chapter VIII
Cape Town, South Africa, present day
NWABA UTTERED GUTTURAL CLICKS, a language of the damned, of the fallen. He stood in the center of the circular room, the fire ringing its perimeter augmented now, the flames enlarged and intense, licking ever higher at the tops of the walls. The eight red-winged creatures hanging above echoed the ritualistic song, amplifying its effect, the three Anti-Cherubs issuing forth upside down with exhortations in unknown tongue.
In the center of the floor below, the body of Kim lay on the slab. Mr. Emmanuel, now robed in black, read incantations from an ancient book. John the bait man, still unconscious, was now suspended directly above Kim’s body by chains that descended from the black hole in the ceiling.
Outside, thousands upon thousands of Nri demons deposited their hosts on the roof and then clustered upon the building like an ant hill, crawling downward on its obsidian glass surfaces, penetrating through every aperture and crack to its interior, trembling with caustic delight at the prospect of conquest.
The master had issued the call to arms. That hadn’t happened for a thousand years.
Inside the building, now just one floor below the penthouse, the angel Kreios stood nearly omnipotent, in submission only to El. He awaited instructions.
Then in the middle of the night, as a closed door suddenly opens upon a new way—a path anticipated by faith—Kreios understood what he would do. El had made sense of his vendetta for revenge on the Brotherhood; He would make sense of this new thing as well.
Kreios was off like a shot, a bolt of pure lightning.
He pierced straight through the remaining structures that remained overhead, into the sky. The report of his flight was visible for miles around. He flew straight up, the trail he left behind pure white light.
Nwaba’s pathetic little ritual was thrown into chaos as the building shook. The demons on the ceiling chattered nervously, the bait man swung to and fro in his chains, and even Mr. Emmanuel was flustered in the reading of the incantations.
The three Anti-Cherubs wasted no time. They scurried back through the opening in the ceiling, gone. Gone.
Nwaba shrieked his displeasure and rage to the four winds, issuing immediate orders to seek and destroy the angel Kreios. What Brother could bring back his head would be promoted to second in command.
The swarming frenzy of Nri demons that had shrouded the skyscraper in a surging mass of hideous activity now peeled off like wasps, following the trail left by the angel.
I found part of a sandwich on one of the outside tables in the café, which, by the way, was what Bertha’s was; a restaurant. I had assumed it was some kind of clothing store, given how cryptic She had become.
My mouth watered as I looked at the half sandwich. I looked around like a thief before wolfing the whole thing down. I figured I could be grossed out later. My body was reminding me of my equally strong desire for a drink of water just then, when my eyes were drawn to something in the distance.
Then I saw it: Something pierced the sky in the distance like lightning. Except it was going straight up.
What is that?
Kreios was drawing the entire Nri clan out from its high citadel, the physical amplifier for its Babylonic power. The skyscraper had served from the time of its construction as a conduit for the transfer of power from the spirit realm to the natural. As such, Kreios reasoned, if it could be destroyed or at least minimized in the battle, the Nri would scatter like roaches when the lights came on. He trusted that El had a plan.
If the feint was to work properly, he would have to slow down and give the demons something to attain. In other words, he would have to let them catch up a little. Once more, he had to demonstrate what he believed with action.
But as he did so, he felt an old familiar drain on his angelic abilities. His heart sank. This could simply not be so.
Now he was entirely exposed in the sky, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, no weapon in his hand and no clues from El as to what to do next. The more he fell back, the more his strength was sapped. He had gone too far this time. Past the tipping point. They would have him soon, and when they did, his life would indeed end.
Unless El does something.
Kreios fell still farther back. He reached out to El, questioning.
“Just watch,” was all he heard.
Nwaba watched his entire army depart, giving chase to a single angel. He began to have second thoughts as to the tactical sustainability of his last orders. He considered a countermand, but in the end dismissed it as impractical. Besides, he didn’t have even a single courier to send so that the order could be rescinded. He growled and let it be.
The tower could remain unguarded as long as the primary foe was completely engaged in battle, and that was Kreios.
But is it? Doubts filtered in around the edges of his mind. Was Kreios indeed the primary source of enemy power, or had Nwaba fallen for a ruse of war? It was too large for him to understand. Nevertheless, he had his instincts. And they were telling him to fly, that it was no longer safe to stay in the tower now. It was a target, and he, if he was smart, would get away from it as quickly as possible.
But where to go? Somewhere with leverage, that’s where.
He whipped his long thin tail around, skillfully cutting the chains that held the bait man aloft. He fell to the floor a wreck, beside the now fully thawed body of Kim. She was nothing but a cadaver.
The only pulse that remained within her now found its source in the Bloodstone. When the two were united and the transition ritual performed, she could be discarded. Until then she would remain useful, however.
“Mr. Emmanuel, we depart now. Gather these slaves.”