Candy Kisses

Candy Kisses

Chapter Twelve

“Love Is Not A Victory Much
It’s A Cold And It’s A Broken Hallelujah”
-- John Cale

Kale sat in darkness, ignoring the rain. Occasionally, a gust of wind blew into the bedroom, scattering drops of chill water across his face, but he couldn’t make himself get up and close the window. His body felt as heavy as stone, and motion seemed like a distant memory. Like something that other people did.

So he remained seated in his chair, while on the bed next to him, Marzi lay asleep. Or unconscious. Or feigning one of those two states. It didn’t matter. The result was the same. Kale couldn’t see much of his lover’s body -- just a few pale highlights, which hovered in the shadows like sickly ghosts. But even over the rain, he could hear the steady rasp of Marzi’s breath, dragged through a throat worn raw from screaming. Kale listened to the soft rhythm. Listened to it as if it was code, as if by deciphering the message hidden within it, he could understand the mystery hidden inside his own feelings.

As if it could tell him why he felt so afraid.

He had what he wanted. Didn’t he? Marzi was back, and even if Kale untied the ropes binding his wrists to the bed, he would not walk away again. Kale felt sure of that. So why couldn’t he get on with his life? Why couldn’t he resume all the business he’d neglected during Marzi’s absence? Why was he still sitting here, as the hours ticked by, unable to leave the darkness?

One way or the other, he will be your undoing. They always are.

Raedeman’s words kept echoing around inside his head. Perhaps, Kale tried to tell himself, it was only his bargain with Raedeman that left this lingering uneasiness. Officially, the deal was done. Raedeman had his necklace and Kale had Marzi. Simple as that. Or was it? Kale knew that he was not some naive child -- he hadn’t negotiated too hastily, he hadn’t failed to ask the proper questions. But still, with someone like Raedeman, could a person ever be truly sure? Raedeman existed before the earth was created, and even his fall from heaven happened countless years prior to Kale’s own birth. Who knew what snaky, twisted, patient plans might lurk in a mind like that?

Again, wind invaded the room, spitting water onto its two occupants. As the droplets touched Marzi’s bare skin, he shivered, and mumbled an incoherent protest, before falling silent again. With a surge of effort, Kale tore free from his lethargy. Standing up, he moved his hands over the bed, until he found the blanket wadded up against its footboard, having been kicked there much earlier during the frenzy of their passion. Gently, Kale pulled it up over Marzi. And as he did so, the fear came back twice as bad as before, and he knew that he could no longer pretend that it was Raedeman who scared him.

One way or the other, he will be your undoing.

From a young age, Kale had known that the world did not welcome him. He was not human. If they ever learned the truth, they would fear and revile him. But he was also a long way from being truly demonic. Even spawn mocked him for being a weak taintling, and they would kill him if they could, for no other reason than to destroy the constant reminder of his ancestry. The constant reminder of a time in the past when one of their kind had chosen to love a human. Without any race to call his own, Kale realized that he’d have to make his own place in the world. And he had. He’d developed what powers he could, he’d plotted against the opponents he could beat, while appeasing the ones he couldn’t. He’d built a small world of his own. He’d terrorized, and murdered, and risked his life countless times, and never once felt afraid. Not once.

Until that night in December, when a young man lay dying in the snow, his body ripped apart by the magic Kale had inflicted on him. That was when Kale had first tasted it. And even then, he hadn’t understood. Instead, he slammed the door of his heart shut, as if he could imprison the feelings inside it, and slowly starve them to death. But they hadn’t died. So he’d tried to placate them. He’d bound Marzi’s body, and broken his spirit, and enslaved his soul. He’d taken back what was his. And still, the fear remained.

Only now, standing in the darkness, did Kale finally comprehend. The fear would never die, no matter how completely he owned Marzi. Because this wasn’t about fearing what harm might come to himself. This was about fearing what harm might come to someone else. And that was even worse.

One way or the other...

Raedeman had told him to kill Marzi. Was that his only choice? Was it either that, or be consumed by a weakness that would surely destroy him? And if so, which was worse? To be destroyed? Or to destroy the only person who had ever known him, accepted him, loved him for what he was? Absently, Kale lifted a pillow and turned it in his hands. It would be so easy. Just hold the pillow over Marzi’s face, and everything would be over in a matter of minutes. With Marzi dead, he’d be free. Or would he be? Could he ever be free again?

