Wickedly They Dream

by Cathrina Constantine

  This is no ordinary demon, or perhaps it’s not a demon at all.

  She didn’t like the idea of tucking her tail and running scared, however, her sneakers squeaked as she tore down the alley. Booting trash out of her way, she heard footfalls in the distance. She passed a corner and headed into a courtyard filled with moonlight. A thicket of mangled bushes and weeds spread over the property. Digging her right foot into hard pack soil, she spun in place.

  Jordan recognized the shiny white head of hair. The albino. He came to a panting halt, his hair flowing over his shoulders.

  “Who are you?” she said in an accusatory tone, eyeing the young man.

  He stood with his legs spread, his arms dangling at his sides. “You can call me Methodeis.” Raising a hand, palm up, he discharged strings of lightning from his fingertips. “You must not go into the church.”

  How come he knows where I’m going? Moonlight played over his face, and she analyzed the colorless pigment of his eyes. Not a demon. More like Grogan. A sorcerer. Intrigued, she watched the lightning dancing on his hand, and wondered if he intended to sling it in her direction.

  “I’m not going to church at this hour,” she replied.

  “Don’t be coy, Jordan,” he said. “I know where you’re going. And I’d advise you to wait.”

  He knows my name. She stationed her hands on her hips. “Wait for what?”

  “Markus and Ezekiel.”

  “I’ll ask again.” Her body thrumming with pulsating energy, she said, “Who are you? And how do you know Markus and Ezekiel?”

  “Believe it or not, I’m here to help you. To make some kind of atonement.”

  “Atonement for what?”

  “Are you interested in a cappuccino where we can sit and talk?” he said. “It’s a long story.”

  “Are you crazy or just delusional?” she asked, gazing at his lopsided grin.

  “Usually a little of both.”

  Her ears zeroed in on tenuous chanting. The church was close. “Why’d you attack me?”

  “I just meant to deter you.” He clapped his hands together, extinguishing the ball of lightning.

  “A pretty vicious determent, don’t you think?” Easing her tense shoulders, she kept her eyes on her antagonist while tuning into the distant drone.

  “Markus said you were to wait.”

  “And that’s another thing. How do you know Markus?”

  “Like I said, it’s a long story.” Methodeis paced forward.

  Seeley’s frail voice splintered Jordan’s thoughts. ‘Help. Please help me.’

  Her mom’s impassioned plea was more than she could bear. From the depths of her being, she drew on a well of energy. The albino, her bull’s eye. With deftly performed wave of her hand, she expelled a tsunami of power at Methodeis. His colorless eyes widened as the force struck, catapulting him off his feet. Like an airborne kite, he spiraled into the night.

  “Cool. I didn’t know I could do that.” She felt guilty, to an extent, though she dismissed the albino from her thoughts and raced toward the chanting.

  Hearing her name being called, she skidded to a stop. Markus. He materialized, but didn’t look at her. His gaze was trained on the church of horrors.

  “It’s pure hell.”

  “My mom’s in there, Markus,” she said, the same words as in her vision. “I have to help her.”

  “You must not enter,” he said, stilted and distant. “If you enter, you are on your own. Do you understand?”

  “What about your friends in high places?” She hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic. “Squads of angels counterattacked at Asa’s. Why not here?”

  “It’s been Hell’s coven for centuries. A disparaging place of devil worship and the first phase of the cult. Unpretentious and hidden, the perfect arena for dark ascendancy.” He turned his head and peered at her. “There are doomed angels enduring perdition, none of whom have an ember of righteousness. A metamorphosis has tarnished their spirits into poisonous beings, which constitute Lucifer’s battalion. They cultivate pleasure by smiting virtuous seraphs. That’s what awaits us in that hell house.”

  The full moon, like a halo behind his head, shaded his countenance. His fingers skimmed her cheek. “I didn’t mean to be loquacious. And it’s not in my authority to speak for my brother seraphs.” Markus bent toward her.

  Jordan had memorized his warning. ‘It’s too late . . .’ His breath fanned her ear. Before he spoke the words, she mustered her courage and bolted her arms around his neck.

