by Anela Deen
His hand plunged through clothes, flesh, and bone into my chest. Scorching fingers wrapped around my heart, closing it in a fist made of fire from the deepest pit. I gasped in agony.
Sebastian brought his face close to mine. His eyes had turned to pools of black ink.
“Weak?” He stretched the word in a high, menacing voice. “I will fill you with molten flame until your organs run like jelly and your bones turn to ash.”
“Sebastian, stop!” Alice shouted.
Without a look, he shot a hand out her direction. Her form wafted backward like a sheet pulled from a clothesline by a gust of wind.
“How I detest your kind,” he growled. “Meddler. Intercessor. Your benevolence will come to the aid of none.”
He squeezed and a rattle issued up from my throat. Darkness seeped across my vision.
Unholy delight filled his face. “No one will ever know you existed, little saint. Your time has ended before it even began.”
“As has yours, demon.”
He whirled around with a hiss.
At the top of the steps stood Moreau. The marks on the wall behind him were gone.
His eyes met mine. “Allez, Sam. Now.”
I had never used my ability to close a door before, let alone all of them at once. I opened them. That was all I could do. Mine was a life without a compass. Directionless and uninspired.
And yet…that wasn’t true.
Deep down, I had always sensed there might be more. Something indefinable, like a thought just beyond my mind’s grasp. I understood now, suddenly and with the clarity of clear waters. I had a destiny. I’d just been waiting. Waiting to be woken.
To be called.
Then I heard it, high and pure. Voiceless notes of music touched my skin and filled my soul. Invisible, intangible, yet as real as the earth beneath my feet. The song beckoned. Entreated. It called me forward, and I replied with all that I was and could ever be:
Yes.
And my strength returned.
I clasped the hand lodged in my chest. Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. His mouth opened and the acrid stench of flame and sulfur poured out. He pressed into me, but his might could not overcome mine. Not anymore.
I forced his hand from my body. Light filled me, surrounded me, cool and cleansing as rainfall from the sky. He howled as it touched him.
“Go back. This place is closed to you,” I ground through my teeth. “Go back.”
Like someone kicked his legs out from under him, he dropped to the ground and was pulled downward. Black tentacled roots snaked up from the soil. They coiled around his waist and neck, dragging him under the earth feet first.
With a roar of torment and frustration, his arms grasped and clawed at the dead grasses. Dirt filled his mouth, his kaleidoscope eyes bulging with rage. The ground closed over his head and swallowed him whole, leaving only a fading echo of his fury on the night air.
With his departure, I felt every doorway that had opened slam shut. The pale green striations in the sky evaporated into black and the stars returned.
Chapter 8
I sank to my knees and clutched my chest. Sebastian had gone, but the pain lingered. My skin and clothes were whole, yet it felt like there was an open wound over my heart.
“It will pass,” Alice said. I was surprised to find her kneeling beside me.
“Oh sure,” I said between breaths. “Nothing a little vitamin water and some antacids won’t clear up.”
She regarded me appreciatively. “You were braver than I expected.”
I wheezed out a laugh. “You had the bar pretty low, I think.”
Moreau came down the steps. “Very well done, chèr Sam. That one will not soon forget you.”
Lovely, a demon grudge. Was it Christmas already?
“That thing, whatever he was,” I said, not wanting to speak his name. “He said something. He called me a…”
“A saint?” Moreau finished for me.
“He wasn’t meant to tell you, Sam,” Alice said. “You’re not meant to be told until you are needed.”
“Needed for what?”
“For the good you are meant to bring. For the evil you are meant to fight. A saint’s purpose isn’t always immediately evident.”
I gawked at them. “So, it’s true? With halos and blessings and the favor of the—the Big Guy?”
“Don’t be so tiresome,” Alice said. “You’re mixing fact with nonsense.”
As if there was some way to tell the difference in this situation. Here I stood in the company of Death and a witch doctor, yet I couldn’t wrap my mind around what they were saying.
