Chapter 24

Suzi left the others behind, opting for the hospital. They were all in over their heads, and she doubted they fully grasped the gravity of their involvement. The safety of researching and paperwork seemed like a haven compared to the murky waters they now waded. She’d ensure they stayed out of harm’s way—she and Judas would shoulder the burden. A conversation with Judas and perhaps Kariel was overdue.

Inside the hospital, she checked her phone. Nick’s text awaited her: ‘Bowers family has your contact info. Funeral Sat at 1 pm if you want to officiate.’ She replied with a simple ‘Thanks. I’ll let you know.’

The elevator carried her to the secured, quarantined level of the ICU, where Aiden’s new room awaited. Her family occupied the waiting area—a makeshift base camp. Reed had strategically positioned them: uncomfortable chairs facing Aiden’s room, snack, and soda vending machines nearby (conveniently accepting credit or debit cards). Rio, ever the caffeine enthusiast, reveled in the free coffee next to the machines.

“Hi, guys,” Suzi greeted them.

Rio waved, her hoodie sleeve obscuring most of her hand.

Reed, mouth full of chocolate and caramel, managed a muffled “Hi, Mom” as he silently engaged in a conversation on his phone.

Ruth stood, enveloping Suzi in a hug. “This may not be the time, but you must tell me your secret, honey. You look too young to be the mother of these two hoodlums.”

“Well,” Suzi quipped, “I’ve practically stopped eating since all this started.” They shared a laugh. “Any change?” Suzi gestured toward Aiden’s room.

“No. Not really,” Ruth replied, resuming her seat. Owen sat next to her, hands across his stomach, chin resting on his chest, eyes closed.

Suzi settled between Ruth and Reed.

“We haven’t been here long,” Ruth explained.

“Six hours,” Rio grumbled, flopping into the seat next to Reed.

Ruth corrected her. “It hasn’t been six hours. We left the hotel at 5:30, and it’s not even 10 o’clock yet.”

“Feels like six hours,” Rio muttered, sipping her coffee and plugging in her earbuds.

Reed leaned over, kissed Suzi’s cheek, and relayed Kara’s greeting.

“How is she?” Suzi asked.

Reed winked, nodded—his expression showing that he missed his girl—and plugged in his own earbuds. Like Aiden, the twins sought solace in their thoughts—reflection or distraction from the weight of reality.

Suzi turned to Ruth. “Rio mentioned you’re considering leaving?”

“Owen and I can stay,” Ruth replied. “We don’t have much else to do. But the twins need to get back to work. The doctors say there won’t be any change while Aiden’s under sedation unless…” She trailed off, leaving the unspoken possibility hanging.

Suzi clung to optimism. “I’ll be here with him. And when they’re ready to wake him after he’s healed, I’ll call you guys back up.”

Ruth’s pat on her hand carried a weight Suzi couldn’t ignore. They’d given up hope for Aiden’s recovery, their wisdom etched in the lines of their faces. Suzi understood—their age had gifted them with a perspective that transcended optimism. They’d lost parents and witnessed the passing of cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends. Owen, too, had seen multiple Naval buddies fall, and both had mourned co-workers lost in the devastating Joplin tornado of 2011. Hope clung to the edges, but preparation for the worst was their silent pact.

The waiting room enveloped them in silence, the chairs growing more uncomfortable with each passing minute. Someone occasionally stood, stretched, paced. Reed and Rio took turns sprawling on the floor. Suzi, restless, ventured to the first-floor gift shop, purchasing a deck of cards to break the monotony.

As visiting hours ended, they decided on a diversion: ‘Dave & Buster’s.’ Good food and overpriced video games awaited, except for Owen, who remained a ‘bah-humbug’ regarding technology. Suzi was surprised to see he had upgraded from a flip-phone to a full-on Android smartphone in recent years.

