by L. A. Banks
“We lost several bikes,” one of Bath Kol’s men said. “We can fly, but if we carry the Remnant and we take fire—”
“She is my chosen,” Azrael said. “We go by air.”
Isda dove into the water off the starboard bow. Hundreds of demons dive-bombed behind him, turning the Delaware River’s surface into an oil-slicked, burning inferno. He came up on the Camden, New Jersey, side of the river and took a running leap to fly back toward the roiling battle on the opposite shore to catch the fleeing Lahash between the wings with a machete.
Lahash hit the river, paralyzed and gagging against the holy water it had become, as Isda dispassionately watched him slowly drown. Lahash’s skin bubbled off his flesh as though he’d been soaked in acid. Soon the dark angel’s grasping fingers that futilely clutched at the water turned to bones and fell apart, dissolving right before Isda’s eyes. Black feathers floated to the water’s surface as the sound of Lahash’s wails and thrashing made Isda smile a dangerous smile.
“Go to Hell, motherfucker. Dat was for my ’oman and her family,” Isda whispered through his teeth, then spit into the river as he watched Lahash’s body explode into an orange-red bubble deep beneath the surface.
Forcas suddenly materialized behind him, but Isda’s best Sentinel fired an automatic that hit Forcas several times and caused him to disappear.
“Good look, brother,” Isda shouted, and he then flew midriver under the bridge, hunting Forcas. “I’ll find the bastard. He’s bleeding.”
Aerial dogfights crisscrossed the riverbank. Nathaniel watched it all with his inner circle of dark angels from the Camden Aquarium’s observation deck.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he murmured, walking along the edge of the railing with his hands behind his back. “Just like the old days.” He turned to Denise Jackson and patted her duct-taped cheek. “But we will prevail like before.”
Forcas materialized, bleeding badly and holding his arm. “We haven’t been able to breach the ship,” he said, panting. “Prayer barriers on all but the top deck make it impenetrable to our demon forces, and they have as many angel fliers as we have fallen fliers. We can board the deck, but need something to make them nervous enough to send out some of their warriors from inside the ship where they guard the girl, so we can get the message to her that we have her aunt. We know she must be in there because of the way they’re so mightily defending that stronghold.”
“Send in Bune to deliver the message. I love the three-headed dragon in him,” Nathaniel said calmly. “Send him with two strong, dark Sentinels. That should draw Azrael out to defend the girl. Then Bune can tell him that the old woman dies if he doesn’t make the trade. Azrael has clearly bonded with the girl—and that means she will feel our message in his spirit the moment he knows we have her aunt. Then we sit back and watch the girl tear herself apart emotionally. Somewhere in the fracas, she’ll break and will go against her protector’s pleas . . . and then we move in. Human free will still rules all in this zone.”
“But I thought you wanted to save Bune for the December offensive and—”
“Do not challenge me on this, Forcas. You have failed in every attempt so far. Look at you. Go regenerate and get out of my sight!”
Forcas disappeared and Nathaniel walked to the edge of the water, his massive twelve-foot, black, glistening wingspan keeping him aloft just above the mud. He watched as Bune transformed, extending scaly bat wings, and then Bune’s head split into three snapping, snarling dragons’ jaws. Two more dark Sentinels rushed in behind Bune, then suddenly a loud concussive blast from the slurp blew them all backward, sending shards of glass from the aquarium flying. Bune and the fallen that flanked him were consumed in the inferno on the other side of the river. The trap had worked.
Nathaniel flew back from the water’s edge and hit the wall. Denise Jackson hit the ground, her screaming muffled behind the tape. A strong arm grabbed her up and then suddenly released her. She dropped to the ground and looked up at the massive entity that now coughed blood. Her captor had been hit.
Appollyon fell to his knees, and the female entity that had been one of Denise Jackson’s tormentors screamed. The blond fallen angel grabbed a piece of glass, clutching it so hard that blood ran down her fist. Scrambling toward Denise Jackson, she poised the glass above the elderly woman’s throat, but her hand never lowered as Isda removed her head from her shoulders.
