by J. L. Murray
“I don't think I can take any more,” I said. “All this death. So much death.” I felt my lip tremble. “Please. Just stay with me a little longer.”
“You know that's not possible, Niki.” She leaned forward. “I was just so tired. Tired of fighting this disease, tired of living in this old body. I just wanted to rest. Do you understand that?”
“Yes,” I said. “That's what I want to do, too. We can go together.”
She shook her head. “No. You won't be resting for a very long time.”
I felt a sharp tingle behind my eyes. “Sofi, don't leave me. Please. It's too much.”
She smiled gently. “You will get by. You always do.” The smile faded and she shook her head. “I'm so sorry you were born into this. You really never had a chance for a normal life. I tried to give one to you anyway. It just never did take.”
“It's not your fault,” I said.
“No,” she sighed. “It's no one's fault. Everyone did what they thought was right. Your father thought it was right to give you the Creator's power. Your mother thought it was right to die to save you. Poor Sasha thought it was right to bring you to me. And I thought it was right to love you. And I will always love you, dear girl. Always.”
“How do you know all this?” I said.
“I have seen so much in the past months,” she said. “Now stand up. Be the woman I raised you to be. You are strong enough, I know you are. You have to let me go. You are the only thing holding me back. You won't break, Nikita. But you have to allow yourself to bend.”
The pull in my chest was unbearable as I slowly stood, my legs wobbly and my throat tight. “I love you, Sofi,” I said.
“I know.” She stood from the chair and held out her arms. I went to her and put my arms around her one last time. And then she was gone. No sign that her spirit had ever been there. All that was left of Sofi was the empty shell lying covered on the bed. I let out a breath in a shuddering gasp. She was really gone. Never coming back.
I was alone.
I couldn't go home. It had been Sofi's home too. We had shared a life for so long that it felt wrong for the world to continue on without her in it. I let myself be pulled back to the Deep Blue Sea. It seemed like days since leaving, but it had been only a few hours.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realized I wasn't alone. I wanted so much to be alone right now. I was numb and cold at the same time. I remembered how it felt to be a ghost when I died, before Sam brought me back. There wasn't much of a difference. Grief and death were inseparable.
Someone caught my arm and I looked up to see Lucifer looking worried. It was hard for me to look at him. He and Sam looked so much alike, except that he had golden hair where Sam's had been dark, and he was taller and wider than Sam. I looked away from his face and let him lead me to a chair, too weak to resist.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I said limply. “You just show up when people die?”
“It's been suggested to me that I don't have the best timing,” he said, sitting across from me. “I'm sorry about your godmother. I understand she was very special to you.”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice a ragged whisper. “How'd you know she died?”
“I didn't,” he said, “until I came here. I searched for you and felt your grief.”
“Searched for me? Like Sam?” Sam and his brothers had been able to feel where each of them were. It was some kind of angel connection that they all had.
“Just like that,” he said. “You have been dealt a great amount of sorrow of late.” He was frowning. “I'm not quite sure what to say to comfort you.”
“I'm guessing comfort isn't your area of expertise.”
He smiled weakly. “No. It isn't.”
“Is that why you're here? To comfort me?” He shifted in his chair awkwardly. “Spit it out,” I said, my voice quiet. I couldn't gather the energy for anything more.
“I came to ask for your help,” he said. “But I didn't realize what had happened until I arrived. I really am so very sorry.”
“My help?” I asked, weakly.
“It can wait,” he said. “I apologize.”
“Look,” I said, finally meeting his eyes. It was like a sucker punch looking into those eyes, but at least it distracted me from the cold, numb feeling in my guts. “Just tell me what the hell you want.”
He sighed, but nodded after a moment. “Erebos is in trouble. I hoped you would come with me and speak to the lords.”
“Come to Erebos?” I said, surprised. “What could I do that you can't?”
