Archangel Evolution

  David approached him confidently, like he knew exactly where he was going, what he was doing. “Hello there, sir. How are you today?” David said politely.

  Without looking up from his paper, the bald guy said, “Keep on movin’, son. Whatever you’re sellin’, I ain’t buyin’.”

  A quick flare of heat bubbled into David’s head. How dare the filthy, insolent human ignore his superior like that!? Breathe, breathe, he told himself. The anger subsided and David managed to maintain his polite expression, his cool tone. “Thank you, sir, but we’re actually not selling anything. We’re giving.”

  Finally, the man looked up, probably because David had said we and he was curious to see who else was with him. He glanced at Lucas and Cassandra, who had caught up, his gaze lingering on Cassandra, wandering up and down her curving body. David thought the old pervert might actually lick his lips. Instead, he said, “So you’re Jehovah’s Witnesses then? I’m still not buyin’.”

  “Wrong again, sir. We are here to present you with a prize you have won.”

  “I didn’t enter no contest,” the guy said gruffly. Then, changing his tone, he said, “What prize?”

  When he said it, David knew the man was as good as theirs—a dead man walking. “Maybe your wife did,” David said, taking a guess that the guy was married. “And it’s a cash prize.”

  Upon hearing the word cash, the man’s eyes gleamed, but his mouth was still skeptical, cocked to the side like he was chewing on the inside of his mouth. “How much cash?”

  “Unfortunately, you did not win the grand prize of ten thousand dollars, some lady in Brooklyn did. Oh, you should have seen her face, the surprise, the delight. Some days I just love my job!” David was laying it on so thick that he almost threw up in his own mouth.

  “How much cash?” the guy repeated. The skepticism had washed completely from his face, and every muscle was tensed, as if focused on the tiny piece of information related to what else?—money!

  “Like I said, you didn’t win the first prize, but you did get second, sir, which is quite an accomplishment. I mean second out of all those thousands of entrants, it’s something you should really be proud of…”

  “How much!?” the man growled, truly believing his life was about to be changed.

  “Five thousand dollars,” David said proudly.

  The old guy’s jaw dropped to his knees. “Five…,” he trailed off. Suddenly snapping his mouth shut like a mousetrap, he said, “Give it to me.”

  David reached in his pocket and extracted the clip of crisp hundred dollar bills that they would be using and reusing to set traps for their victims, and started to hand it to the man. Just before the bills reached his outstretched hand, David pulled back sharply. “Wait, I totally forgot. My gosh, I can’t believe I….Of course, we need to verify some information, to make sure we’re giving the money to the right person.”

  The man’s face fell, like he already knew that there had been some mistake, that the money was meant for someone two houses down, someone more deserving than him.

  David said, “Okay, first question: Do you live at 45…”

  The man’s eyes lit up. “45 Berkeley Street?” he said.

  “Yes. Berkeley Street. Number 45. That’s your place?” David said, motioning behind the man.

  “Yes, my place. Well, mine and my wife’s.”

  “Okay,” David said. “As long as you can confirm that you live here, then you’re the winner. Do you have a rental agreement or even a phone bill that proves you are living here? You know, something that we can come inside and take a look at?” David marveled at his innate ability to lie so smoothly, to invite himself into the man’s home and yet make it feel like it was the right thing for the guy to do.

  “Yes, yes. Come inside, please. My wife takes care of all the finances; she’ll be able to show you something.”

  Although the man looked creaky, old, arthritic, he practically leapt up the stairs and shot through the door, yelling, “Marta! We have company! Get out the bill register!”

  For the first time since they left the bench, David turned around to look at his followers. He smiled at them. It was time. Their expressions were indifferent, but he sensed a challenge beneath their casual stares. Perhaps Lucas had won the argument. He would be ready for them.

  David led the way up the stairs and into the man’s home. Once Cassandra and Lucas were inside, he closed and locked the door.

