Emprint
07-06-2004, 12:34 PM
Demon: Strange As Angels
Episode 3: Little Earthquakes
The first two episodes are covered in this thread (http://forum.rpg.net/showthread.php?t=78045).
Previously
Xariel, a former angel of deaths and endings, finds himself in the body of retired police detective Max Harris. Helping out Max's onetime protege, Mitch Robinson, Xariel discovers that Sandalphon, the former Throne of Woven Prayers, is ripping the dreams from teenage runaways, stealing secrets from their souls.
The Cast
Xariel- A fallen angel in the body of retired police detective Max Harris. (Player character.)
Mitch Robinson- Max's protege and former partner.
Labazar- An angel of the wild in the body of conspiracy journalist Quint Whiteman.
Sandalphon- Once the Throne of Woven Prayers, now the Dominion of Dreams Devoured.
----
The war.
On a hundred levels of reality, a battle rages. The sky is the color of fire. Angels fight wars among the clouds and the rocks and the atoms.
In that way, this is a day like any other. In another, however, today is unique. For even as the Razor Fangs of the Jungle strangles the Seventh Northern Light with a whip made from the bones of a spirit named Loyalty, humans fight on the ground below. There is sound, and fury, and blood. Clumsy, awkward, and murderous, they wrestle and bite. One of them lies on the ground, his eyes blinded by the radiance of the Seventh Northern Light, and his throat torn open by his sister.
Xariel isn't watching this. He's standing in the dark courtyard which is the man's heart, surrounded by blackness and crumbled stone. Usiel, Throne of the Sundered, stares at him across a fountain which has nearly stilled. Each of the drops of water which fall from the fountain is a heartbeat. Warily, the two angels circle the fountain, opposite each other. The drops slow. Usiel's hands shift on his scythe. Xariel's tighten about the twin blades called Fate's Precipices.
The last drop begins to form. As it grows and then falls, Usiel drops his scythe to one hand and catches the drop. In the same motion, he turns and takes flight, moving through dozens layers of reality like so many colors of white fog.
Xariel gives chase, flying through the fog and the fairy lights, but the end of his journey is a place he cannot go.
Because God won't let him.
Scene 1- Max's Apartment
Cloudy, grey daylight pulls Xariel from the dream much more slowly than he would have liked. He goes through the chores cleaning his body, resenting them a little less than before. He's getting used to them, and, besides, he's got other things on his mind.
He reads through the paper more quickly than usual- there's a lot more stuff about LA today. The ground is still shaking, and rescue workers are facing a host of challenges even entering the city.
Xariel puts a quick phone call in to Labazar to find out where he needs to perform the ritual. The Devourer warns him again not to look in the envelope, then gives him an address.
Xariel heads downtown.
Scene 2- Ricardo's Bar and Grill
Ricardo's is a little restaurant in the South Loop. This early in the morning, nobody's around. With a little help from Max's lockpicks, Xariel gets into the kitchen through the back door. In the basement storeroom, he finds what he's looking for- a maintenance hatch into the old rail tunnels.
Scene 3- The Tunnels
Built around the turn of the twentieth century, Chicago's electric rail tunnels were one of those great ideas that turns out to be completely unworkable. Abandoned since the fifties, they remain intact and utterly useless, probably the sturdiest of any of the bits of history snaking around beneath Chicago.
All of this is rather academic to Xariel. Max was in the tunnels once, ferreting out a drug dealer who kept his stock down here. The trip down was not so tiring, that time. After a forty foot climb down, the angel stops to rest, leaning against the smooth concrete of the wall.
He walks a little, finds an intersection in the tunnels, and sets the candle down. He looks at the little ice crystals forming on the side for a moment, then lights the candle. Carefully, he burns the piece of hair he took from Jill.
The candle lets loose a little rush of blue flame. Xariel crosses over amid a flicker of strange shadows.
In the spirit world, the candle is encased in ice.
"Hello," says a voice from the shadows. A little girl steps out, maybe thirteen, wearing a pink babydoll t-shirt that says ?angel? in glitter, and carrying a Hello Kitty purse, the one that doubles as a backpack. Xariel leans down.
