“Tell me,” Verchiel hissed again.
“If not for this … for you,” the Morningstar whispered, “I would never have met my son.”
The mouse’s stomach ached from hunger. It had not foraged for food since its friend had been brought here to this room. It couldn’t, not while the man was being tormented so.
In the shadows the mouse cowered, afraid to move. There was something in the air here, something unnatural that made its tiny heart flutter like a moth attempting to escape the spider’s web. Every one of its primitive instincts screamed for it to run, that here was certain death. But it remained—afraid to abandon the one who had befriended it. Loyal to a fault.
They were hurting its friend again. The mouse did not want to watch, but could not tear its eyes away. It yearned to do something, anything to help the one who had shown it such friendship, but its tiny mind could not even begin to fathom what that something might be. It did not have the size or ferocity to frighten the larger, more powerful creatures, or the strength in its jaws to gnaw upon the thick metal chains. So it cowered in the shadows, watching and afraid.
Too small to matter.
Aaron wasn’t sure what he expected of the fallen angel that was his father. He was Lucifer, after all, and all kinds of crazy stuff had passed through his mind: red skin, pencil-thin mustache, goatee, cloven hooves, horns, pointed tail, pitchfork. He was curious but never expected the answers to be imminent.
He knew that he was unconscious, in some dark, inner place, alone, or so he had believed. He had wandered through the shadows for quite sometime, descending deeper and deeper into the inner world of darkness, until he heard the cries for help.
“Please, God, no.”
Instinctively Aaron moved toward the sound of the plaintive voice, cutting through the ocean of black.
“Don’t allow this to happen.”
In the distance he saw a man standing before an enormous metal door, pressing himself against its surface, as if trying to keep it from opening.
“Please,” the stranger begged as something pounded and railed upon the other side.
Aaron felt compelled to help the man and tentatively approached. But as the man turned to face him, a smile that could only be described as euphoric spread across his handsome yet strained features. And in that moment Aaron knew this stranger’s identity.
This was Lucifer Morningstar, the first of the fallen.
His father.
“I’m not sure how long he can hold out,” Aaron muttered, opening his eyes and gazing up at the cracked and stained ceiling of the bedroom where he had been staying since coming to Aerie.
“You’re awake,” Gabriel said over and over again, licking his face, head, ears, and hands with abandon. “You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake.”
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious. Gabriel’s affection could not be used as an accurate gauge. There were days Aaron had gone out to get something from his car and been met with the same kind of exuberant greetings, as if he had not seen the Lab in months.
Aaron pulled the dog’s face away from his, scratching him behind the ears. “Hey, fella,” he said. “Nice to see you, too. How long was I out?”
“About two days,” answered a voice as the bedroom door opened and Lorelei walked in carrying a tray loaded with medical supplies. She placed the tray atop the dresser and retrieved a bottle of antiseptic, bandages, some cotton balls, and a roll of tape.
“I thought it was at least a week,” Gabriel said as he lay down beside his master, rump pressed tightly against Aaron’s side.
“It really is true what they say about animals having no concept of time,” Lorelei said, sitting on the bed and carefully peeling the bandage from his bare chest.
“He has a tendency to exaggerate,” Aaron said. “Will I live?”
“It was touch and go there for a while,” she said honestly, examining the wound. “But it seems that you’ve healed up pretty well.” She dabbed at the still-tender puncture in his chest with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic. “Lehash told us what you did, hanging around a bit too long after the shit hit the fan. Very stupid, Aaron Corbet. If you’re not careful, they’ll revoke your savior’s license.” She placed a new bandage over the wound and taped it down.
“How’s Vilma?” he asked, throwing off the thin sheet that covered him, starting to rise from the bed.
“Hey,” the female Nephilim protested. “She’s resting comfortably, which is exactly what you should be doing.” She halfheartedly tried to push him back, but had little success.
Aaron felt a bit weak and dizzy, and placed his hand against the wall to steady himself. “There’s no time for that,” he said, waiting for the room to settle. “I’m not sure how much longer he can hold out.” He moved to his duffel bag to dig out a new shirt.
“You said that before.” Gabriel was still lying on the bed. “Who are you talking about?”
Aaron slipped a red T-shirt over his head and gently pulled it down over his chest, so as not to disturb the bandage. “While I was out, I went someplace,” he said, putting on his socks and sneakers. “Inside here,” his hands fluttered around the sides of his head before beginning to tie his sneakers. “And I met my father—I met Lucifer.”
“You met the Morningstar?” Lorelei asked in shock.
Gabriel bounded from the bed to join Aaron by the door. “Was he nice?” he asked, tail wagging.
“I met him, and now I know what Verchiel is up to,” Aaron said, leaving the bedroom. “And it’s pretty horrible.”
“Are you up for this, Aaron?” Lorelei asked as she followed him to the front door. “You almost died, and here you are running off again.”
He stopped and stared at her, not really sure what to say.
“There’s an awful lot riding on you and—”
“And none of it will matter if Verchiel has his way,” Aaron interrupted.
Lorelei looked as though she might protest, but clearly thought better of it. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” she said instead.
“I’ll be careful.”
