Legends (To Absolve the Fallen Book 3)

by Aaron Babbitt

  Lonny, unhindered by the morality of the mosh pit, kept singing. “This seems to tear me apart. Tear me down. Just make an end to this painful process. But still I stand firm and hold my ground.”

  After a great deal of swearing and angry looks from Nisus fans, Alex and Liz were back to the mosh pit. Several people were standing over the guy, who, now awake, was sitting up and looking rather dazed. He seemed fine, and it appeared that people he knew were seeing to him.

  “Can we go now?” Alex asked.

  By this point, Lonny was singing, “a reason to strive, a reason for drive, a reason to travel the...incliiiine...,” signaling the end of “Obliquity.” Alex and Elizabeth had almost missed the entire song just trying to keep from being crushed.

  “Yeah,” she said in her mind. “I guess everything’s all right.”

  Not wanting to anger the people he’d had to walk through twice now, Alex took a different route through the crowd. Finally, they reached a place they could stand that allowed them a wonderful view of Nisus. It was close to the front, but off to the left. They stood in front of a concrete pillar that would at least protect their backs if another mosh pit should form right on top of them, which was unlikely with the pillar in the way.

  The band was playing a mostly instrumental song now. Lonny only approached the microphone from time to time to make some kind of strange noise or scream. For the moment, most of the crowd surfers had stopped, and the mosh pits seemed to be at rest. The soothing sounds of Nisus’s music placated them for now.

  ***

  “What’s your name?” John asked for a second time. He was still cool, but he wanted the dealer to know that there was no way around this.

  “Don’t you already know?” the dealer spat back.

  It seemed like he didn’t enjoy being tied to a chair, seated in a dark bedroom, and flanked by prophets. He’d been pretty fidgety ever since he awoke almost two minutes ago. He realized, at that time, that he was not free and immediately began complaining.

  “I have rights,” the dealer added. “You can’t hold me here for no reason.”

  “You seem to be under the mistaken impression that we’re cops,” John noted. “Quite the contrary, actually. We have no intention of turning you over to the authorities...ever. If you give us what we want, you can walk out of here. If you don’t, I assure you they will never find what little of you remains.”

  “I got friends.”

  “Is that so?” Sara chimed in. “I think I’d like to know who they are too.”

  “Well,” John said, pulling a chair in front of the man, intentionally dragging it across the hardwood floor for effect, “you heard the lady. I guess we should get started. Now, we can do this one of two ways.”

  “Let me guess,” the dealer interrupted snidely. “‘The easy way or the hard way?’”

  John sat down in front of the man, close enough that he could have reached out and touched the vice peddler; however, the room was so dark that the dealer could only see an outline of his captor.

  “I suspect you’ve heard that speech a number of times, but you won’t hear it from me. As it turns out, any option available to you is an easy way for me. Truthfully, you don’t have the capability to make anything difficult for me right now. The information I desire can be taken right out of your head. I’ll show you. There will be a tingle, followed by some slight discomfort. It won’t hurt...this time.”

  “What the--” was all the man could get out before his words became a startled scream.

  “Your name is Walter Allen Pettis. You’re thirty-four, recently divorced, and trying to pay child support from a drug dealer’s wages.”

  “Anyone could’ve--” Walter began unconvincingly.

  “That kind of information is easy for me to get, Walter. Anything that I have to dig deep for will come at a price to you: some synapses and a few brain cells, if you don’t fight too much. If you do fight, I could burst a blood vessel in your head and cause a stroke. Neither of us wants that, so give me a break.

  “We’ll start with an easy one. You have been selling vials of a green substance. Where did you get them?”

  “I’m not telling you shit.”

  “Brace him, Sara,” John ordered. “He might convulse.”

  Sara put her hands on Walter’s shoulders and gripped hard.

  “I’m supposed to be scared of this?” Walter asked. “I’ve seen this before. It’s called ‘good cop, bad cop,’ with an added twist of stupid. Do you think I’ll buy this whole psychic crap? Maybe when we’re done here, you can tell me if you see a lawsuit in your future.”

