Darkest Hour (11 page)

She rolled her eyes before closing them again.

Truman looked at Caruthers expectantly. Caruthers gave him a nod and Truman shot over to the lone bookcase. The shelves only came to his waist. An ornate golden chalice sat on top of the shelf next to a glass decanter half filled with water. Truman poured some of the water into the chalice and then carried the chalice to the father.

Caruthers took the gold cup in both his hands. He muttered something, eyes closed. A prayer, Lockman figured. Then the father dipped the tips of his fingers of one hand into the water. With his wet thumb he drew a cross on Jessie’s forehead.

Jessie bucked in the chair. The skin on her forehead turned bright red, as if sun burnt. A strange contrast to otherwise gray pallor. For an instant, that patch of skin looked human again.

The red faded quickly however. In its place, a darker, bruise-like color remained in the shape of the cross Caruthers had drawn.

Lockman didn’t know if that reaction was because of her vampirism or part of the exorcism. Wouldn’t Gabriel have taught Jessie how to resist the effects of holy water the same he had silver?

As if in answer to his question, the dark mark faded right before their eyes. Jessie let out a soft breath and short moan. “You can do that again if you want,” she said. “Shouldn’t bother me now.”

The hand Caruthers had used to draw the cross still hovered over Jessie’s head. It began to tremble. He closed the hand into a fist and pressed it against his lips.

“You all right, Father?” Lockman asked. The guy looked ready to snap.

But Caruthers nodded, pried his fist away from his mouth, and set his shoulders with new resolve. He handed the chalice over to Truman, which Truman took with quivering hands of his own.

Caruthers reached into his pocket and withdrew the rosary he’d held earlier. He dangled the cross over Jessie’s head and began swinging it in a slow circle around her face.

“Spirit, I call you by name. Gabriel Dolan, do you hear my voice?”

“He can hear you fine,” Jessie said.

“Jessie, I need you to remain silent from here on. I only want to speak with Gabriel directly.”

That set off a spark in Lockman. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The only way to draw out the spirit is to commune with him directly. Now, please. Stop interrupting and let me do this.”

Lockman crossed his arms and could feel the tension in his biceps. He did not like where this was headed.

Truman slowly backed away as if afraid sudden movement might set off an explosion. Not exactly comforting behavior from one of the so-called experts.

The only thing that kept Lockman from calling off the whole thing was the memory of Kate’s face when he told her he was taking Jessie away from her and she could never see her daughter again. A reminder of all the horror he had brought on the two women he loved most in this world. Jessie was a vampire because of him. Gabriel’s soul literally haunted her body because of
him.

If he could do anything to repair some of that damage, he had to try. Evicting Gabriel from her mind would go a long way.

He set his jaw and let the priest continue his ritual.

“Gabriel Dolan,” Caruthers said in a deepened voice. “Christ’s power commands that you speak to me.”

Jessie’s eyes twitched under the lids as if she were in REM sleep. Her hands clawed into the recliner’s arms. Her breath quickened.

The tendons in Lockman’s neck felt ready to snap. He gritted his teeth and kept silent.

“Gabriel. Do you hear me?” The rosary swung above her face and cast a moving shadow across her features. “Answer me.”

The air took on an electric quality. It smelled like burnt wires. The hair on the back of Lockman’s neck and arms stood on end.

“Something’s happening,” Truman whispered.

Caruthers shot him a dirty look, then returned his attention to Jessie. “Christ demands a response.”

“Then why don’t you fetch him and we’ll talk.”

The words came from Jessie’s mouth, but sounded nothing like her. Not just the tone or inflections. Somehow her voice had actually changed, as if it weren’t her speaking at all.

The change wasn’t the strangest part, though. Lockman recognized the voice. It sounded like him.

The father licked his lips. His voice had the slightest tremor. “The Lord is always with us.”

“See? That stuff always confused me. I thought we were talking about Jesus, not God.”

“They are one in the same.”

Jessie’s eyes snapped open. Her gaze locked onto Caruthers. She grinned. “Mortal religion is so strange.”

“Gabriel?” the father asked.

“Who else?”

