by Logan Jacobs
“I can do this,” the rabbit woman insisted as she took in our concerned looks.
Though I wasn’t entirely reassured, given how pale the mutant looked, I nodded, as did Sorcha and Darwin. I opened the stable door, then, and Darwin and Sorcha led the horses into the first rays of morning sunlight. Our small party moved silently through the snow, and we’d only just made it to the street when I saw Simon burst from the front door. His gaze was locked further down the street, and when I turned to look, I saw a group of Amish men approaching us.
“Crap,” I muttered.
“Sorcha, take the other horse,” Darwin ordered. “You two get to the trail. We’ll hold them off, then join up with you.”
“Too late, gramps,” Freya replied. “There’s another group coming from the other end.”
“I guess we’ll need those rifles after all,” I murmured as the two groups converged on us.
I counted sixteen men all together, and just from our short time in Pastor, I knew at least half were die-hard members of the Michael and Jacob fan club. The deacon I’d knocked out and left in the wood shed was at the head of one of the groups, and a small part of me was happy to see the purple bruise that was starting to color his chin. The deacon, for his part, looked intensely angry, and the glare he fastened onto me was repeated on the other Amish faces.
“Blasphemers!” Seth declared as he came to a halt a few feet from our group. “You are all spawns of the devil!”
“We don’t want any trouble,” I said as calmly as I could. “We just want to leave. Step out of our way or we’ll be forced to shoot you.”
“See what cowards they are!” Seth exhorted his fellow Amish. “They hide behind their weapons! They have defiled our community with their evil presence!”
“They protected our community,” Simon yelled back. “Which is more than you ever did.”
Seth wagged an angry finger at the dog trainer and spluttered as he tried to think of a response.
“We will take them to Michael,” a middle-aged man with sad eyes declared. “He will determine if they are devils.”
“They are,” Seth snapped.
“And yet, they are all perfectly well and able to leave this morning,” Simon pointed out.
“Because you and your fellow heretic gave them something,” Seth retorted.
Simon laughed, though it sounded more like one of the Weimaraner barks. None of the other Amish seemed sure what to do, since as Simon pointed out, we were all up and about and ready to leave. Darwin started to nudge his way through the crowd, with Sorcha and Freya right behind him. I glared at the men, then pushed my way through as well. No one pushed back, and for a moment, it looked like we would be allowed to walk out of Pastor.
“The Angel Michael approaches!” Seth bellowed.
Sure enough, the town guardian could be seen descending the steps to the aerie and a considerably larger group of Amish men waited at the base of the steps for him. Once the angel stepped onto the road, the mob fell into step behind him so that it looked like a sea of angry men in black suits was flowing toward us. Michael was easy enough to pick out, with his flowing red cape, glittering breastplate, and flaming sword.
Not to mention the fireball he held in one hand, ready to launch in our direction. Darwin and I both drew our guns, but Michael knew what we intended. He raised his sword and the tide of angry Amish flowed around him, blocking our shot at the angel even as the fireball flew through the air.
Chapter 13
The fireball landed a few feet in front of us and sent up a showy display of sparks and dirt as a sour smell filled the air. I was surprised at first, but then I realized Michael needed a show to reassert his authority. He couldn’t finish us off too quickly, or there might be a few doubters who wouldn’t believe we were really the devil’s minions.
“We can’t kill them all,” Darwin muttered. “Well, we probably could, but I’d rather not.”
“We need to pick off Michael,” I whispered back. “Prove he’s not an angel.”
“I’m ready, whenever the bastard gives us a clear shot,” Darwin replied.
The rest of the Amish mob arrived, while other people in nearby homes stepped outside to watch the proceedings. I even spotted a few children among the audience, and I wondered who would allow their child anywhere near what was clearly a dangerous situation. I glanced at Darwin and saw him shake his head as one boy ran into the midst of Michael’s group and walked among the men.
“Michael,” I said cheerfully as the group came to a halt. “We were just leaving, as you ordered us to do last night.”
I had hoped Michael would step to the front of the crowd, but he remained stubbornly behind his ring of protectors. Even with that, I thought I might be able to find a shot once the group came to a standstill, but the Amish men were restive and shifted constantly. Another ploy, I realized, meant to keep us from finding a clear shot. Michael was proving to be more ingenious than I had thought.
“I did say that,” Michael agreed. “But that was before I was certain. I have since spoken with The Lord, and He has revealed your true nature to me.”
“He waited all this time to fill you in?” Darwin mocked.
The Amish men glared even more angrily, if that was possible. I heard more than a few angry voices take up the chant of ‘blasphemer’, but Michael raised his sword arm, and the crowd went quiet.
“You are a creature of evil,” Michael declared. “You can not understand divinity.”
“So your god told you we were evil?” Sorcha mused. “But we passed your test.”
Michael looked toward Freya as she slid slowly from the horse and dropped to the ground. Though she was moving slower than normal, she didn’t falter or give any other signs that she wasn’t at full strength.
“You deceived some of the faithful,” Michael replied with a pointed glance toward Simon. “You have created doubt in their minds and forced them to help you. But once they are free of your influence, they shall return to the flock.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” my blonde mage noted. “Free thought is hard to tamp down once it has been discovered.”
