Indebted

by Amy A. Bartol

  “Yes, we are very close now,” Phaedrus agrees.

  “You know that I have to go to him,” I say, looking out the window at the scenery speeding by me.

  Phaedrus is silent for a while. Then he says, “I know that is your plan. You have been saying that since we left China—over and over and over. I know all of your reasons—all of your arguments. It’s your conversations with the Ifrit that are the most painful to me.” He looks directly at me and I cringe.

  I close my eyes, knowing that I haven’t spoken any of this out loud. It’s all been playing in my mind. He was listening to my thoughts the entire time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you were listening,” I reply with a sad expression. I wet my lips, knowing that I have to convince him to let me do this alone. The Ifrit wants me, not him. He will crush Phaedrus. I can’t have that. I will already be negotiating to save two members of my family. I don’t want to add to it. “I have to go alone,” I say, looking at him.

  “This is all wrong,” Phaedrus says, gripping the steering wheel tight and clenching his teeth. “I don’t understand it at all. I feel…”

  “What?” I ask in surprise that he looks so frustrated and angry—bleak. He is usually so calm, like nothing can rattle him.

  “The closer we get to the Ifrit, the colder I feel,” he says, looking at me with fear and dread. It takes a second for me to understand what he is saying. When he nears a target, he feels heat—it gets warmer for him. The fact that he is getting colder means he is moving away from his true target.

  “I’m not your target anymore,” I murmur, looking at him to see fear on his face. “Russell and Brownie aren’t either. This is not your mission.”

  “No, you are not my mission any longer and I feel as if I am delivering you to your execution,” Phaedrus admits, not looking at me. “I know I’m supposed to let you go, I just cannot. Let me take you to Preben. He will have a plan—he can help.”

  “No, he can’t help,” I say quickly. “The Ifrit wants me. You have been listening to it speak to me. You know that if I bring Preben, the Ifrit will kill him. I have to go alone.”

  “Maybe Preben will keep you from going there altogether,” Phaedrus says soberly, trying to find a way to keep me away from the Ifrit.

  “Then they’re dead,” I say, feeling bleak, too.

  “Maybe they already are, have you considered that?” he asks.

  “No!” I retort angrily. “Do you have a new target?” I ask, fighting not to show him the dread I feel.

  “Yes,” he says with reluctance.

  “Do I know your target?” I ask, and see him nod grimly. “Who?” I whisper.

  “Reed,” he says and I close my eyes.

  “Stop the car,” I rasp, my head is spinning and I feel nauseous. I press my forehead against the cool pane of the glass, waiting for the car to slow down. When Phaedrus pulls to the side of the road, I say, “I’ll get out here. You have to go to him.”

  I open the door and climb out of the car, hugging my arms to me as a cold breeze hits me, pushing my hair back from my face. Phaedrus opens his door, too, following me as I begin walking on the side of the road. “Evie,” he says in fear.

  “Where is he?” I ask, turning to him, feeling panicked. We both know that I’m asking about Reed.

  “He’s near where I found you. He and Zephyr located the Gancanagh nest where Brennus had taken you, but no one is there now. He is distraught, but in no real danger that I can see,” he says.

  “If he’s not in danger, then why are you being sent to him?” I ask in confusion.

  “Sometime Virtues are sent not just to help with miracles—sometimes we are sent to console others,” he says and his words bring tears to my eyes.

  “I see,” I say, trying to hold back my tears. “Thank you for all of your help, Phaedrus. I couldn’t have done this without you and I have to do this—alone. I love you. Take care of Reed—make sure he knows I love him, too.”

  “Wait!” Phaedrus says in desperation, rushing to my side. He strips off his jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders as he pulls me to him, hugging me.

  “It will be okay, Phaedrus,” I whisper. “I’m tougher than I look.”

  “No, you are not,” he says in a low tone.

  “How far is it, do you think?” I ask.

  “A mile, maybe a little more. There is a church—I believe they are in there,” he says against my hair.

  “Keep him away, if you can,” I say. He knows that I mean for him to keep Reed away from the Ifrit, and possibly me, too, if that monster decides to keep me and not kill me. “If I can get away, I’ll let you know.”

