Hellgate London - Exodus Part 24

"Oh no," Tulane agreed. "You won't be anyone'sscience project. This isn't about science. At least, not about science in the truest sense of the word, which has been rather limited in our experience. This is definitely about the arcane forces in our world."

"There are several groups like this scattered throughout London and England," Tulane said as he headed the procession through the caves. "Throughout the world, in fact. Ever since the human race first came in pa.s.sing contact with the demon world through visions and voices, there have been those among us who have studied them. We've never accepted that the power the demons wield are out of our reach."

Warren stared into the various rooms they pa.s.sed. He'd seen dozens of Cabalists during the last few minutes. Several of them were undergoing tattooing or taking part in experimentation.

"Why do you wear tattoos?" Warren asked. "Me? Or Cabalists in general?"

"The Cabalists."

"Tattooing allows us to focus our powers," Tulane answered. "Writing of any sort-symbols as well as words-has always provided control over arcane energy. Magic is just a colloquial word we use for the energies we harness. Calling our field of study that makes it easier for newcomers to grasp, and it instantly differentiates us from those who choose to view the world through the limited means we term physical science." He smiled derisively as they stopped at a cave.

Inside the cave, a young tattooed woman with an eyepatch gestured at a knife lying on a table. The knife levitated, spun on an invisible axis, then flew toward a freestanding wooden target at the other end of the room. When the knife struck the target, it sank up to the hilt, shearing through the wood as if it were water.

In an adjacent cave, a young man reached into a fire and flames danced up his arm without hurting him. Watching the sight was almost unbearable to Warren, bringing memory of pain and the stench of burning flesh. Turning, the young man held his flaming arm up ahead of him. A second later, the flames flew from his arm and struck a wooden target a few feet away, engulfing it at once.

"There have always been instances of people able to wield the demons' energy in our world," Tulane said. "Once they touched our world, as we believe they must have done, the demons opened fissures that were never truly closed. Some of that energy leaked in. Not enough to do the things you're seeing today, things that you've apparently done yourself. Nor on a scale so wide as we're now experiencing."

"That's because of the h.e.l.lgate," Warren said.

"We believe so. Since it opened, there has been a sharp increase in both incidence and ability." "Why was I brought here?"

"To teach you, of course. And to learn from you." "Learn what?"

"Whatever there is to learn." "What makes you think there is?"

Tulane looked at him meaningfully. "No one," he said, "has ever withstood a demon's attack before. Not one of us, at least."

"We don't combat them," Tulane said as he switched on a holo-vid mounted in the table they surrounded. They sat in an expensively appointed study with wooden paneled walls. Only the fact that there were no windows reminded Warren that they were in a cave far belowground instead of in the ma.s.sive house. "We observe them."

Images of demons battling military tanks and airplanes in the streets of London played in the vid projection. A huge demon slammed his oversized fist onto a tank's main gun. The barrel wilted before the onslaught, then finally snapped off. Another tank fired at almost point-blank range, but the sh.e.l.l burst against the demon's hide without doing any apparent harm. The demon roared and turned to face the tank, gripping the main gun barrel and ripping the turret free of the vehicle's body. He used it as a hammer to flatten the tank and kill the soldiers inside.

"This is Shulgoth, one of the primary demons," Tulane said.

The note of reverence in the man's voice almost made Warren ill. "Do you know him?"

"We know of him." Tulane watched as the battle progressed. "We know that he is a fierce warrior, totally merciless. I would like to know more, but that hasn't proven feasible at this juncture." He cut the vid and focused on Warren. "How long have you known you were different?"

Warren hesitated, wondering how much he should reveal. He didn't want to tell the man anything.Tell him. It's the only way you're going to survive.

"I don't know that I am different," Warren answered.

Tulane held his gaze for a moment, then casually tapped the keyboard mounted in the table. The vid returned, this time bringing with it images of Warren's parents.

"Your stepfather's name was Martin," Tulane said. "But he wasn't your biological father."

A chill sickness blazed through Warren. His father's broad, cruel face had always had that effect on him. His father's skin was so black it held a bluish tint. He shaved his head, but wore a short goatee that framed his blunt chin.

