Sanctuary (22 page)

No matter. I have the prize I came here for.
Thorn’s dead body hung in the air above Virgil’s equally lifeless corpse. The mighty Balthior had been slain at last—and by Marcus’s own hand. Thorn would elude Marcus no longer. The full weight and glory of Marcus’s victory over his rival would take some time to fully register, but for now, he simply took pride in a job well done.

But something odd lay underneath Thorn’s remains. Marcus peered closer at Virgil’s extended arm, which pointed toward several large smears of blood. The blood seemed to form words—a message left by Thorn before he died? Marcus drifted closer to examine the letters, written in all caps:

NOT EVERYTHING

Marcus frowned. What a gloating ass Thorn had been. Even in death, he’d found a way to brag that he’d stolen Crystal and Cole out from underneath Marcus’s nose.
No, Thorn.
I
am the victor here. Not you.

The sunlight of dawn was growing brighter, much more rapidly than it did on Earth. Marcus found himself pondering the myth that if humans in a Sanctuary escaped, any demons in that Sanctuary would perish upon the Sanctuary’s end. Surely this was just a myth. Surely.

The African demons grew more frenzied than Marcus had ever seen them. They celebrated with each other in their own vile ways. Many congregated around Shazakahn, congratulating him for his role in the night’s events. Marcus ignored the revelry and instead looked out to sea, to the rising sun beyond.

The brilliant view was spoiled by the Atlanta Judge, still floating above the pool water, directing a bitter gaze toward Marcus.
Fool. It had to be done. Even if I’d held no grudge against Thorn, it had to be done. Thorn had broken all of the Rules.
This Judge was truly a dimwit.

The sunlight became blinding, overwhelming. It shone through the windows of the buildings out on Miami Beach, then through the
walls
of those buildings, its luminance engulfing all corners of the dying Sanctuary. Marcus paid no mind to the Judge, nor to the other demons. He faced forward, and met the white dawn head-on.

Snow was falling over Atlanta again.

When he’d first arrived in the United States, Marcus had found the country much like he’d imagined it to be based on the news reports and movies he’d seen. But he still hadn’t expected snow this far south. This marked the fifth time since he’d been here.

He was used to the jungles of Central Africa, and before them the fertile lands of the Indo-Gangetic Plain, but he found that he preferred this colder, deader world, even though he knew that spring was close at hand. Marcus thought of leaving Atlanta for New York City, that great beacon of Western civilization, which he could safely visit for the first time now that Xeres and Thorn were both dead. He would love to peruse the north during the summer months, find a new city there to claim as his own: Toronto or Montreal, or maybe New York City itself, if he could gain enough support to overthrow its current leader. But no, not yet. For now, he was obligated to stay here in Atlanta and fight through the power vacuum left by Thorn until the city was his. The great Marcus, reduced to filching crumbs from a Rat.
But this is all a means to an end.

Marcus drifted over the numerous police vehicles at Piedmont Park, where just last night a young girl had turned on her would-be killer and slaughtered him. And where Thorn had murdered Shenzuul while dozens of demons had watched. After hearing the news, the city’s demons had descended on the park en masse to see if it was true. Thousands of them still saturated the crime scene. Marcus had a mind to join them and gloat… but he had other business just now.

He passed through Midtown, over the freeway, and into Downtown, looking down on Atlanta’s inhabitants bundled against the chill, vaguely wondering if he might one day come across the two humans who’d survived the Sanctuary. Crystal and Cole would be born sometime soon, somewhere in the world. Would they ever meet each other in this life? And under what circumstances? Marcus could feel Thorn lording these two humans over him from beyond the grave. If Marcus ever encountered Crystal or Cole in this world, he’d be sure to torment them to their deaths.

Many of the African demons had appeared as relieved as Marcus to have survived a Sanctuary in which some humans had escaped; as the sun had risen on the Sanctuary, it had given way to a transit door through which he and the others had exited into the Corridors, and from there back to Earth. As far as Marcus knew, Shazakahn and his followers were still in town, causing mayhem and planting seeds for future American enterprises before their long journey back across the ocean. “We have united with you to kill this Thorn, but if we hear of you in Central Africa ever again, you will be sorry,” Shazakahn had said to him just a few hours ago.
And now I am stuck in the West, exiled from the East.
A curious outcome, but a desirable one. Here in the West, Marcus could become the world’s greatest demon and eventually bring destruction to the Enemy.

