Wickedly They Dream

by Cathrina Constantine

  For an old geezer, he had an excellent punting leg. He strode to the far wall and then rotated. His protruding jaw sharpened as his cheeks rose in a vulgar grin.

  The walls ballooned and bowed inward, and the worn floorboards groaned. Gossamer specters splashed into the room as if they were suctioning through gelatin. She hated these spirits. They were like an epidemic, deadly and so tricky to conquer.

  “Markus, I really hope you’re close by,” she said in a frantic whimper, “because I’ll be needing you, like now.”

  Ghostly specters, large, small, and gruesome, warped into corporal forms and converged on Jordan like a plague of locusts. Pressing her back into the corner for protection, she prepared for the conflict. In truth, she feared wraithlike appendages would slither through the plaster walls and attack her from behind.

  A few months prior, during a demon altercation at Asa’s, she had been convinced of the indispensable sacrament of holy water. Since fumbling with the vial’s cap at Asa’s, Jordan had ingeniously filled tiny atomizers for expedient use. She freed a vial of holy water from her rear pocket. Holding it like a weapon, she pumped the nozzle as if her life depended on it, which it did. The spritz combusted the creatures like firewater. Chilling shrieks filled the room.

  A diminutive, hump-backed demon wrapped its arms and legs around her thigh and chomped with spiked teeth. Her yelp added to the scrimmage as she dumped the last of the holy water on the vile thing. Its swampy eyes ruptured like a cracked egg. Hoary skin melted and plopped off its skeleton like molting globs of ice cream.

  Out of breath, Jordan gasped, “Markus, you can step in at any time.”

  A roiling gaseous specter appeared and morphed into a reptilian creature that resembled a komodo dragon. Swiftly, its clawed fingers grabbed her by the neck. Struggling, Jordan walloped her heels into the beast’s sizable stomach. The creature toppled, but hung on to her neck, hauling them both to the floor. She’d landed in a favorable position to chomp down on the dragon’s arm, and gnawed until gross slime oozed passed her lips. The slime inflamed and burned. She spat out the disgusting demon goo that coated her tongue.

  Dragon claws sustained a firm grasp on her throat. The creature knelt then rose, transporting Jordan into the air with his unyielding throttlehold around her neck. To stop from choking to death, she clung to the creature’s arms. Flaying her legs to and fro, she booted a few of the monsters, but missed the dragon.

  She endeavored to maintain consciousness by forcing in shallow breaths, but a sphere of darkness bled into her marginal vision. Soon she’d be dead.

  Instead of snapping her neck, the dragon towed Jordan toward its yellow orbs. An error on the dragon’s part. Loosening her life-saving grip, she stabbed a finger in its spine-chilling membranes. The dragon’s roar was so hideous that she feared her ears would bleed. Finally liberated, she fell to the floor.

  She rolled over the floorboards, deceiving a few demons, and saw the old man’s jaw moving, most likely calling for reinforcements. Realization struck. She must get rid of the sorcerer. Meditation at that juncture seemed intolerable, although it was her only hope. While demons attacked, she closed her eyes from the blows and concentrated for a heavenly weapon.

  Cheering for Jordan’s obliteration, the sorcerer’s menacing cry suffused her with tenacious determination.

  Screams exuded from the heap of creatures as, one-by-one, they scrambled off their prey. The glint of a monochromatic scimitar sliced through them, silencing the sorcerer’s cheering.

  Ducking low for a dive, Jordan jackknifed over the bevy of specters like an angel in flight and geared up to purge the sorcerer. The old man’s eyes grew in amazement and fear. The curved blade stopped just short of his throat.

  At the moment of slaying evil, she wavered, was the sorcerer human? Is it redeemable to kill him? The slight indecision caused her to be trampled. The scimitar slipped from her clammy hand, surfing right under the sorcerer’s foot. She grumbled at the gaffe. Painful blows seemed to pound her to dust, and tucking into a ball, she tried protecting her head and face.

  Was it the brutal beating or did the floorboards shake? A luminous flash staggered the demons. During her timely reprieve, and after spitting a dollop of blood, she fixed her eyes on the angel. A marvelous shine glazed away the shadows. From her vantage point on the floor, Markus gleamed magnificently, a golden hero, regal and stalwart. Knuckles shelved on his hips like an impervious warrior.

