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

by Duncan, Lex

  Amarax sighed again, leftover smoke from his cigarette drifting from his nostrils. Sister Margaret came forward with a duffel bag. He reached inside, gathered two armfuls of stubby black candles, and ordered Sister Margaret to arrange them. “He's not dead, Beatrice,” he offered a look of false concern. “I’m not about to murder my own son.”

  At the mention of murder, Dante’s body seized in a massive gasp, like he was drawing breath for the very first time.

  “See?” Amarax said.

  I saw. I heard, too. The rumbling in his chest, the ferocious snarl of a man possessed. But he wasn't possessed. He told me he wasn't possessed. He was―

  Sister Margaret dropped one of her candles. Her hands shook. “The cambion!”

  Thirty-Five

  Amarax practically jumped for joy. He was an awfully happy man, all things considered. The sight of his son rising from the floor―body contorted, limbs stiff―made him laugh.

  No one else laughed with him.

  “Dante?” I whispered. I had no idea what Amarax did when he shot those bullets into Dante’s ragged body, but whatever happened transformed him into something…Something else. Something vicious and dangerous and borderline feral.

  Snarling, he broke the chain binding his wrists together. The remnants of it scraped across the stone as he crawled disjointedly to the altar. Every movement looked like it was being made by someone who spent his whole life walking on four legs instead of two. He grabbed the altar and pulled himself up.

  Sister Margaret abandoned her candles in a pile on the floor. She stumbled back into a pew, almost landing in a man's lap. “The devil!” She screamed hoarsely. “He's come to kill us all!”

  “No, Margaret, no,” Amarax raked a hand through his hair and went to comfort his charge. “Remember what I told you? He can't hurt you as long as I'm here.”

  Sister Margaret shook her head. “He's going to kill me! He's going to kill me!”

  “Margaret, we've been over this―”

  “No!”

  “Margaret―”

  “No!”

  Crack!

  Sister Margaret slumped to the floor. Her eyes were wide like Dante's had been, but unlike him, she didn't wake up.

  Amarax nudged her body over with his foot and resumed arranging the candles in a large circle in front of the altar. “If you want something done right...”

  “Holy shit.” I slumped in Daniel’s grasp. I didn’t really like Sister Margaret, since she kind of turned me into a human blood fountain there for a second, but that didn’t mean I wanted to see her get her neck snapped. “You—you--”

  “I killed her, Beatrice, yes. Thank you for noticing.” Amarax shook his head. What a tough day at work he was having. “She hated you, Beatrice. She wanted you to die. She kidnapped you at St. Agatha’s, put you in the hospital.”

  “You probably made her do that! You—”

  Dante took a tense step forward, fingers curled like claws. He had his sights set on Daniel. When he spoke, very little of the rich, teacherly baritone I was used to remained. He didn’t so much talk as he snarled. “Get away from her.”

  “There's my boy!” Amarax exclaimed, grinning. “I knew you'd join us eventually. Daniel, take Beatrice back to her seat.”

  “What?” I didn't have the strength to fight. Daniel used this to his advantage. He began to pull me away, but Dante wouldn't allow it.

  “No,” he stalked down the aisle after us, murder in his gait.

  Daniel, seeing the threat, tried to get away. And by get away, I mean he grabbed me by the wrist and pretty much dragged me along with him. It was a futile effort, because his hands released me as Dante seized him. I caught myself on a pew and turned just in time to see Dante lift him up by his throat.

  I'd seen too many horror movies to know this wasn't going to end well.

  “Dante,” I said, the blood loss making me lightheaded. Standing up straight was impossible. Speaking coherently was crawling in the same boat. “Put him down.”

  His hand tightened around Daniel’s throat. “I told you to get away from her.”

  Daniel said nothing, aside from the occasional choking noise. He dangled helplessly in the air like a rag doll, face turning startling shades of purple and red. Behind them, Amarax completed his candle circle. They ignited with a simple snap of his fingers. The woman in the Sawyer’s shirt stood up. Entered the circle. Amarax took his suit jacket off and rolled up his sleeves. Strapped on his right arm was a dagger. He took it and slashed the big vein in his bicep.

  Blood gushed out.

  Flashbacks of The Inferno played in my head. Gershom. The woman, cutting her own throat.

  As Dante did on the rooftop, so his father did here in the church. He chanted words I didn't understand, words that wouldn't fit in my mouth. Words with sharp edges and strange syllables. Words that strung together to make the snow fall harder, the wind howl louder, the shadows come alive. They lengthened and stretched, writhed at my feet. Not good.

  “Dante,” the skin on the back of my neck prickled as Amarax's chanting got louder, as the shadows lapped at my feet. My breath left my lips in icy clouds. “I―I’m not exactly his biggest fan either, believe me, but―but you're not a murderer. You're not your father.”

