This Present Darkness (29 page)

A wad of paper bounced off her head. She turned around and saw Marshall looking over some lists. He looked like he couldn’t possibly have tossed that little projectile.

He said, “Boy, I wonder if I could contact Harmel again? But
he
won’t talk either.”

The same wad of paper bounced off his ear. He looked at Bernice and she was dead serious, all business.

“Well, it’s obvious he knew too much. It’s my guess that both he and former Dean Strachan are running good and scared.”

“Yeah.” Marshall had a memory come to the surface. “Harmel talked that way, warning
me.
He said something like, I’d be out on my ear like everybody else.”

“So who’s everybody else?”

“Yeah, who else do we know who could have been removed?”

Bernice looked over some of her notes. “Well, you know, now that I look over this list, none of these people have really been in their position for a very long time.”

The wad of paper ricocheted off her head and skittered across her desk.

“So who did they replace?” Marshall asked.

Bernice solemnly picked up the wad of paper as she said, “We can check that out. In the meantime, the most obvious thing to do is call
Strachan and see what—” she hurled the wad at Marshall “—he has to say!”

Marshall grabbed the wad in midflight and quickly crumpled another one to add to his arsenal, sending them both back in Bernice’s direction. Bernice began to prepare an adequate counterattack.

“All right,” Marshall said, starting to crack up with laughter, “I’ll give him a ring.” He was suddenly in the middle of a blizzard of paper wads. “But I think we’d better get out of here, my wife’s waiting.”

Bernice was not finished with the war yet, so they finished it and then had to clean up before they could leave.

RAFAR PACED UP
and down the dark basement room, chugging out hot breath that became a layer of cloud obscuring him from the shoulders up. He pounded his fists together, he tore invisible enemies in his outstretched talons, he cursed and fumed.

Lucius stood with the other warriors, waiting for Rafar to calm down and give the reason for calling this meeting. Lucius rather enjoyed the little scene before him. Obviously Rafar, the great braggart, had been cut down to size in his meeting with the Strongman! Lucius could hardly keep a hideous smirk off his face.

“Wouldn’t the little angel tell you where you could find this … what was that name again?” Lucius asked, knowing full well Tal’s name.

“TAL!” Rafar roared, and Lucius could detect Rafar’s humiliation at the very sound of the name.

“The little angel, the helpless little angel, told you nothing?”

Rafar’s immediate response was a monstrous black fist clamped instantly around Lucius’s throat. “Do you mock me, little imp?”

Lucius had learned the right tone of groveling to please this tyrant. “Oh, be not offended, great one. I only seek your pleasure.”

“Then seek this Tal!” Rafar growled. He released Lucius and turned to all the other demons present. “All of you, seek this Tal! I want him in my hands to shred him at my pleasure. This battle could be settled easily between the two of us. Find him! Bring me word!”

Lucius tried to hide his words behind a whimpering tone, but they were specially selected for another purpose. “Indeed we shall, great one! But surely this Tal must be a formidable foe to have routed you
at the fall of Babylon! Whatever will you do, should we find him? Will you dare to assail him again?”

Rafar grinned, his fangs shining. “You will see what your Ba-al can do!”

“And may we not see what this
Tal
can do!”

Rafar drew close to Lucius and stared him down with fiery yellow orbs. “When I have vanquished this Tal and hurled his little pieces across the skies as my victory banner, I will most certainly give you your chance to better me. I will relish every moment of it.”

Rafar turned away, and for an instant the whole room was filled with his black wings before he shot upward through the building and into the sky.

For hours afterwards as angels all over Ashton watched from their hiding places, the Ba-al flew slowly over the town like a sinister vulture, his sword visible and challenging. Up, down, back and forth he flew, weaving in among the downtown buildings, then soaring high above the town in graceful arcs.

Down below, through the window of an obscure store basement, Scion watched as Rafar passed overhead again. He turned to his captain, who sat nearby on some appliance crates with Guilo, Triskal, and Mota. Triskal, with the help of others, was getting himself patched up and back together again.

“I don’t understand,” said Scion. “What’s he think he’s doin’?”

Tal looked up from Triskal’s wounds and said matter-of-factly, “He’s trying to draw me out.”

Mota added, “He wants the captain. Apparently he has offered great honors to whatever demon can find Captain Tal and report his whereabouts.”

Guilo said gruffly, “The devils are crawling all over the church with no other aim. It was the first place they looked.”

Tal anticipated Scion’s next question and answered it. “Signa and the others are still there at the church. We’ve tried to keep our guard there looking as it usually does.”

Scion watched Rafar circle over the far side of the town and come back for another pass. “I’d have trouble bein’ taunted by such as
him!
”

Tal spoke the truth, without shame. “If I were to meet him now I would most certainly lose, and he knows it. Our prayer cover is insufficient—while
he has all the backing he needs.”

They could all hear the rushing of Rafar’s huge, leathery wings and see his shadow fall over the building for an instant as he passed overhead.

“We will all have to be very, very careful.”

HANK WAS WALKING
through the town again, up and down the streets and storefronts, driven by the Lord and praying with every step he took. He had a feeling that God had some particular purpose for this little jaunt, but he couldn’t begin to guess what it was.

