“This probably isn’t how your conversation with Jesus went, huh?” Alex interrupted.
“You are feisty. From whom do you get your sharp wit? Your mother, the lawyer? Yes, of course. Lawyers are especially witty. I like lawyers. I know all about you, your family, and friends.” He motioned to the crowd before them. “I know all about Matt and Elizabeth, Jeremiah and Abigail. Which death would pain you the most? Maybe I’ll orchestrate something elaborate and kill them all at the same time.”
“However,” Alex continued, “I think I remember how it ends—the conversation, I mean.”
“Excuse me?”
Alex smiled. “Go away.”
Raphael’s sword burst back into full flame. “It appears that your time has been cut short,” the angel noted.
“So it does.” The Devil bowed, mockingly, to Alex and left a parting thought: “Be careful whose cross you try to carry, boy. You might drag it a long way before you realize that you are its intended occupant.”
At the same instant, the demon and angel were gone, and Alex was standing over a conscious but groggy Matt, pushing himself up slowly from the kitchen table to a sitting position.
“What did I miss?” Matt groaned, rubbing the right side of his head. “I hurt all over. We were talking to the chick; then she started floating. And I--” Matt looked especially pained now. “The shard! Did anyone pick up the shard from the sword of Lucifer?”
Alex knew how the rest of this conversation went and chose an alternate route. “I’ll tell you in the morning,” he said to the shock of all. “Everyone’s had a pretty rough couple of days, and it might be best if we take another look at this tomorrow. I’m glad you’re doing okay, Matt.”
“Thank God,” Elizabeth agreed, wiping tears from her face. “I was really scared.”
Alex smiled wanly. Exhaustion was overtaking him, but his work was not done.
“Matt needs to rest,” he explained. “Salmar, would you mind helping him to his room and making sure he’s comfortable?”
The Elder Prophet nodded patiently, helped Matt to his feet, and led him out of the kitchen. Mary Tanner, with a mother’s instinct, could not help but follow. Everyone else’s attention was focused on Alex.
He thought for a moment about what he could best say to avert a crisis. “Whatever happened at the party is not going to be resolved tonight. We all have a lot to think about, and, speaking for myself, I can’t do a whole lot of thinking right now. Tomorrow, we’ll come up with some kind of temporary fix.”
“Agreed,” Zeng Wei seconded. “If you all will excuse me, I must see to David.”
After a moment of silence, followed by goodnights, everyone started shuffling off to different parts of the house. In less than two minutes, the kitchen only held Nathan and Alex. Each had burning questions in his eyes.
Nathan broke first. Walking over to the table, and running his hands across the smooth top, he asked, “What did you do?”
“What do you mean?” Alex parried tiredly.
Nathan slammed a balled fist on the top of the table. “There was a fight!” he screamed at the boy. “I saw it, and then it was gone. We traveled back in time.”
“There was a fight,” Alex verified, “but only you and I know that. At least, I hope so.”
Nathan cocked his head in curiosity. “There is something about you.”
“And you. Somehow, you managed to resist the influence of Satan, when no one else could. That’s impressive.”
“It’s not as impressive if you don’t believe in Satan.”
Alex nodded. “I guess it wouldn’t be.”
“I believe I like you more and more all the time.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Goodnight, Nathan.”
“You know,” Nathan added suddenly, causing Alex to stop, turn, and give the Mad Prophet his attention. “‘Alexander’ is Greek. It means ‘defender of men.’ Appropriate, don’t you think?”
Alex furrowed his eyebrows at Nathan in confusion and spoke guardedly, not wanting to be challenged by anyone else tonight. “I suppose.”
“One might almost say ‘savior of men,’ if he were so inclined,” Nathan went on. “That’s what they think about you, isn’t it? Yes, poetic.”
“Hmm...” Alex seemed skeptical. “I guess we’ll have to see about that. I haven’t really saved anybody yet, and I’m working toward getting people hurt if I’m not careful.
