by Lindsay Mead
"Aren't you the woman everyone is talking about?" the stranger whispered. "The Lady of Death incarnate?"
Before she could answer, the older priest dragged one of the pokers from the fire. Its pointed end was red hot, causing Vi's veins to run cold with fear. "Not for much longer."
Her body tensed as the older priest approached. Heat rolled off the poker, distorting the air around it. Someone whispered in Vi's ear. She glanced at the young priest and realized that it was in her head. More whispers came—no, they weren't whispers. They were faint cries for help.
Licking her lips, Vi attempted to tune them out and forced her eyes back to the poker. It would all be over soon. Somehow that poker would end the voices. It would take away the tug, her need and ability to help others. Her pulse pounded, she just had to get through this.
As if in response, the tug yanked on Viola's soul so hard that she stepped back. Her body was going to answer the call, even if she didn't want to. The younger priest and the stranger grabbed her arms. She tried to pull away as the voices grew louder, but the men held her tight.
"Someone needs my help," she pleaded, realizing that it wasn't just someone. It was a thousand someones. People all over the world who'd soon need her, people she was meant to save. "This is a mistake. I shouldn't be here."
"It's too late for that now," the older priest said calmly and looked at the other two. "Face her palms toward the ceiling."
"No, you don't understand." Viola attempted to free herself as the tug became a grating, awful ache. The voices pounded in her mind, overwhelming her with visions of their faces. "I won't let you do this."
It appeared the older priest was right. Exorcists would do anything to save others. In fact, Viola was going to hurt these men to do it. Adrenaline surged through her body, mingled with the desire to fight, and gave her the strength she needed.
Viola wrenched her arm forward, dragging the younger priest with. The sudden movement threw him off balance and Vi jerked her elbow back. The hard bone connected with his cheek, sending him sprawling toward the pews.
With surprise on her side, she jabbed her freed fist toward the stranger. But he was faster. His much larger fist plowed into her temple before she could make contact. Stars exploded in her eyes and the floor came up to meet her.
As Viola struggled to get her bearings, the stranger's work-horse arm wrapped around her neck and he hoisted her to her knees. She sputtered and gasped under his surprisingly cruel and unforgiving grip. He could so easily end her with a twist, and it felt like he wanted her to know that. She feebly clawed at his arm, the voices in her mind banging like a drumbeat.
"Well done," the older priest said to the stranger.
Having recovered, the younger priest grabbed her arm and forced it to extend. Viola cried out as she tried to resist. It was futile. These men weren't demons, she couldn't channel divine power to smite them with Latin words. Worse yet, no amount of struggle was going to get her free. If Big Man could see her now, there'd be hell to pay.
The younger priest peeled open her fingers. Tears rolled down her cheeks, disappearing into the stranger's shirt. She felt so helpless, like all of those victims she was never going to help.
"The Archangel Azriel was there when I did it," Viola desperately blurted. The older priest hesitated, the hot poker held aloft, as she watched him through blurry eyes. "If what I did was wrong, why wouldn't he have stopped me?"
The older priest's brow furrowed in brief consideration. "Perhaps it is not his job to stop you."
Viola pointlessly fought the arms holding her. "Why would he have then come to mark me with his blessing?"
The memory of the angel at her side flooded Viola's mind. The way Azriel had touched her cheek, told her that she wasn't helpless and to bid Ian farewell. He'd refused to abandon her afterward. Then the Archangel had come to give her his blessed mark, and again later to claim her as his exorcist. Wasn't that enough to convince them?
To her surprise, the older priest seemed to think on it. But then it all came crashing down when he shook his head. His mind was made up.
"The precepts of the Lord and of the Apostles speak clearly about what to do with such prevaricators. For the Lord says, 'Wherefore if thy hand or thy foot offends thee, cut them off and cast them from thee.'" He lowered the poker toward Viola's outstretched hand. Heat poured off it in biting waves over the crosses stained into her skin. "Therefore, carrying out the precepts of the Lord and of the Apostles, let us take from the body with the iron rods of excommunication."
