The Revelation of Gabriel Adam (12 page)

If Micah was lying or crazy, he couldn’t tell, but she sounded rational. Two people suffering the same nightmare amounted to something more than coincidence, no matter how much his mind wanted to deny it. In a strange way, Gabe was glad someone else knew what he was going through. “They’re horrible, aren’t they? The visions?”

“Yes. I’m having some difficulty with them. I can’t predict when they’ll come or why. And the violence . . .”

“I know. Did they just start for you as well? On New Year’s Eve?” Gabe asked.

She nodded.

“That’s really weird. So they just shipped you in, too, after they started?”

“No. I’ve been in Durham for a while. Not long after I was born, I was sent to live under the care of Carlyle when my parents died. We moved around the United Kingdom and Ireland for several years before ending up here. He’s sort of been the only parent I’ve known. Once he felt I was old enough to understand, he told me everything. But when the visions hit, so did the reality, I guess. I’m only beginning to understand. It can be a lot to digest.”

Gabe looked out onto the city, wishing he could get lost in it and disappear. “At least he trusted you enough to tell you.”

“I know. It was unfair, but your father did it with your best interest in mind. The point is, you know now. You don’t have to accept everything at once. It will come in due time. Preparation, however, is imperative. Something is happening out of turn that none of us understand. We don’t have the luxury of waiting until you’ve been convinced of the truth to start readying ourselves for what’s to come. For now, just cooperate. Play along, if that’s the way you see it. Eventually, I know you’ll come around. In the meantime, you’ve been enrolled, like me, into Durham University. More specifically, Castle College. We’ll be under the tutelage of Professor Carlyle in the Theology and Divinity Program, which will, of course, be your major.”

“Sounds like I don’t have much choice in the matter.”

“You do. There’s free will in every choice we make. But you’d do well to start listening to Carlyle. His sole purpose for being on Earth is to help guide you and me through these times. He’s not all piss and vinegar—he can be a laugh. Well, not often, but you know.

“Look, it isn’t all that bad,” Micah continued. “You’ll attend class here as a freshman with your core studies first. After class, we’ll do extracurricular studies with Carlyle. Think of it as Archangel 101. The important thing is to act like a regular student. Fit in, as it were. Be inconspicuous, and an inconspicuous student is one that acts like the rest of them.”

“So, pretend nothing’s happened. Do stuff like homework and hang out at the student pub,” Gabe said.

“Exactly or participate in sport, if you can find the time. Football is quite popular. Sorry,
soccer
as you Yanks call it. Cricket and rugby as well, though you look a little fragile for a scrum. Durham isn’t New York or London by any means, but life is good here. Besides, you’re the only other, you know—one of us—I’ve met. I was beginning to think I was the only one.”

Micah smiled at him, and he began to feel better about being here.

“Wait. I thought there were others on the way,” Gabe said.

Her brow furrowed. “Unfortunately, it seems they are running quite late.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Septis stood behind the yellow partitioning tape that separated the sidewalk from the cathedral grounds and watched the scurry of activity in the still-smoking ruins. Firefighters dug through ash and rubble, seeking burning embers to extinguish with their crude devices.

He felt cheated, uncertain as to how the dispatched boy had not been Gabriel, when there had been so little doubt inside the church. Now, instead of glory, the destroyed house of God served only as a reminder of his failure. A hollow feeling festered inside, a fear of what his prey’s escape might mean.

If Gabriel could not be found, if somehow he were to unite with the remaining three archangels, then Septis would have much to answer for. While the boy still lived, the Hellgate remained closed. To punish his mistake, Mastema would send another by exploiting the splintered pathway between the dimensions, opened by the humans’ negligent stewardship of this realm. Septis knew that little time remained before his life would become forfeit.

He could feel traces of Fortitudo Dei left in the city, the tiny echoes made by the growing power of the boy’s abilities. They were fresh and had been stronger here than in any other place. Yet the boy still lived.

Septis questioned his own capabilities, mainly his ability to track this target. He and Gabriel were connected, each possessing power that mirrored the other’s, making Gabriel the only child that Septis could find before the archangels reached their full potential as defenders of this realm. Where Fortitudo Dei brought strength to those around him, emboldening their own power, Septis could weaken his enemies by feeding off their fear and hate, transforming it into physical shadow.

Earth was ripe with such polluted thought. The boy’s power had shined like a beacon among it, leading Septis to New York. To the cathedral.

But the boy had slipped from his grasp by the time Septis arrived. In his bloodlust, his raw animalistic rage, he had been careless. The thrill of taking his enemy’s life had overpowered him in his greed to be triumphant in the eyes of Mastema. Now their cause lay in jeopardy.

As he watched work continue on the remains of the cathedral, Septis called to his shadows. Unnoticed by the passing humans, they flowed inside his suit and down his legs to his shined shoes, spilling over them and seeping into the ground. Through the dark smoke, he could feel the earth around him.

The shadows moved in the energies of the realm that ran through the world like a connected stream of consciousness, a network made by the interactions of all its living inhabitants. They rode its currents, searching for the boy’s light amongst so much darkness. Then he felt it—a place nearby, saturated in the essence of Fortitudo Dei.

