Tears of Blood (8 page)

"My decision is made," Mr. Smith’s rage expressed
itself as icy control. "Her safety is key to our survival. Yours
isn’t. You will leave her alone from this day forward. If I hear
you’ve so much as said hello to her, you’re done with us."

Josiah closed his eyes and swallowed. "Yes, sir," he said
softly, but Mr. Smith saw the flash of rebellious stubbornness in those
unsettling green orbs. This wasn’t over, and they both knew it.

***

Josiah peeked out into the hallway. It was clear. Thank God. Mr. Smith
was gone. He didn’t want to see the old bastard ever again. He tiptoed
down to the right. Something tickled his cheek and he swiped his sleeve over
it. Damn it, he wasn’t going to cry. Another tear replaced the first one
instantly. Then another. Josiah drew in shaky, unsettled breaths as he made his
way to the naphil dormitory. He needed his father. He threw open the door.
Empty. Josiah closed his eyes. He’d forgotten. All the nephilim had been
sent out on a huge mission. A nest of succubae in Los Angeles. His father was
gone. Humiliated, heartbroken, and despairing, he’d been left completely
alone.

Part III

Chapter 13

Las Vegas 1999

The Assassin crept from shadow to
shadow, not as invisible as the nephilim, but as invisible as a highly trained
human could be. The uniform which concealed the identity of the small figure
crouched behind the abandoned blue sedan was designed to resemble the ninjas of
bygone centuries, but it was white, not black. Only a pair of brown eyes showed
above the face mask.

The figure crept out from behind the
car in hot pursuit of the apparent heat shimmer which signified a half-angel
was on the hunt.

It was not, perhaps, necessary for
The Assassin to hide. In this strange town, a person dressed in a white ninja
costume would attract very little attention. It would simply be assumed to be
part of a stage show or publicity stunt.

Here in the desert, any shimmering
lights on the city streets were dismissed as tricks of the heat, or of the neon
lights which altered the environment at all hours.

The Assassin was fairly sure which
naphil was under surveillance tonight. The big black half-angel Lucien had been
sent to roust out a nest of succubae hidden inside a brothel which masqueraded
as a strip club.

Intelligence suggested at least five
demonesses were hiding behind that neon sign. It would be a lot for the naphil
to handle alone, and it had been decided that backup was needed. He would not
be thankful, but the command had been unequivocal.

Arriving at the club, The Assassin
slipped through the door, unnoticed by a burly bouncer with blond hair and
bulging muscles. IT seemed he had been selected more for show than intelligence
or skill.

Inside the dim interior, it was easier
to track the shimmer past the dance floors where three women and a succubus
were twisting, half-naked, around poles embedded in the floor and ceiling. They
progressed through a beaded curtain, to a back room where men sat on chairs
while naked girls squirmed and twisted on their laps. In the corner, one
overweight succubus soaked in the lust. So immersed was she in the spectacle of
the lap dancers that she did not recognize the angelic being in front of her
until it was too late.

The lights dimmed as the sword,
cleverly concealed in the fluorescent lighting, thrust into her bloated belly.
A shriek, perceived by mortals – including The Assassin – as the
squeal of brakes, pierced the night.

And then, without pausing, the
naphil moved on, past a doorway emblazoned with a sign reading "employees
only." The Assassin sneaked in just as the door swung shut. Inside were
five beds. In three of them, succubae were feeding on the lust of men with whom
they were copulating. These demonesses were more aware than their friend, and
they quickly abandoned their prey, converging on three sides of the glimmering
creature, claws and fangs extended.

The naphil materialized quickly. As
The Assassin had suspected, it was Lucien. His sword flashed, but the wary,
serpentine women dodged his parries, ducking in to slash at him while his
attention was diverted. It was quickly becoming obvious he would need help.

On the bed, the men lay all but
dead, drained of their will. Lucien and The Assassin had been too late to save
them... well almost.

