by Amy Vansant
“Eris, stop,” said a voice in her head.
“Seth?”
Seth smiled, darkness leaking from behind his pearly white teeth.
“Let’s go somewhere quiet,” he said without moving his lips.
Eris opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, she found herself on a park bench, Seth sitting beside her with his hands folded in his lap.
“Where are we?”
“A park. In Perth.”
“Perth? We were just in California. We couldn’t possibly have traveled to Australia that quickly!”
“No? I’ll try and remember that next time.”
Eris still felt the energy from the woman she’d drained bubbling inside of her. She considered making a run for safety, until her gaze fell on Seth’s exposed arm. The sleeves of his duster were pushed to just below his elbows and something was crawling beneath his skin. She could see the writhing lumps rise and fall as they moved from his fingers to his cuffs.
Seth was unpredictable. She couldn’t run. She opted to talk her way out of the encounter.
“What do you want? Are you going to kill me?”
“Kill you?” He laughed and Eris saw the skin on his face slip. A gap appeared beneath his eye and she caught a glimpse of something squirm beneath his lower lid as it dove to remain hidden from the light. Another squirming thing pushed his skin upward, tightening the gap beneath his eye.
She tried to swallow, but found her throat dry. She struggled to keep from choking.
“What do you want from me?”
“You want to be free, don’t you, Eris?”
“I am free. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re no more fine than that woman in the parking lot is fine. The woman underground.”
“I—”
“I have a man you need to talk to,” he said cutting her short. “Here’s his name.”
He handed her a folded piece of paper. She opened it.
“Rathe,” she read aloud. It was the only word on the paper.
Seth nodded.
“He’s in this state,” he said, handing her another piece of paper. This one was balled up as if he’d meant to throw it in a trashcan. Each paper appeared in his fingers as if willed there; he never reached into a pocket to retrieve them.
“Ohio,” she read.
“He’s at this address,” he said, handing her another paper folded into an origami swan.
She looked at him.
“Why didn’t you just put all this information on the same piece of paper?”
“What fun would that be?”
“Will he still be there in a week? That’s how long it will take me to get to him from here. I’m weak now, Seth. I’ve…I’ve failed you.”
“I can help with that.” He thrust out a hand.
Eris paused, eyeing his open palm warily, and then let her own fingers come to rest on his.
She had nothing to lose.
Eris found herself standing outside a warehouse. The numbers beside the door said 134. In her hand she held the origami swan. She opened it and read the numbers.
134.
Eris tugged on the sliding door until it gave, and she stepped into the darkness.
Chapter Thirteen
Anne drove west down the seventy-six towards Johnstown, Pennsylvania. Michael had identified one person in their potential Sentinel database who lived sixty miles away from the man drained to ash and bone. It made sense to assume the Cherub would need Sentinels to unseat the old regime. Angeli and Cherubim seemed to operate under similar physical rules and Anne hoped he had the same list of potentials. It would be the easiest way to track him down and stop him.
Con laid his head in her lap as she drove. She could feel the weight of his skull on her thigh, but her elbow sat where his neck and shoulders should be. He had only solidified his head. When her right arm wasn’t on the wheel, it was resting embedded in his throat. She couldn’t feel it, but the vision was unsettling.
“This is a little weird. I feel like I’m driving around with a decapitated human head on my lap.”
“Like you’ve never done that before.”
Anne said ha ha aloud but found herself wondering if she had ever held a decapitated head in her lap. She couldn’t place a time. He was probably kidding.
“Pet my hair,” he mumbled.
She rolled her eyes, but dropped her right hand to drag her fingernails back and forth across his scalp.
“Oh lovely. You know…we’re like an old married couple.”
“Are we?”
“Yes. We’re comfortable around each other and we don’t have sex anymore.”
She chuckled. “I guess we are.”
“That’s okay. I don’t mind being the well-worn shoe,” he said, his voice soft and wistful. “I’ll be your companion and you can use the angel for sex. I’ve come to terms with my shortcomings.”
Anne had a flashback to the beautiful connected world Michael had shown her. He was on another level. It had been hubris for her to believe she could keep him as her own, or, at the very least, foolish. She felt a pang of regret, both for the loss of his attentions and the feeling of oneness she’d felt in the nexus. He’d given her a gift…and now everything else paled in comparison.
Showing someone perfection was perhaps not the best way to make them forget you.
She sighed and rubbed Con’s earlobe between her fingers in an attempt to draw her thoughts back to the real world.
“I’m not using the angel for sex. In fact, I’ve barely talked to him since you both absconded with Seth.”
“Really? And here I left you two alone for a month so you could have your moment.”
“No, you didn’t. You left us alone because all you could think about was trying to get your body back.”
“Maybe.”
“Michael has responsibilities.”
“So you’re saying he has bigger things to do than you.”
“Very funny, and yes. Anyway, you’ve no right to be jealous. First off, you’ve never been the most faithful companion.”
