The Dark Storm (24 page)

“You think she’s done something to him?”

Rogue’s grip on the wheel tightened. “For her sake I hope not. The Redfeather clan is like family to me, and if she’s harmed one hair on his head I’m going to see if I can still remember some of that death magic I was taught as a boy.”

A shadowy figure sat perched atop a mailbox on the quiet residential block. He was draped in thin body armor that was concealed by a worn-looking leather jacket. He had a pleasant brown face of a young man barely into his twenties, but there was timelessness to his eyes giving away his true nature. By right of blood he belonged to the vampire house of Gehenna, but by trade he was the Hound, the most efficient tracker in their ranks.

A low hissing followed by the screeching caused him to pause his searching and turn. One of the Stalkers who had been following close behind had descended on a cat and was in the process of devouring it. The Hound made a disgusted face and shook his head.

“Can’t you control those things?” the Hound addressed Riel.

“They are predators, my friend, just like us.” He smiled as if he had said something witty.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” the Hound said bitterly. “We ain’t friends. Your boss is paying for my services in finding this thing that’s got you guys chasing your tails.”

“Like it or not, the same demonic forces that I serve are the same as the curse that animates your corpse,” Riel retorted.

The Hound ignored Riel’s comment and continued scaning
the block. Sniffing the air, he leapt from the mailbox and stepped out into the middle of the street. “The thing you seek is there.” He pointed to the Redfeather brownstone. Dropping to one knee, he sniffed the ground, filtering out the smells of car tires and searching for magical residue. “Or at least it was recently. The scent is strongest here.” He tapped the street with a gloved finger.

Riel scanned the brownstone with his own magical sight and confirmed what the tracker had told him. “That must be a handy trick.”

“No trick, a gift of the blood,” the Hound said proudly.

“If the trident is there, let us claim it for the dark lord.” Riel started forward.

“Wait a second.” The Hound placed a firm hand, halting Riel.

“Out of my way, bloodsucker. If the Trident of Heaven is in that building I will wrest it for my master.”

The Hound spun on Riel with razor-sharp fangs bared. “If you refuse to use your head, at least use your ears.”

Riel started to protest until he heard the very thing that the Hound had been referring to. It was a low rumbling that seemed to get louder by the second. Just as the Hound pulled Riel back into the shadows, a modified Hummer turned the corner of the block. It was slightly longer than a regular Hummer and sported two extra wheels in the back to support its extended section. On the side was an insignia of a bleeding cross.

“The Inquisition,” Riel hissed. “What are they doing here?”

“The same thing we are,” the Hound said as he moved farther back into the shadows. From his position he watched as the Inquisitors spilled from the Hummer and secured the area. Next there was an old man, followed by a young girl wearing oversized jeans. The man was clearly mortal, but the Hound sensed something sinister
about the girl. The last to exit the vehicle was mostly covered in light armor, similar to the Hound’s own, but you could see the tribal tattoos decorating his arms.

Riel also noticed the tattoos and snarled, “The High Brother.”

“The what?” the Hound asked, not quite understanding.

“He is High Brother of Sanctuary; do you know nothing of our world?” Riel asked, clearly annoyed.

The Hound thought briefly on his existence and how he came to be. “
Ours
is a relative term, demon.”

Riel started to argue but held his tongue. He watched intently as a large black man directed the Inquisitors to clear a path for Brother Angelo. The Inquisitors placed themselves strategically around the front of the brownstone, weapons ready, while Angelo followed the old man and the girl inside.

The Hound was about to move in closer when something caught his eye. The movement was so faint that a human would’ve never noticed it, but the Hound hadn’t been human for quite some time. At first he thought someone was moving in the shadows, but upon closer inspection he noticed it was the shadows themselves that were moving. Though he strained his eyes to pick out the shape, his vision wouldn’t seem to focus. Before he could ponder it further, shouting came from the house.

“A battle?” Riel asked, drawing Poison from its sheath.

