The World in Shadow (Eternal Warriors Book 2) Page 8

  But if God could use her to wake up a dead preacher, then he could save Dad too. It was something to pray about, she knew, and wished she’d actually spent more time praying for him. Why was it always so hard to remember to pray for things, even the really important things?

  “What are you thinking about, Jami?” Holli asked her as she took her plate from in front of her. “Aren’t you going to help with the dishes.”

  “Oh, sure, nothing really,” Jami told her, not wanting to get into it. “So tell me, what’s going on with you and Eric….”

  Archdemons were seldom known for their patience, and Lord Balazel was no exception. Less than a day passed before his emissaries had summoned all of the Fallen spirits that were to be held responsible for the failed attack on the black preacher. Melusine, much to her dismay, learned that her presence was demanded as well. The fact that the arrogant imp who delivered Balazel’s imperious message to her dared to molest her with his greedy hands did not bode well for her, she knew, but she took a certain satisfaction in knowing that no matter what happened to her, that wretched imp wouldn’t bother anyone else for some time.

  It was hard to feel up a demoness if you were missing your hands, after all. And your eyes.

  Melusine shrugged as she flew towards the meeting place. They’d grow back eventually. She wasn’t going to waste her time thinking about an overfriendly imp when she had an angry archdemon to worry about. Last night’s fiasco wasn’t her fault, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be held responsible for it. She had no doubts as to where the responsibility really lay, but avoiding the consequences of her actions had always been Pandaema’s best talent. Melusine consoled herself with the thought that one of these days, the demoness’ sneaky ways would finally catch up with her, the cursed little conniver.

  She spread her wings and lighted softly on the stone walkway of the old Methodist church where she had been summoned. Lord Balazel was there, his huge frame darkening the doorway, but to her surprise, he was unaccompanied.

  The archdemon smiled at her, at least, she thought he did. It was hard to tell, with all those tusks protruding from his thick-lipped mouth.

  “Don’t be afraid, Melusine,” he growled at her. “This is no Inquisition. The interference of the Counselor was an unpleasant surprise, but the survival of the Reverend Wallace is a nuisance, nothing more.”

  “But the imp you sent to me….”

  “Overstepped himself.” The archdemon’s yellow eyes sparkled with good humor. “I would have punished him for his impertinent disobedience, but you seem to have taken care of that already.”

  Melusine curtsied gracefully.

  “I am glad to have been of service, Baron.”

  “Spanking an imp is sport, not service, as far as I’m concerned.” The archdemon shrugged. “And poor enough sport, at that. But there is more interesting game afoot and I have need of you tonight. Wallace, you see, was a mistake. Kaeli-Thugal thought to anticipate my desires and in doing so, she struck down the wrong man.”

  Melusine nodded understandingly. That was the problem with demons. They could be rather undependable. You could almost say it was part of the job description.

  “A mistake?” She laughed ironically. Some mistake!“So, what would you have me do, Lord Balazel?”

  The Baron placed his hands together and cracked his knuckles. He seemed pleased with himself.

  “Tonight, we will strike in the open. I intend to convince the Divine that tonight is the culmination of all our recent activities in this area. You know the church called Saint Cecilia’s? Many slaves of Heaven gather there tonight, and it is my intention that there they will witness their leader fall before their very eyes.”

  “Father Keane?” Melusine gasped, surprised at the Baron’s boldness. This sort of thing was rarely permitted, and even more rarely dared. “You’re really going to act against him?”

  The archdemon shook his powerful head.

  “The good Father is more vulnerable than you might think. A score of Dubbiosi have done excellent work over the last months, and the Father’s faith is in decline. He has turned his church into a place of esoterics, not warriors, and of that crowd, hardly a one has claimed his protection in years!”

  Lord Balazel smiled and shook a black-clawed finger at her.

  “Don’t confuse size with vitality, Melusine. The whole world could call itself Christian and I would not care, so long as they did not have faith. Let them wave their palms. It’s meaningless.”

