by G S Fortis
“I thought it would be appropriate,” Carmen says, pointing behind me, “that he die like the martyr he worships—a helpless, careless god. The same god that allowed you to be possessed by a weaker demon. The same god that doesn’t care what happens to you. The same god that will let you die here, in his house, tonight.”
“The same god that let your mother die?” I ask, wiping tears from my eyes.
Her smile disappears. She pulls a gold feather from her robe. As much as I want to stop everything and grieve for Ramon, this man who did so much for me, I can’t. I must be ready to fight. This is the game she wants to play—taunting me so my emotions run wild and good judgment disappears and I lose control.
I keep walking past the pews. A wave of pain overwhelms me, and I’m forced to rest my hand on the back of a bench. The glow from my arteries intensifies when I make contact, and the wood smolders under my touch.
Carmen registers this. “Demons are weakened in this house—on this ground. But not me. Not Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte. This place—your god—grants us power as it takes it from you.”
I ignore her and push myself back up. “Melchora was your mother, wasn’t she?” I continue walking toward her. “Melchora taught you everything you know. Including how to be a witch and how to connive your way into power.”
She seethes. “How dare you speak her name!”
Now she’s losing control, so I keep talking. “Fiona Flanagan didn’t believe Melchora was capable of possessing Elizabeth with the spirit of Santa Muerte—there had to be someone else who could wield such magic. Someone powerful enough but also someone in the middle of this. It was you. Hugo kidnapped Elizabeth—at your direction. Melchora secured the components—that you needed. Melchora kept Elizabeth hostage, preparing her for the possession ritual—using your instructions.” Carmen swells with pride as I pepper her with accusations. “You conjured Santa Muerte. You gave her a body to possess. You directed her to kill everyone who threatened the cartel. The cartel you wanted to control.”
“That I had to control,” she corrects. “Leona was going to destroy us all. And do you know what her excuse was? Her daughter. She didn’t want Elizabeth to inherit the business. Instead of giving it to those who deserved it, she was going to betray us!”
I’m close now and stop. A mere twenty feet separates us.
“Poetic, then,” she continues, “that the child she was trying to save was the child who killed her.”
The image of Leona dying resonates in my memory. I think about that look of shock. She probably knew it was her daughter in those final moments. I wonder if Elizabeth knew.
Did Santa Muerte release its hold long enough for Elizabeth’s eyes see her mother’s heart in her hands? Was Santa Muerte as sadistic as Dudley was when I killed Bennet?
“As poetic as when your mother was killed by her own magic?” I say, looking at her cape.
This time, she doesn’t hesitate to attack. She sweeps her cape across her body. Dozens of feathers slip from the cape and fly at me—too many for me to dodge. I twist my body and raise my arm to block my face.
Stinging spikes pelt my forearms, torso, and legs. The force of the strike knocks me back, and I tumble across the hard floor for twenty feet before coming to a stop. I gingerly look at the damage on my arms and body. A dozen golden feathers are imbedded in me.
Slowly, I rise to my feet. It’s not Dudley’s strength but my own that’s keeping me standing. Grimacing, I swipe the feathers off me. Metallic bloodstained darts clatter to the stone floor.
Carmen smiles at me and shakes her head. “I’m so glad you could join us. Tonight I can finish my plan. Goodbye, Darcy.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention—something is behind me. I whirl around and come face-to-face with Santa Muerte. I grab her bony wrist before she’s able to plunge it into my chest. Her skeletal face is inches from mine. My other hand grips her neck to stop her from biting.
We struggle. I can sense her claw searching for my heart, which continues to glow within my chest, giving her an easy target. Her strength pushes forward, and her sharp nails scratch away at my shirt and into my skin. Warm blood drips down my chest. Her strength is overwhelming.
I’m weakening and close my eyes.
In the darkness, I can hear Santa Muerte whisper, “Muere.”
In my mind, I can hear the echo of Fiona’s words. You can control it.
I think about Father Ramon dying in front of me. I wonder where David is and if he’s safe. I wonder if Paige is alive.
