The other four demons couldn’t have been more opposite. They stood as tall as Jacob, but their chests were as broad as a grizzly and almost as hairy. Black, metallic bull horns sprouted from their foreheads. Their faces were a distorted mockery of a man’s, their steam snorting noses snubbed, but their brows and jaws protruding and obscene. Blackened teeth pressed against their lips. Their cloven hooves buckled the wooden flooring wherever they stepped. They held halberds with blades made from great chunks of volcanic glass.
Christopher Freeman drew his big, three-shot revolver casually. He cracked the gun forward at the cylinder, checked the load, and closed it. He thumbed back the over-sized hammer. Most demons the Templars encountered had never seen a gun, let alone the big three-shot. He raised the pistol and took a bead on the lead demon. He braced for the recoil, putting his free hand over the stock that extended over his forearm. Jacob figured the demons were in for a surprise.
The gunshot shook the window-panes and set the chandelier to trembling. The recoil kicked the gun high, even with the extra support Christopher had given it.
The bullet hit the lead grizzly-demon in the throat, disintegrating its neck and most of its left shoulder in the explosion. The impact sent it reeling back into the center of the room, its arms flailing and halberd swinging in a wide arc. The demon stumbled backwards into the crucifix, knocking the church ornament from its stand. Obsidian blood pumped down the grizzly-demons chest and arm, gushing down onto the hardwood. The creature burbled, still standing, trying to suck in air through what remained of its throat. Fine wisps of smoke rose from singed fur and exposed sinew. Jacob had heard one of those exploding bullets could take down a buffalo. He hadn’t believed the stories before. He did now.
The creature sank to its knees, sending tremors through the floor and up the walls. The other demons, almost curious it seemed, watched as the grizzly-beast fell face first, embedding its horns in the hardwood and shaking the building. They stared at their fellow’s prone form for a long moment.
Jacob felt a cold drop of sweat trickle down his side. This was going to get ugly.
Almost as one, six heads swiveled to Christopher and Jacob. The demons charged.
“Salt,” Christopher said as he aimed at the next target. Jacob grabbed the powder horn from his belt and ripped off the cap with his teeth. He began pouring a fine border of salt between them and the charging demons. The line of salt would stop them for the time being. At least he hoped it would.
Ducking, Jacob cut in front of Christopher. Christopher fired another shot over his head.
“Goddammit,” hollered Jacob as another of the grizzly-demons fell and the building quaked, “not in my goddamn ear.”
He finished the semi-circle and drew his pistol. He fell in beside Christopher as the demons came to a skidding halt. One of the grizzlies came close to the salt. Sparks flashed and the smell of sulfur filled the air as the grizzly-demon, its flank scorched and smoking, recoiled with a howl. Jacob said a silent word of thanks for that.
Christopher fired another booming shot into the creature, cutting off its cries.
The seven sisters still floated where they had before. More smoke filled the room. The silhouettes of more horns appeared in the cloud.
“Shit,” Jacob said.
“SHIT IS RIGHT,” growled one of the grizzlies, chortling.
“Well,” Christopher said, cracking open his big gun and reloading, “that ain’t exactly what I’d call fair.”
“WE ARE LEGION,” said one of the imps, cackling and flying up to the ceiling. Jacob shot through its wing. The imp, shrieking, fell to the floor.
“Plan B,” Christopher said.
“Plan B?”
“Plan B.”
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
They turned on their heels, opened the door, and ran into the hallway. They slammed shut the door behind them. A great howl from within the room shook the floorboards and the balcony doors.
Braced on the railing for support, the Templars took the stairs two steps at a time. Wood splintered above and behind them as the grizzlies attacked the walls to either side of the salt barrier. Christopher, out in front, hit the front door at a sprint and charged out into the garden. He veered right onto the grass and headed towards the chapel. Jacob’s boot landed on the lawn just as the windows on the second floor shattered. Plan B wasn’t working out the way it was supposed to.
