Splitsville (Rise of the Discordant Book 2)

by Christina McMullen

  I mentally put that information aside and gloated inwardly. To be honest, I didn’t want Jem to be the one to find the wraith. I wanted to do it.

  “But he wasn’t lost,” Jem argued. “That’s the part I can’t explain. He just had this really evil feeling about him and everyone we had saved was lost after they talked to him. Ask Nai,” he said, looking over at me. “She felt the weirdness too.”

  “You met with the counselor too?” Desmond asked.

  “No. Jem caught me before I went in,” I said. “But yeah, there’s a really bad vibe in that office. I noticed it when we registered as well. Mr. Marsden may not be the host, but he’s definitely fu… er… messed up.” I caught myself before the ‘f’ word came out. Desmond, like most hypocritical adults, took issue with my language.

  “Marsden,” Desmond repeated and walked over to the desk where his laptop sat. “Marsden,” he muttered again. “Gary Marsden?”

  “Not sure,” Jem said.

  “Yeah, I think that’s it,” I said. “The nameplate on his door says G. Marsden.”

  Desmond read something on his screen and looked up at Jem. “And you say he wasn’t lost?”

  “Nope,” Jem shook his head.

  “Hang on,” Desmond muttered as he typed. “Yep, that’s him,” he said, sitting back with a sigh. “Mr. Marsden went missing earlier this summer while hiking in Oklahoma. He showed up last week with no recollection of what had happened. Both Seth and Bogie saw him in the bar and they both claim he was lost, but he disappeared before they could do anything. This is extremely suspicious, but it doesn’t jive with anything you’ve described.”

  “He was probably possessed when he was hiking,” I said. “That’s probably why he didn’t come back. He was probably on a killing spree or something.”

  “I’m sure we’d have heard about a killing spree, but you are on the right track. I do not doubt that something possessed him,” Desmond said with a frown. “But it wasn’t the wraith, that’s for sure.”

  “So what do we do now?” I asked, eager to work on something more interesting than fixing the problems of idiot teenagers.

  “Now? You two need to get your butts back to school.”

  “But…” I started, but Desmond cut me off.

  “No buts. I have work to do and I don’t want to have to come down to the school for a disciplinary meeting.”

  “Hey wait!” Jem said suddenly. “That’s a good idea. If we get in trouble, you’ll probably have to talk to Mr. Marsden and then you can see if you can figure out what’s wrong with him.”

  Desmond stopped to consider this for a moment.

  “Okay, then get your butts down to Louie’s Diner. The truancy officer usually makes the rounds there.”

  “But then we’ll just end up back at school,” I pointed out.

  “Which means I can kill two birds with one stone,” Desmond informed me with a smug smile.

  “Ugh!” I huffed and stormed out the front door. If we were lucky, we might be able to get some cheese fries before the school thugs showed up.

  * * *

  “What was I thinking?” Jem moaned for the fiftieth time in two minutes.

  “Will you shut up?” I hissed. “God, it’s detention, not Guantanamo.”

  We didn’t even get a chance to walk into the diner, let alone order any food before we were grabbed by the truancy officer. Desmond swore he had nothing to do with that, but I didn’t believe him for a minute. Jem, of course, went straight into freak out mode. Seriously, he was the only person I’ve ever known who actually believed that things went on his ‘permanent record.’

  Detention was no big deal. The only thing that sucked was that they confiscated our phones. Our old school didn’t do that. I made a mental note to check the thrift stores for a junky old phone that I could hand over in the future because I was pretty sure this wasn’t going to be my last time in detention and I still had work to do.

  “But it didn’t even work,” Jem said with an annoying sigh. “All they did was call Desmond and tell him we had detention.”

  “Jem, you’re a friggin’ idiot,” I reminded him. “If you knew anything at all about getting detention, you would know that they don’t have a meeting after your first offense. You’re going to have to do this at least four or five more times.”

  “What? Oh, heck no I’m not! I do not need juvenile delinquent on my permanent record.”