“You are Death,” he said. “Even the lords of Hell appreciate that. Erebos is in chaos. The lords fight amongst themselves. A rebel Outsider group has been killing everyone they can, and if it isn't stopped, there's going to be another war.”
“Outsiders?” I said. “You mean demon Abbies?”
“Yes, the equivalent to your so-called Abnormals.”
“I thought the Creator restored the balance,” I said.
“Balance has been restored,” said Lucifer. “As far as I know there have been no Outsider children born in the city. But that doesn't mean the Outsiders outside the city have disappeared. And it hasn't stopped them from having children with each other.”
“You talk about them like they're animals,” I said.
“No, you misunderstand me,” said Lucifer. “I want to help them. But I cannot help anyone when I cannot even get the lords to support me. They refuse to accept me.”
“Can't imagine why,” I said. “It's not like the angels have given the demons a reason to hate them or anything...”
“I recognize sarcasm, you know,” he said.
“Why do you think you can do any better?”
“I can unify the lords,” he said. “Stop the fighting, stop the killing. Families are dying for no reason.”
I flashed on the family I had seen earlier, faces smashed like pumpkins. I felt nauseous.
“Politics,” I said. “I don't have time for this.”
“I've come at the wrong time,” he said. “I'm sorry.” He stood. “Just think on it. Please. You are always welcome.” He reached out and grasped my hand. For one insane moment I had the urge to go to him. To put my arms around him. To tell him everything. Just the contact made me want to close my eyes and never let go. I couldn't remember the last time someone had touched me. I pulled my hand away.
“I'll keep that in mind,” I said. I heard a car outside, its tires crunching the gravel. Its engine cut out.
He moved to the center of the room. “Just one thing, before I go. Do you know why Samael used to come to Erebos so often?”
“No.”
“Because he could forget. He couldn't feel the world when he came below. Couldn't feel the dead. It gave him comfort. Just think on it.”
He made a motion with his hand and I felt an inaudible rip in the air. Black fog crept in my vision and into my head, then with a pop it was gone. And so was Lucifer.
The door squealed open as Bobby Gage pushed through and into the bar. I looked up and met his eyes. His face was worn and pale. He looked even more tired than when I had seen him, minutes ago, in the hospital.
“Been looking for you, Niki,” he said.
“I know,” I said.
He frowned and nodded, then sat down next to me. “I'm sorry, sis. She just couldn't hold on any longer.”
“I know,” I said again, but this time thickly. My vision clouded.
“You were there?” he said. “You saw her?” I nodded. He was looking at me with a worried expression. I wondered vaguely where the hell he had been the last few weeks, but the grief was starting to wash over me. The numb coldness in my guts was suddenly flooding over with it. I bit the inside of my cheeks to fight it off, but it was no use.
I collapsed against Bobby Gage's big chest and sobbed. After a moment he put comforting arms around me and didn't say a word as I cried for a very long time.
TWO
Karen, Sofi's
niece, told me on the phone that she wanted to handle all the arrangements. I didn't argue. I had no desire to organize the funeral. Sofi hadn't even wanted a funeral. I told her to call me if she needed anything.
The next few days were bleak and cold. The rain seemed to be almost everywhere. When I was pulled somewhere warm, it didn't seem real. I couldn't even remember what the sun felt like in the city. I was pulled to a place that looked like the French countryside. A watery sun shone through black clouds; a moment of brightness in a bleak landscape. There was no warmth in it, but I could almost imagine the feel of a real summer. Inside, a man sobbed over his wife's body. His own body lay not far from hers. Their faces had been smashed.
“Who did this?” I said. He looked at me blankly and answered in French. I sighed. I really had to learn more languages. “I'm sorry,” I said as I touched him. He faded to nothing, swirls filling the space where his ghost had been a moment ago, then they, too, disappeared. I frowned down at the bodies. They were hard to look at, but I made myself stare. These deaths were so similar, but they couldn't all be the work of one person. How could one person manage to kill people across the world from each other? And why? Maybe it was all a coincidence, maybe I was seeing similarities where none existed. Still, something about these killings nagged at the back of my mind.
