by RB Austin
The pastor sighed. “Keandre’s safety is your top concern. I understand that. And I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or feel like you can’t trust me with your son. Please know I’d never do anything to put him in jeopardy.” He paused. “I’ve known Sarid a long time. A long time,” he repeated, and gave her a look that she couldn’t read. “Sarid’s life is filled with complications, but he’s the gentlest and kindest person I’ve ever met. He places everyone’s safety above his own desires.” His gaze sharpened. “There’s a connection between you two.”
She shook her head.
“You, above anyone else, he wouldn’t harm, and that extends most definitely to Keandre.”
The toilet flushed seconds before water blasted from the faucet. Asjhone spoke quickly. “Is he ill?” She bit her lip then, “He needs to come back to the hospital, Pastor. Can you convince him? We need to run tests.”
“It’s not what you think.”
Keandre ran back into the room and Asjhone was unable to question him further or extract a promise that he’d bring Sarid in.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Pastor Ken.” Keandre’s backpack was already on his shoulders.
The pastor glanced at Asjhone, lifted an eyebrow.
Her lips pursed.
Vampire talk aside, the pastor was a good man. She never had any reason to doubt him before. “Yes. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chapter 17
The weather changed when Asjhone was in with the pastor. Clouds had blown in, heavy and dark. It affected her mood. Doubt was trickling in.
Did she do the right thing? Would Keandre be safe?
After triple checking the front door and windows, Asjhone started dinner. Chicken n’ dumplings was perfect for the weather, but not so good for her thoughts. Not enough to do with her hands. Too much time to think.
In front of the stove, she stirred the lightly bubbling soup, separating the dumplings to prevent stickage.
Since Keandre was born, she’d lived her life by two major principles. Eyes wide open and trust her instincts.
Never again would she avoid the truth. She wouldn’t allow a charming smile or her own insecurities to cloud her judgment.
Did she trust the pastor?
Bounce. Bounce.
Yes. She did.
The vampire and grave talk were a bit off the wall, but she trusted the pastor not to harm Keandre and to keep him safe. If he said Sarid wouldn’t be there, then she trusted him to keep that promise.
Bounce. Bounce.
“Did you finish your homework, Keandre?”
“Uh huh.”
Asjhone glanced over her shoulder, eyebrow raised.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay. I’ll go over it after dinner.”
“You don’t have to. Mr. Sarid looked at it.”
“What?” The fork Asjhone had been using to stir the dumplings, slipped from her hand and fell into the pot. Crap. She hesitated for a minute, staring at the bubbling liquid, then turned to her son.
“He helped me with my history homework,” Keandre was saying. “He knew everything about sugar canes. Did you know sugar cane stalks are really thick and hard? And before they had machines to do it, the workers had to cut them by hand with super large knives.” Keandre set the ball on the floor before stretching his arms wide. “The knifes—”
“Knives,” Asjhone corrected.
“Knives, would get stuck in the stalk. And three or four men had to pull it out together.”
“Sarid told you all of this?”
Keandre nodded. Bounce. Bounce. “He knew a lot about it. Pastor Ken said he’s like a history-ee-in.
“Historian.”
“Yeah, that.”
Bounce. Bounce.
“Does Mr. Sarid scare you?”
“No.” Then he grinned. “He’s pretty funny, though.” He proceeded to tell her about Sarid falling. Keandre finished the tale on his back, legs in the air.
“I hope he didn’t hurt himself.”
“He didn’t.” Keandre jumped to his feet.
Bounce. Bounce.
Asjhone told herself she just wanted to know what type of man Sarid was and how he interacted with her son. That’s all. Then reminded herself she was supposed to be honest and reluctantly admitted she wanted to learn more about the man. “Why did he fall down? Did he trip?”
“No. I snuck up on him, he didn’t know I was behind him.”
Bounce. Bounce.
“Was he mad at you? For scaring him?”
“No.”
“What happened then?”
Keandre shrugged. “He helped me with my homework.”
“Where was Pastor Ken while you were working on homework?”
Another shrug. “Don’t know.”
Asjhone retrieved a large ladle from the drawer next to the sink and began stirring the soup again.
“Do scars hurt, Mom?”
“Scars?” She rubbed a small spot on the underside of her chin before Sarid’s image sprang into her head. Specifically, the deep grooves on both cheeks. “Sometimes they do, but more often than not, no.” Most of the time it was the memory of the incident that hurt the worst. “Why?”
“Sarid said those were scars on his face. He got them when he was younger. Littler than me.”
“Keandre, you didn’t ask Mr. Sarid about his scars did you? That’s not polite.”
Bounce. Bounce.
“Mr. Sarid told me all that stuff by himself.” Keandre didn’t look up from his ball.
Asjhone frowned.
“Watch this, Mom.”
She set the spoon on the counter and turned. Keandre bounced the basketball. First with one hand. Then the other. Then faster. It bounced higher, harder before careening out of control. The ball hit Asjhone’s thigh. She rocked on her heels, knocked into the spoon handle. The spoon flipped, landed on Asjhone’s shoulder then fell to the floor.
