by Ilana Waters
He sounded so elated, and his vision so thrilling, that I couldn’t help but pause. “So, it would be like turning into a vampire?” For the second time in my life, I felt a pull towards this kind of arrangement. When Ferox offered to make me a vampire if I joined his cause, I’d wondered what it would feel like to be truly immortal. It seemed exactly as Oblivion described: powerful, invincible. Just like in those dreams he sent. Moreover, I’d no longer be an outsider. Finally, I’d be the one in charge, in control. Others would bend to my will or die.
“A vampire? Oh no no no no.” Oblivion shook his head. “We’d be so much more than a vampire. Vampires are flesh and blood. As such, they can be destroyed. We would be partly soul-creature, with knowledge and powers from other realms at our disposal.”
“But Ferox thought—”
“Ferox?” Oblivion scoffed. “What did he know? That fool believed immortality had something to do with the body. No, my friend. The body is merely a means to an end. I can offer you true immortality: that of the spirit.”
Like a jolt, I got that feeling of someone shaking me by the shoulders again, except not as roughly this time. Whether it was my conscience, my free will, or something else entirely, I couldn’t tell. But the pull toward Oblivion grew looser, slacker. I blinked fast several times.
“A spirit who wants to take me over and make me do terrible things? Sort of like the Antichrist? Thanks, but no thanks.” With all this spirit talk, I realized that if Oblivion did manage to take over my body, that meant it would be difficult—if not impossible—to kill him. Things were looking worse by the minute.
“Why do you feel the need to murder so many people?” I asked. “Trying to meet some sort of quota? Productivity down ten percent in the demon realm? Boss all up in your headgear?” I jutted my chin at his horns.
Oblivion gave a chilling smile. “There is no ‘boss,’ as you put it. No supreme evil. If you’re looking for a reigning devil to blame, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.” He walked slowly between the mirror frames. “And you won’t be able to save anyone from me, whatever you think that means. You really ought to surrender this hero complex, you know. As Emerson said, ‘A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.’ ”
“Yes, yes. ‘Adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.’ ” I found myself walking back and forth in the same way as Oblivion. “Now that we all know the essay, can you tell me why you brought me here? I find it hard to believe you crossed time and space to give me a lesson in literature.”
Oblivion stopped at one end of the mirror, and I did the same. He raised a long, black claw and ran it gently down the side. “I thought it might help if you saw me again. I hoped you’d realize how much you’re hurting me. Your conscience keeps trying to push me away. It’s breaking my heart.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you don’t have a heart to break!” I snapped, turning around. But already the thoughts were coming. Poor Oblivion. How could I be so cruel to him? And after all he’s done for me. I turned back to see Oblivion give a little smile. Then he sighed.
“This would all be so much easier if you’d cooperate.” His face softened, and it was odd to see something so monstrous look sympathetic. “You really can’t beat me, you know.” He said it so matter-of-factly, it was as if he were reciting Newton’s law of gravity. “It’s quite impossible.”
I looked back at him with steely eyes. “At one point, I thought Titus and I working together on anything was impossible. But we did it to rescue Abigail. I thought defeating a two-thousand-year-old megalomaniac vampire was impossible. But again, we did it. Hell, my being born was supposed to be impossible. And yet, here I am.”
“Yes, thanks to me, remember?” said Oblivion. “This time, you’re trying to fight me. And I’m certainly not going to help you with that.”
“I don’t need your help.” I folded my arms. “I’ve got my parents, and Arthur and Philip. We’ve already managed to find out quite a bit about you. Maybe even something that will defeat you.”
“Oh, your pretty little lemniscate?” Oblivion walked back towards the other end of the mirror, speaking over his shoulder. My feet were itching to follow him, and I struggled to stay where I was. “Your efforts are wasted there.”
“You didn’t seem too happy about it the last time I was here.” I stepped forward and traced the lemniscate on the mirror over and over, making it bigger than I’d done on my first visit. “And I know you’re the one giving me psychic whiplash whenever I try anything with it.”