Jacob threw up a protective arm as glass rained down on him. Up ahead were the flowerbeds closest to the main building. Waist-high shrubs surrounded the colorful blooms. Christopher leapt the small hedge and kept going. Jacob followed. As his feet left the ground, a heavy weight slammed into his right side, driving him across the grass. No, Plan B definitely wasn’t working out.
Jacob felt the stinger first. He looked down as it stabbed ineffectually at his breastplate-covered collarbone and heart. A little imp was clamoring up his body. It must have been what broke the glass.
The Templar rolled over on his back and pushed at the creature. The imp, all teeth, rows and rows of teeth, and slimy purple skin, bit into his left forearm, tearing through the sleeve of his greatcoat and grinding into his chainmail.
Jacob lifted the creature off his body. He drew his revolver, cocked back the hammer, and put the business end to the imp’s head. The creature stopped writhing and fighting. Its eyes rolled up and looked at the pistol barrel pressed to its forehead.
Jacob pulled the trigger. Yellow-green blood and brain matter sprayed across the grass. Jacob climbed back to his feet and looked for Christopher.
Christopher, bloody sword drawn, stood over the corpse of one of the grizzly-demons. The blade of its halberd protruded from its gut. The corpse bled from half-a-dozen other cuts. Christopher wiped his sword clean on the creature’s fur. He sheathed his sword as Jacob ran up to meet him.
“You okay?” Christopher asked.
“Yup.”
More glass tinkled above them. Jacob looked up. A mixture of ten or more grizzlies and imps were coming through the window. Jacob and Christopher turned and ran for the chapel.
They hit the door at a run. The priests and Charlotte had locked the door behind them. Christopher turned and stood guard, drawing his big three-shot revolver. Jacob pounded on the door with his fist, the knocks drowned by the booming of the big pistol.
“Hey,” Jacob hollered, still pounding. Christopher holstered his gun. He took out his two smaller caliber pistols and began firing into the crowd.
“Jacob,” Christopher yelled.
Jacob spun and drew his pistol. Only ten or fifteen feet separated the Templars and the demons. Three of the big grizzlies kept charging, and six of the imps dove through the air. Jacob fired at the lead grizzly, unloading all five shells as fast as his off-hand could cock the hammer. The bullets didn’t even slow the demon down.
Someone grabbed Jacob by the shoulder and yanked him backward inside the sanctuary. They slammed the door shut. Jacob blinked as his eyes adjusted to the abrupt dimness. The demons roared just beyond the door. He realized someone was shaking him. He blinked again and looked around.
“Jacob,” someone said. Who was shaking him? He looked down at the little hands on his jacket’s lapels. He looked down into Charlotte’s eyes. “Jacob?” she asked again. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“What?” Jacob asked. “Where’s Christopher?”
“Christopher’s fine. We pulled him in already,” Charlotte said, shaking him again. “I asked if you were hurt.”
“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “No, I’m fine.”
“What’s going on? What happened out there?”
“There was more than a dozen of them. More than we could handle.”
“Are we safe here?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
“I mean, likely we’re fine.”
“Give me a straight answer, Mr. Smith.”
“Demons can’t enter cons
ecrated ground,” Jacob said, heading to the nave. “As long as we stay put, they can’t come in.” He flexed his left forearm and rubbed it. The imp had bruised it through the mail, but thankfully hadn’t broken the skin. Jacob didn’t want to consider what he would have caught if it had. Would probably make zombieism look like a cold.
“You said you were fine.”
“Yup, I did. Mail stopped the teeth.”
“I still want to look it over.”
Jacob sighed. “Fine.”
They went into the sacristy and Jacob stripped off his coat and shirt. He stripped out of his breastplate and chainshirt. He put his arm out for inspection. A multitude of minute pinpricks marked where the imp had bit him on the forearm. Black and blue and red bruises invaded his skin. Charlotte sucked in air through her teeth.
“Not that bad,” Jacob said, yawning. “Get some of the holy water from over there.”
“Water?” Charlotte asked, almost in shock.
