by Brian Fuller
“Murdered someone and became a Dread?” Faramir finished off.
Goliath cleared her throat. “Let’s save the academic stuff for later. Check the other two trucks. We’ll get to Admah when we’re a bit more secluded.”
Helo shot Faramir a dirty look, getting a shoulder shrug and an innocent “What?” expression in response. Aclima followed Helo over as he undid the latch and swung the doors wide. As with the second truck, this one appeared to be full of bottled water. Aclima hopped up into the trailer and Helo followed after. She seemed lost in thought, probably stung by Faramir’s insistence on bringing up her past every chance he got. He would pull Faramir aside and give him a piece of his mind.
“Let it go, Helo,” Aclima said.
“What?” he said.
She leaned into a stack of water bottles, pushing. “You’re angry about Faramir. Let it go. He doesn’t trust me, and that’s okay. He didn’t have an angel tell him to trust me like you did. I want to hear about that, by the way.”
“He’s being an ass,” Helo said pushing back. “There’s no excuse for that, but I know a couple of cures.”
She grinned and elbowed his ribs. He liked it when she smiled.
“Let it go,” she said again.
After another heave, the upper pallet fell inward, crashing onto a solid wooden crate behind it. Ruptured water bottles dripped onto the crate and the trailer bed. Helo scrambled over the leaking pile, finding six oblong crates in the forward part of the trailer.
He turned back to Aclima, who had crouched on the lower stack of water bottles.
“I’m guessing these crates aren’t filled with juice boxes,” he said. With a quick flare of his Strength, he ripped the top off the first crate, finding it full of chunky black-metal rifles a little bigger than the Big Blessed Rifles manufactured by the Ash Angels. He pulled one out and tossed it to Aclima.
“Let’s go show Goliath,” he said.
By the time they’d scrambled back out, Goliath and Faramir were jogging over.
“Just water in that one,” Goliath said.
“You sure?” Helo asked. “This one’s got weapons crates.”
Goliath grabbed the gun from Aclima, and after a quick glance, handed it to Faramir. “What do you make of it?”
Faramir gave it the once-over. “A lot like ours. Probably a knockoff. Not as refined, but it would get the job done. Magic’s in the ammo, though. Any of that in there?”
“Probably,” Helo said.
“Let’s close them up,” Goliath ordered. “Not a bad day’s haul. I’m going to call this in. Nobody goes near Admah until I get back. Gather up all the phones and wallets from the Dreads we burned and get the registration docs out of the trucks so we can get them analyzed.”
Goliath went inside the abandoned gas station, stepping through one of the spaces left by a shattered picture window, her boots popping and grinding the shards against the pavement. After clearing his truck of the items, Helo grabbed his Michael mission uniform out of the SUV and changed behind the car. His pants wouldn’t button over his cop gut, so he concentrated on slimming down and losing the mustache. He was itching to get a chance at Admah, and Faramir and Aclima were already standing behind the truck, studiously ignoring each other.
Helo jogged over, having to hold up his pants as he did. Why wouldn’t his body cooperate? He’d envisioned a slimmer waist in his mind, willing the collected fat to dissipate, but as with most of his morphs, it was taking its own sweet time.
“Problem with the pants, Helo?” Faramir said, yanking on the two tassels on his hat, setting them to bouncing.
“The pants aren’t the problem,” Helo said, noting Aclima’s grin. “And I was recently told zipped pants are a necessity for mission readiness.”
“Any way I can help?” Aclima offered.
Cassandra had assisted him once with a system of touch, forcing him to push against her hand to grow facial hair or escape her grip to get skinnier. Asking Aclima to put her arms around him and squeeze to help him focus would help, but it would probably come off as a lame come-on.
“I got it,” he said. “Just need time.”
The crunching of glass signaled Goliath’s exit from the store. She stuffed her phone in a pants pocket. “Problem with your gut, Helo?” Goliath asked as she joined them.
“It’s getting there,” he said.
Goliath walked behind him and wrapped her arms tightly around his belly. “We did this cross-training with the Gabriels once,” she explained. “Think about slimming down to escape my arms.”
