Rise Of The Nephilim (The Tamar Black Saga) Read online

  Appearances are not always what they seem, of course. It was to be much later on when they discovered what was really going on here.

  Although they saved many thousands of witches that night, many hundreds died. For some, they were just too late. In each home or coven, the figure of Hecaté had been smashed, and the word “IDOLATRY” had been scrawled on the wall.

  It was incomprehensible.

  ‘What the hell are they?’ said Stiles walking around the immobilized prisoner. They had had to fight quite a lot of them tonight and not only were they able to throw freezing fire, but they were unusually strong. ‘They aren’t human are they?’

  ‘I’m not sure what they are,’ said Tamar. ‘They look human.’

  ‘Why were they attacking witches?’ said Stiles.

  ‘That wasn’t an attack,’ said Denny. ‘It was an extermination.’

  ‘Attempted extermination,’ said Tamar.

  ‘Okay, why were they trying to exterminate witches?’ Stiles insisted.

  But no one had an answer.

  ‘Let’s ask him,’ said Stiles. ‘With extreme impoliteness,’

  ‘You mean beat him up?’ translated Denny.

  Tamar unfroze the prisoner.

  He collapsed to the floor – dead.

  ‘What the hell?’ Denny crouched to the floor and checked over the corpse. ‘Cyanide pill,’ he said. ‘The bastard killed himself.’

  Tamar touched the body gently with her foot, and then they all jumped back as it was enveloped in a bright white light and then vanished.

  ‘Christ it nearly took your foot off.’ said Denny. ‘Are you all right?’

  Tamar grinned. ‘Never stop asking me that,’ she said.‘Even if it is a superfluous question.’

  ‘I guess that’s put paid to those pertinent questions,’ said Stiles, sounding disappointed.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ said Denny. ‘They all exploded like that when they died.’

  ‘I thought it was just us that made them do that,’ she said.

  ‘Persecution,’ said Hecaté hollowly. ‘That’s what it was. I have seen it before but never like this, never on such a scale.’

  ‘Bigots?’ said Stiles. ‘I don’t think so. Bigots use guns. Perhaps it’s the start of some kind of war. They see the witches as a threat, a rival power,’ he theorised. ‘These things are supernatural in some way. We saw that.’

  ‘The witches were as clueless as us, though. They didn’t know who they were either.’ said Tamar.

  ‘Do you think we got them all?’ said Denny. ‘Or are there more?’

  ‘We’ll soon find out,’ said Tamar.

  * * *

  They were so busy for the next few days arranging sanctuary for thousands of terrified witches that they all missed this:-

  ‘In the last twenty four hours an unprecedented series of what can only be described as terrorist attacks took place around the world. The targets apparently selected at random. Corporations and large businesses in London Paris, Rome, New York, Washington, Chicago, Los Angeles, Beijing, Hong Kong…

  ‘The Attacks appear to have taken the form of nerve gas bombs but this is, as yet, unconfirmed as no signs usually associated with these types of attack were found on the bodies. Unconfirmed police reports state that the victims “Looked as if they might just be sleeping”.

  In each case the word “AVARICE” was written in red paint on the wall of the office of the company C.E.O.

  The death toll is estimated to be in the hundreds of thousands. Authorities are said to be baffled …

  Ashtoreth waved a hand for the link to be broken. He had seen enough to satisfy him. ‘So shall all sinners be cleansed,’ he said. ‘This is only The Beginning.’

  When someone starts capitalising words at the end of a sentence you know you’re in trouble.

  * * *

  ‘Ash?You there?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘I can’t see you too well, not enough steam.’

  ‘You can see me well enough.’

  ‘Couldn’t you come through? There’s nobody else here.’

  ‘I cannot leave my sanctuary. It is not safe for me. Besides, I am weak. My powers have been – “diverted”.’

  ‘Diverted?’

  ‘To a greater cause.’

  ‘Oh Ash, what are you up to?’

