The First Sacrament (The Demons of Stone Chapel Book 1) (5 page)

“My name is Aralia Spinosa,” British Lady took a sip of her coffee, made a face, then put it down. “Your turn.”

Mine sounded bland in comparison. “Beatrice Todd.”

Aralia smiled, tight-lipped. “How quaint.”

Why did I feel like she was mocking me? “Uh, sure.”

“What compelled you to hunt, Beatrice?” She settled back against the cracked faux-leather of the booth, eyes locked on mine. Rain battered the windows like bullets. “Looking for a way to pay for college? A fix?”

My lip curled. A fix. “I’m not a junkie. But I have my reasons.”

“Everyone does,” she said.

“What about you, huh?” I asked. “
You
looking for a fix?”

“I have my reasons.” A corner of her mouth tugged upward in a smirk. “Though I’ve had decades of practice, darling. You, however, need help.”

Decades of practice, huh? She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. She had to be lying. “I appreciate you not letting me get eaten and all, but I don’t need your help.”

“Which is why you nearly got yourself killed and drew the seal the wrong way.” She looked annoyed. This was becoming a pattern with us. I spoke and she got irritated. “Silly me. Of course you don’t need help.”

Our waitress saved me from having to come up with a decent retort. She placed a plate of pancakes in front of Aralia and an omlette in front of me, along with our check. I didn’t bring any money.

Aralia must’ve noticed my dilemma and waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll pay. Just eat. You’re terribly bony.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said through a forkful of egg.

We lapsed into silence. Listened to the hum of an old radio in the kitchen, the storm outside. Our waitress lounged behind the cash register, scrolling through her phone, and the cook came around from the back to pour himself some coffee. It was such a normal experience, jarring after what happened at the church.

The church. I’d had a bad feeling about that place from the start and tonight proved that my feeling was valid. Something was definitely wrong there. Maybe Aralia knew what.

“Did you…feel something at the church?” I asked, halfway through my omlette.

She cut the remaining bits of her pancakes into neat little pieces. “What do you mean?”

I glanced out the window, catching my haggard reflection in its smudged surface. I didn’t know how to explain it. The sensation of another malicious presence invading my body, implanting ideas so heinous that it made me sick to think about them. The inexplicable pull that entranced me one moment and snapped away the next. Demons did the same things when they inhabited a body, but a building? A church?

“I’m pretty sure it tried to possess me,” I said quietly, tearing my gaze from the window.

A flicker of concern flashed across Aralia’s flawless face. She placed her fork on her plate with a soft
clink
. “The church?”

“It was like it was luring me to it,” I said. “I was walking down the street and, suddenly, I was walking toward the church. I saw it and it just―I couldn’t fight it, you know? I had to go to there no matter what.”

“And when you got there?” She asked.

Now we were getting to the fun part. “My brain went…fuzzy. I wasn’t thinking right, I wasn’t in control of my own body. I kept having these thoughts―”

Without warning, Aralia stood and stepped out of our booth. “Excuse me, Beatrice. I have to make a phone call.”

“Uh, okay?” I wasn’t done, but whatever. I waved the waitress over and had her refill my coffee. A couple of tipsy guys who looked like they belonged in a frat came stumbling through the door, ogling Aralia as they passed.

She offered them a murderous glare in return, slipped her phone in pocket of her dress, then hurried back over to me. “Change of plans, Beatrice,” she dropped a twenty dollar bill on our table. “We’re going to visit a friend of mine. Perhaps he’ll be able to help you with your church problem.”

“Who’s this friend?” I asked as we ran through the parking lot to her car. It was an expensive Italian convertible with a name I couldn’t pronounce. I felt bad that I was getting rainwater all over its fancy leather seats.

Aralia gunned the engine and took the exit the bus did to get to the sanatorium. “You’ll see. I’m sure you’ll like him. Most people do. Sort of.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Wearing an expression like the cat after the canary, she guided the car out of the city and through the pitch-black of the Maine countryside. It always struck me as strange, being so far out here. Like I was being transported to another world, walking through the wardrobe to Narnia. I was a city girl at heart. The noise, the filth, the energy, I thrived in it. The country was too quiet. And it had way too many crickets.

