Santa Louisa. Now, however, he used the force of the prayer he barely understood to stop the demon from hurling him across the church the way it had Pamela Erickson. His feet came back to the floor and he crouched, bracing for another attack.
But it didn’t come. The demon saw that Julie was untying Grant’s restraints and it grabbed her with hands that turned into talons. She screamed as two marks burned her flesh.
“You displease me. You trapped me here, and now you won’t give me my due!”
Rafe leapt into the spirit trap and kicked the demon in the stomach. It didn’t loosen its hold on Julie. Rafe jumped out again and started the exorcism. The demon hissed, throwing Julie to the ground. It kept rubbing its arm as if something burned. Rafe glanced down. A smear of blood-Moira’s blood-stained the demon’s forearm.
Grant slowly rose from his chair, shaky and weak. “Leave me alone!” Grant cried at the demon. “I’m not yours!”
The enraged demon howled and stepped toward Grant.
Moira leapt into the circle and wrapped her cut arm around the demon’s neck.
The demon became paralyzed. Its eyes bulged and then it lost shape and form, turning from a woman to a snake to a deformed centaur-like creature. Moira held on even though Rafe saw she was in agony, her grip on the demon slipping. The demon tried to shake her off but Moira clung, her blood forcing the demon back to its noncorporeal form.
The demon turned to a thick black cloud and Moira fell to the ground.
Rafe rushed to help her, but Moira screamed, “The exorcism! Keep going!”
He did, stopping just short of the demon trap. The ancient words rolled off his tongue though he didn’t know exactly what he was saying-deep inside he knew, but as soon as he concentrated, all meaning was lost. He let the words flow from his lips without conscious thought, as if he were speaking in tongues.
Grant was carrying Julie from the trap and Moira grabbed the chalice. “The kiln!” Rafe told her.
She wasn’t listening. She had begun her own exorcism. She was trying to draw out George Erickson’s soul from the demon.
“Moira, stop!”
“I have to, Rafe! I promised!”
Rafe wouldn’t let her. The danger was too great. And the only thing Rico had commanded him during their conversation was to keep Moira alive.
He stepped into the circle and commanded the demon, “By the power of St. Michael’s sword, a faithful servant to the Lord, release the souls you stole!”
The demon took partial form, the head of a snake, the body of smoke, and hissed in his ear, “Take them
An inhuman screech had Rafe on his knees, his eardrums near bursting. Dozens of spirits whipped around him, trying to get inside, the demon hurling the souls at him one by one, pummeling him with the pain of their collective suffering.
Rafe couldn’t think; he could scarcely breathe. The assault continued and he held up his hands to ward off the attack. He knew the exorcism, but he couldn’t get any words out.
Moira screamed his name. The snake turned to her and she held up the chalice, then turned as if to leave.
“Noooo,” the snake hissed and turned again into the smoky mist. It wrapped around Moira, then dove into the chalice, filling it. Just as Moira had hoped. The chalice was its escape route from the trap-she’d nabbed the demon’s portal.
Moira ran from the trap to the baptismal font, hoping-praying-this would work. She had to get the demon to the font before it escaped the chalice. She glanced back at Rafe, who was on his knees, battling spirits she couldn’t see but felt with every cell in her body. These weren’t ghosts-they were raw spirits, human souls, released from bondage. The good, the bad, and the downright evil.
“What’s happening?” Nina cried. “Is that George?”
“It’s all the souls the demon stole!” Moira had to help Rafe. Tears streamed down her face as she knew exactly what he was facing, trying to keep his own soul intact as the spirits fought to get inside. Why had he done it? Why had he risked himself? The demon had been busy this week-or were these all the souls who’d died since it was released from Hell two weeks ago? How many had died that they didn’t know about?
Moira placed the base of the chalice in the baptismal font. The holy water steamed, and the chalice became so hot it burned Moira’s hands. At this rate, the water would dissipate in minutes! What else could she do?
She grabbed the small vial of holy water from her pocket. It was nearly gone. She poured it over the glass. It steamed, and the ground shook beneath her. She and Nina held on to the edge of the font to keep from falling over.
The lid wouldn’t fit over the font with the chalice inside. “Nina-go to the sanctuary and look for bottles of holy water.”
“How will I know?”
“Jackson said he put his supplies in there; he has to have some!”
The ground shaking, Nina did as Moira commanded.
Moira’s cut had started to clot. She squeezed her skin and drew out more blood, which she smeared on the top of the glass ball. The shaking stopped. She didn’t know what to believe, but right now she didn’t care-saving Rafe was the only thing that mattered. She’d figure everything else out later.
The spirits had beaten Rafe into a fetal ball. He was praying fervently, but Moira couldn’t hear him over a rumble she couldn’t identify.
She began her own exorcism and saw from the corner of her eye Jackson run into the church. “The doors are open,” he said.
“Help me!” she cried.
“What’s happening?”
“They’re souls trying to possess Rafe. Give them last rites.”
“I’m not-”
“Are you a man of God or not? What do you do when someone dies? Do it!”
Jackson raised his hands and began a prayer.
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul.”
“What are you doing?” Jackson asked.
“Keep praying, dammit!”
She feared opening her senses would give the souls a way to enter her body, but she needed to discern how many they were dealing with. As Jackson prayed, Rafe gained strength. He rose to his knees. She was about to step into the trap when he ordered, “Stand back, Moira!”
She hesitated, not wanting to obey, but she had to trust Rafe.
Rafe rose from the floor. He saw the souls moving around him, confused, suffering, none of them knowing where to go. None were pure, but many had color, some light, some dark. Some black as night.
“Dear Lord, help me help them,” he whispered in Aramaic.
The ground violently shook. Moira almost ran into the trap again, but Rafe couldn’t risk it, so he put up his hand to ward her off. She stumbled back as if hit, but he barely noticed. One by one, each soul spun away as he spoke, finally disappearing. He didn’t know where they were going, but they were gone from here. Rafe had opened a gateway to the astral plane, where all souls go on their way to Heaven or Hell.
Their passage through him to reach the astral plane weakened him. Pain tore at his mind, pain so great that he thought he would die. As they pushed through him, they deposited their shackles in his mind, leaving with him their last wish. He couldn’t do this. He was going to die. And still they came through him and departed, a never- ending line of souls searching for peace.
A crash sounded outside the trap, though it sounded far, far away. Rafe forced his eyes open, and through blurred vision saw that Wendy had knocked over the baptismal font. The chalice crashed to the ground, the glass ball splitting clean in half.
