by L F Seitz
“Why don’t you take off your jacket and stay a while?” Cindy nudged me as the game was paused, the green team huddled in a circle as I pulled off my jacket.
“Is this Clayton’s first sport?” I asked.
“Yeah, actually, he wanted to go into soccer at first, but Eli talked him into basketball.” She bumped his shoulder, and he bumped her in return.
“My dad did basketball as his sport all the way through high school, and so did I, so I wanted to keep up the tradition,” Eli said.
“I didn’t know my dad, or his traditions, so I didn’t mind, as long as Clayton wanted to do it,” Cindy said, kissing Eli’s cheek.
“Did you do any sports in school?” Eli asked me.
“I’m terribly uncoordinated.” I imagined myself playing basketball. To be honest, I wasn't actually uncoordinated, just scatterbrained. It would have ended badly. I glanced down at my arms and froze: my arms were showing my deep black markings. I forgot to use the soap from Micah this morning. Damn it. I used it yesterday, would it still be working now? My eyes darted around in a panic to see if anyone had noticed, but no one had, not even Cindy or Eli. They were human, so they couldn’t detect the markings, but not everyone else could be human. I quickly pulled my jacket back on and zipped it up, dread drowning out all my senses.
The game started up again, and Clayton had the ball this time. He dribbled down the court and passed it to a taller boy, who, in turn, made a basket. Cindy, Eli, and I stood and cheered at Clayton’s assist. He looked back at us and jumped, throwing his hands in the air, then high-fived the boy who’d scored the goal. This was so much nicer than I expected. Maybe I could enjoy myself.
“Ma’am?” Someone yelled in the chatter of the gym. Clayton moved across the court, following a green jersey with the ball.
“Hello, ma’am?” I heard it closer now. I scanned and found the security guard looking down the row, yelling ma’am at a lady next to me, who stood up. I looked back out to the game just in time to see Clayton’s team score again. Cindy and Eli cheered.
“Ma’am, in the blue jacket,” the security guard yelled again, this time pointing at me. “Ma’am, I need you to come with me for a moment.” Cindy and I peered to one another, confused.
“What for? She didn’t do anything,” Cindy said. It was surprising to have Cindy step up like this, especially after her reticence with Mark at work.
“I got a complaint from someone that you carried liquor into the building, and this is an alcohol-free zone. I need you to come with me, please.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a few people staring at me now. My face growing warm with the attention. Who would say such a thing?
Then I could smell it: an odd underlying scent I smelled only once before, on Micah. He had seen my markings. I took in the security guard’s neutral expression, and my stomach dropped. Scars covered his hand as he gestured to me – scars like Micah’s. His glare was unwavering.
“Are you serious? This is my friend, and I would know if she were drinking or had alcohol with her,” Cindy defended.
“Ma’am, I just need to speak with you for a few moments outside the gymnasium, per protocol, unless you’d like me to escort you from the premises.” He showed no empathy as he spoke.
“All right, I’ll go,” I said. I didn’t break eye contact, and his face didn’t change. Cindy protested as I stood.
“Lamia, you don’t have to go. You don’t even have a bag; he can’t make you do anything,” she argued. She was fired up, but I set my hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll be fine. I don’t mind. I’ll be back in a minute or two,” I reassured, and followed the guard toward the bleacher steps. He grasped my arm once we got to the door, but his face was unreadable.
“Who said I had alcohol in my purse?” I asked. A stupid question.
Without a word he escorted me down the hall by my upper arm, his grip tight. The sound of the game echoed the farther we moved away, down the tan hallway. The smell of stale cleaning products overpowered the security guard’s Nephilim smell. My mouth grew dry with anticipation. I focused on the tiles beneath my feet, speckled with blue and red flakes, as I tried to prepare myself for what was next. All I could think of was Micah: had he taught me how to fight, this would be a lot easier. The security guard opened a door and pushed me into what looked like a library, though the lights weren’t on. Bookshelves lined the walls near the entrance, disappearing into darkness. I turned to face the guard just as he slammed the door shut, blinding me in darkness. His hand came across my face, hard enough to knock me onto the floor. I peered up to see his figure as he pulled a knife from his belt and came at me. I blocked his forearm inches from my breast.
