by Gwenda Bond
Callie and I move aside so Jared and Mag can get to the door. He removes the chair from under the knob, but pauses before he unlocks it. “Callie?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you too, little sister.” He undoes the lock and opens the door.
Mag is right behind him. Callie lingers next to me, Bosch at her side.
Cultists line the stairs below Solomon. He leans forward to find me with those black empty eyes of his. He grins.
“No exchange until they’re out,” I remind him. I swallow against the pain. I hope holding the lance hurts him the way it does me.
Mag and Jared go through the door holding hands, him slightly in front.
Then it’s only Callie and her faithful hound left with me. She fishes a leash off the desk and clips it to Bosch’s collar.
“You promise you’ll come right out?” she asks.
She’s worried about me.
The blinding pain is getting to you, she’s probably just worried about getting the spear back.
“Promise.” My knees have a distressing weakness to them and I envision my coming collapse. Go, Callie, go. I don’t want her to see me fall.
She hesitates.
Solomon Elerion snarls at her, “Come on. Hurry it up.”
There’s a first time for everything: I agree with him. My thoughts exactly.
Callie frowns at him, then at me. She leads Bosch to me and tilts her head up to kiss my lips softly.
“Promise still holds,” she says.
I almost forget about the searing pain.
“How sweet,” Solomon mocks. “I see now why your pet demon was so concerned about securing your fate.”
Callie straightens and walks Bosch past Solomon.
I work to press aside the pain, to find the power inside me that will let me know about this place, about who’s in it. Yes, Solomon’s people are still shielded. It’s not them I care about. I feel the moment Callie leaves the building.
“They’re out,” I say.
Solomon steps over the threshold into the room. “Hand it ov—”
I thrust the spearhead at him and drag in a breath. My mind starts to clear the second it’s out of my hands, the fire fading.
“Well, well,” he says, but I made a promise. I don’t even stick around to see how holding it affects him.
In a beat of my heart, he’s talking to nothing but empty air and I’m outside across the street, where everyone is waiting safely.
Porsoth’s appearance is causing quite the stir. Jared is wide-eyed and circling him. Mag is telling him, “Stop that. It’s rude.”
“Praise to darkness,” Porsoth declares when he spots me, flinging himself in my direction. “You survived!”
Callie raises both eyebrows. “He seemed to think that holding even part of the lance might’ve injured you.”
“Not injured,” Porsoth says. “He could have been unmade.”
“Me?” I play it off, despite the word unmade echoing through every fiber of my still-existent being. I open my arms to accentuate my fine form. Bosch thinks I’m trying to play with her and leaps around me. “See for yourself.”
“I suppose those rumors were just that,” Porsoth says. “Gossiping demons. Or perhaps it must be the full lance to manifest the full powers…” He raises a wing to stroke his chin.
Mag shakes their head. “I just don’t know if I was ready for a demon pig-owl.”
“How could you be?” Callie says and there’s a lightness in her that comes from her and Mag being on speaking terms again. “Don’t worry. Think of him as a demonic Ravenclaw owl-pig.”
“How do you know?” Mag says. “Maybe he’s a Hufflepuff or a Slytherin.”
“We discussed it,” Callie says.
“Oh, all right,” Mag says.
Jared sighs. “I guess I’ll have to read those books finally, won’t I?”
Callie’s mouth even crooks up on one side, almost smiling. “That’s up to Mag,” she says.
“If you want,” Mag says, then holds up a finger in his direction. “But whatever you do, don’t follow the author on Twitter.”
Callie shifts so she’s closer to me. “You’re okay?”
I nod.
Porsoth is ignoring all this, deep in thought.
There’s blue sky above us, sunshine bright enough to kill the hungover. Until there isn’t. Clouds appear as if out of nowhere, dark and foreboding. They race across the sky, slippery shadows. An enormous burst of lightning crackles above, tracing a pointer to the Great Escape.
I expect Father to show up in front of us. This is the kind of entrance he prefers.
“I take it this is not good,” Mag says.
Callie agrees. “Omens are extremely consistent across various religious texts. Darkening skies is one of the classics.”
“They’ve reunited the spear.” Porsoth lowers his wing. “The end times begin.”
“No,” Callie says, staring at the sky, “they do not.”
That’s my girl.
Only in your dreams.
She did make it sound like there would be more to come later when she kissed me. I file that away for further consideration. “What are you thinking?”
“Porsoth says the spear wants to be in the presence of good, that it won’t be happy about this.” Callie closes her eyes, obviously thinking hard. They pop open. “The terms of your deal—Solomon can’t hurt us.”
She’s on to something. “Correct. He and his followers can’t hurt any of you, at least not directly. You could be hurt by the battle and the end of the world, but he can’t use the spear to hurt you either. What do you want to do?”
“Trap him in the Great Escape and save the world.”
I have to laugh. “Oh, is that all?”
Jared gapes. “This doesn’t seem like you, Callie.”
I expect Callie to give him what-for, since it seems 100 percent the Callie I’ve come to know. But instead she shrugs. “I don’t understand it either. Apparently it is like me now.”
