Chapter Thirty-One
We took the paintings downstairs, including the one of Michael, and wrapped them in paper. After that, the men helped me secure the gallery's art, dividing them into damaged and undamaged groups before putting them in a storage room with a reinforced door that I used specifically for the really expensive stuff. The insurance agent had gotten pictures of all the artwork in addition to the property damage. It was all covered under my policy.
It was hard to close the gallery security door and walk away. The heavy thud and clank of the lock sounded too final. I'd be back. Of course, I would. It was just the longest I'd been away from home in a long time. Ever since Hermes.
We had brought Merrick's Mercedes, and I was worried that everything wouldn't fit. But it had a spacious trunk with only a small case in it. The black plastic looked ominous, and I had a feeling it contained weapons. After we got my bags and the paintings in, we drove back to the house.
As soon as we entered the kitchen, the sound of an argument came to us. We followed it out to the living room where Darius and Dominic were gesturing wildly while they tried to talk over each other.
“Hello?” Merrick called.
They kept going.
“Guys!” Rune shouted.
They kept going.
I whistled sharply.
The men shut up and turned toward us, their bodies going rigid.
“Hi,” I said. “How's it going?”
Darius sighed, glanced at Dominic, then said, “The Host is in Spokane.”
“What?” Rune growled and stalked forward.
“After you left, we were poking around in SPD's files and got a list of names associated with the house you blew up and the vehicles found on the property.”
“They found explosives, by the way,” Dominic said. “And they determined that it's the same stuff that was used to bomb your gallery.”
“Good. Maybe they can clear Kaleo's name now,” I said.
“They're still identifying bodies,” Darius went on. “But one of the names got a hit in Spokane. The guy used his credit card. The Spokane Police are out looking for him, but we wanted to get to him first. So, we sent Declan back to find him. He just called. He found the guy with a group of twenty-four humans, one of whom was possessed. Declan was able to hear enough of their conversation to confirm who they were. They called the possessed man Michael.”
“Fuck,” Merrick muttered.
“Did Declan track them away from their meeting?” Rune asked.
“He followed Michael, but the soul must have spotted him because he jumped bodies, and Declan lost him.”
“Fuck!” Merrick said again, this time louder.
“He got pictures, right?” Braxen asked.
“Yeah, of all of them, but it will take some time to track the other humans,” Dominic said.
Turning to me, Rune asked, “How do you feel about visiting Spokane?”
“We're taking her with us?” Merrick snarled before I could answer. “She'll be safer here.”
“We don't know that,” Rune said. “What if Michael left some of his people here to watch us? The man is gathering disciples faster than Christ. We don't know how many he had here. Maybe he was establishing a base here before spreading to Spokane. If we leave and they see that she's alone, they'll come for her.”
“Holy shit,” I whispered, not in fear but revelation. “He's launching a crusade.”
Rune's eyes twitched. He looked at his packmates. Merrick cursed again. Braxen just nodded as if the thought had already occurred to him.
“A crusade?” Darius asked. “I guess that would fall in line with his whole angel thing.”
“We've made our own discovery,” Rune said. “Lora appears to be a touch psychic, at least where we're concerned. She's made four paintings of men. Warriors. Three of them sparked memories in us.” He motioned at Brax and Merrick. “They were our past selves.”
“What?” Dominic drew closer and looked from Rune to me. “You can do that?”
“I didn't know I was doing it. I just painted. The guys saw them tonight, and we figured it out.”
“You said four paintings.” Darius narrowed his eyes at Rune.
“I was getting to that,” Rune said. “The fourth painting was of a Templar knight on crusade. We think he was Michael's past self.”
“That's interesting, but how does it help us?” Dominic asked.
“Know thy enemy,” Braxen said.
“You didn't happen to bring this painting back with you?” Darius asked.
“We did, actually,” I said.
“May I see it?”
Braxen got the painting from the kitchen and came back with it unwrapped. He set it on the couch, leaning it against the leather back. We gathered around it.
“Huh,” Dominic said. “He does look angelic.”
“An angelic asshole,” Darius said, making me giggle. “Sorry, Lora. Your work is wonderful. It's just the subject that bothers me.”
“No, I agree,” I said. “He looks like an enormous prick. But if he was a Templar and one of the true believers, it fits that he'd do something like this.”
