by Ilana Waters
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “I would never do that to Arthur. Besides, if Oblivion’s plans come to fruition, neither he nor I will have a position at the PIA to worry about. Any mortals like us would be lucky to be left alive.”
Or not, I thought, remembering Oblivion’s delight in tormenting people. Some fates were worse than death. There was another awkward silence.
“And it’s not just trying to work my way up at the PIA,” Philip finally said. “Assuming that’s even possible once this is all over. My grandfather was a big RAF war hero.” I didn’t bother to inform Philip I already knew this. “It’s all my family ever talks about. Every generation looks to the next to be that brave again.” Philip put his hands on his knees and hung his head. “I’m afraid I’ll end up disappointing them.”
“You’re young yet, Philip,” I said. “There’s plenty of time for you to do something incredibly courageous.” If Oblivion doesn’t get his way.
“Well, of course you’d think like that.” Philip looked back up at me. “You’ve had countless chances to rescue people, save the world, battle demons. You have no idea how lucky you are.”
I gave him a sidelong glance. “Yes, Philip. Truly, my life is one to be envied. But opportunities to be brave do abound. You just have to know where to look.”
“It’s only . . . I’d like my life to mean something,” he said quietly, staring at the rug. “The deeper we sink into this Oblivion pit, the more I think about it. My entire life, I’ve researched and observed and done everything the PIA’s ever asked of me. I thought it was all I wanted. But what if it’s not enough? What if it’s all pointless? I don’t want my existence to be a waste. I want it to be worthwhile. I want it to mean something,” he repeated, more fiercely this time.
I’d never seen Philip let his guard down like this before. And in front of me, of all people. It was equal parts surprising and sobering.
“I confess, I’ve thought of you as many things, Philip,” I said. “But ‘meaningless’ was never one of them. In fact, I rather—”
There was a sound somewhere between a ring and a buzz. “Oh, hell. My mobile.” Philip rooted around in his jacket pocket until he found it. “Text message. Damn!”
“What is it?” Abigail asked as she and Titus returned with trays of cheese, fruit, and wine. They sat down as Arthur joined us. He put his glasses back in his pocket. Then he broke off a cluster of grapes and began eating them one by one.
“I asked Nocifari to check in with me,” Philip said. “I was hoping that was her. But it was just Marcello asking if I’d buy tickets to his cousin’s raffle.” Oblivion snorted with laughter in my mind, and Philip put the phone back in his pocket. “It’s troubling how I haven’t been able to get ahold of her for a few hours.”
“I thought you were her liaison,” I said.
“Yes, but I’m not her babysitter.” Philip glanced at the tray of food, then looked away. “I can’t keep tabs on her round the clock, and she’d certainly be suspicious if I did.”
“Why do you need to get ahold of her at all?” Abigail asked. “Not that much can change while she’s recuperating back at the PIA.”
“Actually,” Arthur swallowed a grape, “she’s recovering so well that she’s on the hunt again.”
My jaw dropped. “You must be joking. After only a day? Who is she, Superwoman?”
Philip shrugged. “She’s used to things like pain and injury. She knows how to recover quickly after being wounded. Besides, she doesn’t have to be at full capacity to kill you. She’s eliminated countless demon hosts while still on the mend.”
“Though my respect for this woman is growing,” Titus said, “I am liking her less and less. Joshua, please tell us you’ve made progress on that lemniscate.” I didn’t reply, and he groaned.
“Maybe it would help if you showed us,” said Abigail. “So we could, you know, offer suggestions.”
“On how to work a spell we don’t know, using powers we don’t have?” Titus said. “Could you possibly think of a less productive way to spend the evening?”
Abigail folded her arms. “I could always spend it with you.”
“I’d rather like to see it again.” Arthur finished his grapes and raised one hand. “The lemniscate, I mean.” Philip got a panicked look in his eye. “Oh, do calm down, Philip. One little symbol can’t hurt you.”
