The End of Days

by A. E. Watson

  She gives me a weird look. “What?”

  “The Antichrist. Do you think he’s already here or is this going to be like twenty years of absolute shit before he’s old enough to fight? Or can I kill him when he’s a baby?” I don't know that I could kill a baby.

  “Why’s the Antichrist a he?” she points out.

  “Right, I get where you’re going with this. The question is valid for boys and girls—like, is the Antichrist already here, boy or girl?”

  “I don't know.” She shrugs and kicks some garbage, sending it rolling down the street and making noise. “I don't really care. I don't know that we’ll ever fix this mess. I think it’s all gone too far.”

  Fire witches are snarky and rude. They don't filter their thoughts. Fire is a passionate and explosive element. It burns and sucks and kills. And they are the element in so many ways.

  As we get to a particularly dirty part of the city, the smell hits my noise like a punch in the face. I jerk to the right, inhaling savagely. “Good God, what is that?” My body lurches with my face, dragging me down the road.

  I enter an alley, stopping and smelling the air for the exact location of the disgusting person I am about to murder viciously.

  I am starving.

  I am dangerously hungry.

  It’s lucky we’re here.

  I might have actually started killing witches soon, I’m so hungry.

  “Wait.” She runs to keep up with me. “There was a halfway house here before the fall. The ex-cons haven’t left the area. It’s filled with their cruelty and crimes. There could be more than one. You might need my help.”

  My feet start again, taking me straight to a red door that’s been beaten in. I don't open it nicely; I step back and kick the entire door off its hinges. I turn back, giving her a wild grin. “I like it when they’re already scared when I get there.”

  “Creepy.” She nods, clearly disgusted.

  “Sorry.” I don't wait for her. I step into the dark, sniffing out the evil souls and their vile deeds wafting through the air. My eyes do their thing, glowing brightly so I can see everything like it’s midday and not eternally sunset. We have two times of day now: dark and dusk, and neither really affects me. All the light in the world seems to be in me. Which is a shame, because I don't even notice it anymore.

  I don't think I’ve put the light to good use.

  I think all the good has been eaten away by the bad.

  We’ve spent weeks with the fire witches trying to find old records about the Antichrist. The Old Testament is a hot mess of man’s interpretations of things. The New Testament is man’s word entirely.

  Nothing has been easy.

  We need Stella and Michelle who have been doing heaps of research. Or a Van Helsing—they always know loads. Except Wyatt. He doesn't even seem as studied as his little sister. But we have yet to figure out where Maggie is. We can only guess his sister is still at their house, alone. I don't like that, despite her being an evil little thing. She’s still a kid, an old one, but a kid nonetheless.

  A treacherous thought hints that the reason we can’t find Maggie is she’s with Lucifer already. Is it possible she’s the Antichrist?

  I have to concede it is possible.

  It’s not something I would have even considered, had the fire witch not pointed out that the Antichrist could be a girl or a boy. And the most evil little girl I know is Maggie Van Helsing, a child named after someone I used to be. Of course when I was the girl named Maggie, I was a sweet little orphan. I understand why the Van Helsings named their daughter after Maggie; I just don't understand how she ended up being so rude.

  A sound draws my gaze as a man attempts to hide in the boxes of the old warehouse we are in. My wings shoot from my back, making him and another person scream. I jump, using my wings to carry me to them. Without any effort, I toss the debris covering them where they cower together, a man and a woman. She screams and tries to run, but I throw a heavy box, knocking her down. She lies still for a moment as I turn back to him, smiling like a serial killer. Something I assume he is. He smells like one I ate in South America.

  He shakes his head, crying and pleading, but I don't hear it or care the way I used to. The sobbing pleas don't even bother me.

  I reach down, grasping the front of his shirt and lift him into the air, using my newly found angel strength. I hold his face with my hands and lean forward, careful not to touch him completely. I don't like wet, snotty kisses.

