Infernal Father of Mine (2 page)

"I have agents constantly watching for you,"
the Exorcist said with an evil smile. "When you left your haven
alone, I knew this was my chance."

David pursed his lips. "If you wanted a date,
all you had to do was ask. Some flowers would be nice,
too."

Someone in the group of Exorcists
snorted.

Montjoy's face went bright red. "I said subdue
them!"

Something stung me in the neck. I saw David's
hand go to his at nearly the same time. A silver dart protruded
from between his fingers.

"Why is it always in the neck?" I managed to
say before feeling my legs fold and the impact of grass against my
side. David fell beside me, his eyes open and staring. I waited
patiently for darkness to take hold, but consciousness remained.
David blinked. I blinked back. I tried to open my mouth, to move a
hand, a foot, a finger, but nothing responded. Even blinking took
tremendous effort.

A female voice chanted in what sounded like
Cyrinthian. The black line in the entrapment circle faded away.
Hands gripped me beneath my armpits and legs. My view shifted to
the brilliant blue sky as our captors hauled me from the ground and
set me atop something firm. Though I couldn't move my fingers, I
felt fabric against my bare skin. Using all my concentration, I
closed my eyes as they began to water from staring into the
brightness.

I felt myself move smoothly without the jarring
bumps associated with a wheeled gurney. It was possible our captors
had employed flying carpets or some other form of magical
levitation.

"This is risky," I heard someone whisper near
my head.

"Hush," said someone from the direction of my
feet. "You know Montjoy hates it when we second-guess
him."

"But this is bloody David Slade," the man said.
"He didn't say we'd be going after bloody David Slade."

While both men had British accents, they didn't
sound nearly as refined as Montjoy.

"We do what we're told, you ruddy git. Now,
shut it."

The other man remained quiet. I heard car doors
click open. Smelled the odor of stale cigarettes attack my
olfactory senses. Heard doors slam shut. I opened my eyes and saw
the ceiling of a vehicle. A moment later, an engine roared to life,
and the vehicle lurched into motion. I tried in vain to move my
head. A bump in the road sent it lolling to the side for a view of
the back of David's head where he lay on a plain gray
rug—presumably a flying carpet. We were in the back of a van,
judging from the size of the cargo space.

What a happy family
reunion.

It had already been spoiled by my wonderful
father's refusal to give up his marriage plans. Was I being obtuse
by demanding he come back to Mom? Was it really so important he
marry Kassallandra to create an alliance between House Slade and
House Assad? It seemed the threat of a Seraphim invasion would be
enough to unite anyone with common sense.

Don't I have more important things
to worry about now, like escape?

Not much chance of that in our
condition.

Reaching inside for the infernal half of my
soul lurking there, I tried to open its cage, hoping I could
manifest into demon form. It was apparently as incapacitated as me.
Elyssa's gonna be pissed when she finds out I'm in trouble
again.
Christmas was barely over and I'd already been captured
by a cult.
I probably should have waited until the new year
before embarking on another adventure.

After what felt like hours, we finally stopped.
I heard the passenger and driver doors open and slam shut. The rear
doors opened. A breeze wafted in, tickling the hairs on the back of
my neck.

My left pinky finger twitched.

Hope bloomed in my chest.
The drug is
wearing off
. I'd need a bit more than my pinky to get us out of
this situation, though. I closed my eyes in anticipation of the sun
as I felt the flying carpet I rested on rise and move into the
open. Birds chirped somewhere, accompanied by the honking of horns
not far away. It sounded like we were still in the city.

Cracking open an eyelid, I saw a tall church of
gray stone to the side. The carpet rotated and my head lolled to
the left. A parking lot with several black SUVs came into view,
bordered by a tall black iron fence embedded in a stone
wall.

Creepy monks. Creepy church.
Great.

We entered a door, glided through a hallway,
and entered a large dim cathedral. Candles flickered from tall
metal candelabras along the wall. We turned a corner and entered a
sprawling semi-circular area in front of a choir loft. Metal cages
to the left gleamed in the candlelight. A hand lunged for me from
between the bars as the carpet drifted by, the filthy fingers so
close, I felt the breeze of their passing. A man's face slammed
against the bars hard enough to draw blood. He strained his
grasping hand toward me, foam-flecked lips gibbering madly.
Paralysis came in pretty handy right then because, otherwise, I
would have crapped my britches.

My bearers rotated the carpet and the center of
the chancel came into view. The podium and table where the priest
usually stood were absent. A thick silver circle at least fifty
feet wide was embedded in the stone floor. Something even more
shocking than caged humans met my paralyzed gaze. Two arches stood
side-by-side in the center of the circle separated by about ten
feet of stone floor. I'd seen arches before—shiny black arches used
for traveling the globe, and arches veined with white used to
travel between the mortal realm and the angel dimension. But these
arches were unlike any I'd seen before. One was drab and gray. The
other shined like a sapphire.

What do they do?

My inner nerd completely forgot the dire
situation for a moment as possibilities ran through my mind. In all
my travels and adventures, I'd never heard of arches this color.
Maybe the color didn't mean anything. Maybe the Exorcists had a
really good interior decorator who'd grown tired of black and white
arches. Unfortunately, I couldn't move my mouth to ask
questions.

"You got him, Montjoy?" someone said,
excitement in their voice. "I can't believe it."

"I told you he would eventually be mine,"
replied Montjoy. "It was only a matter of time before he left the
haven of his household."

"We were preparing for one of the other
subjects. Would you like to do Slade first?"

"I would be delighted," Montjoy replied. "I
will lead the purging myself."

"Who's the kid?" someone else asked.

"His son," Montjoy said, spitting the last word
with obvious distaste.

