Demon Jack (5 page)

Even better, now I was riding in a van with two people whose names I didn’t know, who could bug a police officer’s cell phone, and to top it all off, one was a witch that could toss around massive amounts of water without so much as breaking a sweat. Yep, there was only one word to sum the whole situation up.

“
Fuck
,” I said finally.

“Indeed,” she said.

We drove the rest of the way in silence. I kept waiting for Alice to reappear, for the feeling of rejuvenation that would accompany her. I waited for my muscles to become wired with life again, for the pain to melt away from my jaw, my sides, my stomach. More than anything, I wanted the nagging itch in my skull, the pressure on my temples to die away. I wanted the noose of addiction around my neck to loosen, even for just a second. Unfortunately, it was only getting tighter. It just wasn't happening.

Apparently a van could be consecrated as holy ground. Who knew?

Our destination turned out to be Saint Cecilia’s in Boston. As churches go, from the exterior it was nothing spectacular. It looked like a cross between a factory and a castle, built with bricks the color of rust and shadowed by much larger and more modern buildings. An arched stone doorway, wreathed in what looked like maybe granite or marble, though truthfully I had no idea, stood out on one corner.

We parked across the street, and sliding out the side door of the van I could feel the sort of vibe that radiates off old churches. It was a feeling of warmth, of comfort, but at the same time an alien sense of distance. It was like there was something inside that would never be attainable, something invisible and intangible but every bit real. Overhead, the sky had begun to lighten as dawn approached and star bursts of sunlight flashed off the church’s windows. For a minute I wobbled on my feet feeling weak and drained. Every inch of my body hurt. My skin felt like it wanted to crawl over itself, turn inside out and shrink all at the same time.

I wanted heroin. Badly.

Richie hopped out of the van and keeping his head down, hands in his pockets, headed for the church.

“Seriously?” I asked, looking to the redhead when she hopped out behind me. “You took me to church?”

“I just work here,” she said with a shrug, and started towards the church.

The interior of Saint Cecilia was a far cry from its exterior. Where as the outside is a throwback to something almost Dickensian in stature, the inside could only be described as opulent. Hardwood floors echoed underfoot as we walked, the polished wood casting a soft glow that was reflected from hanging globes. Arches and columns gave the impression of space and old world charm. Everywhere murals smiled down at me. Pictures of angels, saints and the like were all holding me under watchful eye.

It made me damned uncomfortable.

The woman, whose name I still didn't know, led me through the church and towards the confessional. She opened the far right door, commonly reserved for the priest and reached under the bench seat that lined the narrow back wall. The wall swung inward, seat and all to reveal a stone stairway. I quirked a brow, so many tasteless jokes running through my head.

“After you,” she said, making a gesture towards the door.

“In for a penny… ” I muttered.

I went through the door, turning slightly sideways to fit through the opening. A set of stone stairs led downwards, the light coming from naked bulbs hung every ten feet or so in the ceiling. The air grew heavier, colder as we descended. The smell of dust intertwined with the damp, moldy smell that seemed to be a staple in every basement. The stairs ended in a long hallway, opening up to be wide enough for two people standing shoulder to shoulder. Maggie brushed past me once again taking the lead. The hall ended after about a hundred feet in a large wooden doorway, all thick lumber and wrought iron. She approached the door and knocked once.

The door swung inward and she ushered me inside. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the more modern fluorescent light set in the ceiling. The room was sparse, furnished with only two couches, two chairs, and a coffee table. The floor was lush carpet, the walls a bone jarring white. A crucifix hung on one wall, beside it, a Star of David, beside that the star and crescent of Islam. More religious iconography that I wasn’t familiar with joined them making a line of finely crafted religious symbolism. It reminded me of those “Coexist” bumper stickers.

Three men were seated on the couch. One was older, probably in his mid to late forties. His face was framed with two spiraling locks. A thick, wiry beard the color of coal dust burst from his chin. His clothing was all black, from his shoes to the wide brimmed hat he wore atop his head. The second man was probably around my age and wore a beard as well. It was much shorter and well-kept than his compatriot, but was a similar inky black in color. He wore plain Middle Eastern style clothing with a knit cap over his hair. His skin was the color of coffee, eyes watery beneath bushy brows.

The third, I knew. Father Hernandez. Father Hernandez was one of the priests at Saint Cecilia’s and ran their homeless outreach programs. He came around every few days in a white van handing out free meals, arranging a place to sleep for people when the weather got rough, and just generally doing the good, charitable works of the church. He was of medium build, though he was all muscle, and possessed classic Hispanic features. He wore the black clothing and white collar of his office, a pair of wire rimmed glasses over eyes that looked way too tired, despite the laugh lines at their corners.

The witch closed the door behind me and leaned against it, crossing her arms over her chest.

Father Hernandez studied me in silence for a long moment.

“Hello Jack,” he said.

“Padre,” I said with a nod. “Care to tell me exactly what the holy blue hell is going on here?”

“Please, take a seat.” He motioned towards an empty chair.

I narrowed my eyes on him and tried my best to steady the shake that had settled into my hands. I really wanted to sit down. Hell, I wanted to lie down and take a nap for about the next six years.

I stood there, shaking and wavering on my feet.

Hernandez sighed.

“This is Rabbi Josef Yavetta,” he said motioning towards the man in the hat, “and Imam Aahil Al Dossari. You’ve met Margaret. Gentleman, this is Jack, the man I’ve spoken to you about.”

Even feeling like hammered shit, it took everything I had not to make the obvious corny joke about the Rabbi, the Imam, and the Priest.

