Shadow Train

by J. Gabriel Gates

  Orias,

  Your presence is requested. Come at once or Aimee will bear the brunt of my displeasure.

  —Azaziel

  * * *

  Aimee forced herself to stay calm, which was a lot easier said than done since she was locked in a cage right next to the doors that led to the Pit, and Azaziel’s soldiers or disciples or whatever they were continued to stare at her from the shadows.

  The throne room, lit only by the eerie glow, was constructed of dark stone with huge marble columns set around its outer circumference. She’d caught glimpses of the creatures hiding between them, and she could sense their malice. Their lord prefect lounged on his throne, sipping from a crystal goblet filled with wine. Azaziel’s eyes were closed as if he was listening to the whispers coming from the figures in the shadows. The murmurings were vaguely ominous, going on and on like some kind of chant, like they were reciting some kind of perverted rosary, and the sound made Aimee shiver. She watched Azaziel for a few moments, until his eyes snapped open. He looked at her and grinned.

  “They’re coming,” he said.

  A set of jeweled doors at the far end of the room slid open and Orias stepped out, as if he were getting off some kind of elevator. With him was the strangest being Aimee had ever seen. It had the shape of a man but no substance. It was like a person made of smoke. It ran around Orias and bowed low before Azaziel.

  “My Lord Prefect,” it said. “As you have decreed, I deliver the prisoner into your mighty hands. It is my proud privilege to be of some small service to your bountiful majesty—”

  “Shut up, Uphir,” Azaziel ordered. “Unless you want to go back into the Pit.”

  Without another word, Uphir scurried into the shadows.

  “Orias,” said Azaziel. “I must say I’m surprised to see you. I never thought you’d have the courage to stand before me just for the sake of one pitiful human girl.”

  Ignoring him, Orias walked toward the cage where Aimee was waiting.

  “Stay where you are, Nephilim!” Azaziel thundered. “Or she will suffer.” He waved one grotesquely taloned hand and said, “Release her.”

  Instantly, the cage door sprang open.

  “Orias!” Aimee exclaimed and ran into his arms.

  “Aimee, I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  “Oh, do spare me your tiresome human emotions, half-breed,” said Azaziel. “And there will be no more physical contact, Orias, or you will watch as my Sacred Guard beheads her.”

  Dark faces with enormous sorrowful eyes peered out from between the ring of marble columns as Orias moved away from Aimee.

  “What do you want, Azaziel?” he asked, turning to the terrible fallen Irin. “You never bother with us lowly Nephilim.”

  “Unless you interfere with my plans,” was the reply. “What I want is to put you on trial.”

  “Fine,” Orias said. “You got me here so you have no more use for Aimee. Let her go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Aimee said. “I can speak for you, like a character witness.”

  Azaziel rose and strode gracefully to her. Towering over her, he looked at her with so much evil she was tempted to try to slip—but she knew better than to run from a bully. If high school had taught her anything, it was that. She stared up at him defiantly. Azaziel smiled.

  “Aimee, no,” said Orias. “You need to go.”

  “She stays,” said Azaziel. “I would be greatly intrigued to hear her testimony.”

  “Why?” Orias challenged. “We both know how this is going to turn out.”

  “Have you any other witness to speak for you?” asked the Lord Prefect of the fallen. Orias said nothing. “Very well, then. Let us begin.” He took his throne again and continued, “This royal court is now in session. Orias Morrow, you are hereby charged with imprisoning an Irin and trying to enlist the aid of a demon to kill him. How do you answer these charges?”

  Meeting his gaze Orias replied, “We both know what my true crime is—the unforgivable crime of existing.”

  Smug and amused, Azaziel responded, “Be that as it may, we shall proceed.” Aimee could hear a stirring in the darkness between the columns as he continued, “The Nephilim before us stands accused of trying to end the life of my finest soldier, Oberon, to whom I assigned a most important mission.”

  “Wait,” Aimee interrupted. “Aren’t you guys immortal or something? How can Orias kill someone who’s immortal?”

