by Eve Langlais
It wasn’t returned.
“You. You’re the daughter of that wizard.”
Isobel stumbled as a voice spoke disparagingly within her mind.
“To think you’re married to my son instead of someone truly worthy of him.”
The plain truth of it struck at her insecurities.
“You should end it now. Stop causing this misery. Do the right thing. For once.”
“Stop that, Mother,” Chris snapped.
The words caused Isobel to flinch, blink, and then stare slack-jawed. “She— Uh.” It would sound crazy if spoken aloud.
But Chris understood. “She’s trying to worm her way inside and play with your doubts. Don’t let her.”
How? How exactly did one stop an attack on one’s mind? She did the only thing she could think of. Sang the baby bumble bee song inside her head.
The grimace on his mother’s face resulted in a flood of relief that left her lightheaded. The attack had stopped for the moment, but just in case it was temporary, she kept her mind humming while they approached the woman.
Chris stopped a few feet from the other woman. “Mother.” The word was flat.
“No hug?” she asked, a silver brow quirking.
Isobel couldn’t blame him for staying back. The chill emanating from the woman didn’t encourage close contact.
“What are you doing here?” he asked
“I came to see you, of course, since you couldn’t be bothered.”
Having been the recipient of many a guilt trip, Isobel recognized it, but she could see Chris’s expression twist. Part guilt, part confusion.
“This isn’t the time or place for a family reunion,” he stated.
“When is it time, my son? I waited while in my prison for you to make contact. I tolerated you rebuffing my attempts.”
“Attempts? You possessed dead bodies and came after me!”
“Only because I had no other recourse. Things have changed now. I’m no longer a prisoner.”
“But you’re still causing shit.”
“Language.” His mother frowned in disapproval, and Chris opened his mouth, probably to apologize.
Isobel jumped in. “Would you like a glass of wine? Dinner is over, but we have dessert.”
The glare aimed her way had Isobel sidling closer to Chris. His mother snapped, “No one gave you permission to speak.”
“Don’t talk to my wife like that,” Chris said with a glower. “You need to leave.”
“Leave?” His mother laughed, a discordant jangle—and somewhere, a demon got its wings. “But I’ve only just arrived, and your future commanders need to see we are a united front.”
“United front for what?”
“For what is to come. We have to secure their armies for the coming battle.”
“What battle?” he asked, his expression intent. “And what makes you think I’d work with you? I hate you.”
“Emotions are a waste of time. The sooner you learn to shun them, the easier you’ll find it to make the right decisions.”
“Bite me,” he snapped.
Isobel found it interesting to note that, despite the heated discussion, no one around them paid them any mind. On the contrary, it was as if they were contained in a clear bubble. People flowed around them without interruption or even a direct stare. As if we’re invisible.
A very practical kind of magic. Only she saw no magic. Felt no threads.
How was that possible? She tuned back to Chris and his mother, arguing heatedly, like a typical mother and son. Hunh. Imagine that.
“This is my evening,” he stated rather emphatically. “These people came to meet me and pledge their allegiance to me. Not you.”
“You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me,” Mama Antichrist declared.
Disdain curled his lip. “Is this going to turn into some sob story about how you gained a ton of weight while pregnant and I had a fat head and your body was never the same?”
“A gigantic head that took four stitches. Do you know how much those threads of fate cost me?” His mother lifted her chin. “You owe me.”
“You can kiss my—”
Isobel jumped in. “Listen, Mac.” Shorter form of Mother Antichrist. “You’ll have to give Chris some time. He’s been a tad overwhelmed lately.”
“Doing what? Digging holes. Playing games on his phone.” Mac crossed her arms. “It is time he stopped his childish pursuits and took over his responsibilities as a man.”
“And what responsibilities are those exactly?” Isobel asked, stepping in front of Chris when he muttered, “I’ll show you who’s a man.”
“He needs to stop running from his destiny.”
“I am not destroying the world,” Chris declared.
