The Belial Sacrifice

by R. D. Brady

  Jen wasn’t as convinced, but Laney had enough on her plate. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Laney grabbed the bag from the bed. “Oh. Drake figured out a way to allow exit while we’re gone. The doorway will remain open. He has two tokens that can be used to allow people to escort people in as well.”

  “We could have used those a little sooner,” Jen grumbled.

  Laney kissed her on the forehead. “I suppose. But hey, we have them now. And I need to get moving. As soon as the site closes, we’re heading out.”

  Jen grabbed her hand. “Be careful.”

  “It will only be three days. We’ll be fine.” Laney disappeared out the doorway, and Jen watched the empty doorway, thinking about what Laney had said. Was it possible that Drake was Michael? That he would turn on them at some point?

  Jen wracked her brain, trying to remember anything she could think of about the archangel, but the truth was, she did not know much. But she did know someone who would. She headed out the bedroom and down the stairs.

  She made her way to the cottage next door and knocked. A few seconds later, Cain pulled the door open with a smile. “Jen. Come on in.” He stepped back to allow her entrance.

  She slipped in the doorway. “Hi. Is Patrick around?”

  Chapter 34

  The kitchen of Patrick and Cain’s cottage was filled with the smell of Irish soda bread. Before Jen could decline, Cain had her seated at the table with a slice and a cup of milk.

  “Need to keep your strength up for the baby,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Jen said.

  Patrick rolled into the kitchen with a smile on his face. “Jen.”

  She stood up and quickly walked over to him, giving him a long hug. She pulled away, tears in her eyes. She wiped at them. “Sorry, I’ve just been . . . I don’t know.”

  He patted her hand. “You’ve been pregnant. And I’ve missed you too.”

  Patrick rolled up to the table, and Cain brought him over a plate and a mug of tea as well.

  “All right. I am going over to Mary Jane’s with Nyssa. Will you be all right?” he asked Patrick.

  Patrick waved him away. “I’m fine. Go on.”

  “All right, well, I’ll see you two later.” He disappeared down the hall. A minute later, Jen heard the front door close.

  “Well, this is a nice surprise. Did you get a chance to say goodbye to Laney?”

  Jen nodded. “Do you really think there’s a weapon that could remove the Fallen’s powers?”

  “I don’t know. But if there is . . .”

  “It’s worth the risk.” She placed a hand over her belly. “I just hope it’s safe.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine.” He took a bite of his bread. “Now, what’s on your mind?”

  “What? I can’t just come over and visit?”

  “Oh, you can. But I can see on your face there’s something you want to talk about.”

  “‘You can.’ Not,” Jen grumbled.

  “I’ve known you for years, Jen. You don’t worry often, so when you do, it’s easier to spot.”

  Jen shrugged. He was probably right. She was not a big worrier. She figured it was better to face your problems head on. Worrying was just wasted time that could be used to solve your problems. “It’s not a worry, exactly. More of a potential concern.”

  He grinned. “Very carefully phrased. Now spit it out.”

  She smiled back at him. “I’ve been doing some reading about the end of days. I know different religions have different views about it. And um, I saw something that I just don’t have any background on.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “There are some who say that the archangel Michael will appear at the end of days and be the judge and jury for humanity. And I was wondering about Michael. Religion wasn’t exactly a big part of my upbringing, so I was hoping maybe you could shed some light on him.”

  Patrick sat back, his hand on his chin. “Michael. He’s actually a part of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. He is considered the patron saint of righteousness, mercy, and justice.”

  That’s not good.

  “But that is not how he was first portrayed,” Patrick said.

  Jen leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  “When Michael was first revered, it was as a healer. It wasn’t until the fourth century that the view shifted to the view we currently have of Michael as a warrior.”

  “Why the shift?”

  “I believe we can thank Constantine for that.”

  “Emperor Constantine? Wasn’t he a convert?” Jen knew Constantine was responsible for calling the Council of Nicaea and creating a structure for Christianity. Declaring Gnostic and other texts as heretical, he gave his stamp of approval to the books that now made up the Bible.

  Patrick nodded. “Yes. In fact, even though he converted to Christianity, he did not allow himself to be baptized until he was on his deathbed. He worried that if he sinned once baptized, the kingdom of heaven would be banned for him. So he waited until the last minute.”

  “That’s the man the Church trusted to direct them?”

  Patrick shrugged. “So it seems. Anyway, after a successful battle at Linzin, Constantine had a statue erected of Michael killing a serpent with a sword. In fact, Constantine believed Michael was looking out for his army and felt that was what led to their victories.” Patrick shook his head. “Of course, the individuals on the other side of his battles also thought God was looking out for them. Anyway, the statue became popularized as Constantine’s influence grew, and soon Michael was seen as an avenging angel across Europe.”

  “So there’s no truth to the idea that he is a warrior beyond Constantine?”

  “When it comes to angels, truth is a bit difficult to pin down. But he is viewed by Jews, Muslims, and Christians as a warrior of God, the warrior of God, the ruler of Heaven’s armies. He is viewed as the guardian of the Church.”

