by Ryan Hill
“We don’t,” Veronica said, matter-of-factly. “This is just for fun.”
The spear kept extending, though, the dark tip larger than the one used to wound Sam, and then suddenly the dark side of the spear came to life, breaking apart into five metallic tentacles. My eyes bulged. Spirit sank. This was not a toy I wanted to play with. Each tentacle pointed itself at a different part of my body. Two at my feet, two at my hands, and one at my side.
“Are you trying to replicate You-Know-Who’s crucifixion injuries on me?” I asked. “You’re just adding insult to injury now.”
Veronica looked over to her parents, who whispered amongst themselves. Buffy grinned at Veronica, nodding approval, and the tentacle aimed at my side shifted direction, positioning itself in front of my chest.
“Much better,” I said, feigning confidence. “You’ve got to have stand–”
The tentacles shot into my body. I couldn’t say for sure because of the excruciating pain, but it felt like each tentacle had another five little tentacles extended inside me. The tentacles acted as industrial-powered vacuums, sucking out everything physical and metaphysical, and anything else real or unimagined that was housed in my body.
In situations like this, there was only one good way to respond, and that was screaming bloody murder.
Black blood oozed from each of the wounds, the tentacles glowing as they ingested my blood. Somewhere, hidden in the haze of pain that would make the most sadistic person wince, I felt the spear sucking the evil out of me. The agony hit me all over my body. Not even my toenails were spared. It made sense, considering every part of me was consumed with evil. That didn’t make the torture any better, though.
My strength was leaving me. Without Kenan’s magic holding me in place, I’d have collapsed. I smirked. If Gabriel were here, he’d figure Veronica was doing me a favor, yanking the damnation out of me. I hoped that even the will to survive would get sucked up by the spear. Without evil, what was the point?
Worse, once Veronica finished with me, the Caelo would have everything they needed to create their Paradise.
It might’ve been the extreme weakness talking, but I wanted to die. Once Paradise was created, Sam and I would officially have lost. In that case, I hoped Veronica and the Caelo would let me die. Toss my dead body in the nearest dumpster and go on their merry way. Anything to avoid seeing their Paradise come to fruition.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Not Good (Metaphorically and Literally)
The tentacles pulled out of my body, coming together as one before retreating into the spear. The five gaping wounds left in my body burned like the air itself was toxic. The hole in my chest wasn’t any larger than the others, but that didn’t stop me from wheezing with each breath. Not counting Remy melting me, the last time I’d been in it this bad was when I accidentally destroyed Pompeii.
Each end of the spear had its own distinct glow, now, as Veronica twisted the tips back into the handle. Upon finishing, the handle took on a golden hue. It seemed Kenan and the others had everything they needed to create their own theocracy.
Or did they?
I was in too much pain to know for sure. The only thing I was sure of was that this was the first time in my existence that I truly felt violated. Kudos to Veronica, I guessed.
The half-demon held the spear tight as she moved in close, kissing me on the cheek.
“Thank you.” She traced the outline of my lips with her tongue. “For everything.”
I wanted to headbutt her. Perhaps say something horrible, like she looked fat in that outfit. Or tell her I could see cellulite jiggling in her legs. Anything to show defiance. But my strength and willpower failed me. I did, however, have an abundance of saliva and blood in my mouth.
So, I drooled.
Veronica reeled back, shocked at the mixture of blood and spit rolling down my mouth. The drool plopped onto the floor, almost landing on her yellow pumps. It hurt to raise my head and see, but her terrified face was priceless. Her jaw dropped, and her eyes were wide with horror and disgust. I let out a bubbly, blood-filled ha, ha. Veronica raised the spear, probably in the hopes of moving my nose a couple of inches to the right, but Kenan caught the spear before the half-demon delivered the blow.
“Let him have this one,” Kenan said, taking her by the shoulder with affection and understanding. “Soon he’ll be nothing more than an ant to you, if that.”
I smiled, letting more blood and spit run down my chin.
