I'll play the Devil and you'll play the fool...



The first thing Spook noticed was the emptiness that filled the room. The energy once thick and buzzing with life was gone. A chill had settled in. The second thing she noticed was the sharp pain shooting up her right arm. Moving it only brought on more pain. She also felt broken glass poking her skin. The last thing she noticed when she stumbled on shaky knees was a plain ebony door. Spook groaned at the sight of it. She was having a growing dislike for them now. This door unlike its red counterpart had no handle or knob and was only now revealed due to the explosion that blasted the mirror to pieces.

The door gave way easily with a simple push and bright, warm light spilled through. Spook threw one last glance at the gray room. Her mind muddled with thoughts and foreign emotions she had no idea how to deal with. It was all so troubling. And she had no intentions of sorting it out. All that mattered now was the fact that she was still living and there was a wish to obtain. So the whole incident would be left behind, pushed back to the depths of her mind.

Spook blinked a few times to adjust to the new lighting. It was an antechamber, a very lavish and expensive antechamber. This new room was a bright contrast to the dull and lifeless gray one. The white marble walls were decorated with paintings, each depicting a disturbing scene and a beautiful woman. The floor was covered with silken carpets, gold ornate armchairs and settees, candle stands and a brazier sat not too far away. Columns stretched high to the ceiling and an archway lay ahead where a grille stood, foreboding any access.

Strangely enough like a guard at the gates stood a rather tall statue of an angel. Beautiful folded wings, long flowing hair and a simple robe. One hand held a chalice. The other was empty, held out as if to receive something. As angels brought great joy and happiness, this one brought feelings of unease. There was no mouth, only a smooth surface, a gaping hole where a heart should be, no eyes and another smaller hole in its forehead. Upon closer inspection the angel was also missing a pointing finger on the left hand.

Spook scratched her jaw-line and snorted, “And they say demons are ugly.”

For a place that tried to look homey, it somehow projected the exact opposite. There was no sound, nothing moved in the room except for Spook’s heavy boots which stomped the floor but even then the sound was muffled to mere pat ‘pats. She did catch an odd smell in the room. It was subtle, something exotic…  

Then she saw it. At the base of the statue a book laid open. The leather binding was no longer old from time, but new and brown like supple soil. It was that damn book, the Grimoire of Turiel. There was no mistake. Spook drew near, half gaping and half glaring at the pages. Spook was sure she left it two doors ago. On the pages of the Grimoire was a message.


One of you two mortals must sign the scroll in blood and place it in the statue’s forehead. That mortal will be removed from my domain but will come to no further harm. The other child of Adam may continue through the gate.


There right next to the Grimoire was a parchment and a plum purple quill. In a beautiful spidery scrawl:


I surrender my free will to Turiel


No way in hell did Spook plan on doing that. Free will…Her brows knitted at the words like it was a foreign language. She rested her left hand on her hip, leaving her right hand limp at her side. The pain dulled but still required some treatment. Spook surveyed the damage done to it. Even after releasing all the energy in the black gem to cause an explosion, she was unable to pass through it completely unscathed. Her hand was red and covered in cuts and swelling welts. And her sleeve acquired a few holes and charred edges in the process.

It was hard to move her fingers or grip anything without pain shooting up her arm in protest. All in all, the burn wasn’t bad and the cuts shallow. But she wouldn’t be able to fight well with it, not until it healed. Even with treatment it would take a few days, a week at most. Some of the worse damages already repaired itself. Still, even when her body’s healing rate was faster than a human, Spook sorely wished there was a healer in the room.

That was when she spied something. Walking around the statue Spook saw that it was a counter. The wood it was carved from was a deep ash color with gold trimmings. The legs were expertly shaped into horribly ugly demons with long horns and wide snouts, sharp pointed teeth and long claw-like fingers. The upper half of the legs held arrays of beautiful angels, with long billowing robes and sashes, defined androgynous faces and staves in hand. They were descending upon the demons. But it wasn’t the craftsmanship that held her attention. No, it was the white metal box that sat atop the counter. A first aid supply box.

Spook grinned, praising her good luck. Inside she found everything needed to patch her hand up nice and good. After tending to her wound and boredom set in, Spook attempted to see if she could pass the grille. There had to be something more beyond it.

Her plans were halted when she heard a slow creak. The sound came from the other side of the room. There right next to the ebony door was an off white replica. How she missed it, Spook had no clue. It creaked open, stopped then slowly opened even further. Alert, Spook sidled behind the statue. She didn’t exactly want to reveal herself just yet. If it was an enemy, she would have the element of surprise.