  Jen was hoping this conversation would make her feel better, but the more Patrick spoke, the worse she was feeling.

  “Some Protestant groups believe that he is not simply an archangel but actually Christ incarnate.”

  Jen’s head snapped up. “What?”

  “They believe he is the son of God, that he became flesh as Jesus. Jehovah Witnesses have the same belief. Mormons, however, believe he was Adam, the first of men. In Islam, he is believed to be the archangel responsible for nature.”

  Jen was starting to get a headache. “Do any of them agree?”

  “A few do, but there seem to be as many interpretations of Michael as there are religions.”

  Jen sighed. Well, great.

  “I suppose there is one commonality,” Patrick mused.

  “What’s that?”

  “That Michael fights on the side of good. That he is God’s justice.”

  Jen went still. But that meant . . .

  “Jen, are you all right?”

  Her gaze snapped back to Patrick. “Yes. I’m fine. So are you saying that if Michael is on the other side of a battle, that you are the wrong side?”

  Patrick shrugged. “I suppose that’s true.”

  Jen’s mouth fell open. That wasn’t possible. If he was set against them . . . could they all be wrong?

  “But I don’t think we have to worry about that. It’s clear we are on the right side of this battle.”

  Jen nodded, taking a sip of milk to avoid talking. “Yup. That’s perfectly clear.”

  Chapter 35

  Rome, Italy

  The trip to Italy had been relatively easy. They had landed at a small airport outside Rome. No one had been there, and it seemed abandoned. But there were signs of life or at least destruction. David decided to stay back with the plane in case there were any problems.

  That left Laney, Drake, and Bas to make the heartbreaking trip into Rome. Some of the neighborhoods they passed through looked as if they were ghost towns. Others had houses that were burned-out husks.

  Laney star
ed at one house as they passed. It had collapsed in on itself, the frame black. A swing set stood in the yard untouched. The two swings moved in the wind. “What happened here?”

  Bas’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “There have been roving bands of vigilantes. When someone is accused of being a Fallen, they don’t wait for proof—they burn the person out. And their families as well.”

  “And no one does anything?”

  “The mob mentality is so strong that the few people that tried to defend the accused ended up being accused themselves. The brutal are ruling this particular fight.”

  Laney couldn’t help but think it was like the Salem Witch Trials but on a global scale. Everyone accusing their neighbor and no one willing to help for fear of being hurt themselves.

  Even when she’d pictured a world with the Omni, she had never imagined its effects would filter through every aspect of life. And certainly not this quickly. It had been less than a year and the world had been radically transformed.

  All the more reason we need the Tome. If there was a weapon out there that would end all of this, they needed it. Now. The world would not survive on its present course.

  They left the outskirts of Rome and moved toward the more affluent sections. Even here the damage could be seen. Windows were broken. Cars were turned on their sides.

  “It looks like a war zone,” Drake said.

  “It is,” Bas replied, steering around a burned-out car. He pulled over to the side of the road and turned the engine off. “We’ll have to go on foot from here. The wealthier areas have set up a perimeter around their neighborhoods and have hired private security to keep them safe.”

  “Are they taking in any refugees from the rest of the city?”

  “No.” Bas’s single word encapsulated all the anger and disgust he felt at that particular policy.

  Drake stepped out and stretched. “How long a walk are we talking?”

  “Two blocks. You’ll see the barricade. This way.” Bas stayed along the edge of the buildings, leading them forward. A half a block away, Laney saw the barricade. She shook her head in disgust. It was a fence erected from wood and barbed wire. There were even sniper nests built along it.

  Drake grunted. “Charming. Reminds me of East Berlin, circa 1952.”

  Bas stopped inside a storefront, peering around at the barrier. “Now, getting through the barrier might be a little tricky. We’ll need to wait for the guards to—”

  Drake put a hand on Bas’s shoulder. He winked at him. “We got this.” With a smile at Laney, he nodded toward the barricade. “After you, my lady.”

  “You got him?”

  Drake swept Bas up into his arms. “I do indeed.”

  “Hey.” Bas struggled against Drake’s grip.

  “Let’s go.” Laney stepped out onto the street and then blurred toward the boundary. She called on the wind. Shutters flung off houses and battered the guards who cried out. By the time they pulled themselves from underneath the debris, she, Drake, and Bas were safely over and hidden from the guards behind a very large house.

  A curtain shifted in the window of the house. Laney tensed, waiting for the alarm to be raised, but it was the face of a little girl no more than five that peered out at them. Laney smiled at the little girl and waved. The girl waved back, then put her hand to her mouth, her eyes lighting up.

  Laney looked up at Drake, who’d made his eyes large as he tilted his head and stuck out his tongue.

  “We should hurry.” Bas hustled down the road. Laney waved goodbye to the girl while Drake blew her a kiss before they followed Bas.

  The little girl was the only person they saw. Five minutes later, they were standing across from a beautiful villa.

  “Apparently Moretti doesn’t take that vow of poverty very seriously.”

  “Technically, he doesn’t fully own it. It belongs to his family’s trust.”

  “How many members in his family?”

  “He’s the last.”

  “Of course he is,” Laney muttered.

