by Hanna Peach
The 1812 Overture begins to play from the speakers dotted around the room. Samyara smiles. Chastity knows what he likes. Without waiting for any instruction Chastity soars up towards the ceiling. She begins to drop and swirl, letting her dress catch the air, allowing him torturous glimpses of the white lace beneath. White lace against dark skin. Delicious.
Soon, her straps are teased off her shoulders and her dress slips down her body, over her hips and drops to the floor in a cascade of fluttering white. Samyara watches, a tranquil smile on his face, as she twists and rolls above him in the air. Flexible body.
She looks like melting chocolate as she descends down one of the ribbons, letting the gold silk slide between her long dark naked legs.
Later Samyara is shirtless, reclining against the bed, smoking a cigarette when there is a knock.
“Come in,” he calls.
The door opens to reveal a lime-skinned demonette dressed in a black lace teddy, and the hooded figure of a seraph.
“Your guest is here, my lord,” she says as the seraph steps into the room. “Shall I invite two or three seraphelle in now? A demonette perhaps? Or will it just be you two?”
Samyara smiles, amused, as the hooded seraph recoils. “This gentleman is a business associate. He is only stopping by for a moment.”
“Certainly.” She backs out of the room giving the seraph a lascivious smile as her tail lashes the air with a suggestive whip. The door closes behind her.
“Greetings, friend,” Samyara says as he jumps from the bed and strides towards the seraph.
“Let’s not pretend we are friends.”
“The information you gave me is good. Very good. It has made me very happy. Are you going to make me even happier tonight?”
The seraph nods. “I have acquired what you asked for.”
“Marvelous.” Samyara’s heart – if the bitter little acorn beating in his chest can be called one – trills. “May I see it?”
The figure puts his hand in his cloak then pauses.
Samyara notices his hesitation. “I have the contract here for you as you asked.” Samyara pulls out a small papyrus scroll from the pocket of his pants and unrolls it, presenting it to the seraph. “This ensures your protection and the portion of earth over which you will reside as the highest authority. Along with your special request, of course.”
The figure nods, barely, then reaches into his cloak. He pulls out his fist and lets the piece tumble from his fingers. It catches at the end of its chain. “One piece of the Trinity Amulet.”
It is beautiful. Samyara’s eyes widen and he reaches his fingers towards it. He can almost taste his own victory, the magnitude of this power already bloating within him...
The amulet is snatched away from his greedy fingers and the seraph returns it to within his cloak. Samyara forces himself to remain composed although he wants to slash this impertinent seraph from nose to ass. But not in here, the enchantment over Purgatory won’t let him.
“Just sign here,” Samyara says, handing over the contract, forcing his voice to stay breathy and light. No need to show how eager he is.
“I don’t have a pen.”
Samyara smiles. “This kind of contract can only be signed in blood.”
The seraph makes a noise under his breath. He pulls a kris from his clock, runs his thumb over the tip and smears his blood across the scroll. He offers the tip of the kris to Samyara who does the same.
“Done,” Samyara says.
He lets the seraph roll the scroll up. It disappears inside his cloak. Out comes the amulet. Samyara snatches it from the seraph’s hands and cradles the thing to his chest. It is all he can do not to kiss the blessed thing.
“You won’t forget the rest of our bargain will you?” Samyara says. “It is an unfortunate thing to break a blood contract.”
“I won’t.” The seraph says turning to leave.
The door slams behind him.
Foolish seraph. Samyara smiles – a thin cruel little smile. Oh how he loves when a plan comes together.
Chapter 36
The Regent Theatre, once standing proud in a fashionable part of Saint Joseph, is now desolate and forgotten. The entrance, which used to be wide doors of glass, has long since been boarded up. Graffiti stains the solemn brick walls. The recent storm drips off the uneven roofline, puddles showing broken pieces of the theatre in their reflections. Not a sign of life.
But Alyx knows Israel is inside. She has seen this very theatre in his mind’s eye, heard him call it home.
Alyx walks around to the small laneway that runs along the side of the theatre, deserted. There is the side door through which she has seen Israel leave and enter this place so many times.
She notices a small shoddy slit cut out of the door at eye level covered in a panel of unvarnished wood. She wonders if Israel has done this or perhaps mortals seeking refuge during the last mortal war. Alyx smoothes down her hair, hoping that it isn’t too wild.
She knocks. The sound echoes inside. There is a twist of nerves jangling in her stomach. Will he answer? Will he let her in?
Within minutes, the small panel in the door moves aside and a pair of hazel-brown eyes peer out. They widen.
“Alyx?”
The door pushes aside. Israel appears before her, his right hand holding a mortal lantern to her face.
“I’m sorry to just show up like this but... I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Israel reaches out for her and she lets herself fall against him. Exhausted. Broken. His arms wrap all the way around her.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. This is all it takes to drag a single sob from her lungs. The fingers of his free hand brush the damp tangles of her hair. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Somehow she almost believes him.
Inside is dim, lit only by a few stub candles and the small circle of light around Israel’s lantern. The air smells like moldy cardboard, butter and burnt sugar. Israel keeps her walking steady with his arm around her. He smells of musk and mint. Through her damp clothes she can feel the heat of his body.
