But iron, cold iron, is master of men all

Dark luster standing in the dim light of the Library window, eyes empty, mouth closed. Blood, heart, spirit: the golem had none of those things and required them all. Labyrinth watched, opening and closing her hand. She would not help, but she would not hinder. She held in her fist a die with infinite sides, spinning and stopping. Time was short, fragile seconds expiring ever faster as the die spun.

It was time to bring Nareth home. I called on the Outer Gods, the true Ones, and then Omega offered. I would have used Nareth’s blade upon Omega’s wrist, but Jack wanted her throat. A swift, deep cut, and my hand to the wound, then delicate fingertip brushstrokes on the golem’s forehead: EMET. On Labyrinth’s: MET.

I gave the dripping blade to Pontifex, a door only he could open, for he is intimately acquainted with the gift of pain. And pain he did cause, but he did not take it without consent: Abi wept as he prodded, demanded, forced her to remember the taste Jack’s razor, sour and biting cold at the moment of her birth, pulling her screaming into the world. Nareth, the bloody midwife. The pain of losing Nareth and the pain of bringing her back.

And it was enough: Nullam nunc dolor. The blade began to glow black in Pontifex’s hands. Hendrerit nec. A dark violent tendril arced from the blade to Labyrinth. Gravida eu, turpis. Probability and possibility collapsed. The die vanished. Things began to fall apart.

You must speak its purpose, Labyrinth had said to Omega. You are its creator. And the Lady with chilling finality: Nareth must act in accordance with my Will, for the benefit of us all. I shuddered, but it was too late to stop her; Nareth’s purpose had been cast. For the benefit of us all.

With sudden speed, the Watcher attacked. Wolfe, coyote, beast—Grrbrool ripped the heart from Labyrinth’s chest, all razor teeth and claw and blood-matted fur. He placed it, beating, into my hands. Omega lifted them up to her, lips bending close to taste the god’s blood. She gave Abi the choice: Bring her back? Or burn the heart? Abi whispered, Bring her back.

I opened my spirit to Legion, making the thing that should not, be: a beating heart in a chest of iron. Labyrinth’s exoskeleton disintegrated, only a few shards littering the floor. Larissa’s lips on the golem, a kiss, a breath and please live. Nareth’s eyes fluttered open. My bloody thumb on her mouth and speak.

Then Nareth was back. Her green eyes, watching. Her voice, speaking. Wondering why we were assembled. Some one said, We’re mourning. Mourning who? Nareth had asked. You, I replied.

Pontifex did not correct me. But Labyrinth was gone. Eris, Discordia, Azathoth, the Whisperer in the Darkness. Aunt Beast. Pontifex stood still and silent as stone. Artemisia whimpered, lost. We were mourning. But not for Nareth.

I knelt and picked up the few remaining shards of Labyrinth’s exoskeleton and quietly placed them in my pocket. She had walked in the world among us, but it was not the appointed time. Though I knew she went to await the Messenger, I wondered if she had truly gone. For of the many lessons Aunt Beast taught me, the deepest one was this:

She always wins.

Subita morte exstingui

For Larissa

When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me:
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain;
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

Christina Rosetti

Baby blessings

The balloons swayed in the gentle May breeze. The brightly wrapped presents seemed full of promise, paper and ribbons glistening in the late afternoon sun. The smell of hot chocolate, fresh date bread, cupcakes and cake filled the air mixed with the almond scent of oleander, and the sweet fragrance of yellow jasmine.

It was to be a small gathering of friends, a celebration of new life, a gifting to Larissa for the birth of her little one. I was making a few final arrangements, lighting the candles on the cake, straightening the tablecloths when Larissa arrived. She looked around in amazement, taking in the waterfalls and the tropical greenery, her eyes moving to the tables with their adornments.

Blushing and grinning, she greeted me as she looked around. “The waterfalls are beautiful. The balloons!” Larissa poured herself a mug of hot chocolate, plopping in several marshmallows. “I have a cake!” she laughed. “A Warm Welcome to Toxia’s Newest Little Hellion,” it read amidst whirls of icing.

I gave Larissa a hug, as Lyra arrived with a bottle of wine and a square box, wrapped in blue. She kissed Larissa, sat the box on the gift table, put the bottle in the grass by a log, kicked off her shoes and sat down. Uncharacteristically for the scientist, she wore a party dress. She looked rather more sweet than stern. “I didn’t know if we had to dress girly,” she grinned. Hopping up to grab a mug of hot chocolate, she asked, “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Definitely a girl,” Larissa replied. “Abigail.”

“Abigail? That means ‘father’s joy,” Lar.” Thinking of Lorne’s seeming indifference to the birth of his child I said, “Interesting choice.”

Larissa frowned a bit at this, but patting her tummy gently she replied, “I still love the name.”

I breathed in the clean, warm air. “Living in the city makes one forget that the sun still does shine.”

Lyra nodded. “My partner and I live on the beach. We have a little dojo. Our living quarters are above it.”

“Dojo?” I asked as Merma arrived, giving greetings to all and a hug to Larissa. I grinned at Merma. “Apparently, Lyra is skilled in the martial arts.”

“Eh . . . a lot of good that does me,” Lyra laughed. “I’m much better with a book than a katana.”

