Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) (32 page)

“You see,” he smiled. “You don’t deny killing the wolf.”

I groaned. “No, I didn’t deny it. Because it’s crazy. I arrived
after
he was killed, hoping to prevent it from happening. My best friend is a werewolf. But someone of your ilk pitted a whole pack of vengeful werewolves after me when I only showed up to help, so I’m more concerned with where your people come into the picture and why they have a hard on for me. “

He smiled. “Well, our part is simple enough.” There was no warning whatsoever. He lunged at me. Othello let off a few shots, pinging the blade out of the Nephilim’s hands. He didn’t miss a beat, and instead physically latched onto me with his hands, and threw me.

Like,
really
threw me.

I grunted with each impact as I sailed through what I counted as three glass dividers before landing on a cushioned couch and knocking it over. “Huzzah!” I managed to cheer through the throbbing ache in my ribs, jumping to my feet, glad that the couch had somewhat broken my fall. Then I saw a blindingly white light whipping towards my face with a supersonic whine. I dropped like a sack of potatoes, not wanting to waste any more magic than necessary by deflecting whatever the Heaven it was. A freaking crucifix boomerang whizzed by overhead, spitting off electric currents of power as it tore through several hanging chandeliers, sending them to the ground in explosions of crystal and glass. The weapon crackled with lightning at each strike, seeming to deflect the sparks of electricity, before sailing back towards the Nephilim who caught it with ease. The energy danced over his frame as his glare pinned me to the couch.

Othello was nowhere to be found. Had he killed her?

The Nephilim strode over to the sword and picked it up off the ground. It was dented and bent in a wavy line from Othello’s well-placed bullets. He knelt his head and began to mutter a prayer. His words filled the room, and a ring of liquid golden power began to build around his feet. After a few seconds it began to rise, circling his body, and I began to feel a little uneasy at what it might mean. A shard of crystal from the chandelier fell towards his head, but when it came remotely near the golden light it disintegrated to powder, and I suddenly realized I might have met my match. Heavenly armor of some sort would make my attacks useless.

If this was a Nephilim… what could an Angel do?

I shivered at the thought, but readied myself for war. The ring rose to his head level, shrunk, and became a perfect halo of raw force around his head. I watched in disbelief as the blade suddenly reformed to perfection.

I grumbled. Heavenly armor
and
an unbreakable sword? That wasn’t fair at all. The Nephilim took a single step, raised the sword high, and then with a roar of power he slammed it into the ground like it was Excalibur. The golden halo around his head fled through his body and into the sword, causing a low thrum like a tuning fork, and a blast of energy suddenly rang out in every direction, demolishing or knocking down every piece of furniture or bookshelf in its immediate proximity. Then the entire building began to tremble, louder, faster, and louder with each passing second. Pictures and books from the surviving shelves and wall mounts began to rattle, dancing into a freefall to the floor, and the lights began to erratically flicker on and off. The espresso machine kicked on and began flinging coffee beans all over the place. A jagged crack suddenly split the wall behind me, and brick and mortar began collapsing into the room as the building groaned tiredly. The walls were coming down. Was this fucker crazy? He was going to kill us all!

I Shadow Walked without thinking, appearing right behind him. I noticed the only adornment on his back was a second sheath with a feather sticking out. Without thinking, I snatched it up and Shadow Walked back in front of him…

Where his fist was immediately introduced to my face. It broke my nose with a most indelicate
crack
of cartilage and my vision exploded in a sea of stars. I flew backwards into a bookshelf hard enough for it to shatter and rain its contents down upon me. One struck me in the already broken nose and I almost squealed like I had been electrocuted. I heard his steps approaching and frantically, blindly, began trying to dig my way out of the pile of buckram and paper. Then I heard a loud click amongst the falling debris. “Don’t move. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. Even if it damns me for eternity. You are about to kill one of the only good guys left in this city.”

Othello’s voice was like an Angel singing a hymn. I hurriedly fell out of the pile of books to see a strange scene. Othello was holding her pistol to the back of the Nephilim’s head, and the boy was letting her. Couldn’t he magic his way out of that?

“You would damn your soul for him?”

“Yes.” She didn’t even hesitate, which surprised me in a way. “You’re making a big mistake.”

