“Poveglia became populated again in the late 1700s during the black plague. It became, for all intents and purposes, an island of the dead. Many people were buried or burned while still alive. The misery on the island was compounded by Xapar. People who would have never thought of throwing someone, no matter how ill, into a fire while that person still lived found themselves doing just that. Xapar fed off the misery, absorbing the energy into his prison. The window ended up buried when Napoleon had the church on the island torn down.”
Isobel listened, remembering what Amelia had told her. “They built a mental hospital there in the 1920s I believe.”
“Yes. The window was unearthed during that time and added to one of the buildings.” Damien looked over at her. “After the doctor committed suicide, Aiden and I were able to have the window removed. We placed it in the basement of an abandoned monastery in the middle of nowhere in the Italian countryside. You were born again in Germany in 1925. World War II erupted before you were old enough to embrace your power. By the time you were, we couldn’t get out. Another dark angel named Lucian and I had finally found a way out and planned to take you to Italy. We never got the chance. All three of us were killed in a bombing raid.”
Isobel shuddered, flashes of that time flickering through her mind. So many lives. She looked at the rain falling outside. “How did the window get here?”
“A stray bomb hit the monastery. The window was exposed and an allied general brought it back to the United States as a war trophy. He had it put into his house. Xapar got in his head and the general eventually went crazy. He strangled his family one by one during the night and then hung himself.” Damien’s expression grew grim. “After the second family to live there ended the same way the house was torn down, and Aiden moved the window to a warehouse where it still managed to create chaos. Crime soared in the neighborhood around the warehouse because of the workers who would inadvertently touch it.”
“How did it end up here in this house?”
“It was sent to an auction; your parents found it.”
Isobel gasped. “My parents! Elizabeth touched it. My father could have touched it.” Panic rose up and she started to leap off the couch and reach for her phone. She had to call them, warn them.
Damien caught her around the waist and pulled her against him. “Calm down. Your father didn’t touch it.”
“How do you know?” Her heart ached at the thought of Xapar messing with her dad’s mind. Or Elizabeth’s.
“Your father, although he denies that he believes anything, wasn’t as thrilled with the window as Elizabeth. He paid attention to his gut instinct and never got within arm’s length.” Damien had watched her parents’ reactions when the window arrived. “If he had touched it, Xapar would have taken control of his mind. Your father would have killed you the minute you were alone that first night. Since your father would have been under Xapar’s control, it would have been by his hand. You would be dead, and Xapar would be free.” Damien didn’t bother to mention that he would have killed her father before he let that happen.
Isobel stared at him in horror. “My father would have killed me? What about Elizabeth? I saw her touch it.”
“Yes, she did. More than once. But,” he added as she tried to pull away from him, “Elizabeth is a special case. Xapar stayed well away from her.”
Isobel stopped trying to reach for the phone. “Why?”
Damien smiled. “Because Elizabeth is a blessed one. There aren’t many, but she is one.”
“A blessed one? What do you mean?”
“They are a gift to the world from the Higher Powers.” His face softened. “Their love knows no bounds and always comes with no strings attached. Their forgiveness for wrongs against them is infinite. There is no judgment in them, no hate, no jealousy. They are pure souls. Mother Teresa was a blessed one. Elizabeth is surrounded by a golden glow. It’s possible now that you can see it as I do.”
Isobel thought back and realized she had never heard Elizabeth raise her voice in anger or make judgmental comments. She had never put down anyone. It was Elizabeth who insisted on keeping pictures of Rihanna. Elizabeth who insisted they keep the boxes of Rihanna’s things. “Why would that make Xapar want to stay away from her?”
Damien stood and walked toward the kitchen needing a drink. “Most souls have a certain level of darkness in them; pride, envy, anger, greed. Any negative emotion is a crack Xapar can slip through. A blessed one has no such cracks. Xapar could make no use of Elizabeth and in fact would have found her golden light uncomfortable.”
