Archangel Crusader

by Vijaya Schartz

  When Michael called Dave, the FBI had been there too, but only briefly. Since Michael had officially cut all ties with his family at the age of fourteen, they seemed to believe the story Dave fed them and probably would not come back. Dave's farm still looked like the best place for Michael to wait. Besides, Jennifer would try to reach him there.

  Jennifer... Was she safe? He dialed Tori’s number but obtained no response. An inexplicable malaise seized Michael as he thought about his daughter. Time to establish mental contact. Relaxing on the bed, he launched his consciousness to the French city of Paris and from there spread his awareness over the continents. Michael searched relentlessly for any sign of Jennifer's psyche. She couldn't possibly be lost, but he couldn't find any sign of her on the planet. She had to be alive. Michel would know if she were dead. Why couldn't he reach her? He could only hope Jennifer would call him soon.

  Finally, Michael fell into a troubled slumber, the strong body giving up to physical exhaustion as well as mental strain. His sleep that night crawled with nightmares. They brought up the recurring face and atrocious cold eyes of the snake-alien Lufriec, surfacing from another dream weeks ago, out from under the silvery hood of a monk's robe.

  *****

  Jennifer thoroughly enjoyed the Eiffel tower. She cringed with apprehension during the noisy elevator ride, amidst enormous beams of rough brown iron and closed her eyes a few times. Despite her fear of heights, the view from the top of the great lady of steel, proved rewarding. As long as she kept her eyes on the horizon, Jennifer was fine, but vertigo seized her every time she tried to look down. Down below, magnificent palaces, museums, and white churches sprinkled the hills. Parks and streets formed a picturesque grid, a gigantic map with the lazy River Seine snaking nonchalantly through it.

  For lunch, they took the cruise on the river in a Plexiglas boat. The food wasn’t that great, but Jennifer’s eyes devoured the scenery passing by. Old stone bridges decorated with statues, antique bookshops in the open air, cathedrals and churches. People in a hurry walked everywhere. Jennifer even saw Lady Liberty on the riverfront, saluting the passing barges. Who would have ever guessed she was French?

  In the afternoon, Jennifer fed the pigeons in the square in front of Notre Dame. She marveled at the height of the elegant towers of the great cathedral, at the lace-like pattern of the stone carvings along the portals, at the stained glass windows and rosacea. She looked up at the flying buttresses until her head reeled, frowning at the ugly gargoyles staring back at her. She wondered if the hunchback of medieval times still slumbered under the eves of the highest tower among the gigantic bells.

  Following the left bank, Jennifer and Tori walked among the crowd of the Quartier Latin, mainly students of the neighboring universities. When they came upon the Place Saint Michel, Jennifer stopped and stared. A huge fountain dominated the intersection. There towered a colossal archangel, framed by magnificent wings. The bronze statue of Saint Michael brandished a snake sword and trampled the Devil in a demonstration of raw strength and righteous wrath. The handsome fiend writhed under the onslaught.

  Somehow the statue of the archangel reminded Jennifer of her father, right down to the long wavy hair... She had not been able to reach him lately. She’d tried to concentrate as he taught her, but to no avail. She’d also called his mobile phone, but for some reason the lines did not connect.

  “Maybe we should go home,” Tori suggested. “We have to get ready for our big night.”

  Jennifer agreed. The very special night at the Opera was her first great event. Setting her worries aside, the young girl focused on the evening. She would wear the red dress Tori had bought for her.

  Back at the penthouse, mother and daughter tried different hairstyles and makeup combinations. They giggled, striking poses in front of the mirror of the master bathroom. Jennifer marveled at the professional lights and drawers full of assorted lotions, creams, powders, blushes, eye pencils, nail polish, lipstick, and a variety of cosmetic tools she had never seen before.

  The two decided to look alike tonight. To achieve this, they carefully chose two long, bright red silk dresses of slightly different styles: one flattering Jennifer's budding breasts with a frilly ruffle, and one that downplayed the voluptuous bosom of her mother. The back on each dress exposed much bare skin. Even the hairstyles would look similar, at least from the front. By cutting short bangs in the front of Jennifer's long hair, combing them in a boyish fashion, and pulling up the rest in a high chignon, Tori made their faces look strikingly alike.

