Rufus wiped the blood from his sleeve onto his pants. He could taste it sticking to the back of his throat. He could feel it scratching at the inside of his nose. There was something so familiar about the smell of blood. Blood and the summer wind. If Rufus ever smiled, he would have then. 

The walk home was still and cold, even though the air was moist and hot and the street was lively with people. It was cold because he forgot to grab his jacket on his way out of class. It was cold because he was hungry and mommy didn’t pack him a lunch. It was cold because he was cold and his life was cold and he had never been close enough to someone to feel warmth.

Even the blood on his knuckles felt cold. It felt cold while he was gently, sensitively extracting it from another boy’s mouth. It felt cold when it splashed against his face and rolled from his lips like the rain. It was cold even when it dried and the teacher pulled him by the underarms and smacked him with a ruler. The blood would feel cold even after he washed it off.

He stepped over a crack in the road.

At least mommy and daddy would wait home for him. Mommy was always home. And daddy was there sometimes too. But he usually didn’t speak with Rufus. 

Rufus didn’t think daddy liked him very much. He always came home and smelled funny- and he would eye Rufus like prey and hunt him through the house in a game of catch. Only daddy must have only been doing it for Rufus’ sake, because he was always screaming and cursing while they played. And mommy would be crying. 

Rufus shrugged. Maybe tonight they’ll play catch again. 

He must have been very bad in school that day if he’d gotten kicked out. Most times, the teacher would smack him and put him back in his seat and call him Rude Rufus. Other times she would sit him outside and let him think for many hours until the bell rang and he had to go home. For some reason, she never called his mommy and daddy like she did for the other kids. 

Rufus sniveled and opened the door to his house with the little key that mommy kept under the welcome home mat. 

He could hear muffled noises coming from mommy and daddy’s room- yelling. Maybe they were singing. He didn’t mind the noise. He sat himself on the couch with some water and opened a book about dinosaurs. 

“Aw, what the fuck is the kid doing here?” Daddy yelled at mommy. The door hit the wall very hard upon opening and a little piece of paint fell to the floor next to all the other pieces of paint. 

“I don’t know. Ask him, why don’t you?!” Mommy came out of a puff of smoke like a magician. 

“What are you doing here, kid?” Daddy smelled funny. Like the stuff the nurse puts on you when you scratch your knee. Like hot sauce that was poison. 

Rufus shrugged. 

“Again with the fucking shrugging!” Daddy smiled, but it was a fake smile. He threw a green glass bottle on the floor and it shattered into pieces, spraying an angry mess of shards and pee- like bubbling liquid onto the stained carpet. 

“I’m going to need a verbal cue here, kid.” Daddy placed his hand on Rufus’ shoulder. His grip was very tight. His nails were very dirty.

“He doesn't speak.” Mommy reminded him. “The kid don’t-”

He turned around and slapped her.

“Speak to me. Why ain’t you in school?” His hand was on Rufus’ shoulder again. He could smell his breath with his eyes. He could see the little green vegetation on the corners of his eyes. His hand was shaky on his shoulder. 

His fingers moved to Rufus’ neck and closed around his breathing pipes like it was a rope and daddy was hanging from a cliff. 

Daddy’s other hand moved back and while Rufus was blinking a very long blink, it came shattering against his eye, swarming his face with tingles. 

“Why the fuck do I even let you live here?!” Spit wove itself between daddy’s teeth like spider webs. “Look at yourself! Look at your red fucking hair! Look at your red fucking eyes! You’re not my son! You ain’t mine!” He pulled Rufus by the color of the shirt and separated him from the couch. He was shaking like he was going to cry. Rufus didn’t want daddy to cry.

“Get the fuck out of my house!” Daddy opened the door and tossed Rufus out onto the welcome mat. Into the dirt. The hot concrete. 

