He needed the angel’s name. Her True Name.
What the hell is a True Name? He scanned over the text, looking for the answer. On the next page, the term was neatly defined for him: “The name given to a being by God; a True Name cannot be uttered by a manifested ethereal creature on Earth as the power will cause the being to be thrown back to its plane or destroyed. Only a human can utter a True Name, as the portion of the Maker in their souls protects them from the backlash.”
Great. I can’t ask Mikey. How the hell do I find Gabriel’s true name? He ran both hands through his hair and snorted through his nose. How did the person who captured her find it…?
Angelology. Dr. Stone. Sam’s head snapped away from the book, and he had to stop himself from tossing it aside and hurtling out of the room.
Slow down. Think. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
It was the only way; Dr. Stone had done some unorthodox research on angelology, and someone had paid a whole lot of money to get his hands on those papers, hadn’t he? Someone who had recently come in to a lot, a lot, of money, of power, of influence. Almost miraculously, in fact.
Someone like Gregory Caitlin.
Sam ran out the door, keys in hand. His mind raced with the possibilities; how did she find the names? Did she even have them, or did Caitlin piece them together? How was he going to get them, anyway? The doc had said that all of the copies and the rights had been turned over.
Doesn’t matter. It’s the best lead I’ve got right now; I need to make sure that it’s him.
Sam sped through traffic, feeling the time pressure. If Caitlin was the one, the one who had Gabriel…what would he do with her? What has he been doing?
He didn’t notice the police lights behind him for several moments, until the red-and-blue flashed him in his rear-view, and he pulled over, cursing at himself for his idiocy. Didn’t think I was going that fast…
A female police officer, blonde with indeterminate eyes behind her sunglasses, stepped out of the patrol car, noted the license plate number, make, model. She put the notepad in her back pocket and approached the driver’s side door; Sam was careful to keep his hands on his steering wheel as he cracked his window.
“In a hurry, there, sir?” The officer’s eyes flickered from Sam’s face, glancing inside the vehicle.
“Wasn’t trying to be, ma’am.” Of course, it had to be a woman. He had never been able to talk his way out of a ticket if the cop was a woman. She always seemed to think he was trying to flirt with her when he tried.
“Do you know how fast you were going?”
He laughed. “Honestly, not really; I had my mind on some things, and I guess the foot had its own ideas.” He glanced upward, saw that she was smiling, and his heart lightened just a bit.
“You were doing 80 in a 65. Fortunately, traffic was light, so there wasn’t anyone who was likely to get hurt by your recklessness.” She looked at him over the sunglasses. “I guess I could let you off this time, but I expect that you’ll keep an eye on that speedometer, won’t you?”
Sam nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”
The officer smiled at him. “Get going before I change my mind, all right? Drive safe.” She headed back toward her patrol car as Sam started his engine and flipped the turn signal on, merging back into traffic and breathing a sigh of relief.
~~~
“Explain it again.” Gregory stood with his arms crossed, looking at the imprisoned form on the wall as he spoke to the technician beside him.
“Well, it’s…she’s answering the questions, but the answers are constantly changing, like…like there’s some variable that she can’t account for, something fouling up the interactions. It’s like we saw before, with that Samuel character, only much worse.” Francis considered for a moment. “Have you ever read the Twilight series?”
Gregory blinked, turned to face him. “What?”
“Well, there’s a character in there, Alice, who can see the future…but she only sees what is going to happen until people change their minds, change their paths. This kind of reminds me of that – like someone is doing things that change the paths of probability, but she can’t see that person…or thing, I suppose.”
Gregory nodded. “I have a pretty good idea what the variable is.” He turned to face his employee. “What’s our current result?”
Francis consulted the spreadsheet on the tablet in his hands. “Looks like the critical point is connected to a Dr. Martha Stone. Do you know a Dr. Stone?”
Gregory sighed. “Yes. Excuse me, I have work to do.” He walked out the door, shoulders slumped. Francis stared after him.
