She’d already been cold, but now it felt as though her blood had frozen in her veins. As much as she wanted to reach for Michael, to hold on to him, she knew she couldn’t do that — he needed to keep his hands free so he could get the holy water out of his backpack.
Still smiling, the demon went on, gaze flicking back to the ghost, “You always had such a weak grasp of the possibilities.”
Michael clearly thought the demon’s momentary distraction had provided a chance to act, because he moved with lightning speed, reaching into his pack to pull out a vial of holy water. “Unclean spirit!” he roared, his voice taking on the same strength and depth Audrey had heard during the exorcism of Kayla Vargas. “You have no dominion here!”
And he flung the water at the demon, who stood just enough to the left of the original Whitcomb that Michael was afforded a clean shot.
The holy water hit the demon along the side of his face, where the flesh bubbled and smoked as though it had been splashed with acid. However, unlike the time Audrey had attacked him with her own homemade blessed water, he didn’t scream, but let out a guttural growl that was somehow worse. Red flared in his eyes as he glared at his attacker, and he leaped forward, moving with inhuman speed to tear the backpack out of Michael’s hands and fling it away. With the other hand, he struck Michael backhanded against his jaw, knocking him backward a few yards.
He landed with a grunt on the dead grass and lay there, apparently stunned.
“No!” Audrey screamed, turning to run toward him.
But the demon’s hand closed on her arm, and he pulled her backward, holding her against him.
“You see how weak he is, my dear?” he said, a grin pulling at the damaged flesh on the one side of his face. Teeth glinted inside his ravaged cheek, although he seemed to have overcome the pain the splash of holy water had caused. With his free hand, he stroked her hair, and Audrey could feel the bile rising in her throat at his touch, at the way he seemed to grind himself against her. “Why on earth would you want something like that?”
“Because you’re such a desirable alternate?” she spat, struggling to free herself from his grasp, with no success. “I don’t think so.”
“You might be surprised,” the demon replied. He sounded unruffled and more amused than anything else. “I’ve pleased many women during my time on this earth.”
“Women you probably paid to tell you that,” Audrey shot back boldly, a little surprised at herself. Beneath her fear, she felt strangely calm. The worst had happened, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t go down swinging and possibly land a few barbs along the way.
“Let her go,” said the ghost, black eyes blazing.
“Or what?” the demon asked, his tone silky. “I’m afraid you don’t have much control over the situation, Whitcomb.”
The shade stood facing them, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You have no need of her.”
“Oh, I have plenty of need,” the demon said, even as Audrey continued to pull with all her might to wrench herself free of his grasp. She had to get away. She just had to.
Her struggles made the necklace and protective pendants she wore slip out from underneath the neckline of her top, and the demon let out a hiss of pain as the silver cross brushed against one hand. However, that wasn’t what made the ghost’s eyes suddenly widen, made him step forward, gaze intent on the gold and sapphire lavaliere that now hung on top of the cross and the black tourmaline pendant.
“Where did you get that lavaliere?” he demanded.
The demon began to laugh, the sound tearing at Audrey’s ears. “Yes, Audrey — tell him where you got the pretty necklace.”
Wondering what the hell that had to do with anything, she stopped struggling for a moment, trying her best to catch her breath. If she rested for a moment, she might be able to build up enough strength to break free this time. Gaze fixed on the ghost, who seemed to stare at her with a strange intensity, she said, “It was my great-grandmother’s. Or maybe my great-great-grandmother’s. No one in my family seemed able to get the story straight.”
“I gave that to my wife Alice,” Whitcomb said, eyes still scanning Audrey’s face. “A birthday present, just before we moved to California. Sapphire for September.”
Audrey went still, staring back at the ghost, at the sudden intensity of his expression.
No. It wasn’t possible.
She racked her brains, trying to remember what Michael had said about Whitcomb’s family. Alice left him, and the son never had any children because he’d been locked up in a sanitarium, the demon making him look like his mad father as he took on Whitcomb’s face, but the daughter — the daughter had children of her own. And one of them had gone through a divorce and changed her name and basically disappeared off the radar.
She could have come back to California, could have remarried.
Could have had a daughter she named Elizabeth, who just happened to Audrey’s grandmother.
What had Whitcomb said to her as they stood in Michael’s kitchen while Michael and Colin grilled steaks on the patio?
You remind me of my wife.
Dear God.
“Ah, it seems you’ve figured it out,” the demon purred in her ear. “Why do you think Whitcomb’s ghost appeared to you and only you? Why do you think that going to the house where your great-great-grandmother once lived awakened the psychic powers that slept within you?”
“Because they were my family,” Audrey whispered. “My family, all along.”
“Yes, my family,” the ghost — her great-great-grandfather — said. He seemed to have recovered from his shock, was glaring at the demon who held his great-great-granddaughter. “Which means you need to let her go. You’ve had enough of me — my face, my name. You don’t need her as well.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” the demon replied. His lips brushed against Audrey’s hair and she shuddered, stomach churning with disgust. Right then, she wasn’t sure whether she’d be able to keep her breakfast down. “It will amuse me to take her while wearing the form of her great-great-grandfather.”
