Sophia's Chronicles
RECAP: 6 months ago, Zara did an undercover mission near Varanasi, India, where she infiltrated a secret temple to trick the goddess Sita. Jack had been seeing all of this when a fire broke out in a village nearby and he had to summon a storm to put it out. When she met the Winchesters again, she'd been on a hunting spree to clear out some rogue Rakshasas sent by Hindu gods. Kevin was sent with the angels when he first became the prophet so he could decipher the Leviathan tablet under their watch while Castiel took off with the angel tablet. Soon after, Kevin and Castiel got reunited with the boys which allowed Kevin to work on the angel tablet in peace and out of the world's sight.
Chapter 85: The Less I Know The Better
Some undisclosed location – 6 months ago
"Don't let her talk you into anything," Dan warned. Zara gave the demon a bored look, brows crossed in annoyance. "What? It's my job to warn you."
"I thought you knew me better than the others," she muttered monotonously. Rectangular spots of light glided up the walls of the elevator, even caressing their faces, through the geometric holes in the design of the large metal box. The contraption transported them underground. With each passing floor down the earth, the warmth of Hell felt closer but still unreachable. "You've seen how I've changed. I'm not that crack-addled junkie anymore. In fact, I got us our biggest catch and you people still doubt me."
"No, it's not doubt," he huffed, like it was such a ridiculous idea. "Boss trusts me to make sure things are going fine so I gotta go the extra mile, y'know?"
Zara crossed her fully-sleeved arms. That day, she'd chosen to dress minimally – without her full ensemble of the leather jacket and mask. It didn't seem necessary considering the person she was visiting. Still, she paid homage with all black from head to toe, alongside combat pants with any weaponry she might have needed strapped to her waist or thigh.
"Oh come on," Dan sighed as he glanced over at her caustic expression. "What is that look on your face? Lighten up. I didn't mean anything by it."
Ding. The elevator doors had barely opened their full width before Zara stormed out into the hallway.
"I'll just wait here," he called out after her. His voice left an anticlimactic remnant in the air as her silhouette grew smaller.
The towering metallic walls reflected her every cold thought. Her footsteps clanked and echoed with every assault her finely-fitted boots delivered onto the icy ground. Though much space surrounded her, the crushing solitude shut her into this fortress like a Faraday Cage. Even the air tempted her senses with the thought of desperate companionship, like little whispers slithering into her ears. Zara stopped. Her keen brown eyes scanned the wall to her right. Her obsidian manicure traced the wall gently until the familiar hollowness was detected. Her sharp nail flicked open a tiny hatch. In it, a black button appeared. Her bony finger sank into the hatch.
Metal hissed loudly mere inches from where she stood. Zara saw her own distorted reflection on the long, penetrating spikes that shot horizontally from the wall. Another step and any intruder would be skewered. A few seconds passed. The spikes inched back into their hiding spot in the wall. She continued her journey.
The sequence came to her like clockwork. A button here, a lever there, an obscure Enochian rhyme somewhere else – Zara made it through all the disabled traps and finally got to the monolithic cell door. No secret could get out of this one-foot-thick reinforced opaque barrier to escape. And that was to say nothing of the warding. Every inch of this place was designed just to imprint onto the world what messing with Lucifer could do. A keypad appeared in another secret hatch. The code was entered. An Enochian puzzle sigil was solved.
Lastly, her eye was scanned for the laser-like archangel glow – effectively, only two people were allowed to access this place. She brought out the green irises just for this.
"Welcome, Zara," the automated female voice said.
An elaborate series of clicking noises sounded from within the door. And then, the satisfying resonance of something turning into place.
The door slid open in a heavy movement.
The beyond was revealed. Zara stepped in, unsure of what she would see. She'd been told that comfort was made an option here but that did little to mask the cruelty of the situation. Innocent chirping breached her ears. She jerked towards the sound but found no living creature to match it. Still, the luscious hues of greens, oranges and yellows were immediately obvious. An impossible sunlight blanketed the whole scene. This no longer looked like a room. It was like she'd stepped straight into a rainforest. The colours were unusually saturated like some kind of psilocybin dream. More insect and bird noises faded into perception.
It's… beautiful. She was surprised to think Lucifer would have enough mercy to set this up, but she realised it was like praising Hitler for decorating Auschwitz with a splash of colour. She caressed a large tropical leaf that weakly protested her entrance. It was real. This was all real. Then the humming reached her. Amongst the wooden trees, a female humming slithered its way to her. The resonance of her voice vibrated in Zara's head in a rather relaxing melody.
As she neared the voice, the humming had evolved into a pristine singing. The words could be discerned. Zara recognised it to be Sanskrit but could not comprehend the semantics. From the general tone, the song appeared not sad or frightful – rather the opposite. It sounded almost blissful.
She parted more leaves to find a small opening among the trees. The prisoner sat atop a tree stump, unbound, with her back facing Zara. In fact, she radiated a halo so fresh it enveloped Zara in its glow. Her dark, long hair was fashioned into a braid that reached her lower back, interspersed with a thin gold chain. Her head was adorned with fresh flowers that never lost their scent. And her body was draped in such fine silk and gold that it was quite blinding.
"(So we meet again)," Sita greeted in a language Zara understood.
The goddess turned around to face her with the gracefulness of a swan. In broad daylight, her beauty was absolutely divine. She stood up and neared Zara, who didn't falter from her spot in the bushes. The goddess took her arm and led her back into the opening where they were both alone. Her grip might have felt real but Zara knew better. All of this did, in fact, exist – on a different plane of reality. Lucifer trapped her within a different frequency in this very room, which allowed her to live in an environment she could construct for herself but never leave unless she crossed over to the frequency the rest of the universe was calibrated with. Sure, she 'touched' Zara. It was nothing but a mere placebo; a symbolic representation of the actual act.
The deity stood at approximately half a foot above Zara, which meant their eyes could meet at a comfortable tilt.
"(Is this the same forest Ravana brought you to?)" Zara asked in turn.
That seemed to amuse the goddess as she eyed the girl with a strange curiosity. "(You know your stories)," she said with a smile on her modest pink lips. "(That's strange for a Christian girl)."
Inevitably, Zara's eyes wandered to the tree stump. "(Are you angry at the Ashoka Tree?)"
From where she stood, the tree was like a sentence that was never finished, leaving the listener in avid anticipation of what its meaning would be. "(There is no love to be celebrated here)," Sita answered. "(The tree would be insulted)."
It was time to put niceties aside. "(There's something I need from you)," Zara told her. They were standing so close that she expected to feel breath on her skin, if deities needed to breathe. It was hard not to notice how Sita's lips were poised, gently resting against each other like the meeting of budding petals on a young flower.
"(And if I say no?)" her lips danced challengingly.
Zara almost had to shake her head to snap herself out of it. Her kohl-lined eyes flickered up to meet Sita's own almond-shaped ones. Even in that simple shape, much elegance could be gleaned. "(Do you really want Lucifer to come down here instead?)" she said in return.
"(No, I suppose not)," the goddess realised with a hesitant dart of the eyes. That infinitesimal woe was enough to make a person feel a part of themselves depart with no excuse. Zara thought of it as nothing more than the goddess trying to use her vulnerabilities against her. "(I much prefer you.)" She ran a finger along Zara's cheek, even making a soft circling motion. The very act was like the kiss of a feather. "(Sophia has touched you in some way. I can tell.)"
Despite herself, Zara was drawn into her trance just a little more. "(Did you know her?)" she couldn't help but ask.
"(We all did)," Sita told her, with some distant memory putting a spark in her tone. "(Who couldn't notice the great feminine divine standing defiant in the face of God, and even her husband? Such things were unheard of before her. Lucifer stood by her still, as husbands do, but the rest of them – her family?)" Dark brows knotted in blatant accusation. "(They took their revenge. They denied her even her own name. Imagine, the most powerful woman in the world and nobody knowing her name. They killed her history. When the humans were coming to know of her, they killed them too.)"
This was a story Zara knew too well. It was one of the first things she'd learnt about her archangel. "(You sound sad)," she noticed, with a stoic tilt of the head. "(I thought your people hated anything to do with Heaven and Hell. You want me to stand here and believe your heart bled for Sophia?)"
Sita huffed in the most composed manner possible. "(She wasn't like them. Not that you'd know, because Lucifer only wants you to know whatever makes you useful to him)," she retorted with a practised snark. "(A long time ago, The Archangel Sophia visited us. She dared set foot in our territory when her own people found it vile and disgusting to associate with us. Our people weren't any better either. 'A woman dares approach without her husband?' they'd say. She paid no heed. Wisdom was her goal. Wisdom was her means. Not serving a man; not being left to guard some small piece of the world given to her by someone else. This was a woman whose lifeblood flows through the very Earth; who nurtured the soil like it was her own child. Everything these men had was something she birthed, and she knew this for a fact.)"
