Unlocked

by Kevin Solomon Missal

  gulped and tamped her emotions down.

  Caspar had been wrong. Ivy was a strong girl. Way stronger than him.

  Pa

  in

  Death hadn’t been there. He hadn’t arrived. He had gotten the news from Capernaum about the mission, but he didn’t go to meet Caspar as he had some work to do. After all, he had souls to count and reap.

  As for Capernaum, he made a paste out of herbs and fresh fruits and applied it to Ivy’s wounds to heal her. The medicine’s effects made her drop into a deep sleep. She’d be well again soon enough.

  Capernaum strode out of the room and shit the door behind him. His eyes were sullen within their sockets. His nose became a bright yellow color and his ears grew purple. He was sulking. Or perhaps it was the cool fresh air of the sunrise, which made him look so.

  He didn’t show the pessimism in his expression, but he did look disappointed. Caspar was sitting at the dining table, hands clasped together and his thumbs resting against his parted lips. Balthazar was standing near the window, looking outside, his claws curled around a burning cigar. The ashes slowly scattered to the floor.

  Capernaum sat wrapped in silence, as if trying to find correct words to begin the conversation. It was one they should have had when they’d arrived, but Ivy needed attention and took precedence over everything else.

  “What happened there?”

  “The Marid was uncontrollable. He didn’t listen. When we tried to catch him, he escaped only to get slaughtered. We then had to face that demon.”

  “The last of djinns has gone as well. We are in great danger now.”

  “We are not sure his essence was taken,” Balthazar cut in. “Well...uhh...we didn’t see anything squeezed out of him.”

  “Well, it doesn’t work like that way, gargoyle,” Capernaum snapped with anger. “When a djinn dies, his essence is transferred to the demon who killed it and that is . . .”

  “Manfred Croft,” Balthazar mumbled with embarrassment and grew quiet. “That is the reason. He had the source which should have been in the witch

  house, in the first place, so he could get the essence, one by one.”

  Caspar slowly grasped the situation with sudden realization. “Because whoever has the source makes Spring Heeled Jack it’s owner.”

  Capernaum didn’t say more. What else was there to say? Caspar ran a hand through his thick hair with agitation. They had lost to Manfred. He just couldn’t believe it. Manfred Croft was going to raise Lucifer.

  “When the true son of evil walks the lands, Hell shall be cast down on Earth and Water.”

  Caspar had heard this saying about Lucifer from a demon he had previously slaughtered when he was sixteen. Back then, he didn’t know who the Morningstar was. Lately, he had every detail as to who he was in front of him.

  “He is the one who created evil in the universe. He is the devil. With his flesh and his bones, he created every part of Hell.”

  Caspar got up. He saw Capernaum lost within his own, despaired thoughts. He strode toward the door and opened it. The fragrance of the soothing candles assailed his nostrils. Silence continued to surround him. He looked at Ivy as she lay with her eyes closed, the bed sheet tucked over her body. Her face looked troubled, as if she was having a strong nightmare. One she wanted to escape yet was unable to, for one reason or another. Her hands clenched the sheet, clutching it tightly. Her brows arched and her lips quivered with sudden ferocity.

  He approached her and knelt down beside her. She had risked her life for this mission and almost gotten killed. For all she’d done, they hadn’t succeeded. He observed her as if she were a lab rat trying to find its course. He sat there watching her until her eyes opened, slowly and steadily, revealing those black pupils.

  “What are you doing here, hotshot?” Ivy said, her voice weak and barely audible.

  He leaned forward to better grasp her words. His face didn’t soften. He could have given her some sympathy, but he was too reluctant to do so. He pursed his lips and said, “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better than a demon kicking your ass,”

  “There’s one thing I don’t understand, Ivy,” he replied. “Why do you always find optimism in everything, eh? You almost got killed, yet you tried to smile. Right now, I know how much you are in pain, but still, you are trying to joke. Why? If it was me, I would have lashed out somehow.” He didn’t believe the words, but that was the truth.

