The Descent Series, Books 1-3: Death's Hand, The Darkest Gate, and Dark Union (The Descent Series, Volume 1) (13 page)

Elise took a deep sniff of the latte. “This is much better than what I’ve been having. Thanks.”

“I got you a muffin, too,” he said in a hopeful tone.

“Great,” she said, sliding her books and notes into a desk drawer. Anthony leaned around to read the spines, but Elise shut it too fast. “What are you up to?”

“I just got off work and was on my way to meet Betty, but I thought I’d visit you first. Are you busy?”

Elise stood. Her back ached. The clock told her she had been hunched over her desk for over eight hours. Her injuries from the night before had stiffened.

She checked her cell phone, which had been on silent. Seven missed calls from James. Great.

“No, I’m not busy.” She put her phone back in her pocket. “Don’t let me get in the way of meeting Betty. I know she goes nuts if you’re late at all.”

“Let me walk you to your car.”

“I’m right outside the door.”

“Well…me too.” Anthony ducked his head, peeking at her through his bangs. “Did you have fun last night?”

It took Elise a moment to realize what he was talking about. She had almost forgotten about their date. “Oh, yeah. The band was really good.”

“I never saw you like that before.”

“Like what?”

He flashed a grin. “You know…having fun.”

“Did I embarrass myself?”

“No, of course not. It’s nice.” Elise arched an eyebrow at him, and he hurried to add, “I mean, you’re always so serious. It’s like some black cloud is following you around.”

“A black cloud,” she echoed—and then, surprisingly, she laughed. “I guess that’s a fair description.”

Elise locked the office door and headed down the hall. Anthony’s hand stuck out at his side, and she got the impression he wanted her to take it. She pretended she didn’t notice.

His Jeep was beside Elise’s car just outside the building doors. “Thanks for walking me,” she said. Elise moved to get into the driver’s seat, but Anthony stopped her, grabbing onto the door.

“Maybe you want to hang out with me tonight?” he said. A pink flush had risen on his cheeks. “I mean, if you’re done for the day, I just have to see Betty for a few minutes. We could go down for a walk by the river or something.”

Elise studied him, head tilted to the side. Was she that intimidating, or was he just a nervous person? “You can just ask me on a date, you know.”

“Oh. Okay. So, do you…?”

“Yes,” Elise said. And then, to save him from the stuttering, she added, “Nine o’clock.”

“Nine. Awesome.”

She tried to get into the car, but he didn’t let go of her door. He stepped in close, shadowing her from the sun, and she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

“Anthony, I don’t—”

He bent down and kissed her. Elise stiffened. He tasted like coffee and chewing gum—totally benign—but she felt cornered, and a voice in the back of her mind screamed for escape.

Anthony straightened. “Are you okay?”

She touched her mouth. “Yeah.” Her fingertips were tingling. Elise hadn’t been kissed in years.

It wasn’t that bad. Not really.

She leaned up to kiss him again.

His hand on her arm was heavy, and his breathing deepened as he leaned into her. She felt something stirring inside of her that she hadn’t felt in a long time, and the foreign sensation made her knees shake.

The sound of the eaves dripping on the pavement and the cars rushing down the street suddenly seemed too loud, like a hundred eyes were watching and waiting for her to drop her guard.

Elise pushed on his chest—not hard, but enough to get his attention. He blinked at her like he was coming out of a sleepy haze. “What?”

She ducked into the driver’s seat and slammed the door, leaving Anthony standing awkwardly next to it.

“I had a great time at the concert,” she said, rolling down her window as her engine grumbled to life. Anthony looked bereft. His cheeks were flushed. “I’ll see you again tonight, okay?”

She left before he could say another word.

E
lise entered the
studio to the sound of someone playing the piano. She set her folders on the reception desk and peeked around the corner.

James played piano in the blue light of the storm. The windows at the opposite end of the room were cracked, and a soft breeze smelling of wet sage drifted through. His brow was lowered over his eyes, and his mouth had taken on that distinct slant that said he was concentrating.

“‘Marriage d’Amour.’ Toussaint, right?” Elise said when his song trailed off, and he looked up, surprised.

