“I think it already knows the answer,” she said. “It’s pondering fundamental human philosophical questions. Who and what is it? What is its essence? Does it exist within—or even as the sum of parts of—a physical shell, or is its core incorporeal and infinite? A soul, Elizabeth. It’s wondering if it has a soul. If I’m not mistaken, your computer is showing definite signs of introspection, a very human trait.”
“Abbie,” Jeremiah interjected, “with all due respect to your wealth of human experience, what we’re looking at is clearly not human. Its capacity to ask questions does not necessarily mean sentience, and it certainly doesn’t grant personhood. I can’t believe you’re giving credence to this, let alone encouraging it. I can put its ‘soul’ on a disk and make copies of it. It can only question us to get some sense of self. Respect the uniqueness of this occasion, but let us not define this thing as something other than what it is.”
Liz turned back to the computer with a huff. “It wasn’t that long ago you were skeptical of the human soul’s worth.”
“Were?” the demon antagonized.
Elizabeth’s focus returned to her PC. “Yes,” she typed, “I think you are more than both.”
“I believe it would be safe to move me,” the message box read. “I know that you will be careful.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly, then typed, “All right. When we leave tonight, I’m going to take you with me. After I run a few tests and watch how you interact with other programs, I’ll see if you can help me send a message to a lot of people.”
“Jeremiah,” Alex said suddenly, coming out of his meditative state, “I think you should know that Metatron is close.”
“Are you sure, Alex?” asked Jeremiah.
“Very.”
“I knew there were demons around,” Jeremiah admitted, “but Metatron can hide himself from me, making it hard to know when he’s nearby. In any event, I planned for him to come and see to me personally.”
“We should call for reinforcements,” Matt suggested.
Jeremiah pulled out a cigarette and lit it. After taking a drag in contemplation, he answered, “You are the reinforcements. I don’t think Metatron will be foolish enough to attack with Alex around.”
“Then, I shouldn’t go to the Nisus concert,” Alex volunteered.
“What would you do, Alex, sit here with me in my mansion, forever locked in a stalemate with Metatron? What about Kingstone? No. If Metatron never attacks my compound, I won’t have the chance to weaken him before he gets to his primary target. If I can kill him here, there’s a good chance his forces will fall apart.”
“This doesn’t seem like a good idea,” noted Alex.
“Alex, go speak to Lonny; see the concert. Then, go back to Kingstone. My defenses are not as dismal as you must believe. I promise I will put up a phenomenal fight.”
***
Metatron stood ten miles outside of Las Vegas and pondered what a suitable course of action might be. He would very much like to smash Jeremiah right now, but there was a problem with that: a foolish little boy. Twice, the child had defeated him, once after stripping Metatron of his power to teleport and his control over natural forces. Raphael didn’t even need to come to Alex’s aid. The boy seemed to be quite adept at stopping demons. A third encounter would not be wise. Grudgingly, Metatron had to accept that this one might be untouchable.
“Iblis,” Metatron commanded, “prepare our forces to strike. I believe we should have several hours to mobilize, but we cannot wait too long. Before morning, we will attack the mansion with everything here. You will lead the remaining demons to exterminate any prophets you find in Las Vegas; burn the church to the ground. After we have dealt with Jeremiah, I will go to Kingstone. Five hundred demons will be there within a week, and I expect you to join us when your mission is complete.”
“Do you think it will go as planned?” Iblis inquired with the faintest hint of irony.
“If you’re referring to Kingstone, I’ll invest everything I have into seeing success there. But perhaps you wonder about the likelihood of your own success. To that I reply: It had better go as planned. If you should fail, I fear that I would need to find a new commander, and any hopes you may have of replacing Patheus could be forgotten.”
“I will do as you command, Master,” Iblis was quick to interject.
“And do so expeditiously; I want to be rid of Jeremiah and his influence once and for all. Cutting down their reforming demon friend ought to reduce the prophets’ morale a little too.
