by G A Chase
Colin barely remembered the term, let alone what the sins were. “I was never much for church school as a child. You’ll have to enlighten me.”
“The first is pride.”
He stifled a laugh. “Is it pride if my accomplishments are real? Any businessman worthy of the title embraces his successes. Sounds like an outdated sin to me.”
“I suppose, as someone who took over Guinee, even for a short time, you would have needed an overabundance of self-confidence.”
Though Baron Malveaux had served as the loa of the seventh gate, Colin retained only impressions of that time ruling over the souls of others. “Making decisions about who was allowed to pass to the deep waters and who had to remain in purgatory required a degree of separation from those I judged. I would guess you’d call that pride. I considered it a necessity. For the purposes of your curiosity, I’d say I was the most prideful person to inhabit that realm.”
Brother Aramis nodded slowly. “The next one is greed.”
Colin shook his head in disgust. “Are you sure that one wasn’t added to the list specifically for me? According to Agnes Delarosa, I was the culmination of my family’s greed. I was bred to be who I am.”
“And you feel no guilt about amassing so much when others have so little?”
He looked at the man in the long robes. “You think denying yourself earthly comforts is any better? What good does your piety do for others? I worked for a living. My efforts created jobs. Of course I benefited more than anyone else. I’m the tip of the iceberg. My wealth is an indicator of how the rest of society is doing.”
“Most of an iceberg is underwater. The larger the society, the more bodies for you to stand on.”
The hardness of the wooden bench made it difficult to sit in one position for very long. Colin squirmed to face the monk. “Someone has to be on top. It’s not like this church isn’t the grandest in the city. Seems to me that your religion is a little hypocritical.”
The cleric looked up at the ornate ceiling. “We don’t exalt ourselves. This structure is for the worship of God.”
The last thing Colin wanted was to get into a theological discussion. “Whatever gets you through your prayers. As for greed, not many can rival what I’ve amassed. What’s next on your list?”
The monk sighed. “Lust.”
“Do I really need to talk about my brothels?”
He shook his head. “I suppose not. The sexual perversions of Baron Malveaux were well documented. I’ll be interested to hear your take on envy, though.”
Colin turned back to the church altar with the huge sculpture of Christ on the cross. “That one goes hand in hand with lust.”
The monk looked up at Colin. “You wanted what your victims had—wives and children? You already had a family.”
Though envy wasn’t an attribute Colin wanted to acknowledge, it was a driving force he’d long ago accepted. “Their examples of peaceful family living drove me into a rage. Why should they have what I couldn’t? My wife and children were strangers who occupied my house and lived off my fortune like pet dogs.”
“So your lust and greed were little more than your way of acting out your envy? I pity you.”
Colin grasped the back of the bench in front of him with such force that his knuckles turned white. “I never asked for your pity. Offer it again, and I’ll leave, with or without my possessions.”
“My apologies, but your reaction to envy is enlightening. You don’t appear especially gluttonous, unless we’re talking about women.”
Colin eased back into the pew. “I’ve never denied myself any pleasure. If there’s something I desire, like women, I want them all. Isn’t that the basis for survival of the fittest? The strongest male gets to mate with as many females as he likes to pass his genes on to the next generation. If I take more for myself than I need, that helps cull the herd. The weak must not be allowed to survive. What you call gluttony, I consider a public good. Society is too bloated with useless people.”
Brother Aramis clenched his fists. “You’ll forgive me if the Church takes a somewhat different view of the indigent.”
Colin shrugged. “Everyone does what they think is best. What you do only prolongs their agony, but masochism isn’t on your list of sins, is it?”
“Fortunately for you, wrath is.”
Colin looked the man of God over from neck to torso. “I suspect you might have been a brawler in your time. Is wrath an emotion you’ve dealt with personally?”
Brother Aramis relaxed his broad shoulders. “I’ll admit that before coming to God, I had a bit of a temper.”
“It’s an easy sin to get wrapped up in, isn’t it?” Colin asked. “While I was in the process of destroying a person’s life or tearing down a competing business, the bloodlust was insatiable. I’d get drunk on the need to pull apart every one of their accomplishments until there wasn’t a single brick standing on top of another. Even then, the feeling wouldn’t abate until I was playing the game with my next victim.”
To Colin’s surprise, the monk looked at him and nodded. “I found boxing to be my first legitimate form of release for those drives. The church gym is what led me to this life of contemplation. On this sin, we understand each other.”
“That’s six. What have you got left for me?” Colin asked.
“Sloth.”
Colin took a moment to consider the sin. Laziness hadn’t been a concern for him since his days in school, but something about his current situation made him reconsider his recent activities. Could I really be staying in this hell out of my own inaction? “I suppose there’s an inclination to sit back on one’s laurels, though I can’t say I remember taking more than a day off in my professional life. Six out of seven sins isn’t bad, though. Guess it’s enough to be cast into hell.”
Brother Aramis pulled on the bench in front of him to stand up. “It’s not for me to judge you in this realm. Were you my responsibility, I wouldn’t have cast you in the role of devil. Fortunately for me, you didn’t come here seeking redemption.”
