The Graves of Saints (31 page)

‘They excised all of that from the records later,’ Octavian added. ‘Put Maximón’s face in the place of Judas’s in all of the images of Judas Iscariot that
you’ll find in Guatemala. Look for yourself and you’ll see it. They tried to make the people look at him as a demon instead of a saint.’

‘But the locals thought of him as a saint. And he was beheaded,’ Allison said to Metzger. ‘And they buried his head right on top of the door to Xibalba.’

‘No,’ Metzger said. ‘You’re not suggesting that Cortez is tied to the breaches we’ve had in Europe and India? All based on one word painted in blood in some
basement?’

Octavian gave him a grim look, arching an eyebrow. ‘Leon, listen to yourself. You know it fits. It all fits.’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ Sergeant Galleti put in, leaning further from her seat. ‘With all due respect, if the magical defenses on this reality were put into place by Vatican
sorcerers, and they used the graves of decapitated saints as the focus points, basically the gates where they could put in a key and lock it shut, then this doesn’t make sense at all. Xibalba
predates all of that. This story predates all of that. And you just said the church doesn’t recognize this Brother Simon as a real saint.’

‘I thought about that,’ Octavian said. ‘And you’re right. This gate to Xibalba predates all of that. Brother Simon the holy man, before he became Maximón the
demon-saint – he was a sorcerer, and he sacrificed himself to close and lock that gate. He did it with magic. Now, let me ask you a question: do you think the Vatican sorcerers invented all
of the magic in the Gospel of Shadows? Some of it came from the Nazarene, we know that. But not all. They collected it from around the world.’

Allison exhaled. The hum of the plane seemed to vibrate in her heart.

‘This was the beginning,’ she said. ‘They based the spells they used to seal off the world on the magic Simon used to close the door to Xibalba.’

Octavian touched the tip of his nose with a finger. ‘There you go.’

Metzger swore again, shaking his head. ‘So all of this . . . the other breaches . . .’

‘Could be accidental or coincidental,’ Octavian admitted. ‘After what happened in Massachusetts, it’s possible. But it feels more likely to me that he’s engineered
it all somehow. He wanted us busy elsewhere.’

Allison stared at Octavian. ‘He wanted
you
anywhere but South America.’

‘So he could open the door to Xibalba,’ Charlotte rasped.

‘Just throw the doors open and let all the demons in?’ Metzger said. ‘I don’t understand. Cortez is a vampire, I know, but if what he wants is to prey on humans and be
the prince of darkness or something, how is that goal served by letting a bunch of ancient Mayan death gods back into our reality?’

But Allison had no trouble understanding. It was all very clear to her now.

‘Maybe he doesn’t just want to befriend the death gods,’ she said.

Charlotte nodded. ‘Maybe he wants to be one.’

Octavian turned away from them, sliding back against his seat. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘After all, it worked for Brother Simon.’

Brattleboro, Vermont

Now that night had fallen, the air had turned cold. Tori snuggled up against Cat on the sofa, thinking that one of them should get up and turn on the heat. Even a fire
wouldn’t be out of the question, not in Vermont in late September. But as Cat stroked her hair and kissed her forehead, she knew that neither of them had any intention of getting up off of
that sofa. At least not yet.

Across the living room, Amber Morrissey stood in the open doorway that led to the dining room and leaned against the wall, her cell phone pressed to her ear, a troubled expression on her
face.

‘So, even now you see her as she really is?’ Tori whispered.

‘Yes,’ Cat replied.

‘It’s sort of beautiful, isn’t it? That dark purple like black grapes.’

‘Like wine,’ Cat said.

‘Beautiful.’

Cat looked at her. ‘But terrible, too.’

‘And that,’ Tori agreed, turning from her wife to study Amber again, searching the air around her. ‘You see the ghost, too?’

Cat shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think he’s here right now. I think he went back out to the clearing to try to talk to Keomany some more.’

Tori stiffened. She didn’t like the idea of the ghost out there having conversations with Keomany that none of them could hear. Yes, Amber vouched for the ghost of Miles Varick, and
Octavian vouched for Amber, but that left the question of whether or not Tori trusted Octavian. Cat certainly did not, but Tori had always believed that the mage was a benevolent man, that he meant
well no matter how often things went to hell around him. But could one blame firefighters for the blazes they extinguished, or the people caught in the conflagration? Of course not.

