Angel Of Solace (10 page)

“You can’t see a virus without the proper tools, but you can tell it’s there,” he replied matter-of-factly.

She shrugged. “Well, whatever. But you really think you can talk to it?”

“’Talk’ isn’t the word I would choose, but yes, I think a Demon with Damien’s skills has a chance of doing that. The Covenant is taking extreme measures to get her back—there has to be a reason for it.”

“She’s possessed by a holy spirit—of course they want it back.”

“Or they’re scared of what we might learn from it,” Kronn said. “Or both.”

“That’s a dubious leap,” she replied.

“Maybe,” he muttered. “A single Angel is powerful, but it doesn’t make us a threat to them. Even if her defection went public right now, it would raise some eyebrows but little more. They could denounce her and people all over the world would still listen to them. But if we can find something truly damning…well, I think that’s worth taking some risks.”

“
Some
,” she replied dryly. “This is betting all your chips on a pair of twos.”

He sighed. “It’s not just the information. There’s another problem.”

“I’m listening.”

He lowered his eyes. “She’s dying.”

Shyrah felt her expression drop. “What?”

“The spirit…it’s taking over her mind and body. It’s a slow process, but it’s getting worse. I think she may have had another episode at the arena.”

“Episode? What are you talking about?”

“It happens to every Angel eventually,” he explained. “It’s a side-effect of the spirit. Its presence slowly deteriorates synaptic pathways in the brain. Typically that’s when the priests extract it and find a new host, but hers has come very early. She doesn’t know why, but she feels it consuming her.” He pressed his lips together. “She doesn’t have a lot of time.”

Shyrah shook her head reflexively. She wasn’t even sure how to respond to that, and it took her a good minute to find her voice. “And she thinks this Incubus can help?”

“She thinks it’s possible,” he said, “but to be honest, I don’t think she’s very hopeful. She’s more interested in getting us the information we need. Then…”

“Then what?”

“Then I don’t know,” he admitted. “If he can’t help her and it gets worse…I think she might request mercy. She’s afraid it might take control of her somehow and maybe even drag her back to the Covenant. I have no idea if that’s possible, but I do know it will kill her.”

Shyrah bit down hard on her lip. So he was talking about euthanizing her—about killing this woman who had come to them in the true fashion of an Angel, offering her services and asking little in return. Saving lives, offering hope, and smiling that damn smile Shyrah hated so much.

Because it actually made her want to believe. And that type of trust was something she could not afford. Not now, not to another pretty face. Not ever again. 

“You could have told me,” she murmured, closing her eyes and doing her best to hold back the flood of memories. A lifetime of slavery in the Syndicate, the smiling face of the man who had promised to free her from all of it, his bloody corpse as she recoiled away from it…

A moment later Kronn was out of his chair and had his arm around her. It wasn’t something he would ever do in front of the others, but there was no one else here. She squeezed his hand.

“I’ll need to tell Corin and a few of the others soon enough,” he said. “Or she will. Either way, after tonight we’ll know if Damien is as good as we hope he is.”

She opened her eyes and gently pushed him away, closing that window of vulnerability.  The memories retreated back into the recesses of her mind, and she sealed them away with practiced ease.

“You sure you don’t want someone to go check on them?” she asked. “The safe-house is probably fine, but we didn’t think they knew we had a new wiretap, either.”

“Not for a while. It might take some time, and it’s probably better they be alone. I have a feeling it’s actually going to be hard for her to let him go through with this.”

“He’s at risk?”

“Maybe. And that’s enough to make her worry.”

Shyrah nodded absently. “All right. I’ll get working on disassembling the backup generators. I’m sure Corin will want to get them setup in the new place ASAP.”

“I still have calls to make,” he agreed.

She nodded and was halfway across the room when he spoke again.

“Shyrah?”

She turned and raised an eyebrow.

“You know this was never about trust, I hope.”

“I know,” she said, then opened the door and walked out.

Shyrah wasn’t sure if she believed him or not—she wasn’t even sure he knew himself. In the end, it probably didn’t matter. For the first time in weeks she finally felt like she knew what was going on here, even if it wasn’t pleasant. But as he had said, at least there was hope.

She grimaced as she moved into the hallway. Speaking of trust, Kronn might have been okay leaving the two of them alone, but she wasn’t. She’d go work on the generators for a while, but after that she was going to swing by that safe house.

Just in case.

***

“I don’t need a lengthy explanation for what is a very simple fact,” Marivean said, his voice low and cold. “You failed, and now the Betrayer will bury herself even deeper.”

For a moment, it looked as though Vaelen was going to protest, but he apparently thought the better of it and kept his mouth shut. Avrick, for his part, lowered his eyes and clenched his jaw. Failing an Angel and the entire Covenant on a task of this magnitude was disgraceful enough, but that wasn’t weighing on his mind nearly as much as disappointing his mentor and friend. Vaelen had vouched for him—had insisted despite the protestations of the priests that Avrick was ready to travel to Solace and undertake this mission. The older man had risked his hard earned reputation, and it had blown up in his face.

It was almost more than Avrick could stomach. Yet given the same circumstances, would he have acted differently if given a second chance? He could still see Sariel’s face in his mind, her supernaturally dark eyes flashing with recognition when they saw him. In that single glance, they had shared what felt like months of unspoken questions. She had not changed; she had not been tainted by evil and turned away from God. Whatever she had planned, she was doing it because she believed it was right. She might have been wrong, but he couldn’t condemn her for that. He wouldn’t pull the trigger now anymore than he would have then.

