Hell’s Heresies, page 14
Something cold and greasy closed over her fingers.
Emerie screamed. But before the shriek was halfway out of her mouth, she was suddenly slammed to the floor. She gasped for breath; tried to tilt her jaw away from the floorboard, but something relentlessly crushed her. She was somehow on top of her bokuto and it was jammed against her windpipe and abdomen.
Zephyr shouted something in a foreign language. All at once, the noontime sunlight burst through the window. The pressure lessened and Emerie twisted to see her attacker.
She would’ve screamed if she could breathe. Her brain wouldn’t even process what she saw in the blazing sunlight—at first it seemed like a horrifying beast with gruesome insect-like features. But as the sunlight raked across its body, it suddenly shimmered and melted—it looked like a thousand centipedes, smothered across her body, skittering and sliming over her torso, pincers stinging any bit of exposed skin. The centipedes frightened her more than the fly monster; Emerie shrieked bloody murder, managed to strain her palms against the floorboard, and shoved herself away with all her might, bokuto swinging wildly at the menace.
As soon as she was on her feet, Zephyr snatched her wrist and pulled her towards the window. The witch bellowed something at Samael, but Emerie could not hear over the rushing in her ears. Before she could understand what they were doing, Zephyr yanked her next to her and they smashed through her upstairs window.
Emerie felt leaves and branches scrape her cheeks. Her eyes were squeezed shut, she still gripped her bokuto, and she braced for a painful landing. But all at once, their flight stopped and Emerie tumbled onto the grass. She blinked in confusion; it felt more like she’d tripped on a step instead of jumping out a second-story window.
“Come here.”
Samael did not wait for Emerie to obey the command. He pulled her to him in an oddly possessive way and carefully checked her joints and muscles. He also traced his index claw gently down Emerie’s spine, across her chest, and finished by poking her forehead. He even sniffed Emerie’s bokuto. Satisfied, he nodded grimly.
“He’s not in you. Good.”
Emerie struggled to catch her breath. “Where’s—”
The unconscious body of Father Zebulun landed next to her with a soft flump—much more softly than she would have expected. Zephyr winced a little; apparently levitating people was exhausting.
Samael was still uncomfortably close to her; Emerie stepped away from him, flushing a little. He noticed and smirked in a most annoyingly knowing way.
“Why does Beelzebub even want this house?!” Emerie burst out, turning away from Samael’s smirk. “It’s nowhere near the largest or grandest house in this town. There’s nothing special about it.”
“There is a fair amount of dark energy about the house,” Orobas replied. “Many deaths occurred in the area. It could be a focal point of power.”
Whatever that meant.
“How long will Father Z be asleep?”
As if on cue, they both heard the priest emit a loud and pained groan. Zephyr nudged him with the toe of her Louboutin and sighed in exasperation.
“Okay.” Emerie swiveled towards Orobas and Samael. “You two know each other. And that thing that just infested and kicked me out of my house!”
Orobas and Samael glanced at each other. Emerie tried not to stare at the little demon’s gigantic equine head, though it was incredibly hard.
“We know each other,” Orobas proclaimed. “Since time began and we were created within the heavens.”
Zephyr nudged Father Zebulun with her shoe again, this time poking his shoulder with her spiky red-backed heel. “Orobas is a truth-teller, an oracle. Practitioners summon him because he’s the most reliable—unlike most spirits, he never lies, never deceives, and has a weird sense of loyalty to his mortal conjurer.”
Emerie cocked her head. “That doesn’t exactly sound demonic.”
“I already told you, I don’t believe in what you deem ‘demons’.” Zephyr kicked Father Zebulun’s back. “They’re all just spirits to me. Cranky, lying, mischievous, irritating spirits from the netherworld no one has any business messing with. Angels and demons? Black and white morality? That’s priest crap.”
“Stop that.”
Zephyr’s efforts had been rewarded. Father Zebulun struggled to stand and massaged this shoulder where Zephyr’s shoe had prodded. He breathed heavily and took in the scene: All five of them stood in the front yard of the house, which by all accounts, seemed relatively peaceful. He looked at the demons in alarm but seemed far angrier at Zephyr.
