“Impossible!”
“That’s my new price. You can crown my man as Seer without it. You know that as well as I do, Jiki.”
Jordan managed to control his anger, being very careful to keep his tone in check. “Okay, we have a deal. Bring him to the temple of Tengu. You know the place?”
“Of course. I can hear its call even now, same as you. Word that the Seer has been found is beginning to spread; we all gather to see his glory. We’re already on our way.”
Jordan suppressed a growl. “Good. I will meet you there. Keep him safe; do not let any harm come to him.”
“I will protect him with my life.”
Jordan slammed the phone down and called for his secretary. She sauntered in and sat on his desk. “You called for me, boss?” She reached out and fiddled with the handkerchief in his breast pocket.
He poured himself a lowball of Scotch, flooding it all the way to the brim. “Get the pilot on the phone and tell him to file a flight plan for Dubai immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Anything else?”
He chugged the whisky and slammed the glass down. “Yeah. How about you pack yourself a bag. It’s a long flight, and I’ll need a snack.”
She giggled and scampered out. She didn’t know how literally he meant that.
But as soon as she closed the door behind her, he had guests. Unwelcome ones. The kind that come right out of the walls.
* * *
THERE WERE ONLY TWO anticherubim twitching and jerking around in Jordan Weston’s office. He wondered offhand where the other one was.
At length, they settled enough to speak, but Jordan could not understand them until he shifted into his alter ego, Jikininki. Theirs was the old language, one he could not understand as Jordan Weston.
“We called the Alexander and hunted the assassin Valac, but he has escaped us.”
“Well done, idiots.”
They ignored him. “We need the Bloodstone. You promised it to us.”
Jiki did not have time for this—he had a flight to catch. “You two were sent to help with the upcoming war, but so far all you do is get in the way.”
“You betray us? Do you dare to change the terms of our arrangement?”
“Why not? That kind of thing is going around lately,” he said, mostly to himself. “No matter. The Alexander is so much wind. He wrestles against the power of the Bloodstone; he harbors love in his heart. He is no longer needed.”
The bigger one growled. “We only ascribe honor to the blood line of the Alexander. All others are fraudulent. You speak of the Other. The Prince will not accept him. Give us the Bloodstone. We are able to convince the boy Alexander.”
This pus-bedecked, fungus-laden demon now confirmed his suspicions. The Prince wants the Bloodstone as well as full control of the Brotherhood. Jordan had hoped to avoid all-out war over the Bloodstone, but it seemed pointless now.
“The Bloodstone will be at the temple of Tengu for the anointing of the new Seer. The Bloodstone will either choose him or it will reject him. Which, I cannot say.”
The demons twitched and convulsed back and forth continually, flitting about the room as if holding still would kill them. “You refuse the Prince?”
“I honor the Heir. The rest is politics.” Jiki turned his back to them. “The Prince was supposed to destroy Kreios and his halfbreed spawn, Airel. He was powerless to do so. Now I must do it for him.”
“The Angel Kreios lives under El’s protection.”
Jiki laughed. “Are you saying you are powerless to kill him? Is he is beyond your reach too? I thought the legendary three of the original kind were the right hand of the Prince, yet you cannot even bring me the Bloodstone. You need a little half-dead demigod like me to do it for you.”
“You mock the Prince and your lords. Remember whom you serve, Jiki.”
Jiki paused in thought. “I only want to see the true Seer anointed. If the Alexander can be convinced, as you say, then I propose an arrangement.”
“We are listening.”
Jordan smiled. “Bring the boy to me now and we will anoint him together. If he is accepted, I will pledge my loyalty to him, but if not—”
“He will be accepted,” the two said in unison.
“Very well.”
“When we come, you must have the Bloodstone in your possession, or you shall pay for your error with your life.”
“Agreed.” They left and he switched back into his human garments, his walking-around-town suit of clothes. He chortled. “I shall enjoy watching you try.”
