Not My Apocalypse Page 4

  That day I was having a hard time paying attention. Sitting at my desk was painful and after a while I just gave up. I went into the den and dragged the most comfortable chair in the house back to the school room. The dragging hurt, but I kept focusing on how much better it would feel to sit in that instead of the stiff desk. What I really wanted was to go back to my room and lay in bed watching TV all day, but I knew Mom wouldn’t let me. She would have forced me to sit at the desk the whole time to make me suffer more for running away. Fucking bitch.

  Mr. Hoffstein let me do it and didn’t complain. Maybe he had a streak of compassion, or maybe he knew I’d pay attention more if I was comfortable. I got through the day and Mr. Hoffstein said there was no reason for me to stay late. I retreated to my room and lost myself in some glorious, mindless TV. When Mom called me down to dinner, I thought about telling her to go fuck herself, but I considered all the aches and pains in my body and chickened out. I didn’t want to add to them again so soon. After a good beating like the one I’d just gotten, I tended to be a coward for the next few days. He beat the rebellion out of me, but it never lasted long.

  I went down to dinner and did the best I could, glaring at her out of my black eye. She made meatloaf. Motherfucking meatloaf. Not that I hated it, but it was so fucking wholesome American middle class. The older I got the weirder everything seemed. Like sometimes Mom and Ken pretended we were some kind of normal family living the American Dream and yet they kept reminding me of my destiny to rule the world and bring about the Apocalypse. My life is the fucking Twilight Zone.

  My lip was still swollen so it wasn’t easy to eat, and my jaw was bruised so I only managed half the stuff on my plate before I gave up. “You have to finish it all, or you don’t get dessert,” Mom said.

  See, I told you. Fucking Twilight Zone. “I don’t care. I can’t chew anymore.” I pushed the plate away. I glared at her, challenging her to tell me I was lying. It’s not like she couldn’t see my fucked-up face.

  She and Ken looked at me for a moment. “Do you think you could manage some ice cream?” Ken asked.

  What I wanted was to put the ice cream package against my face to bring down the swelling. I should’ve grabbed some ice from the freezer before my lessons today. The cold would have felt so good against my face, and my bruised ribs, and the rest of my fucked-up body.

  Mom made this little gasp and I looked over at her. She was looking at my plate. I followed her gaze and saw frost forming on the remaining food. “Damn,” I muttered. Ice powers. Something like that had happened a few months earlier, but I’d been outside in a graveyard so I wasn’t sure if it had been one of the ghosts. Now I knew it was me. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on making the ice spread, making the room colder.

  “You stop that right now, young man,” Ken said.

  I ignored him and kept concentrating. I felt the room get colder. Thought of ice and snow. I wanted to pick up a handful of snow and press it against my face. Oh, it would feel so good. Now the dining room was as cold as the inside of a fridge.

  “Alex, stop it!” Chairs scraped against the floor as they pushed away from the table. No way I was gonna stop. I was gonna make it the fucking ice age up in here. Cold, cold, I wanted it to be colder. I couldn’t stop now or I might lose my hold on whatever this was. It had happened other times with my ability to call fire, and I wanted to go as far as I could right now. It got colder and colder, now it was more like a freezer than a fridge. “Alex!” Mom came around the table and grabbed me. I jerked away from her, shaking off her hand as I backed into the corner. I still had my eyes closed, desperately holding onto the cold.

  “Alex, please.” Ken sounded scared.

  Mom grabbed me again, this time with both hands, and she shook me. “Stop it right now!” She shook me until I opened my eyes.

  It was snowing in the dining room.

  Big, fat flakes floated down from the ceiling and settled onto the table. I met my mom’s wide-eyed gaze and looked back at the snow with wide eyes of my own, but for a very different reason. Ken stood at the far side of the room, staring at me. It was nice to know I could still scare them, even though they knew I couldn’t seriously hurt them. I grabbed my mom’s arms and pulled her off me.

