Into the Fire

by Patrick Hester

  “Why are you here, Ronan? Do you always do what Jack asks?” I asked.

  “Only when there is potential for adventure,” he answered.

  “No adventure here,” I said. “This will be a nice, quiet little chat with an old family friend.”

  “May I ask, who is this friend?”

  I didn’t see any harm in saying. “Father Rosario.”

  Ronan laughed. He laughed so hard, tears leaked out of his eyes.

  “What?” I asked. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Oh, Sam,” he said. “Oh, my. I knew I would like you.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Ah, we are here,” he said.

  I pulled the car up into a circular drive. The small blue house had dark trim and one of those metal security doors. Bars covered the windows, and a short chain-link fence ran around the small backyard filled with yellow grass. No garage, only a covered carport at the end of a gravel driveway. No tall grass here like at Nevil’s place; it just hadn’t been watered in a while. A few flowery plants lived in baskets under the windows and on either side of the door, all of them a thousand times healthier than the grass. Someone took very good care of them while not bothering to do much more than cut the grass. Given the location and size of the lot, such a small house felt wholly out of place. No neighbors, either. Isolated came to mind.

  “Are you expected?” Ronan asked.

  “No,” I replied. I opened the door and got out.

  Ronan rolled his window down and rested his elbow there.

  “Ah, Catholics,” he said wistfully. “They are so … fun. Shall I stay in the car?”

  “S’fine with me,” I said with a dismissive wave. I didn’t want him in on this anyway. “Just wait here. Shouldn’t take long.”

  My legs were stiff as I approached the house, my lungs burning. I’d started holding my breath the moment I got out of the car. A few quick gasps of air, and I knew I wouldn’t faint. Still, I needed to get a grip here. Rosario was just a priest. Sure, a super scary exorcism priest, but a priest nonetheless. They were the good guys, right?

  No porch, just a stone stoop with a single piece of Astroturf on it. I knocked and waited.

  A hunchbacked man with silver hair, gray eyes, and an annoyed expression opened the door. He wore gray pants and a black shirt with one of those collars all the priests wore. Thick glasses magnified his eyes, filling the black rims.

  He glared at me and snapped, “What do you want?”

  I put on my most winning smile as I answered. “Father? Father Rosario? My name is Samantha Kane. Maybe you remember me?”

  “Samantha Kane?” he asked softly, eyes darting back and forth behind me. “Of course, of course, how could I forget, eh? I wondered when this day would come. Please, come in. Come in.”

  He pushed the security door open and gestured me inside.

  I closed the door behind me. As the exterior hinted, the interior didn’t offer much by way of space or comfort. We walked into a living room with an old tube television set, couch, and a beat-up recliner. To my left, the kitchen, done up all in fifties pale blue and white, took up a space small enough to be called an alcove. Then a hallway led to what I assumed were the bedroom and bathroom. The walls held painted images of saints and scenes of mountainous countryside that didn’t look like Colorado to my eye.

  “Sit, sit,” he said, voice showing the faintest hint of an accent. “Do you drink coffee? I have some.”

  “I would love a cup, thank you.” Mmmm. Coffee. I took a seat on the couch and waited. Soon the old Father bustled back in with a beat-up silver coffee pot, a couple of cups, and cream and sugar on a TV tray.

  “I don’t get many visitors these days,” he said as he poured me a cup. “Not much need for old men anymore.”

  “Oh, surely you get some visitors,” I replied.

  “Not really. I keep busy, do a little volunteer work at the local parish. They even let me say Mass once a month.”

  “That’s nice,” I offered.

  The man made strong, hot coffee, and I could feel cobwebs melting away in my brain I hadn’t even realized were there.

  “Well.” He poured himself a cup of coffee, then sat back with the cup in his lap. He sipped and smiled again. “Your mother is fine?” he asked me. Then added, “Your brothers? Father? I always enjoyed your father’s company. Although, I noticed he managed to miss Sunday Mass when the Chicago Bears were playing the football.” He clucked his tongue but smiled as he did so.

  I hadn’t considered I’d have to tell him about Pop.

  “Pop has cancer, Father,” I said matter-of-factly, and his expression changed immediately.

  He scooted a little closer to me on the couch and took my hands in his, quickly making the sign of the Cross.

  “My child, I had no idea.” He closed his eyes and started a prayer.

  Not knowing what else to do, I bowed my head and waited for him to finish.

  He made the sign of the Cross again in the air between us and opened his eyes.

  “It’s inoperable,” I continued. “The doctors … It’s only a matter of time now, Father.” I wasn’t used to saying these words out-loud. I found myself tearing up again and snagged a napkin from the tray to wipe them.

  “There, there, my child,” he said soothingly. “May Almighty God watch over you and your family,” he said, again making the sign of the Cross. “Now it all makes sense. I can only think of one reason why you would be coming to see me, Samantha.”

  I smiled as I picked up my cup.

  “I suppose you want to know about the night your father took you to see Dominic Mayfair?” he asked.

  I choked on my coffee.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Father Rosario handed me a towel from the kitchen, a frisky smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

  I smiled back, but all the warmth had suddenly been leached out of my body. Who the hell is Dominic Mayfair?

