by Diana Estell
At first, she seemed unable to form the words with which to protest. “My part? How is taking an innocent boy easy?”
“He is not innocent.”
“How can you think that? Do you believe this?”
“Yes, I do. All humanity is not innocent.”
Mary sat back on the bench. Her face blazed red.
“Mary, please, let me explain.”
“I don’t see how you can explain this.”
“Savila cursed humanity, which I played a part in. This curse flows in the blood of humanity. Fundamentally, this curse binds everything to Savila.”
“But how does this explain how Mark is not innocent?”
“Let’s look at it like genetics. This is a curse of humanity’s genetics.”
“This still doesn’t explain anything.”
“Mary, Andrana and her mate made a choice for power and knowledge, like I did. Neither of us had to do this.”
“And so a wrong decision made by Andrana and her mate affects everyone?”
“The word ‘wrong’ is a bit tame, but yes, one finite choice has infinite ramifications.”
Mary felt the blood drain out of her face and an increasing saltiness pooled in her mouth. She hid her face in her clammy hands. In a daze, she saw everything Dagon had ever told her merging into this pinnacle moment. Every dream she ever had whizzed by in micro-seconds, but the most recent dreams slowed down for her to focus on.
“You said I didn’t fall. Do I have this genetic curse?”
“Savila took you from the bridge and hid you from me. Hid you within history itself. Hid you until right now. To fulfill her destiny.”
More than the endless questions, more than any of the impossibly difficult things that Mary tried to believe, she had to come to grips with a fundamental truth. Did she trust Dagon or not? Yes. He had been protecting her in her dreams, so she had no reason to doubt him. If Dagon said that she must, then she must. Contemplative, she nipped at her lip. Her eyebrows furrowed deeply in concentration. She hugged herself for comfort.
“Can I hold you, baby?”
She let him hold her.
“I am so sorry. If there were any viable way for me to spare you of this burden, believe me, I would.”
Mary eased out of his arms slightly, so she could look at him. His eyes were beautiful. They seemed endless and ageless, in contrast to his youthful complexion. She saw the sorrow in the depths of them, in his soul, perhaps.
“I know I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating. The only way for us to help humanity is for us to co-rule. The only way to break the bonds with Savila is to fulfill them through this undesirable path.”
It reassured Mary that there were other Seraphs among them. How could a boy be allowed to be taken by an evil creature like Savila? “Meeting Savila only once is enough to know she’s pure evil disguised in beauty. Evil and beauty just don’t match up.”
“It’s all in the packaging, luv.” Dagon explained Savila used beauty, among other distortions, to ensnare people.
One problem: Dagon was beautiful, the most beautiful man who ever lived. Could Dagon’s GQ image, his packaging, be deceiving her? Could she actually refuse this task? Perhaps she was trapped, though she saw tenderness in Dagon, vulnerability even. “All right. What do I need to do?”
“I need you to sign something. Your signature on the document, which would be turned over to Savila.”
A signature on a document sounded human enough to Mary, almost too easy and too human. Mary waited for the catch and then it came.
“You won’t be signing the document like you would have in the human world, for in the Seraphic world, signatures are emblazoned in gems.”
Strangely, she used a pen that Dagon took out of his coat to write her full name on top of Dagon’s black onyx. The letters penetrated in blazing heat into the stone. Then when needed, Dagon would place his gem onto the document, and the signature would transfer to its surface.
According to Dagon, her signature blazed away in his ring, though she couldn’t see anything in it. Mary squinted and tried to see the signature, but she only saw the smooth reflective surface of the onyx.
“Only Seraphic sight can see the blazing letters, for the gem had been created and invested in the Golden Land,” Dagon explained. He stared at her face, his body fidgeting.
“Did Savila place your name and title into the ring?”
“No, Savila did not, but the person who created everything did.”
“Who was that?”
“Not was, is. The One Voice.”
Mary’s mind spun, and she asked Dagon if the One Voice could do anything to stop Savila.
