Angel of Ruin (28 page)

Deborah had been gone only a few minutes, and Anne was lighting a candle, when Lazodeus lifted his head slowly and called, “Mary, Anne, I need to tell you something.”

In moments, they had joined him on the bed. Mary eyed Anne jealously across his prostrate body. Her sister hung on his breaths as though they were gifts to her alone. Mary grudged every second Lazodeus spent looking at her.

“What is it?” Anne asked softly.

“I need to say something that I cannot say in front of Deborah. She bears me no love, and I could not trust her with this information.”

“Go on,” Mary said.

“The truth is, I will not recover as long as the exorcist still lives.”

“What!” Anne cried, aghast. “Say it is not so, Lazodeus. Are we to lose you?”

“I shall kill him, and gladly,” Mary said. Fierce anger surged into her chest. “How does he dare to hurt you this way?”

“Mary, I cannot ask either of you to murder for me. Anne,” he said turning to her, “how could I request that you cause such harm when I was summoned under
an oath to injure nobody. It goes against the very grain of who you are.”

Anne set her jaw firmly. “But you cannot die.”

He shook his head. “He will return, you know. Without a doubt, he will return. For his targets are you girls. Your stepmother was foolish in having you out of the house when she invited him. Exorcists are more interested in cleansing people than places.”

“And when he comes back …” Anne started, her eyes wide with terror.

“I shall almost certainly be annihilated.”

“But we can’t kill him right here in Father’s house! Betty would know. We would be hanged.”

“I’ll kill Betty, too,” Mary said harshly. “I don’t care. None of them are as important as Lazodeus.”

“Mary, you are allowing your anger to speak,” Lazodeus said, and she knew it to be true. Actually to kill someone? She could not imagine it. Or at least, she could only imagine it a little. As long as it didn’t involve blood and screams and all the sounds and horrors attendant upon death.

“Is there another way?”

Lazodeus nodded slowly. “Yes, there is.”

“Tell us.”

“If the exorcist is made to … fall into a swoon. That is, if he is still alive but can no longer say the words, not even in his mind, that is the equal to his death.”

“We shall do that then.”

“But how?” Anne wailed. “Is there a poison we can give him? Must we strike him on the head? What if we kill him by accident?”

“There is a way, but it begins to grow complicated,” Lazodeus said.

“Complicated how?” Mary asked.

“Your sister has the power to induce a swoon.”

“Deborah?”

“She would not want me to tell you this. It is her secret. But she owns a key which can command certain demons to perform tasks for her.”

Mary temporarily forgot about the problem at hand. “A secret key? And she has not told us? How long has she had it? Why, the deceitful wench. All along being so righteous about whether or not we contacted you, and she has been involved in necromancy!”

“Do not be angry with her,” the angel said. “It is only of late she has acquired it, and I would wager that she has been prudent in her use of it. But now, it is my only hope. My magic will not work because I am too ill. Her magic is all that is left to save me.”

“So we need to convince her to use the magic?” Anne asked.

“Don’t be a fool, Annie,” Mary said. “As if Deborah will deaden the mind of a mortal to save an angel. Especially as she bears no love for Lazodeus. No, we must take it from her. Where does she hide it, Lazodeus? We must find it ere she returns.”

“She wears it about her neck on a chain.”

“Even to bed?”

“Even to bed.”

Mary considered. “I believe I could take it while she slept.”

“’Tis our only hope,” Anne said. Mary could read the terror in her eyes. That terror made her a strong ally.

“Would you show us how to use it against the exorcist?” Mary asked.

“Yes.” His eyes fluttered closed. “But now I must rest.”

Mary smoothed his brow while Anne sat by, looking on hungrily. “Do not fear, angel. We shall rescue you.”

“I shall be forever in your debt,” he said with a sigh, and lapsed into a deep slumber.

In the earliest hours of the morning, Deborah was awoken by a soft voice. “Deborah. Sister. ’Tis Mary.”

“What is it?”

“May I sleep with you? I am so uncomfortable sleeping upon the floor.”

Without opening her eyes, Deborah pulled back the cover. “Of course. Poor thing.”

Mary slid into bed beside her. “Thank you, sister. Go back to sleep.”

She did, drifting under on that irresistible tide. Time passed as it did during sleep — vaguely. But she had a sense that it had been perhaps an hour since Mary had woken her, when she felt her head being lifted gently off the pillow.

