The Paradise Prophecy (38 page)

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Authors: Robert Browne

BOOK: The Paradise Prophecy
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Philip had his own cup to his lips. He paused. “You know about that?”
“Ozan wasn’t a genius when it came to computer security.”
“Fair enough,” he said, then took a quick sip. “What else do you know?”
“That you’re
Custodes Sacri
,” Batty told him. “And I’m guessing you’re wearing the medallion right now.”
Philip stared at him a long moment, as if trying decide whether he could trust him. Then he shrugged, reached into his collar and brought out the Saint Christopher medal hanging from a thick leather strap around his neck. “I’m starting to think this thing is costing me a lot more than it’s worth.”
“How long have you been with the order?”
“Long enough to know I shouldn’t be talking to strangers about it.”
“Let’s get back to the e-mail,” Callahan said. “Why was Ozan asking about the seven missing pages from the Devil’s Bible?”
“Because he was a curious old fool. And curious fools wind up dead.”
“Or blind,” Batty said. “Like Milton?”
“Milton, Galileo and God knows who before them.”
Batty was surprised. “Galileo?”
“That’s how Milton got the bug. Galileo told him about the missing pages and he went looking for them. Or so the story goes. At this point, I’m not sure how much of it’s true. These things tend to get distorted after a while.”
“What’s on those pages?” Callahan asked.
“A curse; I know that much. It’s what drove both Galileo and Milton blind. But as far as I know the pages from the Codex don’t even exist anymore. When Milton realized how dangerous they were, he burned them.”
“So how does this connect to
Paradise Lost
?” Batty asked. “What were Ozan and Gabriela Zuada trying so hard to find in Book Eleven?”
Philip looked from Batty to Callahan. “You two have been doing your homework. You’d better be careful, or you’ll wind up just like Milton. Or Ozan. Although at this point it probably doesn’t matter.”
“Why?”
“Have you looked outside lately? What’s happening in the world right now is enough to scare the Jesus right out of you. Everybody’s favorite demons have been very busy—manipulating the stock market, flooding cities with drugs, whispering in the ears of those on the brink of waging war. And once the fourth moon comes, they’ll finally be able to release all their slaves—a lot more than there ever were before—and that’ll be the end of us.”
“Fourth moon?” Callahan said.
“The fourth moon of the tetrad. It hits in two days.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“An eclipse,” Batty told her. “The fourth eclipse this year.”
“Look,” Brother Philip said, “do yourself a favor, go home and be with your loved ones, because the way it’s looking, the bad guys have already won. And by this time next week, we’ll either all be dead or so close to it, we’ll wish we were.”
“Are you talking the Apocalypse?” Callahan asked.
Philip snorted. “The Apocalypse is a fairy tale. But it pretty much amounts to the same thing. Only none of us will be seeing the Rapture anytime soon.”
“And you’re saying there’s no way to stop it?”
“Not the way I see it. This train has no brakes. This is the modern age, with global communication, instant information, and opportunities to corrupt twenty-four/seven on a worldwide basis. The pump has never been this well primed before. Unless Michael can pull off some kind of miracle, we’re sunk. And if the bad guys get hold of the Telum before he does, that’s a whole new level of—”
“Telum?” Batty said. “What’s the Telum?”
Philip shook his head. “I’ve already told you too much.”
“Then it won’t hurt to tell us more. What
is
it? A weapon of some kind?”
Philip hesitated. Seemed torn. Then he said, “A wandering soul. A sacred traveler who’s reborn every generation in human form.”
“The one you’re sworn to protect.”
He nodded. “There was a time Michael thought
I
might be the one, and Ozan before me, and the rest of the guardians. But he was wrong.”
“Then who is it?”
“That’s the million-dollar question isn’t it?”
“But if you don’t know who it is,” Callahan said, “how do you protect anyone?”
“By protecting the key. The key that frees her.”
“And where is this key?”
Philip shook his head and gestured to their cups. “I’m done being friendly. I think it’s time for you two to drink your tea and get out of here. Let me have my last hours in peace.”
But Batty wouldn’t let up. “Tell us about the key, Brother.”
Philip drained the last of his cup and got to his feet. “Sorry, but that’s all you’ll get out of me. Right now, I’m just trying to protect myself.” He lifted the gun from the table. “They can come after me, but I’m not going down without a fight. So if you two don’t mind, I’d like to—”
Thunder rumbled outside and the temple floor began to shake. Violently. Batty and Callahan grabbed their chairs as Brother Philip stumbled back, his face going slack.
“She’s here,” he said.
Batty felt a sudden darkness spread through him. “Who’s here?” But he could already feel her.
“Who do you think? Their enforcer. The angel of confusion.” Callahan furrowed her brow. “The angel of
what
?”
“You lead her right to me...”
Belial
, Batty thought. The Demon of Lust. The Lord of Pride. One of the players in
Paradise Lost
. And Batty had a very strong feeling that she was currently inhabiting this earth as a drop-dead gorgeous, tongue-wagging, coma-inducing redhead.
Is
that
who he’d been dealing with?
Thunder rumbled again and the floor rolled beneath them. Pieces of the ceiling began to crumble and fall and Callahan shouted, “Let’s get out of here. Go!”
But Brother Philip just stood there, frozen in place, as the temple crumbled around them. Callahan grabbed his arm, then yanked him around the table and through the doors as Batty snatched up his book bag and followed. The floor chattered and cracked, and he stumbled, nearly going down; but managed to stay upright and barreled out the door, dodging chunks of stone as he went.
And as they reached the main room, they stopped cold, staring wide-eyed at a woman standing in the open doorway, silhouetted against the malevolent sky.
She smiled. Stared directly at Batty.
“I have a little bone to pick with you.”
