Tears of Blood

by Simone Beaudelaire

  She crossed her arms over her chest. "There is not."

  "No?" He raised his eyebrows. "Then how did you give up on your chastity so easily? I know you, Hannah. You don’t want this; a clumsy lay in the meadow. Is that what all your talk of chastity, all your leadership of your peers has amounted to? I’m disappointed in you."

  Seen that way, Annie flushed. Yes, she’d been vocal in the youth meetings. And now here she was, rolling in the grass like a hypocrite. She shook some flowers from her hair.

  "I’ve behaved badly," she said, casting her eyes at the ground. Then she met her grandfather’s gaze boldly again. "But it was my decision. Don’t blame Josiah. After all, he’s one quarter angel. There must be more goodness there than bad."

  "I don’t know," her grandfather replied, his dark eyes focusing on the horizon. "Of all nephilim, I least would have suspected Lucien of improper behavior. He’s just been promoted to general. And yet he was the one who broke his vows, who brought his infant to us to raise. There is weakness in his line. It shows in his son."

  "No!" Annie shook her head, rejecting his words. "Lucien is our hero. If anyone can get us through the battle, it’s him. And there’s nothing wrong with Josiah. He’s just a young man. And he loves me."

  "He’s said so?" The old man raised one bushy white eyebrow.

  "Not yet," Annie mumbled.

  "Annie."

  "What?"

  "He’s not for you."

  "Why am I here then?" she demanded.

  "What do you mean?" There. Now she had his attention.

  "Since I was a child, you’ve prevented me from learning to fight. I assumed it was because I was supposed to be with Josiah, our future champion. You never intended that, did you?"

  "No." His blunt admission was like a stiletto to the gut.

  "Then why am I here? What need does the order have of me?"

  His eyes went far away. "I don’t exactly know. For one thing, this is the best way I have to keep you safe from what’s coming. But... there’s something. Argh, why can’t I grasp it? I don’t have an answer, except that I just know if you leave, all is lost. Please, Annie. Please don’t make Josiah more than all of us."

  Nothing further needed to be said. He gave her a long look and walked away. Anne sank down in the grass and wept.

  ***

  Mr. Smith wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. He’d lost so much over the long decades of his life. His wife, Mary, with her beautiful golden hair. Their daughter Pearl and her husband Jacob. His grandson. Annie was all he had left. And he hadn’t lied to her. The partial vision he received so often when he looked at her made it clear that she was the key to so many things he didn’t fully understand. But one thing was certain. The war was coming. There was no avoiding it. What was unclear was whether any of them would survive.

  Mr. Smith squeezed against the wall as a herd of teenage boys galloped past him, their sneakers thundering on the tile like hooves. As they passed, he heard one call to the other, "Race you for the assault riffle."

  "You’re on, dude," the second boy agreed. With a roar of adolescent exuberance, the pair shoved their way to the head of the pack and burst through the rough-hewn door into the courtyard.

  Shaking his head, he reached the end of the corridor and turned left, eventually arriving at the apartment Josiah shared with three other young men. He found the green eyed youth flopped on his lower bunk, his chin in his hand, looking out the window.

  Mr. Smith cleared his throat and Josiah jumped to his feet. Every instinct the older man possessed urged him to put this overzealous puppy in his place. His hands itched. His teeth clenched. "Well, Josiah," he said, his voice all but a snarl, "explain yourself."

  "I don’t think I can, sir. I didn’t... plan to do that." The green eyes were fixed on one white tile on the floor between them.

  "Look me in the eyes, son, when you talk to me," Mr. Smith insisted, "or have you learned nothing in all the years you’ve lived with us?"

  Josiah looked up. Mr. Smith suppressed a shudder. What was it about those eyes which always made him uncomfortable?

  The two men regarded each other in silence, each wondering what he should say. At last, Mr. Smith spoke.

  "It was a mistake to take you in, Josiah. You should never have existed."

