The Defiance

by Laura Gallier

  I hadn’t felt this lonely in a while. Or this concerned about Ray Anne. But would it do any good to tell her that?

  The sun had nearly set as she and I stood a distance away from the Caldwell Cemetery, both quiet, anticipating that the final two Rulers might show themselves. That Bloody Mary statue—as I’d started thinking of it—and the “miracle tears” it had cried remained a mystery, but it wasn’t important compared to the other unsolved situations weighing on me.

  Standing in the woods, sensing nothing but an occasional Creeper-tainted breeze, my racing thoughts were in serious need of sorting. I got my phone out and typed in my notes app:

  1. Find how to get serpent/curse out of Ray Anne.

  2. Identify all 13 people marked to die plus how to protect them—ASAP.

  3. Come up with plan to fight back against witches and warlocks haunting Elle’s place and mine.

  4. Will the student pastors be willing to help us tomorrow?

  And finally, the one I’d been keeping to myself.

  5. Am I losing my mind, or has some invisible form of evil been spying on me, toting around a crying baby?

  Even now, standing next to Ray Anne, I felt the invisible presence.

  I read back through my list and shook my head. They didn’t exactly have how-to videos for stuff like this.

  I put my phone in my pocket and assured Ray Anne we were okay. She was gasping at every sound, even leaves rustling. I could tell she was trying to be her adventurous self but failing.

  We waited for over an hour, but nothing happened. Honestly, I was relieved no Rulers showed up. My instincts had been right—Ray Anne couldn’t have handled it.

  I held Ray’s trembling hand the entire walk through the woods back to her car. This wasn’t the Ray Anne I’d fallen in love with, but I was already committed to her without any official vow—for better or worse.

  On the drive to her place, I contemplated what I needed to do that night, back at the church—more specifically, what I needed to confront. I would’ve liked to have had Ray Anne there at my side, standing strong with me, but in her condition, she had no business attempting any kind of spirit-world standoff. Especially one like this.

  FOURTEEN

  I SAT ON THE CORNER OF MY BED with my Mac in my lap, willing myself to ignore the unsettling vibe I always got in this room. And the miserable suspicion I was being watched.

  I searched up the definition of curse: “An invocation for harm or injury to come upon a person; to will one’s misfortune as an act of retribution or revenge.”

  I stared blankly at the bookshelf in front of me, connecting the dots. “Evil people are loosing curses on us.”

  I couldn’t vouch for the sincerity of Veronica’s supposed withdrawal from the occult, but I had to admit, her explanation of certain things made sense—mainly her account of Molek rallying the satanic world’s human servants to work against those of us called to free Masonville of his tyranny.

  I wondered how it worked. His minion bats delivered their master’s marching orders to Veronica’s handler, and he communicated with covens around the country? Or did the demonic bats descend on secret gatherings of witches and warlocks to deliver instructions directly?

  However it worked, the concept also aligned with Arthur’s prophetic warning that the outcome of Masonville’s spiritual battle would be felt far beyond our city limits. Demon-devoted people around the country had their eyes on our town, plotting against us, willing Masonville to cave to dark powers as part of some spirit-world takeover strategy for America. And if Veronica was right, Masonville was the last targeted city still standing—the outcome here would be felt around the nation.

  The realization added to the immense pressure to achieve our mission, but at the same time, I remained confident these evil peoples’ dark powers were no match for the power of God. The way I saw it, we Lights had only one disadvantage, but unfortunately, it was a big one: ignorance. Satan’s vessels were trained to tap into supernatural powers. Meanwhile, Ray and I were still trying to figure out how to skillfully wield our spiritual weapons, and Elle didn’t seem to have a clue. I’d learned a lot since the day I’d shed my shackle, but circumstances demanded I learn more. And fast.

  There I was, my mind consumed with the reality of spiritual attacks, when the sudden sound of footsteps began closing in, advancing down the hallway toward my door. I slammed my laptop shut and jumped off the bed. My heart banged in my chest like it wanted out.

