“He’s alive. Focus on the mission. That’s Carlo,” whispered Jordan, as he took his place at my back. His lips hovering above my ear. “I will make sure Nicholas gets out. Promise me you’ll get out safely too.”
“I promise.”
“Good enough. Ready for this?” His hand squeezed my bicep, and he moved in closer, taking my hand in his.
“So not ready. You?”
“I have no choice. Don’t get hurt. Be smart. Don’t worry about what’s behind you. I’ll handle it.”
I nodded and gestured toward the great room again through the windows. The marble floors were covered with some painter’s tarp as if they couldn’t bear to scrub blood from the floor. The carnage from an hour ago must have been enough for their stomachs. Either that or they didn’t want to mess up this beautiful room. I was there to wreck things, and I didn’t want to disturb a single decorative candle.
A low stone table rested in the room’s center. Whatever it was, the table was made of a substance that was blacker than the obsidian altar we used back at the Order. It seemed to suck the light out of the immediate area around it. The table pulsed with its own aura, a deep gray with rivulets of red flowing through it. The outermost rings of its aura pulsed with bone-chillingly cold darkness. The men, acolytes, closest to it shivered.
Carlo and Vernon entered the room from a far side door. They approached the altar with several items in their hands: a cauldron, a carved bone knife, two divining rods, smaller ritual cutting knives, a handful of woven belts, and small jars of pungent spices and herbs that I could smell through the distance and windows between us. Their sacred regalia. With the help of a few chosen acolytes, they laid the objects down with ceremonial precision. Carlo threw back the hood of his floor-length robe and cried out in a language I didn’t recognize.
We crept around the side of the building toward the doors and windows closest to the ceremony in the great room. All we had to do was go down a short flight of stairs, breach a thick wooden door, and cross a short hallway to reach them.
“Patience,” Jordan whispered. I ground my teeth and forced myself to check my stride.
“We’re in position,” said Voss in my ear.
“Same here,” Hernandez said.
The glow of the house changed as the electric lights were dimmed and replaced by the illumination from the flames of the candles in each acolyte’s hand. From my vantage point, I counted thirty men and women standing shoulder in a circle around Carlo, Vernon, and the low table. They knelt in unison as Vernon took the single chain thurible from the altar and walked around the room. He swung the censer back and forth, blessing each of the acolytes with the powerful smoke. They murmured a response to his benediction in that exotic language and dipped their heads in reverence.
“In position,” I whispered as I eased my weapon out of the holster on my left hip. I glanced back at Esai, Mercer, and Jordan. Like me, they’d readied themselves for the inevitable breach. Esai grinned at me, his teeth gleaming in the dark, and flashed me a thumbs-up. At least someone else was excited about this.
My bloodlust had reached a fevered pitch as I watched. Carlo named each of the acolytes, and they rose from their spot. They glided to the table and bowed low, so low their foreheads touched the surface of the altar. Carlo grabbed each hand and sliced at the wrist, turning it, so their blood dripped into the cauldron. The collected fluids hissed and bubbled with each new drop.
“Nicholas DeMarco,” intoned Carlo. Gulping, Nicholas got to his feet and limped over to the table. His injured leg made it difficult for him to kneel, but he touched his brow to the table. Even from this distance, I could see him trembling beneath his robe as he offered his too-thin wrist. The knife gleamed as Carlo lifted his arm higher than the others and sliced downward.
I stopped breathing. That’s what happened when three grown men tackled you and pinned you to the ground. In my mind, I’d seen myself tear down the stairs and into the great room, rescuing Nicholas and killing Carlo in one fell swoop. What happened, I pieced together, was that I tried to take off and Jordan had gotten an arm around my neck, clotheslining me, and brought me to the ground. Esai came to my other side and pinned down my free arm while Carter sat on my legs.
“Stop it,” hissed Jordan.
“He signed up for this, boss,” said Carter, huffing.
Esai helped me to my feet, his arms a vise around my chest. “It’s just a little blood.”
