The Infernal Games

by Reed Logan Westgate

  “Blessed Mother’s great ghost,” he exclaimed. “Your father is a keeper of the Mist? A gate guardian to the Otherworld?”

  “I suppose so,” she answered timidly. “Is that bad?”

  “Bad?” Pete said, his face growing pale as if his blood chilled beneath his skin and his eyes darted about as if to be certain no one could overhear his words. “The druids and their ilk have served as keepers of the Mist for... well, as long as any can remember. They keep things the way they are supposed to be: humans on this side of the veil and the Otherworlders to their side.”

  “Yes.” Xlina nodded; she knew as much. “But they aren’t perfect; things still slip through.”

  “In small gaps,” he replied. “Here and there, but if a major door was opened—”

  “It’d herald doomsday,” Arthur chimed over Pete’s shoulder.

  “Oi! But I’m telling her,” Pete continued.

  “There are factions of the Otherworlders,” Arthur continued, ignoring Pete’s rebuke. “They want nothing more than the slaughter and harvest of all humankind.”

  “Factions?” Xlina asked, having never heard such dire warnings from the druids, but then again, as a patriarchal society, they didn’t share their secrets with women.

  “Aye,” Pete confirmed, waving Arthur away. “They seek to gather all the souls at once. Wiping out billions of humans would provide all the souls needed to kickstart the war between the divine and the infernal.”

  “You’re talking about the Christian Armageddon,” Xlina replied skeptically. “That’s a little far-fetched.”

  “Christians,” Pete continued ominously. “Ragnarök, Kali Yuga, Armageddon, even Zoroastrians believe in Frashokereti. All the religions o’ the world believe in the end of times.”

  “Nearly happened once already,” Arthur chimed in.

  “What?” Xlina replied. “The end of the world? Really?”

  “1945.” Pete nodded. “Or do you really think the A-bomb was deployed to stop the Japanese?”

  “You are crazy,” Xlina said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Crazy that the Nazi’s who were renowned for a fanatic leader obsessed with the occult dropped out of the war, their leader offing himself in the final moments?” Pete continued.

  “Almost like he couldn’t bear the mark,” Arthur chimed in.

  “Just a regular soldier in World War I,” Pete continued. “Wanting to get home, desperate to escape. Then poof, some handful of years later leading the country in a war on all people. The atrocities committed. You don’t see a demon’s hand in all of that?”

  “The Japanese were desperate,” Arthur continued. “Made a pact with the Yokai to send supernatural soldiers to help fight the war.”

  “Like that,” Pete said, snapping his fingers before her face. “The allies were forced to do something to close the gate to the Otherworld or be forced to fight Otherworlders in open warfare.”

  “And so their allies deployed their most powerful weapon,” Arthur finished, making an explosion motion with his hands.

  “Thus ended the Second World War,” Pete said stoically. “Truman’s actions would be considered for all of history as a moral quandary because the world can’t know that his choice otherwise would have allowed the wholesale slaughter of humanity by yokai from the infernal plane.”

  “Or that’s how the story is passed among our people,” Arthur finished with a shrug.

  “Did it all really happen like that?” Xlina questioned Pete. “Is everything we know just a lie wrapped in another lie?”

  “We’ll never know for sure,” Pete shrugged. “The powers to be in the world will always keep the Otherworld a secret. They deny magic, deny the divine and infernal, as well as the arcane and eternal.”

  “It’s what keeps them in power,” Arthur added, drawing ire from Nick, who had been left alone to finish the work.

  “That’s yer advice, girl,” Pete finished, motioning for the brothers to finish things up. “Power is what drives this world. We all seek it, we all crave it, and we all try to keep it. Even demons.”

  “I don’t understand,” Xlina pleaded. “What should I do?”

  “Stop yerself,” Pete said firmly. “Before you become another cautionary tale.”

  “It’s the right thing to do,” Arthur added.

  “For the rest of us,” Nick agreed.

  “Payment in full fer the advice accepted,” Pete said, drawing the heart from the purse and handing it back gingerly.

