by Michael Todd
The priest clapped and gave Max a knowing look. “One thing about having a demon is, there’s no point in ignoring them. Sometimes they will save your life. Your moves are good, but you move your feet like Scooby Doo trying to run from a ghost. Make swift, short movements with your feet like you see in any boxing movie. It allows you to control your body better so if you face more than one foe, you can multitask. But let’s leave that for another day. I don’t need you to sprain an ankle.”
Max looked at his feet and shrugged. “Yeah, probably a good choice.”
Damian tossed him his towel and water bottle, and they caught their breath for a moment. They had worked out for almost two hours. It was something he’d promised would happen, not only for Max but for himself as well. He needed to stay nimble.
Max set his bottle down. “Did you guys train hard as mercs?”
“Every single day for hours and hours. We were badass. We had to be, though. It was what kept us alive. Come on, let’s throw a few knives, then finish with a jog.”
Max took his practice knives, looked at the dummy, and exhaled slowly. He reared back and threw, watching the weapon flip end over end. The blade struck the dummy’s forehead.
Damian nodded his head, impressed. “You’re getting that down. Now, work on speed. You want to throw at a second’s notice and still be incredibly accurate.”
The older priest turned abruptly and slapped the handle of a dagger on the table. He caught it deftly as it catapulted up and tossed it hard. The blade penetrated the head beside Max’s knife, the metals scratching as they rubbed together.
The trainee’s eyes widened, and he chuckled. “Well, that was pretty fucking cool.”
Damian laughed, but in an instant, his head snapped toward his companion. “Language.”
Max’s shoulders dropped, and he attempted the same thing Damian had done. He managed to catch the knife, but when he threw, it slammed sideways into the target and clanged to the floor.
His mentor raised an eyebrow. “Well, good to know that if we face any midget demons, you got it on lock. This isn’t one of those ‘go for the knees’ scenarios.”
Max rolled his eyes and scrunched his nose. “Yeah, I’ll leave you with the theatrics.”
Damian patted him on the shoulder. “Probably a good choice. Come on. Twenty minutes on the treadmill.”
Max hopped wearily onto one of the treadmills. They set the timers and adjusted the incline to fifty percent. As they began to run, he leaned his forearms on the railings and looked at his feet. “Any news on the home front?”
Damian nodded his head, breathing heavily. “Actually, I was about to tell you. The Secretary called, and we have a new mission. We head out after dinner. There is a spirit in the cemetery near Castle Combe. He’s apparently a real jerk, and we need to go in and exorcise him. Of course, we’ve been asked to do it with as little damage as possible.”
Max chuckled. “Right. Will there be any demons out there, or is this simply a haunting?”
“I don’t know,” Damian replied. “It’s probably only the ghost, but we’ll go prepared just in case. I hope it’s an easy spirit to vanquish, and we can grab some coffee and come home.”
The young priest wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “Well, that means there will probably be eleven ghosts and forty demons on site.”
Damian laughed. “You’re catching on, kid.”
They finished their run and headed to their rooms to shower and change. Max joined Damian in the kitchen, rubbing a towel over his hair. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”
The older man turned the stove off and served the pasta on two plates. “We had some leftover pasta from the other night, so I warmed that up, and there’s garlic bread and wine on the table.”
Max grabbed two glasses, and they sat opposite one another in the dining room. Damian set up his tablet and opened the map of the cemetery the Secretary had sent. He explained the plan of attack he’d formulated as they ate.
He pointed to the center of the cemetery. “So, because it’s outside, the heart is pretty much anywhere. This ghost likes to torment mourners. The plan is for you to go in dressed in street clothes and pick one of the headstones around this area. You make like you’re praying and wait for the ghost to manifest. From the video footage they sent over, this spirit doesn’t leave any mourner untouched. It shouldn’t take long for him to appear. Once he’s in the open, I’ll start the exorcism and you will join me.”
Max swallowed a mouthful of pasta and took a gulp of his wine. “This plan sounded good until I became the dangling meat.”
