Angel of Ruin

by Kim Wilkins

  Deborah leaped out of bed, but Mary held the door firmly from the other side.

  “Mary, give my key back.” In her just-woken state, she couldn’t comprehend what had happened or why. What did Mary want with her demon key? How did she even know Deborah owned it?

  Of course. Lazodeus. She began to beat frantically at the door.

  “Mary, return my key. It will not work for you or anyone else.”

  “Shush, now. ’Tis for the best,” Mary said. Then, “Angel, can I use this key to lock her in?”

  Lazodeus’s voice was faint, but Mary repeated what he said clearly. “Paratax, I call upon you with this key as your commander. Lock my sister in.”

  Deborah heard five sweet notes, then Mary’s footsteps receding from the door. She tried it again, but it wouldn’t move.

  But how could that be? First, she had never heard of Paratax: the name appeared in none of the books Amelia had given her. Lazodeus must know of beings of whom mortals were not aware. Second, how could the magic work perfectly first time for Mary? She had not trained in the arts, she knew nothing about what she did. Again, Lazodeus must be the answer. He could probably command demons with ease.

  And yet he said he was too sick to perform magic. It made no sense.

  She quickly lit a candle and felt around in the dark for her scrying mirror. Why did Mary want the key, anyway? And want it enough to lock Deborah in her closet?

  “Show me my sisters and Lazodeus,” she said, with a quick pass of her hand over the mirror, and its faint glow lit the room. Of course, the mirror would not show the angel. Instead, she could see a view of the corner of the bedroom, where Anne sat on the floor. Mary was not in view.

  “Let me hear them.”

  “You didn’t hurt her, did you?” Anne was saying.

  “No,” Mary said. Deborah supposed she was sitting with Lazodeus. “Don’t be silly. It is all for the best, is it not, Lazodeus?”

  The angel’s voice was not audible, but he clearly offered some words of encouragement, for Anne said, “I know that you are right. When can we expect the exorcist to return?”

  So this was about the exorcist. But how could the demon key help them? And why did they not simply ask her for her assistance? She sat on her bed. Her blood boiled. How dare they? And how dare he? What business was it of his if she had a demon key, and where was the loyalty of her siblings if they would so blithely steal it from her?

  “I shall stand guard on you all night,” she whispered. And hunched over her mirror to watch and wait.

  Anne could not remember ever feeling such terror. It seemed barely worth loving, if this was the awful dread attendant upon it. But if Lazodeus died — what then? Nothing. Emptiness. The frozen core of her heart.

  She barely slept; dozed an hour here and there. The floor was not comfortable, but the discomfort was a payment she was willing to make for Lazodeus’s succour and his swift return to health. Mary, on the other hand, almost seemed to be enjoying his illness. She fussed around him and sat with him and held his hand … things that Anne, too, would like to do. But her heart was too sick to do anything more than sit and wait. Any jealousy she would ordinarily feel about Mary, any guilt about Deborah or, indeed, any anger toward the exorcist who had done this to her angel, seemed vastly insignificant next to this hollow, paralysing fear.

  Please, do not let him die.

  Her eyes were open when the first dim glimmerings of dawn touched the sky. She sat up. Mary had curled asleep next to Lazodeus. The angel’s eyes were open.

  “Lazodeus?” she said softly, coming to stand by the side of the bed. “Are you still ill?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes, Anne. I’m afraid so.”

  “We shall do whatever it takes to make you well again,” she said, even though she had said it before. She wanted to feel as though she were part of his cure, not just a passive ninny who let Mary take care of everything.

  “I know, Anne. I know how you feel.”

  But did he? If he knew how much she loved him … well, he may laugh. Or scorn her. She let her head droop forward.

  Mary yawned loudly. “Are you awake, then?” she said to Anne.

  “I am, yes.”

  “Have you checked on Deborah yet?”

  Anne glanced guiltily towards the closet. “No. I …”

  “See if she’s still angry.” Mary turned and began to stroke Lazodeus’s cheek. Anne crept to Deborah’s closet door and knocked quietly.

  “Deborah?”

