Hell’s Heresies, page 20
The giant lion bellowed in pain. Its humongous paw lifted towards its eye in an attempt to rub the arrow out, but to no avail. Its paw slammed to the ground, causing a minor earthquake, and it roared towards the priest.
“Quiet, fiend,” Father Zebulun murmured, loading another arrow. If he could blind the creature, then maybe—
But as he lifted his crossbow once more, a thought occurred to him. Where was the stone serpent?
The crossbow was abruptly knocked from his arms. The priest gasped for breath as something wound around his torso, squeezing the breath out of him. Spots floated in front of his eyes; he couldn’t see what was happening.
“This is why people don’t like priests.”
The suffocation halted. He could still hardly breathe, but his vision slowly returned. A woman stood before him, leaning against the giant lion. As she came more into focus, Father Zebulun realized the formerly stone snake had wrapped its python body around him. He couldn’t see the head of the beast, but he could hear its telltale hiss somewhere near his feet.
The woman gently tugged the arrow out of the lion’s eye. She cast a reproachful look towards Father Zebulun and he took in her wavy auburn hair, the shape of her eyes, her creamy skin…
“L-lailah!” He gasped.
She clucked. “Wrong sister.”
His stomach dropped. Her eyes were green, not lilac…this was Lilith.
The mother of demons, Adam’s first wife, an anointed being…until she Fell. The stories varied on Lilith, but none of them were particularly pleasant. One such story stated she was the sister of the angel Lailah—the angel of night and darkness. They were supposed to be two sides of the same coin, polar opposites of each other…but with frightening amounts of power.
Lilith glared at him. “And what have you to do with my sister, Father? One of her little pets? Your sainted angels? You must have seen her before; few know how similar we look!”
The giant lion turned from them both and began to charge the library. The whole building shook and the priest could hear the terrified patrons within.
“Let them alone!” Father Zebulun choked out.
“They are hungry,” Lilith snapped. “And I am not in the best of moods, priest, do not test my patience. Darling…you may have your snack.”
For an instant, Father Zebulun wondered why Lilith had called him ‘darling’. But then the snake’s enormous head rose to his eye level and he realized who the endearment was directed towards.
The snake was coal black with the same flame-red eyes as the enormous lion. Father Zebulun’s thoughts swam as he tried to think of a way out. But his arms were pinned to his sides—he had no way of reaching his crossbow, the Freischutz, even some holy water!
This was it. He would die and Milton would be cast into ruin because of his own blasted stubbornness.
The snake’s jaws opened wide and Father Zebulun closed his eyes. But instead of being swallowed whole, there was a loud BANG. Father Zebulun fell to his knees and instinctively covered his face. An explosion of stones rained down around him and he staggered as he stood, trying to get his bearings. The snake was gone, but he was surrounded by rubble.
And Mephistopheles stood between him and Lilith.
The dapper demon tipped a feathered fedora to the fuming demoness. She seemed paralyzed in shock and rage. Father Zebulun had seen this sort of behavior once before—in Kiev. And it was directed at him, not in defense of him.
“You despicable little worm,” Lilith hissed. “You would dare defend this human from my righteous vengeance?”
“Well, that’s a rather obvious question.” Mephistopheles flipped his hat off his head and twirled it around his index finger.
“You would side with this human against your own kin?!”
“Oh, in a heartbeat!” Mephistopheles assured her happily. “I rather like the priest, whereas you have always been a petulant harpy.”
He took a threatening step towards her. “You may be older, dear sister…but you are none the wiser. The priest is mine.”
Father Zebulun stared at the demon. He had heard these words before, but in a distinctly different context. Back when he had hunted Mephistopheles in Kiev.
He had been younger then, more foolhardy. Demons had overrun most of eastern Europe and the Vatican was losing exorcists left and right—mostly at the hands of Mephistopheles, one of the most vicious and clever demons in all creation.
