Never Just One Apocalypse

by Karen L Mead

  “She is just a girl, Milord,” Sylvia said quickly. “Whatever has happened is surely beyond her control.”

  Sammael looked at his servant and his anger seemed to dissipate, at least somewhat.

  “Oh, get off her, Sylvia, it’s not like I’m going to hurt her after going to all that effort to abduct her in the first place. Am I ever that wasteful?”

  Cassie couldn’t see Sylvia’s expression, but she got the distinct impression that the servant was refusing to dignify that question with a response. Gently, she let go of Cassie’s shoulders and returned to the stove.

  “Behave yourself,” she said finally. “It was many years ago that my grandmother taught me that blintz recipe; who knows, if I’m not careful I might just forget it.”

  Sammael laughed softly at that, breaking the tension. “Threats, now. This is what my household is reduced to.”

  He kept looking at Cassie, this time not with fury, but as though he was trying to figure out what to make of her. Cassie wasn’t sure what to do; she wanted to leave the room, but she didn’t know where she was supposed to go, and she wasn’t sure she could even find her way back to the guest bedroom where she had slept without help from the servants. So instead she just stood awkwardly, not meeting the demon’s eyes.

  After what felt like an eternity, Sammael picked up his coffee and finished it off in one huge gulp, breaking the tension. As Sylvia placed a heavy tray of food in front of him—only the first part of the breakfast he had ordered—he picked up his fork and knife, still keeping his eyes on Cassie.

  “I just had to sit through a meeting all about how my son is too dangerous to live and needs to be put down for the sake of the world, you know. And maybe they’re right; maybe he is too dangerous by now.”

  He played with his knife, poking his potatoes and eggs, making no move to eat them.

  “So then why do I have this nagging feeling, Cassandra Jane Tremblay, that the really dangerous one here is you?”

  Chapter 32

  Khalil came in for his Monday morning shift at The Daily Grind feeling a weird sense of muted anxiety. He knew things were going on with the entourage, dangerous things—things he should be worried about—but he also felt increasingly disconnected from the whole situation. That was the idea, of course; he should be happy that he was finally separating himself from the bizarre group of demons and vampires. Yet somehow, being separated didn’t feel like a relief; it was just confusing, this feeling of being worried but not sure just how worried he should logically be.

  To his surprise, John Golding was sitting at a table near the registers, before the shop was even open. His hair and clothes were rumpled and covered with leaves, and his bloodshot eyes seemed to be gazing at something far away, something only he could see. Khalil stopped and addressed the teacher.

  “Shouldn’t you be at home?” Khalil asked him.

  Golding continued staring straight ahead, like Khalil hadn’t spoken. Eventually he answered, but without even looking in Khalil’s direction.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going home?” Khalil asked, trying to pull the man out of the strange trance he appeared to be in.

  For a quick moment, Golding’s hazel eyes flicked to Khalil, but then he went back to his thousand-yard stare. “Probably not.”

  Khalil stifled a sigh and headed for the break room. He nodded his head to Dwight, who was opening some cardboard boxes from the morning’s shipment in front of the espresso machines.

  “Mornin’,” Dwight said, seeming distracted.

  “Morning,” Khali responded, opening the door to the break room. After looking into the room for about five seconds, he closed the door without walking in, then turned to Dwight.

  “Explain, please.”

  What Khalil had seen was Sam, sleeping on the couch in the break room. Which wouldn’t have been so odd, except his matted clothes were covered with blood, and other substances that Khalil was unwilling to identify. The whole bottom of his face was stained with dried blood so dark it was almost black, and streaks of it discolored his pale hair. In addition, he was also covered with leaves, twigs, and blades of fresh-cut grass. Miri was perched on the arm of the couch, running bloodstained fingers through Sam’s sticky hair. She had looked up when Khalil entered, expressionless, then dropped her gaze back to Sam. Khalil had not put one foot into the room.

  Dwight stood up and took off his sunglasses, cleaning them on the bottom of his polo shirt. He looked down at his glasses, not looking at Khalil.

