A moment later, his eyes lit up. He dropped to a knee and rapped his knuckles on the hardwood floor. He stood up again and gently kicked at the boards with his toe. They squeaked under his feet. He flashed Jim a grin.
“I have an idea,” he told the older man. “Downstairs!” Jim looked at him quizzically, but followed him without question.
“Denzel!” Peter called as they reached the ground floor. “Denzel! I need you!”
His giant, dark-skinned friend lumbered into the hallway to join them.
“What up?” he asked.
“We need your chainsaw,” Peter told him. He looked at Jim. “We need something for him to stand on. The taller the better, but it needs to be sturdy.” Jim caught on quickly. They disappeared into the common room, returning a moment later with a tall, heavy antique armchair.
“We need to cut through to the floor above.” Denzel nodded and perched precariously on the chair.
Denzel pushed the blade straight up. It met little resistance. He made a single long cut, the full width of the hallway. Sawdust flew everywhere. Peter and Jim turned their heads away. Denzel just coughed and ignored it.
He made another cut parallel to the first. Two more cuts, running down the edges of the hallway, connected the entire pattern into a nearly perfect square.
“Move!” Denzel shouted. Peter and Jim scrambled as he finished the last cut. He tossed the chainsaw aside, releasing the dead man’s switch as the floor section fell. The chair wobbled beneath him. He tried to catch himself on the wall. For a moment, he had it. Then his grip slipped, and the chair slid out from underneath him.
The dead man’s switch on the saw brought it to a safe halt. That plus Denzel’s foresight in tossing it to safety prevented anyone from losing a limb. Jim retrieved the tool, while Peter saw to his fallen friend.
“You OK, man?” Peter asked, kneeling over him.
The farm boy struggled back to his feet. It took some work to raise his massive frame. Even so, he shook off Peter’s extended hand.
“Nah, man, I gotta do it for myself.” He stood there for a moment, feeling and clapping at various parts of his body. At last he seemed satisfied. “I’m good, dawg.”
Conor and Gabriel stepped in from the kitchen in the back, just as Stefan appeared from the foyer in the front. They studied the commotion with interest.
“SITREP,” Conor barked.
“Michael took off upstairs alone like a blasted fool,” Jim reported. “There’s a magical field of some kind blocking him off. We couldn’t get through it, so we improvised.”
“The tunnels under Jim’s estate gave me the idea,” Peter noted.
“Copy that,” Conor replied. “Police will be here soon. We need to bail ASAP. Get Michael and the girls and let’s get out of here. We have the exits covered – but don’t take too long.”
Peter grunted an acknowledgment as the trio returned to their stations. Then he climbed up through the hole. Covington followed.
Denzel collected his chainsaw and gave it a once over. Then he cranked it. Satisfied that it still ran, he killed it again and pushed it through the opening into the hallway above. A heartbeat later he pulled himself up behind it. Then he helped Peter up.
The young construction worker probed cautiously down the hallway. They met with no resistance. Even the ectoplasmic constructs had gone strangely dormant. That struck Peter as more than a little weird.
“This seem strange to you?” Peter asked the older man.
“Strange as in ‘a little too quiet’ kind of strange?” Covington queried him in return.
“Exactly like that.”
“Hell yes it feels a little strange.”
They reached the final door and eyed it. Sounds of a struggle emanated from beyond. Peter tried the doorknob.
“Locked.”
A woman screamed inside the room.
“Abby,” Jim whispered.
Peter set himself hard and threw his shoulder into the door. It burst off the hinges as he charged inside.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Michael stumbled forward against the wall, straight into the space that should have been occupied by Abigail Covington. She had shimmered as he grasped her. Now she disappeared entirely. Faith screamed and struggled in his grasp. He let her go, pivoting on the balls of his feet to face his assailant as quickly as he could.
