Guardian

by S.B. Rodgers

  Fong shuddered involuntarily; those dead eyes bored into his, demanding an answer. He breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly. “Never heard of him.”

  Mammon’s eyes grew sharper, his smile widening unpleasantly. “Really now. If you wanted to play with the nice doggies that badly, you just had to say so.” He nodded at Fenris and Freja. “Have fun, you two. Keep him alive until he’s ready to talk.” They smirked identically before tearing into the old man’s frail body, disregarding his cries of pain.

  * * *

  The man began materialising on the barstool, a faint outline at first, becoming more fleshed out with each second that passed. He still glowed a faint white as he looked around the restaurant—something was wrong. He could sense something powerfully evil nearby, heard gasps of pain from behind the bar. He stood up silently, his height and powerful build detracting from his potential stealth.

  He stepped quietly around the bar, the sight that met his calm gaze a horrific one. The Informer, Fong, lay on the floor, two dark figures hunched over him and tormenting him, hands glowing with inky black light clawing at him from time to time. They were not the only ones here, he sensed, covertly glancing over his shoulder. Of course, he thought, grabbing the black-gloved hand that shot towards his throat.

  He squeezed tightly, his large hand encompassing the demon’s. He heard the intake of breath as the bone began to give. “You dare to attack the Archangel Michael, Hunter? Most foolish.” His eyes blazed purest white, the markings covering his body flaring across his exposed skin. Michael swung his arm, drawing the owner of the hand he was crushing in front of him. “I could destroy you right here, Mammon. Leave now, before I make good on that threat.”

  Mammon nodded curtly, wincing as the pressure released. He snapped the fingers of his undamaged hand, calling his dogs. They gathered beside him, reached out and grabbed onto his sleeves. “This isn’t over.” Mammon glared at Michael, pale eyes turning black.

  “It is for now.” Michael said calmly, watching the demon as he disappeared in a mass of inky, coiling blackness. He turned to Fong who lay on the floor, twitching in a pool of his own blood. He reached out a hand, skimming it over the old angel’s slashed face.

  The darkness bubbled up under the surface of Fong’s skin, in his veins and flooded the whites of his half-opened eyes. Michael sighed. He leaned over the dying body and placed his hands over it, praying that his small skill in healing would be enough.

  Chapter 29

  The three teenagers trailed a bit behind Aiden, chatting and catching up with each other. It had been a long time since they had all been together like this Aiden thought, glancing back at them. They were going to check in with Fong at the restaurant, to let him know that they were all here and that Fern was alright, and to see if he had any new information for them. Aiden walked up to the ornate wooden doors that made up the entrance to the Manna Buffet and placed his hand on the handle preparing to pull—something stopped him, his senses suddenly on high alert. He held out his arm, the steps and laughter behind him ceasing instantly.

  “What’s wrong, Aiden?” Gabe asked.

  “Shhhh!” Aiden hushed him, tattoos already spinning their way into protective symbols that crisscrossed his body and climbed above the collar of his shirt. There had been powerful evil here, someone very dangerous. And he could smell blood.

  He turned to look back at his charges, saw that Fern was ready, her eyes glowing white with holy light. Gabe and Elijah weren’t far behind her, quickly accessing their own power. “Be careful,” Aiden cautioned in the angelic tongue “we don’t know who—or what—is in there.” The three nodded and stood behind him, watching on edge as the door slowly opened, setting the little bell tinkling.

  They stepped into the dark dining room as a unit, each one of them looking around for any movement. Aiden motioned for them to stop; he had heard something. He listened, waiting—there it was again, coming from somewhere near the back of the restaurant. They walked silently towards the sound, rounding the corner of the bar.

  It took Aiden a moment to recognize the bloody mass on the floor as Fong. The old man’s clothes were torn in places, gashed skin oozing blood onto the worn tiles that were liberally peppered with his torn, frayed feathers. His wings were out, one of them broken and swollen, flopping forward at a sickening angle. “Fong!” Gabe cried, breaking ranks by rushing to his side and placing his hands on the old man’s slashed face. “He’s not breathing…” the words tore from his lips at a rapid pace as he focused, the symbols straining against his fingertips and glowing white-hot, only to be met with an inky blackness coiling up through Fong’s very veins. “What the—“

  “I’ve tried that already, Guardian. He has been corrupted.” A voice that was far too calm for the situation droned.

