by C. S. Wilde
Thorny vines grow inside me, tears pile up at the corner of my eyes. This can’t be true. It’s fucking insane! My feet slip over the sand as I try to drag myself away.
Red Seth kidnapped Hitler into Purgatory, and he kidnapped me the same way. This is what I’ll become: a mad demon.
Hitler lets out busty laughs, as if he’s glad he scared me. He puffs his cheeks and the indentation inflates, returning his face to normal in a matter of seconds.
“I’ve never seen someone regenerate like that,” Barbie mumbles, stepping closer.
Seriously Barbie, who cares about his regeneration process?
“Let me go, now!” Hitler shouts, then laughs, his voice shifting from normal to beastly. His yellow irises shine and his bared teeth show two razor-sharp canines. “I’ll eat your hearts while you still breathe!”
Orange and yellow scales bloom over his skin, giving the illusion that he’s burning. His muscles grow at an absurd rate, and his legs break through his ragged black linen pants in seconds. He grows taller.
“Red Seth. He’s done this to you,” I mutter.
Hitler stops growing, and peers down at me with his burning yellow eyes. His head is too small for his colossal body.
“You’re next.” He grabs the bars with his three-fingered claws. “He’ll be back!” Hitler grows more, his face now hidden under the dark ceiling of the cave. He slams his body against the bars. “Let me out! Kill him, kill everyone!” He bends down so we’re eye to eye. His face has grown proportional to his body, but it’s full of scales, and his nose and hair are missing. He smiles a full set of sharp teeth. “Kill you, Santana Jones.”
Someone helps me to my feet and pulls me away from the cave. It’s the black man.
“Red Seth didn’t do this to him,” he says. “Sure, he brought both of you here, but this?” He points to the beast. “This was all this bastard’s own fault.”
Shivering, I ask, “Will I become something like him?”
The black man shrugs. “Only if you choose to.”
“But why is he like this? Why is he trapped?”
“After he came to Death, he started killing innocent souls that had been murdered during the war.” The black man shakes his head. “And I don’t mean Shades or spirits like you and your friend here, I mean really innocent.”
Innocent souls like Tommy.
Barbie steps in, clearly intrigued by the beast. “What has he become? He’s not a Shade.”
“He’s a Wrath. The only one I’ve ever seen.” The black man seems lost within his thoughts. “Horrible thing, a Wrath…” He sighs with annoyance. “Now, you two better be on your way, all right?”
Millions of questions burst in my mind, but I can’t waste time on them. I need to save John, regardless of that monster behind bars, or what Red Seth has in store for me.
John comes first.
“We won’t leave until you help us with our friend,” I say. “We need to find the Lummeni.”
“Seriously, stop with this shit.”
“God damn it,” I snap and immediately regret it, calming my tone. This man is our only hope. “Look, we need to know the right direction to the Lummeni fortress, that’s all. Surely you can help?”
He sneers. “You ain’t ever gonna get in without a Lummeni.”
“Then tell us where to find one!”
Barbie taps my arm and nods to the black man.
No way. No freaking way. “You’re some sort of enlightened spirit?”
He shrugs. Now I understand why Irving despises the Lummeni. If they’re all like this uncouth asshole, we’re royally screwed.
“Bitches, try to get this through your heads: I cannot and will not leave this post.”
That’s it, John will vanish. If he hadn’t saved me, he wouldn’t have been caught off-guard when the big Shade attacked him.
I killed the man I love.
“Please.” Tears come out. I can’t believe I’m crying in front of this asshole. I try to steady my faltering voice but it’s pointless. “He’s everything to me.”
“Shit,” he grumbles. “Look, I know what you going through, but I can’t.” He closes his eyes as if wrapped in an inner fight. “I just can’t, all right?”
“You can.” Before I realize it, I’m pointing Foxberry at him.
He gapes at the sword. “Where did you get this?”
“Doesn’t matter, all we need is —”
“It does!” he barks, and for a second, I’m afraid of him.
