1
Scarlet
3 Months Earlier
All the air is sucked out of the room, my lungs compress in on themselves right before everything spins. Just as quickly as we enter the portal, we pop out the other side.
“I will never get used to that,” I say, holding my chest as if I could push air back into my body.
“Come on, we need to keep moving,” Zig says. “This way.”
We’re moving at a slow jog, trying not to draw any attention to ourselves and somehow failing. Two young adults in a strange city moving through the streets, bumping shoulders, bags, and signs.
I’m not even sure where we are.
A bustling city, for one.
New York?
I feel a stranger’s eyes on me, watching us whoosh by with hardly an apology in the wind.
We must keep moving.
All we can do is to keep moving.
“Where are we going? We don’t have a plan, Zig. We need a plan.” I attempt to squash out the building anxiety in my chest. The little voice that says this is all going to end in a dark place.
That no one will walk away from it alive.
That Zig will die.
That I will die.
It doesn’t work.
“While logically, I know my ring is untraceable, we have to be careful. I don’t trust The Circle not to have its own methods for tracing the untraceable. You know? I still can’t shake this feeling we’re being watched. I don’t know. I don’t want to freak you out, Scarlet, but it feels like you’re being watched.” Zig says.
A chill starts at the top of my head and spreads down my back to my fingertips.
I shiver.
“There’s a good chance we’re okay, Scar; it’s a big world. I just need to be sure,” Zig says. “I have to be sure.”
Zig’s eyes are soft, and it breaks my heart. He’s not ready for this. For what this means. I don’t think he understands the full ramifications of what we just did.
“Nothing is okay. I am not okay. My world just keeps imploding, and now I’ve dragged you along,” the words tumble out of me. I hold back a sob.
I should have left Zig behind.
I should have found the courage to leave him.
“There’s no point in dwelling on the past. What’s done is done,” Zig says. “I’m here, and you won’t get rid of me that easily.”
He pauses long enough to wipe away a tear that’s found my cheek.
“Give me your ring,” I say and hold out my hand.
Zig stops in his tracks. “No.”
“Give me your ring. You shouldn’t be here, Zig. I shouldn’t have let you come.”
“No,” he says more firmly.
“Zig.”
“Scarlet, I’m not leaving you,” he says.
“And if you die? I couldn’t live with myself,” my voice breaks.
“It wouldn’t be the first time. Besides that, it’s my choice. You don’t get to make my choice for me. You don’t get to protect me this way.”
“I—” I start but lose my words. I would hate him for making a choice like this for me. For not letting me choose my own destiny. “Fine,” I capitulate. “But we need a plan. I’m not going to blindly follow you.”
Zig drags me off the main street and around a corner. “Do you trust me?”
I close my eyes.
I don’t want to answer him. If I answer him, it will only lead to something dumb.
Risky.
Stupid.
The truth is, I do. “Yes. But—”
“Okay, this way.”
Reluctantly, I follow close behind him, and we pop down an alley. It’s a dead end, but Zig continues with purpose.
The area is deserted, and I’m suddenly thankful for it. Zig moves his hands down a wall until he finds what he’s looking for.
“Come here,” he says.
I reach for his hand and take a deep breath, holding it. The world shrinks around me, my lungs compress, and when I open my eyes, we’ve come out the other side of the portal.
“Blend,” Zig says in a hushed whisper.
It only takes me a couple of minutes to realize we’re in France. I listen and overhear folks talking outside a café. Not that I speak it. But I know enough random French words to put two and two together.
Zig has slowed his pace to a saunter and I match him with my own. He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it.
“I’m hungry and tired,” I say, biting back the sudden tears that threaten to fall. “Can we find somewhere to rest for the night?” I need time.
Time to process and wrap my head around all of it. Plus, it’s late here.
Zig thinks momentarily and pulls out his wallet, counting the cash on hand. “Neither Azeltha nor I considered money. If we use my card, we’ll be traced. We could pull it out now, but we’d have to keep moving.”
“Do we have enough for the night? We could pull out the rest and ditch the cards later. Are they really going to try tracking you through your bank account?” I ask.
“I don’t know. We don’t have a lot of tech magic. Honestly, magic usually stops working when it comes to technology for most witches. Marcus is a rare one who’s been quite successful with tech.”
“Marcus isn’t going to hunt us down,” I say definitively.
Zig nods, “You’re probably right.”
“Can’t you just magic some money or let folks think we paid?”
Zig’s brow furrows, “You know it doesn’t work like that for me.”
“I don’t. Tell me, how does it work?”
“Later? I’m feeling weary myself.” Zig runs a hand through his hair.
“So, we can rest then? Worry about money tomorrow?” I ask.
Zig smiles, and for the briefest moment, I’m lost in his eyes. I forget all about the world, about Dagon, about leaving Mundi. I let all my worries melt away.
Zig books us a room at a modest hotel while I grab dinner at a local restaurant. At first, he insists on never leaving my side, but after I remind him that I’m more than capable of taking care of myself, he eases.
Something about ripping the hearts of men out with my bare hands. I don’t want to do it, but I have.
