by Jana Oliver
He has paid his debt.
But –
You still owe me a favour, Blackthorne’s daughter. When that is fulfilled, we will talk. Until then stop whining.
‘Whining?’ she shouted aloud. After all she’d been through?
Then it hit her. There would be no war today. The earth would continue to turn on its axis while all its inhabitants went about their lives on this sunny morning in February.
Oh. My. God. I actually did it!
Riley draped herself over a headstone and wept in profound relief.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‘Don’t touch her!’ someone commanded. ‘Let the angelic essence bleed into the ground first.’
Ayden. At least her witch friend had survived.
‘Look at it flow out of her. It’s like a river. I’ve never seen anything like that.’
Mort. He’d made it too.
It took time, but Riley finally opened her eyes. She was still slumped over the headstone, the granite digging painfully into her ribs. At all points of contact golden yellow light poured out of her body, sheeting down the weathered stone and into the ground just like a battery discharging.
‘Ouch,’ she said, sliding to the ground and landing hard on her butt. Every cell of her body throbbed, from her toenails to the ends of her hair.
‘Now you can touch her,’ the witch advised.
It was Beck who did the honours, gently stroking her arm so her eyes moved in his direction. Black demon blood coated his clothes and splattered his cheek. ‘Yer alive,’ he said, smiling.
‘You too.’ Go figure.
Beck scooped her up in his arms. She was going to protest, but realized it was wasted breath. She was too weak to walk anyway. He carried her only a short distance and set her on the stairs to the Bell Tower. A scratchy wool blanket was tucked around her.
When she raised her eyes, she found the trapper kneeling in front of her. The wound on his face continued to weep, trailing blood down his neck and into his shirt. He leaned so close their foreheads touched, like he had before.
‘Paul loved us both,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll never forget that.’
Neither would Riley. Those last few seconds when her father’s brown eyes had met hers she’d seen his endless love, his deep compassion, the boundless pride he felt for her. Those scant few moments were enough to last her a lifetime.
Beck leaned back, then stood. ‘I need to see to the wounded. Will ya be OK?’
She nodded in reply. Don’t let anyone else die.
Pulling the blanket over her head, Riley closed her eyes. The sounds of battle still rang in her ears and she felt the burning flames of Sartael’s sword close to her face. She had been able to stop Armageddon, but what about her dad? Was he still in Hell? If so, it was a bitter victory.
‘Riley? She peeled back the blanket and found Ayden sitting next to her now.
The witch placed Riley’s backpack near her feet. ‘Figured you’d want these.’ She handed over the key to the mausoleum. ‘You left it in the lock. I put the sleeping bag away, but I didn’t see the claw. I’m sorry.’
Maybe it was gone, like the demon it came from.
‘The knife’s inside the backpack,’ the witch said. ‘You blooded it, so it’s yours now. When you’re ready, come by the shop. We’ll sit in the sunlight and talk of what happened today.’
‘I owe you so much.’
‘The owing goes both ways.’ They shared a lengthy hug, then the witch limped down the road. Along the way she encountered Father Rosetti. They paused, studying each other, then he nodded in her direction and she returned it. They parted company as equals.
Peter. He’d be pacing his room, fearing the worst. Riley dug inside her pack to find her cellphone. To her surprise the self-inflicted knife wound on her left hand had healed with only a faint scar to indicate there’d ever been a wound there, and her cellphone worked despite all the magic that had been thrown around. Maybe it had something to do with it being inside the protective circle. She pushed the speed dial for her friend. No way could she remember his number right now.
‘Riley? Please tell me that you’re OK and that the demons are history.’
‘Yes to both.’
He whooped in her ear. Then he sobered. ‘You sound totally wiped. You at home?’
‘No. Give me some time . . . tomorrow maybe . . . and I’ll call and tell you what happened.’ This time she’d tell him all of it.
‘It was really bad, wasn’t it?’ he asked. ‘I can tell from your voice.’
‘Yeah. It was total Hell. I’ll talk to you later, guy.’ She disconnected the call and let the phone fall into the pack.