“You can’t expect a man to be with one woman for a thousand years! That’s cruel and unusual.”
“Well, I’ve been around for three hundred years and I’ve spent most of my quality time with you and Michael. Some people can’t stay that faithful for three years, let alone three centuries.”
Con lifted his head an inch from her lap.
“Wait, what do you mean, most of your quality time? Was it another Sentinel? Was it before you met me?”
“Said the man who just admitted he’s never been faithful to anyone…”
“It’s different for women.”
“That’s a double standard! And what do you know about the way women feel, anyway?”
“I’ve possessed a few. They didn’t seem particularly randy.”
“Oh gosh, being possessed didn’t turn them on. Imagine that.”
“It would turn on a man.”
“What wouldn’t turn on a man?”
“See? That’s what I’m saying.”
“Sexist Neanderthal.”
Con raised his hand, “Present.”
Anne shook her head and bobbed her leg up and down to shake Con’s head.
He sat up with an annoyed grunt and looked at her.
“Hey, I was thinking—”
“Did it hurt?”
“Kinda. I was thinking that if you’re not getting any from the angel, maybe I could just, you know, make part of me solid—”
“Do not even finish that sentence. I am not making love to a floating penis.”
“Floating penis. That would make a dandy band name.”
Anne pulled off at the exit she knew would lead her to the home of Tyannah Dodd. According to Michael’s notes, Tyannah was a crack shot, an excellent hunter, and a fine physical specimen. Though not well educated, she was bright and possessed superior fighting instincts. She also had that rare mix of loyalty and moral a
mbiguity that made for the perfect Sentinel assassin. She was high on the potential Sentinel list and made a logical target for the Cherubim.
Anne passed a gas station and slowed in front of a large cornfield with a gray, crumbling house in its center. She pulled into the driveway and rattled down the dirt road to the house.
“I’ll slip around back,” said Con as they parked. He phased through the car door.
Anne opened her door the old-fashioned way and stepped out, pausing to survey the home. The day’s fading light made the weathered dwelling even less inviting, but she pushed herself to mount the steps to the rickety porch and open the screen door leading to the main entrance. The door had a broken window pane just above the knob. She knocked and stepped to the side.
No answer.
She knocked again as the door swung open. In the dim light, she saw the faded image of Con, dust swirling through his form.
“No one’s here,” he said. “Judging by the mess in the upstairs bedroom, they left in a hurry.”
Anne stepped into the house and admired the double steps leading to the second floor balcony.
“This must have been quite a home in its day.”
“Watch your step,” he said, pointing to a large hole in the foyer floor.
Anne scowled and studied the broken floorboards. It didn’t appear they’d fallen into crawlspace below. She scanned the area and moved closer to study a stain on the wall.
“Blood. Fairly fresh.”
“Hers?”
Anne shrugged. “No way for me to tell. I think the hole is fresh as well. The boards look torn away, not removed in preparation for replacement. I suspect there was more blood here and someone removed the evidence.”
“Should we report her missing to the police? They can help us look for her.”
“It would be nice to have their help, but any policeman confronting Tyannah and the Cherub wouldn’t survive the exchange. We could end up with who knows how many dead officers.”
“Good point. That’s why you’re the smart one.”
“And what are you?”
“The good-looking one. Duh.”
Pondering the meaning of the missing floorboards, Anne stepped back out to the porch.
She froze.
Con walked half way through her before he realized she’d stopped.
“What is it?”
A man sat on the hood of her Jaguar, cross-legged, like a modern day swami. He wore a leather sleeved football jacket, complete with varsity pins on the chest, jeans and running shoes with metal cleats.
“Hello, children,” said Seth.
Anne felt her blood run cold.
Con stepped in front of her and phased through the screen door that separated the porch from outside. He stood on the steps, two feet from Seth.
“I’m not dead,” he said.
Seth grinned.
“You’re dead.”
“I am not!”
Anne opened the screen door and joined Con on the step.
“Hello Anne!” said Seth, straightening his legs and sliding from the hood of the car. “So nice to see you. How are your little fire swords?”
“Fine. Do you want them back?”
He grinned. “Maybe in exchange for the rest of Con?”
Con pointed at the Angelus. “So you do have me!”
“No, you’re dead,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.
“I am not dead and stop saying that!”
“What is dead? What is alive? I’m not sure. You tell me, Con.”
“I’m going to kill him,” said the Irishman through gritted teeth.
Anne put out a hand to grab his wrist, but found his arms too transparent to grasp.
“Don’t move. He’s baiting you.”
“It’s working.”
“Tell you what,” said Seth taking a step toward them. “I’m feeling generous.”
The idea of turning and running flashed through Anne’s mind. After all her battles, this plain man in a kid’s varsity jacket terrified her like no other. His eyes were solid black. When he spoke, his mouth was black as well, as if his skin were a shell draped over night.
Her skin tingled with nerves.
