The Darkening Dream (44 page)

Sam chuckled. “An angel ought to fit right in.”

“You’ll be fine, too,” she said. “You’re some kind of royal guard.”

“We should go down there. If nothing else, we’ll need water.”

Looking down at the long winding trail into the rock-strewn valley, Sarah decided what she really wanted most right now was a pair of shoes.

Fifty-Three:

Scapegoat

Temple of Solomon, Thursday, November 20, 1913

W
HEN
P
ARRIS WOKE IT WAS
daylight, a weird orange daylight, and he was sprawled on the floor of a massive limestone courtyard surrounded by stone buildings. The aroma of roasting meat and incense filled the air.

He got to his knees — covered in dense brown fur like the rest of his legs, which terminated in a pair of cloven hooves. Thick patches of the fur covered his chest, too. He grasped about for the shitty doll and found it at his waist, securely knotted onto a long curl of hair.

Celestial realms all had their own peculiar rules, but this was certainly—

Men in purple and white vestments and high turbans poured from the surrounding buildings. Their babbling and milling revolved around a gentleman with an enormous white beard. He wore baggy linen pants and long overlapping tunics, purple and yellow, bordered with brass bells that jingled as he strode toward Parris.

A breastplate with a grid of twelve gemstones, each a different color, adorned the man’s chest. His head was crowned with a larger turban, not unlike a chef’s hat, fronted by a brass plaque engraved with Hebrew letters. Although far from infirm, he carried a long staff topped with an ivory finial in the shape of a pomegranate.

The vestments and insignia of a High Priest of Israel.

He knew it! Mr. Engelmann must have hidden the Horn inside the Celestial Temple of Solomon. Somehow the gateway had opened and they’d crossed over.

“What manner of demon are you?” The High Priest raised his pomegranate-tipped staff and pointed it at Parris. “Only the faithful shall pass unburned!”

A blinding white light radiated from the gilded fruit. When it faded, Parris felt like he’d spent an entire day roasting in the sun. Tendrils of smoke drifted up from his reddened torso.

He turned and fled.

Behind him, he heard the High Priest say, “Just as the Temple circumscribes the true nature of the works of the Lord, so too does it reveal the workings of the antagonist Baal.”

“So it is written. So let it be done!” a chorus of men exclaimed in unison.

Parris found running on a pair of hooves surprisingly natural, and he made better speed than he ever had on his clumsy human legs. Behind him, he heard the slap of bare feet on stone.

He sprinted down the wall of the enormous courtyard, past one ornate stone building after another. Dense black smoke rose from a huge rectangular altar in the center. Beyond that, he saw a gold portico flanked by a pair of columns.

A corner loomed before him, and a line of curious structures. Each was approximately six foot cubed and consisted of a bulbous bronze vessel on an elaborate wheeled stand of sculpted lions, oxen, and cherubim.

The cacophony of jingling bells was gaining on him.

Some instinct particular to his transformed nature bid him veer left. He obliged, and a hot white bolt of energy shot by to his right. The very air sizzled at its passing, and the hair on his nearer arm singed. The bolt struck the tiles and exploded, showering him with shards of stone.

Parris neared the row of strange bronze canisters and sensed the biting cold of the metal and the water within. He narrowly dodged another bolt of energy that instead struck a bronze tub. The metal glowed a dull red, and steam poured off in thick white clouds.

Parris leapt. The strength of his new body carried him fifteen feet or more into the air, right over the wall of bronze basins. Looking down, he observed himself reflected in the surface of the water tanks. Two large goat horns grew from his forehead.

That explained the cold reception.

He landed hard on the far side, his hooves jarring against the stone. Two additional bolts slammed into the bronze tubs between him and the priests. The impact tilted them on their stands and threatened to slosh him with boiling water.

Trapped in a narrow corridor between the tanks and the wall, he raced toward the only opening. Without supplies or materials he didn’t have a lot of occult options.

He was only halfway down the stretch when the High Priest and a number of others moved to block the entrance.

Parris skidded to a stop.

The High Priest stepped forward, holding his staff high. The air around it crackled with energy.

“Spawn of Azazel, surrender yourself, or face the Wrath of the Lord.”

Fifty-Four:

Burnt Offerings

Temple of Solomon, Thursday, November 20, 1913

A
LEX WOKE WITH HIS CHEEK
pressed against something soft. He opened his eyes and saw the something soft was Anne’s arm.