“Does this have something to do with that guardian stuff?” Jared asks. He wears a skeptical expression. “They didn’t seem too welcoming.”
Callie shrugs again. “That’s because it turns out I’m not one.”
“You lied to her about that too?” Mag is offended on Callie’s behalf.
“We’re past that,” Callie says. “I decided I don’t care. Because—”
Callie’s interrupted by familiar shrieks and screams. Hell’s first legion and the Howling Demons have arrived on the field. Rofocale is at the head of the company, riding a hoofed black beast somewhere between a monster and a horse up the highway. Steam emerges from its nostrils.
Trumpets sound from the other direction. The Above’s brass section, I suppose, and the aforementioned guardians show up in their deadly white leather ensembles with a portion of the angelic warrior host behind them.
Horns begin to honk in the distance as traffic backs up behind what the citizens of Lexington must assume are cosplayers gone rogue.
“Because?” Mag asks weakly.
Callie turns to Mag and Jared. “Because I’m the only one around to try. Who’s willing to help me?”
I’m the first one to raise my hand, but not the last.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CALLIE
I prepare to go back across the street to face off with what Porsoth has told me to expect is a now nearly all-powerful Solomon Elerion. Mag’s to my left. Luke stands on my right. Both of their presences are one of the few things that keep me standing. Jared has already gone back to loop around the alley two buildings over to the back entrance.
It’s a long shot, this whole plan, but one we have to take.
Never has someone been in so far over their head as me—and I’ve brought people I love along. We are trapped between Heaven and Hell’s armies on state highway 25. The business my mother worked so hard to build is presently headquarters for a cult that is this close to ending the whole world
.
Neither of the armies has made a charge forward yet, though there’s speeches and cheers and jeers happening on both sides. The whole scene is a little like being in the middle of the most surreal Super Bowl halftime show ever.
People love to predict the end of the world, especially cult leaders. Seems like it would be bad for business, setting a date. Risky. What if you’re wrong?
But it happens over and over again.
By all accounts when you read about doomsday cults, the followers are disappointed when no catastrophe comes. Sometimes they take matters into their own hands, Jim Jones or Heaven’s Gate style, choosing murder or suicide or some combination. Ending the world one way or another because they want it to end.
A lot of people seem to want to believe in the end. That this, their life span, is when it all goes kaboom. But there has to be a better way to feel special.
Baffling as I find it, didn’t I spend many church services reading Revelations and jokingly referring to it as the coolest book of the Bible? I did. There’s a thrill to reading about the Mark of the Beast and the Antichrist and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The devil in his pit. The lake of fire.
But when our preacher used to long for it, called Armageddon a happy day, I never believed that. To want the world to end before other people are ready for it to strikes me as selfish.
Plus, I’m not ready for it to end.
“You’ll keep Bosch over here,” I say to Porsoth, who remains on grimoire protection and backup duty. “She’ll want to follow us.”
How could anyone want the world to end with so many good dogs in it?
“I will protect her with my life.” Porsoth makes it a solemn vow, and Bosch, sitting patiently at his hooved feet, is clearly on board.
I do remember his demon voice though, heavy with vibrato and threat. Appearances, deceiving, and here we go …
“Jared should be in place by now,” Luke says, echoing my thoughts.
The three of us walk forward, one deliberate step at a time. I do my best to ignore the roiling sky above.
Mag’s nerves are practically radiating, and distracting them seems like a good idea. Also, who knows how this is going to end? They’re my best friend forevermore. I want to know about their falling in love.
“How did it start with you and Jared?” I ask.
Mag is quiet.
“I’m not judging,” I say, “just making conversation.”
“He asked for my help,” Mag responds slowly. “One of his classes was doing a unit on copyright and a case related to digital art came up. He asked me to coffee to talk about it, crediting and not crediting, that kind of thing. All the stealing that goes on.”
Whatever I expected, this wasn’t it. “So you were helping him with his homework?”
Mag shrugs. “Yes and no. Three hours passed, and we were still talking, so we went next door to get a drink. And then he made this admission to me, when he was walking me to my car later.”
“What was it?” I’m riveted.
Mag can’t keep a smile off their lips. “Turns out he has always had a crush on me.”
“What?” I can’t believe it.
“I know, right? He just never worked up the courage to say anything.”
“That’s disgustingly sweet. Okay, I approve. You decided to go out and…?”
“I told him I had to think about it, because I didn’t want to hurt you. But then I kept thinking about him and how easy he was to talk to and, I’m sorry, but how cute he is … I said yes to a date. Then another. We didn’t know if it would work out, so we decided to wait and see. I hated lying to you. But we … we just feel right.” Mag lifts their hands to indicate it got away from them. “We never found the right time to tell you. Jared wanted to, but I was afraid and so I was definitely going to do it this weekend…”
“What else do you like best about him?”
Mag answers quickly. “Honestly? He listens. That’s how it started, not just us talking, but him listening. I told him how it feels, the way people look at me, the things they say that they don’t expect me to hear or see…”
“Who?” I ask, as always ready to call out anyone who hurts my friend.
