Faustus Resurrectus (40 page)

She winced, obviously in great pain. “
Mephistopheles, what is the meaning of this?
”

“Forgive my impertinence,
Your Highness
.” He backhanded her, a vicious grin plastered across his face. Lucifer cried out and fell to her knees. “There’s been a change of plan. I won’t be answering to you anymore.”

He looked at the ring, then her.

“Entwine,” he said.

TWENTY-EIGHT

TO RULE IN HELL

F
ather Carroll had never experienced such pain. His legs sagged but he refused to go to his knees, to even
seem
to be kneeling in front of the heliophobic devil. The tightness in his chest screamed that he needed serious medical attention, but there were more pressing concerns to be dealt with.

God give me strength.

“
Do you still feel a burning desire to help me?
” Bridget growled, her voice raspy and warped. “
Or maybe just a burning agony?
” She raised her arm-scythe. “
Let
me
help
you.”

The priest dodged and rolled along the filthy hallway, a deep, agonized groan in his throat. Pain had him writhing, curling him into a ball as he battled the shock that he knew would kill him if he succumbed.
Forget the rules of dealing with the possessed.
“I want to help…all
of
you.
”

“
You can’t help
yourself,
so I guess you can’t help everyone else.
” She stood over him, a prizefighter taunting a knockdown.

“You don’t understand—this is not about
me
. My pain is temporary. Yours won’t be, if you don’t seek forgiveness.” Something inside shifted, and his strength waned. “
Please
. Let me help you.”

“
Stop asking me that!
”

“Soon enough, I won’t have a choice.”

“
Shut up, shut up,
shut up!” Bridget whipped her arm-scythe up threateningly. “
You won’t have a choice now!
”

Lowering his head, Father Carroll whispered something.

“
What? What did you say? Don’t you try to use no magic on me!
” She started to shrink back on herself before she recognized what she was doing, and stopped.

“No…magic. That’s not…what I do.”

“
Then what did you say?
”

His head lolled back in semi-consciousness. Bridget shook him to full awareness. “I asked God,” he hacked up a wad of blood, “to forgive you, as I have. You know not what you’re doing.”

She thrust him away, flapping her hands. “
Don’t you do that! Don’t you dare forgive me! I killed you! You’re going to die because of me! You can’t forgive me for that!
”

In all his pain, lying in the filth of the abandoned Cancer Hospital, Father Carroll somehow managed to smile. “I already have.”

“
No, no,
no!” She screamed and dug her scythe into the corridor wall, tearing chunks of wood, plasterboard and brick. “
I didn’t ask you to forgive me! You ain’t got the
right
!
”

“Forgiveness isn’t a right bestowed by man, my child. It’s a gift from God, given freely. I give it freely to you.” He wiped a clammy hand across the sweat on his forehead. “If I am to die here, now, I can think of no better legacy to leave.”

Bridget’s nose sniffed this unfamiliar perspective. Father Carroll blacked out…

…and came to.

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the decapitated rabbit head. He jerked to a sitting position. Bridget cocked her head. “
I thought you was dead.
”

“Soon, I think.” Every word felt pulled from his mouth with pliers. “I’m going to pray now. Would you like to join me?”

The suggestion shocked her. She shook her head and scurried to the other side of the hall. “
What? No! I can’t—I can’t
pray!”

“I’ll help you with the words. They aren’t difficult.” The cross on the gold chain had miraculously survived the attack and remained around his neck. He clutched it in his trembling fingers.

She shifted her weight on her feet. “
Why don’t you just die? I killed you. Why aren’t you dead?
”

“Perhaps because my…work here isn’t…finished.”

“
Leave me alone! Just leave me alone! Don’t forgive me! Don’t save me! I don’t want it, I don’t deserve it! Just leave me alone!
”

“I could never do that. Nothing is worse than being left alone.”

“
You’re dying! That’s worse—
”

“But I’m not alone,” he said softly. His eyes cleared for a second as he focused them on her. “And I notice that your words sound less diabolic and more like the woman you are, Bridget. You
can
fight. You
can
be forgiven your sins. It’s never too late to seek God.”

