by Lindsay Mead
Taking its time to prolong the demon's torment, the hand pulled. Erratic twitches rippled over the girl's body as the demon fought to keep hold of her. Her head fell back, her limbs twisted into inhuman angles. It was horrifying to watch, but no one could look away.
Part of the demon's body swept through the girl's arm like water. Yet, unlike the soul of Hell, the demon was not made of smoke. It was little more than pale flesh and black veins stretched over a jagged skeleton. As the soul of Hell pulled further, more of the demon slipped liquidly through the girl. The demon's hands grasped helplessly at her. Its cracked nails raked across her soft skin, leaving behind trails of fresh blood. Despite this, the girl seemed almost comatose.
The demon's head appeared through the rear of the girl's skull. It gnashed at the air with rotten fangs, and the girl's body seized violently. The soul of Hell paused, letting the demon become frantic. But Viola knew the soul of Hell was only toying. It loved for its demons to suffer. The longer the demon thrashed and struggled—the better.
Finally, the soul of Hell tugged the demon's body free of the girl. She slumped to the floor in an unconscious heap. The demon wailed, the sound high and piercing, as it clawed at the floor.
Pushing away her fear, Viola climbed to her feet. She moved between the demon and the helpless girl. The demon stared pleadingly at her, but she had nothing other than contempt for it.
Sneering, she said, "Tell Satan I said 'hello'."
That set it off. Strange and nasty sounds tumbled from the demon's mouth. It clutched frantically at the wooden ledge, sputtering hate toward her, as the soul of Hell dipped out of sight. Vi flipped the demon her favorite finger just before it was yanked from the ledge.
The fissure closed with a snap, expelling a cloud of hellfire soot into the air. Viola waved it away, careful not to let any land on her skin. As the soot settled where the chasm had been, it formed an almost flowery shape; like some kind of demonic fleur-de-lis. Otherwise, the floor looked as any floor should. Viola stared at the symbol, recalling the thing that sometimes haunted her sleep. She felt a trembling in her soul.
"What I wouldn't give to see what you see," came Lana's voice through Viola's haze.
Blinking, Vi turned to her. She was crouched a few feet away. Her fingers ran reverently along the nail marks left behind by the demon. They were thick and deep; charred black as though by fire pokers.
It was so easy to forget that Lana and other non-exorcists couldn't see the things that she could. For Viola—the soul of Hell, the fiery chasm, and even the demon itself—were in such clear and perfect detail… how could the others not see them? But they couldn't. Most of the time they could only see flashes and impressions, but they could often feel the evil.
"I'd say be grateful you can't, but I know you won't listen," Viola responded.
Lana flashed her a wicked grin. "Not a chance."
Aaron appeared, placing a gentle hand on Vi's shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." She nodded, giving his hand a soft pat. "It was no worse than usual."
"You sure?"
"Definitely." She shrugged off his hand, slightly peevish at the concern in his expression. He meant well but coddling her didn't make it easier. "I'm made for this, remember?"
Before he could say another word, Viola stepped around him and made her way to the no-longer-possessed child. Relief washed through her when she saw that the girl was awake and cradled in her mother's loving arms. She was sobbing, but she was alive! As the exorcist approached, the girl sat a little straighter and wiped her cheekbones.
"How you doing, kiddo?" Viola knelt before the girl. Scorched into her wrist and forehead were two red, blistered crosses—thanks to Vi's touch. Until they healed, they were going to hurt, and they were absolutely going to scar. "Sorry about the burns."
"It's okay," the girl mumbled, gawking at the wound on her wrist. "Thank you for saving me."
"Hey, these burns are going to scar and there will be times when you hate that." Vi gently touched the girl's chin, encouraging her gaze upward. "It's important that you remember the scars are a gift from Heaven."
Her eyes widened. "They are?"
"Absolutely. Only the very special get them." Viola showed the girl the crosses in her own palms. As always, they appeared upright. "You and I have suffered and sacrificed of ourselves, so God has granted us protection from demon possession."
"You mean, what happened to me can never happen again?" The hopefulness in her eyes nearly broke Vi's heart.
