The Elder Prophets (To Absolve the Fallen Book 2) Read online

  There was also an intruder. Elizabeth felt another presence calling her away from her epiphany. She could feel whoever or whatever else had been with her gradually drifting away. Some of her strength seemed to slip away with it, and she felt—for a moment—alone with her thoughts. She mustered the fortitude to reach out for the voice that was beckoning her; she recognized it—somehow, despite the lack of any words or real sounds—as Jeremiah’s. It urged her to return to the real world.

  ***

  Elizabeth blinked twice, then opened her eyes. She sat up and looked directly at Alex. He smiled nervously.

  “You saw it all,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I didn’t have any control.”

  “You were inside my head. I could feel you there, watching with me.”

  “Yes.”

  She looked away. “Then, you know.”

  Alex moved back into the rear of the van with Jeremiah and Elizabeth. Whether purposefully or not, he had invaded her private world. He had felt the anger, fear, and helplessness that pervaded her thoughts.

  “I won’t ever tell anyone what I saw,” Alex promised.

  Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’ve said some awful things to you, and you’ve never been anything but kind to me.”

  He waved his hand, as if to dismiss the issue. “Don’t be. It all had to happen the way it did for things to work out the way they have. Now, we just move forward.”

  Instinctively, he placed a gentle hand on the side of her face and brushed away a tear with his thumb. For a moment, he was almost overcome by passion. Removing his hand quickly, he looked away guiltily, as did she. Jeremiah grinned. And Matt, watching from the rearview mirror, didn’t miss the exchange either.

  Chapter 4

  There are some who can literally see into the future. This is not an ability I have, but I am always amazed by those who possess it. I admire and fear them for it. Their power is great, and using it wisely is most impressive. However, I have seen it used poorly too many times. Knowing what the future holds is dangerous. I find myself wary of change when it is advocated by soothsayers. Being knowledgeable of the future often results in a different ending than the one predicted. But it is also often the case that the future they see is the one that will happen, despite, or even because of, any actions we might take to change destiny.

  --Abigail Martin, Through the Eyes of a Martyr

  An individual sat in Patheus’s office. He wore long, flowing, white robes. His body was adorned with jewelry. His skin and hair indicated that he had Arabic origins, but Patheus knew where he was really from.

  “I’m here,” the other said, “at your summoning. I fail to see that I am needed.”

  “Ephippas, this is exactly what we said would happen. You knew it would come to this.”

  Ephippas cleared his throat. “You can’t kill Jeremiah. Metatron couldn’t kill Jeremiah. Apparently, Eva didn’t succeed in killing him. Even Lucifer had a shot and failed. Oh, and let’s not forget about Mastema. So, I’m here. Allow me to sum up the events of the recent past.

  “No less than fifty demons have died in the last month as a result of what Jeremiah is doing, including Mastema. Garrett has resurfaced. Prophets from all over the world are being summoned to stop us. Metatron has been beaten twice by a boy. There is even talk that the Morning Star has returned. I don’t know how much of this is your fault, but I intend to find out.”

  “How dare you blame this on me?”

  Ephippas laughed. “We are having to compensate for your lack of success. Can you conceptualize of how far you’re setting me back with this?”

  “This is Metatron’s paramount objective,” Patheus responded. “And, as I recall, I am still Metatron’s general.”

  “A technicality, I’ll assure you,” replied Ephippas. “You are where you are due to your previous relationship with Jeremiah, not because you are more powerful than I am. Jeremiah deserved to be Metatron’s general. You benefit from luck.

  “Eva ambushed him, and it didn’t even faze you. Did it? You fought alongside him. He’s saved your miserable life on more than one occasion, but his removal was far too convenient to hold any real grudge against her.

  “Why did she do it? Because we’re all a little crazy, and that’s how demons are supposed to act? No. Metatron ordered Jeremiah to be killed, and Eva was only his means. You were put in charge because Jeremiah was a good general, and Metatron thought you would be as respected. He was wrong. Now, either you’ll have to be extraordinarily successful, or Metatron will replace a general again. I’ve worked for Metatron even longer than Jeremiah. I know the way he operates. Anyone can do what you do. And many more will. Not everyone can do what I’ve done: survive.