A head poked out and threw nervous glances left and right then stepped out from behind the door. A frown settled upon Spook’s pale face. He was a funny looking fella, very tall (too tall for Spook’s liking) and gangly. He was covered in scars and blotches, especially his hands (he was rubbing them in a nervous manner) and bright waves of curly red hair flopped wildly. Spook noticed he walked with an odd gait. Unsure and careful, like he didn’t trust himself to get near anything.

He looked dazed and like a lost puppy.

“H-hello? Is..is anybody here?”

Puzzled, Spook watched the awkward man. Who was he? Was he here for the wish as well? Her frown deepened. If that was true, then did that mean she was not the only one here to seek the wish? She thought back to the message scrawled in the Grimoire. It mentioned two people. She was one and he was two. Now the gears in Spook’s head began to turn. This run of the mill man looked gullible enough. A mischievous smile spread on her face. Spook dusted herself of glass looking as solemn—no—as angelic as possible and stepped out from behind the statue.   

  “Human!” Spook spoke in a smooth and detached voice.

He literally jumped at her voice, a look of surprise and fear on his face. Spook refrained from snickering or else she gave away the charade.

“Who has trespassed?” There was a note of command in the simple question.

He dropped his gaze, “I uh-”

“Why have you entered my…” Spoke thought for a moment, “dwelling?”

Carefully she placed herself in front of the Grimoire as he looked up abashedly.

“Oh-I didn’t mean…it was the only way-there was no way back-I certainly didn’t mean to intrude.” He apologized.

Spook wanted to gag at the sincere and humbleness he radiated. He screamed do-gooder all over the place.

Spook spread her arms in a grand fashion, “I am Turiel and this is my home.”

“Have you come for my wish?”

“Wish…?”

Spook caught the curious tone and realized her mistake. A look of hope brightened his pasty scar ridden face. Swiftly Spook crossed the room, all pretenses gone.

“Do you even know who Turiel is?”

“I…” He paused, “…do.”

Spook raised a skeptical brow at him.

“How did you get here then?”

“There-um was an accident and I was thrown into a room…” He trailed off.

“…”

“…”

Spook stared up at him. He stared down at her. The seconds ticked off in silence as the two did nothing but stare at each other. His gaze soon wondered elsewhere, the paintings on the wall, the grille. The grand statue, but it did not linger long. The sight of it seemed to make him uncomfortable. Spook thought of the message again. If someone were to hand over their free will, she rather it was this foolish human. Spook turned round and motioned for him to follow her. It was time to seal the deal.

“You mentioned a wish…” He said wistfully.

“I did.”

Spook stopped once reaching the foot of the statue. She closed the book, picked up the quill and turned to him. The facade of ‘Turiel’ back in place.

“You have proven yourself in that room, otherwise you would not be here.” Spook held the quill out to him, “Thus you have gained the honor, the right to obtain the wish.”

Her eyes held a dangerous glow. “What is your name?”

“It’s Robbie. Robbie Jones.” He answered.

“You’ll grant my wish? Really grant one?”

“I will.”

Spook couldn’t help it anymore. She broke out into a wide grin. He was eating up every single word she spewed. Spook set the quill in his hand.

“Take this and sign your name here.” She tapped the parchment, “And whatever you desire is yours.”

Robbie bent over with the quill poised over the parchment and missed the malicious leer spread on her face. The tip of the quill barely touched paper when he glanced her way. A question lingered behind those storm gray eyes yet he refrained from asking. Spook rolled her eyes in annoyance. Robbie fingered the quill, running the soft purple feathers between each finger. He looked to be debating something of importance and seeming to come to some conclusion, stood to his full height.

“You don’t…by any chance have some ink?” The question was voiced in such a sheepish and boyish manner. Like a child afraid to be punished for bothering an important figure.

Spook plastered a benign smile, “The price of a wish is a drop of your blood. That shall be your ink.”

Robbie looked incredulous and fumbled with the quill with shaking hands. They were sweating profusely now and the quill tumbled from his long fingers to the silken carpet. A peculiar thing happened. Both bent down to retrieve the quill. Robbie lost his balance whilst crouching and to stop himself from falling unceremoniously on his butt, threw his arms out. To Robbie’s complete horror his left arm change into a plaid bagpipe and smacked Spook squarely in the face. A sharp yelp escaped her lips as she palmed her face. Soon colorful choice words followed as well. Spook grunted at the burning pain.

All the while she kept hearing Robbie’s guilt ridden voice apologize over and over. Spook cracked an eye open to swat aside his outstretched hand (the non-bagpipe one).

