by T. G. Ayer
"Yes, his name has just disappeared from the list." Daniel glanced at Marcellus.
He considered Marcellus and his position within the Irin. With the power of the Nephilim at their fingertips, they were fast becoming invincible. Half-breed angels from the four corners of the globe. This kind of reach was unimaginable until the Irin Warriors proved their prowess. They were the best tools to obtain the Seals. Even better—they were dispensable.
Evangeline was on her way back. His eyes flicked toward the curtains framing the balcony. He could almost picture her there, blue eyes flashing, lustrous black hair framing a beautiful face. Yes, she had been blessed with angelic genes, so understandably she would have the face to prove it.
She always entered through those doors when she returned from a termination. He assumed it was a display of some kind. Power perhaps? To remind the simple humans of what she was. What she was capable of. Ignorant whelp. If she only knew who she was dealing with....
Daniel longed to teach her exactly where she belonged in the order of things. Sadly, she was the example by which many of the other Warriors marked themselves. She spelled trouble.
He returned to his desk, a smaller, messier version of the Master's antique.
A little restraint would go a long way. Alerting the Nephilim would be dangerous. Her vow was to serve the Brotherhood, to aid in wiping away the scourge of Hell seeping through the portals and worming its way into the human world. An unbreakable bond between Nephilim and Brotherhood. The Brotherhood of the Irin—they were Nephilim scouts or human agents who believed they served a higher purpose.
As did Evangeline.
Chapter 2
Evie approached the Irin Estate as darkness slipped from the sky and crimson fingers of sunlight scarred the farthest horizon, so red it reminded her of great splotches of blood.
She shuddered.
This job must be getting to her. Such morbid thoughts contradicted the exquisite beauty of the night’s star-speckled heavens.
She dove, wings tucked close, glancing toward a balcony that skirted the roof of the East Wing. She came in for the landing, her pure-white, silver-tipped wings spread wide, slowing herself down as she approached the roof. She flipped her body upright and prepared to land nimbly on the balls of her feet. At the very last minute, she tucked in her wings, allowing her body to free-fall the last few feet. Evie dropped to the edge of the roof, landing in a crouch, ready to defend herself, prepared to fight. She stayed low, resting her elbow on one knee and scanned the rooftop.
Her feet crunched against gravel. The rooftop was empty. Evie rose and walked to a parapet guarded by a pair of small concrete gargoyles sitting short and squat. They grimaced over the front gardens of the estate, their hooded eyes staring out into the dark, silent night. The estate lights threw little patches of glowing yellow patches outside a multitude of open doors and windows. The gardens beyond lay dark as pitch, though Evie was certain the Irin Night Guard lurked among the trees and shrubs. Yet no sound or movement indicated their presence. They were good.
A breeze rode the silent air, strong fingers that cooled the heat of her face. To her left, the pint-sized stone gargoyle still stared out across the gardens, indifferent to her presence. Concrete and plaster. A fake. Made to resemble the real thing in a time when people had long forgotten that gargoyles were living, breathing, feeling, and thinking creatures. She knew the gargoyle night watch was serious about security, patrolling the estate religiously. They were around, somewhere.
Another gust of wind. Awareness rippled along her skin and she turned slowly to her right, staring straight into the dark and watchful eyes of the real thing. The gargoyle guard was silent, his obsidian eyes dark and clear in his ebony face. He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her, but still watchful, still on guard.
She was disappointed.
But she should have expected no more than the courteous greeting she received. She was Nephilim. Warrior of the Irin Brotherhood. Even Evie's friends frowned upon fraternizing with non-angelic beings.
Do your job. Kill the mark. Go straight home. Don't make friends. Irin monopoly at its very best.
Life was getting tedious these days. With Patrick ousted and Marcellus playing top dog, the changes wreaked havoc with their lives. The other Warriors became restless too. The new topic of conversation--between the morning's lessons or the afternoon's practice sessions in the armory--was Marcellus.
