Seal of Solomon (Journeyman Book 2) (29 page)

Marcus wasted no time sitting up, moving across the hall to place a firm hand on Joey’s shoulder. He slid it up his neck and across his bristly beard, smirking invitingly. “Well, if I could be so bold… you may have just found him.”

RAIN WHIPPED THE
faces of the demonic troops like a cat o’ nine tails across bare flesh, stinging mercilessly with each successive hit. Without the protection of wards – washed away before they could be drawn – they hunkered down with their beasts in every available nook and cranny of Islas Jicarita. If misery was a place manifested on Earth, this was it. Tensions were growing with each passing minute since they were forced to land on this dreary, exposed rock off the coast of Panama with no idea when they would be able to continue the journey.

Keli had lost track of the time in the deluge, struggling to maintain her composure in the face of her subordinates. She had retreated to the top one of the hills, alone, and there looked out to the churning seas – foamy and violent as if boiling, fueled by means of hellfire.

The view ahead of her suddenly shook and a faint flash drew her stare down. There, clasped tightly in her hand was a small shield stone whose power was beginning to waver; the rune barely spitting out any light. She crouched as the dome of protection around her trembled from the assault of unrelenting weather, water gushed and roiled down the sides. Without warning, the rune sputtered one last time before it died and the torrent engulfed her with its bite.

She was made to realize again that she was not all powerful.

Astaroth slowly climbed the hill toward her, using his summoned shield for shelter. It proved ineffective in the wind. Unsure if it was the joyous prospect that Dajjal would soon be amongst them or his amassed disappointments in her, but she looked absolutely pathetic. There was their supposed leader, on her knees with hair dangled in her face while her clothes were covered in layers of splashed filth.

“Your Grace,” he began pleasantly enough, words heavily muffled by the sound of water striking the metal shield. He raised his voice several levels to be sure she could hear him. “You must come calm the situation down there; it’s poised to become a mess. They are looking to you for guidance and if there is none soon, I fear a revolt.”

“For what purpose?” she asked ambivalently, shouting over the barrage. “Simple rain threatens to tear demon armies apart? Preposterous! Why should I go down there to help them feel better about themselves; isn’t that where Baal said I was making mistakes?”

“Baal said a lot of things to all of us, but he is no longer around, is he? You must come because it is your duty! They are not the ones cowering on their own under failed magical shelter.” He stepped closer to her through the squelching mud. “Keli, let me tell you that you may
think
you have respect, but rest assured that it must be nourished – each situation in its own different way – or it will wither away and die. You will have nothing but yourself to blame, should it come to that.”

Her eyes shot over to him with a quickness that would have sent a mortal’s flying out of their sockets. From beneath the clumped blond strands stuck to her face, they were fierce, shifting between shades of blue and their demonic form.

“Look at me that way all you want to, but it doesn't change the fact – I repeat FACT – that their morale is very low.” He felt wetness wrap around his feet, wingtips swimming in a pool of brown muck. “In fact, it’s the lowest I have ever seen. This place and the weather, it’s taxing, even for demon kind. Lest you forget your troops are anchored to these filthy bags of flesh and they are also used to teleporting where they wish – not flying around on stinking beasts of burden through a tempest!”

She didn't answer right away. Perhaps he was right, perhaps not.

“If you are looking for long term support, you know what you must do.”

Her voice dropped menacingly. “Is Paimon in agreement with you?” she asked, which visibly took him aback, but only for a split second.

“I… what do you mean?” he probed in return.

She continued looking at him, unblinking eyes dark and rimmed with crimson. “I mean, surely he must be in agreement with you, right? Or perhaps he’s already, how did you put it: lost respect for me? I mean, he didn't even bother to show up and support this little venture we are on after all. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the prize at the end of the Peruvian rainbow isn’t all that great right? Just two, possibly three of the key elements of Infernal Tide. No biggie.”

Astaroth stood silent, his eyes shifting around the uninteresting ground with a lot of interest.

“Add to this,” she continued slowly and deliberately, “Paimon’s whereabouts are unknown. It seems we cannot trace him. Do you happen to know where he is, Astaroth? Not to mention your ability to not only remove wards from Gage’s home, but also the home itself!”

“Are you insinuating something, Onoskelis?” he sneered defensively.

“That's what I am waiting for YOU to tell ME, Knight.”

“Well then,” he said with a clear indication of offense. “Let me assure you that you can continue your crusade against the humans without my help, the only Hell Knight never to question you.”

“At least to my face, right?” she responded with venom.

The rain continued to pour out of the dark skies, uncaring of the discomfort it was causing.

Astaroth shook his head. “Good luck doing anything other than fail at life… Your Grace.” He spat on the ground and promptly spun the other way, catching a gust of wind, water and branches to the face. Without so much as a flinch, his shield evaporated and slowly he walked away in the rain, red hair and garments drenched.

“Astaroth, wait!” Keli shouted. It wasn't clear if he had heard her, but regardless he carried on. “I ORDER YOU TO STOP NOW!”

He continued to walk away from her, undeterred and growing smaller until he reached his mount, now tiny specks along the far shore.

