by C. F. Waller
“I had no--.”
“Let me ask you something of an even higher magnitude,” he shouts, spittle hitting me in the face. “Where were you when she died? Try as I may, I don’t recall seeing you there.”
“Hiding,” I moan, slumping to the ground with his hands still wrapped in my shirt. “I was hiding.”
My shirt tears when he pulls his hands back. His eyes glow green, a symptom of our condition, but at this moment they are ablaze. Annie tries to comfort me, but he pushes her away, the hem of her dress dragging in filth. A smile falls upon his face, but it’s more the way a cat stares at a mouse. He crouches down in front of me, seeming to gather himself.
“Relax dear friend, I’ll not be killing you anytime soon. That would be rather redundant at this point, us being dammed souls and all. No, I wish you and lady fair all the best,” he reaches over and dusts off my shoulder.
“Dorian, my friend. This is all new information for me. If Bea has chosen you, then it’s you who receive my best wishes.”
“That’s the problem,” he sighs, taking me by the hand and jerking me to a standing position. “She never chooses me.”
His expression is forlorn, but he forces a smile. He glances at Annie, then puts out his hand. She pulls hers back, body trembling from the physical altercation. I nod, indicating she should play along. He takes her shaky hand and bows slightly.
“My lady, I believe we have gotten off to rather a sticky beginning. Let us start again. I would hate to pay Bea a visit with any ruffled feathers between us. She can never know the truth.”
“What truth,” Annie stammers, glancing back and forth between us.
“That I have masqueraded as her friend and trusted confidant for tens of thousands of years,” he remarks, turning her by the elbow and setting off down the street. “It was poor form on my part to love her so dearly, when her feelings were not the same.”
“You can’t know that?” Annie answers, glancing back at me as they walk.
“Oh, where it not so,” he chuckles. “You see, Beatrix Moffat only loved one man in the entirety of her life.”
She nods, then Dorian glances back at me with a kind expression.
“And since her death, so very long ago, she has remined steadfast in her commitment.”
“Is that true,” I blurt, coming alongside the mismatched couple.
“Oh, yes my friend. You have nothing to fear, except,” he recites then pauses.
“Except Beatrix Moffat,” I chuckle, putting an arm around Annie, pinning her between us.
Chapter Eleven
Rahnee Ben-Ahron
Theater of the Dammed
I’m stuck crouching in the passageway for an hour, then a horn erupts from overhead. People file down the rows and line up to pass through the gates. A half dozen pass me, clearly friends of Dominick’s. I wait until the lights go out, the passageway still illuminated by the recessed candles. In the Amphitheater only the captive remains. I pace along the outer circle watching her green eyes glow in the darkness.
“My Father sent you,” she remarks, surprising me.
“Maybe I’m just rotting down here like everyone else.”
“No, you have been to the show many times, but tonight was different,” she hums, coming close to the bars. “You brought my slave girl with you.”
“Who?”
“The wretch with you and Edward. She used to be my servant. I took away her food, and then watched her wither and die. Why has she come here?”
“You killed her. This is where people go when they are murdered.”
“Yes, yes,” she nods, becoming visible the closer she gets to the bars. “If this is so, then why have I not seen her before? She died decades ago, longer if she was actually down here. Where has she been hiding herself?”
“Maybe she didn’t want to see the Angel show,” I chuckle.
“No, you people preformed some dark magic on her. That troublesome daughter of Arron’s is probably responsible.”
“Jennifer.”
“Jennifer,” she growls, clearly recalling her battles with the young girl. “Even so, why is Annie here. Her name was in the Book of Life. She should have gone up.”
“Maybe she missed you,” I chuckle, pacing with my hands behind my back.
“My Father sent you to me. You have come to rescue me.”
“I wish I could say otherwise,” I sigh, watching Rhea place her hands on the thick bars, her lips twisted in thought.
“How do you know I won’t kill you the second I am free?” she asks, following me along the perimeter, her hands gripping each bar as we go.
