by R. J. Blain
Instead of a rectangle, I had shaped the trap door so it matched the irregularities of the hardwood planks. It made the space awkward to access, but if I needed to get to anything in an emergency, it was probably already too late.
My sort of practitioner magic took time to cast, making it less than ideal for anything I needed in a hurry. I fetched the jar of calligraphy ink, my feather quills, and the heavy paper I liked best for my experiments, hiding the space when I finished. Through the whole process, Kitten, Destroyer of Worlds watched me, the tip of her tail twitching.
“It’s nothing that interesting,” I informed her, setting everything on the counter and spreading them out. Given a few seconds, I was willing to bet my kitten would knock over the ink and track little black paw prints all over my house, so I took care to work my foot under her tiny belly and shunt her aside whenever she started eyeing my pants as a method of getting a closer look at what I was doing.
Ten minutes later, with a faint discomfort in both ears indicating I’d accomplished something with my rune, blood, and a drop of water, I dug out my phone and Lucavier’s invitation. Calling someone at a little before eleven at night counted as rude, but if the man was determined enough to mail me at least once a month, he could cope with some inconveniences.
With only the element of surprise in my favor, I’d use whatever cheap tricks I could to get a handle on what Luna—and Lucavier—wanted with me. I expected nothing good.
The phone rang, and on the fifth tone, I was about ready to give up when the line clicked.
“Lucavier,” a man barked with a hint of a growl in his voice.
Truth.
Magic manifested in different ways, even when using the same spell, but I’d never heard a ghostly rendition of my own voice in my ears whispering to me before. I eyed the circular rune, wondering if I’d somehow done something to one of the sketched knots ringing the inner portion of the drawing.
“Reed Matthews. An angel annoyed me into opening your letter.”
“Mr. Matthews.” The man’s growl turned to something eerily similar to Kitten, Destroyer of World’s best purr. “I’ve been waiting a long time for your call.”
False.
I narrowed my eyes, wondering how someone could tell a lie in so few words. I could believe he had been waiting for my call; he’d been sending the letters for years. I decided it had to do with the duration of his wait, implying he belonged to a long-lived species. To Luna, three years wasn’t long to wait, so I could assume the same applied to Lucavier. “Is three years truly a long time for you, though?” I asked, forcing myself to sound amused.
“Not at all.”
Truth.
Just what I needed in my life, another immortal—or someone so long lived I barely counted as a blip on his radar. “Then let me get straight to the chase, then. I have a couple of questions for you, and in exchange, I’ll listen to whatever you have to say to me on the phone.”
“In person would be better.”
“Then answer a few of my questions in exchange for considering making a trip to see you.” Bargaining with Lucavier from the gate would either help or hinder me, but I’d rather annoy him than end up his walking mat, which I’d probably end up anyway despite my efforts.
“That seems like a fair trade.”
Truth.
“I have two or three questions to start with.”
“Ask.”
“Did you have anything to do with my impromptu trip to Mississippi recently?”
The silence bothered me, although I couldn’t put my finger on why. Then Lucavier made a soft noise, a blend of a growl and huff. “Had I known you were in Mississippi recently, I would have paid you a visit and spared us both this verbal dance.”
Truth.
The trick to asking questions was to get as much information as possible without revealing anything. With my next question, I’d hit two birds with one stone—and find out if he had anything to do with the SUV’s crash at the same time. “So you know nothing of the car accident?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Matthews.”
Truth.
While I wanted to ask if Lucavier had a connection with Luna, the memory of the angel putting blame directly on the letter and my refusal to read it bothered me even more. “All right. Besides you, who else knows about what was inside the letters you sent to me?”
“You ask odd questions, Mr. Matthews.”
Truth.
I choked back a laugh. “I won’t argue with that.”
“The postman knows I send letters to your address, although he doesn’t know what’s inside—or she, when the alternative carrier is working. The local courthouse knows, as I put in frequent requests for certified copies of your exoneration. I do rather appreciate not having to do that anymore, so thank you for that. The courthouse employees do not know why I requested the records. I suppose the stationary company wonders why I keep buying the paper stock in packets of five rather than just buying in bulk. I would have saved myself some money had I not underestimated your stubbornness and aversion to my inquiries. As for the contents itself and my invitation, the gentleman in charge of maintaining my household is aware, in case he needs to make preparations for your visit. One of my maids is also aware, as she is in charge of ensuring all guests to my home have everything they require. I have told no one else, and those in my household would not share my business with anyone else.”
Truth.
Well, well, well. I found his honesty refreshing—and startling. Few said so much without even the hint of a lie in their words “Thank you for being so candid with me, Lucavier. Please, call me Reed.”
“Excellent. I have been following your case since your initial court trial and found your rather deliberate withholding of the truth to be of great interest to me, especially considering the circumstances. Manipulating an angel into verifying the partial truth of your statement was an interesting choice. I wish to discuss this with you in person.”
Truth.
