“Xavier,” Bernie snapped, “I said no.”
But Xavier wasn’t listening.
“I’ll be back on Sunday night,” he said, zipping up the sports bag and slinging it across his shoulder.
“That’s it; I’m getting your father.” Bernie whirled around and stormed down the hall. “Peter!” we heard her calling. “Peter, come and talk to your son—he’s out of control!”
Xavier looked at me apologetically. “Sorry about this,” he said.
“They’re just worried,” I replied. “It’s natural.”
A few moments later Xavier’s father appeared in the doorway, his forehead creased with concern and his hands buried in his trouser pockets.
“You’ve got your mother in a bit of a state,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Dad.” Xavier put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I can’t explain it all right now, but I have to go. Just trust me on this one.”
Peter looked over at me. “Are you both all right?” he asked.
“We will be,” I said. “After this weekend everything will be fine.”
Peter seemed to sense the urgency in our voices, and he put his hand over Xavier’s.
“I’ll take care of your mother,” he said. “You two worry about taking care of yourselves.” He gestured to the bedroom window. “Go that way.” We stared at him, wondering if it was some sort of joke. “Hurry up!”
Xavier smiled grimly, pushed open the window, and tossed his bag out before helping me through.
“Thanks, Dad,” he said and hoisted himself up after me.
From outside, pressed against the cool bricks, we heard Bernie come back into the room.
“Where did they go?” she demanded.
“I’m not sure,” replied Peter innocently. “They must have slipped past me.”
“Are you okay?” I asked Xavier once we were safely in the car. I knew how terrible I’d felt lying to Ivy and Gabriel, and I knew that Xavier had a lot of respect for his parents.
“Yeah, Mom will recover,” he said, and smiled at me. “You’re my top priority and don’t you forget it.” We drove home in pensive silence.
Raising Hell
Hard as I tried, I couldn’t accept Gabriel’s proposal of waiting for divine guidance. It seemed unlike him to respond in such a way, uncharacteristically cautious, which told me everything I needed to know; Jake Thorn was a serious threat, and that meant I couldn’t sit at home while Molly was in his clutches.
Molly had been my first friend at Venus Cove. She had taken me under her wing, confided in me, and made every effort to ensure I felt included. If Gabriel, of all people, didn’t feel confident enough to act alone, then something was seriously wrong. So I didn’t think twice. I knew exactly what I had to do.
“I’m going out to pick up some groceries,” I told Gabriel, careful to keep my face impassive so he wouldn’t detect the lie.
My brother frowned. “We’re not running low. Ivy stocked up yesterday.”
“Well, I need something to get my mind off this whole business with Jake,” I said, trying a different tact. Gabriel looked at me closely, his silver eyes narrowed, his chiseled features severe. I swallowed. Lying to him was never easy. “I just need to get out of the house.”
“I’ll come with you,” he said. “I don’t want you going out alone, given the current situation. . . .”
“I won’t be alone,” I insisted. “I’ll be with Xavier. And besides, I’ll only be gone ten minutes.” I felt awful lying to his face, but I had no other choice.
“Don’t be such a worrywart.” Ivy patted my brother’s arm. She was always so quick to trust in me. “Some fresh air will do them good.”
Gabriel pursed his lips and folded his hands behind his back.
“All right. But come straight back.”
I took Xavier’s hand and tugged him out of the house. He started the Chevy in silence. I told him to make a left at the end of the street.
“You have a terrible sense of direction,” he joked, but the smile didn’t touch his eyes.
“We were never going to the grocery store.”
“I know,” Xavier said. “And I think you’re crazy.”
“I have to do something,” I said quietly. “Lives have already been lost because of Jake. How will we live with ourselves if Molly’s his next victim?”
Xavier was unconvinced. “Beth, do you really think I’m going to take you right into the path of a murderer? The guy’s unstable. You heard what your brother said.”
