To his great surprise, he found Charlotte in the room and she was not alone. In her arms she held the unconscious body of a boy nearly her age. He was covered in blood, though far too messy to be one of Charlotte’s feedings. His clothes hung like rags from his thin frame. He was someone else’s victim, and the fact that Charlotte had bothered to rescue him and bring him here spoke volumes about his importance.
“I did not know what else to do,” she said, dripping rain water onto his expensive oriental rug.
Oliver simply nodded. Questions would have to wait for now. The boy needed his attention.
Broken
It was not the dawning of a new day, or the sound of birds singing, or even the chime of clock bells that awoke me. Rather, it was the excruciating pain of having my nose twisted back into proper position upon my face. Had I not known better, I might have surmised that I was in Hell itself. But my returning vision showed me a well kept room and two people standing over me intent upon their grisly work—namely me.
I screamed, attempting to launch myself out of their grip, but the girl holding me was too strong. The man sat back, pronouncing several words in a language I could not understand. The pain subsided almost instantly upon the last syllable. I lay there on a couch with the girl still holding my arms.
Focusing upon her face, I recognized the creamy skin and crimson eyes immediately. This was the girl from my vision and the same who had come to my aid when Digby had led me into his spider’s web with Dexter’s gang. She did not smile at me, but the concern in her eyes dissipated somewhat until her expression became neutral.
“Sorry about that, young man,” the older gentleman said, drawing my attention away from the girl’s beauty to him. “We have fixed your ribs and your arm already, but the nose always hurts more.”
I lay there, looking quite stunned, my jaw dangling like a dying codfish. “I know you,” I said, thinking aloud without really understanding what I was doing.
“Do you now?” the man asked, seeming unconvinced. “And how could you know either of us when Charlotte tells me this is the first time she has ever laid eyes on you. I certainly don’t recall ever making your acquaintance.”
“From my vision,” I said. “I saw your faces in the mirrors.”
The man and the young girl cast sidelong glances at one another before he spoke again. “What is your name, young man?”
“Brody,” I said
“Brody, what vision are you talking about?”
“A hall of mirrors that I was walking through after Tom threw me into the river last night as a beaver. After I swam to shore, I got warm watching the candle flame. But then there was this door that opened up in the wall of the building, and it led me through a hall of mirrors. Some showed me myself, but others showed me Mr. Black and the two of you looking out over London.”
I paused while they looked at each other with even more uncertainty.
“You think I’m crazy, right?” I asked. “I guess that all sounded pretty crazy.”
Then I considered the two people I was speaking with. They had to know all about this kind of stuff.
“Or does it sound crazy? You’re one of the Breed,” I said to the girl. “You killed Dexter and the boys with him, didn’t you, when you saved me?”
Charlotte remained expressionless.
“Perhaps, your story is not so crazy to us, as you said,” the man replied. “Do you know my name?”
I sensed something as he asked the question; almost like the intrusion I had felt when Tom connected with my mind to force my power to transform me into the animal forms I had experienced.
“Horatio?” I offered.
The man grinned.
“Wait,” I said, thinking harder, picking through my first inclination to something that felt repressed. “That’s not right….Is it Oliver?”
The man’s smile faded. He looked puzzled and somewhat uncomfortable now.
“Oliver James,” I continued. “You must be the man that Tom told me to find if we became separated. Did you just try to trick me? You offered one name while hiding your true name?”
Now the man looked quite uncomfortable. “Who are you,” he said. “Why are you here? Did Black send you?”
“I told you already,” I replied. “I was with Tom, one of the Descendants of the Fallen. Like you, right? I guess like me too. Black and Sinister sent the Breed after us to kill me because Black tested me, but I wasn’t going to join them in this war everyone keeps talking about.”
“Tom told you to come to me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Oliver stood up then and began to pace around the room. He addressed Charlotte. “This is some plan of Black’s to use the boy to infiltrate us.”
Charlotte stood also. “I don’t believe that,” she said. “I found my brother with Breed warriors on the hunt. They had Tom cornered, but he wouldn’t give up the boy’s location.”
“Brody,” I interjected. They ignored me.
“Are you sure you were seeing things clearly?” Oliver asked her. “We are talking about Tom.”
That seemed to goad her out of her stoicism. “I’m quite sure,” she said with a hint of ice in her tone.
“What happened to Tom?” I asked, interrupting them.
Charlotte turned to me with a little more sympathy in her tone. “He escaped the Breed. I don’t know where he went.”
“I’ve got to find him,” I said. “He risked his life for me.”
“You care what happens to Tom?” Charlotte asked.
“He’s my friend.”
“Well, your friend is working for the enemy…has been most of his life,” Oliver said. “I still find it difficult to believe he would send you to me for any good reason.”
“He thought you might help me to understand this power I have within,” I offered. “Still, I don’t really know who either of you are, or anything about this war you’re all fighting with one another. And I especially don’t understand how I could be a descendant of fallen angels. I’m a Christian, not some devil worshipper! Why is this happening to me?”