“I’m not sure that’s worth me making a trip all the way to Mississippi to talk about in person. It’s quite simple.”
“Not as simple as you might think.”
Truth.
As long as the paper remained with the rune, I couldn’t tell a lie, not even by accident. I thought through Luna and her angelic companions. All three of them had spoken to me of the letter, although Luna’s interest in it surpassed the others. “You might be right. Were you aware that there are potentially three angels who seems rather keen on me making your acquaintance?”
There was another long silence. Kitten, Destroyer of Worlds pawed at my leg and mewed.
“Is that a cat I hear?”
With a soft laugh, I bent over and scooped up my kitten, cradling her in my arm. “Yes, I have a kitten. She’s not quite four months old. She’s a rescue but has been dubbed a therapy kitten. If I do decide to accept your invitation, she’ll need to accompany me.”
“You have a therapy kitten.”
“Kitten, Destroyer of Worlds prefers to think of herself as a queen, probably of the universe. I’m merely her loyal, dedicated servant.”
“You seem like a far more jovial individual than I was expecting, Mr. Matthews.”
Truth.
“Therapy seems to be working.” I set my kitten back on the floor before planting my elbows on the counter and staring down at the rune I’d drawn and stained with my blood. “One of the three angels in particular seems most keen on me making your acquaintance.”
“I have no idea why any angel would want us to meet.”
False.
“Can you think of a reason why someone might go through a great deal of effort to try to kill me to prevent us from meeting?”
“No, not that I can think of.”
False.
“That’s interesting.” I traced my finger along the paper’s edge, wondering how to deal with the man who wanted to meet me and had reason to believe someone mi
ght want me killed to prevent it. “True to our bargain, I’ll consider meeting with you. I will need time to think about it, however.”
“Of course. That’s fair.”
False.
I wondered about that. Did he not feel the matter deserved thought? “Unless there’s something time sensitive about our meeting?”
“Possibly.”
“If it’s that important to you, perhaps you could come to Indianapolis. I’ve only recently had my stitches out, and I’m still taking medications, so I’d rather not travel right now.” The truth was a funny thing. I spoke it, yet I toed the line; I felt the pressure in my ears increase, as though the magic warned me I strayed too far from honesty. “I also have some commitments here in town I’m uncomfortable abandoning.”
The pressure eased.
“I hadn’t considered coming to see you in Indianapolis.”
Truth.
“I’m afraid I’m not a very good host and don’t really have a home suitable for an esteemed guest, but there are some lovely hotels in the city serving all manners of individuals. I’ll have to go over my schedule at work tomorrow, but if you can come to me, perhaps a meeting can be arranged.”
“I’ll admit, that does change quite a few of my plans.”
Truth.
Change worked well for me. If the plans of others changed, I stood a better chance of avoiding any traps. “I understand. How does this work as a compromise? I’ll give you my number, and should you decide to come visit Indianapolis, perhaps we can have a meeting. I’ll be blunt with you. I have reason to believe there’s more to this than meets the eye, and if associating with you will continue to elevate my risks of contracting a serious case of dead, I’d like to know about it. Your letter has already caused me numerous problems. I may be a mere mortal, but that doesn’t make me the doormat for angels and whatever you might be, Lucavier.”
“I find it interesting you didn’t address yourself as a human.”
Truth.
“The law views me as human, but I barely qualify as far as I’m concerned.”
“The man you killed deserved his fate, Mr. Matthews. His death doesn’t make you a monster.”
Truth.
The unexpected validation from a stranger meant far more to me than I had thought possible. “No, his death isn’t what makes me a monster.”
“Then what does?”
Lucavier asked a good question. I thought about it, and he waited in expectant, patient silence. “Genetics.”
The truth truly was a funny thing, as even the magic believed my reply was nothing but the truth. When combined, I suspected angels, demons, and mortals had great potential to become a monster. To humans, the demon in me already classified. To angels, the demon in me definitely classified, although I found it ironic and hypocritical the angels would willingly consort with demons to have a child with a mortal in the first place.
Monster was a good word for what I was, a blending of three things belonging to three different worlds. The dash of ‘other’ didn’t help my case at all, although I wondered what else I was.
For some reason, I doubted it was something nice like an innocent faery.
“How curious. You are an interesting man, Reed Matthews. I look forward to meeting you. Give me a call in a few days. You have my number.”
Truth.
Lucavier hung up on me, leaving me no closer to the truth although a bit better equipped to learn it. I burned the rune and my blood in my fireplace and spent a long time staring at the ashes, left with far more questions than answers. I walked away with one suspicion: I had a devil problem on my hand to go with my angel problem, and I didn’t like it.
The next morning on my way to work, I bought myself a laptop. I had a company machine meant for working from home, tethering to my cell phone, but I’d been so reclusive I’d never wanted or needed one of my own. My first plan would be to research the possibilities, and I’d accomplish it staying late, squeezing in a few extra hours under the guise of playing catch up.
