by Michael Todd
The younger man nodded. “I definitely think he needs to be found. I seem to recall that in the file Trough gave you there was an address for the priest. He can’t live far from the church. We can start at his house, and if he’s not there, we can call it in and see if he went somewhere else or if he contacted any of the other parishes.”
His mentor slapped him on the back. “You’re getting the hang of this. I’m proud of you. You still can’t cuss, though, and yes, you still have to load the heavy stuff.”
Max merely blinked at him in what might have been disbelief.
Damian laughed. “Come on, that’s how it goes. Don’t give me that face.”
He sighed and looked down at a woman sleeping on the steps. She was young and had long black hair. He wondered if her family was there with her or if she had been abducted. Luckily, none of the people there would have any recollection of the night or the terror they had gone through. They would wake up wondering why they were in the church wearing robes, and why they were sleeping there. That was the best gift they could be given.
The older man looked at his watch. “All right, we should get over there. Who knows how many escaped from here?”
Max nodded and followed as Damian made his way to the front door. As they reached the last pew, he reached out and grabbed his mentor’s shoulder. Damian turned, confused, but stopped when he held one finger to his lips and pointed at a doorway to the right.
The priest listened to the silence for several moments, figuring his companion was imagining things. He was about to speak when something clanged loudly in the basement. The team exchanged shocked glances and listened more intently. They crept quietly to the doorway.
A muffled Latin chant could be heard from below. Damian nodded at Max, who pulled one of his knives with one hand and clutched his cross in the other. The older priest drew his gun, his cross already in hand. Carefully, they descended the stone staircase, glad it made no noise. When they reached the bottom, they pressed their backs to the walls, took a deep breath, and leapt into the room, holding their weapons at the ready.
The lead priest was tied to a chair in the center of a pentagram. The four robed individuals standing around him turned and hissed at the interlopers. Their jaws were elongated and gnarled, and their eyes protruded from the sockets. They were preparing to sacrifice the priest to Lucifer and spill his blood on the floor.
“That is what nightmares are made of right there.” Max shivered.
Damian grimaced. “I would have to agree with you.”
The four men wore the same robes as the congregants upstairs, but their arms were so long they hung close to their ankles. Their backs were humped and misshapen, and their scaled skin poked out between the tears in the flesh of the humans they had taken. Damian looked at the younger man, and they nodded simultaneously before launching toward the demons. Max tackled one to the floor but knew there was no way he would be able to exorcise him. He wrestled with him, striving for supremacy.
The trainee stared at the demon, already wincing at what he knew would come. “Sorry about this.”
He pulled his knee back and jammed it as hard as he could into his adversary’s crotch. The beast wheezed a long exhalation of air from its lungs and squealed in pain. Max raised his knife and thrust it into the demon’s throat. Its eyes went wide, and one eyeball fell from the semi-human face.
“Ew, gross.” The young priest shuddered.
The demon exploded into ash beneath him. He reached forward and had barely snatched his dagger from the dust when a second assailant flew through the air and tackled him to the floor. The creature grabbed both his hands and held them firmly to the floor as it snarled and snapped its teeth in his face.
Astaroth saw the opportunity. Headbutt! Headbutt!
Max looked at the demon for a split second, then slammed his forehead into the beast’s face and knocked it back. It released his hands, and he rolled onto his stomach to crawl toward the dagger on the floor that had slid just out of his reach when he was tackled. The demon snatched his leg and dragged him back, but the trainee dug his fingers into the floor and pulled hard until the tips of his fingers touched the handle of the blade.
His gloves were slippery with sweat and blood, and they slipped off. He took a deep breath and shook his head. Sorry about this, Astaroth.
Before his demon could prevent it, he ripped his glove off and grabbed the blade. Pain seared instantly through his hand and up his arm. He gritted his teeth and flipped over, throwing the knife at the enemy as hard as he could. It stuck in the beast’s head and knocked it to the floor, where it writhed and squealed until it vanished in a cloud of ash.
