by S. L. Duncan
“It is no concern of yours, dear. It was merely a step necessary to secure your kingdom.”
Simon limped into his bedroom. Lilith followed.
“Enough of this charade,” he said, almost begging. “When will our business come to a conclusion? You have seized half the government. What more do you need?”
“My love, our relationship will come to an end when I feel I have been adequately compensated. Your debt will be paid in full. Are you having second thoughts?”
Before he could answer her question, a dull pain clenched his stomach. All strength left his limbs. His legs felt heavy, unmovable. Sweat beaded on his brow.
“Feeling all right, dear? You don’t look so well. I believe you should lie down.”
He tried to speak, but the words refused to form on his tongue. His balance failing, he stumbled to his bed.
Lilith glided over and kneeled beside him. She seemed to study him, not as a concerned confidante but like a predator stalking injured prey.
She is doing this, he realized.
“Your petulance has become annoying, Simon,” she said, her voice melodic and light as a song. “I will not hear of it anymore. Obviously, it has taken a toll on your body. Sleep, dear man.”
Lilith waved her hand in front of his face, and the world disappeared.
Simon’s body was all too easy to maneuver into place. Lilith positioned his arms across his chest, as if she were preparing him for a coffin. Once more, she held her hands above his chest and called on her power.
She lifted her arms, pulling his soul from its vessel. The spirit hung in the air, diminished from its previous form. The dark core had grown, nearly replacing the light. Draining the ether this time seemed much easier.
Less to remove, she thought.
She inhaled, and the mystic energy floating in the air flowed into her mouth.
Her body writhed on the bed, and she screamed from the pleasure.
Simon’s soul faded nearly from existence as she ate, until finally she found the will to force herself to quit. Gasping for air, Lilith lowered her arms, taking with them the feeble remnants of the man’s soul.
His eyes fluttered slightly as his tiny life force fell and secured itself back into his body. Simon breathed in short, shallow gasps. She wondered if she had gone too far. But he needed to remain alive only for a little while longer.
Lilith stood and straightened her hair. A spark of guilt and hatred for what she’d become flashed to life deep inside her. She held out her hands, looking at the foreign human skin that covered them, trying desperately to remember what she once looked like. The warmth of her meal spread to her mind, suppressing the dysphoric thoughts.
It will be right once again, she thought and left the room, closing the door to the common area.
A guard waited outside the President’s Chambers.
“Madam, is everything all right?” he asked, using his best discretion.
Lilith smiled and said, “The president is fine but a little exhausted. He will require rest. Under no circumstances should he be disturbed. Have my security detail prepare transportation to Iznik. We have guests who require a proper welcoming to our country.”
“Yes, madam.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Gabe flushed, his skin warm with fever and maybe a few hormones as a chorused gasp filled the air. Standing so close to Micah as her power ignited, he noticed the familiar pull on his inner strength.
He took a deep breath, relying on the shock of oxygen to sustain his senses.
Five hundred pairs of eyes, fixed in shock, glowed in the dark as he lifted his hands up to the audience. The blue orb of energy in his palms cast flickering shadows that reached as high as the domed ceiling of the council chamber. The undulating pattern gave the illusion that the room was underwater.
Micah, standing next to him with Afarôt at her other shoulder, turned and looked at Gabe. She winked at him, obviously enjoying the moment, her orb bluer, brighter, and spinning faster than both his and Afarôt’s.
Another contest won, Gabe thought, managing a smile.
Looking at the audience, he felt uncomfortable, like some kind of circus freak. And while the facility was big, with all the amenities, it was still a cage, as much as the Vatican had been. His father sat on the front row and encouraged him with a nod.
“This is why you are called to Nicaea,” Borelli said, standing at his podium, his fist hammering at the wood with every other word. “This is our proof we offer for the claims and burdens now laid before you.”
A man in the second tier of delegates fell to his knees, crying out a prayer at the top of his lungs.
“Please,” Borelli said. “There will be a time for penitence. And a time for prayer. However, only a plan for action will see us through.”
Another man, wearing what looked like a robe, stood and let loose some kind of tirade in his language, gesturing wildly and pointing at Micah and Gabe.
Afarôt’s spinning orb decelerated quickly until it broke apart and dissipated into the air like a drop of dye into water. He grumbled something at the raving man, though Gabe couldn’t understand the words. As the rant continued, Afarôt joined the debate in the man’s language.
Across the room, someone took issue with the robed man’s comments and launched his own enthusiastic rebuttal, occasionally beating one of his points into his table.
“Please, these squabbles have no place here. This is not the venue for religious debate,” Borelli said.
Their argument grew, and others were drawn into it, their awe and wonder already dismissed in favor of their beliefs. Quickly, the entire Council of Nicaea devolved into a squabble of hand gestures and yelling.
“It’s because I’m a girl,” Micah said.
Gabe looked again at the mob. Their anger was directed at each other, but they kept turning and motioning at Micah.
“Misogynistic pricks,” she said.