Colin began to feel hopeful. “I only want what belongs to me—Baron Malveaux’s possessions that Luther Noire has locked up in his concrete tower. With the curse no longer active, the items have only sentimental powers.”
“I suppose a few jewelry boxes wouldn’t be missed.”
Might be a bit more than that. But telling Brother Aramis all of his plans wasn’t in Colin’s nature.
It took both of them to lift the Holy Table off the door to the crypt. Even though he knew they were completely alone, Colin couldn’t stop looking around the sanctuary to make sure they weren’t being spied on. Together, they hauled the heavy slab of floorboards off the opening.
The smell of mold, dirt, and death made Colin’s eyes water. “You don’t have to come with me, but if you want to keep an eye on your holy relics, I’m not going to refuse the company.”
Brother Aramis peeked over the edge. “The archbishop made me promise to follow you anywhere you went in the church.”
The man didn’t sound overly eager to comply with his superior’s orders. Colin considered giving him an excuse to remain above, but if he had to descend into the death chamber, he didn’t see any reason why the member of the church shouldn’t have to accompany him.
“At least you’ll be able to confirm that I didn’t desecrate any of your holy forefathers.” Colin climbed down the wooden ladder to the underground cave. The bricks that lined the walls were cold and damp. Coffins filled the alcoves cut into the sides of the chamber. He moved a few feet into the room so that Brother Aramis could join him.
“All the archbishop told me was the fail-safe was down here and to keep an eye on you. Any idea what we’re looking for?”
Colin had found a drawing of the control board but precious little information about where the connection to the World Trade Center was located. “It’ll be a console covered in switches and buttons. Luther isn’t a big fan of computers, so it’ll probably resemble an
old-time telephone switchboard. Based on how many vaults there are in the World Trade Center, the fail-safe won’t be small. I just hope he didn’t hide it in one of these caskets.”
Brother Aramis pointed toward deep in the crypt. “Luther’s building was constructed in the 1960s, so there’s no point searching this close to the entrance. The church has been on these grounds since 1727. Of course, this version of the building only dates from 1794, but we’d have to assume this crypt was part of the original cathedral.”
Colin would have breathed a sigh of relief if it hadn’t required him to suck in more of the dank air. He tried doing the math in his mind. “So no closer than a third of the way back?”
“Only if you’re talking about the tombs. The holy relics reside in the farthest chamber.”
Perfect. Colin tried not to let his fears get the better of him, but exploring a catacomb in hell had a way of putting him on edge, even if he was the devil. “Knowing Luther, he would have demanded the fail-safe be put in the creepiest section of the crypt. He never could pass up an opportunity to instill fear in anyone dumb enough to cross him.”
“You’re the one who wants his tie pins back. Personally, I’d just go buy new ones. You can’t possibly expect me to believe their sentimental value is worth this exploration of the dead.”
There, you’re wrong. “I have my reasons.”
“So long as I don’t regret letting you down here.” Even the clergy covered their asses.
“My relationship with the Church will remain unchanged. Nothing I’ve ever done has led back to the dioceses.”
The cave grew darker, colder, and more oppressive the farther they walked away from the opening. Colin tapped on the tops of the coffins to make sure each echoed with the same hollow death note.
“Haven’t you ever heard of the phrase rest in peace?” Brother Aramis asked.
Colin couldn’t have cared less about the cleric’s sensitivities. “In my experience, there is no peace among the dead until they’re poured back into the deep waters.”
“Then how about a little common courtesy? You could at least pretend to honor my beliefs.”
He regretted not giving the man a reason to stay above. With each step along the ground covered in bricks and roots, Colin grew more accustomed to his surroundings. In the distance, he made out the back wall of the chamber. “We’re getting close to the end. Luther wouldn’t have been so obvious as to put the fail-safe in the very back. What can you tell me about these tombs?”
Unlike the wooden caskets near the opening, the stone sarcophagi at the back of the chamber sat out in the open.
“Most are archbishops or other leaders of the Church. A few are notable members of the community who had been honored for their good deeds.”
More like for their patronage, but I gave up that honor a century ago. As I can see now, that wasn’t a mistake. He stopped along the corridor at what he guessed to be the early 1800s. The simple stone sarcophagus under his fingers had a familiarity he couldn’t identify. “I suppose it would be too obvious for Luther to have picked a grave of a practitioner of the paranormal.”
“We’ve lost the information on some of these burial sites, but graves are sacred. I find it hard to believe Luther would have been able to con the archbishop into using one of these resting places. The antechamber with the holy relics is just ahead and to the left. You’ll have better luck in there.”
Colin got the familiar prickly feeling along the back of his arms that let him know he was being manipulated. “I want to open this one. The name and information are all smoothed down as if someone tried to erase their identity.”
“Marble ages,” the monk said. “Ever been to one of the cities of the dead? After a hundred years, it’s damn near impossible to make out a single letter of the inscription.”
“Those grave markers are out in the open. People have a habit of running their hands over them. These are underground.”
Brother Aramis pointed at the neighboring crypts. “Sure, but these all look pretty worn down.”
