by SM Reine
Pain seared through her body when the goddess shoved her against the clock. Elise’s ears rang. Her vertebrae shook and scraped against each other.
The stone knife slashed open her brow. Blood cascaded down the side of her face.
Rain showered upon them. It tasted like acid.
Ten.
Her back was against the clock. She was right there, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. The goddess’s stinking breath heated Elise’s face as she smiled, baring bloody teeth.
If she couldn’t reach the heart of the clock, there was another heart she could reach.
She kicked the goddess away. Just enough to have room to move.
A wave of demons crashed against the dais, clambering over the edge. Their mouths were bloody. Elise wondered if any of that belonged to James.
Eleven.
She plunged her sword into the goddess’s chest.
The heart in the clock exploded blood, splattering against the inner workings. The hammer shattered.
The dais pitched and everyone fell.
The twelfth bell never rang.
XII
When the eleventh bell died off, Elise was the only one left standing
She clutched her sword in both hands as though it was her last line to life. Its blade dripped, her knuckles were white, and her gaze was empty. Her mind was a thousand miles away.
The pendulum no longer kept in time with the seconds. Its hand slowed with every swing.
Nearby, gray matter slipped out of a crack in a demon’s skull, oozing across the tile. It trickled into one of the iron grates and dripped onto underground fires a hundred feet below. Brain hit flame. It gave a hiss and smelled like barbecue.
Barbecue. Her stomach lurched.
The sword slipped from Elise’s fingers. Metal clattered against stone. The death goddess was sprawled at her feet, her necklace of skulls shattered, and her face had lost all its malice in death. She almost looked human.
The fires darkened and the heat faded.
Elise’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling. Her fingers twined through the curls at her scalp as her mouth opened in a silent cry. She had screamed too much earlier in the night and no longer had a voice.
Her knees weakened. She collapsed.
The clock’s pendulum continued to slow.
The Book of Shadows was empty.
James pushed the bodies of demons off of him. Emptying every page of the Book—even the terrible ones he had sworn never to use—meant they had died in a thousand ugly ways. Ruptured organs. Suffocation. Burning from the inside.
His foot caught the pentagram-marked binder as he climbed free, but he didn’t pick it up. He never wanted to cast a spell again.
The clock wasn’t ticking with that terrible pulse anymore, and the sudden silence made his ears ring. Coughing, he slipped to the bottom of the pillar. “Elise?” he called, voice muffled in his ears.
He nudged a demon’s body onto its back. The slash of its mouth gaped open, and the remaining air in its lungs sighed out with a whiff of sulfur. Covering his nose and mouth with his arm, he moved forward. James scrutinized each body he passed, half expecting to see Elise beneath them.
The room depressurized, and the demons began to rot.
Their skin dissolved to reveal bone. Their chests spread and tore. Organs twisted like worms within their guts as they vanished. One by one, they rotted away until the only body left was that of the goddess in the front of the room.
A glint of steel caught his eye. His gaze moved from the sword to the legs beside it, and he realized the goddess wasn’t alone.
“Jesus Christ…” He scrambled onto the dais. Elise’s skin was shredded and her chest was blackened with blood, and his stomach flipped when he realized it was all hers. “Elise—oh, Lord, Elise…”
Her eyes fluttered open. “James?”
“Are you all right?”
She sat up carefully with a wince. “I’m not the one with a sword through my chest.” He laughed, though it wasn’t all that funny. Even a hint of humor after that fight was enough to drive him toward hysteria. “Let’s not do this again.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” He helped her stand, and then picked up the sword she dropped. Elise turned to leave. “Don’t you want the other one?”
She glanced at the falchion buried deep in the goddess’s chest. Her lip curled. “No. Hell can keep it.”
The bladed clock swung once more, and it stopped midway on the down stroke, forever frozen between tick and tock. The earth shook.
“We need to get out of here,” James said.
Slowly, painfully, they climbed to the surface. Night had fallen, and the rain had stopped, leaving the air sticky and hot. They staggered almost a quarter mile before collapsing.
Elise shuddered like a tree in a hurricane. Her wounds looked agonizing.
“Can you heal me?” she asked. Her voice came out in a raw whisper.
“I’m sorry. I have nothing left.”
She nodded without speaking. Her face was very pale.
They stared up at the vast black sky together. The clouds thinned, revealing stars and endless black sky. They waited until the sky faded to the deep navy of false dawn, and the sounds of night were replaced by birdsong.
When the sun broke the horizon, the light shone in Elise’s hollow gaze.
