Beyond the Veil (Demon Squad Book 5)

by Tim Marquitz

  Iriaal growled as I cleared the edge of the balcony and dropped toward him, but I couldn’t blame him his rudeness. I gave him good reason not to like me by taking potshots at his face. He mustered a magical shield and deflected my bullets easily enough. They whined into the darkness as he drew a short blade from a sheath I hadn’t seen strapped at his back. I almost laughed. This angel was a serious, old school Heavenly warrior. He was bringing a knife to a gunfight.

  It was time to bring him into the modern age.

  I imagined boots the size of kayaks and willed my magic to make them real just before I hit. His smile melted when he realized what I’d done, but it was too late to get out of the way. My magic hit his and momentum won out. There was an electric crackle, the sound of a cattle prod hitting a slab of meat, and the angel went flying. Arms and legs waving behind him like banners, he flew across the room and slammed into the dais at the far end. The wooden podium shattered, and the angel went down in a shower of splinters, stirring up a storm of gray soot.

  Unfortunately, like all my other relationships, my flirtation with gravity turned sour. The ground smacked me in the ass, and I tumbled into the aisle between the nearest rows of benches. The threadbare carpet didn’t do shit to soften the landing. Dust and dirt puffed up all around me, a swirl of gray and brown that choked the air and grasped at my lungs. I scrambled to my feet after an awkward roll and felt the sting of steel as it was dragged across my back. One of the aliens stood right behind me. The cut wasn’t deep, but not for his lack of trying. Blood warmed my spine and leaked into my ass crack, which tickled more than you’d think.

  The alien pressed forward to finish the job. I kicked a leg out from under him and squeezed off a couple of rounds into his chest as he stumbled forward. His sword shimmered past as I sidestepped the blow. I was just about to pat myself on the back when I realized I’d moved right into the path of the angel.

  His magic roared to life not five feet from where I stood. I could feel its essence and smell the metallic tang as a bolt of energy smacked into me. Skin sizzled, and I ducked away, the acrid char of burnt meat replacing the mystical sear. As much as it stung, it reminded me I hadn’t eaten in a while. I was imagining a thick and juicy steak while I rolled between the benches to escape the continuing burst of energy, and a thought hit me.

  The blast hadn’t hurt half as much as I expected it to. A quick glance explained why. While all the hair on my forearm had been singed off, the flesh a nice shade of red, it hadn’t even blistered. My shirt wafted with tendrils of smoke, but even it was whole. I glanced behind me to see the benches still standing, only tiny flickers of flame brightening the blackened wood. The carpet hadn’t fared as well, however, its ratty weave catching fire in several places.

  Once out the other side of the row, I looked for Iriaal and spied him right where he’d been a moment ago. He had an ‘Oh shit’ expression on his face when he saw me pop up. As close as I was when he hit me, I should have been sloughing flesh like ice cream off a cone in the Sahara, but he’d barely toasted the surface. Either he’d spent his load earlier and had yet to recover or he was a pinch hitter for the peewee leagues. Both were good for me.

  “Don’t be ashamed, Iriaal. From what I hear, impotence happens to every angel at some point in their life.”

  He spit at me and ran off. Before he got more than a step, I shot his ass. The first bullet clipped his side and he spun away, a splash of red spewing from the wound. The second hit him in the hip. He grunted and stumbled while I lined him up to put him on ice long enough for me to take care of his buddies. They apparently had a similar idea.

  If you’ve never been stabbed before, there is simply no way to describe the feeling of a piece of cold steel entering your body. It’s a definite violation of personal space.

  The alien’s hot breath washed across my neck as he huffed and he puffed at my back, but he didn’t stand a chance of blowing this brick shithouse down. His blade was buried in my side and he was pushing it deeper with every grunt. I lay the barrel of my gun on my opposite shoulder and pulled the trigger. The discharge drowned his screams, and the pressure disappeared from the sword immediately.

  I looked back toward the angel with the wailing shriek of my eardrum chasing my head around like a dog barking after its tail. Iriaal hit the double doors at the front of the church and barreled through them without slowing, his hand clutching his side. Even injured, he was hauling ass.