"That's exactly what it means." Viola forced a smile. She hated that this child had suffered like this. "You're a very smart girl."
"Thank you." She blushed.
When it came time to leave, the mother paid Viola and Lana with beautiful scarves. That was common. Money was preferred, of course, but Viola refused to deny people her services simply because they couldn't pay. One way or another, she and Aaron always managed to get by on the meager salary paid to them by the church—a necessity since lesser demons ran amok in places occupied by the poor.
There were two basic classifications of demons: lesser and greater. Lesser demons were the meat and potatoes of Viola's job. They were souls gone way bad, usually after centuries of being tortured in Hell. Being weaker demons, their most common route to the land of the living was through human possession. Bastards.
Greater demons were a different breed entirely. They weren't sentenced to Hell—they were born of it. Which meant they were crazy powerful, hard to put down, and they always returned eventually. Instead of possession and killing sprees, these baddies preferred creating natural disasters, corrupt politicians, bankers, and in general, building Hell on earth. They also weren't really Vi's concern.
Viola only had the power to send lesser demons back to Hell with her rituals and tools. Greater demons were angel territory; part of a never-ending war between Heaven and Hell. In the grand scheme, exorcists and lesser demons were small kittens. But for the people she'd saved, it sure didn't feel that way.
Unfortunately, she was really bad at the emotional stuff. When clients got weepy and grateful, Vi wanted to run. Thank God for Aaron. He knew just what to say and how to comfort them. For some bizarre reason, he also seemed to truly find happiness in being there for others. Viola was the muscle, while Aaron was the heart and soul—and that thought always made her smile.
After leaving the Indian family, the trio wandered around. Yeah, they were kinda like gypsies in that way; always traveling, moving from town to town in search of new clients. Home was in the United States where possessions and lesser demons were pretty rare. So, they had to go where the work was and that meant traveling the world.
By noon they'd found themselves at a little roadside coffee shop. Like the rest of the neighborhood, the place was financially challenged. There was no wall separating the interior of the shop from the outside. The awning overhead was made of weather-worn cloth, and the seating area was nothing more than a few rickety tables and chairs. Still, the coffee was good, and the shop owner didn't care how long they occupied his space. Which was good, because they really had no idea what their next move was.
Slunk down in her seat with her feet propped on a stack of old crates, Viola took another big bite of something called, Vada Pav. Lana had bought it for her from a street vendor and Vi really didn't know what it was; some kind of vegetarian burger. It was somehow both crunchy and soft at the same time, hella spicy, and totally hit the spot. After an exorcism, all Viola wanted to do was eat. She dropped her head on the back of her chair and closed her eyes, savoring the mouthful. The noises and smells of the crowded market washed over her. It was a sensory overload, and it was awesome.
Lana flipped through a local newspaper. How she could read it, Viola had no idea. Aaron was doing the numbers thing in his tiny black budget book. Viola despised bookkeeping or any sort of math, for that matter, so it was all left up to her stepbrother.
"If we're going to leave town, we should probably catch a bu
s tonight and sleep on the way." Aaron leaned over his book with one hand grasping his wispy blond hair and the other tapped his pen against the table. "Otherwise we'll have to pay for another night at the hotel, and we can't afford both tickets and an extra night's stay."
"Ugh. I hate sleeping on buses," Lana grumbled from behind her paper. "Especially the ones in this country. They're like motorized death machines."
Viola snickered at that. With the warm sun shining through a tear in the awning and onto her cheeks, Vi's nerves were discovering a new level of chill. The heebie-jeebies from witnessing the soul of Hell were finally gone. "You gotta admit their bus drivers have balls of steel, though."
"Hell yeah, they do! Only badasses could drive in this kind of traffic."
"Well, if you still want to leave town, there really is no other option." Aaron sighed. He might have been good with comforting people but being cavalier about life wasn't really his thing. "We could sell those scarves. I bet that would cover board and bus tickets."
Lana gasped and slammed down her paper. "But I love my scarf. It's so pretty!"
