“What was that about?”
“He wants to meet me. He’s staying at the Astoria.” Angel sprang from the couch. “A car is coming to pick me up, and I need to get ready.”
A weird feeling settled in Hugo’s stomach, but he had to trust the head of The Brotherhood. A good reason should exist for this sudden meeting. Nevertheless, the minute he set foot in Septima Luna, he would ask Chico if he knew about it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The last twenty hours had been a blur. Talh had offered him a trip that, as a future archeologist, would blow his mind. When Angel said he wasn’t sure he would continue with his studies, Talh laughed in that uncanny way of his, where he looked more like a wise, old man than a teenager, lines around his eyes surging as he narrowed them with mirth. Sometimes Angel wondered if Talh was also an LE. That would explain a lot, but there were many wonder kids in the world. Wasn’t there a sixteen-year-old giving a lecture in some German university next week?
Once Angel accepted the invitation, after a quick pit stop to get his magicked passport and some clothes, they boarded a private jet, and now they were landing somewhere in Europe. All a mystery, since Talh didn’t want to tell him where they were going exactly, and an assistant did all the customs paperwork without them leaving the jet. Nevertheless, as soon as Angel saw the composition of the words on the illuminated billboards as they exited the airport, he knew where they were, and it was like a slap on his face: Merbha.
“What the Heck, Talh?”
The kid patted Angel’s knee. “Soon you’ll understand.” He didn’t even try to apologize.
The moonless sky was devoid even of clouds, just the myriad stars twinkling above them while exiting Jannar into the country, the road dark and more desolate than the sky.
Thirty minutes of silent driving passed. “Where are we going?”
“There.” Talh pointed through the open window of the town car.
Angel recognized the well-lit façade as they approached the top of the hill. “Our Lady of the Chalice.”
“Yes. I want to show you something you didn’t have the chance to see the last time you were here.”
“I wasn’t exactly sightseeing.”
Talh nodded, the door opening for them. He walked silently, two bodyguards flanking them. The group approached a portly, balding priest, swinging softly on the balls of his feet; arms clasped behind his back and a welcoming smile on his rotund face. The soft light pouring from the gaping entrance made his black clothes shine weirdly.
“So this is the one who stole my house shoes.” The priest arched an eyebrow, but there was no heat in his words. “And left Lola stranded in the middle of nowhere.” Strangely, this man had a Brooklyn accent.
“Lola?”
“His car,” Talh murmured, trying not to giggle openly.
“I am truly sorry, Padre.” Angel uttered awkwardly. He’d never been at ease around clergymen, for whatever reason they made his flesh creep. He tried not to think of Antinous and those who assassinated him.
“No harm done. You did leave a donation after all.” He smacked his forehead. “Where are my manners? I’m Father Pietro.” He shook Angel’s hand.
“My mistake, Pietro. I should be the one doing the introductions,” Talh commented casually, then all business as usual asked, “Shall we?”
“Of course.”
Inside, the church was pretty modern, from the lighting and chromed benches with vinyl hassocks to the bronze cross-less Christ suspended over the altar. There were candles, flowers, and scenes of the Passion on the pastel walls, but the feeling was more of a festive place than that of an ancient place of adoration. Angel had been raised without going to any church, but he wasn’t convinced this was the appropriate atmosphere for a religious building.
From what he had seen when he rounded the church with Malachi before they broke in, the exterior was a couple of centuries old, but inside's remodelation had been pretty recent, no doubt about that. They entered a room behind the altar containing plaster statues of saints, candelabra, and velvet curtains in several states of disarray, similar to a storage room.
Father Pietro moved several crates to uncover a trap door in the dusty wooden floor, “Gentlemen, if you please.” He motioned the bodyguards to do the lifting. Both eyed Talh, and he nodded. “This entrance used to have a little more traffic. Now technology makes it somewhat unnecessary.” A grin that didn’t look like an apology covered Father Pietro’s features. He gestured Talh and Angel to descend.