“You haven’t answered my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.” Sitting on the bench beside him, she spread her fingers over the keys. Elise pressed, and the piano responded with a warm
ting
. She struck another key, and another, in no particular order. “How was the visit with the Ramirezes?”

“It didn’t do any good. Lucinde is getting worse.” James selected a note an octave lower than the last one she hit, and his fingers followed hers up the piano. “You were wrong—she’s definitely possessed. But you knew that, didn’t you?” He struck the deepest note on the piano, and it vibrated through her hand. “Do you have any potential culprits?”

“I narrowed the list down.” She dropped her hands, letting the last note ring through the silent air. “Do you think it’s true?”

“Yes,” James said, “I do think she’s possessed, which is why you should have—”

“Not that. Do you think there are really ethereal ruins beneath the Warrens?”

He considered the question as he tapped out the beginning to “F�r Elise.” James loved to play that song for her, even more so because she found it irritatingly cute. “It’s a distinct possibility.” He pulled the cover over the keys. “We should see the Ramirezes as soon as possible. Lucinde must be exorcised.”

“Fine. Call Father Night down from Washington. He can do it.”

“I already tried to call him, and he’s busy for the next week. You’re the only person in the area who has ever performed a successful exorcism.”

“I’ve got plans with Anthony later. I can’t do it.”

James folded his arms. “And that’s more urgent than this family’s problem? What happened to your priorities?”

“We retired,” she reminded him. “We’re in hiding. Doesn’t
everyone
need help? There’s probably a half dozen possessed people throughout the country who need exorcisms right now, and I’m not knocking on their doors, either. I said I’m done being a hero. I meant it.”

She slid off of the end of the bench and moved to leave.

James spoke before she reached the door. “Does the phrase, ‘I am the cold kiss of Death,’ mean anything to you?”

Elise stopped and turned around slowly. “Where did you hear that?”

“Lucinde. Why? Is it familiar?”

“You remember…the last time we fought?” She didn’t have to say,
the time we saved the world
.

“It would be impossible to forget.”

“She said that to me while she was…” Elise trailed off. She touched the scar on her breast. James hadn’t been there when the goddess said that, nor had she told him anything about her long hours under the knife. “Are you sure that’s what Lucinde said?”

“Positive.” James frowned. “And then she told me I would be next. She knew my name.”

“Next for what?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

I am the cold kiss of Death…

“But we killed her,” she whispered.

“Since that night, I’ve wondered if that woman was demon-possessed, rather than the deity she claimed to be. Killing a human might not have killed the responsible demon at all. Maybe it has returned.”

They shared a long, silent look.

If the thing that tortured her really was back…now
that
might be something worth fighting about.

James opened his mouth to speak again, but Elise’s phone interrupted him by ringing.

She answered it. “Hello?” The only response was a buzz and white noise. Elise moved closer to the windows. “Who is this?”

The call crackled. “—Ramirez, we need—help—”

“I can’t understand you,” she said, moving out into the entryway. James hung a few steps behind her. “Is this Marisa?”

“Lucinde—something’s wrong—”

Static hissed, and then the line went dead.

“Hello?” Elise said. “Hello?” She sighed and snapped her phone shut. “Great. This place must have the worst reception in the city limits.”

“Who was that?” James asked.

“It
sounded
like Marisa Ramirez,” Elise said. “I think something’s up with Lucinde.” She tried to call the number again, but after several rings, nobody picked up.

Elise shut her phone again.

“No answer?” James asked.

“No answer,” she confirmed. “I think we need to get over there sooner rather than later.”

J
ames rang the
bell by the Ramirez house’s front door. Rain drizzled off the drain pipe, splattering against the concrete porch behind them. A church tower rose beyond the roof of their house, the cross at its peak stretching toward the navy sky. Elise shifted uncomfortably at his side, cold and wet and extremely unhappy as minutes passed without answer.

He pressed the doorbell again, and the bells of the church tower tolled in response.

James peered at one of the windows by the door, but the curtains drawn to prevent even the faintest sliver of light from making it through. “Are you sure they’re here?”

As if on cue, Augustin Ramirez opened the door. His face was haggard and gray.