“That is only one option,” his mother replied. “You seem to forget the other one where you rule Hell instead.”
“There’s only one King of Hell,” boomed a voice, startling Isobel. “And that’s me!”
“You!” Mac went from cold and very bitchy mom-face to colder, really pissed ex-girlfriend baby mama.
“Yes, me. And you are?” Lucifer tucked his hands behind his back, his suit a rather sedate gray, his tie a mauve swirl that complemented the flower in his lapel—the bloom opened and blinked, the center yawning to show several rows of tiny, sharp teeth. Gaia must have dressed him.
“Do not pretend you don’t know who I am,” spat Mac.
“Scullery maid?” Lucifer asked.
“Don’t play stupid. It’s my mom, asshole.” Chris’s face turned an unhealthy shade of red, and smoke began to steam from his nose.
“Morgana?” Lucifer asked as he eyed her up and down. “You did not age well.”
“You should know better than to judge an outer shell.” In the blink of an eye, the old woman turned young, her body a shapely hourglass, her dark hair hinting of blue highlights. The eyes remained the same dark pits. “Is that better?”
Lucifer squinted. “You’re all right, I guess. Still a bitch, though, I see.”
“Don’t you call her names.” Poor Chris. Caught defending the woman he hated to the man he hated more.
“What else should I call her? She’s been a right pain in my ass lately. Causing me all kinds of extra work.”
“Did it ever occur to you she might’ve had a good reason?” Chris retorted, while Mac—ahem, Morgana—looked on, her lips curved into a smug smile. “After all, you did knock her up and then lock her away.”
“For being bad,” Lucifer explained.
“But bad is what I do best.” The woman lifted a brow.
“Says you. I don’t recall us fucking at all.” Lucifer shrugged and said in an aside to Isobel, “It was the first time Gaia and I broke up. I spent quite a lot of time drunk on my ass. I banged a ton of chicks.” He turned back to Morgana. “You mustn’t have been real good at it since I don’t remember.”
It was like he’d slapped her in the face.
“Why…you…” Steam began to rise from her skin as if she boiled from within. Morgana’s hair started to twist and lift, carried on an invisible breeze. Her features took on a gaunt cast, the cheeks hollowing, her skin darkening as if a shadow were being cast.
And Lucifer, the smartass, kept going. “Nope, still not familiar. Why don’t you hike that dress and purse those other lips at me? Maybe then you’ll jiggle a memory loose.”
The woman in the burgundy grown expanded, Morgana’s features and body distorting into a misty version, a veritable cloud of smoke.
Now people in the room took notice.
“Stop that,” Isobel hissed.
“Stop what?” Lucifer asked. “Just telling the truth. You should be congratulating me. I didn’t think I had the ability to speak the truth, and yet, here I am, explaining to the mother of my child that she meant so little to me that I don’t remember a fucking thing.”
If a mist could scream, this one did, a piercing shriek that went on and on, the wrongness of it hitting t
he ears like an icepick. People dropped to their knees, clutching at their heads.
Isobel could understand their pain. It pinched her something fierce.
Moisture dripped from her nose. She reached to touch, and the tips of her fingers came away wet and red. She hit the ground on her knees and, through a cloud, heard Chris yelling for her.
Hands gripped her, and his voice cut through the noise. “Don’t listen to her.” Then a warm cocoon of air surrounded her, cutting off the sound. The relief sent her into oblivion.
15
Losing consciousness, Isobel hit the floor, her face bloody, her breathing ragged. An attempted murder of his wife.
Chris lost his fucking mind.
“Stop it,” he yelled at this mother.
But she continued to shriek, her misty body spreading out, an ominous cloud of doom.
As for Lucifer, he did his best to encourage Morgana’s deadly cry. “Still not ringing any bells, Morgana. Are you sure you didn’t molest me while I was unconscious? It wouldn’t be the first time it happened,” he confided to Chris.