  “Thanks, I guess,” Xlina said, rising to her feet and turning away to briskly walk from the park. Was any of what she had been told true, or was it all hogwash meant to make her lower her guard and hand over the heart free of charge? Either way, she had the money for the rent, for all the good it would do. Suddenly feeling vulnerable and exposed, she turned back through the college campus and made her way home, contemplating her next steps.

  Chapter Seven

  Cruel Intentions

  It had been two days since Xlina had been bestowed the demon mark from Valeria in a brutal yet intimate encounter. In that time, she had managed to lose her job, alienate the one person who also knew Valeria, and barter with the Three Brothers in the farmers market across from the University in Holder’s Park in a vain effort to preserve the foundations of her now doomed existence. So far, the only thing she knew for certain was that she was perpetually and totally screwed. The conversation with the Three Brothers and her subsequent despair had led to her current condition.

  She sat legs folded on her sofa in her most comfy flannel pajama pants and a loose fitting, two-decade-old White Snake concert t-shirt that had seen better days. Her face was illuminated by the glow of her laptop screen while she absently picked bits of leftover cashew chicken from a Chinese takeout container. Her desperation for answers had led her to the dark hole that was the internet. She figured the internet couldn’t have anything less credible than the Three Brother’s wild tale of the Second World War being orchestrated by demons.

  She huffed in frustration, wondering if she was wrong about that as she closed the browser window on another dead-end website. Given the sheer fascination on the subject thanks to the ever rising popularity of some paranormal TV shows and books, it was becoming harder to sort facts from hardcore demon fanfiction. She flicked around in the takeout container with her chopsticks, searching for the last bite of chicken among the veggies and popping it in her mouth before rising to dispose of it. She padded across the floor in a worn-out pair of purple monster feet slippers, which she only brought out when feeling especially vulnerable.

  The thought of Valeria’s promise to return weighed heavily on her mind, as did the Brothers’ dire warnings of the tortures and horrors that Valeria could inflict on her until she became desperate enough to do something she would regret. Still, attempting to find a way out of the pact was better than all the cautionary tales suggesting she expedite her death to cut out the suffering. Plus, falling to the dark side and becoming all warlock and brimstone was a real possibility. The thought of breaking down and calling her father was gnawing at the back of her mind. It could be time to admit she was out of her depths and try running back home. Then again, if what the Three Brothers had said was correct, that would be exactly the play Valeria was hoping for: a way into the Keepers of the Mist, a chance to weaken the barrier between worlds. Still, deep down, her ego had a hard time accepting that everything she had been through in the months since leaving Boston had purely been a demonic scheme played just to pick at the resolve and defenses of the Boston Druid Grove.

  She casually dropped her chopsticks in the sink, and they bounced among the array of dirty glasses and plates like a game at a carnival. She eyed the sink, filled with days of dirty dishes, with a scowl of contempt. She normally wasn’t one to let the chores build up, but the dishes represented just another thing she should probably do. It was both menial and petty, completely unrelated to the long laundry list of things she should probably do about her m
ark. But her inability to do anything about the larger issues meant that it was the little thing she had control over. Thus, she flung a kitchen towel over the sink in a tepid effort to conceal the mess and stormed back toward her waiting laptop on the couch.

  A light rapping on the door broke her train of thought, and she cursed under her breath. She paused in the center of her studio apartment, waiting halfway back to the sanctuary of her couch to see if the visitor would just move along, leaving her to her silent misery. A few seconds passed, and confident she was in the clear, she took another step toward the couch just in time to hear the light rapping on the door again, this time accompanied by Amber’s familiar voice.

  “Xlina,” she called, her voice raised, but in a modified hush, as if that would keep from disturbing the other tenants. “I know you are in there; just open up.”

  “No thanks,” Xlina called back dismissively. “No soliciting, and I don’t care for door-to-door beauty aids.”

  “Funny,” Amber called back, no longer trying to keep her voice down. “You know it’s me. Come on; I have your stuff from class.”