And that was the most damning thing of all.

“It will take them time to go to ground, my lord,” Zanek said from the back of the room. “If we act quickly enough, she will not escape.”

Marivean scowled, his own glimmering charcoal eyes seething with barely restrained fury. In a lifetime of serving the Covenant, Avrick had never seen an Angel like this. Perhaps he had just never seen one in a crisis…or perhaps he underestimated how much Sariel meant to them.

“The price…” the Angel started, clenching his fists. “The price of this failure is higher than you can imagine.”

Zanek nodded. “Yes, but it will be higher still if we let her go to ground. We must act quickly. She can’t have much longer…”

Vaelen frowned. “Much longer until what?”

“That is no longer your concern,” the Angel growled, his eyes flicking towards the door. “It appears our bait has come for his payment.”

Zanek abruptly stood from his chair and moved to the door. A moment later he opened it, and Esche and two of his thugs strode in.

“I see you’re having a pleasant conversation,” the heavyset man sneered. “Looks like your boys still have all their limbs. I’ll tell you, the problem with all you religious types is you lack discipline. If one of mine had screwed up that badly…” he grunted to himself and let the thought die.

“Thank you for your valuable insight,” Marivean said flatly, stepping forward next to the slaver. “Of course, their failure could have been averted. You had ample opportunity to subdue the target yourself during the fray. Instead, you chose to run.”

Esche snorted. “I did what I was paid for. I laid the bait and did exactly what they expected me to do.” He paused and squinted up at the taller man. “Actually I take that back, I haven’t been paid yet—not in full.”

“One tackle,” Zanek said, “and everything would have been different. Instead you ran like a coward.”

“Look, twist this however you want—I really don’t care what helps you sleep at night. What I do care about is the voca you still owe me.” Esche’s face tightened and he added a bit of menace to his voice. “And in case you’re thinking about backing out, I’ll remind you the only reason you’re here at all is because of our good graces. We provided the shuttle, we got you through security, we arranged for this little house…we own this neighborhood.”

“Your predecessor, Beren, owned this neighborhood,” Marivean corrected, “and now he burns in Hell for his sins against the Lord.”

Esche blinked a few times. “You’re serious, aren’t you? I told him it wasn’t worth working with zealots.”

“We had an…
understanding
. I was hoping you and I could have the same.”

“I understand that you’re backing out of our deal,” Esche snapped. “I just hope you understand what it’s going to cost you.”

“Three wayward souls,” Marivean replied, “who will soon face the judgment they deserve.”

The Angel raised a hand, and a silvery radiance burst off of his skin. Esche’s eyes flickered in recognition a moment too late, and just as he reached into his coat and pulled out a pistol, the weapon exploded in a fiery ball—and took most of his arm with it.

His two bodyguards tried to move, but their efforts were futile. The first one abruptly lurched off his feet and smashed into the wall hard enough to shake the entire building, and Avrick recognized the sickening crack of his bones shattering on impact. The second one managed to actually lift his weapon and have it mostly aimed at the Angel before his arm wrenched violently at the elbow and arched in towards himself. His eyes opened wide as his own fingers pulled the trigger and blew a hole in his chest.

Esche, for his part, simply rolled on the floor and screamed in agony, clutching the blood-splattered but largely cauterized stump that used to be his hand. Almost casually, Marivean stepped over him.

“When you see Beren, you can tell him that we own his neighborhood now,” the Angel whispered. “And thank him for his understanding.”

The silvery radiance flickered again, and with a nauseating crunch the screaming stopped. Avrick felt himself recoiling until he backed into the wall.

“You can’t…my lord?” Vaelen stammered, similarly stunned. His fingers, Avrick noted, were hovering above his own weapon.

“Feel no pity for the damned,” Marivean said calmly as he turned around.

Vaelen shook his head slowly. “Those men…how can you do this?”

“I do what must be done in order to retrieve our sister. You, unfortunately, don’t seem to understand this.”

“I understand perfectly,” the elder Chosen insisted. “’He who walks among the wicked shall be as damned as they.’ You force us to work with these scavengers, and now you murder them?”

Marivean’s eyes glimmered again. “You question my judgment?”

Vaelen’s face tightened, and he drew his pistol. “I question the judgment of anyone who throws away lives so callously. The High Priest shall hear of this.”

“He is as brave as I told you, my lord,” Zanek commented.

“So he is,” Mariven replied. “But I have no use for bravery without obedience, and it is so much more difficult to work with dried clay…”

Vaelen leveled his weapon at the Angel. “Stand down. Please, stand down.”

The Angel smiled, and Vaelen collapsed. There was no scream, no gasp, not even a stifled whisper. The Chosen simply hit the floor, his eyes frozen open.

Dead.

Marivean swiveled his dark gaze to Avrick. “You have no idea what your failure may cost us, and for that you deserve death, Chosen,” the Angel sneered, nearly spitting out the word. “But youth is a useful attribute, and some of my brothers are convinced you may still be able to serve us, one way or another. Let your penance begin.”

Avrick tried to reach for his own gun, but his muscles no longer moved. He felt the Angel’s mind reaching into his own like a tentacle slithering into his head, and his mouth fell open into a soundless scream.