“He used a car?”
Marley slowly stood, broken lamp pieces carefully held in her hand. “It was another of his vices. . . . He loved cars and has an entire underground garage filled with them.”
“But you said a car came for him.”
“Yes, it would beep its horn once to let him know it had arrived.”
“So he had a driver,” Remy prodded.
“Yes,” Marley agreed.
“Does this driver live here with the other staff members?”
Marley shook her head, a broken piece of the lamp in her hand falling to the floor from the movement.
“No,” she said. “Normally he would drive his own cars.”
“But in some instances he chose not to drive himself to wherever it was he was going.”
Marley was quiet, her blind eyes staring into the darkness around them.
“Elite Limousine,” she said.
“That was the name of the service he used?”
“Yes,” she answered him. “I heard him through his office door once . . . and he asked for Neal to drive him.”
Now they were getting someplace.
“You’ve been very helpful, Marley,” Remy said gently. “Thank you.”
He went for the door, turning toward the young woman.
“Are you coming?” Remy asked her.
She shook her head. “I’d like to clean up.”
So he left here there, standing perfectly still in the darkness of the room, a darkness she had grown accustomed to.
• • •
Beleeze quickly left his master’s presence so as not to incur his wrath.
His master had the most unpredictable of natures, and sometimes, when things did not go as planned, he would display a vicious temper.
Images that had branded themselves in the demon’s mind flashed before his eyes, images of those that had brought their master news that he deemed . . . disappointing.
Beleeze still found disconcerting the memory of one of his kind being turned inside out, and yet still living. None who still served Master Simeon cared to put their own endurance to the test.
They had survived too much to suffer such an ignoble fate.
Beleeze and the other demons were of the species Demonicus, extracted from the darkness of oblivion by the necromancer, Ignatius Hallow, and enslaved by the power of Solomon’s ring. They had served the death wizard for nearly a century before their servitude was transferred to the one named Simeon.
But with that transference, came the birth of purpose.
The demon descended the refuse-strewn steps into the main lobby of the deserted office building to find the others waiting.
“Well, at least you’re still alive,” Dorian commented.
Is that actually concern in her dark eyes? Beleeze wondered.
“How did he take it?” Robert asked.
Beleeze had yet to get used to the demon’s change of names. Robert had been Tjernobog until a few centuries ago, when he’d changed it to fit in better with the world in which they existed.
Even though they were all working toward seeing it brought to ruin.
“Surprisingly well,” Beleeze replied.
“What did he say?” Dorian asked. She was standing closer to him now, the long, spidery fingers of her hand briefly touching the sleeve of his jacket.
Is it possible that after all this time, she finally realizes the feelings I have for her?
Beleeze slowly shook his head. “He didn’t say anything.”
Robert hissed. “That’s not good,” he said, and started to pace. “Not good at all. That’s the same thing that happened with Teloch.”
“Teloch?” Beleeze questioned. There had been so many more of them—so many that had met their fates at Simeon’s angry hand.
“Teloch!” Robert boomed, barely stopping his pacing. “Short, circular mouth ringed with teeth? Loved intestines and bone marrow?”
Beleeze remembered his demon brother, and his fate.
“He didn’t say anything to Teloch, either, and then . . .”
Images flashed through Beleeze’s memory—images of Teloch’s body suddenly swelling as if filling with fluid, and then exploding like a human child’s toy balloon.
Beleeze did not recall the news Teloch had brought their master that had garnered such a horrendous response, but as he dwelled upon it, he realized that it could have been nearly anything: an ingredient for a particularly complex spell not being readily available, the premature return of the Morningstar to his hellish domain, the weather in whatever corner of the world they were currently residing being too hot, too cold, or too rainy, or the ancient god Dagon meeting with an untimely demise.
It could have been something, or really nothing at all. It didn’t matter.
They were all quiet then, in the lobby of the dead building, thinking of Teloch and so many others that had met an ugly fate after delivering messages that did not please their master.
Would they be next?
It is possible, Beleeze thought worriedly. But what choice did they have? Master Simeon had the ring, and as long as he did, there was nothing else but for them to obey.
But despite the looming potential for death, the demons and their eternal master shared a common goal. They both hated God, the Almighty, the Lord of Lords, or whatever else the Being that brought forth the light to a universe that was once only darkness, was called.
Those who served and worshipped this heartless Deity believed that there was nothing until He made His illuminating declaration, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
There were things living in the sea of black that existed before He even became aware of His own existence; worlds and peoples thriving in the cold, endless void.
And so many met their end with the birth of this creation, their lives burned away with the utterance of four little words:
Let there be light.
Beleeze recalled the blinding flash and the screams of millions as they died, but somehow he, and others of his kind, had managed to survive, finding pools of shadow deep enough to hide themselves.
For where there is light, there must also be shadow.
Beleeze left his thoughts at the sound of footsteps.
