Speak Thy Name (The Nephilim Book 3)

by Dana Marie Bell

  “Watch this.” Damien kneeled and picked up a small piece of the flooring, about two inches square. Below it was a keyhole.

  “I’d never have found that,” Damien muttered, sliding the key into the lock. It fit. He turned it, not surprised when a whole section of floor popped up, large enough for them to fit single file. “Good job, guys.”

  Piotr and Dante lifted the floor, moving it on its hidden hinges until it lay against the rest of the floor. The opening showed a dark staircase leading down. “We have stairs to the basement,” Piotr whispered, informing the rest of the Nephilim.

  “Do not go down until we reach you,” Micah ordered.

  Piotr and Dante exchanged a glance, Piotr gesturing for Dante to go first. He shook his head, warning them not to—

  Dante put his foot on the first step, testing to see if it creaked. The more weight he put on it the more satisfied he seemed. He took the first step just as the back door opened.

  “Going somewhere?” Gio drawled.

  Dante rolled his eyes, ignoring his brother as he put his weight on the second step. “If this is a booby trap, tell Ma I love her.”

  “Tell her yourself, stronzo. I’ll carry your worthless ass all the way to her.” Gio led his team into the room. “I’m sure Beth will help.”

  Dante flipped his brother off.

  Gio just grinned as he joined them. “The loading bays are clear.”

  “We’re almost done in the offices. Dante, get your ass off the stairs.” Micah’s chastising tone had Dante practically jumping out of the opening. “Keep your asses in that room until I get there. Keep searching. There might be even more surprises for us.”

  Now that was a good idea. Damien went back to the meat hooks, twisting and turning them, wondering if one of them would lead to something else, like another secret passage. Piotr had returned to the spice table, frowning as he looked over the bottles. The others wandered, poking at the machinery, fiddling with the tables, and generally making the huge room feel small.

  None of the hooks at head height seemed to do anything. The ones higher up he’d have to wait for someone who could fly, or perhaps Sasha could conjure a polearm or something. “Hey, Sasha?”

  “Yeah?” The tall Knight came over and stared at what Damien was doing. “Oh, you want me to check out the upper hooks?”

  “Yup. Just don’t knock one down on someone’s head.” Damien took a step back as Sasha plucked some sort of hooked polearm out of thin air. The weapon glowed an electric blue with lighter blue sparks flying off of it every few seconds.

  Sasha chuckled. “That would be bad.” He began carefully nudging the upper hooks, cringing every time it looked like one might come crashing to the floor. Damien kept back, watching each one, listening for something other than the clang of heavy metal moving on metal.

  Nothing.

  “We’re here.” Micah strolled into the room, followed by Seth and Zeke. They looked a little dirty, but no worse for wear. “Other than some old paperwork Seth insisted on taking, we found nothing.”

  “Some of that paperwork pertained to distribution lines.” Seth frowned at Micah before turning to Dante. “You know what some of that could mean.”

  “Depends on whether or not they’re a hundred years old or a hundred days, but I get your point.”

  “Keeping it on paper is far more secure than on the computer. You can’t hack paper.” Damien moved to the opening. “We ready to descend into hell?” Now that the trap door was open, the Shem stench moved toward them like a fog bank in a breeze, rolling just beneath the first step. “It’s thick down there.”

  Micah made a disgusted face. “Oh, yeah, it’s ripe.”

  “How come I can see it now but I couldn’t earlier?” Zeke kneeled by the opening and poked a finger at the stench.

  “Good question.” Damien looked at the underside of the door and cursed. “Look here. There’s something written into the wood, something in a demonic language. We’ve got a really smart Malachi at work here.” This was the second time he’d run across something like this. Damien had never thought of using the angelic language as runes, but he’d barely learned he could speak it without hurting himself. He’d have to look into using it, and his powers, more efficiently when he got home.

  “Spiritual Febreeze.” Dante shook his head like he was clearing away his thoughts. “Ready to go down?”

