The Fallen 3 (18 page)

“Where?”

“Right there on the floor in front of you.”

The woman’s head bent at an odd angle, fixating on the harmonica.

“This?” she asked. “You believe
this
to be the object of vast supernatural power we seek?”

“Well, if it isn’t, why else would a harmonica burn my hand off?” Fred replied.

The corpse seemed to think about what he said for a moment, then she turned her attention to one of her other walking dead companions.

“Pick it up,” she ordered the animated body of a skinny youth dressed in a bright red jogging suit that hid most of the bloodstains. He wore only one sneaker, the other foot bare, as he awkwardly lumbered to where the harmonica lay innocuously on the living room floor beside the unconscious teen.

The corpse stared for a moment before bending at the waist and reaching his long, spidery fingers, which were missing bits of skin, toward the harmonica. He snatched up the prize and was preparing to present it to his leader when his body suddenly exploded into flames. The Corpse Rider worm inside cried out as it sizzled in the unnatural fire.

“I could’a told you something like that would probably happen,” Fred said.

The flames extinguished as the body disintegrated. The harmonica sat amidst the ashen remains, appearing as harmless as it had before.

“Silence, wolf,” the Corpse Rider leader warned.

A corpse missing his legs dragged his ragged torso across the floor with his spindly arms toward the leader.

“If we cannot touch the instrument, how will we deliver it to the Powers?” the half corpse asked.

The leader pondered this question for some time, her one good eye focused upon the harmonica. But finally she seemed to know what had to be done.

“If we cannot bring the instrument to the Powers,” the
Corpse Rider leader said, “then we shall have to have the Powers come here.”

Fred cleared his throat loudly.

“Peacocks,” he said, spitting onto the floor. “This night just keeps getting better and better.”

Aaron didn’t want to ask Lorelei for help, but he had no choice.

“Is there an Archon spell that would allow you to find the instrument?”

Lorelei’s normally pretty features were drawn and her white hair hung loosely about her face. She looked as though she had aged another ten years since he’d last seen her.

She didn’t answer right away, and Aaron began to think she might say no. A part of him hoped she would.

“Yeah,” she finally said with a nod and a sigh. “Yeah, there might be. I don’t think it’s too different from the spell I use to identify our everyday missions.”

“So it’s not that complicated of a spell?” Vilma asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Lorelei responded with a tired laugh. Even her teeth looked older, more yellowed.

Aaron couldn’t help but feel guilty, knowing what the spell casting would do to her.

“Then maybe there’s another way,” he suggested.

“Maybe an approach that won’t take as much out of you?” Vilma added.

Lorelei headed toward a stack of books on the edge of one
of her worktables. “The problem is that many of these objects of power don’t want to be found. That’s how they protect themselves, to keep from falling into the wrong hands.”

She picked up one of the old volumes and began to thumb through it.

“And I’m going to have to disturb them all to find the particular object we’re looking for.”

Lorelei closed the book with a dusty snap.

“I might need your help with this one,” she said.

“Sure,” Aaron and Vilma agreed, both nodding, eager to be of any assistance that they could.

“Where’s Lucifer?” Lorelei asked.

That was a good question. “I left him back at his office,” Aaron said. “I thought he was going to join us.”

Lorelei thought for a moment. “Well, you two will probably do,” she said, walking toward the door. “We’ll have to go to the library.”

The library had once belonged to Scholar, a former angel of the angelic host Principality and keeper of knowledge for the Nephilim’s old home in Aerie, the one in the abandoned housing development built upon a toxic-waste dump.

This had been where Lorelei had grown up, learning of her special affinity to angelic magick, and where she and the others had waited for the special Nephilim—the Chosen One—who would arrive to save them, and fulfill the prophecy.

Aaron had come, and that prophecy had been realized.
The fallen had been forgiven and had returned to the kingdom of Heaven. And the Nephilim that had been hidden in Aerie, living in fear of discovery, were allowed to return to the world they’d been forced to abandon in order to survive.

