by Sean Stone
The jinni looked around the room suspiciously, his eyes lingering on each of them in turn. He came to Kristen last. “You released me.” His voice was incredibly low and had an echoing quality to it. “Yet I am not free. The curse remains.”
“You speak English?” Wyatt asked brusquely.
The jinni raised both eyebrows and turned his head to face Wyatt. “Is that a problem?” he asked menacingly.
“You must have been put in that bottle long before the English language existed,” Wyatt pointed out.
“I speak the language of the one who opened my bottle. Part of the curse.” He grimaced as he spoke the uncomfortable truth. As his eyes wandered over the warlocks he noticed the bottles in their hands and his eyes darkened. “Those are my siblings,” his voice was almost a whisper.
“Yes, they are,” Kristen said. She placed the bottle in her hands down on the bar noticing how the red had disappeared and the entire bottle was now gold. “As soon as you’ve helped us we’ll hand them over to you.”
The jinni turned with agonising slowness to face Kristen and the look he gave her almost made her take a step back. Even Nick’s rages had never inspired fear in her, but one look from this being did. “I do not take orders from humans,” he growled.
It took a moment for Kristen’s mouth to start working again, “Actually, you do. Tell me your name?”
Another grimace passed over his features as he tried to resist her command. “Shaitan.”
“Like Satan?” Peter asked.
“Who?” Shaitan asked impatiently.
“He’s been in the bottle so long he missed the release of the bible,” Lucian said, suppressing a snigger.
Shaitan’s eyes bulged, his nostrils flared and he shot across the room at Lucian. Being a vampire, Lucian’s speed was far superior to Shaitan’s and he dodged the attack with ease.
“A little on the slow side, aren’t you?” Lucian said, chuckling to himself.
“Slow?” Shaitan repeated. Then he vanished, leaving only a wisp of red smoke where he stood. Kristen reached for the bottle as if it might be useful, but before she touched it Shaitan reappeared right behind Lucian. Lucian wasn’t fast enough to react. Shaitan gripped his head and ripped it right off his neck. Blood spurted over the carpet haphazardly and Shaitan grinned devilishly.
“Stop!” Kristen screamed, as Lucian’s headless body dropped. Not a person in the room moved.
“Slow indeed,” said Shaitan. He tossed Lucians head over his shoulder where it bounced off the wall and fell to the stained carpet.
“How dare you harm one of us!” shouted Kristen.
“How dare you!” Shaitan’s voice boomed well above hers, schooling around them. “I am a primordial being show me the respect I command.”
“You command nothing. You’re a slave nothing more,” snapped Kristen. “You will never lay another finger on any of the people in this room. Nor will you raise your voice to us,” she added the last with a coy smile.
“You will make a mistake soon enough you little bitch, and when you do you won’t have time to regret it.” He looked around at the others. “None of you will.”
“Bold threats, but know your audience. We aren’t easily intimidated,” said Julian. “Now if we can be done with all this bickering, perhaps we can get to the matter at hand.”
“What is the matter at hand?” the jinni asked angrily.
“Your brother,” Kristen said.
“I have four brothers, you’ll need to specify.”
“Actually you have five, and it’s the one who’s existence you refuse to admit which we need to discuss,” said Kristen.
“Apophis,” Shaitan muttered, his hands balling into fists.
“The very one,” said Julian. “We need to know everything about him. How he became so powerful. How he became invincible. And how to kill him.”
“You need to know a lot,” Shaitan said, glaring.
“Yes we do. So tell us everything. Start at the beginning,” ordered Kristen. The warlocks all sat down around the room and listened as Shaitan told them everything about Apophis, from beginning to end.
Night was falling by the time everybody was back at Winters Research. Clara and Dean were the last to return. Dean hadn’t said a word since James had been murdered. He’d taken his father’s body upstairs, laid it on his bed and covered it with a sheet. Then they’d left. Clara didn’t attempt to start a conversation with him, she knew that he needed time to process what had happened. Her presence was all the comfort she could offer. His mind would be a mess of anger and frustration. He’d be torn between giving up or looking for revenge. She couldn’t help him with that. Not until he was ready.
She had her own problems on her mind as well. Her task had been fairly straight forward: retrieve the bottles. To her credit she had done that, but then she’d lost them. In her defence she had been dying at the time. It had actually been James who’d lost the bottles, but since he was dead he could hardly take the blame. She dreaded walking back into Winters Research and admitting to her father that she had failed, but it could not be avoided.
She tapped her fingers on her thigh the entire elevator ride and she walked more slowly than usual as she made her way to the executive lounge. As she edged into the room sheepishly, Arthur and Kegan looked up. Thankfully the rest of the Coven was not in in the room. Both brows furrowed at the diminished number walking into the room. Nobody spoke at first. They could see the truth of what had happened on Clara and Dean’s faces and neither of them wanted to ask, but ask they must. Arthur took the plunge in the end.
“Where’s James?” he asked, though it wasn’t phrased as a question at all. He knew the answer, he just needed the confirmation.
