by J. R. Mabry
“What should I do with an army?” he asked again, this time through gritted teeth.
“Larch—” Turpelo began.
“Magickal names, please!” Eleazar scolded. “I’m writing that infraction down.”
Turpelo took no notice but continued his sentence, “You seem…irritable. Are you quite all right?”
He wasn’t, of course. Larch stopped pacing and wavered visibly as if he were a bowling pin that might or might not topple. Purderabo nudged Turpelo. “Someone’s enchanted,” he said in a low, singsong voice.
Larch wanted to say, “Fuck you,” but he didn’t. He wanted to scream, to bash heads, but he didn’t. Instead, he wavered, his eyes large, his hands behind his back. He looked into the beady black eyes of Purderabo. “Help me,” he said weakly.
“Oh, I don’t think we’re going to do that, exactly,” Purderabo was rubbing his hands in delight. “Let’s figure out what we’re going to do with that army of yours.”
SUNDAY
33
DYLAN HAD a hard time concentrating during morning prayer. This being Sunday, they were supposed to be having Eucharist. But without a bishop, none of them could say mass. As a result, this Lord’s Day was beginning just like any other.
Dylan woke frustrated and tense. Two decent bong hits before rolling out of bed had relaxed and fortified him to face the day, but now, as he tried to focus on the words of the Psalm, the meaning seemed to be like a rope, slipping away whenever he tried to grasp at it.
But the actual prayer part was different, and he was able to pour his heart out to God in the silence. He held his ample belly in his arms and rocked back and forth, baring his soul and laying his fears and faults and hopes before Jesus. When Terry rang the bell to call them back for the dismissal, he felt loved and encouraged.
And there was the smell of bacon. If the world possessed a more potent restorative, he did not know what it could possibly be. Thicker than coffee, sweeter than sugar, the smell of bacon wafted through the house, tickling his nose, calling him by a secret name no other foodstuff knew. He rose, he worshipped, he followed.
Dylan sat in his usual place, kissing Susan on the cheek and gratefully accepting a mug full of steaming coffee from Brian. Terry and Mikael followed soon after, and Kat joined them momentarily, apparently after making a short pit stop. Charlie had, it seemed, been there for a while, grinning stupidly.
“Don’t mind him,” Brian said. “We’re working on it.”
“What does that mean?” Mikael asked.
“We had a little training mishap yesterday,” Kat said. “Mornin’, Randy!”
“Mornin’, Sis!” Randy called from the mirror.
In the office, the phone rang. “That’s it!” Susan said, throwing up her hands. “I’m taking the fucking thing off the hook!” She stormed into the hall toward the office.
Everyone froze in the wake of her angered outburst until Brian ordered, “Say grace,” and turned to the stove. Dylan’s nostrils flared. Bacon acomin’. Tobias stuck his nose in his crotch and wagged.
“Oh. Right. Let us pray.” Dylan pushed Tobias away and held his hands up in the orans position. “Lord, the game’s afoot, and we’re gonna need your help with it all. Do not forsake us, O Lord our God. Oh, and bless this food, please. Thanks and amen.”
“Amen,” they all replied and tucked in with gusto. Susan sat down next to Dylan again, without missing a single plate as it went by. No business was discussed for several minutes as potatoes were passed, bacon was distributed, juice was poured, and broccoli dished out.
“I’ve never thought of broccoli as a breakfast food,” Kat commented.
“Try it with the maple-cheese sauce,” Dylan suggested. “It’s plenty breakfasty.”
“It’s runny,” said Charlie. Dylan noticed there was maple-cheese sauce running down Charlie’s chin. He made a mental note and tried not to look.
When the urgency of the first helpings subsided, a more leisurely pace kicked in. Terry pulled out his cell phone and dialed. In a moment, Richard’s voice was wishing them a cheery good morning.
“Mornin’ to you both,” Dylan said.
“Duunel is still sleeping, apparently,” Richard’s voice said wryly. “He hasn’t incited me to a single felony yet this morning.”