  The young man ground his teeth. "I’ve always known you felt that way, sir. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t thrown me out."

  "You’re not of age. But I swear by heaven, Josiah Angelson, if you ever go near my granddaughter again, I will. It’s over between you. Is that clear?"

  Josiah’s eyes widened. "Sir, no, please. I swear, I’ll never do anything like that again. I love her. Don’t separate us. Please."

  "My decision is made," Mr. Smith’s rage expressed itself as icy control. "Her safety is key to our survival. Yours isn’t. You will leave her alone from this day forward. If I hear you’ve so much as said hello to her, you’re done with us."

  Josiah closed his eyes and swallowed. "Yes, sir," he said softly, but Mr. Smith saw the flash of rebellious stubbornness in those unsettling green orbs. This wasn’t over, and they both knew it.

  ***

  Josiah peeked out into the hallway. It was clear. Thank God. Mr. Smith was gone. He didn’t want to see the old bastard ever again. He tiptoed down to the right. Something tickled his cheek and he swiped his sleeve over it. Damn it, he wasn’t going to cry. Another tear replaced the first one instantly. Then another. Josiah drew in shaky, unsettled breaths as he made his way to the naphil dormitory. He needed his father. He threw open the door. Empty. Josiah closed his eyes. He’d forgotten. All the nephilim had been sent out on a huge mission. A nest of succubae in Los Angeles. His father was gone. Humiliated, heartbroken, and despairing, he’d been left completely alone.

  Part III

  Chapter 13

  Las Vegas 1999

  The Assassin crept from shadow to shadow, not as invisible as the nephilim, but as invisible as a highly trained human could be. The uniform which concealed the identity of the small figure crouched behind the abandoned blue sedan was designed to resemble the ninjas of bygone centuries, but it was white, not black. Only a pair of brown eyes showed above the face mask.

  The figure crept out from behind the car in hot pursuit of the apparent heat shimmer which signified a half-angel was on the hunt.

  It was not, perhaps, necessary for The Assassin to hide. In this strange town, a person dressed in a white ninja costume would attract very little attention. It would simply be assumed to be part of a stage show or publicity stunt.

  Here in the desert, any shimmering lights on the city streets were dismissed as tricks of the heat, or of the neon lights which altered the environment at all hours.

  The Assassin was fairly sure which naphil was under surveillance tonight. The big black half-angel Lucien had been sent to roust out a nest of succubae hidden inside a brothel which masqueraded as a strip club.

  Intelligence suggested at least five demonesses were hiding behind that neon sign. It would be a lot for the naphil to handle alone, and it had been decided that backup was needed. He would not be thankful, but the command had been unequivocal.

  Arriving at the club, The Assassin slipped through the door, unnoticed by a burly bouncer with blond hair and bulging muscles. IT seemed he had been selected more for show than intelligence or skill.

  Inside the dim interior, it was easier to track the shimmer past the dance floors where three women and a succubus were twisting, half-naked, around poles embedded in the floor and ceiling. They progressed through a beaded curtain, to a back room where men sat on chairs while naked girls squirmed and twisted on their laps. In the corner, one overweight succubus soaked in the lust. So immersed was she in the spectacle of the lap dancers that she did not recognize the angelic being in front of her until it was too late.

  The lights dimmed as the sword, cleverly concealed in the fluorescent lighting, thrust into her bloated belly. A shriek, perceived by
mortals – including The Assassin – as the squeal of brakes, pierced the night.

  And then, without pausing, the naphil moved on, past a doorway emblazoned with a sign reading "employees only." The Assassin sneaked in just as the door swung shut. Inside were five beds. In three of them, succubae were feeding on the lust of men with whom they were copulating. These demonesses were more aware than their friend, and they quickly abandoned their prey, converging on three sides of the glimmering creature, claws and fangs extended.

  The naphil materialized quickly. As The Assassin had suspected, it was Lucien. His sword flashed, but the wary, serpentine women dodged his parries, ducking in to slash at him while his attention was diverted. It was quickly becoming obvious he would need help.

