Chapter 22
Bartol
Remiel deposited Bartol and Caius at a hotel in Frankfurt, Germany, promising he’d return in a couple of hours. He didn’t say what he’d be doing while he was gone or answer any of their questions. The archangel simply insisted they get cleaned up because they smelled terrible, and that they should eat something.
But it wasn’t that simple. Their team wasn’t whole anymore. Bartol was deeply worried about Tormod and what might have become of the nerou. Why had Haagenti separated them? Was it because the young man had demon blood and could be of some use? None of the possibilities he considered amounted to anything good other than the fact that Tormod was most likely still alive, somewhere. The archangels would have noted it if the nerou’s body turned up someplace. But what condition might Tormod be in once they found him, and would he be the same young man as before?
With those dark thoughts on his mind, Bartol took his time in the shower, scrubbing away the dirt, blood, and grime coating his skin. He’d lost some weight in the last week so that his muscles weren’t as defined as before, but that was no surprise. It didn’t take too long for starvation to affect a nephilim. As soon as he got out, he called room service and ordered enough food to feed an army. Bartol had nothing clean to put on and settled for wearing a hotel robe until he could muster up a change of clothes.
Caius knocked on the door right after the feast arrived, also wearing a white robe. “Wonderful. I was hoping you’d already gotten the food.”
They’d agreed to meet after cleaning up so they could eat and talk.
“We need clothes.” Bartol gestured at the other nephilim to take a seat at the table. “Any ideas that won’t require us breaking human laws?”
With their wallets and bags gone, they’d lost all the resources they had on hand. At this juncture, they could hardly return to their respective homes. The demon was escalating his attacks, and they had to find Tormod as soon as possible.
Caius sat, pulling one of the meals before him. “I’ve already taken care of that.”
“How so?”
“Luckily for us, Germany is a place where I’ve got quite a few friends. I called someone already. We should have a new set of clothes within the hour, as well as funds to spend for anything else we might need,” he replied, then took a bite of his food before continuing. “I know I’m going to need a new laptop, and we’ll both need cell phones.”
“Agreed.” Bartol worked on his meal for the next few minutes, ravenous after too many days without eating. But one thing plagued his mind. “I wonder if the demon remains in town, or if he’s moved on.”
Caius broke apart a piece of bread. “It’s possible, but if it’s been two days since his last attack, he may have left already—perhaps to London.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t come back for us before we woke.”
“There may be a reason for that.” The nephilim paused to eat a few more bites. “I talked to our contact in Prague, and apparently a lot of supernaturals went missing just before us. More than likely, we were one of many he used to fuel his powers, so it could be that we weren’t his top priority after he finished in Germany.”
Caius had certainly been busy over the last hour, while Bartol had yet to contact Cori. The thought made him feel guilty. It was just that he knew they’d be talking for quite a while, and he didn’t want to rush their conversation—not with Remiel due back anytime and the updates he’d have for them. When Bartol did finally call his mate, he wanted to give her his full attention without any potential interruptions. Cori might not love him yet, but he knew she cared enough that she’d be upset at his disappearance. Speaking with her would help bring peace to both of them. He needed to hear her voice more than anything and remind himself the world wasn’t entirely bad.
“So the demon kidnapped supernaturals in Prague, but he didn’t do anything else?” Bartol asked.
Caius shook his head. “Nothing else worth noting. He was building up his power base in Germany, though I still haven’t checked to find out what happened here yet.”
Bartol had resisted turning on the television, preferring to hear Remiel’s account. The newscasters wouldn’t have the full story, and half of what they did report would probably not be accurate. He’d found the media had a way of skewing the news in the wrong direction more often than not, especially when the supernatural were involved.
A bright flash of light lit up the room, and Remiel appeared near the door. Bartol and Caius started to get up from their seats, but the archangel waved them off.
“Continue eating,” he said, pulling out a chair at the table to join them. “I will be doing most of the talking anyway.”
Bartol gave the archangel a quizzical look. He’d never seen Remiel behave in anything other than a formal fashion before. It was quite shocking to see him sitting at their table and even eyeing their food with mild curiosity.
“Where did you go?” Bartol asked.
“First, I went to inform your mate and the others in Alaska that I found the two of you. They are relieved to hear both of you are safe and recovering, but they’re quite upset about Tormod, especially Emily.” Remiel worked his jaw, a hint of remorse there in his eyes. “That young lady has been through a lot this year, but I promised her we will not stop our search for the nerou until he is found. In addition to that, I assured Cori you would call her once you were able. She understands you need a little time to recuperate first.”
Bartol almost didn’t know what to say. “That was…very considerate of you.”