Instead of turning left to the sanatorium, we swung a right toward the coast. Clusters of windswept pine trees crowded the cliffs and the ocean churned with the rhythm of the storm, waves smashing against the rocks. On clear nights, the moon hung above, covering the landscape in a cloak of shimmering silver. Tonight, nothing but darkness.

We made another turn down a winding road branching off from the main highway. Waiting at the end of it was a house, a beautiful, yet decayed Victorian mansion you'd see in an antique magazine at the doctor's office. A small forest of trees huddled around it and at the center of its circular driveway was a fountain choked with weeds and ivy.

“Here we are,” Aralia parked in front of the house and smiled like she had a secret to tell. “Come along, Beatrice. Time to meet my friend.”

Given the state of his living quarters, I would have guessed her friend was Norman Bates or Nosferatu.

I was wrong.

Five

The house was even more of a wreck up close. The steps leading up to the door creaked noisily when we climbed them and the wrap-around porch was missing a board or ten. Weeds grew in every crack and crevice they could find, browning with the changing seasons. The grime-smudged windows offered no hints as to what was inside, and the doors hung on rusted hinges. I wouldn’t have believed anyone lived here if Aralia hadn’t told me otherwise.

Little did I know, the rot of the exterior was hiding an unbelievable interior. I felt like I was guest-starring on
The Addams Family.

Staircases dominated either side of the foyer, wrought-iron banisters matching the chandelier that hung down from the high ceiling. The floors were made of dark wood and candelabras replaced conventional electric lighting, giving the room a soft, warm glow. Below the balcony the staircases joined to make was a sitting area, furnished with elegant velvet couches and a coffee table.

“The couches were my idea,” Aralia said, hooking an arm around mine. She steered me up the stairs. “This place was so dreary before I got here, I don’t know how he was able to function.”

She paused, gaze flicking over to catch mine. “Then again, that’s Dante for you. Forever brooding away in his study like some sort of bitter recluse. Poor man.”

“Wait,
what?
” I threw my hand out to grab the railing, stomach cramped with terror. “This is Dante Arturo’s house? You’re kidding me. You’re totally kidding me.”

Aralia cocked her head to the side as if she had no idea what I was talking about. “Why would I be kidding, darling? I said I had a friend who could help you with your church problem, and here we are.”

“Oh my God.” Rosie was going to freak when she heard about this. I was in Dante Arturo’s house. Dante Arturo, the man who was beloved by millions and reviled by millions more. He was a real-life superhero, the Anti-Christ, the end all, be all of demon hunters. And I was in his house.

Aralia tugged me up the rest of the way. “Oh, Beatrice, you’re so predictable.”

“Why did you bring me
here?!
” I sputtered, trying to pry myself from her with minimal success. She was stronger than she looked.

“To
help
you,” she led me down a darkened corridor and stopped at the first door on the right. She gave it a knock with her knuckle, then opened it a bit. “I have her. Can we come in?”

“Yes,” the voice which I assumed to be Dante’s said. “Come in.”

His study was small in relation to the rest of the house. Shelves brimming with hundreds of old books were built into the walls, broken in the middle by a fireplace. His desk was littered with papers and half melted candles. The man himself stood behind it, tall and lean.

Aralia grabbed my shoulders and pushed me front and center. “Here we are, love,” she said. “The girl I told you about on the phone. Her name is Beatrice. Isn’t that adorable?”

He didn’t seem to think so. His eyes, a dark shade of cinnamon brown, examined me with a sort of guarded curiosity. A black thermal clung to his torso, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to expose his dark olive skin, complimented by the coal color of his long and messy hair. His lower jaw was lined with a fair amount of scruff, giving the impression that he hadn’t shaved in a while.

“Beatrice Todd, yes?” He asked.

My cheeks burned. Hot people made me nervous. “Yeah, um―”

He gestured to the chair opposite of his. “Sit down, if you would. Provided Aralia will let you go.”

