The Shoma

by Lola St. Vil

  Reporters and analysts all over the human world are speculating as to what an Akon is. Some guess an Akon is some new political force in Middle East; others think it’s a race of aliens scientists have discovered.

  The protesters have spilled out into the streets shouting the same phrase written on the screen. They scream it in different languages. They have stopped traffic, invaded government buildings and have caused the human world to stand still.

  “This is crazy, stopping the humans from living their lives isn’t going to gain them access to the light. They’re so damn stupid,” Rage says.

  “No, actually, it’s brilliant.” Marcus says.

  “Brilliant, how?” Rage asks.

  “The Q.R.N. have stopped the human world with just their sheer numbers. They aren’t even using their powers. So, if they can cause this much damage without powers…”

  “So they are telling the Paras they are a force,” Miku says.

  “Exactly,” Marcus concludes.

  “What’s more, since they aren’t hurting anyone, the Paras can’t attack them,” I realize.

  One reporter on the news said it’s the first protest march in history where the media does not know the reason for the march of the demands. The protesters don’t talk to the human reporters. They don’t have to. Their message isn’t for the humans. It’s for the Paras. Over the next few hours the protests and demonstrations increase to a fever pitch.

  Suddenly, new words begin to form on the screen.

  “Welcome our leader; our hope.”

  Once the crowd sees that, they break into a thunderous applause that can be heard around the world. Then the leader appears on the massive screen. The crowd falls silent as a sign of respect. The team and I fall silent from sheer shock. The face on the screen is Mrs. Marcus Cane.

  Marcus looks at the screen with a deadly stare. If it were possible to kill someone just by looking at them, Bianca would be dead. Bianca addresses the crowd and tells them that she is working with her husband so that they will not only remain free, but also have access to the light. The media goes on to speculate that she is referring to some new age “inner light.”

  The gossip soaked media outlet known as TMZ has Bianca pegged as a hot new age chick, protesting against human rights violation. Although they have never heard of the Quo, they go on to show clips of dilapidated homes from around the world, hinting that the Quo children have probably been living in a similar situation.

  In a matter of hours, the media attention grows. By sun up, human celebrities are on morning talk shows taking about Quo rights. Many started their own charity based on Quo freedom. Both Sting and U2 announced a benefit concert for the Quo people.

  Marcus, now fully enraged, storms out of the villa and takes to the sky. The team and I follow. Jay gets on a Port and says he will meet us in London, where Bianca can be found. The flight only takes a few minutes. I had hoped that Marcus would have a chance to calm down in the time it takes us to get to Bianca’s home, but no such luck.

  When we land, Marcus is just as pissed off as he was back at the villa, but anger or not, Marcus can’t walk up to Bianca’s home because there are dozens of news vans parked out front.

  The reporters descend on Bianca. They ask her a ton of questions. Bianca skillfully dodges them with a devilish smile and eloquent speech. She is a natural born politician. She speaks and yet says nothing of substance.

  Marcus plows through the crowd and grabs Bianca. She excuses herself from her “adoring public” and we all head upstairs to her lavish apartment.

  “WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?” Marcus screams.

  “Honey, keep your voice down. You don’t want the press to think we’re fighting, do you?” Bianca says with a smile.

  “You have lost your fucking mind and—”

  “—Marcus, I need to see my cousin, alone,” I tell him.

  The team looks at me. They are about to object when Miku says she thinks I’m right. The team reluctantly step away. Marcus isn’t convinced. He glares at Bianca and looks like he wants to shake the hell out of her.

  “Marcus, please give us a moment,” I reason.

  Marcus and the others go back downstairs and leave us alone.

  “You’re exposing us all, Bianca.”

  “Please, the human press is made up of idiots. They think this is some kind of human rights issue, which actually they are right about. Except it’s Quo rights,” she muses.

  “Since when did you care so much about our rights?” I ask.

  “I think the question is when did you stop caring?” Bianca counters.

