by Tiana Laveen
“Then, Dakarai just stared at me with those big, light brown eyes. He didn’t even try to read me. He just turned away, hiding himself, afraid…scared. Isis is getting wise, too. She is feeling everyone’s emotions around her. She’s struggling and taking it all in. That’s what empaths do…that’s my baby girl, my little fortune teller.” He sniffed. “Pretty little girl, vibrant, kind…lovely. And…Xenia.” Saint gasped, already mourning his wife, his life…for he may never lay eyes on his bride again.
Jagger sat at his side and patted his back.
“She is being strong, holding her tears, but her damn heart… Xenia’s heart is beating so fast right now. She thinks I’m going to die tonight.” He wiped more tears from his eyes. “And you know what’s so horrible? She might be right. All I know is that Koki is going to do what he is programmed to do and he won’t let much stand in his way. I know he will destroy New York, including himself and his little family if I don’t intervene, and it won’t just stay contained here, either. It will spread like a damn virus. If he can take me out, he gets everything! He has a lot riding on this.
“He gets to feast off people’s drug additions! He gets to relish in illegal prostitution. He gets to lie back and watch murders, rapes and assaults on women, children and the innocent! He gets to applaud people dying all around him, for no reason other than he needs the pain of others in order to feel halfway normal. The soulless don’t give a fuck, Jagger!” He stared at the man beside him, feeling his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and fresh tears. “He has nothing to lose by going through with this!”
“Everyone has something to lose, Saint. If he didn’t he wouldn’t be fighting you.” Lawrence stated. “He’d just step aside, and let you have what is rightfully yours.”
“Nah.” Saint shook his head and placed his hand on Lawrence’s shoulder. “He ain’t got nothin’ to lose, Lawrence, because when that man dies, no one will miss him. His followers will only be sad that he is gone, because of how he could make them feel, the power he possessed and the sordid, wicked things he could do. But no one, not one…damn…person, will shed a tear for that man because they never actually valued him, and he knows it! What an existence! Could you imagine? The loveless and unloved of this world have absolutely nothing to lose and that makes Koki the most dangerous of all…”
*
It was the strangest fucking thing…
Cruz opened his eyes, blinking frantically, as firefighters stood around him and laid him on a gurney. Commotion had taken over his space—people were looking down into the hole, the place he’d once known as his basement. He could see it in the near distance as he waited there by the open doors of the ambulance. It was the only area of his home that had survived. The house had burnt down to a damn crisp, but the rain had softened the flames, or so he’d been told. The truth though was much stranger than fiction.
A large man, eyes black and yellow like a cobra’s, had walked through the damn jumping flames. As he drew closer, he realized he’d seen the guy before…at Saint’s side the very first night he’d met him—perhaps his bodyguard, his brother or best friend. The big guy walked through the damn fire of the house and came down the partially burnt up steps, as if it were nothing, and spoke to him telepathically while he stood there, a gentle smile on his tanned face. Cruz had looked into his eyes, and almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing…
I came here to rescue you. Saint sent me. You’re safe in the circle, but there is the issue of falling debris and inhalation. So, let’s get you out of there…
Before he knew it, he was being swooped up into the massive man’s arms, wrapped in his jacket, and being firmly told to keep his eyes closed and head down. Like the wind, the guy carried him fast through the forest of fire, protecting him, maneuvering through the blaze until they stood a safe distance away.
I’ve called the fire department. By the time they arrive, Cruz, the house will be a total loss. Traffic is such a mess right now, they are slowed down, but they will be here in a couple of minutes. I want you to sit here across the street, where I will place you, and wait for them to take you to the hospital.
And then the man sat him on the sidewalk, and walked the hell away…
The rain turned hard and pounding, so much worse than before, and it felt good on his heated body. The heavy drops knocked the rest of the flames out like a two by four, but it was still too late for the damn structure to be saved. There he sat, still crossed-legged in the memory of the pentagram. So odd…Saint’s blood had not been washed away, but the pentagram and paint were gone. Everything was gone, minus that circle he sat in the middle of, like some odd dream he’d just awakened from. He screamed out with joy when paramedics carted cart him off to the hospital, away from the place.
