Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1) (2 page)

“I tried.” Agatha bit her lip, tasting the salt of her own sweat. “She won’t listen to me. She thinks the ritual is too pagan, that it would be an insult to God. And she believes that the risk is too great.”

Anne’s face fell and she shook her head. “I cannot believe that the sacrifice we make during the solstice and the equinox is God’s will. It would be foolish not to at least try. Think of all the lives we could save… I don’t understand why…”

A thought formed in Agatha’s mind. “Can we perform the ritual ourselves?”

“What?”

“Can we perform the ritual ourselves? Without the help of the order.”

“We… we could, but the sacrifice would be much greater. The Sisters might share the children’s fate. And we still need a willing sacrifice along with the victims.”

The light of the fading sun streamed through the stained glass window, illuminating the picture of an angel. His wings were spread, and he covered his face in an expression of shame. The light danced off Agatha’s blonde locks as she straightened herself.

“I will be the willing sacrifice.”

Anne gasped, putting her delicate fingers in front of her mouth.

“But it was your task to act as Guardian. To ensure the spell stays in place… to teach future generations how to keep the seal from breaking.”

“That task will be yours. There is no one else. Anne, if we want this bloodshed to stop, if we want these to be the last victims, we have no other choice.”

Faint screams echoed through the convent. The candles flickered as an unfelt wind blew past them, casting dark elongated shadows across the bookshelves.

Anne sighed. “I agree, as you said… there is no other choice. Very well, I shall take on the task of Guardianship. But if this doesn’t work…” Sister Anne clutched her chemise tightly around her neck and shuddered at the thought.

“Then you must continue what the order of the Angels started, Anne. You must create a new order.”

“I don’t know if I can… not on my own.”

“Do you have any other choice?”

Anne’s shoulders sagged. “That’s what it all boils down to now, isn’t it? Choice.” The two women stared at each other, the tension apparent on their young faces, until a nearby scream broke their eye contact. Anne looked up to the last hints of sunlight glimmering through the window.

“We must act quickly. The sun is setting, and I will need the last of the daylight to perform the ritual. We need the power of the solstice.”

“What must I do?” Sister Agatha’s voice and body trembled. She’d seen plenty of death, but facing her own was different. Her mortality weighed heavily on her, but the thought of those children’s faces was too much for her to bear. Sister Anne grabbed a book that lay open on one of the rough oak tables, the thin paper threatening to fall apart in her hands.

“I need you to draw this symbol on the floor.” Sister Anne’s finger pressed down so hard on the page that the tip went white. “It needs to be large enough for you to lie in the middle.” She handed the book to Agatha, who was surprised by the weight of it. The leather felt smooth in her hand, and the pages smelled of time long past and a little of mildew. Sister Agatha stared at the symbol. To her relief it was no more complicated than a circle with a triangle on the inside.

“I think that shouldn’t be too hard a task, as long as you don’t expect the circle to be perfectly round. What do I draw with?” She looked over the top of the book, and the expression on the other woman’s face made her heart sink. “What?”

“You need to draw it in the blood of a virgin.”

“All the children are virgins.” Agatha thought about the bodies in the chapel.

“Taking the blood of the dead children isn’t enough, Sister Agatha. That won’t make it a sacrifice. You must find a living victim for the blood circle; otherwise, you will interfere with the magic of the spell.”

Agatha nodded, her face a mask of conviction, and turned on her heel. The slow, heavy drumbeat of determination pounded in her chest as she strode back towards the chapel. A movement caught her eye, and she turned to see Beth, the youngest of the children, slip past one of the stone angels. Beth was only four years old, and she was Sister Agatha’s favourite. The girl was exceptionally smart for her age.

“Beth?” Her voice quavered when she spoke. The girl looked at her with big, grey eyes from under blood-matted black curls, her bottom lip trembling.