  “Grogan, you’re not playing fair,” Markus said with a tang of bitter humor in his voice.

  The abrading noise of metal drew their eyes to the door sealed in witch-light. Eliciting the sound of grinding wood, the door splintered, tearing from its hinges. Ezekiel shouldered through the splintered doorway with Declan and Seeley.

  “Let’s roll,” said Ezekiel ominously.

  Jordan would’ve chuckled at Ezekiel’s idiom, if she’d not been so overcome. Grateful for the upgrade in allies, she sprang to her feet, revitalized. Ignoring the pain radiating through her body, she bashed a fist at a gory orifice.

  She snared Markus’s beaming eyes. “What were you waiting for?”

  “For you to make a mistake,” he mocked while culling a monster.

  MARKUS AND EZEKIEL wasted little time dispatching a herd of spirits who were eager to clash with the angels.

  Extracting a pistol, Declan fired into a patch of gossamer specters, nicking Markus’s shoulder. Unfazed by the bullet wound, Markus issued Declan a reprimand. “Put that away before someone gets killed. It’s useless here.”

  Declan stashed the gun in his belt and mercilessly thwacked the illusive beings.

  “Here,” said Seeley handing him a plastic bottle filled with holy water.

  “I’m not thirsty. I need something to get rid of these things.”

  “It’s not just water. Watch.” Seeley sprinkled a hostile ghost. The creature imploded into a crispy critter and ping-ponged from wall to wall.

  “Cool.” Declan turned and dealt with a pesky entity.

  Demented howling dissolved as the room cleared, leaving only the sorcerer.

  An offensive wheeze issued from the man called Grogan. “So, finally, Markiel, the warriors shield makes an appearance.” The sorcerer’s arms rose as if he was preparing to orchestrate a symphony, his jaw unhinged. “Kill them—” he slurred from his yawning cavity. An insurgence of inanimate beings regurgitated from Grogan’s mouth like magma. “Who can vanquish the angels?” Grogan goaded his minions. “The heir must be unharmed. And bring me the warrior.”

  Confounded by the sorcerer’s outburst, and out of holy water, Seeley continued to tangle with a grisly shape. The repugnant demon caging her into a corner smirked, becoming even uglier. Another flimsy specter joined in and began coiling around her, fabricating a network of magical netting. Transfixed by the fluctuating specter, she felt a tickle inside her belly.

  The baby? A preposterous sense of delight gushed through her bones. The increasing fiasco imparted an absurd spurt of glee to escape her mouth.

  Those battling perceived the budding magical ward centering Seeley. It seemed as if the minions, in allegiance to the sorcerer, were keeping her safe. Declan made several attempts to abolish the specter, only to be struck down. Ezekiel came to the rescue. Raising an arm, he directed an electrified bolt, which adhered to the specter like a taser.

  Seeley fainted and slumped to the floor.

  In the meantime, Jordan tussled with a deranged demon, ramming a sneaker through its ribcage. One eyeball, hanging by a lone tendon, went flying. The creature liquefied like sugar in water. Demon juice spread over the floor.

  Ugh! She leapt away from the foamy gunk.

  The ruckus evaporated and an eerie peace ensued in the upper room. Ezekiel and Markus stood guard, watching for infiltrating miscreants. The strange sorcerer, remained. His arms folded.

  “I believe it’s time for you to disappear, Grogan.” The dislike in Zeke’s voice was more than an undertone.

 
Grogan’s jaw sloped at a peculiar angle. He appeared to be thinking.

  “What!” Jordan exclaimed, giving the angels a dubious look. “You’re letting him go?”

  “He’s human,” Markus clarified, not particularly pleased. “Remember, we can’t kill humans unless it’s unavoidable.”

  “But he tried to kill us!”

  “He’s here on an assignment,” Ezekiel said. “Aren’t you, Grogan?”

  The sorcerer clearly out-ranked, said, “I head the department that eliminates double-crossing mystics who’ve pledged their loyalty to The Order.” He puffed out his chest like a frigate bird. “I was alerted to an anonymous summoning spell from this room. Now I understand.” His eyes swerved to Jordan. “The White Warrior has dealt with a double-crossing mystic.” An unpleasant bark vented from his mouth, shoulders hiking up and down as if he found the situation funny.

