Angel of Ruin

by Kim Wilkins

  “The girls aren’t here,” Betty said.

  Father Bailey raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Look you there now! Did you not want me to perform an exorcism?”

  Betty’s heart fell. “You mean they have to be here?”

  “’Tis them to whom the devils cleave. They must be cleansed.”

  “But they will hurt me.”

  “Once they are cleansed they will not hurt you. They will kiss you and thank you for saving their souls.”

  “Can you not cleanse their room?”

  “An excellent idea. And then I can come back tomorrow and finish the task. Will you show me where they perform their magic?”

  She nodded and led the way. Father Bailey, with his slow, methodical movements, took an age to ascend the stairs. Betty despaired of him working quickly and leaving promptly. And as for him coming back tomorrow to work on the girls — if they suspected an inkling before he arrived, then she dreaded how they would repay her. Perhaps next time it would be snakes instead of spiders. Her throat grew dry at the thought.

  Father Bailey pushed open the door to the girls’ bedroom and took a step in, Betty close behind him. He lifted his nose and sniffed the air.

  “Ah yes, this room is full of evil.” He turned to her. “Tell me, Mrs Milton. Did you ever find the book and mirror after they disappeared from my home?”

  She shook her head. “No, Father. But I suspect they are in Deborah’s closet.” She pushed the door open and showed him in.

  “The girl has this much private space? Why, no wonder she has turned to necromancy. Young women should be watched more closely. They are predisposed to evil.”

  He examined the walls and the bed, and Betty wondered when he would start the proceedings. Time ticked by.

  “Very well, I shall start here,” he said. He reached into his cloth bag and brought out a flask. “Let us pray.”

  Betty bent her head as he started mumbling away in Latin. It went against everything she had been taught about God and faith, but she complied because she saw no alternative solution. After the Amen she looked up to see he had pulled the cork out of the flask. He began to speak more Latin, and she wished for even a basic command of the language so she could understand what he was saying.

  As he spoke he drew crosses in the air and scattered water out of the flask. He spent a long time in Deborah’s room, then moved into the main bedroom. More invocations, more crosses, more holy water. Betty had a thousand anxious questions poised on her tongue, but did not make a sound in case he had to start the prayer all over again. Already the evening was growing dangerously late. Elongated shadows drew across the room as the long twilight settled in.

  It took less than an hour, but Betty’s anxiety had drained her. When Father Bailey declared the room free of demons, she ushered him downstairs as quickly as she could.

  “Thank you, Father, I appreciate your help.”

  “It is my duty, Mrs Milton. But I shall return tomorrow for the girls.”

  “Father, I fear that they will know you are coming and they will punish me.”

  “Pray, child. God will protect you.”

  Maybe, not long ago, Betty’s faith could have been strong enough to assist her, but after the incident with the spiders she wasn’t so sure. “What time will you come, Father? Early? At first light while they are sleeping?”

  “A good suggestion. Expect me at dawn. In the meantime, keep safe. The house is rid of demons, but the girls may bring more with them.”

  He was out the door, standing in the street. Two passers-by glanced at them. Did they know John? Would they tell? They kept walking without comment.

  “Good day, Father Bailey.”

  “Good day, Mrs Milton.”

  Betty closed the door quickly and pressed her back against it. Safe for now. Still, her heart hammered in her chest. She prayed that the girls wouldn’t find out what she had done.

  “Well, I know not why it takes three of us to carry a pie,” Mary said as they rounded the corner into Artillery Walk.

  “’Tis not as though you’re actually carrying anything, Mary,” Deborah sniffed.

  “I’m keeping an eye on Max, aren’t I? Dear boy.” The dog trotted happily in front of them.

  “I think Betty wanted us out of the house for a while,” Anne said, pulling her lame leg behind her.

  “That’s clear enough,” Mary said. “Perhaps she is having a paramour to visit.”

  Deborah giggled. “Mary, you are the limit.” She looked up the hill and saw a pale figure emerge from their front door.

  “Wait, is that Father Bailey coming from our house?”

