Days of New: The Complete Collection (Serials 1-5) (27 page)

“He’s right,” Iris said. She hugged Clark through the bars and kissed his forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

Zarachiel led Maya and Iris up the stairs, but Camille lagged behind. The dungeon fell very silent without everyone’s chatter. Even Camille’s inhales and exhales matched Clark’s. A scurry of mice came from a corner, and water dripped from the ceiling. But Clark’s hand wrapped around Camille’s and she heard nothing else.

They kissed through the bars, the metal digging into Camille’s cheeks. She clung to Clark’s hand like it was a lifeline as they kissed as if it was their last. When they drew back, he ran a finger over her cheek.

“Cami,” he said quietly. “I miss you.”

The words came so easily to her then that she was afraid they would slip out and surprise them both. She figured Clark already knew she loved him, but she never felt strong enough to say it. Even now she had to wrangle the simple phrase back before it clouded the air with memories and ghosts.

“I miss you too,” she said instead, and a piece of her stone heart crumbled off, falling into the dark void of her soul.

Chapter Nine

C
lark was under no illusions that this exorcism was going to go well, so he didn’t get his hopes up too high; his main goal for today was just surviving it. Simple plan. Not much to mess up. He tried to do some pushups and jumping jacks to psych himself up, but he ended up just feeling like a dumbass and possibly pulling a muscle. So he just sat on his ledge and waited quietly. When they came for him shortly after Camille left, he felt ready enough.

The meeting hall had been cleared out, which was jolting after seeing it so full yesterday. Once again, a single chair sat rather dramatically in the middle of the cavernous room. Torches lined the walls, their sputtering light sending shadows dancing along the floor. Every step Clark took echoed off the stone walls. His breath condensed in the air by his mouth.

“Tie him to the chair,” the priest commanded as everyone filed into the room. “Everyone” consisted of the seated council members, a handful of Nephilim, Bailey and an assortment of guards, the three Washington officials, and Clark’s friends, including Maya and Iris. No one objected when his mother quietly walked in, but maybe that was because they were all slightly scared of her. Only Camille came directly to Clark, bending to whisper in his ear.

“Do what you can,” she said, her warm breath sending little tickles down his spine, “to get that thing out of you. I’ll deal with it from there.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Clark mumbled. Camille stepped away before Bailey’s crew could object.

A guard came forward and shackled his ankles and wrists. The restraints were much tighter than when Bailey had done them yesterday, and claustrophobia climbed up Clark’s spine. He swallowed loudly.

“What’s the plan here, priest?” Bailey asked, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Not killing me?” Clark offered.

“The plan,” the priest said loudly as he arranged his assorted tools—a crucifix, a few books, candles, and a vial of holy water—“is to exorcise a demon.”

“Does anyone else think that word is weird? I mean, come on. ‘Exorcise’? I feel like we’re about to do some calisthenics.” At Clark’s comment, an awkward silence filled the room. Camille rolled her eyes, and Zarachiel’s mouth twitched. “Or maybe it’s just me,” Clark finished.

“I can gag him,” a Descendant offered.

“That won’t be necessary soon,” the priest said.

“What do you mean?” Bailey fired off the question, the alarm evident in his voice.

“I mean, his fruitless lies are going to be mute in a moment. But you will need to prepare yourself.” The priest kissed his crucifix and laid it on the ground at his feet.

“Speak plainly, human,” Camille growled.

The priest started lighting the candles and placing them in a circle around the cross. He moved slowly, his joints creaking and popping. Finally, he straightened, putting a hand to his back. “I mean that I’ve decided since this criminal will be hanged anyway, I will try a new method to extract the demon.”

“Objection,” Clark said, but he was ignored.

“What is the new method?” Bailey asked.

Camille met Zarachiel’s eyes. Their exchange was obvious, even from where Clark sat. They were ready, though they might have been the only ones. No matter what, they knew this was going to come to a fight.

