The Innocents

by Riley LaShea

  “It was only much later in life that I began to fret,” Cain admitted, and he could recall the fear too, how much thought he had given to damnation, how much terror ruled his nights, so he could scarcely close his eyes. “My later years of life had done a sufficient job reminding me that, while there were no hard rules, there were consequences. The closer I came to death without meeting that consequence, the more I worried what that consequence would be.

  “Then, on my death bed, an angel came. He… she… it’s always very difficult to tell, told me I had been heavily burdened, but had done my part well. There was simply not enough accountability in the fear of things unseen. Men needed to have cause to fear each other, for it was never gods, nor demons, to whom they did their harm.”

  “You’re trying to tell me the gods invented murder too?”

  “Checks and balances,” Cain corrected. “That is what the gods created. Murder is just one more tool humans can’t use appropriately.”

  “It was appropriate when you used it?”

  “It was just,” Cain declared, and, though he doubted she agreed with the sentiment, it was enough to silence Delaney. At least long enough for her to glance to Haydn, and for Haydn to reach across the arm of the chair and slide her hand onto Delaney’s thigh.

  Head tilting at the unusual interspecies behavior, Cain got the rather galling feeling the synjument had managed in weeks what he hadn’t been able to accomplish in centuries.

  “So, what is this?” Delaney looked around his drab office. “What are you doing here? Obviously, you’re immortal.”

  Not sure it was a good idea to add to the preternatural education of a woman who was, in many major ways, still just a human, Cain discovered it was a worse idea not to when he glanced Haydn’s way.

  “As I said,” he responded, “there are consequences. Since I was given no choice in my life, my brother’s murder crucial to humanity’s progress as it was, I was given choice in death. Go on to an uncertain afterlife, or become a custodian.”

  “Custodian of what?”

  “Of daemonry.”

  “And what does that mean?” Delaney questioned. “What do you do? Clean up their messes?”

  Oh, if only it weren’t true too much of the time.

  “I keep track.” Cain tried to make his job sound more important than it often felt. “When a demon is born on Earth, it appears in my book. It is my job to track that demon down, to know its whereabouts. It would be nice, of course, if they sent word, but they rarely check in unless they want something.”

  Looking to Haydn, he saw zero compunction in her gaze.

  “Why does it matter if you know where they are?”

  “Because there must be consequences,” Cain said. “Demons are not subject to human laws, but there are rules. When someone steps too far out of line, it’s essential to know where they are so the problem can be handled expeditiously. Of course, there are some I have allowed to hide for their own purposes.”

  Eyes flicking again to Haydn, he hoped the reminder he had, in fact, been a benefit to her would earn him some leeway, even if recent circumstances made her forget.

  “So, you killed your brother, and the gods made you an immortal ruler?” Delaney uttered. “Like a reward?”

  “A reward?” Now, it was Cain’s turn to laugh. “I have spent millennia in the company of demons, the majority of whom use me to their own ends and would prefer I not exist at all. Exalted? Punished? Take your pick. I’m honestly not sure myself.”

  “And they wouldn’t tell you what the afterlife would be like for you?”

  “No, they wouldn’t.” Cain wasn’t surprised she wanted to know. What human didn’t? “But I took my brother into that field under the guise I wanted to give him the rest of my garden to show there were no hard feelings between us, and attacked him when his back turned. It was the epitome of betrayal.” Cain still suffered that as well. It had taken several thousand years to accept the reality there would come no day he wouldn’t. “No one could have painted a clearer picture of what I deserved than the one I already had in my mind.”

  At that, the synjument at last ran out of questions. Blinking down at her cup, she appeared to just realize she still held it, and, leaning up, she slid the cold tea onto the edge of his desk. It had taken only full disclosure on his part, and it was in the thick blanket of silence that Cain realized he felt rather sensitive in the aftermath.

  They both did, it seemed.