Khalid raised the baseball bat high, ready to bring it down and hit Michael again. The former sergeant didn’t even try to go for his weapons. There simply wasn’t time. Dojo training took over instead, and he jabbed the fingers of his left hand into the oil heir’s armpit. He felt the spot between the muscles as his fingers hit hard. Instead of snapping the jab back, he dug in and grabbed, twisting his wrist. His assailant screamed, but the baseball bat still came downward.
Michael stepped forward, closing inside the bat’s primary range. He shot his arm into an upward block and intercepted Khalid’s strike at his opponent’s forearm, sapping most of the energy from the strike. He kept his block soft and quickly transitioned it to a grab, snatching at the wrist and pulling the other man’s arm straight. He held the wrist tight as he slammed his shoulder into Khalid’s elbow, snapping it like a twig. The baseball bat dropped harmlessly to the ground. Michael took a large step back, releasing Khalid as his hand found his MP-5 again and brought the submachine gun to bear.
“What have you done with Abby?” he screamed.
The Arab threw back his head and laughed. The feminine laughter Michael had heard before rang out again. He snapped his head around to see the sorcerer standing in the doorway. In the light of the fraternity house, he could see the figure clearly for the first time. The sorcerer wore deep purple robes. A golden cord held it tight around the waist. The robe bore intricate patterns inlaid in gold, green and black. Some of them looked familiar, but he lacked the time to study them in depth.
The good light left no doubt that the figure cut a feminine form. Wisps of golden locks spilled out around the bottom of the hood. Delicate hands rose to adjust them, and then rose higher to the hood itself. Michael held his breath as she pulled the hood back. He knew what he’d seen at the old plantation house, but that was impossible. Katie was dead – he was certain of it. She couldn’t be under those robes. What if she is? Thoughts of O’Bryan rushed into his head.
He let out his breath hard. The reality was worse even than he’d thought.
“Abby?” he managed to force the word out. She cackled at him. Khalid even managed a laugh of his own. “But I saw you carry… you across that field! How?”
She laughed even harder.
“I used the same trick that just caught you again.” She mumbled a few words under her breath and made a gesture with her hands, as she strode deeper into the room. A perfect image of herself shimmered into being next to Michael. The illusion looked at him and screamed.
The door exploded inward. Peter and Jim burst into the room just in time to see the apparition fade away. Jim’s face went white as understanding suddenly dawned.
“Abby!” he cried out as the simulacra dissolved.
“Over here, Daddy.”
Jim’s eyes snapped over toward his robed daughter. Confusion flashed briefly over his eyes before clearing. His next words came out as a whisper.
“Abby, what have you done?”
She cackled harder.
“I’m dreaming big, Daddy – just like you taught me to.”
“Abby? What’s going on?” Faith’s voice came out dreamy and far away. Peter rushed to her side and put a hand on her forehead.
“I think she’s been drugged.”
“Of course I drugged her,” Abby acknowledged with a laugh. “It wouldn’t do to have her struggle. I have big plans for her.”
Peter slipped his left arm around the blue-haired girl’s waist. With his right, he trained his rifle on Abby.
“Not anymore,” he informed her.
Her smile only widened.
“You honestly think
you can stop me? You? The uneducated construction worker? A nobody? You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
“It was you all along, wasn’t it?” Michael asked her quietly. “All along.”
“It should have been us, Michael. You enjoyed this the last time.” Abigail struck a pose, gesturing at her lithe body. “We were great together once. We could be great together again. Once I have the spell from Stoegemoeller’s office –”
Khalid scowled at her. “This wasn’t part of the plan, Abigail.”
“It was always part of my plan, Khalid.” She sauntered up to Michael, bringing her face uncomfortably close to his. In other circumstances, he’d have found it seductive. Now he had to resist the urge to spit in her face. “What do you say, Michael?”
“You treacherous bitch!” Khalid snarled.
“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Michael told him. He turned back to Abigail. “You disgust me.”
“It’s about her, isn’t it?” Anger blazed in her eyes. “It’s always about her! I’m younger and prettier! What did she ever have that I don’t?”