Clara glanced at Dean before answering. “Dead,” she said softly, when she saw that Dean was barely present. He’d wandered over to the corner of the room and slumped in one of the oversized armchairs.
Arthur’s eyes wandered over first Clara and then Dean and the disappointment was unmistakable. “The bottles?” he asked, with a trace of hope.
Clara shook her head. “We had them. Kristen has them now.”
“What? Why?” Kegan asked, looking from Clara to Dean in confusion.
Clara shook her head. So much had happened that she hadn’t the time to figure out why anybody was doing anything. “They want to avenge Nick I guess,” she suggested, shrugging.
“They?” said Arthur, eyebrows high, eyes fearful.
“The Thirteen are back,” said Clara. Exhausted, she fell into one of the free chairs and closed her eyes.
“Not a problem. Kayla’s on our side,” Kegan said confidently.
Clara shook her head. “Kayla’s dead,” she told them.
“Right. You need to tell us what happened from the moment you left here to the moment you got back,” Arthur said firmly. He moved to the chair in front of Clara and sat nervously listening to everything that had happened.
“I thought things couldn’t get any worse,” Arthur said, when she was finished. “Well, we don’t need to worry about the council. Richie’s handling Eloise.”
“At least one of us did their job,” Clara said glumly. She couldn’t even look Arthur in the eye.
“Don’t say that,” he told her sternly. “You did your job. You got those bottles. What happened wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”
“Yes it was,” Dean interrupted waspishly. His eyes were narrow and red-rimmed. Fury blazed within them. “It’s Kristen’s fault. And I’m going to kill her.”
Nobody quite knew what to say to that and they were spared having to think of a reply. That moment there was an almighty bang as the entire building shook. Plaster fell from the ceiling, showering over them and then the building fell still. Everybody was on their feet, looking around wildly.
“Somebody is trying to break our defences,” said Arthur. He was clearly scared. They all were. There was only one person who’d be coming for them.
“Win
ters!” a demonic voice echoed throughout the building, making Clara’s skin erupt in goose pimples. She looked at her father who gave her a grimace before they both edged to the balcony doors.
“Are we defended out there?” Clara asked. Arthur nodded and they both stepped outside. Far below them on the concrete path stood Apophis in his human form. Even from thirty floors above they could see the fury on his face. They could also see the red-haired female hostage he held by the hair. Several dead soldiers lay around them.
“Bianca,” gasped Clara.
“You thought that because you sent her out of town she’d be safe?” Apophis said. He wasn’t shouting and yet Clara could hear him clearly. “Nobody can escape my reach. Come down and negotiate her release.”
“You have got to be shitting me,” Clara hissed under breath.
“Clara, we can’t go down there,” Arthur said as she made her way to the lift.
“Stay here then,” she muttered over her shoulder. He did not stay there. Nobody did. All four of them went down to the lobby and stood in the open doorway looking out at Apophis who had a terrified Bianca in the grasp of his right hand.
“The bottles. Now.”
“I don’t have them,” Clara shouted.
“Do not lie to me. You were seen retrieving them from the park. Give them to me now or your friend dies.”
“Don’t, Clara,” Bianca shrieked.
“Let her go and I’ll tell you where they are,” offered Clara, it was all she could think of.
“I know where they are!” he snapped. “You have them. Hand them over. This is your last chance.”
“We don’t have them,” Arthur shouted in desperation. “We did, but they were stolen.”
“I imagine there are a lot of people looking for my siblings,” Apophis said sarcastically. “Say goodbye to your friends,” he said to Bianca.
“Don’t give them to him, Clara!” she shouted, her voice trembling.
“I don’t have them!” She needed Bianca to know that she couldn’t give Apophis what he wanted. “I would give them over but I don’t have them!” she cried desperately.
“It’s alright, sweetie,” Arthur said to Clara too quietly for Apophis to hear. “If he kills Bianca he’ll have no leverage.”
Apophis heard him and was intent on proving him wrong. Bianca screamed loud enough to scare the nearby birds into flight. Her body erupted in flames.
“No!” Clara yelled. She closed her eyes as her friend flailed about, trying to extinguish herself.
Arthur caught his daughter as sunk to the floor. He continued watching as the girl he’d known since she was a child burned to cinders. Apophis stood impassively as she burned and only when she was ashes did he speak again.
“Your defences are strong. But they are not impenetrable. It will not take me long to break them. If you hand me my siblings before I enter the building I will walk away and leave you alive. Defy me and I will paint the walls with your blood.”
Chapter 37
Bradley fiddled with his shirt buttons anxiously as the car carried him through the deserted town. Eloise was sitting next to him and their car was surrounded on all sides by armoured trucks carrying gun-laden soldiers. Thankfully, Roman was not in any of them, he’d been sent to prepare the explosives across town. Eloise’s plan was going to come to fruition very soon. Eloise had said that the town would be ashes by dawn. That made Bradley very uneasy. If the town was blown to pieces then Bradley no longer had any use and that meant Eloise could get rid of him.