The image of a woman bursts in my mind. Brown freckles spread over her white cheekbones. Cherry lips outline her large smile, and her curly red hair swooshes in the wind.
“Bad time to be linkin’ with me,” the black man says with narrowed eyes.
There’s more to him than his gangsta speech and bad attitude, but I can’t name what it is.
He insists, more politely this time, “Where did you find the sword?”
“Miles from here, near the edge of the Wastelands. Why?”
“This is Evangeline’s sword.” His eyes fill with tears. “It’s a sign, it has to be. Put the sword down.”
That was too easy, so I don’t obey. This could be a trap.
“Look, I’ll take you to Lummenia so you can speak with our Queen,” he says. “She’ll be able to help, you hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“So put the fucking sword down.”
I consider my choices. There aren’t many, so I sheathe Foxberry. “Who’s Evangeline?”
He doesn’t answer, but I’m pretty sure she’s the woman I saw.
He walks to a rock and waves his hand above it. The rock vanishes into sandy smoke, revealing a motorcycle with no wheels. It floats above the ground, all silver-white and blue—a high-tech gadget that looks like a flying white worm with the face of a wasp.
Death never ceases to amaze me.
“This baby’s faster than ten Shades together.” The black man pats the bike with care, then hops on. “The name is Barry by the way.”
“Santana.” I sit behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, and Barbie does the same behind me. “And this is Barbie.”
“Great mother-fucking pleasure.” He steps in full gas and we start crossing the desert at bullet speed.
23
I’m riding a flying bike in Purgatory. A psychedelic LSD trip couldn’t come close to this. The engine hums as the motorcycle soars through the desert, leaving a cloud of sand behind.
“It’s powered by us,” Barry says.
Huh? Ah, he read my mind. “Barry, you should ask before linking with people.”
He doesn’t reply, just broadens a lopsided smile.
We’re going absurdly fast. “So this bike runs on spirit energy?”
“Yeah,” he shouts to make himself heard over the wind. “Like solar power.”
“Spirit power?”
He chuckles. “You can say that.”
“But what is it made of?”
“Your clothes are a piece of your spirit,” he says. “There’s no cloth, just you. The same applies to the swords; they’re breadcrumbs left by those who have moved on.” He pats the bike with care. “This is a piece of me and Evangeline.”
“You mean you’ve blended a part of your soul with another’s to make a bike?”
“Pretty much.”
Okay, that’s absolutely crazy.
“Crazy is just something you can’t understand,” Barry says. “Babies are made the same way: Two different pieces forming a new one.”
“But babies are alive!”
“So is the bike, in a way. The things your soul can do have no limits.”
That’s nonsense. We’re in Purgatory; no one here is alive.
Barry shakes his head and laughs. “Ho, you gotta update your concept of life.”
“It just doesn’t make sense. At all.”
“It will, once you spend more time around.”
A dune the size of a mountain shows up far ahe
ad. As we ride closer, I see it’s not a mountain, but a beige wall behind another beige wall, unfurling toward the sky like a sandy wedding cake.
“Is that―”
“Yep,” Barry says. “Beautiful, ain’t it?”
The bike comes to a halt by the first wall. It’s so tall that I have to bend my head all the way back to catch a glimpse of the top.
Barry jumps off the motorcycle, leaving Barbie and me afloat. He knocks softly on the wall.
“Lorenzo, open up.”
A thin passage cuts the sandstone. The bike won’t fit; at least not with us on it, so we walk in single file, Barry pushing the bike as Barbie and I follow behind. Once we’re on the other side, the passage closes and the wall seals shut.
We stand in a big, empty plaza, made entirely of sandstone. The wind blows, swooshing sand everywhere.
“I don’t like this,” Barbie murmurs. “How do you escape a place with no doors?”
“We don’t have much choice,” I whisper. “We need their help.”
Right ahead, Barry high-fives a guy dressed in blue puffy pants, which match his blue turban. Dark, wayward hairs decorate his round beer belly.