“The law runs with blood, and Savila gains power through the blood. This power Savila has shown to me. But more importantly, you saved me.”
“I saved you?”
“Because I love you, I have been spared from being far worse than Savila.”
Mary was not sure if she saved Dagon, maybe merely assisted, but undeniably, she was a part of something. Something big. “I love you, too. You also saved me by keeping me in your heart. My heart has always loved you.”
“Who gets this new assignment, boss?” said Razz.
“I don’t care who does. I’m busy ... don’t bother me.”
“What?” said Mary.
“I love you, baby,” said Dagon.
“Oh ... I love you.” echoed Mary.
“All that mushy stuff is revolting … who is it going to be?” said Friar.
“Jealous?” said Dagon.
“No … um … who …” Mary trailed off and stepped back.
“All right, Friar, you’re up. This should be an easy and fireproof.”
“Should I hitchhike?”
“You don’t need to hitch a ride, it’s close. Now go!” Dagon snapped his fingers.
“Why did you snap your fingers? Who are you talking to?”
“Just thinking and reacting out loud.”
“I do that too sometimes.” Mary pushed a stray hair behind her ear.
“You know, I probably saved you from a disastrous mistake with your beloved by intervening. I should get paid for being a chaperone.” Mr. Cool pointed to himself.
“Boss?” Friar chimed in.
“That was quick. Well done,” praised Dagon.
“I expect payment. My … um … leather jacket got a little singed from a Bunsen burner.”
“What did you … is the lab still standing?”
“Yes, it is,” said Sledge. “This assignment was not easy and will include hazard pay. No money, no blood kit and definitely none of the knowledge that I garnished. And most important, no way to get a sample of Mark’s blood to possibly save Mary if she needed it as insurance. The bone charm is working great, by the way.”
Mary stood staring at him, an eyebrow raised. “Friar?”
“Long story. So, unfortunately, baby, I must tell you something else. You will be in an alley and will tell Mark the way is closed. You will not see anything after that. I won’t be gone long.”
Mary’s gripped Dagon’s arm.
“I assure you, you’ll be safe. I’ll come back and bring you home. My veils will protect you while you’re near me. Don’t worry, I have this all worked out.”
She nodded and opened her purse. “Here, before I forget.”
She took out a photo. Dagon was thrilled to hold the first photo of himself. He had no photos of his past. It struck him that maybe his past was not meant to be chronicled, that maybe photos of his past would be too painful. Dagon marveled at the snapshots in brilliant color.
All too soon, the day ended, and Dagon walked Mary back to her house. After giving her a goodnight kiss, he went out the front door. He heard the door lock, then saw one of her beautiful eyes peer out the peep hole. He blew her a kiss, turned around, and walked away. Momentarily, he stopped and saluted Frosty, who lay on the front windowsill, before continuing on his way.
In pajamas and stretched out on h
er bed, Mary perused the photos her heart cherished. Tenderly, she drew her finger over Dagon’s beautiful face.
Something created everything! The One Voice. Dagon never answered her about whether this One Voice could stop Savila. Just how Savila gains power through the blood, which was creepy. But the creator of everything created Dagon’s name and title. This had to mean something.
When did Mary’s world change? Was it at seven years old when she had dreams of an angel? When she was being exploited? When her parents died? When her grandmother died? When she bought her own home? When she met Dagon? When she found out he was the angel from her dreams? When had it changed? It changed when Dagon placed her in his heart.
She wasn’t exactly sure why or if anyone was really listening, but she thanked the One Voice for helping Dagon to place her into his heart. Maybe someone watched out for them, and maybe Savila did not know about every purpose.
Knowledge of immortality moved through her heart as she hummed the song she composed the day she had learned Dagon’s name.
Back at his bench, Dagon soared with love, for Mary had finally told him she loved him. And better yet, she had said her heart had always loved him. That fueled his starving heart.
