The Keys of Solomon (4 page)

Sam didn't ask about the database. He already knew far more than he cared to about that subject. Janet Davis, a newspaper reporter and the love of Mark Pierce's life, had made it a personal mission to track the spreading demonic activity through various news wires and agencies across the globe. At last count, Janet had entered more than six thousand questionable—and some not so questionable—incidents into the database.

“Mark, it's really good to hear your voice. So, what's up? You just calling to say hello, or have you got something on your mind?”

“I…”

There was a long pause and Sam's stomach rolled. “You're stalling, Mark. Come on with it.”

“Maybe it's nothing, Sam. It's … for the past couple of weeks, I've had some weird dreams … like the old days.”

Blips on my radar, and now his old dreams. God, don't do this to me. Not again.…
Sam tried to swallow, but his mouth was as dry as an Arizona dirt road. “Tell me about them.”

“I wish I could, but you know how it is. I can never remember the details after I wake up. All I know is, in this dream we're all together again. You, me, and Michael. Running from something. All night long, just running. We manage to stay a step ahead, but there's always the feeling that it's gaining on us.”

Sam walked to the fridge and took out a bottle of energy drink. He popped the top while waiting for Mark to go on. Mark didn't. Sam took a sip then sat back on the bed. “You would think it has to end sometime, wouldn't you? For Christ's sake, it's been two years, Mark. I used to dream about—about things all the time. Like, every single night. I couldn't even take a nap without finding myself back in that goddamned mineshaft.”

Mark's voice sounded strained. “I've had my fair share of dreams about Abbotsville, but most were about the motel. The worst always involved the motel. Lately, when I wake up I have this god-awful feeling in the pit of my stomach that things are about to go south again. I don't know, Sam. Like I said, maybe it's nothing. I … I just needed to hear your voice, make sure you're okay.”

I can't go through it again. Please, God
. Sam closed his eyes and held the phone against his chest for several seconds. Finally, he raised the phone to his ear. Mark was calling his name. After a moment Sam said, “Yeah. I'm still here.”

“I'm sorry, Sam. I really am. You know I wouldn't hit you with this if I wasn't concerned.”

Sam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Mark, do you still hear the voices?”

Mark paused, then said, “I'm not sure, Sam. Sometimes, maybe, but nothing like before. I hear … something, but I can't make out the words. I'm not sure I want to.”

Sam nodded to himself.
He's hearing them again, all right, but he doesn't want to admit it. Probably telling the truth about not being able to make out the messages. He isn't as sensitive to them as I am. Maybe … No! I'm not going there. Not this time. I won't do it. I can't!
He took a second to gather his composure, and noticed he had a white-knuckle death grip on the cell phone.

“I'm okay, Mark, really. No real problems on this end, at least none that I'm aware of. Unless you count Vertebrate Physiology. That course is kicking my ass.” The words rang false to his own ears, and he had no doubt that Mark knew he was lying.

To Sam's relief, Mark didn't call him on the lie. Not yet, anyway. Instead, the man laughed weakly, breaking some of the tension. “Vertebrate what? No, never mind, kid. It just sounds nasty.”

Sam laughed. “Look, I'm coming out east to see Charlie over the Christmas break. Why don't you and Janet meet us in Knoxville? I'd offer to drive up to Lexington, but Charlie just started a new job and it might be tough on her to get away for any longer than an overnight trip. What do you say?”

“That sounds like a plan, kid.” Mark paused for a moment, then changed gears, catching Sam off guard. “Now that we have that out of the way, maybe it's time you come clean with me. Have you sensed anything out of the norm? And I mean anything. The truth this time.”

Sam took a moment to frame his reply. They had been through too much together, and he wouldn't lie, not about this. But he didn't want to place additional stress on his old friend by telling the entire truth, either. He took another deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Mark, if I spend more than a few minutes a day thinking about demons or Abbotsville, I'll go bullet-to-the-brain crazy. I know they're out there. We both know the world is crawling with them now. I catch an occasional blip on the radar. Once in a while, I sense something nearby, but it usually moves on after a few hours or days. Nothing has happened to make me think I'm in any danger. I'd tell you if things were different.”