“One here, and one at the entrance. No one is to come inside the church.” Talh patted something on the side of his tailored jacket that had the suspicious outline of a weapon.
“Why am I not carrying?”
“It’s just a precaution.”
“And I love to be cautious too, darling.”
Talh smiled but didn’t say a word and disappeared into the hole on the floor. Angel grunted and followed suit, leaving the padre to guard their six.
“Each level of stairs represents at least a century, and we’re going deep into the earth, to a place that is five hundred years older than Athena’s Parthenon,” Talh explained, turning on lights in each recess. “Many milestones of humanity had their origin here. From conquests, to explorations, to wars.”
“What are you talking about? What could possibly be here to set off such events?” Angel was thankful for the bright lights, but the narrowness of the rocky passage and stairs was getting on his nerves. And Father Pietro humming something that seemed a Lady Gaga’s song didn’t help much either.
“Something that has a lot to do with you.”
“Okay, yeah. I almost unleashed a ghost army, but this creepiness doesn’t suit you.”
“Nah, it would be creepy if I were wearing robes and have my hood up. No offense, Pietro.”
“None taken, this is a habit not a robe.” Father Pietro chuckled. “Although I have several very fashionable hoodies, for when I go to town.”
The steps were half the size of his feet, and he had to use both hands to keep his balance. If Angel weren’t feeling the sharp protrusions of the solid walls around him, he would have thought this was a very wacky dream, with Father Pietro humming pop songs behind him, and Talh being all mysterious and cryptic.
A door that looked out of some Ancient Castle nightmare finally stopped their descent. But continuing with all the inconsistencies of a Freudian bubble, it was opened by punching a code on a pad embedded on the wall right next to it. A sad click signaled the entrance was ready to be breached. Anticlimactic, since Angel was expecting a death rattle as the door magically opened.
The circular room sculpted on the rock had electrical lighting, and there was an area covered in monitors, keyboards and cameras, like some secret war room. In the middle of the room a solid platform contained a rock chalice with a blue flame contorting into the face of a woman, then something similar to an island, then a child, then a bird so little it could have been a hummingbird, and finally a lotus flower. It was a never-ending slow repeating cycle.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Angel blurted when he realized that the monitor were analyzing the images, doing face recognition and displaying copious data.
“In ancient times, someone had to draw the woman’s and child’s faces, analyze maps, and figure out to what land the animal belonged, and what god the last symbol represented.”
“So this is how you learn about the living embodiments?”
“Yes. According to our analysis, the next living embodiment will be born in Trinidad and Tobago, see the island? Its symbol is a hummingbird, and it’s the embodiment of a Bodhisattva. In approximately two weeks, based on the time the chalice started its emanation.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“The discovery of America was prompted by the need of the Spanish Empire to have a living embodiment to open a gate, so they could use a possessed army to destroy the Moors and reclaim their possessions.”
“Sweet goddess
cradling baby Jesus.” Angel ran a hand over his face. “What’s if the LE is premature?”
“The flame extinguishes the second the LE breathes for the first time. If something happens during childbirth and the LE dies, it turns red. After that, there is no more communication about him or her from the chalice.”
“One would expect that, after being alight throughout the entire pregnancy.” There was a strange tremor in Father Pietro’s Brooklyn cadence.
Angel touched Talh’s arm and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Do you think we should destroy the Chalice?” Talh asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Why would you do that?!” Angel exclaimed, horrified.
“No more gates, there’s no need for this place.” Talh almost shrugged.
This didn’t seem like Talh or The Brotherhood at all. They were scholars. Yes, they did blow the gates to smithereens, but there was a reason for that. Even though Angel couldn’t understand how no one had come up with that solution before him. Perhaps it had been raised but never followed through.