Whatever it made Zara feel, she suppressed it and instead folded her arms. "(I don't need to listen to all of this anymore.)"
"(You care about her, don't you?)" Sita inquired. Some kind of pain seemed to pull at her eyes. "(You act Godless, but deep down you have her fire burning inside of you. So few people achieve that kind of devotion, despite dedicating their whole lives to it. Yet here you are. You want to be her, don't you?)"
As Sita watched, there was a glimpse of surprise on the girl's face. By the birth of the next second, the surprise had died and decayed into grit. Zara leaned closer. "(She wanted me to serve Lucifer)," she spoke with the precision of a knife slowly biting into skin. "(You're not fooling me. Next you'll tell me that Sophia would try to free you.)"
"(She would!)" Sita insisted, desperation tugging at her. The gold bangles on her wrists jingled as she implored the girl. "(She was a woman who had rules and wasn't afraid to follow them, unlike Lucifer. She's always kept him from making decisions that would unleash true chaos onto the world.)"
How predictable. Zara rolled her eyes.
"(Did they ever tell you about Persephone?)" Sita revealed. Her chest practically heaved for breath with the burden that surfaced in her memory.
Zara's interest was piqued at the mention of that name, though she angled herself away from the goddess out of precaution. "(Hades raped her to death because Zeus provoked Lucifer)," she recalled.
"(That's what they told everyone. Did they ever tell you what Sophia had to say about it?)" Sita pressed. It was clear that the girl had no answer. "(I'll tell you. She wasn't quiet about it. She told Lucifer not to let it happen; that there had to be another way more dignified to settle his feud. But Hades had seized the opportunity by then. He'd kidnapped her and trapped her in Hell with him. Sophia wouldn't stop. She freed Persephone and tricked Hades into thinking he'd killed his beloved.)"
Zara wasn't convinced. "(And how would you come to know of this deception?)"
The goddess took a step back, her bell-studded anklets chiming vivaciously as she did so. A certain grim calm had come over her then, to look at this lieutenant from Hell. "(Because she came to me. Sophia knew what I'd been through – being kidnapped by a man who thinks he can own you was an experience Persephone and I shared. She brought Persephone into my arms so that I could help her heal and find peace)," Sita admitted. A tranquil smile radiated from her lips, though only briefly. "(Do you see now, what kind of a person your patron saint was?)"
The darkness in Zara's eyes only intensified with that glare. She was trying so hard, Sita could tell, to keep her faith. "(I'm not interested in playing this game anymore. I didn't come here for this)," Zara brushed it off. "(What I need-)"
"(Don't believe me?)" Sita cut her off impatiently. "(Ask Lucifer yourself. Or if you want to avoid him, go look for Persephone yourself. She prefers her solitude these days, but a smart girl like you could find her. Tell her I sent you.)"
A hard gulp crawled down Zara's oesophagus. By now, a strong bitter tinge had overtaken her mouth. "(So much talk for someone who cowered at the first sign of violence. Your dharma wouldn't last against Lucifer)," she taunted condescendingly.
"(It's true – my people do things differently)," Sita admitted. "(I was shocked by what you did, no doubt. But I do not believe in raising a hand against my aggressor. Everyone deserves compassion. Even you, Zara Joshi.)" She inched towards her again. Somehow all her movements seemed to flow smoothly like a river, taking Zara with a gentleness she'd never known. Sita took Zara's hands in her own and kissed them. "(I pray that Sophia's light touches you again.)"
Zara didn't flinch. None of this mattered to her, though she did wonder if the goddess' mannerisms had been palatable to Sophia. "(Rama needs to know that we're keeping you alive and well. Give me something that will send the message without a doubt)," she demanded, not even breaking eye contact.
A sudden silence erupted. No forest creatures sang. The air was still. Sita stepped backwards. It was one step, then another, and yet another. The jingle of the anklets reverberated in Zara's head. The deity came to a calculated stop right beside one of the thin-barked trees. Her bangles clanked as she caressed the light-coloured bark, fingers tracing them. Some kind of silhouette appeared as Zara watched – an arrow. Sita grabbed it by its neck and yanked it out of the tree. Again, with the tenderness she always had, she set it down on the tree stump and stepped away from it.
"(This was the arrow that brought my husband to me)," she explained. The story was known – Rama had met Sita in an archery contest that he'd won. Her father had been impressed by him and consented to their union. This was an arrow with history. "(He'll know that I only gave it of my own accord.)"
Zara approached the stump carefully. Keeping her eyes dead-set on Sita in case of any swift motions, she reached through the frequency with a stretch of archangel magic to retrieve the arrow. To the untrained eye, it would have appeared to be a plain wooden arrow. To the initiated, its magic was brimming on its surface. Without so much as a goodbye, Zara turned to leave.
"(I am not afraid of being a hostage, Zara, and neither should you)," Sita called out after her. "(Lucifer knew love once and he was a wise king for it. He has forsaken love now, and so it shall be his grave undoing.)"
Zara could only stare at the distant figure while the door shut to a close in front of her. That was close, she sighed. After all that warmth and physical tension floating between them, leaving that place with the arrow she held had been a hard victory to secure. At least she was back here now, in the stiff safety of the metallic hallway. Now to walk through all those traps again…
Heaven – Present Day
"Motion for the securing of human soldiers to strengthen angelic presence on earth," Raziel read out. His very breath was a long, punctuated sigh. Reading the absurdity had been such a toll on him. He was sat at the head of the table, documents arranged neatly while the other angels kept their keen eyes on him. "All those voting in favour?"
He counted the hands. Naomi, Duma, Shemsiel, Rahab, Bartholomew, Rebecca, Tyrus and Ezekiel.
"Those against?"
He raised his own hand and looked for others. Dinah, Pahaliah and Jonah.
"Eight against four. With a two-thirds majority, this motion passes," Raziel brought down the gavel. With the wooden strike against the table, his convictions withered inside of him. "Ezekiel, I trust you can take charge of this policy?"
The humble angel nodded. "I think you'll find it hopeful that we've already shortlisted a number of hopeful candidates for this process. Really dedicated, virtuous individuals who would be honoured to become protectors of humanity," he spoke with a genuine passion driving his enthusiasm.
As much as Raziel was grateful for it, he couldn't find the will to reciprocate. "Truth be told, it'll be hard for me to find any of this to be hopeful," he admitted, much to the dying smile on Ezekiel's vessel. "We are supposed to be their protectors. They shouldn't have to become martyrs because of our mistakes. But if this is the council's sentiment, it shall be done."
Hearing that, Duma stiffened up in her seat. "We know this isn't ideal," she empathised in her hoarse voice. "The humans have a saying, don't they? About teaching self-sufficiency?"
Shemsiel stepped up to the task. "Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish and he eats for a lifetime."
"Exactly," Duma agreed. "We may be their guardians but this is for the best. It gives us direct support on the ground and at the very least, serves as a backup considering we aren't exactly at full strength. There aren't enough angels to station on earth, Raziel."
"That's correct," Naomi said, raising a pen subconsciously as she made the point. "In the spirit of serving our mission, it is imperative that we provide the necessary training and spiritual ammunition to those Ezekiel has chosen. We expect this will strengthen humanity's defences against threats and maintain our order on the earth. God knows we can't leave this task to those mercenaries or vigilante-types."
"You mean hunters?" Pahaliah spoke up, her pencil-drawn brows crossing in scepticism. "I think you will find that these 'vigilante-types' are actually very resourceful. If anything, they would be most dedicated to this cause you propose. I only ask you reconsider cooperating with them as an option."
Naomi and the other angels sitting with her looked amongst themselves. A unanimous reluctance seemed to have left a bitter remnant on all of their faces. "The thing about that, is that they usually aren't cooperative," Bartholomew argued. Murmurs of agreement could be heard. "Are we all quick to forget how belligerent the Winchesters were during the apocalypse? How many of our own were brutally murdered by them alone? These hunters lack discipline and a sense of the bigger picture. We can't trust these children to help us restore order."
"What about the Men of Letters?" Dinah argued. These days, she stuck to a modest nose ring and a mere couple ear piercings, though she kept the thick eyeliner and the pixie cut. "You want discipline and big-picture thinking? I don't like them either, but they've been humanity's number one line of defence for centuries now."
Rahab's deep masculine voice was next to see the light of day. "They also mutilated two of our own in a perverted attempt to discover our secrets. I don't think we should want their help," he posited in his adopted Spanish inflection. The other angels visibly agreed. "I think everyone here is offended enough by their actions to hate them. Would you trust someone who cruelly harms living things out of curiosity?"