Jordan brought me to my feet and secured an arm around my waist. I was too much of a live wire to have even a modicum of free range. Some leader I was.
We watched as Nick’s blood dripped into the cauldron. Unlike with the others, purple sparks flew out, and the liquid bubbled over. Carlo held onto his wrist a moment longer.
“Wait here,” he said.
An acolyte offered Nicholas a towel to wipe his arm. Nicholas shrugged him off, no doubt ready to heal himself, but instead he doubled over and cried out in pain. He crumpled to his knees and retched.
“I don’t know what they did to him, but the rest looks like the ceremony we did to bring you back,” said Jordan, panic seeping into his voice for the first time.
Esai made the sign of the cross. “Only this is bigger, more elaborate. What the hell are they doing?”
Summoning never-before-seen chaos to set the world into the final battle of good and evil. Duh.
The woman I’d seen in the satellite imaging, the one who’d worn the pink shirt, knelt beside him. She brushed his hair back and murmured into his ear. He bowed his head, nodding, and allowed her to clean and bandage his wound. She helped him to his feet. Unsteady, he threw an arm around her shoulder and leaned into her for support. The woman braced him up and smiled.
Carlo said nothing about the spectacle. He continued hacking away at the wrists of the worshipers, watching the blood in the cauldron froth and spit. As the last acolyte resumed their place within the circle, a low humming filled the room.
“Jainkoa,” they cried out in concert, “zure eta eskatzen dugu. Gurekin itzuli. Santua argitan bete dugu. Lucifer, Morningstar du, otoitz dugu. Hartu zure etxean. Zuk zain nago.”
“For too long we have been stymied by the intervention of an interloper, a would-be god,” said Carlo. “He has taken it upon himself to destroy the natural order you have created. We implore you to return and destroy this traitor to humanity.”
“Deuseztatu Il Separatio! Heriotza zion!”
“God, we beseech you. Fill us with your holy light. Make martyrs out of your humble servants as they strive for your righteous cause.”
“Deuseztatu Il Separatio! Heriotza zion!”
“Samael, he of many faces and names, fight your battle once again. Claim your throne. Let your children populate the Earth and wreak havoc as you see fit. Bring your war to us.”
“Deuseztatu Il Separatio! Heriotza zion!”
“Destroy Il Separatio. Death to him and his most loyal servants, for they seek to thwart your will. Restore the natural order and let humanity decide its fate.”
Vernon lowered a dipper into the cauldron. He poured the blood into the chalice and handed it to Carlo. The man drank deeply from it, his head thrown back in ecstasy. Blood trickled down the sides of his mouth, marring his otherwise smooth ivory skin. Instead of making him look clownish, he transformed into an otherworldly being. His skin glowed from within, the luminescence rivaling only my own light show. That mousy brown hair glimmered as he turned to Nicholas.
“We need a host.”
“No,” said Nicholas as he backed up to the wall. “No, dammit.”
“You, our faithful servant, have been chosen.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Jordan swore under his breath. “Carlo and Vernon,” he reminded me. “Everyone else is my problem. That includes Nicholas. Don’t lose focus again.”
“Right.” I exhaled again and locked my body into place. It was all I could do to breathe as another acolyte called out and threw himself at Vernon’s feet. Fre
ckles stood out on his face, even as he turned red and wept.
“No! It was supposed to be me! I prepared for this.” He kissed Vernon’s shoes, holding on to the hem of his robe, and begged. “Please, don’t do this. This is what I’ve hungered for my entire life. He is no one!”
“His blood says otherwise,” said Carlo. “To destroy the fabric of liminality, to usher in chaos, we need the strongest, not the most willing.”
Vernon reached down and stroked the strawberry-blond hair of the sobbing man for a long moment. “Your chance has passed. Perhaps the gods will find another use for you. Simon, be a good man and silence yourself.”
