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“GODAMMIT, I forgot my sunglasses.” Zan shielded her eyes against a flood of orange light.
“Don’t sweat it. The sun will be behind that building in a few minutes,” Mel said. She reached into a bag between her legs, pulled out two small cans of coffee and handed one to Zan. “Time for another espresso.”
The two agents sat in a beat-up car parked under a mess of wires. They’d been watching a shabby house in North Philadelphia all week. Surveillance was boring as hell but Zan still felt the eagerness, the buzz of pursuit. She was pretty sure Mel felt it, too.
Thanks to Rainer.
He had placed the evidence pouch in the locker at the train station the day after their text exchange, allowing Zan to deliver the news about her “confidential informants” the day after that. She smiled, remembering Nguyen’s reaction.
“Halloween may be coming up, but this is Christmas, that’s what this is,” Nguyen had said, his dark eyes locked onto the photograph of the daggers. If they could find the daggers at the Chestnut Hill address, they could leverage murder charges to get information on the snuff porn. To find out if the women in those obscene images were trafficked. To find out if they were murdered.
Of course, Nguyen and Mel pressured her to reveal her informants, at least to them. She refused. She was hardly the first agent to have done so. Nguyen was so tickled pink about the evidence he only scowled at her a little.
Now, they needed to corroborate the evidence from the “confidential informants” so they could obtain search warrants. Zan and Mel hoped to tail someone from the house in North Philadelphia to the house in Chestnut Hill, essentially re-creating the sequence of the photographs in their possession.
Zan had tipped her head back to suck the last of the espresso out of the can when Mel said, “Ho ho! A car just parked near the house.” She readied her camera and its zoom lens.
A man got out of an old Toyota with an insulated pizza delivery bag, but he held it vertically, so it obviously did not contain a pizza. As Mel snapped pictures, he went into the house and emerged 15 minutes later, the pizza bag tight under his arm. He got in the car and drove off. Zan eased the car into drive and followed him, while Mel texted all their other sets of eyes with a description of the car.
“Keep a nice distance, Zan. We have all kinds of people who can pick him up again.”
Zan nodded. After a few blocks, she continued straight when the Toyota turned right. Another car picked up the tail. The other agents kept them informed as to the Toyota’s path. When it pulled onto Germantown Avenue, Mel hooted and Zan pounded her fist on the steering wheel.
“This is it!” Mel said. “He’s going to Chestnut Hill.”
The two agents sped to that neighborhood after Zan slapped the Kojak light on the roof. They met the agents watching the house there and sent them off in the beater car to wait a few blocks away. Mel and Zan slid into the Infiniti, a car that was inconspicuous in that neighborhood. Mel readied her camera again.
The old Toyota rolled down the street about 10 minutes later. It pulled up to the curb in front of the target house, a large colonial, and the man got out. This time he carried the insulated bag as if it contained a pizza. Rapid clicks issued from Mel’s camera as she documented his walk to the front door. He went inside for a minute or two, came out, got back in the car and drove away. Mel put the camera down and grinned at Zan, who grinned back. Mel texted the agents in the beater down the street and told them to follow the man. Zan tapped at her phone for a few seconds, then handed it to Mel.
“Plug it in and play it loud,” Zan said, steering the Infiniti down the street. As the agents headed back to the office to start the search warrant paperwork, they rolled down the windows and banged their heads in celebration.
Barakiel hurried down the polished corridor to the Nexus, the High Command’s black stone chamber deep within the Keep.
We must go on the offensive against Lucifer. We must.
When he reached the anteroom, the commanders were milling about, waiting for the High Command to invite them in. Hagith slapped him on the back and the other commanders grinned at him. Remiel grasped his shoulder. Barakiel returned the gesture.
“Thank you for saving my life.”
“It was my duty and my joy, commander.”
“It is lucky for me you perform your duty so well.”
“That is lucky for all of us,” Hagith said. The commanders laughed, then a voice floated from the Conduit telling them to enter. Osmadiel, Camael and Galizur, the high commanders, were already standing by their seats. They exchanged formal greetings.
