by Karen Duvall
I mixed the bloody mixture with my fingers and touched my forehead to draw an X there. Once I set the mirror at the center of the pentagram, I focused my intent on breaching the boundary between realms and spoke the words that would bring my father here.
“The blood of an angel’s spawn serves as conduit to cross the barrier between two worlds.” I touched my bloody fingers to the scrying mirror and smeared the symbol for creation onto its surface. “I summon my father, the fallen angel Barachiel.”
A cyclonic spiral of sparks rose from the ash on the mirror. It grew bigger as it lifted in the air and hovered a foot or so above the ground. A powerful hum vibrated at the core of my body as a chill coursed down my spine and raised goose bumps on my arms. The magic felt strong, and it even felt right, which was unusual for me. It must be because it came from my own blood, from my family. Fallen or not, Barachiel was, and always would be, my father.
My heart pummeled my ribs as I watched the giant angel take shape in front of me. His enormous black wings spread out as if ready to take flight, but he folded them in close to his body. Barachiel looked as though carved from white marble and his black hair fell over his shoulders in thick glossy waves, wisps of it floating around his face on an unearthly breeze.
“Greetings, my child,” he said, his baritone voice reverberating against the basement walls. “I’m happy to see you again.”
I gazed up at his obsidian eyes that sparkled like a starry night sky. He wasn’t evil. Not all fallen angels were necessarily bad. They were ostracized from their Arelim counterparts for committing the sin of fornication. Having fallen from grace made them predisposed to taking the wrong path, and many were bitter enough to do so. Barachiel was not.
“It’s good to see you, too,” I told him.
“Are you still angry with me?”
I shook my head. “No, not anymore. Only disappointed. I’m still trying to understand why you chose to fall rather than become human to marry my mother.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. “I sense that’s not why you called me here today.”
“It’s not,” I said, though he wasn’t getting off that easy. He may not tell me today, but he would tell me. I’d make sure of it.
“Is it because of the mirror?” he asked, peering down at the artifact he stood on.
I frowned. “Of course not. The mirror is my tool for calling you here. Why?”
He crouched down to pick it up. The mirror looked like a child’s toy in his big hand. “It has been used recently by someone else.”
My heart gave a jolt. “Who?”
“Unknown,” he said. “But it wasn’t used to summon an angel. It was used as a vessel for a soul.”
What the hell? “How do you know?”
He shrugged. “I come to you through this mirror and I feel the absence of a presence it held. Perhaps a day or two ago.”
“Where is it now?” I asked.
“Gone.”
Obviously. I racked my brain trying to think of who it could have been, how it got there, and where it was now. Evan came to mind since he was last to have the mirror, but he’d been possessed by Zee. I had watched her glob of mucus-like essence drop into one of Gus’s “food” jars. I considered Evan the only logical new vessel for whatever stowaway soul had been inside the mirror.
“If not about the mirror, why else am I here?” Barachiel asked.
I blinked and struggled to push the mysterious soul problem to the side. We had a more immediate dilemma. “I need your help.”
“I promise to do whatever I can. Chalice.” My name lingered on his tongue like a precious thing and it made my heart swell. Could he feel love for his child? Could I feel love for my father? I doubt either of us knew those answers.
I reached up to touch his cheek and he covered my hand with his. “What is it you need?” he asked.
“I want you to take me through the black veil.”
He took a step back and pulled my hand gently from his face. “That is no place for you.”
“Barachiel, my sister knights are dying. They’re depending on me to stop the killer and I know where she is. You have to take me there.” My tone sounded more pleading than I meant for it to, but I felt desperate. He was the only one I knew who could take us there.
“I must know more about this murderer you speak of.” He cupped my head in his huge hands and closed his eyes. I felt him probe my thoughts as memories fluttered through my mind like a shuffling deck of cards. He released me seconds later.
“I know of this Maria, though I didn’t know what she was until now. I have never seen her.” His lip curled in disgust. “All I know is that she drinks the blood of the Fallen.”
I shuddered. “So I heard.” Staring hard at him, I asked, “Did she drink from you?”
His eyes widened. “Of course not. It would only have added to that broken doll’s pain. She is damaged. I would have helped her, but her father stands guard constantly. You wish to end this woman’s life?” he asked.
“Not if I can help it.” I honestly hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but considering how she had annihilated an entire order of knights, killing her was a possibility. It was all about survival now.
“I won’t be going alone,” I told him.
Aydin materialized one second later. Barachiel looked surprised.
“The warrior is now a gargoyle,” he said with an approving grin. “I remember when Pharzuph cursed you with invisibility and immortality. I did not know you were afflicted with the gargoyle’s curse as well.”
“Aydin fought Shui to save me from having to suffer his fate.” I cupped Aydin’s feline face with the palm of my hand and he nuzzled into my caress. “I promised to reverse his change.”
“Chalice, you cannot. Not without the heart of his bonded gargoyle.”
I smiled. “I have it.”
“You killed his beast?” Barachiel blinked. “Well done. But then why does Aydin retain the gargoyle form?”
