“Excellent!” Zarall shouted, smiling at his ward. “I knew she could do it.”
Both angels plucked ropes from their belt and went to work tying up every demon possessing the poor human. Arithem had been right. There were twenty of them. And though the foul spirits struggled a bit, they had to comply or face Arithem and Zarall in battle.
Zarall, happy to have something to do, worked steadily by Arithem’s side until all the hellish creatures were bound. Then they strapped leather muzzles across each mouth and stood back to admire their work.
“How long will it hold?” Zarall asked.
“Long enough for our wards to escape.”
“Praise be to the Commander!”
???
Thomas wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it. Tori issued some command in Jesus’ name, and the man she called Butch wilted like a flower before the hot sun. Confusion spun across eyes that now seemed vacant. He lowered his weapon.
“Yeah. I guess it’s okay for you to come in, but only for a minute.”
“Thanks, Butch. We won’t be long.” Tori pushed past him as if he were a friend asking her in for tea and not a man who had almost shot and killed her.
Thomas hesitated, eyeing the gun, still tight in the man’s hands.
Sirens roared in the distance, reminding him they hadn’t much time.
“Tori!” He eased past Butch, who stumbled forward and plopped down on a couch, staring into space as if he’d just awoke from a dream. White stuffing from inside the couch spilled around him like a cloud. The only other furniture in the room was a coffee table tipped on its side with three legs missing.
“In here!” Tori’s voice echoed from down a hallway to the left.
Shattered glass from broken windows crunched beneath his shoes. A bookcase split in two lined the hallway. He picked up a framed picture lying on the floor and shook away the shattered glass. A woman who looked a lot like Tori, only older, stood beside a man. Both hugged a little girl around ten between them. He’d never seen such radiant smiles.
“Thomas!” Tori’s shout accompanied the sirens, now closer.
What was he doing? Blinking away the fog of shock from his mind, he set down the picture and rushed into one of the bedrooms.
A broken-down bed had been shoved aside and several planks of wood flooring lay to the side of a hole from which Tori pulled a metal box. She inserted a key and opened it. “Come here.”
The sirens grew louder as Thomas knelt beside her. “Tori, we don’t have time for this. We have to go!”
She held up a small black object. “Show me your hand. The one with the chip.”
“Why? What are you going to do? It’s in so many pieces, there’s no way to remove it surgically—”
A jolt of gut-wrenching pain shot through his hand, rippled up his arm, and seared through his body like a heated prong. Stunned, Thomas stumbled backward, unable to move or even right himself.
Tori caught him and leaned him against the wall.
“Sorry.”
“What the heck, Tori?” he mumbled.
“How many vaccine boosters have you gotten?”
“What?” Thomas closed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“How many?”
“I don’t know. I’m late on the last two. Why?” He tried to stand. “Ouch!”
Turning, Tori grabbed a black book from the box and something that looked like a phone with an antenna. “The vaccines have assembling nanotech in them. It just depends on how many you’ve had as to whether they can track you with them.”
