Dustan dispatched him without much trouble. The little bastard did manage to nick him on his way down. More than a century of slaying angels had earned him his fair share of bumps and bruises, but he gave more than he got. Neither he nor Shax could count the number of Host acolytes he had ushered into the Void.
“Any sign of the Hunters?” Shax glanced up from his meal.
“Not since Tehran. Don’t hear me complaining though. I don’t care for running, but a bunch of angels trained to kill the most powerful demons…. Well, let’s just say I’ll be hiding under the bed.” Dustan shivered at the thought.
He had barely escaped his last encounter with the Hunters. Even with the blast, they easily overwhelmed him. Pure luck a busload of American tourists came through, headed to visit the battlefield at Prokhorovka, affording him a diversion to slip away.
“Yep, your reputation’s finally bringing out the big guns. Took them long enough.” Shax stood and raked crumbs from his belly. “Set for your next one?” Dustan nodded. “Godspeed then.” Shax glanced back. “Figure o’ speech.”
The shimmer of the demon’s exit dissipated as Dustan looked over the city map laid out on the bed. The minor angel had stuck to the slums and alleys around downtown, but Dustan sought to snag a bigger fish. A sneaky one. Demons sniffed out their movements, but could not get a lock on the angel’s identity. Whoever it was kept to the suburbs and more affluent areas of Alpharetta and Buckhead. The spirit’s actions puzzled Dustan. Since knowledge of him had grown widespread, surprise attacks were rare. They knew he was coming and stayed antsy. This one didn’t mask their movements, but did hide their identity.
Why Atlanta? That part was easier to understand. Angel recruitment efforts spanned the globe, but he found greater concentrations in the Americas. Catholicism remained popular in South America, and the United States’ South and Midwest, ‘the Bible Belt,’ supplied fertile grounds for them to harvest. Dustan often felt nostalgic deep below the Mason-Dixon Line. Memories of his time in Hattiesburg brought a fond smile.
Buckhead Forest dated back to the 1930s. A hundred and sixty-five homes ranging from middle to upper-middle class populated the Atlanta suburb. Dustan drove through the quaint neighborhoods in a nondescript Ford sedan, letting his senses flow through the area. It did not take long. A strong presence waited up ahead.
As he turned the corner, a beautiful woman with auburn hair, pixie cut, glanced at him and smiled. She hurried into an immaculate, older model red Corvette and sped away. Dustan stomped on the gas pedal and tried to keep up. It seemed she slowed each time the sports car raced out of sight, allowing him to remain close. He had a very bad feeling about this.
They wound through Roosevelt Park, the largest state park in Georgia. Franklin D. Roosevelt, hoping the warm climate would offer some relief from the devastating debility brought on by polio, founded the park after visiting in 1924. It didn’t work; the disease only worsened over time. Dustan did not care for omens, so chose to ignore any negative associations with the park’s namesake. He drove miles up the mountain’s snaking roads and arrived at a summit shrouded in twilight shadows. When he reached the woman’s car he found it empty, and the door left open.
He exited the sedan and tried to get a bead on where she had gone. A flash of movement high on the hill caught his attention. With tall pines dotting a steep incline, Dustan fought to keep his footing on the slippery straw carpeting the ascent. When he stepped into the clearing at the top of the rise, the angel stood with her back to him, silhouetted in the glow of a half-moon in a cloudless sky. Her short leather jacket and tight black jeans accentuated her shapely figure.
“Dustan,” she said without turning. “You have grown into quite the nuisance haven’t you?”
“Sorry about that.” He scanned the tree line in case she had brought friends along.
“I’m sure.” She hugged herself in the cool breeze. “Feels like rain. Can you smell it? I do enjoy the more subtle variations in weather here. Things are more dramatic in my realm.”
“This is interesting, really, it is…. No, I’m lying. You’re boring the shit outta me.”
She turned to him then. “Such manners. Can’t enemies be civil to one another?”
“I prayed for civility and a little compassion long ago. Your kind couldn’t lower yourselves for a mere human. I gave up trying.” Dustan eyed her closely, waiting. His attempts to bait her and induce her into doing something hasty fell flat.