“This is a stupid waste of time,” Gabe whispered.
His father was up, pleading with Borelli.
“We could show the sky opening to Heaven, and it wouldn’t matter. Everything they know is being torn away. This isn’t about belief. It’s about self-preservation.”
Borelli pounded a gavel on the podium, but the room became a deafening argument. Somewhere behind the chaos, Gabe heard the ringing build in his ears. The fever twisted underneath his skin. Its heat combined with the hate being shouted across the chamber. The fever changed, and something else burned to life inside.
Anger.
He looked at them. All men, screaming and shouting. How they looked at Micah. Shoving each other now. The rational delegates pushed to the edge.
“Are you okay?” Micah asked Gabe.
His gaze fell to his orb, still spinning and faster now. A flash of orange flittered in the swirl. Visions of people standing in the streets of Axum filled his mind. An urge not his own to kill them. The vision changed to New York City’s skyline set alight with flame, and he felt the sickening sensation of pride.
Septis. Gabe tried to suppress the growing presence.
Warmth pulsated on his finger under Solomon’s Ring, and he felt its nourishing boost, like a caffeine overload. It seemed to feed off the hate in the room. The jewel glittered darker on his finger, even in the light of the energy ball.
A drop of sweat rolled down his temple. His skin tingled. The feeling crawled over his chest to his arms and to his hands, little vibrations of energy crackling to life in the air around him, as they had under the barrel of the soldiers in Axum.
“Gabe?” Micah asked. “What are you doing?”
“Enough of this,” he said under his breath.
Afarôt had taken notice. He had left his argument and was pushing through the tangle of men, trying to get to Gabe.
Gabe let go of the energy. It leapt from his hand and exploded beneath the dome, showering sparks over the crowd.
Once again, the Council was silenced.
�
�Enough,” he shouted. “Enough of your stupid, petty differences.” His voice trailed and his legs grew weak. The pit of his stomach ached, and his voice weakened. “None of it matters . . .”
“Gabe,” Micah yelled, grabbing hold of him before he fell.
As Afarôt helped him up, Gabe felt healing energies flow into his body. It wouldn’t last long and did nothing for his fever, but there was some reprieve.
“Do you have him?” Afarôt asked Micah.
She nodded, and he turned to the delegates. A low whisper grew in the room. The audience was on its feet, looking at each other, unsure of what to do as they watched the three archangels.
Afarôt walked to the center of the room and addressed the Council. “Ages ago, mankind was united under one banner. One culture. No races existed. There was respect for those who thought differently. Those times have passed. Differences now separate you in your ethnicities. In your religions. Your borders. Your ideas. You fight over something that is not yours. But now a common ground has been placed at your feet. A truth that has root in all of your beliefs has now become reality. Light against the Dark. Put aside what separates you and embrace that which can unite you again. The End of Days is nigh. If you cannot accept that, then you have already lost.
“Our enemy seeks to undo the good of mankind and sow the seeds of decay and war in each and every one of your lands. Brothers and sisters of the nations of Earth, this is your task if you wish to preserve your humanity. For that is what is at stake. You must work together if mankind is to have any hope of defending the right to occupy the realm of Earth.”
“Even if we were able to work together for a common cause,” one of the gesticulating men said, “how would we know how to proceed? You say the End of Days is upon us, but where is your proof?”
Gabe’s father took the podium. “There is little argument to be made contrary to the fact that the Vatican is the authority for our situation.”
Many in the forum objected. Others applauded.
“That is not a validation of their beliefs. Simply, it is acknowledgment of the power and resources they possess to retain and preserve history. Your wars and the extremists of your regions have destroyed many of your historical relics and books.”
The crowd seemed to agree with Gabe’s father.
He continued, “In the early days of the formation of Christianity, a sixteen-year-old Constantine IV, under the guidance of his mother and Pope Adrian I, attended a special session held during the Second Nicene Council.
“It was secret. Known only to the emperor, his closest advisors, and the highest executive leaders of Christianity. During this session, the First Edict of Bithynia was signed. This edict set out the foundation of nonsecular executive preemption. Government cedes power to the church during instances of apocalyptic measure.”
The crowd rustled, several of the government guests shifting in their seats.
“Seventeen years ago, during the year of the birth of these two archangels, a committee with senior representatives from the many governments in the Western Alliance and the heads of the world’s major religions voluntarily signed the Second Edict of Bithynia. Many of you were there. We are here today to broaden this council’s reach and to prepare you, the governments of the world, for what is to come.”
Halfway up the forum, another man stood and said, “If what you say is true, if the End of Days is at hand, what can governments do?”
“We organize,” Gabe’s father said. “To enter our realm, the enemy must do so as flesh and blood. They must do so as physical beings. We will need your soldiers and your weapons as much as we will need your faith. They have set upon us already. Their plan is quite clear. They wish to open the gates of Hell to our realm. We seek to prevent that from happening.”
“And if we cannot? If the gates of Hell are unleashed?” the man in the audience asked.