  “Mary? Let me out of here.”

  “It is Anne.”

  “Anne, what is going on? Why are you doing this to me? The key is mine, earned by me for my hard work and learning. It is not fair to take it from me.”

  “You may have it back as soon as we are finished with it.”

  “Finished with it? What do you intend to do?”

  “I can’t tell you, Deborah. But it is for the best.”

  Her sister began to pound on the inside of the door. “Open this door! Open it at once!”

  Anne scurried away, took refuge with Mary at the bed. Lazodeus’s glow had begun to fade. Anne felt a cold finger touch her heart.

  “He grows worse,” Mary whispered. Anne could hear the desolation in her voice for the first time.

  “What shall we do? What if the exorcist does not return? Will we have to go after him, to his home?”

  Lazodeus shook his head. “He is here. He is in the house already.”

  “What?” Mary exclaimed.

  “He will be up here in moments. Betty is with him. He …” Lazodeus sank back on the covers. Anne could control herself no longer; she kneeled over him, her lank hair trailing across his face.

  “Lazodeus? Lazodeus?”

  “Calm down, Anne, he is not dead yet.” Mary stepped off the bed and pulled out the demon key. “I am ready for the exorcist.”

  A sharp rap at the bedroom door gave her a fright. Mary marched towards it, but Anne caught her in time. “Wait, Mary. We know not what to say. Lazodeus must tell us.”

  Then a strange mumbling. Anne recognised it as Latin, but couldn’t understand it. “He has started the exorcism,” she gasped.

  “Lazodeus,” Mary said, running to the bed. “Wake up, you have to tell us how to overcome the exorcist.”

  Lazodeus struggled to sit. Before he could say anything, a voice, loud and clear and in English, began to repeat the exorcism. It was Deborah.

  “In the name of Jesus Christ, our God and Lord, strengthened by the intercession of the Immaculate Virgin Mary, Mother of God, of Blessed Michael the Archangel, of the Blessed Apostles and all the Saints and powerful in the holy authority of our ministry …”

  Father Bailey’s voice grew louder in response.

  Lazodeus groaned.

  “Be quiet, sister!” Mary shouted. “Don’t make us have to hurt you.”

  “No, she has no power,” Lazodeus said. “She is not ordained in the church. It is the priest who causes me pain.”

  “Well, she’s torturing me,” Mary cried.

  “Tell us what to say to him,” Anne said. “Quickly, ere he kills you.”

  “We drive you from us, whoever you may be,” Deborah continued, translating Father Bailey’s words. “Unclean spirits, all satanic powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions …”

  “Lure him in here,” Lazodeus gasped. “Then use the key to command Drachiarmus to make him swoon.”

  Deborah’s voice grew stronger. “In the name and by the power of our Lord Jesus Christ, may you be snatched away. God the Father commands you, God the Son commands you, God the Holy Ghost commands you, Christ, God’s word made flesh —”

  Mary pushed the dresser aside and threw open the bedroom door. The Latin stopped; Deborah stopped. Anne huddled close to Mary’s shoulder. Father Bailey looked back at them in the dim morning light.

  “Come in, Father Bailey,” Mary said.

  “I …”

  Mary grabbed his wrist and pulled him. Anne lea
ned across and pushed the door closed.

  “The sign of the cross commands you!” Father Bailey exclaimed, forgetting his Latin in his fear. He crossed himself and threw holy water upon them.

  “Nobody commands me.” This was Lazodeus. Anne turned to see him sitting up in the bed, his unearthly light returned to him, his eyes narrowed in rage: a black angel of unparalleled beauty. She caught her breath. “Girls, deal with him,” he said.

  Father Bailey’s eyes bulged and with a jerk he turned and scrambled for the door. Mary darted in front of him and barred the way, held up the little key and said, “Drachiarmus, I call upon you with this key as your commander. Induce in the exorcist a profound swoon.”

  Five notes rang out, the same as last night, and Anne felt both enchanted and horrified by the sound of them, as though the pleasures of the music were secretly eroding her soul. Father Bailey swooned to the floor.

