Soul Ink (7 page)

Crazy archangels killing people for fun was new, even in my book. After seven years in the Agency business, that said a lot. Still, the key thing about working with the Fairy Godfather was, he always had a plan. Always. “All right, Grimm. You slaughtered some bunnies and came up with a way to avoid a massacre?”

“Not exactly.” Not exactly was the closest Grimm ever came to saying he didn’t know. “I’ve determined what your roles as witness must be. Marissa, you must bring an offering. The usual accepted one is a human head from an unwilling victim. Arianna, you will ring bells at the midnight chapel to celebrate the transformation.”

“Why do I have to be the bell ringer?” Ari’s tone came dangerously close to whining.

“Fine,” I said. “You get to carry the head.”

Grimm nodded. “There are no bells at the midnight chapel, which will make fulfilling that requirement difficult. I’d prefer that any risk be conferred on Marissa.”

Liam growled, a rumble which matched my opinion, then spoke. “Bells are easy to make. I don’t do much casting but that doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“It isn’t a question of capability, but material,” said Grimm. “The midnight chapel’s original bell wasn’t accidentally lost. It was destroyed to make it a place of dark magic. Any replacement would need similar qualities to the original.”

“You find the metal, I’ll make the bell,” said Liam. “Listen, this rampage sounds like it’s going to make a real mess out of the city. I just got my studio rebuilt from the last fire, and I’m fairly certain my insurance doesn’t cover ‘acts of archangels.’ At least, not without a large deductible. Any ideas on how to stop the ritual?”

Grimm shook his head. “The part which matters is not a ‘speak now or forever accept your damnation.’ It’s the inscription of Inferno’s creed on the angel’s skin. He will use the souls given him to stain himself forever.”

I barely managed to contain my version of “That’s stupid.” Because the archangel wasn’t the only one to draw on himself in permanent marker. Instead, I decided to tackle something I could actually help with. “I’m going to go chop off a head.”

“Marissa!” Ari’s tone matched what I called her “about to smack Marissa” state.

“Chill,” I said, nodding to the frost forming around her. “
I’ve
got a plan.”

•   •   •

While Liam went back to his studio to build a casting mold, and Grimm consulted the auguries to determine a location of magic metal, Ari and I took a trip across Kingdom. When I arrived at the museum, I headed straight for the ticket-booth door.

“He’s still dead,” said the other ticket taker.

“Good,” said Ari. “We need his head for an unholy ritual.”

The young ticket taker shot to his feet and pounded on the glass. “No way in hell would Fred agree to that.”

“Perfect. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I looked around for a chainsaw and came up blank. Ditto on pocket knives, and in fact, butter knives. With one hand, I dragged the deceased ticket taker out of the booth and flopped him in the museum lobby.

And an idea occurred to me.

I met the gaze of the terrified ticket taker, now huddling in his booth. “Is the exhibit on battle axes still in the west wing? If so, I’ll take three tickets, please.”

•   •   •

A few minutes later, while the fire alarm blared on one end of the museum, I helped Ari stuff the body back in the ticket booth.

“He’s missing his head,” shouted the young man. “Don’t you think people will notice?”

Ari carefully put the museum uniform hat in place atop the bloody shoulders. “There we go. Just tell folks he’s dozing and put his head down for a nap. On the floor.”

She caught up to me on the street, and folded a set of museum passes into her purse. “Next week is Gwendolyn’s birthday. I’m hoping she dies of boredom.”

Gwendolyn, Ari’s stepmother, ranked near the top of people I’d rather see in a ticket booth without a head. She’d kicked Ari out of the family, and if it weren’t for Grimm, Ari wouldn’t even be allowed to set foot in Kingdom.

Speaking of Grimm, I called him from a nearby window. “I’ve got the housewarming present. Any idea on bells?”

Grimm nodded. “I do, but you’re not going to like it. I’ve located a source of suitable metal to cast a new bell for the chapel, but doing so may destroy the only way to remove your tattoo.”

“Aiyn’s Press?” I asked.

“Indeed. The brass from which it is carved is blessed, and will serve perfectly for a new bell.”

Ari gasped, and bolt of static electricity jumped from her hand to me. “I know what to do!”