His mentor smirked. “Somebody’s gotta be the bait, brother. You are younger.”
“Great, and I may never see old age.”
Damian smiled and pointed to the entrance of the cemetery. “You’ll walk in through here as if to visit. I’ll scoot in from the side entrance and hide until he comes out. There are three large tombs here, and you want to stay far from those. Don’t give him an excuse to use them as weapons. To the left is the rubble pile the crew created from the destroyed headstones. We’ll keep our distance from that, too.”
Max’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “I definitely don’t want Noble Jones’s headstone becoming my own in the middle of a dark cemetery. I want to be cremated anyway.”
“Well, that happens from time to time for us Damned, even when we don’t plan for it.”
Max curled his lip, remembering the ash piles. “Oh, yeah. Maybe I’ll go with a mausoleum instead.”
After the meal, the trainee washed the dishes and put them away. He met Damian in the garage, and they packed their bags with guns, knives, bibles, and their crosses. Max pulled his sash out, but Damian put his hand up and shook his head. “You can’t wear your uniform. You gotta wear street clothes. You got any?”
“Yeah. Completely forgot. I’ll be right back.”
Damian pulled his gloves on and grasped his special metal cross. He had used it many times but hadn’t noticed how light it was until that moment. It weighed little more than a plastic one, and he wondered if it had always been that way.
It has, Ravi replied. You grip it so tightly that you don’t really notice.
He shrugged and slipped it into the inside leather pocket of his jacket. Nice. I might be able to use that as leverage for something.
The door creaking brought his attention to Max. Damian did a double-take, barely recognizing the young priest. He wore a pair of jeans, Chuck Taylors, a green t-shirt, and a blue V-neck sweater. His hands were stuffed nervously into his pockets as he stepped into the garage.
Ravi whistled loudly in Damian’s head. What the ever-loving fuck? How have I lived in the same house as this guy and not known how stinking hot he is? That youth is wasted on the uniform, I’m telling you. He is a fucking heartthrob. Jesus.
He handed Max his belt, trying to maintain his nonchalance. Can you please keep your howling and drooling to yourself? It’s really weird to have a voice in my head turned on by another guy, not to mention that he’s a priest.
The demon sighed. It’s not like there’s a ton of eye candy around here for me on a regular basis. I got you, which is a big no. And Rose, the old-ass woman across the street.
Damian zipped his bag with a frown. Are you telling me you swing both ways?
Ravi scoffed. I don’t discriminate. How about them apples, man of God? Not only do you have a demon in you, but she likes the Vajayjay and the Cock-a-doodle-doo. It’s like a triple sin in here.
He chuckled.
Max looked up and smiled. “What?”
Damian shook his head. “Nothing. Revelations are sprouting all over the place these days. I’m starting to think retirement is calling my name.”
The trainee closed the doors to the SUV. “Pfft. Yeah, right. You’ll be fucking demons up from your scooter when your legs give out. Your twenty-one-gun salute will be aimed at a portal spilling demons.”
His mentor laughed loudly. “Da
mn fucking straight.”
Chapter Seven
Castle Combe was one of the oldest towns in England, dating back to the twelfth century. The village took its name from the fortress that stood in ruin and rubble on the outskirts. The cemetery on the grounds was still used, and tombs of unknown villagers and noblemen sprawled on the hill overlooking the town below. Over time small tombs and mausoleums had been added, along with tall, looming angel statues guarding the interred dead.
Damian and Max waited to the right of the cemetery within the thin forest. The older priest studied the area but saw no movement in the moonlight. He turned to the trainee and slapped him on the chest. “All right, buddy. You ready for this?”
Max nodded somberly. “You know me—I walk right into the middle of the fire without a care in the world.”
Damian didn’t pay attention to his sarcasm. “That’s my boy. I’ll have my eyes on you the whole time, so go get him. Hopefully, we can be in and out of here in a jiffy.”
Max took a deep breath, shoved his bible into the back of his pants, and pulled his sweater over it. “Here goes nothing.”
