The First Sacrament (The Demons of Stone Chapel Book 1)

by Duncan, Lex

  Normal wasn’t good enough for me anymore. In small doses, yes, but I couldn’t live it for the rest of my life. I wasn’t destined for it. I didn’t want it. I was destined for something bigger. Something better. Something I fought tooth and nail for.

  The girl who came here four months ago looking for a demon to kill wasn’t the girl who stood here now. This new girl was ready to face whatever was beyond those doors. This new girl wouldn’t give in to that malicious voice in her head. She would fight, damn it, because that’s what she did. That’s what she always did. The only difference between now and then was that this girl knew how to use a gun.

  “You and me,” I told the church, pointing my numb finger at it. “We have some unfinished business to take care of.”

  Keeping with my trend of not thinking things through, I crunched the rest of the way to the doors and pulled them open. Destiny awaited. And I was ready to punch it square in the face.

  The smell of blood and incense punched me in mine as soon as I stepped inside.

  It looked like services had already started.

  The pews were filled from end to end with all manner of blank faced citizens. A nurse in scrubs. A little boy in his pajamas. A woman in a large, floppy hat. Glassy eyes. Stiff posture. A livestock sense of complacency. The chandelier was lit. The torches in their sconces were burning. The cobwebs were dusted from the walls. An entire row of hooded figures stood behind the altar. Dark sentinels keeping watch over their bleeding charge.

  “Oh my God!” I wasn’t thinking about me when I ran, tripping on my own frozen feet, down the aisle. “Dante!”

  I was thinking about him.

  “Dante, oh my God,” I fell to my knees in front of him, took his face in my hands. His eyes were black and his nose was bleeding, his suit in complete disarray. I glanced behind his back and saw his wrists were bound by a thick chain, the skin around it peeling and inflamed. Iron poisoning.

  A mangled noise gurgled up from his throat. “Bea-uhh…”

  “Yeah,” I said, managing a smile. “It’s me. Hi. I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?”

  His head swayed back and forth. “Nuhh…”

  This was a Beatrice-Dante argument that he wasn’t going to win. “Nope, don’t. I’m going to get you out of here and we’re going to find your stupid dad and—”

  “Hello, Beatrice.”

  Dante groaned.

  I knew what I’d see when I looked over my shoulder. But knowing didn’t relieve the dread. “Hi, Amarax.”

  Amarax, wearing the mayor’s body, smiled like I’d arrived for a business meeting. “You need to step away from my son, please.”

  My hands tightened protectively around his son’s arm. “No.”

  “That wasn’t a request.” He took a step back and the hooded figures swarmed me, grabbing my shoulders and dragging me away. They only stopped when Amarax said they could. “That’s enough. Thank you.”

  “You’re really bad at this, you know that?” I couldn’t escape my captors this time, but at least I still had my big fat mouth to use when my hands failed to do the job. “You thought you were winning, weren’t you? You—”

  All traces of amusement were wiped from Amarax’s waxy face. “You think you have all the answers, don't you, Beatrice?” He stepped toward me and grimaced down at his son like he was no better than a piece of garbage. “Malnoch thinks so, too. But the truth of the matter is that neither of you would have these answers―what few you have―if I hadn't held your hand and helped you along the way.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?” I asked, clinging onto my bravado as if my life depended on it. And maybe it did. Mercy didn't seem to be one of Amarax's strong suits.

  “It means I’ve handed everything over to you. It means that I've known all along,” he said. “from the moment you wandered here four months ago. I've known your plans, your habits, your hopes, your struggles. You visit the sanatorium, you go to school, you eat lunch in the library, you live in my son's house. You’ve all been flailing like children in the dark to catch me. I gave you everything and you still failed. It’s embarrassing, really.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. Dante knew. We were just…outmaneuvered. In every way possible. “Sounds more like you've been stalking us.”

  “Stalking is such an ugly word. I've been keeping tabs on you. All of you.”

  That didn't make me feel better. “How?”

  Amarax's eyes sparkled in the way chipped onyx might. “Birds are good for more than shitting on cars.”

