—†— CHAPTER TWENTY—⸸—
The Trapped Spirit
The walk to St. Marys should have been peaceful. Fresh snow crunching under our feet, the late afternoon sun cutting through the clouds in those rare winter moments. Should have been one of those postcard moments people send to relatives back East to make them jealous.
Instead, I was sweating under my coat despite the cold.
Sarah walked beside me, her hand tucked into the crook of my arm more for support than propriety. She’d changed out of the habit earlier, wearing a simple skirt and blouse that Father Emil had brought from the convent, along with a wool coat, well-worn but warm. Normal clothes that should have made her blend right in with every other woman in St. Cloud heading home from errands or closing up shop for the evening.
Except nothing about this was normal.
I could feel the weight of the Colts under my coat, their familiar presence both reassuring and inadequate. The dark wool suit I was wearing had belonged to some priest at St. Marys—decent fit, though the vest pulled a little tight across my shoulders. The long coat I’d grabbed on my way through the aperture didn’t match, but it covered the shoulder holsters well enough and the hat kept the snow off my face. Together, it all made me look like I belonged in this era, even if I felt like an imposter playing dress-up.
I glanced at Sarah from the corner of my eye. She’d pulled her hair back, and without the habit framing her face, she looked pretty, just a normal girl. She was twenty-four, for Christ’s sake. She wanted to help kids and had been planning to take her vows. Now she was learning blood magic while angels literally tried to murder her. A while back Az had said welcome to the cosmic joke. I think I’m starting to see that.
But then I remembered how she’d looked when she’d finally gotten that Incinerate ward to work. The surprise and wonder on her face after the paper had actually burst into flames. The determination in her eyes as she’d spent hours trying to replicate it, refusing to give up even when failure after failure piled up around her.
She was stronger than she looked. Tougher than she probably realized.
And she’s looking at me like I’m some kind of hero, I thought, feeling my gut twist with something that might have been guilt.
A car passed us going the other direction, and I felt the driver’s eyes on us. The kind of look small-town people gave anything unusual.
And Sarah walking around in regular clothes definitely qualified as unusual.
“They’re staring,” Sarah said quietly, her hand tightening on my arm.
“Yeah,” I said. “They are.”
“Everyone knows I was studying to take my vows. They’re probably wondering what happened. Why I’m dressed like this. Why I’m walking with—” She stopped herself.
“With a strange man,” I finished for her. “In regular clothes. Without a chaperone.”
“It’s going to cause talk.”
“Let them talk. Father Marcus has a plan for that, remember? He’ll smooth it over with the parish.”
But I could feel her tension, the way she tried to make herself smaller as we walked. Another pair of women passed us on the sidewalk, their eyes going wide when they recognized Sarah. One of them opened her mouth like she was going to say something, then thought better of it and hurried past.
“This is going to be my life now, isn’t it?” Sarah asked softly. “People looking at me differently. Wondering what happened to the quiet girl at church.”
The cathedral came into view ahead, its stone walls dark against the white snow, stained glass windows catching the fading afternoon light and throwing colors across the steps. From this distance, it looked peaceful. Serene.
We climbed the steps, and before I could reach for the heavy wooden door, it burst open. Father Marcus came rushing out, his face a mixture of relief and worry. He was older than I’d expected—maybe sixty, with gray hair and the kind eyes of a man who’d spent his life caring for others.
Those eyes swept over Sarah, checking her for injuries, before he pulled her into a tight embrace.
“Thank God,” he breathed. “Thank God you’re safe.”
He held her for a long moment, then pulled back to look at her face, his hands on her shoulders. “Are you hurt? Did they—”
“I’m fine, Father,” Sarah said. “I’m fine.”
“You must be Mr. Donati,” he said. “Father Emil told me what you did. What you are.” He extended his hand. “Thank you for keeping her safe.”
I shook his hand, feeling the strength in his grip despite his age.
“We should get inside,” I said, glancing around. “We’re too exposed out here.”
He nodded and ushered us through the door, pulling it closed behind us.
The interior of St. Marys was beautiful in the way old cathedrals are—high vaulted ceilings, rows of polished pews, candlelight flickering against stone walls. But there was tension in the air.
Near the side entrance, I saw the young priest I’d met when I first came through the aperture. He looked terrible. Pale and shaking, his eyes red-rimmed like he hadn’t slept in days. Two nuns in traditional black habits were supporting him on either side, and Father Emil was there as well, helping guide the young man toward the door.
“Is he alright?” Sarah asked, concern evident in her voice.
