by Lucy Auburn
Mateo stares at it. "Fuck, men. If the door represents you, you're real fucked up inside."
"I want you to know that I hope you die choking on your own dick," Sebastian says, cutting his eyes in the other demon's direction. "Not that it's big enough to do the job."
"Oh, please." Mateo rolls his eyes. "My dick is plenty big enough. Dani can vouch for me. Right Dani?"
"I plead the fifth," I tell him, my cheeks heating as Sebastian looks over at me with his eyes narrowed. He's the only one who doesn't remember our connection yet—it's awkward standing next to him. My skin feels like it's itchy all over. "How are we going to get through this door, anyway?"
"We'll push it." Sebastian stares at my hand, his mouth twisted. "I guess we should go together."
"It's worked so far," I point out.
Looking reluctant, he takes my hand. Then he faces the door, puts his palm out, and pushes it open. We walk through into the darkness—and the instant we're on the other side, he drops my hand.
I try not to take it personally.
Getting forgotten is starting to get old, though. Hopefully soon this exquisite torture is over with for good, and we can finally get the Hell out of Hell.
The darkness on the other side of the door coalesces into a dim, warmly lit interior full of people. We're in a bar. I look over at Sebastian, surprised, but then it occurs to me: maybe his story doesn't start in his childhood.
Sometimes, we fall later in life.
All around us, people are drunk and tipsy, shooting pool and making out in dark corners, smoking cigarettes and stumbling into the bathroom. One person in the room calls my attention above all others: the man standing behind the bar, wiping down glasses, getting ready to pour another round.
A sharp jaw. A pouty mouth that turns down on the corners. Dark hair that curls at his ears. As his eyes flick up towards the customer in front of him, I feel my breath leave me at how blue they are.
Sebastian.
We watch him lean forward and smirk at the woman who's come up to the bar. "What can I get for ya, darling?"
"Gin and tonic."
She sways her hips back and forth, leaning forward at just the right angle to make her breasts slip out of her neckline. Sebastian—the mortal one—takes a good, appreciative look, and I find myself staring at the woman like I might be able to reach into the past and stab her to death.
As he brings her the drink, she asks, "What's your name, alcohol-slinger?"
"Vincent. But you can call me Vinny." I wince, looking over at Sebastian, whose mouth is just slightly parted in horror. "What about you?"
"Ruby. See you, Vinny."
We see a fast forwarded version of the night: the woman goes into the crowd, mingles, then comes back for another drink. Then another. She buys a round of shots and entices Sebastian to take one with her. They flirt, going around and around, his eyes lingering on her ass as she walks away and her breasts as she orders her drinks.
Eventually, the bar is empty.
But she's still there.
And so is he.
"Closing time," he says, wiping down a glass and staring at her with clear lust in his blue eyes. "You go somewhere to be?"
"I dunno." Stalking over to the bar, she folds up the walk-through partition and grabs him by the collars. "Do I?"
It's hard to watch what happens next. He kisses her like he's devouring her, like he's never wanted anything more. Even from here I can see the erection in his pants.
Beside me, demon Sebastian dryly comments, "Clearly I went to Hell because of my bad taste."
I open my mouth to say something, then shut it in horror as the scene changes. We're in an apartment—it must be Sebastian-slash-Vinny's place—and neither one of them is wearing a stitch of clothing. Sebastian is fucking the woman with abandon, hips pummeling into her on top of the sheets of his bed. I stare at a water stain on the ceiling, trying to remind myself that the past is the past.
Still. It's a relief when they finish. Staring at her, I take note of every flaw, and tell myself that I've got a way hotter body. Also, I find myself observing guiltily, Sebastian is far better in bed than his mortal precursor Vinny. Those jackhammer hips weren't sexy.
After they're done, they both light up. And it's not cigarettes they're smoking. It's...
"Is that heroin?"
"It appears to be." Sebastian watches with a frown, arms crossed. "Who could've guessed that I was a white trash idiot. Mateo would love this."