  “Sam, uh…he fought a demon last night. One of the bad ones. He had to eat him to kill him.”

  There was a pause.

  “What?”

  Dwight put his sunglasses back on, then looked at Khalil through his opaque lenses.

  “That fairy, Dorothy, she was here a little while ago. Helped bring him in. She said he’s ‘assimilating the new consciousness,’ or something. Basically, he has to sleep for a little while, or else the other demon will take over his mind and he’ll go insane.”

  “I see,” said Khalil, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder.

  “You know, this whole two-weeks notice thing…I respect the concept, really. I think it’s a nice gesture. But I’m thinking I might want to leave a little sooner than that. Say, right this ever-loving second….”

  Dwight shrugged and turned away, unmoved.

  “If you want to go, go, I won’t hold it against you. I can’t blame you.”

  “Why don’t you go?” Khalil said, surprised at his own vehemence. “These people EAT EACH OTHER, Dwight! We need to get out of here.”

  Dwight went back to unloading his shipment, slowly and carefully. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

  “Late for who?” Khalil asked, dropping his backpack on the floor. “We’re just regular people, okay? We’re not demons, or witches, or…or even whatever the hell he is,” Khalil said, gesturing to Golding. “No offense, man.”

  “None taken,” Golding responded, without changing expression.

  “Anyway, we’re just regular-ass people. We have no reason to be in the middle of this. Come with me, okay? We can get an apartment somewhere…you can find another band that plays dated ’90s rock. You can be my wingman, or maybe I’ll be your wingman, whatever, I’m flexible. But for God’s sake, don’t stay here!”

  Dwight crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, seemingly taking Khalil seriously for the first time. “What about Mike Trepkowski, and Jay? Do they get to be part of this special club? Or are we just going to leave the kids here, to fend for themselves?”

  Khalil grunted. He wanted to walk up to Dwight and shake him by the shoulders, but managed to restrain himself. “Look, I feel bad for them, okay? But we can’t just kidnap some teenagers and take off, we’ll get arrested. We can’t save them. But maybe we can still save ourselves.”

  “So that’s your answer?” Dwight said, scratching his arm. Scratching seemed to be a gesture of irritation with him. “We just run away from a fight?”

  “It’s not our fight!” Khalil yelled, almost embarrassed by how emotional he was. “Even if we wanted to fight, there’s nothing we can do.”

  “That’s not true,” Golding said suddenly. He seemed to have snapped out of his trance from before. “Just you being here, your presence, helps. More than you can imagine.”

  “What, like the way you ‘help’?” Khalil said, turning away from Dwight to the teacher. “I don’t ever want to become like you. You didn’t just become a rat, you became this weird, I don’t know, this weird zombie-like thing. I’d kill myself if I ever became like you.”

  “Khalil!” Dwight shouted hoarsely.

  Golding looked unaffected. “You could never be like me; neither one of you. Of that, I’m sure.”

  Before Khalil could respond, he heard the sound of the break room door opening, and nearly jumped.

  “Do you know, you people are loud enough to wake the dead person in my head?” Sam said. He was rubbing his te
mple and looking at the floor, like someone with a hangover who was avoiding light. Clearly he’d washed up, because while his clothes were still a mess, at least his face was clean.

  “How are you holding up?” Dwight asked.

  Sam took a deep breath. “Okay, I think. I can still hear him, but he’s getting quieter. And I can tell the difference between my thoughts and his. I think it’ll be okay.”

  Blood dripped off of his shirt and onto the floor, and Sam swallowed. “I’ll clean that up in a minute.”

  Khalil turned to look at Sam and was unsure how to feel. Part of him was afraid, always, but there was also the sly, curious part of him that could never quite stop being intrigued by whatever was going on with him at the moment.

  “So you’ve got a whole other demon in your head now. Do you know everything he knew?” he asked.