  “Me first,” Micah ordered. Damien nodded and took his place. He didn’t need to bring up his other sight, not yet. He hoped he wouldn’t have to at all. He didn’t want to leave this building blind. Something told him that would be a bad idea. His skin crawled as he stepped down into the Shem fog. It slithered over his skin, almost alive in its movements. He wanted to gag as he breathed it in, the smell overwhelming him.

  “Fuck!” Micah’s bellow startled him so badly he almost fell. “We’ve got multiple Shem!”

  The rest of his brothers in arms began to race down the stairs, Piotr almost pushing past him as they tried to get to those brothers at the bottom of the steps. Damien hit the landing and whirled out of the way of his brothers, prepared to kill any Shem close enough to feel his wrath.

  The room was immense, taking up the whole footprint of the warehouse. It wasn’t so big, however, that he couldn’t see the horror that awaited them.

  There, on metal tables, tubes running out of their arms, were the missing Nephilim Eli had told them about. Some had obviously been tortured, with burn marks and whip lines, both fresh and old, marring their skin. All around the room Shem moved, taking bags of blood and handing them off to a blonde woman with a cooler.

  Already Micah was attacking, a glowing sword in his hand. Damien didn’t know the extent of Micah’s powers, but Micah was the closest of them all to a true angel. Damien suspected that Micah was a Fallen, an angel like Gabriel who hadn’t returned to heaven but had chosen to remain behind for whatever reason. Micah didn’t talk about it, and Damien didn’t pry.

  Seth was also there, his sword a normal one but just as deadly.

  Damien ran to the left, ducking Shem and Neph alike until he could find a spot perfect for shooting the enemy. He climbed atop some boxes, mapping the room with his mind in case he had to teleport away.

  The battle was on.

  Chapter 29

  Damn. I wish I had a sniper rifle. Damien took aim and fired at one of the Shem harassing Gio but missed. The room was so big that he could only fire on a certain portion of it if he had any hope of hitting what he aimed at. The silencer kept the shots quiet, but it also impacted his range. Taking off the silencer would improve his range but would also be heard from the street. Until Micah told him otherwise, Damien was going to keep the silencer on and fire at those Shem closest to him.

  So he wedged himself between some boxes and took aim again, firing once more at the Shem going hand-to-hand with Gio. This time he hit, causing a spray of Shem blood to spurt into the air, adding its foul scent to the Shem stench surrounding him. The Shem shrieked as he went down, dead within seconds from the flow of arterial blood coming from him.

  Gio nodded once and moved on to his next target.

  Damien kept part of his awareness on the battle in front of him. Micah had just decapitated a Shem Knight. Seth was going toe-to-toe with what appeared to be a Legionnaire from the size of the metal table he was using as a shield. Sasha and Zeke had another Shem pinned down, but that one was using a firearm like Damien’s, silencer and all. He was too far away for Damien to do anything about it, but Piotr took care of the problem by shooting the fucker himself. Piotr got the Shem right between the eyes, dropping him instantly.

  Damien sighted down the barrel at another Shem, one that was coming straight for him. His target ducked and Damien missed. Cursing, he fired again, but the Shem was getting dangerously close. He could see the creature’s claws, for fuck’s sake.

  Time to teleport.

  Damien took a breath and used his power to move himself back to the staircase. The Shem cursed
, but Damien was all the way across the room now, and Micah was on his ass in seconds. The Shem went down under Micah’s shining blade.

  Damien crouched and took another shot. Damn it. He needed to learn more hand-to-hand combat, maybe with knives, but he was no Legionnaire or Knight. He wasn’t built to take the brunt of combat like Zeke, Sasha, and Gio. Hell, even Dante and Seth were holding their own. Only Piotr…

  No. Fuck. Piotr had holstered his gun and taken out a pair of thick, wickedly curved knives. He was going to town on the Shem, almost dancing with them as he bled them dry. He sliced and diced his way through the enemy, surprising Damien with his elegant fury.

  Damien shook his head and took his gaze off of Piotr. There were so many Shem down here, possibly the entire Armitage family, at least in the tristate area. Perhaps even Peter Jr. was here, but that was too much to hope for.

  Damien took out another Shem as he teleported closer to Seth. “Look for Peter Jr. He’s the key to ending this.” They’d all seen a picture of him at one point or another during their research into Armitage Computing, so finding him should be relatively easy if the man was in the room.

