Surrender the Dark

by L. A. Banks

  “Okay, but that still doesn’t explain my role,” she said, looking around the group.

  “When this happened, you were seven, just like you’re thirty-three, a double trinity, now.” Bath Kol paused. “I’ll let Az fill you in on sacred numbers later, but take my word for it, that first number, seven, was significant. From the moment that grand trine appeared in the sky—an equilateral triangle like the great pyramids—it was our turn to clean house. Five years was all the time we had to make a run at the energy shift. The balance was supposed to shift to peace. Old structures were supposed to fall, and some did. It was the end of apartheid in South Africa then, and the breakup of the Soviet Union. People, especially sensitives, congregated at power centers along the earth’s electromagnetically fertile areas, like Mount Shasta, Mount Fuji, the Himalayas, Kilimanjaro, Sedona—there are thousands of places where the veil between worlds is thin. But as you probably guessed, the dark side didn’t give up without a fight.”

  Bath Kol stood and paced, slowly retracting his wings. “The year before the Harmonic Convergence, Chernobyl happened in the Ukraine. We lost Remnant Natalia . . . she was seven. Her mother died of an aggressive form of cancer caused from the nuclear fallout, and her father was immediately killed in the reactor blast. Orphaned, by the time our brother Paschar found her, she’d been sold into white slavery by the Russian mob, was strung out on heroin, and had literally sold her soul to Lucifer. She practices black magic to this day. Pas-char, who is down here with me as a governor of visions, hasn’t been quite right since.”

  Bath Kol stopped pacing and came to the table, placing his hands on the back of a chair while holding Celeste’s gaze. “Remember Tiananmen Square? Yeah, well, our Asian-continent Remnant was eight when the Chinese government opened fire on the crowd. She wasn’t supposed to be there. Shit happens. That soul’s Light was disputed for years because they aren’t supposed to outright kill one of you, if that’s any comfort. Bastards tried to claim her Light on a technicality, but they fucked up because she was still at the age of innocence. She was just a kid and not a grown woman, so she wasn’t aware that going there was suicide. If she’d been grown and had gone there and gotten shot, well, they could have said she martyred herself or something. Regardless, she got caught in the crossfire.”

  Bath Kol let out a hard breath and pushed away from the chair. “Then there was what happened in Rwanda and Sudan, shit so sick I don’t want to talk about it in front of a lady. We also lost a girl during Shock and Awe in Iraq . . . stubborn father didn’t believe an invasion was imminent and was trying to protect his downtown business. The girl and her mother were basically hostages to a demon-possessed tyrant. The bombs fell. She was the victim of war collateral damage. Scratch that beautiful young woman off the list.”

  Ticking off countries on his fingers, Bath Kol said, “So, that takes out our Remnant Light in Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and Asia.” He grabbed the bottle he’d been nursing off the table and poured another shot. “So don’t ask me why I drink or why my language is colorful. My vibration can’t get any lower sometimes, because I see this shit before it happens, me and my boys rush in and try to avert catastrophe, and sometimes we make it and sometimes we don’t. It doesn’t matter how many you save, the ones you don’t haunt you. Then I go to Queen in Brooklyn to have her pull that poison out of my aura. Works for a while, until I really start thinking about how truly fucked-up it is.”

  “We’ve got one rumored to be located in Denmark,” Jamaerah said quietly, looking at Azrael and then Celeste. “Paschar went to find her, but was delayed when all flights to Europe were grounded when Eyjafjallajokull began spewing ash in southern Iceland.”

  “You see?” Bath Kol shouted. “Who thinks of erupting a fucking glacier in Iceland to delay flights going in and out of Europe!” He shook his head. “This is what we’ve been dealing with from those guys on the other side.”

  “But most of the time we must keep to evasive maneuvers to ensure that we don’t accidentally hurt the human we are seeking or cause additional humans to be killed,” Jamaerah said, staring at Celeste for a moment before returning his gaze to the group.

