The First Sacrament (The Demons of Stone Chapel Book 1)

by Duncan, Lex

  Thirty-Two

  When I was ten, I did the typical ten year old thing and played a lot of those dumb games at sleepovers. Sure, I was only invited to these sleepovers because the parents of the kids throwing them felt bad for me, but at the time, I didn't care. The games were fun and I usually got free food out of it.

  They almost always started with a question: This or that? Truth or dare? Would you rather? Would you rather kiss Jason Clark or shove him into a wall and run away? Would you rather eat this nasty food or lick a doorknob? Sometimes, when we were feeling particularly introspective, we'd ask ourselves...

  “What would you do if you only had one more day to live?”

  Knowing me, I probably said something stupid like rob a bank, but now that I was faced with the possibility that this could very well be my last day alive, I wondered.

  What would I do if I only had one more day to live?

  The answer was simple.

  I watched a lot of movies and ate an entire pizza by myself.

  Vaena resurfaced for a moment to help me polish it off, then disappeared into her room to do whatever it was she did when she was alone. Read. Watch TV. Knit sweaters. Perform ancient demonic blood rituals. Fun stuff like that.

  We didn't see her again until it was time to get ready for the mayor's party. She gave Dante and I bone crushing hugs, then ran right back up to her room.

  She wasn't allowed to attend the night's festivities. Too risky.

  “Does anyone know where my tie is?” Max called, ambling around the house in a half tucked-in shirt and unbuttoned slacks.

  “Right here,” Sadie replied, holding it up. She looked radiant in her powder blue gown, a string of pearls at her throat.

  I was glad Max decided to take her. One less person we had to worry about. At least at the party we could make sure she wasn't hurt.

  Leaving them to their own devices, I went upstairs to get dressed. Aralia was already there in a floor length gown that hugged her curves and dipped in a low V at the neck. Her dark hair cascaded down her back in silky waves, her lipstick as red as her dress.

  I put mine on and modeled it for Mo, who'd taken refuge in my room. He whined.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mo,” I said.

  A quiet knock sounded on the door. I zipped my dress up the rest of the way and answered it. Dante.

  “You look…very nice,” he said, his tone reminiscent of the little moment we shared last night. I still couldn’t believe it actually happened.

  Naturally, I had to play it off with sarcasm. Feelings were hard.

  “Thanks. You look like crap, though.” I replied, as per our shtick. Exhaustion was a very real part of him now. He wore it like an old shirt, frayed and darkened at the edges. Only he couldn't take this particular shirt off.

  He laughed. “Yes, thank you. I know.”

  “No, you really look terrible.” I smiled. He smiled back. “And your tie's crooked.” I fixed it as best I could and smoothed the wrinkles out of his shirt. Didn't do much good. “Where's your coat thingy?”

  “My coat thingy?”

  “The thing that goes on over the shirt.”

  “My jacket?”

  Duh, why couldn't I think of the word? “Yeah, that.”

  “It's downstairs. I'll get it before we leave.” He scratched his jaw, glanced at his oxfords. “May I come in?”

  I stepped aside. “It's your house.”

  “But this is your room,” he said.

  “You've got a point, Arturo.”

  “I need to make a few more.”

  “You'd better get to it, then. We have to leave soon and Aralia still wants to do my hair.”

  “Then I'll be quick,” he stepped inside. “Beatrice, if I ask you to do something for me, will you do it?”

  This was the same question he asked me the first night we met. I hadn't been able to oblige. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to this time, either. “What is it?”

  He looked up. “No matter what happens tonight, I want you to save yourself. If it comes down to me or you, you need to choose you. Not me.”

  I wasn't a martyr and I wasn't trying to be, but I couldn't...

  “Promise me,” he said, grabbing my hands. “You have to promise me.”

  I shook my head. “I―”

  “Beatrice, please,” he begged. “He's going to come after me tonight because that's what he does. He's never going to stop until he gets what he wants. You can't try to save me because he will kill you, do you understand?”

  “You're asking me to let him―”

  “I'm asking you to save yourself. I'm asking you to save Max, Aralia, anyone you can. But not me. No matter what happens, no matter what he tells you, you can't help me. You can't.”