Pulling a short knife from the belt
of the costume, The Assassin quickly put the three drones out of their misery
with a quick slash across the throat, then approached the battle.

The angel was tiring, and only one
succubus was bleeding. As two engaged him from before, one sneaked in behind,
attempting to hamstring him.

The Assassin flew into action,
sliding across the polished wood floor on soft-soled shoes and thrusting the
dagger into the demon woman’s spine.

She shrieked as she died, bursting
into golden dust, and the other two stopped dead, wondering what had happened.

That pause was all Lucien needed to
finish them both.

He then turned towards the small
figure before him, his eyes narrowed. "Why are you here, Assassin?"

"I never know the reason,
Naphil. I go where I am sent, and do what I can to help."

"I do not need help from a
human."

The Assassin did not point out that
he was clearly not correct, at least not this time. Enraging a semi-divine
being was not a healthy thing to do.  "I’ll just go then. Good
luck, sir."

The naphil nodded.  The
Assassin drew arms around and muttered the words which would cause relocation.

Eyes closed against the dizzying
sensation of such rapid movement,The Assassin shifted. The artificial light of
the city gave way to the burning red of the desert. At the edge of the Mojave,
a silver travel trailer baked in the sun.

A small, red-haired woman with green
eyes climbed down the stairs, a welcoming smile on her face.

"Oh, there you are, my
dear." She wrapped her arms around the figure, "What news?"

"I’ve been with your
naphil. He’s safe as of two minutes ago."

"Oh, thank the Creator. And my
son?"

"I saw him a week ago.
He’s angry, conflicted, but well enough."

"And you, little one?"

"Nothing to signify. Do you
have anything for us, Sarahi?"

"Oh yes, so much. Come inside.
I’ll make you some iced tea, and we’ll talk. But take off that
mask, love. It’s much too hot for so heavy a covering."

Nodding, The Assassin opened the
mask and lowered the hood before following the turncoat succubus into the
trailer.

***

Josiah aimed a shotgun and fired.
Finally he was tall and muscular enough to take the recoil without reacting.
His peers had stopped growing years ago, and he’d finally caught up with
them. The shot spread wide, just to the right of the bull’s-eye, fanning
out. If that had been a succubus, she’d be dead. Though he had yet to see
it himself, the older men said they dissolved in golden dust. He couldn’t
wait to experience that someday. In a way, he was grateful to the succubae.
Because he was allowed to hate them, it took the pressure off everyone else he
hated. Josiah pumped the shotgun and fired again, this time imagining Mr.
Smith’s head on top of the target. Direct hit. Damned old man. He closed
his eyes against a sudden sting. Annie. Sweet Annie. Now forbidden. He’d
loved her so much. It had not been his intention, in that field, to seduce her.
He only had wanted a kiss. But her touch, for the first time, set him on fire
in ways he couldn’t explain, and he could remember, vaguely, willing her
to submit. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Only to be as close to her as
possible. He opened his eyes and turned to look at the window on the far side
of the compound. The elder council’s meeting hall. She was there. He
could see her mass of milk chocolate curls bouncing as she pulled a musty tome
down from the shelf. As she stretched, her slender shape strained her loose
blouse. A sizzle of heat shot through his loins. Try though he might, he could
not abandon his love for Annie. He desired her beyond sense, beyond reason.
Someday, somehow, he would have her. But first he had to prove himself. He
returned his attention to the shot-riddled target. Behind, the trees were in
the full bloom of summer. Hot sun beat down on his head, but still, despite it
all, a cool breeze wafted, bringing the scent of pine over the compound.
Compensate
for the wind. Steady yourself. Calm. Slow breathing and heartbeat. Focus
.
Josiah’s finger squeezed on the trigger.
That’s for you again,
Mr. Smith, with your damned self-righteous bullshit.
BANG!
And for you,
Father. Never listen. You think you know it all
. BANG!
And for you,
Mother, whoever you are
. His finger faltered. A rosy haze seemed for a
moment to be dancing on the breeze.
Peter.
BANG!