  “Delaney’s father went to visit the Huldufólk when she was young.” Haydn shifted forward in her seat, situating herself nearer the innocent, on purpose or subconsciously, Cain wasn’t entirely sure. “When he came back, his mind was riddled with disease.”

  Nodding, the tale didn’t sound much different than many Cain had heard before it. “It’s a dangerous thing to meddle in worlds not your own,” he uttered. “Every species has ways of protecting its kind. Is he dead?”

  “No,” Delaney returned. “He’s just out of his mind. Did they do something to him?”

  “Almost certainly.” Cain required no further proof. A crazy human was quite often a human who came into contact with the unknown.

  “He would have meant them no harm,” Delaney said.

  “Which might have worked in his favor if the word of men could ever be trusted,” Cain replied. “Species have gone extinct on the promise that men meant them no harm. And that’s a danger to all. People can conjecture all they want about the most important elements on Earth - oxygen, water, love - but there is no debate. It is balance. Balance is what keeps this planet from hurtling off into the galaxy. There are no betrayal laws between species. Your father was fair game.”

  “Fair game?” Cain realized he might have chosen his words more carefully.

  “I’m just saying, it wasn’t a betrayal.”

  “What the fuck does that matter?” Delaney proved she could channel as much fury as the rest of them. “You keep saying that - betrayal - like it’s the ultimate sin.”

  “It is the ultimate sin.” Cain’s hand slammed onto his book. He would never understand how they didn’t know that, why it came as such a shock to humans. “Do not have any other gods before me. Do not worship a graven image. Honor your parents. Protect your children, that’s an Islamic commandment. Adultery. Bearing false witness. Coveting. Coveting. Coveting. At their core, all of these are sins of betrayal. Betrayal is a sin above all other sin, because it is the only one that asks for another’s trust first.

  “Religions have adopted this notion of forgiveness.” And it was still one of his great grievances, that they did so without stipulation. “But there is no penitence for betrayal. Betrayal is a breaking sin. No matter how much forgiveness is given or received, the betrayed can never be put back to his or her original state. Human beings cry repeatedly about the state of the world, but if they truly wanted a world worth living in, they would stop shattering each other.”

  No intention of ending up in a rant, Cain fell out of it like a crash. Disoriented, he had to take several steps back to figure out how he had gotten there, and shaking his head once he wound his way back to Abel, to his life before eternity, he had to come to terms, again, with the fact that it was the whole of his existence - as both betrayed and betrayer - and would always be his hot button issue.

  As he was sure Delaney’s father’s inexplicable affliction would always be hers.

  “I don’t know what happened with your father and the Huldufólk,” Cain admitted, not even needing Haydn’s glower to feel bad for his outburst. “It’s possible they did trust him. Even if they did nothing to him, he could have caught any number of Huldu diseases. Their effects on a human would be unpredictable. It’s impossible to know whether it was deliberate or just plain bad luck. I doubt even your father would be sure if he could tell the tale. I’m sorry I can’t help you more.”

  Glancing to Haydn, he did hope it would be enough to appease her, but she seemed little concerned with him.

  “They’d
like to go home.” Hand moving against Delaney’s thigh, Haydn’s eyes never left her downcast face. “Do you know any way to cloak them? I’ve dug as deeply as I can go. I can’t find anything.”

  “That’s because there’s nothing to find,” Cain could provide at least that much answer. “Ancients gave up long ago on trying to cloak humans while in conscious states. It’s nearly impossible, because they always trip up. I apologize,” he tossed off when Delaney looked up, “but you do. The most effective means of hiding a human from someone who wishes them dead is the same as it’s always been. Make him disappear. Change his name, identity, break contact with people from his past.”

  “I can never see anyone I care about again?” Cain remembered they weren’t just slinging around ideas when tears sprung into the human’s eyes, and they weren’t just talking about any human when Haydn looked almost as troubled by the statement as her innocent.