“But it’s supposed to hurt a demon?” Philip asked.
Of course it’s not going to hurt us. I told you that before, Joshua.
Shut up!
“All right.” I coughed. “I can’t see the harm. It’s not like the damn thing works anyway.” I traced the shape in the air with my finger at first, then with my whole hand. Then with both hands, same as before. Again, the spinning, the impossibly bright light. The others shielded their eyes, and I heard murmurs around the room.
“What is that?”
“Inside it . . .”
“I can’t see.”
“I can’t tell.”
It was still difficult to keep the lemniscate aloft. And I kept expecting to feel the vicious, static-like snap, the pain in my head that would force me backward. But I didn’t. Emboldened, I expanded the lemniscate, making it larger and more intense. But eventually, my grip on it faltered. My hands shook, and the lemniscate wobbled. Its light flashed on and off. Then the magic went dark so abruptly I was knocked back into my couch seat.
By all the demons, that is maddening! Oblivion hissed. This time, the part of me that had merged with him agreed. I gasped for breath and wiped perspiration off my forehead with my sleeve. Everyone around me was staring in awe or horror; I couldn’t tell which. Titus was the first to speak.
“Well, that was . . . ah . . .” He motioned vaguely with his hand.
“Exactly.” Abigail poured me a glass of water. I took two sips and put it down.
“Well-done, old boy,” said Arthur. “If I’m not mistaken, that was better than the last time I saw it.”
“You’re right about that.” I removed my jacket to find my shirt was soaked. “Now you all see why it’s been so difficult.”
“Bizarre as it was,” Philip said haltingly, “I still don’t see what makes it dangerous to demons.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s the other thing we have to figure—”
“Ah, Joshua, your trousers are glowing.” Arthur pointed at me.
“I do beg your pardon?”
“Your trousers. There’s something glowing orange in your pocket. Is that your mobile?”
“No, my phone’s in my jacket. And it doesn’t glow. This is—” I dug into my pocket and brought out the crystal, which was indeed emitting a pulsing orange light. It wasn’t hot, or even warm. But it felt like some kind of magic deep within it had been awakened. We all gaped as I held it in my palm, watching its light flicker, then fade out altogether. I put the crystal on the coffee table and stared at it.
“I don’t understand.” Abigail examined the crystal from different angles. “In all the years I had it, it never glowed before.”
“Same here,” I said.
“Maybe it only glows when you try making the lemniscate,” Philip said.
“If it did, I never noticed. Probably because I was concentrating on whatever was coming out of the lemniscate. That light would have easily outshone the crystal’s. Or maybe the crystal glowing just now was a coincidence.”
“Small wonder Oblivion didn’t try to hurt you when you made the lemniscate this time.” Arthur picked up a piece of cheese from the coffee-table tray and chewed it slowly.
“Indeed,” I said. “Ironically, perhaps having a bit of demon inside gives me the strength to overpower him.”
Overpower me? Joshua, when will you learn you’re only fighting yourself? You can’t overpower me any more than you could cut off both arms. It doesn’t matter how many times you twirl your hands in the air. I am almighty. I am eternal.
I am Oblivion.
>
Chapter 18
The words echoed powerfully in my head, a gong banging over and over through my skull. Of course Oblivion was right. How could I ever hope to defeat him—to defeat us? I’d seen what he could do in comparison to mortals, and even creatures like witches, vampires, and mages. Soon, his power would eclipse any chance we had of thwarting him. Despair came rolling in like a storm front, and I buried my head in my hands.
“Who am I kidding?” I stood up. “Maybe Philip’s right. This is hopeless.”
“What? I didn’t say that!” Philip glanced around to find the rest of the group giving him accusing looks. “I didn’t say that,” he repeated.
“You might as well have.” I paced back and forth behind the couch. “You’re getting nowhere with the research. I can only make a shape in the air for a few minutes before it collapses. We don’t even know what it means or how to find out. And look at me, for fuck’s sake!” I stopped pacing. “I’m wasting away. It’s like I’m my own ghost.” Arthur put down his cheese.