“Et reducam te in caligine Demon nunc urbs est patris tui. Ostende mihi faciem tuam, et non est misericordia, quae est a carne daemonum interficiam corpus, perit in aeternum misericordia ignis. Et incarnatus est de Angelo, anima tanted ostende.” He spat the words in my face as he pushed harder against my arm.
His pupils disappeared into milky white as his sapphire marks were set aglow around his neck and hands. The pureness of it contrasted against the deep ruby light of my own markings as it snuck out from under the wrist cuffs of my jacket and neck. The transition made me stronger as I pushed back. He grunted and pressed his other hand atop the pommel of his knife, struggling to pierce my skin.
“I’m not a demon – I mean, I’m part angel, too,” I desperately tried to explain, but he wouldn’t let up. He was too strong, and I wouldn't be able to hold him like this for long. “I know a Nephilim named Micah,” I blurted. For a moment, the man relented, and that was my chance. I drove his arm up as I lifted myself to head-butt him. He fell to my left, and I awkwardly scrambled from under him and took off, through one of the aisles of books toward the back. My head spun as I tried to remain upright.
“Please let me leave! I swear I’m not dangerous!” Every second that passed, I was less likely to get out of this alive. The man was a skilled killer, and I was a scared mouse in the dark.
“You are nothing but demon scum,” he shouted from across the library, acid lacing his words.
I moved as quietly as possible against the back wall. How am I supposed to fight him? My jacket concealed my glowing markings enough to keep my location less noticeable, but I had a feeling he already knew where I was. Once I got to the furthest corner from him, I crouched down and covered my mouth to quiet my breathing.
There were two options: fight or flight. Should I run? I adjusted to the darkness as I took in where I’d come from. There were a few tables and chairs in the main foyer, and to the right were some cash registers. Nine-foot tall shelves surrounded us. I flexed my fingers trying to stop my hands as they trembled. I strained my sight to see out toward the way I came in and couldn’t make out where the door was: there were too many tables and cardboard advertisements for different books in the way. What if I run, and he catches me? I have to fight; Micah would tell me to fight. I could yell the angel incantation, show him I can glow blue, too. Or I could get that knife from him and kill him first.
A quiet whistling sound came from above me. I fell to the side just in time to miss the knife sailing at me. My blood ran cold as I gawked at it in the dark. The blade stabbed into a book above my head, which would have been my brain if I hadn’t moved in time.
“Damn it,” he yelled from a distance. I seized the knifed book and began to crawl around the corner of the bookshelf. I struggled to get up as I pulled the knife from the book, and suddenly, he had my hand in his. He swung me around and slammed me against a shelf, sending books flying off the other side. As we wrestled, I lifted the knife and went for it. He anticipated the attack and caught my wrist as I tried to land a blow. I dropped the knife and aimed my fist for his throat, the hit hurt my hand but made him gag, forcing him to let go. I squirmed from his embrace and made another run for it.
“Please, let me just show you my Nephilim markings,” I begged. If I could just speak the Nephilim incan
tation, he would stop. Panic and fear drowned me in sweat as I ran blindly, running into tables and chairs. I’m not strong enough to take him on directly, and if I don’t get him to believe me soon, I’m dead. I latched onto the side of a shelf and started to climb, the top of the book case was about nine feet off the ground. I needed the angel incantation, but I couldn’t seem to think of it. I don’t want to die. The wetness of my tears revealed the horror I felt clawing at my insides, the need to vomit was imminent. I don’t want to die. I whimpered and begged whoever was listening for it to come to me.
And then it did.
“In nomine Lucifer enim ostendis tu qui ad eum. Ut nepos, adversus se superiorem. Et ignis ardebit quasi infernus animam piam contaminant iterum ad vos mittere. Qui dedit nobis confirmasti tibi finis erit secundum operationem Satanae.”
