Phoenix Contract: Part Three (Fallen Angel Watchers)

by Melissa Thomas

Thrash released a long belch and chuckled. “Sorry about that, I don’t normally lose form when I eat. But then, I’m still digesting. Troy was a big fellow.” He grinned at Katsue, a smile full of cold, evil malice that sent chills down her spine.

  “What the hell are you?” she asked, her voice high and shrill. She finally recovered her reaction and brought her gun to bear on the thing that had killed both Thrash and Troy.

  Evil bled from the creature and filled her with an intense and painful fear. It inspired revulsion so strong that she cringed away in disgust.

  “I am The Soul Eater. Within me dwell all those I have consumed. They are trapped in my gut for all eternity, suffering in agony while their essence is digested. Their skills and knowledge are mine.”

  Thrash took in her horrified expression and smirked. “Am I making you uncomfortable? Perhaps a face you’re more familiar with would be better?” Rippling like molten mercury, his features turned silver, and his entire body altered. When he solidified again, Troy stood where Thrash had been.

  Her first bullet caught him between the eyes. Her second hit him in the forehead, and every single successive shot struck Troy’s head. Like shooting into a pool of water, every bullet created a ripple across the surface of his face. His features were momentarily distorted, but reformed, and no blood fell.

  Her gun clicked empty, and the Soul Eater still stood, wearing Troy’s form and a vicious smile. “Now, was that really necessary?” he taunted, tilting his head back with a slight shake. “I suppose it was. Nothing you do can hurt me, but you need to prove to yourself that I’m invulnerable. Go ahead.”

  He took a step toward her, his mocking smile still firmly in place.

  Dropping the gun, Katsue yanked up her pant leg and pulled a dagger from her boot. The ten inch blade was double-sided and perfectly balanced for throwing. Drawing back her hand, Katsue compressed her lips and concentrated, focusing everything on one point: his eye.

  The blade flew straight and true, sinking to the hilt in Troy’s eye socket. Unlike the bullets, the knife remained embedded, the slender hilt protruding grotesquely from his face which did not immediately regenerate.

  “Ouch, that one had to hurt!” The thing wearing Troy’s body mocked her with a derisive laugh. Reaching up, it yanked the knife free from its eye. Blood spurted from the empty socket, and a gaping hole remained for several seconds. Maybe it was the Soul Eater’s idea of a macabre joke, and maybe it was designed to unnerve her. Either way, it worked.

  Katsue flew into a blind panic. Her weapons were useless against the monster. She scrambled frantically backward, tripping and falling, then desperately regaining her footing.

  Strolling with his hands dangling at his sides, Troy followed at a leisurely pace. “Hey, now, no reason to run. You’re not going to escape me. No one ever does. I ate your friend to demonstrate how easy it is. Of course, sometimes I enjoy a good fight. I like it when my victims struggle.”

  “Some resist better than others...” The Soul Eater missed a step and stopped, his head tilted to the side like he was caught on a thought. “The rare individual is even diabolically clever and escapes.”

  He looked up and smiled, resuming his pursuit. “But never mind, I’ll deal with him later. We were talking about you. Of course, I suppose you have to try to escape, but it’s such a cliché.” He tsked.

  “You know, when I get going I really tend to babble. Love the sound of my own voice. How vain is that?” He beamed joyfully.

  Katsue recovered her senses enough to turn and run. She spun on her right foot, only to come face-to-face with a wall of shadow. With nowhere left to retreat, she had no choice but to turn and face the Soul Eater. She trembled as she did.

  The creature pretending to be Troy wore a cruel smile and had eyes that were cold and hard, devoid of humanity. Instead of killing her, it began to speak. “Do you know that each and every person has an immortal soul? It’s the most precious possession any mere mortal has beyond human imagination, and yet your species squanders, neglects, and even denies the very existence of their immortal soul until death is staring them in the face.

  “I consume and digest immortal souls. It takes a very long time.” His hand rose, and his finger touched her jaw.

  She gasped and flinched away, trembling convulsively, because his touch felt like ice.

  “Your soul is corrupt, my sweet. You crave power, hunger for it.”

