Hell’s Heresies, page 26
“Maggie,” he directed. “Take the rest of the day off.”
Maggie was so distraught, she didn’t even notice Samael standing before her, wings half-stretched. She let out a tearful wail and ran for her car. Father Zebulun went to his Cadillac. He knelt underneath the car and pulled out two large, plastic, neon orange water guns.
Zephyr stared. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Father Zebulun checked the tanks of his guns, which were filled to the brim with holy water. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
Without another word, they strode towards the large church doors. Father Zebulun flung open the doors of the sanctuary, pulled the Super Soakers from his jacket, and blasted whatever he saw.
The inside of the church was chaos. Demons, great and small, were everywhere—some drew lewd pictures on the stained-glass windows, others dismantled the church organ, and one rather fussy looking demon was busy turning every cross upside down.
The chaos was so manic, Samael almost didn’t register he was able to walk into the church easily.
That was abnormal. It was one thing for Lilith to be able to stand the Holy Ground, as well as her minions—she had quite a bit more power than he. Perhaps she’d weakened the sacred barriers somehow…?
Samael gasped when he saw the altar.
Emerie lounged on the wooden platform carelessly. In her hand was a Communion chalice filled to the brim with wine. She had kicked her boots off, her expression raised towards the ceiling of the sanctuary. She didn’t look the least bit bothered by the pandemonium around her.
“Emerie!” Samael yelled as he ran towards her.
“Samael, wait!” Father Zebulun shouted. “Don’t go near her!”
Samael blanched at the warning in the priest’s tone. The smell of sulfur filled his senses and a sinking feeling settled in his gut.
At the priest’s shout, Emerie sat up. She took a large gulp of Communion wine and grimaced at the taste.
“One would suppose that one of the oldest cathedrals in the country would have better wine,” she remarked. “Here I go again, expecting more out of humans than they deserve.”
Samael stopped short. It was Emerie’s voice he heard—but those were not Emerie’s words. The mannerisms, the clipped tone, the expression that oozed cruelty and wickedness…
“Lilith.” His voice was dry.
Emerie’s lips pursed. “Why the long face, Samael? Now you get the best of both worlds—myself as your consort, once again, in the body of this human you like so much. This is what we might call a win/win situation.”
“No.” Samael shook his head. “I don’t want that. I don’t want—I don’t want you. Leave her body!”
Emerie laughed and poured herself another glass of wine. “Oh, Samael. She doesn’t want me to leave. Truth be told, she doesn’t really want to see you right now.”
Samael’s blood ran cold. “You’re…you’re lying.”
“I don’t lie, Samael,” Emerie said idly as she traced a finger around the edge of her chalice. “That’s the big difference between Lucifer and me. What I tell you is true—Emerie doesn’t want to see you. She knows the truth about you, my pet. I didn’t even show her half of what you were up to on earth—but the barest taste was enough to turn her off you forever.”
“That isn’t true!” Samael shouted desperately. “Let me talk to her!”
She smiled again and paused for a moment, as though asking Emerie. The moment passed and she repeated, “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
Something deep inside Samael shattered. He staggered and nearly lost his balance. But Father Zebulun stepped forward, took his arm, and hoisted him upwards. He glared at Emerie’s unimpressed figure.
“I have heard enough,” he boomed and lifted his crossbow. “This body is not your own. You are to leave Emerie’s body this instant!”
Emerie looked at the priest fondly. “What are you going to do, little priest? Are you going to shoot Emerie full of holes with your silver arrows? I’m sure it would be quite painful—I won’t feel anything, of course, I transfer all mortal pain to the mortal soul.”
“This isn’t for you,” Father Zebulun said grimly. To prove his point, he shot at something slimy that was crawling up the belfry. It shrieked in pain and fell to the church floor with a sickening thud.
“And what do you propose?” Emerie casually hopped off the altar. “I’m assuming you won’t call my sister for help?”
Zephyr blinked in confusion and then looked at Samael. He shrugged in response—the words were meaningless to him. Lilith must have meant an angel; after all, angels and demons were estranged brothers and sisters. But whatever she meant, it seemed to stir Father Zebulun to anger.