  Xlina breathed a deep sigh of frustration. She hadn’t been to class since the dream about the attacker outside of Pandora’s that had set this whole nightmare of events into motion. Another thing Valeria had warned her not to neglect. Valeria had pulled some strings to get her enrolled in the local university in the first place, and now with her knowledge of what Valeria really was, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for whoever had felt those strings pull. Just how wide was Valeria’s influence? How many souls were on the take?

  She padded back across the studio apartment to the front door, opening it a crack so she could see the ever-pleasant Amber. Her hair had been styled, her platinum-blonde locks now full of curls that hung shoulder length around her head. She had a one-inch-thick streak of pink dye on the left side. It was a new look for her that suited her jaw line. She wore matching pink lipstick and was making a ridiculous, pouty face.

  “What?” Xlina said dryly.

  “Your class work,” Amber replied, holding up a folder. “You do remember Mr. Bautman’s anthropology class?”

  “I remember,” Xlina shrugged. “It’s caring that’s the problem. I have bigger things going on right now. Just hand me the folder.”

  “No,” Amber replied curtly, crossing her arms around the folder and hugging it close to her chest. Her gray university sweater’s sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, exposing a charm bracelet that jingled as she turned away, as if guarding the folder from a thief.

  “Amber,” Xlina replied, opening the door wider and extending her hand. “You have done your part and dropped off the work; now do your part and drop it off.”

  “I can’t,” Amber continued in a defiant tone laced with an air of superiority. “I have to explain parts of it, so invite me in.”

  “Amber,” Xlina replied again, thrusting her hand out palm upright and snapping her fingers.

  “I’d be happy to explain it all,” Amber replied with a smile, brushing past the outstretched hand and pushing her way past Xlina and into the apartment. “Thanks for inviting me in.”

  “Whatever,” Xlina chided, closing the door and motioning to the table. “Have a seat and be quick.”

  “Of course,” Amber said, almost bouncing over to the table before sitting down and opening the folder. She looked around the studio apartment and wrinkled her nose. “Gosh, you have been preoccupied.”

  “Amber, the classwork?” Xlina said, sitting across from the girl at the table and tapping her fingers on the paperwork to refocus her attention.

  “I mean, whoo,” Amber said looking around with a deep breath. “It smells like a dumpster threw up in here, Xlina. Look at the mess. Your trash is overflowing, your sink is... did you just throw a towel over the dishes?”

  “I have been preoccupied,” Xlina explained, tapping her fingers on the papers again loudly. “About the assignment?”

  “Yeah, it looks like you have been busy,” Amber said, giving Xlina a once-over and raising an eyebrow. “Super busy moping, sulking, and let’s not forget that all-night pity party rager you must have had last night, judging by the monster feet slippers.”

  “Amber, I don’t need a counselor,” Xlina said, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest.

  “I’m not trying to be a counselor,” Amber replied. “But I owe you one for the other night with that creep.”

  “Yeah, what’s-his-name with the squeaky voice,” Xlina chuckled lightly. “How did that work out for you?”

  “Well... I’m okay,” she said with a wry smile. “Apparently, according to Scott, my butch lesbian lover showed up and ruined his well-planned evening.”

  “That’s terrible,” Xlina responded with a chuckle. “So the Neanderthal drugs you, and his defense is to call you a lesbian. What a creep.”

  “Not just me,” Amber interrupted. “You’re my butch lover.”

  “Butch?” Xlina protested. “I should have kicked him harder.”

  “You were dressed like Sporty Spice,” Amber laughed, shaking her head.

  “Great, throw in some more Spice Girls references; that will help the rumors,” Xlina quipped back.

  “Oh, the great and proud Xlina is NOW worried about rumors,” Amber teased in response.

  “No, I could care less,” Xlina stated flatly. “Most of our peers are just wannabe socialites.”

  “Is that how you see me?” Amber replied. “Just some platinum-blonde airhead, struggling to be the next reality TV sensation?”