Mark grunted, then said, “Sure you would, kid, just as soon as pigs fly out of my ass. Look, you're a special case, Sam. I don't think you'll ever be completely free from all this, and hiding things from me won't help either of us.

“Listen, do me a favor. If you get one of those feelings, and you know damn well what I'm talking about, you call me. Don't take any chances. Anything out of the ordinary and you call me ASAP, or better yet, just get on a plane and haul your skinny butt to Lexington. I'll even drive out and get you if you want me to. I still remember my way to Arizona. Just don't wait around for something bad to happen. Okay?”

“Yeah, Mark, sure. I promise.”

After a slight pause, Mark said, “Good. Just … good. So, how's your mom holding up? And Kat. They doing okay?”

Glad for the change in subject, Sam said, “I talked to Mom last Saturday. I think the whole month has been kinda tough for her. All holidays are tough for her since Dad passed. And she still makes too many green bean casseroles. Kat is still Kat. The little heathen hasn't changed a bit since you and Janet visited last summer.”

“Aww, you think the world of baby sister and you know it. Besides, she's the only one who has any chance of keeping you in line. Do me a favor and give her a hug for me, okay?”

Sam grinned. “You bet. And give Janet a hug for me. I—I miss you guys.”

“Christmas isn't that far off, kid. Meanwhile, do us both a favor and take care of your skinny ass. We'll see you in December.”

“Right,” said Sam. “December. See you both then.”

“Oh, before I forget, have you heard from Pam Collier?”

“Not since the baby was born,” said Sam. “Pam and little Mikey seemed as well as can be expected.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Finally, Mark said, “That's good to hear. I owe her a phone call. Guess I'll take care of that today, while I'm in the calling mood. Talk to you later, kid.”

After Mark hung up, Sam kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed. While he loved Mark and Janet like family, the thought of a new storm brewing had unnerved him. He wanted no part in any continued struggle between the ultimate forces of Good and Evil. It wasn't that he didn't care. He did. Perhaps too much. The problem was that Sam believed his involvement in such a titanic battle of wills would, in the end, amount to less than cigarette smoke in a tornado. Abbotsville had been a different matter.

Sam and other Offspring had responded to the call of the Veil and made the dangerous trip to Abbotsville, Tennessee.
How much did it cost us? How much?
It was a rhetorical question. Sam knew all too well the price each member of his small group had paid in the name of “service to humanity.” Michael Collier had paid with his life. Mark Pierce was only alive today because of the enigmatic Horace. The remarkable old man had saved Mark from a life-threatening bullet wound that had turned both of the man's lungs into ruined jelly.

Then again, as things turned out, Horace wasn't your typical old timer, was he?

Sam closed his eyes.
And how close did I come to buying the farm?
Another rhetorical question. Sam had come as close to death as any man could beneath the rocky grounds of Abbotsville's Cannuagh Sanatorium.
And for what?
he wondered bitterly.
Legion is still here and the world has never been a more screwed-up place. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it, so just leave me alone! God, are you listening? I did my part. Horace said so. So leave … me … alone!

Sam arose from the bed and walked on rubbery legs to the sink where he washed his face with cool water. He reached for a hand towel and paused to study his trembling hand. It was almost time to leave for the lab and his date with piglet cadavers. “Oh, this is just great. The last thing I need right now is to screw around with a four-inch four-forty stainless-steel scalpel,” he muttered. “If my luck holds, I'll probably hack off my own arm.”

CHAPTER 3

Catholic Archdiocese, Los Angeles, California

Archbishop Nicholas Gilbert waved his hand through the air, stirring life into thick, lazy clouds of cherry-scented smoke. “Nasty habit, Malcolm. Why don't you take up a less offensive hobby, say, crapping on my table during the dinner hour?”

Malcolm Reading chuckled and tapped the bowl of the pipe against his palm, catching the spent ash. “What? Give up the pipe and deprive you of one your greatest pleasures? You'd have nothing to complain about and no reason to live beyond tomorrow if I stop smoking. You're just edgy, Nicholas. Have a warm brandy and relax.”