“Yes, well, you may very well change your opinion of me later in this conversation, but I did not want your mate or friends worrying any longer than necessary. They were quite insistent I track you down.” The archangel rubbed at his neck. “I’ve never seen a group of supernaturals more close-knit than the ones in Alaska.”
Neither had Bartol, but he found it interesting to see how that affected Remiel. He seemed more than a little perplexed by it. “Tell us about what happened here.”
“Unfortunately, I fell behind on current events while searching for you,” he explained. “But when I returned to Archangel Headquarters a short while ago, the others brought me up to date.”
“There’s a headquarters for archangels?” Caius lifted a brow. “I’ve never heard that before.”
“It is not something we usually mention in front of your kind.”
Bartol supposed it said something they were hearing about it now. “What did we miss over the last week?”
“The attack here in Frankfurt was against Muslims this time.” Remiel’s lips thinned. “During Friday prayers, half a dozen mosques were filled with men, women, and children. They set their buildings on fire and stayed inside with none attempting to escape.”
“The demon must have used considerable power to keep that many people from saving themselves,” Caius said, shaking his head.
Bartol set his fork down, unable to eat more. “This is true, which is why he must have needed to siphon ours and other supernaturals’ strength.” He directed his attention to Remiel. “How many died in the fires?”
“Nearly one thousand.”
Bartol sat back in his chair, stunned. Zoe had warned the attack in Germany would be considerable if the demon wasn’t stopped in time, but he still hadn’t calculated that kind of loss, especially compared to the previous ones. “How are the authorities handling it?”
“Not well. All of their evidence points toward the victims not being trapped, but rather lighting the fire themselves and willingly staying inside, which is what is getting reported in the human media. But of course, there are those who refuse to believe such a story, especially with the tragedies happening at six mosques simultaneously. Tensions are running high, and authorities fear there may be retaliation.”
The Islamic world would be in an uproar. “Extremist groups will attempt retribution.”
“Indeed.” Remiel sighed, his features showing exhaustion he rarely exhibited. “This could result in thousands more dying without the demon having to do anything else, and it could assist him in generating more power.”
“Zoe said he’d attack again in London,” Caius pointed out.
The archangel nodded. “Yes, we heard that as well. Her nerou students have yet to be wrong, but we are not certain on the nature of the next attack. The only details the seer has been able to offer is that he envisions thousands of deaths with bodies and debris littering the ground.”
“You don’t have your own sources with more details?” Bartol asked.
Remiel sat back in his chair, frustration on his face. “None we can use in this instance. It is a rather complicated matter.”
“It always is with you people,” Caius muttered.
“There has been enough death already, and we have less than a week to stop the next attack,” Bartol said, unwilling to join his friend’s ire. He could get angry about the archangels not doing more as well, but he’d long since learned arguing wouldn’t do any good. “That’s not a lot of time.”
“No, it is not,” Remiel agreed.
Caius clutched his knife and fork as if he planned to stab someone with them. “The demon has to be unimaginably powerful after this last tragedy. If people start killing each other over the mosque fires, it will fuel him even more. This has to end now before nothing can stop him.”
Except it wouldn’t be easy. “How will we do that if he’s stronger than ever, and he has the Gregorian stones? We couldn’t get near him before this last attack when he was weaker and an easier target.”
Bartol went on to explain to Remiel how they’d run into Haagenti in Prague, and what prevented them from fighting back.
The archangel was quiet for a moment. “It won’t be simple, and it is going to require a coordinated plan. We will need sensors who do not have angel blood to nullify the Gregorian stones. It is one of the reasons their race was created in the first place—to do that very job the last time this issue arose.”
“Good luck finding any volunteers,” Caius said. He continued with his meal, not appearing convinced that the first step could be accomplished.
Bartol had seen Melena’s bravery and had to believe there were others like her out there—without the angel blood. He wouldn’t rule them out just yet. “Assuming a few sensors do manage to get close enough to render the stones mute, who will fight the demon?”
“That is where the plan becomes more complicated. We have an answer to that, but it is one that holds quite a lot of controversy among my brethren.” Remiel rubbed his face. “But I don’t see any other choice if we wish to do away with the demon permanently.”
“What is it?” Bartol could not imagine them arguing over a solution if it could help, but who knew what sort of debates they had in Archangel Headquarters.
“You are part of it.”
Bartol stiffened. “What does it have to do with me?”
“Gregorian stones aside, you are no doubt aware you have unusual powers when it relates to demons—whether you use them or not,” the archangel replied, giving him a pointed look.
Bartol threw his napkin on the table. “I can’t control those powers.”
“You managed it once, mostly.” This came from Caius.
Bartol glared at his friend. “I wouldn’t call it managing. I killed over a dozen innocent humans before you stopped me, and even then it was only because you found a strong enough fae willing to put me to sleep.”
