Was something moving up ahead? She thought she saw flares of light in the misty clouds now, like the flashes of the paparazzi’s cameras. Courtney could just imagine the headlines they’d write about her. And Dwayne wasn’t here to protect her. Nobody ever stood by her, not for long. She was all alone. Again.
As they passed the church, Courtney glanced at the nearby building and froze. Her breath hitched in her throat.
The man who'd broken her heart six years ago stood near the church entrance. David, the backup singer she'd fallen head-over-heels for. Lovers, best friends, soul mates. That’s what she’d believed, what she’d told the harpies on the daytime talk shows when she flashed the tattoo of his initials on her ring finger. Until that fateful day when she caught him in bed with another dancer.
Her grief had made her more vulnerable to the demon and allowed the creature to corrupt her. So what was David doing out here, of all places, on a night like this?
He flashed her that winning smile of his, and her heart beat a little faster. The years evaporated, and she was again an eighteen-year-old at the height of her career. While the world was madly in love with Courtney, she only had eyes for him.
He waved at her, and all the terrible memories of their break-up evaporated in a flash. There was only the here and now.
David was here for her. There was still one person in this world she could count on.
Their love would conquer any obstacles.
She sprinted toward the church. She was almost at the entrance when David slipped inside, a knowing grin on his face.
Courtney smiled to herself, recalling her lover’s playful nature and love of pranks. He probably had something fun planned.
Okay, she was game. She’d play along.
Courtney’s reality had shrunk to one goal—to reach David. She would follow her boy to the end of the world if she had to. Wasn’t that what they’d promised each other?
The demon's return disappeared from her thoughts. Only David mattered. There was no place for logic in her heart.
Lightning speared the night, and a dark shadow surged toward her. Then she was on the ground with Kane’s arms wrapped around her. She now knew he was one of the bad guys!
Without hesitation, Courtney threw an elbow into his stomach and the man let go. Dust swirling, she scrambled to her feet, paying no heed to the steel cross that had tumbled from the church tower looming above her.
All she cared about was getting into the monastery’s chapel.
She reached the doorway and, without ever glancing back, entered the house of God.
Inside, a different world awaited her. Candles guttered as her steps reverberated on the stone floor.
David was leaning against the altar up ahead. He flashed her a mischievous smile.
Her pace picked up, blood roaring in her ears. She ignored the tendrils of gray fog wafting through the church. Didn’t consider the improbability of the vision before her.
By the time she had crossed half of the nave, she was running.
Suddenly, David gave a little wave and dipped below the altar.
What was he doing? Was this part of the joke?
Out of breath, Courtney reached the sanctuary. Perplexed, she circled the altar, eyes combing the sanctuary. There was no sign of her ex.
A cold gust of wind raked her neck. She spun back to the altar and her face distorted in horror as she saw what had been hidden from her before.
Liza Hawthorn’s dead body lay sprawled on the altar, fronted by a horrifying vision of Father Andara. Bloated blue skin, bulging black eyes, a vicious slash of a grin.
As the dead exorcist’s empty eye sockets found her, Courtney realized that after the long years of hiding and running, of rehab and relapse and endless therapy, the Devil had finally caught up with her.
Chapter Thirteen
Courtney’s terror-filled scream emanated from the other side of the closed church door. No matter how much I pulled on the handle, the door refused to budge. It was as if a powerful invisible force was fighting against me.
The demon was strong. Stronger than me.
A second scream reached my ears. A male voice, shrill with terror. Father Ambrose.
I spun around just as Nora called out my name.
“Simon, watch out! Behind you!”
A swirling ocean of spectral green-yellow clouds engulfed the church, erasing the details of the world. While I’d been trying to pry my way inside, the mist had caught up with our group.
Eerie shadows separated from the fog in front of me. Horror filled my heart as I made out a trio of specter-like robed figures. The monks. At least we knew where they’d gone. A procession of the damned, from the looks of it, intent on adding us all to their ranks.
The demon had changed all these monks, somehow infected them with its evil. I brought up my Glock even though I doubted the rune-engraved silver bullets could stop creatures fueled by the demon’s power.
The tendrils briefly parted, and I spotted Nora at the bottom of the staircase leading up to the church’s main entrance.
The nun wasn’t alone. Three sinister monks surrounded her.
I watched with horror as one of the figures reached for Nora.
Gun up, I exploded into motion.
Sensing my approach, the monks paused their advance and swiveled toward the kamikaze with the silver ammo. A glimpse of their horrific faces under the low-hanging cowls made me freeze dead in my tracks.
These apparitions shared little in common with the Benedictine brothers I’d broken bread with earlier. Gleaming bone peeked out from mask-like features riddled with decay. They glowered back at me with inhuman hatred.
My Glock spit fire.
Two bullets found their mark, and one nightmare creature issued a keening shriek. The spectral figure flickered, growing transparent for a beat as it was frozen in place.
Three more bullets found the two other specters, producing similar results. Even though my pistol couldn’t obliterate these monsters, I was at least slowing them down.
