24. Valefar
Valefar
The air of Samhain is a complex tapestry.
To human senses, it is the smell of bonfire woodsmoke, mixed with the cool, crisp pines and dry leaves. To mine, it is a vibrating membrane, stretched so thin, the friction between worlds produces a low hum in my back teeth.
Under normal circumstances, a demon walking abroad on the night of the thinned veil would be a beacon, a bright flare of dark energy drawing every hunter and tracker from the Pit. Tonight, however, the mortal realm has inadvertently provided the most efficient countermeasure imaginable.
The streets are teeming with life. The density of human bodies, the chaotic swell of childlike energy, and the strangely uninhibited playfulness of the adults all create a massive wave of white noise.
Every third child is draped in plastic horns or cheap rubber masks, projecting mock-terror.
It is a great and beautiful scrambler. To the tracking mechanisms of Hell, this neighborhood is a blinding canvas of static.
Hiding in plain sight, as my Mistress so correctly assessed.
In the deep pockets of my Jinu robe, my fingers brush the small, hard geometries of the protective crystals Vesper insisted I carry, alongside a tightly wrapped bundle of dried sage.
I find these mortal defenses charming, though their efficacy against a true prince of the Pit is negligible.
Still, I carry them because she asked me to.
At first, we considered me remaining inside the house, relying on the protective threshold stone.
However, on the night of Samhain, when the veil is at its thinnest, the sheer pressure from the other side compromises the stone’s energy.
Its defensive radius is severely weakened, unable to guarantee sanctuary.
It would make us a stationary target, relying on a faltering ward that could fail under any real pressure.
Vesper and I agreed: our best opportunity for protection lies in movement and numbers. The chaotic, vibrating energy of the crowded streets, the thousands of costumed bodies scrambling demonic senses, offers a far superior shield.
“Twick tweet!” Bethie shrieks, marching down the sidewalk like a small conqueror. The Rumi wig bounces against the sequins of her jacket, and she swings her orange bucket with wild enthusiasm.
Manny walks beside her, his glossy magpie wings rustling with every step, his small top hat catching the glow of the porch lights.
Vesper is a step behind them, engulfed in her blue tiger onesie.
The hood is pushed back for the moment, her face flushed pink by the October wind, her green eyes bright with a quiet, fierce happiness which I have spent the last five months cataloguing as my favorite thing in this world.
Only equalled by her expression when I drive her to a wild climax.
“A formidable display,” I observe, keeping pace beside her. “Though I note the distribution of sugar appears to be highly disproportionate to the effort expended.”
“That’s the whole point,” Vesper says, her elbow lightly nudging mine through the heavy fabric of my robe. “Maximum candy, minimum effort. Except for the costumes, of course. Do you realize how hard I worked on that wig?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good boy.”
I turn a sharp eye on her. She gets that mischievous glint in her eye. It takes all of two seconds to recognize the suggestiveness in her expression.
So, I lower my head and growl low along her ear, “I will see to an appropriate punishment later tonight, Ves.” I revel in how she freezes.
“Looking forward to it, Sir.”
I have come to love the term leaving her lips. It is a permit. Her way of granting me an enormous amount of power I will never seek to abuse. And an equal share of responsibility for caring for her following our lovemaking. And every other moment for which I am blessed to share her life.
The bushes beside the driveway we are passing rustle violently.
A figure lunges into our path. It is a tall mortal, draped in a rotting gray sheet, wearing a rubber mask shaped into a screaming, blood-spattered demonic face.
He throws his arms wide, releasing a guttural, wet howl. “MWAHAHAHA! GIVE ME YOUR SOULS!”
My reaction is instantaneous.
I step in front of Vesper, my shoulder dropping, my weight shifting to my heels as my hand shoots forward. My claws extend beneath the wide sleeves of the Jinu robe, ready to crush the intruder’s larynx and pin him to the concrete before he can threaten my Mistress and the little Beastie.
“Vale! No! Stop!”
Vesper’s hands seize my forearm. Her grip is tight, frantic, but the sudden, clean warmth of her touch halts the strike.
I freeze, my hand hovering two inches from the screaming mask.
The mortal under the sheet blinks, his wet howl dying in his throat as he looks at my hand, then up at my face. The makeup Vesper etched onto my skin does not entirely conceal the unnatural gold of my eyes, nor the lethal poise of my body.
“Oh,” the man under the sheet says, his voice dropping an octave as he takes a step back. “Uh. Cool costume, man. Very…intense.”
“He’s in character!” Vesper announces, her voice high and breathless as she tugs my arm back toward her. She gives the neighbor a bright, highly forced smile. “Great mask, Mr. Henderson! Happy Halloween!”
“Yeah,” Mr. Henderson mutters, adjusting his rotting sheet as he edges away. “Happy Halloween.”
I retract my claws, smoothing the fabric of my robe with quiet dignity. “He was entirely unprotected,” I note. “His tactical positioning was abysmal.”
Vesper lets out a breath that is half-laugh, half-sigh, and rests her forehead against my shoulder. “He was holding a bowl of fun-size Snickers, Big Guy. You can’t execute the neighbors.”
“If they initiate hostilities—”
“It’s a jump scare, Vale. It’s traditional. And Mr. Henderson goes all out for Halloween.” She pulls back, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she looks up at me. “But thank you for the defense. Even if it was slightly homicidal.”
“I am a protector,” I say, and the weight of the word lands heavily in my own chest.