  I knew I shouldn’t be afraid, but my jumpy, adrenaline-charged body wasn’t convinced.

  I grabbed my Bible off the bed and held it in the air, as if throwing the Scriptures at a spirit-world enemy might somehow accomplish the same thing as quoting them.

  Then came a knock. “Owen? You there?”

  I let out a massive sigh. Pastor Gordon, working late, apparently. Ethan’s father, but I tried not to hold that against him.

  I opened the door and invited him in. There was no place to sit, so we stood in the center of my room, our auras overlapping. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his tan slacks, calm and easygoing, as usual. I tried not to fidget.

  “How have you been?” His familiar smile was wide and kind. I welcomed the comfort.

  “I’m, uh . . . yeah, doing good.” It was easier to just say that.

  He thanked me for my willingness to keep an eye on the church property and told me he was proud of the spiritual growth he’d seen in me lately, I guess because he’d observed me sitting in church every Sunday for a while. And I supposed Ray Anne had told him I’d stopped talking to evil spirits.

  I wanted to confide in him about Molek, to find a way without sounding insane to tell him that a high-ranking demon mentioned in Scripture was plotting with seven Cosmic Rulers to decimate our town. Our whole nation and world, ultimately. But before I could find the words to even begin, he started pacing a small lap around my cluttered room and talking.

  “I’m sorry the accommodations here are so lacking. Wait until you see the facilities after the renovations are complete. As soon as I raise the funds, this entire campus is getting the face-lift of a lifetime.”

  “That’s cool.” I tried to sound interested.

  “Owen.” He faced me. “How well do you know Dr. Brody Bradford?”

  “Um . . .” I wondered where this was going.

  “I was told he used to mentor you in high school.”

  Never ended up happening, but okay.

  “I know he and his family have been through a lot in recent years,” Gordon said. “My heart goes out to him.” He patted Daisy on the head, then made his point. “We’re looking to gain support from benevolent folks in the community to underwrite the cost of building renovations and also enable us to purchase this land. The property was originally leased to us at no cost, but the owner is now demanding that we purchase all twenty acres. We don’t have the funds for that, Owen. Which is why I’m asking if you’d mind making an introduction between Dr. Bradford and me.”

  Oh. A fundraising connection.

  I was torn, partly because Gordon had building improvements and real estate on the brain while hell’s best fighters were out to annihilate our town—the people, not the buildings. His ignorance was annoying. But I also knew I needed to cut the man some slack. He’d been mostly caring toward me, and I’d seen him care for others; he didn’t mean to be blind and totally oblivious to the big picture. I guess my thoughts counted as compassion, because that’s when I saw it . . .

  Like a semi-transparent shadow living inside of him, Gordon’s soul nodded off. His physical head stayed upright, facing me, but his soul’s head dropped down to his chest, eyes closed, then popped up again, retreating into his skull, beyond my sight.

  “You’re under Slumber’s influence.” It just came out.

  “Excuse me?”

  I pressed my eyes closed and rubbed my eyelids. How was I supposed to handle this?

  I finally asked if he and I could go sit somewhere and tal
k. I followed him down the hall and downstairs. He flipped on the lights, and I sat next to him on a back-row pew. On the other side of the sanctuary from the freaky-baby-crying incident.

  I warned Pastor Gordon I was going to sound crazy, and there were certain things I couldn’t elaborate on. Then I just flat-out told him Masonville was on a spirit-world hit list of sorts—though I still didn’t know why our town—and seven Cosmic Rulers were here to wreak havoc. I didn’t go so far as to mention Molek’s history on my land, but I did name the assignments of the five Rulers I knew of and even admitted I was dealing with the unwanted effects of Strife’s presence. “And I mean this with no disrespect,” I said, “but your soul has been nodding off the whole time I’ve been talking to you. Slumber has a hold on you.”

