“Then, what are your intentions?” Julian asked cynically.
Alex cocked his head, paused for a moment, then answered thoughtfully, “I think I’d like to bring peace to the world.”
More people in the crowd laughed. They didn’t like that Julian seemed so hostile all of a sudden. His questions didn’t have to be so biting. His tone was inappropriate. After all, Alex was only a child.
“Impudent little...” Julian hissed.
The crowd murmured.
Alex smiled. He didn’t even need to point it out; Julian already knew. A look of dawning recognition slowly crossed his face. Alex had just won the battle of charisma.
“So, what are your intentions?” the young prophet inquired.
“My associates and I plan to protect these people.”
Alex shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll protect them. Your associates are demons, and if they come into this town, we will destroy them.”
“I suppose that goes for your associates who are demons, as well.”
That caught Alex off guard. He had to think fast; he wasn’t going to lose this battle to a complicated explanation as to why he did have a demonic associate, and he didn’t want to lie.
“The being you speak of is an angel who fell from Heaven out of confusion and seeks redemption. However, he has no place in this town either.”
Julian acted as if he would interrupt, but Alex brushed him aside with his hand and continued, “You are not going to distract me with your half-truths and empty promises. Take the message back to your masters that no demon will enter Kingstone without paying a heavy price.” Alex paused, then added, “Unless you’d like to stay here with us.”
“I do not need your permission to do anything, child. You will rue this day.”
“What did they give you to betray your own humanity? Julian? Judas is more like it. For a few silver coins, you would make the world suffer.”
“Then, by implication, I suppose that would make you Christ,” Julian prompted with a wicked smile.
Alex closed his eyes and bowed his head. He tapped into a darker side of the power he’d stolen from Metatron. Reaching into a space within his mind that he had been suppressing, he remembered the feeling of malice associated with this ability. It overwhelmed him. For a moment, he reveled in it, in the raw surge of power. Then, firmly and steadily, he conquered the temptation to use the power as a vessel of wrath.
By this point, Elizabeth, Higgins, and Alex’s parents arrived. The closer they got, the more concerned Liz became. She could feel that something big was happening, and the sky up ahead had suddenly clouded over. She wished he hadn’t left without her.
He and Sophie were so eager to find out what was going on that they insisted on getting there by their own forms of transportation. Salmar had not been seen in hours. Upon hearing of the destruction of his home, he wordlessly walked out of the house and into a nearby forest. Realizing that Salmar would be of no immediate help, she found Higgins. Unfortunately, in the process she found Alex’s parents, who had insisted, against her better judgment, to go.
They could see the crowd assembled around the stage; everyone was looking into the sky, except for one figure on the stage with his head bowed.
In a minute, the sky had gone from bright to dark gray, the sun blotted out by thunder heads. Strong winds thrashed the trees about and caused the audience to hold down articles of clothing. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead. The crowd could look off into the distance and see clear skies, but here it looked like God’s anger had descended. Then, it stopped—all of it. The wind died down. The clouds dissipated, taking the earth-shaking thunder with them, and the sun shone through once more.
Alex slowly opened his eyes. His head was spinning, and his knees were weak. Sophie was instantly next to him, offering support.
Spitefully, she turned to Julian and replied, “It has been suggested. Now, he was kind to invite you to stay here—for your own protection. But that is as far as our kindness extends. As a representative of the Elder Prophet Council, of which you seem to be aware, I must ask in whom you will put your faith? If you plan to return to the demons, no one will block your path—or pray for your soul. If you join us, we shall welcome you with open arms.”
Julian chortled. “You are so delusional.”
“Then, leave,” Alex suggested, gaining some strength. “We didn’t need to expose you, Judas; you did it yourself. You, of all people, should know better. I have no doubt you’ve seen them martyr other prophets. And we are probably not the first prophets you’ve personally sold out to your demon masters. We’re organizing now to protect ourselves and the people we love against evil. You won’t be able to stop us, so you’ve come to slow us down with your lies. Even that has failed you. Run away, now, and don’t trouble us anymore.”
Julian glared at the boy, but finally broke and turned from him. He trudged away, and the audience silently watched him go. Then, they looked back to Alex, who had stood up straight and come to the edge of the stage. Though his strength had not fully returned, he had enough to put on a good show.
He began speaking so softly that, if someone in the crowd had been talking, no one else would have been able to understand the young prophet. As it was, no one spoke except Alex.
“Prophets have hidden together out of fear of demons for too long,” he explained. “The time for hiding is over. I won’t hide anything from you. You deserve better than that, but I must ask you to be patient with me because it may take me a while to explain everything.”
“Go on, Alex,” a feminine voice in the crowd urged approvingly. “We’re listening.”
Alex identified the voice and smiled when he recognized his high school English teacher. His faith was renewed; he felt stronger and more confident.
“About a month ago,” Alex started slowly, “I was taken from this town by a demon, named Jeremiah.”
***
“You’re televising the first service?” Abbie asked.
“Of course,” Jeremiah said, lighting a cigarette. “We have no time to lose.”
