In The Beginning
As Maxwell’s foot lowered to the wood floor of his bedroom, he nudged a beer bottle underneath his bed. Moaning, he brought a hand up to his forehead, a splitting headache welcoming him. He glanced over his shoulder and groaned. Another night, another companion. Lying sprawled on his bed, a sheet clinging to her naked frame, was a blonde woman with smeared make-up. His objective was to get her out of his house without hurting her feelings. Even after all the time that had passed…he still couldn’t bring himself to hurt a human’s feelings.
He moved into the bathroom. The reflection staring back at him from the mirror was gaunt and pale. Despite constantly being in the sun, his skin looked as if he’d never even seen a single ray of light. Tired gray eyes, high cheekbones, and slender features identified him as a creature touched by the hand of God. He wondered for a second if the woman he had spent the night with noticed the nubs of broken wings that moved with his shoulders. Every motion, from brushing his teeth to shaving his face, had those little nubs moving.
“What the hell are those?” the woman said, making him jump. She pointed to his back as she leaned against the door frame. She stood wide-eyed, wearing one of his business shirts.
He sighed. “They were once called wings. You see, when you’re cast out of Heaven, wings get scorched by Hellfire and turn to ash, never to heal.” He cleared his throat. “You can clean-up, but you really should get going.”
The woman just stared at remnants of what was once wings as they moved when he stretched and handed her a towel. More shocked than anything, she walked past him to the shower.
“What happened last night?” he asked, leaning against the doorway, watching her get undressed and step into the hot water.
“You know, any other girl would get offended if a man didn’t remember, but you were pretty drunk last night. We had sex, then you fell asleep,” the woman explained nonchalantly as she washed her hair. “However, you’re not really a man, are you? Should I get offended?” She popped her head out from around the black shower curtain before quickly dipping back into the water with a chuckle.
He rolled his eyes and walked back to his room, getting himself dressed to the sound of her horrible singing. Maxwell found himself feeling hollow. It was a common feeling when Lilith wasn’t around to keep him busy. She was everything to him and had been since the beginning. The first time he laid eyes on her red hair and pale skin, he was hooked. Who was this creature? When he and his brothers had been sent down to keep an eye on Adam and Lilith, his love grew a great deal stronger. Everything about this nymph captured his heart.
Maxwell shut his eyes, a hand wiping a tear from the corner. He pushed back his feelings. He didn’t want this stranger, who had come up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, thinking his tear was for her.
“You going now?” she asked, dancing around to the front of him to finish buttoning his collar.
“I have business to attend to,” he said. Looking down at her, he knew she had no idea of Heaven, Hell, or the things that went bump in the night. Most mortals didn’t until their time among the living was over. He pitied her. She beamed and smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, playing with his shoulder-length black hair.
“Do you want me to wait around for you? We could have more fun when you get back.” The tip of her tongue danced over her top lip, like the serpent trying to seduce Eve.
“No. You need to go before I leave.” Standing firm, Maxwell coldly stepped away from her.
“Fine,” the woman ground her teeth, angered and hurt that he didn’t want her to stick around. She slid on a pair of skin-tight jeans, heels, and a shirt. “Asshole!”
His head hung. She carried her purse and bra in one hand and walked through the front door. Slamming it shut. His shoulders moved as he sighed. The girl was hurt, although he could smell her feelings for him, he only saw her anger. His eyes shut as he slumped down into a nearby chair, lighting a cigarette. What did indulging in a cigarette matter? It wasn’t as if he could die from cancer. He enjoyed the little things the humans had developed over time…cigarettes, liquor, rock music, and the many positions in which to enjoy each other.
“How far you’ve fallen,” he whispered to himself as the ash fell to the floor. He gazed at the cigarette burning between his thumb and index finger. “You’re never going to get home if you keep it up.” He knew he wouldn’t listen, even to himself.
In the beginning, he and his brothers were just angels, but the humans called them The Watchers because of how they were sent to keep an eye on things. However, due to incomplete recordings lost to time, very little was known about why or when things happened.
Stepping into the hallway of his apartment building, he slid on a black fedora and locked his door. He had nothing anyone would want to steal, except maybe his stash of alcohol, but he did it out of habit.