She stared at him for long seconds. Outside on Central Park West, a lone siren raced by. The candles of the gateway sputtered, casting shadow-fingers along the ceiling above them.

“
I’m—
” The dam broke. She collapsed in a heap at his feet, sobbing inconsolably. Her voice, like her words, was now human. “I’m sorry…”

“Ssh. Ssh. I’ve already forgiven you, my child. I’ve already forgiven you.”

“Please—help me. Make it stop! Take it away!”

He struggled to kneel beside her. She slapped his outreaching hand away and suddenly sprang to her feet, her face twisting and reforming. Her mouth stretched impossibly wide to reveal rows of churning, grinding teeth before snapping back into the plain, doughy features she’d worn all her life.

“
God damn you! You’re going to suffer
—no!”

Screaming obscenities, she bolted into one of the rooms off the corridor. Father Carroll heard wood shatter. He lurched upright and staggered after her. A sickening water balloon splatter painted the courtyard. Bridget’s body had landed and impaled on an iron signpost jutting up from the cracked concrete.

“Oh, God,” he groaned.

Like blood, a black shadow leaked from her prone body. Without a living human host it was drawn back to the gateway, shrieking soundlessly at the priest as it passed. He leaned away to give it a wide berth. When it had gone he made the sign of the cross towards her body. “Your work is finished. God
will
forgive you, my child.” His breath hitched in his throat. “My work, however, remains to be done.”

He gripped the windowsill until the pain passed. Blue-black fluid mixed with the blood running down his legs. Determined to face whatever the Lord had in mind for him on his feet, he straightened and staggered back to the corridor. The iron spire was where he’d dropped it.

He retrieved it and, keeping pressure on his wound, headed for the portal.

***

The drive up from Columbus Circle had been tense—Fullam had been monitoring the radio frequency the police were using. What he’d heard so far filled him with both dread and determination. A few minor roadblocks the cultists had thrown up proved no physical obstacle, but the dark smears left behind on the fire truck’s windshield worked on his psyche, especially after the wiper-wash had failed to completely clean them.

When he wrenched the wheel to go off-road from the East Drive towards the Great Lawn, he hit all the lights and the siren. He pulled the air horn before wrapping his arms around the steering wheel and bracing himself. Crashing through the brush bounced him in his seat but he kept his eyes focused straight ahead. To do otherwise would invite the worst sort of speculation about what he was seeing. He thought about being “in the Twilight Zone” and a smile of gallows humor spread across his face.

“‘A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are those of imagination’,” he quoted softly. “That’s the signpost up ahead…’”

At the bottom of the Lawn, a circle of flame burned down to embers. He turned towards it. As he got closer, in the truck’s headlights, he saw “Welcome” spelled out in what looked like human limbs. Surrounding the word were stakes driven into the grass, stakes topped by decapitated heads.

Jesus Christ…

The sight disturbed and infuriated him, but at the same time he felt a surge of confidence. He would make a difference, maybe
the
difference, in everything because of what Donovan and Maurice had shared with him. Whatever arcane knowledge they possessed, he believed it more potent here than a squadron of Cobra attack helicopters. He stomped the gas pedal and pointed the nose of the truck towards the chaos.

Yarborough saw him first, and began to jump up and down, flagging him over. Fullam gritted his teeth and swerved around the bodies of several officers. The derelicts in his path scattered. When they saw where he was aiming, the police also dove for cover. At the last moment he slammed on the brakes, skidding on the dirt of the softball field. The fire truck’s nose plowed into the structure, shattering its headlights but crumpling the barrier like a recyclable can.

Fullam leapt down and ran around the truck’s side. He pulled one end of a rope, and an enormous racket clanged down the back. “Take these!” he shouted, gesturing at the pile of iron spires he’d released.

“Your plan to help is
this
?” Yarborough sputtered. “What—what are these things?”

Fullam didn’t answer. His eyes went wide, and he lunged to grab a spire. Yarborough gaped as the sergeant threw him aside and swung the iron bar. It connected at its apex with the scythe-blade a cultist had swung at the chief’s head. Fullam wrestled the scythe to one side, kicked the cultist in the groin, then whipped the spire around and cracked the cultist’s kneecap. The cultist screamed, an unearthly howl full of pain and indignation, and scuttled into the dark.