A shock wave moved through my body like a bullet shot from a gun. The vibration shook me viciously, and everything shifted into slow motion: my movements, the man coming toward me, even the ticking of a distant clock became near stagnant. My mind felt as if on a higher plane of consciousness, the universe became clear and precise. I felt completely connected to everything around me and within. I felt every muscle contraction, every fiber in my joints, and each individual cell quiver, down to the atomic level of my being. It was like slipping deeper into my mind and further into the universe. The most interesting of all, though, was the room now glowed purple around me. My markings were a brilliant violet giving the whole room light. Once I processed it all, time restored itself around me. The man froze mid-run, gaping, full of fear. What about me now shocked him into stillness most? I stood atop the shelf looking down at him, taking in his face and his stature, this killer.
“I asked you to listen to me. I asked you to stop, and now ... now I’m angry.” My voice was deep as the room began to whine, begging me to finish him. I felt bigger, powerful, and unstoppable. Nothing could contain me – not this building, not him. Brick began crumbling around us, and the walls threaten to caving in. The man fell to his knees as the front of his pants grew wet. “What do you have to say now, little Nephilim?”
I heard a sickening crack, and peered up to see a piece of cement falling toward us. It hit the ground with a booming thud, creating enough force to knock me off the shelf and onto my back. I immediately jumped back to my feet. The purple light was gone, and the ceiling was caving in on us. I need to get out of here. I sprinted through the falling debris toward the door we came in. Terror drove me as I whipped open the door and ran out toward the gymnasium, leaving the Nephilim security guard behind. The building was collapsing. There were still people in the gym.
Cindy was in the gym.
Loud smashes came from behind me as the doors to the library burst open, and the brick fell. My fingers tingled, and grew numb as I began to hyperventilate. I ran down the hall to find the doors to the gym already open, and people flowed out.
“Cindy!” I yelled into the crowd, scanning for her, Eli, or Clayton as the people screamed and pushed each other to get out. This was all my fault.
“Clayton,” I heard Cindy scream. Peering into the anarchy I saw someone’s foot standing on Clayton’s arm, his mouth gaped open as the sounds of chaos drowned out his cry. I snatched him up by the back of his jersey and pulled him from the stampede. I could hear his screams now as he clutched his arm. I looked around for his parents, but they were nowhere to be found.
“Clayton, my name’s Lamia, and I’m your mom’s friend. Are you OK?” Pushing his messy hair out of his face, he shook his head as tears wet his cheeks.
“My arm,” he whimpered. People were still moving out of the building but I noticed it wasn’t as loud. The building didn’t seem to be collapsing anymore, from what I could tell. I carried him down the hallway before setting him on his feet near a showcase a few feet from the gym’s entrance. This is my doing. Clayton got hurt because of me. I need to fix this.
“Clayton, can you keep a secret?” I asked as I kneeled before him. He agreed. His chubby red cheeks glistened with wetness.
I took his arm gently. It wasn't deformed, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t broken. I held it between my hands and closed my eyes, focusing on my palms and the softness of his skin. The energy flowed through my fingers and made my blood hum. It was as if I held a light bulb as soft purple light enveloped his forearm. As the glow subsided, Clayton ogled his arm. “Feel better?” I asked. He smiled as he moved his wrist around without a grimace.
“But you have to pinky promise not to tell anyone, not even your mom. OK? If you tell them, I’ll lose my magic forever.” I held out my pinky. He waved his arm again and then curled his little pinky around mine.
“OK, I promise, Llama,” he said as he wiped away the rest of his tears. “Let’s go find your mommy and daddy.” I turned back toward where the library was and noticed the doors busted open with brick debris on the floor and wood splintering from the wall. The hall heading toward the library was bowing at the ceiling, lights hanging and swinging from the tiles, still whining. The concrete walls were cracked all the way to us near the gym and were slowly crumbling the longer we stood here. I moved quickly, scooping him up and moving toward the entrance. The sounds of the collapse dissipated as we ran out of the building.
