candle lit up with a green flame one by one in rapid succession. The middle flame burned red. "I command you to rise and take shape!"
He again muttered eerily in his strange demonic tongue. Laphelle smelled sulfur in the air as the flames on the candles grew several feet tall until they looked like dancing, glowing dragons. Malynko spoke their names and they rose up off their wicks, hovering with life above each candle.
"Filomae, Sharkatae, Epsimae, Shalaholm, Rashakay, and master of the fire demons, Alakeomae! Come forth and heal Lucifer's servant with your legendary magic!"
The dragon above the red candle shot up with a loud screech. Melissa began crawling backwards up the steps, her face twisted into an expression of pure horror. Laphelle watched her, wondering where her common sense had gone. Why didn't she just run? Malynko wasn't paying any attention to her. Laphelle certainly wasn't going to stop her.
Malynko rose to his feet and held out his unharmed hand.
"Kiazmo," he said, "give me my sword."
Kiazmo did as told. Looking at Amy through the translucent, flaming bodies of the dragons, Malynko ordered her to walk into the circle of candles. She stepped forward, but then hesitated when the creatures let out a hideous, uniform cry.
"Do it!" Malynko shouted over the noise.
Laphelle telepathically told her, Yes, do it for your master, you foolish little girl.
He let out a huff when she stepped in so blind, so trusting. Malynko thrust his sword into her breast. She opened her mouth, gasping, and he took the new bandage from her frozen hands. The fire demons shrieked with delight.
"You have served your master well," he said, businesslike, pulling his weapon free.
She fell onto her back, her sheet soon to be stained with death. Wiping her fresh blood onto the gauze, Malynko turned to the cackling demons.
"Feast and cure," he said.
The first five fiery dragons leapt into the gauze bandage and soaked up all the blood, turning the material a bright green. Malynko wrapped it around his wrist and the fabric clenched tightly to his flesh. The red demon, Alakeomae, jumped into Amy's wound and sucked the blood from her veins like a spectral leech. Malynko breathed deeply. As death gripped Amy with its fateful claws, the demon left her body.
Melissa backed up too far. Laphelle looked down at her when he felt her shoulder touch his bare foot. She turned around and noticed him and his black-feathered wings folded neatly behind him.
"Do you want to be here?" he asked.
Her face pallid, she shook her head.
He leaned in, so close that he brushed the tip of her nose with his. "Then go. Quietly."
Wide-eyed, she nodded, shaking, and tiptoed down the stairs. Laphelle leaned back and watched the color of Malynko's bandage fade as the demons within leapt from the material. They shrank and took their places back on the wicks of the candles. Alakeomae hovered for a moment in front of the dark beauty who had called him forth. In a deep, metallic voice, he said:
"Shall we notify Lucifer of this wound? Was it gained from an accursed angel of light?"
"Yes," said Malynko, removing the bandage. His elegant white wrist was perfectly healed. "Inform him that the people of Earth are indeed gullible, and that soon Gidyon and the Thanatakran Noam will be at our mercy."
The demon laughed, showing shark-like teeth in a wide, fiery mouth. "I will indeed. Perhaps one day the Thanatakran may come back to visit us. I know he so enjoyed his stay last time."
"Yes," Malynko said. "He became speechless with joy."
"Still not talking, is he?"
"No. But your time is nearly up. Return and give the message. I am grateful for your aid tonight."
The demon bowed then jumped into its wick and became a small flame once more. Malynko knelt down and blew the candles out with one puff, the smoke circling his body like erotic tendrils. Putting his ring back on his finger, he lit them once more with fresh flames and placed them back on the mantle.
Simultaneously, he and Laphelle averted their eyes to Kiazmo, who was already hovering over Amy's body.
"Get away from her," Malynko barked. He put the tip of his sword against her dead forehead and she ignited, quickly turning to ashes. "There was no blood left in her body anyway."
