by Jon Skovron
“What do you see?” She hears her father’s voice from far away, like an echo.
“He’s completely frozen it,” she hears herself say.
“See if you can thaw it out,” her father says She begins to stoke her inner fire. It isn’t hard. All she has to do is think about Belial and what he’s done to Britt’s mom, and if he’s done something like this to Britt, then it doesn’t matter if he’s stronger than Jael. She’s going after him and she’s not going to give up until one of them is dead. Screw school and a normal life. She will dedicate herself to getting this bastard who ate her mother and tortured her friend. She will make him pay for everything he’s done.
She looks back at the sad clump of ice that is Ms. Brougher’s soul. She blows a slow breath like a hot desert wind across it until the ice starts to run, then crumbles. Brilliant life explodes all around her, like a lush garden suddenly appearing from beneath a bed of frost. She wants to snatch it up like she did the fire, to bring it inside and feel it roar within her. She wants to . . .
Then Ms Brougher screams and Jael is suddenly back in the kitchen with her father. Ms. Brougher screeches like an animal, her hands extended claw-like in front of her.
“My face! My hands! God, what happened to me!” she wails.
She’s sobbing and flailing about. Jael’s father tries to restrain her but she’s pumped full of adrenaline and easily knocks his hands aside.
“Heather!” he shouts. “Please! Calm down! We’re here to help!”
“Brittany! Where’s Brittany!” she moans.
“We’re trying to find her,” says her father. “Please, I know you’re in a lot of pain, but we really need to find Brittany before—”
“My face! Why the hell does my face hurt so much?!
Where’s Brittany? BRITTANY!”
Jael’s father is trying to wrestle her to the ground.
“Dad, should I . . . ”
Her dad shakes his head. “I can handle this,” he says. “Just go get some first-aid supplies so we can get her cleaned up.”
She knows she could hold Ms. Brougher down much more easily than him, but it doesn’t seem like a good time to argue.
She hurries down the hall to the bathroom. She grabs gauze, tape, antibiotic cream, and anything else that looks like it might come in handy. On her way back, she hears a phone ring. The cordless sits on the back of one of the easy chairs. She grabs it, thinking maybe it’s Father Aaron checking up on them.
“Yeah?” she says as she carries the supplies back to the kitchen.
“Jael?”
She freezes.
“Britt? . . .”
“Yeah.”
“Uh . . . you okay?”
“I’m better.” Her voice sounds hollow and indifferent.
“Oh,” says Jael carefully. “Well, that’s good.”
“Can you come meet me?” asks Britt. “I’m calling from a pay phone down at that coffee shop on Thirty-Fourth in Fremont.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Oh, great,” says Britt without enthusiasm. “See you soon.”
Jael puts the phone back on the receiver. A quiet calm settles over her. She knows that it’s a trap. She just hopes Britt isn’t so far gone that she can’t bring her back. Because Jael will bring her back, or die trying.
Back in the kitchen, Ms. Brougher has settled into a low whimper, clinging to Jael’s father with bloody hands. Jael tosses the medical supplies to him.
“I’m going to get Britt,” she says, and turns to go.
“What?” says her father. “Jael, wait! What are you—”
“Dad, you can’t leave her here alone. But someone has to get Britt.” She heads for the front door.
“Wait! Jael! Shit!” he yells at her. “How will you get there?!”
“Run,” she says, and she’s gone.
Jael sprints down the sidewalk, stretching her body as far as she can. Her breath moves evenly in and out and her muscles buzz with heat as houses flicker past on either side. She can barely hear her footsteps. It’s almost as if she’s walking on air.
And why can’t I? she wonders. So she starts calling out to the air beneath and in front of her. Let’s see how fast we can really go.
Her next step lands an inch off the ground and she skates along with a smooth, frictionless glide. She soon picks up so much speed that the world is little more than a whirling blur.
Despite the serious shit storm she’s headed for, she can’t deny the rush of this moment.
