Scarred (the Spellbound Series Book 3) (21 page)

              I roll my eyes at his comment, but he’s got a point. How
am
I going to get what I want out of him? I flick on the lights with a spell, and notice that all the green screens are still up from when we filmed my speech. An idea comes to mind, and I start to realize there’s a chance I won’t have to convince him at all. “Actually, I think I know a better way to get you to cooperate.”

              “Oh yeah? What is it?”

              “The first step is to shut you up.” I gently squeeze the trigger, and the pistol in my hand fires a burst of power right through Agent Rivera’ skull. He slumps to the ground, unconscious, but still very much alive. All I’ve done is overstimulate his pain receptors; he’ll be fine when he wakes up.

For the time being, though, I take a few necessary precautions. I rummage in his pockets until I find a cell phone, and use a banishing spell to send it back to Washington, DC. If any hunters try to locate him using his phone signal, they’ll be thrown off his trail. Then I remove his shoelaces, and carefully tie him to one of the light fixtures hanging from the wall. Once I’m sure he’s not going anywhere, I leave him hanging by his wrists while I race back home.

              I materialize in the eighth floor hallway of our building in Hell’s Kitchen, and knock quietly on Emma’s door. With any luck, she’ll still be awake. The door swings inward, but to my surprise, it’s Nick who answers. When he spots me, his expression quickly shifts from pleasantly surprised, to confused, to apprehensive. He massages his temple, and asks, “What did you do?”

              “Why does everyone keep saying that?” I pull down my hood, and whip off my mask. “Is Emma here? I kinda have to talk to her.”

              Emma peeks her head over Nick’s shoulder, and says, “Yeah, I’m here. How’d your trip to DC go?”

              “Not too well. I got shot at, a lot. And now I sort of have that hunter guy from the TV hostage.”

              “You
what?!
”

              “It’s okay! I have this under control. I have a plan. But I need your help. You too, Nick.”

              Nick looks over his shoulder at his sister, and shrugs. “Alright, what can we do?”

              “Emma, I need you to find a camera from wherever you got one last week, a boom mic too if you can. And Nick, do you still have a list of all the people who volunteered to help us out when we shot the broadcast footage?”

              “Yeah?” Nick scratches the back of his head, and asks, “What do you want it for?”

              “We’re gonna need a shapeshifter. Anyone will do. Just make calls until someone agrees to help.”

              Nick nods his understanding, and pulls out his phone, presumably to scroll through a list of potential volunteers. Emma, for her part, races off to her room and returns holding two oversized bags. I must look confused, because she explains, “I didn’t see the point in returning these. It’s not like their owner will be coming back.”

              I shrug, and watch as Nick calls our first candidate. After a quick conversation, he hangs up, and says, “We’re good to go. I’ll text you her address, we’ll have to pick her up.”

              “That’s fine. I’ll take care of that while you and Emma set up the camera. And while I’m gone, call Jenna and see if she can get Kim to edit in a black background and broadcast the footage ASAP.”

              “Got it.” Both he and Emma grab onto me, and I teleport the three of us back to the condo where I left my hostage. Upon arrival, my phone buzzes, and I check the address Nick just sent me. Nyack, New York. I can see why they couldn’t be bothered driving all this way; it’s quite a trip.

I pull on my mask, pull up my hood, and vanish yet again, this time reappearing on a gravel driveway. I walk up to the house at the end of it, and knock four times. A slender girl about my age answers the door, and eyes me warily. I don’t have time for a lengthy discussion, so I ask, “Beverly?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Heather?”

“You caught me. Let’s go.” I grab Beverly by the arm, and teleport both of us back to the condo, where the camera is set up and ready to go. Emma fits a pair of headphones around her neck, and slips the windscreen onto the boom mic. Nick, on the other hand, is on the phone with Jenna, and keeping an eye on the still unconscious Agent Rivera.

Beverly takes a second or two to freak out over the fact that we’ve moved so far in such a short amount of time. She snaps out of it quickly, though, and asks, “What do you need me to do?”

I point her in Agent Rivera’ direction, and say, “First things first, I need you to turn into that man.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain that in a minute. For right now, just please do it.”

Beverly shrugs out of her cardigan, and tells me to stand back. She studies Agent Rivera closely for a moment, and without warning, she grows about half a foot taller. Her bones elongate and thicken audibly, which would probably sicken me if I weren’t so focused on the task at hand. Beverly’s strawberry blonde hair darkens to a deep brown as it recedes into her skull, and dark stubble sprouts around her widening jaw. In under a minute, an exact replica of the tied up Agent Rivera stands before me, awaiting instructions.

