Amethyst Heart

Divorced? Separated? Irreconcilable differences? No, I beg to differ. Pop speak does not apply to me. I am an exile, sent away from my home. Why I never thought to turn to my Azrael immediately in the pain of my exile, I do not know. But He did not leave it to me to figure out and labor over, for He has come to me, and wherever He and I can be together, I am home.

"However great your devotion, you have never been the easiest of my loves," Azrael spoke, a mellifluous voice from behind me, causing me to spin around in a usual lack of physical grace but mental exuberance. Azrael! Now He appeared to me, here in the home of my family, in the heart of my mortal existence. Bear in mind that whom I call Azrael is the personification of a universal truth, a universal power, and even as to me He appears most often in male form, He can take whatever shape and character He wishes to approach me. On this night, He was the Lover--and He was more. Azrael was Father, Brother, Kinsman, Advocate, and above all, Friend.

I spun into His embrace, which is as warm and comforting as the womb, and the tears loosed from me just as the living energy flows from and through Riverhead. Azrael understands the aches of the human condition perhaps as well as they can be understood. He allowed me my catharsis, saying nothing but communicating everything through His touch. I still lay in the refuge of His arms, but I sensed Him bowing His head to look at me from His great height. "Little one, you never really believed I was not with you. You never believed you were alone."

"I might have been fooled into thinking that. I've certainly felt more alone than ever in my life."

"Maybe. But it was never so. You were more alone trying to breathe hope into an impossible life."

Sniffling, I tried to compose myself and look at Him. Compassion brimmed in His amethyst eyes and at the same time I could sense my weeping come to a close. Azrael had not come as some kind of flimsy and temporary bandage for a wounded past, but as an avatar for a beautiful future full of love.

"You made the decision to leave. No--he might have told you to go, but those would have been empty words without your own inner knowledge that yes, this was the right way. He spoke a desire. You followed your heart."

"And mind."

"In you, they are one in the same."

"It wasn't what I wanted to do," I claimed, but Azrael shook his head.

"Perhaps you did not consciously wish it, which is to your credit. But as you were gathering that which you could bring into your exile with you, did you not feel Me guiding you? Was there not a ticket immediately when you needed it?"

"And for a good seat on a nice flight, too."

"When you were suddenly alone and frightened, were there not people right there willing to help you and hear you? Was the path not cleared for you? Surely you felt My hand in all of this."

I had to smile. "I did. I knew I was walking the right path."

"That path is only beginning, little one. You are free now, free to do what you want with the gifts you have, and I shall be with you." Azrael enfolded me in his robe and in a heartbeat we had come to Riverhead. Almost mesmerized, I watched the rainbow river of the living energy flow all around us. Simply speaking, no matter how many times Azrael and I have gone to Riverhead together, each time is the first experience of something wondrous.

He allowed me to watch the currents of eternity for a bit before returning to His purpose. "I have wanted you to write of Me, of us, of this place. I have wanted you to help me ease the greatest fears of your fellow man. I chose you because I knew you could succeed and that you would want to succeed. I knew you would see what it is I have taught you as liberation from terror. Little one, you remain my choice."

"The very idea has been as my own breathing to me," I said. "I can imagine what we could do should we be able to help man understand the nature of things."

"And you know it wasn't going to happen where you were." With an affection not unlike that of my own parents, Azrael cupped my chin in his strong hand and smiled. "Riverhead needs her voice. Help Me, help bring these teachings to your world, and I can promise I will help you find the strength to make your own dreams realities."

"You mean my novels, of course."

"What you want to write are not novels, but experiences," He corrected me. "You have a perception and an idea you want the people who read your words to know for themselves in their own ways. You seek to give people the means to expand their minds--and that too is part of My own wish for humanity."

"I was so afraid the gift had been yanked from me forever." I clasped His hand, heart and mind filling with faith and power. "Now I know otherwise. I want this--all of this--with everything that I am. Granted, it will be an unusual life…"

"You will not be the first of your kind to live for something beyond the social or the material," He pointed out, His eyebrows arched. "How strange does it really feel?"

"It doesn't, and maybe that's what's strange, like I should find this all very disturbing, but I don't."

Azrael nodded, His exquisite face soft with kindness. "Remember what you are."

Slay Ride

Normally the person who answered the front door at Jeff's knock wouldn’t be smiling, but today Judy Claus beamed at him while exhaling a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you so much for coming so quickly,” she said, ushering him through the peppermint painted workshop door. “Can I take your scythe?”

