The Rising

by Temple Mathews

  “Your father is going to punish you now . . .”

  “SHOW YOURSELF!” screamed Will.

  The visage of April—and the Dark Lord’s head on her lap—disappeared. The red rage had taken control. Will looked out the second-story window. Loreli had fled the burning house and was outside in the driveway surrounded by five shedemons. As they converged on her, she locked eyes with Will, a palpable pain coursing between them. Then she whipped on a pair of black eye guards and threw down a crystal orb. She was instantly cloaked in a cloud of white light that temporarily blinded the shedemons.

  “Loreli!” Will shouted.

  BOOM! A gas line in the house exploded and Will was thrown off his feet, his head slamming into the wall. Rising up, his vision blurry, he looked outside. Loreli was gone. He watched in horror as four shedemons, led by Blue Streak, landed on the roof of the Commander RV. Blue Streak knelt and picked up an object: the head of the Supreme Lord of the Underworld, the Devil himself. As Blue Steak carefully placed the head in an ornate container, the Dark Lord’s eyes opened and stared at Will, mocking.

  Will screamed, “NO!”

  Blue Streak and the other shedemons sprouted fleshy wings and flew up into the night carrying the head of their Lord. Will turned to give chase, but a second explosion rocked the house, and the floor beneath him gave way. He plunged through it and landed downstairs. The first floor was thick with smoke and engulfed in flames. Will tried to breathe, tried to stand, but his lungs filled with smoke. His brain grew dizzy. He heard sirens in the distance.

  His lungs burning with hot smoke, Will feared he was about to say goodbye to his life. With his last conscious effort, he flung his Power Rod toward the front picture window. It crashed through and sailed skyward. Then he clawed his way across the scorched carpet through the smoke-filled room toward the front door. He’d made it halfway there when a black veil fell across his universe. The burning grandfather clock struck twelve times and then collapsed.

  Hours later, Will opened his eyes. He was in the field behind the Hastings house, lying in the middle of the corn patch in Martha’s vegetable garden, unsure of how he’d gotten there. Every breath was torture. He sat up and got his bearings. His whole body hurt, but the pain of regret was even stronger. He’d failed and yet again fallen victim to his volcanic anger. Once again, he’d been unable to tame it. And his failure might have cost Loreli her life. It had almost cost him his.

  Fire trucks had arrived and the house had been doused with flame retardant and water. No one had thought to look in the vegetable garden. Will got up and scanned the charred framework of the house, looking for Loreli. She was nowhere to be seen. The big Commander RV had burned, too, and was now just a smoking hunk of charred metal. Will began making his way to his BMW, which was where he’d left it.

  A firefighter spotted him as he staggered to his car, and called out. “Hey! Stop! Are you all right?”

  The guy approached Will.

  “A girl. Did you find a girl?” asked Will.

  “No. Nobody. No bodies, no one.”

  She must have gotten away. Unless the shedemons had managed to capture her. But no, Will had seen them leave. They’d only taken the head, hadn’t they? He couldn’t be sure.

  Will got in the car.

  “Wait! Let me call you an ambulance.”

  Will fired up the BMW, jammed it into gear, and took off down the highway. As he drove, he cursed himself for once again allowing himself to go to his dark place. Letting the red rage in was the prime ingredient in his recipe for failure. He had found the Dark Lord’s head, had the beast’s demise within reach, and he’d let it slip from his grasp.

  He failed so many people: his mother. Loreli. Even Natalie. He’d been so distant, and hurt her so much, when that was the last thing on Earth he wanted. And she was still hurting. But she’d see the note he left her. She would be okay once she’d read his note. And when this was over he would go to her, and explain everything. Maybe there was even a chance for them to be together for real.

  Because he knew now that, if he could find her, he had to take Loreli up on her offer to purge him of his father’s blood. It was risky; even Loreli had said so. But the alternative—allowing the rage to take over again and cost him another opportunity to end the Dark Lord’s life—wasn’t an option.