As Gilbert readied his standard reply to this years-old exchange between friends, a soft knock sounded at the door.

“Enter!”

The door swung open and Father Juan Jimenez walked into the study. He carried a tray bearing a crystal decanter and a pair of brandy snifters. He wrinkled his nose as he walked through a thin haze of smoke and cast an accusatory look toward Malcolm.

“Ah! No fair, Gil. You've summoned reinforcements!” said Malcolm.

All three laughed as Father Jimenez, a man some years Gilbert's junior, crossed the room and set the tray upon a small table near the open window. He drew shut the heavy drapes, but not before pausing to stare intently out into the night sky.

“Something … wrong, Juan?” asked the bishop.

“What? Uh, no, Your Grace. I was just looking at the clouds. A storm is coming.”

“Nonsense, Juan,” said Gilbert. “I watched the Weather Channel this evening. Nothing but sunshine for the rest of the week.”

Father Jimenez smiled and bowed his head slightly. “As you say, Your Grace. Will you require anything tonight?”

“No, no, I'm quite all right. Run along now, and enjoy your evening. I'll call if I need anything.”

“Very well. If you'll excuse me, I'll be in the library.”

After the priest was gone, Reading rose awkwardly from his chair and limped to the window and opened the drapes. He opened the window and allowed a swirling breeze to carry the ash from his pipe out into the night air. Gilbert watched his old friend with a mixture of pride, pity, and admiration. Few people embodied the cause as did Malcolm Reading, and fewer still had given as much of themselves.

“Father Jimenez, he's something of an odd fellow, isn't he?”

“Oh, I don't know, Malcolm. If by odd you mean simple, devoted, and without ambition, I suppose so. I've known Juan for a dozen years now and if I'm any judge of character, he's one we'll never have to worry about.”

Malcolm turned from the window and smiled. “I'm sure you're right, Gil. I certainly hope so, for all our sake. I believe I was followed here tonight.”

Gilbert frowned. “And you mention it as if it were some minor afterthought. At any rate, you must stay until morning. I'll have your regular accommodations prepared.”

Malcolm limped back to his chair and gingerly sat with his right leg extended out in front of him. Gilbert looked at the heavy brace that encased the man's ruined knee. “You're in no condition to outrun them these days.”

“I appreciate the offer,” said Malcolm, “but I'm afraid I'm catching a red-eye to New Orleans. We've located another of the bastard children living just miles from the Metairie safe house. Right under our noses all this time, and we just now found him.”

Gilbert tugged at his collar with a gnarled, arthritic finger and cleared his throat. “As if hunting Legion isn't risk enough, I'm afraid we court additional disaster by actively going after the Offspring now.”

“We've been over this a dozen times, Nicholas, and our course is clear. We have to take the offensive. We've followed these abominations for generations, yet we still know so little about them and their abilities. We must continue to question and examine them, expose them for what they truly are. Before it's too late.

“And as for courting disaster, I think not. We're already ahead of the game, Nicholas. The challenge is to stay there.” Malcolm gestured toward the open window. “There are demons, then there are
demons
. Now, take the motley bastards that followed me here. Lesser minions, each a hollow fragment of a much greater manifestation, and nearly always found mewling about in small packs. Dangerous? Unquestionably, and particularly so to the unwary or unenlightened. But we, old man, are neither. We are armed to the teeth with knowledge, cloaked in righteousness, and shielded by vigilance. In this jungle, we are the hunter and they, the hunted.”

“Hah! We both know that for the poor lie that it is,” admonished Gilbert. “How many have they claimed this year, in this city alone? Hundreds? Thousands? How many children remain missing here and across the country? Across the globe? Half the metropolitan areas in the United States are under curfew. At least three western European countries are already under martial law.”

“Yes, yes!” Malcolm said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “A pity that, and all the more reason we must step up our efforts. We'll eventually win this war,” said Malcolm, “but to do so we'll have to carry the fight to them, hit them were it hurts them most. A thousand lesser minions of Legion are a pimple on the ass of St. Michael when compared to the threat posed by a single greater demon. And I for one include the Offspring among their number. In fact, they may be the most dangerous element of all.”