“Oh, my treasure...my light...my love. I’m no better than your foolish friend Nicholas. I paid a demon to serve me my doom on a silver platter.”

Shaking his head, Kale placed the pillow back on the bed. Then, he turned and walked out of the room, his mind fixed on a single question, one which he regarded with more despair than hope. If angels can fall, could it be possible for demons to rise?

*****

Nicholas knew he needed to fight against it, but the darkness felt so warm and comforting. Like his bed when he was a child. Like being tucked beneath a homemade quilt, with his mother’s classical music playing softly in the next room, and the old house creaking from time to time, muttering to itself as it dreamed of earlier ages. Nothing could harm him when he lay in that bed. No matter how dark it got, no matter how fiercely a storm raged outside, he could always snuggle down, and close his eyes. And sleep. And sleep, and sleep, and sleep...

“Nicholas!”

Despite the urgency in Pepper’s voice, he ached to ignore it. To sleep. But she was calling him, and when she called, he would go to her. For as long as he still could.

“Nicholas! Look at me!”

Reluctantly, Nicholas forced his eyes open, trading visions of his childhood bed for the blurry shadows of the room that had become his prison. He didn’t mention that it seemed to have gotten darker. After all, how could it have, when there were no windows to let light in or out? There was only a single bulb hanging from the ceiling and unless it was beginning to fade...no, Nicholas suspected that the bulb was not the thing beginning to fade. “I-I’m sorry. I was just going to close my eyes for a second.”

“You can’t give up,” Pepper pleaded. “You have to stay conscious until help gets here.”

“Help?” Nicholas didn’t mean to mock her, but he couldn’t keep a smile from creeping onto his lips. “Are we expecting any of that?”

“Don’t joke! Something will happen. We’ll get out of this. You’re not going to...”

Not going to...what? Slip into a coma? Fail you one more time? Nicholas looked at Pepper. While the rest of the room blurred and grew dark, she blurred and grew bright, a woman-shaped blaze of white and red. And somehow, deep in his heart, Nicholas sensed that this was what he’d always seen. Not Marzi dressed in drag, not even her own former appearance as the mirror first revealed it. But this. Pure light. “I’m trying,” he promised.

“I know. Just stay awake.”

Wearily, Nicholas rested his cheek against the mirror and watched his breath cloud its silver surface. His head ached, like someone was squeezing it in a vice. And, despite his promise, despite his resolve to stay with Pepper, his eyes started to slip shut again.

“Sing something.”

Startled by her request, Nicholas blinked. “What?”

“Sing something. We got into this mess because you wanted a better voice, right? So let’s hear it.”

Nicholas hesitated. He didn’t feel like singing. But, however unwittingly, he’d betrayed Pepper for the sake of his art, so he could hardly deny that he owed her a song. And maybe it would give her some comfort. Maybe it was one stupid, inconsequential thing he could still do for her. But which song? His head felt too muddled and broken to handle Italian. English, then. Except, if it was going to be English, the lyrics needed to be good. Not sappy. Not trite. Finally, the answer came to him. It wasn’t a song he’d performed much, since it lacked the vocal acrobatics that impressed judges. But he remembered it. Slowly, speaking more than singing, Nicholas began.

If it be your will
That I speak no more
And my voice be still
Like it was before
I will speak no more
I shall abide until
I am spoken for
If it be your will

Ruefully, Nicholas recognized the irony in those words. Being silent was the one thing he hadn’t been willing to do. And for the sake of his ambition, he’d lost everything else. If only he could have been patient. If only he could have trusted in the plans of angels, instead of running into the arms of demons. Lifting his face, Nicholas stared upward with eyes too blurred to see. He’d never really been able to envision God. Couldn’t shrink and simplify that power until it became nothing more than an old guy with a beard. But he knew what love looked like. So he sang to that. Made his promises to that.

If it be your will
That a voice be true
From this broken hill
I will sing to you
From this broken hill
All your praises they shall ring
If it be your will
To let me sing

He couldn’t undo what he’d done. But if it was possible to take this demon-bought gift and use it for good, then he would. He would lift his voice to praise the world, in all its tragic glory, and sing about the beauty of the million broken souls who inhabited it. He would keep singing until God remembered His creation, remembered why He had once loved it. Perhaps make Him love it again. Gathering all the emotions he’d traded his soul for, Nicholas sang louder, stronger.

