—†— CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN —⸸—
Shadows And Mirrors
Father Brennan had finally finished nailing up the last of the boards. They were now the only things holding up the old doors in the front of the cathedral. St. Mary’s had been inundated throughout the day with parishioners, and it seemed like the whole town was concerned about what had happened. Some, of course, just wanted to pay their respects to Father Emile.
Marcus had had plenty of help cleaning up the cathedral, though he was relieved to finally be alone.
Especially after he found out that half the town could be possessed.
Marcus had no way of knowing whether anyone who had come through those doors today had actually been themselves. Sarah had wanted to ward the cathedral immediately, but he had argued against it. With this much attention already on the church, warding it now would only draw more. Azazel had assured both of them that Astaroth wouldn’t recover or return anytime soon.
In fact, there was no history or recollection of Astaroth ever having been in St. Cloud. This had led Azazel to conclude that Astaroth had kept his failings here to himself.
“You know, Keeper,” the spirit said, startling Marcus, “even after the Nephilim wards this building, our time here is fleeting.”
“I know,” Marcus said, his shoulders sagging. “We’re going to have to find a way to leave this place after she frees you.”
“I know that you can’t tell me exactly what the relic is, but perhaps you might indulge me just a little.”
“Go on,” the spirit said, its voice almost sounding intrigued.
“The Trinity Blade, the one bound to Jay Donati, is a soulbound object, isn’t it? I’ve spent much of my time as a Keeper researching such artifacts.” Marcus took a moment to consider how carefully he wanted to word what came next. “I’ve also come across records of wards, powerful spells that can bind an object to a soul even if it’s not within its nature.”
“Yes,” the spirit said, its voice carrying something close to interest now. “Some arcane objects bind permanently to a soul because that is their nature. Others can be ‘made’ that way, though the practice is forbidden.”
The spirit moved toward Marcus and, to his surprise, seemed to sit in its human-like form in the pew on the other side of the aisle. They both stared up toward the altar for a few minutes before the spirit spoke again.
“Keeper, I’m going to indulge your curiosity. Do you know why I was bound to this relic?”
“I was told that you were once a powerful Nephilim, an arcane mage who abused your power and influence.”
“Yes,” the spirit said, its words dripping with indignation. “And did they tell you which of these rules I broke, Keeper?”
Marcus sighed. “No. No, they didn’t. And I’ll be honest, a great deal of the information we have about you and this particular relic was lost a long time ago. I know there’s other relics like this and other guardians. But I’m afraid our organization wasn’t able to keep very good records over the centuries.”
“Long ago, Keeper, I lusted for power. I ruled in a bloody reign and I oppressed all of those I found to be weak.” And I smothered any rivals who showed potential. I crushed all those who opposed me. All those who did not pledge fealty, and the streets ran red with blood. My misdeeds and oppressive reign have echoed through time. Even now, here in creation, there are myths of great tyrants and rulers who oppressed their own people with such cruelty.
“We have a lot of stories about that kind of evil,” Marcus said.
“Stories.” The spirit’s voice grew enraged, and shadows began to consume the cathedral around him. “There are no stories; there was only me!”
“There was no one Nephilim powerful enough to stop me.” The spirit’s voice grew quieter, and the darkness in the cathedral seemed to settle.
“When I learned that my own brothers and my sister were traveling from the four corners of the known world to end my reign…”
“I sought this relic to stop them. I would find it and make its power mine and mine alone. When I found it, I used forbidden soul magic. Keeper. I took that which wasn’t soulbound by its nature and forged it anew! But I was betrayed by the artifact. By the time I realized its true nature, it was too late.”
“My brothers and sisters took the relic and bound me to it instead. They condemned me to guard what I’d tried to claim for myself!”
“An ironic punishment.” The spirit’s shoulders sagged, and his voice was quiet again. “A deserving punishment.”
“Marcus Brennan.” The priest was startled to hear the spirit say his name. “I sought to reforge the relic, but its true nature perverted my intentions, although the relic is now a soul-bound object; its new purpose is—”
The spirit trailed off.
“There’s a saying among your kind that ‘real power corrupts.’ This is true, and I paid a heavy price to learn this lesson. I’ll never again be what I was. Nor can I ever claim that which I have protected for so long.”
“Hear me when I say that what is buried beneath this church cannot and will not ever fall into celestial hands. My realm is gone now. But I’ll destroy the relic and myself before I let them take creation as well.”
“I don’t seek revenge, Marcus Brennan. I seek absolution,” the spirit raged, its voice echoing throughout the cathedral.
Marcus looked up to find the pew across the aisle empty and that he was alone.
Marcus grabbed his gloves and his hat and made his way out the side door of the cathedral. It was late into the evening now, and again the snow was softly falling. The air smelled of cold, and he could taste the starchy bitterness of winter in every breath.
The streetlights were on, but the roads were empty as Marcus made his way down the sidewalk. It wasn’t a long walk, but it would give him some time to decompress everything, a chance to think.
As he crossed the street, he looked around and marveled at how much this little town had grown since he had first come here. His heart ached at the realization that he was going to have to leave this place.