  Lazodeus leaped from the bed. “You see, I am recovered.”

  Mary received him in her embrace eagerly, Anne more warily.

  “What shall we do with him now?” Mary asked, stepping back.

  “Hide him somewhere.”

  “Will he be well again?” Anne asked, poking him with her toe.

  “I don’t care,” Mary replied.

  “I shall remove him to his own home soon enough,” Lazodeus said with impatience. “I do not understand your anxiety, Anne. Has he not received what he deserved?”

  “It is … I …” Anne was speechless. She kneeled next to Father Bailey. His eyes were glazed and unfocussed, but he still breathed softly. “He is not dead then?”

  “What would it matter even if he were?” Mary said nonchalantly. “Anne, he tried to kill our angel.”

  “I do not want to be hanged for murder,” Anne replied, “that is all. I hate the exorcist as much as you!” There, now she sounded like a petulant child. She took a breath and tried to calm herself. “We need to hide him somehow.”

  “But Betty knows he’s up here.”

  “We can tell her he has finished his work and gone.” Anne frowned. “Though I doubt she’ll believe it.”

  “She’ll be too frightened not to believe it. Wait here. I shall go to my secret room and bring back something to hide him in.” Mary disappeared out the window, leaving Lazodeus and Anne facing each other.

  “Please,” she said. “Do not interpret my anxiety as concern for the exorcist.”

  “I am sorry. For a moment I thought …”

  The silence grew. Finally, she said, “You thought what, Lazodeus?”

  He smiled sadly. “I thought you bore no more love for me.”

  “Love for you? Oh, Lazodeus if you only … I mean … my feelings for you remain unchanged. No, they have grown stronger, for seeing you so weak.”

  “Thank you, Anne,” he said softly. Then leaned in and kissed her forehead with gentle lips. “I owe you my life.”

  “This should do.” Mary was climbing in the window once more, and Lazodeus stepped away from Anne. She felt her heart beat frantically. Could it be that he loved her as she loved him? Loved her so much that the thought of losing her affection had frightened him? Loved her so much that he must hide his feelings from Mary? She barely noticed as Mary laid out a rich red velvet arras across the floorboards.

  Anne tore her eyes away from Lazodeus. “What are you doing?”

  “Hiding Father Bailey until we can get him out of the house. Will you help me?” She already had his feet held firmly in her hands.

  Anne crouched near Father Bailey’s head, and Lazodeus took his arms. They lifted him and placed him in the centre of the arras. Mary brought the edge up over his body, then rolled him over twice.

  “Won’t he suffocate?” Anne asked.

  Mary parted the material near his head. “I’m sure he can breathe through there.”

  “But …”

  “Stop worrying. Help me get him under the bed.”

  They pushed his body under the bed, letting the long covers drop so that he could not be seen. Anne sneezed from the dust. She stood back and brushed her hands on her skirt. “We won’t leave him there for long, will we?” Anne said.

  Lazodeus put a hand on her shoulder. “The very next time Betty leaves the house, I will help you take him to his home.”

  “And then he will be better?”

  “No, he will always be like this.”

  “Should we not reverse the spell, then?”

  “He may return,” Mary said. “Don’t be stupid.”

  Anne tried not to think about the strange, glazed look of the exorcist. Lazodeus was well again. That was all that mattered.

  “You should set your sister free,” Lazodeus said. “And I shall leave so that I may recover my strength in Pandemonium. It may be some time before I can return.”

  Mary dangled the key in front of her. “I should very much like to keep this,” she said.

  “It belongs to Deborah,” Lazodeus replied. “She knows how to use it. You do not.”

  “I know a couple of spells now — how to lock someone up, how to make them swoon.”

  “You were drawing on my power. It won’t work for you without me near. Give it back to her. It is not worth you risking the love of your sister.”

  Mary sighed. “I suppose you are right.”

  “Let me have it a moment,” he said. She handed it to him and he held it out and called upon the same demon who had locked the door. The five sweet notes rang out again. When their echoes had faded, Lazodeus returned the key to Anne. “I have unlocked it. She may come out.” He offered Anne a smile. The white scar on his lip twitched.

