Another Bloody Love Story

by Rachel Green

  “If you say so, Your Grace.” Betty steered him by an elbow, like you would a queen. “Though I’m more inclined to blame the sewers. This way. I’ve parked in the disabled bay.”

  “Is that entirely legal?”

  “I’ve got the wedding sticker showing so there shouldn’t be a problem.” Betty led him to an old yellow Cortina and unlocked it.

  “Wouldn’t we be better in a taxi?” The bishop looked at the bending required to get in. “I’d be happy to pay the fare.”

  “Nonsense!” Betty called up to him from her almost recumbent position in the driver’s seat. “But I’ll tell you what. How about I drive you to the church and you put the taxi fare into the collection box.”

  “Oh.” The bishop frowned. He loathed statements like that for there was no way to refuse. With some difficulty he lowered himself in. He could always forget the donation in the excitement of an exorcism. He put his briefcase between his feet.

  “Strap yourself in, Your Grace. Here we go.” Betty pulled out of the parking space, trailing smoke from the tires. They reached the church several minutes later.

  “There, Your Grace,” Betty said. “You wouldn’t get here that fast in a taxi, would you?”

  “I don’t expect I would, Mrs. Lowry.” Wolsey took a deep breath and got out of the car on his knees, thanking God for hearing his prayers. “There must be some mistake.” He looked up at the church. “This has a wedding scheduled.”

  “Aye that’s right, Your Grace.” Betty climbed out, came around the side of the car and helped him to his feet. “We couldn’t get the demon here, otherwise. You’ll have to incorporate the bell, book and candle into the wedding ceremony.”

  “But I can’t do that.” Wolsey stared up at the church.

  “I think you’ll find that Reverend Mackenzie has five thousand reasons to suggest otherwise,” Betty said.

  The bishop frowned. “It’d better be eight thousand,” he said.

  He found Purvis in the vestry. “Mackenzie,” he said. “What the devil’s going on? I came for an exorcism and I’m confronted with a wedding.”

  “Ah! Your Grace.” Purvis took his hand and drew him inside, closing the door behind him. “You’ll never believe this but…”

  “The possessed soul wants to get married and the only way to confront the demon is to incorporate the exorcism with the wedding vows.” Wolsey shook his head. “All I can say is, the cardinal had better not hear about this or it’s you who’ll be ministering to parishioners in Birmingham, not me.”

  “I won’t breathe a word, your Grace.” Mackenzie smiled. “Here’s the first donation to the parish. You’ll get the rest when the job is done.”

  “What is this, blackmail?” The bishop stuffed the wad of notes into a pocket. “If there really is a demon…and I don’t believe for one minute such things exist at all, he’s going to know something’s afoot at the first ‘I abjure thee’.”

  “Perhaps,” said Purvis, “but the client…” He coughed. “The anonymous benefactor insists this is the only way to do it. The safest, too, for the mere sanctity of the church will blast it back to the pit.”

  “If this woman is possessed,” said the bishop, “how can she even enter the church in the first place?”

  “Intent, I think,” said Purvis. “Someone explained this to me. If the demon intends no ill will in the church, then the sanctity of the building has no cause to eject it. As soon as the demon’s intentions change, the full force of the blessings come into play.”

  “I hope for all our sakes you’re right.” Bishop Wolsey began putting on his raiment. “I for one don’t want to be lashed with a whip of fire.”

  “You do surprise me,” said Purvis, under his breath. “Actually,” he said aloud, “I believe it’s the groom that’s possessed.”

  “Really?” Wolsey’s face clouded. “I’ve never heard of a demon possessing a man. What would be the point of that?”

  “I wish we knew,” said Purvis. “Would you like me to adjust your dress?”

  “They’re coming in,” said Betty, interrupting Wolsey’s retort. “You’d better hurry up.”