"There are some of us who have done quite the same," Raziel muttered blamelessly. Before any further protest could erupt, he shook his head to snap out of his next defensive thought. "Alright, this is quite enough. The motion has already been passed and agreed upon. If there is any concern I want to raise about this, it has to do with Lucifer. We know the archangel has risen and is seizing properties in droves. The earth is a much more dangerous place than it has ever been. Train your chosen to be careful in dealing with these new challenges."
"That is exactly why this action is more relevant than ever," Naomi added with a firm nod. "The Devil cannot be defeated by us alone, and you have managed to convince everyone that open war is not an option. This is the right thing to do, Raziel."
It still didn't sit right with him, but there was no point going against the council anymore. The decision was made. "Any other pressing issues from the floor?" he asked.
Barely a moment for deliberation had passed when Naomi raised her voice again. "A rather old issue but still crucial," she began, addressing everyone. "The tablets. After all our efforts, we only possess one – the Leviathan tablet."
Raziel sighed, running a hand down his chin. "Naomi, of all the things that plague us, the tablets are the least of our problems. Let's just declare them lost and be done with it," he suggested.
"I am surprised to hear you say that, Keeper of Knowledge," she pointedly said. "And here I thought that if anyone would feel the urgency of this situation, it would be you."
"Don't get me wrong – the tablets are of mighty importance," he defended. "It's just that they are useless to anyone who can't read them. That happens to be most of creation."
"And what of the prophet?" Duma interjected. "Kevin Tran is in the wind."
"He… escaped," Dinah answered with a knowing hesitation. Of the twelve in the council, only five really knew what happened. "We don't even know how. Kid just up and vanished with the tablet. Crazy, right?"
"Yeah, real crazy," Shemsiel agreed. "But if anyone can keep the angel tablet safe, it's the chosen one. You can't argue with that because God chose him Himself. Kevin was born to do this."
"He's still a mere mortal," Duma was quick to respond, voice crisp with surprise that this needed further discussion. "The prophet needs our support. If anything, his work can only be meaningful under our watchful eye."
"What will he do with the tablet?" Tyrus said, breaking his silence. He was an angel who preferred a lazy adidas tracksuit and a gold chain on his vessel. When he spoke, he had a sharp Brooklyn tint to his voice. "Kid's got no mission like us. Following your own logic, Raziel, he's the only person capable of using the tablet's powers. Doesn't that make him a little dangerous to us?"
"He's nineteen," Pahaliah put forth. "If you'd even met the boy, you would know he wasn't capable of evil. He's intelligent and innocent of heart. The tablet is safe with him."
"And you've met him, Pahaliah?" Naomi sharply accused. "I find it interesting, really…" she looked around the room, eyeing a specific five. "That the only people against us going after the tablets are those who stood in the way of our quest before. It's almost like you didn't want the tablets getting into the hands of Heaven, where it belongs. I wonder if you people had anything to do with the prophet's sudden escape?"
That certainly raised eyebrows. "That is ridiculous," Raziel remained firm. "If the prophet was in our sights, I would welcome it. The fact, however, remains that he isn't, so our best hope is to trust in his innate sense of duty, for which he was actually fashioned by God. Are false accusations really necessary, Naomi?"
"Yes, this is uncalled for," Ezekiel chimed in. "We shouldn't be pointing fingers right now. That would be counterproductive. Still, we must consider that the angel tablet and the prophet are out in the open now, which means our enemies could steal them."
Nods and sounds of agreement sounded. "The angel tablet, by itself, in Lucifer's power would be dangerous," Bartholomew said. "And with the prophet too? I'd fear to think of it."
"Brothers, sisters," Shemsiel quickly interfered. "I would like to remind all of you that we've put nothing but our best foot forward these past several months in search of the tablets and the prophet. If we couldn't find them, it is highly likely that neither could Lucifer."
That seemed to soothe them, which Raziel was immensely thankful for. It was extremely crucial that no one found Kevin, or discover that Raziel had been complicit in his escape. Naomi, however, would not ease her relentless pursuit. "What about the demon tablet?"
"Undiscovered and undetectable," Raziel was quick to say. "Its location is unknown and to the best of our knowledge, it hasn't been unearthed. It shall remain hidden for the rest of time, as it should."
"This is ridiculous," Naomi criticised impatiently.
"But it is reassuring, isn't it?" Jonah said from the seat opposite her. "If no one can find the demon tablet, it doesn't pose a threat."
"That would be a nice fantasy to live in, were it not completely false," Naomi's words sliced the air. "We have come to learn that there is someone who can find the demon tablet. It's none other than Sophia's vessel. Zara Joshi has access to a repository which contains the location of all the tablets, among other gravely important information the fallen archangel has amassed."
"If this is true…" Ezekiel considered with a new wave of seriousness washing over him. "This must be of utmost priority. I mean, this is more than just the tablets. If this repository contains all of Heaven's secrets which Sophia knows…" a chilling realisation dawned on him. "Then Zara Joshi is the most dangerous individual in all the universe."
"It deeply troubles me to admit that you are right," Naomi said, glancing at him sombrely. "You have anything to say to that, angels of Nalkam? Should we trust in her sense of righteousness?"
A grim hesitation gripped the five. By now, they for a fact that Zara was compromised to the Devil. They'd considered the possibility that she had given Lucifer all the ammunition he needed, but considering that the world was still standing, they desperately hoped not. Regarding this grievance aired by the council, they could not deflect. The four looked to Raziel for a response.
"No, we cannot," he said, much to Naomi's smug elation. "She is a formidable individual, certainly. What does the council propose?"
"We should declare her a wanted target," Rebecca, who had been quietly observing this whole time, said. "If this girl is as important as you all say she is, we should get a hold of her immediately. Announce this on angel radio."
"Wait, wait," Rahab interjected. "Let's think this through. Say we get her, then what? You realise this is the vessel of Lucifer's beloved. He's scouring the earth for her as well."
"W-why would that matter?" Jonah doubted. "Who cares what the Evil One wants?"
A slight tremor overtook Dinah's finger. Rahab's stream of consciousness had come to her as well. "It means, if we do this, he'll come after us. It's a miracle, as is, that he hasn't stormed in through that door and forced us to kneel before him. Are you not seeing his conquest on earth?" she gulped. "We're treading on thin ice."
"Then let's strengthen our gates," Bartholomew suggested. "Increase manpower at Heaven's entrance and include safeguards to alert everyone when there are trespassers. We can't be living in fear of Lucifer."
"Hear hear," Tyrus nodded at him. "Let him try and come to us. He can't defeat us if we attack him all at once. We're taking the girl."
"Still," Shemsiel passively held up his palms to steer the conversation. "Increasing our border security, ambushing him—this is just tackling the symptoms. No matter what we do, we're going to be in Lucifer's line of sight if we want to take Zara. Why not eliminate the root of the threat in the first place?"
A slight apprehension took Naomi by surprise. "A-are you suggesting that we fight Lucifer?" she gathered. "I thought we already ruled that out."
"No, not fight," Shemsiel denied. "We don't want war, we don't want to invite animosity. What else is left? Peace. I say we talk to him."
As soon as the words left his mouth, garbles of protest erupted. "Order," Raziel struck the table twice with the gavel. "Clearly this is something to discuss. Rebecca, you first."
She nodded at him from the other end of the table. "I don't feel safe being within a mile of Lucifer. And even if I did, there is no way he is willing to be negotiable," she worried.
"Ezekiel," Raziel called next as he scribbled down opinions.
"Shemsiel's idea comes from a noble intention, no doubt," he acknowledged. "I would express my full support for this, were it not the Devil we were talking about. This is the archangel of deception. The snake in the garden. He has stopped at no length to get what he wants. Rebecca's sentiment is completely understandable. Still, we must put the interests of our own kind and that of humanity before our own reservations. I am of the opinion that we should lay a peace treaty before Lucifer's eyes. Should he not accept, we should make our intolerance painstakingly clear."
"Tyrus," Raziel gestured.
"We need to make up our minds, people," he began, eliciting belated sighs. "Half of us wanna get him to stand down, half of us are too scared to even try. If we're gonna do anything at all, we need to be united. No 'half in, half out's. It all comes down to what we want. Naomi, you brought up the demon tablet. Dinah, you said Lucifer would come after the girl if we had her. There's a way for this to work out. What if we just took the girl and forced her to give up the tablet's location? After that, we could use her as a bargaining chip. If Lucifer wants her as badly as you say, won't he concede some ground to us for her?"