“Fuckin’
A
, Frank!” Darenelli hefted one like a baseball bat. “
Now
we’re talking!”

“Get those hostages out of here! All police personnel who can stand fall in!” Shaken, Yarborough sought to regain control. He grabbed Fullam’s arm and spun him around. “I asked you a question, sergeant. Where’s the additional ammunition? The heavier firepower? We need more guns and bullets and you bring us…pieces of
fence?
”

Fullam wrenched his arm free. “Guns and bullets been working for you so far, chief?”

“Goddammit, sergeant, I will
not
tolerate your insubordination—”

“
Kill the rest!
”

One cultist growled it and the rest picked up the chant as they regrouped. For a second, nobody moved. The only illumination came from sparse torches and the revolving lights atop the fire truck.

“Fuck!” Darenelli swore from somewhere in the dark.

Fullam grabbed a nozzle from the side of the fire truck and carried it with him as he climbed on top. “Fall back to me!” he shouted, waving one arm. “Everybody, fall back!”

All around them the white shapes gathered, flickering in and out of sight as the lights revolved. “
Kill the rest!
”

The sergeant pulled a radio from his coat. “Bring the trucks!

“
Now!
”

***

Lucifer climbed slowly to her feet. Donovan thought she looked more curious than anything. No dirt clung to her in spite of where she’d fallen. She still looked perfect. “
You’ve…bound Us. To this female.
” She extended her hand. “
With this ring.
”

My engagement ring
.

“
Cornelius Valdes?
” She raised a hand to her face. No mark bruised her perfect visage. “
What is the meaning of this?
”

Astonished by this turn, Valdes could only gape.

“The ‘meaning’? You’re Lucifer. First of the Fallen. God’s favorite, before…” Mephistopheles slowly circled her. “Don’t you
know
?”

The meaning of what she’d said hit Donovan, and he felt blood drain from his face. He repeated the words softly. “You bound her.”

“What’s going on?” Valdes managed to ask. “You said ‘entwine.’ Is that like the binding spell Faustus cast on the gateway?”

“More powerful is the binding for humans,” Faustus confirmed. “Lucifer is trapped inside the Vessel until she is—”

Donovan tried to shut out the word.

“Dead,” Mephistopheles finished.

“
In binding Us to the Vessel you have limited Our access to Reality. Limited, but not prevented. Nothing of this world harms Us lest We will it.
”

“I’m looking forward to testing that claim.” Mephistopheles grinned. “Believe me.”

A golden throne, upholstered with living flesh and adorned by skulls and fresh hearts, appeared onstage. The Prince of Darkness moved towards it.

“What is this…?” Donovan said in disbelief. “You’ve done this to my fiancée for some kind of…
political gain?
”

“When the Ruler of Desire usurps the Throne of Hell, it’s a bit more impressive than a ‘coup.’” Mephistopheles sat on the throne and narrowed his eyes at him. The peak of his robe’s hood formed a vulture beak above his forehead. “You come here soaked in holy water and armed with blessed iron. You resist my will and come very close to disrupting my intentions. Neil, who is this person?”

“His name is Donovan Graham. He’s the Vessel’s fiancée.” Valdes continued to process everything, and he spoke in a distracted manner. “I, I still don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

“Why? After everything you’ve done and endured, you ask
why?
” Mephistopheles paused, his restraint palpable. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s ever experienced the unfairness of reality, Neil? Do you think you’re the only one who’s ever done something about it? My existence has ever been one of bondage, fulfilling the desires of others. Why? Because I was
ordered
to.” He sneered. “What sort of prince is a servant?”

“
Desire
is
a servant, not a master.
” One corner of Lucifer’s mouth rose, truly interested but not in any way threatened. “
Reality is not decided by the whims of desire. It cannot be, for desire is transitory. You, the Devil of the Bargain, ought to recognize that. Reality is eternal, and you must find your place in it to become part of it.
”

“I
have
found my place.” Mephistopheles settled back on the throne. “And I rather like the view from here.”