Marcellus was a volatile leader. He either instilled mortal fear in his followers or just plain rubbed them the wrong way. In a few short months since he'd taken over, he'd sent them chasing Earth-side demons and scrounging for random pieces of demon metal like a pack of scavenging hellhounds. He'd used genial smiles and subtle manipulation to ensure the Irin, masters and warriors alike, believed nothing but good about him. And the worst of it was many of the Irin masters had fallen for his charm.
Evie ground her teeth. What a waste of time. But she meant to make her report and get on with her day. She still had to rest and prepare for her morning classes. The Brotherhood ensured each Nephilim of similar age, along with various new recruits, attended the relevant classes. It was Patrick's idea to start the training center. He, more than any of the other Brothers, knew what the Nephilim went through. Because he had raised Evie and because he'd seen too much over his extended lifetime. He was convinced educating the Warriors would help them complete their assignments successfully. Their education covered everything from languages to history to politics. Patrick was nurturing a new breed of Irin Warriors. That was until Marcellus took charge. One of Evie's greatest fears was that the new Master would decide training was unnecessary.
A long, long lifetime did not necessarily mean a Nephilim received a proper education. In addition, their longevity did not mean they were endowed with adulthood automatically. Most of the Nephilim here at the center experienced tumultuous childhoods. A Nephilim aged in years like a human being from birth to puberty. Once the hormones kicked in, angel and human blood warred within body and mind. Until one won. Many Nephilim reverted to humanity, allowing their angelic natures to wilt like a plant deprived of water, never knowing what they'd missed out on. Never knowing they'd come so dangerously close to immortality.
For some, like Evie and the Warriors of the Irin, the angelic half won out. From then onward, aging was a wholly different process. Nephilim lived a few hundred years before they aged one human year. For a Nephilim, the teenage years lasted close to a thousand years before full maturity was achieved. For now, Evie was the human equivalent of nineteen, and she would stay nineteen for a good few years more. As long as she retained the company of her fellow Warriors, she could handle it.
A gust of wind buffeted her as she leapt over the parapet and floated slowly to the stone-tiled surface of the balcony. It ruffled her feathers, lifted and moved them with invisible fingers. She welcomed the touch, the warmth of Mother Nature against her body. Evie chose the balcony entrance for its proximity to the rooftop.
And because it affected Daniel.
Evie delighted in the definite wobble of his stiff upper lip whenever she made a balcony entrance. She suspected he didn't like her much. The feeling was certainly mutual.
Evie flung the doors open, slipping through the parting in the heavy brocade curtain into the dimly lit room. This was the center of operations of the Irin, a Brotherhood whose purpose was to serve the good of mankind, but the room held the air of an animal's den. A cool menace replaced the open care with which Master Patrick had led the teams. The Warriors shared a devotion to a cause they strongly believed in, and Patrick had been the home in which many Nephilim sought refuge. And his office had been their headquarters, their haven.
Marcellus had made changes. Changes he had intended to be subtle were anything but. He'd closed down offices of the Irin worldwide, put a freeze on new admissions, threatened to expel anyone who went against him and even prohibited the use of the Nephilim's special mind-reading powers. For members of the t
eam who had been together for decades if not centuries, each change marked an end to an unforgettable era.
But the teams had no choice but to grit their teeth and bear the changes like scars on their skin. Master Patrick would be disappointed should they show any disrespect to his successor. The Brotherhood had conferred the title of leader to him when he had stood forward and claimed the right of Edis. Edis allowed a member of fellowship to place a vote for himself as the next Master, effectively a legal coup.
Evie steeled her features for the Master.
"Ah! My dear Evangeline. We've been expecting you." A smile--so near to sincere that the ice dwelling in his eyes could easily have been missed within the jolly creases of his grinning jowls--crossed his face.
With an expansive wave at an overstuffed couch, he invited her to sit. Evie refused as always.
Give him the opportunity to tower over me in some misguided sense of authority? Fat chance.
She stood. Through her lashes, she noticed the slightly raised eyebrows on Daniel's overstressed face. Noticed the barest tightening around the Master's mouth. Just a hint, not enough to reveal his real emotions.