  I shook my head again. He couldn't ask me to abandon him. He couldn't ask me to let him die. I couldn't lose anyone else. I couldn't. Not him. Not anyone.

  “Beatrice,” he said, his voice a terse whisper. “We can't let him win. He can take me, but he can't take you. You have to keep going. You have to fight. With or without me.”

  Heroism sounded great on paper, but no one ever bothered to read the fine print. No one ever talked about the hard parts. No one ever talked about the sacrifice. The choice between who lived and who died. I knew what he was asking was necessary. I knew going in that this could happen. I knew I had to promise. I knew I had to fight. With or without him.

  He gave my hands a squeeze. “Please.”

  I steadied my breathing. Wiped the tears from my eyes. Nodded.

  He tried to smile. So did I. Neither of us could quite make it happen.

  Just as he pulled away, another knock caught our attention. This one didn't wait for an answer.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Aralia said, “but I really ought to do Beatrice's hair now. Rat's nest like hers needs all the help it can get.”

  “You're mean,” I sniffed, grateful for her interruption.

  “I'm not the one with terrible hair,” she replied.

  Dante opened the door a little wider and edged out of it. “I've got to go find my jacket.” When he was gone, Aralia pushed me down the hall and into the bathroom and sat me down on the toilet. She raked a brush through my hair, complained about how unmanageable it was the whole way through. She didn't ask what Dante and I were talking about. She knew. She knew everything.

  Including how to style my rat's nest.

  “How d'you like it?” She asked, steering me to the mirror above the sink. Ten different cans of spray sat in the basin. At least half of them were used to tame my hair.

  “Wow,” I said, touching the wispy tendrils around my face. She'd given me an up-do, pulled my hair back in a low bun and braided the chunks above my ears. My ward sparkled around my neck, adding practicality as well as glamor to the look. Sylvie Karlov would have been proud.

  Aralia certainly was. “I work wonders, don't I?”

  “You do. My hair actually looks nice for once.”

  “We look stunning,” she said it as if it were a scientific fact not worth disputing. Like the Big Bang, only better.

  “Hey, guys?” Max's muffled voice sounded from behind the closed door. “Dante's calling a meeting before we go. Might wanna get in there.”

  “Patience, Maxie,” Aralia replied. “You can't rush perfection.”

  A soft snort. “Tell him that.”

  Hand on her hip, she opened the door and smirked. “I will.”

  His eyes widened. “Whoa, you guys look great.”

  “Yes, we know.”

  “Thanks, Max,” I said. “You don't look half bad yourself.”

  His suit was a fraction too big and the sleeves a fraction too long, but those little flaws only added to his usual cuteness. With Sadie at his side, they made the perfect couple. Models ripped from a prom catalog.

  “I love your hair, Beatrice,” Sadie said.

  “Isn't it nice?” Aralia strutted down the hall while the rest of us followed. She stopped
at Dante's study, opened the door, and shoved Max and I inside. “Sadie, darling, we'll be right back. Family business, you know. We'll be quick.”

  “Um,” Sadie said, “o―”

  Aralia shut the door.

  Max glared. “Aralia!”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don't start with me, Max. We're on a schedule and your little girlfriend will muck it up.”

  “You don't have to be rude!”

  “I was hardly rude! Beatrice, was I rude?”

  I raised my hands, palms forward. “Hey, don't drag me into this.”

  “Excuse me, you three?” Dante stood at our chalkboard and readjusted the collar of his jacket (coat thingy). If you ignored the dark rings around his eyes and the wrinkles in his shirt, he looked damn near perfect. As perfect as a physically, mentally, and emotionally drained demon prince could look. “Are you done? Or should I wait?”

  “We're done,” Aralia announced loudly despite Max standing right next to her.

  “Yeah,” he grumbled, “we're done.”

  We were done. Really done. One last meeting. Then it was off to the mayor's mansion. “We're done.”

  Dante caught my eye, then quickly looked away. Mo sat at his side, tongue lolling from his mouth. Dante gave him a scratch. “Good. We need to straighten a few things out before we leave.”