“Who are you?! What happened? Did you cast on me?!”
“What did you think you were doing?” Zephyr retorted, her hands akimbo. “Trying to exorcise three demons on your own? One of them Beelzebub? How stupid are you? You nearly destroyed the entire neighborhood!”
“I had things well in hand…” Father Zebulun’s voice became a mumble as he looked toward the house again. He swallowed hard and backed away, pulling out his cell phone. He turned away from them and started talking to someone on the phone—in Italian.
“I need to know precisely the ritual you used to summon the demons. But we must leave here immediately.”
Father Zebulun glanced over his shoulder at Emerie. “As soon as possible—and stay away from those two!”
He stepped in front of both Zephyr and Emerie, perhaps in an attempt to protect them from any proximity with Orobas and Samael. Orobas meandered over to Emerie’s flowerbed and started digging through the soil, looking for earthworms. Samael stepped around Father Zebulun towards Emerie, purposefully disobeying him.
Zephyr rolled her eyes as she interjected. “Obviously, she used the Key of Solomon. The Key always summoned preachy spirits.”
“Who are you calling preachy?” Samael’s voice was the epitome of shock and offense.
“In that case, I can fix this.” Father Zebulun gestured Emerie to follow him. “We need to leave this place. Right now.”
Zephyr barked out a laugh. “You can fix this? Like you nearly fixed Beelzebub? I think this is out of your hands, Father.”
“Indeed, which is why we need to regroup—” He paused for a moment. Emerie noticed his words became clipped and his brow became stormy.
“Eccellenza, capisco che non sono più autorizzato a lavorare come esorcista ma questa è un’emergenza. Non penso possiamo aspettare che una squadra arrive da Roma…”
Emerie watched agape. “I swear. I attract weirdness.”
“I am not attracted to you.” Orobas felt it necessary to clarify, which was something of a relief from the little horse-headed demon. “But Samael is. Samael has liked humans for a long time and admires your beauty and odd nature.”
Emerie turned to Samael for confirmation of this fun fact, who in turn elbowed Orobas and hissed something in a language she didn’t understand.
“She asked, I answer.” Orobas stretched his horsey mouth into a smug grin. It was frankly terrifying; horses were not meant to grin.
“I didn’t really ask—I mean—okay, oracle demon, does this mean more demons are going to come pouring out of my house?”
“Miss Fox!” Father Zebulun shouted at her. “Do not interact with them. Stay away from them.”
He returned to his phone conversation.“C’è un’infestazione a Milton. Una delle peggiori che abbia mai visto, si espande a vista d’occhio.”
Orobas cocked his head towards Father Zebulun. “Hundreds. By the end of the week, thousands. By the end of the month, millions. They sense an opening to the mortal world.”
Emerie cast a leery glance towards her house, which still looked quiet and unassuming. Zephyr clenched her fists.
“Well, what do you want?” Zephyr gestured towards Samael and Orobas. “Why are you with us? Why don’t you go back to where you came from?”
Orobas regarded her coolly. “I wished to leave Hell.”
Samael exhaled, but continued to watch Father Zebulun out of the corner of his eye. “Honestly, what makes you think that Hell is any more pleasant for demons than it is for humans?”
Fair point. Emerie thought.
Father Zebulun’s voice boomed. “Non c'è tempo. Dobbiamo occuparcene ora. Non posso aspettare le forze della santa coalizione.” They all looked at him curiously as he abruptly ended his phone call. He ignored both demons and turned towards both Zephyr and Emerie.
“Who were you talking to?” Zephyr took a tiny step back, as though uncomfortable by his proximity. “The pope?”
Father Zebulun eyed both Orobas and Samael. His hand twitched towards his jacket. Emerie didn’t like the look on his face. His expression was stony, as though he were deciding the best way to exterminate them.
Samael stared right back at him and to Emerie’s surprise, he suddenly looked nervous—as if he could hear the priest’s thoughts and knew it was well within his capabilities. He cleared his throat to speak.
“Look priest—don’t do anything rash. Orobas and I won’t harm anyone. I don’t want the forces of Hell in Milton any more than you do.”
“Don’t you?” Father Zebulun’s voice was almost a whisper.
“Of course not!” Samael’s wings flapped out impatiently. “The princes of Hell have been a pain in my ass forever and I really don’t want to get dragged into one of their little projects. They have no love for me either—why do you think I got booted from the house?”
Father Zebulun did not look convinced. His right hand edged further into the folds of his jacket, as though reaching for something. Emerie frowned—what was he trying to grab? A crucifix? Holy water? Whatever it was, it almost seemed to scare Samael.
“Look.” Samael raised his hands in surrender. “Can’t we—can’t we make a truce? I won’t eat anyone—neither will Orobas—and you don’t—you don’t do what you’re thinking about doing. I can help you.”
“Why on earth should I believe a demon’s truce?” The eerie calm in Father Zebulun’s voice was unnerving. Emerie looked towards Zephyr for explanation, but the witch seemed lost as well.
“Because I know the ritual to seal the rip between dimensions—and trust me. You need me to enact it. I was the first one summoned so I must be the last one to return to Hell.”
Emerie looked at Samael in alarm—he hadn’t mentioned that before. The demon stared resolutely at the priest and sure enough, Father Zebulun’s hand faltered. He exhaled loudly through his nose and ground his teeth together. Finally, he spoke.
“All right. All of you—all of you—come with me.”
SIXTEEN
“Why do you drive a minivan?”
Father Zebulun glared at his mirror. “It is not a minivan. It’s the church’s shuttle. We use it to transport our elderly congregants.”
It sure looked like a minivan. It was the color of cat litter with a crusty orange carpeted interior and, for some reason, checkered curtains. There were stickers littered across the bumpers—Emerie’s favorite read, “We Are Catholics, Sin is Futile, Prepare to Be Baptized.” It was certainly roomy enough for two demons and Emerie (Zephyr called shotgun). Orobas immediately discovered the built-in icemaker and happily crunched ice cubes.
“Where exactly are we going?” Zephyr wanted to know.
“My house,” Father Zebulun answered without looking at her. His hands were clenched tightly on the steering wheel.
“And what will we do there?” Zephyr stretched her legs against the dashboard and examined the minor scuffing on her heels. Perhaps it was an attempt to annoy the priest, but he did not comment.
“Take care of the infestation.”
Emerie turned towards Samael, who was in the process of tearing the seatbelt buckle out of the seat. “What did you mean ‘you had to be the one to enact the ritual to send all the demons to hell’?”
“Just what I said.” Samael attempted to stretch the seatbelt over the bulk of his body but couldn’t even get it past his right wing.
“You didn’t tell me that.” She folded her arms crossly.
“As I recall, I told you not to summon me!”
“It’s easy to summon a demon.” Orobas crunched an ice cube. “It is not so easy to send them back to Hell. As Samael said, it requires the first demon summoned to read aloud the banishing ritual. Not easily done.”
Zephyr peered behind them. “That reminds me of an old folktale. Hershel of Ostropol—didn’t he trick the king of the goblins that way? By lighting the Hanukkah candles himself?”
“Hershel was always a little shit,” Samael muttered.
“Same principle.” Orobas lifted the icemaker and shook it over his head. Emerie watched in fascinated horror as an eely tongue emerged from his horse-like mouth and snatched ice cubes out of the air. “Minor demons are simple enough to deceive. Not so with greater demons…and there are several greater demons loose in this town.”
“Do you know how many?” Emerie fished her phone out of her purse. It was becoming clear she needed to forewarn Dylan.
Orobas lifted his magnificent equine head. “Myself. Samael. Azazel, Beelzebub…and perhaps—”
Something slammed into the roof of the car.
Emerie was flung backwards, practically into Samael’s lap as Father Zebulun jerked the wheel and said something colorful that might have earned him a speedy ejection out of the seminary. Brakes squealing, the car veered towards the side of the road and lurched to a halt. Emerie realized they were now sideways.