Then there’s a loud crack and blinding pain, and she sprawls out on the asphalt. In her way is a brick wall.
It takes her a second to get her breath back, but otherwise she doesn’t feel too bad. She climbs to her feet and looks around.
She’s already made it as far as Ballard, where the street slants to one side, which is why running in a straight line brought her into a supermarket parking lot.
“Maybe not quite that fast,” she mutters. But she can’t help but smile a little as she dusts off the bits of debris from her jeans.
The wall looks like someone went at it with a sledgehammer.
She did that.
Then she starts to run again.
Jael finally slides to a stop in Fremont, a funky little neighborhood on the shore of Lake Union. A block farther down she sees the coffee shop. Britt sits at one of the little sidewalk tables that overlooks the houseboats strung along the lakeshore.
She’s hunched forward, oblivious to the beautiful view, just staring at the curb. She’s still wearing the same clothes Jael saw her in the day before. Her hair is a blond haystack.
Jael walks up to her cautiously, but Britt doesn’t react. So Jael finally says, “Britt.”
Britt looks up at her, and it takes a moment for her eyes to focus. One corner of her mouth twitches spastically, and her lips are dry and cracked.
“Hi, Jael.”
“You doing okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am. Doing okay.” Then she stands up, slowly, like she’s sore. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
“Uh, sure,” says Jael. It’s such an obvious trap. But then, since she can’t refuse it anyway, maybe that’s the point. She can almost hear Belial’s taunting laughter as she follows Britt down along the lakeside until the sidewalk passes beneath Aurora Avenue and the George Washington Memorial Bridge. Then Britt turns up a steeply inclined side street that runs beneath the bridge.
Jael says, “Do you want to, uh . . . talk about—”
“I understand what happened,” says Britt.
“You . . . you do?”
“Yes, of course.”
Jael waits for more, but Britt just keeps walking up the hill, her eyes again distant and unfocused.
“So . . . ,” says Jael. “What do you think happened?”
They reach the top of the hill. Nestled into the spot where the slanted street meets the base of the bridge is a twenty-foot-high statue of a troll. It’s hunched forward, long hair partially covering its brooding face. The endless rains of Seattle have stained and eroded its face so that its one exposed eye seems to weep. In one hand it clutches a life-size VW Bug.
“Trip trap, trip trap,” mutters Britt.
“What?” says Jael.
“Huh?” says Britt. Her eyes grow wide in the harsh yellow streetlight. She suddenly smiles, the corner of her mouth still twitching, and a thin line of drool rolls down her chin.
“Monsignor was unworthy of performing the exorcism. So God allowed you to defeat him. But I have found someone who is worthy.” She turns toward the troll, and Jael follows her gaze.
Three figures in white monk robes now stand at the base of the statue, their hoods pulled low over their faces.
“Britt . . . ,” says Jael.
“This is Brother Jack of the Ancient Order of Vetis,” says Britt, her voice dreamy. “And he is here to exorcise the demon from your soul.”
Belial steps out from the line and
pushes back his hood. He’s in his mortal form, but his long black hair sweeps up to the sides, suggesting his horns, and his pale blue eyes glitter like gems.
“Jael, darling,” he says. “What a delight to see you again so soon.”
“Britt, you’ve got to snap out of this!” says Jael in a low voice. She grabs Britt’s arm and shakes her. “This is the guy who killed my mother!”
Britt’s crazy eyes waver slightly, and her fixed smile droops.
But then Belial calls out, “Remember what we talked about, Brittany.”
“Yes, Brother Jack!” says Britt, her smile lighting up again, the twitch working overtime. “It’s exactly like you said.”
“Britt,” barks Jael, “I will drag you out of here by your hair if I have to.”
“Do what you want to me, demon!” yells Britt, and throws her arms around Jael. “I will do whatever it takes to save my friend from your evil clutches!”
“Britt! Stop it!” says Jael. She tries to peel her off, but she doesn’t want to hurt her in the process.
