The First Sacrament (The Demons of Stone Chapel Book 1) (34 page)

Bam, bam, bam!

Amarax sighed. “Daniel, get Beatrice to the back. We need to do this quickly.”

Hell, no. We weren’t doing anything but getting the cops in here.

When Daniel made his grab for me, I waited until he was
just
close enough to drive my knee into his groin. He doubled over with an agonized noise and I slipped under his arms to make a break for the door.

“Someone grab her!” Amarax yelled.

Halfway through my glorious escape, a woman arose from the pews. She was dressed in full habit, her wimple obscuring her face. She stepped into the aisle and lifted her wizened hand.

Pain exploded in my chest like a bomb. I stumbled, then I fell, agony curling my body into a fetal position. The hurt was incredible, razorblades in my stomach. I gagged. Blood coated my tongue, warm and thick.

I spat it out onto the rug.

“Margaret!”

The name echoed through the ribs in the ceiling.

I heaved. More blood, spewing out of me like a fountain. My insides expanded to make room for more, then contracted as I puked. A fresh wave of pain each time, blazing through my body. I didn’t even have time to scream before I puked again.

“Margaret!” Footsteps. “Stop. You're going to kill her.”

The pain began to fizzle. It whispered through my body instead of roaring. Blood no longer filled my mouth, but the taste lingered, bitter and sharp.

Gasping for air, I slapped my hand down on the defiled rug and rolled myself onto my back. Sister Margaret stood over me. Her right eye was still missing.

“Get up,” she snarled.

When I didn't, she reached for me. I swung at her with my balled-up fist. It was a feeble swing, but it nailed her in the nose. I hoped it hurt.

She recoiled like a vampire exposed to sunlight, hateful face twisting with rage. “You little―”

“Margaret, I've told you twice now to stop.” Amarax stood at the altar, his suit stained with blood. He held a chalice in his left hand and Dante was on his knees at the bottom step, his head pulled back by Amarax’s right hand, buried in his hair. “You're upsetting my son.”

Dante’s eyes were dim with pain, though his shoulders trembled with emotion he rarely, if ever, betrayed. It broke my heart to see him like that. Brought to his knees by his own father.

I tried to get up. I tried to summon my strength. But my strength had drained with my blood and I had to rely on Sister Margaret to stand.

She held me by my hair as she hauled me down the aisle. Oddly enough, all I could think about was how she was ruining Aralia’s hard work. “Wicked,
wicked
girl.”

Amarax turned to the altar, and Daniel, recovered from my knee to his groin, produced a knife from his cloak. He handed it over to his demon master like it was a holy artifact, sinking down to one knee.

“Let her go, Margaret,” Amarax said. “But keep her in front of my son. She needs to witness the consequences of her actions.”

Sister Margaret kicked my knees from under me and I fell to the floor. Dizziness tilted the room on its axis, but Dante's face remained the center of my vertigo.

“H―hey,” I said weakly “I―”

Sister Margaret slapped me upside the head. “No talking. Our Lord needs complete silence to concentrate.”

Amarax turned once more to face us. To my horror, I saw that he had carved the seal of the First Sacrament into his forehead. A banishing seal was carved into his left hand, a summoning seal in his right. “Oh, Margaret,” he said, reaching for his pistol yet again. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

A loud
bang
slammed against the doors. They rattled on their hinges. The police, it had to be the police. They were trying to bust in. Hope flickered to life within me, a dim ember in the pit of my stomach.

A dim ember that was all too quickly snuffed as Amarax crouched down to take my chin in his bleeding hand. “I'm creating a brave new world, Beatrice Todd,” he said. “And you're going to help me build it.”

“No,”
I wrenched my head away, getting so dizzy that I nearly puked again.

Another bang on the door.

Amarax sauntered behind Dante's stooped frame and braced his hands on his son's shoulders. “Elias did his part by building this church, founding this city. Now you get to do yours. Isn’t that exciting?”

As exciting as diving into a vat of acid, yeah.

Amarax rested his finger on the trigger of his gun, pressing the barrel to Dante’s temple.

For one mind-numbing, breath-stealing second, I thought he was going to blast Dante’s head off. I knew I promised I wouldn't get involved. I knew I promised I'd save myself. But that was when we were safe in my room. That wasn’t when his murderous father had a gun to his head.

Gritting my teeth, I lunged for Amarax, hands grasping for his neck. Sister Margaret's ancient fingers dug into my scalp. I screamed a frustrated scream and winced as the feeling of my hair being torn from my roots set my scalp on fire. Hair could grow back. I couldn't replace Dante. I couldn't replace the way he looked at me, the way he smiled at me, the way he went along with my dumb jokes, the way he watched
The Demon and the Dame
with me last month because I asked him to. I couldn't replace the way he made me feel. I couldn't let him die.

