Stealing Sacred Fire (7 page)

‘You want me to be Judith?’
Melandra was well aware of the story. Judith had cut the head from
her enemy, Holofernes, while he slept. Did that mean she’d have to
get close enough to this Azazel to sleep with him?

‘Sacrifices may have to be
made,’ Fox said carefully, ‘but may not be necessary, in the
event.’ He smiled. ‘You are an excellent shot, after all. Perhaps
you won’t need to get that close.’

‘Who is it?’ she asked,
expecting to hear a name she had heard before.

Fox pulled a quizzical face. ‘I
told you. Azazel, leader of the Grigori.’

Melandra smiled. ‘Yes, but... I
mean, it isn’t really him. It can’t be. He died thousands of years
ago. And the Grigori… fallen angels…’ She shook her head. ‘Do they
really still walk the earth?’

Fox shook his head and spoke
gently. ‘Believe me, the Grigori have never left this world. Like
maggots they have feasted on its flesh, and it is the holy duty of
our order to root them out wherever they hide. God is with us, my
child. We are his arms in this world; we mete out his vengeance to
the miscreants and their spawn. We bring down fire upon their vile
heads.’

Melandra swallowed. She didn’t
want to offend Nathaniel Fox, but even after all her training this
information was hard to take in. Why hadn’t they told her before,
prepared her? For a few moments, her faith wavered. Were the
Children of Lamech all mad? It could not be true that the Grigori
still lived.

Fox was eyeing her steadily,
and a hard light had come into his eyes. ‘Let not the devil’s doubt
assail you, my child. Disbelief in their existence is the Grigori’s
greatest defence.’

Melandra touched her lips
briefly with cold fingers. So this was the answer she’d been
waiting for. Since her early days at the college, she had known she
would eventually be sent out into the world to destroy God’s
enemies, but she’d had no idea her targets would be angels, fallen
or otherwise. It didn’t seem real to her. ‘They never told me,’ she
said. ‘Not once. Is it the same for everyone at the college?’

Fox looked slightly
uncomfortable. ‘Everyone has their duty,’ he said. ‘All of our
warriors hunt down the children of the Fallen Ones. There have been
many before you, who have efficiently and discretely removed
identified Grigori and their supporters.’

‘But why weren’t we told about
this?’

Fox sucked his upper lip,
nodding distractedly. ‘I understand your surprise. All of your
college friends have now gone on to destroy Grigori that we
uncover, but you — you have this special purpose. You were not born
to it, no, but when your cousin Isaac died, his fate fell upon you.
The Scourge of Azazel. We knew that when the eve of the millennium
was upon us, the Evil One would rise up from the earth to glory in
destruction. We had to protect you, Melandra, keep you in
ignorance. A child with such knowledge would be a dangerous thing.
The Grigori might have sniffed you out, contaminated you.’

Melandra shivered, remembering
all the hours she had spent alone as a young girl, and the tall,
sinister shadows that might have waited for her in the tangled
corners of her garden play-grounds.

Fox touched her hand. ‘Have no
doubt that the man you must kill is Azazel. In the flesh. He has
been reborn, not under another name, but his own. At least...’ He
paused. ‘He uses another form of his name: Shemyaza.’

At the sound of the word, a
strange charge volted through Melandra’s body. She felt both
revolted and thrilled, and then sickened by the response. Perhaps
Nathaniel was right about this fallen angel’s influence over
womankind. It was important to remember her purpose; she was an
assassin, an expert. She swallowed. ‘What do you know of him?’

‘He is at present in England.
God willing, you might accomplish your mission there. In
London.’

‘How do you know of him?’

‘That is not for you to know,
my child.’ Nathaniel grinned. ‘Our sources of information must
necessarily remain secret, but rest assured that the data has been
verified.’

‘Is he in hiding?’

‘Not totally. He walks among
humanity. Only those with eyes to see could tell he is not a man.
You will go to London tonight, and will be given instructions on
how to find him. Then, you must do your work as cleanly and
discreetly as possible.’

Melandra desperately needed a
cigarette. ‘It seems... too easy.’

‘He might become aware of you
and flee. You may have to follow him.’

‘I see.’ This seemed more
likely, and also the unspoken possibility that he might kill her
first. ‘How dangerous is he?’

