by Lindsay Mead
"Is she drawing on my plane?" Ian asked Lana.
"Yeah, she's warding it…creating shields against all the supernatural baddies that you can think of," she answered plainly as they both watched Vi work. "If this plane crashes, it won't be because of any curse or demon."
Ignoring them, Viola bent down to draw a pentagram on the floor. The thin carpet forced her to go over her lines several times. When she finished, Vi stood on her tiptoes and drew another pentagram to match on the ceiling.
"Does she do this every time she flies?" Ian accepted a glass of bourbon from the flight attendant, who was doing her best not to notice Viola's strange antics.
"Well, we rarely fly, but when we do she bribes one of the crew to let her on the plane before anyone else boards."
"Interesting." He sipped his drink and murmured, "An ordinary fear for an extraordinary person."
Finishing the pentagram on the ceiling, Viola hurriedly stuffed the chalk in her pocket. The plane rumbled over a bump in the old pavement and she grabbed onto a seat, her heart pounding painfully. When the aircraft settled, Viola took a shuttering breath and positioned herself between the two pentagrams.
Hands at her sides, Viola closed her eyes and forced herself to calm. This wasn't going to work if she didn't focus. As the others observed, Vi raised her arms and pointed to both windows at once. She looked to her left, beginning the chant. "Et regnabit Dominus."
She felt the divine energy zip from her palm to the window. It was strong like a rope pulled taut. Holding the power firmly, Viola peered to her right. "Hoc animo sedet solio tuo ex antiquis."
Another line of power coursed from her hand to the symbol drawn on the right window. Then, still gripping the strong energies, she raised her arms to touch the pentagram on the ceiling. Her head fell backward in order to make the connection.
"De infernus diligit epulari." Vi clenched her teeth from the strain, panting as the words rolled through her. "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen!"
As the final command passed her lips, power surged through her in a wave of golden light. It swept up her arms, down her legs, and plowed into the plane. Gliding along every surface, it melded with the man-made materials.
"Fuck," Ian exhaled.
Viola's arms collapsed like a ton of bricks and she met Ian's eyes, which were about to fall out of his head. She smirked at her ability to unsettle a man who was probably considered unflappable by his peers. Viola turned away and dropped into her seat in time for takeoff; the worst part of flying.
Lana's voice carried to the rear of the plane. "You saw it didn't you?"
"I…don't know what I saw." Ian gaped at her. "It was like a…shimmer of gold…that moved and then disappeared."
"It was a glimpse, that's what we call it." Lana gestured to herself and Aaron.
"Normal people like us can't see the otherside. The best we get is a glimpse," Aaron explained, gazing up from his journal. He was always writing. It was a priest thing. "Viola though, she can see everything."
"Ha! Listen to you. The father, here, is anything but normal, like us." Lana snorted. "He can hear God—like literally—in his head. The guy talks to him."
Mr. Grave didn't seem to know what to say to that, which was fine by Viola. The plane started accelerating, gathering speed over the crumbling runway for takeoff. Anything else the others said, she didn't hear.
Viola closed her eyes, clutched the armrests, and prayed. At this point, there was little else she could do as the aircraft began to lift off. When she felt the plane level, Vi finally opened her eyes and found the flight attendant—a godsend—waiting with her drink.
"Just a second," Vi said to the woman. She brought the glass to her lips and drained the contents. The liquor was smooth, slipping down without a fuss. Viola nodded her appreciation as she handed the empty glass back. "Keep 'em coming."
As the flight attendant went for more whiskey, Viola unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed her violin case. Inside was her childhood violin. It was nothing fancy and dinged up from near constant use, but the wood was well polished, and she replaced her strings every few months. Over the years, Viola had carved or burned a multitude of strange symbols into the wood, including a pentagram, the Egyptian Ankh, and the Symbol of Chaos.
"Hope you don't mind," Viola said, noticing Mr. Grave's attention as she withdrew the instrument and its bow from the case. "It helps me relax."
"By all means, play away." He lifted his eyebrows and motioned casually.
