A Mark Unwilling

by Candace Wondrak

  “Did they do something to you?” I question quietly, hating that I never asked before. What kind of friend am I? A terrible one.

  “To me? No. To my parents? Yes.” David shakes his head. “I’m not racist for the sake of being racist against the undead. They’re bad. Period. Don’t let them fool you into believing otherwise.”

  I force a smile. “Don’t worry, David. I won’t go making friends with them. As soon as you’re ready to go, we can get out of here. Unless my master comes back and makes me kill you all.” I mean it as a joke, but we both know it’s a very real possibility. I cough, trying to change the subject. “Any ideas where we’ll go? I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii.”

  David manages to chuckle. “I cannot portal over that much water. The risk of drowning is too high. Plus, I know someone who can’t swim.”

  Gently kicking his foot, I mutter, “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  We sit in comfortable silence for a while, until Deb returns with a bowl. She retakes her place beside David, silently offering him the mushy paste. “Do you want me to…” she says, trailing off, probably unsure how to ask about his ears.

  David runs a hand through his hair. “If…if you want to, sure.”

  Watching Deb tenderly smear some paste onto his bloodied ears makes me want to vomit for an entirely separate reason than motion-sickness.

  I get up, grab my backpack, and hit the sack early, exhausted from the never-ending day.

  Of course, my sleep is not dreamless.

  The feeling of wood on my back is startling, hard, and scratchy. Rough rope holds my wrists and ankles together, tying me to the wood. All it takes is a slight breeze for me to realize that I’m naked. Naked and tied to a cross.

  My cross sits in the desert, and my head hangs low, gravity pulling it down. My hair sticks to my face. The air is hot and dry, stifling. I try to breathe in, but it’s so very hard. It takes a ton of strength to lift my head up and lean it on the cross. The sky is a dusty, tannish-brown, even though the sun is up. The entire landscape is nothing but sand. No dunes, no hills. Not a single living creature.

  I look to my left and to my right. Both directions have the same nothingness. Helplessness overtakes me—something that I very rarely ever feel—coupled with surrender. My lips, parched and cracked, open, and I try to call out for somebody, for anybody, but no one comes. I don’t know why I expected differently.

  Hours seem to pass, and the sun descends. When the first edge of the sun hits the horizon, the ropes holding me up loosen, and I fall off the cross, too inept and weary to catch myself. My face meets with the sand. To my surprise, it isn’t hot. It’s barely lukewarm.

  How did I get here? I wonder, glancing all around. The cross, of which I’d so recently been held to, is gone, as if it never existed in the first place.

  A loud, thundering voice booms throughout the air, and I have to hold both ears to block some of the loudness, “Considering your owner, girl, you certainly have a weak mind when you dream.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I shout into the sky, “You want to come down here and say that?” The warm breeze blows through me, and my courage wavers. “On second thought,” I say, using one arm to cover my chest and the other hand to cover my lady bits, “don’t.”

  “I wonder, would you still fight me if I offer you something you thought impossible?”

  I think it over. “I have to cut this short. My parents told me not to talk to strange voices in the sky, especially when I’m naked.”

  The voice carries on, not choosing to address my remark, “Your fealty is all I ask. Swear unto me an oath of allegiance, and I will strip you of your Mark. No longer will you be forced to bow to the young Morningstar.”

  “Instead I’ll have to bow to you, right?” I wait a moment, taking in the voice’s silence. “Exactly. I think I’ll keep my Mark for now, but if I’m ever shopping around, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “The young,” the voice growls, “always so impetuous.” The sky splits, and a streak of red courses through it, rolling and crackling. “Naïve and trusting. Be gone, Human! And know that my offer will not last forever.” When the voice stops, the sky itself cracks. The brown field of dust falls onto me, crushing me into the sand and instantly waking me up.

  Josefina snuggles against me, and as my eyes refocus in the dark, I bite my lip. Was the voice Hades? It sure sounded similar to the voice I heard at David’s shop—but why would Hades want my loyalty? Why offer to take my Mark after seeking to have me killed? I dislike all the questions and hate the fact that I don’t have any answers for them.

