Pax Demonica (19 page)

“No organization is entirely safe,” Father said. “And deception must root somewhere.”

I sucked in a breath, thinking of what had been done to Eric by Father Donnelly and the Hunters he’d mentored. Supposedly Father Donnelly tried to pull them back when he realized that they were going too far, but that didn’t change the fact that the seeds had already been planted and Eric suffered because of it.

If a demon-hunting organization could actually plant a demon inside one of its own, was it such a stretch to think that same organization might seek to control a key to hell?

“Shit,” I whispered, then immediately cringed. “Sorry, Father.”

He only chuckled.

I was about to apologize again, but my phone rang and I snatched it up, hoping for more information from Laura, only to see that it was Eddie. I answered the call. “You’re on speaker with Allie and Father Corletti. Tell me what you’ve got for me.”

“Gang’s all there, eh? Well, you ain’t going to like it.”

I made a face. “There’s a lot of that going around. Tell me.”

“I got a friend who’s got connections. Found your girl Eliza’s plane reservation. Last name’s Michaels, by the way.”

“Laura found that out, too. How does that help me, Eddie? I already know she traveled here.”

“Because she didn’t come alone,” he said. “Deborah Michaels was in the seat right beside her. And before you ask, I checked. The seat was filled, passport checked. The woman in 12C was Deborah Michaels.”

“What about the car accident?”

“None I could find. No police record. No hospital record. No death certificate.”

“What’s it mean?” Allie said. “Why did Eliza tell us her mom died?”

“Ain’t that the question of the day?” Eddie said as the car pulled to a stop in front of the B&B.

“Eddie, thank you. Really great work. We have to go, but I’ll call you back.” I clicked off, then met Father Corletti’s worried eyes before following him and Allie out of the car.

I hurried to the front door, opened it, and felt my blood turn to ice when I heard the familiar, gut-wrenching cry of my little boy.

“Timmy!” Allie yelled from behind me. She sprinted past me and up the stairs, with me following just a few steps behind. We tumbled into the bedroom together, where I found a very flustered Stuart trying to console a wailing, red-faced Timmy—who was clutching a mutilated Boo Bear tight to his chest.

Beside them both, Mrs. Micari stood wringing her hands, her expression one of utter helplessness.

“Kate,” Stuart said, his voice tight. “Who the hell—”

“Eliza,” Allie said, her voice flat. She looked at me for confirmation.

“Eliza,” I agreed. I drew in a breath and met Stuart’s eyes. “It was hidden inside Boo Bear. Thomas Duvall hid it inside the bear.”

“It?” Stuart repeated. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I glanced at Mrs. Micari, who looked at all our faces, then hurried toward the door. “I get my sewing kit, yes? I fix the bear up for the little boy.”

I nodded, then went to take Timmy from Stuart. He clung to me, the bear pressed between his chest and mine, little bits of stuffing falling all around us.

Allie closed the door behind Mrs. Micari, then slid to the floor. Father Corletti stood beside her. And Stuart sank slowly down onto the bed. “I get the feeling we’re running out of time,” Stuart said. “Which makes me think that I’m not going to get the full story. Tell me what I need to know, then tell me what we need to do.”

I started to answer, but Allie got there first. “Thomas Duvall hid the key that opens a gate to hell inside of Boo Bear. Eliza took it. We’re pretty much staring at the apocalypse now.” She tilted her head up to look at Father Corletti. “That’s the bulk of it, right?”

He reached for her hand. “A very succinct presentation,” he said. “And unfortunately very accurate.”

For a moment, Stuart simply sat there with his mouth slightly open. “But—well—
why?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Eliza wouldn’t be trying to open the gate,” Allie said. “She
wouldn’t
,” she repeated when I turned to look at her.

“I liked her, too, Al,” I said. “But that doesn’t make her honest or trustworthy. Maybe it just makes us gullible.”

“No,” she said. “I talked with her. I would have known.”

