Hero Worship

2. Fairy Dust

2Fairy DustThe alarm sounded for a second time. The little B-flat scale had seemed such a good idea, but now it set his teeth on edge. Billy clicked the acceptance button. The screen showed the profile of a man’s head talking to an out-of-sight companion. He looked like he was calling from an open topped vehicle, and most of the screen was bleached out from the sun.

“Hey, Hux!”

Soren Huxford had cut his long blond hair slightly shorter than usual; it was just above his chin and pushed roughly behind his ears, a decision most probably based on practicality—or the inability to purchase his favorite body-enhancing shampoo in the African desert.

He turned back and his face filled the screen, blocking out the sun. Tiny specks of sand had gathered in the roots of his hair and in the slight crow’s feet in the corners of his light blue eyes. Dark shadows traced tiredness and a week-old stubble studded his chin.

“Wow, Hux, this connection is fantastic, mate.” Billy squirmed slightly, distracting himself from Soren’s good looks by admiring the wi-fi.

“Not my end—you’re breaking up.” Soren drew his hand through his hair, disrupting the sand. A little cascade caught the light and sprinkled across the screen like fairy dust. “How’s Anastasia?” It was the first question he always asked.

“Same,” Billy said. It wasn’t strictly true—she’d gotten worse.

The last time he’d visited her she was quiet and distracted. He’d arrived at the hospital to find her staring at the picture hanging on the wall of a small child playing on a swing. She was so caught up in a conversation with the child, she hadn’t heard him arrive. He’d watched her in silence for a few minutes, before she suddenly turned and greeted him as though a sixth sense had told her he was there.

For a moment, Soren gazed past the screen, apparently lost in his own thoughts about the young woman they both loved.

Since the events in Turin, Billy had accepted that Soren did indeed care about Tazia despite his conflicting behavior, but he’d yet to see the older man demonstrate a real passion for her. There was the occasional distant look like this one, and the odd spark of hope if Billy told him she had smiled during their visit that day. But the looks were fleeting, like a glimpse of a snowy owl in the blackness of a midwinter night—there, then gone.

Billy was still firmly of the opinion that Tazia’s future was with him, not Soren. But for now, he was willing to accept the man’s help if it meant they could keep her safe from the Advocate and get her out of that damn hospital.

“Do you have news? Or were you just calling me to stare at my well-developed abs?” Billy’s shirt was still wide open, and Soren was getting a fuller view of him than Billy was getting back.

For all his quippy efforts, his reward was an icy glare. The Swede’s lack of humor was wearing.

Soren gave his report like a soldier in the field. “I tracked the Advocate to Africa. She appeared in Southern Sudan. I followed her up to the north and over to Morocco. The usual pattern: she’s collecting acolytes. I’ve spoken to some of them. She’s full of promises to end the Risings.”

He paused and looked with meaning into the camera. “She’s talking about the ‘Savior’ again.”

Billy steadily held his eyes, seeing for a moment a little more emotion there—the owl beating its wings, perhaps?

“She’s not backing down.” Soren shifted a little. “These guys she leaves behind are convincing. They talk others around once she’s gone.”

He squinted at the screen and moved his head. The glare from the sun flashed out the picture once more. “You still there? Damn bright out here.”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Soren moved again to block the sun and gave a slight nod before continuing in a less soldierly style. “Her argument is working, Billy. People are frightened.”

“Well, they’re quite right to be scared, bruv. They see demons everywhere—see humanity slipping away. Then she turns up, quoting scripture, flashing her wings, preaching soul-saving s**t about the coming Savior. Seriously, who is going to say no to that when they feel so desperate?” Billy leaned his head on his open hand, feeling at least a thousand years old. His wrist painfully cracked, the after effects of all the paddling earlier, but brought no relief. He circled it gingerly to make it crack again.

“But Tazia’s not their Savior.” Soren’s voice was flat.

“We know that. But the angel’s weaving a good tale, telling them she’s someone who’s fought against her own demon self—and won. She got her soul back! That’s irresistible spin right there.”

“We can’t let her get to Anastasia.” Soren looked away.

Billy could see pain on his face. Was his energy starting to fade? He’d been charging after the High Advocate ever since she’d tricked him into murdering Tazia’s lover in Turin. He’d thought killing Conn O’Cuinn would save her, but by doing so he’d actually placed Tazia into the angel’s grasp.

Over the last four months, Soren’s desire to kill Jegudiel had driven him on from place to place. Until now, his energy and determination had never weakened.

“Hux, you okay, bruv?”

“Yeah, frustrated, maybe. I’m always just one step behind.”