“Astaroth...” she whispered as she watched him fly off and into the stormy skies. The unrestrained light show kept him visible for a little while, but before long he had vanished.

A few others from the mob took the chance to follow, some being struck by lightning while others disappeared into the waterlogged skies, all having left their loyal brethren and their leader behind.

A TALL SHAPE OF A
man rushed out from the dew encased conservatory, feet wrapped in aged brown leather moving swiftly and soundlessly across the paved stones. He had entered the courtyard gardens on the twentieth floor of headquarters; the air as sharp as it was dark, gathering in the billowing furls of his silken green robes like it did amidst the treetops, shaking their leaves free in an autumn colored rain.

The man was in fact Fenran, who couldn’t focus as he tried to suppress his always high levels of annoyance, this time with the challenges of the week. The endless smiles, the exhausting charade of niceties, all of it was a strain to maintain at least convincingly. Not to mention the tireless antics of Gage Crosse, which amounted to a swirling cloud of sickening charm and eyebrow raising. He was, for lack of a more refined term: the ultimate pain in his ass.

Oh how many times he wished that hotshot could be wiped off the face of the Earth like the pest he was, brushing aside the rules and tradition as a prime example of lauded human arrogance. Or like Marcus ‘I have more damn papers than a library’ Sheridan, constantly trying to show the Council how amazing and smart he was. Or like Jane Fucking Carter, gallivanting around striking alliances with vampires. What had the world come to?

They were
all
like that, fucking humans, and something must be done to reset the balance of the world.

Approaching a stretch of decorative iron railing that stood guard along the edge of the building, he looked out to Central Park and the skyline of the upper east side beyond, twinkling under a layer of fog.

“What an eyesore,” he whispered as he picked off a fleck of paint that had curled up off the aged handrail and threw it away. It twirled down from the faint light of a dozen floating lamps before being engulfed by the darkness below. He never was a fan of the inclination humans had to build themselves up as superior to the lands around them, gratified in their arrogance as greater than all things, instead of being humble in their place as a small cog in the great wheel of existence.

His pulse hastened from the mere thought of it, amplified by the nip of the night he was ill dressed for. Cracking his knuckles, he folded his arms up into this robes for a touch of added warmth.

“She best hurry up before I freeze,” Fenran muttered in a cloud of white breath.

A faint rustle caught his attention as another veiled figure slipped out of the shadows about fifty feet away. Relieved yet still cautious, he remained hushed as she approached, tipping the fur-lined burgundy hood off her head with delicately gloved hands. Staring back at him through honey eyes was another elf, much younger than he was though of a higher status. Her fair skin looked like porcelain in the light and her gilded hair was set in elaborate braids.

“Ah, there you are Meriden,” Fenran said in Elvish, blowing into his cupped hands. “Why did you choose this blasted place to meet? My office would have been just fine.”

“Simple,” she responded in a graceful voice, hint of an Irish accent peeking through. “I love the view from here. Plus your office is, well, quite dank and stuffy.”

He tried his hardest not to vomit right down the side of the building, instead shifting his eyes for a quick roll while she was looking out. “That surprises me your Majesty, considering the views held by your father.”

“Yes, Councilor,” she responded tersely. “I am aware of his views. It would seem the Assembly
has
bolstered the Order these past couple days; much to the King’s disappointment. Despite all of this, I am my own being and a great number of us do not share in the opinions you both have on the way of the worlds. I happen to think this event is a great sign of cooperation and support between races; something good to use against a darkness that would like nothing more than for it all to be erased.”

Fenran gazed at her from beneath his cowl, narrow eyes catching some light off the lamps. “Be cautious, my lady. You never know who is listening… whittling those elegant words into a dagger to use against you.”

“I may be young, Fenran, but I'm not stupid,” she snapped back. “Words are indeed one of the most powerful weapons, but only as good as those who wield them with skill.”

“Many do.”

“As do I,” she said confidently, the panorama calling for another gaze before she continued. “So enough talk about me, after all I called this meeting. What exactly are you playing at, Fenran? You must know that discovery of the –”

His hand shot up in a blurry streak to silence her, eyes darting around the apparently empty courtyard. The trees were swaying unsuspiciously, as was the decorative verge. “Do not talk about
that
here,” he hissed menacingly. “You do not know who is listening and would love to expose our… secrets.”

“Excuse me Fenran,” she said, surprised by his tone, “have you forgotten who I am or has your ego really grown so much as to block out sensible reason?”

“I meant you no disrespect, your Majesty,” he replied, calmer yet obviously through gritted teeth. “I am just maintaining caution.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” she said while studying him guardedly from top to bottom. “Now back to what I was saying:
it
is on the cusp of being discovered. You know this! All eyes of the Journeymen and their allies will be seeking it after the Assembly is concluded.”

“That is exactly why I am returning to Ireland once this nauseating event has concluded. Tomorrow cannot come soon enough.”

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. “Fenran, please. I came here tonight to try and convince you otherwise. Are you certain that Father and yourself are prepared for the ramifications when this all comes to light? And it
will
come to light one way or another, whether or not you both are ready.”