by Ivy Asher
They all stare at me for a minute, making me squirm.
“Could be an angel…” Echo observes.
I’m about to smile at the compliment when his brow crinkles and his eyes turn accusatory. “Who sent you here to spy on us?”
I take a step back “Spy?”
“Yes,” he barks. “An angelic spy. Is that what you are?”
“Hmm… She is almost ethereally beautiful,” Crux states, and I feel a blush creep into my cheeks.
“Awwww, you think I’m angel-level beautiful?” I ask, awed and super-flattered despite the fact that they’re saying it like it’s a bad thing.
“Called it,” Echo declares, raising his hands like he’s won some great victory. “Angels are vain as fuck. She’s totally a Heavenly spy.”
I sputter as all eyes turn to me. Despite things flying out of their mouths that would normally be praise, the looks on their faces make it clear that none of the shit they’re spewing is complimentary. They look downright furious.
I take another step back, but a growl leaks out of Jerif’s mouth, and I freeze. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. There’s nothing Heavenly about me. I couldn’t be further from an angel,” I defend, but they’re clearly not sold. Shit.
“I had sex before marriage,” I blurt out. “That’s a big no-no, right? I’ve had a ton of it. I like sex, and I’m not sorry at all,” I finish, as though the confession solves everything.
Echo scoffs. “You and everyone else. Proves nothing. Angels have sex all the time.”
I stare at him, aghast. Damn, who knew angels were so pro-fornication? “Fine,” I reply, my mind spinning as I try to prove to them that I’m not an angelic spy. “I...uhh...I don’t like doves. Bird of peace? Fuck that, they freak me out.”
Echo just arches an unimpressed brow.
I snap my fingers as another thought comes to me. “I once made a Tinder profile and pretended to be a hot dude to fuck with my old bitchy coworker, Courtney.”
Still nothing.
“Another time, I had a one-night stand, but then I found another one-night stand during my walk of shame, and I wasn’t even embarrassed about it because he was hotter. Oh...” I exclaim, really getting into this now, “I covet shit, like all the time. And I refuse to share dessert with anyone. I would rather stab you with a fork than give you a bite of my food. I also spent many of my bartending shifts wishing I could beat the shit out of people, and I get this black haze of doom that comes into my vision and makes me go a little ragey.”
Echo snorts, but I’m relieved, because he and the others are finally losing the edge of suspicion that was sharpened in their expressions. “My, my, we have quite the evil sinner on our hands,” he states flatly.
I glare at him. “You know what? ‘Thou shalt not murder’ might be crossed off the bucket list real quick if you keep fucking with me.”
Echo blows me a kiss.
“I’m just saying...” Crux speaks up, interrupting the escalating tension, “she could be what we need. She could be the one,” he adds with a sigh, like he’s bored of arguing.
Hold the fuck up. The one? “I’m not the one.”
“I agree with her,” Jerif says, and for some reason, that pisses me off, because how the fuck does he know? Maybe I am the one they need. Yeah, yeah, I’m going from hot to cold here, but fuck it. My waffle is a hot fucking mess right now, and this lava-haired bastard is trying to put mustard on it.
“Like I said, we’d have to test her to make sure,” Iceman says again.
Going into Hell? Yeah, pass.
“How do we even do that?” Jerif asks irritably.
Iceman casts me a cursory look. “We’d have to take her down and then see which Ring Gates she can pass through.”
I interject. “Just to be clear, when you say Ring Gate…”
“The Gates leading to each Ring of Hell,” he clarifies.
I nod slowly. “Cool, cool.”
Totally not cool. I want it stated on the record that I am one hundred percent not cool with going down into Hell to see which Ring I can go through like it’s a security check at the airport. I am not getting cavity searched in Hell.
Jerif and the others move closer and start talking in their weird language again, their movements animated. I’m not even sure what their demon language would be called. Demonian? Demonish? Language of: I Need to Get the Fuck out of Here? Yeah, probably that one.
