ANGEL ™: avatar

by John Passarella

  “Climb out of the Dark Ages, Munchkin man.”

  “That’s leprechaun,” Doyle said. “And either way, I don’t appreciate the insult.”

  Kate stormed into the office, looking perturbed and a little worn around the edges. She carried a box brimming with manila case folders. “Is he in?” she asked without preamble.

  “Why, good morning, Kate,” Cordelia said, flashing her most appealing and insincere smile.

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” Kate said. “Well?”

  Cordelia pointed to the closed office door. “Brooding ahead. Proceed with caution.”

  “Whatever.” Kate walked into Angel’s office unannounced.

  “What’s gotten into her?” Cordelia asked Doyle.

  “Not enough shut-eye, that’s for sure.”

  Angel looked up from the L.A. Times, which he’d been examining for more information on the bizarre murders, as Kate entered his office. Before he could even rise to greet her, she dropped a box of case folders on his desk. “These are copies,” she declared, “but I’ll want them back. All of them. Don’t make me regret this, Angel.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I forgot to mention one thing that put us on the whole cult angle. One of the bodies was missing.” She held up a hand to stop the obvious question. “We found a pile of clothes in an alley, along with personal effects, white . . . the bone powder, and a few patches of torn skin. For God only knows what sick purpose, somebody wanted those remains.”

  “Wanted?” Angel wondered. “Or needed?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Several years ago an earthquake had brought down the roof of the Trinity United Methodist Church and the congregation had raised money to rebuild it. Three years later a fire gutted the church. Citing severe structural issues, building inspectors had officially and unceremoniously condemned it. Someday the congregation hoped to rebuild again, but the shell of the church was still waiting to be razed and it appeared, for all intents and purposes, that enthusiasm had waned.

  Presently the outer structure consisted of four stone walls, the merest suggestion of a roof, and graffiti-smeared plywood windows. All the stained glass had either been destroyed in the fire or removed for safekeeping. Exhibiting various stages of water or fire damage were several rows of pews bolted to a mostly unsound floor. A charred pulpit and sanctuary overlooked a wobbly altar rail. For those inclined to embrace the ironic, as were the members of the Brotherhood of Vishrak, it represented the perfect location to bind a demon.

  Vincent 74 had a shock of white hair, weathered features, and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. He wore, as did all those present, a floor-length hooded black cloak with a blood-red lining. Black was the color for an existence, by necessity, in the shadows. Until the glorious day when they successfully bound a Vishrak demon, they were forbidden to wear the red side facing out. Once they had a demon under their control, they would emerge from the shadows and rule supreme.

  As most senior brother, Vincent was in charge until the Omni arrived from San Francisco. The San Francisco Omni was the Brother longest alive, having taken the blood rite in 1939, if the rumors could be believed. Even without seniority, the Omni would have commanded the Brotherhood based on his office alone.

  While Vincent waited anxiously in the middle of the nave, the others talked softly inside the altar rail, gathered around the makeshift altar. “Altar” sounded more impressive than “particle-board banquet table.” The Brotherhood of Vishrak needed to be mobile, and once its folding legs were snapped up, the table fit easily into Willem 94’s Taurus station wagon. Because of the accumulated heat of the three dozen black candles scattered throughout the sanctuary, all of the brothers had pushed their hoods back. All except Dora 99, their newest member, inexplicably a sister in the Brotherhood. Not that there were any written rules or guidebooks, just centuries-long tradition. However, Dora had been very generous with her favors and had been permitted to join through popular acclaim. Most times she kept her hood up to achieve some form of gender blending, but in this instance the raised hood actually drew unwanted attention to her.

  Noticing Vincent’s scrutiny, Dora left the group and approached him. “I’ve never seen an Omni before,” she said excitedly, placing her hand on his arm.

  “Be patient,” Vincent 74 said, careful to remove her hand. He assumed she was trying to align herself with the most powerful member of their circle. “You will witness wonders this night.” Vincent left her, walking down the nave to be alone. Dora trailed after him for a few steps, then squealed as a rat poked its twitching snout around the end of a splintered pew.