The three of them did not eat dinner together. Rarely ever. Mostly mommy would eat while watching TV and daddy would be out eating what Rufus assumed were strawberries because of the red all over his neck and collar. Then Rufus would eat mommy’s leftovers when she fell asleep on the couch. He was very happy that night to find ramen.

He ate it and watched a re- run of Casa Blanca in black and white while mommy snored. He liked listening to her snoring. It was calming to know that she was still there. Alive. His mommy.

The door slammed shut and the fridge was opened. Rufus heard daddy’s steps shuffle through the kitchen unevenly. Sloppishly. Then he heard the familiar “hissss” of a bottle being opened. 

“Wake your fat ass mother up.” He croaked, leaning against the door frame to the living room. His body sagged. His skin draped over his skinny frame like it didn’t fit him well. It was coated in layers of dirt and ringlets of dark sweat. He smelled like cheap perfume, and the smell only seemed to add to the heaviness about him. The darkness under his eyes, which seemed infinite, hollowed his face and made his pupils teary and wet. It held his chin down to his chest and pulled the spit from his mouth, spreading it across his neck.

Rufus shook mommy awake.

“Oh, look who’s back.” She croaked. She sat up and her back cracked. 

“I’m hungry.”

“Didn’t you just eat, you fat fuck?”

“Hey! Watch the tone! I ate two hours ago. I’m hungry again. Make me food.”

“Oh, no. I was insinuating that you just ate some poor girl’s pussy!” 

Suddenly she was on her feet, up behind the couch. She was always so fast when she spoke to daddy, because he liked to play catch with her too. 

Daddy launched forward, his speed was immaculate, shedding his tired, drunkenness by the kitchen and becoming quick like a tiger. He threw a seashell lamp in mommy’s direction and it hit her shoulder before falling to the ground and exploding into a dusty ceramic mess. Mommy groaned and punched him in the face, screaming; “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” 

Daddy kicked her in the stomach and she gasped and then choked and then spat in his face and kicked his knee. Her face was swollen and red. His face was bloody and sweaty. 

Rufus picked up his dinosaur book and opened the door to the house. He sat outside on the welcome home mat and read through his teary eyes. “How sweet.” He thought, crying, “Mommy and daddy are playing catch.”

“Hey there, buddy.”

Rufus looked up at her. The first time he had ever met her. It was a moment he would never forget. He could never forget the way that she looked. Her hair was straight and black like the night, pulled in a ponytail so tight that it left her eyebrows in a permanent sarcastic lift. She had a thick curly bang that swooped almost to her shoulder on one side of her face. And her eyes. . . they were bloodshot. There was hell in her eyes- like the hell Rufus saw in himself when he looked in the mirror. There was death in her eyes. Like the death that Rufus saw when he tried to sleep. 

“Rufus, right?” She asked. Her voice was sharp- her words were stone. But something about her made him want maturity and growth. He snapped the tears from his eyes and nodded. 

She opened the little gate and then whipped the chipped paint from her hands onto her stained, ripped jeans. 

“What’s up, little man?” 

He didn’t say anything. She grinned and her braces caught the light from the sun. 

“I’m Jezebel.”

He still didn’t say anything. 

“Oh. Okay. We got ourselves a quiet one.” She mumbled to herself. She sat down next to him on the floor and leaned her head against her jeans. She tilted her ear up slightly to listen in to the screams bubbling in the living room. She didn’t flinch at the noise, but every ‘bang’ and ‘boom’ caused her eyes to twitch. They were very big, her eyes. Almost hypnotic. They distracted from the rest of her- probably because her frame was so pale and scrawny that it was hard to notice much besides them. 

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“Give me your hand, Rufus.” She commanded.

He did.

And then they left, and they never ever looked back. 

“You know, I remember the day I got taken. It was my friend Lenard who was my Finder. Just like I’m your Finder. Capache?”

Rufus nodded. Jezebel had not stopped talking since they left the house. And the sun was nearly out now. 