"Why?" Kiazmo asked, his eyes watery.
"For his minions to work, Alakeomae requires a fee. He feeds on blood. You could become like him and feed off of blood forever, but you would have to become transfigured into a demon."
"I—I don't want to be—be transfigured," Kiazmo said, looking up at his tutor.
"Are you sure?" Laphelle asked. "I can help you with the transfiguring. It won't hurt—much. Besides, you're a twisted little freak, so you might like it."
The little angel gasped in terror. Laphelle only smiled. Kiazmo blinked, putting both hands against his head as if it were filled with barely contained pressure, and fled the large room. When he was gone, the blond rogue grinned a flash of white teeth at Malynko.
"Feeling better?"
"Yes," said the Elitist, looking around for Melissa. "Where is—"
"I saw her leave while you were playing with the fire," said Laphelle, pointing to the front door. "It's too late now. She's probably halfway to Edenton. You could go after her, but the sun's soon to rise."
Laphelle had seen that look before. Malynko was not happy. Mission accomplished.
The Elitist darkened his tone. "I trust you found the Wiccans?"
Panic stabbed Laphelle's spine. He'd forgotten… He'd gotten distracted by—
"Answer me!"
"No," Laphelle said.
Never could he mention a word about what happened earlier tonight, nor could he in Malynko's presence ponder a single note of the alluring music he'd heard.
"I couldn't find the house. I don't know these streets, Malynko. Because before we came here, while you were doing your fun research, I had a mile-long list of assassinations all across the God-forsaken universe—"
"Stop talking."
Laphelle slowly raised his chin, Malynko's domination a stinging blow to his ego.
"You could have stopped Melissa and easily," said the Elitist. "And get down from those stairs. It seems to me that sometimes you think you deserve to stand taller than everyone else."
"Well, I do—"
"You don't deserve to be the First Rank you are with that incredible attitude of yours."
All traces of the rogue's grin evaporated. He forced himself to descend the stairwell, stepping with utmost disrespect through Amy's ashes. The fire demons' dark dance had left long jagged shadows on the walls. Against the gloomy mural, the dim glow of the candles heightened the malevolent atmosphere of the broken room. Taking a seat in a red plush-backed chair, Laphelle let his hands grip the ends of the rounded cherry wood arms. He watched the Elitist stand there like an ivory statue, a vision of power.
"Is this better?" he asked sweetly.
Malynko looked at him. "What happened to you?"
"What do you mean?"
"We got along quite nicely in the beginning."
"Don't we still?" The edge of sarcasm in his voice didn't make a dent in Malynko's newfound composure.
"I remember you once told me you were tired of the same old thing, but that's simply what we do, Laphelle. We will continue to fight until this war is won." Laphelle stared at the floor, his face cross. "You should be proud of yourself. Everyone knows who you are. I've heard a number of th
e Elite talk of how they would like to be you, own your fame. They're jealous."
The First Rank's body jolted as a derisive laugh escaped his lips. Compliments were welcomed when meant, but on this occasion he wasn't sure if Malynko was merely trying to placate him. Jealous, were they? Well, they were welcome to trade places with him. The rogue shook his head, giving up on trying to argue with the Elitist's motives behind the praise. He looked into the sleeping fireplace. His eyes followed the thick walls to the charred remains of ash-scented logs, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard a sound.
Strings…
Far away...
Distant music that filled his empty heart...
Narrowing his eyes, he tried to remember what he had heard earlier that night that had enticed him to go to Jack's house—a sweet sound, melodic and soothing. He knew what it was when he heard it, but now, it escaped him somehow. Whatever it was, killing a hundred angels of light couldn't have made him feel more alive.
He almost had it, almost understood, but could hold on no longer. It left his memory. Empty. Alone again. Without the music, he was falling into a swirling void of blackness. His eyes went blurry from staring into the ashes.
"They speak ignorant words," he said. "You Elite have no idea what it's like to be me."