“Oy. It’s Maggie,” she said. “Margaret makes me sound like an old spinster.”

“Apologies my dear,” Hernandez said.

“Could you, um, remove your hood away from your face please?” Yavetta said. His voice was hinted with a touch of a Russian accent, or maybe Polish. I could never tell.

I pulled the hood back from my face. Both Yavetta and Al Dossari leaned forward, eyes locked on my face. For a minute, I had to fight the urge to squirm. At almost the exact same time their jaws dropped open. Apparently they’re teaching infernal in all the Ivy league divinity schools nowadays. I felt grossly inadequate all of a sudden.

“Gentlemen?” Hernandez asked.

Yavetta and Dossari fell into a quick, quiet conversation in a language I couldn’t understand. They looked at him and nodded in what I was guessing was approval.

“Jack, I’m guessing you’re wondering why you’re here.”

“I’m wondering a lot of things at the moment, Padre.”

“Then ask,” he said.

“Alright. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why all this?” I asked. “Why the dramatic snatch and grab? Why drag me here? Padre, you’ve known me for years. If you wanted to talk, you could’ve just asked.”

“It’s a long story. I’ll try to do the best I can though.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Let me answer your question with a question first then. Are you familiar with the Inquisition?”

“Sure, bunch of religious nuts burnt anything at the stake that they didn’t approve of, agree with, or find to their liking basically. Usually it was people that didn’t see things their way. That about the sum of it?”

“Yes and no. Regardless, the point of the matter is that while the Inquisition had its fair share of faults-”

“Oy, they ‘ad their fair share a faults alright,” Maggie said.

“Despite its faults,” Hernandez continued, casting a chastising glare towards Maggie, “it did in fact serve a purpose.”

“And that was?” I asked.

“To root out the enemies of God. However, more importantly, it allowed us to send a message to those things that weren’t meant for this world and the humans that consorted with them.”

“Or the ones that made deals with them,” Al Dossari chimed in.

I cut my eyes towards him in my best misery fueled glare.

He didn’t seem too impressed.

“We were able to show the demons, the faeries, the vampires, the shape shifting monstrosities, and all the rest, that we were no longer prey. That we could and would, if pushed, fight back. We had to show them that the days of man playing the role of food were over. It worked. We were able to recover lands that were rightfully ours and put an end to being enslaved to things that have no place on this earth.” He paused for a moment, genuine disappointment in his tone when he spoke again. “Unfortunately, as with any war, there were casualties.”

“That’s all fine and good but you haven’t answered my question.”

“Right, yes. After the Inquisition, the Church was understandably stained. Yet, those enemies still remained. Thus the Ordo Cinderis was created. The Order of the Ashes, risen from the remnants of the Inquisition and operating without ties to any larger body that would be required to answer for its actions, a multi-faith brotherhood united under the banner of turning evil against itself, in service to God. To turn sinners, without hope of salvation, against their own.”

“Uh huh. So, once more, why the fuck am I here?”

“You’re a sinner,” Yavetta said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Because, Mister Jack, you’ve been recruited,” Al Dossari said.

“Well, you guys can all go right ahead and fuck yourselves. How’s that?” I said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

I stood up. Maggie didn’t move. She stared at me, a look of mild amusement painted on her features.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option now. As I was saying, you’ve been recruited.”

“And I’m telling you that I refuse.”

“You are more than welcome to refuse. Though, I want you to bear something in mind Jack.”

“What’s that?”

“We aren’t giving you a choice.”

“Is that right?”

“Very much so, Jack. We know more about you than you do, things that would make your life quite difficult should you decide to work against us as opposed to for us,” Hernandez said.

I stared at him.

“You don’t believe me,” Hernandez said, and I could hear the hint of a smile creeping into his voice. “Would you like me to prove it?”

“By all means,” I muttered. It was getting hard to focus. My head felt wrong, overweight and about ten sizes too big. It felt like a snake had slithered its way into my skull and begun constricting around my brain. I was starting to get past the point of pain, past the point of want. I was heading into full-blown, soul crushing need.

“We know that the vampire Adam is actively looking for you now, as evidenced by your little altercation earlier this evening. We know that given your predilection towards violence and your harrowing escape earlier that the police very well may take a very active interest in your whereabouts once the detective wakes up and your fingerprints are found in his car. We also know the full name of the demon to which your soul is bound.” Hernandez paused for effect before continuing. “Her true full name and we have a very, very powerful witch. I’m assuming you know what that means.”

I glared at him. Having Alice’s true name, something I wasn’t even entirely sure of myself, would allow her to be exorcised. An exorcism could very well send her straight back to the pit, no passing go, and no collecting two hundred dollars. Since my soul was bound to her essence, it’d drag me right down with her.

“You’re bluffing.”

“Are we?” Yavetta asked.

“Information is power, Mr. Draughn,” Al Dossari said quietly. Well, the bastard knew
my
name, at least.

“Let’s assume for a moment that we are bluffing. Let me put this into a more concrete perspective for you,” Hernandez said. “Alikelvairya.”

Alice’s true name echoed in my head, reverberating with its own kind of inherent power. For a long moment, I couldn’t speak. Hernandez had succeeded in his goal. He’d put my situation into a crystalline clear sort of perspective. That perspective said pretty blatantly that I didn’t have much in the way of options. I was going to have to play ball.

“I believe he understands his situation,” Yavetta said.

“This is bullshit,” I said, my voice swollen with resignation.

“Perhaps it is bullshit, though I prefer to view it as the will of Allah. I am glad that it seems you are aware of your options now and that we will not be forced into drastic measures,” Al Dossari said.