The End of Days

by A. E. Watson

  “Okay.” It still feels like a really bad idea.

  We cross the massive kitchen and great room. I walk to the fireplace, resting a hand on the cold stones. “There’s no heat here. Maybe they left when you did.”

  But he roams about, looking confused. He heads for the door that leads to the basement. “STELLA!” He flings it open and screams, standing like he’s prepared for the onslaught.

  But nothing comes.

  We both stand, ready and still, me scared and him vibrating with fury.

  “STELLA!” His face turns crimson as he spins, shouting again and finally losing his cool. He storms across the room, grabbing a book and throwing it at the empty doorway.

  I hug the stone fireplace just in time as more books go sailing about the room. One hits the rocks in front of me, making me jump, and lands open on the floor. The pages in the book flip slowly and methodically as if someone is reading them—a ghost.

  Constantine interrupts the bizarre moment I’m having with a shriek as he tosses a sofa. He rips the cushions off, pulling the stuffing out and tossing the fluff about.

  “Constantine?” I nod at the book, but he doesn't hear me. He’s too busy losing his shit. “Seriously. A ghost just showed me a page in a book. You should see this.” I point down at the book as he screams and shouts, pacing and ruining more things. “Fine, be a child,” I murmur and tilt my head to the angle of the book so I can better see the page the ghost has left it on.

  There’s a picture of a small boy with two faces on one head. He looks like Voldemort when he was chilling on Professor Quirrell’s head. The boy with two faces is on his mother’s knee, smiling at her with one face, but the side of the face she cannot see is one of anger. One hand reaches for her and the other holds a dagger behind his back.

  “Two sides of the same coin.” Cain and Abel float about my brain. The good and the bad in one person or one family? Is it supposed to be one person? I can’t see Maggie ever being really good or truly evil. She certainly never tried to kill her parents or Wyatt. Or did she, and they sugarcoated her behavior?

  Lost in the idea of it all, I can’t determine if this is telling me it’s Maggie or not.

  “Constantine?” I look up impatiently, wincing at him as he is mid hissy fit, snarling and ripping a tapestry that looks older than he is. I close my eyes and shake my head. “Can you try refocusing for like a minute? The raging vampire performance isn’t very useful, and I think we have something here. I know the writing but my brain isn’t clicking.”

  His nostrils flare as he spins around, giving me what can only be described as a hateful sneer. “Have you ever had someone—” he heaves his breath for a moment as he pauses and looks down, losing all the rage filling him to whatever he was going to say that he never finishes. “Forgive me, of course you have.” He drops the tapestry and runs both his hands through his hair, tugging and bringing it up like two horns for his devilish self. “I am just so very tired of all this.” He groans and lowers his hands like he’s been defeated. "It's just gone on for too long." He says it like he's suddenly empty.

  But I can't feel sorry for him, not in his state. I snicker, not even fighting the laugh.

  “What is so funny?” he snaps.

  “Look.” I point at the mirror across from him displaying his perfect set of dark horns.

  His broad shoulders slump as he tilts his head. “How does my hair always manage to set into the perfect horns?”

  “Can you do the why-me thing later? I think I’ve found something here, but I can’t read the writing.”

  “Of course. Why not? I can just mourn the fact my own flesh and blood betrayed me later.” He sighs and walks to me, still looking like a bit of a wreck. He makes it seem like it’s almost painful for him to stand there and glance down at the book, but then all of a sudden his eyes have a look of realization and his mouth drops. “Where did this book come from?” He looks a bit sick actually.

  “You threw it at me. What does it say?” I don't tell him that a ghost flipped the pages. It might have been the ghost of Mona really. She’s the only person stalking me that I’m aware of.