"Your biological father's name was Hakim N'Bush," Tulane said, "but you don't carry his name." "No. When I was in foster care, I chose my mother's maiden name instead."

"Tamara Schimmer." Tulane punched another key.

The image this time hurt Warren, but it also confused him. His mother was white but showed her Jewish ancestry. Her dark eyes looked soulful and her dark hair hung in ringlets down to her shoulders. She was too thin and too pale. Warren had never known a time when she looked healthy. He hadn't looked at a picture of her in years. Now, though, he was struck by how young she was. No more than a couple years older than he was.

"She was married to Martin DeYoung, who became your stepfather."

A third image materialized on the vid, revealing a sallow-faced white man with wispy blond hair and small eyes. Martin looked feral and rat-like.

"Your stepfather murdered your mother," Tulane said.

Warren felt Kelli's eyes on him. He didn't look at her. She took one of his hands in hers. For a moment, he felt guilty about using his power over her, but he was too afraid and too hurt to be there alone and have to face this.

"Yes," Warren answered in a thick voice. "Neighbors called in the attack," Tulane said.

A recording of a frantic phone call came from the vid. "Yes. Police? It's my neighbors! I think he's going to kill her this time!"

The conversation rolled for a moment, including the screaming voices on the other side of the wall or floor or ceiling. Warren had never known who had called in the domestic disturbance.

The memories opened up and swallowed Warren down. For a moment he was no longer in the cave with Tulane. He was back in that flat, listening to the argument between his mother and father. Then the flat cracks of his father's gun punctuated the conversation between the neighbor and the police. "I've had enough of both of you," Martin DeYoung declared.

In Warren's mind, he could see his stepfather shoot his mother, then turn the pistol on him.

"People are out to kill me now!" his stepfather roared. "And they want to kill me because I've been struggling to make ends meet for the two of you. Your b.l.o.o.d.y mother just spent whatever she could get her hands on, and you...youjust kept eating and growing and going through clothes like there was no tomorrow!"

That old fear coiled inside Warren again, twisting like a wild animal trying to escape a trap. He felt sweat break out over his brow. Then the burn scabbing and white skin over his left arm and back began to itch furiously.

"But I'll stop that!" Martin declared.

Vaguely, Warren heard Kelli begging Tulane to stop the recording, but Tulane ignored her. He focused on Warren.

The gunshot pealed within the room, and Warren felt the bullet strike him again. The fear was out of control. He remembered how he'd felt, how he'd never wanted to be hurt again.

Then a child's voice, which had been pleading for the stepfather to stop, suddenly sounded hot and angry."I wish you were dead!"

The words were small in the context of things. They shouldn't have mattered at all.

But Martin DeYoung had stopped cursing and screaming and had blinked at Warren lying on the ground before him. Then he'd put the pistol to his temple and started pleading for his life.

"No! Don't make me do this! No! Stop!Please!" Martin had started crying then, shaking with effort to take the pistol away from his temple. But he hadn't been able to."Nooooooooooo-"

The sharp gunshot ended the scream. Even the conversation between the neighbor and police officer had ended in shocked silence.

Warren's skin itched even more. He was angry at Tulane for dredging up all those old memories, but he didn't know how to react. Warren knew he might as well have been a prisoner.

The vid vanished.

"When the police arrived," Tulane said softly, "they searched the premises, thinking they'd find a third party there. A neighbor or a friend of your mother's. Someone who had overpowered your stepfather, put the pistol to his head, and pulled the trigger. But that isn't what happened, is it?" Warren hesitated, weighing his options. "No."

"You wished he was dead," Tulane said. "Yes. But I had for years."

"But never so fiercely as that night." "No."

"And then what happened?" "Martin...killed himself."

Tulane stared at Warren. "Because you told him to." "Yes."

Shaking his head in amazement, Tulane said, "Eight years old. And before the h.e.l.lgates opened." Warren didn't know what to say to that.

"Have you ever used your power since then?" Tulane asked.

Warren thought about lying, but he felt certain Tulane would know he was lying. Since he wasn't sure what would happen to him if he was caught in a lie, he told the truth. "Yes."

"How?"

"To influence people."

"The way you influenced the demon to leave you when Edith found you?"

