Archangel of the Fallen

by Devin Lee Carlson

  Eric raised the golf club and swung it at me like a limp fish. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you drag me inside that thing.” As if to surrender, he threw the club at my feet. “I’ll leave. The house that is! Neither of you will ever see me again.” Fear overtook reason. Sweat trickled down his forehead. “Please! I promise.” He backed away.

  Mission accomplished. I leaned over to pick up the Caderen net and tossed it through the portal before the gaping hole snapped shut. A thunderous roar shook the room for effect. Then I held out a bank check. “Take this generous severance and get lost. An alarm will go off in my phone if you so much as call her.” I stared at the golf club as he tore out of the office. Never did get to try my hand at golf.

  From the next room, faint noises alerted me. Eric stuffed his belongings into a suitcase. His hysterical curses made no sense. That was easy. I sat at the computer and changed my password for the move to Edinburgh. Then I sent Jesse a text to have the locks changed.

  The most formidable task on the damage control list awaited me: Cueva Oscura, Mexico. I had already pulverized the flash drive from White Sands and would do the same to the one hidden inside the tomb. Once all nine were gathered and mashed into a plastic ball, the urge to toss the wreckage into Wayde’s lap exceeded all else. Here’s the journal, asshole. I chuckled.

  As if to squash my bravado, a wave of malaise rushed over me. The feel-good thoughts switched to refueling. My fingers fumbled the bag of Colton tabs to count how many were left. Six should do the trick.

  The bedroom faded from view, replaced by desert terrain. Behind me, the entrance to the tomb summoned me inside. Ocean mist carried on the breeze from the nearby coast soothed dust-ridden nostrils. My gaze froze in that direction as thoughts turned to Maria, still able to smell her blood. Wait! Her death had not happened yet, and on this do-over, it would never happen by my own hands. So, why not help Maria, along with her family and friends.

  The power of destruction, delivered by brainwaves alone, meant that I didn’t have to JLS here to destroy the nosophor nest. Why not dust them all from the comfort of my office back in Edinburgh. However, still inexperienced, skeptical of my abilities, a direct-line-of-fire attack would perfect my aim.

  But…what if I destroyed every nosophor at once? The entire planet’s worth. Would such a wide-sweeping task require the new-and-improved Colton tabs to execute? The notion of discharging a worldwide missile that dusted every nosophor might be reckless, even dangerous. What if the mind blast struck down some of the Fallen as well? Nope, not one of my first-rate ideas. At least I disposed of the few nests I had stumbled upon. The rest would have to wait.

  Guesstimating done with, I chewed on two more tablets and concentrated on the slithering nosophors inside the tomb and those who stalked nearby villages. Developed a hundred times over, the renown A-factor allowed me to detect each decaying beast, especially the leader. A chill shot through me. That she-devil would never lay another putrefying finger on me. The pressure inside my skull increased as the wave of destruction magnified until the cerebral missile multiplied and fired outward. The kickback from the discharge almost knocked me off my feet.

  Screeches from inside the tomb echoed off the tunnel walls. A spray of dust shot out of the opening. The stench of rancid decay made me gag. I leaned on a boulder to fight the usual vertigo that swept over me from the far-reaching execution. Those in nearby villages were also obliterated. An inward smile assured success, however short lived.

  Sudden movement snared my attention. The intense heat originating from above declared painful familiarity. Spitfire rattled in my pocket. I sucked in a breath and released a much-needed sigh before facing the intruder.

  “Bloody hell, it’s about time you showed up.” Because I had traveled four years in the past, Athorsis once again possessed Turian’s body. My torso twisted to the right to shield the bag of Colton tablets from the heat. Might be water resistant, but not flame retardant. Screw it. I threw the rest into my mouth, chewed greedily, and swallowed some of them whole. Might thank myself later.

  Athorsis drifted closer until my bomber jacket crinkled from the rising heat. “That’s close enough,” I said, raising a hand, the jacket my favorite.

  Archangel Athorsis sneered. “You cheated! How? Who helped you?” A blast of flames shot from his eyes. “Petty fool! I shall scorch you where you stand. How dare you travel back in time to escape my grasp.”