As it had with Cassandra, the tactile pressure sped the morph up exponentially, the need to escape somehow getting his focus where it needed to be. Thirty seconds later, he could zip and button his pants with ease.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Not a problem.” Goliath walked around to stand in the circle. “Michaels don’t morph much. Thought an ex-Gabriel would have the knack of it, though.” She poked him in the gut with a finger. “Anyway, the Medius is sending an armored car to get Admah. We just have to babysit him for a while.”
“Where will they take him?” Aclima asked.
“They wouldn’t say,” Goliath said. “The fewer who know, the better.”
“You did explain the language issue?” Aclima pressed.
Goliath nodded. “Yes. We’re supposed to talk with him—well, you’re supposed to talk with him and get what you can now. They may take you to visit him later. You and Helo will interrogate him, but we need to get off the main road. It’s been almost two hours. If this convoy was doing regular check-ins, there might be a group of Dreads or worse out looking for it. Let’s find a nice country road and pull down it a couple miles.”
Twenty minutes later they pulled the trucks and SUV to the side of a gravel road, the dust of their passing churning up a haze until a complying breeze dissipated it. Helo hopped out of the cab and closed the door, the familiar tree-packed landscape reminding him of his years living in Missouri with Terissa. The spring greens were always a welcome change from winter, but as he passed the swirling Vexus on his way back to the rear doors of the trailer, he could feel the slight torching effect sliding over his emotions, looking for a crack to seep into.
When Aclima arrived, she had morphed her hair to the middle of her back and was weaving a long thin braid down the right side of her bangs. She secured the end of the braid with a black elastic.
“What’s with the hair?” Helo asked as Faramir and Goliath joined them, both armed with their Big Blessed Shotguns.
“It’s how I wore it when we were together as Cain’s family,” she explained. “I thought it might help him recognize me.”
Goliath raised her eyebrows. “You remember how you wore your hair six-thousand years ago? I can’t even remember how I wore mine a week ago.”
“Because you change it all the time,” Faramir said.
Aclima pulled all her hair over one shoulder so it waterfalled down her chest. “After Admah was born—and he was a big baby—I tended him for Jumelia on occasion. Admah used to reach up and grab the braid and yank on it. It hurt. He was strong even then.”
“Okay, fond memories of baby Dreads is weird,” Faramir said.
Goliath tightened her grip on her shotgun. “Let’s do this. Open the doors, Helo.”
“Wait,” Aclima said. “Let me go in first and see if I can’t put him at ease. You go in there with guns and he’ll probably start torching and desecrating before anyone gets a word out.”
Goliath nodded, and Helo pulled open the doors. Aclima scrambled up into the trailer and clambered over the water bottles. She disappeared into the darkness speaking in careful tones. Helo couldn’t understand a word she was saying, the language songlike but completely foreign. And then Admah laughed bitterly and said Aclima’s name. His voice was deep and bestial, wholly unsuited to the delicate words he spoke.
“They could be saying anything to each other,” Faramir whispered. “They might be plotting o
ur deaths for all we know.”
“Wait,” Goliath said. “We’re supposed to be recording this. Use your phone, Faramir.”
Faramir grunted and fished his phone out of a special sleeve in his body armor. “You should have told me before.”
Inside the trailer, Admah’s tone turned a little angry as he and Aclima exchanged short bursts of words.
“I’m going in there,” Helo said, Goliath nodding her assent.
With a boost from his Strength Bestowal, he hopped into the back of the trailer. A ray from the afternoon sun slanted halfway into the darkness, revealing Admah’s large frame.
Admah was a monster of a man, at least seven feet tall. He lay on the trailer bed, heavy chains pinning his muscular, hairy arms to his midsection and even more chains looping around is legs and up around his bull neck. He would have been any NFL scout’s dream. He smelled like the woods, and his clothing was fashioned from animal hides rough-stitched together.
Admah’s beady eyes looked out of place in his broad face, and Helo could feel them glaring at him with malice through the slits in his thick brown hair, which lay haphazardly about his dirt-smeared face.
