—†— CHAPTER EIGHTEEN —⸸—
Inscribing Coins And 45 ACP
I headed upstairs to the apartment, Sarah following behind me. The light coming through the windows had shifted from pre-dawn gray to proper morning, pale winter sunlight cutting through the frost on the glass.
“Wait here for just a second,” I said, moving to where I’d stored the guns the night before. I pulled the Winchester Model 1897 and the Stevens double-barrel from where I’d leaned them against the wall, checking them over quickly. Both were twelve-gauge, solid and well-maintained. I grabbed the boxes of ammunition I’d brought up as well—the forty-five ACP, the smaller thirty-eight rounds, and the various shotgun shells.
“We’re taking these downstairs,” I said, handing Sarah one of the lighter boxes. “Everything else we need is still in the office.”
She took the box without comment, and we made our way back down the stairs.
The supplies from the hardware store were still stacked where we’d left them the day before—boxes spilling out of the room and into the hallway. I set the shotguns against the wall near my desk and started pulling out what we needed. The bag of salt. The files. The small jars. The brushes and the tin of beeswax I’d bought for sealing the shells. I also pulled out the roll of dimes I’d gotten from the general store.
My desk was large, solid oak, easily four feet wide and deep enough to spread out everything we needed to work with. Sarah stood on the opposite side, still clutching the locket Emil had given her, watching me organize.
“First things first,” I said, gesturing for her to sit in the chair across from me. “We need ammunition that can actually hurt what’s coming for us.”
I settled into my own chair and picked up one of the shotgun shells, turning it over in my hands. The absurdity of the moment hit me—sitting here in a detective’s office in nineteen-twenties Minnesota, teaching a nun how to make demon-killing ammunition.
“I don’t understand,” Sarah said quietly, sitting down across from me. “How do you make bullets that can hurt angels?”
Az materialized on the desk between us before I could answer. “Two ways, actually. Salt rounds for the shotguns, and warded ammunition, which he’s going to learn how to make right now using his shiny new Arcane-Inscription ability.”
“That is the ability he acquired from the rune,” Remy said, appearing near the window. “It permits him to inscribe wards directly onto objects without the need to write or engrave them manually. The ward burns itself into the material through an act of will.”
“The problem is,” Az continued, “it pulls from his Mana pool. And when that runs dry, it starts pulling from his stamina. If he pushes too hard, it’ll start pulling from his health. Which is why this idiot is going to pace himself this time.”
“I’ll be careful,” I said, looking at Sarah. “But first, let me show you how to make the salt shots.”
I picked up one of the brown paper shells and pulled out my pocketknife. “The crimp here—” I pointed to the star-pattern fold at the end “—holds everything in place. We need to unfold it without tearing the paper.”
I worked the knife carefully under one fold, easing it open. The crimp peeled back slowly, revealing the wadding packed on top of the metal shot inside.
“The wadding keeps the shot together when it fires. We pull that out, dump the shot, replace it with salt, then put the wadding back in and re-seal it with wax.”
“But why salt?” Sarah asked, looking between me and the two small figures on my desk. “What does it do to them?”
“According to the Codex, salt forces things that are incorporeal to become solid,” Az explained, hopping closer. “Spirits, ghosts, things that exist between states—salt makes them real enough to hurt. It should also affect angels and demons, though probably not as strongly as warded bullets will.”
“Against lesser entities such as Hellhounds or other sub-demonic creatures,” Remy added, “salt rounds should prove particularly effective. They will not destroy them permanently, but the disruption should cause significant damage and weaken them considerably.”
“Should really piss them off too,” Az said with a grin.
Sarah leaned forward, her attention focused on the shell in my hands. The morning light from the window caught in her eyes, and I forced myself to look back down at the ammunition.
“Here,” I said, handing her the knife. “You try the next one.”
Her fingers brushed against mine as she took the knife from my hand, just the barest touch of skin on skin.
In my mind, I thought, “Shut up, Az.”
“I didn’t say anything,” came his reply, dripping with amusement.
“You didn’t have to.”
“Like this?” Sarah asked, glancing up at me.
I realized I was staring. “Yeah, that’s perfect,” I said aloud. “Now pull out the wadding—careful not to tear it because we’re going to need to put it back.”
She extracted the wadding with the same careful precision, setting it aside on a clean piece of paper I’d laid out. Then she tilted the shell and let the shot pour out into a small jar, the tiny metal balls making a soft rattling sound as they fell.
“Now we fill it back up with salt,” I said, sliding the bag across the desk. “Try to match the same volume as the shot, so it’ll have the same weight.”