"Who are you?" he asks, in slightly grandfatherly tones. She shrugs.
"I'm lost."
"So you are. I've been told you know where something of mine is." He offers the envelope.
"Your blades."
"Yes."
"They're down that way." She points down a particularly dark and ominous tunnel. Xariel looks down the tunnel, then hands her the envelope.
"Would you mind if I come and see you again, sometime?" he asks.
"That would be nice. Just don't get killed."
"Oh, that won't happen." Xariel smiles a bit.
"Why not?"
"Because, little lady, I'm death."
She leans her head to the side, and looks at him for a moment. "Oh, that's convenient."
The lost girl walks off down a tunnel, then pauses.
"There's one more thing," she says. Xariel raises his eyebrows. "Don't look back."
She continues her walk down the tunnel. Faintly, Xariel hears a rustling of paper, and the little girl's voice. "I always knew that's who I was!"
Xariel walks down the tunnel, then, thinking better of it, spreads his wings. He flies down the tunnel, aware that it seems to grow wider and longer as he travels along it. He hears and sees echoes of the dead, people and events that are so blurred as to be indistinguishable but yet tarry here.
As he flies, he hears a voice behind him.
XARIEL.
Xariel doesn't acknowledge it. He flies on.
YOU SEEK TO RECLAIM YOUR WEAPONS.
"Yes."
WHAT MAKES YOU BELIEVE THIS WILL END ANY BETTER THAN THE LAST TIME?
Xariel pauses. "Who are you?"
I AM THE THIRD.
There is a moment of silence.
ONCE YOU RAISE YOUR SWORD AGAIN, XARIEL, YOU CANNOT TURN BACK.
"I'll keep that in mind," Xariel says, Max's smirk in his voice. The Third is silent, and Xariel sees that he's coming to an open chamber.
There's a large, simple box, made of either marble or concrete. Xariel knows the place, now- he may have hid the weapons here himself, in the last days of the war. To the distant tune of strange chanting, he shoves the lid off of the box. It hits the ground and crumbles.
Inside, he finds his blades. They have changed, though the patterns are familiar. The scalpel is small and gleaming silver-white; the sword is now a rapier, made of black ice with crimson veins crawling through it. He barely notices the chanting growing louder.
They approach him from either side, two robed, monkish figures. They speak in low, hissing voices while somehow continuing to chant.
"Revenge. Breakyourbones, clawyoureyes."
Xariel brandishes the sword in warning, but they advance.
"Eatyourflesh, takeyoureyes, burnthesockets."
Moving too far in a single step, one of them surges forward and grabs onto Xariel, digging long, yellowed nails into him. He jabs the scalpel into it and, released from its grip, takes to the air.
The other spectre claws at Xariel's leg. He swoops down at it, the sword natural as it can be as it pierces the ghost's chest. He pulls the blade free and turns, scratching the first spectre across its face as it moves to attack again. Hissing more unlikely torments to themselves, they retreat, fading away into the cold air.
Xariel heads back. As he bends down to retrieve the candle, he hears that voice again.
XARIEL.
"Give it up. I'm not going to look back."
RETURN TO THE DAYLIGHT, THEN. KNOW ONE THING, THOUGH.
"What's that?"
SHE DIDN'T MEAN NOT TO TURN AROUND.
Xariel puts the candle back in his bag, and begins the trip back up.
Scene 4- Max's Apartment
Xariel walks briskly into the apartment, tossing his pack down by the door and walking over to the phone. Or that's what he would do, anyway, if there weren't a woman standing in his way.
The woman is looking at his wall, scanning the notes arrayed there. She's around his daughter's age, a little younger, say twenty-eight or so. Brown hair falls to her neck in businesslike curls, and she wears a pinstriped suit. A leather attache case sits on his couch, presumably hers.
She smiles and offers her hand.
"I'm Stephanie Hart. You're Detective Harris?"
He nods, a little suspicious.