But first, a small matter of business…

Marcus drifted through some windows near the top of Peachtree Tower, through some executive offices, toward the usual meeting spot: a dank service hallway near the elevator shaft, not unlike those in Cole’s condo. But this one was uncarpeted—just wet concrete all the way from the entrance to the dirty mop and bucket at the far end. A dim fluorescent light lit the small space, which was perfect for furtive meetings. Few humans or demons ever came here.

Today, though, Marcus was met by a great winged creature, stewing near the mop bucket. As soon as Wanderer noticed Marcus, his wings unfurled, and he charged. Marcus moved to defend himself from the sudden assault, but Wanderer was too fast: he clutched Marcus’s throat, greeting him with a shriek and a fearsome scowl.

“You impotent fool!” Wanderer yelled. Marcus tried to shove him away. “I explicitly instructed you to make sure Thorn was dead the
moment
you entered the Sanctuary.
Immediately!
”

“Thorn was a resourceful foe. You know this.”

“He had an army after him! How hard could it have been?”

“You are ungrateful,” Marcus spat. “I have been your loyal follower and accomplished your goals. Thorn is dead.”

Marcus had expected Wanderer to rejoice at the news, but instead the great demon’s wrinkled hands clasped Marcus’s throat even tighter. He acted as if Marcus had announced his alliance with Thorn rather than Thorn’s death. “You’ve accomplished
my
goals? Have you, Marcus? Because as I recall, it’s
you
who’s been recklessly obsessed with Thorn all this time.
You
, not I, were consumed with mindless curiosity when you saw Thorn enter physical space.
You
, not I, spent three fruitless months trying to discover this secret, delaying our plans so long that I had to come here and supervise in person. From the beginning, it was
you
, not I, who wanted Thorn dead. ‘We should merely depose him,’ I said, but no, you had to have your
vengeance
.”

“He was asking too many questions!”

“Oh, you were out for his blood long before he started asking questions.”

“Irrelevant. He was still asking the wrong questions.”

“That he was. He blurted out half of them to me when I interviewed him in the coffee shop. I played my part. I sent him your way. And you promised his death would be swift.”

“Enough of this! What have I done to anger you?”

Wanderer flung Marcus downward with such force that he’d dropped three floors before he reoriented himself. The offices in which he found himself were almost empty of humans this late in the afternoon, but he quickly surveyed them to confirm that no demons had seen him here before floating back up to Wanderer’s hallway.

“You forget your place!” Wanderer said when Marcus returned. He drifted back and forth at the hallway’s far end, rage boiling off of him. “Your place is beneath me!”

“I am one of the world’s greatest demons, Wanderer. I am beneath you as a scorpion waits beneath a wolf while it sleeps.”

Wanderer drew out his wings to their full expanse, and the tips jutted through the walls. He rose toward and above Marcus. “I hold all of the strings that connect the demon world. It was
my
army you used to conquer Shenzuul’s territory. It was
my
network that spread your spurious reputation as a war hero. Has your counterfeit glory gone to your head? You’ve always been one of my most loyal, one of my favorites. But a wolf is much bigger than a scorpion, and a bite kills just as well as a sting. Admit you are nothing next to me.”

Wanderer could grow pompous like this sometimes, though Marcus had never seen him quite so irate. Marcus preferred subservience in his own followers, but he’d learned long ago that Wanderer lost respect for anyone who appeared weak, even his own disciples. So Marcus met his demand with something he knew Wanderer admired: intelligence. Also: flattery. “When you told me you were placing your followers in positions of power around the globe, I requested placement in Atlanta so that I could obtain vengeance on Thorn. I’ll admit that much. But my power and glory will shine here in this city, more radiant than yours ever has, so that when the day comes when you crush the Enemy, your own glory will reflect off of mine all the brighter.”

Wanderer grew still at that. He examined Marcus intently, the edge of his mouth twitching like it always did. He’d buy it, of course. For all Wanderer’s brains, his pride was his weakness. Marcus just hoped the Enemy wouldn’t be able to exploit that pride to His advantage.

