Armageddon (8 page)

The first of Lucifer’s memories would now be his last.

And it would have been Lucifer’s end—if it wasn’t for the sound.

The Morningstar listened. There was something familiar about the noise.

The squeak came again.

Yes, Lucifer knew that sound, and he found himself smiling. It was the voice of the one creature who had befriended him when all others had turned away, who believed that he was good, and kind, and worthy of forgiveness.

It was the squeak of a mouse named Milton.

*   *   *

The pain was indescribable.

Dusty lay atop a moldy comforter and wished that he would just hurry up and die.

Fever racked his body, as if he were burning from the inside out. But that was just a minor discomfort in comparison to the pieces of the Abomination of Desolation’s sword that were lodged in his flesh. Each sliver was vibrating at a different speed. As the shrapnel quivered, Dusty’s head was filled with a cacophony of sound. Each piece of the sword screamed of futures to come.

A cold, wet nose, followed by the gentle lick of a warm tongue, was enough to send him into spasms. Dusty knew the dog meant well, but it was all too much.

He managed to turn his head to stare at the Labrador that sat patiently beside him. He could sense the worry radiating from the animal’s deep, dark eyes. He wanted to tell the dog to leave him to his fate, but no sound would come from his lips.

The pain was incredible, and he couldn’t stop himself from writhing in agony, which only drove the vibrating pieces of metal deeper into his body.

The dog, Gabriel, got to his feet. His hackles of golden yellow rose along his neck, and sparks of fire leaped from the ends of his fur.

The dog looked back at Dusty, a message passing between them. Dusty knew that he should try to remain silent, so as not to draw the attention of whatever was in the house.

Through pain-blurred eyes, he watched as the Labrador, their sole protector, turned gracefully and trotted from the room.

Again, Dusty was overcome by visions. It was as if each piece of the giant sword once wielded by the Abomination of Desolation was attempting to tell him something. The images were so fleeting that he could barely make out one before the next came crashing into view.

But Dusty saw a dog—Gabriel—being attacked.

It took almost every bit of strength that Dusty still had to process these flashes of prescience, to organize them in such a way that they made the slightest bit of sense. But he concentrated with all his might, and they started to vibrate—to speak—at the same frequency. Slowly, the images became more linear, and the pain began to subside.

From what he could understand, Gabriel was going to be overcome if . . .

But again the pieces of shrapnel were all communicating at once. Dusty was just about to slip into unconsciousness, when he managed to regain control, visualizing each piece of metal within him vibrating at the same speed.

Vibrating as one.

Suddenly it all became clear.

And Dusty saw what he could—what he would—do to save his friend.

*   *   *

Gabriel knew that trespassers were in the house. He could smell their pee-like scent hanging heavily in the air.

Cautiously he stalked down the rubble-strewn corridor toward the burned-out remains of the kitchen. The smell was stronger there.

Gabriel stood in the entryway, his enhanced canine vision searching the gloom for intruders. Gazing about the once-cheery place, the dog could not help but remember his family, and the happy times they had spent together there. Tom, Lori, and little Stevie; they were gone now. Only he and Aaron survived.

Aaron.

The dog felt a wave of panic, realizing that he didn’t even know if his master was still alive.

Distracted by this disturbing thought, he did not notice the creatures in the shadows. They were small, about the size of cats, but walked erect like small children, and were covered in thick, shaggy fur.

They lunged. Mouths ringed with sawlike teeth, they screamed their excitement as they rushed him. Tiny, clawed hands grabbed at Gabriel’s fur, and the dog released the most ferocious of barks, unleashing the power of the Nephilim.

Divine fire trailed from Gabriel’s body as he sprang about the kitchen, attempting to elude the swarm of hungry creatures. They came at him from all sides, pouring in through broken windows and up from the basement. Gabriel fought as best he could, snatching the furry varmints in his mouth and shaking them as his holy fire ignited their fur. Then he tossed their flaming bodies into the expanding horde and grabbed for the next.

