The First Sacrament (The Demons of Stone Chapel Book 1) (12 page)

Even the bustle of the city and Max’s awful screaming had been filtered away, abandoning me in total silence.

I had no idea what to do. Or where I was. Aralia said the Veil ripped, which, to me, opened up a number of different possibilities: One, I was in some alternate demon dimension. Dis, probably. Two, I wasn’t anywhere at all, just suspended in some unknown void. Or, three, I was still on the roof of The Inferno, relatively safe and sound.

I
really
wanted it to be the third one.

Feeling oddly weightless in the shadows, I tried my best to stay calm and retain some sense of self. I wiggled my toes in my boots, pulled faces to make sure everything worked correctly, hopped in place a couple of times. Then, as I was flapping my arms around, the darkness imploded, sucked away as though by a vacuum. The world as I knew it returned to its rightful place and all its associated noise roared to life in my ears.

It was like someone turned the reality switch back on.

“Beatrice?” Aralia said. “What on earth are you doing?”

I hadn’t realized that my arms were still raised mid-flap. I let them fall. “Uh, nothing.”

“It’s done,” Dante’s hoarse voice drew me back to the reason why I was flapping my arms in the first place. He arose to his feet, blood still oozing from his arm to drip from his shaking fingers.

“Max!” I ran over to welcome my not-boyfriend back into the land of the unpossessed.

Dante put a hand out to stop me.

“Don't touch him,” he said. His nose was bleeding, too. “We have to get him back to the house and attend to the wound.”

“What wound―Oh.” The knife he’d used to cut himself was buried in Max's chest so deeply that only the hilt was exposed. Max didn't seem to mind. He was still breathing, the expression on his face was calm. Peaceful. If anything, he looked like he was sleeping. “What did you do?”

“What was necessary,” Dante said. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. “I'll take care of Gershom. You and Aralia need to get Max home. She'll know what to do.”

I nodded, turning to do as he asked. “Okay.”

“Beatrice,” he said. “Wait.”

I waited. “Yeah?”

“He would have died without you. All of them would have.”

My face grew hot. I did my best to hide it, brushing my hair over my shoulder to act as a curtain. “I guess. I mean, I just tackled the guy.”

“You were very brave,” Dante said. “You risked your life for the sake of theirs. That's...commendable.”

Dante was never particularly mean to me, but he wasn't this nice, either. I'd gone from impressive to commendable in a matter of weeks. It was good to know that he didn't hate me or think of me as some annoying charity case he had to tolerate for Mother Arden's sake.

“You helped too, y'know.” I touched the bruising around my neck. “Gershom kinda threw my phone off the roof, so I didn't know if you got my text or not.”

Frowning, Dante closed the distance between us to cup my chin with his not-bloodstained fingers. He studied the bruises closely. “Put ice on that when you get the chance. It should help.”

“Uh,” my face somehow managed to get redder. He shouldn’t have been allowed to fluster me this much. It wasn't fair.
I
didn't fluster
him.
Well, nothing flustered him, but still. “Okay. I'll do that.”

His hand fell away. “Good.”

I hitched my thumb over my shoulder. “I'm just gonna―”

“Of course.”

Smooth, Beatrice. Real smooth.

Twelve

I wasn't good at a lot of things. Math, Latin, writing poetry, dancing, cooking. Add shooting to that list, because I wasn't very good at it, either. For every shot I made that hit the target, I made five more that didn't.

Dante and I stood at the back of the house with Mo chaperoning. It was Monday evening and my training had officially started. What began as an exciting new adventure culminated into me wanting to throw my stupid pistol in the ocean. My aim
sucked.

“I think this thing is broken,” I said after my next missed shot.

Dante shook his head. “You're aiming too high. Lower your hand and you'll be fine.”

Huffing, I did as he instructed and...missed. Again. “Oh my God!”

“Calm down,” he said. He lifted his own gun and pointed at the target. “A clear mind is key. Especially when it comes to hunting. Take a breath. Focus. And shoot.”

The bullet exploded from the barrel and hit the target in its unblemished center. Show-off.

Determined not to let him beat me at his own game, I took a deep breath, focused on getting my aim
just
right, then squeezed the trigger. I clasped my hand over my eyes so as not to spoil the surprise. Please hit the target, please hit the target,
please
hit the target.

I peeked through my fingers. “Did I hit it?”

Dante hesitated and that was all the confirmation I needed.

“Damn it!” This gun was going in the ocean. “Why do I suck so badly at this? I'm doing everything you say! Hitting a damn target shouldn't be this hard!”

“You're letting your anger get the best of you,” he said. “And you probably shouldn’t discharge a gun with your eyes closed again.”