  “I don’t know how I’m doing this,” I told her, which was pretty true, although I was actively trying to keep it going. I kept mentally holding onto that sensation of cold, willing the flakes to keep falling. I moved away from Mom and stepped toward the table with my hand held out. Several flakes drifted into my hand and started to melt. I looked back up at the ceiling where the snow kept falling. “Motherfucking Twilight Zone,” I muttered, then I laughed. I was surprised at the sound coming out of me. It sounded so light and happy.

  “Stop this right now, or I’m calling your father,” Mom threatened.

  I whirled and glared at her. “It’s just fucking snow.”

  “It’s snowing inside my fucking house! Stop it right now!”

  “Fine.” I pulled on the anger building in me and instead of cold I thought of heat. I didn’t know if it would work. My fire control was hit-and-miss and so far it had been strongest when I wasn’t trying to control it. Maybe I was tapped in to whatever gave me these powers, because this time it worked. In a few seconds the room went from freezing to warm. The snow turned to rain for a few seconds, splattering on the table and the floor. Then that stopped and the room kept heating up. The shimmer started in front of me, heat rising off my body. The chair next to me caught on fire. Mom started toward me. “That’s not what I meant, you little shit. Knock it off.” She grabbed my arm and screamed.

  She pulled her hand back, cradling it, staring at me with her mouth open. It took a second for it to sink in. She’d just been hurt by my powers. Then my mouth dropped open too and for a second we just stared at each other. She backed away from me. “You burned me.”

  Then I realized something else: she was going to call Satan.

  Mew-Mew, get out now. Down the stairs, quick. I felt him wake and hop off my bed. I turned and ran past Ken, out of the dining room. Thanks to the beating I still had a limp, so I wasn’t very fast and it hurt. I made it to the front room as Mew-Mew was running down the stairs. At the last second I remembered to check if my skin was still burning hot. Nope, I felt a little warm but not enough to hurt him. I bent and he jumped into my arms. I kept running and went out the front door.

  “Alexander Holden, I am calling your father! He’s going to make you pay for this!” Mom yelled after me.

  Someday, oh someday I was going to do worse than burn her hand, and I wasn’t going to run away afterward.

  Chapter 4

  I really fucking wished I could teleport on command. I could use the gateways in the cemetery, but that was two miles away and I didn’t know if I could run that far, especially with this fucking limp, before the bitch called Satan and he came after me. I still had to try. Hobbling down the road, I gritted my teeth against the pain and muttered, “Teleport, teleport, why can’t I fucking teleport!”

  I would take you down the Paths if I could, Mew-Mew told me.

  I know. I kept running as best I could with the fucking limp and I kept trying to teleport. It was hard to focus with my body hurting and panic screaming inside me. Satan could be here any second and it was hard not to think about what he was going to do to me. Mom was sure to exaggerate what happened and she’d have burns on her hand as proof that I hurt her, no matter that it had been an accident. A Satanist lying, what a surprise. I wish it had been deliberate. If I was going to be punished for it I wish it was something I’d fucking meant to do.

  The pain in my body grew worse. I tried to go all Zen and not think about what was coming for me. Panic didn’t help, it just made things worse. Teleport, teleport, teleport, I kept telling myself, thinking of the graveyard, picturing the little gate at the front with the decorative spikes at the top. I needed to get there. Then I felt it, the little something inside me that let me use my powers, dif
ferent from the things I’d been able to do when I was young. It was kind of the same, but stronger and deeper. It wasn’t the thing that let me throw objects or talk to animals or control flies. This was the thing that let me make it snow in the dining room, the deep place that let me bring Mew-Mew back to life, and brought the energy that let me teleport.

  I grabbed onto it and held it tight, still thinking of the cemetery. The world lurched inside out for a second and then I was there, standing just outside the gates. I hurried in. Inside the boundaries of the cemetery, I’d bought myself a few seconds. Satan would know to look for me here, and this would be the first place he checked. Curious ghosts and shadows flitted around as I limped toward the large headstone in the center. Good thing this wasn’t a big cemetery, because even running the short distance I had took a lot out of me. As I made my way there I thought of where I could go. Anywhere I went would buy me a few hours at most.