All he could do was laugh as he swam in a state of complete shock. He didn’t know how much longer he had, but somehow, miraculously, he’d survived this round. He’d sat in the ring of fire…and did not get burned…
*
Chapter Thirty-Seven
At 2:59 a.m., Saint stood on the Brooklyn Bridge, barely able to see a damn thing as the pounding rain flooded him so badly, his hair was practically glued to his damn scalp. At times he had trouble breathing, and his ears rang with the echoing vibrations of drops hitting the metal over and over like an acid tripped out rock band. Before he’d even arrived, the city was under massive flood advisories, with news constantly breaking on his car radio. New York wasn’t scared of shit, and even this had been somewhat downplayed, but it worked to his advantage nevertheless. Local news, though, put a sinister spin on it. Word on the international streets and across the nation made it well known that New York City was being drowned to death. Rain fell so hard and fast, the rivers and the Atlantic Ocean continued to rise as if swollen with salt.
The damn street gutters couldn’t keep up as they vomited up globs of rainwater and stinking rubble. Silvery water swooshed down the avenues as if a dam had been unleashed. The subway steps trickled with water that descended like slinky toys tumbling down the cement entranceways, but soon graduated into a full cascade, a marine avalanche of epic proportions, rendering the subways closed down for business until further notice. Water overwhelmed the railroad tracks, tunnels and passageways, bringing the place to a standstill.
And then, there was the blood…
Intense fighting in the fucking streets, of which few could make any sense. Acts of violence escalated, happening so often, the newscasters could barely keep up. Saint knew what the hell was going on… Some believed civilians were losing their damn minds. But no, it wasn’t the civilians this time—the war and bloodshed came from his people…
A holy war between the Angel and Demon Children had started. The damn streets crumbled, broke, rolled downhill and crashed with mayhem—whatever people believed was going on though had nothing to do with reality. The darkness helped to deceive the eyes. The sky broke into a lightning filled grin every now and again, igniting the whole damn place up once the electricity for most of the city had clonked out and said ‘goodnight.’ The horrific fighting was charging and draining, all at once. The power would come back with a bang—but light bulbs burst like fireworks, then power lines would drain once again, as if some evil force were sucking the life of New York, his lips wrapped around the exhaust pipe of its existence. The war had affected the weather, the people’s temperaments, and the tide of the damn ocean, too. And now, here the two big dogs stood…on the Brooklyn Bridge of all places, in freezing rain, eighty-five feet in the fucking air. The bridge had been blocked off with bright yellow police traffic stands, an abandoned patrol car with the lights flashing and a clusterfuck of flares that barely stayed lit in the torrential rain.
It was now 3:01 a.m. and he didn’t see Koki, but he knew the fucker was there. He could smell the son of a bitch. The rain had saturated the beast, making his scent even stronger, like that of a mangy, wet dog that had slept in an outhouse. Not only was Saint’s sense of smell heightened, so was his
ability to tap into his friends. Every now and again, he could feel Lawrence and Jagger’s vitality, and the shit was out of control. They were fighting, slashing, knifing, maiming, mutilating, gunning down, drowning, choking, punching and beating the living shit out of so many people, Saint could barely get an accurate body count. But who had the time? He ran his tongue over his lip and sampled the salty air, savoring their energy with amusement, especially Jagger’s, his big blue-eyed brute of a friend, who was enjoying every damn minute of the mayhem. Jagger had taken care of that favor he needed in regards to Cruz, and better yet, he got to put his new gift to work. The fucker could now walk through fire. What a delight! This was the sort of shit that man lived for—fighting in the fucking streets, beating people to a pulp, and doing it for a damn good cause.
Getting back into the moment, Saint paced the abandoned bridge, playing an internal game of hot and cold. When he felt Koki’s verve get stronger, he gravitated towards the source of the bad energy, until he stood almost smack dab in the middle of the mile long bridge.
