Of Heaven and Hell

by Anthology

  He hadn’t realized quite how far his thoughts had drifted until he was suddenly brought back to the present by Pix’s gentle touch on his arm. Taz jumped, realizing Pix was kneeling on the floor in front of him, gazing up with such understanding that tears sprang to Taz’ eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Pix said.

  “Why?”

  “It must be very hard. Not having a past. Knowing there are people out there who care for you but not being able to be with them. You must be very lonely.”

  Taz shrugged, giving Pix a little smile that slipped past his defenses. He generally preferred to keep his distance. “Sometimes.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t know how long you’ll be here, but while you are, you’re not alone. You have me—us.”

  Another smile slipped out. “Thank you.” Taz raised his eyes to Rohan, who shrugged, that uncomfortable expression on his face again. It made Taz smile. That, more than any words he could have spoken, gave Taz the warm feeling that Rohan actually cared, even if only a little. He got the feeling Rohan didn’t give friendship easily, and wasn’t comfortable with doing it at all.

  The warm feeling died abruptly as an image flashed through his mind, accompanied by a sharp drop in temperature. They were somewhere underground. It was dark, apart from an eerie glow that lighted a simple stone altar on which Pix was lying, his eyes closed. On the other side of the altar, Rohan was chained to the wall.

  The vision lasted no more than a moment, just a flash across his mind, but it was so clear, and the bone-deep chill remained.

  “What’s wrong?” Pix asked, his voice strained. “What happened?”

  Taz glanced up, and Pix was staring at him, his eyes wide and frightened. He seemed to have also felt the chill, because he was shivering and there was a blue tinge to his cheeks. Rohan growled.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” Another glance evidenced that Rohan was also cold.

  “I... don’t know,” Taz said carefully, wondering if they’d seen what he’d seen.

  “Was it a ghost or something?” Pix asked, glancing around nervously. “Only, ghosts don’t usually come here.”

  “That was no ghost,” Rohan growled, glaring at Taz. “What have you brought into this house?”

  “It’s not me,” Taz said, shocked that his voice was shaking slightly. “I’ve never experienced anything quite like it before. It’s definitely not a ghost. I’d know if it was.”

  “Then what is it?” The way Rohan glared at him made Taz cringe. He could quite clearly understand why it seemed as if he’d brought the bad energy with him. He was quite sure he hadn’t, but having a faulty memory wouldn’t go in his favor if he had to try to convince Rohan.

  “I don’t know. Like I said, I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”

  “But you’ve been through so much.” Pixie, on the other hand, was all compassion, but his absolute faith was just as uncomfortable. “You must have.”

  Taz shook his head. “Not like this.”

  “Do you think it has anything to do with what happened at the shop?” Pix asked.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised, but this wasn’t demon energy, not like that.”

  “So it isn’t linked,” Rohan said, as if it was a decided point.

  “Not necessarily. Just because a demon attacked you doesn’t mean there’s no one else involved.”

  Pix looked blank for a moment; then horror flooded his gaze. “You mean someone sent the demon after me. Someone’s.... Oh shit.”

  Taz’ heart skipped at the expression of sheer horror and fear on Pix’s face. “It’s alright,” he said quickly, before he had a chance to think about it. “I’ll protect you. I promise.”

  Pix flashed him the warmest and most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. Rohan glowered at him, but for once it didn’t touch him. Pix’s smile was too warm, too comforting to let anything bad get past it. Unfortunately, it didn’t take away the bad things that were already there. The shadow of his vision remained, and it haunted him more than any ghost ever had. He could see it whenever he looked at Pix. Someone had thrown a pall over him and it was tightening even as they spoke.

  The experience had clearly spooked Pix, because he jumped up and started bustling about—fixing food, turning on the heating (which he had to turn off again straight away because the temperature had returned to normal), and switching on lights, even though there was plenty of sunlight still streaming through the window.