Getting to her feet, Viola moved into the spacious aisle and leaned against her armrest. The many small windows along the plane afforded her a beautiful—and terrifying—view of the blue sky and passing clouds. For some reason, no matter what terrible things the day had brought, holding her violin always gave her peace.
"I take requests," Viola joked, placing the violin on her shoulder.
She raised the bow to hover above the strings and positioned her fingers just so.
"Do you know The Devil Went Down To Georgia?"
God help her, she laughed and glanced at Mr. Grave. He chuckled quietly at his own joke, the mirth reaching his eyes. In that moment, she couldn't fathom how his soul was so dark.
4
The paved driveway leading to Mr. Grave's house ran for actual miles beneath a canopy of tall autumn-colored trees. Their fancy limo rolled along the smooth, winding road and the glorious cobblestone mansion appeared beyond intimidating iron gates and an expansive courtyard. There was a matching stone bridge arching above a wide and flowing stream, then the driveway angled around a bubbling, four-tiered fountain.
"Batman's family home?" Lana gawked openly as they came to a stop outside the front doors.
"I thought he was Superman?" Viola mumbled.
"My grandparents live in the family house." Ian glanced at Ailbeart with a smirk. "I paid ten million for this."
"Hot damn." Lana fell back in her seat, then whispered to Vi, "Didn't Batman have a butler named Albert? Sounds an awful lot like Ailbeart."
"Alfred," Aaron corrected, speaking for the first time since leaving India.
"Oh, good." Lana exhaled. "It was getting a little freaky there for a sec."
Smiling, Viola waited for the driver to open her door as memories of her last limo ride unexpectedly came to mind. It was during a bachelorette party for a formerly possessed bride-to-be. Things ended as they often did when Viola was involved—with demons, swear words, and stuff projectiling. Needless to say, the bride hadn't extended an invitation to the wedding.
"What are you thinking about?" Lana asked, staring at her with studious interest.
"The bachelorette party."
"Which one?"
"Bahamas." Finally, the driver opened Vi's door.
"That poor bride." Lana snorted, doubling over with a chortle. "She was completely covered in—"
Viola didn't hear the rest as she climbed out of the car. Something dark and angry slammed into her, making her wobble. It ebbed from the house, like many voices crying out in slow, pervading agony. No wonder Mr. Grave's soul was such a black pit—how could anyone live surrounded by so much pain?
"Are you all right?" Aaron asked quietly, appearing at her side. While Ailbeart gave orders to the staff and Ian took a business call, Lana gawked at the mansion with scrunched eyebrows. Aaron, fortunately, was the only one to notice Vi's sudden green hue. "What is it?"
"Yeah, it's just…" Viola searched for the right words as she inwardly fortified herself against the wrongness coming from the house. "Let's just say that this is going to be a hell of a job."
Ailbeart sent off the staff and hurried back over. "The kitchen staff is preparing a meal and your rooms are being readied. Unless you'd prefer a hotel?"
"That won't be necessary," Aaron said, clutching his bible and rosary. "We'd be honored to stay in your home."
"Do you have a pool?" Lana randomly asked.
"Yes, indoors." Mr. Grave stuffed his phone into his suit pocket. "We'll se
e it on the tour."
Feeling her skin begin to itch uncomfortably, Viola spoke up, "Actually, do you mind if I get to work?"
"Um, all right." Mr. Grave hesitated, clearly thrown by her lack of desire to be impressed by his things. "Right this way."
Servants-a-plenty danced around the group to collect their luggage while Ian led the way inside. The entryway had slate stone floors with cobblestone walls that opened into arching wood ceilings. Straight ahead, a long hall showcased expensive artwork and lavish rugs. Viola glimpsed a drawing room with a fireplace and furniture that appeared inviting but unused. The place was beautiful, a cross between a woodsy cabin and an opulent manor from a Jane Austen movie.
Leading them upstairs, Ian and Ailbeart took turns reciting the history of the house and its many items. Aaron and Lana ate it up as if they were kids in a candy store. Viola, on the other hand, struggled to care. The further into the house she went, the more grating the dark energy became. It was like dull nails digging into her soul.
