MonkeyVault-Chapter 8

Chapter 8

When Devlin had finally had the dummy he’d spat wedged back in to his mouth. He was kind enough to offer Alula a lift home. She’d been given the all-clear by the barbaric doctor from earlier and was ready to leave. It was hard to believe that such a frail, decrepit creature could have wrestled her so savagely. Doctor Cross looked like a baby bird. His skin was pale pink, crinkled like crepe paper and he had a silken-net of wispy hair crowning his scalp. Nephilim’s were well known to have long life spans, but this guy took the piss. Alula was sure that the fragile-looking brute was well into his four hundredth year. Her upper jaw still ached but that was probably from the way he’d man-handled her earlier. He'd practically split her face in two.

“So, I'm okay?” Alula queried before going.

The doctor looked over his clipboard at her, annoyance glinting in his milky, moist eyes.

“Hmmm...” He began, pondering the question for a moment and rapping the pen in his hand lightly against his chin, “If you think developing Nephilim powers at your age is normal, then yes, your fine.”

That word ‘normal’ again. It vexed her. The fact that she was Nephilim was abnormal in itself. She’d accepted the fact she was different from humans, but now she was even a freak amongst her own kind.

“And this happening at twenty-four means what exactly?” She retorted, a little more indignantly than she would have liked. For some reason she found the doctor's words offensive.

“We don’t know yet, Miss Saint. As we explained to you earlier, we are still running tests, but so far we have no conclusive reason way these mutations are occurring.”

Alula had no choice but to be satisfied with that, although she was still fuming as she left the hospital and walked to Devlin’s car.

“And he of all people, probably the oldest creature to hobble the Earth, implied I was old!” She raged as they strolled through the hospital's desolate car park.

Noah had gone home and Bethany and Jael had left hours ago after receiving a call from work. All Inquisitors had to be diurnal and nocturnal creatures, adapting their sleep patterns constantly. The random work hours had become increasingly more bizarre ever since the discovery of the dead Seraph. Alula didn’t envy them one bit and was grateful to be a Chaser. Her shifts were nearly always at night and depending on how many paranormal beasts were causing shit, even that wasn’t very often.

“No he didn’t, you’re just being paranoid.”

“Did you notice how he dragged the words ‘at your age’?”

Devlin chuckled, a sound like crunching leaves. Alula has never noticed before but his nose had a habit of crinkling whenever he laughed and admittedly it was irresistible. They got into his car, a silver-fish grey Porsche Carrera GT. An over-indulgent piece of shit in Alula's view that suited her fellow Chaser's tawdry personality.

“You don’t need a doctor to tell you your past it,” Devlin teased and keyed the engine in to life.

The car had a gruff, throaty roar that was too loud and obvious for Alula’s liking.

She was about to accuse him of being his usual wanker-self until he added,

“Because trust me, you’re not.”

And there it was... ‘The moment’. The whole lustful-gaze-and-charged-silence thing, where sparks literally crackle and spit between bodies. Indecent thoughts invaded her mind. It would be so easy to the suck the lips off his face right now and more. She shook the thought and got a grip of herself. Devlin Baptiste was a proven dickhead.

“That silver tongue doesn’t work on me, Baptiste. It’s more like rust.” She snarled and broke his gaze.

A broad grin swept across his striking features, “I’m sure my tongue would work on you just fine.”

His blatant cheek almost coaxed another idiotic smile to her lips but she resisted it. It would only give Devlin further encouragement and add gas to what was an already an over-inflated ego.

“Stop twisting my words, Nob-end.”

They drove in silence for a while, and Alula occupied herself by watching the nightlife out the window. The peculiar storm still boiled of the city, lighting up the sky in an array of acidic colours. The moon was full and split like a 'blood-orange', swollen and inflamed like a huge boil, pushing against the grimy, grey bandages of cloud. Although the night had an air of wickedness, the weather didn’t deter the back-log London traffic or refrain people from going out drinking. It was Saturday night, and hordes of drunken bodies filled the streets.

They halted at a red-light, and Alula watched a guy in an expensive pinstripe suit, slur profanities and try to coax a lifeless girl out of the gutter. He was nursing a kebab, swaying and shouting at what was probably his girlfriend. The girl was clearly smashed and had fallen into a deep, drunken sleep. The heavy downpour washed away her make-up and turned the glamorous brunette curl’s into stringy little rat tails. Alula watched as the man swayed and then threw up in his food carton. She saw him frown at his ruined meal and in frustration toss it at the oblivious girl. The scenario for some reason, brought a black-humoured smile to Alula's lips.

“You’re fond of them, aren't you?” Devlin stated more than asked, prying his eyes off the lights and turning to her.

“Considering I am one of them and it’s my job is to protect them, yes.” Alula said, screw-facing him, as if the topic should have gone without question.

“But do you think El ever gets bored. I mean look at them, they’re sick!” Devlin exclaimed, gesturing his auburn head towards kebab-boy, who was now making a feeble attempt to peel corpse-girl off the pavement.

“Them? We’re a product of them as well, not just Seraphim.”

Alula felt stung on behalf of the human race. In fact, she had been corpse-girl more than a handful of times and had to be plucked off the floor by someone because she was so wasted. Her behaviour was more akin to humans than that of Angels.

