“My what?” I asked.
“I was just trying to be nice,” said Mary. “It’s ok Caleb, I’m here to be your friend. To help you. And I know that after, well, after your mother was shot, that it hasn’t been easy on you.”
“You said after she was shot?” I repeated, my eyebrows coming together as I thought, my spine tingling.
“Yes. Again, I just want to make sure everything is ok.”
“Well it is. Except for one thing, Mary. But it’s not about me—it’s about you.”
“And what’s that?”
“I never told you my mother died,” I said. “And I certainly never told you that she was shot. How in the hell did you know that?”
Mary squeaked, and I heard her inch away. “I, I just did. I don’t know, I thought you said something.”
“Never.” I responded. “How, Mary? Only two people that have been to this school know that, myself and Liz. How?”
Mary didn’t answer, rather choosing to be silent instead no matter how much I tried to prompt her. And when I stood up after class and walked over to her desk, Mary was gone.
Chapter 35 - Digging
“For what you asked, and for how old it is, the library had surprisingly little information,” said Oakley. She smoothed an old newspaper atop the surface of our usual table, the paper cracking, my foot touching hers as she continued speaking.
“I did find the age and the origins,” she said. “The monastery was founded over a hundred years ago by a priest traveling from Europe to the Americas. Supposedly he was from an order deep in the Alps, secluded from civilization; only a handful of others joined him at the hermitage. But there was an accident, a fire that consumed them, and because their distance to civilization was so great, they could not be rescued. This priest was the only one to survive. Devastated by the deaths of his fellows, he restarted the order in America and named the new monastery after the first, Lapidus, though the name never stuck. I imagine he probably wanted to restart his life as well. I know I would in that situation.”
“So he rebuilt here,” I said. “How could he afford it? The place isn’t exactly small, and it’s solid stone, not cheap.”
“Let’s see. Hmm. It doesn’t seem to address that; apparently he received the land from a bishop and, wait, looks like it says here he was able to fund the venture himself using wealth from the order. Yes, apparently he brought a ship full of belongings with him, even some of the stones from his order which were built into the monastery. Had them removed from the ashes of the the old monastery.”
“And what else since then?”
“Approximately a hundred years ago it was converted to a school, though it continued housing a few priests during that time—the last remains of the order until they, too, dissipated. A few notable names came out of the school, a state senator here, a bishop there, a few intellectuals that went on to be Ivy League professors. Nothing too big after then, until thirty years ago. Oh, this is tragic. Oh God.”
“What happened?” I asked, leaning in to scan the newspaper that I could not see.
“There was a gas leak,” she said, her voice thin. “Apparently coming through a hole in the foundation. Looks like it killed almost everyone there at the time, shutting the school down for multiple years. Caused the evacuation of the entire block until the danger passed, but by then it was too late. Way too late—there’s pictures, Caleb, bodies being carried out by firemen. Little bodies, children draped over their arms. And oh God, one of the survivors looks even worse, or maybe just one survivor. The article says she was in the kitchens when the leak happened, that she passed out against the stove, her arms burning from the open flames. In the picture they’re bandaged from the shoulder down, miraculously they were not amputated.”
“Yes, miraculously,” I muttered, chills running down my spine. Perhaps the deaths had been so far in the past that I could no longer feel them, could no longer sense them within the monastery. Time had eroded away the stench of it, leaving only cold stone behind along with the demon’s memory. “Oakley, can I keep that article? Just check it out of the library for me.”
“Sure,” she answered, and we left, her warm hand in mine until we parted ways at the door, her heading home and me heading to the monastery, the newspaper bundled inside my coat.
I took the long way back, letting my feet guide me through the sidewalk, thinking. The events of the past few months flashed through my mind.
I remembered how I had felt Shankey’s death approaching before I saved him. How I could sense the driver that was meant to kill Oakley. About the police office and sandwich shop owner, how when I was angry, I smothered their fires. About how I reached out to death.
Little lord, Lord of Death, the demon had said. But those figures you see, they aren’t demons. They’re people—people so worn away from years of torment that they forget who they are after death.
Lord of Death.
And though I shivered, and the wind blew against me, I walked toward a small enclosure near the end of the block. One that I had avoided in the past, the presence of which I could sense from nearly a quarter a mile away.
A cemetery, one with graves both fresh and old. One with the feeling of death so strong upon it that entering felt like submerging myself in mud, the grit rubbing up against my eyelids, the earth below me a dark nothingness that seemed to stretch on forever, tinted by slight hues of red and blue. Whispers coursed around me, the sound seeming to come from the gravestones themselves, dissipating as soon as they reached air, some louder than others, some more frantic.
I shivered again as I walked in deeper, the gravel under my shoes crunching, purposefully twisting my ankles to make the sound louder. And toward the center of the graveyard, I stopped, leaning over a gravestone that was particularly frenzied, with a red glow particularly bright and dirt that felt too soft under my feet.
And I reached out my senses, reaching down below, where I knew the fresh body awaited.