“I can handle filth like you on my own,” he growled. “Zephyr! Get ready!”
The witch looked bewildered. “Me?! I’m not Catholic!”
“It doesn’t matter!” Father Zebulun yelled. He tossed her a small black book. “Turn to ‘the rite of exorcism’—I need you to speak the responses!”
Zephyr flipped the pages frantically. Father Zebulun started towards Emerie.
“Emerie.” His voice became gentle. “If you’re in there—I swear on my vows as a priest. I will get you out from under her control. Your friends are here. And no matter what you’ve seen, we’re not giving up on you.”
There was the smallest instant of a flicker in Emerie’s expression—as though a far-off memory took her attention into daydream. But Emerie’s body smiled in response, smiled so hard the lips became dry and cracked. Little rivulets of blood flecked her mouth.
“Lord have mercy,” Father Zebulun began in a thundering voice.
“Uh—Lord, have mercy!” Zephyr called out.
“Christ have mercy.”
“Christ, have mercy!”
“Holy Lord, almighty Father, everlasting God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who once and for all consigned that fallen and apostate tyrant to the flames of hell…Strike terror, Lord, into the beast now laying waste your vineyard!”
Emerie began to laugh uproariously—though the laughter was not Emerie’s laugh. Samael knew Emerie’s laugh, it was low and cackling, like a drunk hag. This laugh was more like a harpy shriek, like an untuned violin. It hurt his ears to listen, but he stared desperately, and wished for the first time in his long life, an exorcism would be effective. As the words grew more pronounced, filled with spiritual power and the witch’s own internal magic, Samael felt his skin begin to burn.
“Fill your servants with courage to fight manfully against that reprobate dragon, lest he despise those who put their trust in you—Let your mighty hand cast him out of your servant, Emerie Fox, so he may no longer hold captive this Emerie whom it pleased you to make in your image, and to redeem through your Son; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever.”
Father Zebulun’s thundering voice roared through the church. The exorcism was not directed at Samael, but even he felt its power—it singed his horns and compressed the air, as though he were suffocating in a small coffin. Samael watched Father Zebulun in shock and some awe—this human showed no fear whatsoever towards Lilith. He knew exactly who she was and where she came from, yet he defiantly chanted out the exorcism as though he’d exorcised her a hundred times before.
But Lilith continued to puppet Emerie—she barely seemed to notice his words.
“Who do you think you are, priest?” she jeered. “You can present me before the pope himself and I would never release hold of this sow!”
This did not faze Father Zebulun. He stared hard into her dark eyes and roared out, “I command you, unclean spirit, Lilith, along with all your minions now attacking this servant of God, by the ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the descent of the Holy Spirit, by the coming of our Lord for judgment—depart, you devils!”
There was a raucous screeching all around them. Samael watched in fascinated horror as all the demons scattered about the sanctuary caterwauled in pain. Father Zebulun had ordered them to depart—and it seemed as though they were being forcibly removed. Even Emerie looked pained, lines creasing across her face and her eyes flashing in anger.
It was in this moment Samael realized the exorcism did not hurt him. He was uncomfortable, certainly—he could feel the weight of the exorcism press in against his chest. It slightly scorched his horns and skin—but he did not feel the uncontrollable tug. The pull that would lead all exorcised demons back to Hell.
“I adjure you, ancient serpent,” Father Zebulun hissed toward Emerie. “By the judge of the living and the dead, by your Creator, by the Creator of the whole universe—yield. Make no resistance nor delay in departing from this woman, for it has pleased Christ to dwell in man and woman. It is God Himself who commands you. Depart, transgressor, depart seducer, give way, you monster, give way to Christ!”
“I AM NOT SOME WORM FOR YOU TO COMMAND, HUMAN!” Emerie screamed.
“Samael!” Father Zebulun bellowed. “Hold her—I must lay my hands on her!”