“We’re nothing like them. They’re nothing but destructive parasites.” Devlin’s brow furrowed, and he turned his attention back to the road just as the light turned green, “I’m just saying, would it really be so bad if they were gone?”

“Devlin, your role in life is to protect them.” Alula could hardly believe what she was hearing. She was about to argue that he was contributing to their destruction by driving around in a pumped-up gas-guzzler, but she didn’t get a chance because the hypocrite spoke again,

“A refuge collector may love his job, but it doesn’t necessarily mean he enjoys wallowing in garbage.”

Alula gaped, so appalled that a laugh almost escaped her, “Devlin Baptiste, you complete racist!”

Devlin shrugged, unashamed, “I’m just saying how I feel. This storm is the worst in recorded history, it’s worldwide.”

Alula was dumbstruck by the information.

“I suppose being comatose for three days has a funny way of keeping you out of touch.” Devlin joked but no laughter touched his eyes, “Lula, it’s been all over the news about the devastation this storm has caused. And all I’m saying is what if El's bored and this is the end?”

“You’re talking about God and the Apocalypse, Devlin. Now who’s being paranoid?” Alula laughed but stopped short when she saw the stern look on his face, “Your actually serious aren’t you? So what if we have freak weather. We’ve had tsunamis and earthquakes before. It’s nothing usual.”

“But an earthbound Seraph is. This storm started on the day we found that Angel. A coincidence? I don’t think so.”

Okay, so he had a point and had managed to scare the shit out of her. Is that what Devlin wanted? Was he trying to frighten her?

“What about the fallen? When Satan was cast from heaven he took all...”

“Please, Alula, save me the story.” He snapped. “I do know it, and his name was Samiel then, before his fall.”

“Well in that case you know they’re could be legions of Seraph’s roaming the Earth.”

Alula hadn’t realised but they were turning in to her street. She blanched at the thought of passing by the convenience store and found herself cowering when they did.

It was as if nothing had ever happened there. It was just another run-down terrace in a swamp of London’s decline.

The Porsche pulled to a stop outside Alula’s house. Inside she could see the lights were on, glowing warm orange, like a beacon of safety. It meant at least one of her housemates was home. Alula wanted to be in there with them and forget she’d ever had this horrible conversation. Eagerly, she reached for the door but Devlin stopped her. His hand brushed her shoulder and as soon as it made contact, Alula’s stomached flipped in desire, and that was not good.

She looked back and met the rival Chaser's intense gaze, sparks of green flame danced in his eyes.

“Along with the Seraph, Satan fell too, perhaps you were right and he is among us?”

Alula's jaw dropped in disbelief, “You believe me now?" She said, "What was all that ‘Alula this is a serious statement you’re making’ bullshit in the interrogation room?”

Devlin gave her a pained look,“That was before and all changed when I saw what was in that Vault with you. It was a...”

He visibly shuddered. Alula should have told him it was okay not to continue but she didn’t. Her morbid curiosity forbade it. She wanted know what happened inside the Catacombs.

“....monster. Alula, it manipulated the darkness and had these fucking giant wi... ”

Bang!

Both of them jumped, only to breathe a sigh of relief when they saw Maria Starbuck, a fellow Chaser and Alula’s housemate's, face pressed up against the window.

“Gotchya!” Starbuck sang through the window and lapped at the glass menacingly. She then proceeded to fall into a fit of laugher at her own childish prank. So much so that she stumbled around, choking and clasping her lean stomach.

“Sorry, my housemate's a dickhead.” Alula apologised, glaring at Starbuck as if she was judging the best way to kill her.

Devlin laughed, but it was riddled with nerves, “To be fair, she is a fucking ghoul.”

Starbuck was now performing a little jig, dancing around the car and displaying the two take-away bags in her hand, singing ‘I thought you might fancy a bit of Indian after that shitty hospital food’ in an off-key mantra.

Starbuck, besides Felix Pom, was Alula’s best-friend and work partner. She was tall and wiry with the ethereal beauty of a supermodel yet a Mohawk and the steam-punk image gave her a boyish visage. Currently, the soft band of hair was dyed lime green and pink on her otherwise stubbly, mouse-brown scalp. Bizarrely, the Mohawk colour coordinated with the unshaven hair beneath her arms. Each exposed pit puked out a different colour tuft. One was apple green and the other candy pink. She looked like a piece of human bubble-gum or a walking advertisement to deter tooth decay.

Alula was embarrassed but didn’t know why. It was not like she gave a shit what Devlin thought of her friend.

Sighing, she groped for the door handle again, but once more Devlin delayed her.

“I wanted to give you this.”

Alula looked down and saw a padlock placed in her hand.

“Ooh romantic, is this the trick you use to woo all the girls?” she gushed at him with false enthusiasm.

Devlin smiled and shook his head, “Only ones that I care about. Just lock your window okay? I wasn’t joking when I said you kept trying to let something in. There are more locks in my boot. Every window and door needs to be secure. Get your housemates to hide the keys in case you go looking for them.”

“Wait in that huge amount of information you just spat at me, did you begin by saying you care about me?” Alula said, flashing him the most audacious grin.

“And what if I did?”

His eyes never wavered from hers and it was agony not to kiss him, drag him out the car and pull him to her bed. It would have definitely been the ‘the moment’ again, if it wasn’t for Starbuck ruining it with her idiosyncratic warbling and puddle-splashing outside.