Crashing Paradise

by Christopher Golden

  EVE awoke in the cool darkness, a scream upon her lips.

  She could still feel Abaddon’s touch, and her body remembered all too well the degradations heaped upon her then fragile, and still-human, form. Now, as she emerged from the shadows of Eden’s undergrowth, she felt unclean—unworthy to set foot once again in Paradise. For all of the eons she longed to return, it simply felt wrong to her. Her thoughts were abruptly filled with images of water—a river to wash away the filth. The Garden was reading her, feeling her emotion, and she darted from her place of concealment, knowing exactly where the water could be found.

  As she traversed the Garden, Eve became aware of the animals scrambling and skittering through the brush and in the branches above, many curiously peering from their hiding places. Allowing herself to breathe, she inhaled the humid scent of the nearby river and immediately began to remove her soiled clothes. Her bloodstained jacket and blouse were first, and she let them lie where they fell. She burst through a thick wall of huge fronds and found herself at the edge of the river, at a place where rocks had created an eddying pool where the current languished. Desperately she undid her jeans, kicking off her boots and shucking her pants like a serpent sloughing off its skin.

  Eve sprang from shore, her naked body plunging into the cool embrace of the pool. She found a soothing calm beneath the water, gradually sinking toward the bottom. Beneath the river, she lay in silt and mud, her mind filled with memories of the past. Not too long ago Eve had bemoaned the fact that so much of her early life was lost to her, but now, as her memories returned, she at last understood that remembering was far more painful than forgetting.

  Knees tucked beneath her chin on the muddy bottom, Eve let the past wash over her. It wasn’t long before the life within the river scuttled and swam closer to examine her.

  Some of them nipped at her, but they could do her no real damage. She imagined their eager mouths eating away her sins, consuming the residue left behind by Abaddon’s filthy touch. Perhaps once her transgressions were eaten away, she would feel at ease in Eden and again experience the grace of God.

  A dim, muffled sound reached her there at the bottom of that eddying pool. Eve flinched, scaring away the fish that had been investigating her. She heard the high-pitched squeal again, knifing through the tranquility beneath the river.

  She turned her eyes to the surface. Planting her bare feet, she sprang off from the river bottom, her naked body cutting through the water. As she broke the surface, the cry of terror filled the air again. Eyes just above the waterline, she searched for the source of the bloodcurdling cry.

  On the other side of the river, struggling at the bank, Eve watched in horror as a large, gray-skinned animal—some sort of ancient pachyderm—was attacked by a horde of vampires.

  “Fuckers,” she swore under the water.

  The vampires swarmed upon the flailing animal, their teeth and claws ripping away bloody chunks of its flesh. The smell of its blood filled the air, and she felt an awful hunger stir.

  The animal tried to defend itself, slamming its body against the nearby trees. But the leeches clung fast, drinking away its precious life-stuff, eventually weakening the beast’s struggles.

  Eve wanted to look away as the animal’s knees began to buckle. It flopped upon its side, crushing three of the bloodsuckers as it fell, but it did not kill them. Disgusted, she watched as they freed themselves, slithering up onto the beast, dragging broken and pulverized limbs behind themselves to feed with their brothers and sisters on its dying form.

  Her hunger at its peak, she could no longer hold back. She swam silently toward the opposite bank of the river. Eyes riveted to the awful sight, she felt revulsion at the grotesque tableau, and at the very thought of creatures such as these—creatures like herself—existing within the Garden.

  Eve emerged from the river and stood naked, staring in fury at the vampires as they drained the last bit of life from the once-regal beast.

  She’d seen enough.

  She cleared her throat, and the vampires snapped around to hiss at her, their hungry mouths stained crimson. Eve charged, not giving them a chance to react, scaling the body of the fallen pachyderm, slashing with deadly efficiency, her every strike doing the most damage possible.

  The vampires barely had any opportunity to fight back.