"Your door was unlocked. I didn't think you'd mind if I came in to wait for you." There's a beat, and she doesn't get the response she expected. "I'm with Lexington-Branche?"
Xariel smiles- or at least tones down Max's glare- and offers her coffee. She accepts.
"May I call you Max?"
Xariel smiles, for real this time. "Go ahead."
As he putters around the kitchen, Stephanie explains that Branche is working on behalf of the Frost family- at a reduced rate, no less. She's been told that Max is assisting the department, and wanted to talk to him personally.
She explains that the family is looking for closure, and that neither of the ongoing investigations has come up with anything to suggest that it was anything other than a drug overdo--
"It wasn't an overdose," Xariel interrupts. He pauses, then adds, "Nothing on the autopsy report suggested that."
"We're having additional tests done, but on excised tissue. The family would like to have a proper funeral." Her expression softens. "You understand, Max, they need this."
"I understand. But someone has to make sure that what was done to her doesn't happen again."
On cue, Stephanie's eyes drop. "Such a shame," she says. "Kids come to the city, they get mixed up in drugs, crime..."
Max isn't buying the guilt-and-gloom line, though. "Miss Hart, we both know damn well that wasn't a drug overdose."
"Max, you have to let go of this case. Please."
"No." Xariel stares at her, hard, through Max's blue eyes.
Stephanie picks up her briefcase and says, crisply, "Detective Harris, it's unfortunate you chose not to cooperate. Rest assured, you will be hearing from us again." She storms out, slamming the door behind her.
I'm sure I will. And I'm sure I locked that door.
He goes over and inspects the lock. Not damaged. I'd better at least do something to stop it from slamming like that.
Xariel goes to turn the coffee off. As he turns towards the kitchen, there's a rough knock on the door. He takes an annoyed breath, and looks through the peep-hole.
It's not Stephanie again, that's for sure. In fact, it's Sandalphon's brawny deadman.
Old tricks work the best. For the second time in as many days, Xariel flings the door open and slides backwards, gun trained on his visitor. The deadman stalks in. He's dressed the same as before, except that the shirt's pink and pinned up to cover his right stump.
"The boss would like to arrange a meeting," he says gruffly.
"I'm sure he would," Xariel smiles. "Where?"
"His place."
"I don't think so. Neutral ground."
The deadman snarls, but says "Where?"
"The Institute. Sunday in the Park."
Sandalphon's bruiser looks suspicious. "I'll tell him. Five o'clock."
Xariel quirks his eyebrows. Guess it's a little late for High Noon. He nods, and the thug storms out. Xariel catches the door before it can slam, though.
The angel starts making phone calls.
First, Labazar. Xariel lets the angel of the wild know that he retrieved the blades, and that he's got a meeting with the Dominion.
"What's his cover?" Xariel asks.
"His host? Real estate baron named Simon Holmes." Facts click together in Xariel's mind. "Owns a gentleman's club called The Thunderbolt. Kind of a frat house for the rich and shady."
"He's into revitalizing?"
"So I hear. He works with other firms a lot, though. Makes keeping track of him a full time job."
"Ah, Quint, one other thing."
"Yeah?"
"Ever heard of someone called the Third?"
Labazar pauses. "One of us, you mean?"
"I think so."
"Guess I know better than to ask 'third what?'" He sighs. "I'll see what I can turn up."
"Thanks."
Labazar lowers his voice. "Be careful, Xariel."
"I will." There's a moment more of silence, then Labazar hangs up.
Xariel starts making his other calls. Between a little smooth talking the security personnel and a call to Mitch, he arranges to be able to bypass security at the Institute, then heads out.
Scene 5- Art Institute
After some dinner, Xariel walks into the Institute. After a quick conversation at the security desk, he's ushered around the metal detectors. Xariel thanks the security chief, and reminds him he doesn't want any security personnel conspicuous when he meets his "informant."
Xariel's still a little early. He sits down on a bench and looks at the Suerat. Max brought his kids here. And his wife before that. Before she was his wife.