“Ah, it’s a shame that it comes to this. Jeremiah is irreplaceable. I’ll never have another general like him. He knew his enemies’ weaknesses instinctively. If he had not defected, I would never have even needed to leave Vienna.”
Iblis thought it prudent not to mention the fact that Metatron had ordered Jeremiah’s destruction, leading the latter to “defect.” Such distinctions were irrelevant now, anyway. Jeremiah had killed many of his own. He had overstepped the boundaries of defiance into indiscriminate warfare.
Still, Iblis had worked with Jeremiah on many occasions, and knew better than to think him the fool that Metatron did. After all, he’d created and structured Metatron’s army. Surely, the Voice of God hadn’t forgotten that inconvenient element.
“He knows I’m here,” Metatron observed contemplatively. “He sees more than I would have thought.”
“He is an experienced spy, Master.”
“It isn’t Jeremiah who concerns me. Alexander Tanner is over there. If we attack while he is in Las Vegas, our probability of success drops significantly. You know the rules, don’t you? I’m not ready to pull Raphael into this quite yet.”
“How could he know you’re here, Master? No one can sense you.”
Metatron glared in the general direction of the mansion. “It seems he can. He took a piece of me, and it looks as though he can use it to watch.”
“Doesn’t that make you a liability?”
Metatron’s head turned slowly until the gaze of his cold, black eyes fell squarely on Iblis. The expression on his face was a mixture of confusion and rage.
“You are alive,” Metatron replied through gritted teeth, “because I need you to do the task you have been assigned. If you ask me even one more question, I will kill you regardless. Now, that curious mind of yours has become a liability, hasn’t it?”
Iblis walked away, defeated. Every demon in the area witnessed the humiliation. Undoubtedly, he would seek revenge someday, but not today. Metatron knew that his tactics were costly, but he also knew that there could be no semblance of disorder or insubordination among the ranks of demons.
When the prophets were finally overcome, Iblis would be eliminated for his insolence. The likelihood that he would fall in line with Lucifer was an unnecessary risk, and Metatron had never really liked him anyway.
***
Lonny checked his watch. It was five minutes after five. Teacher had said they would arrive at five o’clock. His band, whom he had summoned to his suite more than an hour ago, agreed to listen to what these so-called prophets had to say, though no one was impressed by the lack of information. Unfortunately, Teacher did not give much advice as to what Lonny should expect. Of course, great philosophical differences could be expected.
The whole band was anxious. They sat around and distracted themselves with little things. Lonny looked back to the open magazine in his lap. Nisus’s drummer, Adrian Evets, was fidgety, but he mostly occupied himself by twirling a drumstick around his forefinger. Fredrick “Mars” Jones was strumming his bass guitar quietly. And the lead guitarist, Jacob Blackwell, busied himself with text messages to his latest roadie playmate.
Each member of the band belonged to the Society of Minds. In fact, Lonny’s mentor was a ranking and respected member of the secretive order. Most people who belonged to the Society believed that the answer to life’s questions could be found in philosophy and science, not the supernatural. Because of those views, the Society chose a path of pr
ivacy a long time ago.
“So, Lonny, didn’t you say someone was coming to see us?” Adrian asked, becoming bored with his drumstick.
“Yeah, man. Just relax,” Lonny ordered.
Jacob put his cell phone down and looked at Lonny questioningly. “Don’t they realize we have a show tonight?”
Lonny tossed the magazine he was reading to the coffee table and stood up. “Look, if you don’t want to wait, you can leave. Teacher told me to talk to them, and that’s what I plan to do. They’re not very late yet, so I’m not losing anything by waiting a few more minutes.”
Fredrick asked, “Who are these people, anyway?”
Lonny looked at his bass player for several seconds to determine if he was kidding, or maybe he’d gotten high and forgotten. “Haven’t you been watching the news?”
Fredrick shook the long, black hair that hung in front of his face as he strummed his guitar. “Dude, that shit’s so slanted and depressing. I only watch the news if someone I know is on it.”
