Michael (The Mark) (The Airel Saga, Book 4: Part 7-8) (10 page)

And time flew by too. Normally she would have been impatient. But the Bloodstone lent to her a different perspective; it was larger. She could see more of the historical picture with it, see that everything happened again and again in cycles of evil; that she only need wait for the next one. It would be along just as surely as the next bus to the end of the world. And that made her less jittery. So when the time became ripe, she was ready.

But on the threshold of the total surrender of her will, she hesitated. Destiny loomed over her in the form of pure doom; there was no hope save for her last free decision:
Is this what I really want?

“Hush, my dear,”
the Bloodstone cooed,
“and savor the taste …”

It does taste good …

Under the carnal influences of the Bloodstone, she sprang from her seat and bolted from the plane. No one saw her; the pilots were indoors filing their flight plan and checking the weather. The ground crew was busy elsewhere. The gang of three, those troublemakers, those molesters, those kidnapping liars, would be back soon, so she took off at a dead sprint.

But she wasn’t really Kim, was she?
No, not anymore. Now I’m better than Kim. I’m Kim as I should have been. And I will evolve into something truly magnificent. Something immortal.
Kim told herself that her root motivation wasn’t jealousy; that she didn’t really just want to be like Airel, to have what she had, to be beautiful, to live forever, and to have Michael for her own. But it was all lies. Fighting fire with fire, she told herself lies that countermanded the previous lies. In fact, the truth was,
everything
was a lie.

None of it mattered.

She would be beautiful.

Untouchable.

***

SHE WAS BEGINNING TO wheeze, to pant, to convulse as its—her—legs pumped up and down over the dead moonscape of lava rock. She was spewing forth more evidence of the presence of the Bloodstone—gooey black tar oozed from her nostrils and a fume of that vapor poured out from her mouth in puffs.

For an instant, one of the legs failed to pump properly, stumbling over an irregularity in the field of rocks. Down she went. There was no pain; only the Bloodstone’s manufacture of an all-consuming elation that dwarfed all other indicators of pain or reality. There was blood on the hands now, though.

Slipping the straps from each shoulder one at a time, it took the pink backpack off and reattached it to the front, running her arms through the straps again so that this time the bag rested on her chest.

A ripple appeared on her back as razor-sharp wingtip talons skillfully pierced the skin and the fabric of the dress, protruding slowly like a plant growing out of fertile ground and then unfurling like the petals of a diabolical flower. At first green, the wings quickly changed to brown, matching the lava-rock landscape that was spread roundabout.

“Tengu deserved his end,”
the Bloodstone—Nwaba now—thought.
“Now it is my turn …”
Swiftly the wings descended, and the hybrid creature shot into the sky as if launched from a catapult. The wings of something, anything, that could fly; the face of a human.
“Well … as far as is reasonable,”
Nwaba said to himself. After all, this chameleon had never quite been fully anything.

Nwaba flew, his wings protruding from the spine of the one named Kim, toward the peak of Green Mountain. He could detect the stench of one of his oldest foes. Kreios. He might know Nwaba better under younger names. Only if Kreios had truly been paying attention would he know him as Nwaba.
“We shall see, Kreios. And we shall see you soon.”

The one named Kim spread its arms wide in menace as the wings shot her swiftly through the air, pink backpack first, toward the place where Kreios had last stood upon the earth. That place with that accursed symbol, the cross.

CHAPTER XIV

Cape Point, South Africa—Present Day

KREIOS DECIDED TO MAKE landfall in an isolated spot. Cape Point provided that in spades.

An isthmus that projected from the continent, it was the south-westernmost point of Africa, and it divided the Atlantic Ocean from the Indian Ocean. The land raced upward from sea level like a scalded cat, its steep slopes creating precipitous and sheer drops from dizzying heights to the crashing surf below.

Kreios swooped in along the tops of the waves as he approached, feeling the salt spray in his face as he went. Considerably far below the Cape Point Lighthouse, he alighted gently on the cluster of rocks that El had heaped up here as a boundary to the deep.

“This far and no further,” he said to himself.