  Aiden stared at the tall man in astonishment. What was the Archangel Michael doing at the scene of a demonic attack, he wondered, not daring to give voice to his question.

  “Ah, General. Good to see you again.” Michael said politely.

  “What’s going on here? What do you mean, ‘corrupted’? You can’t mean he—“

  “Yes, the demon that was here forced his power into Fong, more than nullifying his own angelic power. He has been permeated with evil, General. There isn’t much anyone here can do for him—even my powers are at a loss, though I am not much of one for Healing.”

  Aiden looked over at Gabe, who was trying over and over again to heal the old man whose breath came in short, shallow, occasional gasps. He could sense Gabe’s frustration and panic rising with each failed attempt. “Is there anything that can be done?” Aiden asked, eyes blazing white and burning into Michael’s calm, green-eyed gaze.

  “He has to be brought home if he is to have a chance, but in this state, he won’t survive the journey.”

  Gabe gave a strangled sob of rage, straining desperately against his own limitations and the darkness inside Fong’s dying body. Fern shook her head and pushed him out of the way. Her eyes blazed brightly as her tattoos pin-wheeled over her hands and around her face in complex, erratic patterns that Aiden didn’t recognize.

  “Let me handle this,” She said through gritted teeth, focusing completely on the torn body under her palms. She breathed in deeply and exhaled, pushing all of the Holy power she could muster into his temples, in a flash of blinding white light. Fong’s eyes shot open, the whites of them pulsing black.

  Aiden watched in amazement as his daughter pressed forward, her face contorting as she struggled with the darkness. The black in Fong’s eyes faded, slowly filled and bleached by the power that flooded his frame, closing his deeper wounds and causing the blackness in his veins to recede.

  The light dimmed and Fern pitched forward limply, nearly hitting the bloodstained floor headfirst. Elijah dove, catching her in his arms just in time. He scooped her up, cradling her to his chest. “Did it…work?” Fern asked weakly, barely keeping her eyes open.

  Elijah gave her a worried smile. “You were brilliant.”

  Fern closed her eyes and answered softly but decisively before she passed out from exhaustion. “Good.”

  “Fern?” Elijah cried, alarmed.

  “She’ll be fine—she just needs to rest for a bit and eat something. That was…a lot for anyone. I mean, really.” Aiden said, shaking his head with a soft smile on his face. “My girl—just like her mom.”

  Michael nodded in agreement. “Truly, she is her mother’s daughter. She’s extremely strong.” He bent down, touching Fong’s neck “He seems alright to travel now—she managed to contain the evil temporarily.”

  Gabe breathed a sigh of relief “Thank God.”

  “Indeed. Now, I have to take him back home, before the power fades.” Michael said.

  Aiden slid his hands gently under Fong and lifted him with the aid of Michael. Making sure that Michael held him securely, he drew back.

  Fong’s hand shot out, grasping his sleeve tremblingly. “He…kno…”


  Aiden leaned in closer “Fong, you should rest. This can wait.”

  Fong shook his head feebly “Mam…mon…knows about…the girl…” He gasped out faintly, spending the last of his energy.

  Aiden caught Gabe’s eye. “Gabe, where’s Abby?” He held his breath as Gabe closed his eyes, seeking.

  “I don’t…I can’t feel her…She’s not there!” he gasped, staring at Aiden in horror.

  Michael cleared his throat, pulling Fong’s body close to him. “We must leave now if he is to survive. Farewell, General. Guardians.” With that he disappeared in a flash of harsh white light, temporarily blinding them in the process.

  Aiden blinked hard, trying to clear his vision and wondering how he could possibly salvage this mission, which had, in a matter of short moments, gone from bad to worse.