Various people are milling about, but Xariel still hears Sandalphon's footsteps approaching. He stands up to meet the Dominion, who nods to his deadman. The bruiser moves cautiously off to a corner.
Xariel looks Sandalphon over as the man takes off his leather gloves. He's a young forty, his black hair receding, but what's left is still shiny and full. Straight and well-gelled, it comes down to the top of Holmes's neck. His features are sharp, handsome, much like his suit.
Holmes's eyes, black and deep, catch Max's. The expression, at least, is familiar. Collected and more than a little fierce, it's Sandalphon's. Damned if I can remember when , though.
"Xariel, right?"
Xariel nods. "Sandalphon."
"I'm sorry about my associate. I didn't realize who you were when I sent him."
"I'm sure you didn't."
"Believe me, I don't mean any harm."
Xariel's mouth curls. "No, you haven't caused any of that."
Sandalphon purses his lips, then sighs. "I take it you're a friend of Torimel's, then?"
We both were, Xariel thinks, but says nothing.
"I see her vigilante justice approach rubbed off on you. Let me explain my side of things."
Sandalphon continues in the same formal, "Was this Max Harris a religious man?"
"He got by."
"Perhaps, then, he remembers the story of Saul. A wicked man, persecuting God's chosen people. He saw a light, and was converted. Or Constantine- an emperor of Rome- who switched sides after seeing a light in his dreams. Even Moses received his orders from a burning bush.
"Starting to see a pattern here? Flames. Light. Those were somebody's signature, once upon a time."
"Lucifer," Xariel says, and the word hangs in the air.
"Yes, Lucifer," Sandalphon continues, hissing a little with muffled anger. "Playing for the other team, now. Probably was the whole time. Don't tell me that's never occurred to you."
"It has."
"But I've been back. For twelve years, this time around. And never a trace of the Morningstar. He's hiding, Xariel, he and our Father."
"And you're going to find him."
"Yes."
"By torturing children."
Sandalphon sighs. "Yes. Regrettably."
"Then you've lost sight of everything. We were put here to love them, and to serve them."
"And then forbidden to. Don't think I don't remember." Frustration tears at the edges of Sandalphon's voice. "I remember all too well. I remember collecting each and every one of their prayers. Every blessing said in His name, every oath consecrated upon His altar. I took every one from their lips and set it upon His brow. All the while they didn't even know I was there." He looks down at his feet.
"I won't let you continue."
"He sent three angels to forgive Cain. Three. And all he offered us was obedience or oblivion."
Xariel turns away for a moment. Some of the facts are new, but he's thought every one of these thoughts before. One after another, strung together through strange aeons in the abyss.
"I said I'll stop you."
"I suppose we have Max to thank for that nobility. I suppose we--" Sandalphon is cut off by a tap on his shoulder. The bruiser whispers something in his ear.
"I'm sorry, Xariel, I have to cut this short. We'll talk again soon."
"We will," Xariel nods.
Xariel watches the angel and his lackey exit, then returns his gaze to the painting. There aren't many museum-goers about, anymore, and he has relative silence. Nonetheless, precious few thoughts come.
Tired, Xariel walks out to the lobby, only to find a crowd gathered around a TV monitor, tuned to a cable news channel. A label above the ticker reads "Live: Los Angeles."
"This is, uh," the reporter sputters, flickering light illuminating her face. "Uh, just show them." The screen switches to another camera, a shaky, handheld one. The camera pans up on what looks like, at first, an immense orange-white glow. It zooms out clumsily, then, and the crowd sees what it is.
Above the jagged remains of Los Angeles skyscrapers, a huge figure made of fire stands. The focus is horribly off, but somehow the chiseled figure of a Michelangelo statue is visible, as are the mighty, graceful wings adorning his back. Clearest of all is the expression, smiling lovingly between outstretched arms.
The audience gasps. They see an angel. But Xariel sees something else. He sees the angel. Lucifer, star of the morning, prince of Heaven and Earth.
It is October twenty-ninth, the Year of Our Lord two thousand and three.