  “It’s an old tribal version of Aramaic and it says that the boys are two sides of the same soul. One is for good, always a hero. The other is for evil, corrupt and cruel. The side of the boy that is fostered or fed is the side that rules his heart. His mother’s kindness keeps the evil boy at bay and that makes the good side of him stronger.” He lifts his head. “It says that the boy would grow to save the world because the smallest of deeds planted seeds of kindness in him.” He rolls his eyes. “You know the old story of the man telling the boy that he has two wolves in him, a good wolf and a bad one, and the one that rules is the one he feeds. It’s very Aesop’s Fables.”

  Ignoring him, my insides clench as I think about the one person that would make sense for, and it’s not Maggie Van Helsing. “Now what if we make that boy a mildly confused girl and think about it from that angle?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “What? Is this code for something? Is this more Maggie Van Helsing nonsense?”

  “No. Michelle. She’s been Lucifer’s main focus from the very moment he met her. He went for her first. We assumed it was because she was the weakest, but what if that's not why?”

  “She’s pathetic and a complete follower, has a weak spirit, and was easy to buy. He guessed what she would do for one of those Klondike bars.”

  “No.” I roll my eyes. “She’s two sides of the same coin, and she started out in life as a boy. She was a boy and a girl in the same body—your two wolves.” My skin shivers at the possibility.

  “Okay.” He looks like he might be coming around to it but then stops. “But you want me to believe Michelle—little girly-girl Michelle who can hardly stand on her own two feet—is your equal in this? She’s who Lucifer, a very old and very smart man, would put all his money on?”

  “Well, when you say it like that it sounds bad, but when you think about the fact she is the ultimate underdog, it makes more sense. She’s completely unappreciated and everyone underestimates her. She could sneak under the radar for a long time. No one has ever fed the right side of her, the girl side. Not until Lucifer did.”

  He opens his mouth but then closes it, nodding.

  “I’m right, admit it. Inside her is an angry boy.”

  “You have a compelling argument, I agree. It's quite conceivable that she is the one we are looking for. But I will stick with my doubt and disbelief on this one.” His eyes dart to the book again. I have the strangest feeling he’s not telling me something about it.

  “Is there something else?”

  He flickers his gaze on my face and then the book. “No. Just reminds me of a story I heard once. We should go.”

  “What if I’m right?” My heart starts to ache in that moment. “That means I might have to kill Michelle?” My eyes draw upward, not to the ceiling but beyond it. “You would make me kill her? How cruel are you?”

  “He’s as cruel as they come,” Constantine mutters and turns away from me.

  “Stella must have figured it out while doing the research. She must have realized why Lucifer kept such close tabs on Michelle. Why he wanted her.” I hate this moment.

  “Michelle seemed like such a useless waste of resources at the time. She’s not very smart, and she cares so much about shoes and shopping and makeup. She’s just so—” he gives me a look, “—pathetic.”

  “You don’t know her. She isn’t. She might have some negative aspects, but she has a lot of positive ones too.”

  “Really?” He cocks a dark eyebrow.

  “Clearly Lucifer thinks so.”

  “I suppose,” he concedes on that one but only for a moment. “Lucifer is a master of

  deception though. What if this is his plan, to make us think it’s her? Sort of a slight of hand?” His eyes go back to the book.

  “We need to make sure it’s Michelle who’s the Antichrist before we kill her.”

&n
bsp; “Of course.” His eyes lower to the floor. “What better place to start than my basement.” He offers me a hand. I take it and let him drag me to the horrible staircase leading to the dungeon.

  Chapter Three

  "Our kingdom come—" he says it like it’s been his plan all along, and I have played right into his hands. This is the end, and he’s proud of me for bringing it to fruition.

  Shivering and scared, I turn and look at the world burning below us.

  The lake to the right is a ball of fire and there is nothing in this world but flames and ash. My father has leveled it all.

  Pride fills his face as he looks into my eyes and holds his hand out for me. “You and I will rebuild our family and rule this world forever, the way your mother and I should have.”

  “No.” I shake my head, stepping back on the crumbling earth. “Never!”

  As I shout it, I sit up, gasping for air and clutching my chest.