Isobel followed him through the dining room and stopped. Lightning flashed and the old woman appeared by the French doors that led to the deck with a vial of blood in her hand. “Sanctum inveni virum.” Then she was gone.
Isobel froze. “Did you see her?”
“Who?” Damien turned and frowned.
“The old woman with the vial of blood in her hand.” Isobel stared at the empty spot where the woman had been. The dream of her as a young girl watching the woman collect blood from the beheaded man came back to her. “I saw her in a dream collecting blood into vials from…” Isobel looked at him, stunned.
Damien nodded. “Eusebia visits you. What does she say?”
Isobel’s shoulders slumped as she walked into the kitchen. “I have a dead woman showing up in my dining room and you are worried about what she is saying?”
“Isobel.” Damien sighed. “She wouldn’t come if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. She was laid to rest centuries ago.”
Isobel threw her hands in the air and began pacing. “She keeps saying the same thing in another language. I don’t know what it means.”
“Tell me what she said.”
She rolled her eyes hoping she could say it right. “Sanctum inveni virum.”
“Latin. She is saying, ‘Find the saint.’”
“Find the saint? As if that makes any sense. I’m assuming she means Januarius, but unless his ghost is wandering around here too, I don’t see how I can do that.” She ran her hands through her hair in frustration. “What am I supposed to do? Fly to Italy, go to this church, and tell the priest I need to speak with the patron saint of their city’s bones?”
Damien watched her pace. “It makes perfect sense. That night in 1456 you had a vial of blood in your hand. A vial kept by a priest at the church. You were going to use it to pull Xapar from the window and to aid in the banishing. Not something that is usually needed, but in this case because of the way Januarius and Eusebia sealed him, it was necessary.”
Isobel stopped and stared out the window at the narrow bridge that led to the dock. She remembered the priest’s warm hand around hers: “I have it. The blood is safe.”
“I remember.” She turned around to face him. “Where did the vial go from there? Or is it still in Italy?”
Damien paced. “I don’t know, but it’s an answer we’re going to have to find in order to end this.”
“Eusebia!” Isobel looked around the room. “Get back here and tell me something useful!”
Damien chuckled. “It doesn’t work that way, meae deliciae. Spirits can’t just sit down and hold a conversation with you. There is a veil; only some of what they wish to say comes through. Even their intentions can’t come through fully, which is a good thing or malicious hauntings would be much worse than they already are.”
“My malicious haunting can do plenty,” she mumbled.
“Yours isn’t a haunting. There is a vast difference between a malicious spirit and a demon, especially an upper level demon like Xapar.” His kissed the top of her head.
Isobel pulled away. “So how do we find the priest with the blood? He could be anywhere. The vial could have been destroyed at some point over the years.”
Damien leaned against the counter. “Eusebia wouldn’t expend the energy to tell you to find the saint if the blood was gone.”
“Isobel, you are mine,” the house whispered. Isobel closed her eyes as the evil
in the voice slid through her mind making her feel tainted.
Damien felt the spike of energy. He pushed away from the counter and put his arms around her. He couldn’t hold his power constantly; it would drain him of strength and Xapar knew it. They needed to find the blood.
Isobel leaned into his warm strength as dark laughter wafted through her mind, and a feeling of hopelessness washed through her. They would never find the blood; there was no way to know where it had gone over the centuries. Now why was she thinking like that? It wasn’t like her. “What happens if the seal breaks?”
“It won’t break enough for his form to be free of the window and move into people. Only your death by his hand will do that, but he will be able to reach far and his power will be terrible,” Damien answered.
“What will we do?” Isobel asked, afraid to hear the answer.
“We will fight him and likely lose. Unfortunately, without the blood he can’t be pulled from the window and banished.” That wasn’t exactly true. There was another way, but it would mean Isobel’s death. He wasn’t willing to explore that path yet, not while there was hope for a different one.
“If I’m so powerful, why can’t I just create a new seal?” Isobel closed her eyes as the voice whispered her name again.
