by Eli Constant
I don’t know why I’ve never told Kyle about Adam, or Adam’s jacket. I could make excuses—how the subject of exes has never come up, how I was protecting his memory, how I didn’t think about him as much anymore, and it wasn’t important.
But it was important. Adam held my heart for so long, and he still owns a piece of it. It’s precious real estate inside my body.
“It belonged to my fiancé, Adam. He died.” I unfold and refold the jacket, then do it again, trying to settle it on my lap. All of the sudden, it is a heavy thing, like it holds every nuance of the past inside its material.
“You never told me about him,” Kyle doesn’t sound hurt really, but curious.
“I don’t know why, Kyle. I don’t have an excuse. Just that… Adam’s mine. He lives up here,” I tapped my head, and then my chest. “And here.”
“Well, it’s not like we’ve had the exes talk.” He smiled, though his gaze was still on my fingers which touched just over my heart. “I suppose that’s something that’s long overdue.” His smile grows boyish and teasing. “I dated a lingerie model for a few months. Ended up with several man thongs out of the deal. They’re actually comfortable.”
I laughed, and it released a wave of tension from my body.
“You know, we’re about to go face possible death and demons,” Terrance spoke from the front seat. “Maybe we should be coming up with a game plan, instead of talking about leather jackets and thongs.”
Now, I nod. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“What do we do, Tori?” Kyle reaches out and takes my hand. Our fingers rest, entwined, against Adam’s jacket. And that show of acceptance means so much.
“First, I think we might have to… No, I know we need to destroy the Lazarus Eyes.”
“And how do we do that?” Kyle squeezes my hand gently.
“I’ve no freaking idea.” I lean my head back and close my eyes. “Not a single damn clue.”
“They’re made of jade, right?” Terrance asks from the front seat. “Isn’t that what you said before?”
“Yes, magic jade. The operative word being magic.”
“Magic or not, Jade will shatter if you beat the shit out of it.” Terrance remarks. “So let’s stop and get some hammers.”
“You need some lessons on what magic can and can’t do. For instance, it can definitely protect a stone from breaking.” But I didn’t have a better solution.
Save the world with a hammer? Sure… why the hell not.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“We’re going into a magical fight armed with hammers.” I stare at the police tape across the front door of the restaurant.
“And our keen fashion sense,” Kyle adds, quoting one of our favorite couple movies.
Terrance is a few steps in front of us. He’s preparing himself, at least he’s trying to. No matter what he does though, he’s still going to be the only human going into a supernatural showdown.
I push past him, because if I don’t start moving now, I’m going to chicken out. And where would I go? Back to my burning house? To Kyle’s bar where Dark Court and Light Court members alike troll for a good time?
No, I’m going in here. I’m saving the day. And I’m not freaking dying. Because one brush with freaking death was enough for a day… or a week… or a damn lifetime.
I rip away the caution tape and push the door open. It’s hanging by one hinge and it groans in protest as it moves. So, that’s lovely. Hello, bad guys! Here we come!
I haven’t been inside the burned-out restaurant before. Everything is black, and smells like mold—I guess from putting the fire out and then everything being left to dry and corrode without care. There’s nothing suspicious at first. The walls are black, the furniture husks of their former selves—the upholstery burned away, the metal springs yawning outward unable to support anyone anymore.
This is what my house is going to look like, I think miserably.
Kyle and Terrance are right behind me. Kyle holds his hammer like a sword, ready to swing. Terrance’s hammer is shoved into his belt, opting to carry his gun instead. I’m surprised that they’re not fighting with me to take the lead, or point, or whatever the police call it.
I thread my way through the destroyed eating area and push through the swinging doors to the kitchen.
This is where I feel it, the thrum of unbridled power. It’s palpable and I can feel the beat of it against my feet. I kneel down, placing the hammer on the floor with a clink. The magic is stronger at this level, and I find myself once again crawling across a floor. This time though, I’m not searching for safety, but instead for the exact opposite.
