Midnight Rain

by Cecily Magnon

  Fawna’s eyes blazed with fire at the mention of Toqeph’s name. After so many nights, she felt like she knew him. He was a friend. He wasn’t a demon. “What does Toqeph have to do with this?”

  “You dreamed of him, then too.” Sabine admitted. “Right before the attacks.”

  “Why don’t I remember?” Fawna knotted her brows trying to think back. Toqeph did feel familiar, but to say that she remembered dreaming about him? She shook her head as if that would jog some remnant of a memory.

  Sabine and Mariana looked at each other, before turning to her. Mariana took a deep breath and looked down at her hands before continuing. “You were seventeen. You had not gone through your rites yet. The demon who came after you was extremely strong. A she-demon promising to eliminate a prophecy.”

  “A prophecy?” Her mind was spinning. None of this made sense.

  “I made the decision. I directed your parents. Your memory had to be blocked of the events leading up to the attack. Including the dreams of Toqeph.”

  Fawna stared at the Elder. She could feel her chin quivering in sadness. She couldn’t speak as she felt her heart breaking.

  “It was for the best.” Sabine reached for her hand. “The fright you experienced left you paralyzed.” Sabine’s voice had dropped to a strained whisper. “Your mind had been trapped in some kind of prison by the she-demon.”

  Fawna turned to her mother.

  “Is that why you and Pa have been so careful about what you say?”

  Sabine nodded as she wiped her nose.

  “What happened next?” Fawna asked as she tried to consciously steady her heart and slow her breathing. Calm, she told herself.

  “The community came together like never before. Everyone gathered to heal the injured. The strongest were named Guardians – Dex, Sabine, Martino, and a few others.”

  Fawna closed her eyes as she concentrated on her breathing, forcing herself to tap into the recesses of her memory, but all she could do was feel was deep sadness from the Elder and her mother. She dug deeper, forcing herself to delve into her past, but as she sped through the various compartments of her subconscious, she finally ran into what looked a black hole amidst a quilted pattern of images and emotions. She’d found where her memory had been blocked. She sniffed feeling betrayed, but wanting to understand the plight her parents had been against. “Who put the spell on me?” She asked with a shaky breath.

  “I did.” Mariana admitted. “It had to be me.” Her new friend looked grave. Her age suddenly showing. Mariana looked at her and held her gaze with sincerity bleeding from her soul, “I am so sorry, Fawna. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Fawna let out a shaky breath, uncertain how to manage her competing emotions. She held on to her pendant, begging for help, but even her crystal could only do so much. She stood from her seat, wanting to distance herself from Mariana, from her mother. She walked to the far wall and looked out the window into the courtyard. She followed the height of the grand ironwood tree, thinking about everything the tree had witnessed in its years. If only you could talk. She thought. You would be able to tell me what happened. She turned slowly to face the women. “Can you give them back?” She wanted her memories from six years ago returned.

  Mariana nodded slowly as if contemplating her response.

  “That could be dangerous Fawna.” Sabine swallowed. “What Mariana has failed to tell you is that she almost died then. Freeing you from that hell the she-demon threw you into, took all of Mariana’s strength and abilities. Once you were both safe and returned, Mariana used what she had left of her energy to seal your memory. To sever the connection to the she-demon’s hell.” Sabine gazed at the elder woman with compassion. “Mariana fell into a coma for several weeks after returning you to us.”

  Fawna’s heart dropped to her feet, cursing herself for the earlier feelings she felt against the two women. She looked to the Elder. “There is nothing to forgive. You saved my life.” She smiled tightly at the woman as a multitude of emotions swelled painfully inside of her. “What do we need to do now?”

  Mariana breathed deeply. Green eyes darkening as she locked her gaze onto Fawna. “We need to be ready. All signs point to another attack.” Mariana stood from her desk slowly. “I have sent word out to my contacts on the mainland. I am trying to find Will. We will need him.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  January 28th, Washington, DC

  Solomon Mitchell stood over the graves of his wife and daughter, his hands clasped to his front, eyes downcast. The medals and stripes decorating his military jacket had never felt so heavy before. With all of his influence and rank both in the human army, and that of the demons’, his family should have been the most secure. How could this happen?

