DEVIL, DEVIL (Michael Langdon)

xii.

Blood was seeping through Judas' purple shirt, turning the fabric a dark shade of maroon. He watched through glazed eyes as Myrtle made her way over to the pair. She met Judas' gaze for just a moment, looking as if she wanted to say something. But she didn't. Instead, she touched Michael's hair. "My goodness," she whispered. "Smooth as silk."

She tore away a bit of hair as if it were nothing, returning to Cordelia's side. "A personal item," she said, handing the hair over to Mallory. "Remember, dear- - focus on it. Use it to locate a time and place early in Michael's life. Shed the ego."

"Disengage from this realm," Mallory said. "Place myself there."

Judas was starting to feel as if he were floating, as if he were leaving his body.

Mallory got to her feet slowly, the other witches following suit. "And say the words. Tempus Infinituum."

"That's our girl," said Myrtle.

Cordelia moved to look at Michael, her eyes flashing just briefly to Judas, who coughed as he tried to take a breath. "Bullets alone won't kill him," she said. "He's become too powerful. We have to find a place to cast the spell before he wakes up."

Madison nodded. "I'll hold him off as long as I can," she said.

Coco squeezed Mallory's shoulder. "You've got this," she said.

"Go," Madison urged Cordelia. "Go!"

And then they were off. Judas watched through a haze of red. A shuddering breath escaped him as he began to close his eyes. Perhaps sleep would help. Maybe he could go asleep and all of the pain would go away.

Madison and Marie remained, standing watch over Michael, who certainly looked dead, though Judas couldn't know for certain. He fell back further, feeling the nape of his neck touch the floor. He swore that he heard shouting, somewhere, far away from where he lay, pinned beneath Michael and slowly but surely bleeding out. And suddenly there was fire, brilliant orange as what appeared to be a man fell screaming over the remains of the bannister, alight with flame.

Judas kept his eyes open just long enough to see Michael look at him, stunned and confused and angry. Madison looked away to see what the commotion was. And suddenly the blood that poured from Michaels wounds began to return to his body, clearing much of the scarlet gore that covered the floor. Only Judas' blood remained, staining the floorboards. Michael spoke softly. "Just keep breathing," he told Judas, and then he was on his feet.

Judas barely had time to register the scene. "Oh fuck. I guess it's back to retail," Madison stated. She spun to face Michael, gun in hand one second but then her head burst, exploding in a shower of blood and brains.

Judas would have screamed if any sound would leave him.

Michael looked back at Judas, pain clear in his expression. "I'll be back for you," he stated, though, strangely, his voice was wavering. "I promise, Jude." There was fire blazing in his blue eyes. "I promise."

Judas watched Michael start to make his way up the stairs, ignoring the smoking remains of the stranger, who was dead, now, certainly. "He's coming!" Judas heard someone yell, Marie, maybe, but he couldn't see and turning his head to try felt like a mammoth task. "Get her out of here! No matter what happens, it's better than where I was."

Judas closed his eyes and felt everything slip away.

He was in a car. In the front seat, he could hear voices rising to near shouts. "I will turn this car around!"

He looked around rapidly, realizing what was happening. Realizing where he was. "Dad?" he said, and he leaned to look into the front seat. "Dad?"

"Sit down, Judas, this is between your mother and I," his father stated, voice firm.

"Stop it," Judas said, ignoring the warning. "Stop. Please, stop it."

"What the hell did I just say, Judas?! Get back in your seat!"

"Can't we just go home?" he begged through a knot in his throat. "We don't have to go anywhere."

"Judas, please, just listen to your father," his mother said.

He looked at her. The same as she had been the morning of his fourteenth birthday. Tired and weary but beautiful. The kindest woman he could ever imagine.

His father slapped her.

She and Judas both screamed.

And then the car was flying. The hood crashed into the ground, forcing the seats back into his parents. The windshield shattered. The roof dented as the car one final time, all four tires up to the sky, spinning frantically. He heard no screaming, only gasps and the sounds of his parents choking on blood.

He dragged himself forward as his mother's eyes darted wildly, landing on him. "Why, Jude?" she asked him, her voice startlingly clear. "Why would you do this?"

"I didn't mean to," he said. "I didn't mean to. I promise, Mommy, I didn't."

"You killed us," she said, her eyes growing dim. "You killed us."

"No. No, no, no. Please, I didn't mean to."

Her eyes closed.

Blackness.

He was in a car. He could hear voices in the front seat, turning quickly into shouts. "I will turn this car around!"

"Mom? Dad?" he said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Jude," his mother said, sounding annoyed. "Your father and I are just having a discussion."

"We can just go home if that'll make it better," he said. "We can go home. It will be okay."

His father opened his mouth to protest, but then something changed. Everything stopped and for a moment Judas was enveloped in darkness.

And then he was seventeen years old again in a classroom at Hawthorne. 

It was as if Judas Wardwell had never even met Michael Langdon.

The sound of the ringing bell signaled the end of one class and the beginning of another. Judas practically ran as he joined the herd of other boys leaving the classroom, winding through Hawthorne's halls. In the entrance room, a group of students surrounded the fireplace, chanting together. "Igneme ascende. Igneme ascende." The fire ignited in a flash, licking at the tips of their fingers. Judas flashed a smile in their direction, quickening his pace.

He was the last to enter the classroom, which earned him a pointed look from Behold, who waved him quickly over to the table where the other students were waiting, books open to the spell they would be practicing that day. Judas gave him an apologetic smile before he joined the cluster around the table, joining in the chant. Behold nodded approvingly. "Remember, gentlemen, the spell is much more than a series of arcane words. But it is the power you bring to those words that makes the magic."

Judas didn't even know that anything had changed. Didn't remember a thing. Maybe only felt a slight sense of Deja Vu, but everyone experiences that at one time or another.

The past had been changed, and Michael Langdon was no longer.

And perhaps Judas was better off for it.