  “You’re a puppet, and you have always been one—God’s, Jeremiah’s, and Metatron’s. The only reason I have never made you dance is because Metatron is too afraid to give me more power. As well he should be. I’m not as powerful as he is, but I’m more powerful than you. Do remember that the next time you order me to do something. Okay?”

  Patheus leaned back in his chair and pulled off his glasses. He examined them for a moment and put them in a drawer. He looked directly into Ephippas’s eyes and said, “A century ago, I would have agreed with you, but a great deal has happened in the recent past. I was built to be a grunt—a powerful and worthy fighter, but no strategist. However, I am not the sum of what I fell from Heaven with. I’ve learned a great deal from Metatron and Jeremiah. I may not be good with wars, but I am proficient in confrontations. If this is a confrontation, I promise that I will kill you. Puppet as I may be, I am still your boss.”

  “I could kill you where you sit.”

  In a flash, Patheus was no longer in his chair, but a hand had clasped the back of Ephippas’s neck very firmly. Patheus leaned close to Ephippas’s ear and whispered, “Your manipulation of gravity is most impressive, but if you don’t know where I am, how will you be able to tie me down?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  Again, Patheus was sitting in his chair. “Not much, really. And, trust me; you aren’t the only one I’ve had very similar conversations with. You and other demons will help me take over Kansas City.”

  “Why here?” Ephippas asked. “What is so important about this place that you would be stationed here for eight years?”

  “This is a strategic place to be,” Patheus replied with a smile, retrieving his glasses from the drawer. “Jeremiah plans to use Alex to unify prophets around a central location, Las Vegas. Alex’s hometown is only about twenty miles north of where we’re sitting. When he realizes how close we are to aspects of his previous life...”

  “...He’ll run back to protect what he loves,” Ephippas finished. “Splitting Jeremiah’s attention. Interesting. More to the point, what are we going to do to him when and if he returns? Twice, now, he’s beaten Metatron. What if he comes back with an intent to make us leave?”

  “He isn’t that powerful. Conquering one demon, no matter how powerful, is not the same as conquering a multitude of demons. Metatron fought the boy alone. That isn’t something I ever plan to do. Besides, I don’t think that Alex would resist us if we had something of value to him.

  “As we speak, the political structure of Kingstone is being overhauled. I am putting my people into positions of power all over the city. Soon, I will be in control of most of the aspects of that town, including Alex’s parents, who believe their son is dead.”

  Ephippas cocked an eyebrow. “You have the parents?”

  “Today, I purchased something that should prove to be very useful. Johnson, Hill, and Ross, the law firm that Alex’s mother works for, is now mine. She had been thinking about moving, but the recent, tragic death of her son, coupled with the partnership I plan to offer her, will probably persuade her to stay. She’s really in no condition to move anywhere at the moment, anyway.”

  ***

  It was starting to get dark. Matt and Elizabeth were talking
quietly in the back. Jeremiah was driving, and Alex was looking for hope out of the passenger-side window.

  It seemed to Alex that they’d been driving for days. Jeremiah had said that it would probably be another half hour before they reached Munich. Once there, the goal was to catch the first flight to the United States, but not until after Jeremiah spoke to “an acquaintance” he had there.

  “Human, prophet, or demon?” Alex inquired.

  “Prophet.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Jeremiah laughed. “Sophie Koch.”

  “Oh,” Alex said. “So will Sophie help us?”

  “It depends on whether or not Abbie has spoken with her. Sophie doesn’t like me very much. We were always on the opposite side of things. From time to time, I’ve tried to tear down things she worked very hard to create.”

  “What?” Alex asked, astounded. “Then, why do you think she’s going to have anything to do with us?”