I watch them, still holding my scythe, as they argue in English and in Demon-ish over the Hellgate test I should or should not take. I hate tests. I always failed them in school because it was just too much pressure. Okay, and sure, I never studied either, but the point is, tests are evil. And a test to see which Hellgates I can pass through? That sounds worse than the SATs.
The four of them seem to come to some kind of agreement though, because they exchange a few more words and then turn back to look at me. Jerif looks pissed, Echo looks thoughtful, and Crux looks worried. I can’t read Iceman’s expression at all.
“It’s decided,” Iceman-Rafferty states. “We’re going to take you through the Gates to test you. Once we know what Ring you’re from, we’ll make it official and get you inducted as our fifth.”
I wait for him to keep talking, but he just ends his sentence right there. “Your fifth what?”
“Gate Guardian,” he answers. “Once that happens, you’ll be inducted and tied to the four of us for all eternity...or until the authorities assign a different fifth, but that could take eons.”
“Or until she dies,” Jerif mutters under his breath, making my gray eyes widen.
Iceman shoots him a look. “That won’t happen. She’s powerful enough to sustain it.”
“So if I don’t die, what does a fifth do?” I ask warily.
“Basically, it will be your obligation to keep the Hellgate stable and monitor the demons who pass in and out. It’s our duty as Hellgate Guardians to maintain the balance.”
Yeah, I’m going to have to go with a cool no on that. But I nod, like that’s all perfectly reasonable. “Mm-hmm,” I say.
“We’ve never had a woman Guardian before,” Echo points out, his eerie black eyes seeming to swirl with shadows. “Hopefully, the Gate doesn’t chew her up and spit her out.”
“Indeed. She’ll have to learn to fight,” Iceman replies.
Yep. Harder hard pass. Hard passes all around. If there was a hard pass hall monitor around, I’d want a ticket.
“Right. Cool. Okay,” I nod again.
The five of us just stare at each other for a second, and then without warning, I just turn around and run like my ass is on fire because fuck this.
I sprint my squeaky leather-clad ass out of the room as fast as my boots will carry me. I hear my name being shouted, but I just take the stairs three at a time and get the fuck out of dodge. I don’t stop moving through the maze of stairways and hallways, and by some miracle, I manage to make it to a side door that leads outside.
I run across the gravel, head around to the front, racing as fast as my feet will carry me all the way to my moped. I hop on, realizing that I still have the fucking scythe in my hand, but there’s no chance in hell I’m going to go hand it back to them. I could just drop it, but that just feels wrong. So instead, I set it in my lap and claim finders keepers. I shove my helmet on, gun the engine, and peel out of the driveway faster than a bat out of a Hellgate.
“Nope, nope, nope, nope,” I say to myself as the wind rushes past me as I race down the street.
I spend the whole drive home checking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed, while still somehow balancing the scythe-walking stick in my lap. When I nearly jab it into a passing car, I debate just throwing it on the side of the road. I mean, yeah, I don’t want to be a Hellgate Guardian, but that doesn’t mean I want some hitchhiking millennial losing a toe because this temperamental stick scythed out at the wrong moment. So here I am, driving like a lunatic on a moped with an overgrown stick in my lap. Awesome.
&nb
sp; I make it home in record time, tail free, thank fuck. I shakily abandon my moped under the carport and make my way inside my house. My door gives a long creaky hello, and I’m finally able to let out a small relieved sigh when the lock snicks into place.
I shove the walking stick from Hell—literally—into the rack that houses the umbrella and baseball bat by my door. I run through the house, checking every nook and cranny, and give all the shadows in my house the side-eye, but I’m alone as far as I can tell. I turn on all the lights though, just in case Echo tries to drop in. I don’t know how his shadow powers work, but I’m not taking any chances.
I shakily settle on the couch, and my mind reels. Tonight has been the most fucked up night I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something, because I once accidentally ate hallucinogenic mushrooms when a fuckboy sprinkled them on my pizza. And then there’s also that night where the police knocked on my door, carrying the news of my parents’ death. An ache ripples out from my heart, and I jump kick my thoughts in the gut and try to focus on shallower, less painful things.