I was frustrated beyond my ability to cope and I didn’t care who knew it at this point. So far, my father had been killed, I had been shot at, put into prison as a thief, nearly hung by the neck, attacked by a serpentine assassin and been beaten almost to death by a street gang. I had had enough of London, the Fallen and this war. I just wanted to be sent back home to America and left alone.
Both Charlotte and Oliver stared at me in disbelief.
“What?” I asked.
“You say, you’re a Christian?” Oliver asked. “Yet you also claim to be a Descendant?”
“I don’t claim to be a Descendant,” I corrected. “Tom and Sinister and Black all said that I was after they tested me.”
“How did they test you?”
“He forced me to push fire against him,” I said. “When I could do it they said I was one of them.”
“I saw him produce fire with his hands,” Charlotte said.
Oliver James simply stared at me with a strange grin upon his face.
“Look,” I said, “Tom thought you might help me. If you’re not willing then I’ve got to find him again. So, will you help me or not?”
Oliver tapped his chin whiskers thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”
Bartering
Mr. Black stood upon the pinnacle of Saint Paul’s Cathedral, overlooking the city on this clear night. Gas lamps brightened lonely streets as cool wind filtered through the city. Despite appearances, this happened to be Black’s favorite spot with the dome making it the highest place in London.
He stood perfectly erect in a black suit with white shirt and red cravat like a statue without any sense of fear. After all, the power of the air was his natural habitat in this mortal world. The rush of cool wind fazed him not in the least, for his skin was already as icy as death.
Casting his gaze northward, Black pushed out with his power, probing every nook and cranny o
f every building, sending out a message to one boy in particular. He had attuned himself to the boy while testing him and could now find him, though not without difficulty.
Encircling Black’s stately form upon the dome flew a retinue of various carrion feeders and predators. Like a halo of doom they stayed their course, waiting for the bidding of their master. However, unlike common crows, hawks, vultures and ravens, these fowl creatures were Breed-born and ready to descend upon Black’s enemies as soon as they were given direction.
Like a tidal wave, Black’s energies washed over London, coursing through streets to find every late pedestrian on his way home or on his way out for frivolity. Power surged through buildings, seeking Brody West, searching for the mind that Black had touched only a day ago—a particular signature of his life formed from his thoughts and the power of his birthright.
This force only barely acknowledged the mere mortals it encountered by the thousands. However, those who were Descendants of the Fallen dwelling in the city were given more scrutiny. Most were veiled from his prying by their own powerful emanations, at least beyond knowing what they were. Having knowledge of his presence would be enough for these to block him out for the most part. But the boy would not react so.
Black knew that Brody’s inexperience with his lineage would lend him to stronger reactions. His instincts would take over, making him vulnerable to discovery if he was anywhere near. At the least, he might reason with the boy through the transference of his thoughts. At best he would know where to send his forces in order to destroy the child before the enemy could make use of him.
I was only half asleep upon the sofa where Oliver had left me while he tended to some business. His servants prepared a late dinner for us all in the kitchen below on the first floor. According to Oliver, his house was well hidden in London by a glamour that rendered it virtually invisible. The house was also apparently located within a part of the city that no estate would ever be planted. So, it was unlikely that anyone would ever find it.
Charlotte had remained in the sitting room with me, though she stood by one of the four pane windows, looking out over London. The pale moonlight shone upon her features, bathing her creamy skin with a radiance that promoted her beauty further. She seemed not to notice me staring at her, or at least she didn’t care.
However, my fatigue soon caught up with me, and I found myself dozing and waking only to fall under sleep’s spell again a moment later. I don’t know how long I had been unconscious when his call came to me in my dreams. But I heard it clearly all the same when he spoke my name.
“Brody?”
Black’s silky smooth voice relayed no hint of the menace I had felt with him before. My reaction, however, was like a deer startled by a predator. A twig had been snapped, and I darted. I shot away from the sofa where I had been lying. Charlotte turned toward me from the window, her eyes serpentine and glowing. When she opened her mouth, long fangs jutted from her upper and lower jaw. Black’s voice emanated from her throat.
“I’ve found you,” she said merrily. But I could see that this was not Charlotte at all. This was only a mirage of the real girl, a mask for Mr. Black. I was still dreaming. How I knew that remained a mystery to me, but I knew it all the same.
Everything about the room was askew from what it had been. The walls were warped, standing at odd angles to one another. Yet the room was solid, as though it had been constructed that way. The decorative papering on the walls, once a pattern of refined geometric shapes was now a scene of violence—hieroglyphs depicting chaos and death.
Charlotte’s grotesque image came toward me, blood dripping from the fangs, a snake-like tongue darting out between Black’s words. “You must join me, Brody,” he said. “I do not want to kill you. With the power that you possess, we could rule this city together. Why waste your birthright upon these feeble creatures when you could become a god?”
I wanted to run, but the door was missing. Only the window remained. However, the world outside appeared volcanic, as though a tempest of fire was whirling just beyond the glass pane. I screamed for Black to leave me alone, but he kept coming, wearing Charlotte’s skin.