  What feels like years pass.

  Okay, more like a day or two. Either way, day or year, it’s forever, and during that time I’m on constant watch, waiting for my particular brand of Devil to come back and drag me away from my friends and family. I do my best to avoid any confrontation with Mike; the FBI agent does the same, on his best behavior, especially while in the same room as my mom, whose dirty glances are nothing to take lightly. David spends the time searching the pantry and kitchen, hoping to find some common household ingredients that contain magical qualities when used with the right combination. He also does a lot of complaining about Vampires and the end of the world. Both I can’t blame him for; they each suck in their own life-ending way.

  The Vampires do their best to remain sane and Human-like, but every time I see one, I know they’re strained and anxious. Immortal things, they worry about what the end of the world means for them. Practically invincible, those who previously thought they were above or beyond true death now sit and fret. The ones without Sapes start staring at those who do, too long to be a normal look. Irritation, jealousy, envy…eventually the blood stock they have will run out. Cloud does his best to keep the peace, but really, I wouldn’t know. I stay away from him, mostly, to show David that I’m neither an idiot nor a lovesick schoolgirl.

  I have values and morals, and being a cliché heroine of an urban fantasy novel doesn’t sound appealing to me.

  I sit with Josefina and entertain her as we play with her growing collection, coming up with a complicated storyline of Humans who turn out to be Fairies who go to a school that specializes in magic. Classes include: potions and alchemy, magic for beginners, and self-defense. There’s a pregnant school teacher whose baby turns evil, an escaped convict from another planet who pretends to be a student, and a lot of field trips to random places where evil is always afoot.

  She loves it all.

  “Sorry, Josie,” I say, setting my self-named Barbie down, “got to use the little girl’s room.”

  Josefina giggles. “You’re not little!” She says it as if it’s the world’s worst kept secret.

  I pause and whisper, “Are you calling me fat?”

  All she does is hide her mouth behind her hands and laugh more. Children. Next to anything can make them laugh. Got to love them, at least when they’re not entitled brats. And Josie is anything but a brat. The girl is doing well, considering her mother’s death. The same, I guess, can be said of me, but for my father’s.

  Why did you go and sell my soul to the Devil, Dad? Why? And why the heck did you play the hero and leave me here with Mom? Thanks a bunch.

  I can picture him saying something that starts with Kiddo back. How long will it be until I can’t remember his voice? What if my owner commands me to forget everything about my past life, and despite the wiring in my brain and good memory, I forget all about him? Not very good thoughts, those.

  I head around the mess of clothing and dolls on the floor, intent on going to do my business and returning to the story of Mrs. Walker’s baby aging at a supernatural rate. Deb sits on the bed, sketchbook in hand, biting the end of the pencil, looking thoughtful. It’s been a while since she showed me any of her prophetic drawings, and as I pass, I lean over, trying to get a peek.

  Deb quickly brings the notebook to her chest, her freckled face turning a cartoony red.

  I meet her light eyes and poke
her in the side, a quick, teeny tickle, and before she can react, I yank the sketchbook from her hands.

  “Hey,” she says quickly, once she overcomes her involuntary laughter, “you can’t—”

  Raising my eyebrows, I ask, “Private, huh? Why…” And then I look at the picture and instantly see why Deb doesn’t want me to see the picture. After studying it for a few moments, I return my stare to Deb, who waits for it—a joke, a question, anything to explain the picture I have in my hands.

  But I can’t, because the look on her face is so flipping priceless.

  I leave the room, and she’s at my heel like a dog, asking, “What are you doing? Give that back—”

  “Can’t,” I say simply, going towards the kitchen.

  When we see David taking stock of some herbs, Deb quickly whispers, “No!” She tries to take the notebook back, but I’m faster and stronger than her, anyway. I sidestep her and flip the picture to David, who nearly drops two glass jars of salt.