  I didn’t have to think on that particular riddle for very long.

  The crows. The crow in my apartment, the crow on the fountain, the crow outside the church, the crows in the house. He'd been giving Alfred Hitchcock a run for his money. After that, the rest of the puzzle quickly fell into place. “It was you here that first night, wasn’t it? That voice in my head? You wanted me to sacrifice myself.”

  He stood, rolling his shoulders. “That's right, Beatrice.”

  “Why? What have I ever done to you?”

  “For starters,” he reached in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a candle on the altar. He sucked in, then blew out a plume of acrid smelling smoke. “You killed my dog.”

  The dog. The eyeless dog in the storm. The dog I didn't technically kill. The dog that earned me three thousand dollars. Amarax's dog. Of course.

  “You did all that stuff to my apartment.” I said. It wasn’t a question.

  Another puff. “That was a warning. A warning you didn't heed.”

  He could have just left me a threatening voicemail like the last person who tried to kill me did. “And all the people you've murdered? My neighbor, my landlord, the people in the warehouse, that woman at The Inferno?”

  “They gave their lives so that I might strengthen mine. Worthy sacrifices. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “They were innocent! And you―you murdered them! For what? Revenge? Power?” His flippant attitude pissed me off so much that I almost forgot I was yelling at an infinitely powerful demon king. I really needed to learn to put a lid on it.

  He answered my questions with more questions. “Do you know what it's like, Ms. Todd? To feel the human spirit in its rawest form?”

  “I'm not a demon hell bent on destroying an entire city, so, no, I don't.”

  His silver brows lifted in mock surprise. “Destroying? Beatrice, why would I destroy my own creation?”

  “So you admit it. You used Elias to found this city so you could use it for your fucked up demon―”

  “Elias came to me,” Amarax said. “He was desperate for guidance.”

  “Oh, I'm sure he was begging for you to possess him, I totally believe that.”

  “I want to be very transparent about something, Beatrice.” He reached behind his back and returned with a gun. An antique pistol with an enameled grip. “You’re here because I want you to be. You aren’t the Chosen One. You aren’t the star of some silly prophecy. You’re a bargaining chip, you understand. My trump card.”

  Dante lifted his head a fraction, his face pale against the candlelight. “Leave—leave her alone.”

  “See?” Amarax said to me. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. My son has always had a gentle heart. A soft disposition. And you’ve made him even softer, Beatrice.” He lifted the gun and pointed it at me, the barrel aimed right between my eyes. “I kill you and he will surely break.”

  “No,” Dante groaned, swaying on his knees. Looking at him, I would have thought he’d been drugged. His movements were sluggish, his speech difficult to comprehend. He wasn’t entirely here. But he wasn’t entirely gone, either.

  I stared at the gun so near my face, wondering what Amarax planned on doing with it. He could kill me, but if I were in his shoes, I would let me live. And not just because I liked living. “You’re not gonna kill me. You kill me and you won’t have any leverage.”

  That was the word, right? Leverage? It sounded right.
>
  Amarax’s demon-black eyes glittered. “How clever you are, Beatrice.”

  He let the gun fall.

  I exhaled.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I’m not going to kill you. Not right now, anyway.”

  What a relief.

  “But I am thinking about killing him.”

  Wait.

  In one swift movement, Amarax shot Dante twice in the back. Dante gasped a feather-light gasp and fell forward, hitting the floor with a thud.

  Maybe terror made me stronger, maybe the hooded figures loosened their grip, but I managed to rip myself away from them and threw myself down to Dante’s motionless body. Tears stung at my eyes. This wasn’t like the time he got shot by the cops. I would have taken the screams of agony over his silence. He wasn’t screaming. He was barely even breathing.

  “Dante?” I said, too afraid to put my hands on him, but too stubborn to believe he was dying. “Dante, come on, breathe. You—you can’t…”

  Little gasps shook his shoulders as he struggled for air. Blood pooled on the floor, dripped from his lips. It streaked from the corners of his mouth like he’d been drinking it.

