by Smith, H. D.
I straightened. Any good feelings I had for Charles were gone. How? The whammy. The reversal happened the same way in the Maze, from bake sale to dull reality. With Charles, one minute I’m willing to kill for his love, the next I’m seeing his true form and hating him. Magic nulling? Another new ability?
My eyes focused on Charles. His veil was gone too; only the demon remained.
“You idiot,” he spat, shoving Cinnamon away.
Oblivious to his anger, she scurried forward to the dancing maidens.
Charles rounded on me. He smelled of fire and brimstone, all sweetness gone.
“I can see you,” I warned.
His expression changed into a smug scowl. He glanced back at Cinnamon, who was dancing and twirling near us. “You’ll never convince her.”
He was right. Cinnamon was still trapped by the illusion, and he wasn’t going to let either of us walk out of here. She needed to wake up from la-la-land and take control of the situation.
Wake up. Yeah. That was exactly what she needed to do. The man in the Maze—he’d said I’d woken him. Could de-spelling her be that simple? Did I have that power? The man from the Maze seemed to think so.
Would it work every time? What if there were consequences? Did I care if there were consequences?
The weight of the sentry’s hands pressed on my shoulders. Charles sneered. He didn’t see me as a threat. The sentry’s hands tightened. I looked up into his eyes; they were empty. Was he under the same spell? Purposefully I touched his hand. A tiny static shock went between us. The same had happened in Hell, Montana. I gasped when his eyes rolled back, and he dropped to the ground like a stone.
I stood there gaping for a moment, then remembered something similar happening to the man in the Maze.
“What the hell?” Charles blurted, eyeing the sentry’s crumpled body.
Cinnamon was only a few feet away. I darted around Charles and ran for her.
“Come, Claire,” she said. “Come dance with me.”
I reached for her.
She stretched out her hand, then whipped it back and spun around laughing.
Ugh. Could she at least help me save her?
“Come, join me Claire.”
I took another step forward. Charles spun on his heels and grabbed me before I could get to her. I struggled to wrench away, but he was stronger. He growled, yanking me closer. I twisted back toward Cinnamon.
“Cinnamon,” I snapped, getting her attention. “Dance with me,” I begged, stretching out my hand for her.
Her face lit up. She stopped spinning long enough to move near my outstretched hand. Charles’s grip tightened, but before he could drag me back, I lunged. Our fingertips brushed lightly, and a small static charge passed between us.
Charles jerked me around to face him.
Cinnamon’s body hit the ground behind me with a thud.
Charles’s shocked gaze landed on me. “What are you?” he muttered.
Sadly, I didn’t know anymore. “I’m the Devil’s assistant,” I said, as if that explained it—but it didn’t. These abilities were new. I was different. How much different—I had no clue.
The vein on the side of his neck pulsed. His nails dug into my arm. I ignored him.
The sentry was standing, rubbing the back of his neck. His wide-eyed stare was confused and scared as it flitted around the courtyard.
Charles was oblivious to the man’s distress. He shoved me at the confused sentry. “Take her to the dungeon,” Charles barked.
The sentry’s eyes were fearful. I don’t think he knew what to do.
“Run,” I commanded, nodding at the front gate.
He studied the gates for a second then took off. He didn’t get far before Charles threw his will at the fleeing sentry. Several maidens screamed as the guard went flying through the air, crashing into the minstrels.
Another sentry hurried forward, but before Charles could give him an order, his body was thrown several feet away.
I spun around and saw Cinnamon. Her eyes, normally blue, were an impossible black. The power she wielded crackled around her.
“You certainly know how to make an entrance, Claire.” She sneered, although I was fairly sure her anger was directed at Charles, not me. “You’ve had your fun, but it’s my turn now.”
Fun. Was she serious? “You’re welcome,” I said sarcastically.
She ignored me. Her gaze was fixed on Charles, who was visibly trembling. He took a step back, then froze, his body going rigid. Raising her hand, she lifted him off the ground with her will.