He took a deep breath, thrust his hands into his pockets, and walked out onto the gravel road. At the gate, he paused, his eyes noting the specific tombs and statues that would lead him to the heart of the cemetery. He whistled as he walked past rows of tombstones adorned with flowers and wreaths. When he reached the center, his eyes focused on one of the newer stones. The name read Betty Alderson, and he dropped to one knee and ran his hand across the text. He bowed his head, pretending prayer, but remained alert for any sign of the ghost.
Several silent moments passed, disturbed only by the wind whipping through the trees. Suddenly, Max heard a low, deep laugh roll across the stones to his left. He lifted his head as the shadowy shape of an apparition darted forward and rose above the headstone before him. Max swallowed hard as the ghost took form. He was a tall, slender man in a dress coat and white shirt. His stovepipe hat seemed incongruous perched above a face of rotting flesh and bone.
The young priest took a step back, his heart beating fast in his chest. He slid his hand slowly behind him and beneath his sweater for his bible. Damian would be there soon, but he was prepared to exorcise the evil spirit if he needed to. The ghost twisted his head to the side and grinned from ear to ear. Most of his teeth were missing or chipped. Max mumbled under his breath, “Any time now, Damian.”
His mentor stepped from the shadows of the mausoleum, holding his cross in the air. His bible was open in front of him, but he didn’t need to look at the words. Max released a slow breath of relief. The ghost twisted, following his gaze. As soon as he saw Damian, he screeched loudly and formed his translucent bony hands into fists.
He was more than pissed. “You tricked me.”
Damian smirked. “That’s right, asshole. It’s time to move on.”
The spirit laughed loudly and swirled, floating into the air. His ghostly body swerved to the right and yanked a headstone from the ground. Max’s eyes widened as the entity threw the stone at him. Dirt and grass flew everywhere as he dived out of the way and slid across the wet earth. The ghost drifted to the rubble at the back of the cemetery. Boulders and debris, remnants of the castle the Normans had built centuries before, had been piled high.
One after another, the ghost threw these missiles at the two men, crushing any headstones in the way. Max ran toward the side of the cemetery and leaped forward as a boulder barely missed him. He tucked and rolled across the grass, landing on his stomach. Moving instinctively, he scrambled to shelter behind a medium-sized tomb. The sound of stone shattering echoed violently.
Max drew his legs to his chest and leaned against the cold tomb’s wall. He ducked as a piece of debris struck the top and crumbled over him, and covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to cough. He searched for Damian, but he was nowhere in sight. Max closed his eyes, growling his irritation. He crawled the length of the tomb and peered around the corner. He snapped his head back as a tombstone narrowly missed him.
He breathed deeply, pressed himself against the stone wall, and whispered a prayer of protection under his breath. “God, protect me from this scary ghost. Let us get through this in one solid, living piece.”
Astaroth chuckled. That’s one hell of a prayer, kid. You think He’s actually listening?
Max whimpered slightly and nodded. He’s always listening. At least, that’s what they tell me. I’m not sure if He’ll find this the right time to do anything about it, but it never hurts to ask.
The demon laughed louder. Actually, sometimes it does. I don’t know how happy He will be with the desecration of a holy cemetery, but hey, maybe I’m wrong.
The young priest groaned and ran his hands over his face and through his hair. He crawled to the opposite side, looking for Damian, but another tomb blocked his view. I gotta find Damian. I gotta know what the plan is when everything goes to shit. God will protect me. I know it. God will.
Right then, a metal pole erupted from the wall beside his head. He froze and stared at the skull dangling from the end of the rod. His own blood-curdling and deafening scream shocked him into action. He swatted at the skull until it fell and rolled across the ground.
Astaroth grimaced. I had no idea your voice could reach that octave.
Max breathed heavily, kicking the head farther away. Really? I did. I’m pretty sure that was the same scream I gave when I was thirteen and saw a demon for the first time.
And how did that work out for you?
He shrugged. He chased me down a dark alley. I only got away because there was a street full of people on the other side.
