After a few close calls, one with Ms. Edwina on the seventh floor who insisted on looking under the blanket draped over Sam’s shoulders, they arrived at their apartment without incident.
And a great wave of relief passed over Sam as he crossed the threshold.
Almost giddy with excitement, he dropped the blanket and made a beeline to his room, shouldering open the door with his human arm to find the room the same—small dresser for his clothes, the posters of Magic: The Gathering still on the walls, his plastic Iron Man figure perched menacingly over a plastic Spiderman, his twin bed made and waiting for him. The only thing different was the mess. It was gone. When Sam lost the use of the right half of his body, he’d become lax about cleaning anything. And the day when they’d gone to see the doctor, the day of The Reckoning, he’d left his room in quite a state—clothes hanging from draws, laundry spilling from the closet where he’d searched for the faded red Metallica shirt he now assumed lost.
He wanted to laugh at how people sometimes make the biggest deals of the littlest things.
“I didn’t want to touch a thing,” his mom whispered behind him. “Except I figured I’d clean it up for you. You know, so when you came back you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”
Sam hugged her, keeping his demon arm at his side. He realized again how much he’d grown during the two years in a coma, as he towered over his mother by over a foot, hunching down to hug her.
He wondered if his newfound height might be another side effect of The Reckoning.
“Are you hungry? I think it’s close to four o’clock, and we didn’t really stop for anything to eat.” She pulled away and headed into the kitchen.
As if in response, his stomach grumbled.
Walking slowly into his room, Sam was overcome with everything; the extent of the changes to the world around him were almost too much. He felt the tears coming on and bit them back
I’m not going to cry, he thought. Not anymore.
Wiping away a tear with his human arm, he took a deep breath, steeling himself against the world that seemed to hate him, against the demons who might want to kill him, against anything which might get in his way.
He walked to his door watch his mom scurrying about the kitchen, remembering how he used to sit at the kitchen table while his mom and dad worked together to prepare dinner. Someone would be cooking vegetables on the stove. Someone else making salad. Sometimes they would ask Sam to help too, but he knew that they shared the ritual in the kitchen. Cooking was their time together.
The tears welled up without warning and slipped down his cheeks as if his body emptied out a lifetime’s worth of emotion.
No matter how much he told himself to stop crying, he couldn’t, especially when his mind wandered to that fateful day when he opened the box. The day he got his dad killed.
Sam avoided thinking about his father’s death for so long that he couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. The day Sam lost control of the right side of his body was the same day his dad developed a Stage Four, inoperable brain tumor. One day the cancer wasn’t there; the next day it was. The doctors told his mom about the possibility the brain tumor had been hiding, but Sam knew better. His dad had been the picture of perfect health. He’d shown no symptoms of having a tumor, leaving Sam to conclude only one thing: the explosion of the diamond caused the sickness and his eventual death.
The explosion Sam caused.
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t known not to open the box, that the diamond would have caused such an explosion What mattered? His fingers lifting the lid. And although he’d suffered consequences all his own, they paled in comparison to what his dad went through.
Sam remembered the nights spent at the hospital after his dad’s chemo and radiation. Watching him writhe in pain, his mom and the nurses practically carrying him to the bathroom to throw up. Sam stayed in the chair in the corner most of the time, hoping no one would need him to do anything, certain he’d screw up. Sam remembered the yelling and the screaming in the hallway about missed diagnoses and wrong medications. He remembered the men in suits, different from Colonel Grady, parading through. Observing. Writing down. Nodding.
And as his dad’s days grew shorter, as the doctor shook his head more often, as his mom ran out of tears to cry, Sam felt the hospital room closing in on him. Because even if his mom denied Sam’s culpability, he knew the fault lay with him.
All his fault. Like those men at the gas station. Dead because of him.
The tears continued to fall, and he let them until nothing remained, until he could look down at his demon arm and swear to himself that he’d never kill anything again, that he’d never let the anger control him again.
Wrung out, he flopped down onto his bed, sleep taking him as his eyes shut.
***
Sam still had his clothes on when he woke—faded jeans two sizes too big in order to accommodate his demon leg, mismatched sneakers, plain blue T-shirt with the right sleeve cut away. The late-morning sun streamed through his mini blinds.
He pushed himself up and stretched, his stomach growling fiercely.
“Okay, okay. Wonder where mom is,” Sam mumbled as he stumbled into the kitchen.
“She went out to get some more food,” a voice said from the table. “She’ll be back shortly.”
Ezekiel finished the sandwich in front of him—a monstrosity of pickles, anchovies, tomatoes, ham, salami, turkey, and banana peels—in two quick bites, smacking his lips in admiration of not only his fine culinary work, but also his ability to polish the meal off with such flourish.