Kenan shook his head at me, then led his daughter over to Bunny and Arthur. The four of them stood in a semi-circle around the divine spark, which grew with each additional soul from the Mop Tops. Kenan and his comrades laid a hand on the spear, then held it closer and closer to the spark, until the spear assimilated into the ball, along with their hands.
“I offer unto thee the souls of the innocent, the mark of the pure, and the mark of the evil,” Kenan said in Latin. It was something to that effect. Once Latin evolved into the Romance languages, only blowhards and pompous douches like Kenan spoke the “official” version. “Grant me divination over the Heavens.”
Bunny repeated the words. She and Kenan’s forearms took on a light blue glow.
“Grant me divination over the underworld.” Veronica’s forearm turned red.
“Grant me divination over the mortal realm,” Arthur said. Nothing happened to him, probably because there wasn’t a color associated with reality. If I had to choose one, I’d have gone with brown, because the world, by and large, stunk worse than a crew of sailors after a sixty-day trek across the Atlantic.
The spark shook. It was becoming unstable, like it was about to explode. The sphere shifted and stretched … then reverted to its previous place and size. I wondered if the four of them were incapable of handling the power of so many souls.
An arc shot out from the spark, barely missing Bunny. I wished Remy were up here instead of keeping watch over Jurgen. One of those arcs could rip out the Creole’s heart, killing him instantly.
“Is that supposed to happen?” Bunny gasped.
“Something isn’t right,” Arthur said, looking to Kenan for guidance.
“Maybe it just takes a little while to get going,” he said, jumping over an arc that almost took out his feet.
Suddenly Veronica screamed and tried to pull herself free from the spark, but it refused to let go. “My hand is burning!”
“Mine too.” Bunny also struggled to escape. “What’s going on?”
The spark turned orange and its movements became more jerky and violent. I didn’t know what would happen if it blew, but chances were the only thing remaining of Sam and me would be the charred outlines of our bodies.
“Let’s try repeating the séance,” Arthur said.
The four of them repeated the Latin phrases, but that only seemed to make things worse. Small waves pulsed throughout. The heat worsened until I could feel it on my face. Then the divine spark latched onto everyone in the group, wrapping around their forearms. The hands jerked and twisted them around, making it difficult for them to keep their balance. They tried to free themselves, but it was like their hands were trapped in dry cement.
With the spark looking volatile, I had a hunch it’d explode sooner rather than later. If that happened, at least I’d go back to Hell in a blaze of glory. Wait. Supposing I blew up, I’d only be going from one blaze to another. That blew hot dog chunks.
“What did we do wrong?” Kenan shouted. “We’ve got everything we ne–”
His eyes darted over to me, a sober, hard look washing over him.
“You… you’re…” Kenan could barely get the words out. “You’re not pure evil.”
It was my turn to have a sober, hard look overcome me. “What?”
“You’re tainted,” Kenan said. “With good.”
Was that possible? Pure evil still ran through the veins of ex-demons. That didn’t just go away like a rain shower. Horns or not, evil was part of my DNA. Leaving Hell didn’t change that.
<
br /> I was more confused than anything. Kenan and Arthur’s plan hinged on taking my evil, but what if it’d been going away on its own this whole time? That should’ve been a relief. Veronica didn’t take the building blocks of my identity with that spear; I’d been doing it myself. It was disappointing to learn there might be good in me, and I feared that’d put all plans to turn Ozzy into a Hell Hound on indefinite hold. At least the pooch had known to run off before all this brouhaha went down.
On the plus side, I got no small amount of joy watching panic overtake Kenan and the others because of their colossal mistake.
Bunny’s screams intensified and smoke appeared from the orb. Once the smell hit me, I knew the smoke was coming from the foursome’s burning flesh. The Mop Tops continued feeding souls to the spark, unaware that their leaders were in trouble. It was like the Caelo in Terra followers were stuck in some weird trance. Not that it mattered if they were in a trance or not. I figured the spark would envelop Arthur, Kenan, and the ladies, then explode, killing all of us. I closed my eyes and welcomed my coming doom, laughing that I was somehow not purely evil, despite all evidence to the contrary.
