Michael (The Curse) (The Airel Saga, Book 3: Part 5-6) (6 page)

He remembered what Stanley—his father?—had said to him after he had hitched all the way back, when he had walked in the door of their—home?—in Eagle. “You’re late,” and that was all. No, “Where have you been all this time?” No, “I was worried.” Nothing. Just an accusation that made no sense.
At least it made sense until I found out that I had really only been gone for about a day … not weeks.
Michael wondered what was so different about this place.
What did Kreios build here, and how? Time ran differently—faster, or slower, somehow.

He remembered his training.

We desire the primal. We take the world by force back and back, back to the Chthonic, back to the pre-created darkness of the underworld and the things that spring forth from it. We then shall be Master. Creator. And it shall be a clean nothingness.

If he had one wish now, it was to unsee what he had seen, to undo what he had done. To unhear the voices that still whispered to him out of the folds of his mind.

What had he done to be so viciously thrust into this hell? It was real enough; painfully so. Did he dare reach out to El again? Would God hear him again? El whispered truth and wisdom to him once, but twice was too much to ask for. After all he had done, how could he make atonement for all that?

Where did I go wrong?

It was so simple. All he had done was fall in love with one of the Fallen, one of the Immortals. He messed up, blew his mission, killed the Seer, and loosed the Bloodstone from its vessel—and for that, every horde clan would be tracking him down ruthlessly in a week’s time. Or less.

He groaned.

He touched the scar where Kreios healed him with it—the Bloodstone. He could feel the evil there as it leached into his skin. In the shower earlier, he had seen tiny fingers of red branching out from the center of the new primary wound.

“Just finish her and be done with it. Every Brother is going to be after you for saving her and for killing one of your own.”

“Shut up,” Michael yelled into the air. The sound echoed through the valley and bounced back to him in waves. He sounded to himself like his father.
Stanley.
Not my father.
“Am I … that?”

“Writing in the book is going to get you killed. The Sons of God will stop at nothing. They will hunt you down—and her. It was her destiny to die.”

“Kasdeja, shut up.” He named his old friend and Infernal Brother, his newest adversary.

“Traitor.”
It was a vile whisper.

His gut wrenched. He could feel the Bloodstone as if it were inside him. “I should have never …”

***

“AIREL, WE’VE GOTTA TALK.”

Kim woke me up early. The sun was just peeking up over the horizon. “Wha—? Who?”

“Airel, wake up. I need to talk to you.” Her voice was urgent.

“Kim,” I croaked, “is that you?” I looked up from my drool-soaked pillow.
Oh, that’s nice.
Kim looked a little excited, even for her.

“Are you awake?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Thank God I didn’t die again.”

“Okay, that’s not funny. Especially after the conversation I just had with your beau, Mr. Perfect.”

“He’s Mr. Napkins, Kim,” I said, as if everybody knew that. Clearly I was still half asleep.

“Airel, what are you talking about?
Wake up.”

“Fine, whoa … okay. What’s going on? What are
you
talking about?” The cobwebs of a truncated sleep were still clearing away. I felt stiff and sore all over, but I shoved the covers down and sat up. “I think I’ve got rigor mortis.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Okay.” I chuckled. “I’m sorry, Kimmie. What’s up?” I leaned back on my elbows and looked at her.

“I’m talking about Michael. I’m worried.”

I could see her expression through slitted eyes. “That much is obvious.”

“I mean, do you know who he is? What he’s capable of?”

“Hey—easy. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Michael, your boyfriend, the love of your life, is a creep. A liar.” Kim was twisting her hair with a finger. “Do you realize how he thinks about you? I mean, he just told me to my face that you were a ‘job to do,’ that he was planning on killing you all along. And that’s not the only thing. He said … he was talking like we’re in some kind of danger here, like we need to get out as fast as possible—”

“Kim, stop. You’re acting crazy. Besides, I seem to recall I was the one who used that word on myself, first. By the fire. Remember?”

