Pandora: An Urban Fantasy Anthology

by Phaedra Weldon

  I ran out, back to the front. But he was gone. The door was still locked, and it was dark outside. I waited for his goons to leave and once I was sure I was alone in the warehouse, I ran back to where Zeke had fallen.

  There was nothing there. Not even a stain to mark his passing. It was as if he'd never existed. I opened the safe and took the book out, grabbed my purse, put my things in a box and left the store forever.

  It wasn't until the next morning that I examined the necklace. I'd slept on my couch, a baseball bat in my lap, all of my lights on. I didn't trust Manna. And I didn't want him coming back to kill me when he realized I'd stolen the book.

  The necklace was on the coffee table, flashing at me. When I picked it up, I inhaled it. It smelled like Zeke. And as I pushed my fingers over the set diamonds, the base of the cross slid down.

  I gasped when I realized the cross was a flash drive.

  WTF?

  A diamond flash drive?

  I immediately went to my computer and plugged it in. A list of files appeared, texts of a language I didn't have the slightest idea about. But I knew given enough time, I could translate it.

  And if I sold the flash drive itself, I could make enough money to live on while I worked.

  Was it possible that Zeke had transferred the invisible information from the book to the drive? I'd thought it was odd that he'd wanted the cross right before he held the book. And I was certain he could see something that I couldn't.

  My choices were—to stay and translate, or relocate and translate. I decided to stay, and to keep my job at the consignment store. At least for six months. I wouldn't start the work till then. But I did sell the reformatted flash drive for over a million, just like he offered.

  And before the end of the year I moved to Vegas, and translated an ancient Angelic language. By the start of the next year, I had a list of cures, some of them read like spells. I used one on my sister and her AIDS vanished practically overnight. I used it several more times on others just to spread the miracle around, but not too many. And then I left the recipe for one of my favorite doctors to find, hoping she'll put it all together and become the one to cure AIDS.

  I was happy to have cracked the language, to be able to give the world the gift the original Pandora wanted to give. But I was also alone, unable to talk to anybody about what I was doing. What I knew. What I'd discovered. I needed help.

  I needed divine help.

  Then in February, the night of the fourteenth, I finished my single serving fat-free frozen dinner, finished my wine, and pulled the book out from beneath my bed. I hadn't cracked it open since the day I took it—mostly because I knew there wasn't anything in it. But it smelled like him.

  Like Zeke.

  I'd known him less than fifteen minutes, but he'd left an impression on me I couldn't shake. He'd died trying to find this book—though his intent had been to destroy it. I didn't care. I just wanted someone to talk too.

  So I talked to the book as I opened it. "I've been watching the news ever since I left the cure with the first doctor. Nothing's broke yet. And maybe it won't. She might not understand how my sister's AIDS vanished. And that means I'll have to find someone else." I turned a few pages, feeling a little stupid talking to myself.

  Abruptly a gray feather fell from the book and traveled in a lazy descent to the floor at my foot. My heart leapt into my throat as I set the book down and leaned over to pick it up. Was it possible this was from Zeke's wings? Had it been in the book all this time?

  With the feather in hand I woke my computer and slipped the Superman flash drive I’d transferred all the information onto, into the usb port. The translations came up. I wasn't even half way done, but I knew enough to set up a database. I keyed in a question.

  Are Angels Immortal?

  A single file name appeared. I opened it and read.

  And read.

  And finally shut the computer down.

  Me, the feather, the book and my flash drive packed a bag and left the suburbs for the desert.

  Dawn in the Nevada desert was awe inspiring. I sat on a rock with a small amount of brush around, my legs folded. In one hand I held the feather, and in the other I held a silver bowl of spring water.

  I'd been up all night, waiting for this moment, the instant the sun broke over the horizon and kissed the land with its light. I spoke in the language of the Angels and set the feather into the bowl.

  Nothing happened at first. No sudden movement. No burst of noise. Not even a trumpet. The sun grew brighter as it rose and I had to put my hand up to shield my eyes. I closed them, thinking of Zeke, of his face and hearing the strange accent.