“Blessed water. Important difference. Bring it here.”
Charlotte went over and took the holy water from the sacramental cabinet. She handed it to him.
“Would’ve been worse if one of them grizzlies did the biting.”
“Grizzlies?”
“We make up names for the demons sometimes, if we’ve never seen them before,” Jacob said, uncorking the jug of holy water. “The big ones? I call ‘em grizzly-demons, ‘cause they sorta look like the way my granddad described grizzlies.”
“They look more like gorillas crossed with longhorns to me.”
“Never seen a gorilla,” Jacob said, pouring some of the holy water onto his arm. The wound smoked and sizzled and steamed.
“Jacob!”
“What? This?” he asked, raising his smoking forearm to Charlotte. “Don’t hurt. Just the saliva from the imps getting washed out by the holy water.”
“Imps? Those are the small ones right? Why are they imps?”
“‘Cause that’s their name. Imps are imps. If it’s small, spindly, got a tail and wings and lots of teeth, you generally got an imp on your hands.”
Jacob reached down and picked up his great coat. He looked down at the tattered left sleeve. The imp bite had shredded the sleeve from the elbow down. He drew his knife from his belt and began cutting at the left shoulder seam.
“Read in one of our books at the monastery’s library that demons ain’t like people in the way they’re classified. People, we’ve got white folks, colored folks, Injuns, and Celestials. Demons? There are more types than you, or I, or any other person could count. Angels are the same way, too.”
“What about God?”
“The same. Every god’s different.”
Charlotte sat up straight. “What?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “I meant, could God count them?”
“There’s more than one god,” Jacob said, tearing the sleeve from his great coat, “so you gotta be specific with your question.” A seamstress would have done a better job, but his butchering would keep the tatters from getting in his way. “Lots of gods, in fact. Minor gods, greater gods, demigods. That’s just the way of the world and all those beyond. Some of ‘em could likely get an accurate count.”
“But what about Jehovah?”
“Jehovah?” Jacob asked, shrugging. “He could, I reckon. Jehovah’s pretty tough. Miracles get done in his name, and priests force demons back using his power. But, he ain’t the only one that strong. The Bible says there’s more than one god. And there’s myths from all over, from everywhere around the world. Read some of them when I joined the order.”
“I’ve read much of them as well.”
Jacob nodded absently. “See?” he asked, holding out his forearm. “Told you it weren’t bad. Let’s go see the others.” He began putting his armor back on.
Charlotte sat quietly, staring at nothing as Jacob pulled on his jacket.
“What do you believe in, Jacob?”
“Huh?”
Charlotte pursed her lips together. She seemed pensive. “I mean,” she began, mulling her words, “do you believe in a Christian god? That there’s a heaven, and all that the bible teaches?”
“Heaven? Met an angel once, so I reckon I believe in a heaven. What about you? You believe in the hereafter?”
“I don’t know for sure. I think it has something to do with faith, though. I falter on that part, though. It’s difficult seeing the things we see. And you?”
“Faith, huh? Some days I have faith in Jehovah, others I don’t.”
“What about the other days?”
“Reckon it’s just myself.”
Charlotte stood, sighing. “I believe that’s the best we can hope for in this world. Are you ready?”
“And willing,” Jacob said.
They left the sacristy and went into the chapel.
Christopher, Father Jacques, and Father Cavey spoke together in hushed tones. Christopher shook his head at Father Jacques.
“What’s the plan?” Jacob asked.
“Don’t exist,” Christopher said.
“Untrue,” Father Jacques said. He seemed upset. “Christopher will not heed me, that is all.”
“It’s a shit idea, that’s why.”
“Let us put it to Jacob, then.”
“Fine,” Jacob said. “Shoot.”
“There’s a ritual,” Father Jacques said, hands held out, pleading. “I know it. If successful, we can stop the demons for the time being.”
“Great,” Jacob said. “Why ain’t we done it yet?”
“‘Cause there’s a catch,” Christopher said.
“Always is. What is it?”
