His dad slowly nodded and looked up at Terry with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, son. I tried to keep you oot of this.”
Armen stepped up behind Terry and peered around him. “Excuse me, sir, where do you keep your sage?”
Sean looked to Terry. “Show her, son. She’ll need more than sage.”
Terry nodded and stood up from the bed. “It’s downstairs. Come on.”
Armen followed Terry down the stairs, through the now-bright living room, and around a corner into the family room, which also had a large cross on the wall. Terry opened a set of double doors leading into a room lined with bookshelves and glass cases filled with ancient-looking relics. An old mahogany desk stood in the room’s center, piled high with paperwork and other artifacts. One particular item in a glass case caught her eye, and she moved closer to get a better look at it. The piece was Roman.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Terry let out a snort. “No, it’s just a replica. The real one is . . . somewhere else.” He moved his eyes from the piece to her, and abruptly turned to one of the bookshelves.
Armen looked at him curiously. “You don’t trust me with the information, do you?”
“It’s not that.” He searched the book titles, dragging his finger along the worn spines. “You don’t work for the Church.”
“Neither do you, and yet you seem to know about it.”
Terry reached up and touched the top of one of the many old books. “I’m the man’s son, Armen. Of course I know about it.”
“Being his son shouldn’t make you privy to the knowledge,” she replied, crossing her arms. “Just who in the hell is your father? Or perhaps you’ve proven yourself somewhere along the way.”
“Perhaps.”
“Is that the Book of Enoch?”
Terry half-smiled. “Yes.” He pulled the top of the book toward him.
“Why would a Catholic priest have”—a noise like a bolt coming loose stopped her mid-question—“apocrypha!” She grinned. “Your father is brilliant.”
Terry was solemn-faced. “Not so brilliant if he let a demon in his home.” The bookcase depressed into the wall and slid to the right, revealing a doorway. He peered into the darkness. “Let there be light.” Lights came to life, illuminating their passage down the stairs.
“Seriously?”
“I know, but it works,” he replied distantly. “Come on.”
She followed him down into a small chamber with two wooden doors. He opened the door to his left and stepped inside, hitting the light switch on the way in.
“Shit, this looks like an apothecary.” Dried herbs and powders and oils lined the walls of the room. How could she pass up this amazing opportunity? Humans had their way of creating medicinal salves and whatnot, and Armen had hers.
He went to a counter, pulling open drawers and bringing down jars from the shelf to view their contents.
“Your dad never had a congregation, did he?”
Terry only half-turned his head to her, continuing to inspect the jars. The only answer he gave was silence.
“Did he work at the Vatican?” She stood beside him to see what he was searching through. “Marigold AKA Calendula, yes, I’ll need that.” She took the jar from his hand and removed a small amount. Terry remained quiet and pulled another jar down. Armen looked over the shelves, searching the names. “Does he have any coconut oil or comfrey oil?”
Terry pointed his thumb over his right shoulder. Armen studied the oils on the shelf behind them.
“Ah yes, there it is.” She snatched the coconut oil off the shelf, carrying it back to the counter. “I’ll need a bowl.”
He slid one across the counter to her.
“Thanks.” She poured a measured amount of oil into the bowl. Heating it up would be a problem normally, but since Terry knew she was a damn demon once, all bets were off. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“I don’t have much to say right now.” He grabbed another jar from the shelf. “Sage.” He handed it to her.
She took the jar. “I understand.”
He abruptly turned to her, slamming his hand on the counter. “Do you? Have you ever lost your mother to a demon? Oh, that’s right, you don’t have a mother and you were a demon.”
Armen dropped the jar of sage on the counter. It spun a few times before settling. She tried to contain her fury because, after all, he’d just lost his mother. It certainly wasn’t a good time to rip him to shreds.
“Have you ever read the book that unlocked the door to this place?”
“Of course.” He sneered. “Growing up with Dad, I’ve had to read everything.”
“What happened to the children of the Grigori, Terry?” She kept her voice as even as possible, though her temper flared.
“The Nephilim were slaughtered. They were an abomination, a mix between humans and angels. They were giants.”
“Giants.” Her voice shook with anger. “My son stood as tall as you, and he was not deformed. He was perfect and yet, they killed him. Gabriel himself pushed his sword through my son’s chest while I watched helplessly because they held me back. So yes, I do understand. The only difference here is that my son was killed by the word of God—my own Father—which in my opinion is far worse than being killed by a demon, having been one and all.” She turned back to the bowl. “I did not kill your mother, Terry. Direct your anger elsewhere.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him slump in defeat.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”
“Well, I can’t have you arguing with me right now. You didn’t kill the bastard.” She reached down the counter for the pestle and mortar and pulled them to her. “He’ll come back.”
“How in God’s name am I supposed to kill him?”
“The scepter. Did you not notice what it did when you cut into him?” She grabbed another jar from the shelf and pulled a sprig from it, ripping off the leaves and dropping them into the mortar.
He shrugged. “I figured that was normal.”
She vigorously crushed the herbs. Better the herbs than some part of Terry.