Lockman couldn’t hold back. “Get out of my daughter you son of a bitch.”

Caruthers glared at Lockman. He didn’t say anything, though.

Jessie grabbed the rosary still swinging above her and jerked it out of the father’s hand. She gave the wooden cross on the end of the bead chain the kind of look a four year-old gives a mound of over-cooked peas. Then she tossed it aside. The beads clicked and skittered across the floor before coming to rest against the far wall.

Caruthers jerked back as if singed.

Truman slinked backward another couple steps.

Then Jessie sat straight and eyed Lockman. “You aren’t taking very good care of my body, Mr. Lockman.”

“Not yours anymore.”

She smirked. “Ah, yes. This is my body now.” She ran her hands down her chest and over the tops of her thighs.

“That one isn’t yours either. You’ve over-stayed your welcome. Time to get out.”

“Where would I go? Back to you?”

“I don’t give a damn where you go. To hell would be the best choice.”

She turned her attention to Caruthers. “Did you hear that? He wants to condemn me to hell. I though only the good Lord could do that.”

Caruthers stammered. The sheen of sweat on his brow and the pasty cast to his skin suggested he had never really expected to speak with Gabriel. Apparently, the father’s faith had a few chinks in it.

Lockman crossed over and grabbed Caruthers’s arm. “Get a hold of yourself.”

Jessie snickered.

Caruthers wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, took a deep breath. “I’m fine.” He dipped his fingers back into the holy water and flicked some drops in Jessie’s face.

She flinched, but the water had no effect on her skin. Her tongue snaked out and licked at a drop by the corner of her mouth. “Refreshing. Better if it were blood, though.”

Lockman wanted to physically strike out at Gabriel, but that meant attacking Jessie. The evil man sat protected within his host and hostage.

“Get him out, Father.”

He made the sign of the cross and mumbled a prayer under his breath that started with the plea, “Lord, give me strength...”

Jessie smiled wide enough to show her fangs. “I think I’ve seen this movie,” she said. “It didn’t end well for the preacher.”

“The Lord works through me. His power is my power. I command you, spirit, leave this body.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely...no.”

Gabriel had managed to take over Jessie so thoroughly, she had nearly
become
him. Lockman’s desire to grasp her throat and squeeze grew despite his knowing he would be hurting her more than he would Gabriel. Which raised the question—where was Jessie now? Was she in there, muscled out of her own rightful spot in her consciousness by Gabriel because of the priest’s summons?

Why the hell did I agree to this?

The father seemed to gain confidence. His prayers had given him strength. He puffed up his chest and bellowed, “Out with you, demon. The power of Christ demands you leave this innocent body.”

Jessie threw back her head and laughed. Her whole body shook with it. “Innocent body? You call me the demon, but this body is a vampire. This dear girl lost all hope of innocence when she drank her own regurgitated blood and left the mortal world behind.” She reached out and grabbed Caruthers by the throat, pulled him down so she could look him straight in the eyes. “This girl’s body is lost to you.”

And then she tore the father’s head off his shoulders.

Chapter Fourteen

Kate had clothes again, but what helped most with staying warm was the absence of the ghost. She sat alone in a room furnished to look like an average living room you’d find in any suburban house right down to the HDTV and shelves with knick-knacks on the walls. The only thing that ruined the impression was the steel door and the two-way mirror built into one wall.

She assumed she was in the same building as the last room, but because of another dose of Mica’s pixie dust, they could have taken her anywhere while she was zonked out. All sense of time had blown to pieces for her as well. For all she knew, they had her in an underground lair in the South Pole two months after Mica had grabbed her from her apartment in New York.

The where and when didn’t matter, though. Not anymore. She had agreed to help. She wanted to find Jessie, and if anyone could help her better than a pixie and a ghost, she didn’t know who.

The strange rooms gave Kate the impression they had resources. And Thom—the name the ghost had used to introduce himself—had suggested there were others like them on their “team,” though he had yet to explain the function of this team.

Kate had her own ideas. Something like the Agency that Craig used to work for, she guessed. A government operation that dealt with what Craig had once referred to as the Darker Things.