Oblivion began rolling his shoulders, as if he were trying to shake something off them. Something that itched and burned and twisted around him like fiery vines. I felt it, too, and reached behind my back, scratching and clawing. But that meant ceasing to make the lemniscate, and when I did, the feeling vanished.
“I told you before, don’t do that!” Oblivion whirled around to face me again. I stepped back, one hand still over my shoulder. “You see what it does to us.”
“Yeees, why is that?” I brought my hand down and narrowed my eyes at him. “If I’ve found a way to hurt you, does it follow I can find a way to end you?”
Oblivion gave a laugh that sounded like a bark. “End me? Ha. End yourself in the process is more like. And as I said, there is no way to stop me. I simply find that particular shape irritating.”
“But why?” I pressed.
“Why, why . . .” Oblivion waved his hand back and forth as if trying to swat a gnat. “Why does wool make you itch? Why does pepper make you sneeze? Certain things bother a body, and certain things bother demons. That’s all there is to it.”
Actually, I’m fairly certain there’s more to it than that.
Oblivion snorted. “Fine, then. Keep digging if you like. You’ll soon find it gets you nowhere. I might as well ask you about nonsensical things. Like why you go around trying to save people when there’s no benefit to you?”
“That’s different,” I said. “Besides, haven’t you ever wondered what happens after you die? Or cease to exist—however it is with demons? Whether or not you’ll be punished for all the horrible things you do?”
Oblivion’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “I’m not worried. I cannot die, and there is no one to punish me. God does not exist.”
“Hmmm. All the more reason for me to do good, then, isn’t it?” I said. “If there is no God, then it’s sorely needed. If God exists, do good. If God does not exist, do good. My motivation for saving people could be internal or external. Regardless, my actions are the same.”
“Well, aren’t we a psychoanalytic, self-righteous little know-it-all?” Oblivion sneered.
I shrugged. “It’s not my fault your moral center has the structural integrity of a tumbleweed. Besides, I don’t believe you when you say God doesn’t exist. Or the devil, for that matter. You have every reason to lie and no reason to tell the truth.”
“Believe whatever you like.” Now, Oblivion looked directly at me, and it wasn’t hard to imagine those big horns skewering my torso. No, he needs you alive. Remember that. “Whether or not you do good to satisfy deities, these rules of morality keep you enslaved.” He had that unmistakable tone again, almost like the general’s voice my father used.
But my own voice hardened, too, as I stared back at him. “No one forces me to follow any rules. They’re my own to set. That’s what makes me free. I’m not enslaved. I’m making a choice.”
“Hehe.” Oblivion folded his arms. “We’ll see how free you are when you’re doing nothing but my bidding, Joshua. And enjoying it.”
I wish I could say that I issued a brilliant retort, dear reader. But the truth is, after that, I promptly blacked out.
Chapter 17
I woke up in the last place I imagined.
I wasn’t in the underground anymore. I half-expected to still be there, lying on the ground, perhaps beaten and bruised after angering Oblivion. Or perhaps having just finished beating and bruising someo
ne else. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t in the Temple of Aradia or in the back alleys of Rome, either.
I was in my own bed in my parents’ suite. I sat up and looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. It showed not only the time, but the date. It was already the next night. I’d slept through the entire day.
Now, I had a vague recollection of returning to my room. I remembered lying down in place of my doppelganger, and the strangest feeling coming over me. It was as if all my body parts were being pulled in at once. I inhaled sharply, and the doppelganger disappeared into me. Was this what it would be like when Oblivion and I melded completely?
All right, Oblivion made me black out. But why? I swung my legs over the side of the bed and saw I was still in the same clothes. So he could do appalling things? Because he was tired of arguing with me? A combination of the two? There’d been no more dreams while I slept this time, but I had to wonder why Oblivion let me rest for so long. I got the disconcerting feeling he thought I’d need my energy for something. And how had I gotten back to the suite without being conscious of it?