“The only time I saw my dad use that thing, it had the same effect, but when he forced the blade into the demon’s chest, the demon didn’t die.”
“You are not your father.” She opened a drawer, unable to find what she was looking for. “Spoon?” He pointed one out to her and she grabbed it, and then poured the crushed herbs into the bowl.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a detective, figure it out.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m missing something.”
“I’m not a demon wrangler, Armen. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Oh, you’re no wrangler, that’s for sure. Not after what I saw and heard.” She turned to the shelf of oils again. “What is it? Damn.” She tried hard to recall the recipe. Her book of shadows burned up in the fire.
“What did you see and hear?”
She waved him off and studied the jars. Seeing the beeswax, she reached for it, but still searched the shelves, moving to the powders.
He grunted. “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t remember,” she said, frustrated and growling softly.
“Well, what are you making?” He reached forward to touch the mixture, and she slapped his hand away. “Hey!”
“The salve I put on your hand? I’m making something similar. I figured since I have access to this wonderful apothecary, I’d make it for your dad, given his wounds.” She turned to the shelf behind her again and searched.
“But I thought it wouldn’t work on wounds caused by a demon.”
“Not all of your dad’s wounds were made by that bastard. Most were by that creature, the zeelu.” Her eyes brightened. “A-ha! There you are.” She snatched the jar from the shelf and opened it. “Wonderful medicinal properties.”
“What the hell did you see and hear?”
She crushed the her
bs and poured them into the bowl. “The goodbye thing. I’ve always wondered why you never say goodbye to anyone. You just hang up or walk away.” She turned the spoon over, stirring the contents together. “I even found it amusing at times that you didn’t say it, but I never realized why you didn’t say it.”
“Because it expels,” he said flatly.
Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “Do I want to know how you found out?”
“Probably not.”
“Tell me anyway.” She stirred the mixture, gradually heating the bowl with her hand and then slowly cooling it before heating it again. Its color changed from yellow to green. She continued stirring, waiting for it to change again.
Terry sighed heavily. “I was five.”
“Five is awfully young to discover such a gift.” She reached for one of the many essential oils on the shelf in front of her, cracked it open, and added a few drops.
“I wouldn’t necessarily call it a gift.”
“I can’t believe those words just came out of a priest’s son’s mouth.”
He traced a circle on the counter with his finger. “Yeah, well, you’re not the only one who has issues with Him.”
“I suppose.” The mixture showed signs of turning blue, the color she needed it to be. Totally not normal when humans made it, giving the salve her signature, so to speak. “So, what happened?”
Terry sighed again. “I said—that word—to my grandfather.”
Armen dropped the bowl. “Oh my . . . Terry! It works on humans? Oh, dear!”
Terry picked up the bowl and stirred the mixture, his eyes glistening as he tried to focus, not commenting on the warmth.
Armen pulled the bowl from him and set it on the counter. “Terry.” She grasped his arms. He shook away and went for the bowl again. “Terry, stop!”
“No! Give me the damn bowl.” He growled.
“Why, so you can force it all inside?” She yanked the bowl away once more and pushed it out of his reach. “Have you ever talked to anyone about this?”
Terry nodded, but stared at the floor. “The priests tried to help me, but there was nothing they could do. They simply didn’t know how. Just told me not to say it to anyone ever again.”
“Then talk to me,” she said softly, her hand caressing his face.
His eyes met hers, a tear rolling down his cheek. “You don’t like to talk.”
She brushed the tear away. “I’ll talk, if you will.”
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Greg yelled for him. He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. “Down here.”
Greg ran down the stairs and stopped abruptly in the doorway. “Your dad, Terry. He’s missing.”
“What do you mean he’s missing? Did you leave him alone?”
Greg nodded. “He asked to be left alone with your mom for a minute.”
“Shit, Greg, all the man needs is a minute. How’d he get out?”
“Balcony,” Greg said. “And Terry . . . the scepter’s gone too.”
Armen grabbed the jar of calendula she’d spotted in her search for other herbs. She stuffed a handful in her pocket. “Where’s he going?”
“To find Sariel.” He pushed past Greg. “Come on, he can’t have gotten far.”
“Does he have anything else you can use?” Armen hobbled as quickly as possible up the stairs behind him. Greg followed her, no doubt watching her closely in case she fell.
“I am not running down the street with a damn sword in my hand,” Terry shouted from the office and bolted for the kitchen and back door. “Shit!”
Armen and Greg hurried behind him. Armen came to a sudden stop by the desk, forcing Greg to side-step so he wouldn’t barrel into her. She picked up a small box of bullets off the desk.
“What are you doing? Come on, he’s moving fast.”
“Go! I’m coming.” She pocketed the box and limped as fast as she could behind him. Right now, she really hated having to use the damn cane, but she was certainly faster with it than without.
“Leza! What the hell is going on?” Captain McNeil. Great.
She stopped. “Do you have your gun on you?”
“Of course I do, why?”
She threw the box at him. “Put these in it and come with me.” She burst out the door and headed for the gate along the back fence.
