Chapter Twenty-Four
J osh casually leaned outside the room against one of the vending machines, a look of pure amusement on his face. “You have a death wish, don’t you?”
I ignored his childish remark and walked toward the exit, trying to calm myself before I punched something. Although, punching Josh wouldn’t have been a half-bad idea.
He grabbed me by the waist and spun me around. “Wait.”
I pushed him hard against his toned chest. “Let me go.”
“No, Remi, not until we talk about what happened in there.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I know nothing, end of discussion.”
His grip tightened, the sensation making me a bit breathless. He really needs to keep his hands off me, or I’m going to do something reckless. “Why didn’t your family, especially your grandmother, who is, by the way, a legend in the Order, teach you about it?”
I huffed in annoyance. “If I knew the answer, don’t you think I would’ve told you by now?”
“Have you ever asked?” His hold loosened, giving me the chance to escape.
Brushing him off, I readjusted my backpack. “Hard to ask when I had no hint prior.”
“I find that hard to believe. Why don’t you ask her?”
“Who?”
“Your grandmother?”
I froze, swallowing back a wave of sadness. “Kind of hard when she’s dead.”
Josh’s eyes widened in surprise. “Remi, I… when?”
“Four months ago.”
“I had no idea.”
“Now, I find that hard to believe if she was so legendary .”
“Maybe your mom?”
I laughed a true belly laugh at his comment. “Please, that woman hates anything to do with the name God. I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than ask her for help with anything. She might put me in a psych ward herself.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. The way his hair curled, right down to his defined jawline… he made empathy too sexy. I need to get the hell out of here.
His shoulders slumped. “I just… I don’t understand.”
“What I don’t understand is why I keep entertaining all of this when we both know none of this shit exists.”
The way his eyes shifted from sympathy to pure rage made my breath catch. “The faster you accept what is , the less likely you’ll get your ass chewed out by Thatcher, or anyone, for that matter.”
If I didn’t calm my breathing, he was going to catch on that I was hyperventilating. I cleared my throat and said, “But you will still be a thorn in my side. Excuse me, but I have somewhere I have to be.” I didn’t give him a chance for a rebuttal and stormed out, trying to shake away the effect he had on me.
The amount of pacing I did before my first lesson with Father Benedict gave me an intense headache. Giant gears rotated inside my brain and kept my thoughts circling in endless loops of unanswered questions that I tried desperately to make sense of. Thatcher’s reasoning for her strong dislike toward me stemmed from Grams, and although Grams was having her final comeback beyond the grave, not knowing why was killing me more.
Then there was the whole lineage bullshit and how she kept it a secret. Did my mother know? Could that explain her distaste for anything religious? But wouldn’t she have gone to Columbia too? Instead of Brown University where she met my father? I didn’t have the energy to bring it up in conversation, especially since she was already hellbent on Grams’ will and going behind her back. I needed to bide my time, and Heather’s when she was fully healed, call the authorities, and get all these crazy people arrested. I changed into lighter clothing and threw my hair up in a ponytail. After a glance at Heather’s belongings to hold me steady, I took a deep breath and made my way outside.
Summer daylight lingered in the sky, though the air hinted at colder days to come. Days when hot chocolate and cozy sweaters made the darkest of days a little brighter. Days when snow fell like little cotton balls, and bright colorful lights were strung across tree branches and ice rinks. Days when you watched your favorite people open presents while the TV played A Christmas Story for twenty-four hours in the background.
Instead, I walked up the steps to the cathedral, ready to hear more nonsense and possibly false information.
Entering in the daytime had a lighter atmosphere, which didn’t include the sunlight casting through the many stained-glass windows. I discovered Father Benedict and recognized the young man named Collin at the altar. Father had advised me to come by after dinner, when students tended to stay clear of its perimeter. This gave us uninterrupted time to begin my first history lesson.
Collin greeted me with a kind smile, halting just before placing a thick book on the long table covered in white and gold material.
“Remi! Welcome!” he greeted me cheerfully. At least Collin enjoyed my company.
I couldn’t help but smile at his warm welcome. “Are you joining us?”
Father Benedict finally noticed my presence and smiled—not as warm as Collin’s, but kind enough. “He is. Collin is my apprentice. From here on out, he will be assisting me in our lessons.”
“Cool.” I shrugged. Unsure where to stand, I decided to shimmy my way into the first pew and sat.
