by Kyoko M
“Hey, guys?”
They looked at me, immediately amused by my incredibly out-of-place tuxedo. The one in the Miami Heat jersey spoke up. “Yeah?”
“You know a pretty brown-haired lady who lives around here? About this tall—” I held my hand at about two inches shorter than Jordan. “—mid-thirties, glasses, talks like a professor? Probably only comes by once a week to drop off rent money?”
“Maybe,” Mr. Jersey said. “Why’s that matter?”
I smiled and produced a hundred dollar bill from my wallet. “First one to tell me what floor she lives on gets this.”
“Fifth floor, last apartment on the right, player,” he said, holding out his hand. I gave it to him. He grinned and nodded to me before heading out the door with his buddies.
After they left, Jordan sent me an incredulous look. “You know he could be lying to you, right?”
“Yeah, but I speak Guy. A woman like that is definitely something any man would notice in this part of town. Trust me, he’s telling the truth.”
She shook her head, pressing the Up button. “Men are dumb.”
I shrugged and followed her into the elevator. “Dumb, but useful.”
The hallway was dark on the fifth floor, but then again, it had bare grey walls and a carpet the color of tree bark. No air conditioning either, so the air was sticky as we walked towards the end of the hall.
I held up my hand for Jordan to hang back and eased myself near the door, listening in. A man and a woman’s voice. The woman was definitely Madison. I didn’t sense any demonic energy. The demons hadn’t beaten us here.
I knocked on the door. Both voices fell silent. No footsteps. “Doctor Faust? David Faust? I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help. My name is—”
The door flew open and I received a bucket of freezing cold holy water to the face.
I stood there, dripping wet, irritated, and addressed my assailant. “—Michael O’Brien. As in archangel Michael.”
A tall, wiry black man in his mid-thirties stood in front of me in a black button-up shirt, red tie, slacks, and thick-rimmed glasses. He lowered the now empty bucket, his brown eyes wide. “Oh. My apologies, Commander. I wasn’t sure.”
I wiped my face and motioned for Jordan to come forward. She was biting her bottom lip, which meant she was trying not to laugh. Figures. “Sorry if we scared you.”
“I’m alright,” Faust sighed, pushing up his glasses. “I was afraid the demons would get here first. It’s not safe, but I couldn’t figure out where else to go. They’ve found every other one of my hideouts. That’s why I asked Maddie for help. She called ahead to warn me, but she was worried they were already here, so she came out to make sure I was safe.”
“You know these people?” Madison asked with the same frosty, protective glare, tapping her index finger against the trigger guard of the pistol in her right hand.
“Well, I know the Commander by reputation.”
He glanced at Jordan. “And you are…?”
“Jordan,” she said, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Jordan Amador?”
She winced. “Guess my reputation precedes me.”
He offered her a sympathetic look. “It’s none of my business, Ms. Amador. I’m a man of science. I don’t listen to rumors.”
“Good to know. Now let’s get the hell out of dodge before the demons show up.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe,” I said. “Most demons care about keeping their identities out of the public eye. Moloch won’t. He’ll tear through this entire complex to get what he wants.”
“That elevator is little more than a deathtrap,” Faust said, tugging at his tie. “Do you have another escape route in mind?”
“I do,” I replied, shrugging out of my drenched tuxedo jacket and squeezing out some of the water. “We’re taking the fire escape up to the roof and then down into the alley behind the building. They’re probably closing in as we speak, but we’ve still got a head start. Let’s go.”
We filed back into the apartment, locked the front door, and squeezed onto the narrow fire escape at the rear window. It was a five-story climb on suspiciously shaky iron stairs, but we managed to make it to the top in one piece. I had been keeping my ears open during the journey and I soon realized we were no longer alone.
“Jordan, lead the way back down to the ground floor on that other fire escape and hail a cab.” I handed her the key card to my hotel room. “I have Room 412 at this hotel. Hole up there for now. I’ll call you when I leave.”
