The Reaping: Language of the Liar (6 page)

“She needs to know for herself.  Just… don’t be yourself, okay?”

“Oh, don’t be myself?  What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

“A handsy tosser,” Lennox spat.  “Let me handle it, and maybe she won’t think we’re trying to murder her.”

Pushing the door shut again, Dorian wondered if they were just trying to throw her off, or if they were serious.  Either way, she couldn’t lock herself in the bathroom all day, and if it did come down to kill or be killed, they would have a fight on their hands.  She hadn’t learned nothing in her years of group homes full of angry teens.

She straightened her shirt, ran her hands over her hair, then opened the door and walked out.  Lennox was by the kitchen table now, Dash still on the couch holding the neck of a beer pinched between his thumb and crooked finger.  He tipped her a nod as she entered the room, her hands in her pockets.

“You feel better?”  Lennox was holding a small silver bowl and was mashing down something with a wooden pestle.

“What’s that?”  Dorian couldn’t help but ask the question, her nerves on edge.

“Part of the ritual.  It’s not going to be easy, and it’s not going to feel great after.”  When her face went drawn, Lennox held up a hand.  “Not like that, lass, swear it.  This is just a bit of oil and sage.  Repels any sort of mind control the demon puts on you.  It’ll allow you to speak freely to it.”

“And what, you want me to drink that poison?”  She scoffed, her head shaking.

“Just gonna paint a couple symbols on your wrists.  Nothing more.”  Lennox took a step toward her, and Dorian took a step back.  “See for yourself.  No funny business, I promise.”

Peering over the bowl, Dorian’s eyebrows knitted downward in a frown.  The liquid in the bowl was thick, chunky, and the color of dark rust.  “If it’s just oil and sage, why’s it all red?”

Lennox shrugged and tried to evade the question before Dash piped up.  “Just a bit of lamb’s blood, love.”

Whirling around, Dorian started shaking her head and laughing.  “You’ve
got
to be kidding me.  Lamb’s blood.  Lamb?  Like Mary had a little lamb?”

“As in one of the most effective tools in fighting demons,” Dash said.  He rose from the couch and approached Lennox who now had a small, wiry paint brush in the bowl.  “I swear it’s nothing creepy.  Bit of sage, bit of oil.  Dollop of lamb’s blood, and a pinch of…”  He said something else, but his voice was low and slurred.

“Nice try,” Dorian snapped, crossing her arms.

Dash let out a sigh and flopped his hands down.  “Powdered relic.”

Dorian blinked a few times as she processed what he’d said.  “Wait.  Relic?  As in the dead parts of a saint?”  She’d heard the term enough times now having worked at the church.

“It’s completely harmless,” Dash insisted.  As Lennox stepped toward Dorian, Dash’s hand whipped out and he grabbed the brush from the bowl.  “I swear it.”  With that, he drew two swoops under Lennox’s nose like a curling mustache, then grinned widely at his work.

Lennox’s eyes went narrow as he rounded on his partner.  “Are you serious right now?”

“Just trying to show her it’s harmless!”  Dash punctuated his sentence by painting a triangle on his chin like a blood-colored soul-patch.

She was torn between wanting to laugh, cry, and run like mad.  Eventually, she let out a huge breath, rolled up her sleeves, and extended her wrists.  “Fine.  Please get it over with.”

The mood instantly sobered, and as much as it would have been hilarious to watch Lennox get to work with a fake mustache painted on his face, it wasn’t.  There was something pressing in her gut, telling her to stop them, to run, to escape what was about to happen.

In fact, before she realized it, Dorian had taken several steps back from Lennox, moving until she bumped into Dash who’d positioned himself behind her.  He took the backs of her arms in a firm grip and when he spoke, his voice was directly in her ear.

“It’ll make you want to run.  The demons don’t like being exposed, and if you have a high ranking, powerful fellow in your head, he’s going to have a lot of power over you.”

Dorian strained to listen, but she could barely hear over the buzzing in her head.  Her adrenal gland was firing, her fight or flight making her jumpy, and she tensed as Dash held her.  “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” she said, her voice breathy.  “Maybe I should just…”

Lennox took the opportunity, as Dash held her, to start the first symbol.  He was muttering something under his breath in a language she didn’t understand, and the moment the liquid made contact with her skin, it started to burn.  Dorian let out a high shriek and started to pull away, but Dash held her with a strength she didn’t expect.

There was a roaring in her ears, louder than anything she’d ever heard, and her knees started to buckle.  She sagged against Dashiell’s front, and he held her up as Lennox completed the ritual.  The symbols were small, full of little turns and slashes and dots.  The burning cascaded up her arms and for a moment, she thought she was going to pass out from the pain.