In Kiev, Mephistopheles masqueraded as an exorcist priest himself—one of his most clever guises. He had as much access to humans as he wanted. At twenty-five, no one believed the green Boaz Zebulun that the priest he worked with in Ukraine was an ancient demon.
It was then he had the idea to fight fire with fire. He decided to use the medieval texts often used to summon demons for their own purposes. Zebulun’s intent was not to summon a demon…but an angel.
The angel of night, guardian of conception, guide to the next world…Lailah. With auburn hair and lilac eyes, so similar to Lilith’s human form…yet different. Lailah had none of Lilith’s cruelty or malice, though her rage at being summoned by a human was fearsome indeed.
And…like young Emerie Fox…Father Zebulun’s ritual malfunctioned. He ripped a hole to Heaven and Hell in the middle of Kiev and nearly jumpstarted the apocalypse.
All in an attempt to destroy the demon Mephistopheles—who now stood before him, protecting him.
“Shall we dance, Lilith?” Mephistopheles purred. “Shall we discover once and for all who has more power?”
A mighty scream ripped through the air. Father Zebulun clapped his hands to his ears and watched in horror as tawny wings burst forth from Lilith’s shoulders. She arched her back like a raptor and talons erupted from her hands. Her head grew twice its size and her eyes almost appeared to melt into pits of darkness. Her button nose formed into a curved beak and her wings beat the air.
Father Zebulun watched the monstrous owl disappear into the clouds. He whipped around towards the giant lion and to his surprise, it had returned to stone—along with the serpent, somehow. Everything was as it should be, save the people still hiding in the library.
He turned towards Mephistopheles, who was dusting off his hands. “I did not need your help.”
Mephistopheles arched a dark brow but did not answer. Father Zebulun considered taking him down now, while he still had a chance, while he was able to snatch the Freischutz…
He decided against it. “Why did you save me?”
Mephistopheles sniffed. “It is against my purposes to allow you to die at the hands of Lilith.”
“Why should you care how I die?”
“I don’t,” Mephistopheles tossed him something. “I care how you live.”
Father Zebulun caught it. In his hand were car keys—he blinked and realized his Cadillac (which was supposed to be parked outside his house) was right behind them.
“You better listen to the witch,” Mephistopheles advised. “I’ll grant you that us demons don’t work together at the best of times…but she is correct. There is a plot going. Something I don’t care to be a part of. I find it…distasteful. Earth is already overcrowded with evil, it doesn’t need anymore, don’t you agree?”
There was a great deal Father Zebulun wanted to say. The fact Mephistopheles had shown some sort of morality in saving his life—the fact the demon did not want the gate to Hell in Emerie’s attic open—raised a great many questions he would have frankly preferred over a bottle of wine. Twenty years ago, they’d been enemies. Now they were…what? Allies?
He didn’t have the luxury to turn the favor down.
“I don’t like cheating.”
Sunflower looked at Zephyr in surprise. She sneezed and Zephyr quickly removed her suitcoat and wrapped it around her mother’s shoulders. Zephyr’s teal pantsuit was probably ruined; the sleeves were singed (and still smoking), but it would keep her mother warm until they reached the shop. The temperature had dropped and the shaded forest path was enough to give anyone a chill.
“Cheating? What on earth do you mean?” Her mother snuggled into the suitcoat contentedly.
“You know,” Zephyr sighed. “The magic tricks I could do. How everyone wanted to be my friend in elementary school. How I accidentally charmed my second-grade teacher into giving me the lead in the school play. It always felt like cheating.”
“It’s not cheating!” Sunflower’s pale gray eyes widened in horror. She took her daughter’s arm and squeezed it. “These are your gifts! Your talents! They’re who you are!”
“Or who you wanted me to be.”
There was another pause as they walked through the forest. Birds chirped above them and both women breathed in the sounds of the forest simultaneously—forests were grounding, no matter the amount of magical ability. Sunflower did not let go of her daughter’s arm. Sunflower seemed to be mulling Zephyr’s words over. They weren’t far from the town—they could hear the sounds of the festival (and a few sirens, worryingly) from a few miles off.
