Demon and the Fox - 29. Devil Without a Plan

“Interesting choice of wing color. I went with black, personally. A bit cliché, I’ll admit. Yours is quite… bold.” Malachy placed a hand under his chin as he studied Nick. “I suppose you could always stick around in Hell and organize a gay pride parade, with you as their emblem—that, or promote breast cancer awareness. Both great causes.”

“Where are we?” Nick asked.

One moment he was in his apartment, staring in shock at his dead body on the floor, and the next he was in an endless and surreal snowy valley under a black sky. And it was snowing, but the shimmering flakes fell so slowly that it was like time had stopped. You could follow one snowflake with your eyes and it would take a whole minute for it to reach the ground. There was no wind at all.

“In Hell, obviously.” Malachy shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Nick was witnessing Malachy’s true appearance. He was clad in white jeans and a black dress shirt; he matched Hell’s décor. His hair was brown and curly, his eyes blue-gray, with thick dark eyebrows and high cheekbones. He was tall and skinny, and he looked young; he had the appearance of a twenty year old. Nick couldn’t stop staring.

This was Malachy? He looked like some awkward, cheeky, boyish young man.

“What do you want?” Nick snapped.

Malachy grinned. “You know, it’s really good to see you! We’ve never officially met before. This is exciting.”

“You killed me.”

Malachy pushed at the snow with a black sneaker. “Oh, yeah. I suppose I did.”

Something tightened around Nick’s chest. “What was the point of all this if you just wanted to kill me?”

Malachy spread his thin pale arms. His shirt was rolled up at the elbows.

“Hey, don’t forget I saved you.” He pointed at Nick. “You were going to die anyway. By possessing you I kept your body alive. I admit I had fun living your life.” Malachy nodded to himself. “I figured I’d keep your body alive ‘til you got out of Purgatory.”

“But I did get out!”

“Well, no one told me, did they?” Malachy shrugged. “I thought you were still in Purgatory.”

Nick shook his head. “And you didn’t care.”

“I did, I did! I felt really bad about it.”

Nick wanted to laugh. What a joke. Black strands fell in his face, snowflakes clinging to them. Nick swept them away with a dart of his hand.

“If you felt so bad why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“Hey,” Malachy snapped back, “I was in Purgatory for eighteen years, Nick. Getting tortured by some crazy old man that used to care for me. And now he hates me.”

“Because you killed him,” Nick chimed.

Malachy waved it off. “Details. The point is, I didn’t see anyone coming to my rescue.”

“Why would anyone want to rescue you?”

“Ouch,” Malachy said, but he was smiling. He kept shifting his weight from one leg to the other, like he couldn’t stand still very long.

Malachy had somewhat of an Irish accent. His voice was very loud, cutting across the eerie silence of the white valley. It was as though Malachy felt the need to emphasize every word. It made Nick cringe inside.

“By the way,” said Nick, “I’ve met Lance. You know, he’s torturing Shay as we speak. Shay never told me much.” Nick felt a lump in his throat. “But I know you two have a past. And I’m assuming Lance is torturing him to hurt you somehow. But I’m sure you don’t care about that, either.”

Something dark crossed Malachy’s eyes. “You’re wrong. I do care.”

“Then do something about it! What are you gonna do? Wait for him to get out like you did with me?”

“I knew you’d get out, Nick. I knew you’d be strong enough to survive.”

Nick shook his head. “I wasn’t. They sent me to the Fires.”

Malachy faltered, taking a step back. His foot stirred the powdery snow. “No… what? That’s not—”

“You’re disappointed? Guess what. I don’t care. You thought I was strong? I’m not. Shay made a deal with Lance to save me. He stayed to get tortured, in exchange for my getting out when Raven came for us. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Malachy looked troubled and shaken, and Nick thought that maybe he did care about Shay, in his own weird, insane way. It hurt to think about this, but at the same time—and Nick wouldn’t admit this to anyone—it was good to have someone to talk to. Whenever he told them about Shay, Raven and Cyan basically told Nick to stop worrying and suck it up. But Malachy was different. He was listening. He understood; Nick saw it in his eyes.

In fact, he was getting serious now. “Listen to me, Nick. Here’s what’s going to happen.” His voice got quieter. As the snow kept falling in slow motion all around them, Nick and Malachy stepped a little closer to one another. “I’m going to bring you back to life.”

