Metal Angel: An Urban Fantasy Adventure (Rings of the Inconquo Book 3)

by A. L. Knorr

  Marks raised a hand to silence me as she spoke into the phone. “No, I want every team in the complex and the surrounding area to form a perimeter, but they are not to engage. I repeat: do not engage. They could bring down the whole building.”

  It was a kind of agony, being ready to race into danger but having to wait for direction.

  “Marks!” I growled, every muscle beginning to twitch and burn with adrenaline. My feet were ready to start running without my permission.

  “I’m sending her.” Marks looked up, a scowl of irritation on her features. “Lobby, now.”

  I headed out of her office, thankful for release from the torment of waiting, but stopped at the door.

  “What’s down there?”

  Marks was already giving more instructions to the person on the line, but she spared me a withering look.

  “Daria brought a friend,” she snapped. “Now go!”

  She emphasised her order by jabbing a finger toward the door, as if I didn’t know where it was and wasn’t already halfway through it.

  I bolted for the elevator. Pacing inside the metal box did something to diminish the tremors in my stomach and knees.

  What was Daria doing? If she really wanted to hurt us, why the charade? If she meant to strike at The Nakesh Corporation, walking into their lobby after telling them she was coming seemed particularly ineffective. So what was she playing at, and who was down there with her?

  Prepared to walk into a potentially hostile situation, I pulled the handrail from its fixings, splitting it open and flattening it. Before the doors opened, I was sheathed in a piecemeal skin of shaped metal, the armour giving a soft groan as it flexed around my movements.

  Stepping out into the hallway, a quartet of security personnel were crouched in the alcove across from me, their weapons trained down the short length of the hallway leading to the lobby. Two gave me a startled look, but they recovered quickly.

  “Have ye’ covered, mum,” one of them said softly, as she sighted down the barrel of a submachine gun towards the lobby.

  It would have been rude to tell her that her weapon was little better than a popgun in this situation, so I just nodded and moved down the hall.

  The empty lobby seemed cavernous and the two figures standing by the central desk small. My heart buoyed, thankful that the companion in the hooded duffle coat could not be Ninurta. I wasn’t eager to face the demigod so soon after our last encounter.

  “Daria?” I called. “What’s going on?”

  She turned from reclining against the desk, taking in my armoured form with an approving nod.

  “Bringing things together.” She gestured toward the figure standing next to her. “I told you I had a plan, and that plan requires cooperation.”

  The figure had not turned to face me, but something about the way his shoulders gathered as he waited, with elbows on the desktop, made my stomach do familiar summersaults.

  I took a few steps closer. “Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier? You’re making everyone nervous with these games.”

  Daria nodded.

  “I understand, but I didn’t want you to say no.” She gave a helpless shrug. “Not the best way to rekindle an alliance, I know, but I’m hoping that is the last time I’ll ever have to bend the truth with you. I just need you to remember what I told you about this plan.”

  Her companion turned around, exposing a wide smile and the molten heart throbbing in his chest. Dillon Sark looked me up and down.

  “I think I like the wings better,” Sark said. “Though I wonder how you’d look if you tried both.”

  My fists rose into guard, and I scooped up every spare piece of metal I could find in a single sweep. An assortment of decor and office supplies gathered around me like a thunderhead.

  “What is he doing here?”

  Daria stepped forward, hands up.

  “Remember, Ibby.” Her voice was preternaturally calm. “I said you wouldn’t like it, but this is our best chance. I wasn’t lying about that.”

  Seventeen

  I’d finished packing and sat at the edge of the bed, letting Marcus vent.

  “I should be going with you. You need someone to watch your back,” he continued, his brow creased over downcast eyes. “Especially with Sark being there.”

  I couldn’t argue with him. He hated being left behind, but no amount of gumption would make up for the fact that his injuries made him a liability.

