Uriel: The Price (Airel Saga Book Six)

Chapter IV

"I'm sorry for that, Johnny boy. I really am. What else ails you?"

John took the hint. Ethan was the opposite of sentimental. "Ethan, I've managed to get myself into something big. Something I can't control." He let it all hang out with an even, steady voice, no emotion, not once looking away from the fountain.

"Go on."

"I came up with some big debts after South Africa."

"I saw that. You pulled some big levers getting out of there unscathed."

"Tell me about it. That's how MAGICIAN found me." John searched his eyes for a trigger of recognition, but it wasn't there. Besides, Ethan was better than that. "I was given a dead-end job in Glasgow, and by the time I got back home, I was a marked man."

"How so?"

"They're hunting me."

"Who?"

"You wouldn't believe it if you saw it. I have two rotting bodies in my house, Ethan. Neither one is human. Do you believe in demons?"

Ethan laughed but said nothing further.

John reached into his briefcase, took out the book, and placed it on the counter. "And there's this. Volume III of a set of books about an organization called the Brotherhood. They're demons. No kidding. I found it under my daughter's mattress. It seems to be very old. I think the two monsters I killed wanted it, and wanted to kill me to get it."

"Monsters?"

"Ethan, you know me."

He reached for the book. "May I?"

John nodded sliding the book toward him. Ethan flipped through it, making small sighs and grunting noises. After John was done with his drink, Ethan closed the book and took out a bottle of eighteen-year-old Balvenie Scotch and set it on the table between them.

"You? And Scotch? Really?"

"People change, buddy." Ethan grabbed some glasses and began pouring. "Especially when the stress begins to mount."

John smirked. "You think you know a guy."

"Hey. It's the end of the world out there. I believe you, John. You're not the guy to come all the way to Dubai just to tell lies to his oldest and best friend. This story is so strange, it has to be real."

John nodded.

"Johnny boy, I'm not really into this kind of stuff. But . . . I may know someone who is. His name is Jordan Weston. I ran across him a few years back on a job—the details don't matter to you, boy, but he's in to rare books and he's always talking about the end of the world and staring out the window." He laughed, but for the first time, it showed the strain that was now becoming self-evident. He snapped out of it. "Anyway, he was in the market for a book like this. And there was a stone of some sort too, if I remember right."

"I may have helped him."

"What?"

"Yeah, MAGICIAN. I think that may have been Weston. I was supposed to take down this mark in Scotland and grab a stone off her. It's in this book. At least I think it is. It's called the Bloodstone. Some sort of magical trinket the Brotherhood wants."

"Well, well, well. All roads lead to Rome, huh?" Ethan snapped the book shut and set it down.

"Yeah, something like that. So where can I find this Jordan guy?"

"I don't know. I know some of his haunts. And I share some, not all, of his . . . enthusiasms, let's say. I'll check in with my little birds. Hang on." Ethan took up his phone and began tapping away.

"What, right now?"

"Yeah, Johnny boy. You have friends in high places now."

John got up and paced the room. He found the view from the top of the world to be intoxicating. I wonder why I chased after Maggie. I wonder why I chased after that whole life—the house, the job, the PTA, the sensible cars and the grocery-getting monotony of it all. He found himself making arguments pro and con inside the space of his own head, wondering at the amorality of a gun smuggler now having second thoughts about his suburban life and sweet little suburban wife. He thought about how convenient it was that Airel was in a coma now, how she would probably die, how Maggie would no doubt follow her soon after, and how that would free him up to—well, to live a life more like Ethan's. Sleek, proud, a self-proclaimed master of the universe. Money to burn.

"All right, Johnny boy. My birdies tell me Jordan Weston has something big planned. I personally would like to watch, in a manner of speaking. His office is at the Burj downtown. I'll get you his floor number; that should be all you'll need."

"Thanks."

"Sure thing. Johnny . . . Be careful. This isn't the standard deal we used to run. This is something different."

John's mind ran wild. "But they tried to kill me."

"So you're what, gonna run straight for the viper's nest?"

"I want answers."

Ethan cocked his head and raised his shaggy eyebrows. "You'll get more than you bargained for, I'd wager."

"Yeah, well. Don't bet on the house this time."

Ethan exhaled, the sound incredulous. "Have another drink. You're gonna need it. It's strange goings on, John. This earthquake, the blackouts, and now all the missing people."

"What missing people?"

Ethan placed his hands on the cold granite countertop. "People all over the place are disappearing. Poof, up and gone, except there's this weird red residue, sticky and weird. Some say it's that Christian thing—the Rapture, people disappearing. Some say it's like the fingerprint of a person's soul. Scientists say they've discovered a new element—one that's alive."

"What? How come I've never heard this?"

"There's no such thing as news anymore, John. Dubai and Stockholm are the last two safe places on earth. Everything else has been plunged into the Dark Ages, Part II. I know because I have birdies. The world is falling apart, John. This red soul dust—it's alive. And worse, it can't be killed."

"What?"

"People tell me there's an army being forged in the underworld. Souls, John. Things are out of order. I have a feeling that book there," he gestured with his glass, "and this Bloodstone thing . . . they're the reason why."