by Declan Finn
Amanda turned away from Misha. The embers of the dying vampire army burned in front of her eyes. They still fought hard, but the battle was lost. In another five or ten minutes, they would all be dead.
She ran to Marco’s side. He laid on his back, one side of his ribcage caved in. The injury wasn’t healing. Blood stained his teeth an his skin.
“Hi, honey,” he muttered. “I forgot to duck.” He turned his head and coughed. Blood aspirated onto his chest. He paused a moment, and swallowed, trying to clear his mouth.
Marco turned back to her and smiled weakly. “Wouldn’t want to suffer from blood breath…” He grinned. “You got the bastard.”
“We got him,” she corrected.
He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Your kill, fair and square. I only softened him up a little for you… or more accurately, he softened up my ribcage. I screwed up, and now…”
Amanda took his hand and leaned in close. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to stay here, with me…”
Marco reached up with his other hand, ignoring the flare of pain that racked his body. He gently caressed her cheek. “I love you. I’ve loved you since nearly the start. I loved you so much, I ran to San Francisco because I was afraid of it. I didn’t want to let you get hurt by me. I wanted you safe and away from me—trouble follows me, you may have noticed.”
Amanda smiled. She kissed him on the lips, lingering for a long moment before pulling back. “I don’t care. I love you, and I’ll wait two years. I’ll wait five. I’d follow you into Hell. You’re mine, Catalano, and you’re not getting away from me. I’m going to marry you. Do you hear me? I do. I accept your proposal,” she whispered.
Marco smiled, pleasantly surprised.
Then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped over. His hand fell away from her face.
Amanda felt for Marco’s pulse. It was there, but fading. She couldn’t even save him by making him drink from her—his lycanthropy would get in the way of that. It might even kill him faster.
Marco was going to die. Nothing short of a miracle could save him.
“Do not worry, little Alina, you will follow him shortly.”
Chapter 34
Dance of Death
Amanda turned, looking at Misha as he loomed over her like a fogbank. His neck wound had already healed, without even a scar.
Misha’s Soul Fire blazed colder than ever. His skin turned black and armored again. The vampire-demon’s face changed, becoming reptilian once more.
And he grew, quickly and easily. He unfurled himself into what Amanda feared.
Now an enormous black dragon loomed in front of her, standing five stories tall. Huge claws spread out across the cemetery ground. The full moon back-lit his dragon form
Misha became the physical manifestation of Asmodeus, Prince of Hell. It looked exactly as it had back in September on the pier of San Francisco.
She was screwed.
Amanda had a fleeting hope that this would be when a guardian angel came out. But Marco had told her why the angel had waited during the first fight with “Mister Day.”
“Until Asmodeus slipped his human suit, he was just a possessed human being…It still counted under human-on-human violence…When Asmodeus tried to use direct action against you as a demon, that’s when I could intervene.”
This was another reason that Day possessed Misha—as a vampire, Misha’s form was already malleable, from everything from mist to bats. He didn’t need any extra demonic powers to shift bodies. As it was, Misha was just a vampire who had turned into something bigger than usual.
This “something bigger” was just fueled by the power of Hell itself.
Amanda’s head tilted back farther and farther to see the top of the dragon’s massive form. She was witnessing the death of everything she had ever known. It was the beginning of Hell on Earth.
Amanda looked at Marco, smiled sadly, and then turned back towards Misha, eyes narrowed and raging.
If she was going to die, she was going to take him with her.
Her hands flattened into blades in the manner of penjakt silat, and she started to briefly mutter a prayer…
And something inside her snapped into place, like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle.
…Marco ducked, and her fist had cracked the pedestal of the Lion at the Library.
…Her priest joked that if she became any more spiritual, she would become a mystic…
“…you don’t have a power level commensurate with your level of virtue,” Merle had told her. “You’ve been scared out of your mind by the level of power you might have....you’re in love with him…urges like that can bring out the worst in us, certainly, but then again, they could also bring out the best…”
…I’m not a telepath, Amanda had told Marco—with her mind.