“This is it,” Robert muttered with a gulp.
But Beleeze did not believe it. Though their master might sometimes be unpredictable in his wrath, Beleeze felt somewhere deep down in the pocket of shadow that churned at the center of his being that their mutual hate would spare him.
The others he did not know about, but as for himself, he somehow knew that his and Master Simeon’s fates were intertwined. They would witness the fall of Heaven together, and watch the world and the universe around it, gradually return to darkness.
Simeon stepped into the lobby, his dark eyes fixed upon the demons.
The others averted their gazes, but Beleeze was not afraid.
“Take me to the island,” their master commanded, pulling at the white cuffs of his shirt just below the sleeves of his dark sports jacket. “Let’s see what I can do to keep this from turning into one huge cluster-fuck.”
Overjoyed that they were not murdered, Beleeze watched as Dorian and Robert conjured a circle of transport upon the lobby floor that would take them all to their destination.
And toward what Beleeze believed would eventually be his destiny.
• • •
Remy found his way back down to the first floor of the mansion alone, exiting from the secret door into Montagin’s path.
“Where have you been?” the angel demanded, eyeing him, and the door, as Remy closed it behind him with a click.
“Finding stuff out,” he said.
“Stuff?” Montagin asked. “What kind of stuff?”
The angel moved around Remy to examine the door. “Where does this go?” he asked. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Remy said. “Seems as though your boss might have been keeping some thing
s pretty close to the vest.”
“Things?” Montagin questioned with a sneer.
“Looks like Aszrus was a little more infatuated with this world than he led you to believe.”
He could see that the assistant’s demeanor was changing, his ire on the rise. There was nothing somebody like Montagin hated more than to not be aware of the total picture.
“Explain, Seraphim,” Montagin demanded.
Remy looked him straight in the eyes with a stare that suggested he back off.
The angel’s demeanor softened.
“Did you find something that could explain who . . .”
“Maybe,” Remy said, starting back toward the study with Montagin eagerly walking beside him. “It seems that your boss liked to hit the town some nights, and he used a limousine service to get there.”
“Why would he do that?”
“That’s what I’m hoping to find out,” Remy said as they approached the study doors. Montagin used his key to open the door, and they were greeted by the sight of Malatesta kneeling beside the dead angel’s body, one of his hands buried deep within the open wound that had allowed the angel’s killer access to his heart.
The sorcerer looked up from his work.
“I’m not quite finished here, but—”
“I have to leave,” Remy interrupted. “Finish what you started and lend a hand if necessary.” He turned to Montagin again, and saw that spark of panic ready to ignite once more. “You just keep it together until I get back with some answers.”
“I’ll try,” Montagin replied, his eyes drifting over to the globe-shaped liquor cabinet in the corner of the room.
Remy was just about to leave when he remembered something he would need. He stopped, turning back toward Montagin.
“Do you think I can borrow a car?” he asked. “I hear there’s an entire underground garage of the things.”
CHAPTER TEN
England
1349
Pope Tyranus’ carriage followed the line of soldiers sworn to defend the holy man and his mission at any cost.
Remiel sat across from the Pope, the wings that he had yet to summon itching beneath the guise of humanity he wore, eager to perform the task that had been requested of him.
He could have flown to their destination on his own, but Tyranus required his company on the ride. The angel had no choice but to obey.
“Tell me,” the Pope began, pulling aside a red velvet curtain to gaze out upon the bleak, English countryside. The weather was foul, as it had been for days, as if in anticipation of the conflict against the forces of darkness to come. “Tell me why you walk the earth.”
Remiel did not wish to speak of it, but the words came nonetheless.
“There is a simplicity here that speaks to me,” he said.
Tyranus chuckled. “Where you see simplicity, I see the complexities of this world . . . complexities that I must master.”
Remiel remained silent, hoping no more questions would come, but knowing better.
“How could you leave your God?” the old man asked. “For is He not your everything? Your sole reason for existing to answer His every whim?”
“It was.”
The images came again, the war and the killing of his brethren.
The death of so much more.
“There came a time when I could be there no more,” Remiel offered. “When the difficulties of Heaven weighed far too heavily upon my winged shoulders.”
Pope Tyranus studied the angel, his head resting against the back of the red velvet seat.
“Where is the difficulty in serving your master?” the Pope finally asked. “If there is trust in Him, there should be no question.”
Remiel saw the deaths of those he had once loved, those corrupted by the message of the Morningstar. He had hoped there would be another answer, that the Lord God Almighty would find a solution other than war.
But Remiel had been forced to take a side, and the solution was death to those who fought against His holy word.
“There was trust . . . ,” Remiel said softly. “For a time.”
This response seemed to rankle the holy man. “Are you saying that the Almighty is not to be trusted?”
“I’m saying that my trust in Him was tested,” Remiel explained. “And it was a test that I failed.”