When she looked up, Simon stood in front of her. He clenched a bloody sword like it had been fused to his arm. His usually tidy hair was streaked with sweat and dark circles underscored his troubled blue eyes.
All of them had paid a price for the game between Heaven and Hell.
‘I was right: your father was working with the necromancer, making those undead demons.’
‘No, my dad was the one who broke the spell. It was Sartael who was behind all this. Weren’t you paying attention?’
‘That isn’t what I saw,’ Simon retorted.
‘Of course not. You’d hate to admit that a Fallen could get into your head. Well, it happened and now you have to live with that like the rest of us.’
‘Why did you stop Armageddon? Was that Lucifer’s order?’
‘No. It was Heaven’s.’
‘How dare you lie to me!’ he said, his eyes flaring and his hand tightening on the sword. ‘So many people have died because of you.’
‘No, my only fault was caring too much for you.’
Martha glided up, looking first at Riley and then at Simon. The patron angel of Oakland was still sporting her wings and she wore her tough love expression. Someone was up for a lecture and Riley didn’t think it was her.
Simon’s jaw dropped as he made the connection. ‘You,’ he said. ‘It was you, in the hospital. You touched my chest and . . .’
‘Healed you. Yes, I plead guilty,’ Martha replied, her eyes narrowing. ‘What did you do with that second chance at life, Simon Michael David Adler?’
He cringed at the tone of her voice. ‘I, ah . . .’
‘Did you stand by the one who sacrificed her future to give you that chance?’ Martha chided. ‘When the Fallen came to you with his lies, did you resist him?’
‘She—’
‘No, you embraced the dark whispers because it was easier than accepting that your faith had been tested and found wanting. You betrayed your girlfriend to the demon hunters to put your own soul at ease.’
‘But Riley—’
‘Agreed to prevent Armageddon in exchange for your life,’ Martha said. She shook her head in disappointment. ‘If I was her, I’d be wondering if you were worth all the trouble.’
Simon’s face blanched as pale as his hair. ‘I didn’t know,’ he said in a coarse whisper. ‘I thought . . . Oh, dear God.’ He was on his knees in an instant, his head bowed in contrition. ‘What have I done?’
With a tortured sigh, the angel knelt next to the stricken man. ‘It is not the end of your world,’ she said, patting his arm. ‘You’ll survive.’ When he looked up, his eyes teemed with tears. ‘You’ve learned a lesson – a soul is forged in the fires of adversity, not comfort.’
He swiped away the tears. When his eyes met Riley’s, she saw the unrelenting agony within in his heart.
‘I’m . . . sorry,’ he whispered.
‘So am I, Simon,’ she replied.
‘Saint!’ Harper called out. ‘Get your ass over here.’ Simon staggered to his feet, then hurried away.
‘Go in peace, child,’ Martha murmured.
‘Will he find his faith again?’ Riley asked.
‘Perhaps.’
‘What would have happened if I hadn’t freed Ori?’
The angel puzzled on that. ‘It’s my guess you wouldn’t
have been allowed to stand between the two hosts, to plead humanity’s case.’
‘It’s all about sacrifice for you people, isn’t it?’
‘Of course,’ Martha said with a wry smile. ‘Which is why your father is no longer one of Lucifer’s.’
‘What? He’s in Heaven?’
‘It’s getting sorted out. The odds are in his favour.’ Martha smiled broadly. ‘Very good odds indeed.’
‘Oh God,’ Riley cried, nearly collapsing in relief. ‘He’ll be able to see Mom and . . .’ Her eyes brimmed with tears.
‘Maybe it was worth it after all,’ Martha replied. She turned her head at the sound of wings. ‘Ah, good, they’ve arrived.’
She marched towards a small knot of angels near the Blackthorne mausoleum and began to issuing orders like a general. The angels scattered, righting headstones, replanting uprooted trees, filling in the holes the Fives had created. A supernatural clean-up crew. When one Divine walked past a paramedic toting a broken headstone, the guy didn’t even see it.
I wonder why they’re doing this. They didn’t fix the place after that tornado went through.