“If you—” Sunflower’s voice cracked and she tried again. “If you—if you never wanted to use your magic ever again…there’s a way.”
Zephyr tripped over a root and turned to stare at her mother in shock. “What?”
“There’s a way. I know of a spell to…sort of stopper your magic. Freeze it, until your death, and it’s released to another soul being born at the same time. If that is what you truly want…we can enact it.”
“I already do that myself.”
“Your masking.” Sunflower’s expression fell. “But it carries such a heavy toll, Zephyr. If you don’t release it somewhere, it will…it will make you gravely ill.”
Zephyr took a deep breath. “Mom—”
“It wouldn’t have to be me!” Sunflower added hastily. “For the ritual, I mean. I know of—other witches. More—more experienced witches who could help. And you could have your life of…normalcy and—and pantsuits.”
She couldn’t help but shudder and Zephyr laughed at the reaction. The trees began to space out as they grew closer and closer to the town. She considered her mother’s offer and ruefully realized she’d burned her extensions off.
They reached the walking path which led to the town square. Zephyr knelt and picked up a stray soda can. She aimed and tossed the can into a nearby recycling can—across the street. It landed perfectly.
“If you’d asked me last week, I would’ve taken you up on it,” she murmured. “Can’t though. Even if we close the gate to the spirit world…even if we get rid of all these horrible energies and sprits…there’s something about this town that doesn’t sit right with me, Mom. It needs protection, and not just from Father Holier-Than-Thou. I have to keep my magic.”
Zephyr took a shuddery breath. “I have to…stop hiding my magic. I have to be okay with it. Because you were right, Mom. It is who I am and for a long time I’ve been ashamed of it. But…”
She tilted her head upwards towards the October sky. “Maybe it was never me who had to hide my magic from the world. Maybe it’s the world that needs to make room for me.”
Sunflower’s eyes shone and she grasped the sleeves of Zephyr’s suitcoat tightly. “I…I oh my sharp mustard seed. My little fairy. My spring breeze.”
“Ugh, no cutesy nicknames, Mom, you know I hate it!” Zephyr complained as they crossed the street. But she didn’t really hate it. It reminded her of some of the better moments in her childhood with her mother…her mother’s off-key lullabies, the sweets for equinox, her stories about the gods and goddesses…it was nice. Even if they fought like wildcats in an hour, at least her mother had offered her a way out, despite her pagan principles.
When they reached the curb, a Cadillac pulled up next to them. Father Zebulun blinked at them both and cleared his throat.
“Miss Moon.” He nodded at her mother. “I believe…we should talk.”
Zephyr crossed her arms over her chest. “Is it about how the demons are casting a spell and how you found out about it on your own instead of choosing to believe me and now you need my help?”
The priest winced. His pained expression satisfied Zephyr’s pride and she nodded. She turned towards her mother.
“Mom, go home. It’s time for us to finish this once and for all.”
Sunflower’s brow furrowed. “I want to help!”
“You’ll help the most if I know you’re safe at home.” Zephyr took her mother’s palms and squeezed them. “I love you, Mom. I’ll be home soon. Get some of your cheap wine—we’ll celebrate a successful cleansing.”
Sunflower managed a weak smile. She hugged her daughter fiercely and Zephyr kissed her cheek. Then the witch brusquely got into the priest’s car and they drove off to find Emerie and her demon.
“You guys are back!” Emerie exclaimed. “And not fighting! Awesome!”
Father Zebulun looked to have aged ten years as he slowly got out of the Cadillac. They had found Emerie and Samael near the town fountain. Samael sulked while Emerie ate a caramel apple and gave Orobas her core. Zephyr followed the priest out of the car calmly, with the air of someone who had been proven right and was about to let the whole world know about it.
“I was right,” she announced to the company in a tone tinged with smugness. “They’re casting. They’re using ley lines to—”
“Wait, ley lines?”
