by Tiana Laveen
As Saint walked about, he stood here and there, his heart murmur becoming more intense as he gasped for breaths. Then, he realized what the issue was… Cruz’s father had conducted animal sacrifices on the property, which only compounded the problem, and there was simply no getting around that tortured vibe.
Saint continued to tour the house at Cruz’s urging. The young man wanted him to give his take on the place for some peculiar reason. So, Saint complied. He’d made a half decent wage at the Empire City Subway, but upon seeing the sparse décor, lack of a television, only one dated radio in the kitchen, Saint wasn’t certain what the man was spending his cash on.
“Please, have a seat,” Cruz offered, pointing to a red plastic chair in the kitchen.
Saint hesitated, then did as requested. The damn thing was peg legged, rocking about. Saint slicked a cigar out of his pocket and waved it lazily in Cruz’s direction.
“Do you mind?”
“No, not at all. Angel Children smoke helps to purify, so please, smoke away.”
“I thought that was just the curls of smoke coming naturally from our mouths.” Saint smirked as he lit the thing and set his lighter on the card table that served as a place for dinner for one.
“No. All smoke that comes from your mouths does. Doesn’t matter if it originated from a cigar, cigarette, joint, or your soul; it is coming out of your mouth which is kissed by the Creator. Anyway…” Cruz turned away, wearing his customary hood as he removed two small glasses from an overheard cabinet. “So, you say you are looking for a Love Jones Demon Child?”
“Yes. It would take us more time than we have to comb through the history, but I was not familiar with Demon Children, as you may or may not recall, at least not in the traditional sense. So for the sake of time management,” Saint said, placing the cigar to his lips and taking a leisurely puff, “I thought I’d ask if you knew him.”
“I do. He goes by the name of ‘Zoo’.” Cruz filled the two glasses with tap water and set them down on the table. He took a seat across from Saint, slid a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. Both men stared at one another for a moment or two. “You know, I still find it difficult to look into your eyes.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Cruz shrugged and continued on as he tossed his glance towards the floor. “Zoo is Koki’s muscle man. He is one of his many bodyguards, if you will; his favorite, actually. They go way back. He has the ability, as you’ve learned the hard way, to control the desires of others in affairs of the heart. Koki has the same gift, which is one of the many reasons why he is so popular, since the gift is not exactly what I’d classify as common. Similar hexes are conducted, but they eventually wear off. This is the only kind that does not. Instead, each sunset that passes, it grows a bit stronger until it completely consumes the couple, forcing their inevitable breakup. It is only used in what are considered dire cases, though.”
“Why do you believe Koki sent Zoo versus doing it himself? He doesn’t strike me as the cowardly type. Xenia didn’t know him. He could have done this himself.”
“Oh, you’d be correct.” Cruz smiled and nodded in agreement. He took a thoughtful sip of his water and set it back down. “No, you see, with this gift comes a great price. Whoever administers it, as you are aware of, sets themselves up to be murdered should the victim discover what has taken place. No civilian, to my knowledge, has ever been able to do so.” He shook his head. “Now, sometimes these situations are blamed on things like hoodoo and voodoo, when in fact, it is neither…a Love Jones Demon was at play. It is a very serious curse, if you will, for lack of a better word because of all that I’ve described. Koki, if I were a betting man, sent Zoo because it is an honor to serve in this manner. They receive promotions, and if you administer this curse and get away with it, you’ve definitely climbed higher up the ranks. It was seen as an opportunity, not a set-up. Now, Zoo likes to hang around at the Morimoto in Chelsea, the Meatpacking District.”
“I’m familiar with Morimoto.” Saint grinned then placed his cigar down in a nearby ashtray. “It’s a bit crowded on the weekends, but their sushi is good.”
Cruz nodded in agreement. “Yes, and at times, Koki is there, too. So be careful. Here is the other problem…just like you can smell us, we can smell you. I suggest you all spread out. If Zoo gets wind you’re looking for him, he’ll bail.”
