Seal of Solomon (Journeyman Book 2) (20 page)

Suddenly, Jake stumbled forward and braced himself against the frame, feeling a sharp pain at the back of his head surging all the way around to the front. Dropping the joint onto a hard patch of asphalt, he stepped back and raised his shaking hands to his crown. There was wetness, where there should be none. Pulling them back around so he could see, he found them drenched in gore just before his vision became a violet tempest.

Ed’s mouth hung open as he watched Jake’s head quite literally ablaze with purple light. Jake was oddly silent, the hiss of scorched flesh overcoming his capacity to scream. He collapsed into a crumpled heap, smoldering like the joint he had been enjoying. He was dead.

Ed rushed forward, stepping on a couple of sharp rocks as he dashed toward the fifth wheel to rouse the others. His eyes darted every which way as he went, trying to catch a glimpse, no matter how short, of the attackers. As he sprinted, he supposed they could be demons out for vampire blood, since their race continued to put up substantial resistance to their dominion. However, they didn’t use bullets to fight with, leaving only one other option.

Two indigo shockwaves spread out from underfoot, cutting off his musing while several bullets managed to pierce the flesh of his calf and thigh. They burned strongly and despite his best efforts, he could not help but fall to the ground just ahead of the trailer. With right leg immobile and in sheer agony, Ed struggled to get himself on his knees. At last, his assailants came into view and unfortunately for him, in this condition there were no means of escape.

The two figures strode up slowly with daggers in hand, one of them also brandishing the Ruger P345 that had taken care of Jake. It was held by a female Felidaen, her puma-like face nearly as dark as the night itself, except for her sun-bright eyes that watched Ed keenly. Reaching into the pocket of her gray pants suit, she plucked out a new magazine, a purple stripe running down its length. The spent one fell to the ground with a rattle as the fresh one clicked securely in place. She pointed it at his head, finger poised to fire.

The suited man accompanying her stepped forward and kneeled in front of Ed, grabbing him squarely by the chin. It was Ralph Gideon, a manly Journeyman who was rough around the edges. Scruff features on his handsome face told the unmistakable story of a man who was no stranger to a good fight.

“So tell me, vamp, how many of you blood suckers are inside the camper?” His voice was much deeper than his frame suggested, carrying a British accent.

“How about this: you and your pussy over there, go fuck yourselves,” Ed said with loathing, the words forced through his clenched fangs, shiny with spit.

The man pushed Ed hard to the ground and promptly stood. “Kuro,” he said coolly. “Guess it’s going to be the same scenario again. On the count of three?” He stepped up to the door and listened; there were no sounds of commotion, just
You Can't Hurry Love
playing faintly on a radio.

She nodded, curling her finger over the trigger. “Always is.”

They both counted in unison, “One… two…”

On three, Kuro fired the gun, exploding Ed’s head like a balloon at the exact moment Ralph burst into the fifth wheel.

He tore through the living room, swiftly striking at the barely woken vampire spread out on the sofa. A burst of yellow caressed the blade as it sunk into the monster’s flesh, ending his life in an instant. Ralph yanked the dagger out, blood dripping onto the fabric as he proceeded up a small set of stairs into the short hallway.

Another vamp stormed out from the bathroom, hefty like a brick shithouse. He caught a swipe off the dagger across one of his burly arms, thrusting Ralph into the walls and knocking some of the wind out of him. His fangs were bared and he shouted, lashing forward and knocking the dagger out of Ralph’s hand. It rolled far out of reach and the vamp moved in for his neck, planning to tear it out.

He was fucked.

Kuro stormed in with gun blazing, filling the beastly vamp with UV bullets. They did their job well, broiling him from the inside out.

He bellowed in agony until his stinking corpse slumped onto Ralph's chest, staining it with rancid body fluids. He shifted out from underneath and the body fell to the floor with the tremendous thud.

“Always one for the dramatic entrances,” Ralph said sarcastically, stepping toward the closed bedroom door.

Kuro smirked, her whiskers dancing. “I like it when you sweat,” she said. “Keeps that human skin of yours refreshing.”

Ralph would’ve laughed, but he had already fallen back into the zone. They approached the door with weapons at the ready; he lifted three fingers up for countdown. When the last finger fell, they smashed their way into the room.

“No! Wait!” the vampire pleaded, nearly at the brink of crying while pressed firmly against the headboard of the large bed. Blood had been oozing out, staining everything in the room a disgustingly ruddy brown. “I have information…”

“What kind of information could a lowly blood sucker have that the Journeymen aren’t already aware of?” asked Ralph, holding his dagger out threateningly.

“More of the same. Finish him off,” Kuro said. “He’s the last one in this coven.”

The vampire’s eyes sparked with fire and fury. “I’m no lowly fucking vampire you Journeyman flunkies!” he screamed, spitting a glob of thick blood to the carpeted floor. His fangs receded into his jaw. “The name’s Evans, David Evans. I’m one of the Head Vampires that was back there in Durango when…” Unwanted memories from that night came rushing into his mind: Baal, beating the ever-living shit out of him while the fires of the infernal jinn scorched the land. “…when the whole city burned to the ground.”

Ralph stepped back at the unexpected mention of Evans, exchanging up-stretched eyebrows with his partner. All three of the Head Vampires had been headlining many reports and sightings since the days before Durango fell; an equal number of low level vamps had also claimed to be them to spare their lives.

“So tell me, should we believe him?” Ralph asked, jaded by his past and untrusting.

Kuro stepped forward, Evans shrinking away as she closed her eyes tightly. Ralph stood watch as she reached out a clawed hand, holding it out toward the bed.

