by Carla Rehse
I tried to snark in my defense, but the force field keeping me in place also prevented me from talking. I’d like to say this was my first time caught in a Celestial tractor beam, but I’d been an overactive, rebellious kid. I missed the side of me that life had grounded away.
“She’s mine.” The orange glow of Hellfire from the demon’s eyes extended outward, lighting her up in resemblance of a marshmallow burning over an open flame.
Brilliant white light bathed Sebastian in response, highlighting his translucent wings. “Leave now, or I’ll be forced to smite you back to the embers of the corrupt flames where your ilk belongs!”
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention Sebastian also enjoyed talking like an overly righteous medieval monk. But for him to illuminate his wings meant he was pretty damn serious. Contrary to the image he presented by rocking the purple velvet, angels tended to be a modest lot.
The demon snarled and Sebastian glowered while I tried not to suck down too much rainwater and drown. With the horrendous luck I’d had recently, it seemed fitting, if not incredibly irritating, to be stuck in the middle of an elementary schoolyard standoff. If I could talk, I’d tell them to slap each other and get this show over with.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught another flash of light. To my shock, Mama strode over, angling her large, black umbrella to protect my face. She wore her long, gray hair loose and parted down the middle, which matched the ambiance of her favorite rainbow-dyed, crocheted hippy-dippy maxi dress. The denizens of Crossing Shadows had a “unique” view on fashion, hence my lifelong obsessive Vogue reading habit. “Seraph Sebastian? May I have a word?”
“Archivist Popa.” Sebastian nodded, while using a politer tone than he ever had with me.
“Seraph Sebastian, thank you for guarding my daughter against a demon who knows better than issuing such a useless challenge. No demon on Earth would win against you.” Mama always did have the ability to play politics with the angels. Apparently, that gene skipped me. I tended to piss off both sides of the otherworld while still living here. Thankfully, they’d ignored me after I left.
The demon made a stop motion with her hand and hissed, “She’s mine.” Rather surprising, as Crossroads Demons tended to be the used car salespersons of the otherworld. They normally avoided confrontation, living by the creed of “he who runs away today, lives to screw over a human another day.”
Mama leaned over me to glare at the demon. “I’m the Archivist, and that’s my only kid you’re talking about. While the Seraphs are generous enough to just banish you to, shall we say, a warmer locale, I know half a dozen rituals that’ll disintegrate you into sub-particles. Care to try me?” No one gave classier threats than my mother.
Sebastian cleared his throat in a reminder that humans weren’t technically able to disintegrate anything. He flicked his fingers, rotating me to my feet, then released the force field. I staggered into Mama, nearly knocking us both down into the muck.
Finally free, I received a huge dose of otherworld magic. Besides the obvious good-versus-evil difference between demons and angels, their power also felt different. Demons emitted a gagging “bitter meds dissolving in your mouth” feel while angel power gave a “tickle across your bones” sensation. As a kid, I’d learned to ignore the vibes, but I was now woefully out of practice.
The demon hissed again, but this time directed it at Mama. I yanked the knife from my boot. “Do not hiss at my mother!”
The Hellfire glowed brighter in her eyes. “As if that little thing could harm me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “No? Bet it’ll do some damage to that nice new dress of yours though.”
She glanced down, sniffed, and snapped her fingers. Flames erupted under her extremely snazzy Louboutin stilettos, then she vanished. It was a really nice dress, after all.
Sebastian bowed. “Archivist.” Then he too disappeared.
I picked up my mud-covered flashlight at my feet and banged it against my leg to get it working again while smiling at Mama. “Thanks for your help. The Council gonna let me in?”
“You can’t see the town?” Mama tapped her boot, which caused a puddle to slosh over my feet. “Give me a second.”
As Mama marched past the edge stones, my flashlight conked out, leaving me standing in the dark and still holding my knife. The wind began to gust again, slamming the rain and what felt like small pellets of hail into my face. Wonderful. Just absolutely wonderful. A perfect illustration of my dumpster fire life.