“Clayton, Lamia, oh my God!” Cindy rushed toward us as we exited with the remaining people. Clayton instantly reached for her as she pulled him from me.
“Thank you so much, Lamia. Clayton, are you OK?” He nodded, but said nothing about what had happened between us. While the family reunited, I turned around to look at the damage I had done. The whole right side of the building had collapsed into rubble, the area near the library being the worst: the ceiling had collapsed on itself, and the walls followed close behind. It seemed to have fallen inward, but there were still shattered glass and concrete scattered into the parking lot. Was that really me? That Nephilim, he’s dead, isn't he? I killed him. Something in my gut told me he had not survived. Maybe I really was evil. Maybe I was meant to be the villain instead of the hero.
✽✽✽
“Thanks for coming and seeing at least some of the game. Clayton appreciates it, right?” Cindy said through the open car window as I stepped from their Toyota Camry outside my apartment. We’d grabbed some burgers from the drive-in dive The Spot before they dropped me off. Clayton told me about his favorite part of the game, which was when he helped the kid who’d fallen, the kid from the other team. He said, “Even though we weren’t on the same team, he still deserved my help because he was nice.” Maybe Micah should take advice from Clayton.
“Thank you, Llama,” he mumbled, tired. It was already seven, and a lot had happened to him tonight.
I waved goodbye and slammed the Camry’s door. The excitement from tonight had officially worn off, and the guilt was settling in. That man, the Nephilim – I killed him, didn’t I? A voice in the back of my mind screamed No, Lamia, that was the ceiling falling, not you. But I made the ceiling fall, with whatever I did, whatever that purple light was. As soon I was inside the apartment complex, I leaned against the wall and tried to take some steady breaths. That power I felt – it was so much more than anything I’d ever experienced. I felt unlike myself, like I was the sudden opposite of who I am. I was bold, fearless, and merciless. I leaned forward and rested my hands on my knees as I felt myself on the edge of a panic attack. Tears brimmed as I shook away the raging guilt that burrowed deep into my bones. I killed that man, didn’t I? That Nephilim wasn’t behind me when I ran from the library, and he didn’t come out when I was with Clayton, one of the last to leave.
My legs threatened to give out as I struggled to breathe. The walls felt like they were closing in and I grew light headed. My face throbbed from where that man hit me, my jaw ached as I clenched my teeth. My chest ached as my fingertips went numb. I rocked, falling apart, coming completely undone. Control the pain. You can control it, Lamia. I gasped between silent sobs, drowning in the guilt. I couldn't help but feel lik
e a monster now, because of what had happened less than an hour ago. Deep in my gut I knew it was my fault, the fall of the ceiling, the collapse of the building. The near massacre of all those people. The death of that Nephilim. He was going to kill me if I hadn't done it first, even when I asked, when I begged. I had to survive, but at what price? How is my life more important than his?
After a few minutes I drew back from my pain, exhaustion trumping the emotions I felt. I needed control. Crying would not solve my problems.
I felt raw as I pulled myself back from my panic attack. The last time I’d had one was when I graduated high school. I didn’t get them often, but when they did take over, it was nearly impossible to recover until I passed out from lightheadedness. I couldn’t blame myself for being overwhelmed. I needed to get away from all of this. I needed sleep.
As soon as I unlocked my door and walked in, I could smell it again, that underlying pleasant scent that lingered on both Micah and that other Nephilim’s skin. It warmed me.
Someone was here.
Acting on a whim, I put my keys in my hand so they poked out between my knuckles and swung around to hit whoever was behind me. Someone caught my arm.
“It’s me.” Micah’s familiar voice echoed in the emptiness of my apartment. “Who did you expect?”
He was so close and so familiar in this state of chaos that I wanted to hug him. I wanted comfort and to feel safe. Then I recalled our last encounter, when he left me without so much as an I don’t know, and felt betrayed by my own feelings. I yanked my arm from him and walked past without a word. This was turning into a really crappy night.
“Where were you? I got here two hours ago,” he said. He didn’t seem particularly concerned, which was a relief: that means he wasn’t following me. He doesn’t know what happened.