Poor guy. It’s like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders sometimes.
~~~
Back to the University campus; Sam wondered if the parking permit guy was going to start thinking he was a student here with how often he was stopping in. As he drove down the avenues, he noticed a crowd of emergency vehicles – police, fire – clustered in and around the lot where he usually parked. His eyes turned toward the building and he saw the firemen deployed, ushering people out of the Graduate School of Education and Psychology. He pulled in to the parking spot closest to Dr. Stone’s office and stepped out of his car, shouldering his backpack and looking toward the hubbub. Glancing around (and hoping not to see any more crazy creatures today), Sam crossed the street to the doors of the Graduate School, but was stopped by a campus security officer before he could enter.
“I’m sorry, sir, but there has been a fire here; we can’t let you in.”
“A fire? When? What happened?” His eyes were glued to the building, searching for some sign of what had gone on within.
“Office fire. Accident; looks like a cigarette got tossed in the wastebasket still lit. Almost everyone got out safely; there was only one death, but she was caught in the middle of the blaze, so it’s not surprising that she didn’t make it out.”
“’She’? Was it…Dr. Stone?”
The officer’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you? Do you know anything about this, young man?”
Sam shook his head, backing away. “No…nothing, I just had an appointment with her and…well, I just had a bad feeling when I left home, I guess.”
“Maybe you should listen to your bad feelings more, kid. Did you know her well? Did she have any enemies?”
“None that I’m…” Sam stopped, his attention captured by the red-and-white spirit, wrapped in living flame and laughing with a voice like a roaring forest fire, as it erupted from one of the windows, showering the lawn with glass. People shrieked and firefighters began to pull up equipment to deal with this sudden rekindling of the blaze, but Sam tracked the creature across the sky as it flew away in a streak of flame, its laughter echoing in his ears far after it had left.
Sam was versed in the classics; he had read the stories of Scheherazade, Aladdin, and the rest. That was a genie.
A genie had killed Dr. Stone. He was sure of it. And who could summon a genie to do this? According to Mikey, to Gramma Em, he could…and so could the thief, the other who possessed the Arts. And now Sam was sure that it was Caitlin; who else would need to assassinate this particular college professor? Especially with a fiery genie.
Sam stepped away from the crowd, ducking around a corner into a small, deserted courtyard. He reached into his bag and retrieved the Seals, silver cover still warm in his hands as he laid it on the ground.
“Okay. If he wants to use genies, then so can I…I hope.” He flipped through the pages for a few moments before finding what he was looking for: how to summon the Djinni, air genies, grantors of wishes in stories. “I need to be higher up.” His eyes scanned the campus until they alighted on a tall clock tower.
“Perfect. Now, just need something…” Sam patted his pockets, and his face fell. “Goddamn it.” He flinched and cast his gaze upward. “Sorry.” His eyes skipped around the ground, the debris from Dr. Stone’s office that had been thrown ou
t by the explosion, and he saw what he was looking for.
An intact piece of chalk. Sam glanced around to ensure that no one was watching, then he slipped it into his pocket.
Atop the tower, he drew his circle. He wrote the ancient summons for the north winds, for the cloud-riders, servants of the sky. Sam stepped into the middle of the circle and raised his hands to the air.
“Appear, in the name of Great Solomon; I hold you to the oaths you swore to Almighty God Himself. Appear!”
The air grew cold and misty. Fog began to fill the focal point of the diagram, a binding circle to keep the spirit contained until its disposition could be determined. Glowing blue eyes blazed from the mist, staring at Sam as the rest of the creature’s body became apparent.
The djinn was wispy, almost transparent; although humanoid in shape, its skin was blue and it wore no clothes. Its outline was blurry and its voice sounded like a blustery wind in early February.
“Who summons me?” The form pulsed and expanded in its prison.
“I am Samuel Buckland, Keeper of the Keys of Solomon, and I have need of your service.”