  His sword released a dull glow when he unsheathed it. There would be no screams to hear. Day or night didn’t matter.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  After watching Little Rocky—who was now Big Rocky—train for an hour, Kiren and Taylor grabbed a bite to eat. They talked nonstop the entire time. It was good getting to know Kiren. They seemed to click on many different levels. The conversation had drifted to family when Taylor’s cell phone rang.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “Clifford here. I’ve called a meeting. It’s time to begin your mission. My office—ten minutes.”

  “I’m with Kiren,” Taylor said.

  “Bring her, too,” he said.

  She hung up and Taylor relayed the information to Kiren. They hurriedly finished their lunch and five minutes later were on a transporter to the tunnel wing that housed the Elders’ offices. Clifford’s was the last one. The door opened before they reached it.

  “You’re late,” Sam joked.

  Taylor said, “Have you been assigned to this mission, too?”

  Sam laughed and said, “After doing time in angel prison, I think I would prefer a few weeks of R&R, but definitely put my name down for the next one.”

  The three girls entered the office, in which Chris already sat, facing Clifford. Sam had been invited because even if she wasn’t, Chris would tell her everything immediately after anyway. And Clifford liked her.

  Although Taylor had been in Clifford’s office several times before, for some reason she had never really looked around much. After spending time with Kiren, she felt contemplative. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, looking for clues that might give her some insight into who the head of the demon Elders really was.

  Like most places in the Lair, the room was dark, lit only by a dozen candles. It smelled of dust and old book pages, which made sense because there were wall-to-wall bookshelves on three sides. Each shelf had a thin layer of dust marred only by gentle scratches where books had been removed. There was clutter everywhere; evidently Clifford never threw anything out. A bronze world globe on one shelf, a model ship in a bottle on another. There were no photos or artwork.

  The warm brown desk separating Clifford from Taylor and her friends was the only clean surface. It was currently being used only as a rest for Clifford’s folded hands, and a support for Sam to lean her elbows on.

  Taylor realized the others had already started talking. Clifford was saying, “…no word yet, but they haven’t been gone long. We expect to hear from them in the next couple of hours.”

  Taylor intuited that it was Gabriel and Sampson he was referring to. She wasn’t sure whether no news was good news.

  Clifford said, “Shall we talk about your mission?”

  “Do you still have this crazy idea that you are going to participate in it?” Chris asked.

  Clifford smiled. “I know what you’re thinking. Old Clifford has lost his head, he’s having a midlife crisis and wants to do something adventurous.”

  Chris said, “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Well, you’re wrong. For one, I am way past the middle of my life, so if anything, it would be a late-life crisis.” He paused to laugh at his own joke. Then he said, “Second, without me, you have no mission. You have no bait. It would be like throwing a hook in the water and hoping to catch a fish.”

  “There are other ways, sir. Dionysus is probably dying to get his hands on Taylor, too. She could be the bait.”

  “Not anymore. Now that she’s become an angel—and an unpredictable one at
that—and he has managed to evolve his New Archangels, he has no need for her. No, he wants me more than anyone else. I am going to do this.”

  Taylor said, “Okay, Clifford. We’ll do whatever you ask of us.”

  Clifford sighed. “I know you will. And I know I will be in good hands—the very best actually. That’s another reason I feel this is a risk worth taking. Is everyone with me?”

  The question was directed at both Chris and Kiren, but Clifford’s eyes never left Chris’s.

  Kiren immediately agreed, but Chris just stared back at him, as if he was trying to use telepathy to change Clifford’s mind. After thirty seconds, Sam said, “Of course the stubborn one agrees too, don’t you?”

  Finally breaking his stare, Chris said, “Yes, but I do so under strong advice to pursue another course of action.”

  “Noted,” Clifford said rigidly. “Now, for the plan.” He rubbed his hands together rapidly.