  The muscle on the corner of his jaw began to twitch as the shovels full of dirt were heaved into the holes he had dug his family into. Their deaths were his fault. He was sure of it. Their murders were not random, and not by human hands. The demons did it to teach him a lesson, but why? He’d been nothing but compliant with all of their ridiculous orders. Even ignoring his own judgment about the war the demons were about to start. He looked down on his medals; given to him for bravery, honor, leadership. He had fought for this country. He believed in its ideals, and he had turned his back on all of it, and sided with the worst of evil. For what? His own glory?

  He scoffed at his stupidity.

  He shrugged off his jacket, the crisp and meticulously pressed fabric no longer holding meaning for him. He threw the uniform into Olivia’s grave as his last offering to her. They may not have been an ideal family, they had problems, they had their dysfunction, but they were his family. Even through all the crap that would have pulled apart a regular couple, he and Olivia stuck it out, and made something work for them.

  “Sir? Your jacket?” It was one of the cemetery workers preparing the grave. He had picked up the uniform, reluctant to put it back in the dirt.

  He nodded. Dumping his jacket was the first thing he’d done in a long time that felt right. He sucked in a ragged breath, not wanting tears to spill. He looked away as more scoops of dirt landed with heavy thuds over his daughter’s grave. Each shovel full reverberating through his head like a canon blowing apart his conscience.

  The service had been over hours ago, he was alone, except for the men preparing his family for their final resting place. They’re in peace, they’re in peace, they’re in peace, he repeated to himself. It was his only consolation. They wouldn’t be harmed any longer. He should have been at the reception thanking the well-wishers for their support, their prayers, and their condolences. He had to make an appearance. It would have been the correct thing to do. It’s what Olivia would have wanted, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave their side. Not yet. Fuck the reception and looking ‘correct’. There was nothing correct about this whole damned situation.

  The sun was setting over the frost-bitten lawns of the cemetery when Solomon pulled out of the beautifully forged wrought-iron gates. Peering in his rear-view mirror, he could still see where the men were working. He forced himself to look away, ignoring the heaviness in his chest calling him to return to his family’s side.

  His house had always been one of his safe places. He loved being home, but tonight it was just an empty house. There would be no more parties, no more important meetings, no more memories. He hated that the last memory in the house was one that left his office a bloodied torture chamber. Even after the house had been cleaned, sanitized, and everything brought back to ‘normal’, he could still smell the stench of the demons in his home, sulfuric odors that had buried itself within the walls of his property. Maybe it was just his imagination, no one else seemed to detect it, but whatever it was, it served as a reminder for him to right the heinous wrong done to his family.

  “Ssssolomon.”

  Every fiber on his body snapped at the sound of her voice. He twisted, the muscles on his torso coiled to spring at her. He pinned her to the wall, thick, strong finger
s buried deep in her neck.

  She giggled lightly. “Why doessss every male in my life want to choke me? Firsssst Baal. Now you?” She held his gaze, her eyes holding a softness he had never seen the queen exhibit before. “I came to check on you.”

  Relaxing his fingers, he released the queen. He fisted his hands wanting to punch through the wall behind her. She started reaching for him, not with her usual aggressive need, but with a tenderness that made him feel she might have cared. Finally letting the burdens of the past few days take him, he fell into her arms and wept.

  She cradled him in her bosom, and didn’t say a word.

  He felt broken as the last of his sobs finally quieted. His life has been a joke and a farce, all in the name of power.

  She cupped his jaws, her beautiful blue eyes full of understanding and sympathy. She seemed almost human. “Ssssolomon. I undersssstand,” she whispered in his ear. Her sweet breath tickled his nape, sending a sensation down to his groin, both so inappropriate, but also needed.

  He should have hated her. She was a demon, the queen of them. It was her kind that took his family from him. He should be vanquishing her from this world.

