Undead for a Day

by Chris Marie Green, Nancy Holder, Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  Tristan gripped her wrist tightly. “You don’t have to help me, Izzy. You can leave now, and leave me.”

  “You’re insane if you believe that.”

  Her large blue eyes were so wide with earnestness, he had to kiss her. Forget the angels and the monsters and the fact that there was no time for such things as sex. Just then, with the warmth of her sultry presence so close, Izzy was everything he needed.

  Sealing his mouth to hers, Tristan swallowed the flames that animated her nowadays, and felt those flames parch his lungs. With both sides of the challenge closing in, he tossed her to the dirty floor of the gallery, onto her back, and arched over her on his hands and knees to protect her from the light, wanting her as badly as he always did. No matter what form she took, or how badly being this close to her had the potential to char his flesh, he wanted her.

  “I’d burn you up if we tried what you’re thinking,” she warned, her voice faint and breathy when he stopped devouring her. “Even if we had time to do it.”

  “Might be worth a burn or two,” he said.

  “Say that again and I’ll show you what I can really do, now that I’ve had time to get used to what I am.”

  “I’d like nothing more than to see what you can do,” Tristan said. “But of course, you’re right. We don’t have much time. And we have an audience.”

  The female he loved with every fiber of his being nodded. The eyes that sought his were the same color as the first time he’d seen them, for all Izzy’s other outward changes. They were a lovely, pure sky-blue.

  Her gaze drifted sideways as something heavy landed on the gallery not too far away, its arrival shaking the floor. Izzy’s face creased.

  “Why am I doing this?” Tristan asked, turning his head to follow her gaze.

  “Because you’re better than all the rest, stronger than most, and have a soft spot inside,” she replied.

  “Ah, yes. I guess that’s it.”

  The floor beneath them quaked.

  “Plus, you love me,” she added. “Proving, at the moment, that you’re not all soft.”

  Tristan smiled.

  “It’s time,” Izzy said sadly. “I’m–”

  Tristan put a warning finger to her lips to stop her apology. “All right,” he said, getting to his feet, feeling steadier.

  The magic built into the walls and floors of the gallery moved like ripples in a disturbed pond as he pulled Izzy up beside him. Dimensions were merging, making the darkness of the night even darker. The stone shapes on the steeply pitched roof were moving with crawling sounds and radiating strange energies as they drew on the power around them.

  Tristan felt the changes in the air, and listened to the oncoming storm of magic with distaste. He stood beside Izzy for several seconds more, waiting for something else to happen, sensing it would.

  His hands were fisted. His jaw was clenched. The silvery light of a full moon that would tug the Underworld to the surface of the earth had replaced the high-beams of the angels. It was always the same on All Hallow’s Eve. Hell opened up doors and potholes for its creatures to slither through, while the angels backed off a pace, at least temporarily, as though there had been some kind of pact between the two opposing sides.

  A sort of gentleman’s agreement.

  But the angels didn’t go far. Their presence rolled across his nakedness like another glistening layer of skin. This layer, like some kind of angelic armor, would keep the heat and flames of Hades at bay for awhile, assuring him of a somewhat fairer contest until Heaven issued a ruling on the whole ordeal. After all, Izzy wasn’t on Heaven’s side, per se, and she was his companion in this crazy escapade.

  Didn’t everyone expect Hell to cheat?

  He saw a body drop from the roof. That one was quickly followed by a second entity of equal size and bulk. A third presence was already there somewhere, and the gallery walkway threatened to give way beneath the onslaught of three monstrous shapes converging to try to block his path to the door.

  This would have been the usual start-of-the-contest fare, meant to show off some of Hell’s powerful crew and scare him into behaving...except for the sound of their jaws gnashing and a heavier than usual vibe of menace radiating off the creatures.

