The Bastard (22 page)

Sela blinked. Talents more than she knew? What could that mean?

“I really hate doublespeak,” Vike snarled.

Gabriel’s cold-fire eyes locked on him. “Your irreverence is noted, warrior.”

“Yeah?” Nomad cupped his crotch. “Note this, Cupid.”

Sela kept her face stoic but inside, she rolled with laughter. Her men had no qualms about showing their disrespect for her brethren and their passion delighted her. This was what drew her to them — their zest, their fearlessness, their absolute refusal to follow the mindless throng of public opinion. Tenacity was as deadly as steel and confidence more powerful than explosives. Her warriors embodied both.

“What the hell kind of announcement is that?” Rex threw up his hands. “If you want to announce something, tell us how we can find any live Scion before Samael does.”

“I did.” Light flashed and Gabriel was back in his sweatshirt and jeans. “Obey and believe, jerkwad.”

“Behave.” Sela smacked his shoulder. No one disrespected her men, not even her fellow Vangelus.

Gabe settled his long frame back on the couch. “So was that the Scionim? Her biscuits were great.”

Unease vibrated in Sela’s bones. Heaven had a traitor. Her soul cringed, but she had to admit one of her kind had turned. She had no idea who it may be. Gabriel’s faith was strong, embedded into his very core. But then, Michael had had faith as well and still he’d betrayed her. She sent a silent prayer that the traitor wasn’t Gabe. She’d lost one friend because of deceit, she couldn’t lose another.

“Are you here to help?”

The look he settled on her was softly chastising. “You know I can’t fight with you. The other Vangelus are forbidden to assist on the mortal plane until Armageddon breaks. Michael’s Righteous have begun battling the Soul-Leeches here on Earth.”

“So I heard.” Sela shot a warning glare at Nomad. “My men gave them some instructions.”

Gabe’s mouth twitched. “Not enough. They’ve got a lot to learn. Why don’t you talk with him, work something out between you two?”

Always a dreamer
. Futility dried her mouth. Nothing was impossible under the Creator of All, but she was a lesser being with faults and shortcomings. She didn’t have it in her to forgive Michael the pain he’d inflicted.

She knew no boundaries in battle. She’d use her body, her mind, her spirit. Wield a gun or a sword or a flamethrower. If she must, she’d face Samael alone and strip naked to save her men, but there was no way she could ever forgive Michael.

“That can never be again.” She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Don’t be a stranger, Gabe.”

“Wait. We have the same ultimate goal so…” He scratched behind his ear, his eyes darting to Zale. “Can we talk in private? Without traitors listening?”

Zale’s spine jerked straight. His scowl never changed as he whipped around and headed toward the gym. Sela cringed. Gabe was like a small boy. He loved to pick at scabs until they bled. Picked scabs left a scar that might fade, but never disappeared. “You just love to peck at him.”

“Habit.” Gabe grinned.

“Break that habit. Leave him alone. He’s paid for his crimes.”

“Those in Paradise perhaps, but the ones he committed on this plane disgust me. Children are precious to Heaven and yet the Creator allows him to breathe. I don’t understand it.”

Unable to defend what she herself did not understand, Sela opted to deflect. “None can know the reasons for the Creator’s mercy. It is enough that the mercy is given.”

“I suppose.” Gabe sighed. “But now that he’s gone… Michael said something that reminded me Samael always was a twisted shit. He can’t resist the irony of mocking sacred places. The more sacred, the better.”

The truth of it sank into her bones. Of course. Samael simply couldn’t resist thumbing his nose at various human religions. Using their sacred remains to hide his stolen arsenal was just his type of perversity.

“Tzion,” Sela breathed.

“It sounds extremely logical to me. There must be several places.” The younger Vangeli stood and embraced her. “I better get back. Good tidings. I wish you victory.”

For a few seconds, Sela allowed herself to soften, to rest her head on his shoulder and remember happier times of friendship and ease. He smelled of home, the light sweet fragrance of pure peace. Her eyes burned and she forced her spine to straighten before her men could see her weakness.

Gabriel settled his kaleidoscope gaze on Nomad. “Qayin, have you a message for anyone? Your brother, perhaps?”

Nomad didn’t blink. “If I want to send a message, I’ll use Gmail.”

