The Keys of Solomon (21 page)

Enrique sat smiling for a moment, looking from Sam to Falco and back to Sam again. Falco's expression was unreadable, though Sam thought he detected tension in the man's posture. He gave the pretense of settling comfortably in the large armchair when in reality, he was poised to move at the slightest provocation. Sam wondered if Enrique noticed this as well. After several seconds, Sam decided to throw all caution to the wind. It wasn't likely that he would make a winning case for himself by keeping his mouth shut. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. For a microsecond, Enrique dropped the cool demeanor and flashed Sam an appraising look.
What's wrong with this guy? He gets jumpy when I breathe! Does he really believe I'm a demon?

Sam started to speak, and Enrique opened his briefcase and passed a small stack of papers to Falco. “A copy of your report should you need to reference anything.”

Falco accepted the papers but seemed less than pleased. “Do you really think I'll need to refresh my memory? I just wrote this yesterday.”

Enrique hesitated. Falco's directness had caught him off guard.
A chink in the Armani armor,
thought Sam.
Time to press the attack.

“As my grandmother used to say, we're wasting daylight. We all know why you're here and it's not to check on Mr. Falco's physical well-being.” For the second time, Enrique seemed taken aback. From the corner of his eye, Sam thought he saw Falco flash a quick grin but it came and went so quickly, he couldn't be sure. He turned his full attention back to Enrique.

“You're here to decide if I'm a threat to you, your people, and all God's children. I know you sent Mr. Falco and his playmates to kill me. And
you
know what happened when he tried. If it wasn't for me, Mr. Falco would be sporting the latest in toe-tag fashions down at the local morgue. Now, I don't know about your level of experience with demons, Mr.… DeLorenzo, is it? Yeah, DeLorenzo. So, as I was saying, I don't know how much or how little you know about demons. But I do know they aren't in the habit of saving the people who try to kill them. In fact, it's my experience that trying to kill them just really—and I mean
really
—pisses them off.”

Enrique started to interrupt, but Sam cut him off. “You'll get your turn, but let me finish. What's your beef with me and my sister? And those like us? What have we really done to deserve being hunted down like dogs by professional hit men? I mean, if I've offended your little club in any way, just let me know and I'll apologize. But you know something, Mr. DeLorenzo? I don't think we've done a damn thing to you or your fellow Cub Scouts … except save their sorry murdering asses.”

Falco winced at the last remark, but Sam was well past caring. His temper hovered just above the boiling point. Meanwhile, Enrique's face had taken on the hue of an overripe tomato. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth.

“You're quite a smart-ass, Mr. Conner. No offense, of course.”

“None taken. Of course,” said Sam. “And now while we're on the subject, maybe you can tell me why I should be polite to some slicked-up Ken doll who tried to have me murdered. Better yet, skip that and just tell me what you need from this meeting in order to get the fuck out of my life and stay out. I've got finals coming up.” To his right, Falco burst out laughing but Sam's eyes never left Enrique's.

Enrique's eyes were dark and menacing, the muscles in his jaws spasming violently, and he struggled to maintain a semblance of poise. “If you're waiting for an apology, Sam, don't hold your breath. Even if we erred by targeting you, and I'm not saying I believe it was an error, it's of little consequence when factored into the bigger picture.”

Now it was Sam who sat in stunned silence.
Of little consequence my ass! The nerve of this bastard!

Enrique continued. “Notice I didn't say such a mistake wouldn't be unfortunate. We don't callously take innocent lives regardless of what you may think. Tell me, how much do you really know about our organization?”

A helluva lot more than I want to.
“Only what little Mr. Falco told me—that the Watchers have been around for centuries, chasing Veils and hunting demons. He also said that you believe Offspring are demons, and that we're a danger to the world. He said a lot, but I pretty much stopped listening after the Offspring-are-demons bullshit.”

Enrique nodded, his face once more a stoic mask. “And what did you say to Thomas?”

