Hellsbane 01 - Hellsbane (19 page)

“Welcome, honored seekers of the coming new faith.” His voice echoed through the room like an emcee at a wrestling match.

I knew that voice.
Bariel
. The demon Tommy had chased on Mount Washington. He was right—the bastard did work for his angelic father. This close, I could smell the brimstone floating around him like a cloud. His eyes were normal, no sign of the demon slit pupil he’d revealed on the overlook.

The crowd erupted in applause. I clapped along with the rest, but I couldn’t keep my focus. Worry jolted through my system, but something else sent my brain off-kilter. My belly quivered. I realized the sensation had been building since I ducked under the rope, and I’d been ignoring it. The weird feeling was stronger now, and rapidly growing more intense.

I clutched my arm around my waist. My stomach pitched and rolled like my insides had hitched a ride on the mother of all roller coasters. I was going to be sick. Where was it coming from? I scanned the people at my table, then the tables around us.

They couldn’t
all
be nephilim, could they? But I knew from the strength of the nausea rolling through me that they were. More than four hundred unknowing nephilim in one spot. Why? What would a Fallen angel want with nephilim? A chilling thought iced through me. Could he be preparing a preemptive strike?

“Are you okay?” my tablemate behind me asked. He leaned over my shoulder, his hand light on my back.

I nodded. “Just feeling a little nauseous.”

“That happens to some people when they’re touched by Arch Hubert for the first time.”

“Arch? As in archangel?” That took balls.

I glanced back at my tablemate, and he nodded. He was a thin man with hair plugs all over his male-pattern baldness. He was wearing a burnt rose-colored Sherwani jacket with the same fancy gold trim as our demon emcee, Bariel. They both looked like they’d stepped out of a Bollywood movie. In fact, now that I noticed, most of the men in the nephilim section were wearing the Sherwani jackets.
Must be a fad.

“No one touched me,” I said, the roller-coaster sensation easing as my body grew used to the nearness of so many of my kindred species.

“Not physically,” he said. “I meant when he touches our minds. Didn’t you feel it?”

I shook my head, a cold wash of fear settling in my gut where the nausea had been. Was it possible for a Fallen to scan the minds of all these people without even being in the room? If he’d read my mind, then he knew I was here to kill him.
Not good
.

“This your first time?” my tablemate whispered.

“Yeah. Why?”

“It’s just strange. You paid three hundred bucks and you’ve never been enriched? I’m surprised they allowed you to skip the induction level.”

Three hundred?
So there were preferred tickets on top of the preferred tickets? “I’ve got connections. They told me this was, uh, life altering,” I said.

My balding tablemate nodded, his eyes glancing to the stage as Bariel assured the crowd they should feel honored that they were about to be in the presence of the greatness that was Arch Richard Hubert.

“That explains why you didn’t feel him touch your mind,” the nephilim said. “You’re not pure enough yet. The induction cleanses the everyday mortal filth from your psyche. A pure soul like Arch Hubert can’t touch a filthy mind. You really should do the induction first.”

First? Before what?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. “Is there someone who can help me with the induction?”

He perked. “I can. Or, well, I should be able to after today’s session. I’m a Dominion. After today I hope to advance to Throne. Most people at this table are barely Powers. I think a few are only Virtues. I can feel it. Can you?”

I gave him a serious, wrinkled-brow nod.
Sure I can
.
Whatever
. I had no clue what he was talking about. “So Dominions can’t do inductions?”

“Of course not,” he said. “Only Thrones, Cherubim, and Seraphim have the purity and advanced enlightenment to perform an induction.”

“Wait a second.” Dominion, Powers, Cherubim, Seraphim, those were in the Bible. They were all orders of angels. “You’re working to become angels?”

“At least. Most of us have ascended beyond that rank…I mean, those of us on this side of the rope.” He laughed, glancing at the poor saps in the back of the room. I didn’t like him as much anymore. “Of course, not everyone has the intellect to ascend. Most humans will never be even the lowest angel. The induction weeds them out.”

“Arch Hubert touches the minds of everyone who’s been inducted?” I asked.

