by Lola StVil
“If you aren’t successful when we shift into that moon phase, and the eclipse is already in full effect, then the remaining horsemen can breathe life back into his fallen brothers. Essentially undoing all the hard work we accomplished in vanquishing the others. What I am trying to say, Sailor, is that failure really isn’t an option here.”
“Why can’t one of you just go do it? You all are gods. You have powers. I am just a puny mortal teenager who moved to a new place and really should just be worrying about my first set of classes. Making new friends. Putting the past behind me. Not jumping into some old battle between gods and horsemen!”
“Don’t you think we would have already?” Rye’s voice is low and quiet, but his tone has the hair on the back of my neck standing. “We can’t land the final blow, Sailor. Aziza, Grace, Mel, Jinx, Sunday, and I are just sent here to protect, guide, and battle beside the Paradox; beside you. That’s it. You, the Paradox, are the one that has to kill them. All of them. And if you, we, don’t succeed…”
I gulp and sputter water. I don’t like not having options.
“But if we don’t succeed what?”
Sunday steps up this time. “If we fail, then that’s it. The end.”
Dreading the answer and half knowing it already, I can’t help but ask anyways, “End of what exactly?”
“Everything. Everyone. Us. You. Your dad. That dog. We all cease to exist. Worst of all, we can’t return to Mensa, where our powers originated.”
“I’m pretty sure death is worse.”
There’s that pesky sarcasm again. I am really winning in the social Olympics today.
“I really don’t have an option here, do I? Like, how Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible has a mission only if he accepts. I don’t suppose I get the same option here?”
“Like we already told you. It has to be you, the Paradox. I mean, you can walk away. Just get up and walk out that door and never look back. But it would also mean we all only have a year left. One year to live our best lives. Three hundred and sixty-five days to tell our loved ones goodbye. I can think of a few things I’d still like to do before I croak,” Sunday mumbles.
I have to wonder what there is that a god hasn’t done. I look to Rye; his face is hard to read, the edges and lines prominent and those grey-blues looking haunted. What could he possibly be thinking?
“Maybe some things are just meant to end,” Rye says.
He is still whispering, but even so, it’s as if his voice is the only one being carried through the game room. Aziza storms at him, shoving him hard. For a brief moment, I feel an urge to hit her, to protect him, but I shove that back down. I mean, what would I do up against a goddess?
“What’s your deal?” she screams at him.
Rye shakes his head, raking a hand through that unruly hair.
“Maybe the gods are wrong to try and stop the curse. Would it be so bad to just live this year out, and then put humanity down, but in a humane sort of way?”
“What, like when you take your goldfish and flush it down the toilet or an old dog to the vet and they euthanize them? These are humans, Rye! We are here to protect them and their planet. Not put them down gently!” Ya-Ya speaks up, the beads in her dreads clicking together with each rising octave.
For a goddess talking about the end of the world she sure does have style, and I find myself really taking in her yellow silk, cinched waist top with the giant blue exotic flowers dancing around the smooth material. Its sheen is as mesmerizing as the African beauty wearing it. These guys can really suck you into their drama, but still, I’m with her.
What’s Rye thinking? He seemed so ready to save the world earlier and now he’s what, backing out? Afraid of something? Giving up and calling it a day? I can’t accept that. But before I can even jump in to defend him, they are all surrounding him, like dogs to one food bowl, hungry for answers.
“You need to explain yourself, Rye. This better be good,” Grace says, her voice soft but clearly demanding.
For the shortest one in the crowd, she’s quite domineering.
“Yeah, you’ve never backed out with the other potential Paradoxes,” Jinx adds.
“Whoa, whoa. Everyone, just step back. Think about this. Those others before, they were special forces, military, tribal leaders, and a rocket scientist. But Sailor…” He pauses and shrugs in my direction.
“She’s just a girl.”