The woman nodded. “Good. You’re the first savior I’ve ever had for a friend, and I’d hate to have to find another.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It had been a good visit.
Lucifer only wished that they could have done something a bit more pleasant, a few drinks perhaps, a nice dinner, conversation that went well into the wee hours of the morning. Holding back Hell was not the activity he would have chosen for his first meeting with his son.
He seems like a good kid, Lucifer mused. Eager to help, and he had his father’s eyes, but there really wasn’t much he could do about the Morningstar’s current situation. He had only helped to delay the inevitable for a little while longer.
Things were bad. Verchiel’s magicians had almost succeed in breaking down all his remaining barriers, and the pain was becoming unbearable. Lucifer hadn’t wanted his son to see him this way, so he had sent him away, urging him to put his strength to use elsewhere, for his was a lost cause.
But deep down, the first fallen angel didn’t want to believe that was completely true. The prophecy of forgiveness had come to fruition because of him, because he had hoped that someday the Lord God would understand how sorry he was and give him the chance to apologize.
Unfortunately Verchiel would do everything in his power to make certain that Lucifer never had the chance to utter those words of atonement, and would make him responsible for yet another heinous crime against God and what He holds most dear. The leader of the Powers didn’t believe that Lucifer had the right to be forgiven, and there were days when he believed that Verchiel could very well be right. But it wasn’t up to them to decide. God would forgive, or He wouldn’t. It was simple as that—or at least it used to be.
Fight as he did, Lucifer knew he could not keep the door closed for much longer. Hell raged at his back, the pain at the core of his being, methodically peeled away like the mult
iple layers of an onion.
The Morningstar was ashamed, believing that he should have been stronger, able to restrain that which had been such a crucial part of him for so long. Hell had come to define him, showing what his petty jealousy and arrogance had been responsible for.
In the world of inner darkness it sounded like gunfire as the first thick metal hinge exploded from the vault door. It was followed by a second, and as he pressed his back flat against the cold surface of the door, he felt it shift within its frame. It won’t be long now, Lucifer knew. The gaseous discharge of the accumulated misery on the other side wafted up around him. It made him see it all again, experience it as though it were happening. It was Hell incarnate.
“I’m so sorry,” he cried aloud as the door fell, trapping him beneath its tremendous weight.
And that which came to be known as Hell surged out from within him, a geyser of rage, pain, sadness, and misery garnered from the most horrible event ever to befall the kingdom of God.
“So sorry.”
She looks much better, Aaron thought, watching Vilma as she slept peacefully. Silently he thanked the Malakim for what he had done for her—for him—and swore that Verchiel would be made to pay for his crimes.
He reached down and pulled the blanket up over the girl. It was damp in the basement, and she had enough problems without catching a cold to boot.
“She’s much better, thanks to you,” Gabriel said from nearby.
Aaron couldn’t stop watching her.
“You love her, don’t you?”
Aaron’s first impulse was to deny it; he’d never admitted it out loud before. But the fact was he did love Vilma Santiago, and as he watched her sleep, he couldn’t imagine his life without her. Aaron remembered the Archon’s words about his mate, and the beautiful children they would have together. Vilma was part of his future. He just hoped she wanted him to be a part of hers.
“Yep, I guess I do,” he finally responded. He looked at the dog that was lying on the concrete floor not far from the foot of the mattress. “Is that cool with you?”
Gabriel was staring at Vilma as well, and Aaron could feel the emotion emanating from the Labrador’s dark, soulful eyes. “It’s cool,” he said, blinking slowly. “She’ll be good for our pack.”
Aaron smiled. “Won’t she though?” he agreed, rising from her side.
“Do you have to go?” the Labrador asked, climbing to his feet as well.
Aaron nodded, knowing his options were few and time was growing slim. His father had been weakening, and who knew what kind of power Verchiel now had at his disposal. If what Lucifer told him was true, the leader of the Powers wasn’t just gunning for Nephilim and fallen angels anymore; he had a score to settle with the whole planet.
“This is it, Gabe,” he told the animal. “Verchiel is going down for good this time.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Lehash said as he walked down the stairs toward them, Scholar close behind.
Aaron had been waiting for them to arrive, certain that Lorelei would have gone to them as soon as he’d revealed his intentions.
Scholar looked pale as he maneuvered around Lehash. “Lorelei told us what you learned,” he said, a tremble in his voice. “Verchiel has lost it completely. It was bad enough that he wanted us dead, but to intentionally unleash that kind of force upon the earth…” The fallen angel stopped, speechless for the first time that Aaron could recall.
Lehash’s pistols flared to life in his grasp and he spun them on his fingers in true cowboy fashion. “Never met a son of a bitch that deserved two in the brain pan more,” he proclaimed.
Vilma stirred at the sound of their voices, rolling onto her side before returning to the embrace of healing slumber.
“I’m doing this alone,” Aaron said softly.
Lehash’s heavenly weapons dispersed in a flash. “Must be the acoustics down here,” the gunslinger said, sticking a finger in his ear and wiggling it around. “But I’d swear you just said you were going to face Verchiel alone.”
Aaron nodded. “That’s what I said.”