Then Lennox stopped muttering, the brush was back in the bowl, and everything went silent.  Dorian’s ears rang for a few minutes, her head swimming, but as the world righted itself, it was like the pain had never been.  Her breathing began to even out as she stood on her own, and she looked between Lennox and Dash who stared at her with trepidation.

“You okay?”

Dorian licked her lips and nodded.  “Yeah I um… don’t know what happened.”

“It’s got its claws in you deep, lass,” Lennox repeated, his tone grave.  “But you’ll be alright.”

She stared down at the symbols which were beginning to dry and fade into her skin, and she fought the urge to scratch them off.  “How long will it last?”

“How long will you be able to see the demon?” Dash clarified, then shrugged.  “Few days, give or take.”  He hurried over to the table, digging through a small wooden box, then came up with a small silver charm twisted into a shape Dorian didn’t recognize.  “This isn’t foolproof, but if the demon becomes too much for you to handle, this should calm things down till you can get back to us.”

“And what if I think it’s all a load of crap?” she challenged.  “What if nothing happens?”

“Then consider us standing corrected,” Lennox said, his face still and unreadable.  “But you know where to find us if things get bad.”

“Then what?  Then you’ll exorcise me?”  Dorian looked around and saw her phone on the table.  Neither of the men moved to stop her as she went for it, and she found her set of keys directly next to Dash’s abandoned beer.

When she turned around, Dash had the door standing open for her, leaning on the handle.  “We’ll discuss what comes next, if there is a next.  I put my number into your mobile there, so if you need anything, please ring us.  Any time of day or night.  We honestly never sleep.”

Dorian nodded, though she wasn’t sure they were really letting her go.  She took swift steps to the door, passed through into the hall, and almost sobbed in relief when Dash closed him and Lennox in on the other side.  She raced toward the stairs, taking them down two by two, and when she was out on the street, she flung an arm around a lamp post and leaned over at the waist, taking in huge gulps of air.

The entire thing was so surreal.  Had that really all just happened?  Had two British men kidnapped her, told her she was possessed, and performed a ritual on her?

She almost thought she’d hallucinated it all, but she was clutching the pendent in her hand and her wrists still felt heavy with whatever it was Lennox had drawn on her.  Forcing herself to calm down, she looked around to see if anything was different.

But it wasn’t.  The world was the same.  Perhaps Lennox and Dash were lying.  Maybe they were as crazy as she was.  There was no way to tell, but what Dorian
did
know was she was determined never to run into them ever again.

Chapter Eight

Amazed the entire altercation with Dash and Lennox had only taken a short while, she still had time to grab her art supplies, deposit her paycheck, and have some lunch before heading back home.  And each one of those errands went without incident.  In fact, she felt extremely clear and more calm than she had in a long time.  Energized even, and that carried with her into the evening as she prepared her lesson plans for the week.

Though she hadn’t heard back from her doctor, Dorian was starting to wonder if she really needed a change in her meds.  She was feeling great and centered, and had to wonder if maybe the entire situation with the two British weirdos had been just the thing to shake her back to her old self.  Maybe she just needed a good scare.

Whatever it was, she took dinner in the staff hall, made pleasant conversation with a few of the other teachers, and even Father Stone who showed up late told her she looked better.  “Definitely more rested,” he said as he passed her table.  “Things going well?”

Dorian gave him a rundown of her plans for the classes that week, and he was happy, sending her off with a bounce in her step.  She showered, dressed down for the night, and spent another hour at her desk getting everything ready.  By ten she was on her evening cup of tea, the television on low volume in the background, and she was curled up in her arm chair enjoying being alone.

Though she felt good, every now and again she glanced at her wrists.  In spite of her shower, the symbols hadn’t come off.  They faded, like echoes of a permanent marker, and that bothered her a little.  A constant reminder she had been taken against her will.  That two men on the streets right now thought she was possessed by a demon.

And this wasn’t like the boy in the group home.  He was just a screwed up kid, no better and no worse than she was.  He’d come from a heavily religious family where he had been subjected to forced chapel and strange healing rituals.  It was no wonder he’d come back to the system a little wonky.

Maybe Lennox and Dash were the product of that.  Maybe they were the guys Grant would grow up to become?  She never saw him after she’d been sent away.  After the foster parents had her shipped back, he was long gone, no trace of him left behind.  Not that she wanted to see him again.  Not after that.  Her disappointment was almost tangible and it took her months to get back on a decent regiment of medication.

With a sigh, Dorian decided to turn in.  Tomorrow would be the start of a new week, and she was determined to see it through.  This was her life now.