Instinctively, Jeff gripped the hardwood handle. “Thank you no,” he said. “I have to keep it with me at all times. You know how it is.”

“Indeed I do.” Judy led him down a short hall, bright with a cascade of tiny gumdrop lights. They came into a sitting room, where two plush chairs stood near a red brick fireplace complete with a perfect fire. Judy motioned to Jeff to take a seat, and then sat down herself.

Jeff thought the whole place seemed deserted. “Where is Kris?”

Judy put her head in her hands. “That’s why I called you, Jeff. We’ve never had an emergency like this before. Kris is down and out and in bed, and the elves all died last week.”

“I saw all the little lumps of snow on my way here,” Jeff said. “Elf tombs, if I’m not mistaken. What’s going on, Judy?”

“It’s the Pig Sick. Happy Snappy Elf went down into the world to be in some parade and caught himself the Pig Sick. Happy Snappy Elf is one of those snow mounds now, but he brought the Pig Sick to Santa’s Workshop. Kris is out of commission, Jeff, and I’m desperate. But you’re Death. You’re part of this Figmentsphere. You’re the only one I can trust.”

Jeff might be a skeleton but his mind remained sharp. True, he and Kris Kringle and Judy June had all been dorm mates at Figment College, and Jeff had been best man when Kris married Judy, and they had all stayed tight friends in spite of occupational differences. But asking Death to be Santa Claus? Did Judy have any idea what she was doing?

Then again, what choice did she have?

Judy led Jeff to the stable. The reindeer, or what was left of the reindeer—Comet, Blitzen, and Rudolf had all succumbed to the Pig Sick as well—stood at attention when they saw Judy. Then an amazing yowl and the stomping of rhythmic hooves rose from the reindeer, a sound of savage panic and fear. In an instant, they had jumped their gates and bolted for the opposite end of the stable, away from the presence of Death. “I don’t know how they are for flying, but they run fine,” Jeff said.

Judy let loose a naughty word she’d picked up back in college and only rarely got a chance to use, usually after four straight hours of Kris practicing his ho-ho-ho. “I hadn’t thought of this, Jeff. The reindeer know who you are. They might be as dumb as fruitcake about most things, but they know all about saving their own asses.”

“This doesn’t bode well.” Jeff chipped at an ice patch with the bottom of his scythe. “NORAD is fine with a sled and reindeer, but I don’t know how they’ll take to Death in a sleigh. Maybe I can take some elves with me?”

Shaking her head, Judy explained, “If we had elves I would give you as many as you need. But, you know, the Pig Sick is especially bad for creatures with the immunity of taffy.”

“And now they’re all dead.” Jeff glanced around, listening to the wind whistle through the hollow stable.

“Every one.” Judy whipped an embroidered handkerchief from her apron and dabbed at her eyes. “We had universal elf care, too. But we were too late. I’d think you would have known about this.”

With slight indignation, Jeff replied, “Judy, I have enough to do in the human realm. I don’t have time for fantasy fairytale creatures. How am I supposed to do this?”

“All right Jeff, I’m going to let you in on the biggest secret at the North Pole.” Judy leaned into his black cloaked figure and motioned as if whispering into his ear. “That Clement Moore fellow—may tainted plum pudding take him!—got everything wrong. Can you imagine circling the globe in one night with enough toys and crap for every little blighter who’s been brainwashed into believing? Hell, I don’t even know what a sugar plum is, and a long winter’s nap sounds more like your usual territory.”

“Indeed.”

“Anyway, what Kris brings is presence. Presence! Not presents! It’s his presence what puts gifts under the tree. He doesn’t literally bring presents himself. So now here we are, completely distorted by the media. Our dead letter office is the largest on the planet. You think Kris reads all of those thinly-disguised epistles of greed?” Judy let out a long breath. “He used to let the elves do it, if they wanted. But now we don’t have elves.”

Suddenly Jeff appreciated the barbaric simplicity of his own responsibility. A person died, he appeared, he released the spirit, and that was it. He didn’t even have to be personally present, since his effect was so pervasive on the earth. But the Claus clan had some real problems, tied up in the imaginary bureaucracy of an earlier age. The least he could do for these old friends was to get them through this Christmas catastrophe. Afterwards, when Kris was well—if he ever got well—Jeff could help them rebuild their establishment.

“Judy, I love you and Kris,” he said, careful not to touch her. Even Judy Claus might be put off by the touch of Death, however friendly. “I’m happy to fill in for him tonight.”