  I didn’t think I’d be able to get to any god’s realm to hide. If I showed up looking like this they’d know I was in trouble, and they didn’t want to get involved in the problems of my pantheon. Even Persephone’s pleading hadn’t gotten Hades to stand up for me and tell my father to get the fuck out of his realm. I didn’t think Hades was afraid; he just didn’t want to deal with the fucking mess. When your pantheon’s drama is too much for the Greek gods, you know that’s some fucked up shit.

  I decided to go to New Orleans, to Saint Louis Number One. That place has some heavy, heavy power and it would keep Satan from finding me for a while. I might have as much as a day to figure out what I was doing next, plus the Loa were pretty cool with me hanging out in their city. They’re somewhere between saints and gods, and there’s some overlap with the Christian pantheon, so they’re more willing to interfere in my problems. Maybe not enough to hide me from Satan, but it was worth a try.

  The ghosts were thick in there, enough to make Mew-Mew a little nervous. I set him down and he stayed close to my legs as I walked over to a bench. I sat down with a heavy sigh, feeling all the aches and pains in my body. I might be safe here for a few hours, or a day, but at least for a little while I could relax. Satan would have to look for me the hard way to find me since he wouldn’t be able to sense me. He might make a lucky guess, but this wasn’t the only powerful cemetery that hid me completely. I’d been to Gettysburg and Arlington a few times lately, and some of the really old cemeteries (by American standards) out in New England. Hopefully he would check some of those places first.

  Some of the ghosts hung back, curious but not enough to get close. Some of the others started gathering closer. Ghosts hadn’t bothered me since I was little, but they could get annoying if they wanted to be chatty. All I wanted to do was rest and I wondered if I should risk offending them by telling them to leave me alone. Then the ghosts parted and a black figure approached.

  As soon as I saw the top hat, I knew who it was. The ghosts moved out of the way and let Baron Samedi approach. “Baron,” I said with a little nod of my head.

  “Old Scratch’s bastard,” he said with a crooked grin and a nod as small as mine had been.

  If anyone else called me that I would be pissed, but with him it was just annoying. He liked trying to get a rise out of people. “I told you to call me Alex.”

  “Alex.” His grin widened a little. “What you doing in my cemetery?”

  “For now I’m just taking a break.” Mew-Mew hopped up on the bench next to me and I absently pet him.

  “You running away again?”

  “Yep.”

  “Looks like you had a bit of trouble. Old Scratch lay into you again?”

  “Yeah.” Most of the gods and spirits I’d met knew how my parents treated me. When I was younger I babbled it to anyone and everyone.

  We studied each other and I wondered how to ask him if he might help me. Diplomacy wasn’t my strong point, despite what my parents planned for me. So I just asked him straight up. “I need a place to hide for a few days. I’m in trouble. More than usual.”

  “And you think the Baron will help you?” He produced a lit cigar from his jacket and stuck it in the corner of his mouth.

  I shrugged. “You or one of the other Loa. I’m already fucked up from the beating I got yesterday and I just can’t face another one right now. I’m in deep shit.”

  “You wanna bring your trouble to us, huh?” He puffed at the cigar.

  Looking up at him, I suddenly felt very small. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. Just for a few days.”

  Baron Samedi took the cigar out of his mouth and blew a few smoke rings. “You got somewhere else to go. The one who’s supposed to be your enemy.”

  “I don’t have time for fucking riddles.”

  His eyes blazed bright. “Hey, you little shit, show some respect. You asking me for help, I give you some advice.”

  I sighed. “Sorry. I’ve had a rough fucking week.”

  He squinted at me. “I like you, so I’m gonna help you. When people need protection from Satan, who do they ask?”

  “God?” I said. “Jehovah?”