“Don’t worry, Jael,” whispers Britt. “I know you’re still in there somewhere. I won’t give up on you, even if I have to burn with you in Hell.”
“Touching, isn’t it?” says Belial. He’s right beside them now.
He lays a pale hand on Britt’s matted, dirty hair. “See what her love for you has reduced her to?”
“Okay, asshole,” says Jael. “You got me. Now, let her go.”
“Jael, my darling, you’re missing the point entirely,” says Belial. “I already had you. The real fun is using you to destroy this sad little creature and watching you suffer for it.”
“Britt! Can’t you hear this? What is wrong with you?”
“Some mortals are astonishingly easy to beguile,” says Belial.
“She only hears what I want her to hear. Her mother was a rush job, but this one I spent some time on. I slowly infected her spirit until I became almost an extension of it. Then I began, very carefully, to change it. If you’re too rough about it, they usually just go mad, like her mother, and are useful only as distraction.
But if you do it just right . . . .” He taps Britt on the forehead.
“That’s enough, dear,” he says to her. “We can take it from here.”
Britt lets go of Jael and collapses to the ground like a doll.
Belial turns back to Jael. “If you do it right, you have a very fun and useful toy! Now, I brought some old friends of yours along. Well, perhaps ‘acquaintances’ is the more appropriate word.” He steps back and gestures to the two cowled monks behind him. “Boys?”
The two monks step toward her. Beneath their hoods, they have human faces, but their eyes flash with a luminous glow that is anything but mortal. One is massive, with hulking shoulders and an almost square head. The other is tall and thin, with a long nose, pronounced overbite, and glittering amber eyes.
“I believe you’ve met Baal and Amon already,” says Belial.
“My, my little girl,” says Amon, leering at her. “How you’ve gro—”
Jael slams him in the chest with a fireball and he flies backward into one of the cement pillars supporting the bridge.
She snaps a second fireball at Baal, who staggers, but doesn’t fall.
“Put him down,” says Jael, and a blast of wind responds by slamming Baal to the ground so hard that the asphalt cracks beneath.
While the two struggle to rise, Jael slings Britt over her shoulder and makes a break for an intersecting street. There’s a mass of people just a few blocks away. Belial has kept a low profile so far, and Jael hopes he won’t attack them out in the open.
But then Belial calls out, “Brittany! A little assistance, please!”
Britt suddenly explodes in a fury, scratching and biting at Jael like a wild cat. Jael grits her teeth and holds on to her as she runs. Britt starts bucking and flailing until her leg gets caught between Jael’s legs. Jael can’t stop in time, and she trips.
She hears a sharp crack as Britt’s leg breaks, then they both topple over in a heap.
Once they’re on the ground, Britt hisses and spits, still clawing at Jael’s face with her fingernails. Jael tries to contain her without making her broken leg worse.
“Thank you, Brittany,” says Belial.
She goes limp. As Jael struggles to untangle herself, Amon and Baal come at her from either side and slip a loop of thin wire around each of her wrists. They hold the glittering wire with thick leather work gloves and when they pull in opposite directions, the wire cuts into her skin and draws blood. She sucks in a breath and swallows a scream as they stretch her arms out to either side.
“It’s silver, if you’re curious,” Belial says, nodding at the wire. He grins wide enough for her to see his sharp little teeth.
Then he lifts the unconscious Britt up by her neck and holds her at arm’s length. Her eyes are rolled back in her head so that only the whites show. Foamy yellow spit dribbles from her lips.
She’s covered in scratches and bruises, and her lower leg is tilted sideways like a half-broken tree branch. Still holding her aloft, Belial walks back toward the troll statue. Amon and Baal follow him, half dragging Jael across the asphalt by the silver wires.
They stop in front of the troll and Belial gazes up at the massive sculpture. Amon and Baal hold the silver wires so tight that Jael’s arms are stretched out to the sides as far as they will go. Every time she strains at the wire, it slices deeper into her skin. Blood runs down her forearms and drips from her elbows to the asphalt.
