A loud crack, like ice beginning to thaw on a frozen pond, startled Remy from his thoughts. At first he couldn’t find the source of the sound; it was repeated again and again, and each time the body of the man in the chair shook with a violent spasm. Blood began streaming down Nathan’s face, running into his screaming mouth, and then hanks of hair and bits of flesh-covered bone began to fall away as his skull opened.
The sight was so horrific that Remy didn’t even notice that the volunteer had stopped screaming.
An electrical hum filled the air of the lab and grew in intensity as Nathan’s brain swelled, oddly resembling a cake rising in a pan that was too small. Crackling bolts of electrical energy were released from the pulsing gray matter, slicing across the room, into the sapling version of the Tree of Knowledge. More tendrils of energy erupted from the tree, crisscrossing about the room, making contact with everything . . . and everybody.
Remy gasped as the energy touched him; it struck like a scorpion’s stinger, entering through his chest and exiting just as quickly through the toe of his left shoe, rousing the Seraphim inside him.
The power touched Malachi as well, the elder standing perfectly stiff as the strange energy moved through his body.
It seemed to be affecting the Sons of Adam even more, as one by one they dropped to their knees.
“What’s happening?” Remy asked.
“They are all connected now,” Malachi explained.
“Us too?” Remy asked, feeling nothing but the eagerness of the Seraphim to be free.
Malachi shook his head. “No, we are not of the Garden.”
Nathan’s head looked like the Fourth of July on the Esplanade, jagged bolts of energy shooting from the pulsing gray surface illuminating the air above it.
“It is closer than you think,” the man suddenly proclaimed, his voice sounding as though it were coming from an old stereo system. “Bouncing from reality to reality, it comes to us. . . .”
Malachi strode past Remy. “The key,” the elder angel demanded from Nathan. “Where can we find the other half of the key?”
“The key,” the man repeated. “One half is with us, close by, and the other . . .”
Jon let out a low moan, his head swinging loosely upon his neck.
Remy noticed that two of the techs were on their feet now, stumbling across the room to their workstations, pulling out their chairs and sitting down as if drunk. One of the pair, a heavyset man with a haircut like Moe Howard’s, pulled a drawing tablet from the things on his desk and began to draw. The other was leafing quickly through a book of maps.
“The Garden yearns for its children,” Nathan announced. “For too long they have been apart. . . . Too long have they known loneliness.”
The Sons were crying, and Remy almost wished he could experience what was happening in their heads, for he remembered the Garden too, and envied them.
“We shall be together again,” the man’s voice boomed. “Forgiveness bestowed as you pass through my open gates.”
Then the man’s eyes began to flutter crazily, and the corners of his mouth twisted downward in what appeared to be a pain-racked frown. Remy glanced around the room and saw that all of the Sons were wearing the same bizarre expression.
“Come quickly, my children, for there is danger present.”
Malachi stepped closer to the ranting Nathan.
“A secret enemy grows within my bosom,” he said, writhing against his bonds. “A danger that threatens not only Eden . . . but the world of man . . .” His voice grew louder and the electrical discharge from his exposed brain became more intense.
“And Heaven itself!”
A searing flash accompanied those words, disintegrating Nathan’s chair. His body was lifted into the air on tendrils of blue energy, and the acrid smell of burning ozone filled the air.
“Let me show you this evil,” he proclaimed.
The Sons were listening, their faces twisted in expressions of pain as they waited for Eden to show them their enemy.
Malachi stepped into the pulsing blue light, the crackling rays of mental lightning raining down upon him as he reached up to drag the figure down to the ground.
“What are you do . . . ?” Remy began as the elder pinned the thrashing figure to the ground with one hand and reached for Nathan’s obscenely swollen brain with the other. Malachi wrapped his clawlike fingers around the pulsing gray brain matter and squeezed.
The Sons began screaming, grabbing for their heads, and a searing flash of blue forced Remy to cover his eyes as Nathan’s brain popped in Malachi’s constricting grip.
Remy lowered his arm and, as his vision cleared, he saw that the Sons were scattered about the floor, writhing and moaning in pain. He quickly looked to Malachi, who stood above the newly dead volunteer, wiping his gore-covered hand on a handkerchief.
“What did you do that for?” Remy demanded, stunned by the sudden violent act.
Malachi dropped the filthy cloth, letting it flutter down to cover the volunteer’s ravaged face. “I know of the secret enemy,” the angel said. “It is a clear and present danger to us all . . . a danger that lurks around every corner, watching . . . waiting for us to expose ourselves.”
Remy didn’t understand, his look urging the elder angel to continue.
“There are those who would refuse Adam his birthright,” Malachi offered.
Jon rose on shaky legs and stumbled across the room, nearly falling as he knelt by his friend’s side.
“Why did you kill him?” Remy asked of Malachi, watching as Jon took his friend’s blood-spattered hand in his own.
“There was no choice,” the elder angel replied. “The connection was growing and he would have felt it.”
“Who? Who would have felt it?”
“He who would see Adam die here . . . never to be embraced in the bosom of Eden.”
The Sons of Adam were coming around now, rising shakily to their feet, the experience having left its mark.
“You know him from your last encounter in Eden,” Malachi explained. He was looking at his hand, still wet and glistening from the brain of the volunteer. “The Cherubim sentry,” he said.
“Zophiel.”
Remy wondered why nothing could ever be easy.
According to Malachi, Zophiel had eventually ended up on Earth as well, and now that Eden was returning to this plane of existence, he too was hunting for the keys. The elder angel had mentioned violent incidents at other Sons of Adam locations around the globe as proof that this danger was real.
Remy glanced to the left at Jon, who was driving him back to the airstrip. He didn’t look so good.
“You all right?” he asked.
Jon didn’t answer, lost in thought and staring straight ahead at the desert road.
Remy reached across and touched his shoulder.
Jon started, looked at him, and then back to the road. “I’m sorry. Is there something wrong?”
“No.” Remy shook his head. “Just wanted to be sure you’re okay.”
Jon gave him an odd look, then reached up, pulling a tiny hearing aid from his ear and stuffing it into the breast pocket of his shirt. Remy hadn’t even noticed it was there.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “The batteries must be dead. You’re going to have to speak a little bit louder.”
“Have you always had a hearing problem?” Remy asked, raising his voice.
The man shook his head. “I lost it in my early teens,” he said, staring out through the windshield. The plane came into view through the shifting dust blowing across the desert. “Actually it was when Malachi first arrived.”
He smiled, but Remy could see little amusement there.
“The whole voice-of-the-divine thing,” Jon explained. “He was rather loud with his proclamations and damaged my eardrums.”
They reached the plane; Jon shut off the van’s engine and turned toward Remy.
“I want to thank you for coming,” he said, extending his hand.
Remy shook it. “My pleasure. I hope I can help.”