Nick’s heart skipped a beat; for a moment there, he’d forgotten Malachy was a necromancer, too. Of course he was.

This meant he had another chance. He didn’t have to be stuck in Hell. He didn’t have to be a Dark Angel with pink wings for all of eternity. Nick almost wanted to hug Malachy right now; his emotions were going haywire a bit.

Then Malachy said, “But there’s a catch.”

Nick froze. “What? What’s the catch?”

“You need to do something for me.”

“Even if I say yes now,” Nick frowned, “what makes you think I’ll help you?”

The corner of Malachy’s lips twitched. “The necromancer bond.”

Nick’s heart sank. He hadn’t thought of that. If Malachy did this, then Nick would become his slave, wouldn’t he? Like Liv with her army of brainwashed zombies.

“But wait.” Nick looked up, and their eyes met. Malachy’s blue-gray eyes seemed mischievous, and calculating. Nick asked, “What makes you think that’ll work on me? I’m a necromancer, too. I know better.”

“I’m willing to risk it,” Malachy bounced back, his gaze unswerving.

They were silent for a moment, gauging each other. The absence of wind engulfed the valley in such an absolute silence when they weren’t talking. Nick blinked a snowflake out of his eye.

“You’re powerful, Nick,” Malachy said abruptly. “You already know I had a connection to you, even when I was in Purgatory. I saw how you brought Riley back, even though he’d been dead a long time, even though you only had his ashes.” Malachy’s tone was insistent. “I’ve been waiting to encounter a necromancer as powerful as you for a long time. I thought Olivia showed promise, but,” he waved it off, “she wasn’t what I was looking for. You are.”

“What are you getting at? Please just say it.”

“Isn’t it painfully obvious?” Malachy took a deep breath. “I want you to bring me back. Me,” he added, “and Shay.”

“That’s crazy,” Nick said.

Malachy laughed. A genuine, deep laughter. It resonated across the valley, so loud that Nick thought all of Hell must have heard it.

“I am crazy,” Malachy said when he had calmed down a bit, “haven’t you heard?”

“How would I even know where to look for the bodies—or what’s left of them?” Nick asked.

“You don’t have to. I have them. Shay doesn’t know about this. I’ve thought about it for a long time. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t know if it was possible. But I knew where I was buried, and I knew where Shay was buried as well.” Malachy’s eyes seemed to sparkle brighter than the shimmering snow. “He showed me once, when we were together in Jerusalem. So later I went back to dig out the bones.”

Nick stared. “You’re crazy.”

“We’ve established that, yes. I burned the bones, for convenience,” Malachy continued, “and kept our remnants in urns, somewhere safe. Right now, the urns are in your bedroom. In your underwear drawer.”

“Ew.”

“I’m only joking you silly bastard. They’re in your closet.”

“So this was your plan all along?”

Malachy tilted his head. “I never really have a plan. But if I did, then yes, I suppose—”

“If you wanted to bring Shay back to life, why didn’t you just do it yourself?”

Nick’s wings felt heavy, and his back hurt. He folded them closer to his body with a rustling sound. One bright fuchsia feather shed and dropped in the snow. Nick wished all the feathers would just fall off.

“You don’t get it.” Malachy’s expression was somewhat sad. “I wanted to come back, too. Can’t let Shay have all the fun, can I?”

“It’s always about you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Malachy said.

Nick sighed. He felt cold.

“What do you say, Nick?” asked Malachy. “Will you do it?”

“For Shay, yes. Definitely. For you… do I have a choice?” Nick looked up.

The valley seemed to get darker all around them. The snow turned gray, then black. Malachy’s pale eyes gleamed in the dimness.

“I guess we’ll find out,” he said.

Malachy leaned closer. He was getting ready to shift back to the human world with Nick.

“Wait.” Nick’s voice pierced the sudden darkness. “Just as a heads up, did you do anything stupid when you were possessing me?”

Malachy considered this. “I wouldn’t call it stupid…”

“Anything I should know?” Nick prompted.

“I’ll admit I thought I’d have a bit more time to…” He hesitated.

“To what? God, you’re even more annoying than Cyan.”

“God doesn’t exist, by the way.”

“How would you know?”