  He jerked back, but pinned by Jordan’s arms, he didn’t go far. Their clipped breaths comingled as she seized the moment and planted her mouth firmly over his. His whole body stiffened, and then he wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss.

  Her heart sang in ecstasy. Heavenly wasn’t a strong enough word for the cascade of emotions assaulting her. Markus was a breath of divine air. She inhaled all of him. Knotting her fingers into his velvety hair, she molded herself to him. His intensity threw her into a celestial dimension of adoration and—love?

  She’d altered the depressing vision.

  Loosening her embrace and cognizant of dangling off the ground in his arms, she sank to the earth. She knew what she had to do next, and it would wound her angel.

  “It’s never too late,” she whispered.

  Leaving a disorientated Markus in the dust, she sprinted toward the church.

  The scene was bizarre. Déjà vu. As if she was playing a part in her prophetic vision. Feeling surreal, she crept through the bushes to the entry, cracked the heavy door, and stepped into the vestibule. Thousands of miniscule hairs on her body spiked, tempted by the spellbinding chants. The undertone felt toxic as a forest of black robes paid homage to the devil, countless demons disguised in soulless bodies, along with members of the cult of The Black Order.

  Acquainted with her surroundings, Jordan perceived the inverted crucifix. There was her mother, exactly as she’d envisioned. What she hadn’t recognized during her visions, were the two people lurking in the background. Hoods veiled the top portion of their faces, though their mouths moved in measure with the chanting. One person had to be the woman, Mariah.

  Jordan focused, pinpointing Seeley’s face.

  Seeley’s eyes were closed, appearing oblivious. She swayed from side to side in tempo like a metronome.

  I have to break the magic spell. But how?

  YOUR FOES PROUDLY

  RAISE THEIR HEADS

  IF HER VISION held true, Ronan or the newly named Camille, would be making introductions. Jordan needed to act before the demons overpowered her. Her first objective was to abolish the satanic symbols, which locked out Heaven’s admittance.

  A sweeping black-clad figure hustled through the crowd. Camille.

  Jordan put her telekinesis to work and concentrated on the only source of light, the circulating candelabras. Hissing flames snaked over the wooden walls to scorch the seals. Limited shrieks resonated by those neighboring the walls, the chanting beguiled the majority.

  As the black-cloaked figure neared, Jordan reached her hand and flipped off the hood. “Hello, Camille.” Forcing a grin, she said, “Gotcha”

  “What the hell are you doing? Trying to burn us alive?”

  Gawking at the flames, Camille fingered her disfigured face as if remembering the inferno that had destroyed her house and stolen her beauty. Conjuring a magical draft, Camille smothered the fire.

  Jordan hoped the combustion had stubbed out enough of the symbols.

  Taking a chance, she pleaded, “We could use your help. Please—” Cut short by the emotions crossing Camille’s face, Jordan’s plea clotted like pepper in her throat. The girl was not in charge of her own destiny. Like Seeley, a great puppet master was exploiting her.

  Camille grimaced. “It’s the warrior. Grab her!”

  She should’ve been prepared for the sequence of events. Human members of the cult parted, forming an avenue for persecuting demons.

  Conte
mplating a heavenly weapon, Jordan’s fingers tingled, yet the response was nil. Markus had warned her. Heaven’s annulled authority in the devil’s domain. She had to rely on her God-given talents, minus the much-sought-after blade.

  A noteworthy male was pushed headlong by a decomposing female demon. An evil spirit must’ve freshly inhabited the man’s body, and she felt sorry for the loss of life. Negotiating a running triple kick to his jaw and chest, she twirled and landed squarely on her feet. Faster than ever, she achieved a crunching punt to his face to disable him. Not wasting a second, she grabbed his head and wrenched it from his body. A grainy cloud spilled from his mangled carcass.

  A storm of gruesome creatures took his place, and she was thrown by the appearance of another young man. She recognized his baldhead and tattooed skin.

  Stringer.

  “Noo! Why? Why—” Detecting Stringer’s red-ringed pupils, she wanted to cry. Not that she liked the guy, but pissed because demons from hell take and kill whatever and whoever they want. “Stringer, are you in there? Show me a sign, anything,” Jordan bellowed. “I don’t want to kill you.”