Vi rubbed her temples as they rounded a corner on the second floor. Ian talked about the ceiling—or something—and the amount of crap that went into building it. Blah. Blah. Blah.
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped. Hellfire soot was everywhere, spreading down the walls and onto the floor. To her eyes, the paintings appeared cracked and aged, as if the evil was deteriorating them. The others continued on unaware.
"It seems we've lost Ms. Danvers," Ailbeart said, noticing Viola's hesitation and halting the tour.
They all stared at her questioningly. They didn't feel it—couldn't see it. Darkness was all around them and they had no idea.
Growing worried, Aaron stepped toward her. "What is it?"
Viola wiggled her fingers in the air. "I'm not sure I've ever felt so much concentrated evil before."
Lana and Aaron both went still, peering around in earnest.
Ian glanced suspiciously at his valet, "What evil—"
"Shh." Viola glared and touched her lips. "Be quiet and focus. Even you might feel it."
Frowning, Mr. Grave obeyed. Each person practically held their breath for several lengthy seconds. Their eyes darted around the darkened hallway.
Lana inhaled and whispered, "I feel it."
"What do you feel?" Viola encouraged.
Sure, teaching Lana was pointless because she was never going to be an exorcist. If God had intended for her to be one, he'd have chosen her years ago. Lana knew this, but she still wanted to learn. She never gave her reasons why or explained how she'd tracked down Vi in the first place. The only thing Lana ever opened up about was that she was orphaned as a baby and raised by a tribe who'd never truly accepted her. She had no one else, and for that reason, Viola took her in as an assistant. There was undoubtedly more to the girl's story, but it was up to Lana when—if ever—she was going to share her secrets.
"Spiders on my skin," Lana cringed as she spoke. "It's prickly, but also kinda wispy, like air."
"Good. That's more than I expected you to feel." Viola's gaze rolled over the room, marveling at the growing darkness. "But then, with this level of bad, it's not too surprising that the average person can sense it."
"He gives warning," Aaron said, gazing at the ceiling as though God's voice in his head actually came from above. "A warning to protect the soul."
"I'm sorry, I don't feel anything." Ian looked between each of them. "Is this a put on? I'll pay you regardless, but I don't want to waste my time."
"No, Mr. Grave." Viola glowered. He was the one who came to her after all. "Your problem is very real. The worst I've seen in a very long time."
"What do you see?" Aaron asked.
"Hellfire soot." Stepping up to the wall, Vi ran her fingers along the paint. "Not just around the edges, but everywhere."
Her fingers came back covered in black. She showed the others, even though the residue was already starting to burn. The pain began as tiny pricks, but soon it would feel as if she'd pressed her fingers flat against a hot stove.
"What in the bloody hell?!" Ian marched over, grabbed her hand, and peered closely at it.
"Heaven help you, Viola," Aaron cursed—yes, that was how Aaron cursed. Adorable, right? He pulled a white cloth from his pocket, then yanked Viola's hand away from their client. Gently, the priest wiped away the soot. "Look at you. Your fingers are pink."
"I'm all right, Aaron." She half-smiled in reassurance, despite the sting. "I wanted him to see."
Ian moved around them to the wall and swept his hand across it. Did he think it was a magic trick or something? Like Vi's fingers, his hand was now coated in hellfire soot.
"The fuck?!" He held his hand out, staring at it in disbelief, then turned that startled expression on her. "What is this?"
Aaron held out his dirtied cloth. "That's going to burn."
"What—Oh—Oh, yeah, it really is." Ian's eyes bulged as the pain set in.
"Allow me, sir." Ailbeart produced his own handkerchief and began scrubbing away.
"Wow, hurry up. That's really starting to hurt." He balled his free hand into a fist.
"To answer your question, it's hellfire soot." Viola watched them, thinking a dainty valet tending a seemingly powerful man was an odd sight. "Demons, sin, and evil are all made in hellfire. They tend to leave it wherever they go."
"Are you saying this is soot from Hell?" Snatching the cloth out of Ailbeart's hand, Ian rubbed at the crevices in his skin.
"The very same."