  Azaziel looked at Aimee, as if mildly amused. “Oh, angels can die if you know how to kill them. But unlike His precious humans, God did not see fit to give us souls. So if we are destroyed, that’s it for us.”

  “What about Nephilim?” Aimee asked. “Orias’s human half has a soul.”

  “It hardly matters—he is a mongrel, as repulsive to those above as he is to those below,” Azaziel told her. “Now approach the throne. What say you in his defense? Do you have any proof that he is not guilty of these charges?”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Aimee said. “All I know of Orias is what he has shown me, which has been nothing but good. Sure, he’s probably made some mistakes, but if he’d been treated better all these years maybe he would have made better choices. We all make mistakes—that’s what humans do.”

  “Answer the question, please. Can you prove that he did not conspire to kill his father, Oberon?”

  Aimee hesitated. She remembered Orias waking her up in front of that locked tower door and chastising her for nearly opening it. She hadn’t thought much about it at the moment—in fact, her memory of the event seemed to have faded almost instantly. She remembered it now, but she had no way of knowing if Oberon had been behind that door.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But if he did I can’t say that I blame him. Oberon is a creep. He kidnapped me once and killed a boy for no reason, right in front of me. What about his crimes?”

  “Oberon is not on trial here,” Azaziel retorted. “Answer the question. Have you any evidence that the accused did not hatch a plot to imprison and assassinate his father?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “The witness is dismissed. We will hear next from Dr. Uphir, whose help the accused tried to enlist.”

  Another fallen angel, onyx-skinned and eerily beautiful, approached Azaziel and whispered in his ear.

  “Indeed?” Azaziel responded. He looked at Orias. “It seems we have a surprise witness.”

  The double doors behind him slid open again and a murmur rustled through the crowd of Irin hidden in the shadows. A lone figure strode boldly into the room with a beast—a warped, misshapen demon thing—beside him. Silhouetted as he was against the firelight from the Pit, he looked like a black shadow at first, but when the doors shut behind him, the dim ambient light shone on his face and the whole assembly uttered a collective gasp.

  “Hello, Oberon,” Azaziel said coldly. “It’s high time you honored us with your presence. You have been away long from your true home.”

  Orias stared at his father, the great fallen angel, the mighty Irin soldier, but Aimee’s gaze traveled from the monster who’d abducted her to the one standing beside him.

  “Rick?” she said. “What the hell happened to you?”

  That thing couldn’t be her brother, she thought—and yet it was. And suddenly she realized that Rick—the real Rick—was gone and there was no hope for whatever he had become. He was beyond help—hers or anyone else’s. He looked at her and laughed—a kind of snuffling, chortling sound.

  “Silence!” Azaziel roared. “I will have order in this court! Oberon—tell me. Who has kept you from me for so long?”

  Oberon bowed slightly from the waist, giving Azaziel, it seemed, only the minimal obeisance necessary. “The accused who stands before you now is the one who prevented it,” he said. “But for him I would h
ave saved the ring and brought it to you.”

  “Saved the ring?” Azaziel sat up a little straighter on his throne. “Has something happened to it?”

  “Yes, my lord,” replied Oberon. “There was a great battle on the fields of Middleburg as several factions tried to take it. It exploded—shattered into many pieces. Although I was locked away, my demon servant Rick has reported it to me exactly as it happened.” The Rick monster shuffled closer to the throne and bowed, careful not to look directly at Azaziel. Oberon continued, “If we retrieve all the pieces and put them back together we can still accomplish our goal.”

  “What goal?” asked Aimee. She couldn’t imagine what would transpire if the wrong people—or the wrong creatures—got hold of the ring. She prayed that the three shards in her pocket wouldn’t suddenly start to glow and reveal that she had them.

  Azaziel gave her a scathing look. “Be quiet. You do not ask the questions here.”

  “If I may be permitted, my lord, I would like to answer her. My objective should be a part of the court record, don’t you agree?” said Oberon.