The danger is calling me, and I’m going to answer.
Again, Kyle and Terrance follow silently, not questioning my strange behavior.
“Here,” I finally decide, stopped over the place where the beating heart of power is strongest. I search around the floor, for something… I don’t know what.
And I find it. A small chip that’s too perfect to be an accident. I stick my finger in it and pull upward. A large piece of floor gives way and I shove my body to the side so I can lift it higher. A gaping hole, about the width of a manhole, stares up at us. Without overthinking it, because if I do I won’t follow through, I stick my legs down the hole and I lower myself down. I can’t feel the floor as I dangle, so I throw caution to the wind and I fall.
I’m in a store room of some kind. It’s old, completely free of modern aesthetics. Roughhewn shelving that’s seen better days lines one wall. The only light is that which pours in from the hole above…which isn’t much, but my eyes adjust quickly.
“It’s an old cold storage. Maybe a wine cellar.” Terrance has just dropped down beside me and taken in the room. Kyle comes down after. I can feel him radiating with the beginning thrum of his animal side. It is warm… and distinctly furry. I don’t know how else to describe it. We weren’t just dropping into a magical duel with hammers and wit, we had a Berserker and a Necromancer, and a human with bigger balls than you’d find at a bowling alley. “And… it’s empty, Tori.”
“I don’t understand; they should be here. I feel it. It’s right here.” I stamp my foot and the movement disturbs the dirt floor, displacing a small pale stone. Seconds later, however, the floor looks exactly as it once did…before I slammed my shoe down. The pale stone is back where it was. “Something’s not right,” I murmur, leaning down and moving the stone with my fingers. I place it several inches away and I watch, mesmerized as the tone seems to blur and then end up back in its original position. “Terrance, watch.” I stamp my foot again—and the same thing happens.
“What the…” Terrance breathes out. I look at him with a ‘what the hell is happening here?’ expression and then I glance at Kyle, who is calm and quiet—his gaze roving the room, his body vibrating slightly, the bear ready to burst forth.
I look back down at my foot, and that little pebble. It reminded me of video on a loop. I’d seen it enough times in movies. The bad guys record a hallway, then play the recording so security won’t see what’s actually happening.
“They are here,” I breathe out. “But they’re shielded.”
“Are they just invisible?” Terrance is slowly pointing his gun around the room, looking for an unseen threat.
“I don’t know. This is new to me.” I squat down and being tracing my hands against the floor. “If they’re only invisible, we should be able to feel them, right? Move around, see if you run into anything.”
I’m crawling again, and the jeans are so tight on my waist that it’s a constant pain. I move my hands across the floor in large arcs as Terrance and Kyle walk around hoping to walk into something. I’m about to give up hope when my fingers brush against something strange. It feels like sackcloth, a bag maybe, and it’s holding something. More than one something. Round, hard shapes.
Urgently, I grip the invisible bag and drag it to me. I try to figure out how to open an invisible bag, but I can’t find a str
ing or zippers. I can’t see it, but I can smash the hell out of it anyways. I stand and pull the bag with me. I can feel it slapping against my thigh as I walk fast and it swings in my hand. The hammer is on the ground where I left it after first dropping into the room. I pick it up, kneel with the bag in front of me, and I start smashing the hammer downwards.
“Tori found something,” I hear Kyle breathe out, but I’m too busy beating the hell out of the round objects in the unseen bag. “Shit, never mind.”
I can hear sharp cracks and odd tinkling as I attack the unseen thing. I keep at it. Slamming and not even caring when I hit my thumb hard whilst trying to hold one of the objects still.
The space around us begins to blur like the stone had. It’s glitching, almost like lines across a television when the channel won’t come in clearly. I hear an angry yell, but it crackles in and out of focus just like the room.
So I keep smashing, and when my arms start to tire and I begin to slow, Kyle takes over. And his body is stronger than mine, his muscles powered by the bear within. He works furiously and the room blurs so much that I can’t see anything around us except my two companions.
