Transgression

by Brandy C. Ange

  Shael’s fingers inched toward the sword at his side, but his coat was in the way. There was nothing for it. He couldn’t draw his weapon without notice. He would just have to do so swiftly. Bracing himself for the grip around his throat to tighten, Shael reached for his sword.

  He drew it out in an arch, slicing the chest of the demon in front of him. As anticipated, the hands strangling Shael tightened. Shael choked, and watched little stars burst in front of his eyes. He grabbed his sword with both hands, and went as if to stab himself in the face, but aimed a few inches higher, praying that the demon behind him was as tall as the one now gripping at its bleeding chest.

  More demons rounded on him, and descended like a pack of wolves, hunting together. Shael felt them clawing at him. They grabbed his legs and his arms. He felt heat flash across his face, as a set of talons raked across his cheek. The cuts felt like miniature bonfires set ablaze all over his body. Like a thousand paper cuts, only wider.

  Shael fell backwards. He hit the ground hard, with nothing to break the fall, and assumed that he had killed the demon that had been choking him from behind. Shael struggled to grip the sword. His hands were wet with blood and sweat, mostly his own, but some of it was black and sticky. He kicked up, hard. His foot connected with one of the demon’s jaw bones. Shael felt the crunch of the broken jaw travel up his leg. Another one of demons bit down on his right arm. Shael screamed. With his left hand he drew a dagger from his belt and drove it into the side of the demon’s head until his arm was released.

  That was two down, one injured, and two more to go, Shael tallied. A demon on his left grabbed him by the throat and began to lift him. Shael, brought his arm with the sword down, slicing through the demon’s wrist.

  The demon hissed and spit as it drew back, clutching its stump with the other hand. “Two down, two injured, and one to go,” Shael chanted in his head like a mantra, to keep from passing out. Human strength was hardly strength at all, Shael had found. His endurance was less than a quarter of what it once had been. But worst of all, was the aging. Shael felt sluggish, and cloudy in the brain. He was now on his feet, but his legs were shaking.

  The last demon was facing Shael, circling him slowly. Shael felt a little like a bullfighter. “Oh come on. I don’t have all night. You’ve already made me late.” He spat impatiently.

  The demon charged. It barreled forward into Shael’s gut, rugby-tackling him backward. Shael let out a grunt as the air was knocked out of him. However he couldn’t help but laugh a little at how stupid a move this had been on the demon’s part. Shael raised up the sword with both hands, holding his dagger against the hilt, and brought both of them down between the demon’s shoulder blades. The demon’s body rained down like ashes, and was carried away in the harsh wind.

  Shael looked at the two writhing demons on the ground. They were gripping their stump and chest, respectively. “I have a message for Luc,” he said glancing down at them. “Actually,” Shael paused, looking back and forth between them, “one of you is superfluous.” Shael slung the sword and decapitated the demon that was now missing a hand. He turned back to the demon who had laughed at him before. “Is this about what you had expected?” Shael smiled.

  “Cohen.” The demon choked, spitting out blood. He was leaning against the wall of the alley, gripping his chest. “That’s what you call yourself now, isn’t it?”

  Shael said nothing, but stared back steadily, not denying his chosen mortal name.

  “Do you still think of yourself as a holy man? Even though you have no soul?” The demon laughed.

  “You know what?” Shael said, clenching his jaw. “The message wasn’t that important.” Shael slung the sword out, almost lazily, slicing the demon’s throat. The demon choked, not dying immediately. “I was just going to tell him to piss off,” Shael shrugged. Then, he wiped his sword clean on his coat as the demon choked, one last time, and disintegrated into ash.

  Shael limped into the park looking like he’d seen much better days. He was completely covered in blood, and was feeling a little lightheaded from the loss of it. He would have to seek out a healer. The mortal hospitals weren’t equipped to treat demon venom, and his right forearm was already completely numb with it. The arm was convulsing as it tried in vain to fight the venom off. The infection was already setting in.

