The Keys of Solomon (35 page)

Henri shifted into “park” and revved the engine. Sam wasn't a car expert by any stretch, but the Lincoln sounded more like a Hemi-powered muscle car than a tired old mid-seventies luxury sedan. Like most everything in Sam's life over the past couple of years, there was more to Henri and the Lincoln than met the eye.

“Now, about
quickfire
. I know you've used it on at least two occasions. You melted Drammach with it in Abbotsville, which is no small feat. The fire doesn't usually work that way. I attribute the dramatic results to your emotional state at the time. Then, a couple of days ago, you used it again to send Axthiel's man-child packing.”

Sam's head snapped up with a start. “You know Axthiel, too?”

“Oh, I knew him very well, cousin. Another one I avoided whenever possible. But I'm referring to his nasty boy-toy, that Little Stevie character. Axthiel, haughty highbrow that he was, took great delight in his human slaves. He sent Little Stevie after you weeks before you reached the Veil.

“Enthralling humans is such bad form. But I digress. You nearly burned a hole through that soulless brute with
quickfire
. He hasn't forgotten, either. That's why he brought so much help this time.”

Sam's mind was reeling. So many twists and turns. Nothing was ever simple. Who or what was Henri that he could casually mention Joriel and Axthiel in conversation? Or Horace? Especially Horace! Did Henri really know them or was he still playing mind games? And if he did know them, why hadn't either of them mentioned Henri by name while Sam was running for his life from the Lincoln across a half dozen states? Joriel and Horace had both warned him that the white Lincoln wanted him dead.

Henri shifted the car back into “drive” and allowed it to coast forward at a fast idle.

“The two instances of
quickfire
share a common denominator, you know. Care to hazard a guess before we begin our run?”

Sam thought back to the fight beneath the Cannuagh Sanatorium and the encounter with Little Stevie, two very different sets of circumstances.
Common denominator? How the hell am I supposed to know? I've never even heard of
quickfire
before now.

“Yes, yes. You've already indicated that your training has been less than satisfactory.”

Startled, Sam looked at Henri. “How do you know what I'm thinking? Look, dude, don't screw around in my head uninvited. Not now, not ever. You got that?”

Laughing, Henri stomped on the accelerator. The Lincoln lurched forward, leaving behind a thick cloud of white smoke and the smell of burning rubber. As the car sped toward the distant row of hangars, Henri said, “Bravo, cousin! You've discovered the common denominator. I always knew you were a quick study.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said Sam.

“Think, cousin! Both times, you were angry. Very, very angry. The human side of your dual nature unleashed the divine! Now, prepare yourself. We're almost there, and you would do well to get angry again.”

*   *   *

“Damn it, Falco, why didn't you shoot the little son of a bitch?”

“Why would I do that? He's not going anywhere. Not as long as his sister is still somewhere in the area.”
God, I hope I'm right.

Elliott shook his head in disgust. “Oh, so you're a fucking mind reader now. I suppose the kid told you he'd be right back with pizzas and a six-pack. Jesus H. Christ, Falco! How the hell do you know he won't bail out now that he has a way out of here? You know, it seems to me you're damned friendly with Conner. I bet Reading's going to find your relationship very, very interesting.”

Eyes blazing, Falco turned away from the door and started toward Elliott when Enrique grabbed his arm. “Let it go, Thomas. We've got more important things to worry about. Besides, Elliott has a point.”

Falco shook Enrique's hand from his arm, and turned on his half-brother. His voice was low and carried a dangerous edge. “You might want to explain that remark, Rikki.”

Despite his gentle manner and white-collar exterior, Enrique DeLorenzo was no coward. Nor was he a fool. He was treading on dangerous ground with Falco and he knew it.

“A poor choice of words, Thomas. I only meant that we'll have to explain how we managed to lose the boy
and
his sister. Malcolm is in charge of all Sword operations in the United States. As such, the Hierarchy will demand an explanation. We'll have to provide that explanation. Frankly, this has all happened so fast, I'm not sure what to say.