  No, Solomon. Keep the queen on your side, his guardians sang inside his head. You need her to find the demon who took your family from you. Remain loyal to the queen, and she will serve you.

  “Ssssolomon, I can make you feel good,” the queen purred seductively. She urged him back to his leather seat and straddled him, placing herself right over his groin.

  Take pleasure from her. The queen cannot suspect. His guardians urged with a moan as they faded out of his mind.

  He allowed the seduction, letting the queen ride him. Reminding himself this dark union was a means to exact his goal.

  ***

  Sirius popped up from his reclined position, a message was appearing on his monitor and it wasn’t from one of the guardians.

  We need to talk.

  The cursor blinked steadily waiting for a response from him.

  Who is this? He responded.

  You already know who I am, don’t you? But I don’t know you, Flamethrower.

  “Oh shit,” he gasped as he looked at the blinking line. He could almost see her mocking him through their virtual connection.

  Tell me about the Seraphim Project. Ms. Duran was not waiting for a response.

  I don’t have information. He responded. It was the truth. All I know is that it’s connected with your boss.

  Are you lying?

  No.

  The cursor blinked for almost a minute without an answer. He needed information as much as she did. I need your help.

  No response.

  Are you believing what you’re seeing on TV?

  The cursor faded, signaling the connection had been terminated. Sirius stared at the blank screen. She had used his oldest system that still ran on basic coding. How the hell did she ever find it? He shook his head, acknowledging the woman’s skills.

  ***

  Pamela Duran paled. Her blood draining down to her stomach and making her nauseous. She closed her laptop, thinking about Flamethrower’s question. No. She didn’t believe what she was seeing. In her gut she knew something was wrong about the broadcasts about the demons. Is that what the Seraphim Project is about?

  Flamethrower implicated General Solomon, but she already knew he was involved somehow. He had a team in San Francisco, making sure things were safe. That’s what she wanted to believe. But ever since she found the secret file, she couldn’t shake the feeling something more was happening.

  Still dressed in her black suit for the funeral, she walked nervously to the General’s Office, her heels clacking loudly on the marbled floor. She needed to see the secret file again. She hated this.

  The General had just buried his family. He had given her a chance when no one else did. He trusted her.

  And she was about to betray him.

  Chapter Twenty

  January 28th, San Francisco, California

  Kingston crouched; his back pressed against the underside of a toppled sedan as multiple explosions boomed around him. He leveled his rifle’s scope to his line of sight to search for Thorne. They’d been separated. He’d lost track of her, of all of them. God, he prayed they were all okay.

  The ground rumbled, vibrating the shattered glass littered around him. Pivoting to the left on the balls of his feet, he fired into the oncoming line of demons tearing up the streets. How could the humans not see this? No spell could be this powerful. A spell that blinds an entire populace? The demons were no longer hiding, their viciousness was out in the open, yet the humans were oblivious.

  The demons caused chaos and destruction everywhere they went. Intent on exposing a secret that had been hidden for eons. Humans ‘accepted’ the demons because of whatever damned spell was plaguing the city. But if the demons were successful in luring out the Others--the Supernaturals would be seen as a threat to the humans.

  A wraith-like figure swooped in his direction, its gaping mouth hollow and smelling of sulfur. It solidified in front of him, its bony, desiccated fingers reaching toward him, paralyzing him in place. It sneered, the corner of its mouth hooking painfully to the side of its crusty, pustule covered face. “Why did you do that?” Its voice came out dry and gritty, making his insides curdle. “All that shooting will wake the humans from their slumber. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk”

  Kingston couldn’t speak, worse, he couldn’t move, or he would’ve split the demon open. The demon cocked its head from side to side, slow and deliberate as if studying all his features like he was an insect under a magnifying glass.

  “Guardians. Anakim.” It shook its head, its spine crunching loudly with the movement. “You have so much human in you, yet that little bit of angel blood that runs so strongly within your arteries is enough to make you…”

  A cut tore across Kingston’s cheek, the laceration done through telekinesis by the demon with bad breath. It leaned over the cut, its crusty tongue sweeping to lick up his blood. The demon groaned, pleasure making its entire body rattle.