  “Unhh…” His lips moved, but his voice was hardly more than a strained whisper. “You—you have to…”

  “Don’t try to talk, okay? You’re—you’re gonna be fine.”

  “Beatrice, don’t…”

  Amarax stood over the two of us, unmoved. “This is very touching.”

  “Shut up!” I choked the lump in my throat back. The bullets Amarax were using had to be made of iron. I thought of what one of them did to Dante before. Two just doubled the chances of him dying of the poison. No. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t.

  Amarax clucked his tongue. “Now, Beatrice, no need to get hostile.” His eyes narrowed at my ward. “What a fancy little bauble you have there.”

  I covered the pendant with my hand, tried to draw strength from its power. “Don’t—don’t even think about it.”

  He tilted his head. “I just want to get a closer look.”

  Before I could answer, he reached over Dante’s body and ripped the ward right off my neck.

  “Hey!” I tried to grab it, but Amarax, like all demons, was quick.

  He deposited my necklace in the pocket of his slacks. “Thank you. Anywho, I really need you to move. This is important.”

  “Bite me,” I snarled, because, once again, I couldn’t keep my big fat mouth shut.

  “I knew you’d say something to that effect.” He snapped his fingers. A hooded figure came forward and grabbed me roughly by the shoulders. “Daniel, please escort Beatrice to her seat.”

  Like any good mind controlled demon slave, Daniel grabbed me and shoved me into the first pew on the right. The woman next to me barely blinked when my elbow hit her in the face.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, even though I knew she couldn’t really hear me.

  Amarax holstered his gun and grabbed the chalice from the altar. He crouched to his son’s level and put the cup to Dante’s lips. “You know this game by now, son, let’s have it.”

  With a low grunt, Dante stirred just long enough to spit out a mouthful of blood on his father’s polished shoes.

  Amarax frowned. “This would be easier if you would—”

  Bam, bam, bam!

  The words died on Amarax’s tongue.

  “Police!” I recognized Chief Morales's commanding voice. “Open these doors! Now!”

  Even at the altar, I could see the doors weren’t budging. They weren’t locked. Warded, if I had to guess. The back entrance probably was as well. Chief Morales wouldn't be getting in unless I let her in.

  Bam, bam, bam!

  Amarax sighed. “Daniel, get Beatrice to the back. We need to do this quickly.”

  Hell, no. We weren’t doing anything but getting the cops in here.

  When Daniel made his grab for me, I waited until he was just close enough to drive my knee into his groin. He doubled over with an agonized noise and I slipped under his arms to make a break for the door.

  “Someone grab her!” Amarax yelled.

  Halfway through my glorious escape, a woman arose from the pews. She was dressed in full habit, her wimple obscuring her face. She stepped into the aisle and lifted her wizened hand.

  Pain exploded in my chest like a bomb. I stumbled, then I fell, agony curling my body into a fetal position. The hurt was incredible, razorblades in my stomach. I gagged. Blood coated my tongue, warm and thick.

  I spat it out onto the rug.

  “Margaret!”

  The name echoed through the ribs in the ceiling.

  I heaved. More blood, spewing out of me like a fountain. My insides expanded to make room for more, then contracted as I puked. A fresh wave of pain each time, blazing through my body. I didn’t even have time to scream before I puked again.

  “Margaret!” Footsteps. “Stop. You're going to kill her.”

  The pain began to fizzle. It whispered through my body instead of roaring. Blood no longer filled my mouth, but the taste lingered, bitter and sharp.

  Gasping for air, I slapped my hand down on the defiled rug and rolled myself onto my back. Sister Margaret stood over me. Her right eye was still missing.

  “Get up,” she snarled.

  When I didn't, she reached for me. I swung at her with my balled-up fist. It was a feeble swing, but it nailed her in the nose. I hoped it hurt.

  She recoiled like a vampire exposed to sunlight, hateful face twisting with rage. “You little―”

  “Margaret, I've told you twice now to stop.” Amarax stood at the altar, his suit stained with blood. He held a chalice in his left hand and Dante was on his knees at the bottom step, his head pulled back by Amarax’s right hand, buried in his hair. “You're upsetting my son.”

