by Ryan Attard
My mind connected two and two and I sat up so suddenly that my abdominal muscles cramped.
Of course. How could I have been so dumb?
I wiped sweat from my brow and placed my mother’s picture against my chest. It all made sense now. Gil and I didn’t need to train inside the Zoo, not when we had trained in the forest for nearly our entire lives.
We were being trained for sabotage.
It was the only thing that made sense. We knew how to capture and kill monsters. But Mephisto took a step further and taught us all about locks and seals. He seemed to know exactly what my father was planning, but couldn’t say. I remembered the lesson about demons. He had casually mentioned the contract he had with our father. There was no need to do that and yet he did nonetheless. The same thing with channels. Why raise the subject of super-channels if none of us could use them? He wasn’t surprised to see me die and heal back to life. Rather, it was more like he was waiting for it. He was training us not only to survive, but to rule.
All the pieces fit perfectly inside my head, and I was looking at a completed puzzle for the first time. He had taught us all we needed to know to overthrow our father and rule for ourselves. The question was, why? Why go against his master?
I rolled off my bed, stood up and opened the drawer. I kissed the picture and placed it back inside before reaching in again and pulling out a folding knife. After slipping the knife inside my pocket and walking to the door, I stayed there motionless, with my fingers curled around the door handle for a few minutes, collecting my thoughts and clearing my mind.
Tonight, I would break inside my father’s office. The locks would be easy. If there were phantasms or monsters guarding inside I would have to improvise, but I doubted that Dad would leave any creature to guard his valuable trove of information. You could never trust monsters: too smart, and they backstabbed you; too dumb, and they might just turn on you. Either way, I was confident that I could take on anything I met on my own. The knife would be less than useless, but having some sort of a weapon in my hand made me feel safe. The tricky part was the distance required. I had to move to the other side of the mansion, and do so without raising the alarm. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. Midnight. It was two hours past curfew and the entire place was on lockdown. Gil and I never dared venture out of our rooms past our bedtime. Usually, we were too exhausted to even consider it. But now that I thought about it, we didn’t know what went on at night in this house. This could make or break my plan, and if I got caught before finding what I wanted I would never get another chance.
I took a deep breath. If I lingered any longer I would probably chicken out. If needed, I would fight my way through. And I doubt even the toughest security guard on the premises had been through even an iota of the harsh training my sister and I had been through. Mephisto always used to tell us that if we could survive in a forest filled with monsters, we could survive anywhere.
Time to see if he was right.
I spent the night walking silently from one end of the house to the other. The wide corridors provided ample space to walk, but the overhead lights dimly illuminated everything. I had to press against the sides of the corridors, where shadows overlapped and provided me with some cover. I didn’t have as much liberty as I wanted; I had to stick to one side, away from the windows, or risk the patrol outside catching my shadow against the glass. Stealthily walking around your own house was not an easy thing. I kept my center of gravity low and my pace light, trying to avoid making a sound, and at the same time listening intently for anyone coming my way.
Turns out I had nothing to worry about. My legs ached after crossing an entire mansion, semi-crouched and taking one soft step at a time. I pressed against the wall and just as I began wondering why the mansion was devoid of security at this time of night, I caught a glimpse of one guard patrolling the corridor where I needed to go.
He wore the usual black camo outfit, and carried a small caliber automatic weapon from a strap across his shoulder. Around his belt, he wore several black cases and pockets—no doubt a small supply of magical ingredients. I’d seen his type before and knew these security guards weren’t powerful wizards. They usually fought as a team, overwhelming monsters with a relentless assault in numbers. This one looked young enough, probably around twenty years old. He must have been a new recruit to get stuck with guard duty.
He hasn’t noticed me yet, I thought as I grasped my knife and gently unfolded it. I didn’t have to kill him, just incapacitate him long enough to get what I wanted and then bolt. I could easily knock him out.
I turned to make my move, but before I could take one step, I heard a low growl from my feet. My heart nearly stopped as I saw a large, black figure, its yellow eyes peering into my own. I froze on the spot and the dog ceased growling.
Mephisto. What was he doing here? Where did he come from?
Was he going to stop me?
With a soft whimper, the dog turned tail and walked around the corner, into the corridor where I was headed.
“Who’s there?” I heard the security guard ask roughly as he levered himself away from the wall and tightly clenched his cigarette between his teeth. His hands were already on his weapon.
Mephisto walked up to him, his tongue hanging out. This was it. He would alert the guard and it would all be over. I pressed my back against the wall and squeezed the knife until the rubber of the handle dug painfully into my palm. I mustered the courage to peer around the corner, expecting the guard to call me out.
“Oh, it’s just you,” said the guard, as he leaned back against the wall and took a drag from his cigarette. I saw Mephisto turn his head back, looking at me, and he walked over to the other side of the corridor. He growled and let out a sharp bark before taking off.
“Shit,” swore the guard as he put out his cigarette and bolted after the dog.
I walked in front of the office door and looked over to where Mephisto and the guard had disappeared. Had Mephisto really just helped me out, or did he actually see something more suspicious than a sixteen-year-old with a knife trembling in the shadows of his own house? Either way, I took a deep breath and muttered my thanks to whatever kept the demon from ratting me out.