I won’t believe they’re dead. They’re alive. They have to be. And the only way to keep them alive is to stop Carmen and Santa Muerte.
I am in control. I focus on her claw in my hand. My grip glows brighter then hotter. Santa Muerte’s skin begins to smoke from our contact. She’s confused.
The pain becomes too much for her. She jerks her arm away from me and holds her skeletal hand up. It’s on fire.
The spirit releases an unearthly wail that echoes through the cathedral. She floats away from me and maintains her distance. I look at my hands—they smolder and burn, but I am not in pain. Not anymore.
I turn back to Carmen, ready to end her. I expect her to be surprised by the shift in momentum, but instead, she smiles. She steps aside, revealing a basin behind her—a large cross-shaped baptistery. I realize too late what that means.
With a sweep of her arm, she summons a column of water from the basin. It flies toward me, and a deluge of holy water blasts me. I’m knocked off my feet and land with a thud on the hard limestone. The water stings like a cold burn, and the pain returns. It douses the fire inside me, and the radiating blood in my veins dims.
I struggle to my feet, not ready to give up. Steam rises from my body and clothes. I run then leap toward her. My feet barely touch the ground as I tackle her and wrap my hands around her body.
She’s strong, like me. She whips me around and uses my inertia to push me past her. I keep hold of her as we go flying.
We collapse in the baptistery with a splash. I’m burning as I find myself submerged in an entire pool of holy water. I struggle to resurface, but Carmen pushes me down.
From her neck hangs the Saint Benedict Medal. Its holy energy forces me to the bottom of the basin, preventing me from rising. I swallow water, drowning.
With one hand, I grab the medal, and it sears my palm. Despite the pain, I rip the medallion from her neck and fling it out of the water. I’m almost out of air.
The basin boils as the temperature rises around our bodies. Carmen tries to escape, but I keep hold of her and pull her under with me. Her screams bubble under the surface as the heat from the water scalds her.
Her robe flaps like metal wings, yanking her out of the water and me with her. We sail into the air, arcing across the cathedral. A trail of smoke and steam follows in our wake. Then we crash to the floor and slide across the stone tile, and her metallic cape shatters into pieces.
I look up and see that Carmen is barely conscious. Her skin is blistered, like mine. Unlike me, she’s not used to the pain. I need to stop her but am not sure how.
Then I remember Paige. I crawl across the floor with supernatural speed. My distorted joints propel me in a grotesque gait toward my target. I grasp a feather from the floor and pounce on Carmen then bring it down with all my strength. The shaft pierces her flesh and pins her right wrist to the stone tile. She awakens, and screams. I snatch another feather and stab it through her left wrist. She screams again and struggles to rise. Her body writhes and contorts, but like Melchora when Paige attacked her, she’s defenseless against her own magic. She tries to pull her arms free, but the wide metallic vanes keep her wrists pinned to the floor.
My attention turns to Santa Muerte. The specter stares at me a moment then floats backward. She withdraws into the shadows, disappearing around a corner to somewhere unknown. I stand and follow her.
“Leave her alone!”
Carmen shouts.
For a moment, I think she’s speaking about Elizabeth. Then I can see the worry in her eyes. The spirit of Santa Muerte must be the last ounce of power she has left in this world.
There’s still one more secret to uncover, and I will get it from Santa Muerte one way or another. I summon every ounce of strength I have. Again, a fire builds inside me. This time, it doesn’t burn me—it warms me. I’m comforted by its familiar heat. My heart glows again, and the blood coursing through my arteries intensifies in brightness.
I pursue Santa Muerte around the corner and down the ambulatory. There are more alcoves—passages that reveal hidden corners and dark rooms. I pause and listen.
From behind me, I hear a scuffling. I whirl around and discover a staircase I missed before. Dimly lit signs indicate it’s the path to a mausoleum.
I slowly descend the stairs into the shadowy bowels of the cathedral. A sloping tiled path lies at the bottom, leading directly to a glowing stained-glass portrait of a saint.
