“Hurry, hurry,” Chauncey Demon says while smiling down at my sister, “You have until dawn.”
The church is only a short walk away, but I wander the lamp lit streets for over an hour.
I call my dad but he doesn’t answer.
I think of calling my friends from home, but I haven’t talked to them since I left and what would I say? ‘Hi. I’m about to kill myself. Love you.’ I don’t think so. I never sent the postcards I promised.
I didn’t even say goodbye to Linnie, or that I loved her, or that, all in all, dying to keep her soul safe isn’t that bad of a deal for me…I had said nothing, just walked out of the hotel room.
I stand in front of the light wood doors at the base of the large rectangular tower of the church. I imagine the church is beautiful during the day but cloaked in night, it looks like a giant dark ravenous presence looming above me.
Under the archway opening, I make my last phone call to Nicholas’s cell phone. He picks up on the first ring.
“Raven? Where are you? What happened?” His voice comes out in a gush.
My voice is surprisingly steady when I say, “Hello, Nicholas. Wow, this has been a very eventful night, huh? I need to, um, ask you a favor.”
“What are you saying? Where are you? Where is Linnie?”
“I made a deal...”
“No!”
“Wait, listen. Not for my soul. I made a deal, I traded my life for my father and Linnie’s souls and safety.” My steadiness falters and I inhale to regain my calm.
When he speaks, his voice sounds low and serious, “Where are you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I need you to make sure that the demon, who possessed Chauncey, releases Linnie and my father. She’s in a room at the Hotell Trädgård Visa.”
“Do not do whatever you are doing,” he says, still serious. “Every deal struck with a demon has consequences you can’t see. She’s tricking you in some way, I promise you that...”
“I don’t have a choice!” My calm breaks with a dry sob. “Please.”
“No. We’ll find another way," he demands. "Where are you?”
“I’m going to confess my sins, I’ll go to heaven; and one day, we’ll see each other again. It’ll be okay, I promise.”
“Don’t hang up. Where are you?” He yells, “At a church?” He says some word that sounds a little like, “Himmels-far-da-sky-can?”
I look back at the structure around me, “I don’t...”
The doors open. “Child?” A man asks, he wears the shroud of a priest. “What are you doing here? Do you need help?”
I snap my phone shut. “Yes,” I say, “I need your help.”
He doesn’t complain about the time, he stands aside and gestures for me to come in. His hair looks disheveled, as if perhaps I woke him. He looks middle-aged, fifties or sixties, and tired; his skin is wind-worn like an old sailor. The priest limps as he wanders into the main part of the cathedral.
The main chamber is only lit by the light escaping through the open door to the foyer. Fifty, maybe more, pews cross a long apse that ends in a rounded altar. It is hard to see the altar at the end but I can just make out brick steps leading up to a stage adorned by a decorative gold altar piece.
The priest sits in one of the pews and motions for me to take a seat. “What can I do for you, child?”
I sit in the pew ahead of his and turn to him. “I need to confess my sins,” I am starting to hyperventilate again.
He doesn’t even blink at my odd request at this hour. “Of course I can do this for you,” He nods demurely.
My hand shakes as I pull the flask from my pocket and uncork it.
I expect to be questioned, but the priest does not ask what I’m doing, he just watches me.
I hold the gold vile to my lips and stare at the gold shining from the dark altar. I close my eyes, pour the liquid into my mouth and swallow.
I’m not sure if I see right, because the space is so dimly lit, but the priest seems to grin.
I inhale and recite the words I’ve heard in so many movies, “Forgive me father for I have sinned, it has been...” I pause. “I’ve never confessed before.” Suddenly, my internal organs feel like they are on fire. I try to stand and fall out of the pew into the aisle.
The priest does not move to help me; he just pivots to look down at me on the floor.
I gasp out, “I... I lied to my father, a couple times. I broke someone’s nose. I almost had premarital sex…with a demon.”
The priest makes a sound, it almost sounds like laughter. I look at him: he’s not laughing, his expression is serene.
I breathe in fire with every inhalation. I know my throat is closing up, just as Demon-Chauncey said it would.
