The Dark Storm (13 page)

Gabriel tried to backpedal away from the advancing wolves but found that he was suddenly unable to keep his balance. Slipping on the moist grass, he landed on all fours. He tried to brace his hands and lift himself again but found that they had been replaced by paws. His arms were now thin and covered in thick black fur. The wolves were still advancing, with curious glances, but he sensed no malice from them. Instead there was sort of a kinship.

Unexpectedly the wolves took off running through the
thick brush. The wolf bringing up the rear motioned for Gabriel to follow, and for some reason he did. He loped along in his wolf form, trying to keep pace with the pack. The rush of wind felt good against his muzzle as he cut thorough the foliage. Branches slashed at his fur, but he kept running, oblivious to the nicks and scratches. He knew that instead of galloping through the forest he should be trying to figure out what the hell had happened to him, but it seemed secondary at that moment. All he cared about was the rush of excitement he was overcome with chasing
his
pack through the forest.

He cleared the last thicket and could make out the shapes of the pack just ahead of him. Tongue hanging loosely over his fanged lower jaw, he broke out into a dead sprint. Loose rocks bit into his paws as he ran across the open plain, but he ignored the slight pinching. The pack disappeared through a dense patch of fog, with Gabriel close on their heels. He picked up on the scents of his pack and added speed to his run. No sooner had Gabriel broken through the fog than the ground below disappeared. With deformed limbs flailing, Gabriel plunged over the side of the cliff.

The wind rushed up at Gabriel so violently that it tore off thick clumps of fur in its passing over him. His muscles cramped and became wracked with pain as his limbs contorted and straightened. Gabriel found himself as naked as the day he was born, about to collide with the concrete. He closed his eyes and braced, but to his surprise he landed as softly as a blade of grass. He started to say a prayer of thanks for being spared, but when he opened his eyes the words caught in his throat.

The natural surroundings had transformed into something out of a horror movie. The sky overhead had gone from a beautiful blue to a pale orange. Winged things that he had only seen in books flew overhead scanning the
ground for prey. The freak sandstorm that had appeared from nowhere made it hard for him to see, but he could hear very clearly the screams of someone or something being tortured. Something slick slithered across his foot, but he was so afraid that he didn’t even look to see what it was. Gabriel just took off running.

As he ran, the layout changed again. Through the blowing sand he could make out what looked like the tall buildings that decorated the Manhattan skyline, but they were rotted and burning. Skeletal creatures similar to the things that had attacked him in the parking lot hissed and lunged at him. A few even managed to touch him, but he was able to easily throw them off. He didn’t try to study the creatures, for fear of being consumed by the warm ground if he stood in one spot too long. Gabriel just kept running.

Directly in front of him a man appeared. The man wasn’t skeletal or rotting like the things that were now pouring from every doorway and window of the hellish city. He stood fully clad in armor bearing the sign of the cross on the breastplate. His midnight hair was neatly combed back and tied into a ponytail. He raised an armored hand at Gabriel and a blinding light washed over him.

The intense light sent a searing pain through his limbs and stung at the backs of his eyes. He went to shield them with his hands but recoiled when he saw the skin on his right knuckle moving. Gabriel watched in awe as the tattoo of the Nimrod danced in the center of the terrible storm, seeming to grow stronger with every crack of thunder. His hand suddenly felt like the skin was being peeled off as the Nimrod peeled itself free and took substance between him and the Knight.

“My will be done,” the Knight said in a ghostly voice as the Nimrod came to rest in his hand. Gabriel tried to turn away, but the voice seemed to pull him closer. “My
will be done,” the man said again. For some reason, Gabriel couldn’t take his eyes off the Knight. He was as beautiful as an angel, but the merciless eyes of something wicked stared back at Gabriel. “My will be done!” the man said again. This time the voice was so loud that Gabriel’s ears began to bleed.

“What do you want from me?” Gabriel cried, unable to take it anymore.

“Justice,” the Knight sneered just before he swung the Nimrod. Gabriel closed his eyes and awaited the killing blow, but to his surprise it never came. When he opened his eyes the Knight was gone, but the Nimrod remained.