Suddenly, the creatures nearest the hallway began screaming, then fell dead. The others started swarming out the kitchen door.

Gabriel darted around the broken cabinets. There, in the hallway, stood a nearly naked Dusty, arms and legs spread wide. He wiggled his finger wildly, as if urging the creatures to come at him.

Has Dusty gone crazy?
Gabriel wondered.

Then Dusty let out a horrible shriek, and his wounds began spurting blood. The advancing creatures fell with the dead on the floor, their furry bodies bleeding.

Gabriel couldn’t understand what it was he was seeing.

More of the beasts swarmed Dusty, and again, he let out a yell.

More of them went down, while others tried to escape Dusty’s reach.

Gabriel poked a dying creature with his paw. A jagged piece of dark metal stuck out from its fur, just above the creature’s tooth-filled mouth.

A jagged piece of metal.

Suddenly, that piece of metal began to move, to vibrate, and it shot from the creature’s body, boomeranging back into Dusty’s flesh.

Is this even possible?
the dog questioned, but realized that such a thought was completely foolish given this new, horrible world.

Gabriel picked his way to Dusty amid hundreds of dead and bleeding creatures, trying not to step on the furry bodies. Dusty had dropped to his knees, breathing heavily.

“Woof,” Gabriel said to Dusty, who did not have the ability to speak any language as the Nephilim did.

Dusty lifted his head slowly. The cuts on his face and body were already beginning to heal. “It’s all right now, boy,” he said, a strange smile forming on his bloodstained face. “I’ve figured it all out.”

Dusty reached out to pet Gabriel’s head, but the Labrador stepped away, avoiding his touch. Moments ago, the young man had been so sick that he could barely move. What happened?

Dusty laughed again, looking toward his hand as he flexed his fingers.

“I know what I am now,” he said with a firm nod to Gabriel.

“I am the sword, and the sword is me.”

V
ilma brought Aaron’s limp hand to her mouth and kissed it.

She watched him, imagining how she would react if his eyes suddenly opened.

“I miss you so much,” she said, as much to him as to herself.

She was alone with Aaron. Taylor had been called away by one of the Unforgiven for a reason they chose not to share.

Which was perfectly all right with Vilma. A lot of Taylor’s stories were disturbing, like when she’d explained where she’d been for the last twenty years.

Vilma couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to go to the hospital to have a baby, then wake up inside a morgue drawer. She recalled Taylor’s explanation of how Mallus, using angel magick, had made the doctors, and hospital staff, believe that she was dead. And the idea of never seeing one’s newborn
child, even if it meant saving said child, was just something that she could barely comprehend. It must have been beyond terrible.

“I know you don’t know she’s here yet, but when I found out who she was, I was pretty pissed,” Vilma told her unconscious boyfriend. “I didn’t think there was any excuse good enough, but now, after hearing why she stayed away . . .

“I wonder how I would have reacted,” Vilma said, recalling the haunted look in Taylor’s eyes as she told her story. “What must it have been like to learn that the man you’ve loved, the father of your child, was actually Lucifer?”

She thought about all the challenges she’d faced since meeting Aaron and learning that she, too, was Nephilim. It made it that much easier to accept Aaron’s mother.

“I really think you’ll like her,” Vilma said to him. “She comes across as a little cold and distant, but I think that probably has something to do with living with the Unforgiven.” She made a face. “Those guys give me the creeps.”

Mallus had turned Taylor over to the Unforgiven to save her from the dangers of evil forces willing to use her against the angel whose heart she had captured. For her own safety, the safety of her son, and the safety of the world, Taylor Corbet had remained hidden. With the Unforgiven, she worked to keep the world from falling to the mysterious Architects.

It was an uphill battle.

Vilma stared at the mechanical healing ring attached to
her boyfriend’s chest. She watched the flashes of energy that coincided with the beating of his heart. The device made her nervous, but if it was going to help him . . .

The healing ring suddenly brightened, pulsing rapidly as Aaron’s body began to twitch.

