23

Burning pain seared Gabriel’s lungs and his spleen screamed for relief. He could get a few more miles, couldn’t he? God, he prayed, if I get through this, I’m going to start running. “Ah fuck!” he cried out loud and stumbled. He had no choice but to stop and catch his breath. “I swear … help me out here … and … and … I’ll go to the gym every day!”

The sound of thunder and blast of wind came down from the sky and at first Gabriel figured it was God laughing at him. He actually covered his head and crouched down. A sniggering God couldn’t be a good thing.

“A little out of shape, double-dead?”

Not God, Luc. Gabriel straightened, pressed his side and gasped. “Yeah.”

“You have Excalibur?”

“Yeah … Luc … listen …”

“Get on my back.” And without Gabriel even making a move, the vampire had grasped his legs and prepared for flight.

“Listen, Luc!”

But his voice was swept away by the rush of wind. Gabriel was aware that many vampires received supernatural gifts, but he never did. How cool it would have been to be able to fly like Luc, maybe see through walls or hear people’s thoughts like other vampires could. When Gabriel was vampire, all he was able to do was run fast and punch hard. Now, being twice-baked, both speed and strength had weakened to a level only slightly higher than human. There was one good thing though, the fact that Luc had come for him meant that it wasn’t too late.

The star speckled black sky swept by and freezing cold air slapped into his face, glazing his five-o’clock stubble with ice crystals and making his lips ache and crack. Luc wasted no time and bee-lined right for Maxtla. Gabriel’s arms wrapped around the vampire’s neck, holding on for dear life and having no clue how the landing would be, but suddenly touching down was the least of his worries. Maxtla, lit by a pool of streetlights and burning structures, stood out in the surrounding darkness and told Gabriel everything he’d missed. He counted five buildings already nothing but sizzling rubble and one still ablaze. That was nearly half of Main Street, gone.

The sword on his back stopped singing and started shouting like a commander. At least it was ready for battle. The dragon, an actual living dragon, sat on top of a roof and casually watched them. Gabriel gawked at the monster, far bigger than he expected and way more dangerous than any stories he’d ever heard. The pale thin scales he’d held in his hands just hours earlier, now represented a threat he couldn’t fully envision in his wildest dreams. The thing had massive teeth, evil-looking talons, a wingspan wider than the plane he’d flown into Alaska on, and it breathed fire to boot. It didn’t like people much and it sure as hell looked like it didn’t like Maxtla.

Luc slightly faltered, tightened his muscles and circled the tall totem pole before slowly lowering his feet to the ground. Gabriel was shocked by the tiny army there, only a few stood for Maxtla. It didn’t look so good and he gulped. Seven against a dragon, there had to be a song in that. He imagined King Leonidas at Thermopylae but estimated that even three hundred Spartans had little chance against a dragon. God, he hated stories like that, stories that showed courage but no one really wins. It was time to face facts. With one blast, everyone standing in the town square would be dead or fried beyond fighting. One more glance at the mammoth flying lizard on the nearby roof and Gabriel realized he had to convince the Sheriff to get the hell out of town.

“Luc,” he cleared his throat, covering the fact that his knees were wobbly for a whole lot of reasons. “Listen to me, I have to tell you –”

“Give me Excalibur!” he reached and tugged the sword from Gabriel. “I’ll handle this. Everyone else, get back.”

“No! Luc, you can’t take the risk!” Gabriel reached for the bundle then glanced at the dragon. It had shifted its wings and seemed to be observing them with curiosity.

“I can’t risk anyone else, this is my responsibility.” Luc knelt and lay Excalibur on the muddy ground, preparing to un-wrap it but Gabriel had to stop him. He pulled hard on the sheriff’s shoulder, gaining not only his attention but his volatile anger. Luc slammed him to the mud with a splash and lifted a fist that could easily crush every bone in his face.

“You have a son!” Gabriel shouted frantically, kicking his feet and struggling against Luc’s strength. The vampire’s hold loosened and he blinked. “That’s why I’m late. The baby, it’s here. You can’t take this risk, Luc. You can’t!”

Luc released him and blinked again. “Are they … is the baby ...”

“They’re both fine,” Gabriel shouted, panting and pushing himself away.

“This can only be done by the Soul Eater,” Merlin said in a raspy, exhausted voice as he reached down to help Gabriel to his feet. The Elder lifted Excalibur and handed it to Carson. “Do not fail us or all is lost.”

The last time Carson faced such real peril was the last day of his human life. He never did find a way out of the palace and that afternoon, he realized that he should have tried harder, done anything to get himself and his dear friend free. That day, he was Chimali, a young man of eighteen summers, in his prime and facing sacrifice to a goddess.

