The Seal of Solomon (30 page)

Then he made the sign again in the air.

“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”
He placed his hands on my shoulders. “Go now, Alfred. And may God go with you.”

I had trouble forming the words, my teeth—the teeth I still had left in my head—were chattering so much. “I'd rather you did.”

“I have come as far as I can go.”

“Me too,” I said. “But I've got to go farther. I've reached the end of hope too, Samuel, but I still gotta go farther because stopping here means I really am dead. I've been hugged by demons, but I've been hugged by angels, too, and that's why I'm going on. You can stay—but I'm going on.”

I tried to think of something else to say, like the perfect words existed that would change his mind and, if I could only think of them, he would come.

There wasn't anything he could do if he went, but at least I wouldn't be alone. More terrifying than the thought of facing them was the thought of facing them alone.

I punched the button and my door opened. I stepped out and pulled the black sword from behind the seat. I slipped it between my belt and pants.

“Will you wait for me at least?” I asked. He didn't say anything.

“Good-bye, Samuel,” I said.

I stepped away from the car, the door rotated with a soft whine, and the sound of it snapping closed seemed very loud.

I walked toward the circle of light, my breath swirling around my head in the frigid air, and for some reason I felt twenty pounds heavier, as if they had done something to mess with gravity. Above me lightning flickered silently behind the opaque screen of fog, sometimes bright enough to cast a shadow of my shuffling self onto the frozen pavement that glistened with ice particles. I could barely lift my feet by that point.

I didn't look back. I didn't have the strength to turn my head. My mouth hung open a little as I gasped for air. The odor rising from my body was incredible. It made my eyes water. I had thought it was the smell of rotting fruit, but I knew now it was the stench of death.

Through my tears I saw glimmering shapes gathered around a huge hole in the earth, a black pit that the light above seemed to flow into, like water being sucked down a drain.

I had reached the devil's door.

55

My mind started to cloud with terror, that same paralyzing fear that I felt in the desert, beneath the tarp with Ashley, only this time there was no hand to grasp. I could barely move my legs by this point and every breath hurt.

“Saint Michael protect me,” I blubbered around my broken teeth. My voice sounded muffled in my own ears. “Saint Michael protect . . .”

One of the glowing shapes standing before the pit moved forward, its crown shooting dazzling beams of blue and red and green light. I stopped as it approached, mostly because I didn't have another step in me.

On thy knees, carcass.

I went down with a whimpering sob at the feet of King Paimon. My chin fell to my chest. It was over. What was I thinking? I couldn't win against these things. Samuel was right. It was madness. Paimon would never believe the lie I was about to tell. That was the really weird thing about evil. Lying to God was better than lying to the devil: God will forgive you.

Where is the Seal?

“I don't have it.”

I felt pressure like a massive fist closing around me, squeezing, and the image of Agent Bert blowing apart in the desert flashed through my mind.

“But I know where it is!” I choked out, and the pressure eased. “I—I'll take you to it, O Mighty King.”

Nothing happened for a few seconds. Then something lifted me up until my feet dangled a few inches above the ground, and I hung there like a slab of meat on a hook.

A massive gray shape filled my field of vision, dominated by a slathering mouth and sharp teeth the size of the CCR parked in the fog-tunnel behind me. Its body was segmented like a worm's and it had no feet, but it did have huge, leathery wings folded against its twenty-five-foot body.

“I was going to trick you, but now I know I can't trick you. I'll take you to it,” I sobbed. “I left it in Knoxville, and I'll take you to it . . .”

All I wanted to do at that moment was to please him, to give him what he wanted.

Then, quicker than I could take my next breath, I was on the monster's back, behind the towering form of Paimon, and we were rocketing skyward.

The concentric rings of sixteen million fiery riders broke apart as we approached, and then I couldn't see anything because we were passing through the clouds. Wind roared in my ears and red flashed behind my eyelids as the lightning snapped and danced all around us. Then my eardrums started to pop and a stabbing pain shot through my chest as the air grew thinner.

After a few seconds, I forced myself to open my eyes and, looking down, saw we had passed through the clouds. Above us were a billion stars and a bright moon that illuminated the ridges and little valleys of the clouds below, an unbroken sheet of fluffy gray carpet that stretched for as far as the eye could see.

And still the demon climbed, until black spots swam before my eyes. Breathing became almost impossible and my clothes froze against my skin. I didn't know if we were high enough yet, but I willed myself to hold on for a few seconds more—it would have to level off soon or risk killing me before we could reach the Seal. Everything rested on that—the assumption that it cared if I lived or died.

