Fallen (16 page)

I screamed, attempting to launch myself out
of their grip, but the girl holding me was too strong. The man sat
back, pronouncing several words in a language I could not
understand. The pain subsided almost instantly upon the last
syllable. I lay there on a couch with the girl still holding my
arms.

Focusing upon her face, I recognized the
creamy skin and crimson eyes immediately. This was the girl from my
vision and the same who had come to my aid when Digby had led me
into his spider’s web with Dexter’s gang. She did not smile at me,
but the concern in her eyes dissipated somewhat until her
expression became neutral.

“Sorry about that, young man,” the older
gentleman said, drawing my attention away from the girl’s beauty to
him. “We have fixed your ribs and your arm already, but the nose
always hurts more.”

I lay there, looking quite stunned, my jaw
dangling like a dying codfish. “I know you,” I said, thinking aloud
without really understanding what I was doing.

“Do you now?” the man asked, seeming
unconvinced. “And how could you know either of us when Charlotte
tells me this is the first time she has ever laid eyes on you. I
certainly don’t recall ever making your acquaintance.”

“From my vision,” I said. “I saw your faces
in the mirrors.”

The man and the young girl cast sidelong
glances at one another before he spoke again. “What is your name,
young man?”

“Brody,” I said

“Brody, what vision are you talking
about?”

“A hall of mirrors that I was walking
through after Tom threw me into the river last night as a beaver.
After I swam to shore, I got warm watching the candle flame. But
then there was this door that opened up in the wall of the
building, and it led me through a hall of mirrors. Some showed me
myself, but others showed me Mr. Black and the two of you looking
out over London.”

I paused while they looked at each other
with even more uncertainty.

“You think I’m crazy, right?” I asked. “I
guess that all sounded pretty crazy.”

Then I considered the two people I was
speaking with. They had to know all about this kind of stuff.

“Or does it sound crazy? You’re one of the
Breed,” I said to the girl. “You killed Dexter and the boys with
him, didn’t you, when you saved me?”

Charlotte remained expressionless.

“Perhaps, your story is not so crazy to us,
as you said,” the man replied. “Do you know
my
name?”

I sensed something as he asked the question;
almost like the intrusion I had felt when Tom connected with my
mind to force my power to transform me into the animal forms I had
experienced.

“Horatio?” I offered.

The man grinned.

“Wait,” I said, thinking harder, picking
through my first inclination to something that felt repressed.
“That’s not right….Is it Oliver?”

The man’s smile faded. He looked puzzled and
somewhat uncomfortable now.

“Oliver James,” I continued. “You must be
the man that Tom told me to find if we became separated. Did you
just try to trick me? You offered one name while hiding your true
name?”

Now the man looked quite uncomfortable. “Who
are you,” he said. “Why are you here? Did Black send you?”

“I told you already,” I replied. “I was with
Tom, one of the Descendants of the Fallen. Like you, right? I guess
like me too. Black and Sinister sent the Breed after us to kill me
because Black tested me, but I wasn’t going to join them in this
war everyone keeps talking about.”

“Tom told you to come to me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Oliver stood up then and began to pace
around the room. He addressed Charlotte. “This is some plan of
Black’s to use the boy to infiltrate us.”

Charlotte stood also. “I don’t believe
that,” she said. “I found my brother with Breed warriors on the
hunt. They had Tom cornered, but he wouldn’t give up the boy’s
location.”

“Brody,” I interjected. They ignored me.

“Are you sure you were seeing things
clearly?” Oliver asked her. “We are talking about Tom.”

That seemed to goad her out of her stoicism.
“I’m quite sure,” she said with a hint of ice in her tone.

“What happened to Tom?” I asked,
interrupting them.

Charlotte turned to me with a little more
sympathy in her tone. “He escaped the Breed. I don’t know where he
went.”

“I’ve got to find him,” I said. “He risked
his life for me.”

“You care what happens to Tom?” Charlotte
asked.