Don’t worry, I took care of it for us. We turned invisible. Then we snuck into your parents’ room just as they were about to go to bed, but before they worked their spell on the last window. Because no matter how much I was hurt by the things you said, I am still with you, Joshua. I am always with you. The sentiment was as reassuring as it was threatening.
I forced myself to ignore Oblivion. Although I was dying to know what he was up to this time, I didn’t want to encourage him with a reply. Besides, even if he did answer, I couldn’t trust him to tell the truth.
I decided to change clothes. I didn’t know what joyride Oblivion had taken my body on between blacking out and waking up, but I felt unclean somehow. I quickly put on a different suit. Everything seemed two sizes too big. I pulled my belt into the last notch, but it still hung around my waist.
Oblivion has to be wrong about the lemniscate. I shook out the trousers that I’d taken off. Or lying, more likely. He must be covering up something. I didn’t believe for a second that nonsense he spouted about wool and peppers and how some things just irritate demons. There had to be more to it than that.
The crystal I’d been carrying fell out of one of the trouser pockets. I picked it up and stared at it in my hand. Crystals were actually common tools used by witches and mages to focus and direct energy. It made it easier to achieve magical tasks, to complete missions. Too bad this thing seems to favor demons. I put it in the pocket of my fresh trousers. It would certainly be nice if I had a magical stone to grant my wishes, the way Oblivion had the crystal to grant his wish of being born.
There came a knock at the door. “Joshua? Oh, good! You’re up.” Abigail stepped into the room. She looked tired, and I noticed she wasn’t wearing her usual set of jewelry. All she had on was her wedding ring and a few bracelets, her hair pulled back in the most utilitarian of buns. “I’m so glad you got some rest. Maybe this means things are turning around. You were out for so long. How did you sleep?”
With the help of a demon, that’s how. But I couldn’t tell her that. Couldn’t have anyone knowing where I’d gone, the things I’d almost done. Hopefully, with the last ward up on my parents’ window, there would be no risk of it happening again. For now.
“Better,” I said, which was technically true.
“Wonderful!” She gave me a once-over, and her face fell. I must have looked even worse than before. “I don’t suppose I can interest you in anything to eat or drink?”
I managed a few sips of water and three bites of toast. Then Abigail began cutting up some cheese and fruit with great determination.
“You’ll be happy to know that we finished with all the entrances and exits, so you’re safe.” She hacked into a slab of Gouda. “I mean, everyone’s safe. From Oblivion, that is.” She gave me a tight smile, and I tried to smile back. I so desperately wanted to believe it was true. Abigail abandoned the cheese in favor of pouring herself a tall glass of wine, then drank half of it in one gulp.
“Is that a new TV?” I asked as we walked from the kitchen to the living room.
“Oh, yes.” Abigail took another long drink. “The old one died on us last night, and rather violently. But the staff set this other one up. They said it should be fine.”
Sure. Unless we decide to tamper with it again.
“If there’s not another mysterious explosion,” called Titus. He was standing over the television, examining it from all sides. Abigail shot him a warning look. His brow furrowed when he saw me, but he said nothing else.
“There will be no explosions, mysterious or otherwise,” Abigail said firmly, patting the couch pillows and smoothing the cushions. “We just have to remember to keep our heads and—oh!” The elevator buzzed, and we all turned at the sound. “That’ll be Arthur and Philip.” She went to answer the door.
“They’re coming here again?” I asked Titus as we sat down.
“It wasn’t my idea,” he said. I wished Titus’s paleness and the shadows beneath his eyes were from hunger. But I’d seen him hungry before. This was something different, almost like weariness.
Soon, we were all seated in the living room. Arthur and Philip greeted me, then glanced at each other. I resolved not to look in the mirror until we had Oblivion under control. And if we couldn’t get him under control, well, I supposed my appearance would be the least of anyone’s worries.
“As you can see,” Arthur motioned to the book in his lap and the ones he’d spread around, “we’re still researching solutions. Philip is helping, but between that and trying to keep Nocifari off the scent, he’s a bit knackered.” Like Titus’s, Philip’s complexion had turned sallow. His clothes looked like he’d slept in them, and there was stubble on his chin. As if on cue, he yawned.
