Michael (42 page)

He called his captains to him and issued new orders: “Pluck them from the sea. And bring them to me.”

Cape Town, South Africa, present day

Mr. Emmanuel sat at the top of the world and clutched his side. This was not good. And it would ruin a perfectly good shirt. Though his laundress could certainly get bloodstains out, it wasn’t practical to introduce the problem in the first place. Too many questions would be asked, he would become quickly bored with it and then certainly have to kill her, and then he would have to go to the trouble and inconvenience to find a new laundress. And he particularly liked how she turned out his shirts.

Exasperated, he stripped it off.

The master must be suffering. And he will arrive soon, no doubt.
Mr. Emmanuel sighed and employed the wasted shirt as a bandage, slowing the flow of the blood. It would do for now.

He walked through his fiftieth floor penthouse toward the gymnasium. This would sting a bit, but the life was in the blood and he didn’t want to go ‘round losing too much of it. Whatever had happened, it was big. The gash was about a foot long, spanning the distance from just under his right pectoralis down one side to just above his pelvis. The inner flesh of all the ribs on that side had been exposed.

In a cabinet in the gymnasium, there were various medical supplies. There were also cans containing an aerosol liquid that he hadn’t quite yet taken public. It was too good for that just yet.

He sprayed it over his wound, the edges drew closed, and the bleeding stopped. It did leave a scar, and it certainly hurt a lot, but it repaired the damage.

The mind was powerful, so much so that the connection between demon and brother would bring about real enough wounds if one or the other were injured. It was psychical, spiritual, so powerful that it crossed with ease into the natural. But Mr. Emmanuel fancied himself a god, and gods were eternal beings. He was in control of his own mind. Even if his demon died—the one for whom he played host—he would yet live. Besides, the Bloodstone was calling Nwaba onward now, and once they possessed it together the rules could change.
Possibly in my favor;
but he dared not think such things out loud yet.

For now the only change he needed was in regard to his shirt.

He slid the old one down the chute to the incinerator.

False Bay, South Africa, present day

I heard shouting in the wet dark, but it came and went and was distant. The waves were relentless and unpredictable, crashing in on us, entangling us in the lines of our chute, which, now that it had completed its job of grabbing air, was grabbing currents in the sea, threatening to pull us under.

I flailed. Though he was strapped to me, it was very difficult to keep Michael’s head above water. The only way I could do it effectively was to lie on my back and thrust my belly up, but it was a herculean effort. Even with my superhuman abilities, I would not be able to continue like this for very long.

The shouting came closer, but I still couldn’t make it out.
Something about a propeller? Or something called shoo-daway?
It didn’t make sense. Besides, I had other things to worry about.
Great. We’re saved from certain death at the hands of Brotherhood traitors by an enormous plane crash, which thrusts us into certain death at the hands of gravity. And an airborne horde of demons.
I went down the list, thinking that if I were a cat I would almost be out of lives by now.

My top priority was fast becoming finding a way to release the chute from Michael and me. I thought it certainly had to be like the ripcord pull, only different enough to eliminate confusion. I tried to scramble for it with one hand, but every time I did that we sank under the waves. I was seriously worried about Michael. If his airway became restricted in his unconscious state, he would suffocate and drown. I didn’t know how to release the pack straps; I searched in vain.

Now the shouting was near and very clear. It was Ellie. “…your chute away!”

I figured she was telling me to cut the chute away.
Like duh. Trying that, genius.

“Airel, cut your chute away! Use the Sword!”

The Sword!
“Duh!” I said, and focused as hard as I could on my grandfather’s blade. It was obvious when it appeared; the sea lit up all around it, fizzing like crazy. I did my best to cut us loose, being careful not to injure Michael or me. But the cords of the chute were on all sides now, tangled with us. After the first few swipes of the Blade we were in better shape, which was good, because I didn’t have both arms to keep us afloat. I kicked my feet as hard and as quick as I could to keep us up, but I was running out of energy fast.

