She ignored that. “Crazy?! Forget you, Airel! I’m your best friend! I was kidnapped and almost beaten to death for you! And all you can do is crack death jokes! I thought you were actually dead, and now you’re back but you’re not the same and I’m worried about you because of Michael freaking me out and—” she took a breath “—and I’m crazy! Nice. Glad you think so highly of me!”
“Kim! Caaalllllllmness. Pleeeeeeeease.” I gave her an example by breathing in deeply and then letting it out slowly.
“Ew,” she said. “Brush your teeth before you breathe on me.”
“What,” I hoshed a breath into my cupped hands to check, “do I smell like death or something?”
“Airel!” she growled.
“Well, I’m sorry, Kim! I can tell you’re upset; you’re doing that talk-a-mile-a-minute thing you do when you’re mad. Just breathe,” I said. “Talk to me.” I could see her try to regain control.
She inhaled long and deep, let it out, and then started in just as fast as before. “He’s a killer. He was sent to our school to find you, to become your friend and kill you! He’s part of some secret society called the Brotherhood and he has killed other people before! Other girls…and you’re next. He thinks ‘your kind,’ his words—not mine—are just animals or something.” She stopped to breathe, looking at me with wide-open eyes.
“Kim, were you not there when we talked about this downstairs? What is wrong with you? Look, I know why he came here, okay, honey? I know what he is and what he was planning. But the key word here is was. You forget he tried to save me. He stabbed himself trying to kill the thing that was James.” I didn’t know that for sure, but it was plausible. “That has to count for something. Don’t you think this is just as confusing for him as it is for you and me?”
I breathed. “We’re all in a mess, Kim. This whole thing is a mess. We need to stick together; it’s the only way we’re going to find out what’s true. Look. He’s still here with us; he hasn’t run off or tried to kill us. We’re alive. That’s all I can think about right now. I’m so tired my brain hurts.”
Kim looked at me. “I just love you. That’s all. I’m a little scared. I feel like we’re all out here alone, lost.” She started to cry.
I took her hand. “Hey. Stop that. I love you too, Kim. You’re my total BFF, and we’ll get through this together. Just let me talk to him and don’t get in the middle of it.”
“But I am in the middle of it. Whether you like it or not, I am smack dab in the middle of all of this.”
“Good point.”
“So now what?”
Another good point. I didn’t know what to do really. I felt like Kreios was the only being on earth who could answer that question. “I wish Kreios was here. He would know.”
“Are we in danger?” She was looking at me like a frightened little girl.
I considered my response. “My heart tells me yes.”
“So he’s right. We need to jet. Like ASAP.”
“Yup,” I said.
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
“Just one thing: Can you keep yourself from killing Michael for now?”
“I’ll be watching him. You can bet on that.” Her eyes were dark.
CHAPTER IX
Springdale School, Oregon, present day
STILLNESS.
The building had been a school at one point, the kind found in small towns. The gym also served as the cafeteria and the concert hall; it had a stage on one side. There was a baseball field out back too, maybe four buildings including the maintenance shed.
This one…like a judge he had made determinations, ruling out possibilities until he made his ruling on…this one.
The mostly abandoned buildings had been commandeered as a staging ground for the Portland pod of the Brotherhood. The leader, Trina, had foolishly kept studious records, images on her computer at the bar, and even more good information at her apartment. She wasn’t the first woman to find her way into the Brotherhood. The Celts of old had started it. Their women were fierce in battle; plus it was a clever tactical decision.
This clan boasted one thousand three hundred twenty-one members, not counting stragglers and recruits. It was simple to do, really; an emergency meeting called by the Infernal—through Trina’s easily hijacked Facebook account—and the pod members gathered like dumb little sheep.
The deputy Infernal called the meeting to order. The hosts of the demon horde sat on folding metal chairs like obedient Nazi party members, ready to salute. They all awaited the Infernal, the master propagandist. Soon she would come out from the shadows, stride to the dais and begin the exhortation.
Kreios could feel his power draining with each second. He would need to make this quick. “This should be quick and easy,” Kreios said softly as he quietly bolted the door and drew his sword. He couldn’t think about the questions surrounding the disappearance of the Sword of Light. He could think of no reason why it should be lost—he was the last of his bloodline—again, and he should be carrying it. Why was he not? Only El knew. He had simply placed a lid on those questions, purchased a massive hand-made Irish hand-and-a-half sword from Fred Harmon’s smith shop in Portland, and got on with it. He was just a workman who needed a tool.
His battle plan was elegantly simple. Kreios threw the breakers, killing all the lights. He stepped in, took to flight in a circle around the room, and cut down each putrid crust of flesh as he moved inward, tightening the noose. By the time those in the middle perceived him it was too late for them.
They had sown the wind.
They would reap the whirlwind—Kreios.
And then it was still.
Dark.
Kreios was soaked in it.
The familiar smell of blood, urine, and bile filled his nostrils; it was strong, pungent. He took in the enshrouded scene in the dark. He cracked a smile, an indulgence. It was the sort of smirk one might suffer to admit upon the countenance after stealing something, getting away with a crime.