The Devil's Night has begun.
Episode 3: Little Earthquakes
The first two episodes are covered in this thread (http://forum.rpg.net/showthread.php?t=78045).
Previously
Xariel, a former angel of deaths and endings, finds himself in the body of retired police detective Max Harris. Helping out Max's onetime protege, Mitch Robinson, Xariel discovers that Sandalphon, the former Throne of Woven Prayers, is ripping the dreams from teenage runaways, stealing secrets from their souls.
The Cast
Xariel- A fallen angel in the body of retired police detective Max Harris. (Player character.)
Mitch Robinson- Max's protege and former partner.
Labazar- An angel of the wild in the body of conspiracy journalist Quint Whiteman.
Sandalphon- Once the Throne of Woven Prayers, now the Dominion of Dreams Devoured.
----
The war.
On a hundred levels of reality, a battle rages. The sky is the color of fire. Angels fight wars among the clouds and the rocks and the atoms.
In that way, this is a day like any other. In another, however, today is unique. For even as the Razor Fangs of the Jungle strangles the Seventh Northern Light with a whip made from the bones of a spirit named Loyalty, humans fight on the ground below. There is sound, and fury, and blood. Clumsy, awkward, and murderous, they wrestle and bite. One of them lies on the ground, his eyes blinded by the radiance of the Seventh Northern Light, and his throat torn open by his sister.
Xariel isn't watching this. He's standing in the dark courtyard which is the man's heart, surrounded by blackness and crumbled stone. Usiel, Throne of the Sundered, stares at him across a fountain which has nearly stilled. Each of the drops of water which fall from the fountain is a heartbeat. Warily, the two angels circle the fountain, opposite each other. The drops slow. Usiel's hands shift on his scythe. Xariel's tighten about the twin blades called Fate's Precipices.
The last drop begins to form. As it grows and then falls, Usiel drops his scythe to one hand and catches the drop. In the same motion, he turns and takes flight, moving through dozens layers of reality like so many colors of white fog.
Xariel gives chase, flying through the fog and the fairy lights, but the end of his journey is a place he cannot go.
Because God won't let him.
Scene 1- Max's Apartment
Cloudy, grey daylight pulls Xariel from the dream much more slowly than he would have liked. He goes through the chores cleaning his body, resenting them a little less than before. He's getting used to them, and, besides, he's got other things on his mind.
He reads through the paper more quickly than usual- there's a lot more stuff about LA today. The ground is still shaking, and rescue workers are facing a host of challenges even entering the city.
Xariel puts a quick phone call in to Labazar to find out where he needs to perform the ritual. The Devourer warns him again not to look in the envelope, then gives him an address.
Xariel heads downtown.
Scene 2- Ricardo's Bar and Grill
Ricardo's is a little restaurant in the South Loop. This early in the morning, nobody's around. With a little help from Max's lockpicks, Xariel gets into the kitchen through the back door. In the basement storeroom, he finds what he's looking for- a maintenance hatch into the old rail tunnels.
Scene 3- The Tunnels
Built around the turn of the twentieth century, Chicago's electric rail tunnels were one of those great ideas that turns out to be completely unworkable. Abandoned since the fifties, they remain intact and utterly useless, probably the sturdiest of any of the bits of history snaking around beneath Chicago.
All of this is rather academic to Xariel. Max was in the tunnels once, ferreting out a drug dealer who kept his stock down here. The trip down was not so tiring, that time. After a forty foot climb down, the angel stops to rest, leaning against the smooth concrete of the wall.
He walks a little, finds an intersection in the tunnels, and sets the candle down. He looks at the little ice crystals forming on the side for a moment, then lights the candle. Carefully, he burns the piece of hair he took from Jill.
The candle lets loose a little rush of blue flame. Xariel crosses over amid a flicker of strange shadows.
In the spirit world, the candle is encased in ice.
"Hello," says a voice from the shadows. A little girl steps out, maybe thirteen, wearing a pink babydoll t-shirt that says ?angel? in glitter, and carrying a Hello Kitty purse, the one that doubles as a backpack. Xariel leans down.