“Joshua, what’s come over you?” Abigail asked. “A few minutes ago, you and Arthur agreed you’d done better with the lemniscate than ever.”
“That was before I woke up to reality. Let’s face it: your son is going to become the devil incarnate, and the rest of you will die. Probably slowly and painfully.” My voice grew louder. “Do you hear me?” I kicked the underside of the coffee table. Its glass shattered as the table flew several feet, spraying shards in all directions. Food and wine went everywhere. “YOU ARE ALL GOING TO DIE.”
There were gasps around the room as everyone tried to shield themselves from the shower of glass. Arthur and Philip leaped up, while Titus and Abigail flew into the air and came back down behind their seats. My hands were clenched, my chest was heaving, and all and sundry were staring at me.
I looked around at the chaotic scene I’d caused. Wine was soaking into the carpet. Pieces of glass were scattered on the floor; in the center of them lay the broken skeleton of the coffee table. Arthur and Philip had several cuts on their hands and faces where the glass had struck them.
“Oh, God, I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I am so, so sorry.”
“Right, then,” Titus said firmly, one hand on the shoulder of a colorless Abigail. “We’re going out. Joshua and us.”
“What?” I said.
“You, your mother, and I are going for a walk. I think we all need a little air to clear our heads. In a place where there are no innocent coffee tables.”
“But there are innocent people.” Arthur winced as he rubbed his face. “People who might get hurt if Joshua—I mean Oblivion—”
“My magic and Abigail’s combined is still too strong for a demon to defeat,” said Titus. “Even if he tried.”
Yes, for now. Hehe. I felt a twinge of guilt followed by a delicious sense of anticipation.
“Wait, I have to heal you two first.” Abigail walked towards Arthur and Philip, but glanced at me, her face drawn.
Arthur shook his head. “It’s all right,” he said. “We can take care of it. You go be with your son.” Philip continued staring at me, his expression inscrutable. And although I could easily have discerned his thoughts, I’d just as soon not know them right now.
“What about the mess? I have to clean it up.” Frantically, I began collecting items that had been on the coffee table.
“Leave it, Joshua.” Titus walked over and put his hand on mine, which held several grapes and the TV remote. “We’ll deal with it later. Abigail and I will temporarily remove the spell from the elevator. I trust you both can see yourselves out?” He jutted his chin at Arthur and Philip.
“Actually, despite everything, I was hoping we might stay here a bit longer,” said Arthur. “We’ve still got some books we can look into . . .” He motioned halfheartedly to the stack he’d brought.
“Very well,” Titus said as Abigail went to his side. “Call the staff for this, if you would.” He pointed to the mess I’d created. He then handed me my jacket, and I spotted something twinkling on the rug. I knelt down to pick up the crystal from where it fell when I broke the coffee table. Miraculously, it was unharmed.
Titus and Abigail walked towards the elevator, and Titus motioned me to follow. Unable to look anyone in the eye, I dropped the remote and fruit on a side table. The remote clattered, facedown, and the TV screen sprang to life. Must’ve accidentally hit the “on” button, I thought. As I waited for my parents to remove the spell on the elevator, my eyes turned to the newscast in progress.
“—those who live and work in the district could offer no explanation as to why an entire block of buildings collapsed last night,” a reporter said. “Police and fire investigators are still trying to uncover the cause of this latest disaster in Rome. There is no evidence of arson or any other foul play. According to city officials, the structures had just been inspected last week and deemed safe. All we know at this point is that several dozen people were working late last night throughout the buildings. Many have yet to be recovered, but it’s believed this tragedy left no survivors.” My jaw went slack, and we all stared at the TV.
“Rescue workers have just confirmed that one of the bodies pulled from the wreckage was a man by the name of Enrico Favero,” the reporter continued. She looked tired and drawn, the situation’s grief enveloping her. “A manager at Successo, a marketing company, Signore Favero was a husband and father of three young children. The other known casualties are as follows.” The reporter rattled off a long list of names.
