A Fire in the Heart

by L. J. LaBarthe

  “Former?” Uriel asked.

  “Yeah, she was injured in the line of duty, so she’s retired. She took some photos for me, e-mailed them over, and as you can see,” Tzadkiel picked up a device that Ahijah didn’t recognize and clicked it at the screen. The screen image divided into two, Minnie and Max on the top half and, on the bottom half, scenes of a remote piece of land. “As you can see, they’ve laid the foundations on this property.” Tzadkiel clicked the device again, and there appeared a slideshow of photographs, showing that not only were foundations being built, but that there was a great deal of earth-moving equipment, temporary buildings, and clusters of people, some in work gear with hardhats, and others in suits and hardhats. In the distance, beyond the foundations, was a sleek black helicopter.

  Angelique whistled. “That chopper’s pretty pricey, Tzad. That’s one of the new, state-of-the-art Hummingbird class, developed in Vancouver for long-distance, low-altitude flying and used by the RCMP and Canadian Air force.”

  “How did it end up in Colorado?” Tzadkiel asked.

  “Oh, I bet someone in Transom paid a ton of cash over to buy one for private use,” Angelique said. “A lot of ex-military or should-be-military stock ends up in private hands; I bet the same happens with stock for the police or fire brigade, too.”

  “That’s a good point,” Sophiel said. She’d been silent up until now, but she made a note in a notebook in front of her, nodding to herself as if a question that had been gnawing at her had been answered.

  “I believe it’s fair to say that if one has enough money, one can do as one likes,” Ondrass said. “Of course, you’re all far too disgustingly nice to think of that rather obvious truth, so that’s why it’s taken you so long to reach it.”

  Beside him, Adramelek chortled, and Ahijah looked at the Archdemons with some curiosity. He’d never spoken to any of them for any length of time, but they fascinated him, in much the same way that tornadoes or great white sharks fascinated some humans.

  “So now we know the where,” Gabriel said, “we need to work out the when.”

  “Shouldn’t we also figure out the what?” Tzadkiel asked.

  And then, to Ahijah’s surprise, Samael spoke.

  “No,” Samael said, and his tone of voice was stern. Ahijah shifted around in his seat to look at him.

  “Why not, sir?” Brieus asked.

  “Because we all know what we are going to do. Oh, we will sit here and discuss it, and Michael will no doubt object, because he has a kind heart and hates to see murder and death be discussed cavalierly. However, I—I—am death, and I am the one that has seen most intimately the horrors this company has wrought. Only the squad for which honored Angelique is alpha and the two brave young men of the Jones family have seen it as closely. And Adramelek, to give him credit. This company, these people who work within it, who are complicit in such crimes—they do not deserve the kind touch of Remiel’s mercy. They do not deserve the tears that gentle Michael would shed. They do not deserve the privilege of judgment and trial run by Tzadkiel. None of these things should be options that are available to them. They have tortured, they have experimented, they have disregarded life—all life—and they do not deserve any kindness. They do not deserve the luxury of a trial in a human court, what we discussed as being a possibility, taking place in Germany. They deserve death and to be sent to Lucifer Morningstar for his say in their final dispensations, for they have wronged his people as well as our own.”

  There was a long silence at the end of Samael’s speech, and then Angelique got to her feet.

  “Samael’s right,” she said. “My pack lost a member because of these assholes. They were the final straw for Danny to leave us and his wife. They hurt my pack. They want to kick out all the angels and demons, and okay, most demons are asses, but I kind of like the ones in this room. I don’t want you guys to go. I don’t want you all to be locked out of Earth like you’re naughty kids who’ve been locked in their rooms without any dinner. That’s bullshit. So yeah, I agree with Samael, and not just because these fuckers have hurt my people, but as a Venatores. They are a clear and present danger, and that’s what we fight.”

  Tzadkiel sighed. “I don’t disagree,” he began, and then he faltered to a stop.

  “I have something to say,” Hiwa said then, and Ahijah turned his head to see his brother getting to his feet.

  “What is it, Hiwa?” Tzadkiel asked.