But then that terrifying second passed and the gun moved from Dante's temple. It disappeared behind his back. I stopped screaming, stopped lunging. Dante lifted his head. His eyes widened. The police beat at the door.

Buried between the battering was a muffled
pop!

The breath left my lungs.

Amarax smiled.

Dante fell forward. I caught him, just barely, and it took every scrap of willpower I had to hold him
and
myself up.

That was when I saw it.

The third bullet wound. Glistening in his back. Blood oozed from the holes. I put my hand to his chest to feel its familiar rise and fall. No rise, no fall. Nothing. Terror gripped my heart and squeezed it tight. “No, no no,” I stammered. “No, Dante, no, you
can't―Please.”

I heard footsteps as Amarax's shadow trailed across the floor. “Daniel, take her.”

“No!” I clutched Dante’s limp body to my chest. My brain absolutely refused to process what just happened.
He wasn’t dead he wasn’t dead he wasn’t dead.

Daniel didn't care for my grief. It took some prying, but he pulled me up and dragged me away. I put up as much of a fight as I could, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Everything was falling apart.

Amarax sighed again, leftover smoke from his cigarette drifting from his nostrils. Sister Margaret came forward with a duffel bag. He reached inside, gathered two armfuls of stubby black candles, and ordered Sister Margaret to arrange them. “He's not dead, Beatrice,” he offered a look of false concern. “I’m not about to murder my own son.”

At the mention of murder, Dante’s body seized in a massive gasp, like he was drawing breath for the very first time.

“See?” Amarax said.

I saw. I heard, too. The rumbling in his chest, the ferocious snarl of a man possessed. But he wasn't possessed. He told me he
wasn't
possessed. He was―

Sister Margaret dropped one of her candles. Her hands shook. “The cambion!”

Thirty-Five

Amarax practically jumped for joy. He was an awfully happy man, all things considered. The sight of his son rising from the floor―body contorted, limbs stiff
―
made him laugh.

No one else laughed with him.

“Dante?” I whispered. I had no idea what Amarax did when he shot those bullets into Dante’s ragged body, but whatever happened transformed him into something…Something
else.
Something vicious and dangerous and borderline feral.

Snarling, he broke the chain binding his wrists together. The remnants of it scraped across the stone as he crawled disjointedly to the altar. Every movement looked like it was being made by someone who spent his whole life walking on four legs instead of two. He grabbed the altar and pulled himself up.

Sister Margaret abandoned her candles in a pile on the floor. She stumbled back into a pew, almost landing in a man's lap. “The devil!” She screamed hoarsely. “He's come to kill us all!”

“No, Margaret, no,” Amarax raked a hand through his hair and went to comfort his charge. “Remember what I told you? He can't hurt you as long as I'm here.”

Sister Margaret shook her head. “He's going to kill me! He's going to kill me!”

“Margaret, we've been over this―”

“No!”

“Margaret―”

“No!”

Crack!

Sister Margaret slumped to the floor. Her eyes were wide like Dante's had been, but unlike him, she didn't wake up.

Amarax nudged her body over with his foot and resumed arranging the candles in a large circle in front of the altar. “If you want something done right...”

“Holy shit.” I slumped in Daniel’s grasp. I didn’t really like Sister Margaret, since she kind of turned me into a human blood fountain there for a second, but that didn’t mean I wanted to see her get her
neck
snapped. “You—you--”

“I killed her, Beatrice, yes. Thank you for noticing.” Amarax shook his head. What a tough day at work he was having. “She hated you, Beatrice. She wanted you to die. She kidnapped you at St. Agatha’s, put you in the hospital.”

“You probably
made her
do that! You—”

Dante took a tense step forward, fingers curled like claws. He had his sights set on Daniel. When he spoke, very little of the rich, teacherly baritone I was used to remained. He didn’t so much
talk
as he
snarled.
“
Get away from her.
”

“There's my boy!” Amarax exclaimed, grinning. “I knew you'd join us eventually. Daniel, take Beatrice back to her seat.”

“What?” I didn't have the strength to fight. Daniel used this to his advantage. He began to pull me away, but Dante wouldn't allow it.

“
No,
” he stalked down the aisle after us, murder in his gait.

Daniel, seeing the threat, tried to get away. And by
get away
, I mean he grabbed me by the wrist and pretty much dragged me along with him. It was a futile effort, because his hands released me as Dante seized him. I caught myself on a pew and turned just in time to see Dante lift him up by his throat.

I'd seen too many horror movies to know this wasn't going to end well.

“Dante,” I said, the blood loss making me lightheaded. Standing up straight was impossible. Speaking coherently was crawling in the same boat. “Put him down.”