The coach came to a sudden, lurching stop, leaning precariously to one side. Outside, Remiel could hear the chatter of the soldiers and the cries of horses in distress.
“What is happening?” the Pope asked, a slight tinge of fear evident in his voice.
Remiel cautiously opened the coach door, to be certain that they were not under attack. They were not, but somehow the soldiers had marched themselves deep into the center of a marsh, thick fog closing in on them from every direction. Several soldiers were attempting to lead their horses to solid footing, but to no avail, the panicked beasts’ cries echoing strangely across the misty moor.
“What is it? What’s happening?” Pope Tyranus demanded to know.
“Stay here,” Remiel ordered, leaping down to the muddy ground, slamming the carriage door closed behind him.
“Captain of the guard!” Remiel cried, feeling the earth suck at his boots, trying to lock him in place.
The sounds of the panicked horses, mingled with the screams of soldiers who had wandered into the bogs were eerily disturbing.
Remiel caught sight of the captain standing, holding tightly to his horse’s reins, staring out into the shifting mists.
“Captain,” he yelled, grabbing the man by the shoulder and spinning him around.
The man looked at him, eyes bulging with fear.
“How could you have led us into . . . ,” Remiel began to ask.
“We weren’t anywhere near a marsh,” the captain cried, shaking his head from side to side as his voice quaked with emotion. “A mist blew out onto the road, a mist so thick that . . .”
He stopped speaking and slowly turned back to the nightmarish scene as the wetlands claimed even more of the soldiers.
“And then we were here,” the captain finished. “May the Lord God Almighty preserve us, we were here.”
The captain let go of his horse’s reins, and the animal galloped madly off into the marsh. For a moment, Remiel lost sight of the animal in a writhing gray cloud, but then the cloud shifted; even the angel wasn’t sure of what he was seeing.
The captain’s horse was struggling mightily in the mire, which appeared to be hungry. When it seemed that the muscular beast would manage to free itself, something Remiel could not quite discern in the haze reached up from the water and mud to drag it back from whence it had escaped.
The Seraphim glanced toward the captain and realized he was no longer beside him. Remiel saw him wandering off in another direction, as if answering some siren call.
It was then that the angel sensed it. It had been hidden at first, mingling with the damp, heady smell of the marshlands, but the angel found it as the screams of animal and man intensified, and the shapes of things that might have once been human pulled themselves up from the clutches of the moors to shamble through the fog.
It was the scent of dark magick.
Remiel reached beneath his robes for the sword that hung there, the blade immediately igniting as it became engorged with the fire of the divine.
The light of the blade cut through the unnatural shadows and shifting mist, illuminating the horrors that were making their way directly toward him.
“What is the meaning of this?” Pope Tyranus cried out, clambering out of the carriage onto the moist ground. “I do not care to be kept waiting!”
It took a moment, but the Pope finally saw what was illuminated in the light of the angel’s sword.
“What in the name of all that is holy?” he stated, staring numbly ahead at the sight of the men, women, and children that had been sacrificed to the bogs so many years ago, their strangely preserved bodies . . .
Now returned to ghastly l
ife.
• • •
It didn’t take Remy long to find Neal’s address, seeing as there was only one employee with that first name working at the Elite Limousine Company out of Warwick, Rhode Island. Doubting that they’d be willing to hand out personal information over the phone, Remy had paid a visit to the office.
It was quiet at Elite that morning, and willing himself unseen, Remy had whispered in the office manager, Ginny’s, ear that things were incredibly slow, and maybe she should go grab herself a coffee over at the Dunkin Donuts down the street to keep herself awake.
Ginny had heeded his suggestion, leaving him with access to the company’s files, where, after a little searching, he found the address of one Neal Moreland of Providence.
Seeing as the Mercedes that he’d borrowed from Aszrus’ garage had a GPS, it didn’t take long at all to find the driver’s residence in downtown Providence. Remy parked the car as close to the old apartment building on Pequot Street as he could, and walked around to the back of the building. There was a back door, and Remy quietly climbed the six steps up to it, peering in through the curtained window to see an entryway, and a back flight of stairs leading to the apartments above. He took a brief look around to see whether anybody was watching before unfurling his wings. He quickly wrapped himself in their embrace, and thinking about the hallway on the other side of the door, suddenly appeared there. According to Elite’s schedule book, Neal had had a late-night international pick-up at Logan last night and was supposed to be driving somebody back to the Boston airport later that afternoon, so this would probably be an awesome time to catch him. Remy slowly climbed the steps up to the second floor, and was making his way to the third when he felt it.
It was like walking into a curtain of spiderwebs, a strange tickling sensation across his bare skin alerting him that something of an unearthly nature had recently manifested itself in the area. He immediately went on guard, focusing his preternatural senses on his surroundings.
The wood creaked as he stepped onto the third-floor landing. A short hallway was before him, Neal’s apartment at the end.
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