  Beset with the chore of disposing of him, she had to remember that Stringer was dead. Demons are not human. Soulless assassins.

  Stringer threw a bunch of ineffective punches as his face distorted into a tangled mess of animosity. Dancing around, foiling his attempt at cuffing her from head to toe, she was becoming fatigued. Her reluctance to kill him was strong, and it drained her mental and physical abilities.

  Jordan glanced at Seeley. The hooded figure she’d assumed was Mariah grasped her mom’s shoulders and whispered in her ear. The infuriating sight provided Jordan much-needed stamina. She spun, performing a double whammy to Stringer’s eye socket and nose. As he bowed at the waist, her knee came up to meet his jaw. He sprawled to the ground.

  Jordan’s martial arts training had equipped her to roll with the punches. Wrangling with the demons, she managed to cull plenty and finagle out of their clutches, time and again.

  A feisty demon hampered Jordan by snagging her arms and twisting them behind her back. Inundated by the fiends, she exasperatedly yielded and was carted to the altar like a prized bull. A round of exulting applause and cheers issued from the members of The Order as if it had been the fight of the century.

  Slammed onto the altar with no regard for how much pain it caused her, Jordan’s arms and legs were spread and tied. She immediately searched for traces of awareness in her mom’s face. Even in the dimness, she spied a slash of blue peeping from Seeley’s half-closed lids. A cloaked person, appearing more like the grim reaper, breezed to the altar. The figure shoved Seeley aside and bowed over Jordan.

  Shadowed by the figure, Jordan squinted, attempting to recognize him. Peering into the hooded black abyss, a bone-searing weakness overcame her, as if the thing was draining the life out of her body. Her heart revved to a phenomenal rate, like a Ferris wheel gone haywire. Then the pain came. She moaned. Her insides twisted like a rag mop. The grim reaper drew his cloaked arm over her. She recoiled as skeletal fingers splayed within inches of her heart.

  An off-keyed snigger escaped from beneath the hood. His spiritual scalpel pierced her heart.

  Unexpectedly the reaper jolted, almost falling on top of her. Jordan’s pain subsided, enabling her to take in a full breath. She stared at a blade sticking out of the reaper’s chest. Muffled by the hood, a gurgle slipped out, like a last death rattle. The reaper staggered and turned to face Seeley, whose hands still gripped the hilt.

  “Why don’t you die?” Seeley ground the words through her teeth. “Son of Satan!”

  “My dear,” said a venomous voice. “I am dead.”

  He raised his arms and lowered the hood. Shocked beyond belief, Jordan was faced with the earth-shattering, implausibility of a ghostly Asa Trebane.

  “Go back to hell!” Seeley screamed.

  Asa’s words asphyxiated any breathable air. “I’m already there.”

  HOSTILE ALLEGIANCE

  JORDAN WRESTLED TO free herself from the bindings. This hadn’t been part of her vision. “You’re dead. I watched you burn.”

  “Precisely,” Asa said. His ghoulish skeletal bones shone through his translucent skin. “More powerful dead than alive, I dare say.”

  Performing magic, his fingers circled in a spinning motion. An invisible cord wound Seeley’s wrists together, and she flinched from the pressure.

  “No. This can’t be,” Jordan gasped.

  “Mariah,” he said, “be a dear and remove this annoying object from my back.”

  A chubby, curly headed woman stepped into Jordan’s view. With numerous, frustrating yanks, a scrunched-faced Mariah succeeded in wrenching the blade from Asa. She balanced the sword against the altar.

  “I am here to choose my successor. A leader to rule in times of wondrous adversity. The apostasy shall spread to all the nations.” A dogmatic Asa strutted around the altar. “My subjects have come from every corner of the globe. Tonight, you shall pledge your allegiance to a new ruler.” He elevated his arms in exaltation. “Mariah has ingeniously connived to create a half-breed progeny. Selected for this enterprise, the powerful mystic, Seeley Chase Donovan. Regrettably, Mariah’s stratagem was defective.”

  Asa turned to cast a somewhat empathic glimpse at the shame-faced woman. She sulked, a forlorn hunch to her shoulders.

  He continued, “The newly married Mrs. Donovan had previously conceived a child. Therefore, we possessed the infant to bring Seeley to us.”

