Each night, Raven would watch Patterson stare into the mirror while mumbling to his reflection. And up until a few nights ago, his mumbling was just as incoherent as his other mumbling. Then it wasn’t.
As he spoke to the mirror, coherent words began to blend in with the mumbling whispers. Yet, while his words were intelligible, his statements remained cryptic and confusing. “Yes, yes. In the land of milk and honey? Yes, I understand.” “The new world? Yes, yes. I understand.” “The girl seems to still be unaware of her powers… Yes, I will continue to watch… Keep her safe until your return? I understand…. She is unaware of my presence. I think; I think so… Yes, no, I will not fail you… I, I am working on it. Yes, it will be prepared for your return…”
As Patterson spoke into the mirror day after day, Raven watched from the shadows as he always did. And as it always did, nothing interesting happened.
Tonight was different. Something strange was happening. Something was growing. Raven just didn’t know what it was. So he just continued watching Patterson as he had always done. Watching and waiting, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Tonight was the night. The other shoe dropped. Just like any other night, Patterson stood in front of the mirror like he always did. But this time, as he stared at the mirror and his reflection, the large man gasped and stepped back in shock.
The mirror turned to a thick smoky mist, before a gust of wind stirred from somewhere inside it, and it soon began to leak into the bedroom. Dragging the mist in with it, the room was starting to look like a fog-covered swamp.
Raven watched as Patterson examined the mirror and searched for his reflection in the fog, and even behind the fog leaking out of the mirror’s silvery surface, Patterson’s plump reflection still remained. Mostly blurred from the fog, his reflection became more translucent by the second, gradually fading away. A chill filled the air and Patterson’s breath puffed with warm steam as he spoke. “Yes. I understand.”
Though he didn’t know why, the moment sent chills through Raven. Hidden in the shadows of an oversized bookshelf at the far end of the room, he felt a strange spark of fear come over him. Something bad was coming.
Patterson must have sensed it too, or at least he sensed Raven sensing it. He stopped staring into the mirror and scanned the room. Almost as if he knew someone was there, he took a few extra seconds to study the shadow of the oversized bookshelf where Raven was hiding. He can’t see me; he’s a mortal, Raven thought, not unless I allow him too. Still, it was odd that Patterson was staring so hard in his direction.
Patterson narrowed his eyes and became more suspicious, warm white smoke puffing out from his nose. Can he see me? That’s impossible, Raven thought again while also second-guessing himself.
But he didn’t see anything. Lingering momentarily, Patterson reluctantly turned back towards the mirror. His would-be reflection was now completely gone, replaced by thick drifting clouds. Again he spoke into the mirror. “Did I do good? I did what you asked.”
Normally Patterson’s voice was the only noise that ever broke the silence. Not tonight. A soft, melodic voice radiated from somewhere within the mirror. “Yes, yes you did.” Sounding like a lover’s whispers on Sunday morning, the mirror continued, “You did well, very well. You’ve done everything that I’ve asked of you.”
Patterson smiled widely—happy that he had pleased the mirror with the angelic voice. Then, reveling in the mirror’s praise and self-satisfaction, he nodded repeatedly and overzealously—his neck jiggling about all the while. “That’s good. That’s good. I did good.”
From the snowy fog of the mirror, a hand emerged—white and silky with long elegant fingers and polished nails. Slinking out like slow maple syrup, the hand—followed by the forearm—slid further out of the mirror’s fogged surface as it rippled like it was the surface of a lake.
The back of the hand brushed up against Patterson’s face. Gently and elegant, it was as soft as satin. It flipped over and cupped his plump brown cheek in its palm. Its thumb rubbed softly over the unkempt stubble of his face. “And the preparations are complete?”
Patterson’s smile disappeared. The mirror wouldn’t like his answer, and he knew it. Still, it would require one nonetheless. He tried. “Well-well-well… some—some of them are. Oth-others. Them-they-they’ll require—“
“What?” It was more of a growl than a question. The white hand was no longer caressing Patterson’s face, and it was now tense and strained as it tried to resist the urge to attack the fat man. And now, it looked more like a powdered white claw than a hand.
A raspy hiss followed. “What have you been…” The mirror let out an agonizing moan as the claw squeezed the air—again fighting its desire to rip open Patterson’s squishy throat. A gurgled howl came next.