Although the old Aerie was no longer needed, it still stood, a testament to those who believed in the prophecy, to those who lived and died to see it become real.

Scholar had collected books, papers, scrolls, stone tablets; if it contained information—no matter how small—he had wanted to possess it. The angel had lived in the world for a very long time, and throughout those long years he had amassed quite the collection. He had built his special library in one of the abandoned homes of Aerie.

And that was where they were going.

At the end of the long corridor outside Lorelei’s workroom was a heavy wooden door that did not seem to belong in the old school. Behind that door was a magickal passage to Scholar’s home and library, left for Lorelei to look after since Scholar had returned to God.

Lorelei stood in front of the door, placing her hand upon the glass, diamond-shaped doorknob and turning it.

The door came open with the sucking of air, and they all crossed over.

They entered another long hallway and proceeded forward to the closed door of the library.

Lorelei threw open the door to the enormous room, far
bigger than it had the right to be for the space allotted. But Archon magick was at work here, and the library space was close to limitless.

There were shelves as far as their eyes could see, with more books than could be read in a lifetime—twelve lifetimes. Scholar had loved his books, and the secrets and knowledge that he had found within them.

Lorelei disappeared into the stacks, and Aaron and Vilma waited for her near the door. Aaron imagined one could get lost in the maze of bookshelves, never to be found. He looked around, hoping that there might come a day, in the near future, when he could read some of what Scholar had collected for his own enjoyment, and not have the fate of the world hanging on information he needed to find there.

“Are you all right?” Vilma asked quietly, interrupting Aaron’s thoughts.

“I’m as good as can be expected with what’s going on,” he said.

She stepped closer and gently touched his hand. “I have to tell you something.” She paused a moment, then blurted out, “Jeremy tried to kiss me.”

Aaron’s angelic side, which he had to keep firmly in check, wanted to emerge, and to fight for what it believed belonged to it … but Vilma didn’t belong to anybody, especially his jealous, angelic nature.

“I know. I saw,” Aaron said, his voice strained.

She closed her eyes and sighed.

“I was hoping you hadn’t,” she said. “I can explain—”

“No, it’s okay,” Aaron interrupted quickly. “At least you didn’t kiss him back.”

“I didn’t know he was going to try that,” she told him.

“Did you want to?” Aaron didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. “Did you want to kiss him?”

There was a flash of emotion in her eyes. Was it shock? Fear? Guilt? He couldn’t say.

“Aaron,” Vilma started to speak as Lorelei came around the corner, a selection of old-looking books and scrolls filling her arms.

“Could you give me a hand with these?” she asked. “Thanks,” she said as Aaron and Vilma reached out to help with the books and scrolls. “We’ll head back to the lab and get started.”

Aaron chanced a glance at Vilma out of the corner of his eye as he followed Lorelei to the library exit. There were many things that still had to be said. Needed to be said.

If only the end of the world wasn’t getting in the way.

T
he Corpse Rider leader did not care for the rotting carriage it currently inhabited. It always preferred the newly dead to the long dead, but this would have to do until it could take possession of a fresher host.

Perhaps the unconscious human male on the floor of the wolf’s home
, the Rider considered, but that, too, would have to wait for the Powers to decide whether or not he was needed to help them achieve their goals.

The Corpse Rider waited, along with others of its ilk. They were all of one mind, psychically connected, and the leader had sent out a summoning for one of their own to find Geburah and the Powers and inform them that their prize had been found, that they should come at once.

“I’m hungry,” the wolf called Fred whined, still clutching the blackened stump where his hand had once been to
his chest. “I’m thinking I’d like to take a little bite from this one,” he said, pointing to the young man—the carrier of the instrument—on the floor before him.

“No,” the Corpse Rider said with a shake of her head. “It is not yet known if that one has any importance to the Powers’ mission. Only after they arrive will the fate of the youth be determined.”

“Just a small bite?” the wolf pleaded.

“Do not test me, animal,” the leader warned.

