In the House of the Wicked

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Armaros stood on the roof of Stearns’ office building, admiring the garden of large satellite dishes that had been constructed there. They resembled a cluster of high-tech mushrooms growing up among a forest of steel, glass, and stone.

The thought made the angel smile, knowing that Sariel would have been amused by his blossoming imagination. To be able to see in something more than the reality of it was not a trait normally associated with the minions of God, but the excessive time spent here among them-among humanity-had allowed the Grigori to evolve some.

And Armaros took much pleasure in flexing this new visionary muscle, imagining the kind of world they were about to usher in. There would be panic and chaos for a time, but in the end it would transform the humans, taking them a place closer to where the Lord wanted them to be.

If there was one thing that the Grigori had learned over the countless millennia, it was that the human animals were stubborn beasts and not so easily swayed. They had to be shown the consequences of their actions, and the more gruesome the presentation, the easier it was for them to listen.

Since the Grigori had been partially responsible for the wedge driven between humanity and the Almighty, it seemed only fair that they attempt to make things right.

The Grigori’s final penance for the sins they’d committed.

But first they needed to capture humanity’s attention.

Armaros reached out and placed a hand on the cold metal of one of the satellite dishes, impressed at how far the humans had come with their technology. It was almost like magick. With just these metal dishes, they would be able to reach out to millions of humans all around the world and deliver their message.

It was just a shame that so many of them would have to die.

“Neat trick,” Remy said, following Francis and the sorcerer, Angus Heath, through the fissure cut in the fabric of reality in the deserted back parking lot of the Vermont motel.

The magick user had helped them dispose of the golem Ashley, using a spell that caused the clay body to burn from the inside, turning it to crumbling ash that was easily washed down the drain. To say that the sight of his friend’s visage, even if it was a magickal doppelganger, crumbling away to nothing in a cheap motel bathtub was mighty disturbing was an understatement.

He’d settled his bill and then met the others in the parking lot, stepping through the passage opened by Francis and exiting in the shadow of a Toys “R” Us.

“It comes in handy,” Francis agreed, turning his head slightly to watch the perforation seal close behind them. “One of the perks of a new client.”

“Anybody I know?” Remy asked.

Francis ignored the question and turned away.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Angus asked. “I thought we were going to get weapons, not a new bike.”

“We’re not going there.” Francis sounded annoyed, and walked away from the toy store. “What we’re looking for is this way.”

Behind a Dumpster was a fence, and in that fence a hole had been cut. One by one they climbed through the opening, into a lot filled with rows of storage lockers.

“Where are we, anyway?” Remy asked, not recognizing their whereabouts.

“Brockton,” Francis answered as he paused, getting his bearings.

“Brockton?”

“Is there a problem with Brockton?”

“No, I’m just a little surprised that you’d keep items of this nature here.”

“Let me tell you, Brockton is the perfect place to keep items of this nature.” Francis led them to a particular storage shed, number