Free Phoenix Contract: Part Four (Fallen Angel Watchers) by Melissa Thomas Page A

Soon they would catch up, and then the final battle would begin.
    Eventually, the sword’s laughter died away. “Oh my,” she said with a breathy sigh. “You’re so sensitive, no sense of humor at all. How come? What happened to you, honey?”
    “I was buried alive,” Magnus replied tersely. “As a child.”
    “How old were you?” she asked after a moment.
    “Four.”
    “Oh.” She remained blessedly silent for a while.
    “We should be quiet now. Sound carries down here,” he said, hoping she would take the hint. The Celt traversed the subterranean passageway without producing a single sound that would betray his position to the enemy.
    “You’re right,” she agreed, surprising him. “No more talking.”
    They continued onward in silence. When a train neared, Magnus pressed into a workman’s alcove, enduring confinement in an even tinier space, until it thundered past.
    As they passed through the Warden Street station, the magic guiding him pulled his attention upward, and he looked up.
    Acerbitas snickered. “He went up here, didn’t he?”
    Magnus gazed at the plain white tile interior. Outrage blossomed, and his jaw set. “You’ve got to be kidding!” he exclaimed, mildly incredulous. “He went up?”
    “That’d be a yes,” she said. “And so, up we go.”
    Magnus took the first exit and emerged in Caesar Plaza near the old Equitable Building. He released a long, slow breath, relieved to stand under the open sky once again. “I can’t believe I trudged through the subway system tracking this bastard, only to have him emerge above ground!”
    Acerbitas snorted. “No one made you walk, sweet cheeks. He probably took a train.”
    The Celt spit out a very violent and very filthy curse in his native tongue.
    “Watch it!” Acerbitas snapped. “You can’t talk-ooohhhh!”
    Patience lost, Magnus took to the sky with a powerful thrust of upward acceleration. He poured all of his pent-up frustration into flight, and within seconds, they were hundreds of feet high. At last, Magnus was back in his element.
    The sword laughed. She let loose another WOOT of excitement as they banked suddenly to the right and almost clipped the corner of a skyscraper.
    Magnus hovered in place like a great bird while he got his bearings. He concentrated on his connection with the sword and excluded all else, including an odd night-flying pigeon that nearly collided with him.
    It released a startled Coo and veered away at the last second.
    He rotated in slow, graceful circles. Arms extended straight out, Magnus held Acerbitas’ slender blade balanced between his hands, so the sword resembled the spinning needle of a compass. The sword thrummed with power and acquired a fiery red glow as she primed for the final battle.
    Sword and swordsman were one, united in purpose: to destroy the hateful creature that had murdered Lilith’s daughter, Thorton Aston III, Troy Anderson, and countless other innocents.
    “Got him,” Magnus exclaimed softly once he had a picture in his head to guide his course. Changing his grip, the Celt shifted the sword’s hilt to his hand, then plunged into a sudden, dizzying drop that only vaguely resembled controlled flight.
    Acerbitas’ song filled his mind, full of vengeance and bloodlust. Magnus smelled magic in the air and sensed that some sort of mystical conflict was unfolding. However, he failed to discern the nature of the conflict. The magic being used was elusively familiar.
    He looked down upon the two people seated beneath him. One of the pair was the Soul Eater, the other was a handsome Frenchman of Magnus’ acquaintance, Guillaume, whom he hadn’t laid eyes on in centuries.
    Both men looked up.
    Guillaume gazed up at Magnus with an incredulous expression. His lips moved and formed a name. Magnus deliberately ignored the Frenchman and went after the demon.
    Sensing imminent danger, the Soul Eater’s legs turned to writhing tentacles, and it attempted to dissipate into a slippery