She grimaced as she glanced down at herself. “A toga—you made me wear a toga?” Cinnamon threw him without remorse across the courtyard. He crashed into his gilded throne with a loud thunk, destroying it in the process. “Claire, you can go. Tell my father I’m going to be busy for a few days. His request will need to wait.”
“But I need to speak with you. Ju—”
She silenced me with her will before I could tell her Junior was dead. “Go now before I change my mind.”
Furious at her dismissive attitude, I marched to the exit, ready to get the hell out of Purgatory. She couldn’t exactly help me, not that she would, and I still had to see the others.
The large doors to the garden slammed behind me, ending her hold over my voice. The sky was darker now, although the moon still shown bright.
I took out my phone and prayed it would power on and the battery wasn’t completely dead. After a few tense seconds the screen flickered to life. Thankfully, I was back in China, but the yellow battery indicator still flashed.
I had no way to charge my phone. I had to hope it would hold on for a while longer.
I found Mike’s card and dialed the otherworldly taxi service. As I expected, the dispatcher seemed uncertain about my request. I assured him Mike said he would return and reminded him I was a good tipper. Reluctantly, the dispatcher agreed to send Mike. I ended the call and immediately powered off the phone.
There were no texts or voicemails from Jack. I didn’t try to call him. I refused to risk involving him. He would understand once I could explain. For now I had to trust he wouldn’t think the worst.
I breathed a sigh of relief when Mike rolled up ten minutes later. “Hey, Mike. Good thing you didn’t wait. I didn’t think seeing Cinnamon would take that long.”
“What was that?” Mike asked, raising his eyes from his logbook.
Not bothering to repeat myself, I said, “I need to see Sage and Sorrel.”
“Sure thing.”
Within minutes we were back in New York City. Mike stopped in front of a large apartment building on the upper east side of Manhattan. From the outside it appeared to be a normal multi-family complex. The redbrick and wrought iron was a common theme in this neighborhood, but that was where the similarities ended. Unlike the others, this structure had only two residents: Sage, who lived on the left side and Sorrel, who lived on the right.
Sage and Sorrel were identical twins. The middle two quads resembled their father. Their dark hair and arched eyebrows gave them an edgy look, but their pagan side made them irresistibly attractive. Sage hated almost everyone. I was no exception. Midge called Sorrel the nice one. Of course, since she appeared to be about sixty, he’d never hit on her, and she’d never had to reject his advances. The nice one hated me because I wouldn’t sleep with him.
“I’ll call when I’m ready to be picked up.”
Mike smiled when he saw the tip. “Any time.”
I headed up the walkway. Once both of my feet were firmly on the first step of the stairs, the front entrance split in two. Very much like Cinnamon’s hidden fortress, all the quads liked their privacy. What had once been a small alcove with one door from the road was now a wide porch with two different doors on either end.
I rang the bell on the left side, but no one answered. I rang it again, and this time a breathless voice answered over the intercom, “What?”
“It’s Claire. I need to see yo
u.”
“Go away.”
Sage was never the friendliest—none of the hellspawn were—but he was more likely to agree to see me and trick me into doing something I wouldn’t want to do. Either way, I didn’t have time for his bullshit. “Your father sent me. Now let me in.”
“I—no. I—” After, I’m sure, he ran through all the excuses he could think of in his head, with a deep sigh, he finally said, “Fine, but make it quick. I don’t have all day.”
The door swung open, and I strolled in. I was surprised to see him running down the stairs from the second floor. He was moving so fast I half expected him to run right past me. Instead, he stopped short about a foot from me, breathing heavily and fidgeting from foot to foot.
His short black hair was unkempt, sticking up in all directions. He wore a bright green and orange shirt, the kind you might expect to see on an African tribesman, not a hellspawn from New York City. It wasn’t a toga, but it sure as hell wasn’t his style. My eyes dropped to his bare feet. There was a crescent-shaped bruise on the top of his right foot. Ragged sweatpants completed the style. For someone who usually dressed to impress, this version of him was ridiculous.