Damien tightened his arms around her when he felt her tense, knowing Xapar was trying his best to toy with her. “Another seal would weaken over time. And a seal like that isn’t easily made. Eusebia could not have done it without the power of Januarius’ blood, made stronger by his sacrifice. Sacrificing your life for another or as in the case of Januarius, many others, concentrates the energy. The level of power being used by the vessel of the energy could have killed Xapar outright, but it can only be gained through death.”
“A lot of good it did for him to gain that kind of energy. Seems unfair to bestow it at a time when it can’t be used,” Isobel said.
“If Januarius had bled out from a sword or spear wound there would have been a single flash in time he could have used it, which is probably why Xapar had him beheaded when he realized the power Januarius would have.” Damien bent to brush her forehead with a kiss. “There are times when it’s worth it. Your mother made that choice.”
Isobel looked at him, startled. “What do you know of my mother?”
“Everyone like you is given a dark angel to help shield them when the demon becomes too much. Dark angels also protect their channels from lower level demons that will try and take them out while they are distracted by an upper level demon. Dark angels can banish the lower and mid levels. Aiden was your mother’s dark angel.” Damien’s voice grew quiet. “My powers were emerging the night your mother confronted the demon. It’s a time when every memory the angel has ever acquired floods them all at once. It’s also when our wings come to us, which can be…uncomfortable. It isn’t a time to leave a new angel alone; we are completely defenseless in that moment and easy prey for demons of any level that can get close enough.”
“So that’s why Aiden seemed so familiar and why my mother wrote in her diary that she couldn’t wait for others to come,” Isobel said sadly.
Damien nodded. “Aiden told her to wait, but the demon was getting too close to you. If they could have captured you before your powers surfaced, it would have been easy enough to drag you to the warehouse and force you to touch the window thereby allowing Xapar to kill you and break free. Rihanna knew the demon was too strong for her to banish alone. The rush of power as she died for you gave her the strength.”
A deep sadness crept over Isobel. Damien had died for her numerous times over the centuries. Her mother had given her life for the same reason. Could she be like her mother if the need arose? She wished she could just leave and forget all of this.
The energy in the house climbed higher.
Isobel. I have a present for you,” Xapar whispered through her mind. “A gift to remind you of the consequences the next time you think of running.”
Isobel tightened her hold on Damien and closed her eyes trying to shut it out. Damien rubbed the back of her neck with his fingers. “He’s speaking to you again.”
She nodded.
“What is he saying?” Xapar was doing his best to influence her even without her touching the window. He was getting far too strong.
Isobel pulled away and dug her hands into her hair. “Usually he calls my name and says that I’m his.”
Damien’s jaw tightened. Like hell she was Xapar’s. “Usually?”
“This time he’s claiming he has a present for me.” Isobel dropped her hands. “I wish he would just shut up. I can feel his evil in my mind when he speaks to me. It feels like he’s leaving bits of darkness each time he does it.”
“You could block him out easier if you would embrace your power,” Damien said, trying to gently steer her in the direction she needed to go.
Isobel shook her head and took a step back from him. “I can’t. I know I’m going to have to, but I just can’t. I’m so conditioned to blocking it and the fear is so strong when I think about it… I don’t have any idea how to even reach it.”
Damien watched the fear flicker over her face. Maybe it was time to bring another channel. Someone who could help her get past the fear and learn to embrace it. Someone who could teach her to use it.
The wail of sirens cut through the silence that hung between them. Isobel walked into the living room, curious. In the years she had lived there, she’d never heard sirens in her neighborhood. Through the screen of shrubs and trees, flashes of red and blue light flickered across the front windows. Her stomach started to churn, and a horrible feeling crept over her.
Isobel crossed the foyer and walked out onto the front porch with Damien behind her. The sirens had quieted, but the lights still flashed bright against the dark day and the misty rain that still drizzled down.
