Sadie
She waited until she was positive this would be the place where Hitler’s procession of vehicles stopped. Standing across the street, Sadie watched intently but discreetly as the three Mercedes-Benz 770K staff cars rolled to a stop outside the traditional German restaurant, Im Fuchschen, in Düsseldorf.
Trucks carrying infantry soldiers parked on both sides of the street. The men exited the trucks first, taking up positions all the way up and down the road. No one had disembarked from the identical staff cars so far.
Sadie knew from experience that these cars were made more secure by bulletproof glass and reinforced steel plates. She understood this because she had attempted already to destroy one by gunfire and then her own fiery abilities.
Hitler had escaped that day. His car had surged away with spidery bullet impacts up and down the glass and a great number of holes punched through the sheet metal. After a barrage of fire balls hastily thrown after it, the Benz had kept going, trailing flame and smoke as the paint peeled away in strips. The men had remained alive inside.
Finally several of the soldiers stationed outside the vehicles, stepped forward to open the curbside doors of the staff cars. Half a dozen men exited the vehicles, all dressed in similar black military uniforms. The red and black and white insignias, bearing the Fuhrer’s swastika emblazoned their attire.
They were all escorted to the door of Im Fuchschen and inside by soldiers with MP40 submachine guns. The world had by now turned into a much more dangerous place. Even Descendants, few as they were, couldn’t hope to evade machine gun fire forever in a fight.
Technologically, the humans had progressed by leaps and bounds in recent years. The course and character of these two world wars had done much for the development of large scale and small arms. Machine guns fired so many bullets that even Lycans and Breed warriors would have been lucky to stay out of harms way.
Sadie walked through the door of a shop on the opposite side of the street, so that she was out of view. In that fraction of a second when her form seemed to enter the shop and sunlight reflected from the glass of the front door, she vanished. The soldiers on the street, though watching everyone in the near vicinity, were none the wiser.
She had known the layout of the restaurant prior to coming here today. After all, this wasn’t the first time Adolf had dined at this establishment. In fact, the man might have deviated from his routines a little better if he wanted to remain secure from would-be assassins like herself.
Instead, Adolf acted as though no one could possibly touch him, let alone harm him. There was some truth in that idea, she mused. Adolf’s touch was far more likely to be fatal to an assassin than they would be to him.
However, there were any number of ways to kill a man and a carefully placed bullet from one hundred yards away was usually as effective as was needed. But Sadie would never take that way. She had a personal score to settle and she didn’t want to be a mile off when the light of life left his eyes. Sadie intended to look him in the face so he would know who had done the deed. She hoped the same for the angel Southresh when his time finally came.
The fact of the matter was that Adolf had not killed her mother, but he was all a part of the machinations of the Fallen. He was Lucifer’s man right now and he had been used to massacre millions. If anyone deserved death it was Adolf.
Southresh was probably no better off than a pawn either, but he played his part nonetheless. And it had been the mad god who had actually taken Sophia’s life along with that of the Shade King. The downfall of the Leprechauns had resulted soon after.
To be rid of these two would essentially be the excision of all that had caused ruin in her life. Still, Lucifer would remain. But God’s plan for him was already a matter written in the heavens and indisputable. He would get his, when all was said and done.
Sadie appeared in the restaurant’s kitchen. She did not materialize in her natural form, however, but in the guise of one of the waitresses. She gave little thought to the matter of running into the woman. She didn’t intend on holding this disguise that long.
Coming from the back of the restaurant, Sadie walked past several cooks who paid her only minor attention. A cursory glance and a flicker of recognition and they continued with their work. However, another, possibly the manager on duty, inspected her with some degree of uncertainty.
“Janice?” he asked. “I thought this was your day off.”
Sadie smiled impishly. “And miss the Fuhrer’s visit? I wanted to help, if you’ll have me.”
The man smiled. “Sure, why not.”
Beyond, in the dining room, Sadie could see that Hitler was seated already in a section of the restaurant reserved for special groups. The table was oval in shape and elongated so that twenty people could be seated comfortably. Hitler sat at the head with several lower ranking officers to either side.
A retinue of soldiers from the trucks outside were already stationed around the restaurant and the Fuhrer himself. They all carried MP40 submachine guns strapped across their torsos and held ready before them. The best course of action would be to get in close before striking.