I spun toward Nora and held out the Glock. “You know how to use one of these?”
She nodded, her face white as a sheet, eyes wide with fear.
“Cover me.”
I pulled out my athame and rushed toward Father Ambrose, who was in even worse shape than Nora. A zombie monk had buried its phantom claws into the priest's chest, and he was thrashing back and forth as if he’d stepped on a live wire.
I reached the former priest and attacked. His attacker spun toward me but never got close enough to make physical contact—my knife found him first.
There was a flash of brilliant light as the zombie monk exploded in spectral flames.
My gaze landed on Father Ambrose. The defrocked priest had aged over two decades since the monk touched him. Hair streaked with gray, eyes webbed by crow’s feet, the skin without luster.
They’d literally sucked the life out of him.
Rage threatened to distort my thinking, and it took all of my self-control to hold my feelings in check. Losing my cool at this critical juncture wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Father Ambrose. I hoped for his sake that there might be a way to reverse this terrible affliction. First, I’d have to save his life.
I pivoted toward three more monks circling us. By now, the spectral apparitions had figured out the lesson their brother had to learn the hard way. The creatures backed off, keeping their distance.
Gunfire shredded the air as Nora squeezed off a few shots. Instantly, the zombie monks retreated into the mist, becoming one with the glowing clouds.
I grabbed the ex-priest’s veiny, liver-spotted hand and pulled him along with me.
As I tore toward Nora, Ambrose in tow, I flashed my former lover a grateful smile. “Nice shooting,” I said.
She nodded, her expression distant, still in shock. Witnessing the spectral monks in action must have triggered a nightmarish flashback of her possession.
Maddox was staring at the knife in
my hand with newfound appreciation. He must’ve seen its power in action. So much for that butter knife of mine.
“Keep moving!” I shouted.
We all picked up our pace, the fog and the horrors within it right on our tail. Nora and I did our best to drag the prematurely aged priest along while Maddox sprinted ahead, not bothering to help. Asshole.
We had to get back to the guest house, where the enemy was less likely to sneak up on us from behind. Out here in the open we were completely exposed. Not that we’d be safe there. Just safer. I shook off the vision of sixty spectral monks descending upon us in a coordinated fashion, hoping there were some limitations to the demon’s powers.
I admit it—I let out a sigh of relief as we reached the guesthouse. The safety the structure promised was an illusion, but it was one I welcomed. We all needed a breather after this confrontation, a chance to regroup.
I hazarded a glance behind me. The mist was drawing closer, having fully devoured the church at this point.
The unnatural fog would soon surround the guest house too, but our efforts had bought us a few minutes.
“You’re just drawing out the inevitable,” an alien voice whispered inside me.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growled under my breath. Nora gave me a questioning look, but I shook my head.
Ignoring another burst of demonic laughter echoing through my mind, we rushed back into the meeting room. I couldn’t believe that earlier today Father Andara had conducted his meet-and-greet. That moment seemed very far away.
My gaze flicked toward Detective Tomkins, who still leaned back in his metallic chair, eyes regarding us without much curiosity. The man’s relaxed expression stood in sharp contrast with our rattled state.
“I guess we lost another one,” the detective said coolly, registering Courtney’s absence from our group. He glanced at Father Ambrose and took in his newly wizened appearance. Nora and I helped Ambrose into a chair. “You look like hell, Father.”
Maddox was watching me with calculating eyes. “You weren’t kidding about that knife of yours.”
He was slurring his words slightly, and I realized he’d been helping himself to the contents of his flask.
“You think getting shit-faced right now is a good idea?”
“My mind is a lot clearer after a drink or two.”
I was about to give Maddox a piece of my mind when a metallic cocking sound caught my attention.
“Oh no!” Father Ambrose croaked, eyes bulging with terror.
The whole room turned toward Tomkins. The former homicide detective was holding up a service revolver.
Where had the discharged officer gotten a gun?
I swapped a glance with Nora. She looked as confused as I did.
And then it hit me.
The pistol was Tomkins' personal totem. No wonder why he hadn’t shared it with us earlier.
What to do? Nora had the Glock, so that only left me with the athame. The sacrificial knife worked wonders against supernatural entities but was a poor substitute for a firearm in a gunfight. I wasn’t some action hero who could hurl a knife at any enemy before they squeezed the trigger. So that left us only one last option: diplomacy. Would it be possible to talk Detective Tomkins down from his emotional ledge before he made the biggest mistake of his life?
“Put the gun down,” I said, trying my best to keep my voice calm.
“You know, it was a Friday night when the demon first sunk its claws into me. Talk about ruining your fucking weekend.”
Tomkins raised the pistol and Father Ambrose let out a gasp.
“Listen, I know you’re afraid. We all are…”
“Save the psychobabble for someone who gives a shit, Kane. I was a hostage negotiator for ten years. I know every bullshit tactic in the book.”
“Alright, so you’re in charge. What do you want?”
Tomkins flashed me a grin empty of warmth. “What do I want? That’s a great question. I could use a good night’s sleep. That’s the real reason I signed up for this. Never expected a miracle, just a few hours of peace. I guess Andara had other plans.”