“Class. Style. A sense of basic human decency,” Michael answered coldly. She scowled at him and stepped back across the room. Emotion roiled across her face. Finally, the smile returned. Abby had always seemed a little wild. The crazy went far deeper than he’d ever realized.
“That didn’t seem to bother you that night in New York. You were all over this.”
“I don’t even remember that night in New York, Abby.”
“Of course, you don’t remember!” she shouted at him. “You don’t remember because I roofied you!”
Michael’s face went pale. For the first time in five years, everything made sense. A sick and twisted kind of sense, but it made sense.
James looked at his daughter in shock.
“You did what?” her father whispered.
“I drugged him!”
“Why?” Michael finally managed to stammer out.
“Because I wanted you,” she said simply. Michael wanted to throw up. “And because I needed to get Katie up in that tower before the planes hit.”
Michael watched Jim’s face turn white as a sheet. He felt the blood drain from his own and guessed that it had transformed into a similar color. His arms moved almost of their own accord, retraining his weapon away from Khalid and onto Abby. Covington seemed too shocked to react.
“You killed your sister?” Jim’s hollow voice echoed through the room.
“You killed my fiancé.” Michael’s voice went cold as an arctic glacier.
“Why’d you kill Katie?” Faith muttered. For a moment she became very lucid. “Did you kill Grace, too?” Anger threatened to rise up, then the glimpse of sobriety passed. She slumped against Peter again.
“How?” Peter asked. “How did you even know about it?”
Abigail laughed.
“He told me.”
“Khalid’s got you in way over your head, Abby,” Jim told her firmly. “It’s time to go home.”
“Khalid?” she laughed at him. “Please. Khalid is just a tool. He told me.”
“Who?” Jim asked urgently.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get to meet him soon.”
“We can interrogate them in depth later,” Michael noted. “Get the zip-ties.”
Peter wrapped Khalid’s wrists with the zip-ties.
“No,” the blonde pouted at him. “I won’t go.”
“Yes, you will,” Michael declared. He lowered his aim and fired. The lead slug sailed in a perfect shot straight through Abigail’s knee. The knee shimmered and then disappeared as the bullet passed right through it. The rest of the young woman quickly followed. Abby’s laughter echoed throughout the entire house, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
“You just kneecapped my daughter!” Jim chastised him.
“I would’ve killed her, except that I thought the kneecap would hurt more.” Michael snapped. He stopped to retrieve the baseball bat, tucking it down the back of his shirt like a child with a toy sword. “I owe that girl for five years of hell.”
Jim glared at him, but he ignored it.
“She was never here, Jim.”
Covington calmed down, but only slightly.
“Besides, I still have questions for her.”
“Yeah.” At least Jim agreed on that. “Lots of questions.”
He led the way back to Denzel and the hole in the floor.
“Down!” Covington called, pointing downward as he ran. “We’re out of here!”
The gentle giant helped Jim down, taking extra care due to the old man’s ancient leg injuries. Then he dropped down himself, and collected Faith as Peter passed the drugged girl down. Khalid came next, his bound form handed from one strong man to another. Peter quickly followed. Michael brought up the rear.
A familiar face greeted them at the end of the hallway.
“Mikey!”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Michael flipped the selector switch on his MP-5 over to full-auto and let loose into O’Bryan’s yellow-nosed figure.
“Run!” he called over his shoulder.
He knew the bullets wouldn’t do any lasting harm, but the force of them staggered the creature that used to be his friend, slowing and jostling it. He could at least buy them some time.
His magazine ran out quickly, but Gabriel had picked up on the plan. Michael reloaded and moved while the old Irishman took a turning lay down suppressive fire. Covington kept Khalid at gunpoint as they moved him across the floor.
“SITREP,” the redhead barked.
“My daughter’s an evil, murderous witch and a damned traitor,” Jim summarized. “And I mean every word of that literally – watch her for signs of magic.”
