Demonic Designs (To Absolve the Fallen) (51 page)

Dylan seized his opportunity and focused his energy on Berith’s open wounds.
 
Blood came pouring out, but the demon didn’t seem to mind.
 
Berith slashed at Matt, catching him across the chest.
 
Matt screamed but, nevertheless, moved in closer.
 
His knife hand shot toward the demon, but it was caught in one massive hand.
 
However, before the demon could react, two of Matt’s fingers went, knuckle-deep, into the beast’s right eye.
 
Matt was dropped, and immediately fell to the ground.
 
Mastema had diverted his attention to the knife-wielding threat.
 
Matt’s body began to be crushed by the same invisible force that had thrown Jeremiah a hundred feet away.
 
The prophet could not even draw in enough breath to call for help.

Four shots rang out.
 
The first rocked Mastema’s head backward; the next three collided with his torso, appearing to do little damage.
 
Jeremiah was moving back into the fight, and he was already next to Dylan.
 
His hand dropped the gun but remained extended.
 
Mastema’s clothes began to burn.

It looked like Berith was starting to recover, and he was lumbering toward Matt, who was still pinned to the ground.
 
Dylan moved between the demon and the prophet.
 
Berith, who, apparently, did not think Dylan was a threat, ignored him.
 
As Berith passed, Dylan did something completely unexpected.
 
He jumped onto Berith, threw his arms around the demon’s neck, making physical contact with skin, and commanded the blood to boil.

Mastema, his clothes still on fire, returned his attention to Jeremiah who was already far too close.
 
Mastema grabbed Jeremiah by the face and lifted him off the ground.
 
Jeremiah, feeling Mastema’s fingers trying to crush his skull, concentrated everything he had on moving the fire from the demon’s clothes to his skin.

Berith fell to his knees.
 
His veins were melting.
 
With one hand, he reached back and raked Dylan’s back, ripping skin and muscle.
 
The prophet fell away, unconscious.
 
Berith stood up, sorely wounded.
 
He could barely make it to his feet.
 
When he finally did, Matt, whose bondage had been lifted—thanks to Jeremiah—stuck his shard from the sword of Lucifer in the monster’s remaining eye.
 
Berith fell and did not get up again.

Succeeding in causing Mastema’s skin to catch on fire, Jeremiah was dropped.
 
Mastema, realizing he had, indeed, underestimated his foes, assumed his battle form.
 
His human skin turned into clear, polished stone—diamond.
 
The fire seemed to die a little from the transformation, and Mastema didn’t seem to be as affected by it as he had before, but it still burned on the demon’s exterior.

“I’m done with these games,” Mastema roared.
 
“Now, you perish, Jeremiah.”

He bent down and began pummeling Jeremiah with his fists.
 
Every stroke seemed to make Jeremiah weaker and Mastema stronger.
 
The hits became more severe, and Jeremiah could not pull himself up off the ground.

Then, Jeremiah heard his name called, and the sound of metal against stone came rushing toward him.
 
His left hand intercepted Matt’s blade, and his right caught Mastema’s next blow.
 
With haste to rival Matt’s, he pulled himself forward—toward Mastema—and implanted the knife in the demon’s head.
 
Mastema staggered backwards.
 
Jeremiah was on top of him in an instant.
 
Having recovered some of his strength, he fueled the fire, and removed the blade.
 
He reinserted it into his foe’s heart over and over again.
 
The adamant flesh was no match for the metal of the shard.
 
It cut through with only minimal resistance.
 
In seconds, Mastema also moved no more.

Jeremiah’s fire died, and he rushed over to Dylan, laying his hands on the boy.
 
Dylan’s eyes fluttered a little until they were completely open.

“Did we win?” Dylan gasped.

“Don’t speak,” Jeremiah ordered.
 
“Listen, you have to concentrate on stopping your bleeding.”

“Not strong enough,” Dylan responded.

“Yes you are,” Jeremiah said.
 
“I can help.”
 

He forced some of his own energy into the young prophet.
 
Dylan gritted his teeth and yelled.
 
Then, his eyes slowly fell shut again.

“Will he be okay?” Matt asked.

“If we can get him to a hospital, he should be.”
 
Jeremiah turned Dylan over onto his stomach and examining the cuts.
 
“I think he managed to stop his bleeding, but he’ll need surgery to fix his back.
 
Luckily,” he added as he picked Dylan up, “Berith missed his spinal cord.
 
Get him to my car.”

Matt nodded and took Dylan from Jeremiah and ran to the door.
 
He ordered the men on the other side to carry Dylan out.
 
Jeremiah turned on the bodies of the two demons, and they burst into flame.
 
He glared at them until he was sure that they would be consumed without any more help from him.
 
Then, he ran for his car.
 