“It’s not possible,” I exclaimed. “I can’t be saint. I don’t even believe in God, for crying out loud! That’s got to be a requirement, right? And if I did believe, I’d be demanding explanations, not singing his praises.”
Alice and Moreau shared a look I couldn’t decipher.
“Try not to decide all your truths in a single night,” Alice offered. “There is more to come. You will have plenty of time to decide which of your beliefs to hold.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, too exhausted to think of any reply.
Moreau gave an embellished bow. “Farewell for now. I will take my leave of you both.”
“Hey, how did you get here so fast?” I asked. “I assume you can’t teleport like this poltergeist here.”
“Mais non.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “I was never here at all, but I’ll be seeing you soon to claim the debt.”
With that his image dispersed like water down a drain.
“What the—How did he—“
“He can astral project,” Alice answered my sputtering questions. “One of the reasons he is still alive I think.”
A witch doctor who can astral project, and I owed him a favor.
Outstanding.
Alice stood. “Can you get up? Or do you need a hand?”
“No, no,” I hastily assured her. “I can manage.”
There was only a slight spinning sensation as I got to my feet. Not bad considering a guy was squeezing my heart five minutes ago.
“I suppose you’re looking for your payment then,” Alice said.
“My what?”
“Well, I did contract you to open a door. Technically you fulfilled that task.” She paused. “And I do feel owing to you.”
I shrugged helplessly. “Ah…I accept all major credit cards.”
She laughed, a bright sound that sent a thrill up my spine.
“Very well, a credit then. How is it called these days? A free pass? A do-over?”
“A do-over?”
“I have seen your death, as I see them all. Yours is a shame. As payment for your services I will grant you a reprieve.”
“You can do that?”
“Not usually, but this time it is permissible.”
“Wait, you’ve seen my death. What happens?”
I wasn’t sure why but the idea made me feel like she’d caught me coming out of the shower.
“I can’t tell you that, of course,” she answered coolly. “When it comes, I’ll ensure it misses you. After all, there will be another in time. Hopefully it will be more interesting than the first.” She dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “You may go home. I must still collect the soul and you’re not meant to see this part.”
Home.
Nana’s smiles.
My mother’s perfume.
My Die Hard collection.
The normality of those things felt strange suddenly.
“So, that’s it?” I asked.
Alice was halfway up the steps. She turned back. “What do you mean?”
“Well, what, I’m a saint now?”
She cast me a sardonic look. “You always were, Sam.”
“What does that make me, exactly? The patron saint of latch key kids? What am I supposed to do now?”
“You will learn in time.”
“How?”
“They’ll send you a
mentor soon enough.”
Nice and vague. Her answers were like getting eggs instead of the pancakes I ordered.
“Okay, but tell me one last thing.”
She sighed, patience evaporating from her pale eyes. “Yes?”
“Will I ever see you again?”
She smirked. “Most assuredly.”
“Before I’m dead?”
The smile faded. “Sebastian wasn’t lying when he said it did not end well for the last saint I was near.”
“You were human once?”
Her gaze stared into memory. “A long time ago.”
“So, this being Death, it’s a penance?”
“A chance at forgiveness,” she corrected me. “One solitary sin stands between me and damnation. Sebastian tempts me with power. I fear I may one day accept it, to the ruin of my soul.”
“You won’t.” The words left me almost of their own volition.
She eyed me skeptically. “How can you know that if I do not?”
“I just…feel it.”
The smirk returned to her mouth. “So certain you are not a saint, yet you sound like one already.”
“And here I thought there was a trick to it.”
I caught the barest hint of a smile as she turned away again. “Goodnight, Locksmith,” she said and disappeared through the wall of the mausoleum.
***
My thoughts were a laundry basket full of mis-matched socks as I made my way back to my truck. I still wasn’t sure what any of it meant. For good or ill, my life would not be what it had been. Something had awoken inside of me. But sainthood? No, I couldn’t call it that. I was too imperfect to be what Nana prayed to, what she thought of as divinity on Earth.
I thought of Alice’s words.
The good you are meant to bring. The evil you are meant to fight.
A purpose, then. A direction I could aim my future toward.
The thought made me smile. Yes, I could live with that. For the first time, I felt closer to what I was supposed to be doing with my life.
When I reached my truck, I pulled on the driver’s side door. It was locked. With a sigh, I felt my pockets, front and back.
No keys.
Then I spotted them through the window laying on the seat. I grinned.
Good thing I could open doors.
PART TWO
WEDGED into the claustrophobic hall behind Spicy Tiger Café’s service counter, I sweltered in the volcanic heat pouring out of the tiny kitchen at my back and decided food court restauranteurs were criminally underpaid. How did they work entire shifts in this temperature, day after day? Fifteen minutes back here and I was ready to unzip my skin.
“Is it broken?” Mrs. Shu hovered close enough her bright yellow sneakers were practically under my nose where I crouched beside her jammed inventory door.
“I’ve almost got it.” The knob and spindle already removed, I inserted my flathead screwdriver into the gap in the locking mechanism and twisted. The latch retracted and released the bolt. “There we go.”
I pushed the door open to reveal shelves lined with produce bins, vacuum-packed meat, and Szechuan sauce tubs. Chilly refrigerated air ghosted over my cheeks. I had to stop myself from crawling in there and hugging the frozen shrimp.
Mrs. Shu’s anxious expression shifted into stark relief. “Just in time to finish prep for the lunch rush. Sam, you’re a miracle worker.”
“All in a day’s work,” I said, but my stomach took a small dip at the reminder that if I’d wanted, this job could’ve been done a lot faster. It didn’t seem right to use my ability for such little things anymore though. In fact, I hadn’t used it a single time in the two weeks since I learned the truth about myself.
“Thank you for coming right away,” Mrs. Shu said.
“It’s no trouble. My kiosk is just off the food court. We’re practically neighbors.”
Speaking of kiosks, it was Thursday morning and I hadn’t put in any hours there this week. I might as well split the contract-required time between now and tomorrow since I was already here.
“I still appreciate it,” she said. “How much do we owe you?”
I hesitated, buying time as I gathered up the parts I’d removed from the door before standing. In this teeny space I towered over Mrs. Shu. Usually I didn’t notice this, such was the force of her personality, but today she seemed smaller, her eyes tired, her mouth thin. I’d heard it in her voice when I answered her call earlier, the sense of someone weighted down by circumstances beyond their control, strength growing brittle with strain. I’d rearranged my schedule to rush right over.
“No fee,” I told her. “You give me discounts all the time with lunch.”
Her eyes sharpened at this. “We give discounts to all mall employees. We can pay, Sam. No charity, ah?”
Most people had heard the Shu family’s story, and if not, they were new to the mall and hadn’t met Mel, the property manager. The guy was well-informed on everyone in the complex and never met a tragedy he didn’t like to share when he did his rounds. It’s how I knew that when Clover Mall opened, the Shu family expanded their business beyond their single restaurant in town to include a food court counter here. Then they found cancer in Mr. Shu’s lungs. Now they struggled to break even while paying for his chemo.
I turned back to the bore hole in the door and examined the lock so she wouldn’t mistake my silence for pity. A service call like this wouldn’t cost much but I didn’t want to add to their burden. It wasn’t pity driving my reluctance. There was nothing wrong with trying to lighten another’s load. Nana told me once how she and my mom had struggled before my father’s life insurance finally paid out: the exorbitant fees tacked on when bills went late; the way the funeral home wouldn’t bury my dad until they had their money. So often people saw kindness as a soft-hearted bailout for personal responsibility. As if life didn’t deliver trouble all on its own.
