by Alice Bell
“You’re a real downer,” Inka said. “I wish you’d snap out of it. It’s good we know about the girl. You can thank me later. When you pull your head out of your ass.”
“I’ll thank you when she’s dead.”
“Don’t be an idiot. We can have plenty of fun torturing Scarlett but we’re not going to kill her. No, no, no. Have I taught you nothing, Zadie?”
Zadie bit her lip, as she envisioned snapping her sire’s neck. If only Inka had let her feed like the night before, like a rock star. Inka knew better than anyone how cranky Zadie got when her energy was low.
“Listen to me, Zadie. We are going to use Scarlett to lure Devon out of wherever he is hiding.”
Zadie whipped her gaze at Inka. “What are you saying?” she hissed. “That we need—that—that human girl to lure Devon? My Devon? What in Yshtan’s name is wrong with you? How dare—”
Inka had been patient, listening, her fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, diamonds glinting. But now, in a flash, she snatched Zadie by the hair and slammed her face into the dashboard. “What did I say about getting hysterical?”
Zadie whimpered and wiped at the blood spurting from her nose.
Though Zadie healed in a span of seconds, her feelings were bruised. She stared out her window, tears stinging her eyes. She blinked them away.
“These fits have got to stop, Zadie.”
“I know,” Zadie mumbled.
Yet, she had to set Inka straight. Her pride demanded it. “If Devon was anywhere near here, he’d by my side,” she said. “Next to me.”
Inka was silent.
Zadie turned to her. “We don’t need that human girl.”
Still, Inka said nothing.
So Zadie persisted. “I want to wipe that girl’s existence from the face of the earth.”
“Alright,” Inka snapped. “I hear you.” She slowed. There was a snarl in the middle of the bridge. A van had stalled in the outer lane. The man behind them honked. Inka stuck her arm out the window and raised her middle finger.
When traffic moved again, Inka turned right off the bridge, toward China Town.
“It’s non-negotiable,” Inka said. “This human girl is our only link to Devon. We can’t kill her. Yet.”
Scarlett
On Monday Melissa Wong came to my classroom to see me during lunch. “You always hide out in here,” she said. “I never see you in the lounge or even in the library anymore. What gives?”
I shrugged. “Trust me, no one misses my presence.”
“Not even Henry?” she winked.
I smiled but I thought he probably didn’t. We hadn’t talked since I’d sent him away in a cab.
Wong carried a folder and she opened it to pull out a shiny piece of paper, which she held up. “Ta-dah.”
I reached out and grabbed it from her. “Oh.”
It was a poster, featuring nine black umbrellas under red raindrops. The lettering was austere and Gothic.
Nine Girls
Nine Stories
TEAM RAIN
9-midnight
Downtown Café
Saturday
Open Mic
“It’s gorgeous,” I looked for the artist’s signature and found it in the corner, A. Jones. Autumn.
Suddenly, a memory lit up in my mind; stars across the sky, the desert cool and glistening. There was someone who held me under that sky. He held onto me so tight, like he would never let me go, like he wanted to save me.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the memory was gone and grief threatened to rip open inside me. I knew if I let myself shed a single tear, I might never stop crying. I envisioned my tears blood red, like the raindrops on the poster.
“Scarlett, what’s wrong?”
I laid the poster face down and stared at a spot on my desk. One look at Wong and I would lose it.
But she wouldn’t let me be. I was aware of her moving closer. She smelled like French perfume, something light and floral and then was behind me. Her arms came around my neck. “Oh, Scarlett, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, into my hair.
She had done it, unleashed my sorrow.
Tears coursed down my face, unstoppable. I choked on them. I gasped tiny breaths, feeling the most terrible loss.
TWENTY-THREE
Zadie
It was the oldest part of the city. The buildings were made of stone and brick. The street lights were imitation gas lamps, Victorian era. The neighborhood was in the midst of being gentrified and high end European cars were parked on the street, along with dump trucks and dented beaters. Potted flowers decorated many windowsills and porches, while some buildings still had boarded up windows.