  Jennifer practiced walking in high heels. These, with her tall stature, added five years on her. False eyelashes, lipstick and careful makeup made her look like the little sister of her gorgeous mother. Jennifer basked in the feeling. She knew now without a doubt that she had found her real mother and felt very secure. Both enjoyed the same things, they even looked alike. If only her father could see them now!

  *****

  The white limo pulled up in front of the brightly lit Opera House, which resembled a white wedding cake with gold and green bronze decorations. Krastinios, casually holding up the dark-green, velvet drapes, watched from the private office window above the lobby. His expert eyes appraised the two beautiful women who stepped out of the car, wearing red silk and gold lamé stoles, diamond necklaces and bracelets covering their flawless skin.

  "Thank you for the exclusive tickets," Krastinios said, turning back to the middle-aged man in the expensive suit sitting behind the antique cherry desk.

  "This is nothing after all we owe you, dear friend." The gray-haired man looked fearful in the glow of the desk lamp. "Besides, it is such a privilege to serve you. We greatly appreciate your generous support of the arts, among other favors." The lecherous smile of the man told of depraved tendencies. "See you later, at your little party."

  Bowing slightly, Krastinios smiled, more to himself than to the man, then left. Down the central stairway of Venetian marble, his feet barely touched the red runners held in place by polished brass retainers. Krastinios reflected on the incompetence of simple humans. They could not be depended upon and usually found ways to fail in the most important tasks, like the Secret Services, that bunch of amateurs...

  Krastinios should have gone to Washington himself. The agents in charge of organizing Debbie's accidental death had fumbled. "A slight error in timing," the Colonel had explained. "We could easily terminate her anytime, if you like." How could it look like a random terrorist act now? Krastinios could not kill Debbie without attracting attention to the Crusade. Too late... The opportunity had come and gone. Time to implement plan B.

  As he crossed the landing, his eye caught a television screen displaying his archenemy. This Crusader, as the journalists named him, was becoming bothersome. This last week, his face had been showing up everywhere in messages packed with subliminal suggestions to restore the planet. Other speakers had picked up his cause, and his ideas spread with unexpected alacrity. A renewed interest in ecology, world peace and solidarity now surfaced in all the media. The little tramp had learned much in a short time, enough to become a major thorn in Krastinios’ side. Like all Reptilians, he liked the heat and counted on the global warming. Without it, Earth would be a cold home for his people. Why had the Blue Angels bothered to teach a lowly Earthling? Didn’t they know they couldn’t win this time?

  From the second floor, leaning nonchalantly on the stone railing, Krastinios kept the foyer in his field of view. There, Jennifer and Tori admired the architecture and the paintings while waiting for the curtain call. Krastinios had obtained for them the best seats in the house, first balcony, front row, also known as the presidential lodge which, however, presidents rarely used anymore. He would surprise them by showing up at the last minute, his seat conveniently reserved in the same box.

  Krastinios had not come tonight for the premiere of Romeo and Juliette, although the ballet, remarkable in every way, featured the most reputable dancers in the world. No... He had come to stalk his cho
sen prey: two beautiful white doves, already wearing the crimson of their very blood.

  Jennifer and Tori seemed to enjoy the game. As they approached in all their glamour, they acknowledged a smile from a good-looking man, a glare from a less beautiful woman.

  Krastinios followed them into the crowd of multicolored organza, shiny satin, starched pleated shirts and black neckties, with an occasional tuxedo or black hat. He was the only man there wearing fine leather, open on a smooth tanned chest. His rare elegance, perfect posture, ideal proportions, and natural poise made Krastinios the most fashionable man in the crowd. Many women, and quite a few men noticed and coveted him.

  Taking a detour to observe his doves, Krastinios chuckled at their surprise when the usher showed them to their seats. He waited a few minutes then ambled toward them. "What a delightful surprise!" he exclaimed, all charisma and smile. "I could not have wished for better company. Jennifer..." He formally kissed her hand. "Madame Fontaine." He reiterated the courtesy.