  He nods. I pull away from him and turn to walk down the rural road that leads to the church. I don’t look back when I hear the car door close. He doesn’t start the engine for a long time, but watches me walk away, out of the pool of his head-lights and into the darkening night. Finally, the engine whines as Phaedrus wheels the car around, heading in the direction of his new target.

  I hang my head in sorrow for just a moment when I know I am truly alone. I feel like I’m going to my execution, just as he had said. Then I move forward again. I hop a fence of fieldstone and cross a field dotted with Queen Anne’s lace. Goose bumps rise on my arms as I pass the cluster of windmills that I have seen in a dream. The scent is sweet in the field though, not the scent of heat, like it had been when it was forced upon me in visions. I gaze down the hill, beyond the small, whitewashed house that I knew would be there. The church looms dark and grim with its rough-hewn, timber façade, capped by tall, oblong spires reaching to the sky. Black, ominous clouds have collected above the roofline, as if Heaven is showing me the way.

  Russell

  CHAPTER 10

  Survival

  “Russell…Russ…” Brownie’s quiverin’ voice cuts through the hazy darkness. I try to open my eyes, but only one will cooperate with me. The other one is swollen shut.

  “Yeah?” I croak, liftin’ my head an inch or two off the dirt floor. The corners of my mouth are achin’ where crusts of blood have dried and cracked.

  “I…just wanted to make sure,” she whispers. I hear the clankin’ of the thick, metal chains that bind her to the wall movin’ as she shifts somewhere across the room from me.

  My body is shakin’ so bad that I’m surprised she had to check to make sure that I’m alive. It doesn’t really hurt that bad right now. My head hurts, but that’s the only part I can really feel at the moment. He broke a couple of my vertebrae high up on my back. I can’t feel my arms or anythin’ below them at the moment ‘til my spine heals, but when it does, I’m gonna be in a world of hurt. He cut pieces off of me and stood right in front of me, eatin’ them. When he first did that, I couldn’t stop screamin’, horrified by what he was doin’. Now, I know that I can regenerate tissue, bone, flesh…so I try just to block out his image as he stands over me, hammerin’ my bones.

  But, the longer this stretches on, the more I’m gettin’ to welcome the pain. The pain isn’t the worst of this, although, it’s pretty freakin’ bad. The worst part is the fear…wonderin’ what that freak is gonna do next and when. Waitin’ for it to come is almost worse than it comin’ and when he comes and he doesn’t take me, but takes Brownie instead, I can hardly deal with that fear…and when he brings her back all broken and torn, I just ‘bout go insane. I figure I get another chance—maybe a shot at the Paradise that everyone keeps talkin’ ‘bout, ‘cuz of my soul. That’s not the case for Brownie. If it kills her, she’s just dead.

  It’s hard to even think now. I have no concept of how long we’ve been here. There’s no light wherever we are—some kind of cellar of a church. I know it’s a church ‘cuz he drags us up past the pews to the altar surrounded by religious idols. He tortures Brownie and me on that altar and all I can see is the archin’ spires of the ceilin’ high above my head while I’m lyin’ there in a pool of my own puke and guts.

  The Ifrit keeps tryin’ to turn my head inside out, to see what
I’m made of, to gauge what I am. It seems confused by me and extremely pissed off. The only thing I know for sure is that it wants her. It wants Evie with a need and an urgency that I can taste, and I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna be able to keep it from her.

  “I’m so sorry, Russell,” Brownie whispers to me across the room. “I never saw him coming…I should’ve seen him coming.” I can just make out her platinum blond hair. In the absence of light in the basement, it looks white. She’s sittin’ on the floor with her back against the wall and her long, sleek legs are pulled up to her chest.

  “S’kay,” I manage to whisper back, “I think he’s startin’ to like me. He didn’t burn me this time.” I hear Brownie exhale and I know she’s cryin’ again. “Ahh, Brownie…” I say softly, “this ain’t yer fault. I know what I am. Somethin’ was gonna get me sooner or later. I’m just sorry it got ya, too. I thought it was gonna be the Gancanagh or one of the Fallen or one from yer team—Dominion maybe.”