  Melusine nodded obediently. The archdemon was unusually thoughtful tonight. She found that she was actually enjoying his tangential ruminations.

  “But you still haven’t told me what you want me to do, Lord Balazel.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I have had a long, shall we say, conversation, with Kaeli-Thugal, and I am assured that this time she has clearly understood my purpose. But I want more than the one death, I want to strike fear into the hearts of the people who witness it. What I need is an angel who has tasted of the flesh before, who will not be overcome by the excitement of the carnal. So just before Kaeli slays Father Keane, you will take possession of someone in the congregation and predict his fall.”

  Melusine felt her whole spirit thrill with the thought of taking mortal form again, even if it would just be for a short time. Forget last night, this was going to be fun!

  “In customarily dramatic manner, I assume?”

  “Exactly,” the archdemon confirmed. “I knew you would understand. This must be seen to be the culmination of our work here, and so you must leave a definite sign of your essence with the one you choose. As to the moment, it must be precise. The Kesh’Adae will provide the appropriate fireworks, and that will be your cue. But don’t overdo it. I don’t want any Hollywood theatrics overshadowing the Father’s death.”

  “All right,” she sighed regretfully. What a waste of a perfect opportunity! She had all kinds of great ideas for a really crazy public manifestation. Then she thought of something else. “How am I going to get into the congregation? There’s going to be a lot of Guardians surrounding the church, don’t you think?”

  “Leave that to me, my dear,” Lord Balazel’s armor creaked as he flexed his awesome muscles.

  He stepped forward, and his Aspect shifted into that of a four-armed battle demon, with razor-sharp horns sprouting from his shoulders all the way down to his wrists. A helmet of fire blazed into existence over his head, leaving only his eyes and jaws visible to her.

  “One more thing, Melusine.”

  “Yes, Baron?”

  “You won’t be staying in that mortal body,” he commanded over the crackle and hiss of his helm. “Linger there one second longer than is necessary, and I’ll rip you out of it myself!”

  Melusine nodded quickly. One of these days, she vowed, she was going to learn how to keep her thoughts to herself.

  Chapter 8

  The Beautiful Game

  I looked for a man among them who would build up the wall and stand before me in the gap on behalf of the land so I would not have to destroy it, but I found none.

  —Ezekiel 22:30

  Jami interrupted her stretching and rolled her left sock down, then adjusted the velcro strap on her shin pad. As much as she enjoyed playing with the boys, she knew she had to be ready for their more physical style of play. She felt the rough surface of the tough green carpet and grimaced, knowing she was going to add a few more rugburns to her knees before the game was over. The smaller indoor field kept the number of big collisions down, but when you hit the artificial turf, you paid for it with skin.

  “Watch out,” somebody yelled, and she ducked instinctively as a blue-and-white Umbro ball bounced over her head. From behind her, there was a thump as the ball was expertly returned to the field, and Jami heard talking to her.

  “Hey, you ready, James?” Eric was asking, as he extended a hand to help her up.

  “Yep,” she said, reaching out. Once she was on her feet, she pulled her ponyt
ail tight one last time, and smoothed out her gold-and-black jersey. “Where do you want me today?”

  Eric didn’t reply right away, instead he looked out at their six teammates who were already on the tiny field. Their opponents, wearing white, outnumbered them with two extra players. The tall senior’s brow wrinkled a little as he decided on their lineup.

  “Let’s keep you at center-mid. You’re too short to win any balls in the air against their forwards, so I’m gonna move Adam back and let you direct traffic. Adam can help your brother if he gets in trouble when he’s in. One other thing. Don’t forget to look for crosses.”

  “Yeah, of course, but why?”

  “See that girl with the black hair, and the guy she’s warming up with?” Eric pointed to the pair of white-shirted players. “That’s their starting dee, and they’re not bad, but I’ve got six inches on him, and Melanie has two or three on the girl. If you take the ball outside and serve it in high, we should get lots of chances.”

