Michael (The Airel Saga, Book 2)

by Aaron Patterson

  “It means,” Michael tried his best to regain his composure, “that they have opened up the entire armory against us. And they want us to know it. Not that they’re desperate. But that they will do whatever it takes.”

  “To do what, kill us?”

  “Yes.” He looked away from the dead eyes of the child across the river, to the distance. “And recover the Bloodstone.” Tension, then. Heavy and sudden, full of unfinished business that would have to remain unfinished for now. “That’s what they’re trying so desperately to grab for. The Infernals don’t care how much military capital they have to expend in order to gain it.”

  He looked at her. She seemed very scared, which was unlike her.

  “Don’t worry. At this point it’s every man for himself in the Brotherhood. They’re still not beneath the idea of killing each other in order to get the Bloodstone. With it comes the power of the Seer. They want that more than anything.”

  He looked back to the rapidly cooling body of the child in his arms.

  “What happened?” Airel asked him.

  He sighed. “I asked Ellie to help me ferret them out,” he began. “I had begun to see some suspicious activity around the fringes of our movements here in Arlington. Since our plane isn’t here yet, and since I also didn’t want them to follow us when we leave, I decided we needed to confront and destroy them…”

  Grief raked its claws across his wretched mind once more as he thought about the aborted life of the child he had killed, the missed unlimited chances it represented for life. For good or ill, the boy had a right to live. Michael had revoked all of that with a single act.

  He tried to move on with the account of how it had happened. “With Ellie’s help, we managed to isolate the tail. We had ascertained that there was only one. We cornered him here on the beach, against the water. I should have known before I took him down…” …that he was too small to be a grown man… “…but I took my shot anyway.”

  “You shot him?!” Airel hissed in a whisper, then recovered. “Wait…you shot him? I didn’t hear any gunshots.”

  “The freeway’s right there,” he pointed straight ahead. The racket of interstate traffic, mostly trucks at that hour, became very loud once attention had been drawn to it. “Besides,” he patted his ribs under his sweater, “Stanley trained me well. I know when to use a silencer.”

  It came off rude, like sacrilege, and he did not intend that. But he couldn’t stop himself. “One shot. I took him down with one shot.”

  He then collapsed into more heaving sobs.

  “I knew him, you know…” His voice softened as he brushed a hand over the boy’s cheek. “This was James’ little bro. I used to help change his diapers…” He choked on a sob and swallowed hard.

  Airel prodded softly, “What was his name?”

  “This was Marc.” Michael was running out of tears to cry. He could feel anger beginning to set in.

  “Did he…attack you?”

  “Yeah, I chased him here. He was just beginning to change…I had to kill him. There was no time to think, really.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. She was silent for a while. “But you had to defend yourself. You had to defend me—us.”

  “God, I killed him. I killed Marc. What else is there?” His voice was quiet. “When will it ever be enough?”

  He stood, holding Marc dead and dangling. The boy was small in his arms. “I need some time alone. To take care of this, to think.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He looked at her. “Take care of it.”

  “Where should I go?” She sounded lost.

  “Back to the room. Sleep. Ellie says her man will be here with a car at 8 a.m. sharp to pick us up and take us to the airstrip. That doesn’t give you much time.”

  Airel looked very sad. “You want me to leave?” She stood off from him, hands in her back pockets.

  He looked at her perhaps a little cruelly, he thought. “Yes,” he said, hoping she would understand all that he had been through for her. For them.

  Eyes brimming with tears, she left him.

  I couldn’t believe it. Michael had killed a boy; demon host or not, he was a boy. And James’s little bro, too. Yikes. And now he didn’t want me around. I felt like I didn’t even know him anymore. I didn’t know how much to attribute to the Bloodstone, how much to all the crazy circumstances of our situation, and how much was just me doing my over-thinking thing again.

  I walked alone, back to the hotel room. Back to Kim, the zombie; and Ellie, the weirdo. A little slice of Hell.