Samael didn’t wait to be asked twice. He flung himself into the air and his wings caught the strange currents of air that emanated from the priest’s voice. But Emerie saw him coming for her and dodged easily. She crab-crawled up the wall of the sanctuary and took refuge in the choir balcony.
“Is this who you take orders from, Samael?” Emerie’s laughter was high and mocking, so different from her ordinary pig-snort chuckle. “You cavort with priests and apostles? I knew you when you commanded a legion of ten thousand demons. How far you have fallen!”
Fallen? The word settled oddly in Samael’s mind. Was he falling from the graces of Hell? Or was he…rising?
He was disgusted to see Emerie’s head swivel around her back.
“Stop it!” Samael complained. “That is such an old trick the humans are making films about it. Come down here this instant!”
Emerie continued to crab-crawl across the sanctuary ceiling and sidestepped him as he attempted to snatch her. She began to laugh that horrible harpy laugh, delighted in the futility of his movements.
“You’re pathetic, Samael,” she jeered. “Panting after this girl like a dog in heat. You can’t even—oof!”
Her litany was abruptly interrupted by a hymnal smacking her in the face. Zephyr, who had grown tired of Father Zebulun’s exorcism and Samael’s frantic chase, had taken matters into her own hands. She had climbed up the pulpit and flung the heaviest hymnal she could find towards an unsuspecting Emerie.
It worked. Shocked by the action, she fell from the ceiling, but before she could break her neck, Samael swooped in and caught her.
“Nice one,” Samael told Zephyr gratefully as he landed next to the altar. “I think you gave her a black eye, though.”
“She was overdue for one.” Zephyr winked. “Bring her to the priest.”
But Samael didn’t have to move. Father Zebulun was already approaching. His expression was stony; he shot Zephyr a disapproving glare for her methods. The latter shrugged this off.
“Emerie.” Father Zebulun gently laid his hands on her forehead. “Emerie—come back to us.”
Her eyelids flickered and Samael’s chest filled with hope as she dazedly opened her eyes. There was a brief moment of innocence as she gazed at her friends—but it disappeared into shadow. Emerie wrenched herself from Father Zebulun’s grasp. She laughed hysterically and made a mock cross motion across her chest.
Something violently flung Father Zebulun across the church. He landed with a sickening thud against the giant statue of Christ that overlooked the altar, in a pointed mockery of the crucifixion. Samael dove towards her to try to hold her down, but was thrown to the ground—several minor demons had snatched his wings and started to nail them to the pews.
“Father Z!” Zephyr ran towards the priest, who had been knocked unconscious. “Oh Goddess—are you all right?”
Father Zebulun did not answer. Furiously, Zephyr turned towards Emerie, who laughed maniacally as she floated above them. Her dark hair made a Medusa-esque halo and the church began to rumble.
“My fun is over,” Emerie declared and her eyes turned violet. “It is time for all of you to die.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Possession was strangely relaxing.
Lilith puppeted her body like a marionette, but the more Emerie got used to it, the more she felt soothed. There was a distinct sense of relief. She no longer had to make decisions. She was no longer in control. Responsibility was completely out of her hands.
And so Emerie sat, curled up in the corner of her mind, and didn’t even bother to watch Lilith’s machinations. She considered sleep—she was terribly tired—when she realized someone was seated next to her.
“Whoa!” Emerie squeaked, scooting away. “Who the hell are you?”
“Who the hell?” The stranger’s voice was unquestionably cross. “Such disrespect! Don’t you recognize me?!”
He did look somewhat familiar. He looked about her age, with dark hair and eyes, and a crooked smile. His clothes were a little old-fashioned, but clean cut—neatly pressed slacks, a pale blue button-down shirt. He wore a gray fedora. Emerie tried to place him. He also looked quite a bit like Falcon.
“Seriously.” Emerie narrowed her eyes. “Who are you? This is my head, what are you doing here?”
“Well, it seems as though you’re letting just about anyone into your head these days,” the stranger replied grouchily, “but I told you a long time ago I would always be with you. I live inside your heart.”
The words rang through Emerie’s head. Someone had said that to her a long time ago…her grandfather. Right before he died.