  Jami nodded. It made sense. The St. Paul Blackhawks were always one of the state’s top soccer clubs, but this particular team didn’t look so tough. She took a deep breath, then jogged out onto the field to join her teammates.

  “What were you thinking, you idiot?” Jami snapped at Christopher. “He was your man!”

  She glared her brother, then at the ball lying enmeshed in the back of the net. Their goalkeeper was retrieving it slowly, with a look on his face that was equal parts chagrin and irritation, as the Blackhawk who had scored on him celebrated with his teammates. It really wasn’t the keeper’s fault, though, because Christopher had come off his man to help Jami mark the ball-handler. As soon as Christopher made his mistake, the Blackhawk simply passed the ball past him to the man he'd left behind him, who sent a low shot rocketing past the Sting keeper. The score tied the game, three to three.

  “I, uh, thought you needed help,” Christopher protested lamely, his face flushed darkly red.

  “Well, I didn’t! I’ve been marking him all day without your help, so just stay on your own man, for Pete’s sake. There’s only, like, a minute left!”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Eric broke in. He’d scored all three of their goals, one of them on an assist from Jami, and despite his sweat-dampened hair and the heightened color on his cheeks, he still looked confident of victory. “What is this, Family Feud? We got time to get another one. Christopher, I know you’re out of position today, but just relax, right? You gotta trust your teammates. If she gets beat, she gets beat, okay? That’s her business. When you drop your man, you just create bigger problems. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it,” Christopher nodded, obviously chagrined. “Sorry, Jami. It was my fault.”

  Jami didn’t directly acknowledge his apology, as she was still angry about the goal, but she slapped his shoulder to let him know she wouldn’t hold it against him before jogging to take her place at the top of the white circle. Beth looked winded, so Eric sent her to the sidelines and replaced her with Melanie. Greg twisted his ankle early in the second half, so they had no choice but to leave her brother in at left back.

  The whistle blew, and Melanie passed the ball back to Jami. She dribbled outside, then sent the ball back to their right defender, Adam, as the Blackhawk midfielder rushed her. She got the pass off just as the tall, red-haired boy crashed into her, knocking her onto her hands and knees. The carpet took a layer of skin off of her palms, and she waited expectantly for a whistle, but when it didn’t come, she growled angrily and pushed herself to her feet.

  Was the ref blind, or what? A late tackle like that deserved a yellow, or at least a free kick.

  She shook her head, then looked back and saw that Adam had already passed off to Christopher, and the midfielder who had leveled her was still chasing after the ball, leaving her unmarked. Jami’s eyes lit up, and she ignored her burning lungs and aching side, hoping she had the energy for one last sprint up the little field.

  “Christopher!” she yelled, waving one arm high above her head. “Cross! Cross it!”

  Two Blackhawks were converging on her brother when he looked up from his feet and met her eyes. Seeing she was open, he sent a hard ground ball skittering across the green carpet just ahead of her. She was all alone, giving the Sting a three-on-two advantage, but the nearest Blackhawk, the stocky girl, immediately abandoned Melanie and challenged her.

  Expecting this, Jami chipped the ball, intending to lift it just over the girl’s head so it would land in the box at Melanie’s feet. But she was leaning back too far, and in her excitement, she hit the ball too hard.

  “No!” she shouted at herself, as she pulled up and watched the ball sail well over Melanie’s head, arcing wide left of the goal.

  But Eric had been looking for the ball and was racing past his man, and leaped high into the air as he coiled his tall body like a spring. The ball appeared to be far too high for him to reach it, but when he snapped his full height forward, his forehead met the ball with a loud thwack. The Blackhawk keeper dove backward and punched desperately at the flying ball, but his fist fell inches short, and the ball sailed past him. Jami screamed in triumph, sure that it was heading for the back of the net.

