Point Pleasant (55 page)

Lightning crackled outside, but only a faint flash of it broke through the swirling mass of energy around the building. The scarlet glow lit up the interior of the factory like a neon ‘No Vacancy’ sign over a roadside motel’s darkened parking lot. The wind howled as Marietta reached into the leather satchel and pulled out a human skull.

Stewart let out a gasp from his corner, and Ben stifled one of his own.

“Who the hell is that?” he asked in a rushed whisper.

“Emily Lewis,” Marietta said, and she gestured to the bag. “All of her.”

The psychic dropped the skull into the pit. She took her satchel, held it up, and a clatter of bones tumbled out. Ben caught sight of a femur before it disappeared into the darkness below. He swallowed, but it felt like a spider had crawled down his throat and was now perched inside his esophagus.

“Bone of the innocent touched by your hand,” Marietta said. “Covered with the blood of your wronged. Sanctified by
nataf
,
shekheleth
,
khelbanah
,
levonah zach
and the lingering grace of the betrayed in the soaked soil underfoot.”

As she spoke, Marietta poured the blood and myrrh into the dark pit. Ben imagined the sticky mixture coating the remains of the young girl who never asked to contribute to the human war she found herself surrounded by and the spiritual war she had been unaware of even as she felt the eyes in the woods watching her from afar.

“I invoke you, Azazel. Armed with the glory of
Elohim
, I conjure your presence. I, being fashioned after the image of our maker, invoke the majesty of His names.
Eloah, Elohim, Adonai, Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh, Yahweh, El Shaddai, HaShem
. I command you, Azazel, to appear here unto me in this circle in your true shape, withered though it be, through these ineffable names of
Iehova
, Lord God Most High.”

As she recited the final words, Marietta doused the pit with something that looked like olive oil but smelled strongly of cinnamon. She took out a small box of matches and struck one against the side, though the flame did not light.

Ben remembered Andrew’s Zippo in his back pocket. He pulled it free and tossed it to Marietta. She caught the lighter, flicked the flint wheel, and dropped the lit Zippo into the crater.

Unnaturally red flames rose from the darkness. The floodlights around the factory—battery powered though they were—flickered. Stewart’s mumblings from his corner grew louder. Ben strained to make out the words and realized the mayor was reciting the Lord’s Prayer.

The wind continued to bellow, though its tempo increased. The red lights flared from every window and opening in the factory’s walls, and Ben understood that it was not the wind but rather the vaporous masses of darkness swirling and churning around the building. Even if anyone in the room decided to withdraw from participation in the ritual, there was no escape. His thoughts wandered back to his conversation with Raziel in Marietta’s garden.
We must trap Azazel and, if necessary, anything else that he ferries through.

Ben felt sick with the realization that the factory was the trap, and the seven of them were the bait used to lure the other fallen angels’ attention from wandering to the rest of the town.

Like moths to a fucking flame
, he thought with rising panic.

More ceiling tiles crashed as they were shaken loose from the way the building shifted and groaned under the weight of the attack. Stewart’s repetitive words grew rushed, and Ben glanced to Tucker for reassurance. The old farmer still clutched at the medallion around his neck while his lips moved in a silent prayer of his own.

The floodlights went out, and the factory floor was entrenched in the crimson light of the
things
outside and the fire that flickered inside the pit. The conflagration roared skyward, dancing tall and unwieldy and illuminating Marietta’s form in the darkness.

The hair on the nape of Ben’s neck stood straight, and a cold surge of adrenaline heightened his every sense. Another outline materialized, blocking Ben’s view of Marietta. He was only vaguely aware of Astrid and Stewart’s screams and Daniel’s loud curse when they saw the long, lank figure with impossibly inky skin that now hovered above the flames like a grotesque butterfly caught in a bell jar.

Wispy tendrils of ebony rose from behind Azazel’s back like hackles on a dog and fluttered with shambling inelegance. Ben recalled Azazel’s taunt from outside the jail cell.
I’ll soak up your blood with my wings
. The close proximity inspired Ben to wonder if the undulating appendages had once been wings but were now torn and ragged from the angel’s fall into darkness.