They stood in a vast, empty room of a high-rise overlooking much of Las Vegas, including, in the distance, Jeremiah’s new purchase. The church was perfect. It was comprised of three department store-sized buildings, and the demon was already seeing construction and modification come together in his head. One building would, of course, serve as the sanctuary and hold dozens of classrooms; another would be a dormitory, and the prophets could use the last as an administrative center. Saleos had bought it in an underdeveloped part of town on the outskirts. But Jeremiah had taken the liberty of posting billboards all over town and had been running ads on Prometheus’s channel for two days, calling it the Bastion of Hope and a “home for prophets.” Suddenly, “prophet” meant so much more. It was definitely becoming the talk of the town.
Soon, he thought, you will witness the dawning of a new age.
“What do you think?” Jeremiah inquired.
“I think it’s fitting,” she responded. “It looks more like a business than a church.”
“I had to take the best deal I could get. The location and size were the most pressing matters. I wanted it to be away from the activity and negative connotations of the Strip, and I felt that I could protect it better if it was outside of highly populated areas. But, if it becomes an issue, I could always change the location to something more traditional.”
“Marla tells me that the operators at Prometheus Broadcasting have taken more than twenty thousand calls in the last two days about your church and prophets,” Abbie noted. “Between the warning in San Francisco, the advertisements here, and the information coming out of Kingstone from John—and now Alex, people are really starting to wonder. When do you think the White House will decide to comment?”
“President Rose is untouchable,” Jeremiah said quietly. “A long time ago, I bought the government of this country, and it still belongs to Metatron. Rose won’t comment until he
is ordered to. And when he does, it will be to denounce us.”
“Yes,” Abbie agreed solemnly, “we always knew that this country was hostile. That’s why we set up so few safe houses here.”
“That was wise. Manifest Destiny was my idea, and it will always permeate every branch of government in this country as evidence of demonic taint. Greed and superiority run rampant among the citizens. I pulled strings in this country from its infancy. I planted my seed so deep that the roots of my avarice run from coast to coast and take hold in the heart of every American.”
“How can you say that?” Abbie asked. “What about Alex, Liz, or Matt? Are they as corrupted as all the rest?”
“Not as,” Jeremiah conceded, “but have no doubt that they do want something...and would kill to get it.”
Abbie seemed unbelieving. “Kill?”
“Oh, yes, good Doctor,” Jeremiah replied emphatically. “These children are growing up fast. If they ever realize how truly powerful they are, the Elder Prophet Council may have to protect the world against them.”
“And I thought your faith was getting stronger.”
Jeremiah turned to walk out of the room and motioned Abbie to follow. “I may not have faith in basic human kindness, but I do have faith in that which I created. I’m exceptional at what I do. And you should hope so. If they aren’t strong enough, if they aren’t willing to cross any line they must to obtain what they need, then they are worthless to you.”
“You make it sound so cold.”
He laughed and stopped dead in his tracks. “Abbie, how long have you known me? Of course I’m cold. And almost everything I say is calculated and devoid of emotion. I’ve been emotional before, and it’s not a good side of me. I’ve had faith in good will, and I’ve had faith in hatred. Seeing it all work in some way, I’ve come to the conclusion that none of it works for me. I have a job to do, and I will base my actions on past experiences. My past experiences lead me to believe that, if ever the thing they most cherish is in jeopardy, even your precious, innocent prophets will do whatever they have to do—even if that means killing—to protect it. How many times have you killed to get or protect the things you like?”
“I’ve killed demons.”
“Only demons?”
She paused. “No.”
“Your tally may not be as high as mine, but I know you have killed mortals and even other prophets who have stood in your way or threatened something you cared dearly for. Expect no less from the little ones.”
Jeremiah walked into a corridor toward the elevator, and Abbie followed.
He continued, “I’m not saying it’s your fault. I know as well as anyone that there are all sorts of prophets out there who are every bit as conniving and malicious as most demons. Some are bent on destruction or accumulation of power. Some will attack you from the shadows. You will fight back.”
“I only kill as a last resort, Jeremiah, only when no other possibility exists.”
“How has that been working for you? After four hundred years of continued life, you still run from demons when you get a chance. That’s why we so often won: We struck first. For instance, if I had been in Kingstone a few hours ago, Julian Miller would be dead. Striking first can be prudent sometimes. We may not have heard the last from Julian.
“Unfortunately for Metatron, I am already aware of his strategy because the fools planning his attack all worked for me at one point. They still don’t take us seriously, and they will attack first. When they do, it will be uncoordinated and weak. They’ll be overconfident, and that will be our only real advantage. It’s even possible that some of us will survive.”
“You’re that optimistic, are you?”
“Yes, that is optimistic. Abbie, I was really counting on defending one location, not two. Las Vegas would have been the best place for me to defend Alex. I’ve lost manpower of all kinds in the division. The Elder Prophets are split. I’ve lost Matt and Higgins. Something strange is going on with technology on the grounds, something I know Elizabeth could fix. Saleos has gone to Kingstone as well. All I have are two Elder Prophets, one of whom rarely leaves her room, about a hundred fifty mercenaries—most of whom were recently acquired and are untrained, and my own ingenuity.”