His hand tightened around Daniel’s throat. “
I told you to get away from her.
”

Daniel said nothing, aside from the occasional choking noise. He dangled helplessly in the air like a rag doll, face turning startling shades of purple and red. Behind them, Amarax completed his candle circle. They ignited with a simple snap of his fingers. The woman in the Sawyer’s shirt stood up. Entered the circle. Amarax took his suit jacket off and rolled up his sleeves. Strapped on his right arm was a dagger. He took it and slashed the big vein in his bicep.

Blood gushed out.

Flashbacks of The Inferno played in my head. Gershom. The woman, cutting her own throat.

As Dante did on the rooftop, so his father did here in the church. He chanted words I didn't understand, words that wouldn't fit in my mouth. Words with sharp edges and strange syllables. Words that strung together to make the snow fall harder, the wind howl louder, the shadows come alive. They lengthened and stretched, writhed at my feet. Not good.

“Dante,” the skin on the back of my neck prickled as Amarax's chanting got louder, as the shadows lapped at my feet. My breath left my lips in icy clouds. “I―I’m not exactly his biggest fan either, believe me, but―but you're not a murderer. You're not your father.”

His father was going to kill us all if we didn't do something fast. I could feel it. The Veil ripping. The pressure in my chest. We didn't have time for frivolous murder. We had an entire congregation to save.

Lips drawing back in a snarl, Dante threw Daniel aside. He skidded down the aisle and rolled to a stop at the last pew. He didn't get up.

Thank God.

“You―you did the right thing,” I breathed, smiling weakly.

Dante’s hands clenched into fists, his joints cracking. His father stood in front of the altar, arms outstretched. A bloody symbol painted the ground. The First Sacrament. The woman in the Sawyer's shirt stood in the middle, her back arching as she was lifted off her feet and into the freezing air. Shadows curled like smoke between her legs. They crept up her torso, wound around her neck, spread down her arms.

Amarax was shouting now, and the ground began to shake underneath my feet.

Dante met my gaze one last time.

“Go,” I said.

His black eyes lingered on me for a moment, and if I knew Dante, he didn’t want to leave me like this. It was nice to know the demon part of him cared about me as much as the human one did. I wanted to enjoy that look, maybe kiss him for good luck, but we didn’t have the time. Hell was literally about to swallow us up.

“
Go
,” I said again. “Hurry!”

He went.

I sank to the shaking floor, finally giving in to my body's need for rest. Bits of dust and stone fell from the ceiling. My eyes fluttered shut, only to snap back open as the shaking intensified. Amarax’s sacrifices sat dutifully in their seats. They needed me. I couldn’t stay here. I had to do something.

Pulling myself up, I staggered down the aisle pew by pew, and pew by pew, the congregation stood. Shadows crawled up the walls and nipped at my heels.

The door. Had to break the ward somehow, had to let the police in. They―they could help...Almost there, almost there.

A scream ripped through the air.

A banshee scream unleashed from a possessed throat. I looked over my shoulder. The woman in the Sawyer's shirt. Her limbs spread like her counterpart’s at The Inferno. Shadows poured into her mouth. Seeped into her eyes.

Dante prowled forward. Amarax's white teeth flashed in a too wide grin. I stumbled over Daniel’s body. Fell. Recovered. Crawled the rest of the way to the doors.

Darkness edged ever closer.

I gave the doors a push. Wouldn't budge, they wouldn't budge.

“Open, damn it,” I rested my forehead on the hard oak, beat my fist against it. “You―you have to
open.
”

But they didn't. They didn't open because I wanted them to. The police didn't bust in, guns blazing. There wasn’t any rousing battle music, no special effects.

Just the shadows, eating every speck of light. Just the screams, rising up from the congregation in a deafening chorus. Just the woman, falling to the ground. Just the ground, splitting down the aisle.

Back to the door, I watched through dizzy eyes as the shadows consumed the congregation. As they clawed up my neck in fingers of cool, deadly velvet. I tried in vain to peel them away. They just kept coming, the pressure in my chest increasing. They pooled around my eyes, allowed just enough light to see by. The candles still burned in front of the altar.

Amarax still grinned, blood trickling down his face. Dante still pressed forward.

I breathed deep.

Waited.

Gasped.

Screamed a silent scream as the darkness filled me up.

Shadows scorched my eyes, poured into my body, set fire to my lungs. I had no sense of space, no sense of time, no sense of anything but the black infinite, a world set entirely to mute. A fixed point in time where nothing mattered but the shadows.

And then, with a spectacular boom, they imploded.

This was the way the world ended.

Not with a whimper, but a bang.

And with that bang, the darkness receded.

And with that recession, the monsters were unleashed.