I took a step back. He definitely hadn’t showered today—or yesterday from the smell of it. Of course, it could have just as easily been a week. “What are you wearing?” I asked.
He beamed at me with wide eyes and raised brows as if I’d complimented his tailor. He twirled around and said, “It’s a dashiki. Do you like it?” He waited expectantly. When I didn’t respond, he turned up his nose and said, “I think it’s absolutely divine.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I wasn’t exactly sure who this crazy was, but Sage didn’t use words like divine. He didn’t twirl to be admired. And there was no way in hell he’d wear a pair of high-end sweatpants, much less this pathetically tattered pair he must have stolen from a homeless person.
“Are you alone?” I asked, peering around him.
He spun as if someone was trying to sneak up behind him. He craned his neck to look into the formal living room and jumped when he found me standing in his foyer. As if he hadn’t remembered I was there.
“When was the last time you left the house?” I asked.
“Hmm, let me think.” He tapped his index finger on his bottom lip and gazed up at the ceiling.
His eyes fixed on something. I followed his gaze, but there was nothing above except crown molding and track lighting. I cleared my throat and asked again.
“Oh, right. Um...I haven’t left since the funeral.”
My heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t mean Junior. “What funeral?”
Sage dropped his head as if fondly remembering someone. I breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t talking about Junior.
“Sage,” I said, getting his attention. “What funeral?”
He gawked at me, as if seeing me for the first time—again. I was beginning to think he was schizophrenic. His eyes were wide, childlike, and teary. “Sorrel’s, of course.”
“Sorrel’s dead?” Impossible.
“You were at the funeral too, you idiot.”
That had to mean Sorrel wasn’t dead. Oh god, unless my double was there? No. He wasn’t dead. “I wasn’t at any funeral. When did he die? How did he die? Are you sure he’s dead?”
I studied Sage. He was confused and sad, but his eyes were also empty—like the sentry’s had been in the courtyard. I took a deep breath and crossed my fingers this would work.
Sage narrowed his eyes when I reached forward to touch him. I lowered my hand. I’d have to try something else. “Are you sure he’s dead?”
His brows dropped into a line. He tilted his head. It was obvious he didn’t understand what I was asking. He broke the stare first, lowering his gaze to the floor.
It was time for some tough love. He needed to wake up. I took a step forward. He jumped back as if I was about to attack him. I smiled and opened my mouth to calm his fears. His eyes widened, and his mouth went slack as if I were a super villain about to pounce.
He threw his will toward me, pinning me against the wall. “T-Thanks for stopping by,” he blurted, almost in a panic. “You can show yourself out.”
I gaped at him as he sprinted up the stairs. Unbelievable.
My gaze tracked him until he reached the top. He paused for a moment, then took a step—vanishing out of sight. At the same time his will disappeared, and I fell to my hands and knees.
I jumped to my feet. “Sage,” I shouted, rushing to the stairs.
He didn’t answer. I called his name again, but the house was quiet.
I closed my eyes and stepped outside my body. I checked the house, blinking upstairs, then into the various rooms. I scanned every room. Sage wasn’t in the apartment. He was gone.
I opened my eyes and almost tripped on the fifth stair. What the hell? My body wasn’t in the foyer where I left it. Instead, it was halfway to the second floor. I gripped the banister, trying to stop myself from moving.
“Claire.”
Something was calling me. Something wanted me on the second floor. I resisted the compulsion to continue up the stairs.
“Claire,” it said, yet it wasn’t a voice. It was a feeling.
I tried to resist, but the call beckoned to me, pulling me closer. “Stop,” I commanded, coming to a halt just before the landing.
My right leg shook with the desire to move. I wouldn’t be able to hold back forever. Whoever called to me wasn’t letting me go, and for some reason I couldn’t break free. Apparently, my magic nulling powers had no effect on something I couldn’t see or touch.