Mystics and saints become so through any number of different ways. St. Thomas Aquinas became one by being a philosophical genius. Francis of Assisi threw himself into nature and the exuberance of life. St. Therese of the Little Flower found it through love…
At that point, so did Amanda.
Merle had been right, she had been holding back her love for Marco. Only Merle didn’t know that one had been the result of the other. By cutting herself off from her love for Marco, she had cut herself off from the full power she possessed. But her power had been growing more and more steadily. Her strength had increased, her speed had heightened, and she had even been able to garner stray thought from Marco. Even after the impromptu wedding vows in Marco’s room, there was still the slightest bit of reluctance in her.
But she meant what she said. She would marry Marco in a heartbeat if she could.
That reluctance broke with a tangible snap inside her. Holding back her love and restraining herself from Marco had held back her power.
A power that now consumed her with fire. Her eyes glowed with a bright, phosphorous white light. A light so bright it hurt to look at. It spread out from her body from her eyes.
The light moved and flickered like flame.
White Soul Fire.
The dragon hesitated. He opened his mouth, and breathed black fire straight for Marco and Amanda.
Amanda growled and rose right into it, meeting the fire, and the flames. The tide of black fire poured over her.
The dragon fell a step backwards.
Amanda’s hands raised before her, white flame meeting black. The dragon that was Misha and Asmodeus intensified his attack. Black fire poured over the cemetery like a blanket.
It never hit the ground. White Soul Fire spread out and met it, inch for inch. Light for darkness.
“Exorcizo te,” Amanda intoned, “omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus, Domini et Judicis nostri, et in virtute Spiritus.”
I exorcise thee, every unclean spirit, in the name of God the Father Almighty, and in the name of Jesus Christ, His Son, our Lord and Judge, and in the power of the Holy Spirit, that thou depart from this creature of God.
The dragon shrank back as his fire came back at him, repulsed by the power of the white Soul Fire. Amanda’s flame grew stronger with every word. Asmodeus knew the words. He knew Latin.
It was an exorcism.
The fire pushed on, driven by prayer.
“Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum,” she continued, “qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos, et saeculum per ignem.
Through the same Christ our Lord, who shall come to judge the living and the dead, and the world by fire.
The dragon shrank as its power clashed with the power Amanda drew on. But it wasn’t Amanda’s power, drawn from her soul. Not any more than Misha’s power was from his own blackened and shriveled thing of a soul. Misha’s had come from blackest Hell.
Amanda’s, not so much.
“Tu autem effugare, diabole,” she cried. And for you, devil, begone! “Appropinquabit enim judicium Dei.” For the judgment of God is at hand.
&nbs
p; Amanda stepped forward, pressing towards the dragon, her body alight with divine fire. She continued, “I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every Satanic power of the enemy, every specter from hell, and all your fell companions, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
Her eyes burned from the tears streaming down her face, untouched by the flames that consumed her.
She thought of Marco, dead on the ground behind her. Beaten to death by this monster…this demon from Hell.
“Begone and stay far from this creature of God,” she screamed, thinking more of Marco than of Misha. “For it is He who commands you, He who flung you headlong from the heights of heaven into the depths of Hell,”
Amanda no longer approached a dragon from the depths of Hell, but Misha, his body naked, and burned, and covered in the darkness of his own soul. His onslaught buckled under hers as she grew closer.
“And it is He who demands you go back there!” she ad-libbed. “He who once stilled the sea and the wind and the storm.”
Now she was only steps away from him. Her fire overtook him. “Tremble in fear, you enemy of the faith,” she stepped forward, “you foe of the human race,” and again, “you begetter of death,” and again, “robber of life, corrupter of justice, root of all evil and vice.” She got within arm’s length of Misha, reared back, and punched him in the face. “Seducer of men.” She backhanded him with a slap that left his face burning and steaming. “Betrayer of the nations.”