  I suck his evil, moaning into the dark space where we are. He whimpers. It’s an attempt to scream, but I inhale until I can’t because he’s dry and then I drop him to the concrete floor. There’s nothing there but a heap of clothes and skin.

  Feeling a little better, I turn to her—the lady who I am going to eat next. She’s awake now and crawling forward, scratching at the floor and sniffling.

  I don't lift her, but just tilt her face back so I can get a good lock on the evil within. Dragging it from her is a wonderful experience. She tastes like cotton candy, gummy worms, and rainbow ice cream. She tastes the way childhood should feel. When I’m done I moan. “Thank you.”

  “You are a sick freak.” The fire witch laughs from the doorway, casting a long shadow on the floor. “That's freaking insanely cool.”

  The compliment feels a bit backhanded, but I get her point. My skills are mad, and I am a wicked awesome badass. I don't feel that way though. I don't even like it when people watch me eat, but my hunger was at the scary level, the one where I eat everyone around me. And now because I’ve eaten, Wyatt will be sick.

  I should have just had sex . . .

  My wings droop, lowering to the floor and dragging behind me as we leave the two dead people to decompose with the rest of the earth.

  “Can I ask you a weird question?” She finally says something after we’ve walked for a minute. I’m lost in thought about how Wyatt must be feeling right now. I didn't even warn him. “Rayne?”

  “What?”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Yeah.” I nod once.

  “Uhm—how does it taste?”

  “He was a sex offender of sorts and a drug dealer, not the most evil I’ve eaten. He tasted like a turkey sandwich. Cranberry sauce and all.”

  “Weird.”

  “Yup. Well, not really. Evil tastes good.” I’m not sure how to explain the whole experience.

  “What about the lady?”

  “She was a psycho. She liked to do some dark things so she tasted better.” I don't want to say what. I feel like an idiot.

  “That's a strange way to eat, Rayne.”

  Mystica. Her name is Mystica. When a girl named Mystica makes fun of you, you know you’re a weirdo. “Yeah.”

  We walk back to the house, me shivering from the feel of the glamour boundary and her giving me weird side-glances I have to assume she thinks I don't see.

  While it’s nice to be with a girl my own age-ish, walking with her isn’t the same as being with Mona. I don't think anyone will ever be Mona for me.

  Maybe I won’t have to live long without friends.

  Chapter Two

  My dad’s angry face flutters about my head like a butterfly, touching down on each thought and image I see. I turn over with a sigh, impatient for sleep and curious why the dead haven’t taken me. They always take me, especially when I’m this tired.

  My body is literally twitching with the need to sleep, nap, rest—anything.

  But I’m wired for sound and my father’s face is the wallpaper of my mind.

  Finally, annoyed that Wyatt is passed out napping and unable to stay upright, I push up and stalk to the dank bathroom.

  When I get to the sink I jump, seeing the old woman in the mirror. She has Mona’s lips. Her perfect Blair Waldorf lips, glossy and pouty. I don't know how I missed it before. I guess because her gross old finger was in front of them.

  “What are you doing?” I lift a finger and touch the warm glass of the mirror.
<
br />   “I have to talk to you.” She leans forward and whispers, “Two sides of the same coin. I keep hearing it. You have to come and see me.”

  “Thanks, Mona. That's useful information but in case you’ve forgotten, the garden is sealed.”

  “How do you think I got here, smart-ass? There are ways in and out.” She lifts her middle finger and mimes taking the cap off and smearing lipstick on and then sliding the cap back on.

  “You’re funny. But seriously, what’s the coin?” I give her a quizzical look.

  “I don't know, try doing some research, Rayne.” She sticks her tongue out as she evaporates into the glass, making it look frosted before it goes back to normal.

  “Great.”

  “Who you talking to?” Wyatt wanders in, giving me a weak look.

  My lips part to tell him but there’s a whisper in me that says I should lie. “Myself.”

  “How was breakfast?” He looks pale and sweaty.

  “I’m sorry.” I lean forward, taking his face in my hands. “I didn't realize I had let it get so far. I had to eat. I should have warned you first though.”

