by Hunter Blain
“There are ways,” Gabriel eluded.
“Of course there are,” I exhaled, rubbing my temples. “You are exhausting.”
“I believe the common expression is ‘takes one to know one.’”
Locke stifled a chuckle by pretending to clear his throat. Even Ludvig got in on the fun.
“Oh-ho-hoooo! I understood dat comment,” the Swede said victoriously. Though I could see out of the corner of my eye that Depweg was grinning at my back and forth with the angel.
“So, are those my only two options?” I asked Gabriel, ignoring Locke and Lude.
“Of course they are not. You have the ability to make any choice you want, it’s the—”
“It’s the consequences I can’t avoid. Yeah, yeah, dude. I’ve heard that shit.”
“Have you?”
“Ha-have I what?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Have you heard that shit?” Gabriel inquired with a smile.
I answered with stunned silence.
With a tone brimming with compassion and understanding, Gabriel explained, “John, with each decision we face, our paths fork and follow a winding branch.” He smoothly lifted his hands and began slowly gyrating his fingers as a stick of golden energy grew from the floor like a sprouting sapling. As we all watched the glittering gold grow upward, it began forking off in different paths, with some of the branches halting their progress while others continued jutting toward the ceiling. “The choices we make with each passing conflict draw a map of who we are. After some time, a picture of a man’s life begins to take shape, telling those around who know how to see what kind of soul resides within the finite flesh.”
As he continued, an unmistakable golden outline of yours truly came to life. I felt exposed and naked for some reason, at having this angel draw my life’s path in front of everyone. “It is an important distinction to note that a singular act of sin does not draw a map of one’s soul.” A small branch broke off, and the extending piece withered and died as the rest continued to thrive, reinforcing the golden man. “However, too many bad decisions can alter a person’s soul, making it unstable.” To showcase his point, several pieces began jutting off in random directions, forming a grotesque silhouette of structurally weak branches. It continued to grow with everyone watching before a large section broke off and the whole thing collapsed to the ground in a puff of golden smoke.
“Ohhh-kay? Is there a punch line?”
“Well, actually,” Gabriel started as he turned his head to the front door.
A slow, deliberate set of three aggressive knocks created an auditory black hole in the group. No one dared breathe as we all looked. Even Tiny Tim, who had climbed on the armrest, could only silently peer at the door with a tilted head and his tail tucked between his legs.
“May I?” Gabriel asked politely. When no one answered, he confidently made his way to the door. Opening it revealed the personification of my brand-new, freshly delivered from Amazon feeling of dread. It wasn’t even on sale; had to pay full price.
“Greetings, Ulric Godwin.”
“Godwin?!” Locke and I barked out at the same time. I could hear Depweg taking a deep breath as he assimilated the revelation.
“Thank you, Gabriel. So polite, as always,” Ulric greeted as he walked into my home.
“As…as always?” I asked, my head reeling.
Ulric stopped right beside me, wearing a maroon suit with a shiny black ascot.
“Yes, John. Gabriel and I have met previously.”
My eyes shot to the angel, who continued as if this wasn’t a freaking bombshell of a revelation. He shut the door and came to stand next to Ulric.
“What the hell is this?” I asked, moving a finger back and forth between them.
“The beginning of the end, child,” Ulric all but purred with a sinister smile.
“I have invited Ulric here tonight on the grounds of having a civil discussion,” the angel said as casually as informing the group of the variety of pizza toppings that had been ordered.
“You brought Ulric. The dude who’s tried to kill me over and over despite knowing it would cause the apocalypse. You brought that fucking Ulric, to have a Goddamned chitchat, Gabriel?” I threw in the traditional expletive on purpose, further telegraphing my frustrations to the angel.
He took it on the chin like a champ as he informed me, “I understand your trepidations, John. I would not have invited him here if there wasn’t great cause to do so. Can we agree on that?”
I answered the question by once again crossing my arms and looking away, slightly shaking my head as I frowned aggressively. Tim growled in warning, his ears plastered against his head.
