City of Shadows

by Declan Finn

  I dragged myself into the Cathedral. It was a glorious cathedral, with marble everywhere. There weren’t pews, but there were wooden chairs. The walls and ceilings were dotted with mosaics. The immense marble baptismal font could have served an adult, bent over and crouched in the chamber. The ceiling of the Lady Chapel was a mosaic in gold leaf that looked just a step above the Greek Orthodox variations of the same art style.

  I didn’t quite crash, but the exhaustion of the last few hours had me slump into a chair in the back row of the church.

  I didn’t know how long I sat there before Pearson was smacking me lightly in the face. My eyes opened whether they wanted to or not.

  Pearson shook me. “Tommy. Wake up. They’re outside.”

  It took me a long moment of looking at him stupidly before my eyes snapped open. “Which one?” I asked. “All of them?” I couldn’t imagine Toynbee and Fowler at the head of an army.

  Pearson shook his head. “Only Kozbar. But he’s brought his friends. All of his friends.”

  I blinked twice before it sunk in. All his friends sounded like the riot that we confronted that morning—Yikes, was it only this morning? I thought. That would make it dozens of people.

  I took several deep breaths. I tried to shoot for Psalm 28, but the only part that came out was the end: Blessed be the Lord, who has heard the sound of my pleading. The Lord is my strength and my shield, in whom my heart trusts. I am helped, so my heart rejoices; with my song I praise him. LORD, you are a strength for your people, the saving refuge of your anointed. Save your people, bless your inheritance; pasture and carry them forever!

  “Let’s roll.”

  Pearson helped me to my feet. “Why haven’t they broken in already?”

  “The doors were locked once the riot started. We’ve been acting as sanctuary for people in the basement. They could break in, but it would take time, and it would be noisy. The riots died down hours ago. A full assault would end badly for everyone. They may take the stone, but they may not. Either way, they don’t want a fuss if they can avoid it.”

  I smiled evilly. “They can’t. Let’s go out and have a conversation.”

  19

  In the Name of the Lord

  “Did you call the cops?” I asked.

  “En route. Though the response time may vary.”

  I stepped out of the church. The Soul Stone was not in my pocket, but back in the last row of the church. I left Pearson behind me. We opened the door, I slipped out, and Pearson closed it as fast as he could.

  The problem was not Kozbar. The major problem wasn’t even his Jihadi minions behind him… the problem wasn’t even his Jihadi Wolverine, Shifa, who was alive and well and not even scorched, despite everything I had done to the sucker.

  No. The real problem was the shadow minions. They grew in form and substance out of the shadows of the Jihadists. Even if the cops arrived, and even if the cops arrived on our side, it would still be a bloodbath. The shadows would eat them alive. Literally. I didn’t know if the shadows were demons, or just manifestations of Kozbar’s will while he had the Soul Stone, but I knew that the Met wouldn’t survive an attack.

  “Hey, Kozbar. How are you doing?” I asked casually.

  Kozbar smiled. “I am doing quite well. You are surprisingly in one piece. My man Shifa tells me that you survived the burning temple. No one else did. And yet you’re in one piece. You are very fortunate. Tell me, did the stone save you? Are you able to wield it?”

  I aborted a laugh. “If I had my druthers, I wouldn’t pick up that thing if I found it by the side of the road. The only reason I even touched it was to get it away from the Fowlers and you.”

  Kozbar narrowed his eyes. “You realize that you cannot win against us.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.” I smiled. “Wouldn’t be the first time we kicked your asses with a handful of people, either.”

  Kozbar growled. “Do you think you can stop us, American?”

  I looked over his armed men, their shadow creatures with him, and said, simply, “Yippee Kai yay, motherfucker.”

  Kozbar scoffed, not taking my witty repartee seriously. “Please. You are soft. You are weak. You are pathetic. Your church is diseased.”

  “Pathetic?” I asked. “Coming from a culture that had to move West to discover indoor plumbing?”

  “Your God is nothing next to Allah.”

  “Funny, I thought we were all people of the book.”

  Kozbar dismissed it with a snort. “Good public relations by the Prophet, Blessed Be His Name. If he said he would slaughter you like cattle, the rats would have fought harder. But in the end, you will be like those he subjugated. We know that you would not die for your faith.”

  I flinched, I admit it. A laugh escaped me before I could let it out. My fingernails scratched against the palms of my hands as I could feel where the shadows speared me before devouring me. I could almost hear the thump of the cricket bats bludgeoning me to death.

  “Not die for my faith? I’ve died for my faith more times than you can imagine. I’ve been burned alive, crushed, impaled, bled out, and stabbed. I have scars each time I died. You can’t stop the Lord my God, Kozbar. I am merely the vessel.”

  Kozbar’s brow furrowed, uncertain of what I said. He was uncertain if I was serious, I had lost my mind, or both. “Just what do you think you are?”

  “Who am I? I am the Winged Hussars. I am the one hundred eighty-nine in the service of Heaven. I will protect all those of God. I will fight you and hold you back, even to the steps to Heaven. For the grace and might of God, you will not step one foot in this church. You have fallen from the one faith, Kozbar, and your fall from grace will pave your path to damnation.”

