The Lucifer Messiah (38 page)

Back and forth. Hatred and fear. Longing and lust. Loneliness and anger. It churned from one consciousness to the other, and then back again. A constant, maddening loop as both beings absorbed each other.

Those few who had braved the heat and the fire fell still, even as the walls fell around them.

Then, something altogether different happened.

While the hybrid monster writhed, arms and legs flailing in every tortured direction, one segment slowed. It was near the core, close to the heart of the gurgling, bubbling thing. The shimmering flesh drew still. A familiar human face fought to emerge from within.

Charybdis recognized him immediately. It was a vestige of Sean, reaching out from the middle of the beast. Drawn apart for a moment, clearly pained beyond measure, the face of the ageless wanderer fixed his gaze at the two warrior-lovers.

He could only manage a few words.

“Raise your swords! For your freedom! For our people! Kill me!”

Scylla winced. Charybdis fought back a tear. But they both understood. They did not waste a moment hefting their swords. In a single motion, as though possessed of one mind, the two lunged hard upon the beast. With terrible force they buried their blades to the hilt in the mutant's deformed chest.

The thing that had been the Morrigan and Lucifer staggered. A half-dozen mouths howled through pointed teeth. It threw back both Scylla and Charybdis, but it did not pursue them. Cries in two voices peeled from its many throats while something like blood streamed out of its middle.

Then it collapsed. Its movements slowed. Its shape devolved into a strange, shapeless mass.

And it died.

A surreal quiet fell over those who had remained to watch the death struggle, despite the crackle of flames, the
choking carbon-black fumes and the heat.

“Perhaps he was not Lucifer,” Scylla said, after a long moment regarding the combined mess that had been both their friend and their enemy.

“Perhaps not. And perhaps the prophecy was never more than words,” Charybdis answered, the shock beginning to overcome the changelings as the fires burned around them. “Very old words to which we paid too much attention. But Sean was real. Of that there can be no question.”

“Now he's gone too,” Scylla said.

“Yes. We have finally done what we swore to do. We are finally free.”

A ventilation tube, the metal heated to an orange glow, broke free from the ceiling a moment later. It came crashing down in the center of the floor, scattering ash and debris. Scylla took hold of Charybdis and yanked her out of the way.

Then the two vanished into the black smoke, seeking a way out into the world beyond.

A
LL THAT REMAINED WITHIN THE WAREHOUSE WAS THE
fire and the chaos. Those few who had braved the flames long enough to see the death of the Keeper now sought escape. In every direction they scattered, unable to see in front for more than a foot or two.

Many found death before freedom.

Abandoned by the faithful, the slobbering, blood-soaked husk of the Morrigan and Lucifer remained where it had fallen. The strange flesh bubbled and singed as the flames crept near. Smoke swept over it like a death shroud.

But within, some hint of life remained.

A shadow of a person, a mockery of human form, melted away from the broiling trickster corpse. It was Sean, or what remained of him. He crawled through the dense blanket of super-heated smoke, hardly able to see or to breathe. He moved like a serpent, his legs not fully formed behind him. He clawed himself forward, upward, and over to where he knew she was waiting.

Half the roof collapsed, too far away to see, but he could hear it. Pipes and girders and concrete crashing
down upon itself, sucked into a torrent of flame. The cries of his people echoed, those dying few who had not made it out, and would now meet their terrible end.

Finally, he managed to pull himself up the dais. Maggie was there. Like him, she rested very near death.

Sean took hold of her. He cradled her in his arms and brought her close to him. She was barely breathing. Her skin was pale and wet with perspiration. She hardly had the strength to shiver. Somehow, she managed to speak, though the words were soft, and hoarse.

“Are we going to die, Sean?”

Strangely, he smiled. “No, in fact you're going to be fine.”

“And you?” she replied.

“There is no me, remember?”

She coughed. Blood spilled out on to her chin.

“Still joking, even as we …” She wasn't able to bring the last breath to her lips. He answered anyway.

“In a way, I'll always be with you. Now don't speak, this might hurt a little. But in a few minutes, you won't feel a thing. I promise.”

With a touch as delicate as a child's, he settled his hands on her bare skin. “You know I always loved you,” Sean said, placing his hand on her cheek as if to kiss her.

But he didn't.

He gently moved his other hand across her bare chest, just over her heart. The beats came slowly, with a stunted, irregular rhythm. Her breathing was labored, strained by the noxious smoke and the wound in her side. Sean
closed his eyes. He let the touch of his bare hands rest softly against her.

He inhaled, just a little at a time, while she did. When he exhaled, he felt what she felt. He knew her pain as though it were his own. His heartbeat slowed as well. Within moments the rhythm of it matched Maggie's in perfect sync.

She opened her eyes again. And she smiled too.

Sean laughed, despite the pain. At last, he had found what he came back for; the only thing he had ever really wanted.

W
HAT REMAINED OF THE ROOF OF THE LARGEST WARE
house on the Pier 33 lot caved in just as the first truck from Engine Company Number 17 arrived. The flames were reaching up high above the waterfront by then, unleashed from within the center of the inferno. The black sky over the Hudson glowed a violent color, despite the hour.

Across the vacant lot, Vince huddled on an overturned dinghy. Argus had vanished from sight moments after they'd escaped. Now the strange figure was nowhere to be found. Vince was shivering as he watched the flames tear apart the old storehouse. He was shaking not just from the cold, but from anger too. Tears clouded his sight, rolling down his soot-stained face.