Bodies. The detritus was littered everywhere. It was difficult to get a count, but the carnage was nothing if not complete. Kreios stepped over a head and made his way to the door. There was moaning and whimpering. The room hummed with it. Most were in the throes of death and missing limbs, bleeding out. They were soft, untrained. Compared to what Kreios could muster they were but children in the arts of war.
A voice stopped him in his tracks. “You will pay for what you’ve done. Our Infernal will not stand for this!”
He opened the door, allowing a shaft of orange-yellow brightness from the security light outside to penetrate into the meat grinder of the gym, illuminating a man. “Shame. I missed you,” Kreios said.
The man stood twenty feet away holding an H&K Granatpistole; a compact 40mm grenade launcher. It was in his only hand. His other arm was gone. His voice trembled. “Our Infernal will—”
“Your Infernal is already dead. Trina Wilson, the host? She burned to death not long ago.”
The man tried to keep a bead on the angel, but the weapon was heavy and his hand shook too much; he was going into shock. Evil laughter. “Why should I believe anything you say, Kreios Son of God—” his mouth clamped shut involuntarily; it was asymmetrical, out of order.
Kreios brought the massive Irish sword around to guard again, point to the ceiling, both hands on the grips. “Your Brother still lives, I see. Turn your weapon on yourself now or I shall finish you myself.” He bent at the knees, ready to spring.
“We know of Airel! We will kill her!”
“Filthy Infernal! I should remove your mouth from your face for speaking those words!” Kreios felt his world collapse in on itself a little more at the mention of her name. “She’s already dead, fool! One of this clan killed her!” Rage exploded within him once again, but he stalled for more information, circling his prey.
“Maggot, it was you and your kind that started this; it has always been that way. Your kind declared war. And now…this last thing you have do
ne…you have unbridled me. You have backed me into a cave, provoking me. I am now about the business of finishing.” Kreios leaned into him. “I will erase—unmake all of you.” Before he could go further, the ripping sound of a demonic separation broke through the room.
“KREIOS!” a booming guttural voice tore from the jaws of a skinny one-armed beast as it broke free of the man. Both fell to the floor and the winged creature rolled and slipped in the greasiness of rent bodies and limbs.
The man came to his feet, bringing the grenade launcher around, pulling the stock into the crook of his remaining arm. The deputy Infernal was struggling to rise up with only one arm, saying, “We know of The Alexander, Kreios! We know what he has wrought!” Kreios ignored it, focusing instead on the man. Kreios feinted left as the man took his shot.
The grenade launched with a little pop as Kreios spun right. It sailed across the gym and exploded in the opposite corner, shattering brick and tile, sending chunks of flesh into the rancid air and setting fire to a large banner. “Thank you,” Kreios said as he closed and took the man in the midsection, thrusting his sword into his abdomen.
Man and beast screamed at the same time. Quickly he brought the sword around and decapitated the man.
The Infernal fell to the ground writhing in pain. The wounds shared between demon and host were only in the mind, but the mind was a powerful thing. Kreios took full advantage of the demon’s temporary insanity and hacked its head off. The demon burst into thousands of shards and scattered across the floor. In seconds each piece evaporated into the air leaving nothing but a memory.
Kreios wasn’t even breathing hard. He stood and scanned the area. The fire was spreading to the ceiling. From there it would find the hundred-year-old rafters, dry as a tinderbox.
They knew his name. They knew of Airel and the boy Michael, that he had betrayed both the Seer and the Brotherhood. Kreios knew what it all meant but he did not care. Let him die. He deserved it after all, did he not?
The blackness of his wounded and grieving heart suited him as he sheathed his sword into its scabbard on his back.
He then burned them. “Just a taste of what is to come.” He lit a single match and dropped it onto the hideous floor. Human remains spontaneously combusted, filling the air with burning sulfur and phosphorous. He watched the unholy fire wound the evening sky with red haze.
Airel. And the boy, Michael.
It is a lie. He tried to convince himself that the falseness that had been spoken into the air did not matter, that it was meaningless. But it mattered. He remembered Airel. And Kreios wept as his eyes reflected the light of the consuming blaze.
CHAPTER X
Sawtooth mountains of Idaho, present day
“HEY,” I SAID, WALKING toward Michael along the path to the little training shed. He was sitting there on the ground staring into space, the graying clouds of a potential thunderstorm looming over the mountains beyond.
He looked up at me when I spoke. “Hey yourself,” he smiled.
I sat down next to him, looking out at the view along with him. “So now we’re fake smiling at each other? We’ve come a long way in no time at all.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” He seemed agitated. “Look, I hate to ruin the mood, but we need to get out of here and quick. The Brotherhood is probably already headed in this direction. They will want to finish the job.”
“The job, huh. I know. That’s what Kim said you called me.”
He sighed. “That was the wrong thing to say.”
“Why? Seems like it was honest. What’s wrong with that?”
He let out a heavy sigh. “Nothing; I—”
I could tell I was irritating him. Not what I wanted. But I couldn’t help myself. “You know what…you have a lot of explaining to do.” How can I defend him to Kim and then stab him in person? Arrgh!
