Lucifer's Pride

by G. P. Ching

  Fatima laughed. “Oh, I see. I wouldn’t want to delay you from the test.”

  He turned to leave. “Before you go…”

  Michael turned back around and let out a scream. The woman was a giant spider again, and this time, she attacked. Her pinchers dug into his left biceps. He fumbled for the torch on the wall and swung it at her head. The spider reared, then flew to the ceiling, scampering back to her web.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Mike ran for the exit, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he squeezed through the crack in the mountain. Confederate posses and man-eating spiders. Mike hated this place. He paused to pull his jacket tighter around him. He was back in the woods, the ice and blowing snow chilling him to the bone.

  His shoulder throbbed and he looked down at the spot where Fate had bitten him. Although the fabric of his suit jacket was intact, the flesh beneath ached. He wrestled off the jacket and rolled his sleeve. The flesh was torn but healing, dark scars striping his upper arm in a pattern not unlike a tribal tattoo. Great. The spot tingled with the spider’s poison. He rolled his shoulder, then rotated his wrist in an attempt to stretch the ache from the muscle.

  A silver shimmer fanned across his palm. “Huh?” He turned his hand over, palm down and the shimmer went away. Palm up and it was back. He raised his hand. The projection from his palm was not unlike the silver web the spider had shown him. He looked through it, toward a nearby tree.

  He cursed. Where the tree once was, a series of cords branched off in all directions, each one with a different story to tell. Michael saw the tree as an acorn, then as a sapling, then in various stages of growth, bending in a storm’s gusts and singed in a forest fire. He lowered his hand, and the cords blurred together, becoming the adult tree. As he tried to digest what the vision meant, he heard a scream.

  The man, the escaped slave, they were hurting him, maybe killing him. Michael ran toward the sound. He had to help the man. He may be only one person, but his father’s story had inspired him. One man could make a world of difference.

  He reached a clearing where his worst fears came to life. They’d strung a noose over the branch of a tree and placed it around the man’s neck. He was seated on a horse whose reins were in the hand of one of the posse. On instinct, Mike reached for the triquetra around his neck but it wasn’t there. He’d have to do this the hard way. Flying from the woods, he grabbed the dagger straight from the hip of the closest man and hurled himself into the air. The horse spooked, but Mike was already there, slicing through the rope as the man dropped. He landed on his feet and ran into the woods. Mike pivoted, raising the blade toward the men, and placing his body between them and the escaping slave.

  The posse raised their guns.

  He could throw his weapon and take out one of them, but he’d be shot before he could make his next move.

  “Use the gift I gave you.” He heard on the wind. His eyes panned up to a spider hanging from a web in a nearby tree. He lowered the dagger.

  The men cursed and called him names, closing in. He ignored them. Flipping his hand over, he stared at them through the silver threads that appeared above his palm. As the threads fanned out, he saw the first man as a baby and then as a ruby-faced youth.

  “What do I do?” he asked the spider.

  “Pluck the string,” she said, and it sounded like she was smiling.

  Mike reached across his arm and plucked the string that showed the man as a baby. The guy collapsed, rolling onto his back and kicking his legs in the air.

  “What did you do to him?” the second man yelled.

  Michael focused on him and plucked a string that showed him sick in bed. He dropped like a fly, his skin turning red with fever.

  The third man fired his weapon. Mike dodged the bullet, then focused his gift. With a pluck of the string, he heard a snap, the man reliving a past break of his leg. He crumbled to the ground, screaming.

  “Voodoo,” the fourth man yelled. He tried to run, but Mike focused on his back and plucked a string. He called out as a swarm of invisible bees began to sting him.

  “None of this is real,” Mike murmured.

  “No. But it will seem real to them,” the spider said. “Don’t get smug. It only lasts a few minutes. I suggest you take the horse and get out of here.”

  He hoisted himself into the saddle and nodded at the spider. “Thank you.”

  She bowed in her web.

  Mike clucked his tongue and took off down the path.