  Sweat drips from my forehead and nose. “What the hell?” I turn, flinching when I see Wyatt. “Did you see that?”

  “What?” He looks worried. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I lie back, giving him a smile. “Bad dream.” There’s no way it was a dream. I remember it, and his words still whisper in my head: Join me, or it's all going to burn and you're going to burn with it. The world is on fire. I don't know how he’s doing it, but he’s controlling my mind. He’s making me see things. Maybe he’s getting stronger. Great . . .

  All I really know is that the last two nights have been the same dream that isn’t a dream.

  I’m standing at the edge of humanity and my father is next to me—holding his hands out over the ash and rubble. His words haunt me the way my mother’s used to. “Join me.” It’s not something you want to hear from your evil dead father who you killed. There’s no way to spin that meaning and somehow he’s making me see how he envisions it.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask Wyatt, desperate for a change of topic as the effects of the dream fade from me.

  “Better. Thanks for not eating again today.” He rolls on his side and leers. “Wanna wrestle?”

  “Seriously? How can you possibly be in the mood for that?” I roll on mine too, shaking my head. “No.” I reach forward, touching him. He doesn't flinch or clench his jaw. “Does it still hurt?”

  “No. Must have been the evil taint from the meal.”

  “Maybe.” I swallow and tell him the detail I should have when I got into bed, “We went to Constantine’s castle to see Stella and Michelle three days ago.”

  His eyes widen. “What? Why? Who’s we?”

  “Constantine and I. We went to see if they had a reason or an explanation or if they had the Antichrist or an idea of who it is.”

  “And you felt that after we all fled, they might just decide to be cool and share their information with us? Betray us and then be like ‘oh, my bad?’” He laughs, shaking his head. “You need to remember how it feels to be betrayed.”

  “I don't need to remember how it feels, I recall that well enough.” I shudder and keep talking about Constantine, “I don't know what he was thinking would happen. I was just hoping maybe they regretted their decision, or we could force them to give up what they know.”

  “Constantine’s pretty smart—don't tell him I said that. Maybe he thought about killing them both to stop them from being on the other side. That would be my move.” He shrugs.

  “I guess.” My voice trails off as I realize how much both of their deaths would hurt me and how easily Wyatt could kill them both and not even blink. We are so different that way. He proved it with the nixie. He could kill anything and anyone and never even bat an eyelash. “Maybe he was just going to torture them both.” I never really gave that much thought, but I can’t imagine Constantine hurting his sister.

  “So what happened when you got there?”

  “I don't know—nothing. They weren’t there and we found this book—” Without the book in front of me I don't really know how to explain it without sounding insane. “Essentially, we think Michelle is the Antichrist.”

  He looks confused and then smiles wide again. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “What’s the punch line to that ridiculous statement?”

  “That’s it. She’s the Antichrist. At least we think she might be. I mean, it makes sense.”

  A frown owns his handsome face. “In what world does that make sense?”

  “She’s the two sides of the same coin.”

  “What coin?” His question makes me smile. Constantine had taken my belief in the two sides of the coin without the knowledge of my dream that clearly wasn't a dream. Wyatt isn’t like that. But Mona had lifted her finger to her lips and hid herself from Constantine and Wyatt. There must be a reason for that. Maybe she didn’t want anyone else to know she was helping me.

  “The book had a story. You’d have to see it to understand.”

  “A book at Constantine’s house, one so important it gave you the answers to the Antichrist, and yet Stella left it behind?” He raises an eyebrow. “Where is it?”

  “We left it there. I don't know if Stella ever read it.” I shrug. “It’s like some old story of a boy with two faces. It reminded Constantine of something about a boy and an old man who tells the boy that there are two wolves within him, and the wolf that wins is the one he feeds. The Antichrist had a chance at being good all along, just like I had the chance at being bad. But it’s all about who raised us and how our lives have been. Michelle hasn't had it easy, not being transgender. The bad side of her—her male side I guess if you were to classify one side as evil or whatever—was fed by constant hate and mocking. She was made fun of for being herself. There’s an angry boy inside Michelle. And then Lucifer came along and fed the good side—the female side of her. But it was too late; the evil was already there. He changed her into the person she wanted to be and gained her loyalty. And if you believe scripture, God made us in his image. So he made her the way she was meant to be, but Lucifer made her what she wanted to be.”

