by Nick Freo
I swallowed. “Tell me.”
“You need to understand a few things first,” the Dead Man said. “Your father was a remarkable wizard, and he understood—”
“No,” I cut him off. “I don’t want a monologue. I want to know who killed my father. Just give me a name.”
He stared at me, the lack of humanity in his eyes creating a sense of emptiness in my chest. “Morgan.”
Hellfire sparked inside me, sending a burning sensation under my skin. Or maybe it was plain old human rage. “I didn’t mean give my father’s name. You know what I goddamn meant. I want his killer’s name, and if you don’t tell me, I’m sending you right back to Belial and Michael. They’ll do whatever they want to you for however long they want. I could order for you to be tortured forever, and I won’t lose sleep over it.”
“I did tell you who killed your father.” The Dead Man took a step closer to me, leaning forward with his scarred face. “He killed himself.”
The anger thrashed inside me again, but this time mixed with confusion. I imagined taking my clenched fist, smashing it into his temple, watching him fall to his knees, cracking open his skull to reach his brain, finding out exactly what he knew and letting him die where he knelt. But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t even be certain if he had a brain.
“He was shot or stabbed,” I said, hiding the furious tremble in my voice. “He didn’t kill himself.”
“He stabbed himself.”
I lunged at him with my fist. His shoes squeaked against the floor as he dodged me. I took a deep breath, glaring at him. His expression didn’t change.
“Explain,” I said.
“That is what I was trying to do until you had a childish tantrum. Power is wasted on the youth…” The Dead Man ran his hand down his sleeve, where the material was missing. “Your father sacrificed himself for you. He was being blackmailed. His blackmailer threatened to hurt you—to torture you—if Morgan didn’t do what the blackmailer wanted. With Morgan’s power and influence as the Arbiter, it would certainly be advantageous for someone to control him, and you were easy leverage. Morgan had worked hard to keep you a secret from everyone except the upper tiers of the Celestial Court, and that wasn’t just for your benefit. An Arbiter forced to make the wrong decisions would be a catastrophe and, from the experience of past Arbiters, he knew how loved ones could easily be used against him. He worked hard to isolate himself, but it ended up being futile.”
His words sunk in slowly. There was an ocean of information, and somehow, I was in the center of it.
“That must mean that someone on the Celestial Court betrayed him,” I said. “Who was it?”
“I don’t believe you’re ready to know that information,” he said. “You’re not ready to handle the threat.”
“Why tell me anything then?” I demand. “Now, I’ll just assume everyone in the Celestial Court is guilty.”
“That mentality is why I can’t tell you who it is,” he said. “You’re young, you’re reckless, and you’re ruled by your emotions. It’s better for you to bide your time while you learn your craft. You need to be prepared, not be ruled by a thirst for vengeance.”
“You don’t know shit about me,” I snapped. “I deserve to know the truth.”
“I know you ran straight at an undead serial killer who could have killed you with a single touch because you wanted so badly to find out who killed your father,” he said, the scars on his face appearing more distinct as his skin flushed. “Your passion is admirable, but it’s a liability that will get you killed.”
His logic made perfect sense, but I didn’t feel any better about it. His skin returned to its pale shade.
“Why would my father think that killing himself would protect me from his blackmailer?” I asked. “There were other options. He could have brought me here. He could have had someone like you or Mr. Gray watch over me. He seemed to trust Mr. Gray.”
“The Celestial Court is falling apart. It has been since it was formed…” He stroked his throat, staring past me. Several seconds ticked by before he blinked and looked at me. “It’s why the Arbiters are dying out.”
“And my father should have known that killing himself would have forced me to become the next Arbiter. That doesn’t make sense. He could have at least told me a few things before…stabbing himself.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “He didn’t stab himself out of some emotional distress. Morgan planned to revive the use of soul prisms to create new Arbiters and a new Celestial Court. A brilliant plan, of course. It would allow ordinary mortals who wielded soul prisms the strength to become Arbiters.”