Falco knew Enrique was right. Malcolm Reading was a stern taskmaster, a man with zero tolerance for failure, and the Hierarchy was even more demanding of its field operatives. It was the only way such a group could operate undetected over the centuries. Now the entire organization risked exposure. Sam Conner knew too much about the Watchers, and it was Falco's fault.

What would he and Enrique tell Reading? What
could
they tell him? Falco had lost control of the mission the moment Little Stevie appeared on that rooftop. From that moment, Falco was swept along by currents he had never before known existed.

Who, or what, exactly was this Little Stevie? Neither demon nor Offspring, he damn sure wasn't human. Why was the monster drawn to Sam Conner? The boy had said something about fallen angels. Was it possible?

No, reasoned Falco, Sam would have said something if that were the case. Were there others like this mysterious Stevie, watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike? Another question nagged at Falco, but he hadn't dared to confront the issue. Little Stevie had attacked the Watchers atop the maintenance building before Sam arrived. But when Sam appeared, Stevie was instantly drawn to the boy. Why? Was there some connection between the Watchers and Sam Conner? More important, were the Watchers and Offspring somehow united in some hidden cause? Falco had dozens of questions and damn few answers. Some answers, he thought, were perhaps best unexplored for the time being.

There was one thing Falco
did
know. “Sam didn't run out on us, Rikki. Don't ask me how I know, but I know. He said the demons were holding his sister at the far end of the hangar, and that he would send a signal when it was time to make a move. He also said the plane was only a few minutes out, so we need to be ready to move fast.”

Elliott laughed. “And Thomas Falco, demon hunter extraordinaire, believes this … this Offspring! Goddamn it, Enrique, the entire Hierarchy believes those freaks
are
demonic, and Falco acts like Conner is his new best friend! Hell, man, we've terminated entire generations for less than that! Not that it fucking matters. We're all going to die, tonight.”

Looking over at Falco, Elliott added, “But you already know that, don't you, tough guy?”

Enrique stared intently at his half-brother for several seconds. By the dim light of the single lamp, he thought he saw a pleading in Falco's eyes, an expression Enrique had seldom if ever seen before tonight. Enrique knew Falco wasn't pleading for himself. He was seeking pardon for Sam Conner, and perhaps all the other Offspring who were being hunted and persecuted across the globe.

Softly, Enrique said, “No, Elliott. Not every member of the Hierarchy believes the Offspring are demonic. And neither do I. Now check your weapons and ammo. We need to be ready when Sam gives us the signal.”

Turning to Falco and leaning in close, Enrique whispered, “You'd better hope to God you're right. Our lives depend on it.”

*   *   *

The Lincoln rounded the corner of the building, tires squealing and engine roaring. As the car bore down on the building, Sam braced for the impact, certain Henri had lost his mind and intended to crash through the bay door.

At the last possible moment, Henri spun the steering wheel to the right, narrowly missing the building by mere inches. As the car sped past the building, Sam caught a fleeting glimpse of a dark, formless shape as it swooped down from the rooftop.

“A pair of imps were waiting to ambush you. They won't like that we've drawn them out and ruined the surprise.”

Henri gave the steering wheel another sharp turn. Sam, afraid he might be flung from the car, gripped the dashboard until his hands cramped. The Lincoln was now pointed toward the building again, and Henri stomped the accelerator. After a final hard turn to the left, Henri stomped on the brakes, bringing the Lincoln to an abrupt halt in front of the bay door and sending Sam head-first into the windshield.

Henri shifted into “park” and opened the driver's-side door. “Sorry about that, cousin. Now get out, but stay near the car until I call for you. If we're lucky they'll target me. I'll keep them occupied while you work your magic.”

“Uh? What magic?” said Sam as he fumbled with the door handle.

“
Quickfire,
cousin! Damn, but I'll have to re-school you once we're away from here.” Henri didn't wait for a response. He sprinted to a spot directly in front of the overhead door, some twenty steps from the building. Facing the building, he called out something in an unintelligible language. Standing at the rear of the Lincoln, Sam tried to catch the words, but they slipped from his mind almost as soon as his ears registered the sound.

