“Where are you, Aaron? He’ll keep hurting me unless you come.”
“Vilma,” Aaron whispered within the constricting cocoon of shadow, and opened his eyes to a vision of the girl he believed he loved in the clutches of Verchiel. It was but a flash of sight, but it was enough to stir him from the comforting embrace of his impending death.
“Please! Aaron!”
The angelic essence fought to keep him submerged in the depths of oblivion, but Vilma needed him, Stevie and the fallen needed him, and he felt ashamed that he had even considered giving in. The closer he got to awareness, the more he felt the painful effects the poison had wrought upon his body, and he was reminded of, and inspired by, the Morningstar, burned black by the finger of God, but still he fought on.
Aaron came awake on his knees, now in the kitchen of Belphegor’s home, his body wracked with bone-snapping convulsions. He pitched forward and vomited up the poison. Slowly he raised his head, wiping the remains of the revolting fluid that dribbled down his chin, to see Belphegor leaning forward on a wooden chair, offering him a white paper napkin.
“What did you see?” the angel asked, a gleam of excitement in his ancient eyes.
“Vilma.” Aaron struggled to stand.
“Who?”
“I have to go to her,” Aaron said, the familiar feeling of dread he’d been carrying since his life so dramatically changed replacing the nausea in his stomach.
“He has her. Verchiel has her.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Vilma?” Belphegor asked, confused. “Who, may I ask, is Vilma?”
Aaron swayed upon legs that seemed to be made of rubber, grabbing hold of the kitchen doorframe to steady himself. “She’s my girl…” He paused, rethinking his answer. “She’s somebody from my old life, someone very important to me—and Verchiel has her.” Images of the screaming girl flashed across his vision. He could hear her calling out to him.
“He is attempting to get to you through your friends,” Belphegor commented matter-of-factly. “Typical behavior for one such as he.”
Aaron didn’t understand. Somehow Vilma had reached out and touched his mind.
But how?
“What did you see when you went inside, Aaron?” Belphegor questioned. “You must tell me everything—”
Aaron raised a hand to interrupt him. “She was inside my head.” He stared hard at Belphegor. “How is that possible, unless?…”
Belphegor slowly nodded, sensing that Aaron already suspected the answer. “Unless she is as you are,” he finished.
It hit Aaron like a physical blow and he fell back against the doorframe, sliding to the floor as his knees gave out. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered in amazement. He remembered every moment, however brief, he had shared with her. There was no doubt of the attraction, but evidently the reason went far beyond raging hormones. They were of the same kind.
Nephilim.
“Just when I think I’ve seen it all,” he said with an exasperated shake of his head.
Belphegor left the table and moved to Aaron’s side. He seemed impatient, anxious. “Never mind your friend,” he said. “What did you see, Aaron?”
“I don’t have time for this,” Aaron said, climbing to his feet. “She needs me.”
Belphegor reached out and grabbed hold of his arm in a powerful grip. “I need to know what you saw,” he stressed. “The people of Aerie need to know what you saw.”
Aaron shook off the old angel’s grasp. “I saw an angel—and he was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen,” he said, not without a little embarrassment, especially as he caught the look on Belphegor’s face. “It’s not sexual or anything,” he explained. “It was just the way he carried himself. I could feel the devotion of his army in the air. I could feel how much they loved him.”
“You … you saw the Morningstar?” Belphegor stammered, as if he were afraid of something.
Aaron nodded, a bit taken aback by the old angel’s reaction. “And there was a battle,” he said, the violent, disturbing imagery forever burned into his psyche. “It was horrible,” he added. “And incredibly sad.”
Belphegor stared off into space, thoughtfully stroking his chin.
“What does it mean, Belphegor?” Aaron asked cautiously. “What does all of this have to do with me?”
The old fallen slowly refocused his gaze on Aaron. “The pain and the sadness, the death and the violence—I believe that is the power from which you were born.”
Aaron shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“But you will,” Belphegor said with authority. “We shall go to Scholar, and together we’ll delve deeper into the mystery of your origin—”
“No,” Aaron said emphatically. “You don’t understand. Vilma is in trouble and I have to go to her.” Aaron moved past the old angel, his resolve lending new strength to his legs. “I can’t afford to waste any more time.”
He had pulled open the kitchen door and was ready to step outside when Belphegor again grabbed him.
“We’re close, Aaron,” he said.
There was a tension in his voice that hadn’t been there before, a veiled excitement hinting that the angel knew more than he was letting on. It almost drew Aaron back, but then he remembered Vilma’s face—her beautiful face, twisted in pain and fear—and he knew he had no choice.
He shrugged Belphegor’s hand away and started down the stairs. “I’m sorry, but I have to go,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll come back just as soon as—”
Lehash stood in the street just outside the yard. A long, thin cigar dangled at the corner of his mouth, the smoke trailing from its tip forming a misty halo around his head. “Is there a problem, boy?” he asked in a grave voice, the cigar bobbing up and down like a conductor’s baton as he spoke.
Aaron shook his head, fully feeling the menace that radiated from the Aerie constable. “Not yet,” he answered, trying to keep the fear from his voice.
Belphegor came up behind him. “It’s all right, Lehash,” he said reassuringly. “Come back inside, Aaron. We’ll talk.”
“I’m going,” Aaron said defiantly, and began to push past them.
Lehash came forward, and Aaron saw the shimmer of fire in his hands that signaled the arrival of his golden weapons. “I’d listen to the boss if I was you,” he said with a threatening hiss, blocking Aaron’s path.
“It could be a trap, Aaron,” Belphegor cautioned behind him. “Verchiel could be using your friend to strike, not only at you, but at us, at Aerie. I’m sorry, but we can’t let you go, there’s far too much at stake.”
Lehash brandished his guns menacingly. “You heard ‘im,” he said, motioning for Aaron to return to the house. “Get back in there before things get serious.”
“They already have,” Aaron said, feeling the power come alive within him. It was like the world’s biggest head rush, and he braced himself, not even trying to hold back its coming.
A crowd of citizens had started to gather, coming out of their decrepit homes as if drawn by the potential for violence. Aaron could see their nervous glances, hear their whispering.
“I knew he’d be trouble.” “Him? He’s not the One—I can’t believe anyone could be so foolish as to think that.” “Lehash will put him in his place.”
The sigils emerged on Aaron’s flesh, and he let his wings of solid black unfold. He heard gasps from the gathered, and even Lehash seemed genuinely taken aback as Aaron stepped past the constable and into the street. The citizens were in awe. He could see it in their eyes—or maybe it was something else they were seeing, he decided, as he heard the sharp click of twin gun hammers being pulled back from behind.
Aaron reacted purely on instinct; there was no inner struggle, no attempt to keep the power at bay, he simply let it flow through him, guiding its might with a tempered hand. He spun around to face his potential foe, a feral snarl upon his lips. With a thunderous clap of sound, one of the gunslinger’s pistols belched fire made solid, and it hurtled across the short expanse to burrow beneath the soft flesh of the Nephilim’s shoulder.