by Riley London
This guy is all that. Perfect features, perfect body, dressed in a suit that looks like it was pressed ten minutes ago. Light brown hair that’s just long enough to say “whimsical, yet well-groomed” and arresting blue eyes.
There’s something so flawless about him, in fact, that it’s almost off-putting. But not off-putting enough that I don’t shake my own mess of dark curls out of the way self-consciously.
“You must be Max,” he says in a polished voice, with a smooth accent that’s vaguely British. But also not British, like he’s lived in many places and ended up with inflections all his own.
Serena’s cool voice comes from behind me. “Max, this is the colleague I mentioned, Ari Angelessi. Ari, I was taking Max to her room. She’s agreed to spend some time training here while we work out a plan to recover Father Gabriel.”
His eyes have that eerie ice blue that you usually only see in Siberian huskies. They move back to me face, assessing. “Max, could I convince you to join me for tea before you retire?”
Tea. You might convince me for whiskey, buddy. But I’d happily take sleep over tea right now, even with Mr. GQ here.
Weariness seeps into every fiber of my body, but for some reason, those eyes seem to hold me captive. I must be really, really tired.
It’s not like me to get distracted by a guy. Especially not by a pretty boy.
There’s a warning sound behind me from Serena, and when he breaks eye contact, I take an involuntary step back. There’s something here, something about this man, that’s different.
That’s dangerous.
“Forgive my manners, Max,” the man says again, his voice ice cool. “Father Gabriel is one of my dearest friends and I’ve heard a lot about you. But I also have a few questions about what happened that might help us get a bit further today with our planning.”
It’s odd to me that Father Gabriel is such close friends with people I didn’t know. But the reality is that he often traveled, and if it wasn’t for exorcisms, I didn’t always go with him.
Quickly, I’m realizing that there are dimensions to his life – and to the man himself – I’ve never considered.
I let out the kind of annoyed sigh that I thought I gave up when I was a teenager. But of course I’ll agree. What’s a little sleep lost if it helps Father Gabriel? I go to heft my bag again, but a small hand wraps around mine.
“Go on, Max,” says Serena, her voice inscrutable. “I’ll put your stuff in your room. Ari can show you or you can find it yourself. Top of the stairs, take a right, and it’s the door at the very end of the hallway.”
Top. Right. End. Got it.
Ari steps back and I step into his office. It’s more masculine, but less ornate than the space that Serena occupies. His is all leather couches, an electric fireplace, a bar with expensive looking booze. He follows my eyes with his own.
“Would you care for a drink?”
“It’s 7 a.m.” I shoot back, annoyed that he figured that much out.
“And you’ve had a hell of a day,” he counters.
I watch Ari as he crosses the room to the bar, pulls the crystal stopper off some expensive looking pale amber liquid, and pours it into two glasses. As a rule, I don’t drink much. For one, I’ve only been old enough to drink for a year. Second, I live with a priest. The priest thing’s not a problem, but he has a tough relationship with the bottle and I don’t need my demons sending me down that road. Third, I don’t like to lose control.
This morning, though? Fuck it.
He offers one leather armchair by the fire, taking the other that’s roughly facing me. Something makes me avoid looking into his eyes.
“Gabriel has had nothing but the most complimentary things to say about you, Max,” he says. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see that you’re back here in Salem.”
At the words “back here,” my eyes snap involuntarily to his face. I still haven’t really had the time to deal with the fact that these people seem to know more about my own history than I do. And for the first time, I realize that must mean that Father Gabriel knows more about my background than he ever told me.
If you’d told me that a week ago, I would’ve called you a liar and punched you in the throat.
Today? I’m not as confident.
“You seem to be a bit ahead of me, Ari,” I say neutrally. “I don’t know a lot about my background, beyond what I really learned today. My memories are fuzzy.”
“Well Max, you come from a very storied lineage here in Salem.” His voice has gone quiet, almost far away. “I’ve lived here in Salem for a long time. I knew your mother, Cassandra. Not well, but we met. She was an incredibly talented woman with an unparalleled gift. You’re the heir to an incredible magical legacy.”
I shift uncomfortably and keep staring down into the glass while he talks.
“I know that Father Gabriel has trained you to the best of his abilities, and he has had nothing but amazing things to say about your work. But I think with the access you’ll have here at the Academy, from the talent in residence that can teach you to the ability to leverage some of Mr. Wan’s collections, you could really reach your full potential.”
Full potential. What does that even mean? Not even Father Gabriel, the person that believed in me the most talked about helping me hit my full potential. Two days ago, I’d tell you that I’d probably had already hit it or at least knew what road I needed to walk to get there.
His voice has an almost hypnotic quality to it. My eyes are on the fire, and it’s like the tension of the day is starting to actually drain away.
“You’re going to be facing some very draining days, Max,” he says softly, echoing my thoughts in a disquieting way. “You have to be prepared to work hard. To learn. To fight hard. But more than that, you need to make sure that you’re ready to make the right decisions.”
With that, I do look at him. I can’t help it. His pale blue eyes seem to reflect the light in a way that makes my mouth go dry.
It’s not attraction, as much as fear.
