Sweet Death IV

What should I do? The exact phrase repeated again and again inside his head, no answer, just the question, trapping him in the loop. Maddox frowned and gripped the wheel as Aurora got out of the car. He ironed his face as she went around the car to his door, and he cranked down the window. 

     “We talked a lot, you and I,” she said with a smile. “And I didn’t get your name.” 

     “Maddox,” he said. 

     “I’m Aurora,” she said, and out of the blue, she pulled at his hand and took out a pen from her purse. Then she wrote a bunch of numbers with a tiny heart at the end, her telephone, he thought and looked closely at it to ensure he was not picturing what he wanted to see. 

     “You’re a nice guy Maddox,” she squeezed his hand. “I’d love to chat some more, so call me.” 

     He caught her by the wrist. 

     “Aurora, wait. Diego Santos will try to murder you. I-I can’t tell you how I know, but you’ll have to trust me. He doesn’t care about your pictures or you,” the words were out before he could stop himself. 

     She looked at him with a mixture of shock and confusion. 

     “Who told you that?” 

     “It’s unbelievable, perhaps way beyond your human comprehension, but please,” he said. 

     She pulled her hand from his and backed away as if his touch was unbearable. 

     “Okay, dude, I don’t know what the hell you’re on, but I’m done with this conversation. I’ll block you if you text or call me, so don’t even try,” she said and walked away, glancing worriedly in his direction until she was inside the place. 

     Maddox shut his eyes and pressed his palms against them hard as if by doing that, the whole car ride would be erased, and he could start over. But alas, he was no dream walker, and this was no dream. Not anymore. 

     This could be his chance to stop the madness and do his job, but Billy Idol was yelling Do not stand in the shadows from the car speakers. Dark and evil in the shadows. 

     “By the levels of the underworld!” he yelled, kicked his door open, and regretted it immediately. He closed it carefully before patting it like he would a dear pet. Maddox straightened up, huffed, and walked to the entrance. 

     He grasped at the door handle. He could hear the thump of loud music inside, matching the beat of his pulse. 

     Addox was wrong. He wasn’t ready for this job because he couldn’t stand the thought of an innocent soul dying that violently. It ate his insides. A feeling too foreign for an angel of death but recognizable. He cared about her. Even if their exchange was brief and died quickly, he would treasure it until the end of times. If only he could save her, he would accept whatever consequences it entailed.

     Maddox gulped and opened the door. The hot, blazing air mixed with alcohol and sulfur stabbed his nostrils. The dance floor was an ocean of humans and demons. The humans didn’t seem to mind them. The demons were using a glamour like his, but he could see their horns in all lengths, thicknesses, sizes, and shapes rising from their heads. Their black iris-less eyes and sharp teeth were the second and third clues. A few of them glanced his way, and a shiver ran down his spine. 

     He’d seen a demon before, but never this many nor this irritated by his presence. Maddox entered and placed a hand on his suit’s side to ensure his death dagger was there. It was, but it didn’t give him any relief. 

     He walked to the bar. It was empty, with most beings on the dancefloor. Neon blue light gave the bottles of alcohol a toxic magical glow. As he came closer, he noticed a jar of unicorn blood, pixie sugar, and more inhuman ingredients on the shelves. He hoped they were being legally distributed, but how certain could he be in a demonic den?  

     “Just a minute,” said the bartender. Though hidden beneath the marble counter, her voice rang true among the noise. 

     He leaned against the white marble. He wasn’t going to talk long, nor was he going to drink anything. This was not a reapers department though it should be reported. Why no archangel had come across it was beyond him. He tried to keep his eyes on the table, but they drifted, both marveled and appalled around this place. He’d read about human clubs in enough archives to have an idea, but being inside was so overstimulating. He was glad to be in his human form, or else his many eyes would’ve been blinded by the lights. 

     His eyes landed on a framed picture in the corner. A painting, to be precise, of a couple holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes happily. A small mortal dressed in a white gown and a giant jaguar spirit shifter, with a scar in his right eye and jaguar spots in his body glowing with spiritual magic. He dressed in the traditional garb of his tribe. Underneath it said Índigo and Arabella until the stars melt. 

     “My great-great-grandparents.” 

     Maddox’s eyes went directly to the source. The bartender was a small lean woman with short raven hair, almost blue, with the same glowing jaguar spots and golden eyes as the man. She inspected him swiftly like one does the unimportant, and her lips curled. 

     “You came to the wrong place, reaper,” she snarled. 

     “I don’t want trouble,” Maddox said. “I’m looking for a soul, and then I’ll leave.” 

     She snickered. “That simple, huh?” she said. “You don’t care about the rest of these?” 

     Maddox glanced at the mortals, some on the brink of ecstasy—eyes rolled up, sweat prickling—others empty husks that dangled from the arms of a demon. The demons were feeding off their emotions; devouring them was perhaps a better word. A pang of guilt nudged at him when the realization that, even if he wanted to help, he was vastly outnumbered. And demons, as long as they didn’t kill or possess, could feed; such were the rules.  