That night I was pulled to a dusty village in the desert. This time a man and four children were killed, their faces bashed in like all the others. I touched a tall man dressed in white and looking lost and he disappeared. I crouched down over a little boy's body. I had cried myself out the day before, and afterward the numb, cold feeling had returned to my insides. It felt even colder as I looked at the boy's tiny hand, still clutching a small toy. There was no sense in all this death, all this violence. I had been human such a short time ago, but I had never been able to understand killing just to kill. It was barbaric. Sub-human, even. And it was starting to get to me.
A hiker with long hair and a beard fell off a cliff and was sitting near his body in a rainy forest. A woman in her fifties drowned while swimming near a rainy, humid beach lined with palm trees. A Latina woman in the city carrying groceries across the street was hit by a car. The driver and the car were gone by the time I got there. I never saw suicides. I figured that was because they were ready to go. I saw teenagers, but no one younger. I rarely saw the elderly, and when I did it was because someone they loved was left behind. Most of the people who had trouble passing on were those who died quickly and unexpectedly. And sometimes brutally.
I had to go to Sofi's funeral, so the last soul I helped that morning was another man with his face bashed in. He was in his thirties in a small house on a quiet street. It was mid-morning somewhere and the rain pattered gently against his window pane. He seemed to be alone. There was just the one body.
“Who did this?” I said.
He shook his head. “I wish I knew,” he said, his accent British. “I didn't know him. He just came in and killed me. I never even saw him. One second I was making eggs, and the next I was dead. Why would he do that? I've never done anything to anyone.”
“You're sure you didn't know him?”
“I told you, I never even saw him. By the time I...came to, he was gone.” he said. “I work with disadvantaged youth, for Christ's sake. Why?”
I didn't have an answer. “I'm sorry,” I said.
“That's not enough,” he said.
I nodded. “I know.” I touched him gently and he was gone. I looked down at the body. Just like the others, only this one was alone. He didn't have a family. “What the hell is going on?” I said aloud. The mutilated body didn't answer.
I didn't dress up for the funeral. I was mostly wearing black, anyway, so it didn't much matter. I just zipped my black leather coat over my wrinkled button-up shirt. The black had been an accident. The first pair of jeans I had grabbed the day before had happened to be black, and I always wore black boots. The leather jacket had been Sasha's. It was too big on me, but it made me feel better to wear it, as if he were still with me in a way. It was probably the closest I had ever felt to him.
I smoothed my hair as I walked through the doors of the funeral home chapel. The place was already packed, people filling up the polished wooden pews that filled the dank room. It had a clammy smell of mildew, mothballs, and furniture polish. The coffin in the front of the room was surrounded by flowers. I found the whole thing damn creepy. Like dead body worship. I saw Karen turn and glower at me. Remembering my eyes I reached into my pocket and pulled out my sunglasses before I got close enough for anyone to see.
As I walked down the aisle between the rows of benches, faces turned to look at me. Familiar faces. Yuri was sitting in the back and he made a motion with his hands, putting his fist in front of him, then covering it with his other hand. A sign of respect. He nodded at me. Two rows were filled with greasy-looking men with cold eyes. Each one nodded at me. Yuri's boys, I assumed. Many of them wore the same black leather that I wore now.
Yuri had worked for my father – or the man I'd thought of as my father – back before Sasha had been arrested for magic...among other things. Afterward, Yuri had worked for Naz, Sasha's right-hand man. He had sworn loyalty to me, and wanted me to lead his men doing...whatever it was that he did. After the war, Yuri came to see me. He could tell I had changed. When I told him I couldn't be a part of his organization, he had accepted graciously, looking a little afraid of me. I told him I would be around if he ever needed my help.
