by E. A. Copen
Then Christian did the unthinkable.
Evette was tied to the bed naked, one limb to each corner. Someone had shoved a gag in her mouth, which explained why her screams had been muffled. She was cut open, thick sacs of bloody jelly lying around her. So much blood...it was everywhere. There couldn’t possibly be any of it left inside her.
Christian stood at the head of the bed, his ritual knife in hand, except it wasn’t Christian. It was some strange angelic imitation, a version with bloody white wings. Gore dripped down the feathers in chunks, staining him and the floor. He was a newborn child, covered in afterbirth. His box of pain stood open next to him, the light strobing too fast. In his arms, a bloody mass squirmed and gurgled, desperate to draw its first breath.
It took me three, maybe four seconds to deduce the purpose of the circles, the patterns, and what they meant.
“Good of you to join us, Josiah.” Christian raised his head.
I stared at the scene in shock. “What did you do?”
“She was going to kill it. I couldn’t let her do that.” He shifted the child so I could see. “Come hold your daughter, Josiah.”
I burned him alive. Burned them all, except for Maggie.
I should’ve known what he was planning. It had been right there in front of me the entire time. He’d spent days drilling magic into my head, all the sources for the most powerful spells. There was blood, yes, and some had the natural talent to draw on will, but there were three particularly powerful sources anyone with even a spark of talent could draw on: life, death, and orgasm. So much energy was thrust into the world during any of those three events that the impossible could become possible.
Christian wanted god-like power, so he’d gathered his worshippers—me, Danny, Spyder, Evette, and the rest—and bred Evette and me like animals. Evette was a talented wizard herself, and the child we’d made together, by all accounts, should’ve been immensely powerful. Christian had helped her along, infusing the child growing inside Evette with more and more magic. He didn’t care about the consequences, only that the child was born powerful.
When he murdered Evette, he seized the power of her death and of Maggie’s birth all at once for his ascension, transforming his body and his power into something else. Something…different. Had I followed through and murdered my newborn daughter, I would’ve released all her magic into the world, the final ingredient he needed to become whatever it was he wanted to be.
I told myself I should’ve killed her too. What kind of world had I brought her into? But she was just so small and helpless and alive. Evette and I had made a new life and it felt like a miracle, so Maggie lived. Christian died. I sealed Maggie’s magic and gave her a chance at a normal life.
Or so I had hoped.
The bathroom door opened, and Stefan came in. I figured he was there for a piss, but the shower curtain slid aside, and he climbed into the shower with me. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, but I supposed neither was he. Instead, he started kissing my shoulders.
I closed my eyes. Maybe a good fuck would get them out of my mind—the images of death. But when I closed my eyes, they were still there, Evette’s corpse ripped open, Danny’s blood on my hands, the flesh melting off Christian’s face, his bloody wings aflame.
“Stop.” I pushed him back.
He sighed and drew a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do to help.”
“Don’t you get it, Stefan? You can’t help. This is my past, my problem, my sin. All I’ve done by bringing you here is drag you through the sewage of my history with me.”
He cupped the side of my face. “That’s not true. I want to be here.”
I searched his face and saw only honesty. Christ, it was true. He’d follow me anywhere, do anything I asked of him. He’d killed for me, and he’d do it again. He’d have died for me.
My throat was suddenly dry, although it felt like I was drowning in that shower. “Why?”
“Because I love you,” he answered.
I shook my head. “No, why me? I’m mean. I’m selfish. I’d rather fight, fuck, drink, and smoke than listen. I’m hateful, Stefan. How can you love someone so hateful?”
“You’re not hateful, Josiah.” He ran a thumb over my cheek, wiping away beads of water. “You’re hurt. Hurt people build walls to protect them, so they never get hurt again. I’ve seen through your walls. Underneath all the pain, the hate, and the lashing out, you’re a good person. Seeing that side of you is like the sunrise after a long, dark night. When I’m with you, everything is better, even when you are being an asshole. I would walk through fire if it meant I got to see that side of you one more time.” He cradled my chin and kissed me. “You’re the drug I’ll never get enough of.”