  “Right, and like we know an old Aborigine shaman secreted a baby away years ago—but damn if he didn’t hide the kid so well that even we’re having trouble finding it,” Bath Kol added, sloshing his drink. “Hell, for all I know at this point, the kid in Australia was relocated to Denmark. I don’t know . . . they hardly tell me anything anymore. We’ve been all through the Polynesian freakin’ islands, Bangladesh—now there’s a hellhole on earth. Tibet . . . do you believe they actually slaughtered monks and desecrated temples up there? Then how many times did we do India and Pakistan, and Turkey and back, to try to see if the Dalai Lama’s people found one and hid one? This shit is really getting on my nerves!”

  The other angels traded glances. Jamaerah reached out and took the shot glass out of Bath Kol’s hand, replacing it without a word with a steaming mug of black coffee.

  “That was cold, man . . . you didn’t have to cut me off like that in front of the lady.” Bath Kol took a deep swig of coffee and winced. “So where does that leave us?” He lifted his mug and looked around the room. “A possible in Denmark, if we get to her in time. A possible in Colombia, if Gavreel can make it to her before it’s too late, and you...a bird in hand being better than the other two in the bush, if you ask me—even though they burned down an entire neighborhood trying to snuff you out in ’85.”

  “What?” Celeste tried to stand, but Azrael covered her hand.

  “See, everybody forgets history and then wants to whine about why it keeps repeating itself. In 1985 you were a little kid, darlin’, and you lived in West Philly. Didn’t they drop a bomb on the same block your parents were living on at the time . . . like the 6200 block of Osage? Think about what would make anybody drop a bomb on a house with eleven people trapped inside, mostly women and children, to make them come out? Who does shit like that? It was a residential neighborhood—then they shot anyone fleeing the blaze, five little kids included. Does that sound like normal police activity, or does that sound like the forces of darkness? Just a question.”

  Celeste stood with a gasp, ignoring Azrael’s light hold.

  “Yeah. Thought so. Made national news, too—gotta hand it to ’em,” Bath Kol said, sipping his coffee. “Couple hundred homes or something went up in the blaze. Your father was out of work due to drug use . . . your mom barely holding her own. No insurance, blah, blah, blah. You and your mom had to move in with your aunt a few blocks away. Mom and Dad broke up because your aunt knew a demon when she saw one,” Bath Kol added, pointing toward Celeste using the same hand that was holding the mug. “But you got out, kiddo. You were one of the lucky ones. A lot of our Remnants didn’t make it. The dark side can’t just abduct you guys when you’re little because we’ll definitely pick up the Light trail right to their hideouts—old school, putting their demon heads on pikes. No, their game is to always keep tabs on where you are and make your life miserable or try to cause accidents and circumstances that put your life and Light in peril. Their game is making your life a living hell, and from what little bit I can pick up, they played you real good, baby.”

  Bath Kol stumbled away from the table and bent over and rubbed his neck, precariously balancing his coffee. “Damn I’m tired—are you tired? Because I swear I’m tired. Man, I hate this job.”

  “Okay, General,” a huge, thick-bodied Sentinel said, going to Bath Kol. “Enough prophecies for one night. Tomorrow you’ll feel better.”

  “Lies,” he said, sweeping his arm out and pouring coffee everywhere. “You see how they treat me?” he argued as the massive Sentinel lifted him up and slung him over his shoulder.

  “Say good night, BK.”

  “Good night,” Bath Kol slurred, hanging upside down and allowing his coffee to drain out of the mug onto the floor before he dropped it.

  Celeste stared after him as the huge Sentinel kicked a door
open in the back of the warehouse and lugged Bath Kol into a room.

  “We’ve got a hundred spare rooms. As you can see this place is enormous,” Jamaerah said calmly. “Used to be a factory—put in showers back there, plus you’ll find towels, clothes, fresh linens, and privacy. If you’re gonna ride a chopper, I’ll make sure you’ve got boots and leathers in your room before morning—saddlebags, too, so you can ride. I can manifest pretty much anything you want or need, just tell me before I turn in.”

  He looked at Azrael, then cast a gentle gaze on Celeste. “We’re well fortified here. We take turns on watch. There’s artillery in your footlocker by the closet. We’ve never had a breach here—there’s too many of us. I suggest you get some rest.”