“I think that, if the chalice depended on the gates to exist it would have died with them. Don’t you think? I have a feeling it’s the other way around. The chalice was first.” Then another thought occurred to him. “Do you even know how a gate is created?”
“Hmm, the oldest text says something about the sacrifice of an embodiment. But it was written in Koiné Greek and has missing parts. After that, it’s mostly erudite speculation from Ancient Rome to the Middle Ages.”
“I guess Our Lady of the Chalice was built upon a dismantled temple.”
“Standard procedure. You know how Christianity worked at the beginning.”
Father Pietro cleared his throat.
“Please, Pietro. These things are widely documented. There’s nothing sacrilegious about the truth.”
Angel couldn’t imagine this teenage boy having a confrontation with a priest. “And the story of the Chalice?”
“The first recount of the Chalice is through Spartan narrators and how they used it to destroy Xerxes’ army. No way to trace it before that.” Father Pietro offered with a truly disappointed look on his face.
“I say, if the Chalice is independent of the gates, its eradication is unnecessary, especially if no one knows how to summon a gate.”
Talh nodded happily and hugged Angel. “You answered correctly.”
“Huh?” Angel pushed Talh at arm’s length. “Was this a test?”
“Yes. We want you in The Brotherhood’s Council. You just had to prove you will act using logic and not out of hatred or vengeance.” Talh had such a bright smile, it made him look even younger than he already seemed. Like a toddler offered a humongous lollypop. “Do you accept?”
“That depends…”
“On what?” Talh was eager.
“On whether or not I can still be an archeologist.”
“You sure can. The Brotherhood will pay for everything, and you can live wherever you choose.”
Father Pietro was fidgeting with his hands. “Father you look really uncomfortable. Is something wrong?” Angel asked. Normal behaving clergy were bad enough; a fidgety one set all Angel’s alarms off.
“I have some other visitors coming tonight also, and I have a suspicion they are already here.”
“What?”
“He can’t tell us who it is. This is neutral territory. Anyone who knows about the Chalice can come and look at it. It’s either Juggernaut or the U.S. Government,” Talh explained.
“Are you serious?’
“Extremely. Let’s go. We don’t need to cross paths with the others.” Talh grabbed Angel by the wrist and hauled him like there was no tomorrow up to the church.
As they hastily drove away, a black SUV with the emblem of Juggernaut passed them in the opposite direction, and Angel could have sworn Countess Tau flipped him a very angry bird.
“Congratulations. This means you’re technically my boss now.”
Hugo couldn’t be sure if the strain on Chico’s face was sarcasm or utter disappointment, as he shook Angel’s hand.
“Don’t you dare, Chico. I owe you two so much, I could never act like I’m your superior.”
“But you know that everything we did was because you are an LE.”
“Yes. It was your job, but you still did it with kindness. You could have been dry and acted like I was a burden. I never felt that way.”
“Well, you are a good kid. It’s easy to be nice to you.”
“I don’t want anything to change between us. I hope you let me come and help with Septima Luna.” Angel winked. “You know, be a go-go boy and do bartending. All free of charge!”
Of course, Jack had to offer his opinion. “But we mere mortals are not sharing our tips with you.”
Jack didn’t know of Angel being the living embodiment of Antinous, but knew he was now part of the board of directors of the conglomerate that owned Septima Luna on paper, thanks to a long-lost relative. They told him L and E were acronyms for the family name.
Angel gave Jack a bear hug and kissed him on his rosy cheek. “I’d never mess with your tips, boo.”
“Ahem.” Hugo wasn’t ready to accept that out-of-nowhere friendship. “I’m gonna go check on the regular employees. See you guys.” He left the manager’s office without looking back.
The club was in full swing, jam-packed as usual on a Saturday night. Hugo zigzagged between people grabbing private parts, or making out, or neon-colored wallflowers—ready to be plucked, when he saw the last person he wanted to see crossing the threshold into his domain. “You.” The word echoed behind him, and Angel appeared and stood beside him.