Nathaniel laughed. ‘More than
you can ever imagine. You must be clever, but remember that the
spirit of the Lord is ever within you and will shield you with the
wings of holy angels. Azazel’s aim is to return to the sacred lands
of his ancestors. Eden. That is where he will want to build his
vile empire. His followers are already preparing the way. You have
only to examine the situation in the Middle East to appreciate
that.’

‘They are Islamic countries,’
Melandra said. ‘Are you implying that Islam follows the
Scapegoat.’

Fox shook his head. ‘Not at
all. It is the secret societies concealed in those lands. A dark
star has arisen in the east, a dictator who wishes to restore the
glory of the Grigori. He worships fire and is undoubtedly one of
Azazel’s creatures. The situation there is very precarious. The
pagan aspect of the Scapegoat has encouraged the belief that the
land of the idolaters, Egypt, is the site of the New Age. Foolish
followers of this creed, unaware of the seductive evil behind their
beliefs, wish to flock there and reclaim what they see as their
lost heritage. Naturally, this has caused some concern among the
native population, and fundamentalists are prepared to take extreme
measures. Already the West is talking in terms of sending in
peace-keeping forces. We do not wish that to happen. Ridding the
world of the figure-head of this movement will stem the rising tide
of devil-worship that grips the minds of the impressionable. You
must appreciate, Melandra, how vital your task is.’

Melandra again found it hard to
take in what she was being told. It all seemed too unreal. Surely
Fox was blaming Middle Eastern political troubles on what was
essentially a fantasy? She could not believe that the Scapegoat,
literally the Devil, was incarnate in the world. It seemed like
paranoia to her. Yet, if they wanted her to kill a man for them,
she would do it. He was undoubtedly just some little tin-pot New
Age guru, spouting heresies to impress the young.

‘Do not under-estimate your
adversary,’ Fox said in a silky voice, as if he could read her
mind.

‘I...’ Melandra began to speak,
but before she could muster any words, the lights in the room began
to flicker on and off. All the TV screens sputtered, their images
reduced to grey fuzz.

Fox frowned and silenced
Melandra with a wave of his hand. He began to press buttons on his
console. ‘What the…’

The other delegates had begun
speaking to one another in soft, urgent tones, and Melandra became
aware that a strange atmosphere had come into the room. Her skin
tingled with what felt like static electricity. The hair had lifted
on her head. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

Fox did not answer her. Beneath
his hands, the long table began to shake. Evincing only slight
unease, he pressed the intercom button. ‘Kimberley? Can you hear
me? We got problems with the systems in here…’ The intercom
expelled a high-pitched whine. Fox cursed beneath his breath.

Abruptly, one of the other
delegates sprang to his feet. He wore glasses, and all Melandra
could fix her eyes upon was the reflection of the fuzzy TV screens
in the lenses.

‘Abraham?’ Fox snapped. ‘Sit
down. I’ll get this fixed.’

The man, an overweight,
grandfatherly figure, opened and shut his mouth with a fish-like
popping sound. His body was shaking, as if he was about to go into
convulsion.

Fox made an impatient sound.
‘Someone help him out.’ He pointed at another man. ‘Mordecai, go to
my secretary’s office and call the technicians.’

Mordecai nodded shortly and
went to the door. Melandra saw him try to open it, and fail. He
turned to Fox. ‘Somethin’s wrong with this here door…’

Fox uttered a snort of
irritation and jumped to his feet, but activity from further down
the table took his attention. Two men were trying to ease Abraham
back into his seat, but he suddenly uttered a distressed cry and
pushed the helping hands away violently. Strange sounds began to
issue from his distended mouth. It sounded like a language, but
none that Melandra had ever heard.

‘Get him out of here!’ roared
Fox.

‘How? The door’s jammed!’
someone yelled.

‘Then break down the goddam
door!’

For a moment, chaotic activity
erupted around the table as the men jumped to their feet to obey
their leader’s command. Then, a brilliant flash of blue light threw
everybody back into their seats. Melandra yelped and shielded her
eyes. When she dared open them again, she saw a dozen or so
baseball-sized globes of blue-white light whizzing around the room,
just above the heads of all present. The men cowered beneath
them.