“I take offense to that,” Aralia said. She let me go anyway. “I’ll have you know that Beatrice and I are friends. Aren’t we, darling?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, doing as Dante requested. “Great friends.”

“See?” Aralia leaned against one of the bookshelves, smirking triumphantly.

Dante ignored her and sat down in his own chair, focusing solely on me. This kind of undivided attention wasn’t something I was used to. Usually, when anyone like Dante spoke to me, it was to sell me discount exorcisms or to get in my pants. Pretty sure he was a solid
no
on both accounts.

“Aralia said she found you outside the church, along with a demon. Is that correct?” He asked.

I folded my hands in my lap to keep them from fidgeting. “Yeah. It was this huge dog. It didn’t have eyes and its sockets were sewn shut. Pretty gross.”

“She also said you successfully purged it from its physical body,” he continued, watching me closely. “That’s…very impressive.”

Dante Arturo called me
impressive
.

“She drew the seal the wrong way, though,” Aralia chimed in unhelpfully.

Dante shot her a sharp look, then went right back to focusing on me. “What did you feel upon approaching the church?”

I hesitated. It wasn’t what I
felt
, but what I
thought
. Suicide, blood at the altar, sacrifice. You know, the usual.

“Ms. Todd?” He prompted.

“It wanted me to kill myself,” I whispered. The words sounded odd coming out of my mouth. Saying them out loud made them concrete. Real. I couldn’t avoid it anymore. “Sacrifice myself. I don’t know.”

This gave him pause. He slouched in his chair and the clock on the wall marked the passing of time with loud, staccato ticks. His silence wasn’t helping my nerves. If what happened at the church troubled
him
this much, what did that mean for me?

At last, he spoke, candlelight dancing across his angular features. “Beatrice, if I ask you to do something for me, will you do it?”

So we were on a first name basis now,
and
he wanted me to do him a favor. Okay. He was supposed to be one of the good guys, depending on who you asked. I could trust him. I hoped. “What is it?”

“Stay away from the church,” he said.

I could deal with that.

“And stop hunting.”

Ah, there it was. The catch. “I can’t.”

He stared at me. Probably wasn’t used to being told no. “Why not?”

“I need the money,” I replied, gaze straying to the papers on his desk. Some were bills, some were letters. Others were sketches. Complex diagrams of various types of demons and their anatomy. They were obviously done by an expert. “Did you draw those?”

“He’s a regular da Vinci,” Aralia said, flipping through a book she’d taken from one of the shelves.

Dante sighed, resting his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes. I hadn’t noticed how exhausted he looked until now. His broad shoulders drooped, eyes ringed with dark circles. Somehow, his tiredness added to his appeal. He may have been a big celebrity, but he needed a break like anyone else. It was a weirdly comforting notion.

“Have you considered a different job?” His hands dropped but his head was still bowed.

I knew I was being a pain in his ass, but I couldn’t back down. This money was too important. Rosie was too important. “Waitressing wasn’t cutting it. I have bills to pay.”

“So do billions of other people,” Aralia swapped her book out for another. “Mr. Arturo, for example, needs to pay the water bill.”

I twisted around in my seat, annoyance rising to indignation. “My problems are more serious than a damn water bill.”

She didn’t look up from her book. “You haven’t the slightest clue as to what you’re dabbling in, Beatrice.”

“Then teach me!” I struggled to keep my voice at an acceptable volume. “You don’t understand, I
need
this money. I don’t care how illegal or dangerous hunting is, I
have
to do it.” I stopped, realizing how bratty I sounded. Hot tears stung at the backs of my eyes. No, I was
not
crying in front of them. “Please.”

Dante lifted his head. Outside, the storm tapered off to a drizzle. “Many who hunt die, Beatrice. Or worse.”

“I didn’t die tonight, did I?” Those tears threatened to roll, but I choked them back. Images of Rosie―my Rosie, not the possessed one―flashed in my mind. “Don’t you have someone you’d do anything to protect? Even if that person won’t be around much longer?”

He was quiet. I took that as my cue to continue.

