The Spawn of Lilith

by Dana Fredsti

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” I protested mildly. “It’s just kind of… grim. Would it be too much to ask for one or two calm beaches at sunset? Maybe a nice couple in white, walking hand in hand?”

  “Do you know what a grim is, young lady?”

  Oooh, that accent.

  “The spirit of an animal,” I answered immediately. “Although they can occasionally be human. Buried alive in a churchyard to protect the grounds. Or, if you’re into Harry Potter, a black dog that means death for whoever encounters it.”

  He glared at me from beneath that bushy unibrow for a good ten seconds. I tried not to look smug. Still, not doing so well at the whole “making him like me” scenario. I might never find this place again.

  I peered more closely at the painting. If I looked very carefully, I could see something under the water. Something with tentacles on a face with three dark eyes. “Is that a run-of-the-mill squid, or Cthulhu?”

  “Spell it.”

  “What?”

  “Cthulhu. Spell Cthulhu.”

  “Is this, like, the spelling bee of the damned?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Just do it.”

  I thought about it for a few seconds.

  “C-T-H-U-L-H-U. Cthulhu.” I gave a little curtsy.

  Manny nodded with grudging approval. “You’re a smartass, but at least you’re an intelligent smartass.” Something about the word “smartass” uttered in a thick Irish accent was irresistibly cute. I grinned at him, no longer intimidated by those dark-gray eyes.

  No, wait, they’re blue.

  Or were they green?

  Maybe it was the lighting in the bar, but Manny’s eyes seemed to be shifting like the colors of the sea. Deep green, slate gray, the turquoise of the Mediterranean, all swirling together before settling momentarily on a particular shade. Kind of like an ocular mood ring.

  “Do I have to answer any more questions?”

  “Only what you want me to pour you.”

  Eden nudged me in the ribs. “He likes you.”

  Manny gave a loud harrumphing snort. “She’s earned a drink, that’s all. What’ll you have?”

  I looked behind the bar again, this time at the selection of bottles glittering along the back wall, as well as all the beer taps on display. Manny poured Eden a glass of Sanford chardonnay while I perused the impressive selection, finally settling on a bourbon barrel aged stout called Dragon’s Milk. High octane, high calorie. Bliss by any other name. Normally only comes in eight-ounce pours, at most. Manny drew me a full pint without batting an eye. My eyes widened at the sight of it.

  “Anything you can’t handle?”

  “No, sir.”

  He nodded. “Didn’t think so.”

  I started to pull out my wallet, but Eden put a hand on my arm. “We’ll put it on my tab tonight.”

  I looked at her in surprise. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “My treat. Heck, it’s the least I can do for the woman who kicked Axel in the balls.” She turned to Manny. “She really did.”

  “Dia uilechumhachtach.” Manny eyed me with renewed respect. “I’ll buy you the next round for that alone.”

  “Yup!” Eden turned back to me. “That’s Irish, by the way, for—”

  “God Almighty,” I said without thinking.

  Eden looked at me, surprised. “You speak Irish?”

  I thought about it.

  “Not really.” I shrugged. “I guess I just must have heard that expression before.”

  “I think there are a great many things you’ve heard before, lass,” Manny said slowly.

  “Well, yeah, but…” I trailed off as I caught sight of his expression. Manny was looking at me and through me, the irises of his eyes swirling with different colors, each expanding and retracting, blending into the next, like two pinwheels. The pupils seemed to spin in the opposite direction. I thought of dark whirlpools.

  “Many are the things you have seen before, as well, and will see and hear again, forgetting each time unless you can break the chains that bind.”

  Huh?

  I found myself transfixed, unable to turn away even as I thought his words sounded like the lyrics of an ’80s rock anthem.

  “Shadows are coming your way, girl,” he continued. “Not of your own making, but still close to your blood. Shadows that kill. Shadows that rend. Two are one, but separate and—”

  “Okay, I think that’s enough.” Eden reached forward and clapped her hands under Manny’s nose. His eyes snapped back into focus, irises settling on a deep blue. The chill that crept down my spine stayed where it was, though.

