by Kyoko M
A dark brown scorpion about the size of a silver dollar poked its head out from underneath the sand. Its tiny front jaws wiggled as it noticed the intruder dripping blood. Moloch kicked it away. Then he noticed another one by his left foot. He repeated the gesture. He missed the one crawling up the back of his pants leg until it stung him on the thigh through the loose army fatigues. He grabbed the small creature and threw it aside.
“What is this?” he hissed as he noticed more of the arthropods popping out of the sand and climbing towards him, their deadly tails raised high.
“It’s called a tactical advantage,” I said, watching as dozens of the insects converged and began stinging wherever they could touch him. “The animals in Eden are under the effects of the paradise atmosphere. That means that they will defend their home from anyone or anything that wishes it harm.”
“No, no, this is not how it should be,” Moloch spat, violently swatting the insects, but by now, there was at least fifty of them. “You will fight me and you will die by my hand. That is battle. That is war.”
“Nobody said the war had to be fought on your terms, Moloch. That was your first mistake.”
He stumbled backwards and slapped at the creatures with frantic vigor, but I could see that the poison had begun to take its toll. I followed him step by step, no longer needing the weapon in my hand. My words were enough.
“You think that everything beyond Hell is weak and ripe for the taking. You are wrong. Light is not weakness. Darkness is not strength. This world and all of its inhabitants are not your prey. We are just predators with a code.”
Moloch fell onto his back and my sword tumbled from his grasp. He lay there twitching with hundreds of stings all over his hands, his face, his neck, any exposed skin. His breath came in great, ragged gasps of air and his eyes darted back and forth as the poison drove him mad.
“N-Not supposed to end this way…casualties…chaos…I was promised…I was promised…”
My fingers closed around the molten metal of the hilt on my sword. I held it in my right hand and felt a comfort that only a warrior knew.
The scorpions scattered as I approached, disappearing back into the sand now that their work was done. The blood had served as a marker. Any sign of violence in the Garden evoked an inherent reaction from them and they inherently knew I was their protector. It didn’t matter the species. Eden was home. Ours and theirs. No one would destroy it. Not even a warlord.
I placed the tip of the sword against Moloch’s throat. He kept gurgling “I was promised” in a mantra.
“Maybe next time you won’t trust the word of the Father of All Lies,” I said as I reached into my pocket. I withdrew a length of sackcloth and unhooked the Judas dagger from Moloch’s waist, covering the hilt so that it wouldn’t drain me dry. I raised the damned weapon that so many had died for and the words came to me without hesitance.
“This is for my brother, you son of a bitch.”
I stabbed him in the chest, high over the left pectoral to ensure a killing blow. Moloch choked out a curse in Latin when the sharp blade drove home. A couple of reedy, desperate breaths escaped and then his lifeless eyes closed.
I stood and wrapped the sackcloth around the dagger completely to shield its effect on me. Then I raised Celeste again. The sword sliced neatly through Moloch’s neck. His head fell sideways down the hill, rolling in the sand and dirt until it came to a stop in a ditch. His blood stained the ground, seeping outward like a black halo.
I closed my eyes and breathed deep, exhaling all the vengeance out of my body. It was done.
I spread my wings and returned to the air, flying as high as I could without my head scraping the cave’s ceiling. The demons and angels fought beneath me in clusters. Their roars reached my ears and an overwhelming sense of anger flooded my veins.
“Enough!” I bellowed.
The command echoed so far that I knew without a doubt that everyone present in the Garden heard it. Angels and demons alike halted in mid-battle and turned to look at me.
“Moloch is dead. I hold the Judas dagger in my hand. This war is over. I will only offer to accept your surrender once. Lay down your arms and leave this place, or die where you stand. Decide.”
The demons tossed furtive glances between each other. They saw that my sword was rightfully returned and that it was soaked in blood.
Moloch’s army dropped their weapons. I heard the muted thumps of guns, knives, and assorted things hitting the dirt in unison. The demons shuffled towards the ruined gates to leave paradise.
I addressed my men this time. “The rest of you concentrate on putting out the fires and helping the injured.”
The angels saluted and set about stomping out the fires around them. I continued flying until I reached the clearing where the Trees stood. I found Uzziel seated at the foot of the Tree of Life. The armor on his chest was gone. There were bandages in its place, which only meant one thing.
Raphael walked around the trunk to greet me. He took off his helmet, staring at the sword and bundle in my hands. “Is it done, brother?”
I offered him an exhausted smile. “Yes, brother.”
“Thank God. Are you alright?”
“I will be once we get rid of this abomination,” I told him, brandishing the wrapped weapon in my hand.
“I might be able to help with that, Commander,” Uzziel said. “Raphael told me of thine plight. My home is not far from here, beyond the waterfall in the east. There is a hearth. Gather the hellfire and destroy the dagger while thou hast a moment to spare.”
I put aside my sword, knelt, and clasped his hand. “Thank you. I’m so sorry. You’ve protected this place for eons and now this happened.”
