Fate

by Nadine Nightingale

  I fake a half-hearted smile. “Have you never heard of the ‘don’t drink and hunt’ rule?” Drunk hunters are dead hunters. No kidding, all it takes is one moment of weakness and you’re gone.

  B winks at me. “Since when do you give a crap about rules?”

  The girl has a point. I pretty much broke them all when I fell in love with a witch, and sold my soul to a demon. “Thanks,” I say, gulping down the booze.

  “Sure.”

  We sit quietly, listening to Berith and Legend. They cleared out all furniture and gathered in the midst of hunters and demons alike, giving them lectures on how to kill the First Knight’s army. Legend emphasizes demons can’t be killed by weapons. They are still vulnerable, though. A bullet or a stab to the vessel’s heart or head will force their demonic essence to look for a new host. The gate is in the middle of nowhere; ergo they’ll be gone for a while. Hopefully, long enough for us to kill the mother who tricked Manda and me into all of this.

  Berith adds a little warning. “Don’t ever take the charms of the witches off,” she says, voice low. “Not only will they protect you from any magic, they’ll make sure you can’t get demonized as well.”

  On the other side of the bar are Amelia, Raphael, and Mrs. Lacroix. Together, they must have carved dozens of charms already. To my surprise, Amelia seems to get along just fine with B’s mom. The two almost look like old friends.

  “Gives frenemies a whole new meaning,” she says, smiling at her mom and Amelia.

  For once, demons, witches, and hunters are united in a single goal, stopping the impending end. I savor the moment, knowing nothing like this will ever happen again. “I wish Manda was here to see this.”

  B nods. “Me too.” She reaches for an empty shot glass, across the counter, pouring us a drink. Her hand trembles like crazy. “So”—she downs the bourbon—“how are you holding up?”

  Should I lie? Should I tell the truth? Should I keep my damn mouth shut? Several pained breaths later I decide she deserves honesty. “Not so good.”

  Sadness laces her pretty eyes. “Me neither.” Of course, not. Manda is her best friend. When I first saw them together, I knew they’d do just about anything for each other. She’d never hurt her, even if the world was at stake.

  B refills our glasses. “Can I give you some advice?”

  “Ugh, sure?”

  Her gaze darts to Jesse. He pretends to help Amelia, but the hollow, distant look in his eyes is a sign his mind is somewhere else. “Make your amends before we leave.”

  Bitter laughter crawls up my throat. “Why, because we all die?”

  She pulls her left brow up, casting me a dark glance. “Because some of us might live, Alex.”

  “Maybe you should take your own advice?”

  “Yeah.” She jumps down. “In another life, maybe.”

  “Hey.” I cup her elbow, pulling her back. “He hurt you. And trust me when I say, I get it if you can’t forgive him, but…it’s just not worth it, B.”

  She stares at me as if I just gave her some unsolvable jigsaw. “What?”

  I shove my hands in my pockets. “All I’m saying is don’t be like me. Don’t let something good pass by because you’re scared.” I wish someone had told me the same back when all I had to do was find Manda and apologize.

  “I—”

  “Bonnie,” Mrs. Lacroix shouts. “We need you to bless the charms.”

  “Coming.” She heads to her mom, but her eyes are on my little brother. Good. Maybe one Remington brother gets to make shit right before it’s too late.

  Chapter 40

  Mrs. Lacroix, Raphael, and B gather around a table. A bottle of rum, a cigar, a knife, and a silver bowl filled with the charms lay across the makeshift altar. “Ready?” Mrs. Lacroix asks her kids.

  Raphael flashes her a smile. “Sure.” Unlike his sister, he doesn’t seem to care about the nasty looks hunters and demons alike shoot them.

  Mrs. Lacroix faces her daughter, most likely sensing her hesitance. “Bonnie?”

  “Let’s do this,” B says, wiping her palms on her jeans. The mamba looks miserable. Her skin is pale, her eyes clouded.

  Mrs. Lacroix addresses the crowd. “Lay your weapons down.”

  Draco’s lips part. He surely has some nasty remark on the tip of his tongue, but one look from Berith and he keeps it zipped.

  Amelia is the first one to surrender her guns. “C’mon, folks,” she addresses the resistant crowd. “We ain’t got all day.”