We leveled off. I closed my eyes again and saw the little kids playing soccer on the frozen field. I could hear them laughing and calling to one another as the ball slid and skittered over the ice. I needed to let go. And
they
needed me to let go.

“Let go, Kropp,” I whispered. “
Let go.
”

And that's exactly what I did.

29,035 FEET

I slid off Paimon's back, and fell faceup, my back to the clouds below, so I saw the demon rider swoop around in a wide arc, receding as I dropped. I pulled the black sword from my belt, brought the blade against my chest, wrapped my left hand around the icy metal, squeezing tight, the tip of the sword just below my chin, and waited for the demon to descend upon me.

Saint Michael
.
Protect
.

The screaming wind rocked me from side to side, threatening to flip me into a helpless, tumbling spin. It was like trying to stay afloat in the ocean during a hurricane. If I went into a spin, I wouldn't see the beast coming, and I had to see it coming. And it had to reach me before I hit the clouds. Once inside the thunderheads, I wouldn't be able to see well enough to pull my next move.

The monster's bulk was as black as the space between the stars, and it blotted them out as it rocketed toward me.

I waited until I could see Paimon's eyes shining with malevolent light as it stretched out its hand toward me, and then I yanked the blade downward. The sharp edge sliced into the palm of my left hand, as if my fist were a scabbard; and the howling wind tugged at the bloody sword when it came free of my hand.

I felt a blast of heat, and the demon was on me, leaning over the back of the flying worm, the light from its crown scorching my eyes. I jabbed my left arm into the air, like an offering. It grabbed me by the wrist and stopped my fall.

I could see it shining on its index finger about a foot above my uplifted face: the Great Seal of Solomon.

Our eyes met, mine and the demon king's, and everything I held inside poured out of me, like the light being sucked into the nothingness of the devil's door, and it knew my mind; it knew what I planned to do.

Saint Michael.

Protect.

I swung the sword over my head and smashed the bloody blade against its wrist.

There was an explosion of white light, the hand wearing the Seal broke free of the body, and I was falling again.

18,987 FEET

I hit the clouds at five hundred miles per hour, curling my body around the demon's hand, clutching it against my stomach as the sharp nails clawed into my wrist, trying to tear open my veins because, like Op Nine had said, that which has never lived cannot be killed.

I let go of the sword. I needed both hands now to get the ring. Wind buffeted me from all sides, slowing my rate of descent, and every hair left on my body stood on end as lightning crackled and popped around me. The sound was deafening, wind and thunder and the blood roaring in my ears.

I lost my grip on Paimon, and it scrambled up my body like a huge spider. Fingers colder than ice wrapped themselves around my throat, squeezing until black stars bloomed and multiplied before my eyes. My gut heaved and my shoulders jerked as I fought to breathe.

I hooked two fingers in the juncture between the thumb and forefinger and yanked with every bit of strength I had left. The hand tore free, and I felt the nails rake long gashes in my neck.

My right arm was shaking uncontrollably with fatigue as I grabbed the ring, pushing the twisting hand against my stomach with my left forearm, holding it still for the split second I needed—and a split second was all I needed—to rip the Great Seal off the finger.

I flung my left arm away from my body and the demon's hand shot straight up, disappearing into the churning mass of the thunderhead.

9,456 FEET

I had reached the heart of the storm. Updrafts flipped and spun me, slowing my descent slightly, as rain and quarter-sized hail pelted me from every direction.

I pushed the ring onto my left index finger.

Then I howled, competing against the howling wind, wondering if it mattered if the demon king could hear me, “I do conjure thee, O thou Spirit Paimon, by all the most glorious and—” And then I went blank, like I knew the whole time I would. I yanked the page containing the Words of Constraint from my pocket, because any rational person will tell you how easy it is to read as you plummet through a thunderstorm, your body pummeled by hurricane-force winds, the utter darkness punctuated by blinding flashes of lightning. It didn't matter anyway because the wind and hail shredded the paper in seconds, before I could even unfold it completely and bring it close enough to my face to read.

I was screwed. I would hit the ground at five hundred miles per hour and my body would disintegrate on impact, like a watermelon dropped from a skyscraper, and they would be finding pieces of me from Maine to Idaho. Paimon would get the ring and the war would be over. Everything would be consumed, all because I let my hatred of Mike Arnold get the best of me.