There was a deafening clap of thunder, and a gory rain of torn flesh and body parts fell down on them.
“If we’re leaving, it might be a good idea to do it now,” Angus suggested, eyes widening with terror as Stearns headed toward them, hands crackling with unbridled power, some of which had come from Francis himself.
“Give me a fucking second, will you?” Francis said, realizing that he was much weaker than he thought.
He had to think quickly, and the first place that popped into his mind appeared before them through the gossamer curtain separating one location from the next.
“Jump,” Francis said, grabbing Angus by a flabby arm and pushing him through the curtain.
Francis glanced over his shoulder to see Stearns raising his hands to unleash another blast of magickal force. But this time, Francis was faster. He flipped the sorcerer the bird, then fell backward through the curtain, firing the Pitiless pistol to cover their escape.
The doorway from one place slammed closed as he tumbled through to the next.
Stearns could still taste the interloper’s essence coursing through his body.
And it filled him with rage and concern.
The magickal force flowed from his splayed hand, passing harmlessly through where the passage had been to strike at the wall behind it, blasting away ancient plaster and wooden slats.
Stearns gazed down at his hand. The mouths were still there, yearning for another taste of their last prey.
What he was distressed the sorcerer. The piquancy of Angus’ rescuer was still fresh within him. He could taste a trace of divinity but the flavor was muted, tainted.
Even still, there was no mistaking what he was.
Stearns spun on his heel, walking through expanding puddles of gore as he left the room, wondering if his partners were aware of this wrinkle. The idea of his plans being disturbed was like a kernel of sand stuck in his eye: merely a bother, but irritating nonetheless.
Almost as annoying as being mistaken for Konrad Deacon. Nearly seventy years dead, and still his old adversary haunted him. The thought of Heath believing that it was Deacon who was stalking the cabal forced the hint of a smile to appear at the corner of Algernon’s mouth, but it was quickly gone as he recalled the origin of the one who had attacked him.
He threw open the door to Heath’s home, descending the steps to the limousine now waiting at the curb. He did not speak to Aubrey as he got in; his living-dead driver already knew that a private flight awaited them at the airport.
Stearns remained lost in his thoughts throughout the entire flight to Boston and the short drive from Logan International Airport to Back Bay. Carefully, he reviewed every detail of the plan he had formulated over the years, a plan that had not been fully realized until he had met his new business associates.
They had made his plans a reality with their knowledge of arcane magicks…magicks that they had, in fact, been responsible for introducing to humanity so very long ago.
Finally, the limousine pulled into the underground garage of the Hermes Building, Boston’s newest, tallest skyscraper and the jewel in Stearns’ vast telecommunications network. The building remained primarily empty, except for some rented office space, his own living quarters and the living spaces he’d allowed for his associates, and a state-of-the-art broadcasting studio that was the key to his plan.
The car stopped in front of the doors to a private elevator, and the ever-faithful Aubrey opened the door for him. Stearns pulled a key card from his coat pocket as he exited the limousine and slid it into the illuminated slot to the right of the stainless steel elevator door.
The door slid open with a cheerful ping, and Stearns stepped inside, pushing the button that would take him to his partners’ floor. He knew they would be awake in spite of the early-morning hour, standing, as they always did, perfectly still in a row in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a spectacular view of Boston.
He also knew that they were seeing far more than just the city. They were seeing beyond it.
Perhaps to Heaven itself.
The doors slid open and he stepped out. The floor had never been completed even though he had told them he would do so. Bare walls, exposed wiring, and ceiling beams enclosed the spacious area. They had refused anything else.
He found them exactly as he knew he would, dressed in their fine, dark suits, watching over the city on the precipice of waking.
“We might have a problem,” Stearns stated, without preamble.
The leader slowly turned, having some difficulty pulling his gaze from the view, but finally focusing on Stearns.
“Problem?”
“I was attacked tonight…by one of your kind.” Stearns reached up to his left shoulder, rubbing at the hole in his jacket and the healing wound beneath. It itched.
“One of my kind?” the leader asked.
“An angel,” Stearns replied. The sorcerer sifted through some of the trace memories he’d acquired while feeding on the being. “His name was Francis…or Fraciel…. I’m getting both names, and much more.”
“Fraciel.” The leader slowly nodded.
“I believe he could be dangerous,” Stearns said, watching as the angel turned his gaze back to the view beyond the windows. “Dangerous to my…our plans.”
The angel did not respond.
“Did you hear me, Armaros?” Stearns asked, knowing full well that the leader of the Grigori host had. There wasn’t much they didn’t hear.
“I heard you,” Armaros said without turning. “Now leave us…. We have much to contemplate.”
The sorcerer was about to argue, but who was he to argue with an angel of Heaven?
Especially one who was going to help him feed upon the life force of millions.
Marlowe missed his Remy.
He zigzagged through the grass of Boston Common, taking in all the scents that had found their way there since the last time he’d visited.
“Don’t go too far, Marlowe,” Linda called after him.
He looked up, making sure she was safe before going back to work sorting out all the amazing smells.
