The Tenth Order (44 page)

“Enough!” Mika’il’s voice rang out, shattering Valdis’ thoughts. In the distance the Apkallu halted, and the tall, striking woman with the fair hair turned to the General. The old man looked a shell of his former self. His eye was glassy, and his lips trembled as he looked around in confusion, shying away each time he saw Eli.

Valdis couldn’t help but feel pity for the broken man. Objectively, he could understand the General’s betrayal. The Order was suffering heavy attrition and probably wouldn’t last another generation, even under the best circumstances. Hiding a rogue Apkallu would have made matters far worse.

But then Valdis remembered Mary’s blank eyes, the unnatural angle of her neck as she lay on the cold rocky floor, and he thought,
Screw him.

“You have us walking in circles, old man,” Mika’il said. “Where’s the Power?”

“I didn’t know…” The General murmured, holding his trembling hands before him. He turned to Eli. “I didn’t know, they told me we’d be safe, that they—” His words cut off in a gurgle as Mika’il’s hand shot out and tightened on the old man’s throat. She lifted the leader of the Order of Venus into the air, letting him dangle. The General clawed frantically at his throat, his face growing a slow shade of purple.

“I sensed him a moment ago, and now he’s gone,” Mika’il’s voice was ice. “How did you hide him?
Where is Hunter Friskin
?” The Seraphim released the General to collapse back against the stone wall, wheezing and gasping in long racking coughs. The old man crawled to where Eli stood, guarded by a petite woman with short hair. He pawed at the young man’s jeans, his body still racked by coughing fits. Eli only stared down, his mouth pulled back in a sneer. He kicked the old man away and turned his back. The General looked up in bewilderment, snot and tears running freely down his lined face.

“Eli…” The General whispered, but the young man kept his back turned. Mika’il watched the exchange without expression, and after a minute motioned for two of the Apkallu to help the old man. They lifted him from the floor, their faces stone as they led the General back to Mika’il.

“Well?” She asked.

The General shook off the guards, raising his face to Mika’il. He met the Seraphim’s eyes and Valdis drew back from the heat. The old man, the one sometimes called the General, sometimes Ezekiel, straightened his back, stood, and spat in Mika’il’s pristine face.

Valdis had a brief second to admire the man’s courage before Mika’il’s hand shot forward once again, avoiding the throat this time and diving into the old man’s rib cage. Before the priest could blink her hand snapped back, holding the wet, dripping heart of the former General of the Order of Venus. Ezekiel’s eye gave a brief flicker as they locked on his still-beating heart, then his body collapsed to the floor like a rag-doll.

Mika’il studied the heart for a moment, then threw it dismissively over her shoulder. She looked around, found Eli, and raised an eyebrow. “Care to comment?”

Eli, full of the swagger and idiocy of youth glared at the Seraphim with hate-filled eyes, clenching and un-clenching his fists as two of the Apkallu held him down. “Fuck you.”

“Charming,” Mika’il rolled her eyes. “What is it with your Order? Are you really willing to sacrifice each other over pride?” The Seraphim nudged the General’s cooling body with the toe of her boot. “
That
is what pride gets you, young man.”

Mika’il walked over to Jackie and wrapped her long fingers around the detective’s neck. “I’ll go through each one until you give me the answer. Each soul will die because of
you. And then, even though you resist, we’ll still find him. Are you willing to sacrifice them all for your anger? Are you willing to sacrifice
her?
” Her grip tightened, and Jackie’s face drained of color.

Eli continued to glare at the Seraphim, but his eyes kept flickering back to Jackie’s face, widening as Mika’il cut off her air. Finally, he yelled, “Stop! Let her go.” He flicked his head at Valdis, “Let
them
go, and I’ll tell you.”

“You don’t make deals with me, young man,” Mika’il’s hand continued to tighten and Jackie’s eyes bulged. “You have five seconds until this one dies. Then the priest.”

