CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

When they pulled off the FDR it started drizzling, blanketing the ground in a light mist. The Hummer rumbled through the quiet streets, with the occupants of the car equally as quiet. De Mona sat in the second row with Jackson, pondering all that had happened that night. Ever since the trident had come into her life people had been dying: her father, Akbar, Angelo, and possibly Gabriel. She felt bad that she’d brought the thing to him instead of just burying it in the deepest hole she could dig. It wouldn’t have brought her father back, but it might’ve saved the lives of those people. De Mona vowed that she would do whatever it took to help them find the trident and then she would see it destroyed.

Redfeather sat alone in the third row, peering at Finnious and the body of Brother Angelo. The High Brother looked more like a mummified corpse than the intelligent and powerful spirit whom Redfeather had traded words with just a few hours prior. With the spark gone, Angelo’s body had succumbed to its natural aging process. The young wraith looked rattled, occasionally casting a sad glance at Angelo’s body. Finnious had managed to keep his body solid enough to keep from falling out of the Hummer, but his color was still faint. In the center of his ghostly form a tiny spark burned.

The others were confused about what had transpired between the High Brother and the wraith, but only Redfeather had an idea of what the exchange had been about. The wraith being in possession of the Core didn’t bode well for the current situation or the Order of Sanctuary.

“I hate the rain,” De Mona said, staring out the window absently.

Jackson shrugged. “Could be worse; we could all be dead.”

“True.” She smiled. “That reminds me: we never got a chance to thank you guys for saving us. How’d you even know what was going down?”

“Because we’ve been following you,” Morgan said from behind the wheel. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the look of distrust in De Mona’s eyes, so he clarified. “We’ve been keeping tabs on the shithead uprisings in the city over the last week or so, trying to figure out what they were up to. The ones you slew near the college led us to you.”

“At first we didn’t know which side you were on, which is why we didn’t butt in until the attack at the brownstone,” Jackson added. “What did those things want with you?” De Mona wouldn’t meet his gaze. Jackson leaned forward so that she could see the seriousness in his eyes. “Don’t clam up on me now, sis; we almost got our asses tore out in there, so I think it’s only fair that you tell us why?”

“They were looking for my grandson and the vile thing that is trying to gain a hold over his soul, the Nimrod,” Redfeather said heatedly.

This got Morgan’s attention. “I always thought that was just a myth?” Morgan said over his shoulder.

“Myths don’t generally get people killed,” De Mona said.

Jackson unsheathed and retracted one of his blades. “That all depends on who you ask.”

“No, my friend, it’s real. Real and loose somewhere in New York City,” Redfeather said.

“You getting this, Jonas?” Morgan asked into his earpiece.

“Yeah, and cross-searching it against the database,” the static-filled response came through.

“Who the hell is Jonas?” De Mona questioned.

“A friend,” Jackson said, not bothering to elaborate. They still didn’t know how far they could trust the demon or her mortal companion.

“Being that we’re sharing information, what are your stories?” She looked from Morgan to Jackson.

“Me, I was a victim of the ghetto,” Jackson joked.

Morgan was more serious with his reply: “Like the rest of you, we have been touched by the forces of hell one way or another. Jackson,” he nodded at his companion, “was carved up and left to die, by some nasty little bastards that are no longer amongst us.”

De Mona leaned forward and rested her arms on the backrests of the front seats. Morgan’s eyes twitched uncomfortably, so she leaned in closer. “And you, what’s your story?”

“I don’t have one,” he said, trying to focus on the road. His fist gripped the wheel so tight that his knuckles were starting to turn white.

“Bullshit.” De Mona took in his tangy odor. “Even if it weren’t for the fancy hammer, I’d know one of my own.”

“I’m not one of yours, girlie. There are no more of my kind; the war saw to that,” he said with his voice laced with emotion.

“Morgan’s people are descendants of the elementals.” Jackson picked up for his friend. “When the nine lords decided to cut up again they reached out to the elementals. Some threw in with their lot, but the ones that didn’t were hunted and destroyed.”

“Cassie was the last of us.” Morgan took over the story. “My sweet little Cassie, who had never harmed a soul in her life, butchered like cattle just before her mother was cut down. I lay there, helpless, while my family was punished for the blood in my veins and the thing in my possession.” He picked up the hammer and tested its weight. “It had been in my family since its creation, a gift for our services and faith. The dark forces came looking for it, and I gave it to them over and over,” he said, recalling the bloody rampage he had gone on in the name of his family.

“I’m sorry,” De Mona said, feeling a bit ashamed for prying.

“It’s not your fault, child. There were no Valkrin present during the slaughter, and the things responsible … I would not even do them the service of speaking their cursed names aloud. I thought killing those things would help to fill the void my wife and child left, but it hasn’t; all it does is make me angrier. So I continue, casting those I encounter back to the pit, and their mortal servants,” he tossed the hammer up and caught it easily, “they find not so pleasant ends.”