  Kozbar took a step back. “You have five minutes to think it over.”

  I went back into the church and looked the door behind us.

  Pearson asked, “How much time?”

  “Five minutes.” If we give it up, they use the stone to melt the doors and kill us with it. “They can’t have it. Under any circumstances.”

  Pearson shook his head. “No. They can’t. We should hide it.”

  I nodded. “I know exactly where it should go.”

  I stumbled over to the baptismal font. It was full of water. I walked over to the chair and swept up the Soul Stone. The ruby glyphs had stopped humming at long last … or at least it had grown so faint that they were nearly out entirely.

  “Go back to Hell,” I told it. I let go.

  It splashed in the baptismal font.

  It screamed. The holy water in the baptismal font started boiling. Fire shot through the water and into the air, dissipating before the flames struck anything important.

  But you can bet that I shot back from the baptismal font like a jackrabbit shot up with cocaine.

  Roars and screaming came from outside as well, the shadows, and the Jihadists they were attached to, howled in despair and rage. A wind blew through the church like the prelude to a hurricane. The hanging lights swayed. The statues shook where they stood. Chairs slid across the floor. Debris outside clattered against the windows.

  The flames then shot out of the font, through the holy water, spilling out like a fountain of fire. It nearly reached the ceiling, then fell back away from the roof and dissipated. The flames twisted and writhed like a jaguar scruffed by a giant, trying to escape its confinement but unable to escape. The flame howled and shrieked, screaming in pain.

  After a long moment, the boiling and the flames died down, and I let my heart rate drop a little bit. I took a deep breath, and for the first time noticed that the smell of evil had cleared away. “I guess that’s one way to get rid of the sin the Soul Stone has absorbed.”

  Pearson looked at me like I was far too calm and said, “Indeed.” He looked at the font once more, making sure that the surface of holy water was calm once more. He looked away from it, as though nothing had happened, and asked, “By the way, how did you know he’d understand those references?�
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  I blinked, confused. “What references?”

  “If I heard correctly, you cited the last stand of the Papal Guard in 1527, and the Battle of Vienna, where the Winged Hussars swept in and stopped the Sultan’s forces from taking the city.”

  I bit my lip, shrugged, and said, “I’m not entirely certain I was the one doing the talking there.”

  “Ah. Understood.”

  Kozbar slammed against the big brass doors with his AK-47. “Your time just ran out, American!”

  I looked at my watch. It had not been five minutes. “I think the Jihadi brigade outside knows what we did.”

  Pearson nodded, then frowned. “I could go outside and bluff them a bit.”

  I shook my head. “They’re going to want what they came for, no matter what. Going outside is pure suicide. They’re going to get testy and beat someone to death.”

  Pearson looked at me, as though he could see what I was thinking. “You’re not going out there.”

  I shrugged. There were any number of tricks that the Lord had granted me over the past year or so. I could bi-locate and riot control them—

  And I could die a few more times, wouldn’t that be fun?

  I could dive bomb them via levitation—What is “skeet” is Arabic?

  I could even… no, those were the only two ideas I had in mind.

  Dear God, if you need me to die here, then I presume it’s for a good reason. Let’s do this.

  I turned. I thought I was going to turn to the door, but I didn’t. I turned to the Lady Chapel. I knelt down in the gold-leaf hall and prayed one more time.

  Heavenly King, You have given us archangels to assist us during our pilgrimage on earth.

  Saint Michael is our protector; I ask him to come to my aid, fight for all my loved ones, and protect us from danger.

  Saint Gabriel is a messenger of the Good News; I ask him to help me clearly hear Your voice and to teach me the truth.

  Saint Raphael is the healing angel; I ask him to take my need for healing and that of everyone I know, lift it up to Your throne of grace and deliver back to us the gift of recovery.

  Help us, O Lord, to realize more fully the reality of the archangels and their desire to serve us.

  Holy angels, pray for us. Amen.

  I crossed myself, stood, and headed for the door. Pearson stepped in my way, placing his hand on my chest to stop me.

  “God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  Pearson met my eye, clapped me on the shoulder, and said, “God be with you.”

  “If He’s left me alone once, I hadn’t noticed.”

  I stepped to the doors. I stopped before opening them and called out, “Back off. I’m coming out. I see anyone within thirty feet of the door, you’re not getting anything from me.”

  After a few seconds, Kozbar screamed back, “Done.”

  Pearson unlocked the door and pushed it open. I slipped between the doors and helped Pearson close it. The jihadists were still there, but the shadow creatures weren’t.

  I stuck my hands in my pockets. Lord, now would be a good time to bi-locate, so I can flank them. “Kozbar.”

  “Nolan. Where is the stone?”

  “It’s gone,” I said, telling only a half-truth. “It didn’t react well to holiness.”

  Kozbar growled. “No… NO!” he roared. He reached behind him for the back of his belt and came back with a machete. “I will cut the Soul Stone out of you, infidel, and feed you your heart.”

  I raised both hands up and waved him on. I wanted him angry and stupid, so I came up with the worst insults I could think of. “Come and get me, dog. When I’m done, I will feed your corpse to pigs.”