I hate it, but he's right, Raziel thought. Then again, he did have something of a deal with Zara. If he stalled for her until Lucifer came out on top, she'd give him the location willingly and the rest of the repository would be safely hidden away from the council. But that would also mean Lucifer became unstoppably powerful. What if I pulled a Kevin on her? Let her disclose the location of the tablet and then let her escape? Or it could be before the interrogation, then the tablet wouldn't even be found. But it would be a waste of time to capture her in the first place.
"Raz?" Pahaliah's voice broke through his daze.
"Hm?" he looked back at the room to find their expectant gazes.
"What are you thinking?" she prompted.
"We're shooting ourselves in the foot," he frankly stated. "You want to go through so much trouble just to obtain a tablet that's safer hidden. You also admit that Zara's potentially dangerous on her own, but you want to trade her in exchange for Lucifer's cooperation. In essence, you want him to promise to be peaceful but give him a nuke in turn."
Tyrus shifted uncomfortably in his seat, rightly shut up by Raziel's summary. A tense silence fell over the room. Duma was the next to volunteer her take. "You're absolutely right," she said. "We need to kill her."
Dinah's eyes widened at the suggestion. "Woah, that's extreme," she remarked.
"Is it?" Duma challenged. "If we kill her, no one gets the repository and better yet, she can't use it. And why would we want to protect her anyway? She's Sophia's vessel. This will handicap the archangel."
Shemsiel gave her an unrelenting frown. "Sweetie, where do you think her soul goes when she dies?" he tried to remain as calm as possible. "You're delivering her straight to Lucifer. He can resurrect her too, with a blink of his eye."
"Bring her to Heaven?" Bartholomew chipped in.
"He'll come looking," Rahab quickly responded. "Then we're all doomed."
"He has many enemies. He won't suspect us, not if we hide her well," Bartholomew added.
Raziel could tell that the room was getting warmer and warmer, like the fires of Hell. From the looks on some of their faces, hope was becoming a scarce resource. "Alright, alright," he stopped them. "This is clearly a complex issue. Until we know all the facts about Zara's situation, this will be hard to resolve. I suggest that we do a sweep to search for her and do basic recon first. Once we know enough, we'll discuss this again." The usual few appeared unsatisfied. "Motion to table the issue."
"Come on," Naomi voiced. "We're never going to look at this again-"
"All those for?" Raziel announced. He raised his own hand. Dinah, Shemsiel, Tyrus, Rahab, Pahaliah, Ezekiel, Rebecca, Jonah.
"All those against?"
Naomi, Bartholomew and Duma.
The gavel slammed on the table. "Motion passes with a two-thirds majority. Council adjourned."
The greatest wave of relief washed over him then, to see the chairs shuffling and people leaving. Their reactions were mixed, as they usually were. That's just how it was with these things – it's impossible to satisfy everyone. At the very least, he managed to stall a possible assassination. I wonder how long this is going to last.
Faiyum, Egypt – 1 December 2012, 7.03pm
Jack looked himself over in the mirror that faced his bed in his hotel room. It was a modest suite that captured the essence of Egyptian furnishing while offering enough luxury as to make one feel pampered. The windows even provided a generous view of the ocean for early morning contemplations. Right now, the setting sun cast an azure hue over the sky, complementing the deep blue of the ocean.
Certainly, it wasn't the most expensive suite but for now, this would have to do. He brushed his hair, pulling it back in a taut bun. That always made him look serious, what with that sharp jawline and hollow cheekbones being more evident. He wore a starched black suit with gold hems, custom-made for his frame. The jacket was long and loose and the fitted sleeves were rolled back – it was proportioned like something one would find on a fashion runway. The pants were tightened high up around his waist. The white shirt was tucked neatly underneath and gleamed with a silken shine. For the final embellish, he tightened an expensive watch around his left wrist and added some light contour to his face to deepen the natural shadows.
His expensive Italian moccasins – also black – resounded with every step down the hallway, only muffled by the arabesque carpets punctuating his path. The affectionate ding of the elevator greeted him, as did the familiar faces in it. "Ah, Jack Pierce," a smaller, older Indian man greeted. He was in a stiff red and black suit himself. "Fashionably late to the party, I see."
"I want everyone to look at me when I walk into the room," he said with a seductive smile as he entered the elevator. There were others in there with them too – some women in their fancy dresses, who seemed to accompany the strange man. By the way they were giggling shyly at the sight of the older man, Jack connected the dots. "Looks like you're trying to make an impression too. Reddy, you old fox."
A loud, brief laugh burst out of the man's sternum. "Some of us need the aid of decorations to start conversations," Reddy retorted. "Maybe you should join me. You look the part."
"Oh, haven't I made you enough money already?" Jack said jokingly. "What did your boss say about my proposal?"
Ding. The elevator came to a gradual stop, opening its doors to reveal a flurry of activity before them. Velvet everywhere, classical music wafting through the air, laughter and murmurs drifting among the lavishly-dressed – the net worth of this ballroom alone was something to reckon with. "He thought the terms were too good to be true. But once he saw your previous work, he was sold. Meet us again in a month and we'll solidify the deal," Reddy said with an increasing volume to compete with the cacophony surrounding them. "I can't say he's too happy, though. It's always hard to trust fresh blood."
"Believe me, that's not going to be an issue for much longer," Jack replied with the same strained effort to be heard. "People will know my name."
Trumpets heralded the beginning of a new song. Jack took a glass of chardonnay offered by a roaming waiter and neared the epicentre of the sound. He watched the grand performances put up by the orchestra and dancers. There must have been at least five thousand people here, half of whom were entertainers or staff for the main guests, which included him. After a very engaging belly-dancing performance, he made his way to the large garden outside. This section of the party was slightly quieter, what with guests standing around and making small-talk with each other. He recognised many faces – business moguls, black market dealers and mafia representation were among them. Such an elaborate party for the scum of the earth, he thought.
The archangel naturally drifted to people he'd met before. Words were exchanged as a formality, and so were laughs. But he wasn't here to talk to people he had already been in business with. Inevitably, he zoned in on one particular target. He said some passing remark about attending an auction in Venice to a lady before breaking away from the group, only to approach another cluster of people. These folks, however, were all coordinated in their black suits and pale complexions. At their centre was a man of myth – Viktor Kavinsky.
The younger men seemed to perk up defensively as Jack approached but Viktor himself was captivated enough by his appearance as to let him through. "Who might you be?" Viktor asked in what sounded like a bored Russian growl. The man was stocky, even under the civilised suits, and the darkness behind his eyes was familiar enough to Jack as to not put him off. The man had a thick, dark beard which was neatly trimmed, but also had begun greying in some areas.
"Jack Pierce," he extended his hand eagerly, which the vampire hesitated to shake.
"Ah, it's you. The miracle boy," Viktor recognised. Jack didn't react to the condescension in his tone, but instead smiled warmly. "You got Reddy his gold back."
"I helped Reddy pay for medicine, food and shelter for hundreds who have been at the heel of mob bosses, like yourself," Jack calmly rebutted, refusing to let go of his own million-dollar smile. "And that's just in Kashmir. In the last two months alone."
"You think you're so revolutionary," Viktor had a malicious grin himself as he neared Jack. "Let me tell you, Jack Pierce. The forces that be will not be too happy about your presence."
"I'm counting on it," he told Viktor with a smug shake of the head. "A life without enemies would be too boring."
Viktor huffed, taking a swig of his drink. "I like you," he wagged a finger at Jack. "Say, if you are willing to put your talents to actual use, the Solntsevskaya would welcome you as one of our own."
Jack's lips pursed into a thin line and he took an interest in his shoes for once. "That is a generous offer, but I have no need for a master," he refused. "Although, you must tell me who your real estate agent is. The Vory mansions are absolutely magnificent."
"You're kidding, right?" Viktor chuckled as he gently patted his shoulder. "These are family-owned properties, boy. Passed down through the centuries. Someone as wealthy as you must have some, no?"
"I am an orphan," he simply said, much to Viktor's surprise. "There is no one before me, and no one after. As I said – I work for no one, not even a family."
"That explains why you run around like you have nothing to lose. You have nothing," Viktor inferred. "I respect that. But start trouble in Mother Russia, and I will have to slit your throat, eh?" A laugh rumbled from the depths of the man's belly. "Such a shame, because you could be a great friend."
"A greater enemy, perhaps," Jack replied. "And don't you have enough friends already? I hear you made a deal with the Devil."
That turned a few heads. "Is it the talk of the town already? Yes, it is true – the King of Hell offered me things of interest. Confidential things," he emphasised.
"Tsk. Come on," Jack nudged him. "Just between us boys, what did he give you?" As expected, Viktor hesitated to reveal the details. "Let's say I'm a friend of the King's."
"Really? How so?" he pressed.