  Throughout the rest of the evening, Pix was full of forced cheerfulness and didn’t stop talking. That suited Taz just fine because it gave him time to reflect, and to watch Pix, trying to see “beyond”. Strangely, he was only able to see a few very limited things. Usually when he turned on the sight to read someone, their future rolled out like a carpet in front of him and he only had to walk along it, to pick out images and patterns. It was still like that when he “saw” Rohan, except the pictures on the carpet had changed. They no longer included Pix. When he “saw” Pix there was no carpet. Nothing but roiling darkness. It scared the hell out of him.

  He wasn’t seeing death; that he knew for sure. He’d read dying people before and had been able to predict the exact moment it would occur. Not that he told the person, although he’d give rough timescales if specifically asked. This was different. Death appeared as a door, a huge black door with a brass knocker in the shape of a femur. In the center of the door was a glass panel. At the moment of death, the deceased soul came to stand before the panel and waited. After what ranged between moments and decades, the panel would light up, and the color of the light told the soul where the next stage of its journey would take it.

  It often surprised Taz when people saw the choice as two-way only. Heaven or Hell. That was so blinkered. In truth there were many choices, many shades. Very few souls were sent to the transformative fires, and even less to the molten landscape of the demon realm, to be consumed by its denizens. They were those that contained only darkness, that were beyond redemption. Similarly, very few souls were pure enough to ascend to the realms of the angels, where their energy was transformed and they were given a new form and new purpose.

  The vast majority of souls did neither. Many returned to the spiral of rebirth, to follow their destiny into a new life on earth. Many others underwent purification, before stepping back into the spiral, ready to move on. Some poor souls were not yet ready to face judgment and returned to their previous lives, as ghosts, until they moved on sufficiently to face the door. Taz had sent many onward himself.

  In Pix’s future Taz could see no door, and that worried him more than anything. Everyone had a door. Some were close, others far away, but they were always there at the end of the carpet, bringing a conclusion to the stream of life. Rohan had a door. Pix had nothing but that oily, roiling blackness.

  It was a relief when Rohan reluctantly left and Taz was shown to a small guest bedroom.

  “This is yours now, for as long as you want to stay. You can do what you like in here and I won’t come in unless you invite me. I want you to feel comfortable at home.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Taz said. “I just need a bed, not a whole room, and it doesn’t need to be mine.”

  “Of course it does. Everyone needs their own space, somewhere to be themselves.”

  Taz gave him a weak smile. He was too tired to even try to explain there was no “himself” to be.

  Taz sank slowly into the deep softness of the bed. He was warmer and more comfortable than he could ever remember being before. Even so, sleep came slowly. Although his body relaxed, his mind refused to close down on the terrifying images he’d seen. That in itself was strange: he’d seen things that were objectively far more frightening and not been affected this badly.

  He couldn’t put his finger on what it was about Pix that made things so much more... personal. There had been plenty of sweet people in his past. He’d read through his book and they’d leaped off the pages at him. Even though he didn’t have the memories,
he’d recorded every one, and woven with the ordinary, the dark, and the ugly were shining strands of beauty. Sure, Taz had become fond of some of them. One or two had been difficult, even painful to part from, but none had affected him as Pix already had. Professional detachment had been a shield for him, something to hide behind when the crunch came and he had to do what needed to be done, as opposed to what he wanted to do. The shield was no longer there. Pix had got to him, and there was no going back.

  Objective exploration could give him no answers as to why Pix had got so far under his skin. Yes, he was beautiful, sweet, enigmatic, kind, and so much more. But there had been others just like that. Yes, he had eyes that saw so much more than the surface skin that concealed everything but the most mundane from all but a very few. Yes, those eyes seemed to peer into his soul and scour it bare. But none of that accounted for the overpowering desire to protect at all costs, the anger that someone clearly wished Pix harm, the fear that this time not even Taz’ considerable abilities would be enough. The more he tossed it over and over in his head, the more muddled and confused his thoughts became. Somewhere in the middle of that tumult, he fell asleep.

