by Hunter Blain
Word around town was that he had sustained severe burns from his predecessor, leading him to plan his rise to power. No one knew for sure what had happened to his old boss, but what was known garnered him respect from even the most powerful of supes. Last I’d heard, his boss’ soul was locked in a special place in Hell, just for him, that Locke could visit anytime. No one was sure how he had managed to do it, but the speculation was that Locke worked for the Devil himself.
Nathanial’s piercing eyes quickly locked onto me as I tried to dab my drink from my lap.
“Jonathan,” he drawled, letting the last syllable hang in the air a moment longer than necessary.
“It’s just John. If I had a birth certificate, it would not have the added letters, Nathan Locke the wizard,” I retorted while I kept my eyes on my drink.
“I,” he paused for emphasis, “am a warlock, and you will address me as such.”
At that, two goons started spilling in around him, their intentions clear. They were enormous caricatures that looked like they belonged in a Looney Toons episode, complete with ashen gray suits that barely fit over their bulging frames. The electronic lights from the outside world were blotted out of existence as the men stood shoulder to shoulder just behind their master.
Valenta spoke up with unquestioned authority, “Hold it right there, boys. Y’know the rules. An’ know the consequences o’ breaking them rules,” he stared at them intently.
The goons balked at this and looked at their leader for guidance.
“A simple misunderstanding,” Nathanial said, waving his hand dismissively.
His entourage visibly relaxed but maintained their posts. Their gazes returned to me.
Finally turning to look at him, I asked, “What do you want, Nathan?”
“Just as your certificate would have fewer letters, mine would contain more. But you already knew this,” he calmly spoke while checking his nails for dirt. “But enough formalities. I am here to deliver a message.”
“Please leave a message after the ‘fuck off.’” I replied without hesitation, turning back to Val. He gave me a look that said, “Don’t do nothin’ stupid.”
“Jonathan—”
“Fuck off.”
“My employer wants you to stay out of what is coming,” he started. It was clear he was waiting for me to come back with a witty retort. I just turned and stared at him in answer.
Nathanial continued, “He is willing to pay you quite well for your, let’s say, neutrality.”
“And what, exactly, is coming?” I asked, eyes squinting at Locke.
“What did I just say?” He turned to one of his henchmen and asked again, “Seriously, what did I just say?”
The henchman shifted uncomfortably and said in a gruff, cavernous voice, “You told him he will be paid to be dumb.”
“Is that what you get paid to do, big boy?” He shoots, he scores. The furrow on the goon’s ample brow turned into the Mariana trench. He bared his teeth and clenched his ham hocks.
Trying to press the issue, I swiveled in the chair to face him directly and smiled a toothy smile.
“John. Stop, now,” Valenta commanded. “The rules apply t’all parties.”
I put a little effort and asked the chair to continue slowly turning until I was facing the bar again, my smile now a comical frown. I rubbed at invisible tears with my fists. “My business is my own, Locke,” I said while motioning for another drink. “But here’s the ironic thing; now I’m definitely going to go all balls deep into whatever this is, just to piss you off. So, take care now. Bye, bye, then.”
The air grew chilly, and a breath-stealing wall of subzero air barreled through the saloon. Patches of frost grew on the bar and walls like an accelerated bacteria growth. The lights dimmed then flickered out. The patrons in the corner stood, their chairs skittering across the floor, and retreated to the furthest wall. Frost started growing on the tip of my nose. I crossed my eyes to look at it.
A booming voice erupted, piercing the dimness and birthing light back into the saloon. “Enough!” Bulbs bloomed back into life and, for a moment, threatened to explode before receding to normality.
My eyes uncrossed to see Valenta’s glowing white gaze intent on Locke, who had a look of astonishment on his face. He let his expression fall back into inscrutability.
“My employer will be very disappointed,” Locke said coldly.
