Legends (To Absolve the Fallen Book 3)

by Aaron Babbitt

  “It does make things difficult sometimes,” Lonny confessed. “But the Society is behind us.”

  “In no small part, I’m sure, due to the position of your teacher,” Abbie reasoned.

  Lonny smiled. “Yes, he is very...influential...when he chooses to be.”

  “Well,” Alex added in an attempt to calm the situation, “before we came, we realized that you may not like or agree with what we have to say. That’s okay with us. I just ask that you don’t forget us if things get ugly. There are demons, and they will come for you. Most of our kind has been forced to relocate. Kingstone and Las Vegas are safe, and will be as long as we can keep them that way.”

  Jacob snorted a laugh. “Please. The government is after you. Or didn’t you notice? I don’t think your definition and my definition of ‘safe’ are the same.”

  Alex’s expression did not change as he turned to address the lead guitarist; he was solemn, and to Jake he seemed sad. “The U. S. Government is the least of my concerns. I will reply to the lies of the Attorney General. But he made his accusations public today, and I have more important things going on right now. I can promise, though, that if he gets involved, he will find something he isn’t ready for.”

  “I think he’s crazy,” Mars informed Lonny. “A total nutjob. Siding with him will definitely get all of us on the news.”

  “Look,” Elizabeth sneered, gritting her teeth to refrain from shouting, “first of all, you may not know who you’re talking to, but very soon Alex Tanner’s name is going to be associated with all of us actually being able to walk around free, instead of being dead or imprisoned. Secondly, we came here to help you. We have money; we can produce your records and send you on tour. And we won’t hand you over to the bad guys when they come. Can your human producers offer that?”

  “Lady,” Jacob said, “this all seems a little farfetched. You make it sound like some fascist regime is prowling the streets, looking for bands to imprison.”

  “Not bands,” Abbie corrected, “prophets.”

  “I told you, we’re not prophets, and there is no such thing as demons.”

  “That isn’t true, Jake,” Lonny insisted.

  “We can introduce you to a demon,” Matt offered.

  Then, Abbie took control of the conversation. “Whatever you call yourselves and whatever you call them is irrelevant. You are not as weak as mortal humans, and you will be a perceived threat to humans and demons just by being alive. Lonny’s seen demons, and I believe his teacher has seen them too. In fact, it sounds like he wishes an alliance with us. You might doubt their existence because it’s uncomfortable for you, but I have lived for over four hundred years, and I have seen many demons and the terrible things they can do.

  “I have been given a token of friendship, from which I infer a desire on someone’s part to, in fact, be friends. We are your friends, whether or not you believe it. And, as friends, I would be remiss if I did not tell you that my home, one of the safest sanctuaries for prophets anywhere, was destroyed two days ago by demonic forces, probably killing hundreds of prophets. When they no longer have us to focus on, they’ll have no problems shutting down the Society of Minds. On the other hand, if the Society of Minds joined with the Elder Prophet--”

  “Impossible,” Lonny interrupted. “The Society wants no part in your war.”

  Abbie shrugged her shoulders and sighed dispassionately. “All right.”

  “But,” he continued, “I have the freedom to make my own choices.”

  Now, every eye in the room watched the lead singer, but he had not broken contact with Abbie. A look of perplexity flashed across her face quickly, then gave way to hope.

  “I’m not saying I’m sold,” Lonny added quickly, “but I’m still listening.”

  “Lonny, how can you even begin to--” Adrian protested.

  “If you don’t want to go this way, no one’s forcing you. I’ve seen the things they’re talking about, and if there are a lot of those monsters looking for people like us, I need to know how to protect myself.”

  Fredrick shook his head. “You had to have been seeing things.”

  “Yeah, things that were there, trying to kill me and Teacher. I know what I saw, all right? Okay. None of you have to stay. Anyone who wants to can leave, and I’ll see you at rehearsal.”

  No one moved.

