Jovienne

by Linda Robertson

  Gramma sucked in a ragged breath as he yanked her head back. He laughed.

  “Let me go!”

  “I’ll let go when I’m good and ready.” He shoved her roughly toward the top of the steps. “Oh look. I’m ready now.”

  When Jovienne heard the big thumping sounds, she ran back to her bed and threw the covers over her head. A few seconds later she heard the creak of her door opening, and then the creak of it shutting, and the click of the knob catching.

  She lay there, paralyzed with fear, listening intently for a signal that her father had arrived beside her bed. She was certain he was coming for her.

  “He pushed her down the steps. She died.”

  “Jovienne, I’m sorry.”

  She swallowed hard as she met his eyes. “If she had been an abhadhon that would never have happened.”

  “Maybe she saw the creatures but wasn’t chosen because—”

  “Look, I know you want to think that witchcraft kept her from being chosen, but here I am.”

  “You were young. Too young to—”

  “I used it in the course of my test, Andrei! In. My. Test. Yet, here I am.” Seeing his eyes widen, she lowered her voice. “If it was evil, if I had acted evilly, then why would God have transformed me anyway?”

  Andrei didn’t answer.

  “Sure, you could say that my Gramma never lost her family or had a tragic accident after which she woke up with the quintanumin, so of course she wasn’t put in a position to become an abhadhon. But that’s chasing logic in the wrong direction. I asked another abhadhon. She didn’t know anything about cinders, didn’t hear the drums or feel the cringe at dusk. The point is, you and I, we see the cinders because we are their kind, and they are our kind.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  NO.” ANDREI RE-SITUATED on the bed. He did not want this to be true. She had to be mistaken. “No.”

  “It is why we have always seen them.”

  “No!” he shouted. She was saying that when he died, his body would become one of those things. The notion made him nauseous. Gooseflesh heaved over him. He stood. “No. That cannot be true.”

  “I can prove it. I did prove it.”

  “How?”

  “I performed a modified version of the same ritual the cinders use. I caused drums to play after sundown. And I opened a Hellgate and brought a demon through.”

  “Jesus.” His hands raked though his hair. “That explains the extra bouts of the cringe, but—”

  “You’ve felt it? Wait. Of course, you would.” She paused a moment. “I’m so sorry.”

  He appreciated her apology, but his head was reeling, desperate to refute her other statements. “No, Jovienne. It’s not proof of heritage if you follow the same recipe and get the same result.”

  “I’m not baking cakes, Andrei. I’m summoning demons. Normal people can’t do that. I don’t want to be able to do this, but I can. I did.” Softer, she added, “And God sent a seraph to censure me.”

  He blinked. A seraph? She’s seen an actual seraph? He had a dozen questions. It was incredible, and yet terrifying that such a being had come to her for that purpose. “Censure how?”

  “Pain. Anguish. Torture. Typical bully tactics.”

  “Jovienne. You have to understand that even if you are capable of summoning a demon, you can’t be allowed to.” He sighed. “You’ve done this, what…three times?”

  She nodded.

  “If you were censured for it, why do it again and again?”

  “I didn’t ask for this responsibility. I didn’t want this. I’m looking for a way out. Since my transformation, the Call That Follows isn’t something I can resist. I mean, I can choose to not go where it leads me, but I am punished with physical agony for it.” She searched his face. “I’m a slave, Andrei, and my Master beats me if I don’t work.”

  “The safety of the world is in your hands!” He put his hands on his hips. “You have killed the demons you set loose, yes?”

  “The first two, yes. Last night…was different.”

  “That’s why you’re here?”

  Again, she nodded. “The abhadhon from Oakland. Her name’s Damnzel. We’ve crossed paths a lot this week and every time she torments me. I’ve had enough of bullies. Last night she left her zone and showed up at the clinic. She said she wanted to see the fireworks. She didn’t care that people were in danger. I wanted to save those people inside, but it blew up before I could.”

  She’d been there! “The bomber was possessed?”

  “No, but I was going to stop him anyway.” She implored him for a moment, and then her gaze fell to her hands. “I could have. But she fought to keep me from helping them. Do you know Damnzel?”

  Andrei shook his head. “No.”

  “She implied that she knew you…intimately.”

  “Jovienne, I swear. I’ve never met an abhadhon except you.”

  “Then on top of the terrible things she said, she lied. I was so angry.” Her teeth ground with the last words. “A couple days ago, I’d flown out to the mall where the terrorists were. I thought it had to be a demon in charge out there, but when I checked the leader he was a man. No demon. I wanted to help those people, but I didn’t because you’d said I wasn’t responsible for mortals. I’m supposed to let their lives play out as they will. It’s my job to stop demons from interfering. So, my interference, even for good, is not allowed.” She rubbed her arms. Her voice cracked when she continued. “I’ve felt so guilty for not helping. When it was happening again at the clinic I had to do something. But Damnzel interfered. And I…”

  “Go on.”

  “Every time I saw her, she insulted me, belittled me. I wanted her to know what I could do. I wanted her to face more than one demon at a time. She acts like she’s so good, so I wanted her to prove it. I put her in a circle and opened a Hellgate.”