  “Indeed,” said Azaziel. “Continue.”

  “Many eons ago, when we Irin were still among the exalted ones, we were the caretakers of the humans. We were angelic missionaries who appeared as teachers, leaders, and friends to the new beings the All had created. The Four Gates were open in those days, and when human lives ended, it was our task to escort their souls through one of the gates so they could travel onward and become one with the light.

  “But then the lowly human women seduced us with their charms and we were cast out of the light forever and forbidden, for all time, to be in the presence of God.”

  Right, Aimee thought. Blame women for your mistakes, you low-life. But she knew better than to speak. As twisted as it was, this was supposed to be a court hearing, and she didn’t think Azaziel would tolerate any more interruptions from her. If she had any hope of helping Orias, she had to keep silent.

  “With the blessing of the Lord Prefect and the Irin High Council,” Oberon continued, “I ventured up onto the earth, bent on accomplishing a single task—to retrieve the ring, the last one remaining with the power to open the gate to the higher realm. If we gather the pieces and put them back together we can open the gate and transport our army there to defeat the exalted angels. Without their protection, the human race will be at our mercy. We can destroy them all, until there are none left. God wants their worthless souls—I say let Him have them. We shall inherit and inhabit the earth. We shall live in darkness no more!”

  Azaziel had been listening intently. “And how do you suggest we recover the shards of the ring?” he asked.

  “We must hone our swords and ready our armor,” Oberon replied. “Several of the humans have been collecting the shards. We go to war—and we take them!”

  Ecstatic shouts rose from the crowd, but a gesture from Azaziel silenced them.

  “Let it be as you say. We must prepare,” he said. “In the meantime, we will hold the accused as a prisoner, in case we need to torture him for more information. When we return with all the pieces of the ring, I will ask for a verdict and render my sentence.”

  With one elegant gesture from Azaziel, four dark angels came out of the shadows, grabbed Orias, and threw him into the cage Aimee had just left. She went to him and reached out for him, through the bars.

  “No,” he said, backing away from her. “Go now. Save yourself—and your friends, if you can.”

  She moved closer and whispered to him, “If they see that I have the shards—”

  “You don’t need them, Aimee,” he told her. “You never did. You can do it on your own. You have to forget about me. But always remember—I love you.”

  Tears misted her eyes, but she knew now was not the time to give in to emotion. “I will remember,” she said. “And I will find a way to help you.”

  She turned to Azaziel. “This isn’t over,” she declared. “I’ll be back—with help.”

  And she slipped.

  Chapter 24

  On Sunday morning, Zhai and Li were still in the family room, watching some lame show on MTV before they started their normal weekend regimen of homework and exercise.

  “So,” he said to his sister. “What’s up with Weston?”

  She looked at him placidly. “Nothing. Can’t a girl be friends with a boy without it turning into a Nicholas Sparks novel?”

  Zhai shrugged. “Sure, I guess. But the way he looks at you doesn’t exactly scream friend.”

  “So?”

  “If you don’t really like him, why do you spend so much time with him?”

  Li stretched and yawned, like a lazy, graceful cat. “He amuses me,” she said.

  Zhai’s smile disappeared. He hated it when Li acted as selfish and uncaring as her mother. It didn’t happen often, but when it did it gave Zhai the creeps.

  “And what about that henna tattoo?”

  “What about it?”

  “You couldn’t have put in on yourself—you can’t reach that part of your back. Did Weston do it for you?”

  Li laughed. “Brother mine, you’re getting protective in your old age! I don’t ask you questions when you come home in the wee hours of the morning, all filthy, and with your clothes torn from fighting, do I? Besides, I can reach the middle of my back, you know,” she said, and she reached one of her graceful arms over her head, brought the other one up behind her back, and linked her fingers. She was indeed very flexible.

  “Happy now?” she asked.