“I know from personal experience what it’s like to lose a loved one.” He doesn’t stop speaking. “And I also know how that can lead you to make rash decisions. Hard decisions, including ones where there’s no coming back from. When you get caught up in the moment, it’s easy to stray from the path.”
His eyes narrow. “It’s critically important that you hear me, Max. Don’t stray from the path. Do you understand?”
I want to nod. I want to let him know that I hear him, and even though I don’t totally know what he means – what path? – I’ll do my best.
But I can’t. The image that’s in front of my eyes starts to fade. Gone is the expensive, masculine office. Gone is the handsome man with his soothing voice and beautiful eyes. Gone is the gentle flickering of the fire.
For a second, it’s like I stand in a space that’s completely dark. Inky black. It’s so cold that I feel it in my bones and I know as well as I know anything that I will never, ever get warm again.
This arctic Hell is all there is. It’s all I’ll ever seen.
Then I see it, at the boundaries of my vision, the trails of demonic energy. They look different – stronger than they usually do – but they’re familiar and the icy chill gives way to terror. There’s too many. There cannot be this many demons in one place. I’ve never seen so many.
There must be hundreds. Thousands. More. Just in the small space that I can see.
They shift like shadows at the edge of my vision, at the end of my view. And then I can hear. Roaring fire, an inferno, and then beyond that screams. A strange burning smell that revolts me on a primal level and has me shaking my head to try to get the stench out of my nostrils.
The screams have become a din.
An endless infinity of screams of a thousand or million or billion voices melting into a chorus of pain.
I’ve never felt such abject horror.
Desolation.
The darkness now is pierced by
light. Flames engulf everything. At first, I don’t recognize it, but then I realize it’s the Academy. Everything in it. Everything around it. The trees. The town beyond. And beyond that, the world.
It all burns.
And all I can do is stand there, unable to move. Unable to fight. Unable to even scream.
The flickering of the gas fireplace comes back into view, just as I feel the cool autumn air of the office around me. The sturdy bones and leather of the chair beneath me. But I can’t stop myself. A sound escapes my lips and I stand up fast.
Too fast.
The glass of whatever the fuck that booze is goes to the ground, the crystal fracturing into a thousand shards as it bounces once off the hardwood floors and comes to rest in pieces.
The sound. The screaming.
It’s me.
With a force of will, I clamp my lips shut.
What. The. Fuck.
Ari is on his feet, looking mildly alarmed.
“Max,” he says, but he’s smart enough not to try to fucking touch me. “You’re all right. You’re fine. You’re safe, here at Salem Academy. Please, sit down.”
I don’t want to, but for some reason my body obeys.
He takes his seat again and looks calmly at me with those placid eyes. Is he reading my mind? I shiver. Am I reading his?
“It’s just a vision, Max,” he says, his voice so quiet I’d have to strain to hear if he weren’t somehow holding me at rapt attention. “That carnage, that hellfire? That’s the worst-case scenario. It’s Hell, and it’s not just a dimension somewhere else. It could be right here, among us, with the wrong choices in the days ahead.”
I’ve had enough. Whatever he’s doing – the visions, the warnings, the booze. I’m not even sure I took a sip of the booze, and he’s made no move to clean up the crystal.
When my eyes go to the glass, he makes a simple hand gesture and murmurs, “Recencseo.”
The fucking glass puts itself together.
My eyes widen, but I don’t say anything. Clearly there’s more happening here than I understand right now. And I’m not saying anything that could get me into trouble.
More trouble.
I might be in the right place.
They might be able to help me.
But I have no illusion that this place – and these people – don’t come with a heap of issues.
He breaks eye contact, and air rushes back into my lungs. I’m so relieved that I’m almost shaking.
“During your time here Max, I’m going to teach you defensive magic. I’ll teach you what you need to know to make sure that no one,” he gives me a sardonic smile, “not even I will be able to touch your mind unless you permit it. But, you’ve certainly had enough for one day. Can I take you to your room?”
At his dismissal, I’m on my feet lightning fast. I don’t look at Ari. I don’t look at the glass. I just turn toward the door and move fast.
“I’ll find my own way,” I say, but when I hit the doorway I turn back and see him regarding me. No clue what he’s thinking.
“Thanks for the information.” My voice doesn’t quite sound like itself. “And if you ever do that to me again, whatever that was, I’ll gut you in your sleep.”
I turn and force myself through the door. He barks what sounds like a real, honest, light laugh behind me.
I make it up the stairs, and down the hall. The door at the end of the hallway seems to glow, and when I throw it open.
Well, shit.
It’s not a big room by Salem Academy standards, maybe. But it’s the biggest room I’ve ever had. A four-poster bed with hotel white bedding and a mound of fluffy pillows so inviting I could weep sits in the center of the room. To one side, there’s a small chair and a writing desk. To the other, there’s a window seat identical to the one in Serena’s office.
I lock the door behind me, and cross over and look out. Salem sprawls below, even clearer under the mid-morning light.
I have so many questions. More questions that I can possibly get answers to. But for now? I wrench the heavy blinds over the windows shut, looking at that bed.
A few minutes later, I’m showered and wearing my PJs. Time for some sleep.