Amanda grabbed Misha by the throat with both hands. He bellowed in pain and terror. The blackness receded from his eyes and his skin crackled and burned from the flames covering Amanda’s hands. His skin burned away as he screamed and thrashed against her grip. But he couldn’t break it.
“He drives you back into the everlasting fire. An unquenchable fire stands ready for you and your minions,” Amanda shook Misha like a rag doll. “You prince of accursed murderers, father of lechery, instigator of sacrileges, model of vileness, promoter of heresies, inventor of every obscenity!”
Misha screamed as he burned away, leaving the face beneath. It was a plain, ordinary face, belonging to a smaller, slighter man.
A face that Amanda would occasionally see in her nightmares.
It was the face of “Mister Day.”
The Prince of Hell roared and thrashed at her, punching at Amanda. She took his blows. They weren’t weak blows either, but blows that would shatter concrete, fell buildings, and battle angels. They were blows that were the ruin of worlds.
Amanda didn’t even slow down or stop for breath. He could kill her for all she cared. But he was going to go back to Hell if she had to escort him there herself. “Depart! Impious one! Depart, accursed one! Depart with all your deceits, for God has willed it. Give honor to God the Father Almighty! Give place to the Lord Jesus Christ! Give place to the Holy Spirit!”
Mister Day’s deep black eyes widened, as he, too, began to scream in pain and terror. Amanda’s fingers tightened on his neck, choking him, depriving him of even one final breath with which to bellow his damnation.
Amanda’s temper flared. The white flame surrounding her did not so much flare as explode in a supernova of white phosphorus that flooded the entire street. The wall of fire expanded in a circle, emanating out from her in all directions.
The rest of Misha’s vampires barely had time to brace for it. Many of them had raised their hands, even forming defensive walls with shattered marble. It didn’t matter. Every one of Misha’s vampires burned away as though drowned in a river of holy water. They didn’t even take the time to disintegrate. One moment they were there, the next they weren’t. There wasn’t even time for them to scream. The shields fell over, their holders dead and departed.
Day was the last to give in. Day, who had held up against every onslaught and assault on his person, finally felt his body disintegrate under the attack. He tried, one final time, to hit Amanda, and his arm burned away.
With one final, definitive roar, she pronounced, “The power of Christ compels you, you son of a bitch!”
At long last, Mister Day, Asmodeus, prince of Hell, became dust in the wind.
After the small supernova, the fire winked out.
Amanda Colt, savior of the world from this latest invasion of the powers of Hell, fell to her knees and cried.
Marco was dead.
Chapter 35
Fire and Shadow Both Defied
“White Soul Fire,” came a voice brittle with academia, “is the primary weapon for a good vampire who has not only talent and power, but incredible strength of will.”
Amanda’s tears stopped with the first three words. She turned her head before standing and saw an unscratched Marco Catalano striding towards her. He was still covered in blood, and naked, but otherwise perfectly fine. In fact, better than fine. He seemed … bigger. He had a swagger in his step, fully confident that he was perfectly fine, even in the cold.
“Its general physical effects,” he continued wryly, “are a light warmth like the summer sun, and a bright white light that is exceedingly comforting and heartwarming. Mental effects include a feeling not unlike that of a Christmas morning with a light snow and every conceivable present that your heart ever desired.” He bent down, courteously raising Amanda to her feet. “And uses attributed to white Soul Fire happen to be the vanquishing of evil and the ability to heal.” He kissed her on the forehead. “You told me this, remember?” He paused, then shrugged. “Okay, you told me about the healing and evil bit. I added the rest from personal experience.”
Amanda’s eyes glistened, and she looked all over his body. All over. “You seem bigger somehow.”
Marco shrugged. “I think I’ve gained ten pounds in muscle mass and lost maybe a few years’ worth of aging. Besides, you remember how my vision is twenty-twenty?”
