Jax
I knocked at the large wooden doors just outside of the archbishop’s chambers and waited, gripping my cane in both hands. I didn’t know where I would start; how much I could reveal. Harry’s interference was going to be problematic, as it usually was, but this time, he was set on winning the damned prize and reclaiming the succubus Carmilla de Mornay for his father, and that would blind him to the truth of just how deeply embroiled he truly was in his father’s plots.
A veiled sister opened the door and ushered me in to the archbishop’s study. I cast a glance around; I’d always hated this place. The round room held stacks of books on the shelves going back to the original manuscripts that the monks at the Monastery of Gethsemane had transcribed, by hand, some as early as the late 1300s, some as recent as the late 1800s. There were jars filled with bits and pieces of failed experiments; infant demons, animals, and even human fetuses in formaldehyde; parts of demons—werewolf claws, vampire fangs… even the stinger from a lamia’s tail. Should any modern-day scientists ever catch sight of this place, the mysteries they could unlock would rewrite world history as humanity knew it. The sheer amount of “pseudo” sciences that would simply become“sciences” might destroy mankind’s understanding of itself.
There were vials, jars, a million other little bits here and there I’d never been able to identify. In the center of the room were two couches and a low coffee table in front of a large wooden desk and a leather chair.
Behind that were two stained-glass windows with light streaming in behind them—completely artificial, of course, given how far down the labyrinthian tunnels of the organization’s underground lair we were. It showed the cliffside and ocean view from the Monastery of Gethsemane in England as it had been visible from Benedict’s office there. At the edge of the cliff, facing out toward the ocean, was a barefoot woman dressed completely in white, blonde hair blowing in the wind, her face half turned over her shoulder as if she was about to speak, a sad smile on her face.
He’d told several of us, on numerous occasions, how he had made the artists painstakingly recreate every detail he’d described until it was perfect. When Harry had just stated that it would have been easier if he’d had a camera put outside the window that could cast the live feed from the monastery onto a digital screen here, the archbishop started hitting him until four other bishops—myself included—were forced to intervene. I’d always hated the image, for some reason I couldn’t name. Too gloomy—too solemn. Something about the look in the woman’s face made me feel a strange sense of loss.
The man—or rather the demon, Archbishop Osbert Benedict himself—sat at his desk, his head leaned back, eyes closed in delight, completely nude. I could feel the sexual energy in the air, but I did my best to pretend not to notice. He did this sometimes just to get at me, as he did to many of us. I cleared my throat, and the archbishop let out a deep, satisfied moan, slipping both hands under his desk as he lifted several inches from his seat, leathery wings spread out behind him and thankfully blocking the light from the fake window display. It cast him largely into darkness, and then he collapsed, panting heavily as another veiled nun crawled out from beneath the desk and then made her way through a door to the right of the room, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief as she resettled her veil.
“Ah, , a moment, please.”
The nun who’d answered the door handed him one of his priestly robes and helped him into it, then followed her compatriot out of the room when he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. I averted my gaze as he tied the robe over himself, shrinking back into the form that was as close as he could get to his predemonic appearance these days. He still looked stunningly monstrous and would certainly never be mistaken for anything entirely human—except perhaps at a distance.
A great distance.
“You come bearing news, I take it?” said the archbishop as he settled back into his chair.
I took several slow steps forward and stood in front of the desk.
Forgive me, Caleb… I don’t know how they got this information so quickly.
“Yes. I received a report earlier from the special investigators to deliver to you. Apparently, a new cambion by the name of Magdalene Church recently awakened, but… I have a concern.”
“Oh?” Benedict smiled, steepling his long, clawed fingers. “Please, continue.”
“There is a list of every known cambion in the city sitting in my office,” I said, lowering my voice despite knowing that nothing said here would be repeated anywhere else. Benedict’s office was the only place within the organization that had been completely protected against intrusion. “Her name was not on it, and she was apparently a virgin cambion at twenty-six-years old.”
