Ange du Mal

by Stephanie Kane

  I charged toward him. My petersword speared through his arm.

  Jeqon snarled, wrenching the petersword, still caught in his flesh, from me. He tore it from his bicep and tossed it from my reach.

  I panicked, landing a volley of punches on his bleeding chest.

  “I love it when fragile creatures puts up a fight,” Jeqon breathed. He kicked my legs out from under me. We toppled to the ground, and he wrestled me out of my shirt.

  My mind was white fury. I tore at his skin, made wild sounds, but it was no use.

  He licked my neck and groaned. “You taste like cider. How strange.”

  “Help!”

  “Shut up or I’ll bite off your tongue,” he snarled.

  Nervous sweat flooded my pores.

  Something glinted in the corner of my eyes. “Shannon?” came a cutting voice.

  A scythe blade bit into Jeqon’s skull. The Watcher rolled off me, slamming into the wall. I cried, curling in on myself, struggling to cover my breasts. “Shannon, Shannon?” Samael gathered me in his arms. He draped his jacket over me. “Can you stand?”

  “I – yeah.”

  Jeqon spat blood at Samael’s feet. “Rot lord? What a pleasant surprise. Do you want to share her? It’d be an upgrade from your usual whores.”

  Samael roared, diving towards the Watcher. In a blinding series of cuts, he shredded Jeqon to ribbons. The offal stunk like roadkill. Samael crushed Jeqon’s still-beating heart with his boot.

  I vomited at the sight and stench.

  There was a shaking hand on my back.

  “You’re okay. You’re okay,” Samael sputtered. His scythe clanged to the ground. The reaper pulled me into his arms.

  I was too shocked to protest. He buried his face in my hair and trembled.

  I screamed into his chest.

  Samael ran his fingers through my loosened braid. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he said again, rocking me.

  The stench of rot drew closer. I looked over Samael’s shoulder to see Jeqon’s flesh knitting back together like that resurrected guy from Hellraiser that had been buried under the floorboards.

  Samael’s face darkened. “Where’s your petersword?”

  “Over – over there?”

  “I need you to do exactly as I say.”

  “Why should I? This never would have happened if you hadn’t pissed me off!”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. But I need you to trust me. Only a mortal can kill Jeqon. All I can do is subdue him. Will you help me?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.” Samael set me down. He reached for the petersword and gave it to me. “Take this, stab Jeqon’s heart, and twist. That’s all you need to do.”

  I struggled to my feet. The ridged edge of my petersword pierced Jeqon’s half-formed chest. The Watcher wheezed as I turned the petersword.

  Jeqon’s remains shriveled to dust.

  “Is he gone?” I breathed.

  “Yeah.

  I remembered his tongue on my throat and winced.

  Chapter 9

  I couldn’t sleep for weeks. October crept in like an old ginger cat, but its brilliance was lost on me.

  I stopped going out and threw myself into my studies. Life was crunching numbers for chemistry and memorizing the citric acid cycle for biology exams. Every time I paused from work, my mind slipped back to Jeqon. I couldn’t paint. I couldn’t focus on protein synthesis. All I could do was think about how I had almost been raped.

  Divya and Rosanna watched me clam up at meals, and our plans to defend ourselves against the supernatural fell flat. I had lost all enthusiasm for life.

  Samael kept texting me, begging me to meet him, but I ignored his messages. I just wanted to be alone. After he dropped me off at home, barely able to speak through his rage, I had realized how truly terrifying Samael was. Jeqon was a nightmare, but the way Samael had disposed of him had been like a butcher. A butcher of men.

  He was the destroying angel. The Reaper. Not human. Nothing like me.

  It was the night before Halloween, a Thursday, and students were buzzing with talk of parties and plans. I was in the dining hall with Rosanna, staring at my fork as I nudged the sweet potato on my plate from side to side. Rosanna looked at me in concern.

  “Shannon?” she said gently.

  “Yeah?” I sighed.

  “Look, I know something happened. I wish you would tell me what’s wrong. I want to help.”

  I looked up from the ruins of my dinner. I paused, then spoke: “The demons want to possess me, and I was almost raped. But hey, it doesn’t matter, right? We’re all just tools, and all I am is that chick from the ‘Exorcist.’”

  Rosanna gasped. “Mijita, no. I’m so sorry.” She was by my side in a flash, bear-hugging me. “Were you hurt? Are you okay?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay, at least my body is. I should probably see a therapist or something, but I don’t think any psychologists deal with fallen angel assault. Maybe I should just see a priest.”

  “Did he… did your attacker…?”

  “No,” I said, squirming free of her hug. “He didn’t… he didn’t do that. But he did lick me. It was really gross.”

  “Shannon, you should have told me!”

  Tears stung my eyes. “It’s hard to even think about. I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I feel like I have no one to go to. The only other person who knows is Samael, and I hate him.” I shook my head. “I should see someone. I just – I just don’t know what to say.”