I’m desperate to get my next words out, “I’m killing myself. I need to be forgiven...”
“I don’t think so,” The priest replies.
My eyes burn as I gaze up at him; the air is filled with invisible embers that hit my eye and singe into my retinas.
He gazes down at me with his cheeks melting around his smile. “You don’t deserve forgiveness,” he says while laughing.
“I thought that… everyone deserves...” The words burn my mouth and I can’t finish my sentence.
Shadows creep around the space. I writhe on the hot coals beneath me. The priest’s laughter echoes in my head.
“Stop,” I plead, “Stop laughing.” But my voice fails and he doesn’t stop laughing.
My chest convulses so violently my head hits the floor. The shadows converge on the priest and his laughter suddenly ceases. I close my eyes.
For a few seconds the world narrows down to the lines of pain webbing through my body; then, a woman’s voice commands, “Hold her still."
I pry my eyes open.
Mrs. Trandle, my childhood neighbor stands above me. She’s alive?
Another woman is beside her, I can’t recognize her melting features but her accent sounds Irish.
Two people are searing my arms with their fingers. I scream out in pain. Something is shoved into my mouth.
“Swallow!” The Irish woman tells me. I know who it is now, Madeline, Stephen’s real ex. “If you don’t swallow that, you’ll die.”
I muster all my energy and spit the object out of my mouth. Someone tries to pry open my mouth again but I manage to keep my teeth clenched.
“Raven,” Mrs. Trandle says, her voice shaky, “That man was not a priest, and you’re not going to heaven. You’re going to purgatory.”
They try to open my mouth again but I clench my jaw. My eyes are open but shadows consume the world and I see black.
“Soon her throat will be closed, you need to convince her,” Madeline whispers.
“If you die and your soul goes to purgatory...” Mrs. Trandle whispers, “Andras will start taking souls again, thousands, maybe millions, of souls. Madeline is a witch,” even in my state I notice she says the word with disdain, “She can raise you from the dead, but only if you swallow her charm.”
My head flops from side to side.
“Promise her what you have to. It needs to be now!” Madeline does not bother lowering her voice and it sears my ears.
“I promise...” Mrs. Trandle’s voice shakes, “You will not be raised from death until your family is safe. We’ll keep it from Andras, from everyone… everyone will think you are permanently dead until your family is safe. I swear on my honor, as a Christian.”
My jaw slackens and I let them slip the charm inside. Swallowing the pebble sized charm feels more like choking down a boulder. The few attempts it takes me, before I swallow, drains the rest of my energy.
The last thing I hear, while my throat closes, is Madeline saying in a soft Irish lilt, “You know what’s comin’ right? You know what you promised?”
I faintly register that Mrs. Trandle’s voice cracks when she answers, “What I had to.”
And, I die.
Chapter Twenty
Day Fifty-Fiv
e
Blink. Blink. Blink.
“LIVE!”
Bright. Dark. Light. Black. White. Black. Blackness...
My body is limp, I have no control.
An electric river, flows- jolts into me. My chest raises, jerk, shock. Scream.
A blurry hazy face, an angel’s face surrounded in red icicles. No, not ice, hair. “Raven,” Her words frost my ears, “Can you hear me?”
Yes.
“Blink twice for yes.”
Blink, Blink.
“She’s back. Oh, dear God, Finally.”
I’m shuddering, shaking. I hit wood; it's on all sides of me. Rough branches cut into my arms every time I convulse.
“Oh, curse of the crows! They’re coming! Look! Down the hill!” Irish voice, it’s the ice angel. “Hold yer circle! Don’t any of you break the circle! Oh, I did not want this, but we need her movin’, now!” Madeline, it’s Madeline. She holds a knife above me and cries, “I’m so sorry!”
The knife comes down, down, down. A streak of silver cuts deeply into a tree beside me.
I scream as a new current of electricity floods in.
There is nothing but pain. Nothing... Every inch of me burns with frost. I must be lying in a snow-melt river. Ice-crystals consume my body then face.