Astaroth groaned. Okay, little girl, get your shit together. You can’t hide here all night. You need to either find Damian or get this exorcism over with on your own. I don’t think you’re ready for it, so your best bet is to find the chief.
Max nodded wildly. Yeah, I’ll find Damian.
He swallowed hard and crawled beneath the pole and beyond the tomb. From there, he stayed low, army-crawling between headstones. When he made it to an angel statue, he pressed his back against its square base to catch his breath. He glanced back at the tomb he had left as the roof caved in and the walls tumbled. “That could have been bad.”
Astaroth barked at him, It still can, sissy pants. Get your ass in gear and find Damian.
Max nodded. Right. Going.
He resumed his crawl, peeking occasionally over the tops of the tombstones, and finally spotted his mentor standing in the open. He exhaled a nervous breath, glad to see the priest was still alive and in one piece, then continued across the graves. Every time his hands and knees touched another burial surface, he had to resist the urge to make the sign of the cross. It felt terrible to scramble over people’s final resting places.
Astaroth was about to kill the kid. They are dead. I promise you they aren’t mad at you for this. Keep going before you don’t have a chest to cross.
Max was closer to Damian now, and the ghost was swirling around the cemetery in the background. The spirit shrieked and screamed, seeking anything he could throw.
Damian gripped his bible tightly in one hand and the cross in the other as he took another step forward. He shouted the words of a very long exorcism, knowing he needed something with some oomph to eliminate an entity that strong. “Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei, Patris Omnipotentis…” His eyes shifted to follow the streaks of light that trailed the spirit through the cemetery. He growled and dropped his hands, knowing he wasn’t close enough for his prayer to have an impact. For now, the ghost was pissed and too busy searching for Max to pay him any attention. He shook his head and raised his arms, ready to start again. Eventually, he would get the asshole’s attention.
Before he could speak, though, he heard a whisper behind him. “Psst. Damian. Hey.”
He looked over his shoulder at Max, who was hiding behind a statue of the Angel Michael. Damian waved him closer. “Get out here
.”
The young man nodded wildly and hurried to him, still hunched over. “Sorry. I had to find you.”
Damian stared at his companion. “Was that you screaming or a cat dying?”
Max rubbed his hand through his hair and slumped. “I mean, it could have been either. I’m sure there are a ton of stray cats out here.”
The older priest’s lips twitched. “You sounded like a little girl.”
“What? The skull of the dead person from that tomb popped out right near my face. If that were you, I promise you would have screamed too. A metal pole almost took my head off at the same time.”
Damian grabbed him by the shirt collar and thrust him forward. “Go to the center and lure that bastard back here. I can’t exorcise him if he is all over the place. He needs to be here. Go. I’m right behind you with the bible and the cross.”
Max looked at him with pursed lips, wanting to argue but knowing the older priest was right. He turned toward the center of the cemetery, which was only fifty feet in front of him. In the distance, the ghost yelled loudly and yanked an entire casket from the ground. He threw it hard and it crashed into the dirt, spilling bones and jewelry. Max almost turned back, but breathed deeply and closed his eyes as he straightened slowly. The spirit didn’t see him, so he cupped his mouth and yelled, “Hey, fucker! You looking for me?”
The spectral head swiveled, and he dropped the skull he held. He smirked viciously and raced across the cemetery, stopping barely twenty-five feet from the young priest. As the entity swirled in circles around him, Max stiffened his shoulders, trying to control his breathing. In reality, he was utterly terrified and didn’t know what to expect. What he did know was this was his life now, and he had to get his brave on in these situations. Damian had told him before that he would be no good to anyone if he couldn’t keep his head. It was hard, though, with that thing circling closer and closer.
Damian intoned the exorcism as the spirit whipped around his prey like a cyclone. The older priest walked forward slowly, fighting the wind. He held his cross high as he spoke with intensity and feeling. With every step closer, the ghost faltered. He put his hands to his ears and screamed to scare them. Still, Damian moved relentlessly forward.
