In the middle of a wasteland, under a deep red, starless sky, Resent stood with his arms across his chest. He looked to be around thirteen this time.
In front of him was his mentor, Misery. In his hands, he held an immense sword nearly equal in length to his own body. “You may still be quite far from your father’s level of strength, but you have certainly made good progress, Resent.”
“When shall father bestow some of his oh so valuable wisdom upon me?”
Misery ignored Resent’s mocking tone as he stared off into the distance. “You are not lacking in wit, my prince, so I fail to comprehend why I must repeat myself with such frequency. Not merely the capital, but all six great cities look to him for guidance, as most of the high lords yearn for him to show a hint of weakness. I have been training you all this time precisely because he can not do so himself.”
Resent spat on the ground. “I realize that, but only father can teach me the 666.”
“According to the king, it is not a technique that is taught. When the nebulae deem you worthy, they will grant it to you. Yet double-edged as it is, it is a deathblow intended for only the direst of circumstances. For now, let us continue honing your skills.”
Abruptly, Misery barreled at Resent, bringing the blade down on his head. With a slight wave of his hand, the black and purple nebulae emerged to block the attack. Misery drew back, dashing away from Resent. For someone covered in such heavy-looking armor, Misery was surprisingly agile.
Resent stretched out his hand and the nebulae chased after the white-eyed demon. They were quick and almost seemed to catch Misery, but as he spun and cleaved through them with ease, it was clear he was only warming up.
#
Rodrigo awoke, staring up at white ceiling tiles. He was in a hospital bed, dressed in a powder blue gown with nothing underneath. Raquel and Carlito were sleeping in chairs by his side. They were wearing drab, ill-fitting clothing that his sister wouldn’t be caught dead in under normal circumstances.
Another one of those dreams. No, it was too concrete. He was positive now. It was one of Resent’s memories. And if he was seeing Resent’s memories, was Resent seeing his?
“Awake at last?”
“Resent,” Rodrigo said aloud. Then remembered to think what he needed to say. “What happened?”
“You tell me. They found you unconscious on the ground near your hovel.”
What did that mean? Did the firefighters reach the scene before Flint could finish the job? No. If he wanted Resent dead, he could have snapped Rodrigo’s neck in a heartbeat. Or was the unseen woman to thank for his survival? Her words certainly didn’t make her sound like an ally. Maybe she was the brains to Flint’s brawn and reined him in for some reason.
Before Rodrigo could get his thinking cap on, something distracted him. He wasn’t feeling any pain. He sat up to examine himself. Beyond the mildly disturbing fact that someone had bathed him in his sleep, scrubbing the blood and soot off his skin, as far as he could tell, he wasn’t burned or even bruised. “This doesn’t make sense. There’s not a scratch on me.”
“Fortunately, my regeneration seems unhindered by your frail human body.”
“You can heal, too?”
“The power and speed vary, but all demons regenerate. Mine is particularly powerful, able to heal from nonfatal wounds within minutes.”
While that was reassuring, Rodrigo wasn’t sure how confident he was in Resent’s strength. He could take down humans easily enough, but Flint handed him his ass. How would either of them survive if even stronger demons appeared?
He was so deep in thought he didn’t notice a smiling Carlito until he rose to hug him. “Thank God you’re okay!”
The joyful shout roused Raquel. Seeing Rodrigo conscious, she breathed a sigh of relief, then flushed with anger. “Why would you go back in there? What could’ve been so important you had to scare us like that?”
“So you guys really didn’t see him?” Rodrigo asked, instantly regretting the question.
“Who?” Raquel and Carlito asked in unison.
“Forget it. The smoke must’ve had me hallucinating. How bad did the fire get before they put it out?”
Both of their faces darkened, and now he saw how red and puffy their eyes were. Like they had cried themselves dry.
Raquel spoke up first. “We lost everything, Rodrigo. Everything. The fire trucks showed up a few minutes after we got to Ms. Martinez’s. But by then...” She trailed off, nothing else needing to be said.
With this new world Rodrigo had been so violently introduced to, losing games, clothes, books, and various other possessions should have felt inconsequential. It wasn’t like he was a collector of anything valuable or lost something irreplaceable. But he had lived in that old house all his life. It was impossible not to get a lump in his throat.
When he was sure his voice would be steady, Rodrigo asked, “How’s Mom?”