“You’re…Ji-Ji?!”
“Who else would I be?”
Emerie continued to stare. The longer she looked at him, the more his appearance became familiar. Long, aristocratic fingers, sparkling eyes, and of course the fedora…she swallowed. It was because of Ji-Ji she was able to buy her home in Milton.
Emerie felt a lot of emotions as she stared at the young man seated next to her. Confusion was one of them—Ji-Ji looked like a stranger instead of her beloved grandfather. Furthermore, he held a bamboo cane in his arms, one that Emerie knew for a fact opened up into a blade. But didn’t Falcon inherit the cane? And his hat?
Ji-Ji eyed her skeptically. “You’re taking things a little too literally, Emerie. We are seated in the corner of your mind. I have a say in my appearance—as do you.”
“But what are you doing inside my head?” Emerie scooched away from him.
“What am I doing in your head?!” Ji-Ji thundered. He banged his cane in emphasis. “What is she doing in your head?! The little red-headed hussy?! Have you no respect for yourself?!”
“Ji-Ji, she possessed me!” Emerie stood up in anger. He mirrored her movements and it occurred to her they were precisely the same height—she got her petite stature from her grandfather.
“What was I supposed to do? I’ve been possessed!”
“This is not The Exorcist!” Ji-Ji boomed and Emerie flinched at his volume. “You have a choice to let evil into your heart or to rebuke it, no matter how hard it gets for you! This is your body, Emerie Fox. Your soul. No one else’s.”
Ji-Ji had never yelled at Emerie before. In fact, Emerie was probably the only person in the entire world who he hadn’t yelled at. He yelled at her mother for marrying an American. He yelled at Falcon for not getting good grades. He yelled at her father for not taking his grandchildren to visit him in Hokkaido often enough. He yelled at the mailman for not arriving precisely at eleven a.m.
Ji-Ji was a cantankerous, ornery, and thoroughly abrasive gentleman. But for whatever reason, during Ji-Ji’s long life, Emerie was his special favorite. The rest of the family was subject to long lectures and criticisms, Emerie received presents—and most of his inheritance.
Emerie wasn’t entirely sure how to handle Ji-Ji being pissed with her.
Ji-Ji began to pace. “Look at what’s happened. I thought for sure you would do something sensible with the money I left you.”
“I did!” Emerie protested. “I bought a house!”
“You bought a spirit-infested house!”
At the echoing of her mother’s words, Emerie could not help but pout. “I thought you would think it had character.”
Ji-Ji glared at her, but Emerie saw the corner of his lip quirk. She grinned at him in triumph. He knew perfectly well his daughter had told her children haunted house stories and that his own penchant for the obscure and strange had skipped a generation.
“Well, I never,” Ji-Ji’s dark eyes blazed, “would let an evil spirit into my body. I learned to live in peace with the spirits in my old home. Why couldn’t you do the same?”
Emerie wasn’t sure how to answer this. It hadn’t really occurred to her to just let sleeping demons lie. She assumed if your house was possessed by a demon, the best thing to do would be to get rid of the demon. This was a rather western idea—no wonder Ji-Ji was annoyed.
“Okay, I get it,” Emerie said sullenly. “I was scared. I got freaked out by who—or what—Samael is. And I’m still kind of freaked out by it! He’s done a lot of bad stuff, Ji-Ji. Evil I can’t even imagine.”
“That is true.” Ji-Ji reached up and fidgeted with his fedora. “Ancient spirits like Samael have a long and dark history. They live longer, so they have more time to fall into evil. However—he does have a certain trust in you. And he is helping you and your friends. That is unusual.”
Emerie stared at her shoes. She fidgeted with the fabric of her jeans and picked at the frayed edge. Ji-Ji sniffed pointedly.
“But whatever he’s done or not done,” Ji-Ji said sternly, “that is no excuse. You have always been so sure of yourself. In everything you do, you know exactly who you are. It is one of the reasons I knew it was a good idea to leave you my inheritance. Where was this certainty of self when Lilith entered your body? You have listened to fears, child.”
