by Tiana Laveen
“Yes! Come on now. Join me!” Saint marched about in a manic state, his eyes stark black, shiny like a cobra’s. The surrounding tree branches began to crack, snap, and break as he raised his arms in the air. Mama Pam’s haunting voice drew quieter and quieter, and finally, so did Saint. With each subsequent breath, he appeared to relax more and more and then, everything settled. After a few minutes of them gathering their belongings to repeat the same process in the next cemetery, Jagger jogged over, half out of breath.
“I’ve been lookin’ for you guys for almost an hour! This place is as a big as a country on its own. Look, someone’s making the rounds, a security guard or something. Hakim’s guys tossed me a warning and I came to hunt you down. I thought about putting the guard in a sleeper but then saw they have motion detectors on the east side, so I didn’t want to chance it. Not tryna spend the night in jail here. Too bad it doesn’t seem much has happened,” Jagger said with disappointment on his face.
“Oh, it did. They heard us loud and clear.” Saint smiled as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and proceeded in the direction of their parked rental car, a brand new black Benz.
“I heard a bunch of commotion and thought things were going well, but no one’s here. Where are they?” Jagger looked around as if he expected to see zombies.
“They are travelling. If they accepted the invitation, according to Lawrence, we’ll see them in New York in due time. They know where it is and what I want. They acknowledged us. Now let’s hurry; we have a lot more work to do before we head back home…”
‘Paradise Paragon’ in the Meatpacking District was running low on Greek yogurt, the necessary ingredient for Erika’s famous ‘Paradise Smoothies’ that the lunch crowd always seemed to go insane for. She was keeping busy, trying to not think about the fact that her ankles were so swollen, they looked pregnant, too. Erika wrinkled her nose at the stacks of paperwork in her small back office, trying to understand how inventory had gotten so low on various dairy products at her restaurant.
“I swear, someone up in this bitch is a thieving dairy farmer,” she murmured, getting to her feet to make her rounds in the bustling kitchen. “No, Georgina! You can’t take that platter out there like that.” The small, red-headed woman grimaced, then her expression morphed into surprise once she laid eyes on who’d uttered the words.
“It might taste good, but that doesn’t look right. Did you plate it?” The woman’s cheeks turned a pinkish hue. “Never mind, just redo it. We’re in a hurry, but there’s no excuse for sloppiness. Do better, babe.” She winked at the woman and headed back out into the dining area to ensure her guests were well.
“Everything fine? I hope you’re enjoying our mango flounder special.”
“It’s delicious!” an older woman responded, dressed to the nines in her navy-blue pantsuit. Erika tapped her shoulder and smiled, then browsed around the other tables, speaking briefly to the patrons. At last, she happened upon a table with three men, and as soon as she locked eyes with them, her blood ran cold…
Two were dressed in button down taupe shirts, and one wore a black and white striped number. They all had the same eyes, as if they were related in some way, yet their features were vastly different, as if there could be no biological relation at all. Before she could turn away, one of them beckoned her over. After a small hesitation, she went to them, forcing a smile.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“Where’s Cruz?”
“Excuse me?”
The man’s angular face was partly hidden by a hood. Thin, wet strands of brown hair framed his blemished skin.
“Where. The. Fuck. Is. Your husband, bitch?” He cocked his head to the side and glared, a wisp of yellow smoke emitting from the side of his crooked lips.
“I think you better leave.” Suddenly, one reached out and grabbed her arm and drew her near, twisting it.
“If you scream, if you do anything stupid, I will take this steak knife and slice that gut of yours clean open. An abortion right on the fuckin’ spot. Now, where’s Cruz?”
“I don’t know.”
“Liar. He disappeared in the night. We lost track of him. We want to know what he’s doing, and you’re going to tell us.”
Seething with rage, she gritted her teeth and fought through the pain of his firm grip on her wrist. Bubbling fear erupted in her gut when the Demon Child’s eyes turned from hazel to an ungodly storm cloud gray.
“I’m not telling you shit.” Her voice trembled, but she meant every word. “Now, you let go of my arm, and you let go of me now!” With lightning speed, the bastard snatched the steak knife off the table and she let out a bloodcurdling scream as he raised the blade and slashed at her womb. Yelling at the top of her lungs, she braced herself, covering her stomach with her free hand as panic struck. Commotion exploded all around her, putting her in a confused daze. Before she knew it, gentle hands were leading her away, familiar voices speaking to her in a protective tone. A relieved tear trailed down her face when she spotted two Angel Children dragging the men out of the place. The altercation would no doubt continue in the streets.
“I’m fine… I’m fine, really,” she said, her voice trembling. A couple of employees forced water down her throat and asked questions she couldn’t answer.
“Just some guys on drugs… It’s fine now.” Soon, she saw police lights out front and recognized one of the officers as one of Saint’s employees. Before retreating to her office, she grabbed a cup of tea, then closed and locked the door behind her. She sat down at her desk, fighting angry tears, and picked up the phone with a shaky hand. She dialed her husband.
Please pick up, Cruz…
“Hi baby, I was just getting ready to call you. We got everything done. The flight is on schedule. We should be home tonight as planned.”