"I see you have terminated the mark." His eyes grazed the packet she held.
A flick of her hand and the envelope sailed through the air, landing on the desk with a resounding thunk. He grimaced, and Evie could tell he used every ounce of his willpower to stop from checking for dents or damage to the ancient wood. Evie suppressed a smile. She was not the malicious type, but sometimes, just sometimes, it felt good to torment the Master.
Now Marcellus was watching her, his expression for a moment revealing a clear dislike, as if he thought of her as nothing more than an insolent brat in need of a good beating. But in that moment, she saw a flash of fear too—as if something held him back from lashing out at her insolence.
Evie gritted her teeth. This was taking too long. The sooner she left this room, the better for everyone. She suppressed a shudder. The lights were off and only two candles flickered in the darkened office. Marcellus had most likely intended for the shadows to intimidate her, the way they hugged the edges of the room, shielding the corners from easy perusal. Not for Evie though as she used her own personal brand of night-vision. God-given.
Something tugged at her awareness and she probed back. Yes, there it was in the darkest, farthest corner. A hazy shape wavered, blending into the shadows so well no human eye would ever have seen it.
A dark creature. Perhaps a shade or spirit of some sort.
Now what was a man of God doing associating with a creature of the Underworld?
Not that Evie or any of the Warriors believed there was a single decent bone in their new Master's body. She blinked, keeping her face and body as relaxed and unaffected as possible. They need not know she was onto them, and this was one piece of information to file away for the moment.
As Evie watched Marcellus, the air thickened with anticipation. His eye twitched in the direction of the night creature. Marcellus glanced back at Evie, drumming his fingers on the arm of his well-stuffed chair. Concerned I may have seen your secret visitor? But Evie feigned ignorance, turning away from the offending creature and inspecting the envelope that minutes ago was the center of the attention of all three of the room's occupants.
Living occupants, that is.
"So, another one bites the dust?" Evie commented drily.
"Well, we have terminated another lowlife and saved humanity from being terrorized by one of Satan's minions, if that's what you mean." Marcellus' words were cool and critical as if he sensed Evie's judgment. "Evangeline, you seem to have doubts, my dear. Let me assure you that we are contributing to the good of humanity. That is, of course, who we serve."
"You haven't explained the reasons for wanting these." She waved her hand over the buckles and piercings spilling from the now-open envelope. "The possessions of the marks? We used to throw them into the smelter so they can never be used again by another being with evil intentions. You know as well as I do that some demons' possessions retain the owner's power. Hugely unpredictable in the hands of an Innocent." Evie baited him.
Marcellus' decree that all metal objects found in the possession of any mark must be returned to him during debrief had become a concern for the teams and many of the other council members. The very act of collecting items of demonic power alerted the other Warriors to the possibility that the new Master intentions were questionable. So the Warriors completed each mission as prescribed and metal items returned to him as per instruction, but anything Evie thought was of any value she retained and hid away.
In the last few months, most of what he had seen were belt buckles, earrings, and boot spurs along with a small pile of tongue and lip piercings. Demons had a fetish for the human art of body piercings. And cowboy boots. Evie had no idea if any of the other Warriors had weakened to Marcellus' demands, but his arrogance was beginning to seep through his refined persona. Now was just such a time. False confidence with his shadow friend, seemingly hidden within the dark corners of the room?
His forehead bore the slightest of creases as he contemplated his next move. Evie could almost hear his thoughts. Had to concentrate to shut them out. Her power to delve into the minds of humans was an asset. But not here. Amongst the Irin, she was forbidden to listen.
Part of her vow as an Irin Warrior inhibited her use of her telepathic ability within the grounds of the Brotherhood compound. It was a weak pledge, but for the most part, the Nephilim behaved.
In light of the circumstances with Baltazar and now the unwelcome, underworldly visitor in the corner, Evie's vow proved very difficult to keep, especially when all she had to do was lift the veil the teensiest bit, just to hear a whisper of his thoughts.
