The Tenth Order (38 page)

“I didn’t know who to talk to. My own people would never believe me; they worship Mika’il as a god.”

“But you would trust an enemy?”

“No. I mean, not usually. But, whether we like it or not, you and I have something in common. I think we can help each other.”

“Let’s put our cards on the table,” Karen said. “You’re talking about the boy, aren’t you?”

Hash laughed, his eyes lifting back to Karen. “I thought I was the only one who called him that.”

“Well, he acts like a child most of the time. It seems fitting,” Karen’s lips crinkled, remembering the ways Hunter used to get under her skin.
Though
, she had to admit,
it was kinda charming. Sometimes.

“He’s in trouble, Zadkiel.”

Karen sighed, her smile fading. “I know. If you and your idiotic ‘soldiers’ hadn’t shown up he’d be with the
Adonai
now. S
afe.”

“You really think Bath would give him sanctuary? A rogue
Elohim
? An outsider who wasn’t just disobedient to his own family, but had the ability to refuse orders from a Domination?” Hash clicked his tongue. “Not likely.”

Again, Karen tried to hide her shock.
He can disobey a Domination?
She had known from the beginning there was something different about Hunter—she still remembered his symbol changing during his christening—but to ignore a command from a higher order…she’d had no idea how strange Hunter Friskin really was. And Hash was right about Bath. The Cherubim
would have used Hunter to force Mika’il into battle, and as soon as his function was served it would have been the ending death.

Karen shook her head, trying to focus her thoughts. “Maybe.” She said. “Maybe not. At any rate, it doesn’t matter. I’ve been ordered to leave the boy alone. And since you’re here, asking for my help instead of pursuing Hunter yourself, I assume you’ve been given the same command. I guess that leaves us at an impasse.”

Hash suddenly stood and left the pew, kneeling again to cross himself. Karen followed as the short, stocky man moved silently down the long aisle toward the enormous crucifix at the end. Stopping directly beneath it, Hash turned to Karen, his arms spread wide.

“You feel it, don’t you?” He asked. Karen stopped at the inclined steps leading to the crucifix, and watched the Domination, puzzled. Had Hash lost his mind? Then, letting her focus drift for a moment, Karen sensed it. Her enemy was right—there was something here.

The hairs on the back of her arm lifted, and Karen felt a surge reminiscent of an electrical storm; a sensation she hadn’t felt since she left the wide, open fields of Kansas. The surge swept across the hairs of her body in undulating waves, passing down her arms and cresting in her torso like ocean surf. It felt as if Karen’s heart was about to burst through her chest. Her eyes grew wide in alarm before the feeling gradually receded, passing through her legs and into the red-carpeted floor. She looked up at Hash, her mouth formed in an unasked question.

“Feel familiar?” The Domination asked.

Karen was about to tell Hash about the electrical storm, then stopped herself. No, not a storm. Not really. But it was familiar… “The
agioi
?” Karen asked hesitantly.

Hash nodded. “Yeah. On crack. It was the only place I could think of that might mask us from Mika’il.”

“But if this is an
agioi
someone would have found it by now. The Grigori would have told us.”

“Unless they wanted to keep it secret,” Hash said, meeting Karen at the bottom of the steps. “Unless they knew this place held something special, something that could unite the
Adonai
and
Elohim
.”

“Not likely,” Karen snorted.

“Think about it, Zadkiel. The Grigori discovered the means of creating Apkallu so angelic lives could be saved. So the war could continue. If there was a way to end it, to unite the two families…do you really think they would tell us?”

Karen paused, her finger rising to lay against her cheek. She didn’t know much about the Apkallu’s reclusive progenitors, the Grigori. Only that they were reputed to live somewhere in Europe, and fiercely guarded their privacy. At christenings she’d heard the occasional threat to invoke a ruling by the Grigori whenever someone disputed the
agioi’s
decision, but she’d never taken it seriously.

She didn’t know what, if any, agenda the Grigori served, but Hash’s argument made a disturbing amount of sense. Her gut seized up as she realized where this line of thought led.

“This is connected with Hunter,” Karen said, and Hash nodded again. “This is why they want him, isn’t it? It has something to do with this place,” she motioned at the cathedral, “and with what he can do.” She shivered, thinking again of what Hash had said about Hunter. “
He can disobey…”

“Whatever it is, I don’t think the boy gets to walk away at the end.”

Karen removed her finger from her cheek, rubbing it nervously against her thumb. “So what can we do about it?”

“I’ve got an idea, but I need your help. I think I know where he might have gone, but there’s no way I can get there without Mika’il knowing. An Arch, though…”

Karen held up a hand. “Enough with the sales pitch. Bottom-line it for me.”

Hash nodded. “You got it. We’re going to need to move fast if we have any hope of stopping what I think is going to happen.”

“And that is?”

Hash shrugged, his voice flat. “The end of the creation.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Jackie’s going to kill me
, Hunter thought.

He paced the circular room and tried to relax.
If they wanted me dead, I’d be dead. And if they wanted Jackie or Valdis dead, they would have never led us to the catacombs in the first place.
He tried not to think of the tongue-lashing he’d get from the detective when this was all over. It had been Hunter’s choice to leave Valdis and Jackie behind, to follow the two men into the darkness and away from his friends. This whole thing was his fault.

Hunter stopped pacing, took a deep breath, and tried to smile. Everything was going to be alright. They had been in worse scrapes and made it out. The smile died half-way up Hunter’s face, though, as his eyes met the painting that dominated what he identified as the “northern” portion of the wide, circular room. A tree, laid out in deep, bold lines, stretched from floor to ceiling on canvas wide enough to serve as a bed-sheet. The lower branches had the beginnings of bright leaves, newly formed and just beginning their journey outward. They didn’t make it far, however, before being consumed by flames that raged in the upper boughs. The fire’s origin was hidden, but it flowed down the canvas in searing red lines, devouring the upper branches and licking at the lower.

