by Riley London
“Are you absolutely sure?” Fred asks from behind me, her high voice thin with distress. Fred is the assistant to the team of exorcists that serve the U.S. She’s tall, rail thin, and has carroty-orange hair she wears piled on her head. Despite the frumpy clothes and the coke-bottle black glasses, she’s smoking hot. She probably struts Milan catwalks on the weekends. But right now, her eyes are red-rimmed and she’s shaking.
She’s not alone.
“Max is correct,” Brother Dominic finally declares, each word crackling like he hasn’t spoken in decades. A wisp of smoke rises up from the edges of the ritual circle and evaporates before it hits the ceiling.
I don’t know what he did exactly, although I can feel it in the air. Whatever it is, it’s more than just some normal priestly incantations. Some ancient Vatican rite to eliminate the demonic energy here, maybe.
It looks like he’s sprinkling fine powder there, that sparks like gun powder.
Whatever he did just completely obliterated all traces of the fading circle, scorch marks and all. The ancient wood beneath looks untouched, like nothing happened today. Like the most important person is my life hadn’t just disappeared off the face of the planet.
A few EMTs and other officials scurry around the place, long after Mrs. Saporetti is taken to the hospital. It’s clear they’re just lingering out of curiosity now, but one more angry glare from the exorcist in the monk’s robes and they finally retreat. They won’t go until he gives them his blessing though.
You have to love Boston: half the city’s Irish or Italian Catholics. The other half? Married to them.
Finally, it’s quiet and I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I held.
“Frederika, I need you to head back to the office immediately please,” says Brother Dominic, all business now. “First, set up an emergency call with the Vatican in three hours and then I need an Exorcists Council meeting in four. Second, please reassign all cases that Father Gabriel was set to cover for the next four weeks.”
A little cry escapes her lips.
Fuck, reschedule him for a month?
That’s bullshit; I’m getting him back now. Today. I don’t realize I’ve punched the wall in fury until my hand explodes with pain.
Does he have any fucking idea what they must be doing to an exorcist in hell? At the thought, I have to press my own lips shut hard to keep from screaming.
Brother Dominic makes an impatient sound and continues speaking to Fred. “Call in any researchers you can, I don’t care if it’s five in the morning. Pay them overtime. I need you all pulling documents related to the Scourge, related to demonic forces targeting exorcists, and to all demonic possession activity in Boston and Salem that we have on record for the last four hundred years.”
Fred hesitates for a second, and Brother Dominic says, not unkindly, “Now, Fred. He’s counting on you.” She snaps into efficient mode and her heavy boots beat a retreat down the death-steep stairs to the street below.
The exorcist turns in my direction once she’s gone. “We need to talk.”
No shit.
“Tell me how to get him back,” I demand.
Long beats pass in silence, with Brother Dominic regarding me with hard eyes. Father Gabriel told me harrowing stories of some of the things Dominic had seen and done. He’d been in the exorcism game for more than fifty years, although his actual age was unclear.
Somewhere between seventy and a thousand.
I stare back at him, as defiantly as I can manage. The good Brother and I haven’t always gotten along. He didn’t want Father Gabriel to take me in, and definitely hadn’t supported him training me to slay demons. Frankly, I just don’t think he likes me very much.
He literally yelled at me to get off the rectory lawn when I was mowing it, for Christ’s sake.
But we have one very important thing in common: Father Gabriel. He might be like a father to me. But he’s like a son to Brother Dominic.
“Max, you have to know that you can’t go into Hell and drag him back. Not by yourself.”
The hell I can’t. What else was I trained for? He seems to read my expression and the hard lines on his face relax, softening into something that looks like pity. It infuriates me, and it takes everything I have to stay under control.
Just barely. I exhale a very long, methodical breath and stare at the ceiling as he continues speaking.
“Max, you’re essential to getting him back. But he’s relying on you to keep your head on straight,” his voice suddenly sounds rather tired. Making eye contact with him, I see he looks exhausted.