  “Shael.” A fair haired man, with bright keen eyes rose to meet him, as Shael nearly collapsed on a park bench.

  “Jophiel,” Shael collapsed on his left side, grasping his right. “Do you have any hyssop?”

  Jophiel knelt beside Shael and pulled out a vial of oil. He began to pour it out and massage it into the bite on Shael’s forearm, which was now swollen and irritated, and turning green. “Let me summon Raphael. He could heal you.”

  “No. I,” Shael sucked in a breath, “I can’t accept any more help from Heaven than what I am already about to request.” The spasms in Shael’s arm began to calm. Shael sat up, and Jophiel sat next to him looking concerned.

  “You have risked much in coming here.” Jophiel’s voice was troubled. “They have tracked you easily. You are all but captured, and more will come. Let them take you, only don’t lead them back to your daughter. I know that Naphtali loves her as his own. He will protect her. I know it.” Shael could tell Jophiel took no joy out of giving this advice. Shael had always valued Jophiel’s advice and regretted it the times he had chosen to ignore his wisdom.

  “I came to ask for protection, but it appears that I am too late for that.” Shael coughed. His injuries, in addition to the cold, were wearing on his human flesh. This body infuriated him in its near uselessness. “Accept this as a gift,” Shael presented the sword to Jophiel. “In exchange for keeping an eye on Achaia and Naphtali for me.”

  “Elkana Ezer.” Jophiel whispered, reaching out and taking the blade in his hands. “Forged from bronze, was it not? Before the creation of diemerilium.”

  “Bronze laced with emerald, tipped in diamond. The sword that slayed the Assyrians before reaching Judea.” Shael smiled at Jophiel’s reverence for a human possession.

  “I couldn’t,” he said, handing the sword back to Shael.

  “Then keep it safe,” Shael countered, pushing the sword away, refusing to take it back.

  Jophiel clutched the sword to his side. “Shalom Shael ben Yahweh.”

  “Peace, wholeness, and restoration—,” Shael mused under his breath. The sentiment was one so commonly given, and yet so rarely received. Shael knew there would be no peace tonight, no wholeness as long as he lived, and there was no restoration in his eternity. Shael smiled sadly. “Go, brother. You’ve wasted enough time on a lost cause like me.”

  Jophiel stood, but clasped Shael’s shoulder tightly. “No cause that breathes is ever lost.”

  3

  Farmacy

  “Remember tonight,

  For it is the beginning of always”

  -Dante Aligheiri

  The whole next day at school Achaia had a hard time concentrating. Since her father hadn’t come home, she had even debated skipping school and waiting for him, in case he came home while she was out. But she was far enough behind in all of her classes, and didn’t think she could risk missing a full day. In the end Naphtali had insisted on walking her to the bus stop and waiting with her until it came.

  Even though she tried her best to follow along in geometry, she had been completely lost and made plans with Olivier to do their homework together again. When she arrived home she was pleased to find that her father was actually there, at least physically. He had deep dark circles beneath his eyes, and his skin was pale, like he hadn’t been eating well enough. He had a bandage across his face, and told her he had cut himself, embarrassingly bad, while shaving. Achaia sat at the counter trying to get a head start on her French homework. Instead, she sat at the counter pretending to do her homework. In reality she was too distracted by her father’s erratic behavior to focus. His act of normalcy had ended with ‘How was your day?�
� She tapped her pencil on her text book as she attempted to read the second paragraph for the third time. An untouched mug of post-dinner hot chocolate sat in front of her. She glanced up at the steam rising from the smooth brown liquid. Her father was steaming too, she could feel it.

  As she turned around she was caught off guard by the sight of her father standing in the center of the living room tapping his foot and wringing his hands. “Dad?”

  Her father clenched his jaw, and swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

  “You’re acting really weird, again.”