  On the bed, the men lay all but dead, drained of their will. Lucien and The Assassin had been too late to save them... well almost.

  Pulling a short knife from the belt of the costume, The Assassin quickly put the three drones out of their misery with a quick slash across the throat, then approached the battle.

  The angel was tiring, and only one succubus was bleeding. As two engaged him from before, one sneaked in behind, attempting to hamstring him.

  The Assassin flew into action, sliding across the polished wood floor on soft-soled shoes and thrusting the dagger into the demon woman’s spine.

  She shrieked as she died, bursting into golden dust, and the other two stopped dead, wondering what had happened.

  That pause was all Lucien needed to finish them both.

  He then turned towards the small figure before him, his eyes narrowed. "Why are you here, Assassin?"

  "I never know the reason, Naphil. I go where I am sent, and do what I can to help."

  "I do not need help from a human."

  The Assassin did not point out that he was clearly not correct, at least not this time. Enraging a semi-divine being was not a healthy thing to do. "I’ll just go then. Good luck, sir."

  The naphil nodded. The Assassin drew arms around and muttered the words which would cause relocation.

  Eyes closed against the dizzying sensation of such rapid movement,The Assassin shifted. The artificial light of the city gave way to the burning red of the desert. At the edge of the Mojave, a silver travel trailer baked in the sun.

  A small, red-haired woman with green eyes climbed down the stairs, a welcoming smile on her face.

  "Oh, there you are, my dear." She wrapped her arms around the figure, "What news?"

  "I’ve been with your naphil. He’s safe as of two minutes ago."

  "Oh, thank the Creator. And my son?"

  "I saw him a week ago. He’s angry, conflicted, but well enough."

  "And you, little one?"

  "Nothing to signify. Do you have anything for us, Sarahi?"

  "Oh yes, so much. Come inside. I’ll make you some iced tea, and we’ll talk. But take off that mask, love. It’s much too hot for so heavy a covering."

  Nodding, The Assassin opened the mask and lowered the hood before following the turncoat succubus into the trailer.

  ***

  Josiah aimed a shotgun and fired. Finally he was tall and muscular enough to take the recoil without reacting. His peers had stopped growing years ago, and he’d finally caught up with them. The shot spread wide, just to the right of the bull’s-eye, fanning out. If that had been a succubus, she’d be dead. Though he had yet to see it himself, the older men said they dissolved in golden dust. He couldn’t wait to experience that someday. In a way, he was grateful to the succubae. Because he was allowed to hate them, it took the pressure off everyone else he hated. Josiah pumped the shotgun and fired again, this time imagining Mr. Smith’s head on top of the target. Direct hit. Damned old man. He closed his eyes against a sudden sting. Annie. Sweet Annie. Now forbidden. He’d loved her so much. It had not been his intention, in that field, to seduce her. He only had wanted a kiss. But her touch, for the first time, set him on fire in ways he couldn’t explain, and he could remember, vaguely, willing her to submit. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Only to be as close to her as possible. He opened his eyes and turned to look at the window on the far side of the compound. The elder council’s meeting hall. She was there. He could see her mass of milk chocolate curls bouncing as she pulled a musty tome down from the shelf. As she stretched, her slender shape strained her loose blouse. A sizzle of heat shot through his loins. Try though he might, he could not abandon his love for Annie. He desired her beyond sense, beyond reason. Someday, somehow, he would have her. But first he had to prove himself. He returned his attention to the shot-riddled target. Behind, the trees were in the full bloom of summer. Hot sun beat down on his head, but still, despite it all, a cool breeze wafted, bringing the scent of pine over the compound. Compensate for the wind. Steady yourself. Calm. Slow breathing and heartbeat. Focus. Josiah’s finger squeezed on the trigger. That’s for you again, Mr. Smith, with your damned self-righteous bullshit. BANG! And for you, Father. Never listen. You think you know it all. BANG! And for you, Mother, whoever you are. His finger faltered. A rosy haze seemed for a moment to be dancing on the breeze. Peter. BANG!