“Perfect,” I mutter as I examine Beverly’s transformation. “Now, I’m gonna need you to put on his clothes.”

“You got it,” Beverly answers. To my dismay, she still sounds like herself. She takes one look at the microphone, and asks, “Do you need me to change my voice, too?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Alright. Wake him up so I can get the vocal range right.”

I walk over to Agent Rivera, and gently place my fingers on his temples. I close my eyes, and radiate a soothing spell for his frayed nerves before shaking him awake. Agent Rivera struggles against his bindings, and shouts, “Release me! Do it right now, and I won’t press charges.”

“You’re not in any position to be making demands,” I remind him.

“On the contrary. Do you know who I am? I was recently promoted to director of Division Thirteen’s Eastern Seaboard unit. I command over three thousand highly trained professional killers who will put a bullet between your eyeballs before you can call for your mother. I am the most important man you’re likely to ever meet, and I command you to release me!”

“I command you to release me!,” Beverly mocks as she restructures her vocal cords. She tries the line a couple more times, until she’s satisfied that she’s nailed our captive’s voice. I don’t allow him the time to comment on the bizarre position he finds himself in; I ease him into unconsciousness with a sleeping spell, and begin removing his clothes.

In only five minutes, Agent Rivera is left in nothing but his underwear and tank top, while Beverly has donned his two piece suit. Now the resemblance is truly uncanny; if I put the two of them side by side, I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Beverly catches my eye, and in Agent Rivera’s voice, she asks, “What do we do now?”

“Now, we film a video together.”

Beverly pales slightly, and protests, “I’m not an actor, though.”

“That’s fine. Just say what I tell you to say, and we’ll be fine.” We spend the next few minutes rehearsing, and figuring out how we’re going to stand when we start filming. Beverly claims to have no idea what she’s doing, but thankfully, she catches on quickly. Before long, she sounds confident and authoritative when she regurgitates the lines I need her to say. We’re good to go. We take our positions in front of the camera, and when Beverly gives me the signal that she’s ready, I nod to Emma to start filming.

I take a seat in a metal chair, and hold my hands behind my back as if I’m being restrained. Beverly stands by my side, and when Jenna gives her a thumbs up, she recites the lines I gave her. “My fellow Americans, I apologize for interrupting your regularly scheduled programming once again. My name is Vincent Rivera, and I have with me here the alleged terrorist, the Angel of Death. In order to protect her own kind, she has turned herself in.”

“My own kind?,” I repeat. “Are you finally admitting that humans aren’t alone?”

“I-“

“Come on,
Agent
. Drop the charade.”

Beverly clears her throat, and continues, “Now that we have the terrorist in custody, the citizens of America can now rest easily. That being said, I am hereby recanting the order I gave earlier this evening. I repeat; no member of Division Thirteen is to carry out Order Sixty-Six. That is all-“

Just before Beverly finishes speaking, I break free of my “bonds”, and spread my wings wide. I lunge towards her, and she expertly whips out Agent Rivera’s gun, and points it at my head. We pause here, and I give Emma the signal to stop filming. She presses a button on the camera, and pulls off her headphones. “That looked great guys. Hopefully this tape doesn’t backfire, too.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Let’s get that tape to Kim right away, and make sure an audio broadcast goes out to every hunter possible as well. If even a single one of them makes an unauthorized move tomorrow, I will rip their compound apart with my bare hands.”

I catch Nick waving in the corner of my eye, and turn to look at him properly. “Hey, Heather,” he calls out, “before you get all riled up again, you might wanna handle the gaping hole in your plan.”

“Gaping hole?” I walk over to Nick, and ask, “What are you talking about?”

Nick points at Agent Rivera’s unconscious form, and points out, “When this guy wakes up, he’ll probably undo everything we just worked for.”

I groan, and try to ignore what Nick is saying, but he’s right. Agent Rivera still poses a problem. We can’t keep him prisoner here; the last time I held someone hostage for more than an hour, it ended disastrously. And we obviously can’t return him to the hunters, or he’ll find a way to undo our hard work. I can only think of one alternative… It’s risky, but it’s better than the other two options. “I think I know how to handle this.”

“How?”

“I’m gonna wipe his memory.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?,” Nick asks. “Throwing fireballs and zipping around all over the country is one thing. This is a person’s
mind
you wanna tamper with.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Look, all I’m gonna do is wipe his memory of the last twenty four hours, and implant new ones that resemble what happened here tonight. Think of it as extreme inception.”

