Falling (The Falling Angels Saga) (17 page)

The castle seemed very familiar to me and yet quite different. For one thing, it was brighter. Not just because of the sun streaming in through the oversized windows or the crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. The place felt cheerier. The artwork on the walls was warm and colorful. There was a vibrantly colored Kandinsky on one wall that painted the atmosphere with cheer.

A multicolored floor-to-ceiling melting clock, created by a Salvador Dali devotee was on another wall. I knew these and all the artworks that adorned the walls of the castle were originals. My mother would have had the time of her life drooling over the priceless art. She probably could have identified each of them by name. Dagenhart’s castle was drenched in opulence and fine taste—a far cry from the decadent art I saw last time I was there.

A man entered from the alcove across the room, and my skin began to tingle. It was the alcove I’d ducked into when I’d hidden in the closet beneath the stairs, but that’s not why I was tingling. “I know him,” I uttered. I’d seen the man with the handlebar mustache the last time I was at the castle. “He was talking with Danny Tambor the night I was here. He wished him good luck.”

The fortyish man was working his way through the crowd, stopping momentarily to chat with guests before moving on. He was headed for the podium.

“I have a feeling it’s Dagenhart,” said Harrison.

“I think so, too.”

We moved through the crowd in an attempt to secure a good spot close enough to the podium. The fortyish man arrived at the podium just as we secured a spot a few rows deep. He gently tapped the microphone making sure it had been turned on. Loud thuds accompanied soft feedback. He nodded to someone we couldn’t see, and the music stopped.

“Welcome, sons and daughters of darkness,” he said in a powerful voice dripping with arrogance.

His gaze danced over the crowd, his smile oozing confidence. They quieted. Realizing he was going to make a speech, they began pushing, jockeying for position, forming a knot around the podium. Harrison and I held onto our good spots.

Dagenhart was elegantly dressed in a light gray suit that highlighted the deep blue of his eyes. The handlebar mustache had grown a bit since I’d last seen him. It was well groomed and twisted tightly at the ends, curling into pointy tips. I was reminded of Salvador Dali.

“Thank you for coming, friends,” he began cordially. “I am your host, Cyril Dagenhart. Over the next few hours, we are going to map out a plan to secure a bride for Satan, and this time, my friends, we will succeed.” His words were greeted with mild applause.

“Now we know the purpose of the conclave,” I whispered to Harrison. “They’re again trying to secure a bride for Satan.”

“But this time he seems ta have hell on his side,” Harrison responded softly, and I again noticed the demons mingling among the crowd.

This was, indeed, quite a bit different from Erin’s wedding. Danny Tambor was a scam artist who didn’t truly believe in Satanism. Dagenhart was a true Satanist who had somehow managed a direct pipeline to hell.

“I’m sure many of you were here a few months ago for the
wedding
.” Soft murmurs sprang up around the room. “The Master wants me to guarantee you that the travesty that occurred that night will never happen again. You will always be safe behind the walls of Dagenhart Castle.”

At the mention of the Master, I felt the snakes again writhing in my gut. The image of Armando, my mother’s boyfriend from hell, invaded my thoughts.

“And now for our guest of honor,” the man continued with a smile. The house lights dimmed as if on cue.

“He’s here,” I whispered loudly. “Armando’s here!”

“Hold it together, Al,” Harrison said calmly. I realized I’d been digging my fingers into his arm. He gently removed my hand.

I didn’t know what I’d do if Armando, or Satan in some other form, stepped from the alcove and moved to the podium. I thought I might faint. “He’s here!” I repeated. “I have to leave!”

“We don’t know that he’s here. Wait.” This time he grabbed my hand and placed it back on his arm so I could squeeze. I obliged him.

I peered into the faces of the Satanists around me. Their eyes were on Dagenhart. A sense of euphoria permeated the air. The thought that Satan himself might make an appearance had them all enraptured.

The house lights went all the way down. The drapes mechanically drew shut, bathing the room in darkness. A follow spotlight appeared on Dagenhart. Immersed in the bright light, he seemed larger and more full of life.

“Friends, I hope you are as excited as I am.” A few in the crowd shouted
‘I am… I am.’
“The year is indeed
one
, my friends. And the Master wants me to let you know that this time we will not be denied.”