"Well, uh, you see," Jack stalled. "I was in Congo a while back. I'm sure you heard about the… incident with the Dragon King's offshoot mining company."
"Zandile's diamond shootout," Viktor recognised. "Was it you who stole the blood diamonds?"
"First off, that's an unsubstantiated rumour," Jack ignored. "While I was in Congo, incidentally during this… tumultuous battle over diamonds, I noticed that Zandile's people were fighting the Chinese with really high-quality rifle ammo, which, not to toot my own horn but some people say is the most value-for-money ammo out there. I mean, I didn't make it, but I do know how to make it available—again, not saying I did. And as you know, the Chinese are in business with my fa- friend, Lucifer."
"So…" Viktor frowned. "You armed Zandile, and helped her fight your friend's allies?"
"I'm not saying I did arm her, but if I did, it's uh, it's just what we do. I mean, the Chinese are protected and armed by Lucifer. So the more fights they get into, the more they purchase the King of Hell's weapons. It's kind of a win-win situation for us, really," Jack fibbed. "Lucifer loves it. He's quirky like that."
Viktor rolled his eyes. "If you don't have an offer for me, Jack Pierce, I don't see why I should tolerate your presence any longer."
He made a slight gesture, which his security understood as an order. "Wait," Jack protested to no avail.
"Isayev," Viktor assigned. The sharp-eyed young vampire moved to oblige. His sandy blond hair was all Jack saw before he felt a firm grip on his shoulder guiding him away. It was probably best he didn't put up a fight, considering he was here to make good impressions. Not that that was going well for him so far.
"That's quite enough," Jack exhaled, turning swiftly to disarm Isayev from his shoulder. The archangel held the vampire's wrist but slowly released his grip. Their dark silhouettes were like shadows against the bright lights decorating the shelf behind a crowded bar counter. When Jack finally got a good look at him, he was immediately drawn to the vampire's golden stubble and icy blue eyes. Even in this little hassle of a moment, he couldn't help but admire the fine features before him.
The colourful bar lights cast a neon glow on their faces. Isayev, somewhat shorter than him, stared innocuously through neatly combed curls – a staple in his short haircut. "I'm a fan of Black Eternity," Isa muttered softly out of the blue. Jack was caught off-guard by that, no doubt. The kinds of people that frequented gatherings like these weren't known for being familiar with the culture. All they saw were dollar signs and electoral votes. He simply stared back at the vampire.
"Well, I can't be signing autographs here," he said, feeling tingles of electricity brew in the short distance between their faces. "But if you wanna manhandle me again, you should come to my room."
Isa's lips curved up on one side. "I'm on duty tonight," he politely refused.
"You take everything so seriously?" Jack teased. Something in his eyes – a magnetic pull – invoked a hidden desire in Isa's undead heart.
"I have to," Isa turned to go back, but not without a defiant smile plastered across his pale jaw.
As Jack watched the vampire leave his sight, fully admiring the view of his back, fireworks popped and sprayed across the night sky. Carbon emissions, ugh. He briefly considered going back to the garden and socialising with more of these elites, but something about their impending condescension put him off. He wondered if he'd rather talk to them and learn about nothing except their moral decay or just watch from afar.
"Viktor's not gonna take notice unless you have oil in your back pocket," a masculine voice said from behind him. Jack was met with a pair of friendly brown eyes regarding him in a manner best described as curious but nonchalant. The man was poised on a bar stool at a lonely round table, swirling his glass of gin. The archangel couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he could tell that the man was powerful enough just from the unfidgeting, relaxed posture. There was something about the way he looked at him – straight in the eyes, where truth lay, without fear or awe. People looked him in the eyes often, sure, but not like this. And that was to say nothing about that thin-lipped smirk. The man gestured to the seat next to him.
"And you are?" Jack accepted his invitation. The man made eye contact with the bartender to order more drinks. Up close, his light natural tan became more obvious, as did the lines on his moderately aged skin. He moved with a gentle firmness, as it were, which betrayed his old age even though his appearance did no justice for such a number. As Jack found himself more intrigued by this mysterious stranger, he was once again victim to the sight of beauty – round cheekbones but a square jaw, not to mention that lovely navy-coloured suede jacket. Definitely high-end designer. He had to stop himself to maintain neutrality.
"Hovan Avedis. Call me Hovan," he introduced. On closer inspection, he had a slight Gulf accent though it was barely discernible. "You're new here."
"Wait," recognition shot through Jack. "You… own this hotel. You're behind this whole shindig. You sent me the invite."
"This is my party, but I don't handle the invites. I just let my staff surprise me," Hovan said with a wink. "I always wonder which dictator I'm gonna meet next. Sometimes I bet on how long I think my guests are going to live." He leaned in closer to Jack. "You can always tell by how they're looking at each other."
"I'm listening," Jack remained amused and receptive. Their drinks were served. Jack intently paid attention to the man next to him as his palms circled the glass.
"See how the Baroness of Lídon is looking at the ocean?" he beckoned with his eyes. At a great distance away, the dark lady gazed at the midnight waters from a cozy spot at the edge of the garden. She was dressed in a black Armani, one-of-a-kind, and was engaged in conversation with some others, though their collective attention steered towards the sea. "What's she looking for? The Esmeralda? Meanwhile, her husband, Salazar, is looking for a different kind of treasure altogether."
Jack turned his attention towards the other end of the garden. There Salazar was, seemingly finding the eighth wonder of the world in the bosom of a belly dancer. In fact, he seemed to have taken the company of multiple scantily-clad women. "Hey man, this is your party. Don't tell me 'your staff' wanted to mess with that poor man just to surprise you," he stated. "Everyone knows Salazar hasn't been the same since he hit his head. Thoughts and prayers."
"Thoughts and prayers," Hovan repeated with about as much seriousness as Jack, which wasn't a lot. "But that's just it, isn't it? Every passing year with that man has been such a toll on her. He refuses to get help and she has to be the one to hold up the finances. Oh look, she's turning…" The Baroness angled towards the main event once more. Her razor-sharp vision seemed to focus on nothing other than her husband's infidelity. She then swiftly turned away, struggling to hide that bitter scowl on her face. "And there it is. That's a cold shoulder if I've ever seen one. Salazar is dying tonight."
"Yeah, right," Jack huffed. "She needs him. The company is in his name. Without him, she has nothing."
"Not anymore," Hovan challenged. "I just acquired Elvira and named her the CEO. We just signed the papers today."
"Holy shit. Really?" Jack couldn't believe it. He gasped at first, but that soon turned into a breathy laugh. "Oh no, she- she's gonna kill him. Oh no. Why would you do that?" his undeniable chuckle was the language of his words. Despite the morbid implication of it all, he just couldn't help it. "They're just a blip on the map. There's practically no value to what they do. You- you just did this to hurt Salazar. Why?"
"Because I hate his fucking Sunday brunches," Hovan crassly admitted, amused by the boy's surprise. "If you want to show mercy on the guy, give him some Viagra. That way, the doctors will blame his heart condition and not the twenty-eight stab wounds he's about to get."
"I don't need to get in between a married couple like that," Jack shifted in his seat. "I have some limits, sir."
"Now look at Viktor. He has none of the charisma Igor had," the older gentleman continued. "Surrounding yourself with armed guards is no way to invite diplomacy," Hovan pointed out. "Even the Vory's old friends are keeping their distance from him. He's definitely got it in for some of the people here. Expect some bodies. It's why my housekeepers have the best bleach in the business."
"He does seem agitated. I know someone ganked a number of his men from inside their own palace," Jack reasoned, fixating on the vampire leader. "I would've thought it was just him clearing out the old guard too, if it wasn't for how closed off they've been acting. It's like he's actually worried. And here I thought anyone who aligned themselves with the King of Hell would feel safe in Daddy's arms."
A mild frown beset Hovan's smooth forehead as he looked at Jack. "It's not that simple. Viktor went against his best advisors in getting into bed with Lucifer. People say the King of Hell is the most powerful man in the world now, but that's not what we're seeing, is it?" Hovan challenged him. "All the boycotts, the drops in sales—do I even need to mention that terrible incident with the hunters that Lucifer had to cover up with a forest fire? That's not something that shows strength. You mentioned the Vory have been closed off—let's just say Lucifer's that abusive boyfriend who doesn't let you have any friends in case they tell you to break up with him. The resistance is winning, which means anyone who sides with him is gonna be a prime target when they crush him. It hasn't happened yet, but Viktor knows it's just a matter of time before his mistakes catch up to him."
"Hm…" Jack had a pained expression. Knowing the truth about Westney certainly changed things, but he wasn't about to let that slip. "I think there's still a lot of time before we can really tell. Viktor still seems pretty committed to whatever arrangements he's made with Lucifer."
