The Keys of Solomon (32 page)

I don't know what you're talking about, dude, so feel free to elaborate. I can comprehend a hell of a lot. But we could debate that all night, so I'll concede for the sake of expediency,
said Sam.
You've named three. What's the fourth thing I can be sure of?

That I'm neither man nor God. Nor am I an angel, demon, or Offspring. That doesn't leave many choices, does it? You're a bright lad, Sam. I'm sure you'll figure it out before our association is finished. And please, call me Henri. With an
i
.”

A demon by any other name still smells the same,
said Sam.
Call yourself anything you like, Henri with an
i
, but my radar is never wrong, and right now it says you're a bad guy. I'm going to ask you one more time. What do you want, and where is my sister?

Such impatience, Sam! But then, you're young. Still, I would think the angelic genes would have tempered your human abruptness.

Now it was Sam who laughed. Aloud. Seeing the puzzled looks from Falco, Weiss, and Enrique, he shrugged. “Inside joke, folks. Sorry.”

To the new ghost in his head, he said,
You haven't met many angels if you think they're down with the patience thing. And I don't have time to enlighten you. Now get the fuck out of my head while I go look for my sister.

Sam, you really should clean up your language. Profanity is the crutch of the uncouth and uncultured, and you're neither. A little rough around the edges, perhaps, but nothing that can't be corrected with a little time, effort, and the proper influences.

Now stand up and make your way to the door. I'll be there in less than a minute, and we'll go get your sister. Katherine isn't far. In fact, the worm you call Little Stevie has her at the far end of the hangar. He also has some of his associates with him, and they're waiting for you. She's just the bait. You're the real target.

If you want to survive this, you must be careful and follow my lead. Afterward, we'll discuss how you can repay me. Hurry, now. The sooner we're done with this little inconvenience, the better. More important matters require our attention. And do let her know we're coming, cousin. There's no harm in that now, and she needs the reassurance.

That was all Sam needed to hear. He knew he shouldn't trust the ghost in his head, this Henri with an
i,
but the situation left him little choice. He was speaking to the one being he had long feared more than any other, but if there was any chance to rescue Kat, any at all, Sam was willing to take the risk.

Using the wall for support, Sam stood and tested his injured leg. He bit through his bottom lip as incredible pain shot through the wounded joint, but the knee supported his weight. He limped toward the door, nudging past Enrique. He expected Falco to stop him at the door, but the big man watched him with a passive expression. As Sam stood in the doorway, he exhaled and emptied his mind, then quickly refilled it with a mental image of Kat. He took a deep breath, exhaled again, and
reached
.

Kat?
He felt her presence and knew she'd felt his
reach
, yet she couldn't or wouldn't respond. He tried again.

Kat. Answer me! I know where you are and we're coming to get you.

S-Sam. Mom is dead.
The short, despondent reply tore at Sam's heart. The words were spoken in a wooden monotone, dead, devoid of either hope or emotion.

Hang on, Kat. We're coming. Just hang on.

Don't come here, Sam. Go away. Just … go away and never come back.

Sam cursed beneath his breath, and opened the front door. He started through when Falco caught him by the upper arm. “We've been through this, Sam. You know you can't go out there. It's not…”

Perhaps it was the look in Sam's eyes, or the expression on his face. Whatever the reason, Falco halted in midsentence and released his hold.

“You know where she is, don't you?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. They're holding her in a room at the far end of the building. The thing that killed your partner has her, and he's waiting for me. If you want to help, wait until you hear the commotion, then come through the hangar, all the way to the end. If you don't want to help, stay out of my way, Mr. Falco. I won't be responsible for anything that happens if you try to stop me.”

“You can't be serious, Sam,” said Enrique. “Even if you know her exact location, you can't possibly believe we can get to her without additional help. Hell, I'm betting it's you they want, and if I'm right, you're playing right into their hands. Please. Be patient. The plane is overdue now. It can't be much longer. I swear, Sam, if you'll just wait a few more minutes, we'll figure out a way to get everyone out of here, including Kat.”