The djinn cocked its head at him, and its eyes bored into Sam’s. “What do you offer me, Keeper? Why should I serve you? Are you worthy, as those who came before you, as your mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, or are you a fool, weak and unfit for the gifts bestowed?”
Sam’s eyes widened. “You…you knew my mother?”
“I knew your ancestors, those who wielded the powers you do now. I have been summoned by them before, called to serve them as I am called now to serve you. As I reminded them, young Buckland, I remind you now: a servant displeased is a servant that cannot be trusted. I ask again, do you offer me recompense, or do you command me by God’s authority alone?”
“Umm..” Sam pursed his lips, trying to come up with a proper gift, a payment for this creature. He pulled out his Samsung cell phone. “Would you accept this? A gift to allow you to communicate with others from great distances without traveling to them?”
The djinn snorted. “I am a djinn, boy! A creature of the wind! Traveling is my joy, my comfort, my reason for being!”
“Ah!” Sam opened up his music app. “Great djinn! This device also allows one to carry songs with you on long journeys and to watch recordings of events from most anywhere in the world!”
The djinn scratched its face, leaving contrails of cloud behind its fingertips. “Is this true? Has mankind truly created such marvels?”
Sam nodded. “Indeed, and I offer it to you in return for your aid.”
“Done!” A thunderclap boomed as it reached misty fingers through the circle, no longer bound by the diagram but instead by the agreement. It took the phone, which turned as ephemeral as the spirit itself was. “The offering is good, Samuel Buckland, and I am pleased to offer you my service. What do you wish of me?”
“I have two requests, if I may – one is a question only, the other is assistance.”
The djinn nodded. “Ask, then, and I shall provide if I can.”
“Before I summoned you, I saw another spirit, a genie of flame. I know very little about your kind…”
“That was not one of my kind!” The djinn turned dark, a thundercloud roiling at ground level. “That was an efreet, a creature of chaos and destruction. You do well to stay clear of their eternal fires, my friend; they rival myself in power and strength but are always unpredictable.”
“Thank you.” Sam paused, trying to phrase his request. “For your assistance, I ask that you bring me, unseen, into that room.” He pointed toward the window of Dr. Stone’s office. “Can you do this?”
The genie sighed. “In times gone by, the heirs of Solomon would call us to do great things – battle with powerful demons, transport them across the Earth in seconds. Emily Buckland called me before she stormed the headquarters of cultists bent on the destruction of your world.” The djinn shook his head as he spoke. “Now, you want me to bring you into a room. I suppose.” A quick nod and it reached around Sam, chilling his skin with sudden condensation droplets.
“Very well. It is done.”
“What do you…” Sam stopped as he saw that, indeed, he was inside of Dr. Stone’s office – the religious paraphernalia was still present in the main, although damaged by fire and water, and the room smelled of burnt paper and wood. The genie was hovering over him.
“Have I discharged my duties, young Buckland?” What passed for its mouth curled into a vaporous smile.
“Umm…yes. Thank you, djinn.”
“If you are to be the Keeper of the Keys you should know my name. In your tongue, it translates to Sky-King; in mine, you would find it unpronounceable.”
Sam laughed. “Try me.”
“Very well, young Buckland; you may wish to cover your ears.” The djinn inhaled, frost forming on its ephemeral lips, then spoke. The words erupted like a close-range thunderclap, a sonic boom, and the sky outside rumbled and roiled in response; clouds boiled from nowhere as the djinn’s name echoed from the mountains.
Sam pulled his hands from his head. “Alright then. Sky-King it is.”
Sky-King laughed. “It was good to meet you, young Keeper. I hope that you come to a better end than some of your ancestors.” Before Sam could reply, the genie was gone, leaving only a light mist in its place, dissipating and fading.