  When animated, these beasts didn’t change much in appearance from their chiseled stone state. Dark gray in color, with the desiccated, mottled surfaces of timeworn granite, each of them bore a set of horns marking their unearthly origins, either protruding from their foreheads or next to their oversized ears. Their faces were distorted, as most of Hell’s watchdog’s faces were. Tristan supposed all that internal heat made them cranky.

  “You’re cutting this short,” Izzy warned.

  Behind the chesty disguise that he would have liked more time to explore, Tristan heard Izzy’s heart thundering. Though her anxiousness needled him, he wanted to take her back down to the floor where he would show her how much he had missed her and how hard he could become without the stone casing, in her honor.

  Of course, a liaison like that really was out of the question. It had been out of the question for awhile.

  The atmosphere on the gallery had thickened. Tristan glanced around. “I sense something else here that requires our attention,” he said, the hairs at the nape of his neck lifting. “I can’t quite see what it is.”

  “Probably would be best to leave that thing alone, Tris.”

  “What is it?”

  “Demon, would be my guess.”

  “You’re a demon.”

  “Does it feel anything like me?”

  He faced her. “Nothing feels like you.”

  Izzy smiled briefly, almost innocently, Tristan thought, before her face smoothed back into an expression of concern.

  “I’ll open the door, if you can get there,” she said.

  “I will be right behind you.”

  The woman who nowadays had a demon inside her took off, slipping through the shadows easily because she was one of them. The monsters in the way didn’t give Izzy a second look. Since like recognized like, they’d assume her to be a kindred spirit.

  But this was a dangerous misconception. Izzy was different. Unlike most demons, she had been human once. The thing that set her apart from the others comprising her side was not only her free-flowing spirit of empathy, but her capacity for love. That capacity might have been somewhat diminished by all the scorching around her edges, but the brightness of the gleam in her blue eyes gave her away.

  She had been a decent person for most of her life as a mortal, but then had started making one mistake after another. Her most unforgivable sin was that Izzy had shaken her fists at the heavens and issued a challenge of the “Prove you’re there” kind. In the small gap of misunderstanding she’d created, Hell, ever vigilant for loopholes, had snared her for a sadistic game of its own.

  Tristan would never forget meeting her here, in this very place, on a night just like this one. Their attraction had been instantaneous, steamy, and overwhelming. After the cathedral’s doors had closed that night, they had ravaged each other in a place where unearthly spirits lived and reigned, beneath a bloated October moon.

  He’d had her in every way possible, in and out, front to back, absorbing her cries with fevered kisses. In front of monsters, and under the stars, he had tasted Izzy and loved her with the unrelenting proof of his desire.

  When it was done and they lay spent on the cold stone floor, she had explained about her strange sentence on the gallery, and about being trapped in stone as penance for her sins. One year later, after returning to Notre Dame to see the truth of this for himself, Tristan had agreed to set her free.

  This hadn’t turned out as he had planned, though. Thinking to remove Izzy from her prison on the church’s roof, and imagining that she could redeem herself and live on in freedom, he had been surprised by the result of his sacrifice.

  Instead of running, Izzy had remained by his side. In order to do so, and wield some control over a game where huma
ns had no say and no power, she had gathered power to her in the fastest way open to mortals. She had given herself over to the Dark Side. She had done this so that she could be with him each time he woke. Izzy had made this further sacrifice for no other reason than that.

  In his eyes, she had redeemed herself several times over. Still, he supposed it was hard for angels to see past the flames and the disguises.

  Bless her demonic soul, Izzy was here each and every time he needed her most, as though years hadn’t passed in between, and as though they were merely lovers meeting when they could.

  Not exactly the kind of trade he had anticipated.

  Here she was again, tonight, hoping to help him. So, by way of thanks, he had to make her effort count. He had to reach the door and get off this roof to search for that one extraordinary person willing to do a truly good deed tonight, on the spur of the minute, and trade their freedom for his, their life for his. The way he had traded his for Izzy’s.