  “Oh, feck,” he muttered. “Did I go off again?”

  Eden nodded.

  “You did.”

  Manny turned to me.

  “Sorry, lass,” he said ruefully. “That happens at times, and not always when I expect it. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, even though it wasn’t. “Sláinte.” I held up my pint glass in a mini-toast, glad that my hand didn’t tremble as I did so. Part of me wanted to know what he had meant, and part of me didn’t. It really had been that kind of day.

  Manny picked up a half-full glass from behind the bar and clinked it against mine.

  “Sláinte, lass.”

  “And thank you for picking up the tab,” I said to Eden by way of clearing the weird from the air.

  “Piffle!” Eden waved her free hand dismissively. “My pleasure. You can get it next time.”

  “Deal.”

  I started to follow her away from the bar.

  “Lass.”

  I turned back to see Manny studying me, his expression solemn.

  “I don’t remember what I said to you, but I do know you need to be careful. That much I’m sure of.”

  “Um… thanks.”

  Eden led me to a booth across from the far end of the bar. It gave us some privacy with the advantage of proximity if we wanted another drink.

  “This is quite the place,” I said as we sat down.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Eden smiled happily. “I tripped over it one day. Walked by the alley at exactly the right moment when someone else was leaving. Luckily Manny was in a good mood that night, or he’d have kicked me right out.”

  I laughed. “He’s like an agent, then. Only takes referrals.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Does he always go all Cassandra on his customers?”

  Eden stared at me blankly. “Cassandra?”

  “Yeah, you know. Or maybe you don’t,” I added hastily when she raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Cassandra was a Greek princess who was given the gift of prophecy by Apollo, but then he got all butt hurt when she wouldn’t sleep with him. He cursed her so no one would believe what she predicted.”

  “So she could see the future, but couldn’t do anything to change it, all because some god didn’t get his rocks off?”

  I laughed. “Yup, that’s about it.”

  “Well, I don’t know if Manny’s predictions are always accurate, but according to some of the longtime regulars, he’s always had them. I don’t think he’s ever turned down an offer of sex, though.”

  Hmm. I might have a hard time getting past all the facial fuzz.

  She picked up her chardonnay. “Anyway, cheers!”

  “Cheers.” I clinked my pint against her wine glass.

  We made small talk for a while, slipping comfortably into a good old-fashioned gossip session about the cast and crew of Steel Legions. Then Eden told me a little about growing up in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Something about her seemed comfortingly familiar, or familiarly comfortable. Not sure which, or if it even mattered.

  After an hour and most of a pint of Dragon’s Milk, I found myself opening up to her in a way I didn’t do with anyone at the Ranch. I told her about my accident, my memory loss, and even about my fucked-up relationship with Seth.

  “You know he likes you,” she said.

  “No way.” I snort
ed. “How would you know? And that sounds totally high school, anyhow.”

  “Oh, come on.” She smiled over the rim of her glass. “Do we ever really change?”

  I considered her words.

  “I’d like to think so. I mean, maybe our emotions don’t change, but the way we deal with them? Jeez, I hope so!” I paused, then added, “Anyway, he totally doesn’t. Like me, I mean. Honestly I think he hates me.”

  “No, I mean he likes you likes you. That’s his problem. He’s probably got some sort of weird guilt trip going on and can’t handle his feelings.

  I stared at her. “You have got to be kidding.”

  “Totally not kidding,” she said. “I’ve seen this before. It’s the adult version of a kid dipping pigtails in the inkwell. You know, being a shit because he can’t deal with his emotions.”

  “Ugh. Let’s just drop the subject.”

  “Why? I mean, it’s not like you two are related.” She tilted her head to one side and gave me a considering stare. “Are you?”