"Oh yeah," Hovan nodded. "Viktor's dreams are finally about to come true."
Something about Hovan's certainty sobered him up. "You know what they're up to?" Jack dared ask. That knowing smirk and downward glance confirmed his suspicions. "How?"
"You really want to know?" the man teased. "I got things to say, if you're the right person to hear them."
"And… you'll just tell me?" Jack wondered with measured precaution.
"You seem like a nice kid," he winked. "It's a little too noisy here for my taste, though." Translation: people might be listening. He reached into his suede jacket and slipped what appeared to be a key card across the table. "Fancy a quiet dinner? Find me in fifteen minutes."
"Hm." Smooth. Jack was impressed. Yet, enough clues had revealed themselves to him. Specifically, the platinum band binding his fidelity finger. "Will your wife be cool with that?"
Hovan smirked – that same self-assured smirk that was starting to invoke something in Jack. "She's probably bedded her fifth in the last couple hours alone," he said, raising the archangel's eyebrow. "You have nothing to worry about."
"You're placing a lot of trust in a random stranger," Jack warned him. "What if I was an assassin sent to murder you?"
Hovan leaned in closer. Jack could feel his breath caressing his ear. "My life couldn't have ended at the hands of a more beautiful man," Hovan whispered. "Or should I say, angel?"
The hairs stood up on the back of the archangel's neck. One turn towards the voice and Hovan had already disappeared into the crowd. Jack swirled his glass once and then finished his drink in a single gulp. Back in his room, the long fifteen minutes had given him time to think. He undid the bun and combed back his long locks. Unsatisfied, he ran the comb through it again and this time, he parted it in the middle. He'd always preferred it like that anyway. An antique cologne was spritzed into his palms and he patted his neck, ears, wrist and even his bare torso under the white shirt. The very thought of the older man pumped a natural red undertone to his skin. After one last run of the rose-flavoured balm over his pink lips, he set off in search of the door that responded to the key card he was given.
The Villa Suite. Goddamn. Of course the owner of the hotel would prefer the best room. It was situated on the other end of the hotel from where Jack stayed and required the elevator to reach the highest floor, which was wholly dedicated to only two such suites. The two suites were separated by a vast lobby that branched into two long hallways that each led to a suite. The very walk up to the door had electrified his skin. Still, he kept his wits about him. A girl's gotta stay cautious.
The card slid into the door to a definite click. Dim yellow lights illuminated the exquisite quarters. Marble busts and oil paintings decorated the walls. A short staircase to the left led up to a bedroom, the full view of which was obscured by the half-open mahogany doors. A similar staircase on the right appeared to lead up to a study – at least that's what Jack gleaned from the bookcases that came into view. The path straight ahead led to a balcony with a winning panorama of the party below and the ocean beyond. The full glamour and vividness of the events was newly meaningful from where Jack stood. It was far more grand to look down at it from here.
"You made it," Hovan's voice boomed from behind him. In the silence of the suite, the masculine timbre of his voice played Jack's ears like a seductive percussion. Despite the protests of unholy thoughts going through his head, Jack made it to the dinner table in a room to the right without much of a fuss. To his surprise, the table was garnished with plates of food whose names were hard to pronounce for the average person.
"All of this in fifteen minutes?" Jack cast a one-sided grin. "You certainly are a man of many means."
"Château Margaux?" Hovan brandished a darkened bottle. By the looks of it, it was a rare item – the kind that sold for thousands of dollars. The man poured a generous volume into both their glasses like it was nothing much.
"You pamper me," Jack uttered with a serpentine passion. The rich taste of the blood-red wine coated his tongue in splendour. "I can't understand how a woman could willingly keep her distance."
"Farah will always be a great friend to me," Hovan revealed as he settled in the opposite seat. "We both knew what we wanted going into this marriage and it wasn't each other. Back in the days of early Mesopotamia, even the powerful had to have neat family units to be accepted by the people. So we agreed to merge our kingdoms and pursue our deviant romances in private. Thousands of years later, it still works for us. Putting up this image of an everlasting marriage has been good for our shared businesses."
"That's a happy ending if I've ever heard one," Jack remarked keenly. "I'd always imagined I'd do the same, but you see, I'm not the marrying kind."
It was a fine evening, spent with Hovan telling him about how he'd discovered a taste for each one of these dishes. It wasn't always that Jack indulged in such luxury – he'd always found much to hate in the elite class. Hovan was different, however. There was a measured mildness in him that appealed to Jack.
"If I may ask," Jack began as he swallowed the foie gras. "What brand of immortal are you? Not many have the acute awareness of what angels look like."
"When you're as old as me, no one's a stranger," Hovan simply said, staying behind an impenetrable smirk. "In fact, you're clearly more than the average harp-and-halo angel, aren't you?"
Jack's arms froze in place with the cutlery. "That's quite flattering," he resumed action to mask his surprise. "I'm sure my pals in the old garrison will find that hilarious."
"Right," Hovan rested a palm against his jaw as he observed his guest.
Once Jack had set down his cutlery, the older being just had to clap his hands once. A servant manifested out of the darkness to clear their plates and disappeared just as promptly, leaving them alone with the wine. They moved to a larger area of the balcony, which was more sheltered and furnished than where Jack had stood before. They'd also both shed their jackets in favour of a more comfortable attire. Jack couldn't help but notice how Hovan's black button-up shirt tightened around his chest and upper arms. Sinful thoughts begone. Soon, settling close to each other on the sofa with the glasses in their hands allowed for a more intimate conversation.
"They call me a demigod," he finally confessed. "But it's a misnomer, you see. You can't make one category for people like me. We're not a species. We're as unique as the gods that created us."
"So you've been around for a while," Jack inferred, overtly distracted by the man's lips. Hovan himself was not oblivious to the boy's wandering gaze.
His weathered hand pushed away Jack's hair behind his shoulder, sneakily stroking his ear and jaw in the process. "Longer than you, it seems."
His very touch was like a spark waiting to ignite dynamite. Jack suppressed an exhale reflexively, but the sky moaned in the language of a rumbling thunder instead. Stop it, Luc. You're acting like you've never done this before. No need to thirst over him. Well, we are in a desert. Okay, stop—he's just another man.
"That's going to be a problem for the party," Hovan studied the dense clouds forming, all while his hand graduated to snaking around the archangel's shoulder. "Huh, that's weird. It almost never rains here."
"Global warming," Jack blurted out, eyes wide. "I hear it's causing all kinds of unusual weather. One of these days, it's gonna snow here."
He gulped. That seemed to work. "Hm." Hovan merely rubbed Jack's shoulder and pulled him closer. "Sorry, I…" he rubbed his temple with his free hand. "I know I promised you something else to get you up here. It's just been a while since I had company."
"There is a way for us both to get what we want," Jack suggested, gingerly placing a hand on Hovan's thigh. Every second grew intensely heated. Their faces inched closer and closer, each mile-like inch travelled testing new waters. Jack tightened his grip, massaging and squeezing gently. "What's Viktor's deal with Lucifer?"
"I already told you – oil," Hovan breathed softly in that hellish space between their lips. "Gazprom just struck oil in the Black Sea, right where the Vory were already looking. If the Russian state found out about Viktor's activities, it would expose all their other crimes too."
"But Gazprom has no authorisation to mine in Ukrainian waters," Jack frowned. "What they're doing is illegal too."
"They're in a bit of a stalemate now. If Viktor strikes first, he gets unwanted attention. If Putin strikes first, he gets international retaliation. The Vory are walking a tightrope. In comes Lucifer, promising them a distraction. While the Russians are occupied, Viktor will write himself permits and sell barrels of oil to the highest bidder."
Jack liked what he felt under his grip. It helped that the man was hospitable too. Amidst that expectant smile, he bit his own lower lip, knowing full well that the older man would enjoy it. "How do you know all of this?" he asked.
Hovan's eyes were solely fixated on Jack's lips, but the grim reality of their conversation prevented him from fully enjoying the moment. "My wife—she brokered this deal, promising our shell corporations for the operation. People on my end are celebrating this, like it's some kind of profound act."
"But you're not," Jack observed. His eyes contorted into an empathic sorrow. "How does Lucifer mean to accomplish this?"
"By doing what he does best – sow discord," Hovan said. He too reciprocated the solemn tone. "The Soviet Union died twenty-one years ago but Putin's ilk are necrophiles. It would be easy for Lucifer to prey on their sentiments. He just agreed to downsize the whole European market just so they'd be more open to buying subsidised Ukrainian land for work, as long as Viktor does his part. All the Bratva needs to do is make sure the new European investors can't leave once they set foot in Kiev."
"They're trying to worsen regional tensions. Make Putin jealous," Jack contemplated. "But why would Lucifer take interest in the affairs of mortals? Just to make an ally out of vampires?"
