Dark Vessel: An Urban Fantasy Series (Meredith Bale Book 3)

by DC Malone

  “I did. A lot and all day. I just kept getting your voice mail.”

  “Oh.” I suddenly remembered how Gwen said she’d always call before showing up. And I also remembered immediately shutting off my phone so she wouldn’t have the option.

  “Did you have anything of interest to report?” I asked, fishing my phone out of my jacket and thumbing it to life.

  “Nothing good,” Hiram said. “I inquired with those monks. Let’s just say getting any details about the demon from them was frustrating. The dribs and drabs that I finally managed to squeeze out of them only confirmed what I already feared. Lechbaalmet is an exceedingly powerful demon, but like all demons, his time here is limited. But unlike lesser demons, there is no simple way of banishing him from this plane before his allotted time is up. There is no way of un-summoning him, outside of the, ah, direct method.

  “The priest,” I replied.

  “That is correct. He can sacrifice himself—”

  “Which he tried,” I interrupted. “I stopped him, but even if I hadn’t, Lechbaalmet would have.”

  Hiram nodded. “Or he can be sacrificed.”

  I sighed. We were back to that, then. Give the demon what he wanted or kill a priest. Or do nothing and watch the priest and a lot of other people die anyway. What did it say about a situation when the best option seemed to be murdering a man of the cloth?

  My phone finally finished booting, letting everyone in the bar know that fact by blaring some infuriating jingle at the full decibel level of a foghorn, and then promptly informed me that I had eight new voicemails.

  “You left eight messages just to tell me pretty much what we already knew!?”

  “Eight?” Hiram shook his head. “I left one.”

  Seven other messages. Outside of Hiram and Francie, and occasionally Luka, people didn’t call me all that often. I felt something cold slither down my back as I pressed the icon to listen to my first message.

  It was from Carter.

  Chapter 22

  All seven of the messages were exactly the same. They were so exactly the same, as a matter of fact, that I first took them for some kind of duplication error with the voicemail service. But I quickly realized they had different time stamps, each subsequent message coming almost precisely thirty minutes after the last. Plus, there were some subtle changes to the background noises that served as an undercurrent to Carter’s robotic voice.

  And speaking of his voice.

  I thumbed the one button on my phone’s screen to replay one of the messages, this time putting it on speakerphone so Hiram and Francie could hear. Francie finished locking up after shooing the last of the stragglers out the door, then walked over to join Hiram beside me to listen.

  “Meredith.” There was a two or three-second pause, the same as with the other messages, like Carter was trying to remember why he was calling me. “Meredith.” When he repeated my name, there was a little more focus in his voice, but it wasn’t just his voice there this time. It was overlayed by a deep, whispery rasp that I was already coming to know too well. “There has been a change of plan. Your search for my vessel need not continue. This one comes to me willingly, and the transfer will be all the better for that. The deadline stands, but I advise you to hasten your return. I grow impatient. You know what you must do.”

  “That wasn’t Carter, was it?” Francie folded her arms across her chest like she was fighting a sudden chill in the air.

  “It was Carter speaking, but it was also the demon,” I said. “Do you think he—they—were telling the truth?”

  “About what?” Hiram asked.

  “About Carter going to the demon willingly, volunteering to be its vessel.”

  “Of course not,” Francie replied. “It’s a demon, Mer. That’s what they do. Lie.”

  I wasn’t as sure about it as she was. A lot of Carter’s personality remained intact after the demon corrupted him. If the demon had somehow communicated this plan of his to Carter, it seemed more than possible that Carter would have volunteered to make the sacrifice. This case was at least as much his as it was mine, and I knew he would feel responsible for the loss of life that might still occur if he didn’t do something. In his mind, acting as the vessel would even prevent the death of anyone else who might be willing to do the same.

  “This may not be the worst option,” Hiram said.

  “We are not letting that man give up his life so a demon can run around our city.” Francie tried to skewer Hiram with one of her best guilt trip stares, but he avoided the blow by staring at me instead.

  “Just hear me out,” Hiram continued. “Carter is willing—he’s a protector by calling. So, this is the kind of thing he’s prepared to do.”

  “Really?” Francie said with disbelief. “You think complete and total demon possession is something they train detectives for nowadays?”

  “You know what I mean. He knows what it means to put his life on the line for others, and this time, multiple lives are hanging in the balance. He’ll see it as a valid trade. Plus, where else are you going to find a willing participant? Someone has to die for this to work. I’m just saying that the detective isn’t the worst option.”

  “Why does someone have to die?” Francie asked. “How about we don’t do what the murder-hungry demon wants? Am I the crazy one here?”

  “For one,” I said, “Carter dies either way now. If I don’t give Lechbaalmet what he wants, he’ll kill Carter just to spite me.” I could see that to be true as clearly as anything—it wasn’t even a question.

  “She’s right,” Hiram said. “Carter is already gone. It now comes down to what we can do with that sacrifice.”

  “The priest, then.” Francie’s voice was whisper-soft, defeated. “What about the priest?”

  “Oh, and I’m the heartless one for suggesting the good detective,” Hiram smirked.