“We’re not getting out of this one, are we?” Sam asked.
“Nope, but I wouldn’t worry,” I said. “Once things go ka-boom, you’ll wake up in Heaven as if nothing happened.”
“So? I don’t want to blow up. Do you?”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “Though I don’t see that we have much of a choice.”
“This stinks,” Sam said. “What about you? Will you wake up Downstairs?”
“That’s a blessed good question.” Would I make a less-than-triumphant return to Hell, after turning my back on them and going rogue? Sure, if nobody else would have me, but once someone severs ties with Hell, all ties are severed. Including regeneration. There was no way in Heaven I’d go to … Heaven, because yuck, and last time I’d checked, there wasn’t a third option. Caelo in Terra had that chance, but that entire cult was about to blow up.
My arms tensed. I tried to pull myself free of the X, but Kenan’s spell still held me in place. That was disappointing. I’d hoped the whole melting thing would weaken the former-demon, but clearly that wasn’t the case. Unless I was released from the spell, it’d probably hold until Kenan and the spark exploded, at which point Sam and I would have about 0.000001 seconds to get to the basement, rescue Jurgen—and Remy too, because Sam would insist—and then get a safe distance from the mansion before the blast swallowed us whole. It was impossible. Cumberland football had a better chance of beating Georgia Tech in 1916. Fun fact: Cumberland lost that game, 222-0.
That in mind, it felt like Hell would snatch me up after the explosion like a stray dog who’d wandered into view of animal control. No longer a demon, I’d be treated like any other damned soul, subjected to every sort of punishment imaginable. Probably worse, since I forsook Hell in favor of a rogue’s existence.
Sam closed her eyes, her lips spitting out prayers faster than a rapper did rhymes. Kenan, Bunny, Arthur, and Veronica were screaming, the orb’s energy consuming them bit by bit. I imagined what kind of power the explosion would have. It’d probably make Chernobyl seem like a paradise. With a handful of moments left before incineration and the subsequent eternal damnation, I realized there were two choices before me. Cry, regretting the lost opportunities for future shenanigans and sinning, or laugh my ass off at the irony of it all. Sure, I could have faced my imminent destruction with strength and honor, but that wasn’t one of my two choices.
A loud, booming, all-encompassing laugh rose from deep within my belly, traveling up my esophagus and bursting through my lips. It reminded me of the time I’d convinced the artist painting William Shakespeare’s portrait to give the playwright that hideous earring. It caused quite a stir in London upon release, and there were rumors that Ole Willie still got grief about it Upstairs. I laughed about the fiasco for weeks.
The laughing kept me so preoccupied that I didn’t even notice one of the room’s walls getting smashed to bits. When I looked up, I realized it was Jurgen, freshly transformed into his monster. Debris from the wall knocked Mop Tops over like they were bowling pins. Under one of Jurgen’s arms was an unconscious Remy. Clearly there was no accounting for taste with the musician.
Kenan’s magical hold on me loosened and I could move a little. Not enough to break free, but enough to notice the spell was weakening.
Jurgen’s monster darted for Sam and me, breezing through the Mop Tops like they were straw. The monster caught sight of Arthur and stopped, dropping Remy on the floor. The beast screamed. My eardrums popped, the pitch was so high. Seconds later, Jurgen’s monster wrapped his enlarged fingers around the televangelist’s throat.
“This may not be the best time for sweet revenge,” I said. Heaven, a blessed multi-dimensional explosion was about to obliterate everything. The monster gave us a chance, slim as it was, to escape.
“Jurgen!” Sam shouted. “Listen to me.”
The monster squeezed Arthur’s neck with more force, turning the televangelist’s face a dark shade of red. With the spark’s flames creeping up his body, it was difficult to know where the fire ended and the discoloration from choking started. Not that it mattered. We had maybe a minute to get to a minimum safe distance.
“I know he’s hurt you,” Sam said. “And caused so much pain. I’m not asking you to forgive him, but you have to let him go or we’ll perish.”
