Sam opened his eyes, shocked by what greeted him.
He wasn’t in the hospital any longer, pinned to a bed by leather restraints, tubes streaming from his left arm, machines whirring and beeping.
Rather, he found himself standing in an endless field of purple flowers and tall grass, each stalk of grass the width of his middle finger. Purple flowers grew in thick, tangled bunches. A sea of vegetation. And he stood there, a gentle breeze pushing the plants against his thigh, wondering what happened.
A coma? he asked himself. I was in a coma?
He looked up at the sky, and instead of the deep of a clear New York day, he admired swirling, streaking colors. Like a river. The colors were subtle, as if someone colored lightly, shading reds, greens, yellows, purples, and golds together. And the clouds too—big, puffy, white cotton balls reminding Sam of countless days spent lying on his back in Central Park with his dad.
His dad.
But like he’d taught himself, he pushed away the memories, the guilt, the lump in his throat.
Not now, he thought.
Thankfully, another question popped into his head.
“Am I in heaven?” Sam asked aloud. He waited a second for the answer, letting his hand run along the top of the grass as he walked aimlessly, pushing aside the big purple flowers. Far in the distance, he spied a copse of trees. Even from where he stood, he observed huge, twisted boughs, sprouting angrily from the ground. He picked up his pace and realized the closer he got, the bigger the copse of trees became until they filled the horizon.
“God are you there?”
He concluded that if this was heaven, all the ideas people had about it were sorely mistaken.
“I don’t think you are going to get an answer to those questions,” a voice replied.
Sam turned quickly to his left, surprised by a short figure dressed in an opulent black-and-red suit. He only stood to Sam’s shoulders, but held himself with dignity, his back straight, his thumbs tucked loosely into a pinstriped black vest exposing the red lining of the matching black jacket. But that’s where the familiarity stopped. Where there should have been hair were evenly spaced tiny bumps, and two much more pronounced horns protruded from above his temples, each ending in a golden cap. Where there might have been ears were just gossamer flaps that fluttered in the breeze, each one bearing the weight of a heavy gold earring that would fit around Sam’s wrist.
But it was his eyes which frightened Sam the most.
Rather than blue or brown or green, the creature, for Sam couldn’t call it a man, sported two yellow eyes with black irises. Dark black outlines, like eyeliner, framed each eye giving them an almost haunting look against otherwise pale skin.
The stranger took a few steps forward, his thin lips pursed, watching as Sam studied him, giving Sam a better chance to observe what he might, see him for what he was. Because with each step closer, Sam realized the creature’s skin wasn’t pale but was covered with tiny, delicate-looking yellow scales.
“Seen enough? It’s very rude to stare.”
Sam couldn’t keep the first word which jumped to mind from escaping his lips, and he blurted it out:
“Demon.”
Soon, a host of other words filled his head as his mind created the connections between that day on the way to the doctors: the wall of green fire that crept down the expressway. He saw the people again like it was yesterday: fleeing their cars, screaming, running, some stopping and just staring, praying, begging as the green fire overtook them. And he remembered his mom pulling him from the car, trying to drag him away even as he fought against it, even as he resigned himself to dying and how much better off he would be dead.
And more than that, he remembered the fire when it overtook him, like a hundred thousand tiny little whispers against his skin. Not hot, not burning. In fact, as he remembered that moment, he shivered recalling how cold the fire actually was even as it melted the flesh off the people around him.
What did that voice say? Sam thought as he felt himself there again, bathed in the strange green flames.
The Reckoning, he thought as the disembodied voice in the flames spoke the words, talked about Armageddon, about remaking the world.
The vision of that day slowly faded and Sam focused again on the creature in front of him.
And this isn’t heaven, he thought.
Sam took an instinctive step backward, the color draining from his face.
“Are you the devil?”
The creature smiled, revealing a menacing mouthful of tiny, perfectly white, pointed teeth.