  “Thanks, man,” Azrael said, standing. He clasped Jamaerah’s forearm in a warrior embrace, then looked at Celeste.

  “Five years of intense fighting happened after the 1987 shift,” she murmured, looking up at him and then the remaining angels. “I was seven when the Harmonic Convergence happened...five years later during the great shift I was twelve.”

  “Twelve is a sacred number,” Azrael said quietly.

  “Really? August seventeenth, 1992, is when demons must have attacked my mother and she died.” Celeste released a sad and bitter chuckle. “They said it was a stroke, but once again, Aunt Niecey was right when she’d said it was the work of the damned devil.”

  Chapter 15

  After all she’d just seen and heard, being alone in a bathroom for an extended period of time, at night, was completely out of the question. Everyone had congregated in the kitchen, and once the meeting was deemed over because Bath Kol had passed out, she had to decide where to sleep.

  Celeste looked around as Azrael packed money and the ID and the keys they’d been given in his gym bag. The angels that were roosting in the massive abandoned structure had sectioned off the top floors into living space, but the sheer size of everything, as well as the remoteness of the location, made her see a demon around every corner.

  Huge twenty-five-foot windows allowed moonlight to spill over a four-foot-high, half-brick wall, and that blue-white wash painted the cement floor, which ran a full block long. Shiny Harley-Davidson choppers and Kawasaki crotch rockets with helmets hanging off the handlebars were parked in the far side of what appeared to be an open rec-room/living-room. The warehouse elevator that emptied into that space was a wide, open wooden structure with a rickety metal gate. Celeste glanced at it; anything could crawl up the cables and burst in. Sleeping in here was out.

  Oversize, tan leather sectional sofas and chairs in various states of disrepair framed an in-home entertainment theater as well as a long, low Tibetan meditation table now serving as a coffee table. Several video-game controllers littered the floor, and half the room away were pool tables and foosball stands, a Ping-Pong table, along with well-worn air-hockey tables.

  The kitchen was a huge industrial stove pushed up against a brick wall and set beside a double stainless-steel sink that was overrun with dishes. There was also an overloaded dishwasher, and two refrigerators—one that held nothing but beer and vodka and the other that contained a questionable food supply. In the middle of it all was a long picnic-style table surrounded by an eclectic arrangement of ladder-back chairs, barstools, and ottomans. There were no cabinets, just wire-rack-stand shelving like one would find in the back of a hardware store, and it was filled with boxes of sugary cereals, five-pound bags of rice, beans, staples, canned meats, peanut butter, and cookies.

  She followed Azrael, who followed Jamaerah, and kept her gaze sweeping as they walked. The warehouse seemed so much bigger, so much more desolate, now that the brothers had withdrawn from the kitchen.

  “Four brothers will be on the roof, four on the ground, and four patrolling the floors between the roof and the ground—a twelve-man detail, given that we have a VIP in the house,” Jamaerah said to Azrael as they entered a long hallway that had huge offices lining either side of the corridor.

  “We just knocked out the walls between offices to open them up and then turned them into suites. Everybody wanted their own bathroom,” Jamaerah said with a sheepish grin. “This one is clean so the lady doesn’t have to be offended. The guys aren’t used to having to clean up after themselves and I can’t vouch for the state of the other bathrooms.”

  “Do I have to be in here alone?” Celeste looked from Jamaerah to Azrael.

  Azrael hesitated. “I can stand watch inside your room, if you so desire. Our kind does not sleep more than an hour or two, and that is only because of this density.”

  “Thank you,” she said, glancing around at the high ceilings and endless rooms from which anything could jump out.

  Jamaerah looked down to the floor. “There’s towels and stuff in there like I said. Just look in the tall, green metal cabinet by the wall. I’ll be on the roof.”

  Azrael gave his angel brother a nod and fully entered the room, cutting on the light. Celeste looked around warily, then shut the door behind her.

  The room was an odd mixture of cleaned-up, old factory furniture and what looked like cabinets and other items that had been relocated from a military base. The more she thought about it, the entire setup seemed like a barracks and an airport hangar for a daredevil angel squadron.