With just a few hours left to deliver Mary’s signature, Dagon told the Cherbs that going into Mark’s cell to take a blood sample, undetected by Savila and the shadows, should be relatively easy, like the clandestine assassination in the Joliet prison. The “relatively” stuff didn’t sit well with them, especially Friar. Dagon’s money, however, did.
Laying out the plan, he told all of them what Mary would be doing and where she would be afterward. Maybe Mary saying she loved him or her signature blazing away in his ring of investiture made him brave, ready to take a leap, the deep plunge. Whatever the reason, Dagon told them he would not block his mind by eating another one of those foul-tasting candies. According to his boys, the lemon drops once tasted good until he infused them with his goofy concoction. Dagon couldn’t argue with that.
On a roll, they tallied up all the crazy ways their boss tried hiding Seraphic ash: he placed it in snuff boxes in the 1700’s, in pipes, in rolled-up cigarettes. In the 1950’s, when the creation of his cigarettes and tobacco were successful, he worried that Savila would detect the strange odor. He experimented with hiding his ancient potpourri blend in benign pieces of candy. He figured Savila always sees him munching on something, and this would be a good way of keeping her in the dark. Over time, he found lemon drops did the trick. Dagon was tired of going down memory lane or into another distracting rabbit hole and told them as much.
“In the light we will move, first with signing the document and then while I am with Mark. I’m choosing Sledge to be with Mary in the alley.”
Uncharacteristically, the guys didn’t argue but agreed it should be Sledge.
“All of us were thinking …” said Mr. Cool.
“That’s a first.” Dagon laughed.
“Already been used.” Razz crossed his arms, looking bored.
“Well, what is it?” said Dagon.
“Since Savila can only read mortals minds and no offense, but all of us except you are pure immortal,” said Mr. Cool.
“What’s your point?” Dagon’s lips narrowed into a thin line.
“We don’t need to eat those crappy lemon drops, that’s what!” spat Friar.
“Eating those crappy things was not a request, but an order. I will take no chances with Mary’s life or afterlife. Got it?”
“Yeah, we get it. The thought of those things makes me …” Sledge shivered.
“If all of you don’t get it, you will get it.” Dagon made a fist. He felt the veins popping out on his forehead.
“Shouldn’t we focus on the plan?” Razz spread his arms.
“Boss, you need to stop interrupting the moment. Take your temper down a notch,” said Mr. Cool.
Dagon made another fist.
“Or a couple of notches.” Friar held up two fingers.
“Back to business. Will this blood save your beloved?” Mr. Cool said.
Dagon’s hands unclenched. “Mark’s blood is a part of this. Maybe it could be a bargaining chip for Mary if my title is gone, and I’m gone.”
“Is it legal?”
“Probably not. Razz, going to Rome is for you.”
“A perfect choice, boss,” said Razz.
“Why him?” Mr. Cool asked.
“My decision is final,” said Dagon.
“We need a code word so that I will know when to come.”
“Good thinking. Okay, when I say 'Rampart,' you make your way over to the alley.”
“Are you Rampart again?”
“I never was Rampart; it’s just a code word, okay?”
Dagon told all of them the rest of the plan, which involved being invisible in the light, some finesse, a hand off, and a send-off. Razz would take the blood sample to the Bank of the Holy Spirit in Rome.
Razz said in no uncertain terms he was not flying coach to Rome or anywhere.
As soon as he agreed to the first-class ticket, Dagon became still.
“What is it, boss?” said Razz.
“Does it not strike anyone as slightly odd that I am the first one Mark will see?”
“Yeah … we’re obviously being framed to take the heat,” said Mr. Cool.
“So, here’s an insidious plot, which began with Mark seeing my face first in his dream. Me in the coveted starring role, no thank you.”
“Yes, but you are dashing,” said Mr. Cool.
“Yeah you are, boss,” agreed Sledge.
“Yeah, I’m striking all right.”
“So, we’ll bring on the heat,” roared Friar.
