“What am I supposed to do, get in her bed with her?” Max might have sounded more put out if the idea clearly didn’t have merits in his estimation.
“Do refrain from that, too,” Jackson warned him. “She is going to be a part of this family, so it would be wise not to play where you eat.”
The statement made all eyes turn to him, each face staring at him in disbelief.
“But …”
“Let’s talk about it later,” Jackson said, glancing over to Diahmond. She was just as loyal to Hatshepsut as Ahnvil was to him. He knew that she would view him taking Marissa into his bed as an affront to her mistress’s honor. And without the details of what was transpiring, he could see her becoming offended on her mistress’s behalf. But since he didn’t have time to spin long yarns of explanation, it was best to avoid the topic altogether for the moment. Diahmond was very thoughtful, exhibiting an even calmness of approach that was not present in very many Gargoyles. They had been built for battle and for rough work, and with that came aggression and fortitude and very little inner peace to temper it. A Gargoyle’s temper was one of its greatest strengths and greatest weaknesses. In a rage they were nearly unstoppable, stone juggernauts that plowed through their enemies by the dozen … but that rage also blinded them to their moral compass, hazing the line between right and wrong.
They all waited until after Max hurriedly took his leave, all of their eyes trained on the dark reaches of the property in front of them. The landscaping was vast, from perfectly manicured to wild woods, and their potential enemy could come from anywhere before them.
“There,” Ahnvil said, unsurprisingly being the first to spy the hulking figure on the drive. Not via the woods or over the walls, but the drive, with its white stones making it a bright beacon through the dark.
Jackson didn’t wait any longer; he walked forward, the stones sharp beneath his bare feet and keeping him highly aware of his surroundings. That and almost ten years of being a cop. When he stopped, his phalanx of Gargoyles halted with him. Until Ahnvil suddenly changed form and leapt in front of Jackson, his huge bulk blocking Jackson’s view of the approaching stranger.
“Ahnvil!” he barked.
“Kamenwati,” Ahnvil snarled.
Kamenwati. Now he understood Ahnvil’s reaction. To his right he saw Ihron bristle, his flesh turning to stone in a ripple of grey as he shook himself and snarled like a wolf in a pack, his blood running as high as his clansman. Of course any of them would bristle at Kamenwati’s closeness. After all, he was Odjit’s right arm. But for Ahnvil and for Ihron … Kamenwati was their creator. He had been the master of these hulking creatures and the gods only knew what humiliations and torments Kamen had forced upon his pet Gargoyles. Jackson placed a hand on Ahnvil’s arm, feeling the rigid, immovable mass of stone that he was. But he knew Ahnvil could feel him.
“I know this is difficult for you, my friend,” he said softly, “but you must stand behind me and allow me to face him. There’s nothing to fear. I have the three of you at my back and he is alone. He would be very foolish to provoke us.” Although, he had often considered Kamen to be more than a little mentally unbalanced. Not necessarily in the avaricious, borderline psychopathic way that his mistress was … but not quite all there either.
Since there was no moving Ahnvil if he didn’t want to be moved, Jackson was forced to step around him, his relatively slighter build slipping between the wall that was Ahnvil on one side and Ihron on the other. He turned his back on the approaching figure just long enough to give them a harsh look.
“You are independent beings and far be it from me to tell you how you should feel, but I am still ruler here and if you wish to remain with us you must listen to the commands I give you, no matter how distasteful it may be to you in that moment. You are free to leave, of course, but until you take your touchstones elsewhere and bid me farewell you will adhere to my rules and my wishes.”
He turned to look back at Kamenwati, who he had heard come to a halt several feet away. And that was when he saw the blood-soaked man Kamenwati held against himself. He was so drenched and caked in the stuff that he almost seemed like he had been thickly painted with it, making every part of him unrecognizable.
“I bring this man to you, for I believe he is yours and you call him friend,” Kamen said, sounding as though he were in pain and out of strength himself. “But he is near death, so come and fetch him quickly.”
The words made Jackson freeze in place for all of a heartbeat.
Leo.
Leo!
With a roar of fury Jackson ran forward, barreling into Kamenwati, ripping away his grasp on Leo even as he drove him into the stone drive, their bodies crunching over it as they slid to a stop. Jackson pulled his weapon out of pure habit, pushing up on his position across the other man’s chest and shoving it into his eye socket.