Eli leaped forward, straining at the two Apkallu who held him. They stood like statues, the boy’s struggles making as little difference as rain on stone. Finally, he gave up and slumped.
“He’s with the Old Mother,” he whispered.

Mika’il released the detective, who dropped to the ground, gasping. Valdis watched all this, feeling like he was observing the events from outside a fish-bowl.
Shock
, he thought distantly.
Here he was, a man murdered before him—Jackie not far off—and Valdis felt…nothing. He should have been outraged, disgusted, shocked, angry—but all he could muster was surprise that Mika’il still looked so beautiful with half her arm covered in blood.

The Seraphim moved to Eli who sagged against his captors. She bent and peered into his eyes “Where?”

Eli raised an arm and pointed down a connecting tunnel. Mika’il nodded, rising. She began moving down the new corridor when the ground gave a sudden heave, and Valdis found himself on the floor, gazing up at the rough stone ceiling. Ears ringing, the priest rolled onto his elbows, blinking. All around him chaos swirled.

The greenish light cut dimly through a haze of smoke as the corridor shook, casting bizarre shadows across the walls. Figures swept in and out of the priest’s sight, some clutching the shaking walls, others laying prone on the ground. The walls weaved and pulsed, causing the priest to push himself onto his knees and loudly lose his lunch.

Afterward, Valdis wiped his chin and hazarded another look. The rumbling had finally ceased, and the thick stone dust that had been shaken loose was starting to settle. The group of captors and captives was in disarray, struggling to regain footing and shaking their heads as though they’d been underwater.

Mika’il blinked repeatedly, her expression dazed, and rubbed her hand across a blood-soaked length of hair. At her feet lay a palm-sized piece of rock, jagged and covered with dark, scarlet blood.

Too bad it didn’t brain her,
Valdis lamented.

Next to Mika’il, Bath was shouting something that Valdis couldn’t make out, his ears still ringing in the aftermath. The other Apkallu were staggering around, alternating between leaning against the tunnel walls and staring at the floor with confused looks.

Valdis pushed himself to his feet and looked for Jackie. Limping through the rubble crowding the narrow tunnel, he finally found the detective huddled against the wall, head in her hands. Kneeling beside her, the priest ran his fingers over her head, insuring there were no injuries before lifting her chin to meet his eyes. Jackie’s expression was the same as their captors—a mix of disorientation and blind adrenaline.

“Can you hear me?” Valdis formed the words, praying they left his lips correctly. As it was, he still couldn’t make out anything more than a high-pitched squeal.

Jackie nodded, and mouthed something Valdis hoped was, “What now?” The priest looked quickly around, observing the Apkallu’s disarray, then back to the detective. He nodded in the opposite direction they’d been heading. Jackie nodded and allowed the priest to help her to her feet. It was a strange reversal of roles, Valdis noted.

The squeal was still there, though beginning to fade. Behind him, Valdis heard the mumble of voices. Sparing a second to look over his shoulder, the priest saw Bath kneeling at Mika’il’s side, shouting something in her ear. The Seraphim kept shaking her head, her eyes distant. Bath pointed sharply down the hallway Eli had directed them, but Mika’il only shook her head again and motioned with her free hand to continue down their current route.

Valdis was interested in what had changed the Seraphim’s mind, but for once he reigned in his curiosity and continued to make his way in the opposite direction with Jackie leaning heavily on his arm. They only made it a short distance, however, before the detective planted her feet.

Her hands reached up and turned his face to hers. “Stop!” Jackie mouthed. Valdis gave her a puzzled look and held up his arms in a questioning motion.

“Hunter.” Jackie said, her mouth wide, over-enunciating.

Valdis nodded and pointed down their current tunnel. It wasn’t the direction Eli had shown Mika’il, but Valdis was getting a sense of how these tunnels worked—
chalk one up to spending so much time in Saint Catherine’s catacombs
—and figured he knew a faster way to intersect the tunnel that would lead them to Hunter.