  He sat beside me, his weight making me tilt toward him. “I know that Marks is sending Stewart’s team with you, and Daria will be there. But I’m honestly not sure which woman I trust less. You should have someone you really trust watching your back.”

  “Maybe,” I said, wrapping my arms around my knees and leaned against his shoulder. “Or maybe this way, I can do what I have to without worrying about those with me.”

  Marcus looked over, stricken, and I realised how that must have sounded to him.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said quickly, reaching out a hand to reassure him. “I couldn’t have faced him that night without you.”

  “Sure, if you say so.” Marcus seemed unconvinced. “But you shouldn’t kid yourself that you aren’t going to be worrying about other people. You are a protector, worrying comes with the gig.”

  Once again, I couldn’t argue. I only nodded as I rose. He got to his feet as well and I slid against him for a hug, mindful of the crutches leaning against the bed.

  “I’ve got some great things to protect,” I whispered as I nestled my head against his chest. “It helps knowing what you are fighting for.”

  “I--” His breathing was heavy and the words caught in his throat. I shushed him and gave a quick squeeze before pulling away.

  “You’ll be right here with me until I get back.” I tapped a finger on my heart.

  “That has to be the cheesiest thing anyone has ever said to me.” He chuckled.

  “You think you know how to properly say goodbye, then?”

  He nodded and bent to kiss me.

  “I love you, Ibukun Bashir. Come back to me.”

  I couldn’t think of this as a one-way trip. I had to face Ninurta, had to find a way to defeat him. I had to do the impossible, not to save the world but so I could get back here, back to him.

  “I love you, too, and I will.”

  ---

  “You’ve a plan then, luv?” Jackie asked, her eyes locked on the ceiling over her reclined bed.

  “Yep, in no small part thanks to you,” I leaned forward in the chair so my elbows rested on the mattress beside her head. “And I hear that you’ve got a plan of sorts too.”

  The doctors had decreed that she spend more time flat on her back to reduce the swelling. They might then be able to do reconstructive and restorative surgery on her damaged spine. The outcomes were uncertain, and recovery would be gruelling, but that there was any hope was nothing short of a miracle.

  “We both have reason to be cheerful then.” She rolled her head to look me in the eye. “But your plan better be to get back here on the hop. I’m going to need someone to whine at as I relearn how to walk.”

  I reached out a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

  “Stop the apocalypse and make it home in time for rehab.”

  “That about covers it.”

  Jackie studied my face, looking for something. She eventually gave voice to her search in a fragile, plaintive voice.

  “You are coming back, right?”

  “You bet your bonnie, wee bum I am. I’m convinced we’ve got more than a good chance this time.”

  That was being disingenuously optimistic, but I think Jackie wanted to believe me, so she nodded stiffly.

  “You beat the bully proper and then get back here in short order.” A spark of her old fighting spirit shone through. “Godspeed, luv.”

  Eighteen

  As I had told Marks, Ninurta was not interested in secrecy. He had barrelled into northern Iraq near the Zag
ros Mountains, set up a compound with his followers and his collected children –Inconquo descendants, like Uncle Iry, from across the globe.

  Both Daria and TNC had intel on these happenings, but the information wasn’t hard to come by. Many foreign eyes were watching events in the war-torn country with keen interest, and though the more fantastic elements of his story were being written off, the wider world knew that a new “insurgent” was rising in Iraq. Unfortunately for all of them, Ninurta’s fantastic nature was precisely what they should be concerned with. But, in fairness, if you’d told me last year about what I was doing now, I’d have called you a loon and walked away. Now I was riding over Turkey in a cargo plane with two demons and a team of fully armed former soldiers to face this insurgent on his own turf, surrounded by his followers.

  I shouted to be heard over the engines as Daria and I reviewed the plan.

  “… hoping that Ninurta won’t be throwing down meteors for fear of killing his own.”

  Sark, who’d mostly kept to himself during the planning, shook his head.

