by Alex Gates
Gladas continued. “Circe weakened herself to strengthen me. We’re both more powerful than any Acolyte, yet we’re both weaker than any Nephil. We’re Lesser Nephil, if you will.”
“Oh, I won’t,” I said. “I prefer Demi. It slides off the tongue easier.”
“After Circe’s attempt to be with Gladas,” Annie butted in, “he still refused her. He refused her for me.”
I chuckled. “Sorry,” I said. “It’s just so disgusting, I have no other response than to laugh.”
Annie licked her lips. “Furious with him, Circe sought her revenge. She found me and cursed me, though not to serve her like other Cursed—but to prevent Gladas from ever being with me, and to destroy the beauty I once possessed.”
“She cursed you to be crazy and neglect taking baths, didn’t she? That bitch!”
“No,” Annie said. “She cursed me to become a monster. If I don’t feed regularly, I transform into the tentacled creature I described to you, and I can’t control my hunger for flesh. It’s similar to Hecate’s Empousa, but as a Demi, Circe no longer possessed the power to control her Cursed.”
“Wait a second,” I said, raising an arm as the facts pieced themselves together in my head. Give me a break. It had been a long day. “You built this cabin because it’s close to all your feeding spots, right? And Gladas, that son of a bitch, he provided you with food because he’s still thirsty as shit for you, girl. When you eat, you probably return to semi-normal-looking, right? And I say semi-normal because you’re crusted in dirt and grime, and your toenails are straight disgusting. Sorry to be blunt, Annie, but I doubt Gladas is telling you this. Love is blind, after all—even perverted love.”
“I killed Andy,” she said, her eyes shifting to the cot where her brother supposedly sat hidden in the shadows. “We went hiking one or two times a month. I didn’t know about the curse, not then. She must have done it a couple weeks before.” Her lips quivered as she spoke, and tears rolled down her face. “He just wanted to get to know his baby sister. When he jumped into the river, just down there, I couldn’t control it. It was like how they show werewolves in the movies. I just went mad and I turned into a Scylla and jumped in after him.” Annie rested her head on Gladas’s broad chest and sobbed.
I thought of the monster-prison housed beneath the offices of Mather Investigative Services, and how I’d originally chalked them up to a terrible idea. Annie’s story tugged a few of my red thumper’s strings. She never asked to be turned into a monster. She never asked for a life of uncontrolled hunger. No wonder she lived in a cabin, outside of society, driven mad by the remembrances of her actions. Annie was a cursed creature who felt actual regret for what she’d done. She hadn’t even lied to the police—not really. She watched Andy get devoured by a river monster without the power to do anything about it. If Xander’s little experiment at rehabilitation could help her, then you could bet your shapely ass he would try to make it happen.
“I’ve never stopped loving her,” Gladas said. “And my hate for Circe grows more each day. As another Demi created through her own power, I can’t directly harm her. As a Cursed created by her, Annabel wouldn’t fair much better. And if we did manage to destroy Circe, we would have to face the wrath of her mother—Hecate.”
“Your tiny brain processing this, big guy?” I asked Xander. “Gladas and his serial killer girlfriend want us to off Circe, a fucking Demi. What do you think is in it for us? Our lives? A million dollars? Maybe a new home for me?”
“A chance to kill Hecate and find Mel’s soul,” Xander said.
I shifted my focus to Gladas and he nodded in agreement. “Xander is correct. If you go after Circe and you manage to defeat her, she may reveal how to reach Hecate, or the Nephil herself may seek her own revenge and find you.”
“Is this just another, more elaborate trap?” I asked to anyone who cared to answer. “I mean, you weren’t exactly forthright with us earlier at the office. Had we taken the case, had you controlled our movements toward this cabin, would we have lived this long? Or would that flesh-eating monster have been a little more prepared for our arrival? No offense, Annie. I think you’re pretty fly for a serial killer guy. But that isn’t to say that Gladas doesn’t mean to send us straight to Hecate now. I’m sure she would love a little revenge after I killed Medea. And you were in cahoots with one of her Empousa.”