  ‘You will know in good time. For now … Well I understand, you have ties, ties of family. You are not ready to know yet. I do not think, in your heart, that you want to know. And it speaks well of you. Loyalty is an admirable quality, but the time will come when you will have to choose to whom you really owe that loyalty. Your family or your own redemption.’

  Iffie resented the lecturing tone he had adopted. Also, she thought he was talking a lot of specious bollocks. However, she hid her feelings quite well.

  ‘Redemption?’ she said in a fairly neutral tone. ‘For what? I haven’t really done anything.’

  ‘You were sent to tempt me from my path,’ he asserted.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘We met by accident. No one sent me.’

  ‘There are no accidents. You must not be naïve. But then again, you are still so innocent of evil, perhaps it is not surprising. I do not want you lose that, of course, but you must be alert. For neither do I want you to be used for evil purposes without your knowledge.’

  ‘So, now I’m stupid too?’ snapped Iffie, unable to hide her annoyance.

  ‘A pure mind is not a sign of stupidity,’ said Ash placatingly. ‘That is not what I meant.’

  ‘Well, whatever,’ she said agreeably, deciding there was no point antagonising him at this point. She wanted to find out what he meant by “a greater cause”

  ‘You can tell me anything you know,’ she tried. This was a bit weak and Ash made her feel it. He laughed.

  ‘I said you are not ready,’ he said. ‘I have to go now anyway.’ And he was gone.

  ‘Damn!’ said Iffie, in unconscious imitation of her mother.

  * * *

  It was cold and dark in the alley where Chris McBain, detective 2nd class lay on his side, huddled under a pile of newspapers and pretending to be dead drunk. There was a very good reason for this. He had been ordered to do it by the Chief. An amiable fellow by the name of Patrick Currens. Ha! He should lie in a freezing cold alley one night.

  And why?To stake out a drug ring? To bust up a bank robbery? No. To find out which punks/louts/thugs/maniacs delete as applicable, had been setting the local vagrants on fire recently.

  God he stank. Stank of booze that he had not drunk, stank of unnameable filth that the alley was piled up with. He wondered for a moment if he had not over done the filth. Surely no human being could smell this bad? He was making himself gag.

  Still, homeless or not, the citizens of this great city had a right to protection from being set afire in the middle of the night. His hand tightened on his gun. That was why he was here. He was going to catch the bastards in the act this time.

  He lay very still as he heard footsteps coming up the alley towards him. The other vagrants never stirred either but Chris never expected them to. Then suddenly, as the silence lengthened, Chris realised that something was screwy. He sat up and pulled his gun. Several men in black masks were standing in the alley, and somehow, three of the vagrants were already dead, burned to a crisp within seconds, and there had been no heat, no sound, and no cries of pain. Chris scrambled to his feet and backed away, just as a jet of white flame hit him in the chest. He did not even have time to cry out with the agony before he was dead.

  ~ Chapter Eleven ~

  A frantic hammering on the door heralded another night of horrors.

  Tamar opened the door to a bloodstained and weary centaur, who barged his way inside and then collapsed on the mat. ‘Denn-eee!’ Tamar yelled.

  The news was grim. Hank was dead; the forest creatures were either dead or on the run like himself. They needed sanctuary. They needed help. That was why he had come to Tamar.
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  ‘Who did it?’ snarled Tamar.

  ‘I don’t know who they were,’ said the centaur, whose name was Rochen. ‘They were a kind of creature I have never seen before. They called me an abomination,’ he added indignantly. ‘They said Hank was a false idol. I don’t know what they meant by that, but they seemed to think it was pretty terrible. What does it mean?’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Denny. ‘Did these creatures happen to look human, but with black masks over their faces and able to throw a sort of weird, cold fire from their hands?’

  ‘Yes, that’s them. How did you know?’

  ‘Looks like Hecaté might have been right,’ said Denny. ‘Bigots.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Tamar. ‘Remember the Faeries. Could be a sub species that we never knew about.’

  ‘Not very likely,’ said Rochen. ‘They killed all the brownies and gnomes because they are a sub species of Faerie. They hate Faeries too. They seem to hate everyone. There’s a rumour that all the Djinn are vanishing too. But it might not be true. You never get to see those guys anyway.’