“Shut up! Shut up already!!” Spook growled at the red head.

~~~~

Robbie retreated at the menacing tone, his bagpipe arm wheezing pathetically.  He watched as the skinny pale boy curse more and more like one of Nick’s brutish bar buddies. Each curse quickly turned into a shrill and mad giggle. It sent chills down Robbie’s spine. He was beginning to think something was wrong. Terribly wrong. And he wouldn’t be getting his wish.

‘Turiel’ as he called himself stopped laughing and he glared at Robbie through a fringe of black hair. His eyes had taken on a dangerous glow. Robbie drew back, scared. Now he was severely regretting ever breaking that mirror. Breaking a mirror was seven years of bad luck. And he broke a full length one! That had to be double the years, even triple!! In all honesty though, that had been an accident, just as hitting Turiel in the face was. He couldn’t very much control his shifting limbs and ill-time accident prone-ness. But now Robbie gathered the two combined was cursing him to an ill fate.

“I guess my little ruse didn’t work at all.” Turiel removed his hand and Robbie saw an outline of redness.

For a moment he thought his heart stopped. He must have heard Turiel wrong.  

“You mean…you were.. tricking me?” Robbie’s voice broke at the end.

Turiel didn’t seem to hear Robbie at all. In fact Robbie lost sight of him completely. It was only when his mind screamed danger and instincts finally kicked in and told him to run. Turiel appeared ahead, thrusting a pale fist at Robbie’s face. And it would have connected if Robbie hadn’t fortunately slipped on the quill in his attempt to flee and fall on his back. Robbie moaned at the pain shooting up and down his back but quickly scrambled up as he narrowly scrapped by another punch.

~~~~

Spook didn’t understand how a buffoon like him could dodge all her attacks, especially when one arm was still a damnable bagpipe that kept spouting out burst of loud pitch noise. Then again her aim was sloppy and overridden with irritation.

She saw him circle the statue in hopes of lengthening the distance between them. Spook ran headed on at the statue. The space around her body vibrated and she felt the shift in her body, then she was weightless and moving through marble stone. On the other side Spook lunged forward and tackled a surprised Robbie. The two tumbled on the carpet in a mass of limbs. Robbie thrashed around yelling in her ear while Spook tried to pin him down despite the excruciating pain in her right hand. But she found it hard when his body shifted chaotically, especially when he sprouted extra hairy legs and slippery appendages. The wrestling match was a mess with each trying to overpower the other.

And she was losing. Not only was she outnumbered in extra useful limbs, her ears were ringing from his constant screams. Robbie managed to knee Spook in the gut with a prosthetic leg for an arm and roll away. Spook hunched over to catch her breath and saw him wiggle away. She realized what he was going for. Gathering strength, Spook lunged with a warrior cry and the two were in another power struggle. This time they fought over the quill. With a triumphant cry Spook managed to pry it from Robbie’s sweaty hands.

“If you won’t sign it,” Spook hissed, “I will.”

And she stabbed his hand, breaking flesh and sinking the sharp tip of the quill in deep before pulling it out. Robbie screamed in pain and the very sound reverberated. Terrible trembles shook his body as he clutched the wounded hand to his chest. Dark pools of blood seeped pass ghastly pale fingers onto his white button shirt. His screams faltered to pitiful whimpers.