  “I’m not here to persuade you, though I think I’ve been pretty convincing. You have one last chance, Walter.”

  “Fuck you.”

  As the words left his mouth, Walter’s body stiffened, and Sara had to bear down to keep Walter from pulling against the ropes too hard. She didn’t think he’d escape, but he might do some damage to himself in this whole ordeal. Of course, she realized the irony in her concern for his arms and legs when his brain was in serious jeopardy, but it was all she had control over.

  His mouth was open, like he was taking a really deep breath, perhaps preceding a scream. Nothing came out. He simply posed like that for about thirty seconds, and then went limp and fell unconscious. A few seconds after that, John spoke.

  “He bought the vials from some teenager. The kid said there was more and gave a meeting time and address where Walter could get a refill on his supply. It seemed odd to me that a kid would be selling to a dealer, but Walter doesn’t seem to be a major dealer anyway.”

  “It happens more often than you’d think,” Sara said contemplatively. “Do you think this kid had been at the party? And, if so, I wonder if he could lead us back to the original supplier.”

  “I don’t know. I guess we can figure that out when Walter wakes up.”

  “Is he all right?”

  John chuckled. He got up, walked over to the wall, and flipped the light switch. Sara saw that the man seemed to be sleeping placidly.

  “Yeah,” John said, “he’s fine. I wouldn’t give him a stroke unless I meant to. Just don’t tell him that. I might still need that kind of leverage; many unanswered questions remain, and I may require his help after I get my answers.”

  ***

  Behind Nisus was a massive screen—like one at a drive-in, playing strange images that Alex had seen in their videos before. Pulsing lights at the foot of the stage illuminated the band members one at a time, but the screen was showing something at all times. “Silent Spring” had been very popular among Nisus’s angst-ridden fans. Alex watched the familiar image of President Rose standing behind a podium in a press conference, sporting a confused look and a dopey smile.

  Lonny stood at the edge of the stage and screamed into his microphone about a “crude monarch,” and the crowd roared back its approval. Again, mosh pits began forming all across the floor, though none was close to them this time.

  The videos, and Nisus’s barrage of anti-Rose propaganda, gave credence to the rumors that this song had been written as a strike against the belligerent President. Alex figured it probably wouldn’t have mattered what the policies of the President were; Nisus would have lashed out against him anyway. However, due to Rose’s many political blunders and his tendency to do pretty questionable things to increase his popularity, they did have a heightened fervor to expose him, at least to their own audience.

  “So make haste,” Lonny screamed, “unto unfurling a revolt!”

  As if by command, the crowd, like a tidal wave, pushed toward the stage. The hardcore fans who had not joined a mosh pit were lost in the music, head-banging and screaming along—not that they could be heard by anyone other than themselves. Those who were not that devoted moved away from the stage as the song progressed.

  The band played hard and fast. Lonny was jumping around on stage. The crowd moved with the rhythm. Alex felt the pull on him too, but he resisted it and placed a shield a
round Liz’s mind just for good measure.

  The fans began to frenzy. Alex thought he could see the stage move a little as people were shoved into it. A handful of desperate fans tried to jump up on stage, some to keep from being smashed perhaps. They were all deflected by guards who didn’t hesitate to remove the intruders by any means necessary. The band didn’t even seem to notice. The music, the images, and the flashing lights never slowed down until they reached an abrupt stop, and the lights went out again.

  Only Lonny’s voice could be heard now from the speakers. It softly intoned, “If we do not fix this, all is lost to the duplicitous behemoth.”

  At once, the crowd seemed to relax. Nisus was playing a softer song, one with a xylophone, which Lonny was probably behind. The lighting had risen slightly, just enough to cast shadows into the fog that surrounded the band. Alex hadn’t seen the fog before, but he guessed that, because his attention had been so focused on the music in the last song and trying to shield his mind and Elizabeth’s from the empathic call to riot, it had slipped in without him noticing.