  “That’s the difference between you and me, hotshot. I have learnt this...one thing.” She found it difficult to speak. “When you know your life is going to be short, why not enjoy the little things you have for now?” She paused, coughed, and then resumed speaking. “I am a Nephilim. I was born for battles, because that’s what Nephilims do. They fight.

  “Their lives are short as they die during their teenage years, mostly. Some of them live, but that’s just a probability. The ones who prolong their lives by not indulging themselves in these matters, these supernatural matters, their deaths are worse because they are not going according to the order. Being a Nephilim is a tough

  job. It’s about survival. I am surviving right now. I can die anytime. So why not enjoy the small things you have?”

  Caspar snorted mechanically. “Eh? That thought is just absurd.”

  Ivy laughed. Caspar noticed the flush of red that broke out across her round, soft cheeks. “You are like a robot.” She moved closer to Caspar, her eyes narrowed at him. “You are a human. As far as I know, you should be graduating now. But here you are, talking to a half angel while some maniac is raising the devil. Unlike me, you can have a normal life, have kids, have family, have a wife, and have a life. Why are you like this? Why are you doing this? What’s your past? What’s your story?”

  “I never had a past. I never will.” Darkness crept into Caspar’s eyes. “I am a person with no story.”

  “You are lying.” She shook her head, refusing to believe a single word he said. “That’s what people do, Ivy. They lie.” A hint of a smile crossed his face, but

  it wasn’t full of joy or sadness. Instead, there was confusion. “Because that’s what makes them strong. It makes them hide the emotions they have put a lid on, because that’s what they are good at.”

  She regarded him with veiled eyes. “Why are you hiding from yourself?” She placed her hands upon his cheek. It was cold and scarred. “Why don’t you tell me who you really are?”

  “I am a maniac just like Manfred.”

  “No, no. No, you aren’t. Manfred is evil. You aren’t.” “What makes you so sure?”

  “Nothing. I just have my beliefs.”

  “Belief? Pfft. Never have any beliefs! They always have a knack of getting you in trouble.”

  “You aren’t evil. You weren’t born one. I am sure of it.”

  Her hands tightened upon his cheeks. For some reason, she didn’t want to pull them back. She wanted to keep her hands there, to comfort him, to show that someone him that someone cared and to somehow make him feel secure.

  “People aren’t born evil, Ivy. Time makes them one.” He grabbed her hands and pushed them gently to the bed.

  He stood and looked down at her and her hair streaked with red at the ends. He didn’t smile. He stared at her with a sense of hope losing on his side. “I think you should rest now. Balthazar and I will try to find Manfred and hopefully glean as to where he is doing the ritual.”

  “No,” she said. “I am going.”

  “Why do people always tend not to do what they are told to do?”

  “You can’t pull your ass to the ritual without my help, hotshot. So buckle up because I am more than just all right.” She got up to find herself dressed in loose pajamas. “After I change my clothes, of course.” She shyly looked down.

  Caspar turned around and hurried to the door to tug it open. “Change your clothes. I will be waiting outside.”

  With a sly smile on her face, she said, “Or you can stay here and watch me change clothes.”
She was trying really hard not to laugh out loud.

  He narrowed his eyes. “That would be preposterous.”

  “You look really cute when you do that eye thing,” she chuckled mischievously.

  Caspar didn’t know what to say. Should he reply? No. To his understanding, he shouldn’t. She was flirtatious and liked playing with him. Of that he was sure.

  Before he exited the room, he replied, “Ivy, I’ll never be able to enjoy little things, even if I am facing death. I never will be.”

  She offered him an energetic smile. “I’m not sure as to what to say to that,” she said.

  “I’ll leave you to your own devices. Ciao for now.” With that said, he closed the door behind him.

  It

  ’s All About Fun

  The cemetery was unlike any other. Overhead, the red sky burned bright behind inky clouds. The oak trees facing the graves were bent, as if they were doting fathers attending to their little children. The pasture and the green fields were endless, extending toward the horizon and a cathedral sat close to the graveyard, blotting the remaining open space.