  “More like escape your manipulative resets.” Red flames sparked from Turian’s blue eyes. Athorsis had never seen it coming and Tim knew it. “The resets were a cheat. But we beat you at your own game. We took control. I’m here to take your throne.” I backed away, not from fearfulness, but from the fiery heat. Too bold a remark from a minion? I cared less.

  “You do not deserve my throne!” His voice bellowed a thunderous roar that echoed across the rocky terrain. Flames shot from the burnt flesh of Turian’s empty sockets. “Who dared help you?” Another spray of flames followed.

  Hands over my ears, I tucked tight and rolled into the entrance of the tomb. My jacket spared, I poked my head out. “Is that all you got?”

  Laughter filled the desert. “The son shall best the father. Over my dead soul!”

  Never expected mirth. Sarcasm, yes. “You keep saying that,” I yelled. “What does it mean?”

  “Figure it out for yourself while you waste time on your silly do-over. Ariane and Sabree matter not. Neither does the entire pathetic human race. However, I am patient.”

  An explosive flare equal to a dozen flame throwers fired in my direction. All around, plant life singed to burnt cinders. The ground within a hundred-foot radius melted into smooth glass. Clumps of sand formed fulgurites where bolts of lightning struck it, which meant the temperature exceeded 3,000 degrees. My clothes disintegrated to ash, and the new phone melted into an unrecognizable puddle. “Fock!” I scrambled to pick up the stones that tumbled from the pouch that once hung from my belt, both now ash. Naked from head to toe, my skin untouched, I stared wide-eyed. My body had survived worse as it changed to its nonphysical self. I stifled a choking sob that rose up my throat.

  Where Turian once stood, a swirling fireball the height of fifty feet blazed brightly. Tiny fireballs orbited around the central being of glowing red, blazing orange, and highlighted yellows as bright as the sun. The fiery sight would have fried my eyes to ash if they had not become noncorporeal.

  The emotions I had repressed earlier, erupted. A gasping sob brought tears to my eyes. So, this was the Lighted One in all its heavenly glory. Too bad Athorsis represented the devil itself. My back straightened as I approached him with Spitfire an extension of my left arm. I spoke, uncertain if the words were mine or from my future self. “The son shall best the father. Prepare yourself, for that day comes soon.”

  The Lighted One imploded into a marble-sized ball and vanished. The atmosphere around it suctioned up into a vacuum.

  Phfffoot!

  The hundred-degree desert air cooled me in its wake. The slight ocean breeze soothed my bare skin and frazzled nerves. No evidence of Athorsis’s visit lingered except for the glass-fused sand and scorched plant life that etched the earth in black veins. The locals would know what happened here: the angels from Heaven destroyed the nosophors. I chuckled because the visual came off as more exalted.

  The stones clenched tight in my palm, I closed my eyes and engaged JLS back to Edinburgh. A lot happened in one day. Besides retrieving and destroying two flash drives, I confronted one friend, Jesse, and three demons, Serine, Eric, and Athorsis. Tim E. Traveler pulled a no show. Doubted I would ever see him again, the course of events on the right track.

  A chill caressed my bare skin. The nude body in the door-length mirror mocked me. Bummer. No replacing my favorite bomber jacket, I deposited the stones on the dresser. White Ghost twinkled when it rolled into another stone. Was there such a thing as a fireproof belt and pouch? Phone? I’d have to call in for a new one.

  A
fine ash covered my face. I rubbed both eyes and glanced at the old wall clock. Eight hours difference between Scotland and Arizona took me only three hours to complete the tasks. Left at three in the afternoon and returned at six. After a much-needed shower and a homecooked meal followed by a Colton tablets chaser, that left the entire evening at my disposal. My lids grew heavy. Get ready, Sabree.

  8

  Like Pop, Like Son

  F ollowing a light tap on her brother’s door, Ariane held her breath and listened. Only eight o’clock, she thought he might be on his tablet. Her hand tapped a bit louder. No response. She drew in a breath and held it while she cracked open the door, never a good idea to barge in on a teenage or young adult male. Any aged male for that matter. Her imagination refused to go there.

