Authors: Nic Widhalm
Hunter had quit struggling against the vines, his face turning a frightening purple. At his side, his hand flopped uselessly. The remaining woman and her two other companions surrounded the large Power, the female
Adonai’s
face
frozen in concentration while the two men held down Friskin’s massive shoulders.
As the two waves of attackers joined the scene, each focusing on one side of Friskin, the night exploded with light and sound. One of the men holding Hunter—a sandy-haired, middle-aged fellow in the same fantastic, GQ-model shape Jackie associated with all Apkallu—leapt at two of the incoming strangers, smashing into them with arms stretched wide and baring them to the ground. There was a sizzle of blue-white light from under the sandy-haired
Adonai,
and Jackie’s nose wrinkled as the sudden stench of burning flesh filled the air.
The
Adonai
holding Friskin’s arm
moved away from Hunter, and circled cautiously around the second wave of strangers. The
Adonai
sneered, then fainted to the stranger on the left and at the last moment pivoted, smashing against the attacker on his right. The three disappeared in a tangle of arms and legs and Jackie lost sight as they rolled to the other side of the ruined car.
“Who do we root for?” She asked in a low whisper.
“Hunter,” Valdis answered, face grim.
The remaining Virtue, her concentration broken and the vines falling from Hunter in limp strands, flung her hand toward the older, muscled leader, and the ground exploded beneath him. But in a move to fast for Jackie to follow, the older man leapt to the side, and while the Virtue was concentrating on the spot where he had stood a half-second ago, the squat, muscled man brought his elbow down on her head. There was a thick, wet
crack
, and the
Adonai
fell to the ground.
Before the muscled man could take another step, though, a sudden storm of dirt, trash, and twisted bits of metal filled the air. Through the tornado of debris Jackie could barely make-out the older man’s squinting eyes. Even though the wind roared about him, and pieces of gravel and glass tore at his exposed flesh, the older man’s lips were pulled back at the edges. He was grinning. Suddenly his hand snapped forward, the whirlwind ceased, and he was holding a slim, black-clad woman by the throat. Jackie recognized the woman—Karen. The one who’d approached Friskin when he first began to suspect what was happening. The same stunning woman Jackie had met in the bar several months ago, who’d taken Friskin and disappeared before her eyes. She felt a moment of guilty pleasure as the squat man—he must have been
Elohim
—slammed his hand into Karen’s perfect face.
Won’t be so damn pretty anymore.
Jackie grinned at the thought, but the feeling faded as she watched the older
Elohim
pound
his fist over and over into Karen’s struggling form. She wasn’t Karen’s biggest fan—she didn’t think she would ever be able to trust the
Adonai
after their meeting in the bar—but Jackie wouldn’t wish that beating on her worst enemy.
On the other side of Friskin, the sandy-haired
Adonai
had rolled off the two
Elohim
, a bloody rip running down his black shirt. As the two other men rose—one in a dark-green windbreaker, the other sporting a black cap and modern, clear glasses—the sandy-haired
Adonai
suddenly swept his leg out, knocking the man in the windbreaker back to the ground. Jackie watched as the
Adonai
leapt on the fallen man, raining
blow after thundering blow against the
Elohim’s
head. The man in glasses scrambled backwards and clapped his hands together. A deep, brassy rumble shook the parking lot.
The combatants raised their heads, the battle stilling for a moment, then turned their attention to the ground as the parking lot began to shake. A sharp, dry crack echoed through the cold night as a fissure erupted, racing across the parking lot and ending at the feet of the two struggling Apkallu.
Valdis sprang quickly to his feet. “Now,” he said.
“Now what?” asked Jackie.
Valdis nodded behind her, and Jackie turned just in time to see Bath sprinting toward the battle.
“Now we steal an angel.”