  Manfred walked about, his hair as thorny as ever. His face was ashy and plain with a big smile plastered across his face. His eyes seemed to sink deep within his sockets and he wore a gleaming silver suit with a black tie hung about his neck.

  Behind him, two winged demons with long tilted ears and intertwining tattoos walked like guards they were. They looked around, their posture upright. Manfred’s gait was casual and moved freely with no worries whatsoever.

  It wasn’t long before he saw the demon. It was digging the grave, its eyes blinking in an uncertain way. Its hair was untidy and its tattoos weren’t Enochion. They were just a bunch of mixed up symbols that were mostly seen in demonology. It wore loose clothes, a coat, and pants. When it saw Manfred grimacing at it, the demon scurried toward him like a desperate rat. It shoved its hands into its mouth, trying to cover the foul smell that surrounded him.

  “Magister Manfred! I expected you.” He rubbed his hands together as a greedy smile broke out across his face. Its grainy hair fell across his forehead as sweat warmed the dust covering its skin. “Not so fast, though.”

  With a charming, scary smile, he said, “I am more of a punctual person, Ezekiel.” He looked around, taking in the oak trees, the inky skies, the brown background, and the marbled cathedral. “This is where we are bringing our guest.”

  “As per the directions Magister Abaddon gave me, Magister. He said the ritual will be here.”

  “It’s stinks here,”

  “Sorry for that. I’ll clean up the mess, Sire.”

  “You should, you should.” Manfred nodded. “Abaddon is a reluctant fellow, don’t you think, Ezekiel?”

  He rolled his eyes and his ears twitched with excitement. “Oh yes, Magister, he is. Quite a fellow, he is.”

  Manfred frowned. Quite a fellow? More like frustrated and not trustable. But then, he wasn’t here to share his feelings with a lonely demon that had nothing to do except fill demon coffins. He walked to one of the coffins to find a demon with criss-crossed marks stitched upon its skin. Its eyes were closed and its hands were clasped across its chest.

  “You are doing a good thing, Magister.”

  “What?” His unresisting smile was a tad lopsided. “What did you say?” “Good thing, Magister.” The demon was a tad scared as he took a step back.

  “That you are bringing our Creator, our god, forth. We are...v – very happy,” he stammered. “We all are. We are considering you as the Savior who is going to reclaim these old lands of ours.”

  Manfred laughed. “You are shivering, Ezekiel. Why, pray tell?” His voice was sweet as if filled with honey and nectar.

  “I am excited, Sire.”

  “We all are. But we aren’t all shivering about it.” He laughed again.

  His eyes twitched. “It’s nothing. It’s just your face...it’s . . .” He grew cold.

  “My face?” He pointed his gloved fingers at his face. “You want to know how I got this, Ezekiel. How I came upon this kind of mask?”

  “It’s a mask?” he inquired, trying to find assurance within Manfred’s gentle

  tone.

  “Oh, yes, it is. I don’t have a face. I have masks, many of them. It’s a funny story, a very funny story.” He caught Ezekiel’s face and clutched it hard. “Do you like funny stories, Ezekiel? Do you like them? Eh? Tell me. So you like them? Because I don’t.” His smile disappeared as he pushed Ezekiel down into the coffin beside the sleeping demon. “Am I crazy, Ezekiel?” He knelt close to the grave. “Am I crazy?”

  “No, no, no. You aren’t, Magister.”

  “You are just saying that to make me happy, aren’t you?” “Not, not happy. The truth, Magister,”

  “Stop calling me Magister!” Manfred licked his lips feverishly. “You see, I am the best liar in the world. The best! And only one liar knows when another is lying.” He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the shovel. Slowly, he started to toss the mud into the grave, bit by bit. “I wanted to ask you one thing, just one thing. When we kill demons, they turn to ash. So how do they end up being here?”

  Ezekiel cried. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “TELL ME!” yelled Manfred.

  “They die up there. They come here to be buried because they can’t go up

  again.”