Krioni and Triskal walked on either side of him; they had gotten some extra reserves to stay at the house and watch over Mary. They were wary and alert, and Triskal, still recovering from his recent encounter with Rafar, felt especially edgy when he considered where they were leading Hank.

Hank took a turn he had never taken before, down a street he had never looked at before, and finally stopped outside a business establishment he had only heard bad stories about but could never find. He stood outside the door, staring, amazed at the number of kids going in and out like bees. Finally he stepped inside.

Krioni and Triskal tried their very best to look meek and nonthreatening as they followed him.

The Cave was aptly named: the power it took to run the rows upon rows of flickering, beeping video games was made up for by the total absence of any other lights, except a little blue globe here and there in the black ceiling with an occasional watt meandering through it. There was more sound than light; heavy metal rock music pounded from speakers all around the room and clashed painfully with the myriads of electronic sounds tumbling out of the machines. One lone proprietor sat behind his little cash register in the corner, reading a girlie magazine whenever he wasn’t making change for the game players. Hank had never seen so many quarters in one place.

Here were kids of all ages, with few other places to go, congregating after school and all through the weekends to hang out, hang on, play games, pair up, wander off, do drugs, do sex, do whatever. Hank knew this place was a hell hole; it wasn’t the machines, or the decor, or
the dimness—it was just the pungent spiritual stench of demons having their heyday. He felt sick to his stomach.

Krioni and Triskal could see hundreds of narrowing yellow eyes peering at them from the corners and dark hiding places of the room. Already they had heard several metallic rings as blades were drawn and made ready.

“Do I look harmless enough?” Triskal quietly asked.

“They do not think you are harmless anymore,” Krioni said dryly.

The two looked around at all the eyes looking back at them. They smiled in a trucelike way, raising their empty hands to show no intent of hostility. The demons made no reply, but several blades could be seen glowing in the dark.

“So where is Seth?” Triskal asked.

“On his way, I’m sure.”

Triskal tensed. Krioni followed his look to see a surly demon approaching them. The demon’s hand was on his sword; he hadn’t drawn it, but plenty of other swords were drawn behind him.

The black spirit looked the two angels up and down and hissed, “You are not welcome here! What is your business?”

Krioni answered quickly and politely, “We are watching over the man of God.”

The demon took one look at Hank and lost the better portion of his cockiness. “Busche!” he exclaimed nervously while those behind him backed away. “What is he doing here?”

“That’s nothing we wish to discuss,” said Triskal.

The demon only sneered. “Are you Triskal?”

“I am.”

The demon laughed, coughing up puffs of red and yellow. “You enjoy a fight, don’t you?” Several demons joined him in laughter.

Triskal had no intention of answering. The demon had no time to demand an answer. Suddenly all the mocking spirits grew tense and agitated. Their eyes darted about, and then like a flock of timid birds they backed away and huddled in the dark corners. At the same time Krioni and Triskal could feel a new strength coursing through them. They looked down at Hank.

He was praying.

“Dear Lord,” he said silently, “help us to reach these kids; help us
to touch their lives.”

Hank was praying at a very good time, considering the commotion just coming in the backdoor. As demons slinked away from the entrance, three of their comrades came into the building wailing, hissing, and drooling, their arms and wings over their heads. They were chased and prodded along by a very tall and quite unshakable angelic warrior.

“Well,” said Triskal, “Seth has brought us Ron Forsythe and then some!”

“I was afraid of that,” said Krioni.

Triskal was referring to a young man barely visible under the three demons, a very confused and disoriented victim of their destructive influence. They clung to him like leeches, causing him to stagger to and fro as they fought to avoid the goading tip of the big warrior’s sword. Seth had them under very tight control, however, and he herded them right toward Hank Busche.

“Hey, Ron,” said some guys at a bombardier game.

“Hey …” was all Ron answered, giving them a slow, heavy wave of his hand. He did not seem very happy.

Hank heard the name and saw Ron Forsythe coming, and for a moment he didn’t know whether to remain where he was or get out of harm’s way. Ron was a tall, spindly youth with long, unkempt hair, dirty tee shirt and jeans, and eyes that seemed to be looking into some other universe. He staggered toward Hank, looking over his shoulder as if a flock of birds was chasing him and then forward as if he were one step from a cliff. Hank, watching him approach, decided to remain right where he was. If the Lord wanted the two of them to meet, well, it was about to happen.

Then Ron stopped short and leaned against a road-racing game. This man standing in front of him looked familiar.

The demons clinging to Ron were shaking and whimpering, shooting glances toward Seth behind them and Krioni and Triskal in front of them. As for the other demons in the room, they were itching for a fight. Their yellow eyes shifted about and their red blades clattered, but something held them back—that praying man.

“Hi there,” Hank said to the young man. “I’m Hank Busche.”

Ron’s glassy eyes widened. He stared at Hank and said with slurred speech, “I’ve seen you around. You’re that preacher my folks keep talking
about.”

Hank was sure enough now to guess. “Ron? Ron Forsythe?”

Ron looked around and fidgeted as if he’d been caught doing something illegal. “Yeah …”