A Mark Unwilling

by Candace Wondrak

  She looks a lot like me.

  The man sees me, freezing. He glances from the girl to me. He sneers, “You.” He lets the girl go, and she doesn’t hesitate to make a run for the door. Her bare legs hardly work. She stumbles right before she makes it outside. “This is for you,” he says, throwing his dagger into the girl’s back, directly in the base of her neck. The girl spasms, sputtering blood, falling to the floor, her arm outstretched in the sun.

  It’s revealing of my character that I barely blink an eye at her death. I’ve seen so much of it lately; it scarcely registers in my brain.

  “What did you do with David?” I ask, stepping toward him. If I stop to focus on the death, on all the deaths, well…I’d have no hope of stopping this terrible show before its finale.

  The man laughs, moving to the dead girl and yanking out his dagger. Her body shakes once as he does so. “I am the end,” he whispers, lifting the dagger to his throat.

  “No,” I shout, but I’m too far, even with the wide swing of the hammer.

  A random, third body plows into the tattooed man, tackling him to the floor and sending the dagger sliding to my feet in a bloody display. The tattooed man struggles against the attacker, and it takes me a good moment to see that I know the attacker.

  Mike.

  His stubbly face is a mask of anger, sweat dripping from his brow. Muscles bulge on his arm as he holds the cultist down. His button-down shirt is ruffled with the fight, the gun on his belt remaining unused, this time.

  What in the world is he doing here? How did he get here so freaking fast? He threw David the keys. None of this makes sense.

  “It’s already begun. You can’t stop it,” the man hisses.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Mike answers. “I can.” He unholsters his pistol, doing something so startling that I don’t realize it’s happening until it’s too late. “I’m sorry.” He pulls the trigger.

  I feel a searing, agonizing pain in my chest. My heart constricts. I drop the hammer and look at my chest, at the red hole that grows with each passing moment. My legs give out, and I fall to the floor.

  I was shot before, just recently, really, by a lot more bullets than this. And yet…this feels worse. This feels truly awful. I want to rip my skin off, screaming all the while, until I’m nothing but bone.

  Unable to move, barely able to breathe, I watch as Mike gets off the man—his first mistake—and focuses on me—his second. “The bullet was coated in nightshade,” he tells me, unaware that the tattooed man has gotten up and reached into his robe. “I didn’t want it to come to this—” Behind him, the man brings out another dagger, smaller than the first.

  I can hardly point to him, but I do my best.

  Mike flips, swearing. “Fuck.” He runs to the man, but it’s too late; the man stabs himself in the jugular, blinking a few times before collapsing, dead.

  I crawl towards the original dagger, wanting to, I don’t know, stab Mike or something. The man shot me, after all. I’m feeling a little upset. Mike is too busy watching the blood pool together and form the final of the four.

  A horse rises from the blood, his rider larger and much more impressive than the others. The beast shakes off the blood, a horse made of spectral energy. A semi-translucent being, its hair defying gravity in a ghost-like way. The rider sits tall, his armor intricate and plated. Beneath his helmet, an ethereal being stares at us. His eyes hold no life, only hatred. A sword sits on his hip, different than the second Horseman in that it is no great-sword of fire. More of a rapier, his blade shimmers in and out of existence; a spirit blade. Rats scurry into the room, crowding around the horse’s hooves. Homeless cats dash towards it, ignoring the rats completely, utterly enthralled in the Horseman.

  “On the pale horse is Death,” Mike whispers. I can’t tell if he’s frightened or in awe. I’m in too much pain to care, plus I’m feeling rather betrayed. “Given the power to kill with sword, hunger, and beasts of the earth. And behind him…”

  A portal opens beside the Horseman. This one is odd because it does not open on the floor with blood; it opens in the air, with nothing but a wave of the Horseman’s spirit blade. A black figure appears, and for a moment I believe it’s the Devil—but my Mark isn’t burning. If it is him, my Mark would ache and burn with an intensity that would put this special bullet to shame.

  Not that I need any more pain in my life right now.