Is he waking up?
 Vilma jumped to her feet to summon help, but there was no call button. It wasn’t really a hospital anymore. She hated to leave his side, but she had no choice.

Vilma bolted from the room. “Hey!” she cried.

The Unforgiven sentry who usually sat at the old reception desk was gone. The entire floor appeared to be empty.

“Is anybody here?” she shouted, but there was no response.

Vilma turned back to the room, watching Aaron’s body twitch and shudder. He needed help. She ran back down the hallway and into a darkened stairway. She had no idea whether she should go up or down. Her panic escalated. She leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to calm herself.

There were scrapes, digs in the paint and stone, as if something—or someone—had rubbed up against it repeatedly. The image of the Unforgiven, their mechanical wings furled upon their backs, immediately came to mind.

They must use these stairs,
she thought.

It was as good a theory as any.

And without a moment’s hesitation, Vilma headed down the stairs, hoping that help awaited her somewhere below.

*   *   *

Aaron suddenly realized he’d been staring at the pulsing, geometric shapes on his computer screen.

Well, that’s time well spent,
he thought, rubbing his burning eyes.

He tapped his keyboard, and the screen saver vanished. He hadn’t quite finished the Saint Athanasius School’s income tax preparations, but better to finish it in the morning, rather than risk a mistake.

He saved his file, then noticed the time at the bottom of his screen.

8:36 p.m.

“Shit.” He had no idea it had gotten so late. He thought of calling Vilma, but decided it would be better to just head home. He didn’t want to waste any more time when he could be on the road.

He pushed back his chair, reached beneath his desk for his satchel, and stood. No one else was burning the proverbial midnight oil at Mallus, CPA, except for a cleaning crew. The sound of a vacuum cleaner could be heard coming from an office down the hall.

Aaron headed for the elevator, wondering if Jeremy would still be awake when he got home. Their four-year-old son had been having some difficulties sleeping: recurrent dreams about goblins, trolls, and an armored, winged giant with a huge, vibrating sword.

Aaron smirked. Jeremy was his kid, all right—what an
imagination.

The elevator doors parted and he stepped into the empty cab, beginning his descent to the garage.

Aaron was exhausted. He had started working for Mallus, CPA, five years ago, after getting his business and accounting degree from Northeastern University. It was pretty much the job he’d hoped for: decent pay, providing an adequate life for his wife and child, even allowing for a small savings toward the house they wanted to purchase.

He was lucky.

No, he corrected himself. Not lucky. He’d busted his ass for the life he had—the only luck he’d had was in meeting Vilma.

Aaron’s heart fluttered and flipped whenever he thought about his wife. He still had no clue as to why she’d ever agreed to go out with him, let alone marry him. That was luck.

The elevator reached the basement and shuddered. The doors began to part, then stopped.
What the hell?
Aaron thought. He tried to push them apart.

Peering out to what should have been the well-lighted parking garage, all he saw was darkness.

Total darkness.

Aaron stepped back, unnerved.

He wondered if there had been a power outage, but the elevator’s lights were still on. And there should have been emergency lights above the rows of cars.

He grasped the doors once more and, grunting with exertion,
shoved them apart. Standing in the doorway, he couldn’t make out anything, not even the shapes of the cars that should have been parked there, no matter how hard he strained his eyes. He pulled his car keys from his satchel and hit the button to start his car, watching for the flash of lights and listening for the sound of the motor.

Nothing.

Aaron hit the button again. Nothing. There was nothing out there.

How is that possible?

He double-checked the panel inside the elevator.
PG
was lit. He should have been in the parking garage.

But he wasn’t.

Part of him was tempted to go stumbling off into the darkness, but there was another part that warned him to be careful.

Something wasn’t right.

Aaron hit the button to close the doors. He’d exit through the lobby and let security know there was an issue on the lower level.

The elevator reached the first floor with a
ping
. The cab shuddered. The doors parted.

Total darkness.

Impossible!

Aaron poked his foot out of the elevator. The ground was solid. He reached out in front of him, hands searching for the
wall, but finding empty space.