Now, I had to deal with opening the door. I instantly recognized the generic seal on the doorframe. Deciphering some of the components took a bit of a memory jog as I tried to remember all that Mephisto taught us. I began working on the familiar sigils, pouring traces of magic inside them, short-circuiting them, or just scratching the carving. It took the better part of an hour, working my knife and magic as precisely as I could. This was meant to be delicate surgical work, although with my lack of finesse, most sigils ended up looking like a child’s scrawl. Either way, I brought the system down and all I had to do then was pick the lock.
As I bent down to pry my knife inside, I noticed it was a modern mechanical lock. The keyhole was so small that not even a hairpin could fit inside, let alone a blade. I stood up and paced around for a moment, frustration and panic beginning to settle in. That guard might come back anytime. I thumbed the metal door handle, hoping for inspiration. Maybe if I begged it hard enough, the door would just snap open of its own free will. No such luck.
What could I do? I had taken down a series of magical locks, but some dumb mechanical bolt was stumping me? Just my luck.
And then, I remembered the bike. That bike I rusted somehow and whose owner beat me up on the same day my father divulged the truth to us. Maybe I could pull off the same stunt again. Heck, I had destroyed enough weapons just by pouring magic through them. Why should a lock be any different?
I grasped the handle tightly and channeled my magic through it. The effect was instantaneous. There was a loud crack and the handle snapped off. It crumbled into iron filings inside my hand as the door swung open. The lock was cracked and shattered beyond recognition, and a small patch of rust had formed where the bolt held tightly to the frame. I quickly got in and shut the door behind me. I gr
oped around the shelves until I felt a large volume and extracted it. Holding it in place behind the door, I hoped the guard wouldn’t return and decide to lean against it.
Once inside, I looked around. The familiar couches sat next to a fireplace that was now extinguished. I remembered those statues on the mantelpiece, little trinkets that had absolutely no significance before. Now, I recognized a were-tiger fang and a claw as long as a dagger which, according to Mephisto, belonged to a dangerous breed of demon known as asmodaii. I’d never heard anything official about them—maybe the asshole was just making stuff up to scare me.
The right side of the room was veiled in darkness. I remembered the half-empty bookshelves and a single bench with a few ingredients, but if memory served me well, it was mostly barren. So, why did I feel an urge to inch closer and closer?
I walked towards the darkened corner, deviating from my path only to find a switch and flick it. Dim lights came on, shedding the darkness, and there I saw a black lacquered coffin, emblazoned with sigils. The same coffin I saw in my vision.
I stared at it, my heart thumping so hard it hammered against my throat. My mother’s coffin. Was she inside?
I traced the lid of the coffin, looking for something to hold onto and pry it open with. I dug my fingers into it and lifted. The coffin didn’t budge an inch. I found another place and tried again.
Same result.
I kept circling around, throwing all of my strength into it, magically enhanced or not, but the coffin seemed to weigh a ton. Flustered, I let go, puffing hard and taking a few steps backward. I felt something against my hip, and heard the telltale sounds of something toppling over and hitting the ground. There was no crash, only the ruffling of pages and a small thunk of wood hitting wooden floors. I thought I had knocked over one of the many books and candleholders lying around the place, when I heard someone yell out.
“Hey, dumbass, watch where you’re going. I was just getting to the good part.”
Chapter 23
The knife was in my hand in seconds and for a tense moment all I heard was the flick of the blade snapping in place and my heartbeat drumming against my ears.
“Who’s there?” I whispered hoarsely, immediately going into a fighting stance with the knife close to me for defense.
“Over here,” the voice said.
I looked in the direction where I thought the voice was coming from. The coffin was now behind me, and I stared at a corner where one half-stocked bookshelf met another. On the ground were a few books, one of which I recognized as Romeo and Juliet. A wide barstool rolled lazily against the wooden floor. Beside it were two candleholders with pieces of blackened wax adhering to them and a life-sized wooden statue of a cat, now lying on its side.
“Down here, dumbass.”
I inched closer to the bookshelves and crouched down. Maybe there was one of those fairytale imps or pixies in here, even though Mephisto said that those were just imaginary creatures. And after facing real monsters, the supernatural stops being an Enid Blyton short story and becomes more Lovecraftian.
Or maybe the voice was coming from the books. But books couldn’t talk, could they?
“Oh, man, you blind or something? Down here,” said the voice.
I scanned the floor and lightly poked the statue of the cat. “Um, hi?” I said, lifting the statue upright.
“Took you long enough,” it said.
I nearly dropped it.
“Jeez, man, get a grip,” it said. “You play around with a coffin all night, but when the cat talks, it’s freaky? The hell you doing in here anyway?”
“What are you?” I asked, holding the statue at arm’s length.
“You must be one of them slow kids, right? I’m a talking statue of a cat. Get over it.”
“What are you doing in my Dad’s office?”
“That crazy son of a bitch is your old man? Dude, I am so sorry for you.”
I stood up and placed the cat on the barstool I set right again. “What do you know about Dad?”
