by Michael Todd
The priest groaned, leaned his head back, and rubbed his forehead against the beginning of a headache. “Why would you do that?”
“I was trying to find a way to protect you but its fucking hard with the Wise Men on my ass now. As soon as I was infected, Judah paid me a nasty little visit. It’s a good thing my demon felt bad for me afterward or they would have assumed I was abused.”
Anger boiled in his chest. “Judah hurt you? I’ll fucking crucify his old ass.”
Whoa stud, calm down. Nobody’s crucifying anyone. We all saw how that turned out last time. All your sins magically washed away and now, instead of one God to appease, you have two, Astaroth warned, although his tone was humorous.
“Anyway, I have been told that you are both safe at the house. It’s protected by Gabriel and Gideon, as well as allies like Rose. People have been placed all around and in all walks of your life to keep you safe from these assholes.”
“You mean keep us alive,” Max replied. “Until we can try to break this tyrannical century-old Groundhog Day thing these wizards have going on.”
Maps’ nostrils flared. “Believe it or not, I actually do care about the two of you. I care what happens to you. But it is true, you and Damian are also incredibly important to the future of humanity. This is not a fight that Katie, or Pandora, or any other pairing can fight. This has to be done by you and Damian.”
Max sighed and hung his head. “Okay. I guess you’re right. Look, I’m sorry for not trusting you. What you did—taking a demon to protect us—that is really amazing. Thank you.”
She nodded. “You’re welcome.”
A momentary silence settled a little uncomfortably before she stepped aside and snapped into her mean persona. She pointed to the door. “Now, go home, and don’t mention any of this to Damian. He will only try to come and see me if he knows. And I am also aware of the fact that the Wise Men have planted spies as a trap for the two of you. So, don’t come to my house. Period.”
Max complied but he hesitated at the door and turned toward her. She waved her hand and stamped her foot. “Go!”
Chapter Twenty-One
The Sunday church bells resounded all across London. Even through the stone-walled house of the priests, they pealed their litany. Damian sat in his chair downstairs, no longer bandaged and a little more comfortable. His scars were healing, and his ribs, although purple and green on the outside, didn’t hurt nearly as much as before. It was the first deliberate Sunday Damian hadn’t been in church in a very, very, long time. In fact, he was certain it had been before he started with the church.
It wasn’t that he had anything against the church, or Max, or even Rose and Catherine. He simply felt odd. Like he was disconnected and misplaced inside his own mind and life. He had gone to bed every night hoping that when he fell into a slumber, he would once again see the young Ravi standing beneath the shower of violet petals. He longed to see her smile to let him know she was on her way back.
But instead, in his sleep, he thrashed violently, haunted by the faces of all three of the Wise Men. He woke every night drenched in sweat, angry, and unable to comprehend why he couldn’t shake them. They were Damned, he had come to terms with that. What he couldn’t accept, though, were the lives they intended to take and see suffer under the wrath of the Demon Army.
When he had first been told about the different levels within the church dedicated to helping the Wise Men, Damian had told himself it was okay, that they were weeding out the bad. But as he sat there in his high-backed chair, his feet propped comfortably and his stare lost in the fire, he couldn’t help but feel some measure of distaste for them now. He struggled with the knowledge that the very institution he put his faith in and helped support could quite possibly be riddled with deceit and lies.
It was almost too much for him to bear and he bunched his handkerchief in his mouth to muffle his growl of disgust. His demon, whom he had become dependent on, still only held onto him by a thread. There was no discussion or checking in, only the memory of her and the faint feeling that she was still close.
Damian knew that the absence of her counsel and current her vague existence was what was fooling with his mood. He’d spent decades with her there and now, a vacant and hollow void echoed like a canyon within his gut. He didn’t understand how people did it, at least the mercs that chose to get out. Then again, most of them were exorcised so the demon took all memory of it away when it was thrust into hell.
