by Keta Diablo
“Yes except for the bullets.”
Silence descended while he afforded her time to absorb the revelation about the weapons.
“His journal. It didn't take long for Google to tell me what a Sisimite is or who Ba'al is.”
Anger had replaced his passivity and his lips morphed into a snarl. “The fucking stuff of your worst nightmare.”
“What do those nightmares have to do with you, with anyone in your family?”
“I don't expect you to understand any of this. As a child, it scared the hell out of me when our parents told us the truth of things.”
“Gus too. Then whatever you do, it goes back years?”
“Centuries. His father, grandfather and the grandfathers before him.”
“What!?”
“How to tell you.”
She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding. “Cows over their buckets. Just say, it, all of it.”
“All right. There's a network, an organization with a council.”
“N.O.M.E.D in Chicago.”
His eyebrow shot upward.
“It was in the journal, first entry. N.O.M.E.D, demon spelled backwards. I figured that out, but who are they, what does this network do?”
“Track demons, hunt them down and kill them.”
Her mouth fell open and then snapped shut. “You can’t be serious.” She looked at the floor and then back to him. “Don't answer that, just my reaction to your mind-blowing admission. Jesus, Marcel, do you have any idea how all this sounds?”
“Of course I do, even though I've lived with it most of my life.”
“How does the network find the-the demons?”
“Expert trackers, the human type, Malphas and drones with infrared cameras, sophisticated tracking devices.”
“Malphas?”
“We shouldn't be going this deep, Cecily. I told you before, I’m sworn to secrecy, took an oath. “
“Same answer: I don’t give a damn about your secret oath. I asked you what a Malpha is?”
“A turned demon that now works for the network. They can appear in human form but in demon form they’re crows and carry written messages. In that form they can do reconnaissance work and spy on enemy secrets.”
“So N.O.M.E.D finds the demons and sends out their hunters?”
He nodded. “I wish you'd eat something; make you feel better.”
“No, I can't eat right now, maybe never again after what I just heard.”
“Will it help to think of it like this? Demons are out there, all around us, wreaking havoc on the world, killing indiscriminately. Most humans pretend these acts committed against them are just a part of life. A family is wiped out in a home invasion gone awry, a terrorist blows up an entire city block, or a priest is murdered in his confessional box. We believe what we hear in the news, a mentally disturbed person committed the heinous act, a religious zealot martyred his life, but it's seldom the truth.”
“These heinous acts are committed by demons?”
“Not all, but many.”
“We're not leaving this table, Marcel, until I know everything, do you understand?”
“Yes, but you listen and listen good. I'll give you one shot and then we're never talking about it again.”
“Agreed.”
“Fire away, Cecily.”
“Tell me about my parents.”
“I met your parents, Hertha and Simon once or twice before they died.”
“Where did you meet them?”
“They were best friends with my parents.” He looked away and squirmed in the chair. “That's how you and Calder came to live with us.”
“I asked where you met them or how your parents knew them.”
“I'm getting there, Cecily. Christ, give me a minute.” Scrubbing a hand across his chin again, he met her eyes again. “Your parents were part of the organization.”
“No, that can't be.” She gave a vigorous shake of her head, almost choking on the words. “I would have known, suspected something.”
He crossed his heart. “Why would I lie to you now? You were only six when they died and they made a point of keeping that part of their lives away from you and Calder.”
“Oh, God...they didn't die in a freak accident either, did they?” A thousand crickets entered the room as the seconds ticked by. “Marcel?”
“No. They were on a mission and something went wrong. Someone ratted them out. N.O.M.E.D never found proof but everyone believed at the time it was an inside job.”
“They were part of the organization but not demon hunters, right?”
“Your father was, yes.”
Her mouth went dry. “My mom?”
“She was a healer, a witch.”
Cecily jumped up from her chair, paced the room and wondered if someone had slipped a noose around her neck. The overpowering choking sensation stole her breath. Long moments later, she commanded her tongue to speak. “A witch? You don’t mean the type we read about in books...an evil witch who casts spells? Oh. My. God. I cannot deal with this.”
“I warned you.”
“Oh, shut it, Marcel.” She slithered into the chair again. “Answer me, tell me what you know about her.”
“This isn’t good, Cecily. Talking about this shit will bring you nothing but more heartache.”
“You would say something like that. You’ve had the luxury of knowing your parents, living with them all your life. I suppose it’s never occurred to you that I’ve spent years wondering about mine. I tried to imagine what they were like, what they did for a living. Every child who loses their parents or is given up for adoption searches for every little scrap of information they can find about them.”
He chewed on his lower lip, as if trying to recall something in the past. “Like I said, I only met them once or twice and I was young. I don’t remember much. But I overheard Gus and Mae talking one night. Mom said Hertha should look at Dad’s leg, and he said the wound would heal on its own. And then Dad said what a sight it was when your mom put up a wall of flames so they could escape.”