  Big, hot tears dropped down her cheeks. She touched her face as if surprised. “I haven’t been able to cry, Andrei. Not since the transformation. And now, look at this, I’m crying because that antagonistic bitch panicked. I told her what to do, but she wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t take the circle down. It never occurred to me that she might crumble like that. The demons tortured her. They ripped her apart. They…” She faltered. Her arms locked in a hug around herself and she looked away.

  “They what?”

  Very softly, she said, “They took her to Hell in pieces. She was still alive.”

  When she met his gaze, her normally fiery eyes were dark, like her tears had doused the coals, and it pained him to see it. He thought of his prayer. How could he make this right?

  He sat beside her and pulled her close. She slumped against him. Tears burned his eyes. If he’d been a man about all of this when he was supposed to, he’d have been the abhadhon. She wouldn’t have done these witchy things and these problems wouldn’t exist. She’d be living her life somewhere else, oblivious to all this.

  For minutes, they were silent. Andrei’s thoughts turned to something Vincent had told him. “My pedagogue once told me ‘Everyone makes mistakes, but what you do afterward counts more. Do you learn from the mistake? Do you repeat it? Do you crawl into a pit and grieve until your whole world has shrunk to that one failing?’” He sighed. “That’s what I did, Jovienne. I failed because of my fear. And I let that failure rule me.” He squeezed her a little tighter. “But I returned to my test site. After feeling a late cringe again, I knew things were bad for you. I wanted to take this pain and trouble away from you.”

  She pulled away to look at him.

  Andrei shook his head. “There was no demon to face. Only an angel came. I begged him to reopen the grounds and let me test, but he said it wasn’t possible.” The air seeped from his lungs in a slow sigh. “I feel so helpless. I went there to fight, to win for you and take back this burden that never should have been yours. But they wouldn’t let me.”

  “FREE WILL,” JOVIENNE said, “belongs to other people. Not to us. We k
now too much. An ignorant man can live his whole life being a liar and a cheat, but on his death bed he can be saved and his soul can get into Heaven. No matter what, the Angel of Death is never going to take me there because I was transformed. My soul isn’t as it was. I can’t exactly die. I could stop existing, or I can exist forever as a slave. Good deeds won’t earn me a release. In the meantime, I don’t get to be loved.”

  “Jovienne.” Andrei studied her. “You are loved.”

  In that moment, she realized he spoke truly. He had raised her and though she’d tried her best to seduce him, he had not given in. He had honored her, built her up, guided her as she grew, and never, ever allowed anything to impede what she could be. Those weren’t the actions of a heartless man creating his own replacement. Those were the actions of family.

  She wrapped her arms around him and felt more reassurance and security than the sleepy melody in her snow globe could ever provide, even though she expected the seraph would soon arrive and change that. This won’t last. Her eyes shut. Tears fell again.

  Andrei must have mistaken her closed eyes and pained expression for weariness. He leaned back with her, saying, “Sleep, Jovienne. Rest. You’re safe here. I promise. I’ve got you.”

  Finally understanding that the only time in her life she’d felt the kind of security that only a father could provide was with him, she believed him. His ghost hands wrapped around them and she drifted off to sleep.

  JOVIENNE WOKE TO slanting rays of evening light stretching across her bedroom. The day had passed while she and Andrei slumbered. For once, no dreams haunted her rest. She laid still, breathing, feeling the rise and fall of Andrei’s chest. It was the most peaceful moment of her existence. She wished it could go on, but it had already lasted longer than she expected.

  She had a choice to make.

  She didn’t believe either side would actually allow her to have the freedom she wanted.

  There was but one solution.

  She slipped from the bed without disturbing Andrei, and penned a quick note, using Shakespeare’s The Life and Death of King John because she knew it would mean more to him if she quoted the Bard.

  “The tackle of my heart is crack’d and burn’d,

  And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail

  Are turned to one thread, one little hair;

  My heart hath one poor string to stay it by.”

  She signed it, “There’s more going on than I told you and I have to finish what I started, but if that poor string proves enough, I’ll come home. -Jovienne.”

  SHIELDED FROM MORTAL sight, she flew to the Hyde Depository. The sun hadn’t yet disappeared, but little time remained for what she wanted to accomplish before dusk roused a cinder.

  Or, like last night, would there be more than one?

  At the warehouse, everything was as she remembered it. Though dozens of the creatures had risen on the grounds, they had not come to the upper level or tampered with anything.

  She released the wings and undressed. From the wardrobe, she selected new leather pants and chose another vest-style top. She added a short jacket with a slim, darted waist, and zipped it up.

  From the armory, she packed every weapon she could carry, including three swords, two hanging from scabbards belted to either side, and a short-sword tucked along her spine.

  She had to get a message to the nameless man, without returning to what surely was his powerbase among the Painted Ladies.

  Using magical techniques would require something belonging to that demon or some part of his mortal body, nail clippings or hair perhaps. She didn’t have either of those.

  There was an alternate way, although in this manner she wouldn’t contact him personally. That, she decided, was for the best.