  Vivid dreams were hardly unusual for Taz, and they were often unsettling or even downright scary. None had ever affected Taz quite as deeply as this one. He woke sweating from a headlong dash through the demon realm, searching for... something. For a moment he lie there, taking deep breaths and trying to shake the remnants of the dream. Then he realized the screaming wasn’t a remnant at all. It was real. Terror gripped him and he flew from the bed, kicking off the duvet that tangled his feet and threatened to tip him onto the floor.

  Pix was fast asleep. He was sprawled across his bed, the thin sheet doing very little to hide his nakedness. His head was thrown back, spreading his glorious hair in an inky spill over the pillows. By the uncoordinated thrashing of his limbs it was obvious he was in the middle of a nightmare, although he’d thankfully stopped screaming.

  “Pix. Pix. You’re dreaming. Wake up.” Taz tentatively extended his senses and was reassured there was no demonic, or any other kind of dark energy, at play. It was a dream, nothing more. “Pix, you’re dreaming.” Taz sat on the bed, careful to avoid Pix’s thrashing. “Wake up,” he said, shaking Pix’s shoulder.

  Pix yelped and cringed away, curling into a tight ball. At least he wasn’t wriggling around anymore. Taz shook his shoulder again, and he whimpered.

  “Pix.”

  Finally, Pix’s eyes flew open and he looked around wildly. “Taz,” he cried and threw himself into Taz’ arms, almost knocking them both off the bed.

  “Ssh. It’s alright.” Taz automatically put his arms around Pix and stroked his back. “I’m here.”

  Silently, Pix clung to him, his face buried in Taz’ hair, nuzzling his neck. In other circumstances, at another time, Taz might have felt awkward or hesitant, but there was something about the small form in his arms that just felt right, and Taz rubbed his cheek against Pix’s hair as he murmured comforting words.

  Gradually, Pix’s heart slowed and the shaking turned to shivering.

  “Come on,” Taz said, “you’re getting cold. Let me tuck you in.” He tried to push Pix back onto the bed, but Pix clung like a limpet.

  “No. Don’t leave me.”

  “It’s okay. I won’t leave you, but you’re shivering. You should get under the covers.”

  “You’ll stay with me?”

  “Until you go back to sleep.”

  “Please don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t. Not until you’re asleep.”

  “Please.” Pix tilted back his head and gazed at Taz with his beautiful amber eyes, so full of fear and hope. Taz’ breath caught in his chest. He’d read in his notes about many people he’d met, even had brief flings with, whom he described as beautiful or breathtaking, and he could vaguely remember that they were. There was a model once, and an actor. A prince even, or was that a princess? Anyway, they were all beautiful, objectively more beautiful than Pix. But.... There was something about his eyes, about the way he was gazing at Taz—

  “Oh God, you’re beautiful,” Taz breathed, before he realized he was speaking; then he bit his lip.

  Pix’s eyes widened. “I....”

  “I’m sorry.” Taz pushed Pix away and shuffled farther down the bed.

  “No. Don’t. Please.” Pix held out his arms.

  Taz shook his head. “I can’t. You know I’ll have to leave.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t know how long.”

  “I know, and I don’t care. I really don’t care. I don’t usually... you know... throw myself at people, and if I had time I’d like to get to know you as a friend first, but.... I know you’re going to leave, and if you try to tell me we should keep our distance to stop getting hurt, you’re too late. There isn’t any distance, and you know that.”

  Taz stared at Pix, his heart hammering. He was pretty sure this had never happened before, this instant and powerful attraction that had his heart beating in time with another’s. It was a bad idea, a really bad idea, but when Pix lay back, his eyes gazing up with misty confusion, his lips parted and his chest rising and falling rapidly, the thought of touching that soft, silky skin was just too much for Taz to ignore and he found himself leaning forward, until his eyes drifted shut and his lips met Pix’s.

  Pix’s lips were plump, soft and yielding, and he tasted of sunshine.

