Blood of Hope Read online

  Blood of Hope

  by Rick Wood

  © Copyright Rick Wood 2017

  Rick Wood publishing

  Edited by Writer’s Workshop

  Copy editing by FirstEditing.com

  Cover Design by GoOnWrite.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced without the express permission of the author

  For my readers

  Without your overwhelming response, this series would never have reached its penultimate book.

  Thank you for allowing me to do what I love.

  1

  25 July 2002

  It is a rare sight to see an angel so angry.

  Gabrielle’s unfaltering anger could never detract from her inherent natural beauty – but the scorned fire in her eyes was clear.

  These were bad times. Gabrielle and every other angel of heaven were on their knees, begging to a fallen angel’s prince to stop their evil deeds. The balance that had been kept since life’s inception had been compromised.

  They met on what used to be mutual turf. It shattered her heart into a thousand pieces to see what beauty could so soon be destroyed.

  Earth.

  If hell had its way, then flames would consume this entire planet. Every human a slave, every lively flower and beautiful tree turned to flickering ash.

  These negotiations were a last resort.

  If this conversation did not work, then earth, heaven and hell’s fate rested on an inexperienced sixteen-year-old boy.

  Gabrielle tossed her long, elegant curls of hair to the side. As she saw him approach, her luscious black skin grew stained with a menacing frown.

  A helpless man prompted the bell above the door to ring. This man was a puppet – a poor, helpless, manipulated conduit. He was tall, with bags under his eyes, and a chest so thin his ribs were visible through his ragged shirt.

  But this was not that man. This man was here in body, yes – but what drove that body was something else. Something sickening. Something she detested with every ounce of her being.

  Gabrielle glanced around the coffee shop. Happy lovers shared a cake. A new mother breastfed her child. A lonely old man ate a bacon roll.

  These people were clueless. Completely unaware of the gravity of the conversation that was about to take place in the window of that coffee shop.

  “Balam,” Gabrielle spat, acknowledging the presence of the demon possessing the unkempt man.

  Balam. A demon who had been once been vanquished from a young girl’s body by Edward King on millennium night. One of the devil’s most loyal princes.

  “Gabrielle,” Balam spoke through the helpless man’s lips, spreading an infuriating grin across his acne-laden face. He strutted in and took the seat opposite her, retaining his cocky grin, sitting back with smug poise.

  “You really are a bastard,” Gabrielle declared, shaking her head.

  Balam guffawed so loudly a few of the café’s patrons momentarily turned their heads.

  “What language, from an angel!” Balam mocked. “I would have expected far better from your lips.”

  “It’s no less than you deserve. Than all of you deserve.”

  “Than all of us deserve? Your God is the one who cast the devil down from hell! A fallen angel, forced to live in the underworld forever more.” He leant closer to Gabrielle, drooling over her half-empty latte. “Your loving, doting God did this to the devil. How can he not expect revenge?”

  “The devil committed the vilest acts! He abused his position as an angel. He tortured, he burnt, even raped, innocent humans – he deserved what he got.”

  “Innocent – did you declare?” Balam’s knowing smirk turned to a sinister glare. “No human is innocent. You’ve shared enough eternities with us to know that truth.”

  “So, that’s it, huh? Eternities of keeping the balance, then this. Why? Why now? Why, after all this time, sharing this unbearable truce, has your devil chosen to break it?”

  Balam smacked his conduit’s cracked lips together, moistening a dry, bloody mouth with what little hydration the demon had spared the suffering man. Taking a moment to enjoy his rare dominion and power over of an angel, he leant subtly toward her.

  “Edward King,” he announced.

  Gabrielle huffed and vigorously shook her head.

  “Rubbish. You have had loads of humans, thousands of them, born over the years with the potential to be the devil’s heir. What’s so different about this one?”

  “What’s so different about him?” Balam chuckled. “You should taste him. I tasted his sister, and that was enough for me. His sister, who I believe is one of you now, is she not?”

  “Answer the damn question.”

  Balam pulled a face of pretend-offense, raising its eyebrows, and pursing its lips. It took a glance around the coffee shop, surveying the potential victims.

  “You know, I could release this man right now, jump out of this man’s skin, reveal my true form and kill every one of these people. And you know why?” He turned his face slowly to meet Gabrielle’s eyes. “Because of Edward King. Yes, we have had many born with his potential to become what he is becoming. And yes, we have attempted to trick heaven many times before, and failed. But this time – finally – we succeeded.”

  “You shouldn’t have tricked us.”

  “We are evil!” He gestured wildly, gesticulating to indicate the ridiculous nature of her statement. “What did you expect? You know the arrangement. Hell conceived Edward King, so heaven conceived his sister to balance the equation. Just as a thousand times before, we agreed to mutually kill these two people, to remove our presence from the earth. Because, as the deal goes, neither heaven nor hell is allowed presence on earth, otherwise we mess with free will. Which, by the way – we totally have.”