  * * * *

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. I abjure thee, unholy spirit and son of Satan, to leave this poor mortal. You may now kiss the bride. Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle; be our defence against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray.” The bishop smiled at the congregation of six, who were beginning to look at each other with puzzled expressions.

  He opened his arms, as if in blessing. “And do thou, O prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.”

  “Amen,” repeated the congregation. This at least was something they could understand. They began to rise.

  Bishop Wolsey stared into the eyes of Jim Hunt, a man supposedly possessed by a devil that had flatly refused to obey an exorcism. He shrugged. It was probably all a load of rubbish, but it had been worth playing along for eight grand in his back pocket.

  Betty began playing Mendelssohn’s Wedding March as Jim and Latitia turned to face the door. Latitia scowled at the bishop before fixing on a smile that would have dimmed the sunshine as she walked back down the aisle, her arm tucked into that of her new husband.

  Jim nodded at his mum and her carer from the retirement home but smiled at Valerie and Julie as he passed their pew. Valerie’s heart sank. That was the first contract she had failed in a long time.

  Purvis opened the church door to let the happy couple out. On the steps, Backdoor Harry stuffed his bag of mints in his pocket and raised his camera, snapping pictures as they left the foreboding gloom of the church for the bright sunlight outside and the beginning of their future together.

  Jasfoup and Felicia stood outside the church, a bag of rice at the ready. They scanned the faces of those coming out of the church.

  “It didn’t work,” said Felicia when she saw Julie shaking her head. “He’s still in there.”

  “Then there’s nothing we can do,” said Jasfoup, “but grin and bear it and hope to scuttle his plans for world domination.”

  “Is that what he’s after?” asked Felicia. “World domination? Why?”

  “I’m just guessing really,” said Jasfoup. “Isn’t that what everyone wants, in the end. Why else would a demon possess a mortal? It’s nothing to do with sexual prowess, trust me.”

  “I don’t know.” Felicia, having the strength for a long throw, lobbed a handful of rice. Latitia cowered under the stinging onslaught. “It all seems a bit glib. As if it’s out of a comic book or something.”

  “You could be in a comic book.” Jasfoup grinned as he stepped forward to throw his rice, but before he could throw it he yelped in pain and dropped his rice on the floor. He staggered back, cradling his hand to his chest.

  Felicia put an arm around him, then looked up to see Jim’s eyes boring into hers. “Jasfoup!” she hissed. “What’s the matter?”

  “Burns,” said Jasfoup. “I have burns. That only happens in the presence of…” His eyes widened. “Fliss! He’s not a demon. He’s an angel, or as near to it as makes no odds. That’s why the exorcism didn’t work. Hell has no claim on such a one as he.”

  Winston and Meinwen hurried to their side, closely followed by Valerie and Julie. The smartly dressed man from the station paused. “Winston? What’s going on here? You’re needed for the photographs.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute, Uncle Rory,” said Winston. “You take Aunty Pat up to the steps and we’ll be right there.”

  “What’s happened?” asked Purvis Mackenzie. He turned to the bishop. “Your Grace? These are some of the bride’s friends.”

  “More weirdos,” said Wolsey. “The sooner I’m on
that train and out of here the better.” He followed the happy couple through the churchyard to the steps of the tower, the traditional place for wedding photographs since the main door was so dark.

  “It’s not a demon,” said Felicia. “It’s an angel possessing Jim.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Purvis. “Possession is an unholy act. An angel couldn’t do it by definition.”

  “Not an angel,” said Jasfoup. “Not exactly.” He held up his hand which was still smoking, but there were areas of fresh pink skin where it had been burned. “It’s a mortal soul inside, but one that was sainted. There’s no way of knowing who without driving it out first.”

  “How do we do that?” Julie looked across to where Harry was arranging the wedding party into poses.

  “We need a good witch or two and someone fast on their feet,” said Jasfoup, looking at Julie and Winston. “How are you at unholy curses? Felicia? I need you too.”

  * * * *

  “Now rest one hand on her shoulder.”