With the quill drenched in his blood Spook was one step closer to her wish. A trail of it dripped from the tip, hungry for its destination. Robbie’s whimpers had ceased. Spook smoothed away non-existent wrinkles on the parchment and raised the quill.

~~~~

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Robbie slammed into Turiel with a force and power he did not know he possessed. He had a horrible feeling that once his name was on that paper then he would never get his wish. Robbie struggled desperately to pin Turiel or whoever he was down though his body ached and his head pounded from loss of blood. Despite the fact that his injured hand had healed and left behind a scar, the pressure which he forced on it to hold Turiel still, was too much. The pain blurred his vision.

“Who are you!?” Robbie demanded in ragged breath.

“Why-are-you-here!?”

“Why…why did you..trick me!?”

“Why—”

Robbie was short of breath and his vision grew dark and fuzzy. Everything seemed far away. His body hurt as if ripping him apart. He saw his hand slowly change. He saw the look of shock on Turiel’s face. He saw the slithering tendril slip up to Turiel’s neck. Then another one and another one and another one. Each one wrapped around the frail looking neck. No! Robbie cried out. Stop! But his voice didn’t work. Robbie panicked; he realized his body was turning into the creature he encountered from the mirror. Then everything went black.

***

There was a clicking noise off somewhere in the distance. Robbie moaned and groaned. His head hurt and body stiff. It refused to move. With great effort he opened a blurry eye.

“You tried to kill me.”

Robbie did not see Turiel but he heard the accusatory tone in that whisper. He wanted to say no but it came out in rasps. He tried to shake his head but did not have the energy to do so. It was not him! He wanted to plead.

“You wanted to kill me so badly for that wish…”

He felt Turiel’s hot breath in his ear.

“…that you turned into that thing.”

No! Robbie wanted to cry and shake his head at the thought of it. His vision cleared and Turiel loomed over with an unreadable expression. For some reason the boy looked even younger with his hair all messy and face flushed. The guilt poured out like a dam. He, Robbie Jones almost killed someone. In all his life, even after joining Nick in their illegal work of smuggling magic, Robbie never even entertained the thought of killing a man even if the situation called for it. All he wanted was a better life. All he wanted was to be rid of his ailment. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to kill for it, yet he almost did. He lost control (in truth he barely had any control over the shifting to begin with) and for what? A wish he was sure was just some sort of joke.

Robbie was a monster.

“I…I don’t want to die.” Robbie croaked at last. His mouth was parched.

Turiel brought a bottle to his lips and tipped it. Robbie swallowed the sour liquid contents and sputtered. The coughing intensified the burning pain in his chest.

“Poi..sen…” Robbie choked out.

Turiel frowned.

“Please.” There was a note of derision in his tone, “You were half way there when you turned into that ugly, blubbery thing…”

In his state Robbie had the decency to look embarrassed and ashamed.

“It was either the cough medicine or the rubbing alcohol.”

Robbie licked his dry lips.

“Why, why—”

“You should be grateful,” Turiel interjected. “That I saved your life.”

Robbie stared at him in surprise. Even after Robbie (unintentionally) tried to kill him? Robbie thought Turiel would be done with him in one fell swoop.

“Thank you.” And Robbie truly meant it.

“I’m in your debt.”

Turiel looked away and half mumbled something unintelligible. Robbie closed his eyes and tried to see if his body would cooperate with him. Fingers, toes, they barely moved. He suddenly felt very tired and drowsy.

“Hey.”

Turiel’s voice brought Robbie out from the half sleep he slipped into.

“Yes?” Robbie groggily asked.

“You’re a man of your word.” It was not a question.

Robbie nodded then realized his head barely moved.

“Yes.” Robbie looked at him.

“Why?”

Robbie could not see where Turiel stared off to. His face as he looked Robbie in the eyes was troubled but serious.

“I…” Turiel paused uncertain to continue, “To pay your debt to me, I want you to sign the paper.”

Robbie said nothing. Turiel looked ashamed and did not keep eye contact.

“Why?”

Robbie did not know what else to say, but wanted to know why signing the paper was so important. He wished he had read the contents on it.

“The requirement is for one person to sign it and return home. The other will continue on to obtain the wish. You won’t get your wish by signing it.”

This time it was Robbie who could not keep eye contact.

“The wish …?”

“Exists enough to bring you here.” And as an afterthought, “As well as me.”

Robbie stared at the white marble ceiling. He needed that wish. If he returned home, he was surely dead. He didn’t want to think what the Lawbringers would do when they found him in his current condition. But he nearly died here and almost took another life with him. Now, to repay his debt, he was asked to sign away his only chance to be normal again. What should he do? Robbie was terribly troubled by his desire for normality and his sense of duty.

~~~~

Spook couldn’t help the smug grin playing on her lips. She watched Robbie’s wide back as he struggle to keep his hold on the sleek statue. Several times Spook thought he would refuse to do it and she had to go to plan B. Beat him senseless until he agreed. In the end and to her great pleasure Robbie had scribbled his name down on the parchment.

Once slotted in the forehead, two things happened. The white door, from which he first entered, swung open and the grille (much slower but surely) opened to let her pass. Robbie began his descent. Once sure footed on solid ground he trudged to the door that first brought him here.

“Wait!” Spook called.

He glanced back. He was weary, defeated and very depressed.

“Before you go,” The grin on her face grew wider and wider.

“Let’s talk business.”



~~~~~


Chloe looked up from the stack of books sitting on the coffee table. It was very, very faint, but it was there. It was far away. She couldn’t discern where. Chloe met Nigel’s gaze as he too felt it. It was Spook’s energy…and it was calling them.

After they found that she no longer occupied the bathroom neither Chloe nor Nigel could sense any trace of her. Her trail of energy disappeared. It was like she never existed.

Nigel took one big inhale of his cigarette and exhale, mixing his energy with the smoke. The smoke swirled in the air, forming a lopsided circle. A face appeared in the smoke, that of short curly red hair and covered in pale scars. His grey eyes stared at the two nervously. He held a black gem in his hand.

“Are-are you Chloe and Nigel?”





…End