  “The only thing your permanent record says is that you’re a loser and an idiot. Now shut up! I’m thinking and I’d like to not be interrupted again.”

  We didn’t meet with Mr. Marsden, but when we were brought into the office, I was nearly knocked over by whatever was in there. Jem was right, it was definitely an unbalanced force, but what I wasn’t expecting was its effect on me. As agents of Order, we were supposed to be immune to Discordant influence, but for some reason, the energy in Mr. Marsden’s office made me angry. Like, really angry. I had to use all of my resolve not to run in there and start punching things. This didn’t make any sense. None of the Discordant I had read about were known for making people angry. I mean, some could send people into a jealous rage or make them super paranoid, but that wasn’t what I felt. Now I was more than a little pissed that Jem made me miss my meeting. I needed to see this guy for myself, and more importantly, beat whatever it was that possessed him.

  Since we had to stay a full hour after school, Seth was already home when we got there. He and Desmond had ordered a pizza in an attempt to apologize for making us have detention. It was a good thing because making us eat their cooking would have just been another round of unfair punishment. Our mom used to do all the cooking, so neither Jem nor I could do much more than heat up stuff in the microwave, but we were practically gourmet chefs compared to those guys.

  “I talked to Harry today,” Seth told Desmond. “He’s free to meet us tomorrow morning.”

  “Who’s Harry?” Jem asked.

  “The caretaker at St. Anthony’s church,” Seth replied. “And a powerful mystic. I’m hoping he can give us some insight into how to catch the wraith.”

  “I thought the church frowned on magic and stuff like that,” I said.

  “Miracles are magic,” Jem countered.

  “Miracles are faked to get money,” I shot back.

  “Mysticism and miracles are not quite the same thing,” Seth intervened. “Catholicism is the mystic sect of Christianity, but you are correct, most modern clergy denounce the existence of magic and classify miracles as something entirely different. But there are some who follow the ancient practices and commune with spirits. For the record, we are the spirits.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “So mystics know what we are, yet they still believe in God or hippie spirits or whatever? Why?”

  “Because the various interpretations of religion are what maintain balance in the realm of Order,” Seth explained. “Mystics have a higher understanding of this balance, but their personal convictions are instrumental in their rationalization of that which exists outside the realm of normal.”

  “Huh?” Jem asked, echoing my exact thought.

  “The knowledge of the Cycle, that is, the information imparted upon us by the Creator, is too much for the human mind to comprehend,” Desmond explained. “In addition to balance, religious conviction adds a layer of rationalization and obfuscates that which would bring about madness.”

  “But unfortunately, there are occasionally those who discover the Ultimate Truth on their own,” Seth added. “Their minds cannot sustain so much knowledge and typically end their lives or wind up in psychiatric treatment centers.”

  “So religion keeps people sane,” Jem said, flashing me a smug look.

  “In a matter of speaking,” Seth conceded.

  “Whatever,” I said rolling my eyes. All I had to do was look at the headlines in the news to prove that theory wrong.

  * * *

  When Seth said we were going to the church to meet Harry, I thought he was
talking about the one at the end of our street, but no, he meant the big-ass church way on the other side of town that sat up on this huge mountain. We weren’t even halfway up and my legs were burning.

  “Seriously, why do we have to walk everywhere?”

  “Because it’s better for the environment and there’s no point in driving if we’re only going a half mile,” Seth informed me.

  “Half mile, my ass,” I muttered. We’d seriously been walking way longer than that.

  “It’ll end up a half mile wide with that attitude,” Desmond quipped. “A little exercise never killed anyone, Nai.”

  “Ugh! Rude! I don’t like to sweat.”

  “Which is why you need to leave the monster hunting to me,” he said, taking on a serious tone. “Ninety percent of my job is physical.”

  “Whatever,” I scoffed. I’m sure he probably had to walk around looking for Discordant, but I’ve seen some of the weapons Desmond used and I doubted very much that he spent all his time running for his life.