  “Brian,” she whispered. “Are you awake?” Her gaze fell on the mound buried beneath the covers until it wiggled. He’s out. She left the new phone on the dresser. When he snorted, and then said nothing, she closed the door. He must have had a busy afternoon.

  Thunder clashed, followed by the pattering of a downpour. Heavy rain beat against the roof tiles. Not a good night to be out. Another clash and the lights flickered before darkness reigned in its wake. Ariane yelped a curse. The windowless hallway darkened to equal one of Eric’s cave systems. She had no flashlight or candle to light the way. Thunder clashed again. She turned toward her room two doors down. Deft fingers traced the wall to guide her, recalling the Ming vase showcased before her door.

  In her opinion, the ugly antique should be thrown out ASAP. In fact, she intended to remove the whole Grandmother collection by donating the ancient pieces. Her brother had given her full control to redecorate the mansion, one of the bonuses to get her to stay instead of returning to Cave Creek. She hated the murky, formal estate. The Property Brothers influenced her design tastes, so she had a few ideas to go on.

  Thunder clapped again, louder than before. “That was close,” she said aloud.

  “Oui, very close, Ariane Rose,” a voice crooned behind her.

  Ariane let out a gasp and spun around. She expected the butler until the white outline of a transparent man formed. She screamed. The ghost! Her arm knocked over the vase when she spun around to make a run for her room. Before she could reach the knob, the ghost appeared in front of her. She yanked her hand back when it passed through his vaporous body.

  Paralyzing fright prevented her from screaming again. Ariane spun around and ran back to her brother’s room, not caring what she knocked over. The door was locked. Did she lock it or did the ghost? “Brian!” she yelled through the door.

  “He can’t hear you,” the ghost said. “I’ve seen to that.”

  Concern for her brother stifled her fear. The infamous ghost who haunted Brian all those times now haunted her. Why the change? The ghost never hurt her brother, so she hoped for the same mercy. A brazen approach might work. She held out her chin and slapped both hands on her hips. His ethereal aura lit the hall enough to show off her bold stance. “What did you do to Brian?”

  “Nothing much. Just locked the door. Apparently, he exhausted himself, unable to respond to my unworldly boo and your clumsy maneuvers. So, I helped the ghoul along.” The ghost chuckled. “Your dearest brother cannot help you. C’est la vie.”

  Ariane pounded on the door when the ghostly aura brightened as it floated toward her. Teal eyes rimmed in crimson and sharp fangs filled her vision until blackness shadowed along the edges. She collapsed to the floor. Eyes blinded by tears, she heard the ghost mutter, “Oh dear.”

  Ariane held on to the veil of semi-consciousness to make sure the ghost did no bodily harm. Light steps approached then paused as he knelt beside her. Icy fingers probed her neck for a pulse. She held her breath to fight the urge to shudder all over.

  Along with cool fingers, his breaths tickled her neck. Sweet caramel wafted with her shallow breaths. Odd how this apparition smelled so delectable. Focus, it’s now or never.

  “Go back to the netherworld!” she yelled. Her arm swung around, hooking with the other to smack him in the head with all the muscle she could muster. Elation gave her strength to sit up when he toppled over, gasping a surprised grunt. She jumped to her feet and kicked him where he lay.

  “Go away!” Ariane almost fell over when she kicked him again, her foot passing through empty air. She twirled in place. The apparition gone, she banged on Brian’s door. “Wake up! Let me in.” Her throat tightened. What if the ghost killed him? Tears pooled in her eyes; her breath hitched. She collapsed to her knees and leaned into the door.

  3 3 3

  Azrian ran up the stairs into the hall. His flashlight shone in his aunt’s eyes. “Aunt Ariane! Are you all right?” He whispered a curse for the slip up. “What’s going on?”

  “Mr. Colton’s door is locked. He won’t wake up.” She reached for her throat. “Do you have a key?” she asked between hyperventilated breaths.

  Azrian rattled a ring of keys in his hand. “Sure do, ma’am. Please step aside.” He stuck one key in, whispered a curse, and stabbed in the next one. The lock clicked. “Allow me to enter first in case of danger.”