  “Then, shut up.” He looked to Abbie and said, “Dr. Martin, my mentor told me that you were admirably patient, and I want to thank you for that. If we could continue, I’m wondering how one goes about avoiding these...demons.” He muttered the last word reluctantly.

  “It takes practice and skill, but it’s possible to hide from them. I’m afraid being in a popular band would make it difficult.”

  “Well, after this conversation, I’m not sure I’ll be in a band anymore.” He shot glances at his band, hoping for a smile or a dismissing wave, indicating that he was ludicrous for even mentioning such a thing. They made no response.

  He cleared his throat and continued, “I can’t give up my music.”

  “We don’t want you to,” Elizabeth supplied.

  “And, as long as they’ll have me, I’m not leaving my band.”

  Adrian laughed. “We haven’t started looking for a new singer yet, but we seriously have to talk about this, Lonny...alone.”

  “Fair enough,” Abbie concurred. She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her coat and handed it to him. “This is a number you can reach me at.”

  Lonny took the paper and tucked it into his pocket. He looked the three younger prophets over and paused a moment on Elizabeth.

  He smiled seductively at her. “I don’t suppose any of you are coming to the concert?”

  Alex didn’t miss the smile. “Yes, all three of us are coming,” he affirmed a little more defensively than he’d meant to.

  Lonny’s eyes never strayed. “Fantastic. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  Elizabeth blushed, despite herself, and looked away. The other prophets said their goodbyes and left Nisus to their private conversation.

  ***

  As soon as the prophets had left the mansion, Jeremiah placed a call to make sure his “allies” would be ready when the time came. Everything had to be in order, and everyone had to be prepared to fight within the hour. He suspected that his likelihood of attack rose exponentially the moment the concert was over. However, with Metatron this close, the strike could come at any time.

  A knock at his office door brought him back from a battle that would change everything to the agonizingly suspenseful present.

  “What is it?” he barked.

  The door opened slightly, and Marla stuck her head in. “There is a Tamora Rodriguez to see you. She said you requested her.”

  “Thank you, Marla. Send her in.”

  Within moments, the door opened further, and a tall, Hispanic woman in a dark suit walked in. She smiled when she saw the demon sitting behind the desk.

  He nodded. “Tamora.”

  “Jeremiah, it’s been a long time.”

  “I was pleased to see that your firm is still prosperous.”

  “Yes,” she said, taking a chair in front of Jeremiah’s desk, “it’s very prosperous. So why did you call me?”

  He smiled and feigned a look of shock. “Isn’t it obvious? I need a lawyer.”

  “You probably have a hundred lawyers, and I’m sure you know more law than most judges. Why do you need me?”

  “I can’t do this alone, and none of my lawyers are prophets. Only a prophet could be trusted with this.”

  She smirked. “You trust me?”

  He took a cigarette out of a pack sitting on his desk and tapped it a couple of times on a book on his desk entitled Nevada State Statutes. “I taught you for five years. I don’t think you’ll take advantage of me.”

  “You know,” Tamora said, pointing to the cigarette in Jeremiah’s hand, “every time I’ve seen you, you were either smoking or about to smoke. Did you ever wonder if tho
se things would kill you?”

  He looked absently down at it, then back up to her. “No. I’m pretty sure at this point it won’t be the cigarettes that do me in.”

  ***

  Garrett and Dylan were five miles north of Kingstone, right outside an even smaller redneck town that a sign had happily called, Ragsdale. Garrett insisted that demons were coming from the north, and he wanted to intercept them before they could reach Kingstone.

  Dylan watched Garrett intently. His mentor was just staring down the almost deserted country highway. It was the middle of the day, yet they hadn’t seen a car in five minutes. Then suddenly, Garrett started to rummage through a haversack hanging from his shoulder that kept different odds and ends the old demon hunter seemed to think he needed.

  After a few seconds of searching, he produced a small canvas bag, the contents of which clanked together metallically. He walked over to the road and untied the bag slowly, still gazing into the distance, as if waiting for something.