  “That dirty old Papist,” Mary huffed. “Surely not. It must be next door.”

  “I am certain it is not,” Anne said. “Deborah is right. He was visiting Betty.”

  They all looked at each other and burst into uncontrollable laughter. “Betty’s paramour is a Catholic! How pleased Father would be to know,” Mary said, nearly doubled over with laughter.

  “But think about it, Mary,” Deborah said. “Perhaps Betty is secretly Catholic. Can you only imagine? Having to pretend all this time that she’s of our faith, and stealing away to confession when nobody is watching.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Why else would she have Father Bailey to visit?”

  Anne suddenly reached out and clutched Deborah’s wrist with a cold, white hand. “Sisters, no. We have it wrong. What is Father Bailey famous for?”

  “I have no idea, Anne. Why do you look so pale?” Mary said.

  “He is an exorcist.”

  At once, they all turned to look up the street. Father Bailey had disappeared from view.

  “Surely …” Mary breathed.

  “That stupid trick you played on Betty, Mary …” Deborah started.

  “Let’s get home. Don’t let Betty know that we know,” Mary said. “Be composed. He can’t hurt us, can he?”

  “He is gone now, anyway,” Anne said.

  Mary caught Max in her arms and they hurried home. Deborah thought about the demons living in the walls of her closet. Could Father Bailey get rid of them? And would they come back as soon as she used the demon key again? Her right hand involuntarily went to her neck, to feel the heavy chain there.

  “Betty, we’re home,” Mary called smoothly as they closed the door behind them. Deborah followed Mary to the kitchen while Anne hung back to check in the downstairs rooms.

  “Hello, girls,” Betty said. Even if she hadn’t seen Father Bailey leaving the house, Deborah would have known something was amiss. Betty was positively ashen, and her voice was all strained friendliness, overlying a desperate fear.

  “Here is your pie, Betty,” Deborah said, placing it carefully on the table.

  “Only I don’t see why three of us had to go,” Mary said. “I thought there must be baskets of food to pick up.”

  “You must be feeling better if you are up and working,” Deborah said.

  “Much better, thank you. Liza has the rest of the day off, so I am fixing supper.”

  “Mary, Deborah,” Anne said from the doorway. They turned. “Come upstairs and we shall rest a while ere supper.”

  Betty’s eyes were wide with anticipation.

  “We shall return in half an hour or so,” Mary said. She smiled a wicked smile. “How cosy, just the four of us for supper.”

  Betty tried to smile in return, but her anxiety was clearly overwhelming her. Deborah could sense it like a nerve trembling in the room.

  Upstairs alone, the girls sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I could see nothing downstairs,” Anne said. “He has left no signs of his visit.”

  “But you still suspect he was here in his capacity as an exorcist?”

  “I know not. What do you think, Deborah?”

  Deborah bit her lip as she considered. She could check instantly, of course, simply by looking in her scrying mirror to see if her demons were still here. But her scrying mirror was a
secret as much as her demon key. “Does it matter? He cannot hurt us, can he?”

  “I am not certain of that, Deborah,” Mary said. “What if he comes back? What if he tries to exorcise us, and then we can no longer call upon Lazodeus.”

  Or use the demon key. Deborah stood and paced. “You are right to worry. But how can we know what he plans? Or how to protect ourselves if he returns?”

  “Lazodeus could tell us,” Anne said confidently. “He will know.”

  “Yes,” said Mary enthusiastically. “Yes, we shall call him.”

  “Call him, then,” Deborah said.

  Mary took a step out into the centre of the room and looked up. “Lazodeus? We need to ask your advice. We may be in danger.”

  A shimmer near the window, then he appeared, dressed in his splendid clothes, all slow smiles and beautiful eyes. “All three of you?” he said. “I am honoured.”

  But instantly, something was wrong. Perhaps even before he finished his sentence, he pitched forward and barely steadied himself on the windowsill.

  “Lazodeus? Are you unwell?” Mary hurried over, Anne limping behind her. They had an arm each within seconds, and had led him to the bed.

