The Dark Storm (26 page)

“How on earth did you do that?” Redfeather asked.

“No time for biology lessons, friend. The wall isn’t very thick, so I suggest you get on with it before our friends break through.” Morgan’s voice was tired.

“Angelo.” Redfeather knelt beside his old friend. The High Brother’s skin was ashen and he was babbling feverishly.

“And God said let there be light … it is in the light that we all walk. Where is the light? Why can’t I see the light?” he rambled.

“Dude looks bad,” Jackson said, standing over the men. Jackson had retrieved his shotgun and was filling it with fresh shells.

Morgan gripped Angelo’s breastplate and ripped it down the middle as if it were made of plywood. On the High Brother’s chest there was a dark web surrounding the wound and slowly making its way up the length of his body. “It’s the work of the cursed blade. I’ve heard tales of its evil, but sadly I know of no way to treat it.”

“The healers will know,” a meek voice said, startling everyone. At first they saw nothing but a patch of distorted reality, which began to solidify, revealing a small man. His skin was as pale as an albino, dark curls crowning his round head. Eyes as black as space looked up at the band of warriors nervously.

“You’re the thing I saw at Sanctuary.” De Mona pointed at the small man.

“I’m not a thing; my name is Finnious, Fin to my friends,” he corrected her.

“How did you get here?” Redfeather asked.

Fin paused as if he wasn’t sure whether to answer. “I
hitched a ride on the transport when you left to come here.”

“Impossible, we would’ve seen you.”

“Not if I didn’t want you to.” Fin faded into almost nothing, then became solid again.

De Mona sniffed him, trying to figure out what was off about the small man. “You have no scent. Every living thing has a scent, even the vamps.”

“It’s because I’m not alive. Not dead, but not alive,” he told her.

“A wraith?” Redfeather took a step back.

Fin sighed. “Yes and no. It’s complicated and I don’t have time to explain. We must get Brother Angelo back to Sanctuary so the healers can tend to him.”

“Doesn’t look like he’s going to make it,” Jackson pointed out.

“He must,” Fin said with such conviction that it surprised everyone. “With the death of the High Brother comes the death of the order.”

“What are you talking about?” De Mona asked.

“No time. We have to go,” Fin insisted.

“But how—” Redfeather’s question was cut off by Angelo’s screaming.

“I rebuke thee, Satan!” Angelo howled. His face was slick with sweat and his skin had begun to pale.

“Hold him steady,” Redfeather said.

“You have no power over me!” Angelo shouted deliriously. “It burns,” he continued, trying to claw at his stomach. Seeing that Redfeather and De Mona were having trouble holding Angelo down, Jackson grabbed his arms and pinned them above his head.

Redfeather examined the wound. The poison had marked its passing with a series of webbed veins snaking across Angelo’s chest and arms. Redfeather gently prodded the wound, causing pus to run from it and across
Angelo’s heaving chest. “It is even worse than the stories.” Redfeather wiped his hands on his pants and crossed himself.

Just then Angelo let out a bloodcurdling scream. His body was contorting at uncomfortable angles and there was blood-laced foam starting to trickle from his mouth and nose.

“We should take him to a hospital,” De Mona suggested.

“No, No hospital. Angelique is sending a healer. All we have to do is make it back to Brooklyn,” Fin said.

“There’s no guarantee that he’ll make it without some type of treatment. Isn’t there something we can do?” Jackson asked, staring curiously at the traces of the fast-spreading infection.

“Nothing that I know of,” Redfeather confessed.

“Maybe I can help,” Finnious offered weakly.

“The wraiths have power over death, not life,” Redfeather pointed out.

“And as I said, I’m only half wraith. Let me try,” Fin almost pleaded. With a nod Redfeather moved to the side so that Fin could kneel beside Angelo. Feeling everyone’s eyes on him made Fin nervous, but he tried to shut their stares out so he could concentrate.

