bedeviled & beyond 03 - bedeviled & beleaguered

by Sam Cheever

  An incredible wave of heat rose from the dying demon. It was all I could do to stay on the hot, slippery surface of the thing’s back long enough to find the killing spot between the soft flesh of its back and the bones of its skull. Once I found it, I glanced up to make sure the humans had made it safely out of the pool and then plunged the knife deep, using both hands.

  Fire burst from the demon’s mouth and I ran toward its tail, praying I could get there before I turned into grilled Astra. The thing’s tail shot into the air as I reached it and I crouched, springing off the surging column of gristle and skin and allowing its momentum to launch me into the air.

  I sailed over its writhing snout, feeling the flames of its death against my skin and prayed that I’d land outside the pool before it combusted.

  I’d barely cleared the demon before it went up in a bloom of heat and fire that shook the concrete walls of the pool building and gave me an extra boost in my flight.

  That was when I realized I was more than going to make it out of the pool. In fact I was going to hit the glass partition between the dozens of horrified observers and the pool. And hit it hard.

  I also knew I couldn’t use my power to soften the impact since it would probably get me in worse trouble. So I closed my eyes and waited to hit the glass.

  Fortunately it was shatterproof.

  I hit the scratched, flat surface hard enough to knock the wind out of me and then hung there for a comic book moment, staring into the horrified faces of the human observers. Their mouths, to the last one, formed perfect Os as I started to sink, limbs akimbo like a bidgie bug smashed on the booger’s view port, down the glass partition. My descent to the ground was accompanied by an embarrassing squeaking noise, which lasted until my feet hit the ground and I fell away from the glass with a thwacking sound, landing in a bloodied puddle on the ground.

  I just lay there for a long moment, trying to breathe and silently cataloguing my numerous injuries. A worried male face slid into view.

  “You okay?” The man who’d pulled the kid out of the water tried to lift me up off the ground but I pushed his hands away. I had no breath to tell him I just wanted to lie there for a minute. He figured it out and let go of me, allowing me to gently slide to the ground again. Then he stood and started pushing people back to give me room to breathe.

  I was starting to love the guy. And he was kind of cute.

  After a moment, during which I could hear the kid and the mother still sobbing softly in the near distance, I sat up with the determined help of my hero and started plucking scales out of my skin.

  I’d gathered a small pile of them on the ground next to me before Flick staggered into view. “You done yet? I need to go somewhere and die.”

  I glared up at him, thinking about giving him a tongue lashing. Unfortunately, from the looks of him it probably would have been enough to finish him off. He was completely gray except for a pinkish cast to the skin around his eyes and mouth and he had dried vomit all over his soft flannel shirt. His jeans were wet in spots, presumably from where he’d sat in pool water...at least that’s what I was telling myself, and he smelled like the death ward in the unplanned care unit.

  People around him suddenly found reasons to be elsewhere and the pool quickly cleared out around us.

  “You look like hell, man,” my hero said.

  Flick gave him a look and tried to smile, “You think?”

  The man nodded, “Yeah. I think both of you need to go to unplanned care.”

  “Good idea,” I said, pushing myself to my feet. I stumbled over to Flick and, after giving my hero one last smile, I grabbed Flick’s arm and we staggered out through the nearest door. In the empty hallway outside the pool area, unobserved by human eyes, Flick shimmered us back to the booger.

  He left me there immediately, after promising to be back just before midnight.

  I punched data into the booger’s directional system to take me toward the only place I knew I would be safe and could use my magic to heal.

  My father’s house. The Phelps fortress.

  Looking down at myself, I was shocked by the amount of blood and number of gashes, scratches and downright holes I sported in my poor aching body. Sighing, I shivered in my wet clothes and blew stringy strands of auburn hair off my face. I smelled like I’d gone swimming in a sewer. A cup of hot black coffee sounded really good.

  I slowly came to the realization that I was rubbing my aching wrist again. I don’t know how long I sat there massaging the achy spot before I become conscious of the fact that something in the texture and density of my skin had changed. I glanced down and gasped.

  “Shit!”

  My stomach roiled and I doubled over, suddenly feeling as if I might faint.

  There was a small, purple, teardrop-shaped mark on my inner wrist.

  Feeling the area, I realized it was hard and felt like a foreign body under my skin. When I touched it, the flesh burned and wriggled, causing stars to burst in front of my eyes as full on panic set in. “Oh my god!” I whispered, horrified. “Whatever this is it’s alive!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Of Prophecy and Prophets

  The prophet she did float above, a circle made of fire,

  Her silver eyes were focused on, a future writ most dire.

  I’d told Flick to meet me at my father’s house. With the newly discovered foreign body in my arm I was really glad I had. I wanted to talk to my father about it. If anyone would know what it meant and how to get rid of it he would.

  When I entered the fortress I called out and no one answered me. I walked through the rooms until I found Darma, seated before the great fire in the living room, staring at the flames as if transfixed.

  She jumped when I called her name and turned to me, her beautiful blue eyes haunted. “Hello, Astra. You look like hell.”