  This was no easy task. There was no balance in the trade. He had hours only to accomplish this goal, when the result wasn’t anyone’s idea of a happy ending.

  Do you want me to succeed, Izzy?

  He wasn’t entirely sure she did. But he knew that each time he failed to find a replacement for his position on the gallery cost her. Izzy became more and more entrenched in Hell’s fires with each October that passed by. He saw this, felt this. She’d grown steadily stronger, and reeked of powerful magic.

  I hate what my failure is doing to you, my love.

  But besides being a willing candidate, his replacement on the gallery had to be strong enough to last in this game, which meant that not just any wayward soul would do. This was a game of patience and stamina. He wondered if it would ever truly end. Moreover, what would happen if he was released from this burden, and he and Izzy went their separate ways?

  Could I stand being parted from you?

  Tristan took a step to follow Izzy. She was dressed in black and looking fragile in her willowy body, when she was anything but fragile as she sprinted for the door. He didn’t want to know what lay beneath her beautiful, carefully cultivated disguise. Her soul was lovely, and that’s all that mattered. She had come back for him time and time again, and for this he loved her more than life itself.

  “Now!” she shouted, hitting the floor next to the smallest oncoming beast with a ball of fire that flew from her fingers as she raced by.

  Following her directive, Tristan strode to the low wall edging the walkway. He heard more monsters stomping their nasty feet around him. There were said to be five thousand creatures inhabiting Notre Dame’s walls and roofline. Did some of them have other beings trapped inside? Would they wake up tonight and run for their lives in one twisted game or another?

  Not going to wait and find out.

  The gargoyles he passed were mostly benign designs intended to scare off evil spirits, much like scarecrows in a spiritual cornfield. The chimeras were another matter altogether, and too complex to read. Their presence on the gallery was live with the energy of warped intentions.

  Izzy was at the door, scalding it open with a whispered spell. He inhaled the odors of the cooked, ancient wood, and frowned. It was time for his exit and, as always, he was loath to leave Izzy behind. This next part was solo. Izzy had to remain on the gallery. She had to wait.

  Something astonishingly large stepped into his path as he reached her, halting him, making him stumble backward. Tristan looked up at the newcomer and shivered, not quite believing what he was seeing. It was a freak of the wildest caliber; a giant fiend. Le Stryge, the most famous of Notre Dame’s monsters, had joined the party.

  Even without hearing Izzy’s audible curse, he would have known this was a sure sign that something was amiss. The back of his neck prickled. The hair on his arms stood up. This gallery’s smaller beasts were meant to intimidate, but what did a giant like Le Stryge want?

  He and Izzy had once made love at this monster’s clawed feet. He was fairly sure now that the demon hadn’t appreciated the indiscretion and that, due to its awakening, Le Stryge, also called The Vampire because it scared the color right out of human faces, might have a special spot in Hell’s plans.

  Tristan couldn’t help but wonder, as he stared up at the macabre horned creature barring his exit, if he was screwed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Izzy had sensed the demon early on, but had discounted how fast the sucker might be. This was no mere watcher facing Tris. Watchers and blockers would have been acceptable according to the unwritten rules. Both sides had them, in different forms. This looming hulk facing Tris, in addition to his stone textured minions that were dropping from the roof, was an uncustomary hindrance.

  Did Hell assume it could get away with this kind of breach?

  “Need help!” she shouted, looking up at the moon. “You angels need to cry foul.”

  No return came from above.

  “You have no place here,” she heard Tristan say to the thing barring his path.

  As she slid the red-hot bolt out of its housing and flung the door open, Tristan added, “You’re messing with my time schedule.”

  Whirling back to him, Izzy observed how the massive creature that was the poster boy for the cathedral’s ugliest monsters cocked its head in a scrape of stone on stone. It didn’t speak. Maybe it couldn’t.

  “If you stand there, I suppose I win by right of rule breakage,” Tris said, his voice stronger than hers would have been in his place. Then again, Tris was right in theory. Notre Dame’s big beast was out of bounds.

