Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
T illy laced and unlaced her fingers together as she tried to repress a cry. They had seated her at the front of the pew of the derelict church, her ankle cuffed to a chain wrapped around the leg of the musty wooden bench.
Candles had been lit everywhere in the deserted place of worship, bright tall ones in the sanctuary and fat ones on the floor and on the benches of the pews. They created ominous shadows on the scenes of the holy family painted on the high vaulted ceiling above. The acrid scent of smoke and mold was making her gag.
Her hands were bound together with twine at her front, her mouth taped shut. Even if she did manage to finally release her powerful banshee sonic scream, there was no way for her to try.
With despair, she rubbed her belly over her oversized Resurgence Tour sweatshirt. Sadness engulfed her. She had been so proud to put on the brand-new hoody today, getting ready for a show, doing what she did best, sharing this experience with Cass.
She watched her captors busy themselves in the church. They were so young, barely men. One of them, in the university varsity coat, was hanging red and black banners marked with the sign of their demon around the sanctuary, which had been circled with a thin layer of table salt. Meanwhile, the one in the bomber jacket was pushing the heavy dark wood lectern to the altar.
“Hey Avery,” the third one asked, shaking a can of spray paint while eying Avery with respect. “What do I do with this angel? He’s looking at me funny.”
“Don’t be a dumbass, Sammy. It’s just a statue.” Avery’s nasally voice made Tilly wince. Would he be the one holding the knife to kill her?
She cupped her stomach as if to protect her child from the horror to come.
“Just paint over the damned thing,” Avery barked.
“You got it, man.” Sammy shook his can harder and painted over the plaster angel, making sure to hit its condemning eyes first. He moved over to a large dusty stained-glass window representing one of the scenes from the Lord’s life and blasted a whole coat of black over it.
“Put Moloch’s banner over that Madonna painting,” Sammy ordered his buddy in the varsity jacket as he shook his thick length of black curls in the low ponytail. “She’s the one who makes me uneasy.”
Tilly stared at the tall portrait of the saint mother and child—the art looking so sad in the dim light—and she wanted to weep. Her own child seemed asleep now and she wished with all her heart that he would remain this way until the end.
A quick death. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.
Her insides twisted with agony at the thought.
“You guys are such sissies,” Avery ranted while laying a red velvet cloth covered with sigils over the faded white and gold altar. “It’s just a painting.”
No one was paying attention to Tilly as they continued to busily assemble the parts of their black ritual.
She felt a twinge in her back and shuffled in her seat to ease the discomfort. She had to get out of there. Just had to. She studied the shadows, the recesses. Hunting for an escape.
“Years of going to church, man.” The one wearing the bomber jacket opened his slim grimoire over the lectern. “Mommy would have a fit to see me do this.”
“And what has your mom ever done to set you up, Devin?” Avery retorted. “Hells, didn’t you say she’s more interested in her yoga classes than you?”
“Yeah sure.” Devin looked up from the pages of the book. “She’s taken up with her trainer. Dad has no idea. As usual.”
“Well, you’ll show them. Time to focus, bros,” Avery said. “Who’s got the knife?”
“Brian?” Sammy said with another shake of his paint can.
“Yeah, I have it.” Brian stepped away from the banner he’d just hung toward the pew and opened a backpack sitting near Tilly. He extracted a dagger knife with a black bone handle, catching her pleading look in the process.
He quickly looked away from her and stepped up to the altar.
“Here you go, Avery.” His voice trembled as he passed the blade to his leader.
“This will do nicely.” Avery weighed the dagger in his hand with a maniacal chuckle.
Brian turned back to her for a second before addressing Avery again. “Do we really have to kill her? Could we not just take some of her blood?”
“Does the spell book say blood of a banshee, or an actual banshee?” Avery snickered. “Well Devin? You’re the one who speaks Latin, here.”
Perhaps they were not all the truly stone-cold murderers they appeared to be. Perhaps one of them would stop this madness before it was too late.
“Banshee,” Devin said, and then recited, “And upon her death and that of her child, Moloch, the fourth Prince of Hell, Overseer of the Dominion of Tears, shall grant the executioner whatever he wishes.”
“There you go.” Avery shrugged. “No choice.”
“I wish we didn’t have to do it,” Sammy commented.
“Sorry, darling,” Avery scoffed in her direction before laying the knife at the edge of the altar.
“We could drug her first,” Sammy suggested. “Make it easier on all of us.”
“Fine, whatever,” Avery said. “Did you bring any drugs?”
“I found cough syrup at my place,” Sammy replied.
“Oh great. That’s gonna help,” Avery snarked. “What’s the point then?”