“An almost cliché reaction, considering your species, but not quite,” he replied as he unhooked his right thumb from his vest and, with two gold-tipped claws, delicately removed a pocket watch. He opened the watch and snapped it shut.
The claws suddenly brought the image of Sam’s own arm to mind, the arm he’d seen in the hospital, the arm he hadn’t been able to use since . . . that day. But when he brought it up to look at, he found his arm human again. For some reason he couldn’t put a finger on, he felt disappointed at the discovery.
“Don’t worry, your demon arm hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s just your brain hasn’t come to accept you are part demon now.”
Sam almost let out a laugh.
“Part demon? I don’t feel part demon. And is that how the end of the world works? Some of us humans become demons?”
Sam didn’t bother trying to hide his sarcasm, and the creature’s once almost pleasant smile faded.
“I still don’t know why The Ars picked you,” the demon said as he tapped his claws against each other. Small sparks formed, circling about his fingers. Sam couldn’t take his eyes off the movement, and he soon noticed the dozens of rings which studded the demon’s short fingers. Some were just simply bands of metal while others were intricately carved, sporting strange designs and glittering jewels. “But I am compelled to see this through. Still, I should punish Ezekiel further for touching you.”
The demon seemed distracted for a moment.
“Because . . .” he continued, suddenly lost in thought.
Sam opened his mouth to say something, but the creature snapped back to attention.
“But to answer your question, which you would have found out soon enough anyway, you aren’t in hell. In fact, hell and heaven are human ideas. It is The Ars and The Ether to which the universe owes itself, and both can be good or bad depending upon when you find yourself in either’s presence. But I guess that is neither here nor there.”
He mumbled something Sam couldn’t hear and bowed slightly.
“My name is Purifex.”
“Where am I? What happened to the hospital?”
Sam put his hands to his face and squeezed.
“I must be dreaming, right? You are a figment of my imagination after being in a coma.”
Sam gazed into the sky.
A coma. I was in a coma. But for how long?
“My apologies. I shouldn’t be frustrated with you. I am sure it’s a lot to take in.”
Sam looked helplessly toward Purifex.
“Please, can I go back to the hospital? I want to see my mom.”
But Purifex’s gaze darkened.
“I don’t have time to coddle you, human. Well, part human. You’ve been touched by demon fire. You’ve been given the boon. When you return to that hospital bed, you may not like the changes that have happened to the rest of your world since you were touched.”
“Then this isn’t a dream, is it?”
“I also don’t have time for lots of questions, particularly stupid ones. Of course, this isn’t a dream. I simply wanted to introduce myself to the one who The Ars chose, the only one chosen in a thousand worlds. It is only right I welcome you,” Purifex said, gesturing with his hands, the tips of his claws catching the sunlight and glinting as he waved them into a noble bow.
That’s when it all sank in. Everything Purifex said, everything at which the demon hinted. Sam took a couple of steps back, holding up his right hand, staring at it, trying to imagine what he saw lying in the hospital bed.
“Half demon? Is that what I am now? Is that what happened to my arm?”
Only Purifex was less than amused.
“Okay, I’m going to give you the quick explanation, and then I am leaving. Perhaps I will visit Ezekiel again.” He stroked a tuft of black hair on his chin and finally waved his hand in front of his face as if dispelling a vision. “You are not here. Your body is still in the hospital bed, although we will need to fix that. Yes, can’t have a demon, even a half demon, pinned down in a bed. Not dignified.” Purifex seemed to lose himself in thought again, while Sam looked down at the same jean shorts, sneakers, and T-shirt he’d been wearing that day in the car when the fire came.
“Don’t worry, when you return to the hospital and your body, you’ll still have those wonderful demon parts. But right now, your human mind hasn’t come to accept the changes yet. Might be the reason why you’ve been in a coma in the hospital for over two years.”
“What?”
Sam staggered backward again, tripped, and landed on his butt, crushing the thick grass and purple flowers.