  CHAPTER VI

  Arabia 1232 B.C.

  “HE HAS FAVORED YOU with a glance, Uriel! I think you have found favor in his eyes,” Santura said. She smiled broadly at the young man, a little too much so for Uriel’s comfort. She turned away from the boy Santura had indicated. He was tall and strong enough, perhaps, but his piggishly small eyes were much too close together.

  “Him!” she whispered with disdain, “He’s not what I should call handsome at all.” Still, she was of age and she wanted a man of her own, if even as a plaything. Less for romantic exploits than to irritate her father, truth be told. Her uncle Yamanu gave her the kind of free reign only uncles could, the kind of liberties a father, in her experience, could not and would not ever grant a daughter.

  Santura giggled as she flirted with the young man for herself. “Uriel, stop it! He is handsome enough.” She gave him a little wave. “Besides, there’s more to a man’s eligibility than the construct of his face. There’s nobility, for instance.”

  “Oh, Santura, you can rest assured. I know all about his line. Dear Yakob shall one day inherit vast riches not only from his father’s bloodline, but also from his mother—the union of his parents was most wise and judicious.” Uriel did not say that she found it deplorable for women to marry for dowries. For expedience. Was there not more to hope for under the sun?

  “He is well liked by the elders,” Santura said, running a hand through her long blonde hair and fiddling with the pure white flower of plumeria that she had tucked behind her ear.

  “Power and lineage are not everything, Santura. I want to marry for love. I long for the embrace of the one I would breathe for!” Uriel looked out and away, across the rooftops of the city of Ke’elei to the red mountains beyond. “That is true love. I shall find him one day.” Of course she knew of whom she spoke. But she would not speak his name. Not yet.

  They stood at an upper window in her uncle’s house. Yakob, down in the street below, blew them a kiss, delighting Santura, exasperating Uriel. She turned away from the scene, leaving her friend to her work—for work it was and work it would not cease to be. “Ugh,” she couldn’t help exclaiming.

  She thought back to the strange and beautiful young man she had met not even a fortnight ago. Now he was something. There was something about him of which she could not rid herself in her mind. Indeed, in her very heart. Indeed still, he haunted her dreams and she found herself enwrapped within the soft welcoming folds of self-centered fantasy. How could he capture me so, and in just one chance encounter? He was all she could think about, all she wanted to think about.

  Santura ducked back inside the stone arched window and sighed at her with big blue lovesick eyes. “Oh, Uriel! Isn’t it wonderful? Life is amazing…”

  “Santura, you are being unbearable again.” Uriel smiled at her to soften the blow.

  “I know, I know. There is…someone else you have in mind?” she squealed like a little girl. “Perhaps…the boy we met the other night?”

  Uriel screwed up her face, trying to appear to be confused, but then turned away when her blushing cheeks betrayed her.

  “I knew it! You do fancy him! Admit it, Uriel, you dream of him, do you not?”

  “Santura, stop! He is a…a most fascinating young man, I will admit.”

  “Ha!”

  “And if you must know, I do think he is amazing.” She turned away and tried to busy herself with something, a
nything. “What I mean to say is that…is that he does have the most…the most captivating eyes.” Intense redness swelled into her cheeks and forehead, making her feel slightly ill.

  Santura shook her head like a sage old woman. “Ah…love!”

  “Santura! Stop…” she begged, but did not mean any of it. She rather adored everything about him, even Santura’s little tortures. All she could do was meditate upon his face, his features, his broad and very strong chest, his name. “Subedei…” she whispered the name and smiled wide.

  He was not of the city of Ke’elei, of course. He was from out beyond the red mountains, a traveling merchant she guessed, perhaps some kind of nobility in his own right judging by the manner in which he carried himself, the quality of his robes, his headdress.

  She had met him in the market. She had been walking with Santura, looking back over one shoulder to try to fend off a hawking fishmonger, when she crashed quite literally into him.