Gladas pulled away from hugging Annabel and paced around the table, sighing. “Medea, though Hecate’s Acolyte, was closer to Circe—as Circe spends her time here on Earth, and Hecate prefers the Underworld. Circe must have spoken to Hecate and learned about you two. She knew about Xander’s job, about Mel’s abduction—all the right strings to pull you two into a trap. Circe said if Annabel and I brought you two back to her alive, she would provide us with a potion to lift the curse of the Scylla.”
“And you don’t believe her?” I asked.
“We believe her, but—”
“Do we want to sell our soul to the devil?” Annie blurted. “If we can get that potion without working for her… well, we would take that option every time.”
We all remained quiet for a moment. The winter wind had built momentum, and it worked against the small cabin. A sudden rain pattered on the tin roof and slicked the window. A leak allowed a steady dripping onto Andy’s nonexistent head, wetting the sheets and mattress.
“What if we could do both?” Xander asked, and every eye focused on him. “What if you can convince Circe you’re operating under her plan, when in reality you’re working against her?”
Gladas scratched his chin. Annie watched the water leak into her home, onto her brother.
“He means,” I said, “you take us to Circe and we fuck her shit up. Everyone is happy.”
Gladas beamed, his face breaking into a broad grin. “And I thought I would have to resort to threats to convince you to play along.”
“All right, then,” I said, slapping my knees and standing with a groan. The power high had faded, leaving my body riddled with pain. “Annabel is a Scylla, cursed by Circe because that freak loved Gladas, the Red Dot in your Neighborhood—and can you blame her? You want a potion that lifts the curse, so you two can finally— “ I made a loose fist with my left hand and moved my right index finger in and out of it. The action hurt my wrist—per usual—but it was worth it.
“Can you set up a meeting with Circe?” Xander asked Gladas.
“Also,” I said, “can we make plans for dinner? I’ve missed three meals today.”
“Three?” Gladas asked.
“Morning or post-breakfast beers. Afternoon beers. And now dinner. But the good news is I can still get my nighttime beers. I’ll make up for the lost calories that way.”
“You can eat here while we discuss the plan,” Xander said.
“What if I don’t want to? I had her fingernail stew earlier, and it made my mouth taste like gym socks. I can’t do it again. I really can’t.” I regarded Annie. “In your defense, my lady, it did cure my stomachache. So, that was pretty awesome.”
“You’re going to fight Circe on an empty stomach?” Xander asked. I’m serious when I say that guy was too much. It’s, like, dude, come on. Let me live my life and make my own mistakes.
“No, I’m not,” I said. “We’re going to swing by a burger joint and get me some fast food. So, let’s talk the shit out of this plan and get our heinies on the road.”
After a little more back and forth, which I’m sure you don’t really care to hear about—it was mostly just me making very solid points while Gladas and Xander basked in the glow of my insight and wisdom and strategic prowess, as Annie tried unsuccessfully to hide her lady boner over my charm and wit and perfect jawline and shredded muscles.
Two of those things are a lie. One is the truth. It’s up to you to decide which is which.
14
Xander drove Annabel, following Gladas and me back to Sacramento. I rode shotgun in his Tesla. I’m not saying I drew the longer straw in that deal… but
I definitely won the game Xander and I weren’t playing. Gladas had insisted that Xander and I should split up. Apparently, he had yet to trust my boyish charm.
After being in the car for five minutes in the worst kind of silence—complete and utter—I tried to turn the radio on for a little distraction, but Gladas denied the action.
“So,” I said, unable to bottle my words inside any longer. They say it’s unhealthy to store your feelings and thoughts, and who am I to question the experts? “Tell me about yourself.”
“I’ve told you everything you need to know.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Weirdo. Mine’s purple.” I stroked my chin, thinking of another question. “Beer or wine.”
“Bourbon.”