“Nadia,” I said, and the name made her scowl.

“That was different,” she said, but some of the bluster had left her. Nadia Aiken had eased into our lives—and yet she hadn’t been who she’d seemed. Allie and I had both gotten hurt then. That wasn’t an experience I cared to repeat.

In front of me, Allie sighed, then climbed to her feet and sat on the bed. She reached out to take Timmy, whose wails had calmed to exhausted hiccups. I passed him to her, then watched as she clutched her little brother tight.

“I get what you’re saying,” Allie said. “But it is different. No matter what else, she really is family. And that has to count for something, right? I think she’s in trouble,” she added. “I think we need to help her.”

“Actually, I agree,” I admitted. “But all we know is that the trouble is of the Very Big variety—because, hey, when you toss a gate to hell into the mix, there really isn’t any other kind of trouble. But other than that . . . well, we don’t know what she’s up to or where she’s gone.”

“The gate,” Allie said. “I mean, duh.”

I didn’t think it was quite as
duh
as she did, but since I had no better suggestion, I glanced at Father Corletti. “Do we even know where this gate is?”

“There are many purported locations across the globe.”

“There’s one in Turkey,” Stuart said. “I read about it in the paper a while back. Made me think of that movie.
The Exorcist
.”

“She can’t possibly have gone to Turkey,” I said.

“She didn’t,” Mrs. Micari said as she thrust open the door and stepped inside. “She went to the catacombs. And by now, I fear the gate is already sliding open.”

Chapter 15

“W
hat the hell are you talking about?”
I snapped. “The catacombs? There’s a gate to hell in the catacombs?”

“Please,” Mrs. Micari said. “You come downstairs. We will sit and I will tell you.”

“You’ll tell me now,” I said. “I don’t have time for tea and conversation.”

She turned helpless eyes toward Father Corletti. “Please, Father. There are things that must be said. I will be brief,” she added, turning back to me. “But it is important you understand. Katherine, you trusted me once. Please do not doubt me now.”

“I do doubt you,” I told her. “Right now, I can count on one hand the people in this world I trust. But I agree that I need information, so I’ll give you five minutes. I hope you can talk fast,
Signora.”

She nodded, then briskly left the room. Allie followed, first passing the now-sleeping Timmy to Stuart. “Go on,” Stuart said. “I’ll put him in the playpen and meet you downstairs.”

I nodded, then hurried to catch up. When I did, I was surprised to see that
Signor
Tagelli, the old man who seemed to be a fixture in the B&B’s common areas, was seated beside Mrs. Micari.

“Talk,” I said.

“Fool,”
Signor
Tagelli said. “The time for talk is past. Do you wish to see this world made over into Tartarus?” he asked, referring to the deepest pit of hell. “The girl will open the gate, and your stint on this sorry world will be over.”

His voice was as rough as his words, and while I was reeling under the force of them, Allie was managing a more practical response. She stood up, pulled a spritzer of holy water out of her bag, and got him square in the face.

Immediately, the old man began to yowl.

“I knew it!” Allie said at the same time that I cursed, then kicked out to knock his chair backwards. Mrs. Micari leaped to her feet, and Allie sprayed a good dose on her as well.

All that happened, though, was that our hostess got very wet.

Meanwhile, I had lunged forward as Tagelli fell backwards, and I straddled him now, the stiletto that I’d cleverly hooked through a belt loop on my blue jeans now poised right at his eye.

“Katherine, no!”
Signora
Micari cried. “He has been working to keep the gate locked. He and Thomas Duvall and our dear Deborah.”

“Ha!” Allie cried. “I told you. Good demons. Or, you know, as good as demons can get.”

I, however, didn’t remove the knife. At least not until I looked at Father Corletti. For a moment, he did nothing more than look back at me. Then he seemed to deflate. “Step back, Katherine. Let him up and let us hear his story.”

Tagelli ended up telling his story
in transit to the catacombs, because demon or not, I agreed with him that there was no time to waste.

