Never Just One Apocalypse

by Karen L Mead

  Sam jumped down from the tree and bolted toward the downed demon, exhilarated. John, naked except for the protection amulet around his neck, rolled sideways off of the stunned Azazel just in time for Sam to pounce on top of him. The demon’s mouth began to form placating words, but Sam could no longer hear; once Azazel was in reach, he took his right hand, put it on the demon’s lower jaw, and pulled as hard as he could. The head came off more easily than he expected, and Sam’s body was sprayed with black blood.

  He knelt there for a moment, straddling Azazel’s corpse, just holding the demon’s head in his hand. Soon, he heard some soft noises on the grass as Dot gracefully jumped down from the trees and came up behind him.

  “You must kill him,” she said.

  Sam turned and looked at her. At first glance she was calm and composed as usual, but the movement of her chest indicated that she was out of breath. “Kill him, or else he’ll come back.”

  He shook the severed head slowly back and forth in his hand, raising an eyebrow at her, but she shook her head. “No, you have only destroyed his earthly form. To truly kill him, you must destroy his essence; that is the only way.”

  “Do it!” John yelled from about ten feet away. He was on all fours, panting, still recovering from shape-shifting. The protection amulet on his chest was glowing, illuminating the thick sheen of sweat on his naked body. “End him!”

  Sam dropped the head onto the grass; it made a muddled thump noise, oddly mundane. He opened and closed his hand, the blood making it sticky.

  “But how do I….”

  Then he looked more closely at Azazel’s ruined body, and knew. Deep within the torso, he could see a faint blue shape beginning to coagulate. Given enough time, the blue light would reform, regain all its knowledge as bestowed from the Divine, and be able to assume any shape Azazel wished. He didn’t know how long it would take—minutes, days, weeks—but it would happen, as it had happened countless times before. That was the way of things.

  Looking at the ruined body, his viscera-stained clothes, and the frozen expression of horror on the severed head next to him, at first all he could feel was an overwhelming sense of disgust. He leaned over and very nearly gagged, repulsed by what he had done.

  And yet, as the faint blue light began to glow with more strength, more energy, Sam felt an odd, incongruous feeling that drove the nausea away: hunger. At first it was just a pang, a tingle at the front of the tongue, but in a matter of seconds, Sam felt that he had never been so ravenously hungry in his entire life.

  “Go away,” he croaked, having trouble forming words as his mouth filled with saliva. “Don’t watch this.” He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Dot, John Golding, or whatever gods might be watching.

  “I must bear witness,” said Dot quietly.

  Golding raised himself to his knees, but made no move to leave. If he was embarrassed by his nakedness, he didn’t show it.

  “There’s no shame in doing what you were made to do,” Golding said softly.

  “Don’t you talk to me about what I’m ‘made’ for,” Sam snapped. But then the hunger became too overwhelming, and he was no longer conscious of what he was doing.

  Chapter 31

  When Cassie awoke, a soft hand was on her shoulder, shaking her gently.

  “Miss Cassie. It is time for breakfast.”

  Through half-opened eyes, Cassie saw the blurry figure of Lisette sitting on the side of her bed. At first she snuggled under the covers, prepared to do her typical “five more minutes,” routine, but then the image of the disintegrating skeleton she had seen in the mirror forced its way violently into her mind’s eye, and she was suddenly fully awake. She sat bolt upright in bed and pulled back from Lisette, feeling an odd prickling sensation on her bare shoulder where the strange creature had touched her.

  Lisette pursed her lips, looking somber but not surprised.

  “Milady, I know the sight of me must frighten you, but I am what you see, not a pile of bones.” Gently, she held out an arm for Cassie to examine.

  Cassie didn’t want to touch her, but her curiosity began to get the better of her. The girl’s arm looked so clean, so healthy, with soft blond down and several copper-colored beauty marks lightly dappling the skin; which was the illusion, the girl, or the skeleton?

