by J F Cain
“Everything is fine. Thank you,” Aranes replied.
The two Guardians who had been carrying her bags set them down and departed unobtrusively. Eiael’s attention was drawn by the silk-covered box. She wondered what was inside, but kept her questions to herself.
“Is there anything you would like me to do for you?” she asked with concern.
A faint smile formed on Aranes lips.
“No, thank you.”
Kadu and Eiael bowed and left her to rest.
The Guardian leader closed the door behind her and after bidding Kadu farewell she turned to her second-in-command, who was waiting outside with the rest of the Guardian escort.
“Fares, set a team of six to guard the door and then you should all get some rest. I want the best,” she demanded. “Notify me if anything happens, no matter how trivial,” she added and headed to the adjoining room that had been prepared for her.
Left alone, Aranes went to one of the windows, leaned against the sill, and looked down at the Exorcists patrolling on the walls. She then let her sad gaze wonder over the mountain range. The moon had risen in the sky and was scattering its silver over the tall mountain tops surrounding the fortress. The canyon behind the keep was a dark maw, and only the distant sound of flowing water betrayed that somewhere at the bottom was a river.
She wondered where Abaddon could be. In what lonely paths was his spirit wondering? Would he trust her teachings and advice so that he could face the trials that awaited him? She believed he would, but she couldn’t be sure. The one thing she was certain about was that from now on Lucifer would pull out all the stops to manipulate her partner and turn him against her.
Abaddon appeared in the room he had been sharing with Aranes until just that morning with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He got a glass out of the console cabinet beside the door and sat down in the armchair by the cold fireplace. He filled the glass to the brim and gulped its contents down. He didn’t know if the alcohol would have any effect on his strange physical makeup. He hadn’t had a drink since his transformation. But this was the only way he knew to numb his brain. And if he were lucky, he might fall into a stupor or, even better, fall asleep. Then he would be able to stop thinking, and there would be an end to the unbearable pain that wounded his mind and his heart.
He refilled his glass and, sensing the deep vibrations presaging Lucifer’s arrival, he set the bottle down on the table, gritting his teeth.
You’re all I needed, you hyperdimensional prick, he huffed inwardly.
He leaned back in the chair, rested his right ankle on his other knee, and waited for the Demon’s form to take shape in the physical dimension. Lucifer regarded him expressionlessly through his dark cloud as it withdrew into his materialized body.
“Leave!” Abaddon demanded, not sparing him a glance.
The Dark Lord slipped his hands into the pants of his black suit, his expression stating clearly he didn’t plan on going anywhere.
“Your attitude tells me you can see that I was right about everything I said about It,” he observed blankly.
“I’m not interested in your differences with the Source,” Abaddon replied coldly. “Leave me alone.”
Lucifer settled comfortably in the other armchair, as if he were at home, crossed his legs and turned to look at him.
“I don’t want to bother you, especially at such a difficult time for you,” he said, introducing a note of understanding into his voice. “But I’m not here about my differences with the Source, I’m here to tell you the truth. If you don’t accept it, you’ll keep on making mistakes that will cost you dearly, because It will take advantage of them in ways you couldn’t imagine. That is what it does—it takes advantage of Its creations’ physical, spiritual, and intellectual needs.” His brow crinkled, as if he were contemplating something serious. “I think that was why It created us lacking.”
Abaddon kept his gaze riveted on the ashes in the fireplace.
“How many times must I tell you so that you’ll understand I don’t care what you believe?”
“And yet you should,” the Demon insisted with a friendly tone. “You see, the constant interaction between beings so that they can satisfy their different needs is what generates the energy that sustains Its power.” He paused and studied his adversary’s profile, trying to make out a reaction since his aura revealed no emotion at all. “I’m sure that Aranes never told you this big secret,” he added, taking care not to make it sound like criticism.
“Thankfully, I have you to enlighten me,” Abaddon scoffed.
The ambiguous answer displeased Lucifer, but he didn’t show it.
“You have no idea how lucky you are to have me right now. You’ll realize it in the immediate future, when the Source takes Aranes and the child away from the physical plane. Then you will see that everything I’m saying is the truth. I know It so well that I can predict Its movements.”
“Alright, Sibyl. Now get lost,” said Abaddon with a bored, contemptuous gesture.
The Lord of Darkness stood up and, with a smile that conveyed his confidence regarding his prediction, he left the material dimension wrapped in his black ethereal cloak.
In the days that followed, Lucifer didn’t let the Exorcists’ fortress out of his sight.
Seated at his stone table, he watched on his screen as the castle became packed to the gills with Guardians preparing for battle, as Aranes strategized, and Abaddon hovered outside her window night and day so that he could see her, even from afar, or stood outside the protective dome, which blocked her cell signal, and was kept abreast of developments by Kadu, who together with a team of Exorcists were spying on the Cursed.
However, the Lord of Darkness was also keeping an eye on the serious intrigues going on in his realm during that time. He was determined to succeed in the greatest venture of his existence and he was planning it in every detail, feeling that he had never before been so close to his goal: seizing Elether.