The crowd softly began to murmur “The year is one… the year is one.” The murmurs grew in intensity and pitch until they weren’t murmurs any longer, but shrieks filled with joy.

“THE YEAR IS ONE. WE WILL NOT BE DENIED.”

It was as if I were having a deja vu moment. I was transported back to the tiny basement the night I witnessed Armando transform into Satan. My legs got wobbly.

“Harrison, seriously, I’ve got to get out of here,” I said in my own voice. “I’m afraid if I don’t leave now, I’ll blow our cover.” Fortunately the crowd was too frenzied to notice a girl’s voice coming out of my mouth. I was now hanging onto Harrison’s arm for support.

“It’s too late, Al. We can’t leave now.” Harrison again called me Al to remind me that I was safe in my disguise—although I didn’t feel safe.

I breathed in deeply, attempting to calm my shattered nerves.
He won’t be able to recognize me in the disguise
, I told myself. Then I amended the thought:
I
hope
he won’t be able to recognize me in the disguise.

“Quiet down now. Our guest is waiting,” called Dagenhart in a tone one might use if he were addressing little children. A second spotlight materialized and began passing over us as if we were at a big movie premiere. The crowd instantly fell silent as the spotlight cruised above our heads.

I realized as the spotlight danced above us that I was once again overcome with fear. And with fear came the loss of my abilities. That was the one flaw in Monsieur Perez’s plan. He hadn’t known how frightened I could get, and what fear could do to my powers. I dug my fingers deeper into Harrison’s arm, grateful to have him standing next to me.

“And here she is, friends,” Dagenhart’s voice rang out. “Our guest of honor, Megan Barnett.”

All of a sudden, Harrison and I were bathed in blinding light, and I realized there was something far worse than Satan being the guest of honor.

*

After a few heart-stopping moments, it occurred to me that the spotlight wasn’t actually on us. It was on the three young girls. Harrison and I stood at the outskirts of the light. The three girls stood behind us bathed in the glow, looking like deer caught in headlights, as excited murmurs sprang up around them.

“I… I’m not Megan whatever her name is,” the shortest one said. The smile was no longer on her lips. Playtime was over. Fear was in her eyes. All of their eyes were clouded with terror, as they realized their trip to Dagenhart Castle was no longer fun and games.

“Of course you aren’t,” said Dagenhart in a playful tone. The spotlight moved from the girls and came to rest on the draped portrait high on the wall. “I apologize for the theatrics, friends, but I wanted to have everyone’s undivided attention.” He held the three girls who had crashed the conclave in a chastising glare. “Megan Barnett is not down there among you. She’s up here.” He whipped around, his right hand making a presentational gesture toward the draped painting.

The drape fell away revealing a large oil portrait of me.
 

“Oh, my!” I said. I stared up at the painting, my hand no longer clutching Harrison’s arm, my mouth agape. It was definitely me hanging up there on the wall overlooking the room.

In the painting, I was wearing the red sequined gown from my dream. My hair was in golden curls. My painted lips held a Mona Lisa smile. Yet despite the smile on my face, my eyes were the saddest I’d ever seen them. Whoever painted the portrait had a sense of how I’d feel if I ever became Satan’s bride.

“The Master has asked us to set our sights on this young woman. Megan Barnett is to be Satan’s bride. But he needs your help. All of you!” Dagenhart said, raising his voice passionately. “Police officers, if you see her in a car, ticket her; government officials, do a tax audit on her family. Everyone, make her life a living hell.” He smiled. It was the evilest grin I’d ever seen. “Make her life a living hell until she has no choice but to submit to hell.”

I didn’t hear much after that. My mind had checked out. I caught snatches of people calling out things they could do to ruin my life. A chef said if I ever ate in his restaurant, he’d poison my food just enough to send me to the hospital. The kindly looking wife from the elderly couple said she would instruct her chauffeur to hit me with their car; one of the young girls said if she saw me on the street she’d step on my toes hard enough to break them. Everyone one in the room in some small way knew they could do something to make my life hell on earth. It was going to be a community effort.

On the bright side, our trip to Dagenhart Castle had been a success. We now knew what the Satanists had planned. I got in and out of the castle without a problem. Bully for me. My problems were just about to begin.

