Forgiven

by Gina Detwiler

  “How’s your dad?” she asks as she does her makeup at the bathroom mirror. I stand in the doorway and watch—Bree’s an artist with an eyebrow pencil.

  “He’s okay. Cancer’s in remission. The doctors say it could last for months. Years even. He goes for scans every three months. That’s nerve wracking. But so far, so good.”

  “Cool. I saw that your stepdad Harry Ravel is running for governor of California.”

  “Ugh. Don’t call him that. But yes, that’s true.” The thought of my mother becoming First Lady of California turns my insides out.

  “He’s leading in the polls too. Everyone says he’ll win.”

  “Yeah. He promised to balance the budget, and she promised to kill all the vampires.”

  We both laugh.

  “You and Jared…okay?”

  “Oh yeah. Sure.”

  “Any…plans?”

  “Like what?”

  “To get married?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  She turns to face me. “No, I’m not. Haven’t you talked about it?”

  “We can’t get married. He’s a…you know what he is.”

  “What difference does that make? You love each other, right?”

  “Yeah, but think about it. In twenty years, I’ll be forty and he’ll still look like a teenager. Not to mention all the other issues.”

  “What other issues?”

  “You know what other issues! We could never have a normal marriage like other people.”

  “Why not? I mean, what if you’re wrong?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “About the curse. What if all those bad things you think will happen don’t? I mean, things have changed. Jared’s not the same as he was. Neither are you.”

  I don’t tell her how often I’ve thought of it. Jared and I married and living together in some cottage in the country with a couple of kids—adopted, of course—a dog, a cat, maybe even a goldfish. But then I get to the part about me being an old lady and him still being young and beautiful, and it grosses me out.

  So where does that leave us? I try not to think about it. I pretend there is no future. I’m only twenty. Plenty of time.

  “I heard your new song.” Bree starts to apply glittery black makeup to my face. “Only Human. Great title.”

  “How did you know it was ours?” Jared and I don’t perform our own music anymore. We like being anonymous songwriters now.

  “It’s obvious. You guys have a certain style. And theme. Everyone knows.”

  “They do?”

  “Of course, silly! Don’t you pay attention to social media?”

  “I try not to.”

  “I miss Forlorn,” she says wistfully. “Hey! I have an idea! We should do a reunion concert. Like the Stones.”

  “We only did one concert in our whole career.”

  “So?”

  I laugh. “Sometimes I want to. But no, it would be impossible. Too much…collateral damage.”

  Bree sighs and focuses on my makeup again. “How’s Penny?”

  “Okay. She still has some trouble from the injury. It’s hard for her to remember things. She’s going to night school to finish her GED. Ralph wants her to go to college. She’s really smart, and she studies like crazy. More than I ever did.”

  “And you still don’t want to go to college?”

  “I’ve thought about it. But going to a school, to actual classes with all those people…it’s not for me. Maybe I’ll try an online course in something.”

  “Grace, you’re becoming a hermit.” Her voice drips reproach.

  “Hey, I’m here, right? In New York City, about to attend a public event?”

  “In disguise.”

  “Well, I’m still going.”

  She sighs, gives up the argument, and finishes my makeup. I look in the mirror and gasp. She’s painted huge silver wings around my eyes and doused my lips in black paint.

  “I’m a nightmare.”

  “That’s the idea. Come on. Let’s go see our demon boyfriends.”

  3: God Only Knows

  Jared

  I put the demon mask on and stare at myself in the mirror.

  Maybe this isn’t a disguise. Maybe this is the real me.

  “Looks good.” Ethan’s voice is muffled by his mask of the current President of the United States. We both wear black capes with the ends attached to our wrists so they flare when we raise our arms. Like Dracula. Ethan enjoys flapping.

  “Is this how it feels to be you?” He’s trying to be funny.

  “Sometimes.”

  “This mask is as hot as Hades.” He takes it off and runs a hand through his damp hair. Sweat pours down the side of his face—a combination of heat and nerves. He tosses the mask on the bed. “Where are the girls? We’re gonna be late!”

