by Cole, Tillie
She wanted to be anywhere but here right now.
Auguste stopped in front of Sela. His nostrils flared as he reached up to remove Sela’s hood. Sela’s long dark hair came into view. Then Auguste removed Sela’s face covering. There were quiet gasps of shock from other priests as the entirety of Sela’s face was revealed—a face remarkably similar to their Witch Finder General’s.
Auguste smiled coldly. “Hello, brother.”
Sela’s face reddened and, still immobilized by the twins, he spat in Auguste’s face. Auguste closed his eyes and measuredly wiped his cheek. When he opened his eyes, his expression darkened. Like a snake, his hand whipped forward and took hold of Sela’s cheeks, fingernails digging into his brother’s flesh. Diel made an enraged, strangled sound on the floor, and two priests lifted him up and restrained him. Noa met his eyes as he sagged in their hold. She seethed so much she was shaking. She wanted to kill the priests. All of them. She wanted to fucking end them all.
“You were always swimming with evil,” Auguste said to Sela. Auguste looked at the priests holding Noa’s sisters and the Fallen, and he nodded. One by one the priests ripped back their hoods and lowered their face coverings. Auguste’s face lit with glory as his eyes fell on them all.
Auguste smiled at Noa. “Witch,” he spat. Auguste pushed Sela’s head back as he released him; Sela stumbled a little until he was righted by the twin priests. Auguste walked before them all, his black robes billowing behind him. “The Fallen and the Coven all now in my hands. Sinners who managed to escape.” Auguste’s grin was wide as he spread his arms. “But the Lord has brought you all back home.” Noa could detect the simmering glee in his tone. She could almost feel the pride at his victory filling the room. Auguste lowered his arms. “Father Quinn will be more than happy about this.”
“Father Quinn’s alive?” Gabriel had gone white as a sheet. Auguste snapped his head Gabriel’s way and walked toward him. Every one of the Fallen tensed, as if they would all lay down their lives to protect their older brother.
“Gabriel.” Auguste shook his head in disgust. “The potential you once had. Until you succumbed to evil and followed in the damned path of your sinful brother.”
But Gabriel didn’t bow his head in shame at Auguste’s slights. Instead, the only true, pious priest in the room lifted his chin high. “I walk on the path of righteousness, Auguste. My conscience is clear.”
Auguste laughed in his face, mocking and cold. He ran his finger down the length of Gabriel’s cheek. Michael thrashed to get free, his mouth open and his fangs fully exposed as he hissed at Auguste. His fangs were coated in blood, as were the sharp claws on his fingertips.
“Ah, Michael, speak of the devil,” Auguste said. “Uriel, Barachiel, Raphael.” Then Auguste turned to Diel. Noa tensed as Auguste’s attention fell on the man she loved more than her own life. “Jegudiel.” He turned back to Noa’s sisters. “And my hand-picked coven of witches, my unrepentant devil-born heretics safely back in your Witch Finder’s holy embrace.”
Auguste flicked his hand again, a command. “Strip them of their weapons and take them to the back room. I have calls to make.” The priests took their weapons from them, tossing them into a heap in the center of their makeshift circle. They dragged the Fallen and Coven down several hallways to a back room and threw them inside. The priests left, locking the door and sealing them in.
Noa hung her head. All the rage she had mustered had fled from her soul, and shame and guilt had moved in in their stead. Despair and failure chased close behind.
Strong arms wrapped around her, keeping her from falling apart—Diel. Only he could ever make her feel like that. He was the one bastion to her wavering strength.
Noa fell into Diel’s chest, allowing him to bear her weight, giving herself just a moment to be weak. Tears fell in hot rivers down her cheeks. When she pulled back, she looked up at her sisters and the brothers of the Fallen, who were leaning against the walls of the room.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Dinah shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. They were prepared for our attack anyway,” she said, frustration sneaking through her voice. “The ledgers were wrong.” Dinah placed her hand on her forehead. “I don’t understand. How did they know we would attack? Auguste had a fucking army waiting for us. How the fuck did he know?”