“The spirit showed him things,” Father Marcus said quietly. “Visions. Terrible things that broke something inside him. We’re taking him to the monastery where the sisters can care for him properly.”
Father Hoffman looked up as they passed, and for just a moment his eyes met mine. There was recognition there, and something else. Terror.
Then they were through the door and gone, leaving just the three of us standing there.
Father Marcus turned to Sarah, and I saw the weight of years in his expression. “I owe you an explanation. Several explanations, in fact.”
“You knew my mother,” Sarah said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” He gestured toward the front pews. “Please, sit. This will take some time.”
We moved to the front of the cathedral, and Father Marcus settled into the pew across from us, his hands folded in his lap.
“Your mother came to us twenty-four years ago,” he began. “She was young, pregnant, and terrified. She knew what she was—knew about the bloodline she carried. And she knew that those who hunted her would eventually find her.”
Sarah’s hand found mine, and I held it tight.
“She told me everything,” Father Marcus continued. “About the celestial blood in her veins. About the beings who would kill her child simply for existing. She begged me to protect you, to hide you, to give you a chance at a normal life.”
“But you’re not just a priest, are you?” I asked.
“No.” He looked at me with those sad, knowing eyes. “I am a Keeper. Part of an ancient order that predates the Church itself. We protect relics—artifacts from before the Sundering, objects of power that neither Heaven nor Hell should ever possess. Your mother knew this. She came to me because she knew I would understand, and because she knew I had the means to hide you.”
“She left me here,” Sarah said, her voice breaking. “To protect me.”
“Yes,” he said in a whisper. “She stayed only long enough to ensure you were safe, then she disappeared. I never saw her again.” Father Marcus’s expression grew pained. “I’ve always hoped she found peace, but I fear she did not. The beings who hunt Nephilim are relentless.”
“And you’ve been protecting me all this time,” Sarah said.
“I have. I told myself that perhaps the essence would be weak enough that you’d never manifest. That you could live a normal life, take your vows, serve the Church without ever awakening to what you truly are.” He looked down at his hands. “I was wrong. I should have prepared you. Should have warned you. But I kept hoping, foolishly, that this day would never come.”
“Father,” Sarah said gently, “you gave me a childhood. A home. A purpose. I don’t blame you for hoping.”
Father Marcus’s eyes were wet when he looked up at her. “You’re more gracious than I deserve, child.”
Father Emil had returned, closing the door quietly behind him. He moved to stand beside Father Marcus, his weathered face grave.
“She can’t stay here,” Father Emil said, as much to himself as to us. “Not anymore. Heaven knows what she is now. They’ll be watching the convent, the school, everywhere she’s ever been.”
“I know,” Sarah said quietly.
“Which is why I’ve come up with a story for the parish,” Father Marcus continued. “We’ll tell the sisters and the other clergy that you’ve reconnected with distant family—” He glanced at me meaningfully. “—and that you’ve decided to take a period of discernment outside the convent before committing to your final vows. It’s not uncommon. Many women who enter religious life take time away to ensure it’s truly their calling.”
“It’s not entirely a lie,” Father Emil added, and I caught the hint of a smile on his weathered face. “Technically, you two do share a bond now. That makes you kin of a sort.”
“That’s stretching it quite a bit, wouldn’t you say?”
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, echoing through the cathedral with a mocking tone that set my teeth on edge.
A shadow detached itself from the darkness near the altar, coalescing into a vaguely humanoid shape. It wasn’t solid—more like smoke given form and purpose, constantly shifting and reforming. Two points of pale light burned where eyes might be.
“But then again,” the spirit continued, its tone dripping with condescension, “I suppose desperate old men will grasp at any justification to feel better about their pathetic little schemes.” The shadow circled around Sarah with deliberate slowness, like a predator inspecting prey. “Kin of a sort. How delightfully ridiculous.”
Sarah tensed beside me, her hand tightening on mine.
“I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you, little one,” the spirit said, swooping around her with unsettling interest. “Twenty-four years, watching you grow up in the shadow of this place. Feeling the Relic respond to your presence, even when you didn’t know what you were.” The spirit’s laugh was cold, bitter.
“Leave her alone,” I said, standing up.
The spirit ignored me completely, still circling Sarah like she was the only thing in the room that mattered. “You’ve awakened. I can feel it. The essence is active, flowing through your veins.” The spirit’s voice turned sharp with frustration. “But you’re pathetically weak. Not nearly strong enough to take the trials. After all this waiting, all these centuries, you’re still useless to me.”
“What trials?” I asked.