  “Farewell, Mary. Thank you.” Then to Anne, “Farewell. I will return before he dies, do not concern yourself.”

  Anne watched as the glow around him gathered, shimmered, then disappeared with him. Her heart hammered, from excitement and love and fear.

  “You can come out now, Deborah,” Mary called.

  Deborah emerged from her closet. Anne had never seen her look so enraged. Her face was flushed and her eyes glittering. She snatched the key and gave Anne a look of such abhorrence that she had to divert her eyes.

  “How dare you?” she hissed.

  “While we speak of daring, how dare you repeat the exorcism? Were you trying to get him killed?” Mary said.

  “I care not if the angel dies,” she said. “He is my enemy.”

  A long silence weighed heavily on Anne’s ears, as the shock settled in.

  “Be careful what you say, sister,” Mary said, her eyes narrowed.

  A new fear clutched at Anne’s heart. They had fought before, they had squabbled with each other since their infancy, but the dark surge of anger between her two sisters now was unforgiving in its intensity.

  “And you, Mary, be careful what you do.”

  “I shall protect the angel.”

  “And I shall protect the innocent.”

  “The angel is innocent.”

  “You know that is not true. Since the moment he first appeared, there has never been a trace of innocence about him.”

  Anne decided to intervene. “Please, do not fight. Are we not sisters? Do we not love one another?”

  “I love her not,” Mary said, her eyes never leaving Deborah’s. “Not if she wants to hurt the angel.”

  “I do not want to hurt any creature,” Deborah protested. “But I will be watching you. And if you dare to touch my belongings again,” her hand went defensively to the key around her neck, “you may find that I am as formidable an enemy as Lucifer is to God.”

  The door to the bedroom suddenly swung inwards. Betty stood on the other side, clutching Liza’s hand, peering in timidly.

  “Hello, Mother,” Mary said icily, her top lip curled.

  “I —”

  “If you are looking for your friend, he has left already. He did not have time to say goodbye.”

  Betty drew pale. “When did he … when did he leave?”

  “Not long since. He pass
ed on his best regards.”

  Deborah suddenly broke away from them and turned to Betty. “Betty, I shall join you in the kitchen anon. We should break our fast. Please go on ahead. Mary and Anne are still feeling unwell.”

  Betty, clutching the collar of her dress like a frightened child, backed out of the room.

  Deborah turned to Mary and slowly extended her forefinger so it nearly touched her sister’s nose.

  “You shall leave Betty alone,” Deborah said.

  “I shan’t.”

  “You shall,” Deborah returned, more forcefully.

  “If she keeps interfering —”

  “I will stop her interfering. I go now to stop her from ever meddling again in our affairs. Promise to leave her alone.”

  Mary shrugged, casting her eyes to the side in a feigning of nonchalance. “Perhaps. I shall think upon it.”

  “Ensure you do,” Deborah said. A few moments later she was gone. Anne was terribly aware of a third presence in the room, of the exorcist breathing softly under the bed.

  Mary strode to the door and slammed it with an exasperated sigh. “Does she think to make an alliance with Betty?”

  “She said she would protect the innocent.”

  “I should kill her.”

  “She is your sister!” Anne cried, unable to stand the pressure of the animosity any further.

  “Not Deborah, you fool. Betty. But no good would come of it. If she interferes again, though, I shall make her pay. I shall make her pay so dearly.”

  “Mary, you are frightening me.” Her sister’s cruel streak had always been unsettling, but this morning it was pure, undiluted by a jest or a flippant quip about Mad Mary.

  Mary shook her head. “You do not understand my passion,” she said. “I have an angel as my companion, and he shall not be taken from me.”

  “I care for the angel, too.”

  “Then you do not care enough, for to want to kill for love is its only true expression.” She turned and stalked to the window, slipped out and left Anne alone.

  Almost alone.

  So Mary was in love with Lazodeus; she had all but admitted it. Anne sat heavily on the bed and put her head in her hands. Of all the rivals she could have for the angel’s love, Mary was perhaps the most forbidding.