“She’s all right,” Carlito said. “She’s in the hallway talking to Officer Gibson about the fire. He’s been waiting for you to wake up for the past day and a half.”
“Day and a half? What’s with all this sleeping I’ve been doing lately?” Rodrigo asked.
“The body had not yet adjusted to containing a second entity. It should no longer pose an issue.”
Rodrigo gently slid the tube for the IV machine out of the back of his hand and detached the health monitor from his finger. He got out of bed and put on the non-slip hospital socks before heading to the door.
“I don’t care how the hell it happened. I just know it did and I deserve compensation,” Miriam said.
“Ma’am, we went through this yesterday. You don’t have any insurance that would cover this. There’s nothing the police can do about that, anyway,” a deep, irritated voice said. While Rodrigo could hardly blame her for falling behind on insurance payments with having to support the four of them, what were they supposed to do now?
As Rodrigo opened the door, the tall officer’s blue eyes locked onto his, clearly desperate for a release from his current conversation. “Rodrigo Beltran? I’m Officer Gibson.”
“Yes, sir. I heard you wanted to talk. Can we go somewhere private?”
“That’s fine, kid.” Officer Gibson looked to be in his mid-to-late twenties, but had a toughness to him. More battle-tested soldier than cop. Rodrigo was curious how he got so many scars on his face.
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Miriam glared as she brushed past him and into the room, without so much as a “nice to see you.” Since she had waited around for him to wake up, he almost thought seeing her firstborn in a mini-coma had revitalized her maternal instincts. Silly him.
Officer Gibson took Rodrigo into an empty patient room and pulled out a little black notepad. “Tell me everything you can remember about what happened.”
Rodrigo summed things up as best he could, keeping the supernatural aspects to himself. He also didn’t bring up the woman, unsure what her role in this was. Lying to the police wasn’t the smartest idea, but he didn’t want to appear a nut job, either.
“The fire investigator passed on some witness statements. Admittedly, with how quickly it burned down, no one saw much but the obvious. I spoke with your family yesterday, though, and you’re the first to tell me about a potential arsonist. Can you describe the suspect?”
Mentioning Flint may have been a mistake. If by some miracle the police found the demon, who seemed to have selective invisibility, what could they really do to stop him? But maybe he couldn’t conjure fire as fast as bullets could fly. Despite Resent’s grumbling, Rodrigo described every aspect of Flint’s appearance.
“So, about six-and-a-half feet tall, dressed in black, and wearing some kind of Kabuki mask? Sounds like a scary individual,” Officer Gibson said.
Rodrigo was about to say the mask closer resembled the iron ones samurai wore under their helmets for intimidation starting in the 15th century, when an eerie thought occurred to him. Even a Kabuki theater mask was too accurate a term going off his description alone. Almost as if the officer had seen it. Maybe even worn it. And what better way to dispose of evidence than to work the case yourself, like some sort of demonic Dexter Morgan?
Officer Gibson was a few inches shorter than Flint and his voice wasn’t as high-pitched or jovial, but that could easily be explained by lifts and acting. The long-faded scars were harder to dispute. If all demons regenerated, lasting wounds weren’t something any of them should have. His instincts had proven right often lately, though this was probably just a guy with a passing interest in Japanese culture, like him.
Either not noticing or disregarding Rodrigo’s brief discomfort, Officer Gibson pressed on, “Why go back into a burning building to confront him? Did you have a death wish?”
“I know it was dumb, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I knew he was responsible once I saw him up there waving at me and I snapped.”
“Hmm.” Officer Gibson scratched at the short brown hairs on his head with the ballpoint of his pen. “So, why was your mom unconscious?”
Rodrigo contemplated how to spin his answer. Would they have bothered to test his mother’s alcohol level under the circumstances? And if they did, would it still have been in her system at the time? It couldn’t have been more than seconds, but felt like minutes under Officer Gibson’s probing gaze.
“I’m not sure what was wrong with her. A few hours before the fire, she came home sick and just passed out.” Rodrigo figured Raquel and Carlito might have said something similar.
Although Officer Gibson didn’t look to be buying his ignorance, he left it alone. “All right, I think we’ve got enough information for now. I’ll contact you when we hear anything.”
Rodrigo nodded, feeling embarrassed about his crackpot theory, and shook the officer’s outstretched hand.