  The now docile tones of Nisus had again pacified the masses, enough that Alex could actually hear the sound of Matt’s voice calling him. He turned to his left, and Matt was standing there, sweaty, bloody, and smiling.

  Elizabeth must have seen him too because she immediately broke the mental link she had with Alex and ran over to examine Matt’s face.

  “You’re bleeding,” she informed him.

  “None of it’s mine,” he replied. “Some big, drunk guy thought I was eyeing his woman. When I told him how wrong he was, he wasn’t too happy with that either.”

  “You told him you’re gay?” Liz asked in dismay.

  “No. I told him his girlfriend was ugly, except I wasn’t that nice.”

  Alex doubled over with laughter. Elizabeth tried to keep from smiling, but the attempt was in vain.

  “So what do you think of the concert?” Matt asked them, after Alex had finished laughing.

  Composing himself, Alex replied, “There’s something weird about it. I think they’re using their powers to manipulate the crowd. And they’re strong too.”

  Matt looked shocked. “I didn’t notice that.”

  “I didn’t either,” Elizabeth told him, “until Alex pointed it out. Now, I have to set aside part of my mind just to focus on maintaining control. It’s hard. If I try to listen to the music, it takes me away.”

  “I remember all the songs,” Matt argued. “I remember every crazy thing Lonny has done on stage.”

  “But do you remember what you were doing during all the songs?” Alex inquired. “Do you remember everyone chanting right after Nisus came on stage?”

  “Chanting?”

  “It was another language,” Liz affirmed. “Everyone around us was chanting along with a voice that coming over the speakers.”

  “No, I don’t remember anything like that.”

  “They can control thousands of people at a time, maybe more,” Alex noted. “You told me that their music supernaturally affected people, but I’ve never seen it affect them like that before.”

  Matt still looked skeptical. “Neither have I.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “Well, we know it happened tonight. We don’t know if it always happens, though I think this kind of result would need unwavering concentration.”

  “Probably,” Alex agreed. “The music on the radio probably doesn’t carry this effect, and neither do the videos. But this might happen at every Nisus concert.”

  “It’s hard to believe they’d do that,” Matt said.

  “For you, maybe,” Elizabeth countered. “We saw it.”

  ***

  “Do you feel that?” Salmar asked Sophie.

  She captured one of Salmar’s pawns with her bishop. “Demon hunters,” she told him nonchalantly.

  He looked down at the chess board that now held one less pawn. “You don’t think it’s a little unfair to play against someone who regularly looks into the future?”

  “I know nothing more about the outcome of this game than you do,” she retorted. “I only see the future when it chooses to reveal itself. And rarely does it choose to reveal itself for something as trivial as a game of chess.”

  Nathan, who had been watching the game with little interest, announced, “I’d kick her ass if she said something like that to me.”

  Salmar ignored Nathan’s comment and returned to the matter at hand. “What do you mean ‘demon hunters?’”

  “They want to propose an alliance. I, for one, think it’s a good idea.”

  Salmar’s rook captured the annoying bishop. “To what end?”

  “Garrett wants to help us now, so we’ll help him later against Lucifer.” Sophie moved her queen to the other end of the board. “Check,” she added.

  “Oh, great,” Nathan said venomously. “More of you idiots are on the way, huh? That’s just what I need. A few dozen more crazies, walking around here and talking about all the monsters that lurk around the corners.”

  Nathan jumped up and pointed excitedly to the living room. He shrieked, “Ooh, there’s one over there!”

  Salmar casually glanced along the line that Nathan’s finger was pointing and saw Zeng Wei entering the room. The Mad Prophet had begun pointing out all of the phantom demons that were around them, laughing maniacally each time.

  “What got him going this time?” Zeng Wei asked, amused.

  “Sophie informed us that there are demon hunters nearby who may be proposing an alliance,” Salmar replied. He moved a knight in to protect his king. “Nathan didn’t seem to like that.”