“Finders have the coolest jobs, you know. Everyone else is stupid. But us- no- we have something special. Listen, I’mma be honest with ya, Rufe (I’m calling ya Rufe from now on), this is actually my first gig. My first gig alone, that is. Of course I’ve been out with Lenard, because he’s my finder and he was all these other Semi’s Finder. . . Now that I think about it, you'd like Luney. Luney is just what I call him. His name is Lenard. Like I said. Don’t worry; I’ll introduce y'all. You, me, Lenard, and Kualike. We’ll be unstoppable. We should have a code name. Like- like a group name. Like a band. Have you seen my shirt? It says “She talks to Angels”. It's by the band Black Crows. Have you heard of them before? I’ll play you some of their stuff when we get to the Hotel. You’ll love it. Or maybe you won’t. I don’t know you. I don’t know your life. Do you like music? No?! What kind of person doesn't like music? I love music. I listen to music all the time. I even- oh won’t you look at that? We’re here.”

She let go of his hand which was now damp and warm. 

The two of them were on the beach. The sun was just coming through, piercing the clouds and staining the sands of Redondo Beach. The wind was cold and it wafted over the smells of Jezebel’s skin and hair. She smelled like rain, but not in a bad way. 

He gave her an empty stare. 

“Oh, did I not even mention where we’re going? Pfft, silly me. We’re going to a special place, Rufe. For special people. I’m kinda special myself, if you ask me. And you’re definitely special. I can feel it in you.” 

He blushed.

“You see that little house over there?” He squinted and could just make out a little white dome, wooden and run down. He nodded as they made their way through the thick, cool sand over to the house.

“We like to call that “The Entrance!”” She made a scary gesture with her hands. “But don’t be scared, it's just the entrance to the hotel. Then we climb these magical stairs all the way to the top of the world and - BOOM- we’re at home. In Paradiss.”

He looked at her. His eyes glossed over and were wide. There was a mixture of fear and amusement pulsating through his bones and he wasn’t sure if to run back home or to run towards the building.

Rufus didn’t really know why he began to cry. He didn't feel the tears forming. And he really didn't want to cry in front of a girl. But she didn’t seem to mind. She stood there for a few minutes and stared at him. And then she sat down in the sand, digging her toes deep into the damp parts of it and wiggling them around. The water foamed and licked gently at her ankles. She gazed out into the ocean like it was the only thing she ever needed to see again.

And Rufus cried. He cried because he couldn't hold it in. He cried because he hadn’t cried in a long time. He cried because he didn't know what else to do.

Rufus finished crying. He was sitting beside Jezebel’s still body as she laid on the sand and let her hair tangle with the wind. She was gazing out at the LA sky. Her eyes were looking, but they weren’t seeing a thing. Her smile was absent minded. Her thoughts were lost in the waves. A cloud reached through the morning sun and cast a shadow, deep and endless over her face. Her smile dissolved and she sat up quickly.

“Rufe.” She whispered. He looked into her eyes. But she was focused on something behind him, her pupils buzzing like red hornets. “Rufe.” she said again and placed a hand on his shoulder. She reached into her pocket with her other hand.

“There’s something behind you, buddy.” She said. She pulled something out of her pocket with her hands closed in a fist. Then she slowly unraveled her fingertips and let out. . . a pair of beads? No, magnets. Something of a kind. They looked like tiny dragon eggs to him at the time, glowing turquoise and making the folds of her palm look like the ocean. 

Rufus didn’t look back. He closed his eyes lightly, like his lashes were feathers, and held his breath as Jezebel rose slowly to her feet. He didn’t feel scared. He wasn’t even worried and he couldn’t tell why.

“I want you,” Jezebel whispered very slowly, “to get ready. The moment I tell you, move out of my way. Run to the end of the beach and wait for me to get you after I get rid of this thing.” her face was smooth; she wasn’t crying or trembling. But her eyes were dark and seemed almost scarlet in the light. “If you see this thing,” she warned, whispering. Rufus heard a soft noise behind him, of feet on sand. Then there was a gentle growl. “Do not look in its eye, okay Rufe?” 