  Chapter 30

  It only took him a moment to spot his sister. On the crowded sidewalk she stood out like a rose among weeds, her glossy red curls shining bronze in the yellow lamplight. She caught his eye and smiled as she continued to walk towards him, heeled boots clicking softly.

  Humans cut a wide swath around her, parting away from her and avoiding eye contact. Dressed casually but stylishly in a pair of dark denim skinny jeans and an emerald green cashmere sweater under a flared black jacket, she looked the part of a supermodel. And though they were meeting in New York City, people gave her wide berth. Perhaps it was her aura or her demeanour or, as Michael assumed, simply the human instinct to shy away from the devil. He turned to walk with her as she passed him, slowing his steps to keep stride with her shorter legs.

  “Hello, brother.” She said in an amused tone, her gaze straight ahead.

  He glanced at his sister, saw the small smile on her face “Something amuses you, Sataniel?”

  “Humans.” She snorted, gesturing at the shops that lined the street they walked down, high-end boutiques, cafés and restaurants. “It’s amazing what they accomplish despite having so many…limitations.” She sneered “And they are the chosen people?”

  Michael made a noncommittal sound in his throat. He knew her views, had heard them over and over when they were younger, before she had been cast from Heaven with her lover. He tolerated her chatter, though he certainly didn’t agree. They stopped, humans pooling around them at the crosswalk, waiting for the traffic lights to change. He readjusted the long, dense wool coat that he wore over his smart black business suit. “I went to see Fong today,” he said, glancing at her again.

  “Oh?” she asked, sounding uninterested. The light turned green, and they stepped forward with the crowd.

  “He was attacked, Sataniel. By one of your kind. Do you know anything about this?”

  She looked at him sharply “What would I accomplish by taking out an Informer? You know who I’m after, and it isn’t that old fool.”

  Michael nodded. He had thought as much—it wasn’t Sataniel’s style to send someone quite so…psychotic. And her target; well, he knew all too well who she was after. “Are you sure you want to do this to her?” he asked, changing the topic.

  “Of course. You know what she is! She threatens my place, my very life, Michael! Mine and yours! She’s too dangerous to let live. All we have to do is get rid of her, and our lives can go back to normal.” She snapped.

  Michael stayed silent. He knew that she had a point; the girl was a threat in her own right, a wholly unnatural being which he feared. If she fell into the wrong hands…Reluctantly, he nodded. “Alright. I’ll tell you what I know.” He explained to his sister the girl’s current situation, describing the guardians who protected her. “Be cautious though, Sataniel. They may be young and foolish, but they are strong. Do not underestimate them.”

  “I never take threats lightly, Michael. You know that. Now, is there anything the mighty Archangel can do for me…perhaps hinder her Guardians a little?”

  “Already done. I’ve blocked her—they can’t find her or feel her. You have until midnight. I can’t cover her longer than that. Is that satisfactory?” He asked, stopping with her under a flickering lamppost.

  “Most. Thank you…for your assistance.” She smiled, green eyes sparkling in the dim streetlights.

  As she turned to walk away, Michael held up a hand to stop her, calling out to her. “Make no mistake, Sataniel. My master knows both of our plans. For now, he is letting us do as we please, but when he acts—and he will act—you should be ready for the consequences, as I am.”

  The look she gave him was as resolute as it was dark “I’ll keep that in mind, brother.” He watched her back until she was swallowed up by the darkness and the crowds that still didn’t quite close around her, bracing himself for the worst possible outcome.

  * * *

  Satan hurried into a darkened alleyway, ignoring the upset cries of a stray cat as she strode past. She stopped, pulling a small compact mirror out of her Prada bag. She admired the emerald-eyed, ruby-scaled serpents on its lid for a moment before flipping up the golden cover.

  She had to contact the Thief, give him his orders. She could feel the situation coming to a head, and every second that ticked away was crucial to the completion of her plan. Another demon--by the sound of it, a Hunter, and no doubt under Lucifer’s command--was closing in on her prey. Which meant that Lucifer knew everything. Her breath quickened at the thought, her pulse racing in her chest. This was the endgame, and it was just a matter of who would win. And she so hated to lose.