‘Lord, protect us!’ gasped
Fox.

After what appeared to be a few
light-hearted circuits of the room, the light balls converged to
form a single, hovering globe of radiance above the centre of the
table. It emitted an electric hum.

‘What is it?’ Melandra asked in
a high voice. ‘Mr Fox… what is it?’

‘Abomination!’ Apparently, Fox
could not take his eyes from the light.

Melandra glanced around
herself. Her limbs were tense to the point of paralysis, and it
seemed no-one else could move either. The room was held in stasis.
Power, confidence, and a certain mordant humour, seemed to ooze
from the globe of radiance. It pulsed before them, gradually
increasing in size. Then Melandra became aware that a tall shape
was forming within it. ‘My God!’

Abomination? Surely not. An
alien creature now hung above the table, its hands extended in a
gesture of welcome. It was beautiful. An angel. Its face was utter
benevolence, its body clad in a long, shifting robe of coloured
light. White-gold hair floated around its head and shoulders like a
halo of wind-blown feather-down.

Beside her, Fox uttered a
choked cry. Melandra thought he didn’t know whether to pray or
scream. Beneath his breath, he murmured lines from Luke: absurdly
inappropriate, or perhaps not. ‘And the angel said unto her, fear
not: for thou hast found favour with God.’

Had this being manifested for
Melandra’s benefit: one of God’s angels sent to offer His support
to her mission?

Then, the radiance around the
angel began to change. The blue light became darker, slowly
mutating into indigo, then growing gradually more purple. Finally,
dark red light surrounded the ethereal figure, as if it was
splashed with blood. Scarlet sparks spat out from the pulsing
effulgence and the beatific face of the angel twisted into an
expression of contempt. Its robes fell away, revealing a body of
corded muscle, with huge, jutting genitals. Its hands became
clawed, and a long, black tongue shot out from its mouth, flicking
the shuddering cheeks of Abraham, who still stood rigid against the
table.

Then, with a silent explosion,
the apparition vanished.

All was silent in the room, but
for the crackle of the TV screens. Then, somebody whimpered, and
Melandra heard the sound of a chair scraping against the carpet.
Abraham made a gurgling sound in his throat and slumped forward,
face-first, onto the table.

Nathaniel’s face was ashen
beneath his tan. He looked very old. ‘Do you see now, Melandra
Maynard? Do you see what you are up against?’

After the meeting, Nathaniel
Fox led Melandra from the board-room, leaving his shocked
colleagues to discuss the significance of what had occurred. In the
privacy of Fox’s spacious, private office, he subjected Melandra to
another lecture upon the holy work of The Children of Lamech. He
spoke passionately, loudly and with evangelistic colour.

Even after the inexplicable
phenomenon in the board room, Melandra was unsettled by Fox’s zeal,
sure his claims were fired only by paranoia. She found herself
vacillating between unquestioning belief in the Grigori and
scepticism. Fox clearly sensed this, but was patient with her
indecision. He pointed out that surely she had been given more
evidence than she needed to know that his words were true. A demon
had manifested before them, mocking their mission.

Melandra was still unsure what
she had seen. It could have been some kind of group hallucination,
invoked by their heightened emotion. And yet, as Fox talked to her
persistently, passing her folder after folder of classified
documents that he told her contained hard evidence, she found her
pessimism fraying. She read reports, examined photographs. Before
and after death. Tall, handsome people gunned down, poisoned, but
who in life had controlled industries and communities through dark
magic and deception. The most damning evidence to prove Fox’s words
was the fact that none of these deaths had been reported in the
press.

‘They are clever,’ Fox said,
‘and powerful. They know what we are planning and no doubt intruded
into our meeting to make us aware of that. They want us to fear
them, and are not afraid of us, which might be their weakness.
Arrogance. But you must be careful, Melandra. Very careful.’

Melandra was not cheered by
this information. ‘So, what exactly are we dealing with? A select
group? An underground movement? What numbers are involved?’

Fox closed the last folder with
a snap. ‘Not even we know how many there are of them, or how
far-reaching their influence is. Many powerful men support our
work, but we suspect just as many are slaves of the Grigori. You
can trust no-one, but for the select few you have met in this
building.’