"No," Viola whimpered.
Fear and grief consumed her. She tried again to pull herself free, but the two men gripped her tighter. The voices and the tug buffeted her senses. She stared at the poker, seeing it lower toward her palm in slow motion.
The older priest laid the hot metal against her skin. Agony ripped through her hand. Viola's body jerked as an uncontrolled scream tore from her lungs. Her eyes went wide, yet she saw nothing. The pain was all she knew. It even silenced the voices.
"Hold her steady!" the priest growled as he rolled the fiery poker over the entirety of her palm.
Tendrils of gray smoke rose from where the hot metal touched her skin. She writhed, screamed from the pain. Her skin was melting. The stench of sizzling flesh stung her nose. The pain was red, scorching her nerves again and again.
When the older priest finally withdrew the poker, the pain didn't go with it. The younger priest released her arm and she yanked her burned hand against her chest. She wept, this time tears of torment and fear. Her hand felt like it was on fire, but the stranger still didn't let her go. The young priest went to her other side and dragged her left hand away from her body.
"No," Viola begged, her eyes refocusing on the older priest.
He returned the poker to the fire, then grabbed a fresh one. Its pointed end flamed red and orange, the metal popping from the immense heat. Sweat on his brow, the older priest didn't look at her. His unfriendly, determined gaze was glued to her unmarred hand. Fear roared in her chest and ripped from her throat in a wretched wail.
"Please, don't do this." The pain was unbearable. How could they do this to someone? How could they do this and still have clean souls? The older priest hovered above Viola, still ignoring her. She clenched her teeth as rage tainted her fear. "You're monsters."
His eyes flicked to her then. There was no disagreement in his expression. Only grave acceptance.
"You're all monsters," she managed to grind out before the poker met her skin and turned her words into screams.
Every second the metal scorched her delicate skin, it felt like an eternity. The pain, the fear, and the unheeded screams—it all melded together. Her vision went dark and her ears quit listening, her senses too overwhelmed by the pain. Viola knew it was over when she collapsed to the cold floor. Her hands curled into her chest as if she could protect them. They still felt like fire.
At the edges of her vision, the three men stood over her. She wanted to hurt them. She wanted to make them pay. Visions of their torment danced through her mind; dreams where she burned them slowly and called cruel demons to possess them for all eternity. For a moment, the thoughts felt real and it filled her with a vengeful justice that briefly sated her anger. But her ragged breaths and cold tears pulled her back to reality. The nerves in her hands, the ones that were still alive, roared silently from the fire. Viola whimpered, wishing she could return to the pain-induced hallucinations.
"We declare her excommunicated and anathematized"—came the older priest's murmured voice. The cross of a rosary dangled in front of her eyes. Her body trembling involuntarily, she shifted to get a better look at the older priest. He was kneeling beside her, but there was no sympathy in his eyes. No emotion at all—"as well as judge her condemned to eternal fire with Satan and his angels. So be it."
Betrayal stabbed at her heart. Viola had known she would be punished, that she'd likely be excommunicated, but she hadn't expected it to be like this. He studied
her wilted form, waiting for her to acknowledge the end of the rite.
She met his gaze straight on, fighting through the pain, and snarled, "fuck—you."
"Get her up." He stood, and the two men grabbed her arms. They hauled her to her feet without care of her hands or weakened state. The older priest headed towards the fire. "I now believe it best that we remove the angel marks as well."
The handprints on her shoulder and around her wrist burned in disapproval. It was nothing compared to the fire in her hands, but she still felt it. It reminded her of when the angels chose her by placing their hands upon her body and granting her their power. It reminded her of every demon she fought, every time the heavenly power came to her aid. This bastard had no right to take these marks from her.
Viola clenched her jaw, her chest heaving from pained breaths. She couldn't fight. All of her energy went into handling the pain. Fear of further torment kept her awake, gave her the strength to glare. She wouldn't beg this time, if she could stand not to. No, this time, she would curse them with her every exhale.
