“I have,” the Morningstar answered.
The child’s eyes twinkled happily, and the world slid that much closer to eternal darkness.
Geburah extended his hands, letting the power of Heaven leak from the tips of his fingers.
The rotting body of the Corpse Rider averted its single milky eye from the brightness of the angel’s divinity.
“Give it to me now,” Geburah demanded.
“I cannot,” the Rider gurgled. “If I do, it will be the end of me.”
The Powers’ leader bore down upon the female corpse, forcing himself to contain his fury.
“Explain,” he demanded.
“I gather that the object will not permit itself to be picked up by one it does not see fit to touch it,” the leader of the Riders explained.
“Do tell,” Geburah said. “Where have you put it?”
The corpse pointed to the pile of ashes on the floor. “There … resting in the remains of one who attempted to retrieve it.”
Geburah walked closer to the ash, studying the instrument. It certainly didn’t appear dangerous.
“Show me,” the angel commanded.
The leader hesitated, her blind eye searching the room for a volunteer, and of course there was none.
“You!” the leader commanded one of the other corpses.
A girl wearing cutoff shorts and a large shirt tied at the waist strode forward. On legs barely covered in flesh—yellow bone peeking out through tears in what little skin remained upon them—she approached her leader.
“Pick it up,” the leader commanded her.
The corpse turned her gaze to the instrument but did not move.
“But I will perish,” the corpse whined.
“Yes,” the leader acknowledged.
The dead girl did not move from where she was standing, weighing the command she’d been given by her leader.
Geburah could stand it no more, his patience at its lowest ebb. The angel surged toward the corpse, grabbing her by the back of the neck and throwing her atop the instrument.
The corpse landed awkwardly, emitting a high-pitched squeal as she momentarily thrashed before exploding into flame.
“Fascinating,” Geburah said. He turned his attention to his brothers, who were watching with cautious eyes, and he knew what they were thinking.
They were creatures of the Divine, and should have no worries at all about retrieving the holy object, but what if things had changed? What if the instrument no longer recognized their divinity; what if their time upon this accursed planet had left them tainted? What if the instrument knew their plans for the world, and did not agree?
Those were questions that only served to infuriate Geburah. Here he was, so close to fulfilling Verchiel’s final solution for this wretched world, and still it eluded him.
Geburah was almost considering prayer to seek his answer when the unconscious teen lying on the floor started to move.
The young man slowly crawled to his feet with a strangely blank stare.
The Powers’ leader found it odd that the carrier did not react in any way to the sight of walking corpses and winged angels standing before him as he rose unsteadily to his feet. He looked about the room, and seemingly beyond it.
“It is a pathetic place,” the carrier said with little inflection.
Geburah watched with a growing anticipation as the human turned his attention to the instrument nestled in the ashes of the unholy, and bent to retrieve it.
“And one that must be brought to a close,” the carrier continued, as he brought the instrument toward his mouth.
Geburah smiled broadly.
He could not have agreed more.
Aaron opened his eyes, and the cracked and water-stained plaster ceiling of the classroom gradually came into focus. He couldn’t move just yet, every nerve in his body numb from the psychic assault.
Something had gone wrong … something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.
At first everything had seemed to be going well. Lorelei’s magick had allowed them to enter the subconscious of the kid with the instrument. There had been a bit of a struggle going on there, the kid seeming to have some control issues with the device.
They seemed to have arrived just in time though, giving the kid what he needed to muster some control and override the instrument’s desire to start the countdown to the apocalypse.
But the instrument proved to be stronger than they’d anticipated.
Lorelei had been in the process of explaining to Dusty—the longer they stayed within his mind, the more they seemed to know about him—that evil forces were at work, attempting to get him to trigger the End of Days.
Aaron guessed that they might have let their guards down just a little.
Lorelei had been encouraging Dusty to be strong until they had a chance to reach him physically. She told him they would protect him against those forces that were trying to steal the instrument, as well as against the instrument itself.
Yeah, everything had seemed to be going just fine, until Dusty had attacked. Although Aaron was pretty sure it had been the instrument asserting its control, not Dusty.
Finally feeling as though he could move again, Aaron mustered his strength and rolled onto his side. Vilma lay on the floor beside him. There was blood on her lip.
“Vilma,” he called to her. She seemed so incredibly still, and he couldn’t see if she was breathing. His heart began to hammer painfully in his chest with worry as he reached out, grabbed her arm, and gave it a shake. She moaned, and he gasped with relief, the rapid-fire beating of his heart starting to slow.
Gabriel lay on his side, legs straight out, his thick pink tongue lolling from his mouth to curl on the floor.
“C’mon, Gabe,” Aaron said. He forced himself into an upright position, feeling his head go light. He focused, taking in deep breaths through his mouth, exhaling through his nose.
Milton appeared to be all right, peeking out from beneath Gabriel’s floppy golden-yellow ear, squeaking for the dog to wake up.
Aaron placed a hand upon the dog’s side, feeling a powerful heartbeat.