“Bell ringers pull the rope,” I said. “People have managed it for years.”

Ari actually had a fairly decent “assistant stare,” when she worked at it. “No. I know how we can remove that stupid tattoo and still deliver the bell.”

Grimm raised one eyebrow. “Well?”

“Let’s see.” Ari stopped and leaned up against a building, her lips moving in soundless words. “If it’s the metal that makes that fork work, shouldn’t a bell made from it have the same properties?”

“Perhaps,” said Grimm. “I can’t really say. The press is effective due to proximity. A bell would not be. And in order to avoid damage to Marissa’s arm, the process of removing the tattoo would take hours we don’t have. Master Stone should be casting now if he is to have it ready by midnight.”

“Do it,” I said. “I picked up something from the tattoo shop which should make extracting the fae ink possible, but the ink isn’t cooperating.”

Grimm nodded. “I’m sure it’s clinging to you. When this over, I will find a way to break it down. Assuming you survive, my dear.”

•   •   •

We spent the rest of the day at Liam’s forge, while he worked. By the time Ari and I arrived, Liam had a large clay mold set up, and Aiyn’s Press glowed golden white in the forge.

Grimm observed the work from a shaving mirror I’d brought from Liam’s bathroom. “Arianna, how would you feel about attempting a spell with my blessing?”

Ari sat in the corner, flipping through a shopping catalogue, but at “spell” she sat up. “That didn’t go so well last time.”

“Indeed,” said Grimm, “but I was thinking a less complex spell. One more in line with your nature, perhaps easier for you to fold and shape the magic.”

“I’m game.” Ari stood. “What do I do?”

“I’d like to improve the odds the metal retains its magic disrupting capabilities. To do so, when Mr. Stone casts the bell, you will bless it. It’s a minor spell, meant to enhance qualities which already exist. We’ll practice on Mr. Stone first.”

“Try again,” I said. Practice on Liam was something I disagreed with, whether the practice was magic or medical. “Practice is what corpses are for. Malpractice is what Ari does with magic.”

“Princess, let us discuss this in private,” said Grimm. He jumped to Ari’s compact and began to instruct her in whispers.

Liam stirred the foundry pot where Aiyn’s Press had become Aiyn’s Puddle. After what felt like hours, he tested the metal and nodded. “It’s ready.”

Ari stood and drew in power, but this time, it flowed toward her with purpose. She stared ahead, her eyes unfocused as her hands trembled. Light took shape on her fingertips, then sparked between her and Liam.

“What did you just do?” I shot to my feet, standing between them.

“Calm down, M,” said Liam. “That didn’t hurt a bit.”

Easy for him to say—he didn’t wind up with ethanol poisoning from Ari’s last spell. “What did you do?”

Ari looked to Grimm. “Did I do it right?”

Grimm nodded. “She’s only enhanced his finer qualities. He was a calm, gentle man before. He is more so now. It should allow him better control of his curse.”

Liam cast him a doubtful glance. “I can’t tell a difference, but if you two are done playing magic, I’ve got metal to work.”

“Arianna, now is the time,” said Grimm. “Exactly as you did with Mr. Stone, but focus, and hold this thought: The bell disrupts magic. Not destroys. Disrupts. You must focus on this aspect.”

A wind rose from nowhere, blowing from the corners toward Ari. Her hair rose, and the pile of papers on Liam’s desk scattered into the forge.

Liam hefted the foundry pot and poured it slowly into the casting. Wax poured from the vent holes as the metal boiled in, until the last molten drop slipped out. Once Liam returned the foundry pot, he banked the forge and sat back, sweat pouring from his skin.

And Ari continued to draw power, until her skin glowed an unhealthy white.

“That’s more than enough, princess,” Grimm shouted over the gale.

Where light grew on Ari’s hand before, it blasted this time, exploding out into the bell, shattering the casting vent, and soaking into the metal like rain in the desert.

Ari took two steps forward and stumbled, landing on her knees. She gasped for breath, then looked up, a look of wild triumph on her face. “Ring it.”

“Can’t,” said Liam. He broke the cast away from the bell, ignoring the fact that it was still hot enough to burn through the floor. “I need to fix the clapper in place, but we can’t ring it until the metal cools. That’ll take an hour at least, and if you rush it, it’ll crack.”