I swallowed and put my hand on his chest, staring at the scorpion tattoo. He’d told me a story once of scorpions, frogs, and the nature of things. Maybe it was Stefan’s nature to love the unlovable. Maybe not. I knew what mine was. My nature was to be a selfish, hateful bastard. Alone.
“Stefan, I…” I swallowed again, my tongue like sandpaper. “I—”
The room phone rang.
With a curse, I stumbled out of the shower, jerked down the nearest towel, and wrapped it around my waist to go back into the main room and answer the phone. “Yeah, what?”
“You’ll be pleased to know the fuckwit—as you so lovingly call him—managed to survive,” said a sultry feminine voice.
Khaleda.
I sighed and sank to the bed, the phone to my ear. “And did you get the army you were hoping for?”
“I did, and more. I have what I need to meet Leviathan and Beelzebub in battle, despite my losses in Faerie. With our victory there, more allies flock to our cause every day. Taking the throne shouldn’t be a challenge if I proceed right.”
Battle in Faerie? I had no idea what she was talking about, but then, she’d been in New Orleans for a few days. A few days with the Pale Horseman could feel like a lifetime. At least she had good news. “Right, then. That’s good news. Anything else?”
“My sources say you’re in Los Angeles. I’m boarding a flight for there in just a few moments. I figure whatever you’re doing, you could use a hand.”
“No,” I said quickly. “No, Khaleda. It’s…personal business.”
The phone creaked as she shifted it. “I thought you said something was going on with your daughter?”
“Fucking hell, Khaleda! Is this line secure?”
“Probably.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Look, I’ve got it handled. The best thing you can do is confront Beelzebub and Leviathan. Put up a fight for your throne.”
“Well, as luck would have it, both of them are meeting with Remiel in Los Angeles tomorrow night to talk terms. I think he wants to try to negotiate his way to the throne—like they’d allow it. It’s more likely they’ll all try to assassinate each other, which is why I need to be there. I plan on assassinating them too.”
It was bloody stupid of them to all be in the same place at the same time. Ballsy, too, especially since Remiel had used his real name on the contract and made no attempt to hide that he’d taken Maggie. It was almost as if…
I shot to my feet. “Shit, Khaleda, it’s a trap. Don’t get on that plane.”
“But I’ve already got my ticket and dropped off my luggage.”
“Remiel has Maggie. He knew I’d come for her. He might’ve even put her up to calling me. I don’t know for certain yet, but this stinks of a trap. Getting all of us in one place? It’s sure to go badly.”
She sighed, sounding bored. “Well, of course, it’s a trap, Josiah. But if I don’t come, you’ll rush in without any backup and get yourself killed.”
The shower shut off. I glanced toward the bathroom, expecting Stefan to step out, but he didn’t right away. “I have Stefan.”
“Oh, please. You can’t honestly tell me you plan to confront Remiel with just the two of you? Remember what happened last time?”
“Of course, I do. Michael swooped in and revived him. He’ll probably do it again, too. I can’t kill Remiel without taking out Michael first. I haven’t forgotten.”
“And your plan to do that is?”
I imagined her tapping her foot impatiently. She had a point. Up until we interrogated Ron, I thought I was working a rescue mission, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Remiel had bought Maggie’s contract, essentially framing himself to be her savior. He could tell her any narrative he wanted, and she’d have no reason not to believe him. Until I knew what story he’d spun, I didn’t know what I was up against, but I did know I couldn’t just bust in and kill him. Not only did I need Khaleda’s angel-killing knife, but I needed to find a way to summon Michael first. That was more likely to happen at this gathering between the contenders for Hell’s throne. I could free Maggie without Khaleda’s help, but having it would make the job that much easier.
I laid back on the bed, pinching the bridge of my nose to ward off the coming headache. “Where’s this meeting supposed to take place?”
Khaleda laughed. “Now, if I tell you that, you’ll just hang up on me, and I might never hear from you again. No, how about you pick me up at the airport in a few hours, and then I’ll tell you what I know?”