The priest held up his hands, silencing everyone before he spoke.

“I’m going to burn it out.”

* * *

Without hesitating, Camille pulled out her sword, metal hissing against its leather sheath under her arm. The sound was echoed tenfold as the Descendants reacted by drawing their weapons, ready to fight her to the death. But she wasn’t going to let this happen. No one was setting Clark on fire while she was still breathing. She swung her sword in an arc through the air and started identifying which Descendant to kill first.

Her heartbeat slowed. The pulse in her neck thumped. Time itself seemed to stand still.

“Wait!” Bailey shouted, stepping in the middle of the standoff and breaking Camille’s concentration. “Everyone needs to calm down. Let the man explain himself. Priest?”

Camille didn’t calm down, and she didn’t ease off the tight grip on her sword. Zarachiel stood just as ready beside her, curving machete in hand. But the Descendants lowered their guns, their eyes flickering between Camille and Bailey.

“There’s really nothing to explain,” the priest said. “Also, my name is Brother Bart, in case anyone wants to call me that instead of ‘priest.’ Although the title is accurate, it’s a little rude.”

“Sorry, Bart—”

“Brother Bart,” the priest corrected Bailey. “It’s short for Bartholomew.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Clark said. Camille’s eyes darted toward him. He looked like a nervous wreck with his upper lip drenched in sweat, and his long fingers gripping and releasing the armrests of the chair. He tried to laugh, but the sound squeaked out of him.

“Brother Bart, we need to know what’s going on if we’re going to help. When you say that you’re going to
burn
it out, you mean…”

“Okay,” Camille growled. “This ends now. No more of this fu—”

“Camille,” Bailey interrupted. “Let’s just hear him out. Maybe he means it in a metaphorical sense?”

“No, I mean it literally,” the priest said. “Removing the demon from its host’s body is the hardest and most uncertain part of the ritual because so many factors are involved, like the strength of the demon, how the demon infected the host’s body, and how long it has been attached. All those factors have to be evaluated during the exorcism. If even one is underestimated, well, that’s why so many people die during the process. But I believe I have a better, more failsafe option to call the demon out. One that won’t rely on any factors.”

“How?” Camille snapped.

“I’m going to use Clark’s method for holy fire. Kind of poetic, since that is how Jenna died.”

“That will work?” Bailey asked. “That will remove the demon from Clark’s body?”

“It’s a known fact that demons hate fire, obviously.” The priest carried a candle toward Clark, its flame fluttering in the air. “As soon as I start the incantation for the holy fire, the flames will drive the demon out. That’s where you come in. You’ll have to be ready to capture it.”

“Dude,” Clark said, leaning back in his chair, “I’m so not down with that.”

The priest bent slowly and set the candle on the ground next to Clark’s foot. “I’m not asking your permission,” he said before turning to the others. “Are we ready?”

“How do we get ready?” Bailey asked, looking to the angels. “How do we capture it when it comes out?”

“Tear it apart as soon as you see it,” Zarachiel said, speaking for the first time.

“What?”

“The demon. It needs to be torn or cut apart as soon as it’s here. Then we can burn it and bind it. But tearing it apart comes first. So be ready for that.”

“Holy shit,” someone whispered.

Camille motioned to Zarachiel. Together they moved closer to Clark and crouched in front of him, their knives at the ready. Swallowing loudly, Clark nodded to them.

“Maybe Maya should leave,” he whispered.

“I’m staying,” Maya called back.

“Let’s get started then,” the priest said. He went behind the chair and put his hands on Clark’s shoulders.

The priest was about to close his eyes in concentration when Camille jumped up and grabbed his neck. The Descendants surged forward, safeties clicking off once again.

“You better be careful, priest,” she hissed. “Or the only burnt corpse they’ll be carrying out of here will be yours.”

The priest looked down at her hand and raised a brow. “You threaten me? And you’re supposed to be a holy angel?”