Simon, however, had other ideas. He jumped to his feet and threw himself at the altar. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to grab the choice seating before Nicholas or if he wanted to attack Carlo. Either way, it didn’t matter. Vernon grabbed the sobbing man by the arms and dragged him back to his place within the circle. Those boots that had been lovingly kissed just seconds before bludgeoned Simon’s face and stomach and stomped on his chest.
Across the room from them, another struggle ensued as Nicholas tried to break free of the grasps of those around him. He fought, elbows, knees, and fists flying at anything that came near him. He backed up against the wall and cursed. He was trapped. No less than five men encircled him and restrained his arms and legs.
“Don’t fight, man,” said a broad-shouldered man. His widow’s peak and sharp nose reminded me of a character on a beloved public access children’s show.
One. One tied-up Nicholas, ah, ah, ah.
Nicholas spat in the man’s face and headbutted him. Instead of aiming for the nose or something breakable, he went forehead to forehead and ended up crumpling to the ground with a sickening thud. Still conscious, he tried to wriggle out of their grasp. The woman who’d held him up knelt down and whispered into his ear again. She cleaned the blood from his face and kissed his bruised and aching head.
“No,” he said again. He shivered and pulled away from her caressing hands. “I won’t. Let me go.”
“Shh,” she said in a high, girlish voice, stroking his arm. “You must. You have been chosen.”
For the first time since this ordeal began, he looked well and truly terrified. He was wild as he gasped for air and struggled. He got one arm free and struck out with all his might. The burly man holding his arm cupped his bleeding nose as Nicholas swung at anything within range. The woman caught the end of a swing, fell back, and slammed her head on the marble floor. For a moment, he was stricken.
“Brenda, I’m sorry,” he moaned as he reached out to her. She didn’t respond as he scooped her up into his arms and shook her. Her head lolled to one side, and her arms hung limply. He held her to his chest. “Brenda, no, don’t do this. Wake up. I’m sorry.”
“Leave her,” said the man who’d restrained him.
“Screw you,” he spat. Nicholas patted Brenda’s cheek none too gently. “Brenda, wake up.”
She moaned and stirred. “What happened?” she said, her voice slurring.
“Thank the gods. You hit your head. I’m so sorry.”
Brenda smiled weakly. She tried to sit. “Don’t worry about me. You should focus on your task. You’ve been chosen, lucky.”
He snorted, the two in their own world. “Yeah, real lucky. I won’t do it.”
Vernon glided to a stop in front of them and snapped his fingers. “Tie them both up.”
Nicholas eased Brenda back and leaned her against the wall. He climbed to his feet and stood in front of her. “No. Leave us alone.”
Carlo snapped his fingers. The same men that had surrounded Nicholas converged around him and Brenda. Nicholas let out a primal scream and fought with what strength remained, using every dirty trick I’d ever taught him. He bit and threw hard jabs at their eyes and throat. The smallest of the men, a good six inches shorter than Nicholas, got inside his guard. But Nicholas was a wild animal. He howled and shoved his thumbs into the man’s eyes. He pushed and pushed until the man screamed and grabbed his face.
“That sonofabitch blinded me! Help!”
Nicholas let out a harsh laugh. As the next man approached, he reached out and grabbed the man’s hair and yanked down. The man stumbled on his robes and slipped. Nicholas didn’t wait. He threw his knee upward into the man’s nose with a revolting crunch. The man crumpled to the ground. But even at his best, he was no match for three fresh men. He was weakened, injured, and terrified. They hurled themselves at him, three sets of fists and feet battering him to the ground. Nicholas fell into a bawling, huddling heap, unable to protect himself or Brenda any longer. Heaving, the men lifted him onto a wooden bier and tied him down, his attempts to get free no longer bothersome.
“Lower him onto the altar. Bring her too,” said Carlo.
Vernon grabbed Brenda by the hair and dragged her along. She shrieked and tried to fight for her freedom, her only apparent crime helping Nicholas in his moment of need. He yanked harder and smacked her with the back of his hand. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth.
“No,” moaned Nicholas as he struggled against his restraints.