“Don’t forget how tiring it is running between the PIA and the Hassler, Arthur.” He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Not that I don’t relish coming back.”
“And not that we don’t love the company,” Titus said. Abigail elbowed him in the ribs.
“Yes, well.” Philip coughed and put his glasses back on, avoiding eye contact with Titus. “I wouldn’t have had to come if someone had left a few pertinent books at the office so I could do research there.”
“I told you, Philip,” said Arthur, “I had to remove every volume that might possibly hold pertinent information. It’d look odd if I took several with me on ‘holiday,’ only to pop back in for more a short time later. All while I’m supposed to be in exotic climes, no less.”
“Makes sense.” I nodded. “But, er, any reason why you brought the crossbow?” I raised my eyebrows at the weapon and its quiver next to a tall book stack.
“That? Oh, I wanted to show Philip a few things about this model. It’s a little more old-fashioned. Uses wooden bolts, that sort of thing. But still serviceable. You know. Just in case,” he said.
I nodded again, but slower. “Wait, ‘this model’? Philip’s familiar with other kinds of crossbows?”
“I’ve been known to dabble now and again,” he said.
Right, I thought. Because that’s completely normal.
“Exactly what’s wrong with doing this at your hotel, Mr. Hartwood?” Titus asked.
“I’m avoiding it as much as possible in case anyone tries to call me there, or drop something off. Remember, the entire PIA thinks I’ve left the country. But on to more important things.” He pushed his reading glasses up on his nose and flipped through several pages of his book. “I’ve given up on the demons-and-crystal angle. Now, I’m searching for anything I can find on non-corporeal entities.”
“So what did your latest round of research reveal?” I asked.
“Nothing much, I’m afraid. But we’ve still several volumes left to go.”
“And it’s only a matter of time till those don’t reveal anything,” Philip muttered.
“Enough of that,” said Abigail. “It’s impo
rtant to think positively. Ah!” She smacked her head. “I forgot the snacks I was getting ready for you boys. Coming right up.” She went to the kitchen.
“Ah, thank you, Mrs. Sil—” started Philip.
“Abigail,” she called over her shoulder.
“Right, then. Abigail.” Philip cleared his throat and straightened his lapels. “But I don’t think we need any—”
“Yes, thanks awfully,” said Arthur. He turned to Philip. “Never refuse free food, lad.”
“I’ll help.” Titus rose from his seat. “It takes my mind off my own appetite.” He smiled at Philip and walked to the kitchen. Philip stared at Titus as he left, one hand rubbing the base of his neck.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s only teasing.”
“Yes, that means a great deal coming from you,” Philip replied.
I shrugged. “If he’d wanted to kill you, he’d have done it already.”
“Your reassurance skills are in sore need of polishing, you know that?”
“Any more of this and you’re both going to your rooms without supper,” Arthur said, still examining his book. He flicked the light switch on the lamp next to him. “Damn. Bulb’s out. Excuse me.” He moved to the other side of the room to use a different lamp, taking the book with him. Philip and I sat for a few moments in awkward silence.
“Forgive me for saying so,” I started, “but you don’t seem very concerned with trying to stop this demon from committing unspeakable acts.”
Philip’s face twisted in outrage. “Of course I am. How can you say that?”
“Because you act like the whole thing’s hopeless.”
“Please. Even you can’t deny that it doesn’t look good.” Philip’s eyes darted around in case anyone heard him, and I found mine doing the same. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not concerned.”
“Good to hear.” I leaned back and folded my arms. “For a while, I thought you were more interested in enhancing your status at the PIA. Maybe with Arthur ‘on holiday,’ you could make a move for his position, stage a coup . . .” I like the way we’re thinking. Machiavellian qualities will serve us well when we rule. I squeezed my eyes shut in a futile attempt to silence my demon. Philip didn’t notice.