  He sat stiff as a robot, his mouth gaping while he searched my face like he’d just met me for the first time. “That’s some story.”

  “No, it’s more than that.” I grabbed a Bible from the shelf attached to the pew in front of us. “This stuff’s in here.” I thought about turning to the chapters in Leviticus and telling him about Molek after all, but I flipped to 2 Chronicles instead, the seventh chapter. “Look.” I pointed to the exact verse quoted in Arthur’s prophecy, then gave my best summary. “It says if God’s Lights—I mean, his people—will humble themselves and pray and stop doing the things he says not to, he’ll respond and heal our land. Cosmic forces will lose their grip on Masonville, their power to oppress us. And I bet people’s spiritual blindness would be healed too, so they could finally see the truth and come to God, then get free from their own demons.” I spared him the description of the slimy scales that overtake the eyeballs of the spiritually blind—as they had mine at one time, I’m sure.

  “It’s a beautiful promise,” Pastor Gordon said, eyeing the text I’d just paraphrased.

  “We have to do this, Pastor. Like, literally gather whoever’s willing and begin praying—and keep praying, until there’s enough people in Masonville to pray on my land—where tons of evil has happened. Then we’ll fill plenty of Watchmen bowls and saturate the property, so no demons are left standing.”

  Okay, I’d accidentally gotten too descriptive at the end, but it was true. I’d witnessed colossal Watchmen immobilize a horde of Creepers by dumping supernatural bowls of liquid prayers on the demons’ helpless heads. It was epic.

  Gordon smiled at me while his soul nodded off yet again. “Owen, I love this new zeal you have. Have you ever considered pursuing a seminary degree? It would serve you well to gain a solid understanding of Scripture.”

  I cleared my throat, my body tense with impatience. “Did you hear what I said? We have to act—work together with others to reach our whole town with the truth before things get much, much worse around here. Lives are at stake. Souls.”

  Gordon looked toward the stage, lost in thought, it seemed. “I tell you what. I’ve got some excellent books on prayer in my office. How about we go get them now, and I’ll lend them to you?”

  Correction. He wasn’t lost in thought. He was asleep at the wheel, too spiritually drowsy to even comprehend what I was saying, much less react.

  At least I now understood how the Cosmic Spirit of Slumber operated. His influence put people’s spiritual drive to sleep. All sense of fight and urgency pacified, like how Jackson would doze off while Ray Anne sung him lullabies. Something in Pastor Gordon—the condition of his soul—made him susceptible to Slumber’s oppression.

  I could only hope the student pastors would be awake at our meeting tomorrow.

  Gordon walked me to his office and gave me a stack of books, then left for home.

  Back in my room, I decided I’d read the books soon, but right now, duty called. It was late, but I had no intention of sleeping. Honestly, after what I’d just witnessed, I loathed the thought of curling up in bed. It was time for combat.

  The best defense is a strong offense, right?

  I grabbed a dusty stack of blank note cards I spied wedged between two books on the bookshelf and prepared for war. I googled Scriptures about God’s power over Satan and started writing them out, one per card.

  The spirit world must have known what I was up to, because I’d hardly finished writing on the first card when there was a commotion outside, on the balcony. I kept writing, fast and fired up, my handwriting messier than usual. I sat leaning against the bed on the hardwood floor, asking God the whole time to please commission his Watchmen to be with me—and to go with me when I set out in a minute.

  There was an instant glare outside, shining through the sheers on the windowed doors. I peeked out.

  The disturbance on the balcony had stopped, but Custos stood midair in the distance, facing the building with six more armored Watchmen at his side. Their sculpted arms were bowed out, poised, it seemed, to twist the neck of any Creeper that dared to come near.

  That’s what I’m talking about.