“I’m starting to wonder whether or not we were watching the same movie.”

“Just, stand aside.” Nick shrugs in defeat, and gives me some space as I kneel in front of Agent Rivera. I take his lolling head in my hands, and close my eyes in concentration. Krystal taught me the method behind mind altering spells a long time ago, and I call upon everything I can remember to help me now. A white light radiates from the tips of my fingers as the spell takes hold, and I put all of my will into giving him the memories of our staged reconciliation. A few seconds of silence pass, and my fingers cease to glow. I grab Agent Rivera by the shoulders, and shake him gently.

When he opens his eyes, he gives me a blank look, and asks, “What am I doing here?”

So far, so good. “You had a wild night,” I tell him. “We had a toast to our newfound friendship, and you sort of just kept drinking.”

“What?” Agent Rivera studies my face carefully, as if he’s seeing it for the first time. “But I have no idea who you are.”

My heart sinks, and I look up at Nick, whose arms are folded across his chest. “My name is Heather,” I mutter. “Do you remember yours?”

“No…”

“Do you remember anything?”

“I remember your name, Heather. But everything else is… blank.”

I hang my head in defeat, and cling to Nick for support as I climb to my feet. I went too far. I didn’t just erase a few memories; I took away everything he is… was. I may as well have killed him. Am I really any better than Michael? Does my father’s destructive influence flow so strongly through me that it’s inescapable? I blink away angry tears as I tell him, “Your name is Vincent. And you’re a very good man. Misguided, sometimes, but good.”

I tell Nick to take Emma home so she can give what we’ve recorded to Jenna, then escort Beverly back home. I dress Vincent in his slacks and white button down while the others prepare to leave, then I grab him by the hand and the two of us vanish from the condo. We reappear on the side of the road somewhere in rural Ontario. I give him what little money I have in my wallet, and urge him to lead a new life. A better life. A life that I won’t ruin. When he thanks me for the kindness I’ve shown him, I can’t respond. I just turn, and vanish from his sight, in the hopes that we never cross paths again.

23

             
I don’t bother staying up to see whether or not my latest exploit worked out as planned. I’m exhausted, emotionally drained, and ready to put all of my business with the hunters behind me. I’m already peeling off pieces of my suit as I walk to my bed. The fingerless gloves are the first to go. Then I peel off my boots, but I carefully slide them over to the line of shoes by the front door. Those, I’d like to keep. Next I unzip the hoodie vest, and let it fall to the floor behind me. I do the same with my leather pants, and climb into bed wearing nothing but a black t-shirt and underwear. With a wave of my hand, I gather the remnants of my misguided heroic dreams into a pile, and lock them away in a closet. I won’t be needing them anymore.

              I don’t remember falling asleep, but nevertheless, I wake up to the sun streaming through my windows. I roll over groggily to check my phone, and notice it’s almost ten in the morning. That’s almost unheard of, these days; Michael never lets me sleep in. He always demands that we begin our lessons at the butt crack of dawn. It’s possible that he’s forgotten, but somehow, I doubt it. The man is as diligent as he is deadly. So either he’s busy, or…

              I leap out of bed, and struggle into the first pair of jeans I can find. If Michael’s busy, it might mean I’m too late to sabotage his plans. I run down the stairs barefoot, and pound on his door until it swings open. I let out a sigh of relief when I see it’s Michael who answered, but my heart won’t stop hammering. “Hey,” I gasp out as I lean against the door frame. “What happened to practice this morning?”

              “I’ve thought it over, and I see no reason to continue teaching you,” Michael answers.

              “Why not?”

              “The sole purpose of your training was to help you defeat the other Nephilim. Now that Lucifer has breached the rules of our contest, there is no need.”

              “But we’re gonna be fighting off a horde of demons in a week. Don’t you think-“

              “There is nothing that I can teach you in only seven days that will be of any use. I’m sorry.” Michael realizes just how harsh he sounds, and he tries to placate me in a kinder tone. “Heather, I am proud of you and everything you have achieved. And I would like to help you reach even greater heights, but I have other matters that require my attention.”

              I look up at Michael innocently. I’ve been struggling to figure out a way to halt his plans, but there’s a chance the universe will hand me a way through Michael himself. “Other matters? Do you mean what you told me last night?”