He sat up. She wore a garment of saffron wool, a yellow head scarf, and gold bracelets. Between the peculiar golden robe and her gleaming blond hair, she seemed to be glowing.

His movement woke her. She looked at him and her eyes narrowed.

“That’s some costume — though you’re a bit underdressed.”

Glancing down, he saw only a leather diaper and sandals. The leather thongs weren’t even sewn to the soles, but merely wrapped around and underneath. Tucked into his belt were a wooden sling and a small leather bag.

He looked back at Anne.

“You’re a bit overdressed,” he said.

She got to her knees and leaned toward him. He smelled jasmine. Did she normally wear perfume?

She giggled. “You’re wearing makeup, blue and black around the eyes.”

He studied their surroundings. They sat on a sandy stone surface at the edge of an acropolis. To the left was a gate in a massive limestone wall. Crowds of dusty people, many leading farm animals, drifted through the portal. But no sign of Sarah, Sam, the vampire, or the pastor.

“I think this is the temple,” he said. “The trap Mr. Engelmann set for the vampire.”

Anne stood up. “We need to find Sam and Sarah.”

They walked toward the gate. The air was hot and dry, like Rhodes in the summer, and his throat was already parched.

“I’ve never seen painted toes before,” she said.

He looked down at her bare feet, the toenails a dull reddish brown.

“And stop staring at my ankles.” She cuffed him on the arm. “What would Sarah say?”

He focused on himself. Along with his clothes, his keys and wallet were missing. His wolf’s head medallion was the only object to make the transition into this place.

Anne reached over and pinched him hard.

“Ouch!”

“Just to check we aren’t dreaming.”

Alex eavesdropped shamelessly as they merged with the crowd drifting through the stone gate. No one spoke English, Greek, or any of the other languages he knew, but he had no trouble understanding them. It seemed he knew an extra language here, although its name eluded him and he couldn’t call to mind any of its words. While they stood in line, a deafening series of horn blasts ripped the air. As best he could tell, the sound came from the walls above. After the final note faded, he asked a peasant about it. The man looked at him like he was a complete idiot.

“That’s the call to worship. Have you never offered sacrifice?”

Before he could respond, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Alex! What are you two doing here?”

It was Sarah — and Sam, dressed like one of the soldiers at the gate.

He stared. Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. Her exposed skin — and there was a lot of it — was turning pink.

Anne didn’t help matters. “That’s one tiny dress.”

“It came free with the wings,” Sarah said.

“Look, they flap!” Sam said.

“Can you fly?” Alex asked.

“I haven’t tried yet.” She raised one, then the other. So strange.

The milling crowds parted around them. People were backing away, heads lowered.

“They’re all staring at you,” Anne said. “I bet they think you’re an angel.”

“Then maybe we can cut the line,” Sam said.

At least a dozen guards stood on each side of the towering gates, dressed in bronze scale armor and carrying spears and short swords. As Alex and the others entered, several people dropped to one knee.

The gate was decorated with carvings of cherubim, palms, calyxes, oxen, pomegranates, and lions. Alex knew many ancient carvings had originally been painted but he hadn’t expected them to look so… garish. Still, they were impressive.

They passed under the gate’s vaulted arch and emerged into the courtyard beyond. Here there was a line of basins, a small trickle of water descending into each. Long lines had formed, and he could see people at the head of the queue rinsing their hands and feet.

Sarah grabbed his arm. “Alex, what’s that thing in your belt?”

“It’s a sling. I have rocks, too.”

“Let me see them,” she said.

He reached into a pouch on the belt and handed her five small stones. Now that he studied them, he saw each one had some incomprehensible word written on it.

“This is Hebrew,” she said. “One says Jesse ben Obed, this one says David, and this one is a name for God.”

“Does that make me ready to kill Goliath or something?”

“The young king uncrowned.” She performed a little curtsy, her wings furled behind her like a swan’s.

They skipped the basins. It seemed odd to wash your feet and then walk barefoot in this dusty square. But religious customs weren’t exactly the bastion of logical thinking.

“How are we going to get back to Salem?” Sam asked.

Sarah clutched the silver thing around her neck.

“We may be able to use this to contact my father, but I think God sent us here for a reason.”

The courtyard seemed to be filled with a mix of worshippers, guards, and priests. Alex watched with horror as pilgrims offered goats and rams to priests who slit the necks, splashed the blood on all four sides of an altar, then cut out chunks of flesh to grill above hot coals. Below, thick rivulets of red drained away into stone gutters.

“Dinner, anyone?” Sam said.

“Shut up!” Anne said.