The Ferryman (The Guardians Series 1 Book 2)

by Wendy Saunders

  ‘You’ve seen them too,’ Olivia answered slowly.

  ‘I thought I was going crazy at first but then again after what I saw at Mid Winter I’m learning to take everything at face value.’

  ‘Probably for the best,’ Theo finally spoke up.

  ‘What about the woman who was hurt?’

  ‘Her name’s Fiona Caldwell, she’s a medium. She was helping us try to find out who was haunting Jackson, when it all just went crazy. She was hurt when the glass behind the bar shattered.’

  ‘I see, so what do we do now?’

  ‘We still don’t know what is pulling all the spirits into Mercy,’ Olivia told him. ‘We’re trying to figure it out at the moment but first we need to deal with the spirit at the pub.’

  ‘I take it you’re going to be closing for a few days until you’ve got this under control,’ Mac asked Jackson pointedly. ‘I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.’

  Jackson nodded.

  ‘We’ll get this dealt with immediately but even if we manage to exorcise the spirit it’s going to take a bit to get the bar repaired and back up and running. There’s quite a lot of damage, although I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna tell the insurance people.’

  ‘Okay then well, let me know if you need anything and keep me apprised of the situation.’

  ‘We will,’ Olivia nodded, ‘we should head back to the pub and deal with this before people start showing up for work. Can you have someone call me as soon as Fiona’s out of surgery so we know she’s okay?’

  Mac nodded and watched silently as the three of them filed out of the room.

  Olivia stepped out onto the street ignoring the stares cast her way as she was joined by Theo and Jackson.

  ‘We’ll have to make sure we stop by Fiona’s later and feed her cats for her,’ Olivia told Theo.

  ‘God, do we have to,’ he grimaced.

  ‘What’s wrong with cats?’ Jackson asked.

  ‘These things aren’t cats,’ Theo replied dryly, ‘they’re creepy and unnatural looking.’

  ‘They’re Sphynx cats,’ she explained to Jackson, ‘you know hairless cats.’

  ‘Oh…urgh.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Theo nodded, ‘besides we don’t have her house keys… what are those?’ He asked noting the keys dangling from Olivia’s fingertips.

  ‘Fiona’s house keys,’ she replied smugly. ‘I knew the nurses probably wouldn’t hand them over as I’m not her next of kin, but her personal effects were still in a plastic bag in the trauma room.’

  ‘But when did you...’Theo began in confusion.

  Jackson chuckled. ‘You stole them right under the nose of the chief of police?’

  Olivia shrugged. ‘Mis-spent youth,’ she pulled her phone from her pocket and began to dial the number on a piece of gum wrapper in her other hand.

  ‘Hey!’ Jackson checked his pockets for the wrapper Fiona had given him, ‘you pick pockets too?’

  ‘It’s amazing the skill set you pick up when you grow up in foster care,’ she smiled as the line began to ring at the other end.

  ‘All Saints church, Father Simmons speaking.’

  ‘Hi,’ Olivia replied, ‘could I speak to Father Hubert please.’

  ‘I’m sorry he’s not available right now, may I be of assistance?’

  ‘I hope so,’ she took a deep breath, ‘this is going to sound a bit strange but I need an emergency exorcism.’

  Chapter 7

  Father Simmons pushed open the door of the pub with some difficulty, noticing the heap of wooden chairs piled up behind it like a barricade. Squeezing his way through the tiny gap his shiny shoes crunched against the rough broken glass crushing it further into dust.

  ‘Hello?’ he called out.

  ‘Come on through Father,’ a thick Irish accent echoed through the bar area.

  ‘Mr Murphy?’ Father Simmons stepped over yet more debris.

  ‘Aye, watch yourself there Father we’re in a bit of a mess at the moment.’

  ‘My goodness,’ he glanced around the bar at the destruction, ‘what on earth happened here?’

  ‘That would be the work of our ghost,’ Jackson looked up from where he was sweeping.

  The young priest glanced around dubiously.