  “It is foolish to think he won’t sacrifice a few pawns to get rid of you.” His burning, unfocused gaze met mine; it was like looking into the eyes of a person caught in the grips of a nightmare. Whatever Sark had hoped for when he’d drawn Kezsarak into himself, I very much doubted he’d gotten what he wanted.

  “It’s not about his humanity but his pragmatism,” Daria yelled back. “He’ll need to draw on as many of his bloodline as possible to make his plan work. If he starts killing his strongest, he’ll risk not having enough juice to pull it off.”

  Sark shrugged and leaned back in his seat, his expression unconvinced, but he didn’t seem interested in further argument.

  “You two approach the compound from the other side.”

  Now it was Daria’s turn to be sceptical.

  “It’s a mistake to split our deployment. Even if Ninurta isn’t throwing meteors at you, he’s lethal. This could go poorly very quickly.”

  I shook my head, gesturing at myself with both hands. “I need him focused on me. If he spots you, it’ll alert him that we’re up to something.”

  Daria frowned and leaned forward in her safety harness. “The plan doesn’t work at all if you’re dead.”

  I laughed in a way that I hoped hid my fear. “Your vote of confidence is overwhelming.”

  Overhead there was the blare of a proximity alert, and the light on the bulkheads near the rear of the plane changed from red to green.

  “Bashir!” Stewart called. “Get down here.”

  Unfastening my harness, I took lurching steps toward the security team where they were doing last-minute checks on their gear and parachutes.

  My stomach clenched as the reality of my situation sunk in. I’m about to jump out of a perfectly functioning airplane to save the world.

  I’d be tandem jumping with Hadlynne since I had no experience with skydiving and wanted to be more than a stain on the desert floor. The soldier seemed as excited about the whole business as I was, his complexion the same color as fresh milk.

  “Any advice?” I asked as we strapped ourselves together, my back to his chest. I had to crane my neck to see his face in my periphery.

  Hadlynne looked at me. “Don’t chuck your breakfast.”

  I hadn’t even thought about vomiting. I was more focused on not going splat, but now that he mentioned it, I felt a twinge of nausea.

  “What happens if I do?”

  “You lose your breakfast I get an early lunch.” He tugged down on a strap harder than it probably needed.

  “Thanks for that.” I wrinkled my nose in disgust and focused straight ahead. Trust a soldier to provide a crude comment in any situation.

  “Everyone tight?” Stewart bellowed. He ran a critical eye over the assembled team.

  “As your mother, Sarge!” the team shouted in unison.

  My jaw dropped at their coordinated insult. I half expected Stewart to throw a punch at someone, but his weathered features broke into a genuine smile. He looked over the team one last time and then nodded approvingly.

  “Let’s go kill a god then!”

  The bay doors opened as another siren blared. Ahead was nothing but a howling sky and a blurry seam of darkness--the land below. My heart hammered, my knees turned watery and my stomach lurched. I might have felt embarrassed at my sudden rush of weakness but I was too busy trying not to be sick.

  The others, like rugby players rushing for the tackle, surged out in a mob.

  I wasn’t so keen, but with Hadlynne grunting at my back, I had little choice.

  For a moment I really wished I was going with Sark and Daria to land at the airport north of the compound. I opened my mouth to scream, but it was too late as the wailing sky opened up to swallow me.

  The descent to the valley floor was a strange combination of terror and serenity.

  I plummeted through the air, every instinct ramrodding terrified adrenaline through my veins. My arms splayed out, hands grasping at emptiness as the wind scoured my skin. Seconds ticked by, the ground growing closer but only so much that I knew I was moving, even if it seemed slowly. As time passed, the rushing in my blood faded enough that I realised I wasn’t going to die just yet, and my pulse stabilized.

  The security team kept close to each other as they descended, and I saw--to my horror--more than one of the loons grinning ear to ear. As seconds and metre after plummeting metre clipped by, I realised there was a certain thrilling peace to the whole thing.