“Mary?” she murmured.

“Shh, now. Just go back to sleep.”

The cool touch of metal on her cheek. She stirred, tried to sit up. With a violent tug, Mary pulled the chain over her head. Deborah was wide awake now.

“What are you doing?” The key, Mary had it clutched in her right hand.

“Go back to sleep,” she said, this time not soothingly.

“Give that back to me. What do you want with it? It is not yours.” She reached out to snatch the key, but Mary was already on her feet. She pushed Deborah roughly onto the bed and ran from the closet, slamming the door behind her.

Deborah leaped out of bed, but Mary held the door firmly from the other side.

“Mary, give my key back.” In her just-woken state, she couldn’t comprehend what had happened or why. What did Mary want with her demon key? How did she even know Deborah owned it?

Of course. Lazodeus. She began to beat frantically at the door.

“Mary, return my key. It will not work for you or anyone else.”

“Shush, now. ’Tis for the best,” Mary said. Then, “Angel, can I use this key to lock her in?”

Lazodeus’s voice was faint, but Mary repeated what he said clearly. “Paratax, I call upon you with this key as your commander. Lock my sister in.”

Deborah heard five sweet notes, then Mary’s footsteps receding from the door. She tried it again, but it wouldn’t move.

But how could that be? First, she had never heard of Paratax: the name appeared in none of the books Amelia had given her. Lazodeus must know of beings of whom mortals were not aware. Second, how could the magic work perfectly first time for Mary? She had not trained in the arts, she knew nothing about what she did. Again, Lazodeus must be the answer. He could probably command demons with ease.

And yet he said he was too sick to perform magic. It made no sense.

She quickly lit a candle and felt around in the dark for her scrying mirror. Why did Mary want the key, anyway? And want it enough to lock Deborah in her closet?

“Show me my sisters and Lazodeus,” she said, with a quick pass of her hand over the mirror, and its faint glow lit the room. Of course, the mirror would not show the angel. Instead, she could see a view of the corner of the bedroom, where Anne sat on the floor. Mary was not in view.

“Let me hear them.”

“You didn’t hurt her, did you?” Anne was saying.

“No,” Mary said. Deborah supposed she was sitting with Lazodeus. “Don’t be silly. It is all for the best, is it not, Lazodeus?”

The angel’s voice was not audible, but he clearly offered some words of encouragement, for Anne said, “I know that you are right. When can we expect the exorcist to return?”

So this was about the exorcist. But how could the demon key help them? And why did they not simply ask her for her assistance? She sat on her bed. Her blood boiled. How dare they? And how dare he? What business was it of his if she had a demon key, and where was the loyalty of her siblings if they would so blithely steal it from her?

“I shall stand guard on you all night,” she whispered. And hunched over her mirror to watch and wait.

Anne could not remember ever feeling such terror. It seemed barely worth loving, if this was the awful dread attendant upon it. But if Lazodeus died — what then? Nothing. Emptiness. The frozen core of her heart.

She barely slept; dozed an hour here and there. The floor was not comfortable, but the discomfort was a payment she was willing to make for Lazodeus’s succour and his swift return to health. Mary, on the other hand, almost seemed to be enjoying his illness. She fussed around him and sat with him and held his hand … things that Anne, too, would like to do. But her heart was too sick to do anything more than sit and wait. Any jealousy she would ordinarily feel about Mary, any guilt about Deborah or, indeed, any anger toward the exorcist who had done this to her angel, seemed vastly insignificant next to this hollow, paralysing fear.

Please, do not let him die.

Her eyes were open when the first dim glimmerings of dawn touched the sky. She sat up. Mary had curled asleep next to Lazodeus. The angel’s eyes were open.

“Lazodeus?” she said softly, coming to stand by the side of the bed. “Are you still ill?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes, Anne. I’m afraid so.”

“We shall do whatever it takes to make you well again,” she said, even though she had said it before. She wanted to feel as though she were part of his cure, not just a passive ninny who let Mary take care of everything.

“I know, Anne. I know how you feel.”

But did he? If he knew how much she loved him … well, he may laugh. Or scorn her. She let her head droop forward.

Mary yawned loudly. “Are you awake, then?” she said to Anne.

“I am, yes.”

“Have you checked on Deborah yet?”