…Until Caleb got to her, that is.
“She wasn’t on the list because she wasn’t meant to be,” said the bishop evenly. “How did the teams verify it was her?”
I was dismayed to discover that the girl was already known to him; in fact, his nonchalance had me downright panicked. The pieces of this puzzle were beginning to fall into place, but with as much importance as Benedict placed on secrecy, ironically, he wasn’t normally good at keeping things secret. He largely relied on those of us who ran the organization to ensure his private affairs remained that way.
My stomach twisted into a knot; if Benedict knew—then it confirmed my suspicion that he’d allowed Harry to use Caleb on purpose… Which meant that I may been instrumental in moving the archbishop’s pawns into place exactly where he’d wanted them, too. Harry was still chasing down Carmilla, but it was clear from the discussion that for once, she wasn’t the target of Benedict’s focus.
“…? You were saying?” he said, peering at me in that strange, rigid manner that made him look completely inhuman.
“Ah. Yes, apologies, I was lost in thought. You know that your son declared that he was making his attempt to capture Carmilla de Mornay recently, and so she has been under surveillance for the past two weeks. On Saturday, Carmilla made an unexpected appointment midafternoon with a young woman, which resulted in quite a few things occurring in the interim—” Benedict’s eyes started to narrow, and I hurried to answer. “A few hours ago, two of our former university members called the monitoring line and reported that their ward, Magdalene Church, a succubus cambion, hadn’t been in contact with them and has not returned to her home.”
“I see. And this troubles you how…?” said Benedict. There was a devilish hint of excitement in his eyes, as if he was waiting for me to give him more information so he could gloat.
I looked down at the carpet and drew in a deep breath. “Sir, you tasked me with the documentation of every cambion that entered the city, awakened or otherwise, yet I did not have information on the girl. Why?”
“Because I didn’t think you needed to know. It’s an interesting series of coincidences, to be sure, but that doesn’t sound like good news, —just like it has the potential to be.”
Evasive as ever, the old bastard.
“…No sir, but it would have helped me to be informed, so that I could have planned things accordingly, given the complications that arouse,” I groused. “Harry was?—”
“What was it he was trying to do again?” Benedict asked, standing and walking to a small wet bar nearby his desk. He lifted a bottle and poured himself a whiskey but didn’t offer me anything. “Something about capturing a demon?”
“Carmilla de Mornay, if you recall me saying?—”
“Ah, yes. Continue.”
“Harry picked a team of agents, including Caleb Knight, to hunt her down?—”
“Just cut to the details—I don’t care about whatever little game my son is playing.”
I tried to imagine what he could possibly have wanted to know; what I should leave out; or worse, what I might accidentally leave out that would cause problems down the line. “Well, the investigators believe she may have been Carmilla de Mornay’s latest target, but there was a complication, as I mentioned. At some point during the doctor’s appointment, Caleb Knight was charmed by the succubus?—”
Benedict spun on me, his eyes glowing a pale amber that was deepening to red, a wicked grin spreading over his face, revealing long fangs. I couldn’t help but take a small step back. The intensity radiating from him made me feel as if he was holding a knife to my neck.
“Where is he now?”
“He…” I sighed. “He stole a keycard and escaped. Harry believes he will lead us back to de Mornay—did you know about this, sir?”
“What, you think I wasn’t aware of Harrold’s idiotic scheme? The boy is an arsehole, but he’s occasionally useful.”
I paused before I answered, angry at myself for not realizing sooner. Harry always requested Caleb to get stationed on dangerous missions, and as all approval for special investigators’ missions had to be cleared through the archdiocese, I had been quite surprised by the time it came down to my signature. Mine, being the least important, was largely just done as a courtesy to let me know which of my agents’ lives might be in danger, and when to have them ready. When I’d seen Caleb’s name for the first time, I had sincerely thought it might be a mistake—perhaps a forgery by Harry—but the archdiocese had confirmed it.
Now I knew why.