  Kozbar roared as he rushed me.

  But then, so did all the others.

  I braced one foot behind me and braced for impact.

  I blinked.

  Suddenly, there were three men in front of me, standing between the crowd and me. Even Kozbar skidded to a stop in front of them.

  Kozbar looked them up and down. The three men were strangely dressed. One wore an American army uniform and hat, complete with general’s stars. The one to his left wore medical scrubs. The one on the right wore a simple suit and tie.

  “Who are you?” Kozbar asked.

  “Requested reinforcements,” said the army man. His voice was gruff and bored, as though Kozbar were simply Tuesday for him.

  Kozbar sneered. He stabbed forward with the weapon, pointing at me between two of the “reinforcements.” He demanded, “Then give him to me. And me alone. I promise to kill him personally. You want fair fights, right?”

  The one in scrubs stepped back and grabbed my shoulder, holding me back. “Sure. He’s gotten his ass kicked all over the place, died five times, fought down a riot, and escaped an exploding building the hard way, while you get to go after him after … walking down some stairs and driving here?”

  The army man said, “You get one chance.”

  Kozbar sneered. “My God is on my side. Nothing more or less will stop me.”

  The army man’s head tilted just slightly to one side. “About that…”

  Kozbar lunged with the knife.

  The army man smacked Kozbar across the face and sent him flying.

  Scrubs said, “Go back inside, Tommy. We got this.”

  I blinked hard, confused. “I missed a step. Who are you?”

  He smiled at me benevolently. “You asked for us directly. You know who we are. You’re just too exhausted to think about it.” He reached over, grabbed the door, opened it—Wasn’t it locked a moment ago?—and ushered me inside, closing the door behind me.

  The moment the door closed, every light in the church glowed brightly as the screaming started and the laser light show began. I grabbed the door to push it open—and it was locked, even though I had just walked through the open doors.

  Pearson looked up from his seat in one of the chairs. “What are you doing back? How did you get in? And – —what is that?”

  It took me a long moment. So long that the screaming, the glowing, and the light show all faded away. But the fog had lifted from my brain, as had all of the exhaustion.

  Before I had gone out, I prayed to a healer, a warrior, and a messenger. Then a man in scrubs, a uniform, and a suit show up.

  “The reinforcements,” I said plainly. “If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to say some prayers and go to bed.”

  Pearson unlocked the door and looked outside. Kozbar was gone. His Jihadists were gone.

  But there was the faint smell of sulfur.

  20

  Stony Path

  After mass the next morning, Pearson and I ate breakfast by ourselves in the rectory. Everyone else had spent the day cleaning up the city after the riot. There were plenty of riot refugees in the basement for the regular workers at the Cathedral.

  Pearson brought the full English breakfast to the table for both of us. “So, what’s on the agenda today? Back off to Rome?”

  I dug into the two-pound plate of food. After running around the city all day and night, being beaten and then miraculously healed the night before, all without eating, I was ravenous. I ate a few forkfuls, thinking it over. I shook my head. “I can’t leave yet. Not until the Soul Stone is destroyed.”

  Pearson blinked, taken aback. “Why try? Bring it back to Rome, see what happens?”

  I looked at Pearson cynically. “Let me get this straight; you expect me to get through a major transportation checkpoint—like the Chunnel, or Heathrow—with a diamond larger than my fist, which happens to mysteriously bear heavy similarities to a well-known artifact stolen from the British Museum. Meanwhile, I can only suppose that the Fowle
rs are going to have a full-court press on getting me strung up by the cops. Getting me out of the country with Fowler and Toynbee pushing the cops for my head? I can’t see that happening. Not to mention that Toynbee Tower was largely blown up as we checked out last night. Once the story about the riot cycles down, you can be certain that Toynbee and Fowler are going to push a narrative in the news cycle that marks me as a terrorist. Who knows, if they own enough newspapers and have enough friends in the national press, they may be able to blame me for the riot last night, too. No. If anything is going to happen, we either need to get Fowler and Toynbee arrested, or destroy the Soul Stone. I can take being arrested. I can’t take going through all of this all over again because we dropped the ball.”

  Pearson nodded, absorbing everything I told him. While he thought, I ate quickly. I didn’t want the food to get cold in case he asked me another question.

  I was right. The next question he asked was going to take time.

  “What happened last night?” Pearson asked.

  I explained. Twice. He followed along better the second time, then repeated it back to me, just to be clear.

  After a long, thoughtful silence—by Pearson, I was just hungry—he shrugged. “First time angels popped out of the sky for you?”

  “In part because I didn’t even know I was asking.” I frowned. I tried not to think about it the night before, largely because I wanted to get to sleep and be done with it. “Angels? Why, though? I didn’t directly ask. I didn’t even know that was a request I could submit in the file form of God’s rules and regulations. Nor did I know that they would show up. Heck, I’m surprised I got one. I got three.” I reached for the cup of tea, then stopped and looked at Pearson. “In fact, when was the last time the Vatican saw an angel pop out of the sky? It’s not like they showed up for me before.”