“Whoa,” he said, taking in her disheveled appearance. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Slate,” she wheezed. “Is Adrian here?”
Slate called out to his brother as he crouched down in front of her.
“Just breathe,” he said softly, scanning her face. “Deep breaths, in and out.”
She met his eyes and tried to focus on his words, but her breaths still came short and shallow.
Adrian appeared at the end of the hallway, sliding around the corner on the wood-paneled floor and pushing his brother out of the way as he ran up to her. She clung to Adrian’s arms and pulled herself up as words tumbled out in between her gasps for air.
“I had another dream,” she said. “But I think it was more than that. I went to Hell. I followed May, and Layla found me, and I met the Devil.”
Adrian attempted to smooth her ravaged hair and held her face in his hands, making her focus on him. “All right.” He tried to sound calm, but she could hear the waver in his voice. “All right, let’s start at the beginning.”
“Look,” she pushed her bangs aside. “Look at my head!” His eyes widened.
“You’re bleeding!”
“Yeah, but that’s not…”
He guided her into the kitchen and made her sit on a rickety chair as he went to grab some tissues. He pulled a chair up across from her and dabbed at her bloody forehead. Slate followed them, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
“Got pretty messed up last night huh,” Slate said. “Who gave it to you?”
“Lucifer,” she said, grabbing a tissue for her nose.
“Is that a new drug?” Adrian directed the question to Slate, who shrugged.
“What? No, I didn’t take any drugs.” She was beginning to calm down now that she was here and she had the two of them listening to her. She inhaled deeply and the story poured out of her in one long sentence. “I met Lucifer, and he said he’s my dad, and I’m the Antichrist, and all that biblical stuff is real, and he wants to fight a war. With God.”
Adrian wiped some mascara off her cheek and frowned. “Are you sure no one slipped you anything? Where were you last night?”
“I was following May,” she began, “to the park. Rachel had this plan, and I had to stop them… and I ended up at Layla’s house…” The details were still blurred in her mind. How exactly had she gotten to Layla’s? Maybe they were right, and Rachel or Layla had slipped her some potent drug and she had imagined the entire thing. She remembered blacking out as a glowing light approached, and the rush of feathery wings as an owl called nearby. An owl, like the symbol on Lilith’s grimoire. Like the feathers Layla wore in her hair, and the one that had frightened the old lady by the water. Momma bird, Lucifer had called her.
“I think Layla is an owl,” she mused. “Lilith. A demon who is an owl, she’s been watching me the whole time. Her and her children. Remember the screech owl?”
Adrian took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching her face closely. She could see his disbelief, his concern for her mental wellbeing. She wished she could tell him it was all a drug-induced fantasy, but how would that explain her singed sleeves, the incision on her forehead? Had Cyrus and May both taken the same drug? They believed it was all true. Everything that had been happening to her made sense if she believed it too. The odd coincidences, the fire in her hands, the demons in the subway. She lifted her palm to see the welt shaped like a cross, rolled her shoulder to feel the sting of the rabbi’s wound.
“Remember your uncle’s story?” she said, thinking of his tale of a fiery hero that put an end to the world. Jack as a wolf was in a different dream, like his story was from a different creed, but the world they talked about was the same. Maybe all prophecies sprang from the same place, and the myths they told were true. And Jack had seen the truth in her.
“He has a lot of weird stories,” Adrian said hesitantly. “It doesn’t mean they’re real.”
“Then why did he tell it to me? I know it sounds crazy.” She ran a finger across her forehead. The scar was beginning to itch. “But you’ve seen the things happening to me. And how can you explain this?”
Adrian shifted his gaze to Slate. “Do something useful, will you, get some rubbing alcohol and paper towels.”
Slate jumped away from the wall and came running back with the supplies. Des bit her lip as the alcohol stung her forehead and watched Adrian wince as if he felt her pain too. He poured some on her hand too where Misery had bitten her, and on the scratches on her arms she hadn’t even noticed, probably from her struggle with May.