  I frowned down at myself and sighed. Then I pulled my power forward and concentrated on healing as much of my tattered flesh as I could. When I was confident I’d repaired most of the damage, I sat down beside Darma on the divan. I plucked a couple of scales from my hair and threw them into the fire, my eyes settling on the soothing flash and pop of the flames. “How are you?”

  She shrugged.

  “My offer still holds if you want to come work with me. I could really use the help right now with Emo injured.”

  Darma turned to look at me, her eyes unreadable in the flickering light. “He’s still out? I thought he’d been healed.”

  “He was but the healing takes its toll. He’ll need to rest for a couple of days before he’s up to doing his job.”

  She nodded, returning her gaze to the fire. “I’ve been watching the digital news. It’s horrendous.” She looked at me. “Do you know what’s happening, Astra?’

  I shook my head. “I have a meeting with a prophet tonight. Hopefully I’ll know more then.”

  Her eyes widened, “A prophet? Are you sure that’s necessary?”

  I sighed. “If ever there was a time it was necessary this is it.”

  Darma stared at me for a long moment and then shrugged. She seemed almost too weary to deal with life. I was starting to worry about her.

  “Hey!” I said, “If you don’t want to work with me, why don’t you find something else you’d like to do.”

  “I already have. I was fired from it.”

  I did a mental shrug and gave up. I had trouble enough trying to take care of myself and save the world. I just didn’t have what it took to save my sister from herself. “Do you know where father is?”

  She shook her head. “No. He left early this morning and hasn’t returned.”

  I sighed. “I’m sure he has his hands full right now.”

  She nodded without looking away from the fire. “I’ve decided to go back home.”

  I frowned, “I thought you let your place go.”

  “No. I just needed to hide out for a while. I can’t stay here forever.” She turned to me with a smile. “For one thing, father ju
st doesn’t seem to appreciate Torre’s charm.”

  I snorted, “I bet.”

  The smile faded, “I miss him.”

  “Father?”

  “No. Torre. I need to go home so I can see him when I want to.”

  “You really care for him don’t you?”

  She turned a sad gaze in my direction. “I’ve tried not to. But something in him calls to me.”

  I patted her on the knee. “I know exactly what you mean. They’re like an illegal drug. You know you shouldn’t. You know you’re really going to regret it. But you also know it’s probably gonna be worth it.” I grinned and she grinned back, making me feel better.

  I stood and started for the door. “I’m going to get something to eat. You want something?”

  She shook her head and my eyes were drawn to her lap, where she was worrying at her wrist. An icy fear swept me. “What are you doing?”

  She glanced up, startled. “What?”

  I stalked toward her. “What’s wrong with your wrist?”

  She frowned, some of the old Darma returning. “It hurts. What’s your problem, Astra?”

  I grabbed her hand and looked at the smooth, white skin on the inside of her wrist. There was no teardrop mark...no weirdly mushy patch. “Did you hurt it?”

  She shrugged, “I must have. In the park...when I...”

  I took a deep breath. I was just overreacting. Of course she just hurt it when she was fighting off that demon.

  “Oh, okay. Sorry.”

  Resisting an urge to rub my own wrist, I left her staring into the fire. I really needed to talk to my father about the mark on my wrist. Maybe I should use my cross to call him. I thought about it for a minute and then decided not to. He had his hands full with everything that was going on. I’d catch him the next day. When we could discuss my visit with the prophet too.

  I tried not to think too much about that visit. Meeting with a prophet was something that was not to be taken lightly. In fact each of His warriors were only allowed three visits in a lifetime. While that seemed like it should be enough, when you lived over two hundred years and had a life like mine, you needed to hold those cards as long as you could.

  I knew it was a risk to use a prophet card now. But I really didn’t see any choice. Time was definitely running out for me to fix whatever was happening. And before I could fix it I had to know what it was.

  Feeling suddenly very tired, I made myself a cup of hot, black coffee and sat down at the table of the old fashioned kitchen. What I wouldn’t give to be able to talk to Myra right at that moment. I couldn’t believe I actually missed her cranky, bossy self.

  I wondered how things were going with her difficult but important little Catholic girl and suddenly wished I knew what role the girl would play in the future. The thought made me realize that, if I didn’t get my shit together, the girl wouldn’t have a future.

  Sighing wearily, I lowered my head to the table, just to rest my eyes for a moment, and promptly fell asleep.

  ~SC~

  I was walking with Satan again. We strolled along my street. All around us, humans fought and maimed and committed wholesale destruction on everything in their path. Somehow we moved through it all without being touched.

  The mist surrounded us like a living, breathing thing. It seemed to pulse and roil with the violence in the street. A low level moan filled the air, joining with the sound of death around us to create a terrifying backdrop for our stroll through hell on Earth. I decided the moaning sound had to be coming from the mist.

  Great.

  Bloodied bodies on the ground flew away from my feet as I strolled forward, wondering at the quiet pleasure that rode in every line of my companion’s form.

  “You enjoy their pain.”

  He turned to me, his face still unclear but somehow giving me the impression of cold, impossible beauty. Yes.

  “You enjoy destruction.”

  He shivered as if overcome with lust. Ah yes.