“Where are we going?” he asked at last. He’d stayed quiet so far fearing Eloise’s wrath, but her wrath was preferable to the exponentially increasing anxiety.
Eloise turned her head to look at him. Ever since Apophis had put his spell on her she’d had a frighteningly dreamy look in her eye. She was pretty much the same person, the spell worked secretly behind the scenes, but every now and then there’d by a sign that something wasn’t quite right. That her mind was not completely her own. There was the dreamy quality to her eyes and occasionally she’d get stuck on a word, like a broken record. Eloise not being in full control of her mental faculties only scared Bradley more.
We’re going to the control centre,” she replied. “Roman designed the explosives to be controlled from a single safe position. Once there we’ll be out of the blast radius of all the explosions.”
He needed to let Arthur know what was going on so he could mount a resistance. He slipped his hand to his inside pocket and pulled open the mirror, doing his best to make it look like he was scratching. He left the mirror open inside pocket, hoping against hope that Arthur didn’t say anything. The black image on Arthur’s mirror should be enough to let him know what Bradley was up to.
“So you’re not destroying the entire town then,” Bradley said, though he took no comfort in it. The part of the town that would be spared would be tiny. He’d seen how much plastic explosive was in the town hall and he’d seen the plan for where it would all be placed.
“Oh, we are. The control centre has been fitted with explosives too. We can’t leave any evidence behind that we did this and not the terrorists. As soon as we leave the control centre it too will be destroyed.”
Bradley couldn’t believe how she could say all this without the slightest regard for all the innocent people she was going to kill. She was going to massacre an entire town and she still believed that she was in the right.
“And what is going to happen to me?” he asked. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her as he asked. He didn’t want to see the smile in her eyes as she told him he was going to be killed. Truth be told, he wasn’t scared of being killed. Cancer was already ravaging his body and he knew that he was only a few months away from endless agony followed by an undignified death. A bullet in the head was far more preferable. He was just scared of not knowing.
“You still have your uses,” she said quietly, turning to look out the window at the darkened streets. “When Cedarstone is rubble somebody from the town will need to go before the cameras and tell the world what really happened. That terrorists attacked and destroyed this town. Who better to tell that story than the mayor himself? You won’t be the only survivor. But you will be the only real one. The rest we’ll plant. But we need you to be the main face. You’ll be the one they Google. The one who can prove that he came from Cedarstone. Once they believe one, they’ll believe the rest.”
“Do you really think that anybody is going to believe that Cedarstone was targeted by terrorists? There is nothing here to draw terrorists,” Bradley said incredulously.
“The terrorists were targeting the military research centre,” Eloise said.
“There is no military research centre here.”
“But how will anyone be able to prove that when the entire town is rubble? Bradley, people will believe whatever puts their minds at ease. Of course, there’ll be those who think they know the truth. The ones who cling to their conspiracy theories, but they won’t do anything. They’ll post little pictures on Facebook and claim to be among the great enlightened who have had their eyes opened to the truth about the governments of the world. But what will they actually do, Bradley? Nothing. The fact is, we could blow this town to pieces and offer no explanation and we’d still get away with it because people don’t want to do anything. They don’t want to look up from their mobile phones long enough to see what is really going on around them. Just look at Cedarstone. How many people actually came out of their homes to investigate what’s been going on? How many people have stood up to my soldiers?”
“There have been a few,” Bradley said. He’d heard the soldiers giving reports of civilians they’d had to shoot dead.
“Less than one hundred in a town with a population of fifty-thousand. It isn’t an inspiring number is it? Ah, we’re here,” she said as the car came to a stop.
He looked outside, surprised by the building they’d parked outside of. “Saint Adrian’s Church?” he said loudly enough for Arth
ur to hear through the mirror.
“This is the church I was sent to infiltrate in my youth,” Eloise told him. She was smiling fondly at the old building. “This is where it all started for me. It’s only fitting that it is here we should end it.”
The inside of the church didn’t resemble a place of worship in the least. The church had been abandoned for years so it had been cleaned out long ago. Now it was filled with tables that held computers and CCTV screens. Tangles of cables ran from wall to wall and wall to ceiling. Along the top of the walls, Bradley saw the plastic explosive had been fixed, wires were stretching out of them all connected to one computer panel at the head of the church. Most of the screens were CCTV feeds from around town, but other computers had information that Bradley didn’t recognise. About fifty soldiers were mingling around the room, guns in hand. Roman stood in front of the main panel his back to them.
“Roman, you’re already here,” Eloise said as she approached. Bradley followed a couple of steps behind her.
He turned casually. “Everything’s set up,” he said.
“Good. Good. Good. Good. Good,” Eloise said on a loop until her brain finally unfroze. Roman looked concernedly at Bradley, but Bradley just shrugged. Ignorance was the best thing in this situation he decided. “I can control everything from here?” she said as if nothing had happened. The fact that she never noticed her crash moments only freaked Bradley out more.
