The Tenth Order (40 page)

“Come again?”

“She’s not used to contact with outsiders,” the guard continued. “Keep your voice an even level and refrain from sudden movements. She spooks easily,” The guard smiled affectionately at this last bit.

Hunter scowled. “Look guy, I don’t know what those Venus people told you, but they left me completely in the dark. My friends and I came looking for answers and maybe some kind of protection, but all I’ve gotten so far is a locked room and a lecture about candles. So, forgive me for being blunt, but…um…well,” Hunter held out his hands, palms up, “I’m not taking another fucking step until I know what’s going on.”

The guard smiled. “Mr. Friskin, many of your questions will be answered momentarily. In the meantime, I suggest you follow my advice and maintain an attitude of humble submission.”

Yeah, you guys are models of humility.
Hunter let out a deep breath and rubbed his face. “What the hell,” he said. “I’ve known you for over five minutes, you seem like a trustworthy guy.
”

The guard nodded. “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. And now,” he motioned with a sweeping arm toward the unlocked door, “may I introduce the last of the Thrones. Oriphiel.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Oh come on,” Jackie said. “A Flaming Sword? Seriously? Where do you guys get this shit?”

Mary scowled at the detective, her face a darkening cloud. The General, his single eye fixed on Jackie, frowned. But Eli only laughed, his bulbous nose bobbing up and down as he nodded. “I know, right?”

Valdis mouthed something Jackie couldn’t make out, then gave the three judges a nervous smile. He held his hands out as if to say,
What are you going to do?

“I thought you wanted answers,” The General said. “It’s the mark of a weak mind to ask for truth and cry false when it’s presented.”

Jackie rolled her eyes but said nothing. Seeing she was done for the moment, the General smacked his gums, drummed his fingers, then continued. “Armed thus, the Morning Star led humanity in a strike against the beyond, hoping to topple Gavri’el and Mika’il. And he almost made it.”

“If he hadn’t been betrayed,” Eli spoke, his voice ringing in high adolescent peals through the large hall. Mary and the General eyed the boy, the matron shaking her head in disapproval.

“Er…betrayed?” Valdis asked.

“Deceived by a Cherubim Lucifer had trusted with his most intimate secrets,” said Eli.

The General pursed his lips. “That’s speculation, son. We don’t know—”

“Of course we do! We just don’t want to admit our great
Lord
could have been deceived. He trusted the Singer to lead the secondary assault against the Seraphim, and just when the tide was turning in the Morning Star’s favor—BAM!” Eli struck the oaken table with the flat of his hand, causing Valdis to jump. “The Cherubim led Gavri’el right to him.”

Mary turned away from Eli and began fussing with ends of her sleeves. It was the first time Jackie had seen uncertainty in the older woman. “This isn’t the time to argue doctrine, boy,” Mary said.

Eli started to protest, but the General waved the young man silent. “It’s not important how he lost. It only matters that he
did
. Our Lord was executed, and the Sword of the Morning Star was lost with him. We—the remains of Lucifer’s once mighty army—retreated to the shadows, waiting. Hoping one day to take up our battle and drive the Seraphim from the beyond,” he said this last part in a whisper, his eye descending to the floor.

Silence, thick and oppressive, fell on the chamber. Only the General’s labored breathing disturbed the stillness as the three judges stared down at the wooden table, lost in thought.

Jackie snorted. “Bullshit.”

Valdis threw up his hands and closed his eyes. Jackie ignored the priest and rose to her feet. “I’m not a scholar like Anthony, and I’m not religious. You got me right,” she nodded at the General. “I did the church thing when I was a kid. But I grew out of it the same time I stopped trading baseball cards and believing in the bogeyman. Now, I know there are things in this world I can’t explain—I’ve seen stuff in the last month that would make a Navy Seal piss his pants—but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to buy your magic beans. We’re not idiots.” She pointed a long, straight finger at the one-eyed General. “You side-stepped every time I asked about Friskin. What did you do with him?”