“What did I say? You had observers at the goddamn mine in Abbotsville. You know about the Veil, what it was … and what it became after it was corrupted. And you damn well know what it cost us to close it! So what do you
think
I said to Mr. Falco?”

Enrique glanced at Falco, who only shrugged in return. Looking back to Sam, he said, “Did Thomas also tell you many within the Watcher leadership believe Offspring are responsible for the corruption of the Veil?”

Sam shook his head, grinning. “No, but he didn't have to. I figured you guys suspected us. But you're dead wrong. We don't have the power to alter something like the Veil. It takes…”

Sam halted in midsentence. To this point he had never mentioned the word “angels” outside of conversations with Mark and Janet. Falco had never broached the subject, although he had been free enough with the mention of demons. Was it possible the Watchers knew nothing about Horace, Joriel, and their kind? How could that be? If Sam was correct in his suspicions, then more than one of the Watchers carried the Offspring bloodline. He was certain Falco did. Surely, Falco and others like him had heard the Voices during the crisis at the Veil.

Sam sighed and leaned back into the sofa cushions. He didn't want to speak of the angels, not to these mercenary bastards, but he didn't see how he could avoid the subject. His life might well depend on how much he was willing to divulge. His mind made up, he took another deep breath.

“Offspring can close a Veil, that much is true. But only one power on earth can corrupt the Veils, and it's not Offspring or the Enemy … I mean, demons. Well, there are two powers if you count God, but I'm not sure He's around much these days.”

Enrique stiffened in his chair and again his jaws twitched. “Careful, boy. I won't tolerate blasphemy.”

“Yeah, okay,” replied Sam. “I guess that was a little snarky on my part. Anyway, the only power that can corrupt a Veil is an angel.”

“Angel?” said Enrique. “You expect us to believe an
angel
broke the Veil? Boy, if this is your idea of a joke?”

“What? You don't believe in angels?”

“Of course we believe in angels! That's not the point! It's just that … that … no one has seen an angel since the time of Christ!”

“Says you,” said Sam. “So let me get this straight. You have no problem believing that supernatural Offspring and demons walk around the planet, but angels are out of the question. Is that it?”

“Of course not. I believe anything is possible through Almighty God. But where is your evidence? And furthermore, why would an angel desire harm for one of God's greatest creations? Angels are incapable of such sacrilege!”

“Ah, so that's it. An angel would never harm the Veils or take an innocent life. Just making sure I understand all this,” said Sam, straight-faced.

“All angels are servants of the Almighty and subject to His authority,” explained Enrique as if he were speaking to a simpleton. “They could never act in such a manner, provided they even walk the planet today.” He gave Sam a smug little smile that said,
You're out of your league on this subject, boy.

Sam glanced over at Falco and was surprised to see a thoughtful expression on the man's face.

It's now or never
. “Servants of the Big Boss, huh? And that includes the Fallen?”

“What?” said Enrique. “What do you mean?”

“I think most religious texts, including the Old Testament, state that God created all angels as servants or messengers. Even the fallen angels who were thrown out of Heaven. You do believe that account, don't you? You do believe in the biblical accounts, right? Aren't you all Christians?”

“Of course we're Christians! We only exist to serve! As for the Bible, I mean, well, many believe various passages are parables and not meant to be taken literally. I still don't see where any of this is going.”

Sam grinned.
I've got you now, Mr. Armani Smart-ass
. “I'll speak slowly. Try to follow me. I asked if God's dominion over angels includes the Fallen. You know, one third of all the angels who rebelled against God and were kicked out of Heaven? They could attempt a coup in Heaven, but they wouldn't dare damage a Veil on Earth, is that what you're saying?”

“Well, I mean, it's possible, but—”

“No ‘buts,'” interrupted Sam. “Either it's possible or it isn't.”

“The boy has you there, Rikki.” Falco turned to Sam and said, “Like you said before, we're wasting daylight, so just spit it out. Are you saying a fallen angel broke the Veil in Tennessee?”

