Thomas Sniegoski - Walking In the Midst of Fire

Madeline was sitting beside him, wearing that yellow sundress she’d worn one day on Nantucket during their honeymoon.

“Hey you,” Remy said, forcing himself up to a sitting position. “Long time no see.”

“Aww, did you miss me?” she asked, with a tilt of her head.

If she only knew.

“Always.” He smiled at the woman who’d been gone from his life two years now.

“But you’re doing so well,” she said, leaning against him. “Personally, anyway.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, shrugging.

“I like her. She’s tough. I think she can handle the nonsense you’ll put her through.”

It was odd to hear his dead wife talk about Linda, but also strangely comforting to have her approval, even though she was only a manifestation of his subconscious.

“I hope you’re right,” Remy said. “Although I’m not sure even I can handle my current situation.”

“It is a bad one,” Madeline agreed. “What are you going to do?”

Remy shrugged again. “My original plan was to find out who was responsible, and then turn him over to the legions to defuse the situation. But now . . .”

Remy recalled the pain and anger in the boy Gareth’s voice as he talked about the angel that was his father. Gareth hated the Heavenly being, but at the same time, he seemed to hunger for his acknowledgement, to be recognized as his son.

Aszrus had finally begun to take an interest in Gareth and the other children. For a time, Gareth had actually started to believe he was something more than the forgotten by-product of an unholy union.

But then Aszrus had revealed his true motivation, his plan for the children to be used as weapons against the forces of Hell. Gareth’s dreams of belonging suddenly came tumbling down, and the full extent of his unnatural power began to take shape.

“You can’t turn them over,” Madeline said, speaking his own thoughts.

“No, I can’t.” Remy shook his head. “Although they are extremely dangerous.”

“Angry children,” Madeline said. “Not the easiest creatures to reason with.”

“Tell me about it.” Remy had tried to calm Gareth and the others, which resulted in one of the children reaching into his skull and giving his brain a good squeeze to shut him up.

And that was why he was here, but at least he was in very good company.

“So where does that leave us?” Madeline asked.

“It leaves us in a pretty bad place,” Remy admitted. “Gareth wants to lead his brothers and sisters from the island to confront the angels responsible for siring and abandoning them.”

“That’s probably something they’ve been wanting to do since they were old enough to know better,” Madeline said. “A power fantasy—if they couldn’t be loved by those who cast them away, then they would destroy them.”

“That sums it up,” Remy said.

They sat, silent in the cool darkness, each deep in thought.

“I can’t let them be hurt any more,” Remy finally said.

“Yeah, I figured you’d say something like that.”

“Am I that predictable?” Remy asked.

“All in a good way.” Madeline leaned over and kissed his cheek. “So what’s the plan?”

“Really not much of one,” he said. “I’ve got to convince Gareth not to attack, and then to stay hidden.”

“That’s it?”

“I told you it wasn’t much.”

“But it is a start.” She kissed him again, only this time longer, pressing her lips firmly against his cheek. Remy turned in to the kiss, eager to feel her lips against his own.

Even if it was only a dream.

Water dribbled down his chin as a cup was pressed to his lips.

Remy drank, but started to cough, and the figure kneeling in front of him moved the cup away.

“Are you all right?” the figure asked.

It took Remy a moment to get his bearings. His eyes darted around the first floor of one of Gunkanjima’s abandoned buildings. He could see Malatesta and Prosper sleeping to his right, both of them still tied up.

He remained bound as well, though not for much longer. He could already feel his strength returning, the interference in his brain that had laid him low no longer present.

“Who are you?” Remy asked.

The figure was tall, and quite thin, with a dull, sickly pallor.

“A friend,” he said. “I was trying to look after them.” His gaze turned toward the broken window. “But now . . . I’m afraid for them.”

Remy tried to sit up, but the rope and thick knots around his wrists and ankles made it incredibly awkward. He concentrated on the fire inside him, allowing it to leak just enough from his pores to weaken his bonds. Then straining just a bit, he broke them, the pieces of rope dropping to smolder upon the floor.

“I know what you mean,” Remy said. “Could I have some more water, please?”

“Certainly.” The man handed the cup to Remy.

“They’re not equipped to deal with the world outside,” he continued, as Remy quenched his thirst. “To challenge the angels responsible for their abandonment . . .” The man shook his head sadly.

“I want to help them as well,” Remy said. “But I’m afraid it might be too late. . . . They seem to have already made up their minds.”

The man was quiet, eyes fixed upon a particular spot, deep in thought. He played with a silver ring that adorned a finger of his left hand, turning it around and around.

“If there was some way they could be taken from here,” he said after a few moments. “Protected from harm. Taught to understand their abilities.”

Remy suddenly remembered Malatesta’s tale of being found by the Keepers, taken away, and taught how to deal with his affliction. Maybe there was a chance. . . .

“You look as though you might have an idea,” the man said to him.

“Yeah,” Remy answered slowly. He still didn’t trust the Vatican, but perhaps they really were the only hope the children had.

He turned and crawled across the floor to Malatesta.

The sorcerer lay on his side, and Remy gripped his arm, preparing to awaken him. “Constantin,” he said, knowing immediately that something was wrong.

Malatesta rolled onto his back, eyes wide and unblinking, his teeth clenched together in a rictus-like grin. His body twitched wildly, and Remy knew that there was nothing he could do right then.

There was a battle taking place inside the Vatican magick user—a battle for the soul of the sorcerer as the evil being within attempted to wrest away control.

Remy briefly turned his attention from the sorcerer to the man he’d just been talking with, but the stranger was gone.

Taking Malatesta’s hand in his, Remy tried to lend him the strength he would need to defeat the darkness inside him.

It was a similar battle to one that Remy himself had fought many times.

Simeon left the building, allowing himself to be swallowed up in the sharp angles of darkness around the rotting structures.

“Are we leaving, master?” Beleeze asked, nearly invisible in the shadows.

Simeon was staring back toward where he had come from, and the angel he’d left behind. It had been a very long time since last he’d seen him.

The forever man had often wondered what became of the angel that led the siege against Ignatius Hallow’s castle; and here he was, going by the name of Remy Chandler.

Funny how things work out, Simeon thought. It was this angel—this Remy Chandler—who had helped set him on the path to fulfilling his most heartfelt desire, and now the angel would assist him again.

The angel would never know that it was Simeon’s idea that the Vatican might provide for the children’s well-being. He would think it a solution that suddenly came to him, a bolt from the blue.