Mary ached a single eyebrow. “You came to us. Or did you forget in the heat of your temper-tantrum?”

“Yeah, I guess we did,” Jackie admitted. “But we were running scared, and Anthony thought it was our best option. Doesn’t matter. We’re here now, and I asked you a question.”

Careful, you stupid girl
.
These bastards could remember any second that you’re their prisoner.
Jackie banished the thought and continued to stare at the General.

The one-eyed man ran a finger through his dingy white beard and looked at Valdis. “Does she speak for you, Nephilim?”

The priest eyed Jackie hesitantly. “I…” He sighed. “I suppose she does. Yes.”

“Very well,” The General said.

“But we don’t even know if his claim is true!” Mary protested, turning to the elderly man. “You can’t just—”

“Oh come
on,
” Eli burst out. “Are you blind, Captain? These guys are obviously the ones Oriphiel—”

“
Enough!
” The General roared, rising to his feet. Jackie couldn’t help but take a step back. Upright, fury burning in his one good eye, the old man looked every inch the military commander.

“I’m not interested in disputes. I believe the priest’s story—that’s the end of it.” The General eyed the two judges, letting a full thirty seconds of silence pass before turning away. He gave Valdis and Jackie a tight smile. “You want to know about the Apkallu Hunter Friskin?”

Valdis nodded.

“Very well. Follow me.”

The guard motioned to the doorway, and Hunter slowly stepped through. Past the entrance was a surprisingly modest room the size of a small apartment. Hunter wasn’t sure what to make of it; it was as though someone from the 1950’s had fallen in love with someone from the 1980’s, got drunk, had a kid, and the kid took a whole pile of acid.

The walls were papered a buttery-yellow paisley that covered the room from floor to ceiling. Spaced throughout were lamps hung with ridiculous shades of colors ranging from olive to mustard. Passing through the massive entrance, Hunter looked to his left and saw a coat rack, a potted fern, and an enormous cabinet filled with VHS tapes that spilled onto the floor. In the pile Hunter saw a tattered copy of “Overboard.”

The lamp-light was soft, but Hunter’s eyes had adapted to the dim candlelight on his way through the tunnels, and the sudden luminescence was almost blinding. He blinked tears from his eyes as he took in the strange room. As his vision returned he saw that a shape at the back of the room he had taken for another lamp was actually an old woman. She wore a simple dark skirt and conservative blue top, and as Hunter looked closer he saw what he had at first considered age was actually something else. Her hair was a fine silvery gray, but her face was clear of the wrinkles and age marks Hunter had expected to see. Eyes a deep chocolate brown brightened as she smiled. The look on Hunter’s face must have been comical, because she laughed when she saw him and clapped her hands.

“You must be Herchel!” She said brightly, walking into the main room. She looked over Hunter’s shoulder and waved at the guard. “It’s alright, Gregory, the boy won’t hurt me. Give a duck some privacy, would you?” Hunter turned to see the wooden gate swing shut, and heard the clink of locks turning. Looking back, he eyed the woman skeptically.

“You’re a Throne?” He asked.

The woman, Oriphiel, gave Hunter a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve been called worse.”

“I was told there were no Thrones. That the third order was extinct.”

The shadow of a frown passed over the woman. “They sure tried. I was lucky-bucky the Grigori found me when I was young. They sheltered me from other Apkallu,” she delivered this last bit in a crisp, tight voice. “Others weren’t as fortunate. But where are my manners? Come in, sit down. You must be chock
full
of juicy, oosey, questions.
” Oriphiel cocked her head, stuck out her tongue and skipped over to the couch.

“Um…sure…” Hunter said, following the silver-haired woman. She sat, crossing her legs demurely, and motioned for Hunter to do the same. Her posture was pristine, back straight and chin raised. Hunter shifted self-consciously on the plastic cushions, trying not to slouch. Noticing his discomfort, the Throne laughed.

