by D. D. Chance
Mine.
The word flashed through my mind so clearly, I whipped around, expecting to see someone standing right behind me—but there was no one there but a group of bleary-eyed students, hunched and shambling in the direction of Bellamy Chapel.
I sighed, regretting that I hadn’t scored a second coffee for the road from the White Crane, never mind that I was already seriously on edge.
A soft, chittering laugh seemed to roll across the murky graveyard, fading away just as quickly, and I rolled my eyes at my twisted-up nerves.
Time to face my demons.
2
Our little group of pilgrims turned the corner, and a new building came into view, hunched over in full creepy splendor. Bellamy Chapel was a small stone structure crawling with vines, its narrow-paned windows bleak and cold, and the tiny Christian cross topping its steepled roof barely visible in the murk. The building looked like it hadn’t been used in the last hundred years, at least for anything other than—apparently—demonology sunrise ceremonies.
There was a microscopic cemetery off to one side, and in the gloom, I could see that a tall, wrought iron fence surrounded the space. That made me feel marginally better, but I wasn’t sure if those feelings were warranted. Iron was a good protection against the average run-of-the-mill monsters I’d encountered, but I’d never dealt with a demon before. Did they have different rules? They almost had to, right?
The murk lightened as we approached, and I bit my lip as a thread of worry snaked through me. I’d worked in a graveyard throughout my high school years, but ours had been…tidier, I guess was the word I was searching for. In the fields surrounding the old Southern church, the grave markers that had tumbled over and congealed into the turf seemed almost genteel in their disarray. Here, the tombstones seemed squashed and overburdened, like they were carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. They were also disconcertingly close to the path we were on. The other students seemed to notice as well, and we all merged a bit more together, forming a close group as we slowed outside the front door of the abandoned chapel.
“Around to the back,” someone shouted, the sharp sound making more than a few of us jump. I looked up to see a student in a bright red jacket gesturing us on. “Come on, he’s about to begin.”
A murmur of interest rumbled through the students around me, curiosity finally overcoming fear. We obligingly moved around the chapel to the back, where a wide field ringed with trees opened up. Here there were more graves, these much more neatly arranged in careful rows and seeming newer than the jumbled stones in front. I wondered when they’d stopped burying people on campus grounds…and why they’d ever started in the first place. Granted, it was a monster hunter academy. Exactly how difficult had those first few years of classes been?
All those thoughts flew out of my brain when I reached the growing collection of students gathered around someone who was not Professor Newton. It was Zachariah Williams, my monster hunting collective teammate, looking so unexpectedly gorgeous that I barely avoided whimpering as heat swept through my body, warding off the last of the cemetery’s chill.
Whoa.
Tall and athletic without being muscle-bound, as fair as an angel, with deep black hair and haunting eyes so blue they appeared purple, Zach seemed to be the most easygoing member of our little team ninety-nine percent of the time…but there was something about him that made me think the one percent I hadn’t yet seen would scare the hell out of me.
I knew virtually nothing about him other than the fact that he was the son of a preacher and had scored some impressive experience with demon hunting at his father’s church. I’d vaguely pictured shouted ceremonies at tent revivals, with a younger version of the dark-eyed Zach doing a laying-on of hands or holding a crucifix or whatever you needed to convince the faithful they were healed.
But even with all that in mind, why was he here as a stand-in for Professor Newton? He hadn’t been mentioned in the email. I would have noticed that. And I definitely would have brushed my hair.
Zach seemed to sense my presence. He looked up, our gazes meeting across the open space. It was too far away for us to really see each other, but there was no denying the spark of awareness that blossomed through me, warming me in a way that the coffee hadn’t even begun to. I felt myself blushing, glad for the fog that seemed to get thicker as we approached. I glanced up, but the sun was taking its time rising. Sort of defeated the purpose of a sunrise ceremony if you couldn’t see the actual sun. Maybe it was waiting for us to assemble? That didn’t make me feel much better.