  ‘A spirit did this?’

  ‘Aye,’ Jackson’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  ‘Are you sure he’s a priest?’ Theo muttered to Olivia, who was perched on the edge of the bar taking a sip of whiskey from a cracked glass. ‘He looks like he’s about twelve years old.’

  ‘I can assure you Mr…?’

  ‘Beckett.’

  ‘Mr Beckett, that although I may be young in years I am a fully ordained priest of the Roman Catholic Church,’ he puffed out his chest and pushed his glasses back up his nose. ‘I am more than capable of dealing with your little problem.’

  ‘You think this is a little problem,’ Olivia chuckled as she lifted her glass to the devastation in the room.

  ‘You must be Miss West, we spoke on the phone.’

  ‘Yes we did,’ she replied. ‘Let me ask you a question Father Simmons, do you believe in ghosts?’

  ‘I believe in evil spirits, just as I believe they can be cast out with the word of God. Although in most cases it is more a question of the theological standpoint rather than the physical manifestation of those spirits.’

  ‘So you believe in spirits because the church tells you that you have to, but you don’t really believe in ghosts,’ she laughed lightly and raised her glass to her lips. ‘This should be interesting,’ she muttered.

  ‘Perhaps we should wait for Father Hubert as Fiona suggested,’ Theo frowned.

  ‘Mr Beckett,’ Father Simmons replied tightly, ‘Father Hubert is busy at the moment attending to the last rites of a cancer patient at the Terminal Care Facility on Rose-lake Lane and is unavailable.’

  ‘I’m sure Theo didn’t mean any offense,’ Jackson replied easily, ‘he simply meant given the nature of our ‘little’ problem it might be best if we had someone with a little more experience.’

  ‘And as I said Mr Murphy,’ he answered with irritation, ‘I am more than capable of performing a…’

  A picture which had been screwed to the wall suddenly flew across the room and shattered on the opposite wall.

  ‘What was that?’ he asked carefully.

  ‘Here we go again,’ Olivia sighed in resignation and she jumped down from the bar and tucked herself underneath it with Theo beside her, ‘you might want to duck Father,’ she warned.

  Several overturned chairs scrapped ominously against the wooden floor before being slung violently across the room missing the young priest by inches.

  He threw himself forward and tucked himself under the ledge of the bar alongside the others as the lights flickered rapidly, the windows shook and trembled and furniture threw itself around the room.

  A mournful wailing began somewhere in the building and seemed to echo all around them.

  ‘That’s new,’ Theo took a sip from Olivia’s glass as a table crashed to the floor in front of them.

  ‘What is?’ Father Simmons stared at them with wide eyes.

  ‘The wailing,’ Theo replied easily, ‘he hasn’t done that before.’

  ‘He?’

  ‘The ghost you don’t believe in.’

  After a few moments the room once again fell silent and the lights steadied themselves. One by one they all crawled out from under the bar.

  ‘Perhaps I should call Father Hubert,’ Father Simmons whispered, his ashen face sweating lightly in the dim light.

  ‘Seems like a good idea,’ Jackson clapped him on the shoulder, ‘can I get you a whiskey Father, I’m sure I can still find a glass around here somewhere?’

  Father Hubert stepped over the rubble much as his counterpart had done, surveying the destruction.

  ‘Good heavens,’ he chuckled, ‘looks like someone had a good tim
e and I’m guessing by the look of you three, it wasn’t you.’

  He took in their bloodstained clothes and superficial injuries, before glancing across to Father Simmons. The young priest was sitting on a battered wooden chair, sipping an amber coloured liquid from a glass tumbler which had most of one side broken away.

  Father Hubert,’ Jackson held out his hand.

  He took his hand and shook firmly.

  ‘Goodness got yourself a real angry spirit here haven’t you,’ he breathed in deeply looking around the room, ‘I can smell it.’

  ‘Had some experience then have you?’

  ‘Some yes,’ he chuckled.