The cold air retreated, filling the air with comforting warmth, like stepping out of a cool, early-morning bedroom into a bathroom with a hot shower running. The accumulated frost melted. Water dripped off my nose, and I shifted my eyes to the mirror on the wall to see that the doorway was clear. The doors were swinging open and closed like a pendulum, until their diminishing movements ceased.
Valenta broke my focus and said, “Damnit, boy. One o’ these days I’m not gonna be able to protect ya. Y’know what them muscles were, don’t ya?”
“Ogres,” I stated blankly. “How the Hades does Locke have Fae on his payroll?”
“Y’think only the three planes are interested in this war, John? The Fae have a stake in the outcome as well. It’s clear t’me which side they are bet’n on, waltzing in here with the likes of Nathanial Locke. Y’just pissed off more than you can drink there, boy.”
“Take it easy there, Bear Grylls. I (maybe) have some (kinda) friends I can (hopefully) count on (probably not). But first, ANOTHER!” I threw down the glass, and to my dismay, it didn’t break. It simply bounced off the ground and rolled to a stop under a table.
My look of confusion prompted Valenta to say, “Upgraded ’em since the last time. More expensive but damn near unbreakable. Your sense of humor’s shared by only you. However,” he chuckled before continuing, “your face is pretty damn funny right now, boy.” He poured me a drink in a new glass as I looked at him in appreciation.
Chapter 6
Ireland, 1480
I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel. There was an overwhelming sense of nonexistence, floating in the starless abyss that was my black universe. Panic and serenity fought for dominance. In my sensory deprivation, time seemed to stand still, or to not exist at all. After a lifetime in an indeterminate reality, I felt myself beginning to lose grip on my sanity. Was this what waited for us when we died? An unending expanse of nothingness?
In the distance, a brilliant speck appeared and began to grow, beckoning me to it. The closer I drifted, the more I yearned for the light. It spread over me, promising happiness and well-being. I closed my eyes as the light that warmed my skin became blinding.
A dull pain, like an insect bite, began to grow on my neck. My hand instinctively swatted at the bug that didn’t exist, rubbing the spot feverishly as the sharp ache descended into my neck.
I felt something press on my chest, and I stopped floating toward eternity. My eyes squinted open as a shadowed, winged figure partially blocked the piercing light, its outstretched, armored arm planting a firm hand on me. I noted absently that the armor was white with an outline of gold.
A deep, powerful commanding voice reverberated inside my head, “Heaven is not for you, abomination.”
The light was abruptly squelched out of existence, and the blackness regained its dominant hold. The figure was gone, and I was alone in the nothing, the nowhere. I jerked my head in all directions, trying to spot something, anything. I waved my hands and feet, trying to pivot in place. I couldn’t tell if I was making any headway.
The throb in my neck grew to a sharp, flaming pain. It quickly became the center of my universe, the only thing that mattered. I grasped fruitlessly at the spreading inferno as it enveloped my entire body, bringing with it a torture I could never have even dreamed about. My soul spasmed and twitched relentlessly, contorting my incorporeal body without quarter. I managed to condense myself into a ball and tried to ride out the storm—and wherever it was taking me.
Curled into a fetal position with my eyes squeezed shut, I saw red and purple lines of ghostl
y fire snake across my vision, branding my essence. Forcing my eyes open, I saw my hands growing black where the ghost flames had touched. I couldn’t scream; the piercing agony had stolen my breath and caused my body to seize uncontrollably once more, forcing me out of my fetal position.
After what felt like hours, I was aware of my feet, and finally toes, being scalded. As quickly as it had begun, the pain receded, and I was left floating in the nothingness with a raw, charred body. The electrified agony let its clutch over my existence wane and fade, leaving behind a case of the worst pins and needles in the history of me.
Numbness spread and then withdrew, leaving behind a tingle of pure energy. I looked at my hands, which were normal again, but they felt…different. I couldn’t describe what had happened, but I was aware of a fundamental change.