“That wasn’t the question. Okay, forget it. I’ll tell you a little about me, then. Contrary to what people think, I’m a lover—a romantic. I’m a giver, if you know what I mean. Generous. In the bedroom, that is, in case you’re not keeping up. Some women have compared me to a chihuahua. Small in size, but aggressive with my passion to please.” I glanced at the dashboard clock. It read a little after seven. “What time you think we’ll get to Sacramento? Like in thirty minutes?”
“Another hour,” Gladas said.
“Are you serious? But I’m starving! You’re a Nephil. Teleport us.”
“A Demi. I don’t have that power.”
“You are literally the worst, which is saying a lot, because Xander was once the worst. And let me tell you something, Xander is the worst! So, for you to outrank him says a lot about how terrible of a person you are.”
“I am as I am,” Gladas said. I didn’t believe that pretentious statement earned a response from me, so the silence resumed. After a few seconds, Gladas broke it. “The demonic power you possess is incredibly dangerous. Only the most powerful Nephil have access to umbrakinesis, or shadow magic. Hecate. Hades. Persephone. Nephil who have conspired in some manner with demons. And even their umbrakinesis is weak compared to someone like Nyx or Erebus or Azrael.”
“What about Lucifer?” I asked.
“He is the Wyvern,” Gladas said. “The King of Demons. Only the Dragon has more power than him.” Gladas flipped on the windshield wipers. “Anyway, your shadow magic is demonic in nature, not Nephilic. You no longer have a pact. You are a Sorcerer unlike any the world has never seen, with innate power enough to kill a Nephil. Don’t let that statement go to your head, as most Nephil have lived for thousands and thousands of years, and they have learned every facet of their power. You’ve had access to umbrakinesis for how long?”
I sniffed. “Two or three days.”
Gladas chuckled. “We have very little time to do a lot of work. You might have been lucky in defeating Medea. Maybe you’ll even kill Circe. But you’ll never kill Hecate, not without more experience.”
“I can’t use it on command,” I said. “How do I practice something I can’t access unless I’m in a tight spot? I’m not going to just step in front of a train to use my power.”
“Nephil use their power from instinct. It’s like taking a breath for them. Like ducking when something is thrown at their head. Magic isn’t foreign to them. It’s not something they have to access or find. It’s something that is a part of them. That is them. For you to stand on your own, you have to stop reacting with your body. You have to stop thinking so much to access your power. Let it flow through you. Let it become a part of you.”
“You’re saying I need find an escape from the icy lake? That instead of… trying to find a breathing hole, I need to crawl out of those dark depths and breathe?”
Gladas narrowed his eyes, taking them from the road to look at me. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Forget about it,” I said. “I’m working on explaining my power through a metaphor. It’s not quite there… but I think I’m close.”
“Fear and pain are the two most common ways to activate the survival instinct,” Gladas said. “Some humans are disposed to magic in some manner. The Nephil are only vessels to help unlock that potential. But, as I’m sure you know, there are stories of incredible accomplishments being made in the face of fear and pain. It’s because power is a part of people, too. It lives within them—though technology has driven away most of its utilization.”
“Like the tailbone?” I asked.
“What?”
“Well, it’s something we’ve evolved from and is now completely useless. See, we used to have tails to help us balance, but we no longer need that—”
“I understand,” Gladas said, frowning. “But yes, like a tailbone. We need to reawaken your… tailbone.”
I opened my mouth wide and grinned, making a humming noise and pointing at Gladas. “You dirty pervert. I didn’t know you could throw a joke out there. No wonder Annie loves you so much. It’s not just for your two-foot long ball sack. That’s an old man joke, in case you didn’t get it.”
“Close your eyes,” Gladas instructed.
I chortled. “No way, dude. I’m not as naive as Annie. There’s no telling what you’ll do to me.”
“You want your magic to awaken on command? Close your eyes.”
I exhaled and closed my eyes. “Now,” Gladas instructed, “relive the other night—imagine Medea standing behind Melanie, holding a dagger to her throat.”
