Thomas Sniegoski - Where Angels Fear to Tread

“You can have it,” Remy said, “but you must guarantee me the child’s well-being.”

He waited to see how the pair reacted.

They continued to stare, their shiny black armor glinting in the early sunshine.

“We want what is inside the child,” the other Retriever said.

“I understand that,” Remy said, “but you have to promise me the child will not be hurt.”

The pair glanced at each other, a silent message passing between them.

“We cannot guarantee this,” they said in unison.

“Then I’m sorry,” Remy said.

“Sorry?” the Retriever questioned with an odd tilt of his head.

“You cannot have what the child possesses,” Remy told him.

They again looked at each other.

“We could very easily destroy you, Seraphim,” he said with still no sign of emotion. “We could destroy you and take what we desire.”

Remy saw the knife that Delilah had used to threaten Deryn upon the ground, and he reached for it. Holding the blade, he willed the power of Heaven into the metal, causing it to crackle with a powerful, holy fire.

“You’re welcome to try,” Remy told them, and he felt a rush of power flood through him as his warrior nature flexed its muscles in preparation for a battle to come.

He’d always wondered if he could take a Retriever, and now he was going to find out.

The bloodhounds from Heaven responded to the challenge, emitting a birdlike screech as their armor reconfigured into a more combat-ready mode, filled with spikes and many sharp angles. They raised their blades of ice and had started to advance, when they both halted.

At the ready, Remy watched with a curious eye.

The Retrievers appeared to be listening, listening to something that only they could hear.

And as quickly as they had prepared for battle, they stepped down, sheathing their swords, allowing their armor to morph back to its more streamlined design.

“What’s happening?” Deryn asked, holding protectively on to her little girl.

“I don’t know,” Remy said, still watching the Heavenly pair.

The Retrievers stood there a moment longer, their ice-cold eyes darting from the mother and child, to Remy, and then back again.

Finally they spread their razor-sharp wings in unison, and with a final, hawklike screech, they leapt up into the air, and were gone as quickly as they had appeared.

Remy continued to hold on to the knife, waiting for something to happen. He was convinced that the Retrievers were going to drop from the sky in an attack, or that at least something would suddenly appear to challenge him.

But nothing appeared, nothing attacked from the sky, and he actually began to suspect it was all over.

He waited a bit longer, scrutinizing the area for any signs of potential danger and, finding none, allowed himself to relax. The Seraphim, temporarily satisfied, went down quietly, and Remy returned to his more human guise.

Turning, he found the mother and child both staring.

He looked down at himself, at his torn and bloodstained clothes, and self-consciously smiled.

“I knew there was something different about you,” Deryn York said.

“You did,” Zoe agreed with her mother. “I showed you in the picture I drew.”

Her mother turned her face to the little girl. “You did, didn’t you,” she said, and kissed the child’s cheek over and over again.

Zoe laughed sweetly, throwing her arms about her mother’s neck and hugging her for dear life.

“I’d like to take my daughter home now, Mr. Chandler,” Deryn said.

“Not yet,” the little girl chirped, squirming in her mother’s arms to be let go.

The child touched ground in a run, stopping a bit away from where they stood. She was staring sadly down at something.

Remy and Deryn followed the little girl, both stopping as they realized the child was looking at the broken and bloody body of Carl Saylor.

The child squatted next to him.

“Zoe,” the mother cried out, “come away from there.”

“He was a good daddy most of time,” she said sadly, and Remy saw her hand reach out to place something that seemed to appear out of thin air upon her father’s chest.

It was a purple flower that emitted the most wonderful aroma.

They stood there awhile longer, gazing down at Carl’s body, before Zoe broke the silence.

“Can we leave now?” Zoe asked.

And the three walked from the compound into the surrounding woods, finding the path that would eventually lead them home.

Samson emerged from hiding after he was certain they were gone.

He had hated to hide like some loathsome coward, but he knew a blind man would have been useless against the things Remy had faced.

And besides, he had a special purpose to fulfill.

He moved out from behind the section of brick wall that had tumbled, following his nose toward the acrid stink of burned flesh and the supernatural.

Samson knew it was she; even though her flesh had been burned black, practically to ash, it still held the taint of what she was.

Of who she was.

The stink of cooked flesh grew incredibly strong, and he knew he was standing over her.

“Look at you now,” he said, feeling a sudden surge of emotion threaten to overtake him.

He remembered how beautiful she had been and tried to keep that thought, even though by the smell, he knew that beauty had been taken away.

Delilah inhaled a rattling breath at the sound of his voice.

“Still alive,” he said, and shook his head sadly.

Samson dropped to the ground, rock and bits of glass biting into his ancient knees, and felt with his hands until he found her blackened remains. Gently he gathered her up, taking her frail body into his arms.

She could not speak, but he could feel her starting to quiver. He wondered how long it would take her to heal. . how many souls she would need to consume before returning to her old tricks.

But that question wasn’t relevant anymore because he knew this was the end. For millennia he had tracked her, and now he had her exactly where he wanted her.

Delilah was helpless in his grasp.

This is what I’ve been waiting for , he thought. Samson tried to find the anger. . tried to find the fiery rage, but instead found only sadness—sadness over how far they both had fallen.

He brought her head up and laid it upon his shoulder, holding her tenderly.

“I’ve never loved anyone more,” he told her, his emotion causing his words to break.

Delilah tried to speak, but it came out as only a scratchy croak, and he was certain she was telling him she loved him too.

And Samson took her life, as it was his job to do, the strongest man in the world broken by the memory of a love so powerful that it put his legendary might to shame.

A love that he would carry like the deepest of scars to the end of days.

The strange man was waiting for them as they came out of the woods.

He was standing on the opposite side of the desolate road, across from where the multiple SUVs had been parked, squatting on his hindquarters, and wearing far too much clothing for the warm and humid West Virginia weather.

At a glance, Remy suspected he was Vietnamese, and wondered why he was there.

The dark-skinned man stood to his full gangly height as they emerged, staring at them with dark, curious eyes. There were satchels at his feet, traveling gear, as if he were on a long journey.

Remy tensed, moving to stand in front of Deryn and Zoe; after the kind of night they’d had, he wasn’t about to take any chances.

“What is it?” Deryn asked, not yet noticing the stranger.

“Could be nothing,” Remy said, allowing his preternatural senses to test the air for potential danger, but getting nothing.