“So short sighted. What is a year, or a hundred, when compared to ten thousand?”
“Quite a lot when you’re drowning in your own fluids.”
“Now I grow bored. Shall we do this?” She drew a slender two-foot rod from beneath her jacket. Holding it in both hands, she twisted it, an equal length of steel shot out from each end. An instant later, a straight blade sprang forth from one tip, the sides snapped outward and locked, forming a pair of hollow triangles.
“My name is Ariel.”
Shit.
Dustan yanked Blood Dancer free, the blade flaming to life in his grasp. He would not act first, not this time. The Archangel, leader of the Hunters and second only to Zaphkiel, had lured him here for a reason. He crouched in a defensive stance and waited as Ariel sized him up, creeping cat-like around the clearing. Spinning the spear, she edged closer. Dustan dug his back foot into the earth, pulse racing, hands growing slick with sweat. A clawed fist wrenched his intestines as he struggled to find the calm amidst the storm—the place where only the sound of the wind and the dance existed.
Ariel shot forward, spear extended. Braced against her forearm, four feet of the weapon jutted toward him. He raised Blood Dancer with both hands at face level, glaring over the blade. A split second before the spear penetrated his abdomen, Dustan brought the sword down, clanging steel on steel, and spun around. A high slice narrowly missed taking off the angel’s head. Ariel ducked low and kicked out with her right leg, striking Dustan behind the knees and sweeping his feet from under him. He landed hard, a whoosh of air expelled from his lungs. He placed his palms on the ground beside his head and vaulted erect.
The angel’s spear bested him in reach, but his sword was quicker. He needed to stay inside the radius of her weapon’s range. Dustan bolted forward, thrusting Blood Dancer up at an angle. Ariel halted his attack, holding the spear at its center and under her chin. She attempted to crack his skull with the lower third of the weapon, but Dustan tilted his head and caught a glancing blow above his temple. A stinging twinge pulsed around his scalp. He put his shoulder against her chest and shoved. The angel stumbled away.
Ariel regained her balance and spun, her spear diving in a high arc. Dustan lifted his sword to meet it. The jarring collision rattled his clenched teeth. He slid the blade along the spear toward the angel’s throat, a sick scrape trailing its passage. Ariel pushed down and rotated to the side, allowing his blade to slice open air adjacent to her leg. She brought the spear around and connected with his jaw. Crack. The violent contact blacked his vision. Disoriented, Dustan waved the sword blindly, hoping to block any incoming thrusts. Ariel did not press the attack. Perhaps she suspected a ruse. Either way, he was grateful for the reprieve.
He shook off the blow and readied for another pass. Ariel brandished the spear in a crouch, poised on the balls of her feet. She would certainly thwart a direct attack; her stance indicated it was precisely what she assumed would come. So, that’s exactly what Dustan did. He lunged straight on. As Ariel pivoted to stab at his open side, Dustan met her weapon with his own and batted it away. He flipped the sword in his grip and slashed backhanded toward her stomach. A bright gash sprouted on her blouse, blood and energy leaking from the wound. But only for an instant. The gaping slit in the powerful archangel’s flesh healed before his eyes.
This could go on for awhile.
He hated to drain even a small portion of his energy, but if he could take advantage of her momentary retreat and end this now, it might be his best chance. He focused his
spirit and summoned an orb to hand. The crimson sphere raced through the air toward Ariel’s torso. The angel made a rapid gesture and it exploded a yard before hitting her.
“Your tricks will not work on me,” she said with a snarl.
Dammit.
Dustan knew one more trick, but was not keen on employing it. He moved close again and as Ariel stabbed with the spear, he allowed it to pierce his side. The pain laced through his chest and down his legs. He gritted his teeth and pressed his arm over the weapon. With the spear trapped in his flesh, Dustan pivoted hard and tore it from Ariel’s grasp. He plucked the weapon from his side and dashed forward, slashing in furious fore- and backhands. The angel backpedaled, bobbing in retreat to avoid the blade’s razor edge.
I’ve got her now.
She stumbled and collapsed to a knee. As he coiled his arm, prepared for the final strike, Ariel extended her hand and made a rapid gesture, opened a portal, and leapt through.
