The Dark Storm (15 page)

Redfeather raised his eyebrow and asked, “Need I remind you who stopped the Dark Storm the first time?”

“Yes, the same man who accidentally slew several of his own with the cursed thing,” Angelo spat.

“That was the work of Nimrod, not my ancestor!” Redfeather said heatedly. Arguing was getting him nowhere, so he tried to rationalize. “Angelo, the Nimrod has done something to my grandson, and the more we bicker the worse his condition could become. Whatever your feelings about me might be, you know I’ve always been a man of my word. If you do not believe me, then believe
your own eyes.” Redfeather pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and laid it on the table. He folded it open and showed Angelo the dagger. “The Bishop sleeps no more.”

Angelo had a hard time taking his eyes off the dagger. It had been ages since he’d seen it, and longer still since he’d seen it shine so brightly. “It came alive for Gabriel?”

Redfeather nodded. “As did the Nimrod.”

Angelo watched Redfeather for a while, trying to gauge the sincerity of his words. The dagger being restored was proof enough that something was afoot, but if what Redfeather was saying held any truth then it could mark the beginning of the next battle for humanity. Taking Redfeather’s claim lightly could potentially leave them open to an assault by the dark forces.

“Tell me, how did your grandson come into possession of the Nimrod?” Angelo asked, still weighing his decision.

De Mona raised her hand. “Afraid I’m responsible for that.” She went on to tell Angelo the tale of how the trident came into her possession and of her father’s murder.

Angelo shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry to hear about your father, De Mona. Edward was a good man and didn’t deserve that. Tell me, where is the Nimrod now?”

“With Gabriel,” Redfeather answered.

Angelo turned his eyes to him. “Redfeather, the Nimrod is one of the most powerful religious artifacts ever known and you left it with your grandson?”

“It was through no choice of mine. I’m afraid the Nimrod has bound itself to my grandson in more than just spirit.” Redfeather went on to explain about the tattoo and Gabriel’s coma.

“God in heaven, how could this be?” Angelo gasped.

“We came here for answers, but it seems like you guys are asking all the questions,” De Mona said. She hadn’t meant to be short with Angelo, but her mind was reeling from the last few days’ events.

“Hold your tongue, demon,” Akbar warned. Just as it had in the doorway, the temperature dropped in the chapel.

De Mona stood directly in front of him. She could feel the change coming as her fingers hardened, and welcomed it this time. “If you’re trying to scare me, you ain’t doing a very good job.”

“Then maybe I should increase my efforts?” Akbar challenged. He held his palm up and a shard of ice appeared in the center of it.

“Enough,” Angelo said. Though he never raised his voice, it seemed to echo throughout the chapel. “Akbar, this girl has been through a lot and deserves a little compassion.”

“Angelo, surely you’re not being taken in by their lies?” Akbar was still tense, but the ice had melted away to water dripping from his hand. “You’ve seen how the Valkrin abandoned us; surely you won’t take the word of Mercy’s child?”

“No, but I’ll take the word of an old friend.” He glanced at Redfeather. “We’ll have a team assembled within the hour to recover your grandson. I will lead them personally.”

“Impossible,” Akbar cut in. “You’re too valuable to the order to lead the investigation, Brother Angelo. You are the Core of the power which dwells in this place; we can’t risk losing you. I’ll lead the team.”

“Akbar, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t think me being gone for a couple of hours will result in the dissipation of this house. I will go with Redfeather to bring his grandson in.”

“Thank you, Angelo, but I would rather just be rid of the trident. Gabriel has been through enough,” Redfeather told him.

“I understand, Redfeather, but I’m afraid they’ll both
have to be brought here. If it is as you say and the trident has bonded with Gabriel, he’s as much a part of the puzzle as it is.”

“I cannot agree to my grandson being brought here to be studied,” Redfeather said heatedly.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” Angelo locked eyes with his old friend. “The weapon is too powerful to be left in the hands of the uninitiated. The trident has awakened for your grandson and we need to know why. In the wrong hands, the trident of heaven could upset the balance of light and dark, and that cannot be allowed.”