The relic pulsed softly as it moved towards Gabriel. He hadn’t meant to, but it was so beautiful that he needed to touch it. When his greedy flesh made contact with the ancient thing his mind was assaulted with images of a great battle. He knew what he was seeing had been the Seven-Day Siege. The gruesome scene played over and over in his head until he could bear it no longer and began to scream. When he finally came to his senses he was back in his bedroom, still holding the trident. In the distance he could hear the Knight’s ghostly decree: “
My will be done
.”

Gabriel reached up and touched his bookshelf to make sure it was real, and was beyond thrilled when he felt the old wood under his fingertips. He took a deep breath and tried to tell himself that everything was okay, but when he noticed the body lying outside his bedroom door he knew that it wasn’t.

Megan Cromwell, known as Meg to her friends, was a woman in the twilight of her life. At the age of sixty-five she had seen enough to last her two lifetimes. Meg was a witch but not currently active in the affairs of the coven of witches and warlocks. After the mystic wars of the early eighties she chose to live a quiet life in a New Jersey
suburb. She was content to stay at home and tend her herb garden, making home remedies for the locals and supernaturals, but found herself in the middle of the city that never slept to help an old friend.

When Redfeather called and asked her to come to his home she feared the worst. As they often spent hours chatting on the phone, he understood her reluctance to venture away from her home, but he insisted that it was of the utmost importance and would say no more. Only when she arrived did he tell her what had happened. The Nimrod had induced a trance-like sleep and Redfeather had no idea how to break the spell. Meg was an old and powerful witch, but even her magics couldn’t stir the boy. All she could do now was keep watch over the boy until his grandfather returned from Sanctuary.

For the last two hours Gabriel had been still, not so much as snoring or changing positions. But a few moments ago she could’ve sworn she heard voices. Meg quietly made her way upstairs to where he was sleeping and placed her ear against the door. “My will be done,” she heard him utter over and over. Fearing he might be delirious, Meg opened the door to check him. What she saw left her momentarily speechless.

Gabriel was not only awake but also standing in the middle of the room. He was naked from the waist up and sweating like he had run a marathon. His black hair blew on a breeze that should not have been one as he chanted over and over. In his hand he held a thing that Meg had thought to never lay eyes on in her lifetime, the Nimrod.

Meg wasted no time waving her hands in a complex design, raising every magical defense she could think of. She knew in her heart that there wasn’t much her magic could do against a god, but she was going to give it her best go. Speaking in a long-forgotten language, Meg called on the power of the goddess. “In the name of all
that is pure, I cast thee back to the pit, demon.” Meg gave it everything she had, but the magic dissipated before it could get within three feet of Gabriel.

With a mocking smile he laid a hand on Meg’s barrier and shattered it. “All who would challenge the word of my lord shall burn in the fire!”

The trident burned so brightly that Meg had to shield her eyes against it. She backpedaled and collided with the door frame. “Gabriel?” she called to him. For a minute she saw the flash of brown beneath the storm clouds, but it disappeared no sooner than it had come.

“For too long the unclean things have sullied the green pastures of my lord.” He grabbed Meg about the jaws and lifted her as easily as if she were a child. “Fear not, witch, for you shall be cleansed.” Gabriel placed the Nimrod gently against Meg’s chest and she felt her lungs fill with water. She tried to cough it out, but it kept coming until her struggling had ceased. “How fragile the magicians have become.” He cast her into the hallway, breaking the banister. Gabriel sat on his bed as if nothing had happened and lay back. “Go forth, my vessel, and show me this world,” the voice faded. Gabriel shook his mind clear and recoiled at the horror of what he’d done.

“Meg!” Gabriel tossed the Nimrod on the bed and ran to her side. “What have I done?” He knelt beside Meg’s prone form with tears in his eyes. A trickle of blood ran down the side of her head, which he wiped away tenderly. “Meg, can you hear me?” He prayed for her to wake up, but she didn’t.

