The Stolen Karma Of Nathaniel Valentine (The Books Of Balance Book 1)

by Justin Bloch

  “Oh, let’s do it again!” she cried shrilly. “Let’s do it again!”

  He stood up, then bent and braced his hands on his knees. He was out of breath and his heart hammered in his chest. Nova started toward him, but he waved her off.

  Magdalene dashed around to him. Her face was a vision of glee. “That was so much fun! Come on, I wanna do it again!”

  She reached for his hand, already turning to circle the Tree, but he stepped back quickly and put his hands behind him. She grasped at empty space and wobbled a bit with the miss. When she spun to face him, the joy on her face had vanished, replaced by confusion.

  “I want to play,” she said. Her white eyes stared up at him, and he watched one of the somethings in her hair wriggle just above her hairline. He could hear it scritch-scratching along.

  “No,” he replied, trying to adopt the stern tone Sol used earlier. From somewhere to his left, he heard Nova gasp. “We’re through playing.”

  She sucked in her bottom lip and her tiny hands became tiny fists. Her body went rigid, as if she had finally given in to rigor mortis. “I want to play,” she said through gritted teeth. “I want to play and I get what I want, I always get what I want.”

  “Not this time,” Nathaniel answered, amazed at how steady his voice could sound when he felt so near to crumbling. It was not so much the girl’s posture or statement that terrified him, but her eyes. There was something horrifying about how those eyes seemed to pulse with every word she said, as if whatever terrible light they kept trapped inside was pressing to be free. He met her gaze nonetheless. He had cast his lots, now he would see how they lay.

  The dead child stepped closer to him and spoke in the hushed voice of a co-conspirator. “Would you have me strike you down, Cipher?” she hissed. “To one who has slaughtered the majestic Garden of Eden, you are nothing.”

  Nathaniel forced himself to lean down to her, near enough to kiss her. This close the potent odor of damp leaves was nearly overwhelming. “Perhaps not to someone who has slaughtered Eden,” he said softly. “But it seems to me you’re still short of that goal.”

  She recoiled as if he had struck her, her mouth a perfect circle of disbelief. “How dare you,” she murmured. Then, louder and punctuated by a stamp of her foot, she went on, “How dare you talk to me like that! I am Death and none defy me!”

  She raised her hand and leveled it at his chest and Nathaniel felt a bloom of darkness there, like a black flower unfurling its petals over his heart. He bit his lip and fought to raise his right hand before her face. There was pain now, a great pain like talons crushing his insides, but he shoved the words from between his lips in spite of it. “I am your brother’s, Magdalene. Would you deny him his claim?”

  Her face screwed up tighter and for a moment the agony was unbearable and he knew that he had misjudged and misplayed, that she would have him after all. And then the pain was gone, gone as if it had never been. The dead child had turned away from him, showing him her back.

  “Curse you,” she sulked. “Curse you and those stupid angels you call friends. I hope the Allamagoosalum tears you limb from limb.”

  Nathaniel stood up straight, grateful to be away from the wretched stink of her body. Anger flared suddenly inside him, and he briefly entertained the notion of grabbing a handful of her hair and dashing her head against the Tree. But she was already dead. It would do no good.

  He turned instead to the karma police, still standing by the edge of the clearing. The seraphim looked at him with a mixture of fear and amazement. He walked over to them. Both held their razors loose in their hands.

  “Come on,” he whispered. “We have what we came for.”

  Sol shot a glance at the dead child Magdalene, then returned his gaze to Nathaniel. There was an unmistakable spark of hope in his eyes. “You know?”

  Nathaniel nodded.

  The three of them left the clearing. When they had gone a hundred yards down the path on which they had come, back to where there was no grass on the trail and no life in the forest, Nova drew a circle in the dirt, and they bridged away from the ailing Garden of Eden. In the clearing, the dead child Magdalene placed her hands against the trunk of the Tree of Life and returned to the long work of death.