The plan for the next day crystallized: goodbyes to the glass and plastic separating them from Aiden, then flights back to southwest Missouri. After dropping the family off at the airport, Rio would drive the five hours to Jefferson City.

It was dark, and she did not assume Tom or Becca would be at the store, so she called Tom to see if she could pick up Ygritte.

“Hey, seraphim,” Tom answered.

Suzi’s confusion surfaced, “Who?”

“Seraphim. Like warrior angels or Valkyries.”

“Aren’t Valkyries part of Norse mythology, not Christian?”

“How the fuck should I know? This is your war.”

“It’s your analogy.”

“Actually, it was a simile,” Tom corrected.

“Can I have my dog?” Suzi’s frustration simmered.

“Sure. We’re all at Ricky’s house, losing at poker.”

“Poker night. Really?”

“We need to blow off steam. Becca, Alanna, and Ellie are in the kitchen talking girlie stuff, and we’re in the den. I think Ygritte’s asleep on the couch.”

“Yeah, that’s her comfort zone. I’ll be there soon.”

“Hey, Suz?” Tom seized the moment. “Can you spot me a hundred bucks? Poodle here is cleaning up.”

“Goodbye, Tom.” Suzi disconnected the call.

She parked on the street outside Ricky’s modern two-story house. The overlapping roofs gave it an illusion of two buildings merging. Solar lights lined the path to the front door, flanked by manicured landscaping.

Ellie, young and vibrant, answered Suzi’s ring. Suzi always felt she was way out of Ricky’s league, or maybe he painted her into existence, and she owed him a life debt.

“Bitch! It has to be illegal to look like that,” the hateful Judy commented.

Ellie’s effortless figure could’ve graced the cover of Playboy’s Playmate of the Year, and no one would’ve been the least bit surprised.

“Hey, Suzi. The guys are in the den. We girls are in the living room, drinking wine. I’ll grab you a glass,” Ellie said.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Thank you, Ellie. How’s talent these days?”

“Oh, you know. Some winners, some… not winners?” Ellie’s smile revealed golden-green eyes and high cheekbones. Suzi suspected Ricky and Ellie’s lifestyle was funded solely through Ellie’s talent agency.

Suzi slipped off her shoes and placed them next to the collection by the door. The house exuded pristine elegance, its furnishings a symphony of whites—a stark contrast to the riotous colors splashed across Ricky’s art studio.

She traversed the living room, exchanging greetings with Alanna and Becca. Ygritte nestled in Becca’s lap, a comforting presence. The den, though dingy, still outshone Suzi’s modest apartment. Here, wood tones added warmth—the only room with a hint of color. The guys huddled around a poker table, cigars smoldering, whiskey glasses clinking. Phineas—and his mountain of chips—sat directly in front of Suzi.

“Hey, guys. Any news?” she inquired.

“All dead ends,” Ricky grumbled, cigar clenched between his teeth.

“Cargo trucks from the Rosemont building have stopped,” Kyle chimed in, adding chips to the pot. “Probably already loaded onto a plane and flown to BFE.”

Phineas glanced up at Suzi. “Any luck asking Heaven for help?”

“No, I’ve not had a chance to ask,” she said.

“What have you been doing all day?” he asked her like a husband accusing his stay-at-home wife of not doing her daily chores.

“I’ve done more today than those pocket aces are doing for you now,” she smirked.

There was a unanimous ‘fold’ from around the table, punctuated by a ‘fuck’ from Phineas.

Tom shuffled the cards, his gaze fixed on Suzi. “We’re stuck until Adamson surfaces or one of Poodle’s photographed items hits the black market or the news. Or maybe your winged friends can drop us a hint.”

“I’ll ask them tonight. What about Spencer Isaacs?” Suzi asked.

“He’s vanished. We’ve got an APB out, but no leads,” Phineas replied.

“Want to be dealt in?” Tom offered.

“Strip poker!” Annie’s voice rang in her head.

“No thanks. I don’t need to prove anything,” Suzi retorted.

