Most mistakes in life are no big deal, even the big ones. After an apology, restitution, and a little time or training, eventually everything is fine.
But occasionally, a tiny error can land you in hot water.
Or boiling water, in my case.
Three months ago, while trying to apprehend a vampire who was feeding on blitzed people in a hot tub on the rooftop of a residential building, one of my spells misfired. Instead of a freeze spell, I let off a heat flash. . .and everyone in the hot tub boiled like lobsters. Thanks to a few strong potions, everyone survived, and were mostly fine within 48 hours, but the vampire I was trying to arrest, well. He was the son of their Sublime Chancellor.
Yeah, it’s a really stupid name. Magical organizations are kind of famous for those.
But vampires vote as a bloc, and the New York Paranormal Affairs Chief is an elected position. So when his daddy called my boss, Chief Lumos had to do something.
I’ve been on probation ever since, and let me tell you, having to take remedial magic courses really sucks. Usually magic is fun—spell casting, potions, circles, wards, I like most all of it. But getting sent to remedial magic class is like a plumber being sentenced to spend three months unclogging toilets. Boring, embarrassing, and it stinks.
If I’m being honest, the class hasn’t even really fixed my problem. My magic has been erratic and unreliable since I was a baby. These classes may have helped me learn how to mask my failures more effectively, but I’m pretty sure the real reason I was finally cleared is that my instructors got sick of me.
Until I’m cleared, I have to earn my paycheck somehow.
Which is how I got stuck as the NYPAD liaison to initiates from the human world. In general, the sharpest crayons are not assigned to coordinate departments.
“You’re saying that there are cops out there running around who are actual vampires?” The chunky man with ruddy cheeks leans back in his chair, his disbelief palpable.
There’s an art to explaining the supernatural world to people who only know about parodies, like Twilight or Interview with a Vampire. I usually start with vampires, because most humans want to believe they exist. It makes for an easier transition.
But sometimes, like with this guy, it’s better to just rip the Band-Aid off.
“I think I got ahead of myself.” I sigh. “A war has been waged for more than a thousand years.”
“A war has been waged? Isn’t that a little melodramatic?” He looks around the room. “Are you recording the introduction to Star Wars here?”
Do not smack the fat, rude human, Minerva, not when you’re already in trouble. “This is real.” I cross my arms, expecting another interruption.
He, miraculously, stays quiet.
“The akero, embodiment of all that is light and good, and the daimoni, the epitome of all that is dark and evil, have clashed over and over and over. You’d think they’d have realized the futility of it, but they never did. It’s like an epically bad marriage, where the husband and wife are both taking out life insurance policies and making plans.”
Officer Stevens drops the front feet of his chair back to the ground. “Wait, are you actually serious about this?”
I pull out the laminated photos of the akero, who look like the most gorgeous angels you could imagine, and drop them on the plastic card table in front of him. “I’m not a stand-up comedian.”
He splays the cards out and hunches over them, finally stopping to stare at the most predictable card, the image of Raguel, the akero who embodies joy. The priestess who snapped the photo managed to catch a shot where she has her arms raised, her face upturned toward the Northern Lights, her expression rapturous. It’s a moving photo. I’ve seen grown men cry while looking at it.
Not Officer Derpey here, but you know, emotionally intelligent ones.
“You’re saying the angels and demons are here? On Earth?”
“I haven’t explained that part yet.” He’s wrecking the rhythm of this, and that kind of thing matters with stories. “Their most epic battles happened in many different places. They’re so evenly matched that neither side could gain any advantage. It was sort of like two kids leveling each others’ sand castles, over and over and over.”
“Sand castles?”
Mental note: analogies are wasted on Officer Derpey. “Something shattered the delicate balance between light and dark, and neither of them will fess up to what that was.”
“Something?”
“That’s when the angel Gabriel, their leader, directed the akero to flee for the first time. And of course, the daimoni have doggedly pursued them ever since.”
Officer Stevens blinks.
“First, the daimoni caught up to them on the dragon shifters’ planet, and they fought again, until they destroyed that whole world.”