She had the TV on, tuned in to some reality show featuring make-up artists who competed by turning models into various fanciful creatures. The contestants lived in happy ignorance that some of the creatures they designed actually existed in the real world and were far more horrifying than their mere appearance suggested.

Much of what Kate had experienced in the last year had made fiction look pretty silly.

The hinges on the steel door creaked as the door swung open. Mica entered the room alone—at least that’s what it looked like at first.

Then Kate noticed the three foot-tall man walking beside her.

He didn’t have the features of a human dwarf or little person. In fact, he looked perfectly human except for his size—a shrunken man wearing a suit as fancy as anything Armani put out for the standard-sized gentleman. Age-wise, he resembled a full-grown man in his thirties. His small patch of hair was neatly coiffed on his baseball-sized head. He had a striped tie around his tiny neck. His eyes shone a marvelous blue, like glowing gems inset in his face, the only other feature besides his size that marked him as non-human.

The small man must have enjoyed the attention Kate gave him. He smiled, shot his cuffs, and straightened his tie. “You like the merchandise?”

“Stuff it, Wertz. For mortal girls, size
does
matter.”

He shot her a dirty look—having to crane his neck back to do it—but his smile quickly returned, and with those beautiful eyes Kate felt a tinge of attraction despite his stature.

“You never met a gnome, I take it?” he asked.

Kate stammered, the question too surreal.
Though you’d think I’d be used to this crazy stuff by now.

“Don’t let the size fool ya,” he said and waggled his eyebrows. “Good things come—”

“Cool it, Wertz, before I drown you in my vomit.” Mica gave him a nudge with her foot, which almost toppled the little guy.

He dusted off his suit with his hands. “Watch the duds, Dusty. You know how much Giorgio charges to custom design for a gnome?”

“Those...” Kate started and felt a sudden urge to giggle that made it hard to go on. “Those are really Armani?”

“Damn skippy, they are.”

“But aren’t gnomes...” She tittered. “Aren’t you supposed to live in gardens?”

The glow in his eyes dimmed. He crossed his arms. “I expected better from someone of your pedigree.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Everyone with an un-rotted brain in the supernatural community knows who the mother of the Chosen One is. And frankly, I thought you wouldn’t be caught up in all the mortal clichés. Next, I supposed you’ll ask where my red pointed hat is.”

That cinched it. Kate broke into full laughter. Once she started, she couldn’t get herself to stop. The laughter came like steam from a cracked pipe, a release of pressure.

The gnome dragged his hands down over his face and groaned. “I get no respect.”

Mica shook her head and strode over to the couch where Kate sat. She held out her hand. “Come with me, love. It’s time for orientation.”

“Orientation?”

“The whole naked questioning thing with Thom was your initiation. Now it’s time to get smarted up on what we’re for.”

“When do we find Jessie?”

“All things in time, sweets.” She wagged the fingers of her outstretched hand. “Let’s not keep the boss waiting.”

“Thom’s the boss?”

The creased brow and incredulous look Mica gave reminded Kate of Jessie so much she almost started crying as quickly as she had started laughing.

“Kinda hard to be a boss when you can’t touch anything, eh?” Mica said. “Boss has got a little more substance, if you know what I mean.”

Kate took Mica’s hand and let Mica help her to her feet. The strength Kate sensed in the woman’s arm gave her pause. The pixie had kicked Kate’s apartment door in and halfway across the room. Kate had a feeling if Mica had used her hands, the door would have continued sailing straight through the opposite wall.

Wertz bowed and swept an arm out toward the door. “Ladies.”

Mica guided Kate out into a long hallway with other steel doors matching the one to the faux living room.

“What is this place?” Kate asked.

“Headquarters’ subfloor,” Wertz answered. “With a room for every occasion.”

“Subfloor?” Maybe they
had
taken her to an underground lair.

“Fancy for the basement,” Mica said. “You’ll find we got a fancy word for just about everything. One of the few things I don’t like about this outfit.”

“What exactly is this outfit?”

“We’re taking you to find out.”

“No pixie dust this time?”

One corner of Mica’s mouth curled up just barely. “Nope. Sleepy time is over, love. Time now for you to wake up and see it all.”