Sam shook his head. “Mr. DeLorenzo, I don't give a damn about the rest of you. You people are the reason we're in this mess. I'm going after my sister and if you're half as smart as you think you are, you'll stay out of my way.”

Outside, the wreckage of four vehicles burned, casting an eerie orange glow over the bleak desert landscape. Glass cracked and shattered from the intense heat, and expanding metal popped glowing rivets. The station wagon, now little more than a burned-out hull, exploded anew as the crankcase caught fire, and a geyser of orange flame exploded through the floorboard and out through a jagged hole in the partially melted roof. The fire in the Escalade was dying out, and its smoldering remains sent black smoke curling up into the night sky.
A funeral pyre. Nanna, Dad, and now Mom, all gone. It's just me and Kat.

When he reached the corner of the building, Sam paused for a moment to get his emotions under control, then sent out a weak mental probe. It didn't require much effort to confirm the mysterious Henri's assertions that the demons waited for him at the end of the hangars. There weren't as many as he first thought. Three or four at most. Despite Elliott's long-winded contention that bullets had little effect, at least two demons nursed serious, perhaps fatal wounds.

Sam also sensed the alien presence of the monster who called himself Little Stevie. Stevie's psychic signature was unlike those of his allies. Whatever he was, he wasn't a demon, and he sure as hell wasn't human. Sam thought he might have encountered such an entity once before, but the time and place wouldn't come to him.

As he tried to remember, a pair of headlights appeared at the far end of the runway, sandwiched between two rows of bright blue landing lights. The driver revved the engine and Sam recognized the throaty rumble of heavy horsepower. Two years earlier, the roar of that engine was usually followed by the sound of squealing tires, Sam's racing heart, and the frantic pounding of Sam's sneakers on pavement. Even now, the sound aroused long-buried fears, and every instinct demanded he run. Run far and run fast, and never, ever look back. But the time for running had passed.

Hold steady, cousin, I'm on the way. Oh, and you may want to tell your knights errant their aeroplane is very near. Three to four minutes out. The pilot encountered some rather radical weather over New Mexico.

“Now, how the hell does he know
that
?” muttered Sam. While the notion seemed ridiculous, Sam had an odd feeling Henri knew what he was talking about. He banged against the tin wall of the building with his fist and a second later Falco's upper body leaned out through the window, his handgun held in a two-handed shooting grip.

“What's wrong, kid? You okay?”

“I can hear a plane,” lied Sam. “It's still a few minutes out, but it's coming in fast. If we time this right, we can grab Kat and get the hell out of here before the Enemy knows what hit 'em. If you want to help, wait for my move.”

Falco cocked his head to the side and winced, apparently still feeling the effects of the concussion. After a moment he said, “Kid, I don't hear—” He stopped in midsentence when he saw headlights speeding across the runway and bearing down on the building.

“Sam, run! Get back inside!” Falco raised the handgun, placed the laser dot on the driver's side of the windshield, and slowly squeezed the trigger.

Sam knew in an instant. “Don't shoot! It's Henri!”

Falco pulled his shot at the last possible moment and fired just above the tinted glass. Before he could say anything, the white Lincoln Continental roared into the front parking lot. The driver braked hard and spun the steering wheel. The car turned broadside and yawed toward the building before finally coming to rest, the passenger-side door scant inches from Sam.

As Sam opened the door and started inside, he called out, “Just be ready to move when you hear my signal!”

“Wait, kid! What are you going to do? What signal?”

Sam started to answer, then paused and ducked his head inside the car. He said something to the driver, then stood up and yelled out over the roof of the car to Falco. “I already told you, I'm going after my sister. As for the signal … I'll get back to you on that. Just be ready!”