  “I’m sorry for the imposition,” Jordan mocked. I faltered once. Steamed and wringing her hands, she thought, Markus can’t kill a human. But I can.

  Grogan’s gaze moved to Seeley, lying on the floor and being attended to by Declan, before drifting back to Jordan. “It was my pleasure to assist Asa,” he said, with intense fervor slipping into his expression, “in crucifying the traitorous Jack Chase. One of my most rewarding assignments thus far.”

  Grogan’s proclamation impelled Jordan into action, springing for his throat.

  Fortunately, or unfortunately, her arms and body thwacked into the wall.

  “Where’d he go?” she snarled and wheeled quickly on her toes, facing Markus. “I don’t get it. If Grogan is human, how can he come in like a ghost?”

  Ezekiel embarked on an articulate explanation, “Limitations are endless for sorcerers who’ve sold their soul to the devil to gain supernatural power. Grogan is well known by the angels. He rarely gets his hands dirty and beckons to the netherworld to do his dirty work, as you witnessed tonight.”

  Trumping Jordan’s train of thought, Declan’s distraught voice rang out. “Seeley needs help.”

  TENTACLES OF POSSESSION

  SEELEY CONVULSED, HEAVING off the floorboards as if something had winched her torso upward, arching her back. Her arms and legs twitched chaotically as if they had a life of their own.

  Faster than humanly possible, Ezekiel scooped Seeley into his arms. He angelically transformed and burst from the room as if the building was on fire. Streaking after the angel, whose radiance drenched a pathway down the staircase, they fled out of the brownstone.

  Jordan took inventory of the reddish-orange tubular lighting and the misshapen metal door. She turned her head to verify that the stained glass window with the magic globe, which had drawn her in like a magnet, was gone. Feeling as if she’d been imprisoned for hours, she drank in stale city air.

  Not a bit out of breath, Ezekiel altered into his human essence, and asked, “Where’d you park?”

  “Down the block,” Declan replied, panting to keep up the pace. “We were looking for Jordan.”

  Jordan was shocked at how effortlessly she matched Zeke’s strides. It was obvious he was not pushing angel speed, unwilling to attract undue attention. Declan was slowing, greedily swallowing air. And Markus, a heedful sentry, brought up the rear as they passed into a populated area.

  They ran between bystanders, and a young man shouted, “Hey man, whatcha doing to that lady?” The young man began to run behind Ezekiel, misconstruing the circumstances. “Hey lady, you need a cop or something?”

  Seeley flopped lifelessly in Ezekiel’s embrace, as he threaded in and out of the crowd. It appeared as if Jordan and Declan chased him with Markus following at a measured trot.

  The young man pointed to the rushing Zeke. “That guy’s kidnapping that lady,” he threw an accusatory comment. He continued in pursuit as people attempted to block Ezekiel.

  Markus snatched the young man by the shirt collar, deterring his caterwauling. “She’s ill and needs a doctor,” enunciated Markus, emitting a superior expression. “We’re helping her. That’s her husband and daughter.”

  The young man gulped, nodding. And the citizens went on with their evening rituals as if nothing had ever transpired. Hurrying into the car, Zeke cradled Seeley on his lap, Jordan and Markus filled the backseat, and Declan sat behind the wheel. The car sped into traffic.

  “We’re going home. To the apartment,” Ezekiel instructed in a crisp tone.

  “Seeley needs a doctor,” Declan insisted. “She has to go to the hospital.”

  Markus looked grim. “No doctor or hospital can help her today.”

  Seeley’s labored breathing had Jordan’s nerves stretched to their limits. She strived for a semblance of calm by closing her eyes, taking generous swallows of oxygen and slowly blowing out. She then peeked over the seat, hoping her mom would open her eyes and appear normal.

  Huffing a groan, Jordan slouched on the cushioned seat. In an attempt to banish her tragic thoughts regarding her mom’s condition, she asked, “What happened to my sword?” Her voice split the interior like an electric jolt. “I lost it under Grogan’s foot, and then it was gone.”

  “Once the object you attain is released from your hold,” Markus pushed a hand through his hair, “it eventually returns to whence it came.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

  “Explain, Jordan,” Declan demanded in an overwrought voice. “Why the hell were you in there?”