  He stuck the cigar back in his mouth. “Who else?”

  I frowned, not getting it. Then I frowned more, hurting my black eye, and said, “Jesus?”

  “Yeah.” He gave me a wide, toothy grin.

  “You can’t be serious. He’s not gonna help me.” We were supposed to be mortal enemies and shit.

  “Why not ask him and see?”

  Where else could I go? I knew I was going to try it when I asked him, “But how am I supposed to find him? I don’t know where he lives, and we ran into each other by accident that one time.”

  Baron Samedi puffed on his cigar again. “Go to San Francisco and ask the spirits in the cemetery. They know where he lives.”

  “Why can’t you just tell me?” If the ghosts knew, then he knew. The dead are under his power, and Baron Samedi gossips like an old lady.

  “Too easy,” he said with another grin. “I have things to do. Run along, little bastard.” He half turned and vanished. Some of the ghosts went with him while others drifted closer to me.

  “What do you think?” I asked Mew-Mew.

  I think we should try, like he said. He stood and stretched, arching his back high.

  I nodded. I didn’t have any other ideas. I would probably be safe from Satan if I went into an old church, filled with power by years of worship, but I’d tried that once and it didn’t work. Jehovah wouldn’t let me in his house. He doesn’t like me, and the feeling is mutual. His kid, on the other hand, seemed like a nice guy. I was pretty sure he’d be able to protect me, but I was way the fuck less sure that he’d be willing. I had to give it a shot, though.

  So I got up and took the gateway to San Francisco.

  ***

  When I was fourteen I ran away and made it to San Francisco, and I met Jesus in a park. We instantly knew each other. He put up his hand and said, “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s my father, not me.”

  I told him I wasn’t there to cause trouble. It took some convincing, but eventually he relaxed a little. It turned out we’d been born the same year. He was a few months older, born in the spring. We actually bonded a little over having gods as fathers and having all these expectations about what we were supposed to do. I told him flat out I had no intention of doing what my father wanted me to do. I didn’t want to be a politician, I didn’t want to take over the world, and I sure as shit didn’t want to destroy it. Not even if the new world was supposed to be all pretty and peaceful and shit.

  “I don’t want the world to end either,” Jesus said. “Even though I’m supposed to rule over the new one. I know the world isn’t perfect, but I don’t want all this to be destroyed.” He swept his hand around at the park, all green and beautiful with people walking, tossing baseballs, or sitting under trees with their friends or lovers.

  “Yeah, it’s not perfect, but can’t we just fix it or something? I don’t see why e
verything has to be destroyed. I don’t want everyone to die just so your dad can start with a clean slate. If the first world got screwed up, that’s his problem and he doesn’t have to punish all of us for it.” Because you know, according to the story I’m supposed to go down in flames too.

  He gave me this look and said, “You aren’t trying to tempt me away from my path are you?”

  “No. I’m just saying what I think, and it sounds like you agree with me. Anyway, I’m going to mess up your path if I don’t do what I’m supposed to. If I don’t rule the world then the whole prophecy gets fucked up, doesn’t it?”

  He made a face and said, “Language, please.” I rolled my eyes. He frowned, looking thoughtful for a while. “But do we have a choice? Isn’t this our destiny?”

  “Fuck destiny.” I ignored him when he scolded me for my foul mouth again. “Humans have free will, and we’re half human. Shit, even gods have free will. I know ‘cause I’ve met plenty of them. So why can’t we have free will?”

  He frowned again. “But it’s my father’s will that this world be destroyed to make way for the new. I have to play my part, and so do you.”

  I lifted an eyebrow at him. “Are you trying to tempt me? Are you telling me that I should take over the world and put the mark of the beast on people and all that shit? All so you can do what Daddy says like a good little boy?”

  We argued for a while, and Jesus walked away, troubled. I hadn’t seen him since then but I wondered what he thought about our conversation. Was he doubting his role, or did he still want to be a good little boy? Would he turn me away?