Then everything clears, like pushing glasses up your nose when you’re blind as a bat. Candles blare to life and the space is alive with eerie shadows.
Though I have only known her in spirit form, I know her. The woman, Eve, is stood in the very center of the room—almost where we’d dropped down. Her long black and white hair flows around her in a fan of magic-borne strands. She seems to shimmer in and out like that silvery mist that surrounded her form when I was projecting.
So do I also recognize him—he is not surrounded by sparks, but I know him. The man, Adam, is off to the side drawing symbols on the dank wall of the ancient storage room. He is chanting the same few lines, over and over again. I recognize Latin, but understand very little. Open the gates. Five daughters dead. Hell.
I catch Terrance and Kyle’s gazes and I point at the woman, mouthing ‘get her’, then I point at the man and mouth ‘mine’. I’ve got a score to settle here, and out of the three of us I’m the only one who might survive his power.
“Ad mortem patris rectores orbis terrarum. aperire portas inferis. Hostias tibi damus. quinque filiae filii originalia. in utero, et inferni.” He is focused on his task, perhaps unawares that he has been found out.
I move forward, hoping that Kyle and Terrance are able to handle the woman. As I get closer to the arsonist, it is no longer the pull of revenge and battle odds. I know I must handle the man. Something draws me to him. I couldn’t stop advancing now, even if I wanted to.
I try to access my power, though I’m also scared too… after what happened in Mordecai’s home. And I heard that voice again in my house… Fear. I am afraid. Yet, I must. I reach down, deep to my soul. I want the magic to explode. It is a rushing river of need inside. But something is strangling it. Because my need to get closer to the male witch is far greater.
When I am only a few feet away, almost near enough to touch, he turns. His face is not surprised to see me standing there. In fact, he looks resigned. Suddenly, I truly cannot breathe. The power of my body is not repressed by my own design, but by the hard force of the man in front of me. He is the one choking me; he is the one keeping my gifts at bay.
“Death calls to death, and you are she. Original blood runs through thee.” His hand whips up fast. Something glints in the light of the candles about the room. A blade.
Before I can react, it catches me across the throat.
I expect blood to pour out. I expect to die fast.
But it is like a papercut. A long, thin, painful line. And blood does escape my body, but not enough to kill.
The male arsonist drops the knife and lunges forward, gripping me by the hair and shoving my head forward. He holds me there and I fight as hard as I can, but he is inhumanely strong. Blood hits the ground, droplet by droplet.
When the dirt floor is spotted heavily with blood, he shoves me to the side and I hit the ground hard. Neither Kyle nor Terrance rush to my aide. I search for them, and find them floating several inches above the floor, their bodies are frozen in midair. Kyle is still vibrating, waves of short furs appearing and disappearing across each inch of skin I can see. The female Eve who seemed so harmless, surrounded by that lulling silver mist, has them caught in her grasp.
She turns slowly to look at me. Her face is a mask of pain. “I told you it was too late.”
The symbols on the wall near me come to life like a neon sign on the Vegas strip.
“We are almost finished, my love,” the Adam says, walking around my body and kneeling down. “The seed of sin must be returned, so that we can reap the sow and take the world.”
I see it then, pinched between his index finger and thumb. The tiniest seed.
The seed that is born in darkness knows only shadows. Mordecai, who knew so much, but wished for a life of solitude, had prepared me for this. A seed is not nothing.
A seed grows.
I can’t let this happen. A hellmouth. The Cage of the Unseen. The Grimm Reaper. It’s all one evil. One giant seed of darkness waiting to bleed into the world.
I struggle to my feet. The male witch is digging a shallow hole and placing the seed into the soil. He covers it reverently and he begins to chant again. The female witch joins him this time, their voices perfectly matched. I expect a hole to begin opening in the earth, but nothing happens.
