Last of the Mighty (14 page)

My fists clenched in anticipation. This was definitely Phaeus's next test. Didn't know how I was going to put myself in enough danger to force my dad to come for me, but I'd figure it out along the way. And once Gadriel showed, Phaeus would too.

Keira pulled me deeper into the warehouse, insistent on giving me the tour.

Or, more likely, giving her comrades time to organize an ambush.

Poor Keira. I hoped I wouldn't have to kill her. I wondered if I even had it in me to do it. I pegged her as a Nephilim instead of demon-possessed. The voice she used in The Symphony was her normal human one. She didn't have the Smiler/Knock thing going on. Her flawless face and body would've thrown me a couple days ago, but I had since acknowledged my own Nephilimhood, learning that the condition didn't automatically qualify you as a model for the next Picassoesque masterpiece.

With Keira leading me by one hand, I used the other to tighten the straps of my backpack. Didn't want it jostling all over when the bad guys came out to play.

“Everyone's asleep,” Keira whispered, explaining why it was so dark and quiet.

Asleep, huh? Sure.

I tuned in to The Committee. It hummed with a dozen voices. I zeroed in on one of them. “She is young, yes, but a man has yet to resist her.”

The old warehouse had been completely redone. It was enormous, but made inviting by its tasteful decor. I gazed up at the lofty, pitched roof. Between the metal frames, panes of glass let the moon's glow through. Sheets of light floated all the way down to where Keira and I stood thirty feet below.

I followed her through an indoor courtyard with potted plants and a fountain at its center. “It's so big,” I said. “Who all lives here?” My attempt to get an enemy headcount.

“A few of my sisters, some cousins…second cousins, couple aunts... About twenty of us. All girls. The guys have their own warehouse down the road.”

I expected that the majority of Keira's relatives had to have been Watcher born, like her. The warehouse was some kind of barracks for female Nephilim, a place where Watchers stashed their most beautiful daughters. Where Nephilim like Keira seduced men and had their babies. Babies that grew up to take their stations on the battlefield next to Shemja-za, Chool, Uzza, and Azazel. Satan was building an army, and this warehouse was a recruitment center.

“We sleep up there.” Keira pointed to the upper level.

The second, and top, floor ran around the inside perimeter of the warehouse and was lined with doors like a hotel. Two dozen of them. It was built in a gallery style so you could peer down over the hallway railing to see the ground floor below.

Keira glanced back over her shoulder and looked me up and down. “I'll show you my room later,” she purred. One of her eyebrows lifted.

I prayed for strength.

Something rustled behind me and I spun around, fists tight, heart revving.

A scrunched up ball of paper skittered across the floor. A cat chased after it, missed it, and slid into the shadows.

“Nervous much?” Keira bumped her shoulder into my flexed arm.

“I'm, uh, a-allergic to cats?”

That got a giggle.

Loosening up, I squatted down and picked up the cat's plaything. “Here, kitty.” I squeezed the ball to entice the kitten out of the shadows.

The animal slunk into the moonlight, slow, cautious.

The first thing I saw was its snout. It was an oozing patch of matted fur, scab, and raw skin, like it had been burned. Inching forward, the cat-thing's severe under-bite came next, with two curved fangs that stuck up from the jutting lower jaw like goat horns. Then two small eyes. Wet, black, and beady, glistening like the Devil's. Scribbles of bare skin were splotched all over the skull in between glued-down masses of gray, brown, and orange fur. The head's bony right side bulged up a good three inches above the left.

It arched its back, hair spiking out like porcupine quills. Laid its ragged ears flat to its head and hissed at me, a dry rasp like knives down a chalkboard.

Devil Kitty was the feline equivalent of the hellhounds I'd faced in the cemetery. Luckily, the thing was only a few months old. Fifteen pounds, max.

With the cat advancing dangerously close, Keira squealed, “Throw it! Quick!”

I tossed the paper ball, and the devil cat bounded after it.

“Eeew.” Keira huddled into me, one hand on my stomach, the other around my waist. “Hate that thing.” She pulled me in closer and pushed her cheek into my chest.

The scent of hair was fresh, clean.

I prayed some more.

“Let's go.” She dragged me by the hand again. “Fun stuff's upstairs.”

On the stairs, I dove into The Committee.

“Oh the prize that awaits when he falls!”

We reached Keira's room.

“Before this hour ends, a Mighty seed could be sown.”

She opened the door, smiling. We entered.

“I will make sure of it!”

That one was Keira, boasting to every ear in The Symphony.

“Shhh,” said another voice. “A spy in our midst.”

Busted. I was listening with too much intent.

But it didn't keep someone from adding, “We wish you well, daughter of Chool.”

Daughter of Chool?

Holy Skittles!

It should have occurred to me that the Nephilim had been breeding. I mean, they'd had kids during Bible times. The Anakites that Joshua and the nation of Israel fought were the children of the Nephilim. So were Goliath and his brothers.

So why should the Nephilim behave any differently today? You have to admit that rabbit-like procreation was a good way to increase their numbers.

I mean, the Mormons still do it.

Kidding.

Sort of.