Jordan placed one hand on her hip, watching me unlace my bowtie. “Sorry, did I miss something here?”
“Yeah. We have about thirty seconds left.”
“Thirty seconds left until what?”
“There’s a military helicopter about half a block away heading straight for us.”
Her brown eyes went wide. I nodded towards the ledge. “Get out of here. I’ll catch up.”
“What? You can’t hold them off by yourself. You don’t have body armor on under that fancy suit. They’ll kill you.”
I shot her a hard look. “We don’t have time to argue about this. Move it, Amador.”
The sound of the helicopter’s rotors reached my ears and hers too. Jordan shook her head, and the thick ringlets of her hair cascaded into her eyes, hiding them. Her voice came out harsh with anger. “Fine. But don’t die, you stubborn son of a bitch. I’m not bringing home a corpse.”
She led the way for Faust and Madison, heading to the fire escape. I watched them go, her words settling on my skin like warm summer rain. She still cared. Why was that such a liberating notion?
I faced forward, tossing my jacket aside and adopting a feral grin as the demons’ helicopter hovered into sight.
“Come get some, hellspawn.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
MICHAEL
It came as no surprise that the gun that swiveled around to aim at me was a Browning .50 caliber machine gun. Moloch went for the overkill approach when it came to hunting down his enemies. The demon manning the weapon wasted no time. He opened fire as soon as I was within range. The gunshots echoed like thunder and the bullets tore huge chunks out of the side of the roof, creeping closer to me.
The ground vibrated violently beneath me, but I stood firm, turning to the side. I stretched out my arm until it was level with the helicopter. Their method was smart. It was too cramped inside the complex to kill me and get Faust out. The rooftop was a better option and a better escape route. However, they had forgotten two important things.
It was a clear night.
And there were no security cameras up here.
I snapped my fingers, once and only once. Instantly, a storm cloud billowed to life above our heads. It bubbled into a huge grey mass, rumbling with thunder even louder than the sound of the .50 cal.
A bolt of lightning struck the side of the helicopter. The rear half exploded in a hellish gout of fire. The aircraft pitched forward as the pilot lost control. I dove backwards as it smashed into the rooftop, shooting chunks of concrete and burning metal everywhere. Smoke cascaded across the clearing, swallowing me in its sickening stench. I held my breath and braced myself.
Seconds later, one of the demons who survived the crash appeared with a Desert Eagle in his gloved fist. He fired off two shots at my head. I ducked and went into a front roll. He scrambled backwards a couple of steps, but I was too fast. I grabbed him by the throat and kneed him in the stomach. My kneecap met body armor, but the blow still landed, stunning him for a couple seconds. I grabbed his wrist and broke it. He cried out and dropped the gun, landing a hard punch to my kidney that almost made me let go. I kept his arm in my grip and executed a shoulder throw, hard enough that his helmet cracked the concrete. He went limp.
Two more fully armored demons came for me, their automatic weapons raised. I threw myself into a sprint. Bullets whizzed past my head, missing by mere millimeters. I landed a flying ki
ck to the nearest one that sent him hurtling off the ledge with a scream.
The other guy’s Uzi clicked empty so he ditched it and then blocked my jab. He swept my legs out from under me. I fell into a back roll, coming up on one knee. He drew a scythe blade from his belt and slashed at me. I went into a defensive stance, avoiding his liquid-fast movements, but he was better than good. He caught a glancing blow across my shoulder, spilling hot blood all down my right arm. The pain was sharp and distracting as I fought to stay away.
“Don’t make this hard on yourself, pretty boy,” the demon hissed. “Just give us the archaeologist and this’ll all be over.”
Pretty boy. He called me pretty boy. Alright then. I ignored the pain in my shoulder and summoned the rest of the energy resting inside me.
“It’s already over.”
He lunged for me at the exact same time that I shouted, “Strike!”
