“So your friend was killed in the earthquake?” I asked.
“No. No, Alfred. We survived the quake with only minor injuries.”
“But Ashley said you were the only one to come out alive.”
He nodded. “The Company dispatched a rescue team at once, for our communications to the surface had not been lost. They radioed down to us an estimate of the time it would take to dig us out . . . thirty days.”
He fell silent. The silence went on and on. I was shaking so badly by this point, my neck had begun to hurt.
“So . . . so he starved to death? But if you were down there for a month, how did you keep from starving too?”
“He did not starve, Alfred.”
“Well, if he didn’t starve, then . . .” I stopped. “Oh, God. You didn’t.”
“You said before that I supersede the First Protocol. It is more accurate to say that I am the First Protocol. I am the personification of it. I am the Superseding Protocol Agent, the Operative Nine. I am the mission, and the mission must survive.”
He looked at me then, the first he had looked at me since he began his story.
“And I did that which must be done to preserve the mission.” I cleared my throat. “It still doesn’t add up. Thirty days to get you out and you had rations for only two weeks. How did you . . . ?”
I waited for an answer, but I already knew the answer and it struck me suddenly how cruel I was being, asking him to give it.
“So you see, Alfred, sometimes it is a good thing to be a Section Nine operative. To have no name and no past and no . . . barriers. It is codified absolution. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I read the section over and over, like a dying man reads the Scriptures to quell his terror. But the comfort it gives is fleeting. For whatever remained of Father Sam before Abkhazia died in the abyss called Krubera.”
54
He was staring at the juncture where the tunnel of smoke met the rings of fire.
“Samuel,” I said. “Time’s up. We have to go.”
“I can’t go with you, Alfred,” he said.
“What do you mean you can’t go with me?”
He turned to me and tears were in his eyes. “You spoke of that place—the point between desperation and despair. I know that place well, Alfred. And we have been there, you and I, since the Seal was lost.”
“This isn’t you,” I said. “It’s them. Don’t let them do this to you, Samuel. I need you. I don’t think I can do this without you.”
“We have been fools, Alfred. It was over the moment Paimon obtained the ring. It is Krubera repeating itself, except this time there is no hope of rescue. There is no hope at all.”
He leaned in and whispered, “Do you know why they hate us so much, Alfred? Because of hope. They have none, and so they hate us for it. But I think they hate you most of all, for the power of heaven itself courses through your veins. Their hatred of you is only exceeded by their fear. It was fear that stayed their hand in Evanston, fear of what might be released should they kill you.”
He fumbled in his pocket and brought out the same metal flask he had used in the desert, before our assault on the demon hordes. He unscrewed the top and shook some of the water onto his trembling fingers. His voice was shaking too, as he traced the sign of the cross on my forehead.
“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. God bless and keep you, Alfred Kropp, last son of Lancelot, Master of the Holy Sword, favored of Saint Michael the Archangel, Prince of Light, God’s champion who hurled the outcasts from heaven—may he guard and bring you safely through this trial.”
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.
I crossed my arms over my chest and rolled so now I was falling facedown. I spread my arms and legs, knees slightly bent, the way I’d seen skydivers do, figuring this might slow me down. I had no idea if it did because I had no idea why skydivers fell this way; it might have nothing to do with their rate of descent. Maybe they just enjoyed the thrill of seeing the ground rushing up to meet them at 250 feet per second.
Saint Michael. Saint Michael, protect.
Wide shafts of light stabbed through the swirling rain and hail. I could hear demons above, screaming toward me at speeds faster than thought, and when they caught me, they would tear me to pieces.
5,134 FEET
I closed my eyes. I wasn’t afraid anymore. That’s the surprising thing. I wasn’t afraid at all. And I wasn’t cold either. Maybe I had passed out of the clouds too, because I didn’t feel the sting of the rain or the bite of the hail. All I felt was warm and empty. It wouldn’t hurt. You hit the earth at the speed I was falling and you don’t feel a thing.
I could feel the heat of the demons against the back of my neck. I whispered, “I do conjure thee . . .” before trailing off because I couldn’t even remember the demon’s name at that point, and nothing seemed to matter much anyway.
Op Nine had said it was over the moment Paimon got the ring, but for me it was over years ago. And they knew that. It was over the day my mother died. That’s why Paimon had called me carcass. Something died in me when she died.
They have seen your secret face, the face you hide from everyone, even from yourself. That was my secret face, twelve years old, scared of out my mind at the thought of losing my mom, of being alone. Scared of death. The demons saw that and gave back to me what I feared the most. My secret face was the face of a rotting corpse.
Saint Michael.
Protect.
3,789 FEET
A gentle glow appeared in the darkness behind my eyelids, and I felt a familiar comforting presence, something I had felt before in a dream, and I heard a voice calling me ?
??beloved.” Suddenly, all the fear and panic whooshed out of me, and into the hollowness left behind poured a light so pure and bright, no shadow could exist in it, and there was someone with me, though I couldn’t see a face, but I could feel arms around me as it spun and fell with me.
Speak, my beloved, and I will give thee words.
My mouth came open and there was no sound—no crashing of thunder, no rush of wind, nothing but my own voice roaring like a freight train.
“I do conjure thee, O thou Spirit Paimon, by all the most glorious and efficacious names of the Most Great and Incomprehensible Lord God of Hosts, that thou comest quickly and without delay . . .”
The words poured out of me as if I’d spoken them every day of my life.
“I conjure and constrain thee, O thou Spirit Paimon . . . by these seven great names wherewith Solomon the Wise bound thee and thy companions in a Vessel of Brass.”
The arms released me, the white light faded. I was through the clouds and the earth burned below me while the fire roared above me. The demons were closing in, but I was as calm as an old man on a park bench, feeding pigeons on a warm summer afternoon.
“I will bind thee in the Eternal Fire, and into the Lake of Flame and of Brimstone, unless thou comest quickly and appearest here to do my will.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the ring on my hand begin to glow.
1,023 FEET
I could see the ground now—though there was no ground to be seen. Only a roaring fire, flames shooting hundreds of feet into the air toward me. It was like looking at the surface of the sun.
I pulled my arms and legs back toward my body and flipped onto my back. Countless orange balls of fiery light filled my entire field of vision, like burning meteors screaming toward the earth, and in the lead Paimon came, holding a flaming sword in its right hand, and the thing it rode came at me openmouthed, teeth shining in the light, flying faster than I could fall. I held my left fist straight up, pointing the ring at them as I finished the spell and hell’s flames came rushing up to meet me: