Forgiven

by Gina Detwiler

  He pats me on the shoulder—his usual greeting—and then settles into his wingback chair. I sit on the sofa.

  “I’ll make a pie.” Emilia hurries off to the kitchen.

  “Pumpkin!” yells Ripley from the Lair. The only time we see Ripley is when he heads to the kitchen or the bathroom.

  “Pumpkin it is!”

  “So.” Ralph crosses his legs. “What was he like, this Darwin Speer?”

  “He was…interesting. A little bizarre.” I shrug. “I mean, if this guy is such a genius, could he really believe in time travel? Seems more like science fiction than science.”

  “The two grow closer every day. Twenty years ago, a mission to Mars was science fiction. Today, it is a reality.”

  “I suppose. But Speer has secrets. How is it no one knew he had a daughter? And his sister is a piece of work. Has Ripley found out anything about them?”

  “He started investigating Speer but was sidetracked by the Interlaken Group.”

  “The what?”

  “One of those groups that meet in secret to decide the fate of the world. It’s better if he explains it. Rip! Can you come out here, please?”

  Ripley appears, his headphones around his neck and a half-eaten powdered donut in one hand. With the other he wipes sugar off his Guardians of the Galaxy T-shirt.

  “Pie ready?”

  “Explain to Jared what you learned about the Interlaken Group.”

  “Oh.” Ripley stuffs the rest of the donut in his mouth. We wait for him to finish chewing. “Okay, so the Interlaken Group meets every year in Interlaken, Switzerland—hence the name—in this big old castle on top of a mountain. It was founded by William Hyde, the techno-billionaire who funds many of Speer’s projects. You’ve heard of the Hyde Foundation? That guy.”

  “Who’s in this group?” I ask.

  “Oh, the usual suspects from the military-industrial complex, but also, a lot of high-profile scientists and technocrats, including the Director of CERN.”

  “Okay so it’s like a think-tank of some sort.” I shrug. “What’s the big deal?”

  Ripley’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What’s the big deal? Jared, these secret societies have tried to run the world for centuries! Have you seriously never heard of the Illuminati? The Freemasons? The Bilderbergs? The Club of Rome? The Trilateral Commission—”

  “Okay, I get it.” I raise my hands in surrender.

  He takes a breath, calming himself. “Hyde is an uber-rich psychopath, in my opinion. He knows that when it comes to world domination, science and technology are much more useful tools than politics. No messy, expensive world wars; no tolerating megalomaniacs like Hitler and Stalin. The goal of the Interlaken Group is globalization. It’s the New World Order.”

  “I didn’t know people took conspiracy theories like that seriously.”

  “That’s the problem,” says Ripley. “Most people don’t take them seriously enough. They don’t realize that there are people who have their hands in every pie, behind the scenes, dictating our lives—”

  “Okay, Rip, I think that will do for now.” Ralph cuts in with a chuckle. “Thanks for filling us in.”

  “Fine.” Ripley stands to leave. “Oh, by the way. The Interlaken Group publishes a list of attendees before their annual meeting. And guess who’s on the list this year?”

  I shrug. “Who?”

  “Harry Ravel.”

  I blink. “Harry the preacher? Shannon’s husband? He’s not a technocrat, is he?”

  “No, but he’s rich, and he’s running for governor of the biggest state in the US, with TV-ready good looks and support from the Christian Right and the Progressive Left. He’s a big proponent of environmental causes too, which is the Holy Grail of the Interlaken Group. Wanna bet he wins? I wouldn’t be surprised to see him on the ballot for president in the next four years.” He puts his headphones over his ears. “Let me know when the pie is ready.”

  After Ripley returns to the Lair, I look at Ralph, who smiles grimly.

  “Where Harry Ravel goes, Shannon won’t be far away,” he says. “I have a feeling Azazel is behind this.”

  “I have that same feeling.”

  9: Who Will Save You

  Grace

  Harry Ravel is elected governor of California.

  I break my longstanding rule of not watching the news to see his acceptance speech on election night. My mother stands beside him, a stilted smile plastered on her face. She looks…bizarre. Too thin, too much makeup, her eyes too wide, unblinking. She fidgets constantly and strokes her neck like she has a rash.

  “Does she look strange to you?” I ask my dad, Silas, who’s framing cabinets for the new kitchen. Between bouts of chemotherapy, he throws himself into the grueling project of renovating our loft.

  We bought this old building on the east side, mainly because it was in such a run-down part of town that no one would bother looking for us there. Plus, it was cheap and according to Silas, it had “good bones” with its weathered brick façade, exposed ductwork, and decorative windows. It was known as the Lighthouse because it had once housed a light bulb business, light bulbs being a big thing in Buffalo at the turn of the century. But when the population of the east side moved to the suburbs, many of the businesses died and left these mammoth Art Deco skeletons behind. The Lighthouse stands alone on the block, exactly like the Mansion used to. Maybe, I had thought, we could be part of its resurrection.

  Silas joins me, his hammer in hand. He’s lost a lot of weight and hair from the chemo so he wears a knit cap. With his one earring and myriad tattoos, he looks like a hipster lumberjack. I glance at his drawn but still handsome face and wonder what he’s thinking as he stares at the woman on TV—the woman who had once been his love, his obsession. He’d wanted to marry my mother and spend his life with her. But she had betrayed him and tried to erase his very existence.

  “Is she on something?”

  “Could be,” Silas says.

  “What’s going on?” Penny climbs down the ladder from her room in the “Hayloft”—Silas built it just for her. She has a Bible in her hand, her thick glasses perched on her nose. The glasses are the result of the brain injury she’d sustained when we were kidnapped by Satanist drug lords—long story. She spends hours in the Hayloft reading, which is difficult for her now. She has to pore over each word before its meaning becomes clear. Her hair is still a vivid shade of purple, and her clothes are always black. She accessories mostly with piercings—several in each ear and one in her nose.

  “Shannon’s on TV,” I say.

  Penny joins me on the couch. Silas remains standing, his arms folded, his face stern. Harry Ravel gives a rousing speech punctuated by loud cheering. It is only because my eyes are on Shannon, at the corner of the screen, that I see what happens next. Her eyes flutter and her head rolls. She twists violently as her fists rise to strike Harry on the side of his head. Someone jumps in front of the camera, so all we can see are secret service men trying to drag Shannon away while Harry is hustled off the stage. Penny gasps out loud.

  The flustered TV announcer tries to fill in the gaps. “It seems that Mrs. Ravel has had an episode of some kind…perhaps she fainted.”

  “This has happened twice before on the campaign trail,” says another voice. “The campaign has stated only that Mrs. Ravel has been suffering from a lingering cold. But they haven’t given any more details about her condition.”

  “I guess the rigors of the campaign have worn her out,” says the first announcer, although he sounds doubtful.

  The two voices prattle on, speculating on what happened to Shannon, as the camera pans around the room and finally cuts to a commercial.

  I stare at the screen in total shock. “What was that? Is she sick?”

  “That ain’t no…disease.” Penny’s speech is halting as she struggles for words. “That’s…Lilith.”

  The name sinks like a stone into the pit of my stomach. Lilith. The demon that Jared said was living i
nside my mother. Lilith is still there.

  Penny stands with her hands on her hips. “Grace, you gotta…go help your mama.”

  “Help her? How can I help her?”

  “You gotta get that…thing…out of her.”

  I liked it better when Penny couldn’t talk at all.

  I look at Silas. “Well?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe you should talk to Harry first. See what’s up.”

  ***

  Getting hold of Harry Ravel is not easy. When I call his campaign office, a staffer reports he’s already left for Sacramento to begin work with his transition team. I tell her who I am, and she gives me the number for Melanie, Shannon’s personal assistant.

  I haven’t seen Melanie since New York four years ago, when I moved in with Shannon for the summer. I remember her as a sharp, efficient, perpetually texting young woman who rarely looked up from her phone. I’m surprised she still works for Shannon in her post-movie career.