“And I think you’ll find that not everyone is scared of you,” the rabbit woman added.
“There is no need to fear me,” Michael responded scornfully. “I am a divine being. The only ones who need fear me are those who are spawns of the devil.”
“Well, we’re not spawns of the devil, then,” I replied, “because we don’t fear you.”
I heard Simon’s barking laugh behind us, but I didn’t turn around. I kept my eyes on Michael as I tried to come up with a way to draw him out of the protection of the group. I’d hoped my last taunt might bring him forward, but he remained stubbornly fixed to his spot, and all I caught was a quick glimpse of his smirk before another Amish man stepped in front of him.
“I know your kind,” Michael finally stated. “And I know your masters. You were sent by the sorcerers to infiltrate our town and to turn the weak among us away from the righteous path.”
“You think the Magesterium sent us?” I snickered. “You couldn’t be more wrong about that. The Magesterium is hunting us, not using us as spies.”
“We have guns,” Darwin pointed out. “You know, those things the mages hate more than anything?”
“A ruse,” Michael said dismissively. “A deceit so that these gentle folk would take you in.”
“Gentle folk?” Freya snorted.
“Speaking from experience?” I suggested. “Or did you fail to mention to these gentle folk that you’re just a fire mage yourself?”
That finally drew a reaction from Michael. The angel snarled and raised his sword arm again, and the men around him finally grew still.
“I am not a lowly mage,” the angel growled. “My power is the power of the Almighty.”
“You’re a fire mage,” the Irishwoman insisted. “With a bit of wind magic thrown in. Hasn’t anyone around here wondered why the only thing you can do i
s toss fireballs at mutants?”
“You must have other divine skills,” I quickly added. “I seem to recall that angels had wings and could fly.”
“The wings were simply a representation,” Michael scoffed. “Simple minds could not understand how we could fly, so they added wings to explain it.”
“Then let’s see it,” Darwin urged. “Let’s see you swoop over this valley and fly over the houses.”
“I am not the one who consorts with the devil,” the angel replied.
“So it should be easy for you,” the rabbit woman challenged. “If you’re really more than just a fire mage.”
The men who had arrived with Michael looked angry at the challenge we had hurled at the angel, but more of the Amish had arrived as we stood in the road, no doubt as Michael had hoped they would, and quite a few looked intrigued by the idea of seeing Michael fly.
“Don’t you want to see the angel take wing?” the ex-trooper called to the crowd.
There was an uncomfortable silence, and then a few of the children started to call out that they wanted to see the angel fly. That was picked up by more of the adults, though it was clear the grown-ups were interested in flying more as proof of Michael’s alleged divinity rather than merely for the novelty of watching someone soar overhead.
“Come on, Michael,” I urged. “Show us your wings.”
“I don’t serve you,” the angel retorted. “Can you not see how they sow unrest among you and divide you?”
“It’s a simple thing,” I pressed. “At least, it should be for an angel. For a fire mage, not so much.”
Even Michael’s personal army was starting to look at the angel expectantly. No doubt they wanted him to leap into the air and fly overhead just to prove the four of us wrong, but Michael only scowled and remained firmly on the ground.
“Fly for us,” Sorcha ordered in the deep and hypnotic voice that signalled her magic.
I glanced around and saw that the blonde mage hadn’t directed her power at a particular person, but had made a more general broadcast. Michael’s followers didn’t appear swayed since they weren’t receiving the full brunt of the Irishwoman’s magic, but the regular townsfolk who had gathered around us started to murmur and cast doubtful glances toward the angel. As I’d hoped, Sorcha was drawing those who were less enamored with the angel to our side.
“I have seen him fly,” Seth asserted loudly.
“Then he can do it again,” I snapped.
“We have all seen that he does not walk up the steps to the aerie,” another supporter of the angel cried out. “He leaves no footsteps in the snow.”
“Because he can levitate,” the Irish mage insisted. “He has enough wind skills to pull that off. But he can’t fly. He’s not an angel.”
Sorcha’s final statement was made in a slightly lower register and at a slower pace so that everyone could hear the accusation clearly. The magic wrapped up in that declaration spread among the Amish, and the murmurs gave way to a steady buzz. Sorcha looked magnificent, and I doubted whether anyone else noticed the trickle of sweat that worked its way from her brow down her jawline, a sure sign of just how much effort it cost her to keep her hold on so many people at one time.
While the Irishwoman’s magic exposed the doubts of the Amish, the crowd became restless, and I saw Michael weigh his options as his grip on the townsfolk started to loosen. He finally raised his sword arm again, and the Amish went quiet. Finally, Michael stepped from the middle of the pack and stopped just in front of us. I kept my hand by my side so he wouldn’t duck back behind his protectors and waited to see what the fire mage would do.
The angel gave us a menacing smile, then slowly lowered his arm. The flames that danced along the blade slowly died out, and I guessed that meant he was about to put all of his magic into his flight. That was fine by me. Even if he did make it off the ground and managed to do a roll or two, I would have a clear shot at the dark-haired man, and I didn’t intend to miss.