Her body leans into his. Right now she needs him. Needs his strength, his warmth. He must sense this because he pulls her closer. A shiver goes through her and Alyx tells herself that she is just feeling cold.
He sits her down in an alcove set into one of the internal walls of the theatre foyer, semi-private seating that theatergoers would once occupy before the show or during intermission. He wipes away the wet strands of hair that sticks to her cheek. “I’ll be back in a moment, okay? I’m not going far.”
He disappears into one of the many curtained theatre rooms that come off the main foyer. Alyx wipes her eyes with her palms and looks around her.
It isn’t hard to see how the Regent once stood. It isn’t hard to imagine that in a not so distant past ladies in full gowns and sparking throats on the arms of gentlemen wearing top hats and tails walked these very halls. Now the rich carpet and fine gold drapery are faded and wrinkled, rust has begun to corrode the bars that separate a row of ticket counters from the foyer.
Israel returns with roughly folded clothes and a threadbare towel in his arms. He hands them to her. Men’s clothes. “Here. They’ll be a bit big for you but at least they’re dry.” He turns around. “I promise I won’t peek.”
Alyx peels away her damp clothes, dries herself as much as she can. Then dresses in the clothes that Israel gave her.
“You can turn around now. I’m sorry but your towel is soaked through.”
“I don’t care about the towel,” he says as he turns. “I―.”
Israel is staring at her, a smile creeping across his face.
“What?” Alyx glances down at herself.
He laughs. “You look… ridiculous.”
Alyx sniffs. It’s true. Her fingers don’t reach the ends of the long sleeved-shirt, the crotch of her pants is down around her knees and the pant-legs are bunched around her ankles. Israel grabs the floppy ends of her s
leeves, trapping her hands inside. He stretches the sleeves out wide so that she is forced to open out her arms too.
He laughs. “You have to be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Alyx gathers her indignation. “Well I―.”
A loud insistent growling sound comes from her stomach, interrupting her. She grimaces. But he doesn’t seem perturbed.
“Even your tummy rumbles are cute. Hungry?”
Alyx nods.
Israel disappears behind a counter. He returns with two dry bread rolls which he hands to her. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything more to offer you.”
“It’s okay,” Alyx says.
In Michaelea they would be serving first meal soon. Her mouth waters as she remembers the taste of rich creamy eggs and salty bacon. She can almost smell the mushrooms and garlic frying.
The bread is dry and tasteless in her mouth.
Israel sits next to her in the alcove and lets her eat in silence. Every time she looks up at him he is looking at her with his soft brown eyes. What a sight she must have been on his doorstep; wild hair, swollen eyes, soaked though.
When she finishes eating she speaks, “You’re being so kind to me. And you haven’t even asked me why I’m here.”
“I figured it would be a long story. I thought you should get dried and comfortable first.”
Alyx lowers her face and rubs her eyes, discreetly wiping away the wetness that threatens to spill over. Israel remains wordless and she is grateful for his silence. In his silence she is able to steel herself once more.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she says, her voice sounding as hollow as she feels. “You don’t know what it’s like to have the people who you trusted, who are supposed to care for you, turn against you. To be thrust out in the world all alone with nothing.” She looks up to Israel. Actually, she realizes, he does know. “Sorry. You probably understand completely.”
“What happened?”
“My own people are after me.”
“Why?”
“This is going to sound crazy.” She presses her palm to her forehead.
He laughs softly. “Remember who you’re talking too.”
“Right,” she says. “I think it’s time I admitted some things to you. But you have to promise not to freak out or get angry before I finish, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Remember the last time we met, you asked me how I happened to come by the alley in time to save your life…”
“A lucky coincidence.”
“It wasn’t. I knew you would be there, I knew you were being attacked.”
Israel frowns. “How?”
Alyx takes a deep breath - no turning back now - and begins to tell him about her visions of him. Then to prove she isn’t lying she describes each one.
“Let me get this straight,” he says. “You see things through my eyes?”
“Essentially, yes. That’s how I knew where to find you then. And tonight.”
“Do you hear my thoughts as well?”
“Just whatever thoughts you have at the time.”
“That is...” his eyes blaze at her, “...so frickin’ cool.”
Her mouth parts as she sucks in air, realizing that she has been holding her breath. “You think so?”
“Think about it Alyx. You have been inside my body, felt my heart beating as if it were your own, felt how I feel, thought as I thought. You know what it’s like for me.” He leans forward as he speaks, grabbing her hands. “You don’t just know me, you know me.”
Alyx swallows, hard. His eyes have a way of making her feel like she is underdressed. Alyx wonders for a moment whether he can see inside her as she does him.
“I have something of yours,” she says pulling her hands away from his. She takes the chain from around her neck and the ring pulls from the top of the oversized shirt she is wearing. “The chain was broken when I found it so I gave it a new one. Here.”
“My ring,” Israel says as he takes it from her, cupping it in his hands like a little bird. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“Did... did your girlfriend give it to you?”