“That’s gotta be hard to live with,” Kat said, her brows furrowing momentarily.
“You’re telling me!” Richard agreed. “Actually, it’s not much different from the voice in your head anyway—just snarkier and turned up to 11.”
“First things first,” Dylan said, making a sincere effort at leadership. “Brian, how’s training going for our oblates here?”
“Well,” Brian said, uncharacteristically taking a seat beside Terry, “not well. We did a simple Malkuth exercise, and I’m pleased to say that Kat had a vivid and very normal experience. Pretty much what we were hoping for.”
“And Charlie?” Dylan asked.
“Charlie didn’t follow directions.” Brian allowed himself a glower as he looked in Charlie’s direction.
“She has big boobies.” Charlie pointed at Susan.
“I’m going to kill him,” Susan said to no one in particular.
“You may have to stand in line,” Kat responded.
“Thet’s not right…” Dylan commented, pointing at Charlie.
“Exactly,” Brian said. “He did the exercise all right, but he focused on Kether instead.”
“You are an idiot,” Randy announced in Charlie’s direction. Mikael adjusted his volume on the guitar amp.
“My anus is sticky,” Charlie said.
Brian rolled his eyes. “I’ve been doing reiki on him, and Terry can confirm that I’ve almost closed the breach in his crown chakra. We’ve still got some repair to do, but I think we can get his impulse control back in a day or so.”
Dylan nodded. “Thet sounds like a plan.”
Terry asked for the jam, then said, “I have a pastoral visit scheduled for this afternoon, but I’ll begin Void training with them this morning.”
“Do you think Charlie is in good enough condition for that?” Susan asked.
“He’s alert, and there’s no chakra work involved,” Brian said. “He may say inappropriate things to the Sandalphon, but he’s in an impressionable place right now, which can only help. At least he won’t be arrogantly thinking he knows it all. I think he’s actually more teachable now than he was yesterday.”
“Okay, dude, thet sounds like a plan,” Dylan said to Terry with a nod.
Susan patted Dylan’s knee. “A for effort, dear,” she whispered in his ear.
He wasn’t sure how to take that, but he smiled appreciatively, which was always a safe default.
Richard’s voice piped up. “Susan, what’s this I hear about an exorcism?”
Susan filled them in briefly on the previous day’s events. Terry whistled. “Will that even work?”
Susan shrugged. “Worked for Luther,” she said, “and we have to do something or we’ll lose our house to lawyer’s fees—even if we win the lawsuit.”
Richard’s voice was grave. “Susan, thank you. You’ve really stepped up in a big way here. And I’m glad you’re taking Kat along. At least someone is showing her the ropes, since we’re out of commission.”
Terry reached for the potatoes. “I didn’t even know Luther had a method of exorcism.”
“Absolutely,” Susan said. “Just because the Catholic Church went away doesn’t mean the demons did.”
“Word,” Dylan agreed.
“His method is less dramatic. And it takes longer. But as for effectiveness”—she shook her head—“we’ll just have to see. I’m praying hard.”
“Me, too,” Kat added.
“What’s the plan, then?” Dylan asked his wife.
“Kat and I are going to go over every afternoon until the demon is gone,” Susan said.
“You’ve got a busy day, then,” Dylan said to Kat. “Training in the morning and demons in
the afternoon.”
“Can’t wait,” Kat said, hoisting her orange juice as if making a toast.
Dylan turned toward the phone. “And dude, what’s up with the bishop-hunt?”
“I struck out,” Richard said. “Parkison is an asshole. Can you believe that he offered us episcopal oversight only on the condition that Susan come over once a week and clean his house, and Dylan had to mow his lawn?”
Susan’s jaw dropped. “You are fucking kidding me,” she breathed.
“God’s honest truth,” Richard answered. “Even Duunel was floored. He tried to get me to kill him.”
“Good thing I wasn’t there,” Susan said. “I would have done it for you.”
Terry cleared his throat. “So, let’s talk about the main item of business, can we? Preston?”
Kat’s shoulders slumped. “I was sorry to miss that meeting,” she said. “Can you fill us in?”