When I get back to the hotel, Zig is waiting outside.
Stiff.
I hold up my hand, showing off the spoils I’ve procured.
Zig doesn’t seem to notice.
“You, okay?” I ask.
“Hmm? Yes, I’m perfect,” he says.
“I’ve got dinner. Did you get a room?”
He absently checks his pockets and pulls out a small envelope. “It seems so, room 104.”
I take the key from him and find our room. Zig moves alongside me, taller somehow.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.
“Perfectly fine,” he says.
Perfectly fine? I shake away his words and lock the door behind us.
I feel the veil of control slipping off me. A tightness moves in my chest, up to my throat, choking out any words I might have tried to find.
My hands are trembling.
Zig comes from nowhere and takes the bag of food out of them. He sets it down and then leads me to one of the beds.
The tears spill, and a sob rocks my body. Zig puts an arm around me. He doesn’t say anything, but he holds me. He combs through my hair with his fingers, and I lay in his lap. Letting every horrible thought and fear leave this body through tears.
When I can breathe again, the tears that fall do so on their own accord, however gently.
Zig kisses me.
It’s soft.
He holds me all night. Whispering that things will be okay.
Zig whispers over and over, “Everything will be okay.”
I don’t believe him.
But I sleep.
2
Marcus
“Marcus? Ho trovato quei libri di cui mi chiedevi,” Professor Bertelli says.
“My Italian is rough. May we speak in English or Spanish?” I ask.
“Si. Thanks for coming out here. I’ve found the texts you were asking about,” Professor Bertelli says.
“May we speak privately?” I ask.
“Si. This way,” he leads, and I follow.
While Rome is a breathtaking city, Sapienza University is nothing special. Well, aside from the professors, that is. The history department is world-renowned.
This history department is breathtaking.
I’m betting Scarlet’s life on it.
It’s been three months, and I feel further from saving her than the day she left with Zig.
Professor Bertelli turns down a hall and into a dimly lit room. “Right this way,” he says.
When I step into the space, it’s wall-to-wall books. From a cursory glance, ancient texts sit alongside more modern college textbooks.
“I don’t know if I can wait any longer,” I wring my hands together. “I’m dying to know what you’ve found on Dagon.”
“It wasn’t easy at first. There is very little written documentation about him,” he says.
“For months now, I’ve found nearly nothing on my own. Whatever you found has to be more than all my combined months.”
Professor Bertelli waves a finger at me. “To put it plainly, Dagon was a god. He ruled over the sea. The worship of Dagon dates back to the third Millennium BCE in Mesopotamia.”
“He’s not a prince of hell?”
“Well, that’s more complicated. Short answer: no. Not originally, at least. He was, however, an important deity in the city of Mari during the second Millennium BCE. Dagon was also worshiped into the late Bronze Age and the Iron Age. He was associated, in particular, with the Philistines. He was their primary deity.”
My mind explodes with questions.
Was he actually a god or only the manifestation of a demon?
Is this helpful for tracking Scarlet?
The sea?
What came first, the demon or the god?
I bet he was a fish.
The sea?
The smell of bacon penetrates my thoughts. The professor is telling me the truth. There’s honesty in the air, so I don’t interrupt with my parade of questions.
“The worship of Dagon continued into the Hellenistic and Roman periods, with the temples dedicated to him being built in various parts of the ancient world,” Professor Bertelli shuffles the books, spreads out, and points to another. “In Hebrew mythology, Dagon was the Jewish fertility god who was half-man and half-fish.”
“Half-man and half-fish. As in, he was a mermaid?” I ask. It’s way better than a fish. Let the bastard be a mermaid.
Professor Bertelli shrugs. “He was depicted in a way that present-day scholars might describe as a mermaid. But he was bigger than that. He was the god of sea, agriculture, fertility, and fish. There are instances when he is fully man and others where he is fully fish. But yes, most of them, he is a mermaid-like figure.”
“A mermaid,” I say wistfully.
“With the rise of Christianity and the spread of Islam, the worship of Dagon and other ancient deities declined and eventually disappeared altogether,” Professor Bertelli says.
“I’m trying to make the connections and wrap my head around all of this,” I say. “When did he become a prince of hell? Or am I misunderstanding, and he’s both? Neither? Is it two different people?”
“Ahh, well, to put it simply, the ancient gods were rewritten to suit the needs of a more powerful religion, much the same way the pagan holidays were rewritten to meet the needs of those with supremacy. How do you squash out beliefs? Change them, rewrite history, and eventually, the new narrative becomes gospel after a couple of generations. The first time we see Dagon written in the Judeo-Christian texts was 630-540BCE.”
“So, if I understand correctly, he wasn’t always a prince of hell. He was a mermaid first?”
The professor chuckles, “Mostly, yes. The winners of wars write history, Sir Marcus. From what I can tell, Dagon was revered for his greatness, his good. But now,” he trails off.
“But now, he’s predominantly known for his darkness.”
“Si.”
“He’s a demon.”
“Even the word demon has only been used in its current iteration since 1400 AD,” he says.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “What did it mean before then?”