“Angelo, you are making a mistake,” Redfeather insisted.

“Don’t try and tell me how to do my job, Redfeather. I have served the order faithfully, while others have chosen to turn a blind eye to the vile things that prey on humanity. Akbar will escort you back upstairs to wait until the team is ready to go. I am sorry that your grandson is caught in the middle of this, Redfeather, truly.” Without giving Redfeather a chance to protest further, Angelo turned and left.

De Mona looked from Angelo to Redfeather, who wore a worried expression on his face. “Some freaking friends.”

On a commercial flight it took an average of between six and eight hours to get from Ontario to New York, but the
Night Hawk
did it in fewer than three. It was a sleek eight-passenger jet that could travel at mach 2 for over two thousand miles before compromising its hull integrity. As far as luxury jets went, it didn’t get any more top-of-the-line than the gift to the Dark Order from the Russian government, but it still made Flag nervous.

Flag hated flying, especially in an airplane. The flying machines were the ultimate display of modern technology and therefore the best at interfering with magic. Between the minerals used in their construction and the radio waves, they made casting a spell three times as hard as it would be standing in an open field. If something went wrong, Flag wouldn’t be able to totally depend on his magics, and working with a handicap didn’t sit well with him, especially in light of the mission Titus had sent him on.

Flag knew he was going to have his hands full overseeing their troops in the city while they searched for the Nimrod, but the e-mail he’d just gotten on his BlackBerry threatened to complicate things even more. His spies had reported that Mercy’s daughter had last been seen going into a church in Brooklyn. Flag knew that it had to be the
stronghold of the Inquisitors and they could cause a serious problem.

Since the days before the witch hunts, the Inquisition and the Order of Sanctuary had been the most hated enemies of the Dark Order. Unlike the church, the Inquisitors were willing to tap into the great beyond to accomplish their ultimate goal of casting evil from the world. They were a relentless and merciless lot, who once they’d been set on you wouldn’t stop until you were destroyed. Flag’s being a man wanted by the Order of Mages and a servant of the Dark Order would be more than enough reason for the Inquisitors to put him in their sights, so he wanted to get in and out of the city as quickly as possible.

When Flag stepped off the plane he was greeted by Riel and two Stalkers that, thankfully, looked to be freshly dead. Flag understood the necessity for Riel’s abominations but had never been comfortable with the animated corpses. The mages believed that spirits were best utilized by stripping them of their power, rather then giving them an opportunity to stab you when your back was turned. Flag stopped at the bottom of the folding stairs and regarded the demon.

“Well, this will truly be a glorious night if Titus has sent his favorite lackey into the heart of the battle,” Riel said smugly.

“If the choice had been mine, I wouldn’t be here, demon.” Flag stared him down. “Sadly, fate has thrust us together, so I suggest we get on with our assignments so we can be done.”

“Agreed.” Riel led Flag to the waiting limo.

“I trust that your people are still looking for the Nimrod.” Flag settled into the backseat of the limo. Behind the wheel was a man who had no eyes but seemed to see clearer than any of them.

“The Nimrod burns brighter than a hundred stars; even as it tries to hide, my people see it. We’ve got the best tracker in the kennels of the Gehenna on the trail and he places it somewhere in uptown Manhattan. We will find this boy and his whore and I shall drink from both their severed heads.” Riel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What you do with their blood is your business, demon. I’m only concerned with concluding Titus’ business so I can be away from this place.” Flag looked out the window nervously. Though he couldn’t see them, he could feel the different supernatural presences moving around him. In New York almost nothing was as it seemed, and the sooner he could be away the better he would feel.

“The shadow master has been cured of his sickness and has been dispatched to the warlocks’ stronghold to administer his special brand of interrogation to some of the young ones. If they know something, Moses will find out. We will not fail the dark lord again,” Riel assured Flag.

“You should hope so, Riel. Titus has entrusted you with a heavy task, and failure could leave a blemish on your impeccable record. You’ve long been the faithful right arm of Titus, so I gather it wouldn’t go over well for you if it seemed like that arm’s strength was wavering.” Flag smirked.