“I don’t give a f**k how powerful you are, you son of a bitch. This bullet will put an end to you in two seconds at this range. Now you tell me what the f**k is going on here or I swear to god …” Jackson wanted to scream a thousand things at the bastard, but there was nothing coming out of him. He found himself pressing his weapon hard against the Templar’s eye socket while he looked over his shoulder at Leo’s crumpled up form. Diahmond had moved to him and was lifting him into her arms. She nodded to Jackson and he knew she would bring Leo somewhere safe and take care of him until Jackson was done where he was. Ahnvil had moved closer to Jackson once more, in full grotesque form, his vast wingspan overshadowing them, making him a black force interrupting the brightly moonlit night.
Jackson turned back to Kamenwati, focusing all of his attention on him, trying to put Leo’s dance with death out of his mind until he could indulge in it.
“You will explain yourself,” he hissed, leaning in close so he was staring straight into the other man’s eyes.
“It is self-evident,” he said softly, as if completely unconcerned. No. Not unconcerned. Resigned. “And I would beg you for that bullet myself,” he went on. “But I do not have that right any longer. I’ve set loose an incredible evil on this earth, Menes. In seeking a cure for my mistress I—”
“Your mistress is dead,” he spat.
“It might have been better if she were,” he said. “Then none of this would have mattered. Take the bullet from the gun, etch my name upon it, and you may use it once my crime has been rectified. Make me that promise and I will stand beside you against the worst evil you could ever know.”
It was Ahnvil’s hand on his shoulder that made Jackson realize he was shaking with the urge to pull the trigger, a bloodthirsty instinct he would never have thought himself capable of. They, both Jackson and Menes, prided themselves on their sense of fair justice. To want to do this thing so coldly and so eagerly was a stunning experience for them both.
“You will forgive me if I demand a better explanation,” Jackson hissed into the other man’s face. It was streaked with Leo’s blood, he realized, and he could smell the pungent tang of it rising off his clothes.
“Make me that promise, Politic, and I will tell you everything you need to know.”
The cold and vast emptiness in Kamenwati’s voice made Jackson hesitate for a beat and for the first time he really heard what Kamen was asking of him.
“Done.” He said it sharply but with all the fierce sincerity he could manage so that Kamen knew he meant it. He pulled back, snapped the clip lock on the gun, letting the clip drop onto Kamen’s chest. He racked back the slide of the .45, releasing the bullet in the chamber with a snap, the small metal projectile bouncing into the air. He caught it then slapped it down onto Kamen’s breastbone, digging the metal down under his barely leashed strength. “It’s yours now, Templar. Hand it to me when you are ready and I’ll gladly take your life.”
Kamen reached for the bullet, his arm and fingers obviously weak and shaking. He took the bullet in his hand, finding a fierce store of strength to clench it in his fist.
“Don’t reneg on this, Politic pharaoh,” he said, the words more a plea than a command. Jackson had never seen him like this and didn’t know what to make of it. His rage was faltering under his confusion. “If we don’t die in the battle that is coming, then I will want this, make no mistake.”
“You’ve heard his word,” Ahnvil said sharply. “It may mean nothing to you Templars, but Menes does not fall away from his promises.”
I promise you, my love, that I will be right behind you.
The last words Menes had spoken to Hatshepsut during her final moments of her most recent mortal life echoed into his mind. No, Jackson thought, we do not make promises we do not keep.
“Very well,” Kamen said, an exhalation rushing out of him so much like relief. But then his eyes became troubled again. “I have awakened a monster. I thought … my mistress was lying in a coma and I thought to rouse her with an awakening spell … so ancient it was … I had no idea what it was supposed to awaken.”
“Oh hell no,” Ahnvil spat out. “What have you done, Templar scum?”
“I have roused Amun’s enemy, Apep. I have set free pure evil on the world, Politic. He has been aroused in my mistress’s body and his power will grow well beyond anything Odjit ever was. And he knows all of Odjit’s thoughts. He will already be aware of you, and he will know that you are the biggest threat to his existence here on earth. Only you and others like you will have the power to stop Apep.”
“The Politic is strong enough to repel any danger,” Ahnvil said, his pride in his employers seething out of every word.
“Not just the Politic,” Kamen hissed. “The Gargoyles. The Djynn. The Night Angels. Every Nightwalker both known and unknown to us will have to come together, only then will we be able to defeat Apep.”
“Known and unknown?” Jackson echoed, that part of the statement somehow being what made the most impact on him. Battle he was used to. Joining other species in battle … while not a normal occurrence it had happened once or twice before. But how could there be unknown Nightwalkers?