“Two years?”
He stared at his hands as if they might hold the answer to the craziness he found himself in.
A coma for two years?
He turned his gaze upward to find Purifex standing over him, shaking his head.
“I told The Ars we shouldn’t touch any humans precisely because of this. Your brains can’t handle what it means to be a demon. I guess it’s thousands of years of your religious history in which my”—he offered Sam his hand—“our kind have been vilified. It’s hardwired into your brains.”
Sam took the extended hand but wanted to draw away almost as soon as he did from what seemed like an unnaturally cold touch.
Purifex put his hand on Sam’s arm, almost motherly.
“I know this is a lot to take in, but The Ars . . . well . . . me, actually, gave you a great gift. In fact, I heard the demon parts of you are quite remarkable. Almost unique. There are no other demons I can think of with the same coloring—black, green, and gold. Some might say the colors of royalty, although for your safety I wouldn’t go around repeating that. And your right eye? I had been told it was a very rare red, and I can see it’s even got shots of gold throughout. I know I have seen a picture of a demon with your coloring somewhere, but that’s a discussion for later. Anyway, most demons have green eyes, a few yellow like myself, even fewer red, and only one black. The One Master.”
Purifex took a deep breath and picked out his pocket watch again, the gold chain glinting sharply in the sunlight. He snapped it shut.
“I really must be going. Other business calls. But you must go and visit The Ars to learn about the Magicus. In fact, I insist. As soon as you can make a doorway yourself to Ursup. Ezekiel can help teach you the proper way. But the longer you stay away, the more painful it will become until, well, I’m not quite sure what will happen in your case. For demons, the pain becomes so great they eventually are returned to The Ether. But you? Who knows? Perhaps you will just die. The human drugs are most likely keeping the pain at bay now, but when you wake, the need to visit The Ars will begin to gnaw at you, twisting your insides, prickling at your brain until the compulsion becomes unbearable.”
Purifex let out a chuckle and grinned at Sam.
“I am truly amazed by all of this. I didn’t know what would happen, giving you the boon. But half demon? That has a certain irony to it.”
“You think this is funny? You think this is good? I’m a freak! How am I going to go back to school? How am I—”
But Sam didn’t get a chance to finish. Purifex’s eyes blazed brightly, and his entire body took on a subtle glow as flames danced on his scales.
The demon stepped back slowly, shaking with anger. He held his hands out in front of him, the gold tips of his claws clicking rapidly.
“A freak? You dare speak of demons as freaks?” he hissed, the spittle rolling down his chin, engulfed by the flames, and evaporating in an angry steam.
Purifex twisted his hands, the clicking changing a little, more rapid, sometimes punctuating with pokes and swipes.
“If only I could take away the boon!” he roared as Sam lifted off the ground, the power Purifex wielded twisting his body, threatening to snap bones, split muscles, shred his skin.
“You will learn there are punishments for our kind, for those who betray us, work against us. There is an order among us and you, half-breed, are at the bottom.”
There, he said it. That’s what I am. A half-breed.
Sam could think of nothing else than to close his eyes. What did anything matter anymore? He was a freak. He didn’t fit anywhere anymore. The pain began to intensify, and Sam heard his left leg snap. He knew it was broken. But it wasn’t until he felt his ribs give way that the agony almost overwhelmed him.
Why? Sam wondered. Why did this happen to me?
Does it matter? a voice answered. It’s happened. You are different. Everything has changed. But what hasn’t changed is what’s inside you, the one I touched. The one who faced the flame head-on.
Sam’s mind filled with the image of when he stood defiant against the flames, against the perceived end-of-the-world. He thought of his dad and how he had faced down his illness, how he hadn’t given in without a fight even when everything changed.
Suddenly, something inside of Sam broke forth, and a rush of heat and anger filled him, as if his entire body was on fire.
That’s it, the voice said. Die Trying. I really do like that. Where did you say the hat was from? Cabo San Lucas? I’ll have to visit there . . .