Countless holy places dotted the globe. Samael could have chosen any of them, or none of them, to store his sleeping horde. Sela hedged her bets and headed for the big one. Jerusalem was a collision of the past and present, wrapped in the religious history of three major factions. As far as Vike was concerned, it should be wiped off the map. Thankfully, they were able to bypass most of the pilgrims and devout practitioners. Their destination wasn’t exactly the Dome of the Rock, it was more the bowels of the mountain.

Political interference was a hidden blessing. Few scholars or historians were permitted to dig beneath the sacred Mount any more. Their long abandoned tunnels opened far from the city streets and provided a pathway underground. Sela led the way. They’d drawn straws and Nomad had gotten the short stick, staying behind to guard Lacy and a still-sleeping Dray. He’d grumbled that Vike had rigged it. He had.

A pristine Holy light shrouded Sela, the halo illuminating walls of rock and long forgotten aqueducts far better than any flashlight or lantern. Characters etched into stone read like a backward timeline, the freshest in modern languages but tapering to ancient letters, pictures and glyphs as the hours passed. Fallen rocks, cracked timbers, and huge stones fell away with a blow from Sela’s fiery sword.

Occasionally the pathway was too perilous for might and they had to use slower muscle and sweat to break through. Each step took them further into the Earth. Dust coated them all, dulling their black shirts and BDUs to a gray ash-like color. Air grew thinner, nearly non-existent the lower they descended. Heat pressed in and coated them with a fine sheen.

“Now I know what a gopher feels like,” Myth chuckled.

“More like a worm, squiggling through a grave.” Rex scowled and swiped at his shirt.

Vike paused to mop the sweat from his face as Zale broke through a crumpled rock barrier. As soon as the opening was large enough for a man to enter, Sela’s light fell across hundreds of soul-boxes. A burn erupted between Vike’s shoulders seconds before his eyes registered movement. Imprisoned Soul-Leeches descended like locust.

Sela yelled a wordless battle cry, hefted her blade high and charged. Vike couldn’t spare the time to watch her fight. He had four Leeches barreling at him. From the first swing of his axe and the first swipe of his sword, he ceased to think. He became the battle. Crimson flooded his sight, his blood boiling in a Berserker’s cauldron.

Soul-Leeches were raised from sleep by corrupted Vangeli powers and so they were weaker than any of the Awoken. Although bullets had no effect, killing them with a blade was no more difficult than killing a human. But their sheer numbers could turn the tide.

Blood sprayed, slicking the stone and peppering the soul-boxes. Vike was sure some of it was his but grim satisfaction made him laugh. Most of it was Leech blood. It turned to dust if it remained in their bodies upon death, but the Forsaken made sure plenty was spilled before they were reduced to ash. Vike grew drunk on the scent, the copper taste of it in the air. Norse storytellers, the skalds, had dubbed him the Artist of War and Wetter of Swordplay. He reveled in the title now as his blade chomped through the neck of one attacker with enough force to send the head sailing against the rock wall.

Rex whooped a maniacal cackle as his
gladius
skewered one female Leech. A second jumped on his back, but he grabbed her hair and swung her to the ground, driving his sword into her face. Sword in one hand, war fork in the other, Zale was poetry and punishment in one body. He never moved without blood spewing before him or a body sailing from his path. Myth stood like a pillar, his
khopeshes
spinning like a lethal butterfly. The sickle-swords were extensions of his arms and felled anything that came close.

Her blazing sword cutting a swath through bone and muscle, Sela was a deadly dancer to a murderous melody. Every cut on her skin healed before the blade could fall again, but even she was covered in wet scarlet, hers and their enemies. A hot slice split Vike’s cheek, but he felt no pain. Bloodlust gripped him and he snarled, downing three with a mighty swing of his axe. Bits of muscle flew up and splattered his face but he didn’t break to wipe it away.

The battle raged. Time had no meaning. It could have lasted minutes or days. Vike only knew the tide was turning. Stepping became as treacherous as the flying blades. Rex tripped over a fist-sized rock. His combat boots couldn’t find a grip on the blood-soaked and dust covered floor. He face-planted it. Two huge Leeches lunged for him. Vike screamed and hurled his axe, catching one in the back of the head. Rex spun on the ground and rammed his pugio up and through the second’s throat.

A punch knocked the air from Vike’s chest. He jabbed his sword to the left even as red flew from his lips and his thighs grew wet. An attacker collapsed, his left arm flopping beside him. Both body and arm turned to dust. Dizziness crashed into him and Vike looked down. His intestines hung like an unbuckled belt. Sound faded under the thump of his pulse. Warm, dripping flesh filled his hand as he cupped what he thought might be his stomach.