After musing about how many children and grandchildren Shemja, Uzza, and Azazel had out there—had to be north of two hundred—I considered the task at hand. I was glad Keira was only half-Nephilim. Hoped it meant she wasn't as strong as a full Neph, like me.

But physical strength was only part of what I'd need tonight. I was more concerned about the amount of moral fiber required to resist the advances of an insanely attractive girl. I was fifteen with the whole typhoon of hormones that went along with that. My battle would be as much mental and spiritual as it would be physical.

Keira lit some candles and put out the lights. She came up behind me and took off my backpack.

I needed a plan. Fast. My resistance was already crumbling. I threw myself into The Committee and prayed for help. Some words from my dad maybe. Or some other holy angel. Or God Himself.

Nothing.

Keira continued. “Now that jacket.” She unzipped my hoodie and it fell to the floor.

I had no idea what to do. It didn't feel like killing her was it. She hadn't done anything wrong. Running away wasn't right either.

Keira was about to take off my shirt when help arrived.

In the form of a whisper. In The Committee. A small, soft voice.

It said, “Merryn.”

I recognized the speaker at once—me.

I felt my cheek for Merryn's kiss. Still there. I touched my lips and Merryn kissed me all over again. I felt her body hugging mine, giving me the love and strength to defeat the seductress in front of me.

“Something wrong?” asked Keira.

Apparently, I was backing away from her.

“I, uh, just need, um…a…”

Looking at her confused face, her earrings glinted in the candlelight. I peered at them closer. They were hammered metal triangles with a ball of glass at each point.

“I need to, uh…”

Glass and metal…

I smiled and picked my backpack up off the floor.

“I need to, uh”—it was gonna sound weird, but it was all I had—“um, see if you like...something.”

I unzipped the backpack and found what I was hunting for. I lifted the thing I'd borrowed from Amos's nightstand just that morning before leaving for school. It was a weathered and worn leather strip, like a thick shoelace, about sixteen inches long. When the candlelight hit it, the broken glass bits and shards of metal fixed into the leather winked just like Keira's earrings did.

“What is it?” asked Keira, but did not shrink back at the sight of the cord that had broken off of the NAACP's old Roman whip.

“It's a, uh, necklace,” I lied. “I-I just thought it was cool, sooo…I bought it. Think it's an antique. Do you, uh, want it…maybe?”

My plan hinged on the hope that Keira had not been gifted with Smiler's ability to detect holy weapons. I mean if I—a full-Nephilim—couldn't do it, then a half-Neph probably couldn't either. Then again, odds that the Roman flagellum really was the one used to scourge Jesus were slim. But what other choice did I have?

Keira smiled and said, “Antique, huh? Sure.” She lifted up her hair so I could tie the “necklace” around her neck.

I dialed up The Committee, expecting to hear her giving the play-by-play. Voices were asking how the daughter of Chool was progressing. Yet, Keira remained silent, as if the respect she had for both herself and me would not allow her to kiss and tell. Her secrecy about our little party made me see her in a different light.

Perhaps she was just like everybody else, hoping to find someone who would take the time to look beyond all the physical stuff and get to know the person inside.

The thought saddened me. My stirred-up emotions were making the next move more difficult than it should have been. Nonetheless, it had to be done.

I placed the leather strip around Keira's throat then circled around so I could tie it at the back of her neck.

“Wait,” she said, panic beginning to simmer.

“I just have to tie it now. It doesn't have a clasp thing,” I said quickly, and gripped one of the jagged triangles of glass fixed into the whip's cord.

“Hold on, hold on!” Squirming now, Keira sensed the danger.

I shoved the glass into her skin.

“Heyy—”

But I covered her mouth before she could scream. Then pushed the glass deeper into her neck.

Keira scratched frantically at my hand covering her mouth, then bit my finger. She kicked at my shins, punched my forearms, and slammed an elbow into my ribs. She thrashed and rocked, desperate to get away.

Until…

A tiny bead of red seeped onto the whip's glass.

Keira jerked away, spun toward me, and locked her eyes to mine. Outraged. Vengeful. She knew she'd been tricked.

I held her stare. Firm.

Confusion trickled into her eyes...

Then relief...

And calm.

Her shoulders relaxed and her expression eased. Her face went tranquil and her eyes fluttered closed. Her knees gave way and Keira passed out.

I caught her just before she hit the floor and cringed at the sudden shriek that tore through The Committee. But I happily endured the inhuman howls, even relished them.

For I knew I'd never again have to listen to the sound of Keira's demon side being flung into Pit.

Keira's scream roused a horde of Symphony voices, all of them confused, clamoring to know whether Keira's cries were those of celebration or defeat.

I had to give them an answer. Fast. Before The Symphony's rumor mill churned out something that would bring a hundred more Half-Souls to the warehouse to kill me. I recalled what my dad had told me about broadcasting misinformation to The Symphony in order to confound the enemy.

Trying to imitate Smiler's slow cadence, I said to The Symphony, “I've been given word that the deed is done. The daughter of Chool has proven victorious!”