Hunter’s eyes opened on a scene from Dante’s Inferno. As the bitter, acrid air filled his lungs—lungs which Hunter had feared would never fill again—he heard the screams and cries of battle filling the air. They were familiar sounds, old friends he had heard his entire life, but for once they weren’t far off and distant. There was no red tint to the sky, no clash of metal on metal. This was the cry of the real, the here-and-now, the grunting, hacking, shrieking screams of men and women fighting for survival.
On Hunter’s left were two women struggling to hold back a black-clad man. Though most of the struggle was hidden from view by the wrecked car, it looked like the man was winning. To his right, another black-robed man was astride a figure in a green jacket, pounding his fists into a wet puddle of flesh that had once been the figure’s head. Next to him, a short man in glasses—whom Hunter recognized from the
Elohim
fortress—
brought his hands together with a sharp clap, and the ground rumbled in reply. Hunter jumped to his feet, registering only mild surprise that he was no longer restrained, and watched as a deep fissure raced across the ruined parking lot, intersecting a series of cars that sank into its depths with an explosion of burst tires, and met the Apkallu struggling on his right. Before he could think to intervene, all three—the man in glasses, the black-clad, sandy-haired stranger, and the one missing a head—disappeared in the fissure.
Hunter rushed to the side of the deep crack, looking for survivors, but all he saw was black. He thought he heard a faint cry from the dark depths, but it cut off before he could be certain. Hunter blinked, turning back to the chaos behind him. Everywhere he looked were figures fighting, clawing, screaming. He struggled to make sense of his surroundings, ignoring his protesting muscles. Who’s side was he on? Did he help the
Elohim
who, Hunter hoped, had come to save him? Or—suspecting as he did, that Mika’il wouldn’t let him live out the year—turn coat and join the
Adonai?
It was too much. Hunter’s head was pounding, his arms felt like two sandbags glued to his shoulders. All he wanted was to lie down and sleep for eighteen hours. He had to get out of this war-zone.
Hunter surveyed the parking lot, determined to run if he saw a chance, and saw a short, black man holding a girl by the throat. “Hash!” Hunter screamed. “Stop!”
“Stand
back,
” The older man ordered as Hunter ran toward him. Hash’s eyes were fixed on Karen’s limp body as he held the
Adonai
at
arm’s distance, several feet off the ground.
“No, Hash. God, please…no.” Hunter had stopped running, but continued inching closer toward his mentor. “Please. Let her go.”
Hash shot Hunter a look of disgust. “What’s wrong with you? She’s a
traitor
. You know that. I
taught you that!
”
Hunter said nothing, moving a step closer to the older
Elohim
. Hash’s eyes softened slightly, and he lowered Karen. “Look, kid, it’s going to—” Karen’s limp foot suddenly swung up and into Hash’s crotch. The Domination’s eyes rolled back and he let out an incoherent gurgle. Collapsing, he dropped Karen to the broken asphalt. The red-haired
Adonai
took a couple of deep breaths, then fell on Hash, her body blurring into motion.
“No!” Hunter yelled. He tried to get between them, but was brought up short as two sets of hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back. Ripping his arm free, Hunter turned and saw Valdis. He almost didn’t recognize the stooped priest; the old man had changed from his customary robes into a baggy, black hoodie and dark jeans. Holding Hunter by the other shoulder was a brown-haired woman who looked irritatingly familiar, but Hunter couldn’t place her.
“Let me—” Hunter began, but his voice was lost in a massive
BOOM
!
He dropped to the ground, followed immediately by the brown-haired woman and the priest. Chunks of pavement, rock, and a squishy substance Hunter didn’t want to think about, rained down on the small group. Risking a look, Hunter saw that the fissure only a few feet away had rocketed sideways, engulfing half of the parking lot. There were crashes of thunder from the fissure, and Hunter caught a glimpse of blue, flashing light, before he turned back to check on his companions.