Gabriel took that as a show of submission to his point. Depweg stepped forward, blessedly steering the conversation for me.
“What is the reason you brought him here and made us unwittingly abide by the rules of Sacred Hospitality?” Depweg asked.
“Oh, there is no Sacred Hospitality in place,” Ulric informed us with a shark’s grin.
“What’s Sacred Hospitality?” Magni asked, unable to stop himself.
“Can we stop saying Sacred Hospitality, please?”
Ignoring me, Ulric answered the question. “Sacred Hospitality is a rule among supernatural entities wherein all parties involved agree to an amicable meeting. Aggression is severely frowned upon, and usually punishable by the wardens,” he purred.
“Hmph,” I said, keeping my head facing the wall but glancing sidelong with my eyes.
Faces shifted to me in response.
“Oh, ah, I…I didn’t know that. Thought it was something to do with the Fae High Court and real supernaturals,” I grumbled.
“Though you are not wrong, as per usual, you are also not right. For everyone in this room,” Ulric dramatically waved his hand over the group like a magician, “Sacred Hospitality must be invoked and agreed upon. I see no reason to do so, as no one in this room could stop me should I choose to, shall we say, make things uncomfortable?” As he spoke, the room noticeably grew warmer, like an oversize space heater in a half-bath.
“That’s enough, Ulric,” Gabriel said with disappointment. He waved his own hand, and the air returned to normal.
“All except Gabriel here, of course,” Ulric admitted. “Though he is not allowed to directly intervene.”
“You mean, if you started attacking all of us, Gabriel wouldn’t do anything to stop you,” I asked in a statement rather than an inquiry for clarification. I just wanted to hear the angel say it.
“That is correct,” Gabriel confirmed.
“Try to be sad about it, why don’t ya?” I shot at him.
“Do not worry, dear boy, I have clear instructions to leave you unharmed…for now,” Ulric stated with a wink at the end.
“And what if I got up, right now, and cut your fucking head off? Hmm? What then, big boy?”
“Then the gates of Hell will open, fool,” Ulric challenged, knowing he had me at a stalemate. My fists popped, drawing my attention to how hard I was unconsciously clenching them. Not wanting to give Ulric the satisfaction of an emotional response, I forced my white knuckles to relax, opting to pet Tim instead. For the first time since our reunion, Tim ignored my affection and just stared at the Grand Master Warlock Vampire. Or would it be Vampire Grand Master Warlock? This was new territory for the history books.
After a few moments of screaming silence, I asked a question that was eating away at my restraint.
“Ulric, how—”
“How am I already proficient in my new role as Grand Master Warlock?” he asked dramatically, eating up the attention with a ferocity rivaling any social media influencer.
When I didn’t answer, he continued, “Time is relevant, child. Samael came to me, in person, and made a delicious offer indeed. Once I agreed, he brought me to Hell and trained me, personally, for several months. And unlike you, John, I was an eager pupil who did as instructed.”
“No gag reflex, huh?”
Ulric did a double-take, his eyes flashing red for a moment before fading again.
“Wait,” Locke interrupted, “Ar-are we…?”
“Related? Yes. You are a direct relative of my father’s brother, the coward.” He turned his gaze to me. “Why do you think I did not want you to find him?”
My gaze flew between Ulric and Locke, who returned a confused expression.
“I just assumed you wanted to keep me around,” I drawled out lamely.
Ulric barked out a laughter, putting a hand on his stomach in his mirth.
“Oh, oh, John,” Ulric managed between heaves of laughter, “how I have missed your buffoonery. No, you narcissistic imbecile, I did not keep you from Godwin because I wanted you around. I simply did not want you to hurt what was mine.”
“The hell you mean ‘mine’?” Locke asked, incredulity seeping into his words.
Ulric’s face went flat and anger flashed in his eyes as he spoke with a challenging curtness. “Yes, Locke,” he said with a disgusted face at the mention of his made-up name. “You are mine. My blood flows in your veins. Though I care not for you, I was not going to allow this spoiled child to harm what is mine.” He pointed an accusing finger at me, and it took every ounce of self-control not to spring from my recliner and punch through his face and make his skull my new wristwatch.