  “And if they hide,” she uttered, “and Lilith comes to you, how long will it take you to find another solution for her? How long will it take her to figure out how to track souls on Earth, while they inhabit bodies?”

  Preferring to delude himself with the optimistic view that Lilith wouldn’t come to him again, for anything, Cain wished he could tell Haydn he would never again aid in her efforts. Knowing Lilith, though, and himself, he could only lift his shoulders in surrender.

  “Your shrug is little comfort,” Haydn declared.

  “It’s all I have to give you,” Cain said. “It could take a few hours. It could take a lifetime. Lilith has managed to make rather extraordinary strides over the past few years. Remember, she may not need me at all.”

  Shadow passing the window, Cain dropped his voice to a whisper, a reflex of spending too much time with those who could almost hear his thoughts. The pedestrians who regularly made wrong turns down the lane would never hear anything, preoccupied as they always were with the discovery they’d reached a dead end and their haste to escape the sketchy surroundings.

  “Come on.” As Haydn got to her feet, reaching out for Delaney’s arm, Cain floundered at the uncertainty of whether she was pleased or displeased with his service.

  “Haydn.” Satisfied or not, the dark eyes that swung his way were still alert and distrusting. “Are we good?”

  “Good, Cain?” Haydn returned. “We’re back to peace. For now.”

  Answer about as fine as it was going to get for him until the dust all settled, Cain accepted it like a commendation.

  “Nice hair, by the way,” he said as Haydn opened the door. “Is that the fashion now?”

  Quip pulling a flicker of a grin out of her, Haydn stepped out of his office, and Cain sunk back into his chair in momentary relief as the latch closed at her back.

  33

  The eaves of the buildings reached across the lane, as if trying to meet, blocking out the sliver of moonlight overhead. If there were lights fashioned to the buildings, they had fallen into disuse, or disrepair, and Delaney swore the lane was darker than when they walked down it half an hour before to Cain’s office.

  Unable to navigate the gloomy terrain on her own, she had an excuse to clutch Haydn’s hand. Cain’s explanation - justification - for what happened to her father echoing in her head, along with other surprising information, it made Delaney even less certain than before, but when Haydn’s arm slid around her as they neared the lights of the street, lips suddenly at her ear, it eased her insecurity.

  “Do you have a torch with you?”

  Not exactly the question she anticipated, Delaney hesitated a moment before feeling her coat pockets. Though she’d taken to carrying one in the darkness of the castle, with Haydn, she never needed it.

  “Well, this is going to prove more difficult then,” Haydn said when she came up empty.

  “What…?”

  “Shhhh.” Arm slipping from around her, Delaney felt leather fall against her hands as they were maneuvered beneath Haydn’s coat. “Hold onto me just like that, so I know you’re at my back,” Haydn said, and, heart pounding for a reason she didn’t yet understand, Delaney gripped Haydn’s sides without mercy.

  With a snap in the darkness, Haydn turned them suddenly, tossing something into the air, and Delaney gasped as fire erupted out of nothing. Burning out before it hit the ground, Delaney thought she saw something illuminated for a split second before the light rendered her even blinder to the darkness.

  A second snap, another flame burst as Haydn turned them again, followed quickly by a third, and Delaney could finally hear it too, what Haydn must have heard, a scurrying against the brick wall beside them.

  Certain she spotted something just outside the edge of the blaze as Haydn sent up another flame, Delaney’s breaths shallowed at the rattle of the gutter, and she fought in vain to control the pounding of her heart when she could tell Haydn was trying to listen.

  At last determining the threat gone, or at least Delaney hoped that’s what she determined, Haydn moved back to the place where she’d thrown the first ball of fire into the air. Snapping another pellet, she tossed it at the same spot, and Delaney got another short, but adequate, look at the etching left on the wall. An outline in ash, much like the haunting images of people left behind on walls and stoops after the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the figure disappeared into the darkness again as the flame went out.