“Oliver!” I cried, hoping the man who had healed me of my wounds might hear me and come to my rescue.
Black only laughed as he backed me against the wall. “What’s it going to be, boy?” he asked. “Join me, or face my wrath?”
Vicious metal claws sprang from his right hand as he raised it to strike me down. I tried to repel him with lightning and flame, but he did not react to it. What could I do to him in a dream? Could the reverse be true? Could he harm me? Still, my terror at the sight of him overwhelmed me. I did not want to find out.
The entire building shook around me. The wallpaper bulged and peeled as blood oozed from pores in the wood behind. The flooring cracked beneath my feet, falling away in places, revealing a terrible swirling abyss beneath. All the while, Black cackled like a witch stirring her brew.
“Lord Jesus, save me!” I cried in my desperation.
At once, the dream world shattered around me. Black’s face filled with rage before his image gave way to the real world crashing back upon me like a tidal wave. I gasped for breath, my eyes shooting open as I jumped up from the sofa. Oliver was running into the room. Charlotte was already at my side, trying to hold me down to keep me from hurting myself.
“Brody, what’s wrong?” she asked.
I could already see it in Oliver’s eyes: he knew.
“Black has found us,” he declared.
Standing upon the pinnacle of Saint Paul’s Cathedral dome, Mr. Black opened his eyes, smiling. His hands shot forward, marking the direction for his waiting minions. “There!” he cried. “Destroy them!”
Mortal eyes could not see the trail of light that had gone forth from Black’s fingertips. But the Breed warriors had seen it. Their formation around their master broke off immediately, heading for the place where he had marked their prey. More Breed stood upon the rooftops of London, watching the ritual, marking the same place where the carrion birds now flew. They also launched into action, becoming mere ghosts to any mortal eyes that may have seen. Black watched them go then disappeared in a burst of crimson flame.
Charlotte shot to the window almost too fast for me to see. Even that was a blur. Her keen vampire’s eyes picked them up immediately. When she turned back to us, the report was not good.
“Many of my kind are coming,” she said.
She returned to Oliver’s side in another blur of movement that I found somewhat dizzying, especially after the dream I had just experienced.
“Can you stop them?” she asked.
Oliver considered the request only a moment. “Against the Breed alone, I would have no problem,” he said. “But Black will be with them. I can feel the welling of his power all around us.”
Indeed, I could sense the same urgency. Black’s energies felt much as they had in my dream, like a pressure steadily increasing all around us.
“What is he?” I blurted out the question as my panic increased.
Oliver looked me in the eye as he delivered the crushing news. “He is one of the Fallen, Brody, an angel created by God himself. He chose to rebel against his maker. He is a devil and he is coming for you.”
The resignation in his voice seemed to cast all hope far away from me. My breath left me also. Despair’s icy fingers crept up my spine ready to devour my mind completely except for one shining thought. I belonged to God—the same who had cast down creatures like Black. Scripture sprang to mind then.
“Greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world,” I muttered.
Oliver looked into my eyes and saw that I had not given up.
“There must be a way of fighting them,” I said.
“We may fight, but we will not win,” Charlotte said. “When Black breaks through Oliver’s wards, my kind will kill us all. We cannot hope to fight so many.”
“Is there no one who w
ould help us?” I asked.
Oliver started to rebuke me, but then I saw an epiphany spark in his eyes.
“What is it?” Charlotte pleaded. Two long curved knives were already in her hands preparing for the battle we faced.
Oliver was grinning madly through his salt and pepper beard. “Charlotte, hang on here as long as you can,” he said. “I will be back, no matter what.”
Oliver stood and strode toward the far wall, speaking as he went. He passed right through like an apparition. I got up to follow, pleading with him not to leave us to Black and the Breed. But I plowed into the wall, nearly breaking my nose again. Despite Oliver passing through, I was still barred admittance.
“What do we do?” I asked, turning to Charlotte.
“We trust him,” she said.
Alliances
A pillar of fire exploded into being upon the roof of an abandoned factory a block away from Oliver’s window. A lone figure stood bathed in the flames. I peered out, waiting to catch my first glimpse of the Breed warriors that Charlotte had already informed us were on their way. I could see none of them yet, though it may have been due to the ominous thunderhead gathering in the sky above us. Clearly this was another manifestation of Black’s power.
“How can he do these things?” I whispered. The possibility that Black might hear me tingled at the back of my mind.
Charlotte appeared beside me, looking toward the storm and the dissipating fire that, at last, revealed Black himself.
“Angels are incredibly powerful beings,” she said, “far beyond the scope of any Descendant’s power. Even Oliver cannot withstand him.”
I considered what she was saying, but my gaze remained fixed on the fallen creature standing upon the roof of the factory. Remembering a great many Bible verses from my father’s sermons, I knew the voracity of her claims. Within the history contained in the scriptures, angels had slain wicked men by the thousands even taking part in the destruction of Sodom and all the cities of the plain.
“If Black is so powerful, then why hasn’t Oliver been killed already?”