by Laury Falter
Gershom spoke freely from that point on.
“Maggie, that’s why I left, as more of his group appeared at school. I figured he would follow shortly. Unfortunately, that was indeed the plan.” He gave me an overwhelmed grin and continued. “So, to give you all an understanding of what we’re up against…Abaddon started collecting his followers one by one. The first was Sarai. She is his daughter who followed him here and she’s just as deadly. She has the unique ability to make any man, who she speaks directly to, fall in love with her. Not a balanced, well-meaning, healthy kind of love but a sad, painful one that leaves the man tearful and desperate. I’ve been conscientious and thankfully have never felt the affect but it does not look pleasant. Although she seems to have control over the level of lust and obsession she can create in her victims, she typically doesn’t hold any of it back. So…” Gershom addressed Rufus and Felix. “…if she attempts to speak to you, if you see the smallest hint that she is addressing you, try to get out of earshot. This will be challenging because…well, I’ve actually never seen anyone successfully evade it. Just do your best to avoid her at all costs. The good news is that this affect, this power, lasts only until she leaves. Unfortunately, she uses her ability merely to debilitate, so most men don’t survive that long.”
“Wonderful…” Rufus muttered sarcastically.
Felix didn’t appear concerned, which didn’t surprise me.
“Then there’s Elam. When Abaddon isn’t around, Elam acts as the paternal overseer. They picked him up in the Tower of London while he was working as an executioner. He’s said to have been the one to execute Anne Boleyn and he enjoyed doing it. The makeup of the human body has intrigued him ever since.”
“Anne Boleyn? The Queen of England, Anne Boleyn?” asked Ezra, showing surprise for the first time.
“That’s correct.”
“But she was executed in 1536…” Ezra stated under her breath.
“Most of those I am talking about have been alive for hundreds of years, Elam included.”
To this, my roommates raised their eyebrows.
Gershom, if he noticed, ignored it. “Elam has one weakness. Although his skin cannot be punctured – evidence from the explosion in Mr. Sparks’ Biochemistry class – any part of his body not covered in skin can be harmed. This includes his eyes and the inside of his mouth. I know of one attempt on his life in which he was given poison. It nearly killed him but with his love of chemistry he was able to narrowly escape death by concocting an antidote serum. His attacker later became the victim and was found gutted from the inside out, hanging from a spike on the grounds of the Tower of London.”
“Ugh…” Felix dipped his head and shuttered.
“The next most powerful one is Achan. Abaddon discovered him sometime during the French Revolution, picking off rebels from high positions with his choice of weapon – the bow and arrow. Something Maggie knows, unfortunately, all too well. But what you don’t know is his strength. I’ve never seen anyone with the magnitude of his ability. No one has ever been able to match him. And lastly, there’s Sharar. He came to Abaddon not long ago and asked to be a follower. I don’t know his history but what I can tell you is that he’s unpredictable. He strikes without thought or strategy…it seems…whenever the urge appeals to him. His only weakness that I’m aware of is his ego. He thinks very highly of himself. No one is above him. ”
“Not even Abaddon?” I asked.
“That remains to be seen.”
“Alright,” said Ezra, thoughtfully. “So we know that Elam must be attacked through the eyes or the mouth, Achan’s strength can possibly be used against the others if we position ourselves tactically, the women would need to handle Sarai for obvious reasons, and we can possibly use Sharar’s ego against Abaddon.”
Ezra – always the supportive, selfless caregiver – left me unnerved hearing her talk with such strategic derision. It even took Gershom by surprise.
“Y-Yes,” he stammered. “That’s well thought out, Ezra. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. What you should be focusing on is leaving the city. We’ve wasted too much time already.”
“Agreed,” she said, glancing at each one of us. “So…what do you think about Key West this time of year?” She asked this languidly, as if she were offering up the location as a vacation spot.
Felix clapped his hands in excitement. “Yessss!”
Rufus lifted his shoulders, displaying indifference.
Within minutes, our bags were being haphazardly stuffed with clothing and toiletries before leaving the house. As I followed Rufus out the front door, I paused and turned one last time. I could see down the hallway to the kitchen where I’d first met these people I was now leaving with; where I’d eaten meals and held soulful conversations with them; where I felt that my life had finally begun. Now, here I was a few short months later running from the first place I could call home.
The sad, stark reality of our situation hit me as I passed the parlor and caught sight of the polished gold rod next to the fireplace screen. It had been covered in cobwebs the first time I’d seen it but had remained polished and ready since my roommates had moved in. So long as Abaddon and the Fallen Ones were after us, we would never be able to stay in one place for too long again. We’d always be glancing over our shoulders, waiting for one of them to walk through the door when we least expected it, and keeping our toothbrushes and clothes in bags for a quick getaway. None of this seemed fair – least of all to Ezra, Felix, and Rufus. They hadn’t asked for this type of life. I had drawn them into it. These thoughts more than any other reason were what resolved me to do what I had planned to do this morning. I only needed to get everyone else safely out of town before I could act out the decision I’d secretly made.
