Phoenix Contract: Part Four (Fallen Angel Watchers) (4 page)

Matthew met Magnus’ eyes. “Go,” the priest asserted.

Magnus’ jaw set into stubbornness, and he gave a hard shake of his head. The Celt could not leave, not with Matthew so close to death. He’d made a promise to the priest that took precedence over all else. Their friendship and his honor were more important than a thousand demons.

“Blast it, you stubborn dog!” Matthew wheezed. “I’m not dead yet! Get after that monster and kill it before it murders more innocent people!”

“Please, go,” Aiden pleaded, finally speaking. “That thing killed Thrash and Troy and thousands of other innocent people. It has to be destroyed. I’ll stay with Father Matthew until you get back, I promise.”

“You’re not thinking clearly.” Magnus heard his own voice, and knew his inflection sounded detached and arrogant. Centuries of keeping his heart hidden came to his service, even when his emotions were in complete turmoil.

Clearly, Aiden hadn’t considered the potential consequences of his departure if Matthew died while he was gone. Sentiment clouded her judgment.

“I'll pursue it, but first I have to be sure Matthew won’t pass in my absence.” Carefully, Magnus set Acerbitas on the floor. He removed a glove and extended his hand. “This is the only way.”

Matthew caught hold of his wrist. “No,” he said. “Not again.”

“Are you sure?”

Matthew’s fingers wrapped around his own, clinging, so very warm and weak. The Celt could have easily broken the grip and proceeded, but Magnus would not ignore his friend’s wishes.

“I’m sure.” Matthew smiled as tears glimmered in his brown eyes. He squeezed the Celt’s hand. “You’ve been a good friend, Magnus.”

“You also,” Magnus replied, throat closing with tightness.

“Y-you weren’t kidding about Lilith,” Matthew wheezed, his voice a breathy gasp.

“No, I wasn’t kidding,” Magnus said, grinning suddenly. He hesitated a beat, bidding his timing. “She was my mother-in-law.”

“Oh! Oh no!” A hard, unexpected bark of laughter caused the priest’s entire upper body to heave. He held on tight to Magnus’ hand, and the Celt steadied him. “That’s a story I must hear.”

“I’ll tell it if you’re here when I get back,” Magnus promised.

“I will be. You have my word,” Matthew promised. “Until you return, Aiden and I will occupy ourselves by finding something to help you slay the Soul Eater. Go after it, my friend. I won’t rest until I know that monstrosity has been destroyed.”

Torn between leaving and staying, Magnus deliberated on the matter for an indecisive moment. For the moment, Matthew seemed strong enough to stave off death for another few hours.

Magnus would go because the Soul Eater had to be destroyed. He understood and accepted that his friend had absolved the decades old promise. Matthew would grant forgiveness for his failure to keep it, even if Magnus would never forgive himself.

“Fine, I’ll go,” Magnus agreed.

Matthew exhaled relief and slumped forward, closing his eyes. The priest sprawled, head rolling forward in a position of exhaustion.

Reaching out, Magnus seized Aiden’s wrist. He muffled her protest with his fingers, placed lightly against her lips. Her green eyes were wide as he led her from the room and into one of the adjacent book alcoves.

“What is it?” she asked the second they were alone. As always, she regarded him with hardened suspicion, distrustful of his character and motives.

Magnus removed a .45 caliber semiautomatic pistol from his cloak jacket and placed it in her hand. She stared at the weapon like he had handed her a deadly cobra.

“This is an original M1911A1 single action pistol. The magazine holds seven rounds. It’s a semi-auto, single action only, so it fires one round each time the trigger is squeezed. In order to fire it, the hammer needs to be cocked and the safety off.”

He performed a quick demonstration and made her repeat the action until he was satisfied that she understood the procedure. Normally, he carried the .45 cocked and locked in a ready-to-fire mode, but that would have been dangerous for Aiden.

“Is this what I think it’s for?” she asked, staring down at the firearm.

