Black Fallen

The moment my body crosses the holy threshold, the whispers cease. I don’t trust it, though, and I move to the first thing I see that can block the door: a broken, decayed stone statue of an angel.

Kind of unexpected.

I knock it over, the rest of what is a wing crumbles, and I drag it to the doorway. I prop it against the wood. I haul ass up the aisle.

I can’t say that I feel safe in here; the church is empty and, for some reason, derelict. I know it’s old, and although I’ve never been inside I have a feeling there’s more to it than rotted pews and broken statues. Gabriel and Jake had said to come here. Now, I’m not so sure I made the right choice. I glance around. What few pews remain are turned over; tattered hymnals lay scattered on the floor. The intricate stone rafters above are broken and crumbling, as are the large pillars lining the aisle. The altar is little more than a pile of stone rubble. What once were beautiful stained-glass windows are now shattered.

There, near the back wall, I see him. The angry kid. Guy. He’s no kid. Just a few years younger than me. He’s huddled on the floor, staring at me, breathing hard, heart slamming in his chest. All this I hear pounding in my own ears. I hurry over and drop to my knees, and I keep my eyes trained on him. Only then does his breathing ease, his heart slow. “My name is Riley,” I say, and he stares back at me.

“Something’s inside me,” he mumbles. Terror makes his eyes look crazed.

“As soon as I can I’m gonna kick the holy shit out of that thing inside of you.” At first he simply watches me, looking innocent. Then those blue eyes turn black again, and he smiles a creepy smile. “Yeah, I know you’re still in there,” I say, and grab his wrist. “Let’s go.”

The guy opens his mouth and it stretches, exaggerated, into a crooked yawn just before a high-pitched, screeching scream rips from his throat. I’m new at this—didn’t know until now that I could even detect a demon, or a Jodís, or whatever the hell it is, much less beat one’s ass—so I’m winging it. Hope to God it works.

I drag the guy, and he’s literally digging in with his heels. I’m stronger, though, and somehow I know that there’s a big puddle, close to the rubble pile of an altar. A puddle of water. Rainwater? I don’t know, but it’s inside the cathedral, and I don’t see any holes in the roof above. I use my strength to grab the kid by the neck and force his face over the puddle. I push, an inch away from his nose submerging.

He screams again, loud, long, so intense and filled with pain that I fight not to drop the grip I have on him and cover my ears. Then a big splash. The guy goes limp, and I ease him back. I look at the puddle. Trapped inside the murky blackness, it’s there. Screaming. Hairless. Bony. Instead of hands, it has weird, long claws at the tips of a pair of raggedy gray wings. It’s clawing at the puddle from beneath it. Screaming at me in a language I don’t understand. Not sure I want to. So that’s a Jodís.

I take in a deep breath and meet the raging stare of the creature in the water. “Pain, take over.”

The creature’s expression changes and twists into a deformity that I barely recognize. For some weird reason I don’t have it in me to even make a conjured-up creature to suffer. Best to end it now. “Die.”

For a brief, split second, the creature’s eyes change. I see relief in their black depths.

Then a loud pop. The creature turns to black. The water turns black. Then it slowly dissipates.

Gone. Nothing remains except the stone floor.

The air inside the rectory smells like death, decay, and must, and is as cold as it is outside. With each exhalation my breath billows out in front of me in white puffs. Beside me on the floor is an overturned candleholder; I pick it up, turn it over, and stare at the distorted reflection of my face. A bruised jaw, busted lip, dirt smudges across my forehead. I almost laugh. How the hell did I get those? I don’t remember fighting with anyone. Or anything. I look like I’ve had the shit beat out of me. Maybe I have.

I glance at the candleholder once more, then toss it aside.

Just then, the whispers begin again, loudly, all around the cathedral, and this time I can distinguish what they’re saying. Riley. My heartbeat quickens. Well, as much as it will quicken. It’s dead slow as it is, thanks to all the jumbled vampire DNA in my body.

I turn, grab the guy by the hand, and pull him up. He’s confused, blinking, rubbing his eyes and looking around as if he has no clue what’s happening. I’m sure he doesn’t. I barely do.

We head for the front door.

Above us, the whispers grow to such strength that they’re nothing more than a long, hissing hushhh. The wind stirred by a hundred winged creatures swooshes around us, and we’re all-out running now. My sword is heavy. I shove the broken angel statue out of the way and the guy and I stumble out of the chapel.