“Like another sand castle?” He smirks.
Maybe there is hope for him. “Exactly,” I say. “The akero saved what dragona were still alive and took them along when they fled.”
“Okay, and the dragona?”
“They look like you or I.” Although they have significantly less flop sweat than he has right now, but I don’t feel like I need to make that distinction. “The male dragona can shift into the form of a dragon—enormous, magical beasts who can fly and breathe fire.”
“Like Smaug?” He raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“They don’t stay that way, and they don’t ravage towns anymore, but yes. Kind of like that, actually.”
“Did you say only the males?”
“Dragona are born more than twenty to one, male to female, hatched from eggs only a female dragona can lay. The women, in a fit of universal injustice, can’t shift into dragon form. The dragona claim it’s only been that way since they came to Earth. It’s one of the many things I’d like to bug the akero about if they ever deigned to talk to a lowly NYPAD officer like me.”
He’s spluttering, but I decide to move along anyway.
“Anyhow, the akero reached the werewolves’ home next, and the story played out in exactly the same way. And then verse three with the vampires, too. Each time the akero fled, they dragged the weary and broken survivors from the last place they destroyed along with them, earnestly seeking a new, sustainable home in a place where the daimoni couldn’t reach.”
“And now they’re here?”
“Ding ding,” I say. “They’ve been here for over a thousand years now, actually. They finally found what they were looking for on Earth.”
“The daimoni can’t come on Earth?” He’s clutching his badge like it’s a strand of rosary beads or something, his eyes hopeful. At least he’s not scoffing anymore.
“Ironically, it wasn’t the akero themselves who found the solution. Apparently one of the akero, the stories disagree upon which, did something they’d never done, something the angel Gabriel had forbidden.”
He leans forward, and I realize I’ve got him. In human movies and television, the most unrealistic part is how much characters struggle with accepting the paranormal world. Most humans at their most basic want to believe in fairies and werewolves and magic. The second they catch a whiff, they’re like a kid with an empty Pez dispenser, begging for more.
“One of them banged a human and made a baby.”
His jaw drops.
“Angel-spawn, they called them.”
I can see it, like I always can, the second it occurs to Officer Derpey that he might one day hook up with an akero.
“Don’t hold your breath, dude. It hasn’t happened since the first decade they were on our planet.”
His disappointment’s palpable. I almost feel sorry for him. It’s like I offered him the best of all hope and then snatched it away. I probably shouldn’t show them photos, but they usually don’t listen until I do.
“The good news for us is that creating a little horde of angel-spawn worked. They were able to cast the daimoni out and set up wards to keep them out permanently.”
“So the demons can’t come to Earth. . .because of the angel babies? Are you sure they don’t need any more, because I’d be more than willing to—”
“You know what? I think they’re good.” I’m about to use my cold shower spell on this guy if he doesn’t stop.
“How do we know someone’s angel-spawn? Do they have wings like the akero do?”
“They looked like normal humans, as I understand it, no wings. The bigger problem was that the angel-spawn couldn’t find mates among humans—they were too different—and they obviously didn’t belong with the angels. So they married one another, and that created the race of humans known as mages. Witches and wizards, who can cast spells with power that’s linked to but different from the akero’s magic.”
“That’s what you are, right?”
I cringe a bit. “Yes, I’m a witch.”
“So, it’s not like all the angel-spawn are super hot.”
I am going to punch this guy. Two chops right to the throat. “I’m not angel-spawn. I’m a mage, but good call insulting someone who can turn you into a toad.” It’s not strictly true, but he’s getting on my nerves.
“But the paperwork I got said there’s demon-spawn, too.”
Right to the dark side. Guys like this are the reason the New York subways smell like a sewer. “Yes, and that’s where things turn south. The wards created by the angel-spawn, and maintained by the akero ever since, can be broken.”
“Like Smaug’s missing scale.” He grips the table with both hands.
It’s like he thinks we’re part of a movie. “This is my life, dude, and it’s about to be yours. Stop comparing it to The Hobbit.”
