The Realm

by A. Q. Owen

  The bullets, however, never pierced Orion’s body. They struck something a foot in front of his chest, a wall of invisible matter that separated him from the outside. The metal rounds flattened against whatever it was and then dropped to the ground at Orion’s feet.

  The two shooters scowled and fired again. This time, they emptied their magazines. All to the same effect. Each bullet struck the invisible barrier and fell to the steps.

  Myra stood off to the side, watching.

  Gray smoke trickled out of the gun barrels and hovered around the men for a moment, the acrid smoke wafting around their heads. Confusion riddled their faces.

  Myra clenched her jaw hard and narrowed her eyes. “So, Mr. Cunningham. You have a protective spell around this place?”

  He shook his head once. “Not that I know of. Maybe I just have someone upstairs watching my back.”

  She snorted with derision. “Doubtful.”

  “We done here?” he asked. “Or you still wanna try to lure me out of the building with that bullshit job offer?”

  “We will meet again, Mr. Cunningham. You can’t hide here forever. Sooner or later, you’ll have to come out. And when you do, we’ll be waiting.”

  She spun on her heel and folded her hands behind her back, then walked down the steps and got into the open door of the BMW.

  “Thanks for the heads-up, Myra. I appreciate it. And thank you for the offer. Sorry it’s not going to work out between us. It’s not you; it’s me. Actually, it’s you. It’s definitely you, probably because of the whole you being a horrible and unhappy person thing.”

  One of her cronies slammed the door shut and climbed into the front of the car while the other slid into the driver’s seat and stepped on the gas. The car sped away with the three SUVs following close behind.

  Orion watched until they were gone then gave a quick survey of the buildings across the way and the streets in both directions. Satisfied no one was there—that he could see—he closed the door and locked it.

  Steve was panting as if he’d just sprinted a hundred yards. He swallowed and then stepped over to Orion. “What in the world was that all about? How? How did you—”

  “I didn’t,” Orion said. He fiddled with the ring on his finger, twisting it for a second. “I didn’t stop the bullets.” His tone was distant. “Actually, I thought they were going to kill me right then and there.”

  Steve’s face twisted into a confused frown. “But if you didn’t do it…”

  “It seems that we have someone protecting us, Steve. If I had to guess—”

  “The old man?”

  Orion nodded. “That would be my first guess, yes.”

  “So…I guess that means you’re going back in?”

  There was hesitation on Orion’s face as doubts still lingered. “If I go back in right now, I may not have enough energy to make the return trip to Earth. I’m drained as it is.”

  He’d been trying to hide the signs of weakness and fatigue, but the earlier battle combined with being on the other side, in the Realm, had taken its toll.

  “I need to rest, just for a little while. Then I’ll be fine.”

  Steve put his arm around Orion’s shoulders. “You’re always welcome in the house of the Lord, my son.” He laughed at his comment.

  Orion offered up a feeble chuckle, too. “Thanks, Steve.”

  “Come on. I have an empty dorm cell with a cot in it. It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do for now.” He paused and glanced back at the door. “You…you don’t think they’re going to wait until we’re asleep and then try to get in, do you?”

  “Maybe,” Orion confessed. “The thought did cross my mind.” He shook it off. “But something tells me they’re not coming in. Maybe it’s the spell or some blessing or the protection of the Almighty. I don’t really know. What I do know is that if they wanted to come in that door, they would have. And the fact that Miss Myra didn’t come barging in suggests maybe she can’t.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Steve led the way down a corridor where the old church branched out in two directions, one leading down the outside of the length of the sanctuary and the other going through a set of dark wooden doors.

  The next hallway was short, containing four more doorways, two on each side.

  “These were designed to house priests who were visiting from out of town. We hardly get any visitors of that kind anymore, so we converted most of them to storage, except one.” He motioned to the first two doors and then to the last one on the left. Then he pointed at the final doorway to the right. “That will be yours,” he said.

  Steve walked up to the door and gave the knob a twist. It swung open, and Steve stepped inside, followed by Orion.

  A musty, museum-like smell filled their nostrils, along with a hint of dust in the air.

  Orion took a quick look around. A tiny wooden desk was in the back left corner, pressed flush against the wall on two sides. It came with a matching, equally modest chair. Steve flicked on the two dim lights, and a yellowish glow filled the cell. A small cot sat on the right side of the room. It was better than a cot, actually. Steve had called it that, but the thing was really a narrow bed with a thin mattress. He’d slept—or tried to sleep—on cots before when he was in his community’s version of the Boy Scouts, and when he was in the military. There were times he figured the ground would be more accommodating to his needs. This bed, though, would work just fine.

  “I told you,” Steve said. “Nothing fancy.”

  “I appreciate it, man.” Orion gave a nod.

  “It’s okay. Not a problem.”

  Orion glanced around and then wrinkled his forehead with a questioning frown. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

  Steve started taking off his shirt. “In here with you?”

  A strange discomfort crept into the back of Orion’s mind. “Wait. What? On that thing?”

  “Sure. Oh, and I sleep nude.”