  “W-w-what do you want?” Katsue stuttered, sensing something unsaid, a way she might survive her encounter with this demon. Suspicious, she knew not to trust it, but she wasn’t in a position to barter. For the sake of her own survival, she was prepared to do or say anything.

  “Your soul. I want your soul.” Troy’s eyes, full of hunger and need, narrowed. He withdrew his hand, and the menacing wall of darkness threatening to consume her retreated. “But lucky for you, there’s something I want even more, something I crave with my entire being, that I must have. In exchange for your assistance in obtaining it, I am willing to spare your immortal soul.”

  “What? What do you want more?” Katsue gasped, both intrigued and eager. Her fear lessened but didn’t entirely dissipate. Beyond mere survival, the monster’s proposition whetted her curiosity. It wasn’t every day that a demon stopped to talk.

  “I think you and I could help one another,” he said thoughtfully, cocking his head and staring at her with hard raptor eyes. “You hunger for the sword. Acerbitas. You bear its mark.” Serpent swift, his hand lashed out and seized her wrist, forcing her hand out, palm up. He tore the bandage away and revealed the burn beneath where the sword had seared her flesh.

  “Yeah, so what? I picked it up, and the damn thing decided that I wasn’t worthy,” Katsue snapped, flexing her injured hand. The rejection stung worse than the burn.

  “So, it only rejected you because you didn’t know the secret to mastering it,” the Soul Eater drawled. “And it just so happens that I know the secret.”

  “What makes you think I give a damn?” Katsue demanded brusquely. Striving to appear cavalier, she stared into the demon’s eyes, but she couldn’t hide her lust for power. Temptation shone naked upon her face.

  “Oh, I think that you give more than a damn.” The Soul Eater grinned, pleased to have his suspicions confirmed. “Let’s talk.” He released her arm and beckoned her to walk with him.

  Katsue hesitated fractionally and then followed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Aiden stood on the rooftop of the Archeology Building. Urban “white light” from the city backlit the sky and blocked out all but the brightest and most determined points of light. Likewise, the moon was a silver sliver. Squinting in the weak illumination, Aiden held up the dog whistle to study it. Closer inspection revealed nothing extraordinary. It still appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary whistle.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered, rolling her eyes heavenward. “Well, here goes nothing.” She put the whistle to her lips and gave three long hard blasts as Father Matthew had instructed. She heard, of course, nothing.

  Whistle held tightly between her lips, she dropped her hands to her sides and looked around, wondering where Magnus would come from. She expected an immediate appearance, but he failed to materialize promptly.

  The powerful downdraft that had signaled Magnus’ arrival the night he’d come to their rescue loomed in her memory. She wondered if he was a shapechanger. A flight of fancy conjured images of a great winged beast, bat, or bird. But such mystical transformations were the stuff of legend, once the realm of truly great masters of magic, now lost to fairy tales and myths.

  Aiden gave three more vigorous blasts on the whistle and was ready to pack it in. Just to be sure he wasn’t scaling the sides of the building, she moved to the edge of the roof. Toeing the concrete guard, she peered over. As expected, pigeons roosted on the ledges, but she saw no sign of Magnus.

  “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she called.
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  When the cooing birds refused to answer, Aiden punctuated her boredom with another series of whistle blows. She folded her arms, shifted her weight from foot to foot, and occasionally paced in random circles. Anxiety drove her to pacing. She’d never felt so helpless before in her entire life. Without a distraction, her thoughts kept returning to her earlier conversation with Father Matthew. What he’d told her troubled her deeply, but his calm acceptance of it disturbed her even more.

  Father Matthew had explained much, mostly about Magnus, but there were still enormous gaps in his story, areas he hadn’t filled her in on before they’d been interrupted. The English vampire, Daniel, who’d attacked them in the parking lot, was another mystery that Father Matthew hadn’t addressed.

  After what felt like an hour, Aiden brought the whistle to her lips again, intending to give it one final go, only to have it stolen from her grasp.

  “That’s more than enough,” Magnus drawled. “You’re giving me a headache.”