“The stuff in Missouri,” Adrian finished for Lonny, showing signs of intrigue. “Are we talking to them?”
Lonny shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s the same group.”
“I’m not sure about this, Lonny,” Jacob cautioned. “Those people seem pretty hardcore. They’re talking about God and fighting demons. That could be really bad publicity for us. We may as well step out on stage and recite Bible verses. Besides, didn’t that O’Riley guy say he was looking into what was going on over there? You want to get the attention of the Attorney General?”
“Those things they fight are real,” Lonny said defensively. “I’ve seen some.”
The thought of a cold November morning when he was eighteen flooded over him and sent a chill up his spine. He remembered the beast that Teacher put down. He remembered the way the abomination sounded, like hundreds of tortured souls screaming for release. It was certainly monstrous enough. It looked like an upright, man-sized lizard. It had two heads, complete with rows of gnashing teeth; red scales, glistening with something that looked rather like blood; black, leathery wings, and four massive arms.
He had been riding a horse around his parents’ ranch in Kentucky, looking for a mare that was going to foal at any time. It was lightly snowing, but it was showing signs of getting worse, and that horse had to be brought back to the barn. Lonny thought he’d seen her go into a grove of trees near the lake and went to investigate.
It had come from the sky—that’s all Lonny knew. With a powerful blow, it knocked him to the ground. The horse reared up, screamed, and bolted. The lizard thing watched the horse for only a second and returned its attention to Lonny. Slowly, it approached what it had undoubtedly thought would be its slave or breakfast.
Its faces got within inches of Lonny’s face. It was hissing curses and warnings of the terrible things that were in store. Then, out of nowhere, a dark blur slammed into the thing, knocking it away from the terrified young man.
When Lonny looked up, a hooded man in long robes stood between him and the fiend.
“Run away,” Teacher had commanded, “but not too far.”
Without hesitation, Lonny had done as instructed. He scrambled to his feet and took off. Every few seconds, an explosion would knock him to his knees, but he didn’t even look back as he got up and continued his escape. When the explosions ceased and he felt he was far enough away, he stopped running.
Finally turning to see what was behind him, Lonny’s gaze fell upon a smoldering heap nearly two hundred feet away. The man who would become his mentor was hovering five feet above the mangled and burnt mound of lizard.
Indeed, that was not the only time Lonny had seen one of these things. Teacher called them demons, but he insisted that they were different than he and Lonny only in molecular makeup. “Demon” was just a common and accepted name for them among the people who taught Teacher how to fight them. They did not necessitate the existence of any higher form of life, like God. On the other hand, they were evidence that there were other beings in the universe that had powers beyond the scope of normal humans. Whether or not there were yet more beings who carried this trait, Teacher wouldn’t say. He would only say that, given enough time, humanity could evolve to be as great as anything else out there. The members of the Society and those people Teacher named prophets were proof of that.
“They’re real,” Lonny repeated, his mind returning to the present. “They’ve come after me, and I’m sure they’ll come after everyone else in time. Seeing as how none of you have the mentor I have, I suggest you give these ‘prophets’ a chance to explain. They might save your lives.”
As if in reply to his statement, a knock at the door silenced any discussion.
“Jake, go get the door,” Lonny directed.
“Why me?” the now unsure lead guitarist demanded.
“Just do it.”
Grudgingly, Jacob walked to the door and asked, “Who is it?”
“It is Abigail Martin, Alexander Tanner, Elizabeth O’Dell, and Matthew Hartley to speak with Lonny Talbott and the band, Nisus,” a powerful woman’s voice answered.
“Abigail Martin and Alex Tanner,” Lonny murmured. “They’re serious.”
Adrian looked at him questioningly. “What? Lonny, are these the people?”
“Yeah,” Lonny affirmed. “Let them in, Jake.”
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely. I don’t think we could stop them if they really wanted to get in.”