  The rodents tended to congregate, appropriately enough, in the sanctuary or near the altar rail, simply because of the accumulation of junk-food wrappers and fast-food bags tossed aside by the cult members in the past couple days. Albert 97, who detested rats, had brought a baseball bat with him tonight. Occasionally, a loud thwock would ring out from the general vicinity of the charred pulpit, usually followed by a frustrated curse. It seemed the rats’ reflexes were more than adequate to the challenge of Albert’s batting speed.

  Vincent stood alone in the cobweb-festooned narthex. After more than twenty-five years of faithful service in the Brotherhood of Vishrak, this would be the first time he’d ever witnessed, even indirectly, an Omni performing the re-spawning naming ritual.

  Vincent’s breath caught in his throat as a charcoal-gray BMW sedan pulled into the weed-strewn parking lot. A bald man in a black suit stepped out of the car, a black cloak rolled up under his arm. As the man approached the front entrance of the church, Vincent tugged open the wooden door hanging crookedly in its frame.

  “Ah, Vincent, it has been a while,” the Omni said as he slipped through the gap. Although it was forbidden to speculate about personal information within the Brotherhood, Vincent had overheard a rumor that the Omni was a partner in a successful law firm.

  “Nearly three years.”

  “And now our time has come at last.”

  “We have patiently awaited your arrival, Omni.”

  Thwock! “Damn rats!” Albert yelled from the interior.

  “Some more patiently than others, it would seem,” the Omni replied with a frown. “Hold this.” The man handed Victor a wooden case that had been wrapped within his cloak. Victor was curious to know what the Omni had brought for the ceremony, but he would never have dared to open the case without permission. Instead he waited while the elder slipped his cloak on and raised the hood so that only his pale face was visible—dark eyes, aquiline nose, wide mouth, and thin lips.

  While the Omni appeared to be in his mid-sixties, Vincent knew he was at least twenty years older. Another rumor said that once each year every Omni over sixty was permitted to drink one droplet of preserved Vishrak blood and that, in so doing, he extended his life another year. Theoretically, with enough Vishrak blood an Omni would be immortal. Immortal but not invulnerable. That only Omnis were permitted to imbibe Vishrak blood was a sign of their importance to the cause of the Brotherhood. Only an Omni possessed enough lore and magic to locate and bind a Vishrak demon. The council guarded these secrets well, electing a new Omni only after another Omni had died.

  “Let’s begin,” the Omni said. Long, confident strides carried him over the unforgiving floor. Scattered gaps revealed the dark basement below. Yet the Omni seemed to avoid the largest of the holes without conscious effort. He approached the bat-wielding Albert, whose face became instantly paler than normal. “What is your name?”

  Albert stammered. “Albert 97, Omni.”

  “Lose the bat, Albert 97.”

  “But the rats—”

  The Omni placed the fingers of his left hand against the side of Albert’s face. Red energy sizzled and crackled there, sparking miniature crimson lightning bolts that spiked into Albert’s scalp. Albert screamed, then crumpled to the floor in the fetal position, whimpering. “Never question my orders.”

  Dora 99 knelt beside Albert to comfort
him. The Omni stared at her. “You have enlisted a woman in your ranks?”

  Vincent cleared his throat. “She has proven her . . . devotion to the brothers—the Brotherhood.”

  Dora immediately fell to her knees before the Omni, pressing her lips to his shoes. “I will do anything for the Brotherhood, great Omni.”

  The Omni looked at Vincent, who said, “Dora 99 is obedient to the cause.”

  “Good,” the Omni replied. “Rise, woman.” She stood, looked up at him adoringly. “Do you know how to follow orders?”

  “Oh, yes, Omni.”

  “Then stay out of the way.”

  “Omni . . . ?”

  “This ceremony has never been performed with a woman present, and I will not risk failure when we are so close.”

  Deflated, Dora whispered. “Yes, Omni.” She returned to Albert’s side. Still trying to obey the order for silence, Albert had clamped his hand over his mouth as he retched.