  He rolled his eyes and looked at the floor, biting his lip. “I’m sorry we’ve been moving so much.”

  “Are we moving again? Is that what all this is about? We just got here!” Achaia said annoyed. He always acted a little anxious before telling her they were about to take off, but he’d never been this disturbed.

  “I’m sorry sweetie.” He took a seat on the ottoman in front of the sofa. “Do you like it here?”

  “I don’t know, dad. How well can you like a place after a week?” Achaia abandoned her books and turned backward on her stool. “I haven’t even gotten a chance to see the Statue of Liberty.”

  “Okay, let’s go!” Her father stood with a little too much enthusiasm.

  “What is going on? Why do we have to leave again? Do you have a new assignment?”

  Achaia watched as something dark passed behind her father’s eyes, and the smile left his face. “There’s so much you don’t know. That you couldn’t understand.”

  “Couldn’t? How do you know if I am capable of it or not, if you don’t give me the chance?” Achaia stood up and crossed the living room to the arm of the sofa. “What is it I can’t understand?”

  “It’s not your fault. There are things I haven’t ever taught you.”

  “How to do my own taxes? How to hotwire a car? Yeah there’s a lot you haven’t taught me. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t understand it, if you did.”

  “You’re better off not knowing some things Achaia. You don’t need to know everything.”

  “Right, because ignorance is bliss? It might be,” she granted, “but what you don’t know can hurt you.” Achaia realized that her posture mirrored her father’s. Both stood with one leg cocked atop a tapping foot, and arms crossed; both were unwilling to yield. “Besides, if you didn’t want to tell me, why bring it up?”

  Shael sighed. “Because a part of me wonders if it wouldn’t be better, easier if you knew. But the majority of me doesn’t want to burden you with it. If I was going to tell you, I should have done it a long time ago.”

  “Better late than never.”

  “Can’t you just trust me?” He asked exasperated. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time as a miniature carbon copy of himself.

  “That would require me to know you, and I’m not sure I do anymore.” Achaia tried to unclench her jaw; it was starting to hurt.

  Shael’s face shook as if she had smacked him, but he said nothing.

  “How do you expect me to trust you, when you obviously can’t trust me?” Achaia, realizing that neither of them would ever give in, went for the door and grabbed her coat. “I’m going to go explore this place before you drag me off to the next nowhere.” She let the door slam behind her.

  She ran down the stairs as fast as she could, lest he come after her. Once she reached the street she reached for her phone and texted Olivier.

  HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT

  SIGHTSEEING INSTEAD OF

  HOMEWORK?

  WAIT. NO GEOMETRY? :(

  JK I’M IN.

  CAN I BRING SOME PEOPLE?

  SURE.

  MEET YOU AT

  BROOKLYN BRIDGE?

  KK

  Achaia waited against the rail of the boardwalk that ran across the Brooklyn Bridge, gazing out over the water. She looked at the buildings across the glassy surface and wondered if life were simpler in Brooklyn; less chaotic outside of the city’s heart…The wind was bitter cold against her face, her teeth were chattering, and she was beginning to regret her decision, when she heard her name called out behind her.

  As she turned she saw Olivier walking briskly toward her. Noland and Emile lagged behind.

  “Is everything okay?” Olivier asked as he reached her. To her surprise he reached out and hugged her in greeting. She hugged him back, feeling unsure.

  “My dad wants to move again.” She said quietly so that only he would hear.

  Olivier frowned. “Already?”

  She could tell he was disappointed, and not just for her.

  She turned back against the rail and looked down into the water, then back out over it. Emile and Noland caught up to them and took up the rail on either side. She could smell Emile’s cologne. It was musky and reminded her of Christmas, something spiced.

  “So you want to go over there?” Olivier asked pointing across the bridge. Achaia looked up at him and back toward Brooklyn.

  “What is there to do there?”

  “Have you had dinner?”

  Achaia nodded.

  “Desert?” Olivier smiled.

  Achaia shook her head.