  “What do you know about this penis?” I deadpan, smiling inwardly at myself, and at Deb’s wailing.

  David stares at the flawlessly penciled-out manhood for a while. Deb stills behind me, waiting for his response. He coughs awkwardly, slowly setting the salt jars on the countertop. “Uh…” He gestures to the picture, unable to say it.

  I’m very able, though, and so I say, “It’s a penis. Go ahead, say it. Penis.”

  David acts grossed out. “Must you…”

  “Interrogate you about this penis? Yes, I must,” I finish for him.

  “Can you stop saying—”

  “Penis?” I offer, much to both his and Deb’s chagrin and embarrassment. “Why? It better not be yours, buddy. I know I said you and Deb would make a cute Warlock-y couple, but it seems a little soon to be flashing your junk—”

  Deb is the one to interrupt, “He didn’t flash anything!”

  I turn to her, mockingly aghast, even though I’m pretty sure the girl thinks I’m being serious, “No flashing, huh? So it was out for a while, then?”

  Her color turns an even redder cherry. “No!”

  Seeing that I’m not about to let this go quite yet. David comes to her rescue, “Lexa, I don’t know what you think, but that’s—well, it’s not mine.”

  I flip him the picture again, and he recoils like it’s some gross crime scene photo. “Are you sure?”

  He slowly adds, “Not that it’s any of your business, but after three hundred years, I’m not that even.”

  I make a humph noise, turning to Deb to whisper, “Now you know what to expect.” I take great joy in the horrified and embarrassed expression on her face. Hey, my owner might come back at any time, right? I have to enjoy the time I have left, and if that means embarrassing everyone I know, then so be it.

  I’m about to hand over the revealing photo of a man’s most private parts when Mike steps into the eating area, Eve following him and pestering him about not only his failed assassination of me, but also his Mark.

  When Deb sees my mischievous look, she utters, “Don’t.”

  But I’m already gone, skipping to the traitorous Mike and shoving the picture in his face. He backs away, bumping into my mom.

  “Hey,” Eve states, moving around him to see the object in my hands, “Lexa!”

  “What is…” Mike, though younger than David by many years, takes the picture in stride. He does not laugh, nor does he crack a smile. He only asks, “Why is there a picture of a dick in my face?”

  I lower the picture as I hear David moan at the d-word. “Have you ever seen it before?”

  “If you’re asking if it’s mine,” Mike says in a heartbeat without any hint of hesitation, “it’s not. I have a bit more skin.”

  David makes a gagging noise, shouting from the kitchen, “Too much information there!” Beside him, Deb has both hands covering her face.

  I chuckle to myself as I wonder just how far I can take this. I always knew David found talking about that kind of stuff embarrassing. Yeah, we’ve been friends for a while; acquaintances longer than that, but mostly we avoided talking about that sort of stuff. As I tap the spine of the notebook, I wander away from Mike and Eve, my eyes fixing on a small frame hanging on the wall, housing an ugly photo of a daisy.

  “Lexa,” my mom warns, “don’t.” As if she knows exactly what I’m going to do.

  She probably does. Though she gets on my nerves, she is my mother.

  Much to the horror of the easily embarrassed people in the mess hall, I crawl onto the table, lift the frame off the wall, and do a little switcheroo. The daisy comes out, and the immaculate penis goes in. As I hope off the table, David is beside me, looking strangely stern.

  “I think that’s enough,” he says. His ears have scabbed over. The Warlock is confident that the points will grow back within a few weeks.

  I stare at him for a good, long while, whispering, “Is it?”

  David’s not having any of my attitude. “It is.”

  “It is really?”

  “Really,” he says, more like a growl. He’d be scarier if I didn’t know his favorite pajamas have fuzzy emojis on them.

  Sighing, I act repentant. I offer him the frame and the penis, but before he can take it from me, I say “Psych” like I’m caught in some nineties’ movie. I take off running down the hall, far too gleeful as I hear him swear up a storm behind me.

  What a knight in shining armor.