“You came back. Thank God. Get in, quick.” He locked the deadbolt as soon as they were inside, pushing the curtains aside to glance furtively at the street before closing it up again.

James’s nose wrinkled. Something stunk of feces, urine, and blood, like a dirty litter box used by a dozen sick animals. But the Ramirezes didn’t have cats. They didn’t have any animals at all. It hadn’t smelled earlier in the afternoon.

“You have to see her,” Augustin said, trying to push Elise toward the kitchen door. “You have to exorcise her. You have to—you have to do that magic stuff again.”

“What’s wrong with Lucinde, Mr. Ramirez?” James asked. “Where is Marisa?”

“She’s downstairs, in the basement,” Augustin said. His hands were moving restlessly, as though he wanted to try to grab Elise again, or throw the door open and leave, or just do
something
.

“Take us to Lucinde,” Elise said, outwardly unruffled despite Augustin’s panic. But James could tell she was straining at the presence of a strong demon. Not for the first time, James was grateful that he couldn’t feel what Elise could feel.

“The kitchen,” Augustin said. “The door to the basement.”

He pointed to the door and just stood there, the scion of a gateway he wouldn’t enter. Elise pushed the kitchen door open and went inside, James following closely.

“What’s his problem?” she muttered. “He’s regressed to the behavior of a militant five-year-old.”

“I don’t know. I imagine we’ll have to see for ourselves,” he said, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Somehow, I don’t think it will be pretty or pleasant.”

Elise pressed the heel of her hand to her temple. “You’ve got that right.”

The foul scent was more pungent in the kitchen, and it grew stronger as they approached the basement door beside the pantry. The basement door had a large panel of frosted glass, but they couldn’t see beyond it—Augustin and Marisa had hung a black blanket over the back by stuffing the top into the small space between the door and its frame.

A woman screamed in the basement.

Elise flung open the door and ran into the darkness below. James hesitated in the doorway.

With the door open, the pressurizing air between the kitchen and the basement blew the stench of piss and blood into James’s face. He gagged, covering his nose with his sleeve. The screaming had grown much clearer. He could almost make out words.

Even with the door open, the light did little to penetrate the darkness below. He made his way down the steep stairs, keeping a hand on the railing and the other over his face. The sounds of a scuffle echoed up the stairway.

The screams intensified, and then cut off. Something heavy struck the other side of the wall.

“Elise?” James called, quickening his pace. “Marisa?”

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he could make out a short hallway, a door set in the unfinished wall. The walls were only partially insulated, and James could hear the shrieks inside all too clearly.

Marisa stood on the other side of the door, sobbing over a stuffed rabbit. The stench was the worst down here, and he could instantly see why—feces were smeared on the unpainted wall, although it wasn’t entirely excrement; some of it also appeared to be fresh blood, brownish black in the dim lighting provided by lone bulb.

Elise struggled with a growling blur. Claws lashed at her face, and she ducked, catching its wrist and twisting it behind its body. She put a foot on its bare back and pressed it to the ground, unwinding a rope she had coiled around her arm. It occurred to James that the beast was clothed, and he wondered why something like that would bother to dress itself.

It took James a full second to grasp that the beast with which Elise fought wasn’t a demon—it was Lucinde.

She kneeled on the girl’s back, tangling the rope around Lucinde’s body. Elise swiftly tied it off, securing it to a pipe jutting out of the wall. Lucinde kicked and thrashed. She looked more like a wildcat trying to escape than a human child.

Elise grabbed a piece of dirty cloth that had been laying nearby and stuck it in Lucinde’s screaming mouth.

The little girl paused, as though to gather her strength, and then strained against the ropes anew. She shrieked and wailed, chewing at the gag and slipping a black tongue around the cloth. Elise backed off, letting the light fall on Lucinde’s face. A symbol burned on Lucinde’s forehead like her skull had been branded.

“How did this happen?” Elise demanded.

Marisa wept, smothering her face with her hands. “My baby…my little girl…”

As she sobbed louder, Lucinde screamed louder as well, throwing her head back. Her neck strained, and purple veins bulged from her throat. The gag did little to muffle the sound.