“Our plan already covered the fact that we will not be lumped together in the same spot during the stake out.”
“Good, because a bunch of multi-tiered Angel Children in one area gives off a strong aroma. Sickeningly sweet, as if a batch of chocolate were melted in a big cauldron, right in the middle of the damn room. Add some honey and lilacs, and you have the scent…rather hard to describe, but that’s the best I can come up with. It smells different to everyone. To civilians, it smells like cologne or perfume. To Demon Children, it is a grotesque, nauseating, sweet scent that can induce one to vomit. To other Angel Children, it is reminiscent of spring time, flowers in bloom, and freshly cut grass.”
“Cruz.” Saint crossed his ankles and shot the man a glance. “You’re in trouble for telling me this, aren’t you?”
“Yes. It is part of our code. Even though I have gone AWOL, if a Demon Child does what I am doing—basically hands over another Demon Child to our sworn enemy, that being Angel Children—then I have literally placed myself on the chopping block.”
“…Then why did you agree to meet me and talk to me about this after I called you?”
“Because…you’re Saint Aknaten.”
Saint smirked, shook his head, and looked out the kitchen window.
“Cruz, there is a pentagram in the basement of this place,” he announced as he watched the sun begin to set.
“Yes, I am aware of that.”
“Then why do you keep it?”
“I didn’t. I removed it, but it has stained the concrete. He must’ve used a mixture of paint and blood.” He took a long draw of his cigarette.
“You wished for me to survey your home. I must say, it would be best burned down to the ground. However, if you wish to reside here, would you like for me to remove it? As a gesture of gratitude to you?”
“I would like that very much.”
The men slowly rose from their seats and made their way down a precarious flight of rickety wooden steps. Cobwebs draped along the place, forcing Saint to destroy many a spider’s home as he descended downward.
“Zoo is rather pleased with being able to do this for Koki,” Cruz offered as they made their way to the bottom.
“What do you mean?”
“Well.” Cruz shrugged. “It’s the ultimate sacrifice. He’d be promoted from Demon Child to Demon in Hell if he is murdered by his victim. He’d transcend his flesh, and become full-fledged demon. That is a big deal in our world. However, there is one way to ensure that doesn’t happen.”
“How?” Saint stood still. An old bare light bulb swung to and fro as the man pulled its frayed string.
“Timing is imperative. This is a secret that is not written down, Saint. So your learned friend Lawrence may not know of it. Matter of fact, I can promise you he does not. If your wife kills him, and you, as a multi-tiered Angel Child behead him within twenty-one seconds of his last heartbeat, he loses that chance for promotion. It is null and void. The reason being, Satan gives the promotion starting from our hearts, and it travels to our brains. If you disrupt that turn of events by disconnecting the head from the body, then he will remain in limbo and possibly be turned into a slave in Hell, instead. The mere fact that I’ve uttered these words to you has sealed my fate. We have no direct witnesses, but we do have witnesses, if you will.” The man bowed and turned away, not seemingly phased that he’d just committed a form of suicide.
Saint took a deep breath and looked around the basement. An assortment of dust-covered wicker baskets was stacked in one, dismal, lonely corner. In another crook of the enclosure sat an avocado colored washing machine and dryer that loo
ked as if they were on their last leg. They had to be at least twenty years old. And on the concrete floor stood out the main motherfuckin’ attraction—the pentagram, conveniently covered with a threadbare, fetid, claret rug. Saint made his way towards it and flung it back, revealing the hideous thing. His heart instantly began to pump harder and harder.
“How odd,” Cruz said.
“What?” Saint looked behind himself at his host who now leaned against a cobweb covered stonewall.
“I can actually hear your heartbeat.”
