by Lindsay Mead
Sucking a final long breath through her cigarette, Viola decided to accept reality instead. She'd have to do this alone and hope that Aaron would be all right when God unexpectedly went silent. Expelling the smoke from her lungs, she dropped the cancer stick to the ground and crushed it beneath her shoe. This was it. With alcohol swimming in her veins, oxygen deprivation making her brain buzz, and sorrow filling her heart, Viola climbed the steps toward her fate.
It was the longest walk of her life.
30
Out of breath, Aaron stumbled as he raced up the hotel steps. Something was wrong but despite his attempts to fight through God's cosmic-sized thoughts, Aaron's puny human brain couldn't make sense of the mental overload. Viola was in trouble and that was all he knew. Aaron skidded around a corner, nearly colliding with a maid, "Sorry, Señora. Sorry."
Not waiting for her response, he rushed to Lana's room and pounded on the door. He'd gone to the honeymoon suite first, but it was empty.
"It's unlocked," came Lana's muffled voice.
"Why are you awake before sunrise?" Aaron shoved the door open, staying in the threshold. Dressed in pajamas, Lana sat on her bed. Tears tumbled from her red, swollen eyes while she dabbed her wet cheeks with a hotel tissue. Fear slid down Aaron's body, freezing him to the core. "What's wrong?"
"Ian's dead," she croaked.
Aaron's hand fell from the doorknob. "How?"
"A brain aneurysm," Lana mumbled into her tissue.
Aaron slumped against the door frame, feeling as if all the air had been stolen from the room. He hadn't known Ian well, but he liked him—loved the way he made Viola smile and gave her something to live for besides endless exorcisms. Viola… My God. She finally gave her heart over and this happened? The idea of her alone and suffering made Aaron's gut wrench. Viola needed her stepbrother and priest, needed her best friend to hold her through the pain.
"Why God? Why him?" Aaron whispered, knowing he wouldn't get a response. God allowed Aaron to listen in, not to ask questions. It was only by His good grace that Aaron knew Viola was in trouble. The priest dropped his head onto the wooden frame as his heart jerked in a painful plea. "How can I be her light when I can't even tell her why Ian was taken?"
An unusual and resounding silence settled into his mind.
"I hate the way this feels." Lana sniffled, drawing his attention, and clutched a pillow to her chest. "He was a really good guy. And now it's too late for Viola."
"What?" Aaron pushed off the wall. "Why is it too late for Vi?"
"Doesn't God tell you anything?" she sneered, but it wasn't really at him. "Ian died in her arms. What choice did she have? Just let his soul end up in Hell for all eternity?"
Aaron hesitated, trying to guess at what he was missing. Viola had a choice? A choice to save Ian's soul? How—Realization hit him, causing his breath to catch. "She became a sin-eater."
"Yup, she sucked that sin right out of him—and with the Angel of Death watching!" Lana shook her head and nervously rocked. "This is bad. They'll excommunicate her."
Fighting his own panic, Aaron rubbed his face and focused. "Where is she, Lana?"
"Fuck, if I know." She wiped her sleeve angrily across her cheeks. "I haven't talked to Vi since the wedding dinner. She's probably at that church by the altar of bones." Her face scrunched in irritation. "Apparently, she created a bunch of sacred ground there hours ago."
"Now's not the time to be angry at Viola because you feel left out," Aaron chastised, defensive of his hurting stepsister.
"Yeah, I know." Lana stilled, her shoulders hunching. The girl coped so well with the world that sometimes it was easy to forget she was only sixteen. This was probably the first time death was personal for her. Lana ripped a blue feather from the end of her braid and rolled it between her fingers. "I just don't know what to do."
"You do now because we need to stop Viola from being excommunicated." Aaron shifted on his feet, his mind switching to Protect Viola Mode. "Pack your things and get downstairs."
Lana jumped off the bed and started grabbing her clothes from the floor. "What are you going to do?"