“Security cameras across the street were able to catch the entire scene on tape. Here is a composite of that footage put together by our tech team. Please be warned: some viewers may find these images disturbing.”
Everyone in the room watched in horror. It all happened very quickly. I know people say that a lot when tragedies occur, but it always surprises me how little time it takes to destroy things so carefully made. In the video, light from street lamps on the other side of the road illuminated the disaster. The buildings sank straight down into a sea of gray dust, which billowed up and engulfed the entire block. There was a sound like thunder rumbling, and the chilling music of breaking glass as huge windows shattered. Then came the strangeness of the empty space where the buildings had been only moments ago.
Several people were just walking out of the buildings’ doors, presumably on their way home. They tried to flee, but were consumed by a cloud of smoke and falling concrete. And it might just have been my imagination, but it seemed like the falling pieces were reaching for them, like the wave that came up from the Tiber.
I could practically feel the crushing weight of the brick and stone, the thick, chalk-like dust choking me. I swore I heard the screams of those trapped inside, the dying calling for help that would never come in time. An image flashed through my mind of a whole world that looked like this. Nothing but broken buildings and the bloody, broken people beneath them.
We all exchanged glances; everyone knew this was the work of Oblivion. But no one said anything. They didn’t have to. The footage of the collapse ended, and I watched the live feed of news trucks circling and rescue workers digging through the rubble. Then I froze. I recognized the district. It was in the same neighborhood as the Temple of Aradia.
Last night . . . that’s when this all took place. When I was unconscious. When I had no way of knowing what happened once I left the underground. Had I caused those buildings to fall? Did I kill those people? Had I left Enrico Favero’s wife a widow, his children fatherless?
No! It couldn’t have been me. I wasn’t even on the tape. But it could have been Oblivion working through me. How hard would it have been for him to make me stand on the periphery, just out of the security cameras’ frames? I gritted my teeth. Oblivion, you unspeakable bastard. How can you do this to people? Answer me, damn you! But as usual, Oblivion said nothing. Arthur quickly got up and turned off the TV.
The elevator dinged. The doors opened,
and my parents and I stepped inside, unable to meet one another’s gaze. I cursed myself for wandering out that night. Then I stopped. It didn’t seem to matter if I stayed in one place or not.
Oblivion was with me wherever I went. And as long as he was, no one was safe.
Chapter 19
We trod silently along travertine marble on the Bridge of Angels, or Ponte Sant’Angelo, as it’s known in Rome. It was so named because legend has it that an angel appeared on the roof of a nearby mausoleum—Castel Sant’Angelo—to announce the end of a plague. I wondered if something similar would occur if we defeated Oblivion. But as I looked to the looming mausoleum across the way, there wasn’t a single angel to be seen.
There were, however, ten angels in total on either side of us. Firmly rooted on enormous pedestals, they towered overhead, each at least three times the size of an average person. And while the bridge was almost as old as my father—about two thousand years or so—the angels were a more recent addition. They’d only been here a few hundred years.
Their faces varied from benevolent to pitying to austere. They wore robes that flowed like water through the bridge’s five arches beneath us. Their wings rose high and broad over their shoulders, like an eagle’s. Each one looked so real, you could easily imagine them breaking away from their pedestals and flying off to heaven. I almost wished they’d take me with them.
We didn’t have to worry about cars; the bridge is solely pedestrian. No one else was on it now, which was unusual, seeing as how it’s popular with tourists and locals alike. It must have been Oblivion’s evil emanating from me that drove them away. And so we walked unhindered across the Tiber, away from the center of Rome. I half-expected Oblivion to make another small tsunami, washing my family and me off the bridge. But the warm night, the soft breeze, the glittering city lights on either side . . . it was almost romantic, seductive enough to make one forget demons existed at all.