But the voice faded away as Sam’s eyes snapped open.
Hovering almost a dozen feet in the air now, he turned his gaze down on Purifex who still seethed with anger, his arms outstretched, the claws clicking and moving in a blur of rage.
Sam looked at his right arm and accepted it for what it was.
A demon’s arm.
Just like he’d seen in the hospital bed, his scales were jet-black with a hint of green and gold, giving them an almost iridescent glow in the pale sunlight. Along the outside, traveling up his shoulder, were wicked-looking curved spikes, some three inches in length.
But his arm wasn’t the only thing that stuck out. Looking down, he saw two great arms hugging him and realized it was their squeezing that was breaking his ribs. Despite the excruciating pain, perhaps tempered by the anger which boiled within him, he managed to twist himself around and face his attacker.
Although scaled like other demons, this one had no eyes, no nose. Only a mouth full of pointed teeth.
And as if sensing its prey was ready to fight, it reared back, maw open, and brought all of its fangs down on Sam’s shoulder.
Sam knew that mouthful of daggers should have pierced his skin. Instead, all he felt was a pressure, like someone squeezed his shoulder hard. That’s also when he realized he no longer wore any clothes. He tangled with the other demon naked. But that’s not what truly caught Sam’s attention; it was more that the entire right side of his body was demonic. His arm, his chest, his leg, his foot. Black scales flickered in the sunlight.
The attacker sensed Sam’s hesitation and reared back again in preparation for another bite. But instead of getting Sam’s shoulder, he got the elbow of his demon arm, shattering many of his teeth and eliciting a terrible howl.
The anger within Sam reached a crescendo. He felt as if every part of his body—every cell, every hair—was humming and twitching with energy.
Looking at the attacker more carefully, Sam realized this demon was more like a snake, its tail wrapped around Sam’s broken leg. Only the pain didn’t register anymore. Sam didn’t feel the bulky, muscular, scaled arms squeezing his midsection. Only anger filled him. And power.
Not giving the monster another chance, Sam grabbed one of the arms around him and, using his demon arm, squeezed and pulled and scratched, his deep-black claws digging into the other’s green scales, producing a hissing, bubbling, yellow puss with each mark he left. Releasing the first arm, he twisted it fiercely with one quick motion, snapping the bone and eliciting another ferocious sound from the monster.
Abused and beaten, the beast began to unravel its tail, relieving the agonizing pressure. And as if the creature’s attack had somehow been stemming the anger, the floodgates now opened within Sam. Twisting and turning in ways he didn’t think possible, he positioned himself behind the creature, his demon forearm pressing around its neck, the long spikes digging into its throat.
“Return me to the ground.”
“You don’t command me, half-breed,” the demon replied, its deep, guttural voice grating upon Sam, worming its way into his heart, pulling forth doubts and dissolving his confidence. “My summoner called me forth to punish you, and only he can command me.”
Sam hesitated for a second as the doubts about his ability to beat his adversary intensified. But it was only for a second. His anger crashed upon his misgivings like a tidal wave, filling Sam with a power that made him feel invincible.
“Then I will kill you,” Sam whispered and squeezed.
Throwing all his might against his attacker’s throat, Sam felt the flesh soften, felt the spikes on his arm pierce scale and muscle. From below, Purifex looked upward, the anger replaced by first an intense interest and then, worry.
In one sawing motion, Sam pulled his forearm across the demon’s throat and its head slid off in a grizzly sound of severed muscle, gristle, and splintering bone.
“Well done, Sam!”
Purifex clapped as Sam floated to the ground, the demon, once entangled with Sam, now dissolving into the air.
The anger and power which filled Sam moments before faded away as the realization he’d killed something settling in.
Tears welled in his eyes as he touched the ground.