  I holstered a pistol as I watched him go and yanked the sword out my back, teeth clenched to keep from screaming. It slid free with a wet rip. I let the blade drop as I started forward. It was damn lucky the indigent assholes had a fetish for primitive weapons. It hurt being stabbed, but it wasn’t remotely life threatening. And since there wasn’t time to worry about it. I needed to catch the angel before he got too far. It was also a good idea to get out of the church before it came toppling down. The fire was spreading fast.

  Halfway across the room, bulling my way through the rotting benches, I noticed a blur of movement coming toward me from the growing haze. The gleam of steel gave me a pretty good idea as to who it might be, so I emptied my clip into the shadowy figure. A limp, alien body thumped to the floor at my feet. I stepped over it and burst into the foyer. The spider webs swayed in the wake of my passage, sparkling with the reflection of the firelight. Head down, I ran out of the church, jumped over the broken stairs, and put my head on a swivel to find the angel.

  Not out in the open, he had to have taken flight or darted around the side of the church for cover. I didn’t see any trace of his ethereal wings lighting up the sky, so I shot around back. The waft of char followed me, black runnels of smoke spilling through the aged window frames and between the cracks of loose bricks. My eyes on the ground as I looked to spot any hint of trail Iriaal might have left on the dirt-blown, asphalt surface, I reached the back of the church without seeing anything, and stepped into the building’s shadow.

  Strong hands clasped my shirt just as I cleared the corner, and I was spun about and slammed hard into the wall, vertigo blurring my vision. The air billowed from my lungs with a gasp when I hit, my ribs creaking under the pressure. There was a flash of magical energy, and then it was gone. Glistening eyes bored into mine from under a dark hood, and I pushed to draw my power as I struggled to catch my breath. Magic hissed to life, and I raised my hand to sear the eyebrows off whoever had grabbed me. The face I saw reflected in the wash of mystical light set my energy to sputtering right alongside my heart. My magic whimpered and went out as soon as I realized it wasn’t the angel who’d snatched me up. Not even close.

  It was Baalth.

  Twelve

  “Holy—” I started, but Baalth put a bony hand over my mouth. He looked like a poop soufflé with butt fudge sprinkles on top, and didn’t smell much better.

  “Not here, Frank.” He released me and cast a furtive glance around. His voice was a reedy whisper. “We need to go before the fire draws attention.”

  I wasn’t sure who would bother coming to a fire in a burnt out neighborhood that hadn’t come at the sound of gunshots. Besides, I had an angel to catch. “I can’t. I need to find Iriaal.”

  Baalth shook his head. “He’s unimportant.” He waved his hands about and I could see the shadows of curious faces looming in the nearby windows. “There are far greater troubles brewing than an angel’s betrayal.”

  All I could think of was Karra. “I don’t give a damn about his loyalties. The only thing I care about is—”

  “Longinus’ daughter.” He gave a curt nod. “Yes, Frank, I know why you are here. And though I cannot lead you directly to her, what I know will be of far greater use to you in her recovery than what that fleeing angel might tell you.” Baalth looked around again, his eyes darting about like trapped rats in his head. “But we must go, now, if we are to avoid further…complications. Come with me.”

  I stared at him a moment, my stomach doing flips while I decided. He looked worn down, only slighter
better than he had when I’d asked Black and White to cart him off to God to save his life. The skin of his face was stretched tight against his skull, sharp angles and deep lines defined his leathered countenance. His eyes bulged a little and his normally manicured goatee looked more like a homeless hedgehog had taken up residence on his chin. There was none of the vitality he had before Mihheer tossed him into the energy tank with McConnell. If the Walking Dead producers were looking for a zombie guest star, Baalth would be perfect for the part. They wouldn’t even need to spend a dime on makeup. He had ugly to spare.

  “Well?” he asked.

  His newly acquired spook-face had done nothing to temper his impatience. I sighed. With all the time I’d wasted dealing with Baalth, Iriaal was probably long gone, anyway. “All right, all right. Keep your…” Cloak on, I was gonna say, but the sudden realization that he looked like the Emperor from the Star Wars movies kept me from continuing.