“There is scripture, works in our vaults, that Odjit has been studying and trying to interpret. She was coming to believe there were twelve original Nightwalker nations. Or that at some point in the future there would be twelve. It was very unclear. But if they are out there we must find them because this is the god of chaos and destruction and his power is unlike anything we have ever thrown at one another. A rough beast has been born and he slouches toward us, Politic. Heed me … or discard me if you must. But whether or not you believe me, it will come.”
Jackson sat back on his heels, sparing a glance up at Ahnvil and Ihron.
“I believe you,” he said quietly. “What remains to be seen is whether or not you can be trusted. I will not turn my back on you in the name of a mutual enemy only for you to take the opportunity to slit my throat, as my friend did your mistress’s. It is just the sort of justice you would seek, Templar.”
Jackson pushed off of Kamen, grabbing up his clip as he made it to his feet. He shot the clip into place in the butt of the gun, then locked it in and chambered a round. He put on the safety and tucked it back into his waistband.
“Ahnvil,” he said, turning his back on Kamen, “see to it our guest is given every comfort he doesn’t deserve.” Jackson put a hand on Ahnvil’s arm to make sure the Gargoyle gave him his full attention. “He is not to be harmed, nor are we to treat him like he would have treated us. We’re better than his kind for a reason. Have a care to remember that.”
He saw the Gargoyle think about it a moment, and it must have taken a great deal out of him to come to the right conclusion. It must be very difficult to fight the warring nature they had been born for, Jackson thought. But that thought was all he could spare for him. He took off across the lawn in the direction Diahmond had gone.
Marissa crept toward the men, feeling as though she were making far too much noise. She remained in the dark, though she realized that if their attention turned her way there would be no hiding from their extraordinary night vision. She envied it, especially after stubbing her toe on a rock. It would have been easier to follow the driveway, but it also would have been quite obvious as the sound of stones under her feet announced her arrival. She wasn’t interested in becoming a part of what was happening. She wasn’t foolish. She was mortal and they were quite a bit more hardy than she would be in an all out battle with others of their ilk … namely Templars. And she had a feeling that was what this was about. Her heart was in her throat knowing Jackson was putting himself front and center for whatever was going to happen. Knowing him as she did, she knew he wouldn’t let others take risks in his stead. She suspected Menes was made of similar stuff so that made them doubly foolhardy she supposed. Or brave. She would reserve opinion for after they got back to her in one piece.
“Do refrain from that, too,” Jackson warned him. “She is going to be a part of this family, so it would be wise not to play where you eat.”
The statement made all eyes turn to him, each face staring at him in disbelief.
“But …”
“Let’s talk about it later,” Jackson said, glancing over to Diahmond. She was just as loyal to Hatshepsut as Ahnvil was to him. He knew that she would view him taking Marissa into his bed as an affront to her mistress’s honor. And without the details of what was transpiring, he could see her becoming offended on her mistress’s behalf. But since he didn’t have time to spin long yarns of explanation, it was best to avoid the topic altogether for the moment. Diahmond was very thoughtful, exhibiting an even calmness of approach that was not present in very many Gargoyles. They had been built for battle and for rough work, and with that came aggression and fortitude and very little inner peace to temper it. A Gargoyle’s temper was one of its greatest strengths and greatest weaknesses. In a rage they were nearly unstoppable, stone juggernauts that plowed through their enemies by the dozen … but that rage also blinded them to their moral compass, hazing the line between right and wrong.
They all waited until after Max hurriedly took his leave, all of their eyes trained on the dark reaches of the property in front of them. The landscaping was vast, from perfectly manicured to wild woods, and their potential enemy could come from anywhere before them.
“There,” Ahnvil said, unsurprisingly being the first to spy the hulking figure on the drive. Not via the woods or over the walls, but the drive, with its white stones making it a bright beacon through the dark.
Jackson didn’t wait any longer; he walked forward, the stones sharp beneath his bare feet and keeping him highly aware of his surroundings. That and almost ten years of being a cop. When he stopped, his phalanx of Gargoyles halted with him. Until Ahnvil suddenly changed form and leapt in front of Jackson, his huge bulk blocking Jackson’s view of the approaching stranger.
“Ahnvil!” he barked.
“Kamenwati,” Ahnvil snarled.
Kamenwati. Now he understood Ahnvil’s reaction. To his right he saw Ihron bristle, his flesh turning to stone in a ripple of grey as he shook himself and snarled like a wolf in a pack, his blood running as high as his clansman. Of course any of them would bristle at Kamenwati’s closeness. After all, he was Odjit’s right arm. But for Ahnvil and for Ihron … Kamenwati was their creator. He had been the master of these hulking creatures and the gods only knew what humiliations and torments Kamen had forced upon his pet Gargoyles. Jackson placed a hand on Ahnvil’s arm, feeling the rigid, immovable mass of stone that he was. But he knew Ahnvil could feel him.