"Whatever it is, you don't have to worry about it," Hovan ran a hand down his jaw. "None of this is going to take off because Lucifer's enemies grow stronger each day. He'll be out of the picture before you know it."
"Hovan…" Jack sighed, inevitably disheartened by the man's dejection.
"It's true. Do you have any idea how far he's gone? Ripping open a wound in the Hindu pantheon after all they've done to put it behind themselves?" he argued passionately. "The Hindu gods may have been patient all this time, but dharma only goes so far."
His genuine distress snapped Jack out of their flirtatious tango momentarily, bringing him to a sudden awareness. "Wait, what do you mean?" he asked. "What wound?"
The question was like a ripple. When Hovan saw the real confusion on Jack's face, it was clear he felt some kind of sympathy. Though Jack's hand remained on his thigh, he had eased his grip on the boy's shoulder. "I'm talking about Sita," he clarified. "You didn't hear? She's missing. Again. There's no doubt in the community that it was Lucifer who nabbed her."
"So this reminded people of the story," Jack inferred, straightening up. He remembered it in bits but only from what he'd read before. "She got kidnapped by Ravana, King of the Rakshasas. He nabbed her from a temple…" The memory of silently watching Zara's little escapade in India six months back came to mind, to a bitter conclusion. "…and held her hostage in a forest."
"It's not just a story. It's history," Hovan starkly added. "Rama's brother fought a war to bring Sita back home. It was tough, but the Rama made peace with his enemies. Lucifer has single-handedly spit in the face of everything those people have worked for. Believe me, they will not take this lightly. He's not just provoked Sita's husband but also every god in that whole sub-continent."
"That's a lot of people to piss off. Thirty-three, if I'm not wrong – a whole damn congregation," Jack recalled with a huff. Putting the feat in perspective made his father seem relatable for once. "That man's an icon," he realised with an unexpected wonder. He saw the demigod's bewildered expression and recalibrated himself. "Sorry, don't mind me."
"We're heading towards an apocalypse, Jack," Hovan stated forebodingly. "Everything I've ever cherished and built on this planet will be gone. All because of a madman's need to destroy love."
To hear such tragic words could stoke the fires of pain in anyone's heart. In Jack's chest, it was nuclear winter. Every instinct told him to fly down into the underworld and confront the destroyer before it was too late. He pushed the thought aside before Death's aggravating words could ring in his head again for the umpteenth time. He'd been through this pain before, during the actual apocalypse – what he would've given to stop the crying of all the suffering souls. Walking the earth had been like attending a marching funeral then. At least back then he had the reassurance of what he had remembered his own birth to be like. But now?
The future appeared murky. The lethal possibilities hung around Hovan like a dense fog. The man was evidently disturbed. "I won't let that happen," Jack reassured him, voice softened by the slow growth of a hunger from deep within him. "I won't let them take everything from you." He resumed rubbing the man's thigh, even progressing upwards. Hovan released a heavy sigh, running a caress up and down the archangel's back. That, in turn, sent more hypnotic tingles up Jack's spine. He bit his lip more ardently this time, pushing his forehead against Hovan's. Now that their lips were in close combat range, the teasing grew torturous. Hovan pulled him closer by the shoulder while Jack felt the man's hard crotch in his hand, both of them panting for breath.
Hovan's hand slithered down to Jack's waist and tugged him enough to pull the archangel on top of him. Even then, their lips had been so close as to touch, but neither of them were ready to savour it yet. Jack was on the man's spread lap. He eagerly unbuckled Hovan's pants. "Oh yeah," Jack sighed as he felt Hovan's hardening dick in his fondling palm. The older man exhaled a soft moan in turn. Jack bit his lip again, but harder this time with a hiss of impatience. With a gasp, Hovan held Jack's cheek in his hand before offering his thumb to the archangel's lips. Jack lapped it up immediately, sucking and running his lips on the demigod's thumb with the added ammunition of his gliding tongue. The mere demonstration of the act sent an electrifying spark through Hovan's extremities. It was almost painful to wait this long, especially with the wetness that betrayed Hovan's vulnerability under Jack's palm.
Deciding that the anticipation was too much, Jack moved in for the kiss. Just then, however, the demigod seemed to stumble on his own pleasure. Hesitation held Hovan in its tight grip and he couldn't help but freeze. The archangel was immediately privy to this and stopped. When Hovan's piercing brown eyes met his again, a sinking feeling filled Jack's chest. "Sorry, I…" Hovan began, returning the archangel's hand to its owner. Taking the cue, Jack settled back into his seat next to Hovan while the demigod zipped up his pants. "It's not you." He shifted forward in his seat, pressing his forehead against a steeple his hands formed with elbows rested on his thighs. After a breath and a moment to think, he looked back at the boy again. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to see you again another time."
"Um, yeah. Sure," Jack agreed, still disoriented slightly. He checked his watch. It was half past midnight. "I should-" he shook his head once to shake himself out of it. "I should get going anyway."
He slung his jacket over his forearm. It was a sobering, silent walk to the front door. Bright light gushed into the dim villa suite from the hallway. "Jack," Hovan called out one last time. He took Jack's free hand in his own. "I just want to get to know you better." He brought Jack's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. "I'll contact you again."
Even with all those fine lines of age around the man's eyes and cheeks, he appeared inherently remarkable to the archangel. Jack placed his hand on Hovan's shoulder, first gently, then bunching the fabric in his grip to pull him closer. "You'd better," Jack threatened fondly.
He walked back into the hallway with his jacket clutched tightly in his hands. As soon as he entered the elevator, he slumped back against its wall with a deep sigh. So much tension begged for release from his vulnerable human vessel.
Meanwhile,
A gathering of another kind took place in a suite not too far from Jack's. The mere size of the room was a huge clue as to the importance of the guest who stayed here. A cooler full of blood bags lay open on the exquisite glass table right next to the vase of fresh lilacs. Isayev held one of the life-giving packets in his hand, sucking on it through its vacuum-sealed mouth with a practised incision afforded to him by his vampiric fangs. As soon as the metallic taste flooded his mouth, a flurry of adrenaline pumped through his body. It was like seeking refuge from the persistent coldness of death in a heatwave, its complete and absolute vitality filling his body with invincibility. The hot blood rushed to his extremities and sent his head into a total realisation of who he really was. Knowing all of this did nothing to soothe the pang of guilt that would arise soon after. Someone probably needs this blood.
"It'll always taste better than cattle," one of the other guards put his hand on Isa's shoulder. The man spoke with a strong Slavic accent. "Stay true to yourself, brother."
Isa gave him a polite nod, but soon found himself with a bitter downturn of the lips. He looked at his watch. It was 12.30am. The other men stood avidly behind his chair as he logged onto his laptop. Pulling up the Dark Web browser had never been so nerve-wrecking. He went onto the website he owned as everyone watched, not even glancing away for courtesy when he had to enter his login details.
"You couldn't have picked a better name?" Viktor questioned the boy with mild amusement. "I guess you're hiding in plain sight." The boys exchanged supportive looks at their leader's encouraging gesture. Isayev, however, wasn't a big fan of such displays and needed to suppress a cringe. As soon as Isa typed in the greeting in the chat window, a collective silence fell over them in raw anticipation. A few eternal seconds passed. "Where's the merc?"
"He… isn't online yet," Isa told him. With each passing second, the drumbeat of nervousness grew stronger in his chest.
"You said this guy was punctual," Viktor grew sceptical. "He is going to show up, right?"
The old leader's mood seemed to infect everyone in the room like a virus. The other vampires grew stiff. "He'll be here," Isa swore, all while mentally crossing his fingers. His knee bobbed up and down as he impatiently tapped his foot like his life depended on it. "I'm sure."
The ticking of the clock echoed in his head over and over again. Isa felt his fellow clansmen's gazes hovering over him like a dense storm cloud. Ding. His prospects were secured.
The sole message read, in Russian, "(I'm here.)"
"(It's him)," Isa held back the sigh with a gulp.
"(He's three minutes late. What are we paying him for?)" one of the other vampires grumbled.
"(Give him the instruction)," Viktor ordered. Isa nodded and got to tapping.
Jack had gotten ready in full black. He pulled the hood of his leather jacket over the black balaclava just as more words appeared on the screen of his phone. His brows dipped slightly as he read the messages. "Vampire Boy sounds different," he noticed. Thinking nothing of it, he strapped the silenced pistols to his sides with a shoulder holster underneath his jacket. As per the instruction, he flew up to the roof of the building straight above where his room was.
