Watchers of the Fallen (Second Death Book 1)

by Brian Rella

  She had used Arraziel to hurt the family, but that didn’t explain where her stepsister Marie was, why she had killed Olga, or where she had gone after she took care of them.

  Where would a young girl go? He glanced back into the master bedroom. Clothes were tangled and thrown about the room. It looked like she might have packed a bag with her mother’s clothes. Frank saw a handbag on the floor of the room. It was not something a young girl would use. It looked like it belonged to the mother. He went over to it and opened it. Inside were makeup, tissues, house keys, and a tampon.

  No wallet. Maybe Jessie took it?

  Frank quickly checked the rest of the house for anything else that might give a clue where the girl went and found nothing. Maybe she’s using the mother’s credit. It was at least a possibility that the girl was impersonating her mother and using her mother’s funds to get away—and if he was lucky, her credit cards.

  He went back to the living room, and snapped photos of the credit card statements from the coffee table with his phone. He emailed the pictures to Brennan, asking him to run the card and see if they’d been used recently.

  He left the house through the back door, locked the door behind him, turned to leave, and heard a loud squeal from his right. He turned in time to see a pig racing at him.

  He jumped away, landing in a crouch, and stared in disbelief.

  Marie.

  19

  FRANK

  October 20, 2015

  Beauchamp, Louisiana

  The pig made a U-turn and charged at him. Frank gazed into the pig’s eyes and green light gleamed at him as the pig rushed toward him.

  “Marie,” Frank said. The pig stopped in its tracks, staring at him. It cried an almost human cry, scraped its hoof on the grass, and attacked again.

  Frank leaped over it and its head went crashing into the back door. It squealed in anger, turned, lowered its head, and charged again. Frank could see the fury in her eyes.

  “This isn’t going to end well for you, porky,” Frank said.

  The beast feigned to the left, then struck to the right, grazing Frank on the leg. Frank spun and regained his balance.

  “Enough,” he said.

  The pig turned, roared, and charged.

  “God damn it,” Frank said in frustration. “Nas’u’athu,” he said, and the pig fell before him, and slept at his feet. He placed his hand on the pig’s head, closed his eyes, focused his thoughts, and connected to its mind.

  Simple pictures formed in Frank’s head. A young, curvy girl with brown hair, who looked to be about sixteen or seventeen. Marie. He cycled through Marie’s memories, watching what happened to her.

  Marie entered Jessie’s bedroom, startled by the ruckus she heard. The demon Arraziel was beating a man with a belt. Her father, Steve. Frank sensed the fear and anger in Marie as she ran to her father’s side on the floor.

  A terrible power seized her by the throat and pulled her up into the air. She stared into the eyes of Arraziel.

  The replay of Marie’s memories went through Frank’s mind. He felt the girl’s emotions; the jealousy she had toward Jessie, and the anger. The anger Marie felt at Jessie having a mother and a nice home. Marie had been frightened and terrified without her mother and a drunk for a father. Frank sensed her rage at Jessie for having the things she so needed. He saw what she wanted do to Jessie. She wants her dead.

  Frank’s stomach sank as Arraziel transformed Marie into a pig. He squirmed as he felt the stretching and twisting of her bones and skin. Her evolution complete, she had run into the woods across the street from the house and stayed there, trembling, unsure of what had happened to her. Her memories became simpler. FEAR. RUN. STAY. They were no longer human thoughts and emotions. They were the thoughts of an animal.

  Frank was about to release her from his spell when he saw something and stopped.

  From Marie’s vantage point across the street, he saw a blond woman with a hat leaving the house. He let the memory play on, but never saw Jessie leave. He replayed the memory and tried to focus in on the woman with the hat. Who was she? She was an older woman, but it couldn’t have been Jessie’s mother. She had been deformed by Arraziel. This woman was not. She was…

  Where was Jessie?

  Arraziel. She let the demon feed on her!