So, a little explanation might be needed. Crossing Shadows sits on a thin boundary between our reality and the otherworlds. I can’t explain the metaphysics behind it—regular physics kicked my butt in school—but boundary areas appear in many places across the globe.
Reapers run around gathering souls and bring them to the boundaries. Heaven decides if a soul takes the elevator up or the stairs down. Yeah, I know the songs all talk about stairs going to Heaven but ask anyone with a bad knee like mine, and they’ll gladly inform you that stairs belong to one of the circles of Hell. And that’s how that goes. Nice and efficient. Except for the Hell Gate. It’s the tricky part as the damned try to escape more than a box filled with overly excited kittens.
No one trusts Hell to police their own gate, and drudgework is beneath Heaven. So, Heaven concocted a plan to mark three human family lines to complete the work for them.
The Marked has three positions: the most important is the Gatekeeper, which has a lifelong commitment and few perks. Heaven keeps most of the information about them sealed tight ’cause they didn’t want any Tom, Demon, or Harry to know how to operate the Gate. Rumor is that Gatekeepers have a touch of Hellfire and Celestial Grace churning inside them, with demons and angels constantly whispering in their mind. It isn’t an easy job to be a conduit between this reality and the otherworlds. Most turn into batshit crazy hermits. Thank all the Saints neither Sadie nor I will have to worry about it. The Russos are scheduled as Gatekeepers this century. The Popas won’t take over until the year 2100-ish.
Then there are the Hunters. The Celestial Council appointed them to hunt down rogue otherworlders, like demons and vampires and such. Plus, the occasional damned soul who escapes. Some Hunters stay in a boundary town like Crossing Shadows, but most of the teams travel the world. The Hunters are the rock stars of the otherworld life—idolized, feared, and hated. At eighteen, I applied to be one. But the Council, comprised of dusty relics of angels and even dustier relics of old humans, had the stupid belief that Hunters should be male.
The rest of the Marked are supposed to hold miscellaneous jobs to support the border towns like Mama’s position, breed a bunch of Marked babies, and, in general, run around smiling and kissing angel butt. Hence, another major reason for my exit from Crossing Shadows.
Since then, I have tried to live a nice, normal, non-violent life, but I gotta tell ya, having a five-fingered conversation with the ol’ hubby would certainly relieve some stress. Speaking of stress, every second I wasted meant a missed opportunity to provide Sadie with safety. The gangsters who worked with my husband were well known for their “shoot first, ask questions never” policy and had no problem targeting the children of their enemies. And I must be on the top of their most-hated list since I’d given the Feds audio and photo proof of their crimes. Nanny cams were not a criminal’s best friend.
I may not have been the ideal mother, but I love my daughter. It was tearing me up inside to know she could suffer the consequences of mistakes made by her father and me.
White-yellow light flared in front of me, then a thick puff of white smoke. As the smoke fell and faded at my feet, the tall iron wall surrounding the town appeared. It didn’t need the smoke, but Crossing Shadows tended to be melodramatic like that. I used the fading light to find my backpack and to re-sheath my blade without stabbing myself.
Kix, one of the Knight-class of demons that helped patrol the area, waved at me from the door. “Everly Popa! Swimming with your clothes on again?”
A shiver ran down my spine at how easily he appeared human. It was another example of how after twenty-seven years of pretending the otherworld didn’t exist, my nonchalance had faded. A teensy voice in my head brought up concern about bringing Sadie into this life. The best bad choice didn’t make it good, after all.
I stepped forward and made it through without getting zapped this time. Passing the boundary also helpfully dried the rainwater from my hair and clothes. Crossing Shadows kept the town at a constant seventy-two degrees during the day and fifty degrees at night, so soaked clothes would be very uncomfortable. You had to hike past the city limits and into the woods surrounding the town to experience any deviation in the weather.
Anxious to get past the wall, I faced the demon. “Kix. Still dressing like a wannabe Grease extra? Grease 1 or Grease 2? I can never remember.” I pointed to the cigarette box rolled up in the sleeve of his white t-shirt. “Hate to tell ya, but smokes are bad for your health.”