“Getting close, guys,” Zach said, loud enough for the stragglers to hear. “Obviously, I’m not your usual instructor, but Professor Newton has come to rely on me for this particular lecture. I’ve done it every semester for the past three years, even when I was a freshman, so don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”
“Are we actually going to raise a demon?” The question came quickly and was undeniably nervous. We all shuffled a little, chuckling with whatever false bravado we could muster.
“Could be,” Zach allowed. “It happened the first spring semester I was here, but not last spring. This year, though? I’m not sure which way things will roll.”
Another voice popped up. “But shouldn’t you know?” This from a tall redhead, her freshly scrubbed and lightly made-up face prettier than any one person should be before sunrise. She looked at Zach as if she was coming home, and I scowled at her, then refocused on him. All the guys in the collective were fit, healthy, and attractive. But Tyler had sort of dazzled me from the beginning, and I’d never really studied Zach objectively. Now that it was completely inappropriate, I took the opportunity of him explaining how demon summoning worked to ogle the poor guy.
The poor guy was hot. That was all really you could say about it. His hair was a dark mop of jet-black waves, his skin etched in porcelain, and of course…those eyes. This morning, he was clad only in running pants and a light tan T-shirt that stretched over a frame appreciably more defined than I’d given it credit for. My mouth began watering, and I focused on Zach’s biceps as he lifted an arm to gesture back toward the church. Belatedly, I realized I should probably be paying attention to what he was saying.
“—consecrated ground,” he finished. Not exactly illuminating, but the students around me seemed to have gotten more from his explanation, a few of them nodding wisely. I needed to focus.
“The transition between night to day, and day to night, is when demons are most likely to be seen, unless they’ve got you trapped in a building.” Zach smiled, and my heart gave a little tug. “I wouldn’t recommend that. But when you’re outside, the gloaming time is their favorite. The light plays tricks on the eyes, and demons love nothing more than to deceive.”
A question lifted from the back of the group. “You’re talking Christian demons, right? Manifestations of Judeo-Christian mythology, set to turn humans away from the one true God.”
“Typically, yes, though the definition of the one true God varies from faith to faith. Christians don’t corner the market on that concept, and demons don’t care all that much about what God you follow. They’re only interested in uncoupling you from whatever faith you do possess, then preying on your unprotected soul.”
I couldn’t help myself, I made a face. Zach apparently was watching me. “Does that surprise you?”
He asked the question in a cool, academic voice, but once again, a thrill of awareness scattered through me. It was as if the group of students fell away, leaving only the two of us there, and heat flared in my belly.
“I’ve never fought…” I cut myself off in time to not look like a freak and amended my wording. “I mean, I’ve never really thought about confronting a demon, I guess. I always just assumed it was a Christian thing.”
“In the United States, at least in the South and along the east coast, you’d be right. But different parts of the country have different factions of demons. There are dark spirits in almost every b
elief system, from those brought over from Europe and Asia to the indigenous cultures throughout Central and South America.” He smiled, gesturing around, and it took me a second to stop looking at the curve of his mouth and zero in on his words.
“In this particular sacred space, we’re looking at your more typical demons. Most of you have done that reading already, so I won’t bore you with it.” He let his gaze settle back on me, electric with possibility. “For new members to the class, we can talk afterward, if you’d like.”
The overture was so unexpected that I pursed my lips together, fighting a nervous giggle. I nodded, then attempted to appear completely disinterested. Fortunately, I didn’t have to fake it for long. A soft, querulous moan sounded in the trees around us, stopping my fluttery heart cold in my chest.
“I’ll be damned,” Zach drawled, before giving us a slight wink. “It looks like we have company. Brace yourselves.”
The trees exploded.
3
I hadn’t fought demons before, but I knew what was happening here was bullshit.