“I see you are none the worse for wear after your time pounding rock in the quarry, Barakiel,” Osmadiel said as the commanders took their seats. He bowed his head to her. When everyone was settled, she addressed Remiel.
“I hope you understand, Remiel, why your warrior needed to complete his punishment despite his extraordinary performance at the city gates.”
“Yes, high commander. I think he understands as well.”
“Do you, Barakiel?”
“Yes, high commander. I would not want to receive special treatment. It would damage my relationship with the other warriors.”
She nodded, smiling. He did not know if she smiled at his humble air, or because she suspected its insincerity.
I am masking well, Osmadiel. Better than I was before. You should be proud of me.
“Enough of that,” Galizur said. “We are not here to talk about Barakiel. We called this full meeting to examine whatever confounded thing happened to the gates. But first, Remiel, now that you have healed and rested we need to discuss the collapse of your battalion. Please tell us what happened.”
“Certainly, high commander.” She took a deep breath. “My battalion had lost many warriors in the previous phase, and though we are grateful for those who rotate in to strengthen us, it takes time to develop the cohesiveness necessary to be effective. As you know, Lucifer came after us that turn with at least double the usual number of Corrupted. We had no advantage. Coupled with the demon horde, it was too much for us.”
“Why did you decide to abandon the line and let the column through?” Camael asked.
“I thought our effort to hold the line would have been futile. It was going to collapse. I wanted to preserve what warriors I had left,” Remiel’s voice wobbled but her eyes remained locked on Camael’s, “for something more effective.”
“I think it was the right decision, Remiel,” Hagith said. “You slowed the Corrupted down, allowing the reinforcements to arrive in time. You gave my battalion time to cut off avenues of escape. The Corrupted suffered heavy casualties.” Most of the commanders nodded.
“I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of Camael’s warriors pouring from the damaged gates,” Osmadiel said. “Or their swords painting the blood of traitors in bold strokes upon the walls.”
Camael chuckled. “Sometimes I think you are half quickener, Osmadiel. You must have loved the way Barakiel set upon the Corrupted who attempted to charge the gates.”
“Yes, I did,” Osmadiel said. “Barakiel, you outdid yourself. I have never seen such an elegant dance of death.”
“Thank you, high commander.”
“Barakiel’s graceful fury aside, it was a very chaotic scene,” Camael said. “Osmadiel, given your way with words, I’ll let you describe what happened.”
The high commander nodded. She explained that all three battalions on duty in the Turning had been attacked by unusually large numbers of both Corrupted and demons. Her battalion was holding the sector of the Turning directly before the gates when word came from Remiel that her line had collapsed and that they should fall back. As soon as they did, the frontal assault doubled in intensity. Osmadiel could only surmise that Corrupted had been pulled from other sectors. She had set up a thick cordon around the gates to deal with the onslaught when a horde of demons rushed them, followed by a group of thirty or so Corrupted bound up tight as a fist. The group began to cut its way toward the massive gates, unconcerned about what happened behind them. They had no battering ram, nor ladders to scale the walls. The gates were reinforced by an energy barrier, but Osmadiel knew Lucifer would not have launched such an assault without a way to breach both the gates and the barrier.
Her warriors were about to break apart the knot of Corrupted when they suddenly spread out and attacked save for a handful that rushed the gates and smeared a substance on their amber surfaces.
“I am not even sure what I saw after that,” Osmadiel said. “The gates vibrated. Their surfaces became grainy where the substance touched them, like they were turning to sand. Then the grains fell away, as if they cascaded into a space I could not see. I cannot explain it any better.”
Barakiel scanned the faces around the table.
I hope they understand that Lucifer’s command of the Destructive Force is growing.
His eyes alighted on Osmadiel, who grinned at him as she resumed her narrative. “I’m sure you’ve all heard what happened next. Barakiel burst through the gap in the gate, a skewered Corrupted on his sword. He and the other fighters who rushed through the hole kept the traitors busy, giving Camael’s battalion time to emerge. How many heads did you take yourself, Barakiel?”
