by Ryan Attard
“Yet another reason why inbreeding is not a good idea,” I muttered.
“Yes, well, perhaps this next part will stimulate your jesting mind,” Mephisto said. “Tonight, since the Ritual artifact is missing, your father will inject copious amounts of this newer formula, and it will temporarily allow his body to be powerful enough to conduct the spell without the channel. In essence, this formula will allow your father to become the channel for the Ritual.”
“Oh,” I said. “Damn.”
“Indeed,” Mephisto replied. “As such, I would suggest that you strike before this happens. Once he injects that formula, I do not know how strong he might get.”
“Okay, got it. Hit before magical liquid goes in. Anything else?”
“Yes,” he said. “Your sword. Use it. Neither one of you will be powerful enough to take on your father. Your channel will serve you well. I suggest you retrieve it and spend the next few hours hidden in the forest as you familiarize yourself with its mechanics. Remember, listen to the weapon and the essence inside it. It will guide you.”
He stood up. “And let us not forget Alastair Crowley. I do not know anything about his power, save his proficiency with chemicals. I know he’s human, however twisted.”
“Then, Gil can take him,” I said. She looked up. “This is the guy who killed Mom, Gil. I know it. Mephisto is saying we gotta play the observing game with him, and you can keep him at bay with some long-range spells.” I placed a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want you anywhere near Dad when this goes down. Leave this to me. You keep Crowley busy.”
She nodded.
“That’s settled then,” I said.
“Master Gil,” Mephisto said. “While Erik is training, I would like to show you a few things which may prove useful against Crowley.”
“Thank you,” she replied quietly.
“Thanks,” I echoed. I meant it. Despite what I thought about Mephisto, he really came through when the crap hit the fan.
“As I said earlier in the forest,” he replied, “I do not work for free. Everything has its price.”
Scratch that. This guy was still an asshole.
“What’s yours?” I asked.
“My brother,” he said. “I want him freed.”
“Why? From what I could gather, you guys don’t like each other.”
“Yes. But I still want him freed,” the demon insisted. “Master Erik, why do you think I am under contract to this family? Did it ever occur to you that I may have a hidden agenda?”
“Many times.”
“Well, I do. And I need my brother Amaymon to be his usual destructive self instead of a feline statue. What you do with him once he is no longer sealed is up to you. You may opt to kill him, which would suit me just fine. Or you may choose to contract him, in which case he kills you. Either way, I win.”
I glared silently at the demon. So, he wanted his brother dead for some reason. Or I could die and that would give him an advantage of sorts. The question was, what advantage could he possibly gain from my death? Other than pure sadistic pleasure, I mean. What game was he playing? He had never asked anything of us.
Then again, we never asked anything of him. He had done his job and then left, like a good servant. He helped us of his own free will. Some part of me dropped my guard around him after he helped me get into my Dad’s office. How dumb of me. This was the same demon who locked me and my sister inside a typhoon with a raging phoenix in the middle, just to test our limits.
And now, we were indebted to him.
“Fine,” I said through clenched teeth. The words tasted bitter in my mouth. “We win, the cat goes free.”
“Excellent. I am afraid that once the battle starts, I will disappear, for both your safety and mine. This civil war does not concern me, nor will I allow myself to be used as leverage.”
“What if Dad summons you?” Gil asked.
“I have found enough loopholes in my contract with your father to do pretty much anything other than slit his throat myself,” Mephisto replied. “I should be able to make myself scarce.”
***
I spent the afternoon trekking through the forest again. I took the longer route, circling a couple of times and taking erratic directions around where I actually wanted to end up. I trekked for hours, but it was necessary just in case my father decided to have someone discreetly tag me. I didn’t see anyone but you can’t be too careful.
I recognized the stones we sat on earlier that morning. The key to navigation in any environment is landmarks. You pick out a few spots, give them some cute name, and burn them into your memory. After spending my adolescence running around these woods, there were very few corners I didn’t know about. I made it back to where I had hidden that short sword and dug it out. There it was, still wrapped in that blanket, its leather-wrapped handle sticking out an inch or two.
