“Do you have it?” Verchiel asked, ignoring the ramblings of his servant. “Do you have the scent of our enemies?”
Malak nodded, a simpleton’s grin of accomplishment spreading across his face. “They cannot hide from me anymore,” he said, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Like blood in the white, white snow; I can follow them.”
“Excellent,” Verchiel hissed. He would remember this day, this very point in time when his plan fell neatly into place.
Through the billowing smoke, he saw shapes moving into the room, firefighters, their bodies covered in heavy, protective layers of clothing. In their hands they carried the tools of their trade: high-powered flashlights, axes, and thick hoses. Verchiel felt Malak bristle beside him.
“There’s somebody in here,” he heard one of the firefighters say, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask that covered his face.
A powerful flashlight illuminated the angel and his servant. Verchiel did not hide himself, instead he unfurled his wings and held his arms out so they might gaze upon his magnificence. Through the thick smoke and the clear masks that covered their faces, he could see their eyes bulge with fear and wonder, and reveled in their awe of him.
Malak growled and from the air plucked a fearsome sword, still encrusted with the blood of a previous kill. He started toward the humans, but Verchiel reached out, grabbing hold of his armored shoulder.
“Leave them be,” he proclaimed for all to hear.
Two of the firemen had fallen to their knees in supplication, while another fled in sheer panic. Verchiel could hear their prayers.
“Let them look upon me and know that a time is approaching when the sight of my kind will be as common, and as welcome, as the sunrise.” Verchiel’s voice boomed above the sound of the fire alarm. “There are snakes living amongst you,” he proclaimed as he closed his wings about himself and his servant. “And there shall come a time of cleansing.”
And as Verchiel willed himself away, he left the firefighters with a final pronouncement.
“That time is now.”
Aaron did as he was taught. He saw Aerie in his head; the high, chain-link fence that ran around its perimeter, the run-down homes, the weeds pushing up through the cracks in the sidewalks. In the beginning there was complete and utter darkness, and then a sense of movement. It was like traveling through a long, dark tunnel. He opened his wings, pushing back the stygian black that enveloped them and saw that they had successfully arrived. He had rescued Vilma—but at what price?
He looked around. They were standing in front of Belphegor’s home, and nearly every citizen was waiting. The old fallen angel was sitting in a beach chair at the sidewalk’s edge, a sweating glass of iced tea in his hand. Lehash, looking none too pleased, and Lorelei stood on either side of the multicolored chair. It was quiet in Aerie, quiet as the grave.
Aaron felt Vilma shiver in his arms and pulled her closer, gazing into her wide, dark eyes. “It’s going to be all right,” he whispered, holding her tighter.
“Is she hurt?” Gabriel asked, sniffing at her body.
Vilma writhed and her shirt rose up to reveal the angry burns on her belly.
“Oh, my God,” Aaron said, starting to panic. “Somebody help me.” He looked frantically at the people around him.
Lorelei moved forward and placed a hand on Vilma’s brow.
“He hurt her … tried to trigger the change,” Aaron said. “There are burns on her stomach and I… I think she’s sick.”
“I’ll take her from here,” Lorelei said, and gently began to pry the girl from his arms.
“Will she be okay?” He didn’t want to let her go.
“She’s been with Verchiel,” Lorelei responded coldly as she removed her dungaree jacket, wrapping it around the shivering Vilma’s shoulders. “I can only guess what that monster has done to her.”
Lorelei began to lead Vilma away, and Aaron reached out to take hold of her arm. “Thank you.”
She turned slowly to look at him; there was fear in her eyes. “Does that mean that you owe me?” Lorelei asked.
Aaron nodded as he let go of her arm. “Anything.”
“Don’t let them down,” she whispered. “They’ve waited so long—sacrificed too much—to have it all taken away.”
He had no idea how to respond, but Lorelei had already turned and was leading Vilma away. “C’mon, honey, let’s see about getting you fixed up.”
“Aaron?” Vilma suddenly protested.
He was going to her when Gabriel cut across his path. “It’s going to be just fine,” the animal said to the girl, and the expression on her face told Aaron that she could understand the dog as well as he. Gabriel stretched his neck and nuzzled her hand lovingly. “We’ll go with Lorelei and she’ll make you feel better, you’ll see.” Gabriel looked back at Aaron. “I’ll go with her.”
Aaron nodded in approval and watched the threesome proceed down the street, Gabriel chatting reassuringly all the while. If only he could have the same level of confidence as his dog. He thought of Camael, who had yet to return, and icy fingers of dread took hold of his heart. He had to go back, back to Ken Curtis to help his friend. He turned to Belphegor. “I have to leave again; I have to help Camael.”
He unfurled his wings, but pain shot through his body, driving him to his knees. His head throbbed and the stab wound in his shoulder was bleeding again, he could feel the snaking trail of warmth beneath his shirt.
“You need to rest,” he heard Belphegor say evenly. “You’re no good to anyone now.”
“But he needs help!” Aaron said, fighting to get to his feet.
“Camael can take care of himself,” Lehash barked. “He’s fought many a battle without your help, Nephilim. You’ve done enough.”
Aaron stared across the street at the gunslinger and Belphegor. Their faces were blank, insensate, as if they’d used up their lifetime allotment of emotion long ago. But it was in the faces of the others, the citizens, that he saw what he was responsible for. They milled about, eyes darting here and there, waiting for answers, waiting to have their fears put to rest. He could feel the anxiety coming off them in waves.
“I couldn’t just leave her,” he said to them. “I had to do something.” He managed to get to his feet and lurched toward them, his angelic trappings fading as he drew closer. “I’m so sorry. It seemed right at the time, but now I…” He felt his strength wane and he suddenly sat down in the street, burying his face in his hands. “I just don’t know what to think.”
An aluminum chair leg scraped across the concrete sidewalk and he lifted his face to see that Belphegor was standing. The old fallen angel handed his nearly empty glass to Lehash, who stared at it with contempt. “Hold on to this,” he told the constable, and moved toward Aaron.
It hurt to think. It felt as though Verchiel had touched his brain with a burning hand; his thoughts were a firestorm. There was so much he had to do-so much responsibility. Why did he have to be the Chosen One? he anguished. In his mind all he could see were the faces of those he had failed: his mom and dad, Dr. Jonas, Vilma … Stevie.
“They … he changed my little brother into a monster,” Aaron said, gazing up into the elderly visage of Belphegor. “How could they do that to a kid?” he asked desperately as he ran a hand through his tangle of dark hair. “How could a creature of Heaven be so cruel?”
“Verchiel and his followers have not been creatures of Heaven for quite some time,” Belphegor replied. “They lost sight of that special place a long time ago.”