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TWO POTENT LEY lines meet where Beverly Drive and Wilshire Boulevard cross. Beverly Hills is a major power spot in a city that’s a major power spot. The layout of Convergence L.A. might be twisted all out of shape, but power is power and Lucifer’s palace is right where the two lines meet. But his palace is different here. And it’s not his palace anymore. It’s Mason’s. Other than that, I’m right about everything.
Back on earth, the Beverly Wilshire Hotel has some of the most expensive rooms in the world. The nicer ones average around 10K a night, but that’s okay because the mints on your pillow are extra big. The hotel was built in the twenties, when movie stars were still movie stars, rich people skin-popped monkey glands to stay young, and black people had to come in through the kitchen. Except for the big screen TVs, Louis XIV wouldn’t feel out of place there. In case you’re slow and haven’t figured it out yet, the Beverly Wilshire is Lucifer/Mason’s palace in Convergence town.
Semyazah and I are on the roof of a Bank of America building a few blocks down Wilshire. An earthquake has smashed most of the first three floors and fires gutted the rest. The roof seems stable enough, though I wouldn’t want to be us if a big quake hits right now. From here, Semyazah and I can see most of Beverly Hills. It’s filled with Hell’s legions, attack vehicles, and weapons. Many, many troops and weapons. They stretch for over a mile in every direction. On another day, seeing all this Infernal firepower would make me consider wetting my pants, but today it’s just one more thing to cross off my bucket list.>“Where exactly does the furnace go?”
A female Hellion general with a hole in her chest says, “One conduit goes up to Heaven. One to Hell, and one to the rest of the universe.”
“Then that’s the way out. How do we attack?”
The souls nearby whisper to each other like they’re going to be held after school if they get caught talking. Azazel smiles smugly. With his meat-loaf face, it’s hard to tell if Mammon is smiling, too. Even Semyazah has turned away.
“Hey, assholes, I only chanced coming down here because there were supposed to be a lot of sharp G.I. Joe types. You’ve been standing around with your thumbs up your double-dead asses for years, so you’ve had time to suss out the weak spots in the machine’s defenses. What are they?”
Semyazah points to the furnace.
“An attack is simple in theory. We’re deemed powerless, so there are virtually no defenses around the furnace.”
“Who are the salarymen bleeding the steam? Are they fighters? Can I take them?”
“You don’t have to. They’re the Gobah. Angels who rebelled after we were thrown from Heaven. Their punishment was that Father took their minds and sent them here.”
“If they’re not in charge, who do I go after?”
“Chernovog,” says Mammon.
“He was the leader of the second rebellion.”
“Where is he? I can’t see him.”
“No. You can’t. The Father took away his visible form, leaving him nothing but an empty space in the air.”
“How do you know he’s there?”
“Beelzebub. Come over here,” yells Semyazah. I remember Beelzebub. He put up a pretty good fight when I crept into his palace. 000his palI had to cut him up pretty bad to kill him. He seems to remember, too, because he’s not in any rush to get near me.
“Stand at an angle,” Semyazah tells him. “Come here,” he says to me. When I get there: “Look.”
It takes a minute to see it. Beelzebub was always a flash boy and his armor is like a gold mirror. As I stare at the reflection of the furnace, a seventh worker slowly comes into view on a platform high above the others. He’s bigger than the other Gobah. He moves well and seems to still have a mind. He climbs all over the furnace on his arms and legs like a spider monkey, making tiny adjustments. He leaves the heavy work to the drones down below.
After a minute, Beelzebub lurches away and sinks back into the crowd.
“You see? No soul, angel, or Hellion can attack Chernovog,” says Semyazah.
I think I just found out why Heaven calls me an Abomination.
“Then it’s lucky for you that I’m none of those things. I’m a nephilim.”
A few of the Hellions laugh. Mostly the military types. The rich ones roll their eyes. Most just stare.
“The nephilim are dead,” says the female general. I think I might have put the hole in her chest with the na’at. “Before we fell, I commanded one of the companies dispatched to hunt them down. The few we didn’t kill killed themselves. Temperamental children, all of them.”
“I’m the last one because I was born after you pricks played Kristallnacht with the others.”
It’s the same as before. Laughs. Eye rolls. Stares.
“I’m Uriel’s son.”
That shuts them up.