“About time,” Miriam said as he returned to his room. “Can we go now or are you not done hibernating?”
“Go where? A homeless shelter?” Rodrigo asked. “I heard you talking with the cop.”
Raquel and Carlito wore matching expressions of dread, as if their situation had only now sunk in.
Miriam was quiet for a long moment. “After hearing about the fire on the news, Emelina suggested we come stay with her in her new house down in Flatbush. At least until I can find an affordable apartment.”
“Tía did?” Carlito asked in an overexcited tone only he could get away with. Even Raquel would’ve earned a sharp look from their mother. For as far back as Rodrigo could remember, she and her older sister had never seen eye to eye. Emelina was one of the few people who knew just how self-destructive his mother could be.
“Yes, she did,” Miriam acknowledged through clenched teeth. Then she turned back to Rodrigo. “Now, get dressed. I already signed you out. I’m calling the car, so hurry it up.”
Considering the needle puncture on the back of Rodrigo’s hand had vanished, it was probably best if none of the medical staff checked up on him. Too hungry and drowsy to argue, he went into the bathroom and dressed himself in the clothing his mother had gotten him, insufficient for winter weather.
The half an hour-long ride gave Rodrigo the chance to think. He sat between Raquel, who was keeping everyone she knew updated about the aftermath online, and a pensive Carlito, staring out the window as they drove past Prospect Park. His mother was next to the driver, reading a romance novel.
“Do you actually think you can beat Flint, if he comes after us again?” Rodrigo asked. “I want to make him pay, but he’s so strong.”
“Hard to say. As is, my nebulae are only a fraction as powerful as they once were. Because of that, I must teach you how to control the nebulae as well. It shall be to a basic degree, but your body should attune itself to them, in turn, strengthening me. In the unlikely event you succeed, that is.”
“Yeah, about that...what exactly are those things? I mean, you call them nebulae, but they’re clearly not the space clouds NASA studies on a slow day. At first, they looked like some sort of mist. But then they turned into a twister.”
“Obviously, they are not of that kind. The word precedes your entire vernacular, let alone the invention of the spyglass which allowed man to even observe such things. I can generate the nebulae at will. Their initial shape is that of intangible ‘mist’, as you succinctly put it. But I can manipulate them to take whatever form I deem necessary.”
The car stopped in front of a gray two-story house on East 18th Street. The front porch’s roof was supported by cedar columns, the white paint on them also trimming the wooden window frames and edges of the building. Most of the surrounding homes were complete with lush lawns, often behind fences, some picket, others steel. His Uncle Antonio’s auto shop must have been making a killing for him to claw his way here from one of the worst housing projects on Staten Island.
As Rodrigo got out of the car and looked his temporary neighborhood over, he already missed the sight of the Spiral looming high overhead. Besides the beautiful view and privacy, over the years it had grown to have a calming effect on him.
When the car sped off, Miriam forced a wad of small bills into his hand. “We’re going inside. Find a store and get us some breakfast.”
Rodrigo stood there, dumbstruck. Every time he thought he had a handle on his mother’s callousness, she surprised him. He had just gotten out of the hospital, and she was already using him as her errand boy.
“Well? What are you waiting for? Fanfare?” Miriam asked.
Rodrigo looked down, unable to meet her stony stare. “It’s not like she won’t have anything for us to eat.”
“Oh, you’d both like that, wouldn’t you? Trying to make it look like I can’t even feed my own kids. Just stop being useless and go.”
“How useless was I when I saved your life?” he muttered.
Miriam had been walking away to join Raquel and Carlito, already out of earshot as they excitedly rang the doorbell. But his words made her round on him with a scowl, her hand instinctively twitching upward. Seeming to remember they were in public, she lowered it, her fingers flexing at her side like a gunslinger itching to draw. “What was that?” When he didn’t dare repeat himself, she continued in a fierce whisper, “I don’t know what happened to make you think you’re grown all of a sudden, but you need to remember how to shut your damn mouth.”
Rodrigo nearly snapped. It wasn’t like he expected gratitude for carrying his mother out of the fire, but he felt he had at least earned the right to not be treated like shit for a few days. Knowing what he’d be rewarded with behind closed doors if he kept pushing her, he grit his teeth and controlled himself. He turned and hurried away before he cut her with the words on the tip of his tongue that couldn’t be taken back.