  Chapter XXII

  On the fifth day after his dream of fives, the Cipher Nathaniel Valentine awoke and tried to prepare for something for which he had no idea how to prepare.

  After the encounter with the dead child Magdalene, the three of them had returned to his apartment. Sol wanted to pass the night in Elysium with Bertha, but Nova had appealed to him, saying that the trip would waste precious time and that Nathaniel should sleep in his own bed that night. He would want to be comfortable and secure, and the karma policeman agreed. Nathaniel thought Nova had other reasons for wanting to keep her brother separated from his wife, but he raised no objections.

  They stayed up late, discussing what Nathaniel had learned and what they’d already known. Both of the seraphim were surprised when he explained how he had discovered what he had, but neither was as astounded as Nathaniel would have predicted. They’d known he would develop abilities, just not what they would be. Every previous Cipher had, though each acquired different talents suited to the Allamagoosalum with which they were paired.

  They spent hours afterwards reviewing what they knew about the Allamagoosalum’s past victims and what it might mean about the monster. Ideas had been plentiful, but nothing struck them as sound. The theories they tossed around were just that; none of what they said had the ring of truth about it. The Allamagoosalum was a mystery, a creature they knew far too little about. At last, Nova had picked up on the worry written in the creases of Nathaniel’s brow and suggested they call it a night. Sol had acquiesced, and they’d adjourned to their separate rooms. Sometime after that, Nova slipped into bed with Nathaniel and lay close to him. Neither had spoken. When he awoke the next morning, she was gone, but her place beside him on the bed was still warm.

  He had learned quite a bit about the man who had been Elizabeth Cummings in his past life and who would be the sixth victim of the Allamagoosalum if the creature remained unchecked. After her death, Elizabeth had been reincarnated as Darren Gast, who was now twenty-one years old. Darren didn’t have a job, liked the color yellow, and lived with his girlfriend, whom he had a bad habit of hitting. He would die this very evening at the Walmart where Nathaniel worked.

  Nathaniel showered, spending almost forty-five minutes under the steaming water while he tried to clear his head. Sol had called it the endgame last night, and he had been right. But it was now also a waiting game, and Nathaniel was smart enough to recognize the danger hidden in it. Time to wait was time to think.

  The weather outside had warmed some, but the wind still cut like razors and Nathaniel pulled on a t-shirt, sweater hoodie, and jeans when he had finished in the shower. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his reflection in the mirror over his dresser. His hair was too long and in bad need of a trim; he hadn’t shaved since the whole affair had begun on his birthday; his skin was covered with nicks and scratches. There was still a small bump on the back of his head from his encounter with Pestilence. There were dark circles under his eyes. And of course there was his bruised neck, now yellowing around the edges, ugly and still tender to the touch. His time with Sol had definitely taken a toll on him. Then again, he was the one who’d wanted to inject some adventure into his life.

  He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, let it slip out of him. His body was loathe to move, wanting to disappear back into the safety of his bed, but he forced himself to stand. A ball of fear sat heavily in his stomach; his chest felt hollow. He closed his eyes for a moment and took several more deep breaths until his head felt light from the extra oxygen. His mind cast around for something calming and he focused on the warm press of Nova’s body against his as they lay together in bed. It had soothed his stressed body then and the memory of it soothed him now. He went to the door, we
nt into the living room where the siblings were distractedly picking at breakfast. Sunlight streamed through the window, making their white-blonde hair glow.

  “Good morning,” he said. Robber leapt down from his spot on the book shelf and wound between his legs.

  Sol smiled at him, and Nathaniel saw a dangerous glint in the seraph’s eye. “Good afternoon, you mean,” the karma policeman corrected.

  Nathaniel looked at the clock hanging above the television and was surprised to see that it was almost four o’clock. There were only four hours left until Darren Gast would be killed. Two hundred and forty ticks of the minute hand. He ran a finger over his scar.

  “Have something to eat,” Nova said, offering him some scarlet manna.