The Felidaen were a sensitive people and although she was not a full telepath like some of her race, she was able to sense emotions and read a person's motives like a book. It was a very handy skill to have in negotiations, and also interrogations, as a gauge of the truth.

Her nose twitched and a crease formed in between her eyes. Her hand shook ever so slightly as she opened those yellow saucers once more.

“He is telling the truth,” she said. As her hand lowered, the pistol rose in its place.

“What?” exclaimed Ralph. “Are you telling me this waste is actually who the JM have been searching for and that he just happened to be in this desolate shit hole?”

She nodded along with a sigh. “Yes, that is exactly what I'm saying. I'm just as surprised as you are.”

“Enough fucking chit chat,” Evans cut in brazenly, reaching the end of his rope. “I told you so! Now, either slice my damn throat and be done with it, or let me speak. But know this: I will do anything to make the fucking Noctis pay for what they have done to us all. I have no love for them and will make damn sure they pay for everything.”

Kuro and Ralph stayed silent, staring.

Evans looked back at them with a fire in his eyes, even brighter than before. He spread his lips into an exhausted smile and blood flowed out from his cracked gums.

“Take me to the Council. Now!”

ADRIENNE ENTERED A
long and rectangular tunnel, covered in slick, tile-like slabs. Gnarled vines had invaded in the area, stretching clear across the passage while others curled out from cracks in the stonework running along its entire length.

Down at the end, she could make out a bright light but no other details, though judging by its intensity she assumed it was a large room. A cool draft flowed out from it, clinging low to the floor.

Without anywhere else to go, she checked the disc-like compass, its crystal pointed directly down the hallway. It seemed like it was working, so she started to make her way in that direction through the entwined vines, footfalls echoing much longer than expected.

Torches lining both sides of the wall began to ignite with each subsequent step, clouding the area in a thin layer of gray smoke, along with the unmistakable smell of incense. In a way it was inviting, despite the fact that the torches somehow knew where she was, lighting exactly at the moment she walked by.

Reaching the end, a boxy opening led into another room, its borders surrounded by strange symbols that could have been letters of a language she didn't recognize. Grasping at the side, she paused before entering, hearing the far off scampering of something either very big or very large in number. Whatever feeling of welcome she had faded as she pressed on, entering the expansive chamber.

She arrived at a strangely small flight of stairs leading down to the sandy main floor. Before proceeding, she looked the place over and saw a series of eight holes distributed at the top of the high ceiling. From them, shafts of light beamed into the room, each landing in its own particular place on the ground forming pictograms. Examining those from afar, she could make out a conch shell, a fish, a parasol, a lotus blossom, a wheel, a vase, a banner, and something that resembled an infinite grouping of knots.

Luckily, Adrienne had paid attention to during her lessons when she first joined the Journeymen, recognizing them right away as the Buddhist
Ashtamangala.
That also suggested to her that there might be a prayer wheel nearby and sure enough, she spotted one on the other side of the room, deeply recessed in the center of a sealed door. She need only get there.

The spaces between the light shafts were definitely wide enough to walk through, so cautiously she took a first step on the sand, tapping it lightly before setting her full weight down. There was a satisfying crunch as she took another step, making her way over to the strange pattern resembling knots.

From what she could recall, the symbols had a particular order to them dictated by the Buddhist religion. In the Nepali version, the endless knot came first. This was opposite the Chinese version which had it at the end. So first or last was the choice before her. Breathing deeply, she decided upon the former.

Since the room was bright, she assumed the way to activate the mechanism might be to block the shafts. Bringing a trembling hand up to her chest, she slowly extended it into the beam, sending a dark shadow to the ground. The rumblings of a large, unseen mechanism became audible and suddenly, that symbol’s window closed straightaway, smothering the pillar of light.

“Good choice, Ady,” she mumbled with relief as the room became a shade darker. “Really good choice.”

Wiping away the sweat accumulated on her face, she proceeded onto the next icon and several successful choices thereafter. Soon she was faced with the conch shell, its solitary column standing alone in the near black room. The echoes of scuttling had grown louder – the gloom seemed to amplify them – but thankfully they were still distant.

As she placed her hand into the beam, the machine growled again and the last light disappeared, leaving her in darkness. A faint glow came from the prayer wheel, which pushed itself out from the recess. She moved toward it, spinning the symbols on the cylinder to the traditional mantra of
Om Mani Padme Hum.
The wheel then withdrew into the door which unlatched right away, sinking slowly into the ground. Beyond it, another corridor was filled with torchlight, rising up at a steep angle to the levels above.

Holding up her glass disc, the shard said that was the way to go.

She wandered through the labyrinth of twisting corridors for what felt like a couple of hours, possibly more. Everything looked the same and even with the guidance of her compass, she often encountered dead ends or vast chasms too wide to cross. She was sweating as much as the walls were and as she continued down the muggy halls, her mind was free to wander.

Will I ever get back?
she thought, the time in the Astral Plane undeniably starting to take its toll. Despite the growing misgivings and doubt, she clung onto the drive to finish the task as soon as possible. It was actually Gage’s face that pushed her forward – his smile, unique charm, and that stupid way he got her to roll her eyes all the time. The more she thought about it, the more his absence felt like a part of her soul was missing, longing to be reunited. Was that true love? She believed it very well could be as her love for him was stronger than ever, regardless of the vast distance that separated them across worlds.

Before she knew it, she had ended up at the next area. Smiling, she was sure that Gage had helped her in some way, though it might have just been her strong desires that led her there. The room wasn’t as large as the last one, a gaping hole separating her from a doorway about fifty feet away. Off to the left was the narrowest of ledges, stretching out along the pit and ending right next to a small outcropping beneath the door.