  It wasn’t like I had far to go, but I guess I was off to the dark side.

  ~

  It was strangely comforting to have stumbled across Baalth on this backwater, alien planet. I’d been too distracted to ask God about him and too pissed to bother asking Lucifer, but it was good to see the demon lieutenant up and about even if he did look like death warmed over.

  He slipped through town, a wraith covered from head to toe. He stuck to the shadows and rarely strayed from the back alleys, slowing and avoiding all pedestrian traffic. We’d traveled maybe ten blocks through the quiet streets of Desboren before he finally slowed and darted down a narrow side road. I hurried after him as he yanked open a derelict door and stepped inside a building that looked ready to come down on top of us. Reluctantly, I followed after, Baalth shutting the door behind me. A subtle flash of energy sparked off my senses and magical bolts slid into place, locking us in.

  The gentle waft of power caught my attention. It was so…delicate. I glanced over at Baalth and spied a tiny crystal adhered to the door, just over his shoulder. It had been its energy I’d sensed being triggered, not Baalth’s. It struck me then that I couldn’t pick him out even against the whitewash of Feluris’ magical emptiness. There was a void where he stood, his essence no more vital than the aliens who populated the world. He had yet to heal from his wounds.

  He turned and noticed me staring. A sad smile twisted his lips. “Pathetic, is it not?” Baalth walked past me, into the next room, mechanical lights coming on behind him with a nagging hum. The place didn’t look any better on the inside than it did on the outside. Baalth dropped into a battered, metal seat, the orange of rust competing admirably against the black paint, which had once been its sole color. It creaked beneath him, and he waved me to another, which sat nearby. I walked over slowly, my eyes taking in the dilapidated chamber.

  There were no paintings or portraits on the walls, only decades-old paint that had peeled to reveal the cracked surface below, curly waves of dingy gray jutting out across the room. The ceiling slope downward, gray stains showing the path of water, which had pooled above and soaked into the wood. Unlike all of Baalth’s hideaways on Earth, there was none of the trappings of home here: no desk or leather chair, no personal effects. There was simply open space and the dust of ages past, the hardwood floor marked with scuffs and scrapes until the brown had turned a soured yellow. A beaten stairwell, set into the corner of the room, rose up into the shadows above. Just beyond it was a weathered door, centered in the back wall.

  “Sit…please.”

  “I don’t have time for this. Just tell me what I need to know.”

  He sighed and leaned back into the chair. “Must you always be so difficult, Frank?” Baalth shook his head slowly. “So much like your father.”

  “He’s not what I came here for.” I could feel my face heating up.

  “No, but he’s the reason Gorath brought your precious little woman here,” he answered.

  “Now you’re getting it.”

  He chuckled. “But you aren’t. Lucifer, Gorath, and Karra are all connected. This isn’t just about you and her, Frank. It’s bigger than that.”

  “Not for me it isn’t.” I barked my defiance of what he was implying, but deep down I knew where he was going with all this. Nothing in my life had ever been just about me or what I wanted, even with as much as I tried to make it so. There were always plots within plots. I had so many strings attached to my ass I was lucky to do anything without someone yanking me back and making me dance the Hokey Pokey.

  “We are all puppets, in our own way,” he said, as if he’d read my mind. “I thought God might set aside his ill will and deal with me fairly, but such was not to be.”

  “You’re still alive, right?”

  “If that is what you wish to call it.” He stood and spread his arms out, a sneer setting his lip to trembling. “Loose your senses and tell me what you feel, Frank.”

  I already knew what he was getting at: I felt nothing. I’d seen it to some degree with Longinus. Even with the fiends to buffer his magic, he was running on empty and he hadn’t been injured like Baalth was when the twins brought him to see God. “You need to heal, that’s all.”

  Baalth laughed, casting his cloak from his shoulders and tearing at the clasps of his tunic.

  “Whoa, buddy” I turned my head aside and covered my eyes. While I’ve nothing against an impromptu peep show, Baalth wasn’t packing the right equipment to make me want to lay down my heard-earned dollar bills.

  “Look at me!”