His eyes took on a deeper look. This time he did not sigh. “I know.” He was looking right at me—into me. “I know.” He looked back out into the mountains, the forest, the meadow, all of it on parade in front of us, a total gift. “If anyone knows where they stand, it’s me. I have a lot of work to do. But it has to start with getting us—you and Kim and me—out of here. Like now.”
“Michael, I—”
He grasped my arm and raised his voice a little. “Stop it. Trust me, I know. I know, okay? But you have no idea what kind of danger we’re in. If you’ve ever trusted me, you have to trust me now. You have to let me lead. This is the only time I will ask for your permission in this. I know I don’t have much to go on; you don’t have much reason—any reason, really—to open yourself to me again. Not after what I did. I know it; I know it; I know it. I don’t need you to freaking harp on me about it in order to know it.”
“Whoa, dude. Just stop right there.”
“Airel, we don’t have time for this! Don’t you understand that we’re in danger right now? Every second we waste talking about this touchy-feely bullcrap is a second taken away from our lives! I’m just concerned about our safety—”
“Oh, heck no. Michael, you are crossing a line. I’m not trying to attack you here.” But I was, in a way.
He stood and began to pace. He talked with his arms, pleading with me. “Airel, please. I understand already that you’re upset with me for what—for everything that I’ve done. I don’t need to talk about it—”
“Well, maybe I do! Did you ever think of that? Huh, traitor?” Oh, no.
My words cut him deep. I could tell that I would regret them for the rest of my life; it was one of those things I would never forget: how he looked at me then.
“Please…”
Who’s the traitor now. I reached out to She, but all I could sense was glib satisfaction coming from her. She didn’t care much for him from the beginning, evidently. Great. Just great. I can tell how this is going to end. “I’m sorry, but there is a difference between forgiveness and trust.” I was really desperate and confused.
He continued to look at me with those ice blue eyes. If it is true that the eyes are the window to the soul, I had seen his. It was honest, clean, rough and dangerous, and I wanted every bit of it. Regret for my rash words was already heaping itself on my head: hot coals.
“We really don’t have time for this, okay? I want to leave this place with you. At my side. I want to protect you from what is already coming for us. But you have to trust me.”
I looked at him, tears already clouding my vision. I shouted at him, “Do you have any idea how difficult that is going to be?! For me?!” I wanted to punch something.
He came closer.
“Keep your distance. I will hurt you.” I remembered Kreios’s teaching in the little training hut behind us, that mixing my abilities with raw and undiluted emotion, anything other than love, was very dangerous and almost impossible to control.
He simply said, “Go on. I deserve it.”
“No! Stay back. Please.”
He walked closer, his arms out, ready to enfold me in his embrace, I wanted to feel those arms wrap me up nice and tight, good and strong, smell his skin, feel the soft spikes of his hair as my hands and fingers interwove themselves in it. I wanted to surrender to all of the nameless feelings and potentials that cavorted within my written-back-together heart. But I felt the danger. It was coming at me from inside, deep. It was coming at me from outside, near, far.
He came still closer, within an arm’s reach.
“Michael!”
His face was inches from my own and I could smell the masculine cleanness of his breath on my lips.
I did what any girl might have done. I collapsed into a sobbing mess in the arms of my lover. He was flawed but strong enough. Filled to the brim with courage, and all of it for me. I let myself go, let myself cry for a good long time.
The gray clouds overhead then burst, drenching us both to the bone.
I thought of how horrible the world was to have given a place for people like Stanley Alexander to live and exist. I tho
ught of how painfully dear to me my parents were. Would I ever see them again? I thought about Kreios and wondered why he would have abandoned me, even if he did think I was dead. Wouldn’t he at least have wanted to bury my body? Maybe he just couldn’t deal with it. I thought about Kim and how much I loved her, how sorry I was for how she had been caught up in all this nonsense with me and my drama. And I thought about Michael.
That’s when the storm within started to finally clear up.
We were soaked, our clothes clinging to our bodies.
I pulled back from him. I felt bad; his shirt was covered with rain, with my tears, slobber, and snot. I wiped my nose with my shirt front, revealing part of my stomach as I dabbed at my eyes with it.
He pulled me in close to him again, but not all the way—his eyes were locked on mine, the puffs of our breathing intermingling in the misty aftermath of the storm.
He leaned in, but off to one side, brushing the softest, gentlest kiss against my cheek and then pulling back. “Airel,” he said, his voice a husky whisper.
CHAPTER XI
THE MORNING SUN AND fresh after-rain smell of the woods turned to heavy sticky humidity as we walked back to the house. We had to get going, we had agreed. I looked up through the trees and saw dark clouds moving in quickly as they do at high elevations. It could be sunny one moment and snowing the next.
I was still shaking a little from the moment before, but the rain starting and just shutting off like that, like a faucet, pulled us into awkwardness. He had pulled away then. I wondered what it was that held him back from me. Was he scared that I would judge him; that he was not good enough or something?
“I think we need to cut each other some serious slack,” I said. Michael stepped over a fallen log and I followed.
“Word up, homie.”
I laughed. “Who are you?”
“Gangsta, girl.”
“That’s actually kind of true…” I thought of his late antisocial associations.
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