“I do not know, high commander.”
“At least eight, not to count those you grievously wounded and left for your comrades,” Osmadiel said. She smirked at Galizur, who was trying his best to look bored. “Then I sent him off with the left-flank warriors to assist Remiel’s battalion,” she continued.
“As we know, they arrived in time to save us from complete annihilation,” Remiel said.
“Yes, yes, we’ve heard quite enough about Barakiel’s exploits,” Galizur said, “but do we have any idea what the Corrupted did to the gates?”
“Not yet, high commander,” Remiel replied. “After we forced the would-be invaders back into Turning, the artisans replaced the gates and sent the damaged pair off to the traveler adepts for analysis.”
“In hindsight, was there any indication that Lucifer was planning this major offensive?” Camael asked, addressing the whole table. “Anything that we should have recognized?”
“Lucifer had been hitting the weaker battalions hardest for some time,” Remiel said. “I thought he was simply continuing the strategy of slowly eroding our forces. He obscured his purpose well.”
“He certainly plays the long game,” Camael said. “Barakiel, do you have any insight as to why your father may have chosen to do this now?”
“I suspect he thought he had perfected whatever heinous power he applied to the gates.”
“Do you remember anything about the Destructive Realm that could help us understand this power, or substance, or whatever demon-cursed thing it is?”
“Only this, high commander. The sensation that Osmadiel described, that the gates were falling away to a space she could not see? The whole of the Destructive Realm feels that way at times. In my wandering, I suffered sudden onslaughts of vertigo, as if the ground beneath me were collapsing. Only the membrane at its border seemed fixed. If I had not stumbled upon it, I do not think I would have found my way out.”
The high commanders exchanged grim looks. “How can such a power operate outside the Destructive Realm?” Osmadiel leaned her chin into her hand, her index finger over her lips. They all knew her question had no answer. Barakiel put his hands on the table, palms down. Leaning forward, he stared at Osmadiel so intensely she raised her eyebrows.
“What is it, warrior?”
“With respect, high commanders, I think we should revisit the decision to keep our forces in a defensive posture. Now that Lucifer knows he can damage the gates, he will try again.”
“And we will defend them again,” Galizur said. “The Council has made it clear we are in no position to take our battle into the Destructive Realm. You yourself just described the difficulty of navigating there.”
“And shall we wait then, until Lucifer brings the Destructive Realm to the Great Plaza?” Barakiel asked.
“We have suffered terrible losses, warrior,” Camael said. “Remiel’s battalion can no longer take the field. We are faced with restructuring. How in the name of Balance could we mount an offensive now?”
“We inflicted more casualties than we suffered. We cannot give Lucifer time to recover. Our good fortune in that battle rested on the slender legs of messengers. If anything had slowed their progress, the reinforcements would not have arrived in time, and we would have been fighting the Corrupted in front of the Keep,” Barakiel said. He looked to Osmadiel. She pursed her lips before glancing at the other high commanders.
Surely she has something to say.
“All we will tell you, Barakiel, is that the High Command is cognizant of the reasons both for and against an offensive, but the final decision rests with the Council.”
That is all? You disappoint me, Osmadiel, talking like an earthly politician.
“Have any of you looked into Lucifer’s eyes since he became the Lord of Destruction?” Barakiel asked, scanning every commander at the table. “No, of course not. Anyone who came that close to him inevitably died. All but me, and I will never forget what I saw there. We are dealing with more than a powerful warrior. He has become the vessel of an elemental force. Do you not see this? Do you not understand what it means? He will not relent.”
Everyone seated at the table scowled at him as if he had forced them to contemplate something they would rather keep away from the front of their consciousness.
“For an age, the war never spilled beyond the Turning,” Galizur said. “You wish us to toss aside a successful long-term strategy because of one battle? Why should anyone listen to you? You are barely a citizen.”