“What the—”
A thunderous roar interrupted her. The inside of the minivan became oppressively hot and Emerie watched as Father Zebulun kicked his front door open.
“Everyone get out!” He snatched Zephyr’s arm and attempted to drag her with him out the door. Zephyr half-heartedly tried to pull away, but suddenly gave in and followed his lead in climbing out.
“What’s happening?” Emerie crawled off of Samael to try to kick open her own door. Samael stared at the roof of the car in something like realization. “What—”
There was a sudden ringing in Emerie’s ears. It felt as though everything around her slowed down as an intense sweltering heat completely enveloped her. But before she could register what was happening, she was surrounded in darkness. It blocked her eyesight while something distinctly leathery grazed against her cheek. She was lifted, choking in the heat.
There was a powerful BANG and Emerie found herself tumbling into a drainage ditch. They were on the side of the road, past the suburbs of Milton in some of the neighboring farmlands. There were cornfields across the road. When she regained her bearings, she realized she was staring at the minivan—which was completely engulfed in flames. Samael folded his wings abruptly and dropped Orobas—he’d been holding him by the scruff of his neck. In an instant, Emerie realized Samael was the one who got her out of the minivan.
“Whoa.”
Father Zebulun seemed no more worse for wear, save for a large cut on his forehead. Zephyr, however, looked petrified. The color had drained from her expression and her dark eyes were wide as saucers, staring at the burning minivan.
Something was standing on top of the minivan. At first, it was hard to tell through the towering flames, but before long, Emerie saw something solid. It looked almost humanoid, with shiny black coal for eyes. Sparks and embers ran up and down its lightning-like limbs, and when it cackled, smoke curled and she heard the pop and crackle of pure fire.
“HAIL, MY CONJUROR!”
A flash of blindingly white streaks of flame leapt forth, nearly singeing them all. Father Zebulun stepped towards the minivan, his expression filled with fury. Zephyr was completely frozen at the sight of the fire; she didn’t seem able to move. Emerie had never seen her like this—all her self-assuredness had completely vanished. The witch collapsed to her knees and Emerie ran to her. She tried to help her stand and was immediately struck by how violently Zephyr was shaking.
The flame demon screeched with its pop-and-crackle laughter. “MORTALS, MORTALS, HOW I LOVE MORTALS—I WILL TURN YOUR BONES TO ASH, I WILL BLAZE THROUGH YOUR INSIDES, I WILL CREATE A SACRIFICE UNTO ME—FOR I AM…AMY, PRESIDENT OF HELL!”
Flaming coals rained down around them. Father Zebulun did not even acknowledge them. Zephyr buried her face in Emerie’s shoulder like a child while Samael lifted a wing over their heads like an umbrella.
The fire…Zephyr’s afraid of the fire!
Emerie blinked.
“I’m sorry…did you say your name is Amy?!”
The flame-demon faltered and directed its burning coal eyes at Emerie. The insanity of Emerie’s question halted Zephyr’s hyperventilating and Father Zebulun stared at her like she was crazy.
The demon recovered quickly. “IT IS I, THE PRESIDENT OF HELL, COMMANDER OF SIXTEEN LEGIONS—AMY!”
Emerie couldn’t help it. She laughed.
This time both Zephyr and Father Zebulun stared at Emerie like she’d lost her mind.
“I’m sorry—Amy? Really? Is your best friend named Helen? Do you go to hot yoga and eat macrobiotic?”
This seemed to throw the flame-demon off once again, but Emerie didn’t even give it time to respond. She was on a roll.
“Did you say you were the president of Hell? Did you win just this last election season? Who won the popular vote?”
In terrifying situations, there are a multitude of ways to react. Some people freeze, completely paralyzed, others launch into screaming hysterics. Emerie was no different—though her hysterical laughter could probably make an excellent standup comedy routine.
“Is there an electoral college in Hell? That makes total sense, actually, that’s probably where we got the idea. Who did you run against? Do we need to call a special counsel to investigate your dealings with the Russians?”
Now Father Zebulun, Zephyr, and Samael were all staring at Emerie like she was completely mad. Orobas was chewing on the remains of a tailpipe.
