Dark Angel Box Set

by Hanna Peach

  Israel grabbed again and found his balance within the spinning machine. He pulled his body out of the helicopter cabin and tried to pull a struggling Samyara out behind him.

  “You want to survive this crash or not?” Israel yelled at him.

  Samyara narrowed his eyes. Then he nodded. They grasped forearm-to-forearm, and Israel helped Samyara out of the window. “Now jump,” Israel yelled.

  Hell. Too late. There were the trees right below them. Israel kicked off the helicopter as hard as he could, and he felt Samyara do the same. Just as the helicopter dove through the canopy of forest, branches crackling against the weight of the beast.

  They were airborne for a moment. Israel tried to keep his mind light and clear so that they would float down. He felt himself grow light for a split second. Then he was yanked to one side as Samyara’s weight pulled at his arm. He swung like a pendulum. Focus. Lightness.

  He felt his feet break through leaves, which rustled over his calves as if they were swallowing him up. He wasn’t falling as slowly as he wanted to. He reached out with his other hand, clawing for branches. But they all seemed to be just leaves and twigs.

  He managed to grab onto something. A branch. Thin, but it was a branch. A lifeline. He felt himself jolt in the air, Samyara pulling at his other arm. They swung like a rope ladder, Israel holding onto the branch and Samyara holding onto him. Israel shut his eyes, concentrating on not letting go. He felt like his arms were about to come apart.

  The branch broke with a loud snap. They fell again. He heard a yell from Samyara and knew the ground was almost upon them. He braced himself for impact.

  Chapter 36

  Alyx’s anxiety was growing as she scanned the book spines. There had to be something. There had to be. Every second she spent messing about here meant Samyara was taking Israel farther and farther away from her. There had to be something in the spines…

  There it was.

  Look at the Big Picture by Mark St Héspot. She had never heard of this author or this book. If that wasn’t an obviously fake book, she didn’t know what was. Alyx placed her fingers on the top of the spine and tilted the book out.

  She paused.

  Nothing happened. There was no telltale click of a lock opening. No movement. Nothing. She pushed the book back in and pulled it out again, this time pulling it all the way out. But still nothing happened.

  What? What the hell was she missing?

  She looked down at the book in her hands, opening the front page. It was definitely a fake book. The pages were blank. What the hell? Alyx slammed the book against the bookcase in frustration. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

  What now?

  She leaned her head into the bookcase and all she could see were colored spines, some of them striped across randomly with a different color. Wait… Look at the Big Picture.

  She had a thought. She pulled back from the bookcase and scanned the spines again. Yes, there it was. Of course. She just needed to get some distance so she could see the bigger picture. She flew off the balcony to the balcony on the other side of the library, where a mortal could stand and view this entire section of bookcase. Then she turned.

  From her new perspective she could see that the random stripes crossing over the book spines were creating a message across the bookcases….3…4…7…1…X… It was some sort of code. But where the hell should she be putting that code in?

  She glanced across the bookcases again. Then repeated the name of the fake book in her head…Look at the Big Picture. She was, but obviously she was still missing something…Look at the Big Picture by Mark St Héspot.

  Wait…rearrange the spaces between the letters and…

  Mark St Héspot becomes…

  Marks the spot.

  X marks the spot.

  The numbers were a code and the X would show her where to input the code.

  Alyx flew to the bookcase marked with an X. At the very center of the X was a thick-spined black book titled Through the Open Door by Eckhart Tolle. She hadn’t really noticed it before because it was a real book title and a real author. But now that she looked at it closer, it appeared thicker than it should. She tried to pull the book out, but it wouldn’t move. It wasn’t actually a book after all, but a wooden box painted and covered to look like a book. She felt along the spine and gasped as part of the spine shifted to reveal a small panel with a number keypad on it. Alyx grinned. She pressed 3471 and was rewarded with a click as the bookcase opened on its hinge for her.

