Apocalypse Rising Book 1: Descendant

Chapter 2

New York City

“Seek him out in the city.” Madam LeMay, with her gnarled, wrinkled hands and near-sightless gray eyes, flipped another card onto the table. Her brow creased, adding yet more lines to an already withered face. “He is young, successful. He surrounds himself with only the best, the latest in technology.”

Mikhail studied the card face-up before him. Under normal circumstances, the Knight of Pentacles represented a man of diligence, thorough and hard-working. In its reverse, as it appeared now, the card represented a man who was pessimistic, who cared more about structure and safe choices than taking a chance on life.

“Thank you for your time, madam.” Mikhail placed several folded bills on the table. The amount would cover her living expenses for the next two months at least, but to him, it was of no consequence.

The woman inclined her head in what Mikhail assumed was some sort of thank you. She gathered up her cards but left the Knight. Much to Mikhail’s surprise, she slid the card across the table to him. “You will find him. Do not let him deny his heritage.”

Mikhail blinked. The woman gave him an unassuming smile as she once again spread and gathered her cards. Had he imagined it? Dumbfounded, he watched her. The last card left on the table this time was not the Knight, but the Tower—the fall. What was the connection? There was always a connection with Madam LeMay. The Knight of Pentacles—the man he sought. Mikhail wondered what sort of human John the Baptist’s descendant really was. The card wasn’t entirely heartening, especially when followed, more or less, by the Tower.

Without another word, Mikhail left the woman’s home and stepped out into the warm July day. He shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking. In the city, the teller had said. At his current pace, Mikhail figured it would take him all day to get from the suburban outskirts where he was, to the heart of the metropolis—what had once been New York City.

He grumbled to himself and plodded on, ignoring the urge to go against orders to save some time. The blaring of a horn startled him before he realized it came from a nearby house. Through the broken window, he caught sight of something golden in color. Then a figure stepped into sight, the trumpet’s mouthpiece pressed to an old man’s lips. Mikhail scowled up at the sky.

“I only thought about it,” he muttered. The rumble of distant thunder let him know he’d been heard.

Mikhail was reminded of how much he detested Earth cities a hundred times before he reached the outer limits of Manhattan. Humans had managed to bounce back after the war, to a degree. Many had gone back to some semblance of normality, which seemed to mean shouting at each other and crowds of them filling the cracked sidewalks. There were very few automobiles left but judging by the unrelenting noise of traffic—human and mechanical—Mikhail had a sneaking suspicion that every car, truck, and motorcycle remaining on Earth was flying down the haphazard streets of this damnable hub of urban decay.

To top off his already foul mood, he had no idea where he was going. How would he know the descendant of John from all the other bland faces in this place?

::You will know.::

“Oh, there you are. You could have been more forthcoming with details, you know.” Mikhail tried to ignore the stares of those around him. Didn’t everyone speak telepathically with their boss?

::This mission serves several purposes. You will find your charge in due time. Trust your instincts, Mikhail—they will not lead you astray.::

With a sigh, Mikhail followed the flock as it migrated across the street during a lull between madcap motorists. He merged into the crowd, gliding effortlessly through it as people passed him in both directions. He didn’t stop or slow down to see if anyone noticed that his boots didn’t quite touch the pavement. Then again, from all he’d heard about this place, he had a feeling no one here would care.

::Can you feel him? You are close.::

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Mikhail grimaced and quickened his pace.

Truth was, he did feel. Something prickled his skin, the sensation foreign and somewhat annoying. All around him loomed the ruins of New York’s once-proud skyline, threatening to topple over onto the peons below. Then he stopped and stared up at what was left of a high-rise towering above him. This was it.

“Good afternoon,” said the armed gorilla who was acting as doorman. He gave Mikhail a not-so-pleasant smirk. “Can I help you?”

“A little help would be nice right about now, Gabriel.” Mikhail heard the archangel’s chuckle in his head, then Mr. Pleasant-and-Pumped stepped to the side and pulled the door open without another word.

On the inside, the building wasn’t nearly as bad. Someone had actually made an effort with this one and fixed it up. Light from a single, bright, candle chandelier reflected off the cracked but polished gray marble floor. Antique gold sconces—some broken, some holding more candles—lined the walls in irregular intervals. Oversized stone urns sat on the floor in-between the sconces, although there was not a single speck of anything green in them.

In the center of the lobby stood a circular desk. A security guard, a little more genteel-looking than the primate at the door, looked up from where he sat. His expression combined disdain with a touch of suspicion.

“Yes?”

Good day to you, too, asshole.

Mikhail gave the man his most charming smile. It didn’t seem to make a bit of difference. “I’m looking for Andrew Blackwell.”

“And you are…?”

“A friend of the family.” Hey, at least it wasn’t a total lie.

Gaze narrowed, the guard didn’t appear to be convinced. “Name?”

Mikhail sighed. ::Gabriel…::

The guard blinked and motioned toward a set of stairs. “Number twenty-three. Nothing but three floors left.” He turned back to whatever he’d been doing before.

Taking that as his cue, Mikhail left the man to his work and headed upstairs.