I discarded the blanket and twirled the sword around once. The hike had centered my mind. It was easy to find your zen among the trees. No unnecessary sounds, just the lyrical rustling of leaves and animal noises harmonizing together like a choir. To a stranger, it was noise, but to me, who had always found sanctuary here, it was the most beautiful sound you could think of. It was the sound of home.
And that was exactly the feeling I channeled into that weird short sword. I felt my magic flow through it, encompassing the weapon as if it were a part of my hand. As if I was born with my fingers wrapped around that weapon. I raised my right hand, pointing the blade at the trees above me. It was faint at first, but as a blue light encompassed the blade and grew more intense, the peace within me grew.
This was unlike any channel I had ever used before. Crystals, potions, matchsticks and pieces of wood were just objects, junk that any two-bit practitioner could pick up at a local store. This was different. This sword was alive; the Jinn’s essence inside it was resonating with my soul, acting as a part of me.
I gazed at the blade, now bathing the surrounding foliage with azure light, and my mind filled with possibilities. This was a gateway back to my magic.
I smiled, knowing exactly what to do.
“Progress, I see.” The black dog sat down just close enough to be heard. I put my sword down and wiped the sweat off my brow. Around me, destruction was evident. Felled trees, crushed rock and cratered ground—it looked like a small meteorite had crashed.
“It’s time,” Mephisto said. The dog took off with unnatural speed, zigzagging in between trees like a furry black bullet. I ran after it, almost keeping up with it. I was surprised I had that much energy left. After training for hours with Djinn, I imagined I’d be exhausted. And yet I felt refreshed, like I could go a couple of rounds with that phoenix and come out on top.
I met Gil at the entrance of the house.
“It’s time,” she said grimly.
“Stick to the plan,” I said as I placed my hand on her shoulder.
“Good luck, children.” Mephisto, in his creepy butler form, bowed with one hand bent in front of him and the other behind his back. “I enjoyed instructing you. Try not to die too badly.” The wind picked up and his form dissolved into nothing. I had a feeling this was the last time we could count on him. We were on our own from now on.
I nodded at Gil and marched all the way down to the Zoo. The Ritual would take place there. Instead of waiting to be summoned like dogs, we opted for an ambush and strike them when they least expected it.
“Hey, you’re not authorized to be here,” said one of two guards at the entrance to the basement.
Without missing a beat, I flipped Djinn’s blade and drove the pommel of the sword into his sternum. The soldier gasped and his eyes snapped wide open as he fought for breath. As he bent over, I drove my knee into his face and he slumped to the ground.
The other soldier aimed his gun at me. Keeping the momentum of my strike, I spun and snapped my fist backwards. Djinn’s blade penetrated the gun, and as I kept spinning I tore the weapon from his grip and sent it flying across the r
oom. My left fist connected with his throat, and he fell face forwards without a sound.
Gil remained rooted on the spot, still shocked at having a gun pointed at her face. She let out a low whistle at my impromptu ninja skills.
“I never liked the idea of soldiers inside the damn house,” I muttered. I ripped off one of their keycards and we got into the elevator.
I heard my Dad arguing with Crowley once our elevator doors opened. We got off and walked across the corridor until we reached a wooden door and stopped behind it, listening.
“They should be here shortly,” I heard Dad say. “I can’t find that useless demon anywhere. Is everything ready?”
“No,” Crowley replied. “I am telling you something is amiss. One of my samples is missing, and I refuse to provide you with anymore unless you resolve your mess.” I heard a fist bang against a table. “It’s your children, I know it. They must suspect something.”
“They don’t know anything,” Dad replied. “A hothead like Erik would have come after me a long time ago if he had seen the coffin.”
“Well, I refuse to give you any more of the formula unless you clean up your mess. Find the Athame and kill your children on your own. I want a better reward for such an effort.”
“And what the hell do you want more of? You get her corpse and any residual magic inside it. Isn’t that what you do?”
