Where Angels Fear to Tread (25 page)

She'd even allowed him to have something to eat and to use the bathroom like a real person again. Life was good right now, and it was all because of a mother's love.

Poole felt the rush as he again traveled the path that the power had taken, zeroing in on the location of the child.

And finding that he was being watched.

The man gasped as yellow eyes studied him as if he were a bug crushed on a microscope slide. The power was in those eyes . . . those horrible eyes . . . and he tried to back away, to retreat to his body.

But the eyes held him firm.

Poole moaned and thrashed, hoping the others would come to his aid.

What is this?
a voice that caused his bowels to loosen asked. He could feel that voice inside his head now, rummaging around, searching for his identity. It ripped at his brain, tearing away dripping chunks of gray matter, and when it had finished, it started to laugh.

It knew everything now.

It knew they were coming.

Poole squirmed in his seat, unable to open his eyes. He had to warn them . . . had to warn his mistress, but those eyes . . . those eyes would not let him go.

The voice spoke again, like thunder reverberating through his skull. It told him they were more than welcome to try to take what was now his.

They were welcome to try, but they would all die horribly in the process.

Poole tried to tell the presence inside his head that he would do this—that he would pass on the warning—but the voice said he would rather deliver a warning of his own.

An example of what they would be facing.

And suddenly there was an entire beast inside his mind—a beast with fangs and claws, and an insatiable hunger for flesh and blood, and the human soul.

The Boeing Business Jet flew along at thirty-two thousand feet as Remy sipped his soda water with lime. They'd been in the air a little more than an hour, and he figured they would be reaching their destination shortly.

He looked around the cabin, strangely intrigued that Delilah could simply pick up the phone and have something like this at her disposal in a matter of minutes. He wondered how far her influence actually went; how many individuals had experienced her lips, and were now beholden to her in every way.

The more he thought about this, the more he realized that Samson's job was totally justified. Delilah was just too damn powerful to be allowed to live.

But then again, she wanted to die, and if things went according to plan, that was exactly what would happen once Zoe was freed from Dagon and the Church of His Holy Abundance.

If things were on the up-and-up.

Remy glanced around to see Samson fast asleep. His kids were scattered around him, some also sleeping while others listened to iPods or played handheld video games.

Samson didn't trust the woman, and Remy could understand why. He really didn't trust her either, but in order to find the child, he had to go along with the idea that what she was saying was true.

But what if it isn't?
that nagging voice at the back of his mind asked.

Remy unbuckled his seat belt and headed up closer to the front of the plane. He passed a sleepy Deryn York, and again wished she had listened to his warning. But then again, if it had been his child, would he have listened?

Two of Delilah's soulless thugs blocked his way.

"I need to speak to her," Remy said, attempting to keep his annoyance in check.

"The mistress does not wish to be disturbed," one of the two men blocking his way said. His voice was emotionless, like something spat out from a computer program.

Remy could feel his Seraphim nature recoil, disgusted that something so empty and vacant as this man would be allowed to walk about freely. He hated to think what fate would have befallen the man—all of the men in Delilah's service—if his true self were allowed to walk about freely.

"I'm not going to tell you again," Remy said. "I need to speak to Delilah."

The men stood their ground, and Remy felt his anger reach a critical point. He was just about to force his way through, when he heard a voice call out.

"Let him pass," Delilah called.

The men obediently stepped aside, allowing him to walk down the aisle to where Delilah was sitting. Mathias stood beside her chair like a faithful guard dog.

"I want to speak to you, alone," Remy said to her, but his eyes were locked on Mathias.

"What you say to her, you can say to me," the soulless man answered.

"Boys, boys," Delilah said, holding a flute of champagne. "There's no need for these displays of aggression. We're all on the same side.

"Very well." She sighed. "Mathias, please, let us be for a bit."

The man looked hurt.

"Be a dear and listen," she added, a touch of venom in her words.

Begrudgingly, Mathias agreed, leaving the section at the front of the plane to join the others in Delilah's thrall.

"Would you like some champagne?" she asked Remy as he took the seat across from her.

"No, thank you."

"So, what do you wish to talk to me about?" she asked, eyeing him over the top of her glass as she took another sip.

Remy paused, feeling the raw sensuality of a seductress, knowing that if he were truly human, he would have had no power against someone like her.

"I want to be certain we understand each other," he said finally, his voice soft, without a hint of emotion.

She smiled that extra-wide smile that made him feel uneasy.

"Of course we understand each other," she said, nibbling on the edge of her glass. "We're all in this together. By retrieving the child, we all get what we want: You help a child return to her loving parent, and I gain access to an ancient power that will finally release me from my curse."

She laughed before having some more of her drink.

"Even that muscle-bound buffoon and his army of urchins get what they want when I'm finally allowed to die," she said, gesturing with her nearly empty glass.

Delilah giggled as she removed the bottle from the ice pail and poured herself another glass. "A shining example of cooperation," she said, placing the almost-empty bottle back where she'd found it, and leaning back in her seat. "Does that make you feel better, Remy?" she asked.

Remy let the Seraphim show its face. He felt his eyes become like fire, and his flesh begin to radiate light and heat.