Seth chuckled. “Okay…all fun aside…Con, you’re not dead.” His face twitched; the movement so quick it appeared as though someone had fast-forwarded him. “But you should try it, so you know.”
Seth’s statement had barely registered with Anne before he reached out, his arms stretching from his body like serpents, his hands growing impossibly large. His fingers wrapped around the ghostly image of Con, his right hand gripping his head and shoulders, the left coiling around his knees.
Seth snapped Con like a breadstick.
Anne screamed and fell back against the house. There was a strange sucking noise, like a clogged drain clearing, and Con disappeared.
Seth retracted his hands until he again appeared normal…but for his black eyes. He turned to face Anne.
“I have something for you, too.”
Anne launched herself forward and bolted around the side of the house. Before she could reach the backyard she felt her feet lift from the ground.
She was flying.
There were arms wrapped around her chest. She struggled, but Seth pulled her higher and higher into the sky, until the farmhouse was a dot on the landscape below and the air felt thin.
She struggled and Seth fought back, adjusting his grip to hold her arms at her sides, his limbs again impossibly long. Anne manifested an energy blade with her right hand and struggled to stab him. He spun her, his face inches from her own. She stared into his black eyes and saw bits of color swirling in the darkness. It was like studying a faraway constellation through a telescope.
“I’m not going to kill you today, dear,” he said, his voice hollow and echoing. “I’m having much too much fun with this game. I just wanted to give you something.”
Anne’s back arched as a jolt of electricity passed through her. She convulsed, unable to move or breathe.
She was falling.
One moment she’d been staring into Seth’s eyes, and the next, wind rushed past her body. Logically, she knew she was tumbling from an impossible height, but she couldn’t concentrate on the inevitability of the ground below or formulate a plan. Her body felt full, as if she were a ripe grape about to explode. Even the thought of taking a breath was unbearable.
Falling in that strange, bloated state felt like the worst thing that had ever happened to her until she struck the top of the first pine tree and her ribs exploded. The blow flipped her back and she tumbled again, her spine shattering against another unforgiving branch. She ping-ponged from limb to limb until her head struck the ground and blackness fell.
Chapter Fourteen
Michael sat at his desk in his New York apartment, twirling an antique silver snuffbox in his hand. The packaging responsible for safe delivery of the collectible lay strewn across his desk, but he found it hard to care.
He was depressed.
He’d been despondent before. When humans were barely more evolved than apes he’d spent years wandering aimlessly, dragging a stick behind him. He wasn’t sure why he dragged the stick, but it felt right at the time. It expressed his deep boredom and disappointment like nothing else, as if he were a dog unable to wag his tail.
He’d been distraught when the black plague hit the shores of Italy in 1348 and thrown himself into the Thames when the disease reached London in 1349. Getting wet accomplished nothing, but it seemed like the thing to do; an act of defiance against an uncaring universe.
He’d spent a day peeling wallpaper off the wall of his apartment the day the bomb dropped on Hiroshima. Granted he was having the floral pattern replaced the following week with a geometric design he’d been thrilled to stumble across in a tiny forgotten shop, but he’d planned to pay for the floral’s removal, not pick it off a strip at a time.
His current depression felt darker than any of those. He was losi
ng control, wallowing in a bottomless trough. He’d finally come to grips with his inability to cure Perfidia by finding a way to contain it. Now, Perfidia was the least of his problems.
Cherubim.
He scoffed and, enjoying the bitter sound of his snort in the empty room, scoffed again.
Everyone knew about Cherubim but no one thought they would ever come. They were the Angeli’s bogeymen. The idea of Cherubim arriving to replace the Angeli was so outlandish he hadn’t even considered the idea that Anne’s assailant might be one. Now he had to face the horrible truth: his ineffective Angeli needed Cherubim to clean up their mess and reboot the entire planet.
“That’s what they’ll say,” he mumbled aloud.
“That’s what who’ll say?” asked George, his butler, as he swept away the plastic wrap littered across the eighteenth century desk.
Michael jumped.
“When did you get here?”
George tilted his head. “In America?”
“No, when did you enter the room.”
“Just a moment ago.”
Michael grunted. “Stop slinking around.”
“I beg your pardon but I’ve never slinked in my life. Now, what did you mean?”
“What?”
“You said That’s what they’ll say. That’s what who will say?”
“I don’t know. Them. The people who say things about failures.”
“What is it they’ll be saying?”
Michael dropped his head in his hands and pressed the butts of his palms into his eyes.
“Never mind.”
“Very good, sir.”
George waddled out of the room.
Michael slid his arms across the desk, preparing to lay down his head, when he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He sat up. Another pain shot through him and he gripped his shirt front, his knuckles white with the strain.
Michael’s eyes blazed bright blue and in his mind’s eye, he brought forth the network of lights and threads that made up the living database it was his duty to protect. It had been vanity to show Anne the nexus, but he’d needed to make her understand the importance of his mission. He wanted her to know he wasn’t free to be with her the way she might want…the way he might want.