He nodded numbly, his breath catching in his throat.

“Good. RUN.” and she shoved him out of her way and pulled the two magnets apart. They flickered in her hands, their light going on and off for a second before they grew and took the form of two tall knives, jagged and turquoise. They reminded him of something he’d seen in a dungeons and dragons book that he’d found at the school library once. They were wickedly mythical; like the teeth of a beast right out of an ancient Greek folklore. 

He bolted to his feet, his toes losing themselves in the sand, leaving his shoes and Jezebel behind. It was like running in water and his body was heavy and tired, slowing him down, pulling his weight to the floor, digging his face in the mud. 

He wiped slaver and dirt from his cheek and crowded himself behind a rock, clutching at the bruise on his temple and watching over Jezebel.  

In the heaviness of the still rising morning, it was nearly impossible for Rufus to see the beat. It was as though it had cloaked itself in mist and dragged it along behind him where he went like a cape.

Jezebel was holding his swords. Her mouth was closed over her braces and her sarcastic smile was long washed away by the dull pain of concentration. Her eyes were tightly shut and her head tilted slightly to the side as she cranked her ears to listen.

The beast was a wolf of sorts from what Rufus could see. Large; hulking twice the size of Jezebel. Its black fur was matted and faded, like it was sewn into his meaty, muscular body with yarn made of shadows. 

It moved gently, smoothly. Like a burglar in the night. Only this burglar didn’t want money; it wanted more than that. Something far more precious. 

Its lips moved like waves when it growled, shaking and curving over the spear end teeth that pierced its gums. They were smooth, with a slightly yellow, sickly color, like bones. And they were sharp. Sharp enough to snap a skull and grind it into a powder. 

The wind caused ripples to run over the fur, but the wolf was still unmoving. It watched Jezebel and her knives. They both stood there for a moment, before the beast lounged. 

The scar on Jezebel’s nose crinkled and she raised her knived to the moon, still gently visible as the sun rose, and yelled, as if it was a battle cry, “MAY LEVIATHAN GIVE ME POWER!” Her skin seemed to melt off of her, leaving behind a dark red, as though she was freshly bathen with blood. Horns ripped through her skull, tearing through hair and bone alike. Simultaneously a thick tail ripped through her shorts and swirled behind her, snapping at the floor like a whip. Even the wolf stopped in his tracks, startled. 

 Rufus took care to follow Jezebel’s instructions and refrained from gazing at the beat directly in the eye. But from the corner of his eyes he could see it. Hollow. A big, empty socket in the center of its elongated face. But there was a fire inside; a strong fire that flowed hot and green from the eye and raced above its head, reaching upwards as if to try and reach the heavens. All creatures of hell want a taste of heaven, Rufus thought. 

The wolf moved so suddenly that Rufus nearly gasped. It jumped forward and Jezebel tripped on the sand. She swung her knives blindly, but with skill. It growled loudly, nearly barking and Jezebel’s face snapped to its direction. When it pounced again, its claws caught her arm. She had tried to move, but the nails still scraped her upper shoulder and cut through the sleeve of her shirt. She cried out and said “You’re gonna pay for that, kitty cat.” swinging her knives both at once.

From that point on, the fight was much smoother. It was less of a ‘I hit, you hit’ situation and more of a ‘we both hit at the same time and see who dies’. 

Rufus watched in utter silence from behind the rock as Jezebel’s knives both flexed over the wolf’s snout together and painted an ‘x’ on his face in red.

That was the first hit that the wolf had taken. It fell back and whimpered for a moment. Then it growled and jumped through the air. It was an impressive jump; tall and long, creating a rainbow through the air. Jezebel couldn’t hear the patterning of its massive paws on the ground if they didn’t touch it, so the wolf caught her by surprise. She fell backwards with a scream, her horns drawing lines across the sand above her head and her tail stuck folded beneath her. 