“You have some tricks, yet,” she replied confidently.
“Of course.” He smiled, summoning the elevator. “My ingenuity is a big part of that equation.”
“Whether or not you have faith in me or any other prophet, I have faith in you.
God knew you were the best for the job, and I apologize for whenever my faith faltered. There is no way we could have come this far without you.”
Jeremiah was dumbfounded. This was, perhaps, the nicest thing that a prophet had ever sincerely said to him.
“Thank you, Abbie, but it is because of me that you have to come this far. There are only a couple other beings on this planet who could attempt to fight my machine, and neither of them could do it as well as I could. One of them is on our side. The other is running the machine.
“Whatever happens, we have to kill Metatron. The demon organization will fall completely apart if all the leadership disappears. Patheus is no longer strong enough or popular enough to keep everything together. Besides, I imagine Saleos will never let him rest.”
“And the rumors of Lucifer?”
Jeremiah dropped his cigarette on the stone floor of the empty hallway and ground the cherry to embers with his foot. “I can only combat one formerly-most-powerful-angel at a time, Abbie, and I don’t think that one’s my fight. Let’s hope they’re just rumors.”
***
“They were stunned,” Elizabeth told Alex and the others sitting at the dining room table. “I guess we were all stunned.”
Alex’s parents nodded in agreement. Sophie and Nathan sat quietly and reflected on the implications of coming into the light, of purposefully revealing their own existence to the world.
“I know I was,” Sara said to Elizabeth.
The detective now looked at Alex in a completely different light, if she looked at him at all. Since they returned to the safe house, the way she interacted with him was noticeably submissive. She would rarely direct any questions to him, almost like he was too good to even acknowledge her. It was more than reverence, which Alex didn’t want anyway—it was almost patronizing.
Then again, he had called and dismissed a violent storm with a thought. And he proceeded to awe the crowd with a disjointed story—that would have seemed fantasy to anyone who hadn’t witnessed what the audience just had—of demons killing prophets, of angels and God, of his own hasty training, and of finding faith.
Upon completing his story, Alex, and everyone who had come to support him, piled in the two cars brought by Elizabeth and Alex’s parents and left. No one tried to stop them. Once Alex said what he had to say, everyone simply knew the conversation was over. At the time, no one riding in the same car he was had anything to say.
“You were well-spoken,” Sophie observed, nodding at him. “You handled that situation masterfully. It’s hard to believe how young you are when you’re driven.”
“You would say that,” Nathan huffed. “You are too easily satisfied. I once tried to sell a tribe of Blackfoot Indians, who were having some quarrels with their Cree neighbors, a mutated goat. I thought I was doing pretty well, until the chief noticed the fangs. It wasn’t long after that he came to realize that the goat was carnivorous and, apparently, hungry.
“Long story short, I was trying to do something good that backfired on me. I hoped to provide these wonderful people with a guard goat at a low cost. Instead, it killed three of them before they speared it seven times. That kind of wisdom you only get through experience.”
“What is your point?” Sophie asked, a little disturbed.
Nathan sighed and began speaking very slowly, as if to a child. “You don’t want your guard goat to bite you in the ass.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him and decided not to pursue the mat
ter any further.
Alex, on the other hand, laughed and said, “I think the goat is our appearance to the people of Kingstone: unexpected and possibly dangerous. It’s meant with the best of intentions, but it could do exactly what we’re trying to keep from happening.”
Nathan smiled. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Alex, I think the most amazing thing you’ve done today is bring any meaning to his ravings.”
“Pretentious bitch,” Nathan snarled as he got up out of his chair.
Alex was the only person at the table who fully understood the danger of what might now happen. He vividly remembered the last time he’d seen this Elder Prophet enraged. An entire room of powerful prophets was overcome by Nathan’s madness for a moment.
A warm, calming breeze, despite the weather being a little better than freezing, rushed over the group, and a deep, solid, yet compassionate voice commanded, “Nathan Kindle, sit down.”
Everyone’s eyes followed the voice back to the front door, where Salmar stood firm, like a deeply rooted tree. He didn’t turn away from Nathan’s piercing gaze. No strong emotion could be read on his face, but everyone knew that he was completely serious.
Quieter, but no less a command, he repeated, “Sit down.”
The enchantment had its effect. Nathan seemed to have forgotten why he had been angry. With a look of befuddlement, he sat back down. In fact, everyone at the table wore a visage of peaceful compliance, visibly content and patiently waiting to see what would happen next.
Salmar approached the table, Alex felt himself coming around again. The daze he was in lifted ever so slightly, and he remembered the eminent danger. But a feeling of safety touched him, like a hand on the back of his shoulder. Indeed, he turned around to see if anyone stood behind him. He could almost hear someone say, “Fear not.”
“I guess this was the right time for me to return,” Salmar mused, breaking the spell entirely. “I am sorry that I left; I had to get my thoughts together.”
Alex breathed easier. “Well, I, for one, thank you for showing up when you did.”
The Elder Prophets (To Absolve the Fallen Book 2) Page 27