Standing before the glass is Santa Muerte. She waits. As I approach, a set of double doors opens to her left. She floats out of the hall and through the doors. A moment later, I hear the shattering of glass falling to the floor.
This is another trap, but I can’t stop now. I move forward with trepidation. To my right is a mosaic-glass portrait of the Virgin Mary. I catch my reflection in the glass and stop.
Despite the fractured imagery, I can finally see my full demonic form. The now-familiar glowing amber heart beats beneath my white shirt, sending the radiant blood along my bare arms and concentrating in my hands. But it is my face that horrifies me. It’s still my likeness, despite the blistered skin damaged by the holy water. My black hair lies flat on either side of my head. My eyes are the same shade of yellow, but now they burn brightly. In this dark hall, they are all the more menacing.
My jaw is fuller, and when I open my mouth, my fears are realized. Two rows of razor-sharp fangs gnash against each other like those of a vicious animal. I take it all in—the glowing yellow eyes, the malformed joints, the fangs, the molten blood, the burning heart. I am truly demonic.
My fist flies at the stained glass, and it shatters into a thousand pieces. Multicolored shards of the Virgin Mary rain down around me then clatter onto the limestone tiles. I scream. From deep inside, Dudley’s demonic voice bellows through the halls of the dead.
This monster that has killed so many—too many—is more real to me now than it’s ever been. I’m shaken by what I become when the evil takes over, especially now that I’ve seen it for the first time.
In my despair, my control is waning. Then the fire begins to burn again—not by my doing but by his. Now is not the time to worry about the monstrosity I have become but about the friends I still have to save.
I march down the main hall then turn into the mausoleum. It’s a maze of large marble crypts stacked four blocks high. The corridors appear to go on forever, disappearing in the shadows after a few yards. A few sconces are lit, leaving the far reaches of the mausoleum shrouded in darkness.
The doors slam shut behind me. I catch a glimpse of blue robes disappearing around a corner. When I catch up and look around, she’s gone. Before me is another endless row of crypts, intermittently lit. The remains of the shattered glass lie on the floor. As I continue down this new path, the only sound I hear is the footfalls of my boots. I try to walk with lighter steps, but in the silence around me, each footfall is like a thundering stomp.
A blast of cool air hits me on the back of the neck. I look back to find nothing but an empty hall of marble vaults. More glass breaks behind me. When I spin around, I see a corridor disappearing into a black nothingness and the remains of a broken sconce on the floor. She’s leading me deeper into the catacombs and entombing me in shadows.
My eyes shift to another corridor, and I glimpse the robes rounding another corner. I can no longer see to the end of the passage. Each hallway now ends in a deep inky shadow.
After a few more turns, I’m lost. I’m at a dead end, where a handful of crypts and cremation niches form the walls. For a moment, I think I’m losing my mind. The center crypt before me reads Darcy Caine. Below it are two dates—the date of my birth, and today’s date.
Glass crunches behind me. I spin around, ready to strike. A woman screams, and I find Paige crumbling before me. She scrambles backward and cowers against a marble wall. Her eyes widen in fear. I can see her recalling what I did the last time she saw me like this.
I take a step back and drop to a knee. “Paige, it’s me. It’s still me.”
It takes a moment for her to register my voice coming out of this body. She furrows her brow, not sure what to believe. “It can’t be.” She’s ready to run, reluctant to fall for the trap.
So I sing.
“Cheer, cheer for old Notre Dame,
“Wake up the echoes, cheering her name.”
Her eyes widen in recognition. She rises and inspects me, trying to see through the facade and find the real me inside. “How?”
“I’ll tell you later. Do you know where David is?”
She shakes her head. “When I got into the cathedral, I heard the gunshots coming from down here. I ran here then got locked inside.”
“Do you know where David is?”
“No. What about Ramon?”
She doesn’t know. If she ran through the nave, she might have missed seeing him on the cross.
“Darcy?” she prods.
I shake my head. Her hand covers her mouth and muffles her gasp. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
“I need to find Santa Muerte,” I say, changing the subject.