“Okay, Koki!” he yelled out, blinking as the rain continued to fall, beating him about the head and shoulders. “You know that I know you’re here! Let’s go!”
Just then he felt arms around his damn ankles, causing him to smack the ground hard. “Fuuuck!” Before he could get his bearings, an invisible force dragged him backwards, fast, as if he weighed nothing more than a gum wrapper blowing in the wind. The pavement, though slick with running water, sliced into his flesh as he was pulled. He tried to grapple onto something to stop his descent; only, there was nothing to hold on to but raindrops and…they simply melted in his hands. He looked all around him, but couldn’t make the fucker’s whereabouts. His gut twisted with anxiety at the realization that Koki had shadowed himself out, blended into the night like black on black soot. Saint’s skin broke and split open in so many places, the pain stung him all over. Blood poured from his flesh, as if he were a stuck pig being carted off for a feast, and in that instant, he knew—this just might be the end…
*
Pam delighted in the blue light midnight special advertised on television in her hotel suite. She’d made the special trip to Macy’s on her son-in-law’s dime, in anticipation of stocking her newly found apartment with all the finer things New York had to offer…on sale, of course. Somehow she found herself near the MAC cosmetics and an assortment of sweet perfumes.
“Let me smell that one right there!” She pointed to a pink bottle shaped like a guitar. “That’s cute!” She chuckled, then sprayed a bit on her hand and sniffed it. “This is horrible! What tha hell is this?!”
“Well, that’s Hannah Montana. We have it in our tween section here.” The woman wielded a coy smile, like the shit was funny.
“What the hell make you think I got out of my place at three in the damn mornin’ for some Hannah Moe-tanuh toilet water?! This shit smell like cheap ass baby powder mixed with old spice cologne. Do I look like a damn tween to you?!”
“Well no, but you asked to—”
“Naw, I want to see the shit that was on the damn TV! Where are all these deals for the Chanel numba five at?!” Pam pushed past a small crowd of African American women, and one that looked to be Hispanic. She could feel their glare, but didn’t care that they were giving her the super duper stink eye.
“How damn rude! These old people think they can just do whatever the hell they want,” one of them barked.
Pam spun around, lowering her gaze in their direction. The four women, in their early twenties, stood stuffed in colorful printed spandex pants, paired with bomber jackets and expensive leather boots—daring her to say something, to unleash her frustration. Just then, the lights in the place began to blink, but came back on before too much of a fuss was made.
“Rude? I’ll show you rude!” She pointed at one of the women who seemed to be wearing a rooster comb in the middle of her damn head. “What’s rude is you trollops marchin’ in here forcing everyone to look at ya pants jammed up ya asses! What’s rude is all these fucked up hairstyles wit’ so much cut-rate weave, it’s amazin’ you can keep ya damn head up, that ya neck ain’t broke and you haven’t toppled the fuck over from the weight of it all.”
“Shut up, old lady, and go back to the nursing home. You don’t have room to talk about anyone’s appearance, over there looking like a fuckin’ train wreck,” one of them yapped as she sassily put her hand on her hip.
In response, Pam raised her new ebony and tan Louis Vuitton purse and walloped the mouthy one on the head so hard, her bangs swung like a Hawaiian hula skirt.
“Ahhhhh!”
“I guess I’m still on tha clock! I gave ya ass a new hairstyle!” Pam screamed, her adrenaline pumping fast and hard within her. “Like Willow, you swing ya hair back and forth, don’t cha? Three damn horses! Go trot ya happy asses somewhere else, like to that store, the Candle Barn. You should feel right at home.”
“That’s assault!” the girl screamed as she got her bearings. “I’m calling the police!” She reached into her big bag, no doubt searching for her phone.
“Call ’em! They’ll haul your asses away for being an uncontrolled animal in a public domain! No ponies in the damn store! I wish one of you mothafuckas would try to test me! Neiiiiigggggh!”
