by G. P. Ching
“In the end, we are who we are, good or evil. If there is change, if you believe people can change, it’s because we choose it. We choose it for our own reasons. People say we come into this world alone and we leave alone. You may have left this world alone, Oswald, but I was left alone. I am destined to always be alone. What is asked of me is impossible. God says He will make me human, but only if I am already as good as human.”
She pounded her sternum with her fist as if she could make her heart start beating.
“This foul organ might as well be stone.”
Blood red and fully open, one of the roses caught her eye. She plucked the flower from the vine. A thorn dug into her finger but she did not bleed. She could not bleed anything but black Watcher blood. It would take more than a thorn to draw it from beneath her scaly shell.
Resting in her hand, she held the bloom out toward Oswald’s grave. “This rose has a better chance of turning into a butterfly and flying from my hand, than I do of making the right decision when the time comes.”
She shook her head and tossed the rose on the sand. “Now you know, Oswald. Wherever you are, you know exactly what I am. It was good talking to you again, even if you couldn’t hear it.”
In the blink of an eye, she was gone, out of the maze and back up to the house. She moved too quickly to be sure, but out of the corner of her eye, she could've sworn a crimson red butterfly stretched its wings and fluttered toward the sky.
* * * * *
From the porch of her gothic Victorian home, Abigail watched the Laudner’s Flowers and Gifts delivery van pull into her driveway. Malini and Jacob exited the vehicle and hurried toward her.
Lillian leaned out the driver’s side window. “Jacob, I know this is important, but John isn’t going to take any excuses for you missing dinner again. Malini, you need to check in at home, too, or things are going to get complicated.”
Abigail grinned. “Don’t worry. They'll be out of your hair soon enough. It seems both of your parents have won a two-week cruise to the Caribbean.”
“That’s convenient,” Malini said, exchanging glances with Jacob.
As Lillian backed down the driveway, all Abigail could think of was how ridiculous it was for God to send a couple of teenagers to stop Lucifer and his army. They weren’t ready. Not for this.
“Come in,” she said, holding open the door. She led them into her parlor and took a seat in the leather recliner. “In light of Dane’s impending death, I’ll dispense with the formalities. Malini, who do we need to bring in first?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure? You’re the Healer. You have to know.” Abigail grabbed Malini’s wrist, shaking it as if the names would fall out like loose change. “You need to know. You need to know now.”
Jacob pushed Dr. Silva’s hand away. “Relax. Give her some air. We’ve been traveling for the last fourteen hours.”
The look Abigail shot him made Jacob lean away from her. She’d looked at him like this once before, when she’d thought he’d left the gate open back when the enchanted garden was alive and dangerous. She knew her expression wasn’t human and the message it sent was as clear as if she’d said the words out loud. I could kill you.
“She’s right, Jacob. This is my job,” Malini said, voice shaking. “When I say I’m not sure, I mean I don’t have a clear vision of our outcome. What I am sure of is we have to move forward. We could have better timing but Lucifer has forced our hand. We can’t afford to wait. We go tomorrow. I’ve decided we start with—”
“Stop, Malini. Don’t say it.” Abigail retrieved a piece of parchment from a box on the mantel. “Write mine on this. It’s enchanted to only appear for me. You never know who might be listening.”
Abigail slid the parchment across the table and offered Malini a pen. The Healer wrote the information on it, the ink disappearing into the parchment.
“Dr. Silva?” Jacob asked, tentatively. “I thought your house was enchanted. I thought Watchers couldn’t come here without being invited. How could anyone be listening?”
Turning her face toward the window, Dr. Silva gave a deep sigh. “My home is safe from Watchers, Jacob, but we’re not dealing with Watchers anymore. We’re dealing with Lucifer. I wish we hadn’t garnered his attention. Lucifer goes anywhere he wants to go, he looks any way he wants to look, and he listens and sees much more than you can imagine.” She rubbed her eyes, feeling more exhausted than ever.
Malini's golden stare fixed on Abigail. “Maybe so, but he’s not God. He may be able to do all of those things but he can’t do them everywhere at once. If he’s following me, he can’t be following you. You taught me that. We can use that to our advantage.”
Dr. Silva nodded. She held out the parchment and allowed her touch to pull the ink to the surface.
Tomorrow night, Ethan Walsh, Pauly’s Nightclub, Los Angeles. Go exactly at 1:15 a.m. He’ll be behind the bar. He doesn’t know what he is. Horseman Bridget Snow and Helper August Ward, 2 p.m., The Bean Grinder, Hot Springs, Arkansas. They’ll be expecting you.
She blinked several times, memorizing the names and locations, then crumpled the note and tossed it into the fire. The page ignited and turned to ash. “You’re right, Malini. Lucifer has his limitations, although I wish he had more of them.”
“The times I wrote on your parchment, stick to them,” Malini said. “Even if it’s not what you expected.”
“Of course,” Dr. Silva said toward the fire.
“Jacob and I will do our part. We'll check back in with you after your first mission,” Malini said.
Abigail nodded.
Malini motioned for Jacob to follow her and the two headed for the door without saying goodbye. Abigail heard the click as it shut behind them. She leaned on the mantel and rested her forehead on her crossed arms.