  Tentatively she touched Lisette’s forearm with her fingertips, realizing quickly that the skin was exactly as soft as it looked. She wrapped her hand gently around the arm, feeling the weight of it, and felt strongly that the girl’s body was as healthy and full of life as her own. Relieved, her fear of Lisette retreated.

  Cassie sat forward, stretching. She was wearing an odd muslin nightgown that looked like it was hundreds of years old; strangely, she’d found it oddly comfortable, and had slept well.

  “But if you’re not a skeleton, then why did the mirror…where did that come from?”

  Lisette stood up off the bed, her long white skirt twirling gracefully with every movement. She looked at her own arms, as though considering them for the first time in a while.

  “Here, I keep the shape that I had in your world; for better or for worse. The mirror only shows what I would look like in your world, were I not in the service of Lord Sammael,” Lisette said evenly.

  Cassie got out of bed and stretched again, frowning.

  What’s the point of having the mirror at all, then? Is it just to remind Sammael’s servants that they can’t ever go back? Seems like a dick move, even for him.

  “If you are at ease now, shall we go down to breakfast? Milord wishes you to break your fast.”

  Cassie began following Lisette out of the elaborately furnished guest bedroom. When they reached the hallway, Lisette’s slippered feet quickly moved toward a part of the house that Cassie hadn’t seen yet. The two of them went down a staircase, much plainer and narrower than the glittering marble stairs in the main hallway, then ended up coming in through the back door of the kitchen.

  Cassie was surprised. Unlike the rest of the house, the kitchen looked positively plain. The gray-tiled floor looked clean, but homely. The walls were taken up by a modern stove, a refrigerator, and other typical appliances, but the only other thing in the room (aside from the many pots and pans that were suspended above the countertops) was a large wooden table. A small vase of fresh, purple flowers adorned the center of the table, but that was the only decoration in the entire room. Sylvia was hard at work in front of one of the stoves, and the familiar smells of sizzling eggs, butter, and bacon filled the air.

  Seeing Cassie’s confusion, Lisette explained.

  “Milord requested that you take your meals here, instead of the formal dining room. If you find it unsatisfactory, we can bring in more—”

  “No, it’s fine,” Cassie said, cutting her off. “I like it just the way it is.”

  Lisette gestured to the table, and Cassie sat down. Lisette pushed in the back of Cassie’s chair with a professional air, then left the room. A matter of seconds later, Sylvia had placed a full tray of breakfast in front of her.

  Cassie looked at her food quizzically. She had smelled the eggs and bacon, but had wondered if it was really a trick, and the food they served here would actually look like some bizarre monstrosity, with guts and eyeballs hanging out. But no, this looked like a typical breakfast from any halfway decent diner: scrambled eggs, home-fried potatoes, three strips of crispy bacon, and buttered white toast.

  Sylvia was still standing nearby, folding her hands primly. “This is the best breakfast you will find in all of Realm,” she said with no small amount of pride. “Milord keeps his own chickens and cows on the grounds, so I can make all the same foods from the human realm, without compromise. No other lord takes such care with his provisions,” she said. She didn’t say so outright, but implied in her tone was the suggestion that all the other lords were clearly inferior for their lack of attention to this most critical matter.

  Tentatively, Cassie picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite; it was just
as crispy, fatty, and delicious as any bacon she’d ever had. Just like Lisette’s willowy figure, the food was as real as it looked.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Sylvia asked. Cassie, her mouth too full of bacon to respond, nodded quickly. In just a moment, the servant woman returned with a silver carafe and a beautiful glass mug, etched with intricate designs. She filled the mug with such a practiced air that Cassie wondered if the woman had been a waitress during her life; she almost asked, but decided against it. At Cassie’s request, Sylvia went to the refrigerator and got a small carton of milk for Cassie to add to her coffee. Cassie didn’t ask, but she had a feeling that if she’d asked for cream, or soy milk, or pretty much anything, the woman would have been able to accommodate her.