Grimm tapped on his mirror for our attention, and waited. “Ladies, we have less than two hours to reach the midnight chapel. I must insist we leave now.”

“I’m coming,” said Liam. “I’m sick of Marissa having all the fun.”

“Very well,” said Grimm, “you may at least accompany Marissa to the chapel door.”

Liam, escorting me to a church? It felt a bit sudden, but I could get used to the thought given time. We took a cab to Williamsburg and stopped in front of an abandoned sugar factory.

“Ladies, you want to enter the basement, then the subbasement. You’ll find the chapel entrance at the back.” Grimm motioned from the side windows. “Mr. Stone, you may find the chapel will not admit you, because you are not considered a witness, and I doubt Haniel has you on his guest list.”

“Seriously?” Liam pounded the factory door in frustration, accidentally knocking it out of the door frame. “Why don’t I ever get the fun parts?”

“Because you are considered half of an endangered species,” said Grimm. “Marissa and Arianna cannot be harmed by the archangel while they bear witness, but even reaching the chapel door can involve facing horrors most men quail before.”

“How’d they name this place?” Ari asked as we walked through abandoned factory lines.

It took Grimm several minutes to find a place that could hold him. A green glass bottle outside the basement stairs caught his reflection well enough for him to answer. “Built in utter blackness, the sunlight can never shine. In this chapel, it is always midnight. Once, monks held services here to deprive darkness its home.”

These sorts of stories didn’t end well, in my experience. “And?”

“The usual. A bellboy betrayed them in return for a chance to see the sun again. He smashed the bell and threw open the chapel doors.” Grimm faded from the bottle as we entered the subbasement, but not before he added, “The carnage left their order much like the brothers. Ruined.”

Subbasements, for the record, exist to house machinery which services other machinery. The rot of ages lay on the machinery, where roots had grown through the walls and hung in tangles from the ceiling. In the darkness, whispers of movements proved to be albino rats the length of my arm. With blind eyes, they fled even my penlight.

“Be,” said Ari. A foxfire burst into existence, lighting the basement in pale green light.

A familiar tug on my spirit said I was in for trouble. My blessings had apparently slept in, but the presence of free magic was like dangling a steak in front of a pair of bulldogs. “Blessing? Curse? Easy, now.”

Speaking their names fed them in a different way, but I suspected it was the difference between dog food and steak. They might accept the names, but what they really wanted to do was tear Ari’s creation into screaming scraps of pure magic.

At the back of the subbasement, behind a pile of burlap bags, lay a rusted door. At least, I told myself, it was rust, and not dried blood. With one kick, Liam broke the top hinge, with the second, he flattened the door completely.

Darkness leaked beyond it, fouling the light, hissing, searing where my penlight swiped it like a blade. And to my surprise, Liam stepped through the door without problem. From beyond, he called, his voice muffled. “M, sweetheart, this is not good.”

Taking a deep breath, I stepped through and walked down a tunnel of rock that pressed me lower and lower with each step. With the last step, I emerged into a cavern the size of a football stadium. And at last I understood Liam’s statement.

Liam set down the bell gingerly, taking care to not let it ring, and took my hand. “How do you plan to deal with that?”

It wasn’t the chapel. It was a chapel in name only, with dark spires that stabbed the inky ceiling, and walls washed in bloodred torches. Like the designer of a quaint country church went insane, and built his next creation from the bones of ancient creatures.

I owned a time-share in Jersey that was way worse.

The line of horrific creatures waiting outside the chapel, on the other hand, constituted a problem. I opened my purse and flipped out my compact. “Grimm, you see this?”

He surveyed the chapel, and whistled, long and low. “I see.”

“And you have a plan for how to get in, right?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“I hate to interrupt,” said Liam, “but we’re not exactly drowning in time. And we’ve been spotted.”

One by one, creatures composed mostly of eyes, or without any eyes, or composed of improbable geometry turned to look at us.

“Magic?” I glanced to Ari. She had a habit of throwing the odd elemental blast on demand. And also the occasional shower of daisies.