  “Ohhhhhh! Wonderful.”

  “Why are you doing this to me, Magister? Why are you trying to bury me?” Manfred laughed. “I was bored and wanted to have a bit of fun. Everyone

  needs a bit break from their lifestyle, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” the demon whimpered.

  The grave was almost done, only a part of the demon’s head could be seen. “I am going to lie now, Ezekiel. I will not kill you for random fun.” He winked and then smashed the shovel against his head, the loud thud reverberating from the force of his actions.

  Mi

  chael’s Messenger

  The room was well lit. Caspar sat close to the fire, his eyes glistening. His lips parted. Death had yet to appear. Hours had passed and there was still no sign of him. Too many souls to reap, perhaps. Or was he trying to ignore Caspar’s summons? That’s atrocious. Death would never. He was the first one to put Caspar in the position he now found himself in.

  Capernaum had gone to the Order’s meeting as a mole to see if he could find something useful about the ritual. It had been two hours now since he’d gone. Balthazar was busy watching television with a look of delight on his face, his eyes shining. He laughed and rolled over the couch, sometimes unintentionally tearing off the leather with his claws. He felt his stomach squeezing when he tried to resist a laugh.

  Ivy was sitting at the dining table, whistling to herself and sometimes peeked from her corner at the shows Balthazar was watching. Every now and then, she’d gaze at Caspar’s hard, stone face as he sat there thinking. She noticed how he kept a finger pressed against his lips when he was deep in thought. Perhaps it was his way of concentrating as such were the foibles of men.

  “Caspar, you should watch this. Geez, it’s so frigging funny!” Balthazar said and laughed, which made it hard for Caspar to even understand what he was saying.

  Caspar’s shrugged. “What’s so funny about it?” “A fight between a dog and a baby,”

  “That doesn’t make sense, does it?” he asked. “Why on Earth, would a dog fight with a baby? It’s preposterous.”

  Ivy rolled her eyes. Her expression clearly said, ‘Don’t be so uptight.’ “Yeah, I know. It’s like the world’s end, right?”

  His eyes shot up with surprise. “Are you being sarcastic, lady?” “No. I am being nostalgic.”

  Caspar’s brows furrowed. He didn’t like being mocked by a girl. Yes, she was a Nephilim, but she was still a girl. He ignored her, as if she’d taken his favorite toy and was not giving him back.

  A car with flashing headlights rolled toward the mansion. Startled, Caspar jumped up and
went to the door. Ivy’s expression changed. Balthazar didn’t do much. He gazed back and waited for Caspar to say something. In the morning mist, he found a glimmering skeleton wearing a suit trying to run for the door. The bizarre image of the skeleton melted as the door opened and he found Capernaum, wet and muddied. Caspar had mistaken Capernaum for a skeleton. It was an honest mistake.

  What he didn’t notice was the ragged scratches and bruises upon his skin. His eyes were swollen and his face was half scarred. His coat was ripped and scratched as if by a jaguar or some other ferocious animal. It looked terrible. Something had gone wrong.

  “They knew,” Capernaum breathed. “They found out I was the spy inside the Order. Manfred caught me.”

  “How’s that possible? How did they know?” “That I do not know.”

  Caspar had never seen Capernaum get angry. Though emotionless, he was tough. Yet he now sported an impassive face with bloodied eyes, anger shining within their depths.

  “I don’t really wanna die, but I think Death has something to do with this,” Balthazar said.

  “No, that’s impossible.”

  “It makes sense. It makes perfect sense.” Ivy nodded. “He has not been coming, even though we’ve called him repeatedly. Where is he? On top of that, what is he doing?”

  “He is Death, for God’s sake. Everyone knows what he’ll be doing.” Caspar didn’t want to believe otherwise, but soon things started to become clear.

  “We have to go on that assumption, for now then.”

  Capernaum refused to utter a single word. He was quiet. As his tone seemed bitter, Caspar remembered that Capernaum and Death had a history of lies and pain.

  “There’s good news, though.”