  * * *

  There was an art to falling. When Israel was part of Mason’s Clan of the Saints street gang, they taught him parkour, a form of street gymnastics that involves jumping, climbing up walls and being able to speed through an urban environment in a much more creative way than just hitting the pavement. It made them better…well, thieves, to be honest. Jumping and landing safely were core components of parkour. But Israel had never fallen as fast as this.

  Israel hit the ground. He let his knees and hips bend, tucked in his shoulders and tried to roll to his side to disperse some of the impact. Samyara had lost his grip on Israel and Israel had let go too. He needed to tuck everything in. Jutting limbs meant broken bones.

  He felt his ankles jar and a sharp pain shot up his legs. Then he felt himself rolling. Before he could slow himself down, he slammed into a tree trunk with his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. His vision went blurry. He felt himself peeling off the trunk and slumped onto his back.

  No, can’t rest. Must…get up.

  Despite his every muscle groaning for him to remain lying down, he pushed himself to sit up. Oh, and his head. His head was joining in on this lie-back-on-the-ground-and-have-a-nap campaign. But there was no time to rest, there was a demon lord here somewhere.

  Israel struggled to his feet, using the tree trunk as a crutch. He shook his head to get his vision back into focus and glanced around him. The helicopter sat on its side, destroyed, among snapped branches and scattered pieces of wreckage littering the ground. The blades of the chopper had stopped turning. One blade had been broken off in the crash, lying beside its broken rotor mast, now sticking into the dirt. He could see the body of Zhair slumped over the controls through the broken front window along with blood, lots of blood.

  But he couldn’t see Samyara. He could see Samyara’s dagger though, lying on the grass, having been thrown clear of the helicopter. He needed to get to that dagger.

  A fist came at his face, clipping him on the jaw. Israel flew back from a tattered and dirt-smeared Samyara, who had stepped out from behind the tree. Israel expected to hit the ground, but instead he rammed into a hard wall that caught him under his armpits. Israel squinted up and saw a second and third Samyara now gripping him.

  Israel started to struggle as the original Samyara stepped up towards him. “You stupid boy. Look what you’ve done to my helicopter.”

  “Sorry, not sorry.”

  “I’ll make you sorry. You should have let me die in that crash.”

  “There’s still time to kill you.” Samyara began to laugh at him. “What? You think I’m joking?”

  Samyara stepped up to Israel, still laughing. Out of nowhere he rammed his fist into Israel’s stomach. Israel doubled over, holding back a groan. “For that, I’ll make sure your death is painful.”

  Samyara’s face twisted and he drew back his hand again. Israel braced himself for the second punch. When it came the pain left him breathless. He channeled that pain, he channeled his anger, reawakening the magic energy within him. It burst out from his palms, pushing the Samyara in front of him backwards. He elbowed the Samyara to his right then sent a burst of Air to push him away. He spun and sent a knee into the belly of the Samyara on his left, who let him go.

  He darted to his right towards the fallen dagger, then skidded to a stop when he realized he was trapped. Samyara had multiplied. Israel spun again. They stood around him in a creepy, deadly circle. Closing in on him. Even if he were to get to the dagger, how
would he know which one was the original? Israel raised his hands up in a boxer’s stance. Tighter and tighter the circle of Samyaras closed, their identical grins gleaming at him.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Israel yelled out.

  The Samyaras laughed. “What are you going to do, Israel? Fight us all off? Even you aren’t that strong. Even with your newfound magic.”

  One of the Samyaras picked up the dagger. Dammit. What now?

  Israel glanced around him. There was nothing to help him, nothing he could use as a weapon. There was nothing but debris and… The debris. Israel let the magic swirl around him again. As he did, he spotted a flash of fear ripple through the eyes of the Samyaras. Israel continued his magical wind, collecting any pieces of sharp metal and glass debris and shooting them around him like a hurricane. As the sharp pieces embedded in the fake Samyaras, they flickered and disappeared, only to reappear again just outside the circle of glass and metal pieces.