  We waited in silence for him to continue.

  “My father has been waiting for us to make our move.” Dante said. “He’s been baiting us this entire time and now we’re finally giving him what he wants. We need to stop him. No one else can.” He pointed to the chalkboard. “You know what he can do. He controls people, bends them to his will. Kills them when he's through. If Bishop corners you, get out of there as fast as you can. Don't be alone with him. Don't look him in the eye. Don't let on that you know. As far as we're aware, he still thinks we're ignorant. We aren't. We have to use this to our advantage.”

  “Manipulate him for a change,” I said. I liked the sound of that.

  “Exactly,” Dante replied. “But we have to be extremely careful. This isn't just a party. It’s a trap.”

  “Should we be watching for anything specific?” Max asked. He breathed on the lenses of his glasses and wiped them on his sleeve.

  “That’s the problem, Maxie.” Aralia tapped her heeled foot on the floor. We'd gotten eight inches of snow last night but she still insisted on wearing heels. I assumed succubi couldn't get frostbite. “We can’t say for certain.”

  “Which is why we need to be extremely careful,” Dante said. “There won't be strength in numbers here. My father won't care how many people he has to use to achieve his ends. He will murder everyone at this party if it means getting what he wants.”

  “So what exactly do you want us to do?” I asked.

  He grabbed his car keys off his desk. “I want you to be alert. All of you. If we're going to corner my father, we need to be at our best. Leave the rest up to me. I can't allow what happened two hundred years ago to repeat itself. I won't.”

  Neither would I. I was sick of watching innocent people die. Sick of grasping at straws, taking shots in the dark. If we could do this―if we could root Amarax out at his own party―we'd be saving this city a whole lot of grief. If we couldn't...

  Merry Post-Apocalyptic Christmas. Fruitcake not included.

  ***

  Stone Chapel glittered like a city in a snow globe and the Mayor's Mansion was its sparkling centerpiece. The lanterns on the sidewalk flickered warmly in the dark while big white flakes flitted down from the sky only to melt on the fur-lined coats of the city's elite. Expensive cars of all makes and models crowded the street, valets in penguin suits rushing to serve the needs of their more than privileged guests.

  Dante tried to park by himself, but they insisted. Mayor's orders.

  “This is crazy,” I said, referring to both the spectacle and the people. The Mansion―thoroughly Victorian like everything else in this part of the city―was draped in white icicle lights, and the giant pine tree in the yard was decorated silver and gold, its lights matching the ones on the house. A herd of extremely wealthy looking people followed the path shoveled through the snow to the front door.

  “This is completely unnecessary,” Dante muttered.

  “I feel like I should applaud whoever planned this,” Aralia said as she admired the tree. “It may be a death trap, but it's a pretty one.”

  “Aralia!” Max jerked his head in Sadie's direction. She wasn't really paying attention to him. Too busy drinking in all the glamor. I could relate. It wasn't often a couple of orphans got an opportunity like this.

  We got to play the rich kids for once. We got to hang out with the very same people who looked down on us for being poor, who turned the other cheek when demons ravaged the Old Quarter or when public schools like Stone Chapel High couldn't get funding. We weren't them and we'd never be, but for tonight, at least, we had to pretend.

  It wasn’t surprising, then, that once we made it inside the Mansion, I immediately felt out of place. Everything about it screamed money. The immaculately polished marble floors, the pure crystal chandeliers, the funny smelling food with names I couldn't pronounce. I never thought I'd feel so condescended by appetizers―sorry, hor d'oeuvres―but I was. Just buy some sandwich trays from the supermarket and be done with it.

  A woman in an emerald green dress greeted us in the vestibule. She opened her arms up in greeting and kissed Dante on both cheeks like this was France or something. “Why, if it isn't Dante Arturo! I'm Georgiana Robinson, head of the Stone Chapel Arts Council. So lovely to finally meet you. Please, please give your coats here.”

  We peeled our coats off and she took them, then passed them to a girl standing next to her.

  Dante slapped on his Famous Person smile. “Thank you, Ms. Robinson.”