No. She was stronger than her temptation. She had to find another way. Besides, who knew what magic he may have used to detect mindreading from the Nephilim.
Marcellus rose, veins pumping at his temple. It seemed the Master was forfeiting this round as he walked to the windows through which she had made her most bothersome entrance. It was his cue that he was done with her, for now.
Thrilled to leave, Evie exited the room, steeling herself from barging through the doors at a dead run.
Chapter 3
Evie mulled over the meaning of the metal artifacts she'd retrieved from Baltazar. Barely rested, she headed to join the rest of the younger Nephilim for the morning sessions.
The sound of her heels on the floor changed from a soft patter on cool marble tile to a hollow clack on solid wood flooring and she found herself taking the main corridor to the West wing. Evie smiled. Her subconscious knew better what she needed. She had to see Master Patrick.
If the sound of Evie's feet on her journey had not roused her from her reverie, the odor of the Wing itself would have called her attention to direction and destination. The passage, lined with warm wood paneling at least two centuries old, gave off the aroma of "ancient." Mustiness clung from the beveled cornices of the ceilings, to the dust topping the curves of the wrought-iron lamps, and to the cobwebs, which swayed like little grey ghosts watching Evie pass. Ancient paintings of long-dead Irin Masters dotted the wall. Each face bore pained and long-suffering expressions as if they too could smell the odor and disapproved strongly.
The darkness and shadows oppressed Evie, and no magic was allowed, even to brighten the passage. No outside light reached these halls, which added to the sense of entombment in a warren of dead Masters. Evie shivered. The dark corridors had never seemed oppressive or dank. Not until Marcellus moved in. He'd brought a darkness with him that filled the shadows with suspicion and a hint of evil.
She walked on, chiding herself for being paranoid, and turned a corner. The West Wing was well loved, well cared for. Except for this almost-forgotten end of it. Evie's heart turned painfully in her chest. And she tasted the bitter bile of hatred.
She had tried. But opposing Marcellus' new position because of her gut instinct hadn't been enough. Espe
cially when Master Patrick had assured her Marcellus was true to the cause. But nothing sat right in Evie's gut when she looked at the new Master. It was as if even the marrow in her bones rebelled against his authority.
The tapping of her heels slowed to a halt as she came to the heavy oak door to Master Patrick's chambers. Patrick, relegated to the West Wing to live out the rest of his weak and ailing life, seemed to take it in his stride, with grace and dignity.
But it was a double blow for the Warriors. Despite the Council member's objections, Marcellus had been adamant that Patrick needed to recuperate in private.
Evie didn't believe it for one second. The Irin Estate was immense. Plenty of room for Master Patrick. Marcellus had an ulterior motive for hiding his ailing predecessor away from his most loyal followers, within the oldest part of the facility. Evie had to hand it to him. He was a master strategist.
Evie knocked firmly. Turning the heavy brass knob, she pushed the door open a little. With his hearing steadily failing, he didn't always hear her knock. If he was asleep, she'd come back again later. Evie peered around the door at the monstrosity of a bed. She hated the thing about as much as Patrick cherished it. A dark, almost black, polished mahogany four-poster hung with blood-burgundy and green-striped brocade curtains. The bed sucked every bit of the energy from the room.
Patrick was not in the bed, so she stepped quickly into the room, steeling herself against racing inside to search him out. Heart thumping, she scanned the gathering shadows. And found him sitting at his small writing table within the light of the morning sun. It filtered weakly into the room, pale and golden.
Dust-fairies swirled around on the sunbeams. Tiny trills of laughter filtered to Evie's ears, and she smiled. They moved around her as she passed from shadow to light and toward her mentor. Patrick looked up as she stepped closer. The fairies watched her as they flitted about, letting her pass. As tiny as weightless grains of sand, they floated on the breeze her shifting body made as she walked through a stream of the laughing creatures. Then they were back to basking in the sunbeams, their attention to the angel only a temporary thing.