They had won, but James couldn’t help but feel they had lost something much worse than their lives. She sagged against his side. “Never again,” he murmured into her hair. “Never again.”
Part Five: Sunrise
After a little debate and examining several maps, they decided to move to Reno, Nevada. Neither of them had a strong preference about where they should start a new life, but Reno had no demonic overlord, and angelic ruins rumored to be buried beneath the city provided its inhabitants some protection. Most importantly, they had never been there before. Nobody would be able to recognize them.
So they took what little they owned, paid for a few weeks at a motel downtown, and started looking for somewhere to live.
They had a little money stored in several bank accounts. Some of it came from James’s life before they traveled, but much of it had been stolen from defeated enemies, and the rest was earned in odd jobs here and there. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to buy a building in cash and have some left for renovation.
The real estate agent must have thought James and Elise were crazy. They asked to look at every cheap commercial property available, and for three months, they looked at more than fifty buildings within a hundred miles. None of them passed their extensive requirements—a list which they declined to share with their Realtor.
To the agent, it must have seemed like they rejected each location for no reason. They would walk in the front door, look around for a minute, and ask to leave again. Once or twice, they didn’t even go inside before rejecting it.
Three months. They hadn’t even made an offer.
By the time she let them into what could have been the hundredth building for sale, she wasn’t smiling at them as brightly, and she had given up on her sales pitch.
“This used to be a salon,” she said, checking her watch. “There’s a garage and an apartment on the second floor. I’ll see you outside.”
Elise and James walked into the dusty entryway as the agent returned to her car.
It was the ugliest building they had seen yet. It looked like interior walls had been smashed out with a sledgehammer, the floors were ripped out, and everything was painted a nauseating shade of pink. The paint was paler where a sing used to hang: Glenda’s Hair. A broken ceramic flamingo was propped against the corner.
“Well?” James asked.
Elise peeked in the back room. The windows were small and set high, which she liked. “Good defensibility. You?”
He paced around the perimeter of the building. Elise trailed him a little slower, rubbing the bandage on her chest. Everything else had healed, but that one still hurt if she moved
too much.
“I like that it’s north facing, and there’s enough yard space to bury wards,” he said when they met around the front again. “Let’s look at the apartment, shall we?”
They climbed the stairs on the side of the building. The second story was just as bad as the first, but James smiled when he saw it. He peered inside each of the cabinets, the closets, and the crawlspace while Elise checked the windows. There was nothing close enough to allow people—or demons—to climb into the second floor.
It had everything he needed to magically secure it against intrusion, and the ideal surroundings for defense. With time and ritual, it could become be a fort nothing could penetrate. Pink or not, it was perfect.
As simple as that, the decision was made.
“The Realtor will be relieved,” he said as they returned to the first floor.
“We’ll send her flowers or something to celebrate her commission. Have you decided on a name?”
“What do you think of ‘Motion and Dance’?”
She squinted around the room again, rolling the name over in her mind. She could imagine the mirrored walls and parquet flooring in place. James had been picking out furnishings even though they hadn’t bought a location yet, so it was easy to envision what it would look like.
It could be nice. Really nice.
“Motion and Dance. I like it.”
“We’ll have to get new… everything,” James said, offering a hand to Elise. “Floor. Paint. Roofing.”
She wrapped her fingers around his. “That’s fine.” Elise smiled, and it was the first time she had done it since they left the pyramid. It hurt her cheeks. “Retirement. I still can’t believe it.”
“Scared?” he asked.
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you kidding?”
Of course she was. But she would never say that aloud.
“It’s going to take awhile to get adjusted to the idea,” James admitted. “I still keep expecting to wake up somewhere new tomorrow.”
“The weirdness will pass once we’ve signed the paperwork… Gary.” They were using assumed names for everything legal. Their enemies were unlikely to try to track them down by such mundane means, but a little paranoia never hurt.
“Maybe so. I suppose I’m restless.”
“That’s over,” Elise said. The wound on her chest throbbed. “We’re done. He won’t find us here. No more killing, no more… anything.”
“I suppose we should be grateful,” James said.
“Yeah. I suppose we should.”
He nudged her. She nudged him back. And together, they left the studio and walked into the sunlight.
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About the Author
SM Reine is a writer and graphic designer obsessed with werewolves, the occult, and collecting swords. Sara spins tales of dark fantasy to escape the drudgery of the desert, where she lives with her husband, the Helpful Baby, and a small army of black familiars.
