The Tenth Order (36 page)

“I want to see him,” said Jackie.

“No,” the General said, still smiling.

“I…” Jackie opened her mouth, then closed it again. Valdis tried to hide his grin. Jackie Riese was as subtle as a bull in a china shop, and used to getting her way. The priest had seen her cow police officers, priests, even Apkallu. But she wasn’t used to the same stubbornness she directed at others. Valdis watched as the detective struggled for something to say, then finally gave up and sat back down.

“General,” Valdis rose as Jackie sat, his hands clasped before him. “Again, I apologize for the manner of our arrival. I understand how important secrecy and protocol are to the Order—I have spent much of my life studying your history. Believe me when I say this wasn’t how I had intended our first meeting to go. Fate, however, has tipped our hand.”

It was Mary who snorted this time, but the General didn’t even glance in her direction. He kept his eye glued to Valdis.

The priest took a deep breath and continued. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now what has occurred in Denver. You’ve met Hunter Friskin. You know what he is. So the reason for our journey is two-fold, and I wish to express our gratitude for the first part. Both the detective and myself have a vested interest in Hunter, and had planned on seeking your assistance in keeping him safe. It would appear his life is in jeopardy from both the
Adonai
and
Elohim
.”

“First time they’ve agreed on something in four thousand years,” a voice said softly from the far side of the podium. Valdis turned slightly and saw the young man—the one who had remained silent up til now—watching the priest with intense, deep-set eyes. His hair fell in wavy lengths to his shoulder, framing his face in a blond halo. He wasn’t an attractive man, despite his unusual hair; his nose was far too large, dominating half his face, and his eyes were set far apart in a frog-like expression. But his chin was strong, and his eyes burned with a fanatical glow. Valdis knew the young man was more than he seemed. Despite his age he sat at the table with the two oldest and most respected leaders of the Order of Venus. In all Valdis’ research he had never heard of such a thing.

“Quiet, Eli,” the General said in an affectionate tone. “Let the man talk.”

Valdis took another breath, gripping his hands so tightly they began to grow numb.
Here we go.
“The second part,” Valdis said, “is to beg for answers.”

The General leaned back, pursing his lips. His fingers went back to their
tat-a-tat
drumming. As the silenced built, Mary looked back and forth between the General and Valdis, her face darkening. “
Ezekiel
,” she snapped. “You know the law.”

The General said nothing, continuing to drum his fingers.

“He’s made it this far, Captain,” the young man with the wide nose said. “What harm is answering a few questions?”

“We don’t share Order business,
boy
,” Mary bit each word, glaring at the young man called Eli. “We’ve kept our secrets safe for thousands of years because we stick to the law.” She turned back to the General. “You of all people know that.”

The General remained silent, but the cadence of his fingers was slowing.

Now!
Valdis shouted at himself.
Do it now, old man!

“That’s true!” Valdis suddenly said, his voice louder than intended. Eli and Mary, who had been staring daggers at each other, turned slowly to the priest.

“I mean…the part about the law. That’s true,” Valdis mumbled, his cheeks aflame.
Nice work, bookworm
. “But you misunderstand me,” he continued. “I’m not asking you to break your laws, or even make an exception. The truth…” Valdis took one more deep breath, hoping the judges on the podium couldn’t see him cross his fingers. “The truth is I have the right to demand answers.”

“Oh?” The General stopped drumming and leaned forward. “And why is that?”

“My father, Niccoli Valdis. He was a member of the first choir, second order—a Cherubim of the
Adonai
. And as his blood heir I present myself formally to the Order of Venus, also known as the Order of the Morning Star.” Valdis tried not to look at Jackie, but out of the corner of his eye he saw her staring at him with her mouth open, eyes wide.

The judges were silent. Mary studied the podium, her eyes distant and thoughtful; Eli focused on Valdis with a hungry look, his face fevered; the General only pursed his lip thoughtfully. Finally the General leaned forward and asked, “What is it you wish to know, Nephilim?”

“Well,” Valdis cleared his voice. “I guess…everything.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The early morning light was just breaking over the mountain peaks when Hash made his way back to the citadel of the
Elohim
. His team limped in, two cars pockmarked with bullet-spray and dark reddish-brown splotches. They had taken the Humvees to ensure a modicum of speed on the back roads, but now, as they straggled back to the fortress, Hash regretted the decision. The vehicles looked like they had just escaped a scene from Mad Max, and had garnered the attention of every passerby on their way back. Unfortunately, the
Elohim
didn’t have a Cherubim to cloud prying eyes. There had been some uncomfortable questions from police officers on their final stretch up I-70, before they made the turnoff that led them away from civilization.

Hash had been forced to handle the officers in a manner he found
distasteful
.

And now, a minute back from their disastrous mission, Hash had barely changed his blood-splattered shirt before there was a rap on his door.

“God dammit,” he muttered, shrugging into a white tee and hurrying to the door. Swinging it open he saw the upraised fist of Mika’il’s secretary, Phaleg. The small, mousy-looking Angel lowered his hand and straightened his long coat.

Hash glowered at the little man. “What?”

“Hashmal,” Phaleg squirmed under Hash’s frown, his voice warbling slightly. “You are summoned. Your present duties are suspended. In all matters physical and spiritual you are to present yourself to Mika’il, the Great Prince, Leader of Hosts…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Her fucking Royal Majesty. I get it.” Hash closed the door on the mousy Angel and turned to grab the few supplies he had taken on the mission. He’d expected the Seraphim’s summons, but in the back of his mind Hash had hoped he might get a few hours’ sleep first. He’d already fought one battle this evening, now it was on to the next.