  For the next forty-five minutes, Clifford explained his proposed plan. Chris made recommendations for improvements several times, each of which Clifford readily accepted, but the overall nature of the plan remained unchanged. Clifford would contact Dionysus under the guise that he was tired of fighting and that he wanted to face him once and for all. Although Taylor didn’t believe Dionysus would go for what felt like the oldest trick in the book, Clifford assured her he would be able to convince his angel counterpart. Once the fight started, Taylor, Chris, and Kiren would rush in to help him kill Dionysus. They fully expected Dionysus to have plenty of backup, in the form of the New Archangels, but at least he would be temporarily exposed and they would have a chance to take him out. Chris and Kiren would try to hold off the Archangels while Taylor went after Dionysus.

  Once every last detail had been agreed, Clifford adjourned the meeting and promised to contact them once the timing had been set. The foursome left together, hoping to find an open pool table so they could waste away the day.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Unbelievable. It was a call that Dionysus had always hoped to receive, but never expected to. For years Dionysus had tried to lure Clifford out, but he had always declined, using important words like leadership and duty as excuses for his cowardice. While he knew his demon opponent was spineless, he also knew that he wasn’t stupid. Which meant that this would be a trap. Clifford was playing on his pride and lust for revenge in an attempt to get him out in the open. But Dionysus was fine with that, because it would force Clifford out into the open as well.

  He finally had a chance to cut the head off the demons, and he wasn’t about to waste it just because of some pathetic demon trap. After all, he would have three of his New Archangels with him. He considered calling the other three back to Headquarters, but decided against it. With David and the other two assaulting New York and Dionysus killing off the head of the demon Elders, his enemies would be stretched too thin.

  He had taken the call in his room, where he had been admiring himself in the mirror. He turned his attention back to his naked reflection—his evolved perfection. The time of the humans had passed; the time of the demons had passed; even the time of the angels had passed; the Archangel Evolution had begun, and it wouldn’t end until they ruled the earth.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Gabriel checked his watch again, for the tenth time that afternoon. 4:30—another ten minutes had passed, slowly.

  After they had raided Martin’s refrigerator—building triple decker sandwiches with roast beef, ham, turkey, and all the salad fixings they could possibly want—Gabriel and Sampson had listened to Martin work the phones. At one point he had three phones going at once, a feat that even the most capable executive assistant would be in awe of.

  Anytime Gabriel tried to ask how it was going, Martin said, “Later, later, my boy,” and shoved another bite of sandwich into his mouth before dialing another number. At around 4:45, Martin hung up one last phone and said, “It’s done.”

  Gabriel had long since finished his lunch and had resorted to picking rye seeds out of his teeth with a toothpick to pass the time. Sampson chose to spread out on the couch and read a classical music magazine for about two minutes before passing out with the reading material on his face. His light snoring buzzed the pages with each exhalation.

  Gabriel shook his friend, who said, “What? What?” as he scrambled back into a sitting position, the periodical flapping wildly to the floor.

  “What’s the plan?” Gabriel asked.

  Martin said, “Midnight. It’s the earliest I could get. Babysitters have to be lined up, night-workers need to call in sick, arrangements must be made.”

  “That’s fine. Who?”

  Martin smiled. “You did come to the right place, Gabriel. About seventy-five percent of the adult angel population in New York will probably be there. That’s New York state, not city.”

  Now it was Gabriel who was smiling, ear to ear. Sampson, still groggy, was blinking rapidly as if trying to come back to reality from some dream world that continued to flash before his eyes. Gabriel said, “Uncle, you’re a miracle worker.”

  Martin said, “No, Gabriel. This was nothing. The real miracle needs to happen tonight.”

  Gabriel nodded solemnly. “It will, Uncle. It has to.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Two strokes and the lucky prize winner and his wife were dead. The geezer was rummaging through an old file cabinet, presumably looking for proof of residence, when he was killed. The wife had been making some tea. Neither made a sound—David caught them well before they hit the floor. It was professional, precise, easy. And it was fun—for David anyway. In fact, he enjoyed it immensely. The other two just watched like a couple of useless piles of crap.