  He took a piece and bit into it, chewing mechanically; he didn’t feel like eating, but knew he would need the food. “How did you two sleep?” he asked around a full mouth.

  “Fine,” answered Nova, busying herself with her knitting. Redness sprang to her cheeks and from the tips of her needles.

  “I didn’t sleep at all,” Sol said. There was excitement in his voice, barely contained and completely out of place. “When will you be ready to leave for the Walmart?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “An hour or two?”

  The karma policeman gave him a sour look. “It would be smarter to be there earlier.”

  From the corner of his eye, Nathaniel caught Nova casting a worried glance at her brother. Her needles hesitated for only an instant. “Yeah,” he replied uneasily. “I guess just because Darren won’t show up till eight doesn’t mean the Allamagoosalum won’t.”

  “Exactly.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to stay here a little longer, would it, Sol?” asked Nova. Nathaniel heard heartbreak in her voice. She was battling for as many minutes as she could.

  The karma policeman frowned at her. “The sooner we end this, the better.”

  Nova nodded and set aside her knitting. In her eyes, Nathaniel could see that she knew her fight for time was one she would lose, but one she would fight all the same. “Listen,” he interjected. “There was something I was thinking about. So much of what’s happened with the Allamagoosalum has happened right around here. I mean, tonight it’s going to be at the Walmart where I work. And we were right next to that Walmart three days ago when we visited the Shine.”

  “What of it?” Sol asked impatiently.

  “That doesn’t seem a little weird to you? A little too coincidental?”

  The karma policeman shook his head. “The souls of Residents are bound together through each life. You are reincarnated close to where you die. That is why all of the Allamagoosalum’s victims have been concentrated on the east coast. It’s where you get your foolish notion of ‘soul mates.’”

  “Sol, you know that’s not true,” Nova interjected. “Soul mates do—”

  “No, I will hear no more of this. We know where the Allamagoosalum will be tonight, and we know what we have to do. The rest is inconsequential.”

  Nathaniel opened his mouth to point out that, with the very little they knew, they had no idea what was important and what wasn’t, then closed it. The expression on the karma policeman’s face brooked no argument. He swallowed his last bite of manna dryly. It felt like a sharp rock, all spikes and jagged edges in his throat. “All right,” he surrendered. “Let’s go and finish this.”

  They took Nathaniel’s car and parked close to the building, where Nathaniel would be able to see everyone who came or went. The karma policeman asked him repeatedly if he was sure he would know Darren when he saw him, asked so many times, in fact, that Nathaniel finally snapped that yes, he was absolutely positive he would recognize him, considering he had seen an image of the man dead in the parking lot. Sol had fidgeted restlessly in the passenger seat after that, but did not ask again.

  Nathaniel, at least, had something to keep himself busy and his mind off of his creeping dread. He had forgotten about his ability to see the karmic auras that all Residents carried around with them, but now he rediscovered it with a passion. The store was busy with people just off work, and he watched with wonder as they passed the car. The swirling, glowing colors of the auras were mesmerizing, enchanting. He wished he could translate their story, decipher what karmic tale they told. The stereotypical associations he made about certain colors seemed to have no bearing on what they expressed. He saw a child with a black aura and a man with tattoos covering half of his face with a lilac one. A woman wearing shorts so small that her cheeks peeked out had a bright white aura. Nathaniel watched a teenager follow the woman and give her more than just an appraising eye, his aura cycling from light red to burnt umber to jade in the space of a few seconds. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the colors, but Nathaniel welcomed the distraction offered by the mystery. After a while, Sol began telling a story, and that distracted him instead.

  He was still listening when the Allamagoosalum struck.

  Darren Gast parked his canary yellow, classic Camaro straddling one of the painted lines, far out in the boondocks of the Walmart lot. He treasured the muscle car beyond any other thing he owned and was paranoid about dents and dings and scratches from other vehicles. The car was one of only a few things his old man had ever given him, if you considered leaving a healthy inheritance as ‘giving.’ The car, some helpful lessons concerning women and children and their proper role in the household, quite a few bruises, a broken arm once. So generous, his old man.