Terry did, and Brian beside him started nodding. “Looks like I know what I’m doing today,” he said. “Sounds like I’m researching talismans that can do mind control.”
“Thet sounds like an excellent plan,” Dylan nodded. He snuck Tobias a bit of bacon, but Brian saw anyway. Dylan flashed an apologetic smile.
“I did some web searching when we got home last night,” Mikael said, taking an iPad out of his shoulder bag. “Check this out.” His fingers sought the web page he was after.
“What is it?” Kat asked.
“It’s Bishop Preston’s acceptance speech after his election,” Mikael said. He held the iPad up and started the YouTube video.
Bishop Preston’s fleshy visage filled the screen, looking triumphant and grim at the same time. The file stuttered, then started to play. Mikael turned up the volume.
“I want to give thanks to our Lord Jesus Christ for this opportunity to serve him in this way, and thanks to the good people of the Diocese of California for placing your trust in me. I assure you that I will be a faithful head pastor to you.
“This commitment is implanted deep in my bones. It is, in fact, my heritage. My family traces its lineage all the way back to the first Christian community among the Mongols. On my father’s side, I am directly descended from Prester John, the terror of the Moors. You will perhaps remember that when the Crusaders’ cause was failing due to poor leadership and sinful, licentious behavior, Prester John arrived in the nick of time—he rooted out the rot in the Crusaders’ ranks, and he led those Christian soldiers onward to victory!
“Today, I willingly shoulder his mantle. The times are wicked, but God has not failed us. It is no accident that he has sent me to you, today. The years you have suffered under poor and unfaithful leadership are at an end! The time of sinful, licentious behavior among your clergy is over! I vow to root out the rot in this diocese, and I will lead the true soldiers of Christ in this diocese to victory—victory over sin! Victory over the twin dragons of liberalism and relativism! Victory over the homosexual and feminist agendas that have torn our church apart and guttered her sacred mission.”
There were a few hoots and scattered applause, but mostly the crowd watched in hushed, horrified silence—as did the friars. Mikael clicked off the iPad.
“Holy Christ,” Terry exhaled. “Richard, did you get that?”
“Most of it. I’m pulling up the file on YouTube now to give it another listen.”
“What the fuck?” Susan asked, her mouth gaping open.
“Who is Pres…Prester? John?” Kat asked.
“My scrotum itches,” Charlie announced.
Brian ignored him. “Prester John is a legendary figure in Christian history.”
Terry piped up. “Some say he was a Mongol prince; some that he was Indian. All agree that he was a terrible warrior—terrible as in ‘a holy terror,’ quite literally. His army destroyed the Muslim forces in Egypt during the Fifth Crusade.”
Richard’s voice continued, coming from the tinny speaker. “Later, he was thought to rule a kind of Christian Shangri-La, except that no one knows exactly where it was. ‘Prester’ comes from ‘priest’—Prester John was a priest-warrior-king, which was kind of a medieval ideal.”
“The stuff romances are made of,” Susan said. “Er…that would be medieval romances, not Harlequin romances. Just clarifying ’cause I read the medieval ones…not…never mind. So, what does this mean?”
“Ya mean, other than Bishop Preston is delusional?” Dylan asked.
“He’s more than delusional,” Richard said. “He’s dangerous. He just pulled off an impossible coup. Basically, he just hijacked the most liberal Episcopal diocese in the country. Why? What’s in it for him?”
They all stared at their plates. Terry got up and carried his plate to the sink. “So, let’s find out—” He froze.
Dylan narrowed one eye, noticing Terry’s sudden arrest. “Dude, what’s up?”
Without looking down, Terry set his plate into the sink and leaned toward the window. “Um, guys…why are all those people out there?”
Almost as a single person, everyone jumped up from the table and crowded around the kitchen window. Sure enough, across the street, about twenty people were gathered. Some were milling about, but most were just staring—straight at them.
“So…why are they there?” Terry repeated. “Aaaaand, why are they staring at us?”