  Chapter Nineteen: Blood Betrayal

  The Under City was rocking. The demonteens had recovered from the explosion in Fire Lake, and preparations were under way for a celebration. Kegs of beer were rolled in and cases of vodka and bourbon were opened up. A huge vat was filled with a concoction of wine, beer, hard liquor, and cat blood, a brew that only a demon could love. They drank deeply from skull cups for hours. The cave was lit with ten thousand candles and, fueled by their potent grog, the worshippers chanted a discordant song, waiting, waiting for their leader. And then all heads turned as the procession entered.

  It was the shedemons, led by Blue Streak, clad in violently red robes, and they carried a golden hutch. Inside the hutch was the head of their master. His eyes were open and his anger was not hidden. He was furious at these morons; they’d been unable to read the signs and locate him. He’d deduced their failure and knew the boy would quickly figure out what they could not; the boy would come for him. He was fortunate the boy was headstrong and vulnerable; otherwise the Dark Lord’s head might have been destroyed. So in his anger the Dark Lord spewed curses—animal sounds, really, not words at all—in every direction, shaming his followers, who cast their eyes downward lest they find themselves immolated.

  Loreli, in a hood, stood in the shadows at the back of the crowd, observing in patient silence.

  Into the vault the shedemons marched, these soldiers in the army from Hell, and Blue Streak carefully placed the Dark Lord’s head upon the neck of the body. The sinewy worm-like organisms rapidly began their gruesome healing work. Outside in the main cavern the assembled worshippers beseeched fate to bring about the resurrection of their fallen hero.

  “He will rise!” they chanted, a hundred times and a hundred times more.

  In the vault the Dark Lord cursed as he rose up to a sitting position. His neck was still repairing itself, but he could lift a hand and gaze upon his bony fingers as he moved them, marveling at the miracle of his everlasting evil life. Shedemon yelped at shedemon and the news of the rising spread quickly out into the massive cavern. The Dark Lord’s acolytes erupted in a chorus of cheers.

  “He has risen again!”

  They cheered and hooted and clapped and banged their skull cups and weapons on rocks, the great clattering noises mingling with the screams of glee now swelling into an ear-splitting cacophony. Pedestrians walking 666 feet above in Pioneer Square were convinced an earthquake had struck.

  But the Dark Prince was not happy. For as he stood, he felt his strength, which had been growing steadily since the moment his head had been affixed, now begin to seep away. He toppled sideways ignobly, caught by three shedemons. He turned to them, his malevolent eyes boring into their damned souls.

  “Fools! I cannot yet rise. More is needed. Tell them all to shut up!”

  The command was passed down the line until it reached the great hall, and the assembled demons begrudgingly shut their yaps. The entire Under City went quiet. The Dark Lord lay down on the marble slab, closed his burning yellow eyes, and slept.

  Out in the main cavern, Loreli’s suspicions had been confirmed. The Dark Lord needed more to rise again. Hope surged within her. She slipped unnoticed out of the Under City.

  Natalie awakened, her head foggy. Her hands were near her face. They still smelled of Loreli’s lotion. The first thoughts that entered her mind were vague; she knew she was nursing a lingering pain, and as her head cleared she remembered the situation she was in. Will was, quite probably, in love with another girl. And not just any girl, but a seductive, dazzlingly beautiful girl. Natalie remembered how, after Loreli’s challenge, she’d gone to Will’s room and knocked on the door, trying agai
n to talk to him, needing to be rid of the ache that pulled at her heart. But he had shunned her, and she had gone to her room shamed, like a dog with its tail between its legs, and crawled into bed. She’d prayed for the bed to swallow her up and suck her down into the darkness and keep her there. She wanted no part of conscious thought; her thoughts brought her nothing but painful feelings that gave birth to more miserable thoughts. She needed some sort of distraction. But first she had to get out of bed, and at the moment that seemed a monumental task. Her head felt like it weighed about a thousand pounds.

  She sat up, and then made herself go to the bathroom. The mirror was not kind. She splashed water on her face, then decided a shower might help. She turned the water on full blast, good and hot. Maybe she could wash away all the bad parts of her life and emerge into a clean new world of optimism. At least it might clear her head. She stayed under the pulsing spray for a full fifteen minutes, then washed and conditioned her hair. She watched the bubbles sliding down her body for a long time, until the water went clear, and then shut the shower off.