  One by one, hunters and demons bring their weapons—guns, knives, brass knuckles—The Walking Dead crew would kill for an arsenal like this. Legend and Berith surrender theirs last. “I hope this works,” the Malleus dick murmurs.

  Mrs. Lacroix meets his gaze. “It will.” Confidence sure as hell runs in the family.

  Jesse, Amelia, and I are closest to the witches. Everyone else moves back, keeping a safe distance.

  Raphael lights one black and one red candle. When the flames rise high, his mom leans back in her chair and starts the incantation. “Papa Legba, louvri pòtay yo. Pitit ou chache èd-ou. Papa Legba, louvri pòtay yo. Pitit ou rete tann.”

  B opens the rum bottle, pouring some of it into a steaming mug of black coffee. Together, they repeat the chant, each taking a sip of the punched drink.

  Queen B lights the cigar next, passing it around like a good old joint. They all take a drag. “Papa Legba, louvri pòtay yo. Pitit ou chache èd-ou. Papa Legba, louvri pòtay yo. Pitit ou rete tann.”

  The flames of the candles dance a slow Tango, rising higher and higher. A deep, animalistic groan roars through the bar. Demons and hunters alike freeze as the terrifying sound echoes off the walls.

  Mrs. Lacroix’s head jerks up. White eyes stare back at us. “How can I assist?” The deep, inhuman voice doesn’t belong to B’s mom. It’s that of the loa possessing her. The one they call Papa Legba.

  Raphael bows low. “We seek Ogoun’s help, Papa Legba.”

  The loa bursts into laughter. “And what makes you think I’d grant you that wish?” He gestures at the demons and hunters. “You’re breaking the codex, son. Why do you believe I’d willingly do the same?”

  Well, that’s a bummer. I didn’t expect obstacles just yet. Judging by Raphael’s confused expression, neither did he. “But you don’t under—”

  The loa lifts his hand stopping Raphael. “You consort with demons, son.” His voice is deeper, colder than before. “Go ask Kalfu for help. I only assist pure souls.”

  “Kalfu assists no one,” B shoots back. “You know that as well as we do.”

  The loa shrugs. “I don’t see how any of this is my problem, child. You chose darkness over light. Now, you must live with the consequences of your actions.”

  B furrows her brows. “Do you have any idea what’s been happening?” Her fists are balled, her face hard like granite. “The First Knight is—”

  “Trying to open the gate to hell,” he says, bored.

  Raphael squints. “You know, but you’re still giving us that light versus darkness crap?” He shakes his head. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “The laws must be up-held,” the loa says, matter-of-factly. “Come what may.”

  “Bullshit.” B’s eyes are like flint. “Your damn laws are outdated. The world isn’t black and white. There are gray zones, Papa Legba. And this”—she points at the crowd—“qualifies as one.”

  “Gray zones?” the loa thunders. “Those are the reason we’re here, child.” His white eyes focus on me. “Isn’t that right, Alexander?”

  Muscles stiff, I feel like the running joke of the universe.

  The loa rises to his feet, moving around the table like a lion, hunting an antelope. “You crossed a line when you fell for a witch. And not just any witch either. A Bishop witch, a descendant of one of the oldest bloodlines.” He wrinkles his nose. “You upset the natural order when you fathered a child born of witch and hunter blood.”

  Whispers roar through the bar
.

  “A child?” Torres barks.

  “What the actual fuck?” Draco hisses.

  “Did you know?” one of the PAU agents—name’s Luke, I believe—asks Carter.

  “I…” Carter shakes his head, the shock of the news still rippling through him. “I had no idea.”

  The loa doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the hunters’ gossip phone. “And as if all of that weren’t enough,” he says, sounding pissed, “you upped the scales by selling your soul for her, paving the path for the world’s end.” He inches closer. “Tell me, Alexander, have you not learned your lesson, yet?”

  What lesson? It’s not like I wanted any of this. I didn’t wake up one day thinking: hey, let’s fall in love with a witch, get her pregnant, leave her, and sell my soul for her. “You can’t choose whom you love.” My voice sounds alien to my own ears.

  The loa laughs. “Never said you could, son.” He narrows his eyes, his mood changing rapidly. “Doesn’t make you less responsible, though.”