Remy had told him to watch over the female, and that was exactly what he had been doing since Remy left. Marlowe was a good dog, and he would do anything his master—his Remy—asked of him.
And besides, he loved this female. She was quite nice and let him sleep on her pillow, and gave him treats every time he asked—and even sometimes when he didn’t.
The smell of squirrel urine was particularly pungent in one area, and the Labrador buried his nose in the spot, sniffing until he was satisfied that he could find that particular squirrel if he had to. He moved on to a much more pleasant scent—crackers left from a family picnic. He could smell the family members, each of them with their own distinct aromas: a female, a male, and a young female. The girl’s smell was all over the crackers that he gobbled up with ravenous abandon.
“You better not be eating garbage,” Linda warned, and Marlowe ate faster so she would have nothing to take away from him.
After all, he had worked hard to find these crackers.
Linda was getting closer. He could hear the jangle of the metal clip on the leash as she swung it in her hand. He wolfed down the last cracker and quickly darted away.
He wasn’t ready to leave.
There had been many people on the grass of the Common since the last time his Remy had brought him here; so many different smells stamped into the ground by the soles of their shoes.
And then he caught it—a whiff of something that made him stop at once.
It was a special smell. It was how his Remy smelled, and Francis, his friend.
An angel smell.
Marlowe looked up, tail wagging, already moving toward the familiar scent, until he saw the man standing there very still. Watching him with unblinking eyes.
The dog froze, head tilted back slightly as he sniffed the air. He did not know this one…this angel.
The angel ste
pped closer, eyes locked on his.
Marlowe began to growl, low and menacing. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see where the female was. She was a ways back, talking on her phone, swinging his leash to and fro.
Baring his fangs, Marlowe warned the unknown angel that smelled of sweat and desperation not to come any closer.
“You are his?” the angel asked in a tongue that the dog could understand. “You belong to the one called Remy Chandler?”
“Back!” Marlowe barked, charging ahead threateningly to drive the angel away.
The angel took two steps backward, holding out his hands to show that he meant no harm. “Answer me, animal,” he commanded. “Does Remy Chandler own you?”
“Yes,” Marlowe barked.
The angel appeared to grow excited, eyes darting around the park.
“Where is he? Show me…. It’s very important that I speak with him, or…”
“Not here,” Marlowe answered with a series of barks.
“Then where?” the angel asked. “Where is he? There isn’t time to…”
Marlowe saw the angel’s eyes suddenly look above his head, and the Lab turned to see the female, Linda, approaching.
“Marlowe?” she questioned, hurrying along. “What are you doing?”
He ignored her, locking his eyes again on the angel, making sure that he did not make a move toward the female.
He felt her hands suddenly on the chain about his thick neck and heard the sharp click as Linda attached the leash to it.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized to the angel. “He’s never done anything like this before.” She began to pull the dog away as Marlowe struggled to keep his eyes on the angel.
“Do you know him?” the angel called out.
Linda stopped, turning around. “Excuse me?”
“Do you know him?” he asked again.
“Do I know who?”
“Remy Chandler,” the angel said.
Marlowe began to bark wildly as the angel reached into the pocket of his clothing.
“Marlowe, no!” Linda yelled, forcing Marlowe to sit beside her. “Yes,” she said to the angel. “I’m his girlfriend.”
The angel had removed a pen and a piece of scrap paper from the pocket and quickly wrote something down. He inched closer to the female, and Marlowe growled again.
“When next you see him, and I pray that it is soon, please give him this.” The angel handed her the scrap of paper. “Tell him that I must speak to him about a matter of grave importance.”
The female took the paper and looked at it.
“He’ll know what this is?” she asked. “What’s your name? Just in case he doesn’t—”
“Tell him that the Watchers are going to do something terrible,” the angel interrupted as he turned to walk away. “Tell him that they are going to try to change the whole world. And it’s all because of him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s not your place to.”
Marlowe and Linda watched the angel hurry away until he was lost among a group of tourists taking photographs beside the Soldiers and Sailors Monument.
And even though the female tried to pull him along, Marlowe fought her until he was certain.
Certain that the angel was gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
There were monsters in the darkness.
But as Remy dragged Ashley around Deacon’s property, he hoped they would be safe as long as they stayed close to the patches of light thrown from the house. There had been an all-too-familiar flash moments ago that had driven many of the larger beasts back into the depths of the shadows.
Remy was weak. He was amazed that he was actually moving, the need to get Ashley back to her family probably lending him strength, but he knew it wouldn’t last. He had remembered that Scrimshaw had driven the old car around to the back of the house and figured there’d be a garage of some sort back there. That was their objective now: get to the car and drive back across the Shadow Lands, hopefully finding some way out.
The mansion was still in turmoil, but at least the alarm had been silenced. Primitive golems rushed about, making repairs and clearing debris. The chaos helped shield Ashley and Remy’s movements as they crept around to the back of the house.
And there was the garage. Remy had been right.