  “Was that a shadowman?” Human history books not the only places she had seen such images, Delaney shifted to Haydn’s side, hands clutching her arm.

  “It would appear,” Haydn uttered.

  “Aren’t they extinct?” Delaney stared toward the marking on the wall. No longer able to see it, she could still sense it there. Captured in Haydn’s first blast of light, it was no more than new grime on the city streets now, left to be mistaken for someone’s poor attempt at street art come morning and washed away by the next good rain.

  “They’re supposed to be.”

  “Then, how is it here?”

  “That is a very good question,” Haydn said. “But we can’t answer it now. Let’s get back to the boat.” Arm sliding around Delaney again, it felt steadying and far safer than it should. “We just have to keep to the light.”

  It was time for him to retire. Past time, really. For the vast majority of daemonry’s existence, he had been stuck between rocks and hard places, where all the rocks had fangs and the hard places powers he would rather not think about.

  Of course, retirement held perils of its own. When given the choice between death and service, there was no limit on how long that service would last. Glancing to the book, to Brooks’ name etched out in a very regrettable gray, Cain twitched with sympathetic anguish. There was no suffering like purgatory. Or so the rumors ran rampant.

  Betrayal was a vicious morass on Earth. He would rather not see the other side of it.

  Wind howling at his windows, Cain fretted another stretch of cold. It made a difficult journey through any life, mortal or everlasting, if one couldn’t even get out to the pub. Too many days recently he had been stuck indoors, a casualty of the domineering weather and the pressing demon population. It was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic.

  Along with Lilith and her obstinate obsession, there was something else, something he couldn’t quite put pen to, unusual fluctuations within the names of his books that didn’t entirely make sense. A trend he probably should have been on with greater fervor, it had been some thousands of years since Cain took his job that seriously. He was a mediator and messenger with eternity stretching before him and a drinking problem. Caring was something he had long ago given up.

  When the wind whipped again, Cain looked to the lights as they flickered with agitation. Too familiar with its realities not to fear absolute darkness, the threat of it pulled him from his chair and over to the supply cupboard. At the far end of the lane, there was no light that didn’t come from man-made means, which was why he kept plenty on hand. Fingers gripping the knob of a lantern as the room went black, Cain didn�
�t get the chance to turn it before it was flung from his hands.

  Thrown forward by something he couldn’t see, he heard the glass globe shatter as he landed atop his desk. Something rising from its surface to slither around him, Cain’s arms flailed, but found nothing to strike as he was wrenched back off the desktop and pressed against the wall. Locked in place by something strong he could neither see nor touch, it was as if he was being held captive by the very darkness itself.

  Accepting, after a few minutes of struggle, that he was only struggling with the air, Cain knew he could battle it to the end of time and still wasn’t going to get free. He also wasn’t yet dead. Which meant someone had something else in store for him. Speculating who would want him pinned to the wall of his shop, and what the coming surprise might be, Cain couldn’t help but consider death might be desirable.

  The pain had fully settled into his ribs by the time Cain heard the stirrings at his desk. Scrape of a match abnormally loud after the prolonged silence in which he had been left to wait for hours, he watched the small, bright flame press to a wick, the smell of sulfur nauseating him as illuminated red lips blew it out.

  “Hello, Cain.” Sitting on the edge of his desk in the halo of candlelight, the crossing of Lilith’s legs was practically a sex act in itself, and Cain tried to remember at what point exactly beautiful women became the bane of his existence.

  “Lilith,” he uttered. Oh yes, he could recall now, it was the moment he first made her acquaintance. “How wonderful to see you. You know, it’s dangerous using the sylphs for transport. Haydn came back in a rather unfortunate condition after her visit to you.”

  Trapped outside the ring of light, Cain knew Lilith could still see every drop of perspiration that formed on his forehead.

  “There are more dangerous things,” she declared, and the threat seeped into Cain’s bowels, turning them to liquid.