CHAPTER 25
Abaddon moved away from the window and with his hands shoved in his pockets he began to pace back and forward in the classically furnished hotel room. He had left the Guardian castle so that no one would see his bad state of mind. And because returning to his mansion without his pregnant wife would raise a number of questions among the staff, he had rented a room in a second-rate hotel, where it was rather unlikely he would bump into anyone he knew.
He sat in a dark armchair, rested his elbows on his knees, and—sighing heavily—he raked his fingers through his hair in a gesture that betrayed his inner tension.
Aranes’ absence had broken him. Isolated in his very own sphere of loneliness, with empty arms and a frozen soul, he could hear the whispers that pierced the silence and spoke of a coming change, a transformation into a self that was stronger intellectually and spiritually, less dependent on Aranes. Would he ever be able to surpass himself and make that change? His partner was his only addiction, but such a strong one that it defied everything else.
Maybe that was one of the reasons why the Source had permitted her to come to him: so that It could take her away afterwards and force him to become stronger. And perhaps that was also the reason why his mentor had gone into such in-depth analyses of often impossible life transitions. Transcending one’s personal limitations was a big gamble for all beings. While this wasn’t his first transition, it most certainly was the most difficult. Maybe, in the end, with time and repeated efforts, he would succeed. However, for the time being, his forced separation from his partner was making him feel deep sorrow and anger. He didn’t know where to go or what to do to fill the void that was freezing his very soul.
From the moment that Aranes moved into to the Exorcists’ keep and he didn’t have to worry about her ethereal pursuers, he had been watching the vampires closely. Above all, he had been looking for Vincent. Every night, whether he was outside the Exorcists’ fortress or in his hotel room, his supernatural vision was aimed at the castle of the undead. Aranes and
Eiael had warned him not to attack the fortress because the vampires’ dark magic could harm him. Was it true or were they trying to protect him from a possible clash with the hundreds of vampires living in the castle? Whatever their motive, he thought it wise to trust them.
Unfortunately, Vincent was also being smart and wasn’t leaving the safety of the castle. However, eventually he would have to so that he could feed. Then he would show him what a tragic mistake attacking Aranes had been. It didn’t matter if Lucifer had been the instigator of the attack, his agent would pay for his mistake so that the next time he wouldn’t be so willing to harm the worlds’ highest entity after the Source. As for the Dark Lord, there were many big and unpleasant surprises in store for him.
Determined to control the negative emotions the greatest of Demons awakened in him, Abaddon got up from the armchair. It would be better if he went for a walk instead of poisoning his mind with bitter thoughts. Some contact with earthly reality, the only one he was well acquainted with, might improve his mood somewhat. He picked up his jacket and cap from the opposite armchair and walked out into the corridor.
A short while later, he was walking on 53rd Street.
It was almost Christmas and the atmosphere was festive everywhere you looked. The store windows were lit up and decorated with big silver stars and snowflakes, huge red bows, and fake snow surrounding angels and biblical figures. At every entrance, Santas were ringing their bells, adding their tinkling to the loud Christmas music that seemed to come from everywhere. Despite the freezing cold, the sidewalks were packed. Families, couples, and groups of friends were walking in and out of stores, cafés, and restaurants. Abaddon, a solitary passer-by among the throngs, gazed sadly at the embracing couples and little children holding their parents’ hands.
He wondered if he would ever have that wonderful experience, to walk with his one arm around his partner’s shoulders while carrying his child in the other. No, he answered himself at once. Unfortunately, he wasn’t an ordinary human who could live his life any way he wanted. He was a transcendental entity, burdened with enormous responsibilities. If he managed to defeat Lucifer, would the Source give him back Aranes and his child? That was his biggest, nagging worry. But the answer to that question couldn’t be a simple “yes” or “no”. Something told him he might get his wish, but not in the way he wanted.
Suddenly, Abaddon felt a sharp pain that took his breath away. Absorbed as he had been in his thoughts, he hadn’t sensed the vampires that had rushed him from behind. Vincent had leapt out of a parking garage entrance with four accomplices who concealed him from the passers-by. With a quick jab, he stabbed the Dark Angel low in his back, pulled out the bloodied blade and hid it inside his frock coat before returning to the garage with his accomplices in tow.
Abaddon turned his head in astonishment and from the corner of his eye he caught Vincent’s face. As soon as he realized what had happened, he was flooded with a wave of fury and horror. He wanted to go after him, but he wasn’t able to. The steel blade had pierced vital organs and the pain had him rooted to the spot. The very next moment he felt an arm grip him around the waist to support him. His head swiveled abruptly and he saw a hulking stranger looking at him in a way that said he knew what had happened.
Abaddon scanned the unknown man’s body with his supernatural vision and discovered that he wasn’t only human.
“Take your hands off me!” he shouted angrily.
“The vampire has hurt you badly. Let me help you,” said Kenelm in a friendly tone.
The Dark Angel realized that the stranger knew who he was.
