The First Sacrament (The Demons of Stone Chapel Book 1) (33 page)

“Understand
what?
Where are you taking me?”

He didn’t answer.

“Brother Luke!” I reached for his shoulder to get his attention and he jumped like he thought I was going to attack him. The car lurched hard to the right, skimming the curb of the sidewalk. For a second, I thought we were going to crash into a convenience store, but he corrected himself quickly and we swerved abruptly back into our lane. “If you don’t tell me where we’re going right now, I swear to God—”

“God wants me to do this, Beatrice!” The force of his shout made me recoil back into my seat. “Don’t you see that? This entire city is
festering
with sin and nobody wants to do anything about it!”

…Except for Amarax.

That’s why Brother Luke was doing this. Elias Cromwell succumbed to the same delusion.
God spoke to me last night…

I had two options here. Option One: I could let the demonically influenced man drive me to my doom, presumably at the church. I probably wouldn’t get the chance to maneuver my way out of the situation there because Amarax wasn’t stupid and more than likely brought a lot of backup with him. Option Two: I could get out of this car and get to the church on my own. Amarax wouldn’t be able to sacrifice me without a fight, and I might be able to sabotage something in his operation in the meantime.

Yep. I was crashing the car.

“Sorry, Brother Luke.” I dove between the seats and grabbed the steering wheel, turning it as far as it would go. Tires screeched and the car careened violently off the road. Gravity tugged me to the other end of the cabin, but I held on despite its pull. Kiss my ass, gravity, I was going to crash this damn car whether you wanted me to or not.

“No!” Brother Luke shrieked, smashing his hand in my face in an attempt to pry me from the steering wheel. I bit down on his finger and he yelped some more, his foot missing the brake pedal and pressing down harder on the accelerator instead.

The engine revved. The car fishtailed from one side of the street to the other. We sped down the road—or was it the sidewalk now?—and I had no sense of where we were at or what was happening until it was over. I’d set out to crash this damn car. And crash it I did.

Right into a light pole.

The impact of the collision sent me flying forward. The airbags released with a pop and a hiss and Brother Luke slammed into one face first while I somehow managed to miss them, smacking into the cracked windshield instead. Groaning, I fell onto the dashboard and rolled off onto the floor. Pain throbbed in my forehead, the threat of slipping into unconsciousness clawing at the edges of my vision. I struggled against both as I climbed into the passenger’s side seat, pushing the door open to stumble out onto the snow.

Steam billowed from the car’s now crumpled hood. It reminded me of a discarded candy wrapper, metallic and scrunched. I stood there for a moment to get my bearings. I flexed my fingers, poked my ribs. Nothing felt broken. My neck hurt from the whiplash and streak of blood dribbled from my wounded forehead, but both would heal with time and a lot of pain meds.

By all accounts, I’d survived my first car crash. Cool. Now if I could just avoid freezing to death. I didn’t exactly have time to grab my coat before I was dragged away from the party. A serious breach of etiquette on the hooded figures’ behalf.

Shivering, I took a moment to survey my surroundings and come up with a suitable plan of attack. I knew I wanted to crash the car to stop it from getting to the church, and I knew I needed to get to the church, but I didn’t know where I was. I wasn’t very good at planning ahead.

Which was fine. I could fix this. I could totally fix this. One step at a time.

“Okay, let’s see here.” I noted the general appearance of the buildings, ignoring the nausea flaring in my guts. Most were old and decayed by their age, constructed of gray stone or rotting bricks. Windows were boarded up and everything just looked
sad.
That, to me, signaled we were close to the Old Quarter, or at least on its fringes. I figured that if I went a few blocks west, I’d be back near my apartment building and, by default, close to the church.

That was my end goal. The church. I had to get there. Not as a victim, but a hero. Amarax couldn’t win. I wasn’t letting him.

But first, I needed to get rid of my escort.

I crept around to the driver’s side of the car and peeked into the tinted window. Brother Luke stirred inside, groaning and rubbing his eyes. If I wasn’t heading straight for hell before all this happened, I was definitely going there now, because…Well…

I opened his door and he blinked against the flickering light the pole still managed to provide, even after I crashed the car into it. A wide cut on his cheek gleamed with blood.