“Thanks for the tip, teach.” The dumb thing was still getting tossed in the ocean.

His brow quirked upward, lips set in the faintest of smiles. “You need to relax, Beatrice.”

Ha. That was funny.
Relax
was a foreign concept to me. You didn't get to relax when you had a three thousand dollar bill to pay or a dying best friend. “I don't know what that word means. Use it in a sentence.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I just did.”

“Definition, then.”

“Yoga helps, I'm told.”

“That wasn't a definition.”

His almost-smile was replaced by the usual exasperated look. “Is everything a joke to you?”

I shrugged. “Probably.”

He sighed and glanced up at the sky. “It's getting dark. We'll try this again tomorrow.”

I was okay with that. Any more of this target practice and I was going to rip my hair out.

Heading inside, Dante took my gun and put it wherever he kept his secret weapons stash while I wandered to the kitchen to find something to eat. Aralia was already there, lounging on the table and sipping a glass of wine.

“Well?” She said. “How did you enjoy your first day of training?”

“I didn't.”

I opened the door to the pantry and pulled the string that dangled down from the light bulb, turning it on. The shelves were largely bare. A half loaf of bread, two boxes of opened cereal, cake mix, canned goods with years of dust on them, spaghetti noodles. My stomach growled in protest at this pathetic excuse for food.

I skulked out of there and shut the door. “When was the last time anyone went grocery shopping around here?”

“Hmm...” Aralia tapped her chin with her index finger. “Last month, maybe?”

“
Last month?
How do you people survive?”

“
You
ate all the real food,” she said. “The rest of us make do with what we've stored up.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “So you're squirrels?”

If looks could kill, I would've been dead ten times over. “
No
, Beatrice. We aren't squirrels. We are busy people who don't have time for grocery shopping.”

“Whatever,” I said, pulling the phone from my pocket. Dante gave it to me after the incident with Gershom. It was slim and sleek and cost more than my entire wardrobe put together. “I'm ordering pizza.”

Aralia paused mid-sip. “Are you really?”

I dialed the number to my favorite place, The Pizza Shack, and waited for someone to pick up. “You've had pizza before, right?”

“Not in a very long time.”

“Well, then, today's your lucky day.”

I ordered a large with pepperoni and extra cheese to Dante's address, which I had to ask Aralia for. The guy taking the order sounded confused, commenting that he didn't think anyone lived out here. I assured him that I was indeed a living, breathing human being and he reluctantly agreed to send the pizza my way. So glad we got that settled.

Rolling my eyes, I hung up. “We have thirty minutes to kill before it gets here. Maybe longer if the delivery guy gets lost.”

“Who?” Dante lingered in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He was in his casual clothes for once―jeans and a black thermal. I wondered if he owned any pajamas.

“I ordered pizza,” I said. “I hope you like pepperoni.”

Mo appeared like a shadow at Dante's side. He padded past his master and pressed his muzzle in my hand.

I scratched him behind his torn ear. “Do
you
like pizza, Mo?”

He whined.

“Taking that as a yes.”

Dante stared at me. He was just jealous that his dog liked me better than him. “Max is awake. He asked for you.”

“What?” Aralia and I said in unison. We'd been doing that a lot lately.

Dante blinked. “Max is―”

I ran past him and bounded up the stairs. Excitement made me light and giddy. Max was awake! He'd been out since The Inferno and a part of me was afraid he'd never wake up, but it didn't matter now because he was awake!

“Oh,
Max?
” I sang as I rounded the corner to his room. Temporary room, that is. He usually stayed in the basement with all his tech stuff, but Dante made the executive decision to move him upstairs until he got better. I edged the door open.

There he was, lying in bed, buried in layers of blankets. His hair stuck up every which way and his glasses sat crooked on the bridge of his nose. He was Max again. Messy Max, flannel shirt and all. He never looked better.

He smiled when he saw me. I smiled back.

“Hey,” he croaked.

“Hey yourself,” I said, pulling up the nearest chair. These extra rooms were just as big as the main ones. Fully furnished, covered in dust. Lit by candles that looked like they’d been here since 1876. Very romantic. “Have a nice nap?”

He laughed. Then he winced. Then he clutched his chest where the knife had been, where bandages were now. “Ow.”

I patted his hand. “Sorry. I'll keep the jokes to a minimum.”

“Thanks.” He glanced out the window. The burnt shades of evening were fading quickly, bowing to the dark of night. “What day is it?”

“Monday.”

He groaned.

“It was a really
long
nap.”

“No kidding.”

“Did you have nice dreams, at least?”

That adorable blush colored his cheeks. He shifted against his pillows. “Well―”

“Oh my God,” I gave his shoulder a gentle,
gentle
nudge. “You were totally dreaming about me, weren't you?”