“What are you doing here?”
Sam headed to the refrigerator only to find a complete lack of food inside and turned to Ezekiel instead.
The demon smiled back at him sheepishly.
“You ate everything?” Sam asked.
“Demon’s gotta eat.”
Ezekiel shrugged as he flapped his petitie wings.
Sighing, Sam sat down on one of the other plain wood chairs, one of the spikes on his arm piercing the table. Rolling his eyes, he yanked his arm free and rested it on the table more carefully.
“I heard that you had a bit of a run-in after you left the hospital.” Ezekiel folded his hands together on the table and looked at Sam. His wings were pressed against his back.
“Yeah, sort of.”
“Sort of? Heard you went native on a bunch of humans at the gas station. Heard two of them were dead.”
Sam stared down at the table, at his arm, and remembered the promise he’d made to himself.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
But Ezekiel laughed, his little wings bursting off his back in a tizzy of movement.
“How did you find out?”
Sam realized he badly needed a shower. He turned his head and smelled his shoulder, grimacing at the stink.
“Well, I probably wouldn’t have heard except for the Lopers. News travels fast in the demon world, especially about you.”
“Lopers?”
“Oh, that’s right, you don’t have any idea about the order of things. Well, all you really need to know are a few, okay? Lopers and Muckers are at the bottom. They have little or no command of magic and hardly any inborn skills. Then you have to worry about Bursers. They have some magic and generally think a lot of themselves. They could give you trouble. Finally, there are Krall. These are the highest order of demon and possess incredible magical and other powers. I wouldn’t recommend tangling with them.”
Sam thought about the idea of a pecking order amongst the demons and wondered what Purifex was, what Ezekiel was.
He wondered where in the hierarchy he really lived, remembering Purifex telling him he was at the bottom.
“Half-breed, right?” Sam asked.
Ezekiel nodded.
“No one else like me?”
Ezekiel shook his head.
“Where does that put me in the demon order of things?”
“Nowhere.”
“You enjoying this?”
Ezekiel smiled slyly.
“Well, I need to take a shower.”
Sam got up and pushed away from the table. “So, you can let yourself out if you want.”
“Whoa, wait a second. Don’t take this the wrong way. I’m glad that you’re embracing the demon half of you. I mean, what are a couple of no-good humans worth anyway? Probably just taking up valuable space. But what’s more important is that you took on a pack of Lopers”—and here Ezekiel’s eyes narrowed—“yourself.”
Gripping the back of the chair, Sam took a deep breath and sat back down.
“That’s what’s been spreading so fast amongst the demon cities and even here. What they are calling you. The demon boy.”
“Is that what they’re calling me? Sounds like some kind of lame superhero.”
But Ezekiel shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter. What’s important is they are talking about you. Yes, that’s the big deal. Of course, it got a few chuckles when the story also came out that you tried to command the pack leader.”
“Yeah, not sure what I was really thinking. I just remember Purifex and that Grendel and how it said it would rather die than go against its master.”
Ezekiel’s expression darkened at the mention of Purifex.
“That’s right. Demons are very structured. Even though it seems like we don’t have a care in the world, you haven’t seen Ursup or any of the other cities in our world. There’s a strict system.”
“Purifex is your master, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Ezekiel grumbled, “I serve Purifex.”
“And how does that work, the whole I-serve-a-more-powerful-demon thing?”
Sam could see the subject caused Ezekiel a lot of discomfort. Part of him wanted to stop. He knew Ezekiel looked out for him. But the other part, maybe even the demon part, wanted to twist the knife a bit more, to see the diminutive demon squirm.
“I guess you should know, so you don’t look like an idiot next time, make me look bad. But we really should have The Ars talk about this.”
“Why can’t you just bring me to The Ars?”
Ezekiel shook his head.
“Not how it works. You see, you need inborn magic to even be admitted into The Ars. Every demon, even Muckers like the Lopers, has a spark of magic. Enough of a spark to be admitted.”
“Admitted into The Ars? I thought it was a person.”
“Not exactly. You have to experience it yourself. But to demonstrate your abilities you need to create a doorway that gets you to The Ars. A doorway through The Ether.”
“Okay, so now you are totally confusing me. Ether. Ars. Doorways. Purifex said you would teach me—”
“I can only tell you how it’s done. You have to open the doorway yourself.”
Sam scowled.
“So how is it done?” He asked.
“Well,” Ezekiel said, leaning back in the chair with his hands behind his head, “it’s kind of different for each demon. Some of them have to outline a door. Others just to reach for a handle. But it’s a manifestation of magic.”
