A Third of the Moon and the Stars Struck

by Jade Brieanne

  Zicon that made George overprotective of the young man. Hope. He saw hope in Zicon, the same hope he’d once had. He never wanted Zicon to lose his way, so he kept an eye on him.

  This Friday morning was no different. He showed up at the warehouse bright and early, using the spare key that Zicon allowed him to keep. On a normal morning, he would check “The Dorms” first.

  At the current moment, Zicon only had four that occupied them. When he made his Friday visits, they would greet him, fondly calling him “Unk” before going about their days. Today, they were absent. They’d picked up a co-op at the community college in Kingsborough and now their mornings were filled with administrative work and running errands. A few others worked for Zicon full time and the opportunity allowed them to move out and into their own lives, a final step Zicon called “Redemption”.

  George’s Tire World was the monetary backer which allowed Zicon to run his halfway house. Zicon was good with sales but he was terrible with business, so George handled that small portion for him. Plus, it gave him something to do, something to think about. It was monotonous work, but George enjoyed it. Zicon had tried to pay him for it but George had enough money.

  He was checking the tread on the used tire inventory when he heard silvery ding dong echoing throughout the warehouse. Zicon had made it a habit to show up to the warehouse well into the late morning–a habit George had tried to correct in the past–so to hear the noise was surprising.

  He left the inventory sheet on a shelf and headed towards the entrance, his steps light and energetic as he went to greet the young man.

  “It’s taking too long! We’ve been at this all night. He still looks as goofy and stupid as he did when we picked him up!”

  George’s steps slowed.

  “We should have brought Del. She’s the one good with this memory shit.”

  George’s eyes narrowed. Del?

  There was a grunt. “She deals with visions, not memories. Sheeda’s got it, man.” A laugh. “What? You don’t have faith in her?”

  “This isn’t about faith. This isn’t about what I believe. This is about what is possible. We don’t have all day for this bullshit! That Fox runt will be onto us soon and Lucan doesn’t want us engaging them until we have to.”

  George reared back in shock. Lucan?

  George stared at the two in front of him. One was the former Chief Priestess of Tambour, Pythia Del, and the other his grandson, Azrael.

  “We have to remember why we were Mutare to begin with. It isn’t to continue this war. It is to help those who need us! If we cannot govern over Caeli, we can make our own place, here on Earth! We have a chamber. We can–”

  “You’ve lost it, old man,” Lucan spat, his eyes glinting red. “I came here because you were the face of the rebellion. Your righteous blood flows in me and it empowered me to cross the Blood Border illegally, adding my name to a list of uncrossables I never fought with! Del and I, all of us, we do not belong here! We belong in Caeli, in our rightful positions, in the positions my father fought for. If you won’t help, if you won’t show them the power of The Eleven, then maybe we don’t need you…”

  “Hey! Mr. Elder!”

  The sudden greeting jarred him out of his memories and George whipped around, eyes wide. Zicon had entered from a side warehouse door, a smile on his lips and a coffee carrier in his hands. Imane was behind him, pushing her purse up her shoulder, her smile wide and happy. She opened her mouth to speak but George’s raised a finger to his lips, his eyes shifting as he tried to convey the need for silence. Zicon paused at this. Imane frowned.

  “What are they doing here?”

  His attention flew back to the door as the voices on the other side tapered off. “Did you hear that?” said one voice from the other side of the door.

  “Shit,” George hissed. The sound of footsteps growing louder as they headed towards the door had George working every possibility he could fathom. He measured the distance between him, Zicon and his daughter. Too far to run. Can’t yell. He groaned, irritated that he’d been backed into a corner like this, but he didn’t have a choice. He glanced at Imane. I’ll explain later.

  Concentrating, he gathered energy and collected it at the soles of his feet. It felt foreign because he hadn’t tapped into it for decades. Yet it was the most familiar and grounding feeling he’d ever felt. He felt high off of it. It made him homesick.

  “Alar,” he whispered.

