Slowly, I shrugged out of the vest.
Julian took a step down. “You know, I have read that silly little memoir your friend the priest was carrying with him.” He laughed, an ugly sound. “You certainly think the world of yourself, do you not? No, do not bother answering. I was much amused at your conclusions, wrong as they were.
“You believe you are the last of the Line? And that that little fact will afford you some measure of protection? Let me set the record straight, young man.” All trace of amusement fled his face as he stopped ten feet away and drew a pistol from a shoulder holster. A Sig Sauer P229. “You are not the Redeemer, you are just a talented magus who thinks too much of himself. Now shed your weaponry. Slowly.”
I complied. “Then how come I knew all thirty of the Terrible Words the Silver offered?”
Julian shook his head dismissively. “It is not the quantity of the Words, it is the ability to use them without killing yourself.” At my puzzled look, he sighed. “The Words the Silver offered exacts a toll from a body, depleting it of vital energy. The Redeemer would be the magus who could use the Silver without slowly killing himself. Is that not that correct, sir?”
From hidden speakers all around came a familiar voice. “Correct, Julian. Hello, Olivier.”
Well, hell. The Voice. My stomach took a plunge.
The speakers squawked, then that same terribly beautiful voice continued. “Trust me, my boy, you are
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Mike
Cain stripped to the waist after handing me a pistol, a Glock. I liked a heftier weapon, like a.45, but at that moment I would have been happy with a peashooter.
The Russian kept grinning like a wolf and it took every ounce of self-control not to unload, but I sent a prayer to the Lord for strength and remained true to my calling. Besides, I’d already killed a man that day and that was burden enough-more terrible than I could explain.
Boris stripped off jacket, tie and shirt, revealing a massive torso covered in black hair. Scars crisscrossed skin stretching tight over great slabs of muscle that moved like greased ropes. Black tattoos, Cyrillic characters, covered shoulders and belly. He looked like a fair-skinned gorilla with a bad attitude.
In contrast, Cain looked puny, almost skinny, but almost anyone would next to Boris. If you took a close look, you could see the sharp definition in Cain’s muscles.
Then he took his sunglasses off. I longed for a rosary but had to be content with crossing myself. It was driven home to me that this man was
Cain started removing his boots and that’s when Boris attacked, leaping like a gazelle, great fist slashing forward toward Cain’s skull.
It never connected.
If it had, Cain’s neck would have no doubt snapped like a twig, but the tall man had simply flickered as if he had been edited from reality for a moment. The knobbly fist swished past Cain’s nose by a whisker. Boris almost overbalanced, but righted himself quickly. That didn’t stop Cain from taking advantage. One long arm shot out and tagged Boris on the nose, a tap, or so it seemed.
Blood gushed from the big man’s nostrils and he recoiled in surprise. Clearly getting tagged was a rare experience for him. He licked the blood from his lips and waded in, fists and feet flying.
Cain didn’t give him a chance to score. Moving like mercury across a plate, he rolled and slipped everywhere, always one step ahead of the increasingly furious Russian. Every now and then he’d throw a jab-nothing painful, but after a couple of minutes they began to tell. Boris started to slow, his own jabs becoming more and more wild and unfocused as rage and exhaustion began to take their toll.
“Stop moving!” he yelled, face red with fury, spit flying from his lips.
Cain did, his smile unwavering, and spread his arms wide. An invitation for Boris to do his worst.
The two stared at each other for a few tense moments; Boris, harried, wild, and Cain, calm, collected. “You fight good,” Boris panted, unfazed by the other man’s eyes.
“I’ve had time to practice,” replied Cain almost amicably, lowering his arms.
Boris nodded and casually placed his hands in his pockets. “Why should I fight, then?”
“Because if you don’t-”
Swift as a snake, one of Boris’ hands whipped out, holding a knife. Before Maggie and I could blink, the blade sprang free with a hiss, flying faster than thought toward Cain’s throat.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Morgan
“There are … creches all over the world, places where the direct descendants of the Founder are raised,” Julian said behind the safety of his Sig. Annabeth leaned against the wall beside the doorway, a smirk on her lips and the glint of madness in her eyes. “You thought Henri, Julian II and Philip where your only brothers, but the truth is you have dozens. You have met several, including Fergus and Burke.”
“B-Burke?” I killed my brother? I committed fratricide? Nausea assaulted my belly.
“Quite. The truth of the matter is you have no cousins. Every one of those you’ve met are your siblings. Including Annabeth.”
I couldn’t help it … I puked all over my shoes while my sister stood there and laughed. The Voice joined her, sounding like sugarcoated shit.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mike
In the milliseconds before Boris pushed the button on the ballistic knife, Cain said a Word.
The blade, that paper-thin projectile, bounced off of thin air ten inches in front of Cain’s unprotected throat and shattered with a faint
Again and again Boris pushed the button on the ballistic knife, two more fine blades springing free to pierce the air toward Cain. Twice more the blades shattered musically in front of Cain.
Boris’ shoulders slumped and Cain’s smile, which had been plastered to his face the entire time of the fight, left his face. “You tortured a man of God. You work for the most evil people on the planet, people with demon’s resumes, and you have been content to do so. You, sir, offend me!” It was Cain’s turn for red-faced fury. He took a step forward, body trembling with the force of his anger.
“I have lived longer than a man should and I have done things of which I am certainly not proud of, but you … you …” Words seem to fail him, which I gathered was a rare event.
Chapter Forty
Morgan
It was the laughter that galvanized me, especially that of the Voice with its creepy humor and slime-covered hilarity. As I knelt there, wiping vomit from my lips and listening to them enjoy my humiliation, rage and frustration