A round of “oh no you didn’t” and gasps, all feminine, circle us. Even I want to jump in but I can’t get my legs to move. I’m pretty much glued to this Lazy Boy. It’s my current balance beam. The one anchor holding me down from a complete mental freak out.
“She wasn’t just some girl in the woods the other night. The warrior in her Paradox heart came out on that demon,” Aziza says.
It’s the first supportive thing she’s said about me and I smile. I do like her.
“I know she is tough. Believe me, I agree. Sailor kicks ass,” Rye starts.
His eyes settle on mine and my heart skips gazing back at their warmth. My gaze dips to those lips, slightly parted, and the stubble on his chin. What would a kiss from that mouth be like?
“Still, she can’t possibly find all Four Horsemen, let alone kill them.”
His words pull me from my fantasies.
“Hey.”
This time I do jump up and join the group crowding Mr. Hotshot God.
“Maybe I am just a girl. But I might be able to handle this mission. Maybe you should have a little faith in me.”
He squares off with me. The others seem to take a step back and I cross my arms, standing my ground. If he can push, so can I.
“And maybe you should just take your dog and go home to daddy, little girl, before you get seriously hurt.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Not in the laugh or even in me. Honestly, I feel a big empty pit in my chest.
“I am pretty sure it was you who told me to hear out what your friends had to say. You were the one who saved me in the woods. Now you want to send me off? Flick me away like some pesky flea, itching and annoying you? Getting under your skin? Well, it’s not going to happen. I’m the first candidate to receive this burning-ass tattoo. And yeah, I am a girl, but you’re forgetting one thing, Rye.”
“And that is?”
At this very moment, it’s just me and Rye. His storm-filled eyes tear through me. My hands are sweating and my bottom lip trembles. I should be scared. Scared for my life, but I think I am more terrified that he will stop staring at me like this if I stop talking back.
“I’m from New York, babe,” I manage to get out, my breath catching as the words roll off my tongue. Did I really just call him babe?
“You are still just a girl, Sailor. It doesn’t matter if you are from Mars.”
“How dare you underestimate me?”
“You’re the one who said this wasn’t for you,” Rye reminds me.
A flash of anger ripples in me. He doesn’t realize it, but he’s just fanning the fire.
“Yeah, and it’s true. This whole thing is beyond crazy, but I can say that about myself, I know me. You, on the other hand, just met me and already you assume I’m weak. Why? Because I’m not a man?”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
He rolls his eyes to the ceiling and it takes all of my power not to grab him by the jaw and yank his eyes back on me.
“Fine, then, why don’t you think I can do this?”
“Because you don’t have what it takes to face your fears. You couldn’t even tell your dad the truth about wanting to move back to New York, you have a box of your mom’s things you’re too afraid to open, and you can’t even bring yourself to admit that you’re pissed off at her. You’re mad she left and wasn’t strong enough to deal with her problems. She took the easy way out to get away from you, and that pisses you off most of all.”
I breathe in and out slowly, my heart hammering so loudly I am sure they can all hear it. My eyes warm, but I fight
the urge to cry.
“How…how do you know all that?”
“As soon as Maya blessed you, we saw the important events of your life flash before us. It helps us know what the candidate’s life is like, and it’s faster than asking twenty thousand questions,” Mel says delicately.
The fantasy is popped the moment she speaks, and I am brought back to reality. I am not just standing here facing off with the hottest guy I’ve ever met. I am standing on the edge of my fate, in a room of gods and goddesses, and as I glance around, I see that all their eyes are either cast down or away. Looking anywhere but at the two of us sharing verbal blows.
I whirl back on Rye, my fists balled up at my sides. It’s one thing to be an ass, but it’s another to invade my privacy.
“I don’t know what you gods do in your city, but where I’m from, you don’t put your nose in other people’s business. You had no right to look into my life.”
A single tear escapes, but I quickly wipe it away. I don’t want them to get the wrong idea. I am an angry crier. Piss me off enough and you get the waterworks.