As soon as Sam stepped out onto the pavement, a familiar wave of nausea slammed into him, and for a moment the world seemed to tilt off its axis and spin out of control.
T-too many of them. Too many! God, if you can hear me …

Henri stood with his arms folded across his chest and yelled out again. While Sam couldn't catch the words, he knew Henri was shouting out a challenge.

When no immediate response came, Sam thought,
Maybe he's wrong. Maybe Kat isn't in—

The black shape Sam had seen on the first pass flittered slowly down from the tin roof and made a lazy circle around Henri.

“Be gone, imp!” said Henri. “I've no time for the sorry likes of you. Fetch your master and be quick!”

Though Henri had already demonstrated a penchant for theatrics, his voice was full of contempt and loathing, and Sam wasn't so sure it was an act. The shape writhed angrily in the air, made another pass just above Henri's head, then floated back to the building and passed through the steel-paneled bay door.

Henri called over his shoulder, “It goes to deliver my message. Won't be long now. Can you feel Katherine? They've hurt her, Sam. We must be quick.”

Sam stared at Henri, then at the bay door that separated him from his sister. He knew it was possible that Henri added the last as fuel for anger. If so, it worked. Sam could feel the pent-up heat escaping from every pore of his skin.

Come out and fight! Come out or I'm coming in!
He needed a target, to lash out before his anger and the
quickfire
consumed him.

“Steady, cousin,” said Henri. “They come. This is a good time to fetch your friend, Mr. Falco. Tell him to make his way through the building to the last hangar, and be quick. He'll find Katherine on the floor against the back wall.”

Exasperated, Sam yelled, “How the hell am I supposed to contact Falco?”

“Oh, come now, cousin! You're killing me! We both know who and what he is, so
reaching
for him shouldn't be a problem for you. Ah, here we go. The demon lord comes. Hurry!”

So Henri also knows Falco is an Offspring
. Sam had thought it from the moment he felt Falco's frantic
reach
from atop the maintenance building in Tempe.

Okay, here goes. Let's hope the dude isn't big on denial.
Sam closed his eyes and formed a detailed mental image of the Watcher. Once the picture was complete, Sam
reached
. Contact was almost immediate. The sense of surprise and shock was staggering.

From birth, Joriel, Sam's lifelong companion and guardian angel, had used vivid mental imagery to speak to him. Messages and emotions were transmitted through colors, sounds, and geometric shapes. She didn't use words until Sam was well into his teens, though that never hindered her ability to effectively communicate. Falco had no such mental or emotional preparation for Sam's
reach
.

Wha …

Easy, Falco. This is Sam.

H-how are … Where are you?

Sam could feel Falco's confusion and fear through the psychic connection. For a second he took guilty pleasure in the Watcher's mental turmoil.

Calm down and listen. Henri and I are at the far end of the hangar row. Henri says you should make your way through the building now. We'll keep the bad guys busy while you rescue Kat. When you have her, get away from that hangar. Regroup back at the office.

But—

Sam cut him off. There wasn't time for explanations.
No time for buts, Falco! Just do it! I'll explain everything after Kat is safe.

If Falco responded, Sam missed it. The bay door of the small hangar exploded off the tracks, spraying twisted steel panels over the parking lot. A large jagged shard slammed into the side of the Lincoln, forcing Sam to duck for cover.

Christ! What the hell … Henri!

Sam peered over the trunk of the car, certain he would find the ruined body of Henri Charpak buried beneath an avalanche of shredded steel and aluminum. Instead, he found Henri standing unscathed and defiant. A slim figure stepped through the broken doorway of the hangar, and moved out onto the pavement. As the figure drew near, Sam saw that it was a female. The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. No, not just beautiful. This woman was lust made manifest. She was draped in sheer silvery material that could have been spun moonlight. High, firm breasts, nipples hard and erect. Long, slender legs that seemed to go on forever until they culminated in a pair of exquisite hips that swayed seductively, inviting pleasure and promising it tenfold in return. Long, flowing hair of pale blond … no, wait. Dark, cascading curls that fell to her bare shoulders. She could have been twenty or forty or whatever age one desired. And her face … If it was true that Helen of Troy possessed the face that launched a thousand ships, then this woman had surely moved galaxies.