  Death may or may not come, and even if it did, there seemed little I could do to stop it. In the meantime, I let the elation of soaring through the air finally come in. It was something foundational, perhaps going back to when my father tossed me up into the air as a tot. It was never the rise that thrilled me, but surrendering to the plummet, certain I would land safe in my father’s arms. The reflection of my father struck me squarely, as all thoughts of my parents did, but here at what might be my last moments, it somehow felt right.

  The moment of our descent stretched on pleasantly, and then Stewart barked something, and I felt Hadlynne dragging us away from the others and into position.

  “Brace yourself,” he growled in my ear over the whistling wind.

  It was then I learned two things.

  The opening of a parachute is not the gentle blooming of fabric I’d imagined, and even with it open overhead, you still descend with unseemly speed.

  Hadlynne and I jerked back as the chute opened, the force of deceleration enough to pop my neck and clack my teeth together. My senses were filled with cottony static for an instant from the jolt, and then I came to, realising how much closer the ground was.

  We did slow, moving in a winding path downward, but as each revolution passed and the earth below grew uncomfortably nearer, fresh fear rose inside me. We had to slow down more than this, didn’t we? The wind whistling against my skin had to be a sign that we were about to smash into the ground, which looked more like bedrock than a feather bed.

  “Shouldn’t we slow down?” I shouted.

  “We’re on target,” Hadlynne offered mildly.

  I wanted to scream that I didn’t want to be on target, I wanted to land safely. I was a person, not a missile.

  The ground jumped up to meet us, and then we were scudding across it. For a second I wondered if this was what roadkill felt like, before we came to an unceremonious stop.

  After we disentangled, I emerged from the web of parachute and harness to behold the primeval lands that had birthed Ninurta.

  The winds whipped across the landscape, which, despite all my previous assumptions about the region, was wet, cold, and sported darkly glistening vegetation. In the briefings Stewart mentioned the foothills being sodden with winter rains but I had still been expecting something more desert-like.

  The rest of the team had smooth landings and in a few seconds we were assembled into a marching order by Stewart.

  “All intel indicated that they
dinna patrol or have picket lines beyond sentries at the compound.” Stewart paced around as he spoke low but clear, gaze probing the terrain. “But we all know the truth about intel.”

  A few grunted in agreement while others nodded grimly.

  “What’s that about intel?” I whispered to Hadlynne.

  “N’telligence is al’ys wrong, and when it ain’t it’s too late to matter.”

  “Minimal casualties,” Stewart spat. “Both with contacts and your sorry selves. Secure any contact, whether they’re eight or eighty. Watch yourselves and keep clear of the Angel when she gets to work.”

  More nods and a few raised chins my way from the team.

  Angel? I felt prouder to have been given that name by these rough men than by any other accolade I’d earned. My shoulders squared a little.

  I thought of Jackie and Marcus, how to explain how I was feeling; thinking about what they must be going through. I shook the thoughts away, knowing that distraction at this point could be the last mistake I made. Stewart was finishing his instruction, and I was missing it.

  “... don’t want dead heroes, I want live soldiers, lads. If anyone has a chance to stop this business, it’s us here and now!”

  He met every gaze with his frosty blue eyes before cracking one of his rare smiles.

  “Right, move out and let’s crack this noot!”

  ---

  “What the…” came an awed, anonymous whisper as we crested the last hill. “Look at the size of it.”

  An enormous ziggurat sprawled across the valley floor, its corners touching the arms of the mountain that cradled it. It was made from dark grey stone, shiny and nearly black with the recent rains; a squat idol of a primordial demon-god, the tiered steps rising up as ridges of a scaly body, the shrine at its zenith a brutish crown. With every step we took down the slope, it seemed to grow: a construction that belonged to another time, though we knew it had been built in the last few days.

  “Keep it tight,” Stewart growled through the radio as he ranged at the front of the formation just behind the point squad.