It was sunny and bright, a day of great celebration in Tenochtitlan. Hundreds cheered at the base of the sacrificial pyramid and the relentless sun sparkled off the surface of Lake Texcoco in an eerie way he’d never seen before. Color flashed brighter than possible and his heart struggled with the unbearable agony of what he’d just witnessed.

Mixli, his childhood friend and confidant, had been taken first. Watching the spectacle was all he could do, his feet frozen in place and arms held back by the filthy temple priests. Struggling, begging and kicking, screaming for mercy and crying out to Chimali, Mixli’s sacrifice was brutal and speedy. All hope died the moment Mixli’s heart was ripped from his chest, his terrified eyes still focused on Chimali, who had promised to save him.

Carson’s body shivered, the memory so intense he could still smell Mixli’s blood, cloying in his nose. He had fought so hard that day of his Flowery Death, desperate to bring his strength and deadening soul into action but revival never came in time to save Mixli. Refusing to be forcefully taken to the sacrificial stone, he shook free of the priests and stepped up, careful not to look at his friend’s mutilated body which had been carelessly kicked down the steps and toward the cheering mob below. Blood puddled and shimmered around the stone, for many had died that morning – a girl child sacrificed to the gods of the harvest, criminals for their transgressions, conquered peoples by the hundreds, given in hopes of gaining future success over their enemies, and he and Mixli, sacrificed in service to all the souls of The One World.

Ignoring his terror, Chimali had bravely lain back on the stone, gazed up at the brilliant sky and anticipated the horrors that charged through his mind. He regretted the life he would lose, the women he’d never touch, the food he’d never taste and people he’d never meet. He wondered what would be, since he and Mixli were not given the opportunity to confess their sins to a Soul Eater and find purity from the illusive goddess, the eternal Sin Eater, Tlazolteotl.

Carson snorted at his youthful imaginings of the all powerful goddess and the disgusting reality of her – Tlazolteotl – who was at that moment back in West Hollywood, probably in her yellow polka dot bikini and sunning on her cheap lounge chair in the back yard. Useless. It was all useless, but still his culture dominated his mind. What was to become of him, this time facing the final end and again, without a clean soul? Today he knew better, understood the ramifications of stepping from one life into the forever afterlife, unclean, soiled, damned. Long ago it was very different.

A Flowery Death at the pyramid for him meant many things – protection for his people, a passage for their souls into a good beyond, a vital responsibility that he naturally didn’t wish and in truth, was unsure if he even believed in.

His strong, young back against the bloody, sun-warmed flat stone and his arms wide, he clearly recalled how bravely, almost defiantly, he watched the head priest raise a glistening blade over his chest. He could almost still hear the endless chants as the man beseeched the goddess to come and accept her gift - him, Chimali – who willingly or not would belong to her until she chose to release him or the natural element of fire took him into ashes.

Flashes of sun blasted from the sharp blade and in those flares came Tlazolteotl herself, appearing young and beautiful, naked in the vision, her breasts full and inviting. Her hands smoothed over her sparkling flesh, welcoming Chimali to her, promising sexual pleasures beyond his imagining.

The blade plunged and his still seeing eyes watched his own heart lifted high, his fading ears heard the cheers and as his last breath left him, Chimali watched the deceit fall away from Tlazolteotl’s image. The mad old hag, wrinkled and ghastly, laughed an ugly chortle and simply ordered him to follow her. He stood, glanced back at his young destroyed body and swallowed the curse that welled in his soul, a curse he had held every moment since.

Hundreds of years later, on that dark afternoon in a remote Alaskan town, Carson still belonged to Tlazolteotl until she chose to release him – or fire took him. He raised his eyes to the dragon, perched less than fifty yards away, and chose the fire. He would forever walk with his sins in darkness after his end, but at least he’d be free of his crazy goddess. He’d go out in a blaze of glory and with a lot of luck, save the strange supernatural town burning all around him. Finally, for the first time since his human childhood, he would do something fully by his own choice, but there was more.

Since Mixli, Carson had cared for no one, had no man he could call friend, no being he could say he actually felt true concern for. He had become an empty vassal programmed to do his goddess’ bidding and nothing more. This trip, an unexpected journey into Alaska and far from Tlazolteotl’s controlling tentacles, had given him more than a temporary freedom. It had re-birthed his heart. Glancing around him, that heart ached for the vampire d’Longville, the Master and Elder, Merlin, and most especially for Gabriel and the leprechaun. Those sensations proved more agonizing than the experience of having his beating heart torn from him so long ago. Chimali turned to the newly agitated and restless dragon then to the bundled sword and knew that finally, he had a cause of his own, people to protect and the closest experience to a human life he would ever know.

