by Alex Gates
I sniffed, smelling smoke—like someone had just exhaled their cigarette breath all over my face. Detective Gross hadn’t returned. The door was still shut. I scanned the ceiling and walls for vents, but I didn’t see smoke entering from anywhere. Yet, the stench intensified, and a brown haze crept around me. Before I had the chance to cough, a warm fog surrounded me like a cloud, pressing against my body as if squeezing me from existence.
Then, I fell weightless into a void.
10
I reappeared into existence sitting in a wooden chair in the middle of a dingy shop. Smoke curled off my body, as if I had just stepped out of a fire. Fans pulled it toward the ceiling, and vents carried it from the space. I lifted a hand up reflexively—the handcuffs I had worn in the precinct were replaced with heavy manacles that bound my wrists to each chair arm. The warm steel bit further into my sore wrists. Glancing down, I saw trickles of blood sliding off my forearms and down the sides of the chair—my ankles were also restrained, similarly clamped to the chair’s legs.
Reaching for my magic, I found nothing but emptiness—there was no power to tap into, no more energy to expel. I strained against the chains that bound me. The metal chewed deeper into my skin, pressing against my bones, and I growled with all my strength. Only my energy snapped. I sagged against the backrest and gasped for more smoggy air.
Panting, I scanned the room. I didn’t know exactly what I saw, mostly because I knew next to nothing about advanced construction equipment. The wall to my left had a long worktable, filled with different gadgets and tools—a carpenter’s station, if you will.
Listen, I didn’t have a daddy to teach me all that macho bravado tool-man stuff, so I know what I know, and I mostly don’t know what I don’t know. My line of work has always been destruction—kill the bad guy, demolish the building, ruin the relationship, destroy the toilet, stuff like that. I know how to tear apart, not build. So, if you want to know how this shop looked, then don’t criticize my layman descriptions. Apart from rotary hammers and circular saws and the common construction equipment, I’m useless. Most of my coworkers spend their free time on side jobs—pouring concrete or framing houses or texturing paint. They know their stuff. Me, well, I’d be better equipped spending a night bumbling around a black-tie cocktail party than piecing together a backyard shed.
I did see a sledgehammer propped against a cabinet. I can say that with confidence.
So, like a said, side wall was a carpenter’s station—hammers and drills and wood and metal. You get the picture. Directly in front of me was a mechanic’s station, if I had to guess. There was one of those things that lifts cars into the air so the greasy dude (or dudette) could do whatever he does. I also noticed an air compressor and a jack—see, I know some things—and one of those cranes that remove the transmission, or engine, or motor. Are they all the same thing? I don’t know. Does it matter? Only to people way smarter than I am.
Off to my right side, and I kid you not, there was a blacksmith’s forge. I’m serious. Think of Skyrim and how you could use the forges to craft eight hundred daggers. Remember that old glitch that skyrocketed you to level one hundred? Good times. Bound to my chair, I saw a smelter a few yards away from an anvil, which was near a grindstone, which was set somewhere beside a well-looking thing that had fire instead of water. So, that Skyrim thing, but in real life, beside a carpenter’s and mechanic’s station.
“Hello,” I called into the empty shop, not expecting anyone to respond but my echo.
“Joseph Hunter,” said a gruff voice behind me—the voice of a bearded, old motorcyclist who had spent a lifetime drinking cheap whiskey and smoking cheap cigars and didn’t really care to be heard or understood.
I flinched a tad at my name, then gulped as recognition dawned on me. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” I said.
“You still haven’t tamed that tongue?”
“Nice set up you got here. Jack of all, master of none, am I right?” I faked a chuckle and silently cursed in my head, wishing I was back with Detective Gross in the interrogation room. At least there, I might have a chance to live—which was my optimal way of going about existence.
Heavy, uneven footsteps cascaded around the shop.
“I got this terrible itch on my nose.” I crinkled my face, wiped it against my shoulder. “I can’t seem to reach it, with my hands occupied and all. You mind helping me out a little? I would owe you a huge favor.”