My news was greeted with lusty cheers and congratulations, followed by comments about what a good little warrior Keira had turned out to be. As they went on, I had a thought.

Why stop at Keira? She'd said that a few of her cousins and sisters were living in the warehouse too. What was keeping me from freeing them also?

I spoke to The Symphony again. “Yet the Mighty One still hungers.” I rolled my eyes at myself. Hungers. What a dork.

The Symphony quieted, attentive to my lies.

“Even now,” I said, “he searches the halls for another womb to seed.” Another womb to seed. Was I on fire or what?

I figured if there was a prize for those successful in seducing me, then a few of Keira's Symphony-listening relatives might open their doors, invite me in.

After tucking Keira into her bed, I put on my hoodie and stuffed the whip's cord in my pocket. I nabbed my backpack, blew out the candles, and exited Keira's room into an empty hall.

I creaked over to the next-door neighbor, stopped, and stood in front of the closed door. I pushed my ear to it. Only silence. The room was either unoccupied or the girl inside was not tuned in to Demon Radio.

I was about to pass by the next room in the hall when its door cracked open. A triangle of light spilled over the floor in front of me. A girl peeped out through the small gap and saw me. She opened the door wider, just enough so I could see her blond hair, pretty face, tanned legs, and the loose nightshirt that hung to her upper thigh. She was about my age and, judging by her coloring, probably Azazel's grandkid.

Her eyes summoned me in.

I entered the room and flipped off the light. While our eyes were still adjusting to the dark, I took out the leather lash.

I stripped off my backpack and put a hand on her hip. She responded by pulling me in close and kissing my neck. In return, I lifted the whip and punctured her arm with the glass.

She gasped, pulled her face away, and looked me in the eye. She showed me the same rage-to-relief-to-calm progression that Keira had.

Then she went limp, hanging floppy in my arms as if I were a vampire with my latest victim.

I put her to bed to the sounds of a demon being cast into Pit.

A redhead was next. I had to be fair, right. I'd already un-granddaughtered Shemja-za and Azazel. Felt obligated to do the same for Uzza.

I did, my plan going off without a hitch.

Until my exodus into the hall.

And into the three guys standing there.

They heard the redhead's door creak open and turned their heads.

Their timing was perfect.

They caught me as I was putting on my backpack. I'd just gotten to that halfway point where my elbows were momentarily trapped in the straps. I flapped my forearms and wriggled my torso, hurrying to get the straps over the biceps and to my shoulders. No dice. I'd have to fight them with my elbows pinned to my waist.

As my eyes met theirs, I realized who they were—the Latino gangbangers I'd named Knife, Nunchucks, and Empty Hands.

I did the crosswalk freeze.

You know the one. You're crossing the street and a car is heading straight for you. Doesn't appear to be slowing down either. Chances are it's going to nail you. So what do you do? Logically, you run, right? But in the history of mankind, has any pedestrian ever done that? Maybe one in a billion. Everybody else stops. Right in front of the car. They freeze and look straight at the driver. As if to say, “Here I am, buddy, right in the bull's-eye, kill me.”

Nunchucks was one of the one in a billion. He didn't freeze at all. He went straight for his weapon and slung it at my head.

I threw my ear to my shoulder and the nunchucks ricocheted off my skull. Not a direct hit, but enough to knock me off balance. I went down to a knee. Knife seized the opportunity to swing a foot at my junk.

Though still struggling with the backpack, I blocked his incoming foot with one of my short, little T-Rex arms.

Just as Empty Hands jumped on my back.

I didn't mind. Hoped it would prevent Nunchucks from striking again. He wouldn't want to accidentally clout his amigo.

Empty Hands pounded at my head, ear, and cheek with his fists as Knife rushed down the hall. To Keira's door. He opened it and ran in.

Why would he…

The gun!

Keira had jacked the pistol from the one dude and never gave it back. She still had it.

Knife knew exactly which room was hers.

Keira had set up the whole fake mugging scene with her gang-banging chums. She knew I'd intervene and walk her home.

And I fell for it. Good ol' naïve Og. What a babagadouche.

I finally dumped my backpack and got to my feet. Gave the guy on top of me a helicopter ride, spinning him and ramming him into the doors and walls. He hung on, but his fists quit their pummeling.

Nunchucks kept looking for an opening. He'd swing the nunchucks then pull them back at the last second, afraid of hitting his buddy.

But I didn't care as much about getting hit as getting out of there. In the game of a Mighty Man vs. bullet, the bullet won.

A few doors opened and heads poked into the hall. With disapproving smirks and shakes of their heads, the onlookers returned to their rooms. Midnight roughhousing must've been a normal part of warehouse life.

I freed myself from the ganglander's grip on my throat and tossed him at Nunchucks. They fell to the floor in a pile.

Snagging my backpack, I peeked at Keira's door. It was opening. I bolted for the stairs. My foot was on the first tread when I heard, “Hey hoto!” I ignored Knife and kept on running.

I was pelting around the corner of the staircase's switchback when, for the second time tonight, I got stuck in the crosswalk.

I froze, gawking at the thing that would run me down and kill me.

Devil Kitty's mom.