Deep Water

-eight-

She looked at me like I was crazy. Like perhaps I'd just escaped from an insane asylum, after being locked up since that terrible day my father dragged from the only friend I had ever known. I could tell that she was processing what I had just told her. Her fingers were tapping out a complicated drum beat as her giant green eyes danced in her head. Funny how after all these years, I could still read her like her thoughts and emotions were written in bold font on her forehead. So far she was handling the news considerably well, or so I thought until she got up and started pacing. That was new. When had she started pacing when she thunk? I thought to myself.

 She interjected my thoughts with her own, "So you're telling me that the world is about to end, and you know this because you are the son of the Devil, which makes you the prince of Hell?" Her voice was low and calm and dangerous, and it terrified me. 

"Basically, yes, but I have no plans of letting that happen."

"And just how are you planning to save the universe exactly? And by saying that, are you implying that it isn't the fault of your father that the world is ending?"

 "It is not directly my father's fault, and my plan, however askew it is right now, involves you," I say, hoping that my fake confidence will convince her that my plan ends with her agreeing to come with me.

"Holy, Thor! How could you possibly need me for this?'' I can tell she's getting upset now. 

"The only reason that I'm more qualified for this job than any of the other miscreants in Hell is because I'm a prince, and those lessons your father used to give us as kids. When he used to teach us 'How to be spies.'"

"So you're saying that I'm qualified because I can pick locks and disarm someone before they realize I'm in the room?"

"I'm saying that you grew up with lessons on strategic planning and survival. You lived in a house where you would plan escape routes to imaginary safehouses before getting ice cream. This mission cannot be done without you, because let's face it," I say, preparing to pull out the big guns, "you were always better at those lessons in the woods than I ever was."

"What's in it for me?" I was taken back by this. Did she not care that she and everyone around her would die if she didn't help? But, hey, survival tip #1: Always be prepared. 

"Other than watching everyone you care about to die painfully in front of you before you parish? I have a lead on where your dad is located in the Afterlife. If the lead is as big as I think it is, I think I can arrange for you to see him." I knew I had her. She was coming with me. But before she could confirm her acquiesce, I saw a shadow appear behind the curtain of the dining room. A rather unearthly figure. Maggie saw it too, and gave me a look that said, It's from your world, how do we deal with it?

 ***

"We are going to need firepower. A lot of firepower." This was all he had to say. My heart started to race, but not because I was afraid, but because I was giddy with excitement.

 Wordlessly, I lead Luc down the hallway, toward the stairs. Then, pulling The Art of War off the under-the-stairs bookshelf, the wooden shelves swung apart, revealing a spiraling staircase. We could hear the intruders jiggling the back door's knob as we descended the stairs, Luc leading, I followed close behind after securing the hidden doors. Luc stubbled in the darkness, signaling that we reached the bottom. I guess I should have warned him about that last trick stair. On second thought, no, I shouldn't have.

"Have you lead me to the dungeons to torture and kill me?" I could hear Luc's amusement as he made his sarcastic remark. He always did love sarcasm.

"As fun as killing you sounds, I thought we needed firepower." And with that, I flipped the switch by the entrance, which illuminated the two hundred and forty square foot armory my dad had started filling before I was born. Over the years, I have organized and cataloged every piece of weaponry in this place, and even added the bare necessities of survival in case of the zombie apocalypse. "We are open for business. Take what you need, and write down what you use so I can eventually restock."

Luc slowly turned to me. His eyes were huge and dark and red, and he stood there studying me for an eternity. 

"You're doing the creepy stare again," I said, he blinked his eyes back to normal and cleared his throat. It was my turn to stare as he sauntered into the endless shelves of blades and explosive, calling over his shoulder, "Let's have so fun, shall we." He expected me to follow, but I didn't. My feet were unable to receive the message from my brain to move. I did, however, manage to warn him from ruining my categorizing system.

 I couldn't shake the sense of vulnerability i felt just a moment before. A part of me hated that my secret armory was no longer my just my secret. I'll kill him if he tells anyone, I decided before finally lurking into the stacks.

 I hadn't even reached the far wall to grab my utility belt before I heard the clanging of metal on concrete, followed by a string of dialect I didn't recognize. 

I instantly sprinted in the direction of the racket, "I swear to God, if that was my collection of Japenese throwing stars dating back to circa 400 AD, I will throw each and every one of them into your spine after we take care of the aliens upstairs!" 

"Don't fret, my little mortal. Your throwing stars are safe, but the spears circa Sparticus, on the other hand..." If voice trailed off when he saw me at the end of the aisle. The basket of various spears was splayed out on the ground, some broken into several pieces. "What did you do, tap dance on them, because if you did, I'd love to watch. It would be great payment for that stupid nickname you just bestowed me." Just as I finished, a huge crash sounded above our heads. "Ah, saved by the bell tolling idiots. By the way, these guys are hard to kill. I suggest a weapon you don't have to reload," he said with a crooked grin and arched eyebrows. His smug comment made me smile smugly. He'll find out just how prepared I am later. Taking another lap around the arsenal, we met back at the staircase and started to climb. At the top, I paused and glanced through the spy hole-- a hole carved back of the bookshelf, in between two massive encyclopedias. "You most likely brought them here, you get to get shot at first." He gave me a condescending look and responded, "Don't worry. I won't let the demons get you."

As he reached for the lever to open the hidden door, I used his shoulder to haul myself closer to his ear and whispered, "You are about to realize just how much you underestimated me." Instead of the intimidating effect I was hoping for, the moment took on a way-too-intimate air. Quicky, I dropped down, drew a knife from a sheath on my belt, and yanked to leaver myself. 

"Don't worry. I won't let the demons get you," I mocked.