  The sharpness of his tone compelled me to do as he ordered. Baalth stood there, his shirt cast aside alongside his cloak, and there was nothing of him I recognized. Where once had been layers of powerful muscle and vital flesh, now sat pale skin and protruding bones. His ribs swelled from his torso as if they hoped to escape its pasty confines. His stomach was sunken, all muscle appearing to have deflated, his chest little more than skin stretched tight across his hollow frame. The once perfect hair was gone, patches of dark fur spotting his skull. There was no comparison to the Baalth I’d known back on Earth. That demon was gone. In his place was a homeless scarecrow.

  He turned in a slow circle so I could see all of him, his back faring no better off than the rest of him. “This was not caused by the journey to this realm.” Baalth eased into the chair. He looked every bit the old man who’d come to the end of his life and understood it was over, once and for all. “God did this to me. He took everything.”

  As much as I wanted to be surprised, I just couldn’t. Something deep inside of me stirred, a soulless, sinister laugh that chilled my bones at odds with the guilt and disgust I felt. “Why?” It was the only question that made sense.

  “He has no use for demons, Frank. Not me, not you, and certainly not your father. While Lucifer stands strong, God will do nothing to jeopardize his war, but there will come a time when your father is weak or wounded, just as I was, and He will swoop down upon him and end their feud once and forever.”

  I had thought it over already. “Haven’t they come to terms?”

  Baalth grunted. “The only terms they have met are those which suit the Almighty.” He stood and walked over to me, his emaciated body on full display. “I was delusional, nearly unconscious from my wounds and the trials of the journey between dimensions. I wanted only to live and gave in freely and as willingly as I was capable of regarding God’s request of me.” Baalth set a cold hand on my shoulder and met my eyes. “He healed me in exchange for all of my power, and I unwittingly said yes. I awoke to this.” Baalth drew my gaze back down to the ruin of his flesh. He returned to his seat with a weary sigh.

  “He intends this for Lucifer, as well.”

  I’d seen God’s fairness with Longinus and couldn’t help but believe what Baalth was saying was true, but I didn’t want to believe it. “How can He win His war if He’s doing away with His minions?”

  “God doesn’t need bodies, only the energy they possess, their essence. His experiments, us, Earth, these other thousands of univer
ses He’s created, have stretched His power to the limits of His control. He fights to a standstill against these rebels He’s empowered with no means to supplement His magic. His experiment of free will has gone terribly awry, much as it had in Heaven and on Earth. He has spent too much of His will fighting and can no longer rein in His creations.”

  “He created them. Why can he simply unmake them?”

  Baalth grinned, yellowed teeth glistening in his mouth. “You’ve come to the crux of it, Frank. Why didn’t God just destroy your father and the other rebellious angels who stood against him?” He waited a moment until he was sure I had no answer. “It’s because He imbued each and every one of us with the tiniest piece of His own essence. We are truly of God.”

  I walked over and sank down into the chair across from Baalth. My stomach grumbled at what I was being told, and I didn’t trust my legs to hold me up.

  “For God to kill us, wipe us from the map of existence, He would be forced to kill a part of Himself.” Baalth’s smile grew sour. “Free will made us individuals, gave us lordship over the ember of God inside us. Were He to forcefully try to take it from us, He would lose those pieces forever. It is what happened with the flood. He struck out against His failing and learned that He had severed a part of his own essence, his soul, which could never be reclaimed. That example might well be little more than a drop in the ocean of His power, but imagine that multiplied by billions, all the souls He’s scattered across the various universes of His creation.”

  The words fell over me like a tsunami. It was all too much. “You’re telling me He’s not omnipotent, not all powerful?”

  Baalth raised his hands. “Don’t misunderstand me, Frank. Even with the shards of His power cast across the myriad universes He’s created, He is still infinitely more powerful than you or I can imagine, but He was never omnipotent. And that was by choice. He never wanted to know everything, He felt it a curse upon his lonely existence, so He built individuality into His creations, gave them the ability to think and act for themselves even if it meant they would violate His own commandments. He just never imagined His experiments would take the seed He’d planted and seek out the essence of godhood he’d so cruelly taunted us with.”