“Fine.” Sammy let the topic of drugging her go. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Don’t you mind, Avery? Taking a life.” Brian walked back to one of the banners and straightened it. “Crap, taking two lives?”
“I try not to think about it.” Avery was smoothing the cloth over the altar. “I’m too focused on coming home as the promised son with Dad handing me a big fat check and control of his bank accounts.”
“Devin?” Brian asked the sandy-haired henchman who was flipping through the pages of his grimoire.
“Are you kidding,” Devin said, “ever since I found that book in the manor’s attic, I’ve been dying to use it for something real. Getting Taylor fired from her internship at the vet after she dumped me and winning first place in that wrestling meet was something. But now, this—inheriting it all instead of sharing with my douchebag brother—this is the real deal.”
Dammit . There was no way these creeps would back down. Tilly hung her head low, feeling nauseous, as her heart battled like mad against her ribcage. No matter how much the depth of her consciousness tried to deny what she was experiencing, this was no dream or banshee vision.
This was real .
She thought of the aftermath of her and her baby’s death.
Cass would eventually find her body. He would hunt and kill Avery and his friends. He’d make them pay. Painfully, she was sure of it.
But she and her baby would be dead.
Her chance at her best life, at her own self-crafted family, she would never experience that.
She clung to her one precious memory, all of them at dinner in Ren and Rosalie’s home. The joy, the laughter, and the acceptance. The fierce-looking vampire Emme with her hand on her shoulder in a protective gesture, the stern Ren watching her with kindness. Dark Griffon whose expression eased when he looked at her and then at his brother. He’d be devastated that she’d let him leave the sound station to attend to Cass.
Griff seemed to have guessed that there was some love between Cass and her. Yes love. There was no denying that. She did love him. And she would have no chance to tell Cass of her true feelings for him.
She never would.
And Cass, what would he do after he avenged her? Move on from this?
Move on from the death of their child? Would he forgive her for being reckless and convince Griff to leave her with Marjo?
Would he be the one to tell her godmothers that she had not survived? Or would her cousin Sloane receive a vision of her death.
Did the talented banshee not have a vision right now? What good was it to be foretelling people’s demise when you could not even prevent that of your own kin.
And where was Death? Could her old companion not do anything for her at this moment?
“It’s time, Sons.” Avery’s voice took a somber quality as it echoed in the cavernous church.
The four of them donned robes of thick black damask.
Tilly pulled on the restraints at her feet as they brought their hoods over their heads. The benign-looking college students suddenly becoming very scary—ominous nameless figures about to commit murder.
She trembled uncontrollably. Being the key part of a black mass. Surely this was not how it was going to end?
She found Cass’s pendant at her neck and held it tight with all her might. She couldn’t die here. Speechless. At the mercy of four self-indulgent idiots. But what could she do?
She had been helpless before in her life. When her foster brother at the Sullivans, that jerk Tim, discovered and stole the envelope of cash she had saved for a better life. And when she had left that last joyless home, walking to the bus station with a single backpack to make her way, all alone, with the dream of making it in the competitive and male-dominated business of music production.
She was a kid then, with no resources. She had survived. And now, an adult with some power, she should be able to get out of this. Her captives were not even supernatural creatures, just dumb humans.
But dammit, she couldn’t even scream like a good banshee. All her life, she had counted on her own will, but now, she could not save herself.
She wished she could call upon Death for help. But she knew her lifetime companion would simply nod his head sadly, unable to change the course of her destiny.
He’d told her too many times that he was bound not to interfere in people’s ordained fates.
With a lump in her throat, she addressed her child. I’m so sorry, baby . I am so sorry I couldn’t protect you. I did want a good life for you.
Two of the hooded figures approached her.
“Come on, darling.” Avery grabbed her bound hands while another unshackled her ankles.
So this was it.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she tripped over herself as he yanked her from the pew.
A spasm suddenly clenched the inside of her lower belly.
No ! She doubled over herself.
No this could not be. Not the baby!
She was due in a month.
“Time to meet Moloch.” Avery gripped one of her arms, while someone else took her by the other to guide her to the altar. She went completely limp. Numb to her horrific fate.
Fluid trickled down between her legs.
No! This was happening way too fast. She couldn’t possibly be in labor.
With doom in her heart, she somehow managed to clasp the Celtic pendant tighter in her grip, the edges of the ancient metal cross digging into the tender skin of her palm.
She regained strength in her knees and straightened her back. She glowered at Avery with pure hatred.
And just before the next contraction—this one stronger this time—she cursed them all again. Avery Brooke, I curse you. You shall perish in the most horrible death brought by your own abominable action.
Then she sent out one more important wish to the beyond.
Cassiodore, she prayed again with despair. By all that is holy, please find me before it’s too late.