"I've gotta steal a car." Aaron chewed his lip. He hated to break the commandments but, with what he had planned, the church was going to be after them anyway. "We need to get Viola and get the hell out of Dodge—fast."
He turned for the door, ready to race off. But his mind made him pause as it stumbled over something that Lana had said. Aaron swiveled on his heel. "If you haven't talked to Vi since the wedding dinner, how do you know about Ian or the sacred ground?"
"Uh." Lana blinked, stuttering as she reached for a shirt draped across a chair. "Um, Ailbeart called."
She was lying, and Aaron could feel God's worry for her. It wasn't as strong as the fear the Almighty currently felt for Viola, and yet something about Lana drew his thoughts. Aaron pursed his lips. He wanted to ask Lana what she was hiding, make sure she was okay, but Vi needed him more. Fighting his own nature, Aaron pulled the door closed. "Get packing."
As it clicked shut behind him, Aaron jogged down the hall. He wasn't too late. If he could still hear God's voice, Viola hadn't yet been excommunicated. But Aaron had no idea how he was going to stop the ritual. As he descended the stairs, a clear and strong impression came from on high. It nearly took his breath away, scaring Aaron to death—because God wanted him to do whatever it took.
A few light bulbs and a display of prayer candles dimly lit the church. Viola stood before the dais and two priests. She'd confessed to the sin-eating, and it left her feeling strangely numb. Perhaps part of her had hoped for a reprieve, but the disgust on the priests' faces was answer enough. To become a sin-eater was an exorcist's greatest offense. She was done for.
Vi had waited in mournful silence as they set up a cast iron basin, lit a fire, and nestled two pokers within. They then retrieved the Book of Exorcists from the office, a record of every exorcist that'd ever lived. It was like a piece of the Bible they kept separate, kept secret. Pages and pages were dedicated to Viola, detailing her entire career. Updated yearly, all churches had them. Clergymen didn't like being caught unaware when an exorcist stumbled through their doors, and the Book of Exorcists helped them retain their sense of control.
"Please remove your jacket and hand over your sacred relics," said the older priest who'd married her and Ian just a day ago.
His hair was a mix of black and gray. Heavy wrinkles carved up his face, exaggerated by the light of the flickering fire. Yet, he moved without the stiffness of an aging body. The other priest was much younger, likely straight out of seminary school. If Vi had to guess, he was probably meant to lead the parish someday. The young priest, with a hooked nose and short black hair, reached for her shovel.
Instinctively, Viola stepped back. She pulled Azriel to her chest and wrapped both hands around its wooden post. The sweet zing of angel power nipped at her palms like a lover's playful bite. The shovel still wanted to be hers, she could feel it. How could these clergymen dare take it away when the Archangel had gifted it to her?
"You cannot keep it," the older priest sneered like he was reprimanding a child. Perfect, since that's exactly how Vi felt right then. "Upon excommunication, all sacred relics must be returned to the church and then redistributed by the Archdiocese."
"Will it be given to another exorcist?" She hated that idea, but the other option wasn't much better. "Or will it be put on display?"
"That is no longer your concern." His voice ricocheted against the walls this time. There was an awkward silence as he calmed himself with a deep breath and gestured to his young companion. "Now, please."
Swallowing hard, Viola released Azriel into the young priest's hands. He admired the shovel with awe, and the numbness in Vi's chest turned hollow. She was losing everything.
The young priest lifted his gaze, his eyes growing dull, and held out a hand. "The necklace please."
Viola's hand shot to the blue pendant, forcing the cold metal against the raci
ng pulse beneath her skin. She wanted to protest, to beg them not to take it, but there was no point. She could feel the older priest's steely gaze daring her to object.
Hands shaking, Vi unclasped the gold chain. It slid along her neck and the locket fell into her palm. She stared at it, imagining Anubis sleeping inside. Viola couldn't remember the last time she'd taken the necklace off, if she ever had. Now it would be worn by another or locked away forever. Hating herself, Vi shoved it toward the young priest.