The entire class screamed and collapsed into each other, several of them dropping to their knees, as lights scattered and screams burst forth from every corner of the graveyard. The Halloween scare fest cut out just as quickly and Zach raised his hand, grinning as students still spun this way and that, trying to find the source of the noise, the lights, or any evidence of the demon attack that had descended on us so rapidly.
“Sorry.” Zach laughed so good-naturedly, it was tough to want to beat the crap out of him for the practical joke. Tough, but not undoable, judging from the mutinous expressions of some of the students. “Sorry,” he said again. “But I did that for a reason. By my count, more than half of you immediately clasped your hands in prayer and dropped to your knees. Yet only five of you admitted to practicing your faith regularly on the pre-fieldwork questionnaire you all submitted to Professor Newton.”
One of the students finally found his voice. “That was fake? You tricked us?”
“Not tricked you, tested you,” Zach corrected. “And those kinds of tests are where the true strength of a demon lies. Now get up before you get wet from all that dew.”
Grumbling, the students all stood while Zach continued. “Make no mistake, having an active faith life can help you ward off an attack…so long as it’s actually active. But again, you’re safe here today. When the sun rises in a few minutes, you may see signs of demons passing. Like I said, last year we had only the barest blip, which is why I created this little show for you. What you just experienced was much more like what we encountered the first spring I was here, as a freshman.”
“Why was there a difference?” asked one of the students. “Like, why did they show up the first year and ignore you the second?”
“I’ve given that a lot of thought,” Zach said. “It really comes down to a few things. First, I’m stronger. The first year, I didn’t know a lot about protecting myself. Between my first and second years, I had to level up in a hurry, and I did. By the time I hit this ceremony sophomore year, I was more prepared and the demons might have sensed that. These are thinking beings, not mindless creatures. They have a sense of strategy and a keen desire for self-preservation. They could have decided I posed a threat.”
He lifted one shoulder self-deprecatingly, and several of the students chuckled. Zach worked hard to give the impression that he wasn’t a threat, I suspected. Was that because of the campus animosity toward the monster hunter program? It certainly had drawn enough enemies. Or was it something deeper?
“Another option could simply have been who and what I was,” Zach continued.
“But you were a monster hunter minor both times,” another student pointed out.
“True. Before I came to Wellington, however, I was also the son of a preacher in a small Southern church, one known for exorcisms.” He said this without fanfare, but every single one of the students perked up, including me. “It’s not like I dispelled demons on my own or anything, but they were familiar with me. They could even have been hunting me, thinking I’d be easy prey. Maybe after the first year, they gave that up.”
Zach looked up toward the eastern horizon, and I realized the fog had lifted enough to make it reasonable to assume that the sun might actually make an appearance. Standing in this particular church cemetery, that seemed like a minor miracle.
“The fog is a good sign, ordinarily,” he said, but his words were quieter now, focused.
“What should we do?” the redhead asked, sounding credibly concerned. I noticed that she was now standing closer to Zach. When had that happened? “I mean…if they do show up?”
Zach didn’t answer right away, and a shadow passed over the sun. In fact, he didn’t say anything for such a long time that the students around me moved uneasily, whispering and nudging each other, their soft murmurs filling my ears. Tension warped through me, and one of the students laughed nervously.
“You did not just say that.” She giggled, shifting away from the boy next to her, but her words were a little strained. Another student huffed a startled gasp. And then a third, as murmurs spread through the group.
I tore my gaze away from Zach long enough to glance around, and froze. This was all wrong. There were twice as many students in our small group as there had been a second ago. I squinted, trying to make sense of the change, and the female student nearest the redhead lifted her hand and drifted it along the redhead’s glossy hair. The sun pierced the clouds, and I could see right through the new girl’s fingers. Then she leaned forward, as if to whisper in the redhead’s ear.