The fire crackled and drew his mind back to the living room of his house. There was no use in sitting around feeling sorry for himself. He could work on the battle with the wizards, at least mentally, until he was good enough to resume his training.
He pushed himself from the chair and sighed as he stretched and his back cracked from the neck down to the bottom of his spine. Tentatively, he pulled each arm in front of his chest and stretched his shoulders but only felt a slight bruising in his ribs. That was good news since he was ready to join the land of the living.
The clothes he hadn’t put on yet hung on the back of the chair. He tucked his shirt into his pants and tied his bow tie around his neck. The house was chilly, so he added a button-up sweater to avoid the chance that he might catch cold. He was already in enough pain.
Now respectably dressed, he crossed to the bookshelf and opened his hidden safe to retrieve the cardinal’s journal. It had been a long time since he had opened it. After meeting him, the journal had slipped from his mind. But he hadn’t gotten as far into it as he wanted to. He tucked it under his arm and went to the kitchen to prepare a pot of tea. Once he’d filled the kettle he placed it on the stove, turned on the gas-powered burner, and watched the flames shoot up around the metal. He felt almost entranced by the way they danced and flickered.
Before he knew it, the kettle whistled and he shook his head from his daydream. Of what, he couldn’t remember. He dropped a couple of tea bags into the ceramic teapot. While he knew it wasn’t the English way, he merely wanted tea and quiet.
The sounds of his shuffling feet along the old wood floors seemed to amplify in his head as he juggled his mug, the journal, and the pot of tea into the dining room. He sat at the table and poured himself a cup, then traced his hands along the outside of the journal. It was rough and worn, and the edges held indentations where the cardinal had grasped it so many times.
Damian opened it and thumbed through the pages until he found one that might tell him something—anything—more about what he faced. He didn’t know if it was the right page but simply went with his gut and began to read.
April 12, 2018
The chirping of the birds outside the window brings a certain hope to my heart. Has the dark time, for me at least, passed? Will I see the shadows of the demon lurking behind me with every step? Or will there be a solitude in my life that I have long hoped for? The three Wise Men paid me a visit today and the burning in their souls almost melted me in half. We were surrounded by the Elders, so their stares were short and shared. The only good thing I could take from it.
I have felt the presence of Gabriel in my sleep and awaken in the night, thinking I will see him in his warm glow standing at the foot of my bed. But there is nothing but darkness. I am afraid, despite my heritage and the increased life, that my body is growing weary and tired. The sun may be setting upon my time here soon and I can only hope this curse is lifted before I take my last breath else my soul will be caught in the fiery blazes of Lucifer’s grip.
What a way to repay a life of servitude. The only solace that I have is the Westmorland Gardens and that nestled North Rose Garden that seems to be lost from the bustling and hurried tourist foot tracks. On the perfect afternoon, I have been convinced that the succulent fragrance of the roses mixed with the vibrant colors of the petals could save a man’s soul.
One can only hope.
Until Next Time…if there is one.
Damian pursed his lips and tapped his fingers absently on the desk. Suddenly, the Secretary’s v
oice popped into his head with the words she spoke to him last time they talked. “You know, while you have some time, you should consider heading over to the Gardens at Westmoreland for a little relaxation and change of scenery. I used to go there a lot. Two p.m. on Sundays at the North Nose Gardens can be completely life-changing.”
His eyes widened and his gaze shifted to the clock on the wall. It was noon—enough time to call a cab and get to the Rose Gardens by two. He scrambled to his feet and limped in a hurry to the safe. He threw the journal in and closed it quickly before he spun and snatched his coat off the chair.
Back in the dining room, he located his bag and threw it over his shoulder. He stopped momentarily to stare into the mirror at the wild explosion that was his goatee. Pursing his lips, he used his finger to comb through it and straighten the bristles. He then turned and moved as quickly as he could to his bedroom where he removed his bow tie and tossed it on the bed. He plopped his large-brimmed hat on his head and patted his front left breast pocket to make sure his cross was still tucked snuggly inside.