“I know this is difficult for you, my friend,” he said softly, “but you must stand behind me and allow me to face him. There’s nothing to fear. I have the three of you at my back and he is alone. He would be very foolish to provoke us.” Although, he had often considered Kamen to be more than a little mentally unbalanced. Not necessarily in the avaricious, borderline psychopathic way that his mistress was … but not quite all there either.
Since there was no moving Ahnvil if he didn’t want to be moved, Jackson was forced to step around him, his relatively slighter build slipping between the wall that was Ahnvil on one side and Ihron on the other. He turned his back on the approaching figure just long enough to give them a harsh look.
“You are independent beings and far be it from me to tell you how you should feel, but I am still ruler here and if you wish to remain with us you must listen to the commands I give you, no matter how distasteful it may be to you in that moment. You are free to leave, of course, but until you take your touchstones elsewhere and bid me farewell you will adhere to my rules and my wishes.”
He turned to look back at Kamenwati, who he had heard come to a halt several feet away. And that was when he saw the blood-soaked man Kamenwati held against himself. He was so drenched and caked in the stuff that he almost seemed like he had been thickly painted with it, making every part of him unrecognizable.
“I bring this man to you, for I believe he is yours and you call him friend,” Kamen said, sounding as though he were in pain and out of strength himself. “But he is near death, so come and fetch him quickly.”
The words made Jackson freeze in place for all of a heartbeat.
Leo.
Leo!
With a roar of fury Jackson ran forward, barreling into Kamenwati, ripping away his grasp on Leo even as he drove him into the stone drive, their bodies crunching over it as they slid to a stop. Jackson pulled his weapon out of pure habit, pushing up on his position across the other man’s chest and shoving it into his eye socket.
“I don’t give a f**k how powerful you are, you son of a bitch. This bullet will put an end to you in two seconds at this range. Now you tell me what the f**k is going on here or I swear to god …” Jackson wanted to scream a thousand things at the bastard, but there was nothing coming out of him. He found himself pressing his weapon hard against the Templar’s eye socket while he looked over his shoulder at Leo’s crumpled up form. Diahmond had moved to him and was lifting him into her arms. She nodded to Jackson and he knew she would bring Leo somewhere safe and take care of him until Jackson was done where he was. Ahnvil had moved closer to Jackson once more, in full grotesque form, his vast wingspan overshadowing them, making him a black force interrupting the brightly moonlit night.
Jackson turned back to Kamenwati, focusing all of his attention on him, trying to put Leo’s dance with death out of his mind until he could indulge in it.
“You will explain yourself,” he hissed, leaning in close so he was staring straight into the other man’s eyes.
“It is self-evident,” he said softly, as if completely unconcerned. No. Not unconcerned. Resigned. “And I would beg you for that bullet myself,” he went on. “But I do not have that right any longer. I’ve set loose an incredible evil on this earth, Menes. In seeking a cure for my mistress I—”
“Your mistress is dead,” he spat.
“It might have been better if she were,” he said. “Then none of this would have mattered. Take the bullet from the gun, etch my name upon it, and you may use it once my crime has been rectified. Make me that promise and I will stand beside you against the worst evil you could ever know.”
It was Ahnvil’s hand on his shoulder that made Jackson realize he was shaking with the urge to pull the trigger, a bloodthirsty instinct he would never have thought himself capable of. They, both Jackson and Menes, prided themselves on their sense of fair justice. To want to do this thing so coldly and so eagerly was a stunning experience for them both.
“You will forgive me if I demand a better explanation,” Jackson hissed into the other man’s face. It was streaked with Leo’s blood, he realized, and he could smell the pungent tang of it rising off his clothes.
“Make me that promise, Politic, and I will tell you everything you need to know.”
The cold and vast emptiness in Kamenwati’s voice made Jackson hesitate for a beat and for the first time he really heard what Kamen was asking of him.
“Done.” He said it sharply but with all the fierce sincerity he could manage so that Kamen knew he meant it. He pulled back, snapped the clip lock on the gun, letting the clip drop onto Kamen’s chest. He racked back the slide of the .45, releasing the bullet in the chamber with a snap, the small metal projectile bouncing into the air. He caught it then slapped it down onto Kamen’s breastbone, digging the metal down under his barely leashed strength. “It’s yours now, Templar. Hand it to me when you are ready and I’ll gladly take your life.”