Paige rises to her feet. “What about Carmen?”
“She shouldn’t be bothering us anymore.”
“You killed her?”
It’s a legitimate question, given my current state. “No. She’s just… stuck.”
Paige furrows her brow.
More glass shatters a few rows away. Down an adjacent hall, a light is extinguished. I move toward it.
Paige gingerly grabs hold of my arm. “She’s luring you.”
For a brief moment, I find it comforting to know that Paige and I are in sync.
“Yeah, well,” I say, “I don’t have much a choice, so stay behind me.”
We move down the corridor, passing several intersections, but I can’t see down to the end of any row. I suspect we’re in the middle, but it’s impossible to tell. We proceed cautiously past the alcoves as each one is now completely dark. Anything could be hiding in them.
More glass shatters behind us. When we turn, it’s clear we’re running out of lights. The shadows are getting closer. We continue walking.
We come to the only hallway still lit, a single stretch that ends with a backlit mosaic projecting a kaleidoscope of colors. Before it rises a pale stone altar. A figure steps into view. I would know his silhouette anywhere.
“David!” I shout. My only concern is for him, so I sprint down the corridor to rush to his side before any harm can befall him.
Everything happens in a split second.
“Darcy, no!” shouts Paige behind me.
David’s silhouette turns to face me. I recognize the item in his hand and the muzzle flash when it fires. Paige grabs my legs, tripping me. I fall face-first as a bullet ricochets off the marble and past my head.
“Darcy?” David calls from the shadows.
I’m okay, but Paige’s deadweight on my legs sends me into a panic. I roll over and check on her. “Paige!” I shout, lifting her head from the floor.
Her eyes flutter open as she struggles to regain her equilibrium. A giant red bump swells on her forehead, from where it struck the floor. She lets out a groan.
Approaching footsteps clack on the stone tile. Paige’s eyes widen, and she scrambles to her feet. David nears, and the moment he sees me as this monstrosity, he aims his gun again. I cringe into a ball, waiting for
the shot, as Paige slides between us, her arms spread to protect me.
“It’s Darcy!” she shouts.
David freezes, but his gun stays pointed. I make no sudden move. I don’t even breathe. I wasn’t thinking when I ran to him. I can only imagine the horror he sees—a demonic creature emerging from the dark while he’s trapped in the catacombs of a church.
“It’s okay. Trust me.” Nothing happens. “It’s Darcy,” Paige repeats.
Slowly, I raise my face and crane my neck around Paige’s defensive position. David’s gun is still pointed at me. As I come into view, his face is an expression of revulsion and fear. His finger stays on the trigger.
I shrink and look down. I wish I had never seen that look. Now burned into my mind is his expression as he debates whether or not to kill me. Part me wishes he would pull the trigger just so this terrible moment would end.
He doesn’t. “Darcy?”
I look up. David stands there, his gun down at his side, finger off the trigger. Paige moves aside, allowing David to see me.
With nothing left to hide, I stand. My arms crisscross over my body to hide my glowing heart as my pulse anxiously quickens. But there’s no hiding the bright orange arteries running through my arms. I keep my face down so he doesn’t have to take it all in at once.
Santa Muerte’s plan is clear now—to lure me into the mausoleum and lead me to David. She was gambling on the fact that a cop would shoot first and ask questions later when confronted with a creature like me.
David takes a step closer. “Is that really you?”
I look up, making sure my mouth stays closed and my fangs stay hidden. I nod.
He looks me over, trying to figure out if this is real or some trick of makeup and costume design. “How?”
More glass breaks behind us. We’re now in a pocket of light, with each hallway around us disappearing into shadows. I scan our surroundings, looking for Santa Muerte.
“And what the hell is it doing that?” David asks.
When I turn to face him, I see a skull emerging from the shadows behind him. I grab him by the shirt and pull him past me as Santa Muerte’s hand reaches for him. David goes sliding, and I intercept her outstretched hand with my own. Flames erupt the moment we make contact.