He accepted Excalibur from Merlin’s hand then knelt to uncover the sword, Clovely hovering close and more irritating than usual. “Get your ass to safety, leprechaun,” Carson said with a huff. He lifted the final layer of fabric and his open hand hovered over the golden sheath. In a flash he learned that his own terror restricted him from touching the weapon that could save them all and give him eternal freedom from Tlazolteotl.

“You have to confess, Carson,” Clovely said quietly. “Don’t be a fool, there’s no reason to end without a chance at heaven.”

Carson focused solely on trying to touch Excalibur. Doubt about having the quality needed to wield such a weapon paralyzed him and sweat gathered on his knotted brow.

“Confess. Let me help you, man.”

Prickles of perspiration gathered into beads and slipped into his eyes, burning them but still he stared at the sword. Why couldn’t he touch it? Perhaps because the damn leprechaun kept interrupting his focus? “Maybe there is no heaven.”

“We both know better. Confess, Carson. Save your soul, because you sure as hell can’t save yourself against that dragon!”

“I will not curse you to my life,” he said with a growl.

“Jesus, man! Be reasonable! Let me be courageous and help you. You’re too fucking good to go directly to hell, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars! Confess.”

“What the hell are you waiting for?” The sheriff had stepped closer, obviously feeling the urgency of the moment.

“Give us a minute!” yelped Clovely.

Carson shot another cautious look at the dragon, its long and hideous head actually tilted like a confused cocker spaniel. Then it proved it wasn’t a mere pet and roared a mighty growl that made them all cower close to the mud.

“We don’t have a minute,” d’Longville bellowed.

“One minute,” Carson held up a finger. It shouldn’t take that long to convince the leprechaun he didn’t really want what he was asking for. “Take the others and move back, take cover.” The sheriff hesitated and Carson used his best shot. “For your son’s sake, get the hell away.”

The small army backed off and Carson turned to his little friend. “Listen to me, Clovely. There is no reward in being a Soul Eater or committing yourself to an eternity of doing this thankless job. No one … and I mean no one … chooses this intentionally!”

“Confess.”

“I will not! I like you, little man. I –”

“If you like me, give me this chance! Let me be the hero in the only way possible for me. Let me show some courage! I’ll never get into heaven any other way. I’ve wasted all my time. Done nothing worthy. This … this is worthy and I’ll have all the time I need to get myself right.”

“Clovely, the goddess is not a patient woman. She’s insane and vicious to boot. This isn’t what you think, it’s hell on earth!”

“Then it’ll be nothing new to me.” The leprechaun leaned closer and whispered. “I am begging you to let me help you. There’s a chance you’ll survive this … if you do, then the whole deal’s off. Think of it as … as … an insurance policy.” Clovely’s eyes twinkled.

“But I will die this day.”

“Then I will have done something good for a man I respect. Don’t deny me that chance, Carson. Confess.”

Centuries of memories slipped through his mind, memories of how hard it was to learn the job, how dangerous it was, how thankless, the secrets, the loneliness, the hardships of his life, not to mention Tlazolteotl’s sadistic nature and relentless cruelty.

Then he blinked, realizing that the resilient leprechaun was actually far more equipped to handle it all then he was as an eighteen year old sacrificed soul. Sending Feever Clovely back to West Hollywood in his place might be a touch of sweet revenge, payback for all he’d tolerated and suffered under the goddess’ thumb – but not a good enough reason to condemn another being. He had to be reasonable. It wouldn’t be right.

“If I would even consider such a thing … I’d need a better reason,” he said with a sigh, ready to toss the leprechaun a hundred yards out of harm’s way so he could get on with things.

“Fine, here it is. I like you, Carson. I don’t want you to go to hell because you don’t deserve it … and I need this opportunity for my own salvation. Would you really deny me that?”

An aching pain, like flesh tearing apart, ripped through Carson’s hallow chest. Who was he to refuse such a sacrifice on his behalf? Who was he to deny the leprechaun a chance to do an important turn for his own soul? He truly feared walking in the dark place of sin-stained souls, he’d seen far too many of the souls already there, the ones refusing to confess, caring about nothing beyond their immediate life satisfactions - the lost souls refusing to take out an insurance policy. Carson groaned, checked on the dragon, now on its feet and glaring harshly down at them, and he took one final stab at talking sense to Clovely. “And who will hear your sins when the time comes, my little friend?”

“I’ll deal with it then. Uh …” the leprechaun watched the dragon take flight. “Speaking of time …”

Carson slowly leaned his brow to touch Clovely’s, hoping he was doing the right thing for the little man. Drawing in a deep breath the Soul Eater mentally spoke his sins into his confessor’s waiting mind.