If it be your will
If there is a choice
Let the rivers fill
Let the hills rejoice
Let your mercy spill
On all these burning hearts in hell
If it be your will
To make us well

In the main section of Sayyid’s Soul Food Café, the usual cacophony slowly died. Intended threats were never spoken, while seductions melted on the lips that would have whispered them, and one or two punches even halted in midair. Everyone paused, listening to the unexpected singing. When the human slaves heard it, strange feelings stirred in their hearts, dim racial memories of a freedom most of them had never known. When the spawn heard it, they thought of moments when the vices which drove them had temporarily waned. When the crashing waves of greed, lust, and anger had momentarily receded, leaving them staring at unfamiliar beauty and peace. As for the oldest, the few among them who had once been angels -- they remembered heaven.

And draw us near
And bind us tight
All your children here
In their rags of light
In our rags of light
All dressed to kill
And end this night
If it be your will

Then the song stopped, and there was only the sound of the rain.

*****

Marzi stared at the ceiling as dawn slowly changed the black of night to shades of dull grey. His body felt like a tomb, cold and empty, and he couldn’t remember if the drops of water on his face were bits of windblown rain or tears. This was the moment he’d always dreaded. The moment when there was no music to distract him, no lover’s caress to seduce him, no magic candy to turn his thoughts into sugar. The moment when fate left him alone with himself. And fuck, he made a pretty poor companion.

Well, that was impressive, his thoughts sneered at him. Such strength, such courage. You really showed Kale that you meant business. Especially when you whimpered like a bitch and begged him to screw you.

“I didn’t have a choice...” Marzi had grown accustomed to his internal conversations with Pepper, and he fell into the pattern easily, even though the voice which now spoke to him shared nothing in common with Pepper’s gentle teasing. “Don’t you see that?”

Didn’t have a choice? You’ve always had a choice, Marzipan Penicandey. And you’ve always made the wrong one. It’s your only reliable trait.

“I just...”

Tell me, did you enjoy it? Did the pain let you forget, even for a moment, that you were fucking the man who murdered your sister? Oh wait, I’m sorry. Not your sister. You’re not Pepper’s brother, are you? You’re just a false leaf that someone tied to her family tree.

“Damn you!” Marzi screamed. At himself, at Kale, at the world in general. “Damn you! Damn you to hell!”

“Sir?”

Marzi blinked, startled to hear a voice other than his own. Lifting his head off the pillows, he glanced toward the bedroom door and saw a familiar figure standing there, dressed in her customary black suit, dark glasses, and leather gloves. Despite himself, Marzi couldn’t quite repress a smile. “Sylvia. I think we’re a bit past ‘Sir’, don’t you?”

“I suppose so,” she conceded, entering the room and shutting the door behind her. “How are you, Marzi?”

“Oh, I’m doing great. Betrayed, drugged, kidnapped, ripped apart, tied up, fucked with, and then finally fucked. It doesn’t get any better than this. And you?”

“Still condemned to endure your smartass comments, apparently.” As she approached the bed, Sylvia pulled off her leather gloves and set them down on the bedside table. “But that just seems to be my destiny.”

“Lucky you.”

“Yes. Lucky me.”

Sylvia reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small jar. As she unscrewed the lid, Marzi smelled something sweet, like candied orange peels. Then she dipped her finger into the transparent cream and began to spread it across his wrists, concentrating on the areas where his struggles against the rope had rubbed his skin raw. The ointment felt cool against the heat of his pain, and Marzi remembered snow. Remembered that Sylvia had been there for him when no one else was.

“I’ve thought of you, from time to time,” he admitted. “Wondered what happened to you. Wondered if you ever decided to leave Kale.”

Sylvia bowed her head, letting the shadows add one more layer to the shields she hid behind. “I wanted to. But Kale isn’t an easy man to leave.”

“No,” Marzi confessed. “No, he isn’t.”

“After you left...after you left, everything got so crazy. Kale got so crazy. He’d take lovers home and then turn on them. He’d scream, throw things, he nearly pushed one of them out a window. I think there were times when he would have killed them if I hadn’t intervened. All because of the smallest failings. All because, I suppose, none of them were you.”

