Verity Rising (Gods of Deceit Book 1)

by Phil Scott Mayes

  Her gaze drops to the dashboard, then back out the windshield. She answers quietly and humbly, “None. I’m the only one that I know of.”

  The dejection fades from her eyes, washed away by her reluctant acceptance of my argument. She’s thankful for my kind words but not fully convinced that my opinion is objectively true. She also knows that I couldn’t say it if I didn’t truly believe it. She grins a little and turns the steering wheel slightly, pulling off the interstate loop and onto the city streets of downtown Port Ellis.

  “Thanks for saying that, Ted.”

  “Well…it’s true,” I reply with a smirk.

  “I’m actually kinda glad we talked, and I want to talk more, but it’s going to have to wait.” Mel gestures to the familiar sight of Milburn Tower several blocks ahead. “Where are you wanting me to park?”

  “There’s a dead-end alley a block behind Milburn. You can let me out there so I can bridge without being seen, then you can park in the public parking that’s at the corner of the block.”

  Mel’s head bobs in agreement. “Okay. It is a pretty simple plan, but if something goes wrong, let’s not force it. Let’s just meet back at the car and regroup. Agreed? I promised Reb I’d take care of you.”

  “I agree.”

  We approach the sidewalk near the alley and gently slow to a stop. I casually exit and do a quick scan before I saunter into the desolate alleyway. Crumpled food wrappers, glass bottles, and rotting produce spill from a disemboweled garbage bag that leans against an overflowing, graffiti-tagged dumpster. As my left foot strikes the sticky asphalt, a small swarm of flies erupts from a brown, fudgy mound near the wall, zipping around in a tangled flurry of spirals before settling back onto their meal. Charming. It’s amazing the things humans get up to when they think nobody is watching. I take my next step a little more cautiously to avoid stepping on any used needles, piles of human waste, or other biohazards.

  As much as I’d love to avoid the fringe of filth around the edges of the alley, I can’t risk standing in the middle where someone could drive by and see me vanish into thin air, so I crouch and lean against the wall behind the dumpster. The last thing I need is to be the star of a viral video or come back down from Pentastar to find a curious crowd gathering in the alley. I close my eyes and try to flush my surroundings from my consciousness.

  Focusing on my intense emotional connection with the scintilla, I yearn deeply for the Pneuma Rigma and take Nephilim form, my back scraping up the wall. The scintilla begin their vigorous interdimensional dance, intensifying gradually until they plateau at a pace that rivals a hummingbird’s flapping wings. I open my eyes and watch as a wind emanates outward from my position, stirring the wrappers and debris around me. The color fades from my surroundings in a dizzying swirl to a momentary blackness that then gives way to the ethereal spirit rift. I hop up quickly and jog out of that dank alleyway toward the back entrance of Milburn Tower.

  The Pneuma Rigma is difficult to describe, especially on account of my inexperience. It’s not like wading through an empty mist on a bare and infinite plane. In actuality, it’s very much the same as the human plane. Each structure stands exactly where it was built, each tree planted by humans spreads its roots here too, and even that lovely fly-covered, fecal biohazard lies exactly where it was deposited by its creator. People mill about, chatting with each other, paying ungodly amounts of attention to their phones, hailing cabs, and driving them. And yet, it all strikes me as a hologram, some virtual reality that I could just wave my hand through, scattering pixels that some advanced projector would reassemble in seconds. Once again my own sounds (footsteps, breathing, rustling) project into a void, failing to return to my ears, and the voices of the human beings around me are muted and tinny. The colors and smells of the spirit realm are also subdued, lacking the saturation and intensity of the other side.

  Walking the earth as a phantom is equal parts empowerment and limitation. In this place, I can manipulate the real world and move around entirely unseen like a force of nature. I am everywhere and I am nowhere, but I am also no one. Despite being so close to the beings around me, I’m cutoff and more alone than ever. I’m surrounded by people who are within reach, close enough for me to hear, but who cannot see me or hear me back. Sadly, I have sensed in many humans the same melancholy of irrelevance that I now feel.