Every month after that, they’d woken Bartol to see if he had regained sanity. Each time he had lashed out in a killing rage, and they’d been forced to put him back under. Only after six months had passed was he able to control himself. He stood and moved toward the window, turning his back on them. “I can’t do that again,” he continued, staring out at the night sky, “…especially now that I have a mate to consider.”
The battle with the demon so many centuries ago was the real reason Bartol had stopped fighting and turned to seducing women instead. It had been the safer option. It was one thing to fight in a war against soldiers who expected they might die. At least they had weapons and a chance to strike back. What Bartol had done that fateful day against unarmed innocents—it had been a massacre. He’d been no better than the demon he executed when he tore through those humans like they were helpless sheep.
Bartol swung around. “Not to mention I’ve never faced anything as powerful as the demon we are dealing with now. What that might do to me, assuming I could survive the battle with him, is not worth it.”
“It’s been nearly a thousand years,” Remiel said, rising to his feet and moving closer to Bartol. “You are stronger than ever—or will be once you’ve recovered from your ordeal. And you have other advantages that you did not have back then.”
Bartol frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Where do you think you get your demon killing abilities?”
He’d always had his suspicions. “I assume from my father.”
“Indeed, and Raguel could be of assistance now. He was once a powerful archangel who led a legion of warriors to fight and kill demons during the war with Hell. Most were decommissioned or repurposed after the treaty, but your father retained all of his particular abilities and powers.”
“Wouldn’t he have been banished to Hell after I was born?” Bartol asked, both confused and surprised by a lineage he hadn’t known about until now. “There is no way Raguel could or would help us.”
A slight smile formed on Remiel’s lips. “If the archangel were anyone else, you would be correct, but we could not afford to lose him—even if he did produce a nephilim offspring. He has been held in stasis in Purgatory your entire life. We kept him because he is the only remaining angel with the ability to kill the most powerful demons.”
His father hadn’t fallen? And he’d been in Purgatory while Bartol was there? “This cannot be real. You must be joking.”
“When have you known me to make light of any serious matter?”
Never, though the archangel could exhibit dry sarcasm at times.
“You said he’s in stasis, but what does that mean?” Bartol asked.
“He has not been awake since we discovered you after you were born. Consider it to be something similar to “The Sleep,” using similar magic to what the fae use to put nephilim and vampires under.” Remiel straightened his shoulders. “If you agree to fight, we will wake your father, and you will battle alongside the greatest warrior the archangels have ever had.”
Bartol stood there in stunned silence for a whole minute. No nephilim ever expected to meet their father, aside from Lucas and Micah, who were exceptions to the rule due to an experiment that went badly. “I assume my sire has more control than I do.”
“Considerably, and he can help you.”
“Why can’t he fight alone if he’s that good?” It made more sense than sending Bartol out there when he could end up being a liability.
“We drained him of his powers in order to put him in stasis. There won’t be time for him to fully regenerate before the demon has to be stopped,” Remiel explained.
Bartol ran a hand through his hair. “This will still be dangerous even with two of us, and I have Cori to consider. I don’t want to risk leaving her alone, or using my ability to such a degree that it’s no longer safe to be near her.”
“There are risks, of course,” the archangel said, leveling his gaze. “But if we do not stop the demon now—before his attack on London—it may not be possible to stop him at all in the future. The planet will become a far more dangerous and chaotic place than it is now. Do you want your mate to live in such a world?”
Bartol crossed his arms. “You want me to be a hero, but I’m far from one. I’m broken—if you haven’t noticed—and I can’t stand the touch of others. The world would be better off with someone else saving it.”
“True heroes are usually the most reluctant of us all, and they often have their own inner demons to face.” Remiel gave him a look of confidence. “We will provide you with whatever you need to accomplish the task, as well as a reward.”
“Why reward me when you know there’s a chance I’ll do it anyway?” Bartol asked, cocking his head.
“We are asking you to take on an archangel’s job despite it not being your duty.”
Once more, they were paying him when they never did such a thing for the rest of his kind. “I need to think about this.” He rubbed his face, exhaustion settling into his body. “But while I’m doing that, I want you to look into the situation with the nerou compound in Russia. It is underfunded, lacks the right trainers for important skills such as cooking, and the living conditions are a mere step or two above Purgatory.”
Remiel was quiet for a moment. “That compound is not under my jurisdiction, but I will do everything I can to resolve the situation.”
“Don’t fail them. They deserve better than that,” Bartol said, tone brooking no argument.
“Of course. In the meantime, I suggest you call your mate and speak to her if it will aid in your decision.” The archangel stood tall, gathering his power. “I will return tomorrow.”
He flashed away, leaving Bartol with a lot to consider.