  Orion was in the midst of putting up his hands to protest when Steve cracked a mischievous grin. “I’m messing with you, O.” He started laughing and put his shirt back on. “I’m gonna sleep in the cell across from you. There isn’t much stuff in there, but I didn’t want to put you in there with a bunch of old boxes. I’ll be fine.”

  Orion bit his lip for a second and then started laughing. He shook his head. “Good one.”

  Steve winked. “I’ll be across the hall if you change your mind, big boy.”

  He stepped out into the corridor, the golden light from the sconces casting its glow behind him.

  “Hey, Steve?”

  The priest spun around. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry I was a dick to you at the bar. I…”

  Steve held up a hand to stop him. “It’s okay, O. I understand.”

  Orion glanced down at the floor, humbled, gave a nod, and reached to close the door. “Thanks.”

  “Night, man. Let me know if that psycho lady drops by in the night.”

  Orion snorted. “Will do.”

  21

  Myra sat with her legs crossed in a meditative position, palms facing the ceiling. Sweat rolled down her naked body from her forehead to her shoulders, dripping onto her legs.

  The circle of candles burned hotter than usual in the stone room. The only place for air to escape was a tiny vent in the ceiling, and it did little to stem the heat.

  She didn’t always communicate with her master this way, though she preferred it. It was more intimate, more liberating for her. It stripped away the bonds of human civilization and ultimately presented her to him in the way she wished he would take her.

  This meeting, however, would likely not have any of that going on.

  “You seem…pensive, my dear.”

  Lucifer’s voice filled her head, swirling around in her brain like a vortex, touching every fiber, every cell with its intoxicating sound.

  “I…am concerned, my lord.”

  Her confession was no surprise to him. He saw everythin
g that happened, and she knew that. Expressing her frustration was quite literally the least she could do.

  “Yes. I know.”

  She considered her next words carefully. Despite her feelings toward him, her unquestioning loyalty, she knew who he was. Like her, he wouldn’t hesitate to punish incompetence no matter how close they may have grown.

  “The man we were after tonight. You saw what happened, yes?”

  “I did. One of my demons showed me everything.”

  It was one of his few weaknesses. Lucifer was incapable of omnipresence. He’d explained it to her once, his intent being to gain her implicit trust. He knew how it worked, for the most part, being everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The physics, at least for him, were fairly simple. Humans called it quantum entanglement, but so far had been unable to wrap their heads around how all things were connected through the dark matter permeating the multiverse.

  For him, it wasn’t a question of how it worked. It was a matter of power. He didn’t have the ethereal capability to tap into that kind of skill. The Creator’s knowledge of the high sciences was unchallenged, and that burned Lucifer to his core. Then again, why wouldn’t his expertise be above all others? He had invented everything. And Lucifer had been jealous of his knowledge.

  That thought also sent a searing pain through his mind, but he pushed it away; the projection of him ran a hand through his long, flowing locks.

  “This Cunningham,” she said, “he’s well-protected, my lord. We cannot go into the church where he and his friend are hiding.”

  “Nor can you destroy it. That building is being guarded by a powerful spell, a blessing of the highest order. Only if I was there in the flesh could I break it down and then obliterate that place, along with anyone inside.”

  She was relieved to hear that, though it brought new concerns to the forefront of her mind. If the devil couldn’t do it, how could she get to them?

  “What should we do, Master? Guide me as you always have.”

  “Place a unit outside the church and watch. Put your men and women on twenty-four-hour surveillance. If a door opens, you need to know about it. Sooner or later, they will have to leave for food. I doubt those men can live on wafers and wine for very long.”

  She cracked a smile at his humor and wondered if anyone else ever got to see that side of him, the side that enjoyed a little cynicism.

  “He’s an interesting quarry, my lord.”

  “Do I sense a hint of admiration?”

  Myra quickly shook her head. “No, Master. Not at all. Although his skills are considerable. He’s killed many men.”

  “Not more than you.”

  She blushed at the off-handed compliment. “True. However, now it seems he’s growing more powerful in the ways of magic. He will be formidable.”

  “Surround the church. Let no one in or out. Strangle them from the outside. Then, when they set foot onto the street, cut them down with everything you have.”

  Myra knew what that meant. Every one of her agents was a stone-cold killer and unquestioningly loyal. Still, guns were only so effective against the powers that certain magic users possessed. Cunningham was starting to look like one of those outliers.

  “The new unit is nearly ready, my lord. They are being outfitted as we speak.”

  “How many?” He already knew the answer to that question, but he liked to throw her a conversational bone now and then. It made the relationship seem…more real.

  “We have three right now, my lord. This has taken some time to get right. Ten have died during the process.”

  “Yes. Unfortunate but necessary sacrifices to achieve something that’s never been done before.”

  When he’d first brought Myra into power, he let out little tidbits of his plans to make her Dark Cell agency one of the most unstoppable forces in the world. In a way, he needed it, an arm that could reach into the realm of humans in ways that he couldn’t, but that he could guide from beyond. One of the cornerstones of that plan was a new program, the most intense training system on the planet that would take magic users who showed remarkable promise, recruit them into Dark Cell, and then turn them into killers who used a combination of magic and traditional weapons and training.