Ezekiel got up, walked a few feet, and then knocked in midair.
Sam’s jaw dropped as a small red door appeared, as if to a playhouse. Waiting. Inviting. What made the door different, besides hanging three feet above the ground, was the subtle green outline.
With a wave of his hand, Ezekiel caused the door to vanish.
“But where did the doorway lead?”
“To wherever you want.”
Sam gave a half smile. “You mean I can travel between worlds?”
“All the demon worlds,” Ezekiel said as he picked crumbs off the table and popped them into his mouth. “After The Reckoning, they are all linked by the same magic. You can travel to any one you choose . . . once you understand how to open a door. But I wouldn’t even suggest going to most of them, not until you’ve got some magic under your belt.”
“So how do I create a door? Can I just knock too?”
Without waiting, Sam got up and knocked once in midair. Then twice. Then three times. But nothing appeared.
“No, no, no. Like I said, it’s different for each demon. You’ve got to discover how your magic manifests.”
Dejected, Sam sat back down.
“So where is The Ars?”
“The temple of The Ars is in Ursup, the capital of Demonika. If The Ars deems you worthy, he will grant you the use of the Magicus.”
Ezekiel looked exasperated and turned his gaze to the ceiling.
“I can’t explain it. But all demons must visit The Ars. The Ars grants them some use of magic depending upon some criteria only The Ars knows. But their use of magic generally determines their station in the order of demons.”
Sam sighed this time.
Even as Sam tried to absorb it all, Ezekiel thought about the prophecy, thought about the opportunity right in front of him.
If Purifex figures out what I am trying to do, he thought, he’ll skin me for sure. Gotta be careful about this. Although Purifex told me to take him to The Ars, he also told me to bring him to his palace immediately after. I bet he wants to use The Ars to get more power. Heck, maybe even try and overthrow The One Master.
“But can you at least tell me something about magic? Anything?”
The look which fell over Ezekiel frightened Sam. He knew Ezekiel was a demon, but he hadn’t seen much ferocity out of him, not like he had from some of the others, especially Purifex. He figured all of the demons were, by nature, spiteful and evil. But Ezekiel seemed different. Almost helpful . . . which worried Sam.
“No one talks about magic. Demons don’t talk about it, especially to those that we conquer. To do so would be punishable by a thousand things worse than death.”
When Sam opened his mouth to respond, Ezekiel slammed his hand down on the table. A terrible splintering sound echoed in the kitchen.
“No more questions about what’s in The Ars. If you get to Ursup and manage to gain an audience with it and it thinks you are worthy, you’ll see for yourself. But I warn you now. If I were in your shoes, I might be tempted to get to The Ars and give it to humans so they could learn the magic and fight back against us. Don’t even think it. The decree that we never talk about what’s in The Ars comes from The One Master himself. And you don’t want to get on his bad side.”
Give the magic to humans? Sam thought, remembering what his mom said in the car, about a resistance. He wondered if it would even be possible.
Would the humans in possession of magic be any better than the demons? .
“So,” Sam asked, eager to calm Ezekiel down from an apparently taboo subject, “The Ars is what makes a demon powerful then.”
“Well, yes and no. As you have seen, for some reason your demon arm is extremely powerful. I’m sure Purifex”—and he grimaced at the name again—“explained that the black, green, and gold coloring is quite unique. In fact, I’ve never seen anything like it, although Purifex said he had once. The Ars teaches you magic, and with magic you can augment any of your natural demon abilities. So, who knows what you might be able to do after. Heck, you might be able to tear down a building with one hand!”
Sam looked past Ezekiel and out the window. Not at anything in particular, but wondering what The Ars might teach him. Part of him wanted desperately to have it.
“Could The Ars teach me to hide my demon parts?”
Ezekiel knew he should backhand Sam for even suggesting such, but the idea of a demon hiding in a human body excited him. The concept fit so perfectly into his plans; he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of the idea sooner.
“I guess it could. But back to your original question. Demons can be summoned into service or subjugated into servitude. In the first case, a powerful demon can simply call upon another demon from The Ether. If the demon is powerful enough to control who he summons, the summoned demon is bound. In the second case, a more powerful demon simply casts the spell of binding on a lesser demon who is unprepared or unable to counter them.” Ezekiel smiled, imagining the expression on the loper’s face as Sam tried to bind him without magic.
“So why do you serve Purifex?”
Sam felt it critical he understand not only the demon hierarchy, but also why Ezekiel hated Purifex so much.