He makes his way to the small sofa to one side, lowering himself down as the ancient furniture squeals in protest. “Clearly, Max, this is part of some larger pattern. Did Gabriel brief you on the Scourge?”
Of course he briefed me. He briefs me on everything, I start to snap. But I freeze. My mind goes back to him angrily trying to shove me out of the apartment. Of sending me in pursuit of that demon when he knew something bad was about to happen here. A distant part of my brain whispers that he tried to keep me safe, but a larger part growls that it’s bullshit.
It’s my job to keep him safe.
I nod.
“There’s a concentration of demonic possessions here that’s unprecedented, and this can’t be unrelated. I’m going to do everything I can to find out what is going on and use every resource at our disposal to get this resolved. But there’s something I need you to do, Max,” he says, before adding more quietly, “And you’re not going to like it.”
Right now, I’d tear this building apart brick by brick with my bare hands. Just give me something to do.
I can deal with not liking it. I can’t deal with just standing here doing nothing.
The monk falls silent with the sound of approaching footsteps, and I tense even as my instincts register details. High heels. Ultra high heels. The person can’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. And they’re moving at a normal clip. Maybe not a threat? When their owner materializes in the door, it’s like a sexpot starlet from a 1950s movie just stepped into reality.
Curves for days, dark glossy hair, red dress, red shoes, and red lips. She even has one of those little red pillbox hats with a matching net at five o’clock in the damn morning. Her stockings probably have seams up the back. The woman’s eyes take in the apartment, skim over Brother Dominic who rises to his feet and then they come to rest on me. They’re wide and dark and inscrutable.
There’s something about her that has me jamming a frustrated hand through my long dark tangle of curls. Not that they’ll be any less of a mess.
When she speaks, her voice has exactly the gravelly, out-too-late-in-a-smoky-bar quality that you’d expect. But even I notice immediately how polished her accent is, how she enunciates each word like the daughter of one of Boston’s finest families. “Brother Dominic, wonderful to see you again, although I do regret that it’s under these circumstances. And you must be Maximiliana. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I bristle at the use of my full name, but don’t say anything.
“Max, I’ve asked Ms. Stanton here to come down and meet with us. Serena Stanton, headmistress of Salem Academy, may I present Max Ryder,” says Brother Dominic with an odd formality that’s out of character.
Pursing my lips, I give her a neutral nod. I wouldn’t have pegged her for a schoolteacher.
She flashes me a megawatt smile that doesn’t reach her tired eyes and continues speaking. “Max, let’s cut to the chase. You’ve had a long, difficult day and there are things that all three of us need to be doing right now to get Gabriel back.”
It’s odd that she calls him by his first name.
Who is this woman? How does she know Father Gabriel and what the hell does she have to offer in getting him back? Something nicks at the edge of my mind. Salem. Salem Academy.
Hadn’t Brother Dominic asked Fred to pull information on Boston and Salem?
“It’s hard to believe I just saw him yesterd
ay,” she says softly. Now that gets my attention.
We’d gotten a late start the day before, in the middle of the Saporetti exorcism. Father Gabriel was up before dawn, saying he had somewhere to go, an errand to run. It was unusual, but so much about this path month had been unusual.
At the time, I just savored the extra sleep.
Brother Dominic’s voice cuts in. “Max, Serena here is an old friend of Father Gabriel’s and she’s affiliated with one of the most elite training facilities in the country.”
My eyes go back to her. What kind of training could this woman offer that Father Gabriel needs?
She gives me a look that’s not hard to read: challenge accepted. Casually she raises one elegantly manicured hand – red nails, ruby rings – and points it at a tall glass case full of glass statues and ceramic figurines. The case itself is bounded by heavy, dark wood, and it must weigh a hundred pounds.
Serious grandma treasures.