He felt something other than a void for the first time since Ravi went silent. It was a thrill, a rush of excitement that he might have found a connecting clue. He hobbled along and snatched one of the long-handled umbrellas from the holder to use for support as he walked before he opened the door. The bright sunlight greeted him as he stepped outside and fumbled with his keys.
Finally, he managed to lock the door and limp-hobbled as fast as he could across the courtyard toward the gate. Rose had obviously just arrived home and she stared curiously at him. “I missed you at church, Damian.”
Damian waved cheerfully. “I missed it too. I hope it was good. Sorry, I have to dash. I have to be somewhere.”
She waved, her eyebrows high and walked toward her house as she mumbled to herself. “What is it with today? Everyone seems to have somewhere they need to be.”
He scuttled down the small drive between the houses and out to the sidewalk, then turned right and continued until he was far enough to be able to easily hail a cab. With a loud whistle and a wave of his umbrella, he managed to catch the attention of a cabbie a few moments later. It pulled up to the curb and he almost fell inside.
The driver glanced at him in the mirror. “Destination?”
Damian, slightly out of breath, cleared his throat. “Yes, right. Uh… Westmorland Gardens, please, and as fast as you can. I have an appointment at two.”
The driver accelerated and the tires squealed slightly. The vehicle moved quickly in and out of backstreets and alleys rather than use the main roads to the Gardens. The traffic was light that day, but the driver found a way to make it even quicker. When they arrived, he made a somewhat dramatic stop in front of the massive iron gates.
He paid the man, tipped him almost fifty percent, and exited the car. The tip of his umbrella made a good support to push him onto his legs again. The first few steps were stiff, but by the time he came to the stand with the maps, he moved at full speed once more. He grabbed a map and unfolded it to find the quickest route to the gardens. He had five minutes to reach them, so he pushed his speed up and used the makeshift cane to propel himself forward with each swing.
Despite his hurry, he stared as much as he could as he passed through the peaceful surroundings. The gardens were beautiful, the newly planted seedlings having been cared for in the sanctuary of the greenhouse all winter now grew wildly, planted in rows and waves throughout. It was a truly magnificent sight, and he made a note to come back there soon to really enjoy it.
With only a minute left until two, Damian stepped up to the arched bushes that created a gateway of sorts into the North Rose Gardens. He tugged on his shirt to straighten it and walked through, his gaze drawn automatically to the center where a metal bench was placed with an In Memoriam notation on the plaque on the back. Seated there and facing in the opposite direction, a blonde woman uncrossed her legs and settled her hands into her lap.
He tilted his head and considered the odd sense of familiarity she presented. When she spoke, her voice ignited his memory almost immediately. “Well, don’t take all bloody day.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
With each step across the fluffed, lush, green grass, Damian drew closer to the mystery woman seated on the bench. He already accepted that the blonde with the familiar voice would be the Secretary. It only made sense that it would be. She had told him to go there, but how could she have known that he would read that exact page in the journal?
He walked past the bench, using his umbrella as a cane, and turned slowly to face her. His gaze drifted to her face and his smirk quickly faded. Damian’s mouth dropped open and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had expected familiarity but not to the degree that he experienced in that very moment.
“I don’t—wait.” He shook his head. “This is so confusing. What are you doing here? How did you know I would be here?”
The woman pursed her lips and withdrew a soft pack of smokes from her bag. She turned it over and tapped it on her thigh before she pulled one from the packet with her lips. Once she’d replaced the pack, she drew a lighter from her pocket. Damian staggered forward and took it from her. “Allow me.”
He flicked it and held it up to her as she lit her cigarette. The woman’s eyes remained glued to his until she pulled her head back and drew in a long drag. She tilted her head back and blew the smoke straight into the air. With the same calm movements, she took the lighter from him and dropped it into her bag, crossed her legs, and looked at him once more.