Before they'd left the Hindu family, the mother had helped Lana wrap her hair in the scarf. Against her black locks and tan skin, the bright colors were stunning. The girl really knew what worked for her. Dragging the scarf from her head, she rubbed it lovingly against her cheek and murmured, "I won't let the mean preacher-man take you away."
"How very cute." Aaron's eyebrows fell into a flat and unimpressed line. "It's our only option if you want to sleep in a bed tonight."
"How about having your cake and eating it too?" came a voice with a Scottish accent on Viola's right.
She opened one eye to peer at the speaker. He was tall and thin, dressed in a heavy suit despite the humidity, and his chestnut hair was thinning. He stared directly—and unwaveringly—at Viola.
"Who are you?" Vi asked, not bothering to sit up.
"Ailbeart Wilson, valet to Mr. Ian Grave." He extended a hand, which she eyed warily. It wasn't that she was naturally rude, but she was naturally distrustful of people in suits. Uncertainty flashed across his face and he snatched back his hand. "I'm sorry. I just realized that I've made an assumption. Are you Viola Danvers?"
"Yes," she drew out the word, ready to tell the gentleman to eff off.
Men in suits, who knew her name—rarely a good thing.
"The…" Glancing around, he leaned forward and whispered, "exorcist?"
Okay, that made Viola smirk. It was like he thought it was a secret, which it wasn't. The church never tried to hide the existence of demons or the exorcists who it employed. It was just that demon possession in first world countries was rare and, these days, most people didn't think any of it was real.
"The one and the same, Jeeves." Viola flashed him her full smile, adding a wink for good measure. "What can I do for you?"
He blinked at her sudden mood change. What could she say? His apprehension had won her over, for now.
"Well, Ms. Danvers. My employer would like to hire you for a job." He tugged his suit jacket, regaining some of his earlier confidence. With a deep breath, he added, "In Scotland."
3
The taxicab rolled down the crumbling road, finally free of the congested market streets. Crammed into the backseat with Lana and Aaron, Viola admired the open Indian landscape sweeping by. A shabby airport with chipping yellow paint appeared in the distance; the first building she'd spotted for miles.
"It was nice of that Scottish valet to send the cab, but…" Viola's nerves jumped and a tremble swept through her fingers as the cabby steered the car toward the rear of the seemingly deserted terminal. She clutched her violin case tighter against her chest. Damn, she hated flying. "This airport doesn't inspire much confidence."
Lana gasped and nearly flew out of her seat to see through the windshield. "Please tell me that's our plane!"
"Jet, Lana." Viola's eyes widened at the long and sleek plane that was easily worth millions. Painted stripes of gold and silver swooped along the side. The nose was long, ending in a sharp point. Even at a standstill, the aircraft looked fast. A long staircase stretched toward the plane's open door, like a personal invitation just for them. "That would be a jet."
Lana giggled excitedly. "Best. Job. Ever."
The taxi came to a stop and Viola jumped out before Lana could scramble over her. From the bottom of the staircase, Ailbeart started toward them. The cab driver, with his heavy black beard and blue turban, hurried to retrieve their luggage from the trunk.
"I must be honest, Ms. Danvers, I wasn't sure you'd get in the cab." Ailbeart greeted them with a smile. "I know that my employer isn't your usual clientele."
"It's true, the possessed tend to be a little light in the wallet, but I go where the demons are." Viola watched the valet lose some color, as she dragged the strap of her violin case over her head and shoulder. "A bit much for your employer to send a jet for us, though."
"Actually, my boss had some business here while I sought you out—ah, there he is."
A man stepped out from inside the plane and stood on the staircase's upper landing. His gray suit was wide at the shoulders, but tight at his waist. Instead of a tie, his white shirt was unbuttoned a few inches from the collar. High cheekbones drew his skin tightly away from an angular jawline. His dark hair was short but long enough to create waves that he combed away from his straight hairline. As he nodded formally to her, it was hard not to imagine him a modern-day Prince Charming.
"Would you look at that?" Lana appeared at her side and crossed her arms. "Real-life Superman has a jet."
"Oh, my god, you're so right." Viola laughed, elbowing her friend. "Give him a pair of glasses and he's Clark Kent."