  Sam squinted, then began rubbing his forehead gently. He kept his eyes closed. “Not really. Dot said something…something about how if I got everything in his mind, I’d go insane. Most of that information was destroyed the moment I…the moment he ceased to be. But I’m getting bits and pieces….” He shuddered. “Some of them, I could do without, though.”

  “Well, good luck with that. I’m gone,” Khalil said, picking up his backpack and throwing it over his shoulder. “I hope you’ll wake up and come with me, someday,” he said to Dwight. He turned to Golding. “And even you, if you can ever shake this weird Stepford Wife thing you’ve got going on.”

  “No thank you.”

  Khalil didn’t know if Sam was trying to say anything, because he already had his back to him and was heading toward the door. Unfortunately, before he could leave the shop, he was nearly run over by Eugene Buckley.

  “I need to speak with you,” he said to Sam, ignoring Khalil completely.

  Sam hobbled over to a table and collapsed into a chair, still keeping his eyes closed. “Eugene, this isn’t the best time.”

  Khalil should have walked out the door right then and there, but he was curious; Eugene looked pissed. He couldn’t remember ever seeing the vampire patriarch so worked up, and certainly not in front of his master. Meanwhile, Miri had come out of the break room and went to stand behind Sam’s chair. She looked fierce and protective, and Khalil wondered who she was protecting from whom; it was possible that she didn’t know, either.

  Eugene folded his hands in front of him, obviously making an effort to maintain composure. “I’m afraid this can’t wait. I understand that, as a familiar, there will come times when Ethan will need to be of service….”

  “Oh no,” Sam winced. “I needed to pull through him last night so I could get a barrier. Is he hurt?”

  “Not seriously, no,” Eugene continued. “But he was extremely frightened; I would have come sooner, but I was unwilling to leave him for some time.” He turned his gaze to Miri.

  “Miri, would you mind going to the apartment and keeping him company? Liam is with him now, but I’m sure he’d feel more comfortable if it were you.”

  “Sure,” said Miri, moving to go, but Sam grabbed her arm.

  “No…first, go to Serenus. He’s hurt, he’ll need medical attention. Probably food too. After that, you can go be with Ethan.”

  “Okay,” said Miri, her eyes flicking from Sam to Eugene. It was the first time the two of them had given her contradictory orders. Eugene gave a barely perceptible nod, and Miri began to walk forward, only Sam kept hold of her arm, pulling her back to him.

  “Why do you wait for his approval? Are my commands not sufficient?” he said in a voice thick with thinly-concealed rage.

  Miri looked more confused than afraid. “Sam?”

  Eugene continued, too consumed with trying to keep his temper under control to immediately notice what was going on. “I need you to promise me, Son of Sammael, that if you are ever to use Ethan again in this fashion, you will do so with more restraint. Surely there was no need to pull so much out of him so fast, to cause him such pain. Should you ever do this to him again—"

  Sam stood up and opened his eyes, and everyone assembled gasped; the irises of his eyes appeared to be two different sizes. The smaller one was glowing normally, if such a thing could be said to be normal, but the larger eye was strange: it seemed to be flickering, shockingly neon-bright one moment and no brighter than a firefly’s fading glow the next.

  “Have you forgotten yourself, you reeking corpse?” he said, addressing Eugene, “Who are you to tell me what to do with my servants? The boy is my familiar and I will use him as I see fit!”

  Eugene’s anger was replaced by confusion. “What has happened to him?”

  Before Khalil even realized what he was doing, he was next to Sam, elbowing him hard in the ribs. Sam grunted in pain and fell forward, supporting himself on the table.

  “That’s not you talking, friendly neighborhood hellspawn, that’s the other guy. You kick his ass out.”

  Sam took a few slow, deep breaths, then stood back up. He put his left hand over his abnormal eye, so no one could see if it was still glowing strangely.

  “Thanks…I let him float to the top for a second there. Shouldn’t have let that happen, I’m just…tired. Won’t happen again.”

  “Are you sure?” Dwight asked gently.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Sam said firmly, then he patted Miri’s arm gently, without looking at her.

  “Please, go take care of Serenus at his apartment. He was tortured, not sure for how long.”