“Mmmm hmmm.” Saint looked back at the pentagram. “I can hear yours, too. Hand me a knife but sterilize it first, please.” The man didn’t hesitate. He pounded up the stairs and in a flash, returned with a kitchen knife, hot to the touch from a lit flame and hot water. Saint took it and sliced into his own finger, then, went around the pentagram, letting his blood mingle and mix with the monstrosity.
“Do you hear that?!” Cruz yelled out, covering his ears as if a pack of wild wolves were bellowing in his direction.
“No…” Saint answered as he continued to move about the pentagram, defiling it. “But only Demon Children can hear what you’re talking about, Cruz. The Angel Child part of you cannot stop you from listening to the sighs and groans from Hell… I’m almost finished.”
Cruz nodded, no doubt wanting Saint to hurry the hell up. He’d broken out in a cold sweat while Saint continued his deliberations, methodically dripping his blood all over the damn thing, but little did the man know—it was for more than one purpose. As he finished, Cruz’s face relaxed a bit.
“My blood will absorb the other blood, and only the paint will be left. At that point, you can use a household cleanser and remove the rest of it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do…”
“First, I want to thank you for the information you provided. Due to the distress that this Zoo person has caused my Queen, myself, and potentially others, I will ensure that what you stated is done. Secondly, I’m going to give you what I promised you.”
“And what’s that?”
Suddenly Saint was upon him, clipping him around his neck and dragging him across the basement.
“What are you doing?!” Cruz screamed, clawing at Saint’s hands, fighting for his life.
“Don’t contest me, come on!” Saint loosened his grip on him once he got him closer to the basin. “Strike a fire.” Cruz did as instructed. He bent low, ran his finger along the bottom of his shoe and held the flame above his head. “You said you didn’t have a soul; I’m telling you that you do. Now, I’m going to make sure it is awakened.”
And without another second, he slammed the man against the wall, opened his mouth and blew out the flame on the man’s finger. Soon Saint’s eyes glowed and burned bright red as the smoke filled the area.
“Look into my eyes! Do not turn away, no matter how horrible it gets, do you understand me?!”
“Yes!”
Saint pressed his hand against Cruz’s heart, bunching the cotton fabric of his hoodie. After he had his attention and was locked in to the man’s subconscious, he loosened his grip and made his way to the man’s gut. Like a movie playing on an old reel, the man’s life flashed before him. Images of his father, his mother, their marriage, his strange conception, his birth and his first steps played one after the other in rapid succession, like a motion picture. Cruz’s eyes filled with wonder as he became paralyzed in the moment. The flame returned to his finger, this time bright blue, illuminating the whole scene, flickering just so.
“Watch it. Watch all of it. Your soul is stored right…here!”
“Ahhhhh!” the man wailed as Saint pushed into his stomach and twisted his fist against Cruz’s flesh. “You feel that? That’s for a tear that you’ve never cried! An emotion you’ve never felt and a heart that has never been broken.”
And sure enough, one silken tear cascaded out of Cruz’s eye. Not since the day he was born had he ever shed one tear. “That’s your soul, Cruz. It was buried, hidden away. It makes people feel, care, give a damn. It is your telephone line to your Creator, it is what drives you. It gives birth to passion. It lets you know right from wrong…it’s the key to unlocking the rest of you…the ‘you’ that you never knew existed. It will take time for you to get accustomed to it, but wait and see…”
Saint slowly closed his eyes and released the man. He heard him slump to the floor, hitting it like a stone. Then, he re-opened his eyes and stared down at Cruz, who was now gripping his stomach and shaking as if he’d been thrown out in frigid temperatures.
“Thank you, Cruz for inviting me. I’d love to stay and chat a bit longer, but I have to get going. Tonight may be a bit rough for you. I will have someone check on you. In the interim, I need for you to stay in this basement. Do not leave for any reason until I tell you to. Once you get your wits about you, I want you to sit in the middle of the pentagram and remain there until further notice.” Saint began to walk backwards towards the exit.