Switching off all the lights, she went through her quarters in her usual nightly routine.  She checked all the latches on all the doors, making sure they were locked.  She secured all the windows with double levers, giving them a good shove to make sure nothing could blow them open.  She shut the bathroom door tight as she walked by, double checked the linen closet door, then went into her room.

It was lit with the yellow glow of her desk lamp, the bulb casting an eerie glow on her bed and desk, but she was used to it now.  She shut the door, locking the deadbolt Father Stone installed for her, then shut her closet, her bathroom door, and double checked the window to make sure it was properly locked.

As she passed by her dresser, she glanced down at the silver pendant the men had given her.  It stood a harsh contrast to the cherry wood, and she reached out, slipping it into her first drawer and closing it with a loud
thunk
.  It was a vicious reminder of her assault, and she was determined never to put it on.

“Good.”

The word hissed across the back of her neck, and Dorian let out a yelp as she turned.  Eyes darting back and forth, they saw nothing but empty bedroom.  Her hand was shaking as she reached up to her face, rubbing across her eyelashes, and she looked again.  Still nothing.

“Just jumpy,” she said as she walked toward her bed.  She would happily blame any and everything she saw tonight on those two morons.

Climbing under her covers, she reached over and switched her light off.  No more being afraid.  She felt good, relaxed and centered for the first time in a long time.  Tomorrow was the start to a new day and nothing was going to change that.

Chapter Nine

She became aware of the room before she was aware of herself.  Pitch black and small, she was surrounded by the darkness like a warm blanket.  She knew this place, as intimately as she knew herself.  It was a part of her.  No doors, no windows.

Dorian was on the ground, but it felt like she was floating, and she had the distinct feeling she could stay there forever.

It didn’t last.

Something off in the distance shifted, like a breeze, a seal breaking, letting something through.  Her heart began to hammer, her breath coming in audible gasps, and a long streak of light shot up vertically.  A door cracked open, and a figure walked out.

She knew him.  She’d seen him before, when she was young and even now, he would appear from time to time.  It registered that he didn’t belong here in her safe space, but he was here all the same.  Pure white, he glowed, but his shimmer didn’t touch anything around him. She could see him clear as day though, and a name played on her lips.

“Nic.”  He spoke without moving his face, and her eyes narrowed, studying him.  He was tall, thin, his body human but there was something about him that sounded warning bells off in her head.  His eyes.  They looked like a cat, vertical pupils, shining bright.  When he smiled, a row of fangs gleamed, and she thought he could devour her if he wanted to.

“Never you, my love.”  His hand reached up and the icy fingers stroked down her cheek.  “Do you remember me?”

Even as her head shook back and forth, memories were coming.  Nic laughed and she was bombarded by the sound.  Too familiar.  She was a little girl, trembling in her bed, bruised from the harsh fists of the other kids in her group home.  And Nic was there.  He held her tight to his chest and stroked her hair, telling her it was all going to be okay.  He was there holding her hand every day until she told her therapist about him.  They began shoving pills down her throat after that, and her dreams were out of reach.  He stopped coming, stopped protecting her.

“How long?”  Her voice sounded strange here, muted like they were in a sound-proof room.  Clearing her throat, she stood up a little straighter.

“Your whole life,
mon coeur
.  I was there when you were birthed into this world.  I held your tiny fist as you lay there in agony, trying to fight off an addiction you never asked for.  I helped make you strong.”  He circled her, his feline eyes narrow, his lips curled in a smile.

Dorian felt her stomach clench.  She knew her birth story.  Her mother, high on heroin, was rushed to the ER seven and a half months pregnant.  Dorian came into the world by emergency C-section.  When her mother found out CPS was being called, she left against medical orders and Dorian stayed in the ICU until she was big enough to be shipped off to a friendly couple hoping to adopt.

It didn’t last long.  She’d been sent off to a church-run group home who took infants after the pretty lady hoping for a cute, pink-cheeked baby learned Dorian probably wouldn’t stop crying for months.  It wasn’t her fault, of course.  But the lady had shuffled the infant off with a teary, “This just isn’t what I signed up for.”

Dorian heard that often throughout her childhood.  Never her fault, but never what anyone signed up for.

“Except me.”  Nic stopped in front of her, and his hand curled around her wrist.  “I was angry, you know, at those two men.  Thinking they could grab my girl.  Try and
cure
my girl, calling it a possession, an affliction.  Angry as I’ve ever been with your therapists trying to drug me out of your head.  Didn’t work though, did it?”

“What are you?”  Her voice came out a whisper, terrified and hoping she’d wake from this nightmare.

“You’re not asleep,” Nic said, answering her thoughts.  “Oh, normally it’s how we have to meet, but thanks to your friends, they’ve provided an open avenue for us to talk.”