“Keep making jokes, let’s see how funny it is when they come grab your old ass. You’ll spend your golden years in jail,” another huffed, pleased with herself. “And shouldn’t you be somewhere knitting something?”
“Yeah, a beanie to cover that fucked up hairstyle of your’s! Don’t try to come at me sideways, talkin’ about what I should be doing! Shouldn’t you be on the track gettin’ betted on?!” Pam snapped her neck and placed her hand on her ample hip. “My ex-husband I’m certain has placed his money on that one right there! And I’ll show you old lady! I will knock all you heffas out! ’Specially you.” Pam narrowed her eyes and pointed to the thin one in the middle. “Eyes so close together, you almost pass for a cyclops! You only need one contact, don’t cha?”
“I got my phone out now too, bitch!” The woman waved it proudly, a sneer on her face.
“Good, glad you could find it, now make sure you call the damn dentist first and foremost, ’cause that’s the damn emergency! You aint Buffy the Vampire Slayer, yo’ ass is Buffy the Beaver Dam Maker! Ya two front teeth look like two big ass pieces of white bread, side by mothafuckin’ side! I can’t decide which animal you are today, you keep changing!”
The skinny one in the middle poked out her lips and held up her phone like it was a can of mace.
“…911, what is your emergency?” a woman asked on the speakerphone.
“Yes, uh, I’m in Macy’s on West 34th street, and this obese old woman just swung her purse at my friend and slapped her on the head real hard.”
“Speakin’ of head, Ms. Chomper, I bet when you offer to give head, the men run away screamin’! ’Fraid you’ll Lorena Bobbitt they ass!” She swung her purse wildly again, trying to knock the phone out the heffa’s hand, causing the small crew to hiss, curse and back up.
“Security!” The perfume woman tried to wave over a portly guard, who stood quite a distance away. The man began to move about, his tiny feet bringing his oval shaped body closer and closer as he rocked from foot to foot.
“Security?! It better be for these damn Mane ’nd Tale bitches standin’ here! They started tha shit!” Pam shrieked as she pointed to the women who were now hollering at the top of their lungs. “And what is his slow, funny lookin’ ass gonna do, huh? Take me back to tha toy department where he come from? He look like a damn Weeble Wooble… They weebles wooble but they don’t fall down!” But as the man grew closer, she could see the little boiled egg looking ogre speaking angrily into his walkie-talkie. The lights flickered once again; taking the opportunity, she made a break for it through the displays, causing shirts and scarves to swing wildly on their display hooks. She paused when she went through the electronics section and spotted all the scre
ens reporting the terrible rainstorm she’d she narrowly escaped. Not only that, some parts of the city now looked like disaster areas.
“What the hell is goin’ on?” she whispered to herself.
The lights flickered again and in the distance, she heard a woman shout, “There she is!”
Without losing a second, she got the hell out of there while the lights continued to frantically blink. On the way out, she managed to dip into a restroom on another floor, out of breath, wheezing and afraid of seeing the inside of a jail. She hadn’t run so hard in over ten years.
“Oh, Lawd!” She plopped down on a toilet seat lid and eased her phone out of her purse.
Xenia better answer this damn phone! They gonna try to put her mama in the slammer!
*
“Traci, it looks like my mother is trying to call,” Xenia whispered. “But I promise you it will be okay!” she assured her pregnant friend. “Jagger is smart, and he isn’t dealing directly with Koki, so please relax, honey. I know it’s scary, but he and Lawrence will be just fine!”
“I hope so,” the woman said, sniffing. “And I am sorry about Saint.”
Traci, you’re not helping…
The last thing Xenia wanted to hear was the pre-mourning of her husband, though she knew Traci didn’t mean that. Regardless, her nerves were already a wreck.
“Okay, well, I’ll let you talk to Mama Pam. Can I call you back in a bit? Maybe we can keep each other together,” the woman said woefully.
“Of course you can.”
“Alright.”