“Come here, child.” Sister Agatha squatted and held her arms open. The girl’s face was filled with doubt, but after a few seconds she ran into Agatha’s bare arms. The small limbs wrapped around her, the tiny face nestled in the crook of her neck, and Agatha felt how cold the child’s skin was. She slid her hand over the girl’s shoulder and tangled her fingers in the mass of curls at the back of her head. Her slender fingers closed around a tuft of hair and she yanked the child away from her. Her mouth was a thin line, her eyes hard. Sister Agatha scrambled to her feet, her fingers still clinging on to the little girl’s hair. She wanted to say something comforting, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she pulled Beth along while the angels looked down on her. Beth struggled, but the child’s strength was no match for hers, and the nun could tell that the little girl was exhausted.
It has been a long day.

Agatha stopped at the large wooden doors, throwing the girl to the ground before them with more force than she intended. A sense of urgency coursed through her body as she fumbled with the latch, and after a brief struggle, she managed to open the door. The scent of fresh grass, intermingled with the faint smell of wild flowers, greeted her, and Sister Agatha felt the last lingering warmth of the setting summer sun on her naked body. She beckoned for the child to come closer.

“Beth…” Her words were no more than an urgent hiss, and she pointed her finger at the floor next to her. “Beth, I don’t have time for this, come here.” The girl blinked at her and crawled closer. Sister Agatha grabbed the child again and hoisted her to her feet.

“I’m afraid.” The girl’s voice was sharp with panic.

“As well you should be. I need you to do something, Beth. I need you to run far away from here. Don’t look back. Don’t tell anyone what you have seen here or where you came from. Can you do that, Beth?”

The little girl nodded, tears pouring down her face, and she wiped the snot from her nose with the back of her hand. The only garment she had on was an off-white shift, but at least she wasn’t naked like most of the other children.

“Don’t send people to the convent, Beth. This is a bad place. You have to keep our secret.” The girl nodded again, her face filled with hesitation, and after a small pause, she pressed her body against Agatha’s in a brief hug.

“Go now.”

The nun watched the girl run from the convent, towards the valley the locals called ‘Lucifer Falls’. Then, as quickly as she could, she closed the door and replaced the latch. An overwhelming sob rose in her throat. Sister Agatha walked away from the door, but fell to her knees only a few steps further. She looked at the stone angel standing only a few feet away, its finger pointing as if it were condemning her actions.

“Forgive me, Lord. I had to save one…” Tears ran past her cheeks and trickled in lukewarm paths down her neck. “Just one.” The rays of the sun slowly retreated across the floor and she remembered Sister Anne’s warning that time was running short. Without any further hesitation, she ran to the kitchen and found what she needed. Her hand wrapped around the handle of a large knife, and she turned to run again.

“Sister Agatha…”

Agatha froze, her shoulders tense, as she looked up into the face of the Mother Superior. The nun’s voice was harsh and demanding. Agatha hid the knife behind her back.

“Why are you here? I instructed you to do your sacred duty.” The older woman took a few steps forward, her aging, blue-veined breasts moving like soft, flabby pendulums. A cat o’nine tails, studded with metal barbs, hung next to her leg, the end of the handle tapping against the folds of skin. There was madness in the old crone’s eyes; bloodlust. Agatha realised that the Mother Superior would not take her insubordination lightly, and she suddenly understood why the older woman had followed her into the kitchen.

“Reverend Mother.” Her hand clutched the knife behind her back tighter, her eyes fixed on the woman’s pale blue ones. She was aware of the gentle swaying motion of the whip. “I was just on my way…”

“You don’t understand, do you? You don’t grasp the importance of what we do here?” The whip dragged across the floor, the metal spikes scraping against stone. “We suffer in our own way, Sister Agatha. We are the Angels sent by God Almighty to keep the world safe. We torment these children out of love. One day you will understand this, but today you must be punished for your heresy.”

