Guardian

by S.B. Rodgers

  Lucifer stilled beside her, his mind a million miles away. He concentrated on a spot on the far wall, a vacant look replacing his previously lustful expression.

  When the connection was broken he looked down at his mate with a mildly apologetic smile. She was so very desirable, but regrettably their tryst would have to wait. Reading his expression perfectly, she crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a frustrated stare.

  “Let me guess!” she demanded sharply. “Draven.”

  He chuckled, knowing that she would much rather he stay and continue. “Yes, Draven.” He said with a soft sigh. “I am sorry love, it seems as though this will just have to wait.” He leaned in and captured her lips once more with his before reluctantly taking his leave of her chambers.

  Frustrated and rejected, Satan sat up with a growl. Pushing herself up from the comfortable, warm bed, she strode toward the mirror. Her eyes flashed crimson with anger. “DUNGEONS!!!” she bellowed, striding forward as the glass rippled, enveloping her as she disappeared into its shimmering depths.

  The pale creature in the corner shuddered, knowing all too well that some poor soul was about to suffer greatly at the hands of his enraged queen. At least it appeared as though it wouldn’t be him; not this time, anyway.

  Chapter 6

  Gabe looked down at the screen embedded in the car’s console. “This…can’t be right…” he muttered, shaking his head in wonderment. He tapped the location on the map, bringing the address into view. “Yeah, they’re the same,” Gabe said, comparing the information on the GPS to the notes that Fong had scribbled on the back of the Chinese menu. “But…this can’t be right!”

  Gabe gawked at the house beyond the large wrought-iron gate in front of him. The gate swung inwards automatically as he approached, almost as if it was waiting for him. The driveway wove up a small hill, culminating at the largest manor house Gabe had ever seen. It was ridiculous, thought Gabe, that he would be the only person living here. It could easily house several families. Or a small village. He grinned and put the car into gear, driving up to his new home.

  He threw open the elaborately carved front door. “Honey, I’m home!” he called out, pausing in the entryway to appreciate the acoustics of the house. While he had expected an echo, he hadn’t expected the sounds of a muffled explosion coming from somewhere to the right of him. He turned his head, listening hard. Another explosion.

  He inhaled sharply and advanced, following the sound. His fingers curled into fists as he felt the tattoos on his shoulders begin sliding around under his skin, forming runes of protection around his body. The delicate silvery-white script that now flowed across Gabe’s skin wasn’t simply decorative. The markings acted as a sort of conduit, a link to the Holy Power that ran through his veins. All angels had them, and, Gabe knew, so did the fallen. The tattoos lay dormant until he had need of his powers, like now. Then the angelic script was free to roam his body, offering him both the protection and control of the power within. His skin began to glow faintly and he darted forward, seeking out the source of the noises.

  This place really is huge, Gabe marvelled as he silently rushed down a long, spotlessly clean corridor. Doors surrounded him on either side. He pursued the sound, making his way toward the large, bright room at the end of the hall. Small explosions echoed around him as the smell of burning plastic assaulted his nostrils. He grimaced—this could prove to be more dangerous than he had anticipated. His long hair trailed behind him as he swooped into the room.

  * * *

  Aiden turned, facing his young friend. “Hi Ga—“ His voice was cut off abruptly by a bright white force-field slamming into his abdomen, sending him flying into the island. His back buckled violently and his head crashed onto the marble countertop before he slid to the floor.

  He lay there completely still, the wind knocked out of him. He began to cough, gasping for breath. When he could manage to breathe again, Aiden propped himself up on one elbow, staring up at Gabe. The silvery script of his tattoos climbed up his neck and framed his scowling face. His eyes flashed white as the power faded, growing dormant once more.

  Aiden tilted his head, squinting up at him. “Ow,” he wheezed, adjusting his glasses. He pushed himself up slowly, grabbing the counters for support. Aiden stood slowly, dusting himself off and adjusting his rumpled clothing. He cracked his neck from side to side experimentally “Was that really necessary?” He rubbed the back of his head gently. “I'd forgotten how fragile these human bodies are.”