“There it is. 1975 Irving,” Inka said. “Crap, there’s nowhere to park.”
“Oh,” Zadie cried. “I see a spot. Right there. Park in front of the dumpster.”
The building was unoccupied but workers had been there during the day. It was being remodeled. A heavy lock hung on the door, and Zadie broke it with ease, and hurled it off the porch into the bushes.
Inside, they left footprints in the dust from the recent construction. They went through all the rooms and Zadie became morose. Devon’s presence was everywhere. “He hasn’t been gone long,” she said, despair caving inside her. How had she missed him?
“He’ll be back,” Inka said.
“Who’s having the renovations done?” Zadie’s tone was clipped.
“We’ll have to find out,” Inka said. Then, a second later, she clapped her hands. “Hurry, Zadie. Come see.”
They were upstairs and Inka stood in front of one of the long rectangular windows facing the street. Zadie sidled next to her.
“There she is,” Inka pointed. “Scarlett Rain. See her playing the piano?”
Zadie frowned. Something cold pressed against her heart. “Are you sure that’s her?”
“Yes.”
“She isn’t even beautiful,” Zadie said.
Inka laughed softly. “Oh, my darling, she’s lovely. But she’s merely human. Nothing next to you.”
“She looks frail,” Zadie said. “Like you could just snap her in two.”
“She’ll be even more frail by the time we’re done with her,” Inka said.
Devon
The day of my graduation came. I was officially assimilated. I had a black uniform, like Todd's. I traded in my slippers for combat boots and I could open a few doors and some computer programs with my fingerprints. I went to the cafeteria for the first time and had real food—French toast with bacon.
“What happens now?” I asked Todd.
He frowned. “Not sure. You're a special case, that's all I know. We're reporting to headquarters. You look sharp, Slaughter.”
We stood in front of the elevator. “Your turn,” he told me. “Try it out.”
I held my finger over the button and the metal doors slid open, like magic. As we rode down, Todd said, “We're going outside. You'll get to see a bit of the city.”
Outside. What could it possibly mean? That was the thing about the realm, I never knew what to expect. So I stopped expecting.
We came out into a reception area with white marble floors, black chairs and end tables; attractive but generic, like the lobby of a hotel. My eyes sought the doors—glass turnstiles.
Angels dressed like humans passed by. Their eyes flitted over me and moved on.
Todd led the way, through the doors… outside.
Sunlight struck me in the face. Not sunlight. Something a lot like it. I looked up. The sky was azure without a single cloud. Ideal, of course, weather fit for Angels. Palm trees lined white streets. White Spanish style buildings glimmered, tall and beautiful, like the Promised Land, like money and glamour and movie stars. “Jesus, it's Rodeo Drive,” I said.
Headquarters was in the capital building; white, neo-classical with Greek columns and porticos. A golden angel was poised on the roof, ready to take flight. I’d found it weird that in the realm Angels were always depicted
with wings, when it was obvious they didn’t have any. Then I learned they did have wings in the human world, huge black feathered wings that shimmered with iridescent beauty, wings they used in their missions to aid humans… and to capture Vampires.
Another thing I’d discovered, in the course of my assimilation, was that Angels, in all their glory and superiority, weren’t suited to the human world. Those who went had to be inoculated against toxins in the environment and diseases carried by humans. Angels received a tattoo after they were inoculated. The tell-tale sign of a soldier or a missionary was a purple heart on their arm—for bravery.
Inside, Todd turned to me. “Listen, Slaughter. You're going to meet the Archangels. All of them. Don't embarrass me. Because this never happens. I've never met them. Not officially. You got that?”
“Yes, sir.” I saluted him.
“Cut it out. That’s not funny. You’ve got to straighten up and fly right. Because in the near future, like right now, you’re on your own. No more Todd looking out for you.”