  16

  Hero

  It was late when Finn heard Theodor stumble into the apartment, mumbling what Finn assumed was an old British drinking song. With a flick of his wrist, Finn cast a noise-blocking spell around the loft, the same one they’d cast on the apartment. Wendy needed her sleep. She didn’t need to be woken by Theodor’s raucous drunkenness or what Finn planned to say to him.

  A heavy thud preceded Theodor’s laugh. Finn climbed out of bed to find his mentor sprawled on the floor, laughing at the ceiling. Confronting him in this condition, clearly drunk and barely sentient, wasn’t optimal, but it had to be done. Who knew when they’d be alone again?

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Finn marched to Theodor’s side and looked down his nose at him.

  Theodor waved the long tapered fingers of his right hand. “Finn, my boy, come lie next to me and look at the stars.”

  “You’re not looking at the stars. You’re looking at the ceiling.”

  The older man snorted, his lips peeling back into a grin and his stomach vibrating with his laughter. “I see stars.” He shrugged.

  Finn didn’t find it funny at all. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dying?”

  Filling his cheeks with air, Theodor blew out a breath that reeked of bourbon. “You’re not supposed to know about that.”

  “Yeah? Well, I do. And I want to know why.”

  “Why? Because I left the island. It was the star that was keeping me young, and if I was a Soulkeeper at some point, I am no longer. I should be one hundred and eighteen years old. Without magic, I’d already be dead. Even with, no one can hold back the tide of time forever.”

  “Not why you are aging,” Finn snapped. “I know why you are aging. I want to know why you never told me.”

  Bringing his hand to his mouth, he snorted, then held a finger in front of his lips. “Shhh. You’re too loud.”

  “Tell me.” Finn did not lower his voice.

  “I know you, Finn. You’d try to save me. You’re always trying to save people at your own expense. It’s practically habit.”

  “You need to go back to the island. If you can get through the gate, the magic will stop you from aging.”

  “If I could get through the gate, I wouldn’t be aging. I’d be a Soulkeeper. And judging by your old instructor, Soulkeepers don’t age like everyone else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Orelon, your old aerial instructor, he should be… eighty by now, but he hasn’t aged a day since they left the island. Neither has Amuke, but to be sure, I can’t remember how old he actually is.”

  “Soulkeepers don’t age.”

  Theodor shrugged. “I’m sure they age eventually, but it appears being a Soulkeeper mitigated the side effect of accelerated aging caused by the island’s magic.”

  Considering this, Finn sat down in the leather chair. “How old is Kirsa supposed to be?”

  With a surprised arch of his eyebrows, Theodor gave him a quizzical expression. “Older than she looks.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “The Devil’s magic, I suppose. She gave him her soul. He keeps her young.” Theodor circled his hand in the air.

  At first thought the explanation made sense, but Finn didn’t fully accept that answer. “But how did he do it? He’s cut off from the source of his power, which means he’s using sorcery available here on Earth. Sorcery like we use. If the Devil can stop Kirsa from aging, why can’t we stop you?”

  Theodor’s smile faded and a gr
eat sigh parted his lips. “I don’t want to stop it.”

  “What?”

  “I’m old. I’ve lived my life. I’ve loved and lost. It’s time for me to die.”

  “No. That’s stupid. If we work together, we can fix this. I know we can.”

  “Maybe you could. You are more powerful than any magician I’ve ever known. But what you’d have to do would be dark, deadly magic. Magic I would not want associated with me. The Devil’s magic is ancient and evil. You don’t come back from it unchanged. You can’t dip a toe into magic like that. You have to dive in deep, over your head. It’s not worth it.” Stretching, he nested his fingers and cradled the back of his head in them.

  “So… That’s it? You’re going to give up and die?”

  With a sharp inhale, Theodor smiled broadly. He laughed at Finn until tears formed in his eyes. “I’m not giving up. I’m moving on. Death is but a doorway, after all. It is time for me to see what’s on the other side.” He went back to staring at the ceiling as if he could honestly see the stars. “Don’t worry, Finn. I’ll fix you before I go.”