The two lovers collapses in a fog of high on the bed. I don't know what to say.
Around us, the scene changes. This time they're smoking joints. Drinking. Then taking pills. Shooting. In between, she's giving him a blowjob. He's screwing her from behind.
I feel like I'm the one being punished. Anything would be better than this.
"It's great that you get to see this, too," Sebastian says wryly, sounding miserable. "Love to have someone along to witness my absolute buffoonery."
"You're not the first drug addict I've ever known." I shoot him a look of sympathy. "Also, this is a different version of you."
He looks like he's about to say something, but the scene in front of us stabilizes. This time, Vinny and Ruby are arguing. And it doesn't look pretty.
"I know you stole my stash! You're nothing but a junkie."
"What, and you're any better?" She sneers at him. "You lost your job again, didn't you?"
He kicks a box. "At least I had a job!"
"I told you, I'm working at the salon."
"Yeah? And where's the money from that?"
"Somewhere safe from your friends. I know Wally stole from me. I wanna save up—"
"Please. Like you could. You spent all that money on drugs and liquor, and now you're back here begging for more." He points a finger in her face, scowling. "Well, don't expect any. I'm cutting you off, Ruby. I don't want you coming around no more."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Well, tough luck on that one. I'll be getting your money one way or another, whether you like it or not." She stares him down, her eyes reddening as she starts to cry. "I'm pregnant, Vinny. And before you ask, you asshole, the baby is yours. So you better get a job already, because I'm going to need you around."
"You're pregnant?" His eyes widen. "And you're not pulling my leg?"
"Do you think I would?"
To my horror and amazement, they kiss. It turns sloppy. He pulls her clothes off. She jerks at his pants and grabs his erection. Then they're stumbling to bed, his pants barely around his knees before she's crawling on him and fucking him like a drunk teenager.
I look up at the ceiling at that water stain for a while. Beside me, Sebastian chuckles. "Look at him. What a three pump chump. Tell me I never did that."
"I can't look. Don't make me."
"It's fine. They're falling asleep. I'm falling asleep, I guess I should say."
I look back, and they are—beneath the covers this time. Her arm falls out of the sheets, and I find myself look at the track marks, heart in my throat. It hurts to imagine what will happen next. I saw this sort of thing on the street many times.
Beside her, Sebastian's eyes slide open. He stares at the ceiling for a while. Then he slips out of bed, refastens his pants, and grabs a backpack off the ground. Slowly and quietly, he moves around the room, packing the bag.
Then he slips out the door.
"Wow." Demon Sebastian stares at his counterpart's back. "Deadbeat dad. Guess I did deserve Hell."
"This isn't all of it," I tell him. "Though hopefully all the screwing like bunnies is over with. I could've done without that part."
"Oh yeah?" His eyes slide over to me. "Jealous?"
Before I can answer, the scene shifts. We're in an abandoned building. There are bare mattresses and sleeping bags on the floor. Empty beer bottles roll around between them, and the distinct scent of things burning wafts through the air. Though sun is shining bright through the windows, people are sleeping all
over, in heaps and blankets, on the mattresses and in the middle of the floor.
My stomach sinks. I've been in places like this, when I had nowhere else to sleep. People don't wind up in drug dens unless they've hit the black pit beneath rock bottom.
Sure enough, in the middle of a heap, arm around a girl who looks like she could stand to gain a good fifty pounds, is a familiar blue-eyed face. This time, it's gaunt and tired-looking. A few years have passed, but Sebastian-slash-Vinny still has that same pouty mouth, the same dark hair. It's just that the mouth is peeling and dry, the hair greasy.
"Fuck, what a loser." I look over at demon Sebastian, who's sneering in hatred and disgust at himself. "I wish we could just skip this part. Hey, use your Grim magic to change it."
"I can't. You know that," I remind him. "You have to face yourself. All of it."
He looks away briefly, then back again. "Yeah. I guess I do."