I looked around for the largest remaining mass of cords and took one final swipe at them. The Sword made the sea boil around us; I could feel the warmth coming across us in alternations of cold and hot. But at last we were free; the parachute fell away and drifted off.

I had figured out by now how to put the sword away with a thought, and I did so. I basically just had to think of something I needed more desperately, and what I needed then most of all was to keep us afloat. The Sword returned to wherever it had come from and I treaded water furiously, hoping Michael hadn’t gotten too much seawater in his mouth.

Then I heard Ellie’s voice. “We’ve gotta stick together! Stay close, okay?”

I was breathing very hard, working even harder. “Okay!”

“We’re in real danger, all right?”

“Well, duh! Unless I’m missing something?”

She spat salty seawater out of her mouth audibly. “Yeah! You are! We’re in False Bay, girlie. There’s no greater concentration of sharks in the whole world…”

As I treaded water, I rolled my eyes.
This is impossible. Just one thing after another.

“Is it?”
She answered me.
“Just watch.”

“So stay close!” Ellie continued. “And here.” I heard a pop and a whooshing sound, like something being filled with air. She slapped the water with it in front of me and I peered at it in the darkness. “Grab it!” she shouted.

I did. It was a float. Now I truly understood the meaning of the words “life preserver.” I didn’t know where in the world she had gotten one; I figured it had to be just another part of all her fancy survival gear I had seen stashed away in the back of the plane.
The plane. Holy crap, we just survived a full-on plane crash!
But I couldn’t take the time to be amazed at anything. I had to keep Michael’s head above water.

“And stay close, remember?” Ellie shouted.

“Okay!”

I tried to get Michael higher. I stuck an arm through the inflatable life ring and shifted his weight around, pulling the ring under us and floating us both. I slowed my kicking, just trying to keep us close to Ellie. And breathe. I needed to breathe.

“Now,” Ellie said, a little calmer now that the situation was more in hand, “we just have one more thing to worry about!”

Through my gasping ragged breaths I managed to ask her, “What now?”

She pointed up. About a hundred demons were circling above us in the night sky.

“Great.”

Cape Town, South Africa, present day

Kreios watched unmoved. The man and his Brother inside were scared, they knew that everything they did from this moment on was in vain. They ran in circles, maddened by his proximity to them, their minds driven to tatters in the drawing out of the moment by the angel standing, waiting at the doorstep. For here now was real authority, and their rebellion had found its end.

But Kreios would wait for the signal as he had waited for Joshua at Ai.

Then the two inside stopped their madness and faced him, cowering, finally bowing down and begging as they had been destined to do. For they had been devoted to destruction. Untouchable by any but the angel of death. When Kreios touched them they would find an end—and a truly terrible beginning; one they both knew and dreaded. Kreios was not the Judge, he merely went before Him to prepare the way.

The moment drew near, he could feel it.

Nwaba could feel something too. Ordinarily his master Lucifer, the prince of the power of the air, owned the very skies. But something was changing. Something familiar drew near
in the air
, but he could not isolate it and identify it.
Who would dare to challenge Lucifer’s principality?

But he knew the answer to that question. At least he thought he did, because still, specifics eluded him. It was a true authority, which meant the artifice of his own was soon to pass away. Oh, how he hated to be reminded that the favor he enjoyed was merely temporal. And it
was
favor, curse it all. He hated all of it.

He flew on, toward his citadel.

False Bay was a bubbling cauldron of activity that centered on three huddled individuals treading water. Demons circled above, swooping down upon them, trying to make a play for snatching them out and carrying them off. They descended as near the water as they dared, being as mortally afraid of it as any angel under the sun might have been. Some pumped their wings furiously as they tried to hover, some swooped and dove in massive arcs, aiming for the helplessly swamped daughters of El, and the Alexander, the traitor. All they needed to do was finish, snatch them up and be gone.