Turn the page for an excerpt from
DEATH’S HAND
the first book in
The Descent Series
An excerpt from
DEATH’S HAND
the first book in
The Descent Series
May 2009
Steam drifted from the surface of Marisa Ramirez’s coffee. She blew on it gently, cupping the mug between her hands to warm her chilly fingers. Golden morning light rimmed the closed curtains over the sink. The thermometer outside the window read sixty-six. The swamp cooler clicked on and blew chilled air into the kitchen. Marisa shrank deeper into her sweater.
Augustin Ramirez sat across the table with his face in his hands. The ceiling rattled above their heads as distant screams and sobs peaked in time with fists pounding against the floor.
His left cheek muscle twitched. They exchanged glances, and he found his own haunted expression mirrored in her face.
Hands shaking, she lifted her coffee cup and took a sip.
The doorbell chimed. Their daughter shrieked in response.
“Are you going to get that?” Augustin asked. Marisa didn't respond. His jaw tightened. “I said, are you going to get that?” She ducked her head, lips trembling. The right side of her mouth was darkened with the shadow of a bruise. He made a disgusted noise, shoving his chair back as he stood. “Fine. I'll get the door.”
She took another drink and set the mug down.
The living room blinds were shut and covered by heavy curtains, casting the room in twilight. Augustin unlocked the dead bolt and peeked through the door.
The woman on the other side pushed her sunglasses into her hair to study him with narrowed eyes. A single scar broke the line of her right eyebrow.
“Augustin Ramirez. Right?”
“Yes,” he said. “I'm sorry… do I know you?”
She held out a hand. She wore black gloves with a button at the wrist. “Elise Kavanagh. James sent me.”
He gave her hand a brief shake. Her grip made his knuckles ache. “James Faulkner?” Augustin asked. “He said he was going to send a—uh, an exorcist to look at our daughter.”
Elise nodded. “Yes, right. I'm the exorcist.”
“You're not what I… that is to say…”
“Yeah, I know. Can I come in?”
“Yes,” Augustin said, stepping aside.
“I'm sorry I'm late. I was on my way to the office, and I wasn't expecting James to ask me to do a job. I haven't been an exorcist in a long time.” She indicated her outfit with a sweep of her hand—a black skirt, white blouse, and black blazer. Augustin wasn’t sure what he expected an exorcist to wear. Maybe leather and chains. Definitely not business casual.
She handed a business card to him. Elise Kavanagh, Certified Public Accountant. It was so absurd he had to laugh. “So you used to exorcise people a lot?”
“More often than I do now,” Elise said. “I went into retirement five years ago. Anyway, I'm not going to exorcise your daughter. I'm going to determine if it’s demonic possession.”
“Demonic possession,” he echoed. “You have me at a loss. Frankly, this all seems a little… absurd.”
She gave a humorless, thin-lipped smile that might have been a grimace.
“You're here,” Marisa said. She hovered in the doorway, arms wrapped around her shivering body. “I'm so glad you came.”
Augustin frowned. “You know this woman?”
“She's always at the coven meetings,” Marisa said. Her voice trembled slightly. “I think she does James’s accounting. And he told me they’re, uh, bound. Kopis and aspis.”
“What?”
Her cheeks colored. “It’s Latin.”
“Greek, actually,” Elise said. “Kopis means sword, and aspis means shield. It means I am—or used to be—a warrior against the forces of Hell, and he’s my partner.” She wasn’t laughing at all. She was completely serious.
Distaste twisted Augustin’s mouth. “Coven nonsense. It's taken me awhile to get used to the idea of witchcraft in the first place, and I don’t think—”
Elise held up a hand. “I have places to be. I don't have the time to let you get used to it, Mr. Ramirez.”
His face grew hot. “I'm not—”
“Augustin,” Marisa said softly.
He closed his eyes and took a breath. Their marriage counselor harped on him about counting to ten when he was getting to mad, but he gave it to twenty this time. Covens and “warriors against Hell.” He could count to a thousand and still feel unsettled.
“Sorry,” Augustin finally said. “We're stressed.”
Elise accepted his apology by inclining her head. “Where's Lucinde?”
“She's upstairs. We'll go with you.”
Marisa and Elise headed up the stairs. Augustin followed a couple steps behind, watching the legs of the supposed exorcist. She wasn�
��t wearing nylons. Another scar marred her ankle, like a dog bite that had long since healed into a fleshy white mass, and his stomach turned. Some accountant.
Elise spoke to Marisa as they walked, oblivious to the reaction her scars evoked. “I need to ask you some questions. Have you summoned any demons or used a Ouija board?”