Fate

by Nadine Nightingale

  “No,” the Nun says, with a confidence rattling my bones. “It won’t.”

  The bitch hauls Jesse toward us, dropping his beaten body in B’s lap. Utter fear glazes over the mamba’s cognac eyes. “What did you do to him?”

  The Nun winks at her. “Nothing we didn’t do to you, doll.”

  “Bitch,” B barks.

  The Nun frowns. “Tell me something I don’t know yet.” She zooms in on me. “Like where your girlfriend and your son are.”

  Let me get this straight; she tossed a letter at my feet, stating Manda traded her soul for mine and Leandro is my son. Now, she truly thinks I’d hand him over? She’s neither mad nor crazy. The chick’s from planet insane-beyond-comprehensible. Half-witch or not, I’d die first before I gave her his location. Not that I have a damn clue where he is, but still.

  “Alexander?” She taps her foot impatiently.

  “I’m curious,” I say, breathing fire and smoke. “What the fuck makes you think I’d tell you shit, now that I know he’s my flesh and blood?”

  The Nun hunkers down, folding her manicured hands in her lap. “Well, let’s just say I had a hunch you might want to save your little boy’s life.”

  B stiffens. “What are you talking about?”

  “The prophecy,” she replies, matter-of-factly.

  The pic JJ sent Jesse flickers across my mind. The prophecy comes true when the moon—

  “What prophecy?” I ask, not sure why I’m talking to a bunch of demons who tortured B and Jesse and called my son a natural abomination.

  Demon-Boy, aka G, sighs. “You guys really don’t know shit, do you?”

  “What prophecy?” I repeat, harsher.

  The Nun furrows her brows. “I’m sure you’ve all heard about the First Grimoire?”

  “The one even your boss fears?” B replies coolly, trying to coax a reaction from the demons. “Legend has it Satan himself hid it.”

  “And sometimes,” Pink Nail Polish says. “Legend gets it right.”

  Wait, did she just insinuate that Lucifer is scared of a damn book? I’d laugh my ass off, but my facial muscles are frozen.

  “The First Grimoire,” the Nun continues, “belonged to the most powerful witch of all times.”

  “Bellatrix Lestrange?” Hey, even Voldemort looks like a puppy compared to her.

  “No,” the Nun grumbles. “It was written by the First Witch, Lilith’s daughter.”

  Jesse is the history slash mythology geek, but Lilith is a name even I’ve heard before. According to the Bible, she was Adam’s first wife. The chick refused to be his sub, was banished to the desert, and—“Wait, didn’t Lilith eat all her children?”

  B opened her mouth to answer, but Pink Nail Polish beats her to it. “Don’t believe everything the Bible says, hunter.”

  B casts her a killer look. “I have a feeling your vessel doesn’t agree. Jules adores the Bible.”

  “So Lilith wasn’t a child-devouring demon?” I bring the topic back on track.

  The Nun looks me straight in the eye. “Lilith, was…is something far worse, Alexander.”

  Worse than a child eating demon? I had no clue anything like that existed.

  “Anyway,” the Nun goes on. “There’s no time for a history lesson. You see”—she shifts closer—“your girlfriend and my brother will use the First Grimoire to open the gate to hell. And if they succeed, we’re forced to fight the final battle, which will inevitably end all life on this planet.”

  She lost me. “One: why would Manda help your brother? Two: what does Leandro have to do with any of this? Three: why the fuck should I believe anything you say? You’re a demon. Shouldn’t you be thrilled about open hell gates?”

  “Long ago,” she starts, “the boss came across a prophecy about an untouchable witch that will raise hell.”

  I’ve heard this one before. “Get to the fucking point.”

  Demon-Boy frowns. “She, who bears the mark of the gate-keeper, is the alpha and the omega. The key to life itself.”

  “And you think Manda is that witch?”

  The Nun shakes her head. “I know she is.”

  “How?” B asks.

  Demon-Boy rolls his eyes. “Hello? The ankh-shaped birthmark on her back?”

  “That’s how you recognize the keeper of hell’s gate,” Pink Nail Polish aka Jules adds, studying her claws. “The ankh represents the key to life.”