  The Omni approached the altar, and the other brothers parted like clouds after a brief storm. On the table were the remains of Ginger Marks, a.k.a. L8Dvamp, last seen leaving CyberJoe’s. Her gray-streaked hair had fallen out in clumps. Otherwise the skin was intact, bearing only a few nicks and tears. “Your people have done well, Vincent 74,” the Omni said. “Now stand at my side.” Vincent stepped forward, and the Omni continued, “We make the required thirteen.” They numbered fifteen; however, Dora and Albert, near the scarred pulpit, were excluded from the ritual. “Join hands to form the circle.”

  Black candles had been placed around the stretched skin, one above the head, one below each hand and one beside each foot. “All kneel,” the Omni intoned, a commanding hush to his voice. “Lower your heads before the sign.”

  With their hands joined, all knelt and bowed their heads. This was all new to them, and as exciting as a promise fulfilled. Vincent could feel the magical energies gathering. The Omni lifted his head. “Behold the clear and certain sign of the vindication of our faith. Behold the glory and the power of the Vishrak. As we witness the evidence, so shall we place a name to our faith, to that which would rise again and serve us in power and glory. In naming, so shall we bind. In binding, so shall we reign supreme. This is our faith.”

  The group intoned, “This is our faith.”

  From his lacquered wooden case, the Omni removed a small unused black candle and held its wick to the candle beneath the hand of the desiccated skin until it flared. He placed the small candle over the chest of the skin so that it would have been above the heart, had the skin still contained one.

  The Omni removed a ceremonial dagger from a sheath inside his cloak. “We give blood to the heart.” He pricked his bare left thumb, then held it out until a drop of blood fell onto the skin of Ginger Marks. “Follow as I lead.” Each brother unsheathed his own dagger and dripped blood on top of the Omni’s.

  Next, the Omni removed a golden sphere the size of a tennis ball from his wooden case. He flicked a small latch, and the sphere split down the middle, popping open on miniature hinges. The padded interior contained a tiny glass vial with a screw top. Whispers raced around the table. “Silence,” the Omni warned. “Behold the blood of a Vishrak, centuries old. I am only the third Omni to possess this vial.”

  The Omni unscrewed the cap, ever so carefully. To drop the vial or to spill so much as a droplet of Vishrak blood would be the greatest sacrilege. The last Omni to make that mistake had been compelled to immediately take his own life by plunging his dagger into his heart. Pressing the pad of his right index finger to the mouth of the vial, the Omni flipped it upside down for a moment, to stain his finger a red so dark it was almost black. Then he resealed the vial and returned it to the safety of the globe.

  His stained finger held out for them to see, the Omni continued the naming ritual. “So that the glory and the power of the Vishrak may be ours, I touch the mind of his servant.”

  His unwilling servant, Vincent thought, but in dealings with a demon, the distinction was unimportant.

  The Omni lightly pressed his index finger to the forehead of the skin. “And now I touch my mind with the blood.” He daubed his own forehead, leaving a dark red streak. “For the glory and the power, I commune with the blood.” He placed his index finger on his tongue and closed his eyes. After a moment he pulled the finger from his mouth. His eyes opened abruptly, showing only the whites. When he spoke again, his voice was deeper, rumbling through the rotted floor and booming off the charred walls. “As I know the blood of his kin, I will know the name of him who is without form. And with the name, so shall I begin to bind him in his new form. Thus we begin to bind the one named. . . .” The Omni fell to his knees, head bowed. His body started trembling, and a faint red glow pulsated around his flesh, seeming to ooze from his pores. The Omni flung his arms out at his sides, whipped his head back, and roared, inhumanly loud, “Yunk’sh!”

  The twelve Brothers of Vishrak shouted, “Yunk’sh!”

  Even Dora, excluded from the ceremony, felt the power in the name. She whispered it to herself. Albert 97, however, just continued to whimper. Crimson blood fell like tears from his squinting eyes. Vincent feared that Albert had been driven mad by the Omni. If so, he was of no further use to them. Vincent would have to give the order or kill Albert himself, then toss the body into the basement and let the rats have him—an ironic end to their gloriously successful evening.