I rubbed my cheek, the sight of the Dead Man’s scars started to make me a tad paranoid. “Mr. Gray said that the last time a soul prism was used it didn’t end well.”
He leaned against the entrance door. For a brief second, it looked like the oceans in the globe carving swayed. “Yes, well, the original soul prisms had a fatal flaw, but Morgan and Serena figure out how to fix it. Unfortunately, it had a cost. It required a sacrifice.”
I blinked several times. “A human sacrifice?”
The Dead Man gazed back at me. His silence was my answer.
“That’s…barbaric,” I stammered.
“I don’t believe it should be considered a human sacrifice. It’s self-sacrifice. His decision to sacrifice his own life was the final component to create a proper soul prism. Since Morgan had refused to give in to his blackmailer’s wishes, he believed that his blackmailer was going to hurt you soon. He must have decided to finish the final component of the soul prism as soon as the rest of it was completed.”
“And that’s why he didn’t explain everything to me.”
“Possibly,” the Dead Man agreed. “But knowing Morgan, he could have also thought you were better off struggling through this rite of passage and learning from your mistakes. Personally, from watching you make those mistakes, I’d consider that theory an error in judgment. I wouldn’t hold it against him. I’d imagine you have some complicated feelings about your father, but Morgan gave up his life in order to finish that ring that he gave you. He provided a way to protect you—his non-magical offspring—and eliminated any chance of others controlling the Arbiter through an ordinary soul-marriage. A remarkable and admirable decision.”
I spun the ring around my finger. It felt a bit heavier now.
“How do you know all of this?” I asked.
“That’s information for another time.”
“Why?” I asked, irritation scratching my voice. “I think at this point, I deserve this one truth. Especially after you’ve tried to kill me twice.”
He frowned. “The first time, your consort was trying to kill me. I was trying to converse with you, and she decided to throw hellfire at me. Then, you tried to hit me. I realized after a certain point that the situation had become too chaotic to convince you of anything. I needed you to be more desperate for answers before I could approach you again. At the club, I only attacked you for the benefit of the audience. If everyone sees me as a bogey, as an enemy of every species, they won’t suspect which side I’m on.”
“Which side are you on?” I asked.
He shrugged, his one shoulder rising up and lazily falling back down. “At most, yours. I don’t trust any angels or demons, including your consorts.”
I jerked forward, my fists clenched, but I stopped short as he only raised an eyebrow. Your passion is admirable, but it’s a liability that will get you killed. I unclenched my fists and took a step back.
“Lilah and Cara are trustworthy. They’re bound to me. They can’t hurt me without repercussions. They’re good.”
He nodded. “Your faith in your consorts is respectable. But you must know that, historically, in both the natural and supernatural world, loyalty was the anchor used to weigh down good men until they drowned. Or until they sacrificed themselves for their sons and the greater good.”
A muscle in my hand twitched as I felt a tiny hellfire
flame ripple against my palm. I smothered it. “I trust them. That’s all you need to know.”
He blinked. “Like father, like son, I suppose. It’s your prerogative. But you must understand that part of pure loyalty is that you are willing to die for that person, so if either or both of your consorts holds a deeper loyalty to anyone else, they won’t have a problem sacrificing themselves to ensure your death.”
I folded my arms over my chest and took a step forward. “You sound like you’re talking from experience, but your experiences aren’t my experiences, so don’t confuse your mistakes with my decisions.”
He nearly smirked. “Kyle, I hope you’re right. I wished to speak to you alone, without your consorts, because I didn’t know if the soul prism was working or if your consorts would respond appropriately to what I’m telling you. They’re still individuals. They may have your best interests in mind, but that doesn’t mean that they’re right. Even a loyal dog will bite his owner’s friend, just like your demon consort attacked me. But if they’re as loyal as you claim, I imagine they’re trying to find their way here, and you’ll want to tell them everything. I know how you feel, but I’d still like you to consider being wary of everyone. The Celestial Court is corrupt. Remember that nobody is implicitly owed your trust—especially people in positions of power.”