“You’re the biggest pain in my arse, Khaleda, you know that? Guess I have no choice. Call me when you get in. You have my new cell number, yeah?”
“Of course. Josiah? Take care of yourself until I get there.”
“Don’t I always?” I hung up as Stefan came out of the bathroom wearing the other towel. “Khaleda’s coming to town, but there’s something I have to take care of before she gets in. Have a few hours before then, though. Did you call for food?”
“One ham, pineapple, and onion pizza, just like always.” He sank onto the end of the bed, his back to me. “How far is this going to go, Josiah?”
I grabbed my ciggies from my pants pocket, along with the lighter, and lit up. “What do you mean?”
He twisted around, one hand on the mattress. “I mean, Maggie made choices that brought her to where she is. Maybe she was a victim at first, but she kept making choices that made things worse. And then she calls you with some vague plea for help after her contract has been bought up? If we save her this time, do we save her next time? Do we stay here and put her through rehab? What do we do with her kid? Do you know what happens to babies who’re born addicted? If they survive, they need a lifetime of care.”
“Awfully hypocritical of you to judge an addict, Stefan.”
“I’ve never had a child, Josiah. And I got clean. Even after, when I was selling pills, I never sold to pregnant women.”
“But you got ‘em hooked and fed their habits, didn’t you? Profiting from suffering. Don’t come to me on your high horse, Stefan.”
“I’m not. I’m just…” He rubbed his face with both hands. “Maggie has to want to be saved, Josiah. Even then, you know you’re going to have to come clean to her about who you are. Who she is. What she is.”
“What the child she’s carrying might become, you mean.” I leaned back, letting the smoke pool over my head. “Cursed like me, part angel. Damned? Don’t you think that’s what I’m going over in my own head again and again? Trying to find the words. It’s going to hurt her to know. How do you tell your daughter you abandoned her, even if it was in hopes of a better life? How do you tell her she’s powerful, and that you hid her power for her own good? In her mind, I abandoned her, left her powerless to become prey. Even if I save her, I’m the villain of this story, Stefan. And maybe she’s not wrong to think that.”
“You don’t know that, Josiah.”
I met and held his eyes. So innocent, despite all they’d seen, those dark eyes. How could he not see it? “I’m a monster who fights worse monsters. I’m not a hero just because they’re worse than me. Deep down, I’m as violent and hateful as they are. There’s nothing I won’t do to win, Stefan. Nothing.”
“You wouldn’t sacrifice someone you love.” He said it with such certainty that I almost believed it. That was the thing, wasn’t it? The big difference between us. Despite all the darkness he’d endured, Stefan still wanted to believe there was good in everyone. He wanted so badly for people to be able to change, to become better, that he fought his own nature to affirm that belief.
I knew all too well that sometimes the greatest magic could only be achieved through sacrifice. The greater the sacrifice, the more powerful the spell. Taking Remiel and Michael down? Now, that would require one hell of a spell.
The pizza man’s knock on the door interrupted our talk, and Stefan went to get it. Being Stefan, that meant he spent a good five minutes flirting with the poor kid before he brought the pizza in. We ate in strained silence, not facing each other until it became too much for even me to bear. If I didn’t shatter the quiet, I’d lose my mind.
“This thing I have to do before Khaleda gets here—it’s the last half of a spell,” I explained. “A big one. A horrible one. I won’t ask you to come, but I won’t stop you if you want to. Just know that once you see what I can do, what I’m really capable of, your opinion of me might change. You might even hate me.”
“I could never hate you.” It was a lie, a beautiful lie that was easy to utter but difficult to maintain. He would hate me before we left Los Angeles—if we even got the chance to leave.
Chapter Ten
Josiah
Night in Los Angeles was its own beast. Heat rose from the blacktop, the parking lots, and the sidewalks, dancing in a sweet, sultry, scorching mirage. From the sky, cool darkness rained down, kissing the heat of the day, drinking it slowly in until all that was left was the chill. At sunrise, the city would warm, and the cycle would begin anew. In the dark, the cool reigned supreme.