Still, as fucked up as this night has been, I came out of it alive and in one piece, so I guess that’s saying something. The guys spewed a lot of fucked up shit, but they didn’t hurt me, and for that, at least, I can be grateful. Hell, I wasn’t even scared of them. Freaked out? Fuck yes. But not scared. I don’t know what that says about me. I rub the back of my neck. Shit, what does any of this say about me? Then again, if they’re right and I am a demon, it might all be just par for the course.
I eye the lightbulb overhead, wondering if maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing for Echo to slip into one of my shadows after all. But then my eyes widen as soon as I think that because whoa, that thought just went X-rated quick. Excitement flutters deep into my belly, but I roll my eyes at myself. Bad body. That is not what I meant.
No more demons for me...ever. I clearly can’t be trusted, and Hell is not on my travel bucket list. There’s no way I’d be coming back from that trip unscathed, even if what they say about me being powerful is true. And it can’t be true. I’m not a demon. I’m Delta Gates, daughter of Tanya and Ray Gates, and I am human.
I hope.
7
I grumble to myself as I peek through the blinds of my front window and scan the empty street for the fiftieth time this morning. It’s been a week since I ran my happy ass out of a well-paying job to potentially guard a Hellgate, and not one of those hot demons has bothered to track me down. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or insulted.
I activated my hermit mode this past week, which hasn’t been much of a struggle since I’m unemployed and have no life, but it’s Sunday, and Sundays are for family, potential demon threats or not.
I pace from my living room back to my kitchen and boredly open the refrigerator door to stare at the abysmal contents. Looks like I’ve avoided grocery shopping for about as long as I can. I’ll have to restock on my way home.
I return my stare to the front window, as if I’m expecting that someone’s going to break down the door and demand I accept my fate as a Hellgate Guardian, but there’s no one there. Just the same old quiet street as always, the same lines of dilapidated houses bordering each side of the cracked and cratered pavement.
I shake my head. Clearly, no one is coming for me. I couldn’t have been that important if they haven’t even attempted to find me. I just wish I could figure out why that seems to bother me so much.
I mean, maybe I was hoping that they’d at least email and offer me back the job that I thought I signed up for. I’m sure the graveyard itself should be watched over while they find someone else to do that whole Hellgate Guardian thing, but I haven’t heard a peep.
Now, I find myself looking at every new job position that comes up like it’s a trick. Maybe that one job listing for the phlebotomist was actually for vampires, or the dog groomer one was for werewolves. There’s just no telling what the hell is going on in this world anymore. Now that everything I thought I knew has been burned to the ground, I’m reaching epic levels of paranoia.
I back away from the window with irritation and then swipe my keys off the counter. Enough. No one is coming for me, so it’s time I stop hiding.
I eye the weird scythe-stick still chillin’ in my umbrella holder by the door before walking out of my house for the first time in a week. I high five Fern as I leave, and then I strap my helmet on while watching the empty street and shadows around my house. I quickly rev up the ol’ moped, and despite the fact that all is quiet around me—aside from the sputtering and growly two wheeler beneath me—I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been living off granola bars for the last two days and the lack of calories is taking its toll, or if I’m really being spied on somehow, but I doubt it’s the latter. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary as I make the familiar drive to visit my parents, so I chalk up this round of heebie-jeebies to low blood sugar and paranoia.
I drive around the outskirts of Sandpiper City until I reach a set of tall, barred, iron gates that are wide open and welcoming. Driving through them, I take a right, a left, another right, and then park off to the side of the main road and glance around at the quiet land. I get off my moped, grab the tarp and the blanket that are always tucked under the seat, and step onto the crisp bright green grass that leads the way through Sandpiper’s Cemetery.