“Can you see it now?” she said as a pile of bloodied paper lay on the floor.
Both boys leaned in to squint at her forehead and Slate let out a low whistle. Adrian sat back in his chair, his brows knotted.
“Who did this?” His voice was a hard whisper, a promise of revenge on whoever had hurt her. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and his lips twitched, then his expression changed and he leaned forward. “Did you…?”
“No!” Des waved her hand in agitation. “I didn’t do this to myself. It was Lucifer. He kissed my head and this appeared.”
Adrian glanced at Slate, who shrugged as if to say this was beyond him. He wrapped his hand around hers and raised them to his lips to plant a quick kiss on her knuckles.
“Okay,” he said, nodding slightly as if to convince himself. “Okay. You met the king of Hell, Layla is a bird demon, and you are the Antichrist?”
She nodded, hoping that meant he believed it was possible, that he wouldn’t call someone to put her in a straight jacket, that he would help her understand what it all meant.
She had so many questions for Layla, and for Cyrus if she decided to trust him. She had to talk to May and make sure she was okay. And she would have to face her mom after running out on her this morning.
But right now she wanted to stay here, in Adrian’s arms, and forget the rest of the world. As long as he was by her side she could face whatever was coming.
“We’ll figure this out, okay? Just like I said, you and me.” Adrian turned his head slightly towards Slate, who rolled his eyes and sauntered out of the room, giving her a thumbs up on the way. Des smiled at him and leaned her head on Adrian’s shoulder.
“You and me,” she whispered.
Family Bonds
“Rabbi Eisner?”
Shirley had turned onto the walkway up to Father Tate’s church when she saw her rabbi coming towards her. He looked tired, or stressed, his forehead creased as if deep in thought.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, feeling a pang of guilt as soon as she did. Here she was, visiting a church more often than she had been to temple in the last few years. She had even missed Yom Kippur this year.
“I, uh…”
The rabbi seemed distracted, and she noticed he was twisting a ring on his finger compulsively back and forth.
“Mrs. Levine!” he exclaimed as if he had just recognized her. “How are you? I could ask the same question of you.”
She felt the little stab of guilt again and brushed her hair across her shoulder as if brushing the feeling aside.
“Um, Nathan, I mean Father Tate, is... helping me.”
Rabbi Eisner scrutinized her with a knowing look, and she rubbed at the edges of her eyes self-consciously, hoping her makeup covered the puffy circles under them. Des hadn’t responded to any of her calls during the day, and she was at her wit's end about how to even find her. She was hoping Nathan would know what to do.
“Is it about your daughter?”
Shirley stared at him, wondering if they had been in there talking about her. “How do you know?”
“I ran into her on the train the other day. She seemed rather…”
“Possessed,” Shirley muttered.
Rabbi Eisner looked startled and seemed to be about to say more, but then averted his gaze to peek at his watch.
“Ah, getting late.” He glanced from his watch to the darken
ing sky and back to her. “Must be going, can’t very well have Sabbath prayers without the rabbi.”
He gave her a strained smile and placed a hand on her shoulder, holding it there for a moment before letting go.
“She’ll be ok,” he assured her, but his words didn’t carry much conviction. Shirley watched him walk away before heading into the church.
The setting sun cast an orange ray of light onto the painting of Jesus behind the pulpit, making his skin glow as if a fire bathed him in ethereal light. Nathan was sitting in an empty pew, contemplating, or praying, while Edmund stood nearby. Shirley paused in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt, but Edmund noticed her and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Shirley,” Nathan rose and came over to her with open arms. She let him give her a brief hug and then moved back a step.
“Do you know Rabbi Eisner?” she asked, aware of the accusation in her voice.
“We are acquainted.”
“Through James?”
He nodded and ushered her down the hall to his office, even though no one else was around.
“What troubles you, Shirley?” he asked, offering her the leather chair. “Besides a priest and a rabbi being friends?”