  Stepping out and toweling off, she met the damnable mirror again. You are who you want to be, she told herself. She was stronger than this. She finished drying off and then brushed her hair and put on makeup. She slipped on one of her favorite camisoles and pulled on jeans, then ventured out into the hallway. She saw that Will’s bedroom door was open. She went in. Her eyes went immediately to his bed, and in that millisecond, in that horrible overpowering moment, all the starch went out of her.

  The bed was a total mess, a battlefield. The sheets and blankets were twisted and crumpled, half the pillows on the floor. The room reeked of Loreli’s potent, musky perfume. Natalie wanted to flee from the scent. But something in the bed caught her eye as it reflected the morning light, and she moved closer, drawn like a fly to a black widow’s web.

  The medallion. The stunning medallion—which just a few hours ago had been hanging around Loreli’s neck—was lying in Will’s bed. Just as Loreli had been. The medallion had no doubt come off during an act of passion that Natalie could not bear to imagine. But still the scenes played in her mind as she reached for the bewitching piece of jewelry. She would fling it into Lake Washington. Or perhaps she would find a hammer and smash it into tiny fragments. She lifted it in her fingers, its weight surprisingly heavy. She brought the bright piece closer to her eyes and saw that there were tiny air holes around the circumference, as if it housed some living thing. She smelled it. A kind of animal scent mixed with lavender. As acid tears fell, she squeezed it tightly in her hand and thought about how to destroy it. But then she changed her mind and boldly put the medallion on, thinking, wishing, that some of Loreli’s magic might rub off on her, make her as irresistible and alluring.

  She backed out of the room, her eyes welded to the bed as her imagination hurled her down a dangerous road. Flash! She saw Will and Loreli kissing. Flash! She saw them undressing. Flash! She saw them . . . it was too much. Her heart pounded and felt battered; she wondered if she’d been careless with it, if her love for Will (I would die for you, I would!) was somehow a mistake. She recoiled from the bed, away from the scene of the crime, the horror of it, the repulsiveness of it, then turned back to her room, shamed and hopeless. When Will said he was going to send her and Emily away, she had stood toe to toe with him and declared that they were in this together, that they would fight side by side—to the death, if need be. Now where was she? Who was she? It was devastatingly obvious Will no longer wanted or needed her. This was the last straw, the end of any hope she had for their love. A tiny voice inside her head whispered that her life was over.

  A few minutes later, Emily knocked lightly on Natalie’s door. Getting no answer, she knocked louder.

  “Natalie? Nat?”

  She pushed on the door. Locked. Worry rising quickly within her, she went downstairs and found Rudy in the kitchen (where else?) scarfing down bean burritos as he simultaneously built a skyscraper turkey, cheese, and everything-else-in-the-kitchen sandwich.

  “Have you seen Natalie this morning?” she asked.

  “Should I have?”

  Emily made a disgusted noise.

  Rudy rolled his eyes. He rarely had a clue what Emily was talking about and was even more clueless about why she always ragged on him so much.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Just sit here and stuff your face. You’re good at that.”

  Rudy looked stung and Emily regretted her words right away.

  “Wait. I’m sorry. I’m just freaking out because something’s wrong with Natalie. Something bad. I just know it.”

  Rudy stopped eating.

  They went upstairs. Rudy banged on Natalie’s door.

  “Natalie? Come on. Open up!”

  Emily looked at him helplessly. Rudy knew it was time for action, time to get ballsy. Halfway down the hallway was a heavy granite sculpture base. He lifted it up, carried it over, and in one powerful motion bashed open Natalie’s door. Emily rushed in and he followed. Natalie’s bed was empty. They checked the bathroom. Nothing. The closet—just in case. Nada. The door must have locked accidentally when Natalie had left the room.

  “It’s Saturday. Maybe she took off with Will or something,” said Rudy.

  Emily just closed her eyes. Rudy thought she looked like she was listening for some kind of voice that only she could hear. In fact she was; she was trying to “feel” her twin.

  “Maybe,” said Emily, wanting to believe it.

