“Are you sure?” I asked Father, my voice little more than a whisper. “Are you absolutely positive it’s Abaddon?”
“As sure as I can be without Abaddon himself speaking his name. But the demonic attacker’s pronouncement suggests no other conclusion.”
“Why?”
“Cardinal fire,” he said, as if that explained everything.
To him, it probably did. To me, not so much.
“The ash that Eric tossed into the burning oil,” he explained after I expressed my cluelessness. “It created cardinal fire. That is, of course, how you escaped even as the demons and their lair were eviscerated.”
“I figured out the escape part,” I said. “After all, I was there.” After we’d raced unscathed through the fire, Eric confessed that he’d had no idea what the ash would do, or whether we could survive. But he’d trusted our
alimentatore,
who had given the ash to him with instructions to use it only in the direst of emergencies. “It’s this ‘cardinal fire’ stuff that is news to me.”
“It is the ash of an alleged heretic wrongly burned, who forgave his accuser, the Church, and the cardinal who ordered his death at the very moment the flames consumed him. The ash is extremely rare . . . and also extremely dangerous. Wilson provided it to Eric without
Forza
’s approval or authorization, ” he added, referring to our very first
alimentatore
, Wilson Endicott. “Fortunately, no harm befell you.”
“Just the opposite, I’d say,” feeling a bit testy. “That fire is what saved our lives. If you’re saying we shouldn’t have had it—”
“I am saying that cardinal fire is inherently dangerous to some. It is not a thing to be trifled with.”
“Dangerous how?” I knew Wilson, trusted him completely. He would never have intentionally put me or Eric in harm’s way.
“Katherine,” Father said gently, “we face new problems today. I tell you this only because it is the reference to cardinal fire that makes clear the enemy you face today.”
“Right,” I said, duly chastised. I needed to keep my head in today’s game and not preoccupied with twenty-year-old battles and their enigmatic consequences. “So why now? He hasn’t only recently regained his strength, has he? Did this cardinal fire put him that long out of commission?”
“We do not believe so,” Father said. “Our understanding is that the fire either cleans an area of an obvious demonic presence and destroys its temple and talismans, or it reveals a hidden presence so that the presence can be battled and defeated. But as demons do not exist in our world, the victory is temporary only, sending the demons back to the ether until they are able to once again get a toehold in our world. Unlike what you have experienced in the past, cardinal fire does not trap a demon in any sort of talisman.”
“Which takes us right back to my question. If Abaddon wanted revenge, why wait so long? Why come after me now? And why me? Why not Eric, too?”
“The answer, it would seem, lies in the Sword of Caelum. ”
That, at least, was an answer I’d expected. After all, the Watson demon had made a big deal of the sword thing. “Okay. But what
is
the Sword of Caelum?” A
thump
echoed in the hallway and I inhaled sharply, suddenly fearful I wasn’t alone.
“Katherine?”
“One second.” I eased across the room and opened the door, peering out down the long hallway. “Stuart?” I called.
A pause, and then his answer drifted up. “Are you looking for me?”
“I heard something,” I explained. “Just making sure you’re okay.” Not the entire truth, but workable.
“Fine,” he assured me. “There’s air in the pipes. Made a hell of a racket thumping around when I turned the water back on.”
“Okay, cool. I’m going to keep investigating up here.” I stuck my head back in the warm wooden room and shut the door, cutting off his answer, but not too worried that he’d be offended. If he was actually going through the motion of inspecting the plumbing, I could probably stay on the phone for an hour and he’d never notice I was missing.
“Sorry, Father,” I said, getting back to the nitty-gritty. “Go on.”
“Ah,” he said. “Of course.” He cleared his throat, and I could hear the rustle of paper as he looked at his notes. Even in his late seventies, the man had an enviable memory, and I knew he didn’t need to rely on his jottings. Having them there was merely a comfort, and I smiled a little as I pictured him sitting behind his simple oak desk, a portrait of the pope on the wall behind him.
“Most believe that the Sword of Caelum does not really exist,” he began.
“Is that a fact? The demon I met last night seems to think it does.”
“A rumor only,” Father Corletti said. “Mist and magic. For centuries, there have been stories about the Sword of Heaven, brought down by the Archangel Michael to aid the worthy in the battle against evil. Most believe it is the equivalent of a fairy tale for demons. A story told to frighten, with no substance behind the words.”
“And you believe that?”
“I cannot say with any certainty whether it does or does not exist. If the demons believe that it does, and believe that you wield it, that is enough to put you in danger. And, perhaps, to give you an advantage.”
“The danger I get. The advantage, not so much.”
“I understand. But Katherine, if the sword does exist, it would be a miraculous thing indeed. Charged with the power to strike down a particular high demon when wielded by the prophesized one whose familial blood burned in the flame that forged the blade.”
I ran that through my head twice and couldn’t make it compute. “Come again? Did you say a
particular
demon? And what’s that about the forging?”
“According to legend, the sword has the power to strike down—and prevent from ever rising again—the kith and kin of one particular demon named during the ceremony that blessed the blade.”
“Abaddon?”
“That is certainly my assumption.”
“And he thinks I’m the one who can wield it.”
“Apparently so.”
“Why?”
“That, I do not know. For that matter, we do not even know for certain that the sword exists. The full legend instructs that a knight—his name long lost to history—struck down the demon Themoratep in the year 504 B.C. That was the first use of the sword, which was then reforged, its blade primed for a new owner and a new victim.”
“That’s an awful lot of detail for a legend,” I said.