He shook his head with a smile and waved the pistol menacingly.
“You know, once a month, on the anniversary of the day the demon turned my life to shit, I would drink a bottle of scotch and put this pistol in my mouth. And each month, something stopped me from pulling the trigger. Don’t ask me what it was because I don’t know. Probably nothing but a biological reflex. The simple instinct of self-preservation.”
Tomkins studied the pistol, eyes distant, replaying each failed suicide attempt in his mind’s eye.
“I guess I wanted to pull the trigger so the nightmares would stop. So I wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. And with each passing month, it got harder and harder not to do it. Coming out here was my last chance. I didn’t even pack the gun. Too much trouble. Yet when I looked under my chair today, guess what I found?”
“Please, don’t do anything rash,” I said, but I could see the hard finality in the detective’s eyes. He’d already made up his mind.
Tomkins sighed. "All I want is some rest.”
And with these words, Detective Tomkins bit down on the steel barrel of his service revolver and pulled the trigger.
Chapter Fourteen
Blood mushroomed out against the wall behind Tomkins’ head. His body crumpled, slamming into the wooden foldout chair before crashing to the ground. His smoking service revolver clattered across the floor.
I stared at the blood spatter, a Jackson Pollock painting in shades of red and gray.
The demon is winning, I thought. This is exactly what it wants.
How could we defeat this beast if we were already picking ourselves off?
This question was still cycling through my shocked mind when Maddox lunged toward Detective Tomkins’ pistol.
He brought up the gun and leveled it at me.
“Give me your knife, Kane.”
Another cocking sound as Nora targeted Maddox with my Glock. They both stood frozen in tableau, guns leveled, caught in a stalemate.
“Are you insane, what are you doing? Stop this madness!” Father Ambrose shrieked, his face as white as the conference wall had been before Detective Tomkins repainted it with his brains.
Nora held the Glock steady, eyes narrowed. Good girl. The weapon was out of bullets by my count, but the soldier didn’t know that….
Maddox responded with the swiftness of a man who’d spent a good part of his life in a war zone. He threw himself toward Father Ambrose. Within a few seconds he’d hooked his meaty arm around Ambrose’s throat and turned the ex-priest into a human shield.
“Let’s try this again. Drop the fucking gun and hand me that knife.”
“What do you think you’re going to accomplish here?” Nora said. “We’re all on the same side.”
“Are we? I kind of remember the exorcist saying the same thing to me. I think he even used the same words. ‘I’m on your side, Sergeant.’ And we all saw how that worked out.”
I held Maddox’s gaze, knowing I was out of options at this point. No way would I risk Nora’s life, or Ambrose’s. Neither did I plan on handing this asshole our only chance of defeating the demon.
Maddox sneered at me. “If that knife is the only thing that can stop the demon, then I’m the one who gets to hang onto it, you understand? Boys shouldn’t play with grown-up toys.”
Was Maddox being an alpha male prick who selfishly felt he should be wielding the knife, or was the demon manipulating his behavior?
Either way, the SEAL was leaving me no choice. Slowly, I pulled out the athame from my double-holster.
“Now put it on the floor and slide it over to me. And don’t do anything stupid.”
My eyes found Nora, then Father Ambrose across the room. Once Maddox got his hands on the athame, we would all be at his mercy.
The defrocked priest understood this, too, and realizing that Maddox had loosened his hold on him, Ambrose mad
e his move. His elbow shot out and Maddox let out a sharp grunt.
Nora fired and Maddox cried out, the bullet having grazed his head. Blood streaming down his contorted features, the soldier returned fire.
Two bullets slammed into Nora and sent her flying.
No!
I launched myself at Maddox, closing the gap between us before the pistol could find me. We both went down in a tangle of limbs. The soldier’s fist smashed into my face just as I felt the athame sink into his leg. Blood spurted.
Maddox roared as he slammed me into a row of overturned chairs. The world spun around me. I tilted my groggy head and saw Nora lying next to me on the floor. Her face was averted, and I was too far away to tell if she was still breathing.
Anger surged inside of me. I tightened my hold on the athame, now stained red. I had never used the knife against another human before—but there was a first time for everything.
Rage burning in my chest, I turned toward Maddox.
The soldier was bringing up his pistol again as Ambrose tackled him, buying me precious seconds.
“Run!” the priest urged me.
Swallowing my rage, knowing there was nothing I could do for either Nora or Ambrose, I scrambled back to my feet and zig-zagged toward the nearest exit, bullets whizzing by my head.
A volley of lead chopped the wall next to me and tore out a chunk of wood from the doorframe.
And then I was out of the conference room, athame in hand, running for my life.
Chapter Fifteen
I barreled into the garden of the saints, hoping the human-like statues would confuse my pursuer in the dark.
Maddox’s heavy footfalls were quickly growing louder. Unlike some folks who leave the military, the SEAL had maintained his fitness level—at least physically—and had no problem keeping up with me.
The Possessed (The Paranormalist Book 5) Page 8