The fire licked at Azazel’s gnarled feet, but he remained unfazed by its heat. He gazed from Marietta to Ben, who was so overwhelmed by the urge to scream at the wrath emanating from the slanted eyes of the fallen angel that he hardly noticed the sound of cocking shotguns from all corners of the room.

Azazel loomed closer. The limbs on his back snapped forward as if to slap Ben across the face, but they seemed to strike at an invisible barrier when they reached the edge of the inner circle.

The dark shapes twitched, billowing up and out like a predatory bird attempting to make itself as imposing as possible.

Ben locked eyes with Azazel. The sudden, uncontrollable desire to drop to his knees and retch overtook him like the instinct to steer into the direction of a skid when the Camaro hydroplaned on black ice.

The fallen angel let out a deafening scream of rage. Ben covered his ears too late, and he staggered a few inches from his place in the center of the hexagram. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to hear something—
anything
—over the sharp ringing in his head. Distantly, Ben puzzled over how Azazel could produce such a noise without a mouth.

When he looked up, Marietta was yelling at him, but he could not hear her. He inspected his hands and saw traces of blood from his ears. The red rivulets trickled down his palms, and Ben stared in dumb fascination. A stabbing pain unlike anything he had ever felt bloomed like Carmine’s blue tulip, and he realized that both of his eardrums had split.

Marietta was fine. A quick glance at Tucker and Stewart showed they were unharmed as well. Ben had been the only one to hear Azazel scream.

He could make out the sound of Marietta’s voice—though her words were muffled and indistinct—and loud cracks that sounded like thunder. Something whizzed past Ben’s left shoulder, and Azazel jerked away from Ben’s side of the circle.

Someone had shot Azazel.

Nicholas, probably
, Ben thought, but he did not check. He stepped forward and resumed his place by the edge of the pit and looked toward Marietta in a daze.

Marietta’s lips were drawn into a thin line. She seemed concerned, but she focused on the monstrosity inside the flames. She yelled something at Azazel, and Ben could only vaguely make out sparse words over the buzz in his ears.

There were more stifled reports and screams, and Ben scanned the room in confusion. Raziel had appeared—from where Ben was not sure—and he stood tall at Ben’s right side.

“Don’t shoot!” Nicholas’ voice called from behind Ben’s back, and Ben winced as the sounds became clearer.

The archangel’s wings rose high and stiff. Azazel lurched closer to Marietta’s side of the circle, and his own tattered wings bristled at the sight of his brother.

The remaining windows around the factory—those that had not been broken long ago at least—burst inward with shocking force and a spray of broken glass. Lurid wind wuthered across the factory floor.

“The salt!” Tucker exclaimed from his corner.

Another gale crashed against the building, and blasts of wind blew through the broken windows and breached wall. The force of the gust would blow the salt line out of place. All it would take was one break in the thick circle to let the outside forces into the factory.

“Shoot them!” Marietta yelled, and that seemed to be all the encouragement the rest of the group required because Tucker and Stewart immediately took aim.

Booming, echoing shots were fired from all around the room, and Ben’s head throbbed in revolt as the excruciating pain that radiated from his injured eardrums intensified. The mass of red light outside the factory ebbed, but it did not disappear.

The shots continued, and Ben’s gaze fell on Marietta. The psychic had withdrawn several paces so that she was positioned at the south point of the star. She stared at Raziel as if in a trance.

“
It’s time
,” she said, and Ben understood that it was not Marietta speaking but rather Raziel was speaking through her. “
Remain in your corners!
” Marietta’s voice thundered through the factory at an inhuman volume that carried over the resounding echoes of the gunfire. “
Light your sage!
”

The musky scent of the burning herb licked at Ben’s nostrils. Azazel spun in furious circles and let out another scream of rage. Ben blenched and held his ears as the agonizing sound vibrated through him. The urge to vomit overtook him once more when he felt the sticky warmth of blood on his hands.