“Ah, tears. Definitely not becoming a demon with such strength and power.” Purifex slapped Sam heartily on the shoulder. “You should have seen it! It was remarkable the way you handled the Grendel. Why, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that happening. You took its head off without any magic at all!”
Except Sam felt anything but pride. He was sick. And the only thing which prevented him from throwing up all over his feet and Purifex’s shiny black boots was the realization that neither his leg nor his ribs were broken.
Purifex clapped Sam on the shoulder again.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, although I could have, don’t get me wrong.” He gave Sam a hard stare, his eyes flashing again. “Just wanted you to come to terms with what you are now.”
Sam looked up at him.
“A demon,” Purifex said.
Purifex grinned again, his sharp, needlelike teeth almost beaming in the sun.
“Well, I guess my work here is done,” he said wistfully, as if he had only come over to a neighbor’s house to fix a leaky faucet. “But remember what I said. Get yourself to The Ars immediately. This is only the first part of your transformation. The final will determine the extent of your power.”
Purifex leaned in closer and held up his claws, the sparks still dancing around them.
“Your magic.”
No longer doubting what he’d become or what Purifex was, an intense curiosity filled Sam, a wonder at the word Purifex had used.
“Magic?”
“Most certainly. All demons possess some sort of magic or another. It’s up to The Ars how much will be at your disposal, how much your mind can handle, how much your body can channel. And given what I just witnessed, your magic should be strong, should be powerful, should be . . . .”
Purifex’s expression darkened again as his gaze drifted away absentmindedly.
Sam still struggled with all the conclusions his mind wanted to draw—the anger and power he’d summoned, the creature Purifex called forth, the fact he’d floated off the ground. He told himself over and over again it was a dream. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t. Everything he’d experienced in the past few moments was as real as anything.
Magic?
“But what about science? Biology and physics and—”
“Rubbish. That is a human way to mask the immutable laws of magic. The fact that you are asking about science demonstrates your mind still can’t come to terms with magic being real. But get yourself to The Ars and you’ll understand.”
“The Ars—”
“You can find the temple in Ursup,” he said as he fingered the chain on his pocket watch. “But like I said, I must be going.”
“How do I—”
“Get to Ursup? Like I said, Ezekiel will help you. All you need to do is open a door, my young demon. When we end this conversation, you’ll return to your bed in the hospital. But don’t worry, you won’t be there for long.”
Purifex winked once at him and vanished, leaving a ripple of wind in the long grass and flowers.
Sam glanced around for a moment, trying desperately to make sense of it all. He stared down at his arm and touched it with his other hand. It was cold, the scales smooth like glass. He turned his arm in different directions, the word magic rolling around on his tongue. He tried to remember the power he’d experienced as he tore through the creature Purifex had summoned, but it was a distant memory. And then a sudden, strong pulling in his gut, like he was connected to a bungee cord snapping back, doubled him over. The world darkened and soon he was thrust into a blackness that ripped at his insides.
***
Purifex sat in the plush leather chair and drained his wine glass. Even before he could set it down on the small golden table next to him, it was already filled again by an attentive servant.
Could he be the one? he wondered. Could he be the Azari?
He thought it strange that The Ars had come to him in a vision, come to him with instructions one night to touch this specific human. He couldn’t believe it at the time and had made a trip to The Ars to confirm, only to find the doors to the temple closed. Clearly The Ars had made its will known and didn’t wish to discuss the matter at all.
“But that meant The Ars knew we were going to invade this planet.”
Still, the thought that Sam could be the one gave him goose bumps. Because if that was the case, everything might be falling into place. Finally.
He picked up the goblet and drained it again, admiring his suit as a meek servant was already replenishing his wine, returning quickly to the shadows with the carafe. The finery of the jacked made him think that not everything in the human world was a waste.
“They do have a sense of fashion.”