Lehash scowled and Aaron prepared for the onslaught that he knew would be coming. “You’re not going anywhere alone, boy,” he snarled. “Look at you,” the cowboy said, throwing out one black-gloved hand toward him. “Yer lucky you can stand, for pity’s sake. You just got stuck with a spear—and almost died! This ringing any bells?”
Aaron’s hand instinctively went to the bandage on his chest. The wound was still painful, but he was healing quickly, another perk of being a Nephilim. “It’s not that I don’t want your help. In fact nothing would make me feel safer than to have you guys at my side when this finally goes down.”
Lehash studied him, slowly folding his arms across his chest while Scholar simply stared.
“But I’ve come to realize that I have to do this alone.”
Lehash shook his head. “It ain’t true,” he grumbled.
“It is,” Aaron answered. “This has been about me from the start. Verchiel lost it because of the prophecy.” He pointed to himself. “I’m that prophecy, I’m the physical manifestation of all that he hates. It’s got to be me that takes him down.”
“He almost killed you, Aaron,” Gabriel said, his gruff animal voice filled with concern.
“Key word being ‘almost,’ ” Aaron responded. “I wasn’t ready before. I didn’t understand what all this angel stuff was about. But I do now. I know how much is at stake. It’s not just fallen angels and Nephilim that are in danger. It’s the entire world.”
Lehash rubbed his hand across the rough skin of his face. “He won’t go down easy. An animal’s at its most dangerous when its back is up against the wall.”
“He’s right about that,” Gabriel said, fortifying the gunslinger’s words.
“Believe me, I know that I could very well be killed, but I also know that it’s for me to do, and me alone. I’ve got to be the one who ends this.”
The room became very still, the only sound Vilma’s gentle breathing as she slept.
“ ‘And the one shall come that will bring about the end of their pain, his furious struggle building a bridge between the penitent and what has been lost,’ ” Scholar said, his stare vacant, as if he were looking beyond the room, perhaps into the future. “That’s a line from the prophecy,” he said, his eyes focused on them again. “Your prophecy.”
And Aaron knew it was time to go. He reached within himself and drew upon the power of angels, feeling the names of all those who died fighting for Lucifer’s cause rising to the surface to adorn his flesh. This is for them, as well, he thought. His senses grew more keen, the fury of Heaven thrumming in his blood. He brought forth his wings of blackest night, unfurling them slowly, fanning the air in anticipation.
“I have to go now,” he said in a severe voice he had come to recognize as his own, a voice filled with strength and purpose.
He looked at them all, perhaps for the last time, and an unspoken message passed between them. This was hard enough without the hindrance of final words, and even though they would not be by his side in this last battle, they would in fact be with him in spirit, providing the strength he would need to fight.
“See you when this is done,” Aaron said, Vilma’s peaceful sleep his last sight before departing to fulfill his destiny.
It had never known such a connection to another living thing.
Its tiny heart beat rapidly; its respirations quickened as it listened to the furtive moans of its friend in agony.
The others of his kind were hurting him again, their droning chants making him writhe and cry out. They sat around the outside of his circle, rocking from side to side as they repeated their hurtful song.
Something leaked out from the tortured creature’s body. The mouse was reminded of the morning fog on the river outside the mountain monastery that used to be its home, only that fog was not the color of dried blood and did not bring with it such feelings of unease. Something was coming into the w
orld that did not belong, and the mouse’s friend cried out in abandon, a mournful song filled with shame at not being strong enough to prevent it.
The one called Verchiel impatiently paced before the hanging figure, his gaze fixed upon the tortured one. It was he who was behind it all, he who was responsible for all the pain.
The rodent could not bear to hear it any longer, did not want its friend to think that he suffered alone, and against all instincts it scampered across the wooden floor, no longer caring if it was seen or not. The mouse passed between two of the chanting ones, reaching the ring of foul smelling dirt. It stifled the frenzied urges to flee, its tiny eyes fixed upon the face of the one called friend. It had but one purpose now.
The dirt on the floor was cold and damp and stank of death, but it did not hinder the mouse as it forced its way through the mire, interrupting the perfection of the circle’s curve. It had broken the circle and the patterns beyond, without notice, conquering its fear and reaching its friend.
Standing upon its hind legs, the mouse raised its pointed face and reached up with its two front paws to the sad figure hanging above it. “You are not alone,” it squeaked in the most rudimentary of languages.
Triumphant, yet unaware of what it had truly done.
Verchiel was mesmerized by Lucifer’s suffering. He could not pull his gaze away, watching as the greatest of sinners strained to keep God’s punishment within him.
“Let it go, damn you,” Verchiel hissed, the anticipation almost more than he could bear.
Soon they will all pay, the angel thought with a perverse sense of satisfaction—the human monkeys scurrying about thinking themselves so much more, the fallen angels and their Nephilim spawn, and the Lord God. How sad that it has come to this, the Powers commander ruminated as he watched the first of the fallen writhe. Verchiel was surprised that one such as Lucifer could care so much for the primitive world to which he had been banished. He himself could no longer hide his distaste for the place and its corrupting influence over his Father in Heaven.
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