“Since you mention it, what does ‘Nathan’ mean?”
The Mad Prophet grunted with disdain. “‘Gift from God.’”
***
The first thing Alex had done, after waking up and taking a long shower, was teleport to Las Vegas. Talking to a demon about how to fight a demon seemed like a logical step, though leaving his family and friends did not.
He now stood in Jeremiah’s office, looking over the desk at a demon with a lot on his mind. Alex had told him everything—well, almost everything—about what had happened the previous night in Kingstone, right up through the part where Lucifer warned him about carrying other people’s crosses.
Jeremiah digested what he’d just heard. The news, though not a surprise, was not welcomed. “He just reversed what he’d done and disappeared?”
“Yeah,” Alex affirmed, “that’s about it.”
“Well, for myself, I doubt Lucifer will have the chance to kill me before Metatron does. Everyone else just has another obstacle to overcome.”
Alex was shocked. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Well, Alex, there isn’t much any of us can do about it. I was an angel the last time I saw Lucifer, and I didn’t fare so well then.”
Jeremiah got up from his desk and walked around to place a hand on Alex’s shoulder.
He continued, “There are not many of us who can do what you can do. John is powerful, but your power may not have limits. The Morning Star did not deign to speak to the rest of us. We don’t even register in his list of threats. You do though. As long as he’s willing to give you consideration, we must believe that something can be done.”
“So some of the Elder Prophets think that I can use my powers to take what the demons have.”
Jeremiah nodded. “The same thought had crossed my mind.”
“I’m not the only one. Salmar said that Matt had taken some of your healing abilities.”
“Mine?”
“Yeah—absorbed through years of you healing him.”
“It’s feasible,” Jeremiah allowed. “But he’s always had some aptitude for reflexive self-healing. Perhaps my abilities strengthened his own.”
“And, of course, I took some of Metatron’s powers.”
“Yes, you did. However, you are an anomaly, I think.”
“It could be a weapon,” Alex contended hastily.
“You could be a weapon, Alex. Don’t objectify yourself, and don’t let them, either. You don’t have to walk out in harm’s way for the Elder Prophet Council. God knows you’ve already got enough to worry about, plenty of ways to get yourself killed, without adding any more. I say you tell them to find their own way to take demonic powers. The choice, though, is ultimately yours.”
After taking a moment to think over what Jeremiah had said, Alex added, “There’s one other thing you might find interesting.”
“Oh?”
“Me, Liz, and Matt are going to catch an early flight out here to see Nisus perform tonight.”
“Really? They talked you into attempting a recruitment of Lonny Talbott, did they? I can’t say I blame them. Did they tell you anything about him?”
“What they knew, I guess.”
“Let me add this little tidbit. He has resisted the prophets and the demons for as long as he has been in the limelight. The only ones who do that are either weak enough for neither side to waste time on, or strong enough to fend both sides off. He’s neither. Only one rational explanation remains: Someone or something powerful watches over him.”
“What do you think it is?”
&
nbsp; Jeremiah sat on his desk and put a cigarette in his mouth. “I’m guessing it’s another prophet. As a general rule, demons don’t use prophets in that way. Most demons would have subjugated Lonny Talbott a long time ago if they had been allowed. There are a handful of demons who often allow prophet cohorts the illusion of autonomy. Still, none of those would appreciate being less influential than his cohort. The publicity Nisus creates would be cumbersome to most demons too. No, we’re talking about a dead man.”
“A dead man?”
Jeremiah took a long drag and exhaled through his nose. “It’s an ironic term demons give to prophets who just won’t die. Nathan Kindle is a perfect example. Demons have made sport of trying to kill him for years. Many have died playing that game. Even when demons think they’ve killed him, they find out later they were wrong.”
“Are there a lot of these dead men?”