  “I care about our people, you know that, but pissing the Para’s off isn’t going to win us any points here.”

  “No, but kissing up to the Guardians isn’t going to help, either.”

  “You married Marcus and now you’re pointing the finger at me?”

  “Marcus is a means to an end; but you are hanging out with them as if they were friends of yours.”

  “They are.”

  She laughs out loud and shakes her head.

  “Eta, you’re delusional,” she says, with disdain in her voice.

  “No, that would be you. You know they will never agree to give us access to the light,” I reply.

  “Don’t you think we deserve it after being in prison for so long?” She asks.

  “Maybe, but this is not the way to help get them onto our side.”

  “I don’t care about impressing Angels. I care about our people moving forward and if the Angels won’t give us what we deserve, we will take it.”

  “This isn’t about rights. If you really wanted to work on a deal between us and the Paras, you would have sought out the help of the Guardians. What do you really want, Bianca?”

  “What every girl wants; to matter. And, believe me, when I’m done, no one will matter more than me.”

  “Marcus knows you are using him and he’s not just going to let that happen; and neither is Emmy, for that matter,” I warn her.

  “The human is such a nuisance, but I can take care of her. In fact, she’s not even a real problem anymore, since Marcus threw her out.”

  “You learned that by touching him?” I reply.

  “Yes and I learned another thing; Marcus knows how you feel about him.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” I protest, as panic grips me.

  “Yes, he does and when I was using my powers to flash through his memories, not one of them were of you. He doesn’t even know you’re alive, Eta,” she says with a sweet smile.

  “I don’t care about that,” I lie.

  “Actually, I think you do. Like I warned you before, you stay out of my way and I won’t ‘accidently’ pass one of your dirty little fantasies back to Marcus.”

  “You want to help our people, I get that, but this isn’t the way to do it,” I plead.

  “I will do what I want, the way I want. And you will sit quietly by and watch.”

  “You deceitful little bitch, what are you planning?!” I shout.

  “When you find out…it will already have been done. Now, be a good little bookworm and slither away,” she says coldly.

  Marcus bursts into the room before I have time to reply.

  “I’m done waiting. I want some answers, Bianca, and I want them, now!” Marcus orders.

  Jay and rest of them enter right behind Marcus. They look concerned and very on edge.

  “I want to talk to Bianca alone,” Marcus tells us.

  “Rahell says she called you,” Miku says.

  “I know; I’m sending her calls to voicemail. I can’t be keep going back and forth with her!” Marcus snaps.

  “You should talk to her,” Jay says.

  “I can’t talk to Rahell, right now,” Marcus replies, turning his focus back to Bianca.

  “Yo, you need to talk to Rahell,” Jay insists.

  “Why, so she can tell me what an asshole I’m being because I won’t save Arden? I don’t need that right now. I CAN’T SA
VE ARDEN, JAY, I JUST CAN’T SAVE HER!”

  “You don’t have to save her; she’s dead.”

  BOOK II:

  EMERSON BAXTER

  “In order to become the woman you are meant to be, you must let go of the girl you were…”

  —Nicole Lambeck-Johnson

  CHAPTER EIGHT:

  THREE OF SEVEN

  Have you ever wanted to make love to a guy and shove him out of a plate glass window at the same time? Well, that’s exactly what I’m feeling right now. Just a few minutes ago, Marcus asked me to leave the villa, but I didn’t make a scene or cry. I just did what he asked.

  Now, outside on the patio, I start walking down the road that leads to town. Rage catches up to me and says he has to take me to back to New York. I don’t pay him any attention.

  My mind is racing.

  On one hand, I saw the pain Marcus was in and how hard it was for him to send me away.

  And yes, I want to help him and take some of the tension away from him. On the other hand, the guy I love just threw me out of his damn villa. Not only that, he tossed me out of the mission like I didn’t matter. And you know what, I don’t care how hard it was for him, how dare he send me away?