“Othello,” I warned. “Step a few feet away from him please. It’s not safe. He’s a zealot.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, she’s as safe as a babe from me. She is righteous… to a degree.” He added angrily.

Othello blinked at him. “What? To a
degree
? Well… I guess I’ll take it.”

I frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“She is only doing as she believes is right, and I have no command to punish her. I swear on Heaven.” He sheathed his sword faster than anyone could move, and then dropped his hands to his sides. “I cannot harm her.”

I blinked. “Huh. Imagine that. Glad you could be here, Othello.” I muttered.

“Just doing my job.” She answered quickly.

The Nephilim’s face suddenly fell. “My Grace!” He was staring at the feather in my hand and took an aggressive step forward before halting at Othello’s warning. His face fell, but he continued to stare frantically at the feather I had stolen.

“Grace?” I asked, looking down at it.

“A feather from my father’s wings. It was entrusted to me. It gives me additional strength to fight Hell.” He looked entirely different from before. More like a child fearful of his father’s wrath when he discovered the family car missing on a Friday night.

I turned it over in my fingers. It was silver, and big, but it didn’t look like anything that special. Just a gilded feather you might find at a high-end jewelry shop. “This belongs to an Angel?” I asked doubtfully.

He nodded impatiently. Another crack that seemed to come from the foundation interrupted my thoughts. The building rumbled ominously. “Why doesn’t your father just come down here himself and take care of the Demons?”

“He can’t. If the Angels act, the Fallen can act, and then the Riders will destroy us all. Eternally.”

“
Jesus
! Talk about overkill.” Othello whispered, sounding shaken.

“No, not him. The Riders.” He looked genuinely confused. Othello blinked.

I sighed at his inability to understand modern slang. “So why is this feather so important?”

“It’s not just a
feather
. It’s my father’s
Grace
. It grants him the power of Heaven. My temporary possession of it grants me extra power to battle Hell. If that feather breaks it would kill my father.”

I subconsciously made sure I was holding it with both hands. “Well that’s reckless. Why would you carry it around so openly?”

“Only extreme power could destroy it. And even the Demons wouldn’t risk it. It would be the same as killing an Angel directly.”

“You mean that it would call the Riders?” I asked in astonishment.

He nodded. “Please, give me back the Grace. I’ll inform my father of your words. Perhaps it will change Eae’s mind.” He didn’t sound like he believed it.

“Eae is your father?” I asked curiously.

“Yes. He commands the Flight of Nephilim on my task force.”

I wanted to give it back, latching onto the hope that his father, Eae, would realize we were on the same side and get off my back. Really. What if I somehow managed to break it and called the Riders? But I needed to teach these guys a lesson, let them know that I wasn’t to be trifled with. After all, if they were scared to attack me in fear of harming the Grace, I wouldn’t have to waste my diminishing power fighting them. “This isn’t the playground, kid. You can lose your balls here.” Othello frowned at me. I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.” I turned back to the Nephilim. “You just tried to kill me. Without even telling me who you are!”

“I was told you were allied with the Demons. And you carry the… Greater Demon’s mark.” He seemed to dodge the Demon’s name for some reason. No doubt to avoid his attention.

“I already explained the mark. Can we agree that I’m not the problem? The world is going nuts the last few days. Demon’s prowling around town in search of something my parents’ built. Am I safe to assume that you won’t attack me while I hold this?” I waved the feather. The Nephilim flinched, reaching out clawed fingers instinctively. “Swear it on this feather. I can burn it with a thought. I am a wizard. You lie, pillow stuffing goes
poof
.”

The Nephilim looked visibly sickened, but nodded, clutching a fist to his heart symbolically. “Good. Let’s get out of here. You caused quite a ruckus kicking down my door like that, and those police outside are bound to be on their way any second. Especially if the building collapses.”

The man shook his head. “I runed them. They’ll be asleep until morning.”

“Oh. Well. Good. So… what do I have to do to show you guys I’m not on the dark side?”

“I’m not sure. End the threat, I guess.” I blinked at him.

“You want me to cast a whole army of Demons back to hell to prove I didn’t bring them here? I’ve been fighting them alongside you ever since I discovered them. They directly threatened me. And branded me with this mark against my will.”