“Who knows?” Jeremiah replied with a chuckle. “We always think they’re dead until shown otherwise. Sometimes, they just disappear for a hundred years or so, doing whatever it is they do. Then, they resurface when they think everyone has forgotten them. Sometimes, dead men (and women, by the way) don’t run and hide at all; they just make it almost impossible to find them. Those are the really scary ones.”
“This person could be an ally.”
“If I’m right, you ought to be careful. Dead men are always unpredictable. That’s what keeps them alive.”
“Well, I plan to meet Lonny Talbott. What should I do if I encounter a dead man?”
“Don’t piss him off,” Jeremiah answered. “If you encounter a dead man, it won’t be by chance. He or she will have chosen that time and that place specifically for the meeting. I’m sure Abbie would agree with me that a meeting with a dead man would be remarkable. Though, she would probably be offended by the reference. The Elder Prophet Council probably remembers most dead men as saints or martyrs.
“I’ve spoken to Abbie, on occasion, regarding the possibility of other—and perhaps older—prophets. She normally skirts the issue, unable or unwilling to even consider the help of people who are, by all accounts, very dead. I can’t say that I blame her. None of those particular prophets would probably want very much to do with me, even if they are still alive. And the plain truth is that some things should be left dead.”
“Well,” Alex said after some thought, “what do you suggest I do? I came to you for advice, so I might as well get some.”
Jeremiah cocked an eyebrow. “In regards to which topic?”
“Any of it, all of it, none of it, whatever you want. I need help, and God isn’t talking to me. I’m pretty much just playing this whole thing by ear, and I don’t really feel like I’m getting anywhere.”
“We’re all playing this by ear, Alex. Until we see what Metatron is going to do, we can’t make a move. I’ve planned this little uprising for fifty years, yet more has happened in the last four months or so than the entire forty-nine and a half years before. My strategies never included most of what I’ve had to take into consideration. I mean, I listened carefully to prophecy and kept my eyes open, but most of what I’ve done lately is react.
“And that’s all you can do. Metatron will never stop until we stop him or he gets his perceived victory. Even if we win, there will still be other fights. Someday, there may be no more fights, but I don’t think I’ll be around to see it. Abbie is probably right. It doesn’t do any good to focus on what could be, only what is and what will likely be. We are fighting the good fight, and we are stronger than they take us for. My advice to you is to never lose hope as long as you know you’re right.”
Just then there was a knock on Jeremiah’s office door.
“Come in,” the demon commanded.
Marla stormed in with a piece of paper in her hand, her eyes focused on it. “Jeremiah, what do you need with six truckloads of--”
“Marla, we have a guest,” Jeremiah interrupted her.
She looked up. “Alex! We’ve been watching the news and praying for you in Missouri. You’ve really got those demons running scared.” She looked at Jeremiah and got the hint from his eyes. “I’ll leave the two of you alone, but I do need to talk to you about this,” she told Jeremiah as she waved the piece of paper at him.
“Of course,” Jeremiah agreed, and Marla left the room.
“It’s really getting scary in Kingstone,” Alex commented.
Jeremiah pulled a piece of paper and a pen from the top of his desk and jotted down a telephone number. “This is someone who can help you if things get really bad. He’s close by, and he is there to watch the activity in Kingstone for me. If the demon hordes come, and I can’t join you in Missouri, call him.
“Now, as for Lucifer...I can’t advise much, but the first thing you need to do is call Sara Card. I’ll also make a few calls. We’ll see if her skills are as handy as I think they should be. We have to find out who his associates are. Perhaps then, we could leak the information to Metatron or the demon hunters. You said there was a party? We’ll start there.”
***
Sara was up before the sun. She had stayed the night in the local motel, and she could be staying there for some time. The prophet boom seemed to help its business. Kingstone didn’t really seem large enough, nor did the Lake really generate enough tourism to sustain such a place. However, she knew there to be at least ten prophets in the motel, while there were only two other couples.
