by Dima Zales
“Hola, tia,” I said, shoving my hands in the pockets of my duster. My fingers wrapped around the rosary self-consciously. Sure, she wasn’t technically a demon, but there were plenty of times during my childhood that I thought her to be inhuman.
In mere seconds, the surprise trickled out of her aged face to be replaced with the same harsh stoicism I’d seen for years.
“Hola, chica. It’s been a long time, no?”
“Yes, it has.”
She tapped ashes from the end of her cigarette, crossing one thin arm beneath the other and taking a drag on the cig. “What do you want?”
I licked my lips, trying to figure out the most delicate way to ask. “I was at the psychiatric hospital looking for things about Mom. They said they forwarded the rest of her things to you. Can I take a look?”
Aunt Carmen stared at me for a long moment before blowing out a stream of smoke inches away from my left cheek. I didn’t flinch. She grunted at me and opened the door all the way. “Fine. Come in.”
I stepped inside and immediately shut down all my senses. Cigarette smoke permeated anything vaguely resembling oxygen in this apartment. To my surprise, a few things had changed. The old tan couch made of scratchy cotton had disappeared and a green couch sat in its place, though the usual stains and burn holes were there. A dirty glass table covered in magazines sat in front of it, reflecting images from the large TV propped up on a set of phonebooks nearby. The kitchen was to my right, but I could only see the fridge and part of the counter from where I stood. Past the den lay the bedrooms. I hoped she wouldn’t make me go back there to see her husband Rico, provided that he was even home.
Aunt Carmen brushed past me and grabbed a small glass from the coffee table that had an amber liquid in it. I didn’t even need to guess—Jose Cuervo. Her favorite kind of tequila. Such a charming woman.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to speak up. “Where are her things?”
She drained the glass and set it back down before answering. “It’s been eighteen years, chica. Do you really think I kept them all? I sold all her valuable stuff and threw the rest out with the garbage.”
Anger flared up my body so fast that I got dizzy. I clenched my hands into fists and reminded myself it was unwise to punch an old woman in the face, even if she deserved it. Instead, I just shook my head.
“Cold bitch,” I spat.
Her bony hand lashed out and hit my right cheek, leaving a patch of my skin stinging. It made me flinch, but not stumble.
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that in mi casa, morena del Diablo! I took you in when you had nowhere else to go, puta,” she shot back, eyes narrowed to slits.
“Forgive me if I’m not grateful,” I growled back. “But you weren’t exactly Surrogate Mother of the Year. If it’s all the same to you, I’d have rather been raised by wolves. They’d have been cleaner and nicer than you ever were.”
She spat contemptuously at my feet. “You think that’s funny, eh? What else would you have done if not for me? Found your deadbeat father? He didn’t want you any more than your loca mama—”
I took a step forward, putting myself mere inches from her face. The anger boiled hot in my stomach and flowed down my arms like a scalding tidal wave.
“Don’t you call her that again in front of me or I will break you over my knee like a twig, old woman. Now do you have anything from my mother in this shithole you call a home or not?” I snarled.
She didn’t back down, just stared at me with scorn. “On top of the bookshelf there is a picture. You may have that,” Aunt Carmen said, pointing to her left. Against the wall was a short wooden shelf where pictures of her children and other ancient magazines had been stacked.
I walked over and knelt, seeing a picture frame that had been turned over. I lifted it and found an 8x10 inch photo of my mother when she was close to my age. Even this horrible place couldn’t lessen her beauty. Slowly, the rage subsided and I could think straight once more.
I picked it up and headed for the door. Aunt Carmen decided this was a good time to start in on me like she used to before I left.
“Go on, go! Leave the only family you have, selfish brat! We live like cucarachas in this place without enough food or clothes, but that doesn’t bother you, does it? You aren’t good for anything, niña. You never will be. You’re gonna end up like your pathetic mama someday and I won’t be there to even take enough time to spit on your grave.”
I yanked the door open and walked out, only to find myself face to face with Michael.
“I told you to wait downstairs,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
Michael’s face had a stoic quality to it that led me to believe he’d heard either most or all of our conversation. “Sorry.”
I shook my head and turned my back on my aunt, beckoning the archangel. “Let’s go.”
“Just a second.” To my surprise, he brushed past me and walked over to one rather surprised Aunt Carmen, offering his hand.
“Michael O’Brien. I just had to meet you.”
She spared him a suspicious look, shaking his hand once as she eyed him. “You got something to say to me?”
Michael flashed her a stunning smile, the kind that made women weak in the knees, and tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he shook his head.
“Y’know, there were a lot of things I thought I’d say to you if we ever met, but I never thought that I’d say thank you.”
My eyes widened. Aunt Carmen’s did as well. “‘Scuse me?”
Michael continued on in a calm, polite voice, though the smile evaporated into nothing, leaving his handsome face serious as a heart attack. The air around him seemed to fill to the brim with static. I could feel the waves of anger flowing out of him in my lungs, in the back of my throat, in the pit of my stomach, as if our bodies had melded into one.