She thought about the starling’s broken wing, how she had wished more than anything she could make him well again so he could fly. She had closed her eyes, gently touched that cockeyed wing and concentrated with all her might. When she opened her eyes, the wing was no longer broken and the bird soared skyward. Had her mother somehow passed that trait on to her? “That’s all you know?”
“Yes. I swear, except I asked Mom about it the next day and she said I must have been dreaming.” Marcel held her eyes. “It wasn’t a dream. I know what I heard.”
“You should have told me, Marcel! Damn you for not telling me after-after everything we once meant to one another.”
His voice a whisper, he looked down. “How the hell do you tell anyone all this? Should I have told you before we fucked or after? Maybe I should have told you while you were falling asleep in my arms, when the whole world seemed right. “By the way, Cecily, your parents weren't who you think they were. Nope, your dad was a demon hunter, your mother a witch. And,” his voice faltered. ‘They didn't die in a car accident. Fucking demons killed them.”
“Yes! You should have told me. After all the years growing up together, all the years I shared your bed, you couldn't find the decency to tell me?”
“No, I couldn't find the courage. I know; strange word for a demon hunter. Fear isn't an option in our line of work. We can’t allow it to enter into the equation when facing a demon, but crushing that smile only you own, destroying that innocent part of you that I loved, became my greatest fear in life. I-I just couldn't make myself say the words.”
“And yet, you told Calder?”
“No, I swear I didn't, not voluntarily. He overheard something he shouldn't have, a conversation on the phone. He confronted me and said he knew what was going on. He swore if I didn't tell him the truth, he'd blow everything wide open, tell you everything. I couldn't bluff my way out; couldn’t blame it on his over-active imagin
ation. I didn't want you to know, have anything to do with this life.”
“Marcel, do you know what you just admitted, that we had no future together no matter what? You didn’t want me to have anything to do with this life? Well why, then, why did you encourage this thing between us?”
“Don’t call it a thing, ever. Do you think I wanted it to happen? No, probably not any more than you wanted it to happen. But it did, Cecily, God help me.”
Her heart flopped and then sank for the thousandth time since arriving in Des Moines. “What happened when Calder found out?”
“I said I'd tell him the truth if he swore to leave you out of it. And, I told him no matter how much I loved him, I’d kill him if he ever told you.”
“My God, Marcel!”
“I didn't know what would happen to you if you knew the truth, didn't know if you could handle it.”
“You're a prick, you know that? You didn't tell me because you thought I'd stop coming to your bed every night, because you're a self-serving—”
“That's not true! I didn't want to hurt you; thought I could protect you from all this shit!”
“Yeah, well that worked out well, didn't it? The heart of my heart is dead.”
“It might have worked out if you hadn't fucking run away! Did you ever think of that? Maybe one day I would have found the courage to tell you. Maybe one day, you and I...?”
She fixed him with a hateful glare, aware of the warmth spreading from her belly to every limb even as she did so. She cursed her traitorous feelings. After everything he'd told her, how could she feel anything but hatred toward him? She was cursed, damned to all eternity to think she still loved him. She didn't want to love him, wouldn't allow it after all the lies, the deceit.
If only she could flip the switch that controlled this innate love for him.
Rousing her from her conflicting misery, his tone reeked disgust. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you stepped in dog shit, barefooted.”
She couldn't peer into those slate-gray eyes for another moment. Turning away, she thought back in time before she spoke. “Calder tried to tell me. One day, he came to school and said....” Tears came unbidden to her eyes. “He said I had to leave, that I didn't really know you, and that I had to trust him.”
“What? Why didn't you come to me, ask me what it was about before you ran off?”
“I was terrified. Calder would never hurt me; tell me I had to go away unless he thought I was in danger. God, I was so scared, had no idea what you were involved in, and certainly never dreamed it was anything like this. Looking back, maybe I didn’t have the courage to find out.” She snorted. “Guess that makes us both cowards.”
“I've told you everything now and I don't want to talk about this anymore. It is what it is and I can't change the past.”
“No, that's not everything. You haven't told me what happened to Calder.”
“God, let it go, will you!”
She bolted from the chair again, crossed the room and got in his face. “With my last breath I'll keep asking you. Did he become like you, like you and Elliott?”
“I couldn't stop him.” His shoulders slumped. “Once he found out your parents were killed by demons, he became obsessed with the idea of avenging them, for you, for him. I begged him to let it go.”
“But he wouldn't?”
“No, and I had no choice then. I could only train him, help him in the one way I knew how.” A haunted look came into his eyes. I told him this isn’t like the game we played as children...I Spy. This isn't anything like lying in the grass and guessing which constellation has a hunter, which star is the brightest. He knew it and he accepted it.
It should have been me walking into that building that night. Somehow, he got there before me, and-and he just couldn't-couldn't.... He didn't have enough training to take down what he met in there.”
A fist found her open mouth. She twisted it, trying to dispel the horrific images.
“By the time I got there, he was-he was beyond help.”
“The demon?”
“Nowhere in sight.”
“Elliott?”
“He was on another mission that night.”
She looked down on him. “I hate you for all of this, you know that?”