  “Human chick, we need to get airborne,” Rage says again.

  “I FUCKING HATE HIM!!!” I blare to the whole countryside. My outburst takes Rage by surprise.

  “Hey, human, calm down,” he replies, not sure what else to say.

  “Why? Why do I always do this to myself? Every time I think Marcus and I can finally be together, he does something asinine to keep us apart. What the hell is wrong with him?” I demand.

  Rage looks back at me with a blank expression. I don’t care. I just continue to vent and scream at him, like he is the one who has wronged me.

  “I’m willing to fight everyone so Marcus and I can stay together. I’ll take on both ‘Cruella/Bianca’ and my sadistic, alcoholic father, but I won’t fight Marcus to be with Marcus. That’s crazy.”

  “Okay but—”

  “--ARGH!!!” I scream into the night sky.

  Now, beyond furious, I kick the nearest tree to me. Naturally, the tree is stronger than me and remains unharmed. Meanwhile, my foot throbs in pain.

  “Human--” Rage starts.

  “—What is so hard about loving someone? Why can’t Marcus just get it?” I beg.

  “Human we have to—”

  “—I am so over this whole ‘star crossed lovers’ bullshit!”

  “Human—”

  “—That is not my name! We’ve been on the same team for weeks now, I really would appreciate it if you would call me by my damn name!”

  “Fine, I will. Emmy--” Rage says carefully.

  “--What?”

  “Let’s go,” he orders.

  “Rage, I don’t want to go home.”

  “Who said anything about home?” He replies mischievously.

  He takes my hand and we go off into the sky. Instead of taking me back to New York, Rage takes me to the south side of Chicago. We are surrounded by loud music, abandoned buildings and the sketchiest looking beings I’ve ever seen.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask.

  “I thought you might like to go to a Demon bar; best place when you’re pissed,” Rage replies.

  He signals for me to follow him across the street to a small red door in between two industrial size trash bins. There is a neon sign above the door that reads, “Damned.”

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  “Or I could take you home, you could eat ice cream, cry and watch “The Notebook” like a million times,” he snipes.

  “I don’t do that,” I challenge.

  He looks at me as if to say he knows I’m lying.

  “Okay, I maybe I do…but I don’t want to be here,” I admit.

  “You’re right, maybe this was a bad idea,” he replies.

  We start to head back across the street and away from the club.

  “What do they do in there?” I ask, turning to look back at the red door.

  “Everything,” Rage replies, with a slight darkness to his tone.

  Judging from the atmosphere of the block we’re on, the club probably contains a bunch of low lifes and Demons.

  Yes, on the other side of the red door, are a ton of beings that don’t have a care in theworld. They don’t follow Omnis’ rules. They don’t care what Paras think. And they aretoo wild; too carefree to give a damn about First Guardians…

  “Rage, wait, let’s go in.”

  When we enter, the first thing we see is a mammoth sized Demon, blocking our path. He has raven wings and eyes like pools of blood. He signals for Rage to look up at the sign above the entryway.

  “We are not responsible for any humans left unattended.”

  Rage says he’s fine with that. The Demon lets us pass. I expected the club to be small, judging by the narrow entrance. But I was wrong. The club has three huge circular platforms that are staggered upward. There are no stairs to connect the platforms to each other. If you want to go from one platform to the next, you have to fly up there.

  Each platform holds hundreds of Demons, Sellers, and even Angels. The rock music blares from the speakers and the crowd jump up and down in a massive mosh pit.

  “What is this place?” I ask Rage.

  “There are a series of clubs dedicated to the 7 deadly sins. This club is 3 of 7. That means it celebrates 3 of the 7 deadly sins; this first level is Anger,” Rage replies.

  That’s where he points to the center of the mob and I see two Demons, beating the hell out of each other while the crowd cheers. The match is vicious. The fighters have torn into each other’s flesh and hurl power balls at each other.