Something tugged me backward, like a hooked fish being reeled in. I was aware of being pulled at unfathomable speeds through the void. Dots of light started popping into existence, forming the stars I was accustomed to seeing at night when I lay in the fields staring into the vast ocean in the sky. I turned in midair and saw a blue, green, and brown sphere rushing toward me. Each color was assigned to its own domain, with interlapping sections coalescing into a unified partnership. Green slowly turned lighter to meet brown that slowly turned darker, combining and warring for eternity on who would control the area. Here and there, blue wantonly interjected itself right in the middle, defiant of the other colors’ claims. A beautiful swirl of white was mixed in sporadically, passing over the other colors at its leisure, careless of the fight for control below, and content to just watch.
The world was expanding, filling all that I could see, and I started to panic. A wall of white clouds came into view, and I sliced through them like an arrow through fog. Once through, I began to scream as I free-fell toward the green fields and solid ground that were becoming vaguely familiar. In the distance, I could see the unmistakable outline of my farm, my home. It was ablaze, with the fires having already consumed most of the structure. The pens where we kept the livestock were all open and empty, presumably taken by the heretics.
An amalgamation of anger and sorrow filled my veins as my home retreated from my vision and an encampment rushed to welcome me back to my grim reality. My eyes locked onto the bronze bull, which now stood alone with its belly closed. I tried to glance inside with the hopeless thought that maybe my mother would crawl out, once again whole, and tell me everything was fine; that everything had been just a dream, and I should go back to bed before I woke my father up. Then I was launched through a wall into darkness.
As I flew through the stone blocks of my prison, I slammed into my body with enough force that if Ulric hadn’t still been holding me, I would have been thrown back. As my soul reattached itself to my once mortal flesh, there was a sense of completion that was indescribable. As if my body had been dying without its soul.
There was a warm, metallic taste in my mouth, and I weakly looked up to see Ulric had been holding his palm up to my mouth.
He let go of me, and I collapsed to the ground.
“Oh dear. Not strong enough yet, I see,” Ulric said. With the same teeth that had taken my life, he had given a new one. Still grinning, he dramatically bit into the freshly closed veins on his palm and let the blood well. The wound was deep, causing a spillover that he directed into my gaping, eager mouth. Ulric focused, preventing the wound from closing.
Electricity shot through my entire being as his pure life force hit my tongue and slid down my throat. Warmth grew from my throat and stomach, rapidly expanding like a wildfire. Elation overtook everything I knew. There was no pain in those moments; even my parents were a distant, nagging memory I couldn’t quite pinpoint. I pulled his palm to my mouth and wrapped my lips around the wound. My body convulsed in the purest pleasure. Every cell grew stronger with the powerful life energy. My vision cleared, as if I had been blind my entire life and only now saw the world for its beauty. I became dizzy with ecstasy. Ulric pulled away, cutting me off from the fountain of eternal life and happiness. The bliss remained, and I had to fight my swimming, carefree thoughts to focus back on reality.
“Was he there?” Ulric asked, letting his focus drop and his palm close. His voice was a lighthouse in the distance, and I used it for guidance. I needed more.
Climbing to my hands and knees, I reached for his arm. He took a casual step back and swatted my hands as if I were a child who was reaching for another dessert.
I looked up with a frown, grasping at the words he had spoken, and muttered with crimson teeth, “Wh-who?”
“The Gatekeeper. Hard to miss.”
Fragments of memory staggered back into place, and I could recall the winged man with the armor. “Yes,” I managed. “Who is he?” My voice caught the periphery of my attention. It was far away, but there.
“Let me guess, ‘abomination’ was his selected term?” Ulric asked, bemused.
“Y-yes…why’d he refer to me as that?” The weight of the meaning was attempting to sink in. The gatekeeper to Heaven had called me an abomination. Pretty sure that wasn’t good.
“Because that’s what we are in their eyes. We will discuss this, and more, in time. Now it is time to feed.”