Patterson squeezed is eyes shut. His fear was obvious. He failed, and he was now awaiting his punishment.
Instead, there was only silence. Patterson eased open his eyes, slowly and scared. The hand was now rubbing its thumb across the edges of its other fingertips, as if the mirror was checking them for dirt. “Relax. I’m not going to kill you.” the voice from the mirror had turned calm and cool, once again.
“Hmmm,” it wondered. Then, with another mercurial mood change, another growl exploded from the mirror. Again, the hand spread open. This time, it was no longer beautiful nor looked like a claw. It now looked like that of a skeleton’s hand dipped in paraffin wax. Thin, viscous, and vicious. “Someone is here. Watching us. A reaper.”
“Who? Who’s here?” Patterson looked around frantically. With Raven still camouflaged in the shadows, Patterson still saw nothing and no one.
The voice from the mirror continued, changing again and back to its soft and soothing tone. “Just know… his death is on your hands.” In a spark of a second, the hand stretched out like it was made of white latex and snatched Patterson by the neck and yanked him into the mirror.
Raven held back, but shock overcame him. He gasped, and his breath turned into an icy fog. And as he lost focus, he knew that he had also lost his concealment.
Then, almost as fast as it swallowed Patterson, the mirror spit him back out… Well, it spit out most of him. Big and small bones shot out of the foggy mirror and formed an eerie mound of pale driftwood. “Tell your master that I’m coming.”
Patterson’s skull popped out last and rolled over towards the bookcase. With his cover blown and Patterson dead, there was no reason to keep pretending. Raven stepped out of the shadows and into the fog. With his steps busting the large smoky clouds into smaller ones, he stepped towards the mirror. The fog wasn’t the only thing disturbed. Raven’s errant footsteps knocked over the multiple towers of books stacked on the floor. Momentarily glancing at them, Raven couldn’t help to think: Oh well, he won’t be needing those anymore.
Wrapped in his black armor, the reaper’s footsteps were silent, quiet as a ghost. The black mask that covered his face and cheekbones soaked into his skin as he stepped in-front of the fog-filled mirror. “Who are you?”
“Me?” The stormy fog of the mirror began dissipating. The reflective surface became more like a camera than a mirror as the dark, stormy clouds dissipated. The veil thinned, and Raven was able to make out a number of vertical stripes. Pillars, notched pillars. Some were engraved.
As the fog thinned further and all but vanished, he was finally able to make out what was engraved on them, large sculptures of gorgeous women clad in armor. The elegant carvings made the pillars look like marble monuments that extended into the clouds.
Raven’s view clearing further and he could see that the sculptures were not just women, but also female monsters—exotic, beautiful, and deadly. Marbled mermaids held swords in one hand and shields in the other. Some had gauntlets made of gold that covered one breast, while leaving the other bare, and extended down their arms. Others had scaled armor, emerald green, that covered them to their necks. The mermaids fins were barbed and tipped with a clear, sharp edge and looked
like diamond-tipped arrows.
His vision through the mirror crept further into the strange museum and showed him other things. A thin-faced woman with an armored torso sat upon the body of a massive serpent. Fire was in her eyes, and her spear was cocked back and ready to launch. Her thick wavy hair looked like gold flecks mixed with the marble and covered her shoulders and twisted around her breastplate. Others had hair of platinum and limestone.
More pillars appeared before him. Harpies rested on bent knee while daggers hung from their belts like icicles, their arms covered in golden and onyx gauntlets with thin blades strapped to them. Poisoned no doubt, Raven thought, if they were real, that is. The talons of their bird-like claws (which replaced their feet) shined silver and appeared even sharper than his own. For a second, he felt a speck of jealousy.
The vision shown in the mirror zoomed out and revealed more pillars. It was a marbled temple—an upscale, immaculate version of the Parthenon. Behind it sat more drifting clouds that glided in front of seven snow-capped mountains that extended further than Raven could see.
He repeated, “Who are you? Why… where are you imprisoned?”