“I said thank you. If it weren’t for your cruelty, your cowardice, your selfishness, and your ignorance, then the woman standing behind me might not have come to be. It’s not your fault that your mother treasured your younger sister more than you and showered her with love and praise. I know how that must have made you feel. You became bitter and resented the both of them, so as soon as the opportunity presented itself, you leapt into action to betray your sister. When the hospital called to hand custody of Jordan over to you, it was like Christmas morning, wasn’t it? What better revenge on Catalina then to break her daughter beyond repair? But then something happened, something unexpected. That girl you worked so hard to destroy grew up and became the very person you hated the most. She is beautiful, kind, intelligent, and full of life. I’ve been around for a very long time, Mrs. Durante. Her kind of radiance is rare in this world. So I hope for your sake that you someday have enough sense to ask for her forgiveness because if you don’t…there is a place waiting for you where they won’t take as much pity on you as I have. You have a nice evening, ma’am.”
With that, he turned around and walked down the hallway. Before I followed, I noticed the utter shock on Aunt Carmen’s face mixed with a very human expression of fear, perhaps remorse. Served her right.
I caught up with Michael after a few paces, matching the stride of his long legs. We walked in silence towards the steps, serenaded by the crickets and car horns surrounding the dingy apartment complex.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” he replied, descending the stairs with me at his heels.
I sighed, mostly because I knew I could never stay mad at him. “Thank you.”
Just as we reached the last few steps, my shoe snagged on the rusted railing and I pitched forward. Michael whirled around and caught me in a blur of motion. For a handful of seconds, his large hands suspended me above him and I stared down into his face, breathless, my head fuzzy with thoughts it had no business entertaining. A slow smile touched those full lips and I felt the vibrations from his chest as he spoke since we were pressed so close together.
“You
’re welcome.”
20
“As a Seer, you don’t possess what the average person would consider ‘magic.’ It’s more a manipulation of energy through speech. When you acknowledge the true nature of something, you are able to unlock its abilities.”
Michael paced back and forth in front of me as I sat in the grass on top of a small, secluded hill in the park. In the latter part of August, the heat slackened its moist grip on the city, leaving cooling breezes and pleasant atmosphere. I waited until he finished his small speech to respond.
“Now, in English, if you please.”
He rolled his eyes at me, but grinned anyway. “Fine. In Layman’s terms, you’re going to be defending yourself through speech, not some kind of mystical mumbo-jumbo. I’m going to teach you how to channel your energy so you can protect yourself.”
“See? Was that so hard?”
“Not as hard as it’s going to be,” Michael said with a sigh, plopping down in front of me. He crossed his legs and regarded me seriously with those green eyes of his.
“Gabriel has already exposed you to some of the language I’m talking about. When you invoke a spirit’s crossing over, you’re accessing a kind of verbal power. There are three basic versions: to heal, to defend, and to attack. For example, Raphael’s greatest strength is in healing incantations, which is how he was able to bring your body back to life after you were stabbed. Gabriel’s greatest strength is in defending, which you haven’t seen yet, but trust me when I say it’s impressive. My greatest strength is in attacking, but we won’t get to that until you’ve had experience with the first two. It’s dangerous if you try to utilize the energy untrained.”
“What exactly will I be saying to access this power? Bible verses? Ominous Latin chanting?”
He grinned. “More or less. There’s no need for the Latin, in actuality. It only works if the person has faith. There are hundreds of religions, but they all draw strength from the same source. Therefore, the one most relevant to you is Christianity, and since you understand the Bible in English, that’s what you’ll speak. The same would go for a Hindu Seer and so on. It’s the belief that counts.”
Michael scooted a little closer. “Close your eyes.”
I did. “Now keep breathing slowly and tell me if you can feel what I’m doing.”
I arched an eyebrow, though my eyes were still shut. “This isn’t going to be one of those awkward moments that changes our friendship forever, is it?”
He sighed again. “Jordan.”
“Sorry.”
After I had been slowly inhaling for about fifteen seconds or so, I felt a strange sort of warmth surrounding me. It wasn’t exactly physical—it simply felt as if the air around my body had risen in temperature. Then, something within my chest responded to the heat and sent wafting waves of coolness towards it.
“Do you feel that?”
“Yes.”
“This is what I was talking about a moment ago. You’ve been emitting this kind of energy at an unconscious level and that’s what draws the ghosts to you. It calls to them, like it does to anything that isn’t purely human.”
I opened my eyes. “Demons too?”
His expression hardened. “Yes, unfortunately. The Fallen don’t have as many powers as the angels, but they did retain many of their old ones after the War in Heaven. It’s why we’ve had so much trouble fighting them.”
“So this energy I’m feeling now…is that why I can sense your emotions sometimes?”
He gave me a surprised look. “That’s exactly why.”
“So what does it feel like to normal people?”
“Since you’re a Seer, you feel it directly. To them, it’s more like a…mood. If I were to influence, let’s say, one of my bandmates, they would feel a change in mood and wouldn’t know why. It’s not exactly a kind of control, although I could force that on them.”
“And that’s why the demons wanted your body.”
He nodded. “The demons could incite rage, hatred, violence—any sin they could think of—over human beings. It’d be mayhem.”