Sam looked around the room, searching through burned papers, scorched electronics, seeking something, anything, that could be connected to what was going on. His eyes lighted on the desk, where an ancient answering machine was still plugged in, light indicating a message. He pressed the button and continued his search as the message played.
“Dr. Stone?” came a hushed male voice. “I don’t have much time, but I had to warn you. You’re in terrible danger. You need to get out of there before something happens. Don’t try to contact me. Hurry!” Then the line went dead.
Sam shook his head. Whoever had sent that message may have been more right than he knew…or maybe not. He looked over the desk again; the papers, ruined, burned to cinders. Nothing useful, nothing useable.
“Damn it!” He swept the charcoal off the desk onto the floor, then knocked over a burnt, wooden chair, kicked at the wall.
That hurt.
Limping, cursing, Sam propped himself up against the wall. Think, came the internal voice. If you were a professor, wrote a paper you believed in, you wouldn’t get rid of it. You’d keep it somewhere. Probably somewhere hidden, a place for ‘lost dreams.’
Sam opened his eyes again. He looked at the wall, the religious icons. They had survived the heat of the fire much better than the papers had; most were intact except for some smoke damage, others had their frames blackened and maybe some paint peeling. Veronica’s Veil looked a bit worse for wear, but Saint Michael just seemed a little battle-toughened, the carbon on his face reminding Sam of combat-paint, perhaps. He smiled, thinking of Dr. Stone’s reaction if she had known that Michael himself was actually hiding out in this very building.
The smile flew from Sam’s face. He walked over to the painting, pulled it from the wall. Behind it was a safe, protected, untouched. The smile returned, larger than before.
“What better place to keep your secrets, than behind the one who you will tell them to when you die?” He tried the safe door, which was, of course, locked. Sam stepped back, considered.
Most people, if they aren’t too paranoid, don’t like unlocking their own stuff…they try to make it easy for themselves… He moved back to the safe, closed his eyes, turned the knob to the right, number by number.
He had gone four numbers down when he felt and heard the click. The safe door cracked open. Sam laughed.
“Good thing I’m one of the good guys. Otherwise I might think I was turning into a burglar – safecracking, 4th story jobs…” He flipped on the light on the desk and beamed it into the darkness of the safe.
Sam’s heart fell; the safe was empty. He cast his light on the sides,
the floor - there has to be something - and then he saw it; a flash drive, black like the walls of the safe, lying on the side. He snatched it up, looked at it, pocketed it.
“All right.” Peeking out the window, he hissed through his teeth. “Oh, right…cops. Four stories. Crap.” He paced around the room, mumbling to himself, racking his brain. “No…not a T.V. show…no, too many witnesses…no, not enough room…”
He headed to the stairwell, opened the doorway…and headed upstairs, past the fifth and sixth floors, to the roof. He began to leaf through the book again; maybe there was something in here, an incantation, a spell, that could get him down…
He did not notice the small creature, the impling, that was watching him from a nearby rooftop, ears dripping pus and blood but still keen.
CHAPTER NINE
Gregory Caitlin had not been home for three days. He had not even left the Special Research Division’s headquarters; he had sent his wife and campaign manager a short text, telling them “not to worry,” but he couldn’t bring himself to leave.
It all felt like it was coming apart.
The genie he had sent had burned the papers, the room, left no survivors (Gregory was still pained by this, but he had had no choice!). Yet, according to the latest data, the “obstacle” had managed to acquire something important, despite Gregory’s best efforts. The angel was constantly updating her predictions on what this man would do next, but Gregory hadn’t been able to react fast enough, or well enough.
Yet.
He cracked his knuckles as he thought about what his servant had brought him. This Samuel was on the rooftop where Dr. Stone’s office had been, looking like a treed raccoon. Okay. That bought him a bit of time, gave some breathing room to figure something out.
How had this man become so proficient with the Arts so fast? Able to defeat the demon that Gregory had sent after him, summoning an air genie…
Chains of Prophecy: A Tale of Mythic Discovery Page 9