  Chapter 31

  The rain poured down in buckets, and every drop that hit her felt like a tiny freezing bullet. The water had long since soaked through her thin jacket and the fabric clung to her skin, chilling her to the bone. She couldn’t feel her fingers anymore. She looked down, making sure that they were still clutching the duffle bag.

  Abby sniffled, her breath coming out in a shuddering sob. Her eyes hurt from crying so much, felt swollen and hot despite the wind and rain that lashed at her body. It was getting darker and she could only see a few feet in front of her. A bus rolled past, spraying a wall of water over her.

  It slowed down and she could tell that it was rolling to a stop. She started towards it, knowing that the bus was warm and bright and out of the rain. She tried to hurry, anticipating that she only had a few moments before it left.

  She managed to break into a staggered, clumsy run, splashing through deep puddles of freezing water. The bus began to rumble forward again and she sped up, pumping her stiff limbs “Wa—wait! Stop the bus!” She shouted, waving her arm in front of her.

  “Wai—“ her words were cut off as her knees gave way and she fell, hard. She heard a weird crunching, popping sound next to her right ear. Pop? She thought, carefully trying to lift herself from the pavement with her right arm. Immediately her mind swam with intense pain, her vision nearly blacking out.

  Her arm hung limply, and she couldn’t feel her fingers. She was starting to panic and took a few deep breaths—now was not the time to freak out, the rational part of her decided. She pushed herself up with her left arm, standing on trembling legs. She reached down and picked up the bag at her feet, limping towards the bus shelter that had been illuminated by the bus’ powerful headlights.

  The glass box offered some protection from the elements and was empty apart from an old wooden bench, a few scattered pieces of garbage and an old newspaper or two. Splashing through the doorframe, she sat down heavily on the bench, dropping the bag down beside her. Abby winced; her arm was throbbing now at the shoulder, the pain burning in her muscles.

  In an attempt to keep her mind off of her arm, she unzipped the bag. She hadn’t checked back at the house to see what Kiki considered good enough for her to have, and curiosity now got the better of her. The bag had her school bag inside of it, which she gently pushed out of the way. A photo-album was underneath it, one that she recognized immediately. It was her parent’s wedding album, a book she had flipped through many times. She wasn’t surprised that Kiki thought i
t was trash; she had erased all other traces and photographs of her mother from the house long ago.

  There were some clothes in the bag too, and—her breath caught as her fingers found it. She lifted it out carefully, turning it slightly to get a better look in the dim light of the streetlights. She held the small silver picture frame up to her heart, hugging it as best she could with her one good arm. It was one of her most precious possessions, an irreplaceable memory. The photograph was the last one she had taken with her father, on the day of her sixteenth birthday. He had given it to her, along with the freshly-printed photograph, as a gift. She brushed her fingers over the engraved words, mouthing them to herself. “My Princess,”

  She had to laugh then. Here she sat, in the middle of the worst storm she had ever seen, no home, no friends or family, and drenched to the bone with a dislocated shoulder to boot. “Some fairytale this is,” she muttered, then gasped, gritting her teeth as the pain lanced through her again, worse than before. Abby hunched over, trying to rest for a bit before going back into the deluge that rattled the walls of the tiny bus shelter, reassuring herself that things couldn’t possibly get any worse.

  * * *

  Gabe stared at Aiden in wide-eyed horror. “I can’t feel her, Aiden!! I can’t feel her!”

  “Calm down. Now is not the time to panic.” Aiden said evenly. “We don’t know what’s happening, but none of us can feel her. With our Informer out of commission, finding Abby might be a tad more difficult. However, you’re forgetting one thing, Gabe.”

  “And what’s that?” Gabe snapped, feeling the tension knotting in his gut.

  “We have Elijah. And he is one of the very few angels who can teleport.”

  “That’s right, Gabe, don’t worry. We’ll find her in no time!” Fern said confidently, holding Elijah’s hand. “I’ll go with Eli, and you go with Dad.”

  Aiden pouted a bit at this “You don’t want to go with your dad, then, even though you only just got back?”