Warren nodded. The itching along his arm and back grew even more powerful. "And you survived the demon's attack a few days ago."

Warren nodded again.

"Has anything like that ever happened before? Accidents that should have hurt you didn't do much damage?"

"No." Warren scratched his arm under his coat sleeve. His stomach lurched as he realized something was coming away on his hand. When he looked, he saw that it was white and membranous.

Skin!

The thought terrified Warren. Believing he'd ripped his wound open, he slid out of his coat and pulled his s.h.i.+rt off.

Instead of pink and b.l.o.o.d.y flesh, though, Warren saw greenish-tinted black scales covering his arm. Where he'd torn the white skin away, the itching had stopped. Unable to stop himself, he raked at his back. More skin peeled away. Beneath it, where he could see along his ribs and side, greenish scales gleamed instead of skin, white or black. Not only that, but the whiteness had spread beyond the burn areas, claiming more of his body.

Twenty-Seven.

What is it?" Leah asked.

She was referring to the nine-foot-long lizard- looking demon inside the gla.s.s display case inside the House of Rorke's museum/teaching center. The creature stood poised on all four heavily padded claws. Teeth filled the wicked-looking snout that was longer than a crocodile's. The tail was thick, corded muscle. Greenish scales covered the demon. Long scars marked it. If it hadn't been so evil-looking, the demon might have looked beautiful.

Even now, years later and him fully gown, Simon still remembered how scared and awed he'd felt when he'd first seen the exhibit. Back then, the demon had seemed even larger, but no less fierce. Even after the fight in the tube tunnel, gazing on the demon-seeing it poised to strike-was unsettling. "They named it the Ravager," Simon said.

"This is a demon?" "Yes."

"How long has it been here?"

"The Templar have had it in their possession for hundreds of years." "Why wasn't this shown to anyone?" Leah asked.

"It was." Simon stared at the creature. That fear from long ago revisited him even though he was clad in his armor. "No one believed it was real." "No one?"

"No."

"Even with the proof before them?"

"No one. It might have been more convincing if the Templar had found more. But this was the only one.

It was so torn up when they found it that the artists had to rebuild sections of it." "You can't tell."

"I know. That's another reason people found to disbelieve in the existence of demons."

Unconsciously, Leah placed her hands on the gla.s.s before Simon could stop her. She immediately yanked her hands back and yelped in surprise.

"What did you feel?" Simon asked.

"Electricity." Leah worked her hands. "Is that from a security system?"

Simon nodded. From the immediate primitive fear in her eyes he knew she'd feared-at least for a moment-that the demon within had had something to do with what she'd felt. "Some of the demons possess dark powers that cling to their bodies even after death. They can cause sickness or even fatality. Touching them, alive or dead, isn't advisable."

"If you knew the display case was electrified to discourage contact, why didn't you tell me not to touch it?"

"I didn't know you were going to touch it. I never wanted to. Most don't. I certainly didn't expect that you would want to." Simon stared at the reptilian horror on the other side of the high-impact-resistant gla.s.s. "And not everyone perceives the dissuasion spell the same way."

"Spell?"

"Arcane energy," Simon said.

Leah smiled uncertainly at him. "Magicand demons. Surely you don't believe in magic?"

"Arcane energy is real. I can let you talk to Templar who are strong in arcane energy. I know some spells, but that's not where my strength lies."

"What kind of spells?" Suspicion knitted Leah's brows. "Good or evil?"

"You can't cla.s.sify arcane energy as good or evil. It's not that simple." Simon thought back to the cla.s.ses he'd received. It was harder than he'd imagined to talk to someone who didn't know and didn't believe in those things. Even when that person was surrounded by it. "Arcane energy, the way I understand it, is a force. Elemental, like the wind or the tide or gravity. The way it's used determines whether people call it good or evil."

"That sounds too easy." "Define good and evil."

Leah looked at him. "That's simple."

"Is it? Tell me, are a soldier's actions killing enemy soldiers good or evil?"

Leah hesitated. "It depends on whether the soldier is fighting for you or against you."

"Is science good or evil? The research that eradicates a plague is also the same research that enables scientists to modify and change that plague."

"Eradicating a plague is a good thing."