  Darren popped open the car door, made sure it was locked, got out. He was tall, almost six-five, and he wore his hair slicked back in what, long before his time, had been called a duck’s ass pompadour. He wore motorcycle boots and a leather jacket, no matter what the weather. He looked like a fifties greaser, which was exactly what he was going for.

  It was misty, getting dark, and the bright lights of the parking lot cast a harsh glare, gave everything an ugly yellow sheen. Darren turned on his car alarm and bent to check his reflection in the window. He smoothed a hand over his hair, turned his face this way and that, straightened up and fished a beaten pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He shook one out and stuck it between his lips, let it dangle there while he replaced the smokes and grabbed his lighter.

  Darren strutted across the parking lot. There were plenty of people here, and he liked to be noticed. Plus, it never hurt to keep an eye out for a little fresh tail. Ginnie was at home, and that was fine, but he’d had to refresh her memory concerning respect more frequently than usual lately, and he was just about sick of watching her ass get bigger and bigger. He was complacent about it, though. If he met someone else, great. If not, Ginnie knew how to cook and how he liked it in bed, and that was enough for now.

  He’d met her in high school, a handful of years back, him a senior, her a sophomore. He was on the football team, making his old man proud, and little Virginia Cheribon had been on the cheerleading squad. Her body had been a lot tighter back in those days, big in only the right places, and he was drawn to her immediately. He sensed that she could be cowed, controlled. It was time that built trust though, and Darren was possessed of great patience in some matters. They had been dating for over a year before he hit her for the first time. It wasn’t his fault, not really. She’d just taken too much time fussing with her hair and make-up when they were supposed to be on their way to the movies, and he hated to miss the previews. And he had waited and simmered and fumed, and finally she said, “Just one more minute” just one too many times, and he’d slapped her. Not hard…well, not really hard, anyway, but hard enough that he’d seen her eyes change, seen a fear spring up in them.

  After that, there weren’t any more incidents for quite awhile. That fear had stayed in her eyes, but like all lights it began to fade, and Darren’s temper did not extend as far as his patience. And so when they shacked up, Ginnie had begun her lessons in relationships. Sometimes, in the dead of the night, when she lay snoring lightly beside him, he would worry about her coming after
him, but he didn’t think it was likely. He never hit her just for the fun of it; he wasn’t a monster. Never punched her in the face, never knocked her unconscious. There had been the miscarriage, but goddammit, she knew she wasn’t supposed to skip her pill. She knew he hated using condoms. What was he supposed to do, live with her mistakes?

  He was so wrapped up with his thoughts of Ginnie that he thought his imagination had run away with him at first. He blinked and gave his head a little shake to make sure he was seeing things. But sure enough, when he looked again, there she was, little Miss Ginnie Cheribon, strolling right up to him, just as pretty as you please and wearing a big uppity smile. She stopped about ten feet from him beside a blue pick-up truck and rocked back and forth on her feet, her hands behind her back like a little girl asking for a cookie before dinner. Her eyes glowed gray in the glare of the sodium arcs.

  “What the hell you doing here?” he asked around his cigarette. “You know you’re supposed to be making my dinner.”

  “I thought maybe you could make your own goddamn dinner for once,” she replied, curt and still showing all her teeth. Then, as an afterthought, she added, “You fucking asshole.”

  The cigarette fell from between Darren’s slack lips, completely forgotten. It struck the dark asphalt of the parking lot and rolled away, still glowing. He stammered for a few moments, unsure of how to answer. What finally got him going was that smile, that goddamned smile on her face, as if she had every right in the world to speak to him like that. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” he snarled, starting toward her. He reached out one large hand to grasp her arm. “We’re going home right now and so help me God you are going to learn a lesson.”