They stopped behind the skeletal remains of a bush, backs pressed against the house, and Remy took a moment to check Ashley. The girl was breathing heavily, eyes red from so much more than crying. He could imagine what this was like for her, and that just strengthened his resolve to get her home.
He studied the scene before him. The old vintage car that had brought him to the estate was parked outside the multicar garage. Light from a spotlight over the open door of one of the bays illuminated the area in a green-tinged glow. Two golems stumbled about the vehicle, cleaning it with rags.
Remy turned, leaning in close to Ashley’s ear so that she could hear his whisper.
“We’re going to take that car,” he told her. “Your job is to get inside; that’s it. I’ll take care of everything else. Do you understand?”
He looked into her eyes, hoping to see some trace of the vibrant young woman he had watched grow up on Beacon Hill, but only a shadow of that person remained.
A shadow would have to do.
“Follow me,” he said, still holding tightly to her hand.
There was nothing to hide their approach, so Remy waited until the two golems turned their stone backs. He tugged on Ashley’s hand and started across the expanse of driveway, dragging her behind him.
The vehicle was a four-door limousine, and he aimed her toward the driver’s-side rear door.
“Get in,” he called out.
The golem that had been cleaning the windshield reacted at once, silently charging at him.
Remy met the attack, grabbing hold of the stone man’s face and using all the strength he had remaining to shove the creature away. It was like pushing aside a brick wall, but he managed nonetheless, and the golem tumbled backward to the ground.
He turned quickly as Ashley began to scream. The other golem was attempting to drag her from the car. Remy threw an arm around its throat, hauling the stone man away from her. The golem attempted to reach behind itself, stone fingers grabbing hold of Remy’s shirt, and with a burst of unnatural strength, pulled Remy over its shoulder, slamming him against the side of the car.
Remy dropped headfirst to the ground, vision clearing just in time to see the golem reaching for him, and the other that he had knocked to the ground advancing.
Scrambling to get to his feet, he tried with all that he had remaining inside to stir his angelic nature, but it seemed so very far away. The closest of the golems grabbed the front of his shirt, hauling him up from the ground. Remy watched as it pulled back its ill-defined arm of stone, clenching a fist with the sound of rock grating against rock. Remy realized that if he took this hit, it would likely rip his head off.
The creature threw its punch, and Remy reacted, angling his head downward, feeling the breeze of cold stone as it passed across his cheek. The golem was off-balance. Remy took a risk, placing his leg between and behind the golem’s pillarlike limbs. He then surged forward, putting all his weight behind a thrust that drove the stone man back, making him trip over Remy’s leg.
The golem went down on his back, but that still left the other to grab at him with both hands.
The tire iron connected with the other golem’s simple face, breaking away part of its primitive nose and part of its cheek. It actually appeared stunned, stumbling back a bit, hands going to its damaged face. Remy was a little stunned, as well, turning to see Ashley standing there, ready to swing the cross-shaped metal tool again.
They were far from out of trouble, but she had bought them some time.
“Get in,” Remy told her, and, still holding the tire iron, she jumped into the backseat as he climbed behind the steering wheel.
At least there
was a little bit of luck to be had. The keys were still in the ignition, and Remy turned over the engine just as the golem began to lumber toward the car. He threw it in reverse with a grinding of gears and drove the car backward, away from the stone men. But still they came, arms outstretched.
Remy put the old car in drive, gunning the engine and driving right at the pair. They showed no signs of moving, and he plowed into them, scattering them like bowling pins as he continued across the yard, taking a sharp turn and driving around to the front of the house.
He kept his eyes on the road before him illuminated in the glow of one headlight. The closed metal gate loomed before him.
“Hang on,” Remy told Ashley, quickly glancing at her in the rearview mirror. She sat in the center of backseat, clutching the tire iron like a crucifix to her chest.
Remy stamped down hard on the gas. Holding tightly to the wheel, he gritted his teeth as the front of the car struck the center of the wrought-iron gate, tearing both sides from their worn hinges.
Driving into the total darkness, away from the estate, Remy chanced a look behind him in the rearview. He saw Scrimshaw standing just beyond the gate.
And the golem with the elaborate facial tattoos was blowing them a kiss good-bye.
Armaros of the angelic host Grigori continued to gaze out the window of the skyscraper overlooking an awakening Boston. But he did not see the city sprawling below him.
Instead he saw another place, another time, when their kind had been sent to the world of man to fulfill the most special of purposes. They were to observe the newly emerging human species, to guide them away from wrong, if sin should entice.
They were to be humanity’s watchers, there to prevent the Almighty’s favored young race from straying from the path of righteousness.
Armaros remembered how amused they had all been by their mission. These creatures had already defied the Lord of lords, and had been evicted from Paradise, yet still God loved them and wanted them to succeed.
But there was something about this species.
None of them really knew what had happened. Perhaps the Watchers had felt the same kind of love for them that the Creator had. But whatever it was that had caused it, the Watchers had found themselves enmeshed in the day-to-day lives of the young species, teaching them things that they were not meant to know.
In the House of the Wicked: A Remy Chandler Novel Page 15