  ‘Would that be from a more theological standpoint then?’ Olivia asked dryly.

  ‘No dear,’ he answered as he glanced down at his shaken colleague. ‘I’ve seen and experienced the real deal, in fact I’ve seen things that would probably turn your hair white.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ she muttered.

  ‘I’m sorry Father,’ Jackson apologised, ‘as you can imagine it’s been quite a day and Father Simmons seemed slightly disinclined to believe we had an actual ghost problem.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ he sighed. ‘Well I’m here now, so what say we get this show on the road.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Theo asked curiously as he noticed the tattered black leather bound book in Father Hubert’s hand. ‘Is it the bible?’

  ‘No,’ he shook his head chuckling lightly, ‘this is the Rituale Romanum. I like to think of it as a kind of religious ‘how to’ guide. Nowadays when we perform a major exorcism its generally on a person, but it can be on a place or an area as well and with any luck we’ll be able to cast out your unwelcome visitor for good.’

  ‘Amen,’ Jackson breathed.

  ‘Alec,’ he called to the other priest, ‘I know you’ve had a bit of a nasty shock lad but I’m going to need you to pull yourself together and help me out here.’

  Nodding shakily, he rose to his feet placing the broken glass on the bar and moving to stand next to Father Hubert.

  ‘Look,’ Jackson nudged Olivia, ‘I’ve got an old priest and a young priest.’

  She couldn’t help the amused giggle which escaped her lips causing the two priests to stare at her.

  ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed silently.

  Father Hubert removed a flask from his pocket as well as a purple stole. Handing the flask to Father Simmons he hung the stole around his neck and pulled a silver crucifix from beneath his dog collar.

  He cleared his throat and began in a tremulous voice.

  ‘Regna terrae, cantate Deo,’

  ‘psallite Domino

  qui fertis super caelum

  caeli ad Orientem

  Ecce dabit voci Suae

  vocem virtutis

  tribuite virtutem Deo.’

  ‘What is he saying?’ Theo whispered to Olivia.

  ‘He said ‘Kingdoms of the Earth, sing unto God. Praises to the Lord that carry above the sky of Heaven to the East. Behold, He sends forth his own voice, the voice of virtue. Attribute the virtue to God.’

  Father Simmons began to flick the contents of the flask across the floor as he wandered around the room, after a moment Olivia realised the flask contained holy water.

  ‘Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus

  Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio

  Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,

  Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.’

  The remnants of the furniture suddenly twitched and began to scrap slowly and chillingly across the floor.

  ‘Ergo draco maledicte

  Et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te.

  Cessa decipere humanas creaturas,

  Eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare.’

  Father Hubert paused and looked up at the sudden movement.

  ‘Keep going,’ Olivia urged him.

  ‘Vade, Satana, inventor et magister

  Omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis.

  Humiliare sub potento manu dei,

  Contremisce et effuge, invocato a

  Nobis sancto et terribili nomine,

  Quem inferi tremunt.’

  Olivia flinched as one of the last remaining pictures on the wall was violently flung across the room smashing loudly. All the furniture was beginning to churn in a perpetual motion. The lights began to flicker rapidly as any remaining glass began to explode sending needle like shards skittering across the scarred floor. She felt Theo’s hand sneak into hers and hold on tightly. He pulled her into his body to protect her, his eyes darting around cautiously as if not knowing from which direction the danger would come.

  The whole room was filled with the pungent scent of ozone and charged with static electricity. She could almost feel the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck rising. The atmosphere was so thick with rage she felt like she was suffocating. Random pieces of wood from the broken furniture were suddenly fired across the room like missiles, embedding themselves deeply in the wooden panelling on the opposite wall.

  ‘Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine.

  Ut Ecclesiam Tuam secura tibi facias

  Libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.

  Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae humiliare digneris,

  Te rogamus, audi nos.’

  Every so often Olivia would catch a flicker at the edge of her vision but when she turned to look it was gone. Theo grabbed her and forced her down to the ground as another severed chair leg shot across the room like an arrow, to land with a deep thud as it penetrated the wall with such force it left only a small stub protruding from the surface.