“I know.”

Soren leaned back and stretched, his elbows shifting out of the screen and his khaki tee tightening. The light cotton clung to his broad chest and the arm holes were snug around his biceps.

Billy took in the view, but this time felt no more than vague appreciation. “Any good news?”

Soren seemed to find slightly more wind. “I’ve met a guy—”

“Didn’t think you swung that way…” I’m tired, not dead.

“—the son of an elder. He listened to the angel when she visited his father’s family. Wasn’t convinced by her. Precog. Human, but powerful. Already knew she was coming and forewarned his father. The angel moved on but not before she set fire to half the village. Jacob got everyone to safety. I got there just as the smoke was dying away.”

“This ‘Jacob,’ will he help us?”

“I explained all we knew. Said we were determined to track that b***h down and finish it.” The vitriol in his voice faded as quickly as it had come. When he spoke again, it was almost in a whisper. “Said we needed to guard a girl—that it all hinged on her.”

He looked at Billy squarely, and for a moment a brief hopeful smile hovered. “He’s going to help.”

“How?” Billy was pleased they had someone else on the team, but couldn’t imagine what a human could do.

“He’s already anticipating her movements. We only missed her by a couple of hours this time. Next time we may just get there.”

“But we still don’t know how to kill her.” Billy’s own research into how they could kill the Advocate had led him to nothing helpful. All the references in lore stated that only an angel could kill an angel, and they didn’t know any more of those.

“Maybe we should stop thinking of killing. Instead, consider control.” Soren said.

Billy didn’t think just controlling the angel would save the world. They didn’t even know for sure she was connected to the Risings or just taking advantage of them. He held back the sigh. Soren was finally looking a little positive, and he didn’t want to dampen his enthusiasm. “Maybe. Are you coming back?”

“Yes. We’ve got no leads and I want to… see her.” He glanced away and shifted a little in his seat. “I’m bringing Jacob with me, too. He may pick up something from around her.”

As they said goodbye, Billy did a mock salute. He didn’t receive one in return.

“Bye. And by the way, Billy?”

“Yep?”

“Your abs aren’t anything special, man. Eat more protein.”

Before Billy was able to reply Soren closed the connection, and he was left frowning at a blank screen. Was that a joke?

He walked back to the kitchen and grabbed the beer he’d abandoned earlier. It was slightly warm. The usual tantalizing fizz and aroma that accompanied European lager had all but dissipated, now just warm piss. He drank it anyway, pacing the flat for a while before settling at one of the floor-to-ceiling picture windows and considered a cigarette. Despite the oncoming demon apocalypse and almost certain death, he’d been trying to cut down.

After struggling for all of thirty seconds, he pushed the terrace door open and went outside to light up.

With his elbows resting on the railing and smoke easing from his mouth with every gentle exhale, he looked down at the River Thames. The water was as gray and sluggish as always, but the tide line was lower than he’d ever seen it. The demons were getting more of a hold on London. So far, the city had escaped the worst and England, generally, was doing well, but in the last month, the song birds had all gone. He’d heard, too, that the northern steel town of Sheffield had fallen, and in the south, the port of Portsmouth was starting to look weakened.

Up to now, the demons had been focusing their attention mainly on industrial cities, but recently, as if guided by a new intention, they were beginning to take control of ports across the globe. There appeared to be new intelligence at work, and instead of the demon population just taking advantage of economic malaise, more targeted uprisings were becoming a pattern.

The heat in London was increasing and the rain coming less frequently. The trees now only bloomed weakly and the grass was patterned with brown, dying scrub. Billy had been well schooled on the signs of demon encroachment by Soren; these changes always signaled they were collecting en masse.

He flicked the ash over the balcony where it got caught on the tiny breeze and floated gently back through the railings onto his bare feet.

Soon there would be violence: man against man or even mother against child. When the people were at their lowest, the demons would break their spirit still further and possess their bodies, kicking out the souls from within. Eventually, humans would be beaten back to the suburbs of the possessed city and the demons would dominate the center.

Billy rubbed the ash from his foot onto the back of his opposite calf and wondered how long he’d get before he’d have to move away from his East London home. Would he get enough notice to get to safety, or would he become a victim just like thousands of others before him?

His wrist watch beeped and interrupted his musings. His appointment was getting close.

Stubbing out his cigarette in the hand-shaped ashtray left permanently on the terrace, he headed back through the living area to the shower. On his way he addressed the red brick wall the TV hung on, “I guess, I’d better clean up for the doc!”

He grinned. Talking to the walls was Tazia’s thing. “Oh well, Taz, if we can’t beat them…”