  After removing the daggers and the two-by-four security on the door, she descended the steps. She sliced her palm and cupped the blood in it. She called for geist.

  In moments, she had six closing in and her flesh prickled at their nearness. They wore the guises of ghosts, pale and illuminant but translucent, revealing bone as if watching a mobile x-ray. Their eye sockets were dark pits. Their mouths hung open, narrow tongues lolling in anticipation of the blood. The residual energy around them fluttered like sheets in a strong wind.

  “Stop.” She covered the blood with her other hand. The geist held their positions and glowered at her, wary. She remembered that Damnzel all but admitted she tortured geist to get information.

  “I ask you to deliver a message and offer this blood for any who can do that.”

  “Who is the message for?”

  “I do not know his name. He may be demon or devil or worse. He is very powerful. He was in this city last night and the night before. Around the houses known as the Painted Ladies.”

  “We know him.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Araxiel.” The name echoed as they all repeated it.

  “Drink.” She uncovered the blood and held it out to them. “Drink and then tell Araxiel that I will meet him at Coit Tower at midnight. Tell him I have decided.”

  The geist pushed in close, lapping at the blood like butterflies over flower nectar. They grabbed her wrist and held on. Their jostling energies pushed her against the wall in the warehouse foyer. Surrounded and suppressed by them, she struggled to remain calm. Her senses flared from their touch. Her skin roiled in a constant flow of gooseflesh.

  The drums commenced, thundering from the first beat.

  Peering over the ghostly heads feeding at her palm, the warehouse floor wavered like one giant pond. “Faster!” she ordered the geist.

  Burnt hands began poking up, dozens and dozens of them.

  Jovienne gasped and struggled, but the geist were far from finished. The six of them were sufficient to hold her wrist in place until they had consumed the last drop.

  The cinders pulled their horrid bodies through. So many! One of the loading dock doors squealed and rolled up slightly. More of the creatures crawled underneath, herky-jerky, and into the warehouse. All of them scurried toward her. Others pounded on the door at the front of the warehouse.

  They were closing in.

  Jovienne called her wings and drew her sword.

  The closest creature reached out to her. She swung her weapon to keep it back. It fell to its knees before her, and put its forehead to the floor. “Jo.”

  Swallowing hard, she slid one step away, although the geist held her arm in place to continue feeding.

  “Jo.” The sound escalated as all the cinders said it in unison and fell to their knees, heads down. A ripple waved over them as something passed from one to the other, moving toward the front. They had found the doll from the front hall and together worked to lay it at her feet.

  Blood gone, the geist left to deliver the message and Jovienne was released. For an instant, however, she was too shocked to move. With a gasp, she ran for the stairs. The path was not clear. She stepped where she had too, leapt when she could. The tips of her wings scratched over the ruined flesh of the bowing bodies as air collected under her and pushed her upward. She soared onto the steps halfway up, raced up three at a time and, wings tucked, burst through the doors. She raced toward the ruined roof and leapt through.

  Her stomach flip-flopped when she looked down on hundreds of cinders lying prostrate around the exterior perimeter.

  ANDREI AWAKENED AND stared at the ceiling, confused, when it hit him: it wasn’t his ceiling. This wasn’t his room or his bed. It was Jovienne’s.

  Witchcraft. Hellgates. Cinders. And nephilim?

  Everything she’d said scared him, but they would figure it out today.

  Her bed was positioned in the corner and he’d slept on the side against the wall. His arm snaked across the rumpled sheets of her bed. The place beside him was cold and empty.

  He scooted across to get up and spied a piece of paper on her floor.

  As he read, his jaw clamped.

  He couldn’t sit here and hope that everything tu
rned out all right! He’d had opportunities to help people and even when the solutions had been obvious, he’d not acted on them. People had died. This time, when he was eager to take action, he had no idea where to go.

  In the kitchen, he threw back the cabinet door and stared at the Stolichnaya bottle. Eight ounces, maybe ten, remained. Grabbing it, he stared at the clear liquid as it sloshed around in the bottle. He unscrewed the lid and upended the bottle.

  He watched it flow down the sink drain. He dropped the empty bottle into the trash. After donning his coat, he stepped out onto the fire escape.

  TWENTY-THREE

  ANDREI SEARCHED FOR hours with no success.

  Desperate, he made a shallow cut in his palm and allowed a dozen or so geist to feed from the wound. He promised more blood if any of them found her and brought her to him. It was a risk. He hadn’t given them much, and they might forget their purpose once they ventured off. He had to believe that the promise of more blood would keep them on task.

  AS IF SETTING up a meeting with mister no-longer-a-no-name wasn’t enough cause for anxiety, again, the Call had not come.

  Without a demon to hunt, Jovienne had to do something with the nervous energy filling her. She flew around the city invisible to mortal eyes. She checked on the galleria and the remains of Choices Clinic. She circled the upper section of the 333 Bush Street high-rise where the grand condominiums were located. Noting that someone was home, awake, and preparing to watch the eleven o’clock news, she landed on their balcony and used her amplified hearing to listen. The newscaster gave updates on both tragedies and the screen flashed through pictures of the deceased, victims and terrorists alike.