Martan Kovak approached them, his devastating smile firmly in place. Gorgeous as ever.
Son of a bitch.
“Good night, gentlemen. Looking good, Hugo. Can I have a word with you?”
“Wait a minute. You know each other?” Angel asked when he was able to stop gaping.
“Yes. We know each other from way back.” Martan smiled again. “I’m glad you’re fine, Angel, but I need a moment with Señor Fox here.”
“What’s going on, Hugo?” As a prosecutor, Angel would have sounded less accusatory.
“Not much. He’s that mistake I told you I committed once.”
“Oh my,” Angel sputtered, covering his mouth. “Do you want me to stay?”
“Don’t worry. I can take care of this SOB.”
“Always charming, baby.” Martan grabbed Hugo by the arm. “Are we going to make a scene?”
“Never. Let’s take this outside.” Hugo turned to Angel. “It’s all right. Go to the bar and have fun.”
“Okay.” Angel didn’t look agreeable, but he walked away.
Martan and Hugo marched to the parking lot. People were smoking and being generally loud. “Tell me you’re dying and you came to make amends,” Hugo asked, the irration of is tone not a bit fake.
“Whoa. I came to make amends, but I’m not dying.”
“Then there’s no point.”
“Why?” Martan’s face lost some of it composure, and something Hugo thought he would never feel again surged like a punch in the guts.
“’Cause I want you dead so I don’t have to see your ugly face again, motherfucker,” Hugo growled.
Recovered, Martan smirked. “You gave yourself away by calling me ugly. Not in a million years you would really think that.” And the self-absorbed moron winked.
“I said I was not going to make a scene, but I’m considering leaving you here all black and blue and in serious need of a cast on each of your limbs.”
Martan Kovak, supreme ruler of all jerks this side of creation, did the most unexpected thing. He threw himself at Hugo’s feet like a supplicant, clasping his arms around Hugo’s midsection, his face dangerously close to a traitorous cock. “Please forgive me. I’ve never stopped loving you. And seeing Malachi suffer so much for Angel made me realize what a stupid ass I am.”
It seemed like the wo
rld stopped for a minute around them; all stilled and the muffled thump-thump of the music became very distant, until the people on the parking lot started clapping and whooping.
“Yeah, forgive the man, dude!” said a random patron.
Hugo wasn’t going to cave so easily, but he needed to take the situation someplace else. He was about to help Martan to his feet when a shocked “Hugo?” startled him.
Oh fuck. Snyder.
CHAPTER TWENTY
That had been one of the weirdest things Angel had ever seen. And he’d seen spectral warriors coming out of the earth.
Martan and Hugo, and Snyder?
Angel could understand Hugo and Snyder, but Hugo and Martan Kovak? That was beyond comprehension, even if according to Hugo, Martan had been the love of his life. Although, based on his own experience (really short and muddled experience), it wasn’t that easy to get rid of love.
The trio had been gone for a week, ensconced in some undisclosed location. Luckily for Angel, curiosity wasn’t one of his weaknesses. Those three would probably come back with more hematomas by square inch than the pregnant heroine of a telenovela after rolling down a flight of stairs.
“Well, butter my ass and call me a biscuit.”
Angel snorted, because he could totally see some man smearing butter over Jack’s backside, especially Chico. “What the Heck, Jack? Don’t sneak up on me saying silly things like that.”
“I’m preventing you from being sneaked upon. Look who’s parting the waters again.” Jack pointed toward a disturbance in the seemingly chaotic but still coherent undulation of the dancing crowd.
Malachi walked toward him wearing a midnight blue V-neck with a plunge so deep he might as well be shirtless. The pentagram on his neck flashed happily thanks to the strobe lights. All muscles and form-fitting ensemble, Malachi smiled at him. Angel’s knees became molasses, and his hands wanted to disappear inside the back pockets of those jeans and grab hard glutes he remembered excessively well.
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