Valdis was trembling, his eyes heavy and glazed, but the brown-haired woman looked alert. Hunter tried to place where he had seen her before. She had light brown hair that swept partly down her back, and was collected in a severe pony-tail; high, slightly protruding cheekbones; a tiny, squat nose that would have seemed out of place on a taller woman, but fit her short frame; and thin, creased lips that looked as though they spent most of their time in a frown. After all his time with the Apkallu she looked oddly normal, her features asymmetrical, disproportionate, and fully, obviously
human
.
“Quick, while they’re distracted,” the woman said, pushing herself to her feet. The priest followed, dazed and wobbly, and Hunter finally followed, his limbs leaden. The promise of night had settled fully, and the streetlights were casting crazed, monstrous shadows on the parking lot as the Apkallu continued to battle.
“You can’t stay.” Valdis said. “Either side will kill you.”
Hunter wanted to disagree. Arguments sprang easily to mind: Hash was his teacher, his mentor, his friend. He had warned Hunter about the threat from Mika’il, and had spent the last five weeks training him to harness his powers. Hash couldn’t betray him. But then he remembered the look in his old mentor’s eyes as he held Karen by the throat. Hash was fighting a war, and in every battle there were causalities. It was one of the first things he’d taught Hunter. Was Hunter an acceptable loss if it meant getting an edge on the
Adonai
?
And Karen? Hunter watched as she again shifted into a blurring whirlwind of feet and fists. She was keeping her distance from Hash, but every time the Domination tried to move one way or another she was there with a sharp blow, keeping the older man from regaining his feet. Hunter thought even in her moments of quick, blinding speed he could still make out those green eyes, and was transported back to that timeless moment in the
Adonai
sanctuary. “What’s happening to me?” Hunter had asked. And her response, “You’re rising.”
Had that moment just been part of his initiation? Some practiced, planned gesture of camaraderie designed to ease the transition into the christening? Hunter wanted to believe it was something more, but even if that were the case, which Karen was here tonight? If Hunter joined her would she welcome him, or return him to Bath?
He looked back at the slumped priest, and the frowning, brown-haired woman. He had put his faith in Valdis twice, and the priest had yet to let him down. And the woman…well, if the priest could trust her that would have to be good enough for now.
“Let’s get the hell out,” Hunter said with finality, turning his back on the Apkallu and sprinting for the edge of the parking lot.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The emergency phone woke Russ Hasfeld at three A.M with a loud, pulsing screech. It was programmed that way on purpose, guaranteed to wake him no matter how many beers he’d thrown back the night before. It seemed like a good idea at the time—an “emergency phone” he kept at home. He only gave the number to a few of his closest friends—just in case—but this was the first time anyone had bothered to call it. Russ was already regretting the ringtone.
Climbing groggily from bed, he stumbled through the dark room, avoiding pitfalls of piled clothes, and finally reaching the cabinet that held the offending phone. Rubbing his eyes, blinking, Russ pulled open the cabinet drawer and grabbed the slim phone, flicking it open.
“Hasfeld,” he said, his voice thick and slow.
“Russ. Thank Christ.”
“Jackie?” Russ’ voice rose in surprise, cracking a little. He coughed, forgetting to remove the phone, and heard Jackie curse.
“Jesus Fucking Christ, how many have you had today?”
Russ frowned, trying to remember. “It’s Sunday, Jack.”
“Whatever. I don’t have time to give you a lecture on the limits of the human liver. I’m in trouble, Russ.”
His sleepiness disappeared instantly. “Where are you? Are you close? Armed?”
“Yeah,” Jackie’s voice wavered slightly. “I have my Beretta. But it’s not that kind of trouble, it’s…God. It’s just been a shitty month, you know?”
Russ sighed, tapping the phone against his temple. “Look, Jack, I know you’re still pissed about the suspension. I just want you to know that I had nothing—”
“I don’t care about
that
,” Jackie cut him off. “Listen, I need you to meet me at the Amber Grove in twenty minutes. You think you can manage that?”