“This is a venerable weapon. This one belonged to a U.S. Marine who fought in World War II,” Magnus said. “The bullets will decimate soft brain tissue. Very effective, very lethal. It’s a humane way to die.”

Her lips drew into a tight line, and he knew she desperately wanted to argue with him. He could see the sharp reprimand in her eyes, the dislike that bordered on hatred and the morbid fascination she held for him. Her lips parted, and the tip of her tongue poked through to moisten them. The insult showed in her gaze.
Brute. Killer. Only a monster could call such a death humane...

“This is mercy,” Magnus assured her, because her doubts were so obvious. He spoke the truth as it applied to such things.

“What do
you
know of mercy?” Aiden scoffed, but she shoved the gun into her pocket and accepted the gift. Only fools and liars argued with truth, and she was neither.

Magnus left her question unanswered. He returned to the study, and Aiden followed in sullen silence. Matthew’s eyes were still closed, and he remained in the same position of repose. Magnus harbored no doubts or illusions. The priest knew what their absence had been about. Matthew opened his eyes, and the knowledge and gratitude presented in his gaze. When their friendship began, the two men had not thought at all alike, but time had changed many things, including that.

“I’m going,” Magnus announced. He scooped up Acerbitas which resonated with the need for vengeance. The Celt cast one final glance at Matthew, locking gazes with his old friend for what he feared was the final time.

“It’s about time,” Acerbitas complained.

“Be careful,” Aiden said.

“Destroy it,” Matthew said.

“I’m going to,” Magnus promised. He stood framed in the dim light for another long moment before he turned and departed.

Katsue’s gaze remained fixed upon the red digital display that tracked her progress on the treadmill. She wore a red and black spaghetti strap Lycra crop top and matching pants. Her Nike running shoes were black with a white swish and beat out a steady thumping cadence on the belt. Her breath came in even draughts, and the sheen of perspiration had given her dark complexion a glossy luster.

The basement gymnasium of the Archeology building was deserted aside from the Japanese Alastor, and Katsue was glad for the isolation. Lately, she’d spent her free time working out. Anything to avoid the monstrous demon who had replaced Troy, the creature with whom she’d entered into service in order to further both her own survival and ambition.

Torn between guilt and greed, fear and friendship, she was conflicted in ways that made it impossible to sleep unless she worked out to the point of physical exhaustion. She trained until she was too tired to think, and only then would she stagger home, drop into bed, and collapse into sleep.

The Soul Eater did not exercise. Indeed, he shunned anything that resembled physical exertion. The weak creature was barely able to manifest much more than a solid physical form, and even then, his skin always had a rubbery feel to it as if the effort to maintain one form exhausted it.

Through her association with it, Katsue had come to realize that the demon was not only weak but also craven. He played the part of bully well, but at his core, the Soul Eater was a coward. He scuttled and sulked, sticking to shadows and walls as if something or someone might leap out and attack him at any moment. Katsue found the demon’s behavior both confusing and baffling, because she’d never once observed anything that could hurt a creature made out of fluidic shadow.

Every night she woke up in a cold sweat, clutching at the sheets, her heart racing and chest heaving. She never remembered her nightmares, but recalled vague flashes of swimming in dark water. The envious eyes of those who’d drowned watched her from the murky depths, and countless hands grabbed her arms and legs, then hauled her under. She’d open her mouth to scream, and her lungs filled with water as they pulled her down into pitch darkness. And it was so cold, so very cold. Freezing.

The digital counter reached sixty minutes, and the machine beeped, signaling the end of her program. The belt beneath her feet began to slow, and Katsue reached for her bottle of water. She twisted off the plastic cap to take a drink, but a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.

A jolt of pure terror caused Katsue to slosh water down the sides of her face. Her heart pounded and adrenaline surged through her limbs. She jumped, dropped the water bottle, and twisted around in time to see the Soul Eater pour forth from a ventilation shaft.