“Does that mean I should think long and hard about trusting you?” I asked.
He forced a smile. “Of course.”
I looked down at my father’s ring, the gray shade shining under the mansion lights. His calm demeanor made it easy to forget that I had witnessed this creature commit murder without a sliver of guilt or impunity until now. The only sign that he wasn’t quite human were the scars on his face, but that should have been a good enough reminder for me.
“What does any of this have to do with Serena Foster?” I focused on the scar that started under his right eye and slanted all of the way down his jaw. “Why were there demons stalking her?”
“I never asked,” he said. “I was under the impression that the complaint was filed in order to prevent the Celestial Court from becoming suspicious of Morgan and Serena’s frequent contact with each other.”
Another scar branched off from the right eye scar, starting above the left side of his upper lip and cut right up to his left eye and across his temple. “Why would my father need to be contacting Serena so often?”
“Oh.” He tilted his head. The oceans carved in the door swayed again. “Forgive me, context becomes a bit insignificant when you’ve been around as long as I have. Serena is the only living—previously living—being who knew how to create soul prisms. Certain individuals wanted to kill her because of that knowledge.”
Was Stephos working for this secret faction, knowingly or not? I had more questions, but I had to focus on the more pressing issues.
“She made this ring?” I asked, looking up at his eyes instead of his scars. He nodded. “Then why did you kill her? Are you one of those individuals that didn’t want her to make a soul prism?”
“I killed her,” he said. “But not permanently. My powers aren’t simply conferring death. Serena knew her enemies were circling around her and that the only way to prevent death or torture was to take death out of their hands. I told her I’d kill her in a public venue to buy her some time. Few know this, but if I kill someone with my own hands, I can control the death, to a degree. It’s a complicated power. Mr. Gray will know what to do with Serena.”
He gazed at me, searching for something in me.
“You should know that Mr. Gray is trustworthy,” he said. “I know our world must feel like it’s full of traitors, that everyone wants to use you for his agenda. But Mr. Gray is worthy of your faith, and I don’t say that lightly.”
My brain wrapped around the phrase I can control the death, the rest of his words falling to the back of my mind.
“Mr. Gray said he’d take care of my father’s body. You could bring him back.”
“I can’t bring him back, Kyle,” he said. “Not only did I not kill him, but his life was used to create your ring. That type of magic can’t be reversed, and considering his own desires, I would not violate his sacrifice by reversing it.”
I dropped my head, cradling my fist in my other hand. In the momentary glimpse of hope—of imagining myself talking to my father about how he was a better man than I’d ever thought he was—I had forgotten that the Dead Man would have had to kill my father to bring him back. The only way I’d be able to show gratitude for my father was to develop my powers enough to punish the person who betrayed him.
“You seem upset,” the Dead Man said.
“I’m just hoping that my father’s sacrifice was worth it,” I said. “I want to be worthy of his sacrifice.”
“Your father trusted you to revive the Celestial Court and the line of Arbiters,” the Dead Man said. “And I wouldn’t doubt Morgan.”
But I had other doubts. Something still felt off about the whole Arbiter business. “I don’t understand. Wouldn't it be easy for someone like Michael or Belial to kill me and end the line? Even with my new powers?”
The Dead Man gave me a strange look, then chuckled. “No.” His voice grew softer. “Few know the full powers of a soul prism.”
I opened my mouth to ask the obvious, but the Dead Man shook his head. “I’m sorry. You'll have to follow your own path.”
Follow the gray. My father’s words from that night echoed in my memory. The gray path?
I looked down at my ring, then around the room. After spending the last few days with Cara and Lilah, it felt strange to be without them. My body was beginning to feel tired and cold. There was a draft coming from somewhere, but there was one more question that nagged at me.