“That’s not why I’m calling!” And then the tears came. The emotions she’d promised herself she’d keep under wraps burst forward.
“Erika, baby, what’s wrong?”
“Erika, are you all right?” she heard Saint asking in the background.
“No, she’s not… What’s happened?”
“Some … some of those fuckin’ Demon Children were here at the restaurant. They wanted to know where you were, said they’d been following you. I refused to tell them and they were going to attack me. They threatened to stab our baby and then tried! Luckily some Angel Children were dining here and jumped in to intervene.”
“Fuck!” Saint was talking to someone in the background, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. “Seems Reece was the officer on the scene. Saint is on the phone with him right now. And it wasn’t luck. Saint and I made sure that all of you—Traci, Donna, and Xenia—would have people around you at all times. We just didn’t tell you, didn’t want you to feel like you were being spied on. We needed to do it due to what’s been happening in the last few months, especially while we are away right now.”
“Obviously, I’m grateful for it.” She took a deep breath, trying to gather herself.
“And for the record, I’ve been being followed since I started a friendship with Saint. All of us have been, but especially me because I’m considered a traitor. We do a good job of dipping and dodging but they usually find us, sooner or later.”
“I knew something was going to happen at some point, Cruz. I could just feel it, you know? You and Saint had not mentioned much about the D.C., and there was no way they were just going to lie low while all of this played out.”
“Of course not. They are playing instigators and backup. They are the reason why the demons were able to spread their influence so fast, like with those robberies. They’ve been working the entire time, but many of them are afraid of Saint. Koki was one of the few that wasn’t, but that’s why they’ve been lying low behind the scenes.”
“Figures… Anyway, I am no one’s victim, Cruz. I want to start carrying a gun again.”
“I’m your gun … and I’m going to kill them.” Cr
uz’s voice was eerily calm, sending chills up her spine, worse than when she’d been face-to-face with those demons. “When I get home, I am going to take care of everything… they won’t be bothering you nor anyone else, ever again.”
“Cruz, I can’t have you going to prison. It’ll be taken care of, all right? I gave a statement. The police took them away.”
“You’re damn right it will be taken care of and if you think someone can pull a knife on my wife, threaten to abort my unborn son, and live, you’re insane. Anyway, I need you to stay at the restaurant today, okay? I don’t want you alone right now or even with just a few cops. I want you in a place that makes you feel comfortable.”
“Okay, I’ll stay. And I’m still getting a gun. You can’t be with me 24-7.”
“We’ll discuss this later. Like I said, I’ll be back home tonight. I love you. And I’m sorry…”
“What are you sorry for?” She slumped in her seat, praying her heart would stop thumping so hard.
“I’m sorry that due to being married to me you are going through this. Now my wife wants a gun because I’m not there and this happened… I’m your protection, but I’ve destroyed your peace. I fell in love with you and subsequently took your happiness away.”
His words pained her, broke her heart into a million pieces.
“No, you didn’t, you aided in my happiness, Cruz. Our life is good! Something real messed up happened today. Something that scared me to death, but it’s not your fault, Cruz… Just hurry home. Not because I’m scared … well, that too … but because I love and miss you. I want to feel your arms around me.”
“I’m coming, baby, and I miss you like crazy, too. See you soon.”
“Okay, love you.”
“Love you too.”
After disconnecting the call, she sat there for several minutes, hearing all of the sounds outside her door. Jon B. sang “Are You Still Down” from the playlist on her computer. Business seemed to be returning to normal, and she hoped and prayed that the commotion had been so short-lived and ended so fast, most of her patrons would not have been able to make heads or tails of it. The last thing she needed was a scandal.
She ran her hand over her hard belly, and felt her son kick. With a sad smile, she whispered, “I never believed that someone could be pure evil, until I looked into that man’s eyes tonight. And it must’ve spooked him how much you’re loved already, how wanted you are, how chosen you are and how beautiful, too. Don’t you worry though, sweetheart. Daddy’s coming home, baby. Mama is gettin’ a gun and everything is going to be all right…”
Saint tried to push the five-page letter from Krishna out of his mind.
It was written in red ink, as if it had dripped from his slashed veins. Saint stood in his empty kitchen, a glass of almond milk in one hand, and the damn letter in the other. It was 2:00 a.m. He was jetlagged and tired. Xenia had told him there were some packages and whatnot waiting for him, but the envelope from India was what had caught his eye.
It was a love letter of sorts, but one full of wisdom and warnings, too. Those words preoccupied his mind, but he knew not to call the man. Everything he needed to know was in that letter, page for page, word for word. Krishna had detailed many things, but the particulars concerning his own family stuck out the most—specifically those about his first born, Hassani.