His smile turned conspiratorial. “That’s what we’re paying him for. He touches our minds to get us ready for the enrichment. Sort of opens us up, makes our bodies more receptive. The friend who got you the seat didn’t tell you any of this?”

I shook my head. “Wanted it to be a surprise.” I smiled. “I’m surprised.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet. I feel twenty years younger. And the things I can do…”

He was a nephilim, but what he was describing were illorum powers. I caught a glimpse of his wrist. No mark. How was that possible?

His gaze slid to the stage, eyes going wide and glassy. “Here he comes.”

I stood with everyone else, a rush of adrenaline charging through the crowd like a wave crashing on the shore. I could feel the power of their excitement thrumming through my veins, tightening my chest.

The room thundered with applause as the man from the website strolled onstage—Fallen angel Arch Richard Hubert. The illorum mark on my wrist burned, flames shooting up my arm, stinging through my brain. I clenched my jaw, kept my scream trapped inside.
Bastard
. My friggin’ wrist hurt.

“Thank you. Thank you,” he said into the headset microphone. The gizmo hooked over his ear, a stiff wire, barely visible, wrapping around his cheek to the corner of his mouth. His perfect, white-toothed smile beamed, plumping his apple cheeks. Cobalt-blue eyes glistened, brilliant beneath the intense lights.

He wore the same Sherwani-style jacket as the other men, the golden material fluttering around his knees against matching churidar pants. Delicate pale green embroidery wove around turquoise stones and Indian sapphires, sparkling down the center of his jacket, around the stiff collar, and at the ends of both long sleeves.

“I have to tell you,” he said. “I have to tell you, my heart is filled to overflowing to see so many striving for a better existence, striving to find the truth beneath the lies your soul has been fed for eons.”

Another uproar of applause drowned out his “Amen” and “Thank you.” Most people probably only saw him mouth the words. He nodded, raising his hand in acceptance of their accolades.

The man worked the stage like a virtuoso, strolling from one end to the other, making eye contact with the besotted nephilim down front, then coming around center stage to throw a few charming glances to the cheap seats.

His long, curling hair shimmered in the harsh lights, pulled to a ponytail at the base of his neck. The light sugar-cookie color was so much like Tommy’s, and the thought pinched my chest. Anger kindled in the pit of my stomach. He was tall like Tommy, too, but then it seemed the larger height was a common trait among angels.

“Now,” he said, his gaze scanning the darkness at the back of the hall. “I know why you’re here. I know you’ve heard the rumors. People whispering about how their life turned around. How after an hour worshipping at Faith Harvest Church, they felt better than they had in years. You’re curious. Suspicious. Disbelieving.”

The hum of voices softly admonishing those people rose up around me, like a kettle of water brought to a simmer. The nephilim seemed as much a part of the sermon as Hubert.

“We at Faith Harvest Church welcome your doubt. We encourage your questioning intellect. The intelligent mind thrives on reason and logic. At Faith Harvest Church, we don’t just want to enrich your soul, but your body and mind as well.”

Another burst of applause deafened me, my tablemates whooping and whistling. Hubert’s smile brightened. He’d expected the reaction, planned for it, and when the applause had gone on long enough, he took a breath to speak, and all went silent in anticipation.

He was larger than life up on that stage, his voice a smooth satin caress over the audience. They’d have done anything to have his attention. They would’ve done anything he asked. The angel’s voice was like a long drink of wine, relaxing tense muscles, buzzing the human mind, and I had to fight to keep my thoughts focused.

“And how do we do that, you might ask.” He paused, wringing every ounce of dramatic effect out of the pregnant air. Soft murmurs hummed over our heads from the seats farther back, the audience’s curiosity stirring.

Hubert smiled. “We don’t.”
Pause. Pause. Pause.
“You do.”

The nephilim jumped to their feet, cheering. Upbeat organ music piped a joyous beat through the speakers. But this time, Hubert’s microphone overcame the noise.

“You do,” he repeated. “The power is in you.” The cheers grew louder. An unseen choir joined the organ music, singing praise to a beautiful new day. He strolled the stage, tossing a small wave to this person or that, clasping his hands at his mouth as if praying—he wasn’t—as the noise level softened, both real voices as well as piped music.

The excitement calmed, and people found their seats again.