  “It’s cool. I get it. I just wish we could have had sex first.” He winces when my fingers brush his skin and he pulls back. His dark-blue eyes dart from my hands to my face. “Something’s wrong.”

  “What?”

  “I don't know. Your skin is burning mine.” The feather on his chest is beige now, or not so white. I reach forward to touch it, but he cringes, waiting for the pain of my fingers on him. I freeze my hand and fold my fingers into a fist, pulling it back.

  “Weird. Could it be from the daggers being removed?” I ask, unsure of what we should do next. My not sleeping and us not touching is a recipe for disaster I don't want to consider. It makes me feel like we’re already growing apart. And he’s one of the last good things I have left in my life. I need him.

  “I don't know. I wish Stella and Michelle were here. They’ve been doing so much research on all the lore. We’re fighting a war blindly and being betrayed at every corner. Michael wanting to take the garden was a surprising twist. He’s supposed to be the one guy we can count on and he’s being selfish. It feels like we’re alone in this.” His lips twitch into a grin. “And I don't know about you, but I’m feeling a little tired of getting kicked in the balls every week.” He leans against the doorframe and takes a deep breath.

  “I won’t eat again until it’s time to fight the Antichrist.” I fight the urge to touch him. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You have to eat, no matter what.” He wipes his sweaty face and shakes his head, giving me the look, the one that melts my heart. “I love you, Rayne. I don't give a rat’s ass about the rest. I just want this over and for you to be free.” His dark-blue eyes lose some of their sparkle. “And I believe you will make it past this. I know you will.” He says it like he’s reading my mind as he reaches forward, taking my small hand in his and squeezing through the discomfort of touching me. “There is no way God means for you to die. You have sacrificed so much.”

  I squeeze back but slip my hand from his, making it so he can breathe again. I offer a smile, forcing it to be something believable. “No matter what, we’ll both make it out of this together.” I don't add that I think it’s going to be Heaven as a reward for service. I don't add that I know we will die together. I just let him live in the delusional world where we are going to live forever thing. Between that and the fact his sister might actually be the Antichrist, I could ruin his entire week. But I can’t shake the feeling Maggie is what Mona is talking about. She is the other side of Wyatt. His sister.

  “I’m going to try to sleep your last supper off.” He kisses the side of my face with a wince and walks back to the bed.

  “Can I do something? Anything?” I follow him, hating that my meals are affecting him so badly and knowing I can’t touch him either.

  “I just need sleep, Rayne. I’ll be fine.” He waves and climbs back into the dark velvet bed. The room looks like a Gothic brothel. I feel like I’m living in a Gothic romance.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter as I switch off the bathroom light, noting the silver lights from my eyes, and leave him there in the darkness to sleep it off.

  When I get back into the hallway Constantine is there, leaning and talking to a witch. She laughs and twirls her black hair. He smiles at her, but his dark eyes find me in the shadows. He says something low, something I can’t hear, and pats her on the arm. She giggles and waves, sauntering away from him.

  “Well, well. You look improved.” He turns to me, offering up his mischievous smirk. “How is the boy?”

  “Fine,” I lie.

  “Lie better.” He raises an eyebrow.

  “He’s weak and in pain, and when I touch him—” I pause, not sure how to even say it.

  “Yes?” He takes a step toward me.

  “It burns. Like it did when he touched me and made me sick. He’s doing the brave-face act you boys all do, but I can tell it hurts him badly.”

  Constantine puts his hands in the air. “Don't lump me in with the rest of the male population. I rarely act like you don't break my heart every time you breathe. We both know the truth of that.” He turns and heads for the stairs. “You need to go and see Michael about the air angels and their plan. We need to secure them as allies. The air witches are the last ones to actually swear fealty to our plight. Plus, he might be able to find Lucifer faster than we can.”

  “We should wait for Wyatt.”

  “I suspect Michael sees him as a pet or a toy. I suggest you go there alone and try to figure out what his plan is now that the garden is closed.” He talks while still walking away from me, clearly still angry with me.