              “Yes. Tyrael, Valtiel, and I are going over the sigils we’ll need to use, and will draw them in their proper places later today.” I notice that he’s referring to his angel bodyguards as equals. Maybe they never even
were
bodyguards; Michael’s an archangel, he needs no protection. Maybe they’ve been his co-conspirators this entire time. “Then, once all the sigils are in place-”

              “Hold on. Do these sigils activate automatically?”

              “No. They will activate while we are on the battlefield, after I…” Michael trails off, and turns his head as if he can hear something inside the apartment. “You should go,” he suggests abruptly. “I’ve said too much.”

              On the contrary; he’s said too little. I’m still stumped on how I’m going to save the people Michael intends to kill, but I think I’ve gotten all the information I can for now. At least now I know I have a week to put a stop to all of this. I nod my understanding, and step back into the hallway while Michael slowly closes his door.

              On my way back up to my room, I try to think of ways to get more details out of Michael. He doesn’t trust me much, that’s been made clear to me several times over the past few months. I’m not sure I could change his mind about letting me in on the actual plan, not with only a handful of days left before he executes it. I’m ready to consider sending in Nick or Alyssa to talk to him by the time I walk through my door. It’s a long shot, but it’s not like I have anyone else I can go to.

              When I sit down on my bed to slip on a pair of sneakers, I gasp as I realize I’ve been looking in the wrong place for a solution. I
do
have other people I can go to… they’re just very far away. People who have studied angels well enough to know how to subdue them. I need the help of the elves. The only problem is, time works in strange ways between the realms. Even if I open a portal to Elfame right this second, stay for ten minutes, and open a second portal to return home, I might end up returning well after Michael has killed millions.

              In order to get around that, I’m going to need to take a leaf out of Lily’s book. I’m going to have to either find or create a permanent link between our worlds. I’m sure I’ve heard of something like this before, so I pick up my phone, open a new browser tab, and look up faerie lore. Sure enough, I find exactly what I’d been looking for; a legend that says if anyone steps into a faerie ring, they’ll be transported to their realm. That sounds like exactly what I need.

Next, I search for pictures of faerie rings. I scroll though a few of the results, but they all appear to be the same. I finish getting dressed, pocket my phone, and head up to the roof. My wings are still sore from hours of flying last night, but I only need them to carry me over Central Park. I take flight, and keep an eye out for a ring of mushrooms in the grass. I find one after a few minutes of circling the lake, and land a few feet away from the ring. For a moment, I wonder if what I’m about to do is even a good idea. But I have no choice. I close my eyes, and step through the faerie ring.

It doesn’t
feel
like anything happened, so I’m pleasantly surprised to see that I’ve moved when I open my eyes. I look down at the ground before me, and find that I’m standing in a small circle of light that reaches up to my waist. Miraculously, the faerie ring transported me to the same exact forest-turned-city where I was imprisoned during my last visit. But unlike before, the cobblestone streets are lined with tall flowers whose petals glow in the fading twilight. A parade of elves with painted skin and bizarre instruments crosses the street before my eyes, playing a haunting melody that makes me want to follow them deeper into the city. It’s just as well; the palace at the city’s center is exactly where I need to be.

Apparently, I’m not the only one drawn in by the parade’s allure. Other elves come out of their homes to fall into step behind the band. I carefully step out of the ring of light that’ll bring me back home, and follow them closely, trying with all my might not to stick out. Either they’re unaware that there’s suddenly a foreigner in their midst, or they’re too wrapped up in the moment to care.

The parade marches around a fountain right in the middle of a plaza, and comes to a stop once they have the fountain completely surrounded. A slender elf from among the players hands his instrument to a friend, and spits a massive plume of flame from between his lips. A seemingly endless stream of fire shoots out, but instead of traveling in a straight line, it curves upward, then in upon itself. It continues twisting and turning through the air, almost like the flames have a mind of their own. The elf purses his lips, and while no fire can be found coming from his mouth, his creation retains its serpentine shape, crackling as it hovers above the plaza.

Someone in the crowd grabs me by the wrist from behind, and pulls me away from the spectacle. Normally, I’d protest loudly, or fight them off, but I don’t want to make a scene while I’m surrounded on all sides by potentially dangerous elves. I turn around to look at them as soon as the plaza is out of sight, but all I can make out of my captor is a hooded figure. I’m pulled into a quiet thicket of ancient trees, and the hand around my wrist relaxes enough for me to pull free. I back away from the hooded elf, and ask, “Who are you? And what do you want?”

The elf pulls back the hood, and reveals a familiar thicket of wild, yet elegant orange hair. Queen Aileana smiles at me, and remarks, “I know you find it hard, but you need to show at least a
glimmer
of respect for authority.”