Myth whirled close, his spinning blades mowing Leeches like grass in his wake. His mouth moved but Vike couldn’t hear what was said. Pain hadn’t set in yet, but he gritted his teeth, knowing it was coming. Sela turned her head at Myth’s shout. Her eyes widened and she nodded once, but her sword never slowed. It seared a Leech in half.

A huge dark hand, its palm so creamy by comparison, swiped Vike’s face. “Stay awake, Viking. Leap with me. Two Leaps, got it? One to the tunnel entrance, four steps and Leap home. Medi-room patio. Do you hear?”

A burn started in his gut. The pain was coming. Vike nodded, closed his eyes and let Myth help him Leap. As the battle faded, Vike thought only of Lacy. He couldn’t leave her like this.

Lacy jumped, her breath catching in her throat when Dray shot upright on the bed. Fear and pain carved into his face with harsh lines. Dropping the scrub rag, she hurried to his side. “Dray? Are you okay?”

His skin was still pale, sweat rolling from his forehead in rivets. His frantic eyes darted around until they landed on her, focused then narrowed. “Can you hand me my pants?”

“I don’t think you should be running around yet.”

“Tell that to my Mark,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. I need to get downstairs.” He gave her a cocky grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Honey, either hand me some pants or be ready to applaud because I’ve got to piss like a racehorse.”

She quickly grabbed a pair of pants off the floor and tossed them in the general direction of the bed. He had no modesty, shoving the sheet away and tugging the black BDUs over his bandaged thigh. Pain knotted his forearms as he stood.

Lacy prepared to catch him if he fell. Dray wobbled before he limped to the bathroom. He didn’t bother to close the door as he stood in front of the toilet. Lacy stared at the handprint burn and crucified dragon tattoo on his back until the sound penetrated her mind. She turned her head as he urinated. Men had no shame.

“I’m almost done with the living room. I tried not to make too much noise. I think your carpet is a goner, though. I doubt even shampooing it will save it.”

A flush and a zipper’s whiz sounded. “Not surprised. What’s gone on since I fell asleep?”

He tugged socks and boots on his feet but left them unlaced. Lacy smoothed the bed linens as he finished dressing. “Nothing that I know of. Erik basically pushed me in the elevator and told me to stay put. Sela’s brother seemed to make everyone on edge.”

Dray froze, his shirt half-on and unbuttoned. “Which brother?”

“She has more than one? This was Gabe.”

“Shit,” he muttered. His shirt hung open as he headed for the dresser. Lacy’s heart galloped when he pulled out three small daggers. Two he shoved in his boots, the last was tucked in the back of his pants. Metal grated on metal as he jammed a loaded clip into a handgun and stuck it in his pocket.

“Stay here. I’ll be back when I make sure everything is okay.”

She trailed him from the bedroom. “Erik came up several hours ago and said they had to go check something out. Nomad is supposed to be in the medi-room. Dray, what’s going on?”

“Probably nothing but I need to be sure.” He limped to the door and looked over his shoulder, concern radiating from his face. “You took care of me, something no one has done in a very long time. Let me do the same. Wait here until I come back.”

The door closed, leaving Lacy staring at a dartboard that had dry-rotted. Her lip thumped from biting it, so she did what she’d always done in times of stress. She cleaned the kitchen. Her mind raced as she scrubbed and bleached. She trusted Erik, and with him, the men he surrounded himself with, but suspicions crept in at the oddest times. No matter what he said, he didn’t work for any type of security firm.

Using a table knife to scrape dried purple gunk off the counter, she let the truth sink in. Erik and his team operated outside the law. How far outside she couldn’t say. Maybe they were gang members, maybe they were mob, she didn’t know. She hadn’t caught any anti-American vibes from them or she’d suspect terrorists. She just knew in her bones that they weren’t totally bad. Or totally good.

There was a handgun in the fridge. She stared inside a bag from a Chinese restaurant with its container of hairy eggrolls and a lethal weapon. These men lived like they were at war. Myth’s apartment had been tidy, just needing a dust and vacuum, but he’d had knives and guns stashed everywhere. Rex had porn and knives beside his bed and porn and guns in the living room. His kitchen was porn free but the array of pills in small jars had made her blink. Nomad didn’t bother hiding anything. Guns, swords and knives were in easy reach on every conceivable surface.