I blink. We’re back. In real-time Edinburgh. When I scan the street, the tour group I’d pushed through is just stepping up onto the sidewalk. They turn and look at me. They look at the guy with me. I turn and face him.

Large blue eyes stare back at me. I wait for them to turn black. They don’t. “Are you okay?” I ask.

He looks around, stares at his surroundings, and I can tell he’s unsure. Of everything. He looks back at me. “Do I know you?”

I cock my head. “I don’t know. Where were you last?”

“Ian!”

We both turn to see a group of four young guys making their way toward us, coming from just down the Mile. They’re all talking ninety miles an hour, and in a heavy brogue I can barely understand.

“Where’d you disappear to?” one asks. He gives me a long look. “Didna notice this one in the club.”

“What club?” I ask. I want to know where they last were before the kid was taken over.

“Och, an American,” another says. He’s tall, pretty cute, with dark short hair. Maybe nineteen. “How long are those legs, lass?” he asks.

Ian slaps his friend on the back of his head. “Shut up, you horse’s arse.”

I give him a smile. All the guys start whistling.

“Zone Seventy,” the other boy offers. “Were you there?”

“Och, damn, I’d have remembered her,” the other boy offers, nodding toward my cheek. “Wicked ink.”

I look at him. “Thanks. Maybe I was there. Been to several. Where is it?”

“Just up the way. Niddry Street,” he answers. “Come on, let’s go,” he says to the others.

Ian smiles at me. “Wanna come?”

Flattered, I smile. “Maybe next time.”

Ian and I share a look just before he and the others take off. I can’t tell if he remembers anything at all about what and how a Jodís had taken over him, but I can definitely tell something happened between us. I’ll talk to Jake and the others first. Maybe they can tell me something about what just happened.

I watch the guys turn and head down the Mile and turn off onto a side street. Only then do I glance back at St. Giles’.

It’s enormous. Beautiful. I’m tempted to peek inside, just to see if it would be all crumbly like I’d seen it . . . before. Whatever that was.

“Riley?”

When I turn, Eli, Tristan, and Jake are standing behind me. I look at Jake first. “What the Hell, Andorra? Something was inside that kid.”

Jake rubs his chin. “Aye, I know.” The light from the streetlamp is shining behind him, causing his entire face to be in shadows. “Angels. Fallen angels. Jodís. Demons. Evil spirits. Witches.” He cocks his head at me. “You do know where you’re at, dunna ya? Edinburgh’s black past is full of them all, and they come hand in hand. Each have naturally been integrated in Edinburgh’s dark past.” He shrugs. “We just typically keep them under control.”

I glance toward the direction the boys went. “Well, they’re not all under control.”

“So it seems,” Jake confesses. “Many things have changed since the Fallen’s arrival.”

“Aye, and mayhap we’re not as prepared as we need to be,” Tristan adds.

“What happened to you?” Eli asks, brushing a thumb over my cheekbone.” His expression is at first frightened, then grows dark. “And who did this to you, Ri?”

I touch my cheek. It’s bruised. I can feel it. “To be honest, I don’t even remember getting hit.”

Eli’s angry. Pissed. He looks up and down High Street. “I look over, you grab that kid and pull him into the cathedral. Less than a minute later you come back out.”

“And you look as if someone knocked the holy Hell out of you,” Jake adds.

“Did that lad strike you?” Tristan asks. He turns without hearing my answer and heads after Ian and his friends.

“No, wait!” I stop him. “Tristan, it wasn’t the kid.”

Tristan turns and waits.

I look up at Eli. “I’m fine. Whatever clocked me, I didn’t feel it. And I’ve had much worse, and you know it.” I look at Jake. “I don’t think that thing was all demon,” I say, then explain its appearance in the puddle. “It looked a helluva lot like a Jodís. Not all features, but some. And the second I grabbed Ian’s hands—” I pause as a group of three passes by. “As soon as I grab his hands, everything changes. We’re on . . . some alternative plane. Edinburgh, but not. St. Giles’, but derelict. Run-down.” I glance at Tristan and Eli, then back to Jake. “Abandoned. Inside the church, everything was a wreck, destroyed. And there were wings beating everywhere, and whispers.” I take a breath. “They said my name.”

Jake stares at me, his features stern. That does not make me feel very good. “Did it see you? The creature?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Just before I forced it out of Ian and killed it.”

“Jesus, Riley,” Eli says.

Jake blinks. “How?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">