CHAPTER 20

Sanctuary

The attack was well coordinated, swift, and sure. Orus screamed once before a second ball of green
quickfire
struck him in the back, lifting him from his feet and slamming him into a nearby live oak. Kiel
reached
for Nathan as he scanned the tree line surrounding the glade with supernatural senses.
Assassins! Three. Maybe more. They're trying to block me.

Nathan's response was short and direct.
Coming!

Across the glade, Orus knelt at the base of the tree, holding both hands to his ruined face. His clothing had been burned away and much of his once pale, flawless body was now the color of ashy charcoal.

For Kiel, there was but one course of action. He charged across the clearing, determined to save his sworn enemy–turned– unlikely ally. Orus had come to Sanctuary of his own free will, without promises of redemption or coercion. He brought with him an offer of aid at a time when the Host was in dire need. Of course, any use Orus may have had as an informant was now over and done. His second great act of treachery had been discovered and his life was forfeit. That, however, did not negate the fact that he had tried to help the Host. That alone was worth some measure of consideration. More important, Orus had been granted safe conduct and now he lay dying. True, he was some feet beyond the boundary of Sanctuary, but in Kiel's mind, that was a minor detail. Another Fallen dared bring death to this consecrated place, an ancient shrine to the faith, courage, and valor of humanity. It was an intolerable transgression.

From somewhere to Kiel's right, another ball of
quickfire
hissed through the air, vaporizing trace molecules of water in its path. This time, however, Orus was safe. Kiel was the intended target. He somersaulted at the last possible second, narrowly avoiding the mass of molten cosmic dust. The back of his shirt burst into flame and he grunted in pain as the skin of his back sizzled like bacon over an open flame. Behind him, a magnificent cypress tree exploded as
quickfire
struck wood and superheated the sap within.

The boundary of the Sanctuary was only yards away, and Orus but a few steps farther. Orus was kneeling now and waving Kiel away. His eyes had melted in their sockets from the first attack. However, to celestial beings, eyes and other external features were little more than aesthetics. Sight and other senses were supernatural in nature and not subject to physical injury.

“Stay close to the ground, Orus! I'm nearly…” Kiel stopped in midsentence. The air behind Orus shimmered, then parted, revealing Kokabel, a fallen Domination possessing considerable war prowess. Powerful, but no match for Kiel in a duel. Of course, dueling wasn't Kokabel's intent. An instant later, he was joined by Mulciber. Mulciber carried a short sword of green fire, a terrible weapon in the hands of any angel. And Mulciber wasn't just any angel.

“Stand down, Kiel,” said Kokabel. “We came for the traitor. Our quarrel can wait for another day.”

Kiel smiled. “You know I can't do that. I gave Orus my surety of safety for as long as he remains in the glade.” Kiel looked around for the remaining assailants. He knew there were more. The air was thick with the taint of the Fallen.

Orus, still holding his hands to his face, rolled onto his back and groaned. His lips and tongue were charred, rendering him incapable of speech. Like all of his kind, Orus could heal his wounds … eventually. Given the nature and extent of the damage, Kiel figured it would take a couple of days, perhaps longer. Orus had come very close to being unmade, the angelic equivalent of death everlasting.

Using the gift of mind-speak, Orus said,
Let them … take me, Kiel. I would rather die than endure this agony a moment longer.

“You should listen to him, Kiel,” said Kokabel, clearly enjoying the moment. “You don't have the advantage of consecrated ground now. You really should pay more attention to your own boundaries.” He nodded his head toward Orus. “The Brethren have some questions for that one, and he'd better have some answers. You know, he isn't half as smart as he likes to believe. We've known for some time that he's been playing both ends against the middle. It was just a matter of waiting for him to contact one of the Host. I don't know what he's told you, but it really doesn't matter at this point. We'll know soon enough, once he's back among the Brethren.

“You and Nathan are quite a team, but there are only the two of you and five of us. Outnumbered again, as usual.”

Kiel knew it was no bluff. The
quickfire
attacks had come from both the left and the right of the glade. There were at least three hidden Brethren watching him from cover at this very moment.