I bit my lip, allowing him to play out this scenario if it meant reaching my power.
“Recall the blade sliding across Melanie’s neck. The blood spraying forward and spilling onto her body, splashing onto the cold ground. Hear her gurgled calls for help as you stand helpless to do anything but watch your daughter die.”
“Listen,” I whispered, unable to hold my tongue any longer. “I would hate to scar your gorgeous face, but don’t think for a second that I won’t. I’ll peel your skin off you and wear it as a mask the next time I try for a modeling career if you ever say my daughter’s name again.”
“This anger you feel, it’s drawing the shadows toward you. That’s the feeling, the instinct, that you want to remember. That’s what triggers your power.”
I breathed, trying to calm my rage toward Gladas while using it to reach my power. He only wanted that stagnant, unused part of me to return to action—and I’m not talking about Joey Jr., you freak. But nothing significant happened, other than I became suddenly sleepy.
“I assume you know the Nephilim language?” Gladas asked, shocking me from the reverie. I glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes had evaporated.
“You know what they say about assume, right? It makes an ass out of you and me.”
“Do you?”
“You assumed correctly,” I said, glancing at him and grinning.
“Well, the demonic language isn’t too far off. The Nephil, unable to fully access their fallen angel ancestry, incorporated more earthly influences into their language—diluting the Fallen vernacular and distorting it to their own. The runes work like shapes. A rectangle is a square, yet a square is not a rectangle.”
I shook my head in utter confusion. “Please elaborate.”
“You can still use the Nephilim runes to channel your power—though it will be extremely diluted and lacking its full potential. Until you learn the language of the fallen angels, you won’t be able to fully focus your power.”
I shivered at his truth bomb. If what he said was true, my babies weren’t dead. “But Hephaestus imbued me with fire magic, so all my runes reflect fire,” I said. “Fire and umbrella kinetics—“
Umbrakinesis,” he corrected.
“Sure… doesn’t matter. They’re not the same thing. How can my knowledge of language, which revolves around fire, translate to shadow, even if diluted?”
“Does a flame cast a shadow?”
“No,” I said.
“If there are enough impurities in the fuel being used, than it is possible. Since you can’t access your power naturally, you have to resort to impure means—anger, f
ear, pain. Do you understand? Through you unnatural usage of the ability, your umbrakinesis might be able to pair with pyrokinesis.”
“Like a fucking shadow fireball?”
Gladas shrugged, keeping his attention on the road. “If you wish.”
“Where would I even learn the angelic language to upgrade my focuses?”
“The fallen angel—or demonic—language. Angelic is its own thing. To answer your question, though, if I knew where you could learn the demonic language, I would have learned the language long ago. But the information is protected, unavailable due to the potent danger it possesses. You’ll have to find it on your own.”
Silence crashed over the cab once more, and I allowed it. Why not? I had a lot to mull over and figure out. We’d spent all day working on how to activate my powers, and now Gladas had told me I could use Fallen sigils to focus my magic. Maybe a nap was in order after the day I’d had. Hanging around a crazy hermit lady and a Demi and having a gun shoved against my face by a Raven and using my new demon magic really tuckered a guy out.
I closed my eyes and searched for that elusive thing people call sleep.
A booming horn and oncoming, blinding headlights forced me awake. I squinted in the glare. “What the fuck is that?”
I glanced over at Gladas, but he was no longer behind the wheel. In his place sat my seven-year-old daughter. She had pale skin and dark, tangly hair that writhed around her shoulders like a clump of worms. Her head didn’t reach above the steering wheel. I doubted she could see through the windshield.
Mel gazed at me with black sockets. Dark blood poured from them, and she grinned, showcasing a mouth filled with sharp, red teeth. “The light only destroys,” she said, opening her door and jumping from the car. Wind ripped into the vehicle.
“No!” I shouted, turning to watch her bounce across the highway. As I did, the car exploded in a shower of glass and light and a thunderous crunch, and everything around me went black.