“Is there anyway to block it?”
“For normal people, no. For you, yes. You can draw your energy back into you and form a sort of shield. Here, I’ll show you.” He straightened his back and shoulders, resting his large hands on his knees.
“I’m going to try and influence you. When you start to feel it, try to wrap the energy around yourself as protection.”
I shut my eyes again and reached deep down until I felt that odd cool sensation once more within my grasp. When the warmth tried to reach me, I concentrated on twisting the energy around me. It began to seep through the cracks so I raised my hand, which seemed to give my power more physicality. The heat receded after a moment or two, leaving goosebumps on my bare arms.
“Good. I’m impressed.” Michael smiled, his voice genuine instead of teasing like usual. “From now on, we’ll practice this every morning until you’ve got the hang of it.”
I pouted. “Aw. When do I get to do the cool stuff like shooting mind bullets?”
He grinned again. “You have much to learn, young Padawan.”
“If you start in on the Star Wars quotes, I am leaving.”
“Fair enough. Now that you’ve got the basic feeling down, we can start on defense incantations. Before you say anything, you have to have drawn the energy around you, much like you did just a moment ago, and say ‘In the name of the Father, I reject.’ This causes a metaphysical barrier between you and whatever’s coming at you. It’s not going to be very strong the first time you do it, but the more you practice, the stronger the barrier becomes. Give it a try.”
I cleared my throat, feeling vaguely silly as I repeated his words. “In the name of the Father, I reject.”
After I spoke, I felt the cool, invisible energy crystallizing around me.
Michael nodded. “Good. If done properly, it can buy you enough time to fight back, retreat, or come up with another plan. You have to remember that it’s not permanent. The only person who can sustain one for long is Gabriel.”
“If he can do that, why didn’t he form one to protect me when Belial attacked?”
“You can’t form shields for others because the energy doesn’t work that way.”
“That sucks.”
He smirked again. “Yeah, it does.”
“Are you any good at shielding?”
Michael shook his head. “That’s why I got my ass kicked by Mulciber.”
A shudder went down my spine at the mention of her name. Evil soul-sucking bitch. I hoped she was rotting in Hell where she belonged. “Why didn’t attacking her with your energy work?”
“The weapons she had been using on me were resistant to those kinds of attacks. They pretty much bounced right off of her. You have to understand that there’s sort of a hierarchy of demons. Mulciber is among the most powerful. Belial is the so-called favorite of their little ‘family,’ but she’s the brains of the outfit.”
“What can you tell me about…Belial?” His name left my mouth like a whisper. Part of me still felt hesitant about saying his name, as if he’d hear it and appear. I may have been a brave fool at times, but I did not want to see him ever again.
The archangel paused, thinking. “Not much. You read Paradise Lost, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s pretty accurate on that account.”
I shivered a little, rubbing my arms. “‘Belial, in act more graceful and humane; a fairer person lost not Heav’n; he seemed for dignity compos’d and high exploit: but all was false and hollow; though his Tongue dropt Manna, and could make worse appear the better reason, to perplex and dash maturest counsels. Book II.’”
His eyes softened their gaze on me. All at once, I felt my shield crumbling because of my lack of concentration. Calming waves of emotion flowed out of Michael into me. For once, I didn’t mind. I honestly needed it.
He opened his mouth to say something sympathetic, but I int
errupted. “What can I use to attack?”
Michael shook his head. “Your power is too raw for that right now. It could be dangerous.”
“To whom? You’re an archangel,” I pointed out.
“No, that’s not why. Attacks take more energy out of you than defense or healing. If you use too much, you’ll end up drained. I’d rather not carry your unconscious body out of the park,” he added, arching an eyebrow.
I fought the urge to frown. “Alright, good point. Let’s keep going with the defense, then. But the mind bullets had better happen eventually or I’m calling shenanigans.”
“One more comment about ‘mind bullets’ and I’m taking away all your Tenacious D CDs.”
“You’re no fun.”
“We’re here.”
Michael’s voice interrupted my thoughts, and I realized that my mind had drifted off to memories of the past during our silent car ride back to the hotel. After we collected Marianne, we’d be heading to the orphanage for a meeting with Jameson. That would at least be a step in the right direction to solving the mystery of where all these ghosts had come from.
Speaking of which, the timid ghost was waiting for us outside of the lobby when we rolled up. She glided straight through the back door of the car without hesitation. Some ghosts picked up on the odd phasing thing quickly while others, often children, took some work.
I withdrew the directions I’d gotten out of my back pocket and read them aloud as Michael weaved his way back onto the main road, though Marianne’s hovering above the seat behind me was awfully distracting.
Around twenty minutes later, we arrived at the orphanage—a large, four-story brownstone building settled on its own few acres of land outside of the city. There had been light rain earlier, so the ground was slick and the children weren’t out in the playground out front. We drove into the parking lot around the left side of the building and got out. The plan was simple—we’d be interviewing Jameson pretending to be novelists while Marianne completed her final wish. It sounded a little creepy, but then again my job involved helping ghosts, so that was a given.