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THE MORNING WORE into a soupy haze. Pellus hated such days in Philadelphia. They smelled foul. As he approached Barakiel’s place he wondered if the warrior would even talk to him. They needed to discuss the horrid task that lay before them, but when they’d returned from the Covalent Realm after his last battle, Barakiel barely talked and did not look at Pellus.
He is determined to make me feel as low as possible.
Pellus found the warrior sitting at his kitchen table.
“We need to plan our actions in the Camargue,” he said.
“My plan is to kill the false monks.”
“What about the servants? Innocent as they may be, we cannot let them walk away after they have witnessed the slaughter.”
Barakiel winced.
“Well, answer me! What shall we do about the servants?”
“I will not kill the servants.”
“But they will say what they have seen. They will notify the police.”
“The servants will not go to the police. They could be held responsible for the false monks’ crimes.”
“We cannot rely on that.”
“I will remain concealed.”
“You will not be able to conceal yourself during that level of activity. You are not a traveler. I can conceal the whole event, but you will be inside the concealed area with the false monks and the servants. I cannot shroud you in diverted light within an area that is already shrouded itself. I am not saying this is impossible, but it would take some work, and time we do not have.”
Silence.
Is there any Covalent more stubborn?
“We cannot let the servants see you,” Pellus said, pacing.
“Then we must kill the false monks inside the ranch house. You can conceal me only, and not the whole area.”
“What if one of them should happen to run outside? What if all of them are never together in one room or even one building?”
“That section of the Camargue is hardly a busy downtown thoroughfare. At any rate, no one will escape. You will see them. I will find them and kill them in the time it takes a human to exhale. Now be quiet. You are annoying me.”
The Camargue
Once again, the Covalent stood in the dusty yard of the false monks’ ranch. They observed the men moving from building to building or working in the gardens and sheds until the setting sun turned the ponds dotting the marshland into jewels of flashing orange.
When a servant in an apron appeared on the porch to call everyone inside, Barakiel suspected they would gather for the evening meal in the dining room of the main house. Almost all of them went inside. Pellus noticed several more who did not look likely to join their brethren, absorbed as they were in some task or another.
In twenty minutes, the fiendish monks were seated at the large table in the dining room. Barakiel entered, concealed by Pellus, as the monks passed bowls and spooned food onto their plates. Such mundane actions made Barakiel feel keenly that he did not want to murder twenty men as they ate dinner. But he reminded himself of the mutilated corpse he had found in Philadelphia. He reminded himself of the mural depicting Lucifer, the basin that caught the blood of sacrifice, and the images of women—bound and tortured, violated and murdered—to be found elsewhere in that very house.
Like his father, these men took pleasure in the suffering of females. If he could not avenge his mother, he could at least avenge these women.
These false monks need to die.
First, the servants. Barakiel delivered a series of quick blows and they fell unconscious before they had time to gasp. Barakiel left no time for the others to react. With grim precision, he applied his sword to the necks of the monks in a continuous line. One by one, their heads rolled forward onto the table as their arteries spewed blood into the air, at first high, then low, creating a dancing fountain of red. The headless bodies twitched, grew still, and then slumped forward in their chairs.
By the time it was done, Pellus had returned with the collection of engraved plates. He said seven other false monks were located elsewhere in the compound. One by one, Barakiel killed them. He slowed with each death.
As Pellus had warned, two false monks ran into the yard. Barakiel stumbled after them. He snapped their necks, vomited, then fell onto the packed earth. He lay there, staring at the dying sun.
The light flees. It accuses me.
Pellus pulled on his arm. “The bodies have been desiccated. They are dust. We must go. We must go immediately.”
Barakiel struggled to his feet. With his arm over Pellus’ shoulders, they staggered off toward the rift, both concealed, the curtain of light rippling as they moved. As Pellus labored to help him, Barakiel’s consciousness receded.
Will I wake? Zan.
Philadelphia
Dreams beset him. He walked in the Void. It was his home.