They continued to adjust objects on a long table, shuffling them around to find the perfect spot and cleaning them with an old linen cloth to give them a polished look.
It was the silver cup in Collin’s hands that caught my eye. The bowl had the reddest of gems embedded at the center, each a different shape of a swirl, thick and hypnotizing. The stem seemed to match the design, from the bowl to the flat base of the cup. There must have been over a hundred gems, all different sizes, with that striking red glistening from the lights. I’d never seen such a beautiful object in my life.
Father Benedict caught me eyeing it and said, “Chalice of Divinity.”
“I’m sorry? What?” I stammered.
“The cup is called Chalice of Divinity. It has been with our society for centuries. It is said to hold powerful properties once the water is Blessed,” Father Benedict explained.
“We also use it for Sunday service. We drink from it after you receive the body of Christ,” added Collin.
“How did it end up in your possession?” I asked.
“And that exact question will begin our lesson for today.” Father Benedict walked behind the podium and unwrapped an item from the table. A thick leather-bound book with a red ribbon for a bookmark peeked through the off-white pages, marking the last place someone read. I watched him cradle it in his hands, caressing the worn spine with the tip of his fingers. “This is the Book of Allegiance. Pages of history written from past priests, Scarlets, and Tutelary Saints. This is the beginning of our story.”
He carefully opened the marked page, traced a finger on a sentence, and walked back to the podium to lay it flat. “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10.” He then turned the page just as Collin walked over, handing over a delicate set of Rosary beads. Father Benedict clenched them to his chest and continued, “It is our birthright, duty, and mission from above to protect the children of our Lord.”
He whispered a few words to himself, the Rosary beads dangling from his aged fingers, and I realized at that moment he spoke a prayer just as he performed the sign of the cross. “Centuries of faded documents were compiled and transcribed to convey our history. The history of the very first Scarlet. A young woman who had been given a second chance after her courageous sacrifice. Eighteen-year-old Juniper Findlay of Edinburgh, Sco—”
“How do you know this is accurate?” I questioned, not caring that I interrupted his profound lesson.
Collin looked back and forth between Father and me, possibly waiting for him to scold my ass for rudely interrupting such a severe topic.
But a smile stretched across his face, the wrinkles around his eyes creasing deeper as he said, “You’re not the first Scarlet to question history. But because of Juniper’s vigorous beginning, her story was written for us and us alone.”
“Did she write it herself?”
“No, but I will get to that if you let me.”
I kept my mouth shut and let him continue the lesson.
Father Benedict gazed back down at the old book and began again. “Eighteen-year-old Juniper Findlay of Scotland was the first but would not be the last. Living on the outskirts of Edinburgh, she was one of ten siblings. All of her sisters before her were either spinners, parchment makers, or stayed with their husbands to tend to their family farm. Her brothers were either weavers, masons, or farmers. Juniper would be the first to enter St. Maria’s Convent—”
“How come?” Father Benedict silenced me with a finger to his lips, freezing my words as my mouth hung open. Collin snickered behind him, clearly amused by our interaction.
How could he expect me to remain silent when every word from his mouth seemed so farfetched? It felt like he was reading directly from a script.
The only thing that kept me hanging on that rocky boat was sleeping five feet below. And if sitting here and enduring the most obscure bullshit that had ever graced my ears meant saving Heather, then so be it.
“On her eighteenth birthday, she left for the convent. The journey would be rough, considering her parents could not afford proper transportation. Her mother packed her food, warm clothes, and a handmade scarlet cape to battle cold nights. Her father gave her only a small dagger to protect her on the journey.” Father turned the page, the sound somewhat comforting in the quiet cathedral, “Each of her siblings said their goodbyes, wishing her safe travels to her new life.”
He turned the page once more, licking his lips. “Juniper used her scarlet cape against the frigid wind as she trekked up the most prominent hill in the village…” Time seemed to slow down, and Father Benedict’s words faded into the background as an image of a woman in scarlet came to the forefront of my mind, traveling up a winding path to an old building with giant double wood doors. Sconces burned in the night, casting a soft glow at the front door. The familiarity played out like a time reel, and I felt stuck in its endless replay. But I somehow knew her . Almost like a roadblock was placed inside my brain, unable to pass and see what lay beyond. Ever since the night of the Blessing, my memory of what transpired had been hazy.
All at once, the image dispersed, leaving a voice in its wake. “Remember when you need to.”