A laugh escaped her chest and she shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed someone with such a sarcastic attitude have that much shock in one place. I truly believe I have won today, no matter the outcome of the rest. I managed to fool the infamous Damian, mercenary, dark personality. Ha! I win round one.”
Damian couldn’t even be mad. The woman patted the seat next to her, and he sat without argument. She turned her head toward him with a smile. “Yes, I am the Secretary, and Rose’s daughter Catherine, and the Keeper of Bloody Secrets, and so forth and so on. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”
He shook his head. “You…are not a robot.”
She bellowed another laugh and waved her hand to dispel the smoke that wafted toward him. “No, I am not. I was put into the position of Secretary through back channels to ensure that I could keep watch on you wherever you went. The angels saw to that. Unfortunately, now the Wise Men have caught wind that you are getting close to them, and they don’t like it. When I found that out, I dipped, knowing it wouldn’t be long until they realized who my mother was. I’d rather keep my head on my shoulders. But it’s all right, because you no longer need me.”
Damian frowned in confusion. “I don’t? Why not?”
Catherine stared at him for a moment, dropped her cigarette, and scrunched it out on the grass with her heel. Her face grew serious as she glanced around. “Because things can no longer wait. With their fears of you, they are pushing forward ahead of schedule.”
“But how much do they really know? That I know the insignia?”
“I’m afraid it’s far more than that, dear boy,” she replied. “The Wise Men know everything. They know that you are the prophecy. They know that you have found out what they are doing. They know that in order to finish what they came to do, they will need to either kill you or use you as a sacrifice—although part of me thinks that might be what Max is for. We’ll have to be careful about that.”
Damian groaned and rubbed his face in irritation. “The truth is, I know what they are up to, but I really don’t know what they are planning. I have imagined it as a regular ritual of sorts, only with very powerful beings opening a very powerful portal to hell.”
She tilted her head from side to side. “Uh, yes and no. In reality, they are linking their magic, something that hasn’t ever been done here. So, in theory, they may open more than merely a portal when they do it.”
“But that would ruin
their chances of ruling Earth,” he replied.
“Ruling it? Oh, heavens, no,” she laughed. “They don’t want to rule it, they want to exterminate all of you. Humans are the gift God made, and the wizards were killed by Him—or Her, if I may. They want revenge. No one knows the mighty smiting hand of God like the three wizards do. And when He comes down, he will not only have to kill them, but all the civilians around them too. It will be the ultimate revenge, the ultimate payback for the loss of their lives.”
Damian began to understand. “They are demons of the magic cult, beings that if left in bodies can literally last beyond the Earth’s lifespan. They don’t care about the Earth. They care about taking back the dignity that once was theirs.”
Catherine nodded. “Yes, exactly. And you and Max will be the next bodies once the portal to hell is opened. The Wise Men are simply too old. If they are exorcised or killed by one of you, they can enter your souls.”
“But we have demons already,” he pointed out.
“Yes. And the wizards will kill them.”
Damian’s face went rigid and she patted him on the leg. “Don’t worry, you will succeed. I don’t see Lucifer being summoned.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Right. But like I asked before, I didn’t think that Lucifer could actually walk on Earth without the angels descending upon him. I thought there was some sort of rule about it.”
She shook her head, extracted another smoke, and lit it. “He can’t; it’s only what they call it. But what they can do that no other Damned has done on Earth is contact him from this plane of existence, and he knows the wizards very well indeed. They are some of his most admired friends. And when that contact is completed, it will open a portal directly to the center of hell.”
Damian scrunched his nose in real distaste. “That doesn’t sound like a fun time.”
Catherine chuckled and took another long drag of her cigarette. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. If you are picturing any of the portal openings from the last five years, then you are not thinking big enough. Not dark enough. Not menacing enough. And most importantly, not dangerous enough. Think swirling cloud of black sulfur inside an ever-growing portal that, in theory, could probably swallow the Earth like a black hole, although that wouldn’t be much fun for anyone. Earth crashing into hell, that is.”