  “Farmacy?” Emile asked looking across to Noland.

  “Yellaina is going to kill us for going without her.” Olivier laughed. “Let’s go. This is a part of New York you can’t miss.”

  “What is it?” Achaia asked following them as they began to walk across the bridge.

  Shael grabbed his coat and limped after Achaia. His hip twinged as he descended the seven flights of stairs. His whole body was sore and ached, even after Jophiel had taken Shael to a healer named Rebecca in SoHo.

  He had spent the first part of the visit in an ice bath while Rebecca rummaged around in cabinets, collecting jars and vials of God-only-knew-what. Healing had never been Shael’s forte. After the bath, Shael had been stripped down, lathered in a pleasant smelling sort of paste and wrapped like a mummy. He was told to lay down and rest, but he wasn’t able to sleep.

  Shael had watched the sun come up over the building tops outside thinking about what he was going to do. He wondered if it was time to stop running, to entrust Achaia to Naphtali’s care, as Jophiel had suggested, and turn himself in. Shael really didn’t think it was in him to surrender. Call it pride, or determination, Shael couldn’t seriously consider it an option.

  As the room filled fully with morning light, Rebecca came into his room with a mug of hot coffee and a bowl of fruit. Shael sat up and ate, gratefully, as she unwrapped his bandages. She had heated a combination of oils (Shael could smell that hyssop was among them) and massaged him before setting him in a hot salts bath.

  By the time Shael had left Rebecca’s, it was late afternoon. He was feeling significantly improved, but was still weak and sore.

  As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he knew he’d already lost Achaia. She was young and quick, angry, and not injured.

  Shael paused looking either way down the street to try and catch a glimpse of her bright red hair. He assumed she had pulled her hood up. Smart girl, he smiled. Achaia had so much of him in her, even without training. Sometimes he wondered what it would have been like to be able to train her up as a Guardian, to take pride in the achievement of her full potential. He shook the thought away. That was a future that was taken from them when her mother was killed. When Shael had sold his lot as a Nephilim.

  He followed his gut and turned right. He prayed he could find her. Even if the demons were mostly focused on him, New York had enough human dangers to trigger Shael’s protective fatherly instincts.

  Shael had been tracking Achaia for about an hour when he caught glimpses of glares in the crowd on the street. He knew he was being watched. He prayed Achaia was safe, but knew he needed to stop looking for her. He redirected his course away from wherever she might be, and away from the apartment in case she went home. Shael took off toward Tribeca instead, praying that Achaia was being smart, and that she wasn’t alone.

  After he
aring about the Farmacy and Soda Fountain the whole trip over, Achaia was ready to dive in. Apparently the place was well worth the trip into Brooklyn. It didn’t look like much from the outside, but as Noland held the door open and Achaia walked inside, she felt like she had stepped back into the fifties. The shop was composed of a long narrow room with shelves of goods lining the walls on the right and a long counter to the left.

  She took a seat on one of the stools near the register and Olivier sat beside her. Emile and Noland each chose a stool and grabbed a laminated menu from beside the register.

  “Grilled cheese? At a pharmacy?” Achaia smiled as she read through the offered items.

  “It’s the old school kind of pharmacy, not a drugstore. They have the best egg creams here.” Olivier said nodding to the girl behind the counter that he would take one as his order. She seemed to recognize him. She smiled at Noland as she wrote Olivier’s order.

  Emile ordered a hot chocolate, and Noland a New Orleans Mead. Achaia knew it was cold out, but she couldn’t resist the atmosphere. “I’ll have a South Pole.”

  “A good choice.” Noland smiled. The girl behind the counter frowned.

  “You come here often?” Achaia asked Noland, as the girl put his sparkling soda down on the counter in front of him.

  “Whenever we get the chance. It’s a good place to come and unwind. Though our trainer would kill us if he knew how many milk shakes we drank a week.” He laughed, looking across at Emile.