She deflated into the chair and let out a lengthy sigh. She supposed she was being paranoid; it wasn’t so strange that they knew each other, was it? But why was the rabbi acting so odd? She shook her head, the reason she came here crowding its way back into her thoughts.
“It’s getting worse,” she said, eyeing the tissues on his desk and hoping she would refrain from using them. She had cried enough tears for today. “I’m afraid for her. She looked terrible this morning. I mean, she’s stayed out all night before, but this… she was bleeding! Bleeding from her forehead, and she wouldn’t tell me what happened!” She twisted the ends of her scarf in her hands.
Nathan nodded sympathetically, leaning his elbows on his desk, hands laced together.
“Do you think she was in a fight?” he asked.
“She’s got a smart mouth but she’s never gotten into real fights before. Do you think I should go to the police?”
“Oh no,” Nathan said quickly, “I’m sure it’s not necessary.”
“You said she has a wound on her head?” Edmund asked, staring at her with his disquieting gaze.
“On the forehead!” she tapped the middle of her own forehead to demonstrate.
The two of them exchanged a glance and Nathan sat forward slightly.
“Was there anything… recognizable about this wound?” he inquired gently.
“Recognizable, what on earth do you mean?”
“Did it look like anything you would recognize,” added Edmund, “like a symbol, or say… a number.”
She shook her head in confusion. “No, I didn’t see it, I only saw the blood dripping down,” she reached for a tissue and Nathan pushed the box on his desk towards her. Her hand stopped on the way to her eyes.
“Oh, do you mean…”
Edmund and the father exchanged another glance.
“Do you mean, she might have done this to herself?”
Edmund let out a small sigh.
“I guess I’ve heard about cutting, but she’s never, I mean would she do that to her face?” she sniffled. Nathan nodded slowly.
“Just a thought,” he said.
Shirley sat back in her chair, her hand held against her own forehead as if in sympathy pains.
“If you can determine what it says,” he added, “it might give you some insight into what is bothering her.”
“I can’t even find her, I don’t know where she is! She probably ran to that new boyfriend of hers.”
“If you would like, I can attempt to contact your husband.”
Shirley sat forward again, the tissue crumpled in her fist, her tears suddenly stilled.
“I thought you haven’t heard from him any more than I have.”
“I haven’t, but I may be able to locate him. He would want to know about all this.”
She snorted in disdain. “He hasn’t cared to involve himself all these years, I don’t need his help now.”
“It’s ok to ask for help, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? I know you’re angry with him, but he had his reasons for leaving. Perhaps he could explain them now.”
“Is this all his idea?” Shirley stood up too quickly, knocking her bag to the floor. “You and the rabbi, and James, what kind of nonsense are you up to?”
All that talk about weird powers and dark prophecies, she should have known they were only trying to manipulate her somehow. She didn’t know to what end, but she didn’t need James back in her life right now. It was too much to hope Nathan would be different than anyone else. She reached down for her bag, intending to storm out the door indignantly, but instead tripped on her dangling scarf and banged her head on the edge of the desk. Nathan rushed over to help her and she pushed his hand away, but sat down again until her ears stopped ringing.
“Ow.” She rubbed her head, feeling a bruise forming. “Damnit.”
Nathan kneeled in front of her, using his charming smile to try to ease her mind. She tried to see past the concern in his eyes, searching for something else, something sneaky or malicious, but it wasn’t there.
“Please, Shirley, I’m only worried for you. There are things you don’t yet understand, and you may be in danger.”
She frowned at him. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a teenager. What don’t I understand? And what does James have to do with it?”
He sighed. “Your daughter is… special. James realized this a long time ago, although he couldn’t come to terms with the truth. It may be hard for you as well.”
“You’re still talking in riddles. What is wrong with my daughter?”
“So many things,” interrupted Edmund. She gripped the edge of the chair and glared at him.
“She will come home to you,” Nathan assured her, laying a gentle hand on top of hers. “Blood is the strongest bond. And when she does, perhaps you will see what has changed.”