  Frank knew using Arraziel’s powers came at a price. The demon needed to feed on the vital life force of its victims…or its master.

  An idea formed in Frank’s mind. Jessie either didn’t know about the demon’s need to feed and had learned about it after conjuring Arraziel, or…she wanted the demon to change her, to make her older. In which case I am dealing with a calculating psychopath.

  Frank released the pig from his spell.

  “Es’ fanh’ hjep fl’ a sept,” he said.

  He stood and stepped away from the pig as she began the tremble. The legs grew long, the snout shortened, the ears moved to the side of its head. Hands replaced hooves, and after a moment, a sixteen-year-old brunette lay naked on the ground in front of him.

  Frank felt drained and woozy. He had used a lot of magic today and needed to eat and rest to restore himself.

  He stood, wobbled, then caught his balance. He took off his jacket and lay it over the girl, covering her. She would awaken shortly and could go into the house and get clothes.

  Frank walked slowly back to the car. He had to alert the Order about what he had found out.

  20

  FRANK

  October 20, 2015

  Beauchamp, Louisiana

  “Brennan, did you get my mail?” Frank asked, winded.

  “Who is Karen Hailey? You sound terrible. What happened?”

  “I’m fine. She’s the mother of the girl we’re looking for. The girl’s name is Jessie Hailey. Is there any activity on the credit card or bank accounts I sent you? Anything that would indicate where she is?”

  “The mother? What girl? What the hell is going on, Frank? Did you find the book?”

  Frank sighed and explained what he found out. Frank heard the frantic clatter of a keyboard in the background as he told the story.

  “She went to Chicago. Karen Hailey paid for a moving company and a plane ticket to Chicago three days ago.”

  Frank turned the key and the Mustang roared to life. He had a possible psycho girl on his hands and had to get to her before she did any more damage. The tires squealed as he pulled a U-turn and headed back to town to get his things at the hotel.

  “How’s my mother?” he asked Brennan.

  “She’s fine. I had her moved to the rectory at the Cathedral. Frank, you know what’s outside Chicago, right?”

  “I know. Did you call Tarek?”

  “He’s my next call.”

  “I’ll be there in fourteen hours.”

  “Godspeed.”

  Frank screeched to a halt outside the Beauchamp Inn. He needed to grab his duffel bag and tech, and then he needed to leave. He was glad he would be seeing this town in his rearview mirror shortly.

  He pushed through the double doors of the Inn and bounded up the steps to his room, faintly acknowledging the empty reception desk. He trotted down the hall, but pulled up when he saw the door knob to his room. It glowed blue. Someone had been in his room. They might still be inside…

  He slowed his pace, drew his 9mm, and pushed his back flush against the wall. He glanced behind him and then focused on the door to his room, listening for any sign of trouble. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck.

  Where is the innkeeper?

  His energy significantly depleted, he held the gun in front of him, hoping bullets would be enough to defend himself. The hall was quiet as he crept forward, his nerves on edge, anticipating who or what might be behind his door.

  He stopped in front of the door and leaned his ear into it, listening for any sounds. He heard nothing and kicked the door open.

  It flew back on its hinges and crashed into the wall beh
ind. Frank entered and scanned the room.

  The duffel bag lay on the bed. He checked the bathroom and found nothing. He went back into the main room and reached for his bag.

  A scream from above startled him and his reaction was automatic. He dove across the room and out of the way of whatever was attacking him from above. Landing on the window side of the bed, he spun with the gun raised, and a fiery sting slashed across his wrist before he could aim and fire.

  The crazy-eyed innkeeper had a blade in his hand that stretched the width of the room. He had somehow been up above him, hanging from the ceiling, before he had dropped down and stabbed Frank.

  Something squirmed around the innkeeper’s grip.

  Shit. That was no blade. It was a mass of metallic tentacles, squirming and writhing with life, wrapped around the innkeeper’s hand. Two of the tentacles launched out from his hand and shot across the room at Frank. Frank dodged to the right, avoiding the slash, and the tentacles implanted several inches into the wall to the left of him.