She watched the game for a few hands as the stacks of chips moved in and out of the center of the table.

A dawning realization spread across her face. “Hey, guys—"

“It’s too late. You already said ‘No,’” Tom said.

“No, I don’t want dealt in. Take a look at your chips. With each hand, you add some to the pot, and the winner takes all, right?”

“That is how poker is generally played,” Kyle told her.

“Now, imagine those chips being buildings or properties.”

They all looked at the table.

“Son of a bitch!” Ricky said. “I think she’s right.”

“Are we in the middle of some cosmic-level, supernatural poker game that takes 13 years per hand?” Tom asked.

Phineas told him, “WE might be, but I don’t think you are to that skill level yet.”

Phineas and Ricky chuckled.

“So, what does that mean?” Kyle asked.

“I don’t know. I was making an observation,” Suzi told them.

“And who are the players?” Ricky added.

“And what is the total pot worth?” Phineas pondered.

“I think I’ve lost my buzz,” Tom said.

Suzi retreated to the living room, the warmth of the wine coursing through her veins. The gals chatted, their laughter weaving a cozy cocoon around her. Stories and antics flowed like the wine, and she listened, her eyes half-closed, savoring the camaraderie of ‘Ricky’s Rangers Renegades.’ Phineas, grinning like a cat who’d caught the canary, pocketed the pot—$300 richer than when the night began. Goodbyes echoed as they slipped on their shoes, leaving Ricky’s house behind.

Outside, snow fell in thick, silent flakes. A pristine blanket of powder covered the yard and vehicles, yet the roads remained clear of any collecting snow. Ygritte barked excitedly at the sight of Aiden’s truck. Suzi opened the door, and Ygritte bounded in, sniffing for familiar scents—Aiden, Reed, Rio. Suzi settled into the driver’s seat, Ygritte nestled beside her, and they drove through the snowy night to her apartment.

Inside the building, Suzi’s breath misted in the hallway. A package waited—a mystery with her name and address but no return label. The box was the size of half a shoebox, but it weighed significantly more than half a pair of shoes. She cradled it in the nook of her arm. Upstairs, she unlocked her apartment door, gently placing the heavy package on the kitchen island. Ygritte claimed her spot on the couch, eyes drooping with exhaustion.

Curiosity gnawed at Suzi. She retrieved a knife from the block and sliced through the tape. Beneath crumpled craft paper, a yellow square note lay—cryptic words etched in ink: “Welcome to the team. Keep this hidden and safe. You’re welcome.” Suzi’s pulse quickened as she peeled back layers, revealing an intricate, cantaloupe-sized, lead ball. Its surface bore designs that seemed to shift, drawing her gaze like a moth to flame.

“Miraleth’s Pellet,” Judas’s voice echoed in her mind. No desire, no disdain—just a matter-of-fact tone.

Suzi’s thoughts raced. Who sent this? Someone who knew her abilities, her connection to Detective Wilson, and the mysterious items they’d uncovered. But this wasn’t part of that cache. So where did it come from? And why?

Fear prickled at her. The sender knew her address as well, so they knew her. Yet the note’s words—“Welcome to the Team”—hinted at allies. She reached for her phone, then hesitated. What could she say to Phineas?

She put down the phone and asked in her mind, “What does this do?”

“Unerring strike,” was the reply from Judas.

“Can you elaborate, please?” Suzi asked.

“It will fly to and strike any enemy you can visualize when it is thrown, then return to the thrower.”

“Throw it!? I can barely lift it! Am I supposed to use this?”

Silence was the response.

“Fuck it,” Suzi said aloud.

Determined, she cradled it, staggering to her bedroom. The mattress sagged under its weight. Suzi lay down, closed her eyes, and focused on her breath. Guillermo’s layout materialized in her mind. She pushed her consciousness, surprised at the ease of transition.