  Aiden managed not to jump out of her skin. “How do you do that?”

  She snatched the whistle from his gloved hands. Once again, he dressed all in black, swathed from head-to-toe.

  “Do what?”

  “Just appear like that. Out of nowhere.” She glowered at him. “Never mind, just stop it. From now on approach me slowly and from a reasonable distance.”

  Magnus gave a courtly bow which dripped with his own special brand of nonverbal sarcasm. “Anything else milady wishes?”

  “Yes, Father Matthew wishes to speak with you,” she informed him primly. She despised his impossible conceit.

  “I guessed as much,” he replied dryly. “I need to talk to Matthew alone. Do you mind?”

  Aiden’s jaw set. She didn’t like it, and she did mind, but she was hardly in a position to forbid it. “That’s fine,” she said. “I’ve got research I can do downstairs.”

  He turned toward the stairwell, but Aiden lingered a moment longer.

  “Magnus...” Biting her lip, she trailed off. She wasn’t sure she should ask questions that violated Father Matthew’s privacy. However, not knowing was worse than wondering. Curiosity won out. “Who was Daniel?”

  Posed in profile, the Celt remained partially turned from her. “Daniel Adams went to college with Matthew, and they were best friends. A long time ago.”

  “Oh.” She fell silent, thinking for a moment. “Why do you think he came after Father Matthew?”

  He deliberated before answering. His manner was cool and calculating. “My best guess would be that it was a personal vendetta. They had a nasty falling out several decades ago, a conflict of principles. And there was a woman involved. There’s really nothing else I can tell you.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Aiden said.

  “You’re welcome,” Magnus replied. “But I wouldn’t suggest pressing him on it. It’s still a sensitive subject.”

  Aiden nodded and slipped past him into the stairwell, heading toward the ground floor. She had a lot to think about.

  Staring into the dancing flames, Matthew sank further into the depths of the stuffed leather chair. Even though it was summer, his tired old bones ached. He kept the fire burning as much for emotional comfort as heat.

  A padded footfall announced Magnus’ arrival. The priest knew the sound was deliberate, because his friend only made noise when he wanted to be heard. Stealth was his hallmark.

  “Aiden said you wanted to see me,” Magnus said in that flowing brogue.

  “Yes.” When Matthew turned his head, he expected to see his student beside Magnus, but the Celt had come alone.

  “I asked to speak with you alone,” Magnus explained in answer to the priest’s unasked question. “She went downstairs.”

  “Oh.” Matthew’s curiosity piqued, but he refrained from questioning the Celt’s motives. Magnus would get there in his own time.

  “You look better.” Magnus moved out of the shadows and into the firelight. Swathed in black, he wore a long flowing cloak with the hood drawn forward to conceal his face, a long sleeve shirt, jeans, and high boots. His leather gloves ended at his wrist where the cuffs of his sleeves began. Not an inch of skin was exposed to the naked eye.

  “I’d return the compliment, but you’re covered from head to toe,” Matthew commented pointedly. He waited, and time lagged.

  “It’s not pretty,” Magnus finally warned.

  “No bother,” he scoffed. “Your vanity will just have to suffer.”

  Matthew steeled himself for the sight, schooling his reaction. The wounds were bound to be horrible, but Magnus’ pride wouldn’t permit him to accept pity.

  The Celt grunted and sneered. “Fine.” With both hands, he lifted the hood and threw it back.

  “Good God.” Matthew gasped and flinched.

  The sight was ghastly, far worse than he’d expected. The Celt’s skin had been burnt away, leaving both muscle and sinew exposed, raw and glistening. His tawny gold eyes were intact, and a pale mask of unmarred flesh stretched from temple to temple. Magnus must have flung a protective arm over his face.

  Matthew muttered the only positive thing he could think to say. “At least your eyes are all right.”

  “I had them covered,” Magnus replied tersely. “I had no desire to be blinded. The rest is bad enough.”

  “I’ll say.” Despite himself, Matthew continued gawking. He considered it a miracle that the Celt was still alive and wondered how in Heaven’s name he’d survived such an awful ordeal.

