I prepare to go back across the street to face off with what Porsoth has told me to expect is a now nearly all-powerful Solomon Elerion. Mag’s to my left. Luke stands on my right. Both of their presences are one of the few things that keep me standing. Jared has already gone back to loop around the alley two buildings over to the back entrance.
It’s a long shot, this whole plan, but one we have to take.
Never has someone been in so far over their head as me—and I’ve brought people I love along. We are trapped between Heaven and Hell’s armies on state highway 25. The business my mother worked so hard to build is presently headquarters for a cult that is this close to ending the whole world.
Neither of the armies has made a charge forward yet, though there’s speeches and cheers and jeers happening on both sides. The whole scene is a little like being in the middle of the most surreal Super Bowl halftime show ever.
People love to predict the end of the world, especially cult leaders. Seems like it would be bad for business, setting a date. Risky. What if you’re wrong?
But it happens over and over again.
By all accounts when you read about doomsday cults, the followers are disappointed when no catastrophe comes. Sometimes they take matters into their own hands, Jim Jones or Heaven’s Gate style, choosing murder or suicide or some combination. Ending the world one way or another because they want it to end.
A lot of people seem to want to believe in the end. That this, their life span, is when it all goes kaboom. But there has to be a better way to feel special.
Baffling as I find it, didn’t I spend many church services reading Revelations and jokingly referring to it as the coolest book of the Bible? I did. There’s a thrill to reading about the Mark of the Beast and the Antichrist and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The devil in his pit. The lake of fire.
But when our preacher used to long for it, called Armageddon a happy day, I never believed that. To want the world to end before other people are ready for it to strikes me as selfish.
Plus, I’m not ready for it to end.
“You’ll keep Bosch over here,” I say to Porsoth, who remains on grimoire protection and backup duty. “She’ll want to follow us.”
How could anyone want the world to end with so many good dogs in it?
“I will protect her with my life.” Porsoth makes it a solemn vow, and Bosch, sitting patiently at his hooved feet, is clearly on board.
I do remember his demon voice though, heavy with vibrato and threat. Appearances, deceiving, and here we go …
“Jared should be in place by now,” Luke says, echoing my thoughts.
The three of us walk forward, one deliberate step at a time. I do my best to ignore the roiling sky above.
Mag’s nerves are practically radiating, and distracting them seems like a good idea. Also, who knows how this is going to end? They’re my best friend forevermore. I want to know about their falling in love.
“How did it start with you and Jared?” I ask.
Mag is quiet.
“I’m not judging,” I say, “just making conversation.”
“He asked for my help,” Mag responds slowly. “One of his classes was doing a unit on copyright and a case related to digital art came up. He asked me to coffee to talk about it, crediting and not crediting, that kind of thing. All the stealing that goes on.”
Whatever I expected, this wasn’t it. “So you were helping him with his homework?”
Mag shrugs. “Yes and no. Three hours passed, and we were still talking, so we went next door to get a drink. And then he made this admission to me, when he was walking me to my car later.”
“What was it?” I’m riveted.
Mag can’t keep a smile off their lips. “Turns out he has always had a crush on me.”
“What?” I can’t believe it.
“I know, right? He just never worked up the courage to say anything.”
“That’s disgustingly sweet. Okay, I approve. You decided to go out and…?”
“I told him I had to think about it, because I didn’t want to hurt you. But then I kept thinking about him and how easy he was to talk to and, I’m sorry, but how cute he is … I said yes to a date. Then another. We didn’t know if it would work out, so we decided to wait and see. I hated lying to you. But we … we just feel right.” Mag lifts their hands to indicate it got away from them. “We never found the right time to tell you. Jared wanted to, but I was afraid and so I was definitely going to do it this weekend…”
“What else do you like best about him?”
Mag answers quickly. “Honestly? He listens. That’s how it started, not just us talking, but him listening. I told him how it feels, the way people look at me, the things they say that they don’t expect me to hear or see…”
“Who?” I ask, as always ready to call out anyone who hurts my friend.
“That’s the thing,” Mag says. “He listens. Sometimes that’s all I want. Sometimes I don’t want anyone to do anything except hear about it.”
Oh. “I’m not good at that, am I?”
“No, you’re really not, and that’s okay,” Mag says. “But Jared is.”
I catch Mag’s eye. Mine are stinging a little with the emotion of everything. “I trust you with my life. I don’t want you to be afraid to tell me anything ever again.”
Mag smiles, glittery lipstick catching the light. “So…” they say, “what about you two?”
“What—” Oh. Mag means me and Luke.
I don’t know how to describe my feelings for him. I’m not sure why I kissed him inside just then. I only know I wanted to in case Solomon somehow broke the deal. I didn’t want to risk never getting to do that again.
“We’ve been through a lot,” I say.
