by Curtis Houck
“Mayor Vernon? Judge Santos? Police Chief Morton—”
Somehow, I got my lungs to work. “Papa, it’s me, Querida.”
My father lowered the knife. As he spun me around, his hazel eyes narrowed to suspicious pinpoints within his gold mask and widened when he realized it was indeed me, just like Rafaela’s did. He turned away to hide his surprise. Or maybe it was disgust he was trying to hide. “I didn’t recognize your new look. Take it Judge Santos ruled in Allen’s favor?”
“What did you expect?” I asked, feeling like a broken record. “You no-showed the custody hearing.”
“Everyone, especially your mother, knows why I wasn’t there.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about the divorce, okay, Papa? I want to see how you’re doing.”
“You’re right.” My father’s body relaxed as a grin filled the mouth of his mask. “It’s been far too long, my sweet little angel. How’s Eddie?”
“Well, there’s some good news. His therapist—”
“When did Eddie start seeing a therapist?”
“Last year. Right after you and Mom divorced. Remember?”
My father’s body tensed once more. I could picture his anvil-like jaw clenching under his mask. “Can’t say I do. Then again, it might help if someone filled me in on what’s happening from time to time. I’m not a mind reader.”
“Doesn’t your mask give you the power of telepathy?”
God entrusted each Shaddai with a magical mask. Maybe magical isn’t the right word. Basically, a Shaddai’s mask gave them a unique power, a gift passed down from God to help win the battle with the Asmodeum. And I shouldn’t say God entrusted the mask to them, either. They received a message that God had chosen them to be a Shaddai and they had to decipher this message, which would lead them to their masks. In my father’s case, once he deciphered God’s message he found his mask buried under the maintenance shed at Sundown Beach.
“That’s not how telepathy works,” my father said. “Another thing—”
“Anyway, Eddie’s therapist lowered his anti-depressant dosage. He should be off the meds soon. Isn’t that good news?”
My father remained silent. When he spoke again, his voice wavered. “Sure it is. We should talk inside. One never knows where the Asmodeum might be hiding.”
I followed my father into Gloria Church. Eerie candlelight threw dancing shadows across the cracked stone aisle bisecting the church as we continued toward the velvet curtain covering the back wall. Sighing, my father waved a gnarled hand at one of the pews lining the aisle before gazing up at the stained-glass window depicting Jesus hanging on the cross that spread over the water-stained wall next to the pews.
“Have a seat,” he said. “And tell me the real reason you came to see me.”
“I already told you,” I said, shuffling my feet. “I want to see how you’re doing.”
“The real reason, Querida.”
“Fine.” I hesitated, then blurted out, “What if Satanism isn’t evil?”
My father folded his muscular arms across his barrel-like chest. “What’s Allen been teaching you?”
“Seriously, Papa, what’s the difference between Satanism and Christianity?”
My father’s gaze shifted to the velvet curtain. “Do you know what’s behind that curtain?”
“The gateway to hell, I guess. It’s what God chose you to protect. Look, I get it’s your duty, even if Mom and Eddie don’t understand.”
“God didn’t choose me to protect the gateway to hell. He chose me to protect this.” My father opened the box sitting on a lectern beneath the window, and withdrew a medallion connected to a gold-linked chain. The medallion was carved out of onyx and shaped like an inverted cross. A goat’s head inlaid with rubies stood transfixed within a diamond-studded eye. “This is the Ojo. It opens the gateway to hell. Now, if Satanism isn’t evil go set Lucifer free. It’ll save me and the other Shaddai a lot of trouble, since the Asmodeum won’t be a threat anymore. You’ll have done their job for them.”
“Don’t exaggerate, Papa. It’s just—”
Suddenly, a gunshot echoed through Gloria Church. My father fell to the floor, clutching his left side. I tried to be strong as I stared at the blood seeping through his fingers, and although I knew Papa wouldn’t want anyone to be sad on his behalf, I couldn’t stop the tears from welling in my eyes. Still, I had to do something...anything.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked my father, holding his bloody hand. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“You know they can’t get involved in the Shaddai’s business.” My father struggled to speak above a whisper. “Besides, it’s too late, my sweet little angel. Whatever you do keep the Ojo away from Allen.”
“But—”
“Promise me!”
Despite my best efforts, the tears began to flow. “Okay, I promise. But shouldn’t I call—”
The candlelight flickered, and a series of cackles echoed off the cavernous walls of the church. I stood up on watery legs. Someone holding a pistol slouched in the arched doorway. Instinctively, I grabbed my father’s knife, and pocketing the Ojo, ran toward the intruder. Yet by the time I reached the doorway there was nothing except a piece of parchment seesawing in the wind. I snatched the parchment out of the air. Before I had a chance to read what was on it, though, Rafaela’s motorcycle had already skid to a stop in front of me.
“Get on,” she screamed. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
“No,” I screamed back, wiping the tears away. “I can’t leave Papa!”
That was when a Mustang pulled up behind Rafaela’s motorcycle. Without saying a word, a Shaddai in a silver mask bolted out of the driver’s side door and ran inside Gloria Church. I turned to follow him. But Rafaela’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, grounding me in place, while the passenger’s side door of the Mustang swung open. Another Shaddai, this one wearing a white mask, jumped out.
“Your friend’s right,” the Shaddai said. “Don’t worry. Esqueleto will take good care of your father. Now, my name is La Corazon Blanca. You need to come with me.”
I could feel the tears stinging my face once more. Again, I wiped them away, and absently shoved the parchment into my other pants pocket, the one with my crucifix in it. “Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t,” La Corazon Blanca said, opening the Mustang’s back door. “Even so, you must find a way.”
“Just get in, Querida.” Rafaela hopped off her motorcycle, and pushed me toward the car door. “There’s no time to argue with her.”
La Corazon Blanca locked eyes with Rafaela. “Come with us. I’m sure you have a part in this, too. Either way, we’ve got to get the hell out of here.”