“Then your ancestors fought during the siege?” Redfeather asked.

“Maybe they did, or maybe one of my drunken greatkin stole it. The story of my people has been so stretched over the years I don’t think any of us could tell you accurately. I just know that it has always been the job of the eldest son to keep the hammer.”

Redfeather absently stroked his beard as a theory began to develop in his head. “The Nimrod and the hammer appearing in the same city in the midst of a demon uprising is a little too convenient to be a coincidence.”

“What are you on about, old-timer?” Jackson asked.

“A gathering,” Redfeather said. He unfolded a sheet of paper that he’d placed in his pocket before making the first trip to Sanctuary. “It’s said that before the first siege a gathering was called. The cardinals went to all the provinces in the world to gather the pure-of-heart souls who would be the Knights.”

“Man, I can’t buy into all this shit. I ain’t never been no savior of anybody but myself, and my heart sure as hell ain’t pure,” Jackson said.

“And correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the Knights fight against the demons, not with them?” De Mona pointed out.

“Not true.” Redfeather scanned the page before flipping it over and reading from the other side. “The Ghelgath came, the Weres, and even some of the elementals.”

“We aren’t demons,” Morgan challenged.

“Nor are you human, my friend. For the weapons to have stayed parted all this time only to come together in the wake of a demon uprising … it’s too perfect of a fit to ignore.”

“So, say we are these mythic warriors from yesteryear, where’s this great general who will unite our powers?” De Mona questioned. “No disrespect, man, but Gabriel didn’t strike me as much of a hero.”

“There’s a little hero hiding in the most unlikely of us.” Morgan patted Jackson on the shoulder.

“Sanctuary,” Fin whispered from the back. He was still kneeling at Brother Angelo’s side but appeared to be gaining substance. Just ahead of them was Sanctuary.

The building was as it had been when they’d left, but it looked to be losing its luster. The rain was coming down heavier now, and the front steps were almost covered in mist. Standing in front of the structure were members of the Inquisition. The brothers were dressed in full armor and carrying automatic weapons. Lydia stood in the doorway whispering frantically into the ear of a man dressed in priest’s robes. He looked to be slightly older than Gabriel, and there was a worried expression on his face.

“I’ll get the body,” Morgan offered, after putting the Hummer in park.

“No, the brothers will attend to him. It’s their right,” Fin said, sliding from the SUV. No sooner had his tattered sneakers hit the pavement than Lydia was down the steps and at his side.

“Oh, Fin, what were you thinking, running off like that?” She ran her hands over his body and then his face to see if he’d been harmed. Lydia’s face slacked and she held him at arm’s length. Though she couldn’t see the radiant glow about him, she could feel the power creeping up his arms. “What’s happened to you?”

Fin gave her a lazy smile. “He asked me to keep it, Lydia. I didn’t want it, but he made me promise.” With that he collapsed into her arms.

“Fin?” She shook him, but he didn’t stir. “What’s happened to him?”

“I fear it’s the spark.” Redfeather stepped up. “Just before he died, Brother Angelo passed something to Finnious, and if I’m right he now carries the Core of this Great House.”

“What do you mean, the High Brother has entrusted the spark to a wraith? The soulless creature can’t even carry it,” the man in the priest’s robes said, disregarding whether Fin could hear him or not.

Lydia’s head whipped back and forth, trying to pick up signs of her surrogate family. “Where are Angelo and Akbar?”

“We lost them in the battle,” Morgan said.

“Who are you? What’s happened to our people?” the brown-haired man in the priest’s robes questioned them.

“It’s like the man said: we lost them in the scuffle.” Jackson stepped up. He didn’t like how the priest was coming at them, and made no secret of it. “We can explain all of that once we get off the streets. There are still some things out there looking to finish what they started, so why don’t you cut the bullshit and let us in.”

Anger flashed across the priest’s eyes. He drew the short sword that he carried on his belt and faced Jackson. “How dare you speak to a brother of the order in such a way? I could have you disciplined for this!”

“If you don’t put that knife away you ain’t gonna do shit but bleed.” De Mona stood beside Jackson. Her claws hadn’t extended yet but were ready at a moment’s notice. She and Jackson made brief eye contact and there was an unspoken agreement. “We’ve been through a lot tonight, probably more than most could handle in a lifetime.” She glanced at the Hummer, where the Inquisitors were collecting Angelo’s remains. “There’s been enough bloodshed.”

“Please, Brother David,” Lydia pleaded as one of the Inquisitors took Fin’s limp body from her.

Brother David scowled at the tired bunch for a moment before bidding them to follow him. “We will speak of this more inside.” He stormed up the stairs with the group in tow. Everyone was so preoccupied with the death of Brother Angelo and the transformation of Fin that no one seemed to notice how thick the fog had gotten.