But Jackie shook her head violently, pointing back in the direction of Mika’il and Bath. The Apkallu had gathered up their forces and were moving down the tunnel in their original direction. Valdis wasn’t surprised to discover Eli had disappeared. It was strange, though, that the Apkallu didn’t seem interested in pursuing their captives.

And why weren’t the angles heading down the tunnel Eli had shown them? Was Mika’il’s so dazed from being struck by that rock that she’d forgotten what the boy had said?

“That’s not where Hunter is. Not any longer,” the detective’s words were clearer this time, though they still sounded like they were coming through five feet of cement.

“What?”

“I heard Mika’il before you got to me. Read her lips. She said Hunter caused this,” Jackie motioned to the floating dust. “Because of the…” the detective’s eyes drew down, her face scrunched. “Because…”

Valdis watched Jackie struggle to remember Mika’il’s words, when a horrifying thought suddenly hit him.
The walls are collapsing…

His eyes widening, Valdis cut off Jackie with a frantic wave. “We have to reach the writing.
Now!
”

“What are you talking about?”

“Detective Riese, this script, what we’ve seen on the walls—it could answer
everything.
This is more important than one man. It’s more important than an
army
of men. We have to find a way to record the writing on that wall before whatever happens here reaches the entrance.”

Jackie shook her head. “Friskin first. Then your wall.”

“That’s ludicrous! It could be destroyed before—”

“Ladder!” Jackie struck her forehead. “That’s what Mika’il was blathering. Something about the ‘Ladder.’” Jackie turned in the direction of the Apkallu. “Do what you want, Anthony. I’m going after Friskin.”

“But…” Valdis searched for the words, his hands raised in a plea. “But…
why?
Why are you risking death, risking the destruction of priceless
information
for
him
?
What has he done to earn this insane loyalty?”

Jackie glanced over her shoulder and gave Valdis a tiny shake of her head. “I don’t know. But I’d rather place my loyalty with a human then a slab of stone.”

“But he’s
not
a human!” Valdis yelled after her, but Jackie had already turned her back. Valdis watched her follow the Apkallu until he could no longer see her silhouette in the cloudy tunnel. Then, his shoulders hunched, the priest turned and made his way back to the entrance of the catacombs, where the Enochian script waited.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Hunter looked over his shoulder, once again feeling watched. And just like last time, he saw no one there.

Doesn’t mean anything
.
You know what these guys can do.
But he wasn’t comforted. Hunter
couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes in the dark, as if he was being studied each time
he turned down a corner of the labyrinthine corridors.

In his arms was the Throne, her head nestled tightly against his shoulder, no heavier than a sack of potatoes. He’d lifted his fair share of bodies at the funeral home, and even in death they weighed more than the injured Throne.

“How much further?” He asked, feeling the Throne’s light touch against his arm, directing him down a narrow side tunnel. He turned, and almost fell against the stone wall as a tremor rippled under his feet. He looked at Karen, the question unspoken. She nodded—the quakes were increasing in size. They’d started as light shakes, trembles of stone underfoot, but had increased in intensity over the last twenty minutes. This last one had been strong enough to knock a layer of stone dust into the air.

“Not long. I think…” the Throne’s voice faded. Hunter leaned closer, and then, noticing her eyes focused beyond him, looked up and saw a small, inconspicuous door set into the stone wall. The cracked wood had been painted over several times, turning the door into a mess of brown and gray flecks that curled like an old orange rind. Compared to the massive stone door that guarded Oriphiel, it seemed small and disappointing.

Hunter stopped, frowning. He turned to Karen. “I would have expected more for a Principality.”

Karen nodded thoughtfully, then her head froze, her eyes widening. She stepped forward hesitantly, running her hand in slow, reverent strokes across the peeling paint. She pulled back when she reached the handle. “It can’t be,” she whispered.

“What?”

Karen eyed Hunter, her face twisted in puzzlement. “You don’t feel it?”