  “Well, no,” I said uncomfortably, feeling suddenly awkward. “But we might as well be. I’ve lived with him and his dad since I was five.”

  “Hmm.” Eden’s expression was unreadable in the flickering candlelight.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Haven’t you ever had a dysfunctional relationship?”

  She laughed at that, a totally uninhibited and natural laugh, and things felt right again.

  “Oh, yeah, you could definitely say that, but it was a long time ago. I was young, stupid, and didn’t know any better.” She took a sip. “I’m a lot pickier now.”

  I heaved a huge sigh. “I need to follow your example. I swear, am I ever gonna meet someone who isn’t a bad boy?”

  Eden cocked her head to one side. “Do you want to?”

  I stopped and thought about it. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Then you will.”

  We clinked glasses and drank. I finished my stout.

  Eden noticed. “You want another one?”

  I shook my head. “I’d love one, but no way in hell I’d be in any shape to drive.”

  “Well…” Eden leaned forward. “I live a couple blocks down the street, and we have a couch, and you probably shouldn’t drive for a while anyway, so how about you just crash at my place?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I—”

  “Seriously, why not?”

  “Because Sean will worry about me.”

  “So text him.”

  Oh.

  “I can do that.”

  “Uh-huh.” Eden grinned at me. “So how about I get us a couple more drinks?”

  * * *

  A few hours and I’m not sure how many drinks later we waved goodbye to Manny and stumbled out of Ocean’s End, giggling like the schoolgirls I’d said we weren’t. We leaned on each other for support and headed south on the boardwalk. A few blocks up, we turned left onto one of Venice Beach’s walk streets.

  I nudged Eden. “So are you showing me the way to Hogwarts now?”

  “What is it wizards say when they fly? Aspirate?”

  “Expectorate?” I offered.

  We both giggled.

  “Anyway,” Eden said, “this is just a regular old street walk. I mean, walk street. Something. Anyway, nothing magic about it, except the guy in 101B. He’s pretty sweet.” We reached a dark wrought iron gate leading to a multi-storied red-brick apartment complex with a central courtyard. Eden fumbled in her knock-off Coach bag for a few minutes, finally pulling out a set of keys. After a few tries she managed to open the gate, stumbling slightly as she navigated a short flight of steps directly to the right.

  “I’m down here,” she said unnecessarily.

  I made my way unsteadily after her into the darkened apartment, banging an arm against the doorframe. I shut the door behind me without further injury, which was pretty damn good considering the at least three pints of Dragon’s Milk I’d drunk.

  Eden switched on a light, illuminating the room in a soft rosy glow. I looked up at the ceiling where rose-colored silk draped across its length. An antique-looking light fixture hung in the center of the room. It was rose gold and reflected that shade into the room. Very flattering, like being filmed through Vaseline and gauze.

  “Nice,” I said.

  Eden saw me looking at it and giggled. “I call it my Cybill Shepherd lighting.” The living room was opulent—all silk or velvet pillows, rich fabric on the couch and two matching chairs, lots of fwoopy drapes and hangings, candles. Like Cost Plus had exploded and all the cool stuff had landed here. Cinnamon and vanilla scented the air. I wanted cookies.

  I hiccupped.

  Crap.

  Eden pointed to a couch the color of good red wine. “Make yourself at home, and I’ll get you a glass of water.”

  She vanished around the corner as I hiccupped again. I plopped down on the couch, immediately sinking into its overstuffed velvet cushions. It was almost like sitting on a cloud. Or at least what I imagined a cloud would feel like.

  Another hiccup.

  I tried holding my breath. It didn’t work.

  “Here.”

  Eden reappeared with a glass of water. I took it gratefully and swallowed it in a series of gulps while holding my breath. Last thing I remember was the glass slipping from my fingers and the feel of something soft and warm draped over my shoulders as I drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  The sound of screaming woke him.