Cooled dewdrops that the rain from the night before delivered to the ground, kiss my black boots as I walk. I try not to think too hard about the panic attack I had last night until the storm finally stopped in the early hours of the morning. I need to get a TV for my bedroom so I can blare rock music in there when a storm hits at night, but money is tighter than that pair of jeans I’ve saved since I was a high school senior. Still, there’s only so much sleep a girl can get on the threadbare couch that I own.
After walking for a couple of minutes, I reach my parents’ headstones and smile, noting that the tops of them are still damp and smell like last night’s storm. I wipe away a couple of leaves that are stuck to the front of my dad’s headstone and then spread out my tarp and my blanket before stepping between each of their final resting places.
“You guys will never guess how crazy this last week has been,” I tell them as I lean against the side of my dad’s headstone and trace one of the edges of my mom’s. “Good news is, I bought everything I need to finally refinish the floors. Bad news is, I lost that sweet job I was telling you about last week, so I might have to return everything.”
I snap off a blade of grass and swivel it between my fingers.
“Now, before you start in on the lecture,” I go on. “This is one hundred percent not my fault. My bosses turned out to be demons, and I don’t mean that they were shitty to work for, I mean legitimate demons, horns and all. Well...not all of them have horns, but you know what I mean,” I say, my chuckle morphing into a weary sigh.
I place a hand over the carved letters of my mom’s name before closing my eyes and dropping my head. “Do you guys know what I mean?” I ask quietly, uncertainty quivering in my tone. “Were you demons and just forgot to mention it? Because these guys say I am one too, and as much as I’m thinking they’re fucking crazy, there’s this other part of me that thinks...maybe they’re not wrong.”
I run my fingers through my purple hair and press my cheek against the cold damp stone standing guard over my dad. “You used to joke that I was evil spawn on my extra sassy days. Was there truth in the teasing?” I ask him, wishing there was some way he could answer me. I fall silent, feeling the wounds they left behind when they died break open inside of me, and I have no choice but to sit here and just breathe through the sadness that hammers at me.
It’s been a while since I felt this small and lost, and I hate coming here and being this way. I wish I had good news to share with them, or questions about which project in the house I should work on next, but everything feels deep, biting, and existential today.
I just feel so...alone.
“I think I got my hopes up just a little too much,” I finally admit when I’m able to swallow down the tears I refuse to shed and can talk again. “Mom, I know you would’ve said it was all too good to be true, and I hate that you would’ve been right, but I just thought for once that things were going to work out for me, you know? That all the hard work and struggling amounted to this awesome new start, and things would fall into place.”
I rub my face, suddenly feeling in my bones tired. “Anyway, don’t worry about me. I’ll figure it out. I always do,” I reassure them. “I guess if this whole demon thing turns out to be legit, then I’ll know why my guardian angels have been dropping the ball so much. Demons probably don’t have any,” I tease. “Think guardian demons exist?” I ask, though my laugh sounds hollow, even to my own ears.
When I hear a noise, I look up to find Mrs. Lee’s car making its way down the winding path. Her red Cadillac maneuvers closer, and I look to the right of the row of headstones in front of me where I know Mr. Lee is buried. I see Mrs. Lee every Sunday. She likes to sit under the huge oak tree about fifteen feet away from her husband’s grave and read to him. We don’t talk or acknowledge each other, other than the occasional nod and wave, but it feels like she’s as close of a friend as I’ve ever had. She and I both know what it’s like to lose someone.
“So, what’s new with you guys?” I say, changing the subject as I watch Mrs. Lee park just in front of my moped and climb out of her boat of a car.
She’s wearing her prized fur coat like she does every time the temperature outside is under eighty. I like to speculate that the coat must have been a gift from Mr. Lee. I always see her walk to his headstone and say something to him while she pets the front of the gray and white fluffy jacket.
She makes her way closer to me, and I ready my friendly wave, but the kind smile on my lips promptly dies when she gets closer. Instead of the face of Mrs. Lee that I’ve come to know and recognize, there’s a gaunt, gray-skinned, skeletal face, with small antlers sprouting from her forehead.