  There was a low hum and in a blink, he was at Zicon and Imane’s side. The looks they gave him were a mix of astonishment and deep confusion but before they could speak to the fact that George had crossed the entire width of the warehouse in seconds, he placed a hand on them, summoned the energy again, this time moving the three of them behind a rack of tires. A breath later, the door to the warehouse was yanked open.

  “So you’re telling me you didn’t hear anything? You didn’t feel anything?” a voice nagged as the door banged against the wall.

  “Not with you yapping about faith and shit!”

  The voices were clearer now and George recognized them with startling clarity. Kevin. Seven.

  Son of a bitch. The Eleven.

  George turned to Zicon and Imane and pointed towards the back door, the only other exit out of the warehouse. “You need to leave. Right now,” he mouthed. Imane looked like she wanted to argue with him–no surprise there–but Zicon stopped her with a hand on her wrist as he began to pull her away. Zicon never questioned him. He appreciated the trust.

  George hung back, watching Zicon all but drag Imane down the aisle towards the back exit. He already had enough to explain. He didn’t want to add to the list. Fighting two members of his former faction properly would have Imane chewing his head off.

  Zicon and Imane were a few racks from the back door when a figure blurred and solidified in front of them. Zicon came to a stop and pushed Imane behind him.

  “Who the hell are you?” the man asked, outraged and indignant.

  Zicon puffed his chest. “Well…who the hell are you? This is my warehouse!” Zicon shouted back as they began taking steps away from him.

  “Kevin,” George cursed. He prepared himself to use alar again to rescue Zicon and Imane when a hand gripped his shoulder, hard.

  He cut his eyes towards the owner.

  “I knew I recognized that spiritual mass pattern! Shemhazi?”

  That was a fair question. Too bad George didn’t have the time, nor did he care to explain why he’d broken his promise to Pythia Del to never set foot near Lucan’s Eleven again. He had a problem to solve. Plus, he’d never liked Seven to begin with. Nobody did.

  While the stout Mutare stood there looking stupid, George threw his arm back, elbowing Seven across his nose, smiling when a tell-tell pained yelp followed. George then dipped low, spun and swept Seven’s feet from up under him.

  Seven’s back hit the floor with a smack and a pained grunt and his eyes flashed red in anger. George snorted. That’s nice, little boy. George pushed his sleeves back and hovered over him, answering Seven’s red anger with gold power. “Shamain Path,” he urged. The palms of his hands began to glow, matching his golden irises. The faint lines of the Sigillum dei Aemeth burned along the back of his hand. The inscriptions brightened before exploding in light, shooting up the veins in his arms and towards his back. The burn carried across his skin, igniting a fiery Sigillum dei Aemeth on his back.

  Seven inhaled sharply and the red disappeared from his eyes. He looked up from his position on the floor, his face colored with surprise and fear. “Shamain Path,” Seven repeated in shock. “Shemhazi! No!” He raised his hands defensively and tried to scramble out of the way.

  George ignored his plea. “4th disciple, I command you!” He slammed his hand down hard on Seven’s chest.

  A light tinted in shades of orange and gold filled the room for a blinding moment before it funneled down George’s arm and onto Seven’s chest, transferring the Sigillum dei Aemeth sigil in a blaze o
f gold.

  George stood up and looked down at his work. Seven’s hazel pupils were blown wide, his mouth was parted in a silent scream and his hands were raised in protest. His body begins to freeze, stiffen, from his feet, slithering up his legs and back and spine, until with a final blink, Seven’s skin was tinted in orange and his body still as stone. George shrugged. At least I know one of my path powers still works. The tingle coursing through him began to recede and George nudged Seven, satisfied when he didn’t move. One down. He looked at Kevin. One to go. The angel had his hand wrapped around Zicon’s neck, although his fingers were loose and his mouth was slack in shock.

  “You remember how this works, don’t you Kevin?” George rumbled. “Seven is going to stone stiff until either I say so or I’m far enough away for my incantation loses strength. I don’t remember it being an enjoyable experience either way. Rather painful in fact. The agonizing wait as each cell slowly reanimates.” George clenched his fist in threat. “Would you like a sample?”