Silence lay heavy between them, until Gabriel rasped, “The Purgatory attack.” Noa detected the pain in Gabriel’s blue eyes. “Father Quinn survived. He didn’t die in Purgatory’s fire.” The color fled from his cheeks. “He must have told Auguste it was us, that we had come for them. Auguste must have prepared his men, his crusaders, for the day we would strike again.”
“I’m going to kill them,” Diel hissed, arms shaking. He released Noa and began to pace. “I’m going to fucking kill them. All of them.” The temperature in the basement rose as the other Fallen brothers burned with anger too, creating a hotbed of wrath.
“How are we going to get away from here?” Candace said to no one in particular. She shook her head. “I can’t be under them again. I’d rather die …” She trailed off into a helpless silence. Jo wrapped her arms around her and kissed her head.
Suddenly, Beth gasped, her back slamming against the wall. Her brown eyes grew to the size of saucers and she trembled like a leaf. No, not now, Noa thought. Beth’s eyes rolled back in her head and her body began to jerk.
“What the fuck?” Bara said. Noa and her sisters ran over to where Beth was falling apart.
“Naomi,” Beth said, her fingernails trying to claw at the skin on her hands, her chest, her stomach. “H-help …”
Despair filled Naomi’s face. She shook her head, looking to Dinah and Noa for help. Noa could see by Naomi’s expression that she didn’t have her bloodletting kit with her. Of course she didn’t. Even if she had, the Brethren had taken all their weapons. Beth had never needed letting when they’d been on a mission before.
Beth thrashed harder, as if she were being possessed. The Coven had gotten so used to Beth like this over the years, they were no longer shocked by her episodes. But the Fallen …
“How can we help?” Gabriel said, stepping beside them.
Dinah pinned Beth against the wall, arms by her sides. Fear built in Beth’s face as she sweated and panted through the horror that was one of her psychosomatic breakdowns.
“My blood,” Beth shrieked. Noa cast her eyes to the door. They didn’t want to attract the Brethren’s attention. “My blood … please …” Beth said. “Get it out. Please, get the poison out!”
“Shh.” Dinah kissed Beth’s forehead. “You need to be quiet, Beth.”
“My blood!” she said, voice rising. There was a pause in the movements outside the door. Noa and Dinah looked at one another. Noa didn’t know what to do. She had no idea what the hell to do!
“What does she need?” Gabriel asked.
Dinah bit her lip. Noa knew she didn’t want to share the ailment that plagued Beth, didn’t want to betray her sister’s secret. But as Beth started panting, her frantic pleas for help getting louder, Dinah said, “She … she gets her blood let. The Brethren …” Dinah shook her head as if she didn’t know how to explain Beth’s condition, why she was like this. Her sisters didn’t. Not really.
“She believes there’s a poison of sorts in her blood. She is blood-let when she believes it has become too much and is hurting her, slowly killing her. Naomi lets her in a safe, controlled way, one where she won’t get hurt, or catch an infection. But—”
Beth let out an agonized scream. Everyone in the room froze, waiting for the Brethren to reappear at the shrill sound. Noa went to pull out her knife, but her hands ghosted over an empty belt as she remembered that their weapons had been taken from them. It was probably for the best. Beth didn’t respond well to being cut by a knife. She claimed it didn’t keep the poison away, didn’t cleanse her, didn’t remove the evil filth that ran thickly within her veins.
Out of options, Noa
tugged off her gloves, hoping her nails might be able to offer a moment of relief. She went to take another step closer to Beth as another high-pitched scream ripped from her mouth. But before she could, Michael flew across the room and, without a moment’s pause, sank his fangs straight into her neck.
Noa was shocked motionless as she watched the tall, lean man hold on to Beth’s cheek and turn her face away from him to bare the stretch of her neck.
Then reality crashed down on Noa like a tsunami. She rushed toward Michael, to rip him off Beth, but Dinah’s arm wrapped around her stomach, stopping her dead.
“Dinah!” Noa tried to argue.
“Look.” Dinah nudged her chin in Beth’s direction. “Look!” Noa followed Dinah’s guide and let out a quick exhale. Michael drank from Beth’s neck, and Beth had wrapped her hands into the longer strands of Michael’s hair, keeping him close. Her lips were parted with relief, and her eyes were closed as Michael freed her from her torment. She moaned in pleasure, back arching toward Michael’s chest. Just to get closer, to have him drink from her deeper.