  But the ball never made it to the mesh. Instead, it struck the center bar with a sickening metallic bong, and rebounded in a high, soft arc. The ball seemed to be moving in slow motion, Jami thought, and it was floating right in her direction. She had what felt like an eternity to look past it, and she saw that on the far side of the goal, the Blackhawk keeper was slow getting up, leaving the near side open. The defender at her side saw this too, and a look of panic crossed her face as she lunged for Jami, trying desperately to get in between her and the incoming ball.

  Jami pushed her away blindly, seeing nothing but the wide-open goal fifteen yards in front of her. She could see every yellow cord of the netting, lying in wait behind the goal line to receive the ball. She never felt her right leg moving forward, never felt her foot strike the ball just as it came off the ground in a furious half-volley. Her entire focus was on one thing and one thing only. Lean forward, her mind screamed at her body. Lean forward! Don’t you dare put it over!

  She didn’t. The ball flew off the polished kangaroo-skin of her boot and hammered into the upper-right corner of the net. She punched the air victoriously as Eric shouted and ran towards her. When he reached her, he swept her off her feet and whirled her in a sweeping circle.

  “Yes! Oh, baby!” he shouted. “That was beautiful! That was spectacular!”

  Her teammates gathered around her, enthusiastically thumping her on the back.

  “Way to go, Jami,” Melanie embraced her. “You rock, girl!”

  She felt someone tugging on her ponytail and turned around to see her brother grinning broadly. “Hey, are you, like, Mia Hamm or what?” he asked her playfully. She laughed and stuck out her tongue at him, then held up a hand, which he slapped enthusiastically.

  And that was the game. The Blackhawks had no sooner touched the ball when the referee blew the final whistle, with the score in the Sting’s favor, four to three. Jami’s hands and knees were skinned, her chest hurt, and her side still hurt where the redheaded guy had bruised her, but she could not have been happier.

  Kerchunk! Brien winced as the clutch on his ancient Honda slipped again as he tried to shift into gear. It sounded bad, as if the whole transmission had fallen out of the bottom of the engine, and he just hoped the old car would somehow hold together until graduation time. A new clutch wasn’t the most exciting present to look forward to, but it was one he’d be happy with. He’d already dropped a few hints that way; hopefully Dad had been paying attention.

  A car behind him honked, and Brien glared at the driver’s reflection in his rear view mirror. Hang on, jerkie, he thought irritably as he shifted into gear again, a little more carefully this time. The light just turned, anyhow. He eased his foot gently off the clutch and was relieved as the car shifted into first without difficulty. As he pulled away from th
e intersection, the strip mall to the left caught his eye and he was tempted to stop in at the Caribou for a mocha-to-go, until he remembered that he had less than two dollars in his pocket. Better save it for gas, he decided, even though the needle was at three-quarters, it was three days until his next allowance.

  Where did the last one go anyhow? It was amazing how forty-eight dollars could just disappear in four days. He couldn’t even remember spending any of it. Well, at least Derek would have plenty of cash; his parents were both rich and generous. Even so, Brien didn’t envy him, because it was also pretty clear that they didn’t care much about him one way or the other.

  In less than five minutes, he was pulling up to the Wallace’s long driveway. It wasn’t paved, but was covered with a strange pinkish gravel, which was probably really fashionable or something, but in his opinion, just looked weird. Their house was nice and big, with the fancy tiered roofs that were practically required in this neighborhood, but it always felt kind of empty to him. Mrs. Wallace was pretty hot for a woman with a kid in high school, but she was too busy being a vice-president of a bank or something to do any housekeeping, and Mr. Wallace was usually gone, off flying his plane or killing horned animals somewhere around the world.

  Derek’s RAV4 was parked in front of the three-car garage, so Brien parked behind it and turned off the ignition. He spun his keys around his finger as he walked towards the front door and rang the doorbell. The bell chimed some kind of classical melody that he knew he should probably recognize, but he couldn’t properly place it. Mozart, maybe. Or it could be Bach, he wasn’t sure. Something like that, anyhow.

  “Hey,” Derek answered the door. He reached out and pushed the glass storm door open too. “I didn’t think you’d be here for another half an hour.”