“It’s just part of getting to know you,” Grace says.
“Well it’s wrong. You are all wrong,” I snap.
Grace winces as if I slapped her.
“We don’t know everything, only major events,” Sunday says.
“Whatever, I want to go home. Now.”
I raise my voice and turn away from all of them. I know what I have to do. It isn’t going to be easy, but I’ve learned nothing ever is. I’m going to do it. I’m actually going to fucking do it. I’m going to take the chance to do something amazing, to live the life I’ve always fantasized about. Just knowing it is terrifying, but beneath the fear, there’s something else. Exhilaration.
“That’s smart, Sailor. In the morning, I’ll walk you through what you need to do to turn down the mission. It’s a simple—” Rye starts.
I hold up a hand to stop him.
“I’m not turning anything down. My dad is a good person and he deserves to live. And so do the millions of other souls on this planet. I’m not gonna let the world end without trying to stop it.”
“So, you admit you are the Paradox?” Ya-Ya asks.
I don’t know if I am or not but I will do whatever it takes to stop the end from coming.
“Yes,” I say simply, giving Rye a pointed glare.
I hope he reads the message loud and clear in my hazel eyes.
“Fine, we’ll talk about the rest of it in the morning. For now, I’ll take you home,” Rye says.
“No, you won’t. You’re a rude, sexist jerk who needs to stay far away from me.”
A part of me means it, but mostly, I am lying through my teeth. I don’t want him to stay away from me. I want him to scoop me up and carry me off like he did in the woods. I want to know what those lips feel like on mine, but I am also not going to stand here and let him patronize me and treat me as an inferior. No, I will show him I am more than capable of standing my own ground.
“Fine. Grace, see Sailor home,” he says curtly. Then to me, “It’s your funeral, have it your way.”
Grace moves to the center of the room. I watch her hands wave in a circle and a blue ring opens. Light pours in from it and a loud hiss rings in my ears. Bits of chestnut hair flick around my face as my hair is whipped around by the sudden blast of wind coming from the portal’s mouth. If I weren’t so angry, I might be more impressed.
Rye and I just glare at one another as I follow Grace into the portal. He’s such an ass. On second thought, I don’t wonder what it would be like to kiss him. I hate Rye. I hate him.
That has to be what this warm and tingly feeling is. Hate. Yes, it has to be.
Rye walks toward me, a smug grin on his face. I am going to tell him off, but before I can speak, he pulls me in and kisses me. It takes me by surprise, but I don’t want him to stop.
He pulls back, his eyes twinkling as he moves back in for another. My own eyes flicker shut and I part my lips, but the kiss never comes.
What?
When I open my eyes to give the cocky god a piece of my mind, I am standing back in the woods. Maya is there, paler than snow, her eyes completely black and hollow. A scream rips from out of me and I run, breaking twigs and crunching leaves in my wake. The blood in my veins pulses hard and my heart pounds against my rib cage. Maya is dead. I saw her die.
What is going on?
“Rye? Grace? Sunday?” I yell out, my voice echoing through the trees.
I take a moment and look around, noting how strange the trees are. Pitch black, without a single leaf, and each limb clipped to a sharp point. The ground that was covered in leaves a moment before turns to liquid, soaking my shoes and socks.
I spin and spin, the trees coming in closer and closer, and then it all stops and I see an opening in the clearing. I make a break for it, my feet kicking up the sludge, but I don’t stop to inspect myself.
When I burst through the clearing, out of breath, I freeze. Before me are four perfect silhouettes on horseback. Rain pours down on my head, but it’s just as black as the murk I ran through. I start to turn, planning my escape, but the shadowy figure on the far right points in my direction and I catch a glimpse of a curved black claw on the end of its finger.
Accepting the command, they charge, horses squealing, fire blazing under their midnight hooves, and I scream out. One second, I am kissing a god and the next I am standing at the mouth of evil.