  “Like Abbie, Sophie is an Elder Prophet. Prophets who have been around more than two hundred fifty years are considered legends, partially because they have found some way to remain somewhat anonymous for most of that time—to avoid having to explain the incredible life spans, and also because they have probably survived a number of demonic encounters.”

  “Like demon hunters.”

  “Not quite. Hunters are born with the abilities they use to defeat the fallen, abilities Garrett must have seen in Dylan. They do survive many demon encounters and tend to live for a very long time, but they don’t really have people skills. Each Elder Prophet has changed the course of history—on a global scale—at least once.”

  “How do they stay anonymous if they’re doing so much?”

  “Abigail Martin, for instance, has not gone by that name in a long time. It’s the name she was born with. There is written record regarding an Abigail Martin, born circa 1585. But that person was supposedly lost at sea around 1610. It seems she was headed for the ‘New World’ when her ship was attacked by French battleships. The ship was presumed to have sunk, and everyone onboard perished. I’ve often heard that the King of England was responsible for the attack. Nevertheless, Abbie has survived that and much more.

  “Elder Prophets generally avoid the limelight. They make others take the more overt roles. They advise younger prophets and world leaders, but they rarely take an active interest in day-to-day events. Furthermore, they have learned how to hide from the view of even demons. I often told the demons who fought for me that any prophet over the age of two hundred could kill three average demons in ten seconds.”

  “And Sophie doesn’t like you?”

  “Not particularly. Fairly recently, I made some political moves that she didn’t agree with. She tried to stop me; I tried to kill her...Well, you know.”

  Alex scowled. “How long ago?”

  “Alex, it was about seventy years ago. I helped fuel the Nazi war machine. In fact, I designed it. No one saw it coming, except Sophie. She escaped me and warned the Council of Elder Prophets. Many prophets fought and died to stop what I was doing. And, thanks to the efforts of prophets like Sophie and Abigail Martin, I did much less than I had intended.”

  “Wow, Jeremiah,” Alex breathed, trying not to become angry from Jeremiah’s confession. “I don’t think she’s going to listen to you.”

  “I imagine you’re right. That’s why you will go with me.”

  ***

  “Dr. Martin?”

  Abbie looked up at the guard from the stack of papers on the table in front of her. “Yes.”

  “There is someone at the front gate who says you are expecting him.”

  “Who?” Abbie asked hopefully.

  “He only said, Salmar.”

  Abbie grinned. “Good. I have been expecting him. Don’t worry about it; I’ll go to meet him.”

  Abbie was not surprised to find Salmar in his finest shaman robes. His skin was a very dark shade of black, which seemed to match his current, solemn demeanor. But his vestments were brightly, almost festively, colored. He had a staff in his hand, and, around his waist, were many kinds of pouches, containing—Abbie knew—a variety of herbs, roots, and other odds and ends necessary for his practice.

  “Salmar,” she acknowledged as she embraced him. “It is so good to see you.”

  “And you, Abbie,” he said, a smile slowly forming. “I came as quickly as I could. When Abigail Martin asks for help, she may rely on her friends to answer the call.”

  She smiled. “How is Bondoukou?”

  “Abla is seeing to things there.” Salmar scowled. “He is stubborn. The city government does not like him, but they tolerate him out of respect for me.”

  “Stubborn?” Abbie mocked. “A student of yours is stubborn? Well, I suppose what goes around comes around, after all.”

  “Abbie, I’m appalled,” Salmar feigned offense. “I was never stubborn; you should see this boy. He will not concede, ever—not even a little. When he gets something in his head, you have to beat it out with a stick, or he won’t even listen to you.”

  “Never stubborn? I can remember a time when you and I rode for three days on horseback because I couldn’t convince you that the man you saw was merely a tradesman, and not a demon.”

  “Abbie, I saw his eyes flash at me when he turned in my direction.”

  Abbie laughed. “He was wearing glasses.” She started laughing even harder. “Do you remember the look on his face when we found him and told him that we had tracked him from Florence?”