“Copy that,” Conor replied. “Police will be here soon. We need to not be.”
“Out!” came Gabriel’s call. They swapped out the rotation. Michael took Khalid as the Texan reloaded, and Jim took his turn keeping O’Bryan at bay. They swapped through the full rotation twice more, as they fought their way to the front of the house.
The mob of creatures they’d killed earlier had reverted back into a gooey, clay-like substance. It covered the entire floor. Their boots sank deep into it as they moved, slowing them to a snail’s pace.
As if that weren’t enough, an entire new army of vampiric constructs awaited them in the common room. Peter and Jim let loose a spray of fully automatic fire into the room, but they kept coming. Faith stared with wide eyes. Michael wondered what Abby had given her. The experience felt crazy enough sober. He could only imagine what it must seem like drugged.
“Back door!” Conor barked.
They reversed course. Michael stepped in for Covington and kept O’Bryan under suppressive fire as the group pushed through. Then he charged out behind them.
They burst into the back lawn. Police sirens cried out, too far away to help but too close for their comfort. Michael couldn’t tell if they were moving closer or heading further away. He couldn’t decide which answer he preferred. They almost stumbled over George.
“Move!” Conor called out, grabbing the student as he led them around the house in jog.
“Where are the students?” Stefan asked, alarmed
“Relax,” George answered. “They left for St. Mary’s. The car filled up and I wouldn’t fit, so I let Atherton drive.”
Michael shot him a questioning look.
“President of Sigma Chi.”
Peter lagged behind, guiding Faith with an arm around her waist. The drugged girl gave him a glassy-eyed stare.
“Why don’t you like me, Peter?” she half sobbed at him. “I’ve been trying so hard!”
He stared at her, dumbfounded.
“It’s my hair, isn’t it?”
“I like your hair fine, Faith,” he told her.
Denzel jumped in to help. They carried the semi-conscious girl between them, one of her arms draped around each of them. Michael brought
up the rear, covering them from behind.
“Mikey!” O’Bryan’s voice called out.
Michael turned to face the house. His possessed friend sauntered out the front door with a wicked smile. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Peter and Denzel trying to maneuver Faith into the giant SUV.
“It’s the blue,” she told them as they lay her down. “You’re too traditional for that, aren’t you? You’re just too nice to say so.” The words came out half slurred. “It’s OK, Peter. I’ll go back to blonde for you.”
Gabriel yelled something, snapping Michael’s attention away. In the heat of the moment, he couldn’t make out the words. The Texan yelled again.
“The Sword, Michael! Remember the Sword!”
Despite everything he’d seen, he still struggled to convince himself the blade on his back had any special touch of God on it. But if ever he needed a holy weapon, this would be the time. He swung the rifle around to his back and reached back over his shoulder.
The Sword slid out of its scabbard easily, coming to a natural rest in his hands. He’d taken a few kendo lessons from Sensei Rogers once, but he’d never taken to it. Still, he remembered a few basics. He held entirely the wrong kind of sword for what he remembered, but he opted for incorrect technique over no technique. For a moment, he wondered where he could train to fight with an ancient Sumerian weapon. Maybe somebody in Atlanta covered that.
He forced his mind back to the here and now, settling into a simple stance as he turned to face O’Bryan. He brought the weapon up to a high ready position. A tingle passed through his hands. The hint of a glow formed around the edges of the blade, brightening slowly but steadily. He stepped forward for an attack.
The glow suddenly vanished, the tingle ceasing with it. An ordinary blade crunched into O’Bryan’s left shoulder, nothing more. He yanked back, but couldn’t pry the weapon loose. The yellow-nosed demon laughed at him. Knocked away by a backhanded blow, Michael lost his grip on the weapon.
O’Bryan looked right at him as he grasped the Sword by its hilt. In one smooth motion, he pulled it loose and tossed it aside. It slammed against a tree and clattered to the ground.
War Demons: An Urban Fantasy Thriller (The Prodigal Son Book 1) Page 18