  We aren’t, but I don’t say so. “I’ll check.” I text Grace and report her reply. “They’ll be here in a minute.”

  “A minute? How long is a minute for those two?”

  “Relax, Ethan. I’m going outside.” I head to the balcony to avoid his incessant fretting. The wind is brisk and cool, speckled with rain. I take my mask off and let the fresh, misty air bathe my face. My gaze drifts to the sidewalk below. Only four stories, an easy jump. I suppress the urge to fly from this balcony to the sidewalk below.

  “Don’t jump.” I whirl around. Grace stands in the doorway, shivering. At least I think it’s her. She’s all in black with the most ridiculous makeup. She smiles and extends her arms to make her cape flare. “Like my new look?”

  “Not particularly.”

  She stands beside me at the rail, glances down, and swoons a little.

  “Want to go down that way?” she whispers.

  “Not tonight.” I push back her hood and touch her hair. I’m still not used to the color. She rests her head against my shoulder and her arm slides around my waist under my cape.

  “Don’t get makeup on me.”

  “Ha. You’re really warm. Are you sure you’ll be okay? No…flare-ups?”

  “I have it under control.”

  Her hand creeps under my shirt and rests against my skin. I feel the familiar twinge, half pleasure, half pain, and my body becomes an electric current running through us both. Her heart beats in sync with mine.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go,” I say. “Maybe it’s too soon…”

  “We have to go. Come on, it’ll be fun. We only have to stay for the presentation. Okay?”

  I sigh and kiss the top of her head.

  “Hey, lovebirds! Let’s go already!” Ethan’s annoyed voice breaks us apart.

  “We’re coming.”

  ***

  The Meatpacking District, once a block of slaughterhouses, is now a neighborhood of trendy, retro shops and lofts. We walk to the convention hall in our silly costumes, drawing curious stares and muffled laughter. Bree capitalizes on the attention by belting her version of the Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive,” with all the requisite disco moves. She coaxes Grace to join in. They dance down the sidewalk like goofy teenagers. Even Ethan has to smile.

  “Stayin’ Alive.” The song brings Azazel to my mind. My father. Not my biological father, who died over a hundred years ago. But Azazel the Watcher is still alive, despite the fact that Grace and I had gone into the Abyss and killed him. Or we thought we did. Turns out we were wrong.

  I can sense him now. Whenever he is awake, when he is active or excited, the sensation starts as a faint tremor at the base of my skull and radiates down my spine to the tips of my fingers. I hear him whisper my name in that broken pipe voice of his. Jared. Jared. Jared. Just that.

  Nothing else.

  The convention hall resembles the slaughterhouse it once was—a low, long brick building with a corona of windows under the ceiling. Did I work in one of these places a long time ago? It’s familiar—unnervingly so.

  Already, a long line of gaming enthusiasts wait at the door. When we reach the entrance, we show our tickets and receiv
e a pat-down from brusque security guards. I balk when one of them asks me to remove my mask. When I reluctantly acquiesce, he grunts and waves us through. He doesn’t recognize me.

  Grace sticks close as we enter the main hall, her clammy hand clasped to mine. Over the past two years, she’s rarely left her loft except to come to the Hobbit Hole, where I live with Ralph. She says she doesn’t like leaving her dad alone, but I know that isn’t the whole reason. I understand her fear. Every time either of us steps out into the world, bad things tend to happen. We can’t escape the sensation of being hunted.

  Roving beams of colored light pervade the hall, accompanied by the pulsing bass of electronic rock music. Huge posters of video games cover the weathered brick walls. Trusses crisscross the ceiling, revealing broken expanses of blue-black sky. Hundreds of chairs are set up before an enormous video screen. The crowd converges on food tables and the bar, which extends down one whole side of the room. Medieval warriors and wizards intermingle with futuristic soldiers, and demons of many varieties. There are plenty of angels too. Several of the costumes have their own lighting and one seems to be on fire.