He shook his head. “Seek no pardon from me. It is good for a warrior to whet his sword every now and again.”
I snorted. “Alright, but let’s not do it again any time this century.”
He chuckled. “Verily.”
Raphael beckoned me. We came to stand underneath the Tree of Knowledge. Fortunately, the heat from the wildfires hadn’t reached here, so it was still cool. I had always loved it in its shade. The fruit was unlike anything else on Earth—bright red, about the size of a strawberry, but they hung in clumps like grapes. They gave off a sweet aroma similar to a peach.
“You don’t appear hurt,” he said, checking me over with a quick, clinical eye. “There isn’t a scratch on you. How is that possible?”
“I used my brain instead of my fists for once. It’s got to do with that grey area I mentioned earlier. Speaking of which, I have to get back and find out what happened with the other coins and the safe house. Can you wrap up here?”
“Of course. You need not ask.”
I started for the waterfall beyond the river, but then Raphael called out my name. I turned.
He smiled at me. “He’d be proud of you. You know that, right?”
I had to swallow past the lump in my throat to answer. “Yeah. I know.”
Then I vanished into the thick of the forest, finally vindicated.
BOOK EIGHT: AIN’T NO GRAVE
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
-“Sonnet 116,” William Shakespeare.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
MICHAEL
I found my wife in the library of the desolated safe house. Mercifully, the fire hadn’t reached that floor. It would have been tragic to lose a lifetime’s worth of precious literature. Thank God for small blessings.
Jordan rose from her chair when I walked through the door, her smile bright in the dimly lit room. To my relief, she appeared to be in one piece. There was a lump underneath her t-shirt over her right shoulder indicating bandages, but that was it.
“Michael. Thank God you’re okay. I have to tell you—”
I marched right over to her, put down the
lantern containing the hellfire, scooped her up in my arms, and kissed her. I wound my arms around the small of her back to hold her in place as I slipped my tongue between those full lips of hers. She’d had coffee recently—the good kind, not that instant crap—so she tasted beyond enticing. She tensed at first out of surprise, but quickly melted right into me. I held her there for a few tantalizing seconds and then lowered her to the floor.
She opened her eyes and they were a bit glazed over from pleasure. I leaned my forehead against hers. “Missed you.”
“I can tell,” she said with a tiny, girlish giggle.
I lifted up and then realized we weren’t alone. Faust, Avriel, and Myra sat at a long oak table staring at us with identical amused expressions.
Myra shook her head. “I would give my left tit for someone to kiss me like that.”
Jordan sighed. “And now the moment’s ruined. Thanks, Myra.”
She shrugged and stood, walking over. “I calls ‘em like I sees ‘em. Welcome back, angel food cake.”
She offered her hand and I took it. “Still Michael.”
The older Seer grinned and stood aside as Faust and Avriel greeted me. “So what was so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?” I asked.
Jordan cleared her throat and touched my arm. “You, uh, might want to sit down first.”
I eyed her. “Don’t like the way that sounds. What? Is it Belial? What has the little shithead done now?”
“It’s not him, it’s…” Jordan pushed a handful of curls away from her face.
“Gabriel’s soul wasn’t destroyed by the dagger. He’s in Hell.”
I stared at her. Then my legs gave out. Luckily, Avriel had covertly pushed a chair up behind me so I merely plopped down into it real hard. It took three tries for the air to return to my lungs enough for me to form actual words.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Belladonna was on her last legs and she thought she could bargain with me by telling me that his soul is being held captive by Mulciber in Pandemonium. He’s been there since he died, Michael. We were wrong.”
“How do you know she wasn’t lying?”
“I don’t. But I know how we can find out. So do you.”
I shut my eyes. “You want to ask for Belial’s help? Again?”
“Michael, I don’t know of any other way,” she said, taking my hand. “If you do, then please tell me.”
A long-suffering sigh left my lips. “I really hate this.”
“So do I.”
She took her phone out of her jeans pocket. “Do you want to make the call or should I?”
“You do it. If he flirts with me again, I’ll kill him.”
She snorted. “Funny. That’s been my motto for the past three years.”
Jordan paused as if considering something and then sat in my lap sideways so that I could hear the conversation after she put it on speakerphone. The phone rang a few times and then I heard a click.
“Ding-dong, the wicked dick is dead,” Jordan said without preamble.
“My, what marvelous news,” Belial purred back. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em. Looks like you’ll be head honcho for the next century or so.”
“Indeed. I can tell you are elated by this idea. Why else would you have called?”
Damn it. Of course he knew something was up. He was too smart. Jordan chewed her bottom lip and glanced at me. I nodded. She pressed on.
“So…I don’t suppose you’re in a giving mood, are you?”
“Depends on what I’m giving and if I’ll be receiving anything in return. I could use a good—”
“—it’s not like that, Captain Pervert,” she said, exasperated. “I have something I need you to check on for me. It’s important.”
A pause. “I admit you’ve got my curiosity piqued. Pray tell, what favor would you ask of me, my pet?”