We fell into a rhythm after that. Sarah would crack open the shells, I would check her work and help her re-seal them when needed. Her hands moved with increasing confidence, the initial hesitation fading as she got the feel for it.
“So,” Az’s voice echoed in my head, “you planning to tell me what’s going on with you and Sister Mary Shotgun over there?”
“Nothing’s going on,” I thought back.
“Right. That’s why you’re staring at her like she’s the prettiest girl you’ve seen since crawling out of Purgatory.”
“I’m making sure she’s doing it right.”
“Sure, Mud. Keep telling yourself that.”
I focused on the shell I was working on, forcing my attention away from the way Sarah tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the small gesture unconscious and somehow more distracting because of it.
“You know what’s really funny?” Az continued. “Two days ago you were dead. Today you’re making googly eyes at the woman who killed you.”
“Thanks for the observation.”
“Just saying, most guys take a little longer to bounce back from a century of trauma. But here you are, falling for the first girl who killed you.”
I set down the shell harder than necessary. Sarah glanced up, and I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
“Sorry, I burned myself on the wax,” I said.
She nodded and went back to her work, completely unaware of the conversation happening inside my skull.
“She has no idea what you’ve been through. What you’re still dealing with. You’re running on fumes and adrenaline, and you’re already getting attached.”
“I’m not attached. I’m trying to keep her alive.”
By the time we’d finished twenty salt shells, my hands were starting to cramp from the repetitive motion and Az had mercifully shut up.
“That should be enough for now,” I said, flexing my fingers. “Time to move on to the real work.”
I pulled out the roll of dimes and spread them across the desk.
“Are we making change?” Sarah asked.
“Dimes are the right size to fit through a twelve-gauge breech.,” Az explained, hopping over to the pile of coins. “You file off the images on both sides to give Jay a smooth surface, then he can inscribe wards directly onto the metal using his new ability.”
“How does the ward actually hurt them?” Sarah asked, looking at the small demon.
“Excellent question,” Az said Through an impish grin. “Jay is going to use the same type of ward he used on the office wall. It’s a barrier that angels and demons can’t cross. When he puts that ward onto a few of these coins and shoots the fuckers with it—”
“You are forcing a barrier they cannot cross through the space they occupy,” Remy cut in. “It violates the fundamental prohibition of the ward. They cannot exist in that space. If the Codex is accurate, it should tear their essence away from their host body.”
“It will not destroy them permanently,” Remy continued. “But it should sever their connection to their mortal vessel and return them to their respective realm.”
“It should hurt like hell too,” Az chuckled.
I picked up one of the files and a dime, starting to smooth the relief off both surfaces. The silver came off in fine curls that collected on the piece of paper beneath my hands.
Sarah pulled the Codex window closer, studying the barrier ward pattern while I worked. I could see her eyes moving over the intricate lines, committing them to memory the way she had with the Incinerate ward.
“I think I should learn this one.” she said in a soft voice. “I mean I think I should add this to my Ward Memory.”
I looked up at her, thinking about it for a moment. “It’s a pretty simple barrier ward, but if this little experiment works with the bullets it opens up a lot of possibilities.”
She nodded slowly. “But I’d have to carve it by hand and activate it manually.”
“With your blood and that tea you’re carrying,” I said, getting a smile from her.
“I’m assuming you want to try it on one of these coins. It might take a little bit more blood than the paper scraps though, so we do this carefully. If you start feeling weak or sick, you stop immediately. OK?”
“Understood.”
I slid one of the smoothed coins across the desk to her along with a file. “Study the pattern first. Make sure you’ve got it memorized. There’s no rush.”
While Sarah studied the Codex, I pulled up the barrier ward pattern myself and focused on the first smoothed coin in my hand. I channeled my will through it, and the pull started immediately. It felt like getting stitches pulled—that distinct tug of thread being drawn through flesh, except it wasn’t coming from my skin. The sensation ran deeper, originating somewhere in my chest, a thin line of something extending from my core to the coin in my hand. Each line of the ward pattern pulled more of that thread out of me, the Mana flowing along it into the silver.
I set the completed coin aside. It took maybe two or three points of Mana. Not much, but noticeable.
“That’s incredible,” Sarah breathed, watching the glow fade from the coin. “It just appeared.”
“This Arcane-Inscription skill does make this a lot easier.” I said. “I’ll be honest I’m still trying to get used to all of this though. When the Mana is pulling or flowing into the object it’s a little unsettling”
I went back to work, inscribing coin after coin while Sarah prepared to carve her first one by hand. The process became almost meditative—smooth the surface, focus, and watch the ward appear. Each one used a little more from my Mana pool.