“Then time and space shift as the dimensions struggle for rights to the physical realm of Earth. And the war between Heaven and Hell begins again.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Sitting in the foyer of the facility, Gabe tried to shake the exhaustion of exerting his power in the forum that still left him feeling hungover and worn. Whatever the light was, its energy was part of him, as if it were siphoned from his life force somehow, draining him. He watched Micah play with one of the scarlet sashes that hung from her ceremonial garb. She turned it over and over in her hand, scrutinizing the material.
“They’d make nice curtains, don’t you think?” he joked.
Micah snapped out of her trance. “What?”
“Your sash.” She didn’t register what he said. “You’re being very un-Micah. What’s your deal?”
“I don’t know. I’m bored, I guess. Why do these things always come down to a vote? Why can’t they just see?” She took a breath, her arms clasped and raised above her head. She arched her back to stretch her muscles.
Gabe tried not to stare, but she looked like a dancer, her pose the shape of an S.
“How long have they been in there?” she asked, relaxing her stance.
“Since we left? A couple of hours, at least.”
Gabe looked through the glass door to see if there was any movement. Both of their security details lined the hall. They looked as bored as he and Micah. Gabe leaned forward, groaning from the stiffness in his muscles.
“You okay?” Micah stood and crossed the room to where he sat. The space filled with a warm tickle of electricity.
“You’re always asking that.” Gabe reached for a seized muscle in his back, unable to quite reach it.
“I’m concerned; that’s all.”
She sat down beside him, and he felt her hands on his back, her knuckles digging into the tender area around his spine. After a minute, they climbed up to his shoulders and to his neck. His skin tingled, causing a shiver.
“Feel good?” she asked over his shoulder.
Gabe turned, his face inches from hers.
Her fingers stopped their massage, and she pulled away ever so slightly.
“What are you doing?” Gabe asked. “I thought you said—”
“I did.” She stood and drifted to the other side of the room.
Gabe’s back began to tighten again.
“Let’s do something,” Micah said with sudden excitement. She shook her arms at her sides, as if trying to shimmy something down from her shoulders to her fingers.
“Like what? Our entertainment options are fairly limited.”
“Life is what you make it, Gabe. Come on. I thought you were an adventurous type. You look like you could do with a bit of fresh air.”
He almost didn’t ask the question, because the answer—one that would most likely give him a migraine—was written all over her face. “What do you have in mind?”
“Didn’t you ever sneak out when you were a kid? I did. Carlyle would act like he didn’t know, but I think he did. I think he thought a little trouble was good for me. So let’s get out of here. Go somewhere. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
She motioned to their security. “They’re totally and completely oblivious, so no problem there. Besides, I could do whatever it is I do if I have to. Like, mentally suggest an emergency bathroom break or something. It’d be a laugh watching them all stampede to the water closet.” She thought a minute. “But we’ll need a ride.”
“Sounds cruel, but in a good way. What about those electric vehicles?” The words came out before he even realized he said them, the notion slipping right past his bad-idea filter.
“Brilliant,” she said, pinching his cheek as she walked past him to grab the Gethsemane Sword leaning against the wall in its sheath. “You do, on occasion, have your uses.”
She looked through the window to the guards standing at the end of the hall, by the council chamber’s entrance. Her eyes closed as she concentrated. The men by the door shifted and then, together, turned in the opposite direction
, as if they’d heard a noise. Micah beamed, half-surprised and half-impressed with herself. “Not a stampede, but it’ll do.” Quietly, she opened the door and slipped into the hallway.
Gabe followed, cursing himself for inspiring her insanity. Quickly, they ran as lightly as possible across the marble floor and rounded the corner into the adjacent hall.
Micah, turning to smile at Gabe, nearly ran into Aseneth.
She was out of breath.
Busted, Gabe thought.
“I was just coming to see you. Off to somewhere, then?” Aseneth asked.
Micah cursed under her breath.
“What was that?” Aseneth asked.
“We’re bored,” Gabe said. “All we do is wait and wait.”
“Yeah,” Micah said. “And we need some fresh air and sunlight. This place is like a fluorescent tomb. We were just going to sneak outside. Unwind a bit.”
Aseneth seemed to relent, her police look softening. “Frankly, I don’t blame you.” She fiddled in her pocket, removing something and handing it to Micah. “One hour. I can stall them for that long. But that’s it. Don’t go farther than the lake, okay?”
Gabe looked at Micah’s hand. She held the keys to one of the electric vehicles.
“You are . . . brilliant,” Micah said. She grabbed Gabe by his shirt and dragged him down the hall.
“One hour,” Aseneth called after them.
The wind and the high-pitched whine of the electric engine were all the noise Gabe heard as the little car sped away from the facility.
He kept looking back over his shoulder as Micah drove. “Do you think they saw us?”
“No. For the third time, nobody saw us.”
Micah drove the car down the road alongside the bank of Lake Iznik without saying a word for a while. She looked lost, but not in the geographical sense. Soon, the facility was only a mirage on the horizon, shimmering in the heat.
