Faustus Resurrectus (33 page)

Faustus paused from his task and started to turn and respond when an amused voice got there first. “Well that’s a bit of a problem,” Valdes said, coming around from behind the tree to which she was bound. “He hasn’t
got
a soul. At least, not here and now.”

“Stop it! Stop lying! Faustus was just a story!”

“Was it?”

She saw Coeus step out from behind the tree in her peripheral vision. Valdes turned and spoke to him. “As I was saying, at this point she’s become somewhat delusional; she maintains the conceit that she can affect the outcome of tonight.” The giant nodded and, without speaking, stepped closer as if to study her. “But I think you’ll agree, a Vessel of great beauty. And she
is
a force for good, or at least she tried to be. She was a prosecutor for the Brooklyn District Attorney’s office.”

The giant extended a black-gloved hand. Joann flinched.
What happened to him?
He showed a small, almost shy, smile and used his index and middle fingers to turn her face to him. She refused to meet his eyes, staring at the ground, trembling. The sounds of suffering reached a crescendo as a woman somewhere screamed over and over, her voice growing hoarse until finally all they could hear was desperate whimpering.

Tears streamed down Joann’s cheeks. “I’ve dealt with criminals for years,” she said, still looking down. “All of them, even the worst of the killers, have had
some
humanity. But not you. There is no greater good that can be served by this, this
slaughter
.”

“‘Greater good’ depends on your perspective. I sacrificed twelve people for my
resurrectus maledicat
; however, I made every effort to select only those who offered little or nothing compared to what
I
will bring to society. On balance, I know I did the right thing.”

“You corrupted Coletun, and all these people—”

“I forced no one. I gave people a choice, and when options are available, people will do what they want. I would have thought your time in the justice system would have taught you that.” Valdes laughed. “You aren’t telling me you’re
shocked
by their behavior?”

“Coletun is nine years old! He has no capacity to make that kind of choice!”

The giant glanced up. “She’s got you there, Neil.”

His voice wrapped her in the folds of a funeral shroud. Joann snapped her head around and looked into Coeus’s face. In the spiraling galaxies of his eyes she saw indescribable agonies, losses and defeats of cosmic proportions that drained all life and vitality from her, replacing them with only the darkest human emotions. Hopelessness sucked her down, stealing the only strength she had left, that of righteous anger.
Donovan, where are you…?
She sagged against the tree. “What are—you…aren’t
real
…”

“I am, actually.” Her despair energized him, lighting his features. “And
this
is reality.”

Joann swung her head back towards Valdes; anything was better than to be trapped in the giant’s gaze.

“Beautiful, spirited, and,” the giant’s nose wrinkled in a hideous parody of delicacy, “she stinks of love. She’s an excellent choice, Neil.”

“Thank you.”

Donovan. Please, help. Please come…
His name was a life preserver and she clung to it, but it was small comfort in the vast, dark ocean of the giant’s eyes.

He put his face next to her ear. “Hold tight to your life preserver, Joann.” She turned her head to gaze at him, eyes popped in shock. “Because once you let go and find despair, you’ll never recover your faith.”

TWENTY-THREE

CATCH A DEVIL BY THE TOE

D
onovan walked close enough to his motorcycle and the stack of iron spires so that Father Carroll could see him, then angled his head and followed the southern curve of Columbus Circle. He paused behind an unmanned fire truck, exhaled, and stared at the neon signs above him while he waited for the priest.

“It did not go well.” Father Carroll’s words were not a question.

“I gave them the information, but I don’t think I convinced anybody.”

“Will it be enough?”

“Going to have to be.”

“Clearly you don’t think it is.” Father Carroll touched his shoulder. “You did as much as you could under the circumstances facing you. For better or worse, that’s what life is, Donovan.” He glanced at the shadows of the park. “The police will do what they do. We’ll try to help them, but we have a higher priority.”

“Joann.”

The priest regarded him for a moment without saying anything. “The summoning of Mephistopheles,” he began, “is a very real possibility. We cannot allow the Prince of Darkness himself to be called here, now.”