“I don’t know anything for sure, but let me be clear, no one else is coming for you.”
“Eventually, I will be free,” she grins, leaning forward so I can see her face. “Satan cannot keep me here indefinitely.”
“Possibly, but this will be your last opportunity.”
She shakes her head, waving a hand at me, then disappearing into the darkness once again. After a moment her eyes glow, disembodied green embers floating in the darkness as she moves.
“What makes you so sure? Who sent you?” she rushes the bars, her hands slapping them. “Which of my Father’s minions set you on this course?”
“Gabriel,” I reveal, but she jerks back as if the bars were hot.
“What possible motive could that ass-kisser have for helping me?” she snorts. “He’s half the reason I am stuck here in the first place.”
“How so?”
There is a long pause as she watches me, a finger tapping on her chin.
“Well?” I press.
“Our Father originally commanded Gabriel to scoop up all the flood survivors. It was only after he wove his lies that I was dragged into it.”
“Kicking and screaming all the way, I am sure.”
“My predicament amuses you?”
“I thought that was assumed,” I shrug, but wave for her to continue.
“Uriel demanded that Gabriel was needed elsewhere,” she huffs. “That meant that all six were too busy and the task fell to me.”
“All six?”
“Yes, Arch Angels,” she snorts as if amazed at my lack of Heavenly historical knowledge. “Seven Arch Angels, Raphael, Uriel, Michael, Remiel, Sanriel and Father’s precious Gabriel.”
“That’s only six?”
“I didn’t include myself.”
“And you are?” I ask, surprised she is worthy of a top spot. “Your puffy cloud name isn’t Rhea?”
She flashes me her white teeth and drifts backwards and into darkness. It really doesn’t matter who she is, as much as how I get her to Gabriel, yet this is an interesting question. Who am I about to turn loose on the world? If it really is the End-of-Days, it won’t be a long reign for any queens that emerge from this mess.
“Who then?”
“You’re a good Jewish daughter of Abraham,” she whispers. “Are you familiar with the name Lilith?”
I pace away from the cage now, my back to her. Never being a particularly studious girl, I recall the name, but sort through my scattered memory banks to retrieve it. I suddenly miss Edward, who would know the answer. Circumstance makes odd bedfellows.
“Wasn’t Lilith a Sumerian demon?”
“Labeled as such,” she purrs, emerging from the darkness, following me around the circular cage. “But isn’t there a more obvious answer? One that’s right on the tip of your dreidel spinning tongue?”
It dawns on me what she’s getting at, leaving me speechless. I turn, eyeing her as she grasps the bars and grins.
“Lilith was supposedly the first wife of Adam,” I mumble, watching her nod over and over. “Are you an Angel or a woman?”
“Why can’t I be both,” she hisses.
“Eve was created from a rib.”
“Yes, she was, after I was rejected.”
“No spark between you and Adam?” I tease. “He only liked you as a friend.”
“Mock me if you must,
but know my place on high,” she warns in a ceremonial voice. “I was chosen to be Adam’s wife, clearing the way for Raguel to be promoted to seventh Arch Angel. My Father promised me I would be the Mother of all mankind. The Earth Goddess, Alpha and Omega. He broke that promise.”
“Why?”
“His laws called for the wife to defer to her husband in all things,” she sighs, walking ahead of me. “I found this to be untenable.”
“You didn’t like Adam calling the shots,” I chuckle.
“He was but meat hung on bone,” she snarls, grabbing the bars once more. “I was an Angel, millions of years his elder and infinitely wiser.”
“And in your mind, better fit to lead.”
“Oh yes,” she snorts. “He was a proud fool. Calling our Father’s wrath down on me at every opportunity.”
“Sending you to the principal’s office, so to speak.”
“You mock me, but in the end, he got what he deserved. His wretched mate lead him astray and look what became of them,” she smiles, then glances my way. “Look what became of all of you.”
“I suppose we would have been better off with you as our mother?”
“What do you think?”