"Right?" Lana crinkled her nose in amusement.
Aaron walked past them to follow the taxi driver with their luggage. "I don't think Clark Kent could afford that jet."
"Hm." Viola studied her mysterious new client. "I'm not so sure a superhero would use a shady airport either."
"Airports such as this one tend to go unnoticed," Ailbeart answered and waved for them to follow. "Better for business."
"That's what concerns me." Viola frowned at her assistant as they started toward the plane.
"So, if it's not Clark Kent, then what do we call him?" Lana asked.
Ailbeart glanced at them. "Mr. Grave."
Viola snorted. "Well, that's not ominous at all."
"This is our chance, boss." Lana slowed and murmured to her, "This is clearly the beginning of a horror movie—we can turn back."
Vi peered at her sideways. "My whole life is a horror movie, remember?"
"Oh, right." Lana gestured toward the plane enthusiastically. "Then onward we march."
Aaron was the first to ascend the stairs into the jet. Mr. Grave shook his hand, smiling handsomely. Aaron beamed, then gawked at the interior of the plane as he entered. Ailbeart allowed Lana to pass him, but Viola hesitated.
Dark energy cascaded in nasty waves down the staircase, emanating directly from the Mr. Grave. Viola climbed the steps and studied him closely over Lana's shoulder. His soul was a demonic neon sign if ever she saw one. He was bound for Hell's inner sanctum with a seat next to the big guy himself—the one below, not the one above. Never had Vi met someone as eternally screwed as this man, and she'd met some pretty awful people in her line of work.
"Hi, I'm Lana Rose." The girl stuck out her hand. "I'm the assistant to the exorcist."
"Ian Grave. Pleasure to meet you." He shook her hand, seeming amused by her enthusiasm. "I didn't realize that exorcists needed assistants."
"Trust me"—Lana made room for Viola on the top step—"You don't want the exorcist wondering where she put her holy water when things get ugly."
"No. I would think not." He grinned, then turned to Viola.
Instead of introducing herself right away, she touched the man's jacket and pretended to test the fabric. "Veritas?"
If he'd been possessed or was some kind of demo
n, the Latin word would've revealed his true form…but nothing happened. No horns sprouted from his temples, nor did his blue eyes turn blood-red. It appeared that Ian was only human—a hella sinful one, but still, just human.
"Um, no…I'm not familiar with that designer. This is Armani." There was no mockery in his tone or arrogance in his gaze as he extended a hand to her. Surprising, considering that the man was probably pure evil. "You must be the exorcist."
"That's me. Demon Killer Extraordinaire." She smiled, intrigued by her new and mysterious client. "You can call me Viola."
"Welcome aboard, Viola." Ian released her hand with an excited twinkle in his eyes. "It's a pleasure to have you on my plane."
The mention of the aircraft was like a bucket of frigid water dowsing away her eagerness.
"Wish I could say the same," Viola grumbled and headed for the back of the plane. "But I can't."
"Pardon me?"
"Don't take it the wrong way," Lana interjected from her seat near the front, across from Aaron. "Viola has a small case of aviophobia."
"A fear of flying?" Mr. Grave regarded Vi as Ailbeart entered and a flight attendant signaled for the stairs to be taken. "I would think that exorcists weren't afraid of anything."
"Fear is healthy. It keeps me alive." Lifting the strap over her head, Viola removed her violin case and gently placed it near her chosen seat. "So, please don't be offended if I stick to myself back here."
"Of course, whatever you require." Ian sat next to Lana. "If anyone needs anything, my plane is fully equipped, and the attendant will be happy to help you."
As if on cue, the flight attendant came to take their drink orders. Aaron jolted from his silent reverie to ask for milk, Lana requested a pop, Viola called for a glass of whiskey, and Mr. Grave took his usual—whatever that was.
The jet shuttered and suddenly the pavement outside Vi's window was moving. Feeling her stomach drop, Viola grabbed the chalk hidden in her pocket. She walked to the center of the plane, glancing in both directions to get it just right. She then pulled down the shades on both windows and began writing.