I reach up to brush them off but there must be some type of weights on my arms. Before my hand even raises an inch an ice whip coils around my arm. No, not a whip, it’s fingers, Madeline’s fingers.
She scolds, “You want a hole in your cheek? Don’t you touch yourself now; your skin hasn’t finished… err... recomposing.” Then she says quieter, as if to herself, “Just a few more minutes.” Her hand uncoils from around my wrist. “You hold the circle now. Hold it!”
The world around me slams into focus; I’m in a nest of branches and sticks. There are stars above me, the frigid air stings my eyes. I close them.
Then, all the sounds of the night flood in, I hear chanting, many people chanting. And there are other sounds, thunderous drums, hundreds of them, beating a chaotic rhythm. The rhythm slows, replaced with another fouler tempo; howls, shrieks and screeches and screams. I know that sound, I’ve heard it before. It’s the sound of...
The sound of...
Demons.
Madeline cries, “Damn. Close your eyes. Don’t look at ‘em. Hold the circle!”
The electricity dwindles and extinguishes. I’ll just lie here, in the earth. I open my eyes, and blink against the sting. I wonder if I’m finished...what is it she said? Recomposing?
“Damn!” Madeline shouts.
I want to brush away the thick layer of mulch and dirt covering me but even pushing that away is impossible; the nearly weightless substance is too heavy for me. I’m trapped under layers of chopped wood; roughly hewn stumps and trunks.
“Good,” Madeline says, breathlessly. She shoves the branches aside, brushes off the dirt and yanks me up by my arm.
I’m not ready for this…
I flop forward head leading the way, but she grabs me by the shoulders and supports my body weight dragging me out of my nest. She’s strong for such a little lady. My head lulls forward. I fight to lift it and see...
Demons, on all sides of us.
Closer, five women, all in grey dresses with long hair like Madeline’s hold their arms out to the sky making a circle, Madeline and me in the center.
The demons stop inches from the women, beating at (and held back by) some invisible barrier. Some are only the size of a large dog but most tower over the women. Red eyes twinkle out of nearly a hundred heads, some heads are scaly, or gray and slimy or shiny and black like a beetle. The crowd blends together in my sight, almost as if it is one giant gyrating mass, all sharp teeth, fangs, tusks and crimson eyes. I blink to clear my foggy focus. I blink again. I can... somewhat... differentiate them.
What I intend to say is, ‘oh, God,’ but all that comes out is a wheezing sound. After a few attempts I roll my head up to my shoulder.
A figure is fighting in the horde. He’s slashing and spinning just outside the circle.
Madeline screams directly in my ear, “On three we break the circle and run to Nicklaus!”
Nicklaus, my Nicholas. My friend, the demon killer. And that’s what he’s doing, killing demons, maiming, dismembering...Hell, yeah.
My head flops forward.
“One!”
Madeline shuffles backward toward the outer edge of the circle dragging me along fire-fighter style. I kick at the ground hoping to help with my limp weight; my legs bend at awkward angles and do little to push me along.
“Two!”
Madeline hefts me up hugging me around the waist. We’re only a few yards from Nicholas, but a demon steps to the invisible barrier directly between us and the one-man fighting tornado.
The fiend is a full head taller than me, horned but with the head of a bear, black and shiny, his red eyes twinkle down at me with hunger, but I’m not sure for what. His lips split apart in a too-wide grin exposing two lines of jagged teeth.
Madeline inhales sharply, “Bloody. Hell. Three!”
The chanting stops.
She pushes forward, straight at the massive smooth black chest and outstretched limbs of the Demon.
I don’t have time, or the ability, to scream or fight Madeline off. I don’t have an instant to think before she lunges me at the Demon’s slick metallic-looking exterior. Right before I’m sure we’re about to (literally) get the bear-hug from Hell, the Demon leaps out of our path. The unexpected lack of obstacle sends us tumbling forward, under several clawed swipes and a shiny blade. My cheek hits something hard and black, it moves quickly away. I open my eyes and peer at the offender; it was a boot, Nicholas’s boot.
“You take the sword. I’ll take her!” This is from Nicholas.
