Leviathan

Aaron switched off the light by the bed and said good night to his best friend. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. His eyes quickly grew heavy, and he felt himself drifting away on the sea of sleep.

“What if he doesn’t come back?” Gabriel suddenly asked, his words startling Aaron back to consciousness.

“What was that, Gabe?” Aaron asked sleepily.

“Camael,” the dog said. “What if Camael doesn’t come back? What are we going to do then?”

It was a good question, and one that Aaron had been avoiding since the angel came up missing that afternoon. What would he do without Camael’s guidance? He thought of the alien power that existed within him, and his heart began to race. “I wouldn’t worry about it, pally,” he said, taking his turn to be positive. “He’s probably doing angel stuff somewhere. That’s all. He’ll be back before we know it.”

“Angel stuff,” Gabriel repeated once, and then again. “You’re probably right,” he said, temporarily satisfied. “We’ll see him tomorrow.”

“That’s it,” Aaron said again, closing his eyes, which felt as though they’d been turned to lead. “We’ll see him tomorrow.”

And before he was even aware, Aaron was pulled beneath the sea of sleep, sinking deeper and deeper into the black abyss of unconsciousness, with nary a sign of struggle.

But something was waiting.

Aaron couldn’t breathe.

The grip of nightmare held him fast, and no matter how he fought to awaken, he could not pull himself free of the clinging miasma of terror.

He was encased in a fleshy sack—a cocoon of some kind, and from its veined walls was secreted a foul-smelling fluid. Aaron struggled within the pouch, the milky substance rising steadily to lap against his chin. Soon it would cover his face, filling his mouth and nostrils—and he began to panic. Then he felt something in the sack with him, something that wrapped around his arms and legs, trying to keep his flailing to a minimum. Aaron knew it wanted to hold him in its constricting embrace so the fluid could immerse him completely in its foulness. His body grew numb.

“No,” he cried out as some of the thick, gelatinous substance splashed into his mouth. It tasted of death, and left his flesh dulled.

He’d had similar dreams when his angelic abilities had first started to manifest. He didn’t care for them then—and cared even less for them now. He intensified his battle to be free of it, but the nightmare did not relent, continuing to hold him fast in its grip.

Aaron was completely submerged now, the warm fluid engulfing him, lulling him to a place where he could quit all struggle. And it almost succeeded.

Almost.

Suddenly, in his mind, he saw a sword of light. It was the most magnificent weapon he had ever seen. Never in all his imaginings could he have built a sword so mighty and large. It was as if the weapon had been forged from one of the rays of the sun.

And as he reached for it, its unearthly radiance shone brighter, and brighter still—burning away the liquid-filled cocoon that held him and the nightmare realm it inhabited.

He awoke with a start, his body drenched with sweat. Gabriel had joined him on the bed, and his dark brown eyes glistened eerily in a strange light that danced around the room.

“Gabriel, what…?” he began breathlessly.

“Nice sword,” the dog said simply.

Fully awake now, Aaron realized that he held something in his left hand. Slowly he turned his gaze toward it—toward what he had brought back from the realm of nightmare.

A blade of the sun.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“What do you think it means?” Gabriel asked from the foot of the bed as Aaron stepped from the shower and grabbed a fresh shirt.

He pushed his arms through the sleeves and pulled the red T-shirt down over his stomach. “It was kind of like the dreams I had before this whole Nephilim thing blew up,” he said, fingering his hair in the mirror and deciding that he looked fine. “Where I was experiencing old memories that didn’t belong to me.”

“Like the sword?” the dog asked.

Aaron shuddered as he remembered the amazing sight of the sword that he seemed to have brought over from the dream. He knew he was not responsible for the creation of the blade. He was certain that it belonged to someone of great importance, but the question was who—and why had the weapon been given to him. It had only stayed with him for a short time. As if sensing it was no longer needed, it had dispersed in an explosion of blinding light. “Just like the sword,” Aaron finally replied. “And like the dreams, I think it was given to help me.”

“I thought it was all very scary,” Gabriel said, and sighed as he rested his snout between his paws.

“I agree,” Aaron said, sitting beside the dog to put on his sneakers, “but it all has something to do with this town.”

“Is this a mystery?” Gabriel asked, his floppy ears suddenly perky.

Aaron laughed and gave the dog’s head a rub. “It certainly is. Listen, I’ve got to go to the clinic this morning, but you need to stay here and give that leg a chance to heal. Why don’t you think about all our clues and see if you can come up with some answers.”

“I’ve always wanted to solve a mystery,” Gabriel said happily.

“All right there, Scooby.” Aaron gave the dog another pet and headed for the door.

“Scooby?” the dog said, his head tilted at a quirky angle.

“He’s a dog on television, very good at solving mysteries.”

Gabriel’s head tilted the other way.

“Never mind,” Aaron said as he stepped out into the hall. “It’s not important. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Have a good day, Shaggy,” he heard the dog say as he closed the door. And he began to laugh, marveling again at how smart his friend had actually become.

Aaron was busy at the veterinary clinic from the moment he stepped through the door. He didn’t think it possible for a town so small to have that many animals in need of care. Stitches, rabies shots, heartworm tests, a broken forepaw—you name it, he and Katie dealt with it that morning and well into the afternoon.

It feels good to be working with animals again, Aaron thought as he restrained a particularly feisty Scottish terrier, by the name of Mike, who was having some blood drawn.

“No hurt! No hurt!” the little dog yelped as his owner looked on, concern in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” Aaron said to the dog. “When the doctor is done, you can have a cookie and go home. All right?”

The dog immediately stopped its struggling.

“That’s it,” Katie said, placing the vial on the counter and turning to the owner. “I’ll send this out to the lab this afternoon and give you a call as soon as I know something.”

Aaron handed Mike back to his owner and escorted them into the lobby to settle the bill. “And don’t forget this,” he said, holding out a treat as the woman turned to leave.

The woman smiled, and Mike greedily devoured the cookie.

“I never lie,” Aaron said to the dog with a wink and bid them both good-bye.

“Next victim,” Katie said wearily, coming out of the examination room.

For the first time that day, the waiting room was empty.

“We’re good right now,” Aaron told her. “Next one’s”—he glanced at the appointment book—“a rabies shot at four. Gives us two hours to catch up.”

“You know, you’re really good with them,” Katie said, leaning against the desk.

“Why, thank you, doctor,” Aaron said, smiling. “I enjoy the work.”

“No really, they seem to trust you. It’s a talent you don’t see so often.”

“Well, let’s just say I speak their language,” he said with a grin.

Katie shook her head and looked at her watch. “You say we’ve got two hours before the next appointment?”