  “H–how…we thought you were dead,” Kevin said, his face still washed in shock. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

  “That’s the problem with you people. What would make you think any of you had the power to actually kill me? None of you fools do. It was the very reason you were chosen–gullible loyalist who I could control.”

  “Pythia Del said…” Kevin continued in denial. “I saw your body. She showed me in her visions…”

  “You didn’t see shit. Now, while I’m still being nice, you’re going to want to let go of my friend’s neck.”

  Kevin’s eyes narrowed, his aura indignant, defiant. He released Zicon’s neck to reach behind his back for something. “You can’t fight us all, Shemhazi! You can’t!”

  George sighed. Hard-headed idiot. “Shamian Path,” he uttered and held up his hand. “2nd disciple.” A bright light filled the room once again. When it dissipated, Kevin was isolated in a faintly glowing four-sided barrier. When he realized what had happened, Kevin began beating on the barrier, his face contorted in anger as he yelled, his eyes glinting red, but it was no use. The barrier wouldn’t budge and no sound would escape it.

  “I gave him a chance,” George said, shaking his head. The second incantation was one of the weaker of the Shamain Path incants but the use of it back to back with the first took it out of him. He bent over, his hands perched on his knees as his caught his breath. “I’m too old for this shit,” he muttered.

  Imane and Zicon backed away from the barrier, silent, both of their eyes wide as they turned towards George. He could read the look on their faces, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen it. George returned another, one that asked for patience before he fished his cell phone out of his pocket and punched a number into the dial pad. It was an old contact, one he hadn’t spoken to in years.

  The phone rang and for a moment George thought she wouldn’t pick up. He was wrong. He had to hold the phone away from his ear because of the sheer volume of her voice.

  “I don’t know what the hell you want, Shemhazi, but it better be good!”

  George exhaled slow. “Glad to hear you miss me, Song.”

  “Eat a dick,” she seethed.

  George nodded. Fair. “That was nice of you.”

  “You spineless, shitbag, limp winged–!”

  “Song…”

  “No good, piss pot, pigeon brained–”

  “Song.”

  “Megalomaniac hack angel!”

  George waited until she grew quiet. “Are you done?”

  Song cleared her throat. “Yes.”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Figures!” Song screeched into the receiver. “What is it this time?”

  “Not sure yet. I just had to activate my Path powers to handle two stray mutts,” he murmured. He paused and looked down at Seven, still frozen. “The Eleven are active.”

  “No, shit,” she answered. “They’ve been active.”

  George pulled the phone away from his face to look at it, confused before he brought it back to his ear. “What do you mean they’ve been active? Why didn’t you call me?” he shouted.

  “Watch your volume, jackass! You told me to never contact you with Caelian business ever again, remember? Matter of fact, you threatened my life and kicked me out of your condo! Like you actually kicked me. With your foot!”

  George winced. “Song…about that.”

  “Save it.” The sound cut out for a moment, static sounding back through the receiver before Song came back on the line. “I knew they were making moves but I didn’t know what exactly until Crystal and Ja’Nell passed me some intel.”

  “Who the hell are Crystal and Ja’Nell?”

  “SEKRÈ infiltrators doing some inside work for me. The Eleven have been making active, traceable moves since the last angelic cycle, so I would say about a little over fourteen years now. Lot of heavy dealing in artillery, flights back and forth from here to Seoul, a few from Japan, Australia, Mombasa. Also reports of hacks across some federal databases. Oh, a prison break as well! We wouldn’t have figured that last one out without the help of Fox.”

  “Fox? As in your old Team Fox? You and Kano?”

  “Kano is the Griffith,” Song said with a touch of associative pride.” It’s a new set of kits. Kithlish is the Luminary General.”

  “I remember the name. Bon Baji’s kid shadow. He’s a Luminary now?”

  “Yep! One of the best actually. Still a little green though. I established contact with one of his Captains after a human they were babysitting approached me, and I’ll get a debriefing from them as soon as they deal with an emergency. He says he lost contact with another of their wards and I’m helping them track the duck down. It’s a little hard because the spirit essence is unfamiliar. Mint and sage.”