  Sophie deftly moved a rook in for the kill that Salmar must not have seen. It captured the knight, and took its place next to the undefended king. “Checkmate.”

  He examined the board to make sure her claim was true, and a knock from the front door preceded Higgin’s entrance.

  “There are some men here to see you,” the chief of security informed them. “Two of them have been in the mansion before. I believe their names are Garrett and Gregor. Do you want me to let them in? They’re armed.”

  Salmar shot a questioning look at Zeng Wei, who only shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. Sophie had already shared her feelings, and Nathan was too busy mocking them to notice.

  “I imagine they are well-armed,” Salmar agreed. “Yes, please let them in, Mr. Higgins. They will not harm us.”

  Higgins nodded and walked out of the room. Seconds later, the door opened again and Higgins had three men in tow. The one to walk through the door first was undoubtedly Garrett; he matched the unchanging description of the eldest demon hunter. Behind Garrett was a lanky young man with a dark complexion and black hair, who seemed familiar to Salmar, but the Elder Prophet couldn’t quite recollect where he’d seen him. Behind that young man was Gregor.

  All of the Elder Prophets knew Gregor. He had been the first demon hunter to propose a formal alliance between hunters and prophets. A “formal” alliance had never taken; neither side had ever sent a representative to sit on the council of the other side, for example. But thanks in large part to Gregor, demon hunters were occasionally present when prophets desperately needed help. Once more, Gregor and his cavalry had arrived at the perfect moment.

  Salmar stood and bowed. “Friends, welcome.”

  Sophie also stood. Nathan was already standing, but his attention seemed to be currently focused on the visitors, and he was quiet. Zeng Wei also bowed. Garrett nodded his head but seemed mostly unconcerned with pleasantries. Gregor walked around him and stuck his hand out to Zeng Wei. The Elder Prophet smiled and shook Gregor’s hand.

  “Master Zeng Wei, it has been too long since we sparred. I have been greatly looking forward to a lesson from you.”

  “I learn much from you as well,” Zeng Wei assured him.

  Gregor walked to Sophie and, upon taking her hand, bowed to kiss it. “You grow more beautiful every time I see you, my lady.”

  She smiled down at hi
m wryly and replied, “You are a flatterer, sir.”

  “Every word is the truth,” he said before walking over to Salmar.

  “Gregor,” Salmar said with his hand extended.

  Instead, Gregor rushed up and gave the Elder Prophet a powerful hug. After he let go, he stood next to Salmar with his arm over his shoulder.

  “Did you know this man saved my life?” Gregor asked Garrett.

  “I didn’t. Can we ask them now?”

  Gregor turned to look at Nathan. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “That’s right,” Nathan concurred.

  Gregor approached the Mad Prophet slowly, as if he’d realized to whom he was speaking. He held his hand out in a friendly gesture. “Gregor Rilke,” the demon hunter offered with his hand.

  Nathan looked at the hand with reservation, then decided that it was all right. He shook the hand and replied, “Nathan Kindle, mayor of Locura. I don’t speak Mexican, so I couldn’t tell you what it means. But I was told it was named after me.”

  Gregor was cautious. He knew what the word meant, but decided that this wasn’t the best time or place to translate it. He shook the Elder Prophet’s hand and said, “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  Gregor heard footsteps from the stairway next to the front door. At the same time, he was aware of a very familiar presence. He turned around and saw what he’d expected. John was coming down the stairs with some pretty lady behind him.

  Immediately, Gregor was standing on the stairs in front of John, arms wide for an embrace. John looked startled, then ecstatic. The two collided and rolled down the rest of the stairs.

  “Oh my God!” Sara said as she winced sympathetically.

  Sara had no idea what had just happened. She saw John tackle this guy and tumble down the stairs. He’d appeared out of nowhere, and John jumped on him. She descended the stairs a little quicker and pulled her gun.