She ought to have been celebrating the idea that Keomany had been reborn. She would never be the same woman, never be human again, but she existed now as some kind of avatar of Gaea. Most
earthwitches would be envious of such a pure, direct connection to the goddess and of the power that came along with it. Tori just missed her friend, knowing that nothing would ever be the
same.

But she was dead
, Tori thought,
and now she’s alive. It’s a blessing.

As she pondered that, she began at last to believe it.

Amber finished her call and turned to them, slipping her phone into her pocket.

‘That was Peter,’ she said, coming back into the living room and perching on the edge of the armchair. ‘He’s in the air, flying to Guatemala—’

‘What’s in Guatemala?’ Cat asked.

‘Answers, or so he thinks,’ Amber replied. She slid down into the chair wearing a contemplative frown on the face she allowed the world to see. ‘It sounds like these breaches
in Europe aren’t a coincidence. Apparently there’s one in India, now, too. But they’re all part of a coordinated attack.’

A shiver ran through Tori. ‘You’re saying these demons are working together?’

‘I didn’t get that impression, no,’ Amber said. ‘More like bombs all timed to go off at the same time.’

‘So who’s the bomber?’ Cat asked.

‘The vampire who killed Nikki.’

Tori felt the dread in her belly tighten into knots. She burrowed even closer to Cat, though she knew that her wife could not protect her from the kind of darkness Amber was talking about. They
would fight side by side if they had to fight, but evil on this level was so far beyond their small magicks.

‘What can we do?’ Cat asked.

Tori looked at her, surprised. ‘Us?’

Cat kissed her temple. ‘Yes, us. Can’t you feel the question?’

‘The question?’ Amber repeated.

‘The one you’re about to ask,’ Cat said. ‘It’s just hanging in the air. And I can see it in your eyes. What is it?’

‘Gaea needs your help,’ Amber said.

Cat laughed softly. ‘So now Peter Octavian is going to tell us what Gaea needs?’

Amber cocked her head, studying them both. ‘I’m guessing he doesn’t need to tell you. These breaches are ripping Gaea apart. Each one is like a wound, right? How many do you
think it will take to do irrevocable damage? This is the whole world on the line.’

‘With Octavian, it always is,’ Cat said dubiously.

Tori took a deep breath and extricated herself from the comfort and safety of her wife’s embrace. She sat up, turning to face Cat.

‘Then it’s a damn good thing he’s around, isn’t it?’

Cat met her gaze for several long seconds and then nodded slowly. ‘I guess it is,’ she said, glancing at Amber. ‘What does he need us to do?’

‘Talk to Keomany,’ Amber said.

‘How?’ Tori asked. ‘Your ghost is the only one who can talk to her.’

‘Miles is the only one who can hear her, at least right now,’ Amber replied. ‘But Keomany is a direct line to Gaea now and we don’t yet even know the full extent of her
abilities. She’s something brand new in the world, at least as far as Octavian knows, and she’s still in the process of becoming whatever it is that she’s going to be. The way
Miles tells it, talking to her is like having a conversation with someone who’s only half awake.’

‘And you want us to help you wake her up,’ Cat said.

Amber fixed them both with a grim look. ‘If Octavian’s right, what’s happening now will start a chain reaction that will tear the soul of this world apart. To me, that’s
all metaphysical bullshit. But for you . . . he’s talking about your goddess. And my guess is that whatever this thing is that Keomany’s becoming, if Gaea is torn apart, Keomany will
die right along with her. And maybe all the rest of us, too.’

Tori shivered, wishing more than ever for a fire in the hearth. She was tempted to burrow up against her wife again, but there was no hiding from this. Instead, she turned and took Cat’s
hand.

‘Let’s go,’ she said, getting up from the couch and trying to pull Cat up beside her.

Cat resisted, giving her a pained look. ‘Octavian got Keomany killed once already.’

‘No, he didn’t. Chaos killed her while she and Peter were busy trying to save the world
again.
You may not like him—’

‘I know, I know,’ Cat said, reluctantly getting up from the sofa. She turned to Amber. ‘We’ll do whatever needs doing.’

Tori smiled. ‘Just don’t ask Cat to like him.’