Yes, that was the most disturbing of all, especially since he’d already dreamt of some of those things and predicted others, too. Children were being born every day, and most times their birth was cause for celebration. But, some children were born of pure evil, soulless from the moment they drew their first breath. A child of that very kind had entered the realm. Unbeknown to him until that moment, Koki had a son…
The child had been born soon after his father’s death. The mother was a civilian, just like Xenia. The boy would undoubtedly have a strong taste for revenge, having never known one of the fiercest Demon Children to step foot in New York, his very own father, due to Saint killing him on the Brooklyn Bridge. This boy would never receive the proper paternal training, and that, perhaps, would make him feral, as well as much more ruthless and uncontrollable. Koki’s spawn would therefore stalk his child, just as Koki had done him—but from the shadows, from a distance, which was far more sinister. This would go on year after year, until Hassani, too, would meet this man and there would be a battle to the death. One would live on; the other would not. The thought of that cut through Saint’s faux resolve like shards of ice trapped in his veins. Could his son survive this?
Hassani was gentler than he. His son had a golden heart, and was more open and susceptible than he’d ever been. Saint had become jaded at an early age; being born and raised in the South Bronx had helped to ensure that. A life of poverty, an emotionally absent father, and rejection from his deceased mother’s family had been the final nails in the coffin of his innocence. He had been handed a broken basket, chock full of rotten lemons that he’d never been able to use for lemonade. They were sour, covered in fuzzy white and icky green mold, and that was a fact he’d had to accept.
Hassani, however, had two loving parents, a stable home, and he was a good soul. He’d always cared about others, from an early age. He was pure. Due to these recent events and more, Saint was more and more grateful for Angel’s presence. His ability to get Hassani to talk more, open up, and also to help him prepare for the real world was paramount. He and Angel had been bred from the school of hard knocks, but Angel had a way inside of Hassani’s mind and heart that he couldn’t manage. One day, the time would come when Hassani would be on his own. Until then, he’d do everything in his power to ensure his precious child got all that he needed and more.
The world isn’t kind, Hassani. You will learn that lesson the hard way. It’s tough to break good-natured, optimistic people, but when it finally happens, it’s difficult to put them back together again. And I hate it, but it has to happen to you so that your third eye will open and your full potential and gifts will be unleashed. Son, you can’t fight what you don’t recognize. You have to see Evil for what it is, and then not hesitate to annihilate it…
We must accept what we are, what we are meant to be.
Hakim said it best: We’re natural born killas, sportin’ a set of wings…
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Cruz trailed his hand along the old oak pulpit as he stood in the woodland of the Thain Family Forest in the Bronx. The pulpit was one of the few things that had survived the disastrous blaze when his home burned down to the ground.
There had been a slight change of plans.
After a succession of dreams and spiritually-induced hallucinations, he’d called an emergency meeting with Saint so they could revise their plan regarding the summoning of demons. He’d had the answer, and he knew exactly what it would take to reach their goal. His dream had been so precise, like directions written by some supreme being, handing him the answers to their dilemmas on a silver platter. Once Cruz had relayed his idea, Saint had initially slammed it down, refusing to go forward. It had taken hours for them to see things eye-to-eye, yet he’d finally convinced him that he knew a better route to their victory. Now that the Bloods had been summoned, it was time to move ahead with a plan that would garner a greater reward.
Now here he stood, in the wilderness, his heart practically beating out of his chest. He’d gathered everything he needed to perform this ceremony, and now, the time had arrived. The lectern he’d transported to the location had belonged to his father. It had been used in the majority of his rituals, homilies, and the like. Cruz placed his father’s hooded black priest robe on with careful hands. It covered his entire naked form, giving instant warmth on the chilly night. Snowflakes began to fall like tiny angels melting once they made contact with his father’s remains. They sprinkled his dark deeds like white crystalized irony.
Breathing deeply in and out, he paused and sniffed the black fabric that surrounded his form. He could almost smell the man in the fibers, as if his
father were right by his side. Rather than the deep hatred he’d harbored for the man for so many years, he was hit with a feeling of respect and connection. Standing at his father’s abandoned altar, he lit several ebony candles, then grabbed a bowl made from human bones, fused together with chicken wire and industrial glue. The vessel was freshly filled with the blood of the Demon Child who’d dared to raise a knife to his wife, in a thwarted attempt to murder his unborn child.
He could still hear the fucker’s screams as he’d rained punches on his head, bashing his skull. This had caused instant disfigurement and given great pleasure to Cruz, but he needed more … so much more. The stopping of time was one of his specialties, and this man’s clock had struck the last second. Causing the bastard’s heart to stop, he delivered a series of rapid, deadly punches on his torso until the fucker’s chest literally exploded. Any sliver of life left within him drained, but Cruz treated his warm remains like a voodoo doll.
He tore the man up, from limb to limb. The flesh peeled back, and the blood splatter was a thing of beauty. Flashes of the knife the asshole had plucked from the table kept popping into Cruz’s mind as he snuffed him out, and he’d had no choice but to make his death as painful as possible. He’d raged on his body with everything he had within him. The ends of his long blond hair had ended up dyed red from all the blood spilled … and he’d liked it. Then, he’d left the son of a bitch’s entrails sprawled on the other two D.C.’s cars, giving them a stern warning that they’d be next. Cruz shook the recent memory out of his brain. Dipping his fingers in the blood-filled bowl, he wrote satanic symbols all over the pieces of charred wood he’d managed to retrieve from his father’s destroyed home in which he’d dwelled in until it was set ablaze.