  “Ahhh . . .” Jordan felt as if she was to blame. “I believe I was being held against my will. I couldn’t move my feet until I made the decision to go into the building.”

  She peered at Markus for support, though his profile stiffened and his jaw compressed. Beside her twanging nerves, she felt claustrophobia in the stuffy vehicle, and pressed the button to the window, whooshing in some fresh air. She then simplified the events of the past hour.

  “Markus,” Ezekiel said, while viewing the oncoming intersection. “We need Father James. If he’s unavailable, seek out Father Chesterton.”

  Markus disappeared, leaving Jordan alone in the backseat.

  “It’ll take Father James too long to get here.” Jordan clutched her hands together to prevent them from trembling. “And Mom hasn’t even talked to Father Chesterton. He doesn’t know anything about us.”

  “Father James spoke to him. However, he didn’t reveal everything. That was supposed to be Seeley’s choice, whether she wanted to confide in him.”

  When the vehicle was parked, Ezekiel and Seeley were gone in a flash. By the time Declan and Jordan reached the apartment, they heard voices coming from the bedroom. Rounding the doorframe, Jordan was surprised to find Markus with Father James and Ezekiel standing like vigilant sentinels next to her mom’s bed.

  “How’d you get here so fast?” she asked the priest.

  He dipped his head and grinned as a response.

  I guess that’s all the info I’m going to get.

  “The wraith in Sherando must have infused a wretched curse,” said Father James.

  Declan’s sharp intake of breath was heard as he raced to Seeley’s bedside. The mattress heaved under his weight as he slipped her hand into his.

  Jordan wedged herself between Ezekiel and Markus, both in human form, to study her mom. She found it disconcerting to witness Seeley’s chest rising and falling rapidly as she wrestled for breath. A patina of moisture gelled over her face and neck, and Declan grabbed a tissue from a box of Kleenex to gently blot her face.

  “Why is everyone standing around gawking?” Jordan scratched the front of her jeans in order to tamp down her stress. “Do something.”

  Father James was in the process of draping a pall around his neck and shoulders. He then bent to a leather duffle and removed a book that she’d seen once before, a book of exorcism, and a St. Benedict crucifix. He handed the tattered copy to Ezekiel then shoved his hand into the pocket of his frock, withdrawing a vial.

  He anointed Seeley’s forehead. Her lips parted, letting loose a morbid w
ail. Father then gently placed the crucifix on her chest. The priest extended his arm to Ezekiel, who handed over the book.

  In a flat tone, Father James said, “You know what to do.”

  “Declan, you need to move.” Markus headed to the side of the bed as Declan rose and stepped back. Ezekiel moved to the other side.

  “Jordan and Declan, you’ll have to leave.”

  “I’m staying with my wife,” Declan asserted, wiping his brow with the heel of his hand.

  “I will not ask again,” the priest retorted. “Leave. Now.”

  Jordan knew the reasoning. Father James was afraid of exorcised spirits seeking a new host. Hooking Declan’s elbow, she escorted her belligerent stepdad from the room.

  “HOLD HER TIGHT.” Father James made the sign of the cross over himself and then in the air over Seeley.

  Each angel pressed a palm on Seeley’s upper shoulders, holding her down.

  As soon as he opened the book, an arcane draft ruffled the pages. Not paying attention to the changing atmosphere, Father James began to recite the compelling text.

  Overshadowing his ardent commands, a purring growl resounded around them. Seeley’s chest arched, dislodging the holy cross to fall onto the mattress. When the priest bowed to collect the cross, Seeley’s head cranked upward. His gaze connected with her blood-piercing eyes. Her beauty was marred as her face twisted.

  “Go to hell!” a guttural voice roared. “You fucking whore priest.”

  Father replaced the crucifix over her chest. Then, dosing his palm with holy oil, he firmly eased her head onto the pillow. Her eyes closed, lips parting and her breathing shallow.

  “We bind Satan and all the evil spirits,” he proclaimed, “by the power of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.”

  He rebuked the legion or legions influencing her. His holy utterances wreaked havoc on Seeley’s body. Her legs beat on the mattress as she fought with demonic strength trying to rip free of the angel’s stronghold.