Seal of Solomon (Journeyman Book 2) (26 page)

“Well that cuts out two thirds of the potentials; we stand a much better chance for success now.”

“Yet, we still must wait,” Paimon stated.

“Indeed,” Ronove concurred.

The group became quiet again, tension palpable. Regardless, this was going to be another waiting game. Keli’s anger grew at this fact. Again she was being forced to wait on Gage to make a move and monsters could use this to challenge her authority or even break the alliances.

“Have Whittingham monitor all activity coming out of New York,” Keli ordered, “and filter through it carefully since their little gathering is taking place. I’m sure any action against us would come out of there and we do not want to chance missing a single thing.”

“Of course Your Grace,” said Astaroth. “I will head back now to make sure it is done.” He rose and took his leave, walking out of the decimated room.

“Do not talk to the door!” warned Ronove. When no answer came he also took leave to guarantee Astaroth wasn't about to destroy them all.

Paimon rose last, about to depart when Keli stopped him. “Paimon, I would be lying if I said I was anything but disappointed that there is no progress with the Lodge. In fact, I could be borderline upset. Not that I blame either of your more or less than the other, you understand. However, I need you to keep an eye out on Astaroth for me… make sure he is loyal.”

Paimon did not like being lumped into the same category of failure as Astaroth was, but conceded to monitor him. “Is there anything else you would have me do, Your Grace?”

Her answer did not come right away, forming slowly as she surveyed the damages to the room. She ran a hand along the stone that had nearly struck her earlier and then looked to Paimon. He would never admit it, but he was uneasy about the next words that would come out of her mouth.

“Considering the Journeymen are responsible for the destruction here, I only think it fair that we return the favor.” She rose, walking over to one of the end tables, removing a dagger from the topmost drawer. She turned it in her hand as she continued, the tip placed firmly against her index finger. Out came the tiniest drop of blood, which she licked off. “There is a Journeyman base located just west of Portland, in the town of Forest Grove.”

“Yes I know of it,” he said. “It was one of the first places we raided for clues about their vaults earlier this year.”

“One and the same. I would think that place is of no further use to us, correct?”

Paimon was hesitant to say anything more, but did so. “Yes, we have all the information we need from there.”

“Well then,” she said calmly. “Eradicate it.”

“Your Grace?” said Paimon, stunned.

“Did I stutter? I think an earth elemental would be just fine. We do have one of those, right?”

Did she not recall the level of destruction in Durango, caused just by the Ifrit? An elemental would cause at least twice the destruction if not more, being noticed by the both the Journeymen and human population alike.

Paimon believed she was playing their hands too early, but had no choice. His suit caught on fire, burning away as his demonic armor materialized out of thin air. The metal groaned as it came in contact with the cool air and within seconds, the Hell Knight stood before her.

“As you command.”

ASTAROTH HAD RELAYED
Keli’s orders to the command center and all demon eyes were now watching New York City like a flock of vultures, waiting for the smallest bit of carrion to appear. With those immediate duties done, his attention returned to figuring out a way to bring Dajjal to the Earth.

In an attempt to clear his head, full of scenarios – none of which were easily performed – he killed time by walking alone down the distressed corridors of the lower levels. It was quiet and moldy there, the walls damp as his fingers ran over the cold stone. That’s when he overheard a healthy rant coming out of one of the old patient examination rooms down the hall. Its solid door had been shut tight, but there were obviously people inside.

Slinking up, he casually scoped the area to see if anyone was coming. Both directions were clear, so he pressed himself right up against the door and listened. Inside, a couple of lessers were talking aggravatingly about some persistent American biker, a guy by the name of Wilson Drake in some Podunk town. Apparently, he would continually plague them with ridiculous requests to serve as the basis of a pact. From what Astaroth could gather, there were no active contracts, the unseen demons neglecting to agree to any terms, so he got a wild, but doable, idea.

He turned and made his way back upstairs.

From the darkness Paimon emerged, once again dressed in a formal suit. Having watched and listened with his own devices, his counterpart’s plans were slowly coming to light, but he needed more evidence before taking it to Keli.

As Astaroth approached the base of the stairwell, Paimon reached into his pocket and brought out a small, mosquito-like creature.

“Go,” he directed before slinking back to the shadows.

It hovered there for a moment before buzzing off toward the red haired demon. Catching up to him, it landed softly on his clothes just as he disappeared from Paimon’s view of the landing. Quickly, the creature secreted a small amount of blood through its proboscis, using the liquid to draw out a small tracking ward in the fabric.

Once Astaroth reached the top of the stairs, he rounded the corner into the passage leading to the command center. He paused just ahead of the doors and swiftly smacked a hand across his right shoulder, killing the bug instantly. Bringing his hand forward, he looked down at its broken body as the remaining blood formed a small pool in his palm.

“Oh Paimon,” he said ominously. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

ASTAROTH BORE A LOOK
of confidence, far more than he had brought to their first visit.

“I can have you parlay directly with a desperate human,” he said to Dajjal via the inferno. “I will work to make sure the deal is struck with you alone and not with a lesser. This is currently our best hope of bringing you here, my Lord.”