With Felix, Rufus, Ezra, and Gershom in the car and me on my motorcycle, we headed east on I-10. I followed, patiently, for over an hour until I was certain they were no longer looking back to make sure I was still there. When I was completely sure, I exited onto an inconspicuous off-ramp and I parked there, under the overpass, to wait. I allowed enough time so they wouldn’t see me, and then I started my engine, drove up the onramp for I-10 West, and headed back to New Orleans.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: OUT OF HIDING
It didn’t feel like I was driving my bike toward to the jaws of death, like I was delivering myself to evil. In fact, I felt nothing at all. This consciousness – or more accurately my lack of emotion, thought, or free will - only slightly registered with me. I was on autopilot. The bike moved itself through the cars back toward the city, back to the Fallen Ones.
I did, however, understand that without any feelings, it would be far more difficult for Eran to find me. Knowing this calmed me even further. By the time he learned what I was doing, I’d be dead. I would be dead and, more importantly, my roommates would be safe. Abaddon and his followers wanted me and that was exactly what I was planning to give them. I was their beacon, their honing light, used by the Fallen Ones to track down my roommates wherever they may be. Gershom had made that clear when explaining how I gave them the sensation of being electrocuted. Being removed from the equation, my roommates would be undetectable and free to live out their lives in peace.
I wasn’t certain that what I was about to do would be ‘acceptable’ or that I would end up in Eran’s world, but if it didn’t happen, if I went somewhere else, at least my efforts here on earth would not be in vain. Ezra, Rufus, Felix, and Gershom would be safe and that mattered more.
Of course, they’d wonder what happened to me, why I suddenly disappeared while following them on our escape. They’d turn around and come looking, first at the house where they’d go through every room, calling my name, and in the end they would only find my letter…the letter I had left on my bed.
I never had any intention of running. It’s not in my nature, as much as Eran, Gershom, and the others wished it to be. I said I would leave and that was what I planned to do. So when I went in search of Gershom this morning
, it was to say goodbye but it was also to understand the Fallen Ones – what I should expect. He’d given me a pretty clear picture while describing them to us in Ezra’s office. The prospect of pity was laughable. I had a solid understanding that my death would be drawn out and painful, even entertaining for them.
By the time I reached the city limits, the sun had just touched the horizon. It would be dark soon enough. With it being close to Christmas, colorful strings of lights were already lit on the houses as I rode by them, their cheerfulness not being lost on my decidedly darker situation. As I exited the interstate, and headed down Canal Street, I noticed that tourists and locals alike moved in and out of stores for last minute shopping and the street cars and horse-drawn carriages were blazing with lit decorations.
I appreciated the city’s mood, feeling a pang of disappointment that I would never be able to experience it all again, and then I immediately brushed the thought away.
No feeling, I reminded myself. I wasn’t certain I could keep that promise, in light of what I was expecting to encounter shortly. I would sure try. The last thing I’d want is for Eran to stop this from happening. He’d proven more times than I cared to count that he’d do his best to save me from death. If he was successful at it this time, it would only cause me to find another time to confront the Fallen Ones, delaying the inevitable. I much preferred to get this over with quickly.
So I turned my thoughts to finding them.
Knowing who they were, that they were visitors to the city, and that they indulged in vices – countless ones I imagined – there was really only one place I could think to find them.
Bourbon Street.
So I pulled onto the thin, cobblestone lane, infamous for its brazen entertainment, and inched my way through the gathering of partiers milling around. They heard my engine’s rumble and parted the way, making it easy to move freely down the street without worries of running into anyone. It also allowed me to scan the open doors of bars, clubs, and restaurants. Although they were packed with people, I kept my sight focused on looking across the top of the crowds’ heads, in search of just one who stood out, towering over the rest.
Abaddon.
I was midway down the street when I felt him. The same intense reaction I’d encountered earlier in The Square came over me and I nearly swerved into a group of college students before regaining control of myself. Through it all, I realized that I didn’t feel a moment of fear, anxiety, or any other emotion – just the odd symptoms of a Fallen One’s presence. I realized this was the result of my still being in a daze, reacting more than thinking.
That moment of lost control over my bike drew enough attention that I was sure Abaddon, or one of the others, had seen me. Still, I wasn’t able to see them. They were somewhere in the crowd, somewhere nearby, but as I looked from side to side the only ones in sight were tourists – none of whom looked familiar.
I decided to park my bike on one of the side streets, before heading back to the place where I’d felt the Fallen Ones. This bike had been my first venture into independence and freedom, carrying me toward it wherever I went. It was a part of me. It defined me. As I stepped away from it, I was aware that it now carried me to my death.
I didn’t allow myself to look back as I left it, for fear of another pang of disappointment, but instead, I focused on Bourbon Street and the packs of people moving along it. I still didn’t see Abaddon or any of his followers as I stopped at the street corner. Variations of music pumped from the establishments lining the broken sidewalk. Meagerly clad woman gestured to men walking the street and beckoned them into dark doorways with strobe lights and dancing girls beyond. Tourists stood on balconies lit with strands of holiday lights, slopping beer from enormous plastic cups. There was too much going on. If I was going to coerce them out of their hiding, I would need to draw attention to myself.
On Bourbon Street, there was really only one way to do it. It was not what I preferred but it would be effective.