  “I still don't get it.”

  “Trust me, this is a thing.” I nod, trying to be convincing. I don't know how else to explain it.

  “Trust you?” His dark-blue eyes narrow. “No. What aren’t you telling me? I can see the lie on your face.”

  “Nothing, I just keep thinking about the fact that Stella and Michelle have left Constantine’s castle. We went there and the army of vampires was gone and so were Michelle and Stella. I have to assume they've gone to wherever Lucifer is. They’re really on his side, and they’ll make him an army of exceptionally strong creatures.”

  “I think it’s safe to say they have always been on his side, Rayne.”

  “Maybe. It bugs me. The first thing girls do when they stop being friends is betray all the secrets the other girl told them. I hope neither of them is doing that.”

  “Girls are crazy.” He chuckles.

  “Yeah. At least we can go back to Europe now if you want. We have the painting if we need to get back here quickly.” I reach forward, brushing my fingers against the beige feather. It’s lost all its white. “We could go and live at the castle and plan our fight.”

  “No. As much as I hate to say it, we should stay with the fire witches. They have powerful magic. Until we know where that vampire army is and where Lucifer is. Let’s not forget that he can possess people. He could be anyone, except a witch. He can’t possess a magical creature like that. Not fae or witches or something like you or me. Just lesser angels and humans, as far as I’ve ever understood.”

  The thought of that kills me. I killed him and yet I didn't. All I ended up doing was freeing him to be the devil—the actual devil. I killed them both. It’s a horrible fate for any kid, having to kill their parents. “Do you think my—Lillith is in Heaven?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I think she’s roaming here as a ghost, a sad and lonely one. Same as Lucifer. Purgatory. I don't think God would let her come h
ome. So she’s here, floating about. Though I doubt she’s causing trouble the way he is.”

  “Do you think your mom’s in Heaven?”

  He pauses for a moment and then nods. “I do. She always believed what she did was for God. Her mission was a righteous one, in her heart. She didn't sin as much as she lived a conquest. I think she and Sarah are both there. And I bet they’re looking down right now, just wishing they could be here to boss us around.” His infamous grin slips across his lips.

  “What about your sister? Have you spoken to her?”

  “Not since you ate last. I went before that to check on her. Dad was still gone, but she was at the house, in the basement.”

  “Shouldn't we bring her to Europe then, to keep her safe? I know she isn’t welcome here with the witches, but she shouldn't be alone.” I don't add the part where I wished she were with Lucifer as the Antichrist. It’s mean to wish that on his sister. But I hate that the Antichrist could be one of my best friends. I would much prefer it to be his sister.

  Shoving the cruel thought from my mind, I force myself not to look at his lips. Staring at them usually brings them to me, which would be bad here in bed while I think about sacrificing his sister.

  “Yeah.” He agrees. “Maybe I should go and see if Maggie’s still okay there. I can’t imagine where Dad has gone or why he left her. It’s weird.” He rubs his eyes and settles into the pillow again. “In other news, I’ve made the decision that sex is worth you eating and me being sick. I mean, sex once a week means I’m sick for three days—no biggie. That's four healthy days a week, and we get to have sex.” He waggles his dark eyebrows teasingly.

  “No.” The image of him so pale and weak makes me cringe. “Maybe we need to get married again, but like real married this time. Then my eating will have no effect on you. I bet that’ll work. This handfasted nonsense is not working, probably because of the daggers being gone. Maybe those were what protected you from my evil diet seeping into you, corrupting your perfection.” I run my finger along the beige feather on his chest. “Your tattoo was white before and now it’s beige.”