“The day that I can’t defeat a novice I combat is the day that you boy-loving magicians will rule the underworld.” Riel laughed.

“Your performance earlier says otherwise, but that’s a conversation for you to have with Titus.”

“So it is, but you have a far more interesting conversation ahead of you. I hear that the goblins prefer the flesh of magicians only second to fairies,” Riel taunted him. “But fear not; I’ve provided you with two able bodies to
see you through.” He pointed to the Stalkers. They were menacing but would be little more than food if the goblins turned on them.

“For your sake I hope they’re up to the task. If I were you, I’d get moving. Raising the dead must be time-consuming,” Flag said.

“Only to the unenlightened. Don’t worry, mage; Titus will have his army and I will have my glory.” Riel disappeared into a wisp of acidic black smoke.

“I hate demons,” Flag said to the empty space.

The driver of the recently missing Greyhound bus that had been traveling from Atlantic City back to New York braced himself against the cemetery fence and continued throwing up until he felt like his body would turn itself inside out. When he’d been approached by the young biker his good mind said to refuse, but the money the biker was offering was too good to pass up. He made it seem like a simple kidnapping that would net the driver fifty large, but he was now seeing that the stakes were for something far greater than money.

Riel had instructed the driver to drive the bus to the closest cemetery, where he proceeded to unload the passengers, aided by the few Stalkers that hadn’t fallen to the Nimrod. Most of the passengers knew they were done, but some held on to hopes that they might be ransomed or rescued. But those thoughts fled when the first blood was shed. Riel executed all of them. The loser, the newlyweds, even a woman who had been huddled in the back with her teenaged son. The demon spared no one. Their blood would be a tribute to the god Thanos for sharing his power, and their flesh would fuel his troops.

“Listen, can I go now? I can pick my money up in the morning?” the driver asked, not being able to take it anymore.

“Hold your place, mortal.” Riel pointed Poison at him. “None may break the circle until Titus has his army.”

The driver felt the first chills of the wind as it whipped at his thin uniform jacket. He tried to huddle against the cold, but it seemed to seep into his bones. Watching the demon work, the driver wondered if it had been such a good idea to strike a deal with him.

Riel’s face had lost its rugged appeal and become something more twisted as he invoked his magic. He could feel the dimensions of man and demons colliding, threatening to singe every nerve in his host’s body. Riel had performed mass summoning before, but never had he attempted such a grand rising on the mortal or the demon side of the rift. On the mortal side he could raise a few Stalkers to do his bidding, but he couldn’t draw on enough of his demonic powers to raise the number of foot soldiers Titus wanted. The only thing that was keeping Riel’s host’s body intact was the power of his cursed blade, and even that could only take so much strain. Still, losing his host failed in comparison to what Titus would do if Riel didn’t capture the Nimrod.

Riel began the ritual from within a circle of bones that he had erected on the far side of the cemetery, closest to the position of the moon. Raising his hands heavenward, he chanted the words in a language that was as familiar to him as the blade he had wielded for over a thousand years. The ground trembled as he flushed his power into it, tilling the dry earth as it gathered. The dirty drank greedily of the blood Riel had sacrificed, connecting the war demon with the land. He manipulated the streams of blood as if they were his own fingers, touching the souls that rested beneath in the graves and through them calling to his minions on the demon plains. The spirits of those buried in the cemetery wisely shied away from the dark magic, but the vile things that worshiped chaos
swarmed to it, anticipating the chance to become flesh again.

The driver jumped back as he felt something tickling his boot. He looked down expecting to see a rat or some other small animal but instead saw the bloody hand of the young girl whom he had helped with her bag when she was getting on the bus. Her eyes had been cool blue then, but now they were gray and lifeless as she looked up at the driver. The driver tried to run but ended up tripping over his feet and landing on a soft path of dirt that was in the shadow of a marble angel. “What is this, man?” The driver scrambled for the concrete path.