  ‘Oh God, it’s a bloodbath,’ said Tamar.

  ‘Just like the reign of the Faeries,’ said Denny. ‘They killed for fun, though. I don’t get that feeling about whatever’s going on here.’

  ‘Just because they killed the brownies and gnomes, doesn’t mean they aren’t a kind of Faerie,’ said Tamar. ‘Humans kill other kinds of humans all the time. And Faeries will kill anything. ’

  ‘I just don’t think it’s Faeries,’ said Denny.

  ‘No, I don’t either,’ admitted Tamar. ‘But it might be that they have the same MO.’

  ‘Indiscriminate slaughter you mean?’

  ‘I’m not so sure that it is indiscriminate,’ said Tamar thoughtfully. ‘There always seems to be some reason.’

  ‘Or excuse,’ said Denny tersely.

  ‘Why do they need an excuse?’ she said. ‘So they can tell you “I’m going to kill you, but I do have a good reason.”?’

  ‘It’d help if we knew what they are.’

  ‘Something new,’ said Rochen.

  ‘Or something very old,’ said Tamar. ‘Something that used to be powerful before all these other magical species even existed. Something that’s only just come back from somewhere and wants to be back on top.’

  ‘Now we’re back to the Faeries,’ said Denny.

  ‘But they aren’t all that powerful,’ she said. ‘We can take them out a dozen at a time.’

  ‘They seem to have the numbers,’ said Denny.

  ‘I wonder just how many of them there are,’ she said.

  ‘Whatever they are,’ said Rochen. ‘You can catch a score of them in the forest right now if you hurry up.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so?’ said Denny.

  ‘I thought I did,’ said Rochen with an injured expression.

  * * *

  It was like the era of the Faeries, in as much as they had a houseful of refugees again. Only this time, the refugees were magical Beings rather than humans. There were far too many of them to all be housed at home this time. The overspill was secured away in a deleted file which Denny left open on the computer in order to keep an eye on them.

  Iffie was in a kind of personal heaven. She loved magical creatures. The unicorns especially appealed to her. They were shy of most of the household, but they seemed to like both Iffie and Jack.

  ‘Well, you know what they say about unicorns,’ said Stiles in an uncharacteristically suggestive manner. (He was referring, of course, to the legend that a unicorn can only be captured by a virgin.)

  Denny rolled his eyes. ‘Well, I can pretty much vouch for Iffie,’ he said. ‘But I’m not so sure that Jack qualifies any more. He is eighteen.’

  ‘Oh, well, maybe it’s something else then,’ said Stiles sounding unconvinced. But, as it happened, he was right.

  * * *

  Denny was sick of running into half-dressed witches in the hallways, of tripping up over gnomes on the stairs and of the smell of the centaurs in the garden.

  ‘Good for the roses, though,’ said Stiles.

  But this was of small comfort to Denny. The quicker they got this sorted out the better.

  He had other problems to worry about.

  He had been covering pretty well, he thought. He was sure no one had guessed how he was feeling. Certainly he was getting thinner, but he had never been particularly well built to begin with so he did not think it was all that noticeable. And it was not as if he needed as much sleep as other men anyway thanks to the Athame, and staying awake was less tiring, these days, than the dream, so, for several nights in a row, he had stayed awake. Usually to work alone, in secret, on his research into the night-time phenomenon that was attacking him. He knew in his heart that if he asked them, either Tamar or Hecaté would probably have an answer for him. They had both been kicking around long enough to have seen just about everything. But, he told himself, they had enough to worry about what with mysterious black-masked warriors roaming about the place.

  Denny did not usually resort to this kind of sophistry to explain his actions, but he was feeling desperate. Anything to avoid telling them the shameful truth. Getting a quick answer would be favourite right now. The trouble with that was, he did not have the first clue what he was looking for.