  A wind brushed my hair back and turned away. When I looked back the sun didn't seem so bright behind my closed eyes. When I opened them, something stood between me and the sun.

  It was in the shape of a man, his back to me. Gray wings spread out to either side. He wore jeans and stood with bare feet. I set the bowl down and stood. The scrub of my sneakers on the dirt broke the morning silence. He turned from the waist and smiled.

  "Zeke!"

  His wings folded and tucked in behind his back as he turned to face me, his arms out wide.

  I ran to him and slipped my own arms around his bare torso. My fingers encountered the soft feel of feathers before they vanished. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "It took you long enough." The same accent.

  I looked up at him. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

  "Wasn't time. But you've translated it all now."

  "Yes."

  "Any word yet on the AIDS cure?"

  "No."

  His expression darkened. "Then we have to plant more seeds, Pandora. Set down more boxes for inquiring minds to open." He took my hands in his. "You taught the world a valuable lesson and it learned what hope is. But now it's time to reward that hope."

  We walked back to the rock together, my car just past another outcropping. "But…you said Michael or somebody wanted the book destroyed."

  "Yes. And now we can destroy the book since you have the contents. You don't have to do anymore, if you don't want to. Manna will know soon enough that the book's been translated. And he'll come looking for it."

  "And me."

  "And I." He gave me a crooked smile and shivered. "So…you got a jacket in that car of yours? And maybe shoes?"

  I laughed at him as he gathered my things and we settled into the passenger and driver seats. "So you knew I'd be the one to translate it? That I'd call you back?"

  "You're Pandora, aren't you?"

  I cranked the car. "I'm not the real Pandora."

  He shrugged and wrapped his arms around his chest. "Does it matter?"

  I laughed as I turned the car around and headed back to the highway and into Vegas.

  Nah…I guess it didn't.

  Darker Streets

  One cannot escape destiny—though it is possible to freak out, chew gum and still be called Demon Hunter at the end of the day.

  My heart pounded against my ribs as I gasped for breath. My knee-high boots with their hard heels slapped against water-strewn asphalt. Streetlights reflected in puddles as water splashed up as high as my hips. My arms pumped as I ran and I listened to the sound of my uncle beside me, keeping up with me.

  I turned right to get off the sidewalk and stopped short inside an alley. The first character to die always made the wrong turn into a blind alley. I knew that! And yet…I did it.

  "There's…no…way out…" Uncle Ren said, his voice harsh before he coughed. I jogged further into the alley just to check. Maybe there was a back entrance to a store or a basement door. Nothing. Just refuse and the stink of week-old garbage.

  I ran back toward the entrance of the alley where my uncle leaned against the wall. A streetlight across the way illuminated part of his face. I couldn't stop myself from smacking his arm in frustration.

  "Hey," he hissed and looked at me. The shadows swallowed his face. "What'd you do that for?"

  "Fol
lowing me," I said and realized I, too, was out of breath. "You…I was…just fine…"

  "No. You were running," he said.

  "We're both running. Let's get out of here and—"

  The streetlight went out with a spray of sparks. They and glass bounced on the sidewalk below. Within seconds, I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. "Ren?"

  "I'm right here." I heard his foot on the asphalt, and then felt his warm touch on my bare arm.

  "What the hell's going on? What was that thing back there?"

  "It's—"

  Laughter whispered in the dark. Soft, bell-like at first as it slipped around my legs and sent chills up my spine. I clung to Ren as he moved in front of me, and pushed us away from…whatever this was.

  Blue light dimly illuminated the street, the buildings with their black windows, and the asphalt beneath our feet. It came closer as it turned the corner and stood at the entrance to the alley.

  At first, the light hovered about as high as my head. The lower part of it extended and I swore it looked like blood as the blue turned red and it light pooled on the ground. But it never lost the tenuous connection to the hovering part of itself. I thought of a taffy puller I'd seen once in a candy factory, and watched in morbid fascination as the center widened and shaped itself into a the silhouette of a woman.