“Hashmal,” Mika’il greeted the Domination as he entered her spartan chamber. “Prompt as usual.”

In his forty years at the citadel of the
Elohim,
Hash had never been invited to Mika’il’s room. Normally, the Seraphim took her audiences in one of the training chambers, the room adapting to fit the nature of each meeting.
Hash glanced around the Seraphim’s room now, noting the wood floors and utilitarian furniture. He nodded imperceptibly. The room was large but practical. A soldier’s room.

“Commander,” Hash bowed his head slightly. He was fortunate that Mika’il wasn’t a ruler who demanded embarrassing displays of subservience from her soldiers. The tall, statuesque leader lowered her head in kind, then motioned for Hash to sit. The Domination waited for Mika’il before seating himself in a sleek, black chair. Wincing, he tried to settle his bruised body against the hard seat. Noticing his discomfort, Mika’il snapped her fingers and the large stone door opened slightly. Phaleg poked in.

“Bring Amael,” the Seraphim said.

“That’s not necessary—” Hash began, but the secretary had already left. A moment later he returned, a slim woman with chestnut hair and Asiatic features following him. Hash recognized the Principality from previous sessions. Mika’il stood, allowing the woman space to work.

As the Prince knelt before him Hash muttered a brief thank you, then grit his teeth as the familiar freezing touch fell over him. His body shook, spasming in short, frenetic bursts against the hard chair. Then Amael’s hand left the Domination’s arm, and a warm lethargy rolled across him. The Principality bowed to Mika’il and exited the room, remaining silent as the heavy door closed behind her.

Hash rotated his shoulder experimentally, marveling at the smooth, painless motion. He’d been healed more times than he could remember, but was still surprised each time.

“Better?” The Seraphim asked, seating herself. Hash noticed the smooth, white flash of leg as Mika’il crossed her ankles, but kept the thought from going any further. He had stopped thinking of Mika’il as a woman the first time he saw her rip the throat from an
Adonai
Arch. Now, she was no more than his commanding officer.

“Much.” Hash replied. He didn’t elaborate; previous meetings had shown him it was best to let Mika’il lead the conversation.

“Good. Let’s begin.” The Seraphim leaned against her chair, studying the Domination. “What would you say your job is, Hashmal?”

“I’m one of your field commanders, Mika’il. My job is…” Hash shook his head minutely, searching for the right word. He’d never had to explain it before. “To…”

“To win battles,” Mika’il finished. “You’re a leader. Your job is to win.”

Hash nodded.

“Need I mention the disconnect between your
job
and tonight’s fiasco?”

“Mika’il, there’s no excuse. I was overconfident and didn’t plan for the humans. I was so focused on the
Adonai
—
”

Mika’il waved dismissively and looked aside, her eyes growing distant. Hash waited.

“It’s not your fault, Hashmal,” Mika’il finally said. “I would have done the same in your position.”

Hash paused. Was this a trap? “Even so,” Hash said slowly, “Hunter should never have been in that position. I should have been prepared.”

“Why? Did you expect Bath and his heretics to try and reclaim him, even after the
agioi
made it clear he was ours? There was no way to anticipate that. The
Adonai
don’t kidnap
Elohim
. They kill them
.” Mika’il shook her head, “I don’t blame you.”

Hash shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Why was he being told this? Mika’il’s talks were usually brief and to the point—as terse as her bedchamber.

Hunter
, Hash thought.
Everything about that kid ends up biting me in the ass
.

“Never mind the battle, Hashmal. I didn’t summon you to discuss the evening’s events, I have another matter that requires your talents.”

“I’m yours,” Hash said, echoing the first words Mika’il had said to him all those years ago, when he had been just a child picking pockets so he could afford to eat. She looked the same now as she did forty years ago.

Mika’il stood and began to pace behind her chair. “What do you think of the boy?” Her question was quiet, phrased so Hash wasn’t sure if he should respond. He gave her a moment, then hazarded an answer.

“I think he is—
was
—a good student. Had a few problems getting his paradox straight, but they say the most powerful start the slowest. He was a good lad. A good soldier. A little obstinate when it came to certain things, but—”

“Obstinate?”

“Well,” Hash fidgeted. “He had this annoying habit of questioning every little thing and then thinking he already knew the answer. Not to mention stubborn as all hell and couldn’t focus worth a damn unless he was getting beat to a pulp.” Hash smiled, remembering the way his pupil used to grin after a good shit-kicking.

“So he was a normal acolyte? Nothing unusual?” Mika’il asked, her feet tracing the route between fireplace and chair.

“Well…” Hash drew the word out.
Watch it, Eric
, he warned himself.
She’s baiting you
.

“There were certain—
things
.” Hash said, diplomatically. Mika’il turned and raised an eyebrow. Hash swallowed, continuing, “He was pretty concerned with humans, for one.”

“Hah,” Mika’il waved dismissively. “They all are at first. It’s irritating, but hardly unusual. I’m talking something out of the ordinary, Hashmal.”

There was no getting around it. She was his Seraphim. Squaring his shoulder, he said, “He was able to disobey my orders.”

Mika’il nodded, unsurprised, then seated herself. “Exactly. Impossible for a Power.”

“It should be,” Hash said. “I mean, is it possible…could he be something else?”

Mika’il studied the Domination, the moment stretching uncomfortably long. Then, when Hash was about to take the silence for dismissal and leave, the Seraphim nodded. “Maybe.”

“But the
agioi
—”

“Is never wrong. I know,” Mika’il placed a languid finger against her lip. “So where does that leave us?”

“Mika’il, I’m not sure what you want from me,” Hash said bluntly. “I only trained the boy for a month. I barely knew him.”

“But you cared for him? You warned him he was in danger?”