  She turned as she felt a terrible wrenching and watched helplessly as Theo was torn from her grasp and flung across the room, skidding through the fragments of glass and dust to land in a sharp pyre of splintered wood. Before she could move to help him she felt herself being flung backwards like a rag doll and pinned to the wall by an invisible force. She couldn’t move her body an inch, her wrists were pinned to the wall either side of her head. She could barely even curl her fingers against the force holding her immobile. Her chest felt heavy as if it were being crushed and slowly and inexorably she felt herself being dragged up against the wall, rising higher and higher until she was suspended three feet from the floor.

  She glanced across to the two priests. Father Simmons was kneeling on the floor clutching his bible desperately, his eyes wild and fearful. Father Hubert on the other hand stood towering above the young priest implacably, his focus unwavering and his voice a boom above the howl and shriek of a violent wind which had come from nowhere. Glass and debris swirled around him in a tornado of fury. His hair whipped back from his face and the wind tore at clothes, yet in the midst of the chaos he stood like an ancient oak, immovable and determined.

  Olivia blinked as she noticed the flickering again. This time she could see small glimmers of silver and she suddenly realised they were flames. She could see them darting around the room furiously, before finally turning towards Jackson. She watched helplessly as he was thrown against the broken glass wall behind the bar. The tiny flames coalesced in front of him, but he seemed unable to see it. As a wall of fire made up of pure silver flame roared up before him, Jackson wheezed and scratched at his neck, his eyes darting around frantically as if trying to see the invisible creature attacking him. His face was turning red as he fought for breath.

  Olivia was barely aware of the old priest’s voice as he built up to a crescendo, screeching above the roar of the wind. To her his voice seemed somehow distant, like an echo. Her mind was focused entirely on Jackson as the silver fire he seemed unable to see pulsed and rippled until it resembled the shape of a man and for a second she though she saw a pair of eyes flicker in her direction.

  Her breathing slowed and her heartbeat evened out. Much as it had before in the woods, when she had conjured Hell fire for the first time, she seemed to detach from her physical self,
from her emotions, as a strange kind of calm settled on her. Time slowed and she watched with curious detachment as the men in front of her seemed to freeze, almost trapped in one moment of time. The debris hung in the air like a strange kind of sculpture and the fragments of glass churned up by the wind tinkled in the air as they caught the light.

  She looked across to the creature of flame and fire. Now she could see it clearly she picked apart the silver threads of the flames which made up its substance, to find the entity beneath it. It was a spirit, a very angry one. It stopped trying to choke the life from Jackson and twitched as if suddenly sensing her looking at him. It turned and for one moment she looked into its metallic silver eyes down into its soul. Its mouth opened in a slow cry of fury and it released Jackson, turning towards her.

  Everything suddenly roared back into focus, too loud, too bright, too chaotic. It was heading straight for her and without even thinking her magic burst into flame, only instead of the familiar red and gold of her Earth fire or the deep, dark, blue-black of her Hell fire it roared to life in pure silver.

  ‘Terribilis Deus de sanctuario suo.

  Deus Israhel ipse truderit virtutem

  Et fortitudinem plebi Suae.

  Benedictus Deus. GLORIA PATRI!’

  She vaguely heard Father Hubert shrieking behind her. The roaring in her ears drowned everything else out, her vision narrowed as she felt the power tear through her veins like wildfire. She could see the entity rush towards her. Her back arched against her bonds as her magic burst outwards. A bright white light blotted out everything and she suddenly felt herself falling.

  A soft feather-like touch stroked her face. She could hear a familiar voice calling her name as she swam up through the heavy layers of consciousness. Opening her eyes she blinked a few times at the blurriness and tried to focus.

  ‘Hey,’ Theo breathed in relief as she opened her eyes. ‘Are you alright?’

  She lifted her head as he helped her into a sitting position and looked around the room.