A Kiss Before the Apocalypse

  “I know.”

  He shoved the picture into his coat pocket, grabbed the briefcase from the desk, and left the office. He would first hook up with Francis and Lazarus to find a safe place to store the scrolls, and then they would...

  Remy froze as he turned the corner to the long corridor that would lead him back to the tunnel.

  Listening.

  Where before he'd heard the cry of a single lab animal, now he was hearing the cries of what sounded like hundreds. He listened to their frenzied voices, trying to decipher the cause of their panic.

  Slowly, he began to walk down the hall, toward the laboratory door. He was surprised to see that it was open, and that someone was standing in the center of the room.

  Somebody he knew. Somebody he would not have expected to see here in a million years, but then again, a few days ago he would never have expected to see him in his office either.

  The angel's name was Galgaliel, and once he was a brother to Remy.

  “Why are you here, Seraphim?” Remy asked the angel, who was clad entirely in black, his pale complexion almost corpselike in its appearance.

  Galgaliel had been staring at the caged animals, and he slowly turned his attention toward Remy. “I think you have found something that we've been looking for,” the angel said, the look in his pitch-black eyes more chilling than the inhospitable fall weather outside, as more pieces of the enormous puzzle began to drop into place with foreboding precision.

  Remy turned to head toward the tunnel system, clutching the satchel beneath his arm. If he could lose the Seraphim in the miles of passages beneath the college, he just might make it out in one piece.

  The problem was getting that opportunity.

  Galgaliel appeared in front of him, wings of speckled brown spread wide, blocking his way before he was even aware that the angel had left the laboratory. He lashed out, a savage blow hurling Remy backward.

  “Give that to me!” the Seraphim demanded, pointing to the briefcase.

  Head ringing, feeling the pulse of his heart in his swelling lip, Remy got to his feet, but Galgaliel was there before he could recover. The angel grabbed hold of the briefcase, attempting to wrest it from his hands, but Remy held on tightly.

  “Do you truly understand what you're doing?” he asked, struggling to hold on to the case. “Whose wrath you will incur?”

  Galgaliel hit him again, and he lost his grip on the briefcase as he was propelled back into the laboratory.

  The animals were berserk, the sounds of their howls and screeches nearly deafening in the confined space, the stink of their fear nauseating.

  Remy climbed to his feet as he watched the Seraphim bending down to pick something up from the ground where it had fallen.

  The beach house photograph.

  His hand quickly checked his pocket and found it empty.

  Galgaliel stared at the frozen image, the corners of his mouth twitching in what could have been an attempt at a smile, before sliding the photograph into a side pocket on the briefcase.

  Remy's thoughts hummed with the possibilities of what he could do to the Seraphim, and the likelihood of failure, when Galgaliel turned his attention toward the cages.

  “This is the one who wishes you harm,” the Seraphim said, speaking in the tongue of the wild so that all would understand. “The one that wishes to cut your flesh and open your bellies.”

  The cages rattled with the ferocity of the animals' panic.

  “That is, unless you harm him first.”

  And with his final words, Galgaliel flapped his majestic wings, stirring a moaning wind as tendrils of crackling angelic energy coursed from his fingertips to caress the cages.

  One after another, the doors exploded open and the animals once confined within bounded toward Remy.

  Eyes blinded with madness and malice.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Galgaliel left the lab, the door slamming closed behind him with a deafening finality as the monkeys swarmed.

  They were insane, eyes wild, teeth bared, grayish-colored fur puffed up with aggression, making strange barking sounds as they charged, slapping at the ground with elongated fingers.

  Remy lifted his arm to shield himself from their assault. They bounced off his body, weighing much more than he would have believed. It was like being hit with multiple bags of wet laundry.

  Knocked backward by the shrieking mass, Remy slammed against a table in the far corner of the room. Beakers tumbled over, rolling to the edge and off into oblivion to crash upon the floor. He spun around, looking for something – anything – to defend himself with. There was a metal folding chair leaning against the wall, and he grabbed it, placing it out in front of himself as a sort of shield. All he needed now was a whip.

  But the chair wasn't enough.

  Where there had been only monkeys before, now he was faced with a wave of furious animal life: rats, mice, rabbits, pigeons, and cats had formed a seething wave, with the sole focus of doing him harm.