  “You can call one of those telephone numbers, with people who deal with abuse,” Rosanna urged.

  I gave a low laugh. “And say what, that I almost had Rosemary’s baby?” I stared at the wall. “I killed him, Rosanna. Jeqon turned to dust. I keep wondering, how many women did he murder before me? How many girls’ last memories were his… his touch? He was ancient. One of the Watchers. He’s defiled so many women, their bodies could fill whole graveyards. What kind of God could make a monster like that? What kind of Creator would allow it?”

  Rosanna looked terrified.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m glad you did. So I know what we’re really dealing with.”

  I hung my head. “It’s not something you should worry about. They’re not after you. I can’t believe I got you and Divya involved in this crap. I should have been stronger.”

  Rosanna looped her arm around my shoulders. “When you faced off against the cadejo, you were beyond brave. I pissed my pants – it’s true! – but you busted out that sword and swung it around like a maniac. You tried to fight it even after it bit you. If that’s not strength, I don’t know what is.”

  A chuckle escaped my lips. “You really peed yourself?”

  Rosanna held up three fingers as if swearing. “Honest as Madre Maria.”

  The tension I’d harbored all month burst like a dam and spilled forth in laughter. I felt lighter, dizzy even. I took Rosanna’s hand and squeezed it. “Thanks,” I said. “I needed that.”

  “What, toilet humor? Because if that’s what you need, I have tons of dirty jokes.”

  I spent the rest of the night singing along badly as Rosanna strummed her guitar. After my Janis Joplin impression, we retired for the night. I awoke to my cell phone beeping with a text message. Groggy, I flipped it open:

  “SHANNON, I NEED TO SEE YOU. I’M TRYING TO RESPECT YOUR PRIVACY, AND I KNOW YOU’RE HURTING, BUT YOUR SILENT TREATMENT IS DRIVING ME INSANE. I’M WORRIED. PLEASE MEET ME. NOW.”

  I groaned, tossing my phone onto the end of my bed. I didn’t have class until the afternoon, and I wanted closure. Maybe I could exorcise Samael from campus. I dressed in leggings, boots, and a peasant dress and made my way to the College Woods. The red skirt of my dress swished like a cardinal in the autumn wind.

  Samael sat at the base of an oak, dressed in a black robe and gloves. He was feeding a squirrel a cookie. I could smell the chocolate chips.

  �
��What do you want?” I said. The very sight of him made anger stir in my gut.

  Samael looked up. The squirrel ran away, cookie in tow. “Please, sit down.” He patted the ground. “I – I baked you cookies.” Sure enough, there was a box of slightly burned cookies beside him.

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  I sighed. “Fine. But just because I’m hungry.” I leaned against the oak, rubbing my hands together to warm them. “It’s cold.” I bit into a cookie, then spit it out. “This tastes like graveyard dirt!”

  “Raphael’s the cook, not me,” Samael said. Despite the horrible taste, he ate a cookie in one bite. “It’s almost All Hallow’s Eve. My favorite day.”

  I rested my arms on my knees. “I hate Halloween. I got food poisoning from chocolate once when I was seven. I never went trick-or-treating again.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  We sat beside each other in silence. I used a stick to poke at leaves. He lit a cigarette.

  I struggled to form words. “Sam?”

  He blew smoke through his nose. “Yeah?”

  “When you held me, after I was attacked, you were shivering.”

  He studied the flight of a red-tailed hawk. “I was afraid.”

  I planted my stick in the ground. “You’re Death. Nothing should scare you.”

  He tossed his cigarette over his shoulder. “Everyone gets scared. Even demons. We fear losing things.”

  I threw a cookie at another curious squirrel. It hauled it up to its nest. “I almost lost a lot more than my shirt.”

  “I know, and I wish I could wipe those memories from you,” Samael said. “Where’s your jacket?”

  I watched the hawk shoot up a thermal. “Not on me.” I raked my hand through dirt. “You still think I’m her, don’t you?”

  Samael’s eyes were piercing. “Who?”

  “Eve.”

  He frowned.

  “Grimacing isn’t an answer.”

  He bit his lip. “You’re not like her. You’re too stubborn.” Samael tucked a strand of inky hair behind his ear. “Your soul was her’s once, but you’re not the same.”

  I raised my brows.

  He went on. “Eve was curious. Too curious. It got her into trouble. Her mind was a vacuum, sucking up every bit of information she could get her hands on. You’re more grounded than her, more practical. You won’t make the same mistake.”

  I stripped a stick of twigs. “What mistake?”

  He pulled the hood of his robe over his brow like an emo Sith Lord. “Trusting me.”

  I blew air through my nose. “It’s too late for that! I’ve got a target on my chest, and the Watchers are out to get me. It’s stick with you or be killed, kidnapped, raped, or all three at once.”

  Samael scuffed a rock with the heel of his boot. “You have a point.”

  We watched a passing plane.