“When we save Joann,” Donovan replied levelly, “he won’t be. If she’s not there, they’ll have no host body, no Vessel for him. She’s tied to a tree at the north end of the Great Lawn, next to some kind of stage that Valdes has set up.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Working on it.” Donovan chewed his lower lip. “So far we have blessed iron spires to fight them. I told the captains holy water would work, too.”

“It will. Find some water and I’ll bless it.”

“Then that’s two weapons.”
Why don’t I feel any better?
“What have you got?”

Father Carroll lifted his gym bag onto a step along the fire truck’s side. “‘For Jesus said unto him, ‘Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit.’ And He asked him, ‘What is thy name?’ And the man answered, saying, ‘My name is Legion, for we are many.’” His eyes sharpened. “We face a similar situation here. That possession was of one by many, while what we face here is many by many. The traditional Rite of Exorcism would be ineffective for the simple fact that it is geared towards a one-on-one situation. However.” He went into the bag. “Through certain channels I was able to procure something that should serve our purposes well, a prayer that has roots in that passage of Scripture I just recited.” Father Carroll produced a rolled piece of paper. “The Vatican archives have a great many things to use in the struggle against evil. One of them is this: the Orison of Saint Raymond Nonnatus. A purification benediction of great potency.”

“Someone faxed you a medieval
super
-prayer?” Donovan allowed himself the luxury of being totally baffled for only a moment before adjusting his perspective.
Reality is flexible.
“What does ‘purification benediction’ mean?”

“Essentially, what it says. A benediction is a blessing; ‘purification’ refers to the intensity of the prayer’s strength. Raymond Nonnatus was a saint who devoted most of his life to the redemption of captives. His canonization was supposedly confirmed by his transcription of this prayer, which redeemed the possession of one section of Cardona, the Spanish city from which he came. You might compare it to a concentrated Rite of Exorcism. It will take almost a minute to recite once, but from what I’ve been told about the cumulative effects of constant repetition…know we don’t enter this struggle unarmed.”

Donovan felt the weight of Fullam’s Glock in his belt. “Never thought that. But even if the Orison is as effective as we hope, how do we use it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Could you recite it over the area where the possessed are? Like if we got you to that stage somehow. If you said it over the Great Lawn—as an exorcism ritual, would it cleanse the possessed? Purify their souls?”

Hope flickered in Father Carroll before being overcome by anxiety. “They’d have to stay and listen. An exorcism can’t work without the possessed present. Could the police hold them all in hearing range?”

“Not without the iron bars.”
Damn
. “What about the source? Can we go to it?”

“Mephistopheles?”

“The Cancer Hospital. That’s where the darkness came from.”

“Infernal portals are dangerous creations. One doesn’t just kick over a few candles and expect everything to go away. The energies that create and hold a portal open are quite vast. Consider the death and destruction it took to open this one.” Father Carroll thought about this, scholastic curiosity now supplanting anxiety. “Generally speaking, one must use the proscribed rituals to close a portal before mucking with it. To do otherwise would be akin to dynamiting a dam on Central Park West.”

“What if you recited the Orison
inside
it? Which way would the flow go? If it’s all energy, do you think the Orison would reverse its…I don’t know, polarity? Draw all the heliophobic devils
back
to it instead of freeing them?”

Father Carroll opened his mouth to speak before closing it. He regarded Donovan, impressed. “I would not have considered that.”

“Frank said I don’t think like a cop. I guess I don’t think like a priest with an Augustine Dictate either.”

“In theory, it sounds plausible. In reality—”

“Do we have a choice?”

Father Carroll looked at the faxed prayer in his hand. “All things are possible through the Lord when you open your life to Him.”

After Special Agent Clark’s curt dismissal, Father Carroll’s attitude renewed his determination. “I hope ‘all things’ covers crazy motorcycle stunts, too, because that’s the only way I’m going to get Joann.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once the police move in it’s going to be a war zone in there. In the middle of it all, while Valdes and Faustus are defending their ritual circle, I can ride in, grab her, and get away to someplace safe.”

Father Carroll’s eyebrows rose. “Crazy motorcycle stunts, indeed.”

“What do you think?”