  The figure is large; the portal engulfs the entire side of the shop that faces us. The black, smoky man reaches out of the portal, offering something to Mike. His armored fingers uncurl, revealing a dagger that smokes a green gas. When Mike remains motionless, a thunderous voice booms throughout the room, nearly exploding my skull, “Take it and end her!”

  Mike takes the supernatural weapon, which seems to please him. The Horseman himself, though, acts bored.

  The man turns to me, and even though my vision blurs, I question, “Why?”

  Mike silently undoes a few buttons on his shirt, pulling it aside to reveal a black handprint on his chest, shimmering with a grey metallic hue. His true Mark. David was right. Does that mean his Demon is the one on the other side of the portal? What Demon accompanies a Horseman?

  “I never wanted to,” he says softly. “I didn’t know you…it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I’m sorry.”

  “Enough! Do it now!” his master screams, shaking the entire shop with his voice.

  Mike hesitates no longer.

  As he lunges for me, trying to kill me—something which I never thought possible (then again, he does have otherworldly help), I close my eyes and accept what’s about to come. It’s high past my time. I’ve lived through a lot I shouldn’t have; I’ve spent too much of my life worrying about my future.

  It’s better to end it now, isn’t it?

  And then I remember David, my missing friend. Josefina, the little girl who spent holidays with us, who just lost her only family. Deb—I owe it to her to try. I owe it to myself to try. Despite my soul-less state, I like my life. This can’t be the end.

  A second before it would be too late, a harsh, immensely hot flame breaks through the ground between Mike and I. He jumps back as the fires reach for him like tentacles, and I’m amazed as I watch the bullet fall from the wound in my chest, bouncing off the floor, covered in my blood. But the pain the bullet caused is naturally only the beginning.

  My entire body spasms. My Mark is like a molten substance, touching and burning every part of me—every nerve and muscle, each bone. Even my fingernails feel like they’re on fire. I open my mouth to scream, but I’m fairly certain nothing comes out.

  So, this really is the end, then.

  Coming to the shop was definitely a TSTL moment, wasn’t it? And, if you’re wondering, that means too-stupid-to-live, moments a lot of heroes have in the most popular books on the bestseller charts. I always thought that without TSTL moments, there’d be no books or TV shows around, but now…now I get it.

  A tall being steps out of the flames; a being made of fire. The being, in the shape of an eight-foot tall humanoid, grabs Mike by his throat. Where his fiery fingers touch Mike’s skin burns. Mike drops the dagger instantly, and the dagger vanishes into green smoke. Speaking a language I cannot decipher, the being throws Mike out of the shop, crashing him through the front window. Mike does not get up.

  The Horseman takes a few steps back but does not run. In the portal, the Demon who controls Mike says something in the same archaic language, but it only makes the fiery being angry. I’m still caught behind a circle of flames, and in a heck of a lot of pain, but I watch as the being seems to exhale, and a flurry of smoke erupts from his back. Sizzling wings of fire scorch the shop, leaving the walls and floor marked by their heat and flames. It shouts more words to the Demon in the portal.

  With a huff and a sneer, the Demon turns and walks away. The portal closes. The Horseman yanks on his reigns, and the spectral horse gallops into the backroom, the rats and stray animals following. Xen
a, luckily, isn’t one of them. I hear a loud crash and safely assume it left the shop.

  The fiery being turns to me, the wings disappearing into smoke. The wall of fire dies, and so does the pain throughout my entire body. Laying on the ground, I stare only at clawed feet. This is it. This is the end. It’s what I get for thinking I could stop the apocalypse. This is how my hope is answered.

  The being starts to speak to me, and I gently shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” I whisper. My voice comes out scratchy and craggy, rougher than I’ve ever heard it.

  It exhales, irritated, and the fiery form vanishes. “Is this form and voice more…acceptable to you?” His voice, low and mean, sends a shiver down my spine. That’s it, I decide, I’m definitely not making it through this.

  I keep my eyes closed as I struggle to stand. I have to grip the counter behind me for support. It feels as if I’ve never used my legs before; they shake terribly. It could be from my Mark activating, or simply because I’m scared.

  Terrified, really.