Leaning further back in his chair, he glanced around his study, at the shelves which lined most of the walls, stuffed with materials he’d collected over the years—books, scrolls, boxes, chests, bags. Everything and anything throughout the demon realms that would lead him closer to the power he sought. He held up his right hand and admired the rings, each one imbued with a different reagent, each one discovered, or recovered, or stolen. He marveled at how much power he commanded through them and their elements. But not enough.
He let his hand fall and picked up the goblet again, draining it, panning around the study again, filled with a sudden emptiness.
None of it—no ring, no formula, no ancient text—provided him anywhere near the power he sought, the power he could gain through the stone.
The prophecy rolled around in his head:
But one day the key found to the chains will be,
The conjunction again for everyone to see,
And stone unhidden waiting for touch,
By the one deemed Azari that he must clutch.
Black as night, thick as pitch,
The stone’s power awaits the switch,
For in the tower it shall be found,
Deep underneath the stone covered ground.
Created from demon fire, the Azari shall wield power untold,
Commanding the magic through which the universe does fold,
To undo everything that has been wrought,
To free or subjugate all with guidance not.
But only after, to The Ars shall he go,
Raised shall he be from the low,
By command and magic its right to bestow,
Or nothing at all, and all shall be woe.
When around stone the Azari’s fingers do rest,
Shall the conjunction halt its progress,
But only to stop it the stone’s power shall be,
And all shall be together between more than three.
He picked up the goblet, full again, and smiled as he drank yet another glass of wine.
Soon, he thought. Soon enough I will have all the power I need. As soon as Sam visits The Ars and ascends to the Azari.
He knew it was all a gamble, but he had to believe that Sam would become the Azari. And if he was right, that meant the stone had to reveal itself. When it did, he needed to make it his.
For hundreds of years, Purifex had studied the prophecy, found references to it in other texts, discovered ancient drawings and writings related to its words. In fact, if he had to, he’d probably tell everyone that when it came to the prophecy, there was no one on all of Demonika, or any world they had conquered, who was as knowledgeable about it as him. Not even The One Master. And so, in his opinion, when the prophecy referred to the power to command, the words spoke about the Azari and the stone.
“There’s nothing special about a half-breed, nothing which would grant him the kind of power he demonstrated.”
But an artifact like this stone? he thought. Now that’s possible.
And the conjunction.
All the universes coming together.
He chuckled and then finished off his drink.
That’s why it was such a gamble. So many things needed to happen just right.
“Well, first things first,” he said as he banged his goblet repeatedly on the table. Soon wine filled it again. “Sam has to become the Azari.”
The more wine he drank, the more certain of this he became. Which meant one thing: the stone would be in his possession soon enough, and he’d have the power to command the army he needed to control all the universes.
***
“Mom?” Sam croaked as he blinked open his eyes. Half of his vision was still hazy, only now he realized why.
“Oh Sam!”
His mother was there, beside him, grabbing onto his human arm, the tears falling down her cheeks.
“How do you feel, Sam?” the doctor asked. Sam turned to face him, seeing him through his demon eye—the pumping of his veins, the beating of his heart, the firing of his neurons. Sam saw him and through him. He could smell his perspiration, his fear, his wants, his desires.
“I’m fine.”
Sam tried to sit up but couldn’t because of the restraints.
“Sorry, Sam. This is for your own good,” the doctor said, examining the clipboard in his hand. “We are going to have to keep you here for observation.”
“I don’t think so,” a deep voice boomed through the room.
And where there’d been nothing in the corner near the sink a moment ago, now there was a fat, bulbous creature. The demon stood no more than a few feet high, but its huge belly protruded forward about the same. Sam could barely see legs underneath its girth, but he was sure if they were anything like its muscular arms, they were something to be feared as well. It fluttered out of the corner and landed on the metal railing at the foot of Sam’s bed.
The demon was brown with mottled spots and streaks of blue, and its eyes, Sam remarked to himself, were a deep green.