Dear God, no. She finally wrenched her arm from his grasp, felt the nylon of her puffer jacket tear as she pulled herself free. At the same time, the ghost rushed toward them. What he intended to do, when he was only a spirit that couldn’t affect the physical world, Audrey had no idea.
She never found out, because several vials of holy water flew through the air, passing through Whitcomb’s incorporeal form. The water splashed both her and the demon, but he took the brunt of it, this time howling with pain as his exposed hands and face sustained even more damage. Now he barely looked human, his features a mass of blisters and angry red flesh.
Michael strode forward, two more of the vials clutched in his hands. Although he appeared paler than ever, except for the reddened spot where the demon had hit him, his voice was a roar as he faced down his adversary. “By Our Lord Jesus Christ; by the sending of the Holy Spirit; and by the Coming of Our Lord into Last Judgment, I command you: Tell me your name!”
The demon, despite his pain, threw back his head and laughed, even as Audrey ran toward Michael, relief coursing through her. He was all right. He’d only been biding his time, waiting until the demon was distracted before he attacked.
“Do you think I must obey your commands?” the creature asked. Now he sounded amused again, despite the ruin of his borrowed features. “I am not some petty minion, little boy, but a lord of Hell.”
How many lords of Hell were there? Had the demon given Michael a clue? Audrey glanced up at him, but his expression betrayed neither fear nor triumph, only a dogged determination, as if he knew he couldn’t allow his enemy’s words or actions to sway him from what needed to be done.
To her horror, she saw that the wounds on the demon’s face were already beginning to heal. Laughing now, he stepped forward, brushing aside Whitcomb’s ghost as if swiping at a particularly annoying fly. At once, the spirit disappeared, and Audrey let out an invo
luntary sound of dismay. Did the demon somehow have the power to erase her great-great-grandfather permanently?
“Don’t worry about him,” the demon said. “He’s long outlived his usefulness. As has that foolish man-child standing next to you.”
Michael didn’t blink. He also didn’t move, not even to look down at Audrey. “My usefulness is something that can be judged by God. Your judgment means nothing.”
Quick as lightning, he hurled another of the vials of holy water at the demon. But as fast as he was, the demon was faster, raising a hand to block the small plastic container and lob it harmlessly to one side. “Is that the only trick in your arsenal?” Now the creature’s face was nearly healed, but his eyes blazed with red fire as he moved forward again.
At last Michael glanced down at Audrey. “The prayer,” he murmured. “Both of us. Now.”
No time to think. No time to do anything except let her memory bring the invocation to the surface of her mind, and to let her voice lift up strong and defiant, mingling with his as they spoke the ancient words together.
“The light of God surrounds us;
The love of God enfolds us;
The presence of God watches over us;
Wherever we are, God is!”
She’d expected to see some sort of reaction from the demon, since the same prayer had been enough to drive him away the last time she’d used it, but now all he did was flinch slightly, then throw back his head and laugh.
“Fools,” he said, once he’d recovered himself. He paused a few feet away from them, clearly not dissuaded at all by the prayer they’d uttered, or by the vial of holy water Michael still held in his left hand. “Did you really think a few silly words would be enough to defeat me, here on my home ground?”
“Well, I was kind of hoping,” Michael said, his tone easy, as if he was having a casual conversation with someone he’d just met on the street and not a demon obviously an order of magnitude stronger than any of the ones they’d encountered previously. For the slightest second, he looked down at Audrey, that brief glance telling her he wasn’t sure what they should do now. The holy water hurt the demon, true, but only temporarily, the small amounts the vials contained just enough to wound him for a few minutes, insufficient to actually deliver a killing blow.
“Hope very seldom does anyone any favors,” the demon replied.
For the first time, Audrey realized he was wearing an old-fashioned black coat like Whitcomb’s, and not the modern street clothes she’d previously seen him in. Why, she wasn’t exactly sure, except that maybe he thought that would be another way to upset her, throw her off balance. Clearly, in his twisted mind he was excited by the thought of assaulting her while wearing her great-great-grandfather’s face.
Almost as if her thoughts had attracted his attention, the demon went on, “But I’ll forgive you for your mistake in attacking me…if you give me the woman.”
Michael didn’t even twitch, although Audrey felt herself go even colder at the thought of that…thing…touching her again. No way in the world would she allow such a thing to happen. She was pretty sure she’d rather die first.
“You seem to have a strange interest in human women,” Michael remarked. Now his head tilted to one side as he regarded the creature standing a few feet away. “Most of your kind aren’t quite so lusty.”
“What concern is it of yours? Eternity is a long time, and I like to amuse myself.” The black eyes narrowed, although Audrey could still see sparks of red fire in their depths, serving as a chilling reminder of the creature’s inhuman origins. “Leave her to me, and you may yet live.”
“But I don’t want to live without her.” Michael’s chin lifted, his gray eyes as cold as the cloudy heavens above them. “And you…you have outstayed your welcome in this world…Belial.”
The demon’s face grew dark with fury. “You were not given leave to say that name, mortal.”
“I don’t need your permission.” He drew in a breath, then said distinctly, “I banish you, Belial! Christ commands you, he who ordered you to be thrown down from the highest Heaven into the depths of Hell!”