***

Through the window, Annie heard the
target practice. She hurried over, the book forgotten in her hand. Watching
Josiah handle that weapon with such skill was far more interesting than
prophecies of the incubus. So she was training to be a teacher, later a leader of
the elder council. For now she was a young woman. She was more interested in
boys than books. And this boy in particular. His bicep bulged as he hefted the
shotgun, and several shots exploded from the muzzle in rapid succession.
Tattered remnants of paper flapped in the breeze. He had really beaten the hell
out of the target. She wondered what he pictured when he shot the gun. All the
grand adventures he’d be having once he passed his qualification exams,
no doubt.

She wished the day would never come.
It was excruciating watching him work, noting a little bead of sweat which
rolled down the back of his neck. She smiled. Then her smile faded. Every
night, some mad voice in her head urged her to creep down the hall to his
bedroom and climb into bed with him, to finish what they’d started in the
meadow. She blushed just thinking about it. Other boys had asked her to sit
with them at lunch, or to walk with them in the courtyard in the evening.
She’d turned them all down. She didn’t foresee changing that in the
near future.

A clashing sound drew her attention
to the far side of the courtyard, where two young men were sparring with
blunted daggers. Back before she’d been forbidden
any
contact with
Josiah or with weapons, she’d been one of the best at that. In fact, the
excuse for denying her access to the practice field was that her ability
discouraged the boys. Sigh. While she wanted to remain part of the clerical
order, and do what she could in the battle they all knew was coming, she had to
admit, this was a very old-fashioned society.

***

The black fire which barely
illuminated the interior of the hive where Lilith resided also put out little
heat. Naked demonesses shivered in the corners of the room, their emerald eyes
gleaming like lamps as they converted the dim flame into useful illumination.
On the bed, the long, pale body of the demon queen writhed. A low moan echoed
from her full lips. Then she let out a long hiss. Beside her a drone screamed,
and then his scream was cut off as her long talons crushed his throat.

"Mother," a succubus who
stood a safe distance from the range of those deadly claws said,
"it’s time."

"I know that, idiot,"
the demon snarled. "I’ve done this thousands of times." She
bore down, her fangs grinding together. One long tooth speared her lower lip
and black blood dripped down her chin.

From the foot of the bed, a
long-haired woman reached out and scooped up the tiny creature who had just
emerged from Lilith’s body.

"Hello, sister," she
whispered to the infant, a tiny girl with a wisp of golden hair and glowing
green eyes. "Welcome." She wiped blood from the baby’s face
and body with a towel and then wrapped the little one in a blanket.

"Well?" Lilith snarled.

"Another fine daughter,"
the succubus said hesitantly. Lilith howled in rage and rose to her knees,
swiping claws in the direction of her two daughters. The succubus turned to the
side, protecting the baby and receiving four deep gouges in her arm. Blood
spurted from the wound and the succubus' teeth set, but she did not cry out.

"Another girl?! Always another
girl," she hissed in disgust. "For centuries I have tried for a
son. Why can I not have one? When will the promised incubus arrive?"

"Mother?" A sly voice
emerged from the shadows, followed by a golden-haired demoness with a devious
expression.

"Yes, Jezebel?" Lilith
addressed her most loyal and dangerous daughter.

"Suppose we have misunderstood
some part of the prophecy?"

"What do you mean?" When
Jezebel spoke, Lilith always listened. That Salome knew. She cuddled her
newborn sister to her chest and slipped from the end of the bed, withdrawing to
a hidden alcove where she could eavesdrop without being seen.

"Just this," Jezebel
replied. "I have seen something which gives me deep suspicion. I went to
visit one of the sisters some time ago, and she was holding a child. She said
she was seducing his father. But now I wonder. Why would that have been
necessary? We succubae have powers and need no such petty tricks."

"His?" The demon
queen’s voice was low and dangerous.

"Yes. A baby boy with the most
striking green eyes, and then..."