I nodded and stuck out my hand. “Thanks, man. I mean it. For looking out for me.”
He grinned in a kind of ‘aw shucks’ way and shook my hand.
We went up the stairs, down a corridor and knocked on an average looking door. I wasn't looking forward to seeing Zillah again.
The door was opened by an Angel wearing a suit. Seven purple robed Archangels sat behind a long table. We stepped in and bowed, heads lowered until we were granted ease. Then we stood before them, hands behind our backs.
“That will be all,” an Archangel with golden curls, like an overgrown cherub, dismissed Todd. I didn't look straight at him but I could see plenty with my peripheral vision, including Zillah. Her eyes were lasers boring into me.
I felt a cold draft when Todd left the room.
“Devon, walk around for us,” Zillah said. “In a wide circle, along the perimeters.”
There were four women and three men. Vashti's gold glinted. One of the men had long red hair. They spoke among themselves in their strange, tonal language that wasn't reassuring. My heart raced, as if I was running the Sierra Switchback.
“That's enough,” Zillah said, finally. “Approach us.”
A woman with brown hair and one of the men came around the table to get a closer look at me. “Show us your teeth…” They poked and prodded various parts of my body and spoke in their secret language. Fire burned through my veins. I hated them all, even Vashti, who had seemed the most human on our first meeting.
“How do you find the realm, Devon?” Zillah asked.
My mind reeled.
“Be honest,” Vashti said, in her deceptively kind voice.
I thought of my walk down the white street, how the sun dazzled through the palm trees but didn’t burn my eyes or make me hot and sweaty. “Ideal,” I said.
There was an eruption of laughter. “Bravo!” They clapped.
Zillah glowered.
They settled into their positions and gave each other nods. Zillah gestured to the Angel behind me who had opened the door. “Bring Decimus.”
I kept my eyes straight ahead. I heard the door open and then behind me, boot steps thudded, raising the hair on the back of my neck.
“Devon, you are fortunate today,” the Archangel with the red hair said. “You are meeting our most powerful Angel soldier, Captain Decimus. You may look at him now.”
We faced each other; the same height, same build. He was tall and dark with a trimmed beard, short-cropped hair. He wore brown leather, high laced boots, gold cuffs on both wrists and a fur pelt around his shoulders. Our eyes locked. It was surreal. His black eyes were mirrors of my own.
“Decimus, darling,” Vashti said. “Meet your protégé, Devon Slaughter. He is a vampire, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. It is your job to make him a soldier.”
Though it was barely perceptible, Decimus flinched.
Scarlett
I clenched the steering wheel as I descended into the dungeon of the parking garage. I steered my car around and around. With each turn, I went deeper underground. I tried not to think about the fact that there was no way out, should the random, strange and tragic happen.
I arrived at my space and was getting out of my car when I heard the thump of bass coming from an encroaching car. Tires squealed around every corner. The car got closer. The bass got louder.
The on-coming car raced around the last corner, a giant white SUV. Bass pounded from its dark interior and went straight through me, electrifying and hypnotic, at the same time.
I stared, frozen, as the car came straight at me. I stepped back. Unbelievably, the car slowed as if I was the destination. The driver’s tinted window slid down, music spilled out.
“Hell-lo,” the driver surprised me by being a woman. She platinum blonde hair wisping around her heart-shaped face. She looked a little ragged; no make-up, hair mussed. Her golden eyes had a wild glean. Yet, her smile struck heat into my belly and gave me the crazy idea to hop into her car, obnoxious music and all, and ride away with her somewhere. Anywhere.
She reached down and the music faded. “Sweet ride,” she said, giving a nod to my Cadillac.
Her friend, in the passenger seat, had beautiful dark skin and the perfect face of a doll. She had huge, dark eyes and full lips were painted crimson. “Come here,” she said.
Despite the weird pull I’d felt toward them a moment ago, I now edged closer to my car, reaching behind me for the handle. Here I am, I thought. Facing the random, definitely strange and perhaps about to turn tragic turn of events I’d always feared. With no way out.