  “No,” Xlina returned sharply. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “It’s okay,” Amber said, slumping slightly in her chair. “I know we’re not really friends. I mean you tend to act like I am more of a nuisance than a neighbor.”

  “For the second time this week, I find myself unintentionally pushing people away with my words, Amber,” Xlina lamented sourly. “I am sorry; I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “It’s not just your words,” Amber continued bravely. “I mean, sometimes you are mean like a snake, but it’s more than that. You’re distant, and if anyone dares come close, you lash out.”

  “I suppose I am just not a people person,” Xlina shrugged, feeling sorry but knowing the dangers of letting people in. “I have a lot of baggage...it’s complicated.”

  “It can’t be that complicated,” Amber said, reaching out and taking Xlina’s hand gently. “Unless that’s just another way for you to push people away.”

  “No,” Xlina said, drawing back her hand defensively. “It’s not that. There are things I can’t share. They are my burden and mine alone.”

  “Listen,” Amber replied plaintively. “Whatever it is, you need to find someone to talk to about it. You can’t go through everything alone. For starters, it is no way to live. Also, it makes you a miserable bitch.”

  Xlina looked shocked at the sudden twist for a moment before Amber giggled playfully. With a pensive shake of her head, she pondered Amber’s words. Oxivius had been one she could talk to, but she had driven him away. His black magic scared her. She was worried about his evil corrupting her soul. What little good that did. It wasn’t Oxivius who had made pacts with a demon social worker, nor was it Oxivius who had broken said pacts to hunt a man-sized magic squid. Of all the trouble she had found, none of it lay at the feet of Oxivius.

  “Want some coffee?” Xlina asked sincerely.

  “Why, Xlina,” Amber replied with a more formal tone as she straightened her shoulders. “I would love some.”

  Xlina rose from the table and started fiddling with her coffee pot, filling it with water and turning the brewer on. She reached into her cabinets and returned with two mugs, placing them gently on the table. With the padded thump of her slippers hitting the floor, she strode back, retrieving the cream and sugar and returning to the table. Amber shifted a bit in the chair uncomfortably before standing to move about and stretch her legs. She wound her way
around the room, looking at Xlina’s decor before coming to stand by the window near her couch. She stared intently out the window while waiting for the coffee.

  “I got an apartment with a good view, right?” Xlina prodded from the counter as she waited for the brew to finish.

  “Not that you could tell,” Amber shrugged. “I mean, look at that fog out there; it’s like pea soup...you can barely see the street.”

  “What!” Xlina exclaimed, her voice laden with panic.

  “No biggy,” Amber shrugged nonchalantly. “Just a touch of New England weather.”

  “Amber, get away from the window,” Xlina pleaded with an urgency in her voice that made Amber uneasy, but she reluctantly stepped back from the window.

  “Superstitious much?” Amber asked cynically. “This isn’t some horror movie, Xlina; it’s just fog. A perfectly natural occurring weather event, especially for Portland, with its harbors and the peninsula. Relax. Maybe you should pass on the cup of caffeine.”

  “No; you don’t understand,” Xlina barked fiercely, crossing the studio apartment to peer out the window. The fog was heavy in the air, completely obscuring the ground from her second-story window.

  “This isn’t funny,” Amber scoffed, grabbing her mug from the table and moving to the coffee pot. “If you’re trying to give me a good scare, you’ll have to do better than that.”

  “Amber,” Xlina pleaded. “You have to go now. Sorry; I’ll explain later.”

  “Xlina, you are being really creepy,” Amber protested, arms flung wide. “We were having such a nice time, but this is your schtick, right? Can’t let people in?”

  Xlina shook her head in rebuttal. They were having a great time—better than she expected with Amber. It was nice to just have a girl’s chat, but the Mist had come. It was essentially burning the ground floor. She kicked out of her monster feet slippers, discarding them for the firm and speedy footing of her bare feet. With a grim determination, she strode to the door and swung it wide to accentuate that it was time to leave.