Sirens blared, from behind, from the side, from nearly every direction. A ladder truck raced on to the scene. Firefighters scrambled from the back, hauling hoses and axes. There were still people, if you could describe them that way, streaming out from the smoke. Some were scampering for cover. Some were leaping into the river.

But he didn't care about any of it. Sean had lied to him
one last time. Things weren't going to be alright. Maggie was still inside. Without her, things would never be right again.

He was about to scream. To let loose his sadness and his rage. But when he wiped his eyes, he saw something that stopped his heart cold.

A woman was walking toward him. Not fast. Not slow. She was just walking, as though there were no fire, and no sirens. It was as though there were only the two of them.

At first she was just a silhouette, a black figure against the sea of fire. When she neared, though, there was no doubt in Vince's mind.

It was Maggie.

He dropped the blanket from his shoulders. He ran toward her and threw his arms around her. Though her hair stank of smoke and her clothes were covered in black dirt, she was unblemished. There was no hint of the wound that had put her so close to death only minutes before.

After everything he'd seen, it hardly took a moment to suspend whatever disbelief still lingered in his mind.

They held each other for a long time before Vince finally asked a one-word question.

“Sean?”

“He's gone,” she answered.

“Gone? How? He said we'd …”

“We'd all get what we want,” she interrupted.

Vince looked dumbfounded. That was always how he looked when he got emotional.

“I don't understand,” he said.

“Don't you see? This is what we both wanted. What
we all wanted,” she answered, moving into his arms again, and laying her dry lips against his.

It wasn't the most passionate kiss. But it said as much as either one needed to say.

F
REEDOM HAD COME TO THE
C
HILDREN OF
N
ESTOR,
for better or for worse. Leaderless, those who survived the tumult dispersed from that place in New York, and ventured out into the world that they had feared for so many years. They remained among us, wandering, watching, seeking to live as Lucifer had told them.

But still they waited. Waited for that day when they could finally emerge from their secrecy. The day when humanity would come to know them again.

T
HIS WAS TO BE A BOOK ABOUT IDENTITIES.
W
E ALL
have several. There are the ones we show to the world and the ones we hide. The ones we take on out of necessity, and the ones we allow only a few people to see.

Which one is our “real” self, or are they all just guises?

What if you had no identity, if you could be anyone in the world that you wanted to be? Would it be a blessing, or a curse?

Maybe there are no answers to these questions.

What Sean always wanted was an identity. He doesn't have one of his own. He spends most of the book stealing other people's, and in the end he just wants to belong somewhere. He wants a home, he wants to love and be loved.

Does Sean become one with Maggie? I think so. But is that really what he always wanted?

Only time will tell. When I know the answer to that, I'll have another story to tell.

W
atch your step, Jack. Those ancient builders set traps all over the place.” “Frank, what do you think we'll really find?”

“I'm not sure.

“Sure you are. What does it say? Tell me what the crystal says.”

“If you must know, it says treasure, treasure of Thoth.”

“What does it mean?”

“You idiot! What do you think it means? Gold, lots of gold, mummies, statues, like that.”

Sand crunched beneath their feet as they inched along a passage so black it ate the light, oblivious to the small mounds nesting here and there. Sweat beaded. Hearts
pounded. It seemed the air was thin. Their flashlights lighted, in bouncing rings, a featureless corridor hammered out of stone thousands of years ago. A dank musty odor reached into their nostrils, signaling the absence of life for a very long time.

“Oh, Jesus, Frank!” Jack stumbled, dropping his light.

“God damn it, Jack, watch it.”

Jack picked up his light and shined it. “What the hell is that?”

“A figure carved in the wall. Let's go.”

“Well, shit. It scared the piss out of me. What is it for?”

“You wouldn't understand.”

“You don't have to talk to me like that, Frank. I can understand if you give me a chance.”

“I don't know why I brought you along.”

“I know. Because you need me, Frank. You need me to help you, that's why.” Jack's feelings were hurt. He was a slow person and knew little about archeology, but he would do anything for Frank, even when he talked bad to him.

“Jack, what is that?”

“What?”

“That!” Frank shot his light at chunks of broken pottery on the floor. “You broke it. Damn you, Jack, you broke it.”

“I didn't. I stumbled right here. I didn't touch that.”

“Who did?”

“I don't know, I …”

“There's just you and me in here, Jack.”

“Yeah, but I thought I saw …”

“Don't give me any shit, Jack. I told you this place was booby trapped.”

“Yeah, you told me. But, I didn't do it, honest.”

“There! Shine your light over there.”

“Frank, it's just some sand trickling …”

“SHUT UP, damn it! Do you hear that?”

“Yeah, I hear it. It's the dirt under your boots.”

“I'm not moving, Jack.”

“Frank? What is it?”

Stone ground against stone. The earth shook. Walls trembled. In a gush, sand poured from slots in the wall. Dust swallowed the air.

“I can't breathe.” Jack fumbled his light. He clutched his nose, his mouth.

“Let's get the fuck out-a-here!” Frank screamed.

“What about the treasure?”

“We can always come back for the treasure. Now go, damn it!”

“I can't see, Frank!”

“God damn it, this way!”

Jack's arms flung in the darkness. He grabbed Frank's shirt.

“Let go! Follow the goddamn wall!”

“I don't wanna die, Frank. I can't see.”

“Use your fuckin' light.”

“It's dead, Frank. I dropped it.”