Colin made a comparison of his chosen marker to those next to it. Though they did all bear the same marks of age, the one he’d first touched had a grittier feel to it as if someone had taken a sander to the marble. “I’m convinced that’s the one. Help me lift off the cover stone.”
“I’m only doing this so we can put it back in one piece.”
“Whatever calms your conscience.”
The stone weighed considerably more than Colin had expected. Even with the two of them, they were only able to slide it halfway off the tomb, but that was far enough. He looked over the stone wall of the grave and saw the metal board lined with unmarked switches and buttons. “Luther didn’t do me any favors.”
Brother Aramis held the stone to keep it from falling. “This is all on you.”
Of course it is. Colin pulled out his sheet of notepaper and began lining up what he remembered with what he was looking at in the grave. Each multiposition switch needed to be moved to the correct setting like some monstrously huge Mastermind board, but unlike the game of pegs, Colin would get only one shot at getting everything perfect. If I set this thing up incorrectly, I’ll probably be whisked into some prison of Luther’s devising. This realm is bad enough. Carefully, he made his choices among the battery of controls. As he pushed the activation button, a needle sprang up and pricked his thumb. He pulled his hand out of the crypt and saw the small drop of blood disappear into the hole in the middle of the button. Other than the needle, the whole control board could have been a disconnected piece of junk, based on the lack of feedback.
He sucked at the small pinprick in his finger. The blood tasted different than it had from the mosquito. If this damn machine decides I’m not the one authorized to access the vault, that acidic taste will probably be poison, and I’ll drop dead in seconds. He rubbed at what felt like a bee sting, but as he waited, the pain didn’t spread beyond the tip of his thumb, and it gradually faded. His body pumped so much adrenaline that his heart and respiration tried to get the better of him. I can’t let this monk see my excitement at having lived through the test.
Brother Aramis shrugged. “I guess the fail-safe doesn’t work.”
Colin breathed a little easier at hearing his companion assume the adventure was a failure. “Oh well. It was worth a shot. Let’s get that slab back into place before you pull a muscle.”
* * *
Colin left the church feeling like a new man. Working under the assumption that he was still in hell—something that became more likely with every encounter—he and his possessions were now in the same dimension. All he needed was some scuba gear and freedom from Sanguine’s supervision to allow him to retrieve them. Once he had his connections to the curse, and thereby to the golden guitar pick that was still stashed in Delphine’s shop, he could combat Kendell on his terms. With a plan for her in place, he let out a high-pitched whistle to call forth his mosquito squadron.
A dozen bloodsucking bugs zigzagged in front of his face, each laden with a red abdomen filled to the point of bursting. He pointed at the one in front of his nose. The insect quivered at attention. With a fingertip of this left hand below the flying miniature vampire, he delicately squeezed it between two fingers of his right hand until a drop of blood pooled on his waiting digit.
He put the drop to the tip of his tongue then spit it out to clear the taste. “Yuck. Next.”
One after the other, the small bugs presented their catch to their waiting master. Each tasted as watery and insipid as the last. Like a fisherman waiting for the big one, he knew he needed patience.
As the final bug presented its abdomen, Colin hoped he wasn’t imagining things again. The insect didn’t fly as true as its mates, and its body was a darker red. In his excitement, he nearly squished the mosquito to get at its contents.
He savored the warm, rich liquid. It was like tasting a perfectly aged rare New York steak from an expensive restaurant after experiencing only day-old
gray burgers from a fast-food joint. “Show me where she is.”
The bug did its best to not outfly Colin’s ability to keep up, but being so small meant the creature had to double back and fly in circles. Trying to see it made for slow going. However, once Colin turned a corner at the end of the French Quarter and spotted Our Lady of Mercy convent, he figured out where the mosquito was headed. He hopped over the church-school fence across the street from the convent and found a gardener’s shed. Safely out of sight from any passing marionette spy that Sanguine might commandeer, he kept his eyes on the gate. Guess I’ll have to wait.
* * *
Sanguine thought that for an angel, she should really feel more at home in the convent, but sitting on a bench in the common room while the nuns looked for Miss Fleur made her antsy. The mosquito bite on her shoulder didn’t help. Even in life, the little monsters avoided sipping blood from a swamp witch. Something had changed in hell, and it wasn’t to her benefit. All I did was have sex, Grandma. I didn’t even use my own body. I don’t see how I deserve penance for such a trivial action.
She hoped the reason for the bug bite was as simple as payback from her grandmother. The other option was that Colin had regained control of some of hell’s critters. The implication that he’d have not only figured out his predicament but also amassed his bug army put Sanguine on the defensive. I knew I waited too long.
The Reverend Mother escorted Miss Fleur into the Spartan room lined with benches and tables. Sanguine had met the old nun once while busting down the door of the convent. Hopefully, the wings would calm the woman’s fears about having let a witch into her sanctum.
Sanguine didn’t try to fold the new appendages tightly behind her body as she had while requesting entrance. “Thanks for letting me see her.”
“I can give you an hour, no more. This convent doesn’t reside in your hell, so your magic won’t work here.”
