Demon Evolution (2 page)

Shaking off the memory, Taylor focused on
brushing the knots out of her messy hair. Then she went to her
dresser and slipped on each of the nine rings that she wore on a
daily basis. When she had met Gabriel, she wore only eight. Three
days earlier, she had added the ninth, featuring a pair of angel
wings. At the jewelry store, she had hesitated before buying the
silver ring; she was worried that it was a sign of weakness, of
dependency on Gabriel. But then she bought it anyway. To her it was
more of a reminder to trust her instincts, what her mom used to
refer to as her “good gut”.

Not bothering to change out of her pajamas,
Taylor made her way downstairs and into the kitchen. Entering the
cooking area, she took a moment to breathe in the mouth-watering
aroma of sausage, eggs and bacon. Despite all of her complaints
about Eddie, she had to give him credit: he was an amazing
cook.

“Wow, Dad, something smells delicious!” she
exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Good morning, princess,” he replied, kissing
her on the forehead, “and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” she said, her voice
catching in her throat. The hint of emotion that she felt took her
by surprise.

With his usual dad-radar, Ed noticed the
change in her voice and gave his only daughter a big hug. “I know.
I miss her too, Taylor.”

Taylor hugged him back tightly and tried not
to tear up. Although her mother had died more than five years
earlier, the pain still lingered, especially around the
holidays.

She had died in a car accident, when a drunk
driver ran a red light and collided with her front driver’s side
door. The medical examiner said that she had likely died
instantly.

Nancy Kingston died while coming home from
one of her business trips. Her flight had been delayed almost two
hours and didn’t land until ten o’clock at night. She was flying
first-class and was probably one of the first people off of the
airplane. Having only carry-on luggage, she would have made her way
directly to her car and would have been on the highway by
ten-twenty.

She had called home on the road to let her
family know that there was construction on the I-5, and she was
going to use her GPS to reroute through Dixon County, an area she
was not particularly familiar with. Having successfully navigated
through Dixon, her mother was only two miles from home when she
crossed the normally busy intersection of Commander Street and
Apache Avenue. At the late hour, the area was deserted and the
traffic light showed a steady green in her favor.

Not giving it a second thought, Nancy would
have cruised through the intersection, her mind carrying thoughts
of seeing her family, having a hot shower and getting to bed.
Evidently, she didn’t notice the black truck, its headlights
extinguished, bearing down on her left side—until it was too
late.

A witness on a bike confirmed that the
accident was the fault of the driver of the black truck and, given
his blood-alcohol level was well over the legal limit, he was
sentenced to manslaughter, which carried a prison term of five to
seven years. But none of that made up for the unnecessary loss of
life that had occurred.

Taylor’s mother had been a highly respected
expert on public speaking and had traveled around the country
giving
Speak Out
seminars to help people overcome their fear
of public speaking, as well as to help seasoned public speakers
hone and perfect their skills. She had worked with many politicians
and CEOs, and her funeral was attended by the who’s who of the
nation’s government and business leadership.

Taylor often thought about how, if one small
detail of her mother’s day had changed, she wouldn’t have arrived
at that exact intersection, at that exact time. What if the plane
wasn’t delayed? Or delayed less? Or delayed more? What if she was
stuck in the back of the plane and it took her a few minutes longer
to escape into the terminal? What if there was no construction on
the highway or she had just decided to suffer through it? At first,
Taylor made herself crazy thinking about the what-ifs, but over
time she thought about them less and less and tried to move on with
her life, as her mom would want her to do.

Taylor’s mom has been her hero, her
confidante, and most importantly, her friend. Good memories of her
mom swirled through her mind, but she quickly blocked them out as
she knew it would only lead to tears.

Releasing her dad from the embrace, she said,
“Let’s eat.”

Her father smiled and prepared three lots of
food. James appeared just as his plate touched the table, like a
bloodhound that had tracked a pungent scent. He smirked at his
sister, but Taylor managed to ignore him as she took her first bite
of food.

“Mmmm, this is great, Dad. If it were up to
me, we would just skip the presents and eat all morning.” While it
felt like a lame attempt to butter him up before dropping the
question, Taylor actually meant what she said. Presents were not
really her thing.
Food was.

James took the opportunity to take another
shot at her: “We can tell, Taylor. It seems the dining hall buffets
are catching up with you already. You do realize that you have a
full year to gain the Freshman Fifteen, you didn’t have to do it
all in one semester!”

Taylor was on a mission and couldn’t be
side-tracked by James’s antics. Impressing herself and her dad with
her self-control, she ignored him and said to Eddie, “The sausages
are especially good, did you do something different with them?”

Following her lead and ignoring James, Ed
replied, “Thanks, Taylor, I’m glad you like it. I created a mixed
spice and used it to season the sausage before frying it up.”

“Well, whatever you did, it worked.” Taylor
grinned. In a spur of the moment decision, she blurted out, “Hey,
Dad, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Me and Sam want to take
advantage of the holidays and go on vacation with a couple of
friends from school. Are you okay with me going?”

Seemingly surprised by the question, Ed
paused before answering. Taylor added, “Sam’s dad already said she
could go as a reward for her good grades, perhaps you could think
of it as sort of the same thing for me.”

Taylor watched closely, as her father raised
his arms and put them behind his head, and then tilted his head
back to look at the ceiling.
Oh crap
, she thought,
this
is not good.
Rare was the occasion when Eddie acted in this
manner and then approved a request from one of his offspring.
Usually it meant that he thought the idea was completely out of the
question and he just needed a few minutes to think of the many
reasons why he would reject it.

James’s face broke into that annoying smirk
that made Taylor want to slap him, as he waited for his dad to
reject his sister’s idea.