Finnious had worked the trick on birds and other small animals but never on a human. As carefully as he could, he laid his hands on Angelo’s wound. Angelo bucked, but De Mona and Jackson managed to hold him still enough. Finnious pressed harder against Angelo’s wound, sinking his fingertips into the cut. He could feel the poison from the blade working its way through Angelo’s body, killing everything it passed. If the poison made it to his heart all would be lost.

“Who’s going to look after the children if I go home?” Angelo pleaded.

“Hold tight, Angelo; you’ll be fine.” Redfeather tried to sound sure of himself.

Finnious visualized the wound in his mind, touching the ruined nerves and muscle. Working backward, he began trying to regenerate the damaged tissue. He first reconnected the muscles and then the flesh, backing to the surface of the wound. Just when it looked like he was making progress, the poison doubled its efforts. The darkness moved from Angelo’s gut, snaking its way up Finnious’ arm.

“You must break the connection.” Redfeather watched in horror as Finnious was engulfed from fingertips to shoulders in darkness.

“I won’t,” Finnious yelped as the pain in his arms grew more intense. He felt like he was going to black out at any moment, but he couldn’t let Angelo down. Even when the darkness had spread to Finnious’ face he maintained the connection.

“Too late to call in the cavalry, too late,” Angelo gasped. He looked up at Finnious and for a minute his eyes were sane. “You’ll carry it for me, won’t you, Fin?” Angelo grasped Fin’s arm. The priest’s grip was surprisingly tight for the condition he was in. “Keep it safe for me, huh?”

“Brother Angelo, please—” Fin’s words were cut off when Angelo grabbed him roughly by the back of the neck.

“Promise me you’ll keep it safe. Say it!” Angelo demanded in a deranged tone.

Fin had never seen Angelo like this and it scared him so bad that he almost wet his pants. “Okay, whatever you want. I’ll keep it safe.” He looked at all assembled hoping that someone would help him, but everyone was too shocked to move.

Angelo smiled peacefully. “I knew I could count on
you.” In what came as a shock to everyone, Brother Angelo pulled Fin to him and kissed him on the lips. Fin struggled against Angelo, but the High Brother held him there. Angelo coughed, but instead of blood there was a brilliant light. The light spilled from Angelo’s mouth and down Fin’s throat, turning his insides into molten fire. Fin screamed and thrashed, but Angelo would not release his hold. When the connection was finally broken, Finnious lay panting in the corner, staring at the now-rotted corpse of his mentor.

“Fin, are you okay?” De Mona reached for him, but the boy scrambled away from her.

“No, no, no. If you touch me, I’ll die,” Fin ranted. He seemed to be afflicted with the same madness that had come over Angelo. Fin tried to pull himself up using one of the dressers, but his hand passed right through. It was as if he could no longer maintain a solid form.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Jackson asked, backing away from Fin when he staggered next to him.

“It must be an aftereffect of whatever Angelo did to him. We must get both of them back to Sanctuary; they’ll be better equipped to handle this.”

“He’s right, but I don’t think we can get everybody there on our bikes.” Morgan motioned towards Jackson, then himself. “Do you have a car?” he asked Redfeather.

“No,” Redfeather said, wishing he’d listened to his grandson about purchasing a vehicle.

“We can hot-wire the transport,” De Mona suggested.

“Good idea, but the front door is on the other side,” Redfeather said, pointing to the wall that was beginning to web from the Stalkers’ blows. It wouldn’t be long before they broke through.

“Then we’ll make another,” Morgan said, raising his hammer. “Stand clear,” he told them. With a grunt he tossed the hammer through the far wall of the living
room, destroying it. As gently as he could, he scooped Angelo’s decomposing body into his arms. “This way.”

“Wait; I lost the dagger in there. It’ll—,” Redfeather began but was cut off by Jackson.

“Do you no good if you’re dead or in prison. Now, you can do what you want, but I wouldn’t want to be here if those shitheads get loose or the police show up. I’m outta here.” Jackson stepped through the hole in the wall followed by Morgan and Fin, who was having trouble walking. He almost stumbled, but De Mona caught him under his arm.