“It was your grandmother who found the key,” he said to me. “And it was she who was charged with concealing it.”

“In the altar in San Diablo?” Allie asked.

“Yes, although I did not know as much at the time.”

“How did you find out?”

He sucked in air through this teeth, the sound like a hiss. When he spoke, his voice was like a snarl. I shivered, reminded that I was sharing a Vatican-owned car with a demon. Even for me—a woman who’d seen pretty much everything—that was a first.

“Do you know what it is like? Do you understand the depth of the pain that cuts through you when you move from a noncorporeal state into a human shell?”

I didn’t. I had assumed, in fact, that the process was painless. Like slipping on a coat. I thought of Eric, who had fought so hard to come back to me—to Allie—when he had been trapped in the ether. He hadn’t mentioned the pain. Had he not felt it? Or had he simply borne it in silence, one more horror that had settled on the shoulders of a man who’d endured far too much?

I said none of that to the demon, though, simply waited until he continued.

“It is a pain beyond reckoning,” he said, “and yet we endure it. We seek it out. Such fragile, puny shells you have and yet we are willing to suffer in order to claim one for our own.”

“Why?” Allie whispered.

He turned to her, his eyes cold, and she shrank back, clearly remembering that it was not a man she was speaking to—not even an ally. He was a demon, through and through. In that moment, perhaps, our goals were aligned, but that did not mean we were on the same side, and I saw in Allie’s eyes that she understood that, too.

“Because once the transition is complete, this form provides unspeakable pleasure. This world is open to infinite possibility. There is no flesh in the ether,” he said. “No form at all. No smooth leather,” he added, stroking the back of the seat in front of us. “No food, no wine.”

I continued to watch Allie’s face. I had asked the demon how he found out about the key’s hiding place, and he still hadn’t answered. Not directly, anyway. But I could see the thread of the conversation. Allie’s brow was furrowed, though, and I knew that she was struggling to catch up. “There is form in hell,” I said. “But no pleasures.”

His lip curled up in an expression that was both smile and sneer. “That is so. And some of us—perhaps even most of us—do not wish for a hell on earth. Eradication of the puny souls that fill your mortal shells—that would not trouble us. But eradication of the flesh? Of the substance? That is not what we seek.”

“Domination, not violation,” Allie said.

He met her eyes. And he nodded.

“You’re horrible,” she whispered, and the demon laughed.

“Perhaps so. And yet you do not destroy me. Because I know where the girl is, and you do not.”

“The catacombs,” Allie said.

He inclined his head in agreement. “Indeed.” He looked at me. “Tell her how many catacombs weave through the earth beneath this ancient city.”

“Too many,” I told her. “It would take a miracle for us to find her in time, much less on our own.”

Allie seemed to consider that, then nodded. “But you still haven’t answered my mother’s question.”

“This key—it opens a gate, yes. But that gate is not a simple door through which those corporeal demons bound in hell can travel. Instead, it is a gate that holds back hell itself.”

“I don’t understand.”

Throughout all of this, Mrs. Micari had sat silent. Now she spoke. “Child, the gate will allow hell to seep out. Like a plague upon the land. Like a slime that covers and destroys.”

“Mom,” Allie said, the word like a prayer. Then she reached out and grabbed my hand.

“We do not want that either,” Tagelli said. “And so we have waited. And so we have watched.” He looked at Mrs. Micari, who drew in a breath before speaking.

“I have known for many years that the key was found and then hidden or destroyed. I hoped it would never be found again, but I have paid attention. And, yes, I have acted as a liaison with the demons who would aid us in our quest to keep the gate closed.”

She looked at Father Corletti as she spoke, her eyes pleading as if for forgiveness or understanding. His face, however, was unreadable. She licked her lips, then continued.

“Deborah was obsessed with two things—finding out what happened to her sister,” she said, looking at me, “and making sure that the secret of the key remained safe.”