  This gets madder by the second. “First, you’re saying Manda is the bringer of the apocalypse and now she’s the key to life itself?” Do they even listen to themselves? “That’s insane.”

  “Is it?” the Nun shoots back. “Think about it, hunter. The one who holds the key to the gates of hell is the one who holds fate of all life in her hands. Because, let me assure you, once the lines between hell and earth blur, the final battle must be fought. None of us”—she tilts her chin at her demon pals—“want that.”

  “Except your brother?” Isn’t that what she just said? That her brother is helping Manda raise hell?

  “My brother’s lost his mind,” she defends him. “He thinks we can win. That we can restore the world to its former glory and be freed of our prison.”

  B studies her closely. “But you don’t?”

  “Neither heaven nor hell can win this war.” The Nun’s eyes grow distant. “We’ll all perish, and your kind”—she points at me—“will be the first ones to die.” Man, I wish I could say she’s full of bullshit, but that hollow look in her eyes tells me she’s anything but.

  “Let’s say you’re right. Why would Manda help your mad brother?” The witch I know would never consort with demons.

  “Would? She already performed two of the six rituals. Hello? Riots? Earthquake? You think that’s a coincidence?” Pink Nail Polish’s eyes darken. She sorta looks like she wants to bite my head off.

  Wish I could say she’s lying, but I read all about the Purge-like riots, and had a front row seat to the quake.

  The Nun nods. “And to answer your question, because she couldn’t let the love of her life go to hell, moron.”

  I think of her letter. Don’t hate me for trading places with you…

  “When she traded her soul for yours,” Demon-Boy says. “She became the whore of the First Knight of Hell, Lucifer’s left hand.”

  “Now, she’s bound to do his bidding, or you will go to hell,” the Nun goes on.

  “So why doesn’t Lucifer stop your brother?” B asks.

  The Nun averts her gaze. “The boss is currently unavailable.”

  “Unavailable?” B laughs. “Why, is there a how-to-starve-more-kids-and-start-more-wars conference in town?”

  “No.” The Nun cocks a brow. “He’s got some family business to attend to.”

  The devil has a family? Jesus, my fucking head is close to exploding. Amanda Bishop gave up her soul to save me from hell, because she thought I was a better parent. Now, she’s the slave of some demon, wreaking havoc and bringing about the end. And Lucifer is having a family meeting? Sorry, but that’s just too damn much.

  Pink Nail Polish lips curve into a lopsided grin. “All of this is pretty much your fault, you know?”

  B straightens. “What the hell are you talking about? Why is any of this Alex’s fault?”

  The Nun gets on her feet. “When you sold your soul out of righteous reasons, you broke the first of the seven seals.”

  “Seven seals?” Why does that ring a bell again?

  “ ‘And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals,’ ” Demon-Boy quotes. “ ‘And I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see. And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.’ ”

  “Isn’t that from the—”

  “Revelation,” Jesse croaks, finally coming to.

  “What’s that got to do with Alex?” B is as confused as I am.

  “As previously mentioned, the
Bible didn’t get it all right. I would go into detail, but we are running out of time here,” the Nun murmurs. “The point is you’re the rider of the white horse, a son of the Arrows of Artemis. And when you sold your soul out of love, you broke the first seal, hence paving the path for my brother’s end game.”

  Demon-Boy casts me a killer-look. “Seriously, Remington? How dumb are you? Selling your soul to save the witch?” He shakes his head. “She never needed saving, dumbass.”

  “Wait,” my brother interrupts. “You did what?”

  Pink Nail Polish grins. “He sold his soul to make sure Amanda Bishop wouldn’t become the queen of darkness.”

  B glares at me. “Is that true?”

  “Alex,” Jesse yells. “Answer the fucking question.”

  “Yeah, Alex.” Demon-Boy smirks. “Tell them. Tell them what went down in that bar. How you craved death after Amanda’s mother asked you to kill her daughter, after the Malleus leader told you he’d kill her if he found her.”

  “Maria Bishop, as in Amanda’s mother, came to you?” B barks.

  “She begged me to kill Manda,” I admit.