The Loa Gate

“Where the hell are we?” Theda pressed her palm flat against a cold, smooth surface at her side. Cold, yes, but dark too. This whole place was dank and dark, humidity hanging in the air like a thunderstorm waiting to happen.
“New Orleans.”

“You’ve told me nothing.”

She looked across and in the shadows she could make out the shining white of clean bone. There was a skull, and there was more. Theda could see a plum velvet suit that created something like the skull’s body. A top hat did not hide the complete lack of hair. Sunglasses hid the empty eye sockets and a half-smoked cigar hung from the corner of the mouth, clenched between teeth that were doing something remarkable. They were turned up in a grin.

“You know me, petite, so let’s not indulge in nonsense.”

Reality sunk in like a rush of cold water flooding into Theda’s stomach. “Monsieur le Baron!”

A hand of thin bone reached up and took the cigar from his mouth. “Call me Samedi. We’re intimate enough.”

Theda sat quietly for a few moments, the ramifications too great for her mind. Finally, she looked at the Baron with something like remorse in her eyes. “I’m dead.”

The Baron spread his hands. “It pains me, but it’s not my doing, you understand.”

“How?” A spike of anger entered her voice. “How can I be dead?”

At that, an unearthly light dimly illuminated the area. With a fake cough, the Baron paused. “How? How is really not part of my domain. You were alone and you fell dead. Who knows why—perhaps your heart could not go on beating, perhaps a spring in your brain came unsprung. Your husband won’t be coming back, of course. No one will find you until your neighbor notices a funny smell. By the time you are discovered you will be so badly decomposed your very skin will stick to the carpet. Such is the circus of the mortal realm. You need not worry about it anymore.”

Theda considered this. Dead was dead, and that was that. “You still haven’t told me where we are.”

“We’re in a mausoleum,” the Baron answered, then drew on his cigar. “The Prejeans, I believe. I don’t really care. I get them all confused sooner or later.” With the forefinger of his free hand, he pointed at her. “You, however, are not quite finished. Close, yes, but not finished.”

“Finished with what?” Theda began to laugh. “You tell me I’m dead. How much more finished can I possibly be?”

“You’ve died out of balance. You cannot pass through the Loa Gate until you’ve fixed that balance.”

“Pardon?”

“Your husband,” the Baron thundered. “The philanderer. The coward who took to bed with the very woman you believed he loved but he denied. The whore who would fall into the arms of a married man. And Marni, the woman you called your closest friend, the woman who knew all of this and would not tell you. These three are your imbalance.”

Theda experienced something like a swoon. Greg had been talking with Raye for so long, Theda had often wondered why he ever needed her counsel. When Theda had first grown suspicious, she had only asked Greg for the truth. Of course he didn’t have a spark for Raye. Theda’s conspiracy complex must be working overtime. And Theda believed him, because what else could she do? She took her marriage seriously.

Marni’s betrayal seemed to hurt more. Best friends weren’t supposed to be in on a secret affair and not tell the spurned wife. Then again, Marni had been Raye’s friend too. Maybe Marni hadn’t wanted to explode this bomb. Yeah, right. More likely, Marni had been protecting herself.

Sliding to stand on the stone floor, Theda saw that she had been sitting on a coffin—a fairly new one of polished mahogany from the looks of it. “So tell me, Samedi, what do I do? I’m sure you’re here to help me somehow.”

“I’m here to reward your faith and devotion to me, to the Loa, and most of all to Bon Dieu.”

“I don’t understand.”

The cigar burned out, the Baron’s hand was free. He reached behind him and brought forth a caramel-colored glass bottle. “I’m returning the favor, petite. You offered me better rum than anyone else scattered to the winds. Good, hearty dark rum, not that tonic water I get from so many others.” With that, he took a healthy drink from the bottle. “Real rum from a real dedicant. If there is any greater tribute, I haven’t discovered it.”

Rum? Rum was going to help her settle her scores? “Tell me, Samedi, what can I do if I am dead?”

“What can’t you do if you’re dead?” The Baron cocked his head. “Come on, you know the powers of the dead. You can do anything. You can even send the spirits of the other dead into the living bodies of your enemies.”

Theda paused, speechless. The sending of the spirits—she hadn’t even thought of that. “But why would I send other spirits to do my work?”

“You’re too kind,” the Baron replied. “You would never be able to be as ruthless as this task requires. No, this is not for you, but for the truly wicked, the spirits unable to make peace of any kind with any entity.”