As the angels worked, Riley let her eyes skim over the cemetery, past the industrious angels, the mounds of demon ashes, the bodies covered with blankets. Ori’s plinth stood empty, lit by sunlight.
Eventually she’d know if he was still alive. When that day came, she’d either be mourning the loss of the angel or the loss of her immortal soul.
One would be as life-changing as the other.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Beck wiped the blood on his jeans, then tied off the bandage with a firm tug.
‘Ya’ll keep the leg, Remmers,’ he said. ‘Be sure to have Father Rosetti bless the Holy Water so ya know it’s good.’
The injured man nodded grimly, his back up against a tree. ‘Better than I hoped for.’ He swallowed and looked around. ‘I don’t know about you, but there’s no way I’m saying a word about this,’ Remmers replied. ‘No one will believe me. Not a chance.’
‘I hear ya. I’ll make sure someone gets ya into an ambulance.’
‘Thanks, Den.’
‘Thanks for watchin’ my back, dude. I owe ya.’
Beck found Master Stewart leaning against a flame-scorched tree, flask in hand. The Scotch came his way and, after a tilt of the container, liquid ran red hot down his parched throat. He handed it back to its owner.
‘How’s Riley doin’?’ the master asked.
‘She’s . . . talkin’ at least. I asked Carmela to check on her.’
‘She stood her ground today. If she hadn’t, it would have been the end of us all.’
Beck rolled his right shoulder in an effort to stop it cramping, though that did nothing to prevent the muscle twitches: wielding a sword wasn’t for wimps.
‘I always thought Armageddon was some story they dreamed up to scare kids. I never expected to be right in the middle of it.’
When the flask came his way again, he took another long swig. Stewart still owed him an answer to a question that had been plaguing him ever since the Vatican’s team had arrived.
‘Back when we first met with the hunters, the priest said he knew who we served. When I asked ya about that, ya didn’t answer me.’
Stewart remained silent.
Beck lowered his voice. ‘We serve Hell, don’t we? The hunters are Heaven’s favourites and we’re Lucifer’s. Am I right?’
‘It’s not that simple, lad,’ Stewart remarked. ‘It’s not so much a matter of whether we serve the Prince, but that we are the opposite of the hunters. The other side of the coin. Everythin’ in this world hangs in the balance between the light and dark.’
‘That doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.’
‘It’s not an easy concept. Even the origins of the demons isn’t clear. Some think Lucifer created them as a mockery of God’s work. Others claim that they’re damned souls, sent ta Hell to learn their lesson.’
‘Yer sayin’ that if I kill a demon it might be someone I knew?’
Stewart hitched a shoulder. ‘I don’t know for sure. I still don’t understand it and I’ve been trappin’ for over fifty years.’
Which meant Beck had little chance of grasping it today.
‘Don’t let it trouble ya, lad. Yer not a servant of the dark, that’s for sure.’ The master laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m very proud of ya. Ya showed great courage.’
‘I did OK,’ Beck replied, shrugging off the praise.
‘Ya took on an Archfiend,’ the master replied, reclaiming his liquor at the same time as he removed his hand. ‘That’s better’n OK.’
‘I didn’t kill it,’ Beck said. He remembered Riley stabbing it in the butt and then laughed, because it felt good. ‘Damn, it’s good to be alive.’
‘Aye. Now get Riley out of here. Take her ta my place if she’ll go. This will hit her hard soon enough.’
Beck hesitated, not sure if he should ask the question. ‘What happens to a Fallen when it dies?’
Stewart took another long pull on the whisky. ‘Some say that Heaven takes them back if their souls have been cleansed. Others believe they become a demon and start all over again.’
Which meant no one really knew the truth.
There’s a lot of that in this job.
Beck found Paul’s daughter sitting where he’d left her, the blanket still round her shoulders. Her tangled hair rested on dirt-smeared clothes, her skin unnaturally pale. He sat next to her, waiting for her to speak first.
‘How many did we lose?’
‘Twelve,’ he replied. ‘The hunters lost ten. We’ve got a lot of injuries, but I think most of them are gonna live.’