“You know, it doesn’t look like the parts are worn out,” I said, turning over the door handle and the spindle in my hands. “They were just misaligned. That’s what caused the handle to turn without opening the door. Won’t take five minutes to fix.”
Her brow furrowed. “But your time, I will pay you for it.”
“For an easy job like this?” I waved off the idea as ludicrous. “I wouldn’t know how to break down my hourly rate. Why don’t you spot me a couple of eggrolls and we’ll call it even.”
She met my gaze squarely, examining my eyes for that pity she feared was there. When she didn’t find it, her chin trembled and I had to look away before I said something that would definitely sound pitying. Platitudes didn’t come out any other way. A moment later, she inclined her head with a stiff exhale.
“Two eggrolls and a full lunch special,” she told me firmly. “With a drink.”
I smiled. “Sounds amazing. I’ll take—”
“Moo goo gai pan, kung pao beef, and rice noodle,” she said, already striding out of the hall. “You always order the same thing.”
“Because it’s the best,” I called after her.
She flapped a hand at me, standing taller than she had been, and hollering in Mandarin at an idle pair in the kitchen.
Chapter 10
Around hour three of sitting in my kiosk enclosure, I regretted having rescheduled all of today’s other appointments. Being stuck in one spot didn’t help me avoid thinking about everything, and the crossword puzzle I tried to concentrate on failed to keep my mind from drifting. My brain kept spitting out the same word over and over.
Saint.
A ridiculous label since I definitely couldn’t be classified one of the faithful, even if it was getting harder to stick to my disbelief after all that happened. Nothing like a little run in with Death, a witch doctor, and a murderous demon named Sebastian to kick up some dust on the ole conception of self.
At first, I’d been ecstatic to finally have an explanation, but doubt found me afterward. If there was a god, why would he pick a non-beli
ever to be his special case down here? Servants of the Lord, they called the saints. The title had my mouth twisting with resentment. I was nobody’s servant, and the idea that cloud-squatting Powers-That-Be gave me my special skill in exchange for something I’d be required to do down the road didn’t sit quietly in my mind. What would they want? Why had they chosen me to do it? I didn’t know and that was the problem.
For about the twentieth time, I glanced up to see if someone stood at the counter. Finding no one, my eyes retreated to my crossword puzzle with a stab of disappointment.
“They’ll be sending you a mentor soon enough,” Alice had said.
I supposed “soon enough” was relative in celestial terms. Still, I felt like that guy after a job interview who stared at the phone, hoping and dreading it would ring with a job offer he needed but didn’t really want. Two weeks, though. The waiting was starting to get to me.
Like this crossword puzzle. Three hours and I’d managed to only fill in a couple of answers, one of which had a box I’d shaded in to make it fit. Why did I bother anyway? I was terrible at these. Then again, who wasn’t? An eight-letter word for Smack, as a baseball? How about, Smack, as in the sound it makes going into the trash.
It made a satisfying thud in the garbage at the same moment my phone rang. I made a silent plea that it was a service call so I could escape the kiosk and my own thoughts.
“Sam Alvarez, how can I help?”
“Sam, sweetie, hello!”
My mother.
…My mother?
My phone was one of those ancient flip-phones that didn’t have a text function and couldn’t access the internet—anything more sophisticated and people took it as an invitation to bug you all day long. It did have caller ID though, confirming this was my mom on the other end. Or one of the body-snatchers impersonating her.
“Uh, hi mom. Is everything okay?”
“Of course, everything’s okay,” she laughed. “One of your friends stopped by to say hello. Silly boy left his charger at home and asked if I could give you a ring for him.”
One of my friends.
I hadn’t succeeded at maintaining many of those since graduation. Most of them were either in college or married with kids on the horizon anyway. Neither category had spare time for an unattached college drop-out they knew in high school. I used to have a beer with Nick a few times a month, but he was on active duty overseas until Christmas.