  “So where is S—I mean, Lord Sammael this morning?” Cassie asked as she stirred a teaspoon of milk into her coffee. She had almost called him by his name without a title, but she was afraid that would scandalize Sylvia.

  The servant woman had begun cleaning up her pans in the sink.

  “Otherwise engaged.” Her tone made it clear that when her master was not at home, it was not her place to know his business, certainly not to comment upon it.

  “Oh,” said Cassie, sheepishly. She was oddly disappointed that the demon wasn’t here to sit down to breakfast with her, and wasn’t sure what to make of that.

  Am I insane? Do I actually want to spend time with him? Or is it more like, when in Rome….

  There were a few moments of companionable silence while Cassie finished her breakfast and Sylvia cleaned, quietly but efficiently. After Cassie had cleaned her plate and was nursing her coffee, she turned sideways in her chair so she could see her companion.

  “Hey, um, do you mind if I ask you a few things?”

  Sylvia did not look up from the sink, where she was scrubbing a copper frying pan with great gusto.

  “You may ask whatever you like, Miss. I cannot promise good answers, but you won’t upset me by asking.”

  Cassie took another sip of coffee. It was strong, astringent, and oddly…familiar?

  “I, uh, I don’t know how to say this without being rude, so I’m just going to say it. Are you a dead person? Is this the afterlife for you?”

  To Cassie’s relief, Sylvia didn’t look aggravated at the question and instead seemed perfectly calm. “No, young Miss. I sold my soul to Lord Sammael when I was still alive, so in a way, I never died. Lisette is the same. There is no grave with my name on it anywhere in your world.”

  Cassie took a moment to process that information.

  “So is that what all the people who are here are like? The ones that aren’t demons, I mean,” Cassie clarified.

  Sylvia finished her cleaning and turned toward Cassie, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “What is it you really wish to ask, Miss?”

  “Where are all the dead people? This is where dead people go, isn’t it?”

  Sylvia looked at Cassie thoughtfully, like she was taking her measure. “They do,” she allowed, “but you are unlikely to see any nearby. They are kept…elsewhere.”

  When Cassie didn’t respond, the woman continued. She clasped her hands in front of her, once again looking like she was about to sit down to church service.

  “Those who come while alive, like Lisette and I, we keep our faculties. We are mostly the same as when we lived in your world. The true dead however…they fade. Some more quickly than others, but they all do.” As if remembering something, she suddenly knelt, pulled some cleaning supplies out from under the sink, and began wiping down the stove. “That is why the Lords do not have them serve in their houses. They would soon forget everything, and need to be replaced. Very impractical.”

  “I see,” Cassie said, taking another sip of coffee. She wanted to ask Sylvia more questions about how this realm worked, not knowing when she would get another opportunity like this. However, the more of this coffee she drank, the more something was beginning to bother her.

  “Does Lord Sammael have his own coffee plantation too?” she asked.

  “No, child, though I’ve no doubt he would like it. He gets this supply from your world—from your very shop, I believe.”

  Cassie nearly let out a gasp.

  THAT’s why the order at Daily Grind is always a few bags of coffee short! I have to tell Dwight!

  “Why would he do that?” Cassie wondered aloud. “I mean our coffee is okay and all, but it’s hardly the best coffee ever. He could get the really expensive stuff, if he wanted.”

  Sylvia smiled, and her dark eyes twinkled. It was a warm, friendly smile, which made her look more like someone’s grandmother than ever. “He has not shared his reasoning with me. However, I have my suspicions,” she said, her smile growing wider.

  Before Cassie could inquire further, a door slammed somewhere, and Cassie nearly jumped out of her chair. She turned around and saw that Sammael had entered the kitchen, wearing his usual suit. He looked irritated, which immediately put her on her guard.

  Still, despite the displeasure that was clear from his posture, when he turned to his servant, his face and voice were kindly. “Sylvia, I need your full arsenal today. Garden omelet, bacon, sausages, blueberry pancakes, peach waffles, hash browns, and sour cream blintzes—and not the flimsy ones, your grandmother’s recipe! God bless that crazy woman.”