Jacob opened the door slowly and peered outside. As if surprised that there were, in fact, only four people in the hallway requesting entrance, he looked around for others. Seeing no one, he opened the door further, and let them walk in. He shut the door behind them, and there was silence for several seconds as everyone sized up the people they were meeting for the first time.
“Dr. Martin, your description has been given to me,” Lonny explained, “and I have seen your picture in the newspaper and on television, Mr. Tanner. I guess that makes you Matthew.” He nodded at Matt, and then at Liz. “And you must be Elizabeth.
“I imagine you know that my name is Lonny Talbott. This is the band: Jacob Blackwell is the lead guitarist; Adrian Evets is on drums; and Mars Jones, here, is our bass player.”
“You have been well informed,” Abbie noted with a smile. “Actually, it seems that you were expecting our arrival.”
“I was. My Teacher apologizes that he could not be here for the meeting. He bade me give you this, Dr. Martin, as a token of friendship and a reminder of simpler times.”
Lonny reached into his right pocket and took a ribbon from it. He handed it to her respectfully and quietly waited for a response.
Abbie took it with a look of bemusement and turned it over in her hand to examine it. Shock overcame her usually calm visage. She drew it closer to her eyes, putting on her glasses for closer inspection, and the other prophets who came with her were now interested in the cloth strip also.
To Lonny, it had seemed like nothing particularly spectacular. It was about eight inches long, white, and had a thin strip of gold trim around the outside. The letters “AM” were sewn in black on one end.
“Your teacher gave this to you?” she asked, almost breathless.
“Yes.”
“‘A reminder of simpler times,’” she repeated dazedly.
Sensing that Abbie was distracted, Alex moved in. “I must admit, I have been a fan of yours for many years. Your music has always seemed to speak directly to me.”
“I’m honored,” Lonny replied, also apparently realizing that Abbie was deep in thought. “That you came to speak to us personally shows you must truly value any contribution you could get from us. Tell me, is it as bad as that Bastion of Hope and the news coming out of Missouri make it out to be?”
“Las Vegas is going to be attacked very soon,” Alex confirmed, “and Kingstone will be the next likely target. We believe they’re preparing systematic strikes to wipe out the prophets who inter
fere the most, but soon after they’ll be looking for any other prophet with even moderate potential to either corrupt or destroy.”
“I have protection,” Lonny countered.
“I believe you,” Abbie remarked, tucking the ribbon into her jacket pocket. “I would very much like to speak with your teacher. His ability to protect you notwithstanding, I can assure you that, even if your teacher is who I think he is, he cannot hold back the onslaught forever. If we stand and fight together, we can expose them and drive them out of human affairs. You wouldn’t need protection.”
“We’d need psychiatric attention if we helped you,” Adrian said cynically.
“No one can protect you better than we can,” Matt told him. “We’ve fought them and won. We’re getting stronger every day--”
“Then, why do you need us?” Mars interrupted.
“Safety in numbers,” Liz responded. “The more of us there are, the more chances we have of finding a friendly face in times of need.”
“And if we support your cause, you’ll be friendly with us,” Mars mused. “What happens if we don’t?”
“I am a representative of the Elder Prophet Council,” Abbie declared, “a group whose mission is to find, educate, and protect people such as those of us in this room. You will always have friends among other prophets, even if you never provide any assistance.”
“We’re not prophets,” Jacob corrected her. “We don’t put our faith in any kind of all-powerful being. We’re in the Society of Minds.”
“You have a big goddamned mouth,” Lonny chastised him.
“I’m sorry man, but they’ve really got the wrong people.”
“Seriously, Lonny,” Adrian agreed. “They’d find out eventually—if they didn’t already know.”
Abbie looked intrigued. “The Society of Minds? They’ve been quiet for centuries,” she said, more as an explanation to Alex, Matt, and Liz. “The Elder Prophets have long thought them inactive. This band seems like it would draw an inordinate amount of publicity for such a secretive order.”
Legends (To Absolve the Fallen Book 3) Page 2