  Mother and daughter caught their breath at the apparition. A question furrowed Tori's eyebrows, but she soon joined in the conversation already started between Krastinios and Jennifer. They talked about the magnificent ceiling, painted by Chagall a few decades ago. The modern style contrasted with the classic gold columns and centuries-old architecture. The angels sported black-contoured Picasso-like faces, and the bright colors and bold shapes won Jennifer's vote. Tori, who had seen pictures of the original ceiling felt it more suited to the style of the edifice.

  "The new generation likes it," Krastinios concluded as an apology.

  When the lights dimmed, the crowd hushed. In the low incandescence of a huge chandelier, the spectators held their breath while the majestic curtain of crimson and gold lifted slowly, revealing a diaphanous veil. The flimsy fabric caught the light but still concealed the rich decor behind. After a few customary tuning scales, the orchestra struck the first notes of the introduction.

  Rather than stare at the stage and enjoy the music, Krastinios savored the closeness of the two very beings he would use to bring down his archenemy. Easy work indeed with such trusting, naive, and oh so enjoyable females. He checked once again on the psychic shield he had placed on Jennifer to prevent her from reaching her father. The invisible barrier held. Not a chip in it. A little more patience, and all would be won.

  In the meantime, the ballet unfolded on stage in the glorious colors of old Italy. The dancers breathed in the passion of Shakespeare, swaying to the music of Tchaikowsky brought alive by the choreography of Nureyev. Krastinios allowed his mind to wander for a while to his next commitment of the night.

  At the intermission, he said his goodbyes, promising to take Jennifer and Tori to dinner at La Tour D'Argent in two days. Jennifer, forgetting her manners, squealed with glee while Tori stared wordlessly, uneasy about something but agreeing nevertheless.

  "Wonderful! I will pick you up the day after tomorrow, at six-thirty sharp," Krastinios said as he departed.

  *****

  When he reached the bottom of the wide stairs fronting the esplanade of the Opera House, a black Mercedes with dark windows pulled silently to the curb. The back door opened and Krastinios slipped inside in a fluid motion. The door made no sound as it closed. The luxury sedan then took the Avenue de l'Opéra in the direction of the River Seine, the traffic lights turning green as the car approached them along the Quai du Louvre.

  Within a few minutes, the Mercedes reached the Pont Notre Dame. Past the Prefecture de Police, in front of which two uniformed officers stood guard, the majestic cathedral appeared on the left, its front portals and south walls flooded with electric light. The north side, however, along the rue du Cloître Notre Dame, remained bathed in cold shadows. The quiet vehicle entered the dark street, slowed then stopped for a brief moment along the wrought iron fence. Krastinios exited quickly, then the car vanished into the night traffic.

  The black metal gate turned on its hinges. A few stone steps led to a red portal. It opened under Krastinios’ smooth hand, releasing a fragrant cloud of myrrh and benzoin from inside. He entered the cathedral, light steps caressing the mosaic of the marble floor.

  When he reached the heart of the sanctuary, he knelt. The impossible height of the venerable ribbed vault was lit only by the pale glow of the outside projectors, through the Chartres-blue stained-glass windows. Krastinios looked up and invoked humbly the one Being he feared and depended upon, his Nefarious Father. Only Lufriec could understand what His son was going through.

  "Father, you made me powerful but not as powerful as Thee. Why is it, Father, that I need to maim and kill for my very survival? I know they are simple, uninteresting humans, but isn't there any other way?"

  Just then, a shimmer enlivened the very air. In the diffuse brilliance above the altar, a shape slowly came to focus. A green spark sizzled and smoked on the altar stone, leaving an electric scent. Hissing sounds reverberated, bouncing off the high stone pillars while tears of longing welled in Krastinios' velvet eyes. The great shape came to life as the huge monk in a silver robe pushed back the hood, revealing a Reptilian face. The enormous dark eyes of the powerful alien changed color, swirling with emotions, from black to brown and dark green. A forked tongue lashed the still air.