  I have half a mind to tap someone on the shoulder right now or stand in front of traffic to satisfy some of my many curiosities about this place, but now’s not the time for such experiments. Thirteen floors above, Jan sits in her supple, leather desk chair, hunched over a stack of lies that await her signature in order to become truth. She’s oblivious to the approaching assault, likely thinking her prosperity will last forever. Like many others who have made that same assumption, she’s in for a rude awakening.

  Up the stairs at the back entrance of Milburn Tower, I reach the door and quickly discover that unlike the mirage at the hardware store, I can’t walk through walls. Narrowly, I open the door, hoping any witnesses will assume an outflow of air is responsible. I make my way to the stairwell, keeping an eye on the security booth. I see Barry but no Tyson, and in his place is a stranger, some boyish type with a surfer’s haircut and an obvious attitude problem. It’s possible they’ve simply rearranged the shift schedule, but Barry and Tyson have always worked together, and my gut tells me he’s gone, probably locked away in a holding cell for helping me escape.

  A quick glance confirms the stairwell is empty before I enter, again opening the door as little as possible. I soar up the stairs, my footsteps eerily silent in the two-hundred-foot-tall resonant chamber. Scaling three or four stairs with each lunge, I make it to the tenth-floor landing in less than a minute, but as my foot meets the floor, the stairwell door swings open.

  Somehow, I manage to redirect my momentum, narrowly avoiding a violent collision with a middle-aged woman in a cleaning uniform. Instead, I slam into the stairwell door that closes with a shockingly loud whump, rattling the glass on the fire extinguisher’s case. The woman jumps and screams in terror, staggering backward toward the stairs. She reaches for a lifeline as her heels eclipse the edge of the top step and her weight begins to teeter. In Nephilim form, I reflexively panic before it dawns on me that I’m invisible to her. I lunge forward and grab her wrist with a quick yank that brings her stumbling back onto the landing. Momentarily frozen, I watch anxiously as she looks at her wrist and begins to search the air, first with her eyes, then with her hands, feeling around for her invisible savior. I slide slowly along the wall and out of her field of view, trying for absolute silence with every movement. After a long ten seconds, she shakes her head and curses as she continues her original trek downstairs.

  I charge up the remaining flights of stairs and peer down the main hall of Pentastar Pharmaceuticals’ headquarters. Empty. I slip through the door and stride purposefully straight to Jan’s corner office. A small relief washes over me as I pass the empty receptionist’s desk, but I stop in my tracks when I notice Jan’s closed door and frosted privacy glass. Opening that door and walking into her office without knowing what lies on the other side isn’t something I had fleshed out in my plan. I suppose a part of me thought I might be able to pass through walls like a cartoon ghost, but it seems I’m still subject to at least some of the physics of the human plane. A bolt of fear strikes my spine as I consider the possibility that the Nephilim monster is waiting on the other side of that glass.

  The eerie stillness of the thirteenth floor takes center stage. Even at this hour, there should be stragglers still chipping away at their mountain of reports, research, spreadsheets, slideshow presentations, and more. If not them, then at the very least the cleaning service should be scurrying around, running vacuums, and rolling mop buckets around. Yet, none of them are here. If I hadn’t seen so many people since entering the Pneuma Rigma, I’d guess that being in the spirit realm had something to do with it. But even in the gymnasium at Carver I could still see everyone w
ho was on the other side.

  A warning that I’m entering a trap groans within my gut, then the elevator dings.

  Mel steps out onto the tile floor, moving swiftly toward Jan’s office. I yell in a desperate attempt to get her attention before she barges through the frosted glass, but my sounds can’t transcend the void. Bridging back is too risky. If there is no trap and I reveal myself, it could blow the whole operation, but allowing Mel to walk through that door blind isn’t an option.