Kamen reached for the bullet, his arm and fingers obviously weak and shaking. He took the bullet in his hand, finding a fierce store of strength to clench it in his fist.
“Don’t reneg on this, Politic pharaoh,” he said, the words more a plea than a command. Jackson had never seen him like this and didn’t know what to make of it. His rage was faltering under his confusion. “If we don’t die in the battle that is coming, then I will want this, make no mistake.”
“You’ve heard his word,” Ahnvil said sharply. “It may mean nothing to you Templars, but Menes does not fall away from his promises.”
I promise you, my love, that I will be right behind you.
The last words Menes had spoken to Hatshepsut during her final moments of her most recent mortal life echoed into his mind. No, Jackson thought, we do not make promises we do not keep.
“Very well,” Kamen said, an exhalation rushing out of him so much like relief. But then his eyes became troubled again. “I have awakened a monster. I thought … my mistress was lying in a coma and I thought to rouse her with an awakening spell … so ancient it was … I had no idea what it was supposed to awaken.”
“Oh hell no,” Ahnvil spat out. “What have you done, Templar scum?”
“I have roused Amun’s enemy, Apep. I have set free pure evil on the world, Politic. He has been aroused in my mistress’s body and his power will grow well beyond anything Odjit ever was. And he knows all of Odjit’s thoughts. He will already be aware of you, and he will know that you are the biggest threat to his existence here on earth. Only you and others like you will have the power to stop Apep.”
“The Politic is strong enough to repel any danger,” Ahnvil said, his pride in his employers seething out of every word.
“Not just the Politic,” Kamen hissed. “The Gargoyles. The Djynn. The Night Angels. Every Nightwalker both known and unknown to us will have to come together, only then will we be able to defeat Apep.”
“Known and unknown?” Jackson echoed, that part of the statement somehow being what made the most impact on him. Battle he was used to. Joining other species in battle … while not a normal occurrence it had happened once or twice before. But how could there be unknown Nightwalkers?
“There is scripture, works in our vaults, that Odjit has been studying and trying to interpret. She was coming to believe there were twelve original Nightwalker nations. Or that at some point in the future there would be twelve. It was very unclear. But if they are out there we must find them because this is the god of chaos and destruction and his power is unlike anything we have ever thrown at one another. A rough beast has been born and he slouches toward us, Politic. Heed me … or discard me if you must. But whether or not you believe me, it will come.”
Jackson sat back on his heels, sparing a glance up at Ahnvil and Ihron.
“I believe you,” he said quietly. “What remains to be seen is whether or not you can be trusted. I will not turn my back on you in the name of a mutual enemy only for you to take the opportunity to slit my throat, as my friend did your mistress’s. It is just the sort of justice you would seek, Templar.”
Jackson pushed off of Kamen, grabbing up his clip as he made it to his feet. He shot the clip into place in the butt of the gun, then locked it in and chambered a round. He put on the safety and tucked it back into his waistband.
“Ahnvil,” he said, turning his back on Kamen, “see to it our guest is given every comfort he doesn’t deserve.” Jackson put a hand on Ahnvil’s arm to make sure the Gargoyle gave him his full attention. “He is not to be harmed, nor are we to treat him like he would have treated us. We’re better than his kind for a reason. Have a care to remember that.”
He saw the Gargoyle think about it a moment, and it must have taken a great deal out of him to come to the right conclusion. It must be very difficult to fight the warring nature they had been born for, Jackson thought. But that thought was all he could spare for him. He took off across the lawn in the direction Diahmond had gone.
Marissa crept toward the men, feeling as though she were making far too much noise. She remained in the dark, though she realized that if their attention turned her way there would be no hiding from their extraordinary night vision. She envied it, especially after stubbing her toe on a rock. It would have been easier to follow the driveway, but it also would have been quite obvious as the sound of stones under her feet announced her arrival. She wasn’t interested in becoming a part of what was happening. She wasn’t foolish. She was mortal and they were quite a bit more hardy than she would be in an all out battle with others of their ilk … namely Templars. And she had a feeling that was what this was about. Her heart was in her throat knowing Jackson was putting himself front and center for whatever was going to happen. Knowing him as she did, she knew he wouldn’t let others take risks in his stead. She suspected Menes was made of similar stuff so that made them doubly foolhardy she supposed. Or brave. She would reserve opinion for after they got back to her in one piece.