The redhead. And despite himself, Batty felt a sudden tingling in his loins.
She was mesmerizing.
“That wasn’t very nice what you did to me on that plane,” she said.
“After all we’ve been to each other, I’d think you’d show me a little more respect.”
Visions of their night together filled his head, and he knew she was doing this to him. Feeding these images into his brain. He tried to resist, but her hold on him was strong, and he could feel himself giving in to her.
She gestured to his book bag. “You can start by giving me that manuscript. I think it might be just what I’ve been looking for.”
The temple rocked again, parts of the wall crumbling, and Batty clutched the book bag to his side, mustering up every bit of his will. “Forget it,” he said.
“Come on, now, Sebastian. I promise you’ll enjoy the reward...”
Callahan turned to him now. “Who the hell
is
this chick?”
Belial shifted her gaze. “You don’t recognize me, Bernadette? I’m the one who sang you to sleep today. I sang your daddy to sleep, too.”
Her smiled widened.
As Batty watched, Callahan’s expression shifted from confusion to realization then to outright fury.
Then she said, “
You have got to be fucking kidding me
.”
With a shriek of rage, she took a flying, headlong leap at Belial, but Belial seemed to have anticipated this. She sidestepped and swung an arm out, hitting Callahan with an invisible blow. It knocked her sideways, into a pillar, and she hit it with a grunt, dropping to the floor.
The dark clouds behind Belial rumbled and rolled. “The manuscript, Sebastian. Give me the manuscript.”
“Why do you want it? What’s in it?”
“A guarantee,” she said. “But that’s not your concern, is it? Just give it to me now, or I’ll hurt your little—”
A gunshot rang out. Then another.
Batty jerked his head around and Brother Philip had his pistol raised, shakily aiming it at Belial. The bullets ricochet around her and he adjusted his aim and fired again. The third bullet rocketed straight toward Belial and she shot a hand in the air, catching it in her palm.
“Quaint,” she said, then suddenly whipped the hand out, flinging the bullet right back at Brother Philip. A dark red hole opened up between his eyes, and he slumped to his knees, the gun slipping from his fingers.
He croaked once, then fell forward onto his face.
Thunder rumbled and the floor shifted again, Batty struggling to maintain his balance as he looked in horror at Philip’s body.
“Such a shame,” Belial said. “I so wanted to have some fun with him.” She looked at Batty. “Last chance, Sebastian. Give me the manuscript or—”
Callahan came out of nowhere. A flying tackle straight to Belial’s gut. The redhead screeched as Callahan wrapped her arms around her, and the two tumbled through the doorway and down the steps, disappearing from view.
The floor shifted and swayed as more debris showered down around Batty. Staggering toward Brother Philip, he snatched up the gun and ran outside.
Callahan and Belial were at the bottom of the steps, Callahan straddling her now, reaching for her throat. But then, in the blink of an eye, Belial
vanished
, and Callahan tumbled forward. A split second later, Belial was behind her, delivering a kick to Callahan’s ribs.
Callahan grunted and tumbled sideways. But to Batty’s surprise, she was on her feet again in an instant, bringing her arms up in a combat stance. Batty had seen what she’d done to Ajda, but Belial wasn’t any sycophant and wouldn’t be so easily tamed. Still, the body she occupied was human—and built for seduction, not fighting—and she could feel pain just like anyone else.
He considered using the manuscript on her again, but she was so entrenched in this particular skin that he doubted it would have any effect on her. And he didn’t want to risk her taking it away from him. She seemed to believe that there was something special about it, that it had some special power—a guarantee, she’d said—and he’d be damned if he put that power in her hands.
As she lunged for Callahan, he raised the pistol, aimed for her back, then squeezed off a shot. It hit home and Belial grunted, stumbling forward, blood pumping out from a hole just below her shoulder blade. Batty thought he’d feel joy in putting a bullet into the creature who had killed his wife, but it was a joyless act.
All he felt was contempt.
Belial whirled and glared at him, her eyes angrier than he’d ever seen them—a hot, luminescent yellow. Then the ground began to shake harder than ever, chunks of stone breaking away from the temple walls and shooting out like mortar fire, slamming into the earth around him. She swiped an arm in his direction and the impact to his chest was as sharp and painful as if she’d delivered the blow directly. The gun went flying as he tumbled back onto the temple steps, the wind knocked out of him.
Taking advantage of the moment, Callahan advanced on Belial and swung out, landing a solid punch to her throat. Belial made a gagging sound and staggered back, grabbing her neck—
—but Callahan kept moving forward. She shifted her body sideways and kicked out, the sole of her boot landing smack in the middle of Belial’s gut.
Across the yard, the pilot—McNab—was climbing out of the helicopter, staring at them in utter disbelief.
Even from this distance, Batty could see the panic in his eyes, and he knew what was coming next. He tried to call out to McNab, but no words would come, he could barely breathe.
Then McNab scrambled back into the helicopter, and a moment later, the whine of its engines filled the air as the rotors started whirling.
He was about to leave them behind.
“Stop!” Batty shouted, finally able to breathe, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of the rotors and the rumbling of the sky.
Chunks of the temple showered down around them as Callahan continued her assault, fueled by anger, punching and kicking, knocking Belial back.
But Belial wasn’t close to being down or out, and she suddenly vanished—
—only to reappear
behind
Callahan again.
Then
Belial
was advancing, waving her hand like a wand, each wave sending a jolt of energy in Callahan’s direction, Callahan grunting and stumbling, trying to recover but finding it harder and harder with each new blow.

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