  “I closed the garden. He won’t want to see me.”

  He pauses and gives me a look from the stairs. “You are the light of the world, Rayne. He will want to see you. I’m going to find out what my sister and Michelle are doing now that Lucifer is gone. If anyone knows who the Antichrist is, it’ll be Stella. She’s smart; she won’t have put all her eggs in one basket without knowing what Lucifer is doing.”

  “I think maybe we should see if Maggie Van Helsing is with them too.”

  “Little Maggie—why on earth would we do that?”

  “She might be the Antichrist.”

  His dark eyes twinkle with humor. “What proof do you have, besides hating her and her hating you?”

  “No one knows where she is. She’s missing. Conveniently. And she hates me, like naturally hates me. It’s weird.”

  “I don't know if that's quite enough for Wyatt. Perhaps you should get a bit more evidence before you accuse his little sister.” He chuckles and turns.

  “I’m coming with you to the castle.”

  He sighs but relents, “Fine. But I refuse to wait while you swim.”

  “I’ll fly.” I brush past him and hurry down the stairs. “I’ll race you.”

  “Okay, I’ll wait here for a few hours and give you a head start.”

  I lift my middle finger into the air, flipping him off behind my back as I walk through the foyer below and leave from the front door.

  My wings burst from my back as I jump and flap them. The cool wind makes me want to curl up in my bed and sleep next to Wyatt, but I know that's not what will happen. I’ll be frustrated watching him sleep. This is a better distraction than hovering over Wyatt while he’s so sick.

  It takes a long time to fly to England from the East Coast. When I land I’m winded and a bit cold. Constantine’s there, sitting on the rocks below his English castle.

  “I might be wrong. Maybe the nixie are faster.”

  “Oh my God. We have nothing but time right now. We don't even know where Lucifer is.” Rolling my eyes I walk to him and look up. “How do you want to go in?”

  “The back door. She’ll be guarding these tunnels and the underground crypt where her precious babies are. We can go in up top and draw them to us.” The wind brushes against us both, making
me shiver. He steps close, wrapping himself around me. “You look tired, Rayne. You need sleep.”

  “I wish I could.” I yawn and nod, resting my head on his shoulder. I shouldn’t but I enjoy the smell of him and the feel. There are memories in my mind from before. Memories of us making love. He took most of them but flashes remain from me recalling them. If I close my eyes and smell him, I can remember how Ellie felt in his arms. Nothing can take that away.

  She still loves him. I can’t hear her or any of them anymore, but I know she does. In some twisted way I do too.

  He vanishes and I fly to the top of the rock cliff where the edge of the castle is. It’s the place I went to clear my head when I lived here. There’s a heavy English fog so when I land it’s just the mist and me.

  It swirls and Constantine gives me a look from across the stony field. “Shall we?” He nods his head at the back of the castle.

  “Sure.” I take a deep breath. “What happens if we get in there and the vampires go crazy? Or the queen of the fae? What can we do?”

  He smiles; it’s a beautiful sight. “We have plenty of options. Trust me. I won’t let a single hair on your head be harmed.” He turns and walks for the back of the castle.

  Ignoring the dread in me, I turn and follow him into what I feel is a trap.

  As we draw closer, the tantalizing scent of pure evil wafts out at me. It’s not strong but it’s here. I press my lips together and resist the temptation floating about me. Wyatt can’t handle me eating another drop, not for a while, no matter how good it tastes.

  Constantine doesn’t sneak or crawl. He doesn't attempt to hide the fact we have come. I have a feeling that he’s angrier with Stella than he is with me.

  He flings open the back door to the main kitchen, and I wonder why he snuck away in the first place. Why he didn't just stay and fight if he had the ability to.

  “Stella, my precious. Come to me, dear sister, and tell me all your sins,” he shouts. His deep voice echoes through the house but not a sound follows it. Nothing but our footsteps. He glances back at me and nods. “When they come up through the door from the basement we’ll kill them one by one, if they’re still down there.”