The clomp of hooves fades and I stop, turning to see where they could have gone. Instead of the four from before, a line of demons, all misshapen and deformed, crest the hill, like a scene from The Lord of the Rings. I spot the four on horseback. They’re at the front of the army, and this time, the order is the bellow of a trumpet.
The demons charge, their bodies pouring down the hill like ants, multiplying as more follow behind the front line, a never-ending horde. I scream and run in the opposite direction. My foot snags a tree root and I hit the ground. They’re on top of me, their claws scraping at my flesh. Searing pain rocks me to my core. All I see are slobbery fangs and glistening claws, slick with my blood, and my heart is slowing its steady beat. The blood that coursed through my veins spills out onto the horde.
A bright light blinds me from above, burning through the monsters. This is it. I am dying.
A hum follows the light. I feel energy pour back into my body, a fresh breath of life. Scrambling back, I clutch at myself, but where the demons ripped and tore me open, I am whole and normal.
The light spreads further, ripping through the ranks, but before I can see the grand finale, the light implodes.
When the light blots out of existence, there’s a moment of absolutely nothing. The emptiness stretches on for eternity, and I am afraid that I am really, literally, dead.
***
I sit up with a gasp as light spills into my bedroom and covers my eyes. Sweat trickles down my brow and temples and I’m panting. It was just a nightmare. On cue, in comes my dad with worry all over his face.
“Biscuit, are you okay?” he asks.
I look around, taking in my room, and swallow the lump in my throat as I nod.
“I’m fine, Dad, just a nightmare.”
He looks over at me and an understanding smile spreads across his face.
“I know what’s going on here.”
“You do?”
I am panicking, like royally freaking out right now. He can’t possibly know what’s going on. I don’t even really know what’s going on, so how can he? Is this why he wanted to come to Whisper? Does he know everything? Things I don’t even know yet?
“Yeah, the first day of school can be a killer. That’s what you were dreaming about, right?”
I sigh in relief. God, that felt close. As if my dad would let me do any of this if he knew. I guess that’s my overactive imagination coming into play again.
“Ah…yeah,” I stutter out.
“Well don’t worry, it’s going to
be fine. I know it seems like a big deal now but it’s just your first day at a new school. Believe it or not, Biscuit, it’s not life and death.”
He kisses my forehead and smiles at me. He waits patiently until I lie back down and then he pushes my hair back from my face and heads for the door.
“Oh, the irony, Dad,” I mutter as he leaves my room.
***
After a quick shower to wash away the demons, I dress and check myself one last time in the mirror. Before I hit the first step to go downstairs, I smell Dad’s famous pancakes and bacon. So, they aren’t famous in the conventional sense, but in the Monroe house, Dad makes the killer pancakes, and Mom? Mom doesn’t make anything anymore. I run a hand through my hair and push the thought back before I can get angry with her again.
“Sailor,” Dad calls out from the kitchen, and I enter to find him sitting at the table with his hands steepled. This isn’t good.
“Hey, Dad, smells good. What’s the occasion?”
“Can’t a dad just have a good breakfast with his daughter on their first official day of their new lives?”
I raise my eyebrows, not buying it. There’s something more here and I am trying to properly prepare myself for whatever it is he is about to unleash on me.
“Right, have a seat. I need to talk to you, and I think the breakfast table is the best setting for what I have to say.”
Oh yeah, definitely not good. I wish I could just jump out the window and make a run for it. I could probably make it on foot in no time. I’d be late, but at least I wouldn’t really be dead.
“Well, I hope you can talk and eat quickly or else we are both going to be late for our first day to our new lives, Dad.”
I grab a plate of pancakes and two strips of bacon and scoop out a nice helping of scrambled eggs. My chair skids on the floor as I pull it out and take a seat and I wince, knowing Dad will have something to say about scuff marks on the floor, but he doesn’t. Instead, he clears his throat after a sip of orange juice and wipes his mouth.