The older priest yanked a poker from the fire. Sparks swept into the air before blinking out. He pointed the fiery end toward the ceiling, taking a moment to admire its glow.
A gunshot blasted against the quiet night. They all flinched, including Viola, as small bits of ceiling rained down on them. The two men holding her let go and dove for cover. Twisting, Vi was hardly surprised at the face she saw—Aaron.
32
Hurrying toward them, Aaron lowered his gun from the ceiling and pointed it at the older priest. That blond swath of wispy hair was a sight for sore eyes. Aaron's chest heaved, his face flush from exertion.
"Aaron, what are you doing?" Her eyes widened in warning.
He shouldn't be here. He was risking everything, but it was too late for her. She was already excommunicated. The voices, the tug was gone.
Aaron ignored her question and studied the other men. They stayed silent, not moving to stop the gun-wielding priest. Aaron held his hand out to her. "Get behind me."
"It's too late." She flipped out her palms to show him the missing crosses and mutilated flesh. "The excommunication is done. Don't give them a reason to take away your collar."
His irises flared at the sight of her charred palms; an unusual flash of rage for the mild-mannered stepbrother. He flexed his grip around the gun, his gaze jumping to her face. "God sent me, Viola."
Her breath caught. "You can still hear him?"
Hope ignited deep in her chest. If Aaron could hear God, maybe she wasn't done as an exorcist after all. Still cradling her hands against her chest, Viola could feel her wishful heart pounding against her wrists as she moved behind her stepbrother.
"He hasn't abandoned us yet," Aaron murmured and touched her shoulder as she passed, confidence ringing in his voice. "Lana!"
Viola turned as her assistant pushed open the front door and jogged toward them. Her long black locks fluttered behind her, her brown eyes skirting nervously over the scene. Vi was surprised, but grateful, to see her. For the first time since losing Ian, she didn't feel totally alone.
"Are you okay?" Lana mouthed as she neared, worry curving her eyebrows.
Viola barely nodded in response. Her hands were scorched, her body's resilience overtaxed. But the sight of her friends, their support, was almost as good as a healing balm to her poor skin.
"God sent you?" The older priest stepped closer, tilting his head in disbelief.
"This was wrong, Padre. You should never have laid hands on her." Aaron lifted his gun in subtle warning. The older priest halted, taking the hint. Continuing to stare at the man, Aaron said to Lana, "Get Viola's things."
With a nod, she hurried toward the altar. Lana watched the stranger and the young priest wearily, but they remained crouched between the pews. Aaron backed Viola toward the door as Lana made it to the podium where the shovel and locket waited.
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" The older priest scowled.
"You know I have been chosen to hear the word of God." He licked his lips, his eyes continually darting between the three men. "To question me is blasphemous."
"Is it God's word that you should brandish a gun at his practitioners?" The older priest raised his voice as Lana hurried back toward Aaron with the sacred relics. Not missing a beat, she snatched Vi's leather jacket from the pew along the way. When Aaron didn't answer the question, the older priest stepped around the dais. "Perhaps I should call the authorities."
"Let God be your guide." Keeping the gun trained on the man, Aaron pulled open the door for Viola and Lana. "Hurry."
A cold breeze from a distant storm slipped around Viola's fingers like a healing embrace. She angled her palms outward in the hopes of catching more of that small kindness. With the sun beginning to rise, the sky was shifting from black to shades of pink and yellow. After the torment she'd experienced, this felt like paradise.
Lana rushed past Viola to a rusty gray car waiting at the base of the church steps. It was parked haphazardly as if Aaron had barely stopped the vehicle before jumping out. Her stepbrother lowered his gun and followed behind Viola, letting the church door glide shut on its own.
Struggling to juggle all of Vi's things, Lana opened the passenger door. "In you go, boss."
Viola fell into the seat. Life was a lot harder when she couldn't use her hands. She wiggled around, holding her hands protectively away, and awkwardly got herself settled. Her eyes narrowed on the Saint Michael medallion hanging from the rearview mirror. Hopefully, the archangel would keep them safe in their escape. Lana leaned over her to help with the seatbelt as Aaron raced around the front of the car.