I will never leave here. I belong here. My violence blasts everything away until there is nothing. Nothing but the Void. My father knows, has always known. I am a paragon of Destruction. It streams from my sword with no more effort than it takes for me to breathe. The smell of death stirs my heart. All that is left for me. I can hear him laughing. Why did I think I could enter that vibrant life?
Please, do not take her from me. Please, no.
He woke to someone shaking him. He was in his bed.
“Wake up, Barakiel, please. You are in distress.” It took a few moments for Barakiel to understand who Pellus was, or what he’d said.
“You slept through the night and half the day. Or something resembling sleep, but you began to wail. You are out of Balance.”
“Leave,” Barakiel said.
“Come now, Barakiel, now is not the—”
“Get the fuck out!” He tried to shout, but his voice was hoarse.
“I will do no such thing. We need to discuss how we will cope with this.” Pellus sat on the end of the bed. He took a deep breath.
“I think you will adjust in time.” His hand hovered as if he were going to touch Barakiel, but thought better of it. “Yes, I think you will improve. You have suffered a blow to your foundation, but once you have settled you will be stable once more. I would take you to the Sylvan Three, but it would jeopardize their own Balance to help you in such a state. At any rate, it is forbidden. This injury was not sustained in service of your purpose.”
Barakiel’s lips curled back from his teeth.
As if I would ever ask it of them.
“I did not expect the loss of Balance to be this severe,” Pellus continued. “When you fought on the side of the Saxons, you were at least defending yourself. You were young and not nearly as powerful. This is far worse.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I am sorry, but you must face it. You may no longer be able to fight.”
“Leave,” Barakiel said over and over as he rolled onto his side, his back to Pellus. He kept it up so long that the adept finally left.
When Barakiel knew he was alone, he rose. He felt weak, but nothing like his physical infirmity in the immediate aftermath of the slaughter.
No, this is something different.
He sat and cried. He found he could not stop.
The day had passed to twilight. Barakiel sat in his garden waiting for Zan to arrive. He hoped that she would stay with him for the weekend but it hurt him, for her to see him like this.
She will not know what to make of it.
He left the garden when Zan pulled in. She got out of her car and had turned to grab her bag from the back seat when he walked up.
“Jesus, Rainer. You scared me.”
“I’m sorry.” He hung his head.
“Rainer? What’s wrong, honey?”
“I don’t know. I’m feeling poorly.”
Prompted by her hug, he wrapped his arms around her waist and crushed his face to her neck.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
Zan cupped his face and kissed him. “Of course, I’m here. What do you mean, you’re feeling poorly? Are you sick?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Frowning, she held her hand to his forehead. “You don’t have a fever but you’re pale and all hunched over. Maybe you’ll feel better after we eat.”
She took his hand and led him into the house. As they prepared their food, Barakiel barely spoke. Zan tried to make him laugh with stories about the stakeout they were on that week. He dutifully smiled here and there, but he barely ate. After they finished, Zan cleaned up. Barakiel sat at the kitchen table staring into space.
“All right, Rainer,” Zan said. “I can see more is wrong with you than feeling a little sick. What’s bothering you?”
He had no idea what to say.
“You’re sad about Pellus, aren’t you?” Zan asked. “And you don’t want to tell me because it’s my fault. I messed up your most important relationship.”
“No, Zan. You are my most important relationship.”
“I mean besides me.” She caressed his cheek. “I don’t want to see you sad. Maybe you should smooth it over with him.”
“He insulted you.”
“I don’t care, Rainer. What the hell do I care? You know how fights are. I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He doesn’t even know me.”
All he could do was look at her, his heart pounding, Pellus’ words alive in his head.
The love you share will dry and crumble like so many autumn leaves.
“My god, honey. Now you look scared. Why are you scared?”
“I can’t talk about it, please.”
“I don’t understand,” she mumbled. He could see her frustration. He turned his face away.
