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Authors: Annette McCleave

BOOK: Surrender to Darkness
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“Uriel,” Em greeted with a smile.
The archangel smiled faintly in return, then nodded to Brian. “Great job. No one was hurt?”
Brian sent a pointed glare at Em, then said, “No, we’re all good. How did the Virginia miracle go?”
“Excellent.” The young man raked a hand through his hair and grinned. “The virtue angels are quite impressive. They chose a firefighter who was already admired for his bravery and had a habit of kissing his Saint Christopher medallion before entering a burning building. With their divine help, the fellow guided his team to the exact locations of eight trapped people and pulled all of them out of the structure before it collapsed. It made the late-night news and will be all over the Richmond papers in the morning.”
“Gotta love good news,” Brian responded, sheathing his sword in the leather baldric at his side. His broad hand reached for Lena’s, and he tugged her close. “Speaking of which, we heard from Murdoch. The sixth Ignoble might be more than a rumor after all. He says he’s got a solid lead.”
Uriel pointed at the stack of demon carcasses. “Let me take care of this, and then you can tell me what he found.”
Brian nodded. “Meet you back at the ranch house. Okay, folks, let’s vacate the premises. We don’t want to be here when our little band of Satanists returns.”
He and Lena led the Gatherer group up the stairs.
Em stayed behind.
She watched Uriel rub his hands together, admiring the fat globs of white sparkles dripping to the floor. A look of intense concentration briefly overwhelmed his glowing beauty, then a flash of brilliance exploded into the room and the havoc bodies dissolved into a pile of pale gray dust. He murmured several indiscernible words and the painted pentagram faded, sinking into the cement.
“Uriel?”
He glanced up at her. “Is something wrong, Emily?”
“Not exactly.” She drew in a deep breath and mustered her courage. “There’s a plan for me, right? It’s pretty obvious the Trinity Soul is expected to fix this whole mess with Satan and the relics. Well, it would be really helpful to know how. And when.”
His brown eyes gentled.
“The situation is very fluid, Emily. We can sense the momentum building, but at this point we cannot see what shape the final confrontation will take. A lot depends on our actions over the next few months.”
She frowned. “Doesn’t God know everything?”
Uriel shook his head. “The future has not been written, only loosely sketched. There are still many possible outcomes.”
“But how do I know I’m learning the right stuff? How do I know there’s not some special tool I’m supposed to have that I know nothing about?”
“There is no special tool, Emily.
You
are the tool.”
“Makes sense,” Em grumbled. “I sure
feel
like a tool.”
He frowned, confusion in his eyes.
“
Tool
is another word for
moron
.” She sighed. “Look. Here’s the problem: The Gatherers have a job to do. I don’t. I’m not responsible for anything. Since no one knows what I’ll be called upon to do in the Apocalypse, they make me study everything. But that just makes me a master of nothing. It would be nice to have a task I can focus on.”
“I understand that you’re frustrated. But you must be patient, Emily. Everything will become clear in time. Just continue to study, and learn as much as you can.”
“I
have
been learning. Lots. Ask Lachlan,” she said. “I can pop wherever I want, whenever I want. I can recite forty-plus spells from memory, and I’m getting pretty darned good with a sword. That’s not the point. With focus, I could become an expert at something. Maybe I’m supposed to spend some time with you and the angels? See the job from a different perspective?”
“No. The lessons you must learn are here, among your own kind.”
“My own kind? As far as I know, I’m the only one of my kind in existence. Unless there’s some other Trinity Soul you forgot to mention?”
He cut through her sarcasm with a reproving stare. “You’re still a human, Emily.”
“Barely.”
“The middle plane already offers you a unique perspective, one that neither Our Lord nor Satan possesses. You see things we do not. Use it to your advantage.”
“I don’t actually see them. More like hear them.”
His brow arched. “Them?”
“The creatures from the between. That’s what you meant when you said I could see things you guys couldn’t, right? Because the barriers God erected between the planes don’t work on me?”
“Not exactly,” he responded drily. “I only meant that you could see into all three planes. What noises do you hear from the between?”
“Lately? Screams and wails and moans. Like someone’s torturing them. Makes it kinda hard to sleep. Thank goodness it’s not every night.”
“Can you make out any words?”
She shook her head. “No, but they repeat one sound a lot:
say-sell
. Or something like that.”
Uriel’s face lost all expression. “Azazel?”
“Yeah,” she said slowly, “I guess it could be Azazel. Why? Does that mean something?”
He nodded. “Azazel was the leader of the Watchers, a group of fallen angels generally credited with large-scale corruption of the human race.”
“Was?”
“He perished in the Great Flood.”
“Oh.” Em hadn’t actually listened that closely to the moans. In fact, she’d done everything she could to shut them out, including pulling the pillows around her ears. “Maybe I was wrong about the sound.”
“Perhaps.” Uriel raked his hand through his curls once more. “Or perhaps the reports of Azazel’s demise were exaggerated. Perhaps he survived in some lesser form.”
“That would be a bad thing, right?”
He nodded. “He was once the most powerful of all the fallen angels. His might exceeded that of Lucifer. Even as a lesser being, he could be a formidable opponent.”
“What would he be doing with the creatures of the between?”
Uriel grimaced. “I have no idea. I need you to listen to the sounds again, Emily. Try to verify whether they are indeed naming Azazel. The likelihood that he survived is slim, given that we’ve not heard from him in all this time, but it pays to be careful.”
“And if I’m convinced they’re saying his name?”
“Call me immediately.”
“Then what?”
He frowned. “Nothing. Just call me. Michael and I will sort it out.”
Of course. Teenage immortals who find clues to the coming Apocalypse should immediately hand them over and stop thinking about them. But she’d already said her piece about getting more involved and frankly, this fight was getting old. She had exams to worry about.
“You got it.”
 