Once Hamhock got back to me, I expected a precarious balancing of my schedule. I wasn’t even sure what was involved with learning how to use a sword or any form of martial art, but I expected a lot of bruises. As long as I could keep them limited to the shoulders down, I’d be all right. My co-workers were used to me having scuffed hands, something no one bothered me about after coming up with some excuse about liking the outdoors.
I waited until everyone else had left to set up my new laptop and get to work exploring parts of my life I’d otherwise ignored. At least I didn’t have to think hard about what my first step would be.
Ever since the expansion of the Center for Disease Control and Prevention to oversee all things magical, one of its missions was to teach the general public what was out there, the type of sentients lurking in the world, and otherwise prepare humanity for its probable extinction. Only a paradox kept humanity even partially human, and I was living proof it worked—for now.
If magic obeyed the science of genetics, my parents would have either become angels, demons, or a conflicted mix of both. Instead, they were human, and not even very good ones. They weren’t purebred—few were—but my parents were the closest humanity got despite their flawed heritage.
I had no idea what I actually classified as. While the CDC’s public databases included many combinations of parentage to give expecting parents an idea of what was in store for them down the road, few had angelic blood at all. According to the CDC’s files, angels reproducing with humans only happened once every five to ten years. I counted as a rarity among rarities, and I wasn’t even an interesting one.
While my sight came from my angelic heritage, I had none of the classic symptoms of a demon on the rise. Women didn’t throw themselves at me, although I usually had no trouble finding the ones who would be interested in taking me home with them. Had I showed any signs of being an active incubus, the CDC would have partnered me with an actual incubus until I learned to control my abilities.
I didn’t have any of the classic symptoms of being a succubus, either, which involved a heightened empathic connection with just about everyone—and an ability to sense when someone was fertile. I’d heard incubi shared that trait with succubi, but I hadn’t done much research into it. I counted my blessings with that one.
My emotions gave me enough trouble without having to cope with the emotions of others, too.
Thanks to some magical law, instead of two powerful beings getting together and giving birth to a god, they got a human. Unfortunately, that same law didn’t give a shit what happened a few generations down the line, resulting in some humans of questionable heritage with magic ratings far surpassing sane levels. In true human fashion, society celebrated them when they appeared, gave them the best jobs, and put them on pedestals for the world to admire.
Magic brought with it money, prestige, and power beyond their abilities. The CDC kept a close eye on them, too. Everything had a price, and the CDC made it clear that those with great power also had great responsibility—and a one-way trip to the grave if they screwed it up too much. When I thought of it that way, I didn’t really mind my low magic rating.
It beat having a death sentence hanging over me all the time.
In the end, everything circled back to Luna and her interest in me. My angelic grandparents avoided me, as did my demonic ones, something I never really understood. They visited my parents often enough when I wasn’t home, leaving me to catch glimpses of them on their way out the door.
I guess it actually made sense I had more issues than three therapists could readily address. On a high note, at least I hadn’t snapped completely. If my ancestry was any indication, I could’ve ended up going on a rampage. I wasn’t actually sure how demons fought, but they surely had a bad reputation for a reason. In a way, I viewed demons as more of a threat than angels.
Angels were a known, comfortable threat to humanity. People knew about demons, but beyond the sexual drives and urg
es of the incubi and succubi, few knew much about what they could actually do. Luna had dropped hints about my sharing certain things with angels, such as a lack of skill with firearms and a preference for swords.
I had an angel’s sight. Luna implied I’d find I possessed an angel’s affinity with blades.
What did my demon ancestry bring to the table? It wasn’t an addiction to sex; I went without readily enough, and I didn’t exactly miss my weekend forays seeking a partner. I couldn’t even blame Kennedy for that, although she’d done a hell of a lot to remind me there was more to sex than just physical pleasure.
I liked that part well enough, but the entire game had changed with her, again. When I thought about it, I didn’t even mind it all that much. As long as I kept avoiding looking people in the eyes, I could cope. The temporary relief of looking without seeing wasn’t worth the hassle, not any more. I could find something else to occupy myself, like playing with my kitten and preventing her from destroying the world after she finished taking it over one unsuspecting mortal at a time.
The realization sank in I’d crested some peak, one that made it a lot easier to look on the bright side of things. My therapists would find that interesting. I even considered giving one of them a call—or, even better, making an appointment to meet a new one and start from scratch.
If I could take it from the top and work my way through every mistake of my life without cracking, I’d consider myself a functional adult. I chuckled, shook my head at my folly, and forced my attention back to my research.
Assuming Luna had told me the truth, I had at least two traits in common with angels. What could demons do? I had a decent enough grasp on their sexual abilities; while demons weren’t exactly common, they weren’t uncommon either, and I remembered my basic sex education courses, which included a section on succubi, incubi, and their presence within society.
Approximately a quarter of the population had a trace amount of demon in them, although usually from an incubus. While succubi would offer their services to an angel, it was far less often.