  “It’s just… he’s responsible for all of this, so if someone has to pay the price.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “And I’m becoming increasingly certain that it won’t work either.”

  “But you said—”

  “Technically, it will work,” I explained. “I mean, if I kill Father Donovan, that will sever the demon’s tether to this plane. I just don’t think Lechbaalmet will let it happen. He knows I only have two plays here—make the transfer and give him his vessel or suck it up and kill the priest. He tried to goad me into killing him the first time around, and I think his lust to see it happen actually outweighed his desire to stay here. But I think that now he’s had some time to get some distance from that fleeting pleasure he might have taken from the act, he’ll have had a chance to think about it more rationally and will guard against my trying for the Father.”

  “Then why not just use the priest as the vessel instead of Carter?” I could hear in her voice how much she wanted to find a way to save Carter. It didn’t matter that Francie didn’t know the guy; her empathy worked on another level. I wasn’t sure if it was just some kind of a mothering instinct that was innate for her or if it was simply part of being a good person. “It’s not any different from killing him, but it will still save Carter.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t work either,” Hiram replied. “You see, the priest is Lechbaalmet’s primary tether to our world—he is the original summoner.”

  “Right.” Francie made a keep the wheels moving kind of gesture with her hands. “Which means?”

  “Which means that the good Father cannot die. Period. Or Lechbaalmet will be instantaneously banished from this plane. If Meredith removes the priest’s shade to allow for the demon’s possession of his body, the priest will be dead in every way that matters—the tether will be cut—and Lechbaalmet will be returned to his proper plane.”

  Francie threw her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I give up. You’ve got an answer for everything.”

  “Listen, I like Carter,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. “I really do. And I hate that it’s
come to this. Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that I have to perform the transfer, I think I would volunteer to take his place. And the only other alternative is finding someone else to take his place, which still isn’t fair.”

  Francie’s shoulders slumped. “Maybe I should take his place,” she muttered. She suddenly straightened, then repeated her words, seemingly understanding them for the first time. “Maybe I should take his place. He’s a detective that genuinely helps make the city a safer place, and I’m just—”

  “That won’t work either,” I said sternly, cutting her off.

  “Why not? You said—”

  “Because I simply won’t do it. I don’t mean to sound heartless, but in this case, I’m absolutely going to play favorites. I can find a way to live with what has to happen to Carter, but I can’t say the same for you, Francie. I’ll let the demon make good on his threats to continue the murder spree before I let anything happen to you. He can murder half the city.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  I offered a sheepish smile, trying to play it off as an exaggeration. But I’m not sure she bought it, and I sure didn’t. Francie was the closest thing I’d ever had to family—the sister I would have picked anyway, given the choice. There were people out there—better people than me—who understood the sacrifice of the few for the many was a valid concept. But I wasn’t one of those people.

  And I’d let the world burn before I let Francie throw her life away.

  Hiram cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had suddenly formed between the three of us. “I, uh, would volunteer, but I don’t know the guy. And, well, the demon already seems to have a preference for—”

  “Don’t worry, Hiram.” I gave him a playful shove, which was enough to overbalance his scarecrow-like frame, sending him teetering backward. “I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself, either.”

  His perpetual scowl didn’t seem to falter, but I still thought I detected a measure of relief in his eyes.

  “Well,” I sighed, “I guess that just leaves the doing part of this whole nightmare.”

  “You still have some time,” Francie suggested. “Maybe it would be best to sleep on it. Another option might turn up.”

  “It’s not like I’d get a lot of sleep,” I said. “Besides, you heard our demonic friend. He’s getting impatient, which can’t mean anything good. And if I work quickly, maybe Father Donovan can still come out of this intact. I’m honestly not sure the man can survive another couple of days under the demon’s control.”

  “Something tells me, even if that man survives, he’s never going to be entirely intact,” Hiram said solemnly.

  I knew he was probably right, but there was a small, stubbornly optimistic part of me that wanted the Father to be okay. Sure, his arrogance and shortsightedness had set all of this in motion, but that didn’t mean I wanted to add him to the body count.

  “So, we’re going tonight, then?” Francie asked.

  “Not we this time,” I said.

  Francie was shaking her head before the words were even out of my mouth. “I can live with your decision not to let me volunteer instead of Carter. It’s not like I could force your hand anyway. But you don’t get to call all of the shots. I’m not going to let you go through this thing with Carter alone, Meredith. I was there last time, and I’m going to be there this time.”

  By last time she meant when I had outright murdered a pair of vampires. I knew she wanted to offer me her support, to be there for me when things were at their worst, but how many times could she see me do stuff like this and still look at me the same way? I was essentially on my way to murder a police detective that also happened to be a friend. Things like that could take a mental toll regardless of their necessity.

  I looked up, suddenly realizing I’d been staring at my boots for like a minute and a half. When I did, I found Francie shaking her head again.

  “Don’t,” she said. “I already know that look. And you know that that’s not how I see you. Your hands are tied, Meredith, and this is not your fault.”

  “Still—”

  Francie shushed me in her amusing schoolmarm kind of way. “It’s a done deal. Hiram and I will stay out of the way and out of danger. But we are going to be there with you.”