  I look around for real angels. Usually, I can see them, but not always. Only if they choose to reveal themselves. Demons—the real ones—are prevalent. The whole building hums with death—it was once a killing place, after all. We’ve barely arrived, and already I want to leave.

  Ethan and Bree had gone in before us to alleviate suspicion. Speculation on social media suggested Grace and I would come to our friend’s big night, so even masked, we thought it prudent to stay separated as much as possible.

  “Look. A Loganberry fountain!” Grace points to a silver fountain flowing with purple liquid. “Ethan must have requested that.” An homage to his hometown and Grace’s personal obsession. She holds a plastic cup under one of the fonts, slurps down the contents and offers me a taste, but I refuse. I can’t stand the stuff.

  We stroll past the vendor’s booths where people can demo the games. The Wrath of the Watchers booth is mobbed. A huge poster looms above the display depicting a big, blond guy and a red-haired girl bulging with muscles wearing in souped-up battle armor. The guy wields a gigantic sword, the woman sports a high-tech bow. Their faces are set in grim determination, hardened and self-assured as only video game characters can be.

  “Is that supposed to be us?” Grace giggles.

  “You look badass.”

  “Where’d that bow come from? I didn’t have a bow.”

  “It’s a game, Grace.”

  “Ethan said there was this whole team of designers that came up with the characters based on his description. But I guess you can make whatever character you want in the real game.”

  The music intrudes from the live band, hard-core metal that jangles my nerves. I turn to the stage and my spine stiffens. The lead singer wears an angel costume identical to the one I wore when I played with Blood Moon.

  Grace sees it too. “No way. I hope that wasn’t Ethan’s idea.”

  I’m surprised at the memories that costume brings back, not all of them terrible. But mainly, I think of Daniel Crowder, aka Lester Crow, the man who blackmailed me into joining his band, who abused me and threatened me and drove me nearly crazy…and probably saved my life.

  “Hey!” Bree and Ethan come up behind us. Grace jumps. Bree laughs. “See that? You didn’t know how famous you were, did you? I mean, after Blood Moon and then the Shannon wedding thing.”

  “I was hoping everyone would have forgotten about that by now,” Grace says.

  “Are you kidding? It’s not just a story anymore. It’s a legend.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with that.” Ethan points to the band. “Just so you know.”

  A voice comes over the loudspeaker, announcing that the presentation is about to begin. Everyone scrambles for a seat. Bree and Ethan sit in the front row, but I pull Grace to the back. She protests. “I need to get a good picture!”

  “It’s safer.”

  A handsome, bearded black man takes the stage and speaks into a microphone.

  “Welcome, everyone, to the fourth annual GAME-ON Launch Party!” The crowd cheers. “I’m Ross Chapman, as you probably already know. Tonight, we will show you the trailers for some incredible new games that will literally knock your socks off!”

  Applause. Grace leans over and whispers, “Literally?”

  What follows is thirty minutes of high-tech explosions, weird creatures, pseudo-humans getting murdered in every imaginable way, weaponry that has yet to be invented, superheroes and monsters destroying whole cities—in short, Azazel’s world. No wonder he is awake and alert, whispering to me. After each trailer there is raucous applause and the designer is invited on the stage to talk about his or her work. Ethan is probably having a heart attack right now, preparing to get up on stage in front of all these people.

  The Wrath of the Watchers is the last trailer to be shown.

  Grace digs her nails into my arm as a verse from Genesis appears on the screen:

  The Nephilim were on the earth in those days,

  and also afterward,

  when the sons of God came in to the daughters of men,

  and they bore children to them.

  The screen lights up with the image of a boy and girl running through a cave filled with enormous, spear-shaped crystals. I almost laugh. In the film I am clad in futuristic body armor while in reality, I had worn a pair of fleece long-johns. Grace’s character wears a skin-tight outfit that’s nothing like the actual parka and fleece pants she had on in the Abyss. But I guess that wouldn’t have looked nearly as cool.