  I make a rash decision, but the only one that makes sense in the moment, and sprint to Jan’s door. Better for me to walk into a trap as an invisible man than Mel in the flesh, and if I move quickly enough, I may be able to save us both. I swing the door open and step inside, expecting to discover the black mist and nauseating presence of that diabolical creature. Instead, I see a peaceful room, empty and softly lit by the glow of Jan’s desk lamp. The white haze floats gently throughout the space, transmitting the lamp’s light drop by drop.

  Mel rushes through the doorway and rams into my back with a grunt. She calls out to me, “Ted? Is that you?”

  I focus on Mel and bridge back from the Pneuma Rigma, bringing a swirling gust of wind that surges from my position and dissipates outward. A slip of paper rustles as it slides across Jan’s desk then spills off the edge, rocking leisurely on its way to the ground. We round the desk and retrieve the note that reads:

  Hello, Ted and Company,

  A little birdy told me you were headed my way. I know you probably had your own plans for how this would go down, but we’re going to do this my way. Harvey and I are anxiously awaiting your arrival on the roof. Would you and your companion(s) grant us the honor of your company? Truly, I’m only asking out of courtesy, it’s not exactly optional if you want any hope of saving your friend. Our scary Nephilim associate will be bringing him along shortly.

  P.S.—If you elect to do anything other than join us, your friend will be executed and you two will be lucky if you end up in jail. I’ve already alerted security to the possibility of your presence. You’ll never make it out.

  Mel and I exchange looks of desperation, and I can tell we’re both thinking of Drake. We saw Doc killed at the gym and Pam wasn’t the strongest fighter—they’re also both Nephilim. While the intruder said he had no interest in killing Nephilim, our reclusive nature makes it easy. Killing a human usually leaves a grieving family. Even estranged aunts or uncles, cousins, or grandparents will come out of the woodwork to seek justice for their dead or missing kin. Nephilim are different. We may seek justice, but we do it quietly—no press conferences, no prayer vigils, no news articles—and that’s only when there’s actually kin who care.

  “What do we do?” I ask Mel, who mirrors my deep vexation.

  “I don’t see what choice we have. It was hard enough to walk away while he sacrificed himself once. If he survived, I can’t abandon him to be executed.”

  “I agree, but we don’t know for sure that it’s him or that they have anyone at all. She could be bluffing about the whole thing, just trying to lure us up to our deaths,” I counter.

  “No, think about it, Ted. She knew we were coming, she knew to mention that rogue Nephilim, and she knew that he had access to our friends. Somehow, he reached out to her and set this up. I really don’t think she’s bluffing.”

  My lips purse and my head bounces as I consider her point. “Okay, you’re right. We have to take it seriously. Come with me through the Pneuma Rigma, though, just in case. If Jan wants a rooftop showdown, we’ll give her one she never sees coming.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Mel’s hands slide gently into mine as we stand face-to-face in Jan’s office. The lamp’s candle-like ambiance would probably be cozy, even romantic, if we weren’t minutes from a fight for our lives. Her worried expression is justified several times over. Our upcoming fight with Jan and her gun-wielding juggernaut. Drake being held hostage. The foreboding approach of a Nephilim warlord. Mel’s first time entering the Pneuma Rigma. Each would be panic inducing in its own right, but all of them converging in this moment is enough to instill fear in even the bravest of warriors. I feel it too, and I’m sure it’s plain to see.

  I give her hands a squeeze. “Are you ready?”

  “Doesn’t matter, we’re bleeding time,” she answers. “Do I need to do anything or—”

  “Not that I know of. That creature was attacking me when I brought it through the bridge, but I’m really hoping we can just hold hands. I guess if it doesn’t work you can smack me around a little.”

  Mel’s short-lived chortle vents some of the pressure from her eyes and I smile pridefully at my successful joke—well-timed too. I’ve never known the value of comedic relief, but even I feel slightly more relaxed and confident. The endorphins whisper into our minds a baseless reassurance that everything will be okay, and for now we believe.

  “Okay, let’s give this a try. You can close your eyes if you want, but you don’t have to. You should just know that watching the transition can be a little dizzying,” I warn.