“What killed you?” I shouted, aiming my words at the dirt, trying to grasp the force beneath. It was deep, far beyond my reach, but it stirred with the sound of my voice, the whispers growing louder.
“What killed you?” I repeated, reaching downward again as the entity expanded upward, pulled upward by my will like an anchor attached to a rope, and the whispers surged around me from every direction, all forming one cohesive word.
“Who?” they shouted in return, their collective force like harsh wind. “What name do you call? Who do you summon?”
I knelt, my hands grazing the stone, feeling out the sharp edges of freshly carved words, memorizing the hard letters as my fingers passed over them. And my back hunched as I shouted the name, the commanding words hissing from my mouth and sinking like hooks into the entity beneath.
“Herman Earnest Lalian, how did you die?”
The entity surged upward, its outline a deep red, pulling with it tendrils of heat that erupted around its silhouette. Its head bent as it dragged chains, chains connected to its wrists and ankles and neck, chains that bound it with fire and searing metal.
“I died,” it screamed, its voice like gnashing gears, “when a bullet struck the very soul from my body. When it entered my temple.” It moved its finger to point at the side of its head, chains rattling as its face turned upward, and its face lengthening as it met my own.
“Mercy!” it screamed as we locked eyes and our consciousnesses brushed. “Mercy!”
It thrashed, the words turning to incoherent screeches, pushing against my will to sink again, slipping through my thoughts like water passing through my fingers, dropping again into the depths of the Earth. And as it fell, I heard laughter, laughter from far beneath me. And a feminine voice spoke, calling upward, the words cracking with age.
“So much potential and so much to learn!” she cried as I jumped to my feet and rushed away from the grave. “Oh, you will make a most excellent heir, and I a most excellent guardian, grandson.”
Chapter 36 -
Calls
I sprinted from the graveyard, the laughter following behind me as death trailed below me. A car horn blared as I stumbled into the street, brakes skidding against asphalt as muffled curse words pressed through the windshield, the driver pressing down the horn long after I reached the sidewalk.
My necklace pressed against my chest as I fled, its tip digging into my skin. And when I turned to look backward to see if I was being followed, it lept away from me toward the graves, straining the chain around my neck. With each step away, the force diminished, the tension releasing until it hung slack once more as I could neither feel death nor hear laughter.
My pace slowed to a walk as I tripped over two curbs, feeling my way forward as I neared the monastery and tried to catch my breath, though my heartbeats refused to slow down. In my head my grandmother’s voice echoed and I almost broke into a sprint again, but I pushed away the panic, forcing my footsteps to sound in rhythm.
I used the back entrance to the monastery, the creaking of the door the sole sound as I pushed it shut behind me, closing my eyes and leaning against the wood. There, with something solid against my back, I felt I was safe. Safe from my grandmother, from the figures, and from the cemetery.
“Oh, little lord!” came the singsong voice, and I jumped, slamming my head against the side of the door frame.
“Damn you,” I whispered, rubbing the spot.
“No need,” responded Iaco’s voice. “That’s already been taken account of on my part, little lord. But come, come on down! It is time for us to make a deal!”
“Why now all of the sudden?”
“They just finished drawing up the proper paperwork, negotiations, and last minute salami deals—the usual stuff, all of it drawn out. Now, they’re ready to make you an offer! Oh and what a deal it is! You could almost say it was one made in Heaven, except, of course, for the location. I do have to inform you that this is a limited time offer, so come on, let’s hit those stairs!”
I walked to the cellar door, preparing to open it, but paused and considered my actions. I was about to enter a dark cellar to meet with, of all things, a demon. One that certainly had something that I wanted, was nearly twice my size, and already had the details of the deal. That, no matter his attitude toward me, could turn on me in an instant.
If Kingston Elementary had taught me anything, it was to sense when I was at the disadvantage of losing a fight. That even if it did not come down to physical confrontation, the implication alone that it could happen was enough to sway a decision.
So I ran upstairs, leashed Shankey, and brought him with me. Even if it did little to level the playing field, it helped psychologically.
“Ah, little lord, you took your time,” said the demon as I entered. He was seated in a high-back chair, the back of which extended several body lengths overhead before dissolving into smoke. In front of me was a school chair made from the same red material, so low that it barely reached the lip of the table that the demon had also erected, the top of which slanted slightly downward in my direction. “Go on, take a seat, let’s get started.”
“I prefer to stand,” I responded, as he flourished a stack of papers as thick as my arm and dipped a pen into an inkwell that swirled upward from the desk.
“Suit yourself, little lord. No matter, no matter. Now, I have been nominated as the neutral party to discuss negotiations, between that of your grandmother, you, and Death itself.”
“Neutral party my ass,” I said. “This deal is about as crooked as this table. You’re literally from Hell.”
“Hold on, now!” said the demon, holding up a finger. “Let’s not stereotype right out of the gate, particularly Hell’s gate. I am, in fact, not from Hell, little lord.”
“I thought you said you were a demon and called it home?”