  Magnus scowled. His head assumed an arrogant tilt. “Do you have to stare?”

  “Sorry, old chap,” Matthew apologized, instantly chagrined. His face burned, and he looked down. “I had no idea you were capable of withstanding direct sunlight.”

  “Oh, well then, stare all you like.”

  “How badly hurt are you?” Matthew asked, ignoring the snide comment. He assumed his friend was in enormous pain, and that warranted his testy attitude.

  A pregnant pause ensued.

  “You mean how extensive is the damage?” Magnus snapped.

  “Yes, how extensive is the damage?” Matthew lost his patience. His tone acquired an edge. He didn't worry about offending his friend. Over the course of forty years, they’d refined sarcastic repartee to an art form. It was how they related best.

  “My entire epidermis is gone.” Magnus shook his head, a habitual gesture that normally flipped a mane of luxuriant long hair out of his eyes. But he had no hair. Only a few stray pieces of burnt, stringy filament, which clung to loose patches of skin, remained of the Celt’s tresses.

  “I see.” Sweat formed on his brow, and his old hands trembled. Matthew pressed his lips together, and his stomach churned as he imagined what damage had been done to other parts of the Celt’s body.

  “I’m making you uncomfortable.” Magnus reached for the hood.

  “Don’t be absurd.” Matthew waved a dismissive hand. “I’m simply exhausted from the hospital. Those damn doctors and their needles, stealing my blood, worse than a vampire.”

  Magnus snorted softly.

  It took all of Matthew’s discipline, but the priest pulled himself together, concealed his disgust and pity. It was a testament to the strength of their friendship that the proud, taciturn Celt had permitted Matthew to view him in such a state.

  A lengthy silence followed.

  “You must have been desperate to willingly expose yourself to sunlight,” Matthew ventured. He wondered what could have driven his friend to act in such an unthinkably stupid and courageous manner.

  “It must be quite a demon.” The priest vaguely recalled their brief discussion of the creature that had attacked Magnus, but the specifics were vague in his mind. He’d been under heavy sedation at the time, and his memories were muddled.

  “Determined. It was invulnerable to everything else. I wanted to see it dead. Too bad my gambit failed.”

  “I’ve never heard you admit to being afraid of anything,” Matthew said, fighting the drug
-induced fog hanging over his mind. In his estimate, his friend seemed unwilling or unable to admit to how powerful the demon must be. That alone scared him to death.

  “I didn’t say I was afraid,” Magnus snapped, his brogue thick and belligerent.

  “Oh no, of course not, my apologies. I meant to say that I’m afraid for my people. If this thing is hunting them.”

  The disgruntled Celt glared, and those amazingly expressive eyes managed to convey a wealth of feeling. He was angry, injured, and had suffered blows to both body and ego. Magnus had always been an intensely passionate and dangerously reckless creature, unable to accept either defeat or failure.

  “I said I was sorry,” Matthew repeated.

  “I’d never seen the like before, is all. Once I figure out how, rest assured, I will destroy it.”

  “Of course,” Matthew replied, adopting a soothing tone, which worked well with wary animals, distraught children, and irate Celtic warriors.

  “Don’t patronize me.” Magnus shot him an irritated glance.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Matthew lied, deciding it was high time to change the subject. “What do you think it will take to destroy this Soul Eater?”

  “I don’t know.” The admission hinged on uncertainty and contemplation. “During the whole of the fight, the only thing it demonstrated the least vulnerability to was sunlight. It played with me, tested me, to see how well I fought.”

  “Like a cat playing with its food,” Matthew concluded, drawing a forbidding frown from Magnus. The priest held up a hand. “Sorry, a warrior testing his opponent’s ability. You were saying?”

  “It manifested many faces, past victims, I presumed. Only one of them spoke.”

  “Was it a group personality or an ‘I’ amongst the many?”

  “How the hell would I know?” Magnus scowled.

  “Don’t swear.”

  “Sorry,” Magnus apologized, although his demeanor was unrepentant.

  The Celt fell into sullen silence.

  Matthew exhaled and prodded him verbally. “Well? You were saying?”