  His father was going to kill us all if we didn't do something fast. I could feel it. The Veil ripping. The pressure in my chest. We didn't have time for frivolous murder. We had an entire congregation to save.

  Lips drawing back in a snarl, Dante threw Daniel aside. He skidded down the aisle and rolled to a stop at the last pew. He didn't get up.

  Thank God.

  “You―you did the right thing,” I breathed, smiling weakly.

  Dante’s hands clenched into fists, his joints cracking. His father stood in front of the altar, arms outstretched. A bloody symbol painted the ground. The First Sacrament. The woman in the Sawyer's shirt stood in the middle, her back arching as she was lifted off her feet and into the freezing air. Shadows curled like smoke between her legs. They crept up her torso, wound around her neck, spread down her arms.

  Amarax was shouting now, and the ground began to shake underneath my feet.

  Dante met my gaze one last time.

  “Go,” I said.

  His black eyes lingered on me for a moment, and if I knew Dante, he didn’t want to leave me like this. It was nice to know the demon part of him cared about me as much as the human one did. I wanted to enjoy that look, maybe kiss him for good luck, but we didn’t have the time. Hell was literally about to swallow us up.

  “Go,” I said again. “Hurry!”

  He went.

  I sank to the shaking floor, finally giving in to my body's need for rest. Bits of dust and stone fell from the ceiling. My eyes fluttered shut, only to snap back open as the shaking intensified. Amarax’s sacrifices sat dutifully in their seats. They needed me. I couldn’t stay here. I had to do something.

  Pulling myself up, I staggered down the aisle pew by pew, and pew by pew, the congregation stood. Shadows crawled up the walls and nipped at my heels.

  The door. Had to break the ward somehow, had to let the police in. They―they could help...Almost there, almost there.

  A scream ripped through the air.

  A banshee scream unleashed from a possessed throat. I looked over my shoulder. The woman in the Sawyer's shirt. Her limbs spread like her counterpart’s at The Inferno. Shadows poured into her mouth. Seeped into her eyes.

  Dante prowled forward. Amarax's white teeth flashed in a too wide grin. I stumbled over Daniel’s body. Fell. Recovered. Crawled the rest of the way to the doors.

  Darkness edged ever closer.

  I gave the doors a push. Wouldn't budge, they wouldn't budge.

  “Open, damn it,” I rested my forehead on the hard oak, beat my fist against it. “You―you have to open.”

  But they didn't. They didn't open because I wanted them to. The police didn't bust in, guns blazing. There wasn’t any rousing battle musi
c, no special effects.

  Just the shadows, eating every speck of light. Just the screams, rising up from the congregation in a deafening chorus. Just the woman, falling to the ground. Just the ground, splitting down the aisle.

  Back to the door, I watched through dizzy eyes as the shadows consumed the congregation. As they clawed up my neck in fingers of cool, deadly velvet. I tried in vain to peel them away. They just kept coming, the pressure in my chest increasing. They pooled around my eyes, allowed just enough light to see by. The candles still burned in front of the altar.

  Amarax still grinned, blood trickling down his face. Dante still pressed forward.

  I breathed deep.

  Waited.

  Gasped.

  Screamed a silent scream as the darkness filled me up.

  Shadows scorched my eyes, poured into my body, set fire to my lungs. I had no sense of space, no sense of time, no sense of anything but the black infinite, a world set entirely to mute. A fixed point in time where nothing mattered but the shadows.

  And then, with a spectacular boom, they imploded.

  This was the way the world ended.

  Not with a whimper, but a bang.

  And with that bang, the darkness receded.

  And with that recession, the monsters were unleashed.

  Acknowledgements

  This is the part where I say it takes a village to write a book. Because it does. The thing you just read is a product of many years of hard work—not just from me, but from everyone who has supported me along the way. From my internet friends (you all know who you are!), to my college professors, to my beta readers, and everyone else in between. I never would have been able to finish this book without all of you.

  You’re the best.

  Stay tuned for book two in the series, The Shadows Above, and watch out for a novella, Penance, coming out soon!

  And don’t forget to leave something for the demon lord while you’re at it.

  - Lex

  About the Author

  Lex Duncan is the author of The Demons of Stone Chapel series, as well as a huge amount of unfinished projects that may never see the light of day. She’s twenty-two years old, working toward her first degree in creative writing. She’s always had an intense interest in the occult, and most of her projects in grade school were about witches or werewolves. These days, when she isn’t reading books or writing them, she’s playing video games, watching old movies, and spending way too much time on the internet.

  She currently lives in Illinois. Though she really wants to move to Maine.

  Extras

  Want to be notified when the next book comes out? Want to appease the demon lord? If so, make sure you sign up for my mailing list! I promise I won’t spam you.

  http://eepurl.com/bKLrST