Time felt momentarily suspended. Noa could barely take her eyes off the two of them. But when she did, it was to find Gabriel staring at his little brother, pride and mortification warring for dominance on his face.
Nobody moved a muscle as Michael’s fetish for blood healed Beth. In the quiet, Noa could hear Michael’s sharp sucks and swallows, hear Beth’s quick, pleasured breaths and soft moans.
Then Beth sighed, her episode drawing to a close. Her eyes fluttered open, and a few seconds later Michael slowly withdrew. He quickly put his hand in his pocket and pulled out an empty vial from the stash he kept on a string. He pushed it to the fang wound in Beth’s neck and collected a small amount of her blood.
Michael’s breathing was heavy as the glass turned crimson. His eyes were fixed on Beth. Not on her neck, or the small circular marks he had left on her skin, but he was looking directly into her eyes. Beth’s breathing was equally as quick, and she rolled her head to look at him too, a deep blush coating her cheeks. Her hand was still wrapped in his dark hair. It was like the world had fallen away around them, a fucked-up tether keeping them close to each other.
Dinah met Noa’s eyes with raised eyebrows and a slightly disturbed expression. Michael placed a cap on the vial of Beth’s blood, clutching it in his hand. As Noa edged closer to them, she could see Michael’s pupils had dilated, the black almost covering his ice blue. His pale skin wore a flush matching Beth’s … and he couldn’t seem to look away from her. He was completely fixated on the youngest member of the Coven, his usually blank stare filled with what looked like uncapped lust, with wonder … with need.
Gabriel cleared his throat and opened his mouth to say something, as if to break the oddness of the tense moment, when a thunderous boom shook the foundation of the barn, followed by a cacophony of screams from outside the door.
“What the fuck?” Dinah said, backing Noa and her sisters against the far wall. The Coven and the Fallen fell into one cluster. Noa reached over to take Beth’s hand. Beth numbly stepped beside Noa, but Noa’s youngest sister couldn’t take her eyes off Michael, who shifted directly behind Beth’s back, his attention glued to the bite marks he had left. There was barely a centimeter between their bodies. And by the parting of Beth’s lips, she liked him that close.
Something had happened between them just then, but Noa was damned if she knew what.
The priest’s voices grew louder and more panicked. Diel braced for a fight beside her. Noa had barely taken another breath when a second explosion sounded. Chips of wood fell from the walls around them. The door swung open. They all tensed, ready for the priests to come through. But when no one came, Uriel edged to the door and peered outside.
“The hallway’s empty,” he said.
“There’s an alternative way to the tunnels,” Dinah said, rushing past to take the lead. No one stalled; they all followed behind. It wasn’t until they had entered the third hallway that several priests noticed them trying to escape and ran at them. Noa saw that a number of priests lay already slain on the ground. The blast had clearly not been responsible for their deaths. They had been stabbed. Many times.
Noa frowned, wondering what the fuck was happening, but she didn’t stop fighting—picking up discarded weapons and slicing at flesh. She didn’t stop pushing her legs to move until the priests fighting them were dead too. They had just reached the other secret hatch that Dinah knew of when a priest with mousy brown hair appeared. With a stolen Brethren knife, Bara slashed at his arms and legs, and the priest dropped to the ground as his ligaments were torn. Bara yanked the back of the priest’s hair, about to slit his throat, when Noa shouted, “No!” Bara stilled. She met his eyes. “Take him with us.”
Bara’s slow, impressed grin was pure evil. Bara knocked the priest out as Dinah opened the hatch. “Get in,” she said, and Candace, Beth, Jo and Naomi jumped down. Uriel, Raphael and Sela followed.
Noa shook her head when it came to her turn. “The children,” she whispered. Noa saw the pain flash across Dinah’s face, the thought of leaving the children behind crippling her soul. But then—
“They’re down here!” Candace shouted. Noa frowned in confusion, but Candace added, “The children. They’re hurt and unconscious, but they’re alive.” Noa couldn’t believe Candace’s words. How were the children there? How had they been rescued from the Brethren? It didn’t make sense—
Then Dinah met Noa’s eyes, and they shared a knowing look. Of course they knew who had helped them. Noa knew down deep in her soul who had caused that explosion.