“It was my mother’s. My real father gave it to her. It’s the only thing I have left of theirs.”
Why is this a relief?
Her eyes follow his fingers as he puts the chain around his neck and tucks the ring into his shirt. Israel’s fingers linger where the ring rests at his chest. For some reason this makes Alyx shiver a little.
“But why me?” he asks. “Why through my eyes?”
“I have been chosen as your Guardian. It’s an ancient bond between a mortal and a Seraphim. Apparently, the Guardian-bond ensures that I slip into your consciousness when you are in danger, to help me protect you better. The bond is also why we were able to appear to each other the other night.”
“Guardian-bond?”
“Apparently it happens when a mortal is destined for something... great. Something important.”
Israel shakes his head. “What could I possibly do that is great?”
“I’m not sure but it has been prophesized, we have been bonded. This is very real.”
Israel shakes his head looking dazed. “I think I need to sleep on this. It’s all too much right now. I can’t think properly.”
“But we need to work out a plan and there are things―.”
He shushes at her. “It’s late.”
Alyx stifles a yawn.
Israel takes her hand and picks up the lantern. “Tomorrow morning I promise we’ll work through everything.”
Alyx doesn’t protest again as he leads her through the foyer, blowing out the candles along his way.
He pulls her though a dark curtain, up a set of stairs and along a curved corridor, stopping at a door. It leads to small box overlooking a large theatre. A thin mattress covered in a faded grey blanket lies in a corner, a pile of frayed books at its side. Alyx’s heart skips a beat. This is where Israel sleeps.
“You can take the mattress,” he says. “I’ll take the floor.”
“It’s your bed. I can’t kick you out of your bed. I’ll take the floor.”
“I wouldn’t feel right taking the bed while a lady slept on the floor. But if you’re okay with it... perhaps we can share?” He raises his hands up. “I promise no funny business. I can be a perfect gentleman when I want to be.”
Her mouth is too dry to answer so she just nods.
Alyx stands by the side of the mattress. She isn’t aware of it but she is worrying the hem of her shirt. Israel stands on the other side also worrying the edges of his shirt. For a moment she thinks he may take it off, her heart starts racing at the thought. But he doesn’t. He clears his throat, slips in under the blanket and lies on his back.
He looks enormous against the mattress. Surely he is taking up more than half the space. Surely there will be no room for her. Surely this is not a good idea.
“Are you getting into bed?” he asks.
“Of course. Yes.” Alyx pulls up part of the blanket and slips in next to him, her back to him. This is fine. Fine. Plenty of room.
“Good night Alyx,” then he lets out a low sigh. It sounds like it is right by her ear. Why does his voice make her feel like he could wrap her up in it?
Israel shifts behind her and Alyx feels her whole body tense. Then he settles. Even though he isn’t touching her Alyx can feel her whole back getting warm. This close he seems to emit a heated vibration that keeps her whole body awake. A reaction from the guardian-bond, she tells herself.
Alyx listens to Israel’s breath deepen. She touches his mind once out of curiosity but sees only blackness. He isn’t even dreaming.
Only then does she garner enough courage to roll on her back where she is more comfortable. Israel is also on his back, his face turned towards her. Asleep his features soften and he looks at peace. His jaw slackens, causing his bottom lip to pout, his long lashes shade over his cheeks. And his scar. That scar.
Her fingers itch to touch it. Does she dare?
No. Alyx tears her eyes away from him and forces herself not to look back. Above her the ceiling is painted with wisps of cloud, a full moon and an angel flying across the stars. She has seen this very ceiling out of Israel’s eyes so many times. It is strange to think she is now seeing it through her own.
Chapter 37
The next morning, in the side street of the theatre, Israel pulls a sheet off a peculiar-looking machine with a flourish. Israel grins and looks expectantly at Alyx.
She eyes the large contraption. “A motorbike, really?”
“How can you say that? Have you ever even ridden on one?”
“No.”
Israel’s face becomes animated. “You’ll love it. It’s as close to flying as you can get.” He pauses. “Okay, the closest to flying that I’ll ever get.” He picks up the helmet from the bars and hands it to her. “I only have one but you use it.”
“Why do I need this?”
“It’s to keep you from injuring your head in case you fall off. I won’t let you fall off,” he adds quickly.
“No, you should wear it. If we fall you’ll need it more than me.”
“What, are you invincible or something?” Israel laughs then stops when he sees her face. “You’re serious.”
Alyx pulls her kris from her hip. Showing him her palm she traces the point across it. A small line of blood appears.
“What the―.”
“Just wait.” Alyx feels the familiar cold tingling across her skin. The bleeding stops. She wipes away what little blood there is and holds up her perfectly uncut palm to Israel’s face.
His jaw drops. “That is crazy.”
“So you see now why I don’t need your helmet thing.”
Israel shakes his head. “I don’t care. I’m not getting on this bike wearing a helmet while you don’t have one on.”
“But...”
“No buts. I insist you wear it. We can get another one properly fitted for you later but for now you are wearing my helmet.” Israel crosses his arms in defiance. “We ain’t leaving here till you put it on.”