Kiyoko rolled out of her futon just before dawn.
There seemed to be no point in remaining in bed when sleep continued to elude her. If she was going to see Murdoch’s face every time she closed her eyes, she might as well go down to the training compound and face him in person. As she wrapped her black belt around her white
dōgi,
a knock rattled the partition.
“Yes?”
The door to the main living area slid open, revealing a kneeling Umiko. “Breakfast is ready, Ashida-san.”
“Is Yamashita-sensei already up?”
Umiko gave a quick nod. “As always.” She stood and backed away.
Sweeping her hair up in a quick ponytail, Kiyoko padded across the tatami mat and joined Sora in the lantern-lit tea room. The table was spread with an assortment of dishes, including rice and broiled salmon, but Kiyoko chose only tea. Her stomach would not handle food right now.
Sora looked up from his miso soup. “Not hungry?”
“I’m anxious to get down to the dojo.”
“Eager to train, or to see Mr. Murdoch?”
“Both.”
The sensei carefully scooped up the last of his soup with his spoon. “You insult Umiko-san by failing to eat.”
She chose not to respond. Eating simply wasn’t possible until she saw Murdoch and confronted the strange feelings that refused to let her go. Besides, the poor man had been waiting for hours. She had intended to greet him when he arrived, but her energy levels were not what they used to be and she’d fallen asleep around one a.m.
Her teacher sighed. “We will go, then.”
After making their apologies to Umiko, they donned sandals in the entranceway and took the short path along the cliffs to the back gate of the compound.
Mr. Murdoch stood just inside the door in the main hall, looking less than thrilled. Judging by the various cuts and bruises on the nine men who surrounded him, the wait had been unbearable.
“About bloody time,” he grumbled, as she and Sora entered.
Sora studied the guards with a critical eye. Although none of them flinched, Kiyoko could sense their shame. “Did you object to our invitation, Mr. Murdoch?”
“No,” the big man said, his voice a dry rumble of Scottish brogue. “We simply had a miscommunication.”
He looked at her while he spoke, his gaze trailing over her face in leisurely detail before slipping lower to study her clothing. Considering that he stood five feet away, it was an amazingly intimate experience. Kiyoko’s heartbeat sped up and goose bumps rose on the back of her neck. She felt
claimed
.
“Over what?” she asked.
“My boots.”
She glanced at his feet, which were bare.
“Aye,” Murdoch said drily. “I removed them. But it would have saved everyone a lot of grief if they had asked instead of demanding. My collection of possessions is small, but what I own, I keep.”
Sora nodded. “We shall endeavor to better explain our requests. Have you anticipated why we insisted on your presence here today, Mr. Murdoch?”
“You want to talk about what happened yesterday.”
“Yes,” Sora agreed. “But I also wish to know more about what you are. You are clearly no ordinary man.”
Murdoch shrugged. “I’m a large fellow with an anger-management problem.”
The master turned and, with a quick word, dismissed the warriors.
Kiyoko frowned as the
senshi
bowed as a unit and stepped away. Respect for her mentor demanded that she remain quiet about any misgivings, but a ripple of alarm ran down her spine. Murdoch had already proven himself a very dangerous man.
“I wish you to speak freely,” Sora said gravely. “Kiyoko-san and I will keep your confidence, Mr. Murdoch, I assure you. But you must be open and honest if we are to truly understand what occurred.”
“What can I say? I grew up in a rough neighborhood.”
The note of amusement in his voice was faint, but Kiyoko caught it. He was toying with them, assuming them uneducated. “I am aware that Lena Sharpe is a Soul Gatherer, Mr. Murdoch. That she is a disciple of Death tasked with protecting the souls of the dead from demons.”
His brown gaze found hers once more. “Lena Sharpe has a big mouth.”
Kiyoko shook her head. “I can accuse her of many things, but not of compromising secrets. I tracked a demon to a bridge overpass one night and stumbled upon her battling the creature.”
His brow furrowed. “
You
tracked a demon?”
She waved a hand at the loosely knit groups of warriors eating breakfast at the collection of tables behind them. “That’s what we do. We are disciples of the great
onmyōji
wizard Abe no Seimei. Since the last days of the Heian Period, we have blended the divination and calendar arts with the way of the warrior, slaying demons by whatever means we can. Our purpose is to right the balance of the world.”
Murdoch crossed his arms over his huge chest.
Sora added, “There are small bands of
onmyōji
warriors spread across Asia and disciples around the globe. As the demons surface, so do we. Surely you can see how a group such as ours might be needed, Mr. Murdoch? These are difficult and turbulent times, and the devil must be fought on every level.”
“I didn’t think Buddhists believed in the devil.”
“The philosophy of
onmyōjō
predates the teachings of Buddha,” Sora replied, smiling lightly. “While the two philosophies have gained much from each other over the centuries,
onmyōjō
differs from the practices of traditional Buddhism. More mystical. Less formal. Do I believe that darkness can rise up inside of men, influenced by external forces? Yes, I do. Just as I believe that keeping dark and light in proper balance is, and must remain, a constant battle.”
“Our beliefs,” Kiyoko added, “encourage us to seek our salvation from within, not without. Ultimately, to win, it is mortal man who must resist the spread of evil, not immortal man.” She met Murdoch’s gaze again. “Are you a Soul Gatherer like Lena-san?”

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