  “Fix me? Fix. Me. I’m not going to be what kills you. You may be looking forward to your journey through the doorway, but I’ll be stuck here trying to train Wendy, figure out how we can help the Soulkeepers, and wondering if I’ve completely lost my soul as well as my power. Not going to happen, you selfish—”

  “Don’t say something you’ll regret.” Theodor shot him a disarming look that didn’t match his inebriated state.

  “Then I guess I can’t say anything at all.” Fury brewing, Finn stormed out of the apartment and slammed the door behind him.

  The streets of New Orleans were laced with a dark energy at night, as if an ancient power stretched under the surface of the city, latent but real. It coated the back of Finn’s throat like a metallic aftertaste. This was a city of secrets, a city of magic, and he was now part of it. He’d never been more powerful than he was right now, and there’d never been more of a need for him to use that power.

  “Extinguish,” he whispered, and his body disappeared. He reached Saint Louis Cemetery and stood before the gate. His mind kept telling him to turn back, and he fought the pressing desire to forget the graveyard was there. That was what the spell on this place did.

  “Finn?” HORU appeared in his peripheral vision, beamed from his earpiece.

  “What is it?”

  “Whatever is around this place is scrambling my signals. If you get much closer, I won’t be able to come with you.”

  Finn frowned but screwed up his courage. “It’s okay, HORU. You wait here. I’ll do this alone.”

  “Fi—” He removed his earpiece, and she blinked out of existence. He set it down by the corner of the gate.

  Placing his hand on the lock, he whispered, “Unbind.” To his surprise, there was a click and the gate swung open. He waited, expecting Ravenguard to rush him and take him by the throat. Surely Lucifer had done more to secure the boundary.

  Then again, maybe Lucifer did have a spell in place and he was being watched. Invisible as he was, he wasn’t taking any chances. With a twist of his shoulders, he disseminated directly to the place he’d come for, a mausoleum on the fringes of the graveyard. He re-formed alone between the walls of two graves. It was here, not so long ago, that he’d argued with Ms. D about his tattoos. He understood now that she only wanted the best for him. She’d known the trouble he was getting himself into, even if he didn’t know the exact price he would pay for his choices. He hadn’t listened, and now he was here, standing in the dense fog that surrounded the cemetery, listening for the Devil.

  When he was sure he was alone, he turned to the crack in the tomb wall. This was where he’d told Ms. D to hide the dagger. Did she take his advice? Hope had said she’d hidden it in the cemetery. That didn’t mean it was here, where he’d suggested she hide it.

  He squatted down and reached his hand into the crack. The spicy tingle of magic raced up his hand toward his shoulder. It was here all right, but it was protected, cloaked in a spell that made it practically undetectable. Now that he knew where it was though…

  The symbols on his arms came alive. He ran the tips of his fingers along the spell, feeling its contours and rough edges, finding its weak points. With a grunt, he plowed his own magic into that enchantment, cracking it at its seams. His grip tightened and he withdrew the obsidian dagger. With the polished, symbol-engraved hilt in hand, he rotated the rough-hewn blade in the moonlight. He’d done it! Now, to get it back to the apartment where he could keep it safe until he saw Hope again.

  Concentrating on the apartment, Finn twisted his shoulders and disseminated again. He re-formed still clutching the blade. Only, he wasn’t where he’d told his body to go. This was not his apartment. Instead, he was in a living room with a plaid sofa and a roaring fire. He noticed Ravenguard first, sitting in an armchair sipping a cup of tea. He felt cold suddenly, despite the sweltering heat of the small room.

  Lucifer oozed from the shadows, his dark eyes burning with hellish fire.

  “Finn Wager, so we meet again.”