The spirit finally decided to acknowledge my existence, turning those burning eyes toward me with obvious disdain. “The trials that will free me from this prison, boy. The shadow’s form flickered with agitation. “I’ve been bound to this cursed stone for hundreds of years waiting for one worthy enough to claim it and release me from this torment.”
The spirit moved closer to Sarah again, its voice taking on a cruel edge. “And now here you are. The first Nephilim I’ve encountered in centuries who’s actually attuned to the Relic. You’ve been marinating in its influence your entire pathetic life, and you’re still too weak to be of any use.”
“Why can’t I take the trials?” I asked. “Why does it have to be her?”
The spirit’s laughter was harsh and mocking. “Because she’s been bathed in the Relic’s power since before she could walk, you fool. The Relic has already begun to attune itself to her.” The shadow turned back to me, and I could feel its contempt. “You, on the other hand, are nothing. The trials would tear you apart. You’re not attuned. You’re weak. “
“What did you do?” Sarah asked quietly. “To be bound like this?”
The spirit went utterly still. The temperature in the cathedral seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant.
Then the thing exploded.
“THAT IS NONE OF YOUR CONCERN!” The spirit’s shriek tore through the cathedral like a physical force, its shadow form erupting outward as it lunged toward Sarah. The mockery was gone, replaced by pure rage. “THREE HUNDRED YEARS AND YOU DARE—”
Azazel and Remiel materialized instantly between the spirit and Sarah, both in their full celestial armor. Remy’s plate gleamed in the candlelight, his incorporeal white wings extended like additional appendages aimed directly at the threat. Az stood beside him in the mirror opposite—his armor was celestial in design but was black, tarnished and dark where Remy’s shone bright. His black incorporeal wings spread wide in the same defensive posture, both of them ready to strike. Both had their weapons drawn, positioned protectively in front of Sarah.
“STOP!” Remy’s voice rang with divine authority.
The spirit pulled up short, mere inches from their outstretched blades and extended wings, its form writhing with barely contained fury. Then it started to laugh—a sound that started low and built into something truly unhinged.
“Oh, how precious,” the spirit said, its rage cooling into something worse. Cold amusement. “The little angel and demon, playing guardian. As if you have any power to stop me.” The shadow circled around them slowly, testing their defenses. “You’re fragments. Children. Echoes of what you once were. Do you really think you could stand against me if I truly wanted to hurt her?”
Az’s grip tightened as he lashed out. “Move on her again you son of a bitch, and I’ll drag you to Hell myself! “
The spirit’s laughter was cruel and knowing. Its form began to shrink back, the rage dissipating as the mocking contempt returned. “I’m not going to harm your precious little Nephilim. I’ve waited too long for this moment to waste it on petty violence.”
It drifted back toward the altar, putting distance between itself and Sarah. Az and Remy’s wings retracted, their armor dimming but they stayed between Sarah and the spirit. Ready.
“Well, well. Look what we have here.” The spirit’s tone was pure mockery now, as if the explosion of rage had never happened. “An angel and a demon, bound together in a mortal soul. How delightfully ironic.” Tell me, do you hate your prison as much as I hate mine? Do you dream of freedom while knowing it will never come?”
“It’s not the same,” Remy said stiffly, his armor still glowing with readiness. “We weren’t bound as punishment.”
“No?” The spirit’s laughter was vicious. “Are you certain about that? Because from where I’m standing, it looks remarkably similar. Trapped. Powerless. Forced to endure an existence you never chose.” The shadow’s voice turned cruel. “At least I know what I did to deserve my fate. What did you two do to deserve yours?”
“We don’t have time for this,” Az said, and there was an edge to his voice I hadn’t heard before. Something almost like fear.
“Time?” The spirit’s attention snapped to Azazel with sudden interest. “Oh, yes. Time. That’s something you’re running out of, isn’t it, little demon?” The shadow seemed to expand, filling more of the space around us. “Tell me, do you feel them? The ones that came through earlier this evening?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
The spirit turned its gaze toward me, and somehow I could feel it smiling. “The hellhounds, boy. Two of them. They crossed through the aperture into this world while the sun was still up.” Its voice took on a singsong quality, mocking and cruel. “Ravenous, murderous things.”
My blood ran cold. “The Hellhounds.”
“Oh, you know?” The spirit’s delight was obvious. “How wonderful. Yes, those hellhounds. Escaped from Purgatory, loose in this frozen little town, and they won’t stop until they’ve Found their prey.” The shadow drifted closer to me, its voice dropping to a whisper. “They’re not my problem, of course. But they are yours.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sarah demanded.