Goddammit. No.
The gateway shimmered a stride away. Frustration and anger boiled within him. Dustan refused to let the coward escape. He followed her through.
Cliffs of jagged ice walled him on both sides. Behind, a ledge fell off, dropping more than a thousand feet onto frozen stalagmites. Ariel hovered in his path, floating head high off the glacial floor. Six Hunters, three to each side, formed ranks beside her.
A trap. This had been her intent all along, and he walked right in to it. She didn’t even need cheese.
“I could have killed you any time I chose, you know. Still, we are taking no more chances with you. You are in our realm now. Take with you to the Void the knowledge you mounted a gallant effort. Perhaps it will warm you in the Abyss.” Ariel and her Hunters chuckled.
If I’m going, I’m taking you bastards with me.
Dustan fell to his knees, Blood Dancer on the ground beside him, his fists clenched in tight balls. He summoned every ounce of rage, every moment of anguish. His energy ignited the air around him. The Hunters gasped and retreated a step, but Ariel held out a hand to calm them. The crimson glow blossomed around him and brightened with intensity. A bubble of energy encased him, sparked coils crackling the air. Ariel’s eyes went wide. An ear-shattering detonation rocked the shelf. Ice, miles thick, cracked and split. Red colored the world horizon to horizon.
Dustan glanced up. The angels were gone. He smiled weakly, collapsed…and died.
“That was either very brave or very stupid,” said a disembodied voice from somewhere above him.
“Bit o’ both, I’d say.”
Dustan recognized the voices, but his vision observed only a gray haze.
“Give the poor boy some room. Let him breathe.”
“Geras?” Dustan squeaked, his own voice small and distant.
“I’m here, my boy. Easy now.” Geras helped him to sit up, and after a moment, he gazed on his friends. Shax, Geras, Valefar, Saerna, even Aamon stood close to his bed.
“You should not frighten us so, Dustan,” said Saerna, stroking his brow.
“What happened?” He shook his head. The action sent a sharp pain around his skull and down his spine. “Aww.”
“I told you, lad, go too big, bad things happen.” Shax patted his knee and grinned.
Aamon moved to a chair near the window, appearing paler than normal, which would have seemed impossible. His hands quivered, his movements were stiff and labored.
“Aamon brought you back…again,” said Geras.
“It is becoming something of a habit.” Aamon attempted a smile that fell from his face in a downward slide.
“Near killed him and you both,” said Shax. “Took about all the power he had to haul your ass back.”
“The angels? Did I?” Dustan scanned their faces. Each wore equal amounts of worry and pride.
“One of them. A hunter, the closest to you, is no more.” Valefar, stoic as always, did reveal his satisfaction with a glint in his eye. “The other five may or may not survive.”
“And Ariel?” Dustan hoped the bitch swam the Void.
“She’ll live I’m afraid. Though, word is, she still don’t know her own name.” Shax snickered.
Aamon stood, a bit of color returned to his skin. “Do not test yourself, or me, again. I barely rescued you the first time. This time…well, this time almost sent both of us to Oblivion. I don’t blame you for how you dealt with the angels. Necessity demanded a desperate action. But you should never have followed Ariel into the spirit realm. We have warned you, it is no place for you. You are disadvantaged against them there. Contain your efforts to this world. Do we have an agreement?” He looked at Dustan with something between fatherly admonishment and concern.
“Yes. I won’t do it again.” Dustan mustered a smile. “Unless I have to.”
16
Dreams and Other Realities
Geras, self-appointed physician in the matter, mandated Dustan rest for at least a few days. Dustan voiced no complaint. Aside from feeling as if he had gone ten rounds with Godzilla, his emotional and mental reserves ran low. After more than a century and a half constantly moving city to city, stalking and fighting, both the spirit and the human sides of him felt drained.
“Can’t believe you kicked Ariel’s ass.” Shax sat in the recliner flipping through channels with the remote control. He particularly favored reality shows, saying they made him feel smart.
“Employed the nuclear option. Not a safe strategy on a regular basis,” said Dustan.