“What she means is, she met my parents.” Luke’s voice is a little strained, almost like he’s embarrassed or worried about how I might respond. Is that even possible? His heart-stoppingly attractive face stays calm as still waters.
“And a dragon,” I say, casual. “Who is also a goddess.”
“Wait.” Mag stops, eyes wide, absorbing what Luke and I have said. “You met his parents?”
Okay, so some things are not capable of being discussed casually. Dragon goddesses, Lilith, and Lucifer Morningstar among them.
We’re almost across the road now, and there’s no time to get into all that. Luke saves the need. “I feel like we’re all learning and growing so much. But look alive, there’s bad guys in the lobby.”
I swallow. “We are so screwed.”
“If anyone can manage this, it’s you,” Luke says.
The jury is out on whether it’s possible at this point. Though I didn’t actually mean to say that out loud, the (mostly) confidence helps. Whether the cult will buy this last-gasp effort now that they have what they want—let’s just say that the jury’s out on that too.
“Is it wrong that I’m planning to enjoy it, if at all possible?” Luke asks with a grin.
I could say yes, but … “If it goes well, hopefully you can.”
Not that anything much has gone well. Not that I’m counting on this to. There’s a first—and maybe last, period, the end times—for everything.
“Here goes the world’s best chance,” I say.
The three of us take the last cautious steps to the front door. I figure the cult members on duty will open it to greet us, probably by telling us to get the hell out of Dodge. But I have to knock on the glass where our logo is imprinted.
Mag and Luke wait right behind me.
There’s some conferring inside and then a robed guy pushes open the door, barely, and says, “What do you want?”
“Hello to you too,” I say. “I’d like to speak with Solomon.”
The guy begins to snarl what is surely a no, so I add: “We’re interested in joining your cause. He’ll want to see us.”
He hesitates, then says, “Wait here.”
The door shuts.
Luke puts a steadying hand against my back. “You did good,” he says. “Very convincing.”
“I’m not a dog. I don’t need pats.” What can I say? I get cranky when I’m nervous.
He must sense the lie in the second part, because he keeps his hand in place for a long moment. I lean back a little, into his touch.
“Thank you,” I say.
The door opens. “You have five minutes,” the jerk says.
The other cloaked cultist up front is a woman. She smirks and says, “You should have said another five minutes.”
The jerk guy frowns in acknowledgment that her way would have been pithier.
“Where is he?” I ask.
They make no move to escort us. That’s fine by me. I got a whiff of the door opener when we passed and I don’t think he’s had a shower since this all started either. I got to clean up with first Luke’s and then Lilith’s finest array of hellish plant-based soaps or I’d be just as gross.
“Second room,” the woman finally says.
Solomon’s in Tesla’s Lab. Good.
I thought he might use that one, because despite the more appropriate décor of the Chamber of Black Magic, Tesla’s Lab is far more open and roomy for conducting evil shenanigans with the Spear of Destiny to brandish.
The hallway is clear, other than us. Luke conjures some sneaky shadows around Mag. While he and I enter Tesla’s Lab through the outer area, they keep going, slipping along the hallway to let Jared in the back without tripping the alarm.
The door to the room is open—the cultists probably forced it. Which gives me an idea.
I stride over and lift the knocker. One, two, three. Bang, bang, bang. The keys topple from the ceiling, and I snatch them from the air and pocket them.
Luke lifts an eyebrow at me.
“Keys can come in useful,” I whisper.
“Enter,” Solomon says without a hint of trouble. He probably assumes we’re more of his henchmen and -women.
A cultist appears in the doorway. At least they’re not wearing plague doctor masks anymore. “It’s them,” the man says.
“It’s us,” Luke says with a rakish grin and maneuvers past the cultist. I follow suit.
Solomon and the bulk of his followers have rearranged the lab to be their makeshift stomping grounds. The lovingly placed furniture is jammed against one wall. No one could ever follow the clues to get out of here now. If we make it through this, Mom is never going to leave me in charge of anything again.
The cultists surrounding Solomon melt back when he greets us. “To what do I owe the imposition?”
Solomon holding the Holy Lance is the most deeply wrong thing I’ve ever seen. There’s a faint cloud around him—a dark halo—that must be from its power. Restored, reunified, it must be five feet long, the wooden shaft ending in the metallic spear point, and even at thousands of years of age looks like exactly what it was and is: a weapon.
Luke and I glance at each other.
“You passed the test,” I say as grandly as possible.
“Flying colors,” Luke adds.
Solomon levels the lance at us and it’s only remembering that he can’t hurt me that keeps me from running in the other direction. That and the con we’re trying to sell him.
“I’m not really a guardian,” I confess. “I’m allied with Luke here, whose father is—”
“Lucifer Morningstar, sovereign king of Hell.” Luke shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “He needed to make sure you were up to the task you’ve set for yourself.”