Crowley let out sharp yell. “The boy! I want a taste of the boy. His magic is simply astounding.”
“No!” Dad’s voice made the door we were behind shudder. “Both of them are mine! My power! You get our resources and our protection, but their power is mine!”
“Without my formula, you are nothing,” Crowley spat back. There was a pause before he spoke again. “Fine. But I want their corpses. Intact and fresh off the Ritual. I want to decay them myself. And I want the Athame once you retrieve it. There is power there. This is my final offer.”
“Deal. Don’t screw me over, Alastair,” I heard Dad reply. “If I go down, we both fall together.”
I turned my head towards Gil, who swallowed hard and closed her eyes tightly. The poor girl was pushing back tears.
“Heard enough?” I whispered.
She nodded, and her eyes darkened with conviction.
“Make Crowley pay,” I said. “Dad’s mine.”
We stood up, and I took a step backwards. I could feel my power building up and itching to explode. I kicked out and the door flew off its hinges with a loud bang. Inside, I saw Dad next to Crowley, who was holding a leather-covered medicine box.
The blade shone azure and from its tip shot a blast of blue energy, headed straight at the two men. The table behind them exploded, and the two were sent flying apart from each other. The medicine box careened in the air and disappeared behind upturned tables and storage lockers.
“Hi, Dad,” I said with a slight growl in my voice. I lifted Djinn, its blade emitting menacing light and power. “Looking for this?”
Chapter 26
“The Athame,” Crowley croaked.
At the sound of his voice, I heard Gil let out a snarl and a lance of orange flame shot at him. Crowley yelped like a puppy and scrambled on all fours away from the fire. His fedora was smoking on his head.
Gil took a deep breath and pursed her lips. She let out a whistle. The sound increased in intensity until our ears rang and the high-pitch of the whistle became a ringing siren. Dad and Crowley rolled in agony on the floor, and I found myself pressing my palms against my ears and hunching forwards. Something trickled between my fingers. In between the spasms and rolls of my father I noticed blood oozing from his ears and between his fingers. Crowley had ripped off one glove, exposing a gnarled blue-gray hand with two-inch yellow nails on each bony finger. He clawed at his ears, squeezing the air around them. Slowly, he managed to crawl on all fours, away from his position and towards the fire escape that would lead him up to the ground floor of the mansion.
Gil’s whistle spell stopped abruptly. She sucked in a deep breath and hyperventilated for a few seconds, giving Crowley the time he needed to make for the fire escape. My head rang from the spell, but already I could feel warmth around my ears and head. As I healed, I found the strength to stand upright.
“A little warning next time,” I directed towards Gil. She closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath.
“Wasn’t sure if that would work or not,” she said. She took a step after Crowley. “He’s mine.”
“Happy hunting,” I said as I faced my father, who still rolled on the ground in agony.
“You, too.” And she walked away.
She never looked at our father—not when we burst in, not when I threw that energy wave, or when she nearly burst their eardrums. She never made eye contact, not even when she was leaving him to die by my hands.
“Erik,” I heard Dad say. He slowly got up to one knee. “Erik, my son. Why?” His tone was apologetic and surprised. As if he didn’t plan to kill us. As if he were the perfect father and we were the rebels.
And I just couldn’t take it.
“Fuck you!” I yelled as I swung the short sword at him. A crescent-shaped wave of blue energy shot at him along the direction of the swing. My Dad, along with the table behind him and all of its contents, were sent flying.
I kept swinging Djinn wildly around me, streaking waves of azure energy all over the place. This building was sick, toxic. This is what led to the curse in the first place. My family wanting to explore, to go further. They conquered and killed, captured and dissected. All for what? Just so we could have power?
Why does power matter so much? Why couldn’t we just enjoy what we had?
Why did my mother have to suffer?
I stopped throwing energy waves around when I felt empty again. It was like I had unleashed all the pent-up feelings inside me. Now, I could think clearly. Now, I could fight. Now, I could kill this bastard, burn the place down, and start fresh. Maybe give my sister and myself a semblance of a normal life. This was it, right here. The beginning of the end.
My father sat up and ran his hands down himself, checking for permanent damage. The bastard was lucky—just a scar and some bruising. I hadn’t focused my power properly. I just wanted to destroy things.
But now, I could think straight. This time, he wouldn’t survive it.
He reached for Crowley’s case and opened it. All the vials were shattered and the purplish liquid oozed uselessly from the case. He stood up and threw it away.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” he snarled at me. “Do you know how much you’ve set me back?”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” I replied.
He slapped the coffin beside him. “It was for her,” he screamed. “It was always for her. I could have brought her back to life. I could have brought all of you back to life. Once I had that power.”
“Get away from her,” I said.
He ignored me. “I could have given you anything. I could have done anything. It’s the power of the gods, Erik, and we have it.”
I didn’t really hear him. I was too angry as I watched him slap the lacquered black coffin with every exclamation. I swung the sword around and threw another wave of energy. Dad screamed something indistinguishable and held his hands out. Energy blasted around him, but never touched him.
“I’ve been a Warlock for far longer than you have been, boy,” he said.
“You’re a washed up has-been,” I shot back. “When was the last time you actually went up against a monster?”
His expression darkened. “I may have my handicaps, but I am more than capable of taking you down, whelp.” He reached inside his robe and pulled out a small vial with the tiniest of syringes attached to it. He stabbed it in his thigh and injected himself with violet liquid.
“Handicap, my ass,” I said. “You’re nothing but a junkie.”
He responded by snapping out his palm, sending a torrent of fire my way. I swung Djinn upwards and shot out my own spell. Red flame met a
zure energy halfway through its journey and exploded. Debris clouded the battlefield. I heard crackling and saw something white and crystalline shoot at me, too fast to dodge. Pain flared from my shoulder and I looked down.
A long spike of ice went through my shoulder, its sharp tip emerging from the other side. The spike’s shaft went on until I saw it was attached to my father’s fingers. I swung my blade on the spike, breaking it. The ice melted into a puddle of water and evaporated with a hiss. I struck the shard of ice still impaling my shoulder with the pommel of my sword and pulled the tip out. The ice evaporated and my healing magic took over.
I yelled and shot two streaks of energy at him. He ducked under the first, but the second one, at a slightly lower angle, caused him to buckle as he blocked it. He flicked his palm and slapped it on the ground and I felt something cold wrap around my ankles. Shadows in the form of black tendrils shackled my legs to the ground. My Dad grabbed the metal leg off a table and wrenched it apart. He smeared some blood on it and the pipe transmuted, its tip warping on itself, becoming a spike.
Before he took the first step toward me, I stabbed the ground with Djinn and channeled my magic. The tiled floor cracked and shattered, disrupting his shadow spell. I pushed even more energy into the ground. The blast lifted me into the air, and I twisted and somersaulted. Djinn’s blade had elongated to the size of a full broadsword and its blade shone azure. At the end of my summersault, I landed right above my Dad and swung the sword at him.
He brought his hands together. A desk moved in front of me, blocking my strike. I yelled louder and swung through the furniture. My strike was enough to bisect the desk, sending the pieces away, but not enough to cut through the metal pipe. He blocked my strike and we stood there in a blade lock for a few seconds, pushing against each other. Djinn’s elongated blade shattered like glass as my concentration wavered, and the short sword shrunk back to its original size. Dad smiled, thinking he had the advantage.
My hand-to-hand combat training took over the moment I came face-to-face with him. I angled my blade so that his spike moved away from my face. My knee shot into his gut, doubling him over. Before he could bend completely my fist caught his throat, sending him a few steps backwards. He gasped for breath and found it after the fourth try. I closed our distance, but he kept me back with the pipe. Smearing more blood on it, the pipe elongated into a spear and he began stabbing wildly with it. He hoped the longer weapon would keep me at bay and safeguard him from my attacks. But it was years since he had done any serious training, and I was fresh off the wagon.