“No way. Not if you want me to be able to ring that thing when I get in.” Ari picked up the bell with both hands, grunting.

“Mr. Stone?” Grimm flickered in my mirror. “I was wondering if this might meet your qualifications for fun. You should be aware, those serpentine creatures on the far side are ice drakes. You should avoid direct contact, or, in fact, any form of contact.”

I’d never looked them up in the
Beast Lexicon
, but the ice drakes resembled silver anacondas with stumpy legs. Frost formed on the rocks around them.

Liam wasn’t used to encountering anything that could harm him. While it was true that having the flu nearly burned down his house, in general, the bonuses outweighed the downsides. It wasn’t like men didn’t think with their primitive hindbrains most of the time anyway. The dragon portion of him just did it more often.

“Okay,” said Liam. “Here’s how it works: When you see the signal, you run like hell for the doors.” He sauntered toward the line of creatures, rubbing his hands together.

“You should have asked him what the signal was,” said Ari.

I took the bell from her and handed her the bag with the head. “I have a feeling we won’t be able to miss it.”

Liam shouted, his voice echoing in the mist. “Gather round, folks. Gather round. You—” He pointed to an ice drake. “Come here for a moment.”

With each step, the chorus of horrors surrounded him. And yet, he remained calm, his voice level.

“Go,” whispered Ari, bumping me toward the chapel.

Though I kept one eye on the door, I spent most of my time watching a cluster of nightmares gather tighter and tighter around a man I had no intention of letting go.

A screaming shriek rose through the chapel as one of the ice serpents whipped backwards, its eyes ruined pits of charred flesh. And the snickers of monsters seeing an easy meal became the shrieks of hunters being hunted.

For one moment, I caught sight of Liam. Well, the dragon curse that inhabited him. It rose, swiping with stubby claws on a creature with at least a thousand eyes. The cost in contact lenses for that many eyes would bankrupt a small nation.

I left monster-mashing to my boyfriend and ran for the chapel as fast as I could.

Strangely, even the denizens who saw us didn’t bother turning to come after us. They simply watched us run with grins on what I hoped were faces. When we reached the stairs, I understood why a parade of horrors waited outside. A shimmering wall of swirling darkness covered the doors.

“This is what Grimm meant when he said Liam couldn’t enter,” said Ari. “This is the equivalent of a magical turnstile.”

I hefted the bell and ran straight for it. Either I’d be right or my face would ring a bell.

The barrier loomed above me, oozing back and forth as I leaped toward it—and beyond. Beside me, Ari choked and sputtered.

“Your mouth must not have been open.” She spat again. “That was like swallowing spiders.”

“How many spiders have you swallowed?”

“I had three older sisters with a nasty sense of humor. Spiders were practically a snack food in our house.”

I’d never thought being an only child might have advantages. The inside of the chapel couldn’t have contrasted more with the outside. The tile sparkled with immaculate white glitter, and soft elevator music played overhead.

Ari opened her mirror and called Grimm “We’re in. Where does the bell go?”

“The same place a princess goes,” said Grimm. “The tower. Don’t fear—you can both observe the ceremony from the loft.”

“Check on Liam. Is he okay?” I would have tried to contact him by bracelet, but the dragon had never really embraced speech of any sort. Violence and fire were its native tongue.

Grimm didn’t answer for far too long. “He’s not dead. You may thank him later. Though Haniel may not harm you, I am certain the guests for his ascension ceremony would not be so constrained.”

Of course not. No wonder Haniel hadn’t minded my presence. “I’ll make it up to Liam. Why is the inside of this place not trashed?”

“Everything about the midnight chapel was designed to withstand the test of time, except the people who inhabited it.” Grimm pointed to the left. “Up the stairs to the belfry. Though I should warn you—it is unlikely to be empty.”

I shifted the bell in my grasp. Large, heavy, and metal, I considered it perfect for clubbing in confined spaces. Ari slipped the bag over her shoulder and pulled her gun out. And up the stairs we went. Midway up, the stairs opened to a loft, where I assume a choir once slept through services. The bell rope hung down all the way to the loft floor. We continued on up toward the belfry with caution.