"I know what you are," he said, his voice losing any trace of humanity. "If you should betray me . . . or if any harm should come to the child, her mother, or my companions, I will show you what it truly means to suffer, and there will be nothing in Heaven or on Earth that will release you from this torture."

He drew back upon the Seraphim, putting it back where it belonged. "I hope we understand each other," Remy said, getting up.

Delilah looked about to say something, but she was interrupted by the most unholy of sounds: a scream that had traveled from the far end of the plane to the front.

Remy reacted at once, dashing down the aisle, pushing past the soulless, as well as past Samson's children, who had risen from their seats but had gone no farther to inspect.

Deryn's hand shot out, grabbing his arm as he passed.

"That's Poole," she said, staring down the aisle where the horrible sound had originated.

Remy had seen the man briefly. He had appeared quite crazy as he had boarded the plane, clutching some kind of metal statue in the shape of an infant child. He'd gone directly to the very last row of the private jet to sit alone.

"Stay here," Remy told Deryn, removing her hand from his arm.

He could see the top of Poole's head sticking up above the seat, his wispy hair moving in the breeze of the circulating air.

With great trepidation he came around the side of the seat, and was horrified at what he found.

Poole sat perfectly rigid, still strapped into his seat. He was covered in blood, his clothes torn to shreds, as was his flesh. His stomach had been ripped open, and his insides had spilled out onto the floor to pool at his feet. Remy leaned into the larger of the wounds, examining the broken rib cage, and how the direction of the shattered bones appeared to be pointing outward.

As if something had punched its way out from the inside.

Dagon burned with the fires of creation, and it was good.

The ancient deity could feel his decaying body rebuilding itself, discarding the human form that had been more like a prison, and replacing it with something so much better—something beautiful, divine.

With trembling fingers, Dagon reached up and pulled away the rotting flesh to reveal golden-scaled skin beneath. The old flesh had turned gelatinous, continuing to decay in his very grasp. The god threw handfuls of the foul waste onto the floor; tearing more and more of the humanity he had worn away to reveal what he was always supposed to be.

What he dreamed he'd be.

The child sat beside her still-unconscious father, rocking from side to side and muttering unintelligibly. Dagon could still sense the raw power churning inside her and was tempted to feed upon her some more, but decided against it.

The totality of the power that existed within this child could very well be too great even for one such as Dagon to contain. But he would keep her as his own, eventually taming the unbridled God-power that lived within her to bend to his desires.

The child had slipped from her fuguelike state again, and he could feel her fear-filled eyes upon him.

"Do not fear me, little one," Dagon proclaimed, spreading his arms to show her the beauty of his naked form. "I have come to make this world a better place."

The little girl gasped, crawling to cower against the prone form of her parent as Dagon's horns began to grow; curling long and beautiful from his bony forehead, a crown to his glory.

The glory that he was now becoming.

They would be coming for the power soon; Dagon had no idea who they were, but he understood why they would come.

"So be it," he growled, flexing the muscles of his powerful new form.

He had shown them an example of his might, reaching down through the child conduit, to the observer who attempted to spy upon him.

Dagon had horribly slain that one, but doubted it would do much to deter them. The power of creation was something to fight for.

And he was perfectly willing to let them.

Before slaying them all for such an affront to his godliness.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

R
emy watched as two of Delilah's followers disembarked the plane, each holding the end of a blanket that contained the bloodied remains of Clifton Poole.

"That's it," Delilah said, watching from the tarmac of a little-used runway at the small West Virginia airfield. "Carefully, now."

And just as she spoke, one of the men lost his footing, stumbling and dropping his end of the blanket.

Clifton Poole's body tumbled from its wrapping, landing at the bottom of the stairs in a broken pile.

Delilah rolled her eyes and sighed with exasperation. "Please pick that up," she said, pointing to the body. "We don't need to draw any further attention to ourselves."

The two who had been carrying Poole's corpse hustled to stuff it back inside the blanket and carry it to a waiting van.

The side of the van said it was from a flooring company, and Remy noticed the two drivers staring at Delilah, mesmerized. She approached the driver's side window of the van.

"Be a pair of dears and dispose of that for me, would you?" she asked, blowing them kisses as, with a screech of tires, they drove away.

Anything for their mistress
, Remy thought with a scowl,
especially if she has a piece of their souls.

Remy stood off by himself, noticing that Samson and his family were standing on one side of the tarmac, while Delilah's followers stood on the other. Remy wondered how this would work; if they were going to be fighting together, could one side actually depend upon the other?

He caught the approach of Deryn out of the corner of his eye and turned toward her. She was pale and sickly looking, and she was still wrapped in her own blanket from the flight, even though the air was quite humid.

"You okay?" he asked her.

She smiled as she nodded. "I keep seeing him all torn up like that," she said, and brought a hand to her mouth to stifle the tears. "And then I start to wonder how something like that is possible, and then . . . and then I realize that you're . . . that all of you aren't what you appear to be and . . ."

The woman was on the verge of complete shock, the glimpse of a strange and brutal world being more than her human mind could comprehend.

Remy stepped closer, using the voice of the Seraphim to calm her.

"Now, let's hold it together," he said to her.

She looked up into his eyes, and he willed her to calm down with his gaze.

"Remember that Zoe needs you. She's waiting for you, and you won't do her, or anybody else, any good if you come apart at the seams."