The watch. Okay, think. What can I ask it to do? What do I need it to do?
I thought back to what happened to Sage. He’d disappeared after darting onto the landing. I didn’t want the same thing to happen to me. I didn’t want to be trapped in another Hell, Montana.
I concentrated on the watch. “If I’m not back in ten minutes,” I said, but I had no clue what to ask for. Oh, screw it. “You know what to do.”
And…the watch did nothing. No once-around-the-dial acknowledgement. Nada.
Giving up on the watch, I turned my energy to the problem at hand. But my right foot was on the next step before I could stop it. I crossed the threshold, passing through a wave of energy so cold it sent a chill down my spine.
“Claire.”
This time the voice appeared to come from the large mirror that hung on the wall across from the stairs. I closed my eyes and stepped out of my body.
The mirror in front of me was illuminated with a halo of white energy. Power pulsed from it as my name was called. Not surprisingly, since I hadn’t been able to stop it before, my body continued forward.
I opened my eyes. The thick mahogany frame was carved with vines that spiraled through a labyrinth of hypnotic geometric shapes. The vines snaked around the frame, twisting and turning through the wooden maze, growing thicker and denser as I watched. I cast no reflection in the glass, and whatever lived inside of it had the power to control me. Sage too, I suspected.
I gripped the frame with both hands to stop myself from falling into the mirror. Everything went quiet.
Dropping my hands, I looked behind me. I wasn’t at the top of the stairs in Sage’s apartment anymore. I was back at the company, standing in the doorway to The Boss’s office suite.
“Are you just going to stand there,” a voice in front of me said. “Or are you going to let me in?”
I spun around, coming face-to-face with myself. Not a reflection. My red hair was gathered back in a loose twist. I was dressed in my favorite gray suit, but the shoes were wrong. I’d never wear heels that high to the office.
After a moment of stunned silence, I asked, “Who are you?”
The other me ignored my question.
I asked again, “How did I get here?”
She smiled, but still didn’t respond.
Was I really back at the company? Is this my double? Was The Boss in h
is office?
She cleared her throat.
My eyes lowered. She was carrying a large stack of red file folders. I’d never seen that many early retirements at one time. This couldn’t be real. I let her pass. She dumped the folders on my desk, then turned slowly, leaning on the edge.
“Who are you?” I asked.
Her eyes widened. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” she said. “I’m the Keeper.”
The Keeper?
She winked and blew me a kiss. “The one and only.”
Is she reading my thoughts?
“Yes,” she purred.
Oh my god, she’s reading my thoughts!
She threw her head back and roared with laughter.
A slow nagging pain crept up my neck. I have to stop thinking.
Her movements were a blur, and she was in my face, staring into my eyes. “You can certainly try.”
I took a step back, running into the glass door behind me.
Her eyes bored into me—the most vibrant shade of gray—not blue or green. For a moment, the image flickered. Green tendrils of hair fanned out around her head. This wasn’t my double. “You’ve changed,” she cooed. “I see you have your power back. Good. You’ll need it.”
My power? Back? What did she mean?
She clutched my right arm and squeezed. The Boss’s mark flashed. “He can’t protect you here,” she sneered.
Protect me? Here? I jerked my arm away. “He’d never protect me.” I rubbed my wrist where she held me. “My watch.” It wasn’t on my wrist. My hand went to my hip. “My bag.” Where did they go?
She raised an eyebrow. Her lips curved up as if she knew a secret.
“Why am I here?”
She shrugged. “Lucky, I guess.” Before I could speak she confessed, “Not for you, of course.”
The slow pain inched up my head. “Get out of my head and answer my questions.”
As if I’d hit her, she staggered back a step. The intrusive pain disappeared. My head was clear. Can you hear me? She didn’t respond.
My shoulders sagged, and I breathed a little easier. “Why did you bring me here?”