I entered the nearest bar with access to a balcony and climbed the stairs. Even in the dark staircase I felt the Fallen Ones so strongly that I expected to run into them as I reached the top. There were only college girls hanging over the side of the balcony. I joined them, squeezing myself in between the crowd until I too was overlooking the street below.
From above, it looked less crowded. This was good. Easier to identify them.
“You…you…” a deep voice from below called up a few moments later.
I looked down to find a guy in his early twenties pointing at the balcony where I stood.
“Me?” called a blonde girl standing to my right. She didn’t bother to hide the thrill in her voice.
“No,” the guy shook his head and pointed again.
By then, I was certain his finger was focused on me.
“Oh…” said the girl bitterly, turning to me with narrowed eyes. “He means you.”
“Come on!” The guy from below called, dangling a cheap plastic necklace, as if that would entice me.
He had no idea he was simply a means to an end. Still, I knew I needed to play the part. I smiled seductively at him, hoping it looked that way at least. I’d never attempted that expression before. Then, I slipped my fingers up underneath the hem of my shirt – like I’d seen other girls do before when I was forced to venture onto this street.
“Don’t you have anything better?” I called down to him, my eyes disregarding him and scanning the street for any sign of a Fallen One.
“Oh, he’s got something better,” his friend called out lewdly.
As much as this attention made my skin crawl, it was effective. The crowd of onlookers was growing.
“Well don’t make me wait,” he called out, still dangling the plastic bead necklace.
I stalled as long as I could, throwing back a flirtatious laugh, and lifting my shirt a little higher, careful not to go any farther than my belly button.
Hoots and howls rose up from the crowd below.
“Just do it,” the blonde girl next to me insisted, her voice tainted with jealousy.
I ignored her.
Just as the girl nudged me with her elbow to get on with it and the crowd started to get antsy, Abaddon appeared from around the street corner, his followers directly behind.
I froze, watching them as they stopped across the street, folding their arms and staring up at me, like a small army waiting to advance.
They wouldn’t have to wait long.
I dropped my shirt and turned away from the balcony, boo’s and jeers erupting and filtering up from the street. I disregarded them. Let them call me a prude. I was dealing with an issue far more important than baring my chest.
I made it down the staircase without falling, despite the innate hesitancy I felt in moving closer to my end. Out on the street, I found the Fallen Ones where they’d been before. Abaddon’s eyes met mine, and I turned to head down the dark street toward a quieter spot, a less public place. I wasn’t sure what Abaddon had in mind, but I knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant. I didn’t want anyone to accidentally find us or to valiantly step in, trying to be a hero.
As I headed farther away from the commotion of Bourbon Street, into the darkness, I didn’t need to turn to make sure they were following me.
I could feel them.
As we got farther from safety, my radar grew more and more intense, as if it was sensing their anticipation of what was to come.
I approached a dark alleyway and figured this would be as good a place as any to do it. Only the hazy illumination of a streetlight reached here, and no doors or windows could be seen, just the back sides of two buildings.
An efficient place to die.
It was here and now. I turned to face Abaddon, startled to find him leaning down, merely an inch away.
One moment I was staring into the cold, black eyes of a killer and the next I was flying backwards at lightning speed, inches off the ground.
I braced myself, ready for the sure collis
ion between the brick wall at the end of the alley and my spine.
It never came.
My body stopped a foot away, still inches off the ground, hovering.
I could feel my heart racing, trying to overcome the impact of what had just happened as Abaddon and his followers stalked down the alley toward me, their shadows stretching long across the building’s walls.
They halted their march just a few paces from me. Only Abaddon continued his approach until he was barely out of arms reach. He smiled, and again, I was struck by how he appeared so young on the outside while I could see the wrinkles of age moving just beneath his skin, as if the top layer was translucent.
“You’ll forgive me if I keep you at a distance, won’t you?” he said in a deep, raspy voice.
I shrugged. “It’s not as if I have a choice.” I moved my legs to prove my point, and they flailed uselessly beneath me.
His raspy voice released a laugh, sounding oddly like two pieces of metal grating together. “It’s for our protection…you understand.” He said this flippantly, as if he truly thought I did.
I was certain my expression reflected my confusion when Abaddon blinked in surprise, a very human reaction I noticed.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
“Forgotten what, Abaddon?”
He sighed, a half-cocked smile lifting his face. “I’ve missed the way you speak to me,” he whispered, contentedly. “Such fury…but I don’t recall you being one for games, Magdalene.”
“I’m not…”
He opened his mouth to speak, pausing and starting again, ultimately releasing another deep chuckle. “Am I to understand that you have no recollection of me?” He seemed incredulous.
I kept silent. There was no sense in dragging this out with frivolous conversation.
Abaddon glanced over his shoulders, sending a dubious grin toward his followers and then back at me.
“You always keep me guessing, Magdalene,” he said, wistfully. I got the distinct feeling that I had known Abaddon for a very long time, for lifetimes possibly. He drew a finger up to his lips, grinning behind it, and then dropped it to his chest, acting playfully glib. “So how is it that you have no remembrance of me and…” he motioned behind him, “…my cohorts?”