  “He didn’t tell you anything at all, did he?” he asked as he retook his seat.

  Busy blotting my shirt, I took a moment to answer, “No. I think he wanted to, but then he got sick.”

  “Well, nothing transpired that I consider sacrosanct, so I can certainly speak with you about it.”

  “I think that’s what he had in mind. I don’t know why he never told me.” My head spun so hard I’m surprised it didn’t spin right off my shoulders. Is it how all of this got started?

  Father Rosario nodded. “Your father is a good man—always remember that. He sacrificed much for his family and never complained or asked for anything in return, except for his children to grow and be happy.”

  I nodded, my eyes watering again. I wiped them and smiled at the Father.

  “You couldn’t have been more than three years old,” he said, eyes fixing on a point on the wall opposite him. “I believe it was after midnight. A storm had rolled in, snow falling so thick you could not see ten feet in front of you. Oddly, thunder came with it, cracking again and again, shaking the very rafters of the church. Suddenly, I heard shouting. In those days, we often left the church open and unlocked. Simpler times. Anyway, I rushed out to find your father standing before the altar, soaking wet from head to toe. He cradled something in his arms and begged me to help him. I told him I would do whatever I could to help, of course I would. To my surprise, you were in his arms, Samantha! He held you wrapped in a rain slicker and sleeping quite peacefully.”

  He took a breath. “Understandably, I found all of these things most curious. I led him to the side chapel, and he set you on the low bench beneath the Blessed Mother to rest. As soon as you were situated, your father said he needed help, and he didn’t know where else to turn. He felt the Church might have an answer for him. I talked him into sitting down, where he explained that many strange things had been happening to you and your family, always centered around you. Favorite toys would fly across the room to your crib, the television would inexplicably turn on, or the radi
o would come on. These sorts of things.”

  I swallowed hard. The Father had just described … magic?

  “Your mother and father were beside themselves to understand it all. But while these things were disturbing, they could explain them away. Until that very night, one of the coldest in a long time. Your father woke in the middle of the night. He did not know why, but something bothered him, rousing him from a deep sleep. He sat up and smelled smoke. Rushing to find the source, he found your room on fire. Scooping you up into his arms, he shouted to wake the family, and got them out of the house. Despite the snow and the cold and the efforts of the local fire department, your house burned to the ground.”

  I bent over, stomach tightening. All of it had been true. The magic, being a Wizard—I’d been born to it after all.

  I’m a Wizard.

  “This does not surprise you?” he asked.

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Hmmm. Perhaps this will. On the night your father brought you to me, he wanted to discuss demon possession.”

  * * *

  As a child, I began using magic.

  To know this happened to me and my parents lived it? I didn’t have the words. Up until that point, I could still let myself doubt it all and believe I’d somehow become a pawn in someone else’s magical scheming. That the mass of magic in my head made it all happen.

  Knowing Pop, freaked out made sense. Who wouldn’t be, in the same position?

  Father Rosario placed his hand upon mine. “You take this news well; that is good.” He emptied his coffee cup, then refilled it from the small pot.

  I drank some of mine, too.

  He offered to top off my cup, and I accepted. I cupped it with my hands, letting the warmth seep into me.

  “Your father is a good Christian man,” he said after a moment. “When faced with things that did not fit, he came to the Church, to me, for explanation. I have been a priest nearly all of my life, and I will admit to you, I have seen things the average person would not believe.”

  “I read something about an exorcism …” I let the sentence trail off, watching for a reaction.

  Father Rosario’s expression turned grave. “I assume you mean the incident that lead to my forced retirement,” he said tiredly. “A child needed help. I did nothing wrong. The family approached me just as your father did, and the child is alive and well today because of my intervention.”

  “I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Father,” I said quickly.

  Father Rosario said, “You may not have, but others have made terrible accusations. Once, we priests were paragons of virtue and trust. Now we are pariahs. It makes me ill. The Church is under attack from all sides, and the only outcome is that evil grows stronger.” He sighed and took a long pull from his coffee cup. “I’m sorry. This is a very sore subject.”

  “I apologize, Father. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s all right, my child,” he said wearily. “There was an unasked question in your comment. Yes, I have performed exorcisms in the past. I will not dwell upon that now, except to say that few are tasked with such duties.”

  “Did Pop know about that when he came to you?” I asked. “About what you had done?”

  “I believe so, which was good,” he said. “I could tell immediately that you had no demon inside of you, and this news set his mind at ease about that much at least. The truth was harder to swallow.”

  “Magic,” I said softly.

  Father Rosario nodded. “I have known Wizards in my time, and I know one when I see one,” he said, eyeing me up and down.

  Suddenly, my choice of clothing felt odd.

  He smiled. “What I did not expect was for your father to know one as well. When I told him about your potential, he immediately asked me to call Dominic Mayfair.”

  “I have met Jack Mayfair,” I said.

  Father Rosario’s face lit up. “Ah, Jack! He is a good boy. He tries so hard. Dominic, bless his soul, was Jack’s father. A hard man, Dominic, but a good soul. He had a difficult life, and I believe this took a toll on him, taking him from this world far before his time. That is neither here nor there. The point is, Dominic was in a position to help a young Wizard and her family, and I was more than willing to call him.”