  “They’ve opened up a gulag. A rather specific one, actually. It’s on the Road of Bones.”

  Gabriel let out a string of invective and leapt to his feet. He was furious, Ahijah saw, and he was awed by the power of Gabriel’s rage. He’d only seen Gabriel this angry a dozen times since his childhood, and each and every time, Ahijah had wondered why anyone would ever do anything to unleash the magnificent terror of the Archangel of the Rage of God.

  “No!”

  “Yeah. Sorry, Uncle Gabe,” and Hiwa looked contrite, “I got it from my contacts over in Vladivostok. I got to Moscow, and I heard the mutterings, so I went cross-country, and the closer I got to the east coast, the louder those mutterings got. In Vladi, they were more shouts than mutterings. The government’s ignoring them because they’re broke. People are starving.” He paused to sigh. “Mother Russia is harsh,” he said, almost to himself. “Anyway,” he went on in a louder voice, “our Transom friends, using the TCC Corp. name, have set themselves up in Kadykchan’s ruins and have reopened the old Stalinist Dalstroy gulag down the road.”

  Gabriel turned to Michael. “No mercy for them, Mishka.”

  Michael’s expression was conflicted. Then he finally sighed and nodded. “As you say,” he said.

  Ondrass snorted. “No argument from the prince? No requests for leniency? My, my, Gabriel has rubbed off on you. In more ways than one.”

  Predictably, Michael blushed. Ahijah hid a laugh behind a cough as Michael turned to glare at Ondrass.

  “Cease speaking in such a base and lewd fashion, Archdemon.”

  “I can’t, Michael,” Ondrass said cheerfully, “because I am, as you just said, an Archdemon.”

  “There, there,” Gabriel said, touching Michael’s shoulder. “Just let it go.”

  Michael huffed and turned away from Ondrass.

  “So what next?” Max asked.

  Tzadkiel shrugged. “We figure out a good time to attack and get to it.”

  “Can you give me a day?”

  “Sure, but why?”

  Max smirked. “We’ve got a few little presents for them, don’t we, Min?”

  “Oh yeah,” Minnie said. “It’ll add to the confusion you’ll probably cause when you bust on in like the angry fist of God.”

  Tzadkiel grinned at her. Ahijah glanced quickly around the room and saw that nearly everyone else was doing the same.

  “I do like the sound of that. All right, then, shall we say we take care of these people the day after tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good from here,” Max said.

  “And the Guild of Glass Knives agrees,” Adramelek said.

  “My pack’s in,” Angelique said.

  “My brother and me, too,” Liam said.

  “And my Seraphim,” Gabriel said.

  Michael took a deep breath. “And the Brotherhood of Archangels and all our allies.”

  Ondrass crossed his legs together as he pulled a cigar from the inside pocket of his coat and lit it with his power. “I’m delighted this has reached a productive decision so quickly.”

  Ahijah looked first at his brother and then at Samael. Once again, events were speeding up, quickening with a pace that no one could divert. They were going to deal with this new threat in forty-eight hours, and then peace, hopefully, finally, would reign on Earth, in Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory.

  Ahijah sent a silent prayer upward. He wasn’t sure that God would listen to the words of a Nephilim, but he did it anyway. “Please keep all these good souls safe and alive and healthy before, during, and after this mission, G
od. They deserve to live and be happy.”

  Samael reached over and lightly squeezed his fingers, and Ahijah looked at him. Samael gave him a small smile, and Ahijah smiled back. Talk was done. Now it was time for action.

  Keep reading for an exclusive excerpt from

  A Candle in the Sun

  The Archangel Chronicles: Book Nine

  By L.J. LaBarthe

  It is time for final revelations and an end to the enemies’ machinations. Now that they have all the information needed to fight the decisive battle, the Brotherhood of Archangels, led by Michael and Gabriel, march hand-in-hand into the very den of terror and fear. With their allies, the Archdemon Guild of Glass Knives and the Venatores, they face uncertainty and the possibility of their destruction. But Gabriel is determined not to fail, and Michael’s love for him gives him strength.