Lucifer had his limitations. Malini was right about that. He couldn’t be in two places at once, but he could make plenty of trouble for all of them. She pitied Ethan Walsh most of all. He had no idea what he was about to be pulled into.
Chapter 10
Mara and Henry
Mara had never laughed so hard or from a place so deep within her soul. The conversation with Henry flowed easily. After the hunt, they'd roamed the forest talking about books and movies. Death was surprisingly up to date, although his knowledge ended with living artists. It made for an excellent discussion of the classics, and an interesting attempt by Mara to describe a recent blockbuster.
“So, the machines become people?” Henry asked, confused.
“No, they're still machines but they look like people.”
“Why?”
“Because it's more exciting. They can take on human characteristics.”
“Why don't they use people?”
“The machines are bigger and scarier.”
“Use bigger and scarier people.”
“You'll understand when you see it.”
Henry mumbled something under his breath.
She shrugged. “It's not my favorite or anything.”
“Are you ready for lunch?” Henry asked.
“Starving. Should we go back to the castle?”
“How about a picnic in the park.”
“What park?”
The snow stopped. The sky became a bright blue. All of the trees Mara had created shed their foil leaves and grew a more deciduous variety.
“This way.” Henry led her across the changing landscape. The trees gradually opened up to a rolling green hillside. Lapping water called to them. A lake stretched on the horizon, its stone beach blending into the soft expanse of grass. Henry dismounted Reaper at the edge, allowing the horse to lower its neck for a drink.
“This is beautiful,” Mara said. She took her feet out of the stirrups and swung her legs to one side of Necromancer, dropping awkwardly. She lost her balance and landed on her backside in the grass.
Henry chuckled softly.
“I meant to do that,”
she said.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed, but you are adorable.” He dropped Reaper’s reins and sauntered over to where she sat on the lawn. He didn’t stop until his feet were between hers. Extending his hand, he offered to help.
“Adorable? More like adorkable.” Mara accepted his help and he lifted her to her feet. With how close he was standing, she ended up losing her balance in an attempt to avoid falling into him. His hand pressed into the small of her back, steadying her by pulling her flush against his chest. She rested her gloved hands on the lapels of his riding jacket and raised her eyes to meet his.
For a moment, it didn’t matter that there were layers of leather and wool between them. She felt naked and vulnerable, like he could see into her soul, and maybe he could. But the oddest part was she also felt safe. She trusted him with her soul, with her whole self. Maybe it was a silly thing to do, to give your heart and soul to someone you’d known such a short time. If it had been a friend, she’d most certainly suggest the person take it slow. But Mara couldn’t help herself. Her insides fluttered like a butterfly trying to break from its cocoon. If she let this thing inside her fly, there would be no turning back.
His arm bent at the elbow and his fingers worked under her hand on his chest. At first she wondered if he was pushing her away. He’d stepped back slightly. Maybe the full eye contact was too stalkerish.
Plucking the leather upward, he slipped off her glove. He did the same with his own, then threaded his bare fingers into hers.
Mara had to stare at their melded palms. Were they really just holding hands? Electrically-charged honey oozed over her skin from that small place of contact. She wanted to keep going, to melt into him until she forgot where he ended and she began.
Henry cleared his throat. “Lunch is ready. You must be famished.” He turned, lowering their coupled hands to his side.
Breaking eye contact, Mara gasped at the spread that had knitted itself out of the ether. A plush black velvet blanket spread across the grass, loaded down with silver trays of bite-sized canapés, bowls of fruit, and salads of all kinds.
“Are we expecting company?” Mara teased.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
She walked to the edge and lowered herself to the velvet. The silver candelabra lit itself at the center of the blanket, and the china plates, so carefully set for her pleasure, reflected the sun.
“I love it. It’s perfect.” Mara's voice broke. Her eyes stung with welling tears.
“Why are you crying?” he asked softly.
She beamed at him, tilting her head up to where he stood behind her. “Because it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
Henry lowered himself beside her and handed her a plate. “How is that possible? Someone like you … I would expect you’ve received your share of masculine attention.”
Mara lowered her eyes.
Hooking his bare hand under her chin, he tipped her face to his. “I know this situation isn’t ideal. We went from our first kiss to living together overnight. I’m not sure how long we’ll have, but I want to know everything I can about you.”
With a trembling hand, Mara lifted a small tart to her mouth, savoring the velvety chicken center. When she finished, Henry handed her a crystal goblet of lemonade.
“What I’m about to tell you isn’t a happy story,” Mara began. “Part of me wants to change the embarrassing parts. But it’s my story. If you want to know me, you have to know the truth.”
He nodded.
She began with her first memories: the trailer park she lived in, the way her mother would get drunk, the fights, and the knife that landed her in the mental institution. She told Henry about finding her power when she was twelve, the bell she learned to rely on, and even the SpongeBob pajamas. The story ended with her life in Chicago, where she spent years believing she would always be alone, and then Jacob and Dr. Silva.
“You’ve had to be stronger than any person should have to be,” Henry said, looking out across the lake. His face was distant, like his body was with her but his mind was in another world.