  “I remember,” Salmar replied, nodding. “Abla, though, is a different story.”

  “Let’s talk about it over tea,” suggested Abbie. “I have some interesting things to tell you, too.”

  ***

  The van pulled to a stop in front of a very large, though rather plain, house.

  “Shouldn’t we have called her first?” Alex inquired.

  “No,” Jeremiah answered, peering toward the top of the building, “I think she has known that we were coming for a while. And she’s still in there. That’s probably a good sign.”

  “Jeremiah,” Matt said from the back of the van, “maybe it would be wisest if we all went inside.”

  “Actually,” added Elizabeth, “it would probably be wisest if everyone went in, except Jeremiah—given their relationship.”

  Jeremiah turned around in the seat and glared at Elizabeth.

  Alex nodded. “I agree with her.”

  Jeremiah seemed to consider a response to be inappropriate; he returned to looking up to the top of the house. He pulled a cigarette out of a pack in the consul, rolled down his window, and said, “Suit yourselves.”

  As the three prophets walked toward the door of the house, it slowly opened. A very well-dressed man noted them and then looked at the van.

  When the three got to the door, the man returned his attention to them, nodded politely, and said, “My Mistress has been looking forward to meeting with you. Please, come inside.”

  The supernatural feel to the house was similar to, though much less than, Metatron’s castle. Even before entering the house, the prophets could feel that there was immense power inside the building.

  They entered to find themselves in a parlor. People were sitting on couches, walking around, talking to each other, laughing. But, when Alex, Matt, and Elizabeth came through the door, everything stopped. All heads turned to watch them, specifically Alex. No one said a word, except the man who had let them in.

  “Walk up those stairs,” he directed, indicating a spiral staircase right in front of them. “She’s waiting for you at the top.”

  At the top, they found themselves in a small hallway with a door at the end. Alex walked to it without hesitation; Matt and Elizabeth followed. He put his hand up to knock, but before he could, it opened.

  A woman stood on the other side. She smiled. She seemed very young and warm. Her short hair was a light, almost reddish, brown. Judging from her face, she could have been just a few years older than
the three who stood before her, but her eyes betrayed her.

  They were old. They had seen far too much. They had been overcome by tears countless times.

  “Alexander Tanner, Elizabeth O’Dell, and Matthew Hartley,” she observed. “I’m glad that you have come. Won’t you join me?”

  They followed her, wordlessly, into a magnificent room lined with bookshelves, except for one wall that was just a window, looking out over Munich.

  She motioned to some chairs and a couch. “Have a seat. Would any of you like anything to eat or drink?”

  “Ms. Koch?” Alex asked.

  “Yes?”

  “We’ve come to--”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I know why you have come.”

  She abandoned the notion of getting any drinks and sat down in one of the chairs.

  “We could use your help,” Elizabeth added. “We’ve been--”

  “Allow me to be blunt,” Sophie interrupted her. “I’m glad you have come. This gives me the opportunity to meet Abbie’s new protégés. I will visit with you. I’ll let you stay here as long as you’d like. You will be as safe as I can make you, here—for Abbie’s sake. But I will not work with Jeremiah.

  “I know that you have been finding other prophets and demons to wage a war against Metatron. I know that this is through the combined efforts of Abbie and Jeremiah. Alex, I can feel the power you wield and the potential you all have to defeat evil. I hope that we may work together, one day, but I will not go with you to Las Vegas.”

  “But you haven’t even given us a chance to explain,” Matt protested.

  “What would you say?” she prompted. “As you can plainly see, I have created a safe-haven for any prophet who wishes it. I have obligations to those people. I simply cannot leave.”

  “Jeremiah told us that he tried to kill you,” explained Alex.

  She closed her eyes and turned her head. “Alex, I watched hundreds of loved ones taken to concentration camps all over Europe. Jeremiah orchestrated Hitler’s rise to power. I’ll bet that you didn’t guess that Hitler was a prophet too.”