  Ms. Robinson's quick eyes assessed the rest of us. They paused on me for a moment longer than necessary. “I see you've brought guests, Mr. Arturo. How wonderful.”

  “Yes,” Dante turned to introduce us properly. “This is my very old friend, Aralia Spinosa―”

  Aralia bowed her head a fraction, eyes never leaving Ms. Robinson’s face.

  “―and next to her is a colleague of mine, Max Morrison―”

  “Hi,” he said.

  “―and his date, Sadie Li―”

  Sadie was braver than the rest of us and shook Ms. Robinson's hand.

  “―and lastly, another colleague of mine, Beatrice Todd.”

  I didn't say anything. I couldn't even muster a fake smile. This woman rubbed me the wrong way and I wasn't going to fake courtesy for her. I didn't care how rich she was.

  Ms. Robinson's mouth twitched. “Very good, then. So lovely to meet you all.”

  We mumbled the appropriate responses and, satisfied with our manners, Ms. Robinson excused herself to accost a new crowd of incoming guests.

  “So, who's going first?” I asked as we stood in the doorway looking into the bustling sitting room. All the furniture had been pushed aside to make room for tables of food and fountains of chocolate. Servers in red suits circulated through the throng hoisting silver platters of hor d'oeuvres and champagne above their heads. Jazzy Christmas music filtered in through a set of French doors that looked like they led into a ballroom. Another elaborately decorated tree stood tall and proud in the corner with a sign in front of it that read in big, bold letters: DONATE TOYS FOR THE STONE CHAPEL ORPHANAGE ASSOCIATION HERE.

  A pile of brightly wrapped presents sat around it.

  I rolled my eyes. These people could donate toys but they couldn't donate anything that would actually help the orphanages. They donated when it looked good, when it was convenient. Otherwise? They didn't give a shit.

  Aralia nominated Dante by giving him a push forward. “Go on, darling. You first.”

  He pressed his lips in a thin line, set his shoulders, and led us into the Christmas colored fray. It took all of five minutes of mingling and stealing crab cakes from one of
the server's trays for the mayor to find us.

  Thirty-Three

  “Here he is, my honored guest!”

  Mayor Bishop, in top Clark Gable form, cornered us by one of the chocolate fountains. He took Dante's hand and gave it a brisk shake. Dante didn't try to smile. He didn't try to appear cordial. He just stared at the man who would be the mayor, the man who was actually a vessel for his father, and pulled his hand back.

  “Mayor Bishop,” he said curtly.

  The mayor took a couple of champagne glasses from a frazzled looking server and offered one to Dante. “You look tired, Mr. Arturo. This is a party, you should be celebrating.”

  “I appreciate the concern, Mayor Bishop,” Dante took the champagne and gave it to Aralia instead. “But I'm fine. Thank you.”

  I doubted the words thank you had ever been said with quite as much condescension than what they had when they passed Dante Arturo's lips. Hiding my smile by fake-coughing behind my arm, I busied myself with looking around the crowded room for any signs of suspicious activity. Nothing yet. Maybe Bishop wanted to wait until after the food was served to ruin everyone’s lives.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed he was staring at me.

  “Beatrice,” he said, “always good to see you again. You look wonderful.”

  Ew. He was the last person I wanted complimenting me.

  “Nice party,” I gestured to the presents under the tree to derail any more possible compliments. “I like the presents. Very charitable.”

  The mayor paused for a moment, narrowed his eyes at me as though doing so would help him see through my very thinly veiled sarcasm, then laughed. Always chipper, that Michael Bishop, even when possessed by the literal devil. “You're funny, Ms. Todd. I like that.”

  Ew.

  Beside me, Max took Sadie's hand. “Sadie and I are gonna go get some punch,” he said, and pulled her away before he became the subject of the mayor's scrutiny. Way to be a team player, Max.

  Thankfully, Aralia and Dante remained firmly rooted to their positions.

  As did the mayor.

  “You've arrived just in time,” he told Dante, slinging an arm around his shoulders in a show of good faith. Dante stiffened. “I was just about to do a toast. You know, to officially kick things off. Now that you're here, we can get things started.”