  He scoffed at Seeley, as if the notion of conceiving a child was undignified.

  “If it wasn’t for my quick wit and potions,” said Mariah, scuttling to the forefront next to Asa, “all would’ve been lost.”

  “Ahh, my ever resilient daughter in arms,” Asa singsonged. “Mariah’s herbal potions ensured Seeley’s appetite for the darker side, and possessing the infant was a touch of brilliance.”

  Mariah took center stage, her voice shrill, “Disciples of Lucifer!” Pausing to silence the rising murmurs, the woman spread her arms as if craving praise. “I am the rightful heir to govern The Black Order of the Cult. My financial stimulus has procured a bounty of funds to our coffers.”

  Her rhetoric prompted an outcry of elation, and the disciples stamped their feet.

  “With the establishment of elite mystics persevering in cracking the chasms of hell, we gain souls for our lord and master Lucifer who, in turn, supplies The Order with world domination!”

  While the prolonged oratory went on, Jordan shut her eyes, endeavoring to mediate on unknotting her bonds. As much as she tried, her over stimulated brain hit a glitch, or it was the superseding iniquity that chained her telekinesis. As an alternative, she managed to stretch her neck and tug her wrist close enough to her mouth to bite the ties. Seeley padded forward, manipulating her manacled hands to loosen the one on Jordan’s ankle.

  A sudden violent hurricane-like wind enveloped. Gasps and cries added to the din as blue lightning ricocheted around the walls like sensational pyrotechnics. An electrified sphere appeared out of thin air, with a glorious angel encaged within.

  “Nicely spoken, Mariah,” an amplified voice spoke as if broadcasting from a loud speaker.

  Usurping the awestricken Mariah, Grogan materialized in front of the sphere.

  “Splendid, Grogan, simply splendid,” Asa crowed while clapping his hands in approval. “Such a superb entrance.”

  A true stage performer, Grogan extravagantly bowed. “You haven’t forgotten about me, have you, Asa?”

  “My dear man, how could I ever forget you? One of the most renown sorcerers in the world,” Asa said and added, “since my death, that is.”

  Grogan, dressed in a shimmering, lavender jacquard, three-piece suit appeared every ounce the superlative illusionist, although, his jaw line persisted in unhinging with a smirk.

  Mariah appeared bitter, her face crushed into a tight scowl. “My stimulus plan far exceeded Grogan’s ineptn
ess,” she squawked. “Money is power. Magicians are a dime a dozen.”

  “You porky bitch!” Grogan spat the last phrase as if it tasted vinegary on his tongue. “I encompass absolute power, while you play with potions and pennies.”

  Opening and closing her mouth like a gaping goldfish, Mariah sputtered “You—” Spittle flew from her mouth. “—you . . . d-disease of a m-m-man.”

  Asa gave a low chuckle. “Now, now, my comrades, play nice. At least for the moment.” He leapt off the platform and moved toward the cage interning Ezekiel. “Grogan, what have we here?”

  Grinning smugly, Grogan moved aside so Asa could gaze upon the imprisoned angel. Torment carved Ezekiel’s features as tremors shook his body. Commiserating with Ezekiel, Jordan knew of the affliction virtuous angels had to endure when physically lodged in wickedness.

  “Jordan Chase, known as the warrior, and one of God’s angels,” Grogan announced with a melodramatic flourish. “I alone, have set the scales in our stead. I deserve my honor as Supreme Leader of the cult. It should be agreed upon tonight.”

  A host of hoods waggled in agreement as Grogan swaggered around the blue sphere.

  “I have Seeley,” Mariah insisted, scarlet faced. “With her mystical influence, we can gain access to immortality.”

  Seeley stopped unknotting Jordan’s tethers as Mariah drew attention to mother and daughter.

  “Immortality,” Asa said with a hint of cheek. He swished around and seemed to float to where Mariah was fiddling with her lips. “Why would you want immortality? Don’t you want to dwell in the house of our lord for all eternity?”

  “Ah-h-h…I thought that’s w-why you wanted to b-blend your powers with Seeley?” Mariah stammered. Her trembling lips manufactured a feeble smile. “What good is all the money in the world if we can’t live long enough to spend it?”