Hope & Fury (Heroes & Demons Book 2)

Things had been going perfectly, a ballet of his orchestration which had played out scene-perfect. Well, almost perfect, there were a few more bruises than he normally desired – but they were on others.

Vetis stood on the balcony above, watching the people work and stretching his wings. It got so cramped in that large overcoat, he liked to let them free.

It began, in essence with him and it would end with him. Atlas, War, whatever he liked to call himself was another tool – another part of the plan. He would serve his glorious, fruitful purpose and be done with. The angel with the dark wings would, as he had for centuries, remain behind in the shadows.

The idiots, the ones who were simultaneously a pain in his arse and quite useful tools – they had it wrong. Atlantis was never lost, certainly not to them. They had reclaimed it in Malta during the occupation by the Knight’s Hospatellier, centuries ago. They had been in it more times than some crude simile would attest.

When the Spaniard had died, it simply opened up the door. His DNA had been on their records, a small sample was all they’d needed to activate the chamber. To incubate and grow the vessel, born only a week ago, blank and naked like a baby. As a distant genetic ancestor to Atlas, his vessel was the only one they wanted. There were others with the gift, sure, but there was also beautiful poetry to it. Distracting poetry that he couldn’t deny.

The key had been Dr Nate Steele’s discovery. They had, for centuries, thought that the Key of Atlantis was lost. The damn fool Alexander had probably lost it somewhere in the desert on one of his campaigns. He was a klutz and never liked to admit it. But when they heard he had found something around the rumoured site of the Lost Library – that had been it. It had sealed his fate.

And the unfortunate fate of the doctor whose office he happened to pick for their encounter. Oh and the security guard, he always forgot about the security guard.

From there it was a simple case of letting lose the empty vessel and waiting for word to reach the ‘heroes’. Predictably they scrambled, confused and bickering. The archaeologist amongst them had discovered the clues left about Dr Steele’s person, the boss had used her ‘connections’ to discover the location of the boat and the lot of them dealt a merry dance of distraction to find the Key.

Of course, they would find the key – and the inevitability with which the key would find its rightful heir – would call and sing to him until it drove him insane, was inevitable. The Key would find its Keeper, the Keeper would put it in the lock – and Atlas would return, Atlantis would rise.

He watched him move amongst the throngs of people below, the strut of a king. He still wore his armour, assured of his grand status. He was important, Vetis could not deny, but he would soon come to know he was only part of a whole.

The lieutenants were likewise necessary. Each one of them chosen for their unique talents. Cyvus, his brutish force; Lotus, his cold-hearted efficiency; and Stacey, her raw, somewhat young talent a very useful tool indeed. Plus bonus points for tinkering with the redhead’s temperament. Prick an emotion like guilt and you could get any rational human being to turn into a thundering mess with very little effort. It was something of a sport for him. He had recruited the boss’ daughter Mary for the very same reason, her hate a likewise useful talent.

Then there were the masses, their army of men and women chosen specially for this purpose. What the heroes had probably not known, because their archaeological team as of yet had not had enough time to establish a proper exploration of the city, was that there was not only the Tomb of Atlas inside the Pyramid but far more beneath.

They had been growing and smuggling individuals out through an abandoned army base for ages. All very specially chosen from the pool of course.

“We will be ready to move out soon?” Atlas asked him, having sidled up next to him. Of course, he’d heard him clanking his way down the steel grated balcony they were on. His tone was commanding but he was not impressed.

“Yes, we can move onto the final part of our little drama within the hour,” he agreed.

“Good,” Atlas smarmed, “Having seen some of this world, I’m quite in the mood for it to be over. For good times to come back.”

“Even without your siblings?” Vetis teased, keeping a genuinely concerned tone.

“Especially without them,” Atlas agreed. “Are you sure it’s wise, keeping the other ones alive? They might not have been able to stop Conquest, but they sure as hell managed to rip her a new one from what you’ve told me.”

“I think any spanner they could try to throw into our works, it would be pointless,” he answered smoothly, “Besides, sometimes without a little challenge we don’t do our best work. You do, after all, want conflict don’t you?”

“If you make me regret it, I will bury you,” Atlas told him simply. Vetis bowed to his king, but knew he would never be able to do so - he was simply playing his role. Atlas turned, about to head back the other way.

“Um, Horseman?” Vetis stopped him, having noticed something. “May I ask what the blinking red spot on your arse is?”

Before he could answer the west wall of the warehouse they were in exploded inwards in a shower. The gantry they were on shook, while the world screamed with crumpling metal. Bricks flew everywhere, some people were knocked down – while others scrambled. Some of the crates they had been busy moving were crushed under the sound of screeching rubber.

When the chaos was over everything was still, calm. Vetis got back to his feet and saw to his displeasure the front end of a truck now wedged in the west wall. Dust settled around as the engine clicked, cooling down. The cab appeared empty until a certain bearded psychologist sat up with a grin.

“I’m sorry for the owner of the Eddie Stobart but that was bloody fun!”