Geneva cleared a spot on the kitchen table, pushing aside newspapers and stacks of bills. With both hands, she set down the black box. The surface of it seemed to absorb all light, like a square chunk of shadow sitting in the center of the scratched wood.
Mitch put down the cold pack and sat at the table. He checked out the box, looking at one side, then another. It was too black to look real. No reflection of light at all, like some kind of optical illusion. The thing gave him the creeps. “What the hell is it?”
“I don’t know. Michael seemed to think it was pretty important. It’s advanced technology, whatever it is. The Archangel showed up right after Michael took it out of its case.” Geneva sipped her coffee. “Now that I think about it, a long time ago Michael said the Archangel was after a box. I don’t know why.”
Mitch turned the box over again. “Must have a good reason. So this Archangel, is it smart?”
“Cunning, more like. But it’s highly camouflaged, it’s fast, and it likes to kill. Whatever it wants the box for, it’s not friendly.”
“I got that impression. You don’t know where this thing, the Archangel, where it came from?”
She shook her head. “If anyone does, they’re not telling. I’ve seen a couple old classified memos talking about a Department of Defense project called Archangel. Michael even had satellite photos of a laboratory near the White Sea.”
“Where’s that?”
“Russia.”
Mitch sat back in his chair. “So everybody’s after this thing.”
“Maybe. Or maybe the Archangel’s after everybody.” Geneva put her hand on top of the box. “People have been fighting the Archangel for a long time. Since before I was born.”
“Well, that’s not saying much, kid.”
She narrowed her eyes for a moment, then let it pass. “Far as I can tell, the Archangel is some kind of relic of the Cold War. There was a Russian experiment. It didn’t go so well. Wiped a whole town off the map. Then the Americans tried it.”
“And?”
“And what do you think? Boom. Now there’s a secret organization trying to cover everything up. They’re not an official part of the government. I don’t know who they are. Michael always called them the Conspiracy.”
“Who’s this Michael you keep talking about?”
She sighed and looked down into her mug. “I think I could use a refill.”
“Bryce is the only one knows how to work that espresso thing. And he went upstairs to work. You don’t want to bug him when he’s doing his computer thing, trust me.” Mitch folded his arms. “So. Who’s Michael?”
“It’s complicated. He’s a little older than me.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“Well, when someone holds you at gunpoint, it kind of kills the romance.”
Mitch thought about that for a second. “The guys in the van?”
“That was Michael, Gabe and Raph. I don’t know what happened to them. Or Arthur.”
“Arthur, short round guy? Scar?” Mitch pointed to his eyebrow.
Geneva nodded.
“I don’t think he made it.”
Geneva shook her head, leaned back in the seat.
A faint scraping noise came from the back yard, making Mitch’s pulse quicken. He got up and pulled the little chain that opened the hanging blinds over the sliding glass doors. His barbecue grill sat where it was supposed to be. Nothing else was back there but tall weeds and the broken limb of the apple tree. The neighbor’s porch light glowed on the far side of the fence. In the darkness outside, everything was quiet.
“What is it?” Geneva got to her feet.
Mitch shook his head. “Nothing. Just jumpy, is all.”
Geneva froze for a moment, listening, then grabbed the black box. “Where are my goggles?”
“You dropped them after you zapped me. I gave them to Bryce to play with. Why?”
She didn’t answer. Just darted out of the kitchen, through the doorway and up the stairs, taking the black box with her.
Mitch stared after her for a second, then back outside. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. But just to be safe, he went into the living room and got the twelve-gauge out from behind the raincoats in the hall closet.
He closed the closet door. A flicker of movement outside caught his eye. A gaunt shadow streaked through the yard and paused at the edge of the patio, dropping into a crouch. Silvery eyes stared though the glass door at him.
Mitch’s blood ran cold. He brought the shotgun up to his shoulder and fired through the glass door. He realized a split second too late that he’d aimed too low and hit the grill’s propane tank.