  “Subedei…” He was so tall, so strong, so bronzed and handsome. His eyes were like the blade of the sword, and just as sharp. His frame lithe, supple, rippled with muscle, aglow with health and strength. Her imagination ran a bit wild thinking of him.

  She had walked right into his powerful chest, stumbling over both his feet and hers, and looked up into his face as if awakening from a dream, his strong arms roundabout her. “Oh!” she had said stupidly, “I am so sorry!” She had dropped her purse, a little leather pouch of coins given as an allowance by her uncle for incidentals at the market. She glanced down at it in concern. The market was no place to go round dropping coins; anything could happen.

  “Let me,” he said as he reached down and picked it up, placing it safely into her open hands. They stood uncomfortably close for complete strangers, but neither of them made a move to separate for a long moment. Santura had been watching the whole thing unfold; her heavy breathing brought Uriel back around and she silenced Santura with a scolding glance.

  Uriel turned back to the young man. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Subedei,” he replied, and took her hand and kissed it, causing her to blush. This impetuous young man from parts unknown had the air of romantic adventure about him.

  She fell instantly and surrendered her name on the spot. “Uriel.”

  “It is a pleasure,” he had replied.

  Uriel sighed at the memory of it. It was such a shame that they had decided for the sake of propriety to keep moving on, she and Santura. But after all it had been so embarrassing. It was really almost unbearable. She looked back in woeful regret. Would she ever see him again?

  Reality came crashing back in upon her with even greater force as her uncle burst into the room. He wasn’t ever one to come crashing or bursting into anything; he was so soft spoken. She knew her reaction of shock was owing solely to her state. Love. Fantasies. Self-absorption. “Oh, hello, uncle,” she said in greeting.

  “Greetings, my beloved niece, and her favored friend Santura.” He bowed to them. “Uriel, are you ready for your shadowing lessons today?”

  Her heart sank. All she truly wanted to do was to sit in daydreaming speculation about the mysterious Subedei, ponder over their wedding day feast, wonder at the power of his love, dream about the home they might build together. “Oh. Why, yes, uncle. Yes, I am.”

  “Good!” he said. “Meet me in the training hut two hours before the evening meal. I have a special wrinkle I wish to throw at you today.” He winked and smiled at her. “I must go. Do not be late, beautiful girl.” He left as suddenly as he had come, pausing only to grab an orange from the wooden bowl that lay perpetually on the table of the house, the wooden bowl that she had gone to the market a fortnight ago to restock with fresh oranges, figs and breadfruit.

  She was heartsick. She had to admit it. Ever since that day…she had not felt well. This thing called lovesickness is quite real.

  Yet all she wanted was to see him again—and she would. Perhaps I can turn these shadowing lessons to good use…. Perhaps she could sneak out of the city under cover of the trade of the shadower, and search for her man.

  Subedei.

  CHAPTER VII

  Boise, Idaho, present day

  “HONEY, I HATE TO do this to you, and especially now, but…” he searched for a way to say what he needed to say. “…But I’ve gotta take another sales trip.”

  She didn’t react at all. That was not a good sign. If at least he could get a rise out of her he would feel better, feel like she wasn’t completely overwhelmed with the situation. After more than twenty years of marriage, he knew her well enough to know that.

  “Honey? Did you hear what I said?” He knelt down in front of her easy chair. This was her spot in the house. Nobody else sat here. She read her gardening magazines in this chair in the summer, crocheted in this chair when the weather was bad. “It’s out of town…” He placed a hand on her knee.

  She snapped out of her trance and looked away from the window, finally meeting his eyes. “What’s that?”

  “I said I have to take another sales trip. Out of town.”

  Realization dawned upon her features, and her countenance both brightened and fell.

  It struck him that she was just as beautiful now, if not more so, than she had been on their wedding day. If beauty was in the eye of the beholder it was mostly up around the eyes, held within the light that dwelt there. It was love, it was intellect, it was…well, it’s kind of saucy. Sometimes.