  Gabe’s stance had relaxed since Aiden had picked himself up, and as Aiden watched, the power drained from him, the tattoos receding from his face and hands back under his clothing. His eyes returned to their normal stormy blue.

  “What are you doing here, Aiden?” Gabe asked.

  Aiden gestured at the stove behind him. “I was making you dinner, before you assaulted me.” Gabe looked past him at the stove, which was charred black instead of its usual white. Smoke leaked from the door, and it was emitting a hissing noise that was beginning to concern him.

  “Aiden…did you unplug that thing after you destroyed it?” Gabe asked.

  Aiden looked at the stove, then back at Gabe. “Why would I unplug it? It’s still baking my…my SOUFFLE!!” He bolted to the oven and pulled open the door. Smoke and flame billowed out at him, forcing him back.

  “Aiden, get back!!” Gabe glanced around and grabbed the fire extinguisher that hung on the wall. Acting quickly, he pulled the pin and aimed it at the flaming oven.

  Aiden cried out as the foam hit, covering him, the oven and its contents.

  “Turn it off!! Turn it off, Aiden!” Gabe shouted, realizing that the fire extinguisher could only do so much. Aiden leapt forward and smacked the off button with the palm of his hand. When he was satisfied that the fire was finally extinguished Gabe dropped the can to the ground with a clang.

  He looked over at Aiden, who was hunched over the stove, reaching into it with oven-mitted hands. Gabe contemplated kicking him in, but decided against it. The consequences probably weren’t worth it. “Why are you here, Aiden?” He asked exasperatedly as Aiden retrieved the soufflé which was now blackened, smoking profusely and coated with flecks of foam.

  Aiden placed the dish on the counter carefully and pulled off his oven mitts. He dusted his hands off on his frilly white apron, which was now streaked with soot and singed at the hem. He muttered to himself about ‘never trusting that cookbook again’ and ‘call up the oven manufacturers’, seemingly ignoring Gabe’s question.

  “AIDEN!” Gabe finally shouted, breaking Aiden’s concentration as he chipped away at the decimated soufflé with a knife. He turned to look at Gabe. “Sorry, I forgot to ask before, but are you okay? You hit your head pretty hard.”

  Gabe walked towards Aiden, who held up his hands in protest “I’m all right, I’m all right.” Aiden said. “I’ve had worse, you know. Former Guardian here.”

  Gabe frowned at him, unconvinced. “I suppose this blood isn’t yours, then?” He gestured to the puddle of blood on the countertop that streaked down and collected in a smaller, foam-muddled pool on the floor.

  “These bodies are fragile, like you said. Which is why,” Gabe said, walking towards Aiden and gently touching his wound with one outstretched hand “we need to look out for each other. Heal.” he muttered. He felt the burst of power run up his arm, through his palm. Felt it reverberate through Aiden’s head. Felt the wound closing, flesh and bone knitting back together cleanly. “There.” He smiled tightly, letting his hand drop from the back of Aiden’s skull. He looked down at his hand, now red and sticky with blood. “You might want to take a shower before that dries.” Gabe said, nonchalantly wiping the blood off on Aiden’s apron.

  Gabe surveyed the damage in the kitchen, all smoke, blood and foam. “We haven’t even had this place one day, Aiden, and you’ve already destroyed the kitchen…you are the reason I can’t have nice things.”

  Aiden chuckled and turned back to
the soufflé pan, continuing to chip it out. Gabe turned to leave “Don’t bother, you can’t save that thing.”

  Aiden continued stabbing at the burnt dish. “But this pan was expensive…“

  Gabe rolled his eyes and kept walking “Just toss it, okay? You’ve hurt yourself enough for one day.”

  Aiden looked down at the large meat cleaver in his hand “…Perhaps you’re right.” He put the knife down. “Ah, wait!” He called out, halting Gabe at the door. “Didn’t you want to know why I’m here?”

  Gabe sighed in frustration. “Honestly, sometimes I just—“

  Aiden cut him off, smiling. “I’m here to watch out for you!! Starting today, I’m your legal guardian in the human world!”