“It was too much too soon, wasn’t it? You think differently of me? I mean, let’s be honest and get it all out on the table. I was basically raised by white trash.” She pointed at her chest. “I’m not exactly a fairy princess.”
Henry raised his eyebrows at her. “I do think differently of you.”
Mara’s face fell.
Leaning toward her, his hands pressed into the velvet. “I think you are a rare diamond of a soul, as indestructible as you are beautiful, as transparent as you are a mystery, and inherently precious even if there are many who don’t realize your value.”
She thought her heart might leap out of her chest. What she did next took more courage than anything she’d ever done. More than the night before when her actions could be mistaken for passion independent of affection. Crawling across the velvet, she caressed the tops of his hands and met his offered lips.
Chapter 11
Gideon
Gideon stopped watching Katrina’s dorm once Mallory returned smelling strongly of alcohol but without the arsenic-sweet scent of Watcher. Katrina was as safe as she could be for now. There were ways around the spell on her room. Mallory could be possessed or another human might be influenced into killing Katrina. But the opportunistic nature of Watchers meant they’d be unlikely to strike in a way that called attention to what they were. Dragging a screaming girl from her bed in a crowded dorm in the middle of the night was definitely not their style.
He materialized inside the gothic Victorian, in the hallway near the parlor. If Abigail noticed he was home, she didn’t show it. She was watching the fire, her forehead resting on her crossed arms braced against the mantel.
“What are you thinking about?” Gideon asked.
Abigail straightened and rubbed her eyes. “Lucifer has Dane in Hell. He’s going to burn him alive if I don’t help him.”
“You know he’ll do it anyway. No one makes it out of Hell.” Gideon scowled and took a step toward her.
“I know. I didn’t tell Malini though. She’s already in over her head on this one without the guilt of her friend’s slow death weighing her down. And we all know Jacob is useless if Malini isn’t happy.”
Gideon fluffed his wings defensively. “You don’t give them enough credit. After what we’ve faced this year, you need to trust that God has given us the tools to succeed.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, her hands coming to rest on her hips. “What if this time God isn’t in control? What if this is the beginning of the end?”
“You mean, the end of times?” Gideon shook his head.
“The great tribulation. The beginning of Satan’s rule on Earth. What if this time is the one time he’s supposed to get lucky?”
A fiery light washed across the floor, pouring off of Gideon in waves.
Abigail squinted to maintain eye contact. “The promise God made us seems impossible. Maybe it is. Maybe this was a battle He knew from the start we couldn’t win.”
“You think this was all a ploy to get us to serve God’s purpose? That He had no intention of fulfilling his promise to us?” The muscles in Gideon's jaw flexed.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“I don’t believe it, Abigail. It’s not true.”
She turned back toward the fireplace, the light from the logs dim in comparison to Gideon.
“Abigail, instead of speculating about our promise, maybe you should ask yourself why the father of all lies gave you twelve days to do something you could do in a heartbeat. Why so much time?” He stepped closer to her.
Her head tilted to the right. “I don’t know. Maybe he thought Dane’s suffering would bring us to our knees.”
“I think there is a reason Lucifer needs twelve days. We both know he intends to kill the boy no matter what. Challenging you and Malini is a distraction, a way to set you off your guard. He
has something else up his sleeve. I can feel it.” He stepped in as close as he dared, the itch of a heat rash breaking out across his chest.
“It’s a good thing we have a Healer to sort this out for us,” she said sarcastically, “because from where I stand, it looks like the devil has painted us into a corner and I, for one, don’t see any way out.” She turned around and shouldered past him, blistering where her skin touched his.
Gideon sprung forward, his wings extending, knocking the lamp on the end table to the floor. His hands grabbed her shoulders long enough to force her to face him. Sparks and the smell of burning flesh filled the room.
She dropped her illusion.
Releasing her, he stared into the slit pupils of her yellow eyes, sunk into a face of black serpent skin. Her leathery wings extended defensively.
“I think the real problem is you do see a way out,” Gideon said. “Only, it is not our way out, it is your way out. You can’t make a deal with the devil and expect to come out unscathed, Abigail.”
Leaping backward onto the kitchen table, she pointed a talon in his direction. “Gideon, you of all should know better.” She crawled off the other side of the table and bolted halfway down the hall. “Stay away from me. Stay far away from me.”
Her illusion snapped back into place as she rounded the banister and ascended the staircase. Platinum-blonde hair cascaded down her back, hiding the place where her wings tucked away. Dark scales smoothed to alabaster skin and her yellow eyes became icy blue. She patted the edges of her burnt shoulders. The burns would take all night to heal and be impossible to cover up with any illusion. Gideon had known the consequences when he'd touched her. The two of them had learned the hard way early on.
Frowning at his burnt palms, Gideon returned to the parlor to clean up the lamp.
* * * * *
When the glass was cleared away and the parlor was spotless, and every surface of the main floor was dusted, Gideon still couldn’t forgive himself for attacking Abigail. That’s what he’d done, attacked her. He’d known his touch would burn just as he knew his words would burn in an entirely different way.