  They would be one of the most lethal fighting forces to ever walk the earth, but the training process took a heavy toll.

  So far, most of the assets had been killed trying to unlock arcane secrets of the multiverse. Magic, it seemed, was something you either had or you didn’t. Trying to force it only made things worse. One particular cadet’s head had exploded during a rigorous portion of the training. It was one of the messiest things Myra had ever seen: a black room with brain matter, bone, and thick blood covering nearly every inch.

  Three had made it through the process, though, and were being prepped to go out into the world.

  “I had another thought, Master.” Myra gazed at his figure hovering mere feet before her. “It’s…unconventional.”

  “I like unconventional.”

  “What if these…rogue magic users, the ones we execute for unauthorized spikes…what if we put them through the training, with a bit of psychological tweaking, of course. They are already proficient with their powers. We could force them into service. It might prove easier than the other way around.”

  “Yes,” he said with a hint of excitement. “Of course. A brilliant idea.” His presence moved closer. The apparition loomed inches in front of her now.

  She felt a throbbing between her thighs. Her breathing grew heavier. “Thank you, my lord. I will set things in motion at once.”

  “There is one more thing.”

  Her breathing was quicker now, coming in short bursts as she felt him wrapping around her in a warm, ethereal embrace.

  “Anything.”

  “The man in the church.”

  “Cunningham?”

  “He is the one we seek, Myra. He is the one who killed Ashgog.”

  She didn’t question his insight. That would be foolish, and she knew it. There was, however, a glaring flaw to what he was suggesting.

  “I…” She hesitated.

  “You think I’m incorrect on this?”

  She felt a warm tingle shoot up her inner left thigh. Her eyelids fluttered, and her head twitched at the intense pleasure of the sensation.

  “No, of course not, my lord. It’s just that…Cunningham didn’t have a sword. He had no weapon of any kind.”

  The ghostly head of the fallen angel rocked back for a second as if searching heaven for an answer to the problem.

  “It is him. I sense it. He must have a way to hide the weapon, a spell of some kind. He is indeed becoming a powerful mage, much faster than I would have anticipated.”

  Myra knew that didn’t happen quickly. It took years for new magic users to hone their skills, their specific talents, and even then they were often sloppy, sometimes accidentally killing themselves in the process. This Blake Cunningham, however—he was progressing at a rapid pace.

  “A talisman,” she blurted.

  Lucifer twitched his head to the left, suddenly intrigued. “Go on.”

  “A new mage, a wizard just coming into their powers. It’s possible that he has some kind of talisman or an amulet.” Her sentences came in fragments. “Something that has helped him focus his abilities as he’s learning. A relic like that is the only explanation I can come up with.”

  “And it’s a good one, my dear. If this Cunningham possesses such a talisman, when we remove it from him the sword should appear. When that happens, take it from him and bring it to me.”

  “Yes, my lord. We will wait him out. When he appears outside of the church, my team will do as you command. This brigand will suffer. And then you shall have your weapon.”

  He smiled at the thought. Then he moved toward her. Myra’s head rocked back in ecstasy in the flickering candlelight.

  A moment of pleasure now. An eternity of it when the Gods were dead. Soon, she thought, I will be th
e right hand of the ruler of the entire universe.

  22

  Orion didn’t wake with a start. He didn’t jump out of the humble bed Steve had so generously provided. No, he slogged out of bed, rolling to his side like a massive log slowly creeping down a gentle slope.

  He hadn’t slept much, maybe an hour or two. A quick check of his watch revealed that’s exactly what happened. Two hours. And most of that had been spent tossing and turning. Still, he felt like he’d gotten at least a little rest.

  What had roused him?

  Maybe rouse wasn’t the right word. He was still groggy but better than before.

  He rubbed his eyes and took a quick inventory. The tiny cell was pitch black, letting in only the thinnest veil of light through the crack at the bottom of the door. Had he heard something? Yes. That was it. He’d heard something. It was subtle, nearly unnoticeable.

  Orion pushed himself up out of the bed and walked over to the door. He flipped on the lights and winced against the sudden brightness of the wall sconces, despite the fact the bulbs only put out a weak glow.

  A cassock hung on the door. Steve must have put it there after Orion had fallen asleep. He’d left his wet clothes, Steve’s spares, on the floor next to the doorway. They were gone, which meant the priest likely took them somewhere to be washed and dried.

  Orion was standing in his boxers and had no intent of venturing out into the church with nothing on but his undies. Reluctantly, he took the cassock and slipped it over his head. He couldn’t help feeling a tad blasphemous dressing in the priestly robes. He had no right to wear them, and that thought permeated his mind in a constant barrage of guilt.

  He shook it off, knowing that he was just wearing them to be decent as he roamed through the confines of the cathedral’s many passages and corridors. If Steve were to wake up and find him out in his underwear, that would be weird. Not as weird as some of the stuff that had happened in the last few days, but still strange.

  He stepped out into the hallway, easing the door closed so it didn’t make more than the tiniest squeak. The door across from him, behind which Steve was sleeping, was still closed.