“Beatrice,” he slurred, “wha ahh yuh—”

“Sorry again,” I said, and punched him as hard as I could.

He slumped against the airbag. I leaned down to check his breathing. I didn’t want to kill the guy. Just knock him out cold. A visit from my fist seemed to do the trick. Okay. Moving on. Phase Two. Shit. What as Phase Two?

I patted Brother Luke’s pant leg, looking for his cell phone. It wasn’t there. I checked the other one. Nope. I unzipped his coat and reached into his jacket. Found it in one of the pockets.

“Please work, please work,” I poked at its cracked face, pushed the button on the side. An image of the home screen flickered dimly to life. Delighted, I dialed Aralia’s number. Got her voicemail. I tried Dante’s. Got the same response. Max and Sadie didn’t answer either.

911 it was.

The phone rang a couple of times before an operator picked up. “Hello, this is 911, what is your emergency?”

“Hi, uh,” how was I supposed to word this? “I heard from my friend that something really, really bad is going to happen at the church—you know, the big one—and you should send the cops to it right now.”

“Can you elaborate?” The operator asked.

“Sure, I—” The battery icon at the top of the screen flashed red. Shit. “It’s really, really bad, I promise, so just send the cops there, okay?”

“Wait, what’s your—”

The phone went dead.

Thirty-Four

On second thought, maybe I should have let Brother Luke drive.

The walk back to my apartment building was mercifully short because I took a few shortcuts through a garbage filled alleyways, but between the wind and the cold and the snow in my shoes, I felt like a walking popsicle. By the time I made it to the church, I couldn’t feel my toes. Or my hands. Aralia would say this was the price I paid for beauty. If this was what it took to be beautiful, I never wanted to try it ever again.

…I hoped she was okay. I hoped all of them were. We had fruitcake to get to after this whole ordeal was over. Dying or getting hurt or setting forth the end of days would put a serious wrench in my Post-Apocalypse celebration plans.

It occurred to me as I approached the doors of this God forsaken hell hole we called a church that, in a way, I was just retracing the steps I’d taken almost four months ago. When Rosie was still alive, when I still lived in my apartment, when my biggest worry was paying her sanatorium bill on time. I thought things were hard then, but they paled in comparison to what was happening now.

Here I was, standing in the snow and the wind and the cold in a lacey dress and a pair of ballet flats, looking up at the place that started it all. Without it, I wouldn’t have gotten attacked by that dog. Without it, I wouldn’t have met Aralia and she wouldn’t have brought me to Dante. Without it, I might have still been sort of normal. Perish the thought.

Normal wasn’t good enough for me anymore. In small doses, yes, but I couldn’t live it for the rest of my life. I wasn’t destined for it. I didn’t want it. I was destined for something bigger. Something better. Something I fought tooth and nail for.

The girl who came here four months ago looking for a demon to kill wasn’t the girl who stood here now. This new girl was ready to face whatever was beyond those doors. This new girl wouldn’t give in to that malicious voice in her head. She would fight, damn it, because that’s what she did. That’s what she always did. The only difference between now and then was that this girl knew how to use a gun.

“You and me,” I told the church, pointing my numb finger at it. “We have some unfinished business to take care of.”

Keeping with my trend of not thinking things through, I crunched the rest of the way to the doors and pulled them open. Destiny awaited. And I was ready to punch it square in the face.

The smell of blood and incense punched me in mine as soon as I stepped inside.

It looked like services had already started.

The pews were filled from end to end with all manner of blank faced citizens. A nurse in scrubs. A little boy in his pajamas. A woman in a large, floppy hat. Glassy eyes. Stiff posture. A livestock sense of complacency. The chandelier was lit. The torches in their sconces were burning. The cobwebs were dusted from the walls. An entire row of hooded figures stood behind the altar. Dark sentinels keeping watch over their bleeding charge.

“Oh my God!” I wasn’t thinking about me when I ran, tripping on my own frozen feet, down the aisle. “Dante!”

I was thinking about him.

“Dante, oh my God,” I fell to my knees in front of him, took his face in my hands. His eyes were black and his nose was bleeding, his suit in complete disarray. I glanced behind his back and saw his wrists were bound by a thick chain, the skin around it peeling and inflamed. Iron poisoning. 