He draws his scimitar when he spots Barbie and me.
“You know Shades are not welcome, Barry.” He looks left and right, as if someone could walk in on us at any moment. “You better leave right now.”
“Lorenzo, we have to help them.” Barry looks back at me. “Show him the sword.”
As soon as I unsheathe Foxberry, Lorenzo lowers his scimitar and steps back.
“It can’t be!” he says. “That’s Evangeline’s sword!”
“I know.” Barry smiles. “And this half-Shade imprinted on it. It has to mean something.”
Lorenzo blinks at me with disbelief. Then he eyes Barry from below his eyebrows. “I never let you in.” And with that he disappears into a nearby alley.
“All right, bitches, let’s go.” Barry hops on the motorcycle and so do we.
The sandstone streets are well groomed, although cracked in too many places. Fountains with chipped stone foundations and square houses with cracked walls, suggest that this city was once the stage of a great war, but maybe it’s the effect of time, withering everything it touches. Colorful street markets bring life to the ancient environment, and the city reminds me of a Mediterranean version of the Home.
Some people dress in baggy pants with tops, but the men are often shirtless. Many women dress in long white togas while golden hairpieces decorate their heads. The inhabitants seem friendly to each other, but they scowl when they see us. Their grumbling fades behind as we drive.
Not so much like the Home after all.
We cross through passageways in the inner walls, driving higher as we go, scaring the inhabitants along the way. Barry steps on the gas, and the small castle at the top of the wedding cake city starts looming over us. It’s a sandstone relic that fits perfectly in the desert, with two half-destroyed towers and one big golden door at the center.
As soon as we park in the round courtyard, decorated with blue-and-white mosaics broken in so many places, the golden door opens. But no one comes to greet us. We’re completely alone.
“Talk about a warm welcome,” Barbie says under her breath.
We step into a gigantic hallway embellished with faded paintings of clouds on the cracked ceiling. Grapevines grow over the broken walls, gifting the whole place with a decayed sort of beauty.
“Something is off,” Barbie says in my mind.
I know. But I can’t tell what.
We stay close to each other as Barry leads the way, my hands tight on Foxberry’s handle.
The hallway ends at a big wooden door, guarded by seven-foot tall twins, both with brown skin, cold green eyes, and full beards. Their nipples could poke someone’s eye out. They wear a moss-and-gold variation of Barry’s clothes, but instead of scimitars, heavy medieval swords hang around their waists.
“Name your business,” the guards order in a monotone. I can’t help but compare them to a beefed-up version of Tweedledee and Tweedledum from Alice in Wonderland.
“Lost spirits who need help,” Barry says humbly.
Tweedledee snorts, contempt all over him. “Shades are not spirits. They’re animals. The Queen may be merciful but many of us aren’t.”
Barry raises one eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”
“Perhaps,” Tweddledum replies, a wicked joy in his tone.
My knuckles become white around Foxberry, and just when I think I’ll have to use it, the door opens.
Barry and the guards drop to the ground, while Barbie and I look at each other, confused.
Barry whispers, “On your knees, now.”
We obey, but before long, a calming feminine voice orders us to rise. It comes from the far end of a throne room flooded by daylight.
“Come closer,” the voice commands, but it feels like a polite invitation.
The two guards step ahead, like hounds forcing sheep to move, so we start walking.
Grapevines twirl around the timeworn walls up to where the ceiling should have been. The throne room has no roof. Faded paintings are stamped on the walls, partially hidden by the vines. One of the canvases shows a man being beheaded, but we move fast, so I can’t be sure if what I saw was really there. And with the Tweedles pacing behind, there’s no going back.
We pass beautiful fountains where a few men with shaved heads, dressed in long, white tunics, fill their jars with water. Meanwhile, men and women in fancy togas cringe near the walls, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and us. I gather this is the Queen’s court.
The Tweedles order, “Halt,” just before we reach the stairs to the embellished golden throne.