  “Enough.” B is between us. “We didn’t summon you to lecture Alex.”

  The loa straightens. “Restrain yourself, child.” He tilts his head to the side, ogling her like a damn coyote. “You might be a powerful mamba, but never forget where your power comes from.”

  His thunderous voice startles hunters and demons alike. B, however, doesn’t give a shit about his warning. It sorta makes her angrier. “You call yourself good, act all righteous and great”—she blows out some steam—“but you’re just a puny little god. Too fucking scared to help us save the whole damn world.”

  “Scared?” The loa half-laughs, half-screams. “I am Papa Legba, guardian of the crossroads; I don’t fear the demon nor the witch. But unlike you, I live by the rules of heaven and hell.”

  B’s in his face. Two seconds away from smashing it. “You don’t get it, do you? There won’t be any heaven or hell left when the gate is opened.”

  The loa isn’t impressed. He’s not going to help us, I can tell.

  Time for plan B. I push B aside. “You’re right.” Raphael casts me a sidelong glance, but I pay no attention. “This is my fault.”

  He flashes me a nasty grin. “Glad you’re finally coming to your senses. Witches and hunters don’t—”

  “No,” I blurt out, fully aware of what he’s about to say. “Being with Manda was never wrong. I don’t care that she’s a witch and I’m a hunter. She was there for me when my kind”—I eyeball the other hunters—“turned their backs on me. She repeatedly saved our dumb asses, despite the fact I held a gun to her head. She traded her goddamn soul for mine. So yeah. I love her. Always have always will. If that’s against some stupid law, then heaven and hell need a lesson in history. Or did you forget what happened when race defined your worth?” I have a million examples up my sleeves—slavery, Hitler, the senseless slaughter of Native Americans. Racism, no matter in which form, always ends ugly.

  The loa crosses his arms. “What’s your point?”

  I force my spine straighter. “The only thing I truly regret is not trusting her. You see, I was so scared she’d go dark, I practically forced her into the demon’s arms. So go ahead and put the blame on me. I deserve it. But you”—I look him in the eye—“will have to live with the outcome of this battle just as I have to live with what I’ve done.”

  “He’s right,” Raphael says. “Everyone will hear of the great Papa Legba, who refused to save the world.”

  The wheels in the loa’s head start turning. He grabs the cigar, taking a few drags while considering his options. It takes forever and a day ’til he speaks again. “Fine.” He reaches for the punched coffee, sipping it. “I’ll help you, but under one condition.”

  I hate deals. “Which is?”

  The loa moves closer. “You’ll do whatever it takes to stop Amanda Bishop.” His eyes are polar white. “No ifs or buts, Alexander.”

  “No,” B yells, tears pricking at her eyes. She understands what the loa asks of me, that whatever it takes could be Manda’s end. “We don’t need your help. We can do this without you.”

  The loa smiles. “They”—he gestures at the hunters—“won’t survive the first attack without Ogun’s blessings. You know that as well as I do, my child. Why else would you have called upon me?”

  “I don’t care,” B barks, slamming her hands on her hips. “He’s not going to—”

  I push her to the side. “Okay.”

  The loa eyeballs me suspiciously. “What was that?”

  I’ve never liked myself, always missed the self-love Manda clearly had too much of. In this very moment, however, I hate myself to the point where I’d rather be someone else. “I’ll do whatever it takes.” I swallow some of the self-loathing, drying my mouth. “You have my word.”

  “Alex!” B digs her nails in my shoulders, shaking me. “Are you crazy? He wants you to—”

  “We don’t have a choice,” I cut her off, unable to look her in the eye. I saw what Manda is capable of. Marching all these hunters and witches into a battle with her and the First Knight without protection is suicide. I can’t let them die. Manda—the real Manda—wouldn’t want that either. Why else would she have begged me not to hesitate? I didn’t trust her once. I won’t make the same mistake again.

  B loathes me even more than I loathe myself. Didn’t think that was possible, but damn. The hate in her eyes pierces my heart like the poison of a scorpion.

  “Good.” The loa steps around B. “Then we have a deal?”

  I extend my hand. “We do,” I assure him.

  He shakes my hand, facing Raphael. “You may call upon Ogun, son.”

