Page 2 of Dead Evil
“Are you ready to change your life?” Duke asked, his attention on the crowd.
“Yes,” Greg half-whispered.
“Maybe you’re hesitant because you like living in sin! Or is it that you don’t believe in the healing power of our Lord and savior?” Duke shouted.
“Duke! Duke!” the crowd chanted, bringing up not only the decibel level, but the energy of the group as well.
Ten couldn’t help but feel swept up by the enthusiasm of the crowd. He called out Duke’s name in harmony with his parents. As he did so, Ten felt his own battered faith rise inside his heart. Kaye always preached that everything happened for a reason. Maybe Duke Barrymore was the reason he was here today. If this man could cast the demon out of the terrified man on the stage, maybe he could do the same for Tennyson. It was almost too much to hope for. He’d finally be able to live a normal life like everyone around him.
When the chanting reached a fevered pitch, Duke held his hands up to signal silence. The crowd responded instantly. “Are you ready to change your life, Greg?”
“YES!” Greg shouted back.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Duke began, a hand over his heart, “what you are about to witness may not be suitable for children or those with weak nerves. If you feel that you cannot handle the glorious power of Jesus Christ, this is your opportunity to leave the tent.”
No one moved. Ten didn’t think anyone breathed. As scared as he was of Preacher Shackleton, he was equally in awe of Duke Barrymore. At this moment, he wouldn’t leave the tent if it was on fire and had a feeling the congregants sitting around him wouldn’t either.
Duke raised both hands to the sky. “I call upon you, Jesus Christ. King of Kings. Lord of Lords. Grant me the power to heal Brother Greg! Allow me to absolve him of his sins! Use my body as your lightning rod! In your all powerful and exalted name, Ipray!” Setting a hand on Greg’s shoulder, Duke began to speak, but his words were unintelligible.
Ten could barely hear his voice over the buzz in the crowd.
“In the name of Jesus, I banish thee, demon! I revoke any hexes and curses you’ve cast upon our brother! No longer will your black aura cause this man to sin! No longer will he lay with men! I beg for your protection, Jesus! Wrap your loving arms around this man and welcome him into the kingdom of heaven! In the name of the Holy Spirit, I cast you back to the fiery pits of Hell from whence you came!”
As Duke shouted, the crowd grew louder and louder, urging the demon to flee, praising God’s holy name. Ten’s entire body buzzed with energy. He began to pray, asking God to banish his own demon, begging for His divine light to fill Ten’s soul and wash him clean.
Greg’s body jerked, as if someone had grabbed him from behind. He began spewing nonsensical words, which Ten assumed was the demon was fighting against the power of God. The voices stopped and Greg collapsed in a heap. His entire body shook, as if he were being electrocuted. After several moments, he lay still. The tent was dead silent. Everyone waited to see if the battle had been won.
“What happened?” Greg asked, sitting up slowly, reminding Ten of Frankenstein’s monster as it came to life.
Duke offered his hand and helped Greg back to his feet. “How do you feel?”
Greg stared at his hands, which no longer shook. “Free! I feel free!” He ran off the stage and grabbed a young woman who’d been sitting in the first row. Pulling her to her feet, Greg kissed her. “I’m cured!”
“He’s cured!” Duke echoed. “God is love! God is power! Your demon has been banished! Go in peace, brother!”
The crowd erupted as Greg took the woman’s hand and led her out of the tent. People began to pray, asking Jesus to cast out their own demons. Ten wanted to add his voice to the faithful, praising God for the miracle they’d witnessed, but he couldn’t.
Themiraclehe’d witnessed seemed theatrical. Choreographed. Like something in a movie that had been rehearsed until every detail was down pat. There’s no way a woman who hadn’t even been introduced to Greg would allow him to kiss her and carry her away. Duke Barrymore would undoubtedly call Tennyson’s cynicism an act of Satan, whose only passion was to sew evil into the hearts of believers.
Ten didn’t feel evil. He didn’t feel cleansed. Or forgiven. He thought this revelation would shatter him into a million pieces or would drive him to despair, but unbelievably, he felt whole. There was no demon residing in Tennyson’s body or soul. He’d stake his life on it.
God made Tennyson in his own perfect image. If God deemed him perfect, who was Ten to mess with divine perfection?
1
Tennyson
August, present day…
Tennyson Grimm sunk into his favorite chair in the West Side Magick conference room and sighed happily. The rest of the gang would join him shortly. Ronan and Fitz were grabbing coffee and muffins, while Jude and Cope discussed something in private in Cope’s reading room. Ten was curious to know what they were talking about, but wouldn’t intrude on their privacy. If Cope wanted Ten to know what was going on, he’d spill the tea later.
“Here we go!” Ronan strolled into the room with a drink carrier laden with iced coffees. He dealt them around the table much like a blackjack dealer. He kept the final one for himself and took a seat beside his husband. “You know what I’m in the mood for?” Ronan waggled his eyebrows.
Ten snorted. “You’re always in the mood for sex.” He rolled his eyes at his perpetually horny husband. Not that Ten wasn’t similarly in the mood, but they had important business to discuss and the last thing he wanted was the distraction Ronan’s cock would provide.
“What sex?” Jude asked, as he walked into the room. Cope, Cole, and Carson were hot on his heels.
“There’s no sex,” Ronan said, holding up his hands.
