by Peter Clines
“Except you died,” said Andy, “and it’s not your body. You had your time and now you’re trying to get more.”
The dead man’s head twitched again. “So you’re saying it was God’s plan I got bitten by a zombie and my soul was trapped in a demon’s walking corpse for fourteen months? Doesn’t that mean the abominations are part of the plan?”
“We are not here to debate ethics or theology,” said Stealth.
“Then why am I here?” asked Andy. “I’m supposed to be a moral and spiritual counselor, yes?”
“Nothing personal, father,” said the ex, “but I’m no longer a spirit and I don’t need counseling.”
St. George felt himself smile. Zzzap let out a hiss of static that passed as a laugh.
“I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass,” Andy said. “I just want you all to stop and think what this is going to mean to people. There’s about a thousand people out there in the After Death sect who think exes still have souls buried in them somewhere. There’s already this girl you found getting them worked up. What’s going to happen when they find out it’s possible to bring people back from the dead?”
“We shall explain these were special circumstances which cannot be repeated,” Stealth said.
“How?” The priest looked at her. “How are you going to explain to someone that ‘special circumstances’ let one of you come back but not their child or wife or husband?”
“One of you?” echoed Danielle.
“I’m sorry,” said Andy, “but it’s how people are going to see it. Superhumans getting something regular folks don’t. Not to mention the backlash over every single ex we’ve ever put down that might’ve had someone’s soul inside it.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said St. George.
“I have,” said Stealth. “I believe the results will be minimal.”
“Well, then how about this? Something else I’ve been wondering about,” said Andy. He gestured at the ex strapped to the bed. “How do you know it’s him?”
“We have established this is not a trick,” said Stealth. “He has shown awareness of certain facts no one else at the Mount could knfor “So5N3ow.”
“But would Max know them?”
Stealth’s face shifted under her mask.
“If we buy his story,” the priest said, “that he’s a wandering spirit who once trapped a demon, then we’re back in my territory. And the church has a lot to say about spirits taking control of bodies. This could be anyone—or anything—posing as Max. It’s classic exorcism material.”
“Are you saying you want to exorcise me?” asked the dead man.
Andy shook his head. “I’m just saying, how are we supposed to know it’s really you?”
Jarvis’s body gave another shudder and the ex clenched its teeth. The shackled hands flailed at its chest. “I could say the Lord’s Prayer for you, if it makes you feel any better. If I can say it forward, it at least proves I’m not a demon.”
Andy managed a faint smile. “I appreciate the gesture, but how do we know that’s a real test?”
“It’s real,” the ex grunted. “It’s … it’s one of the only things the film got … right.” The dead man convulsed, its arms and legs thrashing as well as they could with their chains. Its head fought against the foam restraints. The ex fell limp against the bed and then another spasm racked its body.
St. George stepped forward to hold Jarvis—the dead man—still, but Stealth gestured him back. “What is happening?” asked the cloaked woman.
“We’re close,” grunted the ex. “My heart’s trying to start back up.”
“That hurts?” Danielle asked.
“You think a heart attack hurts less when it’s happening in reverse?”
St. George glanced at the hall. “Do we need to get one of the doctors in here?”
“Jesus, no,” said the ex. It looked at the priest. “No offense, father, again. They’ll try to save my life and they’ll just end up killing me. This has to happen at its owwnnNNNAAHHHHH!”
The corpse convulsed again, and its face twisted up in pain. Its back arched, pushing its hips up in the air, and then it slammed back down onto the bed. It sucked in a rasping breath.
St. George looked at the body. “Are you sure this is working?”
“Not really,” said the ex. “I’ve never done it before.” Its chalk eyes turned to the window. “Barry,” it called out, “I think it’s time.”
You sure?
“Time for what?” asked St. George.
“The next one should do it,” said the ex. It sucked in another breath. “All four cardinal points, just outside the Big Wall and the walls of the Mount. Make sure—” The handcuffs rang against the rails three times as the corpse flailed at its chest. “Make sure they’re pointed the right way.”
On it.
“Zzzap, what are you—” But the gleaming wraith was gone before Stealth could finish her sentence.
Another spasm shook the ex. “Oh, yeah%“So5N3,” it said. “This is it.”
St. George’s earbud crackled. “Boss,” said a voice, “it’s Ilya. I’m up at the North Gate. Barry just flew by and torched a section of Bronson just outside.”
He tapped his mic. “What do you mean, torched?”
“It looks like he drew a bunch of lines in the ground with his hand. Melted it right into the pavement. Still too smoky to see what it is.”
“St. George,” a new voice cut in, “Makana at West Gate. What’s Zzzap up to? He just burned something into the street here.”
“Dave at South Gate for St. George—”
“This is Katie at North Gower—”
“Lemon Grove gate to St. George—”
“—just scared the piss out of all of us—”
“—like some kind of big circle with squiggles in it.”
“—the hell is Zzzap doing?”
St. George stepped forward and set his hand on the ex’s chest, pinning it to the bed. “What’s going on?”
“Just a second,” the dead man said through gritted teeth. “Time to do the Jesus thing.” His eyes clenched shut and tears leaked out of the corners.