“That’s the thing,” Mag says. “He listens. Sometimes that’s all I want. Sometimes I don’t want anyone to do anything except hear about it.”
Oh. “I’m not good at that, am I?”
“No, you’re really not, and that’s okay,” Mag says. “But Jared is.”
I catch Mag’s eye. Mine are stinging a little with the emotion of everything. “I trust you with my life. I don’t want you to be afraid to tell me anything ever again.”
Mag smiles, glittery lipstick catching the light. “So…” they say, “what about you two?”
“What—” Oh. Mag means me and Luke.
I don’t know how to describe my feelings for him. I’m not sure why I kissed him inside just then. I only know I wanted to in case Solomon somehow broke the deal. I didn’t want to risk never getting to do that again.
“We’ve been through a lot,” I say.
“What she means is, she met my parents.” Luke’s voice is a little strained, almost like he’s embarrassed or worried about how I might respond. Is that even possible? His heart-stoppingly attractive face stays calm as still waters.
“And a dragon,” I say, casual. “Who is also a goddess.”
“Wait.” Mag stops, eyes wide, absorbing what Luke and I have said. “You met his parents?”
Okay, so some things are not capable of being discussed casually. Dragon goddesses, Lilith, and Lucifer Morningstar among them.
We’re almost across the road now, and there’s no time to get into all that. Luke saves the need. “I feel like we’re all learning and growing so much. But look alive, there’s bad guys in the lobby.”
I swallow. “We are so screwed.”
“If anyone can manage this, it’s you,” Luke says.
The jury is out on whether it’s possible at this point. Though I didn’t actually mean to say that out loud, the (mostly) confidence helps. Whether the cult will buy this last-gasp effort now that they have what they want—let’s just say that the jury’s out on that too.
“Is it wrong that I’m planning to enjoy it, if at all possible?” Luke asks with a grin.
I could say yes, but … “If it goes well, hopefully you can.”
Not that anything much has gone well. Not that I’m counting on this to. There’s a first—and maybe last, period, the end times—for everything.
“Here goes the world’s best chance,” I say.
The three of us take the last cautious steps to the front door. I figure the cult members on duty will open it to greet us, probably by telling us to get the hell out of Dodge. But I have to knock on the glass where our logo is imprinted.
Mag and Luke wait right behind me.
There’s some conferring inside and then a robed guy pushes open the door, barely, and says, “What do you want?”
“Hello to you too,” I say. “I’d like to speak with Solomon.”
The guy begins to snarl what is surely a no, so I add: “We’re interested in joining your cause. He’ll want to see us.”
He hesitates, then says, “Wait here.”
The door shuts.
Luke puts a steadying hand against my back. “You did good,” he says. “Very convincing.”
“I’m not a dog. I don’t need pats.” What can I say? I get cranky when I’m nervous.
He must sense the lie in the second part, because he keeps his hand in place for a long moment. I lean back a little, into his touch.
“Thank you,” I say.
The door opens. “You have five minutes,” the jerk says.
The other cloaked cultist up front is a woman. She smirks and says, “You should have said another five minutes.”
The jerk guy frowns in acknowledgment that her way would have been pithier.
“Where is he?” I ask.
&n
bsp; They make no move to escort us. That’s fine by me. I got a whiff of the door opener when we passed and I don’t think he’s had a shower since this all started either. I got to clean up with first Luke’s and then Lilith’s finest array of hellish plant-based soaps or I’d be just as gross.
“Second room,” the woman finally says.
Solomon’s in Tesla’s Lab. Good.
I thought he might use that one, because despite the more appropriate décor of the Chamber of Black Magic, Tesla’s Lab is far more open and roomy for conducting evil shenanigans with the Spear of Destiny to brandish.
The hallway is clear, other than us. Luke conjures some sneaky shadows around Mag. While he and I enter Tesla’s Lab through the outer area, they keep going, slipping along the hallway to let Jared in the back without tripping the alarm.
The door to the room is open—the cultists probably forced it. Which gives me an idea.
I stride over and lift the knocker. One, two, three. Bang, bang, bang. The keys topple from the ceiling, and I snatch them from the air and pocket them.
Luke lifts an eyebrow at me.
“Keys can come in useful,” I whisper.
“Enter,” Solomon says without a hint of trouble. He probably assumes we’re more of his henchmen and -women.
A cultist appears in the doorway. At least they’re not wearing plague doctor masks anymore. “It’s them,” the man says.
“It’s us,” Luke says with a rakish grin and maneuvers past the cultist. I follow suit.
Solomon and the bulk of his followers have rearranged the lab to be their makeshift stomping grounds. The lovingly placed furniture is jammed against one wall. No one could ever follow the clues to get out of here now. If we make it through this, Mom is never going to leave me in charge of anything again.
The cultists surrounding Solomon melt back when he greets us. “To what do I owe the imposition?”
Solomon holding the Holy Lance is the most deeply wrong thing I’ve ever seen. There’s a faint cloud around him—a dark halo—that must be from its power. Restored, reunified, it must be five feet long, the wooden shaft ending in the metallic spear point, and even at thousands of years of age looks like exactly what it was and is: a weapon.