  “No. We should’ve been okay. We were almost there, just a day or two more,” she says, and I can tell she’s beatin’ herself up again ’bout it. “You know, Russell, this is like being kidnapped by an urban legend. I’ve heard about Ifrits, everybody has, but they’re so rare—almost extinct—I never thought I’d ever see one,” she whispers, soundin’ dazed.

  “I don’t think this was random, Brownie,” I say softly, “I think he was huntin’ Evie—found us instead.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right,” she replies.

  “Are ya any closer?” I ask her, tryin’ to be cryptic. Brownie and me had been tryin’ to get the steel cuffs off of our limbs before the Ifrit came and got me the last time. She thought that maybe she was loosenin’ hers the last time I checked.

  “No. They’re enchanted…dark magic—I feel them moving over my skin. It’s making my flesh crawl,” she says.

  I know exactly what she means. I feel it, too, when I have the chains on me. They are alive, like serpents wrappin’ ‘round me instead of metal. It’s just another layer of scary in this hellhole. The Ifrit didn’t bother to chain me back up when he dragged me back in here this time. He knows I won’t be able to move for a while, after what he just did to me. The metal rattles again and I lift my head enough to see Brownie’s butterfly wings movin’ rapidly, elevatin’ her from the ground as she tries with all her strength to pull the chains from the wall, but they aren’t givin’ an inch.

  She gives up after a few minutes and drops with a heavy thud back onto the floor. “Have you…gotten anymore messages?” Brownie asks in a tentative way, while panting from the exertion.

  “Naw,” I murmur, spittin’ blood out of my mouth while touchin’ the new molar tooth pushin’ up through my gum with my tongue. It’s replacin’ the one that was just yanked out. “I hope Red doesn’t send anymore,” I add, feelin’ a portion of my spine heal with a pop. I feel my arms now and that really, really, sucks. Tentatively, I try wigglin’ my smashed fingers, but I wince as I realize that my knuckles are still shattered on my left hand, so I just move my right one. “Ya wouldn’t happen to have some aspirin over there, would ya?” I ask, tryin’ to lighten the mood.

  “Yeah. I’ve been holding out on you. I’ve got some of that Swiss chocolate that you love so much, too. Heal faster and I’ll give you some,” Brownie says with faux lightness in her tone.

  “That was good chocolate…” I say, rememberin’ how I was gonna bring some to Red, but that was the first thing we ate down here when we woke up chained to the wall. “Ya know what I’ve been cravin’ though?” I ask Brownie.

  “No,” she responds.

  “Grits, the way my mom makes ‘em—with milk instead of water and she smothers them in butter…real butter—not that fake crap—margarine or whatever—with salt. My sister, Melanie, she likes them with maple syrup on them. She really likes sweet stuff, but Scarlett and me, we like them just with butter and salt,” I say, thinkin’ of my family.

  “I remember…I like them when the egg yoke runs into them on my plate,” she says with a catch in her voice.

  “Yeah, that’s good, too,” I agree quietly. A tear slides down the side of my nose. I clench my teeth ‘cuz I can’t cry now. I can’t move my hands to wipe the tears away, but my throat is achin’ with the need to bawl like a little girl. I’m so hungry that one minute I think I can eat anythin’…anythin’, but then the next second I’m so nauseous that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat again.

  “Why’s this happenin’, Brownie?” I ask, feelin’ completely broken and weak, like I’m gonna start cryin’ at any second and I know that if I do, I might never stop.

  “I don’t know…you’re older than me, I think—I’m sure. I was hoping you might know why,” she says in a low tone.

  “I’m older than ya?” I ask, lookin’ in her direction, hearin’ the skepticism in my own tone. She’s thousands of years old by her own estimation.

  “Oh, there’s no question, Russell,” she replies, her wings flutterin’ as she tries to find a comfortable position on the floor. “Your soul is older than Moses, to use a cliché…and I mean, way older.”

  “How do ya know that?” I ask her in suspicion. “Have we met before now? Before this?”

  “I don’t think so,” she answers slowly. “I’m sure I would remember you. You’re quite a character. You would stick out.”