Sam nodded while trying to gauge Falco's expression. “That's exactly what I'm saying. The fallen angels and Legion have a pact. They're in this thing together, but it was an angel who actually broke the Veil. I think they call him the Runner.”

Falco's voice was soft, almost pleading. “How do you know this, Sam? How?”

Sam put on his best two-dollar smile. “An old guy named Horace told me.”

*   *   *

Stunned silence was followed by, “I see. And I suppose it's this angelic assistance that allows you to detect demonic entities over several miles. Oh, for Christ's sake! Boy, I've been very patient with you. Some might say I've been more patient than you deserve or circumstances dictate. Yet, you refuse to cooperate. You do understand the consequences, do you not?”

Sam had expected this response and was prepared for it. “Cooperation? I don't owe you any cooperation. I don't owe you anything but contempt, you self-righteous son of a bitch!”

“Sam!” said Falco.

Sam ignored the reprimand. “So I'm supposed to kneel down and kiss your ass because you think you're on a mission from God? Well, I got a news flash for you. You're no better than a few thousand other pissant radical groups scattered across the planet.”

“That's enough!” shouted Enrique.

“Enough? Enough, hell! I'm just getting started. You know what separates you guys from all the other gun-toting, dogma-spouting terrorists? They at least have the balls to stand up and take credit for their crimes, and that, by God, is the
only
difference!

“All you've done since you walked in here is threaten me and my family. But your mind was made up before you ever stepped on that plane this morning, wasn't it? You came here to hold mock court and justify a decision to commit another cold-blooded murder.

“You need to get this straight. I never wanted any part of the Veil in the first place! You think I asked for that trip to Abbotsville? You think I wanted to watch a man like Michael Collier sacrifice himself while you sat back on your worthless asses and watched him die? I did it because your God drafted me!”

“Take it easy, kid.”

Sam could hear the earnest pleading in Falco's voice but he tuned it out. He wasn't through with Mr. Rolex-fucking-Armani. Not by a long shot.

“Yeah, there are angels working to straighten out this mess before the world is eaten alive by the Enemy. And it doesn't surprise me a damn bit that they aren't exactly on speaking terms with you and your little social club. And neither am I, so shoot me and get it over with, 'cause I'm through taking your crap!”

When Sam finished, the only sound in the room was that of his pounding heart. Enrique's expression was carved out of stone, and unreadable. Falco, however, looked as if he had just witnessed his own execution.

Such language! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?

The Voice in his head sounded weak and very distant, but it was unmistakable.

Joriel! If I wasn't so glad to hear you, I'd put you on permanent ignore! Where've you been? These guys are going to kill me, then Kat and Mom!

In case you haven't noticed, Sam, there's a war going on and I've been rather busy. But don't worry. These men aren't going to hurt you or your family. We keep close watch over you … in spite of your language. Now show them the maps.

Sam wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.
Watching over me? You call the fight with that Little Stevie character watching over me?

Sam was distantly aware of someone in the room calling his name, but blocked out the words and concentrated on his link with Joriel. When next she spoke her psychic voice was full of familiar exasperation.

Why must you be so hard-headed? The maps, Sam.

Now it was Sam's turn to feel exasperation, followed closely by frustration and irritation.
No offense, Joriel, but these people have no right looking through my book. I—I've never told you, but … look, I know it sounds crazy but that book is more than just a collection of road maps. A lot more. It holds parts of me, Mark, Janet—and Michael. I don't want these people touching any of us, especially not Michael. You were there. You saw through my eyes and you know what he did. You know. These fuckers haven't earned the right or the privilege to know any part of Michael Collier. Can … can you understand what I'm saying?

For the first time in his short life, Sam both felt and heard Joriel's nonverbal response, and it wasn't the familiar tinkling of wind chimes. It was the sound of swaying treetops, and of cold and lonely winds kissing the branches of ancient and majestic oaks. It was the sound of great personal loss and bleak mourning. It was the sound of sorrow and of tribute. The sound of angel tears.