She ignored that. “Crazy? Forget you, Airel. I’m your best friend. I was kidnapped and almost beaten to death for you. And all you can do is crack death jokes. I thought you were
actually
dead, and now you’re back but you’re not the same, and I’m worried about you because of Michael freaking me out and—” she took a breath “—and
I’m
crazy. Nice. Glad you think so highly of me.”

“Kim. Caaalllllllmness. Pleeeeeeeease.” I gave her an example by breathing in deeply and then letting it out slowly.

“Ew,” she said. “Brush your teeth before you breathe on me.”

“What?” I
hoshed
a breath into my cupped hands to check. “Do I smell like death or something?”

“Airel.” She growled.

“Well, I’m sorry, Kim. I can tell you’re upset—you’re doing that talk-a-mile-a-minute thing you do when you’re mad. Just breathe,” I said. “Talk to me.” I could see her try to regain control.

She inhaled long and deep, let it out, and then started in just as fast as before. “He’s a killer. He was sent to our school to find you, to become your friend and kill you. He’s part of some secret society called the Brotherhood and he has killed other people before. Other girls … and you’re next. He thinks
your kind
—his words, not mine—are just animals or something.” She stopped to breathe, looking at me with wide-open eyes.

“Kim, were you not there when we talked about this downstairs? What is wrong with you? Look, I know why he came here, okay, honey? I know what he is and what he was planning. But the key word here is ‘was’
.
You forget he tried to save me. He stabbed himself trying to kill the thing that was James.” I didn’t know that for sure, but it was certainly plausible. “That has to count for something. Don’t you think this is just as confusing for him as it is for you and me?”

I breathed. “We’re all in a mess, Kim. This whole thing is a mess. We need to stick together; it’s the only way we’re going to find out what’s true. Look, he’s still here with us; he hasn’t run off or tried to kill us. We’re alive. That’s all I can think about right now. I’m so tired my brain hurts.”

Kim looked at me. “I just love you. That’s all. I’m a little scared. I feel like we’re all out here alone, lost.” She started to cry.

I took her hand. “Hey. Stop that. I love you too, Kim. You’re my BFF, and we’ll get through this together. Just let me talk to him and don’t get in the middle of it.”

“But I am in the middle of it. Whether you like it or not, I am smack-dab in the middle of all of this.”

“Good point.”

“So now what?”

Another good point.
I didn’t know what to do, really. I felt like Kreios was the only being on earth who could answer that question. “I wish Kreios was here. He would know.”

“Are we in danger?” She was looking at me like a frightened little girl.

I considered my response. “My heart tells me yes.”

“So he’s right. We need to jet. Like ASAP.”

“Yup,” I said.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Just one thing: Can you keep yourself from killing Michael for now?”

“I’ll be watching him. You can bet on that.” Her eyes were dark.

CHAPTER IX

Springdale School, Oregon—Present Day

STILLNESS.

The building had been a school at one point, the kind found in small towns. The gym also served as the cafeteria and the concert hall; it had a stage on one side. There was a baseball field out back too—maybe four buildings, including the maintenance shed.

This one
. Like a judge, he had made determinations, ruling out possibilities until he made his ruling on this one.

The mostly abandoned buildings had been commandeered as a staging ground for the Portland pod of the Brotherhood. The leader, Trina, had foolishly kept studious records, images on her computer at the bar, and even more good information at her apartment. She wasn’t the first woman to find her way into the Brotherhood. The Celts of old had started it. Their women were fierce in battle—plus, it was a clever tactical decision.

This clan boasted one thousand, three hundred, and twenty-one members, not counting stragglers and recruits. It was simple to do, really—an emergency meeting called by the Infernal—through Trina’s easily hijacked Facebook account—and the pod members gathered like dumb little sheep.

The deputy Infernal called the meeting to order. The hosts of the demon horde sat on folding metal chairs like obedient Nazi party members, ready to salute. They all awaited the Infernal, the master propagandist. Soon she would come out from the shadows, stride to the dais, and begin the exhortation.

Kreios could feel his power draining with each second. He would need to make this quick. “This should be easy,” Kreios said as he quietly bolted the door and drew his sword. He couldn’t think about the questions surrounding the disappearance of the Sword of Light. He could think of no reason why it should be lost again. He was the last of his bloodline, and he should be carrying it. Why was he not? Only El knew. He had simply placed a lid on those questions, purchased a massive hand-made Irish hand-and-a-half sword from Harmon’s smith shop in Portland, and got on with it. He was just a workman who needed a tool.

