Gabriel pulled back with a frown. “What do you mean? You just showed me where you were born in the ground less than a day ago. How do you have a ‘place’?”
Abaddon wiggled his brows and pulled the lithe hand to his lips, kissing each ice-cold finger. “You’ll see. Meet me in twenty minutes by the Lucifer fresco close to your room.”
Gabriel nodded, and Abaddon didn’t waste any more time. He turned and grabbed the window sill above them to pull himself all the way up. Once he stood on the ledge, his hands reached the drain pipe, which he used to support his ascent next. The climb required precise movement, and as he twisted for balance, his body reminded him of the painful bruise on his side, but he wouldn’t let his discomfort show, far too aware of the gaze following him up the wall.
For Gabriel, he needed to appear invincible.
9
ABADDON
The former Benson mansion was a maze of passages, balconies, and little rooftops that made climbing easy despite the weather conditions—like an ancient tomb with secret entrances and doors that went nowhere. But with the knowledge God had planted in him, Abaddon found his way with ease.
Like a shadow, he slipped in through an open window on the second floor and moved down the dark corridor with vaulted ceilings. At this time of night, most people were asleep anyway, so parting from Gabriel had been just a precaution. Still, he didn’t feel alone in the vast space echoing with his footsteps, and kept scanning his surroundings as he left the hallway, entering a spacious interior. A massive stained glass window towered above a staircase to his right. It had to be at least a hundred years old and featured Archangel Michael casting Satan out of heaven. With the faint moonlight illuminating the scene from outside, the angel seemed to glow, flying high above the outcast whose face contorted in terror.
Abaddon stalled, hit by the dramatics of the scene, and he couldn’t help but wonder about his own past. With his head like an empty jar in need of filling with memories, he couldn’t recall who was responsible for his fall from grace, nor if he’d ever met the Archangel Michael. He was a speck of dust in God’s plan, his free will taken away, along with the knowledge collected since the beginning of time. A wave of sadness hit him in the chest with enough ferocity to keep him from breathing, and for a terrible moment he feared it was another attack of panic—one he’d have to go through on his own.
Since he’d crawled out of the dirt, he’d been too preoccupied to wonder what fate might bring once he fulfilled his sacred duty. Even now, all he could envision was the future in heaven, as reward for dealing with the blasphemers masquerading as people of faith in a Catholic orphanage. He’d told Gabriel that the clean slate was a good thing, that it helped him focus, yet he felt lost.
The sound of footsteps was like an alarm in Abaddon’s head, and he looked around for shelter, spotting an opportunity close to the stairs. The light remained off, but he still ducked and scurried behind a group of life-sized statues of various saints, which stood in the corner like strangers sharing an elevator. He kneeled behind the figures and listened to the soft gait reminiscent of a doe’s, eventually allowing himself a peek at the person wandering the hallways of St. John’s so late.
His mouth pulled open in a grin when he recognized the lanky figure with longish hair. He and Gabriel had parted for the sake of safety, yet in the end, even in this massive building, they still ended up in the same place. Stifling a laugh, Abaddon rose, ready to reveal his presence when the light came on, prompting him to get back to his hiding place like a vampire at the glimpse of sunshine.
Gabriel was an adult now, but when Father John stepped into view, he still looked imposing next to the boy‘s lanky form.
An onslaught of visions from a time long ago penetrated Abaddon’s skull as if they were Archangel Michael’s sword.
Gabriel looks around with fear and curiosity as he is brought down to the place of the ritual. The boy starts crying the moment one of the cloaked figures, Martinez, tears off Gabriel’s Batman T-shirt, but he’s not allowed to leave, no matter how much he pleads. Martinez binds his hands. Father John approaches with a sharp bone dagger, and when Gabriel tries to run, Watson holds him down with ease.
Father John starts slicing through Gabriel’s arms, and the ritual begins.
The real-life Gabriel froze, as if he were one of the statues hiding Abaddon from view. The raw fear in his eyes had Abaddon stiffening and squeezing his hands into fists, but the priest approached at a slow pace, the bottom of his heavy cassock floating around his legs as if there was something hiding underneath its folds. Devil’s hooves, most likely. “Those corridors, they are so dark at night. Why are you out?” Father John asked in an elevated tone and frowned, rubbing his black eye as he directed the beam of a flashlight at shadowed spots in the ceiling.