"So, how can you see it and we can't?" He tossed the cloth at his valet, who was very careful to fold it without touching the soot smears.
"God made me an exorcist," Viola answered, as if that explained anything, and rubbed the cross in one of her palms. "It kinda changes how a person sees the world…literally."
He stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable, then abruptly turned his gaze to the hall. "So, what does seeing hellfire soot everywhere mean?"
"The sheer extent of the soot tells me that whatever is causing this has been around for probably months." Wandering down the hall, Viola let herself experience the dark energies in full. "But it's more than what I see, it's what I feel. The air is heavy, and it gets heavier the closer I get. Then, there's this ebbing of pain—pain not just from one, but from many. I felt it clear outside your house."
This makes me wonder about you, she wanted to say. Undoubtedly, the wickedness in this house was tied to Ian's condemned soul. Was it caused by some awful that he'd wrought or called forth?
"You think it's a haunting?" Lana asked as they followed slowly behind.
"No." Aaron ticked his rosary through his fingers. "A haunting wouldn't put our souls at risk."
"A haunting?" Ian glanced behind him. "Like ghosts?"
"Ghosts aren't anything to worry about, but this is not that." Playing with the Egyptian locket around her neck, Vi really wished it was ghosts. "Those would be easy. This…not so much."
"Then, I want this thing gone, or stopped, or—whatever it is that you do." Ian moved on, unaffected by the darkness as Viola was.
Ailbeart rushed after his boss while Lana and Aaron fell in line with Viola. Maybe they were watching out for her since she was clearly bothered by the thing, or perhaps they were unsettled by the growing nasty in the air. It must have been obvious to them now. Lana crossed her arms tightly, her gaze zipping up and down the hall, as Aaron whispered the Lord's Prayer. Vi clenched her teeth and rubbed the side of her pounding head, too consumed by the grating on her soul to be afraid.
To Viola's exorcist eyes, the hall grew darker with each step until the walls were defined by vein-like rivers of black that spawned from a single, plain door. Viola stared at it in amazement. If left alone, the malice inside this particular room would continue to spread until it consumed the house and all those within. This building would become one of those fabled places where people never returned from.
Ian stopped at the side of the door and grabbed a small picture frame. It lift
ed upward on hinges, revealing a keypad beneath. Ailbeart moved to block their view as Ian entered an extensive pass code. Lana raised her eyebrows and looked sideways at Viola, who shrugged and rolled her eyes in response. Oh, the snarky villain jokes they could make.
When he finished, there was a loud boom within the door's framework. Ian covered the keypad and Ailbeart opened the door. Evil rolled out in waves of pain, carrying distant and barely audible voices—the voices of stolen souls.
Inside, bundles of cash were stacked onto four wooden pallets. They were fresh, unused hundred-dollar bills bound together into heavy bricks and stacked in the shape of large cubes, then each pallet was sealed in plastic wrap. Piles of money, stolen souls—this was ten kinds of bad. Horrific things had been done to make this happen, and now Ian's blackened soul made perfect sense.
"I'm sorry, I can't help you," Viola rushed out in a single breath, suddenly repulsed by Mr. Grave. It wasn't like her to judge those she helped, but he deserved to be condemned; he deserved to be consumed by the hellishness in this house. Desperate to get away from him, Vi turned to Aaron and Lana. "We're leaving."
5
Viola reached into the pocket of her black leather jacket and withdrew an emergency bottle of salt. She poured out the contents to create a protective line from frame to frame and tried not to lose her lunch at the same time. As the salt hit the floor, the hellfire soot swept away like an opposing magnet.
"There, that's all I'll do for you," Viola snapped and recapped the now-empty bottle. "Keep a line of salt here at all times and maybe it'll slow the progression of this thing."
"But, ma'am—" Ailbeart was cut off by Viola's raised hand.
"But nothing." She grabbed Lana's arm and twisted her around. "Come on, we're getting out of here."
Lana and Aaron didn't argue. They knew better than to mess with Viola when she was angry and if something freaked her out, well—they knew it was worth being freaked out over. Vi hurried them down the hall, setting her own livid pace.