“I need you to see if Gabriel is in Hell.”
Silence. A full thirty seconds of dead air passed. Then his hushed voice returned. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Belladonna told me before I killed her that they’re holding him in Pandemonium. No one on the surface world knows about it except Moloch, Belladonna, and maybe one other unidentified party. She might have been talking out of her ass to save her own skin, but I need to know for sure.”
Ice filled his tone. “And if I were to confirm this information, what will you do? Or is that a rhetorical question?”
She sighed. “Belial, I know what you’re thinking—”
“No, you don’t. It doesn’t matter if Gabriel is there or not. There would be no way to get him out. You have to know that, even with your epic levels of stupidity.”
She frowned. “Look, will you do it or not? I’ll find out if I have to walk through the gates myself.”
Again, he didn’t speak for nearly a minute. “What will you give me in return?”
She took a deep breath. “What do you want?”
“I will give you my answer in person, not over the phone. I am not entirely sure your line is secure. The price on my head may be off now that Moloch is dead, but that doesn’t mean we’re out of the woods just yet.”
“Fine. Where do you want to meet?”
“I’ll text you the address. Just you and your husband.”
“Got it.”
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“What?”
The teasing lilt entered his voice again. “What’s Michael wearing right now?”
She hung up with a roll of her eyes. “That went well.”
“Yeah,” I growled. “We’ve shown our hand. He’s going to exploit us. You know that, don’t you?”
“It’s what he does. In the meantime, we have to destroy the coins and the last dagger.”
“We’ve got that,” Myra said. “You two go get some rest until the bastard calls back.”
Jordan stood and I followed suit. “Do me a favor, though—check through the records and see if you find anything related to traveling through Hell. Other than Dante’s Inferno, obviously.”
Faust saluted me. “Will do. Good luck.”
The two of us had just gone through the library doors when we met the bishop and a couple of angels in his wake. He had a large Ace bandage on the top of his balding head, but otherwise, he didn’t seem badly injured.
He nodded to me in greeting. “Is it true? Is Moloch dead?”
“Yeah,” I said, wary of him considering the fact that he’d been a loud voice in the movement to get me demoted.
The bishop sighed. “Thank the Father. Well done, my boy.”
It took more than a little effort not to tell him to piss off. “Thanks. If you’ll excuse us, we’ve got work to do and you’ve got one hell of a cleanup on your hands.”
“True, but we need access to the hellfire in order to destroy the coins. Where is it?”
Finally, I understood why he’d come up from his office. “It’s in good hands. All you need to do is bring the remaining coins to my people.” I jerked a thumb backwards at the library.
Stubborn disapproval seeped into his weathered face. “I would feel more secure if you gave it to the angels, son.”
“Your security is not my problem. I trust them to destroy the coins. End of story.”
“I hate to point this out, but you are in my establishment. You and your friends are guests. You are required to abide by our rules.”
My hands formed fists. Jordan trailed her fingers across the back of my wrist in a calming gesture.
She spoke up this time. “Excuse me, I hate to bring this up, but…remember that time I saved your life at the risk of my own?”
The bishop’s jowls twitched. “Yes.”
“Well, if you shut your cakehole and let my friends do what is needed, then we’ll call it even. What do you say, your worship?”
He glanced between the two of us. I could practically see him swallowing his pride. Finally, he nodded. “Very
well. My men will bring the coins to the cathedral.”
With that, he swept out of the room with his flunkies in tow. I arched an eyebrow at Jordan. “You saved his life?”
She shrugged. “Eh. Figured it would at least drive him crazy that a sinner like me is the reason he’s still alive and kicking.”
“Atta girl.”
We managed to take a two-hour nap in our room at the safe house before Belial texted Jordan with an address. He had learned from his previous skirmish with the hitmen and instead had us come to one of his condos several miles outside of Montpelier. He’d brought along his most loyal men to keep watch for any signs of foul play. The price on his head was off, but he operated under the policy of “better safe than sorry.” I couldn’t blame him.
The gold elevator doors parted to reveal a swanky-looking foyer with huge mirrors on the far walls and a table with a dish for keys on it. It led straight into what I could see of the den—cream carpet, black leather couch, and an enormous flat screen TV with an X-Box 360 perched on the mantel below it, with a view of the cityscape on the right hand side. Jordan and I exchanged glances. I took the lead while she trailed behind me with a hand resting on her Glock.
Music oozed out from speakers mounted against the far corners of the wall when we reached the den. Louis Armstrong’s version of “Mack the Knife” serenaded us as we walked around the corner. Belial sat in a love seat facing the entrance, sipping red wine and tapping his foot along to the beat.
“Afternoon, love birds,” he said, setting the wine aside on a coaster. “Congratulations on your accomplishments.”
After thoroughly checking the room, I concluded we were safe. Jordan eased her hand out from underneath her duster, her expression neutral. “Thanks. Nice place.”
He shrugged. “It’s cozy enough. Plus, they offer quite a lovely escort service. Very prompt.”