  Jesse squints. “And the Malleus dicks?”

  “Legend came by the night you interrogated the vamp suspect. Told me his men were out looking for Manda.” I draw a deep breath. “He, too, was approached by Manda’s mom. Unlike me, he gladly accepted her kill-my-daughter offer.”

  My brother’s face speaks murder and mayhem. “Then what happened?”

  I might as well tell them the whole story.

  ****

  Legend had left. But what he and Maria Bishop put in my head remained, sucking the damn life out of me. I needed to get out of this motel room before Jesse returned.

  As drunk as I was, I grabbed my car keys and drove. I drove into the sunset, and back into the night. I drove until I couldn’t drive anymore.

  Then I pulled into the parking lot of a biker bar that would make a great setting for a new Tarantino flick, and drank some more.

  Maria Bishop is a liar, I kept telling myself as I sat there, downing shot after shot. No way in heaven or hell, Amanda—the girl I’d spent the last few months with—was the future queen of darkness and bringer of doom. Sure, she was a witch. And yes, I always believed witches universally evil, but I had never gotten to know one as intimately as Manda. She was without a doubt selfish, reckless, stab-worthy, and a major pain in the ass. Yet she was also the girl who gave her last twenty bucks to a homeless guy when she thought no one was looking. The chick that picked the spot next to the old lady in Starbucks just so she wouldn’t have to sit alone. Amanda Bishop went the extra-mile to convince everyone how badass evil she was. But I saw her. The real her. She loved cuddling, adored animals, and had never been anything but kind to people on the uglier side of life. None of that sounded like attributes the future ruler of hell would have.

  What about Legend, though? Why would he work with Maria Bishop? He’s known for walking a straight, white line. He’d never help a witch unless he truly believed the lives of millions depended on it.

  Still, Manda isn’t evil. She walked the edge, but never crossed the line.

  But if she’s good then why didn’t she tell you she’s a witch? A dark twisted voice taunted me. She played you. And you know what they say. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on…me.

  The cramping in my chest took my breath away. God, I hated myself for doubting Manda. I knew her, inside out. How dare I trust the word of two strangers over my own gut? What if they were right, though? What if Manda had played me? What if what we had was nothing but a game for her? What if she had manipulated me? She was a witch, after all.

  I downed another shot and waved the bartender over for a refill. He cast me a haven’t-you-had-enough look. I ignored him and pointed to my needy glass. “More.”

  He rolled his eyes, slammed the bourbon bottle on the counter, and headed to his next customer.

  The bar filled up quickly. Drunk lowlifes lingered in the dark corners, waiting for anyone dumb enough to pick a fight. I knew the look in their eyes all too well. It said, life fucked me hard let me return the favor and fuck you even harder. They needed an outlet for their aggressions. I needed pain to reassure myself I was still breathing.

  Swaying like a damn flag, I approached the three bikers by the door. At least, I assumed they were bikers. Maybe they just had a thing for leather jackets and bandanas—in places like these, you never knew.

  These ones, however, weren’t book covers I misjudged. The instant I bumped into the tallest of the group, he caught me by the throat. “Watch where you’re going, motherfucker.”

  He presented me with a great possibility to start a fight. “Shit.” I grinned from ear to ear. “Who told you?”

  Eyes narrowed, he tightened his grip on my throat. “Told me what?”

  “That I screwed your mother?”

  His fist landed in my left eye before I could even blink. “Wanna say that again?”

  The pain roaring through my head was delicious. It silenced the voices in my head, and filled the hollow in my chest. I wanted more. Needed more. “You deaf or something? I said, who told you I screwed your mother, bitch?”

  A flash of crazy mixed with a hint of killer sparked in his creepy dark eyes. “You think you’re tough, huh?” He dragged me out of the bar. “Let me show you what we do with college boys like you.”

  I laughed. I was a lot of things. College boy wasn’t one of them. “Gag them, flog them, apply nipple clamps?” I crossed the line between madness and suicidal in a matter of seconds.