  “What is that?” Dylan asked, pointing to the bag.

  “Caltrops.”

  “Like little metal spikes?”

  “That’s right,” Garrett confirmed. “The demons are approaching quickly,” he pointed where he had been looking and added, “from that direction. So, they are probably...” He waited for Dylan to finish the sentence.

  Dylan looked to where Garrett had pointed and saw only more road and fields.

  “...Coming on this highway in a car?” Dylan finished.

  “Precisely,” Garrett said proudly. “And we can’t do much to them in a car.”

  “So you’re going to get them out of the car,” Dylan surmised with a grin.

  “You’ve got it. They may sense us, but I’ll bet the rest of the prophets in Kingstone will muddle the demons’ perception enough to mask our presence until it’s too late. They’ll not be expecting demon hunters, so I’m guessing they’ll charge us once I’ve disabled their vehicle.”

  “How many of them do you think there are?”

  Garrett shook his head. “I can’t be sure. At least five.”

  With that, he threw the caltrops onto the road. The clink of metal against asphalt made Dylan wonder if any other cars might be immobilized by the caltrops or drive by while the two demon hunters are in the middle of a battle.

  Dylan nodded and stuck his hand into his coat, fingering his .40-caliber

  “No,” Garrett ordered, as if reading the younger demon hunter’s mind, “I don’t want you to use a gun. They don’t hurt most demons significantly, and you have other abilities that are much more effective.”

  “I almost have to touch them to hurt them very badly,” Dylan countered.

  “That may not always be the case. Some of it might just be a lack of focus. Ah, here they come, now.”

  Dylan couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a van that was headed in their direction.

  “Step away from the road,” Garrett commanded.

  Dylan turned and walked into the field next to them. After about thirty feet, he turned and looked back to where the trap had been lain, and Garrett was nowhere in sight. Seconds later, a brown van came into view. Multiple loud pops and a squeal followed, and the van swerved right, then left. Unable to compensate, it slid into the field on the other side of the road from Dylan. It rolled to a stop a little more than a hundred fifty feet from where he was standing.

  Dylan watched the van for almost a minute before the driver and passenger-side doors both opened, and a figure got out of each. Though they still looked human, Dylan could feel a strong demonic presence coming from the van. And when those two demons looked directly at Dylan, upon their exit from the vehicle, he knew they sensed him too. Then, a door on the side of the van slid open, and four more demons came out.

  “Six. He was close,” Dylan muttered to himself.

  The two that had spotted him began to run in his direction. The other four looked around, expecting something to come at them, and walked behind their charging companions, who were changing shapes before Dylan’s eyes.

  In an instant, Garrett was standing in the road between Dylan and the demons. He just seemed to materialize out of thin air. His prey saw this too late. In less than three seconds, the elder demon hunter had beaten down the two that rushed at Dylan.

  “Come finish them,” he called to Dylan over his shoulder.

  Dylan ran up behind Garrett and saw the two monsters writhing on the ground. He took advantage of the momentary daze that followed the savage beating. Placing his hands on their battered bodies, he commanded their blood to boil.

  Garrett swung his mace in circles above his head, laughing maniacally. Two demon corpses lay on the ground, their bodies still sizzling and orifices smoking from Dylan’s handiwork. The four others held their distance. They apparently realized they were dealing with more than just an old man and a kid.

  One demon walked forward to address Garrett. During the fight, it had also changed shape, while the other three watched, horror-stricken. It looked to Dylan to be a troll: eight feet tall, with long, gangly limbs and greenish-gray, rubbery skin. It had beady, yellow eyes and a long forked tongue that would sort of dangle out the side of its mouth when it wasn’t talking.

  “Old man,” the troll’s shrill voice called to Garrett, “you’re outnumbered, and we have no fight with you. Though you should perish for what you’ve done, we will leave to do what we came here to do, and you can pray you never run into us again.”

  “Oh, you aren’t going anywhere,” Garrett growled.