“I’d say you didn’t get your way, then decided to take your misplaced anger out on his descendants,” I suggest. “I’d venture a bet that your Father wants you back to have a serious conversation about your behavior.”
“I welcome it,” she growls, the tone deep and booming. “What are you going to do about it? What great scheme has Gabriel worked out to confound the dark prince?”
“I’m still working on that,” I shrug.
“Excuse me?”
“So far all I have is a Last Supper Bible verse and a few well-placed friends working at the theater.”
Her expression is in pause, waiting for me to elaborate. When I don’t, it morphs into disbelief. I share her disappointment. How am I supposed to get her out of this cage and topside? She glares at me in anticipation of comforting words, but I have none to offer.
“I’ll get back to you,” I shrug, heading back down Dominick’s tunnel.
Her screams can be heard until I am halfway to meet my friends.
Edward Grey
I stop outside the door. Dorian nods, then climbs the stairs. I hear his footsteps reach the top, the door hinges squeaking as he enters. Annie tugs restlessly at my sleeve. Her eyes beg me to go to Bea, but I am conflicted. If Beatrix actually waited a thousand lifetimes to be reunited with me. I have failed her. The proof stands clear as day holding my sleeve. I never stop loving Bea, but took another as my wife. I am not fit to lick her boots.
“You heard Dorian,” Annie whispers. “She waited for you. Now get in there and end the suffering for both of you.”
“I am not worthy.”
“Stop acting like a baby,” Annie scowls, pulling my arm.
“Edward?” Beatrix voice echoes from the doorway. “Are you out there?”
I freeze, but Annie pushes me forward.
“Edward, Dorian just told me a whopper of a lie,” she proclaims, coming out the door, but looking the wrong way down the street. “He claims you married a big fat tart and brought her here to rub my nose in it.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. Bea gawks at Annie, and then puts her hands on her hips, eyes burning a hole in my skull. I expect Annie to be upset, but over the last twenty years she has developed a thick skin regrading her appearance. A girl who was starved to death feels little or no shame of a few extra pounds.
“Well, let’s have it out then,” Bea grumbles, stomping down the stairs.
Without warning a thin sword like blade a foot-long slides from under her long sleeve, snapping open and doubling in size. Standing in front of us, she points it at me, then Annie.
“Who’s it going to be then,” she barks. “The slut or the cheating bastard?”
“If I might say something--,” Annie blurts, but is interrupted with the point of the sword nearly touching her nose.
“You certainly may not,” Bea exclaims. “Edward, this is your doing. Is it going to you or your piglet wife?”
“You’re not so skinny yourself,” Annie grunts, crossing her arms. “Might wanna be careful who you call fat.”
“Her then,” Bea nods, grabbing Annie by the throat and backing her against the side of the house.
“Please don’t,” I beg, but receive the sharp end of the sword inches from my zipper before I can move. “Oh, I’ll be with you in a second.”
Dorian appears in the doorway, a short glass of amber liquid in his hand, a smile on his face. He got Beatrix all wound up and sent her out here. Thanks a lot, buddy.
“I see the reunion is well underway,” he grins, shuffling down the stairs to join us.
“You hush,” Bea grunts, pressing the blade to Annie’s throat. “You’ve done quite enough for one day.
“Till death do they part,” Dorian recites, stepping between Annie and the blade. They are both dead, no need to part either of them with that.”
Backing up she grits her teeth and screams. The sound echoes down the narrow street. I want to take her in my arms, but the dumb end of her sword turns in my direction after just one step. She backs me down the street, the blade popping the top button of my shirt clean off. Tears stream down her face, cheeks bright red, a vein on her forehead bulging. It occurs to me that in the thousand years I have known the two of them, this is the first time I have seen either one cry. What an odd coincidence. I back into a wooden barrel set under a down spout to gather water. I arch my back, leaning away, the blade nearly touching my throat.
“What is that old saying about people who live in glass houses?” Dorian mutters aloud. “I always forget.”