My thoughts must have been on display like the voice alerts from a car’s navigation system because Ulric smiled at me, silently urging me to try it.
“I do not belong to you, psychopath. I am my own man now,” Locke said, purposefully getting to his feet.
“Actually, warlock, you do belong to me. Now more than ever before.”
Locke looked like he had been hit with an invisible brick right in his kisser, and sat back down with unfocused eyes.
“How do you figure that, asshat?” I asked defiantly. “He’s one of us.” It felt surprisingly good to defend Locke, even after all he had done. In my eyes, he had atoned for his actions and convinced both Depweg and me that he meant what he said about being on our side.
“He,” Ulric began, letting the word linger in the air, “is a warlock. And I am the Grand Master now. He must do as I command or suffer the consequences.” His irises pulsed crimson in ostentatious warning while his pupils shifted from a deep purple to a dark green.
Everyone’s gaze shot to Locke, who didn’t move, keeping his glazed eyes on the table.
“What consequences?” Ludvig asked. Damn curiosity was getting the better of everyone tonight, buuut, I really wanted to know as well.
“He will be stripped of his powers and rendered but a mere mortal, helpless as a lamb amongst the wolves.”
My eyes returned to Locke, who continued to stare into the coffee table as if he were wishing it held a hidden doorway he could disappear into.
I began losing the battle of self-control and exploded at Ulric, “ARE YOU FUCKING SAYING THAT IF HE DOESN’T BETRAY US HE WILL LOSE HIS LILITH-DAMNED POWERS?!”
“That is exactly what I am saying, boy,” Ulric shot back at me, but without losing his composure. “Now then, if the fruitless questions are done being asked, I would like to get to business.”
I shot a hurtful look at Gabriel, who didn’t respond. It almost gave me chills how cold and indifferent he was to the train wreck unfolding before him.
“I have a choice, just like Lachesis said,” Locke whispered as tears formed tiny bubbles on the bottom of his eyelids. He blinked, and the excess water streamed down his cheeks.
From my peripheral vision, I could see Gabriel nodding his head once at Locke. It was barely perceptible, but I caught it.
Locke took in a deep breath, then stood back up with his chest puffed out and chin lifted in defiance.
The tension in the room was almost enough to suffocate us as he stared daggers at his master. I felt my balls shrink and my stomach knot while I watched my friend do something I knew I could not.
“Take them then, fucker,” Locke growled like a man facing a firing squad. “Be quick about it. I haven’t all day.”
A look of shock screwed up Ulric’s face; he apparently felt the same way I did. Ulric was the vainest person I had ever met, and—in my head—the thought of him giving up even a fraction of his powers would bring a hysterical round of laughter from the audience at how absurd a notion it would be. He couldn’t possibly understand Locke’s sacrifice.
The surprise on Ulric’s features was replaced by an explosion of rage at the insolence he had experienced with an audience, two of whom were an Archangel and an Archvampire. I didn’t know if that last part was a real thing, but I felt I had earned the title, and that’s all that matters.
Ulric did something, then, that showed me how serious the matter was. His face went still and he lifted and lowered his eyebrows, and lightly shrugged once in a gesture of acceptance before saying, “Have it your way, mortal.” The last word was purposeful and cold. Every supe’s worse nightmare. “May your friends have a fine day burying you.”
The power of his insult struck home as I understood this was a death sentence for any warlock. The scene of Silver crumbling to ash at having aged over a hundred years in an instant played in my mind.
Ulric lifted his palm at Locke and a purple-and-green mist wafted from his hand. Locke closed his eyes and tightened his jaw so much that I saw it flexing. The mist cloud hit his chest and then began spreading out, drawing a groan of pain from Locke.
I shot to my feet and faced Ulric with clenched fists. Gabriel extended a hand to rest on my chest. I was completely in awe at the enormity of his strength, as I was sure I could have towed an entire cruise ship on land at that moment. Nothing should have been able to stop me from getting to Ulric. Yet this angel’s casual motion froze me in place as if I had been turned to stone.