“Dude, I’ve been saying that from the very beginning. But let’s not rattle the guy before he singes me, okay?” Clark met Camille’s eyes, his brows raised. She was about to look away when she saw him silently form the words with his mouth.

I love you.

Clark’s blue eyes performed their own fiery exorcism on her as she repeated his words over and over in her mind. But she wasn’t happy or relieved, like she thought she’d be when the damned words were finally brought up. Instead, her heart was tight with dread; she couldn’t shake the feeling that something horrible was about to happen to the man she loved. Her grip on her sword was sweaty. Her grip on sanity was even worse. She nodded tightly and settled back beside Zarachiel, who leaned over ever so slightly to touch his shoulder against hers.

She took a deep breath.

And it started.

* * *

Clark felt the holy fire as soon as the priest spoke the words. The heat traveled from the old man’s fingertips into Clark’s collarbones. From there it spread down, bone by bone, inching through Clark’s body like a trickling trail of lava. The holy fire lasted maybe only half a second—a mere flash of pain—but Clark screamed. His body lurched out of the chair.

The priest raised his hands, and the heat went out, leaving behind an icy frozen river through Clark. He shivered.

“You okay?” Camille asked.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Clark said, voice squeaking.

“Demon!” the priest shouted, his voice ringing off the stone walls. “Show yourself!”

Clark grunted, cringing away from the blaring noise. “Still me, bro,” he said weakly.

The priest’s hands descended again, and, instinctively, Clark tried to escape, but the old man gripped his shoulders and shoved him back into place with more strength than Clark had expected. The fire spread again, and Clark dissolved into a puddle of pain and agony. This time, the holy fire didn’t stop and he didn’t go numb. He didn’t pass out or leave his body. He felt every inch of his frying innards, every wrecking flame. And when the demon rose, Clark opened his mouth and let the creature scream for both of them.

* * *

Camille leapt to her feet alongside Zarachiel, her eyes trained on Clark’s mouth. As he screamed, a dense shadow rose up the back of his throat, a roiling mass that spiraled forth and billowed out, like a gigantic puff of smoke. The demon wasn’t in a physical form yet as it curled in the air, vaporous edges sparking with embers. Once it was free from Clark’s body, the demon let out a wail that raised the hairs on Camille’s arms.

“It’s coming!” the priest shouted. “Ready yourselves!” And he backed away into the farthest corner of the room.

Camille sliced her blade through the air, skimming as close as she dared to Clark’s face. A single piece of pink hair was cut and fell to the floor, but the smoke was too fast. It flashed away and into the darkness.

A hollow laugh—high pitched and clicking—filled the air.

Camille spun, following the sound, her eyes tracking the demon’s movement up in the lofts. Pews rattled as it banged about, wood splintering and cracking. Suddenly, the shadow lunged over the railing and straight down on an official’s head. The woman screamed, her feet lifting off the ground.

The sound of her neck cracking played along with the demon’s laugh.

Camille and Zarachiel were already there, their swords ringing in the air. The demon rose back to the lofts, and this time, Camille followed. Swooping over the railing, she caught up in enough time to swing her sword. The demon doubled back and fanned out over her head, but she adjusted her swing and slashed the blade upward. She caught only a corner of the smoke, her sword slowing as if it was moving through a vat of molasses. Camille gritted her teeth and held on, wrenching the metal through as much of the screeching demon as she could.

Suddenly, her blade came free of the demon and crashed toward the floor. Camille stumbled and adjusted her grip. She looked up just in time to see the demon’s smoky form slink away.

“It’s coming back!” she shouted.

The thing twisted over the railing again, but its movement was erratic and uncontrolled. In two long strides, she crossed the balcony and dove back to the main floor. The demon aimed for a Descendant and didn’t stop as it blasted straight through him. Camille caught a glimpse of claws and teeth before the demon rendered the Descendant lifeless, slumping to the floor with a gigantic hole through his stomach.