“He’s my friend.”

“Well, your friend is working for the
enemy…has been most of his life,” Oliver said. “I still find it
difficult to believe he would send you to me for any
good
reason.”

“He thought you might help me to understand
this power I have within,” I offered. “Still, I don’t really know
who either of you are, or anything about this war you’re all
fighting with one another. And I especially don’t understand how I
could be a descendant of fallen angels. I’m a Christian, not some
devil worshipper! Why is this happening to me?”

I was frustrated beyond my ability to cope
and I didn’t care who knew it at this point. So far, my father had
been killed, I had been shot at, put into prison as a thief, nearly
hung by the neck, attacked by a serpentine assassin and been beaten
almost to death by a street gang. I had had enough of London, the
Fallen and this war. I just wanted to be sent back home to America
and left alone.

Both Charlotte and Oliver stared at me in
disbelief.

“What?” I asked.

“You say, you’re a Christian?” Oliver asked.
“Yet you also claim to be a Descendant?”

“I don’t
claim
to be a Descendant,” I
corrected. “Tom and Sinister and Black all said that I was after
they tested me.”

“How did they test you?”

“He forced me to push fire against him,” I
said. “When I could do it they said I was one of them.”

“I saw him produce fire with his hands,”
Charlotte said.

Oliver James simply stared at me with a
strange grin upon his face.

“Look,” I said, “Tom thought you might help
me. If you’re not willing then I’ve got to find him again. So, will
you help me or not?”

Oliver tapped his chin whiskers
thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”

Mr. Black stood upon the pinnacle of Saint
Paul’s Cathedral, overlooking the city on this clear night. Gas
lamps brightened lonely streets as cool wind filtered through the
city. Despite appearances, this happened to be Black’s favorite
spot with the dome making it the highest place in London.

He stood perfectly erect in a black suit
with white shirt and red cravat like a statue without any sense of
fear. After all, the power of the air was his natural habitat in
this mortal world. The rush of cool wind fazed him not in the
least, for his skin was already as icy as death.

Casting his gaze northward, Black pushed out
with his power, probing every nook and cranny of every building,
sending out a message to one boy in particular. He had attuned
himself to the boy while testing him and could now find him, though
not without difficulty.

Encircling Black’s stately form upon the
dome flew a retinue of various carrion feeders and predators. Like
a halo of doom they stayed their course, waiting for the bidding of
their master. However, unlike common crows, hawks, vultures and
ravens, these fowl creatures were Breed-born and ready to descend
upon Black’s enemies as soon as they were given direction.

Like a tidal wave, Black’s energies washed
over London, coursing through streets to find every late pedestrian
on his way home or on his way out for frivolity. Power surged
through buildings, seeking Brody West, searching for the mind that
Black had touched only a day ago—a particular signature of his life
formed from his thoughts and the power of his birthright.

This force only barely acknowledged the mere
mortals it encountered by the thousands. However, those who were
Descendants of the Fallen dwelling in the city were given more
scrutiny. Most were veiled from his prying by their own powerful
emanations, at least beyond knowing what they were. Having
knowledge of his presence would be enough for these to block him
out for the most part. But the boy would not react so.

Black knew that Brody’s inexperience with
his lineage would lend him to stronger reactions. His instincts
would take over, making him vulnerable to discovery if he was
anywhere near. At the least, he might reason with the boy through
the transference of his thoughts. At best he would know where to
send his forces in order to destroy the child before the enemy
could make use of him.

I was only half asleep upon the sofa where
Oliver had left me while he tended to some business. His servants
prepared a late dinner for us all in the kitchen below on the first
floor. According to Oliver, his house was well hidden in London by
a glamour that rendered it virtually invisible. The house was also
apparently located within a part of the city that no estate would
ever be planted. So, it was unlikely that anyone would ever find
it.