  “Pretty sure Mr. Danger has left,” she snapped.

  When Azrian glanced her way, he recognized the perplexed stare. Did she hear him call her aunt? His father would be furious, warning him it was too soon to give his identity away, at least not until after Halloween night. When she continued to stare through a narrowed gaze, it hit him: the amber eyes, the mannerisms, the same slight build. Except for his Asian influences, he could pass as his father’s brother. Her voice broke him from the spell.

  “Are you all right? Open it.”

  “Yes, sorry, ma’am.” He crept into his father’s room. The flashlight bounced off the wall like a spotlight in search of a boat lost in the fog. His aunt followed behind him. “Mistress Colton. He’s in bed. Shall I wake him?”

  “Let me,” Ariane said, pushing him aside. “Brian?” She shook his shoulders.

  A tightness took hold of Azrian’s throat as he fought to catch his breath. When he flashed the light on the nightstand, a six-inch piece of gauze lay next to a glass of water. “What’s that?”

  Holding it away from her nose, Ariane sniffed with caution and almost dropped it. “Chloroform,” she squeaked out after a coughing spell. “Enough to knock out a horse.”

  “Who did this?” Azrian shook his father. “Wake up, Pop.”

  “Pop?” She cocked her head his way. “Whoa, little man, this night has taken a turn from Mr. Creepy to OMG creepy. First aunt and now pop? Who are you?”

  Only his aunt and Zoe called him little man. Azrian’s brows lowered in contemplation. “I’m simply one hell of a butler.” He nudged his father’s arm. Why didn’t he wake up? Wait. Colton tabs should help. Time to slip into butler mode and fetch the tablets. “I’m going to the kitchen to brew him a hot cup of coffee for when he wakes.” Coffee was the last thing his father needed, but no other excuse came to mind.

  She hesitated before letting him go. “Please hurry.”

  Downstairs, Azrian stopped to sort through his thoughts. His father depended on him. Screw coffee, he needed the Colton tabs instead. But where did his father stash them? Did Sabree cause this? If so, uncle or not, he’d return the favor even if Sabree was messing around.

  Inside the office, Azrian tugged on the desk drawers. All opened except one, most likely the one that stored the tablets. He pulled again, making sure to use the A-factor strength. The drawer ripped away from the sliders and shot open, sending Azrian and the chair rolling to the back of the room. A small album fell out of the drawer. “Bugger!” he cursed, certain his father hid them there.

  His mind mulled over a few details until one stood out, practically slapping him in the face for being so absentminded. His father had given him some Colton tabs to last a few days. Azrian ran into his bedroom, grabbed the case, and walked fast, a distinguished butler march, into his father’s room.

  Ariane cri
ed out. Her eyes raked over his hands. “Where’s the coffee?”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, switching into butler mode. His father stirred under the covers. Moisture welled in his eyes as he approached, holding out the bag of hope. “Give him two of these.” When his aunt’s brow furrowed in question, he said, “Trust me. They will bring him around faster than coffee.” He handed her two yellow oval tablets.

  “I recognize these. Brian took one yesterday.”

  His father reached out and grunted.

  Azrian recognized the glint in his eyes as longing. “Give me those.” He grabbed the pills from her hand and shoved them into his father’s mouth. “Chew, Pop. You’ll feel better.”

  Sure enough, the tablets performed their job and fast. Already, his father sat up with a frown etched across his face. His aunt wore a matching scowl. Too late. “Sorry, I was worried.” Azrian glanced away, certain the two would explode in a shouting match, both for different reasons.

  Instead, Brian placed a hand on Azrian’s clenched fist. “No worries. I’ll take care of it.”

  That’s all Azrian needed to hear. His father was okay, ready to fix the mess he had made of things. He slipped back into his butler shoes to lean on the cautious side. “Hope you feel better, Master Colton. Good night, Mistress Colton.” He left before she could protest the sudden departure. His father had this now, let him fix it. Azrian winked on the way out. Which Brainiac said this do-over would be a piece of cake? Not him. Not his father either. Ha, like Pop, like son.