  The Samyaras kept laughing. “You can keep taking us out, but we’ll just keep reappearing.”

  Israel kept his eyes peeled, searching, as he continued to whirl the hurricane around him. Finally he saw it. One of the Samyaras had a cut on his arm where a piece of glass had embedded in it. He was the real Samyara. Israel dropped the pieces of debris and reached out with his Air, picking up the broken end of the helicopter blade and bringing it to his waiting hands.

  “Oh look,” hissed the fake Samyara, as the number of Samyara continued to grow and grow around him, looking like a demented evil wall of leering faces. “The boy has a big stick now. You still won’t be able to take us all. How long do you think you’ll last before we disarm you?”

  Israel still said nothing. He watched the original Samyara out of the corner of his eye, keeping his eye on the injured arm. He gripped the helicopter blade in his hand as the Samyaras started to close in on him again. He took a swing, knocking through a few of them, who flickered and disappeared. The others backed away from him slightly. He repositioned the blade over his shoulder. He let a single flicker of Airmagic reach out and wrap around a thick, jagged piece of metal shaped like a large arrowhead.

  Israel spun on his heel to face the real Samyara, at the same time throwing the piece of metal through the air. Israel shifted his hip, his hands back over his right shoulder holding the end of the helicopter blade like a bat. He felt a sharp slice along the underside of his arm. He winced, but he kept focused. The metal piece, now carrying his blood, flew towards the real Samyara, cutting through the fake Samyaras in the way, making them disappear like a parting crowd. The tip embedded into the real Samyara’s skin. But it didn’t pierce through his rib cage. No, his magic wasn’t quite strong enough to push metal past rib cage bones.

  Samyara gasped, then looked down. A grin spread across his face, obviously gleeful that Israel’s plan hadn’t worked and that he hadn’t been killed. Israel took a large step forward as he swung the blade, aiming for Samyara’s chest, just as Samyara looked up.

  Samyara’s grin dropped. There was a collective gasp from the Samyaras around him and they began to move to stop him.

  But it was too late for the demon lord. Too late.

  Israel’s helicopter blade struck the end of the metal shard at an angle and with such force that he drove it between his rib bones with a flesh-sucking smack. All of the fake Samyaras disappeared as the demon lord dropped all of his magic to focus on the metal coming out of his heart.

  “I’ll be back, boy,” Samyara hissed.

  A black light, darker than any human light, emanated from Samyara’s chest. Israel’s blood, combined with the metal shard, embedded itself in both the mortal and the demon Samyara, destroying him on Earth and in Hell.

  Israel recognized the very moment that Samyara realized he was going to die. Really die. A look of horror crossed the mortal’s face – and that of the demon lord − as he dropped to his knees.

  “No,” Israel said softly, “no you won’t.”

  Samyara, the once invincible demon lord, fell down to the ground, dead.

  Israel felt his head lighten in a mixture of disbelief and pride. He did it. He actually did it. He managed the impossible: killing the demon lord who threatened his life, Alyx’s life and this planet. He dropped to his knees, overcome with exhaustion. He let himself lie on the ground. Rest. He’d just rest here for a bit, then−

  “Israel!”

  A smile broke out over his face as Alyx’s voice reached his ears. “Angel, your voice is the sweetest thing.”

  He opened one eye and watched Alyx land near him, her face in a mask of shock as she stared at the wreckage around them. “You…you did all this?”

  He gave her a shy smile. “Oops?”

  Her eyes widened at something beyond him. “And you killed Samyara? His demon?”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  She shook her head, her mouth splitting into a smile. Then she laughed. “You did it. You actually did it!”

  “I did, didn’t I?” He grinned. “Shouldn’t I get a reward or something?”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “See for yourself.”

  He knew the moment when Alyx entered his mind and saw what he was thinking − her cheeks flushed red.

  “So you going to join me here and,” he cleared his throat,” give me my reward?”

  “We should get back,” she said. “The others…we should help them.”