  “On it,” Miri said, and she zoomed at the door so fast she was almost a blur.

  Sam took a few more deep breaths, then stretched. “I need a shower, maybe a few showers, and more sleep. When I get back though, I’ll do some dishes; I could use the normalcy right now.”

  “Uh, actually,” Dwight began, looking like he’d just remembered something disturbing. “You don’t need to. Guy from corporate finally dropped by with a new sanitizer yesterday.”

  Sam just stared at Dwight in disbelief, his mismatched eyes dilating.

  “What?”

  “They finally replaced our dishwasher! What was I supposed to do, say no?”

  Khalil whistled.

  “Wow, only took them eight months. Incredible.”

  Shakily, Sam got to his feet.

  “Dwight…I need to wash things. First myself, then lots of other things. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me if I can’t wash cups and saucers and plates, especially today. Please….” The last word came out as nearly a croak.

  Dwight threw up his hands. “Alright, fine! You can wash the dishes, as usual. But we’re going to start using that damn thing someday.”

  “Thank you,” Sam said. He then found some paper towels and disinfectant and began cleaning up all the places where blood had dripped off of his clothes and onto the floor.

  Eugene was still standing there, as though deep in thought.

  “So you’ve done it?” he asked. “You’ve…consumed another demon?”

  Sam shrugged as he wiped down the tiled floor. “Seems so.”

  Eugene knitted his brows. “I’ve heard of this happening, but only in theory…and never in the human world. What will the Lords of Hell make of this?”

  At this point, though he couldn’t have said exactly why, Khalil had given up all hope of ever leaving this place. He dropped his book bag behind the counter, and went to go punch in.

  “I think they’d better be real careful, unless they want to be lunch,” said Khalil.

  Chapter 33

  Sammael ate his sumptuous meal mechanically, with no apparent pleasure, staring at Cassie all the while. After a few minutes the awkwardness got to be too much and Cassie couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Look, can I go back to my room now? I’m done with breakfast.”

  Sammael slowly finished chewing a mouthful of pancake before answering her.

  “The correct way to ask to leave the table is ‘Master, may I be excused?’”

  Cassie grit her teeth to stop herself fr
om saying something snarky.

  “Master, may I be excused?” she asked, trying to keep her tone meek and respectful.

  “No, you may not,” he said, pushing his syrup-covered plate aside. “Sylvia, on the other hand, you may leave. I’ll call for you if I have need of you again.”

  “Very well,” she said, straightening her hat with its gigantic lace doily. She shot Cassie a concerned look out of the corner of her eye, but didn’t say anything further, leaving the kitchen in a few smooth strides.

  Sammael sat back from the table and loosened his tie, still looking at her with that inscrutable expression. Cassie wanted to glare back at him (and normally, probably would have), but instead, she kept averting her eyes; she had a vague feeling that meeting his eyes was a bad idea.

  Finally, he began to speak again.

  “I see it as a sign of weakness, you know. Having to reach into someone to get the answers you need. God knows, my wife can’t read minds worth a damn, yet she somehow always knows what everyone’s thinking anyway. If she can do it, so can I. Or so I thought,” he said, removing his tie and loosening his collar. He stood up from the table.

  “But I don’t have time for your mysteries anymore, your little secrets. The stakes are too high. If any of the answers can be found in your feverish little brain…then I have no choice.”

  Cassie took an automatic step back, then stopped herself. The urge to run away was strong, nearly overwhelming, but she knew it was pointless; she was in his house. She was in Hell, for that matter. Where was there to go?

  She kept looking down as he stood and leisurely crossed the distance between them, walking around the table. When he was standing beside her, he put a hand on her arm. His skin felt unnaturally warm through the thin fabric of her dress, almost hot.

  “Look at me. Let me see what you see. It’ll be easier that way.”

  “Just lie back and let it happen, huh?” Cassie said in a mocking tone, still not looking at him. It was a stupid thing to say, but trying to shame him into backing off was the only plan she could think of at the moment.