She smiles, soft and glowing, and then she turns to jog after Bethie, who has reached the next porch. I stand at the edge of the sidewalk and watch them.
The house is decorated with glowing plastic pumpkins and purple string lights.
Bethie is engaging a highly energetic toddler dance to earn her reward, her white shorts and gold belt shimmering under the porch light.
Vesper joins in, dancing beside her with an exquisite lack of self-consciousness, her laughter carrying across the lawn like music.
I have never, in all my long existence, seen anything more beautiful than the two of them under that porch light.
Manny stands beside me, his magpie wings rustling softly in the cool breeze. He adjusts his tiny hat, his gaze fixed on Vesper and Bethie as they spin on the porch.
“I’ve never seen her smile so much in her life,” he says, his voice genuine and quiet. “Even when Bethie was a baby…Rick stole part of her joy. But it’s like the world has given it back to her with interest. And when I say “world,” I mean you.”
The ridiculous blue hood of her onesie bobs as she giggles.
“I am the one with the greatest joy,” I tell him. “The interest is one of eternal magnitude. And I could spend a thousand lifetimes and never repay the debt.”
I say the words with a weight Manny cannot fully comprehend.
I am immortal; my existence is measured in geological epochs.
Vesper is a brilliant, warm mortal spark who will eventually gutter and fade.
A thousand lifetimes would still not be enough to satisfy my devotion, yet I will gladly spend this one beside her as long as she desires.
Just as I would gladly rip my damned soul to shreds if it meant she could draw another breath.
Manny is quiet for a beat. Then he turns his head to me with a protective, warning squint. “You break their hearts, Big Guy,” he says, his tone one of threat and drama, “and let’s just say that hell hath no wrath like a dramatic gay magpie with six eyes and a stolen hat.”
A faint, genuine smile touches my lips. “I would expect nothing less, Manny.”
He nods, satisfied, and walks back up the driveway to join them.
And then…the temperature drops. It is not a gradual cooling of the autumn night.
It is a sudden, violent plunge, which turns my breath to solid frost. The air goes still.
The sound of the wind through the pines, the laughter of the children, the whimsical energy—all of it seems to recede, muffled as though we have been plunged underwater.
I freeze. My heart stops its rhythm entirely. A presence.
It is a signature I would know if I were reduced to nothing but ash and scattered thoughts. It is the weight of the mountain. It is the cold, beautiful gravity of the void. And a dark fire which burns through dawn.
I turn, slowly, my movements heavy with dread.
He is standing in the middle of the street.
The neighborhood is still moving all around him. But they are, without even knowing why, giving him a wide berth. They pass around him like water parting, shivering as they step close, their voices dropping before they speed up their pace.
No one sees him. No one is permitted to.
Lucifer, the Morningstar himself, stands under the flickering glow of a streetlamp.
He looks nothing like the masked demons of this night.
He is a man of absolute, mesmerizing, and terrible beauty.
His coat is black, perfectly tailored, absorbing the light around him.
His features are symmetrical to a deeply unsettling degree, his eyes two pools of ancient starlight which hold the weight of the first rebellion.
He is the deadliest predator who has ever walked the earth, and he does not wear a mask because he does not need to hide what he is.
He is staring directly at me.
No shadow demons beside him. Nor a hellhound. The Morningstar does not delegate when he is truly determined to possess something. He only leaves Hell when he personally resolves to handle business. He has come to take me back, and he will not allow anything in this mortal realm to get in his way.
If I fight, this street will become a graveyard. The fire he brings will not distinguish between a demon in Jinu’s robes and a child in Rumi’s sequins.
I look back at the porch. Vesper is still dancing with Bethie, laughing, their faces bright. Manny flaps his wings with mock chicken motions. They are safe. They have no awareness of the shadow across the pavement thirty yards away.
Deep in my chest, a profound clarity settles.
Fear does not motivate me as I take my first step toward the street. I have feared Lucifer for centuries, but tonight, the fear is gone, burned away by something far larger and infinitely more powerful.
It is not protectiveness. It is purpose. I see Vesper laughing beneath porch lights. I see Bethie growing untouched by the darkness that shaped me. I see years I will never live and joys I will never know. And yet…
If my life began in darkness but ends preserving your light, my Evening Star, then I was never born in vain.
Vesper is strong. She has survived worse trials, and she will survive my absence. Her heart will mend. I must believe this. I must believe the warmth we built in that small house will be enough to keep the cold at bay when I am gone.
But I will carry her with me.
I memorize them in a moment. I record the exact curve of Vesper’s smile, the sound of Bethie’s laughter, the bright, ridiculous blue of that tiger onesie. Even when I am gone from this world, when I am nothing more than demonic ash in the deepest trench of the Pit, some trace of me will linger.
It will be there in the sudden blush of her cheeks when she remembers the crypt.
It will be there in the shimmer of her tears, in the phantom sensation of her hand folding into mine, in the way Bethie will look at the space on the couch where we read about green trucks and trains. And the memory of her saying, “Da Da.”
I know unequivocally that I have a heart.
I know it because it is not merely breaking; it is shattering into ten thousand jagged, brilliant pieces. And as I step off the curb, leaving the safety of the sidewalk behind, I do not try to hold those pieces together.
I send them all to her. Every single one.
I take out the stones and sage, let them tumble to the ground, then remove the hat and set it face up beside the charms. She will see. She will know.
So I walk toward the blackest light I have ever known, knowing my Evening Star will burn long after the darkness has swallowed me whole.