“I was subjugated. I wasn’t paying attention to what Purifex was doing in a game of cards, and before I knew it, he had cast the spell right in front of me. There was nothing I could do.”
“And there’s no way to get out of being his servant?”
Ezekiel shook his head, raking the table angrily. His claws dug into the wood, leaving wide gouges.
“Not unless I get sent back to The Ether . . . or he does.”
Sam looked at his demon arm and thought about The Ars.
That could be my ticket, he thought. That could, at least, make me look human again on the outside. Something tells me there’s no way I’m getting rid of the demon parts on the inside.
“So, when are you going to take me to Ursup?” Sam asked, breaking Ezekiel’s abuse of the table. The little demon snapped up and blinked once, whatever he was thinking broken by the sudden change in the conversation.
He wagged his claw.
“Like I said, it doesn’t work that way. You need to get there yourself. I can guide you, but I can’t take you. The Ars requires it.”
“Okay, so guide me. Where do I start? How do I get to the demon world?”
Ezekiel smiled a malicious, sadistic grin.
“Well, that’s easy. Just open a door.”
Exasperated, Sam got up and headed to the shower.
He hadn’t thought about the practicality of having a demon arm, and the idea of washing the scaly appendage seemed easier than reality. After cutting his human hand several times trying to apply the soap, he decided running water over it would be fine. Thankfully, the cuts healed almost immediately, the slices closing cleanly and quickly, leaving nothing to tell the tale of any injury.
Sam spent half an hour in the shower thinking about everything he knew—waking up in the hospital, Colonel Grady, NADR, Ezekiel, Purifex, The Ars, and especially his encounter at the gas station. Part of him wanted to go back to being in a coma. Everything seemed so complicated, trying to understand the demon way of life while he was still figuring out how to handle being a fifteen-year old human boy now. Being asleep would be so much easier. But whenever he thought of the easy way out, he remembered his dad in the hospital bed, remembered holding his hand those last few days.
Die Trying, Sam thought and knew he was going to have to see this through.
***
“Mom, I’m going to go nuts if I have to stay in this apartment one more day.”
His mom, still in the kitchen, unpacked the rest of the groceries, trying to hide food where she didn’t think Ezekiel would find it.
“I know, Sam, but didn’t the gas station teach you anything?”
“Yeah, but that was only because Colonel Grady called ahead, probably had agents calling every gas station from the hospital to Maine.”
She stopped putting cans of tuna in the cupboard and turned to face Sam at the kitchen table. She leaned back against the counter and wiped her hands on a dish towel.
“I said I’m not sure that was the case. I was only speculating.”
“Well, it sounds pretty plausible to me.” Sam leaned back a little, putting his hands behind his head. He was quite happy with himself, managing to get on the new black T-shirt, the Old Navy pressed-on logo still crisp and sticky, without ripping it on the spikes of his demon arm.
Since the first day back at the apartment, Ezekiel hadn’t shown up again, giving Sam a moment of relief. Although he appreciated the demon’s willingness to supply information about the demon world, Sam needed a bit of a break from the whole situation. Over the course of the week, between the TV, looking down on the street below, and the internet, he’d started to understand how much everything had changed. Of course, his mom filled in a lot of details as well—about new cities springing up; about strange new shops in New York staffed and filled with all sorts of creatures; even about things which would have seemed unflappable, like the Channel 4 news that now sported two humans and two demons providing everything from weather to sports.
Demons in Hollywood, demons at 7-Eleven, demons in the laundromat.
It was almost like the demons wanted to live like humans.
Trying to figure out what the demons really wanted gave Sam a headache.
“I still need to get out, Mom, if nothing more than just to take a walk around the block.” Sam took off his hat and rubbed at his hair. It was a nervous habit he had—making little circles in his hair, just above his ears. He used to do it with both hands, but with the demon changes to him, the hair on most of the right side of his head was gone, replaced by the black-and-green scales.
“Sam, I know what it must feel like.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t have any idea!”
The anger welled up again.
“Sam,” his mom whispered, hanging her head.
“I feel like I’m a prisoner!” He pushed away from the table. “Because of what? What did I do?”
Only his mom didn’t answer, and Sam realized she was crying softly.
Sam didn’t want to comfort her. He didn’t care right now.
Why me? he thought, screaming in his own head. He clenched his fists, the fire racing up his scales, his eye ablaze.
Breathing heavily, almost panting, Sam stormed into his room and slammed the door, flopping onto the bed.
He was thankful his mom couldn’t hear his own sobbing.
When Sam woke, the soft light of dusk greeted him, the failing sunlight a welcome relief. He looked out the blinds, bending back the two slats, and sighed.