Her single eye kept falling to the instrument on the floor. She was fascinated with the simplicity of it but also feared its destructive potential. She had to admit that she was mildly curious as to why the Powers were so intent on locating it, so intent that they would actually seek out the assistance of the Corpse Riders.

But she guessed that it didn’t really matter. The only important thing to her was that the persecution of the Riders would cease once the object—this instrument—was in the possession of the angels. A truce had been promised, and the Corpse Riders would be allowed to flourish upon this world.

She was about to mentally urge the Riders to make haste in finding the Powers when the wolf acted.

“Nobody is gonna tell me what I can and can’t do in my own house,” the beast roared, lunging for the still-unconscious youth, mouth poised to bite.

The other Riders acted with the speed of their leader’s
thoughts. The shambling corpses fell upon the beast-man, dragging him to the ground and away from the carrier.

“Get your rotten hands offa me before I—”

The air in the living room thickened. It was as if a powerful storm was forming right there in the middle of the room. The air was charged with an energy that roused the leader’s survival instinct, but she held her ground. Turning toward the new disturbance in the room, they all watched as the air shimmered, and something, accompanied by a disturbing and deafening sound, began to push its way into their reality.

One by one the angels of the Powers appeared, their mighty wings opening to reveal their fearsome countenance.

The angel Geburah was the first to manifest, his attentions instantly drawn to the struggle between the Riders and the wolf.

Fred stopped struggling long enough to witness his own demise.

The Powers’ leader raised his hand, tongues of holy fire leaping from the tips of his fingers to engulf the hungry wolf, along with the Corpse Riders holding him. The flames were so intense that their cries roasted in blackened throats before their release.

“I felt the need to deal with that,” Geburah said, wiggling the still smoldering fingers on his hand. “I hope you don’t mind.”

The Corpse Riders’ leader felt it best to keep her mouth
shut, bowing her head ever so slightly in the presence of the divine creatures.

“Now,” Geburah said, his huge wings closing upon his back. “Let’s pray that is the only situation I’m forced to deal with in such a way.”

The angel stared down at the mangled features of the corpse.

“The instrument,” Geburah demanded. “Give it to me.”

Lorelei was a little nervous about this spell, and perhaps a little distracted. She would rather have been putting her best efforts toward her own little project.

Communicating with God
.

She studied the pages of the ancient book again, deciphering the strange text written in the language of the Archons. Even the act of reading required such concentration that it was exhausting;
anything
pertaining to the angelic sorcerers always required great reserves of strength.

Aaron and Vilma stood patiently nearby, ready to help, which was good; without their strength added to hers, the spell would be impossible, and Lorelei would be left practically drained of life.

The sound of claws clicking on the old linoleum floors distracted her, and she looked up to see Aaron’s dog entering the old science lab.

“Hey, Gabe,” Aaron said as Vilma knelt to pet the animal.

“Where’s Lucifer?”
the dog asked them.

“He’s in his office,” Aaron answered.

“No,”
Gabriel said, shaking his head.

Lorelei noticed movement from under the lab’s collar, and the gray shape of the Morningstar’s mouse emerged.

“Went to the office and found Milton alone,”
Gabriel continued.

“I can’t imagine he went far,” Aaron said. “We’re in the middle of something important and—”

“Milton said he went to deal with something he should have dealt with a long time ago,”
Gabriel explained. The mouse squeaked in agreement as he walked along the Labrador’s muscular back.

“Do you know what he’s talking about?” Vilma asked, looking to her boyfriend.

Aaron just shrugged. It was a mystery he would have to worry about later. Right now there was a spell to cast, and an object of power to locate.

“I’m just about ready here,” Lorelei said.

“What’s going on?”
Gabriel asked.

“We’re going to help Lorelei with one of her spells,” Vilma answered.

“I want to help,”
Gabriel barked, looking at all of them with his soulful eyes.

“That’s all right, boy,” Aaron said. “You just sit. As soon as we’re done here, we’ll find Lucifer and—”