“Ah, yes, I am, and yes, I did. Or at least that is the closest word that your kind has for me. You see, little lord, Heaven, Hell, and Earth were not always separate. They used to be one place, which is my home,” explained the demon, and his eyes sparkled. “Back there, within the box.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“Eden, of course!” he said. “The place of creation itself! And now, the middle ground between the realms, shattered into the three when your ancestors took their bites of the apple! You humans, always listening to your stomachs, yet you get in a hissy fit when we head upstairs for a little soul snack.”
“So you’re saying,” I said, pointing at the small cube of wood on the ground, “that box is the window to Eden? That from that box you could enter Heaven or Hell?”
“Theoretically, yes. In practice, it’s a bit more difficult. Consider it more of an opening, tied to all of creation, especially that which does not firmly fit within one of the worlds. A being such as myself would have a hard time passing through the pearly gates. But back to your original question! I do not, in fact, come from Hell because I was never condemned there, similar to other beings that wander the world between. Like I said, the worlds shattered apart. They were not cleanly cut, so you can consider us the leftovers. Forgotten, for what will likely be eternity, and left in the middle. All sorts of beings were left over, of course.”
“Basically you’re saying I should trust you because you managed to escape your punishment,” I said. “If anything, it sounds like less of a reason to trust you. ”
“Look, I’m the best you’re going to get, little lord. That box, carved from the very tree from which Eve stole the fruit, was once called Pandora’s box for a reason. If you saw some of the other nasties that were left behind, then you’d realize just how lucky you are to have one such as me, so innocent in comparison. Either way, the point is moot, because the only way this deal is occurring is through me. Like Eden, I fit perfectly between your grandmother, you, and Death.”
I paused, frowning, thinking. No matter what he said, he still identified himself as a demon, and he still was untrustworthy. Yet if it meant saving Oakley’s life, I should at least hear his offer.
“What are the terms, then?” I said as Shankey wove between my legs, standing at attention as if he too were listening.
“Quite simple. Your grandmother spoke with Death and transferred the debt of Oakley’s life to herself. They have quite the relationship, her and Death—such great business in the past—but even so, she still paid dearly for it. Death drives a hard bargain.”
“With what?”
“Proprietary knowledge. I can’t give you that information, damn lawyers wrote that into the contract. However, she is now ready to forgive the debt, under one condition from you, one that you cannot revoke in the future.”
“Get on with it. What am I trading away here, my own life? She already had a go at that.”
“Quite the opposite, actually. All she has requested is that you allow her to restore the life that she took from you, all those years ago. She wishes to give you back your eyes, with a few modifications and improvements, of course. You’ll no longer need glasses, though I guess you don’t need them right now either.”
I stared, my mouth slightly open at the demon’s response. After all these years, I would be able to see again. I could read whatever books I wanted to in the library. I wouldn’t need my cane or a guide to get around. I’d even be able to drive, something I had long given up hope on.
“What, what’s the catch?” I asked, my voice cautious.
The demon spread his arms wide in a defensive motion. “Catch? No catch, just—”
At that moment Shankey twitched at my feet, his head and body angling toward the stairs, barking as his body became rigid. Far above, I just barely made out the sound of a door slamming shut, followed by a voice.
Oakley’s voice.
“Caleb, I know that you’re in here. What in the hell is going on? We need to talk, now!”
Chapter 37 - Little Lies for Little Lords
“Consider it, little lord!” shouted Iaco as I took the stairs two at a time, Shankey leading the way, “And brin
g me your answer tonight, or risk losing the deal!”
I burst from the cellar, rushing across the hall to the door that Oakley would have entered through, my shoes slapping across the stone, dropping regard for my surroundings.
And I never sensed the slap coming.
It landed square across my jaw, her fingernails scratching skin just above bone as I twisted backward, falling to the floor. My ears rang as I shook my head in shock, hearing Oakley breathing above me.
“You, you liar!” she shouted, anger sharpening the edge of her voice. Anger touched with tears, accented by the sound of her boot stomping.
“What?” I stammered, flinching backward as I was met with a tirade of words.
“What? Yes, exactly Caleb, what is going on? Do you think it’s fun, pulling a trick like this on me? Is this some sort of sadistic joke?”
“Oakley, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I’m sure you don’t,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “ I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Is this why you didn’t want to go to the haunted house? Did you think that I wouldn’t find out about your little secret?”
I sensed the fire within her flare upward with each word, the life propelled by rage. And in the brightness, I could see more than just her fire within her—I could see other bits of fire, borrowed from those that she was closest to, that had become a part of her. Two bright red coals that were her mother and father, accompanied by a newer coal. One that was fresh, that shined bright and familiar to me. That I recognized was a piece of myself within her, from the time we had spent together.
“You know about my secret?” I said, touching a finger to the corner of my eye. How could she know about the things I could see? About the things I could do.
“Oh, don’t act like you’re about to cry. I’ll know you’re faking that too! I should’ve known something was wrong with you the way you acted when I walked you home, or in the cellar, or with that policeman, or how you didn’t react when your old neighborhood went up in flames!”
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