“Would you care to tell me why?” He ran up behind her, turning the box over in his hands.
“They’re silver,” she said. “Silver will harm a demon.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He held the gate open for her.
“I don’t kid about shit like this, Brian.” She looked down the alley and could see Terry in the distance. “I’m never going to make it down there.”
“Come on. We’ll take my car.”
He dragged her along, back through the yard and house, and out the front door. Brian opened the passenger door, and ran around to the driver’s side and hopped in. He started the car and threw it in gear.
“You really shouldn’t be running around with a bum leg.” He hit the brakes and his horn. “Get the hell out of the way!”
“Don’t get me killed, Brian,” she said as he drove through the small crowd of firefighters and police officers.
“Shut up, Leza.” He stomped on the gas pedal once the road was clear, and turned the corner at the end of the street.
Armen held on for dear life. “Holy hell, you drive like a madman.” Terry suddenly came into view in front of them. “Stop the car!”
Brian hit the brakes again and Armen braced herself against the dash. Once the car stopped, she opened the door and jumped out. “I can’t believe they gave you a damn license.” She limped up to Terry. “Where’d he go?”
“I don’t know. I can’t find him. Shit.” He turned back to the alley. “DAD!” Terry ran down the alley again. He passed Greg, who slid to a stop in the gravel and turned to chase after him.
“Mr. Armstrong,” Greg shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound.
Armen drew in a deep breath and sighed. “All right, I’m doing this my way.”
She closed her eyes and took another deep breath, then started walking down the alley. When she opened her eyes again, her vision altered. Everything alive was a brilliant white. She could see Terry and Greg searching, a cat perched on the top of someone’s back fence, and Brian when he passed her to join the others. But there were dark spots, as well. Now that they weren’t in the house, Terry’s incantations couldn’t protect them from the shadows within the brightness.
“Oh, this is bad,” she mumbled. The scepter. Focus on the scepter. She hobbled down the alley toward the others, shadows slinking along the sides, following her. The hair on the back of her neck rose to attention. She stopped to see if the shadows would stop too. They did. Nervous was an understatement for how she felt about it. Sean’s theory about the demons’ quarry would seem correct.
A cry, faint and distant like it came from the depths of Hell, sounded as Armen took two steps forward. A shadow slid along the ground toward her, rising from the rock.
It struck.
Armen sidestepped and swung her cane at the intruding shadow. The cane sailed right through it. She wobbled, attempting to maintain her balance on her good leg. Another shadow rose from the gravel.
“ARMEN!” Terry sprinted toward her.
Greg spun wildly in attempt to see what was happening. Brian took the box of bullets from his pocket and fumbled it open because he never could listen to reason when it came from her.
Armen swung around to her right when Terry drew near. He glided through the rising shadow and took her into his arms. They stumbled, but Terry maintained his balance and lifted Armen off her feet. He turned in a circle and set her down gently.
His eyes smiled at her, wide and sparkling. “Sorry about that.”
She touched his arm. “Terry, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Your eyes—”
“Oh, sorry.” She blinked and her
vision returned to normal. “Are you in die-hard-cop mode yet?”
“Of course.” He snatched up her dragon cane with both hands, twisted its head and body opposite directions, and withdrew the blade from inside. “You keep getting into trouble.”
Surprise took Armen. “How’d you know it did that?”
He swung the blade at the oncoming materializing demon and sliced it in two. “I’m a detective. I figured it out.” He slipped an arm around her waist to support her. “Besides, I just saw you use it upstairs. Hang on unless you want to fall.”
She gripped him tightly. “We need to find your dad.”
He forced the blade through another demon’s stomach as it materialized. “Tell me about it. I have no idea where he may have gone, though.” His eyes met hers briefly before skimming the corners and spotting another demon. “What about you? Do you know where he went?”
“I might have an idea.”
“Well, spit it out. We don’t have all day!”
She hesitated. He cut another demon in two and met her eyes. “He’s in the house.”
“How? We were just in there.” They hurried down the alley to his parent’s backyard again.
“There were two doors downstairs,” Armen said. “What’s the second door for?”
“I don’t know. He’d never let me in there.” He turned his head to find the other two. “Greg, Brian, back to the house.”
Greg trotted up to them. “What for?”
“Armen says Dad’s there,” Terry replied.
“And the scepter,” she added. A shadow slunk up on Terry’s right. “Look out!”
Terry swung at the beast, taking its head and shoulder. Its shriek filled the momentary silence on a decibel level the other two men could hear.
“What are you swinging that thing at and what was that noise?” Brian asked from Greg’s other side.
Terry threw him a wild look of confusion, and Armen squeezed his arm. “He can’t see them, Terry.”
“You’re kidding. How could he not?” They reached the gate and Terry edged through it sideways with Armen.
“He hasn’t been given the knowledge yet. He only sees the after effects when it involves humans, and he apparently heard that shriek.”
Dusk of Death: an Armen Leza, Demon Hunter novel (Armageddon Trilogy Book 1) Page 9