  Bodies bloated with the blood of the kill slowing their reactions, they died without even the time to scream, and the air was filled with their drifting, ashen remains. Eve perched upon the elephant’s haunches, eyes scanning the area for further prey.

  Satisfied that she had slain them all, she leaped to the ground. She placed a hand upon the side of the great animal.

  Its flesh was still warm, and the knot of hunger in her belly grown more painful and gnawing.

  It would be a sin to allow its blood to spoil, she told herself, bringing her mouth to a soft spot behind one of the animal’s large ears. Her fangs pierced its leathery hide, and she sucked upon the wound, gouts of its still-warm blood filling her mouth and pouring down her throat.

  At last sated, Eve pulled away from the wound in the dead elephant’s neck, stepping back from its massive corpse. The blood of the animal had done her well, filling her body with vitality and giving her new clarity.

  She returned to the river, wading back into its embrace, washing away the blood that spattered her naked body and face. Still naked—the way she had been before temptation, before shame—she stood on the riverbank and tipped her head back to the gentle breeze. As usual, the smell of the place was wonderful, rich with the smell of life in full bloom, but there was another aroma present now. It was a scent completely out of place here, and one that she was going to do everything in her power to eliminate.

  There was evil in the Garden. Eve wondered why the Creator had not yet intervened, smiting those that had invaded Eden. She darted into the thickness of the Garden, moving toward the offending scent. Free will, she thought.

  God’s bear trap. He would be waiting to see how this would all turn out before getting His hands dirty. When events had run their course, He would get involved.

  And He would judge them all.

  11

  DANNY sat in the darkened living room of Conan Doyle’s brownstone. He’d brushed crumbs off the sofa, remnants of Squire’s last marathon of old Dawson’s Creek DVDs. The hobgoblin liked junk TV almost as much as he liked junk food. On the floor, Shuck watched Danny’s every move. When the demon boy pulled one sneakered foot up underneath him, the shadow beast looked up and shot him an inquisitive look.

  “I’m just getting comfortable,” Danny snarled.

  A low rumbling emanated from somewhere inside Shuck, like a powerful engine turning over.

  “Why did Squire have to leave you here anyway?” Danny asked under his breath. “You hate me . . . lot of good you’ll do me if we’re attacked again. Probably help whoever it is take me down.”

  Shuck lowered his strangely shaped face down between two massive paws, his deep dark eyes never leaving Danny.

  “Can’t you just look over there?” Danny yelled, getting up from the couch and plopping himself down again in another position. “Fucking Squire.”

  The goblin had returned with Shuck over an hour before, emerging from a hall closet covered in what looked like some kind of oil, but Danny learned was actually pure shadow from the outskirts of the Shadowpaths.

  Fucking freaky.

  The goblin had been all business as he stalked from the closet, wiping away the shadow stuff that clung to his body, and Danny had seen something in his friend that he’d never noticed before. Even his mother had noticed.

  Squire had seemed nervous—jumpy, even—as he’d told them that Eve had been taken. All the while he’d kept looking back to the closet, to the shadows, as if he half expected something to be following him.

  He’d told Danny that Conan Doyle wanted him to stay at the house, protecting it, just in case. Shuck would be left there with him, the meanest guard
dog in history. It bugged the shit out of Danny that Conan Doyle had benched him, and that he and the mutt were supposed to hold the fort. But when Squire advised his mother to leave right away—that for her own safety, she ought to be anywhere else—that had really pissed Danny off. It wasn’t as if she was going to protect him or anything, but it was cool to have somebody around to talk to. The goblin had smiled and said that was why he was leaving Shuck behind.

  Squire hadn’t given Julia a chance to argue, and Danny hadn’t made much of a fuss. If the Menagerie were under attack, the truth was that she would be safer at her new Brighton apartment. As much as he’d miss the company, she’d already been hurt, and deep down, he didn’t want to take the chance of something even worse happening to her.

  He couldn’t risk losing the one person in the world who helped him stay human.