  Sylvia gave a nod of assent and swiftly began preparing his meal.

  “It will all be ready shortly, my Lord.”

  As Sylvia filled the kitchen with pleasant cooking noises, Sammael sat down at the table, across from Cassie. At first, he slumped back in the chair. Then to her surprise, he leaned forward and put his forehead on the table.

  “I think I made a boo-boo,” he said.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Cassie. It was odd how domestic it all felt, like she was a rich wife in her mansion and Sammael a husband who had just finished his weekly game of golf.

  Sammael turned his head to the side.

  “My son, our mutual burden. Borrowing you without asking seems to have done a number on him. I knew it would, but I thought that would end up being someone else’s problem, not mine.”

  “What did he do?” Cassie asked, immediately worried. She couldn’t help but imagine Sam storming into Realm, fighting off demons left and right, trying to get her back. She was pretty sure that even he wouldn’t do something that reckless, but still….

  Sammael sighed and sat back up in the chair, resting his hands on the table. “He killed and ate another demon last night.”

  Cassie’s jaw dropped. She was still stuck on the “killed” part; she filed the “and ate” part away, to worry about later. “A half-demon? Whose son was it? Someone important?”

  “That’s just the problem,” Sammael said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t anyone’s son, it was an original, capital-D Demon, Azazel. No one liked the guy, that’s for damn sure, but still, this kind of thing doesn’t happen. I was just at an emergency meeting for three whole hours over it.”

  Syliva paused in her cooking and turned to Sammael, putting her hands to her face. “Oh my, Lord Azazel! How can this be? What will they do to the young Lord?”

  It took Cassie a moment to realize that the only person ‘young Lord’ could refer to was Sam.

  “Don’t burn my eggs, sweets,” Sammael said dismissively, not looking at her. “Anyway, they wanted to throw the boy into the fire pit with Satan—and me too, while they were at it—but even they’re not that stupid. These are difficult times, and now we’re a man down as it is. Punishment will have to wait.” Too impatient to wait for Sylvia, Sammael waved his hand and produced a cup of coffee for himself, in a twin to the mug that Cassie was using.

  “Why is it that whenever that boy does anything to make me even a little proud of him, it always involves murdering someone? Why couldn’t he just get a part in a Broadway musical or something?”

  Cassie stood up, feeling too nervous to continue sitting. She was trying to file away all the information
that Sammael was giving her, but it was a lot to take in.

  “Satan is here?”

  Sammael made a derisive snort over his coffee cup. “Yes, cupcake, Satan is in hell. Don’t take this personally, but I’m afraid you may not be Ivy League-material if that one is news to you.”

  Cassie paused for a moment, not quite sure what she wanted to say. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about Sam’s predicament, but the reminder that Satan was nearby triggered some strange impulse in here.

  “Is Satan…alright?” she asked. It sounded lame to her, like the world’s dumbest question, but it was the only way she could think of to verbalize what she was thinking.

  Sammael stopped moving for a moment, just looking at her with a blank expression. Then he slowly, deliberately, put his coffee down on the wooden table. Sylvia appeared quickly to slip a coaster under his glass mug.

  “No, he’s not. In fact, he’s been throwing himself against the walls of the pit, trying to get out, ever since last night…ever since I brought you here, in fact. That’s another thing we discussed at the meeting.” He continued staring at her for a while, and she couldn’t keep eye contact with him, dropping her eyes to the tiled floor. It felt cowardly, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t have a staring contest with him when he had that kind of look in his eyes; something beyond furious. Something cold, because the heat of the anger had burned out millennia ago, yet the rage was still there, contained and perfectly quiet.

  “I don’t suppose you know anything about why Satan has been in such a state?” he said finally, his sarcastic tone of voice making it clear that he suspected her of knowing quite a bit. “I don’t suppose you’d like to share with the class?”

  To Cassie’s surprise, Sylvia was suddenly standing behind her. She put her aged, blue-veined hands on Cassie’s shoulders.