  Heaving a breath, I face him. The scary, giant-like fire being shrunk into a man with spikey black hair and blue eyes…a very muscular Human body that also happens to be completely, utterly, one hundred percent nude.

  I shift my eyes up, holding a hand out to block his privates. “Whoa, um…you’re, uh, naked.”

  “From the way you were watching me earlier, I thought you’d appreciate it,” he replies quickly with a slight, faint smile.

  And then I realize it—black, spikey hair, blue eyes, that body…the hunky man from my dreams. This is not happening. I did not fantasize about sexual things with the Devil. I did not think about taking whipped cream and…just, no.

  “Please put on some clothes,” I say. It might come out more as an embarrassed squeak, but it comes out nonetheless. “Please.”

  The man—the Devil, my master, whatever you want to call him—cocks his head. “I could make you lower that hand. I could make you do a lot of things.” His smile is brilliantly white, teeth dazzlingly straight. Dimples form, as if he enjoys the idea of forcing me to do things. Things that would make both my parents and God cringe and recoil.

  I hold back from slapping myself and him, instead muttering, “I’d rather you didn’t. I’d rather you put on some clothes so we can be…introduced like civilized people.” What in the world am I going on about? No one needs an introduction to the Devil.

  Making a disgusted sound, he waves a hand, suddenly clothed.

  I…honestly did not think that would work, but boy, am I glad it did. Lowering my hand, I notice that he’s wearing the same clothes Mike was. “Originality is always welcome,” I manage to say at his slacks and blue button-up shirt.

  The blue turns to a pure black.

  “That’ll do, Master, that’ll do,” I say, quoting two great movies simultaneously: Babe and Shrek. It dawns on me that Josie won’t get to see any of those movies, now that the world is ending and the Devil is officially here. I shrug. “Besides your anime hair, you look good.”

  He lightly touches his hair. “Anime hair? What does that mean?”

  As he wonders just what I mean by anime hair (if you’ve ever seen an episode of any anime, ever, you’ll know), I walk around him. Once I’m behind his back, I bend as sneakily as I can to retrieve the cultist’s original dagger. I attempt to stab him in the back.

  The Devil, the King of Backstabbing, stops me by holding up a hand. He doesn’t even need to turn around. “Drop the dagger,” he commands, and even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I drop it.

  “I don’t suppose saying sorry would help?” I say, very childlike in my attitude.

  “It would not, but there are other ways you could—”

  I interrupt him, mouthy and obstinate, “You know, bad guys who threaten women with sex and rape are the worst, most boring, stupidest bad guys of them all. No creativity, and generally hated by the masses.”

  “I’m a bad guy?” He acts hurt. “To think I just saved your life from one of your alleged friends.” His handsome, flawless, tanned face leans in as he whispers, “Maybe you need a little more bad in your life.”

  “Maybe I need a little less bad, a whole lot less apocalypse, and little bit more safety in the future,” I say, snippy even in the face of my owner. The Devil. I’m still not over it. Holding in other snide remarks, I wander to the window and peek outside. Other than the fact that the street is barren, I note that Mike is also gone. “Who was the Demon in the portal?”

  He is beside me suddenly, looking bored. “No Demon. Mortals know him as Hades.” He takes a strand of my hair, feeling it between his fingers. “Although you are not so mortal after all. You’re welcome, by the way. If it weren’t for my Mark, you’d be long dead.”

  “If it weren’t for your Mark,” I say, pulling away from him and taking my hair with me, “I wouldn’t be so used to charging headfirst into danger. It’s a bad trait, apparently.” Crossing my arms, I ask, “Do you know where David went? He was frozen by the stairs.”

  “The Warlock?” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Who cares?”

  “I do! He’s my friend, and I have to find him.”

  He cuts in, serious and demanding, “The only things you have to do are the things I tell you to do. I own you, in case you forgot.”

  “Body and soul, I know.” I chew on my lip. David is gone. Mike is also gone, but now I know his owner is Hades. The god of the Underworld. From their exchange, it seems Hades and the Devil are not on good terms. Regardless of anything—I know one thing: I have to get David back.

