by J. R. Rain
“You know of this?”
“I do,” I said.
“Then, yes. It is time for them to go home. And someday, Samantha Moon, it will be time for you to go home, too.”
“You will be there to see to it?”
He looked at me with eyes that seemed to soften. “Yes.”
“What, exactly, do you do?”
“I escort them, Sam.”
“And you will escort me, too?”
“I will, Sam. Someday.”
“Back to the Creator?”
“Back to the light.”
“Where I will be re-absorbed.”
“A not-very-pleasant way of putting it. Where you will come home and be more free than you have ever imagined.”
“I like that,” I said.
“You will. Do not fear death.”
I took in some electrified air, held it in my lungs, then let it out. This conversation had gotten more emotional than I was prepared for. I decided to change the subject. “Do you live alone?”
“Death is a solitary business, Sam.”
“You were waiting for me,” I said. “Why?”
He looked at me, and some of his jaunty demeanor slipped away, and I saw, perhaps for the first time, the stoic angel he might have once been. “I am not omniscient, but I can see into the future. Not far, but enough to do my job. The real question is, why have you come?”
I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it again. To speak the answer seemed so... presumptuous—and so murderous. It also seemed ludicrous. Then again, I was in a great hall, located somewhere between worlds, talking to the Angel of Death himself. Either that, or I was babbling incoherently in a padded room somewhere, as I secretly suspected, even after all these years.
Stark, raving mad or not, I still had a devil problem, and so I said, “I want to kill the devil, and I want you to show me how.”
Chapter Seventeen
“An admirable ambition, Sam. Most people use other means to defeat the devil: through prayer, through ritual, through angelic protection. But you seek to not just stop him, but destroy him.”
“No, I seek to kill him,” I said.
“I see. Few mortals or immortals have ever uttered such words. Most assume he cannot be killed, only cast into a lake of fire. Or destroyed by Jesus. Or by God. No one thinks, nay, assumes, they can do themselves.”
“Look,” I said. “I just spent the last minute or so questioning my sanity, and you are only confirming I’m a lost cause. I’m nuts, I get it. I’m as wacko as wacko gets. But that bastard is doing all he can to make my life a living hell and one of us has to go, and I don’t plan on it being me. And if it is me, so be it. At least I will have died trying to rid my family of this fucking puke, pardon my language.”
“Your reasons are compelling, Samantha Moon. Of that, I have no doubt. There is one hitch in your plan.”
“And what’s that?”
“The devil is in the middle of an exit window. A small window, granted. But it is here, upon us. He knows and I know it. And now, you know it, too.”
“Then what’s the hitch?” I asked.
“I can’t kill the devil. I am not a warrior. I am a carrier only.”
“You only escort the deceased to the light.”
“Yes.”
“And someone else does the dirty work.”
“If you prefer to call it that. In truth, you would be doing the devil a favor.”
“You lost me.”
“He has chosen this exit point.”
“Chosen it, why?” I asked.
“Each and every life is given opportunities to return to the light. He is no different.”
“Are you saying the devil wants to die?”
“Maybe, maybe not. For all I know, he very much wants to live at this point in his existence, and has no plans to die.”
“Then why did he pick a fight with me?” I asked. “He could have done nothing, and his exit window would have passed and I would have been none the wiser.”
“Funny how fate works. What first led the devil to your doorstep?”
“He was looking for Danny, and we met at a Jamba Juice.”
“The devil is not omniscient either, Sam. But he would have recognized his destiny when meeting you.”
“He didn’t know about me beforehand?”
“An inkling only, Sam. He would have known the time, the place, and a sense of who you were. But upon meeting you, it would have all become abundantly clear.”
“Then why not attack me then... wait. I know. Because he couldn’t.”
“Nor would he have wanted to. The devil enjoys games, and he enjoyed drawing you out. And he will enjoy his final battle, for not even he—nor I, nor anyone—knows the final outcome.”
“And he wants to prove that he can kill me.”
“Perhaps. Another possible explanation is momentum. He would have known his exit window was opening, was approaching, and he would have been preparing for what he might have thought—and rightly so—was the battle of his life.”
“Does the devil actually fight?” I asked. “I’ve only seen him as a shadowy piece of black tissue paper, flitting from body to body.”
“The devil is an unknown quantity. No one has seen him at his full power. Indeed, he’s never had to use it.”
“He’s never fought for his life?”
“No, Sam.”
I said, “So, are you helping me or not?”
He threw back his head and laughed, and it was the perfect sound—smooth, rich, deep—even if I didn’t know why he was laughing. “I see the Universe has made no mistake with you, although I knew it hadn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“It will take fire to beat the devil. And it will take drive. It will take hate, too. But most of all, it will take heart, and of that, you have an abundance.”
“Well, I’m glad you are enjoying this,” I said. “But that doesn’t help me remove the devil from my life.”
“No, it doesn’t. But this will.”