Kix snorted but waved me through. The clear night sky enhanced the brightness of the almost full moon, illuminating the bats flying overhead. Or maybe they were ghouls. Hard to tell with them so high up. Once I passed through the doorway, the air shimmered in front of me, revealing the town.
Crossing Shadows resembled other decaying burgs in Texas, with most of the buildings built in the late 1800s. The main street bustled with rough rock and crumbling mortar-clad businesses complete with rusty tin roofing. Queen Anne-style wooden houses, each unique and complete with vivid paint jobs, rounded gables, and spindles stuck everywhere, radiated out beyond the main drag in a spokes-in-a-wheel pattern. If it wasn’t for the modern-ish cobblestone streets and sidewalks, it would be easy to picture this place in an old, dusty western movie.
The big difference between Crossing Shadows and regular towns was none of the stores and restaurants were name brand, none were out of business, and everything ran 24/7. Like all boundary towns, Crossing Shadows attracted all the otherworlder species, though vampires tended to hate the Texas heat. Mama always said gnomes provided the food and other goods sold in town. I only half believed her, mainly ’cause I’d never met a gnome.
Tien, a junior angel, flew down in front of me. He hadn’t changed his appearance since the last time I saw him decades ago. Spiky black hair, long-sleeved chainmail shirt, and well-worn leather pants. When it came to Celestial etiquette, one did not inquire whether any of the angelic forces—Guardian Angels, Seraph Knights, or Archangels—received monetary compensation for their work on Earth. But I’d always wondered how Sebastian managed to have such an impressive wardrobe over the others. Though, he was the Captain of the Guard, so that could explain it.
“Everly Popa,” Tien glared. “I see that you have returned after so many years of abjuring your duty to the Marked. The High Marked have a grave responsibility to all.”
I bowed my head. “If the Council allows, I have returned.”
Politeness costs nothing—knowledge that took me years to gain. Besides, snippy as he sounded, Tien was right. No matter how valid I believed my reasons to be, I had left, abdicating my responsibility.
“The Council may be in a forgiving mood, but others will not be. The Blood will hold!” Tien snapped his wings, then flew away.
I rubbed the vein throbbing in my forehead. The Blood will hold. The Marked slogan for almost a millennium. I’d forgotten how medieval and stifling the beliefs remained here. Like The Tudors and The Crown all jumbled up—though with a little less sex and a whole lot less hot tea.
Those of us directly descended from Ladislaus Popa, Ratold Russo, and Friela Valencia—the High Marked as we were called—were expected to adhere to the Celestial agreement with no diverging opinions. No original thoughts or alternate desires. Duty and honor were drilled into us at birth. And most complied. Except for a few renegades, like me.
Doubt reared in my head again. Was bringing Sadie here really the best of my bad ideas?
Mama drove up in her faded yellow 1976 VW bug convertible. “Just got word the Council will speak with you in the morning. Hungry?”
The passenger door gave an ear-piercing metallic shriek like it hadn’t been opened in a long time. I grimaced against a sudden pang of guilt over my long absence. “Did you mention that Sadie’s in danger? And yeah, I’m starving.” I ate a protein bar for breakfast, but my stomach had been too unsettled to attempt eating anything else.
Mama nodded. “I told them. Mayor Maxwell promised to take it under consideration.”
I’d hoped for a more rousing welcome but knew better than to expect it. Mama pulled into Main Street’s centralized parking lot. Everyone used it and walked to the stores or to one of the town’s two restaurants.
We parked between an old beater of a Jeep Wrangler that must belong to one of the teams of roving Hunters and an eye-blistering, bright green Lamborghini. I’d bet all the wine I planned to drink this year that the ostentatious vehicle belonged to a higher demon. Probably Zim, the Hell Gate’s Warden.
I pointed down the road to the only grocery store in town—Tillis Market, still housed in its original building and owned by the same family for over a hundred years. “Since when did the grocery store get its own parking lot?”