Soon he was seated comfortably in his subsonic business jet with his secretary giving him that look she liked to give. He smiled back wickedly as they rolled for takeoff.
CHAPTER IV
Dubai, UAE, Present Day
JOHN CROSS HUGGED HIS old friend Ethan Maxwell, noticing that he was still in impeccable shape if a little bushier around the eyebrows. “How are you, Ethan?”
Holding John out at arm’s length, he grinned. “Right as rain, Johnny boy. It is truly good to see you, my old friend. You should bring the family here. I’d love to see them—”
John hoped he wouldn’t have to explain the awkward details about how his daughter was in a coma and his sweet Maggie was a shell of herself at Airel’s bedside, but Ethan never stopped to take a breath.
“Oh wait, I don’t exist. I forgot.” Ethan jabbed him. “Must be all the killing and dying.” He threw his head back and laughed.
John smiled reflexively. “You do exist, but you’re also dead, so . . .”
“I love being dead,” Ethan said. “No constraints. You should try it sometime.”
John laughed again. It was insincere, but to men like Ethan, that didn’t matter a whit. “Maybe I will.”
“Maybe you should, Johnny boy. Now. First, how dare you show up without calling. What if I had a woman here? It would have been embarrassing.”
“Really?”
“Well—for you.” Ethan laughed again. The apartment was lavish, a studded glass jewel high up in an exclusive tower that overlooked the sea on one side and the city lights on the other.
John said, “I’ve walked in on you in worse situations. Remember Shenyang?”
“You never knew how to have fun.”
“They were underage.”
“Barely. And technically not, according to some of the lesser-known procedures within the Chinese government.” He waggled a finger at him, turned away, and pulled a couple of beers from the fridge.
John would have been surprised at Ethan’s lowbrow approach to hosting if he didn’t know him better. Ethan Maxwell, once a regular guy from Schenectady, never learned how to care about genteel behaviors. He didn’t do couth, he didn’t drink aristocratic alcohol, and he didn’t give two rips about what anyone thought about any of it. He occupied a special place in John’s heart and mind because John was his junior partner when he first came on at the CIA. They worked together for years; Ethan was his mentor. If there was anyone John felt like he could trust, it was this man.
Ethan knew more about John than Maggie did. He knew about the nightmares early on—stuff he didn’t dare tell anyone else. Ethan was there in D.C. when he’d first met Maggie; he’d practically introduced them. Ethan and John smoked cigars when Airel was born. They never got together for barbecues and the like because Ethan was a womanizing world traveler based out of D.C. and John was . . . well, John is just John.
A moment passed in silence. “Why so quiet? You came a long way for a drink.”
“You crack open a good can of beer, Ethan.”
He chuckled. “That I do, that I do. Now, before you start to bore me to death, tell me what you want, and remember, I’m old now. I’m not up for the midnight kill-and-drag thing anymore. I run the big stuff now.”
John decided to tell him the truth. Up to this very moment, he was going to give Ethan a story, get what he needed, and go. He watched the fountain in the corner of the room, letting his mind get lost in the sound of w
ater moving, rushing, trickling. It had the same effect as fire; it could hypnotize, it held power. It was seductive.
“Airel is in a coma.”
Ethan was silent, looking away.
“Maggie just sits there at her bedside, empty. Waiting.”
“I’m sorry for that, Johnny boy. I really am. What else ails you?”
John took the hint. Ethan was the opposite of sentimental. “Ethan, I’ve managed to get myself into something big. Something I can’t control.” He let it all hang out with an even, steady voice, no emotion, not once looking away from the fountain.
“Go on.”
“I came up with some big debts after South Africa.”
“I saw that. You pulled some big levers getting out of there unscathed.”
“Tell me about it. That’s how MAGICIAN found me.” John searched his eyes for a trigger of recognition, but it wasn’t there. Besides, Ethan was better than that. “I was given a dead-end job in Glasgow, and by the time I got back home, I was a marked man.”
“How so?”