“What have you done?” He turned on the trident, which was starting to dim. Gabriel grabbed the cooling rod from the bed and held it at arm’s length. “You did this.” He expected to hear the ghostly voice again, but the thing was silent.

Suddenly it occurred to him that his grandfather hadn’t come up to see what the commotion was. “Granddad!” Gabriel bounded down what was left of the stairs and made his way to the lower levels of the brownstone. When he entered his grandfather’s study Gabriel’s heart sank. Everything was destroyed. Relics and everything else his grandfather had held dear were gone, thanks to Gabriel. He searched the rubble and found no sign of De Mona or his grandfather, so maybe they’d escaped the Nimrod’s wrath, but where were they?

There were a lot of questions to be answered, but first Gabriel had to get away from the brownstone. Depending on how much noise the Nimrod had made, the police could very well be on their way there, and he’d be hard-pressed to explain a dead body and a lost relic from the church. He needed to find somewhere he could go to try to make heads or tails of what was going on, and when he looked at the clock he knew just where. It was just after midnight, so chances were that he could catch up with Carter at the Triple Six. If there was anyone Gabriel could turn to, it would be Carter.

Trying not to look at Meg’s dead body, Gabriel threw on a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He threw a green army jacket over his arm and moved to find something he could wrap the trident in, but when Gabriel looked on the bed the thing was gone. Before he could even pose the question, he felt the wriggling on his arm and found that the tattoo was real. The storm was settling and the Nimrod was still, but for how long he couldn’t be sure.

Though it hurt him to do so, Gabriel said his goodbyes to Meg. “I’m sorry you had to get caught up in all this, Meg, but I’m gonna make it right.” With tear-filled eyes he looked at the tattoo on his arm. “One way or another, this debt will be settled.”

“What line are you?” the tattooed man asked, looking from De Mona to Redfeather and back.

“Excuse me?” De Mona looked up at him quizzically.

“Demon line,” Redfeather told her, knowing that De Mona was ignorant of the customs of the Great Houses. “He can sense the taint on you and wants to know what demon line you’re from.”

“Oh,” De Mona said, trying to hide her confusion. “Ah … Valkrin, my mother was a Valkrin. Her name was Mercy,” she added, trying not to squirm under the guardian’s accusing glare.

His eyes suddenly became more hostile, as if he weren’t already giving her a look of disgust. “What business do you have here, child of Mercy?”

“We’re here to see Brother Angelo,” Redfeather spoke up.

The guardian sneered at him. “I was speaking to the Valkrin,
human
.” He said the last word as if it left a foul taste on his tongue. He turned back to De Mona. “Your people have made their position clear, little one, so there is nothing here for you.”

“Man, I ain’t got no peoples, so you got the wrong chick,” De Mona informed him. “Now we got business here, so why don’t you let us handle it.”

“You’d do well to watch your mouth when speaking to me, abomination,” he sneered. De Mona couldn’t be sure, but she could’ve sworn the temperature on the stoop dropped a few degrees as he got more agitated.

Fearing the worst, Redfeather cut in, “Good sir, I assure you that if you just mention the name Redfeather, Brother Angelo will see us.”

“Brother Angelo is unavailable at the moment, human, and as I’ve said, the Valkrin have given up their place here. You,” he glared down at De Mona, “are not welcome!”

“All who seek peace and knowledge are welcome in Sanctuary.” A voice came from behind the doorman. The speaker was a petite Asian woman. The young girl’s skin was a beautiful blend of a freshly ripened banana with a hint of gold in the undertones. She was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. Her doe-like brown eyes were very alert but saw nothing as she navigated her way across the room with an ivory walking stick. The girl had been blind since birth but moved more gracefully than someone with twenty-twenty vision.

“Lydia, you shouldn’t be here,” the guardian said, softening his tone when he spoke to the girl. “I know how to do my job.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, Akbar, but sometimes you can be a bit biased regarding these things. The Valkrin have abandoned us, but we still have an obligation to provide Sanctuary for those who seek it; that is the purpose of this Great House.” She tapped her staff on the ground for emphasis. “Now, why don’t you stand aside and let these people in out of the cold?”