  Zhai laughed at himself. Truthfully, he didn’t care if Li went out with Weston. He seemed like a nice enough kid. It was the tattoo that worried him. The fact that the Obies had once used tattoos to make him their slave was bad enough, but the memory that really bothered him was that of his father, unbuttoning his shirt in his office, revealing the tattoo that rested over his heart. He hadn’t told Li about it yet, and he wasn’t going to. Knowing that his father could die if he disobeyed the Snakes was hard enough for Zhai to process; there was no need to burden Li with the knowledge.

  “I guess . . . you’re right,” Zhai said. “I am protective—of Weston. I can already tell that poor kid is going to get his heart broken!”

  “Shut up!” Li laughed and socked her brother in the shoulder. The sound of someone approaching in the hallway cut their conversation short.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Zhai,” the maid said as she appeared in the doorway. “You have a visitor.”

  Zhai wondered who it was—Nass, maybe, or one of the Toppers—but he was completely unprepared for the sight of Master Chin standing in the foyer, waiting for him.

  “Chin!” He ran to his teacher and grabbed him in a fierce embrace. “Wow—you look great!”

  Chin laughed. “If it weren’t for Lily Rose’s Shen keeping me stable until Aimee could get that poison out of me, I wouldn’t have made it. But I’m much better now.”

  He was thinner and paler, but the light in his eyes was as bright as ever. “I’m so glad to see you out of that bed,” said Zhai.

  “I’m glad to be out of it. But we don’t have time to celebrate. As soon as Lily Rose was convinced I could leave, I went over to Violet Anderson’s house to examine the tapestry she’s working on. It’s nearly finished.”

  “What did it show you?” Zhai asked.

  “That the battle for this world will soon reach its climax. Time is short. We need to reunite the shards of the ring as soon as we can and bring Raphael back. Do you still have them?”

  Zhai nodded. “Yes—in my room. Come on.”

  Student and master hurried up the stairs and into Zhai’s bedroom. Near the head of his bed, Zhai stooped and pulled the grate out of the air-conditioning register that his bed skirt obscured. He took a small wooden box out of the duct and then he grabbed a not
epad from his desk. They hurried back downstairs, out the back door, across the lawn, and to the guesthouse.

  Zhai knocked on the door and Nass opened it, yawning. He was wearing his pajamas—a T-shirt and boxers. “Master Chin. Whoa—you’re looking better!” Nass said.

  “I am—much better, thank you,” Chin answered.

  “Sorry if we woke you,” Zhai said. “But we need to figure out who still has pieces of the ring. We need your help making a list.” He held up the notepad.

  “Yeah, come in,” Nass said, ushering them inside and leading them over to the glass-topped kitchen table. “I don’t know—it’s not gonna be easy. The government guys snagged all the shards we had.”

  “And the Obies stole some of the pieces the Toppers had,” said Zhai. “Let’s start with those. We’ll list what shards are where, and then we’ll make a plan to get them back.”

  He clicked his pen and started writing. First they listed everyone who had been on the tracks the night the ring shattered. Then they listed how many shards they thought each person had now.

  “Okay,” Zhai said. “I have five. Aimee has one, Dalton has one, and Miss Pembrook has one. From what we know, it looks like Agent Hackett and the Obies combined have about eight. Have we forgotten any?”

  The three of them gazed at the list thoughtfully. “So,” Nass said. “Out of sixteen, we’ve got eight.”

  “Yeah. Maybe we should each hang on to a couple, in case—” Zhai took the shard he always carried with him out of his pocket, then opened the box he’d taken from the AC unit and looked inside, and the words died in his throat. Nass and Chin craned their necks to look inside, too.

  The box was empty. Zhai’s four shards were gone.

  * * *

  It was just after dawn when Emily woke her guests and told them breakfast was ready. She’d brought them all the same kind of ankle-length dresses that she wore and told them to hurry. When they joined her at the big kitchen table and tasted the ham, eggs, grits, and biscuits she’d made, Maggie thought she would die of sheer pleasure. Emily Banfield was right about one thing—the food was delicious. But it was hard to enjoy the feast she’d placed before them knowing what they were about to face.