  Melanie answers after seven rings.

  “Hello?” The voice is clipped and impatient.

  “Hi, Melanie. This is Grace Fortune.”

  “Uh…yes.” I can tell from her tone that she’s remembering how I left New York, after the huge blow up at the disco. She probably blames me for what happened that night. “What can I do for you?” Her voice is cool and guarded.

  “I’m calling about my moth…about Shannon. I saw what happened at the speech last night. Is she okay?”

  Awkward silence. When Melanie finally speaks, her words are stilted. Guarded. “Yes, she’s doing much better. Her doctors are monitoring her closely.”

  “Melanie, please, be straight with me. I won’t go to the media. I just want to know what’s going on. We’ve had our issues, but I’m still her daughter and I want to help.”

  Melanie sighs deeply. “Okay, well, to be honest, no one knows what’s wrong with her. She’s been erratic and more unstable than usual.”

  “Was she drinking?”

  “I don’t think so. Not last night anyway. She’s been having these episodes. We’ve tried therapy, medication. Nothing seems to work. Harry is at his wit’s end. We’ve managed to keep the reporters away, but I’m not sure how long we can do that, considering that fiasco last night. Social media has gone crazy.”

  “Why isn’t she in a hospital?”

  “Harry says it’s not necessary. Personally, I think he’s afraid of the publicity. He has her at the house on lockdown. We’ve had to hire extra people to keep an eye on her, especially at night. She’s gotten out a few times.”

  “During the night?”

  “Yes. She’s disappeared in the middle of the night. But she’s always come back in the morning. Once, she was all bloody, like she’d been clawed by an animal. But the doctor said…he said she had clawed herself.”

  A vein throbs in my throat. “I’d like to come to see her.” Why had I said that? Please, tell me not to come.

  “I don’t know—anytime I mention you, she has a fit.” There’s a pause on the line. “On the other hand, we don’t know where to turn, so maybe…maybe you should come. Harry sent his daughter Sally to some relatives so Shannon would have time to recover. But do it soon. Before…something else happens.”

  I take a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll text you my flight plans.”

  “Great. I’ll have Richard meet you at the airport.”

  I hang up and face Silas and Penny. “I guess I’m going out there.”

  “I’ll come too.” Silas’s face is set and determined. I wish he would put the hammer down.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  “I think—don’t ask me why—that she needs me too.”

  I hug them both. “I need to call Jared.”

  10: Hard Love

  Jared

  “Grace wants to go see Shannon.”

  Ralph stands at the kitchen counter, bobbing a tea bag in a cup of hot water. Emilia must be out running errands because he rarely makes his own tea.

  “I’m not surprised. I have kept up with Ms. Snow—or Mrs. Ravel—ever since the last run-in we had with her. I’ve watched her deterioration, as least what has been evident from her public appearances. Clearly, Lilith is taking control.”

  “She wants us to go with her.”

  “Of course we will. If there is to be a procedure, she will need a team.”

  “You mean an exorcism?”

  “I hate that word. So loaded with innuendo. But yes, I suppose so.” Ralph takes a cautious sip of his tea. “We have always known it would come to this.”

  I had hoped we were finished with Shannon Snow. After what happened in California, I’m surprised Grace would even want to see her again.

  “Nothing good can come of this,” I say. “It’s a bad idea to go there.”

  “You might be right, but it is what Grace wants. Tell her to find out the name of Shannon’s therapist, if she has one. We will need to clear this with him or her first.”

  ***

  Two days later, we are on a plane for California. I am still plagued by doubts. Facing the demon Lilith will be much tougher than the deliverances we’ve done in the past. I’ve assisted Ralph on many of those, including Lester Crow. But while Lester had been severely oppressed, he had not been possessed. His demons hadn’t inhabited his soul and taken over his personality. I believe Lilith is so intertwined with Shannon’s soul that it might be impossible to separate them. It would be like trying to separate powdered lemonade from water.