  “Ya mean ya never reaped me—my soul?” I ask, still feelin’ weird ‘bout her bein’ a Reaper and knowin’ all ‘bout Paradise. She won’t tell me nothin’ though. I’ve tried to squeeze her for information, but all she keeps sayin’ is how she’s not tellin’ me, so that if I ever have my soul leave my body, she can negotiate for it with no worries. She wants to make sure that I get into Paradise.

  “No…and I don’t think I met you in Paradise either,” she says. “No, you’re older than me for sure and very…elite. Let me ask you this. How many names have you had?”

  “Shoot, Brownie,” I say, exhalin’. “There are so many I couldn’t begin to recall them all.”

  “Okay, now, think back farther. Can you remember a time when you had no name? A time when there was no time—before there were names?” she asks. The hair on my arms rises up like wires.

  My heart pounds hard in my chest, so hard I think it will burst as I see glimpses of things that I have never seen before with these eyes—Russell’s eyes—things I want back, things I have no names for—dark, ebony wings. “What…where?” I ask her, feelin’ stunned. I lose the track to that memory in an instant, like somethin’ turned out the light on it.

  “Your soul is scary old, Russell,” she says with a smile in her tone for the first time since we have been here. We are both quiet for a while as I think of all the things I do remember.

  Anger builds in me, makin’ my throat feel tight and painful. “Naw, I don’t know why we’re here, but what I really can’t figure out is why they would leave us lyin’ on the floor down here,” I say in a soft tone.

  “I doubt they know where we are, Russell, and even if they did, they don’t have magic to kill it. They would have to get help,” Brownie whispers.

  “Brownie, I’m not talkin’ ‘bout Reed and Zee. They have to take care of Buns and Evie. Naw, I’m talkin’ ‘bout them,” I say, grittin’ my teeth, usin’ my index finger to point up.

  “Oh,” she says in a sad tone. “I don’t know why we’re here, in this place, with these circumstances. But, have you ever played with dominos, you know, when you were a kid in one of the many, many, lifetimes that you’ve had?” she asks me seriously.

  “Yeah, in fact, I’ve played with them in this lifetime,” I reply. Then I grunt, feeling another pop, and then searin’ pain, as my spine heals some more. I can feel that there are several ribs still mendin’ after being crushed by the Ifrit’s bare hands.

  “Are you okay?” Brownie asks with panic in her voice.

  Sweat is tricklin’ down the side of my face as I fight through the pain. “Yeah—dominoes,
” I pant, wantin’ somethin’ to think ‘bout other than the agony in my chest.

  “Okay,” she whispers, her voice shaky, “when you set up lines of dominoes, you have to place them just right, so that when you knock the first one down, it will fall and hit the next one in the line,” she explains in a rush.

  “Yeah,” I manage to say, so that she knows I’m still listenin’ to her.

  “You can’t get to the end, the last domino, without lining everything up just right,” she says. “You know?”

  “Yeah,” I say, gettin’ what she’s sayin’. “You think this is leadin’ to somethin’ else?” I ask. “Somethin’ bigger?”

  “I know it is. This is huge, Russell,” she whispers, lookin’ over her shoulder to make sure the Ifrit isn’t standin’ behind her. Seein’ nothin’, she continues on urgently, “I never expected to be in on a mission like this—with someone like you—well, I never imagined someone like you either. I’m just a Reaper, we are never asked to do work like this—this is the realm of the Seraphim and work of souls that gather in His presence.”

  “Ya should talk to yer union rep then, ‘cuz I think yer due for some overtime pay,” I reply sourly.

  “No, you don’t understand. This is an honor for me—a great responsibility to help you with your mission. I’m just scared, but I know my role is important—more important than anything I have ever done to this point and I…” she is choked off by the intensity of her emotion.

  “Are ya sure I’m older than ya? ‘Cuz I feel like I don’t know nothin’ compared to ya,” I mutter, feelin’ grateful to have her here and guilty for feelin’ that way.

  “Russ, you’re like super old,” she says, and I can hear her eyes rolling in the tone of her voice. “You are as old as George Hamilton is tan.”

  “Ahh, Brownie, that’s disgustin’. Yer freakin’ me out now,” I say, wrinklin’ my nose at her, but feelin’ a little relieved, knowin’ that thing upstairs hasn’t beaten the smart-ass out of her yet.