One of Stealth’s pistols appeared in her hand and settled by the ex’s head. “What is happening?” she demanded.
The corpse roared in pain. It tried to thrash but St. George’s hand kept it pressed against the mattress. The handcuffs chimed as it strained to grab at its chest. The body went tense, rock solid, and then went limp again.
Light flooded the room. Did I make it? called Zzzap from the window.
“What the hell were you doing?” snapped St. George.
It’s part of the process, said the wraith. He’s had me practicing all the symbols for months.
St. George looked down at the corpse and his eyes went wide.
“Holy shit,” said Danielle. Father Andy crossed himself and whispered something.
The pale skin was taking on the soft colors of life. The veins faded behind the flesh tones. The ex—the man—let out a slow sigh. Sweat glistened across his forehead. “Jesus, that hurt,” he said. “I had no idea it was going to hurt so much.”
St. George’s hand flinched away from the man’s chest for a moment. He set it down again, spreading his fingers. “Your heart’s beating,” he said. “You’ve got a pulse.”
“Yeah. And a very itchy beard. How did Jarvis live with this thing?”
St. George and Andy both frowned.
The man opened his eyes and looked at each of them. Color was leaking back into the irises, like an old Polaroid photo where an image formed out of haze. “Sorry. That was tasteless. After years without a body, I’m a bit overwhelmed right now.”
Welcome back, Max, said Zzzap.
“Thanks, Barry. I’m guessing you got remember falling asleep time people all the symbols done or we wouldn’t be here right now.”
Stealth pressed her Glock against the bound man’s eye. “What do you mean?”
“Hey,” sa
id Max, “take it easy.”
“You have never mentioned these symbols before as part of your resurrection. You have now just implied disaster if they had not been arranged around the Mount. What is their true purpose?”
“I was going to tell you.”
“You will tell us now.”
He sighed. “I can show you, if you like. It might be easier.”
The North Gate was a few blocks from the hospital. Like all the entrances through the Big Wall, there were a few hundred exes and the air crackled with the sound of chattering teeth. Half of them pressed against the gate. The rest staggered through the street.
In the middle of Bronson was a smoking set of lines, a scar in the pavement stretching from one side of the road to the other. The superheated material had turned a fresh, deep black that stood out from the faded charcoal of the street. Three exes had been slashed in half by Zzzap’s burning touch, too slow to get out of the way and too mindless to realize their danger. Steam still trailed from their severed bodies. A spray of gore marked where one had boiled and exploded.
Two parallel lines marked out a ring fifteen feet across. Inside the double circle was what looked like two triangles—or maybe an hourglass—surrounded by squiggles.
“Nice job, Barry,” said the resurrected man. His handcuffs jingled as he gestured at the symbols. He swayed as he did, and St. George kept one hand on the man’s shoulder.
Thanks.
“So what is it?” asked St. George.
“It’s the Hexagram of Water,” explained Max, “modified with six of the names of God and a thaumaturgic circle.”
“A what?”
“Magic,” said Stealth. “He is claiming this is a magical ward of some sort.”
“Very good,” said Max. “There’s an appropriate one protecting us at each gate, and some stronger ones around the Mount proper.” He waved his hands to the east and south. It was a clumsy motion with the cuffs.
Protection? said Zzzap. The gleaming wraith turned to the man with the salt-and-pepper beard and tried to ignore the glare from Stealth. You said they were part of the resurrection spell.
“Yeah, sorry,” said Max. “It was easier to tell you that.”
“YOU HAVE PUT everyone in the Mount at risk,” said Stealth. Her sharp voice echoed in the hospital room. She stood wrapped in her cloak, so it was impossible to tell where her hands were. St. George was pretty sure they were near her holsters. He didn’t blame her.
“Don’t be melodramatic,” said Max from the bathroom. “We’re not at risk as long as we stay inside the walls.”
St. George stood by the window. Smoke was pouring out of his nostrils in a steady stream, and he hadn’t been able to get the tickle in his throat under control. Part of him wanted to grab Max and shake him, but he didn’t want to set off the fire alarms.
Freedom stood across from them, his arms crossed against his broad chest. He’d joined them after the radios filled with people talking about the creature outside the Big Wall. He wore his displeasure plain on his face.
The resurrected man tapped the razor on the sink and rinsed away another inch of salt-and-pepper beard. St. George always suspected Jarvis would look a good ten years younger without the beard. He still knew the face beneath it, but it seemed more like a mask now. Jarvis never had that confident, almost smug look in his eyes and tone in his voice. He didn’t have a barely hidden swagger when he moved.
But he did now.
They locked eyes for a moment in the mirror while Max brushed the razor under his nose. For just a moment the confidence and swagger vanished and St. George saw two looks flash across the other man’s face. Relief that he’d escaped a horrible fate. Worry that somehow he hadn’t.
St. George also noticed Max’s eyes were brown. Jarvis’s eyes had been blue.
Then the moment passed and Max winked at him.
“And if someone did not stay within the walls?” asked Stealth.
“Well, if someone goes out there, one of two things will happen,” Max said. He reached up with the razor and scraped away a little more of Jarvis. “More than likely Cairax will just kill them.”