She’s probably right, he thought. What good will come of me going outside? There’s probably roving packs of humans and demons waiting to attack me.
Stretching, determined to apologize to his mom, he opened his bedroom door only to find the apartment empty.
“Mom?”
No one answered. Sam even walked to his mom’s bedroom, standing outside with his ear pressed to the closed door. He called her name again. Still no response.
Feeling awkward about opening her door but needing to know if she was there, he turned the handle and slowly pushed in the door. But her bed was still made and the room empty.
He shrugged and then wandered back to the kitchen. Turning on the light, he realized his ravenous hunger. He opened the first cupboard and saw a package of Goldfish crackers on the top shelf. He tore open the package and started to pour some into his mouth when he noticed the note on the fridge:
Sam,
I’m sorry. There’s nothing more I can say. Perhaps if I had been able to grab you that day, maybe things would be different. All I can do is apologize.
I understand why you need to get out, and although I don’t think you should, I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner in your own home. And from what happened at the gas station, I should realize that you can probably take care of yourself. Still, it doesn’t make it any easier to let you go outside.
But if you need to, go. I went to the park for awhile, just to clear my head.
Please be safe. Even though it’s still warm, wear one of the new hooded sweatshirts I bought for you. I hung them in your closet while you were asleep.
Remember that I always love you.
Mom
Sam felt the tears coming as he read the note again.
It’s not your fault, Mom, Sam thought.
Forgetting why he had come to the kitchen in the first place, he put the uneaten crackers on the counter and took the note off the fridge. Grabbing a black Sharpie from the penholder near the phone, he scribbled on the bottom of the note:
Mom,
It’s not your fault. Don’t think like that. We’ll work through it. And I’m sorry that I yelled at you.
I went out for a walk. Don’t worry about me. I’m wearing one of the hoodies (thanks for those, BTW) and I think I’m understanding about how to take care of myself.
I’ll be back shortly.
I love you.
Sam
Satisfied, he put the note underneath the Cabo San Lucas magnet and ran to his room. Ripping open the closet, he saw three new hoodies hanging at the end. He grabbed the black one and carefully got dressed.
Excellent, he thought as he looked down at his demon arm, noting that not a single spike had managed to rip through.
No longer hungry, he rushed to the front door, snatching the key off the peg before heading out.
***
Grady looked at the glass of scotch sitting on his desk and picked up the phone receiver, staring at it for a moment. He still couldn’t believe they’d been reduced, for the most part, to rotary phones. For some reason, the more complicated the electronics, the more susceptible to the aftereffects of the demon fire. So, making a call on a cell phone was near impossible but sending a text sometimes worked. He wondered if they would eventually return to Morse code.
He dialed Rogers’s number.
“Sir,” a voice said.
“What’s the news, Rogers?”
“The boy has been holing up in his apartment, from what I can tell. We’ve set up surveillance across the street, and one of my men has spied the little demon from the hospital in the house.”
“We need to get some dirt on that kid.” Grady sipped his drink. “Or better yet, his mom. Have you been able to dig up anything around the neighborhood?”
“Just your run-of-the-mill gossip. Nothing that we can use as leverage.”
Grady sighed.
Uncovering something he might use against Sam and his mom proved more difficult than he had originally thought it would.
The colonel had dirt on everyone. His superior officers, his agents. The more dirt he had, the more leverage he could apply. That’s what kept all his men loyal. They knew if they stepped out of line he could end their careers or destroy their lives. Despite the demon invasion, life had continued as normally as possible. People didn’t want to lose their homes or find their bank accounts empty or get hauled into court.
“We need to find something soon, or I’m going to have to resort to other measures.”
“Contingency Beta?”
But Grady didn’t need to reply. They both knew what not being able to find any leverage against Sam or his family meant. In fact, they planned for this exact situation. Beta. Delta. Gamma.
Grady didn’t want to initiate Gamma, but he knew he might not be left with any choice. Sam was the answer; of that he felt certain. That old parchment he’d sacrificed a dozen men to obtain talked about the Azari formed of demon fire.
“It has to be him . . . .”
“Sir?”
“Nothing. Beta, Rogers. Beta. Get on it.”
“Sir, if you can give me a little more time, I’m sure we can find—”
But Grady cut him off by slamming the glass on the desk.
“Damn it, Rogers! Beta. And that’s an order!”
“Yes, sir.”
The line went dead.
Grady hung up the receiver and drained the rest of the scotch. He felt like he was losing his grip, that somehow the dirt he had on Rogers wasn’t enough.
Sighing, he poured himself some more scotch.