Even from here, Sadie could see the man’s features. He was much older than when they had known one another in Rockunder. Of course, all of them had aged well into adulthood. Sadie would already be considered middle-aged by number, though in appearance she only seemed to be in her mid to late twenties.
Adolf looked older than she did. He had the appearance of a human in their mid-thirties despite being almost the same age as her. Perhaps the guilt from his many evils, or the pressures of losing a war, as he currently was, had mounted to age him prematurely. Maybe it was something else entirely.
She had noticed that her father, seemed much older than he should have for being one of the Sons of Anarchy, a direct Descendant of the Fallen. He had noticed the same. Brody had even postulated that the time of the Descendants must truly be drawing to a close and that their ability to age more gracefully was failing at the same time.
Her father was now officially approaching the ninety-year-old mark. An age that should have been not even mid-life for someone of his heritage, especially considering the kind of long ages that Donatus and Laish had known. Yet, her father looked like a human in his late forties already. Perhaps there was more to his theory than just musing.
If that was indeed the case, that the time of Descendants was drawing to a close in the grand plan of the Almighty, then she had that much more reason to get this business over with speedily. Her father and Cole worried about her, but she felt confident. With the aid of Malak-esh, she would defeat not only Adolf but Southresh as well.
“Janice?”
“Yes?” she said, turning her attention back to the manager.
“Why don’t you take the wine cart out for Francois,” he said, indicating a silver cart with three levels. Several bottles of wine were already chilling on top. The glasses would already be sitting on the table. “He’ll be out to take their orders momentarily.”
“Of course,” she said with a smile, maneuvering around to push the cart out of the kitchen. “My pleasure.”
All eyes were upon Sadie as she made her way to the side room. The soldiers watched her with hawk’s eyes, scrutinizing her. The safety of their Fuhrer depended upon constant vigilance.
But this was a restaurant where Hitler had dined many times. The staff were trusted here. This woman they were seeing had been working here for years. Some of the soldiers knew her from previous visits. Others considered her simply to be no threat—of little consequence. After all, they were military men, trained and heavily armed.
So, there was no difficulty getting close to the man. Adolf only glanced at her approaching the table. She stopped, taking her hands off of the cart.
The power within her itched to be released. Her fingers felt tingly with anticipation. This scourge on Descendants, indeed upon the world, would soon be dead. She would be that much closer to having inner peace—peace
she hadn’t known since her mother’s death years ago.
Without a second thought about her actions, Sadie attacked. Fire flew from her outstretched hands toward the Fuhrer. As the blaze ignited, flying out toward him, Adolf’s eyes found her. Orange light cascaded across his face.
Sadie’s expression was that of grim determination. She had known Adolf personally, though they had never been friends. He was a Descendant, but still a menace to society. She told herself that this was for the greater good and she believed it.
Then something unexpected happened. The guards flanking Hitler were engulfed in flames. Her inferno had divided at the Fuhrer and scattered to set his soldiers ablaze instead. He was magically shielded—an ability Adolf had never possessed before.
Sadie’s fury burned as hot as the flames leaping from her fingertips. She had been tricked again. This was clearly another imposter that Adolf had left in his wake. He knew she was seeking to kill him. Yet, he never faced her himself. Adolf was toying with her.
Her disguise as Janice the waitress vanished, leaving her true appearance behind. The soldiers writhed in flame, rolling about on the floor, running blinding into furniture and other panicked members of Adolf’s entourage. Even the kitchen crew were shouting in alarm now.
The remaining soldiers turned on Sadie with their MP40 submachine guns, opening fire. She knew from experience that a shield of the kind she could manage would do little good against their weapons. Magical attacks were one thing, bullets were another. Her father would have been impervious to them, but her power was more limited, save for the fire she could conjure as his daughter.
However, she still possessed the prowess of a werewolf from her mother. Sadie dodged, leaping over the table. Becoming a blur to the soldiers, she moved quickly to incapacitate them, namely with Malak-esh.
Her sword came to her waiting hand. Already the flames were spreading in this area of the restaurant. Several people remained on fire, and the building was now ablaze as furniture and curtains spread the flames from bodies to the structure itself.
Bullets sprayed from the weapons of the Nazi soldiers, peppering the walls where beige wallpaper with curled green leaves had been applied only two years prior. Crystal clear panes in the French doors to the private room were driven through with holes that spider-webbed out through the glass or shattered them completely, leaving shards upon the freshly vacuumed carpet.