The passenger leaned across the blonde’s lap. “Come on,” her voice was gentle and coaxing, as if she were trying to lure a frightened kitten. “I want to show you something. Don’t be afraid.”
Against my will, I stepped closer. She lifted a pipe to her lush mouth with hands that were surprisingly large, nails sharp like blood red talons. She blew a puff of smoke at me. The smell was sweeter than marijuana and more cloying.
I stepped back. They laughed.
“Want to party?” the blonde said.
I blinked. A strange heaviness came over me, like my limbs had thickened. I managed to shake my head.
The blonde lifted a brown bottle. “Maybe you prefer to drink?” She held the bottle out to me, through the window. “Try it,” she said. “It will make you feel good.”
My heart fluttered. I shook my head again.
She took a swig and tossed her head, as if to show me how good she felt. “You’re missing out,” she said.
I nodded. I figured I probably was since I had been my whole life.
“See you later,” the blonde said. And whatever I’d seen in her face before that had compelled me to her was now gone. Something cruel glinted in her exotic eyes.
After the SUV roared off, I sank against my car, thinking I’d narrowly escaped, though what I didn’t know.
That night, in bed, I tossed and turned. My dream was darkly beautiful, caught somewhere between my greatest fantasy and my worst nightmare. I dreamed I drank from the bottle. I said yes and then climbed into the big white car—a chariot, come to take me home.
We drove down by the river and along the waterfront. Music filled the car; hip-hop and reggae, rock, pop, opera and classical. We drove with the radio station in constant flux.
We drove across the bridge. Starlight danced on the water.
Plumes of red smoke billowed on the horizon.
The color red floated into the car and lit the blonde’s hair.
I lost my sense of direction. We stopped somewhere. I didn’t know where. I wasn’t afraid. I took nips from the bottle.
We were walking toward a Pabst Blue Ribbon sign. Black water flowed under creaking boards. Music and voices spun around me. I moved to the music. Bodies writhed on a dance floor.
I was caught by strong arms.
“Scarlett… Scarlett,” someone whispered into my hair but I couldn’t see him.
&
nbsp; I held onto him; my arms looped around his neck, my cheek pressed against his sweater.
I wanted him.
I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything.
He was my soul.
I woke tangled in my sheets. The sweetest scent wafted from my skin. I pulled the blankets tighter around me, like a cocoon. I yearned to go back to that glittering dreamland. And never wake up again.
* * *
The next day was the start of midterms, and I was already wiped out. As the week wore on, everyone went around half-dazed, both students and teachers, so I didn’t worry too much about the fatigue that was creeping up on me. I ate as best I could, despite my lack of appetite, and focused on making my way through the endless pile of papers that landed on my desk.
But it had started again, my inability to sleep at night.
On Friday, as I lay in bed, I stared at the wall. Downtown was so bright, even at night. Especially at night. City lights seeped through the chiffon curtains over my bedroom windows and made monstrous shadows. A wind had picked up.
Fear flitted at the edges of my mind. I felt like I was on the top of a high building looking down. I had the urge to jump, to throw myself into the darkness that waited for me, like a hungry mouth.
My fingers twitched. I threw off the covers and got up to fix a cup of herbal tea. It was bitter. I couldn't drink it.
I played the piano, gazing out at the building across the street. Lights warmed the windows. I thought I saw someone moving inside. My mind raced, my flesh crawled.
Outside the storm gathered force. I closed the blinds but I could still hear the rain, like tiny rocks against the glass.
I couldn’t decide what to do. I wanted to crawl into the comfort of my bed and sleep until the storm was over. But I felt an urgency to escape the apartment and myself.
I pawed through the clothes on the shelves of my closet. They were strange; cashmere sweater sets and skirts in colors I’d always hated—baby blue and buttercup, lavender and mauve. Beige? Why had I bought so many new clothes?