  “What has happened?” he said, looking around bewildered. “Who has been in here?”

  “Do you feel pain?” Anne asked.

  Deborah heard the frantic note in her sister’s voice, and it galvanised her to move forward. “The exorcist,” she said. “He must have blessed the room, and it is making the angel sick.”

  “No!” Mary shrieked. “We are sorry, Lazodeus. You must leave immediately.”

  He fell back on the bed, his eyes closed and lay still for long moments.

  “Lazodeus,” Anne cried, lifting his wrist and patting it roughly. “Open your eyes. What is wrong? What can we do?”

  He seemed to gather strength and his eyelids fluttered open. “I am too weak to leave. I have been crippled by the blessing.”

  “Oh, what have we done?” Mary sat back and dropped her head forlornly. “What fools we are.”

  “Will you be well again?” Anne asked.

  “I …” His eyelids dropped again. His voice came in a soft croak. “I can recover if I rest. But if he comes again, it may finish me.”

  “Finish you?”

  “The exorcist has the power of Michael’s sword in his words.”

  “Annihilation,” Deborah said softly.

  “We shall keep him away from you. How long will you need to recover?”

  “A day, two days,” he replied.

  “’Tis lucky Father is away,” Deborah said. “Though we will have to keep Betty and Liza out of the room.”

  “You can have Deborah’s closet,” Anne said.

  “No, he can’t!” Deborah replied.

  “He’s sick,” Mary said, turning on her. “Have some compassion.”

  “I do not want Deborah’s closet. I cannot move in any case, and you won’t be able to carry me. I’m afraid I shall have to lie right here until I am better.”

  “Fine. We shall sleep on the floor,” Anne said.

  Already Deborah was shifting the dresser. “We need to keep this door barred. Two of us will have to go down to supper. We can’t let on that anything is amiss. And one of us will stay here with Lazodeus.”

  “I’ll stay.”

  “No, I’ll stay.”

  “Anne can stay,” Deborah said. For some reason she was unsettled by the idea of Mary and Lazodeus being alone together. Anne was more trustworthy.

  “Why are you our commander suddenly?” Mary asked, indignant.

  “Please, I must have quiet,” Lazodeus said, his hand flying to his brow. Immediately, Deborah’s two sisters fell silent, crowded about him, touching him gently and fussing with his pillows. Hopeless. Both of them were clearly in love with him.

  “Both of you stay, then,” Deborah said. “I shall have supper with Betty alone.”

  “Tell her we’re sick,” Mary said distractedly.

  “I can think of lies enough, Mary. I trust the angel to your care while I change for supper.” Neither of them noticed her disappear into her closet. She quickly pulled out the scrying mirror and passed her hand over it.

  “Show me the walls of my closet,” she whispered. The demons were all still there, wriggling against each other and chittering their strange language. Father Bailey’s blessing was of mixed success then: it had affected the angel mortally, but her demons not at all. She frowned. Amelia might be able to explain it. Deborah’s knowledge of ethereal beings was still limited. She hid her mirror once again, and prepared to keep company with Betty for supper.

  Deborah had been gone only a few minutes, and Anne was lighting a candle, when Lazodeus lifted his head slowly and called, “Mary, Anne, I need to tell you something.”

  In moments, they had joined him on the bed. Mary eyed Anne jealously across his prostrate body. Her sister hung on his breaths as though they were gifts to her alone. Mary grudged every second Lazodeus spent looking at her.

  “What is it?” Anne asked softly.

  “I need to say something that I cannot say in front of Deborah. She bears me no love, and I could not trust her with this information.”

  “Go on,” Mary said.

  “The truth is, I will not recover as long as the exorcist still lives.”

  “What!” Anne cried, aghast. “Say it is not so, Lazodeus. Are we to lose you?”

  “I shall kill him, and gladly,” Mary said. Fierce anger surged into her chest. “How does he dare to hurt you this way?”

  “Mary, I cannot ask either of you to murder for me. Anne,” he said turning to her, “how could I request that you cause such harm when I was summoned under an oath to injure nobody. It goes against the very grain of who you are.”