  In Elliot’s bedroom, the air rippled and the walls began to vibrate. Elliot dropped the stapled pages of the hacker FAQ he’d been reading and clutched his temples. The index and middle fingers of his left hand had fused into one leathery gray digit. Blood dripped from his nose. “What the hell?”

  His demon was materializing, but this was unlike his past manifestations. Always before the demon had drawn form from Elliot’s body gradually. It had been painful but manageable. In no way was he prepared for the agony that now doubled him over, as if an unseen force were attempting to rip his spine out of his back while tugging his intestines up through his esophagus.

  Elliot retched over the side of the bed, missing the wastebasket. He climbed to his feet. Big mistake, he thought. The room seemed to spin on a weird axis.

  The demon stood at the foot of the bed, the waxy man-shape weaving drunkenly as spatulate hands clutched at the sides of his runny face. The demon’s apparent loss of control unsettled Elliot. A moan escaped the demon’s body rather than issuing from the melting mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” Elliot yelled.

  In reply, the demon staggered around the foot of the bed toward Elliot, arms outstretched like a faceless mummy in an old horror flick. Elliot had no idea what had gone wrong, but his demon seemed about to kill him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Elliot was wrong.

  The demon harbored no murderous intentions. At least not toward his human servant. Rather, the demon needed Elliot. Wrapping its gooey, runny arms around Elliot in a grotesque bear hug, the demon trembled, siphoning strength, matter, and form from Elliot’s human body. For Elliot, the bedroom began to spin again, his vision graying around the edges.

  Abruptly the demon released him.

  Elliot fell on the bed, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the gut. The demon, on the other hand, appeared steady and firm, his facial features distinct and well defined.

  “Care to tell me what the hell that was all about?” Elliot asked, a little breathless. As he scratched at his left hand, he noticed his ring finger and his little finger were now fused together, as were his index and middle fingers. For the moment he was simply relieved that the demon hadn’t meant to kill him, but later Elliot would have to ask the demon what was happening to his own body.

  “A . . . cult that worships my kind has found the remains of one of my victims,” the demon explained.

  “But that’s a good thing, being worshiped.”

  “Over the millennia, the elders of this cult have learned magical rites and have developed the ability to detect when one of my kind attem
pts a re-spawning ritual. They gather their forces. While they worship us, it is only to bind us to their will, to wield our power against all who oppose them.”

  “Don’t they have to capture you to bind you?”

  The demon pressed its spatulate hands together, and they almost seemed to meld together like soft clay before he pulled them apart again. “They know my name. That I am called Yunk’sh.”

  “Yunk’sh, huh?” Elliot said. “So what? So they know your name. It’s not like they’re gonna find you listed in the White Pages.”

  “Names have power. Have you not wondered why I never revealed it to you? To a mortal?”

  Elliot shrugged. Actually, he’d never thought to ask. Now it seemed as if things were happening too fast. “This—this is all new to me. I’m trying to cope here.”

  “By knowing my name, their sorcerer, their Omni, has the ability to locate me. If I am bound, I will be in their control, and they will most likely instruct me to kill you. I will not risk being bound by the Brotherhood of Vishrak.”

  “Hey, I’m on your side, big guy,” Elliot said.

  “If I am to be re-spawned as unbound, and if you are to receive your reward, we must accelerate the completion of the cycle.”

  Before they had finalized the pact between them, the demon had asked Elliot what he most desired. “What is it? Power, fame, good looks, money, women?”

  Elliot hadn’t hesitated to respond: “Power. I want to be CEO and major stockholder of my own software company. Make me so big I’ll make Bill Gates look like a pauper.” With that power, he’d have plenty of money. And everyone knew the babes flocked to the guys with power and money. “But maybe you could also improve my looks just a bit,” Elliot amended. “Clear up this acne, remove twenty—make that thirty—pounds, and make me a couple inches taller. When people look up to me, I want them to look up at me.”