  There is a moment when the two heroes are together, frozen, and their faces are in close-up. They do look like us. Right down to the angel pendant my character wears. Grace sees it too and her fingers go to her neck, where the pendant now rests.

  The music up to this point has been rumbling and ominous, but then, with a thunder of drums, the Watchers appear, one after the other, huge angel-demon creatures in a variety of colors. Some of them look startlingly realistic with their twisted limbs and blank white eyes. The heroes fight each of them with lightning swords and martial arts and a bow that shoots little flaming bombs. None of that actually happened, except for the sword. It was an angel sword and pretty awesome.

  The trailer ends as the two humans and the angels come upon the lair of Azazel. Just before they go through the crystal maze that would reveal the enemy they had come to destroy, the screen goes to black.

  Grace lets out a breath, her body going limp. I take her hand, relieved the trailer didn’t show the rest of that scene. Azazel had lured me with his flattering lies into nearly killing Grace, and in the end, my father and I went into the pit of fire together.

  Except we didn’t.

  The crowd applauds with surprising enthusiasm.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Grace whispers.

  “Actually, it was kind of cool.”

  “That was literally incredible,” says Ross, retaking the stage. “Let’s talk to the designer, who was only seventeen years old when he created this game. Literally! Seventeen! Incredible!”

  Ross continues to talk, but I no longer listen. The room grows darker, the overhead lights dimmed by some unseen presence. I look up just as a shadow passes over the skylights, moving stealthily. Then another. My unease deepens.

  I survey all the entrances. Security guards stand motionless, their hands folded before them as they gaze without interest over the crowd. I scan the room for any suspicious activity, people who don’t belong or who might be hiding guns. Or bombs.

  Then something hot presses against my back. I spin around but nothing is there.

  I hear a voice, clear as day:

  Leave. Now.

  It’s Ariel.

  ***

  I grab Grace’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  “We can’t! Ethan is about to go on stage! I need a picture for Ralph and Silas and Penny.” She holds her phone u
p as Ross introduces the game designers.

  “Please welcome the seventeen-year-old wunderkind, now a sophomore at Cornell University, Ethan Ellerman!”

  Ethan climbs the steps to the stage and shakes hands with Ross and the GAME-ON sponsors. Cameras flash. Ethan smiles awkwardly as the crowd cheers.

  Go!

  I nudge Grace again, but she ignores me.

  “Ethan!” Ross traps Ethan in an over-eager side hug. “That trailer literally took my breath away. So, what are these Watchers, anyway?”

  “They’re fallen angels…” Ethan stammers, his face bright red. He stares at the audience with a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

  “Whoa, angels. Bad angels, even better. We are all getting a little tired of zombies.” Ross laughs. “What inspired you to come up with the idea?”

  “Well… I…uh…read about the Watchers and how they were bound in this underground prison called the Abyss…”

  “That’s awesome.” Ross cuts him off. “While I’ve got you up here, everyone is dying to know what’s happened to your friends Jared Lorn and Grace Fortune. You all were in that band together, right? And then there was all that fuss with Blood Moon and Jared coming back to life and all… But since then, they seem to have literally disappeared. So what happened to them?”

  “Oh, they’re fine.” Ethan’s voice squeaks.

  “Any chance they’re here tonight?”

  Murmurs erupt. People start looking around. I stiffen, my hand on Grace’s arm. She lowers the phone.

  “Uh, no. They couldn’t come.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. Tell me something, though. Did Jared and Grace have anything to do with this game? I mean, did they help you at all with its creation? Because I couldn’t help but notice that your two heroes look an awful lot like them. I figured they must have inspired you in some way, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Well, the game is literally amazing. Okay, gamers, let’s hear it one more time for all these amazing designers!”

  Once the applause starts, I pull Grace out of the seat and steer her toward the exit, brushing past the guards and the ticket takers.

  I push the main doors open just as a woman comes in.