After a quick stop at the liquor store, he found himself across the street from a large brick building. The neon sign read The Altar in bright blue, a red, flaming devil tail underlining the words. Slowly, he made his way to the black double doors. Glancing at the large security guard, his gray eyes shined. A glow encircled his irises, telling the man what he was before he stepped inside.
Rock music blared, the smell of tobacco filling his nostrils. A vampire’s fangs lowered over his bottom lip as he looked up at Maxwell and drank down a shot of O-negative. A woman swung around a stripper pole, several men and women watching her. The dancer’s eyes turned toward him. Everyone in the place knew who he was. He had a reputation and was a legend. A large man in a black vest grumbled at Maxwell when he sat down to his right. A werewolf.
“Is Eshu here tonight?” Maxwell asked the bartender, who was bouncing his head to the music.
“Yeah. He’s in back. I wouldn’t bother him, though. He’s mad about someone shorting him last night,” the bartender advised, but Maxwell quickly got up. “It’s your funeral.” Maxwell waved him off, hearing the bartender laughing at his own joke, as he dipped behind the heavy black curtain, a large Voodoo symbol for Papa Legba hanging over a doorway.
Maxwell saw Eshu sitting at a large table, drinking from a shot glass. “What do you want, Maxwell? I’m not in the best of moods for you to be asking me favors right now.”
“Can’t I come with offerings?” Maxwell smirked, placing the large bottle of rum on the table. “It looks like you’re out.” He nodded at the empty bottle.
Eshu’s lips stretched into a large smile, showing his white teeth. “You always know when I’m in need. Thank you, old friend.” After getting up, he hugged Maxwell, then stepped away. “Like I said, though, I’m not in the best of moods, no matter what offering you have brought me. Besides, you ask the same thing every time you come in. It’s getting repetitive.”
“I was told she was born in the nineteen-eighties, but no one has seen or heard of her. You’re the only one I know who can give me the answers.”
“Give me a break, Maxwell. You’re a demon. You can ask them yourself. Why do you continue coming to me for help?” Eshu sat down in his large wooden chair, the grand table now between them.
“You’ve never actually gone to Hell. You don’t know what it’s like down there. I was there when it was created and it’s, well…it’s shitty. Besides, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the demon who has not embraced his evilness. I’m more like the angels and the humans,” Maxwell explained, lighting another cigarette after Eshu began smoking his pipe.
“Last I heard, you were the goody-two-shoes of your kind.” Eshu laughed. “A goody-goody demon. Who would have ever thought a demon could be good?”
“Oh, please. What makes me so good? The fact I don’t possess, or the fact I don’t enjoy hurting humans?”
Eshu shrugged and a large smile spread across his face. “I don’t know. Go ask them.” He pointed to the curtain where Maxwell had entered the room. “I’ve got about fifty demons out there right now who would love to answer that for you. In fact, I think there are a few angels and some cryptos, as well. You know, sometimes it can be interesting hearing the vampires and werewolves explain what they think of demons.” He was goading Maxwell because he knew he would never ask the hybrids what they thought of Heaven and Hell. That would be the beginning of a long night he would wish he’d not begun.
“To hell with long lectures. Can you at least tell me if there’s been any news on the Bishop family?”
Eshu’s pipe lingered in his lips as he exhaled the smoke through his nose, amusement on his face. That soon changed to sternness as he stared at Maxwell, sensing his seriousness. He had known Maxwell longer than anyone. “You’re going to have to give me more than a bottle of rum for such information.” He tapped the mouthpiece of his pipe on top of the table. “Give me what you’ve hidden in your pocket and perhaps we can make a deal.” Eshu’s lips curled into a devilish grin.
Pulling a bag of white powder from his pocket, Maxwell pushed it across the table. “You think I wouldn’t come prepared? I’ve known you too long to not know the things you enjoy.” The bag contained enough cocaine for many offerings, but news of the Bishop Witches was far too important to be drawn out over a long period. Maxwell was impatient, which benefited Eshu.
Opening the bag and testing it with the long nail of his pinky, Eshu smiled, closing the bag, and nodding to a large man in the shadows. The man gathered up the bag and disappeared behind another black curtain, leaving the two alone. “Goodwitch has been pushing out messengers, her little creatures, trying to locate Lilith. It makes sense that someone other than you would want to know where she is.” Eshu paused, taking a puff of his pipe and a swig of his rum.
Maxwell flipped over a clean shot glass and pushed it forward. Eshu poured him some, pushing it back without spilling any. Maxwell took it, quickly emptying the glass, eager to hear more.
Eshu continued. “Goodwitch would know more than I do at this point. Perhaps you should contact her.” His brow rose. “She is her relative, after all.” He then slammed the empty shot glass on the table, open side down. “Now, before you get any more of my rum, I recommend leaving. I have business to take care of. There’s a little matter of shortages and a businessman who’s going to be very…unhappy.”
Maxwell nodded. He never questioned Eshu when he spoke like this. He knew if someone had shorted him on a delivery, the man was going to be sorry. He turned and walked away, leaving Eshu stewing at his table. As he made his way to the front of the bar, he noticed the music had changed to some slower rock song. A demoness was now on the pole, dancing seductively, and the crowd had grown in numbers.
After leaving the bar, Maxwell walked home. The second he entered, he marched to his bedroom and began to pack. When he picked up a shirt and smelled an ancient scent, he immediately knew someone else had been there. His eyes narrowed, and he grimaced. “Azazel.”
He scanned the room for anything left behind or taken, but nothing was out of place. He pushed the shirt to his face, breathing deeply, exploring the smell. He probed for any other scent in the white fabric of the shirt, finding only Azazel’s. He slumped into his large chair and held the shirt in his lap, wondering what he was going to do next. He was packed, but he didn’t know where he was going. Confidently, he began dialing his cell phone.
“Hello?” Goodwitch spoke softly, already knowing who had called. “Maxwell?”
“Yes… Hello, Goodwitch.” His eyes were shut, his fingers continuing to dig into the shirt. He hesitated. “Eshu spoke to me today. You’re searching for her.”
Goodwitch remained silent, planning her words very carefully. She was aware of how information could be perceived. “She’s alive and beautiful. Her name is Adele Manning.” Goodwitch’s hand reached over, petting the crow that had brought her the information. It squawked and pushed its head into her loving strokes. “You will have to find her soon because she’s in danger.”
He moved, sitting on the edge of his chair, the shirt falling to the floor. “What kind?”
“I can’t say, but you need to find her. Things are beginning. I’m not sure what things, but she needs to be with her family before the next new moon or she will die, and all will be lost.”
“I will find her and get her to you.”
Maxwell could hear her hesitation over the phone. She was holding back, irritated he had interrupted her.
“This could be her last incarnation, Maxwell. A little birdie told me they’re going to give up on her. They say she won’t ever be forgiven, and she will be forever lost in limbo. If she dies this time, she might not be born again, and she won’t have a chance to make right what she did wrong.” Her words were urgent. The thought of losing the Mother of Witches forced furrowing brows to come together, wrinkles formed between the thin brows as concern took over her, Anya knew this would hurt in her very core. Help her, Maxwell. You’re the only one who can.”
Without waiting for Maxwell to reply, Goodwitch hung up. He could feel the same direness and desperation she was feeling. He wanted to save Lilith…or Adele, as she was known as in this life. He now had a name, which was more than enough to find her. He dropped the phone on his bed, then began rummaging through his ancient books and instruments of writing. Reaching into a drawer, he pulled out a medium length dark wooden stick, thick as two large thumbs and stained black at the tip from the many times he had used it before with dark inks and as sharp as a needle. He set it aside, quickly searching for a knife. When he found it, he grabbed the stick and headed to the bathroom.
For a moment, he stared into the mirror at his gaunt face, preparing himself for what he was about to do. Maxwell took off his hat and tossed it to the floor, then did the same with his shirt. The black tattoos covering his body from the collarbone down told of stories, magical words, and powers. He clenched the knife in his right hand, quickly bringing it down across his left palm, causing the blood to flow. Squeezing his hand, the bright red blood gushed and gathered in the bottom of the sink before going down the drain.
Maxwell placed the bloody knife to the side of the sink, then grabbed the long stick. Dipping the blackened tip into the gathering blood, he began pricking the end into the skin across his thumb, the only spot not yet tattooed. Over and over, the pain filled him. Gradually, the dots changed from red to black as he began to inscribe her name. The blood started shifting and swirling along his skin. This wasn’t just a common tattoo. This was magic.
Maxwell was The Watcher over knowledge, writing, education, and magic. His words were final and never failed him. With his sacred words, the abilities he’d lost due to the unique punishment he had been given were returned. Every angel that had fallen had been given a unique punishment fitting for the individual, but all had been given punishments like their wings damaged by hellfire. It didn’t matter if he didn’t have wings. He had a word scrawled on his back that helped him move swiftly. Other drawings portrayed scenes from all the centuries he’d witnessed. Some depicted the gates of Heaven; some represented the scenes from Hell. He was a tapestry devoted to mankind’s history and beyond. Reminders, devotions, and aids, every mark in his body gave him a sense of being more than a fallen angel turned demon.
The black ink drilled with thousands of punctures revealed her name…Adele Manning. Then it slowly morphed, like ink dripped into a pail of water, into a compass. The hand of the compass turned quickly, then slowed, revealing he had to go west to find her. He had waited so long and, through the guidance of another scribbling upon his flesh, he now knew which way to go.
The stick dropped from his hand and he moved, pushing at things recklessly until he found another bag at the bottom of his closet and began pulling out clothes, stuffing others in, trying to figure out what he would need for the trip. He pushed blue jeans, boots, and t-shirts into the bag, along with a pen and tattered old notebook he’d been writing in for the better part of the twentieth century. Tossing his bag over his shoulder, he headed out. He had no clue where he was going, but he knew she was in danger.
As he locked his apartment door, he placed the black fedora on his head. “Going somewhere?” A man’s voice caught Maxwell’s attention. Looking up, he saw Azazel, another fallen angel, dressed all in black, except for a tiny golden cross dangling from his pale neck.
“Azazel…” Maxwell rolled his eyes. “What the hell do you want?” he growled, turning and walking toward the elevator at the end of the hall, passing Azazel as he did so.
“Perhaps just a friendly chat, or maybe I just want to catch up with my younger brother?” Azazel was holding something back and Maxwell sensed it. With his head slightly lifted, Maxwell caught Azazel’s smell and turned, eyes narrowed. “What? Can’t I drop in from time to time and see how you’re doing?” A devilish grin carved its way across his face.
“I’ve lived here for decades and now you decide to pop up?” Maxwell’s head tilted suspiciously. “Why? Why has the great Azazel decided to grace me with his presence now?” He stepped closer, closing the distance between them.
Azazel stood his ground. “I saw you at Eshu’s. What were you doing there?”
“What does it matter to you what business I have there?” His suspicion grew as he got closer to his brother.
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps I care a little?”
Azazel then made the mistake of placing his hand on Maxwell’s shoulder. Before another lie could fall from his lips, Maxwell tossed his arm to the side and pinned him to the wall.
“You aren’t allowed to ever touch me again.” Maxwell pointed in the fallen angel’s face. “You are not allowed to speak to me as if we are friendly, and you are definitely not allowed to wonder what business I have with Eshu.” Maxwell’s voice had rumbled into a low growl, but Azazel simply smiled.
“I see, brother. I see how it is. Don’t worry. This wasn’t anything more than a friendly visit. I haven’t seen you in a very long time, so when you popped up at one of the few paranormal bars in the country, it caught my attention.” Azazel held his hands up to Maxwell, trying to save face and calm the fallen angel down.
Maxwell picked up his bags, placed them back on his shoulder, and began walking toward the elevator again. Azazel remained silent until just before the doors opened and Maxwell moved inside. “Oh, I know where you’re going.” His head lowered, and that wicked smile crossed his face again as the doors began closing. “Lilith is such a pretty human now. She tastes delicious.” He sucked his fingers as if they held grease from fried chicken.
Enraged, Maxwell hit the closed elevator doors. He knew it did no good. Even if he had pried the doors open, Azazel would already be gone. Maxwell hung his head and sighed. If Azazel knew, who else knew? What were they doing with her? His grey eyes filled with concern and sorrow as he stared down at the compass, which had just adjusted to continue pointing west.