Waiting and watching, Katsue took a step back. She expected the Soul Eater to assume human form so they could communicate. The demon liked to wear Troy’s countenance in her presence, because he sensed her discomfort and took pleasure in making her suffer. He also liked to make sure she never forgot her partner’s fate or the consequences that awaited her if she messed up or betrayed him.

Instead of immediately adopting a human shape, the shadow mass rolled sluggishly into the center of the room. Slow and rigid, the normally energetic tentacles that made up the head moved limply and curled inward. Altogether, the demon gave the impression of immense pain.

“What’s your problem?” Katsue demanded.

In response to her words, a bubble glugged to the surface. Erupting with a deep pop from the oily slick, it swelled outward and assumed the rough shape of a human face that lacked distinguishing features. It didn’t look like anyone in specific, but it was distorted with agony and reminded Katsue of a theatrical tragedy mask.

“I have a job for you,” the Soul Eater announced.

Katsue opened her mouth to demand an explanation for the demon’s condition, but he cut her off.

“Don’t argue, or I’ll kill you where you stand,” he snapped. “I have no use for you if you can’t follow simple instructions, and at least you’d provide a decent meal for me.”

Katsue’s jaw closed with an audible snap. She ground her teeth together and then managed to ask in a reasonable voice, “What do you want me to do?”

“Go upstairs to the study and find out what the hell’s going on,” the Soul Eater instructed. “The priest had another coronary, and the sword we’re after is out of the safe. Aiden is with him.”

“Father Matthew?” Katsue asked, overtaken with concern. “Is he okay?”

The Soul Eater glared and waved her question aside. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. With any luck he’s in the grave and has taken what he knows with him.”

What he knows?
Katsue experienced a stab of excitement. Maybe Father Matthew knew something about the demon: a weakness, vulnerability, or how to defeat it.

The Soul Eater’s expression clothed itself in sinister intent. “Don’t even think it, Katsue girl. I’ll gobble you down in one gulp if I think for a second you’ve betrayed me.”

“Do you want me to go now? Like this?” Katsue indicated her sweat-soaked athletic outfit. She glared at the monster, wishing it an eternity of suffering in the deepest depths of hell.

“Good point, no need to arouse suspicion,” the demon agreed with a casual wave. “Get cleaned up, wait an hour or so, and then go.”

It turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Katsue asked in spite of herself. Though eager to get away from the demon, she also dreaded what it might do every time it left her sight. Which one of her friends would he be wearing the next time they met?

“To talk to the boss,” the Soul Eater tossed over his shoulder before turning to shadow and flowing away on writhing tentacles.

Once Magnus departed, Aiden was alone with Father Matthew and an aftermath of uneasy foreboding. The expectation of terrible things to come hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Aiden held the priest’s elbow and helped him make his way to his armchair, a tediously slow and painstaking trip. With great difficulty, Matthew lowered himself into the leather recliner and exhaled a heavy sigh. He looked ghastly and gave Aiden new insight into the expression,
Death warmed over
.

“Do you think he’ll be able to kill it?” Aiden asked.

“Magnus is a killer,” Matthew replied, his complexion ashen. “He won’t stop until one or both of them is destroyed.” He shuddered, shivering so hard that his teeth clattered. At the same time, perspiration beaded his forehead.

Aiden turned her energies to Matthew’s welfare. He needed medical attention and probably another hospitalization.

“I’m going to call Doctor Louis,” Aiden announced, reaching for her new cell phone. Having learned the hard way the dangers of being caught in an emergency without the ability to call for help, she’d gotten a mobile after the night Daniel Adams had attacked.

“No, I don’t want to wind up in the hospital right now, especially when there’s nothing they can do for me. I just need to rest,” Matthew replied. Shivering, he dragged an Afghan throw across his lap.

Fingers already wrapped around her phone, Aiden hesitated as her good sense warred with her deeply ingrained obedience to her elder. “I should call,” she repeated
.