A mangled noise gurgled up from his throat. “Bea-uhh…”

“Yeah,” I said, managing a smile. “It’s me. Hi. I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?”

His head swayed back and forth. “Nuhh…”

This was a Beatrice-Dante argument that he wasn’t going to win. “Nope, don’t. I’m going to get you out of here and we’re going to find your stupid dad and—”

“Hello, Beatrice.”

Dante groaned.

I knew what I’d see when I looked over my shoulder. But knowing didn’t relieve the dread. “Hi, Amarax.”

Amarax, wearing the mayor’s body, smiled like I’d arrived for a business meeting. “You need to step away from my son, please.”

My hands tightened protectively around
his son’s
arm. “No.”

“That wasn’t a request.” He took a step back and the hooded figures swarmed me, grabbing my shoulders and dragging me away. They only stopped when Amarax said they could. “That’s enough. Thank you.”

“You’re really bad at this, you know that?” I couldn’t escape my captors this time, but at least I still had my big fat mouth to use when my hands failed to do the job. “You thought you were winning, weren’t you? You—”

All traces of amusement were wiped from Amarax’s waxy face. “You think you have all the answers, don't you, Beatrice?” He stepped toward me and grimaced down at his son like he was no better than a piece of garbage. “Malnoch thinks so, too. But the truth of the matter is that neither of you would have these answers―what few you have―if I hadn't held your hand and helped you along the way.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I asked, clinging onto my bravado as if my life depended on it. And maybe it did. Mercy didn't seem to be one of Amarax's strong suits.

“It means I’ve handed everything over to you. It means that I've known all along,” he said. “from the moment you wandered here four months ago. I've known your plans, your habits, your hopes, your struggles. You visit the sanatorium, you go to school, you eat lunch in the library, you live in my son's house. You’ve all been flailing like children in the dark to
catch me.
I gave you
everything
and you still failed. It’s embarrassing, really.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Dante knew. We were just…outmaneuvered. In every way possible. “Sounds more like you've been
stalking
us.”

“Stalking is such an ugly word. I've been keeping tabs on you. All of you.”

That didn't make me feel better. “How?”

Amarax's eyes sparkled in the way chipped onyx might. “Birds are good for more than shitting on cars.”

I didn’t have to think on that particular riddle for very long.

The crows. The crow in my apartment, the crow on the fountain, the crow outside the church, the crows in the house. He'd been giving Alfred Hitchcock a run for his money. After that, the rest of the puzzle quickly fell into place. “It was you here that first night, wasn’t it? That voice in my head? You wanted me to sacrifice myself.”

He stood, rolling his shoulders. “That's right, Beatrice.”

“Why? What have I ever done to you?”

“For starters,” he reached in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a candle on the altar. He sucked in, then blew out a plume of acrid smelling smoke. “You killed my dog.”

The dog. The eyeless dog in the storm. The dog I didn't technically kill. The dog that earned me three thousand dollars. Amarax's dog. Of course.

“You did all that stuff to my apartment.” I said. It wasn’t a question.

Another puff. “That was a warning. A warning you didn't heed.”

He could have just left me a threatening voicemail like the last person who tried to kill me did. “And all the people you've murdered? My neighbor, my landlord, the people in the warehouse, that woman at The Inferno?”

“They gave their lives so that I might strengthen mine. Worthy sacrifices. You wouldn’t understand.”

“They were innocent! And you―you murdered them! For what? Revenge? Power?” His flippant attitude pissed me off so much that I almost forgot I was yelling at an infinitely powerful demon king. I really needed to learn to put a lid on it.

He answered my questions with more questions. “Do you know what it's like, Ms. Todd? To feel the human spirit in its rawest form?”

“I'm not a demon hell bent on destroying an entire city, so, no, I don't.”

His silver brows lifted in mock surprise. “
Destroying?
Beatrice, why would I destroy my own creation?”

“So you admit it. You used Elias to found this city so you could use it for your fucked up demon―”

“Elias came to
me
,” Amarax said. “He was desperate for guidance.”

“Oh, I'm sure he was begging for you to possess him, I totally believe that.”