A man's face came into view, a thick gray beard
bristling from his chin. "He's spawn. We can't purge
him."

"No, I suppose not," Montjoy said. "He's an
impetuous runt, though. I believe banishment would suit him
fine."

The fingers on my left hand clenched. My right
hand joined the party.
Come on, body. Don't fail me
now.

"What about House Slade?" someone else asked.
"What if they find out we took him?"

"They are of no concern to me." Montjoy
appeared in my view. "Place David Slade in the circle."

My carpet moved. Someone leaned down to my ear.
"I'll let you watch," said one of the men from earlier. He sounded
rather smug.

I welcomed the surge of anger. I felt a growl
attempt to rise in my throat, though it was hardly audible. My
carpet stopped near the side of the large silver circle inlaid in
the stone floor. I watched as they pushed David's carpet into the
center.

Why can they purge him but not
me?

It didn't make sense. We were both Daemos, our
souls bound in human form, one half in the mortal realm, the other
in the demon plane.

One of the cloaked people turned David's head
to face me—a final insult it seemed. He looked calm, or maybe it
was just the paralysis. I was pissed at him. Angry with his
disregard for our family. But this was too much. Somehow, I had to
save him from the purge, whatever it was. A spasm moved my left
arm. My right soon followed. I reached inside again, and found my
demon half straining against the bonds of my own flesh-and-bone
prison.

Move, damn it. Move!

Using every ounce of willpower I had, I wiggled
my fingers. Felt my toes respond. Montjoy, obvious by his girth,
climbed a tall pulpit, the wooden structure groaning with each
step.

"Gonna eat them. Gonna kill them. Blood, blood,
blood," gibbered a man from somewhere behind me. "Bathe in their
juices. Drink pretty brains from pretty skulls." He laughed
maniacally.

"Shut up, you filthy demon," someone said. I
heard something impact flesh, and a grunt.

"You first, you first, you first!" screamed the
crazy man. Something rattled against metal.

"Subdue him," Montjoy shouted from across the
ring.

The mental patient launched into another tirade
and abruptly cut off mid-scream. I imagined they must have shot him
with one of their paralyzing darts.

The chunky figure on the pulpit raised his
arms. Hooded Exorcists appeared from the shadows in the church,
forming a ring around silver circle, hiding David from sight.
Montjoy's voice rose in a chant. The figures in the ring raised
their hands straight overhead, singing a response one might expect
to hear from Gregorian monks. As they sang, their hands angled
outward into V shapes, pressing against their neighbors' palms. The
chant faded to echoes.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then Montjoy
shouted a word. It might have been Latin, but I couldn't understand
any of what they were saying. The circle of Exorcists responded
with a shout of acclamation. Montjoy sang at a low pitch, words
rising in volume. As he sang, I saw a form rising from the center
of the circle. David floated, arms and legs outstretched, held
rigid by unseen force, even as his head lolled forward.

My teeth clenched. A shudder ran through my
body. I was awakening. Fingers responded to my commands. The leaden
weight of my arms subsided. I could almost move my head.
Is
anyone watching me?
I knew someone had been behind me a moment
ago. Feigning paralysis until the last minute was vital.

My father's head suddenly jerked back. A long
cry of pain tore from his throat. Blue vapor emerged from his nose,
mouth, ears. The volume of the chant rose higher and higher, the
cadence moving faster. Azure mist shrouded David's head, rising
like a genie from a bottle. As it grew in volume, a face formed
from the nebulous smoke.

"Oh, Montjoy," the face said playfully, even as
David continued to shout hoarsely as if in great pain. "Your
lifelong quest will end in disappointment, I'm afraid. For you see,
I am not what you thought I was."

The Exorcist seemed to ignore him, though it
was hard for me to tell from this angle. Montjoy raised a fist. He
shouted a single word, and made a vertical slashing motion with his
hand. The sapphire arch burst into brilliance, sparkling like a
gem. The space between the columns slit open. Blue light, similar
in color to the mist and the arch, lit the sanctuary, dancing like
moonlight on the surface of a pool.

The blue mist swirled toward the opening. The
smoky face cried out. "No, no! Please no! Don't send me
back!"

All I could do was watch helplessly.

Elyssa

Elyssa pushed herself up slowly, watching as a
string of drool stretched from her face to the concrete. Someone
had knocked her out.
The ninja.
She'd seen the shadow figure
at the last minute but hadn't been quick enough to block the
blow.

Justin!

She slid forward a few feet and peered over the
edge of the twelfth floor of the unfinished condominium bordering
the cemetery where Justin was meeting his father. Aside from a few
black lines in the grass where the two men had been standing, there
was no sign of anyone.

"Really?" she growled. "Can't he even wait
until the new year to be abducted?" Elyssa leapt from the side of
the building, grabbed a piece of steel rebar where it jutted from
the concrete support beam below, and flipped from it to another bar
of steel a floor below. She landed on the gravel soil moments later
and raced to the cemetery next door.

Footprints littered patches of bare earth
between clumps of dying grass. The ninja hadn't been alone—he'd had
help. She counted at least ten separate pairs of footprints, not
including David's and Justin's. They'd been standing at the center
of the black ring. She snapped a picture with her arcphone, and
called the one thing—person—she knew could help identify
it.

"Hello, Elyssa," Cinder, the golem said in his
calm, unassuming voice.

Elyssa had gotten somewhat used to the presence
of Cinder despite its—his—origin as one of Mr. Gray's killing
machines. He was also like a walking encyclopedia and seemed to
relish research above all else. "I just sent you a
picture."

"I have received it," he said. "It appears to
be a symbol burned into grass."