  With my face pressed against the windowpane, I scanned the grassy property. Daisy started barking her head off right before I heard the sound of women wailing. Then I saw them. Several mounted lights shone down from trees, giving just enough illumination for me to observe them, huddled shoulder to shoulder in front of the pond. Young and old, light skinned and dark—all draped in tattered dresses that appeared soaking wet, hanging loosely to their shins. There were several males in the mix as well, their slender bodies draped in the same thin white dresses. All at once, the pack of them charged through the grass on bare feet toward the building. Toward me.

  I refused fear, choosing fight over flight.

  I watched through the windowed doors, ready to face whatever form of intimidation tactic they came at me with—whatever manifestation of witchcraft was being loosed on me. That had to be what this was.

  I watched in astonishment when the pond people—some forty Creepers masquerading as humans—left the ground and began crawling swiftly up the brick building like human spiders. I braced myself for their arrival, but they passed up my room. I took a courageous step outside, onto the balcony, and witnessed them disappear one by one into the storage space above my room, passing effortlessly through the brick exterior.

  There was stomping overhead, as loud as before, and once again, whispers seeped through my ceiling and walls.

  Custos and his platoon remained poised in the air, hovering, even though their armor had to have weighed a ton. When the last crawler pried her way into the building, the Watchmen rose higher and fanned out, surrounding the third-story storage room.

  I took that as my cue.

  I grabbed my stack of note cards, ran down the hall, then charged up the rickety flight of wooden steps to the plain brown storage room door at the top. I didn’t pause to weigh the seriousness of the situation, and I didn’t let their intimidating whispers derail me. I turned the knob and flung the door open, flipping on the light and barging inside in one swift move.

  Then I froze.

  FIFTEEN

  THEY WERE EVERYWHERE. Women and girls and several men and boys, all in thin tattered dresses. They walked sideways on the walls, upside down across the ceiling, and at random slanted angles midair. But no matter their direction, their soaking-wet hair stayed pasted to their cheeks and shoulders and backs. They uttered angry chants, passing through material objects as if the room were empty.

  They left footprints everywhere—dark-red stains. The same sickening color dripped from the hem of their soaked gowns, puddling all over the floor.

  Out the windows, I saw Custos and his soldiers. Their heavenly light poured in, clashing with the infestation of evil, yet not driving it away. Custos peered in through a window straight at me and gave a subtle nod, as if signaling me to take action. All at once, the prowlers faced me, then rushed at me without having to take actual steps. Their glaring eyes appeared human, yet their pupils were small as pinpoints.

  The door slammed behind me as they pressed in just beyond my aura. All of them. They cursed me, commanding me to suffer and go ins
ane and give up and die. Sure enough, black snakes came slithering from mouths and out from under dresses, as thick as water hoses. As long as broomsticks. But the serpents couldn’t breach my light or crawl on me, thank God.

  I knew what to do. I’d just done it this morning at the jail and seen it work. I pointed at the witchy Creepers. “In Christ’s name, I command you to give up your deception and go!”

  That shut them up—but there was no metamorphosis into Creeper form.

  A petite girl directly in front of me chuckled. She looked about thirteen. “He doesn’t know.”

  They all laughed at me hysterically. Like the bats had in my nightmare.

  “I don’t know what?”

  I realized I’d just made a wrong move. Asking Creepers questions gives them an unnatural advantage, like a lion rolling over and exposing his belly to a pack of hyenas. So, I immediately repeated the command for them to stop their deception and go.

  “Say it over and over, Owen. It won’t work.”

  I knew that voice.

  “We’re as human as you. We just have superior power.”

  Here she came, gliding through the paranormal crowd until she stood in front of me. Veronica, dressed and drenched like the rest.

  “You’re an imposter,” I said, declaring the truth.

  She pressed her index finger into my chest, and I felt it, like her hand had substance. “You’re the imposter, charging in here like some man of faith.”

  They all snickered.

  “You have no faith, Owen. No spiritual knowledge. No depth or understanding of the Source. No real conviction.” She inched forward, as close as she could get to my aura. “Poor baby,” she said. “You don’t even have parents.”