  “Yet here we are,” Gabrielle stated with a glum matter-of-fact snarl.

  “Yes, my angel, here we bloody well are! We tricked you! We held Edward King in purgatory, while you shipped his sister off to hell, then brought him back, and you didn’t even have a clue!”

  Gabrielle grimaced, doing all she could to keep her angelic patience.

  “Now you have no one left to balance the equation,” Balam sang. “Now he is our access to earth. He is the devil’s heir, and through him, demons will no longer need the people we possess – we will spill onto this earth and destroy God’s creation, and take it for our own. Once the heir has risen to his full power, there will be nothing you could do to stop us.”

  “That is why we are here to negotiate.”

  “Yes, here we are. But to negotiate, you need to have something to bargain with. What could you possibly have that would be so valuable to us, that it would make us stop our ascension now?”

  Gabrielle folded her arms, gazing out the window.

  A child rode past on a bike, his friends following, laughing in joyous pleasure.

  She loved that child, just as God did, just as heaven loved every living being on earth.

  Balam did not care. Within a flick of its wrist, that child would go up in flames. No remorse from the demon, just laughter. What was Gabrielle supposed to do to stop that?

  Through Edward King, the devil had found his route to earth.

  Gabrielle had little she could fight him with.

  “Unbeknownst to hell, we have balanced the equation once more,” Gabrielle spoke, quietly, numbly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “There is a person, on this earth, with the powers needed to stop you. We conceived him. See, you aren’t the only ones who can go behind your enemy’s back.”

  “You lie!”

  “I am an angel. I do not lie.”

  “Then the heir of hell will destroy every potential candidate there will be before we have our ascension! He wi
ll ensure no one that stands in his way!”

  Gabrielle shook her head knowingly; this time it was her turn to give him a knowing chuckle.

  “That is why we have hidden our piece of heaven in the most unlikely candidate. Hidden in a person you would least suspect. Edward King will not find him.”

  Balam’s eyes grew with venomous rage. If she was not lying, then this could be devastating. It would undoubtedly delay their plans. Something the devil would be irrefutably devastated to do.

  “You shut this person down now!”

  “We will shut ours down, if you shut the heir of hell down.”

  Balam rose from the table, fists curled into tight balls, the table before it flying to the side, the chair it was perched upon soaring through the glass of the café, shattering it to pieces. Fire flickered slowly around its knuckles, its eyes turning to red.

  Gabrielle smiled.

  Balam calmed its anger. Dropped its hands. Ignored the dumbfounded open jaws that gaped at him.

  “The heir of hell will destroy everything and everyone who could possibly stand in our way,” Balam decided. “He will achieve his full power. Then you will bow down on your knees and call the devil your God.”

  Balam turned and marched away, forcing people aside, barging innocent bystanders out of its path.

  Gabrielle looked around at the terrified looks of the people staring.

  She shouldn’t let them see this. But what difference would it make? They would all be dead soon anyway, if the heir and the devil had their way.

  She bowed her head and, with a momentous, overwhelming, blinding light, disappeared, leaving the disbelieving onlookers stunned.

  “Be sobre-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.”

  1 Peter 5:8

  2

  1 January 2003

  Three years since millennium night

  The Church of Nativity, Israel

  The hard bumps of the pavement grated against Martin’s face, greeting him with an early morning prick. Lifting his head up, he rubbed the grogginess out of his eyes. As his vision hazily returned he adjusted to the sight of the city around him.

  If he was going to fight hell, they could at least pay him.

  Instead, here he was. Tired. Downtrodden. Sore. Sleeping on the streets, just hoping he didn’t get pissed on at night.

  Not that it would make any difference if he was back in the United Kingdom. If you’re skint in the midlands, you’re still skint in Israel.

  Martin hardly had a huge inheritance to rely on.

  Not a seventeen-year-old orphan like him.

  His ma’s death had been tough to take, but it was inevitable. Cassy had told him about her life, and the purpose of her death, what it achieved in having to stop the ritual of the devil’s three.

  Not that it did any good.

  The devil still rose, and his heir took its form. And through all of it, Martin couldn’t help but feel like his ma had been used. An insignificant sacrifice for a greater cause.

  He felt bad, but he tried not to think about it.

  Dwelling on foul thoughts leads to a foul mind.

  Another wise cliché from Derek, adding to the list of wise clichés Derek had imparted upon him as he left the country.

  Derek could have left him some money. As useful as the clichés were, money would have been far more useful.

  He propped against the stone wall and brushed the dust from his face. He hadn’t expected the place to be this dusty. It was ridiculous. On every surface and every wall, dust seemed to gather like flies on shit. He could barely move without coughing.

  The sun cast a palpable haze over the bright morning, and people were already bustling back and forth. Most looked like tourists on a pilgrimage, strolling toward the landmark Martin also aimed for – but for different reasons. The few tourist shops scattered along the path already had awkward sightseers bumbling around, with bum bags around their waist, polo shirts and jumpers slumped over their shoulders. Martin could even see the Israeli pick-pockets eying them up, deciding which idiot they would nick a wallet off and give a nightmare holiday to.

