“
You desire the Throne of Hell and in the plotting, the intricacies of the game and the pursuit of it is your true being revealed. But kingship for you,
” she shook her head again, “
is not Reality. A triumph of desire is temporary, a Pyrrhic victory which will inevitably turn to the reality of ash.
”
“ Pyrrhic? Isn’t it better to rule in Hell?”
“
In Reality, Mephistopheles does not.
”
“He does now.”
“
Does he?
”
Mephistopheles sank further into the flesh cushions even as his head shrank into his shoulders. The atmosphere around him thickened with smoky, oily darkness. “You
will
acknowledge me.”
“
Desire cannot rule, for it is a limited point of view. We do not subscribe to ‘points of view’; We simply acknowledge what is. You do not. It is why you are not a king.
”
“My, my. Detached arrogance, and arrogance that
isn’t
detached.” Mephistopheles pointed to the earth before him. “Kneel before me or suffer.” Lucifer stood her ground. Mephistopheles sat for another moment before offering a shrug and a chuckle. The sound fooled no one; it covered none of his hatred. He set his gaze upon her. The air around him began to darken, and as far away as he was, Donovan could feel it grow colder. Mephistopheles seemed at first to join with the darkness, but Donovan saw it was emanating
from
him, forming tendrils that drifted like a fog bank towards Lucifer.
“What about me?” Valdes interrupted. “This is all supposed to be—”
“For
your
benefit?” Mephistopheles sneered. “Hardly. You describe your ignorance in magical matters and think you did all of this without help? Who do you think created Coeus and sent him to you, sent him to show you the way to the book? That was
my
grimoire that showed you the
resurrectus maledicat
. Who do you think allowed Faustus to leave Hell so you could do all of this? This has always been about
me.
”
“But
I
made the choices!
I
did the work!”
The darkness enveloping the throne was silent for a second until, from within, came a creepy laugh. “Kudos,” Mephistopheles said, “for a job well done.”
Valdes turned to Faustus. His face was flushed and he breathed through his nose, trying to keep calm. “
Herr Doktor
?”
Faustus, Donovan noticed, had edged closer to Lucifer. From where he stood, he could also see the sorcerer had a piece of paper and something shiny up his sleeve. “Thy reasoning is flawed, Valdes. Emotion is key,
ja
, but thou payest no heed to the subtleties of magical study.” He took a step as if to approach Valdes, but in fact it brought him even nearer to Lucifer. “Incanting requireth both emotion
and
knowledge for mastery. Thou hast ignored one element of that vital equation to thy detriment.”
“‘There’s no such thing as a free lunch’ is not the best choice of words here.” Valdes brought his hands together in front of his face and rubbed them together. He turned back to Mephistopheles. “Because in fact, nothing has changed. What I want benefits
whoever
is in power. I can still generate the emotional energy needed to open any gateway. As a token of faith I offer you,
Your Highness
,” he paused to emphasize the use of title, “the six hundred sixty-six sacrifices we held for Lucifer.”
Mephistopheles’ lips twitched, restraining a smile. “For a novice,” he said, “you have a rather developed acumen. Unfortunately, what you don’t have is sacrifices.”
Valdes glanced to the southern end of the Lawn. “Have they escaped?”
“Oh, no, they’re there. And We—” Mephistopheles paused and chuckled as he caught himself indulging the royal phrasing. “
We
will kill them in many delightful ways. But they are not what’s required for your end of the deal.”
Donovan’s eyes went to Faustus. The sorcerer had managed to sidle next to Lucifer and slip her a scroll of paper. He had no idea what was going on but he sensed it was important enough to let it continue.
Valdes started to turn back to Faustus.
“In magical terms, Valdes,” Donovan quickly said, drawing Valdes and Mephistopheles’ attention to himself, “a sacrifice is an offering to appease the deity on arrival, or to entice one to appear. If you want to bargain you have to offer something more enduring than the physical.”
“Like what? Their souls?”
“What, did you think you could invoke and just smooth-talk the King of Hell?”
Valdes spun towards Mephistopheles, accusation in his face. “You never told me I needed more than their bodies. I didn’t know that. How was I supposed to get six hundred sixty-six people to sign contracts giving their souls to Lucifer?”