The spirit ignored her, still focused on me with that horrible amusement. “They followed you here, didn’t they? Through the aperture when you first stumbled into this world.”
“Jay,” Remy said urgently, “if those hellhounds are loose in St. Cloud—”
“—you need to find them now,” Az finished. “Before they lead every angel and demon in a hundred miles straight to you.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why would they—”
“Because hellhounds don’t stop hunting their prey,” Remy said. “Ever. They’ll track you until one of you is dead, and they’ll follow the scent right back to wherever you are.”
The spirit laughed, clearly enjoying the panic spreading through the room. “Oh, this is delicious!” The shadow circled around us again. “Hellhounds are relentless boy. Brutal.” The spirit’s laughter was cruel. “I wish I could watch.”
“They followed me,” I said, my voice flat. “From Purgatory. When I came through the aperture.”
“Yes,” the spirit said, clearly delighted by my confession. “And now they’re loose in St. Cloud, hunting. Killing. Making a mess of things.” The shadow’s voice took on a thoughtful quality. “I’d say this is a more appropriate trial for you than the one guarding the Relic. After all, you’re the one who brought them here.”
“Which direction did they go?” I asked.
The spirit paused, as if considering whether to answer. Then it extended one shadowy appendage toward the northwest. “That way. Following the scent of livestock. There’s a farm out there somewhere.”
“The Sorenson farm,” Father Emil said immediately. “Good people. A family with young children.”
I turned to Father Marcus. “Do you have transportation I can borrow?”
“The church has a truck,” Father Marcus said. “But I’ll drive you—”
“No,” I said firmly. “You stay here with Sarah.”
“Jay,” Sarah started, but Remy cut her off.
“He’s right, Sarah. The hellhounds are hunting us, not you. Your ward is hiding your essence. As long as you stay here, you’re safe. But if you come with us, you’ll just be putting yourself in unnecessary danger.”
I turned to face the spirit, and something cold and dangerous settled into my voice. “You’re going to protect Sarah, the clergy, and this cathedral while I’m gone. And if anything happens to any of them—if so much as a hair on Sarah’s head gets hurt—I don’t care what’s buried under this church or how attuned to it she is. I will find a way to tear you from whatever existence you’re clinging to and destroy you permanently!”
The spirit went very still. Then its form seemed to shift, and for the first time, I heard something like genuine interest in its voice. “HA! Go hunt your hellhounds, boy.” It said with a snear. “We’ll keep your little Nephilim safe…”
I moved quickly to the stoup near the entrance and pulled out the canteen I’d stored in my inventory, filling it with holy water. The blessed liquid sloshed as I capped it and put it back.
“The truck is around back. But Mr. Donati, please, let me drive you—”
“”You need to stay here and help Father Marcus watch over Sarah. That’s more important.”
“Sarah, you’ve got four warded rounds in that revolver. The blade too.”
I could see her trembling. “Jay, please be careful.”
“I will.”
I pulled both Colts from my holsters, checked the magazines even though I knew they were full, and slid them back into place. Then I pulled the shotguns from my inventory—first the double-barrel, then the pump-action.
I checked the double-barrel, confirming the warded coin slugs were loaded—one in each barrel. Then I handed it to Father Emil along with a handful of regular slugs from my inventory.
“I assume even a member of the cloth knows how to pull the triggers on one of these,” I said. “There’s already one cartridge loaded in each barrel—warded shot. Use those sparingly, only if something gets through that door that shouldn’t. The rest of these are regular buckshot.”
Father Emil took the shotgun and ammo with steady hands, his weathered face grave. “I was a soldier before I was a priest, Mr. Donati. I know my way around a weapon.”
I looked at Sarah one more time. She was standing now, Father Marcus and Father Emil on either side of her, the spirit’s shadow form hovering protectively nearby.
“I’ll be back,” I said.
“You better be,” she replied.
I turned and pushed through the door, stepping out into the cold evening air.
The truck was waiting around back, just like Father Emil had said. A Ford TT—only a couple years old, and well-maintained. It looked like something that belonged in a museum.
I hit the button with my heel. The engine caught, sputtering before it settled into a rough, rattling idle that made the whole frame vibrate.
I fumbled with the hand lever until the Model TT lurched into gear. The steering was loose and unfamiliar, and I had to overcorrect before I got the hang of it.
I pointed the truck northwest toward the Sorenson farm, the dim headlights cutting through the gathering darkness.
It was time to go hunting.