  "My son," Lufriec roared, the sound filling the gothic edifice to its highest arches, "For you there is no other way. You need the flux of energy from many human lives lost in agony before you can reach the level required to fulfill your destiny. Remember that your nemesis also accumulates strength. You must prevail in the end. The survival of our race is at stake..."

  "I know, Father." Krastinios bowed humbly.

  "Make the most of tonight’sl offering, my son." Lufriec gave the cathedral a circular gaze. “By the way, I like your choice of place." There was a hint of cold glee in the voice now. "It is absolutely perfect."

  "Thank you, Father, I thought you would like it." Krastinios smiled, then serious again, he implored, "Bless me, Father, for I need the support of your might."

  "Rise, my son, my pride and joy. You have my unconditional support. I bless you, my child, with the powers of your birthright. May you succeed in your dangerous quest."

  The apparition rippled and vanished in a vibration of hissing chords that lingered after he had gone. A small serpent of green light slithered and disappeared beyond the edge of the altar. Then silence and semi-darkness took possession of the medieval edifice once more, with only the smell of incense and the glow of the projectors filtering through the stained-glass windows.

  Krastinios felt rejuvenated. He circled the altar to reach the hidden door behind it. A slight pressure of long fingers on the head of a golden cherub prompted the opening of a low door in the stone wall. The floor slid to reveal a secret staircase that led down to the buried crypt.

  Krastinios descended into darkness. Materializing a lit candle, he set it in a niche in the wall to light the stairs then continued down to the low-ceilinged room. He inhaled the cool musty air and walked to the altar set on a central platform surrounded by stone steps. From the center of the circular room, his long shadow danced, caressing the thick pillars all the way to the stone benches. Stone effigies lay very still on the sepulchers lining the periphery of the wall.

  Concentrating for a few seconds, Krastinios purified the place for the special occasion. Red torches suddenly appeared in sconces, illuminating the domed ceiling. The altar, floor and circular stone rims shone as if made of polished black marble. The temperature in the room rose to a more comfortable level while a pentagram drew itself, red on the smooth black floor, the altar standing in its center.

  Soon, several black-hooded silhouettes, each carrying a candle, shuffled silently along the outside perimeter of the circle. They took their places on the semicircular benches, setting the candles in the niches of the wall. A slumped veiled figure, supported by two sturdy males, was then led to the altar. The Chosen. Once there, she thankfully collapsed, her nudity under the black transpar
ency of the muslin veil becoming evident in the glow of the torches.

  Krastinios waved a hand toward the door. The opening in the wall sealed itself shut with a rasping of stone, then an eerie harmony echoed throughout the crypt. When a loud clap resounded, the hooded participants rose, then Krastinios intoned a ritual in Latin. "Oh Nefarious Father, deign to look upon us with compassion. We implore Thy presence and Thy blessing as we celebrate Thy power in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Serpent. Et cum spiritu tuo."

  "Amen," came the chorus reply.

  From nowhere, Krastinios produced gold decanters full of wine, with matching goblets that he passed around. He also distributed baskets of delicacies. The aphrodisiac in the wine and the cocaine in the food would soon enliven the mood.

  Casting an appraising look on the sacrificial lamb, chosen for her beauty as well as for her sexual endurance, Krastinios then ascended the steps to the altar. At present, drugged as she was, the young woman had no knowledge of her surrounding. Soon enough, however, the narcotic would wear off.

  Krastinios delicately removed the veil shading her face, then stared into the unfocused pupils. Her eyes look darker than their natural pale green. How he liked the sweet helplessness, the vulnerable expression on the Chosen's face. Krastinios then removed the pins from the lustrous coppery hair and smiled encouragingly. The Chosen smiled back, as if charmed and comforted by his attention.

  The participants stared, some of them holding their breath. When he had everyone’s attention, Krastinios pulled out the bejeweled dagger he used for human sacrifices. The sinuous blade gleamed in the warm light. Applying the exquisite razor-sharp edge to the front of the woman's long black veil, he slit the flimsy fabric then pulled her nudity toward him in a soft embrace, gently kissing her lips. The Chosen smiled nebulously and melted in his arms, slowly waking to her sensual cravings, still unaware of her plight.