“If you want to help, then start a fire,” Matthew suggested, speaking in a barely audible whisper.

Against her better judgment, Aiden put her phone away. The brass wood holder next to the hearth was empty. “I’m going to fetch some wood from the utility closet.”

Head nodding forward and eyes closed, Matthew mumbled an unintelligible reply as he fell asleep in the chair.

Aiden bit her lower lip so hard that her teeth left indentations in her flesh. Damn it! She didn’t want to leave him alone even to go for kindling, but she knew too well how chilled the priest got, and the building’s ancient furnace failed to heat the upper levels.

“I just want to rest my eyes,” Matthew mumbled, rousing for a second as if aware of her hesitancy. His eyelids fluttered, and he returned to sleep.

She sighed and ceased to linger since it wasn’t accomplishing anything. “I’ll be back in just a second,” she promised the slumbering priest.

Aiden retrieved an armload of firewood from the closet and returned to the study. She’d have to make at least two trips, probably three, in order to transport enough wood to get a decent fire going.

Two trips to the utility closet enabled her to transport enough wood to get a fire started using a small starter log. She also restocked the log holder. Aiden rubbed her palms against her jeans, attempting to remove the sappy residue.

Her worried gaze strayed to Father Matthew who slouched forward in the armchair. His stillness was eerie and frightening, and Aiden felt her heart leap into her throat.

“Father?” she said softly. Extending an uncertain hand, she took a step forward and reached for his arm.

The priest awoke and burst upright, his eyes glazed and unfocused, the whites jaundiced. His expression was fevered.

Aiden jumped reactively and stopped breathing as her heart gave a single hard thud. For a split second, she was positive he’d turned undead.

Matthew drew in a labored breath, and the irrational fear deserted her as swiftly as it’d seized her. Exhaling, Aiden silently thanked God she’d come to grips with her fears before she had spoken them aloud.

“A Curse of Chains!” Matthew exclaimed, weak but unbearably excited. He sat up straight, his expression one of a man possessed as he babbled on about his dreamtime epiphany. “Of course, it’s so obvious. We wouldn’t need his true name since the spell isn’t diablerie. A call name is good enough. That, and one of the demon’s possessions is all that’s required for a Curse of Chains!”

“A curse of chains?” Aiden questioned, trying not to frown. She wasn’t familiar with the term, but she assumed it related to the magic he and Magnus had discussed. She’d been hoping Matthew would forget the dangerous plan to immobilize the Soul Eater in his exhaustion.

“A curse of chains. It’s a simple binding spell,” Matthew explained hastily. “It’s not incredibly powerful, and it’s designed to restrict physical movement instead of command behavior. Once cast, it will hold the demon immobile so he can’t escape. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. I’ve been looking at things all wrong, looking for a spell to control the demon instead of simply trying to restrict its movement.”

“Hold up a second. This is going too fast. We need to think this through,” Aiden said, alarmed with the direction the discussion was taking.

Under normal circumstances, magic was a demanding and dangerous activity that required intense concentration and a hardy constitution. In Father Matthew’s current condition, even attempting a spell would surely kill him.

“No, we can’t wait,” Matthew said, struggling to his feet. He swayed, looking like he was about to fall over, so Aiden grabbed hold of his elbow. How could he think of trying magic when he couldn’t even walk?!

“The demon’s amorphous state is going to be a problem for Magnus, no matter how powerful the sword, because the Soul Eater can seep away through cracks. If it decides to run, which it no doubt will, given its cowardly nature, then it could be impossible to kill. Weeks ago, Magnus and I discussed finding a magical spell that would render it immobile long enough for him to deal the crucial blow.”

The priest was talking in circles, over-explaining, and repeating himself. The frightening fanaticism which burned in his eyes made her fear for his sanity.

“We don’t have anything that belongs to it,” Aiden pointed out, relying on logic and common sense to talk him out of his madness.