  His fist came up. “You stupid—”

  “What? Wrong order?” I added fuel to the fire. “You apply nipple clamps first because you want to hear them college boys scream?” I winked at him with my good eye. The one that wasn’t swelling up like a damn party balloon. “Get off on it, do we?”

  And just like that, I freed the starving killer inside him, the one I spotted long before I deliberately bumped into him. He shoved me against the wall and assaulted my face.

  Every hit I took was an explosion of pleasure. The throbbing in my temples, the ache in my jaw—I embraced it.

  By the time, he started kicking me in the gut, the pain slowly transformed into nothingness. It got harder to enjoy the sweet hurt as the world around me was wrapped into a veil of misty darkness.

  He’s gonna kill you, Remington.

  Yup. And it was too damn late to stop him. I was done. Every bone in my body ached. My ribs were probably cracked and I could no longer fight back. I wasn’t sure I wanted to either.

  “You stupid motherfucker,” he yelled. “You have a death wish or something?”

  It hit me then and there. I did have a death wish. Why else would I have gotten into a fight with Hercules the biker?

  Manda’s face flickered across my mind. I could never hurt her. Queen of darkness or not, killing her was not an option. I’d rather die than pull that damn trigger.

  “You”—in the corner of my eye I spotted his boot aiming for my head—“stupid—”

  The hit never came.

  “Whatever happened to good old manners?” a voice echoed off the brick walls. A fraction of a second later, I heard a snap and Hercules the biker dropped to the ground next to me.

  My nose was broken. I couldn’t smell shit, but I tasted blood and sulfur on the tip of my tongue.

  The hair on the back of my neck rose as fine leather shoes moved closer. I wanted to look up. Fuck me, I couldn’t even lift my head. “Alexander Remington,” the dark voice said. “Clearly not your brightest moment.”

  I wanted to tell the creature—a demon for all I tasted—to go fuck himself, but my jaw was dislocated, my mouth full of crimson.

  “Let me help you.” I heard another snap. The past few minutes rewound like a damn movie. First, the nothingness was gone. Then the sweet pain of fists and hurt washed over me. When it subsided, my body was good as new, my soul as broken as ever.

&nb
sp; Driven by instinct, I jumped up and reached for my Beretta. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Amber eyes looked back at me. “ ‘What is in a name? That we—’ ”

  “Cut the crap,” I ordered, gun pointed at his head.

  “Hunters.” The demon, who looked like a damn hipster—skinny jeans, angled fringe, tight white shirt—frowned. “Such ungrateful creatures.”

  Hercules the biker lay next to my feet. He didn’t bleed and from where I stood it seemed as if his chest rose and fell evenly. “What did you do to him?”

  Hipster-demon grinned. “Don’t worry. He’s just taking a little nap.”

  I didn’t know if I believed him, but I had other problems than Hercules’ well-being. “You’ve got about two seconds to tell me what you want,” I warned. I couldn’t kill Manda, but offing a demon? I had no issues with that. Even when I knew a bullet couldn’t send the bastard back to hell. Killing demons wasn’t as simple as murdering witches. But hey, my choices were pretty limited.

  He pulled a pack of smokes out of his jeans. “Want one?”

  Surprisingly, I’d given an arm for a deep inhale. Though I’d never smoked a day in my life. “Talk!”

  He smiled. “Don’t rush me, Alex.” He lit the thing up and took a long, deep drag. “So,” he went on. “Word on the street is you’re having trouble with a witch.”

  “They have gossip phones on the highway to hell, nowadays?” I shot back.

  The demon shrugged. “We even have iPads and Macs. You’d be surprised how tech savvy our boss is.” A boyish smirk played on his lips. “He just loves Twitter.”

  The devil tweets, huh? Shocker.

  “Anyway,” he said. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Yeah?”

  He smiled. “I have a proposition for you.”

  “Shove it up your demon ass, pal.” I’d never do business with demons or any other supernatural scum for that matter.

  His amber eyes roamed my face. “Fine.” He spun around. “If you’re not interested in saving your little witch and the whole planet.” He sighed. “I have other places to be.”

  Let him go. Just let him go!

  “Wait.” What the fuck was wrong with me? He was a demon for heaven’s sake. “What proposition?”