  On the way out, David said over his shoulder, “Lucas—call 9-1-1. We need to report a crime.”

  “Do it yourself,” Lucas retorted.

  David stopped, still inside the old guy’s apartment. Here it came. The coup de` etat. Turning around slowly, David said, “Must I remind you of the chain of command and the penalties for not following it?”

  “Screw the chain of command,” Lucas said. “We’ve got our own rules. It’s based on seniority, so I’m in charge, with Cassie second.”

  David’s eyes narrowed. Although the two standing before him had evolved, like him, they were messing with destiny. And everyone knows you can’t mess with destiny. As a distraction, David started to say, “I suppose we could work something—” and then with incredible speed of hand—faster than any pickpocket, or card-hiding cheat gambler, or magician with a renowned disappearing act—he extracted his sword and backhanded it at Lucas, who stood a few feet away.

  Lucas reacted quickly, grabbing his own sword hilt, but it was too late. David’s sword pierced the skin on Lucas’s left breast, leaving only the silver hilt in view at the front—David assumed at least half the blade-end of the weapon was now protruding from Lucas’s back. By the time the blade had pierced his once-upon-a-time master, David had already moved in its wake; he was now close enough to grab the handle once again.

  When he pulled, however, the sword only retracted about an inch before stopping. Not skin, nor organs, nor even bone would be capable of holding fast to an angel sword, so David looked around his dying—or maybe already dead—opponent, to see what might be causing the problem.

  He saw the sword coming and ducked. Cassandra’s blade snipped a lock of wavy hair from his head. With nothing supporting his body, Lucas collapsed to the ground, leaving David exposed. In the split-second before Cassandra attacked again, he could see the reason for his stuck sword. The clever Cassandra had bent the blade to the side, flush with Lucas’s back, in an L-shape. And angel swords could not be bent easily. She was strong—incredibly strong. And fast.

  She leapt at him, whipping her sword around like freaking Zorro. Somehow David managed to dodge each attempted killing stroke. Wanting to end the fight early, Cassandra thrust wildly for his heart—but David was expecting the maneuver. Even before s
he had fully committed herself, he sensed what she was about to do and purposely left himself exposed to just such an attempt. When she outstretched her arm to stab him, he spun gracefully, allowing the tip of Cassandra’s weapon to barely cut a tatter of cloth from the side of his coat. As he spun, he moved towards her, getting inside the range of her sword strokes.

  With all the power he could muster, David let loose a booming punch to her face. The blow—which was infused with the power of light—sent a shock through him, and presumably her as well, as it threw her across the room. She smashed against the far wall, and crumpled in a heap on top of the bloody carcass of victim number one, the old guy.

  David was already moving.

  In one deft motion, he wrenched Lucas’s sword from its sheath, hopped over him, and took his first stride towards Cassandra, who was pulling herself up awkwardly. She had lost her weapon when she flailed through the air. Spotting it on the worn carpet, she rushed to it, grabbing the handle to raise it. It didn’t move. David’s heel was jammed down hard on the broad side, holding it firmly in place.

  Cassandra froze.

  David smiled.

  She said, “David…don’t. If you don’t, I will obey you forever. I will be your slave, and you will be my master.”

  “Talk is cheap,” David snarled, bringing his blade down across her neck. The two thuds that followed were like music to his ears.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Eight ball, corner pocket,” Taylor said. A firm tap, a clink, and a plunk, and it was over.

  “Nice shot, Tay,” Sam said. “When did you get good at pool?”

  Taylor shrugged. “I guess it has to do with the angel thing. Better vision, better hand-eye coordination, that kind of thing.” She and Kiren had won three in a row thanks to Taylor’s streak of not missing a shot. Chris and Sam—not used to losing—were struggling to get even one ball in.