Septis turned from the cathedral and moved quickly through the city until, after some time, he came to a small café swarming with the human pests.

He entered, the doorbell chiming as it opened. Gabriel had been here and often. Remnants of his power lingered inside the building like a stench. One tall table in particular reeked more than any other. Septis sat in its high leather chair and surveyed the shop. The essence of Fortitudo Dei had begun to spoil from time. The boy was not here.

“Hello,” a blonde waitress said. “I’m Coren. Can I get you anything?”

Septis turned to her and smiled. “Thank you, no. But perhaps you can help me. I am looking for a friend who may have frequented your café. He’s approximately your age and goes by the name of Gabriel. I believe he would be a regular, someone you or one of your coworkers might recognize.”

Coren looked at his suit and glossy dress shoes. She rolled her eyes, her smile fading into pursed lips. “Another detective?”

Septis nodded. “Detective Smith.”

“I guessed. You know, a couple of you guys came by this morning when we were in our morning slam. The lunch rush isn’t much of an improvement on your timing. I’ll tell you the same thing I told them—I haven’t seen Gabe since his seizure here several days ago.” She stopped talking, as if recalling the memory. “It was horrible. If he’s not at the hospital, he’s with his father, I would think.”

“We thought as much.” Septis stood and moved to the door. “I apologize for being redundant, but I have not yet spoken with the other detectives. Do you have a description of the boy’s parent?”

“Well, Father Joseph Adam came in here only once. Thin guy, fifty-something. Black hair, British.”

“British?” Septis asked.

“That’s right. Oh, and he was trying to help Gabe get his application accepted at NYU, if that helps. Hey, shouldn’t you be writing this down? You know, a little organization might help keep you guys from stumbling into each other’s investigations.” Coren looked at him, her gaze falling to the black jacket and overcoat closed around his chest. A hint of crimson trickled through the fabric of his white shirt. “Are you bleeding, Detective?”

Septis pulled his coat tight and stormed out of the café.

Joseph Adam
, he thought,
where are you?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Classes started seven days after Gabe learned of his secret, and for the most part, he had been separated from his father and Carlyle by a busy schedule. To his dismay, he had yet to cross paths with Micah. Her classes were more advanced, with the benefit of starting a semester early.

Gabe relished getting stuck into the college life, having done all the things necessary to accomplish that transition from a regular seventeen-year-old boy to an actual university student. Books and school supplies were bought. He even attended a special orientation for those entering the semester late where he was given a list of courses assigned for his curriculum.

Life felt normal.

Much of the undergraduate module for a theology major consisted of familiar subjects. Being force-fed Bible studies for so many years turned out to be useful after all, though he’d rather eat one of his textbooks than admit it to his father.

Even with that advantage, classes were still tough. He left his final course for the day and walked back to his dorm room, feeling the heft of his new backpack pull against his neck and shoulders. Homework was already piling up, and with his free time dwindling, Gabe wondered how any college student had time to waste in a student pub.

One paper was due within the week, and several teachers were using the Socratic Method, a particularly cruel teaching technique that, in an earlier class, had ended with some poor, unprepared girl standing in front of the class as their professor peppered her with questions for which she had no answers. Gabe could barely watch the ten-minute barrage as the professor’s point was made—
miss an assignment and risk the same fate
.

Gabe decided the classes weren’t necessarily harder than in high school, but the focus on the work was way more intense. Much, however, remained the same from New York. Each class still ended with a stampede toward the door.

Back at the dorm, Gabe discovered a note on his door. He pulled it off and opened the envelope.
Come to the Vault Room. 5 p.m. Don’t be late. Dad.

“So much for normal.”

Outside the Norman Gallery, Micah paced in the snow, biting her nails. Her brow was scrunched together, fixed in a worrisome expression as if she’d just received bad marks on a test. Gabe approached and noticed a police constable in the doorway to the building, checking people’s identification before they entered.

That’s new
, Gabe thought.

Micah’s eyes went wide as they met his, and she rushed to meet him. “Bad things, Gabe. Bad things,” she said and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him close.

“Misplace your halo?”

“Don’t be an ass,” she snipped. “Someone tried to break into the vault.”

“What? Did they get in?”

“No, but that’s not the problem.” She motioned to the officer rifling through some indignant student’s backpack. “There’s an investigation. The curator is involved, and he and Carlyle don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

Gabe followed Micah through the gallery and down the stairs to the vault’s office. Other than the unusual amount of strangers inside the small space, everything seemed in order.

“Figured it might look a little different,” Gabe said. “Did they break in and clean the place?”

“Nobody physically tried to break in. It was a hacker trying to disable the security system,” Micah said.

Gabe noticed a technician working on the LCD screen next to the vault door, explaining something to his father as he worked. The screen had been removed and dangled loose to the side, making way for wires connected to the technician’s laptop.

“For the third time, you bloody Cyclops,” Carlyle shouted, “what’s inside the vault is none of your concern.”

The recipient of Carlyle’s verbal assault didn’t flinch. Instead, he removed a pocket watch from his coat and placed it on top of the pocket-sized notebook he held. His glass eye remained fixed and as expressionless as his long face while regarding the time. The intended impression was clear—he was an important man, and this interaction was a needless bother.