"The excommunication will be easier without your jacket," he said, carrying her relics to the podium. "Drape it over a pew. You may retrieve it when you leave."
The young priest spoke gently to Vi, more so than his predecessor, but there was no real kindness in his voice. When he looked at her, his expression was cold. She was nothing more than a traitor to them, an exorcist who went too far.
Refusing to let them intimidate her, Viola dragged the leather coat from her shoulders. There was a tug at her soul then. Someone needed her help or something evil needed to be sent back to Hell. Viola bit her lip and ignored it. That wasn't her job anymore and soon those little tugs would be gone forever. Viola laid her jacket over a pew as the tug became more persistent.
"Holy God," gasped the young priest as his wide eyes moved from her shoulder to her wrist. "You've been marked by two angels."
With her recently marred hand, Viola touched her shoulder. She felt the skin beneath her tank strap. It was hot to the touch, as if angel fire was right beneath the surface.
"That's unheard of. To be marked by one angel is a rarity." The older priest glared at her, as if she were tricking them somehow. He looked at his book and turned the page. "Our records indicate that you have only one sacred relic, a sword gifted with the wrath of God by the Archangel Uriel. Since you don't have that with you, have your priest bring it after we're done." He glanced briefly at her, then went back to his reading. "It says here that you also have a locket of heathen origin with the soul of an Egyptian jackal trapped within—hm, the archdiocese certainly won't want that to see the light of day again. The shovel is not listed. Is that how you got the second mark?"
Viola bristled at his disregard of Anubis. She should have guessed. Anubis wasn't of Christian origin. They allowed her to use the locket because she was called to the jackal, but they would never want to encourage its use or let the world know of its existence. That would cause too many questions. So, her old friend was destined to be locked away forever after all.
Clenching her jaw, Viola forced away her anger to answer the man's question and glanced at the blackened handprint on her wrist. "This mark was given to me by the Archangel Azriel."
"Two Archangels?" The young priest raised his eyebrows.
"The Angel of Death, no less." The older priest's face lightened, seeming impressed despite his obvious dislike of her. "I assume it's his power that he imbued the shovel with?"
Viola didn't answer right away and watched him approach the altar where her shovel and locket sat. He reached out to touch the sacred item, but apparently thought better of it and let his hand hover above it in reverence. Hope kindled in her chest. Maybe she could prove her value and change their minds. "Yes, I used it to sanctify the land around the display of bones and free the trapped souls."
"Wonderful." His greedy eyes refused to leave the shovel. "A relic such as this would be truly beneficial, especially in the hands of a more deserving exorcist."
Just like that, the small bit of hope she'd managed to ignite was gone.
The young priest shook his head, leering at her. "It's hard to fathom that one who was marked by two archangels would perform such a disgraceful act as sin-eating."
Viola quietly seethed, his cold tone reminding her of Billy Johnson when he'd left her alone on the football field. Who were these two to judge her? They hadn't sacrificed what she had: time with their family, a safe bed to sleep in, a future of their own making. She'd resigned herself to a life of demons and blood because it would save lives. Meanwhile, these worthless little pricks stood in their pristine clothes judging others—condemning her. Viola flexed her fist, feeling strange without the weight of the shovel in her hand. And its absence made it that much harder to resist her anger.
While the young priest stoked the fire, the older priest walked toward her. He'd been talking, but she hadn't been listening. Not that he'd noticed. "—They should have reminded you that you exist to serve God and the church, not usurp it, not to be the judge and jury."
Viola clenched her teeth, a thousand daggers behind her glare. "He was my husband."
The priest halted only feet away and met her gaze, this time really seeing her. "You would do it again, wouldn't you?" He shook his head at the realization. "Even knowing it would end here, you would still break our sacred laws and consume his sin."
She sneered, knowing the truth of it down to her blackened soul. "You're damn right I would."