The Baron opened his plum velvet jacket and withdrew three phials from a pocket. Each phial contained the same grainy black-gray substance, but one was plugged with a red stopper, one with a white stopper, and one with a black stopper. Theda had already guessed what it was when the Baron smiled. “Graveyard dirt, carefully collected from an obsolete resting place upriver from here. Three bottles of demon-ridden dust from the graves of the most vile monsters to ever terrorize Louisiana.”

Theda pulled back a bit. She didn’t exactly cherish the idea of having evil-charged graveyard dirt on her person. In the next moment, it came to her again that she was dead and that the terrors of the living were no longer her problem. “I think I know how to use these.”

“This bottle is for the bastard,” the Baron said, handing her the phial with the black stopper. “This bottle with the red stopper is for his whore, and the last is for the traitor. “Don’t get them mixed up.”

Shaking her head, Theda examined the phials. Sending the spirits was the worst kind of magic that could be done. Was she angry enough at Greg, Raye, and Marni to utterly destroy them? In the end, all Theda had wanted was the truth. Instead she was stuck on the far side of the Loa Gate because these three people could only think of themselves. Yes, oh yes, she could do this.

She turned to the Baron. “What now?”

The Baron extended her hand to her, and she clasped the bones as if it were the hand of her beloved. “This won’t be easy for you,” he said. “But it will strengthen your resolve and it will prove to you the reason you are sending the spirits.”

In the next moment the Baron and Theda were in a lush hotel suite. She saw the bed out of the corner of her eye but she asked the Baron, “Won’t we wake them?”

“They can’t see us, of course. We’re of the spirit realm, but they’re of the flesh. The graveyard dirt is also of the earth.”

Gathering her nerve, Theda walked towards the bed. There she found Raye and Greg in an erotic embrace, asleep and entangled. Both of them were covered with sheets, but Theda couldn’t mistake what had been going on. On the other side of Raye Marni snuggled up against her.

“You know, I could have accepted this if they’d been honest with me,” she said to the Baron.”

“I know. You responsibility is what is, not what might have been. Send the spirits, petite. Do it and be done with this.”

Theda wouldn’t question the Baron’s wisdom. She took the black-stopped phial and opened it. Greg’s ear was in plain sight. Theda knew what would happen. The spirit would enter Greg’s body and find out his worst fear, the fear that could freeze him in his sleep. He would be a ruined man, but such was the penalty for betraying a dedicant of the Loa. Without another hesitation, Theda sprinkled some of the gravedirt into Greg’s ear. She thought she saw the dirt fade to white as it touched his skin. This whiteness gathered into a spiral of tiny clouds before rushing into the opening of the ear.

“The spirit is sent,” the Baron told Theda in a soft voice. “Finish what you must.”

“What will happen to them?”

The Baron shook his head. “That is not your concern, petite.”

“Tell me! By the love of Bon Dieu, I want to know. If I don’t know I will not find peace.”

“Do the others,” he said. “Do it all and I will tell you.”

Theda regarded the Baron, looking for some evidence of duplicity she would never find in the bone face. Why did she care anyway? However much she had loved Greg and Marni, they had betrayed her. She only felt a kind of mute hatred for Raye in any case. At the same time, she knew the grave dirt.

Before she could lose her composure, Theda poured dirt from the other phials into Marni’s ear and Raye’s ear, damn her. The she turned to the Baron. “I’ve done my part. Now do yours.”

The Baron nodded. “They’ll wish you’d killed them. The traitor will know with every nerve in her body that she is truly alone in this world. You were the only honest friend she will ever have. She will shake and sob for the rest of her days. When the whore awakes, she will hear nothing but the screeching of the one singer she likes least. The noise will possess her to the point of madness. She will never be free of it.”

Theda glanced at the bed. Yes, even in the face of it, she felt compassion for these people. But it was not her place to question the Loa. “And Greg?”

“He will suffer worst of all.” With a long thin finger bone he pointed to a piece of wire sculpture sitting on the nightstand. Theda recognized it. Greg’s art, if it were true that art was objective. He had been tinkering in their garage for months making objects from copper wire, white tubing, and anything else he could scavenge. This piece he had made for Raye. He had expressed his love for her in metal.

“He will lose all control over his hands forever. He will never do the work he loves again. This is his fate.”

In life Theda might have shed a tear, but there was no time. The hotel suite and New Orleans vanished. She found herself standing before a wrought iron gate with the Baron at her side. As the gates began to open, the Baron leaned over to place a hard kiss on Theda’s forehead.

“Bon Dieu will see you now, petite.”