It was in his hands before I could blink. In fact, I was pretty sure it had materialized out of thin air. Or perhaps it had been in that magical pocket of his. Either way, an obsidian sword lay across his palms, black as night, although it was flecked with what appeared to be silver. The weapon pulsated slightly, as if with an inner light, or inner life.
“A sword?” I asked.
“Not just any sword, Sam. The Devil Killer.”
***
“Before you accept the sword, Samantha Moon, you need to know a thing or two.”
“Don’t run in the house with it?”
Azrael looked at me, cocking his head to one side. He was easily three feet taller than me, and as beautiful as they come. I wanted to run my fingers through his golden hair, just to see if it was real. He smiled down at me, and said, “Amusing, but not. First and foremost, the sword cannot be given back or abandoned or lost.”
“Say again?”
“The sword is bound to you always, Sam. Forevermore. Should it be lost, you will seek it out until you find it. Should it be stolen, you will be compelled to recover it. And should it be seized in battle, you will have long since died. It is a soul artifact. In essence, it will become an extension of you.”
“I really only plan on using it the one time.”
“Your plan is misinformed. You are familiar with the term deputizing?”
“I am,” I said. That I knew the term from watching Bonanza as a kid, I kept to myself.
“Good. In essence, I am deputizing you, Samantha Moon. Except, in this case, it is for all eternity.”
I suddenly recalled the amorphous picture opposite the Angel of Death in Max’s Book of All Known Beings. I also recalled the name under it. “Death’s Shadow,” I said.
The entity before me lifted and fell, his sandaled feet never really touching the polished marble floor. Hell, maybe mine didn’t either. I looked up to his face, and saw that the pleasant and excruciatingly
handsome features had darkened, and I suddenly could imagine him taking souls. The Angel of Death was here. A thought popped into my mind. He looked grim and haunted. I sensed he did not enjoy his job, but he did it out of obligation. The Grim Reaper, indeed.
“You have been well-informed. Yes, Death Shadow. An agent of mine. But only if you accept the sword.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then it will remain with me until another comes.”
“And the devil will have his way with my family,” I said.
“There’s always another answer, Sam. The devil is not without vulnerabilities. Nor are any of us.”
“But the best answer is the sword,” I said.
“It is the final answer.”
“But if it’s the final answer, why am I bound to it?”
“Because the devil has been busy over the millenniums, Sam. He has saturated the world with his creations. Not all are demons.”
“The devil dog,” I said, nodding.
“Indeed, Sam. But there are more. And most are powerful beyond reason, fast beyond comprehension. Their claws drip poison, and once unleashed, they kill quickly, violently, and will consume the body completely.”
“These aren’t your Sunday school demons,” I said.
“No. But the good news is: the sword can dispatch them all. Every last one of them. That is, of course, if you get through tonight.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Now, will you accept the sword, Sam?”
I opened my mouth, closed it again. The room was empty and beautiful and lighted from a source I could not see. Then again, the light just might be coming from Azrael himself, who still shone brightly. He held the sword before him in both hands, one around the handle, and the other just under the flat blade. The sword itself seemed more useful than beautiful. Not too many accessories and attributes. The hand guard was rounded and wide, protecting the hand as it should. The blade itself was pitch black and would have been considered a broadsword, with two edges and serrated near the handle. The only accoutrement was a blood-red gemstone at the pommel. The whole thing seemed longer than I would have been comfortable with.
“And if I take this sword...” I began.
“The moment you touch it, you are bound to it forever, Sam.”
“Can I have my own cool secret pouch?”
He gave me a small smile. “Yes, Sam.”
“I won’t cut myself in, say, the shower?”
“Doubtful.”
I considered his words, all of them, knowing that my life was about to forever change. Or end within the next few hours. I said, “I would, in essence, be working for you, then.”
“In essence. But think of us more as a team.”
“Would I be, you know, an angel, too?”
He shook his head. “You will always be what you are,” he said.
“A better-than-average bowler?”
“A vampire, Samantha.”
I thought about that. He probably didn’t know about the diamond medallion. No, I didn’t always have to be a vampire. I had options, limited as they were. Like he said, he wasn’t omniscient, and he couldn’t read my mind. He probably didn’t know about the medallion.
Either way, I held out my hands, and said, “It’s a deal.”
Azrael nodded that beautiful head of his, stepped forward, and placed the sword in my hands. And as my fingers curled around the hilt and blade, I could scarcely believe that I had gone my whole life without it. I felt complete, whole, perfect. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. But then, I did, a little.
“Now, are you ready to learn the ways of the sword?”
“I’ve never been more ready in my life.”
Chapter Eighteen
Much later, I made the leap from one world and into the next.
I aimed for the big, empty space in Kingsley’s office, trusting that even he wasn’t working this late. I felt bad, having left the bulk of guard duties to my friends, but I felt confident they—and the eight Lichtenstein monsters—could handle themselves. If anything, Kingsley’s manor was overly fortified.