Sadie had been standing there only a fraction of a second before. Only the blurred light of her passing remained for the soldiers to fix upon. She was already skirting the table to attack from a flanking position while gunfire pattered through the restaurant sending the staff running for their lives through the kitchen and out the back door.
Malak-esh cut through the soldiers each in turn, dividing their guns before dividing their flesh. Between those on fire and those she dispatched with Malak-esh, Sadie had made short work of Adolf’s contingent. However, the man himself was not simply going to cower beneath the table.
Magical attacks followed her from across the room: lightning and shockwaves that only aided the fire burning out of control in the private dining room. This imposter was most definitely a Descendant, possibly an elf, at the very least a spell caster. These were not abilities she had ever seen in the real Adolf.
Lightning forked out at her, the imposter already backing toward the front of the restaurant keeping the thickly made dining room table between them. The attack was easily absorbed by Malak-esh. The sword could handle anything this spell caster might hurl at her. Even angels couldn’t best this blade. It remained, perhaps, the one weapon they feared.
Soldiers from outside on the street had responded quickly. As yet, only seconds had passed from the time that Sadie had launched her assault. Seeing their Fuhrer in danger, or the one they took for their Fuhrer, they flanked him on either side, firing back into the restaurant as Sadie pursued.
Several shots clattered against Malak-esh. She dodged to the side again, hoping to keep clear of their gunfire. Normally, the movements of humans appeared very slow to her. The same could be said for vampires like Cole. She and he were far faster, making mere mortals seem sluggish in comparison. However, bullets cut through the air at hundreds of feet per second. Too fast to get out of the way.
The trick was to anticipate correctly. The aim was still slow being dependent on human movements. So, a single rifle shot could be determined fairly easy. Just by watching the aim and line of sight, she could be gone before the shot was even fired. Machine guns, with their high rate of fire, made it more difficult but not impossible.
She sprayed the room ahead of her with fire, causing the soldiers to instinctively flinch away. This gave her the opportunity she needed. Sadie cut back toward them and hurled Malak-esh at the imposter. He made a desperate last ditch attempt at defense.
The blade radiated light. Then it hit its mark. The imposter fell. His disguise came away, leaving only a man in appearance. He might still have been an elf. Not all of the clans possessed the tell-tale ears.
It didn’t matter now. It wasn’t Adolf. That much was now certain. The blade protruded from his chest momentarily and then vanished from the wound, leaving behind a corpse that would puzzle the surviving soldiers. But even that probably wouldn’t last.
Adolf’s power over these Nazi’s seemed absolute. They fawned over him like a god in human form, hanging upon every word as divine revelation. If Adolf suggested that nothing mysterious at all had happened here today, all would be forgotten in favor of whatever he wanted them to remember in its place.
This registered for her in the blink of an eye. With her mission a failure, she dashed away, crashing through the plate glass façade. The soldiers managed to recover as the flames roiled and dissipated. They fired their weapons after her, merely because they had seen something plow through the window.
But she was already gone. Malak-esh had returned to its place in the dimensional pocket near her at all times. The imposter lay dead, wearing Adolf’s uniform with a slim wound in the middle of his chest where blood seeped out steadily. The restaurant continued to burn.
In a few minutes, as smoke ascended above the street, a fire engine would make an attempt at saving the eatery. It would be a futile attempt. Gutted by fire, it would not be reopened. No one would ever know why the waitress had attacked.
The real Janice would be taken into custody regardless of her pleas of innocence, despite the fact that the Fuhrer had never actually been in attendance. Three days of questioning would end with a quiet execution inside a Nazi military outpost with no answers to their questions. A bullet to the back of the head would close the matter forever.
Investigation
Cole had only just made it back to the United States with the body of the assassin when he was struck by an epiphany. Sadie was in Germany. There was no way of knowing when she might return. It seemed to him that she was gone these days more often than she was home. If they wanted answers quickly, it was unlikely they could depend on Sadie to get them.
There was also the matter of her skill with the healing arts. She had studied years ago, but her training had never been complete, not by a long shot. Sadie could do minor healings and was maybe only a little better at determining causality. But this was nothing compared to true healers.
A healer spent their entire upbringing studying the arts, apprenticed to an elder of their clan. They were human in appearance and found it easy to blend in with the peoples of the world, though they tended to reside primarily in the Asian nations. Their skills were far superior to anything Sadie could offer.