"You've always been moody." Malynko sighed and started up the stairs. "Perhaps this is simply one of your moods."
"Perhaps." Such a crude simplification of his soul's emotions made him itch to draw his weapon. He watched the dark angel's back, imagining what it would feel like to stab the Sivli into it, to chop off his feathered glory, to remove his head. "Perhaps."
Malynko nodded. "I'm going to sleep, now. Do not pester Kiazmo today. I would like to sleep in peace."
He ascended the remaining stairs, shedding his red shirt as he disappeared into the master bedroom. The latch on the door clicked shut.
Laphelle leaned back, and with his elbows on the chair's arms, entwined his alabaster fingers so that his arms made an arc above his chest, his thumbs rubbing together. He pondered the frozen, draconic shadows on the wall.
Shadows of demons who were once long ago in a time forgotten, beautiful angels of light.
"We will never sleep in peace, Malynko," Laphelle said, closing his eyes to let the room's empty silence engulf him.
***
Gidyon
Gidyon held his hand over Noam's wound, and it was healed.
"You nearly got yourself killed back there," he said.
The two angels of light stood in the darkness of the church that had saved them. The base of the door let in tiny cracks of fresh light from outside.
"We need to find Max," Gidyon said. "People saw the fight. We need to think of a cover for it. We don't want them worried about the end of the world, now do we?"
Noam looked at him with sad eyes. He shook his head slowly from side to side.
"What are you so upset about?" Gidyon asked.
There was no denying it: the fight had shaken both of them up. Laphelle was menacing—one step away from pure insanity. He nearly had killed Noam, and they both knew it. Gidyon had risked his own life saving him. Noam blinked rapidly, his eyes rimmed with angry tears. Oh, what a bleak situation they were in. Smiling, Gidyon decided to lighten the mood.
"Just because you lounged around and needed some healer to come and save your Thanatakran life." He laughed. "Don't make this a habit. I can't save you all the time. I mean I can only do so many things, Noam."
Noam cracked a side grin. It was easier to give him a hard time than it was to compliment him. Gidyon remembered well how Noam used to have such a dry, tough sense of humor. Before he quit talking.
"Well, you pathetic warrior, let's make up a plan here. Don't make me think on this alone, because I know how lazy you are."
Noam's eyes faded back to brown and he smiled in the dark church. Gidyon reached for the handle of the door with his left hand. At last, his friend was finally warming back up to him. One task down.
Now to find Max.
Part II: A Song in the Darkness
Jack
Jack Chester leaned his backside on the front of his desk and looked out at the rows of tables in front of him. Students sat half-awake, sketching on white sheets of paper with charcoal pencils. Behind him, on a desk next to the marker board, was a large stack of the paper, above it a note written in purple marker that read:
Please take one sheet. Idiots take more.
Watercolor paintings done by students of the previous year decorated the walls. Jack hadn't had time to switch them with the new students' work. His classroom was spacious, but he had bigger dreams for it. Rather than folding tables, he preferred easels. Maybe one day there would be enough money for each student to have his very own easel. If taken care of, they would last a lifetime. He knew the school would never pay for that—they couldn't even keep decent desks in the classrooms. But maybe he could save up and buy the easels himself.
"Who wants to hear about my dream I had last night?" he said.
A couple students shrugged. One girl, Melissa, had fallen asleep on her arm, her pencil slowly slipping from her fingers. Strange for her. Jack had thought she was going to be one of the good students this year.
"It was really weird," he said, peering up at a pink, papier-mâché pterodactyl that was suspended from the ceiling by fishing wire. "This guy comes to my house, right? And he's got these big, black wings."
"Hey, Mr. Chester, didja hear about the thing last night?" asked a thin Asian boy, sitting at the table directly in front of him.
"'Thing'?" Jack grinned. "You've gotta be more specific, Hugh."
"Well," said Hugh, looking down to shade the dragon he was drawing, "you mentioned wings, so I assumed you meant to lead into the rumors that have been going around."
A few students stirred from their sleepy haze. Some nodded, and others started talking in groups. Melissa woke up and looked around her as if she wasn't sure where she was. As soon as Hugh mentioned the word angels, Melissa paled.
"Rumors?" said Jack, unfolding his arms. "What rumors? Hey, Melissa, you okay?"
The girl shook her head, her eyes wide.
"You need to go to the nurse?" Jack asked.
She mouthed the word no.
"You see," said Hugh, adjusting his black-rimmed glasses, "some people saw some angels downtown last night. There's proof of it—major damage."
"Say what?" Jack perked up.
He immediately thought of his dream, of the strange, winged man that had walked into his house, and wondered if perhaps…
"Hey, Jack," said a voice at the classroom doorway. It was the principal. "Turn on your TV for just a minute. Max is making a speech."
He darted down the hall.
Jack's mouth suddenly felt as if it were laced with chalk. He reached for the remote control on his desk and aimed it at a TV that was bolted in the front right corner of the ceiling. He pressed POWER. Already on Channel 3, the TV revealed Max Edenton with two tall men behind him.
Melissa cried out, "What?"
Jack turned to her. The young woman looked like she was going to cry.
"Something wrong, Melissa?"
"No," she said, shaking her head. Then Jack heard her whisper, her quiet voice choked with tears, "He had wings last night! What's happening to me?"
"I assure you that my two friends here will say that it's going to be a wonderful show," Max said to the microphone in front of him. "How we did the special effects, we can't tell you now, but if all goes well in production, the show should be up in a couple months."
"Show?" Melissa spat.
Jack stood in front of the TV, crossing his arms, his face lined in thought. With a furrowed brow, he replayed in his mind over and over what he thought had been his dream. Then, he stopped moving. His heart jumped in his chest as the image of a strange woman he once met came to his thoughts.
"No way," he muttered, smiling, his brain reeling with the possibilities.
***
Max
"Mr. Edenton," a saucy man's voice behind the camera said, "the two gentlemen behind you are also in this 'show'?"
"Yes," Max said. God help me sound believable! "These are two of the actors in the show, Mr. Kramer,"—he pointed to Gidyon. Then he said to Noam, "And Mr. Sampson."
"That's right!" Gidyon said, taking the microphone, and his picture on the TV wobbled as the cameraman was knocked off balance. "That's right, my friend here, Mr. Sampson, has taken a vow of silence until the show goes up. It's part of his preparation."
Noam sighed and walked out of the camera's view.
"He's very serious when it comes to his work, you see," said Gidyon. "In fact, he's so serious that—"
He turned his head to where the Thanatakran had been standing, but Noam was nowhere in sight.
Lowering the mike, Gidyon asked the cameraman, "Where'd he go?"
The man pointed up the road.
Gidyon smiled again and replaced his focus on the camcorder's staring lens. "That's all for now, viewers. Here's Max!"
The gray-haired man fumbled with the mike as Gidyon tossed it to him. In his mind he heard the angel's voice telling him: I'm sorry. I'll be right back.
Running up the road, Gidyon gave movie-star grins to people who waved at him. Max looked into the camera and let out a well-mannered sigh, trying to look the best for his public even though he had not slept a wink the night before. He felt like an old horse that had withstood one too many hard rides.
"So, there you have it," he said, smiling. "Nothing to fret, people of Edenton. It was just an advertisement for the show. No terrorist attack, no real angels, no threat of Armageddon." He laughed. "If you worry about anything, worry about the bloody gas prices! I hope we didn't alarm you too much with this. And if all goes well, we will have a tremendous show for you. I hope you all have a wonderful Friday and do come down to Mannsway and take a ride on the Gondolas. They're half price today." He swallowed, breathing a sigh of relief, then asked a bit anxiously, "Anything else, Adam?"
Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1 Page 10