Michael sheathed his sword, then tilted his head back and lifted his arms. I heard a few voices start to murmur what sounded like a prayer, and then the wind began to swirl around us. Michael started to lift slowly from the ground, and gasps went up from the Amish while many of Michael’s supporters turned on us with satisfied smiles.
But after several moments, Michael hadn’t made it any further off the ground. A couple of feet was the best the man could do, and he couldn’t really move that far or that fast. Beads of sweat had broken out on the supposed angel’s forehead as he put all his concentration into the simple act of staying a few feet of the ground, a fact that the observers must have noted. The crowd went eerily silent, and soon the only sounds we could hear were Michael’s grunts as he struggled to stay off the snow.
When Michael sank less than gracefully toward the ground, he opened his eyes and smiled at the Amish gathered around him. But rather than the warm reception he was clearly expecting, the angel was greeted with silence and expressions of surprise and confusion.
“He didn’t fly,” a childish voice declared in disappointment. “I wanted to see him fly.”
“He’s a fire mage,” Sorcha repeated. “He can’t fly.”
Michael looked around at the people that encircled us, and the beatific smile he had bestowed on his followers turned into a scowl. I could see his brain trying to work through the scenarios, and I knew when he’d hit on what he thought was his best solution. His gaze shifted to our group, and I knew what he would do before the idea had fully formed in the angel’s mind.
Michael drew his sword and sent flames dancing down the blade even as he started to swing its length toward my head. I was a faster draw with the Colt revolver, though, and before the angel could start to lower his steel, the boom of the gun exploded in the morning air. The one-time angel’s head jerked backwards as a tiny hole appeared between his eyebrows. Blood geysered into the air for a moment as the body seemed to hang suspended by a last burst of wind, and then the fire mage dropped down to the snow in a gory puddle of blood, brain matter, and fragments of bone.
“Definitely not an angel,” Darwin observed as the snow beneath the body turned bright red.
“What have you done?” Seth demanded angrily as he took in the sight of the town’s guardian angel sprawled out on the ground.
“Is he dead?” someone behind us asked quietly. “How is that possible? Divine beings can’t be killed.”
“They can be killed,” one of the angel’s supporters growled. “By demons.”
“We didn’t use any demonic powers,” I retorted. “It was nothing but a good, old-fashioned bullet to the brain.”
“He’s right,” I heard Simon call out. “We all saw it. He shot him with a gun. If Michael were truly an angel, he would still be alive.”
The shock started to wear off, and the Amish seemed uncertain about what to do. I heard a woman start to wail, while other people started to pray. Michael’s supporters milled around for a moment and exchanged looks of uncertainty. They probably would have left us alone, but Seth seemed determined to take control and get his revenge for being tied up and left in the woodshed.
“Demons!” Seth cried out. “Blasphemers! Kill them!”
As if we had planned it, Freya grabbed the reins for the horses while Sorcha and Darwin both pulled their own weapons. I pointed the Colt at Seth just as the other man tried to run at me. The revolver’s power kicked through my arm and left a whiff of sulfur in the air as the bullet tore across the short distance between us and punched through the Amish man’s chest. The snow-white shirt almost instantly turned red, and the deacon staggered in the snow as blood formed a river from the black hole in his chest to the ground below.
People started to scream and run, and as I tried to find a new target in the chaos, another sound caught my attention. It was all too familiar, and as I tried to find the source, the house to my right suddenly burst into flames.
There was another fire mage, and I finally spotted the red-r
obed flamethrower along with several of his fellow members of the Magesterium near the edge of the town. I tried to point the gun at the new arrivals, but there were too many Amish in the way.
“Well, shit,” I muttered. “The actual demons are here.”
Chapter 14
“We need to get somewhere we can have a clean shot!” Darwin yelled over the pandemonium.
“Outside of the town,” I added as flames started to billow from the house as well as some of the other buildings.
“Michael was right!” one of the Amish yelled out. “They work for the Sorcerers!”
“We do not!” Freya yelled back. “They’re here to kill us!”
“Later!” I ordered. “Just start making your way toward the fields! Sorcha, get the rifles out. Darwin and I will try to keep them at bay as long as we can.”
Freya used the horses to push our way through the crowds, though she tried not to knock anyone down who wasn’t armed with a pitchfork or swinging punches at us. With the two bays clearing a path away from the mages, we worked our way toward the empty fields closest to the town. It would have been easy enough if we’d only had to deal with the mages, but we still had Michael’s angry supporters to deal with as well, and a confused group of Amish who had no idea what was going on caught in the middle of the confusion.
Darwin and I each fired a bullet when the mages first appeared, but the red robes had their shields up, and the locals still swarmed the length of the street between us. I saw one mage stumble and grab the shoulders of a fellow mage, but no one toppled to the ground. To make matters worse, the newly arrived fire mage was still tossing fireballs and the whole town soon filled with black smoke.
By the time we were finally clear of the buildings, a dark cloud hung over Pastor, and while most of the residents had turned their attention to containing the fire, plenty of Michael’s supporters were still caught up in the fray.