Other. That’s what she had been two weeks ago. But that wasn’t really true, either. She’d known she was different but had always tried to brush that difference away with the drive to do her job the best she could—no matter what tools she had to use.
She had already introduced herself to the other prophets and told them that, if they needed her help, to call her cell phone number. None of them immediately took to the idea of joining her coalition of prophets, but they did seem tempted. Most of them were still waiting for someone who may or may not have been alive after the recent attacks and demonic rampages across many areas of the world prevalent with prophets.
But her thoughts were not on the coalition at the moment. Alex had called her around seven this morning to tell her that he desperately needed her help. He wanted to find out about a party that happened last night, but he warned her not to go to the house it had been in. It seemed that a demon—and a very scary one, from the sounds of it—had been fought in that house.
Sara was to investigate the drug that had been distributed at the party. Alex didn’t have a name for it, but he feared that it might have substantial repercussions for the people of the town. He needed an investigator to find out what, exactly, the extent of this poison was.
He’d directed her to come to the safe house to pick up the credentials she would need to get access. When she arrived, Elizabeth had prepared paperwork and an ID to let Sara pass for a DEA agent, looking into a Central American drug ring that may have immigrated to U.S. soil. Liz had a fairly general-looking badge for her. But Sara had agreed with Elizabeth that, if the ID stood up to close scrutiny, no one would be very interested in the badge. And Liz was quite adept in making false identifications. In her time with Jeremiah, she’d had to pass many people off as something other than what they were.
Alex had communicated the idea to the demon, Jeremiah, to get the political ball rolling. The boy had explained to Sara that Jeremiah had his hands in many different institutions, including branches of federal law enforcement. It had been a relatively simple task to get Sara the clearance she needed.
And now, she stood in front of the rather plain, undecorated, brick building that was Kingstone City Hall, credentials in her inside coat pocket, gun in a holster on her hip, and business all over her face.
Her new name was Rachel Andrews, and she knew her cover story well. She’d rehearsed it in her head several times on her way to City Hall. She had a goal; she didn’t need any help or backup. She just didn’t want anyone to get in her way.
Someone with authority was to
have called ahead and explained the situation. Of course, Sara had no proof of that. Right now, she was relying heavily on Alex. She would not have trusted Jeremiah, even if he hadn’t claimed to be a demon. But she did trust Alex for some reason, and he seemed to think it was a done deal.
She didn’t know what she’d do if she got to speak with the Chief of Police, only to find that he didn’t believe her. It wasn’t like she could call her superiors. Then, she considered that she did have superiors in a sense. If they could pull off this deception, calling on them would probably be just as effective. Over the past couple of days, she had to keep reminding herself that this was a different kind of struggle, a different kind of war. If what she’d seen were true, she could justify her lie.
Walking through the double doors, she saw a little window in the wall, a desk on the other side, and a middle-aged woman behind that. The nameplate on her desk read, “Delores,” and the sign above her hole in the wall, “City Hall.” Delores sat at the desk and rolled her eyes as she tried to explain to someone, over the phone, that his water bill was non-negotiable, even in the event that the hose was left on inadvertently. The bill would still have to be paid by the eighteenth, or a late fee would be applied to the balance.
“May I help you?” Delores asked Sara unenthusiastically, after the person she had been talking to must have conceded defeat and hung up.
Sara flashed her ID. “Special Agent Andrews, of the DEA, to see Chief Owens. I believe he’s expecting me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Delores responded with a gesture indicating a door to Sara’s right, “he is expecting you.”
“Come in,” a gruff voice answered Sara’s knock.
She opened the door, and a short, older man, with a buzz cut and a look of importance, glowered at her. He signaled her to come all the way inside and told her to shut the door.
“Special Agent Rachel Andrews, of the Drug Enforcement Administration, sir,” Sara said. She wanted him to know she meant business, but she also wanted to recognize his authority.
The Elder Prophets (To Absolve the Fallen Book 2) Page 32