“Da?”
“I can see better now. Even better now than when I was a werewolf.”
Merle Kraft jogged up to them. He skidded to a stop in the muddy ground and looked Marco up and down.
Marco nodded. “I’m not dead, yet.”
“You and Monty Python and the Holy Grail,” Merle smiled. “Besides, we can change that.” He looked to the side. “You’re really too good for him, you know that, right?”
Marco’s eyes followed his to Amanda. “He’s right, you know,” he agreed.
Amanda squeezed his hand. “I’ll settle.” She hugged Marco close to her, and breathed him in … and started, pulling back from him. “You’re human.”
Marco’s lips bunched up, and his brow furrowed. “Um … You’re pretty cute, too? I guess?” His eyes searched hers, as though looking for an answer. “What am I missing?”
“You’re not a furry anymore.”
He blinked, and then looked off, as though feeling for something inside him. “Huh. You’re right. I guess your Soul Fire treated it like a disease and cured me.” He shrugged. “I’ll take it.”
Merle arched a brow. “That’s a little bit too deus ex machina for me.”
Amanda laughed. “Considering what it is, more like a simple deus ex.”
Marco smiled and pulled her in for a kiss.
“Hmmm,” someone hummed appreciatively. “I can see why you’re fond of him,” came a classy, upper-class British accent.
Amanda sighed and turned her head towards Jennifer Bosley. Marco kept kissing her cheek, and her jaw, and down her neck. “Not now?”
Marco sighed, patted her on the back, and straightened. He turned to Bosley, dancer straight, unashamed of his condition. “Hello, Madam President. Sorry for my current state. But you saw what happened.”
Bosley looked him up and down and gave him a cheeky little smile. “Not a problem.” Her eyes flared comically. “Any time.”
“Thank you for the help, though,” he continued. He furrowed his brows and looked from her to Amanda and back. “How did you folks get all of this set up so fast?”
Bosley gestured to Amanda. “Ask her.”
Amanda shr
ugged. She looked at Marco and sighed. She’d rather not be explaining herself. “When you disappeared, I knew that we were going to have to marshal our forces. After I stopped trying to beat your location out of the local vampires, I sat down with… everyone.”
Bosley nodded. “I’ve had my people go to confession ever since they tried to blow me up.” She gestured to the muddy ground, some of it still sodden with holy water. “That way, we wouldn’t be caught in any crossfire. When Amanda met with me, your priest, Mister Kraft, Enrico, the Commissioner, and your… gangs,” she sniffed snobbishly, “we got our act together.”
Amanda nodded again. “When you sent me the text, warning that there would be a trap, I made arrangements with, well, everyone, to gather nearby. When you decided to make a stand here, we had the barest semblance of a plan. You bought us time to get people in position.”
Marco nodded slowly. “And your multiple-layered plans?”
Amanda shrugged. “Why blow everything on the first attack? That’s why there were helicopters first. Although, perhaps we should have saved the napalm for later. Burning a patch of holy water away wasn’t my best idea.”
Marco looked over his shoulder at Merle. “The gunships and such were your idea?”
Merle shrugged. “I arranged for it after the Nuala thing. My brother, of all people, warned me to bring in heavy artillery.” He held up a hand. “Just give me a moment, I’m starting to get a headache.” He rubbed his temples. “Amanda, do you think your white fire trick can burn out any demon you come against?”
The vampire blinked. “Maybe, why?”
He smiled. “How would you like to have your old security clearance back?” He looked at Marco. “You can come along if you want.”
“Are you inviting me into government service?” Marco asked.
“No, I’m asking you to blow up vampires in other people’s countries. I think you’ve done your fair share here.”
Marco slid his hand down to squeeze Amanda’s. “Amanda, if you’re going, I am. I don’t care what we do, as long as it’s together. I’m not losing you. Period.”