Michael: The Mark (Airel Saga Book Four)

Chapter XII

THE DEMON PRINCE WASTED not a single passing thread in the web of time. He launched from the wires, flinging himself at Michael Alexander with a single mighty stroke of his great wings.

The cable car was thrust into severe bouncing motions as Nwaba pushed off, bobbing on the wires like a weight on a bungee. It fell, then launched upward, and then back down again violently.

The passengers inside were all thrown in different directions.

Mr. Emmanuel fell back, his grip on John broken by the forces at work. He crashed into the opposite wall of the car. The impact knocked the breath from him.

Kim, the host of the Bloodstone, slid into his feet. Either dead or unconscious, he didn't know, and he did not care.

No, what Mr. Emmanuel cared about was John. He had lost control of him in the swinging motion of the car, being forced to watch in horror as his bargaining chip toppled over the rail and disappeared.

***

I SAW MY DAD falling and dove after him; there was nothing else to be done. It was horrifying. I managed to catch him, pulling up seconds before we hit the rocks below. He was unconscious, but he was breathing. What is it with the men in my life needing me to rescue them all the time?

I had to find somewhere safe for him. I needed to get Kim. I had to help Michael. The more I thought about it, the more the impossibility of the whole thing became clear to me.

"I can't do everything." I had to do what I could do and trust El to do the rest. "Please, God. Keep them safe. Michael, Kreios, and Kim."

I scanned the landscape and spotted a boulder-strewn clearing in the nearby mountains. But there was something there that made me gasp.

"Ellie."

***

NWABA, THE DEMON PRINCE, plucked the boy Michael from the catwalk as easily as an eagle would snatch a trout from a lake, his talons wrapping like prison bars around the boy's midsection. He flew off with his prey, moving swiftly for the business district of Cape Town, for his high tower.

Thoughts raced through his head; options. Perhaps the Alexander could lead him directly to what he desired most after all. Nwaba touched down on the rooftop of the tower by the big elm. He flung Michael to one side as he landed.

He scrambled away, moving toward the great elm tree, which was in full leaf.

Nwaba chuckled at his fear; it was delicious to him. "Now, boy, we can negotiate." He now changed, the chameleon lord, into his favorite suit of clothes. His scaly skin became pure white, his tail thinned to a long wire, his face disturbingly humanoid.

Michael began climbing the tree, communicating fear on his face, in his movements.

Nwaba was amused. "What are you doing, boy? Come down, coward." He pranced and mocked him, cackling wickedly.

Michael scampered farther up the tree, grabbing for branches, paying him no heed.

"Come now, boy. I won't hurt you. We must talk, negotiate. I know you are the rightful heir to the Bloodstone. I just want to come to terms with you."

"You know I don't have it," came a voice from within the foliage.

Nwaba was given pause. "So you say," he said, "but that does not matter. Let us find it together." He paused again, pacing, his wire tail whipping around. "I know it calls to you, boy. You are the heir. Surely you have heard its sweet whispers, as I have."

No answer from the tree.

Nwaba crept nearer as he spoke. "Surely, Michael Alexander, you have heard what lies in store. You have seen and heard visions." He was at the base of the tree, the sticky pads of his hands feeling around for a hold, the claws of his feet sinking into the green wood. He began to climb upward. "You are the Alexander."

Silence from above.

"I know what conquests can be made. I can still choose a new host, you know that as well as I; you and I can unite and be truly magnificent." Nwaba articulated his long wire tail upward into the branches of the tree as he climbed, probing for the boy. "Surely you share my thirst for domination." His voice snapped in contempt for the present situation, for his apparent powerlessness to convince the boy of what he wanted, what he needed.

***

MR. EMMANUEL REGAINED HIS feet and began firing his pistol, loaded with .45 ACP magnum load hollow-points. First he had taken a shot at Airel, but she was too fast. She was there and then gone, diving after John. He growled in frustration. Then he took aim at the angel Kreios, who was the only one not moving. The first shot went wide.

The angel moved quickly. Before he could fire another shot, Kreios was inside the car, pushing him away from the door, one iron hand grasping his shirt and the other thrusting his pistol skyward.

He thought fast, waving the fingers of his non-firing hand. The hollow-point bullet he had just fired began to circle back around.

***

"COME NOW, BOY. DO not hide. You cannot hide from me. You cannot hide from the Bloodstone."

The tail was now far above. It had threaded its snake-like way through the branches, up and over and through, and was now making its way back downward.

"You are the Alexander, boy." Nwaba saw the boy's foot resting on a branch before his very face. He smiled. He reached up and grabbed hold of it and then shot forward and up, thrusting his face into the face of the boy, spitting, "It has called your name."

Michael was unperturbed.

This, for a split second, confused the demon prince.

"Yes, I know," the boy said. He showed his hand, in which he grasped Nwaba's tail. It had threaded its way through the tree, up and over a great limb and back down again, and the boy had shrewdly procured it for his own use. "But who are you?"

Very quickly, he looped the wire tail around Nwaba's head, pulled it tight, and leaped from the tree.

***

KREIOS SQUEEZED POWERFULLY AGAINST the wrist bones of the man's firing hand, first breaking them, then crushing them.

The man cried out in agony but the bullet was now on course; he smiled.

But the angel knew. He turned at the last minute, placing Mr. Emmanuel's head directly into the bullet's new line of trajectory. The last thing Mr. Emmanuel saw was the face of El's most terrible angel, in most terrible aspect: victory.

***

NWABA WAS HANGED. HE struggled viciously for a few seconds, his eyes shut tight. When the visions that appeared before him became too terrible to bear, he opened them wide and beheld nothing but blackness. The host had expired. He had nowhere to hide.