When the woman’s voice dissolves into screams of pain, I turn my attention to her. Kyle and Terrance are unceremoniously dropped to the ground, and neither of them move once they’ve made impact. The spell holding them has broken; she’s unable to keep them airborne and be consumed by the terror that’s so plain in her expression.
Her stomach is expanding outwards, growing in what should be the loveliest way. The curves of motherhood. The future contained in the life-giving womb, born from a fertilized seed. Oh my God… she’s the hellmouth.
But it’s malformed, awkwardly angled, continuing to expand so far outward that the woman’s gown, which I now see is split down the front, falls to the side and I can see her skin, which has grown so stretched that I behold the redness of her womb underneath the too-thin, sickly layer of gaunt flesh.
And the man is still chanting. He’s walking towards her and staring at her like she is the great mother of the world, giving birth to creation.
I hear Liam in my head, and this time it is not his voice anew, but past words spoken.
You’re saying that you’ll kill these coven leaders, like it’s grabbing a burger at a fast food joint. And you know, and I know, that you cry over killing a spider even though they scare the hell out of you.
If that’s what I have to do.
I reach for my power, but it is still a hesitant thing inside—a butterfly with broken wings.
So, I turn and find the knife on the floor that the male coven leader has discarded. Kyle and Terrance are still unconscious on the ground.
And I don’t have a choice.
I have to do this. I’ve killed before. They’re evil. They’re doing an evil thing.
I walk forward quickly.
The would-be Adam of creation has his back to me. I want to stop myself, but I know I can’t. I am driven by a different urge now to be near him.
I’ve killed before.
I’ll probably kill again.
He is transfixed by the Eve growing into monstrous motherhood. And I plunge the knife into his back, to the left side of his spine and I angle it slightly inward towards the heart. His blood spurts out at me and I use that little death to fuel a tiny ounce of obliging power that is so very weak. Yet it does its job and helps me find the exact spot to end it quickly.
The Adam, the arsonist, the evil walking, falls to the ground. And his face is peaceful, his mouth is slightly upturned in a smile. He thinks he has won already. But he hasn’t. Revenge for my fucking house, is the only thought that crosses my mind as I focus on a new
target.
But the woman is still airborne. She is harder to approach, because I know there is still some goodness in her. I know in my heart that she was not the one that set the fires. I can close my eyes and see her softer soul in juxtaposition to the male witch’s fire and brimstone. It goes to show that even innocence can be warped. And there comes a point in that conversion where the person does make a choice—to give into willful malevolence.
The witch’s stomach is so large and heavy that it hangs on the ground. It is beginning to tear at the navel, allowing steam and a trickle of liquid hell to escape. It looks like a dress I once bought, three sizes too small, and how the seam had pulled so far apart when I’d tried to wear it that the line of it had only been held together by intermittent stitches. The woman’s eyes are no longer open, her face is slack, and her chest rises and falls jerkily. She’s dying anyways.
This is a mercy.
I begin to move around her great heaving stomach to get to her throat and I scream when a hand presses against her belly; gray, warped fingers push outward through the ripping seam of her body. Other hands join it, some with only three insanely long fingers and claws that try to slice through the skin that is still locking them in—prisoners ready for escape. All manners of atrocities. Whatever horrid things that have been locked in the Cage of the Unseen.
Where is the Reaper? Where is the neutral, abiding force the coven leaders expected? I see nothing here save terrifying, monstrous destruction. I rush the rest of the way to the woman’s prone upper body. She’s still alive. I can only hope that killing her before the hellmouth is open will stop the spell. I whisper that I’m sorry, and then I slice the knife across her neck. I do not go shallow; I dig deep so that there is no hope for survival.
Suddenly, the belly bursts in a convulsion of flesh and fluid.
I brace myself, ready for the birthing of absolute evil.
An arm crowned with a four-fingered hand reaches weakly out of the mess of guts and organs. Another arm appears. They grasp and claw and pull themselves.