Mama snickered. “A couple years ago, after the Demon Coalition complained loudly during one of the monthly town hall meetings. They were tired of their ice cream melting before they reached their vehicles. We voted and decided to knock down the old clothing store next to Tillis.”
“Demon Coalition?” I shook my head. “Saints preserve us. I have been gone a long time.”
“They even moved out of the old lodging house by Lake Shadows and live together in regular houses in a neighborhood. Never thought I’d see the day when the demons turned mainstream. Of course, the Seraphs continue to keep to themselves.” Mama jerked her thumb behind her. “The only other thing new is those two clothing stores. The Rogue Establishment caters to those of a … let’s call it a historical bent.”
I grinned. “Must be Sebastian’s favorite shop.”
Mama nodded. “Oh yeah. Then there’s Dainties Accoutrements & Gifts. That’s where I got my dress.” She twirled to show off her full skirt in its tie-dyed glory.
“It’s nice,” I said, all the while praying my clothes survived the journey here. “That reminds me, my truck broke down outside of town with all my stuff in it.”
“I told you that neighbor of yours sounded sketchy, selling his old truck so cheap. I’ll call Bill in the morning so he can tow it. He’s still running his auto shop after all these years, though he’s got a couple of grandkids helping out.”
My shoulders tightened like I’d returned to my sixteen-year-old self, bracing for another reprimand. Though Mama had waited over five minutes to scold me, which must have been a record.
As the town’s Archivist for fifty years, Mama wielded a lot of power. Her job resembled more of a barrister than a historian or librarian, though she oversaw the library as well. With her extensive knowledge of our history, she gave opinions and interpretations on all town legal matters. And though she’d been a loving mother, she always had higher expectations for me than I could manage.
Mama led me to the outdoor patio of the only full-service restaurant. And, yep, “the only” was a theme. Businesses didn’t have to worry about competition in this town. The aroma of grilled steak made my mouth water as we sat at the nearest table. We were the only patrons outside. Sounds of cheering inside the restaurant reminded me of how popular Monday Night Football remained here.
A server, a little older than Sadie, her hair braided into a messy bun, strode over with menus in hand. “Archivist. Good to see you.”
“Hi, Delilah. This is my daughter, Everly.” Mama waved her hand at me. “Delilah is Councilman George Tindall’s daughter and an invaluable help at the library. Say, what happened to your hands, dear? I didn’t notice those scratches this morning.”
Delilah shot me a weird glance, but I wasn’t surprised. I was
surely still a source of gossip, the renegade kid of the Archivist. “I went hiking this afternoon and fell. You know what a klutz I am.”
Mama and Delilah smiled, so I smiled, though I felt like I’d gotten sucked into a supernatural version of a Gilmore Girls episode.
We finally gave our duplicate orders—a medium-rare ribeye with grilled zucchini wedges and a nice bottle of cabernet. And yeah, we ordered our own bottle. It’d been a helluva week, so no Judgy Karens, please.
Mama steepled her fingers and shot me her stern look. “So, what is going on between you and your husband? We just spent a week at the beach a few months ago. Everything seemed fine between you and Mike then.”
Once again, Mama seemed to be holding her tongue. Another record. She must realize how close to the edge I was.
She didn’t condone my leaving town, even if she finally accepted it, and never understood why I married an outsider. Not that she ever had anything against Mike, per se, but Celestial duty was our most important obligation. A duty I’d tried for over two decades to ignore, but the core values drilled into me as a kid had proven harder to remove than sticky gum on the bottom of a shoe.
So why did I marry Mike? I didn’t have an answer for that. Or at least not one I was ready to admit.
“It’s not something I could’ve explained over the phone. Calls and emails are easily tapped. Trust me, I know.” I leaned back against the metal seat and closed my eyes. “Remember in ’08 when Mike decided to get investors for the clinic? Turns out they were part of some East Coast crime syndicate who wanted to branch out to the west. I never noticed the money laundering until Sadie left home when I had a lot more time on my hands to actually be a real office manager.”
Mama opened her silverware roll and placed her napkin on her lap. “I always did think you should’ve chosen a better man to father your child, but you’re the one who went to the police?”