Bea freezes, and then takes a few steps toward Dorian, who grins like a Cheshire cat. Before he can speak, she spins back to me wearing a guilty look from ear to ear.
“Edward, I told you she never chooses me,” he reveals, walking between us. “That statement might have been slightly off the mark.”
“How far off? I demand.
“Technically, the me part is true,” he admits, shrugging. “She may have chosen one or two others in the eons trapped here.”
My eyes fall on Bea and the shamed expression breaks my heart. The revelation that she laid with another at some point is tempered by my own actions. To be fair, neither Bea nor I betrayed our love. There was never any sort of monogamy agreement between us.
“As I was saying,” Dorian plows forward, never concerned about poking his nose in other people’s business. “Till Death do you part. Everyone here is quite dead, thus all marriages are null and void.”
He makes a good point,” I force a smile.
“I usually do.”
Bea’s face wears a puzzled expression, peeking back and forth between Annie and me. Dorian seems pleased, downing his glass, then inhaling deeply. When no one speaks, he wiggles his glass at us, then climbs the stairs, going back inside, presumably for a refill. I could use a drink myself.
“What say you piglet?” Bea points the sword in Annie’s direction.
“I agreed to come here so Edward could find you,” she frowns, crossing her arms, “and stop calling me piglet.”
“Right,” Bea grunts, retracting the sword into her sleeve with a snap.
Before any more debate can insure, I take Bea in my arms and kiss her. She fights me at first, trying to turn her head. Determined, I grip the tops of her arms, spinning her around and pinning her to the wall next to the water barrel.
“I don’t —,” she huffs, but is silenced by my lips on hers.
The tenseness in her body lessens, her hands eventually gripping my forearms. This is a moment I had dared not hoped for. It’s hard to believe this is Hell. She tastes of sweet red wine, the flowery scent of her perfume suffocating me. After a minute, I come up for air and find her eyes closed. Her bright red lipstick has been smudged, leaving a line up one cheek. Long dark eyelashe
s flicker, her breathing coming in short gaps, as if she was getting ready to hold her breath.
“I missed you,” I whisper in her ear, drawing her close.
“And I you,” she sniffles, a tremor rolling up her body. “I hope your death wasn’t terribly painful.”
“I didn’t so much die, but rather came here of my own accord.”
“How so?” she asks, taking both my hands.
“Do you remember Arron, Dorian’s son.”
She nods.
“His daughter Jennifer can —,” I begin, but am cut off.
“How about we bring the party inside,” Dorian announces from the steps, a fresh drink in his hand. “You can explain the particulars of your situation over drinks.”
“Do you have anything to eat?” Annie inquires, starting up the steps.
“Possibly a salad—,” Bea starts, but I put a hand over her mouth.
“Let’s not make this anymore awkward than it has to be,” I whisper.
She mumbles something through my fingers, nodding agreement. As we head in, her fingers find mine. She squeezes my hand tightly, a familiar spring in her step. It seems like so long since we last touched, but for her it’s been much longer. My own elation is boundless, but how is she really feeling? How surreal all this must be to her.
Chapter Twelve
Rahnee Ben-Ahron
I pass by mismatched groups of lost souls on the way to Rue Boca. One group in particular features three rough looking Nordic women, axes hanging off thick leather belts and a few guys in red sweaters that look like they just fell off an Ivy League recruitment poster. Viking girls invade a fraternity house. Hell does bridge the historical gap.
“Maybe I should have warned them,” I chuckle, watching the red sweaters over my shoulder. “The shield maidens are likely to break them in two.”
Decker’s place is the same as I recall. Three steps lead up to a wooden door. A wrought iron knocker, that’s not period correct, is bolted near the top. This annoys me, but it’s probably supposed to. The Devil is in the details. I start to reach for it, then push the door inward. Virtually no one here locks their doors. Only a few weak candles light the space. Dorian and Annie sit at the dinner table, locked in conversation. They don’t notice me, even though the door creaks.