Shame replaced my pride and I stared down at my feet. Not only had I not struck the killing blow, I’d lost my prize. “Because the heart was stolen.”
An uncomfortable silence made the air hard to breathe and I was afraid Barachiel’s disappointment would make him leave. I glanced up to see him still there, the expression of pride on his face reviving my hope.
“Is that on the other side as well?” he asked.
I nodded. “I believe so. Maria kidnapped one of our squires, the one who I think stole the heart.”
Barachiel scowled at Aydin. “When you are a man again, will you continue to care for my daughter?”
How did he know about us? Aydin gave a quick nod.
Barachiel grinned. “Then I will help you.”
I exhaled in relief. I had a feeling he’d come through for us. After all, I was the child he’d abandoned before I was even born. He owed me.
“One more thing.” I pulled the ugly old horn of breath from my nap sack. “Do you know if this can be recharged?”
He stared at it and scowled. “That’s the Viking horn for breathing. You have used it?”
“I saved a sister knight with it after Maria sucked her breath away.”
“Ah, yes.” He plucked the horn from my fingers. “I’m quite familiar with old Norse magic. I have made these before.”
“You made them?”
When he saw the look of disgust on my face, he cleared his throat. “I make many things. I will tell you all about it someday.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. A fallen angel making charms was bad enough, but my own father? What did he do with them? Who did he give them to, and why? Now I had one more thing to worry about.
Barachiel created a cocoon with his hands and blew into the crack he made between his thumbs. I jerked a quick look at Aydin as I remembered him doing the exact same trick with a caterpillar. Except the caterpillar had turned into a moth. I wondered what this horn would become.
When Barachiel opened his hands, the horn lay
centered in his palm. It was no longer old and chipped, but whole and shiny white. He handed it to me and I hesitated.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“It still works?” Though what I should have asked is what’s it going to cost me?
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” I wrapped my fingers around the horn, which still felt warm from Barachiel’s breath. I tucked the charm back into my knapsack and included the scrying mirror with it.
“One thing we must do before we go,” Barachiel said.
“What’s that?”
He took hold of my hand and turned it over so that my palm faced up. He traced my sigil scar with his index finger. “This will prevent you from crossing.”
I stared down at the brand Rafe had given me while I recuperated behind the silver veil. Without it, I’d no longer have access to that realm. I wasn’t even sure I’d have access to Rafe.
“But it’s part of my body.”
Barachiel shrugged. “I’ll remove it.”
I jerked my hand away. “It’s a scar. You’d have to cut it away.”
“No.” He gently retrieved my hand. “But this may hurt a little.”
He rubbed his thumb over the sigil and the scorching heat of his touch burned my skin. I winced and gritted my teeth, the sound of sizzling flesh making my stomach turn. But it was over quickly. When he took his thumb away, a fat blister remained. My sigil was gone.
“May I?” Barachiel nodded at the knife still in my hands and I handed it to him. He pricked the sigil on his palm and red blooms welled from the cut. “My offering to the veil. Now we may cross.”
My father held out both his hands. “Take my hand.”
Aydin took the uninjured one and I took the other. Barachiel focused on a basement wall and the bricks began to shake. I braced my legs, expecting what was left of the house to fall around us, but nothing else moved. The bricks appeared to soften like rubber, the surface bubbling and then popping with sparks. Very different from the silver and green veils I was used to.
Barachiel stepped toward the rippling black surface. It was hard to imagine myself walking through that without melting.
I balked and Barachiel tugged me closer. “Chalice, are you certain you want to do this?”
I peered over at Aydin, who jutted his chin at the melting wall. He waved his hand forward to encourage me and I mentally exhaled in relief. Having him with me made all the difference. I could never do this alone.
“What’s it like over there?” I asked Barachiel.
“It’s been a while since I’ve crossed, but it never changes.” He paused as if to think. “You know of Vikings, yes? It’s much like that. Perhaps the veil influenced the ancient Norse way of life.”
I tightened my grip on my father’s hand and plunged ahead.
Passing through the gelatinous barrier between worlds wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It was very similar to how it felt passing through the silver veil. Beyond the silver curtain I’d encountered nothing but white fog, as if the vacancy of senses helped the Arelim focus without distractions.
Where the realm of angels was shrouded in a cloud of mystery, the black veil lay exposed for what it was. The paintings of Hieronymus Bosch came to mind, but that wasn’t accurate. It was more like the realistic oils created by Sir Thomas Francis Dicksee. Beautiful and dark, brutally honest in its savagery, and scary as hell.
Because, in a sense, this was hell. Now I understood what Barachiel had meant about the ancient Norse having been influenced by the black veil, as every detail could be linked to the Middle Ages. It was like time stood still here, the clock having stopped during the Crusades of the first millennium.
The scars of battle lay all around us. Wounded soldiers wandered the dirt streets and alleys between crude buildings made of mud and brick. Straw roofs shed clumps of thatch and strange-looking animals trampled over them while dragging wagons filled with filthy men, women and other things.