The flames churned intimidatingly before the response came. “Very well.”

Astaroth was seated on a pile of brittle ceiling tiles and magazines, scattered in the middle of a stale building. Rows upon rows of crumpled supermarket shelves had been blasted out to either side in a rough circular pattern. Shafts of sunlight poured in through the broken ceiling, lighting the rusted girders and dust ridden shopping carts still clinging desperately to their former purpose. They were defunct, just like the line of grimy cash registers posted toward the front of the store.

There, behind register seven lay the body of a boy, soaked through with blood. He had to be no more than eleven, dressed in a uniform that was worn at a nearby school; a clean cut had been drawn across his neck.

Astaroth and Dajjal had continued their plotting for at least an hour when a loud
crack
and the alluring smell of brimstone indicated that company had arrived. As expected, Paimon had followed the trace and appeared in the forsaken market.

Cautiously, he strolled between the still standing aisles in his decorative armor. He continued on his way toward the strong auburn light of the swirling blaze. There, under the formidable heat, he expected to ambush Astaroth, yet when he arrived no one was there to greet him. Paimon was at a loss, removing his helmet before taking a step closer to examine the anomaly.

As he did, it felt like ice rushed through veins.

“Ah,” came Astaroth’s assertive voice from behind. “There you are, better late than never. I found your pesky little friend, by the way. Good thing too, else I fear the circumstances would have been quite different.”

Paimon attempted to turn in order to face him, but found that he couldn't. The helmet fell from his grasp and hit the ground with a
clang
. He should have known better and was ensnared, limbs literally frozen in place by some hidden ward.

Trying to speak, he found the words extremely excruciating to express, as if shards of glass were piercing his throat with every syllable. “You…are a… traitor,” he croaked, unable to breathe. He started choking on his own spit.

“Traitor?” Astaroth replied, faking surprise. “No, no. You’ll find that I have only worked to preserve the integrity of demon kind.”

Paimon continued struggling, trying to answer. Fluid was filling his throat.

“Ah ah ah! Can't have you kicking the bucket just yet my friend,” he said, slapping Paimon hard across the back.

The strike cleared Paimon's airway, though his voice grew rough. “Lies…” he forced out. “Deception…”

“The only thing deceiving you is your faith in Keli as a leader of any sort.” Astaroth circled around to Paimon's front, tossing the dead body of his spy into the fire. “I see now what Baal meant by his words, but enough of that! We are on the cusp of new leadership, stronger leadership. It shall be as glorious as it once was with Eligos!”

“You… can’t trust…”

“Oh, so you are aware of who is coming?” he queried, actually impressed. “I would ask you how you managed to figure it out, but you seem a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

Paimon strained to move, cracking some of his bones under the spell. He cried out in agony.

“Boo hoo,” Astaroth taunted, reveling in the situation. He reached down and grabbed Paimon’s fallen helm, walking back out of view to one of the shelves. There he grabbed up three leather satchels, each tied off with white thread. Kneeling right where he stood, he opened the first and dumped the wings of twenty-five fairies into the helm. Chunks of skin were still attached to ends, which looked more ripped off than precision cut. From the second came the water from a kappa’s head, mixed thoroughly with its twice the volume of blood. Lastly, the powdered bones of a nian made their way into the bowl from the third.

“
Magna oblitero,
” he said while rising, clasping the now full bowl in his hands. The contents gave a warm feel through the metal before sparking with faint hits of electricity. The engine had been primed, just needing some juice to kick off. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to find these materials?” Astaroth asked before remembering that Paimon couldn't see him from where he was standing. “Oh sorry, I forgot about that. Well, it's not important for you to know anyway.”

The Hell Knight grew ever more nervous, shivering within his armor as Astaroth set the packed helmet underneath the inferno. Paimon could not look down at it, his view locked straight ahead to the raging reds and yellows. There he saw a figure formed within the fire, in the shape of a man but greater. A tear managed to wrestle itself free from his left eye, but was frozen no more than halfway down his cheek.

Astaroth advanced, positioning himself face to face with the imprisoned Knight. He had gotten so close that they could have kissed.

“I cannot say how much pleasure I take in seeing you standing there in front of me, unable to do anything,” Astaroth said with rampant delight. “Humbling isn’t it Paimon, when one gets the upper hand over someone so insufferably conceited? Especially someone in a soulless ginger host.” He moved closer to Paimon, actually touching noses, and could see the sweat trying desperately to form in his pores. “Enough frivolity, I think it's time I reintroduced you to our leader,” Astaroth said with a large grin, inching himself away to a safe distance. “My Lord, he's yours.”

For a passing second Paimon thought that he could feel his extremities again, but the sensation was so distant he couldn't grab hold. Left with no other choice, he watched the shape in the flames grow, threatening to consume him whole.

The store shook, rattling to its very foundations while the ceiling plunged in great slabs around them. Astaroth summoned his shield and made his way over to shelter as a guttural language resounded out of the vortex and into the clouds of dirt. As each of the demonic words came then went, Paimon could feel his very insides shredding.

The words then stopped suddenly and all went quiet, except for the crashing of distant wreckage. Even the flames seemed to have calmed.