Vilma groaned louder, and then began to cough. She rolled onto her side, choking, and Aaron slid himself closer, taking her into his arms.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re going to be all right.… Slow, steady breaths, that’s it.”
She was tense as he held her, but she soon relaxed and her breathing came under control.
“What happened?” she managed groggily.
“I think we were forcibly removed from Dusty’s subconscious,” Aaron said.
Gabriel was sitting up now too. The mouse sat atop his head, cleaning himself.
“You all right?” Aaron asked his best friend.
“I’m hungry,” the dog said.
“Guess you’re fine,” Aaron said, relieved that they all seemed to have survived relatively unscathed, when—
“Lorelei,” Vilma said, pushing herself from his arms.
The instrument had gone after Lorelei first, knowing that she was the anchor holding them all there. The attack had been savage, like razor-sharp claws being raked over their exposed brains as an inhuman voice screamed for them not to meddle in the affairs of God.
Lorelei lay within the circle, curled in the fetal position.
Aaron crawled across the floor into the circle, not worrying about preserving the chalk lines.
“Lorelei,” he called to her.
She remained perfectly still as he carefully rolled her over onto her back. Vilma gasped at what they saw. The girl, who was only a couple of years older than he and Vilma, appeared to have aged another ten years. Her skin was a sickly gray, and dark trails of blood ran from each nostril.
“What’s happened to her?” Gabriel asked, pushing between them.
“It’s the magick, I think,” Aaron attempted to explain. “It’s too much for her to control.”
Vilma held Lorelei’s wrist, feeling for a pulse.
&nbs
p; “Her heart seems to be all right,” Vilma said. “Gabriel, go and get Kraus,” she told the dog.
Gabriel, Milton still riding atop his head, spun around and galloped from the classroom in search of their doctor.
“Hang on, Lorelei. Help is coming,” Aaron said, soothingly. He supported her head on his thigh and was gently stroking her snow-white hair when her eyes fluttered open.
“I’ll be fine,” Lorelei said weakly as she struggled to sit up.
“Lie still,” Vilma ordered, gently pushing her back. “I just sent Gabriel to get Kraus. Let’s make sure.”
“No time,” Lorelei said.
Ignoring their attempts to have her rest, the girl managed, with their help, to climb to her feet. She held on to the windowsill to steady herself.
“Don’t know how much longer we have,” she said, panting as if she’d just run a race. Her nose was still bleeding, and she brought the sleeve of her blouse up to wipe at the steady stream.
“There’s still a chance,” she said. “Gather the others … get to Dusty before the Powers …”
“The Powers,” Aaron interrupted. He’d been hoping that Lucifer had been wrong. “Are you sure?”
Lorelei nodded. “I caught a glimpse of Dusty in the waking world before the instrument torched my brain, and I saw angels, beautiful-looking things but with murder in their eyes. There was no mistaking what they were.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was the harmonica burning the tender flesh of his lips that helped him break the instrument’s hold.
But for how long? That was his worry.
The instrument was strong, constantly vying for control of him.
How did Tobias and the others do this? Dusty wondered fitfully. It is exhausting, like fighting against an ocean current.
He stood there, instrument of the apocalypse still pressed to the bubbling flesh of his lips, and eyed the sights before him. It all seemed like some sort of bad dream, like something he might’ve dreamed while having a severe fever.
The angel leader stared with eyes like polished black stones, a twitch of anticipation dancing at the corners of his mouth.
How can something so beautiful be so terrifying? he reflected, his eyes darting to the five other angelic beings that were waiting for him to call the end of the world.
“Do it,” the leader of angels commanded, his voice filled with so much power and authority that Dusty almost felt compelled to do so, almost.
The instrument fought him, thrashing wildly against his psyche. He couldn’t blame it, really; the instrument just wanted to fulfill its purpose. But Dusty wasn’t ready to call down the apocalypse on an unsuspecting world. So he fought it, fought it with everything he had. He needed to show it who was boss; he had to take control of its divine power and use it to escape the situation he found himself in now: surrounded by bloodthirsty angels and zombies.
“Do what you were created for.… perform your purpose,” the angel leader commanded, voice booming.
Yeah, he needed to take the bull by the horns. Dusty had to use the instrument, not for what it was intended, but to save his own skin.
Dusty tried to remember what Tobias had done on that rainy night in the alley, hoping that he wasn’t about to accidentally do something he might regret.
“You want me to blow on this?” Dusty asked them, watching the angel’s expression turn from anticipation to surprise. Dusty was back in control.
The zombies just stood there, waiting for something to happen, but the angels spread their wings. Dusty wasn’t sure if they were going to attack him or fly away, but he didn’t want to give them the chance to do anything.
Taking a deep breath in through his nose, he blew into the instrument, the air passing across multiple chambers, each of them containing two small metal reeds that vibrated to emit a hauntingly beautiful sound.
A sound that made all hell break loose.
Vilma walked faster to keep up with Aaron.
“We’ll need to find the others and let them know what’s happening,” he said, wearing that determined look she’d become so familiar with since he’d accepted his purpose as leader of the Nephilim, and all that it meant.