  An inner light glowed in the dark alley and I could see all of her. Her pale skin, her ruby red lips and red eyes. Her dark hair moved like smoke around her body and I followed it, watched as it lazily circled her long arms—arms that ended in long fingered talons.

  "What…the hell, is it?" I whispered aloud. I prayed Ren knew.

  "Demoness," he said as he stepped back, forcing me to move back as well.

  "Oh…dear Ren…" the woman said in a voice as melodic as her laughter. It filled the alley, lay down on the ground and covered the sky. "Surely you plan on introducing me to the newest Heir?"

  Heir? I grabbed his upper arms. "Heir? How did she know I was an heir?"

  "That's…not what she means," he said. He didn't look back at me. Ren kept his gaze locked on this…wait, did he call her a demoness?

  "Oh my…how have the Cavanaugh fallen? Mmm?" She glided forward. Closer. Too close. I backed up and pulled Ren with me. The wisps that kept this giant chick modestly covered reached out to touch me and I batted them away like errant bees. "Well? If this is the Heir, then where is he? I have a bone to pick with him."

  "He's not here."

  "Is this not the Heir?"

  I looked from Ren to the demoness and back again. "Who is she talking about?"

  "November," the demoness said. "Your chevalier. Your sword."

  Sword? What the hell? I don't have a sword. I could barely swing a baseball bat. And honestly, I hadn't touched one since what…sixth grade? "I don't—"

  Ren elbowed me. "I told you, he is not here."

  Her eyes narrowed as she watched. I wanted to look away from her and at the same time, I wanted to destroy her. It wasn't a conscious thought. More like an afterthought. A moral imperative.

  "How did you escape, Abbadon?" Ren said in a louder voice. "The Dark Streets are meant to hold your kind."

  "How isn't important," she said as she took another inch or two of the space between us.

  Without warning, those tendrils of smoke shot forward and wrapped themselves around Ren's body. They encircled his arms, legs, torso and his head. I tried to keep a hold of him but the brush of that smoke against my fingers felt like ice. Dangerous ice that could turn flesh into a solid, breakable mass. I heard my uncle try to speak as he struggled, but within seconds he became a black smoke cocoon and the demoness's red eyes focused on me. "Men's always been a bore, but he'll be fun to torture. As for you…"

  I screamed when the smoke encircled me. It poked and prodded me even as it held me still. I felt it enter my ears, my nose and my mouth, silencing any screams until my world became one of dark smoke and laughter.

  Her laughter.

  "There is no Contract!" The joy in her voice filled the spaces in my head. I couldn't see her, but I could feel her all around me.

  What contract? That's what I wanted to shout, but I couldn't move.

  "No Contract—how marvelous!" Her laughter crescendoed as the smoke tightened. I gasped for breath but tasted only the sooty foulness of her being. "It is done. The Cavanaugh line ends tonight and November will never come again!"

  I felt the smoke break apart my flesh as it cleaved through muscle, vein and finally bone.

  "NO!" I scrambled around my bed and eventually landed on my head on the floor. The nightmare—Christ, was that what it was?—still lingered in my head, as did the foul, foul taste of it on my tongue.

  "I have never seen you have a nightmare before."

  That was my roommate's voice. If Stana was home, then I was already late for class. I rolled over and looked up at her.

  Stana McMillian was taller than me, prettier than me, and knew how to dress for success. She also got better grades than me. But that wasn't saying much. A slug could get better grades than me. She was a business major with a 4.0. I'd declared my major four times in two years.

  It wasn't that I was a slow learner or anything—I just wasn't motivated. I come from a rich family. I have a trust fund. There's very little I'll ever want for in my life. The only reason I was even in college was because my Uncle Ren insisted and promised to delay my trust payments if I didn't get a degree in something.

  "I don't have nightmares," I mumbled. It was the truth. I couldn't remember ever having a bad dream. Or falling out of bed. "Might be that pizza from last night."