  He sighed and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” Sometimes it sucked being responsible. He gave himself a few more seconds on the ground before he pushed himself up to his feet.

  Alyx was kneeling over Samyara’s body. When Israel stepped to her side, he saw her pulling a chain from under his collar. At the end was a curly amulet. An odd-looking charm. She heaved a sigh of relief.

  “What is it?” he asked as she pulled it from around Samyara’s neck and placed it around her own.

  “This little thing is the amulet piece that Passar stole from Michael…this started everything. It’s part of the Trinity Amulet.”

  And now we have it.

  Chapter 37

  With the Darkened’s stockpile of Black Stone weapons gone and Samyara dead, the Darkened were soon overtaken. After the battle was over, Jordan moved through the mansion grounds, the grass littered with bodies. Thankfully there were more Darkened bodies than Seraphim, although there were some Seraphim who were not coming back with them.

  The FireTwirlers were moving around the grass setting alight the Darkened bodies, which disintegrated in flares of blue and silver. When he saw Cleo hunched over a fallen Darkened body, he frowned. She definitely wasn’t kneeling by him to set him alight. He moved silently behind her.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  Cleo straightened up and spun to face him. “Nothing important.”

  Jordan narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t possibly doing something as baseless as stealing from the dead, were you?”

  She shrugged. “What? Not like they’re going to need any of their things anymore.”

  “Get back to the community.”

  “Can’t fly, remember? Can’t go till I find a ride.”

  “Sorry, let me rephrase that. Get back to the community, now.”

  “You offering me a ride, handsome?” she winked.

  Jordan growled. She must have seen the ice in his eyes and sensed the venom running under his skin because her face flashed with fear and she stumbled back.

  He snatched her forearm before she could get away. “Empty your pockets.”

  Her eyes opened up like dollar coins. Jordan noticed that they were an unusual mix of brown fading to whiskey-colored shades in the inner parts of her irises. It actually made for a beautiful combination.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  “I−”

  “I’m not asking.”

  Cleo made an exasperated sound. “Fine. Whatever.” She snatched her arm away from him and began pulling out objects from her
pockets and dropping them on the ground. Rings, chains, earrings, all fell like a small cluster of shiny stars into the grass.

  Jordan lifted an eyebrow at her. She must have searched at least a dozen bodies by the looks of things. The sneaky little bitc−

  “Happy?” Cleo crossed her arms.

  Jordan swept his eyes over her body slowly. As his eyes reached her torso, her arms shifted awkwardly in front of her. An involuntary move. Like she was hiding something…

  He stepped up to her. “I want what’s down your shirt.”

  Her face flashed with annoyance before breaking into what he was quickly beginning to realize was her trademark get-what-I-want-smile. “You want my breasts?”

  Jesus. “Not your breasts. What’s in between them.”

  “There’s nothing−”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  Cleo pushed her chin up at him. “You want it?” She leaned in close, so close he could smell her red sticky lip gloss. It smelled like strawberries. “Go get it yourself.”

  “I’m not kidding, Cleo.”

  “Neither am I.”

  They stood glaring at each other for what felt like minutes. Jordan’s mind was ticking. If he conceded, it would just give her the confidence to keep trying to walk all over him. But damned if he was going to go rooting around with his hand in her shirt. Just the thought of it made the roots of his hair feel hot. Still, he couldn’t let Cleo get away with it. A woman like this had to be kept in line, otherwise−

  “What’s going on here? Is everything okay?” Tii’la came up next to them.

  Jordan grinned. Perfect. He kept his eyes on Cleo as he spoke. “Our good friend, Cleo, has decided it would be fine to do a little shopping in the pockets of the fallen. I was just reminding her that this is not an acceptable thing to do, so she has kindly removed the items from her pockets. I think she has forgotten about whatever she tucked into her bra. If you would be so kind as to assist her in removing whatever items are left on her person and then to escort her back to the community, it would be greatly appreciated.”