He made his way to the front of a familiar building and looked up at the gold letters in the window before reaching up to knock on the door.
“Hello, Father Brennan.”
The voice was low and raspy, and Marcus froze as he turned, quickly backpedaling until his shoulders pressed against the door. His breath caught as the large man, clad in a long tan trench coat, stood in front of him, staring at him with glowing, unnatural eyes, his head tilted slightly.
“Tell me, Father, what is it that you’re hiding in that cathedral?”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, my son.”
“I think you do. Do you know who I am, Father? Do you know what I am?”
“Yes.”
“What you hide is an abomination and is to be purged by the will of God, so I ask again, what is being hidden in that cathedral?”
“Nothing. Nothing is—”
The long, ornate blade slid deep into Marcus Brennan’s stomach and out through his back as the angel Remiel ran him through. The force of it drove the air from his lungs as his eyes went wide in shock, his body locking. The man tilted his head the other direction, studying the expression on Marcus’s face while slowly twisting the blade.
Then, as if realizing all at once that Marcus had been looking past him, the man turned just in time. A large blade drove up through his gut, through his chest, and out the back of his head.
His glowing eyes twitched as he stared into the eyes of himself in his full celestial form.
As Remy ripped the blade back out, he tilted his head back at himself. The glow faded from the man’s eyes. What remained crumpled to the ground.
“Holy fuck, feathers. I guess we just solved the mystery of who killed you. I had no idea you were such a masochist.”
Remiel faded and reappeared, floating next to me. Sarah dropped to Marcus’s side, gripping him under the arms. She dragged him toward the door with strained effort.
I moved in beside the body Remiel had just run through and pressed my fingers against the side of his neck.
“What are you checking for, a pulse?” Azazel asked. “Remiel just turned himself into a fucking shish kebab.”
I pulled the body into my inventory and turned back toward Sarah as she struggled with Marcus’s weight. “Sarah, open the door and pull him inside, and I wasn’t checking for a pulse, you prick. I was trying to see if there was anything left I could use to help Marcus.”
“Was there?” Azazel asked.
“No. I’m afraid I’m going to have to just use what I’ve got.”
“Jay, I can’t have you pass out. You’re going to have to pull some from me first,” Sarah said as she continued dragging Marcus into the office. She hauled him across the threshold before kicking the door shut behind her.
“Are you sure?” I asked, kneeling down beside her.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
I reached up and placed my hand gently against Sarah’s cheek as Marcus turned his head and started coughing blood across the floor. The wet sound cut through the room.
“Tell me when to stop,” I said, focusing as I began to pull. “Don’t let me take too much; there might be more of them.”
“There’s not,” Remiel said.
I moved my hand over to Marcus and placed it over the wound. The fabric of his shirt was slick beneath my palm as blood completely saturated the front of it and pooled across the floor beneath him.
“Marcus, I have no idea what this is going to feel like. Just try to hold still, okay?” I said as I began to use Blood Tithe on the old priest.
I felt it pull from me and push into him. The transfer was tangible, like something being poured out of me with ease but forced into Marcus with twice the resistance. As I held there, focusing, he continued to cough blood before suddenly pulling in a sharp breath, gasping as his body jerked and he half-sat up.
I pushed a little more, feeling it reach the edge of my fury before it began tugging at my stamina. The drain shifted and deepened as Marcus looked up at me with bewildered eyes.
“Jay, stop!” Sarah said, grabbing me and pulling me back.
Marcus leaned against the wall, his breathing still uneven. He reached down and ripped his shirt open, exposing where the stab wound had been, finding only a faint scar against blood-stained skin. He looked from Sarah to me with a stunned expression before dropping his gaze to his hands, turning them over in front of his face again and again.
The wrinkles, the age, the wear that had marked his skin were gone.
It looked as though the healing had not just sealed the wound but had taken years from him, stripping age from his hands and face as if it had never been there.
“I don’t understand,” Marcus said, still gasping as he spat what remained of the blood from his mouth.
Sarah sat back hard in the hallway with a small smile. “That’s why I knew you needed to stop, Jay. I saw it on his face.”
I couldn’t help but smile, but both of us stopped when we looked down and found Azazel lying on his back in Marcus’s blood. He swept his arms and legs back and forth across the floor.
“What? I can’t make snow angels in the salt. I can’t make snow angels in the blood. You know what, you two are becoming real prudes.”
Marcus looked back at both of us, horrified and elated all at once, before glancing over at Remiel. “Thank you for saving me.”
“You’re welcome, Father Marcus Brennan. And I’m sorry that I’ve stabbed you.”
Marcus frowned, confusion crossing his face. “I don’t understand.”
“Let’s just get you upstairs and get you cleaned up, okay?” Sarah said, helping him to his feet.
I stood and followed, turning back at the base of the stairs to look at Azazel and Remiel. “You two stand down here and watch the door, and while you’re at it, clean that shit up.”
“Why do I have to clean the mess up? Feathers here is the one who went all Friday the 13th on the Padre!”
“Because you were the one swimming in it.”