31
Some of Viola's guilt and anguish lifted, making room for the anger bubbling beneath the surface. She'd done the right thing. Maybe not in the long run, maybe not when held under the light of strict ethics, but it was the right decision for her. Letting Ian burn in eternal fire wasn't an option that she could live with. He deserved Heaven and that's what she gave him.
"You exorcists are all the same in the end." The older priest shook his head, curling his lip in disgust. "Twisted by the evil you hunt."
Viola gaped. He couldn't be serious. "I'm twisted because I saved a good man's soul?"
"Not yet, but you're well on your way." There was a knowing in the old man's eyes, and Viola had to wonder how many exorcists he'd encountered during his life. "An exorcist will do anything to triumph over evil. In time, they become arrogant, reckless, and jaded."
Viola couldn't argue with that. She was already three for three there. "We are what we need to be."
"You sacrificed your soul." The emphasis he put on the words told her that he believed that choice to be unthinkable. She'd forsaken God's greatest gift. Staring into her eyes, he clasped his hands together. "Don't you think that's going too far? How long before you start sacrificing others?"
"I would never." Viola blinked, practically choking on the accusation. "My soul was my own to sacrifice."
"I can't see your soul or feel sin the way you can." He turned away from her and placed his hands on the edges of a pew, his gaze lifting to the stained-glass windows. "How dark is it?"
Viola pursed her lips, not wanting to answer. Even though the church helped lift the sins from her shoulders, her soul was still a black pit of nasty. And as she'd feared, because they weren't her sins to begin with, she couldn't confess them away.
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe there was a reason that sin-eating was banned?" he murmured, a touch of sympathy in his voice. "How long before that darkness starts to change you?"
Viola felt her heart drop from her chest. The sin was going to change her? Nausea rolled through her stomach. That was a repercussion she hadn't anticipated. But then, Vi hadn't given herself time to think about it. Ian's immortal soul was in danger and she acted. Personal consequences be damned.
"If you can't fix my soul, then I will," Viola rushed out, refusing to feel any regret or fear. She wasn't the kind who gave up, even if figuring this out took most of her life. "I don't know how yet, but the inspiration will come, and I'll save my own soul."
"No, you won't. The punishment for sin-eating is clear. You are to be excommunicated." He twisted, unwavering certainty in his dark eyes. "Soon you'll no longer receive divine inspiration or feel the pull of sin. You'll be like everyone else. You… and you're doomed soul."
Viola's mouth went dry, taking away any retort she might have had. This was it. She'd condemned herself with a single act of love and desperation. Anxiety rippled along her skin as she tried to face a life of utter normalcy—a life she was wholly unprepared for.
The church door squeaked open and a middle-aged man popped his head in. "Pa
dre?"
"Ah, you've come just in time." The older priest turned away from Vi and went to put an arm around the stranger. "I'm afraid this can't be done with only two sets of hands."
The man's jeans and flannel were dusty. Work clothes. He had large hands, likely layered with callouses. Vi pegged him as a good churchgoer, hoping to help the local parish in any way he could. Was this what he had in mind?
"What did you need my help for?" He peered at Viola in all her tattooed glory.
"Well, this is going to seem strange and probably awful to you. But this is just how things are done." The priest then went on to explain the full situation. To his credit, the newcomer took the revelation of exorcists and demons shockingly well. Viola tuned out as that familiar tug pulled at her soul. She peered at the front door, wanting so badly to do her job. But the older priest's voice drew her attention again. "Do you understand?"
"Sí." The stranger nodded eagerly. "What do you need me to do?"
"I'll need the two of you to hold her still." The older priest waved the younger one away from the fire. "No matter how much she struggles or begs you to let her go, you mustn't."
The stranger glanced nervously at Viola. Wariness passed through his eyes. Guess he wasn't really into holding women down against their will.
She crossed her arms. "Don't worry, I'm here of my own volition."
Sorta.
Satisfied, the man exhaled and nodded. He went to Viola's side as the young priest flanked her. Wondering what was about to happen, Vi shifted anxiously and watched the older priest cross the platform to the fire pit.
