Jolene

This is my first invite to a meeting. When Elliot got back from his errand, he surprisingly knocked on my door and asked me to come. 

Wherever he went or whatever he did put a serious twist to his mood. I've never seen him so out of it. I cracked a joke about knocking, and it went right over his head, not to mention he didn’t look at my chest once.

The meeting is held in the library. There are two unfamiliar faces I've never seen before. A short Latino girl and a guy covered in tattoos. Elliot introduces us while seating me at the table. We’re all waiting on Jacob, who left shortly after Elliot got back. I'm awkwardly staring at the door because I don’t know what else to do. I'm not very social, and right now, I'm highly uncomfortable. Suddenly, Jacob appears from midair. I jump, startled, looking to see if anyone saw it, but not a single person in the room looks surprised. Rubbing my eyes, I tell myself not to freak out.

“One of Raphael’s girls suffered an unusual and horrific death last night. We have reason to believe it's something we’ve never dealt with before.”

Jacob looks around at everyone, me included. I can feel the tension, and I file the mystery away in the deal with later pile, which is getting really full.

“Do any of you recall the story of the three?”

The creepy dude finally talks. His voice is three octaves deeper than any I’ve ever heard.

“A species version of the boogeyman. He rises on the cuff of an apocalypse to eradicate the innocent and strengthen the wicked. The end of all ends.”

That doesn’t sound fair.

“Wouldn’t that be plural? Bogeymen, the three?”

I look over at the blonde girl, Amanda. She doesn’t seem the least bit affected as she calmly corrects the undertaker's grammar.

“Well, there are three, or so the story goes, but the three is one being who holds three sins inside of him; pride, greed, and lust. The sixth comes after, he holds the next three sins; envy, gluttony, and wrath.”

Okie Dookie this must be metaphorical, I hope.

“What about sloth?” Amanda supplies. Of course, she's well versed in the biblical sense. She looks like a preacher's daughter. I wonder if she's always been a part of this place or if it’s relatively new. I have the feeling this conversation is supposed to affect me, but there's nothing that surprises me anymore, I feel kind of numb.

“That’s where the story ends. When he comes, it's said time stands still. Hell-fire rises, scorching anything left living. Hell's creatures walk the earth. The angles reign down from the sky, their wings ripped from their flesh before they fall... If any humans survive, they will wish they were dead.”

Are they serious? Jacob reveals a thick text and places it open on the table. The leather sleeve is worn and discolored. It looks like it's been around a long time. I sit up higher to take a peek. It’s the description of the three. I can't make out the words, but I can see the picture. What I'm expecting is a grotesque and enormous creature. What I see is a man with no face.

“What makes you think a single murder is the start of some apocalypse?”

This comes from the Latino, Rosa. it’s a valid question I was asking myself; in my head, of course.

Elliot answers her.

“I recognize the symbol.”

Jacob lays pictures on the table. I'm befuddled at first, but when my brain registers the image, I gag. Elliot rubs my back, then suddenly stops, correcting himself. It's too bad this is one time I wouldn’t mind a little comfort. I tell myself not to be disappointed he’s finally backing off. It's what I wanted, right?

“When I was a kid, just learning my demon nature, I'd get into trouble, a lot. My grandpa used to tell me the tale. What I thought was a tale to frighten me into good behavior... he would say good and evil must balance. If they tip too far the wrong way, a creature will be born that devours the world and will imprison all this land forever. When I was older and braver, I asked him what this creature looks like. He told me I wouldn’t recognize him. The only way I’d know is by seeing this symbol.”

Elliot points to the book and places the picture next to it. I avert my gaze, unable to look at it without getting sick.

“Unless there's a new breed of species that can reduce bone into a spec of dirt from the blink of an eye or wave of the hand. We're looking at the real deal.”

Elliot sits back down; I place my hand on his knee; he looks at me with a worrisome gaze. I should say it, but what if I'm wrong? It all makes sense now. Mathilda always swore up and down were all on a road not of our choosing, but a path to our purpose. She said no matter whether we turn right or left and open more doors than we close. We can't change the outcome... I need to talk to Mathilda...

Great, no answer. I pace my room damn well, knowing all the research they're doing is useless. they’ll never find the information they need without an elder. Evil hides their weaknesses well. Why won't she answer?

There’s a knock at my door. I know it’s Elliot before I even answer. Pulling my shit together, I muster my best blank expression.

“Hey.”

Elliot nods, stepping aside, and my aunt steps into view from around the corner.

“Hi, honey. I'm so sorry I didn’t tell you...”

Well, this is surprising. I guess that’s why she didn’t answer.

“I'll just be in the library if you need me.”

I nod to Elliot speechlessly, choking back emotions I've yet to deal with. Seeing her face after learning the truth brings on a tangle of feeling I can't place. I want to hug her and punch her all at once. Tears sting my eyes, and a ball forms in my throat, cutting off my attempt to talk. I square my shoulders and open the door wide, inviting her in. Mathilda looks around, taking in the details of the room.

“It's not mine.” My voice comes out shaky and uneven. I grind my teeth in anger. I hate showing weakness to my aunt. She didn’t raise me soft.

“I know, dear, his aura is present too.”

Of course, the ever-clairvoyant Mathilda. She hides her nature so well I forget. Sometimes, she's a powerful witch herself.

“He’s handsome and strong-willed... you could do worse.”

Unbelievable

“I'm not having that discussion with you, I'm not interested.”

I don’t feel the least bad about snapping.

“Yes, you are.”

I'm about to give her a mouth full of choice words, but she holds her hand up, stopping me.

“That's not what I'm here for... I know what's going on, and you need answers, I know, but first I need to tell you a few things. Then we can clear the air.”

Folding my arms, I give her a glare but show her I'm ready to listen.

“I've brought an elder with me. She's speaking to Jacob. We're more involved in this than you realize, sweetheart. I’ve done everything in my power to avoid it. Your mothe,  too, including sacrificing herself to change the cours,  but...”

What is she talking about? I rub my arms, trying to warm my gooseflesh away. I don’t like where this is going.

“But what?”

Mathilda wipes a tear I hadn't realized escaped.

“She couldn’t sacrifice you... and I told her to.”

I snap back from her touch as if I've been burned. Tears slide down Mathilda's cheeks, her delicate skin wrinkling around her lips and eyes as her face contorts with visible anguish. It's hard to voice the questio,  but I'm past hurt now. All I want is to understand.

“You wanted my mother to... kill me?”

She nods, chocking on a sob. Heat rises in my face, but this tim,  it's not from the power burning inside of m. It’s all emotion.

“Why?” I ask. My throat feels hot, and the question comes out raspy. She wipes the tears, straightening her expression. Just like that, the mask is back in place. I realize now what it is, a mirage. She’s done it a lot.

“To avoid this.”

What is this? Is this all my fault? How?

“It's not something that you’ve done or could change. It’s a prophecy, a curse as old as Adam and Eve. Your mother thought if she sacrificed herself, it would break the chain, and maybe it would muddle it enough to skip a generation. I believed it worked. up until a couple of days ago... Until this happened.”

Mathilda hands me a stack of photos. When I recognize the symbol, I drop them to the floor in complete shock. They scatter, and I gasp at the sight. They're all photos of me, and in every one of them, the symbol on the book, the one arranged with that poor woman's parts, is burned into the photos.

“I'm not a phoenix. Am I?”

Mathilda's glamor slips, and I see the sadness in her eyes.

“No. You’re not.”

I slide down from the wall on shaky legs, landing hard on my butt.

“What am I?”

She bends down, tucking my hair behind my ear.

“You're sloth.”