Marcus had staked much on Wanderer, on his promises and his future conquests. For thousands of years, Marcus had sacrificed his own reputation for Lucifer’s, and he’d gladly make such a sacrifice again, for Lucifer had won them both great glory in the initial rebellion, and would do so again in the near future. But their long-term affiliation was ultimately a marriage of convenience. Each had something the other wanted: Wanderer had supreme intelligence and a cunning plan that Marcus could never hope to fully comprehend, and Marcus was loyal and skilled at commanding others. Unfortunately, Marcus recognized this basic foundation of their relationship, and Wanderer didn’t, so he treated Marcus like scum, like a lowlife demon off the streets.

Marcus could take the abuse though, since it was just words, and since, unlike other great demons over the eons, Wanderer realized that the true fight was not with each other, but with the Enemy. Joining with Wanderer and his immense intellect would lead all demons to victory, and then to real, lasting power on Earth for Wanderer and for all of his followers. And eventually, far in the future, maybe Marcus would take on Wanderer himself and usurp his authority—though Marcus hadn’t thought much about a time so far away. Best to wait until Wanderer reached the height of his power, and only then sting the wolf in the gut.

Wanderer was calming now, and pacing again, shaking his head. “I knew a Sanctuary was a bad idea. I knew it would backfire, even with an army inside it with you. I shouldn’t have let you talk me into it.”

“A Sanctuary was the only killing ground safe from the Judges’ prying eyes. Or so I thought. And what do you mean ‘backfire’?”

Wanderer hesitated, drew his wings closer to his body, and looked Marcus in the eyes. “You are loyal to me, yes?”

“Absolutely.”
Mostly.

“There are things about Sanctuaries that I haven’t told you, and I’m afraid I should explain them to you now, because they may impact part of my plan. The Enemy plays cruel games in them. He even lets some humans who die in the Sanctuaries live. You see, He uses Sanctuaries for purposes other than testing humans. He—”

“Wanderer. Stop with this nonsense. It’s common knowledge that Sanctuaries exist to test humans, and for that purpose alone. Humans who die in Sanctuaries stay dead. If this weren’t the case, what glory would Sanctuaries hold for us?”

Wanderer seemed unusually introspective at that. His eyes darted back and forth, nearly as jittery as the side of his mouth. But he said nothing, so Marcus continued: “What will you tell me next, that Sanctuaries exist for demons’ sake, as Thorn claimed before he died? I’m questioning whether I should still follow someone who would question truth the way you’ve just done. You can’t be serious.”

Wanderer looked down at the concrete floor, at the mop bucket, at a side passage that led into darkness. Then he turned back to Marcus and smiled his trademarked toothy smile. His whole demeanor relaxed. “No, of course I wasn’t serious. I was just testing your devotion to our cause, because I need you to do something very urgent and time-sensitive for me.”

Marcus nodded, eager to get down to business. “I thought so. Wanderer, I need no explanations; I never have. When you say, ‘Slay two demon lords at Thebes and you won’t be harmed,’ I will obey you. When you say, ‘Give a Roman Emperor a vision of the Enemy,’ I will obey you, even if it costs me my reputation throughout modern history.”

“Backfire” would be a gross understatement for
that
mess.
In fact, at the time, Marcus had hoped to play Xeres and Wanderer against each other so that Marcus himself would come out on top. But Wanderer didn’t need to know about any of that. “If you say something very urgent needs to be done now, I will obey you. I don’t need to know your plan, for I have seen your intellect used to level human cities and slaughter whole armies of angels. I have faith in you. You can have faith in me.”

Marcus’s old ally was smiling much wider now, buying everything he said. Marcus had always had Wanderer in the palm of his hand.

“This is a precaution, just to be safe,” Wanderer said. “It may not mean anything, but it may be of utmost importance. I need you to go into another Sanctuary and collect a few of its humans. Don’t kill them. Bring them to an isolated place in the Corridors where no one will ever find them, but keep them fed. Keep them alive.”

Marcus had meant what he’d said—he truly didn’t need to know why he was being sent on this strange mission—but the request did confuse him. “You want me to kidnap humans from a Sanctuary?”