“Ah, Three Billy Goats Gruff, wasn’t it?” says Belial, still looking at the troll sculpture. “Trip, trap, trip, trap! Who’s that tripping over my bridge?” He pats the stone troll’s massive fist fondly. “Charming story. And there’s a moral, too. Crossing bridges is dangerous stuff. So is wanting more than you deserve.”
He regards Britt for a moment, then lets her drop to the ground.
“On your feet, girl,” he says.
Her head jerks up and she slowly gets to her feet. Jael can hear quiet crunching sounds as the bones of her broken leg grind together.
“Sister Brittany,” says Belial. “I believe your friend can be saved, but it will take a serious sacrifice.”
“Anything,” Britt whispers, her mouth slack. “I’ll do anything.”
“But are you worthy?” asks Belial. “You have so many sinful thoughts in that head, you little whore.”
“Yes, yes, yes . . . ,” whispers Britt. Tears collect in her glassy eyes.
“You must beat out the sin before you can save your friend.”
“Yes . . .” “You know what you must do.”
“Yes.” Then she hobbles slowly over to the statue, her broken leg bowing out more with every step.
“Britt, stop!” yells Jael. She struggles against the wire until her arms are slippery with blood, but she can’t shake the loops.
They have cut so far into her flesh that they’re embedded in her skin.
“Belial, that’s enough!” she yells. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“No, my dear,” he says. “It’s not nearly enough. And you’re already doing what I want you to do. Suffer. Which I am enjoying immensely.”
Britt reaches the statue. She clasps her hands together in prayer. Then she smacks her forehead into the gritty cement fist. When she lifts her head back up, a dark bruise is already forming.
“More, Brittany!” shouts Belial. “Beat out all the sin! Make yourself clean!”
Britt slams her head into the concrete again, then again. A purple lump grows on her forehead.
“Britt! Stop!” yells Jael.
But Britt keeps pounding her head into the troll statue. A spot of blood is starting to form on the concrete. She sways from side to side in between each hit, clutching the statue for support.
A pointed jut of bone is clearly pressing against the inside of her jeans.
Jael turns to glare at Amon, and he looks back at her with a
smug grin. She stares into his eyes, trying to drill down into his soul to grab at anything she can. But there is nothing. No passage. Only his cruel amber eyes.
That doesn’t make sense. Everything has a spirit, even demons. She felt her mother’s spirit in those bushes. Belial himself said that demons had a soul. So why doesn’t she see anything past his eyes? It really seems like there’s nothing there.
There is nothing there, says the air. Something is occupying the space, it says, but it’s not there.
There’s nothing standing there, says the earth. Something is pressing down, but there’s nothing there.
Her uncle told her that Hell-born demons are only in Gaia in spirit. The reason she can’t see the spirit in Amon’s eyes is because he is all spirit. But if Amon is nothing but spirit, then he’s just another element she can influence.
“Go,” she says.
Amon flinches and his human appearance melts away to reveal his true form, the wolf-headed serpent creature. But then he shakes his head and growls at her, giving the wire an extra-hard tug. She can’t force him any more than she can force any other element to do something it doesn’t want to do.
“Fine,” she says. “Let’s see if I can convince you to leave.”
She asks the air in his lungs to leave. It does so, gladly.
Amon’s eyes go wide as the vacuum begins to turn his lungs inside out, and he drops the wire, clutching at his throat.
She brings her free hand up, ready to hit him with a fireball.
But then something slams into her so hard that she flies through the air and smacks into the stone troll’s face. Baal has changed into his true form—the ox of iron, wood, and stone. He charges at her again, his red eyes blazing within his stone bull’s face.
Jael holds her bloody hands clasped together, stoking the rage within. She remembers that image of him stepping on her uncle.
She remembers how terrified she was of him as a little girl, and the nightmares that followed for years afterward. When she releases that rage, a jet of fire blasts Baal’s face so hard that both he and Jael are knocked off their feet.