For a moment, Marzi’s eyes slipped shut, and memories floated through the darkness like petals dropping from a dying flower. Memories of the places he’d gone while Pepper slept. The people he’d let bind him, hurt him, take him hard and rough, as he searched for someone to replace Kale. But no one else spoke to him as tenderly. No one else held him in such a strong embrace. No one else bought him unimaginably expensive wine and then spent all night kissing the taste of it from his lips. They just left him feeling used, bruised, and alone. “I missed him, too.”

“I stayed because I was more afraid of him than ever before. But I also stayed because I felt...pity.”

Sylvia finished with the ointment and returned the jar to her pocket. Then she pulled back the blanket Kale had spread over Marzi. Gently, she placed her hands on his thighs, and spread them apart, revealing the blood that had dried on his skin and the sheets beneath him. “Oh, Marzi. How can you...? How can he...?”

Marzi winced, ashamed of his weakness. His sickness. “I don’t know. It must be a demon thing.” Bitter laughter crackled in his throat. “Have you heard? It turns out that I’m tainted, too.”

“You don’t know that,” Sylvia chided. “I’m the one who discovered your adoption records. There was nothing in them about your birth parents. If Kale implied otherwise, he’s just distorting things. Just like he always does.”

“Still, you have to admit. It would explain a lot.”

“Such as?”

Marzi swallowed. Outside, the clouds began to break apart, and a shaft of sunlight struck one of the pieces of glass embedded in the headboard, casting a blue tint over the room. As if the bed was a boat, and both he and Sylvia were hopelessly lost at sea. “Maybe it would explain why I couldn’t ask him to untie me and set me free. Not even when he dared me to.”

Sighing, Sylvia removed her dark glasses, and let her eyes meet his. “And if you’d told Kale to let you go? Do you really think that he would have? Or do you think he would have twisted your words until they said exactly what he wanted them to say?”

Marzi hadn’t thought of that. But, he had to admit, there was more than a grain of truth to it. Kale had obviously gone to considerable trouble arranging this reunion. Suppose he did manage to ask Kale for release? Did he really expect Kale to shrug his shoulders and send him on his way with a pat on the head? Not likely. Not Kale. Marzi’s heart lifted a little. This wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t wicked or weak. But where did that leave him? Even if his lack of willpower no longer bound him to Kale’s bed, the ropes still did.

“What do you do, Sylvia? What do you do when the person you love is a fucking son-of-a-bitch?”

“The same thing you do when they’re a reckless smartass. You wait. You pray. You hope they get it through their thick skull.”

Gnawing on his lower lip, Marzi considered this. Ever since he’d left Kale, he’d been running -- running from his ex-lover, running from his own emotions. That needed to stop. When they’d first met, Kale had told him that he didn’t want a brat or a weakling. He wanted a man who was his equal. Well, presumably he’d gotten one, and it was time for Marzi to prove that. “Sylvia? What would happen if you didn’t heal me?”

Concern flashed across Sylvia’s face, and she fumbled with her glasses, hurriedly shoving them back on. “Marzi. I think I know what you have in mind, but Kale is only a few degrees away from complete meltdown. This isn’t a good time to try and call his bluff.”

“What would happen?” Marzi insisted.

Sylvia’s voice turned dull and impersonal, as if she was reading her diagnosis from a textbook. “He tore you up pretty badly. If I don’t use magic to close the cuts, they’ll become infected. And, as your body tries to fight the infection, you’ll run one hell of fever. It might kill you. If Kale doesn’t kill you first. Or himself. Or half of Chicago.”

Marzi nodded, committed to his plan. Pulling free from Sylvia’s touch, he snapped his thighs together, once more concealing the damage done by Kale’s lovemaking. “So be it. Kale wants to play for keeps? Fine. We’ll play for keeps.”

“And if he hurts your sister?”

Pepper. For an instant, Marzi nearly lost his resolve. But he knew that Pepper would understand. As long as he let Kale control him, neither of them would be safe. Not really. However, if this worked, if he forced Kale to come to terms with the true depth of his feelings, they could both stop running. And if it didn’t work, Pepper would have a chance to prove her claim that she could sneak her brother into heaven.

“Marzi--”

“No. You were right. Even if I asked him to, Kale would never release me. Not as things stand.” Marzi turned his head, gazing out the open window. “But, one way or another, I am going to leave this bed.”

(The song that Nicholas sang in this chapter was "If It Be Your Will" by Leonard Cohen.)