They collapsed next to him. There was blood on Callahan’s flashlight and she tossed it aside in disgust.
“Thanks,” LaLaurie huffed, trying to catch his breath.
Grant nodded. “Happy to oblige.”
And as they all struggled to breathe, Callahan saw something dark and malevolent seep out from under the door they had just come from-a black vapor that hung in the air, as if taunting them. Then it shot across the yard and disappeared into the night sky.
“Was that who I think it was?” Callahan asked.
LaLaurie sucked in a breath and nodded.
“I get the feeling she doesn’t like us much.”
“That’s not the worst of our problems,” he said. “I think she was inside my head. Saw what I saw. And if that’s true, she knows the incantation.”
“Incantation?” Grant asked.
“The key to freeing the sacred traveler.”
46
They didn’t have to call Michael.
When they stumbled into Grant’s lodgings, located at the edge of the church property, Grant flipped on a light and found a bearded man in his early sixties huddled in the center of the room, looking broken and abused, his face bloodied.
Callahan thought he was a homeless guy, but after a moment of hesitation, Grant seemed to know who he was and immediately grabbed him by the arms, helping him over to a twin bed tucked into the corner of the room.
He left a weapon on the floor behind him. A curved, antique knife of some kind, its blade covered with blood.
Callahan picked it up. “This guy means business. Who is he?”
“It’s Michael,” LaLaurie said. He was hanging back by the door, a somber expression on his face.
“As in Saint Michael?”
“That’s the one,” Grant told her.
She studied the guy. “No disrespect, but I was expecting somebody-I don’t know-a little more … shiny.”
“Shiny?”
“You know, all white, with wings and all that stuff?”
Grant gestured impatiently to another doorway. “Get me a wet cloth, will you? The loo is through there.”
Callahan went into the bathroom, found a washcloth hanging from a rack, then quickly wet it and wrung it out. When she went back into the main room, the guy on the bed-Michael-was stirring.
She tossed Grant the washcloth and he pressed it to Michael’s forehead, wiped some of the blood from his nose.
LaLaurie was still hanging by the front door, looking as if his cat had just died.
What was going on with him?
Before she could ask, Michael’s eyes blinked open. He looked momentarily disoriented, but shook it off and turned to Grant.
“I found her,” he said.
Grant’s eyes widened. “The traveler?”
Michael nodded. “There’s no mistake this time. It’s her. I know it’s her.”
“Where is she?”
His eyes clouded. “I had her with me, but I lost her. Beelzebub and his drudges.” He looked up at Callahan and LaLaurie. “It’s good that you’re both here. I hoped you would be.”
“You know who we are?” Callahan asked. Thoughts of the D.C. connection popped into her mind and she had to wonder how many people were involved in this thing.
Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Michael pulled out two leather straps and tossed one to Callahan, the other to LaLaurie.
Surprised, Callahan caught it, then stared at the Saint Christopher medal attached. “What’s this for?”
“We’ve got a few vacancies,” he said. “Consider yourselves deputized.”
Callahan couldn’t believe what he was suggesting, but before she could say anything, LaLaurie piped up.
“We’ve already collected enough of these,” he said. “And I can’t do this.”
He tossed the medallion to the floor, then turned and walked out.
Batty was halfway across the yard when Michael materialized in front of him. He staggered slightly as if the task hadn’t been easy.
Batty faltered, but didn’t slow down. As he tried to move around the angel, Michael grabbed him by the arm. “The decision is yours, but hear me out.”
Batty stopped. Waited.
“You know I can’t ask you to do something you’re not willing to do.”
“That’s right,” Batty said.
“But I think you also know the importance of this. Especially now that Belial and the others have the sacred incantation.”
“You know about that?”
Michael nodded. “Grant told me. But I expected it. I knew she had a hold on you. And the father said this wouldn’t be easy.”
“Tell me I’m misinterpreting that drawing. The man with the sword isn’t me.”
“I wish I could, Sebastian, but if we could simply snap our fingers and release the sacred traveler without any effort, what would be the point? This is about choices. And the intent behind those choices, and proving to the father that humans are still capable of making the right ones. And this is a choice not made through malice, but out of love. A love for humankind.”
“You sound like a fucking serial killer.”
“Don’t cheapen this. You know what this means. Rebecca knows. She wouldn’t have agreed to carry that message if she didn’t.”
Batty thought about her shimmering image.
The warmth of her embrace.
If you feel your resolve faltering, just call to me and I’ll listen.
“The choice is yours, Sebastian, but we still have time. You don’t have to make a decision right now.”
“But isn’t this all academic anyway? They already have the traveler and the incantation. How can we stop them?”
“I’m afraid I’ve never been known to give in too easily.”
Michael brought out his knife and sliced it through the air as if he were slicing through a thin membrane. A hole in the atmosphere opened up and beyond it was a darkness that Batty recognized.
The otherworld.
A place he barely remembered yet hoped he’d never have to see again.
Then Michael took him by the wrist, turned his palm upward, and placed the Saint Christopher medal there. “You and your friend have come this far. What do you say we finish the journey together?”
Batty looked down at the medallion. “What do you have in mind?”
“We go after her,” Michael said.
BOOK XI
Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.
47
THE OTHERWORLD
They traveled by foot down a long, winding trail through the Forest of Never-the angel, the scholar and the spy.
They were, from all appearances, a ragtag crew, the angel brandishing a gun and knife, the spy carrying a shotgun she’d borrowed in the overworld. The scholar had nothing but his fists to rely on, and his wits, but the angel vowed to protect him should anything go wrong.
And many things could go wrong here.
The otherworld was a vast and frightening place, and no one who had visited could claim to know it all. Even the angel himself-who had a home here-had only seen a part of it.
They traveled in silence, each harboring their own thoughts, their own fears. The forest around them was quiet. Too quiet. And the angel knew that its inhabitants were well aware that their home had been invaded by strangers. They would wait and watch, and evaluate … and should they feel threatened, they would not hesitate to defend.
The trail seemed to wind on endlessly, and had the scholar not been lost in thought, weighing the decision that lay before him, he might not have been able to continue. Though his memories of the place were vague, the forest stirred up intense feelings of dread and heartbreak, blunted only by his determination to see this thing through and make the right choice.