With one flick of Serena’s fingers, the case slides across the floor – at least ten freaking feet to the other side of the room – and comes to an elegant stop.
Not one figurine harmed in this display of magic, her smug expression says.
Shit. I can’t help myself. I jump. How the hell did she do that?
“Enough party tricks, Max,” she says in that smoky voice. “Trust me when I say that I have experience with things that you can’t possibly begin to imagine. Yet. But that, for a variety of reasons, it’s critical that you come to terms with rather quickly.”
Something unreadable passes between her and the old monk. For some reason, icy chills skitter across my skin and I feel rooted to the spot.
“Early yesterday morning, Father Gabriel made the trip from Boston to Salem Academy. He met with me and he also sat down with my colleague Ariel Angelessi. Ari and I both work for the same benefactor.” There’s an odd emphasis on the word benefactor, but she doesn’t explain further. “Father Gabriel wanted to make arrangements to continue your training if such a time arose that he wouldn’t be able to continue it himself.”
The force of that blasts into me like the worst demonic magic attack I’ve ever faced. It’s like I can’t breathe, like my heart gets ripped out, and like I want to set the fucking world on fire all compressed into a single instant.
He knew. He knew this was going to happen.
He sent me away.
Rather than let me fight.
Rather than keep him safe.
Rather than stand by his side.
Some tiny part of me, a part that I fight hard not to acknowledge, whispers he left me here alone.
Fuck that.
My eyes flash to Brother Dominic. “So he knew then? He knew he was a target in whatever this is?”
He only shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Max. I don’t know. But I think we have to assume that the answer is yes, or at least, that he suspected something was amiss. And that he wanted to make arrangements for you to go to the right place to get help if it came to that.”
I look back at the woman, Serena.
“So you’re telling me that if Father Gabriel expected that he was going to be abducted and sent to Hell, that he’d send me to what? Some boarding school?”
I’m twenty-one years old. If I had any aspirations beyond slaughtering baddies from the underworld, I’d be in college, not some fancyass Massachusetts finishing school.
And if there’s one man who knew that, it’s Father Gabriel. A fact that gives me pause. There’s something more here, something I’m not seeing.
Everything feels like it grinds to a stop, like time itself ceases moving. I’ve been up for almost twenty-four long, grueling hours and at this point, even I know that I’m going on adrenaline and a prayer.
And neither will get me much further.
Brother Dominic gets that familiar annoyed look, but Serena raises a hand.
“Salem Academy isn’t a prep school, Max,” she says dryly. “It’s owned by the billionaire Asher Wan, and it’s used by some of his elite strike forces to take down supernatural threats as needed. And from time to time, to train promising candidates. And even more rarely, in times like this, as ground zero to stage an operation to recover an exorcist that’s been abducted to Hell.”
For the first time, she has my complete and undivided attention.
“We’ve been tracking the demonic activity on the rise for months,” says Serena, looking from Brother Dominic to me. “Some of the top talent that’s available in the world is currently in residence in Salem for that very reason. At Father Gabriel’s request, and because Mr. Wan owes him a great debt of gratitude, we’re prepared to put our resources at your disposal both to recover Father Gabriel and to ensure you’re up to the task to get him back.”
At the words ‘up to the task,’ I bristle. Brother Dominic almost growls, “Pride goeth before the fall, Max.”
Fuck pride. Fuck them. Fuck this whole thing. I will get him back.
I turn on the old man. I don’t mean to do it. I really don’t, but I’m shaking with fury. It’s all I’ve done for the last decade, day in and day out. Train to kill demons. Track demons. Hunt demons. Kill demons. Does he seriously think I’m not ready?
Our eyes meet, and I’m surprised by what I see there. A blazing fury matching my own. “You think you have what it takes, girl?” his voice is tight, quivering with barely restrained power. “You think that dispatching a few demons from the surface back to Hell makes you prepared to stand in Lucifer’s realm?”