“I want to be very transparent about something, Beatrice.” He reached behind his back and returned with a gun. An antique pistol with an enameled grip. “You’re here because I want you to be. You aren’t the Chosen One. You aren’t the star of some silly prophecy. You’re a bargaining chip, you understand. My trump card.”

Dante lifted his head a fraction, his face pale against the candlelight. “Leave—leave her alone.”

“See?” Amarax said to me. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. My son has always had a gentle heart. A soft disposition. And you’ve made him even softer, Beatrice.” He lifted the gun and pointed it at me, the barrel aimed right between my eyes. “I kill you and he will surely break.”

“
No,
” Dante groaned, swaying on his knees. Looking at him, I would have thought he’d been drugged. His movements were sluggish, his speech difficult to comprehend. He wasn’t entirely here. But he wasn’t entirely gone, either.

I stared at the gun so near my face, wondering what Amarax planned on doing with it. He could kill me, but if I were in his shoes, I would let me live. And not just because I liked living. “You’re not gonna kill me. You kill me and you won’t have any leverage.”

That was the word, right? Leverage? It sounded right.

Amarax’s demon-black eyes glittered. “How clever you are, Beatrice.”

He let the gun fall.

I exhaled.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m not going to kill you. Not right now, anyway.”

What a relief.

“But I
am
thinking about killing him.”

Wait.

In one swift movement, Amarax shot Dante twice in the back. Dante gasped a feather-light gasp and fell forward, hitting the floor with a thud.

Maybe terror made me stronger, maybe the hooded figures loosened their grip, but I managed to rip myself away from them and threw myself down to Dante’s motionless body. Tears stung at my eyes. This wasn’t like the time he got shot by the cops. I would have taken the screams of agony over his silence. He wasn’t screaming. He was barely even breathing.

“Dante?” I said, too afraid to put my hands on him, but too stubborn to believe he was dying. “Dante, come on, breathe. You—you can’t…”

Little gasps shook his shoulders as he struggled for air. Blood pooled on the floor, dripped from his lips. It streaked from the corners of his mouth like he’d been drinking it.

“Unhh…” His lips moved, but his voice was hardly more than a strained whisper. “You—you have to…”

“Don’t try to talk, okay? You’re—you’re gonna be fine.”

“Beatrice, don’t…”

Amarax stood over the two of us, unmoved. “This is very touching.”

“Shut up!” I choked the lump in my throat back. The bullets Amarax were using had to be made of iron. I thought of what one of them did to Dante before. Two just doubled the chances of him dying of the poison. No. He couldn’t die. He
couldn’t
.

Amarax clucked his tongue. “Now, Beatrice, no need to get hostile.” His eyes narrowed at my ward. “What a fancy little bauble you have there.”

I covered the pendant with my hand, tried to draw strength from its power. “Don’t—don’t even think about it.”

He tilted his head. “I just want to get a closer look.”

Before I could answer, he reached over Dante’s body and ripped the ward right off my neck.

“Hey!” I tried to grab it, but Amarax, like all demons, was quick.

He deposited my necklace in the pocket of his slacks. “Thank you. Anywho, I really need you to move. This is important.”

“Bite me,” I snarled, because, once again, I couldn’t keep my big fat mouth shut.

“I knew you’d say something to that effect.” He snapped his fingers. A hooded figure came forward and grabbed me roughly by the shoulders. “Daniel, please escort Beatrice to her seat.”

Like any good mind controlled demon slave, Daniel grabbed me and shoved me into the first pew on the right. The woman next to me barely blinked when my elbow hit her in the face.

“Sorry,” I muttered, even though I knew she couldn’t really hear me.

Amarax holstered his gun and grabbed the chalice from the altar. He crouched to his son’s level and put the cup to Dante’s lips. “You know this game by now, son, let’s have it.”

With a low grunt, Dante stirred just long enough to spit out a mouthful of blood on his father’s polished shoes.

Amarax frowned. “This would be easier if you would—”

Bam, bam, bam!

The words died on Amarax’s tongue.

“Police!” I recognized Chief Morales's commanding voice. “Open these doors! Now!”

Even at the altar, I could see the doors weren’t budging. They weren’t locked. Warded, if I had to guess. The back entrance probably was as well. Chief Morales wouldn't be getting in unless I let her in.