“Think it over, bitch!”
Isda dragged Denise Jackson away, keeping low. Azrael recovered the ax he’d thrown out of Appollyon’s back as Forcas materialized, weak and bleeding and holding a sword. Rahab lifted an Uzi and then thought better of it as seven more angels flew in. She took flight over the densely populated Camden neighborhoods, knowing they wouldn’t pursue a battle there. Forcas vanished into thin air.
But Nathaniel flew at Azrael, then pulled up midair as Azrael’s battle-axes hurled toward him. He sent a black-orb energy blast, knocking Azrael into the water and sending Azrael’s axes tumbling. Azrael flew up, wet, fury in his eyes, and hurled himself through the air directly at Nathaniel, who lowered his head and released a war cry—colliding with Azrael. The moment they made contact, Nathaniel began screaming.
Holy water burned through Nathaniel’s leather cloak like acid. The two aerial gladiators separated as Nathaniel released another black blast. This time Azrael ducked to allow it to pass him and to hit the side of the Ben Franklin Bridge.
And then Nathaniel was gone, along with Forcas and Rahab. Lahash had been committed back to the pit. The diesel-strong Appollyon needed to be sent back before he recovered, but he, too, had vanished. Warriors of the Light glanced around, unsure what to do. Isda ministered to Ms. Jackson, who was weeping.
Azrael closed his eyes and opened his arms, pulling everything dead or injured by angel hands into a swirling abyss he opened in the Delaware. “I commend you back into the pit!” he shouted, watching the water writhe and bubble with thick sulfur plumes.
Without needing orders to do so, Angels of Light touched down and quickly began forming a search party. They were all aware that Celeste, their Remnant, was missing. She wasn’t with Azrael. She wasn’t with her aunt. Bath Kol’s men were on the other side of the river. In the heat of battle, Azrael had to leave her side for seconds to protect her, and in that fragile space of time, she was gone.
The moment the pit closed beneath the water, Azrael dropped his arms and began running back through the Aquarium building. He saw two injured angels lying unconscious in the stairwell. He could see Celeste in his mind: A dark angel had her in a chokehold, dragging her down the steps, toward an exit door, obviously trying to get her to where he could take her airborne. But she stomped down hard against his knee making them both fall at the bottom of the stairwell. Immediately Celeste cried out the name of the Almighty and spun. A blue-white current rippled down Celeste’s body, then the vision went white. A shotgun blast made Azrael call out to her, becoming frantic.
“Celeste!”
He followed the sound of the gun report, hurdling steps an entire flight at a time, as the smell of cordite stung his nose. He found Celeste with a pump shotgun broken back and Pharzuph sitting on the floor with his face blown off.
“Go to Hell,” she said calmly, then stood there beside Azrael for several long minutes to watch Pharzuph burn.
They said nothing as they trudged back up the stairs, but the instant Celeste saw her aunt, she ran to her and dropped to her knees.
“Thank Heaven you’re all right,” Celeste gasped, hugging her. “Did they hurt you?” She pulled back and then kissed her aunt’s cheeks.
“Just trying to make sense of it all,” Aunt Niecey said, trembling as she glanced around. “This young man . . . or I guess I should say angel, said my grandbaby is all right and they lied,” she said quietly, glancing up at Isda. “And I know they lied. They said so theyself right in front of me.”
“I swear it’s not about a drug war and you’re not crazy,” Celeste said, kissing
her aunt’s face again. “I don’t want you to be afraid. We’re going home, all right?”
Aunt Niecey smiled through her tears and cupped Celeste’s face. “Chile . . . I am in the company of angels and I’m still alive. I’ve seen things that don’t make sense and I got you, and Azrael kept his promise to me. I ain’t scairt of no demons after what all I done seen.”
Epilogue
Three months later
Celeste sat in the first row of plastic chairs with Azrael at her side. She didn’t wail or cry bitter tears the way she thought she might . . . that would have been hard to do when a promise had been kept and you knew there was another side. It was now a little less than a month before the world would forever be changed on December 21, 2012, and people were still focused on the mundane the way they had been for years. Knowing was a double-edged sword, but it made accepting people’s crossing over a lot easier.