  Once she had left, Squire had gone to work fixing the front door so it could be closed again and checking and double-checking some of the magical bullshit that was supposed to keep the bad guys from being able to get into the house.

  Fat lot of good that seemed to do.

  Now, Danny watched an old war movie on Retroplex, mind unable to focus. Shuck got up with a grunt and ambled over to the corner, where the open door cast a patch of shadow. The beast sniffed at the darkness and whined.

  “What, do you miss your friend?” Danny asked. “Why don’t you go and find him. I won’t mind. Go on, go find Squire. I’ll be right here, watching the house, like the useless piece of crap they think I am.”

  Squire had finished fortifying the house, then disappeared down the cellar for a bit, finally returning with a golf bag filled with weaponry. “Just in case,” he’d grumbled, switching off the light and closing the door behind him.

  Now, here Danny sat, bored out of his mind, being babysat by something that might’ve been a dog in some serial killer’s worst nightmare.

  Shuck whined again, returning to his spot and dropping his bulk to the floor with a sigh.

  “Fine, be that way. Stay here and be miserable with me.”

  He leaned his head back upon the couch, thinking about how fucked up his life had become, wondering if it would ever be normal again. It was like looking down a really long tunnel, that tiny dot of light way in the distance, the times before the Menagerie. Danny closed his eyes. He knew it would never be normal, but wondered if life would ever get back to that place where Mr. Doyle and the others could trust him.

  Graves had said it was just a matter of time. But Danny wasn’t so sure.

  His father had awakened something in him, something completely unpredictable, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, he could sense that it was always there, waiting for its opportunity. Waiting for him to screw up again. And the light of normalcy at the end of the tunnel grew that much dimmer.

  Shuck started to growl, and Danny lifted his head to see that the shadow beast was looking toward the doorway out into the hallway.

  He spun around, half-expecting to see somebody standing there. “What is it, boy?”

  Climbing to all fours, Shuck stalked toward the door, and Danny followed. His mind raced. What now? Has the evil Clay returned to finish off whatever the hell he’d been here for? Or maybe it’s just the fucking Jehovah’s Witnesses.

  Shuck slunk around the doorway into the corridor with Danny right behind him. The animal padded down the hallway toward the front door, stopping partway, and again started to growl.

  Danny stopped, listening to the sounds of the brownstone.

  He didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but there was a smell.

  A scent that he’d come to associate with powerful magic.

  The recently repaired door at the end of the hall suddenly opened without a sound, slowly swinging in to admit a large figure that stood upon the doorstep.

  “Holy shit,” Danny said, not quite sure what he should be doing.

  The acrid, magic stink became stronger as the man entered the house.

  With a throaty roar, Shuck propelled himself at the intruder.

  Danny gasped, certain that the bloodshed to follow with be completely heinous. But the man simply held out his hand, bringing the beast to a sliding stop before him. Within seconds, he was petting Shuck’s square head, the shadow beast leaning into the stranger, hungry for affection.

  “That’s just so messed up,” Danny muttered, startling himself as he realized that he’d spoken the words aloud.

  The man was wearing a long, gray raincoat, unbuttoned to reveal a dark, three-piece suit that screamed expensive. Still petting the shadow beast, he removed a stylish fedora from his head with the other hand, and Danny recognized him as the only person in the world who could have just walked right past the magical defenses into the brownstone.

  “Conan Doyle, changeling,” Lorenzo Sanguedolce commanded. “Bring him to me. I need to see him at once.”

  Sweetblood the Mage, they called him. The guy was a dick, but according to Mr. Doyle, he was the most powerful sorcerer in the world. Danny didn’t know what to do. His thoughts raced as he stared at the magician at the end of the hall.

  “Are you simple, boy?” the archmage asked, disdain dripping from his words. There was a hint of an accent in the man’s voice. Danny hated accents. “Announce to Conan Doyle that I am here and waiting. There isn’t much time.”