We follow the gaunt Sebastian out of the abandoned building. He has his hands in his pockets, and he's trembling—not from the cold, but because he needs his next fix. Looking over his shoulder, he walks a few blocks down and over, no doubt to where he knows his dealer tends to hang.
Then he ducks inside a diner and heads towards the back, where a phone hangs in the hallway, an old school rotary phone. I find myself wondering what year it is, but realize it doesn't matter either way. Something is about to happen. Something big.
"Yo, Vinny." One of the cooks slides out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel that hangs over his shoulder. "You got a call. I wrote down the note."
"Was it Patricia? Because I'm done with her."
"No. Something new. Just call 'em back."
The cook disappears. Vinny sighs, looks at the note, and picks up the phone. My heart starts to race.
Beside me, Sebastian says, "This is it. We're about to find out how much of a scumbag I really am. I know it somehow."
"Just remember: it's all in the past. You can't change any of it."
"That's the worst part."
As Vinny takes the call, we hear the voice on the other line. A woman's voice. "Is this Vincent Salazar?"
"It is."
"There's something I need to speak to you about. It concerns a little girl, Rebecca Johnson. You see, she was adopted, but your name was on the birth certificate."
Vinny looks annoyed. Frustrated, he tells her, "I signed over my right."
"You did," the woman says, sounding more than a little disapproving. "This isn't about that. You see, Rebecca is four years old now, and she's recently been diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia. Her best chance of survival is a bone marrow transplant, but it's been difficult finding a match. Of course, her parents aren't biologically related to her. But if we could get someone who is, preferably an immediate relative like a parent, that would give her a much better chance of surviving."
Vinny leans against the wall, rubbing his brow with his thumbs, looking something between impatient and panicked. "Call her mother."
"We tried. I'm sorry to tell you this, if you didn't already know, but Ruby Green is dead. That makes you Rebecca's closest blood relative. I know it's a lot to ask, Vincent, but as her doctor, I'm asking for a reason. Can you come in to find out if you're Rebecca's match?"
Vincent-slash-Sebastian looks down at his arm. He's staring at the track marks there. His mouth purses, dry lips red at the edges. In a hollow voice he says, "Sure. What's the address?"
The scene in front of us changes again. We're in a hospital. A gaunt, pale Sebastian is sitting on an exam table, his hospital gown rolled down to his middle, ribs showing, bruises on his sides. He coughs. The doctor examining him looks at the nurse, face hard.
"Mr. Salazar, we need to talk."
"Yeah, what about?"
"Nurse, if you could give us the room."
She leaves, her expression full of disapproval. Beside me, Sebastian closes his eyes. We both know what's coming next. It's not hard to figure out.
"You have to be in good shape to donate bone marrow. To be blunt, Mr. Salazar, you need to be clean. Preferably for at least a year. In this state, you simply don't have enough red blood cells to give bone marrow."
Vinny stares the doctor down, shadows beneath his eyes. "I can get clean. Just tell me if I'm a match."
"Genetically, yes, you're likely a match given you share the same rare blood type. But physically—"
"I can do it. I can get clean." His hands tremble, and he pushes them down onto the exam table. "I swear that I can."
The doctor seems to pity him a little. In a softer voice he says, "Mr. Salazar, even if you could get clean, I'm afraid Rebecca doesn't have a good chance of survival. By the time you've been clean long enough, it'll be too late."
Just seeing the blow this news causes is enough to make me look over at Sebastian. His arms are crossed tight, his face closed down, a bitter twist to his lips. But I know what he's feeling: guilt, anger, self-loathing, and frustration.
He can't change any of this.
None of us can.
It's not a terrible surprise when the next scene we're brought to is a graveyard, or when the tombstone is small, because the grave it's set in front of is the size of a child's coffin.
A thin, pale Vinny with short-cropped hair stares at the grave. Wordless tears slide down his face. Kneeling in front of it, he presses his hand to the tombstone.