Malachy didn’t answer that. He grabbed Nick’s arms, and black smoke rose up around them like a mini tornado.

“And about what I did, I left you a note on your desk.”

Nick couldn’t do anything. He was transported across dimensions again.

And next thing he knew, he was desperately gasping for air, sitting up on the dusty wooden floor of his living room.

Cyan’s arms were on him, pale blue eyes searching his.

“Are you all right?”

Nick pushed him away and sprung to his feet. He almost lost his balance for a moment, but he held his ground. He ran both hands through his hair, considering the messy living room, with all the blood stains on the floor—including a puddle of his own blood. Oh, wow, Shane’s turntable was shattered… Man, the apartment was a wreck.

“What happened?” Nick asked.

He stretched his long limbs, and his neck. His body felt sore, like he’d been sleeping too long, but other than that he felt fine. Except that he really craved a shower.

“You’re human again, Nicky,” said Cyan, voice full of emotion. “You did it. Well, Malachy did. Guess he’s not the monster we thought him to be, eh? He patched everything up. You’re not hurt anymore. He didn’t even leave any scars; you had injuries in your shoulder and on your arm, but that’s gone, too. Your skin isn’t burned. You’re perfect. You’re alive.”

Nick opened up his ripped shirt. Cyan was right. There wasn’t even a scar where Malachy had stabbed. The bloody dagger was resting on the floor. Nick’s gaze flicked back to his own chest, where he saw the fox tribal tattoo across the left side. Nick let go of the mangled shirt, and frowned. He thought he could feel a sting behind his neck. So he brought his fingers there. He hissed as he touched the tender skin.

Cyan grabbed him, and turned him around. “What’s wrong? Show me.” Cyan pushed up Nick’s hair. “Oh,” he said.

“What, oh?”

“That’s weird.” Cyan let go of his hair, stepped back.

Nick whipped around. “It’s the number, isn’t it? The Purgatory number. It’s still there. 667.”

“Yes.”

“That makes no sense!” Nick almost laughed. Or cried. He wasn’t sure anymore.

Why would the number still be there? A constant reminder, perhaps, that it had all been real. It hadn’t been some long, crazy nightmare.

“I think it’s kind of neat, no?” Cyan offered, shrugging one shoulder. “I mean, you’ve been to Purgatory, and you’ve come back to tell the tale. That’s pretty bad ass.”

“Six, six, seven, Cy. How am I supposed to explain that tattoo?”

Cyan shrugged again. “Just… don’t get a haircut?”

Nick laughed. He couldn’t help it; it was just too much. Everything. He held his stomach, and he laughed, his body racked with spasms.

God may not exist, Nick thought, but the Devil sure did. And he had a sense of humor.

Cyan looked concerned. “Nicky, you’re scaring me. Stop laughing. Why’re you laughing so much?”

On a whim Nick pulled Cyan close. And he hugged him tight. Blonde hair tickled Nick’s face. Cyan felt so real in his arms. And he was. But Nick knew the difference between them now.

Nick was alive again. He really was; he was hungry, and he was thirsty, and the apartment felt uncomfortably warm and it smelled like the windows hadn’t been opened in a while. Also he felt somewhat dirty, like he’d been sweating, and he really wanted to take a long, nice shower. His nose was kind of runny—all that dust, maybe.

But all of those unpleasant sensations felt amazing right now.

Cyan misinterpreted. “Are you okay? Does your body hurt? Do you need morphine, or anything? I have some in my crypt.”

“Ah, you’re a good friend, Cy.” Nick pulled away. “But I’m fine. I’m gonna be fine.”

Cyan looked unsure, but he said, “All right, then.”

“That bastard said he left me a note.” Nick scratched his hair. “I guess I’m gonna go read that now.”

“Can I read it too?” Cyan asked, all excited.

“No.”

“But I’m curious!”

“I know, but, look.” Nick’s voice softened. “I need to be alone right now. To clean this mess. To… gather myself.”

“All right, all right,” Cyan nodded reluctantly, “I understand. But I’m definitely coming back soon to check up on you.”

Nick smiled. “I know.”

Cyan disappeared.

Nick went to his bedroom, and found two envelopes on the desk. One was addressed to him. The other one to Hazel.

Snatching the one with his name on it, Nick ripped it open before sitting on his bed. And he started to read.