  Danny was infuriated by the magician’s tone and was sorely tempted to tell him to go fuck himself. But he didn’t think that would be too smart and held his anger in check. Dr. Graves would be so proud.

  “He’s not here,” he managed instead.

  Sweetblood stopped petting Shuck and came down the hall toward Danny.

  “What do you mean he isn’t here?”

  Danny smirked. “Are you simple? He isn’t here.”

  Sanguedolce stopped short. Danny was startled by how tall he was up close, but he didn’t back down. Staring defiantly at the mage, Danny noticed that though he was wellgroomed and expensively dressed, the man himself looked exhausted—worn around the edges. His skin was pale and there were dark circles beneath his eyes.

  “Insolent pup,” Sweetblood snarled, the air around him crackling with dark magic. “But I suppose that is to be expected if you are to travel the path to your destiny.”

  The words were like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. “What are you talking about?”

  Sanguedolce waved the question away, leaning back against the wall with a sigh. He closed his eyes.

  “Do you know something about my future?” Danny asked, feeling his heart begin to race.

  The archmage opened his eyes slowly. “The future is ever uncertain. You have much maturing to do, yet, boy. You will be there for the final battle, but your role in the grand scheme remains to be seen.”

  Danny grabbed him by the arm. “I need to know—”

  A powerful jolt of energy coursed through his body, knocking him back. Danny yelped, striking the opposite wall, his entire body painfully tingling as Shuck trotted over to investigate.

  “Where is he?” Sanguedolce asked, eyes narrowed. “Our time grows short.”

  In the sorcerer’s voice there was a hint of something that could have been mistaken for desperation. The realization distracted Danny from questions of his future. Sanguedolce’s unexpected visit signified something big.

  Demogorgon big.

  “Somebody’s taken Eve,” Danny blurted out.

  “The temptress?” Sweetblood asked, tilting his head to one side with curiosity.

  Danny couldn’t hold back, compelled somehow to spill the beans. “Yeah, she was taken by some demon connected to her past . . . and there’s an angel, too.”

  Sanguedolce pushed himself away from the wall, motioning for Danny to continue.

  “Mr. Doyle figured out where she was being taken, and he and the others have gone to rescue her.”

  “And did he share their destination with you?”

  The crackling aura had returned around Sangued
olce. It seemed stronger, what little remained of the hair on the back of Danny’s neck standing on end.

  Danny felt sort of stupid saying it. The place had been just as real to him as Never Never Land until a few hours ago.

  “Eden,” he replied, averting his eyes. “He said the demon was taking her to the Garden of Eden.”

  A dreadful silence fell upon the house. Danny looked up to see that Sanguedolce was rubbing his chin, a hint of a smile playing upon his lips.

  “Of course,” he said, replacing his hat upon his head.

  Danny could have sworn that the mage seemed more alive than he had mere moments ago, filled with a sudden energy.

  Confident.

  Without another word, he strode down the hallway. The door had closed behind him after he had entered, but now swung open at his approach.

  “I’ll tell Conan Doyle you were looking for him,” Danny called after him.

  “Oh, yes. Please do,” Sweetblood replied.

  The door slammed shut behind him.

  ALL she had to do was wait for them to get hungry.

  A small fraction of the vampires recruited by Abaddon, either unwelcome or uninterested in the activities of the others, had set up a camp of their own. Eve stayed hidden within the verdant Garden and watched as several strayed from their group in search of food. They seemed hungrier here, needing to feed more, and she wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that they didn’t need to hide from the sunlight.

  For, while there was light, there was no sun in the sky above Eden.

  She gazed up through the canopy of thick leaves and fronds at the sunless sky, and wondered for the first time where the light that shone down upon the Garden originated.

  When Eve had lived here, she had never thought about such things, but now it was different. If she ever had the opportunity for a sit-down with the big guy upstairs, it would be one of the first things she asked Him.

  What’s up with the light in Eden? Where does it come from?

  She was about to go out after the five or six that had wandered away from the others when she heard it.