As he was leaving, he heard the sound of a telephone ringing somewhere in the house.
 
If he hadn’t had more pressing matters, he would have answered it.

***

“There’s no answer, sir,” the nervous woman told Patheus.

“Apparently, Jeremiah was successful,” Patheus surmised.
 
He couldn’t help but smile a little.
 
“I was never too fond of Mastema, anyway.
 
But I’ll admit that I didn’t see this one coming.”

Metatron stepped out of the shadows.
 
“Don’t be too satisfied, Patheus,” he recommended.
 
“It is only a matter of time before he finds out where you’re staying.
 
And I strongly doubt you’ll put up the fight that Mastema did.”

Patheus was surprised by his master’s unannounced arrival.
 
He bowed slightly.
 
Patheus knew that he should measure his next words very carefully.
 
“What should we do?”

“Again, you use the word
we
, Patheus.
 
Your existence on this planet is in jeopardy.
 
I strongly suggest you start considering what
you
should do.”

“Will he not eventually seek your destruction as well, Master?”

Metatron smiled.
 
“I would expect nothing less.”
 
Then, he was gone again.

“Sir?” the secretary asked.
 
“Are you going to the house to assess the situation?”

“I’ll wait a while,” Patheus replied, looking back to the paperwork on his desk.
 
“I don’t want to be there if Jeremiah is still there.”

***

Alex had been sleeping lightly since his return to the apartment.
 
He’d persuaded Abbie to let him return when she learned that Matt was on his way.
 
When he heard a noise, he woke, hoping that Matt was home but fearing that someone else was.
 
He rifled through his backpack to find the taser pen.
 
He grabbed it and went to his bedroom door.
 
Slowly, he pushed it open and looked into the living room.
 
Matt was there.
 
He had his back to Alex.
 
Shirtless, he was examining something on his chest.
 
He had a tube of something in his left hand, and he rubbed the goo on himself with the right.

“Ow,” he groaned softly.

“Matt?” Alex said.

Matt was startled, and he spun around.
 
Alex saw four long cuts that extended from underneath Matt’s left shoulder and ran, diagonally, down his torso.
 
He was covered in stitches.

“What happened?” Alex gasped.

Matt sighed and looked down at himself.
 
“I got into a fight.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.
 
I’ll be fine.
 
I heal pretty quickly.
 
You should get back to bed, now.
 
You have school tomorrow.”

Alex nodded, dumbly, and went back into his room, shutting the door softly behind him.
 
He lay in his bed for almost thirty minutes, but he finally drifted into unconsciousness.

***

Dylan’s eyes slowly opened.
 
He could make out a figure sitting by his bed.

“Jeremiah?” he grunted.
 
The pain in his back was little more than a dull throbbing.

“I’m here,” Jeremiah responded.
 
He was reading something.
 
“You just go back to sleep.
 
When you feel better, we’ll leave.”

“What happened?”

Jeremiah put the book in his lap and smiled at Dylan.
 
“You did well.
 
A little surgery was required, but I pulled some strings and got you the best surgeons in Chicago.
 
They tell me that, with a little bit of rehabilitation, you should come close to being fully recuperated in a few weeks, and I should be able to expedite that a little.
 
I have all of the necessary equipment at the mansion.
 
As soon as you recover, that’s where we’ll head.
 
I promise,” he added with a hint of guilt, “that there won’t be any more excitement until we get there.”

Dylan laughed, but after pain ripped through his back, he groaned.
 
“Yeah.
 
I don’t think I want any more excitement for a little while.”

Jeremiah nodded.
 
“Get some sleep.”

***

A balding, nervous, middle-aged man sat in a Las Vegas jail cell.
 
He was sweating.
 
He knew that his life would soon be over.
 
They’d taken him into custody at the bus station on bogus charges.
 
He had gambled, and he would soon die for the mistake.

“Marcus,” a voice cooed to him from within the cell.
 
“I’m astounded.”

Marcus looked up and was not at all surprised with what he saw.
 
“Metatron,” was all he said.

“You came to Vegas.
 
Why?
 
If you would have kept running, I would have never caught you.
 
I may have even stopped looking.
 
But you came here to work with my enemy.
 
This just isn’t acceptable.”

Marcus knew there was no hope in hiding his intentions.
 
“I came to warn Abbie about Eva.
 
I thought she should know.”

“Oh,” Metatron remarked sarcastically.
 
“
You
thought she should know.
 
I’m sure it never occurred to you that
I
might know better.
 
After all, I have been around for a very long time.”

Marcus shook his head and laughed.
 
He looked down at his feet.
 
“I should have joined Jeremiah when I had the chance.”

“Don’t let your conscience get the best of you now, Marcus.
 
You were right to stay out of this mess.
 
You shouldn’t have gotten involved.”