Around me on all sides, hoofs, feet and talons shuffle back. Strong arms slip under my knees and back lifting me from the wet slimy grass.
“Ha...” Yeah, that was supposed to be, ‘hi Nicholas,' but it didn’t quite work out.
Nicholas gawks down at me as if we’re not surrounded by a crowd of blood-lusting demons; he stares at me as if I’m the most frightening being here. He’s crying, actual tears wash off streaks of blood on his face. He looks awful, bruised, bloody and overall unkempt. He’s so different from any other time I’ve ever seen him before, even when he was covered in Chauncey’s blood he still managed to look sharp.
I want to tell him, ‘you look awful,’ but this time all that comes out is a gurgle.
I tip my head toward the demons. Their noise level hasn’t decreased in the slightest but they aren’t moving. They’re forming another circle around us, but this one isn’t as fixed, their sheer numbers push the front-most demons forward, these fight and claw to get away. The surging swaying circle gets tighter and tighter as more demons crowd around. It’s as if they all want to come at us but not one of them wants to be the one to attack.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Madeline, a blur of grey and red, needlessly swiping her silver blade at the snarling, howling, cackling ring.
“We need to move now!” She screams over the clamor.
“What about the others?”
“There are no others, not anymore!” She shouts. “We need to be down the hill before the soul-bound...”
“I know...” Nicholas inhales and charges for one end of the circle, Madeline stays so close I can feel her back at my shoulder.
“Move. Move. Move!” She keeps up the chant like some kind of freaky cheerleading routine.
The demons before us inexplicably fight to get out of our way. One small devil-looking fiend actually climbs away over a boulder sized demon-beast. Though their teeth don’t stop snapping and the freakish-light shining through their red eyes never dampens, the demons almost seem… terrified of us.
Our movement is, at first, slow-going until a demon-fox does not quite make it over the gyrating wall of monsters, his barbed tail flicks out and nicks my
elbow, stinging like nettle. The fox-demon explodes, combusting into a cloud of ash in an instant.
Before the cloud of ash is sucked into the dirt, the entire mob is trampling each other to stampede away.
Nicholas and Madeline don't even let out a sigh, they just sprint as if what we’ve just escaped is nothing compared with what is coming.
A star filled sky dimly lights the landscape; we are in a sloped clearing at the edge of a lush forest. We rush by a few tree outliers and continue onto a road that cuts into the hill. At the bottom of the hill, a house shines almost too bright to look at.
Madeline screams, “Bloody Hell, they found us. Move!”
Even though we’re only about two hundred yards away from it, and closing the distance, my eyes take a second to bring the house into focus. The large brick cottage looks as if the earth has mostly taken it back, all the way up to its thick thatched roof. Incongruous with the houses earthy feel are the dozen or-so men in full body armor wielding giant sci-fi-looking guns. Their guns are all pointed forward at us. No...not at us, past us. I swing my head to the other side to look over Nicholas’s arm.
A van speeds up the road, gaining on us.
Madeline exhales out a steam of profanity that is so Irish I would have laughed if the situation wasn't so awful (not sure my lungs could manage laughing right now, anyway).
The sound of gun shots whistle through the air. One of the armed men has run forward and is nearly to us shooting at the van.
“Keep your position!” Nicholas shouts but the man doesn’t hear him; he’s charging forward shooting at our pursuers.
That’s when I see them, following out of the forest close behind the van, our very own demonic horde. The gun-happy man must see them too because he halts and stays directly behind us, still spraying bullets.
The moment we cross past the men into the flood lit grass, the shots ring out. Madeline and Nicholas do not even pause.
At the door Nicholas turns around, and I see bodies littering the ground. Human bodies, they barely made it outside of the van. Outside the barrier in the shadow, only demons remain and they don't enter the light.
Suddenly and intensely, my sense of smell returns. I moan and almost heave (what, I’m not sure, since I haven't eaten since the puttanesca). I manage to tilt my head up to look at what I’m wearing, a used-to-be white dress that I’ve never seen before and is about as filthy and foul smelling as an open sewer. I’m sure the rest of me is no picture of loveliness either.
The Deception Dance Page 21