“I think you've made that clear.” He came to his feet. “If it makes you feel any better, I hate myself.”
“It doesn't.”
His pain-shrouded face said everything. “Go back to Minnesota, Cecily. Try to forget all this, remember all the good times with Calder.”
“Go back to Minnesota? You think I can just walk away knowing what I know now?”
“There's nothing you can do! Nothing will bring Calder back!” Flapping a hand in her direction, he shook his head. “Oh, hell, do what you want, you will anyway, but I have to leave.”
Her heart thumped. “Leave? What do you mean leave?” She looked toward the door and spied his duffle bag. “Oh, no. Don’t go, Marcel, I’m begging you. You'll end up like my parents, like Calder. You don't have to do this anymore.”
“It's for Calder I am going. I'm going to finish what he...what he started.”
“Oh, my God, you're headed for St. Louis, going after the monster that killed Calder.”
It wasn't a question and he didn't have to answer, but the dreaded word fell from his lips anyway. “Yes.”
Of all times for a montage of images to invade her feeble brain, why now? Graphic, erotic pictures—her breasts against his hard chest, their sweat-soaked bodies and the musky scent of bare skin on bare skin as she ground her hips against his. She could still feel the stream of riveting shocks peddling through her body, could taste his intoxicating kisses as she imploded from the inside out. She must be coming down with a bug. Either that or someone had a perverse sense of humor to sabotage her mind at a time like this.
Say something, Cecily, don't let him walk out that door. The words seemed to come from someone else, and yet it was her voice. “If you leave now, you’ll never see me again. I’ll go far, far away where you’ll never find me. I can’t be around to hear you died like my parents, like Calder.”
Resignation and regret crept into his voice. “You do what you have to do, Cecily, and I’ll do what I have to.”
She’d lost the battle. Marcel would walk out that door and she’d never see him again. She felt it in her heart.
“Go then, you stubborn jackass. You’ve always thought of yourself first.”
He shook his head. “Don’t pull that face on me.”
“You’re always imagining I’m pulling faces on you.”
“You always have. Right now, your lips are about to fall into a pout and next come the crocodile tears.”
“Why would I do that? It never worked when we were children.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
Crickets entered the room while they gazed at one another, and then Marcel broke the silence. “But it won’t work this time, can’t work. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Go then and get yourself killed. I don’t care anymore.”
Cecily grabbed her purse and cell phone from the table and stormed outside to Mae’s garden. She couldn’t watch him go and he’d made it clear he had nothing more to say.
Duffle bag slung over his shoulder Marcel found her sitting in front of a cluster of white hydrangeas several minutes later. “Where are my keys, the ones you took off the night table?”
She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “I left them in the door to the secret room.”
Without another word, he walked to a rusted-out cargo van. Knowing Marcel, the engine would purr like a kitten, even if the vehicle looked like it had spent the last ten years in a junk-yard. He tossed the duffel bag through the open door in the back and headed for the house.
Maybe it was the aftereffects of the drug, perhaps coming face-to-face with the ugliest of truths, but a seed had been planted
in her brain. Like Calder, how could she let her parents’ death go unavenged? How could she allow Calder’s to go unavenged? Fear of the future shook her to the core, but an emotion she couldn’t dispel overpowered it...revenge. She couldn’t live with herself if she turned away, couldn’t allow those evil monsters to get away with snuffing out her entire family. Calder couldn’t live with it, gave his life trying to even the score. She could do nothing less.
With mere seconds to execute her plan, she sprinted toward the white cargo van, ducked through the open doors and hid amid a conglomeration of weapons─shields, rifles, crossbows, and the shoulder scabbards with the pearl-handled swords.
Chapter Nine
Hunkered down beneath a large, iron shield, Cecily held her breath, the last one she had left in life. At least it would be when Marcel discovered her. She didn’t want to think about that, couldn’t imagine what he would say...she swallowed hard, or do when he discovered her in the back of the cargo van.
The assortment of weapons on the floor clanked and jangled, and those mounted on the inside panels clattered against the wall as the tires hit the gravel roads, back roads, she assumed. She thanked her lucky stars the sounds might obliterate any unintentional sound she might make.
Marcel’s phone rang, startling her out of her bleak thoughts. Of course, he would have it sitting in a ®WeatherTech CupFone, the same as his other vehicles. Marcel never took unnecessary chances, like talking on the cell while driving. Now that she knew his true calling, maybe that’s why he’d survived thus far. She stifled a snort at the perverse irony. Why would anyone play it safe by securing their cell phone while on route to hunt down a monster?
Marcel’s voice: “You got me.”
Unknown voice: “N.O.M.E.D. Code name?”
Sarcasm rode the summit of Marcel’s calm voice. “You must be new. You first, what’s your code name?”
“Not new asshole, just forgot.”
Marcel’s again. “Hmm, dangerous thing in our world.”
Unknown voice: “Chicken Wire.”
Marcel: “Gaia, here. What ya got for me?”
Chicken Wire: “What’s your location?”