The owner of the voice is breathtakingly beautiful: silky blonde hair falling over her chest, lips red as blood, and big, blue curious eyes that miss nothing. Small beads as clear as diamonds hang over her tresses, and her white tunic, embellished with golden outlines of flowers, reminds me of Greek gods. She’s light and poetry, and a soothing feeling surges inside me.
The Queen is surrounded by two stuck-up brunettes, who run their hands to their mouths when they spot Barbie and me.
“I wonder, my dear Barry,” the Queen says. “Why you threatened our home by bringing in Shades?”
Barry bows solemnly to her. “Your Grace, these Shades need our help. Their friend faces the ultimate death.”
I’m surprised at how eloquent Barry can be.
“I can certainly understand that,” the Queen says in a perfectly poised manner. “What I don't understand is why you brought them to me.”
Barry doesn't reply, just lowers his head.
“Barry?” she insists.
“It was a sign from the Heavens.” He glances back at me, and I get the cue to unsheathe Foxberry. As soon as I do, Tweedledee and Tweedledum unsheathe their swords too.
I gently lay Foxberry across my hands, showing I don’t intend to use it. The sound of metal sliding back inside wood comes from behind, where the Tweedles stand, and I let out a relieved breath.
The Queen arches her bronze eyebrow. “What is this?”
“Evangeline’s sword,” Barry says.
Her eyes widen. “Desecration! A Shade should not touch a part of a Lummeni’s soul!”
“If I may say so, this makes perfect sense, your Grace.” He eyes the Queen and she suddenly becomes the picture of composure. She nods, giving him permission to continue.
“We must help these Shades. Evangeline would have wanted that.” Barry scratches the back of his neck. “My healing abilities, however, are still too raw.”
The Queen snorts, her calculating eyes fixed on Foxberry. “‘Raw’ is a euphemism. Don’t forget we witnessed your past attempts.”
Barry remains unfazed. “That’s why we need your help.”
“To save Shades?” Fury burns in her eyes, but her tone is as placid as a lake’s surface. She turns to Barbie and me. “My sincere
apologies and sympathies go to you and your friend, but we helped monsters like you a long time ago.” She glances sternly at Barry. “Look around these ruins and you’ll see what it cost us. I’m afraid there's nothing we can do for you.”
“Your Grace,” I say, mouth quicker than thought.
Barry’s look tells me I’m going to get myself killed, but I ignore it. “The man facing the final death is John Braver. Perhaps you know him.”
She eyes me with interest. “I’ve heard of him, yes.”
“So you must know the great man he is.” Her mouth stretches into a fake smile tinged with irony, but I have no time to wonder what that’s about. “He’s dying because of me, your Grace. Please help me save him.”
She ponders for a while. Then she stands from the throne and walks down the stairs. She lifts her hand gently, silently asking for permission to touch my forehead. I nod.
Her fingers are thousands of needles pressing into my brain. I can’t breathe or break free, all I can do is focus on controlling my spasms and endure. I step back when she releases me, drowsy as hell. Barbie supports me until I can stand properly.
The Queen looks worried. She’s lost her fairy glow.
“You’re Red Seth’s new chosen,” she rasps.
“Yes,” I say in between heavy breaths, trying to ignore the world spinning around me. “Will you help me?”
“John Braver is your world.” Her tone slowly regains its usual serenity. “Such love is pure and liberating, but you’ve done awful things, Santana Jones.” Her gaze shifts from me to Barbie and stays there for a while.
Barbie asks, “Why is it that you linked with me, your Grace?”
The Queen lets out a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. She calls one of the stuck-up brunettes and whispers something in her ear. The brunette immediately leaves.
“I must ask all three of you to enjoy our gardens. They’re lovely at sundown. You cannot miss it.” The Queen stretches her hand toward a small arch in the throne room, leading to the outside.
“Your Grace, we don’t have much time.”
She tightens a cold, sharp smile that screams authority. “Enjoy the gardens, Ms. Jones.”