“This isn’t about me anymore,” I said. “I’m not worried.”
“Well I am! Do you realize the danger you’re putting yourself in?”
“It’s my job! Why do you think I was sent here? Not just to sell badges and work in soup kitchens—this is it, this is our challenge! I can’t turn my back on it because I’m too scared.”
“Maybe Gabriel’s right—sometimes it’s smart to be scared.”
“And sometimes you just have to bite the bullet,” I insisted.
Xavier was exasperated. “Look, I’ll go down to the graveyard and bring Molly back. You stay here.”
“Great idea,” I said sarcastically. “If there’s one person Jake hates more than me, it’s you. Look, Xav, you can either come with me or you can stay home. But either way I’m going to help Molly. I understand if you don’t want to be a part of this. . . .”
Xavier made a sharp turn at the next corner and drove in silence. Ahead of us was an uninterrupted stretch of road. I noticed the houses growing sparser.
“Wherever you go, I go,” he said.
The cemetery was located at the end of a long, wide road just out of town. Alongside it ran an abandoned railroad line, with neglected train cars weathered by the elements. The only buildings nearby were a row of derelict town houses, their balconies choked with vegetation and their windows boarded up.
The cemetery dated back to the town’s first settlement but had expanded since then to reflect the waves of migration. The newest section contained shiny marble monuments and shrines, all meticulously maintained. In many of the shrines were photographs of the deceased surrounded by glowing votive lights in frosted glass. There were small altars, crucifixes, and statues of Christ and the Virgin Mary, her hands folded in prayer.
Xavier parked his car across the street, a little way from the main gates so we wouldn’t draw attention. At this time of day the gates were open so we crossed the road and walked straight in. At first glance the place seemed peaceful. We saw a lone mourner, an elderly woman in black, tending one of the newer graves. She was cleaning its glass front and replacing the flowers that had shriveled with a new bunch of chrysanthemums, cutting them to size with a pair of scissors. She was so absorbed in her task that she barely noticed us. The rest of the place seemed deserted apart from the occasional raven circling overhead and the soft droning of bees that hovered around the lilac bushes. While there was no earthly disturbance, I sensed the presence of several lost souls who haunted their place of burial. I would have liked to stop and help them on their journey, but I had more pressing matters on my mind.
“I know where we might find them,” said Xavier, and he steered me to the original section of the cemetery.
There, a very different scene greeted us. The graves were old and abandoned, their cast-iron railings rusted. Over time, a tangle of ivy had smothered all other vegetation and now ruled unchallenged, threading its tenacious tendrils through the iron railings like rope. These graves were more humble and at ground level; some had nothing more than a plaque to identify the occupant. I saw a patch of turf littered with small windmills and soft toys that had long lost their sheen and realized this was a section for infants. I stopped to read one of the tiny tablets: LUCY ROSE, 1949–1949, AGE 5 DAYS. Thinking about this little soul who had graced the earth for a mere five days filled me with an unspeakable sadness.
Xavier and I picked our way around the crumbling headstones. Very few were still intact. Most had sunk int
o the grass, their inscriptions faded and barely legible. Others were nothing more than a jumble of broken stone and tangled weeds. Every so often we came across a statue of an angel, some towering and some small, but all grim faced with arms outstretched as if in welcome.
As we walked, I was aware of the bodies of the dead under the blankets of cracked stone. My skin prickled. It wasn’t the sleepers beneath our feet that troubled me, but what we might discover around the next corner. I could sense Xavier’s regret over the decision to come here. But he showed no signs of fear.