Charlotte had remained in the sitting room
with me, though she stood by one of the four pane windows, looking
out over London. The pale moonlight shone upon her features,
bathing her creamy skin with a radiance that promoted her beauty
further. She seemed not to notice me staring at her, or at least
she didn’t care.

However, my fatigue soon caught up with me,
and I found myself dozing and waking only to fall under sleep’s
spell again a moment later. I don’t know how long I had been
unconscious when his call came to me in my dreams. But I heard it
clearly all the same when he spoke my name.

“Brody?”

Black’s silky smooth voice relayed no hint
of the menace I had felt with him before. My reaction, however, was
like a deer startled by a predator. A twig had been snapped, and I
darted. I shot away from the sofa where I had been lying. Charlotte
turned toward me from the window, her eyes serpentine and glowing.
When she opened her mouth, long fangs jutted from her upper and
lower jaw. Black’s voice emanated from her throat.

“I’ve found you,” she said merrily. But I
could see that this was not Charlotte at all. This was only a
mirage of the real girl, a mask for Mr. Black. I was still
dreaming. How I knew that remained a mystery to me, but I knew it
all the same.

Everything about the room was askew from
what it had been. The walls were warped, standing at odd angles to
one another. Yet the room was solid, as though it had been
constructed that way. The decorative papering on the walls, once a
pattern of refined geometric shapes was now a scene of
violence—hieroglyphs depicting chaos and death.

Charlotte’s grotesque image came toward me,
blood dripping from the fangs, a snake-like tongue darting out
between Black’s words. “You must join me, Brody,” he said. “I do
not want to kill you. With the power that you possess, we could
rule this city together. Why waste your birthright upon these
feeble creatures when you could become a god?”

I wanted to run, but the door was missing.
Only the window remained. However, the world outside appeared
volcanic, as though a tempest of fire was whirling just beyond the
glass pane. I screamed for Black to leave me alone, but he kept
coming, wearing Charlotte’s skin.

“Oliver!” I cried, hoping the man who had
healed me of my wounds might hear me and come to my rescue.

Black only laughed as he backed me against
the wall. “What’s it going to be, boy?” he asked. “Join me, or face
my wrath?”

Vicious metal claws sprang from his right
hand as he raised it to strike me down. I tried to repel him with
lightning and flame, but he did not react to it. What could I do to
him in a dream? Could the reverse be true? Could he harm me? Still,
my terror at the sight of him overwhelmed me. I did not want to
find out.

The entire building shook around me. The
wallpaper bulged and peeled as blood oozed from pores in the wood
behind. The flooring cracked beneath my feet, falling away in
places, revealing a terrible swirling abyss beneath. All the while,
Black cackled like a witch stirring her brew.

“Lord Jesus, save me!” I cried in my
desperation.

At once, the dream world shattered around
me. Black’s face filled with rage before his image gave way to the
real world crashing back upon me like a tidal wave. I gasped for
breath, my eyes shooting open as I jumped up from the sofa. Oliver
was running into the room. Charlotte was already at my side, trying
to hold me down to keep me from hurting myself.

“Brody, what’s wrong?” she asked.

I could already see it in Oliver’s eyes: he
knew.

“Black has found us,” he declared.

Standing upon the pinnacle of Saint Paul’s
Cathedral dome, Mr. Black opened his eyes, smiling. His hands shot
forward, marking the direction for his waiting minions. “There!” he
cried. “Destroy them!”

Mortal eyes could not see the trail of light
that had gone forth from Black’s fingertips. But the Breed warriors
had seen it. Their formation around their master broke off
immediately, heading for the place where he had marked their prey.
More Breed stood upon the rooftops of London, watching the ritual,
marking the same place where the carrion birds now flew. They also
launched into action, becoming mere ghosts to any mortal eyes that
may have seen. Black watched them go then disappeared in a burst of
crimson flame.

Charlotte shot to the window almost too fast
for me to see. Even that was a blur. Her keen vampire’s eyes picked
them up immediately. When she turned back to us, the report was not
good.