  Chapter 36

  There was an unobtrusive entrance along the side alley of Moretti’s villa that the Council used for meetings. It couldn’t be seen from the road. Bas led them there, pausing at the door. “Ready?”

  Laney nodded.

  Bas keyed in his code, and Laney held her breath. As far as they knew, no one in the Brotherhood suspected Bas was anything but a loyal member. But he hadn’t been in contact with them for a few weeks, who knew if things had changed?

  The light above the keypad flashed green. Laney let out a breath and exchanged a relieved smile with Bas. Bas was sure Moretti was keeping the Tome at his villa, but if Bas’s status had changed, the Tome’s location would have as well. He opened the door, quietly stepping through. Laney and Drake were right behind him.

  Bas stopped at the door only a few feet away. Laney tapped his shoulder, gesturing for him to step back. She and Drake would go first, just in case there were any problems.

  Laney opened the door a crack. The hallway was wide, ten feet across, with pale marble floors. No one was in sight, but voices echoed from down the hall.

  “Somebody sounds a little upset,” Drake murmured in her ear.

  “Yes, someone does.” Laney slipped through the doorway, making her way down the hall silently, straining to hear any movement from anywhere else in the house, but there was nothing.

  She followed the voices to the end of the hall and a set of double doors.

  Drake stopped next to her, speaking low. “Ten bucks they are all sitting around some long dining room table under some ridiculously ornate chandelier.”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, can’t take that bet. That’s too easy.”

  He placed one hand on the door handle nearest him. “Shall we?”

  Placing her hand on the other, she nodded, opening the door.

  At first, none of the twelve men at the long table under the obscenely ornate chandelier noticed as they stepped into the room. They were too caught up in their conversation.

  “The Pope must take a stronger stance. He is not—” The man speaking caught sight of them, his gaze automatically going to the face he most recognized. “Bas. What are you—” The man paled, stumbling to his feet. “Ring Bearer.”

  The rest of the men at the table looked just as shocked. A few pushed back from the table. Two others stood, but most went still, looking like deer caught in headlights.

  Laney ignored them, her gaze focused on the man at the end of the table, slowly sipping from his wine glass. “Cardinal Moretti, I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

  His eyebrows rose. “And what might that be?”

  “The Tome of the Great Mother.”

  Moretti shrugged. “I’m afraid I’ve never—”

  Wind yanked the glass from his fingers. It crashed into the far wall, shards of glass and wine raining down to the floor. The room darkened as the sunlight was snuffed out by dark rolling clouds. “I am not in the mood to be trifled with. The Tome. Now.”

  “For God’s sake, give it to her!” a priest halfway down the table yelled.

  Laney spared him only a glance. “Father Ezekiel. Nice to see there was no lasting damage from our last run-in.”

  Ezekiel narrowed his eyes. “Bas, are you with them? Did you help them at the Castel?”

  Bas stepped forward. “I am, and I did. Where is the Tome?”

  Laney kept her gaze on Moretti as Ezekiel spoke. He glanced at a panel near him before shifting his gaze back.

  “Saw that,” Drake drawled as he crossed the room.

  Drake ripped a painting off the wall, revealing a safe.

  Moretti crossed his arms over his chest. “I won’t give you the combination.”

  “Oh, no. Whatever will we do?” said Drake. With one hand, he ripped the safe door off. It slammed to the ground with such force that the whole room shuddered.

  Drake looked in the safe and then shook his head. “Not here.”
<
br />   A priest with a Spanish accent yelled, “You can’t have it anyway. It has been in the Church’s possession since before the Council of Nicaea!”

  Laney narrowed her eyes. “The Council of Nicaea in 323 C.E.?”

  The priest nodded, his lips tight. “Yes, exactly. You have no right.”

  Laney tried to swallow down her anger, but the priest’s self-righteousness was making that difficult. “A group of Followers brought a copy to the New World.”

  “Yes. We are aware of the other Tome,” Moretti said dismissively. “We’ve followed its progress since the Inquisition.”

  “Did you know the witch trials were an attempt to discover the location of the Tome?” Laney asked.

  “Yes. Those poor women. They were very brave,” Moretti said.

  “Did the Brotherhood know what was happening in Salem back in the seventeenth century?”

  “Yes, of course,” the Spanish-accented priest said.

  Laney’s anger roiled. A wind blew through the room stirring the drapes. “Of course? You let those women die to protect the book. And you had another copy. You could have saved them.”

  Moretti shrugged. “Perhaps but unlikely.”

  “And what about me? The Church didn’t think this book could have been useful in the battle against Samyaza and her forces?”

  “We had to think of the long game. If you had lost, we would have had the book for the next battle.”

  Laney curled her hands into fists. “Thousands of people lost their lives! They could have been saved if I’d known there was a way to remove the Fallen’s powers.”

  The priests at the table jolted, surprise and alarm flashing across their faces, but Moretti barely moved. Laney focused her glare on him. “You knew.”

  He shrugged. “So what if I did? It is not your concern.”

  “We could have ended all of this before people lost their lives! You could have stopped Samyaza in her tracks.”