“Your Grace!” I bow to her, and ask, “What are you doing here? I mean, uh-“

“No need to concern yourself with excessive formality, Heather.” The elf queen regards me with amusement, and says, “Tonight is the first night of the Festival of the Dancing Dragon. It begins on the tenth moonless night of every year. And normally, my royal duties would prohibit me from attending. However, this year, I… How would someone from Earthrealm phrase this? Ah yes, I ‘gave my guardians the slip’. I suppose when it comes to issues with authority, you and I are cut from the same cloth.”

“I apologize for intruding upon your night of freedom, Your Grace.”

“Oh, nonsense. It’s quite alright. I know exactly why you are here.”

“You do?”

“Of course. Two realms are preparing to converge upon yours, and plan to spill blood on human soil. It was written in the stars that this day would come.”

I take a deep breath before launching into an explanation. “That’s not the worst of it. My father, the archangel, has decided to tip the scales in his favor by stealing fifteen million souls, and using their raw power as fuel for his armies.”

“Hmm.” Queen Aileana places a hand on her chin, and gazes up at the sky. “The act of stealing even one soul is nefarious, and difficult. But to steal millions…”

“Please, Your Grace. I need a way to put an end to Michael’s schemes.”

“Patience, child. I have the answers you seek. You need only listen.” The queen picks up a fallen branch, and draws a circle in the dirt between us. “Angels perform their most difficult, arcane magic with sigils arranged within a circle.” She draws random looking symbols along the inside border of the circle, and adds, “These sigils are written in an ancient tongue, older than your mother’s entire species, and hold great power. When the correct ones are arranged in the correct order, their spell will have the desired effect.”

I lean over Queen Aileana’s drawing, and frown down at her “sigils”. I’m not sure if angels have horrible handwriting, or if the queen is artistically challenged. “Alright… how do I stop it?”

“This particular spell can be undone in one of three ways. Several of these sigils will spell the name of a particular angel, whose power will be the source the spell draws upon. If he were to be killed, the sigils would become meaningless, and fail to activate.”

I nod, but say nothing. I’m guessing that Michael will become the source of this spell’s power. And we may not see eye to eye, but I don’t think I’ll be able to assassinate my own father.

“Another method could be the removal of those who would be effected by the spell. If there are no souls to steal within the limits of the circle, all the angels’ efforts will have been in vain.”

I don’t think that one will work either; there’s no way I’ll be able to evacuate fifteen million people on my own, not without drawing Michael’s attention. “What’s the third way?”

Queen Aileana draws a new symbol in the center of the circle, and draws a tiny circle around it. “Implant a new sigil that will override the meaning of the others, rendering the entire circle useless.”

Now
this
sounds like exactly the solution I needed. The queen steps aside so I can get a better look at the central sigil. I get the feeling it would be important to actually remember this one; unlike the others, it’s been rendered in great detail. I pull my phone out of my pocket, and snap a picture of it before standing up straight. “How do I draw this sigil? Is there some special method, or material I’m supposed to use?”

“You carry heavenly blood within you, Nephilim. When the time comes, you will know what to do.”

I touch my first two fingers to my lips, and bow to my savior. “Thank you, Your Grace. How can I ever repay you?”

“Leaving so soon? Do you not have more to ask of me?”

Now that she mentions it, I do have
one
more question concerning angels that I’ve wondered the answer to for a long time. But I’m sure that it isn’t an appropriate one to ask. “No, Your Grace. I wouldn’t dare-“

“It’s alright, Heather. Merely ask the question, and I will provide you with an answer. While neither condoning nor condemning how you peruse the information.”

“Alright… How would one go about killing an angel?”

Queen Aileana flashes me a smile, and her eyes glint dangerously in the waning sunlight. I get the feeling she’s been waiting to share this information for a long time. “Angels are notoriously difficult to kill… unless you have the right tools. Anything crafted by the hands of an angel may be used as a weapon against them, and may be used to strike a fatal blow.”

I think back on when Michael first gave me his sword. He of all people should know exactly how dangerous it would be if I ever cut him with it. So why offer it to me as a gift? Did he never expect me to learn the truth? Or was that his first attempt at trying to trust me? Even as I try to ponder his motivations, I mutter, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“You are most welcome, Heather.” Queen Aileana draws up her hood, and turns to leave the alcove. “But be warned… Mixing in the affairs of Heaven and Hell will only bring you pain. I would like you to promise me that you will use caution when the time comes to play your part.”