Jurgen tried to pick Arthur up and toss him across the room, but the spark refused to let go of the televangelist.
“I know the real Jurgen is in there,” Sam said. “The man who makes such beautiful music. You can let Arthur go and be free, or you can let your hate and anger destroy all of us.”
“Let him go,” I said. “He’s going to blow up anyway, so get us the Heaven out of here.”
The monster shook its head. The strained lines of anger on its face receded. Amazing. Sam had created an opening through the monster to Jurgen in twenty-seconds. The problem was there were ten-seconds, if that, to break all the way through to the pianist and get a safe distance from the spark. There wasn’t enough time for all of that. The spark would kill us, and I’d go back to Hell.
Whatever punishment my former home had in store for me, I hoped it didn’t involve a return to the Seventh Circle. My former cohorts could sew my eyes shut, dump me into a pool of slime to fight a battle royale, even throw me in an infinite windstorm. If it wasn’t on the Seventh Circle, I’d consider myself lucky.
“I know you’re tormented,” Sam said. “But you can be better than Arthur. You can save us. I promise one day you’ll find peace.”
The monster’s fingers twitched, as if it he was debating popping poor Arthur’s head like a pimple. With a little more time, I bet Sam would’ve broken through to the brute, but at that moment the spark’s fire reached the televangelist’s throat. The monster snatched its hand away, the fire proving too scalding. The beast held its fingers, like a child who’d burned themselves and didn’t know how to react.
In layman’s terms, time had run out.
A timer dinged in my mind, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. Jurgen’s monster shook its burnt hand. Sam’s eyes were closed tight, her mouth trembling.
The blast’s heat reached me before the force of the explosion. My wounds cried out in pain. The spark’s immense brightness forced me to close my eyes for protection, but not before I saw the explosion start tearing Arthur, Kenan, Veronica, and Bunny apart. It seemed like a decent enough final image before returning to Hell.
Knowing the spark would destroy us next, my mind raced from one moment in my existence to another, unable to focus on just one. This was what “those in the business” referred to as seeing one’s life flash before their eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Return of the Hipster Clown
I didn’t know how it happened. There wasn’t enough time. But, somehow, Sam’s pleas got through to Jurgen’s mon
ster. It left Arthur alone—which was miracle enough—but the monster also scooped up Sam, Remy, and myself, then dashed for safety.
The divine spark exploded as the three of us crashed out through a wall. The blast chased after us, the intense heat—and that’s coming from a former resident of Hell—melting the soles of my shoes. It was a small price to pay for not blowing up, though I’d have preferred it if the monster hadn’t used our heads as wrecking balls. He could’ve easily used Remy as the lead battering ram. The Creole was still unconscious; he wouldn’t have felt a thing as we tore through the mansion.
“I’m only saying, it would’ve been nice,” I said, lying face down on the ground.
“He could’ve gotten brain damage.” Sam sat up. “You and I can’t.”
“So?”
Ozzie and Duffy emerged from the field next to the house, running toward us.
“You guys okay?” Duffy asked.
I gave the ghost a thumbs up. “Fantastic.”
Ozzy’s tail wagged, like he’d done some grand act that deserved a treat, and he pawed my head as if to say, “Cookie. Now, you little bitch.”
“You think you deserve something?” I asked, my breath shooting up dirt. “You ran off before the fun even started.”
Ozzie barked and pawed my head again.
“That’s not how this works.” Every vertebrae and disc in my spine cursed as I rolled over on my back, then sat upright.
Ozzie grumbled, then sauntered past an unconscious Remy, who was perched against a tree, to greet Duffy. The ghost giggled as the dog twirled around his feet.
“Worthless and a traitor,” I said.
“I’d imagine Ozzie fits right in with you, then.”
A familiar pair of black Converse’s and tight brown corduroy jeans entered my line of sight.
“Not many know more about treachery than you,” Gabriel said.
I mock-laughed. “Impeccable timing, as usual.”
“I told you before, I’ve got my own things going on.” Gabriel pointed to the ground next to me. “And are you really sure your dog abandoned you?”