The strong sea breeze flowed past him in a gentle stream. As the first line of action, he noticed the single CCTV camera perched above the door. Luckily, he hadn't fully manifested himself, so he wouldn't be spotted yet. "(Did you kill the camera yet?)" he typed into the phone.
Isayev looked to Viktor, who merely gave him a knowing look. "(Yes)," he typed. As the vampires looked on, the tall, dark figure walked into view on the laptop screen. The figure turned around himself once, until he spotted the package under the water tank.
Jack removed the measly sand-coloured cloth hiding the long, rectangular box. He brought the box over to the edge of the roof, where he got a good vantage point of the elaborate party below. His expert glove-covered fingers undid the clasps and lifted the lid. He whistled at the sight of the black beauty inside. "(How did you afford such a sexy rifle?)" he typed, running his fingers over the barrel. "(God, I've been teased too much tonight and you're not helping.)"
Isayev struggled to hide the red rushing to his cheeks. He felt lucky, to say the least, that all their previous chats were systematically deleted after forty-eight hours, not that he wouldn't have backups hidden somewhere.
"(Is this what you talk about?)" Viktor eyed the boy suspiciously. "(No wonder you kept it a secret.)"
Amidst their mocking gazes, Isa meekly replied, "(It's not like that.)"
With automated precision, Jack assembled the weapon. The mechanistic build of the rifle amazed him, exciting him with dreams of the lethal feats it could achieve. Supporting the stock of the rifle against the pocket of his left shoulder, he assembled the last piece – a limited edition camera. It was the kind that didn't get made unless the buyer knew what they wanted. In this case, the buyer wanted a remote wireless connection that would monitor what was viewed in the scope. Paranoid, much? As he was doing this, the chat evolved into a call, with both sides hiding their voices with transmogrifiers.
"(Are we hunting your mom?)" Jack snidely greeted as he steadied the finished assembly on his shoulder. He picked up the single bullet given in the case. Hefting it had confirmed its strange weight. He'd felt rifle bullets before, but they'd never felt this dense. He took a sniff. The hell? He sniffed again. Crushed dragon teeth, lion blood, air from a storm cloud and Solomonic ash. Such a strange concoction, it seemed. It made sense now that only one bullet was provided. He loaded it into the chamber. "(What's so special about the target?)"
"(You ask too many questions)," the electronically-modified voice said. A mild annoyance crept up on Jack.
"(At least tell me what the crime is)," he said as he looked through the scope down at the crowd. His crosshair scanned the crowd. "(Is it him?)" One of Loki's sons appeared in view. Jack wouldn't have been surprised. Those guys were known assholes. "(Please tell me it's him. Imagine the outrage. I'd live for it.)"
"(No, don't you dare waste a good bullet on fucking Fenrir)," the voice denied. "(Keep looking. Try the garden.)"
"(Jeez, what happened to your sense of humour?)" Jack cringed. "(Is there someone else with you? You don't sound like you normally do.)"
No response to that. A creeping suspicion crawled up his back like an army of insects. Still, he kept the scope roving around the garden, recognising even more faces.
"(There! That one)," the voice suddenly erupted in the silence.
"(Oh, now you can talk)," Jack passively commented. He centred the scope on the small region-of-interest as was kindly yelled through the phone. "(Which one?)"
"(Little to the left. Go down a bit. That one)," the voice instructed.
The archangel's hands froze. He didn't expect this. "(Are you sure that's the one?)" he inquired. The smile he saw through the scope was simple, but its remnant was still intense on his heart even from this vast distance.
"(Will you just shut up and pull the fucking trigger already?)" the voice curtly admonished.
Jack stared at the phone screen once and then back into the crosshair with a right scowl on his face. A woman briefly blocked his view as she hugged the target in greeting. Once she'd pulled away, a bright picture of happiness captured itself on Hovan's face as he made small talk with the guest. A sense of duty increased the tension on Jack's trigger finger.
"No," he suddenly said, letting go of the trigger.
Isayev's eyes widened to hear that stiff belligerence in the mercenary's voice. The young vampire turned hastily to Viktor, who tersely grabbed the phone laid on the table. "(What do you mean, 'no'?)" he growled. "(Do as I say.)"
"(What justice is served by killing this man?)" Jack demanded to know. "(Why do you want him dead?)"
"(It's not your place to know)," the voice said. "(Just pull the trigger, get your money and leave)."
"No," Jack insisted defiantly. He pulled himself away from the focused position the rifle had him in. Deciding this was enough, he disassembled the rifle stand first. "I don't want your Botcoin. You can keep it."
"(Hey, put the rifle back together!)" the voice demanded. It was at this point peak indignation had been reached.
"What the hell?" Jack snarled into the phone. He looked around himself, until he found that lone camera again. "Son of a bitch, you said you'd cut the camera!"
"We've been watching you, buttercup," the deep voice said. "Not just today, but every other performance of yours. We have hours of footage of you that Interpol will be very interested to have."
Isayev clenched himself so tightly he could've burst, which was appropriate considering he wished his molecules would disintegrate in that moment. Watching the All-Father tear down everything he'd built with this stranger from a chair next to him had been gut-wrenching. But it was far too late to do anything about it. One window on the laptop screen showed the camera footage of the assassin standing, holding the rifle single-handedly. Some strength he has. Another window showed the input from the scope camera accessory, which was now fixated on some windows.
"It isn't a life to live on the run from Interpol," Viktor warned. "But I promise you, they will be the least of your concerns."
Isayev thought he saw hesitation in the dark figure on the screen. The figure picked up the phone and pressed the button – probably to turn off speaker mode – and put it to his ear.
"Listen to me you slithering, lying, pussy motherfucker," Jack began, every word slicing the air like a needle. "You can try all you want, but nothing you have will be enough to take me down. You can't tell who I am, so you ain't have shit on me. And even if you can, there will still be hell to pay. If you know what's good for you, board up your house and hide in a panic room. Because I am coming for you."
Isayev gulped. He could see Viktor's veins busting through his neck. The boy worried for his own future. "(Vampire Boy)," the voice continued from the other end of the phone. "You'd better be some kind of hostage, or you'll share a hole in the ground with that fucker for eternity."
"Oh, and one more thing," Jack said into the phone spiritedly. "Fuck you!"
The call was abruptly cut. As the vampires watched, the camera accessory shook violently as the merc held up the rifle once more. The camera input window showed the scope fixing not on their target, but rather a man who was now right beside Hovan Avedis. He pulled the trigger. A silenced firing sound could be heard and the recoil thrusted back into his shoulder. As the camera showed, the bullet went straight through Baron Salazar of Lídon's skull. As the victim fell, Hovan dropped to hold the man's falling body, blood spattered on his face. Absolute chaos reigned. Screams could be heard and security guards rushed towards the scene.
The camera accessory was dislodged from the scope. Jack summoned a burst of electricity into his palm to frizz out the device.
At once, the respective window filled with static on Isayev's laptop. The other one, showing the CCTV footage, was still live. It showed the man disassembling the rifle.
"You know how much that gun costs?" one of the other vampires muttered with a thick accent from behind Isayev.
Viktor looked at the one who said that with a thin veil of composure to mask the scorching rage underneath. "Then what are you waiting for?" he asked pointedly. "Go and stop him, idiots!" Isayev shifted to bolt from his chair, but Viktor had grabbed him by the forearm. "Not you."
The others had run off in a frenzy, leaving the two of them alone. "Please, sir, I can talk to him," he implored. "He's usually much more cooperative."
"I don't care for your bromance," Viktor snapped. "I staked a lot on this mercenary of yours. The King of Hell would be highly displeased."
"I… I can make this right," Isa pleaded. "I can kill Hovan. Please, give me a chance."
"You won't even get within a hundred yards," Viktor retorted caustically. "That man will have bumped up his security by now. All because of your friend."
All hope fell away. There was nothing to expect but an unending life of humiliation and darkness. Isayev knew he could say nothing to make things better.
"When we get back to Odessa, you will stay in solitary until the cost of your sins has been repaid," Viktor declared. "You will be lucky to see the light of day again. I'll make sure you don't get so much as a rat in the dungeon."
Isayev sat paralysed in his seat as Viktor moved about, finding new things to vent his anger on. No matter how many things broke, the man still had fuel for days. Isayev returned to the room he was given – one he shared with two others – and sat completely defeated on the bed. He'd looked to the windows and the door, contemplating escape, but anyone in the Solntsevskaya Bratva knew that there was no getting away from his brothers and sisters. So he just sat there, until the time came to go back home with the rest of them.
A/N:
Hey y'all, what's up? I know I don't give you guys a lot of smut or whatever, so I just decided to torture you a bit. Certainly if you want to see more stuff like that, don't be shy to let me know! Also why do we call it smut and not fap fiction? I feel like that's a term that should catch on…