His battle plan was elegantly simple. Kreios threw the breakers, killing all the lights. He stepped in, took to flight in a circle around the room, and cut down each putrid crust of flesh as he moved inward, tightening the noose. By the time those in the middle perceived him, it was too late for them.

They had sown the wind.

They would reap the whirlwind—Kreios.

And then it was still.

Dark.

Kreios was soaked in it.

The familiar smell of blood, urine, and bile filled his nostrils—it was strong, pungent. He took in the enshrouded scene in the dark. He cracked a smile, an indulgence. It was the sort of smirk one might suffer to admit upon the countenance after stealing something, getting away with a crime.

Bodies. The detritus was littered everywhere. It was difficult to get a count, but the carnage was nothing if not complete. Kreios stepped over a head and made his way to the door. There was moaning and whimpering. The room hummed with it. Most were in the throes of death and missing limbs, bleeding out. They were soft, untrained. Compared to what Kreios could muster, they were but children in the arts of war.

A voice stopped him in his tracks. “You will pay for what you’ve done. Our Infernal will not stand for this.”

He opened the door, allowing a shaft of orange-yellow from the security light outside to penetrate into the meat grinder of the gym, illuminating a man. “Shame. I missed you,” Kreios said.

The man stood twenty feet away holding an H&K Granatpistole, a compact 40mm grenade launcher. It was in his only hand. His other arm was gone. His voice trembled. “Our Infernal will—”

“Your Infernal is already dead. Trina Wilson, the host? She burned to death not long ago.”

The man tried to keep a bead on the angel, but the weapon was heavy and his hand shook too much; he was going into shock. Evil laughter. “Why should I believe anything you say, Kreios, Son of God—” His mouth clamped shut involuntarily. It was asymmetrical, out of order.

Kreios brought the massive Irish sword around to guard again, point to the ceiling, both hands on the grips. “Your Brother still lives, I see. Turn your weapon on yourself now or I shall finish you myself.” He bent at the knees, ready to spring.

“We know of Airel. We will kill her.”

“Filthy Infernal. I should remove your mouth from your face for speaking those words.” Kreios felt his world collapse in on itself a little more at the mention of her name. “She’s already dead, fool. One of this clan killed her.” Rage exploded within him once again, but he stalled for more information, circling his prey.

“Maggot, it was
you
and
your kind
that started this; it has
always
been that way.
Your
kind declared war. And now, this last thing you have done, you have unbridled me.
You
have backed me into a cave, provoking me.
I
am now about the business of finishing.” Kreios leaned into him. “I will erase—
unmake
—all of you.” Before he could go further, the ripping sound of a demonic separation broke through the room.

“KREIOS,” a booming guttural voice tore from the jaws of a skinny one-armed beast as it broke free of the man. Both fell to the floor, and the winged creature rolled and slipped in the greasiness of rent bodies and limbs.

The man came to his feet, bringing the grenade launcher around, pulling the stock into the crook of his remaining arm. The deputy Infernal was struggling to rise up with only one arm, saying, “We know of the Alexander, Kreios. We know what he has wrought.” Kreios ignored it, focusing instead on the man. Kreios feinted left as the man took his shot.

The grenade launched with a little pop as Kreios spun right. It sailed across the gym and exploded in the opposite corner, shattering brick and tile, sending chunks of flesh into the rancid air and setting fire to a large banner. “Thank you,” Kreios said as he closed and took the man in the midsection, thrusting his sword into his abdomen.

Man and beast screamed at the same time. Quickly he brought the sword around and decapitated the man.

The Infernal fell to the ground writhing in pain. The wounds shared between demon and host were only in the mind, but the mind was a powerful thing. Kreios took full advantage of the demon’s temporary insanity and hacked its head off. The demon burst into thousands of shards and scattered across the floor. In seconds, each piece evaporated into the air, leaving nothing but a memory.