  “Okay, let’s go,” she says with a thin confidence.

  I hold her hands tightly, close my eyes, and concentrate on the Pneuma Rigma. The lamp flashes as my scintilla begin their dance while streams of warped atmosphere whirl around us. I open a slit in my eyelids and see the light bending and wrinkling as the vibration in my blood intensifies.

  “Ted, I’ve never felt anything like this before,” Mel exclaims.

  “You can feel it too?”

  “Yeah. It’s jittering every cell of my body! It’s…extreme!”

  After a blink, the darkness weeps into the Pneuma Rigma and I see Mel, eyes clamped shut, waiting for my cue. I give her hands a subtle shake and tell her that we’re in. She nods and says she could feel the scintilla stabilizing. In no particular hurry she opens her eyes, her blank expression shifting to pleasure as she calmly absorbs her new surroundings.

  “Ted, it’s exactly what I expected from the stories,” she notes in wonder. “Whoa, I wasn’t expecting things to sound so different. It’s like my voice just flows out into the ocean.”

  “That caught me by surprise too. The fog is different than what I pictured; it’s more like a smoky filter over everything than a literal mist,” I add.

  Mel scans the room from floor to ceiling and says, “So give me a crash course. What do I need to know about the Pneuma Rigma?”

  “Well, I don’t know that much yet, but it seems the same rules of nature apply to us here as in the human plane. We can’t walk through walls or defy gravity. On the fun side, we are completely invisible to those on the other side. It’s possible there are others like me who can see a mirage, but they won’t know what they’re looking at. As for sound and communication, I yelled your name when you came out of the elevator, but you didn’t react.”

  “Oh, I didn’t hear anything.”

  “I figured. I don’t think sound can travel across the divide. Besides that, it’s all uncharted territory,” I conclude.

  “Okay. Sounds pretty straightforward,” says Mel as she turns toward Jan’s office door and releases my hands.

  Instantly she’s vaporized in a chalky billow and sucked into a vacuum, gone for a fraction of a second before being spit out in the human plane. She lets out a pained groan as she doubles over and dry heaves toward the floor. Panting, she props herself upright and finds her composure before she turns back toward where she expects to see me, but I’m invisible, still watching from the spirit rift.

  “What the heck was that, Ted?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. As soon as you let go, you got shot out of the Pneuma Rigma,” I observe before remembering that she can’t hear me.

  “I know I can’t hear you through there…but you can hear me,” she recalls, perking up in the process. “Before you come back to get me, I want to try something.” She stretches her left arm toward me. “Take my hand. Let’s find out how much influence you have from that side.”

/>   Brilliant. I reach out and grab her hand, squeezing it tightly. The tiny film of air in between the grooves of our skin erupts with a sizzling tingle.

  “I can feel my scintilla surging again, Ted! You know what this means?”

  Before either of us can deliver an answer, the light of the human plane warps around her silhouette and she emerges in the Pneuma Rigma with a cyclonic burst. She holds my hand firmly then twists and interlocks our fingers. Her breathing steadies and she looks into my face.

  “You can pull me through from the other side!” she exclaims.

  I smile gleefully and remark, “That’s amazing! I never would have thought to try that.”

  “Okay, so my scintilla won’t open a bridge to the Pneuma Rigma on their own, but when we touch it’s like they become an extension of yours. Like I’m a conduit for your scintilla’s energy. Interesting,” she notes. “We also learned that you can attack Jan and Harvey from inside the spirit rift.”

  “That’s a crucial discovery, especially since we need to get up there and make our move before that abomination arrives. We’re running out of time to get any answers from her, Mel. Once he gets here, it’ll be too late.”

  “Right. I’m just making sure we don’t go up there all half-cocked and clueless about the way this works. It’s my job to protect you, and I refuse to abandon Drake, or whoever his hostage is. But this discovery is just what we need to make quick work of Jan.”

  “You mean being able to fight her while we’re invisible?”