He nodded stoically, seeming to slowly regain his confidence. “Yet your parents are the reason they have come. With them dead, it is now your issue. You cannot accept the gift of the Armory yet ignore the consequences of ownership. It’s on you. Now, give me back the Grace.”

His form visibly rippled with power. “Cool it, feathers. I’m not giving you anything until I understand the whole picture, and your promise that Eae and your brothers will also stay off my jock.”

The scent of burnt sulfur abruptly filled my nostrils, my only warning of a Demon’s presence. Before I could react, a form suddenly materialized behind the Nephilim. “Sweet dreams, little Nephilim.” The boy began to react, but without his Grace he was too slow. Inky black Demonic claws decapitated him right before my eyes, showering me in his half-holy blood, which I somehow had time to realize didn’t look or feel any different than regular blood, which was slightly disappointing. Othello grabbed my shirt and yanked me backwards just as a second claw swiped at me, raking my torso. Her grab saved my chest from becoming sliced lunchmeat, but it still did a fair amount of damage, causing me to gasp in only near fatal pain. The Demon frowned at his misfortune. “Lucky you have her to save your pathetic hide. Such a lovely hide. It will look splendid as a throw rug.”

I ignored his threat, clutching the Grace against my lacerated chest, scared that I might feel something that was supposed to stay on the inside. Feathers covered his frame like a raven, and beady black eyes assessed me hungrily. He even sported a vibrant beak that was stained with blood from a recent meal. Or permanently stained from a life of feasting on blood. “You lied. There was no vampire. It was a trap to lure me into a confrontation with the Nephilim. Why? If he had killed me, how would you get your precious key?” I asked, confused.

The Demon blinked at me, a look of utter confusion painting his features for half a second. Then he shrugged it off and began to stalk closer, speaking very clearly out of his beak. “I grow tired of talking. I didn’t spend eons in Hell to waste my parole on earth.”

I had time to think,
Huh… he doesn’t know about the Key,
before another party guest arrived.

The room abruptly pulsed with a bluish glow and every single window blew out as a vacuum of power filled the room. The scent of sulfur was obliterated in a blink, replaced with the smell of burnt gravel and frost. Oh, shit.

Eae, the Demon-thwarting Angel.

The bird Demon’s black eyes went wide as a sword pierced his heart from behind, a much too wide blade pointing in my direction through the feathers on the Demon’s chest.

“Wait!” I began, then the sword gave a sickening twist, shattering the Demon’s sternum, and the monster disintegrated to ash. As he fell, I saw the Angel from the bar, Eae, standing behind him, crackling with power. He gave one contemptuous flick of his sword, disbursing the Demon blood onto my floor where it sizzled.

“You killed my son, stole my Grace, and allowed it to be fractured.” He was quivering with fury, his voice a series of rasps, totally unlike our first talk. “If it breaks entirely, Armageddon will officially ignite, which you no doubt desire. I see the truth now. Now that your Demon is dead, there is no one here to save you.” The Angel spoke through ground teeth. I glanced down at the feather in my hand, which also gave me a great view of my wounded chest from the Demon’s claws. The feather was indeed broken, the two halves connected by only a thin thread of cartilage.

“
My
Demon? I had nothing to do with him. When will you people get the hint? I was having a peaceful chat with your son before the Demon attacked us and cut your stupid feather! I was trying to keep it safe! He had information I could have used. Information that could have guided me to the summoner! The
real
problem starter. What the hell is wrong with you guys?”

I didn’t even see him move. I merely felt a fist strike me in the stomach like a moving truck, and I was suddenly slammed into the wooden staircase on the other side of the building. I heard Othello scream, but I was too shaken to get my bearings. The Angel was suddenly towering over me, wings snapping out with a whoosh of air, quadrupling his size. “I don’t believe you. Jonathan was no novice. No Demon could have killed him so easily. You killed him after he let his guard down.” I began to stammer an argument, but the look in his eyes stalled me. I knew that look. The look of someone with nothing to lose. When a rage so dark and overpowering controlled your every thought. The kind of look one got after their family had been murdered. I had lived with that look for a few months now.