Max lay on the floor, barely able to see, and clutched his hand. Astaroth had gone silent, curled up in pain inside him. Damian ran up and dropped beside him. He grabbed the front of his shirt. “Are you all right?”
Max nodded. “Just…save…the…priest.”
His mentor patted him on the chest. “I got this.”
Slowly, he stood and aimed his pistol. He had two shots left, and exactly two targets. Both put their claws up, and their bodies contorted. He shook his head. “Not today, Lucifer. Not today.”
Calmly, he pulled the trigger and sent a bullet into each demon. They both flew back, hit the wall, and turned to ash before they slid to the floor. Damian slipped his gun back into his pocket and breathed heavily as he looked around the basement, which was now covered in dust. He turned to Max and grabbed him by the front of the shirt to lift him into a sitting position.
The priest grabbed his hand and looked at it. “You aren’t cut. The pain should be subsiding.”
Max wheezed. “Yep. Slowly, but yep. How’s our guy?”
He turned and looked at the priest, who was half conscious but didn’t seem to have any life-threatening injuries. “He needs a doctor, but he’ll be okay. Come on, let’s get you up. I’ll take the heavy lifting this time.”
The young man groaned as he struggled to his feet and chuckled as he grasped his chest. “Is that all it takes?”
Damian smirked as he joined the priest and began to talk to him in Italian. “Padre, adesso va tutto bene. Abbiamo salvato molti nel tuo perire. Siamo con la chiesa. Ti porteremo all’ospedale.”
The man opened his eyes and looked at them both. “Eroe, tu e il giovane. Tu sei i miei angeli da Dio.”
Max leaned against the wall. “What did he say?”
He looked at his companion. “He said you are an angel from God. A hero.”
The smile on the young man’s face made it all worthwhile. Damian lifted the father to his feet and draped the man’s arm around his shoulder. They helped him carefully up the stairs, between the unconscious bodies, and down the path to the SUV still parked on the side of the road. Max got into the passenger seat and sat, clutching his hand to his chest. The older man situated the priest, and they headed for the nearest hospital.
The staff led the priest immediately into a treatment room, and the other two men took a seat in the waiting area. Max could finally breathe again, so things had improved. “So that was a cult and not demons sent through a portal?”
“Yeah,” his mentor answered. “Demons sent through the portals don’t have human bodies. In some ways, they are less restrained.”
“So we were probably lucky they were infected and not actual demons who don’t need hosts?”
Damian shrugged. “I suppose, although I have to say, I’ve never seen demons like those last four. They must have been incredibly strong, and were able to contort their bodies in ways the others can’t. They weren’t hard to kill, though, at least when you weren’t killing yourself with special metal.”
Max pulled a face of fake amusement. “I guess I had to do it at one time or another. It was…kind of something that was coming, I guess. Now, I have a cool scar, and I know never to fuck with that metal again.”
“And you won’t look back on the past and say what if.”
He pointed at his mentor. “Prec
isely.”
Just then, the doctor stepped into the waiting room. He waved Damian over and spoke to him in Italian. “Il tuo compagno sacerdote andrà bene. È più vecchio e piuttosto malmenato. Sta riposando comodamente ora e vorrei tenerlo durante la notte. Se tornassi domani sarebbe fantastico.”
He nodded and turned to Max. “He will be fine. We have to come back tomorrow; he’s resting.”
The priest thanked the doctor, and he and the young priest headed back out to the SUV. They were more than ready to get back to their hotel in Rome. Max climbed into the passenger side, his movements still a little stiff and slow. “We are coming back tomorrow, right?”
Damian started the car. “Oh, yeah. I want to know what other hell on Earth is happening in Rome. Things look worse than I originally thought.”
Chapter Seven
The drive back to the hotel was relatively quiet. It was still dark, and lights flickered along the streets of Rome. Max simply stared out the window and watched the buildings go by, and Damian thought about how he’d frozen earlier that evening. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, feeling like he had let something go that night; something that had built up in him for fourteen years.