Aunt Niecey had slipped away in her sleep with all her family in the house after Thanksgiving. Said she was tired, needed to rest. Doctors said her heart just gave up—no pain. She died the way everybody should, with a smile on her face. Azrael told the family he’d found her, but Celeste knew that they had talked a long time first and he’d brought Roscoe to hold her hand. Azrael told Celeste so, but she’d also felt it and seen it in her head. Her visions were stronger. So much stronger now.
Even though it was gray and chilly outside, fall colors still made the trees pretty. An unusally long, warm Indian summer had made the trees last beyond what was normal . . . and the foliage in the cemetery seemed to be held in state just to welcome her aunt. It was a good day to bury Aunt Niecey—not too hot, not too cold, a break in the rain so the ground was dry and firm. No mud, a little sun here and there. She couldn’t help wonder, had her guys put in a special order for the day?
Celeste turned her face up to the wan sun and closed her eyes, listening to her young cousin, who wasn’t more than fifteen, sing “Amazing Grace” with all his heart and soul. Jamal was singing, but he had help from Jamaerah somewhere in the ether. She’d remember that voice anywhere. Hearing that was the thing that was gonna make her cry, especially when all the old ladies said her cousin had the voice of an angel. She couldn’t make claims about any other day, but today he did.
“Are you all right?” Azrael murmured as he helped her to her feet and handed her a rose.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, looking around at what her family called “all those strange friends of hers from New York,” then smiled. “Angels were her pallbearers, except her son . . . isn’t that just right?”
Azrael kissed Celeste’s cheek and went with her to lay a flower on the casket before it descended. Bath Kol stood on her exposed side with Queen Aziza, right next to Isda and his new lady friend, then Gavreel and the Remnant Magdalena, and Paschar and the Remnant Melissa. Then there were all the brothers who stood in the back, who’d made a show riding in on Harleys.
She didn’t care that she was gonna catch liquid Hell from her family for all these people that they didn’t know. They were still arguing about why everything got left to her to be put in trust for the grands way before Aunt Niecey had been committed to the ground. Now her cousins, who’d spent a lifetime giving their mama heartbreak and pain, were trying to fall in the casket behind her. But that was family. Celeste tried not to smile when Azrael just shook his head.
There was plenty of drama at Aunt Niecey’s home-going, that was for sure. Folks in the neighborhood were still wagging their tongues about what they swore they saw one night in September. Problem was, the police couldn’t find a body or evidence of blood splatter. A few shell casings in the streets of Philly was like telling the cops somebody was going around dropping gum wrappers on the ground. The rest of what happened made the news as gas-main explosions and noxious-fume buildup. Yeah, Celeste couldn’t wait to go back to New York.
“Bye, Auntie,” Celeste whispered, and touched the edge of the casket with gentle fingers. “I’ll see you later when we all come home.”
Celeste and Azrael walked a little ways arm in arm to go back to the limousines, but her cousins stopped them.
“You are going to the repast at the church and then back to my mama’s house, right?” Keisha said, several female cousins by her side. Every one of them had their arms folded.
“Yes . . . Keisha,” Celeste said, releasing a long sigh. “We’ll be there.”
“Good, because you know we’ve got family business to take care of. No offense, Azrael, y’all might be her new man and all, but there’s some things my mama wasn’t clear about, on account of the fact that we know she had dementia in her last days . . . talking crazy about all kinds of insanity—just like your mama used to, Celeste. Only difference was, my mama was in her eighties and your mama . . . well, you know the story. We just need to be sure she wasn’t taken advantage of, which is why we need a private conversation with just us and Celeste. Me and Junior want to make sure there’s no problem.”
Azrael just looked at Celeste’s cousins for a moment and began to draw her away.
Bath Kol chuckled. “You sure you got all the demons out of that house, man?”
Azrael shook his head. “No, I think I must have accidentally left a few to keep it interesting.”