“Evil of this sort has always seemed steeped in ancient tradition and musty ritual, but police assaults? Riding a motorcycle through an army of the possessed? This time it’s very modern, very large, and very daunting.” For all his concerns, he burned with a resolve greater than Donovan had sensed in Braithwaite and the helicopter pilot. “Still, only the dead face no change.
We
persist.”

“We’ll do more than that.”

“
If
we avoid overconfidence. You must know
exactly
where you will ride, and it can’t be far. If you stay too long in range the possessed
will
catch you.”

“I’ll make it through Valdes’s mob. I’ll get her free. Once I do I need somewhere safe to take her, but what does ‘safe’ mean? Hallowed ground? A church?”

“Mephistopheles himself wouldn’t be stopped by one,” the priest said. “According to Marlowe, he and Faustus played tricks on the Pope in Rome, after all. Mephistopheles’ acolytes, though, will be unable to follow you into a church without great suffering.”

“Considering the stakes, I think it’s a safe bet they won’t let that stop them.” Donovan gripped the spire tighter. “But I won’t let them have Joann.”

“On Central Park West there are at least half dozen churches between the Lawn and here. Any of them will do; the closest may be the Universalist Church on West 76
^th
Street. But Donovan—there’s something else we have to address. The worst case scenario.”

“You mean if we’re too late, and she’s already been possessed by Mephistopheles? I thought about it.” Donovan took in a deep, resolute breath. “I
won’t
let it happen.”

“It may be out of your hands.”

Donovan half-turned away and stopped, rubbing his palm down the leg of his jeans. “Then…you can use the Orison on her, too. A ‘concentrated Rite of Exorcism’ sounds like the right way to handle a Prince of Hell.”

“Without a doubt, but as I said, the subject for the exorcism has to be present. We must hold her physical form to perform it, and we
are
discussing a Prince of Hell.”

This point Donovan hadn’t considered. “You have thoughts, I hope?”

“Actually—” Father Carroll spoke slowly, as if he didn’t want to raise expectations. “Goethe
did
have something to say on the subject.” He closed his eyes to read the passage from his memory. “Faust is dismissing Mephistopheles to bring the bargain for his soul to Lucifer. He begins by saying:

‘Here is the window, here the door,

A chimney there, if that’s preferred.’

“Mephistopheles replies:

‘I cannot leave you that way, I deplore;

By a small obstacle I am deterred;

The witch’s foot on your threshold, see—’

“Faust:

‘The pentagram distresses you?’

“If Goethe is to be believed, Mephistopheles can’t cross a threshold with a pentagram.”

“If Goethe is to be believed, Faust and Mephistopheles spent their time engaging in civilized philosophical debate, not doing…this.” Donovan’s lips made a thin line. “Think we can trust it?”

“It’s not the sort of thing I’d like to try without testing, but we both know the pentagram is a powerful magical symbol.”

“Like we have a choice anyways.” Donovan watched Clark, Yarborough and the captains on the other side of Columbus Circle. He saw Fullam break away from the group and start towards them. It triggered an idea that made him laugh. “Dragging a possessed Joann anywhere is crazy. It’ll never work. If we’re too late and she’s been possessed, I’ll have to do the only sensible thing.”

“Which is?”

“I’ll have to make Mephistopheles so mad he chases me.”

***

He wasn’t
human.

Joann wasn’t sure whether she was thinking or saying the words aloud. She was sure of nothing anymore, ever since she’d seen whatever Coeus had become.

This is impossible. Valdes is just a murderer. He kidnapped me, he drugged these people, but that’s not supernatural. He must have given Coletun some kind of make-up, some cosmetic contact lenses. His methods are bizarre, but he’s still just a murderer.

He’s just a man.

In her mind, she sounded less than convinced. The suffering around her created a wellspring of emotion, but to empathize with the tortured would have drowned her. A wisp of anger curled around her doubt.

Where
are
you, Donovan?

A cool, slippery touch on her forehead made her gasp. She opened her eyes and saw Faustus standing before her, smearing some kind of oil on her forehead, cheeks and chin. Her nose twitched at the musk in the oil. As he moved, he spoke in a low, singsong chant: