“Who? Who are you visiting in the middle of the night?”
“Eh, he’s a night owl.” Blackwell stroked her cheek. “In all honesty, I would much rather stay here with you, any and every time. But… it’s an appointment that I truly cannot miss. I do apologize though. As much as I’d love to take you to see the sunrise in Paris, I can’t. Not tonight.” Blackwell smiled regretfully while thinking, Paris can wait; this can’t.
CH 28: Werewolves of London
Less than a fly on the wall and more like a bat in a cave, Raven hung in the shadows of the cavern ceiling, a task he was well familiar with. Yet panic soaked in as he listened to the parade of padded footsteps coming closer by the second. All the while, he watched the sleeping god on his throne of carved stone, his black-bladed glaive resting across its square stone armrests.
More padded footsteps filled the tunnels, all six of them. From high above the blackness of the cavern’s vaulted ceiling, Raven watched. The arched tunnels filled with yellow lights. Yellow eyes, rows and rows of them. The cavern chamber began to fill with large wolves and the polished floor was soon covered with sitting and lying wolves, too many to count.
Yet they were not all the same. The sizes of the wolves seemed to be tiered, and their coats of fur varied in blends of black, white, and gray. The top tier consisted of six large wolves, the largest. Exiting last, each came out of each one of the six tunnels. Noticeably larger than the rest, as the six weaved through the sea of wolves, they towered over the others. They finally made their way through the pack and stopped at the bottom of the stone steps. Sitting on their hind legs, heads bowed and their fur ears tilted down in submission; they waited.
But Fenrir continued to sleep. It was only when one of the six let out a low-pitched wolfish howl that he finally broke his slumber. His eyelids lifted to reveal pools of icy blue lights. And in the cavern, beneath the web of settling wolves, the floor magically lit up in the same sapphire blue color as his eyes did, and Fenrir saw a sea of wolves, his new pack. His family.
The six wolves before him melted into five men and one woman, all on bent knees. One by one, they spoke.
“M’lord.”
“We have multiplied our ranks. Lost souls, old and new. We offered them the second life, through the wolf-flesh.”
“Ten by ten-fold, all strong of soul but weak of flesh.”
“From around the world, six continents, throughout time and passing ages. All the while, we remained unseen, unseen by mortal eyes.”
“We took them from below, through sinkholes and landslides. Their man-flesh returned to which it came, but their souls were taken and washed in the dirt, as ours were, reborn of the earth and in wolf-flesh.”
“The sinkholes were mended, and the men will not be missed.”
The woman snarled at her cohorts. “Men and women,” she corrected them. With a hint of sadness, she sighed, “… and children. Some were children as well.” She blinked away the emotions. Pull yourself together, she thought. “But all were lost, lost souls. And all are prepared to take the final step… when you deem the time proper, M’lord.”
Together and as one, they said, “For seven are one, and one are seven.”
Fenrir grunted with approval. “Good. We will have the ceremony soon, soon enough. And then… Then the transformation will be complete.” And he looked over his pack. Once men, now wolves. Once made from the flesh of men, they would soon be stripped down and remade in his image, remade in wolf-flesh.
CH 29: People Talking
Sitting atop a metal rainbow, the St. Louis Arch, Mea was in a better mood. Earlier she and her personal devil had shifted through the shadows, and when the light of the moon finally returned, they found themselves atop the silver steel gateway.
Looking down on everything, it was all quite beautiful. The moon was full, and the night was peaceful and hid the ugliness of man. It almost hid the ugliness from earlier.
Mea observed the curved steel overpass that they were currently sitting on. Each of the two steel arcs grew from a stone terrace of marble steps. Then, like two metal trees, they grew high and into the air before curving even higher into the sky. Finally the silver arcs met somewhere in the middle—high in the sky and where they currently sat—and kissed each other. Below them was a large grassy field that was sprinkled with shadows from the lamplights that surrounded it. Lining the field were rows of trees that trailed off into the distance.
In front of them lied the city of St. Louis. The skyline was filled with rows of half-lit skyscrapers and better-lit, oversized corporate signage—and as tall and bright as they were, they were runts compared to the ones found in larger cities.
Behind them lied the Mississippi river, a muddy stretch of water lined with pollution and barges. Yet it was still beautiful, in its own way. A muddy roadway that transported goods from the cold north to the rural south—goods that fed and took care of its people, the river was… a beautiful, battered warhorse. A beast.
Like a beast, it was not always obedient. Flooding was a constant fear for Midwesterners, and the river was undoubtedly a force of nature. Birthing from Lake Itasca, from somewhere in Northern Minnesota, the creature grew larger and hungrier until it eventually became the massive muddy dragon it is now, carving it way through North America until spilling into and spitting out of the Gulf of Mexico.
On the other side of the river lied Illinois, and roughly twenty miles east of them was Baysville, Illinois. Mea’s hometown. The suburb was fairly boring and non-assuming, and it was also home to a god.
“Can they see us up here?” she asked.
“Up here?” Blackwell looked down at the city. The few people that were out and about looked no different than scattered ants.
Mea cocked her head to the side. “You know what I mean.”
“No, they can’t, not if we don’t want them to—here.” Blackwell snapped his fingers, and Mea snapped to attention as well, like getting splashed with ice water. And she saw things differently, like a light switch had been flicked on.
“What the hell was that?” she asked. Blinking away the confusion, she noticed that everything was now covered in a glaze of dull yellow light.
“A cloak, of sorts. Now they certainly won’t be able to see us. We’re masked by the shadows.”
“Huh? How…”
Almost before Mea could finish her next word, Blackwell was already answering her. “It’s like… invisibility. Have you ever saw something out of the corner of your eye? Or saw twinkling lights that seemed to appear out of nowhere?” He answered his own question. “Gods, spirits, angels; it was one of them, one of us.” He continued, “And have you ever thought that you saw someone—out of the corner of your eye, like a shadow that almost looked human? But when you turn to look at it, it’s gone.”
“That’s… us?”
Blackwell nodded apologetically. “A long time ago, the gods walked amongst the mortals. You look at Greek mythology, Norse, Egyptian—the Hindu religion, they all have stories of the gods walking amongst the mortals—tricking them, playing games with them, punishing them. Most of the stories are embellishment, but the premise is based on truth.”
“Huh?” Mea scrunched up her face. “I thought there were only seven of us.”
“Yes, the First Seven, but there are also others, lessor gods.”
“The tower…” Mea gasped. Once gods, now monsters. “They were…”
“Once, some of them.” Blackwell nodded again. “Anyways… Concerning mortals—it’s best that they don’t know too much. They have been known to… overreact. And we don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
“The surprise?” she said incredulously. “The surprise of life after death? The answer to: ‘Is there a God?’ You mean those kind of surprises?”
Pretending to ignore her sarcasm, he replied sharply. “Yes, exactly. See, you get it.” But as he grinned, Mea saw that he was only half-joking. He continued, “Haven’t you ever heard the saying, ‘The worst gift for a
thinking man is the answer to all his questions?’” The look on her face said that she hadn’t. So, again he continued explaining. “Without unanswered questions, no one will ever learn on their own or search for answers. No one would ponder life and choose their own paths or make their own decisions, and life would become substantially duller.”
Mea huffed at his explanation. “So all the emotional turmoil and confusion of people, and wars, and people killing each other, and pain, and…” Mea hesitated, thinking of the endless horrors that humans were capable of. And she, what horrors was she capable of? Shaking it off, she continued, “And everything else, they’re all okay because they make life… interesting?”
“Well it certainly doesn’t make it dull.” Blackwell’s lips curled into a half-smile.
After a beat and looking at the stupid look on his stupid face, Mea snorted, laughed, and shook her head. “Unbelievable. Now you’re a comedian?”
“Certainly not.” He checked the time. “Just giving an explanation.” Looking down from the arch and at the grassy knoll, Blackwell saw something, someone. A man—far away and far below them—was digging in a trashcan and fumbling around with its content. “See him?”
Mea squinted and her vision zoomed in on the target. The man’s dirty knitted gloves had just lifted a soda can out of the trashcan, and he had just stuck it inside a trash bag of his own. Mea answered, “Yeah.”
“Look closely.”
Unaware of the watchful eyes, the man resumed digging inside the trashcan again, this time pulling out a beer can and shaking out the remaining liquid before bagging it; then he started shuffling over to the next trashcan.
Mea squinted and zoomed in on the man. Scattered atop of his head was a nest of straggly gray and black hair, and his face was sprinkled with the same. His cheeks were creased with hard lines of hard living, and his nose was lined with bloodshot veins from, most likely, too many drunken nights over too many years. And a purple translucent light traced his silhouette from head to toe.
“That’s his aura, sort of,” said Blackwell. “Light is good; dark is bad, in general. Him—him down there, he could see us, maybe, even now. The purple, the darkness of it, it means that he’s near death. And you’d think it was cirrhosis of the liver, but you’d be wrong. It’s not. It’s a heart defect, along with an irregular heartbeat. Truthfully, I’m surprised that he’s lived this long at all.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Don’t know. Just explaining. Those near to death, nearer to death than they should be, they can see us. Those on the fringes of society, on the fringes of life—outsiders, those are us, our people. And not all, but some of them can see us. Those that see the world differently see different things. And you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. How do you feel about all of this?”
“It’s…” Mea sighed. “It’s still too much, being a god—saying that I’m a god. Whenever I say it out loud, it still sounds too silly to believe. And the world is ending… And I’m a killer.” A tear formed in her right eye.
“No,” said Blackwell. “You are justice.”
“Am I?” She didn’t feel just. She felt like a killer.
“How did it feel, killing them?”
“It felt like… It felt like it was the right thing to do. But it also felt cold and heartless and… inhumane.” Guilty, she felt guilty.
“Sometimes justice is cold, but that makes it no less necessary. Do you remember what I told you about what it is that I do?” Mea nodded and mouthed yes. “I told you that I held back the shadows. And then I told you that sometimes that darkness stays on you, and it stays with you and…” He sighed. “And life leaves scars.”
“Yeah,” she agreed emptily, distracted by the thoughts of uncertainty still filling her head. Feet dangling off the silver steel edge, Mea glanced down at the ground far below her then up at the smog-fog smeared moon. Life leaves scars? “Yeah, it does.”
“Justice is a heavy burden, for you, for anyone. But without it, there are no consequences. Without consequences, there’s only chaos. And the lack of consequences encourages bad behavior and indulging in selfish indulgences. Then, it’s only a matter of time before everyone is murdering and robbing everyone else. And next thing you know, all you got is murderers and robbers running around, and them… they just go around murdering and robbing each other, making more murderers and robbers. And for what, for shits and giggles?
“The alternatives are no better. Let everyone get fat and happy, and they get complacent. Stagnant, like stagnant water. Have you ever seen what happens to stagnant water? It molds, becomes covered in a dark green slime. Algae, a biofilm of bacteria. Becomes a breeding ground for insects—mosquitoes, flies… water scorpions.” Disgusting. He shivered at the thought. “It all becomes very… dirty—dirty and filthy. And dull and boring.
“At the other end of the spectrum is chaos, which is just cruel and pointless. Savagely killing each other for no reason whatsoever, why? Then the strongest and cruelest survive, and everyone and everything else becomes… cannon fodder. And then, when that happens, why even bother. If that happens, why should souls even exist? Then, you’re just back to the murdering and robbing again. If you realize that men are just…”
Realizing that his rant had gone on too long and too far, he finally faded out. After a snort, he apologized. “Sorry,” he huffed then smiled over at Mea. He was quite surprised to see her smiling back at him, her hazel eyes squinting and sparkling.
“No, preach on, Brother Vincent,” she teased then continued teasing him. “And tell me again about the murderers and robbers. And what is this chaos that you speak of? Tell me more.”
“No,” he snorted. “I have gone on long enough. I’m just trying to say that you shouldn’t blame yourself for the horrors of the world. That’s all.”
“And that I should deliver justice by killing whomever I want, whenever I want? That I should just judge people and decide whether they are worthy of my justice? That’s what you’re saying?”
“No, I’m saying that you already do so… because you are strong, and they are weak… And because you can.”
“So I’m a hero?” Mea scoffed. “I’m supposed to save the world?”
“No, I am not saying that. Blackwell grabbed her hand and intertwined his fingers between her own, trying to calm her. “I’m saying that you are a hero because you will try to save the world… We will try.”
“And if we fail? What if I’m not strong enough? I’m not strong enough. Do I sound like a hero?” Mea brought his hand up to her lips and inhaled his scent. Her heart fluttered.
“Yes you do, because you will still try. And if you try, and fail, you will still die trying, and that’s what makes you a hero—because you will try. For justice, for righteousness—regardless of the odds, you will try to save them… because you believe that it is the right thing to do. And me, I will help you because… because I believe in you.”
Mea’s fingers squeezed against Blackwell’s and her feeling erupted inside her, his words only adding to her emotions. Like gravity, she found herself leaning in to kiss him again. But it wasn’t like last time. Last time he pulled away. This time, he didn’t.
Passionate and softly, they kissed. Mea’s skin sparked with electricity and a fire grew inside her.
The same happened to Blackwell. But he also felt something else jabbing at his thoughts and emotions. It was actually more of a tick than a jab, a ticking sound. Still kissing Mea, something was still stabbing at in back of his head. My appointment. Yet, with every passing moment and movement between their intertwined lips and tongues, Blackwell’s meeting became less important and saying goodbye became infinitely harder. Despite all that, he mustered up his strength and pulled away. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry but I… I have to go.”
He brushed her cheek with his hand and stared into her innocent hazel eyes; a silent, intimate goodbye. “Did you want me to take you home?”
Stil
l catching her breath, Mea said, “Nah, I’m okay.” Jabbing a thumb over her shoulder, she added, “Got wings.”
“Of course.” He chuckled and kissed her hand before finally standing up.
“Hey,” Mea yelled. She almost forgot. “What about Azazel?” My brother. “Is he… Is he going to be alright?” Will he ever forgive me?
“Azazel will be fine. He just needs a little time to… ruminate. He’s stubborn, but he’s also very rational.” He tried to kill her. “Rational as far as gods go. He’ll come around.”
“Mea,” He said before pausing. Wide-eyed, he studied her like someone would study an expensive piece of art. Her, she was sitting there with her legs playfully dangling off the ledge with her eyes sparkling and her hair swaying.
“Yeah,” she said, smiling innocently up at him. In that moment, Mea looked happy and innocent, like all the horrors in her life had never happened at all. And despite being anything but, she almost looked like a real girl. Why are you staring at me? she wondered. Giggling and wanting an answer, she shrugged at him. “What?”
Finishing his mental picture of her—his perfect, always-beautiful Mea—he only said, “Take care of yourself.”
Blackwell stepped off the edge of the curved steel arch and fell towards the earth.
And leaning forward at a dangerous angle, Mea watched as he fell through the sky, his suit jacket flapping wildly and flashing red-and-black on his way down. And she watched as he dissolved into the shadows of the night.
The kiss, it was a good one. Touching her lips, Mea could still feel her heart fluttering. With her skin flush and still tingling, she could still feel his lips on hers. It was progress. They were finally getting close, closer. It was just a kiss, but at the very least, it was a start. Even more pleasing, she felt like herself again. And even if it was just for that brief moment, it still felt nice. But…
The Long Night of the Gods: Lilith Awakens (Forgotten Ones Book 2) Page 25