“No.” The Hound waved him silent. His ears perked up, trying to make out what was being said. “Panic.”

“Panic is good.” Riel hoisted Poison. “It should make the task of slaying the mortals that much easier. We should move in and claim what is ours.”

“
Oui
is French, my man,” the Hound said, turning to leave.

“And where are you going?” Riel called after him.

“I was only paid to track the thing. What happens after
that is up to you guys. Good luck, fellas.” The Hound’s laughter could still be heard after he vanished into the night.

“Coward,” Riel snarled. He turned to the Stalkers and raised his blade heavenward. “Let the slaughter commence.”

“What the hell happened in here?” De Mona surveyed the damage to Redfeather’s spacious living room. The second-floor banister had been smashed and was hanging halfway down into the living room. The house smelled of burning paper, and several of the overhead track lights were blown out. The most startling thing she noticed was a pale arm hanging between the broken rails.

“Meg!” Redfeather shouted, bounding up the stairs. He knelt beside the old woman’s prone body. Lifeless eyes stared out at the room, yet they saw nothing. The floral blouse she was wearing was soaked and torn. Just under the fabric there was the imprint of a broken pitchfork. “What evil have I condemned you to?”

Brother Angelo walked over to where the dead woman lay and examined her body. As he stared down at her he let his natural sight slip back and saw the scene through magical eyes. Both the woman’s chest and the room next to where she lay were tainted with the same magical signature, a brilliant gold with splotches of black.

“Dear God, it’s already begun,” Angelo said, using two fingers to close Meg’s eyes.

“Angelo, what aren’t you telling me?” Redfeather asked.

Angelo stood. “The Bishop was a power-thirsty man in
life and that thirst has only increased in death. Through the Nimrod he can call back the Dark Storm and free the imprisoned souls of his comrades. With the Knights and all the weapons gathered again, the Bishop could lay claim to the realm of mortals as well as demons.”

“But he’s trapped within the relic; surely the Nimrod can hold him?” Redfeather said.

“Old friend, the Nimrod was never really a prison but a hiding place. The relic nestled the Bishop tenderly in its bosom until the right elements could be brought together to be prepared for his return. But to cross the plains he needs a willing host.”

“Surely Gabriel will not give in to the Bishop’s whims.” Redfeather sounded surer than he really was.

Akbar moved next to where Brother Angelo was still kneeling over Meg and conducted his own examination. He shook his head sadly but kept his scowl. “I fear that your grandson is already under the sway of the Bishop. The wound was clearly made by the Nimrod.”

“No, there has to be an explanation.” Redfeather began pacing. “Gabriel!” Redfeather called his grandson’s name over and over, but there was no response.

“He’s gone,” Angelo told Redfeather. The first thing Angelo did was scan the premises telepathically for life signs, and he found none other than those of their group. Angelo looked to Akbar. “Contact the captain and tell him to mobilize the Inquisition. We neutralize the boy before he does any more damage.”

Redfeather grabbed Angelo’s arm. “Wait; let me try and find him before you send your people into the streets blindly.”

“I think we have more to fear from him than him from us,” Akbar said, looking around at the damage caused by the trident. “Brother Angelo,” he turned to the High Brother, “we mustn’t waste any more time here. The longer
we dally, the stronger the Bishop’s hold will become and the harder it will be to,” he glanced at Redfeather, “separate it from the boy.”

“Angelo, my grandson is not a malicious child; you know this. The Nimrod is an ancient thing that was never meant for this world; this is its handiwork. My grandson would never—”

“But your grandson has, Redfeather. From the dead witch we know that he is willing and able to kill. We cannot leave safety to chance and risk this happening again. The Nimrod and your grandson must be stopped before more lives are lost.” No sooner had Angelo finished his sentence than the sounds of gunfire cut through the night.

One of the guards who had been posted outside the front door came crashing through the window. Clinging to his back was a Stalker that was little more than bones and teeth. The Stalker hungrily tore chunks of flesh from the Inquisitor’s shoulder, spraying the carpet with blood. The front door crashed inward and Stalkers of varying stages of decay overran the brownstone.