Helo crossed to stand near Aclima, who regarded her nephew with her arms folded. The Vexus swirled like a mist around Admah, the torching effect strengthening the closer Helo got. Admah’s forearms still bore the strange runic tattoos Aclima had before she’d changed to an Ash Angel, runes that allowed a Loremaster to collect Vexus.
“Everything okay?” Helo asked.
“Just a little disagreement,” Aclima said, lifting a hand and fingering her braid. “Admah still thinks he has choices when he doesn’t.”
“Helo,” Admah said, tone mocking. His words came out thick, deep, and slow. “Cain kill Helo. Hate Helo.”
Helo peered at him through the gloom of the Vexus. “Seems he knows a little English.”
Aclima frowned. “I think hate, kill, and hunt are about the extent of his vocabulary. We do have an opportunity, though. I believe I have about convinced him that his best chance to get back to the great outdoors is to cooperate with the Ash Angels.”
“What’s the holdup?” Helo asked.
Aclima kept her eyes on her nephew, who continued to stare Helo down. “He wants guarantees of his freedom when all I can offer are possibilities. They will take him whether he likes it or not, so it is moot. I’m hoping he’ll tell us what he knows.”
Helo nodded. “If he’s a loner, will he really know much?”
“Know things,” Admah growled. “Admah know things.”
Helo stepped closer to Admah and crouched in front of him. The Dread grinned, and Helo felt a chill creep into his heart. Even if Admah cooperated, he would not be tamed. And it seemed he knew a bit more English than Aclima thought.
“What do you know?” Helo asked, forcing himself to meet Admah’s stare.
“Good things,” he said. “Prison. I know prison.”
Helo turned back to Aclima, who was biting her lip. She held a brief conversation with Admah in Lower Adamic, and Helo backed away while they talked, frustrated by his inability to understand.
When they finished talking, Aclima grabbed Helo’s arm and pulled him back toward the trailer doors.
“What did he say?” Helo asked.
Before she could answer, a red sheen coated the trailer bed, flowing out to the entrance, desecrating the ground they walked on. Mortal feeling returned to Helo’s body, and he knew none of his Bestowals would work until he got free of the trailer. Goliath leapt up in an instant, gun at the ready. Helo and Aclima turned toward their captive, finding him smiling. He said something in Lower Adamic and laughed before extinguishing the desecration. They all jumped out and closed the door of the trailer while Admah guffawed.
“Why did he do that?” Goliath asked.
“To get my attention,” Aclima said. “And to get in a last crude remark.”
“Crude remark? What’d he say?” Faramir asked.
“I won’t repeat it. It might melt your virgin ears, Faramir,” Aclima said. “So, on to business. He is open to a deal but wants a guarantee of freedom. He claims to know the location of Avadan’s prison. He said Cain threatened to send him there unless he cooperated. He tried to run away anyway, but Avadan caught him and forced him to collect Vexus from a school shooting in Bellingham.”
Goliath leaned against the truck. “I remember hearing about that in the news. Awful thing. I figured Dreads or Possessed had to be involved. They almost always are. If we get this prison, do we get Avadan?”
“Maybe,” Aclima said, undoing the braid in her hair. “But if what I’ve heard about the prison is true, taking it from Avadan would save a lot of lives. Avadan is psychotic, even worse than Cain in his own way. I hated him even when I was a Dread. I’d love to put him down.”
The bitter edge to her voice raised Helo’s eyebrows. She was passionate about getting Cain, but her anger for Avadan burned just as bright. And her anger worried him. Cassandra’s anger and despair had given King the leverage he’d needed in attempting to turn Cassandra into a Dread. Aclima’s fury could be used to do the same. He had to protect her from that fate. If the Ash Angel Organization wouldn’t come to their senses, he would find some way to get her out of the Michaels and into some nice desk job in Deep 7.
“Remind me how you’re related to Avadan?” Faramir asked Aclima.
Helo couldn’t be sure if Faramir really didn’t remember or if he was bringing it up to stick it to Aclima again.
She looked away. “My firstborn son.”