     “I’m here on business,” Maddox said, imitating the stern tone of his brother in the hopes of fastening the ordeal. “I’m looking for Diego Santos—” 

     She scoffed. “Business. Right.” She pointed her lips at the back. 

There was an opening with a purple neon sign that hummed and read Neon Inferno. 

     “Thank you, and please excuse the bother,” he said. 

     She shrugged in response. Maddox nodded and walked to the dark opening. The hallway was a long stretch of white walls that looked lilac under the purple lights, and the sulfur smell was ten times more potent. Framed pictures hung from the walls, all depicting hellish scenes from beasts and humans engaged in an orgy to acts of torture too crude for Maddox to put in words, all glowing in different neon colors. 

Maddox averted his eyes to the doors instead, trying his best to keep his eyes focused on them, though in the darkest, most profound part of his being—the one perhaps akin to his own demonic desires—he wanted to see, just for the sake of morbidity, since there were no paintings at all in corporate. 

Each private room had a door marked with the name of ancient princes of hell in sharp, scratchy letters. Moans and low screams came from the other side of each making his skin prickle, but none of them belonged to Aurora. Maddox shook his head in distress, feeling like he was being drowned by the whole thing. How was he going to find her? What would his brother do in a situation like this?

     He clutched and unclutched his hands, searching for the answer. His own haste cluttered his brain. Should he call on her? But then again, why would she answer him? His only other option was to peek in each door and risk getting attention from the demons inside, making whatever means of escape he had almost impossible to keep. 

     He took a deep breath and picked up the scent of blood alongside the smell of hell. One with the scent of perfume and oranges coming in waves from the room of Belial. He sucked in the air and hastened to the door. When his fingers brushed the doorknob, magical energy shocked his arm numb, and he instantly curled it back towards him. Above the doorknob was a small carving, a magical sigil against angels of death.

     That’s when he realized this was no mere human he was dealing with, and everything, even his presence here, was calculated. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was a trap from some unhinged demon seeking revenge. 

     Maddox took out his death dagger, and as the blade smoked, he realized he didn’t have much time. The soul he was to collect was already dying. 

He tightened his grip on the handle and shoved himself against the door. Sparks of electricity flew everywhere, and he groaned under his breath as the pain swept up his arm like fire. He took a few steps back and slammed against the door again with all his might. It flew open, and Maddox almost fell to the ground, but his wings propped him backward into a straightened position. Any thought about how his power was weakened and his true form was beginning to show banished with the sight. 

     Aurora lay on the ground in a pool of her own blood. Her color drained. At the back sat a human, crossed-legged and arms outstretched over the leather booth. He grinned; purple veins clawed at the sides of his face, his eyes white, and black inky smoke wafted from him. Its soul sparked a deep orange, but the flames were intertwined with a second, black fire. Maddox’s eyes widened at the realization that this human was possessed by an angel of death, not the demon he expected. 

     “Many thanks for coming, fellow coworker,” said the unknown angel. His authentic voice mingled with that of the human in a terrifying duet. “You have me doubting for a moment that you would even try to complete your task. I thought you’d be distracted by the bright lights and the meager entertainment humanity can offer.” 

     Maddox stayed silent, his eyes dashing from the stranger to Aurora. She stretched her trembling hand towards him, and he crumbled to the ground—his dagger clanking as he let it go—to take her hand, sucking in a deep breath and concentrating his weak healing magic on her as powerfully as he could, praying that he could manage to close the enormous gap in the middle of her abdomen. He needed to save her, the one human who made him feel like he was human too. His dream. His possibility. His light in the dark.

     “Y-you…” her whisper wavered. 

Maddox shushed her softly, broken as she was; his soul shrunk, thinking her life would be extinguished if he didn’t apply himself quickly. Her warmth was returning. Blessed be, he thought in relief. He didn’t understand why this human’s grip on him was so strong, but perhaps she was fated to him in a way beyond any division of the Realms could understand. He just knew that his heart was not his anymore. It belonged to her to use how she pleased and if she died, so would he and his humanity.   

     “Don’t speak. I’ll do my best to save you,” he whispered back. “Then you’ll get to see your mother again.” 

     Her eyes welled with tears as she tried to stretch a smile. 

     The stranger scoffed. “Alas, I was right all along. You are too weak to be a reaper.” 

     The wound was starting to close. Her skin began to stitch together, her muscles and flesh fusing again, and the blood stopped pouring from the long line-shaped hole. Blessed be, Maddox repeated in his mind, releasing a shallow breath. 

The ringing of metal cutting the air alerted Maddox just in time for him to throw himself to the side and avoid getting cut by the death dagger of that angel. The dagger flew back into the hand of its owner. 

Maddox stood in front of Aurora, spreading his wings—eyes wide on the stranger—to shield her, dagger in hand. He pressed his palm to the stinging in his cheek and saw his blood, a thin layer of black, against his gloves. He had never fought against a foe, but he was not about to lose Aurora out of cowardice. 

     “Reveal yourself, stranger,” Maddox said. 

     The angel sprang to Maddox with a roar, brandishing his blade.