The eight energy shards I’d formed between my fingers flew straight and true, spearing him like a spit-roasted pig. He stopped less than a foot away, choking in surprise as the shards hit him. His blood splashed in all directions, painting the rooftop crimson. His eyes bulged in his skull as he stared at me in horrified wonderment. His knife clinked as it fell. He followed suit, slumping face first at my feet. Good riddance.
I found a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall just inside the roof access stairwell and put out the fire. I was taught to clean up my messes.
I gathered up my suit jacket, which had thankfully survived the helicopter crash, and headed for the fire escape.
Pretty boy, my ass.
I knocked twice on the door to Room 412. Jordan opened it, frowning at my state of health, most likely. The gloves, jewelry, and fancy high heels were gone. She was still wearing the dress, though, so it wasn’t all bad.
Her eyes raked over the bloody cuff sticking out from beneath the suit jacket and my ash-smudged face. “Still alive, I see.”
“Try to contain your joy,” I said, brushing past her. She snorted as she shut the door behind me and locked it.
My hotel room was nothing close to nice. Windowless, a laughably small bed with ugly green sheets, and a spotty grey carpet. Thank God we’d only be here for a short while. Hotels were the best places to hide when the heat was on. The seedy ones didn’t care who you were or what name you gave them as long as you paid in cash. Plus, there were dozens of them all over Manhattan, so it would be harder for the demons to track us.
Someone was in the bathroom taking a shower, so I sat on the bed, trying not to think about what had probably been on these sheets recently. “How’s Faust doing?”
“Still shaken up, but he’s okay,” Jordan said, going over to her suitcase. “We dropped Madison off at the airport on the first thing smoking out of here. She’s got some family in London she can stay with until this mess blows over.”
“Good.” I took off the jacket and unbuttoned my shirt, peeling it away from the sticky wound. It had stopped bleeding on the way here, but it still throbbed and stung like nobody’s business. Normally, I could heal it, but I’d blown a ton of energy on that lightning strike. I wouldn’t be back to full strength until tomorrow, if then.
Jordan walked over with an unopened bottle of water and a small towel. I held out my hand for them, but she shook her head.
“Let me do it. That wound’s pretty nasty. You’ll just tear it wider.”
I frowned. “I’m fine.”
She rolled her eyes. “Shut up and hold still, dumbass.”
I swallowed another argument, choosing to obey her. She poured small amounts of water around the wound to clean off the dried blood so she could see the whole thing. It was about three inches long—a clean cut—but it was pretty deep. I’d lost enough blood that my skin had turned a couple shades paler. I wasn’t quite lightheaded, but I was getting there.
She cleaned the wound and then planted one knee on the bed between my legs, balancing over me so she could inspect the damage. The scent of her perfume hit my nose and I had to suppress a groan. Jordan usually smelled like cocoa butter, but I liked this perfume even more. Damn it. Was she doing this on purpose?
“I should be able to heal it well enough, but you’ll probably need to follow up unless you want a scar,” she said, pushing a long lock of hair behind her ear. Her fingers settled on my shoulder and then the wound tingled as if she’d poured hydrogen peroxide on it. Slowly, the pain receded. My skin re-knitted itself until there was only a faint pink mark where the cut had been.
“That should do for now.” She started to stand up, but I caught her in mid-motion, my hand resting on the small of her back. Her eyes snapped to mine, then filled with confusion. Some part of my brain screamed for me to let her go, to stop being a hormonal idiot, to stop myself from slipping back into my old habits. It was so much easier to pretend I never wanted to see her again when we were hundreds of miles away from each other. I couldn’t do it with her right in front of me, delicate and lovely and warm and here. She was here.
She whispered my name as I pulled her closer, until she had to rest her hands on my chest to keep from falling into my lap. Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts of warm air against my face. I pressed a kiss to the side of her throat—her weak spot as I came to find out when we were still happily married. One kiss there and she’d melt into me, pliable and willing to let me do whatever I wanted to her. The items on that list became longer and longer the more I thought about it.