  Now is not the time for sword and shield, however, but the time for guile and cunning. Gabriel and Michael must rely more and more on old foes now turned allies, and with growing uncertainty that they will prevail and save not just humanity and Earth, but all life everywhere.

  As the ultimate confrontation draws close, Michael and Gabriel must battle fear, anger, and doubt as they strive to save the world and each other.

  Coming Soon to

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  THE SMELL of disinfectant made Adramelek wrinkle his nose and he tried not to gag. The odor was almost overpowering, and it made his eyes water. He shifted in the hard plastic chair in the waiting room and tried not to think about the smell that seemed to be pervasive, wiping out all other senses.

  This was by far the most uncomfortable mission he’d been sent on. Sitting in the waiting room of the small, private clinic in Silverton, Colorado, wasn’t generally his idea of a good time. Yet, he had volunteered, both out of curiosity and simmering anger. The meeting of the Guild of Glass Knives, the Brotherhood of Archangels, and the Venatores had led him to suggest and volunteer for this mission.

  Watching Tzadkiel’s slideshow of the region in which Transom Corp. was building their new facility for the testing of their nightmarish products designed to promote Earth isolationism from all but pure humans, Adramelek had found himself filled with a righteous rage. He had not felt such an emotion since the Fall, when Lucifer had been cast out of Heaven along with all those angels who had sided with him. Adramelek had been furious then, furious at his lord’s desires being thwarted, at the failure of Lucifer’s plans. He was furious now, but for entirely different reasons.

  He had adjusted to Hell, after all; indeed, it hadn’t taken him long to come to love his new home and to develop his part of psychic real estate to suit his own personal tastes. As humanity had evolved and grown, expanding across Earth like a plague of rats, Adramelek had found himself developing a grudging respect, a reluctant fondness for them, akin to the fondness one had for a well-behaved hound. Earth itself had always been beautiful, and Adramelek had enjoyed his visits to the planet, insofar as he could, considering the restrictions placed upon Hell dwellers by God. But those restrictions had lapsed over the slow march of time, and with the new treaty between God and Lucifer, Adramelek had far more freedom now than ever before.

  And that was why he was furious. Now, he could come and go between Earth and Hell whenever he chose, as long as he didn’t break the treaty by killing humans, angels, or monsters or trying to possess anyone, he was free to walk where he wished. He didn’t have to cloak himself in shields and protections or look over his shoulder every time he heard the barest whisper of an angel’s Grace, thinking that Uriel was stalking him. No, he could now do almost as he pleased, and almost was actually quite wonderful.

  These humans in Transom Corp. were an abomination. Adramelek didn’t think any of his allies in this fight would disagree with him. Oh, Michael might wring his hands and talk about how every human deserved a second chance, but Adramelek didn’t agree. At the depths of his being, he was still a Throne, one of the choir of angels who surrounded God’s seat and praised Him and His works. The Throne within him felt that the actions of Transom Corp. equaled rejecting God’s works and therefore there was no redemption to be offered. The Archdemon that Adramelek had become felt that Transom Corp. was turning this into an “us versus them” fight, and he’d had enough of those to last him a lifetime.

  Which was another reason why he was here in this waiting room. He had an appointment with a specialist who referred clients to Transom. The leaflets that Angelique’s Venatores had gathered from a hospital in rural Arkansas had given the name of the doctor and a contact phone number, and so Adramelek had volunteered to contact the man and set up a meeting. He would play the part of a father with a terminally ill son. He had dressed in an expensive suit that Ondrass had insisted he wear, and beneath the fine linen shirt, around his neck, he had all manner of wards and charms and sigils on lengths of leather cord designed to not just protect him but to make sure his true nature was hidden from the wards that Transom’s witches had covered the clinic with.

  Adramelek looked at the leaflet. He had brought it with him, although he wasn’t sure why. It was so innocuous looking—a glossy piece of paper promising all sorts of miracles, and there, on the bottom, was the name of the consulting doctor who referred patients to Transom: Dr. Jonathon Markham. Adramelek hadn’t met the man yet, and he already despised him.

  “Mr. Smith?”