His hands grab the sides of his robe, and slowly raise it up to knee level. Above his shoes and his socks, I see Brother Dominic’s legs for the first time in my life. The flesh is burnt, molten, and twisted from the tops of his socks, up his legs and then out of sight under his robes. The skin is angry, mottled, red even after who knows how long.
“I’ve stood in the fires of Hell, Max,” he shakes with a rage so palpable he spits. “And this?”
He gestures down at his scarred legs with a trembling hand. “This is the best-case scenario. This is after decades of preparation. If you go now, if you go alone, you will die. And Father Gabriel trusted you for nothing, invested in you for nothing. All of this will have been for nothing.”
My mouth is dry, my face is hot. It’s hard to look away.
“Max, I can offer you the best training in the world and together we can make a plan to get him back,” Serena says very softly. “But you don’t have to trust me. Trust Gabriel.”
She indicates the bag that’s still hanging over my shoulder. The one he’d shoved at me as he’d pushed me out the door. The one I’d forgotten until now. The one that maybe had some information, some clue. Tearing it open, I slide a hand inside and the first thing my fingers close around – the only thing – is a piece of paper.
I pull it out, and unfold it, willing my eyes not to burn at the familiar blocky handwriting of a man who loved to talk and hated writing. Who loved strong whiskey and foul jokes and saving souls. Who loved me like the daughter he’d never had..
Just a few words are scrawled across a page of yellow legal paper, torn out of a pad. “Max, go to Salem Academy. You can trust Serena Stanton and Ari Angelessi. You will know what to do.” It was simply signed “Gabriel” in a grand scrawl.
I look up, into the dark eyes of the overdressed woman and the blazing eyes of the scarred monk I’m realizing I hardly know. There’s so much I don’t know. But apparently, there’s one way to learn.
“I’ll go. But I need to make one stop first.”
Get my weapons, get my things, and get everything I can find of Gabriel’s to comb through, and then I’ll see what Salem Academy really has to offer.
I don’t wait. I walk over to Brother Dominic, lightly touch his wrist, and descend down to wait outside without another word.
3
Salem Academy.
As the huge Escalade approaches the building, it’s exactly what I’d imagine. It’s been a silent twenty-minute ride through the r
eddish-orange light of the sunrise from Boston to Salem. What’s the saying, red light in morning, sailors take warning?
Once we stop at the hotel, I clean everything out and am back in the car within ten minutes. After that, Serena focuses on driving while I stare at the inside of my eyelids.
If I could help it, I’d be fucking finished with polite conversation today. But the universe has other plans in store.
The femme fatale clears her throat and I sit bolt upright. There’s a better than fifty percent chance that I passed out there, and I jerk awake with all the grace of someone that beheaded a demon just a few short hours ago. The grisly images always melt into an inescapable tableau on days like this.
Sleep will be hard to come by when I do get the chance.
We make our way up a steep and winding private driveway that’s lined with ancient weeping willows straight out of a horror movie set – because of course it is, right? The SUV rolls to a stop in a large circular parking area, and I hear the sound of Serena’s fuck-me heels hit concrete just before her door clicks shut.
Grabbing my bag, I follow her lead but I slam the passenger door shut, hard enough to rattle the SUV behind me.
Can’t resist any chance to let the world know how I’m feeling today, I guess.
I start to move toward the super creepy but totally-on-brand-for-Salem iron wrought gates, but then I realize Serena’s not moving.
“Max,” she says, her velvety voice quiet.
I turn, and she’s looking off in the distance, back the way we came. Down the hill and beyond the line of trees, I see the contours of a town backlit by the sunrise. It has modern lines, but the streets are crammed together in the way that cities built on top of colonial settlements tend to be.
“Salem.”
She doesn’t need to tell me. I know. Somehow, for some reason, I know, as icy chills stab through me. The faintest bit of recognition, although I don’t remember ever being here.
“Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”