Mother screamed some more.
Chris felt the rage in him growing as he took in the scene of devastation on what should have been a night of triumph.
The people in the room twitched on the floor. With the exception of Rasputin, who scowled beside his daughter, Marya, a glowing red nimbus surrounding their bodies.
They were protected, but what of everyone else? Those pledged to him, gone. With his powers now back, he saw their souls fleeing, not far given Charon and his boatmen had a ticket for them across the Styx.
And what of his wife? She lay prone on the floor, a golden halo around her. Magic protected her, but for how long? Would she recover from the damage she’d suffered? And more importantly, how dare his mother cause her harm.
How. Dare. She?
“Enough!” he boomed, casting out his hands, feeling the magic rushing, fueled by his ire, his frustration.
As if a gag were shoved in her annoying, misty mouth, Mother stopped her infernal screeching, and silence descended.
He glared at her smoky body. “If I didn’t hate you before, I do now. You can forget us becoming allies. Ever.” No one hurt his duckie. No. One.
“You will need my help in the coming battle.”
“Fuck you, and fuck your battle. Fight alone. See if I care. Actually, after what you’ve done, you can count on me fighting against you.”
“You need me,” the wraith said, the cool words brushing against his skin.
“No, what I need is my wife. Alive. And you just tried to kill her.”
“Not very effectively,” Lucifer added. At Chris’s glare, he spread his hands and said, “What? It’s the truth. Just saying, if I was going to murder some people, they wouldn’t still be drawing breath.”
“I’m going to choke you if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Chris snapped. “And as for you.” He directed his mighty glare on his cloudy mother. “I want nothing to do with you. Nothing. Leave. And don’t fucking come back.”
“Yeah, what he said,” Lucifer taunted.
“You,” the mist breathed. “You are the bane of my existence. The reason for my vengeance. And the worst part is…” The fog swirled around Lucifer, and her last words were whispered, “I don’t remember being with you either.”
Then the mist was gone.
Lucifer gaped. “Doesn’t remember me?” the Devil sputtered. “Impossible. I am the greatest screw she ever had. The mightiest of lovers. The biggest serpent that ever slithered into her hole. The—”
“Would you shut the fuck up,” Chris snapped. “I really don’t care right now that you’re a piss-poor screw. Isobel is hurt.”
Actually, just about everyone in the room was injured, the bodies on the floor still not moving. The only thing that kept him from losing it completely was the fact that Isobel still drew breath. But her skin was ashen. The blood a stark reminder of her injury.
“Ah, for fuck’s sake. Your mother is right. You’ve got to stop letting your emotions cloud your judgment.”
“She’s my wife,” he growled. “I love her.”
“Then fix her.”
“I’m not a bloody doctor.”
“No, you’re a fucking Baphomet. With magic inside you. Use it.”
“How?”
“What do you mean, how? You just fucking used some on your mother.”
“Because I was mad.”
“Which only amplified it. It’s still there. In you. Use it. Don’t think about how. Do you think about how you breathe?”
“No.”
“Because it’s instinct, my boy.”
Instinct? His predispositions usually led him astray. But in this instance, he couldn’t doubt. He knelt beside his wife, her skin pale, the blood too bright. Her life…
He could see it pulsing only weakly inside her. He reached through the golden shield around her. It dissipated, and he touched her skin. Rubbed the tips of his fingers against her body then closed his eyes. He called to his magic.
Come here.
His father made a noise. “Don’t ask. Control it. Take it. Make it your bitch.”
The words roused his anger, which, in turn, pumped him. He didn’t just pull; he yanked in some power and then imagined blowing it into his wife.
He gasped as he felt it siphoning from him into her.
Isobel sucked in a deep breath. Then another.
“Keep going. You fixed her spirit. Now go after the broken bits inside the body.”
Chris almost asked what his father meant, but then he felt it. Felt the magic entering her veins, spreading through her body until it found a tear. It knitted it together then moved on, mending each of the rips it found.