I shook my head and scratched the inside of my ears, looking from left to right, trying to find out where it came from.
Father Benedict’s voice came back in place of the memory and whispered command. “The convent was welcoming, and Juniper knew her life would be fulfilled as she had always wanted it.” Marking the page, he closed the thick, leatherbound book, looking at me over the podium.
I shifted nervously in the pew. “That’s it?” Did I miss something when I faded out?
He smiled. “For now. There is much to learn, and we have plenty of time to listen and discuss, but first, I want to take you to the study room downstairs.”
Collin took the book from Father and wrapped it back up with the cloth, setting it on the table along with the stunning chalice.
Gesturing for me to follow, Father in front with Collin not too far behind, we entered a side door behind the dais, where a set of stairs led to ground level.
Soft lights illuminated the way, until we reached the bottom, where the space opened to a decent-sized room holding a few long, solid wood tables and dark-blue cushioned chairs. Rows of shelves loaded with books and odd objects lined either side of the room. The smell of basement and stale air clung to the furniture and shelves. Walking by one of the many shelves, I brushed my fingers over thick, leather bindings, surprised to find it completely free of dust particles.
At one table sat Baron, head bent as he scribbled with a quill on some paper. Didn’t anyone use normal writing material here?
He spotted us from where we stood and greeted, “Good evening, everyone.” Baron had such a contagious smile I couldn’t help but return the gesture.
“Baron, what text are you studying today?” asked Father, leaning over his shoulder to observe his work.
“Going over notes from today’s report on the giant nest in Upstate New York. Olemak demons are a little trickier than Magidoz.” He held the piece of paper to Father to look over.
His eyes roamed over the text. “Yes, quite tricky to fight.”
I looked between the two of them, somewhat intrigued. If I were to play along, I should at least ask the right questions. “What is an Ole… mark?”
“ O-le-MACK , and that is what brings us to our next lesson. The two demons you discussed with Thatcher today that have been nesting in the city; you’re going to learn their strengths and weaknesses.” Father disappeared behind the shelves, only to return with two small, black books. Plopping them down next to Baron, he patted the cushioned seat. “Shall we begin?”
Baron barked a laugh and got up from his place at the table, materials in hand. “And that is my cue to leave. Good luck, Remi.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, sauntering over with a scowl on my face.
“Magidoz and Olemak demons are the most common. Magidoz blind their victims, while Olemak’s venom paralyzes them before they feast.” Father pointed at the first page, a drawing of a Magidoz in black and white.
I shuddered, taking my seat as I looked down at the drawing. Its body of gangly limbs, with a head of three horns and rows of needle-shaped teeth, covered the off-white page completely. Some weird substance coated its flesh, its body half turned, with a hand of long talons ready to swipe out from the page.
The same grotesque creature I saw while tripping out on Mitch Lester’s fucking drugs.
My gut swirled again, an instinctual response building in my core.
Father turned the page to show the Olemak demon. A face with no eyes and a giant mouth, smiling in a creepy manner. Its form was built like a human male who took weightlifting classes. My insides turned again to the images of the two creatures.
“Olemak leaves behind a powdery residue, and a Magidoz’s sludge-like residue is hard to remove. Imagine a wad of gum under your shoe.”
Collin slid over a stack of books and a piece of paper and quill. “Ever heard of a pen? Computer?” I looked up at Father, who only shook his head and laughed.
“Yes, but it is tradition for Scarlets and Saints while in their holy sanctuary to write with a quill. It’s how the first Scarlet, Juniper, signed the Order.”
“Do I have to step outside to use my cellphone?”
Collin chuckled, placing a fresh ink pot down. “No, as long as you write with a quill while in the building, then anything else is fair game.”
“Noted.” I dipped the quill in the black ink, to then watch it drip on the piece of paper. I’d never written with one before, and I’d always figured you needed to be skilled in the arts to master such calligraphy. Stroking the smooth feather against my fingertips, I tested the point, getting comfortable with holding it, and slowly scribbled my name at the top.
Somewhat legible, but not half bad. “All right, so, quill only.”
“I had Collin select some texts about the Magidoz and Olemaks. It’s mostly the history and journal entries of other Scarlets’ first encounters with them. Later this week, we can move on to another entry of Juniper’s story.” Motioning for Collin to follow, they turned to exit, Father saying, “I’ll leave you to it.”