Sister Donovan nodded. “He’s been at work for many years now. Boston, I fear, is the last stop for him on his global travels.”
“He’s been around the world?”
“Oh yes. For many years. You see, the Soul Eater isn’t mortal. He’s a demon in the form of a man.”
A demon? Lauren shivered again. It was one thing to read about such things, but to actually know one was prowling Boston terrified her. “But for what purpose?”
Sister Donovan looked up as Mary reentered the room with a cup of tea. “Here you are, Sister.”
Sister Donovan smiled. “Thank you Mary. Now be a good soul and leave us for a bit so we might talk, all right?”
“Very well. Best to drink the tea before long, though. Otherwise it will be cold.”
“I will. Don’t you worry.”
Mary left and Sister Donovan set the cup down. “She looks after me wonderfully. She can’t be faulted for not wanting to let you in earlier.”
“Of course not.” Lauren tried to smile but desperately wanted to get back to discussing the Soul Eater.
“Graham Westerly was a man born to studying the occult. Fortunately for the rest of the world, he did so out of good rather than evil. He traveled extensively cataloging a veritable grimoire of evil. Demons, wraiths, poltergeists, he documented them all.”
“And the Soul Eater?”
“He found him, so to speak, as well.” She coughed again. “Apparently, throughout time, the Soul Eater has appeared in various accounts of the Church. In years bygone, he would appear in small hamlets and towns far removed from the big cities. For what reason, we never really knew. Not until Graham came along.”
“You sound like you knew him.”
Sister Donovan smiled. “I wasn’t always a nun dear. When I met Graham he was already forty years old. And I, well I was considerably younger. We fell in love. He took me along on some of his trips.”
“What happened?”
“He disappeared on a journey into the South American jungles in 1947. He’d picked up the trail shortly after World War 2 ended. Heard about something happening in Rio de Janeiro.” Sister Donovan’s eyes seemed wistful. “I was sick here so he left me behind. Reluctantly. I never saw him again.”
Lauren shivered as the room suddenly seemed to get colder.
Sister Donovan reached for the mug and took a sip of tea. “I became a nun soon after, thinking I could best continue his work that way. I never expected to run up against so much pressure to not delve into arcane subjects like Satanism.”
Lauren could imagine how it felt. “But you did anyway.”
“What I did was travel doing missionary work while covertly trying to continue Graham’s work. I did a lot, I suppose. Most of it is in the form of-”
She stopped.
“Sister Donovan?”
The old nun’s eyes went wide.
Gasped.
Grabbed her throat.
Lauren sprang from her chair. “Sister!”
Sister Donovan slumped out of the chair to the ground. Lauren yelled out. “Mary!”
But Mary didn’t appear. Lauren knelt over Sister Donovan’s body feeling for a pulse in her neck. She found a thready slow drum. Sister Donovan's eyes fluttered, already dilating.
“Too late…dear.”
“Hang on!” Lauren turned. “Mary!”
Sister Donovan’s hand reached for Lauren. “Remember…he lives best…through the evil…of…others…”
Sister Donovan’s hand fell away. Her eyes went black.
Lauren stood.
Felt a huge rush of cold air sweep into the room, scattering the books on the shelves. She screamed. Around her the blast of wind howled and roared.
Lauren clutched her cross and prayed, her voice ringing out above the windstorm.
“No!”
The wind died down.
And she heard the laughter.
Low.
Soft.
It vanished within a few seconds.
Lauren turned and hurried from the room.
And almost stumbled over the body of the young nun.
She knelt and looked at Mary’s face.
Dead.
Another blast of cold air screeched into the house.
Lauren stood and ran.
She didn’t look back.
Chapter Twelve
“I’m not lying, Steve.”
She searched his face for any sign that he didn’t believe her. But all she could see was the same stony expression he normally wore; his jaw set firm, his bushy eyebrows perfectly level. After two minutes of staring at her, he sighed.
“All right. But there’s really nothing I can do, is there?”
“I suppose not.” She glanced around the pizza joint on Commonwealth Avenue. It was the first place she’d run to after fleeing Sister Donovan’s house. Somehow, the divinity school campus didn’t seem safe anymore. Some place crowded seemed her best bet. Even at this late hour, Boston College students jammed into the small pizza shop while chomping through cheese and pepperoni pies.
Lauren had watched with quiet fascination as Curran had entered the shop and the throngs of students simply parted like the Red Sea for him to pass. Not that Curran looked like a huge linebacker, but he simply exuded that police presence that college students try to avoid. They gave Curran and Lauren plenty of room at their table.
Curran’s cell phone buzzed and he held it to his ear. Lauren watched him look at her and then away, then back at her again. Finally he mumbled something and hung up.
“What is it?”
He looked pained. “You sure about that address?”
“Of course.” She frowned. “Why?”
Curran took a sip of the soda he’d bought when he’d shown up a few minutes ago. “I had a few units go to the house. Check it out. You know — standard stuff, considering what you relayed to me.”
“And?”
He looked at her and sighed. “There are no bodies there, Lauren.”
A chill ran down her back. In her mind she could see them clear as day all over again. She could feel the cold creeping up her back. She could hear the howls, the screeches. She could hear Sister Donovan’s dying words.
“Steve-“
He held up his hand. “Don’t bother trying to explain it. It sounds so weird and bizarre it probably happened.”
“You believe me?”
Curran smirked. “I don’t know what the hell I’m believing lately. Things are happening here that don’t fit into