But she still refused to open her eyes. She wrestled with the head of the wolf, its paws nestled on her chest and its mouth trying to snap at her.

Both of her knives were more than an arm’s distance away and her hands were occupied in trying to restrain the face of the wolf, holding to its massive neck and trying to push it away from her.

Its jaws snapped at the air, its tongue occasionally slobbering out and licking its snout. 

Rufus closed his eyes and ran forward mindlessly. He wasn’t scared. What was there for him to fear? Death? Pain? Those were concepts that humans face every day. He couldn’t let himself be bothered by them. Not then, anyhow.

His fist bounced off of the wolf’s fur. It didn’t have quite the texture he had expected. It was almost metallic. Thin lines of hair, each strand like a braid of lead. Each hair that looks smooth and gentle, stung his skin. He couldn’t possibly imagine what it was like for Jezebel to have that prickly, heavy thing sitting on top of her. 

The wolf did not notice him. 

He hit it again. Harder.

Still, the wolf was focused on Jezebel, preying its jaws from her face.

He let his fist fall three times in a row and the wolf didn’t respond.

When Rufus yelled, it was more out of exasperation and helplessness than anything. He didn’t ask for power, as Jezebel had done. He didn’t even use words. He just yelled, emptying into the morning. He punched the wolf with all the might he could muster, and it leaned and fell backwards, into the sand.

Before it had time to recover, Rufus punched it again. He roared as loudly as his throat allowed. And again he punched the beast, every time hitting it before it had the chance to get up again.

He tried to kick the thing, but, because his eyes were fastened shut, he couldn’t see where the wolf was. He hit nothing, slipping on air and falling on his back.

Rufus felt stinging all over his chest. It was a hard feeling, like someone had pulled apart his skin and was washing out whatever was underneath with lemon juice. He gasped and placed his fingers at his chest. When he opened his eyes and looked at them, they were coated with a thick layer of shimmering red. There were four long and wiggly marks across his chest, cut through his shirt, streaming blood down onto his little belly and turning the sand around him to orange mud. 

He looked up at the eye of the wolf. It was glowing with fire. It wasn;t a warm fire; it beckoned him into the gates of hell and crisped the skin around it. He looked into the eye and screamed. Screamed like his mommy screamed. He screamed and ran forward and hit the wolf; in the face, in the legs, in the stomach. He hit it so hard that his knuckles bleed. He hit it so hard that he suddenly felt good. Like there was nothing he could possibly fear. Live or die, he was whole. 

The wolf whimpered and fell to the ground, the sand puffing about him like dust. 

Then Rufus picked up one of Jezebel’s fallen knives, which felt much heavier in his hand than they had looked when she held them and burned the gentle flesh of his palms like molten iron, and he stabbed the wolf. The wolf whimpered and went still.

Rufus screamed in agony, even though he couldn’t feel the physical pain, and he stabbed the wolf again. Then again. The fire flickered green for a moment in the eye socket. He stabbed it again, falling on his knees. The fire shut off. 

His eyes were open, watching the blood gush and pump out of the wolf’s dead body and turn the sand into the sea. He stabbed it again. And he felt a little better.

He stabbed it again and felt a little worse. 

No, he said in his own mind. The feeling was gone. The feeling that was so good was now gone and he felt so empty and so alone. And he stabbed the dead animal again and again and again, but the good feeling never came back. Only the emptiness was a part of him now. Only the dull pain of living was a part of him now.

He dropped the knife and hit the wolf with his fists again, the blood splashing hot over his clothes and cold skin. The organs spilling from its gut like pink snakes.

When Jezebel placed her hand on his shoulder, he shrugged her off aggressively and punched the beast again and again.

Until he was done.

Until he couldn’t do anything more. Then he stood up, sniffled and wiped some blood from his face with his shoulder. And walked away.