The doctor, several nurses, and his mom snapped to the voice as the creature fluttered from the shadows and into the florescent light. One of the nurses screamed once and backed out of the room as the others scrambled away to the far wall, sitting down and staring at their feet. Sam just watched it all happen, wondering why everyone would suddenly become so deferential.
Sam’s mother didn’t move.
“You won’t have him!”
The demon let out a short laugh.
“Have him?” he asked. “I think we’ve already done that!”
Sam lifted his head and looked more closely at the demon, something about its voice seeming so familiar.
Then it hit him.
The voice in the fire.
The voice in his head when the Grendel was squeezing him.
And in a flash, Sam put two and two together.
“Ezekiel?”
Ezekiel bowed as elegantly as he could over his protruding stomach. His petite wings, seemingly too inadequate to support the demon’s weight, fluttered before folding against his back.
The doctor made a sudden move, nothing more than shifting to a more comfortable position, and Ezekiel was on him, fangs bared, wings beating madly, claws poised to strike.
“Bow, worm.”
The doctor obliged, dropping to his hands and knees before Ezekiel.
“That’s better.”
The little demon fluttered onto the edge of the bed. It creaked ominously when he settled.
Ezekiel glanced once at Sam’s mom, and there seemed to be a look of understanding cross his emerald eyes. He nodded once at her.
“Good to see you up and about,” Ezekiel said, focusing back on Sam. Leaning over, he used one claw to cut through the leather restraints as if they were paper. Sam sat up and looked down at his own demon arm again, this time with a different feeling. A little respect, some awe. Perhaps even some fear.
“Did you have a chat with Purifex?”
Ezekiel picked at his teeth. Sam couldn’t help but notice Ezekiel’s claws were chipped and scratched, lacking the polish and jewelry of Purifex’s. And it didn’t escape Sam that when Ezekiel mentioned Purifex, his demeanor changed. He noticed the fat demon’s eyes blaze followed by a scowl.
“Yes. He told me a lot. Told me I needed to get to The Ars.”
Ezekiel nodded as a ripple passed through his body. The fat demon grimaced as if he was fighting against something. He mumbled under his breath.
Is he the one? Ezekiel wondered. Is he the one who will free us all?
He couldn’t help but hope for it, ever since the day Purifex tricked him. The prophecy rattled around in his head as he stared at Sam, distracted. The prophecy committed to every demon’s memory:
Created from demon fire, the Azari shall wield power untold,
Commanding the magic through which the universe does fold,
To undo everything that has been wrought,
To free or subjugate all with guidance not.
To undo everything that has been wrought, Ezekiel thought. To free or subjugate.
Without realizing it, he rubbed his hands together.
And I can be the one to guide him.
“I guess I should say thanks for giving me the boon,” Sam said as he, again, thought about the day in the fire—the screams, the bloodshed. “Better than being dead.”
Sam’s comment snapped Ezekiel out of his thoughts, and he flashed a sly smile.
“I should hope so. Sam, you don’t know everything that awaits you. Demonika. Ursup. The Ars. Magic.” Ezekiel’s face lit up, his eyes wide with excitement, and Sam found it hard not to share the sentiment.
“But there’s still so much I don’t understand. Like what the fire was and why you are here, and why the doctor bowed to you, and why—”
Ezekiel waved him away.
“Don’t worry, all in due time. For now, you need to get strong. Best way to do that is with a mother’s love.” He bowed slightly to Janet, who hadn’t moved from her protective place at Sam’s side. She scowled back, watching the demon like the predator he was.
“I don’t think your mom likes me, but that’s okay. I’m sure she’ll warm up in time.” Ezekiel winked at her. She continued to glare.
“So, you guys should head home, get back into the swing of things. I’ll be by tomorrow or the day after to talk some more, help you get acclimated to all the changes. And then we can start on you calling up a door. It will take a little while for you to get the hang of it.”
“Changes?”
Ezekiel only smiled, but the look from his mom said it all.
The fire was the end of one world, theirs, and the beginning of another.
Demon.