The tension in the air was palpable, like an elastic band just about stretched to capacity before…
Marlowe barked, slapping his paws on the hardwood floor, and all hell broke loose.
The trancelike state between the two beasts suddenly broken, the creature reacted, pulling its pale lips back in a catlike hiss.
Remy was afraid, and as if suddenly catching the scent of his fear, the white-skinned being turned its gaze to him.
Its eyes were black, like shiny pools of oil, and Remy felt himself drawn toward their inky depths.
"Marlowe… run," he managed, looking away before the intruder sprang.
It moved incredibly fast, and collided with Remy, knocking him back against the wall as it tried to escape down the hall.
The dog was barking like crazy now.
Remy dove, wrapping his arms around the creature's thin waist, driving them both to the floor.
The invader let out an unpleasant squeal, a strange mixture of a baby's cry and the screech of brakes, as it struggled in his grasp.
"Stay back," Remy commanded the dog, as the Labrador started to slink from the room. Marlowe retreated.
The strange beast was much stronger than it appeared, easily breaking Remy's grip and scrabbling to its bare feet in a frantic run. It skidded around the corner into the living room, and Remy was right behind it. But it was waiting for him. The creature charged, slashing at him with razor-sharp claws. Remy leapt back, feeling the claws snag the front of his shirt and graze the smooth flesh beneath.
The beast had retreated deeper into the living room and crouched there, watching him. Remy was about to charge after it, but something stopped him. Something in the monster's gaze.
Is that fear?
Still crouched on the living room rug, the creature let out another of its disturbing cries, and Remy watched in surprise as it began to convulse, hunching its back as if bending over to vomit. But instead, the pale flesh on its bony back tore with a wet, ripping sound, and two leathery batlike wings popped from beneath the skin.
Remy watched, dumbfounded, as the creature cloaked itself in its new leathern appendages, then squeezed itself smaller and smaller, until it was no longer there, leaving behind only the telltale scent of magick.
Angel magick.
Remy was still staring at the spot where the intruder had been, trying to understand what was going on, when he heard a soft whimper behind him. He turned to see a trembling Marlowe standing in the hallway, clutching a filthy stuffed monkey in his mouth.
"Hey," Remy said, going to the shaking animal. "Are you all right?" he asked, running his hands over the black Labrador's body, searching for injuries. "Did he hurt you?"
Marlowe let the toy drop to the floor, licking the side of Remy's face affectionately.
"No hurt," Marlowe said. "Nice."
Remy stopped inspecting the dog and looked into Marlowe's dark brown eyes. "What do you mean, nice?"
"Nice, no hurt," Marlowe explained. "Give toy." The dog pawed the filthy stuffed monkey. "Nice. Give toy."
Remy reached down to pick up the monkey.
"This isn't yours?" he asked the dog.
"Mine now," the dog said, playfully snatching it from Remy's hands and giving it a savage shake.
Images filled Remy's head as things became more clear, like jagged rocks suddenly visible through wafting holes in thick, ocean fog.
Terribly clear.
He remembered the contents of the transport containers on the oil rig, furnishings for a home, blankets and toys.
Stuffed animals peering out at him from their clear plastic packaging.
"Nice," Marlowe said again, happily tossing the new toy into the air. "No hurt.
"Friend."
ELEVEN
Remy called Francis on the way to Lynn. The former Guardian angel turned assassin wasn't home, so he left a message.
"Hey, it's me. Heading to Lynn on the North Shore to check out a piece of property that the old man purchased a few weeks ago," he told his friend, debating if he should explain further or wait until things had crystallized a little bit more.
"Give me a call when you get this. There are some things I need to run by you before you accept the Grigori's offer. Later." Remy ended the call and slipped the phone into the pocket of his leather jacket.
He'd reached the rotary in Revere, and veered right onto the Lynn Marsh Road. It was a straight shot from there, across the long stretch of causeway that connected Revere to Lynn.
His thoughts were wandering again to the pale-skinned creature sprouting wings in his living room. He remembered its eyes, moist, dark, and shiny, like the cold ocean water of the marshlands he was passing by now.
But there had been something else in the blackness of its stare, ferocity, fear….
Intelligence.
He passed over the Foxhill Bridge into the city of Lynn.
The sprawling General Electric jet engine plant was to his right, the city's major employer since it lost the shoe industry to foreign shores back in the 1920s.
Remy fished the piece of paper he'd written the address on from his pocket and gave it another glance. According to Map-Quest, he wasn't too far away.
He continued on down Western Avenue, thinking of the silly little rhyme that just about everybody on the North Shore seemed to know.
Lynn, Lynn, the city of sin, you never go out the way you came in.
It wasn't long before he found River Street. It wasn't one of the city's better neighborhoods. Most of the buildings were boarded up and empty, many blackened and charred as if by fire.
He parked his car beneath the dim light thrown by the single working streetlight, and stepped out onto the street. He could still catch the musty smell of smoke in the air.
Most of the buildings were missing numbers, and it took a little while to figure out where he needed to be looking and on what side, but as he walked the lonely stretch of River Street, it soon became obvious where he was heading.
He could see it ahead of him, the tall spire reaching up into the dingy night sky, the abandoned remains of Saint Mathias Church. She appeared to have been let go quite some time ago, the cruel years having their way with her. Remy always felt a tinge of sadness when he saw buildings like this, places of worship no longer carrying the prayers of the devoted faithful up to the heavens. It was a sign of the times, he told himself, but it didn't make it any less sad to see.
Saint Mathias was more than just a church; it was a sort of compound. An alley separated the church from a run-down rectory and an old brick elementary school.
It seemed that Noah had bought it all.
At the back of the church, a frame from one of the elaborate stained-glass windows depicting the Stations of the Cross had fallen away, allowing Remy to look inside.
The building was empty. Anything that would have made it recognizable as a place of worship had pretty much been removed; the only things serving as a slight reminder were wooden pews, stacked in a far, dark corner, as if waiting to be used as kindling.
He saw nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to pique his curiosity, so he turned his attention to the rectory, directly across from the church. Remy climbed the three chipped and broken concrete steps to the side door. It appeared that new locks had been recently installed.
Remy knew how to do the whole lock-picking thing, but seldom remembered to bring his tools. Looking around—as if there'd be anyone around here to raise an alarm—he placed his hand against the door. He utilized a little bit of his divine strength to force it open, and went inside.