  He gave me another smile. “Your safety was the most important thing to your father. He wasn’t about to trust just anyone, but he trusted Dominic, said they had met before. So I went back to my office, and I made the phone call. Then we waited.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Dominic Mayfair, Jack’s dad. Had he started all of this? Sure seemed to be headed in that direction. Every answer leads to more questions. The elder Mayfair had died, according to Father Rosario. How long ago? If he put this thing in my head, how could Mayfair not know about it? Had Nevil known? The only time I got answers was if I asked questions, and then the answers weren’t what I expected. What if I asked all the wrong questions? How would I ever learn the truth?

  Father Rosario interrupted my thoughts, asking, “Would you care for a cookie? I have macaroons!”

  I smiled politely. I really didn’t want a cookie; I wanted him to get on with the goddamned story! But I know enough about witnesses to know you can prod them only so far. You have to let them get their story off their chest at their own pace or risk them forgetting some important detail because you rushed them. Worse, if the witness is a lonely old man who rarely gets any visitors, no amount of prodding is going to convince him to go at anything other than his own pace.

  So I nodded a yes and stood up to stretch my legs while he moved off into the kitchen to rummage. I had to admit, he told a compelling story, and he knew where to pause for dramatic affect.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have more to offer you,” Father Rosario said, returning with a few cookies spread out on a plate. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. I took another look around. Dust on the tables, on the picture frames, and even on the light shades. I don’t doubt the good Father wasn’t expecting company, because something told me he didn’t get visitors very often at all. Sad. You never think about where priests go when they retire. They don’t really have family, I suppose.

  I gave him another smile, infusing it with as much warmth as I could muster. No wonder he milked his story for all it was worth. I took a cookie, and sat down again.

  “So, where was I?” he asked himself as he slowly ate a cookie. “Oh yes!” he slapped his knee, then frowned. “Dominic Mayfair.” He chewed a cookie slowly, obviously composing his thoughts.

  I leaned forward. “How did the meeting go?”

  “I had prepared myself for the worst,” he said. “One does not put two strong personalities together in the same room lightly, especially when one is a father worried about his child. No. I expected fireworks, as they say. They argued. Heatedly. I never had all the details, but apparently your father had saved Dominic’s life somehow. Whatever the circumstances, neither wished to speak of it. I did not want to be left out of the discussion, but they did ask me to step outside. What could I do? I fully expected for them to come out and for Dominic to take you away, train you, and teach you how to control your power.” He smiled at me. “This is the way of Wizards.”

  I said nothing to that.

  “But that didn’t happen,” I said, standing up. I walked over to the window. Ronan leaned up against my car, a mopey expression on his face. Worse than mopey. Downright dejected. I wondered why, but it would have to wait.

  My dad and Mayfair’s dad, together and arguing. Someone powerful enough to hide me from the world. The cold feeling in my stomach came back.

  “No, no it didn’t,” he said. “Dominic left, thanking me for calling him and saying he would be back.”

  I turned back to the Father. “He left?”

  He nodded. “For an hour, no longer. When he returned, again they went off into the side chapel and shut the door.”

  “How long were they in there?”
Binding my power was on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t say it. It had to be Dominic. Rosario said Pop had saved his life; maybe Pop called in a marker. For me.

  “A few hours,” he answered. “Dominic said nothing when he left. Said nothing about it to me ever again. Your father, with you cradled in his arms, thanked me, asked me not to speak of it, and I haven’t until today when you knocked on my door.”

  My father never meant to tell me what happened. I knew it, could feel it. He always planned for me to come here, find out from Rosario, a stranger, not from himself.

  Anger welled inside me. “Thank you, Father,” I said. I meant it, too. None of this could be laid at his feet. My destiny had been as a Wizard, and my father had chosen something different for me, had postponed it.

  But why? That’s the part that didn’t make sense. All he’d accomplished was pushing this day out thirty some-odd years.

  Turning to the door, mind racing, I had another piece of the puzzle, even if I didn’t like the picture that had formed. I still didn’t know exactly what happened inside that room, but I knew enough to guess. Pop had used his superpowered guilt stare, normally reserved for his children, on Dominic Mayfair, forcing him to put this thing in my head, to hide me. Maybe Dominic knew things Jack didn’t. Maybe he had more power and, combined with his knowledge, had put this thing in my head.

  “My child, I wish I could do more,” Father Rosario said softly.

  “You’ve done more than enough,” I said, turning to him. He stood up, and I hugged him.

  A banging at the door made us both jump.

  “Samantha?” called Ronan. “We have a problem!” Again the door banged. “Please let me in!”

  I ran to the door and opened it.

  Ronan rushed inside, slamming the door behind him. “Father Rosario, so nice to see you again. It has been a long time.”

  “At least sixty years,” the Father breathed softly. “You haven’t aged a day.”

  “I remember,” said the Elf. “Nazi Vampires under Paris, I believe. You were quite the Hunter in those days.”