“Imprisoned?” the mirror giggled. “No, I am no prisoner.” A sensual moan whispered to him. “As for who I am…”
A black-eyed white ghost suddenly popped up and filled the polished mirror and a ghostly hand shot out and wrapped around his neck like a noose. Its voice turned raspy. “Who I am is no concern to you. Who are you to ask? You, a scavenger, a servant… the devil’s messenger.”
Raven pawed at hand clenched around his throat as he gasped for air. Then, the mirror moaned again, “Ah, a messenger, yes. Well, I have a message for you to deliver… messenger. Tell the girl, I will see her soon. And tell your master, I’m coming for what is owed.”
Raven’s extended his claws and took a hard swipe at the pale clamp that was crushing his neck, and it screamed as his talons chopped at the ghostly forearm, like the axes chopping woods. Pale chunks broke off before it finally released its grip and crumbed into sprinkles of ash.
As Raven fell to the floor, he rubbed at his neck while sucking air. A heartbeat later, he finally looked up and into the mirror again. The black-eyed ghost smiled at him and then stepped further back into the mountaintop Parthenon, and he could now see that it wasn’t a ghost, it became a woman, an attractive one with pale skin and white drifting hair. The fog soaked into her skin and became a woman’s nightgown; thin, white and silky, and frilled with lace. The ghost ran her finger across her neckline, and for a second, Raven thought that she was trying to seduce him. But his errant thought was soon interrupted.
Alone at first, the ghost would soon have company. From between the edges of the marble-tiled floor, white smoke drifted up and soaked into the air. Within seconds, the temple began filling up with more ghosts, each identical to the other. Then standing shoulder to shoulder, they all stared at Raven as they ran their finger across each of their respective necklines just as the first one had done.
Just then, he realized that they weren’t trying to seduce him. They weren’t running their fingers along their necklines; they were wrapping their own hands around their necks, just like the ghost had done to him. And now they were smiling, mocking him.
As they threw their hands down, their mouths opened wide and became toothless black holes, letting out a barrage of howls as the mirror darkened.
Just then, just like the ghostly arm had done before it, the mirror dissolved into ash and slowly crumbled into a pale pile of dust.
Puzzled at what was happening, Raven looked around and glanced down at one of Patterson’s open books that he had knocked to the floor earlier. It was a picture of a woman. With fangs and wings, her feet were the claws of an eagle. Succubus. Lilith. Banshee. The words were scribbled over the picture, and the legends rattled around in his head.
“Unfortunate that they didn’t finish you off,” Blackwell said glibly.
“Don’t,” Mea warned as she wagged her finger at him.
Raven’s armor had thinned into a basic black t-shirt and some jeans that had seen better days. “Yeah, so the mirror’s gone, and Patterson’s dead—Oh!” He dug into his pocket. “But I got this.” He flipped a tiny glowing star towards Mea.
Her eyes grew wide and her arms and hands stretched out for the flipping light. The gold shimmered and soaked up the moonlight while the flashing light made Mea’s eyes sparkle like diamonds. She had the same hypnotized look that Patterson had.
The light was gone and the flickering stopped. The golden coin froze in the air then drifted across the rooftop and into Blackwell’s hand. “I’ll take that. Thank you.”
Just then, the spell on Mea was broken, and she was now blinking away the daze and returned to normal. “What was that?”
Blackwell examined the coin, one side then the other. One side was engraved with the image of a beautiful woman with fierce cold eyes. The other side was covered with an array of small slashes that followed around the coin’s edges. The symbols looked Asian in origin, but they weren’t Korean, Chinese, Japanese, or any of the other hundreds of languages—current, dead, or otherwise—that Blackwell knew. Thus, they were no common dialect. Ancient and forgotten, it was the language of the gods. That’s what he thought, at least. Still, he wasn’t certain. Time takes its toll on the memory, even for the gods.
“What is it?” Mea asked insistently. “What does it mean?”
“It’s a coin.” He briefly showed her the coin before sliding it into his pocket. “It means that…” It has begun, the end. Blackwell hid his concern but saw the sadness growing inside Mea.
Raven saw it too and tried to change the subject. “Patterson mentioned something about the new world and something about… in the land of milk and honey. What’s that supposed to mean?”
Blackwell said, “I think I know, but I will have to confirm.”
“And she said she’s coming for what you owe her. Care to tell us what that’s about? And what, now you’re making deals with… whoever that was.”