“Don’t worry. We’re not ready for you yet,” said Vernon. He threw Brenda to the ground near Nicholas’ feet and dusted off his hands. “First comes our army.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“WAIT,” YELLED NICHOLAS LOUD enough for us to hear. “Not yet! Hold off a few more minutes.”
Carlo’s face scrunched up in confusion, marring that radiant perfection. I could have only hoped to look that good when I lit up.
“He’s talking to us,” said Esai.
“Boss?” asked Hernandez in my headset. “What do we do?”
“Trust him,” Jordan said. “He knows something we don’t.”
Indecision wracked me. There was no good reason to wait, at least from my perspective. They were about to create an army. Nicholas was minutes from being sacrificed. Who knew what would happen to poor Brenda. Yet, he wanted us to wait for a reason.
“We wait,” I said.
The scene in front of us unfolded like a horror movie. Carlo extended his right arm and sliced at the vein in his wrist with one of the ceremonial knives, this one as pitch-dark as the altar itself. His blood welled and pooled into another chalice. After a long moment, he pulled away and attended to his wound. Simon, the clobbered and mangled acolyte, crawled on his knees toward Carlo.
“Please let me do this much. I beg you.”
“Silence, my son. You shall serve the cause in this manner.”
Simon collapsed into relieved sobs.
Weirdo.
With Vernon’s help, Carlo added a mixture of herbs and bits of who-knew-what to the blood and stirred. Smoke, thick and acrid, rose from the chalice and carpeted the room. Around the room, the acolytes moaned in ecstasy and fell to the floor.
“Don’t inhale,” I warned my team. “Stay away from the open windows.”
“Copy.”
“Roger that.”
“Understood.”
The fumes rose upward, through the ceiling, and out of the house like a ghost traveling through walls. One by one, the men and women around the circle climbed to their feet. They cried out in amazement as if they saw the world with new eyes. Those who’d shown some obvious deformities were made whole. Even the bruises that covered Nicholas faded, faster than his own healing abilities had ever accomplished.
“Rise, my faithful. You have given your lives over to become soldiers in the fight for humanity. You shall unleash chaos such as has never been seen until our pleas are heard,” said Vernon triumphantly.
“Nicholas,” I muttered to myself, “You’d better have a damn good reason for making us wait. Give me a sign, dammit.”
Carlo closed his eyes and reached for the largest of the ceremonial knives, a Javanese kris. A foot long, the asymmetrical dagger was inscribed with runes or some other sacred language. Its gold hilt glittered in the candlelight as he held it over his head, spea
king in that indecipherable language. With lightning speed, he swooped down and cut open the front of Nicholas’ robe and shirt, revealing his bare chest.
Brenda screamed. Clambering to her feet, she threw herself over Nicholas. One acolyte grabbed her by the hair and attempted to drag her backward, but her grip was too firm. Nicholas, still bound to the bier, shouted.
“Let her go! I’ll submit. Just let her go. Brenda, go.” He stared at the far wall where we were hidden as if he could see me waiting for his signal. “Not yet.”
“What the hell is he waiting for?” asked Voss in my ear. “Boss?”
“He said to wait. Trust him,” I said, hating myself for every second that we didn’t move.
Nicholas spoke to Brenda in a low voice. Her sobs subsided, and she rested her head on his bare skin. “Go,” he whispered. Shaking, the woman rose and backed away.
“Are we done with the dramatics?” asked Simon of the renewed health and vigor. “We have waited too long for this day.”
Unperturbed, Carlo opened his eyes and lowered the blade. “Nicholas DeMarco, your death will provide the entryway to the liminal zone. Creatures beyond your imagination have been waiting for the day when the servant of Azathoth would be freed, for it heralds the time of Chaos.”
“Shit,” breathed Nicholas. “What are you going to do?”
Carlo gave him a curious look. “Why, we’re going to kill you. Don’t waste your precious remaining breaths on the trivialities.”
“Humor me.”
“Slit his throat,” hissed Simon. “Be done with him. Azathoth’s servant awaits.”
The Black Knights Page 29