Riley searched across the stretch of ground around them, looking for someone. Her attention paused on one hunter and she sighed in relief. ‘Müller’s alive,’ she said. ‘He has a little boy at home.’ Then her face saddened. ‘Corsini won’t ever get to see his new baby.’
She’s in shock. Beck put his arm round her. ‘Stewart wants me to take you to his place.’
Riley instantly shook her head. ‘No, I want to go home.’ She took her time rising from the step, telling him she was in pain.
‘The doc seen you yet?’
‘I wasn’t bleeding to death so she’ll check me over later.’
Beck suspected Carmela had said more than that.
Riley looked up at him, her eyes glistening. ‘The angel said Dad isn’t in Hell any more,’ she murmured. ‘He’s free of the demons.’
Not in . . . ‘Yes!’ Beck shot a fist in the air. ‘Way to go, Paul.’ Then he sobered. ‘Come on, let’s get ya out of here.’
As they walked down the asphalt road past the others, Riley kept her eyes on the path. He knew how it went after a battle. You focused on what you could handle, which was damned little.
She paused only when she found Mort sitting on the kerb. He had a bottle of water in his hand and there was a giant red mark on his left cheek. His summoner’s robe was destined for the trash.
‘You OK?’ she asked.
‘I’m just tired,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ve never done that much magic before.’
‘Did you know my dad was going to be here?’ When there was no reply, she stepped closer, her body taut. ‘Did you know what he was going to do?’
Beck gently touched her arm. ‘Later. I’m sure Mort will be happy to talk to you, but not right now.’ He gave the necromancer a look that told him that conversation would be happening or Beck would make it a personal issue.
‘I’ll tell you all of it. Come to my house tomorrow, after we’ve both got some sleep,’ Mort said.
Riley swung away and moved down the road at a pace she wouldn’t be able to sustain. She flagged near the front gate, stopping to catch her breath. Stretchers rolled by them on the way to a street crowded with ambulances and cops.
‘Yer hurtin’, aren’t ya?’ A nod. ‘Can you make it to the truck?’
‘Yes.’ Then her eyes flared
and she shoved him away. ‘What were you doing, you idiot? You don’t know how to kill an Archfiend. It could have ripped you in half.’
‘I didn’t want it to hurt you,’ he said honestly.
‘Why do you have this insane need to get yourself killed?’
He smirked. ‘I’m still alive and it isn’t.’
‘Only because Ori killed it.’
‘Don’t remind me. Were ya really tryin’ to stab that demon in the ass?’
Riley groaned. ‘No, I was aiming for its leg and it moved. I looked like a total dork.’
‘Not to me.’
Beck slipped his arm round her waist and they continued on to the truck. So far the press hadn’t been allowed anywhere near the scene. That would end soon and he wanted her out of here before that happened.
‘I’m sorry about yer angel,’ he said, meaning it. ‘I figured he was as evil as they come, but now I think he was tryin’ to make it right in his own way.’
Riley swallowed hard. ‘Why didn’t Lucifer take out Sartael himself? Why let it go this far?’
‘A leader sends his best man to challenge the enemy. The top dog only gets involved when it goes wrong. Or to claim victory. Been that way forever.’
‘It cost Ori his life.’
‘Maybe.’
She looked up at him. ‘You don’t think he’s dead?’
‘Not sure. Lucifer’s a tricky bastard, and if keepin’ that angel alive is a way to play with yer head he’ll do it.’
‘That’s what I was thinking.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Riley woke to the comfort of her own bed in that muzzy sort of haze that didn’t tell her what day it was, how long she’d slept or whether the nightmares she’d had were real or not.
Had to be a dream. That would be good. No rampaging necromancers, revolting Archfiends or epic battles. No dead Ori.
Her eyes opened. The warm light in the room hinted at late afternoon. She rolled her head on the pillow and studied the clock – it was past four. Memories rushed to fill the empty spaces: Beck walking her to her apartment, her heading for the shower, scrubbing herself until the water ran cold. Finding out that Ori had been right once again – she was not pregnant. Never had a period been so welcome.