Mikael straightened up. “Let’s go ask them.” And before anyone could stop him, he was gone.
The group stayed huddled by the window as they watched Mikael set out across the street. They couldn’t see his face, but he certainly didn’t act scared. He stuck his hands through the slits in his cassock into his jeans pockets and sauntered across the street in an unhurried fashion. About five feet from the curb, he pulled his right hand out and gave a little wave. He was obviously talking to them, or trying to.
No one even saw the first punch coming. When it connected with Mikael’s jaw, they saw his head whip around, and a stream of spit and blood flew to the street. Kat gave out a shriek, and Susan moved to wrap her arm around Kat’s chest, pulling her close.
“What’s going on?” Randy called from the mirror. “Someone tell me what’s happening!”
“Randy, what are they doing?” Richard’s voice called from the phone.
Another attacker stepped up, but by this time Mikael had sprung into the classic hanmi stance—the position in which aikido artists meet their attackers. Dylan gripped the edge of the sink as he watched his friend repeat what he had done in competition very recently—take on multiple attackers with speed and grace.
“We’ve got to get out there!” Brian called. “Through the back, grab shovels!”
Tobias barked, and almost as a single unit, they filed into the back yard. Brian was ahead of them, handing out garden tools and pushing open the gate. Tobias leaped to the fore, barking and running full out. Dylan puffed as he ran, but he did not lag. He saw Mikael artfully dodge every swing, almost dancing as he pushed the blows past himself without allowing them to connect. And bit by bit, Dylan noticed that he was backing up toward them.
Tobias surged past Mikael and barked a blue streak at his nearest attacker. The man hesitated and backed up a step. The barking and snarling were fierce, and the other attackers likewise halted their approach.
“Mikael, run!” Dylan called, and with relief watched as Mikael did just that, retreating behind the line of his armed friends.
In a surprisingly neat formation, the friends stood with tools radiating outward, moving back toward the house with slow but steady progress. Tobias continued to bark, but he kept pace with them, backing up but remaining their point guard about six feet out.
Terry called, “Okay, everyone, if this is demonic, we’ll know as soon as we hit the curb—because they won’t be able to follow past the halfway point in the street. That’s where the wards are set—and they should still be good since they were made before…you know.”
Dylan saw Susan stumble as she tripped over the curb, and he grabbed at her forea
rm to steady her. She clutched gratefully at his shoulder and righted herself. A moment later, they were all on the curb, and Toby was past the halfway point, still barking furiously. But their attackers continued to advance. All held their breath as the horde approached the middle of the street—and stopped. They released their breath in a storm of relief.
Lowering their garden tools, the friends stood in a gaggle facing off against the crowd. Tobias seemed to sense that the danger was lessened, and his barks grew less insistent, replaced by a worried whine as he nuzzled at Dylan’s hand for reassurance.
Dylan saw Kat fighting back tears as she examined Mikael’s face. His lip was cut, and he held his mouth open. He was talking, though, and reassuring her.
“Okay, we’ve got a real problem on our hands,” Terry said. “Those aren’t zombies, but they’re damn close.”
“Are they possessed?” Susan asked.
“I think it’s highly likely,” Terry nodded. “They’re either possessed or demonically compelled. Mikael, did any of them say anything to you?”
“No,” Mikael said, and Dylan was relieved that his jaw didn’t seem to be broken. “It’s like the lights are on but nobody’s home.”
Terry nodded. “That’s what it looks like to me, too.”
“What does that mean?” Susan asked.
“It means that all those people are probably possessed by demons who are front-and-center, meaning they’ve taken over the bodies. The people are still in there, but they’re being actively suppressed. And the fact that these demons aren’t saying anything tells me that they’re not used to possessing humans. Look at them; they’re barely upright.”
“They sure didn’t know how to fight,” Mikael said. “Well, that first one got off a good punch, but I was able to pull away from the worst of it. The rest of them move with the grace of geriatric mummies.”
“Like that angel who took over Randy’s body—he didn’t know how to work it,” Kat said, making a connection.