“God, I’m sorry. I made it worse.” She hugged him, then led him to the couch. “Here, sit with me.” She hugged him some more. She pressed his head against her chest as he leaned into her, struggling not to cry.
I need you to understand what you cannot understand.
“It’s not just Pellus, Zan. I feel like my responsibilities are closing in on me. There are problems that many think I should be able to solve. They don’t say it, but that’s the way they act. I can’t solve them. I can’t help them. I’m useless.”
Zan squeezed him tighter. “Please don’t let them get to you, Rainer. You have a right to choose your business manager, and you can’t solve every problem. I know how it is. The kind of man you are, people expect things from you. You’re noble, and most people suck. They will take and take and take and just want more.”
Barakiel raised his head. He stared at her.
Balance help me, you should know. But what if Pellus is right? What if they hurt you?
“What? What is it?” Zan asked.
“I’m amazed by you, my love. With you, I can see my way out of this darkness.”
“The things you say.” Zan smiled, her eyes tear-bright. She brought his head to lean against her again, kissing his hair.
“Hold me to you like this,” Rainer said. “Don’t stop.”
“I will hold you for as long as I can.”
The compound seemed so peaceful at midday. Bees flitted in the garden. The air hung so still, Pellus heard the river sloshing against its banks. He wished he could carry that peace with him, wrap it around Barakiel and ease the pain that had grown between them.
He will not be happy to see me, but we need to discuss what we are going to tell the Council.
Pellus knocked and entered. He could not find Barakiel, so he swept the structure. He detected his weakened energy signature on the roof. When Pellus emerged there, he was momentarily blinded by the explosion of light from the solar array. Barakiel lay right next to it.
“Trying to cook yourself?”
“Go away.”
“We need to discuss what we are going to tell the Council. Obviously, you cannot report for your next tour of duty in the Turning.”
“I can and I will.” He stood.
“That is exactly what Lucifer wants. He will send the Corrupted against you in force. You will be killed.”
“If I am wounded in the Turning the Sylvan Three may be permitted to heal me. They may be able to restore me to Balance without jeopardizing their own.”
“You will not make it off the field of battle! Please, I do not want you to die.”
“I cannot stay like this.” Barakiel stood at the edge of the roof, gazing out at the river. “Now go, and return next week when it is time for me to fight. You must fetch me early. I am to serve with Osmadiel’s battalion. I must speak with Remiel and the Sylvan Three before the battle.”
“I will not bring you. I refuse,” Pellus said.
“You do not have a choice. The High Command wants me there.”
“Then we must tell them what has happened and deal with the consequences. You have already stabilized. You gather energy from the sun, do you not? You are fine like this.”
“No, I am not. If I do not fight and we tell them what I have done, the Council will imprison me. Even if that does not happen, I must still fight the demons. If I am to die, it will not be here, at the hands of my father’s idiot beasts.”
A lead weight formed in Pellus’ stomach.
How can he be resigned to death?
“Use human weapons. You can slaughter the demons en masse.”
Barakiel looked at him with disgust. “I will not abandon what I am,” he said. “Is anything so different than when I left the Saxons all those centuries ago? I chose to pursue my full strength then, and I do it now. I will not live as a crippled warrior.”
“What about Zan? Is it fair to her, that you should die?” Pellus swallowed, barely in control of his voice.
“You hypocrite,” Barakiel snarled. “You dare use Zan to press your argument? You are a joke. You do not even know, I am doing this for her. I will give her power, not weakness.”
He will not listen to me. He is determined. I must devise a way to protect him.
Christina Bartosz greeted Barakiel warmly as he entered her well-appointed office, although he guessed it made her uncomfortable to be conducting business without Pellus. He didn’t care. She would not be running her law practice out of an elegant brownstone in the city’s most exclusive neighborhood if she did not have his companies as clients.
To the extent they could, he and Pellus had been honest with her when they signed her on a few years ago. She knew they were using shell companies to obscure their activities. Barakiel assumed she thought they were money launderers. Pellus bet on securities fraud. Either way, they were confident that she liked money enough to keep her head in the sand.