When he turned his back to head back up the steps, he heard Cruz call out, “Thank you…and don’t…don’t forget…twenty-one seconds…the head…”
*
Saint took another deep breath and reached for Xenia’s hand as she remained turned away from him, staring out the window into the night. He made the woman hold his hand, and though the silence was killing him, he kept quiet until his cell phone rang. He reached in his pocket and removed it.
“Yup.”
“I spotted him. He just entered the restaurant, just as Cruz said he would.”
“Jagger, is Koki with him?”
“No, thankfully not. Let’s make this fast in case he decides to show up.”
“Got it.” He hung up and immediately called Lawrence.
“Lawrence, I’m on 88th and 10th Street, down the street from Morimoto.”
“Good. I’m going to my post.”
“Got it.”
Saint popped a piece of gum in his mouth, trying to steady his nerves. It wasn’t for his part in this, but for the sake of Xenia.
“Babe, it’s time to roll out. You ready?” His massaged the steering wheel with one hand and clutched her fingers a bit harder.
“Yes,” she replied, her tone hard, as she ran her fingers over her jacket, where the .38 Special rested below the dark brown leather surface. Xenia slid her hand away from his, reached for the car door latch and opened it. Immediately, a blast of cool air hit them both, swirling around them as if giving a wintry kiss. Saint got out of the car and raced to her side, opening the door wider for her exit. She stepped out, her white and black Nike gym shoes sliding against a small dusting of snow. He reached for her arm, but she unfastened herself from his control and looked directly up the street towards the place.
“Alright, I will walk half way up with you… I have to leave after that because—”
“I know…you all explained it. He may smell you if all of you are in there together.”
Saint nodded as they walked side by side. Her footsteps were soft, her expression tight and her eyes vacant as he stole peeks at her from the corner of his eye. The wind blew his hair around; thick strands of blackness at times partially cloaking his view, making her appear like a puzzle piece without a match. He wanted her repaired…wanted her whole again. The jaunt stopped way too soon and he no longer gave a damn. Before she could escape him, he grabbed her around her waist, pressed her to him, then crushed his lips into hers, stifling her protests. He finally pulled away, looked into her eyes as the wind whipped her ponytail around.
“I know I make you sick right now, but I needed to kiss you anyway.”
She nodded in understanding, then made her way up the rest of the sidewalk. Saint glanced at his watch. It was exactly 10:56 P.M. The restaurant closed at twelve. He looked back up the street and saw her enter the establishment. The long, red velvety, jester-hat-rimmed type awning above the doorway swayed lightly in the wind. Immediately, his phone buzzed. He gripped it and read the text from Jagger:
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br /> She’s in. I’m on it.
Saint nodded, realizing the man stood somewhere near him as the wind shifted in a rather strange way—this he knew despite the crowded streets. It was Friday night; too many people had been freshly paid, bursting with exuberance to spend that hard earned cash on food, drinks and a good time. The waiting became even more excruciating. He wanted to rush inside the place, pull the guy from his seat and beat the living shit out of him, but that could destroy everything. Besides, he could use this unfortunate circumstance to his advantage. It was time to turn lemons into honey lemonade…
“I love you, baby…” he whispered as he leaned against a nearby bar, covering his mouth when a thick, lilac haze escaped from between his clenched teeth. “So sorry you have to do this, but don’t worry… I will take care of it baby, I will never let you be alone…”
*
“There’s that sneaky fucker,” Xenia whispered aloud as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. She briefly turned away from him, trying to avoid him spotting her just yet. Her black jogging pants and matching top were loose, allowing her to feel the hot sweat pouring from almost every pore of her damn body. She ran her hand against her pocket once more, patting it, ensuring the damn gun was still there, time and time again. Saint had assured her she’d be safe, and there would be no witnesses. That was rather hard to believe at the moment though. The place was bustling with noisy people, wall to wall; so much so, it appeared the staff didn’t even notice she’d entered. Platters of food, mostly sushi dishes, were carried to and fro to hungry patrons as they drank their cares away.