“But you’re Cairax,” said Freedom.
“No,” said Max. “We’re two separate beings. Always have been. I just borrowed his body now and then. And maybe a little of his mind-set.”
“Which was your excuse for molesting a dead actress,” said Stealth.
“Hey!” snapped Max. He turned from the mirror. “That’s not what happened at all. The whole thing just got blown out of proportion. And none of you did anything to stop it, I might add.”
Stealth didn’t flinch under his glare.
“I slipped a dead woman the tongue and she bit it off. That’s it. Considering what my perceptions were being filtered through, it’s an amazing example of self-control.”
“Well,” Freedom said dryly, “at least now we know you didn’t do anything disgusting.”
Max turned back to the mirror. A moment passed. No one spoke while the resurrected man scraped at the bit of Jarvis on his chin.
St. George took a slow breath and managed to get the flames in his throat under control. The trailer of smoke from his nose turned to a thread. “So it’ll kill anyone who goes past your marks,” he said.
“Yeah. Probably.”
“How?”
“Well, you’ve seen the exes. He’s got a good four or five seconds before those bodies explode.” He stopped shaving and glanced over his shoulder. “You’ve fought Cairax, George. How much damage do you think he can fit into five seconds?”
Stealth’s head shifted inside her hood. “What is the other possible result of passing the wards?”
“He might try to possess whoever goes out there. But the odds of pulling it off with an unprepared body are next to nil. Really, it’s just another way he could kill people.” Max splashed some water on his face and the last of the salt-and-pepper beard was gone. A few drops spotted his hospital scrubs.
“What do you mean?”
Max grabbed a towel and wiped off his cheeks and chin. He let it drop and ran his fingers across his scalp. “If it isn’t suitably prepared with the right sigils and agreements, a normal human body just can’t take the stress of demonic possession.”
“Yours did,” said St. George.
“Yeah, but mine was prepared, plus I had the safeties in the medallion. Anyone else remember falling asleepre“of would just burst like the exes. It’s like boiling a frog—you’ve got to go slow to even have a chance of it working.” The sorcerer gestured at himself. “Look how long it took me to work my way into Jarvis’s body. He’d need at least twice as much time.”
Max stopped and ran his fingers across his scalp again. “Weird having short hair. Kind of weird having hair at all, to be honest. Been a long time.” His lips shifted and one of his cheeks bulged. “Jarvis was missing one of his back teeth, too. That’ll take some getting used to.”
St. George felt the hostility coming off Stealth. Max either didn’t notice it or didn’t care. The hero cleared his throat rather than smacking the sorcerer. Max glanced at him, then put his hands down.
“If what you are saying is true,” said Stealth, “the demon could possess an ex just as you did.”
Max shook his head. “He’s too big. A demon needs a sentient soul to use as … as an opposing force, sort of. Without one, going slow isn’t an option. They just rush right into a body, like filling a water balloon with a fire hose. Believe me, if the wards weren’t up, people would be popping left and right in here. Cairax is just too impatient for his own good. That’s why his kind didn’t overrun the world millennia ago.”
“If it knows that,” asked Freedom, “why’d it try to possess the exes outside?”
“Why do people punch walls?” Max shrugged. “And it’s pretty creepy, you’ve got to admit. It sends a message.”
“If what you are saying is true,” said Stealth, “demonic possession should still be a common occurrence.
”
“Well, it’s more common than people think,” said Max. “Up until the ex-virus, they couldn’t come through on their own, and once it had wiped out ninety percent of mankind, there just wasn’t a point. Why make the effort to manifest in this world for just a few souls? Y’know, unless they really wanted to kill someone.”
“Wait,” said Freedom. “Why couldn’t they come through before the ex-virus?”
“Because of the Pope.”
“What?”
“The Pope. That’s the whole point of there being a Pope. He’s God’s chosen warrior against evil. You didn’t think the son of God really wanted to create some borderline-fascist religious bureaucracy, did you?”
“You’re joking,” St. George said.
Max shook his head. “The fisherman’s ring. Annulus Piscatoris. Ever hear of it?”
“Yeah, it’s like the Pope’s signet or something.”
“Or something. The real one, not the decoy but the one that’s passed down in secret, is an anti-touchstone. As long as it’s on a living finger, nothing demonic can manifest on Earth in a material form within nine hundred and sixty-three miles of it. Did you know there’s a cardinal whose sole duty is to hang out near the Pope so he can put the ring on if he dies unexpectedly? He’s the one who wears it while they’re choosing a new one, too.”
They all stared at him.for L2 together
“You,” said St. George, “are making this up.”
“So if we cannot leave,” said Stealth, “what are we expected to do?”
“Just relax,” said Max. “After a while he’ll get bored of stalking around out there and head off to plot some demonic revenge against me.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. A little time. Ten or twelve days, maybe.”
“Ten or twelve days?” echoed Freedom.
The sorcerer nodded. “Two weeks tops.”
St. George felt the fire building in his throat again. “You’re saying we might not be able to go out into the city for two weeks?”
“Two weeks at the absolute most,” said Max. “It’ll probably be less than that.”