Solomon absorbs this. I wonder if Luke has any anxiety about what happens next, or if it’s only me that does. Maybe he doesn’t get anxious. No, that can’t be it. Everyone does. He must be excellent at hiding it, is all. Probably comes with the demonic starter pack.
Or with a dad like his you don’t show weakness to.
Suddenly, I’m grateful that ours ran out on Mom and only bothers to send a card with fifty bucks every year on our birthdays.
Solomon slowly shakes his head and then he chuckles. Save me from people who chuckle. “That’s why we got you instead of Rofocale, the minister. He sent his son.”
“The crown prince,” Luke says. “You could have been a touch more polite…”
Solomon waits, bowing his head slightly. Does that mean he’s buying it? The rest of the cultists do the same.
Luke dusts off his hands. “But bygones. We have bigger worlds to fry.”
“Sir, it’s happening,” one of the cultists says and holds up a phone.
Solomon lifts his hand and bares his teeth in that awful smile. “Speaking of that…”
“What’s happening?” I ask. My pulse quickens. Are we too late?
“Our first move,” Solomon says. “The weather today is cloudy with a chance of fire and brimstone.”
“Where?” Luke asks and feigns appreciation. I hope he is, anyway.
“Here.” Elerion lifts one hand from the lance and sweeps it around us.
“The angelic host outside will love that.” Luke whistles.
This is not good. We have to get the Holy Lance back, stat.
Luke must read my mind. He stretches and does a sort of yawn with an eyebrow arched. “You should let Callie have a go with that thing, as a favor to me. Father loves her.”
Solomon Elerion hesitates.
The clatter from the hallway reaches us. We all swivel toward it.
I figure we’re made and dive toward Solomon. I get one hand on the Holy Lance and it glows. Not pure white, not the darkness from before, but a mix of both as we struggle.
“Get her off,” Solomon says.
His cultists come at me and Luke begins knocking them out one by one with a hand in front of their faces. Since they can’t manage to grab me, presumably because of Solomon’s promise that I won’t be hurt, Luke’s strategy is effective. Although some of them manage to evade him, and the room descends into general mayhem.
Especially when Jared jogs through the door, Mag right behind him.
Solomon wrestles free from me and backs off to stand against us.
“I should’ve known,” he says.
“Yeah, you should’ve,” Luke says and knocks out the last cultist with a lifted palm. “Too bad you made that deal.”
“The deal doesn’t say anything about hurting you.” Solomon lifts the spear and points it at Luke.
My body thrums with the knowledge: He’s not wrong. He wouldn’t be that brave, would he? To threaten the devil’s son?
“Luke wasn’t lying about who he says he is,” I say.
“Then his father would probably thank me.” Solomon frowns as if thinking. “I don’t think this is fitting company for a prince of Hell. So, what will it be?”
“He’s not wrong,” Luke says to me. “He can’t hurt you and that’s what matters.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “No way. You promised to help me. Jared, catch!”
I toss the keys from the ceiling to Jared and lunge forward again.
I don’t go for the spear. Solomon is still holding it up, which leaves a crucial part of his anatomy unprotected. Jared darts around me and jabs the keys toward his face, raking them down one cheek, then dancing away.
Solomon’s roar of pain leaves me able to spike my knee hard right into his crotch. He moans and shoves me back before his knees crumple and …
The spear flies free.
“Luke!” I shout.
Luke doesn’t move for a long second and then he rushes in and grabs the lance with both hands.
The glow turns a soft red. Luke’s face tells me everything I need to know about how it feels for him to hold it.
He’s in agony. His scream confirms it.
He said it didn’t hurt him before … Another lie … But why? Why didn’t he tell me?
Solomon gets up and stalks toward Luke but Jared throws himself at the cult leader’s feet, hanging on to halt his movement as he attempts to keep walking. I start wide to get to Luke.
Solomon attempts to push Jared off him, which must not count as hurting. The two grapple.
“Get away from them!” Mag has found the painting meant to be Tesla’s beloved pigeon in the mess against the wall. They rush forward, gripping it in both hands, and bash it over Solomon’s head.
Which goes clean through. I’m impressed.
He staggers and—
He falls, his head sticking through the painting.
I finish my journey to Luke as quickly as possible and pry at the Holy Lance. His eyes are closed and he hangs on like his life depends on it. “No, I won’t give it to you. No.”
“It’s me,” I say. “Callie.”
Luke sucks in a gasp of air as his fingers release. His legs give out and he crumples to the floor.
Then I’m flying backward with the Holy Lance in my hands, the relic emitting a light so bright it seems to come from inside me and outside at once. We did it. We got the lance away from Solomon Elerion and his awful order. I didn’t honestly get to this point in my brain, because I wasn’t sure we’d be able to do it.
Definitely not this fast.
There’s one question in my mind: What do I do now?