  He’d stayed up far too late. Hadn’t gone to bed until four in the morning, and finally drifted off with the help of a very strong prescription medicine. The high-pitched shrieks, pulsing with fear and pain, pulled him out of a deep, drugged sleep riddled with dark dreams.

  At first he thought they were part of a dream. He and Sala, standing on a dais above their worshippers. The screams of the dying—a mix of ecstasy and unimaginable pain—as their gods drained the spectators of their life essences.

  Then he woke in a tangle of sheets, the slippery silk wrapped around his limbs, sweat oozing from his pores in the mother of all night sweats. Realized the screams—now stilled—were part of his waking reality. Sala had been out to play while he’d slept.

  He shut his eyes.

  A good meal used to keep Sala going for years at a time. Back in the old days, their followers would bring offerings, making the hunt unnecessary. Some were willing, others had to be dragged screaming to their fates. As their worshippers diminished in number, so did their offerings until neither type of nourishment sustained her.

  Thus the hunt.

  Over time, as her body and mind failed, the feedings increased. They went from once a century to every fifty years. Then every quarter century, speeding up to each decade, then each year. As her symptoms progressed, she needed nourishment every few months.

  Now?

  In a matter of days her body would use up the nutrition it had just taken. Her cheeks would become sunken hollows, eyes deep in haunted sockets. Her breathing becoming labored, like that of someone lying on a deathbed.

  Then the whole cycle would start again.

  How soon would it be before she required food every day? He had to be realistic. There might—no, there would come a point when no amount of food would sustain her.

  He had to find a cure. Something that would enable her to last longer between feedings, and maintain her sanity. If not, in her hunger and madness, she would drain the world.

  Until he did, she would have to be contained. Starting tonight.

  He got up slowly, slipped on a pair of dark-blue Derek Rose pajama bottoms and matching top. His tastes were expensive, and he could afford to indulge them. He could also afford to hire someone very discreet to come in and clean up any mess Sala might have left.

  Still, he hoped there wasn’t too much.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I woke up the next morning to someone shaking me gently by one shoulder. I grumbled an
d burrowed under an incredibly soft down comforter. No one should have to wake up when they were snuggled under a comforter as comfy as this one.

  “Lee,” a familiar voice said. “I hate to wake you, but I have a lunch date in two hours.”

  I reluctantly opened my eyes to see Eden standing over me in a pink cotton sundress, looking as fresh as someone in a commercial for feminine products. You know the ones. She’d be the woman standing on the beach wearing white and looking supremely confident because her tampons would not let her down.

  “What time is it?” I mumbled.

  “Just a little before ten.”

  I sat up slowly and cautiously.

  Hmmm.

  Except for my mouth tasting like the contents of a moldy beer keg, I actually felt fine. Considering how much Dragon’s Milk I’d had, that was saying something. I hoped my metabolism continued to be this friendly for a few years.

  “There’s an extra toothbrush and towels in the bathroom,” Eden said brightly. “But first, I thought you might like this.”

  She handed me a large white mug that said Coffee keeps me going until it’s acceptable to drink wine. The smell of dark, rich caffeine wafted up to greet me.

  “Oh, I think I love you,” I sighed, taking a sip.

  “I added a little honey and some cream. You seemed like the honey and cream type. Hope that’s okay.”

  “Okay?” I smiled happily as I had another swallow of what may have been the best coffee I’d had in, like, forever. “It’s perfect.”

  Eden sat down across from me in a chair that matched the couch, cradling a black mug with white lettering that said I Will Not Keep Calm and You Can Fuck Off.

  “Did you sleep okay?”

  I nodded. “Best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while.” It had been. No freaky-ass dreams, which was a nice change. “Thanks again for letting me crash here.”

  “Totally my pleasure,” Eden smiled. “No way you were in any shape to drive home last night.”

  I sat bolt upright, nearly spilling my coffee.

  “My car! It’s in the metered parking spot!”

  “Don’t sweat it,” Eden laughed. “Today’s Sunday.”