To Audrey’s horror, Belial’s face began to shift, like a waxwork figure that had begun to melt. Beneath Jeffrey Whitcomb’s stolen features, a far more hideous face began to emerge — a terrible bony beak of a nose, a lipless mouth contorted in fury, eyes that glared at them, red as blood. His body changed, too, growing taller and broader, hands clenched into claws tipped with black talons.
“I - will - not - go!” the thing growled at them, its voice guttural and terrible, the words barely distinguishable.
“You will,” Michael said, calmly removing the stopper from his last vial of holy water. “You are banished from this world, in the name of Our Lord, Jesus Christ!”
The water hit the demon’s face, and the black flesh again rippled and burned, the sight for some reason even more terrible now that it no longer possessed any recognizable human features. And somehow, the blessed liquid seemed to do more damage this time, as if, now that Michael knew the thing’s name, it had lost something of its power. It backed away from them, threw a glance over its shoulder, as if it was thinking of fleeing for the portal that was hidden somewhere in the depths of the house. And if that happened, they would have lost. The only way to stop the demon was to banish him properly, to make sure he was expelled from the body he now inhabited and forced to limp his way back to Hell as only a baleful spirit.
And now Audrey could see how Belial’s flesh was trying to heal itself, how the wounds the holy water had caused were slowly shrinking even as she stared in horror.
“It’s not enough!” she told Michael in a frightened whisper. “No matter what we do, the holy water we have isn’t enough to stop him.”
“I know,” he muttered, face tight with worry. “I know his name, but apparently even that isn’t enough.”
Shaking, Audrey looked around them, wondering if there was something they could use as a weapon, something that might give them at least a little bit of an advantage. But the yard was barren and empty, covered in dry grass and not much else.
Then her gaze fell on the pond a few yards away from where they stood.
The pond….
Water. Lots and lots of water. She recalled how she’d feverishly made her own batches of holy water while trapped in the bathroom of Belial’s hideout in Colorado…how Michael had used the garden hose at the Thunderbird bed-and-breakfast in Tucson to create a never-ending stream of the blessed liquid and vanquish the imp demons that had infested the place.
“I have an idea,” she whispered back. “The pond. I think our demon needs a baptism, don’t you?”
For a second, Michael stared at her. Then she saw the comprehension flare in his eyes. “Absolutely.” His hand patted his breast pocket. “I have one left. It’ll have to be enough. Go to the pond — do what you did to bless the water at the Colorado house.”
She nodded, knowing there was no point in wasting time or breath on a reply. Either this would work, or it wouldn’t. And if it didn’t work, then they were going to have one very angry demon to deal with.
Another second as hers and Michael’s eyes met again, and then she fled for the pond, dropping to her knees on the far side, as if she hoped that such a small barrier would be enough to protect her. By that point, Belial had struggled to his feet again, his countenance a terrible patchwork of Whitcomb’s face and his own inhuman features.
Michael hadn’t wasted any time, either, and bolted toward him, flinging the contents of the last vial of holy water at the demon’s head. Now the black hair — which had remained even as his face shifted and distorted — began to smoke. He screeched in pain, and Michael drove his attack home, crying out once again, “I banish you, Belial! In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I cast you out!”
And he grasped the thing by the collar of the frock coat it wore and dragged it toward the pond. Audrey already had her hand in the icy water, was quick
ly murmuring the words of the Lord’s Prayer under her breath.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven
Hallowed be thy name….”
The demon howled and writhed, but somehow Michael managed to maintain his grip on the creature and pulled him toward the water’s edge, even as Audrey continued reciting the words of the prayer, uttering an inward prayer of her own that it would be enough. Then, with a tremendous shove, he pushed Belial into the pond.
Smoke billowed out all around them, smelling of decay and death, and the demon howled, thrashing in the now-blessed water. Michael touched his fingers to the surface, his voice joining with Audrey’s.
“…But deliver us from evil….”
“Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!”
Belial’s screams tore at her ears, but she kept going, the words gaining resonance and strength as she spoke in unison with the man she loved, triumph ringing through every syllable.
“For thine is the kingdom,
The power, and the glory,
For ever and ever.
Amen!”
The screams stopped. The waters stilled. Audrey could see no trace of the creature that had thrashed there just a moment earlier. She glanced across the pond at Michael, who had lifted his hand from the water and now sat back on his heels, looking exhausted but also, somehow, at peace.
For herself, she could still barely breathe. She wasn’t sure if she could allow herself to believe that they might actually have succeeded.
“Is it…?” she began, then stopped, not sure how to phrase the question.
“No,” he said at once. “You can’t kill a creature like Belial. You can only banish him…but I think he’s going to have a hard time coming back.”
“Only if you destroy the portal,” came Whitcomb’s voice, and Audrey pulled her now-icy fingers from the pond as well, then stood.
The ghost hovered a few feet away from them, looking far more insubstantial than he ever had before. In fact, Audrey was fairly certain she could see the outlines of a few trees through his torso.
“Inside the house?” Michael asked, his voice urgent.
Unholy Ground Page 22