Dagon said nothing but nodded his head in agreement.
“So, you’re moving in the light? That’s insanely brilliant, boss,” said Mr. Cool.
“It is at that.”
To go into the Abyss without blocking his mind was insane.
Meanwhile, Razz waited patiently, which didn’t shock Dagon. Razz dazzled on the outside but stood edgy and brassy enough on the inside to get the job done right.
“You know, boss … the distance to the airport is too far to walk. Instead of hitching it … how about getting a car, and I think you know what car I’m talking about.” Razz winked. “You can surprise Mary with it and turn her ugly car in for scrap metal.”
Dagon’s mind moved sports-car fast. Ferrari fast, that is.
“You’re seeing it, boss. Aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I’m seeing it.”
“Since when is grand theft auto a part of living in the light?” said the Mr. Cool.
“For shame,” said Friar.
“It isn’t stealing,” said Dagon.
“Okay, boss, but it’s us you’re talking to,” said Mr. Cool.
“You only steal what you don’t own, boys, and …”
“He’s losing it,” said Mr. Cool.
“Just shut it,” bellowed Dagon.
“Are we going or not?” said Razz.
“We most definitely are.”
“Don’t say we didn’t warn you. In case it comes back around and all,” said Sledge.
Ignoring them, Dagon and Razz took off, their sights set on an expensive and exclusive car dealership. A few of the sales staff sat at their desks in the brightly-lit showroom.
“You know, we could just dissolve through the wall,” said Razz.
“Yes, but where would be the fun in that? Let’s go.”
He stood in front of the dealership door and took out a bobby pin.
“Clock me.”
Razz timed Dagon as he jimmied a bobby pin back and forth into the hole of the lock.
“A thousand and one. A thousand and two. A thousand and three. A thousand and four. A thousand and five … come on, boss. A thousand and six.” Dagon concentrated, while the time rose higher. “A thousand and eight. A thousand and nine. A thousand and ten …”
At “a thousand and t
en.” Dagon was in.
“You’re rusty, boss. You worked faster with the washer and dryer.”
“These locks are harder than the washing machines and dryers. Now, you find the paperwork and the key to the car. I’ll change some minds,” said Dagon.
Dagon planted a memory into the minds of the sales staff that the car had been sold earlier in the day. Razz found the paperwork for the car and Dagon filled it out. Lastly, he moved his onyx ring over to the signature line.
“How many of Mary’s signatures can you use from your ring?”
A fraction of an inch separated a potential blunder. His black gem sparkled with anticipation. Darkened rays held in suspense.
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure? Isn’t this kind of risky?”
“Yes, it’s risky, but life is risky.”
Assuming the risk, he placed his onyx on the signature line. Smoky golden sparks seeped out. Cooling lettered embers left a black script that read, “Mary Elizabeth Fauston.”
“Do you have the key?”
Razz twirled the silver beauty in front of Dagon. “Where are we going to park this car until you spring it on her?”
“It will be stored at an old abandoned house. The house has an even older garage in the middle of practically nowhere. Now we ride in … wait, I can’t believe I forgot about this. You can’t drive. We have never sat in a car or been driven in one.”
“Mr. Cool told me all about the Ferrari, and I know how that old youthful man worked this fine machine. I’m good.”
“Okay, take the car to the abandoned home and place the car carefully in the garage. Contact me when that is done for further orders. Here are the legally falsified papers. Put them in the, what’s it called?”
“That’s a mitten basket, boss.”
“No, no, no. It's a glove box. Here now, put these papers in the glove box.” Dagon scoffed at Razz for not knowing proper human terms.
“Are you sure that’s what it’s called?”
“Don’t know and don’t care. Just put it in the box.”
Razz started the car and revved the engine. He floored it and shot out of the parking lot, maneuvering the gears and streets with speed and finesse. Back at the hotel bench, Dagon pulled an envelope out of his coat with the pictures of Mary and himself.