  She opened her eyes. She felt empty, like half of her self was missing. But she didn’t know what to do about it. Maybe Natalie really was with Will. Natalie had been so upset when she came home yesterday; maybe they were talking and it wasn’t going well, and that’s what Emily was picking up on. Even though it was warm in the mansion, Emily felt suddenly cold, and shivered. She turned and left the room.

  Outside the bedroom window, just a few feet away, Natalie was standing barefoot on the frigid bricks of the ledge. She was looking down at an ornamental spire in the garden below and wondering what it would feel like to fall two stories and be impaled upon it. She clutched Loreli’s medallion and inhaled its heady fragrance, and her head felt so light that she thought she might lift up into the clouds like a bird.

  Down in the gaming room, Emily circled Rudy, wielding a bamboo staff. He had one, too, and regarded her warily. He felt bad about it because he knew Emily was still worried about Natalie, but he couldn’t help noticing that she was looking especially foxy, with her wild eyes and her slightly mussed hair. She was wild, too; wild inside because she was tired of feeling scared all the time. She wanted to take control of her life somehow. She swung the bamboo staff hard at Rudy’s head. His reflexes were keen and he ducked the blow, but then she surprised them both by catching him with an uppercut that glanced off his chin.

  “Ow! That hurt!”

  “It’s supposed to hurt,” said Emily.

  Rudy blocked her next two blows and went on the offensive, but Emily was energized now, and moved fast; she was a natural, and she’d been practicing much longer than Rudy had. Rudy pumped his head up and down comically.

  “Tell me again why you’re playing whack-a-mole with my skull?”

  Whack.

  “I’m not going to be a victim,” Emily said. “I need to practice. And you’re here. So come on, give me something to work with!”

  Smack! She whacked his knee and he jumped up and down.

  “Ow! Hey, pain is not my friend, okay?”

  Emily kept after him. “You’re not even trying!”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Don’t make me laugh,” said Emily. She faked a double up/down shot. He went for it, and she caught him on the side of the head.

  “Come on, Rudy! If we get attacked by demons or zombies or God knows what else, I want to be able to defend myself.”

  Rudy rubbed the sore spot on his head, then his eyes narrowed.

  �
�That’s it! Boo-ya! You woke up the monster!” said Rudy, and he turned up the heat, going on the attack. Having a bit of the dark side still in him made him strong and fast, and he was a whirling dervish of blows; blows that Emily for the most part deflected as she taunted him.

  “That’s more like it, dork face. Much better.”

  “Dork face? I’ll show you dork face!”

  They sparred silently for a full minute, neither gaining an obvious advantage, an equal number of glancing blows landing. Then, being the bigger and stronger of the two, Rudy managed to bull her backward, cornering her.

  “You’re good,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to mess with you. Now do you give up? Can we go do something else for a while?”

  Emily’s shoulders sagged and she slumped down, appearing winded. Feeling sympathy for her, Rudy let his guard down for a half second. It was enough. Emily sprang up and clobbered him square on the chin.

  “Ahhhhh!” He grabbed his chin, which was now bleeding. “You cheated!”

  “I guess you haven’t heard,” said Emily. “There’s no cheating in stick fighting.”

  Rudy dropped his staff and it clattered to the floor. He went to the mirror and checked his wound.

  “You marked me!” Though he was tough, his pride was wounded and he looked about ready to faint as he examined the blood on his chin.

  “Come here, you big baby,” said Emily.

  She was at the equipment bench and had the first aid kit out. She made Rudy sit and held his face as she dabbed the nick with rubbing alcohol. He cringed.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “Oh, sure, now you’re sorry.”

  She was close to him. Closer than she’d ever been. She could smell the lotion he’d used after shaving that morning, and the shampoo he’d used on his hair. She could hardly believe it, but she liked the smell of both. And his skin. He had great skin. Their eyes met in one of those frozen moments, the first sparks of attraction flying. It was Emily who, blushing, turned away. Her mind was twisted around a little, trying to figure out how in the world she could have momentarily been attracted to Rudy. Rudy! Not only was he a world-class dork, but he was a demon! Or an ex-demon, whatever. Not her type at all. What was she thinking? The only reasonable answer was that he’d hit her in the head while they were sparring and she’d gone temporarily insane. She again thought of Natalie. Where could she have gone? She turned back to Rudy.