  The metal tendrils freed themselves from the wall and recoiled. The innkeeper cackled, a maniacal grin spreading across his face.

  “Time to die, Watcher,” the innkeeper said.

  “You think you can take me with that toy? Think again.”

  “He’s coming for you, Watcher, and he will devour you and all the light in this world. You and your kind will bend a knee and suffer in his dark embrace.”

  “I don’t get to see much daylight anyway. Now, you tell me who’s coming and where the girl is and I might let you live.”

  The wild-eyed innkeeper crowed at Frank. This will end badly for you, Frank thought.

  “He is the Heart of Darkness and brings the Second Death to this world. Your sorcery is no match for Him. His princess awaits and you will all die under their rule!”

  He sprung across the room at Frank, the squirm of tentacles stretching out to strike.

  Frank dropped to one knee and fired.

  A black dot the size of a dime appeared in the center of the man’s forehead and a blast of bloody gore sprayed out behind him as the bullet exited the back of his head. The back wall misted with blood, brains, and skull. The innkeeper fell from the air and tumbled to the floor several feet in front of Frank.

  The man’s head jerked back toward the ceiling as he lay on the ground, resting on his side. Blood trickled from the hole in his forehead, pooling on the floor.

  The tentacles squirmed and Frank heard the scraping of metal as they uncoiled from the man’s hand.

  Frank aimed down his sights, fired, and struck the thing dead center. It twitched and shivered, its tentacles quivering, then split in half. Each half slunk around the room, circling Frank.

  Shit.

  He squeezed off two more shots, one shot missing and another striking a tendril with a clang of metal. The tentacle fell off and grew. Now three of them stalked him.

  A stabbing pain ripped through Frank’s shoulder as one of the creatures fell from the ceiling, its blade sinking into Frank’s trapezoid. The steely tentacle dug around in his shoulder, going deeper, tearing flesh and tissue.

  Frank howled and ripped the creature from his shoulder, throwing it across the room.

  He raised his hand and snarled. A blue light formed in the palm of his hand. He released it and it crashed into the metallic creature, disintegrating it.

  The other two worked their way around Frank. Frank held his injured arm, feeling the blood begin to trickle down his tricep and splatter onto the floor.

  He gathered his strength and calmed himself, focusing the last of his energy while keeping a watchful eye on the circling creatures. His energy gathered and he directed it at the creatures, shouting, “Lufthwaa!”

  His body radiated indigo and Frank closed his eyes and leaned forward as the power grew inside of him. His head rolled back and his chest pressed forward, as the blast of energy burst forth from his body and exploded in all directions into the room, destroying everything in its path.

  He fell to the floor, weakened by the blast, and blacked out momentarily.

  When he opened his eyes, the wall to the street had been blown out behind him, and the ceiling and walls of the room were smoking, burnt and black. The tentacle creatures were destroyed.

  Frank didn’t take time to investigate further. He stumbled over the charred innkeeper, grabbed his duffel bag from under the remains of the bed, and, wobbling, lumbered as fast as he could down the hall as doors opened behind him to see what the explosion was all about.

  He struggled to keep his balance down the stairs, nearly falling, and finally fell out of the inn and onto the street. Finding his feet, he climbed into his car and sped off for Chicago.

  21

  TAREK

  October 20, 2015

  Zion, Illinois

  A drip fell from a stalactite and splashed into a puddle below. The sound was soothing and familiar to Tarek, who had spent the better part of the last ten years here. It was one of the only sounds in the otherwise quiet underground cave. He enjoyed the quiet, generally, but the rhythmic drip, drip, drip from the top of the cavern gave him a sound to focus on while he meditated.

  Deep in meditation, he reflected on how he enjoyed the quiet more than usual lately. He’d had a difficult life from the start. Contrasting influences of good and evil had torn him apart before the Watchers found and rescued him when he was a teenager.