Most everyone wore armor. Cloaked figures trudged in and out of stalls that appeared to sell a variety of handmade goods from clothing to tools, herbs, potions and what I guess could be food, though I wasn’t sure. Demons walked out in the open, as did fallen angels and gargoyles. This was a city of miscreants.
“Is this hell?” I asked Barachiel.
“In a matter of speaking, though its citizens are very much alive,” he said. “You can see why I don’t come here.”
“It’s quite…medieval,” I said.
“Some things never change.” He turned around slowly and made a wide sweep with his hand. “As you can see, we fit right in.”
I zeroed in on a display in one of the stalls, but my eyesight wasn’t cooperating. What was happening to me?
I blinked and refocused. It didn’t help. I sniffed the air. Hay, animal droppings, dirt, but nothing out of the ordinary. My senses weren’t working.
“Barachiel,” I whispered. “My abilities. They…they’re not working.”
He scowled. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s like my senses are muffled. My eyes, my sense of smell, they’re…normal.”
He nodded slowly. “I believe I know why.”
“What?”
“Humans are powerless here. They serve the dark ones. Your abilities have been stripped from you so that you may be a better slave.”
“Slave?” Panic gripped me. “I’m no one’s slave, not now and not ever.”
“Of course you’re not,” Barachiel soothed. “I’m just explaining how it works here. Humans do not normally have supernatural powers. The knights may be different in that respect, but you’re still human.”
I glanced at Aydin and he shook his head. He held up his claws to look at them, front and back. I think he was trying to tell me his abilities weren’t working, either.
“Look at Aydin,” I said. “He’s not human, yet he can’t become invisible.”
“Ah, but he is human at his core. That’s the difference.”
Damn it. Now what? Without our abilities, we were helpless as kittens. At least Aydin still had his strength. All I had was my knife and a few charms that wouldn’t work for me.
He flattened his palms against his chest. “I’m unaffected and can watch out for you both.”
I appreciated his reassurance, but it was a struggle to smile. My abilities were gone and I felt…exposed. I’d have to rely solely on my smarts and my knife skills. Aydin’s brute strength and wing power would have to be enough. And there was something else: he and I now had no way to communicate.
“Though I’m mostly a stranger here, I know my way around.” Barachiel held my hand gently between his. “I’ll guide you.”
I wanted to ask where he’d been for the past twenty-six years. Who knew what can of worms that question would open, so I shelved it for now. I hoped we’d have time to catch up later.
“This is one village among dozens,” he said. “It is the largest and is called Yngvar.”
I knew of Yngvar, at least in human terms. It was the Scandinavian name for a fertility war god. A fitting village for Pharzuph, considering the type of fallen angel he was.
The three of us left the road to gather behind a village structure that reminded me of the old chapel in the Lebanese monastery where I grew up. This village, and possibly the entire realm, was a conglomeration of cultures with one thing in common: destitution.
I clung to Aydin and he draped a furry arm protectively around my shoulders. He pulled me close, letting me know in his own way that he loved me. I so needed that right now.
Though my eyesight wasn’t nearly as good as I was used to, my power of observation hadn’t wavered. I studied the people moving about their daily chores, buying and trading goods, cooking over open fires, haggling over purchases and arguing. Lots of arguing. No one appeared content and they all seemed to have issues with one another. Perhaps that’s what made their world go round. The three of us may blend with the popu
lace in appearance, but our congenial attitudes had us sticking out like flowers in the weeds. We’d have to get out of here before we drew attention to ourselves.
I was about to say just that when my practiced eye spotted a familiar vagrant in one of the food stalls. She wasn’t dressed in the typical peasant attire, though she appeared as dirty as the rest of them. Her razor-cut white hair was what tipped me off. Xenia.
I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from shouting her name.
Barachiel spun me around to look at him. “What is it? What did you see?”
“The kidnapped girl we’re looking for,” I whispered. “She’s in that stall buying bread or something. It’s Xenia.”
He scowled and nodded. “Do not be alarmed with what I’m about to do.”
Which of course made me anxious. “What are you going to do?”
“Bring her to you.” He turned and went over to the stall, where Xenia was having a heated debate with the cook. His forceful strides made him appear menacing and Xenia’s head jerked up at his approach. Her eyes widened and she stiffened as if recognizing who he was. Or what he was. Fallen angels were obviously not new to her, at least not anymore.
Thanks to my lousy human hearing, I couldn’t hear what was said, but I saw her cower when Barachiel grabbed her arm and jerked her away from the cook. The man she’d been talking to acted like nothing had happened. He went right back to flinging globs of dough onto a hot iron and verbally sparring with the next person in line.
When Xenia spotted me, her face contorted in a mix of shock and relief. She struggled to free herself, then halted the second her gaze landed on Aydin. She looked between the three of us and her face fell, her brows tilted with worry, and she turned to pull away in the opposite direction. Barachiel grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and pushed her toward me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Xenia asked, voice shaking. “And with them? I thought you’d come to rescue me, but now I see you’re on her side.”