  Backdoor Harry was directing perfect wedding shots. It wasn’t something that he’d ever done before, but he was cheap and he had the best digital imaging studio outside of London. He was surprised but unfazed when a circle appeared in the air, wreathed in fire.

  “Oh, jolly good,” he said, taking several shots.” I love a good firework display, me. Are these from the Magelight factory?”

  “They’re not…” Jim narrowed his eyes as a skeletal hand emerged from the portal.

  “Clever stuff,” said Harry and switched his camera to the more sensational sight.

  Latitia backed away, her eyes seeking Winston, but Jim stayed put, ignoring the screams of Aunty Pat and Uncle Rory. His head turned slowly until he locked eyes with Jasfoup, who looked away.

  “Hurry up,” said Pennie. “This isn’t easy.”

  “We’re doing the best we can,” Winston replied, holding hands with both Julie and Valerie. “It’s not easy channelling power into a ghost.”

  “It’s not easy working a skeleton like a puppet,” said Pennie. “Quite apart from the ‘ew’ factor of what I’m doing.”

  “You need to keep his attention,” said Julie. “Hurry.”

  “Don’t tell me to hurry.” Pennie struggled. “I’ve got her head and shoulders out but I’ve got her hip bone stuck on the portal ledge.”

  “He’s going to figure it out any second,” said Winston. “Do something.”

  “Hurry up, wolf girl.” Pennie concentrated and let most of the skeleton go. Only one arm, still pointing accusingly at Jim, remained.

  Felicia darted out from behind the tomb of the Garnet family to the tinny strains of Motorhead. She vaulted over Harry to a spot just behind Jim, the landing sending Latitia sprawling. Jim barely had time to turn before she slammed the beads of her i-pod into his ears and turned it up full blast.

  Jim collapsed like a magician’s top hat at the end of the act, his head hitting the stone with a crack.

  In his place was an angel.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Jasfoup stood well back from the fallen Jim and surveyed the creature that hovered over him. It was not, as he had first thought, an angel but something very close―an exalted spirit, once mortal but elevated to Heaven in the days long past, when mortals still had access to that plane, before the triumph of sin and depravity meant the Pearly Gates were tarnished through misuse.

  “It’s a saint,” he said in a low voice. “What’s a saint doing possessing a mortal?”

  “How should I know?” said Julie, trying to maintain a hold on her awe. “I didn’t think they could.”

  “They can’t,” said Jasfoup. “Not unless…” He took a pace forward and spoke in the Tongue of the Abyss. “Why have you abandoned your charges?”

  The spirit turned and glared at him. “I fight for them,” it said. “It is not I who closed the gates.”

  With a final glance at the prone body below it, the spirit shot upwards and vanished from sight. The local noise filtered into conscious hearing, like an old transistor radio warming up.

  “—and help him.”

  “Call an ambulance”

  “Call the police. Who allowed such vandalism of graves?”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Jim! Jim! Can you hear me?”

  “Let him die.”

  This last was from Valerie. “We can’t,” said Jasfoup. “If he dies the spirit will have nowhere to go and will possess someone else. With him alive we can at least control the sodding thing. It’ll have to come back to him.”

  “How’s that going to help us?” Valerie fixed lens-tinted eyes on him. “We can’t keep using the i-pod to keep the spirit out. Eventually we’re going to have to deal with it properly.”

  “Yes, but this gives us time to work out what to do next.” Jasfoup frowned. “Why do you want him dead?”

  Valerie had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “Business,” she said.

  “Are you going to help him or what?” Latitia was sitting on the ground, cradling Jim’s head in her lap. “You’re all standing there chatting while Jim lies dying on the pavement.”

  The image of Latitia holding her dying husband, her wedding dress covered in his blood, would remain with Winston to the end of his days. He was in an anguish of indecision.

  “Winston? He’s your friend,” said Latitia. “Surely you’d help him. You’re the one who will have to explain to him why you let him die.”