“
Enough!
” Marietta called, her voice filled with a determination that was not solely her own. Raziel moved to the easternmost part of the inner circle. “
Eloah, Elohim, Adonai
.”

Azazel’s limbs lashed out like a whip, hitting at the unseen barrier between him and his brother, and he screeched. Ben doubled over, his head ached in response to the shrill scream, but he forced himself upright.

The third bowl that Marietta had set beside the edge of the pit appeared to be filled with water.
Holy water
, Ben supposed. Raziel kneeled to the floor and dropped his hands into the liquid. His long fingers curled in the water, and he brought palmfuls of it up to his face as if to cleanse himself. His wet skin glowed in the firelight as he tilted his head skyward and closed his eyes.

“
Blessed are you, HaShem, our God King of the universe who has sanctified us with His commandments and has commanded us concerning the elevation of hands
.”

Raziel’s arms rose high as he spoke, and his wings flared outward. “
I beseech you, Father. Cleanse and bless me so that I may honor your will.
”

He drew his sword from where it seemed to have been tucked under his right wing. Its unearthly sheen shone brighter than the flames that lit up the factory. The archangel dipped the sharp point into the bowl of water and rose to his feet.

“
To the corners of the North
,
South, East, and West,
” Marietta spoke while Raziel touched the tip of the sword to his forehead, his stomach, and his right and left shoulders.

“
From the inner core of our Father’s Earth
to
the uppermost circle of the seventh realm
I call on you, the B’nai Elohim, the direct creations of our Father, Most High. I call on you, my brothers and sisters of Heaven, for prayer
.
I call on the Haqodeshim, the Holy Ones, for strength. Most of all, I call on my fellow Haelyonim, the Upper Ones, so that you might lend me your grace.
”

As Marietta spoke Raziel’s prayer, the archangel turned and faced toward Tucker. He extended his blade to point toward the old farmer, whose eyes widened significantly. “
I summon the healing hand of God in all your shining glory
.” He turned to the southwestern corner of the sigil and aimed his blade at Stewart, “
I summon the righteousness of our Father for your benevolence and mercy
.”

The archangel’s movements were like an elegant waltz as he spun and trailed around the circumference of the inner circle. Azazel hissed and recoiled from his brother, and Raziel flicked droplets of water that clung to the end of his sword at the fallen angel.

Smoke rose from Azazel’s black skin when it was splashed, and he let out another screech as if pained. Again, it seemed that only Ben could hear the monstrous sound, and he tumbled between the urge to crumple to the floor with his hands over his bloody ears and the need to stay inside the circle and not disrupt the ritual.

The scent of the smoldering sage reignited Ben’s urge to retch, and the heat of the fire brought heavy droplets of sweat to his forehead. The gale outside resumed, and the ringing reports of shotguns followed.

Raziel seemed indifferent to the clamor, and Marietta’s voice grew loud once more when the archangel pointed his sword toward the corner that Daniel occupied. “
I summon the strength of God who walked the Earth draped in linen and did as he was commanded
.”

The gunshots subsided as the red lights around the factory began to waver. Raziel’s wings fluttered with excitement, and he leveled his sword on Astrid. “
I summon the beauty of God and ask that your illumination shine down upon this circle
.”

The direction of his sword shifted slightly, and Ben knew without turning that Raziel was pointing toward Nicholas. “
I summon the joy of God
,” Marietta spoke, her voice lilting higher as if moved by the same quality that Raziel was invoking. “
May your grace filter through the participants of this ritual so that they might experience our Father’s glory
.”

The light in the darkened corner of Ben’s mind stuttered to life. Raziel was not calling on specific qualities of
God
to assist his plight; he was calling on specific
angels
. If Raziel was the divine agent of the secrets and mysteries of God, Ben wondered which angels were attributed to the healing, righteousness, strength, beauty, and joy of that same being.

Raziel continued his clockwise trek around the circle and settled his blade over Marietta. The smile that crossed the archangel’s lips was like a halo of light around a distant nebula, and Azazel’s tattered wings beat violently against the flames as if he knew who would be summoned next.