There was nothing overly symbolic about the painting, no obvious analogy Hunter could figure. But the big man kept getting drawn back to the tree. He had been staring at it for hours.

Or what he hoped had been hours.

It was difficult to know how much time had passed while he was in the room. Hunter had fallen onto the large, overly-soft four poster bed when he had first been escorted to the space, sleep catching him almost before his head hit the pillow. But there was no clock, window, or any other form of time keeping in the room, and Hunter had no idea how long he’d slept.

The room itself was comfortable, if sparse. Large, it looked as though it hadn’t seen an occupant for at least twenty years. The sheets had a musty, wet odor that reminded him of the hospital, and the lamp on the nightstand looked straight from a 1970’s flick, complete with floral lampshade. There was a table of dark wood set to the side, and an old, lumpy easy chair on the opposite corner of the bed. The wall was stone covered in peeling paint. Judging from the nervous excitement Hunter had seen when he was escorted here, he didn’t think this place had many visitors.

“Hello?” Hunter yelled again, pounding on the room’s single door. He had tried this three times before with no answer, but he was nothing if not persistent. And it wasn’t like he had anything else to do.

After he had woken from sleeping God knows how long, Hunter had tried the door and found it locked. Odd, but he had seen nothing aggressive about the Order of Venus, and with no particular worry in mind he had parked himself on the bed and waited patiently for someone to retrieve him. To pass the time he even attempted some of the meditation techniques Hash had taught him. After that failed to work, Hunter tried forcing the door. The exit proved surprisingly sturdy, however, and after two attempts Hunter decided what the hell, it was these people’s fault for not coming to get him, and summoned his gift.

That failed too.

Hunter tried all the methods Hash had drilled into him: clearing his mind, letting “humanity” fill him, the white room…nothing. Every time Hunter thought he was close to achieving his paradox, it would slip through his fingers like running water. Finally, he had given up and returned to staring at the painting of the burning tree.

“Somebody tell me what’s happened to my friends!” Hunter shouted, pounding again on the door. His voice was raw, and it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since they first arrived in Jerusalem. How long ago was that? How long could a person go without water? Maybe Apkallu were different, maybe—

The door suddenly flew inward, almost knocking him over. On the other side was a bewildered-looking old man holding a covered dish, and a younger companion with wide eyes. It was the latter who had flung open the door, and his face fell when he saw how close he had come to hitting Hunter.

“Oh God, I’m…wow. I’m so sorry,” he kid rushed forward, all but running his hands along Hunter’s body as he checked for wounds.

Hunter gently pushed him back, any anger about his imprisonment fading under the young man’s distress. “It’s okay. I’m fine, relax.”

Hunter recognized the kid; he had been one of the three people who originally had shown Hunter to the circular room. His eyes still held the same amazed look they did back then. The elderly man standing behind the kid was unfamiliar, but something about his shaking hands and deep, sunken eyes made Hunter edgy.

“Apologies, Apkallu,” the elderly man said in a wispy voice. “We aren’t used to visitors, and our manners have grown rusty. Would you care for some food? Water?”

“Er…yes. Please,” Hunter said lamely, disoriented by the greeting. He had been so ready to yell at somebody. The younger one was still pawing Hunter, concerned he might have hurt the Apkallu, and the elderly man stepped gingerly around him as he entered the room. He took the covered plate to the table, removed the napkin, and motioned for Hunter to eat. The salty aroma of pork filled the room, and saliva drenched Hunter’s mouth. He should have been thinking about escape, about finding his friends, but the sudden appearance of the two men—coupled with the rumblings in his belly—convinced him he needed answers first. And to eat. Definitely to eat.

Hunter sat and attacked the meal.
They may have a weird decorating sense, but these guys can cook,
he thought, tucking into a loin of roasted pork and a pile of mashed potatoes slathered with butter. “So,” Hunter said around a mouthful, “you going to tell me what happened to the priest and the cop?”

“They’re fine,” the kid said, hovering behind Hunter’s shoulder as he ate. “The council had a couple of questions, so they’re just taking care of that first. No worries.”

“Wait…what? When I was taken to my
room
,” Hunter growled the word, “I was told we were honored guests. That we’d meet the council after we had time to rest. You’re telling me I was left behind to…what? Stare at a fucking
painting
?” Hunter stood, his knees banging the table and sending his dish crashing to the ground. “I want my
friends!”

The kid scrambled back, his eyes wide, mouth open. “I…uh…I…”

Hunter felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and turned to the elderly man. “Your friends are safe,” the man said. “As are you, Apkallu. They were taken to the council because questions needed to be answered. On both sides. But you…” the elderly man smiled, his teeth cracked and brown. “You’re special. We have something else for you.”

“And that is?” Hunter stepped back, letting the elderly man’s hand slide from his shoulder.

“A special visit, to a place few ever see,” The elderly man continued to smile, his missing teeth winking at Hunter. Hunter turned to the kid who was rocking back and forth on his feet, his eyes feverish. At his feet, his dinner lay splayed across the stone floor, the pork loin splattered like a broken pinata. He sighed.
Hell. It can’t be any worse than staying locked up here.
Raising his eyes to meet the elderly man’s, Hunter nodded.

“Lead on, then.”

“Think you can narrow that a bit?” Eli asked Valdis, a mocking smile on his face. The youngest member of the three judges was the first to speak, filling the silence that fell after Valdis requested they tell him everything.

The priest blushed. “Right…um…”

“Start at the beginning?” The General suggested.