“Oh, but we do!” Matthew threw up his finger, then staggered toward one of the oak tables. He depended heavily on Aiden for support, but she kept him upright and provided assistance, steering him toward the table.

Matthew ran into the side of the table and leaned forward so fast he nearly fell as he groped across the polished surface for something. “Ah ha!” he exclaimed when his hand closed on something. Triumphant, he held his tiny trophy aloft for Aiden to inspect.

She blinked and focused her eyes on a glint of gold and sapphire in the priest’s hand. Consternation drew her brow together. “That’s Troy’s ring,” she said, finally recognizing the band.

“Correction, it was Troy’s, but that monstrosity made it perfectly clear that he claims both the soul and the possessions of his victims,” Matthew explained. “Which makes this ring—”

“His,” Aiden finished. She scowled and scolded, “Even if it would work, you’re in no condition to perform magic.”

“Not me, you,” he said, focusing on his student with intent brown eyes which shined with zealotry. “You’ll have to cast it.”

“Me?” Aiden regarded him with incredulous surprise. “Don’t be absurd. I’ve never attempted to cast even a simple spell.”

In fact, Matthew had insisted that she never experiment with the mystic arts. He always cautioned against its inherent dangers and maintained that he wasn’t a competent enough sorcerer to teach her the art. He’d even asserted that she wait until a skilled teacher could be secured to instruct her. Magic had never been a high priority for Aiden, so she’d been content to wait as Matthew suggested.

“I’ve been overly cautious. For your own good, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But this should be well within your abilities.” Matthew wheezed and sank into a chair. “The spell is basic, so I can walk you through it. And since you’re of House Shemyaza, magic should come as naturally to you as breathing.”

Aiden’s expression went slack as she struggled to keep her reaction from her face. She wasn’t going to argue with him, not here, and not now. She wouldn’t scream or retaliate or express her displeasure in all of the things that had been done or all of the lies that had been told in the name of her
best interests.

“What about the threefold rule?” Aiden asked, still seeking an excuse to divert him from his madness. “Using magic to cause harm is supposed to bring about a threefold return of negative karma.”

The priest snorted. “I’ll be instructing you in sorcery, not witchcraft, and while the Wiccan Rede is a sound principal, using magic to destroy a demon shouldn’t bring about karmic punishment or there’s something very wrong with this world we live in.”

Aiden locked gazes with her mentor and stared into his determined brown eyes. His unwavering resolve suggested that he wouldn’t be argued or reasoned with.

“Fine, why not? Aiden muttered and threw up her hands. Grim and resigned, she concluded in a hasty and impulsive fashion to go along with his madness to see where it led. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“At worst, the spell backfires and you wind up paralyzed until it wears off.”

Aiden stared at her mentor in disbelief and then sighed. “Fine. Then I’d better not mess up. What do I do?”

“You will call upon the element of Fire, which is associated with change, since an alteration of physical form is what we seek to impose upon the Soul Eater.”

Aiden sank cross-legged to the floor and settled atop a small flame resistant braided rug that had been laid out before the massive stone fireplace. Matthew’s hand-woven Persian rug now leaned against the wall in a roll and his armchair had been dragged aside to safety in case Aiden unwittingly started a conflagration in the study.

Armed with a fire extinguisher, the priest watched from one of the oak tables. He committed to stay silent so he didn’t distract her.

Aiden methodically laid out the items she’d gathered at Father Matthew’s behest. She’d chosen a thick candle the color of ripe red currants to serve as her primary focus. The other objects she’d use in the spell included the sapphire ring, a length of steel chain, and a book of matches. Her first attempt at magic excited her, but she also expected nothing to happen.

Aiden had studied metaphysical theory. She understood the basic terminology and methodology of magic, but she’d never attempted to put her knowledge to use. She’d never experienced the strange satisfaction of arranging spell components upon an altar. A tingle ran down her spine, and an indefinable sense of rightness filled her as she placed each piece in perfect proportion to the others. A thrill resonated throughout her being.
I can do this! I won’t fail!