Lou Craig raised a hand in greeting. He sat with a pretty blonde girl who looked to be around 12 years old. His daughter, I assumed. She looked at me curiously. A pretty brunette sitting beside Craig also looked up at me and smiled. Olivia Bradley, the widow of former Congressman Frank Bradley. I had investigated his death and saved her life. I tried to smile back at her, but it felt more like a grimace. Lou must have told her about Sofi. A girl that looked to be around fourteen stared back at me from beside Olivia. Her daughter Piper, I assumed. I had never met the girl.
I saw a small group of people from the neighborhood. Our landlord, a few neighbors. They chattered amongst themselves in Russian.
A man I didn't know bowed his head to me. He was wearing a fedora and a suit that looked like something an old man might wear. His face looked young, though his eyes were shadowed by his hat, which was pulled low. Oddly, a gleeful smile spread across his face, revealing slightly yellowed teeth. I looked away from him.
I sat down next to Karen, who appraised me.
“Glad to see you dressed up,” she said sarcastically. “Rough night?”
“You could say that,” I said.
I felt someone sit down on the other side of me and looked to see Yuri, who leaned in to whisper to me. “Slobodian,” he said in greeting.
“Thanks for coming,” I said. “Sasha would have been pleased.”
“Is nothing,” he said. “Why this?” He waved a hand toward the flowers and the coffin. “Is not Ukrainian.”
“This wasn't my idea,” I said. “I'm not blood, so I didn't have a say.”
He looked around me at Karen. She was pointedly not looking at us. “Is not right,” he said. “She was an honorable woman. This is New Government bullshit.”
I shrugged. “Takes all kinds, I guess.” I didn't tell him that Sofi didn't follow any religion, and thought funerals were silly, no matter their origin. One funeral was just as good as the other.
“This is not the place,” said Yuri, lowering his voice and leaning in further. “But we plan something. Something big. You want in?”
“This is Sofi's funeral,” I said.
“We will talk later,” he said. “New Government is going to pay, Slobodian. They cannot do this shit anymore.” He waved towards the casket at the front of the room.
“Sofi isn't dead because of New Government,” I said.
“Maybe not,” said Yuri. “But her life would have been better without it, yeah?” I didn't answer. “You know how to find me, Slobodi
an. We bring them down.”
“ I'm sorry,” I said. “I have too much right now, Yuri.”
He shrugged. “Always room for you.” He turned to go back to his seat.
“Yuri,” I said. He turned. “I hope you bring the bastards to their knees.”
He grinned. “That is the only way I like to do business. Take care, Slobodian.”
“Friend of yours?” Karen said after Yuri had left.
“Don't get all snotty with me,” I said. “If it wasn't for Yuri, both you and Sofi would have died months ago.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. The door banged shut as someone else straggled in. I turned to see who it was and was relieved to see Gage standing there in the back of the room, blinking in the muted lighting of the dank room. Something was wrong. He looked even more beat up than before and he moved gingerly, holding his left arm with his right hand. He had a dark purple bruise around his eye and his lower lip had been split.
Gage's eyes spotted me and began to limp towards me, but stopped, his eyes somewhere behind me. I looked to see who he was looking at, and saw the back of the guy wearing the fedora. The weird guy that had smiled at me when I had come into the chapel. I looked back at Gage. His face was livid, his eyes wide. He was spluttering and looked about to explode.
I jumped up and into the aisle.
“You son of a bitch!” Gage screamed, in a voice that barely sounded human. His voice echoed in the silent chapel. Every face was turned to him. He was shaking. He started to charge up the aisle, but Yuri blocked him at once, speaking low, his body language threatening. Gage stopped, but not because of Yuri. He was looking over the crowd again, his eyes flickering manically. “Where the hell did he go?” Gage said. “Where is he?” Tears streamed down his face and he put a fist to his mouth, as if trying to hold something in. I hurried down the aisle and nodded to Yuri that it was all right.