“All done now. Pull out before you overload that brain of hers.”
With a hiccup of breath, Chris yanked away and slapped his hands on his thighs. He panted as if he’d run a race. Sweated as if he’d actually exerted his body.
And still, Isobel lay unmoving on the floor.
“Why isn’t she waking?” he asked.
Lucifer crouched alongside and ran his hand over her body. “You fixed what was wrong, but her body and mind still need time to recover. Give her a bit of sleep, and she’ll be riding your cock again in no time.”
“Promise?” Chris knew better than to take the Devil at his word, but if he made it binding…
“Are you calling me a liar?” The slap on his back almost sent him toppling. “Smart boy. Must take after me and not your hag of a mother.”
“Isobel!” Marya screeched as she dropped to her knees beside her daughter.
Chris relinquished his wife to her worried mother and stood facing off against his father.
“Say it. Promise Isobel will be okay.” Make it a promise. Take away the fear crushing his heart.
“Argh, today’s youth. Just no respect for their elders. Fine. I promise she’ll be fine. From this injury at any rate. But I would advise you to keep her away from Morgana. She always did have a wicked temper on her.”
“So you do remember her?”
“I have a vague recollection of the witch. Apparently, I should have heeded Merlin’s warning. Damned Hell grog. It’s made more than one demon wake up with an empty sac and an urge to throw up when he saw what he’d fucked.”
“So you do know her,” Chris said, trying to clarify.
“Maybe. Like I said, it’s kind of foggy. Don’t remember much about those years. But I recall the stories. Rumor had it she banged a lot of soldiers back in the day.”
His father’s crassness suddenly tired him. “Go away.”
“I will, but not because you asked. Bloody Morgana ruined my Friday night by massacring a room full of people that, given their crimes, will need special processing. Now I have to work. Fucking Hell.” With a snap of his fingers, a portal opened, and Lucifer stepped through, leaving behind a whiff of brimstone and falling ash.
His words, though, had Chris surveyin
g the room anew. He noted Rasputin moving through the slumped bodies, nudging them with his foot, shaking his head and tugging his long beard.
“Are they all dead?” Chris asked.
“Very,” the wizard reported grimly. “Hope you brought a shovel.”
He hadn’t, but the garden shed had one. He could use the mindless work. He changed before he began digging a mass grave for the bodies while Marya tended to an unconscious Isobel.
She’ll be fine.
You’re going to believe the Devil?
Better than the alternative. Wondering if she would die.
Why’d you do it, Mother?
Why had his mother killed everyone? They’d promised their aid. He would have had his army.
Yet, with one temper tantrum, she’d taken it all away.
I thought you wanted me to rule the world.
No reply.
Nothing but the sound of dirt being flung, the grunts as he exerted himself, the snick of the blade of the shovel digging into the ground.
The whisper of wings as something alighted and watched.
He lifted his head to see an angel perched on a tree branch, wings tucked behind his back, his blue gaze unblinking. Given it wasn’t the first time, Chris didn’t freak. But he did wish for a gun. A cookbook published in Hell—The Joy of Cooking My Enemies—claimed they tasted like pheasant when roasted.
“You do realize I can see you,” Chris remarked, figuring he’d hold off on hunting the angel for the moment, especially since this one seemed more intent on watching than trying to earn brownie points by killing the Antichrist.
“There is still time. Time to repent. Time to change the future.” The melodic words caused a shiver.
And a frown. “Shouldn’t you be telling my mom that? I’m not the one causing shit.”
“Morgana won’t listen to reason. However, you…you can still make things right.”
Pausing for a moment, Chris leaned on his shovel and stared at the angel, “Listen, bud—”
“I am Raphael.”
“Listen, Ralphie, I’m not the one who’s causing all kinds of trouble. Blame my mom.” He’d been doing that for a while. “Who do you think is responsible for this?” He waved at the stack of bodies.