  Dante’s eyes were dim with pain, though his shoulders trembled with emotion he rarely, if ever, betrayed. It broke my heart to see him like that. Brought to his knees by his own father.

  I tried to get up. I tried to summon my strength. But my strength had drained with my blood and I had to rely on Sister Margaret to stand.

  She held me by my hair as she hauled me down the aisle. Oddly enough, all I could think about was how she was ruining Aralia’s hard work. “Wicked, wicked girl.”

  Amarax turned to the altar, and Daniel, recovered from my knee to his groin, produced a knife from his cloak. He handed it over to his demon master like it was a holy artifact, sinking down to one knee.

  “Let her go, Margaret,” Amarax said. “But keep her in front of my son. She needs to witness the consequences of her actions.”

  Sister Margaret kicked my knees from under me and I fell to the floor. Dizziness tilted the room on its axis, but Dante's face remained the center of my vertigo.

  “H―hey,” I said weakly “I―”

  Sister Margaret slapped me upside the head. “No talking. Our Lord needs complete silence to concentrate.”

  Amarax turned once more to face us. To my horror, I saw that he had carved the seal of the First Sacrament into his forehead. A banishing seal was carved into his left hand, a summoning seal in his right. “Oh, Margaret,” he said, reaching for his pistol yet again. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

  A loud bang slammed against the doors. They rattled on their hinges. The police, it had to be the police. They were trying to bust in. Hope flickered to life within me, a dim ember in the pit of my stomach.

  A dim ember that was all too quickly snuffed as Amarax crouched down to take my chin in his bleeding hand. “I'm creating a brave new world, Beatrice Todd,” he said. “And you're going to help me build it.”

  “No,” I wrenched my head away, getting so dizzy that I nearly puked again.

  Another bang on the door.

  Amarax sauntered behind Dante's stooped frame and braced his hands on his son's shoulders. “Elias did his part by building this church, founding this city. Now you get to do yours. Isn’t that exciting?”

&n
bsp; As exciting as diving into a vat of acid, yeah.

  Amarax rested his finger on the trigger of his gun, pressing the barrel to Dante’s temple.

  For one mind-numbing, breath-stealing second, I thought he was going to blast Dante’s head off. I knew I promised I wouldn't get involved. I knew I promised I'd save myself. But that was when we were safe in my room. That wasn’t when his murderous father had a gun to his head.

  Gritting my teeth, I lunged for Amarax, hands grasping for his neck. Sister Margaret's ancient fingers dug into my scalp. I screamed a frustrated scream and winced as the feeling of my hair being torn from my roots set my scalp on fire. Hair could grow back. I couldn't replace Dante. I couldn't replace the way he looked at me, the way he smiled at me, the way he went along with my dumb jokes, the way he watched The Demon and the Dame with me last month because I asked him to. I couldn't replace the way he made me feel. I couldn't let him die.

  But then that terrifying second passed and the gun moved from Dante's temple. It disappeared behind his back. I stopped screaming, stopped lunging. Dante lifted his head. His eyes widened. The police beat at the door.

  Buried between the battering was a muffled pop!

  The breath left my lungs.

  Amarax smiled.

  Dante fell forward. I caught him, just barely, and it took every scrap of willpower I had to hold him and myself up.

  That was when I saw it.

  The third bullet wound. Glistening in his back. Blood oozed from the holes. I put my hand to his chest to feel its familiar rise and fall. No rise, no fall. Nothing. Terror gripped my heart and squeezed it tight. “No, no no,” I stammered. “No, Dante, no, you can't―Please.”

  I heard footsteps as Amarax's shadow trailed across the floor. “Daniel, take her.”

  “No!” I clutched Dante’s limp body to my chest. My brain absolutely refused to process what just happened. He wasn’t dead he wasn’t dead he wasn’t dead.

  Daniel didn't care for my grief. It took some prying, but he pulled me up and dragged me away. I put up as much of a fight as I could, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Everything was falling apart.