Grabbing the smaller bag where I put what few personal items I could find of Father Gabriel’s back at the motel, I dump it out onto the bed and then sink into the cloudlike mattress. They really don’t skimp on the details here.
Bible.
A rosary.
And a small box.
My fingers go to the box, and my hands shake a little as I pull back the lid. There’s nothing inside, except for a few papers clipped together with some ancient looking money clip. When I lift it out and pry the pages lose from the clip, they fan out. They’re cheap, faded photographs.
Father Gabriel and me, grinning into the camera while eating ice cream. I’m less than ten.
A few years later at some church dinner. I look uncomfortable in an itchy secondhand velvet dress, but he smiles broadly into the camera.
Another picture I’ve never seen, of me singing in a church holiday thing.
A picture of him, Brother Dominic and I at a picnic.
Two shots of my high school graduation.
Another from last Christmas, of me proudly holding up the sword he’d saved for I don’t know how long to buy me.
And nothing else. This man has two things in his life: his exorcism work for the church and me. His reject, not-quite-adopted daughter. He lugged the most precious remnants of everywhere he went.
My eyes start to burn, and I lay back, surrounded by his things. I stare at the ceiling, trying hard not to cry, when everything mercifully just fades to black.
5
“Welcome to Stalking Demons 201,” rumbles a deep voice out of the darkness.
I’m in a training space somewhere in the basement of Salem Academy. Dojo mats are puffy beneath my feet, clearly there to break a fall. Good, because whoever’s talking to me is going to need the help. I got a few hours of sleep today – improbably devoid of the usual post-exorcism night terrors – and now it’s go time.
My alarm screamed a two p.m. wakeup call.
And me? I woke up ready to bust some kneecaps.
I’m more than a little pissed to read the schedule slipped under my door. Printed on heavy parchment in a script that puts five-star restaurants to shame, it informed me I’d start my day by stalking demons.
I’m a fucking demon stalking expert.
I’m literally a demon slayer that works for an exorcist. One of the world’s best exorcists. What could these mansion-dwelling prisses teach me about my own business?
Fine. Maybe this will give me the chance to show them I know everything I need to, and they can give me some weapons and some backup. Or whatever it is they think I need, and we can get this party down to Hell started.
But now, standing in a space I don’t know surrounded by an unnatural inky blackness, I don’t feel as cocky.
Not at the sound of that voice.
Did I say deep? Deep and raspy, with an edge of something that’s sexy as fuck. Whoever is in possession of that “putting James Earl Jones to shame” voice has to be a goddamn giant.
It’s the last clear thought I have, before I instinctively duck. Something just hurled at my head.
“What’s the matter, recruit? Something distracting you?”
Heat creeps up into my face, and it takes more instinct than I care to admit to stay on my feet. I can’t fucking see anything. I don’t know how I’m supposed to fight.
Actual demons? They have light trails that emanate from their bodies. Signatures I can see. This asshole? Yeah, I don’t usually have to rumble with some big, sexy talking, non-light emitting guy in the course of my job.
And if I do? Whatever that special demon-hunter instinct I rely on has kicked in.
It works out.
But this is completely different, and I can’t tell what’s off.
Another blow, something displac
ing the air. I manage to get out of the way – just barely – before it clips me in the hip. Pain shoots out, but now I’m intensely focused. We’re not messing around.
“Tracking demons on the surface? Child’s play.”
The voice comes from behind me and I lunge forward out of the way of a foot flying in my direction.
I keep moving forward until I get to a wall, spin around, and get it against my back. At least that perimeter gives me some context for the fight that’s happening.
“Let me guess? Follow the pretty light trails.”
Fuck. There’s something dismissive in his voice, and it’s much closer this time. Silently, I move to the side and am rewarded with a grunt when his fist smashes the wall.
Apparently, we’re not pulling punches.
“Fighting a demon in hell? No such luck. You’re in their terrain. They’re not always polite enough to leave a shiny streak for you to follow. And if your demon sight does work? There’s so much demonic energy you’ll have no chance of telling the individual strands apart.”
Annoyance slams through me, but I pay attention too.
“So how do you stay alive, recruit?”
I’m no recruit.
“I fight,” I spit out.
“Good.” He comes at me with all he’s got. And in the dark, with the mismatched size and the lack of sleep and me not even knowing what the hell we’re supposed to be doing, he gets me.
About six foot five inches of hard body rockets into mine, knocking me down and landing on top of me. At first, I fight like hell, giving it everything that I’ve got, but then I realize he’s waiting me out.
Basically, the asshole plans to lay there until I tire myself out. One thing I will say: all the squirming has given me quite an appreciation of this guy’s muscular form.
I stop resisting and go limp. Say nothing. But wait and watch for my opening.
He eases back slightly.
I just position myself to kick him in the nuts, when the lights pop on.
I blink once, hard, against the light. And then hard at the face staring down at me.
He’s a huge guy, with wide shoulders and a square jaw. Rugged, handsome features and a nose that looks like it’s been broken more than once. Sharp blue eyes, blond hair so pale that it’s almost white, shaved into a military buzzcut.