She didn’t stop me as I kissed her collarbone, mere inches above her breasts. The neckline of the dress gaped enough that I caught a glimpse of the black strapless, backless bra, and it made heat flood through my system like wildfire. Three years had passed since she’d obtained the scar above her heart. She chose this dress for that reason, to hide it from view, but I knew every inch of her.
I trailed a fingertip up the back of her left knee, up her thigh, until it found the slit in the dress. I drew slow, circular patterns there until she shivered and dug her fingernails into my shoulders. I continued to follow the line of her collarbone with my lips, edging the hem of the dress higher. The hand still resting on her back started gathering the silk to raise it over her thighs. I couldn’t think about anything other than her luscious scent and her warmth. I had to have it, just once, just one more time before I forgot what it was like to hold the woman I craved in my arms.
The bathroom door closed. I heard a nervous male voice a second later.
“O-Oh, my. Excuse me.”
Jordan tore away from me, startled. I opened my eyes, not realizing I’d shut them at some point, and let my hands drop. Faust’s presence forced me to return to reality and thus a sane state of mind. It was probably a good thing. Probably.
“Sorry,” Jordan said, tugging her dress back down. “It’s…been a long night.”
“Indeed.” Faust sent anxious looks between the two of us. “Are you sure you two don’t need a moment to talk?”
“Positive.” She leaned against the wall opposite the bed, wrapping her arms around her middle and refusing to look at me. Part of me wanted to shake her a little. She had this infuriating ability to distance herself from her feelings that I never understood nor could properly replicate. Ten seconds ago she was putty in my hands and now she was back to being cold and businesslike. She was damn near bi-polar.
I cleared my throat, quelling my annoyance. “We need to know everything you know, Faust. That’s the only way we can all get out of this mess alive. Start from the beginning.”
The archaeologist rubbed the white towel through his hair, leaning against the wall adjacent to the bed. “I found out about the angels when I was ten years old. My father was a pastor. My mother died when I was seven. He took her death pretty hard, so he devoted himself almost entirely to his community. He once stopped a demon from murdering someone just because he’d been in the right place at the right time. He didn’t know it was a demon. The demon broke into our house one night looking for revenge. My father didn’t mak
e it, but an angel who’d gotten a tip about the scheme managed to save me. After I found out everything was real, I decided to find a way to help. I went to school for different fields, anything related to Christian mythology and ancient relics. I was looking for anything that could help change the course of the war in the angels’ favor.”
He lowered the towel, draping it around his neck and slipping his glasses back on. “The thesis for my PhD had to do with proving if the coins that King Herod paid Judas Iscariot were actually real. The most common element in everything I read was that they were buried, but not with Judas’ body. History suggests he hanged himself. I got onto the trail after I met someone who found the remnants of the noose he used to hang himself. His name was Thaddeus Burton. He was a good man. A believer. But he was old, so he passed his research on to me before he died.”
“I remember him,” Jordan said. “Read some of his work on those psychotic necromancers overseas who were raising ghosts to do their dirty work for them. We were able to track them thanks to that research. Where did you find the coins?”
“Buried with the priests who paid Judas. There is some debate about the details, but most sources say that he gave them back before he died. Turns out they were right.”
“How did the demons find out about your discovery? Weren’t you working alone?”
He nodded. “I made a point not to broadcast my work on the coins, but someone realized that I wasn’t just some crackpot and wrote an article about my work. That attracted attention. A demon followed me to the location and tried to kill me, but I managed to escape with the coins. I met an angel on my way out, and when I tried to give him the coins, they killed him. That was when I realized they could sap an angel’s strength. I didn’t want to cause them pain, so I took it upon myself to hide each coin to prevent the demons from using them.”
“There’s one thing I’ve been dying to know ever since all of this started,” Jordan said. “If you knew the coins were so evil, why’d you go looking for them in the first place?”