  “Be gone, demon.” Izzy moved to stand at Tristan’s side. She needed to hurry him toward the door.

  With another scrape of stone, the massive monster eyed her with an immovable face and a pair of seemingly endless empty black sockets. A trill of discomfort streaked through Izzy, freezing cold and deadly serious. Her head snapped back from the force of the icy blow. Her internal flame sputtered before flickering back to full strength.

  “Be gone, I say,” she repeated in a voice reserved for dealing with her kind.

  Stepping in front of Tristan, she edged him past the beast. “He’s right,” she said to Le Stryge. “You have no business here. Souls are my territory.”

  They were a couple feet from the door. Tossing the monster a warning glance, she waited until Tristan was through the opening before ducking in after him.

  “What the hell was that?” Tristan asked as he raced down the stairs dimly lit by moonlight seeping through fissures in the cathedral’s walls.

  “A mistake,” Izzy said.

  “I didn’t think there could be any new mistakes after all this time.”

  “Surprise.”

  “You have to leave me now, Izzy, or there will be another mistake added to the list.”

  Tristan had stopped on a landing to wait for her. Izzy held her breath when she faced him.

  “Maybe I’ll make it this time,” he said. “But it can’t be with more of your help. You know that.”

  “They started this mess, Tris.”

  “Things are different this round. Can’t you feel that?”

  “I do feel it.”

  Why were things different? Izzy wondered. What had animated the vampire beast, as well as the others surrounding it, and why had the movement of such a famous monster been allowed in a game where the major players on the physical field were supposed to be Tristan and herself?

  Had someone caught on, at last, to the fact that she and Tris were loath to leave each other, and stretching things out?

  Was Hell going to break more rules to hurry things along?

  “You’ll wait for me?” Tristan’s voice was the consistency of sifted gravel.

  “I’ll die inch by inch until you return,” she replied.

  “That one special person is out there, Izzy. I can feel that, too.”

  “Good.” She didn’t mean it. Not for real. The thought of never seeing Tristan again was worse than anything the Underworld mig
ht throw at her.

  If Tris felt that something was about to happen, maybe both sides were gearing up for a showdown tonight. Maybe Heaven had finally made its decision about Tris helping a woman who was not one of their own, and tonight would be the finale.

  No!

  “We won’t be together either way, eventually,” Tristan said solemnly, and she knew the thought pained him.

  “I’ll miss you terribly tonight,” she said, holding back the part about finding a way to end her existence forever if he did move on to clouds that were forbidden territory for someone like her. What kind of life was there in a place like Hell?

  “Is that all you have to say, Izzy?”

  Tris was ticking off more of his precious minutes, already hating the thought of a separation. In that hesitation, Izzy knew that anyone looking on would know for certain that he had manipulated his destiny, and that he didn’t want this to be over any more than she did.

  Tris didn’t want to leave her for God, glory, or white gossamer wings, because he truly loved her as much as she loved him. The idea of never seeing her again was, for Tris, impossible to bear. More impossible than the torture he endured on her behalf.

  They were both caught up in this web of challenge, trauma and deceit. But she was responsible for putting him here in the first place.

  Izzy didn’t utter the protest she wanted to make. Her cheeks began to flush. One of her hands, raised while she was speaking to Tristan, alternated in color between golden ivory and something far darker, in flickers of a slipping visage.

  She had spent too much time inside the cathedral’s walls. Her disguise wouldn’t last much longer. Notre Dame’s ghosts were peeling her apart, bit by bit, to get at what lay beneath. She might have enough power left to get through this phase, but please, she inwardly pleaded, don’t let Tris see what has happened to me.

  Tristan was in front of her. He took her face in his hands, and looked into her eyes. He was frowning, and breathing hard. She saw the distress behind his gentle touch.

  “Good-bye for now, lover,” he said. “Wish me luck.”