  He owed a debt to the Order of Watchers. They had saved him when they could have killed him. The Order had freed him from a life of abuse and slavery in service of the Fallen overlord, Amon-Gorloth. They showed him the power of love and compassion and kindness. They saw the good in him and helped him change, saving him from damnation, and for that, he was eternally grateful.

  While he recovered from the spell of Amon-Gorloth’s subjugation, weakened and vulnerable, he had longed for a different life. But that was laughable now. He was a Watcher and a member of the Order and content in his life.

  He did not choose this life any more than the other Watchers had. He did not choose the gifts he had. He supposed his lack of choice and misguided principles in his youth had led him down the path of darkness and into the arms of the Fallen. But that was in the past. He had made peace with his inner demons and who he was long ago, and now he was on the right path, the path of light.

  Here, underneath the world, alone, he honed his most powerful gift: his intuition. He had an uncanny ability to listen to the shifting energies between the realms. Here under the Great Lake he found himself most attuned to the state of things. He had clarity. His regular practice of meditation strengthened his intuition, and revealed to him by way of feelings and visions, the growing darkness and chaos in the world.

  And it’s coming my way…

  His premonitions reminded him of the malevolent power he knew so well in his youth. Shadowy forces were on the rise; the same forces that settled on the Earth so long ago and had finally been imprisoned in the Realm of the Second Death by the Watchers. The Fallen lay mostly dormant for centuries, and occasionally one broke free of its chains, crossed over to this realm, and had to be dealt with by the Order. But the forces of chaos and darkness seemed more alive and powerful than before, and it gave Tarek pause for concern.

  Dread had plagued him for days, and that is why he was so unsurprised when Brennan called.

  He let the terminal at his station ring several times, deciding to stay in his meditation a moment longer. He knew this would be the last peace he felt for a while. Maybe forever.

  “Brennan,” he said as the secure connection was made and the image of the priest filled his screen.

  “Tarek, there’s trouble heading your way,” Brennan said. “A girl.”

  “Mmmm,” Tarek said.

  “What do you know?” Brennan asked.

  “I have sensed something building the last few days. What I don’t know are the details. Tell me.”

  Tarek sat back and listened as Brennan told him what h
ad occurred in Louisiana and what Frank had uncovered. The words filled in the holes of his visions like missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

  “She last used her mother’s credit card in a taxi around the 800 block of North Michigan Avenue. That was a few days ago. Frank is on his way there now,” Brennan said.

  “I can be there in an hour,” said Tarek. “Maybe I can pick up her tracks.”

  “Seal the cavern,” Brennan said.

  “Of course,” Tarek said. “I’m on my way.” Then he disconnected the call, and sat cross-legged on the floor for another moment.

  So it begins.

  He rose and crossed over the hidden doorway and into the cavern. He followed the path down its gradual slope, through the forest of stalagmites and rock, the green glow from the underground lake lighting his way. At the altar in front of the lake, the ancient sculpture of Pasmet and the slate book rested, hidden away under Lake Michigan for as long as any Watcher could remember.

  The tribes of humans before this time knew Pasmet’s power well. They may not have had the internet, computers, or telephones, but they had known an amazing amount about the universe nonetheless.

  The book was closed, its slate pages carved in an ancient tongue few could decipher. He often wondered how old the book really was. Or was it even a book? Maybe it was something else entirely that humans could only see as stone tablets.

  He turned and started back up the trail. At the entrance to the cavern, he stepped through the threshold and sealed the room with a wave of his hand and a murmur of the spell that hid it from curious eyes.

  The utility plant that had been his home was built above this place years ago, and then discarded when the Zion Nuclear Power station had come online. This had been his home for ten years, and yet he felt this would be the last time he saw it.

  As he gathered his things, Tarek wondered if the engineers knew what they had been building over. Someone must have known to create the barrier to the underground lake that was fed from the Great Lake above it.