“He’s your father, ain’t he? Ask him.”
“We’re more what you call a dysfunctional family.”
“Oh, man, I feel you. I got three assholes for brothers and none of ‘em are animal statues. I think.”
“What are you?” I asked again. This statue was seriously freaking me out, but I just couldn’t get enough of it. I’ve seen some weird stuff in my life, but bonding over family matters with a wooden carving certainly takes the cake.
“Better you don’t know, kid. Not that I could tell you anyway. But I will tell you this: your old man is insane,” it said.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered.
“No, kid, you ain’t hearin’ me. I mean, really insane. Talking all the time about hidden gods and power sources and sacrificing children. Oh, wait, if you’re his child that means he wants to sacrifice you.” The statue paused. “Nice meetin’ ya, kid.”
“Not gonna happen,” I growled.
“Well, you got spirit. But he’s out of his damn mind. I mean, he’s even got some poor chick trapped inside that coffin.”
I snapped my head back. Trapped? Did that mean she could be still alive?
Was my mother alive?
“How do I get the coffin open?” I snapped at the cat.
“Dude, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. She ain’t pretty. All dead and stuff.”
A part of me died when he said she was dead. I let my hopes rise up too fast. But still, she deserved a proper burial at the very least.
“She’s my mother.” The words rolled heavily off my lips.
“Ah, man, you mean to tell me he’s got his own lover in there and plans to kill his kids? That SOB is all kinds of evil.”
“Just tell me how to open the coffin,” I said savagely as I grabbed the statue and stood.
“Hey, man, calm your ass down,” replied the cat. “You see that on top of the coffin?”
I looked at the coffin. A strange blade was embedded deeply inside of it and only a ring-shaped cross-guard and the handle were visible. I recognized that design—it was the sword my father used to stab Gil and me in the Baku’s vision.
“You gotta get that thing outta there,” continued the cat.
“How do I do that?”
“Are you really dumb? You’ve never watched any of that King Arthur shit? Same way you pull any sword, man: grab the handle and yank it. I mean, how old are you, fourteen, fifteen? I really shouldn’t be explaining the whole yanking process to you.”
I placed the cat down.
“Wait, wait,” I heard it call. “There’s something inside the sword, so you gotta battle it. In your head, I mean. You gotta mentally whip it.”
“Anything else?” I inched closer and closer to the sword handle.
“Yeah. Could you put Romeo and Juliet back under me? I was getting to the hot part.”
The sword handle was warm. I sat awkwardly on top of the coffin, crouched around the protruding weapon. I wrapped my fingers around the sword and used my legs to pull it free. The weapon budged slightly before something pulled it back in place. I redoubled my efforts and again it felt like I was playing tug of war on top of my mother’s coffin.
“Why isn’t it moving?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“Probably ‘cause of the Jinn in there,” I heard the cat say nonchalantly behind me.
“Jinn?”
“You’ll see,” it replied dismissively.
Before I could ask any more questions, something cold pierced my head and I went blind. I yelled for help but I couldn’t hear my own voice. I was in darkness, and the only thing I could perceive was the handle of a blade, which was embedded in a black surface inside a black room. In front of me, I saw something blue shimmering to life, like wisps of smoke converging. A long tendril of azure adhered to the pommel of the sword, and elongated to form a cloud of swirling blue smoke.
”Your fault.” The voice boomed from all directions. It wasn’t a so
und as much as a sensation, as if my very heart was able to speak. The voice came with images. I saw my sister and my mother in brief flashes, before I felt something hard pressing against my chest.
“Your fault,” the voice said again. The blob of azure had formed into a humanoid torso, complete with thin, wispy arms and a head with no features whatsoever.
“What is?” I managed to say.
The creature hovered closer, still attached to the handle by a thin wisp of blue smoke. It had no hips or legs. Instead, its torso just narrowed down into a strand of smoke attached to the pommel. A genie, I thought. Just like in Aladdin. Except this one seemed less likely to grant me three wishes and be a cartoon voiced by a comedian.
“Death, suffering, misery,” it echoed from inside me. I saw flashes of Gil running from fire and screaming as her arms blistered and burned. I saw her run away from a Baku as she tried not to pass out from magic overuse.
“You cause pain.” I felt my arms burn and sear. I felt all the exhaustion in the world, and panic overtook my senses. I felt what Gil had felt all those times I had been knocked out.
“You break the rules, so she suffers. You are too weak, so she suffers.”
I saw Crowley’s image flash before me and Gil’s expression the first time I tried to attack him. I felt her concern and worry when I attacked the Baku mercilessly, mutilating it as I screamed for our mother.
“You killed her, Erik Ashendale. You killed your mother.”
I saw my mother lying on a hospital bed, her belly round and swollen as she struggled to give birth to her firstborn—me. I saw her life force in tendrils of magic and color, each of them disappearing into nothingness as she slowly died from exhaustion. I heard the nurses encourage her to push and her screams of effort and pain. I heard the cry of a newborn and her gasp that was also her final breath. I saw the mother and child make eye contact before the mother screamed again and tried to birth the second child.