“Well, since you said please,” the one with the gun replied, losing the weapon inside his suit jacket. He knelt down beside the man that Squire had dragged from the Shadow Paths. “Is he all right?”
Squire could tell right away that the two shared a special bond, something stronger than mere friendship. He guessed that this one was one of the good guys, too, but he could also sense another vibe from him, one that suggested he could go either way. He was well acquainted with those types, as well, and had put many in the grave for choosing the wrong side.
“Got knocked around pretty good, but he seems to be durable.” Squire pointed to the girl. “She’s probably going to need some attention.”
A fat guy that reeked of magick knelt with a grunt beside the injured girl.
“Wouldn’t do anything that might harm her, if I were you,” the goblin warned the magick user. “In fact, I’d do everything in my power to see that she makes it. This one seems pretty darn attached,” he said, pointing to the still-unconscious Remy. “And something tells me you wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.”
The one that had held the gun on him lifted the man from the floor. “This one’s a pussycat,” he said, carrying him to the bed and letting his body fall limply to the mattress.
The magick user carefully picked up the girl and laid her beside the man on the double bed.
“Now, why don’t you explain who you are and what you know about these two?” the man with the gun said, coming around the bed toward Squire.
“Nothing much to tell,” Squire said. His preternatural senses had already started to fan out, feeling this world for what it was. It wasn’t as far along as many of the others he had discovered off the paths that he’d wandered through the years, but he could still sense the potential for disaster.
This world seemed to have a much longer fuse than some of the others, but he imagined it would eventually end up as they had. The hobgoblin suddenly couldn’t stand to be there anymore; the temptation to stay was too great.
“My job is done,” he said, pulling his hood up over his blocky head and pointed ears. “Make sure they’re well taken care of.” He nodded toward the two on the bed. “I get a sense they’re special, and you don’t want to lose special.”
“Who are you?” the friend asked the goblin.
“Nobody, really,” Squire responded. He wanted to dive into the darkness, to be gone, to return to the Shadow Paths, but something held him there, savoring a world very much like his own.
A world he missed.
“I used to be a lot like you, living in a place a lot like this, but then things got out of hand…”
“And?”
“Let’s just say it didn’t end well. Take care of this place,” the hobgoblin said as he waded into the passage of darkness. “You never really know how much longer it’s going to be around.”
Even when he’d had the combined life forces of 166,000 Japanese coursing through his body, Konrad Deacon had never felt anything quite like this.
“It’s magnificent, Teddy,” he told his son, who cowered in a corner of the master bedroom, eyes reflecting the living fire that trailed from Deacon’s hand as he waved it in the air before him. “It’s like no other power I’ve ever experienced… It’s as if it’s alive inside me.”
The fire rippled across the smooth muscles of Deacon’s newly invigorated flesh like solar flares on the surface of the sun. He admired himself in the reflective surfaces of the room, finding it difficult to tear his gaze away.
“Look at me,” he proclaimed to his frightened child. “If I had known it would take the life energies of only one angel to feel this way, I would have hunted one down years ago.”
He had always known that the world was a secret place, its many dark corners and angles filled with mysteries not for the common man to fathom, but now-as his mind filled with the knowledge of an angel-a divine light had been shined upon the darkness.
And Konrad Deacon knew so much more.
The world was a far more dangerous place than he had ever thought, and he realized that with this level of power within him, he now had the means to do something about it.
He now had the means to make it safe.
But to be successful, he knew that he must transcend his humanity, giving up all mortal frailties and embracing what he would become.
Deacon smiled, imagining wings of fire erupting from his shoulder blades.
And they did.
“I could become a god,” he told his child, whose eyes were wide and wild at the sight of the appendages of flame that gently fanned the stagnant air of the bedroom.
Deacon began to laugh, gently at first, but growing to near hysteria. He was laughing so hard that he was losing control of the divine fire, and burning feathers dropped from his wings, setting the floor and some of the furniture ablaze.
Teddy jumped up with a frightened yelp, running to the closed door, fumbling with the doorknob in an attempt to escape.
“Don’t be afraid, son,” Deacon called to his child. “It just takes some time to get used to.”
He was trying to absorb the holy fire back into his new form, but succeeded only in making it worse. The flames burned furiously, reducing objects in the room to blackened ash in a matter of seconds. Deacon imagined the fire being used on the flesh of his enemies and wondered if there was a way to slow it down.
To prolong the agony.
That would be a wonderful thing.
The bedroom door flew open, slamming against the plaster wall already cracked by the passage of the home from earth to the shadowy realm. There was no talking to the boy in his current state, and Deacon allowed him to scamper off. There were far more important things to concern himself with at the moment.
He had to start thinking about his future and the future of the world. Not the world outside his window, but the world he had fled to escape his betrayers.
Deacon made his body glow like the sun, casting his holy light from the dingy windows to chase away the darkness-and anything that might be hiding within it.
Someone cleared his throat behind him, and Deacon slowly turned toward the sound.
Scrimshaw stood just inside the doorway.
“Scrimshaw,” Deacon said, and thrust out his arms for the golem to admire. “What do you think?”
“Quite impressive, sir,” the artificial man said. “I wanted to let you know that we’ve boarded up just about all of the broken windows, and reset the alarms. I’m waiting for a work crew to let me know how long it will be before the fence is-”
“Don’t bother,” Deacon interrupted his faithful servant.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“I said, don’t bother,” Deacon repeated. He slowly turned back to the bedroom window, allowing the fire that radiated from his body to grow all the brighter. “We’re not staying here.”
“Sir?” Scrimshaw questioned.
“You heard me,” Deacon said testily, crimping his annoyance, realizing that he must be above such emotions if he were to attain his new stature. “We’re leaving this place.”
“Leaving?”
Deacon looked to his servant. “How am I to attain godhood and save humanity from the hidden horrors of the supernatural if I remain in this desolate place?” he asked.
Scrimshaw, smart enough to know that it wasn’t a true question, didn’t answer.
“And besides,” Deacon added with a sly smile. “Now that I have all of this power, I can finally take my revenge on those who wronged me.”
“Shall I pack your bags, sir?” Scrimshaw asked, ever the faithful servant.
Deacon began to laugh again, amused by his servant’s naivete.
“No need for that,” he said, turning his attention back to the window and the fleeting darkness outside.
“I brought it all here, and I intend to take it all back.”
Angus Heath could not sleep, and was tired of hearing about the little miracle girl who was waiting to deliver a message from God to the world.