We stopped suddenly when we heard the sound of voices. They seemed to be chanting some kind of dirge. We crept forward until the voices became louder, and we took refuge behind a towering birch. Peering between its boughs, we could make out a small gathering of people. I thought there must have been about two dozen or so in total. Jake stood on a mossy grave facing them, his legs apart and his back arrow straight. He wore a black leather jacket and the inverted pentagram hung from a cord around his neck. On his head was a gray fedora. I paused—I recognized that hat from somewhere. The sight of it stirred a memory in the back of my mind. And then it hit me—the strange, solitary figure at the rugby game. He’d appeared at the sidelines, his face shrouded from view, and after Xavier had been hurt, he’d vanished into thin air. So Jake had orchestrated the whole thing! The thought that he’d tried to injure Xavier sent a burning anger pulsing through me, but I tried to stifle it. I needed to keep my wits about me now more than ever.
Rearing up behind Jake was a ten-foot angel made of stone. It had to be one of the most chilling earthly things I’d ever seen. Despite looking like an angel, there was something sinister about it. It had narrow eyes, huge black wings that reared majestically behind it, and a powerful body that looked as though it could crush anyone and anything. A long stone sword was melded to its muscular waist. Jake stood under its shadow as though it was protecting him.
The group were gathered in a semicircle around him. They were dressed strangely, some in hooded garments that shrouded their entire faces and others in tattered black lace and chains, their cheeks powdered chalk white and their lips stained bloodred. They didn’t seem to be interacting with one another, but they approached Jake in turn, each bowing in deference before removing some object from a drawstring pouch and depositing the offering at his feet. They made a woeful spectacle that afternoon, standing in the watery sunlight. I wondered by what means and through what promises Jake had lured these young people from their regular pursuits to join him here and disturb the departed.
And I wondered why I didn’t see Molly.
Jake held up his hands and the group stilled. He threw off his hat, and I saw that his long, dark hair was uncombed and tangled. He looked almost wild. When he spoke his voice seemed to reverberate from the stone angel itself.
“Welcome to the dark side,” he said, and laughed coldly. “Although I prefer to think of it as the fun side.” There were murmurs of appreciation from his followers. “I can promise you that nothing feels better than sin. Why not turn to pleasure when life treats us with such indifference? We are here, all of us, because we want to feel alive!”
He ran a slender hand over the coarse stone of the angel’s thigh and spoke again, his voice dripping like syrup. “Pain, suffering, destruction, death, these things are like music to our ears, sweet as honey on our tongues. We thrive on them. They are food for our souls. You must all learn to reject a society that promises everything and delivers nothing. I am here to show you how to create your own meaning, thereby freeing yourselves from this prison in which you are all chained like animals. Man was created to rule, but you have become simpering and soft. Let us reclaim our power over the earth!”
He looked around the group, and his voice became suddenly cajoling, like a parent coaxing a child. His hand gripped the hilt of the angel’s stone sword. “You have done well so far, and I am pleased with your progress. But it’s time to take more than baby steps. I urge you to do more, to be more, and to throw off those shackles that bind you to polite society. Let us invoke the twisted spirits of the night to assist us.”
His words seem to incite a kind of fever in his followers, as if by mass hypnosis. They threw back their heads and cried incoherently into the air, some whispering, some screaming. It was a sound full of pain and vengeance.
Jake smiled approvingly then glanced at his gold watch. “We don’t have much time. Let’s get down to business.” He peered into the crowd. “Where are they? Bring them to me.”
Two figures were thrust forward so they fell at Jake’s feet. Both were wearing hooded cloaks. Jake took hold of the figure closest to him and pulled back the hood, revealing an ordinary-looking boy whom I recognized from school, a fairly unassuming student who kept a low profile and was a member of the chess club. There were no shadows under his eyes, and his eyes themselves were not black like the others’ but a pale green. Despite his fresh-faced appearance, he looked shaken.
Jake placed his hand on the boy’s head. “Don’t be afraid,” he purred in a seductive voice. “I’m here to help you.”
Slowly he began to make swirling signs in the air above where the boy knelt. From where I was crouched, I saw the boy follow Jake’s hand movements and scan the faces in the crowd, obviously trying to gauge the seriousness of the situation. Perhaps he was wondering if this was some elaborate prank, an initiation rite that must be endured before he was accepted into the group. I feared it was something much more sinister.