“They’re hunting me.”
“Who?”
“You wouldn’t believe it if you saw it. I have two rotting bodies in my house, Ethan. Neither one is human. Do you believe in demons?”
Ethan laughed but said nothing further.
John reached into his briefcase, took out the book, and placed it on the counter. “And there’s this. Volume III of a set of books about an organization called the Brotherhood. They’re demons. No kidding. I found it under my daughter’s mattress. It seems to be very old. I think the two monsters I killed wanted it, and wanted to kill me to get it.”
“Monsters?”
“Ethan, you know me.”
He reached for the book. “May I?”
John nodded sliding the book toward him. Ethan flipped through it, making small sighs and grunting noises. After John was done with his drink, Ethan closed the book and took out a bottle of eighteen-year-old Balvenie Scotch and set it on the table between them.
“You? And Scotch? Really?”
“People change, buddy.” Ethan grabbed some glasses and began pouring. “Especially when the stress begins to mount.”
John smirked. “You think you know a guy.”
“Hey. It’s the end of the world out there. I believe you, John. You’re not the guy to come all the way to Dubai just to tell lies to his oldest and best friend. This story is so strange, it has to be real.”
John nodded.
“Johnny boy, I’m not really into this kind of stuff. But . . . I may know someone who is. His name is Jordan Weston. I ran across him a few years back on a job—the details don’t matter to you, boy, but he’s in to rare books and he’s always talking about the end of the world and staring out the window.” He laughed, but for the first time, it showed the strain that was now becoming self-evident. He snapped out of it. “Anyway, he was in the market for a book like this. And there was a stone of some sort too, if I remember right.”
“I may have helped him.”
“What?”
“Yeah, MAGICIAN. I think that may have been Weston. I was supposed to take down this mark in Scotland and grab a stone off her. It’s in this book. At least I think it is. It’s called the Bloodstone. Some sort of magical trinket the Brotherhood wants.”
“Well, well, well. All roads lead to Rome, huh?” Ethan snapped the book shut and set it down.
“Yeah, something like that. So where can I find this Jordan guy?”
“I don’t know. I know some of his haunts. And I share some, not all, of his . . . enthusiasms, let’s say. I’ll check in with my little birds. Hang on.” Ethan took up his phone and began tapping away.
“What, right now?”
“Yeah, Johnny boy. You have friends in high places now.”
John got up and paced the room. He found the view from the top of the world to be intoxicating. I wonder why I chased after Maggie. I wonder why I chased after that whole life—the house, the job, the PTA, the sensible cars and the grocery-getting monotony of it all. He found himself making arguments pro and con inside the space of his own head, wondering at the amorality of a gun smuggler now having second thoughts about his suburban life and sweet little suburban wife. He thought about how convenient it was that Airel was in a coma now, how she would probably die, how Maggie would no doubt follow her soon after, and how that would free him up to—well, to live a life more like Ethan’s. Sleek, proud, a self-proclaimed master of the universe. Money to burn.
“All right, Johnny boy. My birdies tell me Jordan Weston has something big planned. I personally would like to watch, in a manner of speaking. His office is at the Burj downtown. I’ll get you his floor number; that should be all you’ll need.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure thing. Johnny . . . Be careful. This isn’t the standard deal we used to run. This is something different.”
John’s mind ran wild. “But they tried to kill me.”
“So you’re what, gonna run straight for the viper’s nest?”
“I want answers.”
Ethan cocked his head and raised his shaggy eyebrows. “You’ll get more than you bargained for, I’d wager.”
“Yeah, well. Don’t bet on the house this time.”
Ethan exhaled, the sound incredulous. “Have another drink. You’re gonna need it. It’s strange goings on, John. This earthquake, the blackouts, and now all the missing people.”
“What missing people?”
Ethan placed his hands on the cold granite countertop. “People all over the place are disappearing. Poof, up and gone, except there’s this weird red residue, sticky and weird. Some say it’s that Christian thing—the Rapture, people disappearing. Some say it’s like the fingerprint of a person’s soul. Scientists say they’ve discovered a new element—one that’s alive.”