  17

  The Initiate

  It was possible that Michael had never in his life been this tired. He trotted away from the spider and the Confederate posse feeling heavy with what he’d learned from Fate. Not who his father was, per se. He was getting a handle on that. Deep inside, he’d always held on to the hope that his father would return someday and in his wildest dreams, he’d pictured living with him and his aunt, the day to day of being a family. Normalcy. Love.

  That dream was gone now. His father wasn’t missing; he was dead. He was never coming home. All he had was Aunt Millie, as it had always been. He was thankful for her, but seeing his mother and his father in the web made him long for the family that was stolen from him.

  Deep in thought, at first he didn’t notice the weather change. The snow stopped, the ice melted. Eventually though, he grew hot in his jacket. It was almost as if he’d passed from winter into spring over a few miles.

  Tugging the reins, he stopped the horse in a grove of oak trees. Time had said he’d have to release what he desired most. Fate had said he desired to be normal, but that was only part of it. He now realized what he’d wanted most was a normal family. Sure, he might someday have a wife and children, but he’d never have a mother and a father, never be tucked in at night by the people who’d brought him into this world. Somehow that was okay though. Now that he knew who his father was and what he’d done for the world, Mike couldn’t help but feel proud.

  He found two sticks and tied them together in the shape of a cross with a decorative leather tie he stripped from the saddle of his stolen horse. Once he plunged it into the ground, he folded his hands and prayed for his father and mother. He’d never attended a proper funeral for either of his parents. So, he gave them one himself.

  Then he decided to let them both go.

  When he turned back around, the horse was gone. He was standing on an English moor, and he was alone. It was impossible to tell what time it was based on the sky or position of the sun. There was no sun. He pulled out the pocket watch Time had given him and felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Day three. No wonder he was so tired. When had he lost so much time?

  “It works differently here.”

  Michael looked up from the watch to find a boy about his age staring at him. Distinctly British, the boy’s dark suit and stiff demeanor belied his otherwise friendly features. He was dressed for a funeral.

  “Hello,” Mike said because he wasn’t sure what else to say. “Um. What works differently here?”

  “Time. It conforms to the situation. The In-Between does not revolve around the sun as your Earth does.”

  “Oh.” Mike remained silent, but when the other boy didn’t speak for a long stretch, the awkwardness factor went through the roof. “Uh, who are you?”

  “Henry.” Mike sensed there was a reason the boy didn’t elaborate.

  “Henry
, do you know where I’m supposed to go next?”

  A door appeared beside him, a familiar door. White wood with scuff marks at the bottom where he and his aunt had to kick it open. The door always stuck.

  “Why is the door to my aunt’s room next to you?”

  “She’s dying, Michael, and only you can Heal her.”

  “That’s why I’m here, to become the Healer and then heal her.”

  “What if she doesn’t wish to be healed?”

  Mike raised his chin and made a sound like a growl. “What are you talking about? My aunt wants to live. She’s only in her fifties. She’s got a full life ahead of her.”

  “Does she? Or is this her time? Your aunt is a religious woman. Perhaps she’s ready to go home.”

  One shake of his head and Mike dismissed the notion. “No. She would never choose to give up. She’s all the family I have. She knows how much I need her.”

  “So, her living is about you and your needs?”

  “Who are you?” Mike marched to the boy, his fists curling tighter.

  “Henry.”

  “Why are you here? What do you know about my aunt?”

  “I am Death. I am the immortal who will usher your aunt’s soul on to Heaven when she goes. She has a good soul. A pristine soul. She’ll be welcomed there with open arms.”

  Mike paced in front of the door. “Why… why are you asking me if my aunt wants to die?”

  “I wondered if you’d considered it. You came here, ready to die to save her. Now that you know what you know, would you become the Healer even if she chose to die anyway?”

  “It isn’t a fair question. She’s unconscious. Neither you nor I could ever know what she wants because we can’t ask her.”

  “I can ask her.” Henry stepped forward between Mike and the door. “If we pass through this door, I can ask her soul what she’d prefer. The question is, are you willing to honor her wishes?”