Akbar was the first to react to the demon invasion. His eyes turned cold blue as he called the power of his bloodline, the Ghelgath demons. Drawing moisture from the air, Akbar proceeded to shape it as it froze and now faced the threat holding a spear and shield made of ice. “Protect the High Brother!” he bellowed, charging the Stalkers. When the first Stalker moved on him he jammed the spear up through its chin and out the top of its head.

This time De Mona welcomed the change when it washed over her. Her eyes hazed over in a film of red as her mother’s cursed blood brought forth the predator. A not even remotely human sound came from somewhere in De Mona’s chest as talons carved into her first victim. What passed as blood for the Stalker splattered over De Mona’s face, snapping the chain that had been keeping
the beast at bay. For too long it had been denied, and now it was unbound.

De Mona’s claws entered the Stalker with barely a sound. In a swift motion she latched onto its spine and snatched it out through the Stalker’s chest. Before the creature could fall she slapped its head off and kicked it away. She barely had time to react when another creature jumped onto her back. This one had been either a child or a midget at death, but it was so rotted that she couldn’t tell, nor did she care. Her powerful jaws clamped down on the thing’s arm, breaking it. She brought her hands up in a crossing motion, spilling the Stalker’s entrails onto the carpet. With a swipe of her claws she knocked the Stalker’s head across the living room.

In the center of the chaos, a black wisp of smoke rose from the ground. The blade was visible first, before Riel stepped out of the smoke. “Brothers of the Order of Sanctuary, I bring you the cool release of death.” He pointed to Poison for emphasis.

Angelo’s throat went dry at the sight of the demon. He had never encountered Riel personally but knew full well what the war demon and his sword were capable of. “I think you’ll find that we won’t die easily.” Angelo advanced on the demon with his own sword upraised.

“Get back, Angelo; I’ll take care of this one,” Akbar said confidently. Before Angelo could stop Akbar, he’d moved on Riel with the spear. Akbar tried to impale Riel, but the demon sidestepped him as easily as he would’ve a clumsy child. Akbar spun, with inhuman speed, but the demon was faster. He blocked the second spear strike with the flat end of his blade and aimed a bone-breaking blow at Akbar’s chest. Akbar’s shield shattered, sending him flying backward, but he kept his feet. When he came out of his daze he saw the scorched edge of Poison speeding for his throat.

Angelo blocked the strike with his own blade and countered with one of his own. He tried to gut the demon, but Riel spun out of the way. “Stand and fight, coward,” Angelo demanded.

“Brother Angelo, get back.” Akbar pulled himself to his feet with the spear. Even as weakened as he was, he was still trying to protect the High Brother.

“I’ll not stand idly by while my men are slaughtered,” Angelo protested, trying to move around to Riel’s rear. In a fluid motion Angelo decapitated a Stalker that tried to blindside him. It had been ages since he’d seen combat, but his skills were still as sharp as ever.

“Not to worry, priest, there’s enough death to go around.” Riel spun his blade in a loop and took a defensive stance.

A spray of gunfire shredded what was left of the door as the Inquisitor who had been driving the transport vehicle charged the house, sweeping a compact machine gun back and forth. He’d laid low two of the Stalkers and was turning his gun on the smiling Riel. Akbar tried to warn him back, but it was too late.

Faster than the driver’s eyes could follow, Riel dodged the bullets and closed the distance between them. He slapped the gun away from the stunned driver and pressed the blade to his throat. He expected to be decapitated, but to his surprise Riel just nicked the driver on the cheek and stepped back. Everyone looked on in horror as the skin around the cut began to blacken, sending a scab spreading over his face. With the poison racing through his bloodstream the Inquisitor dropped to the ground and began to shake violently. Foam and blood flowed from his mouth as every nerve in his body was killed off by the blade’s toxins. In an act of mercy, Akbar plunged his spear into the dying man’s heart to put him out of his misery.