  Initially their kisses were desperate and they clung to each other as if their lives depended on it. Gradually, they calmed and their caresses became gentler, more searching, less needing. Eventually, they lay still, gazing into each other’s eyes and breathing in time. Their fingers were interlaced and their bodies entwined.

  “Do you mind if we don’t go any further tonight?” Pix asked. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just....”

  “It’s just that everything’s perfect just as it is,” Taz said, brushing the backs of his fingers over Pix’s cheek, “and I don’t want to spoil it. I just want to fall asleep looking into your eyes and listening to your heart beat.”

  “You said it better than I would, but that’s exactly how I feel.”

  Taz smiled a smile that came from his soul and folded Pix’s body into his embrace. They fit perfectly. There was no more fear, no more sadness, no more anything but the two of them, safe in each other’s arms.

  Over the next few days, Pix and Taz were inseparable. They spent every moment of every day together, either in the shop or at Pix’s flat. Every day, Pix would tumble out of bed, a gorgeous man, with a silky spill of raven black hair and a sexy smile. After an hour in the bathroom, he’d emerge, a beautiful woman with sleek red hair and curves in all the right places. When Taz asked why he did it he’d smile and say, “It’s all part of the mystery.”

  Taz very easily fell into a pattern. He’d make breakfast for Pix while he transformed, stroll to the shop with him, hand in hand, read cards for tourists—more and more as the days passed and word spread—and then stroll home again. Evenings were spent tucked together, exploring each other in every way.

  Rohan wasn’t happy with the new arrangements and didn’t mince his words saying so. Although he didn’t say anything specific to Taz’ face, Taz heard heated arguments which were along the lines of: Why are you throwing yourself at him? He’s not worth it, and he’s going to leave and break your heart. Taz couldn’t argue with that, but Pix obviously could, and did.

  The best thing about the following week was that neither Taz nor Pix got any further sense of the demonic energy. The ghosts, too, it seemed were satisfied the demonic interloper had departed and made tentative moves to get to know Taz. They were a strange bunch, ranging from a pair of mischievous children to a somber monk and an elegant Georgian lady. None of them were particularly dark, and all of them seemed somewhat shaken by the sudden appearance of the demon.

  It seemed, from what Taz could gather, that the demonic presence had appeared some months
before he’d arrived. At first, it kept its distance and only the ghosts were able to sense its presence, but as it drew ever closer, the humans began to detect it and various attempts had been made to get rid of it, often with disastrous results.

  The house in which the ghosts lived, apart from the shop which was a separate entity and belonged to Pix, had been sold and was about to be handed over to new owners. No one knew what they would do, and the ghosts were unsettled because of it. Some of them believed the demon had been sent by the new owners to get rid of the ghosts, but Taz thought that highly unlikely. Anyone who would use a demon in that way would certainly have no problem handling a handful of ghosts.

  Now, the dark pall the demon brought with it had lifted. The ghosts were elated, although some were far too grown up to admit it, firmly believing Taz had rid them of their unwelcome guest. Pix also believed Taz had saved him and the threat had now passed. Taz wasn’t so sure. It had all been too easy. Besides, there didn’t seem much else to keep him here, although the income from his tarot readings was beginning to make a big difference to the shop. Economics had never before been enough to hold him to a place when his paranormal purpose had been satisfied. No, whatever was going on here was far from over, and Taz made sure he didn’t drop his guard for a minute—until he did.

  IT WAS Saturday night, almost a week since Taz arrived, and Rohan had persuaded Pix to go out for the evening with him and some friends. Taz was never one for clubbing and he’d cried off, encouraging Pix to take some time away from him as their relationship was getting more and more intense and it worried him that he’d soon have to leave. Although reluctant, Pix had eventually agreed. Looking absolutely stunning from the tips of his shiny black boots to the top of his shiny black head, he’d stood on tip-toe to kiss Taz, and then swept out of the house with Rohan in tow.