  I walked on, wondering that I could calmly walk beside the monster of all monsters.

  Have you decided to join me?

  “I won’t change my mind.”

  Ah but you might.

  “I won’t.”

  He shrugged.

  A woman’s body flew past my head, she was screaming and most of her front teeth were missing from her bloodied mouth. I shook my head. “I can’t let you do this.”

  He laughed, the sound rich and vibrant in the chaos. I am the Power of Darkness, the Son of the Morning, the Roaring Lion.

  “The Swine, the Murderer, the Liar.”

  He chuckled. Yes, I have been called all those things. But I prefer my list.

  I snorted, “I’ll bet you do.”

  We left the street behind and moved into the countryside. The sun above us was fat and round and filled with heat. It beat down on me, bringing warm memories of childhood days spent in play. I pushed my face upward, enjoying the heat.

  You will have no choice you know. I have begun to call the conduits and they will all come. Even you.

  The heat drew fat beads of sweat from my skin. Moisture rolled down my back and arms. My tongue grew thick with thirst.

  “I am not your conduit for evil. This is something I would never condone, let alone help you pull off. The human race has a right to exist.”

  No, he laughed. They do not. They are weak and stupid. I have need of their destruction.

  I cocked my head, feeling my skin burning where the sun’s unnatural heat throbbed against it. “Why?”

  Because I said so.

  I shook my head, I’d always hated when my mother had said that. “Not good enough Unclean Spirit.”

  I felt rather than saw him grimace. I particularly dislike that one.

  “Deal with it.”

  ~SC~

  I woke up to Flick poking me on the arm. Lifting my head from the table, I peered at him through bleary eyes, blinking rapidly to bring him into focus.

  His face looked like something that had rested at the bottom of a salt ocean for about a year, all bloated and pasty. “Bleurgh! I’m still asleep and having a nightmare.”

  He fake smiled. “Aha, aha. You ready?”

  Sighing, I nodded and gave him my hand.

  ~SC~

  She was seated cross legged, hovering above the floor. Her hands rested on her knees, palms up, and her head was laid back. Her eyes were closed. She made no sound at all and, although I peered closely at her thin chest I could see no signs of breathing. Her skin glowed.

  By contrast, Flick wheezed behind me and snorted, trying to pull air into his clogged and crusty nose. I winced, turning to him. “Go back to your cloud. I’ll call you when I’m done here.”

  He nodded gratefully and popped off.

  I stood without speaking, looking around. The room was dark, the only light coming from the figure in the center of the room. I could make out the mundane shapes of furniture in the shadows but no there were no windows and only one door in the room. The walls were empty of adornments.

  Prophets have no need of windows or pretty things. Their vision is totally internal.

  “Mx. Phelps. You straddle the forks of prophecy.”

  I frowned. What could I say to that?

  “Prophecy represents you heavily. Were you aware of that?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  She lowered her head and opened her eyes. I’d been in the presence of a prophet one other time, when I was pretty young, so I didn’t jump as her swirling silver eyes met mine. But I did need to suppress a shiver.

  “Around you spins a maelstrom.”

  “Tell me about it,” I murmured.

  “The maelstrom beats against the world’s edges.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The prophet ignored me as only a prophet can.

  “Evil taints your life and touches all you love.”

  The experience was beginning to feel like a bad palm reading.

  She stopped
suddenly and laughed. “But enough about you.”

  I jerked in surprise.

  Amazingly, she smiled.

  I frowned, “So you were just jerking my chain?”

  She shook her head, blonde hair, wispy like dandelion seeds, flew around her extremely thin shoulders. “No, it was all true.”

  My frown deepened into a scowl. “You have a strange sense of humor.”

  Her smile widened. “I do, don’t I? You aren’t the first to speak of it.” She held out a hand, indicating a large pillow on the floor in front of her. “Sit.” Then she added, “Please?” With a gentle smile.

  I sat but the scowl stayed on my face. I had a feeling I’d be needing it again.

  She sighed, staring at me with those blind, swirling eyes. “What we must speak of here is grave, Astra Q Phelps. I have worked many weeks in an attempt to find a fork that could be engaged to pull us back from where we are headed. I’ve yet to find an answer.”

  I knew I’d need that scowl. “Tell me where we’re headed then.”

  “Millennia ago, before mankind walked the Earth, a dark and magic force ruled life there. It was a violent force, filled with hateful beings whose main joy was in the destruction of all things. Such destructive tendencies must of course bring the end of any era. As it did then. When the world below became so debauched that it could no longer be borne, He sent His army to deal with it.”

  “It was eradicated?”

  She swung the dandelion seeds again. “No. As with all things magical it could not be completely eradicated. It retained a pinprick of existence, which the celestial army locked away for all time.

  I heard a giant “but” coming, so I decided to head it off at the proverbial fork. “But it escaped didn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid it’s worse than that. It was taken by one who should have known better. He has nurtured it quietly since that time, releasing tendrils of it when the opportunity arose.”

  I felt myself go cold. Satan. “Releasing it? How, when?”

  “The first tendril touched the Earth during the great wars.”