  “She’s right.” Winston looked at Julie. “I have to help.”

  “I’ve already called for an ambulance,” said Meinwen, approaching the recumbent form, “but I found a comfrey over by one of the graves and made a poultice.” She sat cross-legged on the ground next to them. “Here, allow me.” She lifted Jim’s head and applied the compress. “It’s only a small wound,” she said. “He’ll be right as nine-pence soon. Head wounds always look worse than they really are.”

  A groan from Jim prompted a smile from both the women. “He’s coming round,” Meinwen called.

  “Bugger.” Jasfoup scowled. “That means the spirit will be back any minute.” He pulled out his phone. “Spencer!” he said when Chase answered it. “Are you at the sanctuary? Good. Pick up the three chains from the gates and bring them over to Saint Jude’s pronto.” He paused while Chase said something. “No, I don’t care about your broken fingers. Just get here.”

  He turned to Pennie. “You must be the one he’s been mooning over,” he said. “Do me a favor and see if that spirit’s coming back, would you?”

  “How?” said Pennie. “What can I see that you can’t?”

  “You can fly,” said Jasfoup. “Go up. See if you can spot him.”

  “You can fly too,” said Pennie. “You have huge dark wings.”

  “But if I fly it’ll scare the natives,” said Jasfoup. “They can’t see you.”

  “Oh.” Pennie concentrated until she looked as if she were straining on the toilet. “I can’t,” she said. “I don’t know how.”

  “”Don’t try to fly,” he said. “Just think yourself into the air.”

  “Oh!” Pennie laughed as she rose. “I never guessed it would be this easy.” She paused, her feet level with Jasfoup’s head. “Did Chase really moon over me, then?”

  “Yes,” said Jasfoup. “That’s why you’re still here. You’re tied to his thoughts.”

  “Is that true?” asked Julie as Pennie rose out of earshot. “Is she really here because Chase loves her?”

  “I’ve no idea,” said Jasfoup, “but it cheered her up enough to do as I asked. It’s more likely she’s still here because she wasn’t on the death list and no-one came to claim her.”

  “Death list?”

  Jasfoup patted his breast pocket. “Azraels’s list of those
about to die. Updated daily.”

  “Hot damn,” said Julie. “Where can I get a copy?”

  Chase turned up moments before the ambulance, which was lucky, since the sight of an injured man in chains wouldn’t have gone down well with the emergency services. Jim was sitting up by this time, drinking a glass of water Purvis had provided and talking to his new wife.

  “I’m really married?” he said, “to you?”

  “Yes.” Latitia kept looking up at the skies.

  “Are you sure you feel all right, sir?” said the paramedic. “How many fingers am I holding up? Can we turn the music off?”

  “No!” said Jasfoup and Latitia in unison.

  “What?” said Jim. “I fell over and blacked out for a moment. Honestly, I feel fine now. Better than usual, in fact.” He saw Winston. “Mate!” he shouted. “I got married. To your sister!”

  “I know mate.” Winston clapped him on the back. “Good for you. Can you stand yet?”

  “Of course I can stand,” said Jim. “I’ve been standing up ever since I was little.” He stood to prove it, swaying a little and clutching Latitia for support. She staggered under the weight.

  “You really ought to get that bump looked at sir,” said one of the two men from the ambulance. “At least have it x-rayed. You might have subcutaneous bleeding.”

  “No, I’m fine.” Jim put a hand to his wound. “I’ve grown some leaves, see?”

  “What the devil’s going on?” said Latitia’s Uncle Rory. “I’ve never seen such a cock-up at a wedding. Why wouldn’t any of you help the poor lad? Anyone can see he’s suffered some sort of brain damage.”

  “No uncle,” said Winston. “I’ve known Jim for years. This is his normal self.”

  “Lattie’s married him?”

  “Yes Uncle.” Winston grinned. “He’s a good bloke.”