Everyone and everything was as she expected. The air crackled with tension, and Suzi’s gaze locked onto the red-gold bars imprisoning the two demons. One resembled a twisted human, black eyes and scalp reminiscent of stegosaurus spines. The other—no mistaking it—was pure demon. Dark grey, almost black, it undulated like smoke, its blood-red eyes and claw-like fingers evoking ancient malevolence.

The demons’ mouths were bound by red-gold bands.

Judas stood there, her nude form exuding both power and vulnerability. A belt slung low on her hips held a grotesque dagger.

“Is that that knife that disintegrated?” Suzi inquired.

“Rogziel’s Blade. Correct.” Judas responded as if she was a teacher congratulating a second grader for answering a math problem correctly.

If Suzi’s conscious mind had eyes, she rolled them now.

“Why are their mouths bound?”

Judas looked at her like she should know the answer.

“Because their power is in their voice, right?” Suzi asked Judas.

“Correct again.”

“Terror demons?”

“One terror demon. One depression demon.”

“Depression is a demon? What the fuck!” Judith exclaimed.

Suzi’s mind raced. That hit too close to home. She’d battled her own inner darkness for years.

“Kariel?” she called out, seeking answers beyond the cryptic.

Kariel materialized in their glowing room, an ethereal presence that made the demons cower, but simultaneously looked upon the angel with admiration and hate. Kariel did not even acknowledge the presence of the demons.

“Hello, child. Would you like a favor?” Their voice resonated like a celestial choir, and Suzi marveled at the paradox of their existence: both ancient and timeless.

“Can I ask you more questions without it being a favor that I have to pay for?” Suzi’s plea hung in the air.

Kariel’s smile held galaxies within it. “Of course, if the answers lie within my knowledge.”

“You aren’t all-knowing?”

The bells chimed as they laughed. “No. Only the Lord is omniscient, and he only knows what has happened and is happening. He does not know what is going to happen. Free will is a conundrum that stymies even Him.”

Suzi was baffled. “Wow.”

“What other questions do you have for me?”

“Miraleth’s Pellet. Why was it sent to me?” Suzi pressed.

Kariel’s response was frustratingly vague: “I don’t know.”

“Who sent it to me?”

“I do not know that either.”

“This pellet, the knife, the golden bracelet, all those ancient trinkets I found earlier. Can I use them? Or should I use them?” Suzi asked, knowing that she had already used the knife.

“That is difficult to answer. Miraleth was an angel who had fallen. All those items belong to an angel or demon. If they are in the possession of a human, then an angel or demon has been rendered incapable of using their weapon, likely meaning they were destroyed. Their force of will would still be imbued within their items and could be used by anyone who knew how to wield them. There is a toll, however. Each use removes some of the energy from the device and can corrupt the user's Will if they are weak.”

“None of this is easy, is it?” Suzi’s voice trembled.

Kariel’s eyes held ages of sorrow. “Tis not. There is always a balance.”

“Can you tell me where all those trinkets were shipped to?” Suzi’s desperation spilled forth.

“I can tell you they are currently in flight, but I cannot tell you their final destination.”

“Ohh! ‘Final Destination.’ Good movie series.” Spike interjected.

“That is something, I guess. Are my friends in danger?” Suzi continued.

“There is always danger when dealing with evil entities.”

“Can you tell me where Spencer Isaacs might be?”

“There are several people named Spencer Isaacs. Can you be more specific?” Kariel suggested.

“Here in the Chicago area,” Suzi added.

Kariel responded with, “There are four people with that name.”

“Are there any of them possessed by a demon?”

Kariel’s eyes widened. “Zayne!” Tears glistened. “I must go.” And just like that, Kariel vanished, leaving Suzi with more questions.

“Rude!” Annie’s protest echoed in the void.

“Who or what the fuck is Zayne?” James spoke up.

One of the demons—stegosaurus head—recovered from its cowardly position and started making a dry humping motion to the air. It looked like it was trying to laugh.