“Herchel,
relax,
” she said, reaching over to the small end table and taking one of two steaming mugs. She passed the cup to Hunter, her eyes glittering.
Lifting her own mug, she took a deep whiff. “Is there anything better than peppermint?” She asked with a small sigh. Her voice had a British accent now, an affectation Hunter swore hadn’t been there before.

He sipped at his beverage and felt the hot liquid do its work; his muscles unwound, shoulders relaxing into the soft cushions, and despite himself he closed his eyes. But the sense of peace only lasted a moment

Hunter’s eyes snapped open. The Throne was studying him over her mug, her bottom lip pushed out like she was about to pout. She lowered her cup and leaned forward. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you, Herchel.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Hunter asked, fidgeting against the soft cushions.

“It’s your name, dummy.”

Hunter lowered his mug. This woman was a few shades left of alright. “Lady…” he started to say.
You’re nuts.
But Hunter never finished the sentence. There was…something when she said the name. Something that resonated. The name triggered
—
a memory?—
something in Hunter’s gut. It didn’t seem like it was his, not really—but it was
familiar.

He must have telecasted his discomfort, because Oriphiel reached forward and patted his leg. “Nevermind, nevermind” she said soothingly. “We can come back to that one later.”

Lowering his mug, Hunter cleared his throat. “It’s Oriphiel, right? I don’t know if this is all part of Father Valdis’ plan, but I…Christ, I’m not even sure where to begin.”

“You begin at the place where you begin,” Oriphiel said, still patting his knee.

“Thanks, very helpful. Look, I have a whole bunch of angels that want me dead right now. And that’s not evening mentioning the police. So far I have a priest and a…I don’t know. Is she technically a detective anymore?” Hunter shook his head. “A priest and a detective in my corner. That’s it.” He felt guilty saying that last bit—
they’re probably safer without you anyway
—but he pushed it to the back of his head.

“I don’t know what I did to piss off the
Elohim
, but Mika’il’s probably going to gut me the next time I see her, and the
Adonai
have been sharpening their knives since the christening.” He wondered if this last part was true, remembering the look Karen had given him before Hunter had fled with Jackie and Valdis.

Oriphiel said nothing, lifting her mug and taking a long, slow sip. Hunter shifted on the couch, his eyes traveling the room anxiously, wondering how long he could remain here before he had to run again. How long before the Apkallu caught up?

Finally, the Throne lowered her drink. Her bottom lip popped out again. “I was hoping we would have time to gossip. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to sit with someone and small talk. It’s an unappreciated art, small talk. Most people dismiss it, but used correctly it can put a guest, or even a potential enemy at ease.” Oriphiel’s nose crinkled. “I guess we don’t have time for that.”

Hunter didn’t know what to say, so he took another mouthful of peppermint tea. Oriphiel followed his lead, then set down her mug and rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get to it, Herchel.”

“Seriously, what the hell? If that’s my name why didn’t the
Elohim
know it? Hash told me it would come with time, that the discovery of an Apkallu’s identity sometimes took days or weeks, that the christening would make it apparent. What’s
wrong
with me?
”

“Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Boo-hoo, life sucks and then you die—and then you’re reincarnated,” Oriphiel winked at Hunter and stuck her tongue out again. “This ‘Hash’ sounds like an idiot. It’s obvious who you are.”

Hunter threw up his hands. “Well fine. Tell me.”

“You’re Herchel, sixth order, second choir—a Power,” Oriphiel said. “I’m a Throne, young man, there’s very little I don’t know. Why do you think the Apkallu tried to eradicate us?”

“Oh come on. Mika’il would jump at the opportunity to have a prophet in her little group.”

“Well, that would depend on the prophecy, wouldn’t it.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve seen something?” Hunter said slowly. “Something that scared them…”

“Naturally.”

“What?” Hunter leaned forward, almost spilling his tea in his excitement. “If you know something that can take them down,
tell me.
They’ve made it clear it’s me or them, so I choose
me
, goddammit. I’m sick of this shit, just tell me how to
end it
.”