  It was my turn to surrender. “Okay, you win. But I want you as far away as physically possible, and if things look like they’re getting out of control—”

  “I know. I know. We’ll be fine, Mer.”

  “Alright, I guess we should get going,” I said, starting toward the door. “Who’s up for some church?”

  “One question,” Hiram called out from behind me. “When, exactly, was it decided that I was going with you lot?”

  Chapter 23

  “My uncle had a church,” Hiram said as the Holy Mother of Light came into view. “Did I ever tell you that?”

  “I don’t think so.” I was certain that he hadn’t. Hiram didn’t make a habit of revealing very much about his personal life.

  The three of us had taken a cab from the bar but had decided to have it drop us a couple of blocks down from the church instead of taking us all the way there. There probably wasn’t anything to worry about for the driver, but it never hurt to be overly cautious. Plus, I don’t think any of us were in too much of a hurry to get there.

  “It wasn’t like this.” He gestured toward the imposing stone and glass façade of the building growing larger before us.

  “You mean inhabited by an incredibly powerful demon with a weird circle for a head?” I asked.

  “Well, that too,” Hiram replied. “But I was talking about how it looked. It was one of those little white churches that country music singers are so fond of singing about. I always remember it as this speck of dull white that had almost been swallowed by the giant, ancient trees that seemed to creep closer each time I saw it.”

  “What is it with creepy churches lately?” Francie asked. For the last two blocks, she had been straggling behind as we walked, almost like she was forcing us to get to our destination a little more slowly.

  “Did I say it was creepy?” Hiram asked.

  “Well, not exactly.” Francie shuffled closer as Hiram and I slowed at the front steps of the church. “But it seemed to be implied.”

  “You’re not wrong. I only attended as a youngster, and even then, only on the rare occasions my father saw fit to force the family together. More than the church itself, I remember the road there. It was one of those impossibly narrow affairs that you only find in the most rural places in the country. Actually, that’s not entirely true. You also find those kinds of roads in your dreams—the ones where you can’t seem to control where you’re going, and the path only seems to lead in one, dark, direction. Anyway, that road we took snaked deeper and deeper into the thickly wooded hollow where my uncle and his family lived. My father would always mention something about those hills feeling like home, but it never felt that way to me. That place always felt too quiet, too watchful, like something ancient sat in silent judgment as we bumped and thudded our way down that old dirt road.”

  I swallowed dryly and took the first step up to the church’s door. “Okay, now that Hiram has lifted our mood so effectively, I guess we should get this show started. I’ll go first and let you know if it’s okay to follow. Unless—”

  Francie didn’t let me finish. “We’re going in with you, Mer. Just give us a signal and we’ll follow.”

  I nodded and pushed up the stairs, not giving myself a chance to dwell on the situation.

  The door was still a ruin of splintered wood and bent metal from where Lechbaalmet had previously made his grand exit. I slipped through the opening and into the dimly lit room beyond.

  A wave of déjà vu hit me as I caught a glimpse of the bulletin board Carter and I had looked over not so long ago. The room was only lit by streetlights behind me and a dull orange glow coming from the church’s main room, but it made it all the easier to imagine Carter standing there
next to me with his half-exhausted expression, cracking wise about Mulder and Scully.

  I wasn’t going to enjoy what had to happen next.

  I pushed through the swinging double doors into the church’s central chamber. None of the lights were on, but the entire room was lined with burning candles, running along the perimeter of the room and down aisles between the pews.

  The room wasn’t nearly as empty as I had expected it to be. In the two central pews at the front, just beneath the pulpit, ten men sat in two groups of five, their faces turned away from me. It didn’t take a genius to figure out it was the same ten men in Father Donovan’s Boys’ Club, but I did wonder just how the demon had arranged for their participation. The last I had checked several of those guys were supposed to currently be behind bars for murder.

  On the raised platform, standing just behind the pulpit, were the three players I knew I would find there.

  Lechbaalmet stood at center stage, taking Father Donovan’s usual place at the pulpit. His dark form looked even larger than the last time I saw him, stretching up toward the darkness of the ceiling for at least ten full feet. He loomed over his silent congregation like a grotesque Halloween inflatable.

  Father Donovan and Carter stood at either side of the demon, both men looking depressingly small and weary beyond expression.

  A sad thought wormed into my mind before I could push it away. You won’t have to be tired very much longer.

  I jumped as something touched my arm.

  “You didn’t come back for us,” Francie whispered, not taking her eyes off the bizarre display in front of us.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t going to do that.”

  “Well, uh, we’re here now,” Hiram said. “Should we take a seat in the back or—”

  “She comes!” The demon’s voice boomed from all sides of the room, eliciting a small hiss of air from Hiram before he managed to slip down into a back pew and pull Francie along with him. “Rejoice!”

  Like a small army of puppets, the ten men in the front pew suddenly hopped to their feet. A warbly chorus of coos and gibberish poured from the men. I guessed it was the best they could do in terms of rejoicing, but it sounded more like the general sounds of discomfort and distress one might have heard inside an insane asylum from the late nineteenth century.