*

“They’re lunatics!”

We were once again seated in Aunt Jaz’s living room. Orthon was pacing back and forth, talking a mile a minute, burning a hole in the ancient shag carpeting. “Do they really believe this silliness is going to make Megan
want
to marry Satan? So some ridiculous girl wants to step on her toes. Let her try it, and I will strike her down.”

“Have ya been listening to anything we’ve been tellin’ ya? There were demons present. Some of them quite powerful. Do not dismiss Dagenhart as a run-of-the-mill Satanist.” There was anger in Harrison’s words, rage in his eyes.

“I’m not dismissing him. But it will take more than being chummy with powerful demons to get Megan to agree to marry Satan, and that’s the key here. She has to
agree
,” said Orthon. His shade-covered gaze moved quickly to me and then back to Harrison.

“For a demon, you have very little respect for the powers of hell,” said Guy, joining Harrison in the verbal attack.

“I have respect for hell, but maybe I’m the only one here who has
more
respect for Megan,” Orthon replied, casting a second glance in my direction.

“Aw, rubbish!” groused Harrison. “What do demons know of respect?”

Orthon snatched off his shades, allowing Harrison to see the rage in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak—

“I think we need to hear from Megan,” said Maudrina, cutting him off before he could utter a word. She was sitting in the rocker, gently rocking herself as if to sleep. Her words were spoken so softly, I didn’t think anyone had heard them until all eyes moved to her. “I mean, now that we’re certain she’s the target of both Satan
and
the Satanists, shouldn’t we hear what
she
thinks?” She shot me a quick, worried glance before losing her eyes in the carpet.

The others all looked to me.

“I don’t think anything,” I said dismissively. That wasn’t true. Truth is, I’d been thinking about it so much my brain was on overload and in the process of shutting down. My eyelids were growing heavy. The only clear thought I had at the moment was how nice it would be to be snuggled up in bed with Amanda napping on the pillow next to me.

“You have to think something, deary,” said Aunt Jaz, trying to coax my true feelings out of me.

“Do I? Okay. I think I want to go home. I think I’m done with all these little meetings. I think I’m done with all of you,” I said darkly. I stood. “Aunt Jaz, can I use your bedroom. I need to get out of this costume and makeup before I go home.”

“Of… course you can.” She strained to keep her voice even, but I could tell from the look of her, from the look of all of them, they were worried about me.

“Thank you,” I replied and started from the room. I stopped. “Don’t worry. I won’t steal anything from your closet to make a gris gris.”

She smiled as if I’d made a joke. I didn’t smile back.

“I know that, deary.”

I was out of the room before she completed her sentence.

“Now look at what you’ve done!” I heard Guy say, his voice rising in anger.

“Me? I am the only one here who’s making sense!” Orthon responded, his own voice tinged with frustration. “Do you even
know
the girl?”

“How dare you, demon!” bellowed Guy.

As I moved down the hall away from the fracas, I could feel tears springing into my eyes. They spilled out, washing heavily down my cheeks. I’d gotten out of the room just in time.

I went into Aunt Jaz’s bedroom and closed the door so I couldn’t hear them arguing, and they couldn’t see me cry. It was important to me that they not see me cry.

I sat down at her vanity and peered at myself in the mirror. My face was melting right before my eyes. The tear-stained makeup ran down my cheeks, caking up on my chin. I looked like one of Mick Turner’s horror creatures. The Monster With the Melting Face. I looked so ridiculous…

I started to laugh.

Laughter was the only emotion I hadn’t yet used up, and it came rolling out of me. Mine wasn’t joyful laughter, nor was it painful. It was laughter for the sake of laughter—laughter for the sake of my sanity. It wasn’t loud or raucous, or crazy out of control. The one thing it was, however, was freeing. The laughter freed me from the worry that had begun at Dagenhart Castle and trailed me back to Aunt Jaz’s, piling on top of me like little boys playing a silly game—
get offa me!
—until I could hardly breath, hardly think.

As I sat staring in the mirror, using cotton balls to strip my face of Mick Turner’s heavy makeup, the laughter aided in stripping my soul of the burden of worry, concern, fear, and horror that had jam-packed my mind to the point where it, too, couldn’t breathe and had to shut down to survive.