“Oops,” Keandre said.
Asjhone sighed, grabbed the spoon from the floor and threw it into the sink. “This is why I don’t want balls in the house. They’re for outside.” She grabbed a piece of paper towel, then pulled off a second one because the stuff was cheap.
“Sorry, Mom.” Keandre held the ball in his hands. “Can I play with Devan? Since my homework’s all done.”
“It’s going to rain, Keandre.” She kneeled, wiping the floor where the spoon landed. “No playing with Devan tonight.”
“But we can play at his house. Or mine.”
“Not tonight. It’s dark already. Go put your ball away. Dinner will be ready soon.”
“But if we’re playing inside the house, it doesn’t matter if it’s dark or raining.”
“Keandre, not tonight.”
“It’s not fair! You never let me do anything!” He ran from the room.
Floor clean, she ladled soup—with a new spoon—into two bowls. Carried them to the table.
Was it time to loosen the reins?
They’d lived in Astoria for over three years. She was going by her maiden name. No one knew her past.
It was enough, right? She should be able to feel safe? Let her guard down? She glanced at the shaded, locked window. The rain had started. It was beating against the glass.
But not tonight.
The picnic on Sunday was as good a place as any to start.
Chapter 18
FIFTEEN DAYS LEFT
“Jeeves packed clothes for you,” Gabe said.
Pretty Boy. Just one scratch.
Sarid didn’t reach for the outstretched bag. “I already have clothes.”
His ach shrugged. “Martha thought you might be running out of clean ones.”
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Sarid accepted the bag, threw it onto the back seat of his Hummer then closed and locked the door. He fell into step with Gabe.
Stick out our foot. Trip him. Not hurt. Not maim. Just funny.
It’d started to rain. The weather might scare Followers into staying at home, but it didn’t stop the Fallen.
The Behns were like postal workers. Through rain or shine, snow or sleet, the Fallen’s death will be delivered.
“I don’t understand why you won’t come home.”
Cut down the weak link. Pretty Boy is too stupid to live.
“It’s not a good idea right now. The Other is still agitated.”
“You said that at the hospital. I don’t get it. Normally the Other is quiet after a prison break.”
The demon growled. It didn’t like the reminder of his predicament.
Sarid hesitated. “It’s different this time.”
“Because of all the other Septs?”
A few months ago, Elias, the Sept One’s sire, spoke of a prophecy. An end of the world kind of prediction that involved a map and a key. It also mentioned Behns joining together with the Woyrs. So for the last month Behns from different Septs had arrived. Along with a couple Woyrs.
The Other didn’t like it.
It was difficult enough, keeping the demon from killing Cade, Lucas, or Gabe when it took over. Extending that promise to the whole Trihune just wasn’t going to happen.
“The number of occupants at the HQ is part of the problem,” he admitted to Gabe.
“And the other?”
Sarid’s thoughts centered on Asjhone, then veered to Apollyon and his television debut.
The Behns had been gathered in the new, larger conference room in the HQ basement. Everyone just learned that Kate, Lucas’s female, was the key. A discussion had just begun on what that actually meant when Jeeves ran in the room.
It was Apollyon. On TV. Coming out to the humans. Not in an I’m-gay kind of way or even an I’m-the-devil way.
Sarid hadn’t recognized the man claiming to be the Sonh of the Creator. But the demon had.
When the Sept One Hostel opened for business, the demon’s agitation had increased, weakening Sarid’s control. And Sarid had been unable to stop the demon’s rush to the surface when it spied Apollyon on the screen.
Sarid opened his mouth to respond to Gabe when—
Yes! Someone we can hurt, kill, maim.
At first he thought the demon meant Gabe, but then heard a ring. His ach noticed it, too.
The cellphone noise was a Fallen beacon and all Trihune members could hear the call if close enough.
His ach palmed a semi-automatic Beretta in his right hand, reached for a dagger with his left. Sarid kept his hands loose at his sides, ready to pull out his own hand-carved, ivory handled daggers.
The demon bounced up and down. Hurt. Kill. Hurt. Kill. Maim.
Wasn’t this discussed already? What’s the point of maiming if the thing was already dead?
Hurt. Kill. Maaaaim.
Whatever.
Gabe motioned to the right. Sarid dipped his head in acknowledgement. They broke into a jog, heading for the business district of the city. The rain had eased, but dark clouds still blocked the moon and the street lamps didn’t enlighten much. Good thing he and Gabe had their own internal flashlight. Sarid tapped into his Behn powers. His eyes emitted a bright blue light. This allowed him to see as clear as day in the dark, also farther and clearer.
A scream sounded. Was muffled a few seconds later. Without comment they doubled their speed. The ringing grew in volume. Getting closer. Sarid couldn’t wait to pick up the call.
He needed it.
The Other paced inside him. Hurtkillmaim. Hurtkillmaim. Hurtkillmaim.
A good fight would keep the Other in line. One couldn’t vie for control, if the host was passed out from complete and utter exhaustion. He sprinted past Gabe, rounded the corner first.