Zephyr sighed noisily. “Remember the drawings you made in your botched attempt to get rid of Samael? Your house is on a ley line—a place of magical energy where you can draw from to cast. The demons are gathering on ley lines to—to cast something. Probably summoning.”
Samael jumped up and yanked a sheathed sword off his belt. “Here, priest. Have a sword.”
Father Zebulun examined it closely, but did not take it. “That is an angelic sword. I can’t accept this. It will burn my arm off.”
Emerie raised her hand. “I picked it up!”
Father Zebulun looked at her in disapproval. “Were you trying to give it back to him?”
She nodded.
“There you are,” he said in satisfaction. “Though I’m not sure why a demon should possess an angelic sword.” He glared at Samael suspiciously.
Zephyr stared at the priest. “How the hell do you know all this stuff?”
“And speaking of.” Zephyr added, blocking him bodily. “Are you going to tell us about the gun? The gun that can apparently take down demons with ease, and yet you are somewhat reticent to use? Let me guess; it’s witchcraft and you don’t like being a hypocrite?”
“No,” Father Zebulun snapped. He started to say something more but paused—a family with a large collection of pumpkin-shaped balloons walked by them. The dad yelled to Samael, “Great costume!” Samael tried to offer the four-year-old the angel sword but Father Zebulun quickly intervened.
Zephyr, however, was not about to let the conversation drop. “What is it? Can it help us disperse the spirits?”
Father Zebulun watched to ensure the family was out of earshot. He faced the group. “It is called Der Freischutz. An old weapon I received long ago. There are seven bullets. Six of them will always hit their mark. But the seventh…”
Samael finished the sentence. “The seventh belongs to Lucifer.”
A cold breeze rattled the trees and Emerie shivered. Father Zebulun crossed his arms across his chest. Emerie could see one hand brush up against his shoulder holster.
“The seventh belongs to the Devil,” Father Zebulun assented. “But it was never something I wanted to use regularly.”
“You used one of them.” Emerie pointed out. “On President Amy.”
“Yes. Five bullets left.”
The group digested this unpleasant information.
“Never mind,” Father Zebulun flexed his fingers. “Miss Moon, I think it’s time we assisted Miss Fox in getting her house back. Why don’t we all return to her home and have a little chat with Beelzebub?”
TWENTY-ONE
Had Emerie not abruptly hung up on Dylan, she would have learned Dylan had decided to cut his trip short and would be arriving at the Hell House that very afternoon.
He wasn’t in a particularly pleasant mood. He couldn’t stop thinking about the utterly magnificent apartment he’d discovered in Boston. It was just off Beacon Street and only four blocks away from his work. Sleek, modern, fully furnished—with a twenty-four hour maintenance crew on standby. He had begged the real estate agent to hold the apartment for them, just long enough to get Emerie on board—but they had refused. It had been now or never. Dylan had put down the deposit and first month’s rent. Well, technically he didn’t exactly…they didn’t have a joint checking account, so technically Emerie put down the deposit and first month’s rent. At least, he’d signed her name and used her bank details. He rationalized that once his name was on her bank account he’d be able to persuade her Boston was the right way to go. He’d been given one key—a key he vaguely planned on duplicating after a tough conversation with his girlfriend.
As he pulled into the driveway, he felt a twinge of guilt for overriding Emerie’s wishes and using the last of her savings. He had tried to talk to her about the apartment, a few times now. He couldn’t believe she’d actually hung up on him.
Dylan sighed. He let his car idle for a few minutes as he stared up at the looming house in front of him. They were at a crossroads, Emerie and he. She could either join him in Boston or not. And Dylan had a pretty good idea of what her choice would be…he’d better get a head start on packing now. Emerie would definitely want the flat screen, but he could sneak it into his car now if she wasn’t home...
He stepped out of the car and walked up towards the front door. The neighborhood was quiet for a Saturday, something he attributed to whatever festival was going on in the main square blocking off half the routes to the house.
Dylan fumbled in his pocket for the key but realized with annoyance the door was unlocked. That Emerie…did she leave the back door unlocked too?