“Kind of―”

“Hah! What was I doing? I wasn't naked, was I? That's gross, Max. We're not at that point in our relationship yet.”

He pressed his palms to his heavy eyes, but his smile was still firmly in place. “You were
yelling
at me, okay?”

I tried not to laugh. And failed. Badly. “That's
amazing
. What was I yelling at you about?”

“You kept telling me to wake up. Except, you know, in more...Beatrice terms.”

I had my own
terms
now? Cool. “Oh, c'mon. I need details. Don't be stingy, Morrison.”

“I can't remember exactly, but you had your hand on your hip like you do when you get mad―”

“I put my hand on my hip when I get mad?”

“Yeah, you do. You've been hanging around Aralia too much.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

He gave me a look that said he thought it was. He just didn't know her like I did. “Anyway, you were yelling at me. Saying that you told me so. That we should have gone to the movies instead.”

“Yeah, I'm definitely picking the place next time.”

That gave him pause. He sighed. “I should have listened to you.”

No one's ever told me
that
before. “You couldn't have known what was going to happen.”

He looked away, pretended to be really interested in the damask wallpaper. “I guess not.”

“Do you remember anything that happened?” I asked. The memory of that woman cutting her throat made me sick. I couldn't imagine what it would be like for Max if
he
remembered.

“I remember Gershom talking about Dis or whatever it was. After that, it's like...A hole. Nothing.” He shuddered. “What happened to him? Is he dead?”

He needed to be. “Nope. Dante got him locked up. His name isn't even Gershom. It's...Zachary something or other. I guess he was a demonology professor in Portland before he changed his name and moved here. Dante thinks he'd gotten possessed one day and decided he needed to open a night club and sacrifice a bunch of people to the demon overlord.”

“Wow,” Max breathed. He touched the bandages on his chest. “Mind telling me what these are about?”

“Uh,” I began uselessly. How was I supposed to explain that Dante stabbed him in the chest to save him from a demon? “Well...”

Right on cue, Dante appeared in the doorway with Aralia in tow. He always had perfect timing. “You were exorcized, Max.”

“I was?” Max said.

“He
was?
” I joined in. Exorcisms didn't work, that was a known fact. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and
exorcisms didn't work.

Dante pulled a chair up next to mine and sat down, focusing on Max like he'd focused on me the first night we met. That was how I knew that what he had to say was something big. Something important. “Max, you need to understand the severity of what happened to you. That man, Gershom, summoned a demon to you and that demon possessed you. Do you understand?”

Max nodded.

“To avoid having to kill you, I performed what is known as The Fifth Sacrament,” Dante's gaze flickered to meet mine. “You may know it as the rite of exorcism.”

“How is that possible?” I asked. “Exorcism―”

“Is a fraud,” Dante said. He hunched forward in his seat, the outline of the bandages on his arm pressed against the fabric of his shirt. A scar had formed on his hand where he'd cut it. “The exorcisms you see on television, in the newspapers...It doesn't work. The Fifth Sacrament is true exorcism. It is the only way to remove a demon from a human body. Anything else is a waste of time.”

Stunned. That was a good word for what I was feeling. Gobsmacked, perhaps. That was a British word, right? Aralia would be proud of me for thinking of it.

My head was spinning. Everything I'd been told about exorcism was a lie. Years of demonology classes didn't prepare me for this. The government's websites didn't prepare me for this. Armageddon Now didn't prepare me for this.

The Fifth Sacrament. True exorcism. The only way to remove a demon from a human body. This was...the best news I'd heard in a long, long time.

“You can help Rosie, then,” I said. Shock ascended to hope. A hope I thought I lost six months ago when Rosie was admitted to the sanatorium.

In my fantasy world, Dante enthusiastically agreed. He said he'd do everything in his power to get that demon out of her. I hugged him and he hugged me in return. We went to the sanatorium. Exorcized Rosie. And then the two of us moved far away from Stone Chapel and never looked back.

But the thing about fantasies is exactly that. They're fantasies. Fickle flights of fancy that exist solely in the backs of our minds to lean on when we have nothing else to do the job. I, for one, leaned on my fantasies
a lot.
They were better than my reality. Especially
this
reality.

Because, in this reality, Dante didn't agree. We didn't hug. We weren't rushing to the sanatorium. We sat there in one of the many spare bedrooms in his giant, rotting house and he had that look in his eyes. That disgusting look of sympathy I couldn't
stand
to see from anyone. I wanted to slap it right off his pretty face.

“It's not that simple,” he said.

We read a poem in English class once. Sophomore year. Emily Dickinson. Hope was a thing with feathers. I guess nobody told her how easily those feathers could be clipped. “How is it
not that simple?
”