  The Succubus had been a strong contender at one point, the behaviour, and his resultant symptoms all seemed to fit the profile. But all the sources agreed that the Succubus always appeared as a seductive and beautiful woman. Even though few women, if any, could compare to Tamar in the physical beauty stakes, Denny did not think he had been so completely spoiled by this as to mistake a gorgeous woman for an old hag.

  Other contenders included the mare of the night – strangling men in their sleep. So, no to that then. He was totally knackered but so far completely un-asphyxiated.

  The Hupia, who only attacked children. Denny still looked very young for his age, but the idea, especially considering the nature of the attacks, that he had been mistaken for a child was not only ridiculous but extremely disturbing. Besides, they sucked the breath, like cats were supposed to in old wives tales.

  Houris, also good looking, definitely not old hags.

  Denny was forgetting here, that he had met Houris before. And seen their true appearance, which was anything but attractive. There might have been a clue in this idea, had he only remembered that cheap glamours did not cloud his vision the way they did the eyes of ordinary men.

  * * *

  Jack was getting worried about Iffie. Well not worried more – concerned. She had abruptly seemed to lose all interest in the search for Ashtoreth. This could mean one of two things. One reason for her sudden disinterest was … quite encouraging really. The other was, frankly, not. He had tried tackling her about it, but the results were not helpful.

  ‘What’s the point,’ she had said. ‘We’re never going to find him, and anyway, he’s a maniac.’

  ‘All the more reason why we need to find him if we can,’ Jack had argued.

  ‘And do what?’ she had said. ‘You were right, there’s nothing we can do. We should let Mum and Dad sort it out. They’re good at that.’

  This conversation had left Jack feeling uneasy. She was clearly hiding something from him. It just was not like Iffie to give up so easily. And she had been so determined … Now suddenly, she did not seem to care at all. So what had changed? And where did she keep disappearing off to? He could not be certain – Iffie had always been a free spirit vanishing for days on end for no apparent reason, concerts, parties, whatever – but he thought that just lately it had been happening more often.

  * * *

  Iffie gazed sternly at herself in the mirror. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ she asked herself. ‘You know it’s not right, so why are you doing it?’

  Her reflection inclined its head. ‘If you know it’s wrong, then stop.’ she said. ‘And you know it is, because you’re trying to hide it.’

/>   ‘I think Jack’s suspicious,’

  ‘You’re acting suspiciously.’

  ‘Am I though? No one else seems to have noticed anything.’

  ‘Dad would be really upset if he knew. You know he’s a murdering maniac.’

  ‘He’s … troubled.’

  ‘A murdering maniac, I said. You know it’s the truth.’

  ‘But I’m getting through. I know I am. He’s … Maybe I can get him to tell me where he is and then …’

  ‘You know he won’t. He’ll never tell you. He doesn’t trust you. Or anyone.’

  ‘But I’m getting there. He’s definitely opening up to me a bit more.’

  ‘He won’t tell you where he is until it’s far too late for anyone to do anything about it. Why don’t you just leave him alone? How do you think Mum would feel if she found out? How do you think Jack would feel?’

  ‘What do you know about it? You aren’t me,’ snarled Iffie, and stalked away from the mirror. Bloody conscience. It was coming to something when you could not even look in a mirror without being lectured on your shortcomings.

  ‘Well you started it,’ said the mirror – but Iffie was gone.

  * * *

  Calling the “gentleman’s club” Jezebels, a reference not to the name of the owner but to the entertainment, was really asking for trouble, thought Lindy Lou Stevenson, as the latest police raid got underway.

  The local sheriff, mindful of his voters, and the fact that most of the community were “good churchgoing folk” generally had the place raided about once a month.

  However, in deference to the fact that he spent quite a few of his off hours enjoying the facilities, he usually gave them some warning before sending the boys in.

  Clearly the message had not got through this time.

  Lindy Lou sighed and tugged her feather boa over her modesty and prepared herself for arrest.

  Mind you, these guys did not look like cops; they looked more like the SAS or something. Had some “community minded” citizen gone over the sheriff’s head and called the Feds? That would be all she needed. She needed this job.

  She was not going to need it for much longer.