  Raphael lights the remaining candles—one black, one green. “Ogun, lord of war, come to us.” He looks at B. “I can’t do this on my own.”

  “I don’t care,” B barks. “I won’t be any part of this.”

  One nasty look from Raphael changes her mind. She eats one of the grapes laid out next to the weapons, and closes her eyes. “Ogoun, mèt nan lagè, vin jwenn nou.”

  Papa Legba’s head falls back. “He’s here.”

  Raphael pours a glass of rum, shoving it toward the arsenal. “Bless these weapons with your never-ending wrath.”

  “Beni zam sa yo ak ou kòlè pa janm fini,” B translates.

  A fraction of a second later sparks fly across the table. A cloud of fire rains down on the weapons, a damn Fourth of July firework in the middle of a bar.

  Raphael grabs the bowl with the charms, pouring the bottle of rum all over it. “Bless these charms with your magic and protect the ones who wear them with your power.”

  Like a priestess, B holds her palms over the bowl. “Beni cham sa yo ak majik ou ak pwoteje yo menm ki te mete yo ak pouvwa ou.” Her eyes catch fire. Literally. They are two burning flames.

  I sense the fear of the hunters behind me. Most of them have come face to face with mambas before. Yet I’d bet my Mustang, none of them ever felt that kind of power. The café has turned into a sauna. Energy jolts through the air. Feels like we’re in the midst of a thunderstorm and lightning is about to hit. Only lasts a minute though. Then the flames extinguish and B is back to her normal self.

  “Damn,” she says, flinging herself back down on the chair. “That was—”

  Her nose bleeds.

  Jesse is by her side. “You okay?”

  Shooting him a dark glance, she wipes the blood from her face. “I’m fine.”

  Raphael eyeballs his sister. He’s without a doubt worried. I recognize the expression. It’s the universal big brother look. “Sorry, I thought he’d use me.”

  Papa Legba, still inside B’s mom, grins. “He seeks power, son. And your sister is—”

  “Can we finish this?” she cuts him off.

  The loa sighs. “As you wish.” He faces me. “Don’t forget your promise, Alexander.”

  How could I? I pretty much gave him my word to kill the only woman I ever loved, the mother of my son. “I won’t.”

  The loa blink
s. A second later, B’s mom is back. I’m glad to see those light brown eyes again. “It’s done,” she assures us.

  Raphael takes the bowl with the charms. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  They go around handing the amulets to the hunters when Carter walks up next to me. “You have a son?”

  I just agreed to kill Manda. I can’t handle Carter and his twenty questions. “Looks like it,” I mutter, heading out to catch some air.

  ****

  The sun slowly sets, wrapping the small town in orange light. Every second slipping through the hourglass is one step closer to the end. There’s no delaying nightfall. When the last rays of orange drown giving birth to the silver of the moonlight, I will be forced to face my worst nightmare—the possibility of losing Manda. The question is can I honor my word? Am I capable of doing whatever it takes? Even if that means killing the woman holding the key to my heart? I search my soul for an answer. Except, the hollow black hole tells me shit.

  Tired and drained, I gaze into the distance, watching, waiting, praying. I haven’t heard from JJ, Bay, or Constantin yet. I keep telling myself Leandro will be okay. He’ll grow into a happy young man. But I’m just lying to myself. Because even if they get him out of there, and even if we can stop the apocalypse, he might lose his mom. Possibly both of his parents in a single night. Yeah, I’m not naïve enough to believe all of us walk away from this in one piece. The knight has a legion, Manda, and the First Grimoire. Judging by our last encounter, Manda alone can take out half of the hunters inside the bar. Long story short, there’s a good chance Leandro will be an orphan after tonight. And I? Well, I’ll probably never get to meet my son.

  “But he’ll grow up knowing his parents loved him,” Mrs. Lacroix says, sitting down beside me. I’m not surprised the mother of all mambas can read my mind. Being around Manda taught me no secret is safe around witches.

  Casting her a sidelong glance, I’m not sure what to say. I mean, how can he know we loved him when we were never there?

  “He’s lucky to have you as a father,” she goes on.

  “Yeah.” Bitter laughter crawls up my throat. “So lucky, his mother hid him from me.”