Shocking both of them, Ed’s face suddenly
broke into a smile and he said, “Merry Christmas, Taylor, you have
my permission to go.”

James’s jaw dropped open and he protested,
“Dad, you can’t be serious, she’s only eighteen and not that
smart—”

Taylor was too happy to contradict her
brother’s insult. She got up and put her arms around Eddie’s neck,
the way she used to when she was a kid. “Thank you, Dad. This is
the best Christmas gift ever.” Not wanting to look a gift-horse in
the mouth, but curious as to how she was able to gain his approval,
she asked, “Is this a reward for something?”

“Sort of. Sam’s father and I have been
talking about giving you and Sam something to congratulate you guys
on your first semester at college, especially given how good your
grades were. He called me this morning and told me what Sam had
asked him for, and he convinced me to trust you and your judgment,
and let you go on this trip. There are, of course, a couple of
requirements."

“Of course, anything you want, Dad.”

“One: no boys are permitted. Two: you will
call me every day without fail. And three: have fun and don’t do
anything stupid.”

“I think I can handle those, I won’t let you
down.”

“Good, now let’s go open some presents.”

Not wanting to interrupt the positive energy,
Taylor sent a quick text to Sam to tell her the good news, and
promised to call her later. The rest of the morning was spent
giving and receiving gifts. Taylor had bought her dad a new watch
that he had been talking about for weeks. For James, she presented
a pair of weightlifting gloves, as he had been complaining that the
heavier dumbbells “tore up his hands pretty good.”

His response to the gift was to be expected,
“Thanks, Sis, maybe you’re not such a dork after all.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she
replied. They both laughed, a rare moment of brother-sister bonding
that was sure to be short-lived.

Besides permission to go on her trip, Eddie
gave Taylor three gift cards—one to each of her favorite stores—an
iPad, and a handful of CDs and DVDs that she had told him she
wanted. James gave her a padlock for her bedroom door as a gag-gift
and a newly released book by her favorite author. Happy with the
successful morning, Taylor headed back upstairs to call Sam.

C
hristopher put his
cell phone down and smiled. Sam had just called to tell him the
good news—she and Taylor were coming back to the Lair.

Originally, he had thought that some time
away from Samantha would give them both a chance to do some things
on their own. They had been spending so much time with each other,
maybe some space would help their relationship strengthen further.
Instead, every hour that passed without her was filled with
emptiness and longing. Chris physically hurt inside when he was
separated from her. Trying to fill his days with activities to take
his mind off of Sam, Chris spent twelve hours a day coordinating
the two top priorities as mandated by the demon Elders.

First, was the protection of Taylor, Sam, and
their families. Around-the-clock security details maintained a
close watch on them, but so far there had been no attempts by the
angels to retrieve Taylor. Perhaps the Archangel Council realized
that they had acted too hastily before, and now they were trying to
be more patient in their plans.
There was no doubt that they
would come for her again.
The only question was when.

The second priority was helping Gabriel
escape from angel prison. It had taken Chris a significant amount
of effort to convince the demon Elders that Gabriel was worthy of
their help. Why should they help the angel that had provided the
angel army with the most powerful weapon the world had ever seen?
But Chris’s eye-witness account of Gabriel’s failed attempt to
rescue Taylor, and his subsequent battle with Dionysus, the Head of
the Archangel Council, was highly convincing proof that Gabriel
could become an important ally in the War. It didn’t hurt that
Gabriel had been accused of treason against the angel cause. “Any
enemy of the angels is a friend to the demons,” Clifford, the head
of the demon Elders, liked to say.

The end result was that Chris had been
provided with what appeared to be endless resources to accomplish
the demons’ goals. He was also allowed access to top-secret
information that would give him a chance to accomplish the
seemingly impossible task of infiltrating the angels’ underground
prison.

It had come as quite a shock to Chris that
there were actually angels acting as spies on behalf of the demons.
In hindsight, it should have been expected. All throughout history,
there are examples of people betraying their own kind for various
reasons. Love, money, fame, to do the right thing: these were all
possible reasons for disloyalty.

Regardless of their motives, these angel
spies had become invaluable due to their ability to provide inside
information to Chris, and to pass instructions to Gabriel. He hoped
that all of the hard work was about to pay off. Picking up his cell
phone and flipping it open, he pressed speed dial 9. When a voice
answered, “Yessir,” Chris barked, “Operation Traitor is a go.” He
snapped the phone shut and strode off towards an open
transporter—it was waiting for him, ready to carry him to where the
Elders were meeting.

T
he last week had
been a rush for Gabriel. Well, as much of a rush as life in
imprisonment could be. Despite his lowly conditions—being stuck in
a cold, gloomy, 12-foot by 12-foot stone box—he had felt a thrill
each time he saw a folded scrap of paper flutter through the air
hole in his cell door. After hearing nothing for almost a week, the
communications were coming in on a daily basis now, evidence that
plans were being ramped up and finalized. Based on the note he had
received the previous day, it seemed that his rescue could come any
day. The note, printed in the usual block letters, had read:

BE READY TO MOVE

THIS IS THE LAST COMM.

GOOD LUCK

Upon reading the most recent note, Gabriel
had waited in anticipation, fighting off sleep until late into the
night. Eventually he had succumbed to his body’s need for rest and
fell asleep for nearly ten hours, using his soft wings as a bed. He
was awake again now, feeling full of energy and hoping desperately
that today was the day.

Gabriel assumed that the attempt would be
made at night and, given that he had received his meager dinner
ration more than three hours earlier, he waited on his feet for any
sign that help was coming.

An hour later, he was still waiting and
beginning to consider sitting down again to rest his stiff legs,
when a noise caught his attention. Typically, this late at night
the prison was devoid of sound, as the handful of inmates slept in
silence. There were no snorers in this bunch.