“Well, what’s going to change is that she is grounded for the next few months. She’s coming straight home after school.”
“More rules may only push her further away. Perhaps there is still a chance for you to get through to her. Perhaps…” he paused, his thoughts elsewhere. Then he squeezed her hand and stood. “Find a way to look at the wound on her head, maybe when she sleeps. Tell me what you see, and we will know what to do.”
Shirley rubbed her head again, a headache blossoming from the bruise and the frustration of it all. All their cryptic explanations were no help in actually dealing with her moody, downward spiraling daughter. She could only hope he was right and she would come home. Then she would figure out how to make things right between them and get to the bottom of what was going on with her. These men were confused by their faith and religion, projecting some dire superstition onto her daughter. She might be strange, might even have psychic ability, but she wasn’t some abnormal, dangerous thing.
“All right Father,” she said, grasping his hand back briefly before standing up, slowly this time. “I’ll do that.”
“Very good.” He smiled at her. “Call me any time you feel the need.”
“Sure.” She glanced at Edmund, doubting she would feel that need anytime soon. She wrapped her scarf around her neck and steeled herself for the trip home to her empty house, where all she could do was wait for Des to come back to her.
Lost Soul
Adrian rubbed his eyes and looked over at his bed where Des lay sleeping in a tangled pile of blankets. The soft glow of his laptop screen tinged her features blue, highlighting her little cherub nose and her softly rounded cheeks. She looked peaceful in sleep, all the anger and fear drained away into the shadows of slumber. How could she be a demon?
He turned back to the page he had open, labeled Who is the Antichrist? His other tabs included Vivid Dreaming and Psychosis, Hallucinogenic Drugs, and Self Injury in Teenager
s. He closed the last one. He knew enough about that from Slate’s younger years, and didn’t feel like revisiting those memories. Whatever Des was going through didn’t seem like the same thing.
The Antichrist was apparently supposed to arrive at the beginning of the Apocalypse and be a great deceiver of mankind. The title had been pinned on many people, including several Roman emperors, presidents, Hitler, and even the Pope. The only thing that Des shared with them, if you believed biblical prophecy, was her odd mismatched eyes and her Jewish heritage. She certainly wasn’t a famous leader, or even a man like all the others.
The world still hadn’t ended, so all those predictions so far must have been wrong. Christianity wasn’t the only religion with world ending prophecies, and he wondered which one of them would end up being right. He thought of his uncle with his stories and legends, like that one he had told Des when they visited. Was it really a coincidence that he brought up one about Ayash, who burned the world with fire?
An image of a beautiful woman with flowing hair and an owl on her shoulder caught his eye as he scrolled down the page. He clicked on it and was brought to a new page about Lilith. Layla is an owl, Des had said as she rambled. A demon owl.
Lilith was the first wife of Adam, who refused to submit to him and was banished from the Garden of Eden. She became a mother to demons, and God punished her by killing one hundred of her children every day. She is sometimes associated with the screech owl, able to change forms at will.
Adrian tapped a finger on his desk. It was weird to hear the screech owl both in Brooklyn and up at his uncle’s place. They weren’t the most common bird to run into.
Lilith is known to seduce men and steal babies, and is said to have taken as a lover both Satan, and the fallen angel Samael.
Wasn’t Layla’s boyfriend introduced as Sam? Was everyone around her a demon? He rubbed his eyes again and groaned. He couldn’t wrap his head around all of this at once. If Des was really telling the truth...
Adrian yawned and stretched his arms, feeling a twinge on his shoulder where Des had dug her fingers in the other night. He smiled thinking of it, and eased himself onto the bed, trying not to disturb her. She mumbled in her sleep and rolled towards him, resting her cheek against his chest. He brushed her hair from her face and peeked at her forehead, where the scar slashed grim lines across her pale skin. Her skin felt flushed, and he wondered if she was getting a fever. Did the kiss of the Devil make you sick? He laid a kiss of his own on her head and wrapped an arm gently around her.
Revelation (Blood of Angels Book 1) Page 14