  “Delicious.” It sighed. “But that’s not what makes you special.” It backed away, its eyes aglow with curious interest. “No. Your blood is special because you are better than the humans, but you are also stronger than the angels.”

  Kingston’s eyes widened, his need to be free heating his blood.

  The demon laughed, or tried to, before it broke into a fit of convulsive coughing, spewing black goo all over him. The demon suddenly wavered, returning to its wraith-like form with a gut churning howl. It swept hurriedly past him, howling in pain.

  Where the wraith had been, stood a disheveled Thorne brandishing a saber covered in black slime. Chin length, blonde hair stuck to her face as she dropped the saber on the ground, and ran to him. “Hi, Babe.” Her beautiful full lips curled into a relieved smile. “Didn’t I tell you not to talk with strange demons?”

  The demon’s hold finally broke and Kingston regained control of his body. He lunged for Thorne, wanting to embrace her, and feel her in his arms. “I have been so worried. Are you hurt?” He hugged her too tight, he knew it, but couldn’t help it. He could feel her heart beating against him.

  “I should be asking you that. What did that demon do to you? You’re covered in black shit.”

  He smelled too, it was the goo, but she held on to him just as tightly. “Now that I know you’re alive, I am better.” He finally released her. “We need to find Chase and Kimmer. Have you heard from Jarron and Brooks?”

  “I heard shooting a few streets over. I was on my way to check when I saw you, and that crusty asshat demon.” She handed him his pistol. “I found this.” Her voice lowered, and she bit down on her full lower lip. “I thought I’d lost you. You wouldn’t have let this go on purpose.”

  His heart ached to see the love in her eyes. He cupped Thorne’s dirt streaked face, “I dropped it when I was getting my ass kicked down the street.”

  She embraced him
again, tighter than she had before. “Don’t leave my side again.” She ordered.

  He would’ve kissed her had he not been covered in the wretched black slime. “Come. I can take my ass being kicked by a demon, but if anything happens to Chase, Caleb is going to tear me a new one for losing his brother.” He smiled at Thorne, coaxing her to follow him.

  She scoffed. “Caleb knows your ass is mine.” She winked as she tore past him. “He knows he’ll have to go through me first.”

  The street they were on had been vacated by the demons. The small group had moved on, leaving behind ruins of what was once a beautiful residential street. Shots fired to the east. He and Thorne changed direction in an instant, sprinting the three blocks to rush toward a battle between their brethren and the demons. The bad breath demon was there, leading a small group. “Come to join the party? We needed more piñatas.” It snarled, the gravelly voice grating the air. Kingston wished the damn thing would stop talking. He raised his pistol, the M9 back home in his hand. Three shots exited swift and on point, piercing the damned demon in the chest.

  The bastard stumbled back, and dusted off its bony ribcage before turning its attention back on Chase and Kimmer. It reached for his brethren, using the reach of its telekinetic powers to fling the men across the street with a mere flick of its skeletal wrist. The men crashed into parked cars, the impact shattering the vehicles’ glass and caving in the metal. Car alarms blared as the men ricocheted off of its frame, and onto the pavement. They fell with a grunt. Their bodies bloodied and cut.

  “You will stop, demon.” Kingston snarled. Fire, deep within the hollow of his gut was growing, rising, heating his physical body, yet soothing his soul. He was one of four Fire Strong guardians within The Order, their abilities though borne of the same element manifested differently. Jarron’s came out as white light and heat, Adam’s was radiant and thermal like a nuclear halo, while Sirius’ fire rushed out of his hands like a red cyclone. Kington’s fire was old, ancient like the line of his father. His family went back a millennia and more, the line unbroken to the time when an ancestor had been gifted with rare dragon’s fire. He could feel his blood heating, bubbling to reach an intensity that could melt the thickest, toughest metal.