  “Right.” Seth glanced around as Damien returned his attention once more to the battle.

  His brothers were covertly looking around, trying to find the man they hunted, but the Shem kept them pretty busy. It was up to Damien to find out if the head of the snake was in the building or not, since he wasn’t engaging hand-to-hand like the others were.

  He teleported around, landing on tables, crates, anything that would give him a view above the heads of those in battle, searching constantly for the image of Peter Armitage in the melee.

  Before too long he did find him, battling Piotr. “I have visual on Peter Armitage. He’s the one fighting Piotr.”

  Micah’s head whipped around. He was the only one close enough to get to Piotr, but before he could do so, a blonde female engaged him, using fire to force him back. A Seris, like Dante, then.

  Damien took aim at Peter, but before he could get his shot off, an arm came around his neck and yanked him backward. His gun fell out of his hand, forcing him to struggle with his assailant using only his fists and his wits.

  The Shem kept pulling him backward, but Damien could still breathe, and if he could still breathe, he could speak.

  Damien opened his mouth and allowed the angelic tongue to flow, speaking words that healed both soul and heart, directing his words to his brothers so that their wounds healed and their energy was renewed. He spoke of Cherubim and Seraphim, of the names of the angels and their functions, anything that came to mind. He used his words as a weapon, directing them at the Shem, causing them to cry out in pain.

  The Shem holding him dropped him. He turned to find a female Shem covering her ears, her blackened lips parted in a shriek. He continued to speak, now directing his words to her. She began to shudder, vibrating faster and faster as his voice rose, his words spoken in righteous anger. Dark blood seeped from her eye sockets as her eyes rolled back in her head. She fell to the floor, dead.

  Silence. All of the fighting had stopped as the Shem stared in horror at what Damien had done.

  Damien turned to the other Shem and smirked. “Boo.”

  The Shem began to scatter, some up the stairs, some trying to dig their way through the walls, desperate to get away from him. The Nephilim were mowing them down now, the Shem barely a threat in their attempt to flee Damien’s words.

  Piotr was running across the tables, uncaring of whom he stepped on, in obvious pursuit of one particular Shem heading for the stairs. Peter Armitage was pushing his way through the Shem blocking him, forcing them back and down with his strength. A Legionnaire, then, one of the strongest. He should have been able to break Piotr like a twig, but somehow Piotr had held his own when Peter was fighting him with everything he had. Now the Shem was broken, frantic to get away.

  Damien teleported to the top of the stairs and crossed his arms over his chest. “Going somewhere?”

  The Shem shrieked at him. One opened his mouth, possibly to speak in the demonic tongue, but Piotr was there first, shoving his heavy blade through the back of the Shem.

  “Spasibo,” Damien said, thanking Piotr in his native tongue.

  “Pazhalooysta,” Piotr replied. His silver gaze narrowed in on his target. “Tell me, Mr. Armitage. Do you believe in God?”

  Damien smiled, waiting in case Piotr needed help. The other Shem were frozen between them, unmoving, watching Damien like he was a snake about to strike.

  It was Piotr they should have kept their eyes on, because before Peter Armitage could say one word, both blades were in his throat. “Idí k córtu!” Piotr scissored his arms, removing Armitage’s head from his shoulders in a smooth gliding motion that Damien envied. He truly hoped that, like Piotr wished, Peter Armitage went straight to the devil.

  Peter Armitage’s head rolled past Piotr, thumping down the stairs and landing at the bottom before rolling to a stop at the feet of the same blonde Shem who’d done her best to keep Micah from reaching him. She looked at Piotr with hatred in her eyes before lifting her hand. She held something, a black something with an…antenna?

  “Good-bye, Mr. Romanov.”

  Shit. She knew Piotr’s name. She had to—

  Sound, roaring in his ears, so loud it pummeled his skin. Flames, bricks flying through the air, heat enough to blister his already bruised flesh.

  When he opened his eyes he found he was on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the meat preparation room. “Fuck.” He got up, swaying dizzily, his hand reaching into space for something, anything to help him remain on his feet. He almost fell, but he managed to make his way back to the staircase.