Ravi yawned. You know what I want to know?
He was glad to hear her voice. What’s that, Ravi?
I want to know why people always go to church. Like seriously, over time, I’ve heard the worst stories about going to church. People are molested, fires break out, and then there’s the whole cult thing where people drink punch and die in a circle together. I honestly don’t get it.
Damian laughed. She had a knack of telling things as she saw them. Their faith, I suppose. That, and the church makes it a very big point to tell people it’s part of their duty to attend.
The demon was seriously perplexed. But when they do, they almost get swallowed alive by idiotic small-time demons. Except for those last four. They were pretty badass.
He felt sick just thinking about them. Yeah, I wouldn’t want to run into those bastards in a dark alley. They make Stephen King look like a fairytale writer.
I don’t know who Stephen King is, but if this shit is scarier, maybe I should start dictating books to you. We could be millionaires.
Damian chuckled. On some level, the dark humor of that appealed to him. I think these people have had enough horror in their lives. I doubt they will buy horror books for a very long time.
I seriously have a really hard time figuring out humans and their obsession with religion. I mean, they make it out to be the all-consuming focus in their lives. God will love them no matter what sect they identify with. They don’t have to go to church. Life is church. In hell, we don’t revere Lucifer as a god. He is more like a king, but these crazy Satanist skinbags down here treat him like a god.
The priest made a right turn, and they saw the hotel ahead. I think part of it is that people want to know there is a bigger force out there, and they want to belong to it. Whatever they believe, whether it’s good or evil, they need a creator.
Ravi scoffed. Crazy. Humans are nuts. Anyway, when we get back to the hotel, you know what we should do? Break into that scotch you bought while we were out sightseeing today. I think this night calls for a glass.
I don’t think I could agree with you more on that one. It has been an incredibly hard battle, and one that, surprisingly, caught me off-guard. I should definitely unwind with a glass of very good aged scotch.
His demon cheered.
When they pulled up at the hotel, they headed directly upstairs and unloaded what little gear they had. Damian hung up his trench coat and undid his bow tie and the top button of his shirt. He put his pistol in his bag, walked to the dresser, and grabbed one of the glasses. After he’d poured himself two fingers of scotch, he drew a deep breath of its deep peaty scent and released it, keeping his eyes closed for a moment. He sat, and propped his feet up on the footstool.
The evening was beautiful, and he couldn’t help but notice that Max stood outside on his balcony next door, staring longingly into the night. He looked like he was mentally struggling with something. The priest knew this was a hard transition for anyone, much less someone as young as his mentee. He could remember being that young, fighting demons and doing what he had to do to survive and serve the church. While he’d always put on a tough face, late at night when he didn’t think anyone was looking, he often did the same exact thing—stare out at the city.
Ravi noticed the young man too. He looks like he needs you, Pops.
Damian grunted as he stood and adjusted his suspenders. Indeed, he does. It has been a long night, and those memories tend to linger. I’ll go over there and see if there’s something I can say to make it better.
You’d better. That kid showed some serious balls today. He sacrificed himself and his comfort to kill that demon. Hopefully, his demon isn’t giving him too hard a time over it. I suspect he’s probably pissed after that kind of pain.
The priest agreed and poured another glass of scotch for Max. He figured that he would need something to soothe and calm his nerves. After all, he had been through one hell of a fight and had given it all he had. In the midst of a battle it never seemed that bad, but when you got home and the adrenaline wore off, the mental anguish of the event flooded through you. He could remember it well from when he had first become a merc.
That first battle he had experienced had almost taken him out of the running, and he hadn’t had a single scratch on him. It was all the mental shit—the voices, the screams, and the look of the demon. It boiled down to how they smelled and moved. It was crazy what a body could go through physically, but even more so what one could go through mentally.