  Gabe turned on his heel, incredulous “You’d better be joking. I’m not the one who needs a babysitter here!” He spread his arms, indicating the ruined kitchen.

  “Orders from the top, I’m afraid.” Aiden shrugged.

  Gabe turned and walked through the doorway “Just—just clean this place up, please…I’ve got work to do. I can’t believe she ran away right after the class ended!” He griped, knowing there was nothing he could do about the situation with Aiden.

  * * *

  Aiden watched Gabe’s back recede from the doorway and picked up the pan again. He looked it over remorsefully, then tossed it into the garbage bin next to the counter. It fell in with a resounding clang. “Well,” he shook his head “I’ll never use that recipe again.”

  Chapter 7

  Raph ran up the stairs and down the hallway, throwing open his apartment door. He had left it unlocked, as always—no human would dare steal from him. As if on instinct, people gave his door wide berth.

  He kicked the door shut behind him and kept running, dodging piles of rubbish as he rushed to the room. His backpack was thrown off and tossed aside. It flew through the air, landing on a pile of filthy dishes with a clatter. The sound of ceramic shattering behind him did not deter Raph as he jumped over a mound of soiled clothing. Sunlight flashed against his body as he passed the bay window. He blinked and made a mental note to shut the blinds completely when he got back.

  He raced down the short hallway, coming to an abrupt halt in front of the closed door. The door swung silently inward as his fingers grazed the surface. Smoothing his wild hair with his fingers, he stepped into the dark room, approaching the tarnished golden mirror. Placing his palm flat on the worn surface, he murmured one word quietly in the demon tongue. “Satan.”

  The image in the mirror warped, adjusted to show the one he reported to, plus one other. Satan stood in front of him, red curls askew and an annoyed look on her face. “This had better be good, Raph.” She snapped, running her fingers over the scalp of her pet. “I am in no mood for trivialities.”

  Raph spoke quickly “Of course not, my lady. I have good news.”

  Satan arched one perfect eyebrow “Oh?” She asked, looking unimpressed.

  He bowed low, delivering with as much servile attitude as he could muster “The girl is near suicide, my queen. We will have her soul before daybreak.” He stared at the floor in front of the mirror, avoiding her gaze.

  Raph looked up into her shining eyes when she spoke. “This news is excellent, Thief. If you accomplish this you are to be rewarded. However,” The smile fell from her lips, her cold demeanour returning “should you fail me, I will be most displeased.” She reached out for her pet again, burying her fingers deep in its silken hair.

  Raph saw it tense suddenly, then relax into its mistress’ cruel embrace. He bowed again, quickly. “Of course.”

  Satan stared at him haughtily “You are dismissed.”

  “My lady.” He said quietly as she severed the connection. Raph allowed the shudder to go down his spine. It was so close to being over—he only had to wait for her to end it, once and for all. He grimaced, trying to dismiss the twinge of…something in his chest, failing to banish it completely.

  * * *

  Satan watched as the connection closed, Raph’s image disappearing from the mirror in front of her. She raked her fingers through her pet’s silky hair, gathering up a section of it. She began to plait it, twisting the strands together in intricate patterns as she murmured her thoughts aloud. “Soon this will all be over, my pet. If he will not give me his heir, then I will take his throne.”

  * * *

  Abby sat hunched over on the edge of her bed, still and staring blankly at the floor. A few wisps of mousy brown hair clung to her tear-streaked face, clouding her vision. She had changed out of her uniform, the blazer draped carelessly over her desk-chair. The sleeves of her faded sweatshirt were pushed up, exposing her pale forearms. She drew in a deep breath, shifting her gaze. Scars criss-crossed her wrists, faded pink and white lines.

  Abby glanced at the door. She had shut it, but it didn’t block out the sound of her stepmother’s fake, high-pitched laughter, or the sounds of the partygoers upstairs. Kiki had invited all of the District’s high society over to the house, and expected Abby to stay safely out of sight. Abby’s lip curled in disgust. All the woman cared about was herself; herself, and her image. “Pathetic.” She spat.