"Get in the car, Lana," he ordered and opened his door.
With the seatbelt handled, Lana closed Viola's door for her and jumped in the backseat. Aaron grabbed some wires beneath the steering wheel. When he touched them together they sparked twice before the car grumbled to life. Vi stared at him in awe, realizing that he'd stolen the car. Normally he left the lawbreaking to Viola and Lana but, apparently, he'd been paying attention. She was so proud.
The church doors flew open and the stranger ran out to stop them. His bravery was too late. Aaron slammed his foot on the gas and the car jerked forward. The force of their acceleration caused her hands to land against her chest. She hissed as pain seared through her palms.
"Sorry," Aaron mumbled, peering her way.
"It's all right." Viola let Lana lean between the seats to examine the burns. "I can't believe you came for me. I can't believe you can still hear God."
Viola shook her head, still not able to comprehend it, as Aaron steered the car out of town. The rising sun was ahead of them with the edge of town already at their backs. It felt like they were fleeing all of the terrible things that had happened, and that maybe somehow things would be okay from this point on.
But that wasn't true. Viola felt wrong. She felt empty and dull. She never realized how much being an exorcist had enhanced her sensitivity to the world around her. Now, Vi couldn't even feel the weight of the sins tied to her soul. She felt like an empty vessel, save for the constant sorrow sitting at the edge of her physical pain and horror.
"This is my fault," Aaron interrupted her silent self-examination. He raked a hand through his hair, dragging his palm over his pale face. "I never should have gotten so far away from you. If I'd have been near, I could have prevented that bastard from hurting you. I should have been there when…" his voice trailed, unable to say that Ian was dead. With sadness glimmering in his eyes, Aaron gazed at her. "I'm sorry about Ian."
Heartache overtook the pain in her hands and tears sprang to her eyes. Viola dropped her head, placing the back of her hand to her mouth as sobs nearly choked her. Ian was gone, and it felt as if she'd always feel his absence. It was remarkable—and cruel—how quickly two souls could become attached. Aaron placed a hand on her back, caressing her shoulder in small gentle circles.
"None of this is your fa
ult. None of this is anyone's fault," Viola croaked out. She leaned against her seat allowing Aaron's hand to trail to her arm. He stopped short of holding her hand. The guilt had to go. There was nothing either of them could have done to change things. "God knows that we could never have anticipated any of this."
"We need to take her to a hospital," Lana said from the backseat after a long stretch of silence. "You're trembling bad, boss."
Aaron's comfort had helped to calm her, but the tremors refused to leave her hands. "It just really hurts. Could you turn on the AC? The cool air helps."
Aaron let go of her arm to fiddle with the knobs on the dash. He pushed the AC button hard and a gust of hot, musty air spewed onto them. Clicking sounds came from the vents, followed by a wheezy cough—and the air cut out. Aaron twisted a few knobs, then hit the AC button again. No response.
He slammed his hand against the dash. "Dammit!"
Viola laid her head back while Aaron pressed the buttons on his door. Both front windows slid down. Cool, early morning air rushed to fill the stuffy car. She turned out her hands, letting the wind caress her burns. Viola sighed in relief and watched the silver medallion swing in the chaotic breeze.
They rode in silence for miles. Vi closed her eyes, lulled by the droning wind. The painful throbbing in her palms filled her mind and she let it. She was too tired to fight. Her body was wrecked by a deep exhaustion and hunger. Accepting the pain, the sorrow, the emptiness made it easier to cope somehow.
The vibration of the car suddenly stopped, the engine falling silent after a clug…clug…clug. Viola opened her eyes and glanced around. Aaron held his hands above the steering wheel, his brows furrowed with confused frustration.
"What's wrong?" Instinctively, Vi peered out at the surrounding desert before realizing that she couldn't see demons anymore.
"I don't know." Aaron dropped his hands and shrugged his shoulders. "No strange sound. No engine light. The car just shut off."
Lana appeared between the seats. "Try to start it again. Pump the gas."