"Who are you?" he asks, in slightly grandfatherly tones. She shrugs.
"I'm lost."
"So you are. I've been told you know where something of mine is." He offers the envelope.
"Your blades."
"Yes."
"They're down that way." She points down a particularly dark and ominous tunnel. Xariel looks down the tunnel, then hands her the envelope.
"Would you mind if I come and see you again, sometime?" he asks.
"That would be nice. Just don't get killed."
"Oh, that won't happen." Xariel smiles a bit.
"Why not?"
"Because, little lady, I'm death."
She leans her head to the side, and looks at him for a moment. "Oh, that's convenient."
The lost girl walks off down a tunnel, then pauses.
"There's one more thing," she says. Xariel raises his eyebrows. "Don't look back."
She continues her walk down the tunnel. Faintly, Xariel hears a rustling of paper, and the little girl's voice. "I always knew that's who I was!"
Xariel walks down the tunnel, then, thinking better of it, spreads his wings. He flies down the tunnel, aware that it seems to grow wider and longer as he travels along it. He hears and sees echoes of the dead, people and events that are so blurred as to be indistinguishable but yet tarry here.
As he flies, he hears a voice behind him.
XARIEL.
Xariel doesn't acknowledge it. He flies on.
YOU SEEK TO RECLAIM YOUR WEAPONS.
"Yes."
WHAT MAKES YOU BELIEVE THIS WILL END ANY BETTER THAN THE LAST TIME?
Xariel pauses. "Who are you?"
I AM THE THIRD.
There is a moment of silence.
ONCE YOU RAISE YOUR SWORD AGAIN, XARIEL, YOU CANNOT TURN BACK.
"I'll keep that in mind," Xariel says, Max's smirk in his voice. The Third is silent, and Xariel sees that he's coming to an open chamber.
There's a large, simple box, made of either marble or concrete. Xariel knows the place, now- he may have hid the weapons here himself, in the last days of the war. To the distant tune of strange chanting, he shoves the lid off of the box. It hits the ground and crumbles.
Inside, he finds his blades. They have changed, though the patterns are familiar. The scalpel is small and gleaming silver-white; the sword is now a rapier, made of black ice with crimson veins crawling through it. He barely notices the chanting growing louder.
They approach him from either side, two robed, monkish figures. They speak in low, hissing voices while somehow continuing to chant.
"Revenge. Breakyourbones, clawyoureyes."
Xariel brandishes the sword in warning, but they advance.
"Eatyourflesh, takeyoureyes, burnthesockets."
Moving too far in a single step, one of them surges forward and grabs onto Xariel, digging long, yellowed nails into him. He jabs the scalpel into it and, released from its grip, takes to the air.
The other spectre claws at Xariel's leg. He swoops down at it, the sword natural as it can be as it pierces the ghost's chest. He pulls the blade free and turns, scratching the first spectre across its face as it moves to attack again. Hissing more unlikely torments to themselves, they retreat, fading away into the cold air.
Xariel heads back. As he bends down to retrieve the candle, he hears that voice again.
XARIEL.
"Give it up. I'm not going to look back."
RETURN TO THE DAYLIGHT, THEN. KNOW ONE THING, THOUGH.
"What's that?"
SHE DIDN'T MEAN NOT TO TURN AROUND.
Xariel puts the candle back in his bag, and begins the trip back up.
Scene 4- Max's Apartment
Xariel walks briskly into the apartment, tossing his pack down by the door and walking over to the phone. Or that's what he would do, anyway, if there weren't a woman standing in his way.
The woman is looking at his wall, scanning the notes arrayed there. She's around his daughter's age, a little younger, say twenty-eight or so. Brown hair falls to her neck in businesslike curls, and she wears a pinstriped suit. A leather attache case sits on his couch, presumably hers.
She smiles and offers her hand.
"I'm Stephanie Hart. You're Detective Harris?"
He nods, a little suspicious.