“Oh, no, you didn’t!” Keisha shouted behind them. “Who you signifying on and calling a demon? At my mama’s funeral, too? She must be turning in her grave thinking about you trying to take over everything. This is family business. That’s exactly why we need to talk to Celeste solo. Boyfriends ain’t got nothing to do with it, and you didn’t even really know my mama anyway, Az-ri-el.”
Isda slowly walked over to Keisha and locked his gaze with hers, then smiled. “See dat man over there? He’s the last one on the planet you want to have to tell you to go to Hell.”
Celeste smiled and looked over her shoulder at her cousin and squeezed Azrael’s hand. They had important work to do, sensitives to gather, and a planet to save. The last thing they had time for was Keisha’s drama.
“For real, girl. Rein in your inner demon,” Celeste said, shaking her head. “Listen to Isda. You so do not want Azrael to have to tell you where to go.”
Celeste walked away, Azrael’s hand in hers.
Pocket Books
Proudly Presents
Conquer the Dark
L.A. Banks
Available in paperback
October 2011
from Pocket Books
Turn the page for a sneak peek at Conquer the Dark . . .
Celeste Jackson opened her eyes in bed and stared across the large warehouse loft. This was her favorite time of the day, when a new dawn blotted out the last vestiges of the night and the angels spread their wings.
No matter how often she’d seen it done, each time Azrael opened his wings, she stared at his back in awe, watching the thick ropes of muscles that gave it form and substance unfurl pristine white appendages from beneath his dark mahogany-hued skin. It took everything within her not to gasp as the steel-cabled sinew that flanked his spine bulged and stretched just before a seam developed along his shoulder blades, then instantly gave birth to glistening feathered beauty.
He stood in front of the massive warehouse windows naked from the waist up and wearing only white cotton karate pants with his magnificent twelve-foot wingspan outstretched. Soon, the dance would begin, his silent communion with motion and gravity and some force she could not see. And she waited.
After a moment, he turned with his eyes still closed, barely breathing it seemed, the new day washing his handsome face in rose-golden light, his long, dark dreadlocks spilling over his broad shoulders and his stone-cut chest. Every stacked brick of his abdomen cast shadows between them only to give rise to the wide planes of muscles that almost appeared to absorb the light.
Celeste allowed her gaze to travel over his corporeal form. He was definitely a divine creation, and that he was hers still blew her mind, even after the three months he’d found and bonded wi
th her. She briefly closed her eyes and said a quiet prayer of thanks, also glad that his being with her violated no heavenly edicts. He loved her, just as she loved him—and she wasn’t pure human. Therein lay the technicality that kept him from getting banished when their bonding went from platonic to unstoppable passion—or joining, as he called it.
Not touching him was impossible, especially when he was literally addicted to her energy now, and addicted to her skin. Their joining combination caused a fusion that increased her gifts and increased his power here on this plane. She was his battery; he was her jumper cable. A Remnant found by her warrior angel was a balance tipper from the dark to the Light on the planet. He and two of his brothers had found theirs. Three in all. Those that hadn’t gotten to their Remnants in time had ultimately been exonerated from their previous lapses when they found key sensitives, those humans highly tuned to work with Remnants—so it was all good.
If only things could go on this way with her man, her angel, peaceful and happy, his brothers sated and relaxed, their partners the first real female friends she’d ever known. The warehouse was a sanctuary on the banks of the Delaware River in Philly. If things could just stay that way . . . but she knew the clock was ticking. Learning to live in the moment was the only way to mentally survive. Maybe that’s how Az made sense of it all too? Being immortal had to have given him a philosophical perspective.
Rather than dwell on what couldn’t last forever, she tucked away any unpleasant thoughts and watched Azrael work out through his methodical Tai Chi dance.
He was deep in meditative prayer, and serenity wafted from his very being as he opened his arms and slowly bent his knees, beginning his morning ritual. She could literally see the energy move through him in the form of a thin, blue-white charge that began to cover his skin as his entire body became engaged in the graceful ancient choreography. Like witnessing a celestial fan dance where his majestic wings lifted and dusted the floor, creating music in the pauses and breaths and sweeps, she watched in abject reverence.