  "Or that last drink you had at Mephisto's." Stana stood in front of her dresser, reapplying her rosy pink lipstick. "I mean come on. It glowed blue."

  I grinned. Yeah it had.

  "It looked like weird antifreeze."

  I belched and scratched my hair. "Didn't taste as sweet, though."

  "If you get up and shower you could make your second class."

  Second class. That would be…I scratched my neck. I wasn't sure at that moment. My head was still packed with black smoke and the screams of my uncle. "Nah…I don't feel good. Think I'm just gonna stay in bed." I plopped back down on my bed and hung my legs off the side.

  Stana smacked her lips and smiled at me in the mirror. "You look awful." She pointed at her hair, but I knew she meant mine. "The blue's new."

  "Yeah." I kept my hair in a reasonably easy bob at my shoulders. Sometimes it was a little longer, like now, and as soon as I got my next deposit I planned on getting it all shaved off. I liked the pink and blue. Went with my violet eyes. But hair was overrated. Especially when everyone judged me on mine.

  If there were two more different roommates in the building, I didn't know them. Stana was tall, blond, statuesque and lithe. Her nose made a little upturn above a perfect little mouth and pointy chin. She never looked tired, and managed to dress in the latest fashions from Forever 21 and look cool.

  Me? Well…I had a style I liked. I loved the color black and when I opened my closet in front of people; they said it looked like a black hole. There were a few grays mixed in. And I thought I saw a purple scarf in there once. I kept my lipstick and my eye makeup dark, along with my nails. Someone might say I was goth, but that was so nineties.

  Or was it eighties?

  I looked at my Ninja Turtle panties and Club Hell t-shirt. Stana slept in pink and white nightgowns with matching robes and slippers.

  Her side of the room looked like an ad for "Southern Living." Mine? No comment. I think we can all infer from context.

  "Just don't forget we have chem lab tonight." She patted my head and then looked at her hand. "Wow…your hairspray helmet has dust in it."

  My phone rang the opening bars to Fall Out Boy's "Immortal" from somewhere in the mess of my half of the room. I dove into the bed and pulled up the sheets, then hung over the side and looked underneath.

  "It's right here," she grinned. "Oh, it's
that good looking uncle of yours."

  I rolled over and grabbed it from Stana's fingers. "He's not good looking." I knew it was a lie. He was.

  "Yeah, he is. Even you have to admit that. Exactly how is he your uncle? I mean he's what…same age?"

  "No he's not." The phone continued to ring. Honestly, I had no idea how old Ren was. He'd been my guardian since my parents died. Always there when I needed him, but in the past few years, he'd spent a lot of time with his mom, my grandmother. Her health hadn't been the best and he'd always been dedicated to her. "Mushi sushi."

  Uncle Ren gave me a tight sigh on the other end. "Only you would mess up a Japanese phone greeting."

  I loved my uncle. I assumed he was gay since I never saw him with a woman, and he'd been the best sub-parent ever! Except for making me go to college and threatening me with money. And yeah…he was good looking. Metal gray hair that made me think he was older, which he kept at a length the rest of my family disapproved of. His most striking feature was his eyes. He had expressive brows and really dark eyes. "Why are you calling so early?"

  "It's three in the afternoon, Taylor," he sighed. "Did you just wake up again? Miss your morning class?"

  I didn't answer.

  "They're going to throw you out, you know that. You won't pass this quarter either."

  "Come on, Ren. It's not like I really need this degree."

  "You need to learn responsibility. You need a purpose. And up until now, you haven't had one."

  It was the old speech, the old rah-rah-rah, he always gave me to be a better person. I felt guilty. I really did. He'd tried so hard with me over the years. He'd even let me express myself. Except for tattoos. He never approved of those. And now that I was twenty-one, I could get them if I wanted.

  But I never had.

  I wondered if I should tell him about my nightmare. Then something he said seemed a little odd. "What do you mean up until now?"

  "I have bad news, Tay. Your grandmother passed away last night."