“Always. As you well know, I am always making deals. And as for who she is…” Blackwell kept his glare on Raven a beat longer before turning to Mea. “She’s the Queen of Sorrows.”
“The Whore of Babylon?” Mea said incredulously. While she wasn’t religious, she wasn’t exactly ignorant of the Christian Apocalypse. Baysville, IL was located on the upper edge of the Bible Belt, and she had listened to more than her fair share of preachers who felt the need to share their opinions about the End of Days, fire and brimstone, and any other thing they considered sinful.
“The Whore of Babylon? Eh,” Blackwell puckered his face. “I would probably refrain from calling her that. She loathes the word—and for that matter, the title as well. It’s a bit of a trigger with her.” Seeing Mea’s distasteful look, he explained further. “To be fair, in those days, all the scribes were men—and they did have a tendency to be more than a little bit misogynistic. Her proper title is the Queen of Sorrows. And—fun fact—Mary Magdalene wasn’t exactly a whore either.”
“So,” Raven chimed in. “What? She’ll help us?”
“No. Mea, I must be going.”
“Hey,” Mea said, chasing after him before he abruptly disappeared as he usually did. “So what are we going to do? We can’t just…” She thought of the golden pocket watch (given to her by a strange homeless man who was presumably an angel) and the vision of the apocalypse that came with it. They’ll all die. Everyone will die; the world will burn. “Vincent?”
“Mea, we need more information, better information. So, that’s what I am going to get.”
Mea knew what he meant; he was going back to talk to Azazel. While she didn’t like it and despite her deeply rooted hatred, it seemed like they were about to have bigger issues. So, she didn’t protest and instead bit her tongue and reluctantly nodded.
“As for you two… You don’t do anything. And as for you…” He turned to Raven. “You already know what you can
do.” Die. Blackwell didn’t wait for a reply and stepped off the roof instead. Then, with his suit jacket flapping black and crimson, he vanished into the shadows.
Hesitant of Blackwell’s departure, Raven waited a moment before approaching Mea. The moonlight gleamed off his strangely normal clothes—his blue jeans and black t-shirt. Being human still felt foreign to him and odd to Mea as well. She had grown used to seeing him in his armor and having claws. But now it was different. The moonlight and streetlamps gleamed, and Raven’s carved muscles were peeking out from the sleeves of his t-shirt and his square jaw—and the high cheek bones that sat right above it—were all perfectly accented by the soft lights of the suburban nightline.
Mea rolled her eyes and smirked. She still thought it was funny, everyone from the afterlife was ridiculously good looking… or they were hideous demons. It seemed to always be one extreme or the other.
He looked at her with his big doe eyes, his sad gray ones, and put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “So, Dr. Patterson’s really dead?” Knowing that it was true, she looked at Raven, hoping that she was wrong. But as his face remained unmoved, she knew it was real. “Then I killed him. I sent you to spy on him, and now he’s dead.” My body count just keeps adding up, she thought.
“Hey,” He said as he squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, no. She killed him, not you, she did. Whoever she was-is, she was the one that killed him.”
“The Queen of Sorrows. That’s who she was. Women’s vengeance against man.” She rolled her shoulders out of his hands and stepped away. Right now, she didn’t want to be touched. Not by him, not by anyone. Right now, any sort of touch felt like bugs crawling over her, unclean… because that’s how she felt about herself, unclean and evil.
Raven wanted to comfort her but couldn’t find the words. Searching his thoughts for an answer or solution, he found neither. So, frustrated at his lack of usefulness, he stuck his tongue in his bottom lip and rubbed his hand hard against his forehead. He huffed, “Mea… Mea, I wish there was something I could do to make this…. but I…” am weaker than you. “I wish that I could just wipe all of this away, the looming apocalypse, and just…” Again he huffed, this time in defeat. Watching Mea step over to the edge of the rooftop and stared down on the street level, he kept trying, “If there was something I could do, I would, but I just…” Mea’s shoulders were bouncing, and it sounded like she was crying. “Mea, I’m not Blackwell. I don’t have his power. I’m just…
The Long Night of the Gods: Lilith Awakens (Forgotten Ones Book 2) Page 7