Dorian pulled her hand away, massaging the frozen skin just below the heel of her palm.  “So they were right.  You’re a demon.”

“
The
Demon,” he said with a flourish and bow.  “Now perhaps some might argue against that title, but I am the Prince of my realm and I intend to keep it that way.  With your help.”

“Am I being possessed?”

Nic laughed again, and though the laugh was warm, it sent shivers down her spine.  He reached up with one hand and drew a line down her cheek.  “Such a harsh word, my love.  You’re special, Dorian.”  He paused, tapping his chin, and a lock of his dark hair fell into his eyes.  “Did you know I gave you that name?”

She scoffed.  “My file says one of the nuns gave it to me.”

Nic smiled and said, “I wrote it in cinder and ash on the steps of the church.  She thought it was a sign from the Lord.”

Dorian almost laughed, but she reigned it in.  “What do you want with me?”

“To talk.  At least tonight I want to talk.  I want you to throw away the drugs and leave the church and help me.”

Eyebrows shooting up, Dorian gaped at him.  “Help you?  A demon?”

“Don’t be fooled by the hellfire and brimstone nonsense Father Stone spouts at you.  There is no devil here, my darling.  No Prince of Darkness.  No Adversary.  There is only realm after realm of beings trying to live.  Except ours is at risk, and there are so few of you who exist with doorways to help us cross over and save ourselves.”

Though it was a dream, Dorian could feel her frustration rising and she drew her hand back through her hair.  “Look, Nic…”

“Talk to the Exorcists.  They’ll tell you the truth.  At least they’ll tell you some of it.  They’ll try and turn you from me, but read between the lines.  Hear what they’re
not
saying, and you’ll know.”

He bent to kiss her, but before his lips could make contact with her skin, Dorian sat up with a gasp, her heart hammering near her throat.  Glancing at the clock, she saw only minutes had passed.  There was no way she’d gone to sleep in that short amount of time.  No way she’d experienced all of that.

In a blind panic, she threw herself from the bed and came to a screeching halt when she saw her bolted bedroom door standing wide open.  The wood on the doorframe was cracked and the lock was halfway off the screws.

Head spinning, she grappled for her robe, toeing on her slippers and she bolted out her front door.  It was past curfew, but she knew exactly where to go.  The chapel.  Father Stone was there in the middle of his nightly prayers, and when the door banged open, he jumped up from his kneel.

His face was a mask of frustration until he saw how white Dorian’s cheeks were, and without a word he beckoned her over.  Dorian crossed the chapel floor, her slippers making a smacking sound on the hard floor, and she wasted no time dropping into the pew next to him.  When his arms came around her, she let out a choked sob and leaned her head forward, trying to control her emotions.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a few moments.  “I’m… I had a…”  But she wasn’t how to finish that sentence.  A waking nightmare?  A vision?  A conversation with a demon?  Taking a few slow breaths, she turned her head to the Father and blinked back tears.  “Do you believe in demons, John?”  It wasn’t often she used his first name, but she needed familiarity right then.

He regarded her question with a small frown, taking one arm off her to rest in his lap.  “I don’t know.  I suppose so.”

“What about demon possession?”

At that, his face fell and he shook his head.  “Oh, Dorian.  I know what you were told when you were younger, and you can’t listen to those people.  You are
not
possessed.”

Her bottom lip trembled as she struggled to keep control.  “I know you read my file, but I’m not talking about that guy.  I just…”  But the words wouldn’t come.  How could she tell him what happened to her?  How would she explain the two men and the ritual?  Or her conversation with Nic?  He would kick her out.  There was no denying that.  “I’ve been having nightmares.  Vivid ones.  It got me thinking about possession.  In the bible there was a man possessed by a legion of demons and the entire town thought he was crazy until Jesus exorcised them.”

Father Stone nodded.  “Yes,” he said, his tone slow and almost patronizing, “and perhaps I’ll be questioned when I finally meet the Lord Himself after I die, but I’ve always believed a good portion of those stories to be parables.  Lessons to be learned, perhaps, but not exact events.”

Dorian rubbed a shaking hand down her face.  “No, I get it.  And it sounds so stupid, you know?  I mean, maybe it’s blasphemy or something to say this in church, but I don’t even believe in God.  And here I am freaking out about demons and…”

The Father was saying something, but Dorian was distracted.  The markings on her arms started to burn and she let out a whimper.  Reaching out for the pew in front of her, it wasn’t there.  It was cold wherever she was, and dark.  Her body hit the floor and she shivered, but she couldn’t move.  Screams sounded off in the distance, and the sound of metal hitting metal.  It was chaos.  Total and utter chaos.  And just before everything was ripped away, she heard Nic nearby.  And he was laughing.