  “I love you. I’m sorry to do this now. But I don’t have much choice when the company comes calling. At least if we want to, ah—” he gestured to the house they had built “—live here. Still.” He felt lame. He found it amazing that she could fluster him with a glance even after all these years.

  “Oh,” she responded finally. “Well, it’s okay, hon. I’ll manage.” She didn’t sound very convincing. “How long?”

  “Well,” he stood and rubbed his neck with one hand, looking contemplative, hoping she would buy it if he didn’t overact. “It depends on what happens. The executive team will be there, the whole enchilada. The board, some important shareholders…so there’s going to be a meeting of the minds, a strategy session; you know, and then a seminar when some of the more junior sales personnel get there. So it could take a week. Maybe two.... But you might consider calling your sister, honey. Maybe see if you can crash there while I’m gone. I just don’t want you to be all alone right now. With all that’s…that’s going on, you know?”

  “Do you think she’s still alive?” she asked him abruptly.

  Anger and pain pierced right through him. She wasn’t talking about her sister. “Honey, the FBI is all over this. I’m sure Airel’s fine.” He knelt before her again and took her hands in his own. “Hey,” he looked her purposefully in the eyes. “She’s fine, okay? We’re—those people are going to find her and bring her home. I promise.”

  She looked away and squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the tears out. She let them fall freely, unashamedly. “You really have to leave now?”

  He tightened his lips into a straight line. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have to.”

  She sighed heavily. A quiver of grief made it stutter as it came out. “It’s out of town? How far out of town?”

  “It’s international, unfortunately. I have a long flight ahead of me. Plus I have to get down to Central District Health and get inoculated. These guys want to meet up in South Africa.”

  “Oh. Is it safe?”

  He smiled. “Yes, dear. Of course, it is. But you really ought to call your sister, honey. Really.” He stroked her hair away from her face.

  “All right, then. I suppose…” She looked at him with brief vague suspicion, but let it drop in the end. She sighed heavily again. “I suppose you know best.” Another sigh as she contemplated the situation. “I guess it would do me good to get out of here anyway.”

  He nodded. He didn’t want to oversell it.

  They stood.

  “Okay, then. Afric
a? Amazing. I didn’t know they did anything in Africa.”

  “Oh, wow, hon. You should Google it. You’d be amazed.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Use Google images. Search for Cape Town, two words. You’ll be stunned.”

  “Really? Where are you staying there?”

  “Oh, it’s in a nice little out-of-the-way spot called Simon’s Town. They’ve got a few little hotels there right on the water. Little café called Bertha’s. Should be fun.”

  “Wives can’t come?” She gave him an elbow in the rib.

  Oops. “Ah…no. Sorry. The company just wants us men.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Just you barbarians. Fine, go. Go and smoke cigars and drink Scotch and gawk at bikini-clad women. Just come home to me, all right?”

  “Hey,” he said, “have I ever told a lie?”

  Again, the eyes rolling. She turned to walk to the kitchen for the phone, talking over her shoulder at him. “Just bring the man I married back home to me. That’s all.”

  Conversation over. Whew.

  “And one more thing,” she said, wheeling back toward him suddenly and walking directly up to him. “I love you,” she said, and kissed him savagely.

  When she pulled away he was quite breathless. “Whoa. Nelly.”

  She turned back to the phone with a wicked smirk on her face.

  He swatted her butt as she walked away, making her howl in shock. He cackled devilishly and then stalked away toward the den. God, how he loved to flirt with her.

  But now it was down to business.

  He ducked into the office and turned around quickly, listening for the sounds of his wife talking to her sister on the phone. Yes, she had called and they were talking. He closed the door most of the way and began to pack a single black duffel.

  The bookcase pulled out from the wall in an arc, hinged like a door, revealing a hidden safe behind. He turned the dial of the combination lock. It opened to his touch, revealing his passports, his stash of various currencies, and a matched set of daggers. The South African passport, a stack of about a quarter million rand in large notes and the daggers—these all went into the duffel.