Grimm said the belfry wouldn’t be empty. Empty can mean good things. “No, there are no monsters in here.” Or mean bad things like “Your gas tank is on E.” Empty in no way described the room at the top of the tower. Though I’d never heard about the siege of the midnight chapel, I had a good feeling I knew how it ended: with brother after brother climbing the stairs, desperate to ring the bell. And brother upon brother killed by knife blade as they entered the room. Their dessicated corpses littered the room, sunken sockets still staring toward the ceiling. And what remained of the last bell lay shattered on the floor.

I loved Liam. His art was his life, and he could bend and twist metal to make shapes and designs I could only imagine. But bell-work was not his forte. Liam’s bell shone a dull brass color, without decoration or enhancement. Only a thick metal bead at the lip adorned it.

The original bell, on the other hand, had been made by a bell master, spun from the inside, balanced, and then engraved with runes which no doubt enhanced its power. Even the shards called out to be rung.

The bell mount waited, a long cord descending to the loft below. With Ari’s help, we lifted the bell into place, letting it rest in the rocker.

“How did Liam know this would fit?”

Grimm appeared in the surface of a broken bell shard. “I gave him the dimensions. Since I commissioned the original bell, matching the specifications was trivial.”

“Ari, you want to give it a try?” I gave the rope a test heft.

And nearly collapsed as an iron blanket of evil descended on the chapel. Imagine a quilt made of lead, and the inside of the quilt is lined with wiggling roach legs. That’s the feeling that covered me as Haniel entered the chapel. I couldn’t see the chapel sanctuary from the belfry, but instinctively, I knew this was the case.

Ari sagged for a moment, then stood up, exerting her will. For all the times I made fun of her as a princess, she had an advantage here.

“Let it begin,” shouted Haniel from below. His voice shook the floors, yet the bell didn’t so much as hum. “Who bears witness to my ascension?”

“That is your cue, ladies.” Grimm pointed to the stairs. “I wish you luck.”

What I wished for was an angel-slaying sword, or better yet, an angel-slaying fully automatic rifle. But luck would do in a pinch. We dashed down the stairs two at a time and peeked our heads over the chapel loft railing. “I’m here,” I shouted.

And that was about the moment where I got a good glimpse at Haniel. If I’d worried about falling prey to his unearthly aura, I feared it no longer. No, from his appearance, there were so many, many more things to fear.

His once-perfect dark brown skin now played host to a wasteland of cankerous sores, and he’d bloated. Not become fat, but the type of ripening a corpse gets when laid out in the sun for three to four weeks. Where when you pick it up, the arms are going to pull lose, and you wind up shoveling it into a wheelbarrow. I knew this from experience.

“Bow before my magnificence,” said Haniel.

As one of the sores on his chest ruptured, Ari gagged, which looked close enough to a bow.

“Where is my ascension gift?” He looked from me to Ari.

I tossed the bag, head and all, over the railing, where it bounced to his feet.

Haniel glared at the dessicated head and hissed, “Where are my guests?”

The demon we’d seen before stood behind Haniel. I thought Liam had torn him to pieces, but apparently demons were more durable than I thought. “Master, the ritual must be completed soon.”

“So be it,” said Haniel. “Ring the bells to announce my decision.” Haniel took out the knife I’d seen him hold before and sliced the top off a skull. The glowing eyes went dark, but inside, a puddle of liquid night oozed.

And Haniel’s body began to glow, shining with brilliant golden runes, even among the sores.

“Marissa,” said Ari. “We’ve got to get out of here. You can’t see magic, but what’s happening down there is going to stain everything in the chapel with evil.”

I couldn’t look away as the demon dipped Haniel’s knife in the blackness, and then began to trace a rune, carving into the flesh. As the demon cut, Haniel’s skin blistered and crisped.

“Marissa.” Ari yanked me by the hair. “We agreed to ring the bell. So do it
now.
” One day she’d make a great boss. I followed her over to the thick bell cord. Ari gave it an experimental tug, then threw her weight against it.

The answering tone stopped time. Where Aiyn’s Press had made my tattoo burn with fire, the tone of the reforged bell tore apart my mind. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. If the chapel had fallen on me right there, I would never have known.