“Anything can be a weapon if you use it right,” Merma said with mock seriousness as Larissa helped herself to a second slice of cake. Merma joined her. “That cake is sweet!” they echoed in unison.

After relaxing and chatting a bit more, we got down to the serious business of gift opening. Lyra went first, handing the blue box to Larissa while winking and teasing about a gift to help her get started on the next baby. Larissa tore off the gift’s wrappings, then begin to blush furiously: SexGen T.B.C. Toybox, it read. As she began to examine the contents, she burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” Merma giggled. “Dear Lord, who gave you that?”

Larissa cleared her throat, “Umm, thank you, Lyra.” She rewrapped the package carefully.

My notions of Lyra’s scientific aloofness had been completely revised in the past few days due to her recent conversations about the habits of incubi with Severus, and her gifting to Larissa. Clearly, behind the lab coat there lurked a minx. “I have something for you too, Lar. Perhaps a little less risqué.” I handed Larissa a box wrapped in red paper, tied with a gold bow.

Larissa unwrapped the box and began grinning. “She will love this Joah.” I know that rollerblades aren’t usually considered a baby gift, but, given how fast the baby had been growing inside Larissa, I thought little Abigail might be playing with them sooner rather than later.

Merma’s gift was large, wrapped loosely with pink paper and a silver bow. Larissa pulled off the wrappings to reveal a beautiful crib made of burnished oak. “I didn’t know what else to get,” she said softly.

“It’s lovely,” sighed Larissa. “Beautiful,” I agreed as Lyra popped the cork on her wine and poured a glass, lifting it in toast to Larissa.

Tracing her hand along the crib railing, Larissa turned to Merma. “The gift of your blessings would be great, Merma.”

Merma smiled with great affection. “You know you have those, Lar. They’ll put a little good into that demon child.”

Lyra sipped her wine. “Why does everyone keep calling it a demon child? That’s not very nice.”

Merma began, “Because she’s half demon . . .”

“Lorne is the father,” I said.

Larissa interrupted. “She is still half me.”

“And that part of her will be sweet and strong, Larissa,” I replied.

Larissa patted her tummy again, “Ah, she is gonna be a rascal.” Lyra began muttering something about not knowing about having kittens.

I sighed, hoping for blessings. “That reminds me, I suppose I’d best give you the last gift. It’s a message from Nareth.” I walked over to the table and picked up a small parchment envelope, sealed with red wax, and handed it to Larissa.

“Speaking of Nareth,” Lyra began, “I haven’t seen her in forever. Where has she disappeared to?”

Larissa looked thoughtful. “She is . . . distant,” she murmured, gazing at the note she had removed from it’s envelope.

“Would your read the message to us, Larissa?” I asked.

Talking softly, Larissa read: “Nareth gives to Larissa a promise: I will do my best to insure that no action of mine hand, and no omission of action by mine hand, brings your daughter to harm. And I shall watch over her, when I may.”

We listened quietly, till I finally asked, “What do you make of it, Lar?”

Larissa smiled. “That she loves me,” she whispered.

We sat in silence a few moments, the rose to explore the caverns.

Daimon-tokos

Grr laughed with amusement as I asked to touch Larissa’s belly, to feel the life growing within her. She assented with a smile, and as I touched her I felt within Larissa the singleness of heart and purpose given to one only. She is not, I think, a woman who fragments her heart or splits her loyalties. The sadness of her misplaced affection washed over me. But the little one inside . . . this baby growing more quickly than humanly possible in her womb . . . strong, mischievous, and different somehow--I saw her borne with blood and grief: a child, yet not a child. How can this be?

A cluster of thoughts

Did she push me or did I fall? I remember only being asked to help with a lesson. She opened up the void within her; I felt the lifeblood drained from me and a bitter cold within. She said I had no choice but to drink from her. She said she saved my life. Perhaps she did. I would have frozen in the abyss that is Nareth.

I could not be with her, yet I could not leave. I both longed for her and despised her. The blood of the Omega runs through her veins. And that is not a gift to be rejected lightly.

I chose to walk away. Nicholette, for your sake, I hope I did the right thing. . . .

*****

Burned and black. Burned and black. Larissa, dear friend, you would not have forth told were it not to be. Yet this dream of death must be mutable. Despite Pontifex’s mocking, there must be free will. The Creator has made it so. Dear friend, you placed a white rose in my hand--a funerary ornament or the way to rebirth?

*****

A lovely pink heart. A silly pink mustache. I watched with amazement as Brit drew them sparkling in the air. She said Lorne had given her dream ink in which to dip her colors. A two-edged demon gift. Not all dreams are those we wish to come true. There is the dark side, the nightmares we keep hidden within. I wondered, though, whether a nightmare so beckoned might prove to protect Brit if other defenses failed. “Can you draw one”, I asked? “You mean a scary picture?” Brit questioned. She closed her eyes and lifted her hand, crayon poised . . . and a toxic waste monster appeared. . . .

*****

I walked the streets and the shore, searching to satisfy my hunger. The building drew me. Would there be answers inside? The woman, Scarlette, had said she descries the future, not by crystal ball, but by the cards. “Watch me read,” she invited. Perhaps I was too much of a Silver-Hair, though I tested neither beds nor porridge. Yet a sword was drawn on me, with the threat of sending me back to the Omega in pieces. I only sought answers.