“I’d say not. But still, not many have faced Ariel and her Hunters and lived to tell about it. Actually, none I can think of.”
“It was surreal. I’ve been in the spirit realm before. Once after the ceremony, and the short hops with you, but this was different. The first time seemed more like a dream, and I don’t see much jumping portals. The spirit realm felt otherworldly, but…I don’t know how to explain it. It felt like home.”
Shax peered up at Dustan. “Only natural I suspect. You’re part spirit after all. Still, don’t go visiting without a guide. No place for humans, even half ones.”
“Yeah. It seemed like here, but not here. Oh hell, how to explain it? Déjà vu sort of thing. Like I knew the place, I mean more than one trip there in a dream state. Am I making any sense?”
“I hear you. The realms formed different, but they all share the same laws. Gravity, evolution, all that jazz. Take Ariel hovering above the ground. Gravity in our realm is less than here. Similar to how the moon’s is less. You know we’re faster, stronger and all, even here. Multiply it a few dozen times, and you get an idea of how we are in the spirit world. Even so, when every being and creature can do it, ain’t as big a deal.”
“How would I be there?” Dustan took a sip of the broth Geras made for him. Tasted like shit, but he hated not to drink it after the old man went to the trouble.
“Hmm, no idea. I suspect your spirit form would be dominant, with the human tagging along. Opposite of what it is here.” Shax shrugged. “Don’t matter. You ain’t going back any time soon. Meaning…never.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Dustan worried at the back of his neck with stiff fingers. “Why do you think Ariel lured me into the spirit realm? You said they wanted to kill my human half?”
“Got tired of messing around looks like. You’ve been kicking their asses for a long time now. Enough’s enough, I reckon. Figured kill the demon part and you’d either die in the spirit world or return here where’d you no longer be a threat.”
“They could’ve done that long ago.” Dustan still had trouble following much of Shax’s logic, that his explanations often skirted the borders of reason did not help.
“Na, you wouldn’t have followed an angel into our realm before. Didn’t even realize you could. Doubt you would have jumped in after anyone short of an archangel. And you didn’t warrant that kind of attention until now.”
“No, I wouldn’t have. The chance to take her out…. And she really pissed me off, made me…”
�
�Stupid?” Shax chuckled.
“Why not use a gun? Just shoot me and be done with it?” Dustan didn’t like to consider the idea. Forced to use Blood Dancer, if they would shoot him…game over.”
“Can’t use guns in the spirit realm. They don’t work. Ask Geras if you want the physics. All I know is our energy powers our weapons and need to be holding it for that to happen. A few, like you done yerself, can throw a wad of energy. No one’s managed to energize a bullet…yet. Thank sweet baby Jesus. Figure o’ speech.”
“Doesn’t explain why they don’t use them on me here.”
“They very well may now. I think etiquette’s out the window after what you did to Ariel and her Hunters. Before, boiled down again to arrogance. Needing to shoot a weak, meat sack halfbreed? Get them laughed out of Heaven. No, gotta stick the blade in, feel it twist in the innards. Sling the hammer, feel the crunch of the skull.”
“Okay, that’s brutal.” The broth roiled in Dustan’s stomach.
“We’re a stubborn bunch. Old school, as the kids say now days. With several hundred millennia doing things pretty much the same way…. Well, nothing’s slower to change than an angel or demon. Even so, desperation has a way of altering one’s thinking. Might want to invest in a bulletproof vest.” Shax arched an eyebrow.
“Great. Freaking great.”
“Chin up, lad. Enjoy your victory. You deserve it.” He grabbed his hat, a John Deere baseball cap, and popped it on his head. “Well, I’m off. Try to get some rest. We’ll be back at it soon enough.”
Dustan nodded and watched the dwarf disappear. He flicked off the TV and rolled onto his side, asleep in minutes. In a dream, he met his father. His eyes and nose were visible this time, unlike the fever-dream so long ago. The mouth, ears, and scalp remained hidden beneath a fleshy membrane stretched taut over his head. Dull gray eyes stared at Dustan from atop an icy mound of bone and rock. His father moved down the opposite slope. Dustan followed.
Blood for the Dancer Page 13