  Martin didn’t have time to help them. He had a mission.

  The church bells were clanging, singing a tuneful melody that echoed down the narrow street.

  It was time.

  He climbed up, grabbed his bag, and threw it over his shoulder, surprised no one had targeted him in the night.

  Then again, he shouldn’t be surprised. No one could wound him as he slept.

  He was under the protection of an angel.

  Well, protection from mortals, anyway.

  Forcing his tired legs up a set of stone stairs, he began the ascent toward the church. His legs waded upwards like lead weights through water. He sighed over his tired muscles – the hard work hadn’t even started yet.

  Once he reached the top he leant against the wall, gathering his breath before joining the queue.

  It was already a long queue, consumed by visitors from all parts of the world. A family in front of him wore crosses around their necks, undoubtedly devout religious nut-jobs awaiting their turn to hail the birth of their messiah.

  Martin scoffed.

  Religious nut-jobs.

  Funny how he still referred to them as that. He used to be such an adamant atheist, but that all changed.

  Then again, witnessing an angel coming forth after your ma was possessed by a demon in a ritual to bring forth the king of hell – that kind of incident will shake your beliefs.

  At least he knew what he was devoting his life to, and he knew the full extent of the greater forces. These people would never realise how little they knew about the God they praised and the devil they feared.

  He still found their belief system weird, if he was honest with himself. Sure, it was easy for him; he had clear evidence. These people were basing so much on so little.

  Behind him were a young couple, hand in hand, kissing with uncomfortable frequency. Obvious honeymooners, getting eyeballed by the religious sector around him.

  I wonder if I’ll ever get to kiss a girl again.

  Finally, his turn in the line came, and he approached the man behind the counter.

  “Hi, I’m here to see Father Douglas.”

  “It is money to get in,” replied the frowning man, with a thick Middle Eastern accent.

  “You don’t understand, he is expecting me.”

  “It is money to get in!” he repeated, growing increasingly irate.

  “I was sent here.”

  “It – is – money!”

  “It’s okay,” came a kind, gentle voice from behind the guy with appalling customer service. A small man with grey hair, grey beard, and kind eyes appeared out of a far shadow. “I’ve been expecting him.”

  “Cassy sent me.”

  “Then it is true. He has risen.”

  Martin said nothing. He hoped his silence was enough confirmation.

  “You’d best hurry in. We have much to do.”

  3

  15 July 1984

  Fifteen years, four months until millennium night

  Eddie was so grateful for his legs. Grateful for the amazing things they do: running, walking, kicking, stomping – hell, even dancing. Never had he acknowledged what wondrous things they were.

  He was especially grateful because it was the first time he had used them to their full ability in months.Seventy-six days, to be exact.

  Seventy-six days since the accident that had left him in a coma for over two weeks.

  Seventy-six days since the accident that killed his little sister.

  A month of being confined to a wheelchair, followed by a month and a half on crutches, and now, finally, he was walking without them. A full recovery had been made.

  At least, his body had made a full recovery.

  His mind still had some way to go.

  “Take it easy,” Jenny assured him, putting her arm around h
is waist as he hobbled into the room. He smiled at her and her parents, who sat excitedly on the sofa, clapping their hands at his success.

  Jenny’s parents were there. Clapping their hands in sheer jubilation.

  His parents were likely to be at home. Or in a bar. Or in a gutter. Somewhere where his dad would be completely wasted and his mum would be cowering beneath his eager fist.

  “We are so proud of you!” Jenny’s mother cried out. “You’ve done so well!”

  He forced a fake smile in her direction.

  “How about we go out for a walk, hey?” Jenny prompted, seeing a grimace of pain flash across Eddie’s face. He firmly nodded.

  As they walked away from her parent’s house, over the field and toward the park Eddie and Cassy used to spend so much time at, they remained quiet. But he could feel her watching him.

  Jenny abruptly stopped walking. Eddie stopped too, but looked to Jenny with confusion.

  “Why have we stopped?”

  “I’m sure they are proud, you know,” she told him, wearing a serious expression.

  “What? Yeah, they told me, remember?”

  “Not my parents.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “Yours. They may not be here, and they may not be in the best state right now, but they are. I know it.”

  Eddie looked to his feet. He neither wished to talk about them or think about them. He had his memories of the doting parents he had before age eleven. Memories of a dad who would smile as he rode his bike for the first time, his mother who would lovingly hand him his packed lunch before he set off to school, two parents who would happily joke with each other and tease one another in front of them.

  But that’s all they are now, he acknowledged to himself. Memories. Just like Cassy.

  He felt himself welling up so he forced the thoughts away, covering the back of his mind with cement, burying the anxiety into the corner of an unconscious he would never need to access.