Chapter 7
Present day
“Boy, you got ‘bout twenty minutes till dawn. Best be on your way,” Val informed me, prompting a panicked glance at my bare wrist. Damn it, I needed a watch.
“Merde!” I exclaimed finding the mocking clock hanging smugly on the wall. “Guess I was lost in my own brain. Easy to do with all the empty space up there.”
I slammed the rest of my drink and made my way to the parking lot. With the sun only minutes away from cresting the horizon, the sky was already blinding to my preternatural eyes. I wasted no time and bounded down the street, twenty feet at a time, to the cemetery where my coffin awaited. Strategically, it was only a few blocks away from my favorite relaxation spot, and I made it with plenty of time to spare.
Walking up to a large, gauche mausoleum, I placed my hands on the cold stone slab and pushed. The rock groaned as it moved, and I shifted my hands to push it to one side. Once inside, I closed the chic sliding door behind me and lowered a titanium beam in place to secure it, which had not been cheap to come by— so I had stolen it. Using my preternatural eyes, I located the false stone on the wall behind the raised coffin platform and pressed it in. There was a click, then the platform lifted and slid to one side, revealing a darkened staircase carved from the hard rock and earth beneath.
Along its length, I had placed spooky torches that I could ignite with the force of my will. All it took was for me to excite the molecules within the wicks. There was no other reason to do this than that it looked really, really cool. Plus, I had paid for them. They had been cheaper than the titanium beam and less suspicious, so damn right I was going to use them. I pressed another stone, and the platform slid back into place with a resounding thud.
The stone stairs descended forty feet into the earth. I had done this so some gravedigger wouldn’t accidentally break through my ceiling, especially considering only soft earth lay between my hidey-hole and the surface. There usually wasn’t any underground piping running beneath cemeteries, which had made it fairly easy to dig but had cost me in structural integrity. The hard part had been digging a hole by myself that was big enough to fit the large freight containers I had procured, place them, and then cover the hole—all before dawn and without anyone noticing. Not to mention dispersing the several hundred square feet of excess dirt across the entire cemetery to avoid suspicion from the employees. I had then tapped into the electricity supply of the groundskeeper’s building and put in a ventilation system hidden in the trunk of a hollowed-out tree a few yards from the hidden entrance. I’d even built a rainwater filtration system so I could shower. God, I fucking loved YouTube and Pintere— Ahem, push-ups. I meant push-ups, not that other thing you thought I was about to say.
After a coup
le hours of hanging drywall, installing laminate flooring, cabinets, and all the other DIY accoutrements, my home had been ready.
“Da, I’m home!” I proclaimed to the Fortress of Solitaire.
A man’s cultured British accent responded, “About bloody time. I was about to list all your worldly possessions on Craigslist.”
“You better not even think about touching my Battlefield Earth cups. They’re collectibles!” I said as I rushed to my locked cabinet, where I opened the doors to reveal a stunning collection. Picking up my favorite glass, I ran my finger over John Travolta’s disfigured face longingly. “Oh, Rocky Dennis. You showed them all, didn’t you?”
“I can never tell when you’re serious,” Da said.
“Un-dead serious,” I clutched my fist and shook it in a gesture of accomplishment for using the pun so soon. Da just stared at me, unblinking.
Da has been my companion for countless decades. He found me at a time when I really needed someone, and since then has tried to guide me down the path of light by playing Devil’s Advocate—hence the nickname Da.
Da is a faerie that hates faeries and simply refuses to even acknowledge his predicament. He insists, vehemently, that he is an angel—with no wings or flaming sword. Normally he stands at about 5 inches tall, and he likes to pal around on my shoulder proffering sage advice. Plus, he has the wisdom of the Fae, so he is pretty indispensable, though I’d never admit that to him.
As he floated into the living room, I noted his handmade silk pj’s, reminiscent of one Hugh Hefner.
“What took you so long, John? I thought you were only supposed to scare a group of ‘probably teenagers’ from ‘pretending to summon the devil,’ or so you put.” He added air quotes to mock me.