“You already owe me enough favors,” the voice said.
I bit my lower lip for a second. “If you take these cuffs off, I can shove my fist in my mouth. I think it would be better for both of us if that happened.”
From behind me, a massive man stepped into my field of view. If I had to guesstimate from a sideways glance, I would say he stood about as tall as your roofline and weighed around that of your average semi-truck. He didn’t wear a shirt, and his stomach protruded like a drunk’s—hard and perfectly round, as if he had swallowed a basketball. Tufts of red hair curled over his vast body. His right shoulder was broader and higher than his left. A red beard covered his chest, and long red hair fell from his temples, dangling around his slanted shoulders. He was bald on the top of his head, though. When he walked, he dragged his left leg, which—like his left shoulder—appeared shriveled and shrunken.
Though I had a pact with the Nephil, Hephaestus, I had never actually met him, had never seen him in person. In fact, now that I thought about it, I had never seen any Nephil in the flesh—unless you count Hecate in the parking garage. Apart from occasionally choosing a mortal to imbue with power, Nephil lived a solitary life. They were in the world, but not of it.
“You have finally returned to your magic,” Hephaestus said, turning and facing me with his watermelon mug. He made the bouncer at Snake Head Lounge look pretty. “Do you know the punishment for abandoning your pact?”
I did know it. The military university I had attended made it perfectly clear. If any of the students managed to secure a pact, we would have to honor it for the rest of our lives. If we failed to obey our Nephil’s orders, then we would be subject to a punishment fit for the crime. Usually, losing said powers, being cursed to serve the Nephil for eternity, or death. Getting stripped of powers equated to a stern slap on the wrist—it served as a warning. The more stringent punishments turned the magical blessing into a curse. Some Nephil cursed their unruly Acolytes with eternal life and servitude and no opportunity to ever walk away.
When I had decided to go AWOL and hunt down Callie’s killers, I still upheld some of Hephaestus’ requests, mostly to keep him off my back. But, when I had quit the magic business altogether, well—I had also abandoned him, leaving his assignments for me incomplete.
“I do,” I said in a quiet voice, stiffening in my chair.
“Yet, you left.”
I nodded, biting my lip, thinking of Mel and where she might be and what dangers currently threatened her. And here I was, getting scolded by a hobbled Nephil who was offended because I’d run away from his pact. “Listen, Hephaestus, you found me at a bad time. I can’t be sitting here, chained to this chair, listening to a lecture. Punish me, curse me, kill me for all I care. But let’s not waste any more time with formalities.”
Without a word, the Nephilim giant hobbled behind me and out of sight. I heard the clanging and rattling of metal for a few seconds, and then the oaf returned, limping across the cement floor to his forge. He carried a rusted battle-axe. Sitting at the grindstone, he set the blade to it and began to sharpen the edges. Sparks scattered across the floor.
I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth to speak, but the Nephil interrupted me before I had the chance.
“Metal is a strange thing,” he said. “Strong, durable, reliable. Yet, with enough heat and pressure, it will soften and mold into whatever design I desire.”
I almost yawned as loud and exaggerated as I possibly could, but then thought better of it. See, even I can grow and mature. I also very much feared what
he had in mind with that battle-axe. So, a little respect and biting of the tongue might serve me well.
Hephaestus removed the blade from the grindstone and inspected the razor-sharp edge with a careful eye. He ran his finger over the blade, drawing a thin line of blood. I wondered how such a crude weapon could harm a Nephil, but that thought wasn’t given much time to flower. In a blink, he threw the axe at me.
The sharpened blade that had just injured a Nephil crunched into the chair a half-inch from my skull, removing a few strands of my hair. Before the chair exploded into shards of wood, I think I shit myself. My manacles, with nothing anchoring them anymore, dangled from my wrists and ankles. With nothing left to sit on, I fell hard on my ass. The shop spun and a heat wave of nausea tickled my lips.