Anne glanced guiltily towards the closet. “No. I …”

“See if she’s still angry.” Mary turned and began to stroke Lazodeus’s cheek. Anne crept to Deborah’s closet door and knocked quietly.

“Deborah?”

“Mary? Let me out of here.”

“It is Anne.”

“Anne, what is going on? Why are you doing this to me? The key is mine, earned by me for my hard work and learning. It is not fair to take it from me.”

“You may have it back as soon as we are finished with it.”

“Finished with it? What do you intend to do?”

“I can’t tell you, Deborah. But it is for the best.”

Her sister began to pound on the inside of the door. “Open this door! Open it at once!”

Anne scurried away, took refuge with Mary at the bed. Lazodeus’s glow had begun to fade. Anne felt a cold finger touch her heart.

“He grows worse,” Mary whispered. Anne could hear the desolation in her voice for the first time.

“What shall we do? What if the exorcist does not return? Will we have to go after him, to his home?”

Lazodeus shook his head. “He is here. He is in the house already.”

“What?” Mary exclaimed.

“He will be up here in moments. Betty is with him. He …” Lazodeus sank back on the covers. Anne could control herself no longer; she kneeled over him, her lank hair trailing across his face.

“Lazodeus? Lazodeus?”

“Calm down, Anne, he is not dead yet.” Mary stepped off the bed and pulled out the demon key. “I am ready for the exorcist.”

A sharp rap at the bedroom door gave her a fright. Mary marched towards it, but Anne caught her in time. “Wait, Mary. We know not what to say. Lazodeus must tell us.”

Then a strange mumbling. Anne recognised it as Latin, but couldn’t understand it. “He has started the exorcism,” she gasped.

“Lazodeus,” Mary said, running to the bed. “Wake up, you have to tell us how to overcome the exorcist.”

Lazodeus struggled to sit. Before he could say anything, a voice, loud and clear and in English, began to repeat the exorcism. It was Deborah.

“In the name of Jesus Christ, our God and Lord, strengthened by the intercession of the Immaculate Virgin Mary, Mother of God, of Blessed Michael the Archangel, of the Blessed Apostles and all the Saints and powerful in the holy authority of our ministry …”

Father Bailey’s voice grew louder in response.

Lazodeus groaned.

“Be quiet, sister!” Mary shouted. “Don’t make us have to hurt you.”

“No, she has no power,” Lazodeus said. “She is not ordained in the church. It is the priest who causes me pain.”

“Well, she’s torturing me,” Mary cried.

“Tell us what to say to him,” Anne said. “Quickly, ere he kills you.”

“We drive you from us, whoever you may be,” Deborah continued, translating Father Bailey’s words. “Unclean spirits, all satanic powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions …”

“Lure him in here,” Lazodeus gasped. “Then use the key to command Drachiarmus to make him swoon.”

Deborah’s voice grew stronger. “In the name and by the power of our Lord Jesus Christ, may you be snatched away. God the Father commands you, God the Son commands you, God the Holy Ghost commands you, Christ, God’s word made flesh —”

Mary pushed the dresser aside and threw open the bedroom door. The Latin stopped; Deborah stopped. Anne huddled close to Mary’s shoulder. Father Bailey looked back at them in the dim morning light.

“Come in, Father Bailey,” Mary said.

“I …”

Mary grabbed his wrist and pulled him. Anne leaned across and pushed the door closed.

“The sign of the cross commands you!” Father Bailey exclaimed, forgetting his Latin in his fear. He crossed himself and threw holy water upon them.

“Nobody commands me.” This was Lazodeus. Anne turned to see him sitting up in the bed, his unearthly light returned to him, his eyes narrowed in rage: a black angel of unparalleled beauty. She caught her breath. “Girls, deal with him,” he said.

Father Bailey’s eyes bulged and with a jerk he turned and scrambled for the door. Mary darted in front of him and barred the way, held up the little key and said, “Drachiarmus, I call upon you with this key as your commander. Induce in the exorcist a profound swoon.”

Five notes rang out, the same as last night, and Anne felt both enchanted and horrified by the sound of them,
as though the pleasures of the music were secretly eroding her soul. Father Bailey swooned to the floor.

Lazodeus leaped from the bed. “You see, I am recovered.”

Mary received him in her embrace eagerly, Anne more warily.