“Why do you want to help me?”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Kenelm answered, and seeing the disbelief on his face, he added agreeably: “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”
Abaddon was studying the unknown being with the clear gaze and strange aura. He seemed sincere. His sixth sense told him the same. But in the situation he was in, he couldn’t afford to trust anyone. On the other hand, he needed help. The pain was growing stronger and he felt the blood from the wound soaking his clothes. Soon, the passers-by would notice he was wounded and someone would call an ambulance or the police. Searching for a solution, he looked around him. Just a stone’s throw away was an office building with wide columns at its entrance, closed at this time of day. He could walk there, hide behind one of the columns and disappear. But where could he go to be treated? Even if he hadn’t promised Dr. Wilson never to bother him again with his life’s oddities, he couldn’t go to a hospital where everyone knew him, and nor could he go to any other, because he would be forced to answer the doctors’ or—even worse—the police’s questions. From then on it would only be a matter of time before the news was leaked to the press and the police would then not only be searching for his attackers but maybe even his wife.
He thought about teleporting to the Guardian castle, but the few theurgists left there were apprentices and he doubted they could heal him. Besides, if they saw him in this condition—weak and seeking their help—he would lose a large part of his prestige as a Celestial. Another choice was to leave his physical body and go to Aranes for help—the Exorcists would give her his message and she would tell him what he had to do. But that would take time and he risked losing his host if it bled out, if of course nothing worse happened while his physical body lay unprotected. He would then lose his host, which was vital to him. So he had no other choice but to follow the stranger—while of course remaining on guard in case he attacked him.
He pinned Kenelm with a menacing look.
“I can rip your head off your neck in an instant,” he warned him, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Trust me, I wouldn’t mind in the least. But you won’t need to. I don’t plan to harm you,” the werewolf replied, leading him to the building with the wide columns.
Abaddon sensed the stranger’s supernatural strength. The creatures that had attacked the convoy when he was taking Aranes to the Exorcists’ fortress had been just as strong.
“You’re a werewolf!” he cried, his face turning fierce with disgust.
“Unfortunately for me, yes, I am,” Kenelm admitted wearily.
“The ones I killed a few days ago didn’t have the same opinion.”
Kenelm snorted contemptuously.
“Not all werewolves are the same.” He rested Abaddon behind a column and supported him by gripping his arms. “We’ll have time to discuss it as much as we want. But now you need to use the power you’ve got left to take us to the place I say. We have no time to waste.”
The Dark Angel followed the werewolf’s instructions and soon the two of them vanished from behind the column.
Propped up by Kenelm, Abaddon drank the sleeping potion and gave him back the glass bottle.
“It tastes awful,” he said with a grimace.
Kenelm helped him sit up in the bed.
“Sorry, but it’s the only way for you to get through the procedure. Your other choice is to pass out from the pain.”
“Masochism isn’t one of my shortcomings,” Abaddon replied, gritting his teeth to hide how much he was suffering.
With careful movements, Kenelm took off the Dark Angel’s jacket and shirt.
“Come, let me help you lie down.”
“Help me?” Abaddon chuckled. “You’re very kind, for someone who can lift me up with one finger.” He glanced at the quilt covering the bed in the guest room of Kenelm’s house. It looked clean, but it definitely wasn’t ideal for the current situation. He therefore gave a mental command for a sterilized sheet to be laid over the quilt.
“You’re fussier than I am,” Kenelm remarked, suppressing a smile.
He moved to grip Abaddon so that he could help him lie back, but the Dark Angel lifted his hand to stop him.
“If you really want to help me, then I thank you in advance. But if your aim is to harm my physical body, then I warn you that I will find you in the invisible world where you shamans go. And
there I won’t be at all weak,” he said, his gaze intense on him.
“That’s fair,” Kenelm replied and without wasting any more time, he gripped him and made him turn onto his stomach.
Abaddon left his physical body and stood by the bed, dressed in his battle armor. This way, he could remind his self-appointed healer who he truly was.
“You shamans can see Ethereals, can’t you?” he inquired, wanting to make sure that his imposing form was visible.
“Yes,” Kenelm answered as he examined the wound.
Abaddon first looked at his wounded left kidney and stomach and then at his eyes, which were slowly closing as his body succumbed to the strong sedative.
“Great. And how do you plan to heal the wound?” he asked with interest.
Kenelm lifted his gaze and regarded him.
“We have two choices. One is for me to heal you with shamanic preparations. But you won’t heal immediately. You will have to stay in bed for a few days. The second choice is for me to drip some of my blood into the wound. In that case, you will recover at once. You can leave as soon as your body has woken up from the sedative.” He paused and looked at the Celestial with a questioning gaze. “It’s your decision.”
Abaddon nodded vaguely but didn’t speak.
He was thinking that Aranes couldn’t see ethereal forms. If it took him days to recover, he wouldn’t be able to go to the Exorcists’ fortress and his absence would worry her. He didn’t want that. On the other hand, he didn’t like the idea of having werewolf blood in him. Yet he couldn’t ignore the advantage it would give him in similar situations if his body could heal itself at once, provided of course that the magical blood’s effect was permanent.
“Is there any chance your blood will change my nature or cause any other problem in my physical body?” he asked for the information that would help him decide.
“No,” Kenelm said decisively. “Now that we are no longer created by dark vampire magic, the only way for someone to become a werewolf is to inherit the gene from one of their parents. And as for my blood, it can only do you good.”