  Their cries were deafening; a miasma of shrieks, snorts, and wails. Brandishing the chair to keep them at bay, he tried to speak to them, to appeal to an area of their small brains not inflamed by the words of the renegade Seraphim, but they wouldn't listen – couldn't listen – their simple thought processes stuck on the response of survival.

  To remain alive, they had to kill him.

  The monkeys saw their moment, taking hold of his makeshift weapon, pulling it from his grasp, and tossing it away.

  And then they were upon him.

  Remy struggled to remain standing as he was engulfed by the swarm; a writhing mass of fur and claws, driven by fear and hate, biting, clawing, and ripping at his beleaguered form. But the weight of the assault was too great, and he stumbled back, his heels crushing the tiny bodies of those that scurried excitedly below his feet. The pigeons dove for his eyes, pointed beaks darting forward to peck at the soft flesh of his face. Remy waved his arms, one of his hands reaching out to wrap around a bird's neck, squeezing it with all his might, feeling the hollow bones beneath the thin layer of feathers and flesh snap and pop within his grasp. The monkeys screeched all the louder as he threw the broken yet still twitching body to the floor.

  But no matter how many he disabled, there were ten more to take their places.

  Finally, he lost his footing on the bodies and blood of the rodents, his feet sliding out from beneath him as he fell backward to the cold linoleum floor. He rolled onto his side, curling up into a ball, attempting to protect his face. Remy didn't know how much more of this he could take. His entire body was bleeding; deep scratches and bites weeping freely, the scent and taste of his blood further exciting the fury of the attacking menagerie.

  Remy didn't want to hurt the poor beasts, feeling a certain amount of sympathy toward their pitiful existence, but at that moment his options were severely limited.

  He could either lie there, his body gradually being ripped to pieces, and in the meantime the scrolls were being opened, readying the apocalypse, or . . .

  Or he could again awaken his angelic nature.

  It was like opening a Pandora's box; he knew it would be like this since he'd summoned his inner power back at Casey's apartment. It became easier to call upon it, and the humanity he worked so hard to build was slowly eroding.

  Something forced its way beneath his hand, sinking its teeth into the flesh of his neck.

  But what choice do I have?

  Remy delved deep within himself, like plunging from high rocks into the freezing embrace of a furious ocean. But he didn't have far to go. The power was there, waiting for him like an addiction.

  It knew that he would be calling upon it again. And the angel beckoned to it, calling the force of Heaven to his side.

  The power of God's will surged through him like lightning. Remy's body trembled with the ferocity of his disappointment and hate, while tears of happiness streamed down his face.

  For once again – even for the briefest of moments ?
?? he was complete.

  There was a searing flash of brilliance, and the stinking aroma of cooked fur and flesh filled the air, along with screams of animals in pain.

  The fire alarms sounded as an artificial rain was released to douse the source of the intense heat, turning to steam as it touched his body.

  Remy knelt upon the floor, rocking with the pulse of the power that coursed freely through him. The animals had withdrawn, forming a cautious circle around his glowing form.

  Despite the water from above, it felt as if he were on fire and his delicate human shell was wracked with pain. He could feel blisters forming, the fluids of his fragile body brought to boil from the intensity of the power that wanted so much to be released.

  But to do that would be to give it all away, everything that he'd worked so hard to build.

  And he did not want that.

  Remy yanked back upon the psychic reins, restraining the primal powers of creation bestowed upon him by God, attempting once again to place it under his control.

  The power fought him, the intensity of the light radiating from his body growing. He could smell his own flesh burning now and felt himself grow nauseous from the stench of his fragility, but he did not allow it to deter him. He continued to fight the wild, angelic nature, and finally his perseverance was rewarded, as the brilliance thrown from his body began to subside, and he managed to place his Heavenly aspect beneath his control.

  He pitched forward, the cool touch of the water-covered floor feeling good against his scorched skin.

  Slowly he lifted his head, seeing that the animals, despite their injuries, were still waiting.

  Waiting for the opportunity to pick up where they'd left off.

  Remy struggled to focus through blurry eyes as the animals – their coats singed and blackened – silently started toward their prey. He wondered if they could overtake him if he made a run for the door. It was worth a chance, and he tensed his legs in preparation to spring, when the laboratory door flew open, smashing off the wall with such force that it cracked the glass window and dug an angry gouge in the plaster wall behind it.