  An agonizing wail came from behind the troll, and Dylan saw one of the demons looking down at a long, shiny, metal object protruding from its body. The object disappeared, and the demon fell to the ground, screaming. The hole that had been left began melting the body around it. It got bigger and bigger, until the creature’s entire abdomen disintegrated, leaving only a lifeless head, chest, and pair of legs.

  Standing behind where the demon had been was a man dressed in blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. He had long, dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail. His face was covered with the short stubble of a neglectful shaver. His right hand held a katana that glowed like it was being forged as it burned away the taint of demon that had been left on it. His left hand he held out in front of him, leaving him prepared to parry an attack if he should need to.

  “And now they’re not outnumbered,” the new person announced with a very slight German accent.

  “Superb timing, Gregor,” Garrett noted.

  Gregor disappeared, then reappeared, less than a second later, in front of another unprepared demon. His katana slashed upward, leaving a wide gash right down the middle of its torso. Both sides of the gash began to melt away, just like before, as this demon also fell to the ground, screaming in pain.

  “I’ve actually been tracking you for days,” Gregor admitted.

  Garrett scowled, and he too disappeared. He appeared again behind the last demon that didn’t look like a troll. His mace fell hard on its head. The beast was completely unaware. Its head exploded, and its body crumpled.

  “I find it unlikely that you have been tracking us for days,” Garrett replied with a sour look. “Don’t kill the green one. That one is Dylan’s.”

  At the mention of his name, Dylan shot a startled look at Garrett. The remaining demon just looked around in what appeared to be a primal panic.

  “I’ve—I’ve never taken a demon by myself,” Dylan stammered.

  In an instant, Garrett stood behind the last demon. He swung his mace hard at the back of the demon’s legs, with a loud crack and a wail from the monster, it fell to one knee, the other visibly mangled. Garrett, now standing a little taller than the troll, threw his right arm around the beast’s neck and held it in a stranglehold while it thrashed violently over its shoulders.

  “Make it burn,” Garrett instructed.

  Dylan nodded, feebly, and made to walk toward the demon.

  “No,” Garrett stopped him. “From wher
e you are.”

  All the while, the demon was flailing its arms and trying to grasp the demon hunter behind it. It hit Garrett in the head multiple times; it grabbed his hair and tried to rake his eyes. Garrett just moved his head from side to side, avoiding any crippling blows.

  “This demon is answering the call of Lucifer,” Garrett told him, as he dodged a fist. “It will go to Kingstone to kill your friends when Metatron fails. It hates you and everything else in creation. It will seek to destroy you and everything you love. Kill it first. Focus!”

  Dylan shut his eyes, and he could feel the hatred for the thing in front of him welling up. Then, he did start to focus. He knew where the demon was. Its blood pumped powerfully through its veins—and quickly; it was afraid.

  Dylan’s eyes opened, and he could feel the spark Garrett was talking about—the part of him that was a demon hunter. He exerted all of his will upon the demon, and tried to force his hatred into it. It screamed, and Garrett let go. A grayish liquid seeped out of its pores and steam rose from its body. Dylan forced its blood to boil until the monster stopped wailing.

  Then, as the last of his energy drained, the young demon hunter also fell down. Everything went black.

  When he awoke, Garrett was sitting over him. He had made a pillow out of his trench coat to prop his apprentice’s head up. When Dylan’s vision cleared, he could distinctly tell that Garrett was smiling down on him. Then, Garrett, realizing that he was smiling, quickly began looking serious again.

  “Well done,” he said gruffly. “I knew you had it in you. That first one will be the roughest. You’ll get better with that power, and demons will learn to fear you.”

  Dylan grunted a laugh; he was still exhausted from the trial. “I can’t imagine a demon ever fearing me. Where are we?”

  “We’re miles away in a secure location.”

  Another person came into view, and Dylan remembered the demon hunter, Gregor, who had helped them in the fight. He had a whimsical smile and a mischievous look in his eye.