Priscilla.
Noa glanced behind her at the empty hallway, searching for her older sister.
“If she wants us to see her, she’ll come to us,” Dinah said, and Noa knew that was true.
“Let’s go,” Diel said, pulling Noa’s attention. She studied his face. He had been cut and wounded, tasered, but he was holding strong. He had always held strong. Diel wrapped his hand around Noa’s and lowered her down the hatch. Gabriel came next, then Diel jumped down, sealing the hatch shut behind him.
Then they ran. They ran and ran, with the children secured in Raphael’s and Uriel’s arms. They finally reached the spring and raced back to the van. Bara had the unconscious priest over his shoulder, his blood soiling Bara’s leathers. Noa and Diel looked back in the direction of the meeting place, and through the trees they could see the barn now ablaze in the distance.
It has to be her. Noa’s gut clenched and her heart squeezed in gratitude.
Gabriel rapped his fist on the partition of the van, and they took off back to the manor under the cover of darkness. Candace and Jo kept vigil out of the rear tinted windows, checking they weren’t being followed.
Noa sank into Diel’s side, and she held his hand. But her eyes drifted to the little boy in Raphael’s arms. The one still wearing the collar. She heard a hitched breath, and when she looked up, Diel was staring at him too. Pain was clear on his handsome face. And in the heavy silence, Diel held her hand even tighter, so tightly her bones ached.
“We didn’t get any of their books,” Gabriel said dejectedly, the first to say anything after the clusterfuck that was the attack. Noa immediately felt overcome with guilt. She had broken their only rule when it came to fighting. All because of her past. She inhaled Diel’s comforting scent. All because of the man who had captured her heart. Gabriel looked at Dinah. “The explosions? The open door? The slain priests in the hallway?”
Dinah smiled. “Guessing that was our sister, Priscilla. It feels like something she would do.”
“The killer witch?” Bara said casually, running a knife over the cheeks of the unconscious priest, like it was taking all his willpower not to sink the blade into his flesh. Bara didn’t break the skin, but judging by the fire in his eyes, he was imagining it.
“Killer witch,” Noa said, echoing Bara’s titles for her and her sisters. Exhaustion was dragging her down. But she kept he
r eyes open as they took the boys to the temporary home, and to Katie, who cared for them. Gabriel stayed with them, wanting to make sure they were okay, to offer them comfort when they awoke in a strange new place.
Then the van took off for the manor, where she knew she had some explaining to do to Diel. She would have to speak of that day, the biggest shame of her life.
Just thinking of that night, her damned soul ached.
Chapter 21
Fire singed the ends of Father Auguste’s hair; the thick smoke surged down his throat and into his nostrils. But he stood firm. His fists were clenched at his sides as he stood among the pile of fallen priests. He scanned over their bodies, his eyes streaming from the acrid fumes that rose from the charred pews and paintings of Brethren warriors of old, from the crumbling barn walls. But even with his vision encumbered, he could see that not all of them had been killed in the explosions. Some had knife wounds. Some had slit throats and sliced-open stomachs.
Auguste shook with rage, but he closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He would not succumb to rage. He would not give himself over to wrath—he wouldn’t sin.
He opened his eyes and walked over the bodies littering the floor. Some groaned and rolled, only half dead, their souls still gripping on to the hope that they would be saved. But it wouldn’t be by Auguste. These men had failed him. They had failed the Brethren by being weak.
They had failed Father Quinn.
Father Auguste headed to the back of barn. Father Abel came rushing to meet him. His face was dusted with ash and sweat. He bowed before Auguste. “The Fallen, the Coven … they got away,” he said, head lowering further in shame.
Auguste felt his legs shake. His temper rose along with the scalding air in the destroyed barn. He clenched his jaw, his bones aching at the pressure.
Auguste walked past his Brethren brother and stood in the doorway of the room his prisoners had been kept in. He could see small drops of blood on the ground from their wounds. He dampened the darkness that tried to sweep through him, tried to make him forget his mission, the holy path that he had been chosen by God to walk upon. It was a demon clattering its sharp claws against the window of his soul, trying to shatter the glass and climb inside. But Auguste wouldn’t break. He wouldn’t bend to evil.