“Man’s got a point, Redfeather.” De Mona helped Fin through the hole.

Redfeather looked around at the remains of what had been his home for so many years and thought about how much it reflected his life. The promise he’d made to his son before he died rang in Redfeather’s head and his fear of the dark forces was replaced with rage. In his heart he had known that one day this might happen, and he had tried his best to keep Gabriel from his legacy and ignorant of his history. But in trying to shelter him Redfeather had left his grandson vulnerable. Somewhere out there the young man whom Redfeather had sworn to protect was at the mercy of the vile trident and it was his fault. He knew what needed to be done to protect not only his loved ones but also the world from the wrath of the Bishop. But knowing didn’t mean that Redfeather would be able to go through with it when and if the time came. Fighting back the tears of a foolish old man, he went after the warriors.

The old man watched from the shadows as the warriors took off mere moments before the police arrived. He smiled at their victory but didn’t allow himself too much joy, for he knew the greatest battle was yet to be fought.

The wind shifted, drawing the man’s attention overhead. A crow that was almost the size of a falcon was watching the group file out of the ruins of the brownstone. When the Hummer turned the corner the crow flapped its large wings and took off.

“The demon lord has eyes everywhere,” the old man said, slinking back into the shadows. “Beware, young Knights, for the gauntlet has been laid down and the war has begun.”

Flag sat in the back of the limo, watching the mirror he held on his lap as the surface began to cloud over. There was a rush of power and then the face of Titus became visible through the smoke.

“Report,” the right arm of Belthon ordered. His spies had already sent word to him about the incident, but he wanted to hear it from Flag’s mouth.

“The King Maker was undone,” Flag said. “The Nimrod was gone from the brownstone by the time the Stalkers arrived, but they did encounter Brother Angelo and his vile Inquisition.”

“Damn the High Brother. He’s been a thorn in my side for more than a hundred years,” Titus fumed.

“Well, you can consider your thorn removed. The High Brother fell to the cursed blade, Poison,” Flag said proudly.

“Angelo is dead?” Titus almost couldn’t believe it.

“Riel said he saw him fall before he made his escape. Not even one as powerful as Angelo could withstand a strike from Poison; he is technically a mortal.”

“And the Core?”

“That I don’t know.”

“Then you need to find out,” Titus told him. The knowledge of his nemesis’s demise brought Titus joy, but hardly
as much as the sinister plan he was about to put into action. It wasn’t enough for Brother Angelo to die; Titus wanted his order broken. “Have you spoken with Orden yet?”

“I’m on my way there now,” Flag said, looking out the window. There was a large green sign marking the Bronx Zoo exit. “By tomorrow night all should be in place for the final assault.”

“No, there will be no mourning for Brother Angelo and his beloved order. If he’s dead, then the order will be vulnerable for the first time in over a hundred years. Tell Orden that Sanctuary falls tonight!”

Flag was shocked by the sudden change of plans. “My lord, it will be morning in a few hours and the goblins must be underground by such time. There’s no way they can take down the order before daylight.”

“There is a way and you will find it, Flag.” The mirror rippled as Titus roared. “You will accompany the goblins to make sure my orders are carried out to the letter.”

“Titus, I can carry your orders to the goblins, but there’s no way they would allow someone who isn’t a warrior to participate in their raid.”

“Then let tonight be the first when you actually get your hands dirty. Do not fail me, mage.” Titus broke the connection, leaving Flag staring at his own worried expression in the mirror.

A sudden overpowering urge to shatter the mirror on the wall came over Titus, but he managed to suppress it. Realistically speaking, he knew he’d never take the Nimrod by sending anything less than a full troupe of able-bodied warriors, but he held on to the hope that his demon lieutenants would be able to get it done. The fact that the Hunter and the relic had yet to be delivered to him showed him the error of his ways. There was much to think about
and even more to do, but it would have to wait. Titus had a visitor, and when you were dealing with beings in the mortal realm who weren’t naturally of it time was always a precious thing.