The explosion shook the house. Flames blasted broken glass and wreckage through the kitchen and into the living room. Mitch jumped over the sofa, tipping it onto its back. Smoking chunks of wood pelted the carpet. Burning newspapers fluttered through the air. Blue-and-orange flames rolled across the ceiling.
Mitch peered over the sofa. The kitchen was gone, nothing left but toppled cabinets and oily flames. A figure stalked through the wall of fire, oblivious to the blistering heat. Inhumanly tall and thin, clawed arms spread wide, tines spreading out from its back like the bones of wings.
It spotted Mitch and blurred into motion, too fast to see. It came at him with teeth shimmering.
A pure white beam of light sliced through the room. It speared the Archangel, revealing a flash of its ropy body. The creature screeched and leaped back, claws bared.
Geneva crouched on the staircase, goggles covering half her face, her pulser braced on the banister. She fired again. Bolts of hot white energy twined with twisting sparks of color. The Archangel screeched again and leaped back, vanishing into the flames.
Mitch scrambled to his feet, kicking aside broken dishes, a chair, cushions from the couch. It was like someone had picked up the whole house and shaken it.
“We’re leaving,” Geneva said. “But I can’t find your brother.”
Mitch didn’t hesitate. He went past her, taking the stairs two at a time. He ran down the hall to Bryce’s room, breathing hard.
All of the computers were dead, screens dark. The action figures were scattered around the floor, still holding their poses, only now they looked like they were writhing in pain. Smoke swirled in the air, lit up by a shaft of yellow light from the streetlight outside. Mitch coughed.
He checked the bathroom. Empty. “Bryce?”
He charged down the hall to his bedroom. As he turned the doorknob, a gunshot blew a clean round hole through the door.
“Bryce!” Mitch jumped back. “It’s me, for chrissakes!” He kicked the door open, shotgun ready.
Bryce squatted in the corner behind the bed, holding Mitch’s .45 with both hands.
“For the love of God,” Mitch said, “where did you learn to shoot?”
“Nowhere.”
Mitch looked at the hole in the door, about a foot from his head. “Good thing.”
Geneva came running down the hall, out of the smoke, hair flying. “Run!” she yelled. “I lost track of it!”
“So you came back here?” Mitch backed up next to Bryce. “Where the hell do you think we can go?”
“Don’t you have a fire ladder or something?” she said.
“I look to you like the kind of guy who has a fire ladder?”
“What’s going on?” Bryce’s eyes were round with fear. “Why is the house on fire?”
Mitch swept the shotgun across his nightstand, scattering lamp, clock, old mail onto the floor. He shoved the window open. Outside, the roof sloped away, giving him a view of the front yard and the street. It looked like a long drop, but there wasn’t any choice. He grabbed Bryce. “Go! Onto the roof.”
Bryce shrank back. “What? Out there?”
Somewhere in the house, the Archangel screeched.
“Right.” Bryce squeezed out the window. Geneva helped him, then climbed out after him.
“Here!” Mitch handed her the black box. He turned and aimed the shotgun at the doorway. The shadows moved. He wasn’t sure if the thing was out there, but he fired anyway, blasting holes through the wall.
“The hell with this,” he said under his breath. He climbed out the window.
His breath steamed in the cold drizzle. His boots gripped the wet roof shingles for the first few steps, and then his feet shot out from under him. He slid to the edge and fell, pulling the thin metal gutter off with him. After a gut-wrenching moment of weightlessness, he landed in the bushes. Branches snapped beneath him. He fought his way out of the juniper and onto his feet.
Geneva was running for her Cougar with the black box tucked under her arm. She was leaving, Mitch realized. Taking the black box and splitting. How could he not have seen that coming?
Bryce stood dumbfounded in the middle of the front yard. Mitch followed his gaze and saw the flickering shadow of the Archangel scrabbling across the roof toward them.
“Get down!” Mitch charged. He’d never make it in time.
Bryce turned to run. The Archangel bounded to the edge of the roof and leaped at him. It shimmered in the air, like a heat wave on the horizon. There was nothing Mitch could do to stop it.