  I never liked churches. Especially old cathedrals. This was one of the reasons I became an atheist. Or tried to anyway. I still think Pete was just trying to scare me. I mean, in a way, I was right. God wasn’t really real. The Creator wasn’t really God, so no one could really tell me I was wrong. But whatever, I still hated these musty old churches. Something about the way the smelly incense clung to the thick carpeting made me feel like I was suffocating. St. Anthony’s was no different.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true. There was something strange about this church. The one we went to back home never seemed to pulse with magical energy and I don’t remember the holy water shimmering like a pool of gold either.

  “Whoa!” Jem whispered as he looked around. “Do you feel that?”

  “What you’re feeling is the mystical energy,” Seth explained. “As an agent of Order, you are able to sense places of magic here within the cycle. This church is imbued with that energy, even though the current clergy do not condone mysticism.”

  I was still transfixed by the holy water. I always thought that was the biggest scam the church had going, but there was definitely a powerful current of energy coming from the basin.

  “Careful, Nai,” Jem said in a teasing voice. “That’s holy water. You might burst into flames.”

  I knew that it had properties that strengthened weapons against some types of Discordant. I might have been the evil twin, but I wasn’t a Discordant, so I rolled my eyes at Jem and stuck my hand into the basin. Nothing happened, but it was fun watching him flinch.

  “Hey! Get your hands out of there, kid! Holy water is for praying, not playing.”

  I pulled my hand out of the basin and looked up at the old man who had joined us. His face was pulled downward in a frown that reminded me of that grumpy internet cat that everyone thinks is so funny. He probably thought his line about praying not playing was clever and had a whole bunch of other corny sayings as well. From the faint glow that I could feel more than see, I guessed that this was Harry, the guy we had come to see.

  “Thank you for meeting us on such short notice,” Seth said, giving the guy a disarming smile that seemed to have no effect. He was still staring at me, though now he looked more fascinated. He turned to Jem, then back at me, and finally noticed Desmond, who got an even bigger reaction out of the guy before he turned his scowl to Seth.

  “Seth, you here to warn me that the end of times is a comin’?” He turned to Desmond. “No offense, but I ain’t never seen a Warrior in Blackbird before. Hell, I thought you guys were an urban legend.”

  “Quite frankly, I’m surprised I’m the first,” Desmond said and introduced himself. “Blackbird seems rather active for a place protected by just a handful of mystics.”

  “We do what we can. At least, some of us do,” he muttered, adding under his breath about heathens and desecrating sacred property.

  “Again, Harry, please don’t blame the coven. The damage was entirely my fault. I’m the one who invoked an angel.” By Seth’s exasperated tone, I could tell he’d had this conversation before. Not surprising, considering how close-minded the church was to the idea of alternative religions, especially pagans. Harry grumbled again, but let it go as his eyes fell on me and Jem again.

  “These are the new Guardians I was telling you about,” Seth said by way of introduction. He began explaining about our split souls, but Harry interrupted him, waving his hand in front of his face like he was swatting invisible gnats.

  “I know what they are. I just wanna know why. Seems somethin’ is off about these two.”

  “I beg your pardon?” I said, pulling myself up.

  “You heard me,” Harry said dismissively and looked over at Seth. “You don’t feel it?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you are referring to,” he said apologetically.

  “Could be nothing…” Harry muttered and turned his beady eyes back to me. “You there.”

  “My name is Nai,” I said shortly.

  “You there, Nai,” he continued with a puff of exasperation. “What did you feel when you stuck your hand in the holy water?”

  “Um, water? A wet hand?”

  “Don’t sass me, young lady. What else. Did it hurt? Did you feel a surge of energy?”

  “No,” I shook my head. “I mean I can sense the energy coming off of it, but it did nothing to me.”

  “You then, boy,” He pointed his finger at Jem, who shrank visibly. “What do you see?”

  “Um, it’s holy water…” Jem stammered. “I can feel the energy too.”

  “Stick your hand in it,” Harry commanded.

  “Um, okay,” Jem reached out and dunked his hand in the basin. “What the heck?”

  I leaned forward, we all did. When Jem put his hand in, the water jumped away, as if repulsed by him.

  “Wow, Jem,” I quipped. “What dark secrets do you have?”

  “W-what? N-nothing!” he spluttered, looking more scared than I had ever seen him. “What’s happening?”

  “I’m not quite sure,” Seth said with a frown, turning to Desmond, who shook his head, indicating that he had no idea either.

  “What was supposed to happen?” I asked, a little nervous, though I’d never admit it.

  “You should have felt the energy, but also a repulsion,” Desmond said. “Jem should have felt a calming effect. A typical Guardian would have felt neutral power as Guardians do not wield holy weapons.”

  Well that was interesting. Instead of repulsion, I was drawn to the energy that the holy water was giving off. I was going to ask if that meant I could wield a holy weapon, but thought better of it when a plan began to form in the back of my brain.

  “Whatever,” I shrugged. “We aren’t here to talk about how weird Jem and I are, are we?”

  “Weird don’t begin to cover it, Missy,” Harry said, still eyeing me like I was going to spontaneously burst into flames or pull a knife on him or something. “Can’t say that I know for sure, but I reckon something more than divine intervention had a hand in splitting the soul.” Seth looked like he was going to say something, but Harry pressed on. “But that ain’t none of my business. What was the urgent matter you wanted my help with?” he asked Seth.

  “We have reason to believe that there is a wraith in the area,” Seth explained, still looking like he wanted to say something about Jem and I’s souls.

  “A wraith?” Harry looked confused. “I ain’t never heard of one of those.”

  Seth explained what a wraith was and why he thought there was one in Blackbird. When he was done, Harry shook his head.

  “I’m not sure a normal exorcism is going to work, even if you find the host.”

  “Why is that?” Desmond asked. “Doesn’t the church have artifacts that can be used as a vessel to hold the Discordant?”

  “The Catholic Church does, yes, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to go to Rome if you want that kind of help.”

  “I don’t understand,” said
Seth. “We’ve used vessels from this church in the past.”

  “The type of demon you’re describing ain’t gonna be held by the type of artifacts we have at our disposal. Not even wood of the cross is strong enough.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Wood of the cross, from everything I read, was a powerful artifact that was used to kill all types of Discordant. It wasn’t actual wood from the cross that was used to crucify Jesus, but that was what it symbolized. It was wood that had soaked up the blood of a martyr. Still, it was as rare as it was morbid, so if this church had it, I was actually impressed, and wondered how I could get my hands on some.

  Seth and Desmond both paled for some reason.

  “I see,” Desmond said with a sigh. “For everyone’s sake, I do hope you are incorrect, though it is not likely.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, wondering if anyone was going to let us in on what just ruined their day.

  “Harry is implying that we need a corpus vessel,” Desmond explained.

  “Corpus,” I said, remembering the word from dad’s research. “That means body.”

  “You mean we have to do a human sacrifice?” Jem asked, horrified.

  “No,” Seth assured him. “A corpus vessel is an artifact that was once part of a living being, usually a saint, a pure soul, or someone who led an otherwise pious life.”

  “Typically, the heart is required,” Desmond added, “but there have been noted exceptions.”

  “I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jem moaned. I, however, was fascinated.

  “You mean the Preservation Knights are real?” I asked. Father had once told me about a secret society who went around collecting and preserving the hearts of important historical figures. Of course, he told me that this was just a story and most likely grave robbers were the ones responsible for the desecrations. Harry narrowed his eyes at me.

  “Now how would you know about that?” he asked, adding, “For the record, it’s not Preservation, it’s Resurrection. The Resurrection Knights of the Holy Roman Empire.”

  “Father was an historian,” I explained, feeling indignant for some reason. By the way Harry was now staring at me, you would have thought I had told him that pickling hearts was my favorite past time. “Other kids were read Goodnight Moon, we got myths and legends as our bedtime stories.”