Ravi sniffed. Hold up, hold up. I said support the kid. I did not say give away all of my valuable and delicious scotch.
Damian laughed. Oh, yeah? So, it’s not our scotch? Look, the kid needs a drink. I promise that when we get back to London, I’ll get you one of the bottles of scotch you wanted.
She grumped her reluctant acquiescence. Fine, but I know where you sleep.
“What do you want to do when you grow up?” Max could hear his mom’s voice in his head almost as clearly as when he was a boy.
“I want to travel the world,” his young self had told her. “Rome, Paris, Egypt, China. You name it, I want to see it,”
He drew in a deep breath of the cool air and stared out over the city from his balcony, drawn by the twinkling lights beneath him. Rome was unlike any other place he had ever been. New York had lots of tall buildings crowded together, and everything seemed artificial. Technically, Rome was crowded too, but with all the old architecture, the cobblestone streets, and the Colosseum in the background, it felt wide open. He could almost picture the Romans of days gone by proceeding through the streets in togas on their way to the Colosseum for another rousing match.
This trip, seeing the sights and sounds, was something that he had wanted to do his entire life. He had wanted to hear the songs in his head, picture the heroes, and take in the rich history of it all. What he hadn’t thought he’d do was stand on the balcony with a demon inside him while he tried to heal from grabbing a metal specifically made to kill him—or at least his demon. He’d thought it would be exciting and relaxing, but it was now filled with uneasy feelings and visions of monsters he hadn’t imagined even in his dreams.
Nothing seemed extraordinary while he prayed over dead bodies and moved others, so they didn’t die too. He couldn’t help but think that stabbing demons in the eyeballs made for an unforgettable trip to Rome, but for one small moment, he wanted to be normal. Max wanted to experience the city like all the other tourists did. He wanted to know that when he walked around, he could notice the beauty rather than the red eyes staring back at him.
Behind him, Damian opened the door after a brisk knock and stuck his head in. He held a glass of scotch up and closed the door behind him. “I saw you standing on your balcony, so I figured I would share my spoils with you. You look lik
e you need to destress a little bit.”
Max chuckled and looked down as he leaned on the railing. “Oh, yeah? What could I possibly have to destress about? I mean, my life is just paparazzi, rich houses, and chocolate cake, right? I mean, I think those are the things people want to be able to boast about in their lives.”
The priest smiled knowingly at him. “Those are some of them, although I don’t think they are yours.”
He turned his gaze back to the city. “No, I suppose those aren’t what I want.”
Damian stopped beside him and handed him the scotch. “I don’t know if that is truly what anyone wants, but it sounds good on paper.”
Max turned to him and looked at the glass before he tilted it back and downed it like a cheap shot at a bar. All the priest could do at that point was laugh, and he watched Max’s face as he patted his chest and wheezed loudly.
Ravi grunted. Serves him right. How dare he treat good scotch in such a disrespectful manner?
The trainee turned, still coughing, and looked at the horizon. Damian joined him in gazing at the view. The young man was definitely right about one thing—the vista from their balcony was spectacular. He smiled at the scenery, remembering when he’d first come to Rome. “You know, I love this city.”
His companion smiled. “Yeah?”
Damian nodded. “I do. I remember the first time I came here. It was about six months after I was infected, and I had a meeting with the three Wise Men and the church. I was still in the mindset of being one of God’s warriors. I hated death, but I hated dictators even more. I felt that the people around me repeated history over and over again. They simply called it something else.”
Max watched him intently as he talked. “That’s funny. They always say Americans learn from their mistakes.”
The priest scoffed and took a slow sip of his whiskey. “Please. The United States struggles with knowing the difference between moral obligation and what is best for the top rung of people. Anyway, I ended up with a very old priest, who told me a story about a boy who had a really bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and a hammer and told him that every time he lost his temper, he had to hammer a nail into the back fence. The first day was the worst; he knocked in over thirty nails. But over time, that number decreased because he learned how to control his emotions.”