I looked down at the hand before lifting my glowing crimson eyes to Gabriel. He responded with a small knowing smile and a slight nod of his head, gesturing that I should trust him.
Letting my eyes dim from my predatory red to the color of sunset, I turned my head to watch Locke writhe in agony as his supernatural essence was removed from his body and soul. Veins bulged in his head, and I thought he was on the verge of having an aneurysm or stroke from how hard he was fighting.
The mist had completely surrounded him, siphoning out his warlock powers through incorporeal tendrils that jutted into his body like an acupuncturist’s needles. Locke extended his neck, revealing twitching tendons and a bobbing Adam’s apple as he fought back his screams. Fingers opened and closed into fists repeatedly as if unsure what they should be doing while his legs spasmed and twitched. Blood vessels burst in Locke’s wide eyes and drool seeped down his chin.
As quickly as it had formed, the mist began to diminish and recede back into Ulric’s palm. Once the last of it disappeared, he closed his hand like a thespian trying to be seen by the audience way up in the nosebleed section. Lilith, I had always hated how dramatic he was with even the simplest of actions.
“Now, as I was saying,” Ulric began as Locke collapsed on the couch, sobbing. His skin had gone pale, and black rings circled his red eyes.
“Get him out of here,” I barked to Depweg, who moved to scoop the much smaller Locke up and off the couch. He took him to his room and then reappeared a few moments later, shutting the door behind him. Depweg remained at the door, as if guarding it. I noticed Ludvig had circled around a few steps to have better access to Ulric’s vulnerable back. I squinted my eyes a fraction while barely moving my head side to side. The Hunter looked me in the eyes and nodded slightly in understanding, his posture relaxing.
“If there are no more interruptions,” Ulric sneered at me, “then I would like to conclude this evening with a proposal.”
“What the fuck do you want, asshole?” I snapped at him, my voice trembling with anger. Only the Archangel kept me from starting the apocalypse, which was entirely why he was here. The thought of him knowing how I would react and being right about
it only served to fuel my indignant rage even further.
“There will come a time, child, when you will have the choice to watch your friends die—one by one—or give yourself to Samael.”
“That’s what you came here to tell me?”
“Of course not. I just wanted you to know what is coming. The message I am to deliver is this: stay out of Hell. You will never retrieve the scrolls, or your friend Dawson’s, soul.”
From the corner of my vision I saw Depweg take a step forward with a gaping mouth. He was looking back and forth between Ulric and myself.
“Lilith damn you,” I cursed under my breath as I gritted my teeth and tilted my head down in a gesture of pure agitation. I hadn’t told Depweg about Dawson, and now it was going to bite me in the ass.
“Besides, you need this,” Ulric taunted as he willed black, churning smoke to extend from his closed hand until a staff materialized. The Spear of Destiny sat at the top—my key to entering Hell without dying. My eyes shot to Gabriel, who stood with eyes fixed on me, watching my reactions.
“You’re just going to let him have the Spear of Destiny?!” I cried out to the angel.
“I cannot interfere,” Gabriel said matter-of-factly. I batted his hand away from my chest in direct contention to his statement.
“Do not worry, John. You will go to Hell. Just not yet,” Ulric announced.
“Joke’s on you, bastard. My soul is pure, now.”
“Oh, is it? Well then, I suppose I will have to plunge it back into the tar pits, no?” he promised. My skin ran cold as my chest tightened. Fear swallowed my rampant fury like white blood cells attacking a bacterium. Of course he was the one man who knew my deepest fears, and I believed what he said with complete certainty.
“There’s nothing you could do—”
“To make you kill an innocent? Are you sure about that, John? What if, say, I cut you in half, tear off one of your remaining arms, starve you for months, and then toss a small child into your cell? I will even make it out of—what do you call it, plastic?—so that the child’s family can watch as you drain the life from it, eagerly. Then I will throw the rest in and let you finish them as well. I will even throw in the family dog. What say you, child?”