Then one of his followers handed Jake a book. It was bound in black leather, and the pages were yellowed from age. Reverentially, Jake held the book aloft and let it fall open. Instantly a gust of wind shook the trees and sent dust flying around the squatting headstones. I recognized the book from my teachings back home.
“Oh, no,” I whispered.
“What?” Xavier sounded alarmed as he too, caught sight of it. “What’s that?”
“It’s a grimoire,” I said. “A book of dark magic. It contains instructions on how to call on spirits and raise up the dead.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Xavier looked like he was about to pinch himself to try to wake from the nightmare he had unexpectedly fallen into. I was struck for a moment by how innocent he was, and I felt almost sick with the guilt of having dragged him into this. But now wasn’t the time to lose my head.
“This is a bad sign,” I said. “Grimoires are powerful things.”
Still atop the grave, Jake’s chest began to heave. His chanting grew faster and more manic and he read from the book. He spread his arms wide. “Exorior meus atrum amicus quod vindicatum is somes.” He was speaking Latin, but not like I’d ever heard it before. It had been altered, and somehow I knew it was the language of the Underworld. “Is est vestri pro captus,” Jake sang, his hands clutching at the empty air.
“What’s he saying?” Xavier whispered. I was surprised to find that I could translate the meaning of the words exactly.
“Come forth, my dark friend, and claim this body. It is yours for the taking.”
His followers watched with bated breath. No one moved, no one uttered a sound, not daring to interrupt whatever unnatural process was taking place.
Beside me, Xavier sat so transfixed that I had to touch his hand to reassure myself that he was still conscious. We both jerked when a sound like splitting stone filled the air and had to resist the urge to cover our ears. It was a screeching noise, like nails tearing down a blackboard. It stopped abruptly, and a cloud of black smoke poured from the mouth of the massive stone angel. It drifted down to where Jake was standing and seemed to be whispering in his ear. Jake grabbed the boy by the hair, tilting his head back and forcing his mouth open.
“What are you doing?” the boy cried.
The black cloud seemed to reel and spin for a moment in midair before plunging into the boy’s open mouth and down his throat. Jake released him, and the boy instantly uttered a guttural scream. He clutched at his throat and clawed at h
is body as it convulsed on the ground. His face was contorted as though he were in agony. I felt Xavier’s arm begin to shake with anger.
The boy lay still. A moment later he sat up and looked around him, his expression of confusion turning to one of pleasure. Jake offered him a hand and hoisted him to his feet. The boy flexed his body as if discovering it for the first time.
“Welcome back, my friend,” Jake said, and when the boy turned around, I saw that his green eyes were black as tar.
“I can’t believe I didn’t see this before,” I said and dropped my head in my hands. “I befriended him, I wanted to help him. . . . I should have sensed he was a demon.”
Xavier put his hand on the small of my back. “This is not your fault.” His eyes swept over the congregation gathered at Jake’s feet. “Are they all demons?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Jake seems to be conjuring vengeful spirits to possess his followers.”
“This just keeps getting better and better,” Xavier muttered. “Where do the spirits come from? Are they the people in these graves?”
“I doubt it,” I said. “They’re probably the souls of the damned from the Underworld, quite different from demons. A demon is a creature created by Lucifer himself, and they worship none but him. It’s the same concept as angels in Heaven; there are millions of souls that go to Heaven, but they don’t become angels. Angels and demons were never human. They’re in a league of their own.”
“Are these spirits still dangerous?” Xavier asked. “What will happen to the people they possess?”
“Their main purpose is to cause destruction,” I said. “When they take over the body of a human, they can make that person do anything. It’s like having two souls within the one shell. Most people can survive it unless the spirit intentionally damages their body. They aren’t much of a threat to us, our powers are far greater than theirs. Jake is the only one we need to worry about.”