“Now hold on,” Darius said. “Let's think about this. If Michael was a zealot and died for his god, he'd be very disappointed when he showed up in the Underworld.”
“You're right,” I murmured. “It would be crushing to a religious soldier to learn that he'd been fighting for a god who didn't exist.”
“And he died for him,” Rune added.
“It must have been a shock for Michael when he wound up in Tartarus,” I said.
“But would he have gone to Tartarus?” Dominic asked. “It's the soul who judges itself, and he would judge himself pure.”
“Wait. What?” I asked.
“No one judges souls,” Rune said to me. “I thought you knew that.”
“Why would I know that?”
Dominic chuckled and said, “A soul instinctively knows good from evil. When a human does something bad, it weakens their soul. If they die without strengthening their soul with good acts, they will go somewhere appropriate to be strengthened.”
“Appropriate?”
“Appropriate to the amount of weakness inside them.”
“And then what?”
“Then it depends.” Dominic shrugged. “The strong souls get a choice to experience another life or stay in a blissful afterlife. The really strong souls get a blessing in that next life. The weak ones don't get a choice. They stay until their soul is strengthened, then they get sent back.”
“What about those who are somewhere in between?”
“They are a type of weak soul. They get sent back for another go and will keep repeating the process until they get strong enough to wind up somewhere nice.”
“So, you're saying that if Michael judged his actions as good, he wouldn't have weakened his soul?”
“Yes,” Dominic said.
“Yes, but there's more to it,” Darius added. “A zealot like Michael might believe in his mind that he's performing God's work and therefore innocent of any evil, but his soul would know better. That causes an even greater unbalance because the soul is constantly warring with the mind, trying to break through the false beliefs that have been hammered into it. Good and evil is about perspective in most cases—a man may kill to protect his family and the soul would judge that a good act. But in some instances, the evil is so great that even though the human perspective rules the act good, the soul does not.”
“I understand,” I said. “And to be honest, that's comforting. It's nice to know that everyone has guidance inside them. Even evil people who commit atrocities.”
“Atrocities,” Darius repeated. “Yes. Such acts would have weakened Michael's soul. And although I wasn't around for the Crusades—not as this version of myself, anyway—I've read some terrible things about them.”
“Fuck, one look at this guy, and you know he's done bad shit,” Dominic said.
“All right,” Rune said. “So, we know Michael was likely a zealot. He would have been furious to learn that his death hadn't earned him a place at God's side. That would have delayed the strengthening process.”
“Delayed?” I asked.
“A soul stays in Tartarus until it's strong enough to leave,” Merrick said. “But if it holds onto beliefs from its physical life, the process takes longer.”
“But why would a soul do that? I thought it was separate from the mind?” I asked.
“A soul has consciousness,” Rune explained. “That consciousness is unique. It holds the memories of every life a soul has lived. But when the soul is born into a physical body, the consciousness takes root in the brain, leaving those old memories in the soul and forming the mind. The mind is a link between body and soul.”
“So, Michael's mind battled his soul,” I said. “Then he died, and the battle ended, but the mind became consciousness, and within that consciousness were his memories.”
Rune nodded. “Memories that might anger him, especially if he blamed himself for not listening to the guidance he had inside him.”
“You'd think he'd only be angry with himself then.” I grimaced. “But I've known too many men who are incapable of blaming themselves, even when faced with proof that they are responsible. In fact, the more they are forced to confront their own failures, the angrier they get.”
“Exactly,” Darius said. “So, we're likely dealing with an angry, vicious soul who wants to steer others down the same path he walked.”
Then Braxen said, “Maybe he thinks that if enough people behave as he did, he can convince his soul that he's good.”
Dominic made a huffing sound. “Shit, man. That's some deep insight you got there.”
Brax shrugged. “Either that or he just wants to spread the evil and embrace being a nasty motherfucker.”
Darius snorted. “I wouldn't be surprised by either.”
“We've at least got an idea of who we're dealing with,” Rune said. “Michael may have indeed left people here, but I believe he's gone ahead to Spokane to spread his reach. It's him who we must focus on.”
“So, we're going to Spokane?” Merrick asked.
Braxen nodded. “And we're bringing Lora with us.”