Thomas Sniegoski - Walking In the Midst of Fire

He opened his wings, allowing Malatesta to emerge, as he wished the feathered appendages away. They had appeared just beyond the elaborate home, on a cliff overlooking a tumultuous sea.

“An impressive way to travel,” Malatesta said, stumbling a bit to one side. Remy grabbed hold of his arm to steady him.

“As long as you know where you’re going it beats public transportation,” he said. “It’s a little disconcerting at first, but you get used to it.”

The Keeper representative shrugged off Remy’s assisting hand, and turned to face the mansion. “Is this it?” he asked.

“That’s it,” Remy answered, and both began walking toward the quiet road that ran in front of the impressive front gate.

“Is the reason a Bone Master wants you and your sorcerer companion dead why I am needed here?” Malatesta asked as they crossed the road, the crash of the turbulent sea upon the cliffs filling the air behind them.

“I believe it is,” Remy said as they reached the heavy wrought iron gate. “So you’re familiar with our attacker . . . this Bone Master? What can you tell me about them?”

Malatesta grabbed hold of the black iron and gave the gate a shake to see if it opened. It didn’t.

“Keeper agents have encountered them from time to time, assassins of a demonic nature. From what we’ve been able to piece together over the centuries, the Masters have somehow genetically engineered an animal that once dead becomes their weapon of choice. They bond with these mysterious animals on a psychic and physical level from childhood, and when coming of age, ceremonially slay the animal, and peel away the flesh to reveal the weapon specifically bred for them.”

Remy called forth his wings once again, grabbing Malatesta and hauling him up and over the gate.

“Thank you,” the Vatican agent said, appearing a little startled by this, smoothing down his shirt, and pulling at the sleeves of his suit jacket.

“The special weapon,” Remy said, walking up the driveway. “It fired what looked to be teeth.”

“Yes,” Malatesta answered, jogging to catch up. “The Keepers found that to be particularly interesting. As I mentioned, the weapon and the master are bound together both spiritually and physically, and the special gun is capable only of using its master’s teeth as ammunition.”

“So I’m guessing these Bone Masters—they have a lot of teeth?”

Malatesta nodded. “Very much like sharks’ teeth; one is removed and another grows in to take its place. We at the Keepers believe that once a Bone Master finally runs out of ammunition—teeth—they, and their weapon, die.”

They were climbing the steps to the double front doors.

“Do you realize how crazy all that sounds?” Remy asked, rapping his knuckles on the door. “And that’s coming from somebody like me.”

The door started to open, one of the blind servants visible on the other side.

“Get away from that door!” a voice boomed from somewhere inside.

The servant jumped back away from the door, and had started to close it again as it was yanked from his grasp. Montagin appeared in the entryway, his eyes burning with an unnatural light.

“Oh, it’s you. What took you so long?” he demanded to know.

“Had to find what I was looking for,” Remy said, pushing his way inside with Malatesta in tow. “And then there was the matter of somebody trying to kill me and the person who I found to take care of our problem.”

Inside the elaborate foyer, Remy saw that the servant still lingered there, waiting.

“Be off with you,” Montagin commanded, and the servant hurried off, hand upon the wall as he felt his way farther into the home.

“Is this that person?” Montagin asked, looking Malatesta up and down.

“No, he’s my substitute,” Remy explained. “Montagin, this is Constantin Malatesta.”

The angel was already on the move toward the study, as Malatesta stood there, hand extended, his offer ignored.

“Hurry this way,” Montagin said.

Remy and the Keeper representative followed.

“So, seeing as an attempt was made on my life,” Remy called after the angel. “Any chance that we might have a leak here?”

Montagin stopped before the study doors.

“No one but you and I has been inside this room since the discovery,” the angel said. “And from what I know about you, Remiel, the idea of somebody trying to kill you doesn’t seem all that uncommon.”

Malatesta looked to Remy.

“He thinks he knows me, but he doesn’t,” Remy said to him.

Montagin unlocked the door, the smell of death wafting out to greet them like an eager puppy.

“I’m guessing that I’m here because someone has died,” Malatesta said, hand going up to his nose.

“Not just someone,” Montagin said as he closed the door tightly behind them.

Remy pointed out the corpse lying on the floor.

“He’s there.”

The Vatican representative slowly approached the large figure lying there, his chest cut open.

“Oh my,” Malatesta said. “Who was he?”

“General Aszrus,” Remy said, staring at the corpse and noticing for the first time that the angel’s wings were visible, crumpled and bent beneath him. “A very important figure in the looming war between the forces of Heaven, and those of the Morningstar.”

Malatesta looked at Remy, his eyes filled with shock and awe.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Hadn’t heard about that had you?”

Malatesta knelt carefully on the rug beside the corpse. “I can’t imagine what would be strong enough to do something like this to something like him.”

“It’s what I intend to find out before the news of his murder starts a war, with humanity stuck smack in the middle.”

“What do you need me to do?” Malatesta asked, his eyes traveling across the angel’s body.

“We need something to keep people out,” Remy stated. “The longer we can keep this secret, the better off we’ll be.”

Montagin was pacing back and forth, long arms folded.

“I don’t know how I let you talk me into this,” the angel grumbled. “It will likely be all for naught.”

“Don’t worry, this will work,” Remy assured him.

“It would probably be easier for me to go to the war council and let them know what’s occurred,” Montagin replied. “We’ll likely end up with the same result anyway, only a little bit sooner.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Remy instructed, moving to stand before the general’s assistant. “There’s far too much at stake. You know as well as I do that the war council is just looking for an excuse to start swinging their swords.”

“What does it matter, Remiel, whether they start swinging now or later?” Montagin asked, on the verge of hysterics.

The sound of someone noisily clearing their throat got them to stop. Remy and Montagin both looked to the man kneeling beside the corpse of the angel general.

“If you two would like me to try to erect some sort of shield to seal this room, I’m going to need some quiet in order to concentrate.”

Montagin sneered. “You’ll have all the quiet you need and then some once the war horns blare, and all life upon this planet is burned to a cinder.”

Malatesta cleared his throat again, his eyes never leaving the angel’s. “Let’s see what I can do to prevent that, shall we?”

It looked as though Montagin might have something more to say, but Remy took him by the arm, dragging him toward the exit.

“Let’s leave him alone to work his magick,” Remy said as he opened the door, and led the ruffled angel out into the hall.

“I don’t even know that person,” Montagin huffed, attempting to go back inside the study.

“You don’t have to,” Remy said. “He’s a Vatican magick user. . . . I think he can handle this.”