“Who are you?” I asked. His black eyes stopped crawling. They had a damp appearance that reminded me of people who visited cemeteries. There were shadows underneath them, darkening his scarred skin.
“Just an old, old man,” he said. “I’m ready to turn myself over to the Celestial Court. You should summon Mr. Gray.”
Chapter 25
I wrote Mr. Gray’s name on a torn piece of paper. I pressed it against the carved earth on the door. The paper disintegrated. The Dead Man wandered into the library. I kept an eye on him, but he only browsed the spines, touching each one like they were sacred. When Mr. Gray knocked on the door, I opened it. He stepped in, still looking as calm and collected as ever.
“How much did you know about this whole situation?” I asked.
“Not enough,” he stated. “Mr. Bishop, you must keep what you learned to yourself. You must only invest your trust in your consorts—everyone else must be treated as a passing or disreputable stranger.”
“The Dead Man doesn’t trust Lilah or Cara.”
Mr. Gray gave me a condescending smile. “If your consorts aren’t worthy of your trust, then your father’s plan regarding your soul prism should be considered a complete and utter failure. Your consorts are necessary to fulfill your role as Arbiter. You must remember what is at stake—it’s more than you, it’s more than your father, and it’s more than your consorts.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“If you’re ready, I should contact Belial and Michael, in order for them to retrieve the Dead Man.”
I knew I couldn’t let Belial and Michael become suspicious of my conversation of the Dead Man by trying to protect him, and Mr. Gray had reminded me of how dire the situation was. It was a shame. He could be a helpful ally, and he must have known a million more things than what he had told me. He knew the name of the man or woman who had betrayed my father. I’d be cutting myself off at the knees by letting Michael and Belial take him.
I looked up at Mr. Gray. “I’m ready.”
He pulled out his pen from his jacket and wrote directly on the engraved globe on the door. It didn’t look like English letters, but a second after he put his pen back in his jacket, there was a knock on the door. He opened it. Belial and Michael stepped
in. The hot and cold diffusion was intense enough that in between the two of them, where the temperatures collided, I could see dark gray clouds forming above them. Michael carried his sword and Belial held his whip, but they weren’t emitting the same power as they had in Second Circle.
The Dead Man strolled out of the library, carrying a book.
“I figured I should read Dante’s Inferno,” he said, not looking at Michael or Belial.
“Drop the book, Dead Man,” Belial said. “Get on your knees.”
The Dead Man set the book on the floor. He slowly kneeled. He looked like he was preparing to have his head cut off except his face didn’t show any fear. He had accepted his fate in the same way that my father had.
Belial flicked his whip, but it was too quick for me to watch. All I saw was the hellfire that had cuffed the Dead Man’s wrists and his ankles. The whip in Belial’s hands remained unchanged.
Belial and Michael walked over, each of them grabbing onto one of the Dead Man’s arms and pulling him up. The dark clouds above them had engorged and turned black. Lightning struck down, so bright that it blinded me for several seconds. When I opened my eyes, the three of them were gone.
Mr. Gray walked over to me and clapped his hand on my shoulder. “I need to leave as well. Good luck, Mr. Bishop.”
I felt the ground shake, but I didn’t watch him leave. I had no idea what I had sentenced the Dead Man to, but it was another sacrifice for the bigger plan that my father had set forth. It was another weight on my shoulders, but I’d gladly carry it. I’d make every bastard, angel or demon, pay four times the price of these sacrifices, or I’d burn in Hell trying.
Lilah burst through the door, the jacket she was wearing partially unzipped and, inexplicably, carrying a brick. Cara followed close behind her, the bottom of her dress ripped.
“Where the fuck is he?” Lilah asked, holding up the brick. “I’m gonna smash his skull in. I’ll kill Mr. Gray too. Where is he, Kyle? I’m gonna murder them.”