Somewhere in my head, a voice began to whisper. A crowd of voices, in a crowd of shapes. That damned tattoo was choosing now to assert itself.

“M?”

I opened my eyes to see Ari kneeling over me. “What?”

“I don’t know what that bell is doing to you, but it’s not good. Thank Kingdom I’m a princess. And if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll say you lied.”

With a feeble flail I gestured to my purse. “It’s not just the bell. The tattoo.” My lips went numb as the whispers in my head rose to a roar. “Get needles.” Because while the bell had rung a number on me, it’d left the tattoo a puddle of glowing ink just under my skin, a puddle which now stretched out along my arm, twisting and arcing in a mesh pattern. A net, meant to capture me.

Ari took the box of thorn needles out and stopped. “I’m going to ring it a few more times. Don’t bite your tongue.”

I steeled myself for a tone that shattered my consciousness. Pain is a word. What it did to me didn’t have words. It had only the end of existence. And then, somewhere in the distance, something pricked me, over and over.

“It’s working, M.” Ari took out one thorn and stabbed another point. Each thorn dripped with glowing fae ink as she removed it.

After several seconds, Ari pulled on my arm. “Sit up. I need you to hit something.”

I gave the floor a punch, and fell over. My fist throbbed, and my arm bled from a dozen punctures. But the floor remained unbroken.

“Yes,” screamed Haniel. “Finish it.”

I risked a glance in his direction. Only a few golden runes remained, and Haniel, well, he wasn’t the angel of grace anymore. More like the angel of gangrenous sores. The chapel began to shake, and the floor crumbled in places.

“What the hell?” Ari looked back at me

I finally understood. “Keep ringing the bell. I’m going to rain on Haniel’s parade.” I took the thorns, cradling them with care, and tiptoed along the edge of the loft until I stood over Haniel. The thorns didn’t cause pain, said the tattoo artist.

The ink couldn’t be removed once set, said Grimm.

Haniel held up his arms as the demon began carving the final runes on his chest.

I picked up a thorn, throwing it like a dart, right as Ari pulled on the bell.

If I had to, I couldn’t tell you where the thorn went. As my head cleared, I pushed myself up. This time, I was ready for the next blow. If I held my breath and concentrated, I could almost think. Again, the bell rang its peal of dissonance.

As the effects wore off, I seized a thorn and hurled it at Haniel.

Again, and again, I let the noise wash over me and hurled more thorn darts in between. Most missed, but three struck the archangel’s back. I held up a hand to Ari, signaling for her to stop, as the fae ink bled out into Haniel’s skin. It arced and stretched, filling two of the runes and turning another from the sign for “power” into the sign for what I hoped was “surly disposition.”

“I choose a new name,” roared the thing that had once been Haniel. “I am Belzior, the defiler.” With those words, the dark runes smoked, burning. Locking. When the fumes cleared, a misshapen beast hulked where the angel once stood. The runes that had danced with liquid magic now formed solid black scars against his scaly skin.

Belzior looked at his claws, then at the demon. “Where is my power? What have you done?”

“Master,” said Draklor, “there appear to be minor flaws in the inscription of your creed. Fear not, you are still hideous and frightening. So there’s that.”

Belzior’s roar of rage was our cue to leave. I couldn’t say if he was still bound to not harm us, or if my interference with the ritual had voided all warranties. I crawled along the loft edge till I reached Ari.

A wet ripping sound filled the room, and I glanced down into the sanctuary. Belzior held the pulsing heart of his guide demon in one claw, and with glowing eyes, he scanned the loft for us.

“We’ve got to go,” I whispered to Ari as she gave the bell pull one last heave.

The floor of the chapel exploded as a misshapen beast rose from the depths. A beast I recognized, since I’d smashed its nest. The only thing working in my favor was that alligators worked on a “chomp first, ask questions later” mentality. It took one look at Belzior and lunged for him, jaws snapping.

Was a demon a match for a mutant alligator? My money was on yes, so the smart plan of action began and ended at “Get the hell out.” After all, I could claim it went either way later.

Down the stairs we raced, throwing the door to the chapel open. I tried to ignore the roaring of infernal beasts behind us. Looking back would only slow me down, so we sprinted at full speed across the chapel cave.