Solomon's Ring

by Mary Jennifer Payne

  Gunshots shatter my thoughts. My gaze pivots away from the dead demon and back to the line of children just in time to see Penelope fall to her knees. She looks almost like she’s praying until her mouth opens in a ­silent scream, a river of dark blood gushing out from between her lips. Her tiny body crumples onto the parched grass.

  “No!” I shout. And before my brain can signal my heart and emotions to think, I’m leaping forward, ­stabbing my pole into the midsection of a demon that’s rushing toward me. Of course that hardly even slows it. They need to be decapitated, otherwise they don’t die. Like cockroaches, they can withstand even the most ­catastrophic injuries. We’ve been taught this over and over at Beaconsfield.

  The demon continues to run at me, my pole sliding deeper into its midsection, steaming intestines leaking out the sides of the wound like hot vomit. I’ve screwed up. My pole is useless. I kick out as the demon closes in. It grabs my leg and twists it violently. Something pops and I scream as pain radiates from my knee in both ­directions up and down the length of my leg.

  The pole is being torn from my grasp. I’m so weak with pain that I’m barely clinging to consciousness, so there’s no way I’ve got the strength to hold on to it. It’s pulled through the demon’s abdomen and out the other side, leaving a gaping wound that’s framed with an ever-increasing circle of dark blood.

  More gunshots. Tears spill out of my eyes. My ­stupidity cost not only Penelope’s life, but also the lives of multiple climate-change refugees tonight.

  The demon pulls a gun from a leather holster at its hip, its cracked lips drawing upward into a smirk.

  A crack like thunder shatters the air and warm liquid splashes across my face. I smell blood but am in no pain other than a loud ringing and sharp ache in both ears, worse than any infection I’ve ever had. Everything else is strangely silent. Am I dead? Was the liquid hitting my face my own blood and brains? Is that sensation going to be my last living memory?

  Shaking. Someone’s shaking me. I open one eye, then the other. Eva’s face floats above mine, filled with ­concern, eyebrows drawn together in a deep frown. Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Reading her lips, I realize she’s saying my name over and over, but can’t hear her over the buzzing in my ears. It’s as if ­a thousand bees are partying in my skull.

  She hoists me up, throwing my left arm around her shoulders. That’s when I see it — she’s got my pole in her other hand. Eva just saved my life.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see two more demons rushing toward us.

  And that’s when I remember the ring … and what I think it can do.

  “Stop!” I shout in the demons’ direction. I’m not even sure if my words are audible or understandable. It seems the gunshot has made me totally deaf.

  The ring is heating up again. I raise my hand.

  “You need to stop attacking us. Drop your guns,” I say, leaning heavily on Eva. Each word echoes uncomfortably in my head, causing the world to spin and tilt like a giant kaleidoscope. Vomit rises in my chest.

  My hunch appears to have been right, because the commands are working. The guards lower their guns, then straighten to a motionless standing position, ­passively watching the camp’s inhabitants. From ­inside my fishbowl of white noise, I watch Noni begin to ­cautiously direct the surviving prisoners over the dead bodies and puddles of blood toward the fence behind Cabin Five. They’re making a break for it.

  Eva and I stay at the back of the crowd, continuing to pay close attention to the guards. Though I can’t hear anything, it’s clear from the grief-stricken faces of the prisoners, some of whom are weeping, open-mouthed, that their cries of sorrow and relief must be filling the air. Yet the guards remain static.

  I glance down at the ring glittering briefly like a chip of ice as it catches a ray of light from one of the spotlights. It sounds totally insane, but I feel like it just winked at me. Like it’s alive.

  My stomach churns uneasily. Every cell is screaming for me to remove the ring, to destroy it. Whatever this thing on my finger is, and despite the fact that it just saved my life, I’m becoming more and more certain it’s inherently dark and dangerous.

  JADE

  Mom frowns down at her video watch. The screen’s gone completely dark. She glances up at Mr. Jakande and me, her lips pressed so firmly together, they’re ­almost bloodless.

  “What’s going on?” Her voice barely reaches the level of a whisper, but the tone is deadly serious. ­“Jasmine ­— or someone who has control of Jasmine’s video watch — just hung up on me. And my daughter wouldn’t do that unless something was very, very wrong.”

  Mr. Jakande opens his mouth to speak, but I lift my right hand, palm facing forward, to stop him. Mom won’t accept any more of his half-truths. And quite frankly, she shouldn’t have to.

  “I need to tell you something,” I say. “Actually, I need to tell you a lot of things … and I’m not really sure where to begin.” I look over at Mr. Jakande. “Could Jasmine be in trouble?”

  He nods. “Theoretically, yes. Smith is always on the hunt for us, and if something went wrong with the plan to take her to see the camp …”

  My heart freezes. “Or if something went wrong when she was already inside the camp …”

  Mom’s gaze follows our conversation. “What camps? What are you two talking about?”

  I open my video watch. “I need to contact Jamil Khan and ask him to come over,” I tell Mr. Jakande. “He’s our Protector. Obviously it’s not safe to tell him anything until he’s here with us.” I grab Mom’s hand and squeeze it tight. “Come and have a seat on the couch.”

  By the time Mr. Khan arrives, I’ve managed to tell Mom nearly everything — from my abduction to the ­Place-in-Between at the hands of a spotty teenaged demon to Jasmine being taken to see Smith’s ­climate-change refugee camps. I don’t mention Lola’s involvement at all. There’s no need for Mom to know about her best friend’s betrayal. At least not when that best friend is dead. It’s not like she can hurt Mom ­anymore. I also don’t mention anything about Raphael. Learning that both angels and demons are roaming around our dying planet might be a bit much for even the sanest person to digest in one sitting. Not to mention the fact that one of her daughters is clearly in love with said extraterrestrial being.

  “And you’ve known about all of this … this locura?” Mom says, staring at Mr. Khan in disbelief. “Am I dreaming? This talk of my daughters being descendants of Lilith, the first wife of Adam? Adam from the Bible!” She laughs, but it’s a tense laugh that teeters on the edge of hysteria like a circus tightrope walker. “Does that mean I’m a Daughter of Light as well? Can I fly out the window and into the night like an owl?”

  Mr. Khan grimaces, his eyes dark with concern. “I know it’s a lot to take in. It sounds like utter madness, but it’s not. And Seers can’t fly. They have strength and speed that is much greater than that of a normal human female, as well as some psychic abilities, but no superhero-type powers. No invisibility cloak or power of flight, I’m afraid…. As for lineage, it seems to come from a combination of DNA and being an identical twin.”

  “Let me get this straight. On top of all of this about my daughters being Seers, I’m supposed to believe the mayor is holding people hostage in concentration camps around the province?” Mom smacks her forehead with the palm of her hand. “And — I forgot — a climate-change terrorist is here in my house, politely sipping dandelion tea?”

  Mr. Jakande’s eyes widen as he places his mug down on a nearby side table. Mom is all about proper ­manners. Despite all the madness of tonight, she still made sure her guest was treated properly.

  “We prefer the word allies rather than terrorists,” he says, clearing his throat uneasily. “Remember, we’re not behind the violence and abductions that’ve been plaguing the city. We’re trying to make sure humanity stays humane during this transitional period brought on
by global climate change.”

  Mr. Khan nods and turns his gaze firmly back to Mom. “We haven’t been sure that the CCT wasn’t ­behind the bombings and some of the abductions, but we ­strongly ­suspected, especially once Jasmine and I ­became more privy to the inner workings of City Hall, that things weren’t as clearly defined as Smith would have the people believe. However, I didn’t — we at Beaconsfield didn’t know that Craig here was a part of the CCT, nor that they were planning on abducting Jasmine this evening.”

  “Abduction seems a bit harsh,” Mr. Jakande says, his voice soft.

  Mr. Khan raises an eyebrow at Mr. Jakande. “I ­certainly call taking someone forcibly outside of the city limits to an undisclosed location abduction.” He turns his ­attention back to Mom. “Regardless, we only knew Craig as a parent of two of our Beaconsfield girls. Two of our Seers. Alejandra, knowing this information puts you at risk. It mustn’t be spoken of outside these walls. Ever.” He looks down at his video watch. “Has anyone tried to contact Jasmine since the first call ended?”