“You weren’t. Does that make it clearer? It was
all
about Us, from the beginning.” Mephistopheles grinned. “You served your purpose. You invoked Lucifer and enabled all this to occur. For that you have Our gratitude.”
“But
I
signed a contract!”
“Really? Why would you do that?”
Valdes whirled and pointed at Faustus. The sorcerer stood next to Lucifer, holding the scroll Donovan had seen. “
He
told me I needed one—there! That’s it! He’s holding it!”
Lucifer raised her eyes to inspect him with a gaze Donovan had seen Joann use to size up a guilty defendant. “‘
I, Cornelius Valdes,
” she read, “
of New York City, New York, do, by this document, give both body and soul to Lucifer, King of Hell, and furthermore grant unto him, when twenty-four years have expired, full power to carry the above articles into his habitation wheresoever it may be.
’”
Faustus unrolled a bit more, allowing Lucifer to continue. “‘
However, said period shall be considered expired immediately and all articles collectible forthwith should Lucifer immediately and unconditionally release from eternal bondage the soul of Doctor Johann Faustus in trade.
Alter valorem rei.’ ”
“
What?!
” Valdes flushed bright scarlet.
“That last part wasn’t there when I signed it!”
“
Is this your blood?
” Lucifer asked. “
Your signature?
”
“Yes, but—”
“
Then no dispute have you. Done.
” Faustus slapped the contract into Lucifer’s hand. The parchment dissolved. “
And filed.
”
The sorcerer bowed as a golden aura enveloped him, making him glow like a stained glass window at dawn. In the midst of all the death and horror his soul stood out as a shaft of the divine, and although it was a brief vision, the manifestation rivaled Lucifer’s appearance in beauty.
When the light had absorbed into his body, and everyone was momentarily distracted, Faustus slipped from his sleeve the other item Donovan had seen. It was a sacrificial dagger. “
Auf wiedersehn
, Your Highness.” He lunged.
“
No!
” Darkness burst from Mephistopheles’ hand, a riptide that knocked Faustus off his feet and buried the knife. “
What do you think you’re doing?
”
“Do thy worst, Mephistopheles.” The sorcerer fought to sit up. “Faustus is free.”
“Faustus,” Valdes whispered, “what did you do?”
“
Si una eademque res legatur duobus, alter rem, alter valorem rei
,” he gasped, the weight of the darkness slowly crushing him. “‘If something is bequeathed to two persons, one shall have the thing itself, the other something of equal value.’ This eve hath Faustus accomplished what four hundred years ago he could not—retrieval of that which God hath bequeathed. Faustus is at last free of Hell.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “My apologies, Lucifer, for not fulfilling the remainder of the deal.”
Donovan instantly understood: Faustus struck a bargain for his soul, under which he would have freed Lucifer from Mephistopheles’ trap.
Freed Lucifer by—
His heart froze.
No.
Mephistopheles studied the sorcerer, probing for untruths. He saw none, nor did he see any problem for himself. “Idiot. Do you know what you could have had, what you could have been?”
The weight on Faustus prevented him from responding.
“
Faustus quests for knowledge, not power. That is his place in Reality.
” Beatifically calm, the King of Hell wandered in front of Donovan. “
You see, Mephistopheles, even if you do not seek your place in Reality, the universe is filled with those—
” She stood on her toes to kiss him gently. “
Who do.
”
Donovan saw a subtle shift in her amaranthine irises; for a fraction of a second Joann looked back at him. In that moment, he knew there was no other way.
Lucifer’s greatest satisfaction comes from twisting man’s noblest efforts into something that serves the Infernal.
His mind spiraled down, chased by Father Carroll’s dictum.
Don’t make me. Jesus, don’t. Give me another way…
“Enough philosophy!” Darkness swelled in thunderheads around Mephistopheles. The charm, the verbal sparring was gone, replaced by the crackling of malevolent energy. “I don’t give a damn about what you think or don’t think! I’m taking the throne
now!
”
“No, you aren’t,” Donovan said.
‘Nothing of this world harms Us but We will it.’
Joann stood before him, her arms spread wide.
He raised the spire and plunged it into her heart.
TWENTY-NINE
EX MALO BONUM
W
ith his waning strength, Father Carroll raised the spire, letting its weight carry it forward and down. The iron sliced through the Circle of Neith, shorting out the magical energy with a shower of purple and white sparks.