Hephaestus moseyed toward me, dragging his dead left leg. “Stand up, mortal. If you want to leave so bad, then kill me and leave.”
I scrambled to my feet, never one to back down from a fight. Hephaestus stood across the way from me, bulging eyes narrowed. Sweat beaded on his forehead and cheeks, reflected the overhead lights above.
“Don’t hold it against me when I kick your ass,” I said, swaying and searching for my balance. “This was your idea.” My magic had returned with a fury. Had Hephaestus fully charged me for the battle? Power pressed against my skin, ready to burst free. I had never felt so much energy before. Hephaestus taketh, and he giveth… but why giveth me such an overwhelming amount? The chair must have possessed negating properties that not only restrained me physically, but magically, as well. When the Nephil giant had shattered it with the axe, he had also broken the negation. But that didn’t explain the surge.
I muttered the Nephilim word for fire, and I moved my hands away from each other in a massive circle—a physical rendering of what I wanted to evoke. The ball of fire formed in front of me, a burning sphere the size of a car tire. Without something to channel the magic, I didn’t have a lot of control. It didn’t matter, though. With no innocents in the way, I could only harm Hephaestus, which I fully intended to do.
Years of regret and anger toward the Nephil built within that fireball. Hephaestus had lured me— a nineteen-year-old kid who wanted nothing more than to fight back against a world that always kicked him while he was down—into accepting his pact. He had used me, manipulating me through the years. He hadn’t protected Callie, hadn’t cared when she disappeared, hadn’t helped me find her. Yeah, the Nephil was powerful and imposing, but I didn’t care. He was also a self-centered prick who preyed on the vulnerabilities of the young to attract them to a lifetime of servitude. I had dreamed of this moment for years, now.
When the fireball grew to a size I could no longer contain, I shoved the spell toward the Nephil with all my strength, picturing Mel in my mind for an added boost. The fire rocketed through the space separating us and slammed into Hephaestus, wrapping around his massive body like a blanket, enveloping him in flame and smoke.
After a second, the burning subsided, fizzling to nothing.
Hephaestus remained standing in the same spot, unscathed by the most powerful attack I had ever used—like the White Walker not phased by the dragon’s breath. He bellowed laughter. “You insect,” he said. “I imbued you with your abilities. I gave you fire. You really think your diluted version of my own powers could harm me?” His deep guffawing continued.
I scratched my chin. “Well, when you put it that way,” I said.
His comment had changed the nature of our battle. My magic came from Hephaestus, which meant he was immune to it. I was nothing but an ant to him—and not a badass bullet ant, but one of those harmless black ants that are impossible to get rid of. Except, I probably wasn’t even that difficult to exterminate.
His eyes turned to flame, and fire built in the palms of his hands. “Do you think you, a mote of dust floating through a world of dirt… that you, a whisper drowned by the screeching hurricane, could defeat me?” Hephaestus hobbled toward me, favoring his shrunken leg. Seeing him move, you wouldn’t think he could banish me from the realm of existence with nothing more than a passing thought. “Now,” he said, standing a foot from me, “sit.”
One option remained, and I wasn’t above using it. Some men, probably lesser men than me, who preferred death over life, would not have taken this option. It never would have crossed their minds. But me, as much as I loved a good fight, I also loved my miserable life. I couldn’t save Mel if Hephaestus killed me, which he would with ease. So, I took the option of listening. I sat on the ground beside the shattered chair and pretzeled my legs, placing my hands on my knees like an attentive student.
“I’m all ears, big guy.”
The flames extinguished from his hands, but they lingered in his eyes. Remaining on his feet, he leveled his fiery glare at me. “The Nephilim Council enforces their laws for a reason.”
I rolled my eyes like a bored teenager listening to his algebra teacher drone on about the importance of not cheating on a test. It was one test, Mr. Borton! And guess what, I couldn’t even tell you what it was on anymore, nor could I say that I have ever used those equations again.
Hephaestus continued his best impression of a burnt-out high school teacher. “Each university is dedicated to three Nephil at the most. How many students receive a pact at the end of the year? Do you know?”