Chapter 9
Jump
Helo sat next to Aclima on the same Learjet they had flown in on, reclining in his seat. The steady hum of the engines helped settle his mind. With their first mission over, he was anxious to see if the Scholus had been able to make any headway on the investigation into his parents’ deaths. The news outlets offered little new information, the investigation ongoing. With what Aclima had said about Avadan, he wondered if Cain had sent the unhinged Dread Loremaster to do the job.
Before they left the trucks and trailers, a Michael team had come and retrieved Admah, the Dread Weapons, and the vehicles. They had left Poor Shujaa’s headless body out in the woods, Goliath retrieving only his heart. Helo felt bad for Shujaa, but Faramir and Goliath didn’t seem bothered in the least. Apparently, returning home from missions horrifically mangled was commonplace in the Michaels. But since they had Shujaa’s heart, they didn’t have to stare at an ugly corpse the whole way home. Dawn would see Shujaa as good as new, reappearing in the seat where his heart now lounged.
“All right, folks,” Faramir announced. “Since we’re all a nice-and-cozy team now, it’s time for a round of Badass versus Badass.”
Goliath’s eyes rolled up. “Do we have to do this now? Last time I worked with you it was nonstop.”
“You know you love it,” Faramir said, checking one of his four watches. “We’ve got about two hours to Vegas, so we need something to do besides not talk to each other. All right Cowboy Helo, here’s your first challenge. Batman versus Darth Vader. Who would win? And . . . go!”
“Are you serious?” Helo asked. Faramir really was a nerd.
“Darth Vader,” Aclima said. “Easy.”
For the next five minutes, the two argued the question like a couple of professional nerds. Helo shook his head. Archus Mars was right. He would never fully know Aclima. She had layers—six thousand years’ worth of layers. He hadn’t even scratched the surface. Apparently, she knew everything, probably for the purpose of being right all the time.
“Okay, Miss Smarty,” Faramir said, sounding a little flustered after getting nerd-whipped by Aclima. “How about Superman versus the Incredible Hulk?”
“Do you allow Kryptonite into the equation?” Aclima asked.
“What do you mean?” Faramir said.
“How can there be a contest without Kryptonite?” Aclima argued. “Without Kryptonite, Superman . . .”
&nb
sp; Goliath stood up and nodded for Helo to follow. Part of him wanted to stay and find out how much superhero lore Aclima had stored away, but he followed Goliath anyway. The plane had a small teleconference room built into the back, and they went inside and closed the door. Goliath slipped onto the table, and Helo leaned against the wall.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I wanted to review what happened today,” she said. “The mission was ultimately a success, but it certainly didn’t go as planned. Faramir spoke with me and said both he and Aclima recommended aborting the mission and retrying somewhere down the road. Now, I’m not getting you in trouble here, but I think I would have sided with Aclima and Faramir. I just want to hear your reasons for sticking with it.”
Helo folded his arms. Were his decisions going to be questioned all the time? “The Dread Thrall had two advantages—Speed and healing quickly in the shade of the trees. When he got in the truck, he lost his mobility, which allowed me to get to him and toss him out into the sunshine, where Faramir and I could finish him off. I thought we had a good chance of pulling it off once he was in full sun, and it worked.”
Goliath nodded. “That it did. I don’t mean to make it seem like I disapprove. You can’t argue with success. But from your file, it seems like many of the missions you’ve gone on have succeeded on good luck and grit. There’s nothing wrong with good luck and grit, but missions do go bad. We don’t always win, and really ugly things happen when we lose. If people with more experience than you seem a bit more cautious, that is why. You’ll be on the bad end of a battle one day and you’ll understand.”
“Understood,” Helo said. “This actually leads to a request I would like to make.”
“What’s that?”
“I would like you to help me get Aclima reassigned.”
Goliath frowned. “Really? Why? She wants to be here.”
“Look,” Helo began, “I want to make clear that I don’t have anything against Aclima. She’s been good to me and I owe her, but I’m worried the Dreads might capture her. When I was in the hold of the Tempest with Cassandra, I saw firsthand how an Ash Angel can be tortured to the point of becoming a Dread. With Aclima on the front lines, she risks getting captured and having all her anger and guilt used against her. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”