  Near the far wall was an old metal desk and a wooden chair that looked as if they came straight out of the 1950s. As promised, up against the wall was a tall, narrow military cabinet, with a military footlocker on the floor beside it. Also, a couple of bright orange and psychedelic beanbag chairs were at the foot of a king-size futon. As though sensing her concerns, Azrael went into the bathroom and clicked on the light, then returned to give her an all-clear nod.

  She didn’t say a word, just slowly set her backpack down on the floor and went to see for herself if the coast was clear. He gave her navigating space, taking his gym bag and the gun to the desk on the other side of the room.

  Open ductwork crisscrossed the ceiling, even in the bathroom the brothers had installed. She had no idea how they’d commandeered power and water, but she knew the drainpipes and the toilet stack ran down into the sewer. If a pipe fed into that, then it also meant something could just as easily slither up it. And the windows, in her opinion, represented a serious security problem.

  The tub was a wide, long, claw-foot porcelain thing from the forties that had been retrofitted with a wide metal curtain ring, a white curtain, and a big sunflower showerhead. The fixtures were all different, as though cobbled together from eras gone by. A regular sink was on the wall next to an industrial toilet, but there was also a potbellied stove in the corner next to a floor-stand mirror and a porcelain washbowl that seemed as if it had been relocated from the 1800s. Bathroom tissue was stacked twelve rolls deep in individually wrapped rolls inside a copier-paper box.

  Celeste quickly exited the space, only to find Azrael awkwardly making the bed. He held out crisp white linens away from his body and was yanking on a fitted sheet with two fingers. He’d found a duvet and had set it on a beanbag chair, but looked totally lost.

  “I’m still dirty,” he said, careful not to allow the sheets to touch him. “You may have to put these cloth sleeves on the pillows . . . I’m sorry, but I cannot figure out how to do it like I saw your aunt do so without soiling them.”

  For the first time since the battle in the street, she felt a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  “I’ll do it once I wash up.” She looked at him, then rushed over to her bag, not sure how to broach the subject. “Listen...I have a really big favor to ask you. Can you like bring a chair in there and keep your back against the bathroom door while I get in the shower . . . and can you bring the gun?” Holding some toiletries she needed, she looked up at him and accidentally dropped her lotion, then picked it up again when his brows knit. “I know it sounds stupid, but like what if something comes up through the drain or tries to drown me in the water . . . or—”

  “Yes.”


  She stopped unpacking her toiletries with a gasp. “Yes?” she said, panicking.

  “Why would you think that I would decline your request to stand guard inside the bathroom?”

  “Oh,” she said, releasing her breath and briefly closing her eyes. “I thought you were saying yes that you felt something was definitely about to attack me in there.”

  “No, no, no,” he said quickly, going over to the table to get the weapon. “I meant yes I would be honored that you would trust me in your space again . . . after, well . . . after I shared a bathroom with you before and temporarily lost my mission focus.”

  “Oh,” she said in a quiet voice. “That wasn’t your fault . . . it was both of us.”

  “I won’t let it happen again,” he said, lifting his chin. “The last thing you should have to be worried about is your protector having ulterior motives.”

  “I’m not worried about you . . . and any additional motives you may have are not bad. You have a good heart, Az. I can feel that. Besides, I’ve seen enough to trust you with my life.” She collected the rest of her items, pressing a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, lotion, shampoo, and conditioner against her body within the crook of her arm as she extracted a white nightgown from her bag. She threw the gown over her shoulder and passed by him to get a towel and washcloth from the cabinet. “You’re going to have to teach me how to shoot.”

  He swallowed a smile. She’d graciously changed the subject.

  “I think that is a wise idea.”

  “Me, too,” she replied, heading into the bathroom.

  He followed her, holding the wooden chair from the desk in one hand and an automatic in the other, still cautious of his possible reaction to being in a room alone with her again. But the space was large, not as intimate and confined as the space at Queen Aziza’s. He watched Celeste carefully place her items inside the porcelain bowl near the stand mirror, then drape the nightgown he’d acquired for her over part of the stand.