Harry had only been allowed to take Caleb in first place because it had served whatever plans the archbishop himself was laying out. I fought the intense pull of anger in my gut.
“What have you done, Benedict?” I asked quietly. “What have you done to Caleb?”
The glass in his hand shattered on the stone by the time Benedict crossed the room to me and slammed me backward into one of his tables by my neck. Gagging, I blinked up at him, my glasses askew. I couldn’t see him well without the lenses, but I could still make out the bright red glow of his furious eyes. He squeezed my neck until I thought it might pop, then released me just as fast. I sputtered and fell to the floor, landing hard on my bad leg. Before I could even catch my breath, Benedict yanked me up by the arm and threw me onto the sofa. I landed with a cry, shaking from head to toe as I found my glasses still hooked around one ear and reattached them.
“Do you really think I would allow that little pissant to take Caleb Knight out on a mission that would put him in jeopardy?” He pointed to his own horned head. “All of these years, I have been cultivating this child, watching him grow and ripen for this very moment! Do you really think I would let Harrold ruin it now?”
I gasped and clutched my throat, shook my head. “…Archbishop… what do you”—I broke into a coughing fit—“want do you want… him to do? I don’t understand?—”
Benedict’s face softened into a cruel smile, contemplative. “It’s not what I want him to do so much as who I want him to do.”
“The girl,” I spat, glaring at him. “You wanted him to turn her into a succubus.”
“Not just a succubus, —and not just turn : he will soon awaken one of the Daughters of Lilith herself.”
“A lilin?” I scoffed. “But those creatures are?—”
“Don’t forget you’re talking to a centuries’ old demon, bishop,” said Benedict. “To be clear, a demon who has tasted the power of a lilin once before, albeit many years ago.”
I gaped at him, struggling back to my feet, limping over to my cane. “You can’t possibly mean—” As I bent over to pick it up, the tablet Brother Will had given me came skittering out of the pocket I’d stuffed it in and landed, as if someone had placed it there purposely, at the archbishop’s feet.
He lifted the tablet, looked to me, and then turned it on. With bated breath, I waited for him to finish watching the videos I’d seen. Caleb’s enormous strength. Harry, trying to shoot him. Benedict studied the image in silence; replayed it. He watched it three times before he looked up at me, a grin plastered to his lips.
“When was this taken?”
“…Early Sunday morning.” I cleared my throat with some effort. “Caleb called the monitoring line, but Harry’s group was already in the area looking for him?—”
“He’s magnificent,” said Benedict. “Better than I could have hoped… then he must have… Wait.”
“Sir?” I asked.
“This weapon,” Benedict placed the tablet on the desk and spun it around to face me, ignoring me entirely, “what is this gun Harry has?”
I took in a deep breath. “It’s some kind of prototype, I was told,” I began. “I was actually going to ask you the same thing.”
If I had intended to show you that footage, which I had not , damn you.
Benedict tapped the screen with one long, clawed finger. “Harrold took this on a mission to subdue Caleb, while in pursuit of the succubus Carmilla de Mornay? What else did he take with him?”
I trembled underneath the tone in his voice; I felt the words ripping out of me, almost as if against my will, and I knew he was forcing the truth out of me. “A holy water dispersal bomb. He had it planted in the air vents when they’d gone to capture?—”
The grip of Benedict’s power fell away from me. I stumbled back; sat heavily on the couch.
“Did he now,” muttered the archbishop, glaring at the screen. “You are dismissed, .”
I stood, leaning heavily on my cane, frowning. “…Yes, sir.”
“Don’t pout, bishop. All will be clear in time. You’ll understand how vital your role in this all was. For now—say nothing to the other bishops.”
Benedict poured himself another drink and pressed a button on his desk. A veiled sister came out and began to clean the mess he’d made of the broken glass on the floor.
“Oh, and make sure Harrold doesn’t hear a word about this”—he took a sip of his drink and grinned, fangs gleaming at me—“I want to see the look on his face tomorrow when I get to tell him exactly what he lost .”