“I agree. And it is those details that suggest the truth behind the legend. It is also interesting that we have historical artifacts referencing Themoratep. But all predate the birth of Christ by more than five hundred years.”
“You believe this,” I said, certain I was reading him right. “This isn’t smoke and mirrors to you.”
“No, Katherine. It is not.”
“But why would Abaddon think I know anything about this sword?”
“That, I cannot say. The tales consistently reference a prophecy. The naming of the Sword Keeper. The one individual who will be born to wield the sword and strike the demon down in his true form, never to rise again.”
“Oh.” I thought about that. “Familial blood,” I said. “You mentioned familial blood earlier, right? Does that mean my mom or dad would have been a Sword Keeper, too?” I kept my voice steady as I asked the question. To be honest, I rarely thought about my parents. But there were times when I wondered who they were—and why they had left me.
“I do not believe so,” he said gently. “As I have said, my limited research suggests that the Sword Keeper is the subject of a prophecy. More, the Keeper will be within the bloodline of he who reforged the sword after it slayed the last demon. But there is only one Keeper. Should he or she fail, the demon’s life will go on, and the sword will become useless unless reforged again by one with the power to do so.”
“In other words, if anyone is going to destroy Abaddon, it has to be me.” I frowned, feeling a bit like Atlas with the world on my shoulders.
“If you are the Keeper, then yes. That is so.”
“And if I fail? Who has the power to reforge the sword?”
“That, we do not know.”
“Sounds like we don’t know a lot,” I said, testily.
“I am afraid that is true,” he agreed.
“And what we
do
know doesn’t make any sense,” I said, still not liking this whole scenario.
“Myths and legends often don’t make sense, my child. You know that.”
“No, from a practical point of view. Why would the archangel bother to bring down a sword that does something I can already do?” Strike down a demon in human form, and his essence goes back to ether to wait for another body to invade. But on the rare occasion when a demon shows his true scaly, snarling, icky self, then he’s actually vulnerable to attack. It’s
hard
to kill him, sure. But if you manage, then it’s a done deal. That demon’s not going to be bothering anyone anymore. Ever.
“So what makes this blade so special?” I pressed. “I mean, my knives are perfectly capable of slicing onions as well as demons, and they didn’t have to be forged in any special fire.” Though I did take out a demon once with a Ginsu knife. Right after Eric and I were married. I hated mucking up the knife, but the fight was fast and clean.
“Yes,” he said, chuckling. “But how many true onions have you diced in your career?”
“Ah,” I said, deflating a bit. The answer, of course, was none. “What can I say? They’re crafty little buggers.”
“Indeed. And not only does the sword have the power to slice through their armor like a hot knife through butter, but you also missed a key point of the myth as I relayed it earlier. ”
“Kith and kin,” I said.
“Therein lies the true beauty of the sword. And also the reason that most believe its existence to be myth.”
“I’m not following.”
“Strike down the demon, and you strike down his innermost circle as well.”
“Whoa.” I stumbled a little, then settled myself in one of the high-backed leather chairs. Father Corletti was right— that was big news. Demons weren’t exactly social creatures, but they were hierarchical. And I never seemed to stumble across one but to find out that he was working for another one. If this sword was real, then like the little tailor who swatted flies, I could take out seven—or more—with one blow.
And how sweet would that be?
“So Abaddon thinks I’m this Keeper person?”
“It would appear to be so.”
“Am I?”
“That is not a question to which I have an answer. None within
Forza
have heard the prophecy. Few believe the sword is even real. But if the demons believe it is you, then it may be so.”
“And Abaddon’s minions are trying to take care of me,” I said. “End my involvement before I can do the same for their boss—and for them, too.”
“That would seem to be their plan.”
“Considering I don’t know where this thing is, I’m thinking I got a raw deal.”
On the other side of the world, Father Corletti chuckled. “Ah, my dear, what else is new?”
I had to laugh, too. Not because of the situation, but because Father Corletti was right.
“Be careful, Katherine,” he said, all humor now gone from his voice. “I do not wish to lose you.”
I reached up to finger the silver crucifix he’d given me so many years ago. “I’m not too keen on that outcome, either,” I said. “I love you. I’ll call soon.”
I hung up, an odd combination of frustration and sentimentality coursing through me. His actual information was not particularly useful. Yes, I now knew the legend. But considering I neither had this mythical sword nor knew where to start looking for it, having the fairy tale at my fingertips was cold comfort.
Even so, simply talking to Father made me feel better, as if he were reaching across the miles to give me a much-needed hug.
I brushed my thumb under my now-damp lashes, feeling foolish but unable to escape the simple, basic truth: I missed Father. I missed having
a
father. And in the absence of a true parental figure, I’d clung first to Father Corletti and then later to Eric, letting those men in my life fill the empty spaces in my heart.
I liked to think that somewhere along the way I’d grown up a bit, that I’d come at my marriage with Stuart from a slightly different angle. But I wasn’t entirely certain it was true. In the end, I’m not even sure it mattered. Not anymore. I had kids of my own now. And ultimately, the past isn’t important. All that matters is the future.
I looked around the room, smiling a little. My husband was downstairs putting every ounce of himself into our future—his campaign, this idea of flipping houses. I’d had two good men in my life, and I was surrounded by people who loved me. As life circumstances went, I really couldn’t complain. Bitch about having no idea what prophecy I was supposed to fulfill—sure. But complain? No way.
Not exactly a life-altering moment, but I will say that my perspective shifted slightly. And if Stuart wanted to take a risk with our future on this house, then why shouldn’t he? I took a risk with our future every night I went out to hunt. At least he was doing me the courtesy of telling me the truth.