"Your door was unlocked. I didn't think you'd mind if I came in to wait for you." There's a beat, and she doesn't get the response she expected. "I'm with Lexington-Branche?"
Xariel smiles- or at least tones down Max's glare- and offers her coffee. She accepts.
"May I call you Max?"
Xariel smiles, for real this time. "Go ahead."
As he putters around the kitchen, Stephanie explains that Branche is working on behalf of the Frost family- at a reduced rate, no less. She's been told that Max is assisting the department, and wanted to talk to him personally.
She explains that the family is looking for closure, and that neither of the ongoing investigations has come up with anything to suggest that it was anything other than a drug overdo--
"It wasn't an overdose," Xariel interrupts. He pauses, then adds, "Nothing on the autopsy report suggested that."
"We're having additional tests done, but on excised tissue. The family would like to have a proper funeral." Her expression softens. "You understand, Max, they need this."
"I understand. But someone has to make sure that what was done to her doesn't happen again."
On cue, Stephanie's eyes drop. "Such a shame," she says. "Kids come to the city, they get mixed up in drugs, crime..."
Max isn't buying the guilt-and-gloom line, though. "Miss Hart, we both know damn well that wasn't a drug overdose."
"Max, you have to let go of this case. Please."
"No." Xariel stares at her, hard, through Max's blue eyes.
Stephanie picks up her briefcase and says, crisply, "Detective Harris, it's unfortunate you chose not to cooperate. Rest assured, you will be hearing from us again." She storms out, slamming the door behind her.
I'm sure I will. And I'm sure I locked that door.
He goes over and inspects the lock. Not damaged. I'd better at least do something to stop it from slamming like that.
Xariel goes to turn the coffee off. As he turns towards the kitchen, there's a rough knock on the door. He takes an annoyed breath, and looks through the peep-hole.
It's not Stephanie again, that's for sure. In fact, it's Sandalphon's brawny deadman.
Old tricks work the best. For the second time in as many days, Xariel flings the door open and slides backwards, gun trained on his visitor. The deadman stalks in. He's dressed the same as before, except that the shirt's pink and pinned up to cover his right stump.
"The boss would like to arrange a meeting," he says gruffly.
"I'm sure he would," Xariel smiles. "Where?"
"His place."
"I don't think so. Neutral ground."
The deadman snarls, but says "Where?"
"The Institute. Sunday in the Park."
Sandalphon's bruiser looks suspicious. "I'll tell him. Five o'clock."
Xariel quirks his eyebrows. Guess it's a little late for High Noon. He nods, and the thug storms out. Xariel catches the door before it can slam, though.
The angel starts making phone calls.
First, Labazar. Xariel lets the angel of the wild know that he retrieved the blades, and that he's got a meeting with the Dominion.
"What's his cover?" Xariel asks.
"His host? Real estate baron named Simon Holmes." Facts click together in Xariel's mind. "Owns a gentleman's club called The Thunderbolt. Kind of a frat house for the rich and shady."
"He's into revitalizing?"
"So I hear. He works with other firms a lot, though. Makes keeping track of him a full time job."
"Ah, Quint, one other thing."
"Yeah?"
"Ever heard of someone called the Third?"
Labazar pauses. "One of us, you mean?"
"I think so."
"Guess I know better than to ask 'third what?'" He sighs. "I'll see what I can turn up."
"Thanks."
Labazar lowers his voice. "Be careful, Xariel."
"I will." There's a moment more of silence, then Labazar hangs up.
Xariel starts making his other calls. Between a little smooth talking the security personnel and a call to Mitch, he arranges to be able to bypass security at the Institute, then heads out.
Scene 5- Art Institute
After some dinner, Xariel walks into the Institute. After a quick conversation at the security desk, he's ushered around the metal detectors. Xariel thanks the security chief, and reminds him he doesn't want any security personnel conspicuous when he meets his "informant."
Xariel's still a little early. He sits down on a bench and looks at the Suerat. Max brought his kids here. And his wife before that. Before she was his wife.