He nods his head, almost chagrined.
“The daimoni can be summoned here temporarily, although being inside the warding spells causes terrible pain, like, worse than stepping on a Lego, I hear.”
He frowns.
No sense of humor, this guy.
“But they come anyway because they want to create demon-spawn. That’s their only chance of breaking the wards. Once born, demon-spawn long to descend, which they do by committing sins that will help their nature shift toward that of their fathers.”
“Are you saying all demons are male?”
Maybe he’s not a complete lump after all. “Good question. No, they’re not all male. Half of them are, but obviously a female demon can’t stay here long enough to become pregnant and have a child, so all demon-spawn are children of the male demons.”
“Huh. That’s wild.”
“These children, the demon-spawn, literally become more and more like demons themselves as they do bad things. It hasn’t happened yet, but their ultimate goal is for one of them to Descend, with a capital D. That’s when a demon-spawn literally becomes a daimon, but because it started as a human with a right to be on Earth, its existence would shatter the wards.”
“And then those things could all come in and that same battle would level Earth?”
I nod. “Exactly.”
Officer Derpey’s command of swear words is fairly impressive, really. His parents must’ve been from Jersey.
I wait for him to calm down enough that I can continue. “There are eight deadly sins, and a demon-spawn would have to commit each one in order to Descend. Each time they accomplish one, they gain a new power, and a burst of magic is released. At the NYPAD, we track those, and we ensure that no demon-spawn are allowed to descend past level six.”
“How? How do you do that?”
“There’s an elite group within our organization, the guardians, and they eliminate demon-spawn when they descend a sixth time.”
“Why not just kill them all immediately?” He’s got crazy eyes. Slap some camouflage rubber boots on him and give him a shotgun, and he could play the part of a paranoid prepper in any movie Hollywood has made.
“There are thousands of demon-spawn living constructive lives and not-so-constructive lives, all over the world. We can’t kill them for how they were born. You should know that already. That’s what makes us the good guys.”
He mutters, “Sounds like that’s what makes us the stupid guys.”
“Believe me when I say, we all agree that no demon-spawn can be allowed to Descend. If the daimoni had access to Earth, it would mark the end of everything.”
That’s why I’ve always wanted to be a guardian myself; it’s why I’ve been desperate for it.
But there’s no way they’ll ever select a magical flunkie like me. My own personal Everest? Figure out how to stop flubbing all these spells so I can fill my real purpose: protecting the world from the daimoni threat just like my dad did.
“If all these creatures are out there, how will I know—they could have been walking all around me before now?”
“They have been walking around you before now.”
“But how can I know which ones they are?” He’s showing the whites of his eyes, like a panicked horse.
“We all drink gloffee daily—it’s like your coffee, but it tastes way better, and it works to disguise us from the humans. It’s a glamour spell, basically.”
“So I won’t ever be able to—”
I point at his badge. “That’s charmed. When you’re wearing that, the glaffour berries won’t work their magic.”
He swallows. “So I’ll be able to tell—”
“Vampires move a little too fast. They almost look blurry around the edges when they’re in a hurry. Werewolves usually look a little hairy and sound a little gruff. And witches and wizards usually carry a wand.”
“That’s the only way I’ll know?”
I shrug. “I can sense them—it’s a magical thing. Werewolves, dragona, and vampires can smell each other. Humans—you just need to keep your eyes open and watch for the cues. Eventually you’ll start to pick up on it, too.”
When the door bangs open, I start.
“Officer Lucent?”
My partner Amber never calls me that, but with a human around, she’s acting all formal. It’s kind of cute.
“Yes, Officer Crimson, what can I do for you?”
“We just caught a case,” she says. “An urgent one.”
I blink. “But I won’t be cleared until next week.”
She thrusts a paper at me. “Looks like your paperwork got expedited. You’re back on duty.”
Oh, thank Gabe. I stand up. “Alright, Officer Struppins—”
“It’s Stevens,” he says.
“Whatever. I’m out of here. If you have questions. . . don’t ask me.”