Agatha straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

“Very well. If that is what God demands of me, I shall take my punishment.” She inhaled and held her breath as she walked towards the greying nun. Her hand moved from her back to her side, still hiding the knife from view, her arm stiff with tension. The elder woman’s blood-streaked face stayed on her, but Sister Agatha didn’t think she’d spotted any suspicion in the Reverend Mother’s eyes. The other woman’s arm twitched, and the whip made another rustling sound. Agatha waited until she was close enough, then lowered her head in a false sign of submission. The older nun took a step aside, allowing her to pass by on the way out of the kitchen, but instead of walking to the door, Agatha turned and slid the knife into the Mother Superior’s kidney. The woman let out a wet gasp and toppled forward. The whip clattered to the ground. Agatha was aware of its existence, as if it was a poisonous snake that could still be a threat. With one foot, she tried to kick it away, but the barbs caught and tore her skin. She pulled the knife free with one swift motion, flipped the Mother Superior around, and clutched her neck, pressing the sharp edge of the blade against the folds of skin under her chin. Her body was tough and hot, blood and sweat making the Reverend Mother slippery. The wound must have taken the old woman by surprise because she barely struggled as Agatha pushed her towards the kitchen doors. The Reverend Mother’s body pushed against Agatha’s breasts, twitching and gurgling as they walked.

“I’ve decided I will try this ritual after all, Reverend Mother.” Agatha’s voice was a low hiss, and a guilty pleasure in feeling the older woman tremble filled her mind. “I need the blood of a virgin. Initially I thought I would have to use one of the children, but then I saw you…”

The Mother Superior moaned and struggled to get loose, but Agatha pressed the knife harder against her neck, and the woman stopped moving. She pushed the reluctant figure towards the library.

“God will punish you for this.” Defeat resonated in the older woman’s voice, and Agatha realised that the Mother Superior was a coward. She appeared strong and merciless in the face of those who were weaker, as Agatha herself had been, but fear ruled this woman as much as it did the children.

“What are you doing?” Sister Anne stood in the centre of the library, her long, rosy face a mask of incomprehension. “I thought Mother Superior didn’t agree to our ritual, and yet you bring her…” The words died on her pale lips as her eyes moved down Agatha’s face to the way her arm was wrapped around the older nun’s throat, then further still to the cut in the abdomen, from which blood poured in languid trickles.

“You said we needed blood from a virgin.” Agatha moved the knife against the puffy skin right beneath the Reverend Mother’s eye. “I would stake my life on the Mother never having felt the pleasure of a man between her thighs.” The metal point pierced her skin and a red drop welled from the wound. Agatha met Sister Anne’s eyes, and for a moment, the world appeared to stand still.

“Sister Anne, please…” The gnarled hands reached up towards the younger woman. “Help me stop this insanity. You of all people must know why it is so important we do what we do. You are one of us.”

The expression on Sister Anne’s face changed from shock to determination, her eyes hard and filled with hate.

“She’ll do,” the Sister finally agreed, and she turned back to her ritual. “Just hurry.” Agatha brought the knife to the soft flabby wattle beneath the Mother Superior’s chin and drew the sharp end of the blade across it with all her strength. The flesh gave way to the pressure, metal sliced through skin, muscle and larynx. Hot, sticky blood gushed over Agatha’s arm, and she took a step back, releasing her victim. The Mother clutched her neck and fell to the ground with a wet, meaty thud. A rattle escaped from her creased lips, and her eyes rolled up into her head. Her body twitched, and blood pooled around the dying woman as Agatha grabbed her ankles. The Mother Superior didn’t struggle as the younger nun dragged her around the library floor, her gushing blood creating a smeared circle on the stones, and by the time the triangle was halfway done, she had stopped twitching altogether. The final markings on the sign were fainter, but the symbol was complete. Agatha discarded the body to one side.

“It’s not perfect.” She eyed her handiwork and tapped her blood-covered hand to her chin.

“It’ll have to do,” Anne said, and she pointed towards the triangle. “Now it’s your sacrifice that I’ll be needing. Hurry, the sun is almost set. This won’t work in the moonlight.” Agatha nodded, not giving herself time to think about her imminent death. The floor kissed her skin with icy cold stone, and Agatha couldn’t stop shivering.

“Are you prepared?” Anne loomed over her, a lit candle dripping hot wax on her face. Agatha flinched, but fought the urge to protect herself, allowing the hot drops to slide down her cheeks in a scalding path.

“I’m ready.”

“I’m not quite sure what the side-effects of this spell will be. It’s very dark magic, you… you might suffer.” Anne’s eyes shone with guilt.

“I told you, I’m prepared.”

Anne nodded and took a deep breath, her chest swelling in her chemise, pressing the lightly freckled skin to the white fabric.

“In order to activate the spell, I have to crack the seal.”