Various people are milling about, but Xariel still hears Sandalphon's footsteps approaching. He stands up to meet the Dominion, who nods to his deadman. The bruiser moves cautiously off to a corner.
Xariel looks Sandalphon over as the man takes off his leather gloves. He's a young forty, his black hair receding, but what's left is still shiny and full. Straight and well-gelled, it comes down to the top of Holmes's neck. His features are sharp, handsome, much like his suit.
Holmes's eyes, black and deep, catch Max's. The expression, at least, is familiar. Collected and more than a little fierce, it's Sandalphon's. Damned if I can remember when , though.
"Xariel, right?"
Xariel nods. "Sandalphon."
"I'm sorry about my associate. I didn't realize who you were when I sent him."
"I'm sure you didn't."
"Believe me, I don't mean any harm."
Xariel's mouth curls. "No, you haven't caused any of that."
Sandalphon purses his lips, then sighs. "I take it you're a friend of Torimel's, then?"
We both were, Xariel thinks, but says nothing.
"I see her vigilante justice approach rubbed off on you. Let me explain my side of things."
Sandalphon continues in the same formal, "Was this Max Harris a religious man?"
"He got by."
"Perhaps, then, he remembers the story of Saul. A wicked man, persecuting God's chosen people. He saw a light, and was converted. Or Constantine- an emperor of Rome- who switched sides after seeing a light in his dreams. Even Moses received his orders from a burning bush.
"Starting to see a pattern here? Flames. Light. Those were somebody's signature, once upon a time."
"Lucifer," Xariel says, and the word hangs in the air.
"Yes, Lucifer," Sandalphon continues, hissing a little with muffled anger. "Playing for the other team, now. Probably was the whole time. Don't tell me that's never occurred to you."
"It has."
"But I've been back. For twelve years, this time around. And never a trace of the Morningstar. He's hiding, Xariel, he and our Father."
"And you're going to find him."
"Yes."
"By torturing children."
Sandalphon sighs. "Yes. Regrettably."
"Then you've lost sight of everything. We were put here to love them, and to serve them."
"And then forbidden to. Don't think I don't remember." Frustration tears at the edges of Sandalphon's voice. "I remember all too well. I remember collecting each and every one of their prayers. Every blessing said in His name, every oath consecrated upon His altar. I took every one from their lips and set it upon His brow. All the while they didn't even know I was there." He looks down at his feet.
"I won't let you continue."
"He sent three angels to forgive Cain. Three. And all he offered us was obedience or oblivion."
Xariel turns away for a moment. Some of the facts are new, but he's thought every one of these thoughts before. One after another, strung together through strange aeons in the abyss.
"I said I'll stop you."
"I suppose we have Max to thank for that nobility. I suppose we--" Sandalphon is cut off by a tap on his shoulder. The bruiser whispers something in his ear.
"I'm sorry, Xariel, I have to cut this short. We'll talk again soon."
"We will," Xariel nods.
Xariel watches the angel and his lackey exit, then returns his gaze to the painting. There aren't many museum-goers about, anymore, and he has relative silence. Nonetheless, precious few thoughts come.
Tired, Xariel walks out to the lobby, only to find a crowd gathered around a TV monitor, tuned to a cable news channel. A label above the ticker reads "Live: Los Angeles."
"This is, uh," the reporter sputters, flickering light illuminating her face. "Uh, just show them." The screen switches to another camera, a shaky, handheld one. The camera pans up on what looks like, at first, an immense orange-white glow. It zooms out clumsily, then, and the crowd sees what it is.
Above the jagged remains of Los Angeles skyscrapers, a huge figure made of fire stands. The focus is horribly off, but somehow the chiseled figure of a Michelangelo statue is visible, as are the mighty, graceful wings adorning his back. Clearest of all is the expression, smiling lovingly between outstretched arms.
The audience gasps. They see an angel. But Xariel sees something else. He sees the angel. Lucifer, star of the morning, prince of Heaven and Earth.
It is October twenty-ninth, the Year of Our Lord two thousand and three.
The Devil's Night has begun.