  “Mint? Sage?” He knew he’d smelled that combination earlier. George inhaled, taking in all of the spirit essences around him. It’s close. He closed his eyes and stretched out his senses, trying to trace the scent back to its origin. It’s…it’s inside the warehouse! He stretched it even further. He felt three spirit masses, one’s pressure higher in power than both Kevin and Seven. Sheeda. Then his senses settled on an aura in the center of the room. “Song. Get Fox back on the phone. I’ve found their ward.”

  He could hear her smile through the phone. “You’re not good for much but you’re good for something!”

  George grunted and he pocketed the phone. He could feel his daughter’s eyes on him as he called forth another Path; Caffiel, a path that was useful in short burst of hand to hand combat. It was as limited as all of his other paths but it was still powerful.

  As the power surge that followed path invocation settled over him, he felt the strings of his carefully constructed life unraveling, bit by bit, revealing to the world…to his daughter, who was his world, his true self, his true life, and his true heritage.

  “Stay here. Or don’t,” he said to Imane and Zicon as he walked towards the warehouse door. “Just don’t get in the way. I don’t want either of you getting hurt.”

  Zicon started after him. “Where are you going? Wherever it is, I can help.”

  Two would be better than one, even if one was a human but it was unnecessary. “Protect Imane. If anyone comes through those doors, run.”

  “Dad. What is this?” Imane asked, her voice small.

  George pushed open the warehouse doors but paused to look over his shoulder. “Fate, my lamb. Fate.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Key paced back and forth in the living room, the light from their three monitors coating him in a white glow. His hair was down, kissing his shoulders and brushing over the nine scares at the nape of his neck. He tugged on the ends, a sign he was either nervous, stressed or a terrible mix of the two. In his hands was his cell phone.

  The screen was blank and he hadn’t received a call yet. Groaning, he pushed his hair back from his face.

  “When we got back to this realm my plan of action should have been t
o lock him up, put a gag in his mouth and duct tape his ankles together.” Key stopped his pacing and pointed at Rooke, as if he was the most knowledgeable on how to detain a person. “And a ball and chain! And a

  beeper that went off whenever he so much as breathed! I should have never let him out of my sight,” Key cried as he walked to the window and looked out of it, like looking out of the window was going to change their predicament.

  “You couldn’t have locked him away, Key. He needed to live a normal life to keep his memories from–”

  Key whipped around to glare at Tahir. “Stop lecturing me. I know that. It’s just–we lost him. We lost him and I can name about, I don’t know, thirty-two people who are going to kill me if we don’t get him back. No. Take that back. Thirty-one will try but one will accomplish it.”

  “She’s salt,” Jon rejoined dryly. “Jin’s not going to kill anyone unless its high blood pressure.”

  Key closed his eyes and tried to keep the irritation he felt near, say, his feet, rather than the hand he wanted to slap across Jon’s head. Jon had been a shining example of an asshole upon learning his friend was missing. “Jon,” he cautioned, shooting daggers at the human. “If you’re not going to help, try not to speak.”

  Jon shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean,” and he paused to laugh derisively, “you’ve killed Jin, because face it, salt isn’t a living thing and Aiden’s probably dead, too. What exactly am I helping you with? Funeral arrangements?”

  Key turned away from him before he said something he wasn’t supposed to like “You slue foot asshole,” which wouldn’t help the situation at all. He understood why Jon was mad, he really did. He would be more shocked if Jon wasn’t mad. He, himself, was mad!

  He tried to think back when the anger began. It was hard because at first there had been sadness, disbelief, incredulity.

  The night Jin was stabbed, her broken body wallowing in the waters of Incendia, had been hectic to begin with. Neophytes, Captains, Generals…everyone was there to witness Ahn’s lunacy. The graduation was being broadcasted across all of Caeli, so everyone from Elysian to Aeon Terra to Later Ụwa had seen. They’d seen Jin’s blood, the look of horror on her face, Aiden’s screams from across the Dome floor.