  ***

  Through the window, Annie heard the target practice. She hurried over, the book forgotten in her hand. Watching Josiah handle that weapon with such skill was far more interesting than prophecies of the incubus. So she was training to be a teacher, later a leader of the elder council. For now she was a young woman. She was more interested in boys than books. And this boy in particular. His bicep bulged as he hefted the shotgun, and several shots exploded from the muzzle in rapid succession. Tattered remnants of paper flapped in the breeze. He had really beaten the hell out of the target. She wondered what he pictured when he shot the gun. All the grand adventures he’d be having once he passed his qualification exams, no doubt.

  She wished the day would never come. It was excruciating watching him work, noting a little bead of sweat which rolled down the back of his neck. She smiled. Then her smile faded. Every night, some mad voice in her head urged her to creep down the hall to his bedroom and climb into bed with him, to finish what they’d started in the meadow. She blushed just thinking about it. Other boys had asked her to sit with them at lunch, or to walk with them in the courtyard in the evening. She’d turned them all down. She didn’t foresee changing that in the near future.

  A clashing sound drew her attention to the far side of the courtyard, where two young men were sparring with blunted daggers. Back before she’d been forbidden any contact with Josiah or with weapons, she’d been one of the best at that. In fact, the excuse for denying her access to the practice field was that her ability discouraged the boys. Sigh. While she wanted to remain part of the clerical order, and do what she could in the battle they all knew was coming, she had to admit, this was a very old-fashioned society.

  ***

  The black fire which barely illuminated the interior of the hive where Lilith resided also put out little heat. Naked demonesses shivered in the corners of the room, their emerald eyes gleaming like lamps as they converted the dim flame into useful illumination. On the bed, the long, pale body of the demon queen writhed. A low moan echoed from her full lips. Then she let out a long hiss. Beside her a drone screamed, and then his scream was cut off as her long talons crushed his throat.

  "Mother," a succubus who stood a safe distance from the range of those deadly claws said, "it’s time."

  "I know that, idiot," the demon snarled. "I’ve done this thousands of times." She bore down, her fangs grinding together. One long tooth speared her lower lip and black blood dripped down her chin.

  From the foot of the bed, a long-haired woman reached out and scooped up the tiny creature who had just emerged from Lilith’s body.

  "Hello, sister," she whispered to the infant, a tiny girl with a wisp of golden hair and glowing green eyes. "Welcome." She wiped blood from the baby’s face and body with a towel and then wrapped the little one in a blanket.

  "Well?" Lilith snarled. />
  "Another fine daughter," the succubus said hesitantly. Lilith howled in rage and rose to her knees, swiping claws in the direction of her two daughters. The succubus turned to the side, protecting the baby and receiving four deep gouges in her arm. Blood spurted from the wound and the succubus' teeth set, but she did not cry out.

  "Another girl?! Always another girl," she hissed in disgust. "For centuries I have tried for a son. Why can I not have one? When will the promised incubus arrive?"

  "Mother?" A sly voice emerged from the shadows, followed by a golden-haired demoness with a devious expression.

  "Yes, Jezebel?" Lilith addressed her most loyal and dangerous daughter.

  "Suppose we have misunderstood some part of the prophecy?"

  "What do you mean?" When Jezebel spoke, Lilith always listened. That Salome knew. She cuddled her newborn sister to her chest and slipped from the end of the bed, withdrawing to a hidden alcove where she could eavesdrop without being seen.

  "Just this," Jezebel replied. "I have seen something which gives me deep suspicion. I went to visit one of the sisters some time ago, and she was holding a child. She said she was seducing his father. But now I wonder. Why would that have been necessary? We succubae have powers and need no such petty tricks."

  "His?" The demon queen’s voice was low and dangerous.

  "Yes. A baby boy with the most striking green eyes, and then..."