Brody wasn’t here now to consult with him on the matter, but Cole knew what needed to be done. He would take this assassin’s corpse to the only sect of healers he knew of in the world. In the mountainous region of Tibet, a group had started a monastery hundreds of years earlier. They had taken the semblance of monks to a certain religious order, but all of them were, i
n fact, Descendant healers quietly studying and practicing their art far away from the prying eyes of the world.
It was near dark in Tennessee and would be early morning there where he had to go. The monastery was really in no place at all. A village with so few people that it didn’t even deserve a name on a map. But Cole knew where he had to go even if it didn’t have a real name in the world, a place just south of Shigatse in Tibet.
Brody had constructed a library here taken from the one in his Highgate home in England. Every volume had been painstakingly removed one winter evening following a recent bombing of the city of London. Brody had grown concerned that his beloved library, which had once been Oliver’s library, might be destroyed should Hitler’s Luftwaffe continue its attacks unmolested.
By a magical transference, Brody had caused all of the volumes in his Highgate home to push out from the shelves and line up. They spent the next twenty minutes filing through the hearth portal from London to Tennessee like a parade of polygons. At the very last, shelves now bare in London and any beloved furnishings already removed from the manor house, the spelled hearth deconstructed itself.
The mortar had crumbled to dust and then, stone by precious stone, it had sucked in upon itself, each river rock coming through the portal until the very last departed. On the other side, within their new home in Tennessee, the hearth had reconstructed itself. From several buckets mixed and waiting, mortar flowed into the spaces between the stones and solidified there.
Cole entered the library with the wrapped body in tow behind him, hovering over the floor like a fish suspended in a tank. He called down a spelled volume containing a history of the region and the name of the monastery found therein. It had been notable in days gone by and so the name was recorded.
“Shalu Monastery,” Cole said to the floating volume.
The book opened on it own, pages flapping by quickly. They stopped where the mention was first made of the monastery. He gave the pages a cursory look just to be sure it was correct. After all, Cole was about to walk through a portal based upon the record here. He wanted to arrive at the right place.
Cole waved the book away toward the hearth. Obediently, the volume flew through the air and landed upon the mantle, activating the portal matrix. Green fire stirred in the hearth which was tall enough to accommodate a large troll if need be. He remembered his friend Redclaw and smiled before putting memories aside. He had work to do.
Cole looked back at the assassin’s body, hoping that it would not be there. The last thing he wanted right now was another mystery to solve. He had had enough of fighting. Cole’s hopes lay with Sadie now, that we might somehow have a life beyond all of these problems. But those hopes remained frustrated.
This body was just one more reminder that their problems—the problems that had dogged them from his youth up—had never gone away. Cole couldn’t have a normal life. He wasn’t normal. Perhaps, he never would be.
He sighed, saying, “Come on then.” He expected no response, of course. He wasn’t quite crazy yet. Just frustrated.
Cole walked on into the hearth and through. Its green fire enveloped him, though there was no pain to it. The flames were simply a manifestation of the power at work within the matrix.
The body of the assassin, wrapped in a canvas tarp Brody had conjured while still in the jungle, followed behind him, going where Cole went like an obedient lap dog. The portal enveloped this as well, never balking at the fact that this person was no longer living. A portal just took whatever you threw into it and carried it along to a point of destination.
Cole emerged in the very chill air washing around and over the Shalu Monastery. It was a very unimposing edifice similar in architectural style to that of the Chinese, their sweeping roofs curving at the ends and adorned with ceramic tiles and figurines of idol gods. The structure was broad horizontally but squat in stature.
The cold bit into his skin, a dry sweeping wind surging through the Himalayas. Cole was now standing in the highest populated area in the world. And, yet, Heaven remained untouchable for man even in this place. Christ was still the only bridge between the mortal and the divine.
Monks were already awake and about their chores in the light of the early morning sun, peeking above the distant horizon in the east. When they saw Cole come through the portal to stand before their temple, they paused. There was no shocked surprise on their faces, only a curiosity lurking behind blank expressionless eyes.
They knew who Cole was or, at least, what he was. These men, appearing distinctly Asian in appearance by birth rather than any sort of glamour, had seen portals many times. Some of them likely had the ability to produce them. They were Descendants, every one of them, which was precisely why he had chosen Shalu Monastery.
On this side of the gateway, the green fire had not appeared. Cole had only materialized from nothing to them. They were not human in the sense that their reflexes would be so slow. He had not come upon them unawares. These monks would have perceived his arrival immediately. Cole wasn’t sure, but they may have even shared a telepathic link. Others within the monastery temple might already know of his arrival.