He scrambled quickly up the rocks toward safer altitudes, reflecting on the sheer boldness he had employed to rescue Airel’s body from the water what seemed like only yesterday.
Too late.
Still, he wondered.
Why had I not drowned, then? I should have been utterly swamped and useless.
He wasn’t sure why, at this point, he had even attempted it. He had known it was suicide.
Perhaps that was why.
And yet El in His infinite wisdom had tweaked the situation, as He so often did.
But why?

Kreios climbed upward, away from the dangerous crashing waves to safety. He could remember: as he had rescued Airel’s already dead body, the way he had actually gained speed underwater
.
It was impossible.

“With El,” he said, finally gaining a rude little path on which he could walk from there on, “all things are possible.”

“And impossible that an angel should be saying so,” he added as an epilogue.
Ah, if she could hear me now.
Which she?
Any of them. All of them.

Rage once again took him by the heart, stabbing its poisoned blade deep into the center of his will, radiating out from there in manipulative currents that told him where to go, what to do.

A noise in the hardy shrubs off to his left set him on edge, and he drew his sword.

Just in time, too, because a baboon leaped out at him for crowding its turf too closely. Kreios reacted swiftly with his blade, hacking the unfortunate beast clean in two. It was a pity. He was hungry, but baboon was not a sweet meat. Terrible for food, carnivores.
These are the work of the devil anyhow. Brute, savage things.

He left the useless bits of carcass where they lay and didn’t bother cleaning his blade, resheathing it in the scabbard on his back under his hoodie. The next member of the Brotherhood he encountered would commingle its blood with that of the baboon. It would be two of a kind, then. Fitting. Kreios continued on up the path.

***

Ascension Island—Present Day

“WHERE DO WE START?” I asked, bewildered.

“Witnesses,” Michael said.

“Wait,” Ellie said. “I need a moment.” She closed her eyes and sat down on the tarmac. Several minutes elapsed.

I nudged Michael. “Dude. What is she doing?”

He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Communing with her ancestors?”

“Shut up, you two. I’m trying to feel which way it went. I’m trying to do something here.”

“Feel … which way … it … went?” I asked.

Ellie did not look up at me as she rebuked me. “Listen, mate. You have your gifts, I have mine. Don’t interrupt me again; you’re wasting time.”

Humbled, I leaned into Michael’s chest and said softly, “Uh-oh. I’ve gone from ‘girlie’ to ‘mate.’ Now I’m lumped in with you.” I grimaced at him.

“You’re totally screwed,” he whispered.

More agonizingly silent and motionless moments went by. It killed me. Never mind that my friend Kim wasn’t even herself anymore. Never mind that whatever part of her I had loved for so many years was now probably lost forever in the smashing of her mind. She was shattered now, but I still felt crazed about finding her. Even if it was only her body, even if she was just an unholy habitation for some overly ambitious demon. Even if it meant mortal single combat between us, I was desperate to find my Kimmie.

Ellie broke the silence. “East,” she said, her eyes still closed. “It’s east.”

“I know why you’re calling her
it,
but I don’t like it.”

“I’m not calling her
it.
I’m calling the Bloodstone
it.
There’s still a difference.”

My heart was actually hurt more by the prospect that Kim was somehow still there, still suffering under all the garbage being poured out on her. “We’ve gotta
find
her.”

“Working on it,” Ellie said, sitting still. Her tone of voice was as if she was sitting at some control panel, working dials and switches as she gazed deeply at some readout or something.

I was dying to ask her what she was doing and how she was doing it. But my love for Kim, whatever remained of her, surpassed my curiosity.

“Okay, we’re good,” Ellie said finally, opening her eyes. She sprang up from the pavement and grabbed my hand, pulling me along. “Walk and talk, girlie. You too, Commando Joe. We need all hands on deck now.”

“What’s going on?” I hazarded a question as we ran toward the hangars.

“Kreios was here,” Ellie said.

“What? When?”

“Day or two at most.”

I wanted to skip for joy. We were getting close. I wondered why I couldn’t feel him, couldn’t reach him in my mind. It annoyed me that Ellie could and I couldn’t, but should have been able to.

Ellie continued to drag me along; she was faster than she looked. Michael was falling behind, though he was sprinting and trying his best to keep up with us. “Hey,” I said, “wait for Michael. Hey.” The pace wasn’t slowing. “Hey, Ellie, where are we going?”

“I’m looking for a tool,” she shouted at me, exasperated.

We ducked in and out of open doors, around corners, looking for this tool, whatever it was, in every shed and hangar in the area. Occasionally the odd mechanic or private pilot would look up at us as we sprinted from one place to another, popping our heads into and out of doorways.

Finally, around the back of one of the hangars, there was a small shed rotting away in a state of rusty dilapidation, its corrugated metal sides and roof evoking something out of a role-playing video game. Ellie, still grasping my hand, gave a final burst of speed for the structure and kicked the door down. “There.” she shouted in triumph.

I didn’t get it at first. I was looking for some kind of hand tool, falling for, as Ellie had put it earlier, basically whatever my mind expected to find. I didn’t understand fully until Michael finally caught us up, panting furiously.

He placed one hand against the doorframe and looked into the darkness within the shed. “Whoa,” he said hoarsely. “A Bowler Wildcat.”

CHAPTER XV

LIKE I HAD ANY idea what a Bowler Wildcat was. Boys and their ridiculous off-roaders. And of course it was looming hugely in the shed, unmistakable had I known we were looking for a racing truck.

But I found out soon enough that it was indeed a tool. A tool for seriously fast going on any terrain. How did I find that out? Easy: Five minutes after we found the thing, we were racing east across a bumpy field of volcanic rock like it wasn’t even there.

Since it was a two-seater, I had to sit on Michael’s lap the whole time, and contrary to what I might have thought, it wasn’t even close to fun. My head banged against the roll cage and the windows, my butt banged against his lap, my head pounded with the noise, and Ellie never slowed down through all of it.

“You’re a crazy driver,” I shouted at her. But I endured it for the possibility of being able to help Kim.

All Ellie did was drop the hammer, accelerating across the rocky undulating hills until it felt like we were either flying or sailing—I couldn’t tell which.

“So where are we going?” Michael asked, his voice cracking against the noise and heat of the cramped enclosed space.

Ellie pointed straight ahead and straight up. “There. Green Mountain. That’s where Kreios was and that’s where the Bloodstone is.” The racing engine roared even louder, and we were gone in a cloud of dust.

***

Schiphol, Amsterdam—Present Day

SCHIPHOL AIRPORT IN AMSTERDAM was one of the busiest air terminals in Europe. Flights came in from and departed to nearly every continent. Great walls of steel and glass enshrouded it in a shrine to the sleek and modern. People from every tribe and nation walked its corridors every day.

Among them were two men lately of America, specifically Boise, Idaho. They walked and talked. Their layover would last only about one more hour and then they would have to board their plane for Cape Town via Johannesburg.

“You know, at some point I’m going to have to use the restroom,” Harry said to his companion. “What will you do then?”

“You wanna go? Let’s go.”

“What, together?”

“Certainly. Might as well get it over with.”

Harry shrugged and kept walking toward the sign for the men’s room. “What’re you gonna do? Lend me a hand as well?”

“You’re not funny at all,” Airel’s father said.

“I think it’s a fair question, since you’re nannying me.”

“No, Harry. You’re a big boy. I trust you not to soil yourself.”

Harry grinned a little at the perverse
tête-â-tête,
but mostly he grinned at the idea of what he was planning. “You know, friend, I’m going to need a minute or two here …”

He looked at Harry. “Fine. That’s fine. You go back one out and take your time with it. I’ll be waiting at the sinks when you’re done.”

“It’s a lot of paperwork. If you know what I mean,” Harry said. “I tend to take my time in only two areas of my life, and this is one of them.”

“I’m not asking what the other one is.”

They walked into the restroom, Harry leading the way. He selected the farthest stall and walked straight for it. As he turned to close the door, his hand absentmindedly grasped its sleek metal top edge. He did not have time to latch it.

Airel’s father, following Harry, did not hesitate an instant. He removed his pen from his shirt pocket in mid-stride and aimed the point discreetly at the door. The other men in the large restroom went about their own business as men do, making no conversation and not desirous of it. He pressed the pen’s engage/retract button as it made contact with Harry’s stall door, releasing a bio-EMP pulse into and through it, energizing the door with a carefully engineered amount of voltage. It was just enough, and not too much, to accomplish a predetermined effect. It had taken years of R&D in three labs spread across two continents to develop the weapon. But of course, these were all just bullet points in a sales pitch, one Airel’s father had cycled through with many a secret and elite client.