Hurry, now.
He dropped the spire and entered. As he crossed the threshold, his lungs wrung out a coughing jag. His feet scuffed near the circle of tarnished silver chain links and he stopped, heart pounding as he clapped his free hand over his mouth. He remained motionless until he was sure the fit had passed; if any part of the gateway was disturbed, he’d lose the chance to save the souls of the possessed. Slowly he backed away, not stopping until he felt a wall against his shoulder blades. A deep sigh of relief hissed through his teeth.
“Thank you, Lord.”
He stroked his beard fiercely and concentrated his remaining strength on examining the object of his quest. Red and black candles burned at various significant points within the design; he recognized the individual elements—wheat symbolizing Christ’s body and rebirth, almonds for His ascension to Heaven (all burnt here to describe the satanic nature of the spell), the broken Star of David denoting the removal of barriers, tarnished silver representing corruption, and the chain to connect Hell to Earth.
“God give me strength,” he muttered.
With his free hand he made the sign of the cross above the gateway. Even though it meant releasing pressure from his stomach wound, he raised both his hands to Heaven.
***
Two Emergency Services Heavy Rescue Trucks barreled up the Lawn, one from the East Drive, one from the West. They steered through the trees with extra caution, and as they cleared the brush it became obvious why: their telescoping rotational light towers rose from hatches on their backs.
Fullam shouted. “
Josh! Conrad!
“
Now!
”
Every circuit on the towers burst to life, spreading daylight over the entire south half of the Lawn. The cultists froze, hands and arms bloodied by their killing frenzy, before scattering for the comfort of the darkness.
Hostages poured out from behind the shattered gate. Cops swarmed over the wreckage, re-forming units and rushing to help comrades. Braithwaite ran from his truck to the fire truck. “Come on!” he shouted grabbing spires. “Come get these! Use these!”
Conrad Clery climbed down from his truck’s cab, shaken from the ride and at the slaughterhouse he’d just entered. “Joann!” he called. “Where are you?”
He slipped on something greasy in the dirt and tripped to his knees. One hand shot out to brace his upper body and plunged into the eviscerated chest cavity of a woman whose riot helmet had been neatly split halfway through her skull. His eyes saucered and he jerked his hand back. A piece of loose flesh stuck to it. He shouted and whipped his hand around until it flew off into the dark. He knelt there for a moment, staring at the red stain left behind, then rolled over and vomited.
“Conrad!” he heard. “Are you all right?”
“Where is she, sergeant?” he shouted, climbing to his feet and wiping a smear of bile from his cheek. “Where are they keeping my daughter?”
“You can’t get there alone!”
“Then come help me—”
A terrifying wail from the north end of the Lawn made everybody stop dead. Conrad looked at Fullam, who had no answer. Before they could react, a wave of darkness surged from the same direction. Conrad stared, incredulous, as it swept over the two ESU trucks and swirled about them for a moment before dissipating. The lights were now out; every bit of power had been sucked from the generators.
The cultists, emboldened, began to slink back towards them.
Conrad gasped. He scrambled to the fire truck, confusion and fear obliterating everything but self-preservation. “What now, sergeant?!”
***
Donovan stared, shocked, while Joann’s body gently folded backwards, sliding the length of the spire on a lubrication of blood. Her weight pulled his arm down—
DEAD WEIGHT!
his mind screamed.
Far, far away, he heard a roar.
“
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
”
Another riptide of darkness shot forth. It crashed and dissipated like waves when it touched his holy water-soaked clothes. Donovan didn’t even register it; every sense, every emotion he might have felt lay smothered beneath the horror of his action. He couldn’t move or think or speak or breathe while the question eclipsed his soul.
What
have
I done?
No answer could solve the problem. No structure could maintain his rationality or instinct to act. Blood and amaranthine energy formed a fluid shape around Joann as Lucifer divided his essence from her lifeless body. The color drained from her, deepening the luster of the shape and revealing the dark, spreading stain on her white dress. Her body collapsed, iron scraping bone as she fell to the dirt. A shudder racked Donovan’s soul. White noise filled his ears. He dropped to his knees, desperately trying to maintain a link to her.