  The Shem stench was almost gone, subsumed by the very human smoke that was coming from the basement. That bitch had set off a bomb, probably killing everyone down there.

  No. He couldn’t accept that. He refused to believe that his friends, his brothers in arms, were dead. Damien brought forth his other sight, trying desperately to find the light that filled a Nephilim heart.

  There. A faint glow at the bottom of the steps. That had to be Piotr, alive but injured, his sins barely there. Damien dashed down the stairs, coughing through smoke and brick dust. He grabbed Piotr under the arms and dragged him up the steps, leaving him on the floor.

  Heading back down, he realized that Piotr had been the closest. Some of his brothers were under a fall of bricks, still others splayed across tables. Some were more injured than others. “Is anyone awake?” A groan sounded in his ear, vaguely familiar. “Seth?”

  “Yeah. Here.” Brilliant turquoise wings flashed in his sight, Seth’s body covered in red dust. He was one of those splayed across a table. He sat up gingerly, feeling his head. With all of that red dust covering him Damien couldn’t tell if Seth was bleeding or not, but they had to get the others up the stairs before time ran out. Unless he was mistaken, the walls were going to come down. Or worse, the remaining Shem would return and hand them their asses.

  “Can you move?” Damien looked for the worst cases. He should be able to teleport some of them upstairs, but some would have to be at least partially dug out before he could.

  “No. I think my leg is broken.” Seth was breathless with pain, his words coming in between gasps for air. “I also think I either broke or bruised a rib.”

  “Fuck.” He rushed to Seth’s side, coughing viciously the whole way. “Hang on.” He grabbed hold of Seth and teleported them upstairs. He helped Seth sit next to the still unconscious Piotr.

  “Thanks.” Seth gazed up at him, his eyes brilliant in Damien’s sight. “You’ll need to speak to wake the others.”

  Speak. Of course! He could heal them at least partially, possibly enough that they could free themselves. Damien gulped in somewhat fresh air before diving once more to the bottom of the steps.

  He opened his mouth, praying this worked, and began to speak in the angelic tongue one more time. He spoke of love and fri
endship, of brotherhood, of ties stronger than blood. He spoke words of healing, of mending flesh and broken bones, of blood flowing where it was supposed to. It was clumsy, inelegant, but the life forces of his brothers grew stronger while those of the remaining Shem died down, snuffed out like candles in a storm. He just hoped the blonde bitch was among them, because he couldn’t tell if she was there or if she’d managed to escape.

  Before long, he saw some of the bricks heave. Gio stepped out of the rubble, shaking dust out of his hair and coughing. “Damien?”

  “Get to the stairs.” Damn, was that his voice? He sounded so raspy he was surprised Gio could understand him. He swallowed, enduring the rough, painful contraction. It couldn’t have hurt worse if someone shoved a belt sander down his throat and turned it on high.

  Gio did as told, wobbling up the stairs like a drunken sailor.

  None of the others responded, not even a peep. It was up to him to find them and teleport their asses upstairs.

  He took care of Rafe, Sasha, and Dante first. They, like Seth, had landed against tables and had varying degrees of broken limbs. He started with Rafe, who’d been closest to the blast yet farthest from the stairs. He was the most damaged, so Damien began to speak as he teleported, hoping that the little bit of energy he could give to the Azar would help him heal faster.

  One by one he got his friends out, the smoke irritating his eyes, his voice becoming more and more hoarse. Still he spoke, teleporting them to the upper level. He burned his hands pulling Micah free of a beam on fire. Had he been right? Was the ceiling, the floor above them, about to collapse? It would bring all of them back down here and bury alive those left. Fucking hell. He had to go faster.

  By the time he got the last of them upstairs, Gio had begun moving the others to the waiting van outside. When he’d left and brought it around to the front of the building, Damien didn’t know, but he was grateful for it now. He could no longer see anything thanks to the doubling of his vision and the dust in his eyes. His hands burned and itched at the same time, and his voice, his greatest weapon, was nearly destroyed. He could no longer swallow, and his tongue was swollen in his mouth.