  Adramelek looked up at the nurse who was smiling down at him. “Yes.”

  “Dr. Markham is ready for you now. If you’ll follow me, please.”

  Adramelek got to his feet and gestured for her to lead the way. “It’s a little odd to see a nurse doing a registrar’s job,” he remarked as they walked down a long, whitewashed corridor.

  “The registrar’s dealing with some new interns right now,” the nurse said. “So we’re doubling up a bit. Here we are, this is Dr. Markham’s office.” She tapped on the door and then opened it. “Mr. Smith for you, doctor.”

  Adramelek nodded his thanks to her and walked through the door into the office of Dr. Markham. He was a little taken aback by how unassuming the man looked—balding brown hair, pale skin, myopic blue eyes deep set into a lined face. He wore a plain grey shirt beneath his lab coat, and a faded brown tie, the knot tied somewhat haphazardly. At first glance, Adramelek thought that Dr. Markham would be more suited to working in a clinic in a more busy part of the world than here.

  “Please have a seat,” Dr. Markham said.

  Adramelek did so, hearing the door close behind him. He regarded the man opposite closely, taking in the wrinkled hands that were spotted with age, the fingers toying with an antique fountain pen. The desk that stood between them was littered with paper, sticky-notes against the monitor of a computer that sat on one corner, perched precariously on a pile of books.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” Adramelek said. “When I was given the leaflet describing the kind of work your employers do, I felt as if I’d been given a great blessing.” He was very glad Ondrass wasn’t there—he wasn’t sure that his friend would be able to stop himself from laughing. Although, Adramelek thought, he could hear Lucifer chortling in the depths of his mind, and the sound of his lord and lover’s amusement made him feel a little better about what he was doing. His first instinct had been to grab the doctor and teleport somewhere and proceed to interrogate him, but that would have only alerted Transom Corp. that something was going on. This ridiculous charade would have to suffice.

  “I quite understand,” Dr. Markham said. “I’ve met many parents who have felt the same way. I understand that your son is very ill.”

  “Yes. He has Hodgkin’s Lymphoma,” Adramelek said. “I’ve been told that there’s no hope for him now, that the disease has progressed too far.”

  “Terrible,” Dr. Markham said sympathetically. “But nothing is ever as bad as it seems. We have had some success with other patients with the disease, and they’ve made a full recovery.”

  “It seems almost too
good to be true,” Adramelek said. “I’ll be honest, doctor, I’m not entirely sure that I believe that this isn’t just some form of snake oil.”

  Dr. Markham smiled at that. “I’ve heard that many times, too, but I assure you, the treatment does work. We have two patients in recovery in the clinic right now, if you’d like to meet them.”

  “Be very careful, Adry,” Lucifer’s voice in Adramelek’s mind was deadly serious. “See if you can get a reading on them with your power, but don’t give the game away while you do it.”

  “Of course not.” And out loud, Adramelek said, “I would love to meet them, thank you.” He hoped he looked suitably fatuous, a man grasping desperately for hope, even as he felt disgusted with himself. Transom’s staff preying on the fears of humans who had lost all hope like this, particularly the fears of loved ones watching their relatives die slow and painful deaths, casting about for any sort of salvation, sickened him.

  “Then please come with me,” Dr. Markham said. He got to his feet and went to the door, opened it and gestured to Adramelek, indicating that he should follow him. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  They left the office and walked down the corridor, talking of unimportant things—the weather, the price of gas, the cost of a gallon of milk, wasn’t it terrible the state of the roads these days, who can depend on a government to do anything right, honestly, things should be so much better. Adramelek found his first opinion of Dr. Markham to be confirmed. He was a man who believed with every fiber of his being in what he was doing, and nothing would convince him otherwise.

  There was another concern, however, and Adramelek communicated it to Lucifer. “I get the feeling that the people I’m about to see have actually been cured. What do we do then? If there is actually a legitimate treatment?”

  “Get as much evidence as possible and show Raphael. I concur, Adramelek. Something else is going on here, and I believe this doctor is unaware of the truth behind Transom Corp. and thinks that the whole operation is altruistic.”