“What? How come I’ve never heard this?”
“There’s no such thing as news anymore, John. Dubai and Stockholm are the last two safe places on earth. Everything else has been plunged into the Dark Ages, Part II. I know because I have birdies. The world is falling apart, John. This red soul dust—it’s alive. And worse, it can’t be killed.”
“What?”
“People tell me there’s an army being forged in the underworld. Souls, John. Things are out of order. I have a feeling that book there,” he gestured with his glass, “and this Bloodstone thing . . . they’re the reason why.”
CHAPTER V
DRESSED APPROPRIATELY IN A hooded black cloak, Michael Alexander crossed over to Dubai using the Threshold. With friends like Kreios, he thought there would come a time when impossible things ceased to be amazing. Wrong again. Oh, there’s a little closet in your church of a bedroom, next to your arsenal of costumes—because everybody has one of those—and it has a door that takes you down the rabbit hole? Sure, I’ll buy that. Michael could only think of Airel’s snarky comments about Narnia. It brought the smirk back to his face, despite all that had happened.
All that has happened…
He could hear it in his head now, the call of the Bloodstone. His heart felt sick, dark. He remembered when he was last under the influence of the power of the Bloodstone. It was a potent drug. It was overwhelming, beautiful. He had been surprised—he expected to feel different when so intimately connected with the essence of evil. But it wasn’t like that—it was raw and alive, no filter, no boundaries, no limits.
But that was then, back when Stanley had been around, back when it was all fun and games. The need he felt inside his body and mind now was not pleasant at all. It was demanding and painful. And whenever he succeeded in shoving aside these dark and forbidding urges, all he could think about was Airel. How artificial and empty she looked, lying there hooked up to tubes and machines. Life was a steady drizzle of tortures.
If I’d never met her, she would be living a normal life right now. She would never have been activated—she would have been happy. There were times when he wondered if he ca
used more pain than joy.
This is my only chance to make things right. Maybe he would be able to at least put an end to the bloodshed. He could remember the days when he thought killing the halfbreeds was honorable, even right. Stanley had taught him to hate. Guilt was the only logical result for him when he thought of how he had innocently fallen in love with Airel only to find out he’d been on the wrong side his entire life.
He successfully blocked most of the memories of his kills, but sometimes he would wake suddenly at night and see the dead faces of all his halfbreed kills from years past. He felt he could never repay and never atone for what he’d done, but this—this self-sacrifice—was a start. He could do this—he could give himself up in an effort to try to destroy the Bloodstone. I only hope Kreios can do what he told me he could do, and that he shows up on time.
When he stepped out into the stifling heat that suffocated the sands near Dubai, he knew he was close to where he needed to be. He could feel it. The Threshold read it on his heart and mind, and like a bird flying south for the winter, the part of him that was connected to the Brotherhood knew the location by instinct.
Michael climbed to the top of a sand dune, the wind whipping his face. The great city rose from the ocean like the spine of a great monster, the Burj Khalifa its most prominent feature. Look there. It’s just another tower of Babel. Oh, how he resented all the lies he had bought over the years.
Somewhere beyond the realm of what he could see, he sensed a horde amassing, gathering to witness the anointing of the new Seer. I won’t let you down. This was in his blood—it was what he was born to do.
“Welcome home, Master Alexander.” The voice chattered and spit from behind him, each syllable subdivided into innumerable phlegm-riddled blasts. Michael smiled and turned, and thus began the grand deception.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” they said.
“There are only two of you,” he said to the anticherubim. “Where is the other one?”
“Engaged. It matters not. Come with us, master. We will take you to the temple of Tengu.”
Michael nodded but said nothing further. He blocked out his mind, focusing with all his power and will upon his role.
The Airel Saga Box Set: Young Adult Paranormal Romance Page 85