I stepped out of the cab in front of the Hollywood Sunset Motel just after the last light faded from the orange sky. Stefan got out on the other side, the uneasiness from before stretching between us like a thin thread. I had tried to convince him to stay behind and let me do what needed to be done, but he wouldn’t listen. I had warned him about who I was and tried to spare him the horror of seeing it firsthand, but some people can’t be saved.
Room Twenty waited ahead, just like I’d left it. My stomach clenched as I approached, my footsteps hollow. The key slid in, but before I could turn the lock, Eosyn jerked open the door. Despite knowing who and what she was—and what it would cost to indulge—my body couldn’t help but respond to the memory of her touch.
She opened the door wider and leaned against the doorway. Her hands went to her distended belly. “You’re just in time. I’ve been having contractions for hours.”
“It’s ready, then?” I shifted my bag in my grip.
Eosyn glanced past me, her brooding gaze settling on Stefan. “You brought your lover. I didn’t expect an audience.”
I pushed past her, stepping into the room. “No need to be shy around him. He’s not interested in anything you’ve got to offer.”
She stepped in front of him, caressing his chest and blocking his entry. “Maybe he just hasn’t sampled the right forbidden fruit.”
A stranger might’ve called Stefan’s smile good-natured. Knowing him as well as I did, I knew it was venomous. “If we're honest, I’ve always been more of a carnivore.” He shoved her aside by the shoulder and came into the room.
Eosyn took one more quick look at the parking lot before slamming the door shut and locking it. “Should I be expecting anyone else? Maybe I should’ve brought popcorn.”
I placed my bag on the ratty chair and opened it, drawing out what I would need to complete the spell. There weren’t many ingredients left. A white cotton cloth. Scalpel. Gloves. The hard part, we’d already done. This next bit would be easy and yet hard for even me to stomach.
Eosyn dropped her robe and crawled, nude, onto the bed. If I hadn’t seen her only the night before, I would’ve thought nine months had passed. Her face had grown thicker,
her womb swollen, breasts bigger and rounder like a mother with child. In a twisted sort of way, I supposed she was.
“What’s going to happen?” Stefan whispered.
“Magic,” I replied, drawing the final ingredient: a near-fatal dose of morphine in a syringe. “What else?”
Stefan looked from me to Eosyn, doing the math. He might not have been a mage like me, nor a Nephilim, but he understood how magic was done: that the power granted was equal to the price paid. There was no greater currency in the world of magic than the blood of an innocent.
Eosyn spread her legs and gripped the headboard behind her. We stood aside as she turned her face heavenward, breathing, grunting, sweating, pushing. There was nothing to be done until her task was complete.
I watched in silence, a worn white towel from the dingy bathroom tossed over my arm. Long ago, to call something women’s work was to assert it was light and easy. How wrong that assessment was. This was women’s work—the bringing of new life into the world through pain and suffering. In Genesis, it was written: “You shall bring forth children in pain.” Such was the price of her sin.
The tale of Adam and Eve was a harsh one, written to explain the cruelty of God and his punishment for the first sin. If such a thing ever truly happened, and the tale of the Fall of Man was as it is written, then life itself was punishment. Life was pain. From first breath to last, mankind was made to suffer, yet the same book claimed we had been made in His image. Perhaps God was suffering, and pain was the only true worship for a creator so full of spite he’d damn a whole race for the crimes of one.
Eosyn moaned, sweaty palms slipping from where she held the metal headboard. “It comes!”
I crawled onto the bed, the towel stretched between two hands like a net. The sheets around her were soaked in blood and sweat, slick and dark, but the head had crowned, twisted and misshapen thing that it was. She screamed and pushed. I gripped and pulled the beast free.
He was smaller than a human child, malformed even for a homunculus. Two lidless, bulging eyes stared out at the world without pupils, white, unseeing, and cloudy. He had no nose, just a flap of limp skin between his eyes and above his slit mouth. Translucent skin revealed thick, gnarled veins beneath, and he had a deformed spine with stunted wings.