Cole had suspected telepathy in their ritual for some time, but the subject had never seemed relevant when he had had opportunities to talk with Sadie about it. Those fleeting moments were more precious to him than ever these days. Still, the healers were able to link their minds and their power during their rituals which gave them collectively greater strength than was possessed by any one individual. He hoped they might be able to provide him answers now.
The eyes of the five monks present before the monastery entrance, where they swept the block paths leading inside, darted to the canvas wrap that followed Cole through the portal a moment later. Several cocked their eyebrows. Clearly, the size and shape of this parcel told them it was a body. And, since that body was wrapped head to toe in heavy canvas, it was not a living person in need of their usual blessed healing.
Cole answered the unstated question. “An assassin. I need answers that I hope you and your order can provide.”
Sidelong glances were passed between the monks, all of them deferring to one in particular who happened to be standing closest to the monastery’s main doors. Cole noticed that his robes possibly indicated a higher rank—longer sleeves and an extra bit of color peeking out across his chest. The monk came closer to where Cole stood waiting.
“I am Chetsune,” he said in Tibetan, but did not offer his hand.
Cole understood languages well as a Descendant, though he did not speak them all perfectly.
Chetsune looked behind Cole at the wrapped body. “How long has this person been deceased?”
“Not even a full day to my knowledge,” he replied, hopefully.
The monk considered this momentarily and then looked back at his fellows. Chetsune nodded once to the other monks, before turning back to Cole. They came immediately to collect the assassin’s body, guiding the floating corpse on toward the monastery building.
“We will do our best,” Chetsune said, without making promises. “It may be possible to learn many things since corruption has not yet set in.”
“That is all I can hope for,” Cole replied and then followed Chetsune and the other monks inside.
Upon entering the monastery, the monks immediately veered to the right toward an alcove that appeared to have little to no purpose in the construction. Also, there was no room, not even enough for all of them to stand. However, the monk who happened to be first in line ahead of them, made a gesture and spoke a word in Tibetan that Cole did not recognize.
A shimmer crossed the space before the monk and was gone. A portal, Cole guessed, had just been opened. The monk proceeded forward and quickly vanished. The second monk, walking with the assassin’s wrapped body, followed after and was taken also. Chetsune and Cole came after.
Once through, they came into a bright chamber filled with what Cole recognized as spelled light. This illumination seemed to come
from no distinct point in the room. It was simply present—photons of such great quantity that light came from every point in the room at once.
In the center of this cylindrical room stood a squat column. Since there was no other furnishings in this chamber, Cole assumed that this must be where the body would be positioned for their examination. Most likely this was the same place where a patient would be brought in order to undergo the healing ritual.
The first monk in line led the body to the pedestal where it hovered over and settled into position several inches above the stone. Cole had been wondering how comfortable such an arrangement could possibly be for a wounded or sick individual, but this seemed to answer his question. An enchantment kept the patient, or body in this case, suspended and also confined within the space of the pedestal.
A moment later, more monks materialized at various places in the chamber, each one making their way to the body. Still, out of all of them, it was Chetsune who appeared to be in charge. The dozen monks in attendance took up equidistant positions around the pedestal with Chetsune at the head.
Each monk took hold of his neighbor’s hands and then bowed their heads. They began to chant in unison, falling into a gentle cadence. Cole, too, closed his eyes and came into sync with their rhythm, concentrating upon the ritual as Sadie had shown him to do. He was still only an observer, but even this much was fascinating.
Opening his mind’s eye to this process, Cole immediately saw the room in an altogether different light. Rather than prominent solid lines for the room, there were indistinct suggestions of boundaries. These seemed to be superimposed with other boundaries that may have represented the rest of the monastery, though Cole had no idea in what relation this chamber sat with regard to the rest of the temple.
The twelve figures in the midst of the room were surrounded by auras of light, each bearing a slightly different color that ran together and merged with the others to envelop the assassin’s corpse hovering above the plinth. Unlike living patients, the dead body did not produce any living aura itself, but only appeared as a lifeless shell of a man.
The combined light of the monks, however, soon penetrated the assassin’s body, probing throughout, questing for the answers that Cole sought about the nature of this killer. He could only guess at what they saw of the assassin’s condition. He was outside of the process completely and blind to the results.