“Well, I do. Her name is Rosemary Barrett and she has Faustian Syndrome. Her doctors say she’s got a couple of months left to live, but if I don’t pay the bill, they’ll send her to some other hospital to die. Away from me. And if I don’t pay rent, my landlord’s going to kick me out of my apartment.”

God, my life sounded even worse out loud. It was pathetic. At least my tears dried up. “I don’t want your pity,” I said. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. All I want is a
chance
. Teach me how to not get killed long enough to keep my friend in the sanatorium, and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll give you a portion of what I earn. Anything, you just―you
have
to help me. Please.”

Dante seemed to be considering what I'd said when a shrill ringing noise sounded from under a pile of demon diagrams. He brushed them away, revealing an antique phone. It was one in the morning. Who the hell would be calling so late?

“Yes?” He said into the gold plated receiver. Faint scars colored his knuckles. “I see. Thank you, Max.”

Max? As in…Oh my God. My eyes widened. The Max Dante was talking to couldn’t be the same one who ran Armageddon Now, could it? No way. First Aralia, then Dante, now Max? Any more of these stunning revelations and the world was going to cave in on itself.

“Who was that?” I asked as Dante hung up the phone.

“One of my partners,” he said.

Aralia raked a hand through her hair. “I wonder if he remembered my wine.”

Partners. Then that meant…

“You’re the Boss,” I murmured. My head was starting to hurt. “Can we resume this conversation in a minute? I think I need some air.”

“Are you―” Dante began.

I stood, waved his question away.

“Where's she going?” Aralia asked. She grabbed me as I made a break for the door. “Where are you going?”

“Let her go, Aralia.”

“You really want her roaming your house―”

“Aralia, please.”

“I'm
―
I'm not going to steal anything,” I said, “I just, I―”

“
Aralia
,” Dante said, “let her go.”

“Fine,” she let me go and even opened the door for me. “Go, darling. Roam the house as you see fit. Please, enjoy yourself. You deserve it. And watch out for the crickets. They're positively menacing.”

***

I'd seen not one, not two, but
three
crickets hiding in the baseboards. I walked a little faster every time I heard one chirp.

With no set destination, I roamed the halls of the house. It was bigger than it looked on the outside, its many rooms shut tight against intruders. A musty smell permeated the air and rows of candles lined the floors like lights on a runway, flames flickering weakly in the gloom. I used this alone time to sort out my jumbled thoughts and replay the night’s events.

My first hunting experience turned out to be a disaster. The city’s greatest landmark tried to possess me. A demon dog with no eyes attacked five seconds later, and the woman who saved me was friends with Dante Arturo, who also happened to be affiliated with the creator of my favorite website.

Rosie and I were going to have a lot to talk about.

“How do they keep all these lit?” I wondered of the candles. I reached the end of one hallway and was going to turn down another when something skittered on the periphery of my vision. I froze mid-step, body tensing. What the hell was that?

“Hello?” I asked the dark hall, because it could obviously answer back. “Who’s there?”

I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it probably wasn’t a dog. It came barreling out of the shadows anyway and tackled me to the floor, covering my face in sloppy kisses. A significant difference from the dog I encountered earlier.

“Okay, dog,” I tried to sound stern despite my giggling. “You made your point. Can I stand up now?”

“Mo!” Someone shouted. Footsteps clattered toward me, then the dog’s weight was lifted from my chest.

I brushed the hair from my jeans and hoodie and got to my feet. Holding the dog―a big German shepherd with half its left ear torn off―was a boy a couple years older than me. His ashy blond hair was mostly covered by a black beanie and a pair of thick rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, magnifying the blue of his eyes. His jeans were almost as tattered as mine were, his red flannel shirt frayed at the edges.

Judging by the iron amulet molded into the shape of the banishing seal around his neck, he was the final piece of the crazy puzzle that was my night.

“You’re Max?” I asked. No point in beating around the bush.

“Yeah,” he said, keeping a firm grip on the dog. “Who are―”

“Beatrice,” I said, smiling. It was nice to meet the guy who’d already helped me so much. Keeping that dog at bay earned him bonus points.