“I’m not sure how much time we have, but we’re going to need to leave right away if we’re going to get Dusty and the instrument away from the Powers and—”
Vilma stopped short, reaching out to grab hold of Aaron’s sleeve. It was all going so incredibly fast, and she had things to say to Aaron … things she needed to say.
Just in case.
“Wait,” she said, trying to slow things down for just a moment.
Aaron kept walking, the fabric of his shirt slipping through her fingers.
“Back in the library you asked me if I wanted to kiss him,” she said. “If I wanted to kiss Jeremy.”
Aaron stopped. “We don’t have to talk about this now,” he said, not looking at her. “There are more important—”
She spread her wings in a blink, leaping up into the air to drop down in front of him, blocking his way.
“No, there’s nothing more important right now, right this second,” she said to him, her eyes blazing. “We need to take a minute,” she said, “just a minute, to remember us. Not the mission, but us.”
Aaron looked as though he was going to argue, but she was on a roll now, desperate to get it all out.
“’Cause if we don’t remember us, what’s it all for, really?” she asked.
She moved closer to him and wrapped them both in her wings.
“Sometimes we need to be reminded of what we have,” she said, raising her hands to hold his face. “What we’re fighting for.”
She kissed him then, softly, gently, nervous that he wouldn’t kiss her back. But he did. And that made everything that was going on in her head and in the crazy world bearable.
“We really need to find the others,” Aaron said, breaking their kiss.
Vilma debated telling him about the weird attraction she felt with Jeremy, but decided that it wasn’t the right time. She needed to think about it more, to understand what had gone on between her and Jeremy Fox.
“I love you, Aaron Corbet,” she said, kissing him again. “Now and forever.”
“Now and forever,” he repeated, returning her kiss.
They were quiet for a moment, basking in the love they shared. There would be time for confessions later, when Vilma could think things through, but not now.
“That’s it,” she said, releasing him from her winged embrace. “We now return to our regularly scheduled craziness.”
He laughed softly, taking her hand as they continued toward the building where the others were likely to be, but they didn’t get far. As they turned the corner on the brick path, they came face-to-face with the others, Jeremy Fox in the lead.
“The world’s suddenly gone mad,” the Brit said, moving his finger around at his temple. “Just saw on the telly that the planet’s being overrun with all manner of beastie, and we were wondering what we intend to do about it.”
Vilma squeezed Aaron’s hand, letting him know that she was there for him, always, forever by his side.
“Nothing,” Aaron said calmly.
Jeremy looked as though he’d been slapped, and the others exchanged worried glances.
“For right now, anyway,” Aaron clarified. “There’s another situation that we have to deal with first.”
“What? Something more important than saving people from monsters?” Jeremy asked in disbelief.
“If the world comes to an end first, there won’t be any reason to save them.”
Vilma had to hand it to her boyfriend; he certainly did have a way of making a point.
Geburah should have been dead. His flesh was blackened and moist, most of it burned away to reveal the soft angelic muscle beneath.
Rising up from the rubble, the angel fluttered his mighty wings, stretching them as he shook away rock, dust, and dirt. He looked about and saw that nothing of the str
ucture remained standing. The home had been leveled in the destructive release of divine energies when the carrier had used the instrument.
Pieces of bodies that had once been animated by the Corpse Riders littered the grounds. Broken limbs stuck up from beneath the shattered walls and roof, but he had no care for them or the foul creatures that had made them move after death. Geburah wanted to know the fate of his brothers. Fearing that he may have been the only survivor, he walked through the remains of the home searching for a sign.
Suria emerged, throwing aside a still-burning piece of furniture. Tandal and Huzia pushed up from beneath the wreckage like flowers seeking out the rays of the sun.
He found the remains of Anfial and Shebniel, the pair having met the full brunt of the instrument’s release. They were entwined in each other’s arms, as if comforting one another in death.
Feeling the eyes of his living brethren upon him, Geburah turned to them.
“As long as one of us survives, we will continue with our mission,” he said, experiencing discomfort as his divine flesh healed. He used the pain to focus himself, to plot their next move.
There was a chance that the carrier would again use the instrument’s power against them, but that was a risk they would have to take. Geburah spread his charred wings and leaped into the sky. The act itself was one of sheer agony, but he needed to see where their quarry had gone. The angel dropped back to earth, exhausted, still not healed enough to pursue his prey, but in the distance he had seen something that gave him an idea.
Kneeling upon the shattered remains of the dwelling, Geburah bent down close to the debris and listened. He could hear things slithering in the patches of shadow cast by the rubble. The surviving Corpse Riders were attempting to hide from the rise of daylight.
“Can you hear me, foul beasts?” Geburah asked, the sounds of many appendages skittering beneath the rock growing louder in intensity with the question. “Now is the time to prove your worth. Not far from this spot there is a burial place that will provide you with the conveyances you require. Traverse the shadows in pursuit of the holy relic. Stop the carrier before he is lost to us again.”