By the time Sarah started carving, I’d finished six coins. My Mana was down to maybe twenty points out of thirty-five.
I watched her work while inscribing my own coins. Her movements were slow and deliberate, checking the Codex every few seconds to make sure she had the lines right. Twenty minutes later, she set down the file and pulled out her small thermos, pouring a few drops of tea onto the coin’s surface. Then she pricked her finger and let two drops of blood fall onto the ward.
The pattern flared with faint golden light. Sarah’s eyes widened as the ward burned itself into her memory.
“Did it work?” I asked.
She nodded slowly, wonder written across her face. “I can see it now. The whole pattern. Like I’ve known it my entire life.”
“How do you feel?”
“Tired,” she admitted. “But not bad. Just like I ran up a flight of stairs.”
“She’s handling it better than you did,” Az observed in my head.
“She’s not trying to ward an entire office building,” I snapped back.
“True. But she’s also not collapsing every five minutes.”
“I’ve only collapsed twice!”
We kept working. Sarah carved three more coins by hand, the process getting slightly faster each time as she grew more confident with the pattern. I inscribed two more with Arcane-Inscription, the pull on my Mana steady and consistent.
By the time we had twelve done in total—four hand-carved by Sarah—my Mana was gone and Sarah was showing clear signs of exhaustion. Her movements had slowed, and there was a slight tremor in her hands when she set down the last coin.
“We have enough to make four of these coin shots if I put three dimes in each.” I said. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m all right,” she said, but I could hear the weariness in her voice.
“Time for a break,” I said as I stood up from my chair. “Go upstairs to the apartment and get some rest. You don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to but you should at least try and lay on the couch.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine down here.” I gestured at my chair. “Just going to close my eyes for a bit too. I need to try and let my Mana recover.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but the exhaustion was written across her face as clearly as it must have been across mine.
“All right,” she said quietly. “But please don’t let me sleep for too long—”
“I’ll wake you,” I said as I made my way to my chair.
She stood slowly and headed for the stairs. I listened to her footsteps fade, and the apartment door open and close above me.
Then I settled back into my chair and closed my eyes.
The darkness behind my eyelids was immediate and welcome. I pulled up my stat sheet, the golden text appearing in my vision. I closed the window and focused inward, trying to sense where the Mana actually came from. If it pulled out like threads when I used it, maybe it flowed back in the same way.
There. Something faint. Like tiny wisps. Thin lines pulling inward instead of out, drawing something back into me. Not from anywhere specific—just from the air around me. The threads were so fine I could barely sense them, but they were there.
After a few minutes, I spoke without opening my eyes. “Remy, does meditation help? I mean when you were recharging your Grace. Or is it just a matter of waiting?”
“Stillness aids the process considerably,” Remy replied from near the window. “Grace does not regenerate through mere passage of time. It requires peace. Clarity of purpose. The calmer the soul, the swifter the restoration.”
“Mana and Grace are not the same thing,” Az cut in.
“I’m not so sure. Something about one of those Arcane System windows has been itching in the back of my mind. When that first rune gave me access to the Arcane-Script, it said that both were built upon it or something like that.” I paused, trying to remember the exact wording. “The architecture of celestial grace and infernal fury becomes legible when you focus upon it, for both were built upon this.”
“Yes, Nephilim. I remember this window of which you speak,” Remiel said in a pondering tone.
“I mean I know there’s going to be more to it, but it makes sense that if there are ways to increase the recharge of your Grace—”
“Then it may work for other things as well,” Remy finished for me. “Nephilim, I will have to think on this. If you are correct, then there could be great implications. Not just for your mana, but in how all of creation works at a fundamental level.”
“Good to know,” I said quietly.
And I let the darkness hold me while my Mana slowly climbed back toward something resembling functional.
“You know, Az said, “for someone who claims nothing’s going on, you sure went out of your way to make sure she got the better resting spot.”
“She needed it more than I did.”
“Did she though? Or did you just want to play the noble martyr?”
“It’s a couch, Az. Not a throne.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did know what he meant. And he wasn’t entirely wrong. There was something about Sarah—the way she’d handled everything thrown at her in the past day, the quiet strength beneath the fear, the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention—that made me want to protect her. Made me want more.
Which was stupid. Dangerous, even. I barely knew her. She barely knew me. And everything about this situation was wrong.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Az said.
“Then stop listening.”
“You should hear the things Remy thinks about sometimes. Very un-angelic.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled at that.