"I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your funeral." His voice slurs the words drunkenly, and I wince at the sound of it. "They wouldn't let me. The bastards. Said they were your real parents—whatever. Me and Ruby could've figured it out. No one ever gave us the chance."
Beside me, Sebastian snorts. "The pathetic loser is lying to himself."
"He's grieving," I tell Sebastian. "Try to cut him—try to cut yourself—some slack."
"I don't think he deserves any."
As we watch, Vinny pulls his belt off, and takes a needle out of his jacket. He doesn't seem to care much what's in it as he shoots himself up. Eyes fluttering closed, he slumps over on the grave, staring up into the sky, jaw slack from the drugs.
In a singsong voice he says, "Oh, Rebecca. I would've saved you if they'd let me. The bastards wouldn't let me, though. It wasn't my fault." He sniffles. "You deserved better."
Then he starts to sing a drinking song, until the drugs make him so laconic that his eyes slide closed. A while later, like nothing at all, he stops breathing.
"What a waste of a life." Sebastian walks over to his own corpse and tries to kick it, but the whole thing is an illusion, and his foot just goes through. "I killed my own daughter because I was too selfish and stupid to get sober and get a job. And I don't even have a good excuse for it. My childhood wasn't shitty. I didn't go from foster home to foster home like you. I just... sucked."
"You have to let it go," I tell him, sliding up and putting my hand on his arm. "You may not be able to save your daughter, but you can be a better man for her."
"What's the point, when I'm not a better man at all?" He looks down at me with those bitter blue eyes. "I'm a demon, Dani. I met out terrible punishments, killing and maiming people, all because that's who I am. I cause pain."
"And pleasure," I remind him.
"It doesn't change who I was, or what I did."
"Nothing can. But you can stop dwelling on it." Reaching up, I press my fingers to the corners of his bitter mouth, like I can change how he feels by changing his expression. "You aren't that man anymore. You never will be again. Now that you know who he was, though, surely you can figure out a way to face it."
"He failed her."
"But he wanted to do what was right," I reminded him. "He would have if he'd been able to, but he couldn't. He knew that. In the end, it was too late for him. That doesn't change his heart, though. It doesn't change the fact that he—you—loved your daughter."
Sebastian looks down and away, swallowing heavily, then at me again. "Do you think you could ever look at me the same way, knowing what I
've done?"
"Oh, my beloved." I press my palms to his cheeks and draw him to me. "I love you like the sun loves the moon."
We kiss, slow and tortured, bitter and sweet. The world melts around us bit by bit. I feel him let two tears loose, their salt mingling with the exploration of our mouths.
When we step back, he's holding my hands tight, and some of the bitterness has faded from his eyes. Together, we turn towards the door, and watch the black drain from the obsidian glass, then the entire slab of it shatter into a million tiny pieces.
Sebastian takes a deep breath in, then lets it out again. "Let's get the fuck outta here."
Chapter 22
There's just one problem: in order to use Gaugin's second spell, the one that lets him know it's time to wake me up, we have to be close to the gate. Right now, we're very, very far away from it.
"Use that bracelet of yours," Lynx says. "Maybe it can show us a path."
"Good idea."
Licking my lips, I press my fingers to the bracelet, which is still warm from using its magic to guide us through the dark. In my most commanding voice, I tell it, "Bring us to the gate as quickly as possible."
It flares with heat and power. I feel a whisper of seven immortal voices in my head, from cruel to kind, tricky to simple, each of them with centuries and even millennia behind them. The bracelet seems to squeeze around my elbow as it summons all of its magic to make a path for us. Golden magic flares, and my heart lifts.
It's only as the gold forms a short road in front of us that I realize I forgot to request that the path be safe.
Ask and you shall certainly receive. In this case, we've received a very short, quick path straight through the center of Hell and out again, past all its most dangerous demons.
Every one of which is turning to stare straight at us, made aware of our presence by the glowing magic of the golden path I've created, like a beacon in the night screaming KILL THESE FUCKERS.
"No problem," I tell the guys, letting my wings unfurl behind me. "We can do this."