  “No,” Mr. Jakande and I reply at the same time.

  “And how long ago was that?”

  “At least twenty-five minutes,” Mom says quietly.

  He frowns. “I would hope she’d contact me ­immediately if she were in trouble. If she could reach out, that is. What I don’t understand is why all of you were out after curfew in the first place.”

  “Smith’s work crew. We were trying to find out if —”

  “Find out what?” Mr. Khan interrupts, his voice terse. “What could possibly be so important as to risk your lives, to risk one of you — worse yet, two of you — to the demons?”

  I look down at my hands, my face reddening. He’s never spoken to me like this. I feel like a six-year-old being admonished. His thoughts are raw.

  So much can happen in twenty-five minutes. Jasmine would’ve seen that it was her mother who tried to get ahold of her. Jasmine would’ve contacted her ­mother straight away because of how she worries about her daughters after Jade’s abduction. She would’ve contacted me….

  “You’re Seers, not a bunch of wannabe Nancy Drews,” Mr. Khan interrupts.

  “Nancy who?” I ask.

  He glares at me. “After what happened to Jasmine only a few months ago, I would’ve expected all of you to be more cautious, not less. The forces of ­darkness are strengthening. More importantly, the ­different planes of existence are closing in on each other, ­colliding. This isn’t some little adventure game, Jade. We’re ­heading ­toward what could be the end of time and human ­history as we know it. You should realize that from what we’ve taught you at Beaconsfield. I’d expect so much more of —”

  “Of me? Because I’m a second-born? Well, you know what? I’m tired of having to be the sensible one. I’m not Jasmine’s keeper!” I snap, leaping up from my chair. Even this feels uncomfortable to me. Impulsive displays of emotion are definitely more my sister’s thing.

  Mr. Khan raises an eyebrow. “Actually, as a ­second-born, you kind of are her keeper.”

  I clench my fists until my nails are digging into the fleshy part of my palm. I’m shaking.

  “Well, I don’t want to be. And why should I be, ­anyhow? I look after her, I’m sensible and make all the right decisions, and she thinks she’s somehow special. Wait, what is it she says? Oh yeah, chosen. That she’s been chosen but can’t seem to figure out for what.” I say it with a laugh that is so tinged with bitterness, it ­surprises me.

  “What is this Chosen One stuff about? What exactly is it Jasmine’s been chosen for?” Mom asks. “Another one of Mayor Smith’s initiatives?”

  Mr. Jakande clears his throat and frowns at me. “We should try Jasmine again. If we still can’t contact her, I’ll get ahold some of the others who are supposed to be with her.”

  “Absolutely,” Mr. Khan says. “You’re ­absolutely right. We need to at least try her before jumping to ­conclusions.” He presses his video watch and glances up at me as it rings through, his gaze steady and ­serious. “Imagine if something has happened to your sister. A little over a year ago, she went back down to the ­Place-in-Between to bring you back here, even though she knew virtually nothing about it, about the dangers she was facing down there. I have to wonder if you’d be ­willing to do the same for her tonight.”

  JASMINE

  “Want to tell me what that was all about? How come I don’t have your special Seer power?” Eva’s suddenly beside me. “I’ve got to admit, it was pretty cool how you commanded that crowd back there.” Her comments have a playful tone, but her eyes are deadly serious.

  I pause. My hearing is still not fully back to normal, and I’m having to strain to hear what Eva’s saying over both the din of the room as well as the residual buzzing in my ears. I rest a hand on my right hip. The ring is back in the front pocket of my jeans, where it currently feels like nothing more than a tiny circle of metal.

  “Yeah,” I say with a shrug. “They can’t hurt us if we’re not afraid, right?”