  I face him. He stands with his weight evenly distributed, his head tilted slightly to the side. It seems he’s watching me as much as I’m watching him. That’s when I wonder if he chose me, or if it’s all some cosmic happenstance. As he crawled his way out of Hell, did he know he was getting me—a jaded, awkward, twenty-year-old American girl? What if he would’ve gotten a man? I bet he wouldn’t be making any sexual innuendoes then.

  “How about,” I begin, but he holds up a hand and stops me.

  “Keep in mind that any bargain you try to make I am not inclined to accept,” he says, eyes dancing in the sunlight. Even though I hate him for all he stands for and all that he is, he has a good-looking body. “I already own you. There’s nothing more you could offer me.”

  “For kicks, then,” I clarify, “why don’t you let me find David, save him from whatever trouble he’s in, and then you and I can go gallivanting around the world, doing whatever it is you do during the apocalypse?”

  “For…kicks?” he repeats me, clueless about the phrase.

  I change tactics. “You have all the time in the world. You’re powerful, you’re famous, and truthfully, not too bad on the eyes. You have nothing to lose,” I gush, wanting to vomit. I never thought I’d have to butter up the Devil.

  “Flattery,” he says, sitting on the broken ledge, uncaring about the jagged glass, “will get you nowhere with me.” He stretches out his arms. “Perhaps there’s another way you can convince me.”

  I take in his posture, his smug smirk, and quickly say, “Not while I have my freewill.”

  His smugness fades into annoyance. “I thought Humans were fun.” He frowns. “You’re no fun at all.”

  He thought Humans were fun? Doesn’t he have experience dealing with Humans, and tricking them? I’m pretty sure the bible is full of examples of the Devil talking to Humans. Even if it isn’t what actually happened, it has to be close.

  I offer him both wrists as he gets to his feet. “You could un-Mark me, and find someone else?”

  He takes both wrists, drawing his thumbs along the reddish-black Mark. Teeny shockwaves roll through me, and I ignore the twisting in my stomach. “I will not.” He lets me go, adding, “But…we will find your friend. After, though, we will—what did you say? Gallivant across the world and revel in the chaos.”

  As I withdraw my hands, my wrists still tingle. “Great,” I say, not enthused.
“Can’t wait.” I head around him, to the stairwell, where David was, until he wasn’t. I pretend not to see the ashy wingspan imprint on the walls. Impressive, but evil usually is.

  I bend to study the floor. Where the stone sat, the wood caved in a little.

  “Can you portal?”

  He nods.

  I stand, moving too close for comfort. But my comfort is the last thing on my mind. I have to save David, somehow, someway. “How do you feel about Vampires?”

  He shrugs, ever the talkative type.

  Moving him to where David and I appeared in the shop, I say, “This is where we portalled in. Can you follow the trail or something? I don’t know where exactly the Vamp hideout is.”

  “Somehow that does not surprise me,” he whispers sourly. He offers me his hands.

  For a moment, I stare them, in sheer disbelief over what I imagined those hands doing to me in that dream. I’m a soul-less sinner. The worst kind of sinner there is. Oh, well. Too late to go back and yell at myself in that dream.

  I take his hands, swallowing when I feel how warm he is.

  Have I mentioned that I hate myself and my life lately?

  Like a bloodhound on a trail, he’s able to portal to the same spot David and I met in the hallway. I blink, surprised at first. “Wow,” I say, looking up at him. “I didn’t know that would actually work.”

  “As the owner of your soul,” he says, “don’t doubt me.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him as Deb peeks out of the room.

  The moment her hazel gaze lands on us, I’m hyper aware of who I’m standing close to, who I’m currently holding hands with. I pull away, fighting the urge to run and hide as she steps out into the hall, a certain type of omnipotence on her freckled face.

  “Deb. Hi. We have a problem. David and I snuck out in the middle of the night because he thought that Mike’s Mark isn’t real, and it isn’t, see, because his real Mark is on his chest—” I ramble, barely stopping for a breath here and there. “—and he works for Hades, who’s apparently real, and the fourth Horseman came up—right after I lost David, because he was frozen by a spell and a rock or something—and this guy—” I point to the man behind me. My pointing stops when I realize, “You probably already know who he is. Sorry for the run-on.”