  She didn’t know what to do anymore. The bullying at school, the abuse at home, her father’s unexplained death and the constant nightmares that haunted her sleep…they were too much for her to handle, and she had no one to turn to. The hopelessness of her situation began to consume her, enveloping her in a mixture of self-pity and desperate self-loathing.

  The solution was simple. She knew it would be different from the other cuts, but the same. With one cut, she could end all of it. With one cut, she could see her father again. Abby steeled her resolve, grabbing the razor blade she had hidden under her mattress.

  She clumsily lined the razor up to her wrist and took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Abby clenched her teeth, willing her muscles to dig in deep, etch the final line. The blade touched her delicate skin, began to push in and tear the flesh asunder when something inside willed her to turn around. The back of her neck prickling, she slowly glanced behind her, momentarily forgetting what she was doing.

  She met her own gaze in the old floor-length mirror that sat across from her bed. She squinted in the dim light. Her reflection overlapped with a shadowy figure, its fiery eyes flashing behind her own. She gasped and fell back against the bed in her panicked scramble to get away. When she righted herself and stared at the mirror again the figure was gone, her reflection the only image there.

  Chapter 8

  The sound of the hard soles of his tall leather boots striking the exquisite black marble floor reverberated through the hall. His steps were measured and confident, never faltering in their rhythm as he strode onto the raised platform, seven sets of eyes following his every movement. He turned, sinking gracefully onto his throne.

  The moment his body made contact with the cold black and silver chair, the throne room came to life. The formerly dark, high-ceilinged hall was bathed in the warm glow of firelight from both the sconces on the wall and the marble oil wells that ran the length of the room. The flickering fire cast Lucifer’s face in a sinister light, alternately black shadow and red-orange glow.

  He cast his eyes downwards on his council, his Seven Generals. “Well? Why was I summoned, Draven? I was in the midst of something rather...fun.” he smirked “let’s not keep her waiting, hmm?”

  Draven nodded, stepping forward. He bowed his head as he addressed his master. “My lord, if I may?” He stopped at the bottom step of the platform and swept himself into a deep, kneeling bow. His long, thick mane of black hair fell forward, revealing the angry diagonal scar that marred the length of his heavily muscled back. The scar was white and puckered in places, the lightness of it contrasting with his otherwise caramel coloured skin.

  Lucifer grimaced. He knew that scar, was there when the flaming sword had bitten deep into his second in command’s flesh and thrown him aside. The wars had not been easy on Drav
en; his skin, Lucifer knew, was crisscrossed with those white scars recording each of his wounds. The wounds from battles that had placed him higher and higher in his lord’s favour until he became Hell’s most decorated General, the Leader of the Seven, presiding over Hell’s armies; second only to Lucifer himself.

  “My lord, I apologize if I have overstepped my bounds by summoning you here. I have gathered the council before you because we feel that we have found a solution to our… most pressing dilemma.”

  Lucifer beckoned him forward wordlessly. Draven stood and moved up the steps to stand on Lucifer’s right side, towering over him. His height and muscular frame made him seem even more menacing than the King of Hell, but it was clear to all who the master was. “Our plan merely awaits your approval, my lord.” Draven said, staring straight ahead.

  Lucifer leaned forward, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Trust Draven to come up with a plan, he thought satisfactorily. “Elaborate.”

  “We will find the girl and bring her to you.” A beautiful woman with curly blonde hair said excitedly.

  “And exactly how do you intend to do this, General Astarte?” Lucifer drawled.

  Astarte squared her shoulders and spoke. “We will send a small taskforce, one that will travel unnoticed and seek her out.”

  Lucifer considered this, turned his head to glance up at Draven. “And who do you have in mind, Head General?”

  Draven kept looking ahead stoically. “We have all agreed that Mammon would be best for the task.”

  Lucifer’s eyebrows rose involuntarily in surprise. “Your son?”

  “Yes, he’s very good at…harvesting the truth. And he holds substantial sway throughout the planet.”

  “Well, if you trust him, all of you, then I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let him try.” Lucifer gestured offhandedly “Send him in.”