I bit my lip. The only thing missing from our meeting was my tired, pissed-off mother to scold me for my poor behavior. “One for each Nephil,” I mumbled.
“At most,” he corrected. “At most, one student per the dedicated Nephil receives pact. Which means that three students per year, per university, at most, receive a pact—at most.”
“I understand the math,” I said.
“The Nephilim Council enforces that structure for a reason. I receive, if I choose, one follower every year. The process allows me to keep tabs on those I have imbued, to make sure they are following the created laws. It also prevents me from gaining more power than my brothers and sisters.”
“Excuse me,” I said, raising my hand. “Not to interrupt or anything, but do you not get much people time? I mean, in a world of smartphones and Netflix, our attention span has dropped to below that of a goldfish. I’m fading fast here, so…” I circled my hand, gesturing for him to get on with it.
He narrowed his fiery glare at me. “Do you know why, of all the candidates, I chose to imbue you with my power?”
“Bad grades?” I offered. “Laziness? Apathy? Is it because I had nowhere to go after graduation, nothing to do?”
“You exemplified everything a soldier should. You cared, Joseph—for those weaker than you. You fought for those who needed fighting for. I ignored your disrespect, as I do now, because I knew it was only a mask you wear. You are afraid to show the world your true face. But I see it. I do. That’s part of why I chose you. I also had to protect this world from you.”
“Wait. What? Protect the world from me? What the shit does that mean?”
“That’s why you’re still alive. Why I haven’t decided what to do with you, yet. The law states that you report to me, that you take assignment from me, that your magic is used for me. As a mortal, your judgment is limited, clouded by what some of you call ‘sin.’ Using your powers without my guidance could create an unbalanced world. You broke that law, among others. You disappeared for five years.”
“Can we rewind and go back to what you said before… that thing about protecting the world from me. Kind of a big truth-bomb to just gloss over.”
The fire in his eyes dimmed, though it didn’t stop burning. “Until I decide on what to do, you can’t leave this shop.” He paused, allowing me to digest that statement. He knew I needed to leave, that I had business elsewhere. So, he dangled that over me for a reason.
“What do you want?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“I am fair, Joseph. Look at me.” He gestured to his deformities. “You think I can’t empathize with struggle and pain? Humans are not a complicated species. You are all
inherently good, yet you do bad things out of desperation. Sometimes that desperation is selfish in nature, and sometimes it’s truly justified. So, before I decide your punishment, I need to hear your story.”
I licked my lips. Did this Nephil really care about my story? Or was he a sadist relishing in my misery to get over his own? The almighty Nephil, in my limited experience, were no different than us—driven by ego and pride. They were, after all, half human.
“Okay,” I said, playing his game. “Do you know Hecate?”
The fire in his eyes rekindled, burning deeper. “Yes. Is she why you disappeared?”
I bit my lip and thought about my next move. He obviously meant to dole out justice for my actions. I couldn’t avoid that. Should I come clean and present him with my sob story? Or should I accept whatever punishment he thought right, then move on to find Mel—given he left me alive.
I went with the casual, “You know what? Fuck you.”
Hephaestus flinched at my response.
“And fuck this magical council bullshit the Nephil have set up.” I shook my head, fury rising in my chest. “Seven years ago, I came home and found my wife murdered. I spent the next two years trying to avenge her. Could I come to you? No. It’s against the fucking rules for a Nephil to directly interject themselves into human affairs. So, I had to do it on my own. After two years of dead ends, I decided that revenge wasn’t worth losing my daughter over. So, I retired from the magic business and hid to protect her. About four, five hours ago, my daughter was kidnapped by the same bitch who murdered my wife.”
Hephaestus didn’t say a word. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing.
After about a minute of his stoicism, I said, “My educated guess is that Hecate killed Callie and kidnapped Mel.” I scratched at my neck. “I accessed my power to fight some Empousa, then I went to locate my daughter and kill Hecate—that is, until you found me through my magic.”