I may live in exile, Galizur, but you are a fool.
The Repository of Knowledge in the Travelers Guild Hall was filled with green-robed apprentices working on their thesis projects. Pellus observed them fondly as they flitted beside the long, heavy tables, pausing here and there to scribble below a glow orb or stare at an object as they tried to grasp its molecular structure. He thought he might ask them if they needed advice. He missed his teaching duties, which had been taken away from him when he lost his formal rank.
As if serving as Barakiel’s traveler doesn’t keep me busy enough.
He leaned his head back to peer into the gloom in the rafters far above. He was waiting for Roan, to find out if he had heard anything that could help them discover the identity of the traveler who had turned traitor. Pellus was just about to head over to the apprentices when Roan entered the Repository and walked toward him so quickly the adept could tell he had learned something.
“Thank you for meeting me, Roan.”
“Of course, sir. Shall we go to my chambers? I have something to tell you.”
Once they were ensconced in Roan’s spartan rooms, the navigen traveler offered Pellus a drink and asked him to sit, his tone full of dread. Pellus waved off the libation and told him to get to it.
“You really should sit down, sir.”
Pellus did not reveal his annoyance. He sat in a simple chair made of gray stone and gazed placidly at Roan, who took the chair opposite. The navigen looked out his window at the twilight for a few moments, then turned back to Pellus and exhaled.
“Uh, I have heard some things, uh, I got lucky, and, uh—”
“Please, Roan. I am not going to hold the message against the messenger.”
“The traveler you are looking for might be Domist.”
The adept’s jaw hung open. “Domist? Balance help us all.” He shot upright and began to pace around the small room.
Domist was a powerful adept, one of the few who could rival Pellus. She was also mate to Abraxos, the member of the Covalent Council next in line for the presidency. Pellus knew that Abraxos mistrusted Barakiel, perhaps even feared him, but he thought the source of those feelings had always been an overzealous desire to protect the Realm.
Has it become something else through the phases? Hatred for its own sake? Jealousy?
“Tell me,” Pellus said. “Tell me exactly what transpired to make you say this.”
Roan told him that he had been assisting an adept with the materials for a lecture, a duty for which he volunteered because it placed him so often near the Guild leadership. As he gathered the materials to take them to storage, another adept entered the lecture hall and said he wanted to discuss the analysis of the gates that had been damaged in Lucifer’s offensive. He said it was taking too long.
“This adept was angry, sir. He said he was ‘getting sick of certain adepts who think they are too special to do any work.’ Adepts do not usually talk that way about one another, so I decided to spy on their conversation.”
Pellus stopped pacing and eyed Roan for a moment.
Who knew he had a talent for the clandestine?
“They left the hall while I was still fumbling with the materials,” Roan continued. “I followed them down the corridor, keeping to the shadows. When they thought they were alone they discussed how Domist seemed to be shirking her duties once again. They wondered if they should say something to the head of the Guild.”
“Is that all? Any number of things could have caused her lack of attention to her duties,” Pellus said.
“No, sir. Right before they passed into the restricted area one of them said, ‘Let us hope she does not disappear again. I needed her to cover one of my lectures last phase and she was nowhere to be found.’”
“I see.” Pellus sat again. He put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his chin. “Excellent work, Roan. I do not think it is enough for us to reach any conclusions, but it is exactly the sort of intelligence I need you to gather. I am grateful for your diligence and courage. You are putting yourself at risk.”
“My pleasure, sir. If we have a traitor on our hands, I will do anything you need me to do.” Roan hinted at a smile, but his tone was anxious.
“Keep your eyes and ears open. As for Domist, best if you leave any further inquiry into her possible treachery to me.”
“Of course, sir.”
“And Roan, do not mention a word of this to anyone, least of all Barakiel. In his present state, there is no telling what he would do.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Now, how about that drink you offered earlier? I could use it.”
The navigen seemed relieved by this bit of levity. He went to get Pellus his spirits.
Levity will become scarce if Lucifer has an adept in his poisonous grip.