“One of us,” Father Jacques said, “must be the subject of the rirutal.”
“Oh. Like we gotta kill him?”
Christopher shook his head. “No human sacrifice. But the person’s gonna wish we had.”
“How does it work?” Jacob asked, going over to the front pew and taking a seat.
“One of you perform the ritual on me,” Father Jacques said. “And I become a vessel of sorts, absorbing the demons into my being. I contain them.”
“So you force a possession?” Jacob asked, eyebrow raised.
“Exactly,” the priest said, nodding.
“Demons ain’t gonna be happy,” Jacob said. “Gonna wreak all kinds of havoc while they’re inside.”
“Which is why I don’t wanna have the priest do it. We can fight our way out,” Christopher said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the altar rail.
“No we can’t,” Charlotte said. “There’s too many of them. How many bullets do you have left, Christopher?”
“Plenty.”
“For your three-shot?”
Christopher paused for a long moment, lips pursed. “Three.”
“And your normal guns aren’t slowing the grizzly-demons down.”
“But we can still—”
“Get yourselves killed?” Charlotte interjected in a low voice. “There’s still a city falling apart out there, remember? Who’s going to save it if you’ve been torn apart by a hundred demons in the garden?”
“And those nuns, too,” Jacob said. “Can’t save ‘em if we’re dead. Will this pull the demons from them?”
Father Jacques scratched his chin. “I believe so. I believe it was the original intention when it was created.”
“And you,” Jacob asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “you’re willing to do this?” He looked up at the older priest. “It’s a tall order, Father.”
“I am willing. I have faith the Lord will give me the strength needed for this.”
There was that word again, Jacob thought. Faith. He turned his eyes to Christopher. “It’s your call.”
Christopher closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Fine. Don’t suppose there’s another way.”
Jacob sighed. “Reckon not. How do we do this?”
“I’ll need Miss Gibson’s help,” Father Jacques said. “She’s t
he only one with experience in this matter.”
Back to Contents
July 30th, 1866
Jacob rubbed his eyes. Midnight had come and gone and they were well into early morning. The sun would be rising soon.
“Doesn’t feel right to be doing this in the church,” said Christopher.
“I agree,” Father Cavey said.
“Don’t matter what it feels like, I reckon,” Jacob said, “long as it does the trick.”
“Feels sacrilegious, is all.”
Father Pierre, Christopher, and Jacob stood in the sacristy, arms crossed. Jacob and Christopher had grabbed a few hours of sleep earlier, which would have to do. Father Cavey shifted from leg to leg, his eyes wide, his scant hair askew on his head. Charlotte and Father Jacques worked on preparing the ritual out in the chapel. Charlotte had taken Jacob’s knife and some of the extra candles from storage.
“Look,” Jacob said, “the father says there’s nothing evil about the ritual. It’s just pre-Christ.”
“Still feels bad,” said Christopher.
“Magic is magic, whether it be black or white,” Father Cavey said.
“If Father Jacques thinks this can help us,” Jacob said, sighing, “then maybe it can. Maybe this is the path we’re supposed to take.”
“Why’s that?”
“‘Cause it’s the only one we see, that’s why.”
Charlotte knocked on the wall outside the door. “Gentlemen?” she asked. The three men looked at her. “We’re starting,” she said and went back into the chapel.
The trio followed her.
Father Jacques lay in the center of the chapel floor, spread eagle. He had stripped down to the waist, his flesh white as a cuttlefish bone. Charlotte had drawn a circle of salt around him. Three candles formed a triangle, one at the fingertips of each outstretched hand and a third at a point drawn straight down from his groin.
Charlotte stood a few feet from him, her long tangle of orange-red hair falling loose around her head. In her right hand, she held Jacob’s knife in a reverse grip. She had bunched up her dress around her waist, exposing pale, unstockinged legs and bare feet. Her sleeves were rolled back, showing pale, freckled arms.
The New Orleans Zombie Riot of 1866: And Other Jacob Smith Stories Page 19