“The word demon referred to anything of the occult. Even angels were referred to as a demon. There were never any connotations of evil or malevolence. The Greek word eudaimonia literally translates to good spiritedness or happiness.”
“But why?” I ask, confused.
“Fear.”
I shake my head, “I still don’t understand.”
Professor Bertelli sighs, “All it took was a united shift of opinion from the many. The new power eyed cities with Pagan statuary. The word demon came to represent malevolent and deeply evil beings.”
“Someone wanted to gain power, so they changed the meaning of all things happy in one religion to all things bad in another?” I say in a poor attempt at summation.
Professor Bertelli gives me a half smile. “You are not so young?”
“Do we know when the first time demon was used as we know it now?
“Specifically, it was the Septuagint translation of the Hebrew Bible into Greek.”
“Dagon is both a god of the oceans and a demon?”
“Si.”
“Dagon is a mermaid.”
“Si.”
3
Dagon
I was bred from rule breakers. It should come as no surprise when I tell you that death was not the end. For me, it has always been a new beginning.
Death comes for me now.
Perhaps, in some ways, she perpetually does. I have walked the dance with Death for so long I’ve forgotten the terms of our agreement. Maybe it was one life in exchange for another. Or was it my life in exchange for war?
It feels so unimportant now.
Scarlet beams at me, and I see the smiles of all those who came before her. Her face and the color of her eyes change, but her smile is always the same.
Ishara was the first.
When she was taken from me, I vowed to burn this earth to the ground. Wash away humanity’s sin the way they tried to wash me away. Turn earth into ocean. Expand my dominion until those who forsook me are no more. Let them all burn.
“She will die at your hands until the end of time.”
I took his last breath for even conceiving of such a curse. It was deliberately slow and as painful as I could make it. I sank his vessels and rose the ocean over his home, drowning them all.
Ishara was my way of being.
She was my reason.
Kind. Loving. Vibrant and full of life. Ishara was everything.
In every way possible, she still is.
She is mine.
If I can’t have her as my own, no one else will get the chance. Ishara gave herself to me freely.
One day, she will remember who she is. I can wait until then. I’ve waited three eternities thus far.
There have been moments when Ishara remembers. But our time is short-lived, and I am cursed to lose her over again. I live for those moments in between the darkness.
Scarlet and I walk.
Our time nears.
I think of all the ways she trusts this body.
“I thought we could walk around the park first? If you keep your shield up?” Scarlet’s gold-flecked eyes search my own.
Does she see him or me? Does she see the monster or the man?
Do I care?
I spin thoughts of her in my mind. Of her soft skin, of blood pumping just under the surface. How easy it would be to break her.
Maim her.
Taste her.
Possess her.
Worship her.
In this chest, animals roar and stampede. This heart beats uncontrolled even by me. I muster a smile and hold my hand out for hers. She intertwines her fingers with ours.
No.
Mine.
“Zig?” her voice is soft, a question teeters at the edge of her lips.
“Hmm?” I breathe.
“You, okay?”
“Perfect,” I say.
Scarlet is mine.
4
Scarlet
Zig’s words echo in my mind, “I had no choice. It was me, or it was her.”
I don’t know what to believe. I keep replaying the scene in my head over and over again.
“Hmm? Attacks?” Zig said, absent from the conversation.
“Demons? Meat suits, you know, the whole reason we’re on the lam?” I said, laying the sarcasm on thick. Perhaps all he needed was a whack to his ego?
I wanted to scream where are you? Where did you go? Come back to me.
But I refrained.
Stupid.
“I’m sorry, my mind is elsewhere,” Zig rubbed his eyes.
“I know. You’ve been somewhere else for months,” I wring my hands, frustrated.
“I guess that ring Marcus gave you is doing its job. It was supposed to protect you, stave off your scent. Right?” Zig’s words had a tone of distaste.
After everything he shared about Marcus being his brother, I thought Zig was missing him, too.
Have I been wrong this whole time?
How can Zig hold anything but love for his brother?
“I suppose so,” are the only words I conjure. They don’t scrape the surface of all the things I feel.
The pathway is lined with wildflowers. I’m too busy noticing their varied shades at first to look up and notice the woman standing in the middle of the path.
“We’ve been looking for you everywhere, Sir,” the woman says.
Her words are what draw my attention away from the flowers. Her eyes are what set my blood to ice.
Before I can say or do anything, Zig attacks. He breaks her neck in two quick movements.
Her eyes, black as the darkest night, are full of surprise.
This meat suit wasn’t expecting an attack. She didn’t fight back.
“What did you do?” I dropped to my knees at her side. I checked her pulse. “She’s gone.”
“I had no choice. It was me, or it was her,” Zig looked at me unapologetically. “We have to move.”
Zig’s words play in my mind but no longer align with his actions.
“We could have saved her,” I said.
“We can’t save everyone. If I have to choose you or them, I choose you.”
Zig leads me away. I glance back at the body of a girl and wonder what her family will think. Who she’s left behind, and for what?
If it’s me or them, I choose them.