Several police cars and two ambulances were parked on the curve in the road and in the driveway across from Damien’s house. They were at the Marshall’s, a couple in their fifties. Had one of them had a heart attack? Why the police cars then? Isobel ran into the rain compelled forward. Sinister whispers in her mind told her it wasn’t a heart attack.
Isobel jogged down the long driveway in her bare feet. The road was blocked by emergency vehicles. Within minutes news vans clogged the street. More neighbors wandered down the road, drawn by the enigma of the sirens in their neighborhood and the yellow crime scene tape going up.
Isobel tried to push through the milling reporters and cameramen only to be stopped by an officer. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You can’t come any closer.”
Damien’s hand closed around her wrist as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “We might as well go back.”
Reluctantly she followed him back to the house; the rain picked back up soaking her hair and clothes. As soon as they were inside a heavy knock at the door drew their attention. Isobel opened the door, and a reporter immediately began asking if she had heard gunshots earlier.
Damien drew her back from the door and fixed the reporter with a stony look. “We heard nothing. Leave.” He swung the door shut in the reporter’s face.
Isobel massaged her temples. “The early news will be on soon. I want to see what happened.”
Damien rubbed her arms as they stood dripping in the foyer. “You have time to change into something dry. It won’t do anybody any good to stand around until you get ill.”
Isobel rolled her eyes even as dread coiled like a snake in her heart. “People don’t get sick from being in the rain. And if they could, I suppose I could say the same of you.”
Damien shook his head. “Angels don’t get ill. It won’t take you that long.” Isobel changed quickly into dry clothes before making her way to the living room where Damien already had the TV on.
The top story on the news was the murder/suicide on the affluent island. Fifty-six year old Robert Marshall had bludgeoned his wife Maria to death before shooting himself in the head. Isobel hit the mute button and l
ooked away from the images of her own neighborhood on the screen.
“My present, sweet Isobel,” Xapar whispered in her mind. “I will take them all out one by one. You cannot find the vial—it is long gone. The longer you resist me the more people I will take from you. My reach is much stronger than your precious dark angel could imagine.”
A wave of nausea rolled over her. Xapar had killed them because of her.
Damien watched her face pale and her hands start to shake. “Isobel?”
“He killed them because of me. That was his present.” A tear rolled down her cheek. She hadn’t known the Marshall’s, only their names. It didn’t matter. She was responsible for the violent deaths of two people. Grief for the senseless loss of life filled her.
“This isn’t your fault, Isobel.” Damien shifted closer to her and pulled her into his arms, a small thread of worry working its way into his heart. Negative emotions would only give Xapar more leverage. The demon fed on her fear and remorse then turned the emotions back on her in a vicious cycle. The last time Isobel had faced Xapar the demon had been held securely in the window with no chance of reaching out. This was the first time she’d been exposed to this level of evil. If the demon could reach across the street to people who had never touched the window, how much more damage could he do before the blood was found?
Isobel said nothing.
That night, Xapar whispered to her constantly. Finally, somewhere in the early morning, Isobel gave up on sleep and slid quietly out of the bed. She started for the bathroom then slowed to a stop. Dark red footprints smeared across the pale carpet in the semi-darkness and disappeared under the bathroom door.
The shadows in the room coalesced and the air grew thick with malice. Isobel’s heart raced and her breath came in shallow gasps as she crept toward the bathroom. She reached out and hesitated; her shaking fingers a mere inch from the wooden surface. Isobel stared at the unlatched door as she pushed it open.
Blood flooded the entire floor. Maria Marshall stood in the center; her face battered and her skull crushed on one side. Isobel’s heart jackhammered in her chest and her throat constricted until she could barely gasp. Maria’s brown eyes were wild as she pointed at Isobel. The finger was bent at the wrong angle and a piece of bone poked through the skin. “You did this to me! You killed me!” Maria cried through her broken teeth. Her shrieks filled the small space as she stalked toward Isobel. “It’s your fault.”
Bound by Time: A Bound Novel Page 10