“—out!” Zach’s voice finally reached me, but it seemed to be coming from across the city, not a mere few tombstones away. I was already moving, reaching down for my iron dagger. I came back up, and the first thing I saw was the redheaded student, grinning at me ghoulishly. Her face was stretched too wide, as if she’d swallowed a gopher, her mouth a ghastly maw that opened to reveal a set of yellow feral eyes lurking inside her. Wait—was this the student from class, an apparition, or something even worse? What was happening here?
She launched herself at me the same moment that something sounded over near Zach, a loud crack as if two mighty hands smacked together. The creature inside the student jolted, its eyes going wide, and then it spewed out of her mouth toward me. It wasn’t alone. Wraiths of varying size and thickness flowed through the air, hissing and dissolving into the ground, the shadows, the walls of the church itself. I turned to see Zach standing in the center of our group, while I now stood several feet away.
How had I gotten here? Had I somehow lost time? Was that even possible?
“Behold,” Zach said. And I realized he wasn’t alone. Caught in his grasp was one of the demons, a writhing creature about as big as a cat, but with long, skinny arms and legs that ended in hooked claws. It snarled and squirmed, straining back from Zach, its tail lashing violently.
“Your time has come to pay the price,” the creature screeched. “Your sacrifice is due.”
“Silentium,” Zach ordered, and the demon’s snarls turned into a screech, as if the words hurt it physically.
Around this center, the students gaped and stared. Zach spoke more in Latin or maybe Greek, some sort of incantation or prayer, and the demon responded with what sounded like epithets in a language that wasn’t English yet sounded vaguely familiar. Zach switched to the same language, and somehow I recognized it as Akkadian, for all that I knew only a few words, having just had my first class a few days earlier.
Nevertheless, I’d already memorized the word for binding and for obey, and Zach used both of these as the creature twisted and jerked. And then, just as it seemed it might burst out of Zach’s hands, it withered. Shrank down in front of our eyes, then dissolved into smoke.
The students burst into applause.
“That wasn’t fake, right?” the skeptical kid asked, his face rapt with excitement. “Those were actual demons this time?”
“T
hose were actual demons,” Zach agreed. “Older ones, though, not the typical lot. That’s why they didn’t respond to the orders that I gave them in Latin.”
“Why would they respond to orders at all?” another student asked.
Not a bad question. Zach had an answer for it. “All demons are constructs of God. Whether you believe in the one true God or not, they do. As a result, anything spoken to them in the name of that God with enough authority can constrain them. It’s the authority part that’s the hard thing. As mortals, we’re not used to playing God, for all that we may want to be. Demons know that as well. They work to undermine our sense of authority, our belief in ourselves. It’s one of their best tricks.”
He spoke with absolute knowledge, but something in his tone struck me with unexpected force. Did Zach doubt his own ability with demons? Surely, he wouldn’t have made this attempt if so. Right?
“But I’m still confused,” another student protested. “We are on church grounds here. I thought that was supposed to be safe from demons. I thought that was kind of the whole point of church grounds.”
Zach nodded. “A lot of people think that, and depending on the demon, they’re usually right. But also, it depends on the church. What you’ve got here” —he gestured around—“is a church that hasn’t maintained its consecration. It’s been abandoned, boarded up, and allowed to go to rot. That makes it no longer safe on a basic level, and more of a magnet for demons.”
“So this had nothing to do with the sunrise?” said one of the other students, a thoughtful-looking kid with a mop of dark hair falling over his glasses. “You lured us here, knowing the demons would come for us? What were we, bait or something?”
“You were not bait,” Zach said sternly, shaking his head. “If that were the case, we would have assembled experts in a secret operation well after school was let out. But the truth of the matter is, demons don’t respect any place that humans have lost respect for. That’s why they typically don’t cross onto sacred ground, because mortals have imbued that ground with a higher purpose. As you can see, nobody has cared for this spot in some time. It’s picturesque, but little more. I could’ve easily had this ceremony in a bar. Demons come or they don’t. But congratulations, with your help and by maintaining the circle, we’ve made the world a little lighter today.”