The Seal of Solomon
I closed my eyes. I wasn’t afraid anymore. That’s the surprising thing. I wasn’t afraid at all. And I wasn’t cold either. Maybe I had passed out of the clouds too, because I didn’t feel the sting of the rain or the bite of the hail. All I felt was warm and empty. It wouldn’t hurt. You hit the earth at the speed I was falling and you don’t feel a thing.
I could feel the heat of the demons against the back of my neck. I whispered, “I do conjure thee . . .” before trailing off because I couldn’t even remember the demon’s name at that point, and nothing seemed to matter much anyway.
Op Nine had said it was over the moment Paimon got the ring, but for me it was over years ago. And they knew that. It was over the day my mother died. That’s why Paimon had called me carcass. Something died in me when she died.
They have seen your secret face, the face you hide from everyone, even from yourself. That was my secret face, twelve years old, scared of out my mind at the thought of losing my mom, of being alone. Scared of death. The demons saw that and gave back to me what I feared the most. My secret face was the face of a rotting corpse.
Saint Michael.
Protect.
3,789 FEET
A gentle glow appeared in the darkness behind my eyelids, and I felt a familiar comforting presence, something I had felt before in a dream, and I heard a voice calling me “beloved.” Suddenly, all the fear and panic whooshed out of me, and into the hollowness left behind poured a light so pure and bright, no shadow could exist in it, and there was someone with me, though I couldn’t see a face, but I could feel arms around me as it spun and fell with me.
Speak, my beloved, and I will give thee words.
My mouth came open and there was no sound—no crashing of thunder, no rush of wind, nothing but my own voice roaring like a freight train.
“I do conjure thee, O thou Spirit Paimon, by all the most glorious and efficacious names of the Most Great and Incomprehensible Lord God of Hosts, that thou comest quickly and without delay . . .”
The words poured out of me as if I’d spoken them every day of my life.
“I conjure and constrain thee, O thou Spirit Paimon . . . by these seven great names wherewith Solomon the Wise bound thee and thy companions in a Vessel of Brass.”
The arms released me, the white light faded. I was through the clouds and the earth burned below me while the fire roared above me. The demons were closing in, but I was as calm as an old man on a park bench, feeding pigeons on a warm summer afternoon.
“I will bind thee in the Eternal Fire, and into the Lake of Flame and of Brimstone, unless thou comest quickly and appearest here to do my will.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the ring on my hand begin to glow.
1,023 FEET
I could see the ground now—though there was no ground to be seen. Only a roaring fire, flames shooting hundreds of feet into the air toward me. It was like looking at the surface of the sun.
I pulled my arms and legs back toward my body and flipped onto my back. Countless orange balls of fiery light filled my entire field of vision, like burning meteors screaming toward the earth, and in the lead Paimon came, holding a flaming sword in its right hand, and the thing it rode came at me openmouthed, teeth shining in the light, flying faster than I could fall. I held my left fist straight up, pointing the ring at them as I finished the spell and hell’s flames came rushing up to meet me:
“Come thou Paimon! For it is not I but God that commandest thee!”
476 FEET
The beast’s mouth flung open and its foul breath washed over me as I whispered, because my howling was finished, “Save me.”
And it caught me in its mouth with maybe four feet to spare above the roaring flames, carrying me in its teeth as gently as a dog carries her puppies. It deposited me on the scorched and smoking ground before swooping back into the sky.
I lay there for a very long time, blinking stupidly at the spinning shapes beneath the clouds, forming the wheels of fire, thousands of them one within the other. Then I didn’t feel so warm and empty anymore, and I rolled onto my stomach, coughing and heaving, the ring on my left hand pulsing pure white light.
I raised my head a little and saw King Paimon standing there, and it was just like the Sahara, except this time the ring burned on my hand, and this time Paimon kneeled to me, Alfred Kropp, beloved of the archangel who cast it down.
And it held in its right hand the sword that I had lost in my fall, the same sword the Last Knight had lost in another hopeless battle against the forces of darkness and despair. And the mighty Paimon, King of the Outcasts of Heaven, lowered its head, offering me the sword.
Command me.
PART FIVE
Homecoming
56
A little man with an egg-shaped head glared at me through the half-open front door while his wife and kids crowded behind him, trying to get a peek at me. “Yes, what do you want?”
“Horace,” I said. “Don’t you know who I am?”
I slipped off my Oakleys. His eyes grew wide and his mouth came open a little.
“Alfred?” he squeaked. “We heard you were dead!”
He flung the door open and I put a hand on his chest to abort his bear hug.
“Not anymore,” I said. “Where’s Kenny?”
There was a commotion behind him and I heard a voice call out, “Alfred! Alfred Kropp! Alfred Kropp! Alfred Kropp is back!”
Kenny pushed past Horace and buried his face in my chest.
“They came and took your sword, Alfred! I tried to stop them. I tried and tried and tried . . .”
“It’s okay, Kenny,” I said. “I got it back.”
“You came back,” he whispered.
“Told you I would. Didn’t I promise I’d save you?”
I motioned to the man standing behind me. He stepped forward and cleared his throat.
“Good morning, Mr. Tuttle, how are you? I’m Larry Fredericks with the Department of Child Welfare. I have here a court order authorizing the removal of these foster children.”
“You have what?” Horace barked.
“I said I have a court order authorizing . . .”
“Oh, dear!” I heard Betty gasp.
“This is outrageous!” Horace yelled. “I demand an explanation! I demand a hearing! I demand to know who is responsible for this!”
“That would be me,” I said.
“You?” Horace’s bottom lip bobbed up and down. “You, Alfred?”
“Me.”
I wrapped my arm around Kenny’s shoulders and led him to the silver Lexus parked by the curb. Horace kept yelling as the cruiser pulled into the drive with the sheriff’s deputies.