One Fallen.
Disappointment sliced through him. One wasn’t much of a fight. It’d barely take the edge off.
The monster had its mouth latched onto a male Follower’s neck.
Hurt. Kill. Maim. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.
Not slowing his Usain Bolt pace, Sarid snagged a knife from the holster in his back and threw it. It sailed through the air, blade over handle, before finding its mark. The Fallen’s thigh.
Yes! Hurt. Hurt.
As predicted the Fallen let go of his catch with a scream of pain.
Hahahahaha. Hurt. Hurt.
Sarid launched himself into the air, the Fallen his landing pad. He crashed into the monster, knocking it to the ground.
“So you got it, then?” Gabe grumbled, less than enthused.
Sarid wrapped his hand around the dagger lodged into the Fallen’s quadriceps and yanked.
Another scream.
Again. Hurt!
Sarid hesitated.
Again. Again. Hurt. Maim. Maim. Maim.
Sarid shook his head back and forth. The Fallen bucked underneath Sarid and swung out with a right cross. The monster’s fist slammed into Sarid’s cheek. Sarid jerked back, in momentary shock of what the fuck. Taking advantage, the Fallen punched him in the diaphragm then pushed Sarid off of him.
From the ground, Sarid’s gaze flared a brighter shade of blue. Fangs punched out of his gums. Seconds later, a red haze fell over his eyes. He and the demon stared at the Fallen now scrambling to its feet.
“Sarid!” Gabe called out.
Did his ach see the Other so close to the surface? Or was Gabe concerned for Sarid’s safety?
Didn’t matter.
Both things were well under control. He jumped to his feet, snagged hold of the monster’s jacket, and jerked the Fallen toward him, right into his fist.
Contact! The Fallen’s head snapped back.
The next movements were a blur. Punch after punch was thrown with barely a thought for placement. At some point they’d fallen back to the ground. Sarid was straddling the Fallen.
Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.
When the Fallen stopped moving, Sarid rose. His chest heaved. Knuckles were bruised and bloody. He reached for the second dagger strapped to his back. It took two tries to grip the handle. His hands were slippery with blood.
Hurtkillmaim. Hurtkillmaim. Hurtkillmaim. Kill. Kill. Kill.
“Master?”
Sarid froze.
“No, not my master,” the Fallen whispered. “But you are like my master.”
Shock hit first. Then confusion.
He stared at the Fallen. Its body, the surrounding concrete, everything in sight was bathed in red.
Not blue. Not his Behn light; the good light. But red of the demon, of evil. He felt the demon rise to the surface and was in too much shock to stop it. “Yesss.” The guttural word escaped from Sarid’s lips and ended on a hiss.
But it wasn’t his voice or word. He hadn’t been the one to answer the Fallen.
Sarid moved so quickly that neither the Fallen, nor the demon, had time to react. He plunged the dagger into its heart. Watched fear, then life ebb from the enemy’s eyes before it burst into dust.
He fell to his knees then forward onto his hands. Breath sawed in and out of his mouth. You are like my master. The Fallen’s master. Apollyon.
He kept his eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see a world through red, which would only prove the Fallen right.
“Sarid?” Gabe’s voice was low and trembled slightly.
An ache ran through his chest, but he shoved it away. Fear was good.
Fifteen days, he’d promised the choghen. As soon as the clock timed out, it’d be over.
“Sarid?”
“I am fine.” H
e forced his eyes open. Clear. No red. No blue. The relief was short lived. It didn’t matter what his eyes saw right now, he knew the truth. You are like my master.
Sarid stood, pushing the thought and the emotions that rose with it down. He caught sight of the Follower at Gabe’s feet. Gestured toward him.
“Alive, but unconscious,” Gabe said. “Heartbeat steady. He’ll live. Fallen probably only got a couple pints. I spread Elias’s medicine on his neck in case of poison. As soon as we’re clear, I’ll call an ambulance.”
The Fallen didn’t have fangs. They had to use a knife to make a small cut on the jugular. The monsters would then suck the victim’s blood until the soul released.
Four and a half months ago, the Behns learned Fallen were infusing their knives with poison. Victims who managed to escape and receive treatment for blood loss, died from poisoning a few days later.
The poison was also lethal to Trihune members, though faster acting. Lucas had been hit with one and would’ve died in thirty minutes if Gabe hadn’t acted as fast as he did. Even then it was touch and go. Elias had to drain Lucas completely, then give him his own blood. Lucas made a full recovery, but would always have a scar.
Sarid glanced once more at the pile of dust that used to be the Fallen. “We’re done here.”
They walked a block before Gabe called in the ‘mugging’. “So,” he said after tucking his phone away. “What was that?”
Sarid stilled, then sighed. It was best to get it out in the open, wasn’t it?
In the past he’d been afraid of his Sept’s reaction. Afraid they might boot him out. Or try to kill him, thus getting injured in the process when the demon retaliated. But his end was near and his brothers deserved to know the truth. It might make things easier if his achs started to hate him. “The Fallen recognized the Other.”