  Anne set her jaw firmly. “But you cannot die.”

  He shook his head. “He will return, you know. Without a doubt, he will return. For his targets are you girls. Your stepmother was foolish in having you out of the house when she invited him. Exorcists are more interested in cleansing people than places.”

  “And when he comes back …” Anne started, her eyes wide with terror.

  “I shall almost certainly be annihilated.”

  “But we can’t kill him right here in Father’s house! Betty would know. We would be hanged.”

  “I’ll kill Betty, too,” Mary said harshly. “I don’t care. None of them are as important as Lazodeus.”

  “Mary, you are allowing your anger to speak,” Lazodeus said, and she knew it to be true. Actually to kill someone? She could not imagine it. Or at least, she could only imagine it a little. As long as it didn’t involve blood and screams and all the sounds and horrors attendant upon death.

  “Is there another way?”

  Lazodeus nodded slowly. “Yes, there is.”

  “Tell us.”

  “If the exorcist is made to … fall into a swoon. That is, if he is still alive but can no longer say the words, not even in his mind, that is the equal to his death.”

  “We shall do that then.”

  “But how?” Anne wailed. “Is there a poison we can give him? Must we strike him on the head? What if we kill him by accident?”

  “There is a way, but it begins to grow complicated,” Lazodeus said.

  “Complicated how?” Mary asked.

  “Your sister has the power to induce a swoon.”

  “Deborah?”

  “She would not want me to tell you this. It is her secret. But she owns a key which can command certain demons to perform tasks for her.”

  Mary temporarily forgot about the problem at hand. “A secret key? And she has not told us? How long has she had it? Why, the deceitful wench. All along being so righteous about whether or not we contacted you, and she has been involved in necromancy!”

  “Do not be angry with her,” the angel said. “It is only of late she has acquired it, and I would wager that she has been prudent in her use of it. But now, it is my only
hope. My magic will not work because I am too ill. Her magic is all that is left to save me.”

  “So we need to convince her to use the magic?” Anne asked.

  “Don’t be a fool, Annie,” Mary said. “As if Deborah will deaden the mind of a mortal to save an angel. Especially as she bears no love for Lazodeus. No, we must take it from her. Where does she hide it, Lazodeus? We must find it ere she returns.”

  “She wears it about her neck on a chain.”

  “Even to bed?”

  “Even to bed.”

  Mary considered. “I believe I could take it while she slept.”

  “’Tis our only hope,” Anne said. Mary could read the terror in her eyes. That terror made her a strong ally.

  “Would you show us how to use it against the exorcist?” Mary asked.

  “Yes.” His eyes fluttered closed. “But now I must rest.”

  Mary smoothed his brow while Anne sat by, looking on hungrily. “Do not fear, angel. We shall rescue you.”

  “I shall be forever in your debt,” he said with a sigh, and lapsed into a deep slumber.

  In the earliest hours of the morning, Deborah was awoken by a soft voice. “Deborah. Sister. ’Tis Mary.”

  “What is it?”

  “May I sleep with you? I am so uncomfortable sleeping upon the floor.”

  Without opening her eyes, Deborah pulled back the cover. “Of course. Poor thing.”

  Mary slid into bed beside her. “Thank you, sister. Go back to sleep.”

  She did, drifting under on that irresistible tide. Time passed as it did during sleep — vaguely. But she had a sense that it had been perhaps an hour since Mary had woken her, when she felt her head being lifted gently off the pillow.

  “Mary?” she murmured.

  “Shh, now. Just go back to sleep.”

  The cool touch of metal on her cheek. She stirred, tried to sit up. With a violent tug, Mary pulled the chain over her head. Deborah was wide awake now.

  “What are you doing?” The key, Mary had it clutched in her right hand.

  “Go back to sleep,” she said, this time not soothingly.

  “Give that back to me. What do you want with it? It is not yours.” She reached out to snatch the key, but Mary was already on her feet. She pushed Deborah roughly onto the bed and ran from the closet, slamming the door behind her.