  I head to the room with the stone seat, and find that Cloud is, for once, not sitting in it, spread eagle. I place the frame on the stone seat, facing it outward into the room.

  David mutters something in another language, probably another string of swearwords, before asking, “Happy now? You completely embarrassed Deb.” Deb, the prophetic girl who, I notice, hasn’t followed us. “It’s a little juvenile, don’t you think?”

  “Does that penis look juvenile?” I say, watching him gleefully as he cringes.

  “No, but the way you’re acting—” David’s reply is cut short when Cloud walks in the room, sipping blood out of a Lion King mug. The Warlock steps away from the Vampire, momentarily forgetting about the penis.

  Cloud’s light blue eyes study the picture, and he takes another long sip from his mug. He licks the blood off his lips, which admittedly, grosses me out. “Why,” he begins slowly, “is there a picture of a penis on my chair?”

  “Can everybody stop saying the word penis?” David yells, startling me with his intensity. “I’m surrounded by fucktards, I swear.”

  Cloud repeats the word “Fucktard” with a mystified expression, as if he’s never heard someone use it before. His fingers strum the mug’s rim. “What an odd word.”

  I’m about to make my own joke when I freeze. “Wait a minute.” My gaze travels back to the picture. My stomach churns as I say, “I think I’ve seen that particular penis before.”

  Letting out an exasperated groan, David says, “If you got down and dirty with Cloud or one of his flock—” He shoots a dirty look at Cloud. “—all offense meant, I’ll…Lexa, they’re undead.”

  Cloud says smoothly, “If you’re insinuating something about blood flow, let me say that it is far easier to do after a feeding.”

  David stares at him for a moment, and his face turns into a frown. “For the second time in the last five minutes, that was too much information for me.”

  “It’s not a Vampire—” I pause, finally respecting David’s wishes. “—ding-a-ling. It’s the Devil’s.”

  The Vampire leader remains quiet, but David steps up, expression softening. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know…you acted fine, so I assumed he didn’t—” His stupid sentence ends when I punch him in the arm. “What in the hell?” He rubs his arm.

  That’d bruise.

  “He didn’t,” I say through gritted teeth. “Even though he talked about it. A lot.”

  “Oh…then I’m confused,” David says, still rubbing his injured arm. “Where the hell is your master, anyway?”

&nb
sp; As I open my mouth to say that I have no clue, Billy walks in wearing a studded orange and yellow suit. A feathery hat rests on his head. His shoes are, of course, platform. He sees the picture and snaps his fingers, smiling a toothy grin. “Groovy! So it’s that kind of party?” He turns to head out, adding, “Let me change.”

  Cloud stops him. “No party. None whatsoever.” The Vampire studies Billy’s outfit. “But feel free to change anyway.”

  “No party?” he echoes, sad. “Then what’s with the…” Billy points to the picture.

  “You don’t want to know,” David mutters.

  “Whose it is?”

  “Why, you want it?” I ask, incredulous at the Vampire out of his own time. “Feel free, buddy.”

  Billy flips up his collar, says the word groovy one more time, and takes the picture, picking it up in awe. “What a beauty. I have just the spot for this.” And with that, the Vampire disappears, a gust of wind all that says goodbye.

  Cloud heaves a tremendous sigh, taking another sip from the mug. “I have never before felt this disappointed in my kind.”

  I laugh, while David scowls. “We’re leaving tomorrow, by the way,” he says to me, pointedly in front of Cloud. Cloud, to his credit, takes it in stride. Everybody knows our respite here is temporary.

  Although I wouldn’t have dropped it on him quite like that. Manners, or something, right?

  “Great,” I say, although I sound the opposite of enthused.

  Just great.

  “Where exactly are we going to go?” I ask, watching as David shoves a jar of salt into a backpack he may or may not have taken from a Vampire. The rest of the group, Mike included, wait in the adjacent room. I want to hear the plan first, though, because I have a feeling my friend doesn’t even have one beyond the get away from the Vampires part.

  “Anywhere,” he says.

  Just as I suspected.