  She raises an eyebrow at me and smiles. “If you say so, but I certainly think those demonic tipos in that camp back there could have hurt me whether I was afraid or not. That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. I can do things like slay demons and run fast. I’m pretty strong. Sometimes I can even read minds if I work hard enough at it. In fact, I dreamed about that shitty refugee camp before even ­getting on the ship to come here.” Her eyes darken. “But I couldn’t even get a guy to video message me back before I left Cuba. My powers certainly didn’t translate into mind ­control. Because if they had, I would’ve made damn sure I wasn’t dancing reggaeton by myself at the clubs before ­becoming a climate-change refugee.”

  I pause and look around. We’re back at the ­warehouse. The cavernous room echoes with the sounds of the ­survivors’ grief. Some of them are openly ­weeping, others are leaning on one another’s shoulders, ­bodies ­heaving with emotion. Some of the cries are ­nearly ­silent, while others whimper loudly like wounded ­puppies. One woman sitting near me is rocking back and forth ­catatonically, her arms wrapped around her shins, fingers clasped tightly together. The entire place is beginning to smell of body odour, bad breath, and farts. It’s enough to make someone’s sanity walk a circus tightrope.

  I swallow hard and try not to stare at them. I can’t allow my feelings to get the better of me. It’s important to try to stay as hardened as possible. After all, there’s no guarantee that the power of the ring will continue to work on the demons once it is a certain distance away from them or after a certain amount of time has passed. And if that’s the case and we’ve been followed, then the negative emotions here will draw demons to our ­location like moths to a flame.

  “Well?” Eva asks, breaking into my thoughts. “Are you gonna tell me how you stopped those demonic psychopaths or not?”

  I turn to her. “How do you know about demons? I only found out because of getting sucked into the ­Place-in-Between and from …” My stomach does an uneasy somersault. I press my lips together, unable to say his name “… from being at school at Beaconsfield.”

  “My sister and I were taught about it all — about what it means to be a Seer, about the demons, about the predictions,” Eva says, reading my mind. “We learned everything from a local santera who took us under her wing, so to speak.”

  “Santera?” I ask.

  Eva nods. “A Yoruba priestess. They were the first to really understand our powers as Seers … to know that we are descendants of Lilith and that we exist in order to keep balance in the world … and to keep ­balance and harmony between the Archangels and the Archons. That’s why Ibeji dolls were created. To house the other half of a Seer’s spirit. To keep the ­living twin strong. Unfortunately, many men didn’t like the power given to us. That’s why so many religions and ­governments around the world have actively enslaved and ­disempowered w
omen since ancient times. And when our powers were diminished, the Archons used their gift of sorcery to create demons, which threw the balance off even more. The rest is … well, you know. History. Get it? His story.”

  The Ibeji doll. That was what Lola used to keep Jade’s ­spirit here after the demon had abducted her, allowing her to ­remain, imprisoned for years in the ­Place-in-Between. I’ve got no idea if Jade was actually dead during the time her spirit was in the doll, or if she was still a ­living being. When we touched down there, she certainly felt alive, and her body had aged normally, as far as the naked eye could see, which means she had the molecular ­consistency of someone here on Earth even then. I guess maybe her body was still alive but kind of empty ­inside. Sometimes I catch her staring off into space in this eerie kind of way, with a blank look. She always laughs when I call her on it and says she just spaced out for a moment. But I sometimes wonder if there’s more to it than that.

  “Where’s your sister?” I ask. I’ve been holding back on this question and, considering the craziness of this night, there really hasn’t been a good time to ask ­anyway. “Is she here?”

  In response Eva clenches her teeth so tightly together that her jaw muscles pop out from the corners of her face, making it look like she’s storing walnuts back there. “No,” she finally replies, “Princess didn’t make it here. Those same men who attempted to have their way with me tried to do the same with her.” She stops, her eyes hardening with a cold anger. “No, that’s not true. They did rape my sister. Four men were needed to hold her down. I didn’t know it was happening, because Princess ventured up on the deck one evening in the middle of the night while I was sleeping. She suffered from bouts of anxiety, and I guess being down in the hold ­twenty-four hours a day, staying as silent as a mouse, and having to shit and piss in the dark corners amongst the piles of supplies got to her. I guess she figured she’d be safe … but she wasn’t. Her pain and fear woke me up. I could feel it. She bled to death because of what those animals did to her.”