Never enough, I thought, especially in light of what I’d learned these past few... hours? I sure hoped it was hours and not days, although I suspected time slowed down in Azrael’s palace, although I couldn’t be sure.
The good news: there was nobody inside Kingsley’s study, and it was laid out just as I remembered, with its big open space between his desk, bar and conference table. Kingsley’s home office was nearly a mirror image of his work office, complete with his obsession with moons.
I waited for the stronger-than-normal dizziness to pass, all while tuning in to my own inner alarm. No ping, nothing. Good... wait. There it was... an ever-so-faint blip, just inside my ear. Danger wasn’t here. But it was coming.
First things first. I checked on my daughter, cracking open her door, and saw that she was sound asleep. Good. Very, very good. Next thing, I checked on Anthony—but he wasn’t in his room. I checked the time on my cell, and noted that AT&T claimed I was still in roaming mode. Boy, had I been roaming! It was nearly midnight.
These kids were going to be the death of me.
From downstairs, I heard a familiar guffaw, and the thump-thump on the floor that always followed it. Good, Anthony was downstairs. Now, I heard Kingsley’s voice, followed by Allison’s. At the far end of the hall, a Lichtenstein monster appeared, bowed slightly, and disappeared into one of the rooms. One arm was distinctly longer than the other. Strange house.
I was about to head down to see the gang—and really looking forward to sinking into Kingsley’s arms and trying to forget that I had just spent some time with not one angel, but two angels—when I heard a door open behind me.
“Mommy?”
I turned and saw my teenage daughter’s head poking through the door. “I thought you were asleep, baby.”
“I had a bad dream,” she said, sounding a lot younger than her years.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I said, coming to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She was ice cold. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I dreamed about the devil.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Except...”
“Yes?”
Her voice lowered, deepened. “Except it was no dream.”
I pulled away, keeping her at arms’ length, and studied her face. In particular, her eyes. She was smiling—bigger than normal—and now bleeding from where she had bitten her lip. Most disturbing, though, were the twin flames burning in her eyes.
***
By the time I pulled her into her room and shut the door, the twin flames were gone, and so was the creepy smile. Her voice had returned to normal, too.
I spent the next few moments comforting her as she wept hard, telling me over and over that she was sorry, that she was weak, that he had come to her in her sleep, that he had found a way into the little room of her mind, that she wasn’t strong enough, that he had scratched and clawed and broken into the little room in her mind.
I told her it wasn’t her fault, that she was going to be okay, and as I spoke, her lips twisted back in what looked like pain, baring her teeth. She shook her head, crying out. And then, she stopped shaking, turned her face toward mine, and opened her eyes. The fire was there in each pupil. Not quite as bright as I had seen it in others. But it was there.
“Hello, Samantha Moon,” said my daughter, except it wasn’t my daughter, of course.
I wanted to freak out. I wanted to call out to Allison and Kingsley. Or call up a local priest. But I knew this was part of the game. As fucking terrible as this was, I knew this was what had to happen. Azrael had warned me about it. It was the dance before the fight. I had to play along, or the devil would do all he could to ruin us, and probably ruin us quickly too.
“Hello, you piece of shit.”
My daughter threw back her head and her piercing laughter was something terrible to hear. “You are a feisty little bitch, ar
en’t you?”
“You are about to see how feisty I am.”
“Really now?”
“Yes.”
And here it was, although it came faster than I’d expected. To engage the devil, Azrael had said, I had to threaten him. I had to release the devil from the bonds that kept him in check. To kill the devil, I had to free the devil, terrible as that sounded.
“Why, Samantha Moon, is that a threat?”
I looked down at my pale hands, which seemed to glow in the light. I was speaking to the devil through my daughter, and I could never, ever imagine a more horrible situation in all my life. But it was forced on me by the bastard himself. I clenched my hands into fists. So tiny, I thought, compared to what I was up against.
“You bet your ass, it’s a threat,” I said.
“Well, now. That changes everything, doesn’t it?”
“I imagine it does.”
“Tell me, Samantha Moon. Do you really think you can kill the devil?”
“No, not really,” I said. “But I’m going to die trying.”
My daughter threw back her head and laughed—sharp and loud. “You understand what you have done, Samantha Moon?”
“I do.”
“Then, let the games begin.”
At the same time, the fire winked out of her eyes, my inner alarm raged through my head. I dove for my daughter, shielding her with my body, as something blasted through the window—and through the far wall. Something dark and fast. It could have been a missile. But it hadn’t been.
No, it had been a demon.
***
“A demon unleashed is a terrible thing, Sam.”
“What do you mean by unleashed?”
“Given permission to attack.”
“And they receive permission from the devil?”
Azrael nodded. “Despite popular belief, demons are not fallen angels. Demons are true devil spawn.”
“He’s a Creator, too,” I said.
“He’s an architect of the rarest kind. Not only does he create an endless variety of personal hells, he populates them with demons and other nasties. Many of which you will meet tonight.”