Saint-Denis, France

In her dream, Beril Demirci is a little girl again. She sits on a flat shelf of rock overhanging a river, breaking the heads off of daisies and tossing them into the rushing
water to watch them swept away. While picking flowers in the nearby field she found some violets as well, but she loves the vivid purple of their petals and does not want to throw them. And yet . .
. when the last of her daisies has floated downriver, she picks up one of the violets, breathing in its lovely scent. Then she breaks off the stem and tosses the flower into the water.

As it rushes away, regret washes over her and she reaches out for it. The broken, beautiful violet rises from the water, gliding back toward her outstretched hand . . .

And she wakes.

Frowning, troubled even in her sleep, Beril grumbled as she forced her eyes open, taking in her surroundings. She lay on her side on a cot, facing the featureless drape at the
rear of a tent. Somewhere beyond the tent she heard the crackle of radio static and the mutter of voices and then, far off, someone sobbing with grief. After the casual joy of her dream, she felt
her heart begin to ache, yearning for a return to the sweet innocence of slumber.

Something poked her hard in the back.

She cried out, twisting around and scrambling off the edge of the cot, heart hammering in her chest, thinking of demons. But the two figures that stood over the cot were not monsters and they
were not evil, just a pair of serious men wearing identically impatient expressions. Considering that Father Laurent was decades younger than Chakroun and a kind-hearted man, it seemed strange that
the priest and the ancient Moroccan conjuror could look so alike.

‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ Beril demanded. ‘I was sleeping!’

‘Yes,’ Chakroun agreed. ‘And we have been trying to wake you.’

In his hand he held a rough-hewn walking stick, which she now recognized as the offending instrument. She had the urge to poke him back, but let it pass.

‘What could be so . . .’ she began, before realization struck. ‘Wait, are the Shadows here?’

Father Laurent looked dismayed. ‘Not yet. But Monsieur Chakroun—’

‘I believe I have a way for us to slip a small group through the barrier without dropping it entirely,’ the ancient mystic said.

Beril rubbed her eyes, climbing to her feet. She had fallen asleep in her clothes but still felt somehow exposed and vulnerable, the men having come upon her while she was dozing. Her thoughts
were still caught in the sticky webbing of sleep, but she forced herself to make sense of what they were saying. She and Chakroun had managed to create a barrier around all of Saint-Denis, trapping
the utukki demons inside, but the barrier would not hold forever and the utukki continued to multiply inside that magical sphere. According to Father Laurent they were being born from the womb of a
human woman who lay in the basement of the ruined cathedral, not far from the single creature that had infected her with its spore and thus fathered them all. Killing woman and demon would end this
incursion, but if someone was going to go down there to try to kill the demon, they had all agreed to try to save the woman it had attacked.

‘We were going to wait for the Shadows to come,’ she said. ‘Surely one of them has a better chance of getting inside the basilica than any ordinary person?’

‘True,’ Father Laurent said. ‘But hours pass and then hours more, and we are promised that they are on the way and they do not come.’

‘And the demons propagate,’ Chakroun said. ‘And the woman suffers.’

A sound startled them, the clearing of a throat, and all three of them turned to see that Sergeant Ponticello had entered the large, military tent. Behind him, silhouetted in the opening, stood
a short, muscular, bald man with a goatee, his arms and neck covered in occult tattoos. A tall, slender woman waited beyond him.

‘Visitors,’ Sergeant Ponticello said.

Beril studied them. ‘Are you—?’

The tattooed man took a step deeper into the tent, and now Beril could see the beautiful female behind him.

‘My name is Santiago. This is Taweret,’ the tattooed man – the Shadow – said, gesturing toward his companion. Then his eyes narrowed with grim purpose.

‘Tell us about this woman.’

Siena, Italy

Just after four in the morning, chaos erupted out of relative calm. Most of the refugees from Siena had been loaded onto trucks and transported to a safer distance. Jessica
Baleeiro tried to think of what the next city was but her mind had gone blank.

We shouldn’t have stayed,
she thought.
Why did we stay?

But she knew the answer. Jess and her husband, Gabe, had stayed behind because they were doctors and, God help them, doctors were not supposed to run when there were people who might die without
them. The last of those with minor injuries had been taken away just before two a.m., but there were three wounded who were still waiting for evac, all of them soldiers who had sustained their
injuries after night had fallen and the smoke demons had returned to their full ferocity. They needed to be medflighted out and the officer in charge kept telling Gabe and Jess that a helicopter
would arrive just as soon as the barrier had been stabilized.