  “Are you alright?” Samael finally said. “I know that what happened with Jeqon was traumatic. I wish you would talk to me.”

  “I don’t have anything to say!” I snapped.

  Samael flinched. “I’m sorry.”

  I gritted my teeth. “It’s my own stupid fault. I shouldn’t have run away. I should’ve been strong enough to kill him. But I wasn’t, and I needed to be rescued. Like a goddamn damsel in distress.” I fisted a handful of dirt and hurled it over my knees. “It pisses me off.! I mean, all I am in Hell is an object. The Magdalene. A vessel. A girl to be raped. I thought I was going to help people. I want to do something, not sit like a duck, waiting be manipulated. If I have these powers, why is my life turning to crap?”

  He shook his head. “None of this is your fault. It’s mine. I should have protected you. You’re just eighteen – you’re my responsibility. You’re so capable that I pushed you too far, too fast. You needed time to acclimate, but I thrust you into the middle of this chaos without a second thought. I want to apologize for that.”

  “Thanks, or whatever,” I said. “I guess some good’s come out of this: my grades are great because I’ve been studying so much, avoiding people, mainly you.”

  Samael chuckled. “How is your portfolio coming along?”

  I slumped. “It’s not. I haven’t been in the mood.”

  “That’s a shame. Maybe you can find some inspiration tonight...”

  “All I’m doing tonight is marathoning that Crypt Keeper show.”

  Samael slipped off his gloves and tucked them into his pocket. “I’m inviting you to All Hallow’s Eve in Pandemonium. It’s the anniversary of our fall from Heaven, and to spit in Heaven’s face, we celebrate. I thought it might take your mind off less pleasant things.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You think trick-or-treating with demons is going to help me.”

  “It’s a festival. Give it a chance.” Samael stood. He offered me a hand and helped me up. “Anyways, Damien’s daughter, Arietta, wants to meet you. She’s back in town from Cornell.”

  I wiped dirt from my dress. “A werewolf goes to an Ivy League school?”

  Samael straightened his robe. “Yeah. She’s a senior. She spent the summer working with wolves in Yellowstone. I’m sure you’ll get along.”

  I contemplated partying in Hell with the werewolf mafia. “I’ll think about it. Maybe.”

  Death smiled. “Good. Meet me here at eight if you want to come.”

  I wanted to go, if only to meet Arietta. After class, Divya, Rosanna and I had a late-afternoon ‘Tales from the Crypt’ marathon. Eight o’clock rolled around, and I found myself slipping into a costume I’d borrowed from Rosanna – a belted black dress and ebony wig. I made my eyes up dramatically with purple shadow.

  “Who are you?” Rosanna called from across the room.

  “Elvira.”

  Rosanna laughed. She had painted her face and neck white, streaked her cheeks with red tears, and donned a flower crown of pale roses. Using a cut-up bed sheet, she made a torn white dress stained with fake blood. She twirled in front of the mirror. “How do I look?”

  “Like a zombie.”

  Rosanna giggled. “Good. I’m la Llorona. God, I’m so excited for the party at Divya’s sorority,” she said. We were going together at nine, but I had an engagement before that.

  I slipped on black stilettos. “I’ll be back soon. I’m just going to stretch my legs.”

  Rosanna wagged her finger. “Don’t trip on any ghosts.”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  Chapter 10

  I didn’t want to worry Rosanna by telling her I was meeting Samael. She definitely wouldn’t approve. And maybe I was stupid to spend another second with him. But I had no one else to turn to. No one human, at least, who would understand what I was going through. Maybe Arietta, who lived in two worlds, could give me some advice.

  The lake was on fire with the harvest moon. Samael was nowhere in sight.

  “Hello?” I called.

  Leaves stirred behind me. I turned to find myself face to face with a skeleton.

  I shrieked.

  A bony hand stifled my scream. “Beelzebub’s balls, it’s just me.”

  “Sam?” I whimpered.

  “Yeah. Sorry for the ossified appearance. I can’t help it. Demons assume their true forms on All Hallow’s Eve.” The Grim Reaper lowered the hood of his robe. His jaw bone clacked when he spoke, and his brows moved like there were invisible muscles attached to them.

  “Is this what you really look like?” I felt queasy.

  Somehow, without lips, he smirked. “Handsome, aren’t I?”

  “I’m going to barf.”

  “Don’t do it on me. I just waxed my skull.”

  I glared. “Is everyone else I’ll see tonight going to look like a freakshow?”

  He scratched his chin with a finger bone. “Only the demons. We’ll be more monstrous than usual. But it’s nothing you can’t handle. It’s Halloween. Just think of us as wearing costumes? I’m really sorry…”

  “Ugh.”

  S
amael summoned a portal with his scythe and we arrived at the practice field behind his estate. I side-eyed the towering skeleton. He was still smirking.

  “Can you do something besides smile? It’s creepy.”

  He shook his head no. “My teeth are stuck this way. If you have a problem with it, take it up with my dentist.”