  “They place bets on who gets to kill who,” Rage informs me.

  “Why are there Angels here?” I ask.

  “Not all Angels are…angels,” he replies.

  He goes on to tell me that a lot of the Angels here are on CP or other drugs. They are no longer welcome in Angel society.

  “And Demons are okay with them being here?” I wonder.

  “Sometimes Angels make it out, sometimes they don’t. For the most part, Angels who come here are too high to want to take out Demons, so they don’t really pose a threat. If anything, it’s mostly Demons killing Demons over powers, girls, or just about anything.”

  Rage takes my hand and leads me through the rowdy crowd. We end up toward the back, where a makeshift shooting range has been set up, but instead of paper targets, there are real humans.

  “You can’t let them kill humans, Rage!” I shout.

  “Relax, they’re ‘target’ shadow servants. The club buys them by the truckload. They scream and bleed just like real humans,” Rage replies.

  “I’m surprised you guys don’t use real ones.”

  “Humans are too valuable to waste on target practice,” Rage informs me.

  He goes over to the gun rack, takes out a rifle and hands it over to me. I look at him like he’s lost his mind; he then signals for me to shoot the shadow servants standing yards away.

  “I don’t know how to shoot and even if I did, I can’t shoot them. They look real,” I tell him.

  “Stop being such a good girl. You want to beat the hell out of Marcus, since you can’t do that; do this,” he suggests.

  “I can’t.”

  “Picture Marcus sending you away.”

  I don’t even have time to aim, my anger flares up and I take a shot. A huge ball of fire springs from the tip of my gun. The force knocks me flat on the ground. The Demons around us laugh at my clumsiness. The shot lands nowhere near any of the tied up shadow servants.

  “Did I get him?” I ask Rage as he helps me get back on my feet.

  “No. You were too angry. Don’t get me wrong, anger helps, but not without aim. So try this,” Rage says.

  He puts his arms around me from behind and shows me how to hold the gun. He talks me through the process. I learn how to control my br
eathing, how take the proper firing stance, align my target and squeeze the trigger.

  I follow his instructions closely, inhale and take another shot. This time I am ready for the blast and am able to maintain my balance. Even more impressive, I actually hit the target in his shoulder. “I got’em!” I scream with my hands up in the air.

  “Calm down, Clint Eastwood,” Rage says, laughing at my enthusiasm.

  I don’t care if he laughs. It feels so good to destroy something. I quickly get ready to shoot again. We are at it for nearly half an hour. I am now able to hit them right in the chest. Even Rage is impressed by how quickly I have taken to firing a gun.

  He tells me there are more powerful weapons, demonic weapons, but that I’m not ready for it. I beg him to let me try them out, but he refuses.

  “Fine, but I’m getting a drink,” I inform him.

  I make my way through the crowd and head over to the bar. Rage shakes his head and follows me. He informs me that shooting was the only thing he brought me here to do and that we should go home.

  “Screw home. I’m stay’n,” I reply.

  I sit up at the bar and survey the drinks. All of them are dark colored and thick. They look like something out of a witch’s cauldron. I can’t believe I’m here. Even more surprising, I’m glad to be here.

  “All the drinks are named after human disasters Demons are proud of,” Rage says.

  The bartender pours drinks from large see through viles and into shot glasses. One drink goes from gray to blood red as soon as it hits the glass. Most of the beings at the bar are drinking it.

  “What is that drink called?”

  “Chernobyl.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “A bunch of stuff humans should stay away from.”

  “Good; I’ll have two please,” I tell the bartender.

  Before Rage can object, I drink the shots, one after the other. It feels like I’ve ingested liquid fire. I drop the glass and touch my face expecting it to be in flames; it’s not. It’s just a feeling and it goes away as quickly as it came. Now I feel lighter. Rage tells me it works like human alcohol, expect it does in one shot what most drinks can do in ten. I order three more.