  Francis.

  The animals bellowed; their cries unified into one all-encompassing shriek of fury as they started to move forward.

  “You might want to move your ass,” the former Guardian angel said over the constant ringing of the fire alarm. He pulled a gun from a holster beneath his arm and started to fire at the advancing animals, as he reached out and yanked Remy up from the floor.

  “Not that I don't appreciate the save, but what are you doing here?”

  He didn't answer right away, continuing to fire at the wave of animal life that kept swarming over the motionless, but not lifeless, bodies of their fallen comrades.

  “What the fuck's gotten into them?” he asked as they backed toward the door. “It's saccharin, isn't it,” he said, aiming his weapon and firing again. “I knew it. It doesn't give you cancer – it makes you fucking nuts.”

  They reached the door. Remy grabbed the knob and pulled it closed behind them, shutting in the swarm of living things that surged across the flooded linoleum floor.

  “We might want to think about getting out of here before the fire department and the police show up,” Francis said, putting the gun back into the shoulder holster beneath his arm.

  Remy agreed with a nod, and lurched toward the doorway that would take them into the tunnels. He felt stronger already as he led the way past walls lined with student lockers painted a fluorescent yellow.

  “Is that a sunburn?” Francis asked.

  Remy glared.

  “You let it out . . .” his friend suddenly said. “Let's not talk about that now. Where's Casey?” he asked.

  They had reached a set of stairs that led up from the tunnels and into a back garden section of the college property. They took the stairs two at a time, coming out into the early morning.

  No surprise, it was still raining.

  “We've got a problem,” Francis suddenly said, and Remy stopped. In the distance they could hear the wail of sirens.

  “What kind of problem?”

  “I brought the girl to the safe house like you asked, and then Lazarus showed up.”

  Remy nodded. “Yeah, I asked him to. For backup.”

  Francis brought his long-fingered hand up to his face, stroking his chin. Remy noticed a line of dark bruising along his friend's jaw.

  “He wasn't alone,” the fallen angel explained. “He brought some Seraphim, and after they kicked the crap out of me – I'm fine by the way – they took the girl and left.”

  Remy clenched his fists, feeling his anger surge and his concern for the sake of the world begin to intensify. “Son of a bitch, he's part of this. Lazarus is part of this.”

  “Looks to be,” Francis said softly, unhappy that one they had trusted in the past had turned against them.

  “It explains how they knew where to find us – the Black Choir in Southie, me here.” Remy stopped talking as something slowly rose to the surface of his thoughts. The look on his face must have been something awful.

  “What's up?” Francis asked cautiously.

  “I think I figured out where Israfil is, and I bet they have too,” Remy said.

  “So, what, the Seraphim are behind all this?” Francis asked, his face screwed up with confusion. “Why the fuck would they want to start the Apocalypse?”

  Remy shrugged, shaking his head. “I found the scrolls in Jon's office, but it was a Seraphim who caused my little predicament back in the lab, after he relieved me of the scrolls.”

  “So you had the scrolls, but you lost them?”

  “Yeah, mostly.”

  “Mostly?” Francis asked.

  Remy reached inside his coat pocket. “Hope it wasn't too damaged by my momentary physical change,” he said, pulling the rolled piece of parchment from the inside pocket of his coat.

  The scroll appeared a bit singed, but the seal remained intact.

  “I hid one, just in case.”

  “Sneaky for an angel,” Francis said, a sly smile creeping across his features. “Are you sure you never fell?”

  Remy placed the scroll back inside his coat to protect it from the rain.

  “So what do you do now?” Francis asked.

  They headed across the garden in the direction of Remy's car.

  “I don't really have many choices,” he said. “I either try to stop them or I don't. I think you know which one I'm going to pick.”

  “Need any help?” Francis asked.

  Remy turned his head to look at him. “Yeah, that would be greatly appreciated.”

  “De nada,” Francis said. “So where to, then?”

  “We've bought ourselves some time with the scroll,” Remy said, patting his coat, as they came up to his car. “There are few things I have to do first, but then we're heading for the Cape.”

  “Excellent,” Francis replied, pulling his own keys from the pocket of his dress pants and turning in the direction of his own car. “Been meaning to get there all season.”