  I don’t want to deal with demons at all anymore. For the past two years, my life has been almost normal. Demon-free. I have Grace, I have a family, and I no longer live in fear of my angel father, the Watcher Azazel, who has tried to lure me back to him so many times. Yet for all I know, Azazel is behind this resurgence of Lilith—it would be like him to use that demon to draw me from my safety zone.

  The plane surges for the take-off. Grace holds her breath, bracing herself. She hates flying. I put my hand over hers and her fingers relax slightly.

  “Did you tell Bree?”

  “I left a message but haven’t heard back. I saw on Instagram she has a sorority thing this weekend, so she’s probably busy.”

  “Bree’s in a sorority?”

  “Yeah. It’s a new thing at Ithaca and she’s one of the organizers. Of course. Social butterfly Bree.”

  The plane hits a bump as it ascends. Grace gasps softly and closes her eyes. I can’t help but smile.

  “Relax. No plane has ever crashed because of turbulence.”

  “Not yet, anyway.”

  I put my arm around her and draw her into me, her head pressed to my shoulder. There was a time when I couldn’t do this, couldn’t touch her without pain. That was the result of my resistance to the evil inside me, the evil that slumbered within and waited for an opportunity to awaken. But I broke that bond and had a measure of victory—or so I thought.

  We land in Oakland late morning. Shannon’s driver Richard meets us in the terminal and guides us wordlessly to the white Cadillac Escalade, probably the same one that chased Grace over half of California last time she was here. Ironic.

  That part of my life seems more like a nightmare now—traveling all over the country with Blood Moon, playing to twenty thousand delirious fans every night. And then the disaster on Magick Mountain that turned us into fugitives for three days. Yet there had been moments of blessing, when I had experienced the presence of God like never before. Me, a Nephilim, a cursed one. Moments when I did not feel quite so forsaken.

  I forgot how beautiful this land was. The mountains rise in every shade of purple, the blue bay as still as a mirror, and the seamless sky so different from the rainy, cold Buffalo we left this November morning.

  The car turns up a steep hill, and Grace grips my arm. Is she thinking of her last visit here?

  I put my hand over hers. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m scared out of my mind.”

  “There’s nothing to be
scared of,” Ralph says. “You’ve been through deliverances before, even your own.”

  “Yeah, but this one…this demon—”

  “It may take longer, but the procedure is the same. There are no ritual incantations like in the movies. This is not magic. This is a battle. And yes, the demons are powerful. But we have the greatest Power. We must never lose sight of that.”

  “When you tell the demon to come out, it does, right?”

  “Not necessarily. Shannon herself must release it. That may not be so easy. These demons have been with her for years. They made her who she is. To lose them might be to lose herself.”

  To lose herself. I am reminded of my own twisted self, the two halves of me at war with each other. If there was a way I could free myself of the angel half, how I would jump at the chance to be wholly human…truly free.

  “These demons?” Grace says. “I thought there was only one.”

  “There is rarely only one. They glom together, like cells in a tumor. And they are adept at hiding. My hope is that they will all go with Lilith.”

  “What if it doesn’t work? Has that ever happened?”

  “Yes,” Ralph says. “It’s happened.”

  “So how will we know?”

  “I’ll know.” I hope I will.

  11: Control

  Grace

  The house is as ugly as I remembered it—a clunky, rambling Mediterranean in white stucco at the top of a narrow, winding drive. It’s an eyesore, but the views are spectacular. Being here again is like returning to a nightmare and forgetting how beautiful it had seemed at the time.

  Melanie waits on the driveway when we pull up to the entrance marked by a portico that runs the length of the house. She looks up from her phone and smiles stiffly as I get out of the car.

  “Grace. Wow. You’re all grown up.”

  “Yeah, guess so.” There is this awkward moment in which we don’t know if we should shake hands or hug, so we both laugh and wave. Her expression changes when Jared gets out of the car, eyes widening so I can actually see their brown color. People always react like this when they see Jared up close for the first time.