“At Faith Harvest Church,” he said, when all was quiet, “we show you how to find that power. It’s there inside each of you, waiting to be tapped, waiting to fill you, to move you to a better level of existence. Because you were all meant to be…so much more. So much more.” He shook his head, lowering his gaze, feigning sadness.
Oh, he was good
.

“We’ve all experienced it, right?” he said. “The supreme power of the human mind. Precognition. Déjà vu. What about the power of will? How many times have you prayed and prayed and prayed for something…and then it happened?”

The back of the room rumbled softly, sounding like they weren’t sure they wanted to follow where he was leading.

“We’re always so eager to give the credit away. Oh, I didn’t do that. I’m just human,” he said, scoffing. “Exactly. You
are
human, and the power…is in you. The power is in you!”

The people at the front of the room were on their feet again, the cheers louder than any explosion before. Their utter belief in his words was like a force in itself, pushing the rest to believe as well, swirling and rising and filling us. I could feel their angelic power. Could they? Did they know that unearthly sensation was coming from them?

“How about the power to heal?” Hubert said. “A man suffering from terminal cancer meets the girl of his dreams. He decides he won’t die of cancer and the tumors go away. How? The power was in him.

“How about the woman in a horrific car accident, losing vital blood by the second, but she doesn’t die. She refuses. She won’t leave her little girl trapped in the backseat alone. She holds on until help arrives. How?”

“The power was in her,” the closer group murmured around me.

“That’s right,” Hubert said, his voice soft, cajoling. “The power was in her. Just like it is in you. And you. And you. And all of you.” He swept his arm across the crowd. “You’ve seen it. You’ve tasted it. You know it’s there, or you wouldn’t be here asking about it, how to tap into it, how to let it elevate you to a higher state of consciousness.”

The way he spoke, the sound of his voice, the cadence—it was getting to me. I blinked, realizing my thoughts were slowing, like walking in thigh-deep water. I wasn’t bothered by the sensation, and that bothered me. I shook my head, tried to clear the stroke of his warm liquid voice from my head.

“He’s hypnotizing everyone,” I said.

My tablemate shushed me, and I glanced back to see him staring like an eager puppy at the Fallen angel onstage. This had to stop.

“Humans were meant to be more. The proof has been around you since the beginning of time,” Hubert said. “Your ancestors saw it, wrote about it in their holy books…”

“Angels!” a nephilim yelled from across the room.

Hubert snapped in his direction, pointing. “That’s right. Angels. The perfection of the human spirit. Pure soul. Perfect health. Eternal life. The goal of human evolution, the highest level of existence. And you have the power within you to rise to it.”

“How?” someone yelled from the cheap seats, and the forward crowd rumbled with understanding laughter.

“I’ll tell you how,” Hubert said. “By letting go of the limitations of mortal life. This is not your first time around. No. Your soul has ridden this mortal coil time and again, striving to rise above it. And every time, the trials and disappointments of living break you down, hold you back, make you believe you can’t reach the heights your soul aches to achieve.”

Reincarnation?
“Seriously?” I murmured.

My tablemate shushed me again. I was really starting to dislike him.

“These people here have done it.” He pointed to the preferred section, his finger swinging over my table and back the other way. “I’ve done it.”

Hubert pointed to the back of the room. “You can do it. Right now.”

Applause echoed across the large room, more subdued. Those in front mildly happy for those in the back, those in the back unsure what he meant.

Bariel stepped onstage again, crossing to stand in center stage, microphone in hand. Hubert lowered his head as though meditating, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Blessed are you mortal men, for you are in the presence of an archangel,” Bariel said. “Feel him stir the power within you.”

The Fallen exhaled loudly into his headset, his shoulders heaving with the effort. All at once his head snapped back, his arms flying out to his sides. The spotlight brightened, or maybe it was him, and the crowd gasped.

A moment later, soft moans floated forward from the cheap seats. Someone fainted off his chair and then another.

“Oh my God!” someone cried.

“Not God,” Bariel said.

The cries and soft cooing quieted, and Hubert slowly lowered his arms, straightened, opening his eyes. “That was only a taste of what the coming new faith can bring you.”