Lucky I do not have to reveal that Zan is a federal agent to make her the beneficiary of a trust. That would be too much even for Christina.
“Would you like some coffee, Rainer?” Christina asked. “You know my cute little assistant would love me forever if she got to bring you some coffee.”
She motioned for him to sit. He tried to smile.
“No, thank you, Christina. I’ve already had too much coffee today. I’d like to get right to business if you don’t mind.”
“Sure,” she said, grabbing a file to her right and taking out a document. “Here is the trust instrument. I just need the signature pages, and it will be all set. Ms. Alexandra O’Gara is named as the beneficiary of a revocable trust that henceforth holds all the assets of the offshore companies B&P Enterprises, Ltd., B&P Bridesburg, Ltd., and B&P Sustainable Enterprises, SA. The trust company in Wilmington will act as the trustee.”
“Good, good,” Rainer said. He held out a manila folder. “Here are the executed signature pages. Are you clear on the rest?”
“Yes. If I don’t hear from you in two weeks, I deliver the trust instrument to the trustee, and I mail the letter you gave me to Ms. O’Gara.”
“Yes, good, thank you,” Barakiel mumbled. He looked out the office window at Christina’s impressive garden.
“And if I do hear from you, we revoke the trust,” Christina said. “We rip it right up.”
He nodded, still gazing out the window.
How likely is she to hear from me, really? I must tell myself I will return.
“Um, Rainer,” Christina said, as she gathered his executed papers back into the file. “I know you don’t want me asking you questions and I accept that, but I’ve known you for a few years now, and, I, um, I’m worried about you.”
Surprised, he turned to her.
“Are you all right? Do you need my help?” Christina asked. “If you’re in some kind of trouble, I might be able to help, or find someone who can.”
Barakiel gave her a fond look.
You may not be a strictly ethical attorney, but you are a kind person.
“Don’t worry, Christina. All this I’m doing,” he pointed to the file, “it’s a contingency plan. I’m in a position to help myself. Hopefully, all this will be unnecessary.”
Zan sat watching Rainer fold clothes and place them in a small duffel at the foot of the bed. The light slanted through the windows onto his golden hair as he bent to his task. He planned to leave on a trip the next morning and Zan didn’t want him to go. She wanted to touch him, for them to be naked together in the bed so she could soothe his pain, but he didn’t seem interested in any of that lately. It made her worry about him more than any other aspect of his depression. More than his loss of appetite. More than his excessive sleeping. And it hurt her. She would try to get him to have sex, but Rainer would say he was no good to her, not the way he was. He would kiss her tenderly and smooth her hair and gaze at her with sad eyes.
I really want my Rainer back.
“Honey, I wish you wouldn’t go on this trip. Can’t the mountains wait until you’re feeling better?”
“I’m hoping my trek will make me feel better. I’ve always been able to clear my mind in the mountains.”
“I don’t think depression works that way, Rainer. You don’t just do something cool and snap out of it.”
“It works for me sometimes.”
“I know it’s stupid, but I’ll worry,” she said. He stared at her like she’d just told him there was a time bomb in the kitchen.
Why does he keep looking at me like that? He’s scaring me.
“Don’t go, Rainer, please.” She put her hands around his neck and pulled him to kiss her. “Stay here with me. I have a terrible feeling about this trip, and I’m not even the kind of person who gets terrible feelings about things.”
“I have to go, Zan,” Rainer said, his voice a prayer. “I need to get better for you. Perhaps this will restore me.”
“You don’t know how long you’ll be gone?”
“No. However long it takes. At least a week.”
“I don’t like that you’ll be cut off from all communication. I won’t sleep a wink until you get back. I don’t know what it is. I’ve never worried about you like this.”
Rainer hugged her. He kissed her neck and hugged her tighter still. “You love me, Zan. You know this weakness, it’s not right. It’s not me.”
“I love you weak or strong, Rainer. I love you no matter what.”